#but I’m almost finished chapter 11 right now and I want to get at least chapter twelve finished before I edit and rewrite chapter ten

[whumpyourdamnpears]

repeating to myself as I first draft these next few chapters that, “it doesn’t need to be perfect, it just needs to be written,” and not think too hard about how badly written they are as of now

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 10 - Look And See

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Going back to my roots (forced proximity)

Chapter title from Thank You by Led Zeppelin

Word Count: 17k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You, Sam, and Dean finish a case from Ruby, and it has consequences. Usual warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action

Chapter 9 - Chapter 11

Read on A03!

“Can you drive any fucking slower?”

Dean shot Her a glare in the rearview mirror, trying not to get lost in how Her eyes were shining in the low light of dusk, or how all Her features seemed to be washed in the cool, pastel colors of sunset. “No, Princess, because I’m trying not to give the cops an excuse to pull us over after you blew our fucking cover-“

“I did not blow our cover,” She hissed. “I said we needed to leave now, and you decided to stick around and try to find more caviar-“

“We weren’t done, and I was hungry-“

“You’re always hungry! And we were done, you just don’t listen to me-“

“Maybe I don’t listen to you because you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Her eyes narrowed, and Dean could almost feel Her gaze burning and twisting on his skin. “We both know that I’m the only one who knows exactly what I'm talking about-“ She paused, and Dean could see Her giving Sam an apologetic grimace in the mirror. “Sorry, Sam-“

“It’s fine.” Sam shrugs, his attention forcefully fixed on the book in his lap. Dean had a feeling Sam had entirely been tuning them out. “I mean, you’re not really wrong.”

“Don’t tell her that, Sammy, she’ll explode from her ego-“

“My ego? That’s fucking rich from you, Winchester-“

His grip began to strangle Baby’s wheel. “At least my head is in the game, sweetheart-“

“My head is in the game-“

“Didn’t look like it was,” Dean hissed. “It looked like you were more worried about flirting with that old son of a bitch rather than getting the knife-“

“It’s not a knife,” She snapped. “And I wasn’t flirting, I was looking for information, dumbass-“

“Yeah, that seemed to really pay off for you-“

“It did-“

“Dean.” Sam cut in with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “You guys can keep fighting, I just want to make sure you remember-“

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m going to Norfolk, Virginia, and the black-eyed bitch will meet us there.”

“Ruby’s trying to help-“

“Well, shit load of good it’s doing, we didn’t even get the damn knife-“

“It’s not a knife.” She leaned forward, resting Her forearms on the bench, and Dean could feel the heat from Her body. It was a little dizzying, and She smelled like sugar and fruit, there was that damn fruit again-

Sammy was frowning, shaking his head. “Ruby said it was a blade-“

“And She was wrong. And I’m-“

“Right?” Dean muttered under his breath, glowering at the road. “You’re always right, aren’t you-“

“Yeah, I am.” Her words were clipped, and Dean hated how that made his heart split and howl in his chest. “And you better say thank you, because I didn’t break my nail just for-“

Dean snorted, and he hated the sound. It was louder than it should be, and toxic in his ears. He hated all of this. He didn’t know how to stop it. “How fucking tragic, her majesty broke a nail-“

“It hurt, dickwad. And,” She leaned back, only for a second, and Dean had to bite the inside of his mouth to stop himself from reaching over the bench and pulling Her back to where he could still feel her warmth. “You’re welcome.”

Sam was frowning, twisting in his seat to look at Her, and Dean wished he could do the same. Especially as Sammy gasped, and he felt as if his jaw was going to snap and his teeth were going to grind to ash. What was She doing that made Sam gasp, why did She always have to be so awesome and insufferable and annoying and brilliant, why couldn’t Dean just know when to quit, why wouldn’t she just leave him alone to die in goddamn peace-

“When did you-“

“While Dean was drinking half the bar,” She cut Sam off with almost a sneer, and it was burning over Dean’s head. “I got the museum curator to show me the collection.”

“And that’s-“

“Yep.”

Sam swallowed, and when Dean glanced over, the kid’s eyes were nearly bulging out of his head. “And you’re sure-“

“I’m always sure, Samuel.” Her tone was smug, and Dean could picture the proud, pretty smirk on Her face. “And it’s not a knife. It’s an arrowhead.”

Sam reached back, Dean heard a slapping sound, and when he glanced in the mirror She was clutching something to Her chest, glaring at the front seat.

“Don’t touch it.” She snapped, and Sam blinked at Her.

“It’s just a rock,” Sam said Her name carefully, shooting Dean a what the hell is happening look. 

Dean didn’t know. With Her, Dean never fucking knew.

“It’s not- You-“ She took a deep breath, Her voice suddenly far too soft and measured. “Just, I’m going to hold onto it, okay?”

“But-“

“Sam. Please.”

Sam frowned at Her, but nodded, and Dean scowled.

He had to bite down vile, spitting words about Her thinking she was better, about not even trusting them to hold the weapon. There was a line, and Dean refused to cross it. He couldn’t stop toeing right up to it—driven by the bitter, furious part of him that still hated how She’d lied about being sick, how She’d left him fucking dying in the hospital, how She was better and Dean couldn’t be allowed to have her—but he wouldn’t cross it. He couldn’t leave a real mark on Her. It would fully drive Her away, make her finally snap and leave him in the mud for good.

And She’d been working with them for several weeks, and Dean was still being a selfish piece of shit. 

He couldn’t fall out of Her orbit. He couldn’t bring himself to save Her from himself, from all the horror that came with being in his life, but he couldn’t hate Her enough to lie that he didn’t want Her here and mean it. He couldn’t just mean it.

Dean couldn’t sneer that She knew everything and believe it to be the truth in his bones. He couldn’t snap that She’d been flirting with that old asshole—and he knew it was the museum curator, and he knew it was for the case, and he didn’t care—and not put extra venom in his voice because She wasn’t smiling at Dean like that. She was barely smiling at Dean at all.

He didn’t blame Her. He was being a dick, but it was for Her own good. He was lying, but it was for Her.

He repeated, over and over in the dead of night, that it was for Her. For the best. And, it was but he still couldn’t quite convince himself. 

He had five months left. If he was smart, Dean would stop swallowing his crueler words and just vomit up every false reason he hated Her—She was too pretty, She did strange things to his heart and body he didn’t like not being able to control, he’d follow Her anywhere but knew she wouldn’t do the same for him—until She left, and he’d rescued Her from caring about him.

Because Dean was damned. 

But he never wanted to be damned for hurting Her. 

So he was being a fucking asshole and not crossing the line, because he wanted Her. He couldn’t stop wanting Her, he didn’t know how, it had become such a critical part of him now—to always crash down, down, down into Her and that soft, sliver light that She always cast over the pit inside of him, even when She hated him and he was supposed to hate Her—that Dean was pretty sure he’d only ever stop wanting Her when his soul was carved up and split into pieces.

Yet he still wouldn’t tell Her. He still couldn’t allow himself to look Her in her bright eyes and tell her I’m dying, Princess. I’m pretty much already dead.

Dean didn’t have a good enough memory to keep track of all the lies he was telling Her. And Sammy was barely creative enough to come up with a proper story that explained the Devil’s Gate and Azazel and Lilith while completely omitting the whole demon deal thing.

But they managed.

And She had no idea.

She believed they were hunting Lilith because that was their job. That they were researching crossroads demon because Lilith was known to work with them. That they were working with Ruby, getting this arrowhead for Her, because they needed anything at all to try and kill Lilith. 

Dean had called Bobby, and told him that, under no circumstances, could he tell Her about the deal. About Dean’s timer, and how it was slowly creeping closer and closer to zero. That they were hunting together again, and Dean wouldn’t ask Bobby why the hell he’d lied about Her being sick, as long as Bobby didn’t rat them out. 

“I won’t say anythin’ unprompted,” Bobby had grunted through the phone. “But if she asks, I ain’t gonna lie to her.”

Dean had scowled into the air, keeping a careful eye on the sidewalk through the window. She and Sammy had gone to get coffee. Dean had needed to wrap this up before they got back. “Bobby-“

“No. You know you’re my family, boy, but she’s always gonna be first.” Bobby had sighed. “Listen, I won’t tell her ‘less she catches it herself. But you know she’s far from dumb, Dean. She’ll pick up that something’s off, and there ain’t nothin’ that’s gonna save you from how pissed she’ll be that you kept it from her. At least try and give her the dignity of learnin’ it from you.”

Bobby had hung up, and Dean hadn’t told Her. He couldn’t. Bobby and Sam didn’t understand that he just fucking couldn’t. 

Couldn’t tell Her.

Couldn’t fully push Her away.

“How are you sure?” Sam was watching Her carefully, and Dean kept his eyes on the road. She was there. Right now, Her being there was all the relief he could allow himself. “I mean, I trust you, but we just need to be positive before we show this to Ruby-“

“It’s jade, and that’s what Ruby told you it would be, right?”

Sammy nodded. “Yeah, but-“

“And if you trust her-“

“I do.”

Dean frowned. Sam, for some reason, did seem to trust Ruby. Dean didn’t, because She was a demon. Being trustworthy was against her freakin’ nature.

“Well, she said it would have writing on it, right-“

“Yeah, but-“

“Look.” Dean saw Her shift in the rearview mirror, and felt Her brush his arm as she leaned back forward. 

Little sparks flew through his body, and he sat a little taller, and he could see Her side-profile in his periphery and She was glowing, and there was the fruit again-

She was trying to make him crash the car.

“That’s Hebrew.” She tapped the arrowhead she spoke. “That’s Arabic, and that’s-“

“Latin.” Sam finished, and Dean rolled his eyes. Fucking nerds. “What about that one-“

She jerked Her hand back as Sam went to touch the arrowhead, and elbowed Dean in the shoulder.

He grunted, gritting his teeth as the dull pain. “Son of a bitch-“

“Shit, sorry, De-“

“Whatever.” He muttered, refusing to look Her in the eyes. She’d almost called him De. And maybe She’d been about to say Dean, but that wasn’t any better. His whole body felt like it was buzzing and heavy, and took a tight grip on the wheel to stop himself from leaning closer to Her. “Answer Sammy’s question.”

“Yeah, it’s, um-“ She swallowed. Dean could goddamn feel Her gaze. “Sorry, it’s just like, witch symbols. Probably.”

Sam’s face twisted slightly, and Dean didn’t understand that look. It was more tense than Sam’s usual, doubtful bitch-face. It was almost pained. Weary.

“Probably?” He asked, and She shrugged.

“Yeah. You’re the one who said it’s a witch artifact-“

“Ruby said it’s a witch artifact, I just passed it on. And, I dunno, can you not tell-“

“Tell what?” Her voice became clipped again, and something in the air shifted. Became heavier, more taut. 

“That it’s a witch artifact-“

“I know all the same things you do. If Ruby says it’s a witch, it’s a witch.”

Sam frowned, Her arm brushed against Dean’s again, and the taut thing was now frayed. 

Dean didn’t know what was happening. 

“Okay.” Sam broke their odd stand-off first, letting out a slow exhale. “I just wanted to-“

“Be sure.” She muttered. “Yeah, I know.”

There was a long pause—Dean forcing himself to focus on the low sound of the radio rather than how close She was, how her breathing was heavy and measured, how he wanted to follow the pattern with his heartbeat until he was moving with Her all the time—and when She leaned back, Dean couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Her small frown in the rearview mirror. 

“What did Ruby say this was for?” 

Sam shrugged, turning in his seat as he spoke. “She told me it could help kill anything inhuman or unholy. Stuff that even her knife and the Colt can’t gank.”

“The nasty sons of bitches,” Dean muttered. “Worst of the worst.”

There was another pause, and when She spoke again her voice was small. “I- anything?”

“Powerful things,” Sam explained. “Ruby said it was designed for things outside of nature. Like Lilith.”

“Like Lilith.” She repeated, and She sounded strange. Nervous.

Dean glanced back in the mirror to see Her curled into the backseat, turning the arrowhead between Her fingers with a tight frown, Her body braced in the way it always was when She started to freak out, her free hand gripping slightly at Her throat, that little wrinkle in Her brow obvious and prominent-

He couldn’t reach back and run his thumb over, no matter how much he itched to. She probably wouldn’t even let him. 

But God, the sight of Her like this made him feel sick. He hadn’t seen any real, full episodes since Her return, but he’d seen the bags under Her eyes, the raised marks on Her skin, the dried blood around Her nails.

It wasn’t his place to say anything anymore.

But it still torn him to pieces. Still made him feel like he was doing something wrong, still made Dean feel wrong. If he was good, he’d never allow something as amazing as She was to be in pain. He’d stop being selfish and set Her free of his burden, because even his proximity stole and hoarded Her light. 

But he needed Her here. Even if She couldn’t be his.

And he needed Her to stop clawing at Her throat. 

So he did the only thing he could think of, and coughed for Her attention.

Her eyes flicked to his in the rearview mirror, and they set off fireworks over his ribs. Colorful and hot and bright and Her-

“Nice work.” He muttered. “With the case. You were-“ Dean choked on the word right. Of course She was right. She was the only right thing in the universe. “You did good.”

He wouldn’t apologize. Dad said to never apologize for making the smart, right call, even if it was the tough one. Especially if it was the tough one, because that meant he was being strong, and it wasn’t his responsibility to make sure people understood that.

And what he’d said seemed to be enough. She sat a little taller, Her chin tilting a little higher, and when She spoke again Her voice was back to its usual tone. Smooth and clear and designed to haunt Dean in his sleep.

“Of course I did good.” She snapped. “I know what I’m doing, Winchester. I always do.”

Something in Her suddenly seemed to be glowing, leaking out through Her eyes on Dean’s in the mirror. 

It made Dean glow. Like he was being called further down into Her. He didn’t know how the hell She always did that to him. He’d likely never get a chance to find out. 

So all Dean did was roll his eyes and look back to road, because now he had a new lie to drill into his brain.

The lie that—if that hadn’t succeeded in returning Her to the proud, sharp, blinding woman She usually was—Dean would’ve said sorry.

That if She ever did lash at him with words that left bigger and more purposeful scars than the ones he already carried—the ones that seemed to line his every thought and breath, where he was haunted by Her when she was gone and consumed by her when she was there, and he was almost certain She didn’t even know how deep she was branding him—Dean would fall to his knees and fucking grovel for Her to heal him. For that shifting, easy light to cast over him and Her warmth to fuse him back together, better than he’d been before. For Her.

Dean would do most anything for Her.

And that meant—even if Bobby and Sam disagreed—lying to Her about the deal. 

“Dean,” Sam was shifting through his backpack as they pulled into a gas station, his attention mostly focused on trying to find a credit card that hadn’t gotten frozen. “If they don’t have pie-“

“We’re in Carolina, they’re gonna have freakin’ pie-“

Sam sighed. “Yeah, but if they don’t-“

“They will.” Dean snapped. The world was already fucking tormenting him. They didn’t need to take away his pie as well. “Pie, Sammy. Nothing else.”

“Dean-“

“Pie-“

“We’ll find you pie, you giant baby.” She rolled Her eyes from the backseat, stretching as she scooted to the door. Dean could see a little bit of bare skin from the movement.

His pants got a little tight.

He was fucking pathetic.

Sam said Her name carefully, shooting Dean a weary look from the corner of his eyes. “We can’t control what the gas station has-“

“We’ll figure it out.” She shrugged. “C’mon, buddy. Let Deano brood in peace.”

Dean scowled, half because of Her drawling, bored use of Deano that still made him bend a little much for her, and half because he wasn’t brooding. And if he was, he should be allowed to. He was dying-

She didn’t know that. She was going to find him pie anyway. 

And he hated this.

It was the good moments that were the worst. Moments when they glanced at each other when Sam said something dramatic, and he wanted to whisper a joke, but he wasn’t allowed to anymore. Moments where they brushed past each other and didn’t flinch, where Dean would see Her early in the morning and She’d look downright adorable with that small, pouting frown. 

Moments like this one. Where She got back before Sam, passed Dean his pie without a word, and sprawled out in the backseat. And Dean could glance at Her as he filled up Baby’s tank, and She fit so naturally that he wasn’t sure how his very foundation hadn’t crumbled to nothing while She was gone.

She looked beautiful. She was wearing the jacket he’d left Her, and Dean could see the poke of the blade he’d given Her, and she was frowning at the broken nail she’d mentioned earlier, and it would be so easy to reach out and run his thumb down Her nose until she let out a soft, easy breath and everything was okay again.

“Have you met Ruby?”

Dean blinked at Her. “Yeah.”

She hummed, not looking away from Her nails. “What’s she like?”

“She’s a demonic bitch.” Dean muttered, glaring at the gas pump, and She snorted. 

“Eloquent, De.”

He felt like he was falling from a million feet. She’d really called him De again. Out of fucking nowhere, like nothing had happened, She was smiling at him and calling him De and there was something in Her that was guarded and Dean wanted to shred it down and crash right into Her-

“Why are you working with her?” She asked, tilting Her head at him. “Is it because of Sam?”

“He trusts Ruby.” Dean’s words were pushed through his teeth. “And I trust him.”

“Should I trust her?”

Dean let out a dry chuckle. “Gonna matter what my answer is?”

“Yeah.” She said the word like it was nothing, and Dean’s lungs stuttered and caved for a brief second, as if he’d just been shot. “I didn’t ask for shits and giggles, Winchester-“

“Then don’t.” He grunted. “Don’t trust Ruby.”

“Alright.” She shrugged. “I won’t.”

There was a pause, and Dean didn’t know why She wasn’t trying to fight with him. He didn’t understand Her, how she could be acting like nothing was wrong when it so clearly freakin’ was, when they hadn’t even dared to speak about how She’d left him and lied and obviously didn’t want anything real to do with Dean-

“Did you see Sam trying to flirt with that waitress-“

“I have to shit.” Dean blurted, refusing to meet Her eyes as he returned the gas pump to its station, because She might look sad or surprised or hurt, and he wouldn’t know how to deal with that in a way he could permit. “Watch the car.”

He walked away before She could say anything, and Jesus, he was an asshole.

She’s been trying to be nice to him. Dean didn’t know why, but She seemed to be determined to try and patch at least something between them, and it made everything so much goddamn worse. She’d sneer at him one second—when the air around them was heated and weighted in Dean’s lungs, when Dean was biting at Her and she didn’t resist his silent plea for Her to bite back—and then do something like that the next, and Dean couldn’t live with it.

He couldn’t live with himself. It might be a good thing he was damned, because otherwise he’d have no justification for how he’d just walked away, how Her trying to reach out to him just made him recoil, because nothing had ever been as good as Her, and no one had ever been less deserving of Her than Dean.

And that was why he hated the good moments the most. They reminded him that She really was better, and Dean wasn’t worthy of Her infinite… everything. They forced him to build his walls higher, to line them with further barbed wire, because if he didn’t, She’d slip through a crack without effort.

Dean couldn’t afford to let Her back in. She needed to hate him. This whole thing would be so much easier if She would just hate him. 

Maybe one day he’d walk away like that again and not glance over to check that She was still there. He had to drive Her away, but he still made sure She was still there.

And She was. She always was. Every day for the past few weeks, Dean had looked for Her and she’d been there. Legs folded in a chair as She chewed on a pencil, lying flat on Her back and humming to herself in a way that made Dean’s head a little fuzzy, standing tall as She scanned over a room and rubbed Her thumb over that scar on Her palm.

She was doing that now. Leaning over the front seats and rubbing Her palm, head slightly bowed so Her hair blocked a full view of Her face, occasionally reaching down to touch something that was on the bench. Probably Sammy’s book.

She was so pretty.

She could never be Dean’s.

Sam didn’t say anything when Dean shuffled to his side in the station, just raising his brows, glancing out the window, and letting out an unnecessarily long breath with a shake of his head.

“Wanted some coffee.” Dean muttered, grabbing a paper cup and ignoring Sam’s flat expression of disbelief. “Long drive ahead.”

“Sure, dude.” Sam was still looking out the window, an odd expression on his face. “Huh.”

“What-“

“See the Cadillac? The silver one?”

Dean followed Sam’s gaze to the parking lot. “Yeah, what about it-“

“It was behind us, on the highway. For a while.” Sam ran a hand through his hair, shooting Dean a tight look. “Did you seriously not notice?”

“Course I noticed.” Dean muttered, and he very much had not fucking noticed. He’d been distracted. She’d been right there whenever he used the mirror, and there had still been a little bit of lipstick stained on her mouth from the case, and he’d wanted to wipe the smudge on Her cheek off with his thumb, just to test if She’d gape at him or look at him like he mattered. Like he could matter to Her, if that was allowed. “Lotta cars in the world, Sammy, some of them are bound to be going from Carolina to Virginia-“

Dean cut himself off as the Cadillac stopped in the middle of the lot, its door opened, three large men climbed out.

They were walking towards the Impala.

He could see the sun catch light off of something in the largest one’s hand, and it was glinting and long and-

Dean was roaring Her name before he could think better of it. There was red lining his vision and a blaring, alarm-like sound in his ear, and She was in danger-

Sam was right on his tail as he burst out of the lot, sprinting back to the car—back to Her—as the men started crowding the windows, but She was faster. Right before Fuckhead Number One could bash Baby’s windows in, She pushed the door open into his gut, vaulting forward with Her knife in hand as the man let out a guttural noise of pain.

Dean slammed his body right into Fuckhead Number Two—the big, ugly one who’s knife he’d seen—right as Sam caught up to him, grabbing Fuckhead Number Three and pushing him down onto the concrete with a grunt.

They all had the same knives. Somewhere in the whirlwind of the fight—fists flying, Dean trying to reach for his gun but always fumbling as he had to dodge another punch, Sammy scrambling with Fuckhead Three on the ground as She danced around Fuckhead One—Dean realized that it wasn’t just the asshole he was fighting who had a that knife. 

It was the same one that had stabbed Her in Colorado. Same curved, sharp blade he’d seen a few times on Bobby’s desk, that had damn near killed Her-

They’d gotten separated. Somehow Sam had ended up wresting with Fuckhead Three in the grass, She and Fuckhead One were the middle of the lot with Her knife in hand, and Fuckhead Two had backed Dean up to the stations walls.

“If it ain’t the Winchesters.” Fuckhead sneered, and Dean barely managed to duck the blow aimed at his jaw. “Didn’t expect to see you here-“

“Shut up.” Dean snapped. “Unless you’re gonna say why you’re trailing us, I don’t wanna here a word out of your ugly mouth-“

Dean side-stepped another punch, and Fuckhead gave him a crude smile.

“Not trailing you.” He sneered. “Trailing what you’ve got.”

“If it’s Sammy, you can have him,” Dean slammed his knee into Fuckhead Two’s side, sending him stumbling back with a grunt. “But I’ll warn you, he snores like a bitch-“

“We have no interest in Azazel’s little experiment.” Fuckhead let out a dry chuckle, not balking as Dean finally grabbed his gun, aiming the barrel at his temple. “Our kind deal in far… bigger, older affairs.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “This the part where I’m supposed to ask you what your kind are instead of just shooting you-“

Fuckhead smirked. “I’d imagine you’d like to know, Dean. Not like you can kill me anyway.”

“You wanna bet on that-“

“I’m not the betting type. To risky. And we- Well, we aren’t the kind to take risks.”

Dean was about to scoff and pull the trigger, but Fuckhead held his gaze, and his eyes shifted.

Eclipsed with a venomous, neon green for a long second, the grin on his face widening until he was laughing.

“You have no idea what you’ve begun to meddle with, Mr. Winchester-“

Dean shot Fuckhead’s foot. He didn’t need a villain rant right now, worst that would result in was a limp for the vessel, and goddamnit why couldn’t anything ever be easy-

“Sammy!” He roared across the lot. “Demons!”

Sam nodded, locking his arms around Fuckhead Three’s neck and started to chant the exorcism, and Dean sprinted forward to where She was still fighting Fuckhead One with a shout of Her name-

She was faster. She was always faster. 

Dean watched as She brought Her knife right up to Fuckhead One’s throat, hissed something in his ear, and seconds later bright green smoke erupted out of his mouth.

The same happened with Fuckhead Two and Three, and Dean frowned. He’d never seen Sam do the exorcism that fast.

He muttered Her name, fisting his hands at his side to stop himself reaching for Her. “Are you-“

“I’m fine.” She snapped. “Let’s go before someone calls the cops.”

She didn’t look okay. Sam rejoined them at the car—dusting the grass and dirt off his pants and looking between them with a frown—and Dean had to restrain himself with brutal reminders that She didn’t need him, because She looked the furthest thing from okay and it was eating at his gut.

She wasn’t speaking. For the rest of the drive She was lying on her back, eyes squeezed shut, body half curled into itself and arms wrapped around Her stomach. For the first time since She’d returned, she really did look sick. Colorless and pallid, lips drawn in a thin line as if she was in pain, breathing loud enough for Dean to hear over the music. Sammy kept asking damn questions about the demons, about what Fuckhead Two had said to Dean and what green eyes could possibly mean, but Dean couldn’t really hear him. 

His tongue was caught in his throat to stop him from spitting out that they needed to stop, because he was worried about Her. His chest felt like it was contracting and aching and ripping, and his heart was loud in his ears, and why was this so goddamn horrible, why couldn’t he just not care that She was in pain-

“Dean.” Sam muttered, long after the sun had set, a little while after She’d fallen asleep. “We need to tell her. About the deal.”

Dean scowled, his gaze flicking back to Her in the mirror. She seemed to be really, truly asleep. 

Dean wouldn’t bet on it.

“Not now, Sam-“

“Bobby was right, she’d going to work it out eventually-“

“No, she won’t. She’ll leave first.”

Sam gave him an odd look, glancing back to Her with a shake of his head. “Why are you so fucking convinced she’s going to leave-“

“She always leaves.“ Dean snapped. “She left at the hospital-“

“Because she was sick-“

“Does she look sick to you-“

“Yeah, she does.” Sam seemed to suddenly, somehow, be taller. “And I know she does to you too, Dean. I mean, just look at her-“

“I did.” Dean muttered, glowering at the passing white lines on the highway. “And it’s not my business. I’m not talking about this, Sammy. So fucking drop it.”

Sam sighed. “You know can convince her you don’t care about her, shit, you can even convince yourself, but you can’t convince me. If it were anyone else, you’d have shot them in Utah, and we both know it.”

“Shut up-“

“I am. Just-“ Sam said Her name, and Dean felt like he was going to vomit. “You’re not good at being right about her. You get blinded, Dean, and I think she needs us just as much as-“

“She doesn’t need us.” Dean couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Her in the backseat. 

Hauntingly beautiful in the night, the shadows and moving lights of the road making Her look even more like something that had fallen from the sky, like a piece of a star or comet that had started to breathe and walk the earth. The breeze breaking through the cracked windows blowing through Her hair and giving her cheeks a slightly flush.

Her knife was gripped tight in Her hands, and she was folded around it like it was gravity.

Dean wanted Her to fold around him like that. He wanted to be the thing that grounded Her.

But he wasn’t.

“She doesn’t need anyone, Sam.” He muttered, ripping his gaze back onto the road. “We’ll be there in an hour.”

And when Sam dropped it with a sigh, Dean made himself focus on the music. Normally, he’d turn it up to drown out his own thoughts, louder than even Sam’s chastising voice.

Tonight he kept it low, because louder meant there would be a possibility of disturbing Her. And Dean was already pretty sure She didn’t get as much sleep as she needed. 

So he’d give Her this last hour of the drive—going a little slower to extended the time—and he’d let himself look at Her a little more when she couldn’t see.

Then he’d park the car in the motel lot, mutter to Sam that he needed to work out how to get Her up without getting himself stabbed, and steel himself as he exited the car.

He couldn’t care. It would be unfair to Her for Dean to care, when he’d be gone in five months. 

Maybe, if he repeated it enough in his head, it would feel true.

Dean stopped in front of the room from Ruby’s message to Sam, and he’d barely had a chance to raise his fist to knock before the door swung open, and Ruby was glaring at him from the other side.

“Where’s Sam.”

“Hi, Dean.” He muttered, shoving past Ruby with an eye roll. “Thanks for taking time to get the thing for me, I’m going to try and not be a fucking bitch for five seconds to show my gratitude-“

“I’m not going to be grateful when you probably didn’t to shit.” Ruby crossed her arms, turning to him with narrowed eyes. “Where’s Sam.”

“I’m here,” Sam’s head poked around the door frame, a tense frown on his face. “Dean, she’s not moving-“

Dean froze at the foot of the bed. “What do you mean, she’s not moving-“

“She woke up, but she said she just wants to stay in the car-“

“She can’t stay in the car, Sammy, she has the arrowhead and we- shit, we just got jumped by demons-“

Ruby stared between them, her eyes wide. “You just got- who the hell are you talking about-“

“Oh, yeah, you guys haven’t met yet.” Sam swallowed, running a hand through his hair. “I- uh- You remember how I mentioned that girl Dean used to hunt with-“

“You told Ruby about her?!” Dean hissed, and Sam shot him an apologetic look.

“Just like, once-“

“Wait,” Ruby looked between them, said Her name, and Dean was going to rip out Her tongue. The bitch shouldn’t be allowed to say Her name. Nothing evil should even be allowed to know about Her. “She’s here?”

“Yeah,” Dean narrowed his eyes. “You got a problem with that?”

“Of course I do, you two idiots weren’t supposed to tell anyone what you were doing-“

“You don’t get to tell us what we do and don’t do,” Dean hissed, his glare turning to a very worried looking Sam. “She’s not coming out of the car?”

Sam shook his head. “No, uh-“

“I’ll take care of it.” He grunted, not looking at Ruby as he moved back to the door, clapping Sam on the shoulder with short words. “You kids keep it in your pants while I get her majesty inside.”

Dean didn’t bother to wait for Ruby to make a snide remark, just marching to the Impala and opening the back door, glaring down and where She still lay.

“C’mon, Princess, we’ve landed-“

“Don’t care.” She mumbled, twisting onto Her side and burying Her face in the seat. “I’m fine here, Dean.”

Dean jaw clenched. “Fine, just- give me the arrowhead thingy-“

“No.”

Dean grunted Her name. “You can wallow in the car all you freakin’ want, but we need that arrowhead-“

“Why.”

“The hell do you mean why, the whole point of that whole damn thing-“

“Why was it the point?” She rolled onto Her back, meeting Dean’s eyes with raised brows. “Who would want this thing?”

“Ruby wants it, and she’s going to be a real bitch if we don’t give it to her-“

“Should I give it to Her?”

Dean stared at Her, saying her name slowly. “What the hell are you talking about.”

“You told me not to trust her, Dean.” She held his gaze, and Dean felt like She looking right down into the pit. Daring him to admit something he didn’t understand. “Why should I give her the arrowhead if I shouldn’t trust her.”

It took a second for Her words to sink in. She was just watching him, a challenging expression on Her pretty face, and when it clicked, Dean had to go rigid and still to stop himself from crashing down into Her pouting, drawn lips.

She was taking him seriously. She was taking Dean—Dean, of all damn people—and his opinion and trust of Ruby, seriously. She wasn’t trusting Ruby because he told Her not to, and there wasn’t an ounce of doubt in Her voice. It had been flat, pointed, filled with that same dry tone She’d used when she’d asked Dean a rhetorical question about a hunt or a monster She’d already known everything about. The voice She used when she was half quizzing him, but She’d also been in charge of designing all the answers.

He couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t sit in how it made him stand a little taller, how Her gaze on his was almost certainly looking all the way into him, how She was seeing into every piece and sunken hollow in Dean’s body and not moving away.

Why the hell couldn’t She just move away.

He couldn’t have this. He couldn’t have Her. Dean needed to keep moving, and Her looking at him like that—like She could see him, like he was real, like She wanted to fall up into him just as bad as he wanted to tumble down to Her—made him want to stay in this parking lot for the entirety of his remaining months. 

“We still gotta work with the bitch,” Dean said Her name, forcing his gaze to remain on Her’s, all while trying to remember how he’d ever managed to convince Her to do anything. “She’s our best line to Lilith-“

“That can’t be true.” 

Dean blinked at Her. “You got a better idea?”

“No. But I could find one.”

“You planning to find it in the car?”

She scowled. “Shut up-“

“Look, you-“ Dean sighed, running a hand over his face. “You don’t need to give it to Ruby. But you need to come inside.”

Her eyes narrowed, Her mouth opening to probably say something harsh and firm along the lines of shove it up your ass, Winchester, you don’t tell me what to do, but Dean pushed on before She could. 

“Please?” He watched Her carefully, trying not to get lost in how She was blinking at him, how he could move just a few inches and brush the hair off Her face, trace his fingers over her parted lips. “Can’t just leave you alone in the car at 3am. You never know when more demons might jump out of the bushes, sweetheart.”

“It’s three in the-“ She cut Herself off with a yawn, and God, she could be real damn cute when She wasn’t glaring at him. 

“C’mon, Princess.” Dean nodded to the motel room, hoping She was too tired to hear the affection in his voice. “Let’s go.”

When She pushed herself to her feet, Dean’s hand almost shot out to rest on Her lower back and guide her inside.

He regained control of his body at the last second, and flinched back. He was falling again. Further and further every time, because he always thought he’d reached the deepest part of this strange pull to Her, and he was always wrong. 

She didn’t see it. Didn’t see how he recoiled from Her body. Shit, Dean hoped She hadn’t seen it. That might be the line crossed—might be something She took as Dean hating her, when he couldn’t, he didn’t know how—and Dean didn’t want to lose Her. He would. He’d have to.

But not now.

Not when She was listening to him. Not when he could feel something start to bloom to the right of his heart, because She was trusting him. Against all odds and logic and reason, She was trusting Dean. He didn’t understand it. He never did. But this was good, and it would all be gone soon regardless, and Dean can’t be allowed to have something so good just to break it, but he also couldn’t live with himself if he shattered Her without having her at all.

His head was spinning around that idea. How could She still trust Dean, he was Dean, he was damned and selfish and mean to Her, but she still trusted him-

He almost missed the chorus of shouts that broke through the motel room. 

She flying at Ruby, knife in hand and eyes slightly crazed, blocked only by Sam jumping in Her path and holding Her back as Ruby scrambled away.

“What the fuck-“

“Let go of me!” She was screaming, thrashing in Sam’s hold and watching Ruby with a slightly crazed expression. “Sam- Fucking let go- I- I can’t-“

Sam said Her name, his voice in the calming tone he used on the vics. “That’s just Ruby, she’s an ally-“

“Just an ally?” Ruby shot him a glare. “Ouch, Sammy, I thought we were friends-“

“I- Maybe wait until after I calm her down to start yelling at me-“ Sam cut himself off with a groan as She elbowed him in the gut, but didn’t waver his hold. “Fuck-“

“Let- Sam, let me go- I need to- fuck- Dean!” She screamed for him, and whatever daze Dean had been shocked into was destroyed by the sound of it. “Dean, it’s a- Dean-“

“Fucking hell,” Ruby shook her head slightly, her back still pressed to the wall, her body a little more rigid than Dean had seen it before. “She’s a dramatic one, isn’t she-“

“Don’t talk about her like that.” Dean snapped, giving Ruby a firm, harsh, don’t fucking test me, bitch, glower before taking Her face between his hands, lowering his voice until only She could really hear it. “You need to calm down, Princess-“

She shook Her head, hair sliding over Her brow, and Dean had a striking realization that this was the closest he’d been to Her in over two years. 

“Dean, she’s- If- It’s wrong- Something’s wrong-“

“Ruby’s a demon,” he said Her name carefully, scanning over Her open features. “You knew that-“

“I- I’m not-“ She shook Her head, Her voice more panicked by the second. “It’s wrong, Dean, something’s wrong-“

“I know. Just, son of a bitch-“

He gave in. Dean let his control slip just a little, gave into his every deeply rooted and natural instinct, and ran his thumb down Her nose.

The effect was almost immediate. Her eyes closed slowly, the tension leaving Her expression and body as she half-slumped into him, and this was everything Dean had been trying to avoid, but he also couldn’t ignore how his own bones felt lighter in his body, how the world felt bigger—in a relieving, colorful and bright way that made Dean’s head not feel like a weight on his neck—because She wasn’t freaking out.

He moved Her to the bed without a word, letting Her lie flat on her back and curling his fingers to stop himself from falling further—from tracing Her cheekbones and tucking Her hair behind her ears—and only managed to remember they weren’t alone in the whole universe because Ruby coughed behind him.

“What the hell was that-“

“She must have, uh-“ Sam swallowed, glancing to Her on the bed as he said Her name. “Are you-“

“I’m fine.” She muttered, eyes still closed as She twisted a ring on her finger. “Forgot she was a demon. Sorry.”

Lie.

That was a lie.

Dean frowned at Her, keeping his voice level and casual. “How’d you manage to remember-“

“I must have flashed my eyes.” Ruby jumped in, and she hadn’t moved from her spot on the wall. “Happens sometimes.”

Sam shot Dean a confused, slightly questions look, and Dean gave a small shake of his head. 

“I’ve never seen you do that shit by accident, Ruby-“

“Well you don’t look at me, Dean, so kindly stop being an ass and have your girlfriend hand over the arrowhead.”

Dean scowled, but couldn’t bring himself to properly protest the girlfriend thing. Not when his brain was still in a scratching loop of Her face so close, Her warm cheeks under his hands, the intoxicating smell of that goddamn fruit dragging him higher and higher-

“No.” She muttered from the bed, and when Her eyes opened they found Dean’s so fast he’d have thought he was a magnet. “It’s staying with me.”

Ruby’s eyes narrowed as she pushed off the wall, Dean body moved a slight inch to the side—just enough to stop Ruby if she tried something on his- his whatever She was—and Sam sighed.

“Oh, shit.”

“What do you mean, no?” Ruby sneered, taking a slow step forward. “I sent you to get it for me, you can’t just keep it-“

“You ever heard of finders keepers?” Her voice was bored, and whatever panic Ruby’s black eyes had sparked in Her seemed to have vanished entirely. “This is that.”

Ruby scoffed. “That doesn’t work here, you spoiled brat-“

Something hot filled Her eyes, and Dean felt like something was rotting in his chest. 

“That’s rude.” She cut Ruby off with a shrug, nothing in Her tone shifting, but Her eyes remained different. Dean wasn’t sure anyone else had noticed. “And I’m sorry, but I’ve never been good at being peer pressured. Try again later.”

“Later? Are you-“ Ruby whipped around to snap at Sammy. “Make her give me my arrowhead.”

“I- uh-“ Sam glanced to Dean, his face filled with worry. “I’m not-“

“Shut it, Ruby.” Dean grunted, and Sam’s whole body seemed to slump with relief. “If her majesty says no arrowhead, you don’t get an arrowhead.”

Ruby glared at him. “Are you fucking kidding me-“

“I dunno,” Dean looked to Her with raised brows, and he could’ve sworn he saw Her mouth tug slightly upwards. “You kidding, sweetheart?”

“Not really, no.”

“Alright.” He shrugged, turning back to Ruby with a shrug. “You heard the lady. No arrowhead.”

Ruby’s jaw twitched. “This is stupid, I mean, even for you, Dean-“

“It’s not stupid.” She snapped from the bed, and Dean glanced over to find Ruby on the end of one of Her coldest, most threatening glares. “I’m holding onto it. No one else.”

“You could try and take it from her,” Dean suggested, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I’ll warn you, she plays it real fast and loose with that knife.”

There was a long, silent stand-off—Sammy shifting on his feet in the background, looking around the group like he was trying to work out which bomb in a pile would go off first—and Ruby caved first.

“Fine.” Ruby sighed, shooting Her a glare. “Be a fucking child. In the meantime, we need to go back to how Sam said you three got jumped by demons.”

“Jumped is a strong word,” She muttered, arms wrapping around Her stomach. “More like snuck up on-“

“This isn’t a joke.” Ruby snapped. “If demons are following you, it’s because of the arrowhead, which means more will be coming if we don’t do something about it.”

She sat up on the bed, an odd and unreadable expression on Her face, but before Dean could ask what the hell it was for, Sam was talking.

“They were- uh-“ He looked to Dean and Her, his voice filled with slight nerves. “They were green? The demons-“

“Green?” Ruby stared at Sam, the almost frightened look returning to her face. “Sam, what the hell do you mean they were green-“

“He means they were green, genius.” Dean muttered, rolling his eyes. “Green smoke, green eyes. Green-“

“Demons.” Ruby was shaking her head, the movement almost frantic. “For- God, for fuck’s sake, can you two not making anything easy-“

“Do you know what they are?” She was fully sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing Her palm with a thumb as Her attention fixed on Ruby. “The green demons, have you heard of them-“

Ruby let out a dry laugh. “Of course I’ve heard of them. They, shit, they’re like nightmares. In hell we use them to scare little baby demons into brushing their fucking teeth-“

Dean frowned. “Hold up, you’ve got baby demons-“

“Obviously not, dumbass, I’m just trying to drive home how fucked we are-“

She took a long breath, pushed off the bed, and Dean was worried he was going insane. He thought he saw Ruby fucking flinch at Her movement.

“Ruby.” She said, and that was the tone She used on a hunt. When She wasn’t looking for anyone to argue with Her, and wasn’t going to give way for the opportunity. “What are the green demons.”

“Hell’s Assassins.” Ruby said, her words pushed through teeth. “They do things that are above every other demon’s pay grade, usually staying in the shadows and only showing themselves when there’s no other option. If they’re out now, that means, shit-“

“We’re screwed.” Sammy muttered, and Ruby nodded.

“Royally fucked. Our best bet is throwing them off the trail.” Ruby sighed, started to ramble about how if they could convince the green-eyed douchebags that they’d taken the arrowhead somewhere else and dropped it, maybe they could buy enough time to figure out how to avoid them once they worked out it had been a trick, but Dean wasn’t listening.

He was looking at Her. 

And She looked horrible.

Drop dead gorgeous—just as She always was—but horrible. Sick. She looked truly, awfully, deeply sick again. Sunken and afraid and small, curled into Herself and eye screwed tight, and this was worse than any of the fear because Dean felt like he needed to do something, but he wasn’t a healer, he’d break Her further and She’d leave for good once more, and it would kill him. He was an asshole, and if She walked away now—right as he was starting to see parts of him that had been hollow and cracked fuse back together, brighter and stronger than before—it would kill Dean before the contract even got the chance to catch up with him.

But Her obvious pain was clawing at Dean’s throat and burning over his skin, he needed to fix it, needed to make things better for Her, everything had to be better for Her-

“I’ll take Sam, then.” Ruby’s words cut through his thoughts, and Dean turned with a scowl.

“Take Sam where-“

“To drive off the demons, you meat-headed idiot-“

“Shut up.” She snapped from the bed, and Dean wasn’t imagining it. Ruby flinched. The bitch was actually fucking afraid of Her.

Which was understandable. 

She could be scary. 

And right now, with Her furiously beautiful features and firm glare, She was downright terrifying.

“Don’t talk to him like that,” She muttered. “And you’re not just taking Sam-“

“I’m- I think it’s a good plan.” Sam scratched his neck, shooting Her an apologetic look. “I mean, she’s right, Ruby. Talk to Dean like that again and I won’t hold her back when she tries to carve your eyes out, but I’ll go with you. For the team.”

The team. They were a team. And She and Sam were standing up for him, and cared about him enough to maul Ruby or put up with her for an extended amount of time, and this exactly what Dean was afraid of-

“You two will have to go on lockdown,” Ruby snapped, and Dean didn’t miss how she was standing a little too tall. Too guarded. “Buddy system to get food, doors shut day and night, no one in or out that’s not me or Sammy-“

Sam frowned. “Don’t call me that. Or I’m not driving these demons off with you.”

“Well, Sammy, you don’t really have a choice. Just like Elizabeth and Darcy,” Ruby turned her smirk of Her and Dean. “Are going to have to hole up here. Together. Just them, all week.”

“All-“ She swallowed, and something stung at Dean’s heart at the expression on Her face. “Can’t we just go to Bobby’s-“

“In Dakota?” Ruby laughed. “We don’t have time for that. Besides, we’re taking the car-“

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Like hell you’re taking my car-““Don’t worry, Sammy will drive. Ready?” 

Sam blinked. “I- are we leaving now-“

“Like I said, we don’t have time. Those things- They’re a bigger threat than Lilith. So unless you’re going to hand over the arrowhead-“

“Not a chance.” Her chin raised slightly, and Dean couldn’t stop a smirk at the sour expression on Ruby’s face.

“Fine. Have fun on lockdown.”

Everything moved in a flash. Ruby and Sam got stopped at the door as She moved in front of it—Dean didn’t know how She was suddenly back to her usual, sharp and quick self, but he did know that Ruby froze at the sight of Her in their path—and She demanded the full, detailed plan. Ruby and Sam were going to draw the green-eyed demons away by fucking off to Oklahoma, She and Dean were going to stay here and keep the arrowhead safe, and once they were in the clear Sam and Ruby would come back. 

And before Dean could find the proper words to express how he was so fatally close to completely giving back into Her, to moving fully back into Her orbit and doing everything he’d sworn he wouldn’t—forgiving Her again, being whatever She needed him to be, trying to hold Her when he’d really be nothing more than literal dirt and blood by the end of the year—Sam and Ruby were gone.

Dean was alone again.

But this was worse.

Because he was alone with Her.

And it didn’t matter what Ruby claimed. 

That was a bigger threat than Lilith.

————

This is going to kill you. 

You should’ve protested more. Insisted that you and Dean didn’t need to go on lockdown together, that there had to be other options.

You couldn’t think of other options, but there had to be some. 

Dean wouldn’t have let you stay alone. You had to stay with the arrowhead. There was no world where you’d let Dean go off with Ruby. You didn’t even love Sam going off with Ruby, and she’d only been insulting him while casting a broader net for Dean. 

Nobody should go with Ruby. But you had a feeling she wouldn’t have allowed that, just as you wouldn’t have allowed her to take Dean. 

And you’re certain she’s not your biggest fan either, given how she flinched at the sight of you, even before you tried to kill her.

You’d almost let the Darkness slip there. If Sam hadn’t held you back, you would’ve let it rush out and stomp Ruby down to nothing, because you’d never seen a demon that hideous. They all had horrid, twisted and marred faces, shifting and moving in the smoke, but Ruby had been awful. Glinting and rolling and stained along her vessel like a disease.

And maybe she was just an ugly bitch.

But maybe you’d have to keep an eye on her. She’d wormed her way into Sam and Dean’s life like a parasite, and you now had to ensure they came out the other side with all their organs intact.

And that’s not your job. Not your place.

But you’re going to do it anyway. 

You have to repay them somehow. For putting up with this. For putting up with you, and the danger you brought just by daring to try and breathe in their proximity. 

In Dean’s proximity.

You can’t stop drawing closer and closer to Dean.

And you know he hates you. He has every right to, even if you don’t know why. You have a theory it starts and ends with John, and how you never said goodbye, but it doesn’t matter.

You’ll spend your time with him trying to keep yourself on a leash, and pretending you’re not already addicted to his voice and smell and face once more. 

You’d never truly been clean of him. You’d never stopped dreaming of him, never stopped wanting him, and the White had never hesitated to whine and buck and scream for you to turn around and return to where you should be. 

Wherever Dean was.

But one month back, he hates you, and you’ve never needed him more. Because he makes it easier. The pain is harsher and sharper when it comes—on worse cases and when you don’t sleep for long nights that never seem to end, until color breaks the horizon and Dean is at your side once more—but every waking moment doesn’t feel vile. Sometimes you breathe and it’s not poison in your lungs. Your heart beats and it’s a steady time that isn’t shredding itself apart. Dean brushes past you in the hall, or meets your eyes in the Impala’s mirror, and snaps your name like he cares about, and everything turns silver.

So you can’t stop trying to fix it. Dean so plainly loathes you, but then he’ll smirk at you, or laugh at a joke, or pull you away from danger, and you’ll fall further into himo. It fuels you. To patch this vast crack between you with whatever you can find, scavenging for thread that isn’t frayed in heated moments—when he cares, or when he’s furious—that fuse this back together a little more.

And God, it’s so unhealthy. How you’re scrambling to fix something you’d never had a right to break in the first place, especially when Dean doesn’t even care to see it fixed himself. When, even if you manage to salvage this, it will crumble once more when the Darkness gets a full hold of you, and everything crashes down. 

But knowing that had never stopped you.

And it’s Dean. And he’s magnetic and strong and still somehow the only certain thing in the universe. You’re drowning in him every second, and the whole world has become sharp and stained in gold because he’s right there and you could touch him if you tried, so you can’t just give up. He’ll snap and you’ll snap back, but you won’t leave. 

You can’t leave.

When Dean’s finally here, you don’t think you could pull fully away if you tried.

Now would be the time to learn. When you know that the demons hunting you are Hell’s fucking assassins, and they’re here for you. You’ll let Sam and Dean believe it’s the arrowhead—and you have a sense that Ruby is already aware it’s not—but it’s you. They’d been there for you, and the Darkness had started to seep out no matter how you chewed your tongue red or dug your nails to your skin, and nobody was safe with you but you still couldn’t leave.

Not when you’re locked down.

With Dean.

You won’t let him touch the arrowhead. You’d caught him, the first day, trying to shift through your jacket and pull it out while you’d been taking a shower. You’d cleared your throat, your arms crossed over your chest, and he’d turned with a wide-eyed, guilty expression. 

“I- uh-“

“It’s not nice to snoop, Winchester.” You’d said, giving him a pointed look. “And it’s not there anyway.”

He’d blinked at you, but recovered quickly. Charming, boy-ish grin returning, expression a picture of mock innocence, so painfully unaware of how the White in your chest was begging you to close the space and just hold him-

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart, I was just looking for something. Is a guy not allowed to look for things anymore?”

You’d raised your brows at him. “What were you looking for?”

“Gun.”

“In my jacket?”

He’d paused at that. “Thought it was my jacket.”

“I didn’t know you wore women’s jackets, Deano.” You’d taken at step back into the bathroom, reaching for your spare towel as you continued. “You are not a good liar.”

He’d scowled. “I’m a freakin’ fantastic liar-“

You’d hummed, shooting him a look of amusement. “Sure.”

“I’m better than you are.” He’d snapped. “I always have you figured out, Princess. And I’m lying right fucking now.”

It had been hard not to wince at that one. Dean was better than you were. Everyone was.

And he could be lying, and you don’t even know about what, but he could be. And you’d deserve it. Whether it’s a punishment or just another way for Dean to hate you, you’d deserve it for making everything so much worse.

So you’d sighed, grabbed the arrowhead from folded towel, and held it up for him to see.

“Just- don’t try and take this. Don’t touch it.” You held Dean’s gaze, and there had been something hot inside of it. Something that seemed more turned on him than aimed at you.

It still hurt.

“Please.” You’d added, just because he really couldn’t touch it. “Dean, I need you to say-“

“I won’t touch it,” he’d grunted. “Bossy.”

And the White had relaxed. A little less danger for Dean to be in. 

Another thing to take and let ignite you from within. To grab onto and cast around your body, until those fractured pieces could grow a little further back together, and the world could be a little more colorful.

Days later, you’re still keeping the arrowhead under your pillow. Dean hasn’t tried to take it, but there’s no other place for it to be.

It has to stay with you.

Because whatever Ruby thinks it is, she’s wrong.

There had been a brief moment of terror, when Sam had said made to kill powerful things, but then you’d looked at it and you’d known that wasn’t the truth. The weight over your chest and pressing on your lungs had been relieved, but only for a second. 

Then you’d looked closer, and it was something far worse.

There were four languages carved into the jade, and one of them was shifting and strange the same way your thoughts always did when you created a ritual, the same way the words women of the high always moved on the paper. You’d told Sam it was simply witch symbols, and it hadn’t been a full lie. They were symbols, just as all letters were. And they were likely carved by a witch.

But they were likely more. 

Because this thing was powerful. 

And it fed the Darkness more than anything you’d seen before.

Everything was louder and bigger and sharper when you held it in your hands. Even Dean’s presences didn’t fully soften the sheer vastness of everything when the arrowhead was in your hands. The world was still silver, but it wasn’t blurred. It was harsh and bright and violent inside of you, barely contained and pressing up under your skin to be freed.

And then there was Dean. How when you hold the arrowhead, he’s not just leaving stains. 

He’s branded into you. 

It’s visible. You can feel it. You can fucking taste him, lingering in the back of your throat despite never having been that close to him before. He’s embedded in your chest and marked all over you in places that he hasn’t touched in years. There’s something faint golden painted all over your body—tangled in your hair and glowing in your guts—and it spurs all those fractured pieces into an overwhelming frenzy. They grasp onto every bit of light the gold provides and toss it all over your body until even the Darkness feels like it’s blended into the White and everything is all just silver.

But then you drop the arrowhead, your hand growing weak from just how fucking much everything is, and it all becomes numbed pain and shifting gold on the couch and Dean’s bed.

So whatever the arrowhead is, Ruby can’t have it. And Dean can’t know what it is, or why you keep staring at him with a tight frown when you hold it, watching his… everything. How he’s like a walking, breathing pillar of gold.

“Take a picture, Princess.” He mutters from the table, his attention on the laptop Sam had left you. “It’ll last longer.”

You scowl, shoving the arrowhead back under your pillow. “Shut up.”

He does.

You don’t think it’s because you told him to.

About three days of your lockdown have passed. Dean’s barely speaking to you.

It’s eating you alive.

Every day has been the same. You exist in Dean’s gravity, and he doesn’t even know you can’t pull away, and time passes in barely a crawl. You watch the tiny box TV and flip through the motel’s provided magazines and your own books, while Dean drinks and hunches over Sam’s laptop.

Half your trash is beer bottles, and you haven’t even had one. You still don’t drink—now doesn’t really feel like the time to start—and Dean probably remembers that, but it still worries you. You know he’s had a rough two years, that he had to watch John die, and Sam almost die, and fight Azazel, and deal with the Devil’s Gate, but this seems worse. Dean drank before.

He didn’t quite drink like this. 

And he still won’t really look at you. 

The most you get from him is grunts about food, strange looks that end the moment you catch his eyes on yours, and muttered words about how Sam sent a message, and he and Ruby are still alive.

It’s moves the Darkness to an edge. Everything is still silver, but the Darkness is still a part of that, and it’s volatile. Hateful and wrathful. Cracking over your ribs and rotten on your tongue, and at night—when Dean snores in his bed and you stare at the ceiling with your knife in hand—you feel so fucking sick once more.

And this is another one of those nights. The day had been the same as all the others, and Dean’s fast asleep across the room, and you allow yourself to look at him.

He’s still so pretty. There are a few more lines on his face and a slightly heavier expression on his face, but he’s still Dean. Still the best thing you’ve ever seen, and the only one that had ever managed to make you falter. To sit down and want to stay there, to have that strong, unexplainable pull that makes you watch him in the dark like a creep, that drags you down, down, down when he’s only existing near you.

It’s just as terrifying as it’s always been. How Dean is just more. How he was like a phantom behind you in the years apart, and how he’s all the world in front of you. How there had been moments—while you’d been apart with no belief you’d ever fall back into him again, when you’d skipped every town you set foot in and never allowed yourself to stop moving—where someone at a bar had smirked at you and asked for your name, and you’d given it, and when they’d repeated it with a drawl and heated promise in their eyes, all you’d been able to think was not Dean.

And he’s right there. In the dark.

And you’re not running.

But you are growing sicker. Watching him makes the White rear its head, and that sparks the Darkness, and Dean has always been able to set you off more than anyone else, and he’s just lying there and looking like everything you could ever need, and you’re losing control.

You push out of your bed—holding your breath and taking light steps on the creaking floor—and move to the bathroom. 

You can’t use your usual methods. Dean would wake from the sound or notice the blood in the morning, and you don’t need that right now. So you take the second-best choice and turn the sink on, letting the hot water flow until steam is rising from it, and run your hands under it.

Your skin feels like it’s raw and peeling. It fucking hurts, and you might not be able to really turn a page in the morning without wincing. 

But the Darkness sinks back down.

So it works.

You bow your head, eyes squeezed shut, and push on. You need the Darkness to go be tamed, to go so deep into your body that you’ll be able to go at least the whole day with no fear of losing it, with no fear of hurting-

“You shouldn’t do that.”

When your eyes shoot open, he’s right there. Dean’s frowning at you from the door, supporting himself with one hand on the frame and rubbing his eyes as he speaks.

“’S not good for you.”

“Yeah, well,” you narrow your eyes at him, furious at yourself for not locking the door, furious at him for thinking he has any right to tell you what to do. He doesn’t know you’d follow him anywhere, and trust him with your soul in his hands. As far as Dean’s concerned, you’re nothing, so he doesn’t get to tell you what to do. “You shouldn’t drink.”

He blinks at you. “What.”

“Half the motel room is beer bottles.” You snap. “And if you’re allowed to do that, I’m allowed to do this.”

“You-“ Dean jaw twitches, his eyes darting to your hands, still pressed until the steaming water. “There’s no fucking reason for you to be doing that shit-“

“Is there a reason for you to drink?”

He scowls. “That’s different, Princess-“

“Is it?” You hum, looking back to your hands. They hurt. You won’t pull them away. “How?”

“That’s not your business- It just fuckin’ is-“

“So this isn’t yours.” You shrug, letting out a long, slow breath. “Go back to bed, Dean.”

There’s a long moment where you can still see him in the doorway. You think he’s going to argue, or push you, or keep trying to convince you to step back from the sink. 

But the floorboards creak, and he’s gone. You follow him, a handful of minutes later.

Neither of you mention it in the morning. 

“We need to get more food,” Dean mutters that afternoon. “But Sammy took my fucking car-“

“There’s the shop down the street we used last time.” You don’t look up from your book, because if you do, you’ll meet Dean’s eyes and fall a little further. “It’s like, a five-minute walk.”

“I don’t wanna use that place, they didn’t have bacon-“

“They were out of bacon. Three days ago.” You sigh, glaring at the words on your page. You’ve read them ten times before, and you’re getting bored, but Dean will only talk to you about necessity so repetition is your only option. “I’m sure they’ve restocked.”

Dean mutters something under his breath you can’t hear, and don’t really want to. 

But you’re right. When you’ve dressed and walked down to the tiny, acceptably useful grocery store—Dean one pace behind you, your body leaning slightly back as if it can’t help but try to be a little closer to him where it’s allowed—they’ve restocked on bacon.

“I’ve got a list of what we need,” you’re trying to ignore how he’s shifting at your side, like he can’t wait to move away. You wish you could blame him. “Find whatever else you want, and try not to go overboard.”

“You can’t go overboard on food, Princess.” Dean’s words are casual. Easy. Your heart skips and beat then freezes in your chest. “You try not to get lost.”

You glare up at him. “I am not going to get lost, asshole-“

He’s already walking away.

It takes all your willpower not to chase after him. 

The grocery store really is small, and you don’t need much. One of the—countless—amazing things about Dean is how he’s a man of habit. Even after two years apart, you can still predict him like he’s the moon in the sky. Beer, jerky, the bacon he was so whiny about, a few pre-made pies. A lot of butter and meatballs because you refuse to not take advantage of having a real, small kitchen for the first time in years, and Dean will be eating with you whether the asshole likes it or not.

And you don’t know where he’s wandered off to at first, but you realize quickly it’s not as far as you thought. 

Because you glance over your shoulder at the exact right time, and Dean’s there. Half hidden behind a shelf, glaring at a bag of vegetable broth that is so obviously a cover, you almost laugh.

You don’t know what the fuck he’s doing.

You’re too starved and desperate for his proximity—how easily everything is bright and silver in your body—to confront him. 

So the rest of the grocery trip passes exactly like that.

You wander the isles to cross every item off your list. Dean stays several, poorly hidden paces behind you like some kind of oddly trained guard dog. You indulge him and pretend he’s being stealthy, when in reality he’s just a massive man very obviously following you around in a grocery store. 

At one point you catch his eye and raise your brows—because you just can’t fucking help it—and you could swear he blushes before he looks away.

This is so strange. He’s barely looked at you all week, and suddenly he’s doing this.

You wish you could bring yourself to care about that a little more.

Around the canned goods isle—chicken soup because it’s easy—a woman approaches Dean. She’s not a demon, just a pretty human with soft eyes that are fixed on your—not your—Dean, but you still feel something stabbing and biting in your gut when he even looks at her.

It’s pathetic. You have no claim there, no valid reason to want to march over and link your arm through Dean’s like you used to, to suddenly wish he’d just fucking stop the whole act and come stand at your side, but that doesn’t stop the feeling

Or the way the whole world—in and out of your body—sings when Dean dismissed the woman barely a chance. When he glances at her, shrugs off her overly sweet words, and doesn’t shift at her fluttering lashes. When she shuffles off with slumped shoulders, and Dean keeps up his stupid little charade of trailing you through the store.

He probably was just being cautious. You’re both a little wired and vigilant given the whole situation. 

But those featured pieces still bloom and grow along your body. And you can’t bring yourself to be bitter about it.

Neither of you mention anything when you meet back at the checkout isle. Dean shoves his hands in his pockets with a short nod and grunt of done, stays his usual one step behind you, and pretends nothing odd happened at all.

“I got you one case of beer,” you say as you approach the front of the line. “If you want more, I’d go get it now-“

“One is fine.” He leans slightly forward, and you can feel the heat from his body, and he smells like grass and spice- “Where the hell is my bacon.”

You turn to glare at him, and fuck, that’s a mistake. He’s very close, and you can see the slight crook of his nose and how full his lips are, and if you moved your hand up a little you could trace along his jaw-

“Did you forget my fucking bacon-“

You pull yourself together, and give him a flat look. “Such little faith, Deano-“

“I’m not seein’ it-“

You shift around the basket, pushing items aside as you take a step forward, revealing the three packs of bacon and placing them on the checkout belt. 

“It was the first thing I got,” you shrug, moving the rest of the food out of the basket. “Add whatever you grabbed to the belt.”

He hadn’t grabbed anything. You were pretty fucking certain Dean hadn’t actually gotten anything, because he’d spent the whole time following you. The only reason he missed the bacon was because you’d gotten it first, and he’d been-

Getting something. Dean reaches into his jacket and pulls out a few candy bars and fruits, dropping them onto the belt without a glance in your direction.

“What-“

“They’re for you.” He mutters. He’s still not looking at you. “You never freakin’ remember to get yourself something.”

You blink at him, and nod slowly. 

He got you things. He’d followed you through the grocery store and got you things, but he still won’t look at you. He’ll barely speak to you.

Another day passes, and Dean won’t just look at you.

You’re not sleeping. And that’s no different than normal, but this feels worse. When it had been you and Jo—before your party got crashed—Jo had agreed to do shifts. She’d known what was happening, known that there was no world where you’d sleep easy, especially not with another person in the room, and she’d talked you into rotating schedules. 

It had worked.

And in the past month with Sam and Dean, you’d had your own room. If demons burst through the door, you’d be the only target. 

But now you’re putting Dean in danger. 

So you don’t sleep. You keep yourself functional with quick naps in the middle of the day—when Dean’s awake and not looking at you—but you can feel cracks starting to form over your head. Somethings set to snap. 

You’re going to break. 

You can feel it coming, like a storm moving in and pressure shifting in the air. 

Your only hope is to hold it down. You try to hold it down. The hot water is running out faster, and the skin around your nail is raw and bloody, and Dean still won’t look at you-

And your guard slips.

When they arrive, you’re not ready. 

Your head is a little fogged. You’d left your knife on your bed, in your jacket from when you’d gone to the motel lobby for more toilet paper. Your back is to the door because the sun is too bright, and it’s giving you a headache. You’re curled on the couch because everything hurts, and Dean’s still in the lobby grabbing ice and you wish he’d just finish the fuck up, because you need him close but you’re never allow to say that- 

You’re too tired to think anything of the first bang on the door. It’s likely just housekeeping, even though you’d put the do not disturb sign up, and carried the toilet paper back yourself.

The second bang makes you frown, and you can’t see anyone outside.

Third bang. Your voice is dripping with exhaustion when you raise it, trying not to flinch at the fourth bang. 

“Sorry, we have do not disturb-“

“Don’t be sorry, darlin’.” A drawling, almost honeyed voice drawls from the other side of the door, and your blood runs cold. “And I can promise this ain’t gonna be disturbin’ if you make it easy.”

You try to launch to the bed, to grab your knife, but the door crashes open before your jelly-like body can even get off the bed.

You manage to scramble to the edge of the mattress, grabbing the arrowhead and shoving it into your jeans, but you’re barely turning before the violent, rioting and furious green grabs you by the throat and yanks you up-

Instinct kicks in, and you ram your knee into the vessels gut. It’s enough for the grip to falter, enough for you to pry his grip off your neck with shaking finger and scramble back, but there are three more and one grabbing your arms and the second has it’s knife aimed right into your chest-

“Dean!” It’s the only thing you can think to say. Scream. Pray. “Dean, I- Dean!”

You hear a gunshot go off, and a choked sound leaves your throat, but no abnormal pain comes.

The demon behind you slumps, you got right down with its weight, and the one with the knife stumbles right over your head.

You’re still too tired to fight properly. But you’re not useless. You slam your body into the knifed demon’s legs, and roll away as he topples down. 

Then you look up, see Dean’s jaw clenched as he wrestles with the fourth demon, and demon you’d kneed earlier is coming up right behind him with the knife-

It wouldn’t have killed you. If the demon on the floor had gotten you, you’d have screamed and shattered but lived. 

You don’t think Dean will live.

And the rush kicks in.

You launch yourself at the demon that’s behind Dean, wrapping your arms around it’s neck and squeezing with all the strength in your body.

Dean turns with wide eyes and a roar of your name, and you rear all your body weight forward. Slamming your demon into the one that Dean’s had been fighting, because the dumbass hadn’t knocked him down and he’d been barreling at Dean like a tank. 

You jump off right in time, and Dean catches you. Steadying you on your feet and scanning over your face like he’s looking for something, opening his mouth to say something but shutting it closed when the still conscious demon on the floor start to stumble upwards.

Dean shoves you behind him and draws his gun once more, the shot echoing around the motel room as you dunk under his arm and run to the bed-

Dean shouts your name, and you can feel his gaze searing into your skull. “What the fuck are you-“

You grab your knife—jumping up on the bed and spinning it in your hand—and launch forward, grabbing Dean’s head and shoving it down as you land on the first demon’s shoulder’s driving your knife right into its chest. 

These vessels weren’t going to live. You hadn’t bothered to tell Sam and Dean at the gas station—it was already a shit day, and you didn’t want to be fucking bummer—but you’d learned the hard way that the moment a green demon possessed a human, they were done. That ripping and tearing violence inside of them killed them the same as any bullet or blade. 

So you don’t pull punches.

And you tear your knife right down the demon’s skin.

Dean catches you again, when the demon under you collapses. Holds you right to his side as he shoots the last demon—crawling up behind you with a blade angled at your calf—and keeping you there in the long moments after.

He looks like an avenging angel or something else stupidly beautiful. The arrowhead is still a weight in your pocket, and Dean’s muttering words you can barely hear over the ringing in your ears, and he’s glowing and golden and powerful—rioting in an almost righteous way, in stark contrast to the vicious fury of the green demons, rocketing out of their vessels and screeching out the windows—and you put him in danger.

Dean could’ve died. You could’ve gotten him killed.

You could’ve killed him.

And suddenly you’re not your own anymore. The rush fades and it’s all too real and Dean’s right here, but you could’ve lost him and had no one to blame but yourself because you’re cancerous and evil and wrong and can’t just save him—save something so permanent and beautiful that you have no right to be protected or served by in any way—because you’re the bad thing, you’re the sickness, you’re worse than the demons. And you’re everywhere. You’re the jagged pain of the shattered windows and the ache of the cracked walls and the shredded fever of the torn blankets and ruined couch-

“Hey,” Dean’s muttering your name, his voice low and firm, and it’s the only thing in the world that isn’t painful. “You’re good. We’re both alive, Princess, don’t- Shit, don’t cry-“

Something warm but not burning is cupping your face, and tracing your cheeks, brushing away a white-hot stain that had begun to wash out of your stinging eyes-

You are crying. And Dean—those were his hands, touching you carefully, like he was afraid you’d shatter in his hold when you’ve never felt more whole—is wiping away your tears.

You’re fucking pathetic.

And you can’t stop yourself leaning into his touch, falling into his focused certainty, and letting out a shaky breath when he starts to pet down your nose and the world sinks right back into your body.

You’re only you again.

But you’re still Dean a little, too. He’s so golden and you’re molten silver a little to the right of your heart, and those fractured pieces are surging up and around you, blooming and furious and bright, so fucking bright-

It’s good Dean pulls away right then. You’d been seconds from fusing fully back together, from something not snapping apart, but into place.

You already too far gone.

You still need to be able to pretend you’re not completely, irreversibly his. 

Neither of you speak. You don’t really see a reason to. Dean just watches you, and you watch him, and then you’re both moving.

The motel is trashed. Cracks mark up the wall, the bed and couch have been flipped, the door was fully crashed through, and there’s really no universe where anyone who sees this doesn’t call the cops. Ruby checked in, and the room was under her fake name and credit card, so all you and Dean need to do is leave. 

Dean starts to gather everything together—including your blood-stained jacket, the arrowhead stuffed safely in the jacket—as he calls Sam, telling him what happened, and that you’re skipping town. You head outside while that fun conversation happens, surveying the cars and picking the fanciest, fastest one you can find. 

“No.” Dean snaps, glowering down at you in the driver’s seat. “You’re fucking begging for attention in that this thing, sweetheart, cops will catch us in an hour-“

“So we’ll drop this at 59 minutes.” You say, holding his gaze. “And take the train from there. This car only needs to get us the furthest away, not fully out.”

Dean scowls. “I am not taking the train-“

“Yeah, you are.” You nod your head to the trunk. “Pack up and haul ass, car boy. Now.”

You get a mutter of fucking trains, but Dean does what you’re telling him and soon you’re bound for Chicago, staring at Dean from across the train compartment.

You’d gotten a compartment. And a bed.

One bed.

You’re going to stab someone. You did not pay almost two thousand dollars on a fake credit card for a double private room, only to be stuck in your most beautiful, terrifying nightmare.

Sleeping next to Dean.

You’d been careful. You’d been so fucking careful, for so many years, to not give in to being that more for Dean. Because it would never be enough. Dean could’ve flirt and tease all he wanted, he never wouldn’t convinced you to share his bed because you’d never just share his bed. It would’ve been a catalyst. Something would’ve shifted in you, and there would never be any coming back from Dean. There was the whole, vast, amazing and horrible world, and then there was Dean, and he could maybe be yours.

He’d never be yours. You weren’t something someone wanted to have. 

But that being the truth didn’t stop the longing or craving or need. It never had. So you’d made it clear that you barely slept in the same room, and you never shared a bed.

And almost six years of effort—four if you didn’t count those two years apart, which was still far too many years—were crumbled because you said room for two people, the ticket lady added who are sharing a bed in her head, and you’d only caught it when it was too late.

It could be fine. You feel like you’re about to pass out but you’re also far too paranoid to sleep, Dean had been up at the crack of dawn to steal all the hot water and it’s almost midnight, and this is a twenty-one hour ride so eventually you’ll both need to sleep. 

You could stagger it. Dean could sleep, then you could sleep. 

But then he’d realizes you don’t actually sleep, and that would be a whole thing that you didn’t need. You know you need rest. You are perfectly aware sleep is good for you.

Every single nerve is alight in your body with fear that a demon will crash through that door as well, the Darkness is one wrong nightmare or sound from bursting out of your body, and guilt is swollen in your stomach and sticking in your throat as one single thought loops in your head.

You could’ve gotten Dean killed. 

He could’ve died. He’s fine—his arms crossed as the glares at the room around you, splayed out over the compartment’s chairs—but Dean could’ve died. Because of you. Because you’d dragged the green demons there, and you’d put him in danger, and you’d been useless, you’d barely held it together, you hadn’t held it together, and Dean had been there to pull you back up but what if he wasn’t-

“Stop doing that.” 

You blink at him, he jerks his head to your hands, and you realize that blood is running down your fingers. 

You hadn’t even felt it. 

And you make a choice. He needs to know. He needs to understand that you don’t mean to, you never mean to, and he’s in danger as long as he’s with you so he should run, he should kill you or put you down and then run-

“Dean.” You whisper, bracing yourself for the fallout. Telling Jo went alright, and she’d only just met you.

Dean isn’t Jo. 

He’s so much more. And even just him running might break something fundamental in your body, that lives just to the right of your heart.

He grunts. “What.”

“I- the demons-“ You stare at his hands, because you can’t stand to look at his face. Maybe those same hands will be strangling you in only seconds. You’ll find out. “I- We need to talk.”

“We’re talking right freakin’ now, Princess.”

“I know, but I-“ Deep breath. Nails in your skin. Keep it together. “They were at the motel for me. The demons, they were there for me-“

“I got that, Princess.” He grunts, and your gaze shoots up find him glowering at you, his words low and his jaw clenched. 

He knows. He’s known, or he figured it out, and it’s over but why didn’t he say anything and why aren’t you dead but why does he look like he wants to throttle you or pin you against something-

“You still have that freakin’ arrowhead.”

“I-“ You swallow, your brow furrowing as you stare at him.“What?”

“The damn arrow thing, that you wouldn’t give to Ruby-“

You shake your head, your voice growing a little stronger. “That’s not- I couldn’t give it her-“

”I’m not complaining about that, the bitch is a demon. You’d be better off trusting a damn witch or vamp.”

It’s hard not to flinch at that. You manage. “Then what are you-“

“You’re just-“ He scowls. “You can never fucking listen.”

You stare at him. “What?”

“I told you to fucking wait for me,” Dean snaps, sitting a little taller. “Those sons of bitches never would’ve even gotten to you if you’d just stayed with me.”

You don’t remember that. Your brain had been the same, blurred haze it is now, deprived of sleep and aching for Dean while only knowing that it can’t have him. 

It pokes through the fog. Dean grunting wait for me, we gotta stick together as he hunched over the ice machine, and he’d smelled so good, and you’d almost collapsed over him. 

You’d barely heard him. You’d just known you couldn’t be there, or you would’ve destroyed something that already barely held together. 

But Dean can’t know that. It will lead to more questions you’re not ready to answer, because he’d just said witch like it was barely better than demon, and just as bad as vampire.

You’re bending. You can’t.

So you raise your chin, and hold his gaze. “I didn’t hear you. And I’m fine-“

He scoffs. “You were fucking sobbing-“

“Because I just got attacked by demons-“

“Which happened,” he leans forward, his voice a hiss. “Because you didn’t listen to me. You never just fucking listen-“

You roll your eyes. “Fuck off, Winchester, you’re not my dad-“

“No. And that doesn’t matter. You don’t listen to anyone. You-“ He shakes his head, and you think he’s seeing right into you. Finally, really seeing just how wrong you are, and getting ready to deliver the killing blow with only his words. “You’re so goddamn stubborn, and you’re going to get yourself fucking killed and I won’t be there to save your ass-“

“I don’t need to save my ass.” You snap. “I’m fine, Dean. I can handle myself, and I’m stubborn because I know what the hell I’m doing-“

“You’re stubborn,” he sneers. “Because you can’t stand that sometimes, sweetheart, you’re fucking wrong. You don’t listen because you hate not being in control-“

It cuts deep. You can cut deeper. “At least people listen to me, Dean. At least I can tell people what to do, instead of following someone around like a fucking dog-“

“Well at least I never fucking run! At least I don’t leave people whenever things get hard, when they-“ His shout is pushed through his teeth, and it’s almost venomous. “You fucking run. You just goddamn vanish, and act sick, when you’re fine, just can’t fucking stomach having to deal with something instead of fucking running.”

“Are you talking about the-“ You gape at him, shaking your head. “I had to leave, asshole! I fucking had to-“

He rolls his eyes. “You never have to, you just didn’t want to deal with all of our shit, but you never- You just-“

“Azazel threatened me.” You hiss, the words falling out like vomit, before you can stop them. “He told me he’d kill Bobby if I didn’t vanish.”

Dean stares at you, and you hadn’t meant to tell him that. You’d meant, earlier, to explain what was wrong with you and leave John and Azazel fully out of it. Dean had loved his dad. You’d known that, and you’d known better than to make him face the horrid truth that John was a fucking asshole, shit-headed cunt-face of a father.

Maybe that’s why you still hadn’t mentioned that John had been a part of it. Dean already looks like he’s tearing his head apart trying to figure out if he should believe you for what you did say.

You don’t need to make this worse than you already have. For either of you.

“Azazel…” Dean trials off, shaking his head like he’s trying to physically remove something from his skin. “He fucking- what-“

“He said if I didn’t leave, he’d- He’d kill Bobby.” You let out a slow breath, scanning over Dean’s shocked expression. You’re a little worried he’s going to hurt himself, with how you can see his brain whirling behind his eyes.

There’s not a lot of color on his face.

“And you- You just-“ Dean’s throat bobs, and something flashes in his eyes. “You should’ve fucking told me, I would’ve protect you-“

You shake your head, and whatever burning anger in your body had been there moments before was gone. 

You’re really just so fucking tired.

“You have enough people to protect, Dean.” You’re looking at his hands again. Curled back into fists. You want to touch his knuckles, a little bruised and swollen from the fight. At least press ice to them, keep them from getting worse. Keep Dean from being in pain. “And I was okay. Bobby’s okay. Nothing- I didn’t want to.” You swallow, choking on a lump in your throat. “I never wanted to.”

“Bobby- He said you were sick-“

“I am.” You mutter. “Two things can be true.”

“How?”

You frown at him. “How-“

“What’s wrong with you.”

You can’t tell him. Not now. You will, when you have more courage than a martyr and you’re feeling a little less intelligent, but not now. 

Now you just give him a sad, soft smile. “My- I don’t know. I’ve never been able to figure it out.”

He nods slowly, and suddenly he won’t meet your eyes. “Sammy could look at you. He’s smart.”

“I’m smart-“

“Yeah,” he offers you his own little half-smile, and his teeth flash white in the low light of the compartment. “But you can be real dumb, Princess.”

He hasn’t said Princess like that since you returned. In a way that feels like a name, in a way that’s almost more than affectionate. Filled with an odd honor you can’t place, and tugging your own smile a little wider.

And everything blends, so easily, back to silver.

You pull out a book. Dean locks the door and starts to clean his gun, humming low music until you chuck your iPod at his face. 

He grumbles, but put his earbuds in, and starts to stretch out on the seats. 

It’s a silent decision he’s making himself. Dean will sleep on the seats, you’ll sleep on the bed.

You won’t sleep on the bed. You’ll pretend to, ignoring how he’s right there. You’ll stare at the ceiling and count the little dot on it to pass the time, and everything will be better in the morning, when Dean is—maybe, just maybe—your friend again, and he’s safe, and you’re in pain and exhausted, but that’s okay-

“Go to sleep,” Dean mutters your name, and you frown.

“I am asleep.”

You think you hear him chuckle. “Sleep more, than.”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are, De. You always are.”

You can hear his frown through the dark. “I don’t love the third degree, sweetheart-“

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Maybe. You need fuckin’ sleep.” He pauses, his voice getting slightly softer. “I’ve- You don’t sleep. You gotta sleep.”

You let out a long breath, frowning at the ceiling. “I can’t.”

“Because you’re sick?”

“Yeah.” You swallow. “It’s- Yeah.”

There’s a beat of silence, then- “What does Bobby do.”

“He-“ You swallow. “When I was younger he’d do a sweep of my room. Like a real hunt.”

“And now-“

“Nothing.”

“Oh.”

You think you can hear Dean’s brain moving, and you don’t know why this matters to him so much. It’s just sleep. You’ve lived like this forever, worse and worse over time, and eventually you’ll just pass out and everything will be fine-

“Would it help if I was there? With- uh- with my gun?”

His voice isn’t as firm as usual, and it’s almost nervous. Like he’s afraid of the answer.

And you should say no. A gun wouldn’t even do anything, not with these demons.

But you’re tired, and that always makes you weaker. And Dean’s here, and that always makes you dumber.

“Yes.” You whisper. “Please.”

You hear him moving from the seats without any further conversation, and when his weight settles beside you, his thigh presses to yours. 

It would be too much if it was Dean. If his warmth wasn’t something you’d always chased after, even when you’d both be sweating in Georgia or Texas, even when your blood had been running high and the sun had been beating down on your skin.

Up close, it’s so easy to fold into. It’s soothing, and he smells like grass and spice all around you, and when your eyes flutter open for even a second the whole world is softly glowing with gold.

It’s imprinting deeper on your body, just from how close he is. Not everywhere, but close. And the gold is sinking so far down you’ll never be able to pull it back out. Those fractured pieces are so terrifyingly close to growing fully back together, and you don’t know what you’ll become when they do.

You can’t really find it in you to care.

The sound of Dean’s snoring is like a lullaby, and the smell of his is like an anesthetic and just his presence is making the world something peaceful. 

For the first time in years, sleep comes fast, and you go down without a fight. 

And for the first time in your life, you feel truly rested when you wake up. 

End Note: Sam Winchester you are once again God’s strongest solider for not grabbing them and mashing them together like they’re barbie and ken dolls. I just know he spent his whole trip with Ruby bitching about how impossible they are. Thank you for your service my king.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[magics-neptunes-things]

Mockingjay - Part 11

Hi guys!

I'm so sorry for the delay, but between my health and all the work I have to do for my job, I almost don't know what day we are.

I'm glad for all the sweets messages and the love and supports I get for this serie though, it really means a lot ♥

There is a little bit of suspense here, I'll try not to make you wait as long as this time for the next chapter.

Please enjoy ♥

TW : Fight, injury, scorpions, death, gun, gunshot, angst.

Chapter Before

“I’m so sorry”

“Lucy, stop” Ona sighs softly.

Lucy doesn’t answer anything, she just bites her bottom lip to stay silent. But she can’t help but look at Ona’s arm and the bruise forming on it. Even if it was to save her life, she had to hit her hard enough to at least hurt the scorpion who was casually strolling in her arm.

So, Lucy just basically saved Ona’s life, but the older girl can’t get over the fact that she hit Ona. And hurt her in the process.

They are currently sitting on a blanket, Lucy scanning the ground around them with the pocket lamp to see if there are more scorpions and eventually make them leave thanks to the light.

They are sitting back to back, just to have a better view around them. Because they shouldn’t look for the scorpions only, but for the other tributes maybe too. They don’t know where Tony went and where everyone else is. Being attacked right now could be the worst fight ever.

Ona is jumping in the air from time to time, sure that she felt one of those animals running on her body. She was wrong every time and Lucy almost had a heart attack every time too.

“Are you sleeping?” Lucy asks after a moment.

“No” Ona mumbles.

She’s tired, she must admit that. But there is no world where she falls asleep and puts them both in danger right now. It’s hard to imagine how my time passed since the night fell some hours before. Ona really hopes that it will be finished soon.

Ona changes her position when she feels Lucy’s hand reach for hers, unrolling her arms that she had wrapped around her legs glued to her chest. She gladly let Lucy play with her fingers, enjoying this little closeness even here.

Ona can’t explain why, maybe because of how tired she is, but once again their reality hit her like a wall of bricks. She feels her throat tightens at the idea that they will never be able to have this kind of moment on a lovely date, for example. She doesn’t say anything though, not wanting to make Lucy sad or even alert her.

But Lucy learned to know her, and she quickly hears Ona’s unsteady breathings, even if she can’t see her silent tears.

“What’s up?” Lucy asks softly.

“Nothing” Ona breathes. “It’s stupid”

“If it makes you upset, it’s not stupid” Lucy answers, turning herself a little to have a better view of Ona. “Are you mad at me?”

Ona shakes her head no, still looking around just in case. She doesn’t want Lucy to see her cry. She doesn’t want to pass for someone weak. And more, she doesn’t want Lucy to find her childish.

“Hey, what’s up?” Lucy asks softly.

“I just…”

Ona frowns softly, not really knowing how to say the right things. She has all those fears about Lucy’s eventual judgement and how she can see her after that. Which is particularly stupid, Lucy would never judge Ona in any way.

“I would give everything to just have one night together, only the two of us. Without the Games, the injuries… Just you and me.”

“Ona…”

Ona hurries to take her hand back, whipping her tears and sitting a little straighter. She knows they won’t have it and that it’s stupid to cry for something they will never have.

“I told you, it was stupid” Ona shrugs.

Her back is perfectly turned so she doesn’t see Lucy. But like this, she doesn’t see the sadness and the regrets in Lucy’s eyes.

“I wish I could share these moments with you too” Lucy finally whispers.

Ona feels her throat tightens once again, but not for the same reason. She doesn’t really know if she feels better now that she knows that Lucy feels the same way. Is it worse because it supports the fact that they won’t have it? Or is it better because Lucy can understand how she’s feeling?

“What kind of things would we have done?” Ona finally asks.

“For our first date, I would have brought you on my boat to watch the sunset.”

“Sounds very romantic” Ona smirks.

Lucy hums and Ona hears her moving a little before kissing her neck. It makes Ona shiver, of course, but she smiles anyway, not expecting for Lucy to talk again.

“I don’t know if that’s any consolation, but I’m yours. No matter what happens, I will always be. Only yours.”

This time, Ona turns around completely to have an entire look at Lucy. The older girl is already looking at her, her green eyes scanning the brown one’s. Getting on her knees rather than her ass, before taking Lucy’s face between both of her hands to kiss her.

The kiss is slow but full of love and Ona can’t help but let her mind fly away, to the moment they shared together on that mountain. They had a moment only the both of them finally, only accompanied by the fire.

Lucy answers her kiss, and they are finally stopped when they feel the first light and heath of the sun on their skin. Lucy sighs from relief and looks around them. It could be hard to find their way back, everything looks the same around. But Lucy understands easily with the way Ona gets up that the younger one knows perfectly where to go.

“Are we going back to the centre of the arena or do you want to look for the oasis?” Ona asks, seeming to be happy again.

“We can look for the oasis until noon. Then we can go back to the forest if we don’t find anything.”

Ona nods and accepts the dry meat that Lucy gives her before starting to walk. She still feels tired, but she knows that they must move. She doesn’t know if someone already came here before them, the sand is the same everywhere. Including in their shoes.

“Is it a palm tree?”

They were walking for almost thirty minutes when Lucy talks again, and Ona raises her head in the direction of where Lucy is pointing.

“I think it is” Ona nods after several seconds. “Let’s go.”

They turn in the right direction, Ona two steps in front of Lucy. The latter is particularly attentive to everything, the fact that the two other girls might still be here hiding in her mind. When they are close, she softly grabs Ona’s hand to whisper it.

“Maybe they are here. Let’s be careful”

Ona nods again and squeezes Lucy’s fingers before letting her go. She can feel Lucy’s presence right behind her and it helps her to be more at ease. She feels safe with Lucy and little did she know that Lucy feels safe with her too. After all, they saved each other's lives already.

The oasis isn’t very big, but Ona must admit that it’s cute. There are a few palm trees around a very small lake. But the water is clear like a mirror, almost inviting. Rocks are around the water, as if someone had arranged seats to be able to settle comfortably in front of it.

“Someone came here” Ona whispers.

She’s looking at the rocks, but her gaze is scanning the other places of the area. Now that Lucy is looking around too, she feels the same way too. There are dates on the ground, some of them eaten and she can see footprints at some places too.

Lucy hums, turning around to look around them.

“Let’s just be careful, Love, yeah?”

Ona nods and smiles, unable to hide the butterflies she feels in her stomach when Lucy calls her like that. She takes the bow in one of her hands, just in case, when Lucy decides to make a walk around the lake “Just to have a look.”

Ona should have known it was a bad idea, every time they are separated something bad happens.

Just when Ona can’t see Lucy anymore, she feels something icy against her neck.

“Make any sound and you're dead. Do you understand?”

Ona feels her blood freeze, but she only nods softly. She doesn’t know what is held against her neck, but if it’s a knife, she doesn’t want to take any risks.

“Let go of your bow” the voice says.

Ona doesn’t hesitate before letting it go. She just hopes that Lucy will come back soon to help her. She feels stupid, Lucy just told her to be careful.

“Good. Do you know how to get out of this desert?”

Ona nods once again. She tries to recognize the voice of the person talking, but she didn’t talk a lot to those two girls. She’s unable to say which one of them is behind her.

“Show the way. Don’t turn around.”

Of course, Ona wants to turn around or even look for Lucy, but she can’t. So, she obliges and starts to walk, taking the way back she took several minutes. She can feel that icy things brush against her neck from time to time, attesting of its presence.

They were walking for several minutes when the girl talks again. Ona was walking as slow as possible, still hoping that Lucy will see them.

“Are you okay?”

Ona frowns, not understanding why the girl is asking her that question. She doesn’t understand either the soft tone used to ask this question, until she hears the girl talking again.

“Stop, Batlle.”

Then Ona turns around and realise that they were two people walking behind her. But the second girl doesn’t look good.

“What happened to her?” Ona whispers.

The first girl, Enya as Ona just remembered her name, shot her a dirty look. She raises what she had in her hand and Ona blenches when she sees that Enya is in fact holding nothing much than a gun.

“Hands up!”

Ona obliges once again, raising both of her hands without hesitation. She looks at the way Enya is looking at her partner, looking hopeless. The other girl has various purple patches all over the body, some swollen and appearing painful.

“She got bitten by scorpions” Enya groans.

Ona shivers, remembering that she had one of them in her arm last night. The second girl doesn’t seem able to talk and Ona wonders if she really can understand what is happening. She seems lost, looking at Ona blankly.

“You… You know that she won’t make it, right?” Ona says as softly as she can.

She feels sorry for that poor girl. But Enya seems angry by that statement and point her gun at the middle of Ona’s forehead.

“Shut up if you don’t want to die right now”

Ona raises her hands again, not moving anymore. She doesn’t know what sign Enya is waiting for, but she seems to be happy, so she kneels down next to the other girl lying on the ground.

Ona’s mind wanders to Lucy, who must be lost about not finding her anywhere now. Ona hopes that she won’t do something stupid, they keep reminding each other that as long as they haven’t heard the canon, there is nothing to worry about. Ona just hopes that they won’t be separated for long. Unless Enya really decides to kill her soon, which might be problematic in that case.

“Where did you find a gun?” Ona asks.

Enya looks up to look at her, seeming to think before answering. But the question is on Ona’s mind, she’s scared that Tony or Camden have found guns too. If that’s the case, winning will be difficult.

“I’ve received it from the sponsor.”

Ona arches her two eyebrows under surprise. She received pretty great things too, but nothing like that. Enya must have someone who likes her very much outside.

“Help me carry Leane. If your girlfriend sees us, she will come, and I’ll be forced to shoot her. You don’t want that, do you?”

Ona contracts her jaw at Lucy’s mention. Of course, she doesn’t want something like that. However, Ona wonders for several seconds how Enya knows about her and Lucy’s relationship. But she doesn’t have to think a lot, because Enya is pointing her gun at her face once again and she hurries to help.

They walk like this for what feels like forever, one arm around each other. Ona doesn’t know if it’s because she’s walking for a very long time, but Leane seems heavier every single second.

“Come on Leane, we are almost here” Enya repeats every two minutes.

Ona doesn’t say anything, she’s thinking a lot. She’s thinking about the chances she would have against Enya. Leane can’t fight that’s for sure and Enya seems very weak. But she has a gun, and a single shoot will be enough to kill her.

An energy boost takes Enya when they are able to see the end of the desert, the girl almost jumping until it. But Ona just has to take a look at Leane to know that things are very bad.

“I think she’s dying” Ona says slowly.

It takes Enya’s attention, and the girl looks at Leane with stupor.

“No no no no no” Enya says, laying Leane on the floor. “Not now, we are just getting out of the desert!”

The girls take Leane’s face between her hands, looking at Leane’s face. Ona feels like the girl is looking for any sign of life, which is particularly awful in her opinion. Ona jumps when Enya points the gun once again in her direction.

“Is she alive?”

Ona hesitates, looking at Leane’s frame on the sand. Poor girl seems gone, but no cannon is audible.

“Look at it!”

Enya seems to lose the little control of herself she was keeping until now. She’s making big movements with her hands, pointing Ona, then Leane, then Ona again. All of this while walking around.  

Ona kneels next to Leane, putting her finger on her neck to search for her heart rate.

“She’s alive” Ona mumbles.

She doesn’t add “for now” but she almost can’t feel anything against her fingers. It seems to calm Enya a little bit. At least she stops walking around like a crazy maniac.

“Good. Because if she dies, it’s because of you.”

“What are you talking about?” Ona asks after several seconds of silence.

“If you came earlier, you could have helped us earlier. We spent days trying to get out of this place. Leane got bitten by a scorpion in the middle of the night while I was asleep. It was so painful that she wasn’t even able to walk to me to wake me up. When I woke up she was surrounded by them, so I had to kill them with the gun.”

Ona bites her lip, looking sadly at Leane. This death must be awful, she would rather die like Teagan. She feels sorry for the other girl but for Enya too. She would probably not react better if it was Lucy in this case.

“Alright, get up. Find us the bridge.”

Enya makes Ona carry Leane on her back this time, walking behind them still with the gun pointed on Ona’s head. The sun is shining brightly now, and Ona feels the sweat running on her body. She feels the weakness in her legs too, Leane is a little bit bigger than her and heavier too.

“Can we take a pause please?” Ona finally asks.

“No”

There is no room for discussion. The brunette sighs softly, trying to ignore the sweat that runs down her face. Ona manages to walk ten more minutes before feeling her legs really getting tired.

“Enya” Ona whispers.

“I said, shut up and walk.”

Ona tries. As hard as she can, but soon her legs give up and she feels on her knee. The sand is burning against her skin, but that’s probably not the most important point. Ona feels the gun against her temple, making her close her eyes.

“Get up.”

“I can’t” Ona whispers, out of breath.

Her whole body is shaking, she has trouble breathing normally, and her head is spinning. Even opening her eyes seems hard for her right now.

“You leave me no choice”

Ona hears the weapon making a click and she closes her eyes harder, waiting for the blast. But contrary to what she expected, she feels Enya falling next to her and then rolling in the sand.

Ona manages to make Leane go down on her back, kneeling to see what is happening. Enya is fighting with someone that Ona recognizes immediately. Lucy is here, saving her once again.

“She has a gun” Ona shouts.

She doesn’t know if Lucy saw them, if she was following them for many times or if it’s just a miracle for her to be her.

Enya is fighting harder than Ona would have thought, the metal of the gun shining under the sun from time to time.

When Ona finally manages to stand up, the two other girls are fighting almost hundred meters further. Ignoring her feet who are killing her, Ona tries to run to help Lucy. She regrets not having her bow.

Just when she arrives at their height, a sound of gunfire resounds in the air. Ona freezes instantly, her eyes crossing Lucy’s gaze.

Lucy’s beautiful green eyes are wide under the surprise. Ona has always loved this shape of green. But right now, what she can see in them is terrifying her.

“Lucy!”

The younger girl screams this time, looking as Lucy’s body falls on the ground, only three meters away from her.

Next Chapter

[lareinita]

Doctor who? Chapter I

Evening! So I tried my best putting a start of an idea to paper - obviously, this is fiction and I do not intend to picture someone in false light. Let me know what you think and if you wish the story to continue?

The Opium in Barcelona. The evening’s young, just after 11 pm. Present for now, are only the little ones hyping the newest hip hop beats to press away their stressful school week.

It was wild in a club like this, tons of different lights, crowded dance floors and a variety of drinks to chose from at several bars. Usually, one would not think about finding love, someone true and adorable, who you would spend years of your life with in a place like this. Sometimes, Karma plans differently though and surprises you with not just a short-term treat but an actual cheesy love story…

Alexia.

Alexia Putellas. La reina. Queen of Barcelona, is not one to lose it completely on a night like this, but in order to worship another great win, she agreed on joining the team to celebrate. Her and Irene decided to drive together, targeting the club directly, since the the kids of the team seemed to be eager to pre-drink at one of the girl’s places before throwing themselves into the night.

Getting into the facility easily (there have to be some advantages of being popular footballers), they approach the main bar in the middle of club right away. It's quiet, still some spots left to sit down and enjoy one or two drinks. As the two take their chance to get a quick refresher, they only notice a few couples lost in deep conversation ... or other activities, around them.

“Hi, can we get an Old fashioned and a Gin tonic, please?” - Irene orders, already looking forward to letting out some steam and spending some quality time with her second family.

Vibing to the fancy music in the background while waiting for their order, she suddenly notices a completely absent Alexia hovering next to her. She’s almost losing her eyes on a special target or rather ... a special someone. Nudging her carefully, Irene tries to confront her friend about the delicate situation: “Hey, are you okay, Ale?”

“Sí, yeah, just …” - “... undressing that girl over there in your mind?”, Irene finishes with a smirk.

“Oye, callaté!” Alexia grumbles. Grabbing her drink, she leaves to join some of the girls from the team, who have meanwhile arrived and occupied a quiet, more private area of the club.

Noelle.

Working in Barcelona after graduating seemed like a very good idea. Reconnecting with her birth country and finally being able to put her crazy language skills to good use, drove her to the eastern coast of Spain, into a new chapter of life.

After only two weeks of a grueling induction period at her new job, it seemed almost impossible to get used to so much work, so much drama and most of all, so much responsibility.

Needing to get her mind off stress and self doubts, it seemed to be a great idea joining a few work mates partying in a very prestigious club. Although being on call, Noelle wanted to at least have some fun and be around people, who did not desperately demanded attention for severe health issues.

Since The Opium was quite popular, the group decided to get in early, in order to secure a nice seating area. Talking to another newcomer at the Vall d’Hebron, Noelle was nursing a Sprite at the bar, when she, out of nothing, noticed a familiar looking woman staring her down. She was stunning. Blond hair falling loosely around her strong face lines, her clear eyes making her very, very attractive. “Chica, what’s with your side eye? Are you planning on hooking up with someone?” Thalia asked shamelessly. “No. I just like the looks of that woman over there. I’m not sure, but I think I've seen her somewhere.”

Thalia couldn’t even catch a glimpse at the blonde, because moments later, she almost fell over her own feet, seeming to be startled by her friend. Slightly embarrassed she rushed towards a group of women sitting in one of the more private areas of the club.

"Well, so much for hooking up with someone", Noelle whispered to herself. Focusing on the ongoing conversation again, she lost track of the swarming glances, Alexia continued to give her across the club.

Alexia.

About an hour later, the team was in overdrive, joking around and laughing in order to celebrate the joined achievements! "Pina!" a very tipsy María blurted out. "I dare you to get a bottle of vodka from the bar and to not pay for it!" "What? You know I love this game, but how am I supposed to do that?" She answered surprised. "Guess you have to come up with something," Mapi answered with a mischievous grin.

Being successful, only god knows how she did that, Pina returned with her treasure and the group started drinking shots and playing along with the game until it was Alexia's turn to master a dare.

By now, a couple of the girls have noticed her sneakingly watching a pretty woman a couple of tables away. So Jana took her chance to shove her captain in the direction of an adventure:

"Ale, I dare you to invite someone not from our team to have a drink with you! How about the hot woman, you've been staring at since we got here?"

Smash. Jana had busted her. She hated this.

But maybe, this stupid game could be a chance to approach the attractive brunette after all. Alexia downed one more shot of vodka. She took a deep breath and moved towards the bar, looking confident as always - but inside, she felt absolutely helpless, having no clue how to impress her teammates and more importantly, approach her person of interest.

She slid on an open seat, mind racing in order to make a plan, when it hit her. She remembered watching one of those stupid romances with her sister the other night and pulled an idea she had been impressed by since: "Sorry, um, do you by any chance remember, what the girl over there ordered throughout the evening?", she motioned carefully to the group of strangers, Noelle being one of them. "Yeah, she's keeping it clean tonight, she ordered a couple of soft drinks", the bartender answered right away. "Could you prep a coke then and maybe offer her, bill's on me though." Alexia asked politely, but very satisfied with her move. "Sure, no problem!" With a wink, he was on his way to the dark haired woman.

Noelle.

Enjoying the ease of the night, Noelle loosened up more and more, forgetting about the actual chaos in her brain. Suddenly, one of the bartenders came over and placed another ice cold coke in front of her.

“Gracias, but I didn’t …” - "Someone at the bar seems to be very interested in you", the bartender said excitedly, motioning in Alexia's direction. Everyone just stared. The group was silent for a moment, before they erupted in excitement. "What the ... It's her, she was starring at you earlier, remember?" Thalia shot. "How'd you do that", someone else through in.

"Gosh, relax, she's probably just playing it cool in front of her friends. Just another nice Spanish women, like everyone in this town!" Noelle tried to downplay the situation, completely unaware about who just send her that drink. "Noie, you know who that is, don’t you?" Ruben, another intern, asked stunned. "She looked familiar, but i could not remember her earlier..." - "Noie, that is Alexia Putellas - Queen of soccer, Barcelona's golden girl! How can you not recognize her, tonta!", he tried to make his friend aware of who just randomly offered her very personal meet and greet.

Awareness kicking in slowly, Noelle felt her cheeks flush, heat slowly creeping up her neck. Thank god, that it was dark in that club, only strobes and neon lights allowing contours of the crowd. Otherwise, every single person in this hall could have seen her glow from excitement.

Should she really head over to that superwomen in front of everyone watching? Within seconds she decided to play along. She stood up slowly, walked towards the blonde, her entourage whistling and cheering in the background. The closer she got, the better and indeed, sharper was her watch for that stunning superstar. "Hey there", she started hesitantly. Alexia smiled, almost shy as she answered "Hola bonita. Um, I did not think this would actually work…" "Well, I guess you got my attention now"!

The music was blasting through the club, bass thudding deep and the rhythm of the current song inviting more and more people to move on the dance floor, which was packed by now.

Conversation between the two women at the bar was flowing easily, both of them ignoring their friends watching and teasing from their respective seats.

"So, you live here, or are you just visiting Barcelona?" Alexia asked genuinely curious. "I just moved here a couple of weeks ago, found a good job after graduation. But to be honest, this city is crazy - beautiful and charming, but also very overwhelming! I have experienced so much new stuff in such a short time, I have to admit, I'm gonna need a while to adjust. Haven't even found a new apartment yet."

"Well maybe you just need a good guide! You know, someone, who knows all the good places, away from the crazy mainstream..." Alexia answered. "Coincidently, I happen to know someone, who would be willing to offer some time for a new resident in Barcelona", she added smirking.

Getting over the usual small talk, they really hit it off, talking more about the city and popular spots, but also about food and restaurants, which made Noelle really looking forward to not just be successful in Barcelona, but also to maybe actually building a life here. With Alexia present, she even spent some quick thoughts about building a life with a partner, which would fulfill her personal life-dream pretty accurately.

Time passed quickly.

"Ale, would you excuse me for a minute? I really need to um, you know ..." - "Sure, you know where to find me". The minute Noelle left the bar, half the team raced to their captain, dying to hear about the obviously tingling situation between the two women. "Capi, you hitting it off with the beautiful girl!" - "Yeah, phase 2? Are you gonna kiss her?" - "She obviously likes you, Ale, you need to do something! Take action!"

"Chicas, chicas, calm down! It's so comfortable with her. I'm not gonna destroy that by becoming all touchy!" The women continued shouting out moves, that Alexia was supposed to play and started betting about how far Alexia would push this night. They knew their friend well, so they also were aware of Alexia not having had dates or hook ups for months now and they wished nothing else but satisfaction for her…

Through all the craziness in the group, Alexia felt her hand being pulled and notices the slim figure of her interest.

Being very, very close to hear ear, Noelle whispered: "thought I should rescue you out of this madness", chuckling in the most adorable way. "Dance with me?"

With that bold move, Alexia felt herself heat up. This beautiful (still) stranger leading her onto a steamy dance floor with some really hot rhythms playing loud and suggestive. Letting herself being pulled into the crowed, away from the curious eyes, Alexia didn’t notice her hands moving completely on autopilot, finally resting on Noelles hips. Her curves felt so freaking good under the footballer’s fingertips. They swayed together, even synching their bodies, both aware of how comfortable this felt.

A slower song started to play, when Noelle took the chance to move her fingers up Alexia’s arms, resting them behind her neck. There were no words needed, both knowing they were drawn to each other.

Alexia surely thought about going further, glimpsing at some very kissable looking lips from time to time, only to then loose herself in that beautiful laugh with the cute dimples once again.

Disturbing the pink bubble, these two were in, a quite strong buzz arose. A phone? Her phone. Maybe a wing-friend, checking if she was alright?

She felt Noelle sigh deeply, and saw her reaching in her back pocket. Taking in the situation, Alexia also noticed her hands being very, very close to the girl's back pockets - that was okay, was it? She hadn’t shown any discomfort…

Not even looking up from her screen, Noelle started moving quickly. “I am so sorry, I have to leave. Now.” She let go of the footballer’s body, leaving her feel cold and alone all of the sudden. Alexia reacted, chased her through the crowd, watching her new “friend” looking for her group. Arriving at their table, two other women were already grabbing their things, saying quick goodbyes to the remaining and moved towards the door - followed by an almost overwhelmed Noelle.

“Wait” What’s going on, don’t leave now!”, Alexia grabbed her arm, holding her back and tried to get the slightest explanation for the sudden rush.

“I’m sorry, I can’t - I …” - “Noelle, move it!” An almost angry looking woman screamed in their direction.

And with that, she was out of sight. Alexia was literally perplex - not having the tiniest idea, what just happened.

With an almost cowered posture, she made her way towards the remaining girls of her team. Not saying a single word, she let herself fall next to Irene, who noticed her friend’s discomfort immediately.

“Tía, what happened? Where’s your girl?” - The table went silent, everybody waiting on a statement. “She’s gone.”

“Gone? What do you mean?” - “Have you done something?” - “Did she do something?”

Alexia, obviously overwhelmed by the interrogation, only brought out a “no, no, she didn’t do anything wrong, just had to leave suddenly.” - “Do you have her number at least?” a speechless María asked with wide eyes.

“No.”

[ladykailitha]

Royal Pain Part 26

Hello, and we have got to the end of the massive arc that culminated the last four chapters.

I also wrote this part before 24 and 25 because I couldn't figure out how to write Eddie having a hard time on tour, but the aftermath flowed from my fingers.

Also as a reminder this story is finished, I'm just posting on a regular schedule. This story is the longest fanfic I've ever written. Topping out at 58165 it's definitely longer than 50K fic I wrote for NaNoWriMo last year (Sandman, never finished or published.)

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10 Pt 11 Pt 12 Pt 13 Pt 14 Pt 15 Pt 16 Pt 17 Pt 18 Pt 19 Pt 20 Pt 21 Meta Pt 22 Pt 23 Pt 24 Pt 25

****

“You’ve been sitting on that sofa for an entire week,” Wayne growled. “Steve has called three times, your bandmates at least a dozen times each. Hell, boy Miranda has been calling concerned. So want to tell me what’s fucking got you so twisted?”

“I was given a choice out there on the road,” Eddie said, twisting his rings around his fingers. “Stay in Indy and play small time gigs for the rest of my adult life or go to LA and get an album and the chance at super stardom.”

Wayne sat down next him. “Sounds like a big decision to make.”

Eddie leapt to his feet. “That’s the problem. That’s what makes me so angry how fucking easy the choice is.”

Wayne cocked his head to the side. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot on your plate again, boy. Start talking.”

Eddie started pacing back and forth. “As much as I loved playing for so many people, I didn’t like that I could only connect with a handful of them and not even the good kind.” He rubbed his chin angrily. “I didn’t like how tired we all were. It was set up, sound check, play, break down and move on to the next fucking town. And that wasn’t including all the parties, interviews, and all that other shit.”

“That does sound exhausting, Ed.”

“I didn’t like how easy it was for them to tell me to drop Gareth as drummer just because he had trouble adjusting to the increased volume. The price of fame they said. Like it was so simple to throw away almost two decades of friendship for the sake of adoring crowds and hearing our music on the radio.”

“Oh, darlin’,” Wayne said softly. “They didn’t...”

“Oh they absolutely did,” Eddie raged. “I didn’t like how they thought that because me and Steve’s relationship was new that I would be able to find someone better. Someone who liked metal, someone who would be down for the ride.”

Wayne furrowed his brow. “That doesn’t sound like good advice.”

Eddie grabbed his hair pulled at it frustration. “The last straw was when they offered to let their tattooist to finish my back tattoo, because while my artist was good, theirs was better.”

He stopped abruptly and turned to face Wayne. “I picked Steve to do my tattoo on my back because he was the only one I trusted to make it meaningful. To understand the symbolism of making something of yourself when everyone is rooting against you. I made the decision before I fell in love with him and now that we’re a couple– and for them to just dismiss him like that? It made me so angry.”

“So what’s the problem? What’s got you so twisted around the bend?”

Eddie took a deep breath and let it out slow. “I’m fucking furious because I always thought that when fame and fortune came knocking I would throw open that door and march right through it. But now? Given the choice? I’m slamming the door in its face and walking away.”

Hot tears ran down his face. “And I don’t know why.”

He dropped to his knees and began to sob.

Wayne stood up and put his arms around his nephew’s shoulders, gently pulling him to his chest.

“Did that band you were traveling with say that?” he whispered into Eddie’s curls. “Because if they did, I swear to god I will burn every record and CD you have of theirs. Don’t think I won’t. I’ll delete them off your phone too.”

Eddie chuckled weakly. “No, no. They were kind. It was everyone else we met. Agents, managers, roadies, groupies, the people around Metallica every day.”

Wayne nodded.

“I was just constantly bombarded with hateful messages and the constant running at one hundred percent...” he whimpered. “I don’t want to do it.”

“Have you told your band that?” Wayne asked.

Eddie shook his head. “I don’t dare to. I was the one that was gung ho about the touring and everything. How do I tell them I don’t want to leave the comfort of Indianapolis and home?”

“Kinda like that,” Jeff said from the doorway. His arms were crossed and he was leaning against the frame. Peaking around him was Miranda with a concerned look on her face.

Eddie scrambled to his feet and wrapped his arms around his waist. “I’m sorry I’ve been a brat.”

Jeff took three giant steps forward and hugged him fiercely. “You’re not being a brat. You’re scared and trying to figure it all out on your own, but you don’t have to, okay? We’ve all been worried sick about you. But Steve especially. I’ll call all the boys down for a chat and you call Steve, okay?”

Eddie nodded.

He dialed the number he knew by heart.

“Baby?” he asked, unsure of the reaction he was going to get. He deserved to be yelled at. Cursed at. Broken up with. He’d hurt Steve the most with this little temper tantrum he’d been having.

“Eds?” Steve breathed. “Sunshine, are you okay? Wayne said you hadn’t been eating well or sleeping much. Say the word and I’ll be there in a heartbeat.”

Eddie’s lip began to quiver and tears spilled out of his eyes. “I need you. More than anything.”

“I’m on my way,” Steve said fiercely.

Eddie looked over at Jeff.

“Tell Steve Brian will swing by and pick him up.”

Eddie nodded and relayed the message back to Steve.

“I’ll be at my apartment,” Steve said. “I’ll have Robin arrange my schedule, don’t you worry about thing, baby.”

“Mm’k.”

“I love you, Eds.”

Eddie closed his eyes and breathed in the warmth of that simple phrase. “Love you, too, pretty boy. Come quick.”

“I promise.”

*

Steve piled into Brian’s car. It was the newest, having bought it right before they got picked up by Metallica. He had finally saved up enough money to replace his beater.

Gareth and Gethin in the backseat. Gethin had come up to Indy to watch his twin’s apartment while he was gone and just ended up staying. He was currently looking for a job so that he could move in with Gareth full time.

At least that what they said on the trip down. The twins and Brian were intent on filling the air with talk and Steve let them. He let them fill him in on the tour and everything that had been going on since they’d left.

Steve couldn’t be for certain, but it sounded like that touring hadn’t been fun for anyone. Even after a week of rest, he could still make out the circles under their eyes and how hunched over they were with just sheer exhaustion.

A feeling Steve felt all too well.

Gethin was pressed against his twin’s side and was rubbing his neck soothingly.

Steve looked at Brian.

His face was set, hard and unflinching. He was going to make the drive to Hawkins as fast as he could and still avoid the cops.

Steve was grateful Brian was driving because he didn’t think he would have made the distinction to avoid breaking the law. He would have gunned it and flipped off any cop that tried to catch him.

After awhile, Steve was getting the oddest feeling that Brian was used to speeding down this stretch of highway because there were points where he would slow down for a few miles and then speed right back up.

Soon enough they were pulling up to Wayne’s trailer and piling out the car.

*

Eddie sat on the sofa with Jeff and Miranda on either side of him, just hugging him.

Wayne was busying himself in the kitchen, getting ready to feed the hoard that was about to descend on his home.

The door opened up and Brian, Gareth, and Gethin all stumbled through the entryway. Eddie was on his feet in an instant, Jeff and Miranda not far behind.

And then the trio at the door parted and there stood Steve. Looking just as tired and worn as Eddie felt.

“Stevie?” Eddie asked, taking a step toward him uncertainly.

Steve threw open his arms and Eddie ran straight into them. They wrapped their arms around each other and just sobbed.

“I’m here, Eds,” Steve murmured into Eddie’s neck. “I’m here. I love you so much.”

Eddie lifted his head and kissed him hard. “I love you, too. I regret leaving you behind, sweetheart. It nearly killed me. Every song I wrote was about you. About missing you. I don’t even want to leave you ever again, I can’t.”

The silence that followed that statement was deafening.

Steve led Eddie back over to couch and sat them both down. “Tell us everything, babe.”

And so Eddie did. He told them everything. Everything he had told Wayne, everything that had been weighing on his mind since they started touring. It all just came out in a flood.

They all listened patiently.

“Why didn’t you tell us you felt like that while we were on the road?” Gareth asked. “I knew what they were saying about me, but I also knew you guys wouldn’t drop me. If you had me about that I would have been able to reassure you that I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

Eddie flushed with embarrassment. “I didn’t know how to bring it up, it was so vile, man.”

Jeff gave his hand a squeeze. “Well, I think that you did a bang up job telling us now and that’s what really matters.”

“Someone offered to ship me out to LA and record an album,” Eddie finally admitted. “Not the band, just me. I told him that I wouldn’t go without you guys and he laughed in my face. Told me to cut the dead weight and be a star.” He dragged his hands over his face.

“But there were other offers. Good ones. Ones that included the band, well most of it, anyway. Always under the proviso that Gareth be replaced either on tour or all together. They didn’t want to make any accommodations for him even though there is a drummer with one god damn arm!”

“So the options are,” Brian said, “stay in Indy doing what we’ve been doing, only better because of the money we got for doing this tour. Go to LA without Gareth. Go to LA with Gareth but only as a studio musician and take some person we don’t know on tour with us. Does that sound about right?”

Just then Gareth’s phone went off. He looked at it with a frown. It wasn’t a number recognized so he let it go to voicemail. He pulled it up after the notification popped up.

He listened to message with wide eyes. “Hey guys, I think we have another option.” And he played the message so everyone could hear.

“Hey, Mr Hughes,” the tinny voice said through the speaker. “This is Murray Bauman, I’m music producer, we spoke in Las Vegas. I think I have the perfect deal for you boys. You were telling me that touring was really hard on you and that if there was an option you wouldn’t do that. I know you weren’t speaking for all your band, but I could tell that they would do anything for you, all four of you being such good friends.

“So the reason for this call is that I own a small music company in Bloomington and boy do I have a deal for you all. You would make a record through us, we would sell and distribute the record, keeping a portion of the sales, of course. But you wouldn’t have to tour. You have a steady gig as I understand it. If your fans want to see you play, they’ll know where to find you.

“But give me a call, we’ll hash out the details. My phone number is 555-555-2080...” and then message beeped, signaling the end of the voicemail.

Eddie looked down at the phone and then back up at Gareth. “Oh.”

Gareth grinned. “We don’t even have to take his offer, but I vote we listen to it. Brian can bring Cecil.”

Brian nodded. “He’s only got a semester left of law school, but I’ll have him brush up on his contract law to be on the safe side.”

Jeff raised his hand. “All in favor of hearing Mr Bauman out raise your hand?”

Eddie, Brian, and Gareth’s hands shot up.

“Sounds good,” Jeff said. “You call him back and set it up and if it doesn’t work out we can vote again.”

Brian shook his head. “Nah. I think if it doesn’t work, we stick to Nightmare Holes. We took a swing at it and if it’s a miss then we tried. I thought I wanted the touring and everything that came with stardom, but like Eddie I learned I wanted the romanticized version of it. I’ll be happy playing in front of our friends for the rest of our lives.”

The rest of the band nodded.

Soon everyone getting up to go back to Indy, but Steve stayed behind, he would go back up with Eddie in the morning. They had things to discuss that went deeper then the band.

****

Part 27 Part 28 Epilogue

I told you I would fix it.

Also a little BTS, the reason in my head for why things went wrong on tour but immediately righted itself when Eddie and Steve met up again? Steve still has Eddie's lucky pick. ;)

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@bookworm0690 @chaosgremlinmunson @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @thedragonsaunt @sapphirecobalt-1 @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @justforthedead89 @emly03 @aizawa-emma @yikes-a-bee @redfreckledwolf @thesuninyaface @bookbinderbitch @archermightbegay @littlewildflowerkitten @scheodingers-muppet @hallucinatedjosten @ellietheasexylibrarian @anne-bennett-cosplayer @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @bestwifehaver @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @oldwitcheshat @nightmareglitter @tinyplanet95 @novelnovella @jonesn4coffee @slowandsteddie @awkwardgravity1 @steaddie-on

[mazegays]

could've followed my fears all the way down

Chapters: 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 31

Chapter 30

Thomas’s nerves are almost cute, if they weren’t so worrying. He’s more than willing to hold their hands in public, if he doesn’t have the sling on, but he’s clearly fretting over everything else.

“Do you think he knows we want to kiss him?” Gally asks when Thomas is laughing with Sonya across the fire.

“I think that’s the problem.” Minho watches Thomas’s face.

“What, he doesn’t want to kiss us?”

“More like he’s not sure how.” Minho’s pretty sure Thomas kissed Teresa a few times, and maybe Brenda, but he doesn’t know. It’s not exactly the kind of thing Thomas would have told him about. He doesn’t really want Thomas to tell him about it.

“It’s kissing, it’s not that hard.” Gally scoffs a little.

“Just because we had sex in the Glade doesn’t mean he did.” Minho points out, and he can see when that clicks for Gally.

“We have to talk about feelings again, don’t we?”

When did Minho become the one who knows that first?

… Actually, he doesn’t want an answer to that. 

“Yeah.”

“Thomas wants to go into the forest.” Gally changes the subject.

“No.” It hasn’t been that long since he had a panic attack sitting under one tree, he’s not allowed to go into the forest.

finish on ao3 or continue reading - if you like the fic, please reblog!!

“He’s been talking about it all week. He keeps creating signs for it while he’s teaching me. He wants to go together, but not for long.”

This is a fight Minho’s going to lose, he already knows it. Gally looks like he’s ready to say yes, he probably offered to tell him so Thomas wouldn’t have to.

“Why? He can hardly look at it without panicking.”

“He thinks he needs to get over it. I know he’s said something to Sonya. I think he’ll just follow her in if we don’t go.”

“Well, at least he’s not planning on going alone.” 

“So we’re doing it, then?”

“Maybe this is something we should talk to Jamie about— together, not individually.” is what Minho settles on saying, because he really doesn’t know.. He hates the idea, he doesn’t want Thomas anywhere near that forest and he thinks it’s going to end very badly.

But Thomas is a stubborn shank whose two settings of ‘dealing with things’ involve ignoring them or charging into them headfirst.

“Why Jamie?”

“Because she might be able to explain why it would be helpful, or why it’s a really bad idea and we shouldn’t do it. I know he talks to her about it one-on-one, but for something we do together we need to talk to her together.”

“He’s been a lot better lately, Minho. He’s been able to eat more, he’s sitting near the tree right now and not panicking, the sling is just about off for good. If he wants to try this, why wouldn’t we help him?”

“I’m not saying we wouldn’t,” he pauses, trying to get his thoughts together. “I’m worried, Gally. If this is too much, too soon, it could be bad.”

The two weeks of nearly entirely signing after the initial tree panic attack prove that very well. Sure, it’s better now, but only signing all the time and having to rely on Minho and Frypan to translate frustrates Thomas.

He likes to get his point across, and since no one had known about their sign language before, no one had learned it.

“What else are we supposed to do, make him feel like he has to be afraid of the forest for the rest of his life?” Gally’s worried too, he can tell— and not just about Thomas. “Minho, you want to protect him, we both do. He doesn’t want to be protected from this.”

And the little kids don’t want to be protected from running into the fire pits, but that doesn’t mean it should be allowed.

“That’s different, Min. The little kids don’t know better. We’re all nearly adults, might as well be, with what we’ve been through. Thomas has talked to Jamie about this, he’s been thinking about it for a while. He knows it might be a bad idea.”

“I still think it’s a bad idea.” Minho crosses his arms over his chest, but he knows Gally is right. “I still want all three of us to sit down and actually talk about it, with Jamie or not.”

It probably won’t be for a very long time, maybe less than an hour at first, but he wants to be prepared for everything.

Maybe Thomas will step into the forest and realize he’s not scared of it at all now. Great! Probably not going to happen, but great.

Maybe he’ll immediately have a panic attack. Also probably not the most likely option, not now that he’s actually been working though it with Jamie.

No, they’ll go in, fit a spot, sit and talk for a while. Thomas’s anxiety will build to the point where he can’t keep it hidden anymore, and they’ll leave before it gets worse.

Thomas will want to do it again, so they’ll go back until he’s happy with how long it takes for him to reach peak anxiety levels.

Minho doesn’t want him to do that to himself.

“Gally, this is going to take forever.” Minho realizes. “He’s going to want to keep going back until he can be in there for hours, if not days, without panicking.”

“So we’ll go with him, every time.” Gally says, like it’s as easy as that. “Until he’s okay with it.”

They can do that. Even though Minho’s going to hate every minute of it.

They can’t do this.

They’ve been taking it very slowly with the exposure therapy, as Jamie calls it. Once a week at most, for a few minutes at a time, a little longer each week.

Minho really wishes Thomas would wait.

This is the fifth week, and it’s been twenty minutes. Thomas is shaking already, but he doesn’t want to leave.

He never wants to leave.

“Minho, if he thinks he can handle it, let him.” Gally pulls him back a little. “He wants to try. We have to let him.”

“He’s shaking, Gally.”

“It’s cold. He’s a dumbass wearing shorts and a t-shirt.” Gally raises his voice a little, so Thomas can hear him teasing. Thomas glances back at them and rolls his eyes.

He looks… okay. He’s shaking, but his face is relaxed, not like he’s scared at all.

Maybe it’s not that bad.

“Who do you think is out hunting today?”

“It’s Rosa’s group’s turn!” Thomas calls back. He moves back to stand by them, leaning into Gally’s side.

Gally is kind of their personal space heater sometimes. He complains about it, but Minho knows he doesn’t really care.

“What do you think they’ll find?”

“I don’t know. I saw a moose.”

They’ve heard that a million times. Thomas wants to take them out to see it, but even Jamie, as encouraging as she is about him wanting to learn how to not be afraid of the forest anymore, has nipped that in the bud.

No week-long trips into the forest for a long time for them.

Minho’s okay with that. He doesn’t really like it here either, what with the tree falling on them and everything.

Wait, is Thomas trying to get them over their lingering fears of the forest too?

Damn.

That’s more tricky than he thought Thomas would pull on them.

(Other people, absolutely. Them? Thomas isn’t supposed to do it to them. But that’s Thomas for you. )

“Minho, you’re the one overthinking things now.” Thomas pokes him lightly. He’s smiling faintly when Minho looks over at him.

“So what if I am, shuckface? You don’t have a monopoly on overthinking things.”

“No, but it’s a little weird to watch someone else do it.”

“Then don’t look at me, I guess.”

“Where’s the fun in not looking at you?” Thomas pouts, exaggerated. “Gally, can I share your jacket?”

“I should tell you no, because you’re the dumbass here. But yes.” Minho can’t help but laugh at them as they try to figure out how to get arranged so Thomas will actually be warm without smothering him.

“Are you sure you don’t want help?”

“We’ll figure it out, thanks though, Minho.” Thomas answers, focused on the task at hand.

It’s hard not to laugh a little at Thomas as he tries to squeeze into Gally’s jacket. He’s biting his lip, completely focused, and he’s not thinking about being in the forest at all.

Minho’s laughing too, and his shoulders have dropped a little. He won’t say anything, but he doesn’t like the forest too much either.

If Gally could freeze time, this is one of the spots he’d do it in. Just linger here, in this moment, where they’re all laughing and joking around, despite everything. 

Despite the fact that he knows Thomas chose this spot because it’s not far from where Harriet found him.

He doesn’t want to be anywhere where they’re not happy, not again. They don’t need more sadness in their lives.

“Gally, you’re not even trying to help!” Thomas complains, pouting at him.

“I think it’s hopeless, Thomas. You can have my jacket instead.” Minho throws an arm around Thomas’s shoulders.

“But Gally’s already warm.” 

“And I’m not?” Thomas pulls away a little, just enough to put Minho’s jacket on. Gally’s not expecting him to grab his hand as he steps back.

“Okay, I think that’s enough for the day.” Thomas says.

“You’re feeling okay?” Minho asks, dropping the smile.

“I feel fine, but I’m cold. I want to bully you two into building a fire in the cabin and sit in bed all day and read.”

“Just for that, you can bring in all the wood from outside in your shorts and t-shirt.” he threatens, but he already knows he won’t go through it.

“And maybe I wanted to sit in bed and read. What are you going to do then?” Minho’s hand brushes his arm lightly. Gally can’t tell if it’s intentional or not.

“Read things out loud to you? Then you’ll fall asleep and I can read whatever I want.” Thomas raises his eyebrows at Minho, like it should be obvious.

“What if I want to read something, Thomas?”

“You don’t care what I read, as long as I read it out loud.” Thomas squeezes his hand softly, and. Yeah. It’s true. He doesn’t care.

He’s not much of a reader on his own, anyway. It’s just better when Thomas reads to him. Or Minho, on the rare occasion he decides that it’s his turn.

“So, a fire, reading, and cuddles? Sounds like a good day to me.”

“We can’t forget lunch.”

“I guess you can go and get it for us then, Minho. Thanks for offering!” Thomas manages to say it with a straight face, like Gally’s not cracking up next to him.

“That was not an offer, shuckface. That was a reminder that we need to eat.”

“Sounded like an offer to me, Minho.” Gally’s still grinning, which ruins the effect a little.

“The both of you? Really? I guess if all I’m good for is getting lunch I might as well leave you both!” Minho plays into the part, hand on his chest and everything.

“You’re the one who’s not letting go of me, so if you want to do that, then you can.”

“Yeah, Minho, if you’re really going to leave you have to let go of Thomas first.”

“He’s got my jacket!”

“You can let go of me and get your jacket back.”

“Well, maybe I will!”

He doesn’t, though, and Gally knows he never even considered it.

“Or maybe I’ll just get my jacket back later.”

“You can’t get it back if you can’t find it.” Thomas teases, smiling properly now. “Hey, Gally, cover me?”

“Yeah, of course.” He grabs Minho’s arm where it’s around Thomas’s shoulders, holding him just tightly enough that he can’t get away easily, while Thomas jogs ahead, eventually turning backwards to face them.

“Even if you hide it, I’ll still find it, Thomas!” Minho calls. “Gally, let go of my arm.”

“Are you going to chase him? Because I told him I wouldn’t let you do that.”

“No, but can’t I hold your hand instead, shank?”

“Oh.” Gally slides his hand down Minho’s arm, lacing their fingers together. Thomas has stopped ahead of them, kneeling to look at some plants.

“What are those, Thomas?” he asks when they get a little closer.

“Berries. I don’t think they’re edible though, we don’t have any in the greenhouse.” Thomas shakes his head a little.

His hair’s getting long. Maybe Gally should offer to cut it.

Or not. It might be a nice change.

Gally has to fight to keep his face straight, but Minho’s nudge tells him that he’s not entirely successful on that front.

<- 29 31 ->

[scary-grace]

Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 15) -- a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You knew the empty house in a quiet neighborhood was too good to be true, but you were so desperate to get out of your tiny apartment that you didn't care, and now you find yourself sharing space with something inhuman and immensely powerful. As you struggle to coexist with a ghost whose intentions you're unsure of, you find yourself drawn unwillingly into the upside-down world of spirits and conjurers, and becoming part of a neighborhood whose existence depends on your house staying exactly as it is, forever. But ghosts can change, just like people can. And as your feelings and your ghost's become more complex and intertwined, everything else begins to crumble. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

Chapter 15

There’s something wrong with your house, but you knew that when you bought it. Right now the thing that’s wrong with your house isn’t the ghost who haunts it, but the fact that said ghost is on day five of an extended sulk. With every day closer to your departure, Tomura’s gotten mopier, and no matter how many times you explain to him that you’ll only be gone for two days, it doesn’t seem to stick.

It’s Friday morning, and you’re leaving directly after work, which means you have to say goodbye to Tomura this morning. He’s not making it easy. “Someone else can go. Aizawa can go,” he complains. “I don’t see why you have to.”

“I’m the one who started looking into this. And Aizawa has kids to look after.” You finish packing your bag and zip it up. “Are you sure you’re okay to watch Phantom? Spinner said he would –”

“I know to feed her and play with her and let her out. I’m way better at taking care of our dog than Spinner.” Tomura is scowling worse than before, and you feel slightly guilty. You like hearing Tomura say that Phantom is both of yours, but that’s not a good enough reason to wind him up. “Why do you have to stay away that long?”

“It’s going to take me six hours to get there. I won’t be there until midnight tonight. I’ll take all of Saturday and some of the next day going over the documents, and I’ll be back late on Sunday.” You pick up your bag and start down the stairs. “I don��t like being away, either. I like it here.”

“Then don’t leave.”

“I have to.” You set your bag down by the front door, then crouch down to say goodbye to Phantom. You haven’t left her alone for this long in a while, and you’re going to miss her. If it wasn’t for Tomura, there’s no way you’d take this trip.

Tomura didn’t follow you down the stairs, and you hear his voice echo through a house that already feels a little too empty. “I won’t have anybody to talk to.”

You thought about that, too. You thought about it and decided that not talking to Tomura for two days wasn’t something you were prepared to tolerate. “Can you come down here? I’ve got something for you.”

Tomura’s footsteps are slow, almost reluctant, as he makes his way down the stairs. “What is it?” he asks. You don’t answer – you’re too busy searching through your hall closet for a bag you stashed there months ago. “If you want me to kiss you before you leave, just say that. Don’t act weird and –”

He stops talking when he sees the bag you’re holding out. “It’s a present,” you say. “Sort of. Open it.”

Tomura’s not very good at opening presents. He shreds the bag, followed by the box, and a charger cable and a pair of headphones fall out and clatter to the floor. He avoids dropping the main event, if nothing else – the smartphone remains in the palm of his hand, and he stares at it suspiciously. “This is for me?”

“We can set it up really quick right now.” If you were smart, you’d have done this last night, but last night you were busy – not with sex, which would have at least been fun, but with trying to snap Tomura out of his over-the-top bad mood. You beckon him closer and he hovers over your shoulder as you start the process. “See, this is your profile. What do you want to set your name as?”

“My name.” Tomura watches as you set it. “Now what?”

You adjust his phone so it’ll always be on battery saver, hook it up to the WiFi so he won’t burn through all your data, and mute all his alert sounds. “Now we’re going to get you some contacts. People you can call or text if you need to.”

You probably spent a lot more time than necessary thinking about whose numbers you should give to Tomura. You ruled out Dabi’s and Hizashi’s instantly – the last thing you want to do is give Tomura the ability to start fights with either of them whenever he wants. Giving Tomura Keigo’s number is risky, but you’re pretty sure Dabi doesn’t know Keigo’s passcode. Tomura gets Aizawa’s number, and Spinner’s, and Jin and Jin’s mom. Jin’s mom, after pleading from Himiko and significant hesitation, agreed to let you add Himiko’s number to Tomura’s phone. You add the other ghosts, too, even though Tomura doesn’t really need a phone to talk to any of them. Last of all, you add Mr. Yagi.

Tomura doesn’t like that. “I don’t want him on my phone. Get rid of him.”

“You don’t ever have to call him,” you say. “It’s just in case.”

“In case what?”

You don’t really know. Tomura makes an irritated noise. “I want Izuku’s number.”

“You can’t have Izuku’s number. Even I don’t have it.” You wouldn’t want it, honestly. Giving Izuku unlimited opportunities to text you or Tomura feels like a stunningly bad idea. “Okay, that’s everybody. Only text them if it’s important, not to start fights. I don’t want to have to fix the fence again.”

“I know,” Tomura says, annoyed. He studies his phone, then looks up at you. “Where are you? Are you in here?”

“I’ve been texting you all the contacts.” You tap your number. “This one is me. You can name me something if you want.”

You show him how to edit the contact, then watch with a little too much interest as he selects a name. He hesitates for a long time, then looks at you. “What am I in your phone?”

“Um –” You added him as a contact already. You hold out the phone for him to examine, and he studies it like he’s reading a textbook. “It’s just your name. Tomura. See? I thought about adding the ghost emoji, but that would have been silly. I can add it if you want.”

Tomura shakes his head, then sets your phone aside and types your name into his as your contact. Which is fine. Except then he adds a display name – My Human. “Hey,” you complain. “Don’t do that. I used your name.”

He smirks. Part of you wants to change his display name to something like “my asshole ghost” to return fire, but before you can say anything, Keigo honks his car horn and hollers from outside. “Hey, if we’re going, we need to go now!”

“We’re going!” you shout back. You pick up your bag and your work backpack and race out to his car. You’re about to get in when you realize you haven’t said goodbye to Tomura yet. And that you’re missing your phone. “Shit –”

“I have your stupid phone.” Tomura’s on the other side of the fence. You reach for it, but he holds it just out of range. “I want a kiss first.”

“I was going to kiss you anyway,” you say. You lean across the property line, grasp his shoulder to pull him closer, and kiss him goodbye. You don’t stop until Keigo honks the horn again.

You’ve been in relationships before, but none of your exes ever insisted on a goodbye kiss when you had to leave for more than a day, let alone a goodbye kiss in full view of the entire neighborhood. You’re a little giddy on the drive to work, and Keigo, to his credit, doesn’t rib you too much about it. “He knows you’re not going off to war, right?”

“He knows.” You slouch down in the passenger seat. “He’s been moping all week. Did Touya do that?”

“When I was gone for too long, Touya broke out of the house,” Keigo says. Your jaw drops. “He and a bunch of other ghosts haunted this old-style family compound, and each of them was confined to a specific area. He broke out of his and into somebody else’s. You can guess how that went. So that ghost broke out of their assigned haunt, and then –”

You remember what Keigo said about ghost fights. “How many ghosts were there, total?”

“Six.” Keigo winces. “I moved pretty fast after that.”

Dabi sounds like he was a lot to deal with even back when he was Touya. A terrible thought occurs to you. “You don’t think Tomura would –”

“You told him where you were going,” Keigo points out. “And you got him a phone so he can talk to you. When it was me I just dipped for a day or two. I had no idea Touya was going to take it like that.”

“So that was kind of early on for you guys?”

“I guess.” Keigo sighs. You’re at a stoplight, and he hits his head lightly against the steering wheel. “Anyway, that one was on me. If he’d been a normal roommate I would have told him where I was going. So I think you’re probably fine. But we’ll let you know if anything weird starts happening.”

You’re hoping it won’t. You change the subject. “Thanks for giving me a ride. Parking in the station lot for two days was going to be expensive.”

“No problem. I was headed this way anyway,” Keigo says. “It’s better that you’re taking the train than driving. Less expensive.”

“It’s harder to track, too,” you say. “I don’t think anybody’s watching, but – still. Better safe than sorry.”

“Definitely,” Keigo agrees. He merges onto the highway and floors it to a speed he swears the cops don’t pull people over for. “Nobody wants a repeat of last time.”

You’re hoping to avoid it. That’s what this trip is about. When you shared the idea with Mr. Yagi and Aizawa, they both approved, although they both suggested that they should go instead of you. You held your ground. Even fifteen years after his embodiment, Mr. Yagi has a reputation among ghosts, and Aizawa’s carrying around Hizashi’s marks with no conjurer-forged bracelets to conceal them. Besides, you’re the one who found the asylum, who found Shigaraki Yoichi. Since there’s basically nothing else you can do to help, you want to see this through.

But that doesn’t mean you’re looking forward to the trip. In fact, your dread of it increases throughout the day, until you’re dragging your feet along with your suitcase as you walk to the train. Some part of you knows the dread is irrational, but it’s hard to shake, and it’s got nothing at all to do with conjurers, asylums, or ghosts. The city nearest to the asylum is the one your parents moved to, after you went to college and they sold the house you grew up in. And you and your parents have an agreement to check in whenever you’re in the same city as they are. When you texted them to tell them you’d be there for the weekend, they told you to cancel your hotel reservation and invited you to stay with them.

It’s been over two years since you last saw them. Last time it was awkward, and it was awkward the time before that, too. Your parents’ ambitions for you included a college degree and financial independence, and once you hit those milestones, it was clear at least to you that they have no idea what to make of you. But turning down their offer of a place to stay would have made things worse, and besides, hotel rooms are expensive. Saving money is worth an awkward weekend at your parents’ new home. You’ve never been there before.

You doze on and off on the train, waking up at every stop and checking your phone. Tomura hasn’t texted you, but then again, why would he? He existed in the house alone long before you were even born. Maybe he’s figuring out that he likes the peace and quiet, too.

The thought doesn’t sit well with you, and you’re crabby for the rest of the ride, although you do your best to shake it off once you arrive. The meeting with your parents will be difficult enough without you being irritated at the ghost in your house at the same time. It’s just past eleven-thirty as you make the short walk to your parents’ house from the station, your stomach growling the entire way. You’ll have to order in from somewhere once you’re settled for the night.

Their house is in a small new development, multiple homes clustered around a large central courtyard. You step through the gate and make your way across it to your parents’ front door. You check your phone one last time, ordering yourself not to be disappointed when you see that Tomura hasn’t reached out. Then you raise one hand and press the doorbell.

The door swings open almost immediately, and your father smiles at you in a way that gives you pause. He reaches out and lifts your suitcase out of your hand, then pulls you into the house and into a hug shortly afterward. For lack of anything better to do, you hug him back.

He’s smaller than you remember. More frail, and there’s more grey in his hair. How old are your parents now? Pushing seventy – they had you late, and you’ve always had the impression that you were sort of an accident. “It’s been too long,” your father says to you. He waits while you take off your shoes, then beckons you further down the hall. “Come along. We held back dinner so we could eat together.”

That doesn’t sound right. You rarely ate with both parents at once when you were a kid; family mealtimes were no one’s priority, and you ate with whichever parent was in the house at dinnertime, or you ate alone. “Why?”

Your father gives you an odd look. “It’s been too long,” he says again, as if the distance is all your fault, as if they couldn’t have reached out just as easily. “And it seems you’ll be very busy this weekend. This might be the only time we can catch up.”

“I have a lot to do,” you admit. Your father sets your suitcase down just inside the door of a room and continues down the hall. You can smell food cooking. “Thank you for waiting for me.”

Your mother is busy in the kitchen, but when you go to help her, she waves you off, under instructions to wash your hands and get settled. “I’m making your favorite,” she tells you, and smiles. But then you see the smile waver. “Is it still your favorite?”

“I make it all the time,” you say. “It never tastes quite like yours.”

Tomura’s observed you working on the recipe more than once, and he always makes fun of you for changing it each time. No matter what you change, you can’t make it taste right, but maybe – “If you won’t let me help, can I stay and watch?”

“Of course,” your mother says. “It’s been too long.”

You wish they’d both stop saying that. If they wanted you to talk to them more now, they should have talked to you when you were a kid. Hizashi’s words pop into your head, like they do every so often: Mommy and Daddy didn’t love you enough. Maybe they didn’t. Or maybe they just didn’t know what to do with a kid once they had one.

Your phone makes the sad chiming sound that tells you it’s running low on battery, and you dig up your charger and plug it in, leaving it balanced on the corner of the kitchen counter as you watch your mom cook. Watching her, it’s easy to see where you went wrong in the recipe, or where you went wrong by following the recipe – there are spices your mom uses that are nowhere to be found on the ingredient list. You didn’t watch her cook very often as a kid. Maybe you should have asked if you could help.

The three of you sit down to dinner, and it’s beyond weird. The family dinners you remember were full of silence, but it’s been over two years since you last saw your parents, which means there’s a lot to talk about. You’re not sure how to talk about your life now, so you ask your parents about theirs, and hear that your dad’s retired but your mom is working part-time teaching English at a local middle school. They like their neighbors a lot. In fact, they want you to meet their neighbors tomorrow night. Apparently the neighbors have been asking about you.

“We told them a little, but you’re so busy that we haven’t talked in a while,” your mom says. Now you get why they invited you to stay here. Not knowing what your only child is up to looks pretty bad. “How have things been for you? Are you still working in the public defenders’ office?”

“What about law school?” Your dad takes a sip of his drink. Sometime in the last three years, your parents got sort of into fancy wine. “Are you still planning to go back?”

“Yeah. Money’s still an issue. I had a hard time saving with how high my rent was.” You try your own wine, but you don’t know enough about wine to know if it’s any good. “I bought a house, though. So I guess that’s new.”

It’s quiet for a bit. When you look up from your plate, you find your parents staring at you with their jaws dropped. “You bought a house?” your mother repeats. “You can’t afford law school. How can you afford a house?”

“I didn’t have enough for law school. I had enough for a downpayment,” you say. “My mortgage payments are cheaper than my rent was.”

“That’s hard to imagine. Is it in a good neighborhood?” your dad asks. “If it isn’t – what’s funny?”

Your neighborhood, being good. “There are five other houses besides mine. Three of them have families in them. They’ve been really nice to me, mostly. We all get together sometimes.”

“What for?”

Strategy sessions. Ghost fights on the sidewalk. Conjurer ambushes that end with half the street wrecked and some of you injured. “Just regular stuff. I went to one of the kids’ parties last weekend. I brought Phantom. She was a hit.”

“Who?”

“My dog,” you say. “I’d just gotten her the last time we talked. Don’t you remember?”

“She sent us a picture,” your dad reminds your mom, while you tamp down your frustration. “Is someone looking after her this weekend?”

“Yeah. My –” The stumbling block of how to describe Tomura temporarily breaks your brain. “A friend.”

You covered it well, you think – but you weren’t fast enough. “What kind of friend?” your mother asks, way too interested. “A special friend?”

“God, Mom. No.” You imagine the look on Tomura’s face if he heard someone refer to him as your “special friend” and experience a brief but powerful urge to crawl into a vent and die. “A friend. Really, I could have asked anybody in the neighborhood. They’re all really – nice.”

“A house,” your father muses. “In a good neighborhood. You must have a lot of friends over.”

You can’t tell if he’s needling you or not. He knows you’ve never been the type to have a lot of friends. “It’s kind of a ways out from where everybody else lives. Most people don’t like driving that far.”

“Oh, so that’s how you could afford it.”

You could afford it because it’s so goddamn haunted that nobody else wanted it, and the only reason you kept it is because the ghost who haunts it let you stay. “I don’t mind. I’d rather drive than have roommates and a landlord.”

Your father nods sagely. Your mother’s on a different track. “What about dating? Is there anybody special?”

“No,” you say, lying your ass off. “I’m not seeing anybody.”

Your phone starts ringing on the counter, but you ignore it, and so do your parents. “I don’t want to rush you, but you ought to get a move on, don’t you think?” your mother presses. “You’re going to be twenty-seven soon. If you don’t hurry up, all the good ones will be gone. Don’t you want to settle down?”

“I’m as settled down as I’m going to get,” you say. Your phone starts ringing again, and you ignore it again, even though you’d almost take a telemarketer over this conversation. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“You’re not disappointing us if that’s what makes you happy,” your dad says, and you’re impressed for about two seconds before he ruins it. “Are you sure that’s what will make you happy? What about –”

“What about kids?” your mother breaks in, looking honestly distressed. “Don’t you want kids? You’d be such a good mom –”

You would possibly be the worst mom on the planet. Your phone starts ringing again. “Are you going to get that?” your dad asks.

You should. Three calls in a row means it’s important, but this line of questioning from your parents is pissing you off, which means you’re not in the mood to do anything you should be doing. “Nope.”

“I’ll get it,” your mom announces. She picks up the phone and gasps. “Who’s Tomura?”

Your stomach drops like you’ve been kicked off a building. “Nobody,” you say. “He’s –”

“I knew you had a special friend!”

“He’s not a special friend!”

Your mom brandishes your phone, triumphant. “Then why is there a heart next to his name?”

He wouldn’t. He – you stare at the screen of your phone, and sure enough, there’s Tomura’s name on the caller ID, complete with an obnoxiously red heart emoji. You’re going to kill him. You seize the phone, accept the call, and press it to your ear. “What?”

Tomura sounds unfathomably sulky when he answers. “You got me the phone so we can talk while you aren’t here. Why didn’t you pick up?”

“I’m having dinner with my parents. It’s rude to pick up the phone at dinner.” You’re conscious of your parents staring at you with identical gleeful looks on their faces. “Just like it’s rude to call somebody three times in a row. What was so important?”

“You didn’t call me all day.”

“You didn’t call me, either,” you point out, trying not to lose your temper. If he had called you, you’d have noticed his little edit to his contact and gotten rid of it. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine. Phantom ate and everything.” Tomura’s quiet for a second. “You have parents?”

“Yesh,” you say. Did you tell him that’s who you were staying with? You don’t remember. “I’m staying with them, not at the hotel. They invited me.”

Tomura swears under his breath. You can hear him rustling around, but you’re not sure what he’s doing, and the longer you give your parents to prep for their interrogation, the worse it’s going to be for you. “Can I call you back in a little bit? I do want to talk to you. I just – can’t right now.”

“How long is a little bit?”

“I don’t know,” you say hopelessly. Why does it matter? It’s not like he’s going to fall asleep. “I will, though. I promise. I miss you.”

The words leave your mouth before you can really think them through, but it’s the truth. You do miss Tomura. You miss him extra right now, and you’re not looking forward to falling asleep without his presence lurking somewhere in the room. When you wake up from nightmares of the world between, he and Phantom are the only things that make you feel better. “I miss you, too,” Tomura says. Then he hangs up the phone.

You set it aside, then turn back to face your parents. “So,” your mother says, grinning, “who’s Tomura?”

Your ghost. The reason why you don’t date anymore. The reason why you’re as settled as you’re ever going to be and the reason why your parents aren’t getting grandkids and the reason you’re here at all in the first place. There’s no way to explain him that your parents will understand, so you pick the one thing they will understand, even if it’s sort of wrong. “My boyfriend.”

You stagger off to bed forty-five minutes later, feeling like you’ve been run over by a train. Your mom had lots of questions – about where you met Tomura, how long you’ve been seeing him, what he looks like, what he does for a living – almost all of which you had to lie about. You’re going to have to remember all those lies later, too. Your dad was more concerned about why you’d lie about having a boyfriend, at which point you lost patience a little bit and said that the conversation the three of you just had about it was all the reason you needed. Then your mom said she wanted to meet him, and you decided it was time to start clearing the table.

They have a guest room, which is where you’re staying. You get ready for bed, go inside, and shut the door before checking your phone again. You’ve got messages from Tomura – and from Keigo. You open Keigo’s first and grimace when you see what it says. The lights in your house are going berserk right now. If he’s trying to get ahold of you, you should pick up the phone.

Keigo sent a video, too. In it, the lights inside your house are flickering wildly, and the entire property seems to be surrounded by some kind of weird, wavering forcefield. Great. You check Tomura’s texts next. He wants to know where you are. Why you haven’t called him. Then there are a few texts of him winding himself up over reasons why you haven’t called him, externalizing a thought process you would have kept to yourself if it killed you, before it occurs to him that something might have happened to you. At which point the phone calls started. You dig your headphones out of your backpack, put them on, plug them in, and call Tomura back.

He picks up halfway through the first ring, and you start talking first. “I shouldn’t have gotten mad. I just wasn’t planning to tell my parents about you, and because you called me when you did – and because you put that emoji in your display name – they found out.”

“Why does it matter if they found out?” Tomura asks. “Why don’t you want to tell them about me?”

You almost point out that you said you weren’t planning to, not that you didn’t want to, but Tomura knows what you really meant. He knows you better than you think he does. “You’re hard to explain,” you say. “To people who don’t know about ghosts. It wouldn’t make sense to them.”

“Why not?” Tomura’s climbing the stairs. You can hear them creaking under his feet. “You’re my human. Not the kind of human Spinner and Jin are. The kind Aizawa is.”

“The kind Keigo is,” you correct. Tomura makes an irritated sound. “Aizawa and Hizashi are married.”

“So what? You’re that kind of human. That’s not hard to explain.”

Maybe it isn’t. Maybe you’re making this more complicated than it needs to be. “I told my parents you’re my boyfriend. I hope that’s okay.”

“Boyfriend,” Tomura repeats, like he’s never heard it before – but when he speaks up again, it’s clear he’s got a handle on what it means. “If that’s what you have to call it so people understand, fine. As long as they know you’re my human.”

You could probably play off Tomura calling you his human as a cute nickname or something, but you’d really prefer not to have to do that. “If I tell people you’re my boyfriend, they’ll understand for sure.”

“Good.”

There’s some rustling around on Tomura’s end of the line. “What are you doing?”  you ask. “Where are you?”

There’s a prolonged silence, which means Tomura’s somewhere he thinks he’s not supposed to be. There aren’t many options left these days. “You’re on the bed, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. So what?” More rustling. “It’s weird that you’re not here. I hate it.”

“I don’t like it, either,” you admit. When you close your eyes, it’s easy to picture Tomura stretched out on your side of the bed, taking up the space you usually would, head resting on your pillow. “Maybe there won’t be as much to go through tomorrow as I thought and I can get home tomorrow night instead.”

“The sooner you come back, the better.” Phantom’s collar rattles in the background of the call, and you know she’s jumped up on the bed with Tomura. “Spinner came over. He said I needed a game that wasn’t Rainbow Fish, so he gave me one and taught me how to play it. It’s – Pokémon?”

“He gave you something to play it on, too, right?” You need to thank Spinner. “What do you think of it?”

“It’s okay. The music is weird.” Tomura’s voice fades for a second, and you can hear Phantom slobbering into the microphone. “It was more fun before he left. I don’t like playing games alone.”

“You can ask him back over. I bet he wouldn’t mind,” you say. “Which starter did you pick? Fire, water, or grass?”

“Fire,” Tomura says. You could have guessed that. “My rival had water, though. I should have picked grass.”

“If you picked grass, your rival would have picked fire.”

“So they always pick the one that can beat yours?” Tomura sounds honestly pissed at the unfairness, and it makes you smile. “That’s stupid.”

“It would be boring if it was too easy,” you say. Tomura complains under his breath. “And they can’t beat you if you build a good team. I used to play that a lot as a kid. I can help if you want.”

“I don’t need help,” Tomura says. “You can watch if you want.”

“That sounds nice.” You imagine sitting next to Tomura with your head on his shoulder, letting the goofy Pokémon music lull you into a doze. It’s a weirdly relaxing image. You find yourself swallowing a yawn. “Sorry –”

“Go to sleep. If you don’t you’ll be slow, and then you’ll have to stay the extra day.” Tomura sounds annoyed, but he sounds annoyed any time you have to end an interaction before he wants it to end, so you’re used to it. What you’re not used to is what he says next. “If you have one of your nightmares, don’t just lay there doing that weird shivering thing. Call me.”

You lie there for a moment, stunned. You’ve never mentioned the nightmares to him. You never breathed a word. “How did you know?”

“I know what sounds you make in your sleep. When you’re having a nightmare they’re wrong.” Tomura’s quiet for a moment. “Don’t just lay there. Call.”

Your throat feels tight. “Okay.”

Tomura hangs up. You pull your headphones out of your ears, set your phone down on the nightstand, and squeeze your eyes shut. You don’t need to cry. There’s no reason why your eyes should well up.

You’re in your parents’ house. It’s a new house, but it feels the same as the old house. Even though your parents listen now. Even though they care about what’s going on in your life – for their own reasons, sure, but they care – your family is still the same way it’s always been. Quiet. Distant. Sterile. Your parents have seemed happier the last few times you’ve seen them. You’ve never admitted it out loud, to anyone, but you think they’ve been happier since you moved out, because you moved out. And that was okay with you. The last time you went back to visit, it was fine.

It’s not fine anymore – not because they’re different, but because you are. You remember Tomura saying once that he didn’t care about being alone before, but he does now. You didn’t let yourself care about the way your family was before, but you can’t stop yourself from caring now, because now you know how it feels to actually belong somewhere. You belong at your house. You’re wanted at your house. You make someone happy by being there. Somebody misses you when you’re gone, tells you to hurry back, tells you to call if you’ve had a nightmare. There’s probably something fucked up about the fact that the only person you’ve ever felt at home with isn’t even human. But you know what it means to feel at home now. Being away from that is hard. Harder than you want to handle.

You scramble for your phone, and it starts ringing in your hand. Tomura’s contact, with its stupid heart. You jam your headphones into your ears and accept the call, and for a moment you and Tomura are just talking over each other. The gist of it is pretty clear, though. You were about to call him, just when he decided to call you. “Um –”

“Stay on the phone while you’re sleeping. That way I’ll hear. And I can wake you up.”

Your heart lifts even though it shouldn’t. “How are you going to wake me up?”

You picture Tomura shrugging. “I’ll just yell.”

“Don’t yell.” The only thing that would be worse than having one of your nightmares is waking up from one to the sound of Tomura hollering in your ear. “If you hear me start to have one, hang up the phone and call me back. I’ll hear it ringing and it’ll wake me up.”

“Yelling is faster.”

“And it’s scarier,” you say. “You’d know if you slept.”

“Ghosts can’t.” Tomura’s quiet for a moment. “I wish we could.”

That strikes you as weird. It strikes you as weird any time Tomura talks about wanting to do one of the few human things materialized ghosts can’t do. “Why?”

Tomura doesn’t answer. “Fine. I won’t yell. Go to sleep.”

“Tomura –”

“Go to sleep,” Tomura says again. If you try to talk anymore, he’ll just ignore you. You hear Phantom snoring in the background and tell yourself that it’s time to sleep. You shut your eyes.

Somehow knowing that Tomura’s there on the other end of the line, knowing that he’ll wake you up if you start having one of your nightmares of the world between, helps you fall asleep. You think you hear Tomura whisper something as you drift off, but there’s no way you heard him right. It has to be a dream. At least it’s a better dream than the ones you’ve been having lately.

[simon-x-billy]

Simon x Billy

Chapter 11: What is my hand doing?

[Gif not mine]

Prompt: Secret relationship reveal

Masterlist || ao3 || start || prev || next wip!

RECAP: When last we left our lovers, Simon was still stuck in Brooklyn for career purposes, but at least he got to tell his besties that he is A. on a panel at Comic Con for reasons; B. moving to Italy; and C. talking to someone there. That would be Billy, but the besties think it’s Billie — so that’s fun. Billy, on the other hand, has not been told about Simon’s decision to move. But at least he finally has been told when Simon is coming back to see him — in two days. Today is not that day. Tomorrow is. Until then, the pair are inventively and intuitively making use of technology to come together again. But before we can get to that, the plot thickens/deepens/moves forward. TW: Phone sex written by someone who has never had it. If this is a hideously awful embarrassment to phone sex-havers everywhere, please leave a comment, DM, whatever. Why should they have bad phone sex when they can have better phone sex? Seriously, I ask you.

Chapter 11: What is my hand doing?

———/Simon/———

Ugh, Brooklyn. (Blasphemer! I’m calling myself out and I am a-shamed.) But it's true. Brooklyn is ugh to me right now. At least the wait is almost over. Kelly finally arranged to have me sent back to Italy tomorrow night. Like a- Well, like whatever kinds of objects get sent back to Italy.

Wait.

I rewind that thought back to where I said ‘tomorrow night,’ and this time think it with a bullhorn. TOMORROW NIGHT! Hallefrickinlujah.

The fear is that she’s probably made all the arrangements necessary to have me air dropped from a moving helicopter to get back at me for announcing I’m abandoning Brooklyn. She is truly angry at me. It became particularly apparent when I asked for help with the real estate stuff. That might have been exactly the wrong thing to ask for her help with. This will require a fitting gesture of my undying admiration, and my amazement at her next level ability to put up with me. She levels up every time I breathe in her general direction.

I’m calling Billy without even realizing it.

“Hey, man,” Billy answers. “Howeyeh?” I can hear him smiling.

“Do you have plans tonight?” I ask. “Beyond sleeping, I mean.”

“Just sleepin,” Billy replies with curiosity. I can hear him yawn at the other end and it feels endearing in my stomach. Which is weird, but pleasant. “What did you have in mind?” I can hear his smile change to a sly smirk all the way from Italy.

“I want to fall asleep listening to you fall asleep,” I admit, and immediately die of cringe. Hello, creeper. It’s too late, and I can’t take it back.

“Now, see, yeh can’t just go round sayin beautiful stuff of that sort. It’s unfair, that’s what it is. Say it again.”

“I want us to fall asleep together,” I repeat. “Even if we can’t exactly be together when we do it.”

Billy makes a noncommittal sound. “Time difference is a heartless bitch, Simon. How early can yeh manage fallin asleep?”

“Well,” I pause in frustration cuz I hadn’t thought about that at all in my internal fantasy of hearing him sleep. (Creepy? Romantic? Romantically creepy? Don’t know, don’t care.)

I offer an alternative. “Wake up just for me, then go back to sleep?”

Billy snorts right about the time I realize that that’s actually kind of a tall ask. And again, possibly creepy. Or romantically creepy. “Am I creepy? Or romantically creepy?”

“It’s more romantically presumptuous, really. But I’m setting my alarm, nonetheless. Now let me alone so I can finish prepping the zeppole. Hot pillows of sweetness sent by the Lord himself.”

“Like my own hot pillows of sweetness?” I giggle. I’m giggling.

“Er,” Billy begins. After a moment’s consideration, he clears his throat. “You bake?”

———/Billy/———

“Will yeh be wantin a tour guide and a driver for Pompeii, then?” I ask the pair before me, tryin not to yawn into the late afternoon sun as I count out the change for their beach chair rental. No less than 70, if they’re a day.

“Why? You think we can’t find our way ourselves without them? We’re more than capable, young man,” says the missus. I can see she’s just windin up for a tongue lashing. Grumpy in the mornings, could be.

Grumpy.

I head her off at the pass, picking up the beach bar’s ancient phone with a finger poised to dial. “Not in the least, not in the least. But I guarantee you’ll get more out of it with a guide to show you all the secret corners, peek inside the archaeologists’ tents, tell yeh the local lore and the wisdom of the ages.”

She relaxes. Guaranteed it was the ‘wisdom of the ages’ bit what did it.

“Ah, go on. Let me call the front desk. They’ll arrange for everything.”

“I can arrange for everything my-” she begins, pugnacious as ever.

“Martha,” the man says softly with his hand on his wife’s back. “Let the boy do his job.”

Bright eyes, big smile, Delaney. Simon would be proud of my Guest Services face, and then demand I’m lying about never attending theatre school. I hmmm inaudibly to myself.

Shocked am I, the whole thing is managed entire without another objection, and the mulish Martha and her man are sat there happily installed on their beach loungers.

Oh, Lord. Here comes trouble. “It’s to be that sort of day, is it?” I grumble.

At the very least, I have fair warnin as I can hear the trouble comin. The soft tinkle of bells at her toes announces her arrival. “Well if it isn’t the lovely and mysterious Sabina. Docked the barge, have yeh.” Land ho.

“It’s Billy, isn’t it.” Not a question. Lovely.

“More a ‘he’ than an ‘it.’” Get your pronouns right, miss.

She doesn’t deign to acknowledge my comment. I’m to be ‘it,’ then. Is she offensive on purpose, or does it just come naturally? Perhaps she’s simply gifted that way.

“To what do I owe the honor, my dear?”

“Instructions,” she says with a coolness that verges on frostbite. “For a party next Saturday night. You will come out to the boat as my guest,” she informs me, and tips her head to the side as she gauges my reaction.

Is she- I mean, she wouldn’t be- askin me out? Never.

“Bring Simon as your +1.”

“He’s the +1?”

“You be the +1 if you like that position better.” Her monstrously oversized sun hat casts shadows across her tip to toe, straw letting through tiny, bright dots of light that shift as she shifts. Just as the day I made her cheerful acquaintance.

Has it really only been two weeks? Really? That can’t be right.

“Greta will text Kelly the details, technicalities, all that,” she informs me. Kelly is Simon’s PA, so I’m assumin Greta’s her own.

“Kelly? You know Kelly.”

“Of course. She’s Kelly. People know this about her.” She waves away the question as if it’s both beneath her and boring.

“Sabina, has anyone ever described you as a piece of work? I’m meaning a work of art, acourse.”

She lowers her sunglasses and without cracking the slightest smile, winks at me. Well fuck me sideways.

“How did you know?” I ask, takin my opportunity where I find it. “It’s been botherin me ever since your show. You well knew the party was at a pan club. Why us? Tellin the two of us to come. What did you see in Simon and me that told you somethin would happen?”

Ignoring my question, she floats onto a barstool and flips her curtain of glossy, black hair behind one tanned shoulder.

I put back on my Guest Services face. “Something to drink? Might enjoy an espresso, biscotti,” I offer.

“No. I will not eat,” she informs me.

“Then what can I do for yeh, my dear?”

“Come next weekend. Another birthday party. They happen every year,” she says, lackadaisically. “The house. The boat. You know how it is.”

“Do I?”

“Maybe you don’t.”

She never answered my question, and I’m of a mind to persist. “We’ll consider it, if yeh answer me. Why did you tell us about your show in Naples? What did you see in the pair of us? How could you have known, when even we didn’t?”

“Billy.” She places her hand over mine. I use wiping down the bar as a reason to casually free it again. Watching my reaction over her absurdly large sunglasses, she gloats almost imperceptibly. “Make me a bellini.”

Sabina taps her fingernails on the bar top and takes the opportunity to study me as I pull out the peach purée. I add the sparkling prosecco and place the drink in front of her, giving her an arched eye caterpillar.

She tips her head toward me and says, “All right. I’ll tell you. Simon, you know he’s from New York.”

I nod.

“We know the same people,” she says as if that explains anything.

“And?”

“And from the cafe I saw Simon Lewis sitting in my marina.”

“Your marina?”

She bats the question away. “Of all the times Simon and I have wound up at the same parties, I’ve never seen him look at anyone else the way he looked at you.”

Fuck me.

She continues, “He wanted me to go away, deeply. Who could make Simon want such a thing? So I thought I’d have a little experiment. Nothing outrageous.” She smirks. “You couldn’t take your eyes off him. But he practically pissed a circle around you.”

“Not at all. He spent the whole time dealin with you, my darlin. And if anything, it was me as was sat there doin the pissing. I didn’t much care for the way you spoke to him.”

She laughs low. “Your expression gave you away, you know. The kiss was a test; a simple one.”

“Then what if we hadn’t been, I don’t know, swept up in the whole thing that night?” I challenge her. “What would have happened then?”

“Does it matter? Were you? Swept away? The right music at the right moment can make anything happen.” She dismounts with the tinkling of tiny bells, bellini untouched.

Before she reaches the hotel elevator, Sabina calls back over her shoulder, “Oh and Billy. Dress for Capri.”

Ah. Understood. I take a deep breath. “I’ll do the best I can.”

She nods, and departs without a word.

“Lovely to see you, too,” I mutter.

———/-/———

It’s Wednesday? I thought yesterday was Wednesday. Fuck me, an extra day. Life drags on at a snail’s pace.

Opening photos, I realize Simon’s face was the last shot I took that wasn’t of my genitals. It’s of him in the tunnel, moments before we entered the club. All bold, confident, and full of excitement, with not a clue of the direction the night would take.

When I look at him, I’ve no idea who I am anymore. I’ve never really been that certain to begin with, in all honesty.

For a man without a rudder, I’ve never needed to know who I am. Just all the whos I’m not. Not a father, not a son, not a brother, not a bother.

Alfie tells me I’m the best of friends. Cheers, mate. Nice to hear, but I’m not sure I believe it overmuch. Not when I’ve never stuck round long enough to be a good friend to anyone.

I’m a nomad. And I hate it.

I’ve only just realized that I hate it. Before Italy, before this glorious place, I’d have described my life as Freedom. Carefree, exciting, mind-broadening, instructive, adventuresome, even a right good time. But as I feel all these words strung together in my mind, I realize they’re all empty and meaningless, when it’s clear I’m the one who’s strung together. Like stringing lights about a Christmas tree. Invariably there are big holes crying out to be filled. Gaps with nothin big enough to fill them. That’s me — gaps big enough for a man to fall through. Never to be heard from again.

For certain, not a sole Delaney has ever noticed I’ve gone. Isn’t that just grand. All the times I’ve lived under one roof or another, time done for what? Some stories told over a pint at Christmas. And not the funny kind.

“Remember that cousin Billy?”

“Oh sure’n let me see now. He was the one as had the curly hair, yeah? Nice fella.”

Or the older generation? They might say, “Oh that Billy, he always was such a helpful young man to have round the house when somethin needed seein to. So helpful. Can’t remember the sound of his voice or the colour of his eyes, but he sure was helpful. Cryin shame we never had a good place to put him when it was our turn.” Sure’n that’s what they’d say.

Oh, shit. Must remember to ring Shazza and wish her a happy birthday.

———/-/———

“Vittorio, buongiorno,” I say as I enter his office.

Rosalina has just been to fetch me from the kitchen, where I’d been losing myself in the mundanity of prep work.

Problem is, I’ve also been gettin lost in too many mental images from the weekend. Just couldn’t clear my head. All good, so good.

It was all so good until Simon’s phone lit up like a christmas tree, and everything hit a wall. Just bam! Face first. A wall. (Shaped like a woman named Kelly, presumably somewhere in New York.)

It’s his career, Delaney. Quit thinkin what yer thinkin. It’s just God punching us in the nads with fate, as Simon would surely say.

Thing is, I do feel as though I’ve been punched in the testicles. I do. And I’m not sure what’s makin me feel worse — the testicles or the fact that we said goodbye immediately after my life was rocked on its foundations.

Am I bi? Never figured I was before. Does that mean I’m not? I love makin love to a woman. So, not gay per se. But not entirely straight, neither. How could I be?

So, bi?

Bein bi would explain Simon’s sudden appearance on the short list of people who’ve ever made me come that hard. Does that make me bi?

“Beelee!” The hearty voice of Vittorio greeting me snaps me out of yet another reverie. With that big-loving smile, kisses to the cheeks, an arm round the shoulder, he makes me feel welcome, and he knows how to make me feel useful. Helpful. Good at what I do. And like I contribute to this little family he’s built in his kitchen.

My smile stretches wide. Not just because I feel like smilin, but more because he deserves all the smiles. “Vittorio, you are a gentleman and a scholar.”

He laughs with a boom. “Si, certo!” Yes, obviously.

“Certo,” I agree, and indeed it is obvious. He’s wise, and kind. I hate getting attached. But I’ll hate saying goodbye to Vittorio. Ah, fuck. I’m attached. It’s too late.

“Come, Beelee. You will sit with me,” he says, opening the doors out to his private garden patio, and motioning me past. He picks up a sweating pitcher of the homemade lemonade they call limonata, made and bottled here in one of the orchard’s outbuildings. If sunlight had a taste it would be Vittorio’s limonata.

“Beelee,” he begins, once we’ve settled in. He looks out at the view and sighs. “The year you are with us is coming near to end,” he says with the most marvelous Northern Italian accent. “You are considering this with much thought, yes?” He leans back comfortably and sips his limonata in a motion he’s likely developed over decades in that chair with this view. Quite a place to talk business and no mistake.

His words finally penetrate my addled brain. “Have I thought of movin on?”

“Si,” he nods.

Movin on.

No, I have not been considering with much thought. But maybe I should. He’s right. It’s only a couple months off, innit. I’ve barely kept an eye on the goings-on in the culinary world since I arrived in Sorrento. And that is curious.

It’s curious, as every other country I’ve been I've always seen as a gig. Workin to live, yes acourse, but livin to expand my ability, my craft, my creativity, along those veins. Finding the joy in learning the tempo of life in each place. I have loved almost all of my gigs, and enjoyed the environs as much as time allowed. And yet I’m always counting down the days, weeks, and months, months, weeks, and days, well before the end for each city. Until now.

I love Vittorio. Adore him. Both as a mentor and as a man. He is a good man. Solid. Steady. Fiercely loyal and protective of the hotel family he’s built. He may have been born in the North well away from the water, but after all this time he has come to be a man of the South. Its cliffs, the sea, the vertical living with stairs to get anywhere. This is his home. Yes, he was born in Siena, but he chose to live his life in Sorrento. He chose this place to plant his roots, and settled in to live his best life.

I long to live that dream somethin awful. Some sort of permanence in this temporary life of mine. A life I could build, myself. A place of choice. A family of choice. Finding my tribe. And holding on to them. Holdin on for as long as I’m allowed to keep ‘em.

Vittorio looks at me with those intuitive eyes of his. “Qua cosa? What thing is so bad to make your face is falling?” He pretends his face has fallen to his lap to illustrate. “You are having sadness?”

“I haven’t thought much about leaving, to be honest,” I admit.

“You fall in love with Italia, I think. In you I see this, each day a little more, a little more. I am thinking the thoughts that you I should send to Firenze. You learn to cook in the North. It is, come se dice, how you say, molto bene very good y diferente with the Campania kitchens of us here.”

“Si, si, I’d like to learn the northern cuisine.” I can barely get my mouth to shape my next words. “Before I leave Italy.”

“Si. O posso Venezia. Pero non sera ristauranti che va bene.”

I laugh at such a sweeping statement of negativity from this man. “There are no good restaurants in Venice?”

“If there was good ristaurante, I send you to there. But Roma.” He rolls his r with gusto and passion for the eternal city. RrrrrrrOmmmmma. “Roma? Si, son ristauranti with the goodness I demand for to send you to there.” He nods thoughtfully. “Stefano, si.”

“Stefano Rossi?” Jaysus, good enough?

“O in Toscana, to Rodolfo.”

“Rodo Molinaro?” For serious?

“Si.”

Before I can bleat about these two utter gods of Italian cuisine, he interrupts me. “Or we take you from Italia and make you in France. Parigi - what you are calling Paris? Provence? You stay on the Mediterraneo you try Nice, la Riviara Franca.”

At least the French Riviera is just down the coast. (And that’s my first thought? How close I’d be to here?)

I try to interject, but he continues. “O in Spagna. I am having the very strong thought of Barcellona. O Siviglia. O to where you are calling Switzerland — Lucerne. You like Lucerne?”

“I’ve never-“

“You think with deeply careful thought of these places. I have thought very strong and with time that is long and full of care. These are the places you consider.”

“Vittorio. You are a dear, dear man and I cannot think of a suitable way to show how very much gratitude I have for you.”

“But your face is not a face of a man is happy,” he observes. “You are disappointing with these choices I give you?”

“No! Never, Vittorio. Not ever. I would joyfully live in every one of these cities! Florence, Rome. Paris, Nice. Barcelona, Seville. Lucerne. All of them.” Or none.

————/Simon/————

“I’d be in the air already, but I have to fit in one last fake fight with Kelly before I go. I promised to take her to brunch so we could fake-fight in person.”

“Let me guess, ‘It’s kind of your thing.’ Seems to me I’ve heard that one before,” Billy snarks into the phone. He sighs in defeat. “I can’t believe I’m gonna say this, but I think I’m jealous.”

“Oh yeah? Why? Literally dying to know the answer.”

“How long do I have to wait?” he asks, sounding greedy.

“For what?”

“Before I can have you again,” Billy growls, in a tone he’d surely describe as naughty. Or at least I would describe it as naughty.

“With your moans in my ear, breath hot against my throat,” he continues. See? Naughty.

“Billy.”

“Simon.”

“Billy. What are you doing?”

“Hearing that sound you made when I licked a stripe up your neck, still salty with sweat from the club.” His voice is all gravel, low and rumbly.

“You don’t fight fair,” I whine. But in an appealing, sexy way.

————/Billy/————

I like that impatient sound. “I wish this was your hand,” I say, trying to keep the grin out my voice.

“What? W-what is my hand doing?” I hear Simon swallow at the other end.

“That twist you did — it’s like you read my mind: How to wank Billy Delaney.”

I don’t have my hand anywhere close to my cock. I just love gettin to hear him all flustered.

“Uh, um, Billy? Are you having solo phone sex right now? Is that what you’re doing? Cuz I gotta tell you-“ he breaks off.

“What do you have to tell me, Simon?”

Silence.

“And make it good,” I rumble.

“Jesus Christ, Billy.”

“No, just Billy.”

“Funny,” he responds dryly. Which acourse makes me smile. It’s the combination of exasperation, frustration, and libido all fighting for their turns to spring out his mouth.

“Is it? I thought we were gettin someplace, Simon.” I pitch my voice as low as it will go. “Someplace good.”

He lets out a whimper, then all I hear is rustling. Something clatters on a hard floor. Simon gasps, “Shit!” followed by, “Oh, thank God,” then somethin else falls with a thud. I hear shuffling in the background and angry muttering.

“Simon?”

“Wait, wait, hang on just a-“ I hear a jingling of bells, and then the sound of street traffic. People in conversation getting closer and fading away. Sirens. Loud sirens. I hear the tell-tale sound of his Converse slapping on pavement, accompanied by rapid breathing and some mumbled curses. “Come on come on come on!” I hear him whisper.

“Ey! I’m walkin here!” he says loudly, away from the phone. Followed swiftly by an angry, “Yeah, fuck you too, buddy,” under his breath. I feel as though I’m listening to every film about New York ever made.

“Hang on, just a sec,” he huffs faintly, as if the phone isn’t at his ear. I hear the jingling of keys. Everything he does is suddenly amplified, all with a strange, hollow ambience. A few loud, echoing footsteps later, and again I hear the sound of keys scraping into a lock.

“Where are you?” I ask.

“Closer to my bed than I was five minutes ago,” Simon answers. “Not there yet.”

“Where were you five minutes ago?” This is pure gold.

“The bodega on the corner.”

“Serious?” I laugh. “Why’d you turn round?”

“Fuck you, Billy.”

“Not yet.”

I hear him trip over something. The phone clearly just went thud on carpet, and I hear a distant voice, swearing, “Where are you, fucking bastard.” His voice gets closer and closer. “Oh thank fucking Christ. I thought I broke my phone. Oh my sweet baby, an angel at one ear, a devil at the other.” He pauses as he shuffles whatever’s in his hands. “Billy? You still there?”

“Oh, I’m here, Simon.”

“Ok, start talking dirty again.”

I blink.

And we’re both laughing. “I like that you make me laugh,” I tell him.

“I like that you talk dirty. Can we go back to that please?”

“You tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine?” I tease.

“What does that even mean?”

“Where are you, Simon?”

“Standing at the base of my bed.”

“Naked yet?”

He chokes, “What?”

“Just wonderin. Set the scene for me, Simon.”

“Theatre school, I’m telling you, theatre school.”

“You’re thinking about theatre school at a time like this.”

“Not even a little, when you sound like this. Jesus, Billy.”

“Where are you now?” I keep my voice fluid.

“Oh! Um, not where I was a minute ago the last time you asked. No, not still there,” he says.

“Naked yet?” It all started out as a gag, but I’ve become increasingly invested in his answers.

“Shoe-less. But I’m working on it.”

“Let me hear you take off your shirt.”

“Okaaay. How?” he asks in confusion. “Shirts aren’t loud. Am I supposed to rip it?”

“You like the shirt? Cos I want to hear all the buttons popping off.”

I didn’t think he’d do it, but I clearly hear the sound of buttons set free, pinging off every surface.

“Button fly again tonight?” I ask, thinking back to how easily his jeans came undone with just a flick of his hand.

“Not tonight.”

“Let me hear the zipper when you pull it down.” I hum as I hear the zzzzzz.

“Did you hear it?” he asks, voice turning gruff.

“I didn’t think I would, but that was hot.” I thought I was teasing, but now I know I’m not. “Let me hear the material slide down your legs. Slowly, Simon. Don’t rush it.”

His phone amplifies the rustle of fabric sliding over skin as though my ear is right there. My eyes slip shut. I can picture the material being pulled slowly over his hips, revealing the V of his muscles there, then catching on the swell of his arse. Sliding over that magnificent arse. Fuck, when he runs, I bet it bounces. And the image makes me groan.

“Mmm, that sounded good,” Simon nearly purrs. He’s gone from 1 to purring in under 3 seconds. “Did it feel good, Billy?”

“Yer man’s got game then, has he?” I challenge him.

“You haven’t answered my question, have you, Billy.”

“Is the secret just to work my name into every sentence? Cos I’ll be honest with yous. It’s doin it for me.” I need more than this. Without preamble I switch us to FaceTime.

“Rude!” he squawks.

“Are you offended, Simon?” I set up the angle for him to watch. He’s gone silent. Turns out I’m clothed enough for some suspenseful stripping of my own. His face is priceless.

————/Simon/————

Merp.

—————/Billy/—————

I watch as his eyes go dark, and his expression turns unselfconscious. Hungry.

I’m more’n likely to show him whatever he wants to see, though it can be hard to actually ask for it. “What and where, Simon?”

“Mmhm that sounds nice,” he says absently.

“Nice.” That’s not what I’ve been goin for. Seems his thoughts are a mite preoccupied. “Do you know what I want to do to you the minute I see you?” I challenge.

“Um. No?”

“I am going to strip you bare after Customs if you stop for any reason except to walk straight to me.”

“You’ll be there at the airport?”

“And I will strip you bare. Right there at Customs. Don’t test me, Simon. After you’ve landed? If I see yeh doing anything?” I prompt him.

“I’ll come straight to you,” he says on a whisper.

“That’s right you will. And the moment we reach the car, I’ll press you against it, undo your jeans, and wrap my hand round you, with just enough firm pressure.”

He whimpers.

“What do you like, Simon? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

“What I-“ His eyes go blank. “Merp.”

So I continue. “Then I’ll tell you what I want from you when I get you back to the hotel.”

He whimpers again.

“I want you to strip me slowly, make me impatient. Because I’ll be dying to have you fast. I’ll have been waiting for you, wantin to take you in that tiny car, wanting to feel all of you, and lay you down. But-“

“But she’s too small,” he whispers, getting into it a bit more.

“I’d bend you over the bonnet, but you won’t let me.”

“I won’t?”

“No Simon, you won’t. You’ll tell me the fuckin luggage can wait, and you’ll drag me to your room.”

“I’ll be dragging you?” he asks, sounding confused.

“Just go with it. You’re breaking my flow.”

“Sorry,” he whispers with a grimace.

“Shhh.”

“Ok.”

“Shhh. Hear me. I’ll want to drag you to bed instantly, but you won’t let me. You tell me to slow down. Take my time.”

“Take your time? We’ve gone a whole week without each other. How much more time will we need? Are we even naked yet?”

“Shhh, Simon. See it. See me in agony, desperate for every second I can have with you again. I’ll start at one end of your body and work my way to the other. Those runner’s legs, God. All that skin up, up, following my hands with my lips, lettin the hair slide across my mouth between kisses. Show me where my lips are, Simon.”

His breath catches. “Jesus, Billy.”

“Do you want to see how close my mouth will be? I’ll show you. Watch where I start, Simon, just here. See me.”

He lets out a high puff of air. His breath rate has picked up. So has mine.

“I’ll stop and kiss here.” I circle the spot. “I want my mouth on you, Simon. The soft, warm spot behind your knee you’ve never thought about until I became the first person to tongue you there. Or here,” I whisper, drawing my hand up my inner thigh. I have one thought and one thought only: get this next shot right.

I bring the camera round, laying back to give him the long view up my body.

“Mmmfm, you have a wet spot in your briefs,” he says in a huskier voice. He’s finally getting out of his own way.

“Do you know why, Simon?”

“Why?”

“Because all I can think about is running my lips over all of this skin,” and I draw my fingers slowly up to where my thighs meet. He lets out a high breath. “Show me, Simon. Show me where my lips are.”

The image on the screen swings wildly around, showing bits of lightly furred leg, the color of his sheets, confusing body hair, and the paint on the ceiling. He grunts as he repositions himself. Suddenly, the image is swinging around to show me the path up his knee and I get an eyeful of the long view he’s giving me.

“Mmmmm, do you know what I see, Simon?” All that flesh leadin to the sight of a cock and balls from below, snug in a pair of boxer briefs, lookin monstrous huge from this vantage point.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Yes, I know ex’ex’exactly what that l’looks like.”

“Draw your hand up the inside of your thigh for me. Let me watch it, your phone followin behind the whole way up.” I give him an example to inspire him. “Tell me when to stop, Simon.”

A high moan escapes him. “W’when do you want to stop?”

“Never.”

He groans. “Take off your briefs, Billy,” he instructs me, feeling bolder. “Now.”

I smile to myself. That’s the spirit.

“For you, anything, Simon.” And I realize I actually mean that. I probably would do just about anything he told me to.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” he asks me. “The wet spot just got bigger.” He sounds terribly proud of himself, and continues with more confidence. “Oh shit, your cock just got bigger, too. God, I can see the tip peeking out of your waistband.”

I steadily reveal every millimeter until he can see the full head. “Oh God. Billy.”

“I want you naked and fucking your hand, Simon, now. Let me watch.”

Simon whines.

“Naked, Simon. Then hand.”

Again, his high puffs of breath turn into a whine. But the moment I fist my cock, Simon’s voice drops two registers — as if he knows this is the moment we really get started. He’s saying, “I want to see the tip poke out of your fist, see you drawing the hood back as you stroke.”

“Fuck yes, Simon.”

“Closer,” he demands.

I moan at the thought that he wants to see it up closer. That an eyeful doesn’t send him runnin for covers. But no, he’s enjoying being in control.

“What does your other hand really want to be doing?” Simon rumbles. “When it’s not holding the phone, what’s it holding? Or fondling? Or sliding over. Show me, Billy. Show me what you do when you’re alone.” It’s a command, not a request.

I let out a long stuttering breath. “Simon, I think you might be quite good at this. Given some more practice,” I say, as I try in vain to get my phone under control. I need a place to prop it so I can use both hands. Finally, driven by the agony of frustration, I set the phone against a pillow at the right angle and kneel with knees spread wide.

“Oh fuck shit fuck,” comes straining out of him, and he’s fully stroking himself in earnest. “Nhhhh, Jesus Billy.”

What’s he on about? I look down at myself and visualize the view from that angle. Oh God. “You, too,” I grind out. “Want to see you too.”

He gives me what I want. Lord, that is a filthy fuckin sight from that angle. My hips punch my cock through my fist and I cradle my balls.

“Fuck yes,” he moans. I look down and find just how much precome I’m dripping. I hitch my hips closer to the camera and splay my legs wider. “Oh Jesus Billy fuck,” he gasps at the sight.

“Show me,” I tell him. He takes a screenshot and turns the phone round to show me. “Show me on you, Simon.”

“Oh, right,” he breathes.

“Faster,” I tell him. “Let me hear you.”

“What makes you come, Billy? Mmmmmfffwant to see it up close,” he groans.

I reframe the phone, but the sight from this distance has got to be brutal.

“Oh Jesus, Billy,” he huffs, then “Oh God,” comes out with an urgent tone. I’m flyin in and out my fist, yet somehow he can see it all.

“No, don’t stop,” I complain as his hand stutters to a stand still. He puts the phone down on the bed below him, and squats just over it. It’s an intense view. “Oh God, Simon. That is obscene.”

“Now you,” he instructs. “I want to see both hands better.”

I try to angle more carefully so he can see more cock and less balls.

“Oh fuck,” he says in surprise. “Right there, yes. No, too far, bring it back, bring it back - stop! Perfect. Show me.”

“That’s,” I grate out, “my line.” Oh God, I feel the sensation begin to build. “Simon- Si’ nhhhh, I’m- are you-“ I can’t think.

“Yes,” he grates out, followed by a strained, “Fuuuuuck!” I’m glad he’s as close as I am. I want to see him tip over the edge while he’s watchin me do the same.

I’m fucking panting, every breath I force out comes back in gasps. “Oh God yes,” I whisper. “Simon.”

“Me, too, me, too, oh fuck yes fuck. B’Billy?”

The look on his face is all shock and awe, then all I can see filling the screen is the head of his cock pulsing spurts of come landing somewhere outside the frame.

Ho shit. Fuck fuck fuck, the heat blooms throughout my body in warning. “Oh God, fuck Simon, fuuu, can you see? I want you- watch-“ I call out nonsense. I can only focus on the rush I feel throughout my body. I come in full view of the phone and my knees buckle.

Rolling to my back and still panting, I try to remember my name and country of origin. But “Simon,” is the only word I can find.

————/-/————

Masterlist || ao3 || start || prev || next wip!

————/-/————

[da-rulah]

Get to know your fic writer asks: (it was really difficult to pick the questions since I wanna ask you all of them lol). But, for now - 4, 8, 11, 13, 18, 22, and 64.

Thank you so much for asking! Aww if only I could answer them all for you 😂

4: Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?

Simplest answer; I daydream a lot… But a lot of them come from the ghost lore itself or lyrics/song titles, a lot of them are just picking off experience, some are from requests I get that spiral out of control in my brain… 😅

8: Do you prefer the beginning, middle or end of a story?

That really depends on the plot, but there’s something very satisfying about reaching the end of a fic, knowing I’ve completed it and executed my plan always makes me feel good! The beginning can be really exciting to write because you’re setting up the story and you have all these ideas and this inspiration and motivation to get into the storyline. The middle is the hardest to write, because you have point A and you need to get to point B, but you need to figure out how to get there, if that makes sense?

But every fic is different and I enjoy writing every part of it, but long answer cut short? I think I love reaching the end the most. It’s so satisfying and i love the feedback on a completed storyline 🥹

11: Link your three fav fics right now

I’m assuming this means of my own writing, since the asks are directed at fic writers so here’s my 3 favourites:

Confessional - Cardinal Copia x f!reader

Rituale Septem - Terzo x f!reader

The Mayor’s Daughter - Mary Goore x f!reader (Ongoing)

13: What’s a common writing tip you almost always follow?

Plan, plan, plan! I always set out my start, middle and end at the very least and make sure I know where I’m heading so I don’t get off track. Sometimes the plan changes in favour of a better idea halfway through, but at least I will have those guidelines. My next fic is already planned chapter by chapter in depth, I just need to name the chapters and get to writing it! But I need to finished The Mayor’s Daughter first…

18: Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? How do you come up with titles?

Usually before or during the planning phase, unless I get sent a request that gets out of hand… then the title comes later 😂 I usually come up with them based on songs or phrases, maybe a play on words or something? Most of the time it’s inspired by a phrase or significant moment in the fic itself. It’s hard to say how, they’re always inspired differently! But the titles for me always need to be relevant to a key moment or something.

22: Are there certain types of writing you won’t do? (style, pov, genre, tropes, etc)

I don’t want to limit myself here to be honest… there’s some kinks I’m uncomfortable with and some dead dove stuff I’m uncomfortable with that I won’t ever write but other than that? Not really.

64: Something you love to see in smut

PLOT. Oh god, I am a sucker for porn with plot. This is why most of my fics end up so bloody long! I can’t help myself, I like building connections, creating storylines… it just makes the smut so much better in my opinion. Give me angst or fluff or emotion or SOMETHING. I’ll eat it up. And as a plus size Queen myself, I do love a good plus size fic. We know the ministry is a body positive space, after all… 🤭

LIST OF QUESTIONS HERE 🖤

ASK BOX HERE 🖤

[finchinmoria]

So I got an idea for an Adar fic featuring an original male character that just would not let go, so I started writing it down. I’ve now outlined 11 chapters and have written a considerable bit of the first three chapters. I’ve only ever written fic for myself or shared it only with a few friends, but I think Adar has the power to take my AO3 posting virginity. At least, at this point, I’ve decided I really want to finish the fic and post it.

I’ve had tremendous health issues the past year that have interfered with my creative life, and I almost didn’t start writing this story down, but oh, am I glad I did. I have not experienced such joy creating in quite a long time, and it is such a salve to all the stressful things in my life right now.

I have to say though, in writing for Adar the most embarrassing thing to admit is that it’s a cozy romance. Extreme fluff. We’re talking like, a scene in a pumpkin patch level of fluff. Don’t get me wrong, I have been licking up every bit of Adar smut in the AO3 tags but it’s just not the story I want to write atm. Besides, fluff is kind of its own smut if you know what I mean. (Fluff girlies [gn] unite.)

All this to say I don’t know when I’ll start posting the story. I go in for surgery in two days. I’ll be in the hospital around 4 weeks recovering and doing IV treatments then another 3-ish weeks of at home recovery and rehab. I know I’ll have bad days but I will also be getting better and have good days, too. Plus the extended medical leave from my Day Job will give me time to focus on stuff I actually want to do. (Like write tooth rottingly sweet Adar m/m fanfic, thanks much.)

Whatever happens I’m looking forward to writing this fic and in a genuinely not overdramatic way, the next chapter of my life. This is the healing power of stories and characters. Life doesn’t stop and fandoms don’t exist in little snow globes separate from real life. They hold our hands on too-short work breaks and early morning rushes, in waiting rooms and even hospital beds.

I’m not deep into fandom but I’ve been having so much fun seeing post from the Adar brigade and many have given me such a warm welcome. I’m so glad to be here, with all the smutty, fluffy, tender, after dark moments that our favorite character has brought us. I just wanted to write something to show my appreciation, and encourage future me on the darker days.

[claire-elvisgirl]

BLOODY TRIANGLE pt. 1

Summary: You, Elvis and his old Master. A love story beyond time. In this chapter, you and Elvis meet for the first time and the connection between you two starts to ignite.

Warnings (about all the story): 18+, vampire stuff (something is made up), mention of bites and blood, fight, fluff, sex

Word Cunt: 1689

He didn’t know how much time passed since he ran away, but after many years of slavery, he was at last free…

Memphis, 2024

11 pm…

It was a cold and cloudy night and you were on your way home after a party with your friends. Your home wasn’t so far and you decided to take a walk to sober up. You weren’t used to drink too much, but that night things went differently and you crossed the line. You were walking straight home, looking down, when suddenly you bumped into something…or someone?! A deep voice surprised you: “Hey! Watch where ya goin’ lil’ one!”

You stepped back and apologised: “Ooww…oh my God, I…I’m sorry…” but you couldn’t finish. You looked up and you saw the most wonderful guy you had ever lay eyes upon. He was incredibly tall and he wore a black and red suit that immediately caught your eyes. He helped you to stand and he talked again in a deep and sweet voice: “It’s okay, ya don’t have to be sorry, just be careful…ya shouldn’t walk alone at night time!”

You tried to fix your clothes and you grabbed back your purse: “You’re right…I…I was going home!”

He was still there looking at you, almost worried: “D’ya have anyone to walk ya home?” he asked.

“N-no, but…it’s not far from here…” you stuttered with a little smile. He held out his hand to you: “May I walk ya home then? Ya seem a little confused…”

You kept staring at him, focusing mainly on his blue eyes and you felt almost hypnotised: “I…would you really do that?”

“Of course! And besides, it would be a shame if anything happened to a pretty lil’ thing like ya!” he replied with a smile. You grabbed his hand and you felt his strong grip wrapping around yours. You couldn’t help but notice how soft his skin was. He began to walk, still holding your hand: “So…what’s your name dear?”

“I…I’m y/n!” you answered. He kept walking tightening the grip on your hand, like he was afraid to let you go. “Y/n uh?” he smiled “A pretty name for a pretty girl”

You smiled back: “Thank you…aaand what’s yours?”

He stopped for a while: “My name? Oh well…my friends just call me Elvis…and would ya wanna hear another secret about me?” he leaned in and whispered in your ear: “I’m actually a vampire!”

You pulled back from him and you laughed, thinking that he was just joking: “Oh yeah…a real vampire…should I be scared of you?”

He grinned playfully: “Yeah, ya should definitely keep that in mind!”

After a while, you reached your home. All the time he stayed with you, you were enchanted by his voice and you almost couldn’t remember how you met him, just five minutes before. You were about to get inside when you saw him still there. He wasn’t willing to go. You got back to him: “Well…thank you for the company, it’s been very nice talking to you!”

He smiled: “Can I…can I have your number? Just in case…”

You were intrigued by him, but not to the point of giving him your number, not so soon at least: “Well, you know where I live so…my number won’t be necessary!”

He frowns: “Fair enough. I’ll just see ya around then and who knows…maybe someday you’ll let me even bite ya!” he replied as he turned his back to leave.

“Wait…were you serious about that vampire thing?!” you asked still thinking he was joking.

He stopped and he raised his eyebrow: “I certainly was. Do ya doubt me?”

“Oh no no…of course not, I mean…it’s normal to meet a vampire in the middle of the night, isn’t it!?” you laughed, still thinking he was joking.

He answered seriously: “Well, it depends on where you live, I suppose. Now, do ya want a lil’ proof?”

“Of course…a vampire…” you smiled and you walked to the door. He watched you go, before he stopped and decided to do something risky: “Hey y/n!”

“Yes?” you turned back to him.

He took a deep breath: “I do bite! Really!”

You smiled: “I’m sure you do!”

“Why don’t ya let me bite ya then? Just for a little bit…”

You lose your patience: “Look…are you into some strange sexual practice?! Because, let me tell you…this is the first time someone tries to charm me pretending he’s a vampire!” you laughed again.

“What? I’m not pretending…I…”

“Look, you’re a very nice guy and if you want to hang out with me you don’t have to pretend to be someone you’re not…” you handed him a piece of paper “here’s my number. Call me if you wanna see me again, but please…no more vampire stuff, you don’t need it to conquer a girl!”

He took the piece of paper in his hand and stared at it for a moment: “But I’m serious about everything!”

“Sure…” you turned your back on him and you walked to your doorstep.

He yelled at you: “I really am a vampire…and one day you’ll find out!” he walked off feeling hurt by your lack of belief.

You turned the key and opened the door: “A vampire...what a weird guy!” you looked at him walking away, then you closed the door and went upstairs to your bedroom. While he walked home, he was still thinking about you. He tried to shake those thoughts from his head, but he just kept remembering your cute laugh and your eyes. You couldn’t sleep either. You were awake in your bed, reading vampire facts from your phone. Then your eyes felt heavy and you turned off the lights: “Yes…really weird!”

He was still walking around in the night, thinking about you. Then suddenly a strange feeling hit him and he ran back to your house. As he stood in front of your door, he felt the urge to come in and see you again. He touched the knob on the door and it turned a bit. He was using his powers to get to you. As he entered the house, he looked around and smelled the air, like he was looking for something. And he was. He was looking for you. He followed your scent to your bedroom. He slowly opened the door and he peeked inside to see you sleeping peacefully. He walked in, but you didn’t even notice, as his steps were light as a feather. He stood in front of your bed and he whispered: “My beautiful angel…”

He felt his heart skipping a beat as he watched you lay there. You looked so innocent and peaceful. Your hair was spread across the pillow, your lips slightly parted. He walked closer to the bed and he kneeled down next to it, just staring at you. He reached out a hand and gently caressed your cheek, making sure not to wake you up. Then he sat on the side of the bed and he laid down beside you. His face was very close to your neck. He held his breath, preparing himself to bite. He opened his mouth and slowly sank his fangs into your flesh. You moaned lightly, but his bite was so soft that you didn’t even wake up. Your skin tasted sweet, like honey. Your blood was warm and juicy. He pulled back, afraid he might get too carried away. He looked at you and at the two tiny puncture marks he left. He gave you a tender kiss on your forehead and he vanished in the night. The morning after you woke up with a terrible headache. Your neck hurt. He went to the bathroom and you looked in the mirror. As you saw your reflection, you gasped: “What the hell…”

You saw your neck with the marks of his bite. You could feel the sweeling from where his fangs sank in and one of them was still red. You couldn’t believe your eyes; he was telling the truth and the worst thing of all was the fact that he did that in secret, as you didn’t even notice. You were so unsure of what to think, that you just stood there at your reflection. After a while you went back to your bedroom and you sat down on your bed. You had no idea what to think, but the thought of him coming back filled you with fear and excitement at the same time. In that moment your phone rang. It was an unknown number. You took the phone and you picked up: “Hello…?”

A deep voice came from the phone: “Hello sweety, did you like my lil’ surprise?”

He was talking to you with a sweet and relaxed tone, but you yelled at him: “You!? What have you done to me?”

“Don’t worry baby…I just took a quick lil’ taste…I doubt ya see much effects from that…” he replied.

You were furious: “How dare you…”

“It’s just an honest night of work for a vampire like me…but don’t worry, I’ll come back for more…ya taste delicious, ya know?!”

You yelled at him: “Forget it! Forget my number, forget about me, I don’t wanna see you ever again!” and you hung up, throwing your phone on the bed. After a while, it buzzed. You saw a text message from him:

“We’ll meet again and I’m sure you’ll let me drink more from ya!”

You blocked the number, but another message came in:

“Blockin’ my number only delays the inevitable!”

You kept blocking the number, but the messages kept arriving:

“I’ll stop at nothing to have ya!”

Then, a couple of days later, his tone changed:

“I’m sorry for what I said…I didn’t mean to send ya all those creepy messages. Can ya forgive me?”

You ignored him, but other sweet messages came in:

“I promise I won’t bite ya again! I beg ya, I can’t have ya hate me, I’m sorry!”

You grabbed the phone and you wrote back: “Forgiven!”

Nothing more. He read your message and he smiled sweetly at the phone. He wrote again:

“D’ya think ya might wanna see me again?”

“Idk...maybe!”

[heytheredeann]

20 questions for fic writers

I was tagged by @cha-melodius, thank you! <3<3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

439! The plan is posting two more tonight so hopefull that will soon be 441 LOL.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

939,623! Almost a million yay!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

At the moment mostly TMFU, I have been getting into writing Banana Fish fic too, and I write for The Witcher, though less frequently than TMFU.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Stretch (Buck/Eddie+Christopher, 911, 3x02 AU)

Everywhere I'm looking now, I'm surrounded by your embrace (Harvey/Mike, Suits, soulmates AU)

I held your hand as you shook in the middle of the night (Geralt/Jaskier, The Witcher, 1x06 fix-it)

Leave it unspoken (Harvey/Mike, Suits, a serial killer on the loose AU looool I had forgotten about this one)

Concession (Geralt/Jaskier, The Witcher, Geralt likes being the little spoon fic)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yesssss, I'm like constantly behind and sometimes I answer months late, but I love answering because 1) comments make me so happy and I want the readers who took the time to let me know they enjoyed the fic to KNOW THAT, 2) talking about fics is SO much fun, I think that discussing things in the comments is the best part of posting.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

LOOOOOOOOOOOL filter for MCD on my Ao3 and take your pick. But I'd go with either Forever is the sweetest con (Napoleon/Illya/Gaby, TMFU) because the story is told backwards, so you start with post-MCD and end pre-MCD, so the ending is happy but. well. the happiness is gone already and you know it LOL, or maybe Meaner than my demons, colder than this home (Napoleon/Illya/Gaby, TMFU), purely because generally speaking when I play with MCD I kill just one of them off and leave the other two to pick up the pieces, but here there's just Napoleon left, so. probably worse than the others LOL.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Sooo, I tend to write one-shots, and I HAVE written fluffy fics, but I think I'll go with Something gets lost from a safe distance (Napoleon/Illya, TMFU) because it's part of a three-part series that's all emotional hurt/comfort, and then it ends with fluffy kissing so.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Eh, it has happened, I think it's inevitable if you have been doing this for long enough LOL.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nope.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Not usually, I did write a TMFU/Supernatural crossover though LOL.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I’m aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yesss, more than once and it's always extremely flattering that someone would want to go through all that effort <3

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Right now I feel particularly strongly about the TMFU OT3 but like. I love so many.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I HAVE MULTIPLE LONGFICS SITTING IN MY DRAFTS DAMMIT. I just never want to post longfics unless I have either a first draft for every chapter or at the very least an extremely detailed outline for every chapter, which means that I end up always posting one-shots LOL. Two notable mentions among these longfics are a "Napoleon gets amnesia and bullshits his way through it to avoid telling anyone because he has trust issues" fic and an AU with Illya as a ghost that's a whole angsty mess. help me.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Eeeeeeeh the emotions I'd say. Or I HOPE so, since that's pretty much 80% of my writing loooool Also there a lot of lines of dialogue that I come up with that I unironically like.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Plots for one, I just tend to write snapshots with no real plot most of the time, and action. I don't LIKE writing it, which means I can never tell if it's boring or if I'm just projecting, and I tend to avoid it. ...also romance/attraction/getting-together. My aroace ass never knows what is believable romance and what are just tv show tropes that are not actually real LOL.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I generally don't do it and keep to the language of the narration, just clarifying "X says in German" if there's a change of language. I write limited third POV, so I just see it as "filtering" everything through the lens of the person that we are seeing the perspective of. If I'm writing from Gaby's POV, for instance (she's German but fluent in English), I feel like TECHNICALLY the narration should be in German, so by writing in English I have already chosen a filter that is not 100% accurate. But that's the filter I'm going with, so English is the language that Gaby is communicating to the reader in, so everything should be communicated through English lens: if she's talking to someone in English, I will just write the lines with no specifications, if she's talking in German I still write in English and write "in German" in the narration, and if someone speaks a language she doesn't know I don't write the actual dialogue because she doesn't understand it, so the reader doesn't get to see it either.

I hope this makes some sort of sense LOOOOOL, I don't really mind any way I've seen this done, but this is how I prefer to go about it.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The Fallen book series. LOL.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Evil question, go directly to jail, do not collect 100$. This answer will absolutely change every five minutes, but right now I'm particularly feeling Souvenir from a life left behind (Napoleon/Illya, TMFU), just a tiny dissolution of UNCLE fic with Napoleon angsting.

.

Tagging: @imgoingtofreakoutnow @ikeepwatchinghelicopters @thetamehistorian @huggiebird @deducitetemporacarmen @set-phasers-to-whump @cherryjuicegf @geralt-of-vengerberg and anyone else who hasn't done this yet and wants to play <3

[hypnostheory]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Howdy, so I was tagged by @kiwiana-writes , @littlemisskittentoes and @affectionatelyrs , who I’d like to thank for being very supportive and friendly. Thanks besties!

1. How many works do you have in Ao3?

So this is changing by the day sometimes lol, right now I’m sitting at 16 fics, 2 are currently unfinished, 5 are chapter fics.

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count?

Again, changing by the day it feels, but 132,329 words so far. That’s about the length of A Tale Of Two Cities.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Right now it’s FirstPrince (Red, White, and Royal Blue), but I have a Good Omens fic and several Homestuck fics.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

1. i hit my peak at seven feet

2. and that’s the way i loved you

3. something good and right and real

4. trouble’s gonna follow where i go

5. wanna know that body like it’s mine

Combined, these fic have 4,089 kudos.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to reply to every comment, but sometimes it’s a little overwhelming. I absolutely try to respond to all comments that have more than one sentence, but if I miss you I’m sorry and I promise I’m going to get to you at some point!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Sir we write smut here, this is not a tragic writing space lol. If I had to pick I think then I think you don’t want to know me is going to have one of the sadder endings but even still it’s gonna be happy because I’m not a sad writer lol.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

All of them? I mean, the sappiest ending is somewhere between i hit my peak at seven feet and something good and right and real.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No, I mean the closest is someone who said my work was like disturbing or somethingbut I think that was actually a compliment???

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

This is like asking the Pope if he’s Catholic lmao. Yes I do, it’s primarily D/s dynamics, and almost always an AU one shot.

10. Do you write crossovers? If so, what’s your craziest one?

I do not. I sometimes put subtle references to other fandoms in my fics, but no crossovers.

11. Have you ever had your fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge, my partner has tho. If someone found out my fic was stolen I’d like to know, but honestly if you see something I’m writing and get inspired by it just write your own version and tag me so I can read it Y’know.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I don’t think so, but I have had someone offer to translate a fic into Chinese. I’m down if anyone wants to, but I only speak English and a moderate level of Spanish so I couldn’t check someone’s work.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

So my partner and I can get very collaborative, and I absolutely run my shit past people before it goes live, but for the most part I’m doing it all by myself.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Listen I love FirstPrince with all my heart but DaveKat is my first OTP and I’m never letting those fuckers go.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably never will?

Hmm, so I want to finish that Good Omens fic I mentioned but honestly that started in a weird time and I’m not sure if it’s got legs. Aside from that I’m trying to finish everything I start! (Or at least everything I publish!)

16. What are your writing strengths?

So from comments, I’d say my prose and my dynamics. I’d agree, I think my style is based in my education in poetry, so I can for sure get colorful. And I really enjoy the politics of a relationship, so I’ll sit there and wax poetics about the nature of soulmates daily and nightly lol. I also just write a lot very fast, so that’s a strength I guess.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Descriptions. I’ll explain emotions to death but explaining how people look is more challenging. I also have issues with finishing things, which I’ve been trying really hard to work on.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

So I’m from Texas, so if it’s Spanish dialogue I’m comfortable. For the main part, I’m not going to write dialogue out word for word if the POV character doesn’t understand what’s being said, which takes out a lot of that issue for me. I think putting a foreign language in a fic is something that can be done very poorly, so I want to avoid that.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Publically? Homestuck. That’s my answer.

20. Favorite fic that you’ve written?

Oh god, having to pick between my own kids basically. i hit my peak at seven feet is so important to me, it’s a very personal story and it really catapulted me back into writing fic. I also love there’s nowhere in the world like, which is the first fic I published in this account and is a really fun work about one of my hyper interests, so if you like 80s theme parks and Homestuck, give it a spin.

I’m tagging anyone who wants to do this, so feel free to blame me and take a spin! But also I’m absolutely tagging @futureseaempress 💖

[inkribbon796]

Egotober 2023 Day 5: Roses are Red, Violets are Blue

Summary: . . . Florida Teen Arrested for Putting Humans in Jars at Florida Zoo

Prompt: Jar

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31

Bing liked humans, they were fun. Some were less fun than others, but on average he liked them.

And in Gainesville he saw all kinds of interesting and fun people. He liked going to school fairs and the schools definitely liked having an actual sentient AI talking to their budding STEM students. He had the names of hundreds and even thousands of budding scientists.

His names.

Bing wanted to see what they would become, what they would do.

One of his names however was causing problems in the city. And Bing only knew that cause this human child, a teenager really, was using something he had given to every name he kept tabs on. A little pin with a minute amount of dead nanites. Unusable, but noticeable.

A little budding eco-terrorist, and a dangerous one. Most of the time, his names resorted to firecrackers or at the most dangerous a pipe bomb.

This one was more dangerous, this one was causing civic engineering damage. They were smart, not just in what they were doing, but in being smart enough not to get caught.

And Google was starting to get interested. He refused to tell Bing why he was so intent on finding this person.

Fourteen hours after he’d called the Egoton branch for help, he got a call.

“Bing, what’s up?” Silver called.

“Finally,” Bing said. “Finished putting out fires?”

There was silence for a bit. “No. We’re fighting Irish and American immigration to get Marvin over here. Fuck Dark, and fuck no one here being able to read aura. What’s the problem? An eco-terrorist?”

“Yeah, one of Gainesville’s brightest is turning to crime to push back against a couple things in the city. And they’re smart enough not to get caught. We’ve been trying to catch this kid for four months.”

“How old is this person supposed to be?” Silver asked.

“Seventeen,” Bing said. “We think. They’re at least in high school.”

“Too young,” Silver said. “Between them and the guy that keeps trying to solve crime over here we might be dealing with a miniature league.”

“Don’t have to, dude,” Bing said.

“What does that mean?” Silver's tone sounded dangerous.

“Google’s interested in them, not Dark, Googs is hella interested.” Bing’s mind was already made up.

“We can’t have children fighting super villains, they’ll die. I’d rather fight against them than have them up against Dark. I lost Iblis, I will not lose anyone else.”

“Iblis wasn’t killed by a villain,” Bing said.

“I’m not arguing this with you. Dark travels down there to talk with some snake kingpin almost monthly. And he can be down there in minutes. I take either nine or three hours depending on where the fuck Egoton is because I sure don’t know where I am right now.”

“I can’t let Google have this kid, I can’t,” Bing said and hung up. Silver tried to call him back but Bing didn’t pick up.

Bing kept ignoring him as he broke apart into nanites and jumped from electrical outlet to outlet until he got to the nearby zoo where the latest situation was.

The eco-terrorist was in the zoo, terrorizing some of the patrons in, what felt like to Bing, the funniest way possible. Three patrons trapped under what looked like giant glass jars, ranting at them.

It was as adorable as it was dangerous. A seventeen-year-old in blue and black biker gear. It was almost enough to make Bing forget about how much damage they’d done.

“How do you like it when something throws things at you?” The teenage future-supervillain told a woman whose jar he was standing on top of. They sounded male-leaning but Bing had been corrected enough times.

“Well,” Bing said as he leaned against one of the jars where a young man was inside of it. Smiling. “Should I make the joke, dude? Or are you going to traumatize these people in a whole new way?”

The teenager almost startled and climbed off it before they could fall off of it. “Bing. You’re early.”

And they landed directly into Bing’s nanites. Nanites surged around them to bind the teen where they stood. Making it look like the top half of a jar.

“Nah, I was going to get you eventually, kid.” Bing said as he took the time to free the civilians and send them off.

Only one of the trapped people tried to beat up the tied and bound teenager.

Bing easily snagged him by the arm and threw him back. “Nah, big guy. You don’t need to pretend to be a man by beating up a tied up teenager.”

And for good measure, Bing audibly and visibly took a picture of his face. That got the guy to run off.

Leaving Bing with the “junior supervillain” on the mostly empty path. “Hey there.”

“I have a right to remain silent and I have a right to a lawyer.” The young villain said.

Bing used his nanites to unclip the kid’s motorcycle helmet. “You sure do.”

“Hey!” The teen said, trying to twist away. But the helmet came off and there was a perfectly normal teenage face.

Bing didn’t even need to start scanning his face. The android knew exactly who this was.

Logan E. Naraj. Honors high school student, and valedictorian at Buchholz High School. He/Him. The most promising of Bing’s names. Perhaps the single smartest student in the entire area, let alone in Gainesville. Maybe in the entire state, even. Not just in grades, Logan was devastatingly intelligent, and his eco-terrorist actions were proving it.

“I knew it had to be you,” Bing said. “You’re one of the only people smart enough to be doing half the stuff you’ve been doing.”

That seemed to disarm Logan a little bit, clearly not expecting a compliment. But he didn’t say anything in kind.

Bing stuck the helmet to Logan’s chest with nanites. Then Bing started taking Logan out of the zoo.

Police met with Bing about halfway towards the entrance. He was placed under arrest, and placed in the back of a cop car. Where Bing followed them closely to the station.

They got Logan into a little holding room, Bing not letting the kid out of his sight. It was only a matter of time before Google tried to sweep in. Bing couldn’t even guess what Google wanted with an actual human, but Logan had yet to actually kill anybody. If Google got involved he would quickly start.

They were waiting for a state lawyer and CPS to come in for Logan. So all they could do, since Logan refused to cooperate, was wait.

One of the investigators came over to Bing.

“Your friend come for him yet?” The officer said.

“No, but that’s probably because the dude knows I’m here,” Bing shrugged.

“Do you know what he wants yet?” The officer was shifting around but Bing didn’t pull up a camera to see it. He just shook his head and they were quiet for a good minute.

Then the officer clearly felt like silence was a bad idea.

“Logan Naraj, glad to finally have a name for what might be a two-year stint in juvie,” the officer said as Logan sat on the couch, Bing refusing to take his eye off him. So the second camera had to come up.

“And not the first Naraj we’ve had in the system, probably won’t be the last time either.” The office was giving Logan a scoffing, dismissive look.

“Why?” Bing asked.

“His older brother is currently serving a five year sentence at Florida Corrections, assault with a deadly weapon. He was sentenced last year. No parents, no surprise really.”

“Hmm, don’t think you should be making comments like that about a kid smart enough to make death rays.” Bing’s synthetic heart gave out a little bit.

The officer didn’t seem convinced but Bing didn’t care, he only had to convince Silver. And Bing was trying to cover every argument Silver had. He needed to keep this kid out of trouble, eternally bench him, and keep him in school.

He was already sending out a couple of emails as he’d been taking Logan to the station. And as he was looking at Logan and hearing this human bad talk him, he got a response from the only person besides Silver that he needed permission from.

“He’s going to be my apprentice,” Bing said.

“Why?” The investigator said.

“Look, either I take him for the Coalition, and he does community service for us, or Google takes him and he builds weapons for Dark and the League. Choose.”

“You said that just Google was interested in him,” the officer said.

“Yeah, and Google works for Dark, if Googs has anything, Dark has it,” Bing said. “And I don’t know if you know what happens in Egoton but Wilford doesn’t stay in jail, now does he?”

Bing waited to go in when the CPS rep and the lawyer had finally gotten in. He let them go in and talk to Logan before Bing walked in without the cops.

He grabbed a chair and turned it so he could lean his arms on the top of the backrest.

“Hey,” Bing smiled. Before the lawyer could make a noise, Bing kept talking. “You don’t have to say a word. You’re probably going back home after this. I just wanted to cut to the point where we make a deal, not waste your time.”

“He doesn’t have to take any kind of deal,” the lawyer said.

“Oh, I know,” Bing said, still smiling. “In fact, I hope he sleeps on it. Decisions need time to make them wisely, and I know Logan here is a smart kid.”

The lawyer glanced at Logan, and Bing let them remind Logan not to say a thing.

Bing pulled out a little card with the Coalition insignia on it and Bing’s contact information. “I want you to personally become my apprentice with the Coalition.”

“You can’t be serious,” The CPS rep said.

“Oh, buddy, I’m very serious,” Bing said. He looked at Logan. “I know Googs has been contacting you, and I know because he was gloating about it. And I don’t want Google anywhere near you, dude. I don’t want Dark near you because anything Google has, belongs to Dark. Dark doesn’t care about anything but himself, that’s just a fact.”

Logan didn’t say anything, but his standoffishness didn’t seem as cold. Which was good.

“So we’re gonna take you home, you’re gonna think on this, and then if you want you call me. And we can start some balls rolling. Get you some more equipment. Have you not go to jail for almost destroying the bridge? Think of it as cutting around juvie and skipping right to community service?”

Logan stayed quiet but Bing could see the gears turning.

Bing smiled and walked out, leaving Logan with the humans, and a smile on Bing’s face.

The police were pissed, no surprise. They’d caught Logan but were unable to arrest him on the spot.

Bing watched CPS take Logan home, where he basically was by himself, and was given instructions not to contact Bing or Google.

The kid didn’t last the night.

Bing stood on his apartment step, to be polite, and waited as Logan answered the door.

“I’m not saying yes,” Logan said as Bing walked in.

“Well, this sure ain’t a no, dude,” Bing smiled as he looked around and basically placed a tracking marker in the place so he could quickly come and go from the place.

“Hey, you like Wendy’s, kid?” Bing said.

The kid just glared at him. “I’m vegetarian.”

“Neat, cool,” Bing smiled at him. “I’ll order something else.”

“You don’t eat human food,” Logan said.

“I mean, I can, but we’ll be talking about this for a while and you’ve been out all night,” Bing said as he sat backwards on a rickety kitchen chair. Leaving the slightly comfier armchair for Logan.

“I’m just allowed to join the Coalition?” Logan asked.

Bing gave Logan a huge smile. “I’m in charge of the South Branch of the Coalition, only Silver and Jackie have any extra say on stuff. I got Jackie’s approval a couple hours ago, and I can convince Silver. Don’t worry. The only thing you’ve got to worry about, little man, is staying in school, and staying out of trouble.”

“You’ve promised change,” Logan said.

“There are a lot of things wrong in this city, and with the country, Lo, you’re taking on the small fry. Normal people. I want bigger, dude. I want to take on people like Dark, people who are stagnating the city.” Bing said as he tried not to lean forward in the chair and break it.

“If I joined, what would I be doing day-to-day?” Logan asked.

“Investigative work, maybe researching various magical and no-magical artifacts, you’ll be in school a lot of the time, there’s no getting around that.” Bing said.

“Okay, if it’s between you and Dark, I guess I don’t have a choice,” Logan said.

Bing stood up and clapped his hands. “Alrighty, then, dude.”

Out of his arm he pulled out something that looked more like a watch then the rest of the Coalition communicators. “To our newest hero. Welcome to the party, my man.”

“Logic,” Logan said.

“That your name?” Bing asked.

“Yes, if I could pick one it would be: Logic,” Logan said.

“Perfect, my dude,” Bing said.

“Where do you stay, or are you allowed to tell me?” Logan asked.

“Hey, I live anywhere with good bandwidth,” Bing said, shrugging. “You need me anywhere, anytime, and I got you.”

“Noted,” Logan said, trying to act normal but Bing wasn’t fooled. Those facial expressions, that heart rate. He cared a lot, that made Bing very happy.

Bing held out his hand. “I can order that food, and then you can get some sleep. You’ve got school tomorrow, after all and we’ll keep talking about Coalition stuff after school.”

“Alright,” Logan said.

So Bing ordered some late night vegetarian Chinese food. Logan ate and then he went to bed, and Bing went to go and officially tell Google to back off from Logan. That he had it under control and Logan got to be theirs without also being Dark’s.

[ladytanithia]

AO3 Twenty Questions

I was tagged by @dirty-bosmer Tagging @lillxart @gwilin-stay-winnin @skyrim-forever and @thequeenofthewinter (even though I know she's already done this!)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

18

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

416,292

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently, only Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, although I have written a few Breath of the Wild fics (one one-shot, one short 8-chapter story, and two long fics that are unfinished). Once upon a time in junior high and high school, my friends and I wrote each other stories about Duran Duran and Def Leppard, but those are on paper and too old for anyone to care these days!

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

You know, I hadn’t really looked in a long time, so I’m surprised/not surprised to find that mostly my LoZ fics are the highest in kudos (they’ve been there longest).

Dalliances with Dunmer (86)

Link the Anachronism (55)

Larissa’s Tale: Before the Hero (46) – this pleases me; my first story with an OC and a lot of research

Khajiit: Stranger in a Strange Land (45)

Starting Over: A New Woman in a New Hyrule (38)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Absolutely! While I write for myself and have to remind myself of this daily, it’s always nice to know that someone else has seen and enjoyed my labors of love. Readers who comment are rare and precious. And at least 2 of them have become actual friends!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Dalliances with Dunmer – but that wasn’t the end of the story, just the ending of the 2nd book in the story.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

What Might Have Been – because it was MEANT to be an alternate ending to the angsty one.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not usually. When I first started putting DwD on AO3 and fanfiction, one person called it dogshit and another person went on a mean, scandalized rant about Miranja’s “fatherless behavior.” But a dear friend told me, if there’s no controversy, you’re not doing it right, and I left the flame in the comments for that purpose!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Smut/romance/erotica – various levels depending on the mood and the characters’ relationship. There’s been everything from cuddly fluff to heart-pounding romance to jizz-in-your-pants or call-the-priest filth.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I can’t answer that definitively. I started a crossover (Khajiit) between BotW and Skyrim (a friend used Skyrim to wean me off of BotW, and now I live here forever), but I haven’t even gotten to the crossover part and now it’s been 2 years since I played BotW, so we’ll see where that goes.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of. I can’t imagine why anyone would, unless they were training an AI!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Yes, just a silly little back-and-forth scenario with my OC and a friend’s OC. It’s not on AO3, but I’m hoping it will be soon!

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Of my own, or anyone’s anywhere? Mine, of course, would be Miranja and Talvas. Elsewhere… I like to ship Kvothe and Devi in The Name of the Wind – if for nothing else but the hate sex!

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I want to finish all of them except the Link and Zelda stories, since those are moot points by now.

16. What are your writing strengths?

From others’ reviews, I’d say characterization and description. I like to get inside the characters’ minds and hearts, think up back stories for them that might have made them the way they are, make their interactions with other characters as genuine as I can. When describing a scene, I almost focus more on the sensations than the actual physical presence of, or situation of, things. What is the character seeing, hearing, smelling, touching, or tasting, and how does it make them feel? The feelings are what you remember, not the details. (Unless you’re Sherlock Holmes.)

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Second-guessing myself. If someone says the story’s moving too slowly, I pick up the pace and skip the less important stuff that was kind of important to me. Then someone says I’m rushing the story, so I rewrite it and flesh it out the way I wanted it to begin with. Like, I BELIEVE I’m pretty good at re-reading and assessing the pace, but then I let someone else tell me I’m doing it wrong. Also, allowing things to distract me and keep me from writing until I don’t even remember where I was at.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

If it’s relevant to the plot, then of course! Otherwise, if it’s just idle chatter, that feels like extraneous flaunting on the author’s part. Look what I can do! Haha!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

As many things as I’ve been a fan of, I’ve never thought of writing my own fiction about them until I beat Breath of the Wild. Because I wanted so badly to know how they would turn the kingdom back around, I decided to write my own continuation.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Larissa’s Tale or Hrefna’s Crush. Shorter stories, but special to me in different ways. Larissa was kind of a self-insert character but better-looking, who got her hands and other body parts on Link before Zelda did. Hrefna’s Crush was sort of a birds-and-bees and starting to have crushes story, where Sondas Drenim is the object of her crush, and Miranja is the competition she loves but envies.

[xilianx]

AO3 ASK GAME DO THEM ALL DO THEM ALL NEOW ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! 💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥 (pls)

I AM...SO LATE AHHHH IM FINALLY GETTING THROUGH THESE I'M SO SORRY!!!

Just saw these 20 Questions for Fic Writers and decided I wanted to do it so ....... here it is! Lmao.

How many works do you have on AO3?

20!

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

513,741 words…oh lawd

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I’ve written for Godzilla in the past but now I write just for Bayonetta! More will come eventually…if my hyperfixation can be dethroned lol

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

The Witch of Causality (Bayonetta 3 reimaging/re-work)

Some Words Left Unsaid (AncientBayonetta AU where shit almost went reaaaaally bad for BayoJeanne)

Down By The Red Poppies (Sequel fic to “Where the Lobelia Would Grow, more Bayonetta AU)

Where The Lobelia Would Grow (First ever fic I wrote for the Bayonetta fandom!)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! I try to at least. I love getting comments on my fics (i mean, what fic author doesn’t???) And I love all the support that’s given and the fact someone takes time to leave me a comment, long or short, just makes my day 😭😭 I’m sorry to those who comment that I hadn’t replied too or haven’t too yet. I promise you I appreciate them so much ❤️

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Ooooooo….I wanna say either ‘Vessel’ or ‘Forgotten Visage’. Both have pretty harsh endings that only insulate that it leads to more pain later. ‘Vessel’ is just straight up a Soulsbourne boss style fight with all the tragedy of a Soulsbourne boss fight tied in, and ‘Forgotten Visage’ is just sad AU of what evil Balder was doing right after Rosa died…so yay, they don’t go anywhere sad. BUT IF I HAD TO CHOOSE….I’m gonna throw it at Vessel lol

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Idk if I’m gonna get some hate from certain oomfs from this, but I’m gonna say ‘Down By The Red Poppies’ has one of the happiest BECAUSE of everything that had happened to all the characters throughout the fic (And even the first fic!) and making it in the end. There was def a lot of hurt and pain and angst throughout Lobelia and Poppies, but I think the ending the fic made it all the worthwhile and despite the pain/tragedy, it’s gonna be okay 🥲

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No, not really. Not that I’ve ever seen!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I have written smut ONCE!...It was the last half of one chapter out of a 117,000 word fic…HAVE I ATTEMPTED TO WRITE MORE SMUT SINCE, YES AND I AM NOT STRONG ENOUGH TO FINISH IT YET!! The smut in Red Poppies was my first ever smut and it was, like, tender and sweet?? But the Balrosa smut that I have a low simmer is def meant to embarrass that fucking twink lol

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I haven’t, and don’t plan to!! Not my thing, to read or write.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don’t think so, not that I am aware of…

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Another one that’s; if any of them are, I’m not aware of it!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, I haven’t done anything like that yet! Would be cool to do it, if given he chance!!

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

YOU ALREADY KNOW!!! BRING EM OUT, TOMMY:

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Ohhhhhh hohohho hahaahah AHAHAHAHAAHAHAA!!! There’s so many lmao I have so many that are stuffed in folders and forgotten about. There’s a few multi-chapter ideas I wanted to try and do, but with Witch of Causality going on rn (and going on for awhile now) I doubt I’ll ever start them for long long time… (Chinese BayoJeanne AU fic based off of Causality, etc).

But if there is a KING of unfinished WIPS…it’s my now long forgotten Godzilla Final Wars fics from years prior. Sucks because I got to fic 3 out of the trilogy, but I’m just not in it anymore…wish I had the willpower to finish it, but alas, never will.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Lots of my oomfs say all my fight scenes actually ‘feel’ like what Bayonetta fights, so I wanna say I write fight scenes pretty well!! I would say characterization, but I’m only comfortable with a few, not all…

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

looks at long list of comments and notes from my beta reader for the the insane amount of grammatical errors, structure errors, and sentences that just make no sense uhhh….so yeah, I kinda fuck up the actual writing aspect a lot asdjkasdsda

But seriously, I think sometimes (at least for recent, larger fics), I’ve had to pull back on the amount of filler that’s not necessary or structure of a chapter to make it actually make sense…(THANK YOU KELS FOR YOUR CONTINUED SUPPORT, YOU KEEP SAVING MY ASS!!)

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I think if you’re not super well-versed in the language, definitely consult or check with someone who knows!! Or do a bit of digging, especially if you plan on using quite a bit of it!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

GODZILLA!!! Funny enough, I have literally only ever written fics for the Godzilla fandom and Bayonetta fandom. I have read quite a bit for other fandoms, but Godzilla is my dear yee ol faithful!! (Funny enough, it’s specifically only for Godzilla Final Wars as well lol)

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

This one is actually hard…hmmm…It would have to be a tie between Lobelia/Red Poppies. I kinda put them in the same box, even tho they are 2 different fics. Honestly, it was just so fun coming in blind to a new fandom and just slapping together whatever I wanted to do because I really wanted to tell the story and had fun with it. I don’t even think it’s my best stuff, but damn nothing beats crashing into the Bayo fic community with a fic that just (spoilers) kills little Cereza in her own story and I have no regrets ASKJDSADHASDHA

THANK YOU FOR TAGGING ME IN THIS KELS!! I'm so late with this, and I feel like this has been tagged to other oomfs, so I will just leave this open to anyone who wants to do it!!