#i just. i feel like fucking tearing everything down and just going away

[fangdokja]

♡ TW. Dead Dove // Read at Your Own Risk ; ♡ WC. 827

The first time he dragged you from the library, he did it without hesitation, and you followed without question. You remember the way people stared, how the chair screeched against the floor as he yanked you up by the nape of your neck, fingers possessive, unyielding. There was no struggle. No protest. You just packed up your things and went where he wanted, as if you belonged to him already.

He liked that. You know he did.

Now, it’s routine. The way he looms over you, his touch always present—around your throat, in your hair, at your wrist, like he’s making sure you don’t slip away when he isn’t looking. It’s not about affection. It’s about control.

“You’re a creepy little thing, aren’t you?” he murmurs, thumb stroking absently at your pulse. His voice is always amused when he talks to you, dripping with derision, like he’s fascinated by your willingness to submit.

And you are willing, aren’t you?

The backseat of his car smells like leather and sweat. He’s already got you folded up against the door, your knees pressed to your chest, body caged beneath his weight. His hands are rough, greedy, digging into your thighs as he forces them apart. There’s no preamble, no patience, just the brutal press of his cock against your slick entrance before he’s forcing his way inside, stretching you too fast, too deep, making you choke on your own breath.

“Fuck, look at that,” he groans, voice thick with pleasure as he watches the way your tiny hole struggles to take him. “Dumb little bitch can barely fit me in.”

You whimper, squirming under his grip, but there’s nowhere to go. He presses a palm against your lower stomach, applying pressure right where he’s splitting you open, grinning at the way you jolt.

“Feel that? That’s me, stuffing you full.” He laughs when you tremble, your breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. “Shit, you love it. Love getting bullied even when I fuck you.”

The degradation never stops.

He shoves his fingers into your mouth, making you drool all over his hand, his hips snapping against yours in merciless, unforgiving thrusts. The car rocks with the force of it. Your back slams against the door, the seatbelt buckle digging into your side. You’re a mess—spit leaking from your swollen lips, moans punched out of you with every brutal movement, body limp and pliant beneath him.

“Fucking pathetic,” he snarls, dragging his teeth along your jaw, biting down hard enough to bruise. “What kind of freak just lets someone use them like this?”

You don’t answer. You never do. But he knows. He knows exactly what you are.

His grip tightens in your hair, yanking your head back until your throat is exposed, vulnerable, and he presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss against the column of your neck. His tongue flicks over your pulse before he sinks his teeth in—hard. You yelp, body jerking against him, but he doesn’t let up. If anything, he’s crueler.

“Stop making those sad little noises,” he mocks, voice dark with amusement. “You knew what this was. Knew what you were getting into.”

And you did.

You’re not stupid. You knew exactly what he was when you let him take you, when you let him keep you. You knew he wasn’t gentle, that he wasn’t kind, that everything he did was for himself, to satisfy his own desires, his own obsession. You knew that when he dragged you from the library for the first time, his grip firm, his voice dripping with condescension.

And yet—you followed.

“Shit, you’re tight,” he groans, pressing his forehead against yours, panting as he fucks into you harder, deeper, wringing desperate little sounds from your lips. “Gonna break you, baby. Gonna make you cry for me.”

He does.

He always does.

Tears sting your eyes as he forces you over the edge, your orgasm hitting you too fast, too strong, leaving you gasping, sobbing, clawing at his arms, his back. He doesn’t stop. Not until you’re spent, not until you’re shaking, not until you’re too exhausted to move, too wrecked to fight back.

Then, finally—finally—he stills.

He keeps you pinned to his chest, his arm thrown over your waist, a heavy, suffocating weight. He’s still big, still overwhelming even when he’s at rest, his body heat sinking into your skin. You’re panting, boneless, and he hums in satisfaction.

“Still breathing, baby?”

You don’t answer right away. His fingers dig into your hip, a silent warning.

“…Yeah,” you murmur, pressing closer, your voice hoarse.

He must like that. The deep, satisfied chuckle rumbles against your back, and you barely register the soft kiss against your shoulder.

“Good,” he breathes, tightening his hold. “Gotta take care of my little freak.”

Your heart skips a beat. You think he can hear it.

He exhales, slow, heavy.

Then, softer—like he isn’t a monster, like he isn’t the same man who just ruined you—

'Love you.'

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

♡ List of Fandoms and Characters.

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr policy, all characters are all of age.

Ace Attorney: N/A

Arcane: N/A

Blue Lock: Michael Kaiser, Shidou Ryusei, Yoichi Isagi

Boku no Hero Academia: Dabi, Katsuki Bakugo

Brutal: Satsujin Kansatsukan no Kokuhaku: N/A

Death Note: N/A

Demon Slayer: Sanemi Shinazugawa

DC: Damian Wayne

Dishonored Series: N/A

Genshin Impact: Childe, Scaramouche

Haikyuu!!: Hajime Iwaizumi, Yūji Terushima

Honkai Star Rail: Blade, Boothill

How to Live as an Illegal Healer: N/A

Hunter x Hunter: Uvogin

I'm Not That Kind of Talent: N/A

Jujutsu Kaisen: Naoya Zen'in, Ryōmen Sukuna

Kill The Hero: Park Yong-Wan

Love and Deepspace: N/A

Mobile Legends: Bang Bang: N/A

MONSTER: N/A

Naruto Shippuden: Hidan, Zabuza Momochi

One Punch Man: Suiryu

Reverend Insanity: N/A

TOUCHSTARVED: Vere

Undertale Multiverse (Human AU): Bill! Sans, Dust! Sans, Fresh! Sans, Ink! Sans, Killer! Sans, Nightmare! Sans, Shattered Dream! Sans, Underfell! Papyrus, Underfell! Sans, Undertale! Chara

Wuthering Waves: Scar

Your Throne: N/A

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood. Thank you.

Official TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @save4h , @rofkshinee , @songbirdgardensworld , @yanderedrabbles

Test-Phase TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @imnotabot28 , @han11dh

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ For Reader-Inserts. I only write Male Yandere x Female (Fem.) Reader (heterosexual couple). No LGBTQ+:

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Notice #1. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution

♡ Book 6 [you are here]. The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood.

♡ Notice #2. This masterlist is strictly for non-con smut and serves as an exercise in refining erotic horror writing. Comments that reduce my work to mere sexual gratification, thirst, or casual simping will not be tolerated. If your response is primarily thirst-driven, keep it to yourself—repeated violations may result in blocking. Read the RULES before engaging. The tag list is reserved for followers I trust to respect my boundaries; being included is a privilege, not a right. You may request to be added, but I will decide based on trust and adherence to my guidelines. I also reserve the right to remove anyone at any time if their engagement becomes inappropriate.

Test-Phase TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”:

♡ Book 7. Corpus Delicti (CD): Donum Mortis.

[dollbrbie]

♡ ⸝⸝ THE BREAKUP

cw. fratboy isagi, so so so angsty, isagi really gets his feelings hurt :(

“i think we should break up.”

isagi gives a slight huff, “it’s not funny when you say things like that.”

you breath in, “i’m not joking, isagi.”

he turns around to face you, currently sat on his bed with your brows pinched together slightly. it was clear you had been thinking about something.

“what’s going on, baby?”, he asks, his tone more concerned.

you debated telling him the truth, making yourself look like a fool and having isagi so easily convince you that you’re wrong. he’s too reassuring like that.

ever since you heard everyone say you weren’t good enough for him, that you were too mean, too much for someone like isagi, it just kept playing on your mind like an endless loop, causing you to second guess yourself over and over.

because as much as you hate to admit it, they were right. you were mean, way too mean for a guy like isagi. he’s so sweet and genuine with not a nasty bone in his body. he deserves to be treated like a king, to have a girlfriend adore him just as much as he adores you.

but were you really that? are you really giving him everything he truly deserves?

“i just don’t think.. we’re really working out.”, you sigh.

he frowns, “you don’t think that at all. why’re you saying this?”, the hurt evident in his voice.

and that hurts you.

“isagi, stop.”

he doesn’t.

“no. tell me why you’re saying this. you’re not throwing our whole relationship away because in your eyes we’re suddenly ‘not working out’.”, he explains with air quotes, “you don’t get to say that without some explanation, it’s fucked up.”

you wish he just made it easier for you, to just accept this. but now having to rip the bandaid off you say, “fine then. i just don’t want to be with you anymore.”

there’s a long pause where isagi just processes what you say, “you don’t mean that.”, he whimpers, his eyes glossy.

of course you didn’t mean that. god, the look on his face hurt you more than anything, your own heart heavy. that’s when you knew you had really hurt his feelings and that’s the last thing you ever wanted to do. but, this was in isagi’s best interest.. right?

“i do.”, you whisper, you eyes down as you fiddle with your fingers, sat cross cross on his bed.

“why? what did i do? i can fix it, baby. whatever i did, i can fix it.”, isagi pleas frantically, scurrying closer to you by sitting on the edge of his bed, “please, just tell me.”

“you can’t, isagi. just stop it, okay?”, you sigh, getting up from his bed before grabbing your bag and packing up the few essentials you had in his room, “we just aren’t working, that’s it.”

“no- i just, i don’t understand what i did.”, he swallows, “i thought- i thought you loved me. i love you.”

you feel your bottom lip tremble. this felt like kicking a sweet puppy who kept running back to you.

you don’t say anything, in fear of losing composure and crying your heart out. so, you carry on packing your things, muting out isagi’s frantic pleas and breaking voice despite how hard it was, before rushing out of his room to get back to your own dorm, leaving him alone where everything felt too silent besides his thumping heartbeat.

and that’s when he felt the tears fall from his eyes, and down his cheeks. isagi wasn’t a crier, not at all. but, here he was, crying over you as you leave him with no closure, no nothing. without the answers you couldn’t give him, all he could do was wonder what the hell went so wrong. what the hell made you leave him so suddenly?

with all of his thoughts going rampant in his mind, isagi mutters, “fuck, man.”

© dollbrbie | don’t plagiarise or translate any of my work

[maevedoodle]

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

Pairing-Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Summary-You and Steve got into a fight before he left on a mission. You never got the chance to make things right. Now, he’s finally back, bruised, exhausted, and standing at your bedroom door at 2 AM, looking at you like you’re the only thing keeping him together.

Tags-Light angst,wounded steve rogers,soft steve rogers,comfort,fluff,happy ending,argument,harsh words

Word count-2.8k

The moment Steve stepped into the living room, something felt off. You were already standing there, waiting, eyes red and a knot of anxiety settling deep in your stomach.

"Steve," you said, your voice quiet but firm. "What is this? Another last minute mission?" He didn't respond right away. Instead, he just stared at the floor, like he couldn't meet your eyes.

His uniform was on, bag slung over his shoulder, and the weight of the entire situation crashed down on you. You knew this was coming, but it didn't make it any easier.

"You're really going to leave, just like this? After everything that's happened?" you asked, your voice shaking, a mix of frustration and hurt seeping through.

He finally looked up, and his face was hard, guarded. "I don't have a choice, Y/n," he said quietly. "It's a direct order. I have to go."

His words were cold, clipped, like a wall had gone up between you two, another one. "Well, I don't care about your orders, Steve." you snapped, your anger flaring. "I care about us." The words came out harsher than you meant, but you couldn't hold back anymore.

"You always leave. Every single time you walk out that door, you say it's for the mission, for the world. But what about me? When do I get to be more important?"

His jaw clenched at the accusation, and you could see the guilt flash across his face for just a second before it was replaced by anger.

"You think I want to leave you? You think I want to hurt you like this?" His voice rose, the tension crackling in the air between you. "I don't get to pick when I leave or how long I'm gone, y/n. You know that better than anyone!"

"Then what do you expect me to do, huh? Just sit here and wait? For you to come back, broken and distant, like last time? Because every time you leave, it gets harder. And I don't know if I can keep doing this," you shouted, the tears threatening to spill all over again, your heart racing in your chest.

"I'm doing the best I can!" he shot back, his fists clenched. "I'm trying to keep people alive. I'm trying to make sure we have a world to come back to. But you don't get it, y/n."

You scoffed bitterly, stepping back. "You don't get it either, Steve. You don't get how much this hurts. How much it hurts to watch you leave and never know if you're coming back. I love you, but I can't keep living in the shadows of your damn missions. I can't be second to everything else in your life."

His eyes softened, but it was too late. The words were already out, hanging in the air, thick and suffocating. You pressed your hands to your face, trying to stop the tears. "I just—I'm always waiting for you. And I don't think I can keep doing this. I don't know if I can wait for someone who keeps leaving me."

He looked like you'd just slapped him, and for a moment, there was silence between you two. It was deafening, like all the words you both wanted to say were stuck somewhere deep down inside.

"y/n," Steve finally whispered, voice raw, defeated. "I never wanted this. I never wanted to hurt you. I just—I don't know how to be everything for you. I can't just stop being Captain America, and I can't stop being the person I am. You knew what you were getting into when we started this—when we started us."

You shook your head, struggling to keep yourself composed. "I didn't know it would feel like this. I didn't know it would feel like you were slipping away from me every time you fucking leave."

There was another long silence. His chest heaved as if he had a million things to say but couldn't find the words. You could see it in his eyes. He was torn. He wanted to stay. But he couldn't.

Then the sound of his phone ringing cut through the tension like a knife. His face hardened, and he glanced at the screen. "I have to take this," he muttered.

"No," you whispered, your voice breaking.

The phone rang again, and Steve hesitated. His expression softened, but the decision had already been made. His hands were shaking as he swiped to answer. "Yeah, I'm ready," he said, his voice cold, unfeeling. It felt like everything was falling apart. You stood there, trying not to fall apart yourself.

"Steve, please," you begged, the tears spilling freely now. "Please don't go, I cant-" your voice cracked and broke.

He closed his eyes for a moment, his heart breaking as he stood in the doorway, caught between duty and love. Then, without another word, he walked over to you and gently, almost reverently, took your hand.

"Y/n, I'm sorry," he said, voice low and broken. "But I have to go. Can I—can I make you a promise?" You looked at him through tear filled eyes, your heart hammering in your chest, and shook your head, not wanting to hear it.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Steve. Don't promise me anything. You'll just leave again—and I'll be here, waiting, hoping."

He took a deep breath, his thumb gently brushing over the back of your hand as he pressed his pinky finger into yours. "I swear to you, I'll come back, y/n. I'll come back."

You shook your head, your breath catching in your throat. "Steve please stay."

But Steve's lips were already brushing against your knuckles. "I'll come back," he repeated softly, his voice firm yet filled with regret. "I promise."

And with that, he walked out of the apartment, leaving you standing alone, broken and trembling. The door closed softly behind him, and for the first time in what felt like forever, all you could do was wait in the silence.

The sound of the door clicking shut echoed through the apartment, the finality of it making your heart sink. You stood frozen for a moment, staring at the spot where Steve had just been, as if you were hoping he'd suddenly come back, that somehow this whole mess would reverse itself.

But it didn't. He was gone, and all that remained was the emptiness that he'd left behind. The silence felt unbearable. Your fists clenched at your sides, and before you knew it, your anger started to rise, hot and suffocating.

"I hate it here..." you muttered under your breath, your chest tightening with frustration. You needed to do something. Anything. He wasn't the only one who could walk away.

You marched to your room, hands shaking as you threw open the closet doors. Clothes flew out, landing in a heap at your feet, and before you knew it, you were yanking things off hangers, stuffing them into a bag.

The anger only seemed to fuel you, pushing the hurt deeper and deeper inside. You couldn't do this anymore. You couldn't keep living in the shadow of his missions, never knowing if he was going to come back, always waiting for him to leave again.

You shoved your favorite jacket into the bag, your mind racing. How could  you stay here? The thought kept repeating in your head, but no matter how much you tried to force it, you couldn't shake the truth.

Steve was a part of you. He was everything you'd ever known. Every time he came back, you were there, waiting. And every time he left, you swore it would be the last.

You knew it wasn't healthy. You knew it. But you also knew that the life you'd built with Steve, your life wasn't something you could just throw away, no matter how much it hurt.

With every item you packed, you felt a small piece of you slipping away. And yet, you couldn't stop. You didn't know where you were going. You didn't even know if you were going to leave, but in that moment, all you could feel was the need to run.

You can't be here anymore, you thought, desperation clouding your thoughts, you can't keep doing this.

But the moment your suitcase was halfway full, your chest suddenly constricted. The anger, the hurt, it all came crashing down, and the walls you'd put up—those walls you had carefully constructed, crumbled to dust.

You sat down on the bed, your head spinning. You had thought leaving would give you control, that it would be a way to protect yourself from the pain, but it only made everything worse.

Your vision blurred with tears, your breath hitching as your chest felt like it was being torn in two. Your hand fumbled at the zipper of the suitcase, your fingers suddenly numb.

You wanted to stop. You wanted to make everything go away, but Steve, Steve was all you knew.

Your heart ached as memories of him flooded your mind, the quiet moments in the kitchen when he'd make you coffee, the way he would hold you at night when you'd fall asleep in his big arms, the way he'd smile when he saw you after a mission, tired but always somehow happy to see you. Those little things, the things that made him Steve were now memories that you weren't sure you could live without.

Tears fell freely now, hot and unrelenting, soaking into your clothes as you clutched the edge of your suitcase, feeling like the weight of it was too much to bear. Your breath came in ragged gasps, and you couldn't tell if it was from the anger, the sadness, or the hopelessness that seemed to surround you.

You can't leave, y/n. You can't. Not without him. Not like this.

You crumbled, your body shaking as you lied on the bed. The suitcase, half packed, lay beside you, abandoned as you gave in to the pain. Your chest heaved as the tears came harder, faster. Steve was your world.

He always had been. The thought of not having him in your life, of walking away from everything you had with him, felt like a part of you was being ripped out, a piece of your soul being torn away.

You buried your face in your hands, gasping for air as you cried. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that he could leave like that, that you had to deal with the consequences of his missions while he was out there, saving the world.

And yet, you knew you could never truly leave him. Not like this. And just like that, the anger, the fight, everything you'd felt moments ago faded into a deep, overwhelming sorrow.

You were stuck. Stuck between loving him more than you ever thought possible and hating him for leaving you over and over again. As you lay there, curled up in your bed, the pain seemed to consume you whole.

You didn't know what to do. You didn't know if you could fix this. The only thing you knew was that Steve had become the very air you breathed, and the thought of him never coming back felt like it was going to suffocate you.

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ

2am

It's the middle of the night when Steve stumbles into the apartment, his steps unsteady, his body barely holding up under the weight of exhaustion and pain.

The mission had been one of the hardest he'd ever been on, nothing like the usual chaos, no. This one had pushed him to his limits.

Blood stains the side of his uniform, his skin bruised and torn in places he doesn't even remember. His left arm hangs at an awkward angle, the cut on his side still seeping through the cloth of his tactical gear.

Every movement is a struggle, each breath shallow as his ribs ache in protest. The weight of the pain feels like it might swallow him whole, but he pushes forward.

His focus is on one thing, you.

He can barely stand as he stumbles toward the bedroom door. He's been longing to see you, to explain, to make things right. But the tension of the fight before he left still lingers in his chest, a tight knot he hasn't been able to undo.

He knows he messed up. He knows he should've said more, should've tried harder to make amends. But now, all he can think about is the look on your face when he left hurt, angry, confused. And how he left it unresolved. How it's been haunting him ever since.

Pushing the door open, he's greeted by the sight of you, lying peacefully in bed. The soft rise and fall of your chest as you sleep, the way the moonlight catches in your hair, it's enough to break him.

He wants to reach out to you, to crawl into bed beside you and just hold you, but the sight of the suitcase stops him in his tracks.

His heart sinks.

Your suitcase is halfway packed, the clothes spilling out like you were about to leave, like you couldn't wait to get away from him. The realization hits him like a physical blow. You were going to leave.

He staggers forward, barely able to keep his footing, the exhaustion threatening to overtake him. He hovers by the bed, his eyes fixed on you, on the mess of clothes, and the crushing weight of regret

You stir in your sleep, the soft shuffle of movement beside you pulling you from your rest. Your eyes flutter open slowly, adjusting to the dim light of the room. The first thing you see is him, Steve standing there by the bed, his body tense, barely holding itself up.

Your heart skips a beat, and before your mind can fully catch up with the reality of what's happening, you sit up, your eyes scanning him frantically.

The bruises, the blood, the way he's barely standing, he's hurt, badly. Without thinking, you slide out of bed and step toward him. Your arms wrap around him gently, pulling him into a soft, hesitant hug.

The warmth of his body, the familiar scent of him, it feels like a balm on your wounds too. "You should've known I was never gonna leave," you whisper against his chest, the words thick with emotion.

He exhales shakily, his lips brushing against your hair. His arms come around you, pulling you closer, and he presses a soft kiss to your lips light, tender, full of an unspoken apology. It's not enough to erase the tension between you, but it's a start.

His lips linger against yours for a moment longer, then he pulls back slightly, meeting your gaze. His eyes are tired, but there's relief there, too like he didn't realize how badly he needed to hear those words from you.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice barely above a breath. His face is etched with exhaustion and regret, but there's love there too.

You give him a soft nod, then gently guide him to sit on the edge of the bed. Your hands tremble slightly as you begin to help him remove his gear, carefully unfastening the straps on his uniform, revealing the wounds he's been hiding.

The sight of his bloodied skin makes your stomach churn, but you push the panic down, focusing on helping him.

You run your fingers over the cuts, your touch as gentle as you can manage, trying to clean his wounds without causing him any more pain. "I love you Steve." You murmur, your voice thick with emotion as you press a cloth to one of the deeper cuts on his side.

His hand reaches up to rest on yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in comfort. "Do you now?" he teases, though it's clear from his tone that the guilt weighs heavily on him. "I love you too y/n stop worrying my beautiful girl."

You look up at him, meeting his gaze as you finish treating his wounds. "I'm not going anywhere, Steve. Not now, not ever."

His lips curl into a small smile, though it's tinged with sorrow. He nods, you finish bandaging his side. For now, it's just the two of you, in this moment, no more fighting, no more running away. Only the quiet comfort of each other's presence.

Steve's hand gently pulls you down onto him, guiding you so you're now straddling his hips. He winces slightly, the motion causing his injuries to flare up, but he doesn’t seem to care.

He chuckles, despite the pain, his breath ragged. "Guess I'm not as invincible as I thought," he murmurs with a teasing smile, though the strain in his voice is obvious.

You laugh softly, your fingers trailing up the side of his face, brushing a stray piece of hair from his forehead. His eyes flutter shut, a sigh escaping his lips. The humor between you both dies away, and a different kind of silence fills the air tension, but not the kind that keeps you apart.

His hand slips behind your back, pulling you closer as his lips find yours. It's not urgent, not frantic, but soft, lingering, a slow meeting of lips as if both of you are savoring this moment.

His touch is tender, his other hand resting gently on the back of your neck, urging you to stay close. You let yourself sink into him, the warmth of his body against yours making everything else disappear.

His lips move against yours, the kiss deepening as the world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you in this moment, this fragile space between past hurts and the promise of healing.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 14 - Water Is Forever

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: I love writing chapters where Bobby comes in with a steel chair to once again prove he's father of the year.

Chapter title from Hurt Feelings by Halsey

Word Count: 17.5k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean, Sam, and Bobby go on a hunt, and you and Jo take a road trip. Usual warnings.

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

Chapter 13 - Chapter 15

Read on A03!

The day had been long. Long and slow and heavy, all howls in the wood and misshapen faces on trees, machetes in their hands and Dean staring at his phone, hoping She’d call.

She wouldn’t. She when they’d left Her at Bobby’s, She hadn’t even looked up for Her book. Bobby said he’d call Jo to make sure She didn’t burn down the house on accident.

They all knew She wouldn’t.

The house was where the books were. 

But She might burn down herself. Jo needed to be there, because Dean couldn’t be—not now, not as sand slowly slipped them by on the wind, and his time became thin—but She shouldn’t be alone right now. She’d spiral. Dean knew Her.

He knew that, before, he would’ve been worried he’d return to Her hand around her own neck and long, raised scratches on Her skin. And now, when he truly knew everything, he knew he’d return to that. To panic in Her eyes and strangled sounds from Her throat, Her back pressed to the wall and the Blade in her hands. 

Relief would sag in Her shoulders, when she saw he was in one piece. It always had, over these past two months, and he’d done all he could not to leave Her side. It was the damn least he could do, really, when She was still losing Her mind to save him. And She hadn’t wanted him to go on this hunt. She’d thought it was a bad idea, that they shouldn’t be letting Dean put himself in situations where he’d be in danger right now.

She was right. But Dean had insisted on this last, semi-normal hunt—he wasn’t allowed to call it a last hunt, because he had once, and She’d looked like she was about to punch him—and promised he wouldn’t come back with a single scratch.

She’d glared at him, and made him pinky promise, but he’d gotten away with it. They’d left two days ago, and—unless someone fucked up—they’d be back tomorrow.

And She was going to kill him.

Because his hands were covered in his own blood.

“Told ya’ not to run, boy.” Bobby said from above, leaning over Dean’s body to see the tear in his jeans. “We ain’t tryin’ to break you here.”

Sam hummed Her name from ahead, shooting Dean a smirk over his shoulder. “She’s gonna be mad at you-“

“Shut your face, Sammy.” Dean pushed himself on his palms, ignoring the splintering wood and mud from the dirt. “She won’t get pissed I fell. She’ll kick your ass, though-“

“For what, letting you fall-“

“For forgetting my fucking bubble wrap. Supposed to be watching me, bitch, making sure I don’t get hurt-“

“I can’t stop you from being stupid, jerk, Bobby told you not to run-“

“I wasn’t running-“

“We’re not blind, Dean, you were obviously fucking running, and she’s gonna kill you-“

“Not if I kill you first-“

“That doesn’t make any sense-“

“Hey!” Bobby blocked Dean’s path with an arm over his chest, running his free hand over his face with a sigh. “Both of ya’, shut the fuck up. Dean, stop runnin’, and I’ll look at that when we’re done to make sure it don’t get infected. Sam, stop teasin’ him, he’s sensitive.”

Dean scowled. “Hey-“

“And,” Bobby snapped Her name, completely ignoring Dean’s glare. “She’ll kill all three of us if we don’t deliver Prince Charming back by sunrise. So damn focus, or I’m callin’ this all off. And apologize to each other like men, instead of little fuckin’ babies.”

Dean rolled his eyes, and Sam kicked a rock with a frown, but they mumbled apologies, and kept moving through the woods.

It was just a vamp nest. Simple. In and out, take the edge off with the hunting and hopefully come out with their homework.

She’d found mention of an old lore book that this vamp nest should have a copy of, and could be another lead.

Likely an empty one.

They all knew better than to tell Her that.

Besides, this was pretty much just a normal hunt. They’d stopped doing normal hunts when Dean’s timer hit one month, it and had been taking a toll. Sam sat too tall and rigid in his chair, Bobby always had a beer on the table, and She-

Dean was really fucking worried about Her. She’d only remember to eat when food was put in front of Her, only go to the bathroom when Dean asked when she’d done it last. Every night She’d pass out over a book—Dean waiting across the table, pretending to do his own research, but mostly just staring at Her—and he’d carry Her to bed. It was eating at his gut every second, how She was doing this to herself for him, and She wouldn’t even entertain the idea of slowing down or resting.

That was the real reason he wanted Jo there. She couldn’t be alone, but She wouldn’t do this, so Dean needed to know She’d have someone to watch her while he was out. 

Mostly, he just wanted to know She’d have someone at all.For after. For when the timer ran out, and Dean was either there, or… Not. 

It was looking a little damn bleak.

“If we don’t get these pieces of shit tonight,” Bobby grunted, his machete resting over his shoulder. “We’re headin’ back. It’s- We don’t got the time to waste on a goose chase.”

Dean didn’t protest. It was the right call, because they didn’t. And he’d needed this, but not more than he needed Her, and he couldn’t have Her if he was goddamn-

He wasn’t allowed to think that word. 

So he thought of Her instead. Probably exactly where he left Her in the library, covered in a blanket because Jo wasn’t strong enough to carry Her to bed, maybe with bite marks on Her hand and too-hot coffee seared on Her tongue.

“Bobby, you get any calls-“

“She’s fine, Dean.” Bobby sighed, shooting him a flat look. “She’ll can handle herself.”

Dean frowned, because She could. She could spin a knife between Her hands and drive it into a monster or demons heart without breaking a sweat, looking beautiful when the blood splattered on Her face and glowing after She washed it away.

But Her handling herself wasn’t what Dean was worried about.

It was the fact that any blood She split might escalate to being Her own. It was that She could handle herself, but son of a bitch She couldn’t take care of Herself. Not in a way that counted, that didn’t make Dean’s skin itch and crawl with something bitter, because he should be there. She wasn’t sleeping to try and save him, and—even though a second didn’t pass where Dean wasn’t trying to talk Her into just a moment of rest—the least he could do in return was take care of Her.

He was, somehow, the only one who ever really seemed to know how to care for Her. 

“I tried to do your thing once, by the way,” Sammy had said last night, watching Dean from over the top of his computer. “Doesn’t look like it works when it’s no, you know, you.”

Dean had frowned, leaning back against the headboard of his bed, knowing he wouldn’t get much sleep tonight because it was too big, and there was an empty, dull spot to his right where She was supposed to be. “What are you talking about, my thing.”

“That thing you do. With- You know.” Sam had said Her name with a shrug, and Dean had glanced back to that empty spot with a frown. “Where you go like this, and she stops freaking out.” Sam ran his own thumb down his nose, giving Dean a pointed look. “It doesn’t work when it’s not you.”

“I-“ Dean had swallowed, shaking his head. “That’s not my thing-“

“Yeah, it is.” Sam had shrugged, as if what he was saying was nothing at all. “Only thing I’ve ever seen work, by the way. You should be careful with that.”

Dean had heard the underlying words. You should be careful with Her.

He was being careful with Her. He’d been more and more careful, since everything had fallen into place, and he finally fucking understood. It had been like he was staring at the most important photograph in the world, but a lense flare had been blocking half of it. But it had been a photo in the broad sunlight, of silver water in a lake, with flowers and life all around it and the flare placed so perfectly that it could just be a reflection. A part of the picture that was unknowable with purpose, that no one was supposed to see. And he’d wanted to. Dean had always wanted to mean more to Her than anyone, and see past that lense flare because he was an exception to Her, the only one allowed to see that too bright, secret, hidden spot.

And he hadn’t been. If anything, Dean had been the exception because every other damn person got to see but him.

He should hate Her for that. 

He was done trying to.

Because now he could see it. See Her. All of Her. And for the first time since he’d met Her, Dean almost fully understood Her. 

And son of a bitch, every single part of Her was bright and beautiful, and he didn’t goddamn deserve it at all.

It wasn’t a lense flare. It had never been a lense flare. It was a covered part of the lake, where everything was overgrown and tangled and colorful, almost more blinding within itself.

Dean wanted to live in it. He wanted to know everything about it, because it was part of Her and nothing that was Her could ever be wrong. If it was an ingrained, sensitive and angry organ, he'd tend to it. If it was a stained window that filtered all Her light, he'd worship it. If it was a sickness, he’d cure it.

He just had to know it first.

"So you've been- Just your whole life?" He'd frowned at Her in Bobby's kitchen, his words slow and careful. "Or was it like, a puberty thing?"

All of them gathered in the flat, hot and tight air to walk Dean through the situation. Sam leaning against the counter, Bobby in the doorway—braced slightly, as if she was going to make a break for it and he wanted to be ready—and Dean across from Her at the table.

He'd thought about sitting next to Her—feeling the heat from Her body, pressing his thigh to Her's to keep her steady and check that this wasn't a dream—but then he wouldn't be able to look at Her. Know what questions would cross a line from seeing it written all over Her face, figure out which words were lies as if it were a sixth sense. 

He wouldn't be able to catch Her hands and pry them apart when She picked her skin bloody and raw.

“I-“ She’d glanced at Bobby—as if She was unsure of her own answer—rubbing the scar on Her palm as she spoke. “It- I mean, it could’ve been a puberty thing-“

“Maybe. Dunno.” Bobby had shrugged, his voice barely a grunt. “Didn’t take you off the road splittin’ trees and causin’ creeks to vanish-“

“Creeks to-“ Dean had gaped at Her. “Oregon.”

She’d flinched slightly. Dean had forced himself to grip the edge of the table instead of reaching for Her. “Yeah.”

“I thought I was going crazy.” He’d muttered under his breath. “Whole thing just- Poof, dry-“

“What happened in Oregon?” Sam had asked, and She’d let out a long sigh.

“I- Dean freaked me out, and I lost control.”

Dean had frowned. “I was just pissing, sweetheart-“

“You were missing.” She’d snapped, something hot in Her eyes that had made Dean blink. “I couldn’t find you, Dean, I got scared-“

“And lost control.” Sam had finished, running a hand through his hair. “Did we- You never thought about being, I dunno- Like me?”

Dean had tensed, sitting up a little taller in his chair—he loved Sammy, he did, but two demon-blood kids who he couldn’t leave if he tried would drive him out of his mind—but She’d just shaken her head.

“No.” She’d whispered. “It’s- There’s no way it’s that. You told me about the blood, Sam, and that just sounded like-“ She’d let out a long slow breath, staring at her hands as she continued. “It never hurt you.”

“It killed me.” Sam had countered, raising his brows. “And I got, uh-“

“Migranes.” Dean had muttered, something his head spinning around the word hurt. This had hurt Her, and he’d never done anything to protect Her. To help Her. He’d never even noticed, he’d just thought it was another thing about Her that couldn’t be understood, he’d been a blinded fucking idiot and now She’d been hurt.

Sam had nodded. “Yeah, uh, that. So maybe like- You said you’re in pain a lot-“

She’d let out a dry laugh. “That’s because I’m not using it. It’s- I can use it. That’s not a problem. I just won’t, and it doesn’t like that.”

There had been a long silence, and Dean had felt something bubbling up his throat that he wasn’t able to stop.

“Why?”

She’d blinked at him, that furrow on Her brow a little tighter than usual. “Wha-“

“If it’s hurting you,” Dean had grunted. “Just- Fucking use it, Princess. You almost killed Lilith back there-“

“I didn’t mean to-“

“Do I sound like I’m against it?” Dean had said Her name, leaning forward to hold Her gaze, because this was so simple. Nothing should be allowed to hurt Her, and if the reason Dean had spent years keeping Her skin from being clawed apart and Her body from curling in on itself was because of this, it shouldn’t be a question that She should just goddamn stop. “If you can do half of what it sounds like, I’ll never get on your ass about hunting without a gun again, you just gotta use it-“

“No.” She’d snapped. “You don’t- I can’t. I won’t.”

Sam had said Her name slowly, and Bobby had sighed in the doorway. Like he’d known exactly where this was going. “Maybe Dean’s right. I mean, you’ve killed demons before-“

“I didn’t- No.” Her voice hadn’t been firm. There had been something desperate and fragile in it, almost like a plea. “I won’t. I won’t be that. I won’t. You don’t let Sam use the blood, and you hate witches, De, I won’t-“ She’d swallowed, cutting herself off with too soft words. “I won’t.”

Dean hadn’t had the words to tell Her that it wasn’t the same. She wasn’t the same. He didn’t want this to be the situation, but it’s what they goddamn had, and Dean had always been good at working with what he had. If She came with this whole complicated witch shit, then Dean would work with Her, because he had Her. 

He didn’t want Sam to use the blood because he’d promised Dad, and it had gotten him goddamn killed. He hated witches because they sucked, and She didn’t suck. She was awesome. Amazing. The warmest water in the shower and the best pie at that roadside diner in Texas and all the brighter stars he’d ever gotten to watch on the roof of the Impala. 

He couldn’t let Her just fucking hurt herself. 

And he never knew when to stop. 

“You don’t even know what that is, Princess.” He’d muttered, narrowing his eyes. “You said witch, but I’ve dealt with witches. Witches don’t make creeks freakin’ vanish.”

She’d shot him an exhausted glare. “It doesn’t matter what I am, Dean, it’s dangerous-“

“Maybe it’s not.” He’d snapped. “If not using it is what’s making you hurt, maybe you should use it. That’s feelin’ pretty logical to me, sweetheart, and if you’d told me sooner, I coulda helped.”

A shadow had eclipsed in Her eyes, and Dean’s gut had twisted slightly. “You said you weren’t mad at me.” She’d whispered, and there it was.

She sounded small.

He was the lowest piece of shit in the world.

“I’m not.” Dean didn’t know how he’d managed not to reach for Her. It took willpower he’d never had before. “I- Shit, I’m not, but-“ There was something so hot in his body. Louder than fury and purer than the sun, all for Her because She’d been hurting and nothing had saved Her. “You don’t have any idea, Princess, and it’s been happening for goddamn years-“

“Dean.” Bobby had grunted, his tone a low warning Dead really didn’t care about. “We’ve been tryin’, boy, but in case you didn’t notice, there’s been a lot of shit to deal with-“

“I coulda helped.” Dean had hissed, glaring between Sam and Bobby, almost shielding Her from their view, like that was worth anything at all. “You two couldn’t do shit, but I woulda fucking helped, and now there’s- Son of a bitch, we don’t have enough time-“

He’d apologized to Her. Later, after Bobby had made him take a walk and he’d ended up working on Her car for hours—his hands covered in grease and knees scraped with dirt—Dean had returned to Her side in the dark, muttered a low apology, and been forgiven. 

“Promise you’re not mad at me?” She’d whispered, and Dean had almost stomped downstairs to find a mirror Bobby didn’t care about that much, just so he could punch himself.

He’d hooked his pinky through Her’s, his voice barely a rasp. “Not mad. Promise. Just-“ He’d let out a long breath, shaking his head. “If I ask a question, and you wanna stab me, could I get a warning first?”

A small smile had tugged at Her lips. “Is it a stupid question?”

“Kinda. Not sure yet.”

“Then no.”

He’d raised his brows. “No, you won’t stab me-“

“No, you don’t get a warning.”

Dean had chuckled, shaking his head. “Guess I deserve that one. Was a bit of a douchebag.”

She’d only hummed, something flashing over Her face Dean hadn’t understood. “What’s the question, De?”

“What- Shit.” He’d let out a long breath, rolling onto his back as he ran a hand over his face. “What’s it feel like?”

There had been a long pause, and when Dean had turned his head, She’d been staring at him with a wide, open expression that had ached in his whole body. 

“What?”

Her voice had been so soft. So goddamn nervous and soft, and Dean had needed to swallow down a roar of something primal in his chest, just to the right of his heart, that had just wanted to grab Her and never let go. 

“What’s it feel like.” He’d repeated, unable to look away from the shining lighthouse of Her eyes, splitting right through him in the dark. “The- your witch thing.”

“I-“ She’d drawn Her lips into a tight line, watching Dean so intently he’d been worried Her gaze would carve him open. “I don’t-“

“If you don’t wanna tell me-“

“No.” She’d whispered, impossibly fast, and Dean had blinked. “I mean, I want to. I do. I just- I don’t know how.”

“Well, just tell me what you told Sam-“

“I didn’t tell Sam. He’s never asked.”

Dean had blinked at Her in obvious confusion—Sammy loved these weird things, Her having some sort of concrete and ocean-razing power would’ve been his freakin’ wet dream—and She’d let out a long breath.

“I- I’ve told him what I told Bobby and Jo.” She’d mumbled. “There’s something dark, and it’s power and makes me sick and I can’t control it, and there’s something glowing right here-“ She’d poked Dean’s chest, just to the right of his heart, and he was still a little sure She’d somehow branded him even deeper than before. “And it’s white, and it- It’s just there. It’s loud. Strong.”

“Alright.” Dean had held Her gaze. “And what’s it feel like?”

She’d stared at him for another long second—almost as if She was daring him to take it back—better mumbling, “Which part?”

He’d shrugged. “Whichever you want, sweetheart. How about the, uh, that dark thing? What’s it feel like when you do use it-“

“Big.” She’d whispered, before the question was even fully out of Dean’s mouth. “It’s- It all feels really big. It really doesn’t hurt to use, I promise, it’s just- It’s big.”

Dean had nodded, unable to swallow down his next grumble. “Hurts not to use, though.”

“Yeah.” She’d sighed. “But I told you-“

“I know. You won’t use it.” He’d scanned over Her cautious, beautiful features—he always could’ve fucking sworn that She was somehow shining with light from inside, and he’d been right the whole goddamn time—and chose his next words carefully. “What about that- The whole glowy thing, what’s up with that-“

“I don’t know.” She mumbled. “I don’t know any of it, De, it just happens-“

“Then what’s it feel like?”

It took a beat for Her to answer that one. “Big.”

He’d given Her a flat look. “Princess, that’s what you said about the-“

“They both feel big, Winchester.” She’d snapped, narrowing Her eyes. “I don’t know what else I’m supposed to tell you, they’re big and powerful and it’s- Sometimes I don’t know what to do with it, and I’ve never thought about this before-“

“Hey- It’s okay.” Dean had pulled Her into his chest as the furrow had deepened, and Her breaths had started to become short. “You’re good, I’m- You’re good.” He’d run his hands through Her hair, because he’d had two months left at the time, and he’d been really sick of not having Her in every way She’d let him. 

And She’d let him have that. She’d let Dean hold Her and touch Her, soothe Her tears and mutter that She didn’t have to answer now. She could think about it, and there would always be later.

They both knew that was a lie, and Dean had pretended not to hear the choked sound She’d made when he’d said it—although he hadn’t been able to stop his hands from holding Her a little tighter—because just then, he’d needed to pretend it was the truth. That he wasn’t being selfish, keeping Her here. That it was fine for Her to break down now—and it was, it always would be, and long as Dean was permitted to be there to pick Her up—as they’d just talk about it later.

And He’d felt it then. Something humming through the air that he’d somehow always missed, made of so much of Her he could drown in it. It had been forged from something stronger than starlight, every single bit of it, and he hadn’t been able to stop his last, low question.

“If they’re both big,” he’d muttered in Her ear, keeping her folded into his chest. “How have you been able to tell them apart?”

She’d sighed again, and buried Her face in Dean’s shoulder. He hadn’t let himself think about it too hard. “They- The white thing doesn’t like the dark thing, most of the time.”

“Most of the time?”

“Yeah.” She’d swallowed. “Sometimes they’re- they blend together. And it’s- That doesn’t feel bad.”

“When’s that happen?”

“When I’m somewhere good.”

When they’d drifted off to sleep, Dean had made a silent vow to himself. 

After they reached the end of this, he’d find somewhere good for Her. Anywhere she wanted to be, even if it was the middle of the woods without TV or air conditioning, or somewhere too hot or cold or dry or dirty, Dean would bring Her there. He’d learn to sail, so he didn’t have to fly, and if there were no other fucking options he’d down a bottle of Xanax and get Her on a plane. 

And he’d stay there, with Her, if she asked. If he dropped Her on pink-sand beaches—he’d seen some in a movie once, and he wasn’t sure if they were real, but they seemed like the type of thing that would make Her happy—and She took his hand and whispered stay here, De, he would. In a heartbeat that was held in Her hands, he’d say yes.

Until then, he just had to do this. Just had to get out.

It was simple, when he thought of it like that.

He just had to get out.

“She ain’t called.”

Dean blinked at Bobby with frown. “I didn’t ask-“

“Don’t try and fool me, boy, you got that fuckin’ look-“ Bobby sighed, running a hand over his face. “I know when you’re gonna ask about her. She ain’t called, Jo ain’t either, and I’m sure they’re fine. Probably just readin’.”

They probably were just reading. She was probably forming blisters on Her fingers from holding the pencil too long, Jo had hopefully gotten Her to at least go to the bathroom, and when Dean got back She’d have only moved an inch from where he left Her.

But there was a faded and burnt film reel—looping in Dean’s head and made of the past few months, plus countless nightmares where She burned on the ceiling—where they weren’t just reading. Where pushing herself to the edge was making Her flicker once more, and She was trying to strange that power in Her body down, and Dean wasn’t there to help. Where they came back and the pages had been ripped from books because She’d lost control—Bobby had mentioned that happening a few times, and he hadn’t managed to hide how She’d stuck her hand in ice water for two hours afterwards—and Dean wasn’t fast enough so calm Her down, from imploding on Herself and moving further and further into a shell.

“Bobby, are you sure the nest is in this direction?” Sam called from a few yards ahead, and Bobby rolled his eyes.

“Course I’m sure, Sam, you’re the one who found the damn leads-“

“Sorry, I just wanted to check, we should’ve been there by now-“

“Well, we’ve been walkin’ real slow thanks to someone’s fuckin’ moping-“

Dean scowled. “I’m dying in two weeks, Bobby.” He muttered, picking up his pace to walk at Sam’s side. “I’m allowed to mope or brood or do whatever the hell else I want.”

“You ain’t dyin’, Dean.” Bobby grunted, pushing his shotgun further up his shoulder. “Let’s find this nest and get the fuckin’ thing done.”

“Plus,” Sam drawled Her name, smirking slightly. “You know you’re not supposed to say that word, Deano-“

Dean’s jaw clenched, and Bobby sighed, running a hand over his face.

“Sam, he tries to punch you, and I ain’t gonna stop him.” Bobby paused, giving Dean another firm look. “But he’s right. You ain’t supposed to use that word.”

Dean knew that. He knew it better than anyone. But everything was so fucking dull and heavy, and he missed Her, and they were running out of time. It was starting to feel like iron around his chest, sinking into that pit in his body, how little time they had left.

“Hey, dude.” Sam gave him a cautious, soft look, his voice too low. Too worried. “I’m just messing with you, you know that? She’s- We’re gonna find a way-“

“Say the right thing, Sammy.” Dean muttered, glaring at the mud below his boots. “She’ll find the way.”

Sam sighed, and Bobby cut off any of his words with a grunt.

“I’ve known that girl my whole damn life, Dean. I didn’t train her at huntin’ cause I wanted to, I trained ‘er cause she started sneakin’ around and doin’ it herself after I said no, and she was already better then every damn asshole I’d met. Took her three days to finish a hunt that woulda taken the best I knew, your Daddy included, a damn week and a hundred bullets.” Bobby sighed, giving Dean an odd look he didn’t fully understand. “If anyone’s gettin’ this, it’s her. Then we can all lock ‘er in her room until she gets a month of proper damn rest.”

“And I do have ideas.” Sam cut in with a mumble. “I was thinking we could summon Lilith, do the Devil’s Trap-“

Bobby shook his head. “Won’t work. Lilith ain’t able to be summoned, not by anythin’ human.”

Dean frowned, because he’d heard Bobby say that before. In the kitchen, when She’d suggested the exact same thing, and he’d used to those same words on Her. But She hadn’t just slumped like Sammy was now. She’d frowned, looked at Her hands, and stood a little taller as something flashed over Her face.

Dean hadn’t understood that expression. He’d only known that it was dangerous. That it meant She was thinking something he couldn’t follow, that She was full of resolve and the best he’d ever be able to offer Her was continuing to be Her shadow.

At Her side in the dark. Across from Her on the couch. Always there, always for Her. 

He shouldn’t have goddamn left.

Dean knows he should’ve have left. There’s a rotten feeling knotting in his stomach, a knot pulling at him like a compass, and it’s telling him to turn back. That he has to turn back, go back to Her, go home, because he never should’ve left to begin with. 

It’s been there since they left, and only grown tighter. He’d gone through to motions of the case with it turning in his stomach, and he’d pushed on because if he told Sammy, he’d tease Dean about missing Her before reminding him that She could defend herself. She was a literal force of nature, and she was at Bobby’s with Jo—who allowed herself to use a gun—and She couldn’t be safer if they tried. 

But the knot twisted, when they’d started their climb through the woods. And Dean couldn’t tell Bobby either, because he was already on thin fucking ice when it came to conversations about Her. Bobby seemed to be starkly aware of how, when Dean stared at Her like she was the only thing in the world and still somehow more beautiful than anything else, because she was, there were… less than acceptable thoughts in his head.

He still hadn’t crossed that line. He wouldn’t. Not at least until this was over, and he could touch Her somewhere that was good. 

Bobby didn’t seem to admire Dean’s restraint as much as he should. So going up to him and saying something’s wrong, I shouldn’t have left Her, call the whole thing off cause I never shoulda fuckin’ left her, wouldn’t end how Dean wanted it to. 

To the knot kept tightening and turning—and Dean felt sick and he shouldn’t have left—as they found the nest, and he lost himself in the fight. 

Moving like this—on instinct and nothing more, letting his body do the thing it was best at and never flinching because Dean never damn flinched—usually cleared his head. Usually helped. 

It wasn’t now.

The knot only tightened until it was frayed, when they found the dusty, worn and yellow-paged book. They burned all the bodies, and it was straining and whining.

Then they were cleaning up back at the motel, and Dean’s phone rang like a blaring, horrible alarm. 

Sam raised his brows as Dean scanned over the caller ID. “Is it-“

“Hey, Jo.” Dean grunted into the speaker, and Sam scowled. “Is everything-“

“Dean- Thank fuckin’ Mary and Christ.” Jo’s voice was a little uneven. Dean felt really fucking sick. “Been tryin’ to reach you all day-“

“We were in the woods.” He muttered. “What’s-“

“They found us.” Jo mumbled, and Dean’s grip on the phone was starting to hurt. “The- uh- Hell’s Assassins-“

“Jo.” Dean said Her name, but every word was clipped. Pushed through his teeth. “I need you to put her on the phone-“

“I can’t-“

“What’d you mean, you can’t-“

“I mean she ain’t talkin’.” Jo whispered, a new, raw shake forming in Her voice. “She’s alright, but she ain’t moved in like, three hours, and I’ve been tryin’ everything, but she won’t even shower-“

“I’ll be home in two- hour and a half.” The drive was two hours. If Dean was smart—and about this, he would be—they be back by an hour. 

The extra thirty was mostly for safety. 

Dean hung up without another word, throwing shit in his bag with almost mechanical movements, because they had to fucking go, he never should’ve left—not without Her—so they had to go-

“Dean.” Sam snapped, still on the other side of the room and not moving damn near fast enough. “What was-“

“I got some beer.” Bobby pushed open the door, and Dean started to pull on his jacket. “I was thinkin’ we order, cause I ain’t gonna cook when there’s some good lookin’ Chinese right down the- the hell are you doin’, Dean?”

“Leaving.” Dean grunted, and Bobby snorted.

“This was your damn idea-“

“Jo called.” Sam cut in, and Dean wasn’t sure when he’d gotten up to block the door.

He didn’t really care. 

As long as the kid moved, Dean didn’t care at all. 

“Jo-“ Bobby’s head whipped to Dean, his gaze narrowed and tight. “What’d she say.”

There wasn’t fucking time for this. They never had enough time. 

“Move, Sammy, I gotta-“

“Dean.” Bobby grabbed him by the shoulders, his eyes narrowed. “Tell me Jo said that’s got you all fuckin’-“

Dean spat Her name, shrugging Bobby’s hand away. “She needs me, I gotta get back-“

Bobby didn’t bother to push further. He grabbed the keys, tossed them to Dean, and turned with only a shout over his shoulder.

“Get started on the book, Sam. We’ll come back for ya’ in a few days. Dean, haul fuckin’ ass, boy.”

“Come back-“ Sam gaped as Dean grabbed his bag. “You’re just leaving me-“

“You’re a big boy, Sammy, you’ll be fine.” 

Sam probably flipped Dean off as he jogged out the door. He didn’t care. 

All that mattered was getting back to Her.

He and Bobby didn’t talk for the first thirty minutes. There wasn’t really much to say. Only low music and the hum of Baby’s engine, working herself hard to get Dean to where he needed to be.

He should never have damn left. He knew better than to leave Her, because that had always been where he’d lost Her. And She was fine, but she’d had to fight alone, and he hadn’t been there. He was supposed to be there, that was the whole damn point, they were safer together. Sam and Bobby could’ve handled this themselves, and Jo still could’ve come over. Dean wouldn’t have gotten in the middle of whatever girl shit they got up to, he could’ve just sat in the corner with his gun and watched Her like a creep, defending Her when the demons arrived and being Her comfort whenever it all became too big.

She’d said it was always too big. During another too long—yet still not long enough—night, She’d said it was always too big. That She’d become everything, when it all got away from Her, and it hurt and She never knew who she was or where She started or stopped, but She was always everything and Dean knew who She was, so he could’ve been there. Been Her shadow. Run his thumb over the bridge of Her nose and muttered that She was okay, it would be okay, She was awesome and good at Her job, and it would all be okay if She just took deep breaths and listened to him and he’d stayed-

“Dean.”

Dean blinked over, and he’d almost missed Bobby’s words, lost into the drums of the song. “What’s up?”

Bobby was watching him with a firm, almost mournful grounded resolve Dean had never seen before. 

He’d seen Bobby be serious, and angry, and determined, and focused. He’d never seen this. He didn’t even have a name for it. 

It was a little worrying.

“Uh, Bobby-“

“I need you to be honest with me when I ask you somethin’.” Bobby grunted. “I wouldn’t be askin’ if it wasn’t important, and a lie ain’t gonna help us ‘ere.”

Dean blinked, glancing between Bobby and the road as the iron settled back over his shoulders. “I don’t-“

“Swear it.” Bobby wasn’t wavering. “Swear it on your mother you’re gonna tell me the truth.”

“On my-“ Dean swallowed, but nodded. “Alright. On my mom.”

Bobby sighed. “You ain’t allowed to repeat this to anyone, Dean. You understand? Not even Sam.”

“Bobby-“

“Yeah, I got it, but Bobby, you’re kinda freakin’ me out-“

“You been…” Bobby paused, saying every word as if they pained him. “Sleepin’ in her room. She still get nightmares?”

Dean blinked, shooting Bobby a frown. “Is- That’s your question?”

“No. Does she?”

“I- Sometimes-“

“She been gettin’ them since I found ‘er.” Bobby muttered, and it seemed to be mostly to himself. “Recognized some monsters too, before I even brought her on a hunt. And she’d wake up screamin’ and grab me with ler little hands, and I’d ask her what happened and she wouldn’t talk ‘till I asked ‘er what she was feelin’, and she tell me the walls were sad I ain’t painted them in a while, and there was a tree a few miles into the woods that was sick, ’n needed puttin’ down.”

Dean’s grip was white-knuckled, and he’d was all but holding his breath, frozen in his seat. If he moved an inch, Bobby might remember who he was talking to.

“I took ‘er with me, to chop that tree down. She pointed it out and told me it was happy I was puttin’ it down, cause I was green and most things ain’t green anymore. Most weeks were like that, when she was little, up ‘till she started losin’ control, and I wasn’t able to-“ Bobby cut himself off with a long sigh, shaking his head. “I know about how she’s been dealin’ with what it does to her. All that magic shit in her body that we don’t got a clue how to handle. She thinks I don’t, but I ain’t blind. I just know it could be worse-“

“Worse?” Dean cut Bobby off before he could stop himself. “I- Bobby, she burns her hands and chokes herself-“

“And she used to bash ‘er head on the wall until her forehead was always lumpy.” Bobby snapped. “I’ve seen ‘er better, and I’ve seen ‘er worse, and I know we ain’t headin’ towards the former. I know nobody ain’t told you yet, but you’re not stupid either, Dean. You worked out how she clued into your little demon deal?”

“Uh…” Dean swallowed, frowning at the road passing them in too quick a blur. “I don’t-“

“Remember what Sam told you? ‘Bout how she thinks she’s been seein’ souls?”

It clicked. In half a second, Dean nearly strangled on the air of the car as the Blade in Her hand, her expression frantic and desperate and filled with fear, and he own screams of what did you do echoed through his head.

“Son of a bitch.” He muttered, and Bobby grunted.

“It’s been gettin’ worse. You know it’s been gettin’ worse, and I don’t-“ Bobby leaned back on the bench running a hand over his face. “You got two weeks, Dean. And when the clock runs up, no matter what we got, how much faith we have, I don’t want her seein’ it.”

Dean couldn’t hide the shock on his face as he looked at Bobby, barely remembering to turn back to the road. Bobby’s face was solemn, serious and resolved and firm, and if She was in the car, she would’ve jumped over the front bench and strangled them both.

“Bobby, there’s not a damn way she’s gonna like that-“

“She doesn’t have to like it.” Bobby grunted. “I- I’m not a big fuckin’ fan of it either, and she can curse me and hate me for the rest of her damn life, but-“

“Don’t say it’s for her own good, she’d stab you-“

“Goddamnit, Dean I know that! And if stabbin’ me is what’s gotta happen to keep her from losin’ her fucking mind, watchin’ your soul, your fuckin’ soul, get beaten up and dragged off to hell, then I’ll hand her the knife myself.” Bobby let out a long, heavy breath. “It’s not for her own good. For her own good woulda been doin’ everythin’ in my power to keep her safe. Haulin’ and packin’ up and movin’ to fucking Mexico eight damn years ago. We’re past the good, and I’m making do with what I’ve fuckin’ got.”

Dean still shook his head. She’d never been a fan of just waiting. If they handcuffed Her, She’d break out. If they locked Her in a room she’d probably just ask the door to open, and it would. “Bobby, she’ll- What if I make it out? She’ll never fucking forgive us for that, what if we keep her in the dark and chain her to a chair or something, and I make it out, and she hates us for the rest of her fucking life-“

“Then you’ll have the rest of your life to make it up to her.” Bobby grunted. “You ready to hear my question?”

Dean shot him another look of shock, his vision almost feeling clouded with confusion. “None of that was the freakin’ question-“

“You ready or not, ya idjit?”

“I’m ready.” He muttered, looking back to the road to avoid Bobby’s glare. “What.”

“Do you really think it’ll be somethin’ she’ll survive. Ignorin’ all the self-pity I ain’t good enough shit, look me in the eyes and tell me my girl is gonna be alright if she watches you get ripped up by a bunch of fuckin’ hell hounds. Cause I know my answer. I known it since you told me, and I had to watch her curl up in my basement a few weeks later and act like nothin’ was wrong. She wasn’t holdin’ it together those two years, boy. I ain’t ready to- I’m not lookin’ to lose her, too.” 

“Bobby, I-“

“You don’t gotta answer now.” Bobby muttered, and Dean could feel his gaze, searing right into Dean’s bones. “You don’t ever even need to tell me it. But don’t lie about it, to yourself. If you’re hell-set on brinin’ her, I ain’t gonna be able to stop both of you. But, if you’re tellin’ the truth and you work out what that truth means, for her, then…”

Bobby didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t have to.

Dean understood just fine. 

And he didn’t know his answer. He didn’t know anything but Her, and She’d never forgive him for that. 

But he’d sworn to himself that he’d do what he needed to, every time, for Her. If didn’t matter what She did, if She ripped Dean’s spine out of his body and used it for goddamn decoration, Dean would still be there. One step behind Her. Making sure She didn’t get herself killed, making sure she could always turn and see him there. Still there. Always there, as long as she allowed him to be.

He didn’t want to think about what that would mean, if none of this worked. 

If She ended up alone, Dean would need Her to know he’d wanted to stay. He’d always wanted to stay. Even that first time, when he’d been trying—and failing—to hate Her and Dad had told him to go, he’d left but he’d never wanted to. And it had never stuck. And every single goddamn time, he’d always thought he’d find Her again. Somehow, he’d stumble onto the right case, walk into the right diner, or just be wandering nowhere at all and She’d fall out of the sky into his arms.

This would stick. 

If everything went south, he’d be alone in the darkest pit available, and She’d be alone, and he hadn’t wanted to entertain the thought but he also knew his answer, and he’d never wanted to be something that hurt Her.

He always had. Dean had never touched Her and not found some new, fucked up way to break Her. 

But She’d come back anyway. And touched Dean every time, and shone brighter than before until he felt fucking seen. He was a shadow, he wasn’t supposed to be seen, but She looked anyway because she seemed to like making things as complicated as possible.

He’d always thought coming back was just how things were. No matter what, in the back of his head, he’d never stopped looking for Her on every street and through every window and in every room, because She might have been there, and they’d had more time.

Dean knew She’d never done the same for him. 

But it didn’t really matter. She was the whole world, and She’d still chosen to look at Dean, and he- 

He was fucking lost in his own pit. He was alone, and lost, and he wanted to crawl out to Her but he’d never had enough will, or strength, or worth.

He didn’t know if She’d cry for him.

All he’d ever been good at knowing was how to put glue on the things he’d broken, and that he was a weapon from the mud that shouldn’t touch nice things.

She let him touch Her.

He was losing his fucking mind. Stuck in a loop. He wasn’t goddamn smart enough to work out Bobby’s freakin’ riddle, didn’t have enough resolve to do something that could ever make Her hate him, was too pathetic to not care about Her and Her safety and happiness, but never good enough to be that fucking thing that made Her happy, and he didn’t know shit but She always did, and She’d said she liked that he was always there, that she could always trust him to let her fall apart and handle what she couldn’t, when she trusted no one else, but he didn’t want to be the thing that hurt Her but he’d always been so good at it-

He didn’t know when he pulled into the junkyard. But he was here now.

Jo was sitting on the steps, watching them will a pallid face and wide eyes.

And it didn’t matter what Dean knew. 

His girl needed him.

“I-“ Jo was talking before they were fully out of the car, her words borderline pleas. “She still hasn’t moved, and I don’t- It’s like she can’t even hear me-“

Dean just pushed past her. He’d apologize later, but there was nothing else to do. He needed to get to Her, explanations could goddamn wait-

She wasn’t where he’d left Her. He turned to Jo with wide eyes, and she pointed up the stairs. 

“In you- Uh- Her room-“

He grunted something that he hoped sounded like thanks, and flew up the stairs, half kicking the door open.

It had been unlocked, and let out a loud bang from the impact.

She didn’t even flinch.

And this had been why Dean felt sick the whole damn hunt. Why he’d known he shouldn’t have left.

She looked horrible. Beautiful—even with tangled and matted hair, slightly grayed skin, and bloodshot eyes that seemed a little unfocused and glazed—but horrible. Blood all over Her clothing, stuck to Her skin and under Her nails as she turned the page of a book. Her knife and the blade at Her feet as She held a stained notebook in slightly shaking hands.

There wasn’t a single light on in the room. Dean was pretty sure none of the blood was Hers, but he didn’t miss how She’d pressed herself to the wall, or the way Her palms were the only part of Her that was clean. Raw and blistered, but clean.

The plate on the floor was half covered in another sheet of notes. The was a glass of water pushed off to the side to make room for more books. 

The furrow in Her brow was deeper than he’d ever seen it.

When Dean crouched at Her feet, she didn’t even look up.

“Hey,” he muttered Her name, fisting his hand to stop himself from reaching for Her. “Demons, huh?”

She touched him first.

She’d always touched him first. 

And there was a strange look in Her eyes, when She scanned over him. That look he’d seen countless times before, where She was looking into him. Filling him with Silver light that made his breathing easier, even as the stench of blood threatened to suffocate him.

“I put the bodies out back.” She whispered. “Burned them.”

He gave Her a small smile. “Smart thinking, Princess. Don’t need any demon ghosts.”

Her lips twitched, but She back down to the book, curling back into Her own body, away from Dean-

“Uh,” he swallowed, scraping for some way to keep Her. Looking at him. Listening. At all. “How many?”

“Six.” She hummed, not looking up from Her book as she took another note. Her hand was still on Dean’s face. Her dominant hand. “Jo was helpful.”

“You’re training her well.”

“She’s just a good hunter. And I think she’d-” She paused, only for a second, still frowning at Her book. “I haven’t tried that yet. I’ll ask her tomorrow. Is Sam back?”

Dean shook his head, unable to look away from that little furrow on Her brow, and She sighed.

“That’s fine, it can just be Jo and I-“

Dean grunted Her name, squeezing Her hand against him. “You can’t do anything until you eat. Clean up.”

“No, I’m okay-“

“You’re covered in blood.”

“So?”

“It’s kinda fuckin’ gross-“

“I don’t care.” She muttered, taking another note. “I don’t have enough time-“

“You gotta make time to- Fuck, to eat and sleep.” He pushed back, and when She didn’t answer, his eyes narrowed. “When was the last time you slept.”

She didn’t answer again. Dean grunted Her name, but She still didn’t answer.

“C’mon.” He grunted, pulling Her forwards, and She shoved him back, still without looking up. “Goddamnit- You can’t just fucking waste away-“

“I’m not-“ Her words were slightly choked, and when She finally met Dean’s gaze, Her voice was pleading. “There’s not enough time, Dean, I don’t have enough time-“

“Maybe, but I’m not worth dying over-“ He cut himself off with a groan, dropping to fully rest on his knees before Her. “Please, I’m- Fuck, just one shower. Sammy’s got that book for you, but one shower, and eat some food, and I’ll clean everything up and go get it for you. I’ll even do all your reading while you take care of yourself, but- Son of a bitch, just eat.” He grabbed Her face between both his hand, forcing Her gaze to stay on his as his voice became hoarse. “I know we don’t have time, Princess. Please don’t just- One shower. All I’m asking.”

She swallowed, looking at him like that again as Her breathing became heavy, and She was going to say no. She was going to waste away for Dean, of all fucking people and he needed to- 

“Okay.” She whispered, and a little bit of the iron raised off Dean’s chest. “I- I don’t-“

“Ask Jo for help.” He muttered. “I’ll keep doing this.”

She nodded, but didn’t move.

And Dean’s thumb moved on its own. Petting down the bridge of Her nose even though Her breathing was even, and there was no hand around Her throat. As if there wasn’t a choice. That was just what he always had to do.

But he chose to lean forward. To press the gentle kiss to Her brow, and linger there until there was a knock at door, and She had to go let Jo pull Her into the bathroom. 

Dean grunted to Jo, before the door closed, to make sure She actually ate and cleaned, to maybe try and force in a nap as well. From the determined nod Jo had given him, there had been nothing to worry about in the first place.

And when he was left alone in Her room, it was still choked in the smell of blood, but under that, there was just Her. 

No matter how far down Dean went, it was always just Her.

The sugar smell was gone. 

The fruit smell never left. Dean could be a million miles away and he’d still smell that goddamn fruit. And it was strong that the blood, but it seemed to be the only thing surviving the war She’d been waging on herself, in Dean’s fucking name. All the books had been ripped off the shelves, every pencil was covered in bite marks and snapped in half, and the bed obviously hadn’t been touched since he left.

And Dean knew his answer, to the impossible thing Bobby was asking of him. 

He wouldn’t be something that hurt Her. If Dean didn’t make it out this, She had to. 

She needed to be somewhere good. Somewhere made for something like Her. Bright and brilliant and good.

Not near hell hounds.

And, if it came down to it, not near Dean.

——————

“What time is it?”

“Uh,” Jo leas forwards in the passenger’s seat, frowning at the blinking clock on the dashboard. “This is sayin’ five, but- It’s still dark out-“

“I don’t think this one is adjusted for daylight savings.” You mutter, frowning at the road ahead. “I should’ve taken Bobby’s pickup, it’s faster-“

Jo snorts. “That pickup ain’t fast-“

“It’s faster.” You shoot her a small, tight-lipped smile. “None of these cars are fast, they’re a million years old.”

There’s a pause, and Jo’s next words are soft in a way that makes the Darkness burst and hum in your body, unable to take being soothed when it knows where you’re headed. 

Of course it knows. You know. And it may take the Blade—tucked neatly into your jacket, just in case—pressing into your skin, but you can’t let the Darkness slip away from you. Not here. Not now. There’s too much on the line, and this is your last fucking shot.

You’ve spent the past two months doing everything. Coming up at every dead end and turning around without blinking, because sorrow and disappointment were luxuries you could not afford. You just had to turn around, keep going, and find another way. 

You’ve read every book on demons you could get your hands on, and looked for every weapon that might give you an edge over Lilith, searched for all her lore and if there was a single, small weakness you could exploit.

There wasn’t. And you still didn’t understand what she’d said to you in the diner. It had all been cryptic nonsense that made the Darkness roll and cry, made you sound important and could give you more clues into what you were, but right now that really didn’t fucking matter. Dean matters. Saving Dean matters, and you’ve got two weeks but that’s not nearly enough time, and everyone can tell you to take care of yourself all they want but they can’t fucking feel this like you can.

They can’t see the brand on Dean’s soul, pulsing and spreading and taunting you. They can’t see the Gold, stained all over Bobby’s books and cups and furniture, tangled in your sheets and sunken into your mattress and on your hands like blood, and they don’t have to wonder if it will fade. 

And they don’t have the spiderweb. It’s not iridescent and full of light that’s being cast around their bodies all the time, but only content and happy when Dean’s there, and they world for them isn’t just simply better when Dean is there, and they aren’t in fucking pain that’s only aided by Dean being there, if he’s not there you don’t know how to make the world Silver by yourself, and you’re supposed to be a good fucking hunter, but what’s the goddamn use if you can’t fucking save Dean-

“The Impala is fast.” Jo mumbles, and you can feel her watching you. Almost testing to see if you’ll shut down again, just at the mention of something in Dean’s proximity.

You won’t. You’re not that fucking pathetic. 

And you haven’t been shutting down. You’ve been focused. Working and working because you can still feel the numb, too big, hollow pain of grief, and you have to make sure that it’s temporary because you can’t lose Dean, and you have to get through this, you’ve always gotten through this, but you don’t know how to live with such a massive fucking pit in the cavity of your chest, with the spiderweb whining and absorbing all it can now before he’s gone, but he won’t be gone because you’ll find a way, because you can’t lose Dean-

You’re getting caught in the loop again. 

You don’t have time to entertain it.

“Of course the Impala is fast.” You mutter, flipping your blinker as you move off the highway, refusing to look over and meet Jo’s eyes, because you know they’ll be full of fucking pity, and it might make something up your spine snap. “Dean takes care of it more than anything.”

Jo just hums, and you lean your head back in your seat, unable to stop the next words from slipping out of your mouth.

“Do you think he’s-“ You swallow, catching yourself before you become too pathetic. “They’re gonna notice we’re gone?”

“I think Dean’ll notice you’re gone.” Jo offers, and you don’t appreciate her not entertaining your game. “Surprised he ain’t called us already, askin’ where you ran off to.”

“I left a note.” You mutter. “And I told Sam.”

“You tell Bobby too?”

You shoot Jo a glare, and she just holds it with raised brows.

“You didn’t, did ya.”

“No,” you scowl back to the road. “He’d work out where we’re going, and he’d try to stop us. Or come with us. Or send Sam with us.”

Jo frowns at that. “Not Dean?”

“He wouldn’t want Dean coming with us for this.” You mutter, slowing down to scan over the street name a little better.

You’re pretty sure you’ll remember where to turn. It’s been years, but you’ve got a good memory, and all these stupid roads look the same but-

There it is.

“You know,” Jo says your name carefully as you turn, leaning forward until she’s in your periphery. “You still ain’t told me where we’re goin’, and if it’s somethin’ Dean shouldn’t be doin’-“

“Technically I don’t think any of us should be doing this.” You give Jo an apologetic, grimacing smile. “Bobby just wouldn’t want Dean coming because he thinks we get reckless about each other.”

You’re paraphrasing. Bobby’s exact word had been you two idjits act like there ain’t nothin’ else in the world, and it’s not safe fuckin’ hunting to see who can get shot for the other first. You think he was being a little dramatic, and the way he’d snapped it implied things you know you felt through your whole body—like lifeblood in the spiderweb, and seeping deep into the Gold that Dean left everywhere, made of a word you couldn’t say aloud, not now, not when it was impossible and there wasn’t enough time—but you also know that, for this, he was right.

Dean can’t do this with you. He’ll get weird about it, and he’ll distract you but just dragging you down into his gravity and being handsome and stupid and amazing, and this needs to go well. 

And maybe this would hurt less, if Dean was here, but it hurts all the fucking time again and the Darkness has never been this loud and desperate in your life—never taken this much effort and pain to keep down, never been just a single crack in your body from exploding into the air, making everything far too big in a way you don’t know you’ll be able to drag back down alone—so if you lose control, Dean can’t be here to see it.

He’d accepted it. He’d looked at you, and stayed, and only been angry you hadn’t told him before you know he doesn’t understand. Doesn’t know the depth of it, doesn’t know how it’s not a tool or a weapon or gift, it’s a fucking cancer and it’s trying to spread into him, and you won’t let it.

You’d already failed at that once. The light was still flowing through him whenever the Blade was in your hand, and all you could see was the Gold. He doesn’t seem to have grown sick. You won’t risk it.

Won’t hurt him, not for anything in the world. It would be cruel and wrong and selfish, to save him like that, when there has to be another way.

And this was that other way. You fucking hated it. There’s no turning back—you’ve come this far, and turning back would make this whole thing a waste of fucking time—but you still feel sick, and the pain is still settling so deep in your body you’re shocked you’re still conscious. 

But you have to do this. 

For Dean.

“Y’all do get reckless about each other.” Jo mutters under her breath, and you roll your eyes, electing to not respond. “And you still ain’t told me what we’re doin’. Just like, two sentences will do, but I ain’t Dean-“

That makes you look at her, your brow furrowed tightly together. “What’s that supposed to mean-“

“Means I can’t look at you and know what you’re thinkin’,” Jo drawls your name, continuing before you can push back. “Gimme the plan, or I’m callin’ Bobby now and tellin’ him we’re in- Uh-“

She looks around the seemingly abandoned woods, and you sigh.

“Chicago. Well, near Chicago.”

“Alrigh-“ She pauses, shooting you a frown. “What?”

“You have to promise you won’t freak out.” 

Jo says your name in a cautious tone, shaking her head. “I don’t know-“

“Just- Promise.” You let out a long breath, dropping your head to the steering wheel and frowning at your knees. “Please.”

“I- Okay.” You can hear the nerves in Jo’s voice. When this is done, you’ll buy her a million bath bombs and apologize on your knees. But for now, nothing else is as important as doing this. “Promise. You gonna tell what’s goin’ on?"

You swallow, choosing your every world slowly. Carefully. “You know that book I made the guys get? From that vamp nest?”

Jo goes rigid at your side, a little more guilt eats at your gut. She’s thinking of the wrong part of that day, where the world had turned into the blur as you slashed and cut your way through the demons—they’d tried to taunt you, but you didn’t have enough time—and gone back to reading the moment it was over.

You’d make that choice again a million times. Even if Jo’s worried face kept haunting you is the easier nightmares, Dean had kissed your brow and held you close enough you could hear his heartbeat, and you’d made no progress into freeing him, but you could’ve. There had been a chance.

Most of this has been hinging on there being just a chance. That’s what you were doing here. 

So you’d fucking take it.

“Jo-“

“I remember.” She mutters. “Big fuckin’ tome, ended up bein’ in Turkish or somethin’-“

“Romanian.” You correct, sitting fully back up and folding your arms over your chest. “It’s Romanian. None of us fucking speak or read Romanian.”

“Sam said we could translate it-“

“Sam thinks our only option is Romanian.”

Jo pauses again. You’re worried that, by the end of the day, you’ll have sent her into a shock coma. “I- Ain’t it?”

“Nope.” You shrug, unbuckling from your seat. “I fucked up. Thought that the vamps would have an English copy, and I was wrong.”

“You-“ Jo scrambles out of the car behind you, watching you with wide eyes. “You know, you ain’t even told us how that books gonna help Dean-“

“It has a summoning ritual.”

“We already know summoning rituals-“

You shake your head, pulling your knife out of your jacket and spinning it in your hands. “Not this one.”

Jo snaps your name, glaring at you as she walks through the woods at your side. “What the hell’re you talkin’ about-“

“I’ve read that book before.” You mumble, swallowing down a little bile in your throat. “I remember it, there was- Lilith. The ritual that could summon Lilith, but I haven’t been able to fully remember it, and nothing else I could find has had it, so we need to go get the English copy.”

“And the English copy is…” Jo scans around you with a frown. “In the woods.”

“No. It’s-“ You sigh, running your free hand through your hair and coming to stop. “This is the part where you promised not to freak out.”

“I-“

“Look, I’ll take the lead. And I wouldn’t have brought you if I didn’t think you could do this, plus when Dean and Bobby find out, they’re gonna be really fucking pissed, and it will be better if I tell them I took backup-“

Jo snaps your name, her eyes wide with an almost frantic worry. “You gotta stop talkin’ in riddles, you know I never get what the hell you’re sayin’-“

“We’re breaking into my family’s house.”

Your words are blunt. Fast. They have to be. This has to be like ripping off a band-aid or jumping into ice water. You just have to do it, and then it’s done, and you can head home and never think about it again, outside of a memory of searing pain on your palm and a numbness rushing through your whole body.

“We’re- What?!”

You nod up through the woods, spinning your knife in your hand, just be doing something. “Up through there is the house. It’ll have security, but we’ll get around it just fine, and nobody should be home-“

Jo shakes her head. “You can’t be sure ‘bout that-“

“Yeah, I can. It’s summer, everyone will be on vacation. It’ll be in and out. We just have get the book from the library.” You sigh, giving Jo another apologetic look. “Look, I’m sorry, but this is the only thing we’ve got left. And you can wait in the car, if you want-“

Jo scoffs. “Stop bein’ dramatic, I ain’t lettin’ you go in there alone. But, uh-“ She swallows, nodding to your knife. “You think I’m gonna need to be armed?”

You shrug. “Probably not. I just- This makes me feel better.”

Jo understands. You don’t say it, but Jo knows you well enough to get that it’s not being armed that makes you feel better.

It’s this knife. The knife Dean gave you. The knife that makes the spiderweb shine a little brighter, because it means that some part of his is still grounding you and keeping all the Darkness a little softer in your body. 

And that’s so fucking pathetic. You know that. You’re a grown ass woman, you shouldn’t need a security blanket knife to hold yourself together. 

Knowing still really doesn’t matter. 

You’ll learn your lesson when this is over. When you have time to.

“You got a plan?” Jo asks, and you shake your head.

“Nope. We’ll be fine, though-“

“And you’re sure they still have the book? I know you ain’t been here in years, maybe they threw it out-“

You snort at that. “They’ll still have it. Trust me. You ready?”

Jo nods, following you as you start to move forwards, keeping her voice low, like the trees could hear.

It’s not a bad idea.

They might.

“What’s makin’ you so sure? I mean, I trust ya, but we don’t got a plan and you never talk about ‘em, so I dunno what to-“

“It’s- You’ll see.” You wish you could offer her more, but still don’t have the words to describe them to yourself. “It’s not too late to stay in the car-“

“Yeah, it is.”

You stop at the edge of the woods, the land splitting into an impossibly large, nearly kept clearing, and there it is.

High on the top of a hill, like some sort of fucking castle. Everyone else always liked it. They seemed to the think the clean brick and polished glass—always letting in too much sunlight, always forcing the heavy, velvet curtains to remind drawn—made them like modern royalty. More than modern royalty. Empirical. Privy to knowledge others weren’t permitted to have, knowledge that made them chosen.

You’d never really understood what they meant. The house had been lonely. It had hurt to try and run up the hill, and every room was too dark and cold, and it had always been so fucking easy to get lost. 

For you, it had been a prison. A slaughterhouse. 

You’d never been favored. You’d only been…

Alone. Shouted at and untouchable and carved open and alone. 

“Follow my lead.” You glance at Jo, and she nods, looking between you and the house with wide eyes. “Don’t split up, no matter what, and don’t touch anything.”

Jo swallows. “And you’re- You really fuckin’ positive no one’s home-“

“Yeah. I am.”

You’re not. The Darkness is building and coiling in your body because you’re really not sure. Someone could be. Just a staff worker would fuck this whole thing up, because it’s been almost eighteen years, but you don’t look that different, and if one person sees you that could cause a lot of problems you really can’t deal with right now.

But you need to do this, for Dean. You’re out of options, and you wouldn’t have even thought of this, entertained it in the slightest, if you didn’t think it was necessary. And Jo doesn’t need to be more worried. You’re already asking too much of her, adding to that by telling her that—should there be someone home—this could escalate into blood and mayhem so fast the blur with become more of a blink, won’t help anyone at all.

It helps that no one is home. In a rare, glorious stroke of unfamiliar luck, you get inside the house without dogs barking or biting at your heels, without alarms going off or the Darkness vaulting out of your body as it settles into your bones.

As it really clicks that you’re back here. You’d sworn to yourself that you’d never go back here. That there was never going to be a world where you stepped foot in this horrible fucking cage again, but you’re here.

Every part of you feels fragile. Too small. You can’t tell if the Darkness is trying to strangle the White, or hide inside of it. And the White is pounding at your rib cage, trying to pull you out, get out, this place is horrible and you can feel the stick of blood on your palm and see too many eyes watching you in awe and revolt and relief, and you think you did something wrong but nobody is screaming at you, they’re all staring but nobody is screaming, or touching you, you’re braced but nobody is touching you and why is the floor glowing like that and why won’t everyone stop looking at you, everything is too big and you can feel the whole universe but you’re still trapped in the center of the room-

Jo whispers your name, and you realize that you’d stopped walking. “Are you-“

“I’m okay.” Your words are shorter than you’d meant them as you twist a ring on your finger, and Jo doesn’t flinch at all. “I- Sorry, I can’t remember where we’re supposed to turn.”

Jo nods, glancing down the too long hallway. “Where are we headin’?”

“Library. I think it’s one- No, two floors up-“

Jo catches your arm as you start to walk forward, her mouth agape when you turn with a frown. “This place got a fuckin’ library?”

“Kind of, yeah. It’s not like Bobby’s though-“

“I guessed that-“

“No, it’s-“ You sigh, shaking your head. “It’s barely a library at all.”

Jo blinks as you start down the hall again, pulling her with you. “What’s that mean?”

“You’ll see.”

She should see. If you can find the fucking library, Jo will see.

But this place is just as much of a maze as it had been when you were eight. Maybe more, because when you were eight you knew what halls you weren’t allowed to wander down—you had anyway, and it had never ended well, but you’d known—and been able to do more than you let your feet move on instinct.

There’s too much instinct, still ingrained in your body after so many years. You’re going everywhere but the library, because you’d never been permitted to go there without supervision. 

You’d always touched too many things, and read too many of the books everyone said you shouldn’t be able to, and some part of your body doesn’t seem interested in going to the library, because it’s too close to that room.

You really don’t want to end up in that room. If just being in the house sets off that memory, you don’t think the Darkness will be able to handle being in the room. Looking at the floor and seeing that your blood is—maybe—still stained on the stone.

You’re already seeing too many things you’ve tried so hard to forget. Hearing voices screaming your name down the empty halls when the only other person here is Jo—braced and nervous at your side—and fighting the urge to vomit whenever you open to the wrong door.

The bathroom is the first one. It hasn’t changed since you were there last. 

None of this place has. 

It’s still too clean. Pure white everywhere—marble counter, porcelain bathtub and toilet, stainless tiles and untouched towels—with only a flash of red where no one else can see. Stuck in your head, a weak illusion where you’re small again and it all hurts, hurts more than you’d ever know before, and everything feels so strange but you can’t see anything but blood on your fingers, and you can’t stop crying because why does this hurt, and your mother is shouting that it’s normal, it’s good, you’re a woman, but you don’t want to be a woman, you just want it to stop fucking hurting-

Something shatters in your ears, and it’s just a ghost of the memory—they’ve fixed the crack in the walls, and you think your mother’s hand has likely healed over eighteen years—but you still flinch.

Jo asks if you’re okay. You nod, and keep moving.

Next, it’s your bedroom. 

You don’t linger there long, because you don’t want to throw up but nothing has changed. The furniture, the wallpaper, all the dolls and clothing are the exact fucking same as when you left. Even your sheets are the same.

The bed has been made. There’s no layer of dust over the room.

“Is this-“

“Yeah.” You mutter, closing the door and moving on, tugging Jo behind you. “Let’s keep going.”

You’re close. You keep walking—making sure is Jo stays right at your side, just in case—and you know you’re close because you can feel it, tugging somewhere deep in your gut, but you’re still not entirely sure where you’re going, and what if you’d gone the wrong way and just never fucking realized it-

This hall is a dead end. You don’t remember taking the turn, but your feet had carried you here, and it’s just a fucking dead end.

With two doors. Two identical doors.

“Which, uh-“ Jo glances at you, raising her brows with a weary expression. “Do you know which one we should-“

“No.” You mutter, spinning your knife in your hand as you glare between the doors.

“You think it’s one of them, though?”

“Yeah, but-  No!”

Your scream surprised you more than it seems to surprise Jo. She lurches back from the handle she’d been reaching for as you lunge to stop her, and suddenly the air is too thin.

You’re not allowed in that room. That’s the one room you’d never even dared to poke around into—even when you’d found yourself everywhere you shouldn’t be, all the fucking time—because it just wasn’t allowed. You can’t go in there because you can’t. That’s it, you can’t, there doesn’t need to be another reason because you’re never allowed to go in there-

“Shit-“ Jo snaps your name, and shaking her arm in your grip. “Are you- What was that-“

“Sorry, I-“ You glance down at where you’re still squeezing her, almost certainly too tight, and let go with a ragged breath. “I didn’t- Sorry.”

“It’s fine, I just wasn’t expectin’ it-“ She cuts herself off, tilting her head as you hug your body, your gaze still flicking to the door. “You good?”

“I-“

“And don’t lie.” Jo adds, giving you a pointed look when you glance at her with wide eyes. “I may not be Dean or Bobby, but I know when you ain’t doin’ well. You just lost it over a fuckin’ door-“

You cut off Jo drawl of your name with a shake of your head. “It’s not just- That’s not the door.” You nod to the opposite wall, taking a long breath to steady your voice. “It’s the other one.” 

“But you said you-“

“I know. I was-“ You swallow, letting one hand slide up to hold your throat. Lightly. Just enough to keep the Darkness locked down. “We’re not allowed in there. So it’s the other one.”

Jo blinks at you. “Not allowed?”

You nod, squeezing a little tighter. “That’s- It’s my grandfather’s room. His study. I’m not-“ You feel so fucking small. The walls almost seem to be getting taller, but that’s not possible, and the Darkness is begging to just be released—to be allowed to make your big again, to hurt this whole place the way it hurt you, to make it repent because you can—but you can’t. You won’t. “I’m not allowed in there.”

“You’re-“ Jo says your name with a long sigh, and it’s not sympathy in her voice. Her words are slow and careful, but it’s really not sympathy. “Look, if it’s somewhere you shouldn’t be, doesn’t that mean it’s exactly where we need to be?”

“Jo-“

“You don’t gotta, I won’t make you, but- Think about it.” Jo nods between the doors, crossing her arms as she continues. “As a hunter, what would you be doin’ on any other case? What would you tell me to do?”

You swallow. “Go in the- Fucking Christ, Jo, that’s really annoying.”

She just shrug, offering you a small grin in return. “I’ve been learnin’ from the best.”

“Shut up.” You take a long breath as you step forward, spinning your knife in your hands and glaring at the door. It won’t burn you. Logically, it won’t be able to do anything to you at all, because it’s a fucking door. 

That doesn't stop your skin from itching at the thought.

“Jo-“

“I got it.” You glance over your shoulder to find her right behind you, reaching for the door with one hand, the other holding a-

“I said you didn’t need a weapon.“

“I know, but-“ She holds your gaze, kicking the door open before you have chance to realize that she’d distracted you, and preventing another scream from leaving your chest. “Dean says to always bring a gun.”

You roll your eyes. “Dean’s a fucking idiot.”

“I’m gonna tell him you said that.” Jo hums, walking right past you into the room you’re still not strong enough to look at. “C’mon, I don’t know what I’m lookin’ for.”

You swallow, tucking your knife back into your jacket. You can’t think about what you’re about to do, because it will shut something in your down, and you won’t make it out without ripping into your skin to stay together.

You’ll think about Dean instead. You’re doing this for him. You’ll get through this not because you always do, but because you have to. For Dean.

“He knows I think that.” You mutter, bracing yourself as you turn to face the room. “And he knows better than to bring a gun when I specifically told him not to-“

Jo laughs at that, already scanning over the tall, polished wood bookshelves. “No, he doesn’t. You just always forgive ‘im cause he’s Dean.”

You scowl, walking into the study with uneven steps. You can’t think about it. “What’s that supposed to mean.”

“It means what it means.”

“That’s not an answer, Jo.”

“Don’t need to be, you know what the answer is anyway-“

“No, I don’t-“

“C’mon,” Jo drawls your name, shooting you a grin as you start to comb over the desk, your every touch of the wood too light. You aren’t allowed to do this. You have to. For Dean. “You can lie to yourself, and you can lie to Dean-“

“I can’t, actually.” You mutter, pulling open a drawer with too cautious fingers, and Jo frowns.

“What’d you mean, you can’t?”

“I mean what I mean.”

Jo rolls her eyes. “Oh, fuck off- Holy shit.”

You’re at her side in half a breath, grabbing the Blade and bracing yourself for a fight, to throttle the Darkness but still make it out alive, because Jo trusts you so you can’t let her get hurt-

“What-“

“Is that you?”

You follow Jo’s gaze up, over the impossible fancy and likely unusable fireplace to the perfectly clean mantle, to the-

“Fuck.”

That is you. A small, seven-year-old you wearing a neat little dress you remember leaving a rash on your skin, your hair done in an elaborate style you don’t think you could duplicate if you tried, a book open on your lap that you remember being taken away after an hour, because you’d kept trying to read it when you were supposed to be staying still. 

There’s joy in your eyes, in the painting. More ease over your features than you’ve maybe ever known, and a small smile that’s too soft to be yours. And maybe it’s just a trick of the light—somehow breaking through the curtains, casting over the painting but only really shining on you—but there’s more color in you than your family.

They all seem to be static. 

You could swear you could see silver, shifting around the oil paint, humming in your body.

But that’s not what caught your attention. What washed you with heavy relief and a white-hot dread all at once, and made your throat tighten as your grip on the Blade became impossibly tight.

There it was. Old and worn, not a single speck of dust, waiting for you.

Not the same way the blade had been waiting—forged for you, designed for you, better in your hand than anywhere else—but still waiting for what you were. 

Like Lilith. 

The thought makes you a little sick. You entertain that later.

Jo tugs at your arms, her voice filled with nerves once more. “You’re- uh- you were a cute kid-“

“Yeah. I know.” You glance over at Jo’s soft, easy, light blue, and let out a long breath. “Get ready to run.”

Jo’s blue widens and tenses, all at once. “What-“

“When I grab the book. Ready?”

“I-“

You don’t wait for the full answer. She’s ready. You can see it all over her soul, bright and tensed and ready to burst.

So you grab the book, and the blur begins.

Out. You have to get out. You have to go and only look back to make sure Jo is with you, you have to get to the car and take off without looking in the rearview mirror. 

And the blur should’ve ended there, but it doesn’t. It hasn’t been.

You haven’t told Dean. You haven’t told Jo, or Sam, or Bobby, or anyone that this has felt like fighting for something more than your life. That you get up in the morning and it’s like gliding and wading through a swamp, following the trails of light—hidden under the water, promising to deliver you home—until you’re more lost than you began, and Dean pulls you out.

It gets through the haze, when he’ll take your hand and move you to bed, or hold your hand and mutter that you have to eat. You’ll hear him and, more often than not, let him guide you to bed. Somewhere safe, until you get up the next day, remember that there’s a little less time today than there was yesterday—Dean asleep across the bed, Golden and peaceful and branded, in fucking danger—and the blur begins again.

So the blur doesn’t stop when you get out of Chicago safely. It doesn’t stop when Jo opens the book and her voice—too far away for you to properly respond to—tells you that this isn’t in English. If anything it picks up as you only glance over, see the words shifting around the page in a way you can read, and look back to the road. It becomes impossibly fast when the engine sputters out in Wisconsin, and doesn’t slow when you pull over for the night—the truck barely holding on until you park—and settle in a shitty, flea-bed motel. 

You think Jo is calling for backup, or a ride, or something. You still can’t really hear her, because the blur is too clouding over the world for you to do anything but focus.

It’s not clear down long you’ve been reading for when the door opens. All you know is that your eyes are heavy and every breath stings, but you can’t stop because you can’t lose Dean. Just another page might be the answer. Just another note might make something click and fall into place, might fix this, you can’t stop because there’s nothing else to do but this, and someone is saying your name but that won’t save Dean, so it doesn’t matter.

You whine like an animal when someone tries to pull the book away, but you can’t think to make another sound.

“How long has she been like this?”

“Since we got out of that place, I ain’t heard her say a word, but- Mom, it was so fuckin’ creepy-“

“I’ll bet it was, look at the state of her. You gotten her to eat anythin’?”

“No, I- It never works ‘less Dean asks her-“

“Dean ain’t here right now, is he? C’mon, get her in the car and we’ll get some food in her.”

They don’t pull you out—the two people guiding you to your feet and speaking so far away—but they aren’t hostile. They won’t hurt you or anything you love, so it’s okay to let them move you somewhere else, as long as they let you keep the book. 

And they do. It stays in your hands when you sit once more, the words still shifting off the pages and none of them leading you anywhere safe.

The world starts to sting with your breathing. Everything is so dark, and you can’t tell if it’s simply what’s around you—dimming out a light you can’t afford to not have—or what’s inside of you, leaking out and infecting the world.

“Should we be tryin’ to take that book away from her-“

“No, I’ve seen her tire herself out, and- She tried to bite me once.”

“Bite you-“

“Not really, but I thought she might. Mom, I- I’m real worried about her-“

“I know you are, baby, but there’s nothin’ we can do but- I don’t even know, prayin’ ain’t right, but Dean don’t got a lot time left-“

Dean. Dean doesn’t have enough time. 

You can’t let the weight and haze and sting wash over you and put you down because Dean doesn’t have enough time-

The sky is big.

It’s one of the first things you’d ever learned. That the sky was big, and he was watching, and if you were lucky, maybe, one day, he’d swallow you whole. 

Your mother calls him an important name. Says he’s got plan for your family, that you’ve been chosen by him more than the tribes in that old book you hate memorizing, that one day, hopefully, the sky will eat of one of your children.

You’d told her that the sky wanted to eat you. That sometimes he makes himself white where you can see it, and promises to take you up to somewhere he calls good, but doesn’t sound it. It sounds lonely. Cold and lonely and too clean, like the blank walls of the bathroom.

“He won’t want you, darling.” Your mother had sighed, tucking a little hair behind your ear. “You’re- It won’t be you.”

She always said that kinder than everyone else. She always tried a little, where everyone else has all given up. 

Because it doesn’t matter how many times you insist that you’ve met the sky, they all chalk it up to you, being you, and putting yourself where you don’t belong.

You’ll be lucky if they can pawn you off at all. If some fool of a man ever looks over to your corner of the field, and decides that they want the girl who won’t stop talking about the colors and the sky, or crying about how the spiders are all so afraid of the shoes, but the shoes feel disgusting, and the grass doesn’t want to be stepped on anymore. 

It’s why your corner of the field is so small. So the grass doesn’t have to keep hurting. 

You’re under the trees, because then it’s harder for the sky to see you.

And you’re alone because it’s easier to put you here, where you can’t ruin the party by telling your aunt that she’s incredibly dull and washed out, as is her husband, but he has the same stains of neon that make up the babysitter.

Someone says your name, and suddenly you're not small anymore. The sky is still too big, but he’s further away. Just watching. 

But the sky becomes nothing, when you turn to see who called you. 

“Dean?”

“Hey, Princess.” He grins at you, glancing around the field with raised brows. “I, uh, have we been here before?”

“You haven’t.” You shrug, glancing back out towards the ribbons and balloons of the party. “I have.”

“Oh.” He frowns. “What?”

“This is- It’s my cousin party, I think.”

“What, she have a birthday?”

“No, she-“ You pause, hugging your body as you stare at the people—all suddenly your size but weaker, moving between tables and laughing and worth nothing at all—and try to remember what you’d all been doing here.

You think something happened to her, and she was celebrating before they had another party, that you hadn’t been invited to.

She’d tell you, a few nights later, that she was certain it was going to be her. That she’d made a cup fly across the room, and the sky would want her more than anyone. 

You’d told her you saw her throw that cup, and the sky wouldn’t want her because she was the color of vomit and it was gross. 

That was why you hadn’t been invited to the other party. 

You really don’t remember what either of them were for.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean taps you on the nose, and you blink at him with a slight wide expression. “You still with me?”

He’s not the color of vomit. He’s golden and beautiful, and you don’t know why your cousin had ever bothered with the sky when Dean was real, and here. 

Maybe because he was yours, and your cousin ever popped up and tried to take him, you’d carve out her eyeballs with the knife he gave you.

You hadn’t been able to do that, during this party. You’d really like to do it now.

“Yeah, uh- I don’t think so. The party was for something else.”

“Huh.” Dean shrugs, looking back to the people running around the grass. “They got beer?”

“Yeah, it’s in the cooler. Tastes like shit.”

“It-“ He stares at you, eyes wide. “You drank it?”

“Today, yeah.” You rub your thumb over your palm, holding Dean’s gaze as you speak. “In ten minutes my uncle is going to give me a beer, and I’m going to drink it, then break it into my brother’s face because he was laughing at one of the housekeepers, and she always brought me new crayons.”

Dean chuckles, bumping his shoulder with yours. “So what I’m hearing is that you’ve always been this violent.”

You roll your eyes, wrinkling your nose at his smug, pretty face. “I am not violent.”

“Uh huh.”

“Don’t say ‘uh huh’ like that-“

“I didn’t say it like anything-“

“No, you said it like you do when you’re making fun of me-“

“Princess, I’ve never made fun of you, I happen to like life-“ He side-steps your shove with ease, his grin only growing. “And I like you even more. I’d never tease you. Not once.”

You scowl, raising your chin at him. “You’re full of shit, Winchester.”

Dean scoffs. “Just cause Sammy’s been saying I want to die doesn’t mean I want you to kill me, sweetheart.“

“No, that’s not-“ You swallow, his words sinking a little too deep under your skin, your voice becoming softer than it was before. “You want to die?”

“Not lately, nah.” 

“Lately?”

“About six months.” He mumbles, kicking a rock with his foot. “Since you got back, really.”

The air feels hot. You can’t really feel anything, not here, but the air is hot. “Me?” You whisper, your voice barely a breath, and Dean just shrugs, his voice a little lower than before.

“Course you, Princess. Never been anything else, has it?”

You swallow, and nod, because he’s right. It really hasn’t. And he holds your gaze until you’re looking into him, and he’s golden and shining and bigger than the sky. 

You’d trade the sky for him in a heartbeat. You’d trade the world for him even faster.

The sky rumbles at that. It doesn’t like that idea, you trading everything for Dean. And you don’t remember it raining during this party, but it’s beginning anyway. Heavy, cold rain that falls on your skin like bullets, swelling in the grass and turning into a flood in only seconds, splitting the sky with white before you can grab Dean, and he’s swept away and you can’t fucking breathe, and Dean, he was here and you lost him in half a fucking second, where’s Dean-

Your throat already hurts when your eyes open, as if you’ve been screaming for a while. 

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe-“

You’re not safe. Dean’s not safe. You don’t know where he is, but he’s not whoever is holding and speaking to you, and where’s Dean-

“He’s back at Bobby’s, kid, he’s alright.” The owner of the voice is stroking your hair, and their touch doesn’t wash through your body like Dean’s, but it’s not wrong. You don’t have the energy to fight it anyway. “We only got a few hours ‘till I drop you back, ’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

You don’t know why, but you don’t believe them. The Darkness is balking and rioting all at once, and the spiderweb is screaming for Dean, and you- 

It’s not going to be okay. You don’t know what to do, and you don’t feel well, and you can’t- 

“Dean.” You whisper, your voice hoarse as you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to drag a little control back into your body. “I- Where’s-“

“Bobby’s.” The voice repeats, smooth and controlled. “Sleepin’, probably, it’s well past midnight. And he’ll be glad you’re home,” the voice drawls your name, and that Ellen. Only she says your name like that. “He ain’t happy you ran off like that. Gonna be askin’ about where you were, so I suggest you and Jo start gettin’ your story straight.”

You blink your eyes open, still slightly blurred for the tears you know are still stained across your face, and you’re sitting at Ellen’s side, half-curled into her side like a child as you sit in the back of the car.

“Where’s-“

“She’s gettin’ you some food. Says you like the fruit gummies and those purple sodas.” Ellen raises her brows at you. “Anyone ever tell you that shit ain’t good for you?”

“Bobby has.” You mumble, picking at your fingernails. “I told him drinking wasn’t good for him.”

Ellen chuckles at that. “I’m takin’ you won that one.”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips, and Ellen mutters your name.

“He’s worried ‘bout you too, you know. Called me a few weeks back to say you won’t sleep ‘less Dean’s with you.”

You look up at her, swallowing it frantic, wired feeling over your skin. “I- Dean and I- Bobby-“

“He ain’t stupid. If he didn’t figure it out with his eyes, he’d put it together with his brain. He right?”

“Is he-“

“You not sleeping without Dean?”

You swallow again—you think you’re going to choke on nothing at all—and nod.

Ellen lets out a long, slow sigh. “You tell Bobby you went to Chicago?”

“No.” You whisper. You’re starting to bleed, a little under your nail. “He’d- he’d know what that meant. He’d try to stop me.”

Ellen hums. “Should he have?”

You shake your head. “Dean-“

“Honey, I don’t care about Dean right now.” Ellen squeezes her arm around your body, her eyes narrowed slightly. “Should you have headed back there?”

You shouldn’t have. It’s still like a noose around your throat, and now you have to worry about your family knowing you’re alive, and stealing their books, and had been in their house.

But you’d do it again. For Dean, you’d do it in a fucking heartbeat.

“I-“ You swallow, pulling your knees into your chest. “I- I don’t know what to do.”

Ellen mutters your name but you shake your head, your every word becoming rushed and frantic as it slams back into you.

There’s not enough time. You can’t eat or sleep and there’s not enough time, and Dean is- You can’t- He’s Dean and you-

“I can’t- I don’t know what to do- Please, I- I don’t know what to do and I can’t- what if- I need him, I can’t- If this doesn’t work then I can’t-“ Your voice becomes strangled. Weak. Almost fucking pleading. “Please, I- I don’t know what to do-“

“Oh, Jesus.” Ellen holds you a little tighter, muttering your name, “’S gonna be alright, sweetheart. You’re smart ’n strong, you’ll be alright.”

It’s a labor to hear her. Your nails are leaving little marks on your skin and you’re not really breathing, but the Darkness is howling in your body and you can’t use it, you can’t hurt anyone but it may be the only way and you don’t know what to do-

“I- The book-“

“In your bag.” Ellen mutters, squeezing you one last time before pulling back. “We’ll all take some time to look at it, once we get you home, alright?”

You don’t think they will. Jo had said she couldn’t read it. You nod anyway, and Ellen gives you a soft smile.

“You wanna talk to Bobby.”

You nod again, and you feel like a child. You don’t know if it was Chicago, or how you’re almost out of time, but you feel small again. The Darkness is going dormant not because you feel better, but because you’re simply too fucking small.

Sitting on the curb of the parking lot, rubbing your calves and biting the inside of your cheek until it bleeds as you dial Bobby’s number. Like a kid who had too much to drink at a party, or got kicked out of a sleepover, the air sticky and hot on your skin and every breath too wired in your lungs-

It’s past midnight, but Bobby still picks up after three rings. 

You don’t wait for his greeting before the words start to spill out of your mouth like vomit.

“Bobby, I- I’m sorry, I need- I didn’t want to, but I, I don’t feel that good-“

Bobby grunts your name. “You alright?”

“I- Yeah.”

“You comin’ home?”

You nod, rubbing your hand over your throat. “I- I’ll be home before dawn, I think.”

“Good.” There’s a long, static pause, and when Bobby speaks again his words sound careful through the phone. “If I ask ya’ somethin’, I don’t want the details, or the why, or to hear anythin’ about it again. Okay?”

“Ok- Bobby, what?”

“You wanna talk to Dean?”

The spiderweb bursts like a firework at the idea. 

You’re too tired to pretend it doesn’t. 

“Yes,” you whisper, your nails digging into the skin of your neck. “Please.”

It doesn’t take as long as you thought it would. Bobby grunts and shuffles around on the other end of the line, snapping and muttering low words you can’t really hear no matter how hard you strain, and then Dean’s voice is strong and clear through the speaker.

He says your name, as if he’s not sure you’re really there, and you have to take a long, slow breath before you answer.

“Dean.” You whisper, and he lets out a sigh you can hear through the phone.

He doesn’t ask you where you are, or why you left, or what the hell you’ve been doing for the past day, picking up and driving off without warning. 

He just asks if you got it—you’re not even sure he knows what it is—and moves on when you mumble a yes.

“That’s good.” There’s a pause, and when Dean keep talking, it’s far too casual for all of this. “You know, Sammy says you can see our souls or something.”

“Yeah, I-“ You swallow, frowning into the mostly abandoned parking lot. “I can.”

“That’s pretty fucking awesome, Princess.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s weird, but our whole damn lives are weird.” You can almost hear the frown on his face, picture his adorable look of confusion. “Are they like, bright?”

“Some of them, yeah.”

“Huh. Are they squiggly?”

You blink at the air. “Squiggly?”

“Yeah, like shapes and shit-“

“They’re souls, De, not playdo-“

“Would be cool if they were playdo. You know Sammy used to eat that stuff, I had to make dad stop buying it. And if they’re not squiggly, are they just, like, in us?”

You shake your head, even though he can’t see it. “They all have a core, but it’s in a different spot for everyone. Then they just kind of… spread. Like paint.”

“Alright.” Dean pauses, and you realize you’ve stopped choking yourself right before he speaks. “Where’s my core?”

“In your chest.” You answer without thought, because you might know Dean’s soul a little better than your own. “Near your heart.”

“Huh. And is it just like, over me? All they all just glowing- Nah, you said they weren’t all bright-“

“They’re all different colors.” You say, smiling into the air as you cut off his rambling. “And some of the colors are bright, or metallic, or neon. Depends.”

There’s another pause, and Dean’s voice is suddenly softer when he speaks again. “What color am I?”

“Yellow.” You mumble, and Dean hums.

“Okay, I can work with yellow. Am I-“

“You’re metallic.”

“So I’m like, gold?” You can hear the slight joy in his voice. 

And you know what he’s doing. You’re not forcing the Darkness down, and you don’t feel good but you’re not small anymore either. He’s distracted him.

You’re almost out of time.

You can’t lose him.

“Yeah. You’re gold.” Your voice drops to a whisper. “Dean?”

“Yeah-“

“Can you please tell me it’s going to be okay.”

He pauses, tone lowering slightly as he mutters your name. “I don’t-“

“Even if it’s a lie.” You draw your knees tighter to your chest, and he’s just a voice in a phone right now, but you can feel him all the way down and through the spiderweb, and it’s better than anything in the world. You need him. “Please, just say it will be okay. Please-“

“It’ll be alright. I pr- I know you’re gonna be okay, Princess.” Dean’s voice is a little hoarse. 

You really want to go home.

“You’re gonna be okay.” He repeats, and you should be.

You should get through this. You always get through this.

But you need Dean. 

And as you watch the lights of the gas station flicker, you don’t believe him.

End Note: do you guys think I qualify for witness protection for a fanfic.

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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[be4chywritez]

serious | oscar piastri

oscar piastri x fem!reader

rec: #37 with oscar piastri please? maybe they’re arguing or smth and he says something without thinking and reader starts crying? thank u!!

recs are open + prompt list

beachy’s masterlist🐚

warnings: none except me being really high and writing this

You weren’t even sure how the argument started.

The plan had been simple—spend a quiet night with Oscar, finally get some time together before his schedule got crazy again. You had been curled up on his couch, legs thrown over his lap, teasing him about how helpless he was when it came to assembling furniture. It was harmless, the way most of your jokes were.

“You’d be lost without me,” you said with a grin, nudging his thigh. “Like, I’m pretty sure you’d still be eating your takeaway off a cardboard box if I wasn’t around.”

He chuckled at first, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t be lost—I’d just have a slightly more… minimalist lifestyle.”

“Minimalist?” You snorted. “Oscar, you didn’t even own proper plates before I got here.”

He rolled his eyes. “I had plates.”

“Oh, my bad, I meant one singular plate and a set of mismatched cutlery you probably stole from McDonald’s.”

You expected him to laugh, to play along like he always did. But instead, his expression shifted—his jaw tensed, his fingers drummed absently against your shin. The lighthearted teasing suddenly felt heavier, like you had unknowingly poked at something deeper.

You should’ve stopped there, but you didn’t.

“Face it,” you said, grinning. “You’d be a disaster without me.”

And that’s when he sighed, long and sharp, before muttering, “You never take anything seriously.”

Your smile faltered.

“What?”

Oscar ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “It’s like nothing matters to you.”

The words cut deeper than you expected. You blinked, suddenly unsure if you had misheard him.

“Nothing matters to me?” you repeated, voice quieter now, more careful.

He sighed again, still not looking at you. “I don’t know, sometimes it just feels like you don’t take me seriously.”

Your stomach twisted.

“Are you—” You let out a breath, trying to steady your voice. “Are you actually saying that? After everything?”

He exhaled through his nose, frustration evident in the way his shoulders tensed. “You’re always joking, always acting like nothing’s a big deal. I get that it’s just how you are, but sometimes… I don’t know, sometimes I just wish you’d be serious for once.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening.

It wasn’t just the words—it was the way he said them, like he actually believed them.

Like he believed you didn’t care.

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as your vision blurred. You didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much that hurt. But the lump in your throat wouldn’t go away, and before you could stop it, a tear slipped down your cheek.

Oscar’s entire body stiffened.

“Shit,” he muttered, his frustration vanishing in an instant. His eyes widened as he reached for you, panic creeping into his voice. “Shit, shit, shit, c’mere.”

You turned your face away, wiping at your cheek quickly, but it was useless. Another tear followed, and Oscar groaned under his breath, like he physically hated himself for making you cry.

“I didn’t mean that,” he said hurriedly, shifting closer, his hands finding your face. “I swear I didn’t mean that.”

Your voice wobbled as you pulled back slightly. “Then why did you say it?”

He winced, his thumbs brushing over your damp cheeks, like he was trying to undo the damage. “I don’t know—I was frustrated, I wasn’t thinking.”

You let out a shaky breath. “You think I don’t take you seriously?”

“No,” he said instantly, voice thick with regret. “No, that’s not true. I know you do. I just—I was being a fucking idiot.”

You sniffled, eyes still glossy. “I always take you seriously, Oscar. I literally revolve my entire schedule around your ridiculous race calendar. I watch hours of onboard footage with you even though half the time I don’t even know what you’re analyzing. I show up to every race I can, I defend you when people online say dumb shit—”

“I know.” His hands were still on your face, his forehead now pressed against yours. His voice was softer now, desperate. “I know, baby. And I love that about you. I was just—I was just being an asshole.”

You swallowed hard, not fully ready to forgive him yet, but also not wanting to keep crying. His thumbs kept smoothing over your cheeks, his touch warm, grounding.

“I don’t like fighting with you,” you admitted, voice small.

“I hate fighting with you,” he murmured, tilting your face up slightly. “I especially hate making you cry.”

You let out a small, unsteady exhale, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt. “You really were an asshole just now.”

“I know.” He kissed the tip of your nose, then your forehead. “Biggest asshole on the planet. Probably breaking some kind of world record.”

Despite everything, you huffed a quiet laugh. “I was this close to throwing a pillow at you.”

“I deserve worse.” He kissed your cheek this time, soft and lingering. “Like, I don’t know, maybe being forced to watch an entire season of your guilty pleasure reality show.”

You narrowed your eyes. “The Bachelor?”

He groaned but nodded. “Yeah. If that’s what it takes.”

You pretended to think about it. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

His lips finally twitched into something closer to a smile. “So lucky.”

And then, finally, he kissed you—soft and slow, like an apology woven between every press of his lips.

You let yourself sink into it, because even when he was frustrating, even when he made dumb mistakes, he was still yours.

And you took that seriously.

[fallen-w1ngs]

'' NEVER LEAVE ,,

|| pairings: hawks x reader / keigo takami x reader

|| warning: hurt/comfort [keigo does the comforting]

|| word count: 0.6k

Today's been hard, like really genuinely hard. No- scratch that, these past few WEEKS have been hard. Your classes have been going terribly, it feels as if you're failing every class.. And god forbid you're excited to see your friends for a few minutes. But turns out, they all went out to get drinks without you!

Tears burning at the corner of your eyes, saying your little mantra of 'Just make it back home, just make it back home, just make it back home.' Trying to push the bubbling overwhelming feeling of just an overflow of sadness crashing down on you as if a wave.

It was fine too, Keigo was gonna be on patrol, and by the time you were done sobbing your eyes out, he'd be back! And you could act as if nothing had happen.

The second you opened and shut the door behind you, you put your back against the wall and started crying. Not overly loud, nor dramatic, but you definitely weren't holding back sobs.

However, one, iiiiitty bitty tiny thing had thrown a wrench in your plan. Keigo, your ever loving boyfriend of the past few years, had decided to surprise you with a nice home cooked meal. He'd felt bad for being away so much! With how many missions his supreriors had given him, he felt bad for neglecting his lovely lover. The second he heard you open and shut the door, his heart leaped at the idea of having a romantic dinner at home.. But it soon fell as he heard you cry.

In a flash he was right in front of you, his soft hands on your shoulders as he stared at you in worry. His bushy brows furrowed as he tried to calm you.

"Baby?" He said quietly. "Baby, what's wrong, fuck- are you okay?? Are you hurt??"

You shook your head quickly as you palmed at your eyes, as if trying to force the tears back in. Oh, but Keigo's voice. With his sweet and hushed tone made you feel safe, much too safe. Enough to the fact you couldn't stop sobbing.

With a strong pull and a few flaps of his wings, Keigo flew you into the living room and kept you hugged on the couch. His wings engulfing your full presence.

For a few moments, you stayed like that. Keigo keeping you warm, making small circles at the small of your back as you cried wet patches into his shirt. Tugging and clawing at him, as if trying to keep him as close to you as possible. Scared that he'd disappear within moments.

Yet, he never did. He stayed, whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

"You're okay, baby," He whispered. "It's okay. I'm right here.. I'm so proud of you, y'know? You're doing amazing, I love you so much. I-"

"You wouldn't leave me, right?" It was a quick and cut question, you barely stuttered as you uttered those words.

"What?"

".. You wouldn't leave me.. Right?"

Keigo pulled away from you and cupped your face in his hands, his brows furrowed in confusion as he stared at your eyes. His honey suckled ones bearing into yours..

"Why do you think- I would never-" He took a deep breath before restarting. His forehead resting against yours as he spoke quietly. "I'll never, in a million years, leave you. I love you too damn much to. You're my entire world, and you deserve everything. I'll never leave you, I never want to leave you. You're everything, my love."

Your winged boyfriend spoke with such conviction, every word said with the most emotion. It wasn't like the words he said on TV. The ones manufactured to be the perfect hero. But these were words of a boyfriend who loved you so fucking much. Someone who claimed to never leave..

And who never went back on his words.

|| mannnnn ive been so busy and tonight felt like eeextra shit, so ya'll are getting small comfort fic !! thumbs up

[cillianmurphysdimples]

A Female Y/N / Cillian fanfic (Part Seventy One)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful and is all total bollocks.

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes. Not suitable for under 18s.

We Got Issues

Part Seventy One: Y/N anxiety is at an all time high as she fears for Clíodhna in the wake of her struggles, but Cillian's fears and anxieties for his daughter seem to consume him more viciously than anyone anticipated they would. [Emotional/Angst/Medical fears surrounding care of preemie babies]

@cherrycilly @aesthetic0cherryblossom @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme @watermeezer @meadowshelby @strangeions @borntodiemp3 @lavender-haze-01

Swiftly proofread, sorry for the obvious typos (I know I always have silly ones but please forgive the ridiculous ones!)

“Y/N?” You startle as Imelda lays her hand against your shoulder, calling your name softly as she crouches close to your ear. “Sorry love,” she apologises quickly. You're not sure if you had dozed off for a moment or if you were just staring blankly at Clíodhna's incubator and had tuned everything out. “I didn't mean to make you jump.” She looks mortified to have frightened you. She crouches down fully, balancing on the balls of her feet, and rests her arms on the arm of the chair you're in. “Has Cillian gone to the loo?” She asks.

You glance back at Clíodhna for a second then give Imelda your full attention, focusing as much as you can on holding a conversation with her. “Um, no,” you shake your head, “I mean, maybe, but he - he went to call his sons, just to let them know what's happened.” You explain. You realise you're not sure how long Cillian's been gone now, so deep was whatever had come over you to take away your awareness of anything outside of keeping your eyes on your daughter. You frown, trying to read Imelda's expression. “What's wrong?” You quiz her.

Imelda takes a slow, deep breath in. “We've increased her oxygen slightly.” She says, and you know by her tone and the slightly sad frown that that isn't a good thing. Not that you need those cues - she'd been fighting against the breathing support before, and now the tube was more important than ever. Your heart thuds too hard in your chest. Imelda wets her lips and continues. “There's been a small spike in her temperature, too.”

You feel your eyes heat up as tears flood in immediately. “So she has…pneumonia?” You ask, “Even with the antibiotics?”

“The consultant is going to give her a full MOT, and listen into her lungs. But it's likely,” Imelda nods her head gently. “We can and we will adjust her antibiotics as needed, and continue to provide her all the support she needs to fight this off.”

You shake your head, “She's so small, she can't…” you purse your lips as your chin shakes uncontrollably. Imelda reaches her hand out and rests it against your shoulder once again. “Give me…odds. Statistics. Something!” You look directly at the young nurse. “She's three pounds, she's too small, she's too young… what are the fucking odds of her being able to fight this off?”

Imelda takes a steady breath in, “Y/N, each baby is different. She's shown her strength, and she is still doing that. Let's wait and see what Doctor O’Mahoney says, okay? When we know what the full details are, we can talk about what steps we take next and how we can help her the best. Doctor O’Mahoney is on her way, okay? And she'll give Clíodhna a head to toe exam and we'll map out a plan for her.” She squeezes against your shoulder then draws her hand back..she grips the arm of the chair as she stands back up to her full height.

“I need to find Cill…” you look back at Clíodhna's tiny, motionless body in the incubator. “I'll fucking kill him if he's out having a fucking…” you screw your eyes closed and cover your face with both hands as you fail to control the body-wracking sobs that seems to have every muscle. Imelda crouches down beside you again and rests her hand on your right thigh.

“I'll send Lucy, the HCA, to see if she can find him, okay? And I'll get you a cuppa and some tissues, okay, love?” She says in a gentle voice, then slowly stands again. “As soon as Doctor O’Mahoney, she'll be over Clíodhna.” You drop your hands and take deep breaths, trying to calm yourself down.

She has a point - you need to know the facts - but she also wouldn't have approached with the concerns she had prior to confirming them with a doctor if she didn't believe you were about to be told your premature baby was fighting an infection now, too. As Imelda walks away you get to your feet, drying your cheeks with your hands as you stand. You dry your palms against the backside of your trousers as you walk closer to Clíodhna's incubator. You draw open the small porthole by her foot and place your hand inside slowly. You wrap your fingers gently around her tiny foot and smooth your thumb up and down the velvety soft pad, rubbing gently against her toes with each swipe upwards. Her skin is warm, and she is a little more pink than she had been when you'd arrived, but she still looks pale, and the disappearance of those little movements of her eyes and hands feels like a theft.

“Come on, tiny girl. Hey? My tiny, tiny girl. Listen to what Daddy said, yeah? Don't stop fighting now. I know it's hard, and I know you probably feel so poorly, but you can't throw the towel in, okay? You haven't met your brothers yet - you haven't met your Granny and Granddad, or your silly Uncle Páidi! And your beautiful aunties, and… and there's so many of Mammy and Daddy's friends who are so excited about you. Daddy's special friend Eileen - she was so happy when we told her about you. She has some stories to tell you about Daddy! And when you're bigger, and it's the right time, I'll tell you about my family and why you'll always be the most important girl and never see them. But your big brothers, Malachy and Aran, they really, really want to meet you soon. You'll love them - they're just your Daddy, and they're so funny and they're sweet, and kind. You need to tell them you don't have a penis!” You choke a sad laugh in your throat. “Daddy wants to take you to Cork - they talk funny down there, they practically sing at you! But your grandparents and your aunts and uncles are wonderful people. They have family dinners, and silly Christmas transitions. Your Daddy, he taught me so much about what it's like to have a good family; you're going to get that.” You whisper, and slowly swipe your thumb over her footpad again. “A good family, Clíodhna. A house filled with love and laughter, and music. And when you're old enough, we'll embarrass the life out of you with how I got pregnant with you. Daddy is one fertile man.” You sniff and shake your head. “There's so many stories, Clíodhna. Your Daddy is a film star - he's a wonderful actor, producer, an amazing spokesman, and writer, and he believes in people, Clíodhna. He's so beautiful. He sees people, for who they are. He believes in me for some reason. And I, little one, I believe you - I do. You're here against the odd, tiny girl, and I know you want to be here. So don't you dare stop kicking and screaming. Okay? I know it's probably hard, and you're tired, and it's so tough. But don't stop, okay? I need you, baby girl.”

You draw back your hand and bring it to your lips, placing a kiss against the pads of your index and middle fingers before placing your hand back inside and touching your kiss to her warm shin. You bring your hand back out and close the porthole back up. You steady yourself with another deep breath and then your head as the double doors swing open down the far end of the room. Cillian steps in, looking a little warm and flustered, with the middle aged HCA, Lucy, a step or two behind him. He looks around a moment and before he can walk towards you he is stopped in his tracks as Imelda approaches him. You stand rooted to the spot - you can't budge and you're not sure why. You watch his face intently as Imelda talks to him, and you clearly read each emotion that flutters over it. He's an open book, in private, at the best of times, but he's even more readable right now. He nods his head, touches his hand against Imelda's arm, and walks towards you with slow and heavy steps. He shakes his head as he halta beside the chairs beside the incubator and sighs heavily and noisily through pursed lips. He's silent for a moment, running his tongue over his back-set lower tooth idily. Anxiety is bubbling under the surface and it'll come out sooner or later, but for now he stims orally and moves his eyes over Clíodhna, then to you. He stills his tongue.

“There was a woman near the, eh..” he waves his hands as he grapples for the words, “The yokes…fuck sake, the doors. At the doors, when I was on the phone with Malachy.” He sniffs. “When I hung up from Mal, she said…” he scoffs, “She said, eh, ‘God bless your wee girl - may He keep her’.” He recounts. “What kinda God puts wee ones under this kinda stress? Eh?” He frowns at you. “What kind of God allows babies to be born too fucking early and then makes them sick? What kind of sick, fucking joke is that?” He shakes his head sharply. He thrusts his hands into the pockets of his jeans and sighs heavily again. He sniffs, and the oral stims begin again. He licks his bottom lip fiercely before assaulting his tooth with the tip of his tongue once again. He licks his lips once against and presses his lips shut firmly. He blinks slowly, and sort of half rolls his eyes in time with another heavy sigh. He wants to cry, but he's skirting around anger to avoid it. “Where's this fucking doctor?” He huffs.

You swallow against a painful lump in your throat. “Imelda said she's on her way.” You mumble, and cough to clear your throat.

“From where? Fucking France?” He snaps, and immediately huffa at himself knowing he's being arsey. He draws his hands free of his pockets and scrubs both palms over his face roughly before dropping his arms back down. He looks at you, looking totally hopeless, and shakes his head with another half roll of his eyes. “She didn't ask to be here, and now she's fighting against her own birth and fucking pneumonia…” he purses his lips tightly. He moves his lips, likes he's got more words to say but he doesn't know how. He huffs another breath and shakes his head again. He's lost, scared, absolutely consumed with anger and sadness, and his comparatively small body doesn't know what to do with all of the energy everything builds up inside of it. If he felt a heavy emotion at home, he might put music on and vacuum, or he would throw on his trainers and shove his earbuds in and go for a run, but here he's stuck with all of those feelings, no outlet, and the inability to do a thing beyond overthinking it all. He closes his eyes for a moment and, when he opens them again, his lashes are wet. He draws his bottom lip in between his teeth for a moment and looks back at you. The glassy blue of his eyes is shining under the dim lights on the ceiling tiles above, and the sadness is intoxicating in the worst way. “It's not fair to her.” His voice catches as he whispers.

You shake your head, and your own eyes blur as your tears restart. “No, I know it's not.” Your voice strangles in your throat.

He holds open his arms - he can't deal with his feelings alone anymore, and co-regulation and his much needed physical intimacy is his next attempt for making himself feel even a little bit better. You grant the hug immediately; you wrap your arms around him, under his arms, and place the flats of your palms against his back as he squeezes his arms tightly around your shoulders. He inhales deeply at the side of your face, and you sigh softly as she squeezes you tightly again. “All the fucking wires and tubes, and fucking…oth-other people touching her, I-I-I…” he stammers.

You shush him gently, “Shhh, I know love.” You tighten your arms, hearing the moment his tearfulness becomes open crying. “She's a fighter, Cill. A little warrior. And so are we. Yeah? We're going to fight it with her.” You sniffle over your own tears. His arms squeeze you once again by way of response. You slide your right hand up and turn your fingers through the waves at the nape of his neck. “Keep hold of your words to me, okay? Whatever happens.”

He nods his head and clears his throat, a macho way of attempting to stop himself from crying. He taps his left hand against your back, his silent end of intimacy, but he doesn't loosen his arms for a moment. You keep holding him. He sighs against your neck and taps his hand against your back again, then loosens his arms. As he lets go, you drop your arms down slowly. You stand face to face, breathing the same air for a second or two. “I love you.” He whispers, barely audible.

You smile sadly, “I love you, too.”

When she finally arrives, Doctor O’Mahoney isn't what you expected, though you're not really sure what it was you were expecting. She's in her forties at least, short and slim, with an angular face and short, auburn hair. She's pretty, with large brown eyes, and despite her surname she doesn't sound even the least bit Irish. Her accent is broadly American, though you wouldn't have a hope at naming a region. She gives amazing eye contact, and while she doesn't speak to you in doctor-speak, she also doesn't dumb things down or presume you're too stupid to catch her drift as she discusses her findings after assessing Clíodhna and reviewing the nursing notes. After washing her hands once she's finished her exam, she approaches you and Cillian - you'd been herded back just far enough that you were slightly in the dark about what was happening without being completely removed from your daughter. She eyes Cillian for a moment, and you know she's placing him in her mind without trying to be unprofessional. She smiles and brings her eyes to you for a second.

“I'm Charlie O’Mahoney. I know you've spoken with the nursing staff about the aspiration that your daughter had this morning.” She says, and looks at you both for a moment for confirmation. You nod as she speaks. “And they explained that a complication of aspirations is that it causes pneumonia?” You nod again, and Cillian inhales his whispered yes. “By the sounds of Clíodhna's left lung, there is some fluid build up there, and her blood work and pyrexia would also corroborate the concerns. She has already been started on antibiotics, and we'll adjust those to better compensate for the change in her presentation.” She explains clearly.

Cillian clears his throat. “What, um, what is the lookout here?” He asks.

“How do you mean?” Doctor O'Mahoney asks him, frowning a little.

“She's fucking tiny,” Cillian gestures his hand towards Clíodhna's incubator behind the doctor. “Pneumonia isn't.” He shrugs, and he's short tempered and quick mouthed. “What's the likelihood she's going to be able to fight this off?”

Doctor O'Mahoney softens her expression, “Premature babies are not predictable, Mister Murphy. I cannot promise you sunshine, nor can I tell you to prepare for the worst. Truly, all we can do is apply all measures we have to best treat her and support her, and hope for the best possible outcome.”

Cillian takes a deep breath and turns his head to you. “Degrees and-and fucking years of school, and I can't get a straight fucking answer about my daughter.” He grumbles towards you, teeth gritted. “I'm going for a fag.” His temper is piqued, solely in fear and anxiety, but he doesn't fire it at you. He touches his hand to your back for a moment before giving the doctor another glare as he stalks away, taking his hoodie with him. You watch him storm away, and you know it's all nervous energy - it's all the feelings he can't work through and the uncertainty he cannot stand - but you don't blame him nor do you feel compelled to offer the doctor an apology on his behalf.

“I appreciate that this is a very tense and upsetting time. A traumatic arrival into the world followed by a frightening setback.” Doctor O'Mahoney outlines your own feelings alarmingly clearly. “We really are doing everything for her, and we will continue to monitor and make any amendments she needs.”

You nod your head, “Thank you.” You say, and you wonder why you've managed to hang onto yourself a lot tighter than Cillian has. Doctor O'Mahoney offers you a small smile before she walks away, and you watch her disappear in the same direction Cillian had. You like her - you're not sure why, but you feel like you can trust her and you rarely feel that for anyone. You move slowly around the chairs and approach Clíodhna's incubator silently. You watch her tiny body for a moment, still not making the little movements you'd delighted in the day before, and wish to God you'd taken photos or videos of those little fingers, of her fluttering eyes. “Listen to me, little one,” you whisper. “Your Daddy can't take much more. I don't think I can either. I can't do Daddy's accent so well, but I know his words. I know his words for you. So come on, leanbh - our little fighter, don't stop fighting now, okay?” You take a deep breath. “He hasn't left you, I promise you. He just needs time. He's scared, and Daddy doesn't do well when he's scared. Too much for his little body to cope with.” You smirk, but you're not amused. “He used to say a baby would change everything and he didn't want that, but as soon as he knew you were coming he was so happy. He wanted you all along, and he wants you even more now. He doesn't want to lose you, Clíodhna. And because he's so scared of that happening, he's going to be absolutely unbearable to be near. But it's because he loves you so, so much and he doesn't know how to help you. He'll come back when he gets a little of himself back again, and he'll be here for you. He'll always be here for you. He's been the best Daddy already and you've only just got here. You've got a whole lifetime ahead to have him right by your side every time you want or need him, and even when you don't. You ever need a cuddle, you'll always get one from your Daddy. He loves cuddles! You want to make your Daddy happy, just give him a big hug - that's the one of the best ways Daddy can tell you he loves you, and when you give Daddy loves like that, it tells him the same.” You frown, and wonder why you're rambling on like this. You wet your lips and swallow against the aching lump in your throat. “Keep strong, Clíodhna, okay? Daddy needs a cuddle.”

.

[runningincircl3s]

Blood Sport

Noah Sebastian x Reader

Chapter Six

chapter warnings: none?

i decided to make a sandwich half way through editing this chapter and i forgot where i was at so if there's any spelling mistakes or anything pls ignore!! :) also i want to add that i have no knowledge of fishing!! i only know what i know because of what folio was talking about on craig's podcast lmao

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ 

The next morning, you found yourself getting dragged out of the house early to follow the guys down to a spot not too far from Jolly’s house, for a day of fishing. Jolly picked you and Folio up, and you met the others at his house before walking a “quick” 45 minutes down to the lake. 

However, you couldn’t complain once you got there. The lake itself was beautiful, the sun was warm on your skin and the breeze was light. Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad after all?

As the guys got set up, Folio wouldn’t stop rambling about bait, you couldn’t help but chuckle at how passionate he was about this, it warmed your heart to see him so happy.

But then you had a thought. 

“Do people really use worms as bait?” You raised an eyebrow, turning to Folio, who had already whipped his shirt off, and you couldn't help but wonder when he had gotten his chest tattooed.

“Yep!” He nodded.

“So… It isn’t just a cartoon thing?”

“No! It’s live bait, some people use worms, some use maggots, crickets, even smaller fish.” 

“What the fuck? That’s like cannibalism, right?”

“Not really,” Folio hummed, “I don’t use any of those though.” 

“So what do you use?”

“You’ll see soon!” He smiled, turning back to the lake. 

You didn’t think you’d be fishing today, you’d let the guys do that and your plan was to sit and soak up the sun. Even when Jolly offered you a rod, you turned it down, setting your picnic blanket down on the ground instead and stretching out on it.

Ruffilo joined you, asking before sitting down beside you on the blanket. He offered you a beer, but you politely declined, so Bryan took it instead. 

“It feels weird without Noah.” Nicholas said, and you couldn’t help but wince at his name. You thought a day without him was what you needed, but there was never an escape, was there?

“I was just thinking that,” Jolly agreed, sitting on one of the fold up chairs and nudging your leg with his foot, “I bet you’re not complaining though.” 

You just shook your head. 

“I don’t want to think about him.” 

The guys were suddenly quiet, like they were all thinking the same thing but none of them wanted to ask. Ruffilo sighed, placing a hand on your knee. 

“Don’t take anything he says personally, Noah I mean. He’s been off with us all for a while now. I know that man better than he knows himself, and I know he’s stubborn as hell, but he still cares about you.” 

You slowly looked up, almost hesitant before your eyes met his. 

“I just wish he’d actually talk to me.” You sighed. “One minute I feel like he hates my guts and the next it’s like nothing has ever happened! He's constantly messing with my mind.” 

“That’s Noah for you.” Ruff chuckled. By this point, the others had fallen into their own conversation, leaving the two of you to talk in relative privacy

“Amy said something to me yesterday and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it…” You frowned. 

“What did she say?”

You hesitated for a moment, feeling your mouth dry up as you began to speak. 

“She said that if Noah had the chance, if I gave him even the slightest hint to say I wanted him back, he’d drop everything for me…” You could feel tears threatening to spill from your eyes as you kept your gaze fixed on the lake, “Is it true that he’s not happy with her anymore?”

“Is it not obvious?” Ruff smiled softly, “Before you came back around, those two were pretty much inseparable, he couldn't even go to the studio alone. But now... it’s different. It’s like he’s purposely trying to push her away so that she’ll leave first. But I know she loves him too much to do that.”

You frowned, turning back to look at him. 

“I don’t know if I want to know the answer... but as his best friend, has he spoken to you about me?”

Ruff nodded. 

“He never shuts up about you. Never has since the day you met.”

You felt your world stopped for a moment, your breath catching in your throat as a warmth spread in your chest.

You knew Noah had never fully let go of you, but hearing it said out loud, especially from someone who knew him better than anyone, made it feel real in a way you weren’t sure you were ready to ever think about. 

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling into the fabric of your blanket as you stared at the water.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Ruffilo said softly, watching you with careful eyes. “I know it’s a lot.”

You exhaled a shaky laugh. 

“A lot is an understatement.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The sounds of the others laughing in the distance, the gentle rustling of the trees, and the distant chirping of birds filled the silence between you. You wanted to say something, to admit that a part of you already knew, that every time Noah looked at you, you could feel the weight of things left unspoken between you. But that was the problem, wasn’t it?

He never said anything. Not anything meaningful. 

But neither did you.

“I just don’t get it,” you muttered, shaking your head. “If he really does still care that much, then why is he still with her, why does he refuse to let her go if he isn't happy? Why does he act like I don’t exist half the time, and then the next second, he’s looking at me like-” You stopped yourself before you could finish that thought.

Ruff knew what you were trying to say anyway.

He let out a slow breath, like he’d been asking himself the same questions. 

“Because it’s easier, I guess.”

“What?” You frowned. 

“It’s easier to be with her, can’t you see? It’s easier to pretend he’s over you, to push you away, to hurt you before you can hurt him again. But at the same time, it’s like he can’t help himself, he still gravitates toward you, even when he tries not to. I guess that’s what happens when you really, really mean something to someone.”

That hit you like a punch to the stomach.

"Do you remember the night you met? When we all met you?"

"A little," you nodded, "I couldn't really tell you anything about it though."

Ruffilo nodded.

"I don't remember much either, Jolly does though, he was the only sober one there. All I remember, what everyone remembers, is that from the moment you two laid eyes on each other, something... clicked. It was like you were always meant to be. You didn’t leave each others side once that night, you were practically glued together, like you'd known each other forever. No one could get a word in, and honestly, no one wanted to, we were happy for him. It was like nothing else mattered, just you two. I truly think it was love at first sight, and everyone else could see it. It's why it didn't come as a surprise when the two of you were sneaking about last year."

Your lips parted slightly, but nothing came out.

You barely remembered a thing from that night, but you knew now that you had totally fucked up.

“So what do I do?” You finally asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ruff gave you a small, knowing smile. 

“That’s not my call to make.” He glanced toward the others, where Jolly was currently swearing at his fishing rod and Bryan was filming him. Then he looked back at you. “But whatever you decide… don’t wait too long.”

“What do you mean-”

“Holy shit!” Jolly shouted, and as you looked over you saw him with a huge fish in his hands, “I told you I’d catch one first!”

…

You were pretty quiet for the rest of the trip, and it was slowly starting to get dark now. The lake reflected the soft hues of the evening sky, the water rippling gently in the breeze. You sat near the disposable barbeque, watching as Folio flipped the burgers, the smell of charred meat filling the air.

“Alright, who's hungry?” Folio announced, holding up the plate of burgers and hotdogs like he was presenting some five-star meal.

“It’s a miracle you didn’t burn them.” Nicholas chuckled, inspecting them before reaching into the cooler for a drink.

“How dare you doubt my chef skills! I cook almost every night at home and I’ve never heard y/n complain once!” 

Jolly chuckled as he handed out plates, nudging you lightly with his elbow as he noticed how you were far away, in a world of your own. 

“You okay?”

You forced a small smile. 

“Yeah. Just tired.”

Jolly didn’t push, just gave a small nod before sitting back in his chair.

A comfortable silence settled over the group as everyone dug into their food. The only sounds were the crackling of the grill and the occasional murmured conversation. Then, out of nowhere, Jolly cleared his throat.

“So… I’ve been thinking about proposing to Nicole.”

Folio choked on his drink. 

“Dude- what?”

Jolly laughed at his reaction, shaking his head. 

“You heard me.”

“Finally!” Bryan grinned, “What took you so long?”

“What?” Jolly laughed, “What took me so long?”

“You’ve been with her how long? Like… five years?” Nicholas pointed a fry at him. 

“Six.” Jolly corrected.

“Exactly.” Bryan smirked. “About damn time.”

You watched Jolly, the way his expression softened just at the mention of Nicole’s name. It was rare to see him get sentimental, but right now, it was obvious just how much he loved her.

And love was a sore topic for you right now.

“Do you know how you’re gonna do it?” You asked, genuinely curious.

Jolly shrugged. 

“Not yet. I just know I want to. I’ve been carrying the ring around for a while now, just waiting for the right moment. It’s her birthday next weekend, I’m organising a small party for her with our close friends, so basically just you guys, and I was thinking about doing it then?”

“Wait, you already have the ring?” Folio’s eyes widened. 

“Yeah.” Jolly chuckled. 

“Dude, just ask her already!” Bryan exclaimed. 

Jolly sighed, leaning back in his chair. 

“I just… want it to be perfect, you know? She deserves that.”

You felt a warmth in your chest at his words. It was rare to see this side of Jolly, so open and vulnerable, but it made you happy.

“She’s gonna say yes no matter what,” you reassured him, “She really loves you.” 

Jolly smiled. 

“I hope so.”

“Nah,” Bryan grinned. “You better hope she doesn’t realise she could do better before you ask.”

“Bry!” You scoffed, as Jolly threw a fry at him. 

For a moment, the heaviness in your chest lifted, as the guys burst into laughter.

You realised in that moment how grateful you were for your friends. Even if you didn’t know where you stood with Noah, you always had them. 

However, your moment was quickly ruined as you felt something wet land on your arm. 

Oh shit. Rain?

The first few drops were barely noticeable at first, cool against your skin as they landed. You thought maybe it would pass, just a fleeting drizzle, nothing more. But within minutes, the sky darkened, and the rain picked up,getting heavier, until the sound of droplets hitting the lake and the surrounding trees filled the air.

"Oh, come on!" Folio groaned, shielding his eyes as he looked up at the clouds.

Bryan laughed, shaking out his hair as droplets clung to the ends. 

"Suck it up, princess." He said to Folio, before he shrugged off his jacket and tossed it in your direction. "Here, before you start crying about it. I know how you get when your hair is wet."

You caught it, rolling your eyes. Bry had a hoodie beneath his jacket, and all you had was a tank top.

"Wow, thanks. So chivalrous of you."

"I try.” Bryan smirked, pulling his hood up.

“It should pass soon.” Jolly said, sitting back in his chair. 

But after a few minutes passed, it was only getting heavier. 

“I say we head back to Jolly’s.” Nicholas called, and the guys nodded. 

"What about all the gear?" Folio asked, glancing down towards the lake. 

"You and y/n got it, right?" Bryan grinned, backing away as he joined the others who were already heading to the woods. 

"What?!" You exclaimed, "Hell no, you guys help-"

"Bye!" The guys waved. 

Before you could protest, they were gone, disappearing into the trees, their laughter fading as they left you and Folio standing there, abandoned in the pouring rain.

Folio exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face as water dripped from his chin. 

"I fucking hate them." He shook his head. 

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. 

"There’s no way we’re carrying all this back in the rain."

"Nope. Not happening," Folio agreed, crossing his arms. "What’s the plan, then? We just… live here now?"

You huffed, pulling Bryan’s jacket tighter around yourself as another gust of wind sent a shiver down your spine.

"I guess we just wait it out?"

Folio sighed, glancing around before pointing to a large tree a few feet away. 

"C’mon, at least let’s get under there so we’re not totally drenched."

You agreed, following him and settling underneath the thick branches. It barely made a differnce.

"Alright, screw this," you grumbled, hugging Bryan’s jacket tighter around yourself. "Call someone. I am not staying here any longer."

Folio pulled out his phone, squinting at the screen through the water droplets sliding down it. 

"Who do you suggest? Because I know Jolly’s not coming back for us, Matt’s visiting Alyson’s parents, and Davis- hell no, he’d never let us live it down."

You hesitated, dread settling in your stomach as you swallowed your pride.

"How about Noah."

Folio let out a low whistle. 

"Oh, boy. You sure about that?"

"Nick. I’d rather die than walk all the way back in this rain carrying all this shit."

He huffed a laugh before nodding. 

But instead of pressing call, he handed you the phone. 

"Your idea, you call him."

You shot him a glare but took the phone anyway. Taking a steadying breath, you pressed the call button. The line rang a few times before finally connecting.

"Hello? I told you I’m busy today, what do you want?"

His voice was sharp, impatient. You braced yourself.

"Noah… hi."

A pause. 

"What do you want?"

You exhaled, shifting uncomfortably. 

"Well… Folio and I are kinda stranded at the lake by Jolly’s place. It’s pouring, and the guys are all assholes and ditched us with all the fishing gear... We need a ride."

Silence.

"Yeah, not my problem."

You shot Folio a look, and he snatched the phone out of your hand before you could protest.

"Dude, come on," he said, exasperated. "We’re drenched, and we have all the gear to take back. Just come pick us up real quick."

"You know how far that is? Call someone else."

You rolled your eyes. Typical. Before you could tell Folio to hang up, he smirked slightly.

"Oh, yeah? I get why you’d leave me out here but what about y/n? Noah, she’s completely soaked, shivering… she’s gonna get sick."

The silence on the other end was instant.

Your eyes widened, whipping your head toward him. 

"Are you serious?" You mouthed.

Folio just grinned, raising a finger to his lips to say trust me.

A few more seconds of silence. Then finally, Noah let out an annoyed breath.

"Where are you exactly?"

Folio beamed in victory. 

"I’ll send you the location. Hurry up, alright? We’re freezing."

Noah hung up without another word. Folio immediately turned to you with a smug grin.

"Knew that would work. He can pretend to hate you all he wants but-"

“Folio!” You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "I hate you."

"No, you don’t." He smirked.

…

“I was thinking maybe we could redecorate the kitchen?” Amy suggested, “I like the wooden cabinets but I think we should go for a more modern look, why don’t we have a think about it?”

“Hm, yeah, sounds good.” Noah nodded, not fully listening. 

The two of them were out for dinner, Noah had taken Amy out for a day of shopping, and now to eat at her favourite restaurant. He had tried all day to put on the loving boyfriend act, but it had gotten to a point where he was tired of it now. He just wanted her to go home- but she can’t, because now they live together. 

“I was also wondering if-”

Buzz buzz… Buzz buzz

Noah apologised, reaching into his pocket for his phone, thanking some higher being for this interruption. 

When he looked at the name and read Folio, he had some kind of idea what this was going to be about. Noah had checked the weather forecast, and it had said it was due to rain around now. He chuckled to himself before answering. 

"Hello? I told you I’m busy today, what do you want?" He asked, sitting back in his seat with a sigh. 

But the voice that answered back wasn’t Folio. 

"Noah… hi." There was no mistaking that voice.

His heart skipped a beat, but he forced his voice to remain steady. 

"What do you want?"

He heard you shift, your voice crackling just a little. The rain was clearly getting to you. 

"Well… Folio and I are kinda stranded at the lake by Jolly’s place. It’s pouring, and the guys are all assholes and ditched us with all the fishing gear. We need a ride…?"

There was a long pause on Noah’s end, he knew he’d give in eventually, he wanted an escape from the restaurant, he just couldn’t make it seem so obvious to Amy that he wanted to leave. So the sharp edge of his irritation returned. 

"Yeah, not my problem."

He could hear some movement, and then Folio had snatched the phone from you.

"Dude, come on," he said, exasperated. "We’re drenched, and we’ve got all the gear to take back. Just come pick us up real quick."

Noah pinched the bridge of his nose, his frustration building. 

"You know how far that is? Call someone else."

The line was silent for a beat. And then Folio added something Noah didn’t expect to hear. 

"Oh, yeah? I get why you’d leave me out here, but what about y/n? Noah, she’s completely soaked, shivering… she’s gonna get sick."

The words hit Noah harder than he expected.

He froze, his hand tightening around his phone. He should’ve just hung up. He should’ve ignored this. But the thought of you in the rain, shivering and vulnerable, made his chest tighten.

There was no way around it. He couldn't leave you out there. He didn’t want to care, but he did. And that made everything so much more complicated.

"Where are you exactly?" Noah asked, his voice a little quieter now.

Folio wasted no time.

"I’ll send you the location. Hurry up, alright? We’re freezing."

Noah hung up, the decision already made. He glanced over at Amy, who had raised an eyebrow at his sudden change in demeanor. But Noah didn’t have time to explain. He grabbed his jacket and stood up.

"I’m sorry, there’s an emergency, Folio’s uh… broken a finger… He needs taking to the hospital, I’ve gotta go." He said quickly, before she could ask any questions.

She didn’t protest, but the confused and disappointed look she gave him was enough to make him feel guilty. 

"Okay… I’ll see you later then."

Without another word, he rushed out, the cold air biting at his skin as he jogged to his car. His mind raced as he drove toward the lake, the rain pounding harder against the windshield. 

What was he doing?

…

It didn’t take long before headlights cut through the rain, the familiar sight of Noah’s car pulling up near the dirt road leading to the lake. The moment the window rolled down, his gaze immediately landed on you.

"Get in."

You didn’t hesitate, yanking open the door and practically diving into the warm interior. Folio took his time loading the car, then finally he gathered the lighter gear and tossed it in before he climbed into the passenger's seat. 

Noah sighed, running a hand through his hair before shifting into drive. 

"You guys are a pain in my ass, you know that?"

"And yet, here we are." Folio smirked.

Noah shot him a glare before turning his attention back to the road. You sat there, dripping wet and exhausted, but for some reason, you felt just a little bit warmer.

Because if he truly didn't care, he would've left you two out there.

"Couldn’t handle a little rain?" Noah asked, meeting your gaze in the mirror.

"Oh, shut up." You scoffed, your teeth chattering as you shivered.

He smirked slightly, before reaching out to turn up the heating.

“There should be a hoodie in the back somewhere, put it on.” 

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. 

“No, I’m good.”

"No, y/n. Take off whatever is wet and get changed." Noah’s voice was more stern this time, almost commanding.

“Why? So I can look even more pathetic? I'm not some damsel in distress, Noah."

He glanced at you again, his expression softening just a little. 

"No, I know you’re not. But I don’t want you getting sick, and I’m not gonna let you freeze to death in my car either. Put it on."

You blinked, surprised. 

“Okay, as long as neither of you look.” 

Folio immediately covered his eyes, and Noah fought back the urge to say, It’s nothing I haven’t seen before... you could tell by the slight smirk on his lips that he was tempted.

A few seconds passed before you reluctantly leaned over, grabbing it from the seat beside you. You took off your jacket and shirt, leaving you in just your bra as you pulled his hoodie over your head, the fabric surprisingly warm against your skin. It smelled faintly like Noah, and it made you feel oddly at ease, though you’d never ever admit it to him.

Noah kept his eyes on the road, but there was a subtle shift in his posture, like he was trying to focus on driving but couldn’t help noticing the way you looked, all bundled up in his hoodie.

It made your cheeks flush. 

"Better?" He asked, his voice quieter now, more considerate.

You nodded, glancing over at him. 

"Yeah. Thanks." You said quietly, but loud enough for him to hear. 

“Can I look now?” Folio asked, his hands still dramatically covering his eyes. 

…

It wasn’t too long before  the car slowed and Noah pulled into the driveway of your place. The rain hadn’t let up, and the evening air had only gotten colder.

"Well, this is it." Noah said.

You glanced over at him, your fingers still clutching the hoodie, and for a second, there was an awkward silence. You weren't sure what to say, or if you even needed to say anything. 

So you decided to just reach for the door handle, until Noah's voice stopped you.

"Keep it."

You blinked at him, not sure you heard him right.

"Keep it," he repeated, his eyes briefly meeting yours. "It looks better on you than it does on me."

You hesitated for a second, your heart fluttering.

"Are you sure?" You couldn’t stop yourself from asking, though you had a feeling it was more of a rhetorical question.

Noah gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, his lips curling slightly into that familiar half-smirk. 

"Yeah. Just don't lose it."

You smiled softly, more to yourself than anything, before giving him a quick nod. 

"Thanks.” You murmured.

Folio, who had been mostly quiet during the ride, was already bringing the fishing gear inside. You asked if he wanted a hand, but he shook his head, telling you to just get inside, into the warm. 

You stepped out of the car, holding your soaked clothes in your arms. Before you could turn away, Noah’s voice cut through your thoughts again.

"Hey, y/n?"

You stopped and turned back to him. 

"Yeah?"

"Next time," he started, his tone slightly softer than before, "Try not to get yourself stranded in the rain again, okay?"

You couldn’t help but chuckle, despite the slight ache in your chest. 

"I’ll try."

With that, you closed the door softly, turning to head inside. As you walked toward the door, you glanced down at the hoodie you were wearing, wondering if it meant anything more to him than just lending you a piece of clothing. But you didn’t dwell on it for long. You had a feeling you’d figure it out eventually.

You had gone straight up to your room, deciding you were going to have a shower and then go to bed. You didn’t know how to deal with all the thoughts in your head right now, so hopefully a nice hot shower would help your mind clear. 

You couldn’t stop thinking about what Ruffilo had said, and then how when Folio had mentioned you were cold Noah changed his mind and picked you up, and how he told you he didn’t want you getting sick-

You were probably overthinking, right? Anyone would’ve done the same, why does it make any difference that it was Noah?

You shook your head, shaking away the thoughts as you got undressed, tugging the wet shorts off. You slipped your hands into the pocket in Noah’s hoodie, making sure you hadn’t put something in there, but instead you pulled a couple things out. 

First, a hair band, your brow furrowed as you set it down on your dresser, thoughts of Noah’s little bun flooding your mind, and secondly a scrunched up piece of paper, which had something written on it. You immediately recognised Noah’s handwriting, and you wondered if this was really something you should be looking at, but still you unfolded and uncreased the paper, revealing what you guessed to be song lyrics.

You shouldn't be reading this, you weren't sure if this was lyrics or just something he wanted to get off his mind, but curiosity won, and you began to read.

You said enough

You never loved the thought of us

You're too good to be true, yeah

I gotta go, gotta run

You don't want me the way I want you, no

You walked too close to the rails

I picked you up when you fell

How can you live with yourself?

You're lost, but I couldn't tell

Fooled me and you did it well

Thought you were somebody else

-------------------------------

okay so if you read nothing ever after, i want to let you know i'm gonna change the story of how they met just a tiny bit... i've spent weeks writing the chapter where jolly explains it to them and i feel like it'd be a good idea to just say there'll be some inconsistencies until i can edit it lmao

@bloody-spades @death-ofpeace-ofmind @miss570 @dominuslunae @dontwantthemoney @amelia-acero @noahslutbastian @blade-dressed-in-red @super-btstrash-posts @kait16xo @oobleoob @sunshine-lvrr @lacy1986 @enemiestolovershoe @samanthasgone @superpiratecriminalchef @lukeevangelista @lunabuna991 @ami-gami @bluehairpunklol

[kittenfangirl20]

Hypnosis Au

Lucifer needed to find Adam, the angel had fallen and he wasn't adjusting well to life in Hell. He acted like it was a mistake, that he didn't belong here and that heaven would right the wrong.

But as time passed and Adam remained in Hell the gravity of the situation set in and he started to actually freak out.

Like today for example, Adam had been doing some prep work for dinner, staying at the hotel meant he had chores. He didn't like that one bit, Adam felt like he should get to do what he wants during the day said that's what Angel does.

Charlie explained that Angel has a job and he doesn't. All he did was roll his eyes and stomp away.

It was when he cut his finger showing that he had deep red blood instead of golden angelic blood in his veins did everything click for him.

Adam freaked out, when Charlie checked on him he pushed her out of the way and ran out the hotel's front door.

That's what Lucifer was doing now, looking for him. He was going to check the only place he could that Adam would go.

Heavens Embassy.

Sure enough when he got there the lobby was trashed, raging was going on in the other room.

Adam: PETER YOU COCK SUCKER!! I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME GET SERA ON THE FUCKING LINE!!!!!!

Sera wasn't going to take his meeting request, she was too busy but Adam was too worked up.

Lucifer: Adam? Hey, calm down okay?

Adam turned and glared: YOU!! STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!!!

He started throwing things at the devil and Lucifer knew he wasn't going to listen to reason. So he resorted to the last thing he could do, he'd have to grab ahold of Adam and look him in the eyes.

Lucifer would have to hypnotize him.

Lucifer: Adam, look at me.

Adam was in the midst of throwing something across the room when he heard the command, he felt the urge to listen to him.

Adam: Ok.

Lucifer: Good, now put that down and relax.

Adam did so, truthfully Lucifer felt bad doing this. But Adam was so upset and it upset to see him like this.

Lucifer: Let me hold you.

Lucifer held out his arms to Adam and the fallen first man just went into Lucifer’s arms as Lucifer hold him. He knew that he wasn’t going to use the hypnosis to make Adam do something sexual or violent. Just to calm him down.

Lucifer: Tell why you were so upset.

Adam looked up with tear filled eyes.

Adam: I didn’t think I would ever fall. I thought I was doing good. Everyone said I was doing good and then I fall like this.

Lucifer couldn’t help but feel bad hearing Adam talk like this, he just to not fail the people he cared for. He could even see that Lucifer’s opinion of Adam still mattered to him.

Lucifer: You are still good.

Adam: Then why did I fall?

Lucifer: Because others failed you.

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

[angstywaifu]

Black Dahlia - 44. Unexpected Reunion

Summary: Dahlia's Squad and Bodhi are dragged into their first assessment for RSC. Land Nav. And just her luck she'd end up with not one, but two people she would like to be as far away from as possible. A/N: This is going up while I'm travelling for a week away for my birthday, so not sure if I will have reception or time to check my phone before I don't have it. But I can't wait to come back and see your comments and asks! Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist | Links | Tumblr Community

My eyes fly open, jolting back as someone moves something away from my face. I squint at the bright morning light, shielding my eyes I look up to see our RSC teacher Professor Lee backing away as he approaches Liz who lies on the ground next to me. My head feels foggy as I sit up and take in my surroundings. We’re in the middle of the forest, somewhere definitely close to Basgiath as the foliage is similar.

”Let me guess, RSC?” I ask Proth as I reach out to him.

I feel agreement flow through the bond. “Yes, something I hope you can over come quickly. A waste of time if you ask me.”

”Why is it a waste of time?” I ask, as I push off the ground, dusting grass and dirt off my flight leathers.

”You only need it if you don’t stay seated. Or we somehow get separated, which has never happened.” He growls in annoyance.

Noted. Don’t leave my dragon. Something that’s already been drilled into us. Though you never know what could happen. I look to my left seeing Kai, Austin and Bodhi waking up as well. My eyes widening as I take in the squad next to ours. You have to be kidding me. Dain and I lock eyes, both of ours narrowing at each other. Great. On top of being stuck out here for up to two days, I had to spend it with him. And work with him. Movement next to him catches my eyes and I can’t help but smile slightly at Imogen who pokes her head around him as she assesses the area. I hadn’t had much to do with her, but the interactions I did have with her were good. I could see myself getting along with her.

”Well, look who we have here. Haven’t seen you two in a long time.” A deep, but somewhat familiar voice drawls.

I turn my head to see two squads of infantry cadets, my blood running cold as I recognise the one speaking to Dain and I. Despite how much time had passed, there was no denying who stood in front of me. Ethan Caldwell. The boy who had thrown that rock in that clearing. The actual reason my mother was dead. This day was just getting better and better.

”See you took after your father in infantry.” Dain says through pursed lips.

Dain and Ethan were never close, always butting heads as kids. So I know his displeasure is not due to what happened that day. But mine definitely is. He was my friend up until that point. At least I thought he was.

”As did you two. Though I’m honestly surprised after that little incident.” He drawls as he turns his attention to me.

My hands tighten into fists, my nails digging into the palms of my hands as I stare at him. I would enjoy nothing more than running him through with one of my daggers, but I don’t think it would go down to well if I took out a cadet from another quadrant in front of two Professors.

”Everything ok?” Liz asks as she steps closer to me.

”Fucking fantastic.” I growl out as I hold Ethan’s stare.

”You sure? You look like you want to murder him.” Bodhi adds as my squad gather behind me.

”Trust me, that’s not even the start of what I want to do to him.” I say as I tear my gaze from Ethan and look at Bodhi.

There’s no denying the worry in Bodhi’s eyes as he looks at me. But he clearly understands this is something I can’t talk about right now. And honestly didn’t entirely want to. Though there was no stopping Ethan from spilling what he was referring to. I just had to hope that he kept is damn mouth shut.

”What the last thing you guys remember?” Kai asks as two healers cadets walk around handing out a small ration and water. Which I’m thankful for seeing as I hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday and it was now the morning.

”Walking to dinner from the gym with Dahlia.” Austin says as she opens her water skin.

”Yeah, the last thing I remember is heading there with Kai.” Liz adds.

Seems we were all taken after we left the gym. They had definitely been watching and waiting. Maybe that’s where Garrick and Xaden ended up? No, third years didn’t go through this. Their equivalent was being sent to an outpost to assist.

”Sorry for the abrupt change in scenery, but welcome to your first land navigation exercise of the year.” Professor Lee starts as his eyes scan us. “In the last two weeks, we have hopefully taught you how to read a map and survive. And now you get to put those skills to the test, and seeing how well you can adapt to working with other cadets you have never worked with before.”

Two squads of infantry, two quads of riders, two healers and a scribe. All of whom have never worked together. This was going to be interesting.

”For this exercise there will be two maps, two teams, but you will work together as one cohesive unit. Aetos, your squad-”

”Which one?” Dain and I say perfectly in sync as we cut off the Infantry Captain, causing all the riders to look at us in shock. Almost surprised with how in sync we’d been, even down to the tone in our voice. Perks of being twins I guess.

”Of course they sent you two together. Second squad-”

”Which one?” We both ask again in sync, Dain turning to glare at me as Bodhi and Imogen snicker behind both of us.

”You’re both second squads?” She asks, looking annoyed.

Professor Lee chuckles as he steps forward with two maps clutched in his hand. “Yes and both from the same wing. Dahlia, you’ll be with third squad.” A blonde haired infantry cadet raises his hands. Thank the gods I wasn’t with paired with Ethan. I step forward and take the map from Lee. “And Dain you’ll be with second squad.”

“Excellent. We’ll see you all tomorrow afternoon.” The infantry captain says before turning and walking away from us with Lee and leaving us on our own.

”Oh, and just to make it more fun, there are other groups out here with you.” Lee adds as he turns back to us. “You are also not allowed to mount your dragons. But they are hunting the other groups, and their dragons are hunting you. Best work together so you don’t die.”

And with that, we’re on our own. The infantry, healer and scribe cadets look pale now Lee has mentioned the role our dragons are playing in this. Two days to find our extraction point and not get burnt my another dragon. Oh and add the fact I’ve got Dain and Ethan to deal with. What could go wrong? Oh wait, everything.

”Did he just say we could die?” The scribe squeaks out as they clutch their satchel.

”Sure did. Kinda part of being around dragons.” Imogen says with a smile, though it does nothing to ease the now petrified scribe.

”Don’t listen to her. You’ll be fine.” Dain says as he tries to ease the scribe’s nerves.

”Don’t sugar coat it Dain. You know very well how deadly dragon fire can be.” Ethan snickers as he eyes Dain and I.

”Pretty sure we all do. So lets get to work and get moving.” Bodhi says sternly, ending the conversation. I’d almost swear he was innistic with how he could read situations.

”Good idea. Dain give me your map.” I say as I hold out my hand towards him.

”You have your own map. You don’t need mine.” He tells me as he puffs out his chest.

”Well aware, but I wouldn’t put it past them to give us different maps or do something to confuse us.” I tell him as I cock my head at him.

He grumbles but quickly hands his map to me so I can lay them out next to each other. We all gather around to assess the two maps, and it’s immediately clear our maps are completely different. Our extraction points are in the same spot, but the markings and layout of the maps are completely different.

”Well look at that, you were somehow right.” Ethan says smugly as he looks up at me.

”Yeah, she generally is. Without her we wouldn’t have won war games last year.” Austin snaps at him, causing him to glare at her.

Great we were already at each others throats. This was going so well.

”Let’s figure out where we are and get moving then.” The blonde squad leader from infantry commands as he cuts off the bickering that was definitely about to start, all of us nodding in agreement. We needed to win this.

@imtoanonymousforyou @simplyme-fornow @omalmal @lalaluch @wolfbc97 @leptitlu @fullmoon-94 @the-fandom-ness @fan-of-many-bands @awkardnerd @heeseungthel0ml @acourtofsmutandstarlight @fairchild06 @freyagallileaevans @pit-and-the-pen @hannraumari @elliot-rain @thestarseternaal @stupid-and-contagious01 @hyperfixation-train-station @lxnvmvrzx @thebreadisthetruevillian @red0202 @fangirling-galore @craftytrashprincess @taliyahvermillion @xadenswhore @fenixyrie @lagrandeourse @hellodarling1357 @iambored24601  @thegiftofacreativemind @fanfictionjunkie1112 @mysticalfuncollectorus @ohlookitsasinglepoeceofpopcorn @emoravenwolf

[wannabanauthor]

Don’t think about how Tommy thought that getting back together with Buck was a sure thing.

He bought champagne.

He was confident that they could try again and make things work.

And Buck fumbled it so badly after fucking him all night.

Tommy really thought that Buck wanted more after their night together. He was hopeful, and even subverted the trope of lying to pretend he wasn’t interested in getting back together (Lucy Chen and Tim Bradford, I’m look at y’all).

And then Buck broke his heart.

They’re in love with each other but keep fucking things up. I’m hoping all this drama leads to a confession of love.

Tommy is very much in love with Buck, and Buck feels the same way. If only they would be courageous and tell each other this, but nope, we gotta drag the drama around for a while.

But I’m still wondering what exactly they got up to that night because they were both glowing and happy. And Tommy let Buck sleep in too and even asked him about it. He cares so much 😭 Buck why did you fumble him?

You think he can’t find another muscle bound twink that fucks like an Olympian? Have you met Tommy?! He gives off butch lesbian energy. He has way more experience with men, so he can absolutely fall in love with someone else who isn’t scared to tell him how they feel.

I know I want them back together ASAP, but I also love for angst. You know how many times I watched their kitchen fight when Tommy shut down and left? At least 10 times. Feed me the angst, but also get them back together.

I even have an idea: Tommy goes out on a date, and Buck happens to come across them and is super awkward about it. Maybe Tommy doesn’t even notice he’s there.

But I can see Buck staring at them from a distance and sad that Tommy moved on. He wallows in pain and misery until someone tells Buck to talk to Tommy about his feelings and work things out.

Because Buck is incapable of realizing that Tommy has his own emotional needs that Buck doesn’t acknowledge.

Buck needs to suffer a little bit to understand just how thoroughly he fucked things up with Tommy.

After Buck implied that he had feelings for Eddie and not Tommy and that it was just sex with Tommy, Tommy has no reason to reach out to Buck ever again. He was told he wasn’t wanted, and he responded appropriately by leaving.

Buck really needs to put in the work to fix things.

And I’d love to see him spiral a bit, including watching Tommy being happy with another guy.

Imagine the epic fight if Buck ever confronted him about it.

“So you’re just moving on without even trying to work things out?” Buck could accuse Tommy of this.

And Tommy could say “You told me you have feelings for your best friend and that what we had was just great sex. Why wouldn’t I move on? What else could you possibly want from me? Why would I continue to try to fix things between us when you don’t even have feelings for me?”

“But I do have feelings for you!”

“And how would I know that? Hell, I don’t even believe that you do. I know I fucked things up when I broke up with you, but you, you were just so cruel that morning after we hooked up. Why would I want to fight for us when you won’t?” Tommy asks.

“I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.” Yeah, classic Buck not communicating.

“And instead of telling me that, you did nothing. You watched me leave then never contacted me again. Evan, I’m trying to get over you and move on with my life. You think you want me, but you don’t. Your silence these past few weeks told me everything I needed to know. There’s no fixing us anymore. It’s over,” Tommy says.

Buck starts tearing up, and Tommy with his own puffy red eyes walks away.

Months go by, and Buck works on himself. Goes to therapy and all that. Tommy is still on his mind after all this. Maybe one day he decides to browse Tommy’s social media to see what he’s up to but finds out he’s been blocked by Tommy on every app.

And this leads to more spiraling.

But the next time he runs into Tommy, he doesn’t hold his feelings back anymore. He tells Tommy that he’s wanted him since the first day they met. That his life felt complete and whole when they became official. Like Tommy was the person he had been looking for all his life. He’s so in love with him that it terrifies him because he’s never felt this way before with past partners.

And Tommy surprises him by saying he’s still in love with Buck/Evan, but he doesn’t want to get hurt again.

They’re not sure how to go about this anymore with so much past hurt between them, so they seek out couple’s counseling to see if they can work through it. And they do.

[baffledandbewildered]

“I don't really know how to end this,” Evi says, laughs, and to Betty’s ears it sounds a little broken.

Betty is glad she isn't the only one who feels that way.

She takes a breath, chokes on tears, tries again, until she can say the words in her head. “You can just walk away, Evi,” she says. “You can just walk away. I’m not going to. You made this choice. You walk away.”

Evi flinches. “Hell no.”

“You've got Pollocks here, your teammate.”

Evi stares at her silently.

“You wanna leave? Then walk away.”

In one quick movement, Evi equips their elytra and flies away. Betty is probably the only person who notices how their hands shake. And now she is left alone - it's raining, she realises. She hadn’t noticed.

Movement to her right makes her startle - she'd forgotten they had an audience, four people watching one of the worst days of her life.

Ace takes another step towards her, and Betty flinches back. She can't meet anyone's eyes - Poll, Ace, Seri - even fucking Cogmented is here gods this is -

“Not everything on this damn server has to be dramatic and deadly you could have ended it quietly -”

“I’ve thought about this for a while,” Evi says. “I didn't want to end it quietly. Would anyone have believed me if I had?”

“Did you not think I might have wanted to end it quietly? This isn’t just about you. I might have wanted it to end quietly.” She’d stopped, then, winced. “But would anyone believe it. Yeah.” And that’s the issue, isn’t it? Or one of them - Betty has a reputation for lying. ‘More than anyone’. Would anyone have believed them? Probably not.

Still. She doesn’t - it hurts, so bad, she hates that people are seeing her this way it’s wrong and she hates it -

Betty stumbles back - her inventory is a mess, spare gear and unsorted potions and she's still missing a few items but her unsteady hands manage to grab her e-chest and wrench it open, tug on her elytra and take another step away from all the watching eyes.

“I'm sorry I’m sorry I need to - go -” 

A firework sparks against her hand and she's gone, up into the rain clouds above them, away from the staring watching judging eyes behind her. 

She can't - how is she - how is she meant to -

The other watchers probably didn’t notice, but it seems it hurt Evi as much as it hurt her. She's bitterly glad of that.

She flies down from the clouds and - her luck. Her fucking luck - she finds herself gliding towards the Jestvu wedding pavilion and oh gods she doesn't want to be here, not at someone else's wedding venue when her own spouse - she lands heavily outside the portal and runs through. 

On the nether roof, there's no rain, and the heat makes her face burn - she probably is burnt, the side of her forehead throbbing - respawn doesn't heal all injuries and usually she wears anything she gets from Evi with pride but today it makes her feel sick.

BettyIsBaffled was slain by evi4 using [i'm sorry]

The parallels are haunting - both to her first death, a false betrayal that sent Betty on such a different path than she ever expected, and the death that finally revealed the ruse. 

But those deaths she'd asked for. Those deaths she'd - people think she likes dying and maybe she's a little weird about it but it's not the dying she likes it's the trust of it, putting her life and heart in another's hands - and today that trust was broken and there's a missing heart in her chest and she doesn't know what to do.

There's so many furious messages in her communicator, Ace had watched so now the whole alliance knows and Evi and Poll have left the group chat and - she begs her teammates not to seek revenge on her behalf but she isn't sure either is going to listen.

She doesn't know how to explain how much the thought of Evi4 dying for her sake hurts - she understands why he felt he had to leave, he told her before, he warned her so many times he was going to betray, it's not - she's not angry at him.

It just hurts.

She thought - things weren't great, fuck they were kinda awful really, Evi had never been fully on board with the End plan and had been kinda thrown into the alliance without a choice purely by association with Betty, but - she'd told him so many times it was his choice that was what this was all about, really, making their own choices where other people were determined to take them away from them - they talked about it so much and so often she talked to Evi more than anyone other than Sin - how had he decided to do this regardless -

It hurts.

She doesn't think she deserved this.

And that is so wrong because - she's spent so long the last few weeks hurting and hurting and knowing it was her own fault but -

She tried. Betty tried so hard to show Evi that she loves her and she knows that feeling is returned -

“I love you despite this. Despite everything. It just had to be like this,” Evi had said quietly. “I don't agree with anyone's morals - I don't agree with this allyship but I honestly stayed because I wanted to be alongside you.”

And gods didn’t that break her heart more than anything.

“I love you too,” Betty said desperately. “I thought you loved more than just me - I thought you liked being with all of us -” She stopped, shook her head, swallowed down tears. “Maybe I shouldn’t have expected that of you, maybe I shouldn’t have expected you to stay in a place like that but I offered you a way out - I know I said I didn't want to lie again but I would for you.”

And she would. She would - she’d thought, earlier, that Evi wanted that, she thought - she’d realised moments after her death that this was different, something was wrong - she’d seen the mace coming, sure, Evi wasn’t subtle, he even missed the first hit, but…

He’d told her earlier he was going to betray her today. She thought he was joking, or talking about something faking a betrayal. She'd offered to let him kill her, if he really -

It was only after she died and she was sitting in her respawn point after begging for instructions that she realised something was wrong.

evi4 whispers to you: i dont think you even know why i did that

… No. She didn’t.

‘I have a book for you!’ Evi said in general chat, as Betty was rifling through shulkers trying to cobble together a kit from the random bits and pieces of gear she had in her e-chest - she hadn’t had a full spare kit for quite a few deaths now, too busy with other stuff, too uncaring of the consequences - she was regretting that now, she didn’t even have gapples or a water bucket gods why was she so stupid. Eventually she decided what she had was good enough and pulled on her elytra to fly back to spawn.

Betty stepped through the portal. She asked for the book. Evi4 hesitated. “I just don’t think this is the time.”

“I want to read it. Evi I want an explanation.”

“You’ll get one. Later.”

“Evi I want to know I don’t know what to do -”

“There’s nothing you can do this has been doomed from the start. I've told you over and over again I’m betraying this is just how it was going to end.”

Evi never did give her that book, Betty realises. 

Does it really matter, though? Evi said enough. They made themselves pretty clear. They - gods.

“I don’t belong there.” ... “I disagree with you guys on so many things. I want to do things in a way that I have control over and honestly so many people in that alliance just. Don't particularly like me.” ... “I want us to find our peace. And I think. Neither of us can find that with the morals we have. We’re such different people.” ... “I wouldn't feel right staying like this.”

Betty feels so - stupid, stupid - she - the worst thing is she knew this she knew Evi felt this way they spoke so much and so often about everything - how had they got to a point that Evi thought this was his only option?

Betty thought they were good at talking - she thought - there’s a sign room, so far away she can’t even remember where and she wishes she could because she hates the thought of that place being found, now. They'd talked, earlier today.

issue #1: COMMUNICATION

They'd talked. Evi had built that place for Betty because they knew Betty needed somewhere to write down all her terrified confused angry thoughts -

She wants to destroy it. She wants to encase it in obsidian forever. It's not the first place she and Evi have built together - it might be the only one that remains.

But she doesn’t know where it is. So it’ll just have to remain.

She’s been flying aimlessly around the nether roof for a little while when she spots a familiar sight - gods, her luck - regardless, some sick masochistic thought has her landing outside the portal. 

There’s a stronghold near her day 1 base - months ago, she’d told Evi and Poll the truth about her and Sin. Betty can’t remember why they chose this place now, but Evi decorated it as she spoke and then many weeks later the group that would eventually become the Thousand Suns Alliance met to explain the many weeks of lore Pollock had missed.

She’d told Evi earlier today that she wanted to visit a stronghold. Wanted to see with her own eyes the wreckage of a plan that her teammates had worked so hard on, that they’d all sunk so many hours into, that Betty had relied upon when -

She'd wanted to see. This wasn’t how she was planning to do it, but… 

She steps through the portal. The room is empty - five frames remain. The flight across the nether roof had dried her tears but now they start anew.

It’s symbolic, maybe. One of the last remaining remnants of her and Evi4’s time together, gone. A hope lost, a relationship lost. 

Betty hates everything about this.

She tries to remember what it looked like - she’d made a platform out of stone. Mossy brick stairs, signs on the walls - glazed terracotta by the portal. A heart on the wall - that one is still there, and she doesn’t know if she’s grateful. But the rest - she can remember elements, she can remember it distantly but thinking of the whole thing is - maybe she doesn’t want to remember. Maybe it’s for the best that this place is gone.

She thought they were good at talking - even if they didn’t agree it didn’t matter because they talked but -

“We won't agree with each other. We don't agree with each other on a lot of things and we've lived so differently I can't understand where you're coming from.”

Obviously not.

Obviously not.

She starts the climb back to the surface - the portal is broken, and it’s far too easy to bump into people on the nether roof anyway. It’s cold, here, the stone under her hands sending stabbing pain through her fingers but eventually she’s pulling herself onto the icy surface of a frozen river. 

She’s retrieving her elytra from her e-chest when she glances at her sentimentals shulker. It’s filled to the brim with references to Evi4 - a shield she gave her while they worked on gear together at Animal Crossing, eight pieces of renamed gold, a flower from before they were even allied - Evi’s wedding vows.

Betty hesitates - then slams the shulker lid closed and backs away.

Gods. There’s a wedding ring on her finger - there’s tiny pieces of diorite and emerald inset and it’s so ugly but she loves it so much there’s so much memory there - it hurts. It hurts. She can’t bring herself to remove it, though.

“I hope we can find peace even in a time like this. Even if we’re on opposing sides or I’m not agreeing with what you do, I only want the best for you.”

“This was not what’s best for me,” Betty had choked out.

“I love you,” Evi4 said quietly.

“I love you too.” It was automatic, but… still true.

Betty wishes it was untrue. Maybe then this would be easier.

[ripgray-moved]

it's the way i just want people to love and be invested in peter after all the hard work i've put in him tbh.

[candyredterezii]

[sleepyhomosexual]

.

[kurooh]

bf! toji who fucks you so well on camera that your account skyrockets to the top on onlyfans and pornhub. his face, body, and dirty talk garners thousands—no, millions—of followers and gets the money rolling in faster than you could say his name. of course, he’s not the only reason for all the popularity; you’re sexy in every way possible, fucking him back before you inevitably go dumb on his cock, going so far as to talk right back to him.

“what am i, a whore?” despite his words, toji smirks, clicking his tongue at the incoming comments of new members of the stream. “we’ve been live for two minutes. ‘m not taking my clothes off yet, damn.”

“oh, come on,” you press up against his side, manicured nails lightly raking over his biceps, “give ‘em what they want, toji.”

he huffs, turning his head to the side. still damp from the shower, toji’s dark hair goes along with the movement, bits sticking to his forehead. “what you want or what they want, baby?”

the chat explodes with wild comments, ranging from raw next question to i’m doing it are you, all of which makes you laugh. tips ka-ching on the screen and finally, the clothes fly off in all directions.

toji’s on his back, greedily pulling you on top of his face like he’s starving (dinner was an hour ago). he’s refrained from ripping off your underwear, favoring the idea of teasing you through the fabric instead.

“off, let me take ‘em off,” you whine, squirming as he holds you over his face and takes his sweet goddamn time licking over your dampened panties. “that’s not fair, toji.”

his green eyes narrow at you, a scoff slipping past his lips. so sassy, but at least he doesn’t ignore your pleas this time—maybe toji’s feeling magnanimous. “suck it up.”

perhaps not. another whine, and you go so far as to tug at his hair, hips rocking insistently into his face. “you’re so annoying,” neither of you are looking at your phone, the way the screen’s bursting with colorful tip notifications and comments, “if you aren’t hungry, just say so. don’t waste my time, toji.”

of course toji would never admit it, but he’s got a habit of being easy: always taking your purposeful bait, smug expression melting into a scowl. and oh, maybe that was the wrong thing to say—but it certainly feels so damn right when he yanks your panties to the side and sits you all the way down on his face.

still offended, he grunts, mumbling something intelligible as his lips find your wet cunt. (like, you’ve been together for how long?) slippery arousal coats your skin, slicking up his lips with something bittersweet when he indulges in his favorite dessert.

you’re rocking your hips into his face, eagerly taking everything he’s giving you. a small moan escapes you when your clit bumps into the tip of his nose, sending a delightful bolt of electricity through your entire body.

“t-toji, fuck.”

your virtual audience is nearly enjoying this as much as you are. if his teeth weren’t lightly nibbling at your folds while his tongue pushes inside you inch by inch, you’d be in a state to laugh at the comments. one of his palms falls away from your ass and before you can register the brief loss, a stinging slap cuts through the air.

“oughta watch that mouth, babygirl,” toji ignores the wail that follows the impact, along with the glossy tears that spring to your eyes. “maybe if you didn’t have so much goddamn nerve, i’d..”

it shouldn’t come out as quickly as it does, but you purposefully grind down into his mouth, ignoring the muffled sound of him choking on all the saliva. “you’d what, toji?”

some comments are excited, wondering what’ll happen now that you’re challenging him right back. others are raving about being in your position or toji’s—something along the lines of how difficult it is to choose.

he shoves you up with just one hand, feeling his cock twitch from the softness of your thighs circling his head and the way you use that damn mouth of yours. toji’s never had someone talk back to him as much as you do, and it’s something he’ll never get tired of. it’s something that throws him off while he’s giving you backshots and secretly makes him cum faster, although he pretends to get hamstring cramps just to buy himself some more time.

toji’s almost too blissed out to snap back.

“i’d give you mercy, but what was i jus’ saying? maybe you’d like it a little fuckin’ better if i kept eating this pussy of yours.”

you look down your nose at him. “like you could keep going, old man.”

that strikes a chord, hitting a nerve much faster than it should. so toji drags in a breath and dives in, as filthy and careless as he can be—making a mess, spreading your legs impossibly wider just to find that sweet spot of yours that always gets you arching on his face.

wet noise fills the room, backing the breathless gasps and moans that fall from your lips, along with softer panting of mumbled praises bunching with his name. the way he eats—no, devours—you is akin to someone who’s been both starving and thirsty for days on end, too insatiable to please with just one taste.

ecstasy sparks in all your nerves, chasing its way to the tension pooling in the core of your body. it’s red hot and heavy, begging to be released; but no, toji commands your high with the rough strokes of his tongue and obscene slurping of his lips. he lets it simmer right below the surface until you’re begging, hands on either side of his head as you weakly hump against his face.

“i-i said,” you grit out, ignoring the sticky sheen of sweat covering your face, “make me cum, toji.”

he arches an eyebrow, satisfaction sparkling in his eyes. “and ya still didn’t say please.”

frustration bubbles up in your chest. it’s rare for you to be reduced to a begging mess on live, but there’s supposedly a first time for everything. your lips part, preparing to give him what he wants, when something bratty speaks in the back of your mind. there’s no need to listen to him, is there?

with one hand slipping into his damp hair and the other stabilizing you on the bed, you take what you want from him. like an ocean wave, your hips roll not-so-gently over his face until you finally fall over the edge, convulsing a little as you cum.

the orgasm literally takes your breath away—not to mention his as well—and leaves you whining as you come down from the intense high, stars shooting across your vision. neither of you have been paying much attention to your phone, too engrossed in each other to notice the fact that you’ve met the livestream donation goal or all the new followers you’ve earned.

toji lifts you up, cheeks flushed scarlet. he is simultaneously turned on by you taking control of him and also pissed that you refused to say just one word.

“fucking brat,” toji curses, easily maneuvering your weakened body into a new position that’s got you on your hands and knees, ass all the way up. “you’re gonna face that goddamn camera while i wreck this pretty pussy, got that?”

“‘m still sensi—oh my god. a-ah, fuck—wait a second, i—”

behind you, toji smacks his lips, placing both hands on your ass cheeks and spreading you wide. “no, no. this is what you wanted, right? for me to make you cum again and a-fucking-gain.”

you backpedal, back arching unintentionally when two large fingers slide into your cunt without much resistance. “fuck, tojiii, wait—”

a squeal actually leaves you when he puts a hand on the small of your back and forces you to maintain the arch. toji can be stingy at times, but never when you—he’s got a habit of being too generous, if the right buttons are pushed.

“might wanna think about saying please next time, yeah? fuckin’ thought so.”