#everyone else better use the whole damn name

[ivegotyourbackbuddie]

The Wrong Buckley. Part Five of Six. Ao3 Link. Part One. Two. Three. Four.

(Disclaimer for this chapter: the formatting for this one is going to be HORRIBLE on tumblr. On Ao3, I'm able to format the texts on the right and left side but on here... I'm going to have to go through and put "(M)" for Maddie before her texts, same for Eddie (E), Buck (B), and Chimney (C) in case the space I use doesn't work on desktop and mobile. Ugh, I wish I had thought about this before. But really, I would highly recommend using ao3 for this part. Thank you all for your support here though. it means the world to me <3)

There’s only one unread text from Maddie.

(M) i hope you got home safely ❤ ️

It’s innocent enough but… Buck scrolls.

He scrolls until he gets to Maddie’s birthday and finds what he’s looking for.

(E) He thinks we’re having an affair.

(M) eddie!!!

(M) this is why you have to tell him!!!

They are having an affair. Eddie lied to him.

(E) I can’t, Maddie. It’ll ruin everything.

(M) he’ll understand. trust me

(M) i practically raised him

(E) So, that’s what’s wrong with him.

(M) 🙄

So, they’re talking about him as well. That’s why they got so flustered when he brought it up.

He can’t believe Maddie thinks he would understand this.

He scrolls through messages confirming brunch plans and pictures of Jee that Maddie had sent to Buck as well. It all feels like a knife in the back.

His eyes land on a message that makes his stomach turn.

(E) I think he’s onto me.

(M) well, you’re not exactly subtle

(M) especially with those big cow eyes 👁 ️👁️

(M) everyone can see the yearning a million miles away

(M) everyone except my baby brother apparently

(M) and chimney thank god

(E) …Cow eyes?

So, Maddie does know. Eddie must have confessed his feelings sometime before her birthday. But when?

He scrolls in frustration, trying to piece together the rest of the pieces when he finds something else.

(E) Fuck. Chris told us to share the bed

(M) LMAO 🤣🤣🤣

(E) This isn’t funny, Maddie. I can’t do this.

(M) …it’s a little funny

(M) but you CAN do this

(M) unless you have something against snoring

(E) It’s not the snoring.

(M) trust me. i know.

(E) Oh god. I did something stupid.

(M) FINALLY????

(E) I gave him a massage.

(E) And now I’m stuck in the bathroom.

(E) This is torture.

(E) Do you think he’d notice if I took a cold shower?

(M) 🤢

(M) remember i’m also technically a buckley

(E) Sorry.

(E) Wait. Would I have to be a Buckley-Diaz?

(E) And share a last name with Margaret Buckley??

(M) join the curse eds

(M) it will be worth it 😉

I can’t believe I’m in love with a Buckley replays in Buck, a constant haunting echo. This must've been the moment that sparked the confession.

God, they were already flirting back then?

And this whole time, Buck thought Eddie enjoyed sharing a bed with him. But apparently, it’s been torture, just like the damn massage.

No wonder he fled the room so fast.

Despite the very big possibility that he’ll actually be sick, Buck keeps scrolling.

(M) you should tell him

(E) I have to tell Chris first.

(E) Which means telling my family.

(E) Which isn’t an option.

(M) one step at a time

(M) chris will understand

Buck’s eyes bug out at the message. At this point, Eddie was still in Texas. How in the world did Maddie think Chris would understand their affair after everything with Kim?

(E) I don’t know. He’s probably going to be confused.

(E) And I’m not sure if I’m ready to explain the whole Shannon thing.

(M) no one is pressuring you if you’re not ready

(E) Says the person who five minutes ago said, “you should tell him.”

(M) ha ha. 😒

Not even Maddie pressured him when he wasn’t ready.

Which definitely is not the point of this. But maybe Buck should be a better friend… Except, how can he after this?

Is he supposed to pretend to be happy for them? Sit back and watch as they live out their happily ever after with Chris, Jee, and the new baby.

What about Chimney?

Hen won’t stand for that.

Buck’s heart leaps when he catches another message.

(M) thank you for telling me ❤ ️ even if you were several shots deep

(M) drink lots of water

(M) AND DON’T TEXT OR CALL HIM YET

So, this has to be when it happened. A drunken phone call from Eddie spewing to Maddie that he’s in love with her. And Maddie had the decency to tell Eddie not to tell Buck while he was still drunk.

Buck checks the date and freezes.

It can’t be.

It is.

It’s the day Maddie asked Buck if he was in love with Eddie.

Fuck, she must’ve asked so she could get the all clear! And Buck had to insist that he couldn’t be in love with his straight best friend.

Because he couldn’t be. He still can’t be.

He’s not allowed to be because that isn’t fair to him or Eddie. They need each other. They’ve needed each other since before they even knew it. Far before they met, they were destined to find one another.

Or maybe Eddie was destined to find him so he could find Maddie. Which means he doesn’t need Buck anymore.

Eddie groans in his sleep and turns over. Buck panics and turns off the phone, tossing it on the side table. He cringes when it loudly thuds.

Eddie doesn’t open his eyes, but he reaches out to him, hand patting the space between them, searching for something.

Buck tries to remain out of reach, but when Eddie frowns and breathes out a panicky, “Buck?” He can’t help but grab his hand, running a soothing thumb over his smooth skin.

“I’m here,” Buck whispers back shakily. He’s here, but for how long?

They’re supposed to have each other’s backs. That’s the promise they made to each other.

But Eddie seeing Buck’s married, pregnant sister behind his back? That doesn’t exactly feel like having his back.

Not only that, but they have a no lying rule in their house that Eddie has violated several times now. This isn’t something that just affects Buck. This is something that could be detrimental to Chris.

Buck glances over at his best friend, who looks beautiful as ever snoring away into his pillow with the smallest smile on his face.

He promised himself he wouldn’t intervene.

But as Eddie’s best friend and Maddie’s brother, he has to. This is about saving Eddie’s relationship with Chris, who always comes first. And this is about preventing Maddie from destroying the greatest family she’s ever had.

Without any hesitation, Buck grabs his own phone and sends a quick text off to Chimney.

(B) lunch tomorrow? my treat!

He nearly asked about brunch, but he made a promise to Chris that he would make pancakes in the morning. And he’s going to honor every promise he makes to this family, spoken or unspoken.

-:-:-:-:-:-

For the first time since sharing the bed, Buck wakes up on his side alone.

He squints and looks around, patting the nightstand for his phone so he can check the time.

He picks it up and finds a text from Chimney.

(C) Ur paying??? What did you do?

(C) I’ll let Maddie know

Everything from the night before comes flooding back, and Buck can’t help but send a panicked response.

(B) NOT WITH MADDIE

He cringes at the alarm bells that will go off in Chim’s head from that response and tries to fix it.

(B) i was thinking it’s been a while since we hung out just the two of us!

(C) Awwwww

(C) What did u do.

(B) nothing!!!

(B) can’t a guy take his brother in law out without an ulterior motive??

(C) 2 words buckaroo

(C) Basketball. Beard.

It’s a fair point. But Buck needs this to happen.

(B) please 🥺

(C) I would never turn down free food

(C) Let me know when and where

Buck answers with a time around noon and the location of Eddie and Maddie’s brunch spot as he gets out of bed. He needs to get the pancakes started before Chris gets up, and he probably needs to find Eddie.

Luckily for him, the solution to both those things is in the kitchen.

Buck can feel the fondness creeping up his chest as he stares at a hungover Eddie cradling a cup of coffee, leaning back against the counter. His eyes are closed, head tilted back against the cabinet. With the slow, even rise and fall of his chest, Buck wonders if he’s managed to fall asleep.

As he takes another step forward, the floorboard creaks, and Eddie squints a single eye open.

“Morning,” Buck says as gently as he can, but Eddie still winces.

He’s slightly grateful that Eddie will be out of it today, so he won’t notice if Buck is acting weird.

“You’re acting weird.”

Scratch that.

Buck frowns. “I’m not acting weird. You’re acting weird.”

“Says the guy who is looking at me like I killed your pet gerbil.”

“Pet gerbil?”

“Not the point,” Eddie groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m just…” trying not to freak out about the fact you’re having an affair with my sister, “weirded out by the fact you’re up before me.” Good save.

The response seems to appease Eddie. He closes his eyes again and tilts his head toward the coffee maker. “I made you a cup.”

Next to the Hildy Buck’s shocked Eddie used, there’s a pale blue mug with a yellow bee on it that Eddie had gifted Buck after the whole beenado thing. He had insisted that the store was selling bee themed items for half off, so he just happened to grab it. But when Buck went to check, he found nothing on sale.

Damnit. The bee mug was probably for Maddie. Or did Eddie’s crush only start after moving to Texas?

“It’s not like I poisoned it,” Eddie comments, eyes still closed.

Buck jumps a little and takes the mug, eyeing it because maybe Eddie knows that he knows about the affair. Maybe that’s why he got up so early and made this for him.

Then again, killing Maddie’s brother probably wouldn’t be the best way to keep her affection.

Buck hesitantly sips at the hot liquid, sighing when he tastes the coffee made just the way he likes it.

“No poison?” Eddie teases.

“No poison,” Buck confirms, turning away to grab milk and eggs out of the fridge. “Hey, I’m about to make pancakes, so you might want to head back to the room or something. I’ll probably be loud.” He's not sure if there's ever been a time when he's made pancake making a loud task, but he can make it so.

Eddie doesn’t say anything, and Buck’s too focused on pretending everything is fine to notice what’s going on with him.

“Oh,” Eddie says, sounding a little hurt. “Yeah, I’ll get out of your way.”

And yeah, when he sadly walks out of the room, Buck definitely feels a little guilty. But he’s not sure what else to do!

Ultimately, he ends up fixing a plate of very greasy bacon with eggs and brings it to their room, where Eddie is typing away at his phone. Buck nearly drops the plate at the sight, but he manages to put it on the side table before he can ruin the small meal. “I hope this helps more than pancakes. Feel better,” Buck says awkwardly before fleeing the room.

He’s not sure if he made things better or worse.

When Chris gets up, Buck is grateful to have the buffer and instantly tries to engage him in a lively conversation the half-asleep teen is not having while he’s trying to get ready.

But by the time Eddie joins them at the table, Chris is settled in, feasting on a small stack of pancakes, and Buck is able to appropriately divert his attention away from Eddie.

At some point, Eddie’s hand settles over Buck’s knee, which he didn’t realize was bouncing up and down incessantly.

Buck can feel the way Eddie’s concerned gaze is burning into the side of his face, but he continues to listen intently to Chris complain about his history teacher. Or maybe it’s his math teacher. Maybe it’s about a student. He can’t exactly think with the hand on his knee, but it’s still not enough to entirely drown out his thoughts.

They ride to school soon after, and Buck tries as hard as he can to keep things entirely normal in front of Chris. But as soon as they drop him off, Eddie asks, “What’s going on?”

“I’m going out to lunch with Chimney,” Buck blurts out, hoping it counts as a somewhat truthful answer.

Eddie raises an eyebrow at him. “And you’re feeling guilty about it or something?”

“Yeah,” Buck answers. Or something. He settles into his seat a little more, hoping Eddie will drop it.

“Is this about last night? Because I’ll be completely honest, Buck, I have bits and pieces and I know I was…” he takes a deep breath and considers his words carefully, “touchy.”

Buck shakes his head. “No, you were fine.” Other than telling my sister that you love her, even though that’s apparently normal for her.

“Good,” Eddie says with a nod, ending the conversation.

Buck nearly sighs in relief.

When they get back to the house, he takes as long as he can getting ready for lunch. By the end, he’s shaved, put on cologne, filed his nails, and kicked Eddie out of the room to try on at least five different outfits.

There’s nothing else he can really do, so he just stands and stares at himself in his full-length mirror.

Eddie interrupts his staring by softly knocking on the door. “You dressed?”

No lying in the Buckley-Diaz house. “Uh, yeah.”

The door opens, and Buck watches in the reflection as Eddie comes up behind him, smoothing his collar in the back before running his hands over his shoulders and down his arms. Eddie makes eye contact with him in the mirror and smiles. “You look nice. All of this is for Chimney?”

“I can’t get dressed up for my brother-in-law?”

Eddie squints at him, and his smile drops. He takes a small step back and asks, “Are you… going on a date?”

Buck turns around with wide eyes. “With Chimney?”

“No,” Eddie scoffs, “With someone who isn’t Chimney.”

Honestly, it’s been a while since he’s gone on a date or even thought about it. “Why would I be going on a date?”

Eddie gestures up and down at him. “You’re all shaven and you smell… is that my cologne?”

Buck ducks his head down to sniff at the collar of his shirt. “Shit, I thought this was my date cologne.”

“So, you are going on a date.”

And he sounds so… jealous. Buck can’t really find another word for it. But it makes sense. Buck is allowed to go in public with whoever he wants to date and parade them around. But Eddie and Maddie…

“You didn’t have to lie about the Chimney part,” Eddie says, tension back in his shoulders. “You’re… allowed to date.” It sounds like Buck's anything but allowed to date, with the way it sounds like Eddie would rather be shot than give Buck this weird sort of permission.

Buck reaches out and grabs Eddie’s hands, not sure why he’s trying so hard to reassure him. “I’m not going on a date. I’m meeting Chimney at noon for lunch. I just… felt like taking extra time getting ready today.”

The tension melts off Eddie, and he smiles again. “Well, you look good, Buck. Very… datable.”

The tips of Buck’s ears start burning as he ducks his head shyly.

“Oh, I should see if Maddie is free. We can do lunch instead of brunch this week. There’s this place she’s been dying to try with these huge salads.” By the end of his little gushing session about Maddie, he’s already managed to get his phone out and start typing to her.

It’s a very rude awakening for Buck.

He steps around Eddie and heads to the front door, grabbing his keys and wallet on the way.

“Buck?” Eddie calls out.

“I’m… going to the store.”

“Do you have time before your lunch?” Eddie asks as he peeks his head out of the room, phone still in hand.

Buck opens the door and says, “I’ll make sure not to get anything cold. See you in a bit!” He closes the door before Eddie can even make it to the door.

There goes their no lying rule.

He texts Chimney asking if they can move lunch up an hour or two.

As long as ur still paying

He’ll pay for the entire restaurant if that means he can have this conversation sooner rather than later. He needs this whole thing to end… fast.

-:-:-:-:-:-

“Buck!” Chimney calls out when he sees him outside the restaurant, waiting at the hostess stand. He claps him on the arm. “You smell nice. Hey, isn’t this Eddie and Maddie’s brunch spot?”

“Do you think Maddie’s having an affair?”

To be fair, Buck didn’t mean to blurt it out like that, but it’s been the only thing on his mind all morning.

To his surprise, Chimney just laughs, “Do I think my wonderful, very pregnant wife is having an affair?”

With the worst timing in the world, a waiter appears.

The same waiter from before.

“Table for two, please,” Chimney says for Buck, who can’t do anything other than stare at his friend morbidly.

“Right this way,” the waiter, Leo, according to the nametag, leads them to a spot outside.

The exact same spot where Buck crashed Eddie and Maddie’s brunch date.

This is like one big cosmic joke.

They take a seat, and the waiter leaves them with two menus.

Buck doesn't waste any time getting back into it. “Chim- no, Howard. I saw the texts.”

Chimney laughs and unfolds his menu. “What texts?”

“The texts between Maddie and Eddie.”

The menu drops as fast as Chimney’s smile.

He takes a few deep breaths as the truth washes over him. “So, those weren’t platonic brunch dates. I should’ve seen this coming!” Chimney runs a hand through his hair and sighs, “I mean, who can compete with Eddie?”

Buck perks up and points at him. “That’s what Tommy said!”

“What?”

Buck shakes his head. “Nothing. But, you’re right, we should’ve seen this coming.”

The waiter comes back to take their drink order, lingering for longer than Buck would like as he eyes the two of them unsubtly.

As soon as he’s gone, Chimney puts his head in his hands. “Hot people should not meet other hot people.” He leans back in his chair and stares off. “I can’t tell if I’m angry or jealous. I think I’m both. God, I’m losing it.”

“Tell me about it,” Buck replies, not fully hearing him. Once it sinks in, he leans across the table. “Wait, what do you mean by jealous?”

“Have you seen Eddie? I don’t even blame Maddie.” He pauses before shaking his head. “Wait, what am I saying? She and I have a kid together. Two of them! And we’re happy. At least, I thought we were.” He picks at the tablecloth and quietly says, “But maybe I’ve been treating her like she’s one step away from breaking. Especially after the whole… kidnapping thing. God, and Eddie was really there for her then, and maybe I wasn’t enough. Maybe I'm still not. Shit, maybe she deserves him.”

“Wait, you think Eddie is hot?”

Chimney looks up at him in disbelief. “Aren’t you supposed to be telling me that Maddie loves me, and my marriage isn’t actually falling apart?”

“I don’t know. That sounds like a Hen conversation.”

Chimney sits up suddenly. “We should ask Hen! She has experience with this stuff.” Buck nearly agrees, but Chimney deflates quickly. “But she and Karen are in a really great place right now, and they don’t need us to bring up that point in their lives.”

Buck leans forward and drops his voice. “Do you think we could get Athena to tail them?”

Chimney shakes his head. “Not after defying the government and FBI. Hen said they’ve been keeping a close eye on her recently. Plus, I don’t want Bobby to give me those sad, pitying looks.”

With truly horrible timing, as always, the waiter manages to appear out of thin air and ask, “Are you two ready to order?”

They both shake their heads, and Leo disappears quickly, probably sensing that his tip might be decreasing the more he sticks his nose in their business. Buck would feel kind of bad, though. It’s not his fault that he’s witnessing the downfall of Buck’s life.

“So, what should we do?” Chimney asks.

Buck taps his fingers on the table. “Order food and see what we come up with. Maybe an intervention?”

“Or we can storm in on them right now and confront them.” The manic glint in Chimney’s eyes makes Buck consider calling Athena as don’t be stupid backup. The glint quickly dies. “No, I can’t when Jee’s with them.”

It’s a great point. No need to get the kids involved. In fact, it would be best if they never knew this happened. “So, we do both. Storm in and confront them with an intervention. But we somehow get Chris and Jee out of the equation.”

“Maybe Hen and Karen will take them for a day,” Chimney says, glancing down at the menu.

Buck scans over the options, trying not to think about what Eddie would get.

The waiter comes back soon after they decide on what they want, and they resume their conversation, making a four-step plan they call “Bro Day” for the upcoming Saturday. It’s five days away, but the only time they’re all off shift. In the meantime, they will do anything they can to prevent Eddie and Maddie from somehow seeing each other.

After they finalize their plans and Buck pays for their lunch, Leo stops them on the way out. He looks at Buck and asks, “Sorry, but are you Buck?”

Buck nods with a frown.

“You’re the one they’re always talking about.”

Chimney wraps an arm around Buck as he deflates. “Yeah, that’s me.” As they walk out, Buck can’t help but say, “See? They’ve been trying so hard to keep this away from me.”

“At least you’ve been mentioned.”

Buck’s heart goes out to Chimney. It really could be worse.

As they go their separate ways, Buck calls out, “We can keep a secret, right? It’s only five days.”

“Yeah! Piece of cake.”

-:-:-:-:-:-

I think Maddie is onto me

Buck stares at the candlelit dinner Eddie has prepared for him and texts Chimney back.

eddie is definitely onto me

Eddie is turning an interesting shade of pink as Buck gapes at him. “I, uh, thought it might be nice to have a night just the two of us. Chris is working on that history final he’s been complaining about with his partner and staying the night.”

It only takes a few minutes before it clicks. This was a dinner meant for Maddie, but he’s Eddie’s second-best option for a Buckley.

Unfortunately, Buck will take whatever he can from him. Especially when Eddie reveals that it’s spaghetti and breadsticks specially made by Bobby.

Eddie goes all out for this dinner. Going as far as pulling out a bottle of wine, leaning over Buck as he pours it, smelling of his good cologne.

God, Maddie would love this date.

They’re three glasses of wine deep when they make it to the couch for a movie. Buck tries not to feel guilty about using Eddie’s obvious projection as a means to temporarily fulfill what he’s always wanted deep down.

Eddie doesn’t hesitate to cuddle up to him on the couch, and Buck lets him.

They get halfway through the movie before they both doze off. Buck ends up waking up enough to pause the movie before going back to sleep.

Eddie nudges him awake later, helping drag him to the bathroom where they brush their teeth side by side. It all feels so beautifully domestic that Buck wishes he could live in this moment forever.

The only thing that could make it better is if Chris were there to groan at the two of them.

When they go to bed, Eddie ends up collapsing nearly on top of him, whispering, “Goodnight, Buck,” into the crook of his neck.

Buck blames the wine.

But after that night, the strangely romantic gestures keep coming.

There are flowers that Eddie gives Buck before their long shift. Hand holding under the table, in the car, and sometimes just because Buck is close by. After their 48-hour shift, Eddie pulls Buck into their bed and drapes himself over him again while they nap. Buck wakes up to a soft kiss being pressed against his cheek before he’s handed coffee perfectly made.

Eddie must miss Maddie.

Or Eddie knows that Buck knows, and he’s trying to distract him.

My god, it’s kind of working.

He notices a text from Chimney.

(C) Two more days

Entirely selfishly and confusingly, Buck wishes they had planned this confrontation for weeks or months from now. He could live in Eddie’s guilt forever if this is how he repaid him.

God, it’s an awful thought to have.

He’s pulled out of it when he hears Eddie snort at the message. “You two are really excited about this ‘Bro Day,’ yet you still haven’t told me what you are doing.”

Buck swallows. “We told you, we’re doing more brother stuff while giving you and Maddie a day to rest and relax away from us.”

Eddie climbs back into bed and nudges Buck’s shoulder. “What if I don’t want you away from me?”

The words successfully tug Buck’s heartstrings. He wonders if he sweet-talks Maddie like this. He ignores the thought and lets himself have this moment. “And what if the feeling is mutual?”

Eddie stares at him for a moment, suddenly looking conflicted. He looks away and lets out a deep breath. “Buck, I need to talk to you.”

The mug nearly slips out of Buck’s hands.

“Uh, when?” Buck tries to subtly ask.

Eddie looks at his watch. They need to pick up Chris soon. “Tomorrow?”

“We work tomorrow.”

“After Chris goes to bed.”

“I’ll need to get some sleep. Bro Day is a big day.”

Eddie smiles fondly at him and shakes his head. “Bro Day is a big day,” he says under his breath, but there’s no animosity in his tone.

“Can it wait until Saturday night?” Buck asks hopefully. He needs Chimney’s support for this particular conversation.

Eddie nods. “Yeah, Buck. It can wait for Saturday.”

Buck tries not to look too relieved. He grabs Eddie’s hand and squeezes it to show his thanks.

If only this perfect bubble between them wasn’t crafted from something so awful.

He doesn't want it to end, but he needs it to.

-:-:-:-:-:-

Bro Day comes faster than Buck would like. And by the time it does, Chris also starts acting weird.

It happened after Eddie had a hushed conversation in Chris’s room with him when he thought Buck was asleep on the couch.

Eddie had emerged concerningly teary-eyed, and ever since, Chris has been giving his dad encouraging looks.

Buck doesn’t really know what that's about because there’s absolutely no way Eddie told Chris.

Then again, Chris does like Maddie, so maybe…

No. Absolutely no way.

But none of that matters. Because today is Bro Day. And Buck needs to be completely in his right mind for this.

Karen and Hen stop by to pick up Chris when Buck is getting ready, and he hears Eddie having some type of hushed conversation with them as well.

It’s like Buck’s living in some alternate universe where Eddie might be telling everyone about his affair, and they’re all just… okay with it?

Since when were Buck and Chimney the only normal people in the 118?

As Buck finishes up tucking his shirt into his pants, Eddie slips into their room, coming up behind Buck and wrapping his arms around him, tucking his head over his shoulder. “So, are you finally going to tell me what you two are doing today that’s made you both act so weird?”

Buck leans back into Eddie, wondering if this is the last time he’ll ever be able to bask in this thing they’ve settled into. “We haven’t been acting weird.”

“Yes, you have.”

Buck checks his phone and curses. He’s running late.

He tries to step out of Eddie’s arms, but Eddie clings harder. “Do you have to go?”

If the plan is to be executed smoothly, he does. So, as a last-ditch attempt to rush away, Buck uses the excuse he and Chimney had come up with. “We have to get to this apartment showing now, so yes.”

When Eddie freezes up, Buck is able to rush away, typing away at Chimney that he’s running out the door.

“I’ll see you later!”

Traffic isn’t too bad, and Buck meets Chimney in a random apartment building parking lot. Just in case Maddie and Eddie are checking their location.

Chimney climbs into the Jeep, a small box of donuts in his hand, which he juggles as he pulls up his phone. “And you’re sure they’re going to meet up today.”

Buck scoffs, “You, me, and the kids out of the house? Of course, they’re going to meet up. I give it thirty minutes tops.”

“Whose house do you think they’ll meet at?”

The question is answered for them when they see Eddie’s location move out of his house.

“Well, that was fast,” Chimney sighs.

“Onto part three of Bro Day: Waiting.”

Chimney frowns. “I thought that was part two.”

“We added donuts later as part one.”

“Right.”

They sit in silence as they watch Eddie’s location slowly approach Maddie’s.

Chimney runs a hand through his hair. “Hear me out. We skip parts one through three and skip to part four.”

Ambush.

“That works for me,” Buck says, already starting his car.

Chimney nods, angrily stuffing a donut into his mouth.

He gets to the house in a matter of minutes, probably violating quite a few traffic laws.

Buck parks his car down the street. “Okay, so no sneaking around like we said. We’ll pretend we forgot something and give them plenty of time to realize we’re there.”

At first, they had planned to sneak in, going as far as creeping in through the back door to catch them off guard.

But considering the recent kidnapping, the fact that Maddie is pregnant, and Eddie is prone to panic attacks… well, it didn’t feel like the greatest move.

“Gentle ambush, here we come,” Chimney announces. He’s the first one out of the car, donuts in hand, but Buck is quick to follow.

They go through the plan of unlocking the door, dropping the keys twice during the process, then pushing the door open slowly, letting the hinges squeak for way too long.

They both pop their heads in, expecting to find the pair on the couch or in the kitchen.

But they’re nowhere to be found.

Buck checks their location. They’re still here. Which means…

He and Chimney exchange fearful looks before they stomp their way into the house. All the way outside the one door that is shut.

The bedroom door.

There’s something muffled playing inside, and Buck almost wonders if they’ve heard them at all.

Chimney takes a deep breath and puts his hand on the doorknob. “You ready, Buckley?”

Buck nods.

Chimney pushes the door open.

[noxianwilled]

kat is usually so chill about nicknames like everyone calling her kat is fine she doesn't mind but then one person she isn't close enough to or, worse, sb she dislikes does it and she looks at them like she's about to murder

[hopefullhearts]

Sickeningly Sweet [Scott Miller x Reader - Twisters]

summary: You are Tyler Owens' childhood best friend and member of his storm chasing crew. A storm outbreak means you and the gang cross paths with Storm Par on more than one occasion, and your sweet southern charm drives Scott crazy (in more than one way).

content warnings: somewhat heated kissing, no use of y/n, light name-calling/teasing, not proofread/bad writing (I have not written a fanfic in forever), bad taste in candy, & i think that is all!

word count: 3.5k

a/n: I have not written or posted on tumblr in SO long but I saw Twisters for the glenn powell craze and left with a scott/david corenswet obsession and these thoughts must come out of my head.

Shoutout to @hederasgarden and @sailor-aviator for leading the charge for the Scott girlies. All of their writings and drabbles inspired me to write this one, so check them out!

If people like this I might do a smutty part 2! I don't mind writing smut I just feel like it's not very good hahaha but let me know what you think!

--

You heavily resented the idea that guys and girls could not just be friends, because you'd be damned if Tyler Owens wasn't the best friend you ever had.

You met on the playground in Kindergarten. A boy pushed you off a swing, Tyler defended your honor, and the rest was history.

Tyler's overprotective streak made you view him like the brother you never had, and that's how your relationship remained. He was family, and that was that.

Tyler had always been interested in tornadoes, more specifically, how to track and predict them. You, on the other hand, hated science, including weather, but you loved the thrill of the chase.

In college, you studied marketing while Tyler studied meteorology. So, when Tyler had the idea to start streaming his storm chases, you were right there with him to help grow his brand.

Tyler knows he would be stupid not to credit you with all his success. You set up his streaming account, you edited all the clips and drone footage to post to his social media after the fact, and you even gave him the idea for the "Tornado Wrangler" nickname.

Now that everything was off the ground, you mostly put together streaming highlights and designed the merch, but you were right there in the backseat for every single chase, soaking up all the thrills.

This particular storm outbreak was expected to be a big one, so the whole crew strapped in for a week of bad weather, cheap motel rooms, and of course, a few run-ins with other chasers, including the guys from Storm Par.

"Storm Par's here." You said, gesturing to the fleet of white vans parked at the gas station you had just pulled up to.

"Of course they are." Tyler sighed. "There's probably going to be a lot of damage done by these storms for them to swoop in on. Just ignore them."

"No, we should be polite." You chastised him. "I'm gonna go say hi. Will you get me a cherry coke please?"

Tyler fought back an eye-roll, but nodded with a smile as you both got out of the car. "Of course."

Like everyone else in the crew, the Storm Par guys got on your last nerve. They were all a bunch of Ivy League grads who thought a more expensive degree made them better than everyone else.

However, being raised by your Mama, the epitome of Southern grace and charm, you always put a smile on your face and treated them with kindness. You even occasionally brought them food or coffee if you ran into them in the aftermath of a storm.

And even though you were blissfully unaware of the fact, this drove Scott absolutely mad.

"Hi Scott, Javi." You said cheerfully to the two boys in charge.

Scott replied with a grunt, but Javi was quick to greet you with genuine enthusiasm. "Hey! How are you?"

"I'm doing well." You nodded, smoothing your hands over your athleisure skirt. "Excited for a good chase today. How about you guys?"

"Us too." Javi nodded. "We're hoping to finally get some solid data collection today."

"Ah." You nodded, unsure what to say. You hated the idea of what they were collecting data for, but Javi seemed like a nice enough guy, and Tyler ripped on them enough for the both of you.

"Something on your mind there, princess?" Scott finally spoke, glancing away from his tablet to look down on you (literally and figuratively).

You rolled your eyes. While you would normally love to be called a princess, it always sounded like an insult coming from Scott, his voice always laced with a touch of venom.

"No, nothing at all." You smiled. "Just wondering if we'll see you guys in the aftermath if there's any damage done?"

"Why? Are you looking to increase your t-shirt sales?"

You bit your tongue, doing your best to hold your composure and not let him get to you.

"Nope, just trying to figure out if we need to make some extra to-go boxes for you guys." You decided to focus your gaze on Javi instead, finding him less intimidating.

Javi opened his mouth to speak, but Scott beat him to the punch. "I think we can find food on our own, thanks."

You took a deep breath, choosing your next words carefully. "Okay, well, the offer always stands if you change your mind."

Javi smiled and nodded. "As much as I want to see a good storm today, let's hope we don't have a ton of damage clean up."

You smiled. You knew he had a heart.

"That's something we both can agree on." You grinned. "Stay safe out there you guys!"

With that, you turned and walked away. Scott watched you go, your hair and skirt blowing side to side in the wind.

"Stay safe out there you guys." Scott mocked you under his breath.

"Yo, you don't always have to be a jerk to her, you know."

Scott gave him an unamused look. "She comes out here with her little boyfriend, selling his t-shirts and shit, and then skips over here like we're the best of friends with her thick southern accent. It's all fake."

"For one, I don't think Owens is her boyfriend." Javi corrected. "And two, I think she's just a genuinely nice person. She always says hello, even when everyone else in their crew ignores us like the plague."

"Whatever." Scott mumbled.

As you reached the truck, you took the ice-cold Coca-Cola bottle from Tyler's outstretched hand.

"Thank you!" You said excitedly, twisting the cap off to take a sip.

"How are dumb and dumber?" Tyler teased.

"Javi was nice." You informed him. "Scott was... there."

"Ah, yes." Tyler laughed. "Word on the street is he's a man of many words."

"Right." You agreed sarcastically. "But, when he does speak to me, he always calls me princess, and it drives me crazy."

"In what way?" Tyler said, failing to hold back a smirk.

It took you a moment to realize what he was implying, but when you did, you were mortified,

"Tyler Owens!" You gasped, your face flushing red with embarrassment.

""I'm just teasing you! You make it too easy." He laughed loudly. "In my defense, he looks like exactly like every boyfriend you've ever had."

Your face got even warmer, because he was exactly right. You had a weakness for tall, muscular, dark-haired men, and you especially loved a man who was a challenge.

"That is...irrelevant." You said, covering your face in your hands out of pure embarrassment.

Tyler held his hands up in surrender, as you rushed to talk about anything but Scott. "Let's just figure out what storm we're going after, you jerk." You insulted Tyler, but the smile on your face was ear to ear.

Scott watched the interaction from afar, and his chest twisted at your sickeningly sweet smile. Even if you weren't Owens' girlfriend, your closeness was evident. He ignored the burning feeling that was rising within him, not wanting to question why it was there in the first place.

Tornadoes were scary, but trying to understand how he felt about you? Terrifying.

"Alright, boss man, which storm are we chasing?" Javi pulled him out of his thoughts with a hand clapped on his shoulder, and he finally pulled his gaze away from your smile, the sound of your laughter fading into the background.

--

The storm was bad.

It hit a small town of about 3,000 people, and you estimated based on the initial damage scene that it was an EF3 at best, maybe even an EF4.

You were currently handing out anything that might be helpful to families who had been impacted by the tornado - blankets, water, heat lamps. pre-made sandwiches and cookies. You tried to offer them any comfort you could with a smile and hug, but you understood the devastation they felt all too well.

In the early days, you would try to help with the damage cleanup, but Tyler insisted that you stay back at the camper and talk to the families.

At first, you were insulted, and you thought that Tyler was insinuating you weren't strong enough to move heavy tree limbs or pieces of drywall. You finally asked him about it one day, and he laughed.

"Absolutely not!" He insisted. "You just have this energy around you that's calming, and these families need that. Your empathy and kindness are doing much more for them right now than cleaning up a bunch of rubble would."

You had never thought of it like that, but once Tyler pointed it out, it became your mission to be the solace that these families in crisis needed.

"Is there anything else we can do for you, Mrs. Smith?" You asked, rubbing the arms of a middle-aged woman who you had been speaking to for a few minutes now.

"No, thank you." She sniffled. "I really appreciate you guys being here. God bless you."

You smiled, giving her another hug. "Please let us know if there's anything more we can do to help."

She nodded, walking away to join her family, who were staring at the remains of their house.

You pushed back tears, feeling silly that this never got any easier for you, but also focused on being the anchor that these folks needed.

Scott saw you before you saw him. He watched you from afar as you did your work. He watched you force a smile and hold these people as they cried. He also watched you look up to blink back the tears before taking a deep breath and moving on to the next.

And damn if it didn't drive him nuts.

This job is easier when he doesn't get involved with the people impacted. It's easier to pretend not to care. But watching you pour your heart out to strangers, just because it's the right thing to do? It made his heart jump, and that scared him.

Ignoring the people involved and ignoring his feelings for you had become increasingly more difficult with every chase.

"Scott!" You called, approaching him with a styrofoam container in your hand.

He sighed, mentally preparing himself as you literally bounced over to him.

How the hell does someone look this good after taking on a tornado?

"Here." You offered him the container. "It's just a ham and cheese sandwich and a cookie."

"I'm really not hungry." He responded.

"Seriously?" You asked, not buying it. "We've all been chasing since 10 AM and it's nearly 8, you have to be hungry."

Scott shrugged, trying to hold back the things he really wanted to say.

"Fine." You sighed. "We're right over here if you change your mind."

"Yeah, I know princess. It's hard to miss you being the town's savior over there."

Scott watched you visibly retract and he internally screamed as his heart dropped. You probably hated him, but it didn't matter anyway. You were far too sweet for him, so putting a wedge between the two of you seemed to be the smartest way to outrun his feelings.

"Wow." You spoke, your voice much smaller and shakier than usual. "I knew you were sarcastic and maybe even a little mean, but I never thought you were actually cruel. So, thanks, for enlightening me."

And with that, you turned and strutted off. This time, you failed to fight back the tears as you returned to the camper.

And to your horror, Tyler was there, taking a break from clean up for some water.

When Tyler sees you cry, his overprotective streak comes out instantly, and right now you didn't want to be protected, because you were so embarrassed that he finally got to you. You were even more embarrassed that you thought that just maybe, he might be a good person under that scowl and hard facade.

"Hey, hey, hey, are you okay?" Tyler rushed up to meet you.

You nodded, trying to stop sniffling. "I'm fine."

Tyler looked behind you to see Scott watching you closely, with a look that almost mimicked longing, and he quickly put two and two together.

"Let me handle this." He insisted.

You shook your head in protest. "No, Tyler, please, he thinks I'm a waste of time anyways, it's not worth it."

"Trust me, he doesn't," Tyler reassured you. "Let me handle this, and if it goes badly, I'll edit all the stream highlights for the next two weeks, okay?"

"Deal." You nodded.

You truly did trust him more than anyone in your life, so you opted to go inside the camper and dry up your tears while he went to speak to Scott. You would let Tyler handle it, but no way were you going to stand there and watch, looking like a puppy who just got kicked.

"Coming to defend your girlfriend's honor?" Scott said sarcastically, trying to mask any emotion he was feeling.

"Dude, seriously." Tyler glared at him. "If you want her attention being a complete and total asshole is not the way you get it."

"Is that what you think? That I want her 'attention'?" He said, framing the last word in air quotes.

"Yeah, I do." Tyler nodded. "I saw the look you gave her as she walked away."

"Okay, so what?" Scott shrugged. "You might be surprised to know I am human and I didn't mean to make her cry."

"Sure." Tyler nodded. "So, what about all the other times I've caught you staring at her, hm?"

Scott stayed silent, stunned speechless.

"Ah, you thought you were better at hiding it, didn't you?" Tyler said with a smug grin. "Every time we end up at the same gas station, restaurant, bar, or motel, your eyes follow her nearly the whole time. And don't even get me started on the holes you burn into my head when I'm talking to her."

"Alright, fine." Scott snapped angrily. "Here to rub it in my face then?"

Tyler sighed in frustration. "No."

"Then what?"

"I'm going to give you a piece of advice."

"Why?" Scott scoffed. "It's no secret that we aren't friends."

"I know her better than anyone else, do you want my help or not?" Tyler asked, his patience nearing its limit.

Scott didn't protest this time.

"Look, no matter what I think about you, you're pretty much exactly her type," Tyler said, much to Scott's surprise. "So if you want her, apologize and tell her how you feel."

"She's not going to feel the same, and she deserves much better than me." Scott retorted. "C'mon Owens, you know what we do. When she comes floating into these broken towns like a heaven-sent angel, I'm collecting data for the devil."

"That doesn't have to be a permanent problem." Tyler pointed out. "Plus, she likes a challenge, and she's definitely brave enough to think she can fix you."

That cracked a smile from both of them, followed by a moment of silence.

"218." Tyler said.

"What?"

"That's the room she's staying in tonight." Tyler said, starting to walk away. "Apologize."

Scott nodded, beginning to formulate a plan on how the hell he was going to get you to forgive him.

--

You were snug under your blanket in the motel room watching reruns of Modern Family when the knock came.

You sighed and got up, not bothering to check the peephole as you assumed it was just Tyler coming to talk about the day's events.

So when you opened the door to see Scott standing there, you couldn't be more surprised.

"What are you doing here?" You said quietly, nearly breathless at the sight of him.

It wasn't the first time you had seen him outside of that stupid Storm Par white jumpsuit, but it was the first time you had seen him in gray sweatpants and a tight black long-sleeve shirt that clung to his muscles in a way that you could only describe as sinful.

He towered over you, leaning against the frame of the doorway, and you nearly shuddered when you looked up to meet the intense gaze in his eyes.

"I brought you something. As an apology for being an ass earlier today."

"Oh, and what did you bring for all the other times?" You spat back, no longer in the mood to play nice with him.

"I deserve that." He sighed. "Can I come in?"

"Depends." You responded, and he raised an eyebrow. "What did you bring me?"

He handed you a plastic bag, and you opened it to find a Cherry Coke, Sour Patch Kids, and a Honey Bun.

All of your favorites.

"How did you know what I like?" You asked, curious to know if Tyler was behind this.

"You always get some combination of the three at any local gas station." He shrugged.

He remembered because the first time he saw you buy all three he physically rolled his eyes, because, of course, you would buy snacks just as sickeningly sweet as you.

"I didn't know you paid this much attention to me." You said softly.

"Yeah." Scott inhaled a sharp breath. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Can I please come in?"

You opened the door, inviting him in with the gesture. The door shut behind you, and there was a brief moment of silence between you two.

"I'm sorry, for being a jerk today and every other time I'm around you." Scott started, visibly nervous as he ran a hand through his hair. "I wish I had a better explanation for why I've been such an ass."

"Yeah, so let's hear it." You said, hands on your hips. "Because I have been nothing but nice to you, even though I don't like who you work for and what they stand for."

"I know." He nodded. "At first, I thought you were being fake or sarcastic because it was unfathomable to me that you would be nice to us when you have absolutely no reason to be."

You nodded, encouraging him to continue.

"But once I learned more about you, and I realized you were being genuinely nice," Scott took a deep breath, building up all his courage. "It knocked me off my feet."

"What do you mean?" You asked, confused at what he was getting at

"I spend most of my time pretending that I don't care about the people that are devastated by all of this, because it's easier that way. But watching you bear your heart and soul to all of these people, just because you can?" Scott scoffed. "It makes it hard to pretend like I don't care about them, or more importantly, about you."

"You care about me?"

"I do." He nodded. "And I was a jerk to you because I thought it would be easier to make you hate me than it would be to admit that I have feelings for you, when you're far too good for me."

His admission stunned you. You can feel your heart thumping out of your chest as you look into his eyes, which look painstakingly vulnerable.

"I completely understand if you don't feel the same way, but I couldn't outrun these feelings anymore, and I wanted to at least let you know that I'm sorry."

The room fell silent as you processed everything he just told you. Scott was panicking inside, waiting for what felt like years for you to say something, anything.

"Do you know why I was always nice to you?" You asked him. "Because I was hoping that somewhere in there you had a good side. I needed to know that you had a heart before I could admit to myself that I felt drawn to you."

"Do you still? Feel drawn to me?"

You nodded. Stepping closer to him so that you were nearly face to face.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Please." You nodded desperately, your words barely above a whisper.

His lips were on yours in a flash, and the pure intensity of the kiss nearly knocked you off your feet. It was heated and rough, but somehow gentle and passionate at the same time. His thumb grazed your cheek as he pulled you closer, and every spot his fingers touched made your skin feel like it was on fire. You couldn't get enough of him.

Once he knew you were comfortable, he took the liberty of exploring you more. His tongue slipped into your mouth gently and his teeth caught your bottom lip, causing a small whimper to come from the back of your throat.

Scott groaned at the sound, letting his mind imagine (not for the first time) all of the sounds he could pull from you.

When the two of you finally pulled away for air, he kept you close, his hands ghosting under your chin around your neck, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"You taste just as sweet as I thought you would," Scott said with a smirk.

"Shut up and kiss me again."

[n0vazsq]

Pretty Boy | LN4 x Reader

pairing . . . lando norris x gf!artist!reader

summary . . . While you're sketching a drawing of Lando, you notice that something's off with him. Then, you remind him that he's much more than what people think of him

request . . . no!

word count . . . 759

warnings . . . none! just one use of 'damn'

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . first lando fic!!! a bit short but i hope you guys like it <33

. . . The room smelled like salted caramel and the leather of the couch you were currently sitting on. Lando sat across from you, sat on the arm of the chair, one leg bouncing restlessly. The glow from his phone lit up his face every few seconds, softening the sharpness of his jawline, but it didn’t hold his attention for long. He set it down after scrolling aimlessly, leaning back with a sigh.

"You know," you started, stretching out your legs, "you really need to learn how to sit still. You’re stressing me out."

He flashed you that damn grin, the one he knew you hated for how effortlessly it made you forgive him for everything. "You sound like my engineer," he laughed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"Maybe I should be," you shot back, holding up the sketchpad in your lap. "You’re not exactly making this easy for me."

His eyes flicked to the page, and he tilted his head, squinting slightly. "That’s me?"

"Who else do you think I’ve been sketching this whole time? Your mum?"

Lando grinned, leaning in closer to get a better look. His hair was slightly messy, still damp from the shower he’d taken earlier, and you could smell the faint trace of his shampoo as he hovered over your shoulder. "Not bad," he said with mock seriousness, tapping his chin. "You almost got my nose right."

You turned your head, glaring playfully. "Almost? You’re lucky I even attempted that ski slope you call a nose."

He pretended to be offended, leaning back dramatically, a hand on his chest. "Ski slope? That’s rich coming from someone who-" He cut himself off, laughing at your raised eyebrow.

"Go on," you urged, smirking now.

"Nah," he said, still laughing as he settled back into the chair. "You’re not worth the fight."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Lando had this way of lighting up a room without even trying, of making you feel like the only person who mattered when he turned that adorable charm your way. It was infuriating, really.

But tonight, something about him seemed quieter. The usual spark in his eyes was dimmer, and the edges of his grin didn’t reach as far.

"What’s going on with you?" you asked, setting the sketchpad aside.

He shrugged, looking down at his hands, which were fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. "Nothing. Just thinking."

"About....?"

He hesitated, chewing on the inside of his cheek before finally meeting your gaze. "You ever feel like… I don’t know. Like people only see what they want to see when they look at you?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Where’s this coming from?"

He shrugged again, more defensively this time. "It’s just… I don’t know. Everyone’s always saying stuff, you know? About me. Pretty boy this, golden boy that. Like that’s all I am."

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. "You know that’s not true, right?"

"Isn’t it?" he countered, his voice softer now, more uncertain.

"My beloved Lando." You said his name like it was the answer to a question he didn’t want to ask. "You’re so much more than what people say. You’re brilliant, and kind, and funny, annoyingly so, actuall. You care about the people around you more than you probably should."

He didn’t say anything, just stared at you with this look that made your chest tighten.

"I don’t see some ‘pretty boy,’" you continued. "I see you. The real you. And if other people don’t, that’s their loss. But just saying, you are pretty."

The corner of his mouth twitched, and he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "You’re too good at this whole therapy talk thing, you know that?"

You smirked, leaning back against the couch again. "Yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep your ego contained."

He laughed then, the sound breaking through the tension like sunlight through a cloud. And when he looked back at you, the spark in his eyes was there again, faint but unmistakable.

"Thanks," he said simply.

"For what?"

"For being here. For being… ," He took a deep breath, arms raising and falling, like he was trying to cut the air. "You.”

Your smile softened, and you shrugged. "Someone’s gotta put up with you."

He laughed again, shaking his head. "Lucky me, huh?"

And in the glow of the room, with the soft hum of the music in the background, you thought maybe you were the lucky one.

[venmondiese]

COME TO ME, ANGEL OF MUSIC

‎‎masterlist ✧works in procress ✧ AO3

-ˋˏ| summary: On a costume party, you meet Aemond, a strange man who seems to lurke your thoughts. Soon enough, you'll find he is more than what he seems.

✧| Pairing: modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader

✧| word count: 4.2k

✧| Warnings: MDNI 18+, possible dub-con, p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), Aemond is very weird, and this contains dark contents.

-ˋˏslightly based on the phantom of the opera + my contribution to halloween

You wish you knew how you ended up in a rich party, honestly. It was a costume party, and everyone had rich costumes. You went for a classic one; Christine from Phantom of the Opera.  Your friend was dating the younger son of this family, throwing a party in the whole damn state they had, as if it was some kind of Saltburn. You didn’t comply when she dragged you to ‘meet one of his rich friends so you and him can be together’ because honestly you had nothing better to do.

Seeing people do heroin and ecstasy was not your style, so you separated from your friend soon enough, as she told you her boyfriend and her would spend quite some time on that. She had promised to invite one of your childhood friends (and crush); Ben. Even if it had been ages, you still thought about the chance to meet him. 

Dancing on the dance floor was something else. They didn’t play some of the usual party songs played on discos or bars. It was somehow more refined, but it didn't stop you from dancing.  You danced with some dudes; with a mummy, with Beetle juice, with Pennywise and even with the typical one dressed as the Joker. You made out with them a bit, but soon enough you pulled away.

Once you were sweating through your costume, you went to the backyard, seeing all the stairs you had to get down to touch the grass. Instead, you walked to the chairs in the balcony and stayed there. 

“I lost my… fucking piercing…” you murmur, feeling your face and not feeling your nose ring. Did you even…?

“Hello, didn’t expect you here” 

You turn to see the voice by your side. It was dark, or perhaps you weren’t using your glasses, but you could swear there wasn’t a man there. 

“Hey” you murmur softly. 

“Who are you supposed to be?” He asks softly, smoking his cigarette as he was against the wall. 

You weren’t one for small talk, truly. But here you were.

“Christine Daaé” you tell him softly looking at him.

“Hm.”

“From the phantom of the opera”

“I know, it is rather obvious coming from you” he says softly, another puff as he speaks. 

You frown slightly, confused by his words. What was he on? Maybe your face is familiar with someone he knows. You are sure you know him. He is oddly familiar as well, and you definitely couldn't shake the feeling of knowing him. He was like a distant, misty memory, as if from a dream.

“And who are you?” 

“Nosferatu” 

You take a moment to watch his costume, seeing the formal clothes he used. He had long silver hair, and it looked silky and it was very eye-catching. As you saw more and more of him, as the dim lights from the garden gave him a sombre aura. His skin was pale, not rosy-like pale, but straight out white, cold tones. He had a purple eye, and he wore an eye patch to the other.

“I Thought Nosferatu was bald”

“I thought Christine Daaé could sing.” 

“You surely wear tons of makeup” 

“You should see my brother” he says, looking at you “He came as Edward Cullen, Tons of glitter”

You chuckle “I can see it”

He was handsome, leaning on the wall as he inspected you. Gave you goose bumps, that, and the cold air too. 

“What’s your brother’s name?” You ask softly, looking at him as the skirt of your costume had been caught on some leaves.

“Aegon” he says, as if testing your knowledge on the name.

“And yours?” You ask, smoothly. You wanted to know his, in truth, and he smirked as he puffed on his cigarette.

“Aemond” he says softly, looking at you. “Yours?”

You tell him your name, and he hums watching over you. There is something about the way he looks at you, making your skin have goose bumps and you turn slightly more conscious about yourself. He was intimidating, yet at the same time, you were attracted to him as moths are to light. 

“You fit the costume” he says, puffing on his cigarette again. 

“It is my favourite costume. I found a white corset, and a white puffy dress. I did the star pattern on it, and it took me a while to style my hair.” 

“Hm. I see.” his voice is sultry, watching you closely. 

“I have seen the Phantom of the Opera since I was a child. I love it” you admit with a smile “Seen it like a hundred times. I doubt there is someone who has seen it more than I”

He raises an eyebrow at your nerdiness, yet he shrugs, throwing his cigarette on the floor to stomp on it. His shoes had dragon patterns on them, and looked as if they had never been worn. 

“I doubt it” he says smugly, moving to sit in another chair next. One of his legs lazily going above the other as he leaned back. “I have seen it for years and years”

You roll your eyes amused, as if he was trying to fight who was nerdier. “Yeah, right”

“I mean it. They always play it in the theatre” he says, looking at your face as if trying to see your reaction. He isn’t very expressive, you notice, as his face almost doesn’t move as he speaks. 

“And so you happen to visit the theatre always?”

“Well, in fact I do.” He shrugs, moving to take another cigarette out of his pocket, to lighten it up. You roll your eyes as if you don’t believe him. “I own the place.”

It is a moment of silence, as you watch him brag about it. Men and their audacity. He was extremely rude, apart from off-putting. And he was arrogant, you knew an arrogant man when you saw one, how his chin is titled up, as if looking down at you. 

“Yeah, right”

“I mean it” He says, surely. 

“Are you rich?” You say in disbelief, not believing one word of what he was saying. 

“I live some states away” He says, referring to the mansions. “It’s older than the damn country”

“I do not believe you one bit”

“Don’t” he shrugs nonchalantly, his face barely changing as he takes another puff. “You could have had free entry to see the phantom of the opera every night” 

You narrowed your eyes to his words, you do not believe him. How rich can you be to own one of these houses AND own a theatre? Makes 0 sense in your middle class mind. Yet, Aemond, for some reason, is different. You cannot explain it… and it bugs you. Yet you are curious as a cat. 

“Okay, Mr. Billionaire” You say mockingly, leaning closer as you watch his face. “If you do own that, you must be an aristocrat” you point out, seeing how his eyebrows raise and he nods slightly.

“Yeah”

“So your family has been around for centuries?”

He nods, and he says “Yeah, more than centuries”

“Every dynasty falls, you know. Sooner or Later” 

“Or they evolve” He says, taking another puff. He has a calm way to speak, almost sultry. He speaks as if he had all the right opinions on the world, and doesn’t leave room to question him.

Aemond was handsome, perhaps too handsome. Though the white makeup was too much (and you can imagine how full of glitter his brother should be), he has a mystery surrounding him. He was a billionaire, yet he doesn’t tell you his family name, which doesn’t surprise you, since rich people are full of fake friends. You doubted that half of the people in this mansion even knew the hosts personally. And Aemond seems the calm type, stoic, silent and observant. You can notice it just by the way he stares at you, no expression on his face, not even boredom. 

“And you are friends with …” You ask, moving a hand to point at the castle. 

“My brother is more social than I am” his tone is quiet. 

“And he dragged you here?”

“I dragged myself here” he says. Even if he is very expressionless, you were getting tired of him.

You didn’t even notice how awkward the whole conversation was. He was so clearly uninterested in you, only bragged about his luxuries and spoke in a condescending tone. You were confused, no doubts. The alcohol had been too much.

“I will go to the dance floor then…, Aemond” you say standing up, and he doesn’t do the courtesy to look interested. 

As you leave, you just try to sneak away from his little corner, and you try to find your friend. The meeting with Aemond left you a sour taste in your mouth, no doubts. Lisa was certainly more of a social butterfly, and if she was next to her boyfriend she would probably be like his trophy, anyways. 

You walked through the corridors, and tried to check your phone. It was almost one in the morning, 00:58. You sighed, checking your messages as you tried to stay against the wall; the music was loud enough to drive you insane.

Where are u??? Ben is here…

You cursed yourself, muttering a great deal of insults as you answered, asking where the hell she was with Ben. You came with a purpose, and you certainly couldn’t leave without it. 

Ben was handsome, and his blonde hair fell from his face as he was dressed as some superhero you didn’t recognise. Yet he was lean, and handsome as hell. He has some beard, not too rusty, but you liked it, suited him well. It reminded you of his dad, no doubts. 

“Ben” you say smiling

“Oh, look at you” he says, standing up to hug you. “It has been ages!”

“Too long” You say smiling, hugging him back. “How have you been? I mean… What have you been up to?” It was almost impossible not to want to ask Ben about all the amazing things he must have been up to. 

Between chatting, drinking and dancing, it’s nearly three am when you are still dancing on him in the dance floor.  It was less crowded than before, yet it still was hot as hell. You were sweating slightly, and still with Ben, dancing together and having so much fun.

“Hey, Christine” 

You turn a bit confused. Oh, it was this guy. The Nosferatu guy, Aemond.

“Hey” You say to him, cringing a bit. His expressionless face looked from you to Ben, who stopped to dance to introduce himself. “Ben, this is Aemond… Aemond, Ben”

Whereas Ben extended his hand with a smile, Aemond watched him with a hum, acknowledging him with a raise of eyebrows. You wanted to die, he was so fucking rude and hard to swallow, and you didn’t even know why he was bothering you.

“You are friends?”

You try to answer, yet you find yourself mumbling nonsense as your cheeks get red slightly from shame. It is Aemond who answers.

“Yeah. Long acquaintances” he says, and his face finally changes. His lips curled in a smirk, his arms crossed on his chest as he was very much interested in Ben now.  “Isn’t it right?”

You look at him, and then at Ben, blinking a bit confused. “Yeah, we know each other… and we are so close” 

“Oh, I see. Didn’t mention that” He says, his smile confused as he looks at you. 

“Well, I didn’t remember” you say, a bit confused, frowning. 

Where did you exactly meet Aemond? 

“Ouch” Aemond says, looking at you. His voice still cold, and detached “Didn’t you tell him all the times we have gone to see the Phantom of the Opera?”

It takes you a bit to speak. “Yeah, tons of times… Aemond owns a theatre, and they play it all the time.”

Ben looks at you a bit confused. His hand is on the small of your back, and still close to you. 

“Maybe you could come with us” you babble, words out of your mouth hastily. “I’d like you to” you add, words you like to say finally coming out of your mouth.

“Sure thing” Ben says smiling, giving you a reassuring nod. 

“We could arrange it for the next season. Now it is all about more new musicals” Aemond says shrugging “Even if the Phantom of the Opera is quite new, still”

“It’s old as fuck, dude” Ben laughs it out, but his laugh is met with no response. 

You looked at him, eyes wide. You found it funny, why didn’t you laugh? 

“Either way…” Aemond says, his tone unwavering as always. “We have to leave, darling”

It is then when you look at Aemond again. You were attracted to him like a moth is to light, and he was like a drug. He was handsome, tall and definitely hot. He made you feel alive. 

Yet you didn’t want to leave Ben. Why would you? Lisa had especially invited him for this purpose, to get you two together, to reconnect and with some luck, hook up. Even if you weren’t the type to hook up with guys you have met the same day, unlike Lisa. She joked that maybe Ben was worth the exception. 

“Wait, I thought we were staying…?” Ben says, confused, since Lisa’s boyfriend had no problem in lending one of the guest rooms to you two. 

“No” you say, almost automatically. 

“Come on” Aemond says, pulling you away from Ben, grabbing your elbow with a self-sufficient smirk. 

His touch was cold, unwelcoming and uncaring. Even with that, you followed his lead out of the mansion, not caring to wave goodbye to Ben. 

It is when he opens his old car, probably expensive as hell, when you ask him. “Where are we going?”

He smiles “Oh, my darling. We are going to my state”

Your mind has problems remembering how you two exactly arrived at his state. You have had too much alcohol, either way. 

And as you went away from the party, you started to ask yourself more things. Why did you ignore Ben? You were an ass to him, and you didn’t care about it. But in truth, you did, and you felt awful about it. 

It made zero sense; you couldn’t understand your change of heart. As if sorcery was inflicted upon you, or mind control. When you take out your phone, to send him a message, to apologise, and to also tell Lisa where you are, you find yourself with no signal at all. You barely had any battery on it too.

“Do not bother” Aemond’s cold tone comes as he drives. The car was so old, the gearshift was like a lever next to the steering wheel. Damn, this shit didn’t even have a radio. “There is no signal around here”

“No technology either…” you murmur between your teeth, and try to look out in the darkness of the night. It was all mist, from miles and miles in the field. 

“Do not worry yourself” He says, and with that, you shut up. 

Your walk is almost automatic, following his lead into his house. It was a mansion, more like a Victorian one. Maybe even older, this truly seems like centuries old. You couldn’t imagine how old his dynasty was to inherit something like this. 

Aemond could be as sultry as he was cold, because soon enough you were on his bed, sitting as he talked softly, about your appearance or how perfect you were. You truly didn’t take a look around his home, or his room. Surely, there were a lot of stairs, and a lot of floors. But you only cared for Aemond.

“Dressing up like Christine, hm? Suits you” He murmurs, his hands cupping your face as if you were dear to him, yet there was no tenderness in his tone, only that detachment you despised. 

“Hm” it was all you could say. 

“So perfect for me. I knew I was right on you”

His lips devour yours as he kisses you, and you can do anything but return his kisses, perhaps not with the same fervour, but still you are a bit enthusiastic with that. 

If he was cold, he made it up by being addicted. Kissing him was addictive, and the taste of it was making you lean closer and closer to him. And it was as if he thought the same about you, by the way he was acting the same, if not more desperate. 

You feel his kisses travel down, as his hands lower down to move the skirt of your dress, feeling your bare legs and going upwards. His face nuzzles your neck, and you can feel how he leaves hickeys, bites and wet kisses on the skin. 

He was insane with lust, like an animal as he pressed kisses on your collarbone, pulling you back in his bed. Kissing Aemond was like being in heaven; you could barely feel your own body. 

“You are perfect” He murmurs “No need to be nervous” his tone is sultry, almost too enchanting for you. 

You weren’t even nervous, to be honest. Your heart was racing like crazy, and your hands were sweating. Still, you didn’t feel nervous. 

“I’m not” you murmur softly. 

“You are” he says, his eyes turning to look at you. “I know it. You can’t hide anything from me”

As his hands move to take off your clothes, and his mouth relishes on your breasts, clavicle and neck, you start to wonder. Was he stalking you? You remember him too dizzily to connect dots, but he was starting to… 

Scare you. Arouse you. You weren’t even sure.

Aemond was especially good with his mouth; his kisses pressed lower and lower as his hands caressed your thighs softly, looking up at you. 

“I’ll make you feel better” he promises, his tone sounds ever sweeter. “I know what to do to cure you”

If the remark was oddly strange, he doesn’t give you a moment to think about it, as his mouth goes to your cunt, his tongue moving expertly along your folds to taste you, like a man starved does. He was, in a way, starved. You could see it in his gaze, looking up to you to see your reactions and if trying to see right across your soul. 

He accommodates your thighs on his shoulders, as if hugging your back to press you further to his face, and mouth. He was groaning on it, delighting himself in your taste, as you could only whimper and see with half lidded eyes, biting your lower lip as you feel your head starting to drop back in delight.

His mansion was cold, and Aemond was even colder, yet everywhere he touched, felt warm. It was magnificently paradoxical, yet it made every sense in your head. If you could form a logical thought, that would be, because when Aemond touched you it was as if your brain melted completely, being nothing as he touched your body.

“Will you let me?” He asks, his mouth and chin shiny from your arousal, gods, you were leaking wet. You haven’t noticed until now, you were really wet. And he only seems to be happy about it. 

He glances up at your face, watching you closely with his careful eye. You were right on his mercy, and he liked it. He could tell that you were loving it, the way he gives you attention and takes care of you, and yet he isn’t pleased when you nod as a way to answer him “I want you to say it out loud”

“Yes” you say, your breath almost stuck in your throat as you speak, nodding. Your cheeks were red, and you could feel your blood going everywhere in your body, especially where he had touched you, and kissed you.

“You are all mine, hm?” He says, seeing the hickeys on your neck and legs. 

His cock was hard, and he was as excited as you were to have you. You didn’t quite get what he was after, sex? Taking care of you? An odd, distorted and sick pleasure of… doing what he does? You couldn’t get it. 

He doesn’t use protection, and you also don’t try to ask about it. You just don’t care about it, you want him. You need him. You craved him. 

Aemond hiss when he enters you. Your pussy is warm, wet and welcoming to his cock. Seeing you in display to him, moaning as his cock starts filling you is too much for him. It’s too overwhelming, and he has to curse out loud, moving to grab your thighs to pull you closer, your body moving as if you were a ragdoll. 

“Fuck, princess. That’s it” he mutters, his hips going back, before harshly going forward, starting to pound into you as if he was a feral animal, grunting and groaning, 

Your body welcomes his harshness, feeling his cock pound again and again against all your sensitive spots. He knows what he was doing, surely, and he knew how to please his partner in bed. His dick slides effortlessly into her cunt, you could feel his balls slapping against your skin. 

“Aemond” you moan is more like a whine, the same tone wounded animals used emit when in pain. Oddly enough, that turns him on more. 

“That’s it” He murmurs, his hips being harsh as he thrusted, and you could only imagine how much it would hurt to stand up next morning. "Sing for me...."

Aemond reaches with his hand to find your clit. Most men would be blind, but Aemond had experience. His wet fingers rub your clit, as he made sure his thrusts were overwhelming enough to have you made a mess for him. Moaning loudly, he feels your legs shaking a bit as he leans to whisper in your ear.

“Come for me” His tone is many things, a plea, an order, a fact.  "Come to me"

You didn’t know how, but he knew. You were coming hard, as you felt his cock deep inside and his wet kisses all over. It was intense, and he had you all disoriented. Maybe you squirted, maybe he came right with you, and maybe he came inside you. But the truth? You didn’t care. 

You fell asleep soon after, almost unconscious from such a night. Alcohol, crazy sex, and going to a stranger’s home. 

It all hits you by the morning. 

If you could call that a morning, honestly. You wake up, in the silk bed sheets, feeling colder than ever, and naked. You turned around, and everything was dark, as if it was night. The tall, heavy curtains in the windows were old enough to be thick, and not let a single ray of sunshine inside. Yet, it was badly closed, because one ray hit right in your neck, and in your left eye, waking you up. 

You don’t know how long you have slept, as you stand up. You feel panicked, because you went home with a stranger. And then you start remembering. Leaving without telling Lisa, leaving Ben just because Aemond said so, and you were stupid enough to follow him.

And you had sex with him. You can feel your body aching from how feral he was with you, and you sit up in bed, whining, as your whole body is sore and burning you.

You check your thighs, red and lots of bruises there. And your stomach, and your forearms. You stand up carefully, moving closer to the window you had seen in the hallway, not minding your nakedness, or who might see you wander around. 

You are more worried by the blood coming out your neck. You see yourself in the mirror; your neck has dry blood, bruises and hickeys. Your face? Intact. But your neck and collarbone were… destroyed. Your breasts are saved, just a little bit, bitten and full of hickeys, but no blood there.

You try to move the dry blood, trying to see what you were injured. You didn’t hear a sound in the house; it was dark, and quiet. The most light that entered was from a skylight in the stairs, which seemed to be endless.

You see two dots, deep and scarlet in your neck. And another pair, and another. You had to check more than twice to try to make it sense. Aemond had bitten you. It was all Aemond.

“I see you have woken up” He murmurs, leaning on the hallway, with a cup of tea, and some cookies. 

You turn to look at him, and you regret not having something to cover yourself with.

“You are a monster” You say, turning back to the room, to try and go find your clothes and your phone. “Biting me like a… a… a vampire” you say, just to test the waters. Hells, you didn’t even believe he was a vampire.

Aemond chuckles, following right behind you as he leaves the tray in the cabinet. He looks at you, covering the door unconsciously, as he crosses his arms. “So you figured it out then” he says. “I thought it would take you less”

“You… drugged me”

“No” He says, crossing his arms, offended. “I did not need to.”

He was attractive, but it wasn’t him. It wasn’t his charm, and how handsome he was. Of course, you think, being an idiot. You had seen twilight a million times, and you felt like Bella when she discovered the same about Edward. 

“Vampires aren’t real” You remind him, putting on your clothes. They were dirty, yet you just wanted to get out of there. Gods, you were an idiot. An idiot. And you didn’t even know what you would tell Lisa, or Ben, or your parents…

“Aren’t they, really?” He asks, almost mockingly. “And where are you going, darling?” He asks amused, seeing you grab your purse and pull your clothes fast as day. It took you a bit to close the corset of the dress, but whatever. 

“Away” you mutter, which causes him to laugh.

The only, genuine and loud laugh you have heard him do. Maybe the most genuine he has ever been in the time you have meet him.

“You are adorable, my sweet” he says, his tone as detached even with his amusement. “I thought it was clear. You are not going anywhere”

You look at him, as if confused. He wasn’t a vampire, it was ridiculous. It felt like a crappy movie that they passed through forgotten channels. 

“Yeah, right” you say, passing through him and going into the hallway. “I am leaving” you tell him, trying to look brave, as you try to decipher the fucking mansion. 

“You are scared as a kitten” Aemond says, more amused than anything “Your heart is beating like crazy, darling”

“Whatever!” You scream, finding some stairs and going down. 

“And how will you ever leave? The closest town is far away for leaving on foot.”

“I’ll call a tab” you say, stubbornly, taking out your phone. 

Seriously? 11%? You sighed. Aemond didn’t stop you, but let you figure it on your own. There was no signal here.

If you go, with how cold it was, you were going to die of hypothermia. And going out without a map, without a direction, you will be also dead, if not found by him. You really, really were trapped. You had to think of something else, surely, but not now…

“I see your pretty head has figured it out” Aemond says, from top of the stairs. “Now, will you take the cookies and tea I had you? I bought them just for you” he says, almost annoyed. “I can’t let my pet starve”

That was what he wanted you for. If he was a vampire, he needed blood. And he had his fill, and he had his next meal. It was you; he wanted you as food, and to fuck. 

"I want my pretty angel to keep on singing for me" his tone is deep, smiling, as he teases you with those words. "My angel of music"

You want him to shut up, but at the same time, you don't.

You remember, for a moment, when he bites you with his fangs. You had thought it was with the costume, but he didn’t dress up. He surely invented he was Nosferatu, and you believed it like a fool. Those fangs weren’t fake, and they dig into your neck to draw blood from you, multiple times. 

It was painful, and it stung like a bitch. You didn’t want him to feed on you.

"You have come here with one purpose and one alone" he says, as he lure you into his whims "I have needed you with me... to serve me. "

Yet when you see him smile, guiding you to eat, you feel calm, even if your mind knew he was using his dirty tricks on you, just like before. He seduced you, into his will. And gods, if you didn’t feel like you wanted just that: be his forever. To feed, to fuck, to devour. 

It was surely going to drive you insane one day, yet you had to get used to it. It didn’t seem as if you were going to be out anytime soon. 

[rook-laidir]

Since no one asked for more banter, I made even more!

Enjoy. Or don’t, I’m not a cop.

~

Neve: You’re keeping Solas’s dagger?

Rook: Why, do you want it?

Neve: Absolutely not. Not after seeing what it can do.

Rook: I don’t love it either, but whatever it takes, right?

Neve: Right. But if you start glowing and moving rocks like Harding, make sure it’s not in my direction.

Rook: Yeah, that’s fair.

~

Lucanis: You don’t make requests for dinner as often as some of the others.

Rook: I’m not picky. I’ll eat whatever you put in front of me - unless it’s pickles. Or asparagus.

Lucanis: You don’t like asparagus?

Rook: I keep trying to like it, but don’t.

Lucanis: I sautéed some asparagus with dinner two nights ago and you ate it. Why didn’t you say anything?

Rook: Couldn’t exactly afford to be picky when I was a slave.

Lucanis: I’ll use broccoli instead next time.

Rook: Don’t worry about it, everyone else liked it.

Lucanis: You’re allowed to have choices, Rook.

Rook: Thanks, I…Thanks.

~

Davrin: Your old name means “young halla.”

Rook: It’s a family name. My mother liked it.

Davrin: The Dalish typically give that name to the healers.

Rook: Must’ve missed the memo.

Davrin: Don’t sell yourself short. Killing blighted monstrosities is healing in its own sort of way.

Rook: Is that what you tell yourself?

Davrin: That and I like hunting and killing the damn things.

~

Davrin: Have you been sneaking treats to Assan again?

Rook: Are you gonna be mad at me if I say yes?

Davrin: Yes.

Rook: Then no.

~

Emmrich: You’re truly not bothered by spirits?

Rook: I’m Rivaini, the Lords are used to spirits hanging around.

Emmrich: They really do have the most fascinating stories.

Rook: They’re fun too. One time, we were in the ruins of this old castle and the treasure was sealed behind a solid stone wall. We got a spirit of chaos to break down the whole thing.

Emmrich: How practical for chaos!

Rook: Well, turns out it was a load-bearing wall and the whole thing started to come down. He seemed happy, though.

Emmrich: Yes, I imagine he would be.

~

Harding: I’m doing dinner tonight. Any requests?

Rook: Harding, you’re my friend and I care about you so much. My only request is for someone else to be doing dinner tonight.

~

Harding: So I bought some new arrows.

Rook: Ooh, the exploding ones?

Harding: Yup! Wanna blow stuff up later?

Rook: Yes!

~

Bellara: How did you meet Varric Tethras?

Rook: He and Harding were looking for Solas and got stuck with me along the way. I got…volunteered to help him after I killed a noble who double-crossed us.

Bellara: That’s still amazing, though! He must’ve had so many stories to tell! Did he ever share his writing process? Or what about his inspiration for Swords and Shields?

Rook: Usually, getting him to stop talking was the hard part.

~

Taash: A couple Lords are getting drinks at The Hilt later. You in?

Rook: Will Bharv be there?

Taash: I dunno. Maybe.

Rook: He better be. He still owes me ten gold.

Taash: Wicked Grace?

Rook: Pet-sitting, actually. I cleaned bird crap off of everything for three days.

Taash: He has a bird?

Rook: His name is Finnegan. He’s an asshole.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 17 - You Come Back

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: I fear my “every action in this story must have a consequence” is coming back to bite us in the butt this chapter. Also Dean middle name just dropped. It’s an owie.

Chapter Title from This Love by Taylor Swift

Word Count: 17.9k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean has some hard conversations, and you destroy a building and make a friend. Extra warning on blood/injury.

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

Chapter 16 - Chapter 18

Read on A03!

A week.

Dad was going to be gone a week. 

It was less than last time. More than the time before that. And Dean had been alone for longer—part of him was pretty damn sure he’d simply been alone his whole life, and everyone else that passed around him knew that he’d be temporary better than he did—but it never made the pit smaller. 

“Are you sure you don’t need extra hands-“

“I’ve told you, Dean. This ain’t a family bondin’ hunt, it’s a real hunt. Gotta be me alone.”

Dad alone. 

At least he’d be alone by choice. 

And he could’ve kept Dean with him, but Dean wasn’t Sammy. Dad wanted Sam—the only person who’d ever left Dad alone on purpose—and Dean couldn’t be Sam if he tried.

It was for the best. Someone had to take the heat, be the grunt.

But the whole fucking point of that was that Dean was supposed to be a good hunter, too. Nothing out there in the real world to offer him comfort, just himself, the pit, Dad, and a siren-like voice is his ear that he could never get rid of. 

And he was still being benched. It was a ‘real hunt’ and Dad didn’t trust him, or want him, or something, so Dean was being benched in the middle of freakin’ nowhere, and he was going to be alone.

“I could just handle the lore,” Dean offered, one last time, because this pit was gaping in the cavity of his chest, and he really didn’t want to be alone. “I’d use one of the baby pistols for defense, I wouldn’t even leave the motel room-“

“Well, good news, son. Since you’re stayin’, you can leave this motel all you damn want.”

Dad wasn’t moving on this. 

And Dean wouldn’t want to hunt with himself, either.

So he dropped it, and Dad vanished. Simply turned into something like mist and faded from the room, leaving Dean stranded. 

Alone.

In real life, he’d been alone barely a day. Dean had found a body a little warmer than his hands, and he’d let it sway him into bed, then he’d spent the night staring at the ceiling. Listening to that beautiful, haunting voice call his name. 

There had been an itch in his hands. A tug from just to the right of his heart, telling Dean that he had to go. Had to move and never stopped until he crashed into something, until the pit in him was tended to and lined with silver and flowers. He hadn’t been able to sit still for the whole damn night, the night air had smelled like an unnamable fruit when he’d gone outside, and he’d been driving himself out of his damn mind.

It had been sunrise when he’d grabbed a newspaper, started circling different stories, and found a case about people going mad with dancing just a few towns over. 

And it had been a little before noon when-

“Dean?”

He turned, and She was there. He was still in the motel room, but She was fucking there. And beautiful, and bright, and almost seeming to literally glow in the low light of the morning.

Maybe the morning. 

The sky outside the motel blinders was shimmering, and made of a million soft colors. There was a moon but no stars, and the sun was still hung on the horizon—making the whole world seem almost golden—and none of that really mattered anyway, because She was there.

With Dean.

“De-“

“Hey, Princess.” He gave Her a smooth, slightly crooked grin, and had a brief and terrifying thought that She could feel his heartbeat through the whole world. “You’re, uh- I don’t think you’re supposed to be here.”

She raised Her chin at him, eye narrowing, and there She was. 

More commanding over the world than anyone should have the right to be. Gorgeous and ethereal—turning the world colorful where Dean could’ve sworn it had been muted shades of brown—and just out of Dean’s reach. 

Always just out Dean’s reach. 

“You don’t get to tell me where to be, Winchester.”

“I think I got some right, given this is my motel room.”

She flushed, and Dean wanted to grab that color and paint it over the sky. “Yeah, but-“

“You just gotta ask me, sweetheart.”

“Ask-“

“To be here.” 

To stay.

Dean wanted Her to ask him if She could stay.

And She was rubbing the scar on Her palm, glancing around the room, and when She broke the silence it must be because this was Dean’s dream. Or memory. Or whatever.

It was Dean’s head, so he could have whatever he wanted.

“Can I please stay?”

Dean grinned at Her. “Yeah, you can. Good work on the manners-“

She rolled Her eyes. “Shut up-“

“That’s not very nice,” Dean drawled Her name, and side-stepped Her shove. “And here I was, missing you all the time-“

“You miss me?”

Dean paused, and there was suddenly something incredibly open and nervous about Her features.

She was made of all Dean’s thoughts. This version of Her, at least, should know that Dean missed Her more than he was pretty freakin’ sure he’d miss his heart, if it just fell out of his chest.

“Course I miss you.” He shrugged. “Always missed you.” Dean paused, frowning at the door. “Even today, I think. I really missed you today.”

“Today-“

“Texas. That pagan douchebag you helped me gank-“

She scoffed, and Dean wasn’t sure when She’d gotten right to his side, but he wasn’t about to complain. “Fuck off, De, that was a team effort-“

“I got the kill-“

“I worked out the whole case. And you’re the one who called us a team.”

He had done that. Shit. 

She was too pretty to fight with. And Dean missed Her too much to try.

“Yeah, well, I’m also the one who found you.” He looked down at Her carefully, and if this really was a fantasy, this was the part where She should smile at him and kiss him. Tell Dean that he’d always find Her, and they’d always stay together, all the way down.

But instead She tilted Her head at him, Her voice soft, and the whole universe glowing in Her eyes. 

Dean still wouldn’t want Her any other way.

“You did, didn’t you.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, leaning down a little further. Just to be a little fucking closer to Her light. “Wish I could do it again, Princess.”

She gave him a small, sad smile, and for a brief second, She shifted. Glitched. Became covered in blood and bruises and cuts, Her shiny hair tangled and hanging over Her almost battered features, one of Her eyes swollen and a large gash on Her arm and puffy mark on Her cheek, and Dean wanted to reach out and grab Her—keep Her safe however he could, maybe trade himself to whatever was hurting Her, or wrap his body over Her’s so nothing could ever hurt Her again—but he couldn’t fucking move-

“You’ll find me,” She hummed, and the words didn’t sound like they were for Dean. “Or maybe I’ll find you.”

Bobby’s house was quiet, in the early morning. It was why Dean’s groan seemed to split through the air, his brow furrowing at nothing when he felt the stiff mattress of the guest room, and knew that if he reached over, the other side of the bed would be cold.

He hadn’t found Her. He’d sworn he would, snapped at Sammy that he had to, and he’d made himself a lying son of a bitch because he couldn’t. He was back at Bobby’s because—after three weeks of running around and calling numbers and looking for cases Dean knew She'd be drawn to—he'd ended up exactly where he'd goddamn started.

"You ain't gonna be able to keep this shit up, Dean."

Bobby's words over the phone had been clipped. Tired. 

Dean really hadn't wanted to hear them.

"I told you, I'm not coming back until-"

"What? 'Till you find her? You got a single fuckin' lead?"

He'd scowled. "No, but there's a case of some weird shit going on up in Maine, exact type of case-"

"I know what cases she likes, boy. I'm asking you to use your damn brain for five seconds, and think about where she'd be headed to first, moment she got back to the states-"

"We don't know that she's not in the states." Dean had muttered, running a hand over his face. "Maybe she's trapped, Bobby. Maybe she's in fucking trouble, and she's got no one to help her because you and Sam just let her run off-"

"Dean." Bobby's voice through the speaker had been low. Gruff. A warning. "You know damn well we didn't let her do a damn thing. I've told ya', we got back to the house and she was just fuckin' gone-"

"You should've looked." Dean had hissed, and Bobby had scoffed.

"You think I didn't? She didn't want to be found Dean, so there was no fuckin' way I was gonna find her-" Bobby had cut himself off, the exact same moment the words had sunken in, and twisted into Dean's gut.

She didn't want to be found.

Maybe Dean hadn't been able to find Her because She didn't want to be found.

But She'd said she'd come back home. She'd pinky promised him, over the phone, that She'd come back. That Dean would be able to see Her soon, and hold her, and know that it was real. 

That She wasn't just a ghost or a demon, that he was really alive, because something like Her could never exist in Hell. 

But maybe She'd heard it in his voice. How that pit inside of him had been slashed further and further open, and how there was goddamn gaping void where all the redeemable parts of him used to be. Every bit of pain he'd inflicted on others, staining him and rotting him and making him a little more than a wet dog, at Her feet in the mud. Dean had turned himself into something fucking ugly, and mangy and horrid and undeserving of Her light, and she could've heard it and decided that She'd made promises to the Dean from before Hell, and she owed whatever he'd become after nothing at all.

Maybe in Her time away, She'd found her way back to somewhere heavenly and bright—filled with luxuries Dean could never offer Her—and decided She'd rather stay there than return the mud. 

Mud that was now boiling and toxic, and made of all Dean's sins. She should stay away from it. She never should've been cursed with it—with Dean—in the first place.

And he was being selfish, wanting Her to return to his side. She'd deserved better than him before, and Dean sure as shit hadn't made himself worthy.

But he still wanted Her back.

He'd never stop wanting Her back.

And if he found Her, he'd tell Her that he was ugly, but he'd still be Her shadow. He didn't need to be good for that. He just had to keep doing what he'd always done. Wanting Her, following Her, protecting Her and holding Her the way no one else could.

Maybe She'd found someone who could hold Her the way Dean did, but without all the tragedy and horror of it being Dean.

The thought made him fucking sick.

And he still wanted Her back. He was a selfish piece of shit, and he wanted Her home. 

“I didn’t mean it like that, Dean.” Bobby had muttered through the phone. “I’m sayin’ that when you were gone, she ran. Ran far. Off the face of the damn earth, and it’s gonna take her a minute to find her way back.

Bobby had said that like She was finding her way back. 

And son of a bitch, Dean was clinging to that. Bobby was the only person who knew her just as well—if not better—than Dean, so if he said She was coming back She had to be.

There was a chance She’d look at Dean, and everything that he’d been afraid she’d hear, she’d see. Right over Dean’s soul, all that ugliness visible to Her, until she couldn’t bear to look at him and She left. 

At least then Dean would know She was safe. Alive, and safe, just wanting nothing to do with him at all. 

He wouldn’t bother to try and hate Her for it. It wouldn’t work. It never had.

There was always a sliver of a chance that She’d stay. She’d stayed before. And it would mean the same thing for Dean no matter what.

She’d said all the way down. And even if that had been temporary—something She’d said before, that she’d never be able to promise him now—Dean would sit at the bottom for Her until she returned.

Or until She didn’t.

He’d gone to Bobby’s because they had angel shit to deal with, and chasing empty cases and weak leads wasn’t going to help him find Her. Sam had given him a grimacing, sympathetic smile, and said nothing of it for the first few days. None of them had even mentioned Her name, focusing on the crazy chick, and Cas and Uriel’s bullshit, and all the millions of other fucking problems it was their responsibility to fix.

“You know this is the first place she’ll go.” Sam had broken the silence in the kitchen, not looking up from his laptop as he spoke, and he hadn’t need to say who.

Dean knew. There was no other She that mattered.

“She might be heading here now-“

“Sam.” Dean had grunted, picking at the label of his beer. “Don’t.”

Sam had sighed, glancing up with a heavy gaze. “She’s probably fine, dude. Nothing’s gotten to her before-“

“She had us before.”

“She has us now-“

“Not in goddamn Brazil, she doesn’t.” Dean had narrowed his eyes, and every word had fucking hurt. “And don’t tell me it’s a long drive again. She should’ve been back by now, and you know it.”

“Yeah, but, it’s- She’s fine, Dean.” Sam’s voice had dropped under his breath, and he’d shaken his head at his screen. “She’s got to be.”

And Sam was, at least, right about two things. 

She had to be fine. She likely wasn’t, but if Dean ever wanted to sleep or look in a mirror again, she had to be.

And Bobby’s was the very first place She’d return to. 

It was Her home. She grew up here, and She’d have to known they were all waiting for Her. 

That Dean passed by Her room every day, and had to force himself not to open the door. And that on the weaker days—when he really deserved a little extra punishment—he would look up and down the hall before he caved, and looked inside.

Bobby hadn’t moved anything. The only thing different from when Dean had left was the little bit of tape on the door, leftover from his note.

The note was gone though. Bobby mentioned they’d never found it in the trash, but maybe She’d crumpled it up and stomped it into the mud. 

Or She could be holding onto it. 

Dean wasn’t lucky enough for that to be true. Not important enough for Her to cling to a paper, just because he’d touched it.

He still liked the idea that She was. Lying to himself had always made this easier and harder, all at once, the exact same way standing alone in the middle of the room was torture and relief. 

It was evidence. Proof She’d existed at all. That She wasn’t just a collective hallucination, and that Chuck hadn’t included Her because She’d simply never been real.

She had been.

Was.

She was real. 

Clothing Dean had seen Her wear was in the drawers. All of Her indecipherable notes about demons and deals were still scattered on the floor, and sometimes Dean would glance to the bottom of the wall and think he’d find Her curled against it, bags under Her eyes and a stub of a pencil in her hand. That he’d get to kneel before Her, talk until she looked at him, and when She did, the whole world would become good again. No demons, no Hell, no angels, no weird, impossible mysteries.

Just Her and Dean. And She’d lean into his touch, and let him lead Her to bed, and he’d wake up the way he wasn’t allowed to anymore.

With Her at his side. 

He had things to do. The morning was crawling in, and they had a lady in the basement, and Dean needed to get up and be useful. 

It still took another minute of staring at the ceiling. Of warding off thoughts about, how if She wasn’t okay, if She needed Dean, he didn’t have a goddamn clue how to find Her.

She’d come home.

She had to come home. 

And if Dean had to wait a million years—until the house was covered in vines and he was just a pile of bones and ash—he would.

But now he had to move.

Sam was already at the kitchen table, bent over a newspaper with his laptop pushed off to the side.

“Coffee’s on.” He said, not looking up from whatever the hell he was doing. “Bobby’s going to town, getting groceries. Said he wasn’t expecting to feed four people or something.”

Dean grunted. “Any updates on the angel shit?”

“Anna’s still in the panic room.” Sam shrugged. “And I’m looking for a new psychic, but none of these guys seem legit. I can’t tell the real deal would be more or less expensive.”

“What about Pam?”

“I’d rather not bother her after last time,” Sam muttered, grimacing slightly. “At least try to find someone we didn’t blind.”

“Maybe put out an ad online?” Dean dropped at the table, not bothering to put any life in his tone. He was too fucking tired. “Three men, looking for someone to read the mind of the woman we locked in our basement?”

Sam shot him a dry look. “She volunteered to go in our basement.”

“Yeah, the cops are gonna buy that.”

“Not helpful, Dean.”

He shrugged, glaring at his coffee. “Not trying to be.”

He knew this was important. That this meant things even Bobby hadn’t fully been able to understand, and that people weren’t just casually hunted by angels and demons, but all it made him think of was Her.

She’d know how to fix this. She’d look at Anna and solve the puzzle in two seconds flat, then give Dean a smug, blinding grin that could probably part the ocean or bring an army its knees.

But She still wasn’t here.

So they were stuck running in circles, trying to find answers to problems they didn’t even fully understand. 

“Online ad thing isn’t a bad idea, actually.” Sam frowned between his paper and the laptop. “I mean, we’ll get a lot of false leads and, uh, less than stable people responding, but it can’t hurt.”

“Cool.” Dean muttered. “Good luck with that.”

“Thanks.” Sam’s tone was dry as he nodded to the fridge. “Can you take Anna her food for me?”

Dean frowned. “You do it yourself-“

“I’m working on this.”

“Nobody freakin’ told you to do that-“

“Dean.” Sam sighed. He’d been doing that a lot, lately. “Please. The sooner I get this done, the sooner we can figure out what’s going on with Anna, and the sooner this whole thing is done.”

The sooner Dean could go back to looking for Her.

It was a false promise. Deep down, Dean knew—and he was pretty damn sure Sammy did as well—that this thing wasn’t going to just be done. The angels hadn’t raised him from Hell just to find and turn over a redhead. Lilith wasn’t running around breaking seals just for the shits and giggles of it all. They’d still have work to do. 

And She’d still be missing.

But Sam had said please. And Dean hadn’t really caused anything but fucking problems since he’d been brought back, so the least he could offer was walking some toast and coffee down the stairs.

“Fine.” He grunted, pushing out of his seat with a scowl. “But you better find that damn psychic.”

“I’m trying.” Sam muttered, glaring at his laptop. “Why do people think it’s fun to pretended to have these powers? Don’t they have anything better to do with their lives?”

Dean didn’t have an answer for that. The only people he’d known with the real deal were Missouri—who hadn’t seemed that bothered by it, but also didn’t allow bullshit—and Her. 

And She’d hated it. Whatever She was, she’d despised it. Didn’t even entertain the thought of using it. She said it hurt Her, Dean had seen it hurt Her, and he couldn’t imagine someone wanting to have that kind of power if it made them pick their skin raw and choke the air from their own lungs. 

Dean’s stomach twisted, and an image of Her curled on the floor of a motel—Her body tensed and features panicked, Her own hand wrapped around her throat—burned its way through his skull. She could’ve hurt herself. There was always a chance no monster would be able to touch Her, but she’d snap her own neck to try and keep Her power under control, and Dean wouldn’t be there to stop Her-

He must make a face, every time he thought of Her, because Sam cleared his throat and said Her name.

Carefully. 

Like just the sound of it might make Dean crush the mug in his hand.

“It’s- I know you’re worried about her-“

“Save it.”

“Dean-“

“I mean it, Sam.” Dean shot him a glare, grabbing Anna’s food from the counter. “I know everything you’re going to say.”

Sam shook his head. “You don’t-“

“I do. I promise you, Sammy, I know exactly the type of fuckin’ lecture you’re gonna give me, and I’m not hearing it.”

Dean didn’t wait for a response before he was walking away. Sam wanted him to bring down the food, he’d bring down the fucking food, but one more speech about how She was probably okay and safe and Dean worrying wasn’t going to help Her, and he’d lose his goddamn mind.

Worrying wasn’t going to help Her, but it was better than just sitting on his ass and not thinking about Her. And it made him feel better. Part of Dean’s head was convinced that—if he worried about Her loudly enough—the angels would hear and bring Her back, just to shut him the hell up.

They wouldn’t. And Dean wasn’t exactly in heaven’s favor right now, between the whole Chuck thing and Anna not being turned over to the angel police.

Dean would be a lying asshole if he said that, for half a second, he hadn’t considered turning Anna over in trade for Her. But the angels couldn’t be trusted with that type of deal, Dean hadn’t hit that big of an evil, awful low, and She’d never forgive him for that. Christ, Dean would never forgive himself for that. Anna was sweet, and she’d been nothing but patient with all their bullshit, and trading lives was the exact type of shit Dad would have done.

And Dean couldn’t really stomach that thought anymore. The idea of what would Dad do felt a little too much like one of Alistair’s weapons in his hand. Fitting, but wrong, and full of fucking hate just for Dean to get his own way. 

Dad would’ve turned Anna over. Dad never wouldn’t have considered the thought to be a moment of bitter, exhausted, horrible weakness—born from Dean really fucking missing her, and never sleeping enough, and still have half a foot in the door of Hell—and would’ve gone through with the idea in a heartbeat. 

Dean didn’t doubt for a second that, if the angels had told Dad to trade some random girl over for Mom back, Dad would’ve even hesitated.

But Dean couldn’t. He was a hell of a lot fucking weaker than Dad, but for Her, he didn’t want to be anything like Dad. 

Dad had only ever hurt Her. Driven Her away. And She wouldn’t make the trade, because She was smarter than Dad and Dean combined, and She’d insist that there was another way.

She’d say there was always another way. 

And She wouldn’t like Dean being Dad. She’d want him to be Dean. 

And Dean wouldn’t turn over Anna. So he didn’t.

Anna seemed to appreciate it. The angels seemed to be pissed off about it.

That made it, almost certainly, the right call.

“Delivery.” Dean’s voice was flatter than he wanted as he pushed open the door, but Sam also hadn’t let him finish his coffee. “Got you breakfast.”

Anna looked up from the panic room’s cot, offering Dean a small, appreciative smile. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Don’t.” He muttered, passing it into her hands. “Looks like Sammy burnt the toast, and I spilled a whole lot of the coffee coming down the stairs.”

That got a gentle laugh, but Anna still hummed a soft thanks as she took the food. “Sam said you were going to try and find me a psychic?”

“Yeah, uh,” Dean shifted on his feet, glancing around the mostly empty panic room. Filled with signals and concrete, so unbelievably cold. Later, he should bring Anna a sweater. “He’s putting an ad online, seeing if we get any real hits. Right now it’s just a lot of crazies.”

Anna frowned. “What’s wrong with the crazies?”

“They’re frauds.”

“Oh.” She paused, looking between Dean and her toast, and maybe if he walked away now he could avoid a conversation- “Thank you for your help, Dean. I know you have other things to be worrying about besides me.”

He did. He’d have to be an even bigger asshole to say that out loud. “’S fine.”

“Can I ask you something?”

Dean shrugged, and Anna paused, frowning at the air for a long second before she spoke.

“Am I… the first?”

“Uh, the first what?”

“Girl. That you’ve kept in here.”

Dean was lost. “Yes?”

“Are you-“

“Sweetheart, we don’t just keep girls in panic rooms-“

“Then whose are these?”

Anna nodded down to her side, and Dean realized that she’d been doing something, before he’d arrived. Scattered over the cot were torn pieces of paper, all scribbled on in slightly faded paper, all written in-

Son of a bitch.

“Where the fuck did you get those.” He grunted, and it was a harsher than he meant it, but that was Her goddamn handwriting, in that odd code only she seemed to understand. “Anna-“

“Ruby said they belonged to the girl before me.” Anna’s words were slow. Cautious. 

Dean was really fucking sick of being treated like a rabid dog, about to attack.

She’d never treat him like that. 

“Ruby said that.” Dean’s lip curled into a sneer, and he had to have a long talk with Sam about Ruby just being allowed to wander around Bobby’s house. “You showed these to her?”

Anna nodded nervously. “I- I just wanted to know if she knew who’d made them. They’re… incredibly intricate. And confusing.”

Dean’s gaze shot up from the notes as Anna’s words sunk in. “Can you fucking read them?”

“Yes?” Anna frowned back down to the notes. “I’m not sure how, and it- It makes my head hurt, but I can.”

“What does it-“

“I’m honestly- I don’t understand most of it. Whoever wrote this, they weren’t in a good state of mind. It’s a lot of… ramblings? And ideas?” Anna gave him an odd look. “Do you know? Who wrote them?”

“Yeah.” Dean muttered. He might not have a clue what those notes said, but he’d recognize anything of Her’s blindfolded. “It- You just found those things in here?”

“I did. Over there.”

Anna pointed to the other side of the room, at a large pile of old, woven blankets, and Dean marched over without a glance over his shoulder.

The blankets were cold. Tangled and itchy, and—when he moved them, rifling through them for any further sign of what he was already pretty damn sure was the truth—smelling of an unnamable fruit.

She’d been in here. Dean didn’t know how long ago, but She’d been in this panic room, wrapped in these blankets, and She left all those fucking notes that Anna-

Anna could read the notes. The girl who could tune into angel radio could read the same language She wrote in, the one that big tome had been written in, and that had to mean something but Dean didn’t have a damn clue what-

“Dean?”

He grunted, his hands still fisted in the blankets, and Anna cleared her throat.

“I- The girl who wrote these-“

Dean snapped Her name, because She wasn’t just a girl. He was getting really damn tired of people making Her just a girl, and not the most important and bright and awesome person in the universe. “She wrote those. That’s her handwriting.”

“Oh.” Anna paused, repeating Her name slowly. Dean didn’t hate how she said it, but it there wasn’t enough awe or glory in the tone. Anna didn’t seem to be appreciating the fact that they were all lucky to be blessed with even knowing of Her. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, it’s just- This is-“ Anna sighed, and Dean glanced back to see her frowning back down at the notes. “I’m not sure how to describe it. I just know that these are made of a really, really old, dark… something.”

Dean raised his brows. “Something. What’d you mean, something.”

“I mean that magic isn’t a strong enough word.”

Of course it wasn’t. It was Her. No word was ever strong enough.

His girl could never make anything and simple.

He missed Her more than he’d missed the sun in Hell.

Dean grunted Her name, and he always said it right. Like it was a prayer. “She- It’s complicated.”

Anna blinked at him with confusion. That word was always fucking unhelpful.

So Dean tried again.

“She’s got a complex past-“

“Don’t we all?” Anna asked, and the question was innocent, but Dean still had to bite down a snarl.

“Not like her, we don’t. None of us do.”

Anna frowned. “I don’t know who I am, Dean. And I’m being hunted by demons and angels, and locked in a panic room-“

“You asked to be locked in the panic room-“

“Yes, but I just don’t think we should turn our suffering into a competition.”

That was a fair point. And if Dean thought about it for a few more seconds, he could acknowledge that maybe Anna would know a little about Her, and relate to what She’d been through.

But it felt different. Anna got to have them help her solve all her problems, while She was missing, and fighting for herself. Anna had some clues for what she was, and they had some leads they could follow. Every single thing they learned about Her—and whatever the hell She was—just offered more damn questions.  

And Anna didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. Anna hadn’t been tormented by pain her whole life, as far as Dean knew. Anna’s parents had been normal, and up until all this shit, she’d lead a nice and easy life.  

Anna had never had to listen to Dad ask a demon to kill her. And if she had, Dean was pretty damn sure she’d run for the hills.

But She’d stayed. Against all reason and odds, despite Dad doing everything to keep Her away from Dean, She’d always come back.

And nobody got act like they knew Her. No matter how kind and well-intentioned they were, nobody got to fucking speak about Her if it wasn’t with care and reverence.

“It’s not a competition.” Dean kept his voice low and even, and he was pretty sure he was going to throttle this blanket. “But if it was, we would even be in her fucking heat.”

Anna frowned at that, but Dean kept going before she could push back.

“All these wards, keeping you safe? She made them. Half the books in Bobby’s library are there for her, and she knows the lore better than anyone, and all this angel shit, she’d work it out like it was freakin’ breathing.”

“I-“

“Demons are afraid of her.” Dean snapped, and something was wrapping around his throat. “And she can kill anything. Doesn’t hunt with a gun because she doesn’t need it, been hunting since she was barely a fucking teenager, and all the angels should count themselves lucky she’s not here, because she’d kick their asses.”

“I know.” Anna’s voice was soft, and a lot of the fire died in Dean very quickly. He was being an asshole.

But he fucking missed Her. 

Missed Her smile and voice and laugh, missed Her sparring with him and never backing down, because—despite all previous evidence—She always seemed to trust Dean to not properly hurt Her. To have Her back. To be in Her wake and carry her to safety when she fell apart. Dean missed Her looking at him like he was worth something. Like Dean, just Dean, was enough for Her. Like She could see the gaping pit inside of him, see just how deep and tragic it was, and always seemed to decide that it was never too deep for Her to walk away.

It might be too deep now. He was snapping at girls he’d locked in basements, and he could still always slightly taste the metallic blood he’s spilled in Hell, and She might want nothing to do with him now.

But Her spitting in his face would always be better than anyone—Sam or Bobby or fucking Anna, who barely even knew him—looking at Dean with pity. Soft, cushioning fucking pity that he hadn’t earned, and didn’t deserve. 

“You know.” He muttered, giving Anna a flat look. “What, angels having a little chat about my-“ Dean cut himself off with Her name, and prayed Anna hadn’t caught his slip.

Anna just shrugged and hummed. 

He was probably safe.  

“The angels don’t… Every mention I’ve heard of that name, they’ve been confused. Like even they’re not sure to make of her.”

Dean swallowed, and something chilled over his bones. “But they talk about her.”

“Yes. A lot. Ruby said-“

“You talked to Ruby about this?”

Anna had the decency to blush with slightly shame, but it didn’t stop Dean’s hands from curling into fists.

“The fuck did Ruby say about her,” he grunted, and Anna sighed.

“That she was a distrusting, paranoid, self-important bitch. That I shouldn’t bring her up around you, because your judgement about her is, um.” Anna swallowed, tucking some hair behind her ears. “Clouded.”

Dean was going to fucking kill Ruby. Sam could cry about it all he wanted, Dean was going to fucking kill her.

“Ruby,” Dean grunted through his teeth. “Is a fucking liar.”

“She’s been kind to me-“

“Because you trust her.” He snapped Her name, and Anna’s mouth snapped shut. “She and Ruby never got along, and Ruby doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about. I fucking told you, my girl, she’s a fucking fighter, and Ruby’s just never liked that she won’t go along with whatever the fuck the bitch says. Ruby hates that she’s not in control.” Dean said Her name again, and something to the right of his heart was pounding. “She’s not fucking self-important. She just doesn’t let people fucking walk all over her, and she fights for what she wants. She fought for me, and I-“

He’d died. 

He’d left Her, and now she was gone.

And Anna’s head was bowed, and Dean felt like a dick, but he’d do it again. She wasn’t self-important. She’d damn near let herself waste away, just for Dean. And She’d done it right until the very end. 

And he missed Her.

“I-“ Anna’s voice was barely a whisper. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

Dean let out a long breath, running a hand over his face. “Thanks. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

Anna nodded, meeting Dean’s gaze with a small frown. “She sounds like she’s… really important to you.”

“Yeah. She is.”

And there weren’t enough words for it in the world for it. For how much he missed Her. How much he wanted Her. How there was something just to the right of his heart of that would never rest until he knew She was safe, and would ache for Her every single second until She was at his side again.

Anna let him take the notes back upstairs, and Dean gave another mumbled half-apology that didn’t even sound sincere to his own ears.

He’d try again later. When there was less to deal with, and his head wasn’t spinning faster than he could keep up with. 

Because Anna could read the language. And the rituals She made were from an old, dark something—not a helpful description at all—but in a language that existed outside of just Her insane family.

There was a chance She could hear angel radio, too. Maybe she wasn’t coming home because She could hear all the angels shit talking Her, and saying things about Dean he’d wanted to tell Her—She’d find out on Her own if he didn’t, She was too smart and important to hide things from—but she’d now heard from feathered douchebags who weren’t going to be able to explain to Her why. If Dean told Her everything, he’d be able to sink to his knees and ask Her to stay with him anyway. To tell Her that he’d never let anything hurt Her again, if She let him be her shadow. That he was broken and evil, but he was still Her’s, if She’d have him.

He’d never be brave enough to say it like that. 

But he still wanted to. 

And knowing his life, Dean never got what he fucking wanted. So the angels had probably told Her of how he’d become barely better than a demon, and She’d run, because who wouldn’t. 

Maybe if Dean solved this puzzle for Her, figured out what She was, with this odd lead was clutched in his hands as he climbed back up the stairs, She’d smile at him one last time. 

He could figure this out.

For Her, Dean could do anything.

Bobby was back from the grocery store. Standing at the fridge and talking to Sam in a low voice about something Dean really didn’t fucking care about.

He slammed the notes down on the table, and Bobby and Sam both looked over to him with wide eyes.

“Dean, are you-“

“You got some explaining to do, Bobby.” Dean cut Sam off with a hiss, shoving the notes across the table. 

“Explainin’?” Bobby raised his brows as Sam pulled the notes forward. “Boy, I don’t know what the hell has gotten into you-“

Dean snapped Her name, and Bobby tensed. “Those are her’s. And Anna found them in your panic room-“

“Dean,” Sam muttered, examining the notes with a frown. “These- Isn’t this the same language as that book she stole from her family?”

“Yes. Not the point, Sam-“

“I mean, it’s not a real language, and if it’s a code I can try to break it after I find the psychic-“

“It’s not a code.” Dean grunted. “It’s like- A magic language. Anna can read it, but-“

“Anna can read it?” Sam was gaping at him. This really wasn’t the fucking point. “What- how?”

“I don’t know. Bobby-“

“Dude, what if Anna knows what-“

“She doesn’t. Says the angels don’t either. I-“

“That’s not right.” Sam frowned back down to the notes. “At Chuck’s, that bald guy obviously knew, and maybe, uh, Cas might know too-“

“Cas doesn’t know. And even if he did, it’s not like we’re on chummy terms with him right now-“

“Yeah, but maybe-“

“Sam,” Bobby grunted, watching Dean far too carefully. Like he already knew what was about to happen. “Now ain’t the time.”

“Bobby, you should be on this, it’s-“

Bobby said Her name with a sigh, and Dean whole fucking body whined. “I know, that’s why I think we should hear about whatever the hell is buggin’ your brother that’s got him slammin’ on tables and shoutin’.”

Dean scowled. He was not shouting. He was talking firmly.

“You got somethin’ you want to say to me, Dean-“

Dean said Her name, holding Bobby’s firm gaze. “You were locking her up in your panic room.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Bobby, those blankets fucking smelled like her-“

“Why do you know what she smells like, Dean?” Sam’s grin was shit-eating, and it was going to get knocked off his fucking face with all his teeth. Sam knew Dean thought about how She smelled, he knew why Dean thought about it, he was being an asshole-

“Shut your face, Sam-“

“No, Dean.” Bobby’s tone was deadly. Dean should’ve brought his gun. “Why don’t ya’ explain why you got my little girl’s smell memorized?”

“I- This isn’t about that!” He regained his fury and footing, every word spat through his teeth. “This is about why the fuck you were locking her up-“

“I told ya, I wasn’t-“

“You were!” Dean roared. “You fucking were! And now she’d fucking gone, and you never bothered to fucking look for her-“

“Dean.”

Sam’s voice was a careful warning. Dean barely heard it over the blood in his ears, and on his hands, and chocking his breath because they’d lost Her, they’d fucking lost Her and now Dean couldn’t find her-

“None of you fucking cared about her! You’re letting Ruby run around and shit-talk her, and you’re locking her up like a fucking animal, and Dad tried to have her fucking killed-“

“Dean Adam Winchester.” Bobby snapped, and Dean’s whole body went rigid. Braced for something that never came, as Bobby only glowered at him from across the kitchen.

Bobby hadn’t know about Dad’s deal with Azazel. Dean could it all over the fury on his face, that She’d hidden it from everyone, Bobby included. For Her own, fucking insane reasons, She’d lied to everyone about it. And Dean had fucked up. He never knew how to stop, and he’d fucked up, and he was lower than the mud-

“I didn’t lock her up.” Bobby grunted, and there was something in his voice that could probably send an angel running for the hills. “She started lockin’ herself up, after she fuckin’ chased you to the goddamn hospital when you were dyin’, then came back cryin’ and tellin’ me she needed to start runnin’ again. I thought she was runnin’ from the pain, but it turns out you got some news for me.”

“He didn’t know, Bobby.” Sam mumbled. “Neither of us did until Chuck told us-“

“Told you what. That your Daddy tried to fuckin’ kill my kid?”

“Azazel.” Dean muttered, something very deep in his muscle tissue shriveling away. “Dad asked Azazel to kill her.”

Bobby’s jaw ticked. Dean was going to get shot. “You two are fuckin’ idjits-“

Sam swallowed. “Bobby, we didn’t know-“

“And I don’t give a flyin’ pig’s ass what you knew. I care that you, Sam are lettin’ me take all the fuckin’ heat for losing her when you’re the one who ran off with a damn demon the moment your brother kicked it. And you,” Bobby turned to Dean with a sneer, and now Dean was going to get shot. “I am not your fuckin’ father. I’ve known that girl’s somethin’ special since she grabbed my face and told me that the flowers like how I sing. You’ve heard me sing, I sound like shit, but she said the flowers liked it and hell, I believed her.”

Dean understood that. It was just how loving Her was. She said something, and it was true, and there was no room for questioning it because they truest law of the universe was whatever the hell She said it was.

“That girl is the light of my fuckin’ life,” Bobby hissed, still holding Dean’s gaze. “And if I had been smarter I woulda stayed with ‘er when you two went chasin’ Lilith. She runs Dean, and she’s damn good at it, and no one ain’t ever been fast enough to catch her. But if you think for one fuckin’ second I don’t leave my porch light on every night just in case she needs to open the door, you’re a hell of a lot more stupid than I thought. Just cause John tried to get her away from you don’t mean the rest of us are to fuckin’ blame for it, Dean. And that includes you.”

There was a long, heavy silence as Bobby just glared at him, and Dean felt something crushing his ribs. Someone had to be to blame. There needs to be something he could fight, someone who could bleed, because She was lost and everything in Dean was hurting, and there had to be something he could punch and beat into the concrete to make this better-

“Go walk it off.” Bobby grunted, and Dean shook his head. Weak. He was fucking weak.

“Bobby, I-“

“I know you- I know what she is to you. Same as I know what you are to her. Jesus, Dean, the only reason you ain’t gettin’ kicked out to sleep it off is cause I know that if she do come back tonight and you ain’t here, we’ll never fuckin’ see her again.”

Those words might have hit deeper in Dean’s body than Bobby had meant it. It might have snapped something in him then fused it back, all in half a second, and Dean-

He needed to walk it off.

It was dark outside. Dark and cold, and the wind was biting at his skin, and the last time he’d been out here at night had been-

He didn’t want to think about that. If he thought about that his legs might give out, and he might roar loud enough that the engines in the junkyard would howl back, and the whole world would stop turning for just a second, all to join in on the demand that She was safe.

Not even home, just safe. Not in the hands of Lilith, or being hunted by angels or Hell’s Assassin’s, or, son of a bitch, Alistair was top side, and knew about Dean’s… care for Her.

He’d taunted him about it, when Dean was still on the rack. Told him words that had to be lies, but hurt all the same. That Dean had always been right, thinking She deserved better, but he’d also been right thinking that he was the only one who knew how to hold Her right. That without Dean, She was going to go on and settle down with some rich Hollywood douchebag, and they’d have a happy little apple pie life, and she’d never look back to see if Dean was behind her again. That her husband would neglect her, and she’d keep having episodes that made the whole world bend into her, and then one day she’d implode on herself and join Dean down here.

“And I’ll make you watch, of course.” Alistair had hummed, turning over a blade in his hands. “That can be your new torture, for a few thousand years. Watching your Princess get carved up, watchin’ me touch her everywhere you were too much of a little fuckin’ pussy to, and listening to her curse your name. Oh, she’ll hate you, Dean. Hate that you left her to kill herself, even though we all knew it would happen eventually. To think you could’ve saved her, if you hadn’t let her destroy herself in your pathetic, unimportant name-“ 

Dean had spat on him, but the words had hurt more than the knife in his skin, the very next second. 

And if Alistair had Her, there was someone who could bleed, but-

There might not be anything left of Her to retrieve.

“Dean.”

He didn’t even bother to shout at Cas for popping up without warning, or doing it when Dean felt like was about to goddamn cry. Dean just rubbed his face with a hand, and tried to not let his words be as empty as he felt. “Cas, now’s not really a good time, try again when you’re not looking to kill innocent girls-

“I am not here about Anna Milton.”

That got Dean to turn around, and Cas was a few feet away, staring at him with an unreadable expression.

And there was something behind it.

Dean just didn’t have a damn clue what. 

“You gonna elaborate, dude?”

Cas said Her name. Slowly. Like he’d been practicing. “I have located her.”

“Cas, if this is some sort of twisted fucking joke or play to get Anna-“

“It is neither.” Cas titled his head, the odd expression deepening. “I believe you’d call it a peace offering. I wish you no harm, Dean, and this is meant to show that.”

Dean’s heart might not be beating. Time may not be moving. “And what, you think we’re just going to be buddy-buddy again because you might have found-“

“I did find her.” Cas said with a frown. “It is… Not possible to replicate or possess her.”

“So why aren’t you running back to your big bosses in the sky, telling them-“

“Because of the peace offering.” Cas said, like it was fucking simple. “I am afraid I am not able to bend on Anna, but this- I am under no orders to find her. This is of my own volition.”

“So you just, what? Combed over the earth until you found her?”

“No, I didn’t use any type of brush-“

“It’s a- Never mind.” Dean glanced back to Bobby’s house. To the flickering light on the porch. “How sure are you that you-“

“Positive. As of exactly three minutes ago, she is checked into a motel in Mission, Texas, United States of America.” Cas paused, watching Dean carefully. “Dean, if you are to… retrieve her, it may go badly for you both. Many of my brothers and sisters do not understand what she is, but we have been told that she cannot be allowed to interfere with our work.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Well, I hate to break it to you Cas, but your bosses might count this as interfering-“

Cas shook his head. “The area around her is scrambled. She is an anomaly of our knowledge, and she had quite an odd effect on our grace.”

“Then how’d you-“

“I cannot linger, Dean.” Cas sighed, glancing up the sky. “Being near her has given me a brief amount of cover, but it will wear off soon. We will be back soon for Anna. I hope you and Sam come to your senses and that you,” Cas paused, and let out a long, slow sigh. “Make the right choice.”

Cas vanished, and Dean didn’t care if he was talking about Anna.

The only right choice was going after Her.

And he knew there was a world where She’d seen his soul and hate him. Know what Dean had done, and despise him for it. 

But he’d rather—selfishly, weakly, fucking pathetically—see Her one last time. If She cast him down and away, spit on him and left him to rot, at least he would seen Her, and known that she was okay. If She’d come to her senses about him while he was gone, at least he’d had Her, just in a fleeting moment before She returned to whatever Heaven she was made for, and Dean crawled back to the mud knowing he’d been smiled at by a god.

He’d give Her his fucking heart and whatever shreds of his soul were left, and even if She threw them away, at least Dean would have made his offering. 

At least She’d know that Dean was still with Her, all the way down. 

——————

Your guts are in your hands. You’re going to have nightmares about this for the rest of your life.

And you wouldn’t call yourself safe.

But at least you’re fucking free.

You’d started driving the day Dean came back. The phone had hung up, you’d looked up to the sky, and it had flickered in warning. But your silent words had been an oath. You were going to get home, and if the Sky had a fucking problem with that, it could come down and try to restrain you itself.

Even then it wouldn’t work.

You were going back to Dean.

You’d wanted to go straight back to him. To drive and drive until you pulled into Bobby’s yard, and you could burst through the door, and he would be there, in the kitchen. You’d fall into his arms and his body would be warm because he was alive, then you’d cling to him until the world was Silver in a way that wasn’t painful, and all of Dean’s Gold was stained on your shirt and pants and skin. Until it would take a tidal wave to wash him away.

A tidal wave you’d never let touch you, or Dean. You’d be home, and you’d be able to keep him alive. This time you wouldn’t fail him. If Lilith came for him, you wouldn’t hesitate to crush Her with the Silver. If Dean—the beautiful, amazing, clever dumbass—made another demon deal, you’d wipe it off his soul then strangle him for doing that to you twice.

Then you’d hug him, and hold him, and he’d be fucking alive.

You might have traded the whole world just to be allowed to hold Dean. Sooner, and forever. To be permitted to crawl into his lap, and wrap your legs around his torso, then just fucking stay there. The Sky wouldn’t see you, and nothing would hurt Dean because you’d be there, and monsters never hurt you.

Monsters never hurt you. 

Humans did not have the same reservations.

You’d been distracted. Ketch and Davis only caught up to you because apparently, whatever was funding their fancy suits was also funding their fucking planes and cars. You’d been driving the Firebird, and it was a beautiful car that you wouldn’t give up for anything, but no amount of Dean’s mechanical skills could make a car that was older than you were faster than a plane. 

The distraction had come from the combination of the Silver—rocketing around your body and the world, restless until you could look at Dean and know he was safe—and the fact that you’d been rushing. Sloppy. Careless. Half your body had been coffee and off-brand energy drinks, and the other half had been gas station slop that would’ve made Dean proud, but only made you a little sick. 

You hadn’t been eating much before he came back. You could barely stomach healthy food without feeling like you were going to vomit. And Dean may be alive, but the light that was spinning and humming and refracting through the Spiderweb couldn’t repair months of damage to your body. 

And if it could, you hadn’t had the energy or power or time to find out.

You’d needed to get home. And if sleeping four hours every other day—a small part of you still rotting with fear that you’d fall asleep, and dream of Dean in Hell once more—and only eating sparsely when you stopped to refill your gas got you home faster, so be it. 

It hadn’t been healthy. You’d known that.

But knowing had never helped. And you’d just really fucking wanted to get home to Dean.

So your body had been weak. And the Silver had been suffering from your neglect as well, and the world had been slightly blurry, and Ketch and Davis had gotten the fucking jump on you.

They must have known they’d only get one shot. That once they showed that they’d been tracking and following you—with their cryptic fucking ways—you would fortify. Account for it, and adjust, and the chance would slip through their fingers.

It hadn’t. 

They’d found you in Monterrey, Mexico. A few hours from the border. So fucking close.

The Firebird had been left in the motel. They’d told you that.

Maybe not told you.

But you’d heard it.

“What should we do about her car?” That had been Davis, off to one side as they transported you like fucking cargo. Iron cuffs around your wrists, a cloth gag in your mouth—they still didn’t seem to fully grasp that gagging you really didn’t do fucking shit—and your legs bound as you’d been laid in the back of the van.

They’d at least given you a pillow. 

That had likely been Davis. And you’d bet a lot of money it was Ketch who’d knocked you out with a blow to the back of your head before the Silver could pick up on a threat and riot.

It had at least given you an advantage. 

They hadn’t known you were awake and listening. 

“Leave it. It’s a scrap of shit from the 70s, we won’t even be able to sell it for a proper gain.” Ketch’s voice had been dismissive. Bored. 

You’d had to fight the urge to sit up, spit out your gag, and hiss at him that it wasn’t a scrap of shit, it was an amazing car that Dean had made for you, and only about forty-five percent of it was actually from the 70s, because Dean was fantastic with cars and he’d made this one with a million different modern parts, so Ketch could suck your fucking dick.

You hadn’t done that. It wouldn’t have done you any favors, and this way, you’d been able to keep that in the back of your head.

They’d left your car in the lot. And it was old, so no one would try to steal it. 

If they did, you’d track it down and take it back. It was your car, and there was no fucking way you were going back to Dean only to tell him you’d lost his gift. He might say it was fine, and he’d just build you another one, but you didn’t want him to have to do that. You wanted to have some sort of proof to show him that you had been waiting, and missing him, and loving him, and you would’ve spilled blood for that car because it was a little piece of Dean that got to be yours, so you’d cared for it.

Saying that the car was still there had been their first mistake. 

The second had been keeping you in Mexico. Where you could get back to your car, once you broke out.

Because there had been no fucking way you weren’t going to break out. Ketch and Davis could tie you up where the fuck they wanted, and starve you and torture you and weaken you further, but you were always going to break out.

The only reason it had taken so long was that the state they’d been keeping you in hadn’t done your exhaustion any favors.

“We’ve learned better than you try and ship you over, after your little display in Bolivia.” Ketch had drawled, sitting a carefully distance away and watching you with a smirk. “But our doctors are quite… fascinated by you.”

You’d rolled your eyes, and kept your mouth shut. They’d taken off your gag, but entertaining Ketch’s mocking might be worse torture than anything.

“You know, if you behave, we might offer you a partnership. A little tit for tat. You’re an American, we have limited ability to work in America, and you’re obviously far more disciplined than their dogs of hunters-“

That had gotten you to narrow your eyes, and Ketch had caught it.

“Interesting. Would you consider yourself a hunter? Even with your affliction?”

No entertaining him. You couldn’t entertain him, if only for your own dignity. 

“Do the other American hunters know of what you are? Do you know what you are?”

You’d bitten down on your tongue until you tasted blood, and Ketch had sighed. 

“You know, darling, it doesn’t matter if you won’t speak to me. Once our experts get here, they will ensure you’re cooperative.”

He’d got up and left, and if you could’ve, you would’ve laughed in his face.

In a way, you had.

Their experts had arrived the next afternoon. You’d been tied to the same chair, Davis across from you with a small frown, trying to get you to talk to him.

“You know, you are the first case that’s required me to have a gun.” He’d hummed, and you’d blinked at him. “I am not usually put on these types of missions, but you have fascinated us. Witches are usually quite easy. They go down fast, with a dirty fight, but you have evaded us longer than anyone. And I do not believe you are a witch.”

You’d only stared at him, and he’d pressed further.

“I went back to retrieve your possessions, yesterday.” Davis had watched you carefully, and you’d forced your face to remain neutral. “You have very few personal belongings.”

That had been true before Dean’s death. And everything you hadn’t had on you the day you left was still at Bobby’s. 

You really hoped these douchebags didn’t find out about Bobby. Or Dean. Or Sam.

Especially Sam. Given the whole special child thing, they wouldn’t treat him well, and whatever partnership Ketch had been implying earlier likely wouldn’t extended to a boy with demon blood.

“Please tell me if I missed anything,” Davis had continued, pulling out a small notepad. “Your bag continued a flask filled with water, and I’m afraid we had to empty it for precautions, but the flask itself remains intact.“

You’d scowled at that. That had not been fucking water, and it had taken you a whole fucking day to get it.

“There was also a book.” Davis had frowned at you, and the curiosity on his face had almost been genuine. “It is not something I’ve seen before, which, I hope you understand, is quite rare. I have to ask, are you capable of reading it? Do you think you could provide me with a translation to English?”

That had gotten a reaction. You’d sat up straighter with an obvious confusion all over your face, because that copy was English. It was made of all the same, slightly floating and shifting words that were on the Blade—that spelled out woman of the high—but they were in English. You could only read in English, and—after your time in South America—some shoddy Portuguese and Spanish. 

You’d been able to read that book since you were a kid. It had been one of the reasons you’d been yelled at, by your grandfather, because you couldn’t just go around claiming to know what you did not understand.

And Davis had seen your obvious reaction, but he’d misread it. Taken it for defiance, and let out a long sigh before moving all.

“I suppose now isn’t the best time to be make offers. I did tell Arthur you’d be more cooperative if we didn’t treat you like an animal, but he- Never mind. We’ll discuss it later. Now,” he’d looked back down to his list. “Your jacket was on the bed, and I found a little note from DW in one of the pockets.” Davis had raised his brows and you, and the Silver had bucked pathetically in your chest.

The pain of the possible concussion Ketch had given you, combined with your exhaustion, had been holding it down. But the mention of Dean had made the Spiderweb flare, and had jolted the Silver, and your gag had disintegrated in your mouth.

Davis’ eyes had widened. “How-“

“What else did you find in my jacket.” You’d snapped, and he’d shaken his head.

“Ah- Just two knives. But-“

“Did you touch them?”

“No, that would go against protocol-

“Good.” You’d muttered, rubbing your palm, your hands still tied behind your back. “Don’t.”

Davis had frowned at you. “I-“

Ketch had burst through the door with a woman whose soul was a flat, slate-like color—almost nothing under it, made of the same parts of the earth where life could never grow—and Davis had been dismissed.

He’d given you one last odd look, before he left, and you think Sam would’ve liked him, if he hadn’t chosen whatever this was as a career. They both had a habit of asking too many questions at all the worst possible times. 

And you were grateful, because now you’d known about their third mistake.

They’d taken your stuff. The stuff Dean had given you, that you’d do anything to get back.

The first week had continued to pass. It had been long, and tedious, and painful, but you’d spent your whole life drowning yourself in pain. No matter how weakened you’d made yourself, there was nothing they could do to you that you hadn’t already done to yourself.

It wasn’t like you could answer their questions, even if you fucking wanted to. You had maybe less answers than they did.

“Would you consider yourself a witch?”

You’d shrugged at the cold woman, keeping your voice bored. “I dunno. Would you?”

The woman’s jaw had ticked. “This is not a conversation. Answer my question.”

You’d only hummed, swinging your feet a little off the floor. “Witch is such a loaded word, right? I mean, between Salem and the persecutions with Protestantism, there’s just such a complex history. And what is magic if not science that the general public doesn’t get to know about-“

“Arthur.” The woman had snapped, and Ketch had moved in a flash. 

You don’t think they knew that the only reason you hadn’t killed them all by then was because of the torture. Because that external pain was great enough for the Silver to balk and whine, and you were too weak and tired to drag it to the surface. 

“Let’s try again,” the woman had hummed when Ketch finally backed away, your skin cold and dripping wet, your breaths coming in ragged, shallow sounds. “Would you consider yourself a witch.”

“No, but I’d consider you one- Sorry.” You’d given her a soft, sweet smile. “I meant bitch, that’s my-“

The rag had gone back over your face.

But you didn’t break easy. 

“If you’re not a witch,” Davis had asked a few days later, when Ketch and the Bitch had left for the night. “What would you consider yourself?”

You’d shrugged in your binds. “Not sure. But I am taking suggestions.”

“Suggestions?” Davis had repeated, watching with a frown. “You are… Aware of what you are?”

You’d given him a grimacing smile—there really was no point in lying—and he’d given you a curious look.

“Interesting.”

If he’d passed it on to the Bitch and Ketch, their methods and questions hadn’t changed. 

“Are you a witch?”

“Yes, but only when I need a last-minute Halloween costume.”

“How did that book come into your possession?”

“Technically, it’s not in my possession.”

“You know what I am asking, you snide little creature-“

“Do I?”

Dean would be proud of you.

You missed him. 

But he was alive. The whole time, nothing in you really broke because Dean was alive, and nothing could really break you more than his death had. Where the Silver was whining and howling for him, the Spiderweb kept you peacefully tethered. You didn’t have the luxury of exploding fully—there was a possibly unfounded, but entirely certain fear that, after weeks and weeks of build-up, you’d explode and hurt a little more than the assholes keeping you locked up—but you were still alive.

And the woman had gotten frustrated quite fast. You like to think you’d learned to drive her insane from years of watching Dean talk in circles around people, just like this.

He really would’ve been proud. Once he got past being pissed about the whole kidnapped and tortured thing, he’d be proud.

And then there was mistake four. 

One of the agents—you’d thought it was just the three who never seemed to have anything better to do than talk to you, but apparently, they had a whole operation going on in Mexico—had been a fucking idiot, and touched the Blade.

The Silver had flared, when they’d told you. You’d never let anyone touch it. It had just been an instinct in your body, of no one should hold the hilt but you. When Sam had examined it, you’d made him wear Bobby’s kitchen mitts, or use a cloth. You’d slapped Dean’s hand away countless time, apologizing for the hit but knowing you’d do it again in a heartbeat, because no one should touch it. Ever. It’s yours. Made for you, only for you, and nobody else.

“Are they okay?” You’d whispered, and Davis had blinked at you.

You don’t think he expected you to actually care. But that instinct didn’t come from nowhere, and if whatever soul stuff was going on with you really was forbidden as Letitia had implied, that agent might be-

“He’s gone mad.” Davis had said, and you’d swallowed.

Better than dead. But only a bit.

“The doctor and Arthur will return soon.”

“Cool.” You’d shrugged, had Davis had sighed.

“They are not pleased with you,” he’d said your name gently, and you’d snorted.

“Well, they can get in line.”

“You are a remarkable woman, I am sure if you cooperated-“

“Look,” you’d raised your chin, holding Davis’ gaze. “I’m not interested in cooperating, and I cannot emphasize enough how little I care about your operation, and questions, and torture.”

“Our methods have been… ineffective.” Davis had muttered under his breath. “May I ask who trained you to withstand such proven tactics?”

“I did.” 

Davis had blinked at that. His words turning slow and measured. “Is there anything we could do? To sway you in our favor?”

You’d given him a flat look. “Stop torturing me.”

“That’s not unreasonable.” He’d nodded, and if you didn’t think you’d cough up blood, you would’ve laughed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

What he could do ended up amounting to them feeding you. The woman didn’t cease her questions—if anything, they increased, becoming harsher and more specific—and Ketch became, somehow, more of an asshole, but you were eating.

It was their fifth mistake. The moment you weren’t on the brink of starvation, the Silver started to grow comfortable again. Started to settle and build, and you were more than fucking ready to go home.

“Mick thinks you’d be a good addition to our forces.” Ketch had hummed, when it was just you and him in your carpeted prison. “I think he has a soft spot for intriguing things. You’re lucky you’re not his type, or he might be proposing every time you confused him.”

You’d gotten really sick of rolling your eyes, so you’d just sighed. “Yeah, well, he’s not my type either. And I tend not to accept proposals from people holding me prisoner.”

Ketch had given you a wolf-like smile. All teeth, no light, crawling over your skin. “And what is your type, darling?”

You had one type. Pretty green eyes and messy short hair, an infuriating and boyish smile, leaving Gold everywhere he went and holding your hand in a way that made you certain you’d kill something with your teeth so you never had to let go.

“I don’t think I have one.” You’d shrugged, twisting the skin on your finger, your hands still tied behind your back. “And if you’re building up to a proposal, I’d like to remind you of my prisoner rule.”

Ketch’s grin had grown. “And if I wasn’t keeping you prisoner?”

You’d been unable to stop your snort. “Dude, you can’t be serious-“

“You must know how beautiful you are,” Ketch had hummed, and the Silver had hissed and boiled in your chest. “Even if they don’t have mirrors in America, you must have spent a lifetime fending off suitors.”

“We have mirrors.” You’d said, your tone flat. You wouldn’t entertain this. And if Ketch was smart, he’d have dropped it there.

But he hadn’t.

Sixth mistake.

You could feel the Silver coiling. Tightening. 

Getting ready to burst. 

“You seem to have been running for a while,” Ketch had said your name, and it had sounded wrong. Too soft, too simple, barely even a word. “I’m sure you’d want to rest, and we have far more luxury to offer you than any brutish, American hunters ever could.“

Seventh mistake. 

Your lips had curled in a tight smirk, and you hadn’t bothered to hide the venom in your voice as you spoke. 

“Maybe not,” your smile had grown impossible full-lipped and sweet. If Ketch had used his brain, he would’ve seen it for the warning it was. “But at least they’ve never had to tie a girl up to talk to her.”

Ketch had laughed. “Oh, I’m sure they’re fun for a night, darling, but if they knew what you were? They’d kill you in a heartbeat. No offers of making use of your curse.”

For a half a second, an image of Dean holding you right to his chest as you sobbed had crashed through your head, his voice ringing in your ears.

Come home.

Dean knew what you were. And he was alive, and he wanted you to come home.

It sparked over the Spiderweb. A righteous fury—born of them daring to keep you from Dean, then act like he wasn’t the best thing in the fucking universe—overtaking your body. That there might be American hunters that would kill you, but you still had Bobby and Rufus and Sam and Jo and Ellen and Dean, and they’d do more than make use of you.

They’d hold you. 

And these fuckdicks had been keeping you from them.

Then, right as the Silver started to almost swell, humming and running under your skin, clawing to be set out, to set you free, Ketch made the eighth mistake.

The last one. 

Ketch’s hand had cupped your face, and it was sweaty and clammy, and then you were everything. 

The smooth exhaustion of the lights they’d been keeping on for weeks, right over your head. The itch of the carpet and the wear of the chair and the tension of the walls, too fucking tired from holding up the ceiling. 

You could relieve them. The same way you could relieve the chair of your weight.

Ketch had gone flying across the room, and you hadn’t bothered to look at him as you’d—rubbing your wrists where the bounds had fallen away—stepped over his dazed body. 

The wall deserved a break. And they relaxed just enough to cave in the room, and trap Ketch inside.

He’d be fine. They’d dig him out later, once you were long, long gone. 

It had taken a minute to find where they’d been keeping your possessions, and you’d barely open the box—marked with your first name in neat, little cursive letters—in the storage room when the alarms began. Blaring and deafening and pair with flashing lights and fuck, they’d been loud-

But you’d almost been free. 

And the Silver was still burning you into everywhere in the world.

So you’d shrugged on your jacket, grabbed your knife and flask and keys, and felt a little of the earth shake beneath your feet when you’d realized what was missing. 

The Blade and the Book. 

Fuck.

There wasn’t enough time to look for them, or find them, and god fucking Christ, all these assholes were British, maybe they’d fucking shipped your shit across the fucking ocean-

A problem for you in a week. When you were home, with Dean.

When someone wasn’t bursting through the door, and aiming a gun at your chest.

You didn’t have the Blade, but you had your knife. 

You’d be fine.

It was easier than it maybe should’ve been, to fight your way out. The halls had been dark, and you’d still been so fucking tired, but you hadn’t stopped moving for a second and by the time the second agent fired right over your shoulder, the blur kicked in.

These people were just a different kind of monster.

And you were really fucking good at fighting monsters. 

Your knife had spun in your hands—the world flashing and fading in and out of focus around you—and didn’t aim to kill. Every cut had been measured to cause harm, but not death. The worst was a man who grabbed you by the neck, and ended with a gash from his cheek to the base of his neck.

And you could see the daylight, and you were so fucking close, and-

The air had been hot and flat. If the jacket around your body wasn’t one of the only things you owned that was yours, you would’ve had to leave it on the sidewalk.

Instead you’d run. Ignored the stares of pedestrians, prayed no one called in a sighting of a woman covered in blood, staggering down the streets with a knife, and kept fucking running until-

Somehow, after almost a month, your car was still there.

The headlights were bashed in.

You should’ve killed Ketch while you had the chance.

But the Firebird had started—when you see Dean again, you’re going to buy him so much pie he’ll fall in love with you—and you’re fucking gone.

It’s only when you’d cross the border—with falsified papers, but that’s maybe your least severe crime of the afternoon—that the blur had fully faded. They won’t follow you into the States. You’d heard Davis and Ketch mentioning a lot about jurisdictions before. 

You’re safe. 

Safer.

Because the blur fades and you feel a little faint. And when you glance down for half a second, you see it.

Blood seeping through your clothing, hot and sticky. 

Fresh. 

Yours.

Fuck.

You’ll get through this. You always do.

You just have to get through this, and then you can go home. 

There’s just enough money on your card to get you a motel room for the night. It’s a shitty, creaking floorboard and concrete shower motel, but it’s got a bed. 

The woman behind the desk surveys you with raised brows as you lean against the wall, and you offer her a weak smile.

“Roleplaying convention.” You mumble, twisting the skin on your finger. “We like to be realistic.”

You’re not sure how she buys it, but you get the key, no other questions, and no cops come knocking on your door.

It takes a minute to heal the wound. It was a bullet shot, right to your abdomen, and your head is still spinning with dehydration and exhaustion and the weight of the past months crashing into you.

Dean’s alive, and you’d promised him you’d come home, but then you hadn’t.

And what if he thought that you weren’t. That you’d decided to leave him, and you simply weren’t worth the effort of looking for. What if he was looking for you, and he was putting himself in danger for it, and before you ever even saw him again you’d feel the Spiderweb go dark once more, and you would’ve missed your chance, and the Sky was still watching, but it hadn’t bothered to rescue you, so what the fuck was it even for then-

Dean wouldn’t just give up on you like that. He was a stubborn asshole, and even if he didn’t love you, he would never just abandon you. 

But he didn’t know what you’d done. What you’d become, while he was gone.

He might walk away once he learned. It would be for the better. You were still sick, still incurable. And you’d embraced it, when you should’ve been fighting it.

Dean wouldn’t be looking for the monster. She was what he’d find, when he found you, but until then you’ll cling to the idea that you’re going to knock on Bobby’s door and Dean would only hold you. Only tell you he missed you.

You’ll torture yourself with that thought later. 

Right now, you’re still bleeding out on the motel floor. 

The shot went through your body, and when you bite down on your tongue and carefully press on the wound with the palm of your hand, the Silver flowing into a soft, easy harmony as you focus on Dean.

He’s not here, but he’s alive. Safe. You’ll see him soon, and even if he pushes you away, you’ll get the chance to wash yourself in Gold. To have him with you all the time, just a little longer.

You love him. You don’t know how you’re going to tell him, when you see him. You might not.

He deserves more than to be loved by something wrong and dark and sick. That doesn’t stop you from loving him, but it does remind you that he’s been through enough, and you don’t need to give him the extra burden of gently turning you down.

And it would make things awkward, between everyone.

It might be better if you just never-

A low hiss pushes between your teeth, and the Spiderweb is straining at the thought of Dean turning you away, making the Silver flicker and weaken, and the wound opens up-

Shit.

Only good things. You’re going to see Bobby again soon, and you’ll make him slightly burnt pancakes as an apology for leaving, which he’ll accept it with a grunt when you bring out the whipped cream. You can tell Sam about all the monsters you found in South America, and talk to Jo about anything but hunting so you can both feel a little more normal, and Dean-

You’ll be able to touch him. And there will be color in his cheeks and heat in his body, and he’ll look at you. After months of nightmares, Dean will look at you. And he’ll say your name, and everything will maybe be okay.

You love him. 

And if you have to, you’ll learn to do it in silence. 

But you’ll still love him. The Silver will bloom until there’s a jungle of flowers and vines and shimmering water living along all your vital organs, and they’ll all be illuminated by the Spiderweb, and made of Dean. You love Dean. He’s alive, and you love him, and you can keep a small, secret world safe for him in your body because you love him, and there should always be something beautiful for Dean.

The wound stops bleeding—your skin and tissue mending itself with a slight sting—but doesn’t heal, yet your head drops back against the wall.

You need sleep. Proper sleep, where you’re not tied to a chair and you don’t know you’re going to wake up to annoying accents and more insane fancy people, trying to get you to be something you’re not, that you’ve never been.

You barely even know what or who you are now.

The world begins to fade in and out, catching you right between restless, pained sleep and real peace, and a voice you don’t recognize says your name.

Your full name.

With the proper, given last name.

Your eyes shoot open, your body bracing for the blur to kick in, but it never comes.

But there’s still a strange man in your motel room.

He’s tall—just an inch shorter than Dean—and dark haired, pale skinned, blue eyed, and his soul-

Your mouth falls open. 

This man doesn’t have a soul. He’s not possessed, either.

He’s concentrated. Made of packed down, shimmering, nuclear power. Millions of eyes molded into two, a thousand hands made the same, and an unnamable amount of colors—shifting, wrathful rainbows that run over his body like flames licking along his ribs—all being burned into a neon, electric blue.

But the other colors aren’t hidden. They’re more like television static. Turning and flowing over the blue, which is simply the strongest color among the countless others. 

It’s like staring at lightning, being fractured through a prism.

And he’s just staring right back. Watch you carefully, like you may explode.

When you find your voice. It’s soft. Hoarse.

“You’re…” You swallow, holding his gaze and curling a little further into your own body. “Colorful.”

The man blinks. “You can see me.”

“I- Yes?” You take a slow breath, hugging your knees to your chest. “Should I not be able to?”

“I am not sure.”

“Oh.”

There’s a long moment of silence as you only watch each other, and you finally clear your throat with slow, careful words.

“Can you see me?”

The man tilts his head at you. “Yes, I am looking at you right now-“

“No, I mean me.” You tap your chest, right over the core of the Silver. “My soul.”

“Yes.” The man says, a small frown on his face. “Although you are… brighter. Then any other human I’ve encountered.”

You sit up a little straighter at that. “So I am human-“

“There is part of you that is human, yes.”

Part. 

That’s not helpful.

“But you do know who I am?”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t offer anything else, and silence falls once more. The longer you look at him, the more certain you are that you recognize him. Not the man, but him. The thing inside the vessel, powerful and furious and-

“You.” Your eyes widen as it hits you, and your hand moves to your knife—resting at your feet—on instinct alone. “I- I’ve seen you before, you were in Hell.”

The man doesn’t seem fazed. His frown only deepens. “You remember.”

“Yeah, you- You fucking, you attacked Dean-“

“I saved Dean.” His correction is gentle, but firm as you push to your feet. “I was given order to raise him from Hell, and I executed them.”

“Orders-“

“From heaven.”

You blink at him. “What?!”

“I- Oh. My apologies, I forgot you didn’t know.” The man dips his head slightly, still holding your gaze. “I am Castiel. Angel of the Lord.”

This has been a long fucking day. Maybe whatever you were shot with had a hallucinogenic. Maybe you’re just finally fucking losing it.

But it makes sense. You can see him, and he can see you, and fuck, that means angels are real and they-

They’d wanted Dean.

And you don’t trust it.

“Why?”

Castiel frowns at you. “I am not sure. It is simply how I was made-“

“No,” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. “I mean why did raise Dean from Hell?”

“Because that is what I was ordered to do.”

You pause, spinning your knife in your hand as you turn over his words. Ordered. He hadn’t saved Dean by personal choice, he was simply the angel ordered to. That implied a hierarchy, that there was someone or something that-

“Did…” You let out a long breath. Stranger things. “Did God order you to get him?”

Castiel shakes his head. “God has not been seen of thousands of years. I was instructed to retrieve him by my superiors.”

“Your superior… Angels?”

Castiel nods, and you rub your face, scratching slightly at your skin.

“Sure,” you mutter. “Why not.”

“I do not understand the question.”

“It’s not a question.”

Castiel hums, watching you with an almost curious frown. “You are reacting better than Dean did. Have you met one of our kind before?”

“No, I just- Might as well be, right? I’ve seen stranger shit, and I guess-“ You cut yourself off as a lot of thoughts slam into you at once.

You had met him before. In Hell. And he remembers it, so that was real. You’d really seen Dean in Hell, every night, and-

Oh, God.

You stumble to the bathroom, and over the sound of your own retching, you don’t hear Castiel following you.

“Dean is in good health.” He says from the doorway. “My resurrection was successful.”

“I know.” You mutter, wiping a little bile from your mouth. “I just- I wasn’t sure it was real. What I saw.“

“Of course it was real. It caused many angels to be quiet… concerned.”

“Huh.” You take a long, shaking breath. “Have you been ordered to find me, then?”

“No. That is not my division.”

You glance up at him, trying to focus on the man rather than the angel burning inside of him. “Then why are you here?”

“It is… I am not sure.” Castiel frowns at you, but it’s not the under the microscope frown the Doctor gave you. It’s almost openly, innocently curious. “You are nothing I have seen before.”

“Yeah, I know I’m not human-“

“It is more than that. You are unique. I have never seen my brothers and sisters unable to find someone, let alone one woman.”

You pause, twisting to fully face him, but staying near the toilet. Just in case. “Then how did you find me?”

“I did not find you.”

“Wha-“

“You are covered in the stains of Dean’s soul.” Castiel mutters, and you feel your face heat. “I am the only angel who has touched him, and it has given me an… extra affinity. To locate him.”

You nod slowly. “Like a hound dog?”

“I- Yes, actually.” Castiel mirrors your nod. “Like a hound dog. It is not exact, I had to… comb the Gulf of Mexico to locate you.”

“Oh.”

“I am not here to harm you.” He adds. “I do not believe I would be able to. My superiors, they have forbidden us from allowing you to interfere, but they have also told us no harm may come to you.”

“Awesome.” You mumble, and Castiel takes a careful step forward.

“You are also very important to Dean.”

“I-���

“You are embedded in him. More I have ever seen any human bond with another.”

That wakes you fully up again. Embedded. You’re embedded in Dean, and you’ve seen all the additional, flitting colors on other people’s soul, but Castiel says you’re embedded in Dean-

“I don’t-“

“I cannot stay.” Castiel continues like he’d said nothing at all. “I simply wanted to… see you. I have never heard of any being simply walking in and out of Hell by whim, let alone remaining undetected-“

“I wasn’t really there-“

“You touched Dean.” Castiel says, the words sounding almost simple. “I could sense it, as I touched him. It felt like life.”

You swallow, and before you can ask what the fuck that means, Castiel continues.

“You do not seem to be the damnation my siblings fear you to be. You are remarkably human, incredibly flawed-“

“Gee, thanks-“

“You are welcome.” Castiel incline his head, and part of you wants to laugh. “But you are not only human. You are bright. It is- You may be all we have been waiting for.”

There’s another long second of silence, and you can’t think of a single possibly word or response. It’s been too long a day. Week. Month. Year. 

And you really don’t fucking care about the angel and Hell and damnation, you’re only looping around embedded. You embedded in Dean but that may have hurt him, what if you had hurt Dean-

Castiel scans over you—frozen on the floor and blinking up at him like an idiot—and lets out a slow breath. “If you do not go with Dean, and I trust you will not understand this to be an insult, I hope that I never hear of you again. And in the likely case that you do, I will see you soon. I would wipe your mind of our interaction, but I do not think it would take.”

Your eyes widen again. At this rate, they might pop out of your head. “Wipe my mind?”

“It is better for both of us that we pretend this never happened. As I said, I have brothers who are not fond of you, and I am… bending many, many rules to even speak to you. Be careful,” Castiel says your full name once more, offering you a slight nod, and before you can ask even one question, he’s gone with a rush of wind through your hair and a heavy beating sound in the air.

You’re left alone on the cold bathroom floor, and you need rest but your head is turning too fast because, at the end of the day, you’re nothing. You’re not the damnation or salvation Azazel called you, you’re not what the angel have been waiting for, and you’re not a good addition to any forces or possible partner to anyone-

But Dean. 

You’re his partner. That had been the first deal. Safer together.

And you’ll be a lot of other things for Dean before this—whatever this is—is over. You’ll be bright if it guides him home. You’ll be the fucking monster to keep him alive, and you’ll be the answer if it keeps him from ever being locked in Hell again. 

You’ll be damnation for anything that tries to take him away from you again, and you’ll be salvation if he lets you. 

You’ll take him any way he allows you to. You’ll grow so sick you rot into the dirt, and it will be the earth that keeps Dean always on steady feet. If Bobby burns your body, you’ll become the flame to keep him warm. If you’re frayed and snapped and disintegrated by something nuclear, you’ll follow Dean around so he always has some air to breathe. 

If you drown, kept in another warehouse or in a cage, tied with chains that aren’t Dean’s—although he would never bind you like that, he doesn’t have to, you’re wired to have him refracting and strong in your body—until you suffocate, you’ll turn yourself into his blood so that his heart keeps beating. 

You love him. 

And he can never know. Nothing can ever hurt Dean again, nothing can ever use him or tell him what to do like a dog, because he’s more than that. Smarter. Better.

Dean’s the best thing in the world.

You won’t let yourself be the thing that makes him feel more pain. Not for you.

So you’ll go back to him, but if he turns you away, you’ll go without a fight, and if he lets you stay, you’ll grab him and never let go, in the name of a silent love he’ll never have to hear-

There’s a knock on your door. Cutting through your thoughts and stilling your heartbeat for half a second, because the world is technicolor.

And when you push to your feet and stumble to the door, the Spiderweb is leading you more than your brain. Pulling you like a magnet until you’re fumbling with the handle and yanking it open, not balking at the blast of hot air because-

He’s more Golden than before. He was always so gold, but this is…

Every gash and cut and scar and bubbling wound that had been ripped and carved into him in Hell is gone. Replace by more gold, stronger and harsher but also more Dean. Protective and resilient, and you could move it if you touched it right. It still starts to the right of his heart and spreads out, and it’s still underlaid with that glowing river of Silver from before, and the sealed, firm, new parts of him see to wrap around the river. To shield it from the world. And he's not made of any element you’ve seen before, but you don’t care because it’s Dean, he’s here and alive and in front of you-

He grins at you, crooked, a little soft, and amazing. “Hey, Princess. You miss me?”

A weak, choked sounds escapes your throat, and Dean’s eyes widen right as your legs give out. 

You don’t know if you throw yourself onto him, or if he catches you before you hit the ground. It doesn’t really matter. The end result is the same.

Dean half carries you to the carpet of the motel room before sinking down to the floor, and you wrap yourself around him like maybe, if you really fucking try, all the gentle and healing parts of you—the bits that had been the White—will move into him, and he’ll never have to hurt again. 

If he minds how you’re holding him, Dean doesn’t show it. His arms are tight around you and his fingers brush through your hair, and he’s muttering likely soothing words over your sobs that you can’t really hear, because everything in you is fixed in on the sound of Dean’s heartbeat.

Right by your ear. 

Steady.

He’s alive.

“Dean-“ Your voice is soft, when you finally find a breath to speak. “I- I don’t-“

“I know.” He mutters, and you don’t ever want to hear another sound but his voice again. “I- I’m gonna explain it all when we get home, but there’s a lot going on. Got pulled out by angels, and they’re kinda assholes, but it’s we’re handling it. You’ll see.” 

You don’t tell Dean you know he got pulled out by angels. You don’t want to lie to him—it’s always only made you sicker—but Castiel said it would be better if no one knew. 

And you’re going to go with Dean. Anything that tries to take you away will have to kill you, and even then, you think you’d work out how to let the Silver raze through the world until there was a strong, clear path back home. Back to Dean.

So you’ll see Castiel again.

And some instinct in your body, designed and forged from years of knowing what to say and who to attach yourself to in order to survive, is telling you that it will be important to keep him near you. It’s the very same, nameless, often thoughtless instinct that told you trail after Sam and Dean when John was trying to kill you—separate from the pull to Dean’s gravity, made more of this is a safer place than most to be favored—and that allowed you to not run when Bobby found you on the highway.

So you just lean back, and offer him a small smile. “I’ll see?”

“Yeah, you’ll- son of a bitch.” Dean’s eyes are trained between your bodies.

On your not-fully-healed gunshot wound, and the blood seeping through your shirt.

“What the fuck- Up.” 

You blink at him. “De, I’m okay-“

“No. Up.” You don’t move, and Dean scowls. “C’mon, Princess, just-“

He hauls you up his body with a grunt, moving you to the edge of the mattress and setting you down with slow, almost precise ease.

“Shirt.” He orders, frowning around your motel room. “You got a kit in here?”

“No, it’s in my car-“

“Mine probably better stocked.” He mutters, mostly to himself. “Stay here.”

You gape as he stands straight up. “Dean Winchester-“

“I’ll be right back.” He grunts, and when he glances over his shoulder, his face makes it look like he’s the one in pain. 

“De-“

“I missed you.”

The door closes behind him, and he’s gone a total off three minutes, but you miss him every fucking second, and he looks so handsome when he stomps back inside with a medkit, but God, you’re going to strangle him-

It’s about halfway through your stitches—your back flat on the mattress as he kneels at the edge of the bed, and his knuckles brushing against your bare skin and leaving little, soft fires in their wake and that’s really not the fucking point—when Dean breaks the silence.

“What happened.”

“I got shot.” You mumble, and he lets out a long, audible breath.

“I got that, Princess. Who shot you.”

“Same people who bashed my headlights.”

“I’m not kidding around,” he says your name, and his voice is firm and deep and commanding, and he’s mad but you want to crawl back around him and never let go. “Who did this.”

You let out a long sigh, staring up at the ceiling. “Hunters.”

It’s not technically a lie, so Dean doesn’t catch it. His fingers still curl slightly against your skin. “Who.”

“Nobody you know.”

“So why-“

“They were hunting me, De.” You mumble, and his movement stills all together.

“What.”

“I- You know what I am.” You squeeze your eyes shut, even as one of your hands moves to hold Dean’s against your body. “That I’m not… You know. And some other people found out, and. Yeah.”

Dean’s words are slow. “So you’ve been out there, being hunted.”

“Dean-“

“Why the fuck did you leave.”

You squeeze your eyes tighter, the Silver rolling around through your body. Not to hurt Dean. Never to hurt Dean.

Maybe to hurt you. Maybe to hurt the Sky for not saving Dean before, or for watching you but never fucking doing something.

“I had to.”

“No, you didn’t. If you used your goddamn head for a second instead of just running off, nothing would’ve been fucking hunting you-“

“It’s-“ You shake your head, biting on the inside of your cheek as the stitches resume. “I couldn’t stay there, I-“

“You didn’t have to stay there! You just had to be fucking- God, at least in the goddamn states!” Dean’s jaw is clenched when you risk a glance at him, but the last few stitches are remaining neat. Careful. “I couldn’t protect you when you were in fucking Brazil-“

“You couldn’t protect me at all, Dean!” You’re screaming, and this isn’t even a real fight, but you’re so tired. You’re being sealed and remolded and cared for and picked apart all at once, and you’re too much and it’s all Dean’s and you can’t tell him that and he was- “You were fucking dead! You were gone, and I couldn’t- I couldn’t fucking stay anywhere that reminded me of you, and everywhere-“

You let out a loud, pathetic sound like a wounded animal, and Dean says your name softly, but you just keep going.

“I- I couldn’t stay. And I had to do something, because I promised you I wouldn’t die, and I- I just- I wasn’t good, Dean. I went to Brazil, and Peru, and Bolivia and Columbia and Argentina and Panama because I couldn’t be here, and I wanted to learn. I fucking tried, I tried so hard to bring you back, and I- You couldn’t have protected me. Not from this. Being hunted is what we do.” You let out a shaky, dry laugh. “And I’m the prey, Dean. They’re hunting me because I’m the prey.”

He’s finished the stitches. And when Dean speaks his voice is rough and strained. “Did my dad tell you that?”

You blink at him, a lot of the world seeming to do a stutter-stop, halting then speeding up, everything flipping upside down, because never in a million fucking lifetimes would you have guessed that to be Dean’s response.

“Did he?” Dean repeats, hold your gaze. There’s that floodlight. The one that’s showing you all the world, kept and vibrant in Dean’s eyes, and a little darker than the last time you saw it, but as if it’s being covered by a storm. 

Storms always pass. 

And you said all the way down.

So you nod, your voice barely a whisper. “He was right-“

“No, he wasn’t.”

This might be worse than getting shot. A least with being shot, you know what to expect. “Dean-“

“No. We all did things in these past few months, Princess. Bobby got drunk off his ass, and Sammy started hanging out with Ruby all the damn time, and I wasn’t exactly a boy scout while I was hanging out in Hell.”

You open your mouth to protest—what, you’re not really sure—and Dean gives you a firm look that shuts it in a second. 

“Dad wasn’t a fucking saint. None of us are. That’s not this life, this world, and he never-“ Dean shakes his head, bowing it until it’s rested on your knee. “You’re- You’re the fuckin’ best, Princess, and if you run from me, I’ll catch you.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“I dunno. Sounded less creepy when Bobby said it.”

“Bobby said he’d catch me?”

“No it’s- Never mind.” Dean props his chin up, his hands moving to hold you by your waist, and this is worse than getting shot. 

And better. And more. And Dean-

“Stop running.” 

“I-“

“I ran first, Princess. I know I fuckin’ did, but I’m asking you to be better than me. You’re always fucking better than me-“

You sit up, until you’re sitting right at the edge of the bed and Dean’s knelt between your legs. “Dean-“

“And I never should’ve left you, ever, on that first hunt or any of the times when it was just us, and I should’ve grabbed you when Dad made that shit fucking deal with Azazel and told him to shove it up his ass cause you were staying with me, all the way down. You shoulda always stayed with me, and I- Son of a bitch, I don’t want to you to go. Never want you to go, just, I like it when you’re here. Stay here, this time. I’m so fucking sorry, for dying and leaving you, and letting you think you’re not- I’m sorry.”

You have too many things to say to him. That you’re not better—you’re mostly just his—and he wasn’t a boy scout in Hell but that wasn’t his fault. That you never want him to go either, and you didn’t even know that you going was an option on the table, but he deserves something simpler and easier and stronger. That if he’ll have you, you’ll stay all the way down, and you need him, and you want him, and you love him.

But it’s easier to slide off the bed. To sink to your knees until you’re right on Dean’s lap, and wrap your arms around his torso until you folded into his body.

And it’s hot outside, and Dean’s a fucking furnace, but you could die of heatstroke, and you’d be happy, because it’s Dean.

He holds you back, and you can hear his heartbeat again. 

You might split the Sky in half to keep it near you. To keep Dean. 

“How did you know about Azazel?” You mumble into his body.

“You’ve missed a lot of stuff,” Dean mutters, his voice rolling through your whole body. “Sammy’s gonna have a field day catching you up.”

“Dean-“

“Come home.” He says your name, and you fall a little further down. “Just- come home.”

“Okay.” You whisper, burying your face deeper in his shirt, and you could swear he lets out a small sigh of relief.

You’ll follow him back down to hell, then further. 

But you don’t need to go home.

Dean’s arms tighten around you, and you’re already there.

End Note: They did it. They resolved a fight with a conversation. They’re so strong. 

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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[yumistr]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐖𝐄𝐃.

୨୧ : 𝗿𝘆𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗻 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮 𝓍𝓍 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 . ࣪⊹ ݁ ˖

" her whole world comes crumbling down when his friends mess around with her test , the girl returning the favor of messing up their faces as a thank you. "

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀.⠀⠀afab!reader. use of she/her pronouns. references to WHC1 kdrama. virgin!reader. violence. gore mentions. major injuries. wound aiding. crying. corruption. dry humping. exhibitionism. cunnilingus. dacryphilia. manhandling. fingering. spanking. pussy slapping. choking. begging. praise. pet names (brat, princess, good girl, pretty). marking. gagging. ⟡ : 𝘄𝗰.⠀10.2k. ⠀ 🏷️ : @screampied @dollicries @marimogf

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀𑄽𑄺ྀ

“you drive me fuckin’ crazy.”

MONDAY⠀|⠀11:35 AM

⠀

ᡴꪫ⠀"𝓢o, what’d ya get, hm?" comparing scores was always something you seemed to rather enjoy. at least with the man who was the only other student in your university that was on-par with your sheer intelligence.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀his intimidating and leering glare would scare off anyone else on campus, anyone else but you. you weren’t afraid of him like the others were. sure, he was almost seven feet tall and had the figure of a professional bodybuilder, yet he was still as much of a nerd as you were. his delinquent personality and aggressive behaviors were nothing compared to his raw intellect that he tried oh so dearly to shield beneath his broad chest. it didnt take a genius to see right through his pathetic attempts at acting; that genius being you.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀however, you knew all too well that he’d pummel your face in if you ever even dared to mention it, so your lips were sealed tighter than a noose.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"hop off, will ya? y’re such a drag, brat," the man groaned in response, pushing aside the paper you shoved into his face all the while he removed his textbook from atop his own test.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀your face had never dropped faster in your life. you were in utter disbelief as your delicate fingers snatched his test up, bringing the white sheet so close to your face the words were going to jump right out at you.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"a hundred and one?!?! are you kidding me?!!” scoffed and irritated, you tossed his paper back in his face, Sukuna shooting a demeaning grin at you in return.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀baffled would be an entire understatement of how you felt. and that goddamn pearly white smile he bore into your figure was not any better. he loved the attitude drop you contorted anytime you were once again let down and reminded of who the actual top student was, no matter how much you tried to overcome him. he’d always be one step ahead of you, even if you stayed up for an entire week studying as if it were a religion; he could sleep and not attend class, and would still manage to one up you.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀it drove you mad. he drove you mad.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"puñeta cabrón. tu puta madre, ay dío!" ( damn bastard. you mother fucker, oh my )

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Sukuna loved nothing more than making you mad, solely because he had a guilty pleasure for seeing how your eyes narrowed down at him. how you’d have that singular vein prodding the side of your head like a stray wire. how you’d huff at him without a single thing to respond with aside from your usually spanish curses, something he could listen to on repeat. even if the only time you ever talked to him you got annoyed, at least your attention was on him and not one of the other low life guys who were no good for you, let alone even on your skill level.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the man would never have the balls to admit it. not when your ego was already your entire personality and you knew how everyone wanted you, though your interest was more involved in the small text boxes that littered your school books.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀chuckles rumbled from the core of his chest, low eyes following your figure (your ass) as you swiftly pivoted your heels in the direction of Aoi Todo’s desk. the sight nicked Sukuna’s nerves, his jaw clenching with nothing but pure irritation whirling within his crimson eyes. exasperated scoffs we’re the only thing he could utter, lightly shaking his head and gazing out the classroom window at an attempt to calm himself down.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the already tightly-fitted fabric of his uniform only grew dense with every rigid breath he took. with how harsh he was breathing through his nose, he could start a damn fire. though, he’d never admit to being the possessive type. he could barely see how he was already obsessed with you, denying every factual thought he had about it. he was hardheaded. stubborn. irritably headstrong, of course. not over his dead body would he openly confess his dark desires.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀it was absolutely no help at all that you were also a virgin. everyone knew, as weird as it sounded. well, none of them had the guts to ask you to confirm, but with how deep your nose was in a text book twenty-four-seven, it wouldn’t take much effort to come to the conclusion.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀just the thought of Sukuna’s dick being the one to pop that sweet cherry of yours, oh how he’d kill to do so. call him a pervert, he could care less, he just wanted a taste. even if it was just for a second. god, what he’d do for it. it’d definitely be a change from the women who threw themselves at him daily, the man unable to genuinely get off to their screeching sounds as he rammed them senseless.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀though, your back was turned to him as you sat diligently atop your desk with your fangirls friends surrounding you, all he could think about were his devilish desires. the ones he only had for you even though you were supposed to be his rival. arch nemesis. whatever the fuck those corny rom-com movies call two academic rivals. if he wanted, he could easily give up and let you be the top student, but that’d mean he wouldn’t be able to hear the sweet utterance of your voice every morning, or the satisfying sounds of your heels clicking down towards his desk after each test.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"hey, class prez, ya forgot this in the gym," an annoyingly high-pitched voice broke Sukuna from his dazed trance on you, cold eyes averting to the blue-haired idiot he called a friend that had approached you with your tumbler.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀a soft gasped slipped beneath your plump lips, legs uncrossing whilst you lowered yourself onto the polished floor and gently grabbing your belonging from his grasp. two arms snaked his shoulders and a sudden plush force was pressed against his own chest. to say he tensed up, he’d be lying. he froze entirely, unsure what had happened within the millisecond he took to blink.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀right before Sukuna’s eyes, you had clung yourself to Mahito, of all goddamn people. your heels were lifted from the ground as your ass could almost be visibly seen from beneath the school’s uniform skirt. oh how he’d give anything to rip Mahito from your grasp and replace it. the sight was nauseating, Mahito’s hands traveling dangerously low on your back, rimming the edges of your skirt.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Mahito could feel Sukuna burning gaze searing holes through his body, a tethering fire brewing in the pits of his stomach the longer you strayed on his body.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"heh, i-it was no problem, really." he coughed up after a tender “thank you” was brought from your mouth.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀with a soft shove and maneuver, Mahito had slipped from your touch and cautiously made his way to the back of the class. if looks could kill, he’d have been buried the moment your arms even grazed his school blazer.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"hah, you’re one ballsy motherfucker," Haruta’s sly words had more than one meaning to them, and Mahito knew what he was provoking at. Shooting the idiotic blonde a narrowed gaze, Mahito smacked his hand behind his head, a ‘tch’ sound weaving its way into his threat for Haruta to shut up.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"fuck r’ya talkin’ about?" Sukuna chimed into the pairs altercation, Mahito slumping himself into his seat that was situated in the row next to Sukuna, a seat behind Haruta. Suspicions were high, and the blue-haired fucker was definitely on Sukuna’s list. he didn’t like not one thing about his attitude, or tone of voice.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"it’s nothin’, don’t worry about it. he’s just talking out of his fucking ass,” gritting his teeth through the last few words, Mahito flicked the back of Haruta’s head, the blonde yet again wincing at his self-inflicted injuries.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀with one last glance at the two, Sukuna scoffed and rolled his eyes prior to reverting back at you. whatever they did, not like he cared as long as it didn’t involve you. it couldn’t be that bad anyways.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀your favorite part of exam-taking was checking your answers afterwards. the satisfaction that settled within your body anytime they called out the correct choice, and you got it right, it was a sort of a euphoric endurance. you already knew that you’d get it right, you always did, but the reassurance was something you lived for.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀however, this time was far from being the same.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀besides the fact you could feel your eyes growing droopier and droopier the longer the exam went on, you also could barely feel your fingers as they grazed the tethered fabric of the test papers. each time you tried to wash away the suffocating apprehension with a nice sip from your tumbler, your body only felt worse, reluctantly obliging to the state it craved dearly.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀even after slapping some sense into yourself, causing nothing but a scene in the midst of a serious exam, you still couldn’t ward off the irritable feeling that flowed through your bloodstream.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"five .. three .." the answers repeated in your head like a nursery rhyme, your clouded mind trying to find out where you went wrong. how you could slip up so deliberately like a damn idiot in a circus act.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀nothing made sense. none of it. at all.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀you studied relentlessly. skipped meals. drowned yourself in energy drinks. kept your bed cold and empty for days on end, just so you could retain all and every last bit of information that you needed to pass the exam. you used your best notebooks, best recommended supplies to better aid your studies. and somehow, in some godawful way, you still missed them.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀your teeth ricocheted off one another, jaw clenched so tight it could slice through fine print. indents were clawing themself through the flesh of your palms, nails delving deeply into your skin that cut off all blood circulation in them.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀'cabrona.' you thought,

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀'cabrona. cabrona. cabrona.' repetition was the only thing traveling through the veins in your brain, aside from the evident self-hatred.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the sound of a fellow classmates tumbler being set on the ground brought you out of your daze, eyelashes fluttering heavily as you peered up at yours. a sort of lightbulb almost going off the moment you landed on your own. with glassy eyes and numb fingertips; your quivering hand reached for the container, in utter disbelief at what could possibly be inside.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀'no .. ellos no tendrían ..’ ( no .. they wouldn’t have .. )

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀though, the sounds of minimal laughter lingering from the back of the class sent chills spiraling down your back, dispersing through your body the minute it hit your core. white walls were the only thing in mind, a ringing sensation zipping through your ears whilst the realization alas set it. boys will be boys, teachers would say.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀but, to hell with that shit.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀before you could even have a chance to decipher who did what, or what substance was exactly coursing your veins, your legs had already dragged you down the row of desks behind you. your vision was still a bit of a blur, much like it was during the exam. however, this time you knew exactly what you were doing. well, at least your body did.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀it knew exactly where it was leading you to. the precise actions that were to follow, and how you’d deal with the matter at hand. even with your head in a bunch, it was clear.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the tumbler that calmly rested in your grasp skimmed the edge of your skirt as you walked, head hung low with trembling murmurs slipping past your lips. you couldn’t believe their audacity. they weren’t even your friends yet thought some mediocre prank would slide by so smoothly.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"h-heh. it was just a small amount, prez-" before Haruta even had time to give you some lousy excuse, the end of your tumbler was pummeling it’s way into his jaw; face smashing into the desk below him. the deeper you drove it into his flesh, the more crackling that followed behind. those same noises you craved to hear from his body. you wanted every last inch of him cracking under your touch.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"o-oh, shit!" Mahito was able to blurt out as the back of your opposite fist hammered straight into his nose, his chair rocking backwards before he went soaring to the ground, fumbling into the lockers that remained against the back wall.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀you had no time for negotiations. you needed for them to feel how it felt to have spent so much time and effort into studying, just for a bunch of nobodies to throw it all away because they have nothing better to do with their pathetic lives. their lives may not depend on it, and they may have no future. but you sure as hell did.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀stalking towards the blue-haired freak, you watched as his body recoiled along the polished floor, rugged coughs and exaggerated groans dripping from the tip of his tongue. your own heaves were entwined into his noises, teeth senselessly hitting against one another every passing moment. he could barely kneel down and regain himself when you curled your wrist at him suddenly, the side of your tumbler snapping his head as it slammed into his cheek. yet, he still had no time to react as his head fell straight into the open grasp of your free hand, grabbing the roots of his hair with a life-threatening grip.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀reeling your arm back and officially dropping your bottle to the ground, your hand held onto the top of the lockers, thumb curling the edge to get a solid hold. you sent the man’s face right into the metal containers, repeatedly reeling him away and slamming him right back in.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀over, and over again. one after another, his face continued to scrape the material, sense of awareness getting lost in the overbearing ringing noise that clogged his eardrums. after the fifth hit, he could no longer keep track of how many times you slammed his face into the locker door.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the blood that now drenched his uniform would surely be the least of his problems with how many gashes and broken bones littered his facial structure. trickles of the crimson liquid trailed down his flesh, some seeping into the depths of his other open wounds while others dropped onto the roughened fabric of his uniform pants.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀you would’ve done more. you wanted to do more. but fate had other plans when a pair of large arms wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground you once stood proudly on. flailing in the air, you were able to shake them off for merely a second, swiping your foot along the floor before it made contact with Mahito’s face, getting that last hit in just as you were tossed over someone’s shoulders and lifted highly off the ground.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀being face to face with their backside, you hadn’t a clue who it was or where you were going, just that you wanted to kick their ass just as much for interrupting your much needed plans. your arms were stuck to your sides with theirs curled over your lower back, rendering you unable to move whatsoever. you could barely move your legs with how much blood flow traveled to your head, let alone the drugs that were already seeping into every inch of your being.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀once they’d made it into the nurses office who was seemingly on her hour lunch break, the door slammed behind the two of you whilst they alas set you down. though, their large rough hands never left your figure as you continued to struggle out of their grasp.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"k-kill him .. i’m gonna .. i’m .. f-fucking — i’m .. kill .. kill-"

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"L/N Y/N." harsh and abrupt, the man that stood before you pulled you from your senselessness. Sukuna shaking you a bit to get you off whatever mindless train you were riding. if he was being honest, you definitely startled him. it may have been just a slither, but it was surely turning some gears in his head.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"tch, jesus christ you crazy brat, what the hell?!" he exasperated, finally letting you go.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀your eyes wandered the room, encapsulating the area that surrounded you all the while you tried to configure yourself. gashes and blood splatters likewise tattered your hands, your mind far too lost in the adrenaline to realize you also fucked yourself up in the midst of beating them.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"i just- i- i- they- i ju-" "open." he demanded in a monotone voice, calloused hand already grasping the back of your neck as he brought a water bottle to your mouth. before you could even protest, he was already pressing the edge of it into your lips with the liquids traveling down your throat against your will. not that it wasn’t for the greater good, just that it caught you off guard by a long shot.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he watched tediously as a vague yelp muffled beneath your lips, trembling hands pathetically attempting to push him away before you had any idea of what he was doing. though, you stopped the minute it processed.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"y’re fuckin’ psychotic, y’know that?" he scoffed, draining out the water into your mouth before he let you go. all you could do was obediently swallow, coughs scratching at your once dry throat with your body tumbled over and a hand resting along the wall beside you.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"ow, fuck!" you hissed in irritation, covering the wounds on your hands as the high you once rode on finally settled down, causing all injuries to hit you like a damn truck. you couldn’t even feel how deep the gashes were prior, but as the tingling sensations set in, that’s all you felt.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀turning to you, Sukuna sighed at your idiocy despite being the top student in their school. he reached for your forearm, disregarding all cries and pleas you threw at him before sitting you atop the nurses bed. you didn’t want him touching your wounds, let alone fixing them with how much they hurt.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"don’t start cryin’ alright? i don’t need to hear that shit," Sukuna groaned, bringing over a first aid kit from one of the tables. you attempted to protest his care, not wanting to feel alcohol being poured onto your fresh wounds, but he could care less. he didn’t need to see you struggling for the next few days just because you were too much of a pussy to clean them right away.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀however, what he was not expecting and entirely unready for, was for your pleas to sound like moans. his entire body tensed the minute your gentle hand pressed against his large bicep, whimpers tumbling from your lips. all he did was rub his thumb over the open gashes so he could measure the gauze, and your minuscule sounds had his heart dropping to his stomach.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"S-Suku — fuck, wait," you protested, the mere graze of his thumb already sending needles to shoot all through your arm.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he tried his best to ignore it. to push away any and all vile thoughts that dared to resurface his mind now that he finally knew what you could possibly sound in bed. he didn’t want to think of such things at the moment. for crying out loud, he was staring at blood and bones.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀for the next few minutes as he tended to your wounds, all he could do was tune you out. he wasn’t surprised that you didn’t know the difference between whining and moaning, you’ve probably never even had to moan before.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀your cheeks were scooped into his rough grasp before you knew it, his face barely centimeters from yours as his harsh and ragged breathing fanned your nose. the close proximity was eating him alive, your widened doe-eyes meeting his leering gaze that was fixated on nothing but you.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"stop .. stop making those damn sounds," he demanded more like a plea, unable to bring himself to genuinely be mean to you, but also desperate for you to stop before it sent him into utter madness.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀you obliged with a small nod, swallowing the lump in your throat while he returned back to covering your hand in medical wraps. this time, you just softly hummed to yourself, trying to maintain your noises that you guessed were too annoying for him that he wanted you to shut up. and the last thing you wanted to do was annoy the man who quite literally had your arm in a chokehold just so you wouldn’t pull away.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀yet, on the last tug he gave your wrapped hand, a tender sound escaped your trembling lips that had Sukuna’s teeth grinding together. he could feel his core brewing a small fire, heat trailing it’s way up his throat by the second. he had a fucking boner.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"fucking hell .." he muttered through clenched teeth, pushing your hand aside and locking himself in the bathroom across the room.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀you had no time to apologize, or even stop him before the door slammed in your face, your words getting caught in your throat. the guilt slowly ate away at you whilst you stood opposite to the bathroom door, attempting to muster up some form of apology to Sukuna who was evidently pissed off at you for not listening to a simple fucking task.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Su — Sukuna, i’m really sorry for annoying you. i didn’t mean to. i just — i don’t have the best pain tolerance and,—" oh how you were so painfully, pathetically fucking oblivious.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀you were far off from annoying him. you turned him on for christ sake. his pants grew tight around the growing erection he had, trying so desperately to think of anything else but you just so it’d go away. even thinking about all the other girls who thought they were suitable to ever be his girlfriend, he just needed something that wasn’t your voice booming in his head.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀yet, the more you talked, the worse it got.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀there was no way that he’d be able to get rid of it with you being right outside that door. the same door you were trying to speak through to apologize for something you didn’t even do.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀and, somehow, in some deranged and crazy fast way, you ended up in the bathroom with him, being pressed firmly against the door. you had absolutely no time to think whilst his arm snaked through the small opening he made and swiftly dragged you in, a tiny yelp hiccuping from your throat.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the tension that settled was intoxicating. almost clear to the human eye. his head was lowered in the crevice of your neck with his hands sternly planted on the door along either side of your head. his coarse breaths danced along the flesh of your neck, goosebumps decorating your skin as you attempted to grasp what had happened. you had no idea what was going on, let alone what was pulsating between his legs. your cluelessness would indefinitely be the death of Sukuna, a crumpled sigh falling off his tongue.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Suku-"

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"can i kiss you?" four simple words. four simple fucking words, they were the same ones you would’ve never guessed your literal rival would utter in your presence, let alone to you. was he out of his mind? what he going through a mental episode? maybe he also took a sip from your tumbler and was riding some sort of high as well. there’s no possible way he was serious.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀and yet, you still said yes. somehow, your brain that only ever saw him as the guy you wanted to beat. the guy who you would do anything just to have the hierarchy and be able to say you beat him in something. anything. you still found yourself crumbling beneath him much like you always did. falling victim to him once more, however this time it was your own fault. you obediently said yes without a second thought. without thinking how it’d look if the girl who only ever raved about beating the infamous Sukuna Itadori, succumbed to his berating charm and was another one of his girls of the week.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀you were utterly disgusted with yourself. but oh how sweet he tasted. his plump lips were immediately attached to your own with his large hands savagely coating your biceps, your hands rendering against his solid chest that rose with each passionate movement he made along your mouth.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀you were tall for a woman, standing perfectly at 5’7. though, compared to Sukuna’s 6’7, you were merely a mouse to a lion. his ginormous figure towered over you in every aspect, broad chest cornering you against the door with his head trapping you beneath him.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he tasted like sweet cinnamon bark chipping onto lavender flowers, each petal melting against your tastebuds every time his tongue skimmed the tissue of yours. it was eradicating. every sense you thought you once had was entirely overwhelmed by him and his aroma, suffocating the oxygen you desperately craved for in between sloppy kisses.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀how could you let your first kiss be stripped from you by the man you swore you hated. the man that took every chance he got at provoking and taunting you with his intelligence. who got off to seeing your anger rise each time you glanced at his scored test papers. unbeknownst to the fact he only ever did such things so you’d look at him, let alone acknowledge his presence.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀despite wanting to push him off you and yell at him for thinking he could toy with you like some whore on the street, all you could really do was pathetically melt under his deathly grip. your lips subconsciously synced with his all the while you miserably pawed at his chest, slender digits attempting to undo the buttons that barricaded his immense chest.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"impatient, r’ya, princess?" you mewled at how easily the nickname slipped from his tongue, as if he weren’t just calling you a brat for god knows how long.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀his words murmured against your lips, deep-husked voice littering your once smooth skin in nothing but even more goosebumps. the assertion gave you room to breathe alas, whimpered heaves exasperating from your quivering-swollen lips. he watched in utter delight at how heated he could feel you were, how your chest rose just as much as his did with your glossy eyes barely being able to make contact with his hunger-filled ones.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀you were twenty-one for crying out loud, and this is how you reacted to your first kiss? oh, was he ecstatic to see just how much you were going to crumble on his dick.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"fuckk .." he groaned out heavily at the sight that displayed before him, aggressive hands reaching for your buttoned-uniform shirt and ripping it apart, practically tearing the seams that sealed your body away from his demeaning gaze. the action broke you from your train of thought, eyes shooting up at his with your hands failing to cover the sweet treats you hid from everyone with that embarrassingly tight uniform top.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"tch, don’t hide from me, brat." he scoffed out, grabbing your gentle wrists and using one hand to pin them above your head, back straightening from the unexpected position he forced upon you.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀you didn’t have the guts to face him, not when you were completely vulnerable in front of him. your breasts that fought at the seams of your pink laced bra was the first thing that his eyes wandered to, seeing exactly how large they were and how small that damn coverage was. how could you possibly be so stupid to buy a size smaller than what you were?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀snapping your head to the side, you closed your eyes with trembling breaths dripping from your sore lips. anyone could see just how much lust fueled Sukuna’s crimson gaze as he admired you. saliva pooled his sealed mouth, tongue dragging across the skim of his lips with his teeth chewing the inside of his gums. he just wanted to ravage every inch of your body, tainting your beautiful skin in his bite marks so everyone and their fucking mother that attended this godforsaken campus would know who exactly took you first. who adulterated your gorgeous figure and molded that soaking cunt to shape his dick, and his alone.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"can .. can i touch you?" a small head nod followed swiftly after, not a single thought behind your actions, just pure, raw ardor.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀his movements were tender and sweet, at first. but once his large palm grasped the entirety of one of your breasts, he kneaded it with nothing but genuine hunger. his lips attacked yours once more, synchronizing his actions as you puttered soft moans into his mouth, the man swallowing them each time his tongue explored your walls.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the way his thick digits seeped into the flesh of your breast was unlike anything you’ve ever been able to fondle on yourself. he was skilled, obviously; his hand gripping you with the perfect amount of aggression that had you squirming under his touch. it only got worse when his fingertips trapped your nipple between his pads, rolling the two over one another to create the perfect amount of friction that he needed from you.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"p—please .. oh-shit, please .. just fuck me, Suku—" the way your beautifully doe-glossed eyes peered up at him had the man ready to risk everything. ready to bend you over that damn sink and fuck the daylights out of you, so the only sensible, coherent thing you’d be able to utter was “fuck me, Sukuna”.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"be a good girl and be patient, i wanna explore every crevice of this fucking body of yours," he hushed you up with ease, showering you in kitten kisses that trailed all the way down your neck, his lips latching onto your skin once he made contact with your throat.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀with your bra now tossed onto the floor, chest entirely exposed for Sukuna’s deranged eyes, his calloused hand traveled down your body. over the ridges of your waist line and through the folds of your skirt. the lower he went, the higher your breath hitched in the depths of your throat, shaky heaves fanning his ear. he gently shushed you, his fingers now dancing along the fiery skin of your thigh. you knew you were soaked down there. he knew you were soaked down there. just from how tediously your legs trembled the moment he touched them, it was as clear as day. you weren’t hiding it, especially when you tried clamping your thighs closed the moment his nails even grazed your flesh.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"don’t hide, princess. s’okay, i promise to be gentle," he cooed in your ear, hissing at his finger looping around the drenched fabric of your underwear. the textured surface drove him crazy, how you were already sopping with him merely just touching you. it was pathetic, but god how he loved it so much.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he loved how it was him that caused such a reaction from you. how just the thought of him, and his touch against your perfect skin had you already creaming your underwear. it’s exactly what he wanted. for you to only give such a reaction created by him and no one else. just thinking about some other loser being in his place enraged him to the fullest. he couldn’t imagine anyone else taking your firsts, let alone stuffing your tight hole with their dick that probably wasn’t even close to being the same size as his.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the moment his fingers slipped between your folds, you were an entire mess all over again. whimpering moans and squeamish behaviors were the only reaction you could give, Sukuna peering down at you and enjoying every second of it. he teased and taunted your clit with each glide he passed through your slit, his nose grazing your own as tears now coaxed your entire face. the sight had his back muscles tensing, dick throbbing in his pants as he toyed with you more. if this is how you reacted to simply being touched, oh he really couldn’t wait.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀it took every fiber of his being to restrain himself against you, knowing that you’ve never had sex, let alone been played with so he couldn’t do anything without hurting you in the process. and, that’s the exact opposite of what his intentions were. he wanted you creaming on his dick, not screaming.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀sputtered cries and grasps at nothing but air were sent Sukuna’s way the second he slipped his fingers in your clenched cunt. fuck, just his two digits alone, you were squeezing the life out of them.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"shh shh, jus’ relax. y’re too tense, gonna hurt yourself clenching so hard" he soothed, littering your neck in even more tender-lined pecks as his grip on your wrists above your head only tightened. all the while you listen so obediently, Sukuna continued to gradually push his fingers inside you. you tried your best to relax, as he said, not wanting it to hurt when all he was trying to do was please you.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀yet, even when relaxed, you were still so fucking tight it turned his mind completely white.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"juss’ like that. good girl," he fanned against your ear, kissing beneath it right as he slowly began to thrust his fingers in and out. gasped moans traveled out of your mouth every time his digits scraped your walls so delicately, hips subconsciously bucking in the midst of him trying to get you used to having something shoved up there.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀you were already a babbled disaster beneath him, legs trembling dearly as Sukuna contained every urge had had to quicken his pace. he knew you weren’t ready, but you just kept on. you continuously bucked your hips against his hand, as if you wanted him to go faster, to roughen the tender pace he had on you. he wanted to go gentle, something he wasn’t entirely fond of, though he knew you were inexperienced and didn’t want to scare or even hurt you from how he could get.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀but you had other plans in mind. because the best thing that the man was even able to coherently understand amidst all the blabbering nothings you muttered was a vague “h-harder”. he knew you were crazy, just from the events that led to this, it was obvious. but he was not expecting you to be this batshit insane.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Suku— fuckk .. please, please .. fuck me—"

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"shit .. you fuckin’ psycho brat," grumbling beneath his breath, the man listened to your deranged nonsense, quickening his once delicate pace.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀with his lips latched onto your own, he muffled all and every moan you had to offer once his pace roughened. squelches and wet noises could be heard all throughout the bathroom as he abused your desperate cunt, legs growing numb as the sudden action. the only way you were able to even stand up still was from his hand that pressed your wrists onto the door. you were rendered utterly silent, eyes rolling so far back you caught a glimpse of the pearly gates.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the back of your head slumped against the door, much like your melted figure that seeped into Sukuna’s grasp. his fingers grew used to the feeling of your gummy walls suffocating them the more he pumped your cunt, your first orgasm coating the entirety of his hand already. it was small so it didn’t hit you as hard, but the fact that he continued to thrust his fingers through your climax is what sent you into madness. you were slowly losing yourself the more he led you into your second orgasm. something you’ve never done before.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀because yeah, any normal girl would touch herself and make herself cum, but it was rare that they continued after the first orgasm. and, you happened to be one of the few who could never lead yourself to a second, always far too sensitive after the first.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀cries squealed through your once sealed lips, his persistence to make you cum as much as possible causing you to break your silence. however, even with your poetic noises clogging his senses, his pace never once faltered. rather, it increased and was already leading you to your second orgasm, legs now visibly twitching and unable to hold your body up anymore.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀right before you could officially release onto his hand once more, he dropped everything and lowered himself to his knees, catching your juiced on his tongue that slipped easily through your folds. his lips hooked onto your clit the moment he did so, arms curling over your thighs so you sat along his shoulders. within a blink of an eye you were spilling all over his tongue with your pleading hands kneading at his pink hair, cries of mercy tumbling from your lips all the while. though, even then, your actions were rendered useless as he proceeded to use his mouth to edge a third orgasm from your beaten body.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"S—Suku .. please! I-I can’t, I can’t .. wait, wait-" you sobbed through heavy tears, the man far too lost in the goal of making you cum to even begin to listen to your wails.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he had nothing to say in response, using his mouth to get his point across that he didn’t care. that he was going to make you coat every aspect of him in your juices. you couldn’t help but think if this is how he was with all the other women he hooked up with daily. if he was so stubborn to make them cum as much as he was you.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀and, to proudly answer that, he’d honestly admit that no, he most definitely did not. he could barely tolerate their voices, let alone the taste of them. he simply fucked them, nothing more nothing less. that’s all they wanted him for anyways, so why would he waste his time doing more for people he could care less about?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀but you? oh, you were an entirely different case.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀with you, he wanted all of it. he wanted to feel just how tight you were. just how sweet you tasted. to caress every inch of your ass, and body. to milk you dry, even. he wanted to devour you and leave you so high off his touch that even when alone in your dorm you’d probably touch yourself simply thinking about this interaction you had with him. he wanted to leave you craving for him as much as he craved for you. to have you feeling just how much of a mess you made him without even trying.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀his tongue did wonders against your aching hole, lapping your juices against his tastebuds before soaking up every last droplet that tainted your inner thighs. taking advantage of his position, the man made sure to leave his teeth marks engraved into your skin, his palms firmly pressing against your lower abdomen to stop you from squirming so much. he did love how his actions earned such a reaction, but he didn’t want you hurting yourself from too much carelessness. at least not anymore than you already have.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀sobs and disheveled breaths hiccuped from your throat, hazed eyes slowly losing yourself to all the intensity that was thrown at you in less than ten minutes. you didn’t know how much longer you could go, but you definitely didn’t want him stopping anytime soon. it all felt so fucking good, it left your mind unable to do anything but cloud with nothingness.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the tingling commotion that left your legs completely numb had traveled it’s way up to your arms, fingers barely able to rake through his curls without twitching every few seconds. your words had become entirely slurred, vaguely incoherent with each word you puttered through your heavy lips.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Sukuna was enthralled by every passing second he spent between your legs, marking his territory almost with how he repeatedly stabbed your flesh with his sharp teeth. you had no recollection or feeling in your legs to be able to stop him, allowing the man to claim you as his own as if he wasn’t just blabbering on about how annoying you were the day prior. the duality would not only just kill a victorian child, but also slaughter an entire bloodline.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"shit, y’taste so fuckin’ good," he groaned into your core, the deep rumbles that bore from his chest vibrating against your bundle of nerves and earning yet another sweet sweet moan from you. the kind he longed for. yearned, even.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he slurped up your slick liquids as if he’d been deprived of food for months, maybe even years. which, to some extent, he has. he’s been lusting over you since your freshman year. not a day had gone by where he wasn’t thinking about you, every inch of your body, and your beauty.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀in such little time, you had become his primary thought bubble. he hadn’t a clue how it happened, nor why. but, now that he alas was shoved between your legs and able to taste just how savory you were, he definitely wasn’t complaining.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Sukuna egged on your third orgasm, not letting a single drop leave his mouth as he sucked and tethered at your clit. it surely was a struggle to contain your trembling legs, the man resorting to standing back up and placing both of his coarse hands along your ass. the sudden action caught you off guard completely, body almost slipping to the floor if he didn’t hoist your aching legs around his torso. though, his movement forced an abrupt sob to drip out of you, his rock hard erection pressing firmly along your cunt.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"o-oh, fuckk .." was blurted from his own mouth at the endurance, not realizing his own actions until your juices were coating the fabric directly over his dick. his hands remain gripping the soft flush of your ass, fingers delving in the longer he held you there.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀you were sure to cream on the spot from how much force was pushed onto you, your back practically molding into the wooden door behind you. Sukuna couldn’t think properly, not in this state at least. all his mind could focus on was how he felt your heartbeat through your cunt that was resting diligently atop his pulsing erection. it was so prominent, so distinct, as if your heart was right there. he couldn’t move, not when his throbbing tip was already leaking with precum. he needed you and he needed you now.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Sukuna—"

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"please .. just—just one .. one second, fuck" he groaned against the flesh of your ear, your arms gripping the seams of his collar as he pushed his head in the crevice of your neck.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he wanted to just take a breather before he did anything rash, but his body evidently had other things in mind.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀his hips grinded against yours without warning for either of you. hoarse mewls stammered from each of your mouths due to the friction of the rough material rubbing your sensitive areas just right. it felt wrong. you felt dirty. like you weren’t supposed to be doing such vile things along the fabric of your school attire, but it just felt so fucking good, you couldn’t possibly stop now.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀and you didn’t.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Sukuna continued to curl his hips at yours, loving how his trousers tightened around his dick just enough for it to feel like he was inside of you. and you, you embraced it just as much. you wanted him inside you so bad. even if he was probably far to big to be your first. you didn’t give a fuck. you wanted him and if he was allowed to taste you and edge you to three fucking orgasms, then he would have no choice but to fuck you by the end of this.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀his nails created indents in your ass from how harsh he gripped your body, his palms practically the size of each cheek he caressed dearly. though, you didn’t care, he’d already tainted the rest of your body so your ass was no difference. not like anyone would see it anyways, no one but him.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀despite not having a single ounce of strength left in you, you were able to use a slither of it to pull his face to yours, trapping his lips and syncing your sloppy kisses to his thrusts. once Sukuna caught onto your naughty actions, he quickened his pace, knowing that if he went faster than he’d be able to hear your beautiful noises once again.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀and, that’s exactly what happened. you were halted mid-kiss by an unexpected whimper that ricocheted your throat. it was filled with nothing more than genuine cries, head tossing back against the door whilst your lustrous eyes lazily gazed up at the ceiling above. the once harsh grip you had along his collar had faltered almost immediately. it was humorous to Sukuna how easily you succumbed to his touch against every part of your body. he fucking loved it.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀your legs had alas uncrossed from around his waist, the only thing holding you now being his black painted nails that molded your ass to his hand sizes. with each curl against your freshly exposed cunt, Sukuna hissed in delight all the while you choked up broken moans. the synchronization was soothing, chills creeping up his spine from how brisk you felt.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀before he could get carried away, the man allowed you to release yet another orgasm on him, massaging your thighs through your high. he could tell how worn out you were, it was written all over your damn face. you were a virgin and already on your fourth orgasm during your first sexual interaction.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"p—please .. Suku- please .. just fuck me already," heaved through chopped, aching breaths, you raked your nails down his severely toned abs that could probably crush a watermelon.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀that was his cue. the simple words that he was almost begging you to utter once more just so he’d be able to finally follow through with your repeated pleas.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀hoisting your legs around his waist once more, he led you out of the bathroom finally, after thirty damn minutes. one hand remained in the dip of your lower back whilst his other was scooped beneath your ass, being slowly coating in your slick liquids that dripped from your exposed pussy. though, he surely didn’t mind. he transferred your quivering body back onto the nurses bed he once used to tend your injuries, continuing to knead your tensed thighs so they’d simmer down.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"ya sure ‘bout this, pretty? i don’t wanna hurt you," he reassured for the last time, pad of hjs thumb swiping your fleshed cheek that was hotter than the sun on a mid-summer day. all you did was gaze up at him through the thick of your lashes, doe eyes enticing his entire existence.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀you didn’t care how he did it, you just wanted his dick stuffing you so good that you’d forget every test answer you ever embedded into your thick skull. as crazy as it sounded. you probably seemed so pathetic for thinking such a thing, but when a woman has gone twenty-one years without ever being touched so sensually, and she finally gets a taste of it crashed into her like a semi-truck, of course she’s going to sound deranged.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀you didn’t even answer him, your hands immediately latching to his pants as you began unbuckling his belt. you fumbled with it a bit, Sukuna allowing a low, deviated chuckle to rumble along his chest whilst he moved your hands aside to do it himself. your eagerness was humorous, the man getting a kick out of it as he stripped his lower body to nothing but raw nudity. his pants pooled at the rim of his ankles, black boxers laying softly atop them. to say you were stun-ridden would indefinitely be a damn understatement as you tried to fully grasp his size.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀sure, you’ve seen some poorly executed porno’s with guys who had long dicks. some even had thicker ones that weren’t as long, but their girth and how they stretched the girl out made up for it inevitably.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀however, never once have you seen one that was not only long, but also broad. his tip alone rendered you into utter silence, the white ropes of precum decorating his reddened head. though, what had chills dancing along your spine was the sight of how he extended to his belly button, and his base only got thicker the lower down your eyes traveled. arrogant and humored, the man taunted you with a snarky expression;

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"careful now, y’might catch flies, princess," his thumb gliding across the skim of your bottom lip after he layered it in his seed. he gently slipped it through your agaped mouth, softly closing your lips around his knuckle with his opposite hand slowly pushing you against the flat of the bed.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀you couldn’t even process the fact that he made you taste his cum from how awe-struck his size left you. let alone him spreading your legs open and watching as your lower abdomen trembled in between each shaky breathe. what did break you from your daze was when a slap was sent to your wide-open cunt that was on full display for him, your back arching off the bed with tethered cries mewling out all the while.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀you couldn’t even close you legs to stop him, his stern grip pinning one of them to the bed with his waist stopping your other from moving. all you could do was try and reach your hands to cover yourself, but he took that as an initiative to grip your wrists with both of his overly large hands. gazing down at your sweets, he aligned his base with your clit, his dick laying atop your stomach so he could measure just how deep he’d be hitting you. now you were completely rendered defenseless, his grasp on your wrists never once faltering.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀once he was satisfied with the results, he tossed one of your wrists into his opposite hand while adjusting his tip between your deathly sopping folds. oh how he wanted to bottom out in you at this very instant, the urge eating away every second that painfully passed by. he couldn’t. not yet, at least. you weren’t ready and he didn’t want to ruin anything after spending all that time getting you ready.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀after grabbing your wrist again, he, very slowly and tediously gently, started sinking himself through your walls. each time you made any sort of high pitched noise he stopped, trailing circles with his thumbs against your abdomen; feeling just how much your body quivered. your mind drew blanks, vision going in and out from how much he stretched you out with his tip alone. it was euphoric, ecstatic even. you’ve never (willingly) taken drugs, but this is how you imagined the feeling people described when they were riding cloud nine.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀your unhinged jaw hung open desperately, toes curling with each vein he gradually dragged so rigidly along your delicious gummy walls. you had no ounce of energy to cry out. whimper, let alone moan. all you could do was let him continue to shape your cunt, to mold you into the perfect cocksleeve for him and him alone. it was something you were never expecting, but surely weren’t protesting now that he wore your body out so deliberately.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he was trying his best to be as cautious as he could, fighting every senseless urge that pulled at his strings the deeper he sunk into you. it was so fucking tiring, especially when your desperate cunt kept sucking him in deeper each passing moment.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀yet, when it was all said and done, and his tip was practically kissing your womb, his shoulders alas settled with a groaned sigh following close behind. now that he finally got what he wanted, what he’d been impatiently waiting for since your first year, he hadn’t a clue what to do. he was so used to the women taking over and fucking themselves on him, already used to his size and using it how they saw fit. he never in his wildest dreams would’ve thought he’d finally be able to get at you, let alone be so painfully deep inside you that it rendered him, the great Sukuna Itadori, silent.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀if there were a day for miracles, it’d surely be today.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"holy- .. shit. fuckin’ hell, Y/N .." how he uttered your name in that oh so needy tone drove you crazy, clenching around him and causing Sukuna to immediately tighten his grasp on your wrists.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀all he raved about was how you sounded, but jesus fucking christ did he sound so goddamn sexy saying yours in that teasingly needy voice that he tried so hard to make scornful. his girth pulsed in the depths of your cunt, his rugged and torn heaves being forced through his nostrils whilst he attempted to collect his jumbled thoughts.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he led your wrists back up to your head, his earth shattering grip still cutting all blood circulation from them. sturdily planting the back of your hands to the mattress below, along either side of your head, Sukuna brought his own to the slithered opening of your neck, fanning his fragile breaths against your goosebump-covered neck.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀slow and steady, agonizingly cautious, the man began rocking his hips into your own. each stroke, every whimpered moan, all of it had Sukuna’s mind seeing stars. the moon. possibly the entire fucking galaxy with how completely undone he became. his head continued to knead into your shoulder, puttered lips whispered sweet nothings against your tattered skin that he decorated so rigidly. it hurt, your entire body could feel that fact all too well. you knew it’d hurt, just weren’t expecting how much though. with how your friends described their first times, you were expecting a paper cut, not to be ran over three times. your core was burning implacably, inner thighs so ungodly sore that you weren’t sure how you’d have the energy to walk once he was done with you.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀however, with each tender word he cooed in your ear, you slowly melted beneath his touch, seeping into the mattress and feeling every last vein that scraped your walls so vigorously. you could barely open your eyes for that matter, gaze entirely fixated on the ceiling lights that hung above, thick lashes coating your droused vision.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the pain that once surged your every thought had simmered into nothing but euphoric rapture, tears glossing your [E/C] eyes so tenderly. your hands were grasping at straws, unable to get a hold on anything, let alone move with how Sukuna buried them into the surface.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀slow sex was definitely not on Sukuna’s bucket list for the year, let alone sex with you. and he was unsure how to feel about it. because yes, it had the pleasure dispersing to every inch of his sole being, but it also fueled his desire to ultimately ram your cunt broken. the endurance only caused his back muscles to tear at the seams of his uniform, solid chest pressing into your own as he suppressed any vulgar thoughts.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀it were as if the gods above had heard his yearning, his unspoken pleas that lingered his mind. because the next coherent word he could make out from your lips was a small “faster .. please-" that sputtered out.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀it was at lightning speed that he swiftly hovered himself above, capturing the perfect display of your sprawled upper body beneath him. his hands pawed at your biceps and curled around them with a hefty grip. he wanted to steady himself before he hurt you in any possible way, already a bit uneased by his careless decision of going in raw.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀you had no time to react, no time to possibly even grasp the fact that he had released your wrists from his death grip. not before he was plunging his swollen tip at the entrance of your womb, repeatedly with harsh grunts weaved into each movement. that’s when you saw stars. that was when you could no longer speak properly, let alone even think about anything other than listening to the sounds of your own pussy squelching and squeaking every time he bottomed out and his balls slapped against your ass. your mouth moved in an attempt to speak, but no words, let alone noises, were to be heard. you were like a broken wind up toy; moving without sound.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"fuck .. y’re so goddamn tight, pretty," Sukuna groaned out desperately, a scoff finding its way into his words that overlapped the boisterous noises your cunt shouted out.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀your hazed eyes were now drenched in tears, hiccups slipping past your lips after each thrust he shoved down your walls. your skirt rode up your ass, exposing it to the sticky material you laid upon. both of your bodies were covered in sweat from head to toe, though the adrenaline had you thinking you were as dry as a baby. it was a crazed mixture of feelings, yet they all had you more deluded than a fangirl.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀no matter how much you relaxed, how many times you soothed your walls, you still clenched him so perfectly he swore he was going to cum already. which, he definitely was. his entire focus was fixated on trying not to decorate your walls. not yet, at least. he wanted to cum with you on your fifth high, his quick pace easily leading you to it thoroughly.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the silence that once washed over your entire body had been forcefully broken when he decided curled his hips at just that right angle that hit a spot so deep, so so fucking sweet, it had you crying out for him to continue. your nails grazed at the skin of his wrists, moans proclaiming his aggressive moves. mewled cries exerting your quavering lips, encouraging his robust actions that only increased with every whimper you threw at him.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀each time Sukuna slid himself through your aching cervix, he watched his bulge poke through your abdomen, pleased with the fact that no one else could do such things to you but him. that even if such an interaction with him were to awaken a side of you, and you ended up with another guy, he’d never be able to leave his dick print on you like Sukuna did. he was comfortable in his size, much of an arrogant high school cheerleader.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the man obliged by every last plea you threw at him, subconsciously leading both of you to your destined climaxes. he wanted to hit his high with you, and if he continued his actions thoroughly, he’d get what he craved so desperately for.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"S—Suku, fuckk— i-i’m gonna come .. please!"

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀you had no idea how much of an impact you had on the disheveled man. he never planned on being such a known fuckboy on campus, but when you were too painfully fucking clueless to his advances when school first started, he accepted his fate and used his body to drown himself in the sorrows. he didn’t know how your relationship would be after today, but what he did know was that it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last time he was balls deep in your throbbing pussy.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"s-shit .. ya takin’ me so well, princess," he yearned, gruffs tumbling out after his breathless assertion.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"this is mine, ya understand? .. don’ wanna see no other guy near you. not even my. shitty. little. brother," with each exasperated word he huffed out, he made sure to hit you so hard, so fucking deep, that you understood every damn syllable of his demand.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Y-Yes, yes! please, .. oh— fuck! yes, o-ok. ok!" sobs and down right hysteria blurted from your crumbling lips, cunt aching pathetically as he abused ever last inch of it. Sukuna made sure he molded you like the perfect little sculpture you were, shaping you to suit him with raw ease. emphasis on the raw.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀with one last full length thrust, you both had equally hit the highs you practically clawed each other for. the climax that had your entire body twitching from head to toe whilst your eyes struggled to stay open. his thick, crystalline seed painted your walls so white it’d seem like a brand new room. it was so much, so fucking much, that he had pent up for so long he couldn’t possibly stop himself even if he wanted to.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀his hands that had now engraved his grip into the flesh of your biceps traveled down to your thighs, kneading them through your high so you weren’t so timid. it definitely did help, prattled breaths dripping from your tongue through the entirety of it. his were likewise weaved into yours, his chest riding every so often all the while he watched how your mixed juices spilled from your pussy, trickling in a pool along the edge of the mattress.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀with a lazy huff and pulling himself from inside you, the man slowly reached down to you and scooped your back into his grasp; uttering a vague "c’mon, pretty, lets get you cleaned up,"

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ “wanna fill you up s’fuckin’ much, pretty,”

© 𝐘𝓤𝐌𝓘𝐒𝐓𝐑 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑⠀𝜗ϱ⠀mature discretion advised. all rights reserved. do not plagiarize or steal works.

[starringthesturniolos]

bite me- matt sturniolo

part one

summary- matt has always hated your guts, but everything changes when he wakes up and finds out your his mate.

contains- vampire!matt x reader, enemies to lovers, smut (not in this part), themes of death, dark themes, high school au! (18 yrs old)

------------------------------------------------------------

your pov.

“and y/n l/n, your assigned seat is next to matthew sturniolo.” my new math teacher says with finality as his eyes sweep the room. “matthew, please raise your hand” he continues clearly acknowledging the fact that he doesn’t know any student by name yet.

while the teacher was making a rendezvous trying to figure out where matt was sitting, my eyes were bulging out of my head and matts usual stoic face turned into a scowl. we lock eyes and they harden at the sight of each other. matt scoffs before shifting his eyes to the teacher, and I already know he's going to protest before he says a word.

“teach, i know you don’t know me, but my birthdays tommorrow, and i don’t really do y/n." he says while rudely gesturing to my figure, "sooo, you gotta switch the seating chart up.” matt pierces me with his gaze before offering the teacher a very fake smile.  mr. dunn, the name I assume is his considering that its written on the whiteboard, just looks back at him clearly unimpressed with his negotiation skills. matt takes the hint and tries again. “for everyone else’s sake?” he questions and  gestures to the rest of students in the room. everyone bobs their heads up and down in silent agreement. 

its no secret that me and matthew don’t get along. ever since freshman year, we’ve had a strange animosity towards each other. matt carries himself like he’s better than everyone else. he does it even now, trying to negotiate with the teacher like he makes the rules. i can’t help but agree with him, though. if we end up sitting next to each other it will be a huge distraction. matt and i have been escorted out of classrooms for starting screaming matches before. 

“your all gonna have to deal with it. this is not my problem” mr. dunn says completely blowing everyone off. I drag my feet over to matt, sighing as i let the year ahead of us sink in. “way to go tiger, maybe if you had asked instead of demanded in the first place, he might of listened.” I say as I plop down into my seat.

“okay well, at least i said something. didn’t hear you talkin” he replies smugly and folds his arms over his chest.  Even though he’s acting like a child, i have to stop myself from openly gawking at his arm

 damn, tattoos are definitely my thing.

“the fuck you looking at.” he snaps. 

tattoos are definitely NOT my thing.

i roll my eyes.  “nothing, mop” i  smirk as soon as i say it  because i know how much he hates that stupid nickname. 

“stop calling me that!” matt says a little too loudly causing the teacher to spin around from the white board and glare in his direction. matt quickly shuts his mouth and starts to play with the strings of his hoodie in shame. i can’t stop the laugh that ripples through my chest at matts’ pussy reaction. mr. dunn swings his glare to me, but ,unlike matt, i don’t care. 

i’ll just switch out this class, simple.

 i make up my mind then and there. i'm not dealing with matt  AND a shitty teacher. 

“anywayss” mr. dunn drones on turning back to the white board  still annoyed by the disruption. i look back over at matt to make fun of him, only to see his eyes shut tight and his whole body tensed up. i can see the lean muscles in his forearms bulging from the strain. 

“um what are you doing??” i question more than a little confused. he snaps out of it and slowly opens his eyes. “mind your business” he mutters.

this is going to be a longgg year. 

------------------------------------------------------------

matts pov.

“chris im telling you, i almost lost it in there.” i say panicked as i pace around my room. we’ve been out of school for about 8 hours and i’m still stressed about it. about almost losing control and killing everyone in the classroom today.

 chris gets up and grabs my shoulders. 

“bro its okay. it happens, give yourself a break. not very many vampires control themselves the way you do. when they get angry, they just snap.” chris says more casually then anyone else would on the subject, like its a normal thing. but both him and i know that nothing about what we are is normal. 

i take a deep breath, my eyes straining from the stress of it all. “i just don’t know why i let her get under my skin like that, you know. i shouldn’t ever feel like i'm about to “snap”", I say frustration seeping through my tone. i continue to take quick steps around the room, paying unnecessarily close attention to each step.

 if she had any idea what i was, she’d never bother me again, a dark voice in my mind breaks through, much to my annoyance.

 its true, us vampires are monsters through and through. even ones like me, chris, and nick who try our best to be good. we may act and look the part, but our desires are always evil. we will always be evil.

“sooo, are you excited to find out who your mate is, or what?” chris' voice cuts through the quiet that settled in the room, making my thoughts reel in a different direction.

turning day. the day in which a vampire is born. once a vampire has hit 10 yrs since their turning day,  their mates are revealed to them. its like a bomb goes off in their head and suddenly they feel completely connected to someone else.  like their souls are one, or so I've heard.

“snap out of it matt! stop spacing out and shit, its getting really annoying” chris says clearly agitated i didn’t answer his question from earlier.

“sorry” i answer sitting next to him on my bed.  after that theres a brief silence, me and chris left alone with our own thoughts. 

“Are you excited though?” chris ask quietly, clearly conflicted himself. i’m not the only one getting a mate, after all, chris and nick turned the same day i did. 

you were born on the same day and you died on the same day. what a coincidence, my dark inner voice practically chuckled at the revelation. I shudder from the thought of it.

i take a deep breath and close my eyes as i feel the stress returning. 

“i just hope shes not human.” I whisper, almost more to myself then to chris.

“yeah, me too.” chris agrees and i hum in response. its late at night, me and chris have been hanging out and nicks nowhere to be found. 

“where’s nick?” i ask. chris gets up and stretches. “i have no idea bro.” he yawns. “ but i gotta go to bed, im tired as shit. tell eachother about our mates in the morning?” chris ask, turning to me before actually leaving my room. 

“yeah sure” I replied, even though we both know neither of us are going to want to talk about it.

 we are going to want to find them and claim them as ours.

------------------------------------------------------------

my alarm clock goes off. I threw the covers off my body, hot all of a sudden. vampires dont get hot. i roll my eyes. it must be the stupid mating bond thing, then.

i shut my eyes, knowing that the first person i see is going to be  my mate for life.

please let her be pretty and please let her not be human. 

one, two, three seconds go by, but still nothing. Then, her face pops up in my mind.

“FUCK” i scream. 

at least she’s pretty

a worried chris runs into my room. “what? what's wrong, matt?” he shakes my shoulders trying to get an answer. i look up at him slowly.

“its y/n” i whisper. 

@bbernard-03

@mattslolita

[kivino]

MEANT FOR EACH OTHER || ZOMBIE AU || KÖNIG X READER || PART III

sum. A deep-seated paranoia takes hold of you. Every hour of the day, you feel like you’re being watched. Followed. And you’re not wrong. So observant, so beautiful and perfect, but always dismissed by your group, left behind, not paid even a sliver of attention. How tragic. It’s okay though. König is here to do right by you. F̶̖̓͆̕͝o̷̢͚̲̬̍͠r̶͖̝̾̊̍̾e̸͔͇̣̓̈̊̾v̶̛͚͕́͗͝e̷̤̻͔͎̅̑̽r̴̝̬̩̘͒̒̃ ̴͔͆͋̈͝ȃ̷̢̭̯n̶̡̜̫͚̉̌̊̒ḍ̷̩̲̹͝ ̷̖̔͌͘ả̶̡̬̥͊l̶͕̇̓̄w̴̺̥̋̂͠ä̷̢̢̝́̒͗y̴̳̦̙̕ŝ̶͕̋̀.̵̝̱͒̌̅̆

tags. zombie au (twdg inspired), stalking, obsessive behavior, themes of paranoia, fear, distrust, isolation, canon-typical violence, könig being a creep, blood, gore, violence, mutilation, graphic description of corpses

w.c. 5.7k (i know it’s too long, shut up)

a.n. i finished it surprisingly fast for the size of this thing, damn. really thought the chapter was going to be shorter, but oh well. at least i did everything i planned for it lol. enjoy!

taglist. @ilovekentonanami, @skullyz1, since you asked to be tagged, here you go! thank you for your comments <333

|| PART 1 || || PART 2 ||

jjk masterlist || cod masterlist || ao3 link || ko-fi

Be careful of what you wish for, you would’ve told yourself around a couple of hours ago, when the zip of your tent went up with a final sour “zap!”, followed by your harsh, but necessary decision-making. You wanted out of the group. Laying there, under an old chequered blanket you stole from somebody’s unlocked car with busted windows, you were mulling over how you should do it. Waking up earlier than everyone, quickly packing up the necessities and taking a chunk out of food and medicine supply, or going out with a bang, picking a fight in the morning, when everyone’s already up and running around the camp, cooking, talking, cleaning weapons or mending clothes.

You weren’t sure what was better but decided to leave it up to the chance. If you wake up with the crack of pink dawn, you’ll disappear like smoke, perhaps leaving some traces and shocked or fuming Scott to tell the group about the argument. And if you were to find yourself stirring awake with the sound of voices that were once near and dear to you, you’ll snap. No regrets, no holdbacks, and definitely no pity or regard for their feelings. Giving your group the taste of their own medicine was the best you could do to give them the reality check they so desperately needed in their delusion of safety. You went to sleep with the thoughts of possible revenge or quiet disappearance into the sunrise, hearing so much shifting through the thin sheet of sleep, you'd almost assume somebody else was right beside you in the tent.

All of this was the plan before you were awakened by blood-curdling screams that were way too close to be yet another nightmare haunting you. Suddenly, all the terrible dreams that you got used to seeing turned reality. Blood turned to ice, and muscle to stone for a brief moment of confusion, trying to discern whether your mind was playing tricks on you, like always, toying with such cruelty and satisfaction one would think you’re a masochist. Yet another scream pierced the stale darkness of the storage house, while the sound commotion beyond the protection of the thin rainproof fabric was lost on you. This moment seemed to last for a whole eternity. Uncertain limbo before taking action. Realisation that your life was in immediate danger. That your group must be hurt or scared right this moment, for them to be screaming like that. Somewhere among the screams you even managed to discern your name. Which meant only one thing.

It was here. All those months of nightly torment, of getting ignored, dismissed, ridiculed, all the clues that were missed by them but not by you, never by you, were leading up to this.

You were right.

You were fucking right.

Maybe you would’ve smiled, you would’ve laughed, hysterical, content, and just so goddamn happy, revelling in the fact that this entire time, you were not seeing or hearing things. That you were not the crazy one. That this was all worth it in the end. You didn’t notice the hot burn of your eyes, the moisture that grazed your cheeks, how breathing suddenly became much harder, as you cautiously opened the zip of your tent, letting only your hand grab your boots and your backpack, full of nothing but bare necessities.

Those couple of minutes, shoving things into compartments of your backpack grabbing your trusty knife, pulling on your clothes and jacket, were all blurring together, impossible to separate one action from the other. You would’ve loved to take the tent with you, for how surprisingly good it held up in the rain or contained the heat. You wouldn’t have minded taking a plush toy that showed up near you on the morning after your supply run to the mall nearby, causing you to have a meltdown so bad you wouldn’t step outside the storage house for days at a time, paranoid that It was there, ready to sink its nasty, ephemeral claws deep into your flesh and crawl away, as you writhe and cry for help with no one to hear you. You also would’ve loved to take Jay’s gun, as the last “fuck you” to the man. But you couldn’t. Too much time wasted being cocky would mean not only theirs, but your death as well. And you’ll be damned if you rot in the same hole as this human garbage that saw you as nothing but a lunatic, with no worth to them.

The thought of Jay’s gun brought you back to earth for but a second.

Why are there no shots being fired?

You had weapons in stock, you had some ammo, even if all of this was not the best quality, and you even had former military among you, for crying out loud, all of that gave the group a bit of an edge it needed. Especially during scuffles with other survivors, raiders or walkers, which started to become a more frequent problem in the area. Almost as if being led by something to your campsite. No… No. That would be ridiculous, right?

The agitated yelling seemed to be coming from one of the doors off to the side, your exit seemed safe. You had no clue if it was open, but even so, you only needed to crawl out of your tent, make a hook to grab your canteen and another backpack, full of food, taking a right afterwards. Perhaps it will take you some extra time to open the gate to escape, but even so, despite the trembling hands and difficulty breathing, you were confident you could make it. This is it. Your chance to get away in the chaos. There won’t be another.

Your shaky fingers grab onto the zip, pulling it down frantically, with no regard to how the fabric is snagged by the cheap plastic mechanism, ready to finally face what you were scared of, and craved more than anything – freedom. Endless night sky, camping out in the woods, not having to count and weigh every word when saying something, not having to do the work other people push onto you, and some solitude, with no one to bother you about being, supposedly, “a liability”… All of this sounded like heaven to your utterly exhausted, drained mind.

Yet, you’re not given a chance even to get on your knees or crawl out of the tent. A breath is torn out of your chest, when you’re grabbed by the flaps of your jacket and pulled out in a rather rude manner, with a grip so strong you think you might be heading straight to afterlife from the safety of your tent.

“You piece of shit-eating fucking garbage! You motherfucking fuck!” In front of you is Jay, fuming, splattered with dirt and…red. So much fucking red, on his hair, on his face, neck, and this metallic smell mixed with the familiar sweetness of rotting flesh coming off of him, you think you’re about to puke when the older man’s face lingers in front of yours for more than a couple of seconds. The way you reacted to seeing him was probably not the most pleasing thing to him as well – you see a scowl scrunch his features into a likeness of an enraged moose. “You fucking answer when you’re being talked to!” Jay shakes you, almost as if that would help you come into your senses, instead of losing them. “Where is Scott? Where is our fucking ammo? All the weapons?” He practically screams the questions at you.

You didn’t know. Why was Jay asking you all of this? You’re the stupid fuck in charge of them, not me – you think to yourself, and you don’t know how that’s possible, but the sunburnt face in front of you scrunches even further, skin getting redder. Whoops. Must’ve said that out loud. Well, Jay will know better than to drag people around by the collar when he wants to actually get some information out of them, instead of being insulted.

Your blurry eyes drift to the right, head softly lulling along with them. Tom, a man in his sixties, is pushing closed one of the entrances to the storage house, but he’s clearly being overpowered by all the walkers with their unrelenting assault from the outside, rotting hands not letting him close the doors without snapping the pliable, sickly yellow bones in half. You know the man could do it easily, but not when the arms with falling off, decaying flesh are so numerous they’re starting to push the doors open. Scott, his son, is nowhere to be seen after your argument, which happened, you’d imagine, a couple of hours ago, give or take. You’d be upset about it, if you could muster up a single fuck to give after all the pleasantries Scott barked at you in the middle of sneaking off somewhere after the curfew.

After the struggling Tom your eyes fix on Rory, tired, lanky figure kneeling over someone, clearly resembling Amy with her shaved head, even in the stuffy, suffocating dark, soaked with blood and panicked screams of your companions. You can see a pool of something even darker than the air within the storage house, gathering beneath Amy’s body on the ground. Rory’s hands are soaked with the same dark liquid, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that Amy is most likely dying a scary and painful death. Which is a shame. You liked Amy the most, and dissatisfaction with her did not stem any deeper than not feeling up to doing chores she’d pile up on your plate to prove your usefulness to her husband.

Tiny was the last who your eyes fell on, the tall man trying to hack off the limbs of walkers with a dull, rusty hatchet that was usually used to chop firewood by all of you. Yet you saw his eyes frantically bounce to the entrance beside your tent, almost as if Tiny was ready to make a run for it any minute now. Wouldn’t be his first time anyway. You heard his drunk ranting about deserting from an evacuation of civilians from one of the bigger cities. Well, knowing that the hungry hands reaching for living flesh were minutes away from shredding anyone within the storage house to pieces also made you want to run until your lungs collapse. After punching Jay’s lights out, of course.

“What the fuck did you do to Scott?! Answer me!” Jay shakes you even more, to ensure that you become even more dizzy courtesy of his grip. But it’s so ridiculous, right? You didn’t do anything to him. Why are you being blamed for his disappearance?

“Let me go!” You thought your protest would be weak, nothing, compared to the vigour with which Jay’s fingers hung onto your jacket, the collar painfully digging into the skin of your neck, almost as if you were a puppet, commanded by the most talentless piece of shit of a puppeteer. Surprisingly, your hands, clasped around the man’s wrists cause his grip to momentarily lose its strength. You involuntarily stepped back, wrestling with the man who only gripped onto you tighter, as if letting you go in this dire situation would doom you all.

König’s rage blinded him. How dare this rubbish touch you? He doesn’t have a right to lay a single fucking finger on you, and here he is, gripping your clothes, ready to shake the living hell out of you. König felt the need to rid the man of arms, but not before tearing away every nail and finger on his hands. No. No, König won’t let him prevent you from saving yourself. Crawling up to his usual vantage point for the last time was a mistake. Of course, nobody would look up in the chaos, but he knew he should’ve stayed on the lower level, with you. So something like this wouldn’t happen. But this wasn’t your fault, how were you supposed to know you’ll get pulled out of your tent by this weakling? It’s okay! It’s okay… König can fix this. All of this. A deep breath is sucked in through his hood, soaked with sweat and condensation. His finger rests on the trigger comfortable, slotting where it belongs. For a moment, it feels comforting. Like home. Despite finally doing something so…oddly calming, something he kept from his life before the apocalypse, he can hear the way blood thrummed within his ears, heart beating like crazy.

König takes aim. Confident and determined to end this fast. Sights trailing fast and zeroing in on the dark, prematurely greying head of the man clutching your jacket. He can feel his insides writhing with impatience, hurrying him along to finally get rid of the bastard who wouldn’t let you run away to safety. Who was endangering his darling, so needlessly and cruelly, when he could’ve just rolled over and died to make it all easier. But then König snaps back from the bloodlust, blinding him so deliciously. You shouldn’t have to see all the blood and suffering. He ought to protect you from it.

Despite all this happening right in front of your eyes, you feel detached. As if all the tears, terror, death, and panic were not real. Like the assurance of you being right this whole time was almost enough for you to accept your death. The noise was becoming louder each second. The cacophony of moaning and gurgling, paired with blunt, heavy fists and open palms hammering on the metal sheet walls, a fitting chaotic percussion for a painful death, Amy’s sobs and wails of pain, paired with Tiny and Tom screaming their lungs out at each other, unable to close the doors, as more and more of the walkers pour inside the storage house like an undead, rotting tsunami. 

“I was right, Jay.” You whisper, with eyes darting from side to side, observing the utter mess that was happening behind the man. And he didn’t even know. “It’s here.” The phrase is elusive, but terrifying to the man nonetheless. You don’t miss the way cold sweat glints right above his brow, or the way his expression stretches into a mask of confusion, then horror. He didn’t know what “It” was, but the realization about being wrong this whole time was a source of terror enough. Perhaps he was assuming something, or putting words in your mouth right this moment. You didn’t care. Your nails and fingers dug into the rough skin of Jay’s palms, attempting to make him let you go once again.

“What the fuck did you do?!” He yells, voice breaking midway through the sentence. Your name rings out from Jay, hollow and soulless, full of terror, like you were the one to bring this destruction upon all of them. Like they weren’t the ones to ignore every sign of something being wrong. You didn’t care anymore. It was all their fault, and you did everything you could to convince them you were not losing your marbles from having to live a life more akin to an animal, than a human being.

You tried to yank yourself out of his grip once again, nails leaving crescent indents in Jay’s skin, while he refused to let go, and just dug in his heels deeper into the ground. Your palms slide over his meaty wrists, attempting to pull them off of you with all the strength you could muster, but to no avail. The man growls and roars, keeps screaming and you and blaming for everything bad that’s ever happened to the group. You try to duck and break out of his hold, but he doesn’t let you, loathing and anger in his eyes almost burning you, as Jay’s palms are inching higher and higher with mad desperation. You can feel fear suffocating you, as you try and fail to shake off the man, who’s gripping onto your jacket with knuckles turning white, like his life depends on it. Until finally, his broad hands slot in place.

On your throat.

You can feel it starting to close from the fear flooding your bloodstream, but there is no giving up on your vain attempts to free yourself of the hold Jay had on you. Terrifying, piercing screams reach your ears, and it seems there is nothing that could distract the man from actively trying to cut your life short, not even his best pal Tiny getting his hand torn to shreds by jagged, rotting teeth that only dug in deeper with every noise drawn. The scene before you is so bloody, so slow in its horrifying cruelty. You see dull fingers and more teeth digging into Tiny, who’s screams don’t cease for even a split second, tearing his throat raw in pointless cries for anybody’s help, reaching out towards somebody as more of the rotting hands grip onto his body. Rory’s feet seem to have grown into the ground beneath her, unable to move even a muscle to help the man.

It seems the walkers that attempted overwhelming Tom are drawn by the fresh blood from still screaming Tiny, who is writhing on the ground underneath a mass of living corpses, swarming him like giant flies. You can’t even see the man anymore, only guessing what excruciating fate was brought upon him from the wails of pain, mixed with gargled begging for mercy. Your neck strained under the thick fingers of Jay, who didn’t even look back one last time before Tiny was consumed by the walkers. But you knew it won’t be enough to satiate the hunger of these creatures, so soon they’ll move onto others.

Maybe by the time they’ll get to you and Jay he would have suffocated you, so there will be no need for you to suffer through such a miserable, terrifying death. No matter how much you hated the man, you’d prefer being choked out instead of torn apart, messy and bloody on the floor, blood gargling in your throat, spilling out in thin rivers from your lips, until the pain is too much for you to bear.

Bang!

A shot fired somewhere from above caused Jay’s leg to give out from under him. The man slid to his knees with a pained groan, the grip on your jacket’s collar becoming weaker each second, as his right hands fell to his hip, jaw tightening. A greedy inhale burned your throat – you hadn’t realized the edges of your vision were starting to darken and blur. Your body was twitching from the violent fear shaking you, and once again, you tried to get out of Jay’s grip. He still did not let go, dragging you to the ground, probably determined to take you down with him. Your eyes locked onto a rapidly spreading dark spot on Jay’s jeans that he’s unsuccessfully attempting to press close, distracted. You didn’t even question where the bullet came from. You didn’t want to know, even though there was a sneaking suspicion in the back of your mind. But what you did want was to make use of Jay’s state.

You didn’t see any other option, before grabbing onto the man’s hand with a grip that scratches him and biting down as hard as your jaw would allow you to. The man yelped out in surprise and his fingers finally let your jacket out of his grip for only a moment. But even a single second was enough for you to start getting away. You were ready to dart to the entrance in front of you – doors ajar, welcoming you to the outside world, urging to get away from the air, thick with clotting blood, decay and so much suffering you couldn’t bear it anymore.

However, before you could even take your second step, you feel a pull on your leg once again. Strong. Desperate. Full of hate. You grew c, and the momentary lightness within your chest disappears in mere seconds. Looking down was useless, it was most definitely Jay clutching your foot in another attempt to murder you. There was no way this piece of shit hated you so much he was using his last moments to fuck you over. It was hard to believe a normal person could even posses such levels of hate.

The seconds stretch out like hours. The heartbeat hammers away in your ears, almost dulling the screams of your former friends perishing underneath the assault of dirty fingernails, yellow teeth and greying flesh. You kick your foot down with strength like never before, wet heat burns your cheeks, and you could only guess that you started to cry from fear and despair, longing to save yourself. Couple of times your boot connects with something you’d only assume is Jay, drawing strained moans of pain and even more screaming you didn’t even care enough to register in your mind. Attempting to move with the dead weight of a grown man attached to you on the floor was not easy, but you made the best of it, managing to stumble forward a couple of steps, before being pulled back and collapsing once again.

Why was this your life? You didn’t deserve this. A sour, nauseating metallic taste spread in your mouth. Maybe you managed to bite your cheek when you fell to the floor. Head pulsing and throbbing from such a hit, you didn’t have any more strength to fight back. Not when a fucking behemoth of a man was climbing on top of you, pinning you to the ground, blood seeping out of the wound on his leg, screaming at you about his wife, who was being devoured a couple of meters away.

You accepted it. You were not supposed to survive that long anyway. It’s just…regret and bitter anger are overtaking every rational sense in your mind. You tremble, body doused with cold sweat and immediately thrown into a hot flash. Before you could think of what to do next, your body moves on your own. Teeth digging into flesh and cartilage, you bite down. Hard. Your canines shredded the skin underneath, more rancid blood filled your mouth, and you wanted to puke more with each second you stayed in that position. Copper kept filling your mouth, overflowing, pouring from your lips, you felt the sickly warmth of it drip down and soak into your shirt, but you wouldn’t let go. Deafening screams above you piercing your ears, you closed your eyes just not to see the picture behind or in front of you, anything but to see the surrounding horrors, and bit down harder. Harder.

So much harder. Until your teeth met, clanking together with a screeching noise. Until the crunch of something, comparable only to a fresh cabbage in your mind, halted, and something stayed in your mouth after your head violently jerked back from pulling on the flesh so strenuously. You bit off something. Spitting it out doesn’t help the bile rising up your throat and getting stuck in there as a nasty, annoying ball ready to pour out of your mouth. You kept holding on, until all of a sudden, the scream above you stopped after another loud bang of a bullet being fired.

More liquid warmth splattered on your cheeks. The body on you is so bulky. Falling, pressing down on you with its weight, suffocating in its heaviness. Your throat lets out ragged breaths, chest falling rapidly as you try to shove off the dead weight off of yourself. And everything is so red, drenched in putrid burgundy, sticking to your skin, hair, clothes, everywhere, pouring over you in a fountain that seems to be never-ending. Managing to slightly lift Jay’s shoulders, shoving you into the cold ground, you started shuffling away from underneath the man above you, the skin on your back aching, as it’s scratched by the earth and concrete. Crawling out took you longer than you cared to admit, you let go of Jay’s shoulders, muscles in your arms aching, as the dull thud of the man’s forehead against the ground makes you shiver in disgust.

Panic keeps rising within you, even after the factoid of human danger is gone. Through tears blurring your vision further and further you force yourself to notice only what mattered. Piles of walkers, writhing and shuffling like maggots on the ground, probably reaching to the last untouched bits of the human bodies underneath them, still distracted, but very likely to smell your presence when they’re done feasting; thin hand of Rory reaching towards you and Jay, bloody nails broken up to the meat of her fingers leaving scratch marks on the floor, as her legs are torn apart by dead, ravaging hands,  woman’s muscle tissue soon to be devoured. You could hear the distant hisses and moans of the undead, the squelching and sloppy chewing echoing within the metal walls.

Jay’s body, with half of the skull gone, a mess of meat and greyish brain matter pulsing, pouring out of what you could only guess was bone — pink, thick and shattered. You could see the pieces of hair sticking to the bloody mess, when you felt the bile rise up in your throat once again, the acidic, foul taste mixing with the blood still resting on your tongue. The palm of your hand flew up to cover your mouth, closing your lips shut as if your life depended on it. A second passed, as you closed your eyes, letting the nausea die down. Then, you had the courage to turn in the direction where you spat out that something that you bit off from Jay. You wish you didn’t.

It was an ear. Bloody and ragged, bit clean off. Resting on the floor, your winning trophy of a fight with no winners.

You felt even more nausea come over you, but it was not the time to stay in one place. Somehow, your backpack managed to stay on your shoulders. Not wasting another second, you limped towards the open doors, shivering and scared, looking back. Not a single walker raised its eyes at you, too preoccupied with their fresh meat.

It was then, when you saw it. Out of the corner of your eye, you let your head rise up towards the wicked, human-shaped shadow you see within the roof window. The seconds spent staring at it feel like hours. It never disappeared, firmly planted within your vision. You expected it to vanish any second, whether dissolving into thin air, or ducking back behind cover, but it stayed. For some reason, you got the impression this thing was letting you see it. Almost as if…taunting you. You were clearly looking at it, but it was so far and dark you couldn’t make out any details.

Fuck, you hated this. Even after months of torture and your whole group dying in front of your eyes, there was no answer to what this shadow wanted from you. Worthless.

Oh, but König…he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Face covered in blood, dishevelled, scared, trembling from terror, looking death right in the eye and emerging victorious. His help was of no circumstance, to König you would’ve won in the fight anyway, he just sped up the process by a couple of minutes. Something in your head made you just as perverse as he was. It was such a pleasant surprise Pressed up against glass, cool temperature of it not dampening his suddenly spiking body heat, tearing away his gaze from your figure felt criminal. Seeing just what you were willing to do to get your freedom back, what your despair could drive you to was…sublime. Absolutely macabre and beautiful.

The metallic taste in König’s mouth made him realise he was biting his lip so hard it started bleeding. Teeth digging into parched skin, gloved fingers glued to the glass, he wanted nothing less than to absolutely devour you in this state. With soapy blood sticking to your wet skin, smell of sweat clinging to your bodies, disgusting and foul, just like the essence of human nature. Hot breaths puffing out from his tender, bleeding lips, dreaming of yours touching the dry, bitten mess of his. Or, better so, you could devour him instead.

Wholly and utterly, piece by piece, until there is nothing left of him, but bones sucked clean of meat. Until you destroy him so deeply he would live, breathe you (as if he wasn’t already). König would be so good to you, and you’d be so good to him. That’s right. He will treat you so good the whole world outside will be an empty, faded, and disappointingly hollow picture in comparison to his love for you. Bound in destiny and mutual destruction, now he was confident you were truly meant for each other in every single way. Now he knew that you were more like him than he could’ve imagined. And König would be lying, if the sound of that didn’t make his heart race like a wild animal on the run. Surely, if he let you devour him, you wouldn’t mind König getting a taste of you.

Yes…yes. That would do it.

A mild, sweet shiver shook him at the pleasant thought. Alone with you, at last. König didn’t dare entertaining such thoughts with much seriousness before, it was much more like a daydream he desperately clung to. Distant and far from the actuality, even as he worked hard on it making it the reality. Dreaming nightly of your piercing eyes that nailed him to the wall easier than anything, keeping your curious, endearing mannerisms in his mind as he crowded the walkers together, and trembling from anticipation of finally touching someone so worshipped and adored by him, as he unlocked the heavy metal doors of the storage house.

Now, when he only needed but to reach out and offer help to have you all to himself… He couldn’t wait. König’s mind buzzed with thoughts like a hive of irritated wasps. Pulling on him, urging him on to follow you, to take you for himself, because you could only belong to him. It wasn’t irritation, annoyance, anger, or even pure adoration tenderly trembling and warming him up from within his chest anymore, no…

It was carnal desire.

One that couldn’t be satiated without you, one that made him need you more than air, water, or food, so hard his head started spinning. One that would doom the both of you, bathing in blood and mutual violence, that König craved along with your loving gaze, delicate touches and quiet, sleepy whispers. Because destroying each other is what you were meant to do.

---

How none of the walkers followed you from the storage house was a mystery to you, drenched in blood and Jay���s brains were sure to draw them in — those undead fuckers were able to follow a scent trail like trained hounds. Still, you were grateful for that, having more of them on your tail would ensure your prompt death in the forest that seemed to be stretching around you, with seemingly no end to it. You were so goddamn tired, everything about your current state felt dirty and unclean; dry, brownish blood crusted onto your skin, soaked through your clothes and made you an easy target. Plus, with no food and no water available you won’t last long. You ended up being in the right. But what was the cost? 

You were losing hope, fast. It has only been maybe half a day after your cut and run, the adrenaline that kept you going for hours wore off too soon for your liking, causing you to stumble around in the forest, much like a recently born deer, shaky-legged and lost. You started to think perhaps you hit your head on the floor too hard while fighting Jay, but that didn’t matter anymore. You were lost, dehydrated, hungry, with no prospects of surviving unless you find a river, and find it fast. That was your course of action, before you spotted shuffling and footsteps, crunching loudly on the ground, covered in a blanket of twigs, leaves, and grass. You expected a walker sneaking up on you all of a sudden, drawn in by the scent of blood, or an animal, if luck was on your side today, which you wouldn’t bet on, after all you’ve been through before the sun even cracked the sky open with its rays.

In front of you, however, was not an animal or a walker. It was a man. The first thing you noticed about him was his height, how he towered above everything around him. Only then, the lack of his face dawned on you, dirty hood with bleached stains right below the holes for eyes. Eyes, which you could barely make out from underneath this…obviously improvised face cover. But you weren’t the one to judge, however, assured in the fact that you must have been looking a hundred times worse, with your torn clothes, absolutely drenched in red. And that’s not to mention the smell…

The whites of your piercing eyes contrasted heavily with the skin, covered in red. König could hardly believe what he was seeing. Hours of tracking down the trail you used to get away from the storage house, chasing you down as quietly as possible, with anxiety churning his insides in an endless, void-like vortex, consuming his mind with devastating consequences and possibilities. Yet here you were. Shaken, staring at him like a wild animal, but safe. His.

It took everything in König not to fall down on his knees for you, burying his face in your gentle, lovely hands. There was nothing he wanted more than to crawl towards his beloved obsession, scraping the skin of his legs raw, tearing his gloves apart and scraping up the soil with his fingernails. But he had to contain himself, despite the trembling heart hammering behind his ribs like it was about to burst outwards, to you. Despite the most beautiful and warm of emotions overtaking him fully, despite his cheeks heating up in but a second, and despite his hand curling into a fist in his pocket, clutching a piece of your blanket he cut off for himself.

Finally. His for the taking.

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[lady-of-endless]

Things you do that make their heart melt

(La Squadra x reader)

Author's Note: Those are random but that's the point. I tried to be a bit explicit for those who are at the start of Jojo part 5 and maybe don't remember each character's Stand name or ability. I couldn't write this only for my 3 darlings from La Squadra as I started it because I love them all too much. Proud La Squadra stan. Excuse any grammar mistakes. Enjoy!

Risotto Nero

- How you can balance being serious and being affectionate so easily. This is something he admires a lot and wishes to be capable of too sometimes. Yes, he's a serious and stoic man but the whole La Squadra knows just how big his heart is. Sometimes Risotto wishes he could show a bit of affection to the ones dear to him. Risotto is a softie inside but the nature of his occupation forces him to be as reserved and stern as he is now.

- How you can protect yourself. Being a hitman is tough, nothing new under the sun, but being the leader of the team is even worse. It's hard to watch out for others when he also must make sure that everything is working out smoothly. But he cares about you and your safety so damn much it's almost dangerous. So seeing you handle enemies alone helps him fall asleep at night with fewer worries. Also, watching you fight and come up with strategies makes him smile slightly and so subtly that of course, no one can notice it.

- How you look dressed in black with silver accessories. Aesthetically wise, black is one of his favorite colors and no one can tell otherwise. When you decide to match him with a dark outfit, his gaze will follow you more than usual. Be sure of the fact that he'll use his Stand, Metallica, to give you subtle signals, or not so subtle, by pulling onto your belt or necklace.

(it's loving Risotto hours)

Prosciutto

- How you calm yourself down after an intense moment. Prosciutto himself is not proud of when he snaps at people, thinking that it's not graceful behavior so he starts studying you from afar while calming down. He analyzes your soft tone, your calm face but alert eyes after being harsh, to learn from you but he finds himself falling for it. Like his brother, he also craves a bit of softness in his life but will never admit it, not even to himself so seeing you simmer down and transform into someone calm and understanding makes him want your presence more.

- How you counter him when he is too cruel to his brother. He is harsh with Pesci and he knows it, but he thinks it's only for good. It's not about how you're stubborn enough to argue with him but about how it reminds him that if something ever goes wrong with him on a mission, someone else will make sure that his brother is still alright and progressing. Also, as you two are arguing, things get pretty heated in no time and as the distance between you closes in, everyone knows that it's better to leave you two alone.

- How focused you look when deciding on an outfit. That and how you ask him for an opinion. You can see him leaning back in an armchair just looking at you searching through your clothes with an amused but admirative look on his face. Prosciutto likes to make himself look presentable and if you do the same, he can't help but find that fact attractive. Plus he can play dress up with you without you even suspecting it and he can't get enough of it.

(why is he like that? Love him though)

Ghiaccio

- How you let yourself be angry sometimes. To him, almost anyone seems calmer than him, but seeing someone being as furious as him from time to time and that someone being you? That's new. It doesn't happen often and in some odd way, he finds it fascinating. As much as he enjoys teasing you, he'll never be the type to say "Just calm down" or "You're exaggerating" because he knows how much it enrages someone already angry to hear this. He will be very understanding when you're like that. Plus, if someone or something gets you angry, he gets angry too so it will end up with the two of you being a scary couple.

- How your eyes shine when you smile and your smile in general. He is baffled by how when your lips are curved into a smile, your eyes are radiant too. Usually, he uses this expressiveness of yours against you, teasing you about it but when you smile so warmly, he feels like he's looking at the sun and that's unnerving because it makes him blush. He can't understand it.

- How your nose scrunches when you get a brain freeze from consuming something cold. This along with how your cheeks and nose redden when you're cold. He rolls his eyes at himself for like such a shallow and obvious thing but can't help it. It's not how adorable you look it's more how no one notices such details but him. It's his guilty pleasure. He has a kink when it comes to your reactions to cold temperatures.

(ugh I love him so much it's pathetic)

Pesci

- How you encourage him randomly sometimes. Pesci's already having a hard time adjusting to hitman life and constantly being scolded by his brother. At first, when you encourage him, he's stunned, flustered, embarrassed even but in time he starts to feel so much better overall because of it. His stress goes down and he gets more confident and sure of his actions because of your praise.

- How you're kind to the innocent - animals, kids, etc. Since he followed his brother and joined the team, the shock from seeing so much violence in his life all of a sudden left a mark on him. When he notices you being soft to the innocent and helpless while still being a hitman, he starts to heal. His only wish is for you to keep this side of yours so he can keep his too.

- How peaceful you look while sleeping. Again, being in an Italian hitman team is not easy, it distorted any perspective on peacefulness he had before. Seeing you rest without a frown on your face reminds him that there still is peacefulness in this way of living.

Melone

- How you're intelligent enough but don't flaunt it. Sure, he likes good looks but that's not as important as intelligence, any type. Melone is a bit of a sapiosexual, he knows it. If you come up with smart questions during meetings, his attention is immediately on you from that point on until the end of the meeting. Also, if you're genuinely curious about how his stand, Baby Face, works, it only adds to your charm.

- How you pick up on his "di molto" catchphrase. Melone works a lot. I mean A LOT. Besides progenation, he's skilled at finding out hidden info about the target, too. But usually, he does it alone, no one accompanies him and sometimes he can't help but feel slightly ignored. So when you start spending enough time with him to start using his phrases, he starts to feel less alone.

- How you walk. Simple as that. He has been caught many times staring at how some people walk, it's a well-known fact. So if you walk a bit slower and move your hips a bit more intentionally, making it look natural, he's dead. To hell with the mission for a few moments of pure admiration.

Illuso

- How confident you are. You don't need him to hype you up and he won't, but you'll always catch him looking at you with a proud look on his face. However, not everyone can be confident all the time and Illuso knows it very well. When he finds you letting your guard down and looking disappointed with yourself, he'll act right away. He hates seeing you struggle with shallow insecurities as you are just so wonderful in his eyes...

- How you take time to relax. He always insists on you taking everything a bit more slowly, so when you finally do it, he's more than pleased. He likes to see your facial muscles loosen up, causing a relaxed expression. He wishes to see it more often and he wishes for you to prioritise taking care of yourself.

- How you study yourself in the mirror while getting ready. He will use his Stand's ability to enter that mirror's dimension just to look at you from that perspective. This applies to intimate moments as well, just a heads-up. However, his favorite moment to do that is when you're fixing your hair, there's something about it that he finds so damn attractive.

Formaggio

- How you focus on the mission at hand. That, and how serious you look while doing it. Don't get it wrong, he's also focused on the missions but he looks more laid-back, like a natural. He finds it funny and adorable how you look so stern and even suggest him to pay more attention.

- How you always mention Sorbet and Gelato after their death. Everyone knows that Risotto said to forget about it after the funeral to focus on getting back on track as fast as possible and avenging them afterward but to Formaggio, this never felt right. So when you mention a memory from time to time to everyone, his heart feels a little bit lighter.

- How you dance to your favorite songs. He thinks that the majority of members of La Squadra are too stiff and grim sometimes so catching you dancing around alone to your playlist makes him smile. For him, it's like a breath of fresh air. Expect him to join you.

[xkiralix]

The Divine Creator

Part 1 Part 2 part 3

You stood up from the floor with shaky legs, your joints clicking back together, the consequences of not using this physical form in many millennials. Your back ached worse that than that of phone-addicts or students. Leaning against the massive oak tree for support while gathering your strength was the best option for now, the sharp sense of your nose actively ignoring every other smell that wasn’t one of food while your stomach rumbled. 

Staying here for 2 days straight without moving an inch had terrible consequences. Light work though. After a moment or 2 of trying to re-learn how to walk, you gave up and just switched forms to (Name). Winderise, a beautiful sight for your eyes, the giant oak tree that had served as your shield from the sun these past 2 days could no longer protect its creator from the rays of sun as this one headed to that sweet smell.

It took you probably around an hour to reach Mondstadt, walking slow was best right now, you took in the view of what Barbatos had made of the land and to be honest, it was cozy. It looked better than through someone else’s eyes, you wondered. Had Aether noticed your lack of presence? Probably.

All those thoughts were pushed to the back of your mind as you went through the walls and into the city, doing your best to keep the winds controlled and hide your presence from a certain drunky. A god could never be so drunk to ignore its creator, you’ve figured that out in your first life, the things you created to keep planets with guardians while you drowned in wars and tears. Putting aside your own depression you managed to get to the food part.

Ordering a juicy steak from Sara and paying with freshly made Mora, you went to take a seat in the nearby tables. As you ate you took a moment to think, what would be your name? If you said (Name) everyone would freak out because that’s what Teyvat called you and had reserved strictly yours on this planet. If you used Ethan, Aether and Celestia would know it’s you. 

So you’d go with the trusty one, Sir or Mr. “Great idea (Name), you’re such a genius.” You thought while eating. Damn, this was good. Maybe too good. Why instead of giving you corpses they don’t give you this delicacy? Of course they wouldn’t, all they know how to give is corpses and war. As if a god that creates those lives would like to see death for such pathetic reasons.

As you finished your meal, leaving your stomach content you stood up and left. Had your mood been better you would’ve looked around Mondstadt but honestly, fuck that. All your body wanted now is to drop somewhere and close your eyes till you had enough energy to behave like how you’re known for. The energy to be present and living was not in the room, it rarely was nowadays. Your creativity was slowly vanishing too, thinking of new worlds, stories and ideas made your head hurt too nowadays.

Maybe this was the result of squeezing everything out of your mind and powers for millions of years without a rest.

As you walked to a nearby temple you failed to notice your acolytes pleas for your return or how whole Mondstadt looked rather depressing.

Saying that people were alarmed would be an understatement, they were horrified. 5 days had passed since their creator last used a vessel, they normally didn’t take this long. As tired as they may be, they had always AT LEAST done their daily tasks, or stored the resin. It was only natural for Aether and the main acolyte to enter an internal panic mode when their grace didn’t. Wanderer had managed to mask it with his behavior while Aether had done what he always did, stay quiet.

Honestly Aether was expecting it, in all the stories Ethan had always been described as unpredictable. It wasn’t surprising for him to be uninvolved with history for decades if he pleased or just because he randomly disappeared. That made his presence even more wished for. Yet for HIM to be experiencing it was TERRIFYING. He was losing his shit! And to make it worst Mr. Emo here was making crazy conclusions. Both their asses were sweating when the creator’s main shield, Zhongli, asked why they hadn’t been called yet.

With steel and possibly, non-existent, balls Wanderer had basically told him to fuck of, “Aren’t you just irritating? Do you think you’re worthy enough to demand his grace’s presence? He’ll see your pesky face when he wishes to.” Aether could only nod, the wanderer had taken advantage of those privileges he held from being the most used acolyte once again and no one could do anything about it. So the retired god had to suck it up and leave, unaware of how that the favored one himself was also bombarding (Name)’s temple’s in pleas for him to appear.

(Name) was a caring god, a quiet yet attentive god. Yet as caring as he was, Wanderer had noticed his lack of actual emotions. Sure, he told all the acolytes compliments and encouraged them when controlling them, but something was always off about him all along. He sometimes failed to feel surprised by their actions, the many gifts and offerings they received never took any reaction of him. Not pity, happiness or anything really, it was like he was practically dead. Yet as soon as it involved violence he reacted, and it wasn’t a good reaction.

But in was a reaction nonetheless. That’s why the sacrifices started, it was the only way their creator showed worry and just anything. It wasn’t odd for acolytes to have some scars here and there from their weekly offerings. Wanderer had been one of the few to notice the terror in their graces eyes when this one saw a cup of blood on what he called his “mail”. After that he could see whatever joy the creator had faded as soon as the offering came, so now he wondered. Was that why their grace had abandoned them?

Aether told him it couldn’t be that and to stop making crazy claims.

They failed to notice the star that fell from the sky during those moments. The same stars that fell when an acolyte was invoked.

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Beef

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Requested : "Could you do a Daryl x reader where at first he doesn’t like her, and she tries to get to know why hes so mean to her? Maybe he yells at her and then some comfort after?" EDIT: I saw this same request being written by another writer and I want to say, don't send multiple writers the same exact request. I find this super disrespectful.

This one took some turns of its own while writing, I hope it's to your liking!!

When his group first came to the community you were excited. Finally you'd have a real huntsman around to share experiences with, you had missed it so bad.

Before the fall your family owned a shop, your father a butcher and your mother a taxidermist. You and your siblings learned every skill from hunting to skinning, prepping and using each part of the animal so none would go to waste. You hadn't hunted in so long, you weren't sure if you still could hunt succesfully. Even now you'd donate large, strong antlers and bones to the blacksmith in Hilltop to use in weaponmaking. You donated the furs you didn't fashion into items yourself to the seamstresses and prepped each type of meat for meals.

But somehow the new hunter didn't take the shared interests as something positive.

He brought you animals, yes. But never without throwing a judgy look around your workplace. Even when he came in with someone else who'd compliment your clean work he'd only scoff, dump his kills and head back out.

"Sheesh, what crawled up his ass?" The large moustached man laughed. You only shrugged as you lugged the deer behind your counter. "Hell if I know. Ain't digging it out tho. He seems to be doing okay with everyone except for me.." You returned the laugh while the man who's name slipped your mind helped you put the deer on your workbench, only to quickly drop the fake smile and leaning against your workbench.

You thanked him with a sigh and he gave you that look that told you to spill your thoughts.

"Fine. It sucks he's so weird. It'd be awesome to have a partner to do all of this with and to go hunt with." You busied yourself sharpening yuour knives, clearly still annoyed by the whole ordeal. "And..?" The long winded drawl made you roll your eyes at the man's persistance.

"And he's drop dead gorgeous, okay? There. I said it. I have a crush on the man. Happy no-- Ah fuck!" Your knife hit the floor with a clatter as you grabbed at your bleeding hand.

"Alright, up and out withya. To the doc we go." You were led to the infirmary and passed the source of your annoyance on the way.

Not that you were listening, but you still caught his voice in passing. "Damn folk 'ere don't know how ta do shit." You caught his glance in your direction and if you weren't busy keeping yourself from bleeding out you'd confront him.

It was a clear message that you weren't allowed to use the injured hand for your work and risk pulling the stitches, and honestly it just hurt too much to do anything with it. It sucked even more than having to leave your old home behind. There were people counting on your work so they'd have food.

It didn't stop you from going to work and doing as much as you could one-handed. You got there extra early to make up for the extra rime everything would take now, and by the time you'd normally open you found Deanna on your steps, greeting you with her usual smile. "I knew you'd be here stil working, but I brought someone to help until your hand is better. You shouldn't be overworking yourself."

As quick as she had entered she had left again as well, leaving you with your new work companion.

The hunter.

"Good morning." You gave him the kindest smile you could, but were only given a grunt in return as he tossed a bundle of tied up small game on your desk, rounded the corner and fished for a knife to start taking them apart.

Besides you explaining where to put all the different parts of the animal you two barely spoke, until the snap of bone pulled you away from your focused work of skinning yesterday's deer. "The hell?" You turned around to go see what he was up to.

"What are you breaking bones for?" His station was a mess, he pointed at the difficult point he was cuting along. "Easier ta reach without the bone in the way." Without even looking he continued. "Ya should know tha'. Damn city girl doin' mah work."

Again with his snarky comments. You shrugged it off and went back to your own station. Yiur bkood bloiled but you weren't gonna let him get to you, you had work to get done. "Try not to do that, we can still use the bones if you keep them whole."

You tried so hard to focus on your work, skinning the deer with only one functional hand was so difficult and even though you were having extremely conflicted feelings about it you still had to ask him for help.

"Can I borrow your hands for a minute? Can't do this on my own."

You held the large deer up and moved it as Daryl cut away the skin in the most choppy manner, creating a clear line where you stopped and he started. "Can you please work a bit mote delicate? That's gonna take me ages to clean up." You huffed from keeping the deer in place, but also annoyance. Why didn't he work like a hunter? He must know the code, right?

"Why're ya so on mah ass 'bout how I work? Gon' toss it out anyways. Just need the meat, tha's it." He got snappy at the end and you just stared at him, anger clear in your eyes. "Seriously?"

You let go of the deer and stepped away from the counter. "You're sent to MY shop. To help me because I happen to fuck up my hand for the first time ever since I got here years ago and all you can do is talk shit about me?" The knife that laid on the desk before now in your good hand and pointed at his chest. "God I can't believe I even fell for your hunting woodsman charms. You're just an asshole who doesn't give a shit about these animals or the hunter's code." With a clatter the knife hit the floor as you tossed it to the side with shaking hands.

"Get the fuck out of my shop and go find me someone who cares." With angry steps you turned around and headed out of the room, needing a break to gather yourself first if you wanted to get anything else done.

Now alone in the workstation, Daryl snatched up his catch from this morning and headed out.

~~

"You did what? Pookie you gotta listen to the girl." Carol sat down next to him and snatched the cigarette from his fingers. "You know you disrespected her life's work by now following her rules in her own shop, right?"

"I'on get why tha's even important anymore. We gotta eat, tha's all." Daryl's annoyed grumbles did nothing good it seemed as Carol continued to scold him like he was a child. "Did you for one second maybe think this work is all she has left to hold onto her old world self?"

"Cept this ain't the old world no more. She's waistin' time doin' all tha extra shit."

Carol was up and at the front door by now, putting out the cigarette in one of many ashtrays there. "Alright, up with you. You're apologizing with me right now."

The two took off to your shop but found no one there. Daryl's half finished rabbit still out in the open on the table while the deer was gone. "Ain't here. I'll head back tomorro--"

"No we're not. I know where she lives, come on." Carol practically pulled him along on the way to your place despite Daryl's protests.

You were working in your basement area when you heard a knock on the front door. "Come in!" Everyone who came to your place knew the door was unlocked and was free to come and find you, seeing you were either cooking, working on lounging when you kept the front door open.

"Hey, it's Carol! Heard about your hand, need some help around the house?" She needed an excuse to get an answer and find out where you were, so when you called back she knew to head downstairs.

Meanwhile Daryl just stared around to keep his mind busy. He found rabbit skins from prey he brought in wrapped around a pair of boots. He recognized the fur seeing it was a rare color. Further into your livingroom there was a deer pelt draped over the back of your couch. Also caught by him. The white spots over the back had one small flaw from where his bolt had struck right on a white dot. He remembered being proud of his aim for a minute that day.

"Daryl, come on." Carol's whisper-yell had him roll his eyes and as he passed your coatrack he noticed the hooks were all antler parts and the knives laying in the basket on the hallway table had bone handles.

So that's why you were so angry when he snapped the rabbit's leg and skinned the deer so carelessly. You did really use everything.

The two walked down the stairs to your workshop, Carol up front with Daryl following.

"Oh wow," Carol's exclaimation had you laugh. "Yeah, I get that a lot." You stood with your back turned, struggling to hang a piece of skin.

"Here, lemme help ya." Daryl's gruff voice was suddenly right behind you and you spooked, letting go of the pelt but Daryl caught it just in time, draping it over the wire. "Like tha?" His hands stayed up there and adjusted it to your liking, having stepped back to watch him and give Carol a questioning look. She just shrugged and gestured at the man who was again staring around the room. "What brings you here?"

Daryl looked at everything except you, he knew he'd lose all ability to speak if he did. Hell, he already had a difficulty getting his words out now seeing how wrong he was for not listening to you. "Came ta say sorry." He stared at the basket of furs labeled 'Donate'. "Shoulda known better than ta get angry. 'N I get why ya work thr way ya do now." Next to the basket sat a crate filled with thick, sturdy bones labeled 'blacksmith'.

You nodded and gave him an option. "Come back to the shop tomorrow. I'll have tou clean up that deer skin you almost ruined and you're following my teachings. I'll forgive you for wasting the rabbit."

Daryl chewed at his thumb, the other hand stuffed in his pocket and fidgeting with the fabric inside. "Yeah, alright." He nodded and looked over at Carol who had the brightest smile on her face. One that screamed victory.

"We'll get out of your hair, I'll bring by some lunch tomorrow at your shop." Carol waved on her way up, and just as Daryl was about to follow her you quickly spun around to grab something. "Oh, here." You held out a thin knife wrapped in leather, a small engraving of Hilltop's blacksmith on the handle. "I saw you took the rabbits, so if you haven't prepped them yet you can try this one. They're great for smaller animals."

He stumbled over his thanks as he accepted the knife and quickly headed out after Carol.

~~

You were back at work early the next morning, painkillers and a small breakfast in your system already and hoping to finish that damn deer. It still proved a challenge to get it from the cooler onto the workbench but you managed eventually, just before Daryl came in.

"Mornin'." Hid gruff voice sounded through the workplace as he rounded the corner and placed the knife from yesterday on the table. "Thanks fer lettin' me borrow it. Worked like a charm."

You picked up the knife and held it out to him again, only to recieve a questioning grunt in return. "It was a gift. To keep."

Daryl never got gifts. Everything he had was scavenged and well taken care of for longer use these days. It felt weird to keep it but he thanked you again and pocketed it.

Meanwhile you had grabbed the deer skin and laid it out where he'd be working. "Look here, I'll show you how to clean this up and you'll go fix the rest, okay? It'll take a while but it'll be worth it." Daryl stepped up to you and observed the way you took the knife to the uneven spots of skin and carefully smoothed it all out. The precision in your work was impressive to say the least. "How long've ya been doin' this?"

You dropped a cut off piece of meat into a plastic container and thought back to the old world. "I guess ever since my parents thought I was old enough to handle knives." You held the tool out to the hunter and watched him take it from you. "Your turn. I'll be hopefully finishing that deer so just ask whatever, whenever."

You were lucky a lot of the cutting could be done onehanded, and holding back pieces was okay enough to do with your wrist or hold something down with your elbow. But now that you had all the easy access meats off and seperated you ran into a problem.

"Fuck.." You needed help. The same kind of help that had you kick him out yesterday.

"Sup? Need hands?" He was at your side in a second, waiting for your instructions.

"I need to take off the ribs but I can't." You leaned aside to point around the carcass. "If you can press down here, and there." Daryl followed your instructions and put pressure on the spots you pointed out. "Then I can take this here apart." Your movements were followed and suddenly it was way too hot in your always cold workplace. Yesterday you'd be happy if he decided thr Kingdom was a better home for him but now that he apologized and proved to better himself after your misunderstanding you were back to being the lovesick puppy Abraham had made you out to be when he brought you home after the infirmary visit.

With how Daryl held the spot clear and open you had to get close to chop through the bone and separate it all in workable bits.

"Can I take one a'those later? Michonne asked ta cook fer her kids cuz she's out 'n Carol's off ta Kingdom--" "Throw the kids an old world barbeque! I'll come help. I'm sure you're skilled in roasting over an open fire with how much you traveled." The excitement was clear in your voice, and the sudden compliments and offers of gifts and assistance had him nervously fidgeting. But thinking about having a fun experience with the kids instead of just cooking and having dinner sounded way better than his original plan, so he agreed.

"Ya got supplies ta fix tha' in half a day?"

~~

The two of you cleaned up after finishing thr needed work and while you carried the prepped meats, Daryl had the bowl firepit on a kart together with the metal rack to hang over it. Yeah, he lived in a community now but he never guessed he'd be carrying around a whole barbeque setup like he was getting ready to throw a party in the old world. "Gotta drop by tha' house fer a sec, get Jude 'n RJ."

After he got the kids and you had everything set up Daryl got the fire started while you made a quick pantry run and dug through Daryl's kitchen for anything to add to the meals.

You brought whatever you found and set it on the side of the porch steps, keeping a path to the house cleared and sat yourself down in the front lawn as you watched uncle Daryl in action, letting the kids toss wood onto the fire and poke at it with a stick but making sure they kept their distance and wouldn't touch the hot metal.

It was heartwarming to see him laugh and have fun with them and watched him speak quetly to the kids with a finger pointed your way before the two came running towards you.

"Daryl says the fire's good for food! Can we put some on the thing?" Two pairs of big, begging eyes stared at you and saying no would be the worst so of course you allowed them, under surveillance and with an assisting hand. "Alright, pick something you wanna eat first and put it on a plate, Daryl will take it to the fire and I'l helf you put it on the rack, okay?"

A chime of "Okay!" baely left them before they were at the collection of prepared meats where you and Daryl joined them in picking.

While Daryl roasted the food over the fire you were tasked go keep the kids busy, but wirh hoe much they loved chatting about everything and anything it was an easy task.

The whole evening was fun and food and family and it reminded you of everything you missed in this new world.

Everything was good in this moment, especially when you heard a little exchange between uncle and niece.

"Uncle Daryl? Can we have more dinners with her? But also mom and aunt Carol next time." You watched Daryl look towards you for a moment before turning back to Judith. "'Course, she's teachin' me ta prepare food so we can do this with e'ryone if ya want. But!" He raised his hand and pointed at RJ, who came over to him too now. "Yer gonna be the ones askin' folk ta bring food too, so e'ryone has somethin' ta eat, 'kay?"

The two happily nodding kids proved that your time in the community just got a lot more fun.

Now, after the kids were long brought to bed you and Daryl stayed around the fire. Having taken the meat rack off and set asidr you were just relaxing and picking away at the leftovers.

"So," you started, watching the flames in front of you. "That community barbeque plan of yours, it sounded amazing especially how you brought it over to the kids. But, aren't you afraid it'll drain recources too quick?"

Daryl shrugged it off. "Maybe. But those kids'll make folks keep stuff aside fer it." The idea of those two running around the place collecting people brought a smile to his face. "'Sides, I ain't wastin' meat no more with yer lessons tha' I hope ya will keep givin' me."

Oh. He wanted to stay? At the shop? With you? You were pleasantly shocked with that news. "What? Ofcourse I'll teach you. But only of you promise to take me out hunting when my hand's okay again."

He let out a breathy laugh and nodded. "Yeah, I'd love ta have ya around."

You stretched and laid down in the grass, looking up at the night sky.

"S'gonna be fun."

[adorerio]

Oh To Be Yours

Suna x reader

older brothers best friends plot! Miya reader! Ending opening for a part 2! Background info for the next part!

word count: 975

--------------------------------------------------

Growing up having Atsumu and Osamu as your older brothers was definitely interesting. They always kept you on your toes and was funny being around. The bad part? They never let you talk to boys they didnt aprove of. It started in junior high when a guy your age asked to walk you home. Safe to say your brothers scared him off because "he looked to funky"

Things didn't change when you came to Inarizaki High. Your brothers wanted to protect you so they insisted you join the vollyball team so they could keep an eye on you at first you said no wanting to join another club after school. But, after Atsumu gave your parents a multitude of reasons they started pushing you to join and reluctantly you said yes.

͙͘͡★

After school you walked over to the gym it would be your first day as the manager and the coach had suggested your first few days would be observing and getting used to the team. He said they were a well behaved group of kids - minus your brothers and the person who instigated most small arguments Suna Rintaro.

When he told you that the name sounded familair but you just couldn't grasp who the name belonged to. Maybe someone from your junior high? You kept wracking your brain to find an answer while you were so distracted you walked into the door to the gym and landed on your butt due to the impact

great I hope nobody saw tha-

*click*

did someone actually just take a picture??

Turning your head to see whoever the person was you recognized him-

"Hey your the guy that my brothers always bring home right?"

Offering his hand to help get you back on your feet he answered "yeah that's me your y/n Miya. Your brothers talk about you a lot its kinda annoying y'know."

"Im sorry what's your name again?"

"Suna Rintaro"

oh

͙͘͡★

"Ah y/n I see you met Suna"

The coach saw you two walk in toghether in fact- the whole team did talk about awkward. You noticed Atsumu staring daggers into Suna. Who you would assume was a close friend to him. At this rate he's going to tell Suna to never talk to you and your life would be practically over-

"Everyone huddle up! I would like our new manager to introduce herself. Then you guys can as well and we can start the drills."

god damn it

Having all types of eyes on you made you feel nervouse you actually forgot your own name for a second. You tried looking at your brothers but that just made it worse. Until you met eyes with suna again. It felt different. It felt safe. While locking eyes with him you decided to introduce yourself to him. Everyone else was just there.

"Hello everyone my name is Miya Y/N and I'm a first year here. If you cant already tell my brothers are Atsumu and Osamu but believe me I'm the better sibling. My hobbies are *your hobbies* and I love listing to *your favorite musician*.

The rest of the team introduced themselves to you and they included the position they played. Some people stood out more than others. Like Kita who said he was the captain and he even asked if it was okay to call you by your first name since there was now three Miya siblings instead of two. You were fine with it of course.

The last person to introduce himself was Suna. He kept it short really and avoided eye contact during it. It was weird because when you introduced yourself he locked eyes but now that it was his turn he avoided it. Maybe your brothers had already told him off. And if they did you would find out and probably yell at them for scaring away another guy.

After Suna walked away you decided it would be best to forget what happened outside the gym and focus on the team. Of course you studied them but you would help coach with tasks as well. Like filling up the water bottles, getting vollyballs and the coach would ask for your own input like what could have been done better.

Safe to say for your first day it wasn't that bad.

͙͘͡★

Once you got home you grabbed a snack and locked yourself in your room wanting to avoid any questions your brothers wanted to ask. As you approached your desk you reached for one thing in particular your diary. Your parents had bought it for you for your 13th birthday and you still kept it.

Sure your family was very open with each other and you trusted them fully but it was hard to talk to them for certain things and your parents knew that. That's what your diary was for.

"Dear Diary,

today is -------- and was my first day as the manager of the volleyball team. It was a smooth first day with not to much trouble so probably the best part. But, I also met a guy. I mean does it really count as met he's been to the house before but we never talked. If anything all I got was a nod from him. I always thought he was attractive I mean his eyes its like there's something he's always thinking about. There is never a moment he's just blankly staring.

But of course I never thought of the possibility of dating that's not how it goes with two overprotective brothers. I got to talk to him today tho outside with nobody watching. It was embarassing because of that stupid picture he took.

It might be crazy that over this one interaction I'm hoping for something to happen between us. And I'm hoping he's wishing for the same thing

Oh to be yours"

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

AN: well that's a wrap for the first part. Originally it wasn't meant to be a two-parter but I didnt want to rush the ending or make this super long either. The second part will be out once I finish my other wips. Criticism and reqs are always welcome!!

[sansaorgana]

I’ve never understood why we shoot off fireworks in the USA for the 4th, I just feel like it could trigger some of our veterans and it makes me feel awful! Could you write something like this with Buck?

hello! 💖 in my country we only shoot them on new year's eve but since I own two cats, I hate them 😡 one of my cats is so terrified each time that he literally has spasms 😥 the older he gets, the more worried I am each new year's eve tbh 😐 anyway, thank you for your request! 🎆 I was actually thinking of something like this with Buck!

I had to close my requests for now because I got so many 🙏🏻

It was the first Independence Day after the war and you were excited that you would celebrate it with your husband for the first time in two years. Especially now, after the victory, it felt more special than ever.

You decided to throw a barbecue for your befriended neighbours and you had been preparing the house and the garden for the whole week – putting up decorations with Buck’s help and cleaning everything. In the last two days you had also been busy with cooking meals and preparing salads while Buck had been supplying your fridge with everything needed for the barbecue – all sorts of meat, vegetables and sodas.

The only thing you hadn’t bought were the fireworks. You wanted to save some money, especially after hearing that different neighbours down the street were preparing a real show anyway. Surprisingly, Buck had agreed to that pretty quickly although you had expected him to try to convince you to get your own fireworks. Not because he had ever been a big fan of them but he never liked it when you were using the “saving money” argument. Whenever you would use it in different situations – like deciding whether to buy a dress or not – he would say “if it makes you happy, we can afford that”. And he knew very well that this barbecue party was making you happy.

However, you didn’t ask about it because it didn’t seem to be significant enough and you completely forgot about it anyway, too busy with all the preparations.

The barbecue started in the afternoon and the weather was beautiful on that day – clear, blue skies above you, giving you a perfect view of the fireworks here and there in the distance. You were handing the bottles of beer and coke to the guests while Buck was in charge of the barbecue when one of the neighbours asked a question that made you freeze.

“Damn, it’s like back there again, is it not?” He chuckled at Buck.

His name was Frank and he had been to Europe as well but not as a pilot. He was obviously referring to the fireworks in the background as he tried to turn it into a joke but his wife Helen hissed at him.

You suddenly realised that the sound of fireworks was not the same to everyone and you looked at your husband, worried. He might have seemed to be pretty alright after the horrors he had endured but you knew him better than everyone else and you knew. You knew about his nightmares and panic attacks. They were rare but they still were happening, sometimes triggered by the things you had never thought of before as threatening. Like with the fireworks.

“I don’t pay attention to them,” Buck gave Frank a kind smile. “My brain just shuts the sound off at this point,” he explained and he seemed to be genuine in his answer, which made you sigh in relief.

You went back to handing out the sodas and glanced at the watch on your hand. It was half an hour until the fireworks show promised by the neighbours living down the street.

When everyone had a bottle of their chosen beverage already, you joined your husband’s side to help him with the meat and vegetables. Rubbing his arm softly and laughing at the jokes being told by the others, you felt happy and satisfied with your life. Finally, after such a long time, it was back to normal, you thought. Well, nearly.

Everyone was sitting by the table in your garden and talking when you realised you had forgotten to bring mustard and ketchup.

“I’ll get it,” Buck smiled at you and stood up.

“Grab me a can of coke from the fridge, too, darling,” you told him and he nodded before disappearing inside the house.

A short moment later, the fireworks show started. Your neighbours living down the street had to spend a real fortune on it because the fireworks were many and very, very loud. You gasped and watched in awe as others stood up and cheered.

You, Helen and Frank were the only ones left sitting by the table. From the corner of your eye, you spotted that Frank’s face changed. He was no longer smiling and his skin lost some of its colour. Helen was squeezing his shaky hands and whispering something to him.

A very loud firework made you flinch while others screamed out of joy and Frank jumped on his seat. You stood up rapidly, realising that Buck hadn’t come back from the house yet.

“Helen, listen,” you leaned in to talk to her despite the noise. “You can go inside with Frank, it’s okay,” you assured her.

“Thank you,” she mouthed out with gratitude in her eyes before urging him to stand up and follow her inside.

You, however, weren’t waiting for them because you were rushing to the house yourself. You froze at the sight of your husband sitting by the kitchen table and hiding his face in his shaky hands. In fact, his whole body trembled and there was a broken bottle of mustard in the middle of the floor. He had to drop it when the fireworks show started.

Your heart broke at the sight. Your Buck was the strongest and the bravest man you knew. You would always go to him when you needed comfort or help because he was so capable of making everything – everything – better. He was good at fixing things in the physical sense but he was also always comforting you with his kindness and calm nature. He would never panic about anything and you had always admired him for that.

In moments like this, you felt helpless because you couldn’t take his pain away. And if you could, you would. He had already suffered so much that from now on, you’d rather suffer for him. But you were also angry – angry at the war for taking place and breaking him so much.

“Darling…” You started slowly and crouched down in front of him, carefully, trying not to startle him. He didn’t seem to acknowledge your presence, though. “Darling…” You repeated and put your hands on his trembling thighs.

He flinched and you shushed him while tears streamed down your cheeks. 

“Shh, shh, baby, it’s me, it’s okay, you’re home,” you tried to soothe him. “You’re with me now, you’re safe,” you assured but it was not working.

You took a deep breath in and moved up now, to stand above him. You put your hands on Buck’s ears, trying to shield him away from the noise coming from the outside. And then, gently, you pulled his face closer to you and pressed it to your tummy. You leaned in to kiss the top of his head and whisper sweet nothings that were supposed to calm him down and after a while it seemed to be working. You could feel his muscles relaxing and eventually he stopped hiding his face in his hands and wrapped his arms around your waist instead, clinging to you like a little boy.

When the fireworks show stopped and it was quiet again, you moved your hands away from Buck’s ears and began to rub his back soothingly instead.

“It’s alright now, baby, you’re home with me. I won’t let anything bad happen to you,” you promised in a whisper, sniffing back your own tears.

Buck looked up at you with teary eyes and you cupped his face to wipe his tears off of his cheeks with your thumbs. You let your fingers trace his scars and your lower lip trembled. Not that you minded those scars – not at all – but they were yet another reminder of what horrors he had been through. And he was just a man – as weak and scared as everyone else; only forced to be brave.

You understood now why he was scared of having a son with you one day. He was scared of another war coming sooner or later and he was scared of his own child going through what he had gone through.

You feared that, too. And you didn’t even fully know what had happened in Europe. Only the men who had been there knew. Women – especially those who had stayed back home – they would never understand.

“Are you back with me now, my love?” You asked, gently. Buck nodded after a while of hesitation.

“Sorry ‘bout the mustard,” he mumbled out and you chuckled as you shook your head.

“It doesn’t matter, darling,” you assured him.

But you were grateful that Buck’s panic attacks were like that. Perhaps it was wrong to be grateful for such things but you had heard enough stories of triggered men who would do much worse things while having panic attacks.

“I’m sorry…” He breathed out as fresh tears pricked his eyes.

“Don’t,” you interrupted him as you crouched down again and held his hands now to squeeze them tight. “Don’t, Gale, please, don’t ever apologise for that,” you pleaded and he looked down.

“I didn’t expect them to be so loud and so… Close. I… I suddenly wasn’t in our kitchen anymore but back in the air, up in the fort and the Germans were shooting at us and I was trying to focus on flying but deep down I was just… I was just praying to get back home to you and all I could see was your face when they tell you I’m dead and…” He started and you pursed your lips to stop your own tears from falling.

“I know, baby, I know. But it’s over now, yes? You’re back home with me, safe and sound,” you reminded him and leaned in to place a kiss upon one of his hands.

You heard footsteps behind you. It was Helen peeking inside shyly. You turned around to shake your head at her and she gave you an understanding look before walking out without a word.

“Let’s clean up now, yes?” You let go of Buck’s hands and fixed your hair before standing up clumsily.

You occupied yourself with cleaning the mess from the broken mustard bottle and Buck washed his face with cold water in the kitchen sink. You handed him some of the paper towels you were using so he could dry his face.

“You’ve missed the fireworks show because of me,” he pointed out.

“God damn those fireworks shows, Buck!” You exclaimed. “God damn them. I don’t want to see any ever again. I’m sorry that I didn't think that it would… That it would scare you like that,” you apologised.

“Well, it takes time to come to terms with the fact that your husband is a coward now,” Buck sighed and so did you, while throwing the used paper towels into the trash bin aggressively.

“My husband is not a coward and has never been. However, that self-pity attitude is new to me,” you told him and he turned his head around to look at you. “My husband is the bravest man I know,” you added. “He is my hero. And I don’t allow you to talk about him this way, you hear me? I have defended him from all the women in town telling me that men in the captive camps were no real heroes and I will defend him from you, too, when you’re so mean to him, Buck, I mean it.”

“Stop, or I’ll cry again,” he shook his head and sniffled.

There was a hint of a smile on his face and it made you grin as well before you approached him and wrapped your arms around him to hug him tight.

“I love my wife, too. The most in the whole wide world,” he assured you and hugged you back while pressing his lips to the top of your head but you could still understand his words. “I wasn’t brave, really, I wasn’t. I just did everything it took to come back to you.”

MASTERLIST || BUCK MASTERLIST

[ynnova]

~caught~~~ for the tag game :3 excited to see what you do with that scenario

' GLIMPSES OF THE PAST ' ask game // caught 📼

caught – for a scene from my muse's past in which they were caught doing something they shouldn't.

time period . 2019 | wc . 1.2k | tw . language, a sexual joke, invasion of privacy, somewhat angst ending

hongjoong had been acting... strange. well, more strange than what's usual for him if you're being honest.

he had also been avoiding you, which is something he has never really done before. and honestly it’s starting to affect you in ways you didn't realize it before.

you assume he's just stressed about the upcoming comeback. his eyes never leaving his laptop, headphones on 24/7, and you were pretty sure everyone else in the dorm could hear seonghwa scolding him more than hongjoong did.

"what do you think hongjoong's been working on?" wooyoung asks one night while you and him are piled in his bed watching a movie.

"what are you talking about?" you ask, only half paying attention to what he is saying, eyes focused on the movie in front of you.

"on his laptop! he's been on it more than usual, think he's working on a secret project?" he pegs, making you sit up a little in order to look at your boyfriend.

"secret project?" you echo and he nods, sitting up as well.

"i mean... aren't you a little curious about what he's working on? not letting any of us see it," he says and you think about how wooyoung is kind of making a point.

"i guess... but is it really any of our business on what he's working on?"

"damn, didn't know you had such a boner for him," wooyoung jokes with a laugh making you roll your eyes as you shove him away from you. "awe, come on, babe, don't be like that. hyung is super handsome, i don't blame me, he gives me one too," wooyoung teases, wrapping his arms around you.

"whatever," you say with an annoyed tone that both of you know is fake. wooyoung smiles at you, kissing your cheek before you both seemingly let the conversation die as you both fall back into watching the movie.

you don't think about hongjoong's 'secret project' until a week later when you are in the recording studio with him and eden. you were the last one to record your lines, the others having finished and doing... whatever. you were sitting on the couch, patiently waiting your turn and looking over your lines. that's when your eyes drifted to hongjoong's laptop that was open. a singular folder titled 'y/n' with several files in it.

wait a minute.

why did that folder have your name on it?

your eyes went from hongjoong's laptop to the male himself who was sitting there talking to eden about the lines that had already been recorded. eden lets out a sigh before he's turning in his seat and standing up.

"we'll be right back, y/n, and then we'll start your recording," eden says and you nod your head watching as him and hongjoong leave the room.

leaving you alone... with hongjoong's laptop.

you know its wrong. you know you shouldn't, but you can't help figure out why he has a whole folder titled with your name.

so you move over to where you can better access his laptop, eyes darting to door, knowing that hongjoong could come back any minute. you gotta be fast.

they were all songs. several of them by the looks of it, all them untitled however. damn. was he writing songs about you? you felt your heart picking up at the thought of hongjoong – the guy you've had a crush on for several years now, writing not one, but several songs about you.

licking your lips, you clicked on the first file. letting it open the music software that hongjoong used when making songs, you noticed his headphones laying on the table and decided to pick them up. placing them on your ears, you clicked play and allowed the song to begin.

you are immediately greeted with hongjoong's voice, he's talking to you, addressing you personally.

"hey, y/n, this feels a little silly to be doing, but i don't know how else to tell you how i feel. i think," he takes a pause, "i've been feeling this special way about you for a while now. i've always admired how you work, so dedicated. i'm glad to have you as a member of ateez... as my... friend. you're someone i cherish," he says with a laugh. "i'm recording this in the middle of the night, its about two in the morning right now, and i know i should be sleeping, but i just can't."

you can imagine him sitting alone in his studio, mic pressed to his lips as he speaks into it, recording his thoughts. he probably has sleep-bags underneath his eyes, lips pouting and a hair slightly tossed from him running his fingers through it all night.

"i can't sleep when you're always on my mind. when i think you've made me fall in love with you... i think i love you, y/n. but i'm afraid to confess to you directly. i know... you're dating san, yunho, and wooyoung – i'm happy for you, but i also want to be someone you can love like that. someone you can call a lover and not just a captain." he lets out a sigh before he continues. "i think i'm jealous of our members, honestly. i can't tell you everything i feel in fear of you not returning my feelings, so i'll just dedicate these songs to you."

the file ends and you feel like a wave of emotions have crashed over you. how long has he felt like this? how long has he kept his feelings hidden from you?

you can't help but immediately play the next file, hitting play and letting the melody of the song start before hongjoong's voice – singing this time – fills your ears. you listen as he sings, the lyrics confessing his feelings and talking about how you make him feel. you were about a minute through the song before the headphones were suddenly ripped off your head.

turning your head, you make eye contact with an angry hongjoong. face red and you can only imagine smoke coming out of his nose.

"what the hell are you doing?" hongjoong asks, his tone something you have never heard before, at least not directed towards you that is. you find yourself opening and closing your mouth, but nothing coming out.

you watch as his eyes go to his laptop screen, he takes in what you had been listening to before he looks back at you in complete horror. "what have you done?" he asks in total disbelief.

"i-i- hongjoong– i," you stumble over your words, not knowing what to say.

"i can't believe you went through my stuff? you had no fucking right to do that, y/n!" he says, as he reaches over to pull his laptop towards himself, away from you.

"i-i'm sorry, hongjoong, i was just... i saw it had my name and–

"so you think that gave you a right to look at my stuff!?" he cuts off, voice loud and full of shock.

"hongjoong, can we– can we please talk about this?"

"talk about what? the fact you invaded my privacy, my feelings? fuck, what do you want me to say when you know how i feel already!"

"but do you know how i feel?"

he pauses, taking a step away before turning his back to you. "no," he breathes out, "i don't want to know anymore... in fact, i think i hate you more than anything right now. i think it's best if you don't speak to me for a while."

you're then left alone in the recording studio, heart feeling broken and tears running down your face. you really fucked up this time.