#i don’t even know what the fuck i’m saying anymore

[goldsbitch]

Kiss with a fist

To his twins, the world is ending. To Lando, it’s another exhausting reminder that parenting might actually be harder than racing.

or - No boys allowed near the girls from now on, especially not his rivals' son.

warning: dad! Lando, none, fun, domestic 3k word count stand alone part of Norris Family Polaroids

//

There is a loud crying sound coming from the room the seven year olds share and Lando has never felt so old in his bones. He'd just come back from an exhausting race and those don't exactly get easier with age. In times like these, he longs for the days when he was in his first years in F1, blissfully unaware of just how capable and seamless his body was. Anyway. No time to sulk in. One of his daughters is in distress and the day he does not respond to that will be the day he willingly puts himself up in jail.

He gets up from the couch and rushes over to the kids room. The crying is not stopping and when he enters it somehow starts clicking all in. He kneels down and hugs Maya, who looks like is determined to cry her eyes out. Meanwhile, Olivia is sitting on her bed, exceptionally quiet and has never looked more suspicious in her life, ever.

"We need to keep a closer eye on Liv, I think she's teasing Maya too much these days" he recalls Y/N saying over the phone one late evening. It was an early morning call for him, due to the timezones, but he remembers it clearly. He brushed it off, telling his wife that it's getting late over back home and that she should go and get some sleep while she can. But right now, assessing the current situation, he is not so sure about his previous judgement. Long gone is the time he was scared of being a bad parent, of fucking up. He's come to realization that he will inevitably fuck up - not in the same way as his parents, but in a completely new and original way. The fact they were blessed with twins making it that more likely to happen. He's hugging and caressing one daughter, while eyeing the other. Olivia has this look in her face and his stomach sinks down deeply, because he has seen this look before. In the mirror, many times. He was what most would consider a peaceful quiet child. Unless it was him and his sister alone. He'd tease her mercilessly, wait for her to start crying and then play innocent. His parents fell for that so easily.

And now, he's looking at his own daughter, who stares right back at him, and they both know. He shakes his head, making sure Maya does not see and while it does make him mad, it makes him less mad that it should. Because ultimately, he knows that him and his sisters grew up just fine and this teasing eventually stopped. Still, his other daughter is wallowing in his arms and he can't ignore that.

Maya is the first one to speak. "Daddy...I don't want to have a baby," she leans back from his embrace and pouts at him in a way only seven year old know how. So raw, honest and unfiltered.

Lando must have misheard her. “Come again, sweetheart?”

He brushes few tears away. At least she’s not sobbing anymore and is focused on trying to get the words out. “I don’t want to have a baby, I’m too young for that”.

It’s hard not to agree with that. She is seven years old.

He smiles gently, trying to somehow untangle this. "Why would you have a baby?" Another stream of tears and cries follows and she wraps herself in his arms again. He sighs, as it is does not get easier with time to hear your little daughter cry and he looks up to Olivia, who's still sitting on her bed. He's not mad per say, but he's silently asking her to help him find an answer to this all. This is the first time that Liv's expression shakes up and cracks away, hinting on either guilt or at least a sorrow she feels at the sight of her own twin crying. Good, Lando thinks. He tries as much as he can to avoid automatically blaming her for anything without having enough information about the situation. But, his it's hard to ignore his intuition.

He turns to Maya again. "Sweetie, why would you have a baby? You're so young?"

Maya's voice trips over her own sobs, but she finally speaks again. "I...I kissed a boy today."

Now - hold on. First of all, why is his seven year old daughter kissing some boys? He feels himself tense up. Of course he knew this days would come, but he was silently hoping for ten more years of keeping his little angels as they were. Just young, tiny kids running around playing tag. Not kissing boys, girls or whomever. "Who did you kiss?" he can't stop himself from asking, silently hoping he does not know the parent of said boy, because there is no way of preventing himself from making the "concerned parent phone call". Monte Carlo is small, there is only few nursery schools around here. It's an everyone sort of knows everyone kind of situation. "Maya, don't worry - you're not in trouble," he adds, trying to make sure he keeps up on having his daughter willing to tell him stuff like that. She is not in trouble - the boy is. Lando used to be a boy. He knows what's up.

Maya's lip is trembling and her eyes are wet. He can't bear that sight. "Sweetheart, you're not pregnant. I'm sure of that," he consoles her and after few moments of deep thought, she seems to believe him. She ask once more for confirmation. His answered is interrupted by his other daughter, who now looks equally concerned as Maya was just a minute ago.

"But she is pregnant. That's how it works. Boys at the playground said so," she speaks, oh-so-sure of her claims. He face is serious and has a sense of fatality around it. He begins to understand how other children would fall so deeply under this spell.

Ah, Lando thinks and the penny drops. He runs his hands through his hair and has to chuckle just a bit. He doesn't want Maya to think he’s making fun of her, but the absurdity of the situation is too much. He leans back on his heels, looking between his two daughters. Maya’s face is still flushed from crying, and Olivia is sitting with her arms crossed, looking like a pint-sized prophet of doom.

He clears his throat, trying to sound as serious as possible. "Okay, let's get something straight out of the way. Kissing someone is not how you get pregnant," he speaks and his mind briefly flashes to the panic he and Y/N felt the moment they found out she was pregnant with the twins. It's been a long time ago and enlightening journey since, but he can somewhat understand the sentiment. He tries to ground his children down some more. "Look at me and Mommy. We kiss all the time and she is not pregnant, right?"

Olivia seems intrigued. "So, how do you get pregnant?" He looks at her and curses himself for walking right into that one. It's clear in her face and maneurism that she is going to be a very difficult teenager one day. "Ask Mommy when she comes back," he blurts out, not at all prepared for that talk. He's also already mentally ordering apology bouquet for his dear wife for throwing her under a bus like that. He turns to Maya again. "Anyway, you don't worry. You're not pregnant," he caresses her cheek and once she really does seem more calm, he asks. "Now - who kissed you?"

Maya glances at Olivia, and Lando notices his other daughter watching with laser focus. Olivia’s lips are pressed tightly together, her expression that of someone who knows something and is dying to spill it.

“Do you want me to tell him?” Olivia asks suddenly, looking unable to contain herself any longer.

“Liv,” Lando says with a sigh, shooting her a warning look.

“What? I already know who it was,” Olivia says, folding her arms across her chest with a dramatic flair that only a seven-year-old can pull off. He averts his gaze to Maya, who looks like is ready to fess up.

"You're not in trouble," he says and hopes he can keep up on his promise.

She tenses up and something tells Lando he actually does not want to know. "It was Lucas." Too late. “Lucas,” he repeats, his voice carefully neutral.

Maya nods slowly, her cheeks flushing pink. “Lucas Verstappen,” she specifies. Lando feels his stomach drop. Max Verstappen’s son. Of all the boys in the world, it had to be Lucas, the mini version of the Verstappen gang and what one would call a true heir of their infamous blunt approach to life. If this is true, it marks the beginning of a lifetime of headaches. His poor, sweet little daughter - one he'll have to protect until forever.

"And she kissed him too!" Olivia nearly screams out, letting her opinion on this known by the judgy tone.

Lando eyes grow wide and he silently thankful for Olivia spilling it like it is. Maya's guilt ridden face gives it away all. "Maya, honey, aren't you a little young to be kissing boys?" he asks rhetorically, because of course - his little angel should definitely not be doing that.

"I would never kiss a boy! They are gross and annoying," Olivia blurts out, ever-so-competitive. He's not sure what scares him more, Maya who's running around kissing boys or Olivia, who reminds him of himself more each passing day. Let's see about that, Liv, when in ten years I'm warding off boys from your window, he thinks, but does not say it out loud.

"He kissed me first!" Maya defends herself and snuggles into Lando's embrace more. He sighs. It's not been the quiet chill down he expected to return to.

"Okay, ladies. Let's all calm down. How about some ice-cream?" he offers, hoping that cheap bribing will buy him some time to think. The sudden cheers confirm it and he's adding another five flowers to the bouquet for Y/N, knowing she won't condone this.

//

He's watching his daughters munch on the impromptu ice-cream sundae, both of them sitting silently on the kitchen counter, apparently dead set on destroying their pajamas with colorful stains.

The name Verstappen still rings in his ears. They're suppose to have a little family get together tomorrow and for some reason, that's starting to increasingly bother him.

He excused himself for a moment and goes to the balcony, making what he fears is one of the first distressed "my daughter kissed someone" call in his life - and not the last one. Headache. That's what it is.

The phone rings twice before Max picks up, his voice sounding tired and politely annoyed.

“Lando. What’s up, mate? Is it urgent, I'm kind of dead tonight.”

Lando takes a deep breath, trying to sound calm. Oh, you and your son will be dead very soon.

"Hi Max, yeah, it sort of is," he murmurs, trying to think his strategy through. "We have to cancel tomorrow, something came up." Genius. That's who he is. Now, he just has to move his family away from Monte Carlo and make sure Maya never meets Lucas Verstappen ever again. Problem solved.

Max doesn’t miss a beat. "Cancel? What do you mean cancel? Lucas has been talking about seeing the girls all week." Of course he has. Lando groans internally. Of course Lucas has been excited. This wasn’t just any hangout. This was apparently the next chapter in their little playground romance.

"Yeah, not gonna happen, mate," Lando insists, leaning on the balcony railing, running a hand through his hair, overlooking at his dearest angels, who will need his infinite protection. "We can’t do it. Something came up. Okay, bye."

Max is quick enough to speak before he manages to hang up. "Wait, what? If it's a problem for you and Y/N, we can just take care of the kids, no problem."

Is it the whole Verstappen family that wants to take his precious daughters? Lando knows he might be overreacting, but he is a tired man with a resposibility over two seven year old. Cut him some slack.

"No. Canceled. Bye," he says and kills the call. There, all sorted. He immediately goes on figuring out some back up activity for the family, something that will sound so exciting that they will all forget about the Verstappens.

Max calls him right back and he does not pick it up.

The young father goes on putting the girls down, everyone is now calm and there are no more pregnancy scares. He is good at this. Everything is great. Just as the girls are tucked into bed, eyelids drooping and calm finally restored, Lando’s phone buzzes once more. He glances over at it, expecting Max to be trying again. Instead, he sees Y/N’s name flashing on the screen.

“Hi, love,” Lando answers, trying to sound casual. He winks at his daughters, who are always excited when Mommy's around. “How’s dinner?”

“It’s nice,” Y/N replies, but her tone has an edge, the one where he knows she’s about to interrogate him. “How’s everything at home? The girls okay?”

“They’re fine,” Lando says quickly and decides to leave the kids bedroom, so that he can pace around, as he always does when Y/N sounds like that. “All good here. No problems.”

There’s a beat of silence. He can feel her narrowing her eyes through the phone. He can hear the rush of the restaurant she's at, so her calling him must have a pretty good reason.

"Mm hm. So why did you cancel tomorrow’s hangout with Max and his family?"

Lando rolls his eyes, his brain scrambling for an answer while cursing Max mentally. Ugh. “Uh… something came up?”

"What "something," exactly?" Y/N presses, her voice filled with wonder.

"Just… things," Lando says vaguely, mentally kicking himself.

"Things," Y/N repeats flatly. "Lando, Max is suspicious. He just called me, distressed, asking what was going on, and now he thinks you’re mad at him."

This fires him up again. "Well, I am mad at him! So he got that right." Saying this makes him feel like the child in this scenario. Headache. Again.

Y/N sighs. "Did something happen on the track?" he asks patiently.

"What?" he asks, confused. He shakes his head. "No, no, it's um...The girls don't want to meet Lucas tomorrow, that's all."

Even he can't believe his tone.

"The same girls that spent the whole of yesterday excited about the bouncy castle they have at home?" she speaks with almost annoyed tone now. Lando groans, resting his forehead on the cool countertop. He does not have an answer. Just as he's about to fill her in on the whole kissing debacle, he continues. "Look, unless they're sick or something, can you please call Max and talk this out? I'm at the dinner and I can't just spend it all on the phone with my husband and his friend. Call him and talk it out."

Why is life so hard on him? "Do I have to? Can’t we just-"

"Lando," Y/N interrupts firmly. "You canceled without an explanation. You absolutely have to."

"Fine," he says, defeated. "Have a nice dinner, honey. I miss you," he concludes genuinely.

"Me too," Y/N says, her tone softening slightly. "I’ll check in when I’m on my way home. Love you."

"Love you too," Lando mutters, hanging up. He stares at his phone for a moment, then reluctantly dials Max’s number again.

It rings twice before Max answers, his voice dripping with faux innocence.

"Hey man. What the fuck?" Verstappens - always the pleasure.

"Max," Lando starts, rubbing his temple. "How are you? All good?" he asks politely, like the Brit he used to be once.

"What the fuck do you mean, how am I. You cancel out of nowhere and now Lucas won't talk to me, so yeah, great night off for me," he hears unfiltered tone coming through the speaker. He can't say it does not please him a bit.

"Well, it's late, he should be sleeping anyway," Lando let's out of his mouth before he thinks that through, ragging Max even further.

"You stop giving me instructions on how to raise my child and act like an adult for a moment, would you?"

"If someone should act more adult, it's Lucas," Yeah, Lando. Great comeback. Wow. The eight year old should act more like an adult.

Max manages to brush over that. "Did he do something to the twins? You need to tell me these things, how am I suppose to fix it if I don't know what happened? Or if something has even happened?"

It's hard to fight that logic. Especially after the evening Lando has had today. Lando sighs. There’s no way out of this, so he decides to just rip off the band-aid. "Maya told me… that Lucas kissed her. The silence on the other end is deafening. "And she kissed him back," Lando adds, cringing.

Max’s response is immediate: he bursts into laughter. "Oh, my God," Max wheezes. "Lucas and Maya? That’s amazing."

"It's anything but amazing, Max,” Lando snaps, pacing around again. "She thought she was pregnant because of something the kids on the playground told her! Do you know how much emotional damage I’ve endured in the past hour?"

Max is still laughing, clearly delighted. "Mate, you’re overreacting. They’re small. It’s harmless."

"This is the first boy she’s kissed, Max!" Lando argues. "Your son is now part of her origin story!"

"Oh, please," Max says, still chuckling. "What do you think is going to happen? They’ll run away together? They’re kids, Lando. Relax. It's normal for the to do this."

"I can’t relax," Lando grumbles. "And what’s worse, Olivia is now convinced she’s never falling in love because, and I quote, "boys are gross.""

Max cackles again. "Honestly, that’s probably for the best. Liv’s smart."

Lando's cup of patience, small one to begin with, is truly overflowing.

"Alright, alright," Max says, finally calming down and sensing that teasing Lando is not the way to go about it tonight. "Look, Lucas is a good kid. He probably just thought Maya looked pretty and didn’t know how else to say it. I’ll talk to him, alright? But you don’t need to cancel tomorrow over this."

Lando hesitates, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He knows they would all team up against him anyway. He lost this one. "You’re sure he won’t try anything else?"

Max snorts. "What, like propose? No, Lando, I don’t think so. He’s seven."

Fine.

//

The sound of children’s laughter fills the Verstappens’ backyard, the air warm and bright with sunlight. Like it's all mocking Lando specifically. The infamous bouncy castle stands in all its glory. Lando leans against a chair at the patio table, his arms crossed as he surveys the scene with the intensity of investors watching their car getting overtaken on track.

Maya and Lucas are bouncing together, grinning ear to ear like they’ve completely forgotten the events of yesterday. Meanwhile, Olivia stands off to the side, arms crossed and nose wrinkled in distaste, looking like she’s silently judging the entire scenery. She’s probably drafting her manifesto on why boys are, indeed, “gross.” Lando feels proud. At least one of his daughters is strong enough not to fall for cheap boy's tricks. Not even Y/N seems to understand the gravity of the situation. No matter how long Lando spent trying to explain it to her. Cute, that's what she called it. He hopes this is not a precedent. For now, he stands alone.

"You’re watching them like a prison guard," Y/N comments, nudging Lando gently as she sits down beside him.

"And for good reason," Lando replies, narrowing his eyes at Lucas, who’s apparently successfull at making Maya laugh. "He’s already made a move once. I’m not letting it happen again." He will sit happily sit in every playground they happen to encounter each other at.

Y/N hides her smile behind her coffee cup. "I think we’re safe for now. They’re just kids, Lando. You don’t have to treat Lucas like he’s some F1 rival trying to steal pole position from you."

"He is trying to steal something," Lando grumbles under his breath. Max strolls over, holding a plate of snacks, like the responsible dad he pretends to play, and looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Enjoying the show?"

Lando gives him a side-eye glare. "You think this is funny, don’t you?" Max smirks, popping a grape into his mouth and just nods.

"Your son traumatized my daughters yesterday," Lando fires away.

Max rolls his eyes. "And now they’re bouncing around like best friends again. Kids bounce back back. In this case, literally." Oh, he thinks he's so funny.

As if on cue, Lucas lands a little too close to Maya, sending both of them tumbling onto the floor of the bouncy castle in a fit of giggles. Lando tenses, halfway out of his seat before Y/N grabs his arm.

"Relax," she whispers. "It's fine." "For now," Lando protests, settling back reluctantly. From across the yard, Lucas suddenly stands up and calls out: "Mr. Norris!" Lando freezes, his eyes narrowing as the devil child approaches him. "What?" Lucas grins, holding up a flower he’s picked from the garden. He's rushing over to his and hands it to Lando, eyes filled with expectation and anticipation. "This is for Maya!" Speechless Lando accepts the flower, albeit confused as to why he's handing the flower to him and not to Maya, if she's the supposent recipient. Lucas flashes one look towards his father and in the corner of the eye, Lando can see Max nod approvingly. They really have all teamed up against him. Everyone is watching them and waiting for something exiting to happen. Olivia, the only one having Lando's back, lets out an audible groan loud enough to be heard across the yard.

"Oh, come on," she says, throwing her hands in the air. “This is ridiculous. I’m never falling in love. Ever!��

Y/N snorts into her coffee, Max doubles over laughing, and Lando buries his face in his hands. Meanwhile, happy Lucas runs back to the bouncing castle.

"Why is my life like this?" he wonders, looking up the sky for answers. None come. Y/N pats his shoulder affectionately. "Because you’re the dad of two amazing girls. And one of them might have a little crush. It’s not the end of the world."

"It’s the beginning of the end," Lando mumbles dramatically. Max grins, leaning closer. "You know, if Lucas and Maya end up together, we’ll officially be family. Imagine that, Lando," he pauses dramatically. "Maya Verstappen."

Lando's stomach turns upside down, he groans and turns to Y/N. "We're moving to another continent."

The domestic afternoon continues, adults laughing and talking - apart form Lando, who sits in his observant position, regularly sighing, back leaning and forth in his chair. It’s going to be a long, chaotic road ahead. And it looks like he's the only sane person around - in his opinion exclusively.

----------------------- note: fire up them ideas for this pseudo series!!! love you all

[uceyliyahh]

Summary: You are just a distraction to me nothing more.

smut warning; it’ll come in the story randomly so PLEASE, PLEASE look out for it I’m not really good at writing ✍🏽 smuts but I’m improving at the moment.

warning contains: none

word count: 4,372

Jey Uso x Remiyah

AWFUL GRAMMAR IM GETTING BETTER I SWEAR LOL.

comments, likes, repost are appreciated I would love the constructive feedback in what area I need to approve in. 🤍

ALSO! I don’t not want nobody stealing my fanfics or take it as theirs that will be an issue fasho so keep it cute respectfully.

I only own my OC along with the make up scenarios

this will be a four-to-five-part series hope y'all will like it trying something new. 💁🏽‍♀️

TAGS ⬇️ lmk if you wanna be tag 🏷️@pinkwithhearts @420days @jstarr86 @empressdede @angiedawn02 @biancasreign

@bebesobrielo @skyesthebomb @aikosilo @papireigns-05 @punksyeet @paigereeder @magnificentbouquetmusic @yana3sworld

@hunnidmilly @celesteheartsjey @charmed-dreamssss @fearlesschimera @partypoison00 @mselenalovebug @bloodlinesbabe93 @luvrsluxe @4milly @xbriexx @trippinsorrows @yyaktayak

DISTRACTION

Ø3

Jey

I was at the gym, focused on my decline dumbbell bench press, when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. It struck me that I hadn’t heard from Remiyah since our session yesterday afternoon, and her sudden departure left me feeling uneasy. Concern for her well-being began to creep in.

I constantly found myself checking my phone, yearning for a message from her, but all I received was silence, except for a text from Jaida. This lack of response made me pull away from her, marking the beginning of my emotional distance.

Whenever she expressed a desire for intimacy, I found myself turning her down, claiming exhaustion and a need for rest. I was confused about my feelings—was I developing a crush on Remiyah? It seemed impossible, as I didn’t view her in that light at all.

During my bench workouts, I noticed my brother Jimmy entering the garage with a puzzled look on his face. For a moment, concern washed over me, prompting me to pause my exercise and head over to see what was troubling him.

I set my wireless headphones aside, fully focused on his words.

“What’s up Uce?” I asked.

“Did you hear what happened?” Jimmy asked as I looked at him confused while shaking my head.

“Nah, I haven’t been on my phone yet, why what’s up?” He pulled out his phone to show me the latest news about a wrestler who had crashed their car into a tree. The images looked quite severe until I realized the car was familiar.

That was Remiyah’s car the fuck did she do?

I took his phone and examined the car more intently, confirming it was indeed hers. My heart raced with excitement as I handed his phone back, leaning back on the bench and running my hands over my face in disbelief.

“The fuck did she just do? Fuck,” I whisper softly.

“She’s in the hospital uce if you wanna go see her, look I know you and her are going through a rough patch but I can see how you be looking her like you don’t want her,” he said as I gave him a stern look trying to deny the fact that I was not crushing over her.

“You don’t even be around Jaida anymore, all you be worried about is Remiyah, don’t deny it uce because I know you like what kind of person takes a girl on dates? Dick her down good, spoiling her rotten,” was he wrong? I mean did spoil her a lot more than I do with Jaida especially when it came to taking her out on dates.

I got up from the bench grabbing my phone and my keys while heading out towards my car until I heard Jimmy say something, “Yo! Where you going?” I went inside of my car before speaking.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll be back,” I said while backing out the driveway heading straight towards the hospital to see Remiyah.

On my way to the hospital to visit her, I decided to make a quick detour to the store to pick up some red roses, her favorite flowers. I can't quite explain why I felt compelled to get them; it was just an instinct. I never imagined that she would be in such a dark place, contemplating ending her life because of me. I shared my feelings with her, but I never anticipated this reaction.

I noticed a message from Jaida pop up on my screen via iMessage, clearly indicating she had reached out. However, I chose not to reply at that moment because I was behind the wheel.

Jaida😘: Baby wya?

Don't misunderstand me; Jaida is great and all, but there's something about Remiyah that resonates with me on a deeper level. I can't quite put my finger on it, but she has this captivating aura that draws me in. What are you even thinking, Joshua? You truly care for Jaida, right?

I successfully arrived at the hospital, parked my car in the lot, and switched off the engine. As I stepped out, I picked up the flowers from the front seat and made my way into the building.

Upon entering the hospital, I made my way to the reception desk, eager to find Remiyah. There was an undeniable urgency within me; I needed to see her, if only to reassure myself that she was alright.

“Hello, Sir, how can I help you?” The recipient lady asked.

“Yes, I’m looking for Remiyah Harris is she in this building I’m her boyfriend,” I said feeling uneasy when I had said that.

“Oh, yes she is on the second floor down the hallway when you turn to your left in room 289 sir,” she said as I nodded my head thanking her in the process.

As I approached the elevators, eagerly anticipating their arrival, I took a moment to reply to Jaida's message.

Zaddy🤍: I’m at the store rn baby I’ll see you when I get home aight?

Jaida😘: okay daddy see you when you get here

As the elevator doors slid open, I stepped inside and pressed the button for the second floor. As the doors began to close, I leaned back against the wall, lost in thought. What could have driven her to this decision? She has a promising career ahead and is undoubtedly well put together. It just doesn’t add up.

Remiyah is a force to be reckoned with; she has a clear understanding of her values and desires in life, unlike even Jaida, who seems uncertain. What has shaped her into this determined individual? As the elevator doors chimed open, I made my way down the hallway, taking a left turn.

I finally arrived at her room, pausing to take a deep breath before I knocked on the door. Just then, I heard a soft voice say, “come in,” from the other side. I opened the door to find her sprawled on the bed, seemingly engrossed in whatever was playing on the TV.

My heart ached as I took in her battered state; she was covered in bruises and looked so fragile. Her eyes widened in surprise at my arrival, yet she remained silent, unable to find the words.

I noticed her flinch as I approached, even before I had the chance to present her with the flowers she adored. Realizing this, I gently placed the bouquet on the nearby counter and then took a seat in the chair right beside her.

She clears her throat beginning to say something, “T-thank you for the flowers, they’re my favorite,” she said while giving me a faint smile.

“I know that’s why I got them, but how are you feeling?” I asked her.

I can’t express how much it hurts to see her like this. She mentioned she’s in pain, dealing with a broken rib, a bruised nose, and a head injury. Despite everything, she’s on the mend, but witnessing her struggle truly breaks my heart.

I managed to interlock her fingers within mine causing her to look at me, “I’m sorry if I’m the reason you’re up in this hospital mama,” I apologized while rubbing my thumb against the palm of her hand which she shook her head.

"It's alright, Jey. I've realized that I'm not the type of girl you're looking for, and that's perfectly fine. I've experienced this situation before, so it's not unfamiliar to me," she explained. I was left puzzled by her words; what did she mean by having gone through this before?

“What do you mean?”

Remiyah let out a heavy sigh, “What I mean is that I’ve never felt like I was enough for a man to want something serious with me. This has been the case in all my past relationships, including what we have now. So don’t worry, Jey; your feelings are valid.” My feelings?

My emotions are in turmoil. I had no idea she had faced such struggles before, and it truly hurt to learn that she felt inadequate. The truth is, she has always been more than enough for me from the very first moment I saw her. Her presence, her energy, and the gentle way she speaks captivated me completely.

Her graceful stride and the confidence she exuded were qualities I deeply desired. I yearned for her, though I struggled to acknowledge it within myself. As I gently pressed a kiss onto her palm, I noticed the surprise flicker across her face. “Don’t do that, Jey. I don’t want to be a fool falling for your tricks again,” Remiyah replied.

I could see her perspective clearly; it all stemmed from my own foolishness and my failure to appreciate what was right in front of me. Jaida simply couldn’t offer me the same things that Remiyah always did. Rising from the chair, I slipped off my shoes and made my way to the hospital bed beside her.

She appeared slightly confused when I made the move, but she carefully shifted over, being cautious not to hurt herself further with her broken rib. As I draped the blanket over us, I gently pulled her closer, resting her head on my chest.

There’s a serene peace that washes over me whenever she’s near; her presence effortlessly lights up my world. Could it be that I’m developing feelings for her? Perhaps my twin brother was onto something with his observations. As I looked at her, I noticed her eyes glued to the television, completely unaware of the admiration I held for her captivating beauty.

My phone was buzzing incessantly in my pocket, so I took it out to find messages from Jimmy and Jaida. Unsure of what excuse to fabricate, I opted to check what Jimmy needed.

IMESSAGE

Twin🩸: where yo’ ass at? Jaida over here trippin!

Twin🩸: she’s crashing out uce

Jey🩸: I’m with Remiyah at the moment tryna figure some shit out

Twin🩸: figure some shit out? Like what? Are you just comforting her bc you feel bad or something? Tf goin on?

Jey🩸: something doesn’t seem right about how I am feeling

Twin🩸: is it bc of what I told you before you left?

Jey🩸: yeah but I’m figuring out now just tell Jaida to go home aight?

Twin🩸: she ain’t gonna listen to me unless you say something uce

Jey🩸: tell her I said to take her ass home I’ll handle her later please

Twin🩸: aight aight I’ll tell her

I let out a heavy sigh, my fingers pressing against my temple in frustration. It’s exhausting to manage Jaida’s neediness whenever I’m away or unable to give her my undivided attention.

I set my phone down on the table beside the hospital bed, my gaze meeting Remiyah's innocent eyes. In that moment, her serene expression washed away my frustration over Jaida, bringing me a sense of calm I desperately needed.

“You okay?” Remiyah asked as I nodded my head boring into her delicate eyes.

"I'm alright, just handling a few things," I replied, and she acknowledged me with a nod, choosing not to pursue the topic further. For a brief moment, her gaze drifted elsewhere, but I gently cupped her chin, guiding her eyes back to mine.

At first, it took her by surprise, but she held my gaze. I found myself glancing at her lips before returning to her captivating eyes. It felt as if I were under a spell, completely mesmerized by her beauty. What was happening to me?

I moved in closer, my nose gently grazing hers as she remained perfectly still. I could sense her breath quickening, and in that moment, I pressed my lips softly against hers.

She hesitated at first, not immediately returning my kiss. But as I gently gripped her throat, drawing her closer, she finally melted into the moment. Our lips met with an intensity that ignited a fire between us, my tongue dancing with hers as her hands tangled in my mullet, craving every bit of this passionate connection.

“Fuck,” Remiyah muttered.

I could sense a rush of excitement coursing through me, and despite the undeniable attraction I felt, I knew I had to maintain my composure in her presence. There was something uniquely electrifying about this moment, something in the atmosphere that made being near her feel entirely different from before.

I sensed her rising onto her knees, moving closer to my lap as my hand instinctively found its way to her hips. "Watch out for your ribs, mama," I whispered softly.

She pulled away from me gazing into my eyes, “I’m okay Jey I promise, what’s goin with you?”

I found myself in a whirlwind of emotions, kissing her as if she were the love of my life. It was confusing, yet I couldn't resist; she was simply flawless, even more so than Jaida.

I remained silent as I drew her in for another kiss, one that was filled with longing and desire. My hands gripped her hips tightly, and I pressed my body against hers, making sure she could sense the intensity of my need for her. This kind of passion was something I had never experienced with Jaida.

I was deeply concerned about her, especially with one of her ribs broken, yet she was pulling at my hair as if this was exactly what she desired. “J-Jey, what do you want? W-we can’t be d-doing this,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

I was lost in the moment, ignoring her words as I pressed my lips against hers, then trailed soft, lingering kisses down her neck. Something felt different within me; it wasn't just desire I felt, but a deeper longing for her that I couldn't quite understand.

I sensed her distancing herself from me, yet I clung to her tightly, unwilling to let her slip away. "Jey! What do you want?" she exclaimed, forcefully shoving me aside.

“I’m not going to be playing these fucking games with you! When don’t even know what the hell you want!”

I felt a surge of frustration as she continued to raise her voice, fully aware that it would only escalate the situation. “Miyah…” I said, locking my gaze with her warm brown eyes, “please lower your tone when you talk to me.” Despite my plea, Remiyah ignored my request, and I could feel my patience wearing thin with this girl.

Remiyah yelled, her voice filled with frustration and hurt. "You stroll in here pretending to care about me, yet you pull stunts like this! Is it any wonder I'm stuck in this hospital? I’ll never be good enough for you!" She winced, a sharp pain shooting through her rib cage.

I rubbed my face with my hands, striving to maintain my composure. She was mistaken; she had always been more than enough for me. I noticed Remiyah's eyes welling up with tears as she attempted to rise from my lap gently, being cautious not to hurt herself.

She rose from the bed, gripping her rib cage as she reached for the medication resting in a cup. My gaze was fixed on her every action. Remiyah took two pills from her prescribed medication and washed them down with a sip of water.

Remiyah let out a deep sigh, expressing her frustration. “I can’t believe I’ve been foolish enough to think you might actually love me or want something meaningful with me. But I get it; it’s fine,” she admitted.

“It’s not like that Remiyah,” I said as she looked confused.

She stood there, arms crossed tightly over her chest, eagerly awaiting my response. "So, Jey, what’s it really like?" she asked, her curiosity palpable.

To be truthful, I was completely unaware of what I was truly feeling. My emotions and thoughts were chaotic, much like the aftermath of her car accident that landed us in this situation, which deeply troubled me.

I rose from the bed and made my way toward her, her eyes fixed on my every move. At 6'2", my stature loomed over her petite frame as she looked up at me, and I gently grasped her chin.

“It’s just something bout’ you I can’t get out of my head mama, I don’t know what it is but idk if im ready for it,” I confessed as I seen her unfolding her arms.

"What are you afraid of? You know I would never harm you, Jey," she said, pressing against my strong arms and wrapping her arms around my waist—she was truly going to drive me wild.

"I understand you wouldn’t, Remiyah. You’re truly a wonderful girl, genuinely good at heart, but…" my words started to falter as I met her innocent gaze.

"I’m not prepared for that level of commitment right now, especially after my marriage. My relationship with Jaida happened by chance; I wasn’t seeking anything serious. But then there’s you, Miyah…damn." Jimmy was right; I’m starting to fall for you without even noticing it. But the question remains: am I truly ready for this kind of commitment?

Remiyah listened to me with such focus, a quality I admired from the moment we first met. I shifted my hand from her chin to her hips, while she tenderly placed her small hands on my face, gently caressing my salt-and-pepper beard with her thumb.

She rose onto her tiptoes, gently kissing my lips with tender pecks that I eagerly returned before she stepped back, leaving a smile on my face. “I’ll be here for you, papa. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

“I know mama…I know, you for real gonna wait on me?” I asked just to be certain.

"Absolutely, I'm ready to wait for you." It's incredible how dedicated she is, especially considering everything I've put her through. I can't help but think that Jaida wouldn't have shown the same loyalty; she likely would have moved on and found someone else.

I gently pressed my lips against hers, looking down at her petite figure as she spoke once more, "Just don’t leave me hanging, waiting for you. I can’t handle much more of this, Joshua." I nodded, fully grasping the depth of her emotions.

“A’ight then little mama,” I said as she smiled at me her smile was so pretty what am I going to do.

OMNISCIENT

Jey had been at the hospital with Remiyah for a while, and as the evening wore on, he felt it was time to return home. However, Remiyah's reluctance to let him go revealed her affectionate side, which Jey found utterly charming. Her clinginess was a sweet reminder of their bond, making it hard for him to walk away.

As he drove into his driveway, the sight of Jaida’s car parked there filled him with dread—what was she going to be upset about this time? Jey stepped out of the car, the sound of his keys clinking in his pocket, and made his way to the front door.

He heard the door creak open and turned to find Jaida standing there, arms crossed and a fierce expression on her face. Ignoring her, he brushed past her and tossed his keys onto the desk before heading into the kitchen to grab a drink.

Jey propped himself against the kitchen counter, sipping his drink as he observed her furiously slam the door and march toward him with determination. "Where the fuck was you at?” She questioned him.

“I told you I was at the store,” He said rolling his eyes at her.

“You were at the store all night? That’s bullshit Jey and you know it, you were with that bitch Remiyah,” Jey chose not to mention it to her, as it was undeniable that he found solace in his time with Remiyah, a stark contrast to the turmoil he experienced with Jaida.

Jey set his drink on the counter, crossing his arms as he did so. “and if I was what does that have to do with you Jaida? I don’t question about your whereabouts,” Jey shot back looking into her eyes nonchalantly.

Jaida rolled her eyes and nudged him gently, “We’re in this together, Jey! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” Jey felt overwhelmed by her words; he wished he had chosen to stay with Remiyah at the hospital instead of facing this confrontation.

He took a sip of his drink as he walked by her, ignoring her furious accusations about his involvement with Remiyah and the lies about where he had been. Unfazed, he continued his ascent up the stairs to their shared bedroom, determined to tune out the chaos behind him.

“Do you hear me talking to you!”

“Jaida! Please shut the hell up! Damn, so what if I’m spending time with Remiyah she was in a damn car accident I had to make sure she was alright damn,” Jey shouted while running his fingers through his face feeling frustrated.

Jaida fell silent, unaware that the unfortunate girl had been in an accident. Nevertheless, that didn’t alter the reality that he would remain by her side for the rest of the day until nightfall. In a moment of resignation, she raised her hands in defeat, choosing to abandon the argument, as she simply lacked the time and energy to continue.

Jey finally breathed a sigh of relief, enjoying the rare moment of tranquility. In his state of calm, he completely overlooked the message from Remiyah. Once he managed to handle everything else, he resolved to reply to her.

IMESSAGE

Rem💋: Hey, I was checking in to see if you made it home safely

Jey🫶🏽: Yeah, I made it home but I might come back over there

Rem💋: why? Did something happen?

Jey🫶🏽: you can say something like that, she over here trippin about me spending time with you 🙄

Rem💋: Yikes, she sounds like a handful

Jey🫶🏽: you okay little mama?

Rem💋: I’m okay Jey just eating me some dinner before I get ready for bed for tonight

Jey🫶🏽: I miss you already

Rem💋: come back then if you miss me so much

Jey🫶🏽: hell I might if she keep bitchin fr mama

Rem💋: well when the doctor come in I’ll let her know that I have someone coming if you do show up.

Jey🫶🏽: aight mamas ttyl

Rem💋: ttyl 🫶🏽

Jey experienced a wave of relief as he sent a message to Remiyah, appreciating the unique way she showed her care and comfort. Unlike Jaida, who constantly questioned him and his activities, Remiyah's approach felt genuine and understanding, making him feel truly valued.

He could hear Jaida on the phone, venting to one of her friends about how he had been out all day with Remiyah. With a deep sigh, he stripped off his clothes and made his way to the shower.

He finished his shower and could still hear Jaida voicing her frustrations on the phone. Choosing to slip into some cozy clothes, he made his way downstairs, only to find Jaida still engrossed in her conversation, completely oblivious to his presence.

He strolled by her, slipping on his shoes and snatching his keys, which drew her gaze. “Where the hell you goin’ now? Hello! Nigga do you not hear me talking to you? Hold on girl,” Jey remained silent as he walked out the door, not uttering a single word to her.

He climbed into his car and turned on the engine, just as he noticed Jaida stepping out of the house barefoot, looking wild and unpredictable. It was a scene he had no desire to confront, especially with her now pounding on his car window.

He exited the driveway, heading straight for the hospital to be by Remiyah's side, leaving Jaida in a state of shock. Frustration washed over him; dealing with Jaida was exhausting and overwhelming.

He was determined to avoid any distractions this time; all he wanted was to be with Remiyah. She was the only one who could soothe his restless spirit and provide the comfort he craved in moments of turmoil.

He realized that Jaida wasn’t the girl he wanted but Remiyah was the girl he needed.

Jey successfully arrived at the hospital parking lot, shutting off his car as he prepared to enter the building. Approaching the receptionist, he informed her that he was there to see Remiyah, confidently making his way to the designated area.

As Jey made his way down the hallway to the left, the elevators chimed open. He knocked on Remiyah’s door, but there was no response. Curiosity piqued, he turned the handle and stepped inside, finding the room shrouded in darkness, save for a dim light flickering in the corner.

He noticed the TV was still on, so he picked up the remote beside her and turned it off. Carefully, he slipped off his shoes and set them down next to the bed. Without disturbing her, he climbed into bed beside her, placing his phone gently on the nightstand.

“J-Jey…?” Remiyah mumbled in her sleep.

He nestled close to her in bed, gently pressing his lips against hers while softly calming her with soothing whispers.

“Go back to sleep mama, get some rest,” He said pulling her closer to his body.

His phone started vibrating incessantly, prompting a deep sigh as he reached for it, noticing a flurry of unread messages from Jaida.

Jaida😘 sent 5 messages

Jaida😘: where the fuck did you go?

Jaida😘: I know you didn’t just go over there with her

Jaida😘: you know that she isn’t better than me Jey you fucking know it

Jaida😘: when you come back home we need to have a chat

Jaida😘: I hate you nigga

Jey sighed in exasperation at her message, choosing to leave it unanswered as he set his phone down on the table. He felt Remiyah stir gently in her sleep and adjusted himself in the hospital bed, ensuring she was snug against his chest. With a tender touch, he traced soothing circles on her back, hoping to bring her comfort.

He shut his eyes, embracing a wave of comfort as he released the stress accumulated from dealing with Jaida's nonsense throughout the evening, allowing himself to gently drift off into a peaceful sleep.

A/n: Jaida trippin fr fr but I hope yall enjoy this part lmk in the comments below.

STAY UCEY.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 5 - If You Let Me

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Welcome back Sam Winchester I’m sorry about your girlfriend are you ready to suffer for thousands of words as these two idiots dance around each other?

Chapter title from when the party's over by Billie Eilish

Word Count: 16.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean calls you for a case, you grapple with your growing power, and Sam has questions. Usual warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, monster of the week.

Chapter 4 - Chapter 6

Read on A03!

No matter what happens, Dean can never be allowed to know how fast you’re driving. Especially because every single traffic violation you commit is in his name. In the hope of seeing him just ten minutes sooner.

In your defense, you haven’t seen him in person in almost three months. You’d gone on a hunt together, parted with the usual smile and awkward high five, and then he’d just stopped asking to you hunt with him. He hasn’t left, hadn’t vanished, and he’s been the one calling you to talk, but he just doesn’t even mention hunts anymore. You just don’t see him. And over those four months of missing him—and shoving that aching, whining feeling deep, deep down where it couldn’t feed into the White’s vast desire—he’s started to sound… off.

“Did you know that people could curse animals?”

“Yeah,” you’d said, glancing down the hall to make sure Bobby was still gone, and not about to barge in and catch you talking to Dean. “I think you can curse most anything. I’ve heard of like, babies being cursed.”

“That’s creepy, Princess.”

“I didn’t curse them-“ You’d cut yourself off with a frown. “Did you and John run into a cursed animal?”

“Uh. No?”

You’d raised your brows. “Why are you asking me, I wasn’t there.”

“No, I’m just- It’s complicated. I’ll tell you later. How did that hunt in Montana go?”

“Oh, super fucking easy.” And it had been. You may have destroyed a fire hydrant when the chimera chased after you—unable to contain or aim the Darkness like you could when you were with Dean—and almost bashed your head against the wall from the sickness crawling over your head and setting it on fire when you returned to the motel, but you’d been done in a day. And you’d been lonely—hollow and long and vastly lonely—but Dean didn’t need to know that. “What’s complicated?”

He’d sighed into the speaker. “I said I’d tell you later-“

“Are you safe?”

There had been a long pause of static noise. You’d been about to check if the call dropped—Bobby didn’t really get great reception—when Dean spoke again. His voice had sounded soft.

It had been worrying.

“I’m alright,” he’d whispered your name, and your grip on the phone had tightened. “It’s- There’s a lot going on right now.”

You’d frowned into the air, the White making a pathetic noise like it could convince you to take a car and just go. Go to Dean—you didn’t even know where he was—and try to help him with whatever was a lot, when you’d probably end up making it worse. You always made things worse.

You might have also destroyed a tree. And a mailbox. And a good part of the road.

Dean clears his throat, his tone almost nervous through the speaker. “Where are you?”

“Me?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, unless there’s someone else on the phone I should know about-“

“Shut up.” You’d rolled your eyes, sitting up in your seat as an engine sounded outside. “Shit.”

“Where’s Shit-“

“No, that’s not- Sorry, Dean, I have to go-“

“Why?” Through the phone, you hadn’t been able to tell if that was his worried voice or angry voice. “Are you-“

“I’m alright, I just-“

“Where the hell are you-“

“I’m home, in South-“ You’d cut yourself off with an internal grimace. Fucking Dean and his way of making you accidentally say too much of the truth all the time, even over the phone. “Park.”

“Isn’t that a TV show?”

Shit. Dean mostly watched children’s cartoons, daytime soap operas in motels, and really old movies. You hadn’t expected him to know that.

“No?”

“Why are you asking me-“

“Shut up. I really have to go-“

“Alright, alright, just, if you’re not busy, we’re near Pittsburgh, and we could use your help.”

You’d frowned, taking careful steps up to your room, praying that Bobby wouldn’t immediately start looking for you when he got inside. “I don’t think John would want my help-“

“Not Dad.” Dena had sighed, and you could picture him running his hand over his face. “Sammy.”

You’d frozen, the door not fully closed. “Your brother? He’s done with college?”

“Yeah. I mean, no. Kind of. It’s-“

“Don’t say complicated.”

“Uh,” he’d paused. “Complicated.”

“Dean-“

“I couldn’t think of another word! What the hell else-“

“Messy? Confusing? Complex?”

“You know Princess, you’re really annoying-“

You’d scoffed. “That’s no way to talk your very good friend and possible savior. Message me where to meet you.”

“So you’re coming?”

“Yeah.” You’d grinned into the air, keeping an ear on the door as Bobby shuffled around downstairs. “I want to meet your brother.”

Dean had groaned. “You know, you’ve met him before-“

“Doesn’t count. I want to actually talk to him this time.”

“Fucking- Fine, but no funny business, or asking him stupid questions.”

You’d hummed. “No.”

He’d snapped your name into the phone, right as Bobby had called it from downstairs, and you really did have to go. 

“See you soon, Deano.”

You’d hung up, and barely a second later Bobby had knocked on your door.

“Hey,” he’d grunted you name, and you were pretty sure he hadn’t heard anything. “You in there?”

“Yeah, wait-“ You’d checked your hand and glanced in the mirror—no bite marks or scratches, the only evidence of your pain living inside where Bobby couldn’t see it—and opened the door with your best nothing’s wrong smile. “Welcome home, old man.”

Bobby had scoffed, scanned over you with narrowed eyes, and then met your gaze with a small, tight smile. “Ain’t I the one who’s supposed to- shit-“

You’d wrapped him in a tight hug, squeezing him and letting out the long breath you always held when you left. It was an oath you kept trying to keep for yourself, that you’d always come back home because you had to let out that breath. That the highways were long, and the nights were lonely, and the Darkness kept building and building inside you—sinking deeper and deeper into the White until there was always some part of you that strained and screamed from the pain of trying to pry them apart—but you had a home to come back to, and one person who’d never call you a burden.

Because you’ve grown sicker. You only grow sicker. You only destroy more and more things, and the Darkness only slips away from you with more ease, but Bobby doesn’t give up on you. 

The demons began, and they won’t stop coming, but Bobby doesn’t give up on you. 

Dozens of demons, more and more every month, ever since that one demon you’d killed for Dean. You don’t know why. You don’t know what beacon lit up inside of you, what’s calling every single fucking demon in America to come and find you wherever you went, but they are. They do.

It's been random. Gas stations and grocery stores, on random hunts and waiting for you near your car. It’s worse when you’re alone. When the Darkness and the pain get overwhelming to the point that you’re barely you anymore, and you end up curled in a bathtub, breathing heavy through your nose. Your clothing in a pile of the floor because it aches to touch something as sick as you, the whole room disgustingly clean because you can feel the grime itch and rot at your skin, your rings on the sink because the pain of the iron sears over your ribs and organs.

And then you’ll force yourself up to go get some coffee, and the barista will have something black and malevolent and glinting writhing inside of Her.

They almost never attack. It’s more terrifying, because you’ll feel an overwhelming sense of wrong, and you’ll yank everything down with a bite on your inner cheek, and there will be the demon.

Just watching you. Smiling at you, following you for day, and then vanishing when you skip town.

Then there’s him. He’s the worst of them all. He’s more like fog, burning and glinting inside his vessel’s body. He’s yellow like sulfur or acid, and keeps appearing when you turn a corner. Passing you in the street and nodding at you in a bar, like he knows you.

He never approaches. He never attacks. He just watches, like you’re a specimen. Everything that’s wrong inside of you his worse inside of him. Potent. Eroding.

Terrifying.

And Bobby knows. Not about the yellow demon, or how the whole thing started, but that you don’t really sleep anymore because you’re afraid the night will take form and go for your throat. That you’re on more and more hunts because it’s distracting from how the Darkness always strangles the White when you’re static and useless. That all the pain has gotten far worse over these past few months. 

Although he does think that’s unexplainable. He doesn’t know it’s because you’re always alone when you’re gone, and the only reminder of Dean is his voice on your phone and his knife in your jacket. 

But Bobby still doesn’t give up on you. He made you create a plan for when the Darkness—inevitably, although neither of you would say it aloud—takes over and you aren’t able to drag yourself down in time. He still tells you to just come home and stay there every single day. And if Bobby was going to give up on you, he would have long ago. He wouldn’t return your hug with a long sigh and mutter your name like you were something important to him, instead of a leech. 

“Welcome back, kiddo.” He’d grunted, and when he pulled back and gave you one last firm look, you knew he was checking for damage one last time. “Chimera go down easy?”

You’d flinched, the beast’s shrieks of pain still echoing around your head, and Bobby had frowned.

“You have another-“

“Yeah.” You’d whispered. “Big one.” 

Bobby had sighed, rubbing his jaw as he gave you another assessing look. “Anythin’ unfixable?”

You’d shaken your head. “I would’ve called you, but I wasn’t that far, and I’d finished the hunt anyway.” 

Bobby had opened his mouth, worry painted on his features, but you’d known what he was going to ask. It was the same fear that haunted you. 

“Nobody saw me.”

He’d nodded, letting out a long sigh. “Alright, but you’re gonna need to be more careful. Our luck ain’t gonna last forever, and when someone does get wind-“

“I’ll call you, then Rufus, throw all my phones off a bridge and abandon whatever car I was driving. Go one town over from wherever I am and lock down until either you or Rufus comes to get me.” You’d given Bobby a soft smile. “I know the drill. I helped you make it.”

Bobby had rolled his eyes. “Cool it, smartass. How long are you stayin’ this time?”

You’d given him an apologetic, tight-lipped smile. “Dinner?”

“That’s it?”

“I’ve got another hunt.” You’d mumbled, and Bobby had frowned.

“You need a rest,” Bobby had grunted your name, and you’d swallowed. “Ya’ look like shit.”

“Hey-“

“I ain’t gonna lie to you. When the hell was the last time you slept a whole night?”

You couldn’t remember. 

But you really wanted to go see Dean. You missed him. You missed laughing and talking to him, and you were worried about him. And couldn’t tell Bobby that, because then you’d have to tell Bobby that you’ve actually been hunting with Dean for about two years when he’d specifically told you not to.

“A few days ago.” You’d shrugged, twisting a ring on your finger. “I’ll be okay, and I can come right back after this one.”

Bobby had sighed. “Where would you be headin’.”

“Pennsylvania.” 

“And you’re stickin’ around for dinner.”

You’d nodded, and Bobby hadn’t pushed further. You’d eat dinner with him, spoken about anything that didn’t make him look concerned and your whole body only pain, and climbed into the car with another silent promise to come back.

And you were holding your breath again. But this was a three-person hunt. A three-person hunt with Dean. 

You’d be fine.

He’s sent you to one of the usual, generic strip motels. Crowded lot, beige paint, cracked sidewalks, and stiff, square bushes lining the building. You’ve barely stepped out onto the pavement when a door slams, and there he is. Bags under his eyes weren’t there last time you saw him, a small bruise on his cheek that seems about a week old, but still grinning. Still impossibly handsome, still making the White buck and hum and ease into the Darkness, still not yours to ask for.

And really happy to see you. You’ve seen Dean’s fake smile.

This one is real.

He shouts your name, and you’re long past trying to fight your own smile at the sound of him saying it. At the sight of him jogging towards you, nothing but genuine joy on his face that you’re here.

And then he hugs you, and you’re not sure this isn’t a dream. Dean never hugs you anywhere but in your dreams. In real life he always grins at you and shoves his hands into his pockets, the most contact he offers being a nudge of your shoulder with his, or a drag of your body away from danger. But this is a hug. This is his arms wrapped around your shoulders, his body pressed right up to yours, and it’s so quick that you don’t have a chance to really return it before he’s gone.

Dean’s eyes are wide on yours as he steps back, and there’s more red near his ears than usual. His hands go in his pockets, you stand a little taller, and both of you stare at each other for a long, strange second before you find your voice.

“Hi.”

“Uh,” Dean clears his throat, glancing over his shoulder before looking back to you. “Hey. Good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too.” You wrap your arms around your body, and suddenly there’s a ghost of a strong, warm body pressed to yours. Dean had hugged you, and it was far worse than just his hand. It had branded on something deeper under your skin, sinking down into the White, bleeding into the Darkness until everything was silver, and you were a little dizzy.

And you’re just staring at each other. You want to hug Dean again. He’d been warm and tangible, and he’d touched you on purpose and it had sent lighting through your blood and up your spine, and you can’t tell if your skin is prickling from the silence or the need to just go touch him

“Dean!” A loud, annoyed voice cuts through the air, and you look over Dean’s shoulder to see a tall, shaggy-haired man walking out of the motel. “You left the fucking door open, dude, you can’t just-“

The man stops, blinking at you, and you offer him a small smile. That’s Sam. He’s somehow taller, and his face isn’t babyish and innocent anymore, but you recognize him. 

And he seems to recognize you, because his words are slow, and his gaze never leaves yours.

“Dean?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Don’t start, Sammy, I closed the door-“

“No, you didn’t. But that’s not what I-“ Sam glares at Dean, gesturing to you “Is she your contact?” 

“No, she’s my hooker- fuck-“

You whack Dean’s arm, and Sam’s eyes widen.

“I am not a hooker-“

“Obviously, Princess, hookers are supposed to be nice-“

“I’m nice!”

Dean gives you a flat look. “You just freakin’ hit me!”

“Because you called me a hooker, Winchester.” You wrinkle your nose at him, crossing your arms. “And, just so we’re clear, if I was a hooker, you wouldn’t be able to afford me.”

Dean’s jaw twitches slightly, and you frown, because he’s not sparring back. He’s supposed to spar back. The strange, hanging tension from the hug is gone—he probably hadn’t even felt it deep in his body like you had, he’d probably just been awkward because you’d been too dazed from his contact to hug him back—so Dean’s supposed to make a joke about working out another form of payment, and wiggle his brows at you in a way he doesn’t know always makes you fall a little further into him. Makes your skin warm and the world technicolor. 

But he’s just looking at you, and there’s something taut flashing behind his eyes. You open your mouth to apologize—to ask what you said because you know you’re bad at understanding the line, yet Dean always seems okay crossing it with you—but Sam clears his throat, and Dean turns away.

The White aches. You don’t have time to indulge it.

“So she is the contact.” Sam raises his brows, and Dean scowls at him.

“Obviously.” He mutters, and when he looks back to you the taut thing seems fainter. Buried down where you’re not sure you’re supposed to see it.

But you do. And it taints those fractured pieces through your body. Makes them wither and balk, because you struck something in Dean again, and you don’t ever really know how to stop.

Dean says your name, offering you a smaller smile than before. It’s still real. You’ll have to cling to the fact that it’s still real. “This my brother, Sammy-“

“Sam. It’s Sam.”

Dean shrugs. “Sure, whatever-“

“No, not whatever.” Sam frowns. “It’s bad enough you won’t stop calling me Sammy, I don’t need everyone we meet-“

“You two have actually met before-“

“Yeah, I remember. And Dad said that-“

Dean shoots Sam a sharp look, Sam snaps his mouth shut, and everything start to get too big as the Darkness vaults up to the surface. John had said something about you. He wasn’t here, but he’d told Sam and Dean something, and Sam didn’t look all that happy to see you. He wasn’t turning any weapons on you, but he and Dean were exchanging a silent conversation, and you were caving in as the world expanded. You could feel the bite of the wind on the trees, and the thirst of the yellowing grass around you, and fuck, you could taste bile in your throat because the Darkness was starting to rot in your stomach as you forced it down-

Sam says your name, and you almost don’t hear it over the ringing in your ears. “Is she good-“

“Yeah, shit- just-“ Dean places one hand on your shoulder, waving the other in your face. “Hey, Princess, come back down-“

He’s close. His hand is solid on your body. He smells like grass and spice. 

His thumb has moved to the bridge of your nose, stroking a slow line that moves the Darkness back into the cavity of your chest. Makes everything clear, even as the pain lingers. 

You let out a long breath, offering Dean a small smile. “Thank you.”

Something flashes in his eyes, and your breath is heavy in your lungs. Every time this happens, you worry he’ll snap. That he’ll demand more answers than you can offer, and his it’s probably just a girl thing will come to a crashing end as he puts together that it’s a you thing. And just you isn’t worthy of him wasting time on.

But this one doesn’t seem to be it. Dean’s lips press in a small pout, and he scans over your face, but he doesn’t push. 

“You good?”

“I’m fine,” you shrug him off, making your voice as casual as possible. “Just a long drive. It’s nice to meet you, Sam. Again.”

“Yeah, you too.” Sam offers you a tight-lipped smile. “Dean said you could help us out with this?”

You nod. “Well, he didn’t what this is, but-“

Sam cuts you off with a groan, shooting Dean a frown. “Dude, you didn’t tell her the details of the case?”

“C’mon, it’s not my job to be a freakin’ database or whatever-“

“You still need to tell her what the case is, Dean, what if she can’t help-“

“I can help.” You snap, and Sam sighs.

“Look, I’m not doubting you, but this one is really complicated-“

“Good.” You raise your chin up, holding Sam’s gaze. “That’s my specialty.”

Dean clears his throat, looking between you and Sam with a weary expression. “It is, Sammy. She’ll get this. And you know we need the extra hands.”

Sam sighs, shaking his head. “Okay, fine. But you’re the one who’s explaining the case, Dean. You were supposed to anyway.”

Dean rolls his eyes at you as Sam turns around, and suddenly it’s all clear and bright again. You don’t know how he does that, how he stitches everything inside you together when it starts to rip. You need to figure it out and bottle it up. How to use it on command, because this might be a long case. Sam doesn’t seem to want you here, or like you all that much, and John told them something. They haven’t killed you, but John told them something. And Dean might be strangely willing to just dismiss your episodes, but you catch Sam’s odd look as you walk into their motel room. He seems a bit sharper than Dean, a little more on edge, a little more guarded and cautious.

So you need to be careful. You need to keep it the fuck together, by yourself.

And you’re a little worried that’s not possible.

Dean gestures for you to sit in a creaking, wooden chair—Sam watching you both from across a round table—and claps his hands together as he begins.

“So, we’ve got five dead ladies, three in their twenties, one in her thirties, and one hag-“

You raise your brows at him. “Hag?”

“Yeah, she was like a million. Wrinkly. Right, Sammy?”

Sam shrugs, shaking his head. “I would’ve just said old, man.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Fine, old. Point is, different ages. Different races too, and jobs, and social circles. We’ve been investigating for about a week, even broke into the vic's houses and went through their rooms. No connection between the vics outside of all being chicks, no deep dark secret, fucking nothing.”

You frown at him. “Like the mall.”

“Kind of, yeah, but these ladies are all going down the same way.” Dean points to his head. “Bashed in brains.”

“Gross.” You mutter, running a hand through your hair as you think. “Where are they dying?”

“Same office building.” Sam says, sliding some papers across the table. “Different floors, though. Four of the vics were employees, but one was just visiting her boyfriend.”

You nod slowly, scanning over the files. “And why isn’t it a ghost?”

“Because we figured out who the ghost should be.” Dean leans over you, tapping another one of the files. You can feel the heat from his body, and it makes your gut warm. You need to get it the fuck together. “Maggie Robins. Got her brains bashed in by her husband, Joey, in his office after she found out he’d been cheating on her with her best friend. Son of a bitch offed himself and the mistress right after.”

“Yikes.”

“Oh yeah. But here’s the fucked part-“

“Maggie’s body was cremated.” Sam jumps in, and Dean glares at him. “And all primary possessions were auctioned off by the police. We triple checked the whole office building, and were only a few things left in Joey’s office, for evidence, but nothing that important.”

You raise your brows. “What are we constituting as important?” “Personal valuables.” Sam says, frowning at you. “All that was left were some pens, generic wall art, and makeup-“ “Perfume.” Dean corrects, and Sam nods.

“Yeah, perfume-“ He pauses, turning to Dean with a dry, amused look. “Why’d you remember perfume?”

“I’m observant.” Dean snaps, looking down to you with a shrug. “It was perfume, Princess.”

“Yeah, I’ll make a note.” You smile at him, Dean smiles back, and when you glace back to Sam his expression is strained. Unreadable.

You’ll have to worry about that later.

“So,” you sift through the papers, tearing slightly at the corners. “Not a ghost. Have there been other signs?”

“Flickering lights,” Dean drops into the last chair, watching you with a gaze that seems to sear into your bones. “Few people said they’ve heard moans and screams when no one was there, and a janitor told us he’s been wiping up ghost blood, but-“

“Oh, okay. It’s an onryo.” 

You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms, and Sam and Dean exchange surprised look.

“It’s a…” Sam blinks at you. “It’s a what?”

“Onryo.” You shrug, tucking your knees into your chest. “Japanese vengeance ghost, born from a really violent death that was emotionally charged, often because of a betrayal.”

“Shit.” Dean mutters. “Betrayal like your husband fucking your best friend.”

“Exactly.” You grin at him, and you could swear he puffs his chest out as he grins back.

“I told you she’d get it, Sammy-“

“Yeah, you’re a genius.” Sam’s voice is dry as he pulls the papers back across the table, his attention on you still weary. “You’re sure?”

“Positive. Did the janitor tell you he kept finding blood in random places, and it would vanished when he tried to clean it?”

Dean nods, you give Sam a pointed look, and Sam sighs.

“Fine. If it’s an onryo, how are we supposed to kill it?”

You hum, tilting your head at the air. “There should be a special kind of exorcism, but I’ve never actually done one before.”

Sam frowns. “Then how do you know-“

“My dad dealt with an onryo once.” You shrug. “And I’ve read a lot about them.”

Something flashes in Sam’s eyes, he tenses in his seat, and it makes your hold on the Darkness go slack.

He doesn’t trust you. 

Maybe he can see everything that’s wrong with you. Dean may have grown blind to it, but Sam hasn’t, and he might be able to see the rotting sickness that covers your whole body. He might not want you anywhere near him, or his brother. He doesn’t seem like John—from what Dean’s told you about him, Sam doesn’t even seem to like his father all that much—but you can’t shake the wired strain that Sam Winchester just doesn’t trust you.

“Your dad.” Sam’s voice is cautious, his eyes narrowed. “The hunter.”

You’re not sure why he says hunter like that. Like it’s a bomb that’s set to go off. 

“Yeah. The hunter.” You glance at Dean, who’s rigid in his seat, glowering at Sam. “Are you guys good?”

“We’re fine.” Dean snaps, and Sam gives him an odd, tight look.

“Dean-“

“We’re good, Sammy.” Dean turns back to you, and you’re really not sure what’s happening. No guns are pressed to your brow, but there’s a heated, brittle wire hanging over all your heads, and the Darkness is starting to slip through your fingers. Not breaching out—not as you dig your nails into your skin, and bite through your cheek—but brimming right on the surface. On edge. 

Waiting for a snap.

It doesn’t come. Dean gives you a winning grin and Sam keeps frowning between you both, but nothing snaps. Not when Sam double-checks how sure you are it’s an onryo, and you say you’d bet a lot on it, because you would. Not when Dean suggests you all go figure out exactly what the onryo ritual is, and you and Sam look at him like he’s sprouted a second head. Not when Dean insists you all drive together, and you both try to protest—almost certainly for different reasons—but ultimately lose to Dean’s dramatic saving the trees and team spirit speech.

“Still no gun, Princess?” Dean hangs over your shoulder as you sort through your bag, and you shoot him a glare.

“Is the knife no longer good enough for you?”

“No.” He shrugs. “Not when you’ve been hunting alone.”

“Because you’ve been busy.” You raise your brows at him, and he sighs.

“Yeah, I know, it’s… Complex.”

Your lips twitch slightly. “Good job.”

“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes, but the air feels a little lighter, and the White is blending into the Darkness as it’s only you and Dean.

But it’s not only you and Dean. And Sam doesn’t seem to want you here. And it’s complex.

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” you mutter, tucking your knife into your jacket. “And I did my job, I’m sure you can do the rest without me.”

“Do you want us to do the rest without you?”

You turn to fully face him, and he looks guarded. Standing a little too tall, his hands seeming to be fisted in his jacket, watching you wearily. Like you might lash out, or explode.

Something’s really off with him. He hasn’t looked at you like that in years. 

He hasn’t looked at you like that since you last saw him with John.

“I don’t have anything else to do.” You mumble, watching him carefully. “And I’m already here.”

“Awesome.” Dean’s shoulders relax slightly, and he nods his head away from your car, deeper into the parking. “C’mon.”

You sigh. “I really can drive myself-“

“Nope. We’re sticking together.” His hand finds your back, and all you can do is let him moves you deeper into the parking lot. “You’ve gotta meet my car, Princess.”

“I have met your car-“

“Doesn’t count. You’re actually gonna ride in her this time.”

Dean’s grin is shit-eating. You’re not sure if you want to punch or kiss him.

“Shut up.”

“Nah.” Dean stops in the center of the lot, saying your name with a smirk. “Meet Baby.”

The Impala looks the exact same as before, save for a sour-faced, taller Sam Winchester sitting in shotgun, glaring between you and Dean. He scowls the whole time Dean guides you into the back bench, and refuses to look at you when Dean closes the door.

You clear your throat, watching Dean move around the hood of the car. “Hi, Sam.”

He grunts, and you sigh, slipping off your shoes.

“It’s good to see you.” You try again, because silence with Dean is like soft music, but silence like this is suffocating. “You look, uh-“

“Taller.” Sam grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, I know-“

“I was going to say good.” You mumble, hugging your knees to your chest. “Not like a kid anymore.”

Sam’s eyes shoot to yours in the rearview mirror, you offer him a small smile, and his mouth opens right as Dean drops into the driver’s seat.

“Hey,” Dean turns in his seat, snapping your name. “No shoes on my car.”

You roll your eyes, gesturing to your feet. “I’m not wearing shoes.” 

“Oh.” He blinks between you and your socks. “Good.”

“I’m not an idiot, Winchester. And I’d rather not be murdered because I messed with the only lady in your life-“

“Shut up.” Dean rolls his eyes, turning back to start the engine, and right before he adjusts the mirror you catch Sam glancing you at again, a small frown on his face.

“You guys were gone for a while.” Sam says, mostly looking at Dean. “How long can it take to grab a gun?”

Dean scoffs. “Wouldn’t know, Sammy. Her majesty doesn’t hunt with guns.”

“Doesn’t hunt with-“ Sam blinks at you, his face painted in disbelief. “You don’t use a gun?”

You sigh. “No.”

“What do you use?”

You open your jacket to show him your knife, and Sam raises his brows.

“That’s it? I mean, how do you kill anything-“

“With talent.” Dean mutters, and you don’t appreciate how accurate his impression of you sounds. “I’d never use one anyway-“

“I wouldn’t use it. And someone,” You punch the back of Dean’s seat, and he huffs. “Has a lot of unwelcome options about that-“

“Because it’s stupid.” He grumbles, and you roll your eyes.

“You know, for someone who’s so annoyed about me not having a gun, you sure did buy me a knife.” 

You can hear the scowl in Dean’s voice. “You wouldn’t have taken the gun. You barely took the knife.“ 

“I could still throw it out-“ 

“Nope. You pinky promised.” 

You smirk as Dean sits up slightly—hearing his own words—and Sam gives him an incredulous look. 

“You pinky promised?

“It’s- She was being annoying-“

“He had to admit he was worried about me.” You tell Sam, leaning forward in your seat with a grin. “And that he thinks Charlie’s Angelsis the best movie ever made.” 

“I- I do not fucking think that-“ 

You giggle, rolling your eyes at Sam, who’s looking at you like you just fell  from space. “He’s still in denial.” 

“I am not-“ 

“It’s okay, Deano.” You pat his shoulder, and he shoots you a glare that doesn’t really reach his eyes. “We all still think you’re very tough.” 

The words leave your mouth, Dean rolls his eyes and grumbles about not even knowing why he called you, and some sort of dam seems to break in Sam. All of his cautious, pricking hostility vanishes into thin air, and he twists to fully look at you with an open expression.

In that moment, he does look more like the kid you met in the motel. Curious and not quite in awe of you, but something close. Something similar. 

“Dean said you were on at hunt before this?”

You run your thumb over your palm, tilting your head at Sam as you try to work out how much you can say. “Yeah, I was just stopping there after I finished up a Chimera hunt.”

Sam’s eyes widen. “A- Those are real?”

“Tragically, yeah.”

Dean raises his brows at you in the mirror. “Tragically?”

“They’re mean.” You shrug. “And shit a lot.”

Sam makes a face, but doesn’t turn away. “Had you hunted one before that?”

“No, I think they’re pretty rare outside of like, Greece-“

“But you killed this one, right?”

You nod, and Sam looks like he’s going to fall out of his seat. You’re not really sure what’s happening.

“How?”

“Um…” You twist a ring on your finger as your voice trails off, because you’d killed the Chimera with the Darkness. Let it rush out of your body and infect everything around you, until the Chimera exploded in a disgusting rain of blood. But you can’t really say that, so you go with how you’d planned to kill the Chimera. “I impaled it.”

“Like in the myth?”

“Exactly like in the myth.” You grin at Sam, and you’ve never seen someone so big look seven years old. “Bellerophon.”

“Bless you.” Dean mutters, and Sam gives his brother a look of exasperated disappointment. 

“No, dude, Bellerophon is the slayer of the Chimera in Greek mythology. He impales it in the mouth, using the Pegasus.”

“I don’t need to know why impaling worked-“

“Because of the angle.” You offer, ignoring Dean’s glare in the mirror. “It melts the spear with its fire-breath, and then it suffocates.”

“Yeah, that’s cool, but I still don’t-“

“What did you do with the body?” Sam interrupts, leaning forward to keep talking to you, and Dean seems to be pouting at the road.

Dean ends up pouting for most of the day, because after you lie about how you’d disposed of the Chimera—once again employing the very useful tactic of what you’d meant to do—Sam starts to ask about other things you’ve hunted, and how you’d killed them, and what you’ve learned about monsters overall. It lasts from the car and into the library, through almost the entirety of your research, and Dean barely gets a word in, only sulking over a book as Sam shares their own hunts. You decide not to comment on it when Sam says curses can’t be broken, because you’re positive that’s not true but you can’t say why, and answer all of Sam’s questions about alternative ways to deal with various spirits and monsters.

You’re shocked he remembered you telling John that.

You’re baffed as to why he’s suddenly treating you like a friend to catch up with, instead of whatever he’d thought you were before. You’re not really sure want to know what he thought of you before. Not when it’s suddenly changed to something far better.

“You’re afraid of flying?” You raise your brows at Dean, and he scowls. 

“I don’t trust it.” He mutters, turning a page so aggressively you’re worried he’ll tear it. “It’s high, and loud, and pointless. People belong on the ground.”

You hum. “What about boats?”

Dean shoots you a glare, you just grin at him, and his lips twitch slightly. You won.

“We dealt with a guy on a boat too.” Sam looks up from his own book, a slight frown on his face. “But that was kind of a bummer. Did you know spirits could possess water?”

You did know that. A powerful enough, angry enough spirit can possess most anything. But you only nod, because you’re mostly looking at Dean. Sunken into his chair, still mostly pouting, glaring at his book like it’s just insulted his car. You’ve never seen him act like this—silent, barely offering a comment or glance up at you and Sam, mostly pretending to read and fidgeting with his pen—and it makes the White spin and whine.

“Hey, De.”

You nudge his calf under the table, and he looks up at you with a frown.

“I’m hungry.”

“We passed a cafe on the way in,” Sam offers, and Dean raises his brows at you.

“You heard him.” He looks back to his book. “Go eat.”

You frown at him, even as the White bucks around inside of you. He’s not moving, or asking for food, or making fun of you for asking permission to go eat. Something’s off. Something’s been off, and you don’t know how to fix it—you don’t know how to fix anything—but you can’t stand how Dean’s silence is eating at your throat and lungs. You’re really going need to learn how to control his effect on you.

But not right now. 

“Do you want anything?”

Dean glances up at you again, something odd flashing in his eyes. “Me?”

“Yeah, you, dumbass-“

“Get me a burger.”

You give him a flat look. “It’s a cafe.”

“Whatever. Just figure something out.”

He still doesn’t move, or stop frowning. The moment you cheer him up, you’re going to kill him.

“Winchester.”

He grunts your name, and you glare at him as you continue.

“Where’s the cafe.”

“I dunno, ask Sammy.”

“Down the street.” Sam’s eyes bounce between you and Dean, a small frown on his face. “Just go straight, then to the left.”

You nod, giving Sam a thankful smile. “You want anything?”

Sam shakes his head, and you look back to Dean.

“Dean.”

That gets his full attention, and it seems to burn right into your body.

“I’m going by myself.” You rise to your feet, giving him a challenging look. “And I’m not good at directions. I might end up at the grocery store, and come back with carrots.” 

Dean narrows his eyes at you, but Sam just shrugs. 

“Actually, carrots sound-“

“C’mon, Princess.” Dean cuts off a surprised Sam with short words, pushing his chair back. “You’re paying.” 

Sam calls after you that he’ll call you if he finds anything, but you don’t really hear him. Not as Dean lowers his voice and leans down to your ear. His breath is warm. You might fall over.

“You’re really determined to get me to eat, sweetheart. Should I be worried?”

You hum. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dean Winchester.”

He clicks his tongue, and he’s grinning again. You won. “Full name. What did I do?”

“Sulk like a baby for an hour?” You raise your brows at him, and he’s a lot closer than you thought. You can count all his freckles. They’re kind of like stars. 

You can feel his breath on your face when he laughs. It’s warm, and smells like coffee and mint.

His body is like a furnace, and it’s melting everything to silver inside of you.

You’re losing your mind. 

“I can still kick you out of this hunt, you know.” He drawls, and you shrug, trying not to think about how Dean’s hand on your back shifts with the movement.

“Good luck with that.”

“It’s my hunt-“

“It’s your and Sam’s hunt.” You correct. “I think I’d have his vote to stay.”

“You would.” Dean lets out a dry chuckle, and you don’t even realize you’d made it to the cafe until Dean’s suddenly stops walking, and you’re waiting in a short line. “Fucking nerds.”

“That’s rude.” You shove his arm, and everything feels color when he laughs, and it’s real. There’s still something tight and coiled in his eyes as you make it to the counter and order, but he’s not slumping anymore, so you’re going to push it.

You’re going to ask what the hell is happening. Why he hasn’t been hunting with you, why Sam’s back, where John is, and why he’s been so strange. You turn your drink between your hands as Dean grabs the food—frowning at his empty seat and rehearsing your question in your head—and the moment he sits down you-

“Dad’s missing.” 

You blink at him. “What?”

“Our dad.” Dean mutters, sliding your food across the table. “He’s missing. And not just one of those longer hunts, we’ve been looking for months and he’s… Just gone.”

“Shit.” You mutter, pieces sliding together in your brain as Dean’s words sink in. “Where have you checked?”

“His last case. And we got activity on his phone, but…” He trails off with a shake of his head, not fully meeting your eyes. “We can’t fucking find him, and Sammy’s- He’s not doing well.”

You nod, and wait for Dean to continue. If you say something, you might say the wrong thing, because you don’t give a fuck if John Winchester is missing or dead or just on a bender. You’re breathing a little easier just from the knowledge that you can be here, and it won’t end in a bullet through your brain.

But Dean gives a fuck about John. And you—despite your best judgement and all rational reason—give a fuck about Dean. You give a fuck that he’s been so off because his Dad’s missing, that there seems to be something a little heavier in his eyes and on his shoulders than the last time you saw him, that you can almost taste his bitter, taut worry for Sam. 

You give a fuck that he’s telling you at all. That whatever he sees when he looks at you, it’s bright enough that he’d trust you with anything at all.

So you’ll bite your tongue, and let him keep going when he’s ready.

Dean draws in another long breath. “You can’t tell Sam I told you this.” He mutters. “I- We’ve barely talked about it, and he doesn’t know you, and it’s really fucking complicated-“

“Dean.” 

His eyes meet yours, and the guarded expression is back. It’s not your job to break through it. It’s not your job to do anything for Dean, but you want to. His tension seems to be moving into your body and making your muscles and organs sore, the Darkness is twisting and coiling in your body to find something to break. Churning until you let it flood out, pushing at the White in a way that makes you feel a little sick. 

You might as well find something to break for Dean, while he’s still here. While he hasn’t left, and everything feels big in a way that’s not suffocating and crushing.

“I won’t tell Sam.” You say, holding his gaze as you lean forward, raising your pinky. “Promise.”

Dean swallows, but takes your pinky and shakes it. “His girlfriend died. The same way our mom did, too, right after we lost the trail on Dad.”

“Your mom-“

“Burned on the ceiling.” Dean mutters. “We don’t know what did it, but Dad’s been hunting the son of a bitch since it happened, and then he vanishes, and it happens again? Right fucking after? That’s-“

“Not a coincidence.” You finish—letting out a long, slow breath—and Dean nods.

“Never a coincidence.”

You hum, frowning into the air as your head starts to kick into a high gear. This is just another case. Just another problem to solve that might call to you, a piece of the Darkness you could use. You can help with this. You can fix something. Dean’s isn’t guarded anymore—only sitting a little taller than usual, watching you carefully—and he’s still here. Dean’s still here, and he trusts you, and those fractured pieces in you are starting to stretch towards each other again. Bleeding through the Darkness in vibrant color as Dean holds your gaze, and you can help. 

If Dean wants your help. If he’d want you. 

The thought makes the White flash and sing. You need to keep it together.

“Is Sam okay?” You ask, your voice soft, and Dean sighs, rubbing his face.

“He’s not sleeping well. Thinks I haven’t noticed, but we share a damn room every night.”

You nod slowly. “Are you okay?”

Dean blinks at you, a small frown on his face. “Me?”

“Yeah, who else could I be asking-“

“I-“ Dean shakes his head, tapping his knuckles on the table. “I’m fine, Princess. Dad’s gonna turn up, and he’ll have a good reason for going off. Maybe he found what killed Mom, and he’s just waiting to grab us for help. Then we’ll get back to normal.”

You narrow your eyes. You don’t believe him. He’s still off, and the weight on him suddenly seems bigger now that you know where it’s coming from. But you’ve barely opened your mouth to push him when the little cafe doorbell rings, and Sam calls your name.

“I got it!” He stops at the side of your table, looking between you and Dean with a wide grin. “It’s called a harae, ritual purification. We just need to build a shrine and learn the words.”

You take the book Sam passes into your hands, scanning over the pages as Dean gives Sam a pat on the back.

“Nice one, Sammy. Once we gank this bitch, we’ll get you nice treat as a reward for good work-“

“Fuck off, jerk.“ Sam shoves Dean’s arm away in your periphery, and Dean just laughs.

“Hey, Dean?” You look up with a frown, turning the book for him to read. 

He doesn’t. He just says your name and stares at you, and it’s not really helpful. “What’s up?”

“You guys did interviews, right?”

He nods. “I did a lot while Sam was looking at the office. Looked at all the vics and our suspects.” He frowns. “I lost rock, paper, scissors.”

Sam laugh. “Again.”

“Shut up, bitch-“

“You’re the one who lost, Dean, it’s not my fault you suck-“

“I do not suck, you just play fucking mind games-“

“Winchester. Pay attention.” You give him a stern glare and kick under the table, and he scowls at you.

“Sammy started it-“

“I don’t care.” You tap the book, pushing it closer to him. “If you did the interviews, I need you to write down a list of things people said about our onryo, and get some stuff for the shrine. It will work better if it’s in closer relation to who Maggie Robins was in life.”

“Why do I have to do it-“

“Apparently because you suck at rock, paper, scissors.” You shrug, looking up to Sam. “We can go back to the motel, learn the ritual, and hopefully kill this thing by tonight.”

It takes another five minutes to get Dean to agree, and he’s still scowling when he drops you and Sam back at the motel, but it’s not heavy anymore. He’s not silent either, grumbling the whole way about being saddled with freakin’ shopping duty, and shouting that he better not come back to find that you and Sam threw a party while he was gone. 

Then it’s just you and Sam. Alone. Speaking chopped and stilted Japanese, giving each other odd looks as you adjust to the shift.

It’s not hard to be alone with Sam. He’s nice, easy to talk to, and doesn’t seem to have nearly as much fun pushing your button as Dean does. But it’s still strange. He keeps giving you odd looks and opening his mouth with a small frown, but shaking his head and shutting it. Your brain keeps spinning around what Dean told you, and how the Darkness seems... Off with Sam. His presence doesn’t blend it into Silver like Dean’s does, and it’s not volatile like with a monster or spirit, but it’s not normal. It’s turning and humming and beating into the White, like Sam is setting it off.

And you don’t even know what it is.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom when it starts to get overwhelming. When the Darkness starts to leak and your breathing has to be shallow to control it. Sam asks if you’re alright, and you just wave him off and lock the door behind you. Sinking onto the cold floor with your fingers squeezing at your throat, trying to drag it back down by force. It’s not enough. Whatever is happening is only feeding the Darkness, and it’s not dangerous but it could be. One wrong word, one accidental push, and you’d lose control in a second. You can feel lingering warmth of the sheets on Sam and Dean’s beds, and the ache of the creaking bathroom door, and the grime of tiles, sick and itching and all over your skin-

You bite down on the back of your hand, and everything falls back into you. You’re alright. You got through it. You always get through it. You’ll get through this hunt—rising to your feet and rubbing your face, checking in the mirror that no pain is visible—and you’ll help Dean, and everything will be alright. Maybe if you figure out what killed their mom, John won’t try to kill you when they find him. Maybe they won’t find him. Maybe you’ll be safe, and Dean could stick around for you, just for you because you’d helped him, helped his brother, and done it without breaking anything or losing control. Maybe you’d be able to tell him what’s wrong with you, and you’d have been good enough—done a good enough thing—that he wouldn’t call you a monster.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” You give Sam a small smile, twisting a ring on your finger as you walk back to the table. “Just had some sketchy road food yesterday. Happens to the best of us.”

Sam nods, and you think he bought it. Most people usually buy it. Even Bobby isn’t great at picking up your lies, because you’re careful and deliberate and practiced, and every lie you tell is purposeful and vital. A barrier to the horrid truth of how you’re always a little cancerous. 

You’re pretty sure the only person who sees past it is Dean. And that’s just another thing you’ve given up on hating him for.

“Do you know when Dean will be back?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. You made the critical error of thinking of him, and suddenly the White is desperate for him to be close once more, and you’re too tired to fight it. 

“I dunno, probably soon.” Sam shakes his head, giving you another odd look. “Do you guys hunt together a lot?”

You hum, pulling another book from Sam’s stack. “Usually, yeah.”

“Usually?”

“We haven’t been on a hunt since October.” You shrug, and when glance up, Sam’s still staring at you.

“Has he been… Talking to you?”

“Yeah, uh, we call about once a week.”

“Dean calls you?”

You nod, frowning slightly. “That’s what I said, yeah.”

“Huh.” Sam’s looking at you like he did in the car. Like you’re an alien, or weird plant. It’s not hateful, and it doesn’t make the Darkness riot in defense, but it’s… unnerving. “How long have you guys been talking, again?”

“Uh,” you tilt your head, your brow furrowing slightly. “A little over two years?”

Sam makes a slight face. “Cool.”

It doesn’t sound cool. It sounds like Sam’s as confused as you are, which is unfair because you don’t even know what you’re confused about. All Sam should know is that Dean left you once, years passed, and now you’re friends. 

But maybe Sam knows why Dean left you. And he could tell you, and it could either mend all those shattered pieces lining your body in a single moment, or snap you entirely. At least if it snaps you this will be over. You won’t have to deal with the circling question of does Dean feel this too. Is he looking at you like that because he feels this. Is he still here—despite you being irrevocably you all the fucking time, despite John obviously hatred of you and what you are—because he feels this too.

“Hey, Sam-“

“Something’s not making-“ Sam’s eyes widen slightly as you speak over each other, and he raises his hands in an apologetic gesture. “Sorry, you first-“

“No,” you shake your head, keeping your desperate question lodged like a stone in your throat. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s not a big thing, just that it’s kind of strange that the onryo is going after only women.” Sam frowns at his book. “Everything I’ve found says they should either kill just about anyone in their path, or just target reminders of the person who wronged them. And with the whole cheating thing I’d imagine it would be men and women, not-“

“Just women.” You reach a hand out, and Sam passes you his book. “You’re right. If you’re sure it’s Maggie-“

“We’re sure.” Sam says, leaning back in his chair. “She had her brains bashed in exactly like all the vics. And the husband, actually.”

You pause. “And the husband?”

Sam nods, grimacing slightly. “The crime scene photos were really gross.”

“And…” You glance at the case files, still scattered on the table. “How did the mistress die?”

“Gunshot. The cops worked out that Maggie got her brains bashed by Joey, Joey shot his mistress-“

“What was the mistress’s name?”

“Uh, Becca. But-“

“And she was Maggie’s best friend?”

Sam nods, his brows drawing together as he starts to play catch up. “I think so, yeah. Dean said all the families were shocked that, uh, Becca would betray Maggie like that.”

You let out a long sigh, running a hand through your hair and giving Sam a disbelieving look. “Jesus fucking Christ, men are idiots.”

“Hey-“

“I’m back!” Dean bursts through the door, several plastic bags in hand. “Got all the shit, Princess. Looks like this Maggie chick even used the same-“

You hold up a hand, and Dean falls silent. “Sam, tell Dean what you just told me.”

“Uh,” Sam glances at Dean, who’s dropped down on the edge of his bed with a frown. “Becca-“

“Who the hell is Becca-“

“The mistress, dumb dumb.” You give Dean a glare, jerking your head at Sam. “Listen.”

Dean raises his hands in surrender, and Sam keeps going.

“Becca and Maggie were best friends, and you told me all the families were shocked about what happened.”

Dean nods. “Yeah, they all kept going on about how close those chicks were. Maggie’s mom said that Becca would stay with her when the husband was out of town on business.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh my god.”

“You got something you wanna say, sweetheart?“

“Not that you’ll want to hear, Deano.” You wrinkle your nose at him, even as a little bit of guilt eats at your throat. He’s gonna be pissed. “We need to start the ritual over.”

Dean blinks at you. “What.”

“Maggie isn’t the onryo.” You sigh, leaning back in your seat. “Joey is.”

Sam’s mouth falls open. “Fuck. That- It explains the targeting.”

“Yep.” You give him a tight smile. “And people don’t just bash their own brains in. Joey probably did kill Maggie, but then Becca killed Joey before shooting herself.”

Dean shakes his head, an adorable look of confusion on his face. “Why the hell would the douchebag get offed by his own mistress-“

“Because she wasn’t his mistress.” You say, and Dean just stares at you, his lips in a small pout that you want to bite.

“Huh?”

You exchange a look with Sam—who’s very poorly covering his snicker with a hand—and look back to Dean with a sigh. “Lesbians, Winchester. The mistress was the wife’s, not the husband’s.” 

“The- oh.” Dean goes red, scratching the back of his neck and looking anywhere but you. “Awesome. Good for them.”

You shrug. “I mean, they are both dead. But yeah, awesome.”

“For them.” Sam adds, letting out a long breath. “Not us. You’re right, we’re going to have scratch everything and work out how to do the ritual for Joey.”

“Fine.” Dean groans, kicking one of his bags. “But there’s no way in hell you’re making me do all those interviews again, Princess.“

You sigh, scratching at your fingers. “Sam, if you do the interviews, I can work out the MO to see if we can lure the onyro out, and Dean can make the ritual stick.”

Sam nods, looking back to a book, and Dean gapes at you.

“Ritual what?”

“Stick.”

“It’s a shaker made of paper.” Sam explains. “For the harae. It’ll be easy, dude.”

“And.” You give Dean a pointed look. “It’s either that or the interviews.”

Dean scowls, but relents with raise of his hands, and you grin at him.

“Great. We’ll have to wait for morning to do this, so, uh…” You trail off, frowning at your car out the window. You had really thought you’d be done by midnight. You can’t afford a motel room right now, and you don’t think Sam and Dean won’t notice you sleeping in your car. Bobby’s car. One of Bobby’s junkyard cars, which was in no way suitable for sleeping in. 

Dean says your name, and you turn your head on instinct alone. “You got a room?”

“Uh, no.” You glance back to your car. You can just drive it away, to a different lot, and make do. You know how to make do. “But I’ll find one, it’s fine-“

Sam shrugs, barely looking up from his book. “Just stay here.”

Heat rushes to your face, and you freeze in your chair. “What?”

“You can bunk with us, we’ve got the space.”

You can’t look at Dean. You and Dean don’t share a room. You don’t know why he’s never offered, but you know why you haven’t, and at this point it’s an unspoken rule.

But Dean’s not shutting Sam down, and the White has started to burst and glow at the idea of it. Of being closer.

You cannot share a room with Dean. It will destroy this. It will give you the opportunity to ruin your friendship with him, give you another place to fall further into him, provide another opportunity for the White to pull you closer and closer, down, down, down into Dean. 

“No, no it’s okay, I’m sure somewhere has a room-“

Dean cuts you off, and you’re going to go insane. “You can take my bed.” 

“It’s- it’s really fine-“

“No,” He says your name casually—like your brain and heart aren’t exploding—and pushes up off his mattress. “You’re doing us a solid, we can put you up. And I’ve shared with Sam before. I can deal with his Sasquatch starfishing.”

Sam glares up from his book. “I do not starfish-“

“But you are a Sasquatch?” 

Dean smirks at Sam, Sam flips him off, and the conversation seems to be over. Sam’s still reading. Dean’s kicking the bag and grumbling about stupid rituals.

But you’re frozen.Time isn’t really flowing, and the world isn’t really moving, because you have to talk your way out of this. You have to figure out what you can say so you can leave, without Sam and Dean being gentlemen and insisting you stay, or asking questions about why you’re so frantic to be anywhere but here.

And you’re not. Every single fiber of your existence wants to stay in this room, where it’s warm and demons might not find you. Your body wants to rest in Dean’s bed, because it will probably smell like grass and spice and Dean. Your fucking tongue keeps trying to move against your will, to suggest you and Dean just share a bed. 

And you’re strong enough to hold yourself back from that, but not from the rest of it. Not from the high that rushes through you when you give in, mumble that you’ll go get your bags from the car, and Dean insists on walking with you. You can’t stop your laugh from echoing through the parking lot at his stupid jokes, or the Darkness from moving out of you in a way that’s not painful. In a way where you can feel how calm the grass is in the quickly sinking twilight, or how soothing the gentle wind is to the tree branches.

Dean guides you back inside, and you stumble. Just a normal, boring trip over your own feet that Dean saves you from, catching you with firm hands and a laugh. 

He’s real, and he’s not gone. The streetlight over his head is casting a gold glow over his skin and hair, and everything about him seems fake—still far too pretty, made of gold but warm under your touch—but he’s real.

And he smiles at you. And that light flickers.

And you’re so fucked.

——————

Dean needed to get a grip. He needed to stop being a freaking creep, and act like a normal person.

He couldn’t. And he wasn’t going to figure out how to in one night. But he needed to, because there was no goddamn way She hadn’t cast some sort of spell on him, and not a chance in hell he was going to make it through the night without acting like She wasn’t only a few quick steps away.

She couldn’t be doing this on purpose. She’d have to be a demon or something, sent to torture Dean with Her… everything. To make him sit at the table while She showered just a room over—if Sam had given him one more amused look, Dean would’ve punched his lights out—and then come out of the bathroom with steam and light surrounding Her, like a beautiful, tempting nightmare. She’d grabbed a little, colorful bag—given Dean a smile because she must hate him—and vanished back into the bathroom.

She’d come out a little while later with soft, almost glowing skin and shiny hair Dean had wanted to touch. She’d passed him on her way to bed, and smelled like sugar and fruit.

The whole room had been surrounded with that fucking fruit smell. Dean had been losing his goddamn mind. 

He’d ended up flat one his back, staring at the ceiling through most of the night, something tight and hot lodged in his throat and gut. Sammy was fine to share a bed with, but Dean wanted to be across the room.

With Her. Holding Her like they were real people, smelling her hair like a goddamn creep and talking to her in the dark. 

Dean really just wanted to be with Her in the dark. To wrap around Her and keep her against him, where She wouldn’t have one of those weird freak outs he’d slowly learned to handle, where no strange, haunting monsters would find Her and take her away.

He didn’t want Her to go away. It was getting fucking crippling, how Dean wanted Her around all the time. How he was so fucking selfish and empty that, since Jessica, he’d started to spiral into thoughts of Her finding out what a mess his life was, and leaving him alone. Of taking all Her blinding, silver light that Dean was more than happy to follow down into the dark, and turn it somewhere else. That he’d been given a chance to see the universe in brilliant eyes, and now it would be ripped away from him.

Worse, he had nightmares that She was on the ceiling. And he’d tried to dismiss them as stress—Dad was missing, Sam was on edge, and Dean was fucking exhausted, so stress seemed reasonable—but they’d persisted. Which was crazy. Jess had been Sam’s girl. He’d had her, and lost her. Mom had been Dad’s, and that was why Dad had become Dad after her death. 

Dean had never had Her. He’d held Her hand once, and kissed Her forehead twice. She wasn’t Dean’s to fear for, or protect, or imagine pressed against him in the dark. She wasn’t Dean’s to keep near him, wasn’t Dean’s to fantasize about, wasn’t Dean’s to want. To get anxious about introducing to his family, because they were all born and made in the mud and She seemed to be created from starlight. He’d never even meet Her family, because she still wouldn’t tell Dean the damn truth about them.

He still didn’t know how to be furious about that in a way that stuck. How to not care when Her eyes went glassy, when She looked small and lost. How to not feel alive when She smiled, and orbit around Her when her world was more colorful than his.

And Sam liking Her had made that worse. Made it more real. Sam liking Her meant Dean wasn’t going insane. It meant that Dad might have simply been wrong, and She wasn’t just an illusion, and that if She left it would just be because Dean wasn’t worth her time.

And She hadn’t left. He’d told Her about Dad and Jessica and Mom, and then watched her shuffle around their motel room in the morning with an adorable, sleepy face. He’d watched Her in Baby’s passenger seat—Sam taking her car for the interviews—and had to force his hand to stay on the wheel and not Her thigh. 

He was looking at Her, across the diner table and poking at Her breakfast with a fork. He wasn’t sure how She managed to look so beautiful all the goddamn time, even when her lips were still swollen from sleep and her eyes were a little glazed from exhaustion. How Her voice always sounded like a song that echoed through Dean’s body, spurring something a little to the right of his heart and making him do almost anything she asked.

Like making a that stupid stick while She wrote on a paper napkin, that adorable furrow in Her brow.

“Sam should be back soon.” She mumbled, crossing something out on Her list. “Are you almost-“

Dean placed the stick over Her napkin, grinning at Her when she looked up. “Done.”

She gave the stick a once over, sighed, and went back to Her napkin without a word.

Dean frowned, leaning over to try and read Her scrawling. “Can you read that?”

“I’m writing it.”

“That’s not an answer, sweetheart.”

She glanced up, Dean winked, and She rolled her eyes.

“Shut up.”

Dean just hummed, leaning at little further forward. “So that’s a no?”

“I’ll stab you.”

“Damn, Princess, I thought you liked me-“

He cut himself off with a grunt, and She was flushing. It was the best color Dean had ever seen.

“I can like you and stab you.” She muttered. “I’d stitch it up after.”

Dean wanted to ask how much She liked him. If She like liked him. If She breathed easier when he was there and felt peaceful when he was by her side. If his voice haunted Her dreams.

He shrugged the urge off, and pushed on.

“You stab me, I’m asking Sammy to fix it. You don’t have good bedside manner.”

“Or you’re just a terrible patient.”

Dean gasped—making his most dramatically wounded face—and when She looked back up, she giggled.

“You’re such a fucking idiot.”

He smirked, nodding in agreement, and Her words didn’t hurt him. People had called Dean an idiot before, and it had always stuck on his skin and coated over his chest. But She said it like it was endearment. As if the softer tone lining Her voice could be affection. For Dean.

She was looking back down to the napkin. Dean needed Her to look at him. To either help Her with what she was doing, or listen to her giggle again. Nothing was ever complicated when She was smiling and giggling at Dean.

“What’s it say?” Dean tried to grab the napkin, and She snatched it away with a glower.

“Hey-“

“C’mon, you’ve been losing your mind over that for like an hour, I could help-“

“So ask like a big boy, Winchester. Say please.”

Dean held Her gaze, grabbed Her wrist, and smirked as she flushed.

“Please, Princess.” He squeezed Her wrist, and he could’ve sworn She leaned into him. “Tell me what’s on your dumb napkin.”

“It’s not dumb.” She mumbled, Her voice a little breathy. It was distracting. “I’m just- I’m trying to figure out the onryo’s MO. Usually they don’t have one, but Joey seems to, and I can’t work it out.”

“What’ve you ruled out?”

“Appearance,” She frowned at Her writing. “Profession. Marital status-“

“Vics weren’t cheaters?”

She shook Her head. “Most were single. It’s just- It’s not making a lot of sense.”

Dean shrugged. He still hadn’t let go of Her wrist. His hand might be trapped there permanently. “Doesn’t matter, right? Long as we gank the fucker, we’re in the clear.”

“Yeah,” She let out a long breath, glancing up at Dean with soft eyes. “I guess. I just- It’s weird.”

“Our lives are weird, sweetheart.” He grinned at Her. “Chill out. Sammy’ll be back soon, and we’ll be done before dinner.”

She nodded, her features relaxing, and Dean felt something loosen in his stomach. He was still touching Her. He couldn’t pull away. She wasn’t even trying to move, not trying to break his gaze, and he had grabbed Her over her shirt but She’d shifted and now he could feel Her skin. It was soft. Warm. It felt so goddamn right under his palm and She wasn’t moving away-

Sam cleared his throat, standing at the side of the table, and She and Dean flew apart. He yanked his hand away—grabbing his fork and tapping it in an uneven rhythm on his plate—and She moved backwards in her seat, hiking a knee up to her chest and looking up at Sam with wide eyes. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Hey, Sammy, you’re back-“

“Yeah.” Sam was looking between them, his lips twitching. “Am I interrupting-”

“No!” Her voice was high, and frantic. Dean frowned. He would’ve said no too, but She didn’t need to say it like that. “We’re just, um, talking about the case. Did you get what we needed?”

Sam nodded, pulling out a folded paper from his pocket and passing it into Her hands. “That should be enough, right?”

“Uh… Yeah.” She scanned over the list, and Dean didn’t miss Sam’s grin at Her approval. “I’ll head out now to set up?”

He wanted to protest. To tell Her to just stay and eat with them. She’d barely touched her plate, and something in his stomach kept gnawing at the idea of Her going off alone. She might hunt alone all the time, and Dean might know she had her knife, know that he’d be right behind Her, but he still didn’t want to Her to just go alone. He had twisting feeling over his heart at the idea of Her going alone-

“Sure.” Sam passed Her the keys to her car, stepping out of the way so she could exit the booth. “Call if you need anything, and we’ll meet you there in an hour.”

She hummed in agreement, giving them both soft smiles, and Dean was rooted in his seat. He should follow Her, or insist she stayed, and she’d get all fucking pissy about him not thinking she could handle this alone, but he still rather get yelled at then watch Her walk away. She was walking away. Dean needed to shout after Her and-

“She walks fast.” Sam said, dropping in Her now empty seat, and Dean blinked.

“Huh?”

Sam said Her name, settling in his seat. “She walks-“

“I heard you.” Dean snapped, looking out the window to watch Her move through the parking lot. She did walk fast. He’d never really noticed it before, because She always walked just a pace ahead of him, matching his speed perfectly. But alone, She did seem to walk faster. With purpose.

Towards Her car. Away from Dean. He could still run and grab Her. Convince her to come back to the booth-

“Does Dad know you were hunting with her?”

Dean turned back to Sam with a frown. “What.”

“Dad,” Sam leaned back, giving Dean a pointed look. “I remember what he said about her, Dean. Shit, dude, he hated her, even before he dug that stuff up-“

“Dad didn’t hate her.” Dean muttered. “He was just looking out for us.”

“He was being paranoid. And, just for the record, that woman,” Sam pointed out the window, and Dean realized She was gone. Fuck. “Doesn’t really seem like a spoiled, bratty con-artist.”

Dean scowled. He fucking knew that. And Sam needed to stop saying it, because it made Her more real. Made Her more possible, made Dean crash further up into Her. Fed the idea that he could, maybe, touch Her and not get burned.

“Dad doesn’t know, does he.” Sam crossed his arms, raising his brows. “You lied to him.”

“I didn’t-“

“You did. There’s not a chance he would’ve let you just go off hunting with anyone, let alone her.” Sam grinned at him, and Dean didn’t appreciate the glee on his face. “You were fucking lying to Dad.”

Dean braced his arms on the table, lowering his voice to a hiss. “I’m serious, Sam. Drop it.”

Sam did not drop it. He might be trying to get punched. “No, Dean. You’ve been lying to Dad. You never lie to Dad about anything.”

“Sam-“

“I mean, you’ve lied for me. But c’mon dude.” Sam let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Even you have to stop and think about why you don’t want Dad knowing about her. I mean, she’s nothing like what he said, but Dad’s Dad.”

“What the hell it that supposed to mean?“

“It means he’s not going to like that he was wrong. That she’s cool.” Sam shrugged. “I like her. The only thing I’d worry about is the, uh…”

He trailed off, and Dean frowned. 

“Worry about what?”

“I don’t know.” Sam’s brow furrowed slightly. “I mean, I don’t know what they are. Panic attacks?”

Dean shook his head, his brow drawn in confusion, and Sam gave him an odd look.

“C’mon, dude, there’s no way you haven’t noticed. I mean, you helped her, when she got here. When you did the, uh,” Sam reached up to his face, running his finger over his nose. “That.”

“Oh, yeah, that always calms her down-“

“But what is that?”

“I don’t know.” Dean muttered. “Probably just some girl shit-“

Sam scoffed. “That is not a girl thing. That’s like… an episode or something. Have you asked her?”

“No. And you,” Dean point to Sam with a glower. “Better not say shit.”

He didn’t need to give Her a reason to leave. A reason to think he didn’t want Her around. Those moments were strange—and had been happening more and more frequently—but Dean had dealt with stranger, and he knew how to handle it now. 

And Sam paused, tilting his head. 

“Holy shit, dude.” His face split into a shit-eating grin. “You really like her.”

“What?! No- I- Why the-” Dean narrowed his eyes. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about-“

“Yeah, I do. I know you, Dean. You don’t want to make her upset, you have a crush-“

Dean slammed his fist on the table, leaning forward with a glower. “Watch it, I’ll kick your fucking ass-“

Sam just shrugged, a shit eating grin on his face. “Whatever. Won’t make you not have a crush on her.”

“I do not have a fucking crush. She’s my friend-“

Sam laughed again, this one louder. “Sure, dude. You looked like you were gonna cry when she walked away. I bet you wanna go after her-“

“Because she doesn’t need to do this alone! We hunt together, that’s the point of partners-“

“Partners?” Sam raised his brows. “Do you not hear yourself? You’re so worried about her-“

“Sam, I swear to fucking god-“

“Fine, man.” Sam raised his hands in surrender, still smirking. “Chill out.”

“I am fucking chill.” Dean grumbled, glancing at Her abandoned plate. “If you’re not eating that, we can go now-“

“No, I’ll eat it. And she’ll be fine, Dean. There was a lot of overlap on this list from the Maggie one, she just needs to find a really specific kind of beer. I mean, you got the perfume, right?”

Dean frowned. “Perfume?”

“Yeah.” Sam nodded, poking at the plate with his fork. “That bottle in his office, same kind you bought for the first ritual.”

Dean sat up in the booth, a creeping, almost painful chill shooting up his spine and through his blood. “Yellow bottle?”

“Uh huh-“

“French name?” 

“Yeah, dude, I just said it was the same-“

Pieces fell into place in Dean’s head, and he felt sick. He’d fucking seen the bottle in Joey’s office, and remembered it because of Her. Then he’d forgotten until last night, and She’d cut him off before he’d had a chance to tell Her, when he’d gotten back. If he had told Her, she would’ve put it together faster. She would’ve seen the overlap on the lists, pointed out that it was strange to keep perfume in your office if you weren’t actually having an affair. 

If you were confronting your wife about her affair.

Dean shot out of his seat. “We need to go, now.”

“Woah, slow down, we still need to pay-“

“No, fuck, it’s-“ Dean ran a hand over his face, snapping Her name. “She uses that perfume.”

“So?”

“So, if you were a woman trying to cover your affair with your girl best-friend, how would you do it?”

Sam looked at him like he was insane. “I don’t know, man, that’s not a situation I’ve thought about once-“

“Would you make your girlfriend use the same perfume you use? Would you buy it for her?”

“Dean, I don’t know-“

“It’s the perfume, Sam!” Dean was shouting. He didn’t care. “We didn’t think about it! We thought it was the wife who got slighted, but it’s the fucking dude, and all the vics had that goddamn perfume! And-“

“The wife and mistress were using it.” Sam’s eyes widened, and his words far too slow when they had to go. “To hide their affair. And if the husband put that together, he’d… and…” Sam said Her name, and Dean felt his lungs tighten. “She uses…  Fuck.”

It was good Sam got up when he did, or Dean would’ve started to drag him out of the diner. The waitress shouted after them to pay, but he didn’t hear. There was red lining his vision and blood in his ears because he had been an idiot. They never would’ve gotten what the spirit was without Her, they never would’ve gone after the right douchebag without Her, and if Dean hadn’t managed to catch it, She would’ve paid the price for helping him. For Dean being unobservant asshole.

She still might pay the price. They hadn’t saved Her yet. Dean was violating traffic laws and testing Baby’s bounds, but She was in fucking danger and nothing else mattered.

“So,” Sam cleared his throat. “How do you know it’s her perfume?”

“Shut it, or I’ll fucking shoot you-“

“No, dude, I swear I’m not teasing. I just want to be sure-“

“I’m positive.” Dean grunted, not bothering to look over and see if his brother was listening. “And you better be ready to exorcise this son of a bitch-“

“I got the Japanese down last night. And I’m sure she’s fine, Dean-“

“Shut up.”

Sam raised his hands, and made the smart choice to close his fucking trap and let Dean focus. 

He didn’t bother with proper parking, stopping right on the curb outside the office and sprinting inside. The building was cold. Too cold. Fucking freezing the closer they got to the office, lights flickering in the hallways and all of Dean’s attention narrowed to listen for screams or bangs or cries for help-

The door to the office was locked. He pounded on it—shouting Her name and making the walls shake slightly—but there was no noise from the other side. The overhead lights sparked and flickered, wind seemed to rush through the half-empty hallway, and Dean took several steps back. This building was probably insured, and he needed to get in that fucking room.

Dean cracked his neck, braced his body, and threw himself forward.  

The room was pitch black when he crashed into it—one the overhead lamps hanging from the ceiling and light flooding in from the hallway—and She was sitting in the corner. Her back was pressed to the wall, Her hand around her throat, and Her eyes glassy as they found Dean’s.

He shouted Her name, dropping to his knees at Her side. “Fuck, are you-“

She shook Her head, pushing at his chest. “Dean, go, you need to go-“

“Are you goddamn crazy, there’s no way I’m leaving-“

“No, I’ve- I’ve got it, please-“

Sam finally caught up, the paper shaker in one hand and a gun in the other. “Shit, where’s the-“

“Don’t know. Get ready.” Dean never looked away from Her bloodless face, keeping it cradled in one hand. “C’mon, Princess, you a target, we’re going-“

“No!” She screamed, and Dean didn’t have time to feel something snap in his chest before She was kicking him away.

Before a large, white-clad and blood covered figure appeared right where he’d been before. Reaching down for Her as she curled further down into herself, not even trying to goddamn defend herself.

Dean was certain his heart stopped. That it exploded through his body in a firework of blood and feral, uncontrollable fear. And there was something else, too. Rioting in his chest, burning and golden and bellowing for Her. To save Her. To pull Her from danger, from the pain, from the dark-

He could only see red, only hear his own roar of Her name as the onryo grabbed Her head, slammed it into the wall, and She didn’t fight back.

Dean tackled the onryo. Wrapped his arms around its throat and yanked it away from Her slightly slumping body on the floor. Slammed his knees into its back and crashed them both against the desk, raising his fist to pummel it fucking bloody and uglier-

It threw Dean off with a guttural, ear-bleeding roar, and Dean felt pain pound over his back as he slammed into the wall. He was vaguely aware of Sam beginning the ritual, but he didn’t care. 

The onryo was heading back for Her. And Sam had realized and was running forward, but he wouldn’t be strong enough if Dean wasn’t, and She wasn’t fighting back.

All the lights in the hallway sparked and flickered, and Dean saw a flash of silver in the dark. He could hear low chanting and muttering in a soft, musical voice, and his head was spinning but he could swear She was moving.

The onryo screamed, and a blinding pillar flame burst through the room. Dean couldn’t think outside of fire. Licking at the ceiling and walls, and he couldn’t see Her anywhere at all-

It was gone in a second, and the room when dark once more. 

A small, weak noise came from the corner of the room, and when Dean’s eyes readjusted, he could see Her in the dark. He didn’t need to think to move to Her.

He just did. 

Holding Her face with his gentlest touch, angling it carefully to check for blood or bruising, muttering Her name until she made another soft sound and he knew she was conscious. He let Her slump forwards into him as Her eyes fluttered, and her breathing eased.

She’d be fine. Dean could see a cut on Her brow, a bite mark on her hand, and a gash on Her shoulder, but he’d stitched up worse for Dad. Her eyes weren’t staying open for more than a second, and her heart was racing when he checked Her pulse on her neck, but her gasps weren’t choked or stuttered so she’d be fine.

“Dean.” Sam muttered from behind them, his voice soft. “Is she-“

“She’s fine.” He grunted, wrapping his arm around her waist to hold Her steady as he moved to his feet. “Hold on,” he whispered Her name in her ear, and she listened, her arms looping around Dean’s neck. 

It was relieving and worrying all at once. She felt fragile again. 

Dean didn’t know if he could live with himself if he broke Her.

“Sam,” Dean didn’t take his eyes off of Her as he spoke, because looking at Her seemed to make just a little bit of the panic fogging his brain clear. He could see Her chest rise and fall. She’d be okay. “I know we still gotta check-“

Sam understood immediately. He usually did. “I can do it. Take her, I’ll meet you back at the motel.”

Dean nodded in silent thanks and—after carefully grabbing Her keys out of her pocket and throwing them to Sam—carried Her in his arms out of the office and into Baby. 

He drove slowly, his grip on the wheel white knuckled as She made soft sounds of pain at his side. Dean had brought Her here. He’d put Her in danger, just because he had missed Her, missed moving in her orbit. She was hurt because he’d been an idiot and brought Her into harm’s way. He’d triggered one of Her episodes because he hadn’t done his job and protected her, and She’d still ended up doing the ritual herself because he was fucking horrible at his job. He’d been lost in his head, just like Dad always told him not to be, and now She was in pain. She’d be okay, safe in a fancy home in some mystery town, if Dean just hadn’t called Her.

And he was a selfish, lonely piece of shit.

And he didn’t want Her to go.

She let him move Her from the Impala to the motel room, leaning into his side and walking in uneven, unsteady steps. At least She was walking. At least when Dean set Her down on his bed, she was able to pull off her own jacket and remove Her own shoes. Her eyes were slightly unfocused, and there was swelling on Her cheekbone where the onryo had grabbed her, but at least She was sitting upright, watching Dean grab their med kit. 

She was a statue, but at least She was here. With Dean. 

Where he could hear Her low, strained noises when he touched her gash, and he could rip his head apart with guilt. 

He’d fucking let that happen to Her. She wasn’t speaking, and Dean couldn’t tell if she was angry, but she should be. Because Dean had failed. 

Dad wouldn’t have failed. Dad would kill Dean if he found out he’d dragged Her into their family business, and she got hurt. He’d yell at Dean for letting Her everything distract him, because she wasn’t a real hunter, she was just a girl.

That’s what Dad had always called Her, when Dean managed to bring Her up. When he’d been testing the waters about telling Dad about Her, and always decided against it because Dad said She was just a lying, spoiled little girl, who didn’t give a damn about Dean.

But She’d killed the onryo. And She’d left him with the Poltergeist, but She’d chosen him with the Demon. When he’d only had Her, even if the worst of his injuries had been a mild concussion. 

Sammy liked Her. She liked Sammy. 

And when Dean glanced back up at Her beautiful face—cast like artwork in the shadows and cool lights of the motel—She was watching him the same way She always did. A little hazier, Her face more open and gentle than usual, but still the same.

Like Dean might be something. Anything at all.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, and Dean’s hands stilled.

“What.”

“I’m sorry.” She repeated it, and Dean felt sick. He might break his jaw. “I didn’t mean to. Please, I’m really- I didn’t mean to do that-“

Dean looked up at Her. Her eyes were glossy, Her features bloodless, and her every word choked as Her body curled into herself. Like She was trying to make herself small. Like She was trying to hide.

“I’m so sorry.” She whispered again, and Dean glanced down to Her hands in her lap. 

Raw and bloody, lined with marks where She’d begun to scratch.

He grabbed them without a word, moving them apart to rest on the mattress. She made a weak, strangled noise, and Dean could feel it in the goddamn cavity of his chest. Echoing around and burning a hole in his body that was shaped like Her.

“I’m sorry-“

“Why.” He muttered, refocusing his attention onto the gash. “You didn’t fuck anything up. You ganked the son of a bitch, and Sammy’s finishing the ritual for you. We’re fine.”

“The ritual?”

Dean nodded, glancing up at Her. The little furrow was back in Her brow, and she was breathing so fucking fast-

His thumb moved up before he could think about it. Running a soft line down the bridge of Her nose until she let out a long, slow breath, and the sound washed over Dean like rain. 

She’d be okay. Her eyes were still clouded, and She still looked far too small, but Dean would patch Her up and She’d be okay.

He rose without a word when he finished the stitches, muttering an order for Her to stay there, and moves to the kitchenette before he can think better of it. Opened the cabinet and started heating some water, just because he had to do something. If Dean was something, She was more, and he had just fucking do this. A silent apology.

A plea to not leave. To stay with Dean, because he was the fucking worst, but he’d never let that shit happen again. 

She’d moved to the headboard, Her legs curled under her body as she rested against the headboard. And She was still watching him. He wanted to brush the sweaty hair from Her face, and kiss the bruise on Her head, and pull her into a long hug to swear that would never goddamn happen again. 

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He didn’t even know how to grab Her face between his hands and tell Her he was sorry. That he’d felt like was suffocating when She’d gotten hurt, that he felt like the lungs and heart—and something else he didn’t even have a word for—were being crush and shredded apart all at once when She’d screamed. 

But he could do this. Dean could walk mix in the cocoa powder, grab one of Sam’s stupid thermoses, and pass the hot chocolate into Her shaking hands. 

He just looked at Her for a long moment. Gorgeous in an almost indescribable way, right before him where he could touch Her if he tried.

He didn't know where to start touching Her. How to start caring about Her the way something like Her—breakable and furious and brutal, brighter than anything Dean had even seen before, would ever see again— would deserve to be cared about. But he had to try. He had to keep Her close, where he could always make sure She’d be okay.

“How’d you know to come?” Her voice was still a breath, but it sounded more like Her, and Dean could take that.

He shrugged. “Got a gut feeling.”

“A gut feeling?”

“Yeah.” Dean gave Her a small smirk, dropping onto the edge of the bed. “Tells you what’s wrong and right, when something’s going bad-“

She whacked his arm, and it was weaker than usual, but still Her. She looked more and more like Her by the moment. “Shut up.”

“Bossy.”

She wrinkled Her nose at him, glowering over the thermos as She drank.

He chuckled. “You know, I mean that as a compliment-“

“Don’t tell me what I know, Winchester.”

The laugh that left Dean was loud, and real, and made Her smile. And he felt alive. Right now, Dean was alive at Her side, golden under Her attention, and more relaxed in the dark than he’d been in days.

“Yes, ma’am.” He drawled, and She rolled her eyes.

When She moved the thermos away from Her mouth, there was a little line of milk above Her lips, and Dean grinned. 

“Nice mustache, Princess.”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“Your- here.” Dean reached forward before he could think better, and wiped it with his thumb.

He froze in place the moment he drew away. He’d touched Her. And She’d been warm and soft and real. His thumb had brushed over Her upper lip for only a second, so now the feeling of it might be branded on his skin. And when he looked back to Her, she was flushed. With the hitched breath. The parted mouth.

He wanted more. He wanted Her. He didn’t ever want Her to go.

“Uh, where are you going?” He cleared, trying to make his voice as casual as possible. He could do this. “Once we wrap up the loose ends here?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged, settling back into the mattress. “Probably home.”

“Which is where?”

She gave him a small smile, taking a long sip of the coco without an answer.

“Never gonna tell me, huh?”

She shrugged. “Maybe next time, if you make me more of this.”

She tapped the thermos, and Dean felt his own mouth twitch.

“I think that’s bribery, Princess.”

“Maybe.” She hummed, raising Her brows at him. “Are we above bribery?”

Dean chuckled. “Guess not. And, uh,” he took a long breath, scratching the back of his neck. “Would you need it to be next time?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what if there wasn’t a next time?”

Something flared on Her face, she leaned slightly away, and Dean’s throat tightened. Not like that. Not at all like that.

“Oh.” She mumbled, and the words began to fall out of Dean like vomit.

“No, I’m not saying that. Opposite of that. I mean, I told you everything, and Sammy likes you, and we’re a good team, Sweetheart, so if you want to, I’m sure Sam wouldn’t be pissed. He’d be for it. He said you were cool, and three is ever safer than two. So, uh, yeah.”

She only blinked. “What?”

Dean felt his face heat. He hadn’t actually said the thing. “Stay.”

“Stay?”

“With me. And Sammy. Just to help us find Dad, then Sammy’ll probably go back to a normal, boring life, and you can do what you do. Just, uh, you can stick around after the hunt. If you want.”

“Stay with you, to find…“ She trailed off, and Dean couldn’t read that expression. He couldn’t fucking think, not outside of Her eyes on his, and the smell fruit dragging him into a pure sense of Her.

“Our Dad.” Dean finished Her sentence, and her throat bobbed. 

She let out a slow breath, hugging Her own body and ducking Her head, and Dean felt his chest go numb before she even spoke.

“I can’t.” She mumbled, rubbing that scarred palm over her calf. “I’m really sorry, Dean. Just, my dad-“

“Don’t. It’s fine.” He rubbed his own brow, his gaze fixed on Her hand. Close enough to touch.

But not really close at all.

“Dean-“

“I’m serious. It was just an offer.”

“But-“

He snapped Her name, and it was harsher than he meant it, but something also felt like it was peeling along his ribs. She didn’t want him. Nobody would want him. He’d gotten Her hurt, and he had no good reason to think She’d stick around for him. She didn’t feel this, it was all only Dean losing his mind and falling to his knees for a woman that he could never have. She sounded wounded and desperate, but She wasn’t his to wound, and She’d told him she didn’t want to stay. That She wanted to go back home. Somewhere of the mud, somewhere Dean wasn’t good enough to follow her to.

“I’m-“

“Don’t apologize.” He muttered. She needed to rest, and Dean didn’t need Her sorrys. He didn’t really deserve them. “Go to sleep, Princess. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She took a long breath. “Dean?”

He grunted, unable to look Her in the eyes, and She sighed.

“I know I, you-“ She cut herself off with a swallow, her voice growing softer by the second. “But can you, um, can you please- I don’t want to- Could you please sit?”

Dean frowned at the floor. “What.”

“With me. Sit with me. Until I fall asleep.” She whispered. “You can go after, if you do, but… Please.”

Her voice was so goddamn light, so dream-like, and Dean didn’t think he’d ever learn to not bend for it. Not when his eyes dragged back to Her’s, and they were calling him further down. Drawing him closer with only Her. Still just Her, at Dean’s side, in the whole universe of a motel room.

And She wanted him for this. Only this. 

But at least it was something.

He nodded, and forced himself to ignore the spark up his spine when a She mumbled a thanks, and closed her eyes with a soft breath.

She was passed out in only a few minutes, and Dean stayed at Her side. Just a nod felt like it was an oath, when it was for Her. So Dean sat at Her side, and watched her sleep like that same creep he’d been the night before.

He didn’t really notice Sam returning. He couldn’t look anywhere but Her. Slack faced and breathing slow, drooling onto the pillow in a way Dean wanted to wipe from her chin, hair in her face he wanted to brush away, lips parted that he always wanted to touch. 

Beautiful. Not his to have. 

But She’d be here until morning. And She’d asked him to stay with Her, so he’d sit in the dark for Her and practice how he’d let Her go when she walked away. Remind himself that it was for the better She wouldn’t stay. She wouldn’t get hurt. And he would see Her again.

Maybe, while she was hunting without him, She’d find someone who actually kept her safe. Who did what Dean wasn’t good enough to do, and didn’t just watch Her in the dark. They’d hold Her in the dark. They’d be Her dark, just like Dean irrationally craved, but deserving. Worthy of a star falling into their hands, worthy of holding it with them all the time. 

Dean felt sick. Her hand was splayed across the mattress. 

He let himself hold it. If this was the only chance he had, and She didn’t flinch away when he twined his fingers with Her’s, he’d hold Her hand.

He’d take tonight. 

And he’d learn how get a grip in the morning. 

End Note: Diversity win! These Lesbians were part of a triple murder suicide!

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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[friendly-neighborhood-biderman]

Make It Up To You

Matt Murdock x reader

(MINORS DNI) 18+‼️‼️

TW: porn with little plot, angst, smut, unprotected pinv (don’t be silly, cover your willy), oral (f!receiving), aftercare, slight blasphemy, body worship

Summary: Matt and you haven’t had any time alone in a while. You are fed up and plan a nice night in and Matt blows you off. Now he has to make it up to you.

This is the first fic i’ve ever written… If it sucks don’t tell me, i’ll cry-

~~~

Matt had a bad habit of working late. It was already difficult for the two of you to get any time together as it was. As soon as he got home, Matt would either leave to go out on patrol or pass out in the bed.

It’d been weeks since you last fucked. You were aching for him. Every look he gave you would have you breathing heavily. All you wanted to do was show up at his office and ride him in his desk chair. Or… have him bend you over his desk. Anything to just get him back inside you.

It was Friday night, and you’d had enough. You called Matt earlier that day and made sure he was planning on coming home on time. You had everyone set up perfectly. A simple dinner date in the living room. Candles being the only lighting, and releasing a delicious aroma into the air. You put on Matt’s favorite dress; A little silk body con that left little to the imagination.

This was three hours ago… Matt should’ve been home on time, and been balls deep in you. He had called saying something came up and that he was sorry. You put the candles out, and put the food in the fridge. Disappointed wasn’t the word, drained was more fitting. Did he not find you attractive anymore? Were you not as important to him?

You took a long shower to try and wash off the sadness. Even tried to get yourself off with your fingers, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t Matt. The bed was cold without him. You shivered as you crawled under the covers. All you wanted right now was your lover.

A loud thump woke you from your sleep. Matt groaned as he stripped his suit off. The sounds making you have to clench your thighs together. He turned his head in your direction and grinned, “I know you’re not asleep, sweetheart.”

You scoffed as you rolled over to look at him. His clothes were discarded in the floor, leaving him in just his boxers. “What gave me away?”

Matt got on the bed and crawled over, “Well, your heart was racing, and I could hear you moving around.” He bumped your nose with his as he smiled down at you. You smiled back before a frown took over. You turned your head to avoid looking into Matt’s puppy dog eyes. “What is it, my love?”

“Nothing, Matty. Good night.” You rolled over and closed your eyes. Matt furrowed his brows as he let his surroundings sink in. Remnants of candle smoke and pasta hit his nose. The perfume you only wore on dates was the confirming factor. “That’s why you wanted to make sure I was home on time. This was supposed to be a date… Baby, I-“

“It’s okay, Matty. I just wanted to spend time with you. We hardly ever even see each other anymore.”

Matt slightly grabbed your shoulder and turned you back to him. “It’s not okay, I should’ve kept my word and been here. I’m so sorry I haven’t been the man you deserve. I’m sorry I haven’t been around, sweetheart. Will you let me make it up to you?”

Butterflies spread in your stomach as Matt leaned in closer. Your eyes fluttered closed as your lips met. The rough stubble on Matt’s face was one thing you never thought you’d miss, but you did. It was a beautiful contrast to his soft and plump lips. He started to kiss deeper, his tongue moving across your lower lip. You allowed him access and he didn’t even have to fight for dominance. He never did.

His lips started to trail down your jaw. The incredibly intimate moment was exhilarating. He was like a professional when it came to pleasing women. Matt got to your neck and started to leave marks. Marks that you would wear proudly. Marks that you hadn’t seen in so long. He tugged on your, well his, shirt and you pulled it off. A smirk grew on the man’s face at his realization you weren’t wearing a bra. His thumbs hovered over the sensitive buds and you let out a shaky breath. His tongue continued to trace down into the valley of your breasts. He licked up onto your left nipple as started to lightly suck, as he worked the other one with his hand. Matt switched breasts, giving them the same attention.

You were panting and moaning at his slow movements. He knew what he was doing and he knew just how much it drove you crazy. Matt’s fingers slowly drug down your torso. The stopped at the waistband of your panties. His finger dipped into them as your back arched up into his movements. “Matty please, baby! Touch me, taste me, anything,” you breathed out. Matt chuckled at your words.

“As much as I love to listen to you beg, sweetheart, I love the taste of you more.” Matt slowly slid your panties down your legs and tried not to laugh as you squirmed. He laid down in between your thighs and pulled your legs over his shoulders. He nudged your mound with his nose. His hands came up and held your thighs against his head. Matt licked all the way up your slit, collecting your wetness. Your head was burrowed in the pillows. It had been so long since he touched you like this. You both knew you wouldn’t last long. Matt’s tongue prodded your weeping hole. His nose rubbed your clit as his tongue fucked you.

Your world almost ended when Matt’s long fingers took his tongues place. His long digits reaching much further than your own could. His plump lips wrapped around your bundle of nerves. Matt sucked on your sensitive nub and you started to see stars. Your fingers gripped Matt’s fluffy dark hair, needing something to hold on to. He groaned at your movements, and started to dry hump against the end of the bed. To avoid hurting him, you moved your hands to tangle in the sheets instead.

Matt pulled away from your core, chin and nose glistening with your wetness. “Don’t pull away. It felt good, baby.” He guided your hands back into his hair, and dove back into your pussy.

It wasn’t much longer until you started to thrust your hips up into Matt’s movements. Your breath got more shallow, and your grip on your boyfriend’s hair tightened. Your climax crashed against you, back arching off the bed, moaning spilling out, thighs squeezing Matt’s head. He helped you ride out you high, and patted your hips. He pulled back to place gentle kisses on your thighs.

“Baby, I missed you so much. You always make me feel so good. I need more. I need your cock.” Matt took his time crawling back up to hover over you. He leaned down to kiss you, you could taste yourself in his tongue. You moaned into his mouth and rubbed his back as he traced your sides. Your hand slipped down to palm Matt through his boxers. A quiet whimper left his mouth.

Matt quickly slid his boxers down and went back to attacking your mouth. You gripped him at his base and started to move his tip along your slit. More whimpers fell from Matt’s lips. He took your hands held them above your head. He slowly started to push himself inside. It’d been so long, you had forgotten how big he was. The stretch was sinful the way it mixed pain and pleasure. Matt groaned into your ear as he sunk deeper.

Once he bottomed out, you released a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. You pulled against Matt’s hand, wanting to touch him. “If you start touching me this won’t last very long, and I have a lot of apologizing to do,” Matt breathed into your neck. Right then, he pulled back and slammed his hips back into yours. It was even better than you remembered. He fit perfectly with you like God had sculpted you for each other.

Your moans got louder as Matt picked up the pace. He removed his hold on your hands, and placed his hand on your throat. One of your hands moved to take down his back and grab onto his ass. The other threaded into his hair. Every time you pulled on the sweaty strands Matt choked out a moan.

Every little sound Matt let out, had you clenching around him. His rhythm got more sporadic, you could tell he was getting close. He could tell too, so he moved one of his hands down to rub small circles in your clit. It wasn’t long after that when stars overtook your vision. Matt’s grunts filled your ears as he finished inside you. His warm seed filling you up.

Matt had his head resting between your breasts as he came down from his high. Your fingers rubbing his scalp nearly sent him to sleep right there. He placed a kiss on your sternum before getting up. You whined at the loss of contact and Matt chuckled. Next thing you knew, Matt was back pulling your legs apart to clean you up. You winced as he placed the cloth against your sensitive cunt. “Sorry, angel..” Matt trailed off as he continued.

After you both were cleaned off, Matt crawled back under the covers. He curled into your side, laying his head upon your chest and gently rubbing your stomach and sides. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around as much, sweetheart. You don’t deserve that. From now on, you just say the word and I’ll come crawling home to you.”

“I love you, so much, Matty,” you whispered into Matt’s hair.

“I love you more than anything else in this world, angel.”

[scap34]

No one touches what’s yours ♡

sub! sugar baby! Toji x sadistic! rich! dom! younger! male! reader

warnings: cussing, mild daddy kink, oral sex, dirty talk, degradation, implied sex, mild manipulation, mention of murder

Another shitty gala. What was this one for? A charity? Who even cared? If half the money wasted on flaunting wealth actually went to the cause, he was pretty sure there wouldn’t even be a need for charity anymore.

Instead, it was just another popularity contest. And lucky him, you happened to be the star of the show—the hot, rich jock everyone loved to worship.

What did that make him? Your cheerleader? 

Toji scowled as he downed the wine in his glass. Expensive, yet it tasted like shit. He’d already had three in the last half hour, and the buzz was barely there—a waste of both time and money.

But that wasn’t what bothered him. It was all the eyes on you. The overly flattering tone, and greedy eyes people looked at you with. His fingers itched for his blade. To paint the shiny white floor red with their blood. 

You were his. So why the hell were people so fucking close to you?

Then your cold gaze met his, and for a moment, that disinterested look melted into faint amusement. Without hesitation, you made your way toward him, leaving behind a trail of disappointed murmurs and bitter faces, none daring to voice their complaints aloud. 

Toji stayed rooted in place, arms crossed, waiting for you to come to him. When you finally did, he didn’t bother hiding his irritation. “Why the hell did you drag me to this?” he grumbled, his tone bordering on petulant—not that he’d ever admit it outright.

You had the audacity to chuckle, a soft, amused sound that only annoyed him more. “I didn’t.” You replied smoothly. “I told you, you wouldn't like it, but you insisted on coming anyway.”

Did he say that? Yes. 

Did he care? No.

“What was I supposed to do? Sit around at home like some miserable housewife?” He snapped back. 

You didn’t respond immediately, but the gleam in your eyes said everything. It was that look—the one you got right before one of your ideas. The kind that left him sore in all the right places and utterly, blissfully wrecked. 

Was it the housewife comment? Fuck, would you care about fucking him here? 

“Yeah, baby? Need your husband to make you happy?” you practically purred, your voice low and husky, dripping with amusement.

The tone alone had him shifting in place, a rush of heat racing down his body. Damn tux was too tight, but he knew better than to blame it on the suit. Knowing you, the control freak you were, you’d probably had it tailored perfectly to his measurements ages ago. Made perfectly to hug every curve of his body, all on display for your eyes.

Getting a fucking boner right now would like public exposure. 

You must have been rubbing off on him, cause the thought only served to make him more aroused.

“Y/N! What a delight to see you here!”

Your eyes shifted lazily from Toji to the man approaching, your expression unreadable. He was in his late forties, with hair that was clearly dyed to hide the gray creeping in—an attempt to cling to his youth. Everything about him screamed smug, from his tailored suit to the self-assured smirk plastered across his face.

The man practically radiated envy as he took you in. Of course he did. You were everything he wasn’t—young, rich, and devastatingly handsome. Flawless in a way that made people resent you the moment you walked into a room. And you were all his. 

“I wasn’t planning on coming,” he said, voice dripping with fake humility, “but luckily, I managed to find a spot in my schedule. I’m sure you didn’t have that problem. After all, you always attend these things, don’t you?”

He spoke loud enough for others nearby to hear, as if trying to gain some kind of upper hand in the conversation. 

You didn’t look fazed by it. The coldness in your eyes was sharp, daunting even as your lips curled into a fake, practiced smile.

“Isn’t it customary for the host to attend their own gala?” Your words were curt and polite to the point of biting cold. Throwing his words right back at him with chilling precision. 

Toji could almost hear the man’s teeth grind together in outrage at being one upped in the rich people dick measuring contest. Not that you were playing along. You didn’t need to. He could attest to how big your dick was. 

He let out a huff of laughter. The man’s eyes landed on him. The annoyance in his eyes shifted to interest as he took in Toji’s body. The tux, obviously not doing anything to hide his body. 

If this had happened anywhere else, he would’ve beaten the shit out of him. But this was your fancy gala, surrounded by those rich assholes who eyed your wealth like pesky flies. He wasn’t stupid enough to mess up your business. You’d be pissed at him, and not in a good way.

“And who is this? Your date?” The man’s slimy gazed trailed down his body. Toji had to resist the urge to shove a wine glass into his throat. 

“Yes. This is Toji.” You replied seemingly unbothered but he could see the way annoyance crept into your eyes. The way you shifted slightly closer to him. You didn’t bother introducing the man to him like you couldn’t bother with it. 

Toji bit down on his tongue, fighting the smug smile that threatened to tug at his lips. The man wasn’t important? Good, he didn’t want to play nice anyway. Toji’s eyes didn’t leave you. 

Fuck. He didn’t think you could get hotter. But you were hell bent on proving him wrong weren’t you? 

The confident, uninterested attitude of your that pissed everyone off was such a fucking turn on. Why the hell were you so hot? 

Your eyes met Toji’s heated look. Your eyes rovered down his body, sending pleasant shivers down his spine. “My sugar baby.” You added on as an afterthought. 

He hated you. You knew exactly what you were doing to him. That confident smug gleam in your eyes. You sipped your wine with a smug smile. 

Damn you. You had fucked him before coming here. So why was he getting horny again? He got less boners as a teenager during puberty. 

“Then do you mind if I have a taste? What’s a bit of sharing between business partners?” The man’s slimy voice cut between the tension. 

Your smile disappeared in a flash. Before he could react, you had an arm around his waist. A possessive hand pulling him to you. Half his body pressed against your warmth.

“He’s not a toy.” You half snarled the polite facade in your face slipping. Your arm wrapped around Toji’s waist, a possessive gesture. 

Toji’s mind short circuited at the firm possessive touch. All he could hear was his heart thumping in his chest, and feel your firm muscles against his. Your fingers felt like a brand, marking him, claiming him as yours. 

He knew he was yours. But this just cemented it. It wasn’t something that had been there but never acknowledged anymore. It was real. He was yours. And you were his. 

He barely remembered anything past the man paleing at the thunderous look on your face. Stuttering half apologies even as his face burned with embarrassment and anger. Leaving as soon as possible. 

Toji didn’t give a fuck about him anymore. 

The innocent touch of your hand on his waist, made heat pool in his stomach. Your gesture was possessive, and demanding. He loved it. 

Despite the fact that he could have easily defended himself, or even killed that scumbag, this was better. You defending him with possessive anger burning in your eyes. A scowl on your lips as you protect him. This was so much better. 

He didn’t even notice when you led him out the hall. Only when your eyes met his, did he kiss you. Pushing you up against the wall, body grinding against yours. 

His lips pressed against yours, hungry for more. You easily took back control, after your initial surprise. Kissing back ruthlessly, plundering Toji’s mouth. Fucking his mouth with your tongue. 

He pulled away panting softly, and leaned his body against yours. The hard line of his erection pressing against your thighs. He resisted the urge to grind against you. 

You recovered quickly, a sadistic smile spreading on your lips. “Hard from a kiss, baby?” You cooed, your hand moving to cup his clothed cock. Your thumb flicked the head of his cock. The movement had him moaning, expensive fabric rubbing against his sensitive head in delicious ecstasy 

“It’s your fault.” He whined, shifting his body to hump your thigh, more dog in heat than an experienced killer. Need burned in his body like a drug. He wanted you. Wanted your cock in his hole, taking what was yours. Making him yours inside and out. 

“What a needy slut.” Your eyes were dark, all consuming. He wanted you so fucking bad. He humped against your thigh, pants falling for his kiss swollen lips. “Need to be fucked that bad?”

“Yes,” he practically whined. The thought of your cock had him salivating. His hips rolling against yours. You didn’t even look bothered, the dark look in your eyes only gave it away. 

“My needy cock whore,” you cooed lowly, your tone anything but sweet. “Don’t worry, daddy will fuck you good.” The nickname and the way your fingers squeezed his ass, had him melting into your arms like putty. 

“Mhmm yes please.”

…

“Who was that guy anyway?” He asked suddenly, a few days after the gala. You looked over at him, your fingers paused typing. All your attention on him, he almost wanted to change the topic, just so your focus stayed on him.  

A live horse race played on the tv. Like a typical day, you spent your time working near him, like the possessive asshole you were.

“What guy?” 

“That asshole who tried to hit on me.” He said vaguely unsure how to describe him. All he could remember was getting fucking into the sheets. Your voice muttering praises into his ear each time you started a new round. 

“Him? Don’t worry about it. I got rid of him.” You said turning back to typing on your computer. He blinked at you incedulously. That was it?

You got rid of him? 

“What,” his throat felt dry, he licked his lips. “Did you do?” He didn’t even know what he was expecting to hear. 

You didn’t even look away from your laptop to answer. “Exposed a few scandals and destroyed his company. His reputation and business are gone now.” You retorted coldly, working on your laptop.

He blinked at you, dazed, bewildered by your words. He knew you were cruel. The words tycoon most commonly used with you. You had to be cruel to make it to the top at such a young age. He knew that too. But it felt different experiencing it firsthand. You’d destroyed someone’s business and reputation for him.

He didn’t want to bring up that he could take care of himself. That he was the sorcerer killer. A weak human was nothing to him. He’d been taunted all his life for being the black sheep of the Zen’in family. For running away. For all the money he lost gambling. 

But you were different. You were a bastard. He knew that. You’d humiliate him. Push his body to the limit. But you’d also caress his cheeks and praise him. He was yours and you found nothing wrong with him. You were an oddity he didn’t mind.

He tugged your computer away from you. You let him, looking a bit bemused. He gently placed it on the table and straddled your thighs, his knees on either side of you.

His hard cock pressed against yours. You looked up at him with a raised brow. Your hands wrapped around his waist, rubbing circles. He grinded down on your cock, making your breath hitch, eyes darkening with lust. 

“Toji? What are you doing?” You asked huskily. Your hands encouraged his hips as he grinded down. Your cock rapidly growing harder. 

“Nothing,” he replied mischievously. His hands ran up his thigh, and disappeared under his shirt. Under your hungry gaze he played with his chest. Moaning when he pinched his dusty pink nipple, the pain mixed with pleasure.

“Yeah? How about I give you something to do then baby?” you muttered huskily. Your hands held his hips as you smirked. “Why don’t you suck my cock, baby?” 

His grinding nearly stopped if it wasn’t for your hands moving his hips, in slow circles. His cheeks flushed pink in embarrassment. 

Suck your dick? He’d never done that before. But he couldn't help but want it. The idea made him harder. 

You could see his reluctance and palmed his clothed cock. “Be a good boy, Toji and suck me off.” He flushed darker, at your blunt words. His cock strained against his flimy pants, pre-cum smeared onto it. 

He nodded weakly. There wasn’t any chance he’d refuse anyway. He was weak for you.

…

“I can’t,” he sobbed, around your cock. The sound sent bolts of pleasure. Red marks on your thighs, where your baby dug his fingers in too hard. The pain barely registered to you. Not when the pleasure was so strong. 

You held back a smirk and frowned. “Already baby? I haven’t even cum yet.” Toji let out another frustrated sob. The sound reverberated through you making you bite back a groan.

“Please please ple’se can’t,” he begged, rubbing his cheek against your cock like a puppy. Like it would make you give in. You wouldn’t say it’s Toji’s fault for not making you cum. That was all you. Making him take a dildo as he sucked you off. You conveniently forget to tell it was also a vibrator. He’d came immediately when the vibrations started. And again when you increased it. 

The view didn’t help you. Fat pecs bouncing with each movement, trembling thighs parted lewdly, showing off his useless cock. His own cum staining his thighs messily. You had half a mind to turn him around so you can see the way his hole took the toy. 

But then you’d miss the dumb slutty look on his face. The fucked dumb look on your baby’s face. Cheeks flushed red, tears clinging to his lashes too stubborn to fall, lips bitten red and swollen, expression scrunched in pleasure and overstimulation. 

His pretty lips stretched obscenely around your cock. Messily sucking your dick, licking it like a pathetic kitten. The sight of his face could make you cum but you were holding out. After all, you had a goal in mind. 

“Come on Toji. You’re really going to leave me hanging?” You usually never called him by his name during sex. Your baby caught on. His hands clenched tighter and he tried to please you. Messy and sloppy. You loved it. 

“Ple’se t’rn it off,” he pleaded looking at you with desperate tear filled eyes. It just made you want to shove your cock back into his mouth and fuck his throat till his voice was hoarse. 

“Make me cum first, baby.” You replied like that other times he asked. He let out a choked sob, body trembling when you turned up the vibrations. Desperate and wreaked was the best look on your baby. 

“That needy, baby?” You can see the conflict in his eyes, all his previous confidence thrown out. Only a hazy of need and wanting to please in his eyes. He nodded lips around the head of your cock. 

“I’m going to fuck your throat then baby. Can you take it for me like a good slut?” He shivered from your words and nodded quickly. Opening his mouth obediently. 

You smirked. “Use your words baby.” He flashed a pretty red. 

“Ple’se, fuck my throat,” he pleaded weakly voice a bit hoarse. 

“As you wish, baby.” You smirked, your hands holding his hair a bit roughly. He barely winched, his cock twitching with interest. 

You had to hold back a grin as you pressed your cock into your baby’s mouth. He didn’t even gag. The perfect cock slut. You let out a groan and started to face fuck him. 

Toji barely protested, his moans sending heat pooling. Within minutes you finished onto your baby’s tongue. Toji obediently swallowed it. Hazy adoring eyes meeting yours, begging for praise. 

You chuckled and wiped your cum off his lips. “Good boy.” Your perfect baby. 

[jaredpadonlyyyy]

𝙄 𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀 𝙔𝙊𝙐, 𝙄𝙈 𝙎𝙊𝙍𝙍𝙔

• 𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙏, 𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙏𝙏𝙔, 𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙏

• 𝙈𝙄𝙉𝙊𝙍𝙎 𝘿𝙉𝙄 𝙄 𝙒𝙄𝙇𝙇 𝘽𝙇𝙊𝘾𝙆 𝙔𝙊𝙐

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜: 𝙐𝙉𝙋𝙍𝙊𝙏𝙀𝘾𝙏𝙀𝘿 𝙎𝙀𝙓 (𝘞𝘳𝘢𝘱 𝘪𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴) 𝘿𝙄𝙍𝙏𝙔 𝙏𝘼𝙇𝙆, 𝙁𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙀𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂, 𝘾𝙍𝙀𝘼𝙈𝙋𝙄𝙀, 𝘾𝙃𝙊𝘾𝙆𝙄𝙉𝙂, 𝙈𝘼𝙇𝙀 𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝘽𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉, 𝘿𝙊𝙂𝙂𝙔 𝙎𝙏𝙔𝙇𝙀, 𝙊𝙑𝙀𝙍𝙎𝙏𝙄𝙈𝙐𝙇𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉, 𝙎𝙌𝙐𝙄𝙍𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂.

You walked up the stairs to your boyfriend’s room as his father had let you in. You and Rafe have been together since before he graduated high school and you were a junior. Now you were a senior and he had come back from school with no plans but drugs in his future. You opened the door to his room to find him in the middle of about to sniff a line off his desk. Your jaw clenched as he looked at you. “What are you doing here?” He asked you as he stood up from his chair leaving the cocaine behind. “How could you?” You asked him as he walked over to you. “How could I what?” He asked as he narrowed his eyes at yours. You’re not gonna lie and say you didn’t do drugs as well, but you knew when it was the good time to do it and when not to do it. “Did you forget something?” You asked the Cameron man. He looked at you as he tried to think what he was forgetting and then his expression fell. “Oh, god, I’m so sorry I forgot.” He said. “Yeah, clearly.” You said as you look behind him.

“Rafe, baby, what’s going on?” You asked him as you walked closer to him. He shook his head as he looked away. You could see the turmoil that was going through his head. Something happened and it was fucking with his head. You walked over to him and placed both of your hands on both sides of his face, making him look up at you. “Babe, what’s going on?” You asked him softly as his blue eyes watered as he looked into your own eyes. “You don’t love me anymore?” He asked you and you frowned as you look at him. “What? Where is this coming from?” You asked him as a tear fell down his ocean blue eyes.

He just shrugged as he took your hands away from his face as he turned around. “Rafe, what’s going on?” You asked him as you started to worry about him. “I-I’m not good enough for you.” He said softly. You looked at your boyfriend confused as to why was he thinking the way he is. So, she walked over to him putting both of her hands on his head to making him look at her. “I love you, Rafe, you, the imperfect, I never want you to change for me, baby, I love you, the way you are.” She softly said as his watery cobalt eyes looked into yours. “I love you, Rafe don’t ever forget that.” She leaned down and kissed him softly on his lips. The Cameron boy sighs as he didn’t even hesitate to kiss her back, hugging her from her waist.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered against her stomach as she runs her fingers through his hair. “It’s okay, baby, I got you.” You whispered, glaring at the wall knowing who must’ve been the one to put things into his head in the first place. Ward always hated her and her family. They never got alone and he hated that his son was dating his enemies daughter and she actually did love him. He always try’s to mess with Rafe’s head, telling her that he’s worthless and that he’s not good enough to have such a rich girlfriend.

Her parents loved Ward’s children, but they hated him and they hated Rose. Rafe pulled you on to his lap as the kiss started to get heated, passionate but heated. And you wanted to take his mind off him trying to prove to his father he’s worthy. So you reached to the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head tossing it to the side and he did the same thing with you, except you were wearing a dress, leaving you in only a pink thong. His mouth immediately attracted onto your nipples making you moan as you threw your head back, grinding your hips to get some kind of friction, moaning as you felt him get hard.

Rafe made you lean back as he let his eyes wonder your body, his hands running down your body as your eyes closed enjoying the feeling of him praising your body. “So beautiful, so perfect.” He whispered as he got to your pink thong, moving it to the side as his finger grazed your folds, before he entered his pointer finger inside your pussy making you gasp as he looked at you. You didn’t care about Rafe used your body, as long as his mind wasn’t anywhere else.

Rafe entered his middle finger inside of you and he started to pump them in and out of you, with his other hand he unzipped his pants, pulling them down with his boxer shorts making his dick spring up as he started to pump himself as he kept on fingering your pussy. “Fuck, Rafe.” You moaned as you grips your sheets hard, as your legs lifted up shaking as you felt your orgasm come quicker than you expected, the way he was just jerking off by watching you, was a major turn on for you, you were loving every moment of it. With the curl of his fingers you gasped as he grazed your sweet spot making you let out a loudly scream as your walls fluttered, your orgasm getting on his fingers. “Rafe! Rafe! Fuck!” Your body shook.

Letting go of his dick, Rafe kept on fingering you as his other hand played with your clit, making you stop breathing as it was becoming way too much for you to handle. Your toes curled as your body violently spasms as you felt your second orgasm approach.

“You like that? Huh?” He asked, but you couldn’t answer him. So he slapped your pussy and that’s what threw your over the edge, making your eyes roll to the back of your head as you held onto his wrist rolling your hips as you finally let yourself breathe as you moaned over and over and over again, and he still kept on going. “R-Rafe! I-I can’t.” You said gasping for air as your body jerked around but his arm kept you in place. “One last time, baby.” He said.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, ooh fuuu—.” You gasped so loud as Rafe took out his fingers playing with your clit as you squirted, your vision going dark for a moment as you soaked your bed. Slumping on your bed opening your eyes. You looked up at the ceiling breathing hard as your body still kind of twitched from the feeling.

“Damn, that was seriously hot.” Rafe said making you look over at him. “That was amazing.” You giggled at him. “Yeah?” He said smiling and you nodded as you smiled back at him. “Get on all fours.” He told you and you didn’t hesitate to listen to the Cameron man.

Once you were on all fours. He pushed your head down on the bed, getting in between your legs as he slaps your ass a few times, getting a handful of it as well. With that he lines himself up at your entrance and slowly enters, getting a moan out of both of you.

Once he bottomed out he began to slowly thrust as your moans started softly along with his grunts. “Fuck, so good.” He whispered as he gripped your sides, the head of his dick hitting your spot over and over again, making you see stars. Rafe just watched as his cock disappears inside of you, his hand went over pulling you up from your hair as he started to pick up his pace. “I’m gonna fill you up.” He said into your ear as your head leans back against his shoulder

The only thing being heard inside the room was the moans of the couple, the way the skin clapped as Rafe fucked her hard. How his hand had reached for her throat chocking her, but not to the point of her passing out. She was loving every second of what was going on. The way his thrusting was becoming more intense, he was most likely taking his anger out on fucking you, but you didn’t mind one bit of it at all.

If anything you were encouraging him to be harsher and he didn’t hesitate as his nails dig into the soft skin of your hips. The way he was gripping them as he just slammed into your walls. With that Rafe pulls you up again as you orgasmed all over his dick. His hand around your neck as he lets out one final grunt his cock twitching as he filled you up with his cum.

After you were both done, both of you ended up in the shower, you on your knees as you bobbed your head, making him groan, moan, grunt and that’s how you both spent your night. Fucking and caressing each other’s bodies until the next morning came.

ENJOY! 😏🫶🏻

[moralesluvr]

FABLE AND TRUTH 6 | billie eilish

୧ ‧₊˚ love was the law & religion was taught…. ↳ summary: you had always been raised on being poise, feminine, classy. but what was most important to your family was your religion— and it had embroidered itself into your daily life. but when it’s time to pick between feelings and faith, which will you choose? pairings & aus. billie eilish x fem!reader warnings. religious backgrounds & guilt | mature language | sexual content | substance use author's note. back to my regularly scheduled programming…trying to upload everyday. i’m so excited about this series and what’s in store; enjoy !! wc. 12k

✧ 4:26 am, thursday ✧

billie’s pacing felt like an endless, drunken mess, the soft padding of her socked feet on the hardwood floor the only sound filling her quiet bedroom. every step was wobbly, uneven, the thuds of harder steps sinking into the floor. her phone sat on the edge of her desk, lit up and buzzing as her thumb hovered over the call button, swaying, like even it didn’t know what it wanted. 

her chest was tight, like she couldn’t get a full breath no matter how hard she tried. 

“god, this is so stupid,” she slurred, a bitter laugh bubbling up and spilling out, “so fucking stupid.” her voice cracked halfway through, and her giggles fizzled out into silence.

she ran a hand through her hair, tugging at the ends as if the dull ache in her scalp could distract her from the mess inside her head. the fight played on a loop in her mind, the words that you had thrown at her cutting deeper each time she replayed them. i don’t want you. at all.

“fuck,” she muttered under her breath, stopping mid-step and leaning against her desk. her fingers curled around the edge, gripping it tight enough to make her knuckles bleed white. she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to will the memory away, but it was no use.

because the thing was— she did know you. at least, she thought she did. she knew how your hands trembled when you were nervous, how your eyes darted around the room when you were thinking too hard about something, how you bit your lip when you were holding back words that you weren’t ready to say.

but now? now, billie wasn’t so sure anymore. had she been wrong about you? had she pushed too hard? maybe you were right— maybe billie didn’t know you the way she thought she did. and that realization was almost worse than the fight itself.

she tried to really think through how you were feeling, but everything was so unclear. you go out with her, kiss her, and then run off like nothing happened? she tried to hear you out, but things weren’t making sense. she felt like you were projecting, like there was something else underlying your irrationality, but she couldn’t pinpoint it. 

oh, how sorry she felt. billie felt like she had did you wrong, like she should’ve been more careful, more understanding. but she knew that she couldn’t change what she did, what was said— it was all too late now.

she really liked you, if that wasn’t obvious enough. but given the way you placed your faith above anything else, the way that you carried yourself, she knew that deep down, you could never be interested in someone like her. and she couldn't blame you, she just didn’t fit into your lifestyle. 

she didn’t mean to make you feel like she was wrecking your morals, but she couldn’t stop herself. her crush blossomed when you two talked, and even more when you didn’t. because then, her imagination could roam. she could think of a world where she belonged in yours, where you two were absolutely inseparable. she could pretty much ponder about whatever she wanted, and if she thought long and hard enough, she could convince herself it was real. 

she had only met you shy of a week ago, and that was the bad part. usually, billie was more stoic, careful with what she said and did. she couldn’t let herself fall to easily, but it was like she was starstruck by you. 

and she hated it. 

she hated that everytime she got around you, she couldn’t get that stupid grin off of her face. she hated that when you touched her, even if it was on accident, her skin would light up, identical to the way her eyes did when she looked at you. she hated that your opinion was the only thing that mattered to her— but most of all, she hated how much she didn’t hate you.

because, in reality, she should. you hated her back, and that should’ve been a good enough reason for her to hate you, right? 

wrong. 

she wanted to chase after you, no matter how many times you’ve told her to stop, to let you go, pushing her away. she was drawn to you no matter what you did to her, and that’s what billie despised. whatever you did, said, however you acted— it was never enough to get her to stop. 

but a little sliver of her understood. she knew deep down that it was just how you were— a faithful Christian and a girl who hardly believed, how was that going to work?

it was just the principle, she thought. it was just how things were going to be. but at the same time, she wished you would at least try. try to let her in— she wouldn’t hurt you, and she was certain that you knew that. you just weren’t brave enough to give it a try. 

and then, she was angry. 

angry at how you stormed off, after you were the one to kiss her. she was angry at how you pretended like everything between you was just friendship, but billie saw the way you looked at her when you thought she didn’t notice. yeah, she saw that. 

she saw everything. and it made her even more upset, because how could you just walk away, after everything that had happened?

billie chewed on the inside of her cheek, her gaze flicking to the phone again. her stomach twisted at the thought of pressing that button, of hearing your voice again, of maybe making things worse. but she had to try. she couldn’t let it end like this, not after everything. it was too easy to give up, and she wouldn’t have it. she needed to make things right.

just call her, she told herself, but her fingers wouldn’t move. her head was loud, so loud, her thoughts a jumbled mess of regret and anger and confusion. she needed answers, needed to understand why things had unraveled so fast, why you had kissed her and then pushed her away so violently, all in the same breath.

and, if she was being honest with herself, she needed to know if there was still something left between you two. if the thread that had always connected you hadn’t completely snapped, if there was something worth saving. 

billie took a deep, shaky breath and reached for her phone. her eyes hovered over your profile picture, your pretty smile illuminating her screen. she almost broke at that, and she shook her shoulders to try and shake it, her thumb hovering over the call button for a second that felt like an eternity. then, with a quiet exhale, she pressed it.

she held the phone to her ear, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure it would drown out the ringing. once, twice, three times— it felt endless. and just as she was about to lose her nerve and hang up, the call connected.

“…hello?”

your voice was soft, hesitant, and billie’s breath caught in her throat. she clenched her jaw, trying to steady herself, but the cracking in her hushed breathing gave her away. she could feel the tension on the other side of the line, and she almost spoke to break it, but then she heard a voice. 

“no, dude— hang up!”

“shit.” was all she heard you say before the line went dead. 

billie almost lost her mind at that, and she threw her phone harshly onto her bed, cursing underneath her breath. it didn’t take a genius to know who was talking in the background, obviously it was emma. 

so your friends hated her, too? what else was new? 

she sat down on the edge of her bed, her hands dragging through her hair, fingers curling at the roots. the sting in her scalp didn’t compare to the tightness in her chest, like her ribs were caving in on her lungs. her jaw ticked, her gaze locked on the phone lying motionless on the bed. it just sat there, mocking her, your contact still opened. 

“unbelievable,” she muttered, the word heavy with frustration. her mind wouldn’t stop replaying it— emma’s sharp voice, that venom-laced “hang up.”

of course, it was emma. always hovering, always protective, like some unspoken barrier between you and everyone else. billie got it— she really did. emma was just looking out for you. but that didn’t make it any less maddening. it didn’t make the rejection hurt any less.  

her knee started bouncing as she leaned forward, her elbows on her thighs, her head in her hands. every second of that call was burned into her mind, every pause, every breath, every muffled sound from your end.  

why? why couldn’t you just talk to her? why did you have to listen to emma, let her speak for you like you didn’t have your own mind?  

but then, in the quiet of her room, another thought crept in, unwelcome and sharp. maybe you don’t want to talk to her. maybe you really mean it when you say you don’t want her.

the thought twisted in her gut, and she stood up abruptly, pacing the room again like it would help, but it really didn’t. nothing did. the same questions looped in her head, over and over, no answers in sight.  

she wanted to be mad at you, to hold onto the anger, but it didn’t stick. because she knew. she knew how you looked at her when you thought she wasn’t paying attention, she knew the way your voice got quieter, softer, when it was just the two of you. she knew the way your lips lingered just a second too long when you kissed her.  

and maybe that’s why it hurt so much. because she couldn’t be making all of that up. could she? could she really be the only one who was feeling like this? was everything unrequited, or were you just afraid? 

billie eventually stopped pacing, only because her legs were aching from doing so. her hands found themselves on her hips, her eyes fixed on her phone like it might come alive and give her the answers she was too afraid to ask for. but all it did was sit there, silent, just like you.  

“why’d you kiss me if you didn’t want me?” she mumbled, her words thick, slurred. her voice cracked again, and she let out a shaky breath, “why’d you—” she started, but she couldn’t finish. her throat tightened, and she felt the tears spill over, hot against her flushed cheeks.

billie found herself sinking onto the floor, curled up in her own frame, trying to keep her emotions at bay and her swirling mind at rest. but she was too tired of thinking, too tired to try and make things seem rational. she was over it, over everything.

she thinks back to the night that she first met you, though everything’s kind of choppy. she thinks about when she told you that she didn’t really believe in getting drunk to solve your problems, or to pretend that things were better then they seem. but now, it seems like those morals aren’t as strong as they were. 

she fumbled for the bottle of tequila she’d left on the floor, her fingers slipping a few times before she managed to grab it. the glass was almost empty, but she tipped it back anyway, the last dregs burning slightly as they slid down her throat.

“god, i’m such a fucking mess,” she said to no one, her giggles bitter and hollow. she wiped at her face with the sleeve of her hoodie, but it didn’t help much, because tears still streamed down her cheeks.

you were all she could think about. you, with your stupid soft voice and your stupid pretty face and your stupid everything. it wasn’t fair. it wasn’t fair that you got to live rent-free in her head while she was falling apart over you.

her phone buzzed again, and her head snapped toward it, her heart lurching in her chest. she scrambled to grab it, almost dropping it in her drunken haste. but when she saw the screen, her stomach sank. it wasn’t you. of course it wasn’t.

“why won’t you just talk to me?” she asked aloud, though you weren’t there to hear it. her voice cracking again, “why won’t you just tell me how you feel?”

sobs shoot through her body, and she’s sure this is the hardest she’s ever cried before. but she couldn’t help it. with the help of the alcohol that was coursing through her veins, plus the confusion and the fight, it was all she could do. 

she cries until her eyes are too tired to form more tears. she cries until her eyes are drained and her throat is scratchy, and she finally sits up, her back slumped against the wall.

her chest heaved with each deep breath that she took, her hands trembling as she gripped the phone like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. the screen dimmed, and she stared at your name, willing it to light up with a call, a message— anything. but it didn’t. it stayed still, cold and indifferent, mocking her desperation.

“what the hell is wrong with you?” she muttered, her words slurred. she wasn’t sure if she was talking to herself or to you anymore, to be honest.

“why do you— why do you get to walk away like that? like you didn’t…like you didn’t kiss me first. so fuckin’ rude.”

her grip on the phone tightened, her jaw clenching as her tears dried, replaced by something hotter, angrier. she pushed herself off the floor, stumbling slightly as she paced the room again. her head was spinning, from the alcohol and the heartbreak, but her anger was sharp and steady, a beacon in her haze.

“you kissed me,” she said aloud, her voice louder now, more forceful, “you kissed me, and then you acted like— like it didn’t mean anything. like i didn’t mean anything.”

her fists curled at her sides, and she kicked the edge of her desk in frustration, wincing as the sharp pain shot through her foot. but it didn’t stop her, it didn’t even slow her down. she kept pacing, “you’re so fucking unfair,” she hissed, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. “you—ugh!”

she turned to her bed, grabbing the nearest pillow and throwing it across the room with all the strength she could muster. it hit the wall with a dull thud, but it didn’t satisfy her, didn’t even come close. 

“why are you like this?” she yelled, though careful not to wake any of her neighbors up. her voice cracks again, “why do you get to mess with my head, make me feel like…like i’m not enough?”

her knees wobbled, and she sank onto the sheets of her bed, her hands burying in her hair. the anger drained as quickly as it had come, leaving her exhausted, empty. her thoughts spiraled, looping back to you, always to you. the fight, the kiss, the way your voice had trembled when you said her name.

and then— quickly, her mind wandered, unbidden, to the bar. to the way your lips had curled when you threw that sharp, biting remark at her. to the way your eyes burned with frustration, your voice rising in a way she’d never heard before. and— god, the way you had sworn at her, the first time you’d ever done that. it shouldn’t have made her feel the way it did, but nevertheless, it did. she hated how hot it was, how the word rolled off your tongue like a challenge, like a dare.

“billie, would you just shut the fuck up?”

yeah, she was whipped.

billie groaned, her hands dragging down her face as she pulled her navy blue covers over her frame. the ceiling spun above her, and she fluttered her eyes closed, but that didn’t really help. all she could see was you. your lips, your eyes, the way your hand had brushed hers whenever she was patching you up in her car. it had been such an innocent touch, but it had set her skin on fire, left her wanting more.

she cursed under her breath, her mind betraying her as it conjured up images of you. not the angry, distant version of you from the fight, but the softer, quieter version. the one who laughed at her dumb jokes, her teasing nicknames, it was all you. you who leaned closer than necessary when you spoke, who looked at her like she was the only person in the room, which always made her feel better, way warmer, even if your intentions were innocent. she thought about the version of you who kissed her like you meant it, like you wanted her as much as she wanted you.

her breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest as her thoughts grew more vivid, more dangerous. she could still feel the ghost of your lips on hers, the way your fingers had curled into her jacket like you didn’t want to let go. she wanted to believe that version of you was real, that it wasn’t just a figment of her drunk, desperate imagination.

“shit,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she threw an arm over her face, trying to block out the images, the feelings, but it was no use. they kept crawling back into her conscience, no matter how hard she tried to kick them out. you were everywhere, in every thought, every breath, every beat of her pounding heart.

she hated how much she wanted you. hated how, even now, after everything, she couldn’t stop craving your touch, your voice, your laugh. hated how her body betrayed her, how the memory of you swearing at her sent a shiver down her spine, made her stomach twist in that familiar, dangerous way. it made her whole body set ablaze, tingles and rushes of adrenaline tangled within her nerves.

billie’s arm slid off her face slow and choppy as she let out a long, frustrated sigh, staring blankly at the ceiling that made her eyes spin. her thoughts were a mess, tangling and then untangling, looping back to the way your voice sounded— sharp, angry, and utterly captivating. she hated herself for it, for how much she liked the way you challenged her, even when it hurt her. 

she shouldn’t like it this much.

you were always so calm, so composed, so measured in everything you did. but at the bar, you were raw and unfiltered. the way your lips had pressed into a thin line, the way your eyes blazed with frustration— it wasn’t something she’d ever seen from you before, and gosh, it did something to her. it was like you had cracked open, showing her a side of you that no one else got to see.

“get it together,” billie muttered to herself, running a hand through her hair. but it was useless. her mind was already spiraling, drawn back to the memory of you leaning over the table, your voice low and heated as you argued with her. there was a fire in your eyes, a passion she hadn’t expected, and it had set something alight in her, too.

and that kiss. man, that kiss. she could still feel it, the way your lips had pressed against hers, hesitant at first but quickly growing bolder. it wasn’t soft or sweet— it was urgent, messy, like you were trying to pour everything you felt into it. like you were saying all the things you couldn’t put into words.

billie groaned, turning on her side as heat crept up her neck. she was drunk, sure, but even she couldn’t blame the alcohol for the way her thoughts lingered on you. on the way your hands had trembled slightly when you kissed her, the way your breath had hitched when she pulled you closer.

she couldn’t blame the alcohol, because this wasn’t the first time she had these thoughts. 

her chest ached with memory, a mixture of longing and regret swirling inside her. she wanted to be angry, to stay mad at you for storming off, for listening to emma, for acting like she didn’t matter to you. but she couldn’t. because deep down, she knew that wasn’t the whole truth. she knew there was more to it, more to you.

maybe that’s what scared her the most. not that you didn’t care about her, but that you did— and that you were too afraid to let yourself feel it.

“you’re such an idiot,” she whispered out, though she wasn’t sure if she was talking about you or herself. maybe both.

her cheeks flushed, a baby pink hue finding its way onto her cheeks, playing on her features like some sick game. she was way past embarrassed, but she was alone, and it didn’t seem as bad as it really was. 

without thinking, billie sank deeper within the cushioning of her bed, her fingers grazing over the hem of her gingham shorts, her breath hitching. she stopped for a second, trying to think hard about what she was doing, but the alcohol forbade her from staying on track.

eventually, her mind couldn’t help but wander, identical to the way her fingers ventured down her thighs, grazing them with her fingertips in a slow, vertical fashion, until she made it back to the scrunched waistband. and with swift movements, she slid her shorts off of her legs, pushing them through the covers until they found themselves on the floor.

billie took her sweet time, at first, just toying with the outer corners of her lacy black panties, pulling at the semi-circle flowers on the ends. she closed her eyes, letting herself drown in all the events of the night, the heated flirting, the way you had kissed her so passionately in the passenger seat.

she shouldn’t be thinking about you like this, not after everything. not after the way you walked out, leaving her standing in the middle of that bar, a mess of confusion and longing. but deep down, she couldn’t let go. she liked the fuel, like a moth to a flame, she was drawn to you. she couldn’t help herself. 

she couldn’t help the way her hands moved to slide her underwear down to her ankles, kicking the article of clothing off and down to the floor, along with her discarded shorts. a sudden rush of cool air made her let out a small gasp, the breath low and sultry as she pulled the covers closer.

she wouldn’t ever admit it out loud, but billie was always easier to turn on when she was drunk. and with recent events, it wasn’t helping the heat that was burning in her lower abdomen. 

she traced a finger over her sensitive core, and then adding another, before pushing her slit open slowly, webs of wetness latching onto her fingertips as she let out a cool, choppy moan. 

this was awful, so very wrong— to touch herself while thinking about you, especially now. but you didn’t have to know, no one did, and that’s the logic she used to satisfy her greed, her hunger for you, her constant need to see you, touch you. 

billie spread her legs as she slipped her fingers inside of her warm cunt, the digits stretching out her walls sweetly as her thumb latched onto her clit, rubbing tight and firm circles against it. every thought of your pretty face, of your tooth-aching sweet smile, your precious eyes— that was what fueled her to keep touching herself, to feel those ground-breaking tingles against her exposed skin. 

she bit her lip, her hips bucking underneath her satin sheets as her fingers thrusted quicker into her pussy, though her movements were choppy and uneven— it still felt good. she kept thinking about you, unashamed now, your face etched into her memory as she fought to keep her moans at bay. 

she thanked the heavens that she didn’t have a roommate.

beads of sweat formed onto billie’s back as her head sinks into her pillow, little whimpers passing through her reddened, plump lips, her movements quickening as she felt a tight knot from in her stomach. images of you flashed against her mind, like gasoline to a fire, stoking up the adrenaline that was entangled in her veins. her fingertips curl and graze against her sweet spot, angelic moans falling thin and weak in the air as she moaned out, little syllables of your name rolling off of your tongue. 

it was so bad, but it felt so good. she was needy, eager, and that was obvious in the way that her hips lifted off of her covers, her hands sliding in and out of her wet pussy, her eyes fluttering closed as she felt her orgasm crash over her like a warm wave. she panted heavily, her movements slowing down, along with her breaths.

billie placed her back against the sheets and let out a long, unsteady breath, her eyes finding themselves at the thought of what she just did. but she’s too drunk and too exhausted to care, and she figures that she’ll deal with the repercussions tomorrow. so she flips onto her side, pulls the covers over her, and falls asleep.

✧ 11:05 am, saturday ✧

the dorm was alive with energy, the kind that only comes on a lazy saturday morning when no one’s in a rush to be anywhere. sunlight streamed in through the half-open blinds, casting soft patterns on the carpeted floors as the group sprawled out in various spots around emma’s and your small room. naomi was perched cross-legged on your desk chair, spinning lazily while scrolling through her phone, one earbud in. jules was on the floor, back against the bedframe, fiddling with the frayed edges of her ripped jeans while flipping through some fashion magazine. oliver had claimed the beanbag in the corner, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he leaned back, relaxed. and emma— well, emma was laying half asleep underneath your covers, waking every once in a while when someone would say something funny, and then she’d lay back down.

you sat on your bed, legs tucked underneath you, careful not to disturb emma. your hands clasped around a warm mug of tea, a small comfort, the heat grounding you as your thoughts buzzed louder than the conversation around you. everyone was talking about their plans for the day— emma wanted to hit the library for an upcoming paper, oliver was trying to convince naomi to come with him to a record store downtown, and jules was debating between joining them or staying behind to binge a new show. after individual plans, though, jules insisted that you all hang out and go roller skating, something that the five of you liked to do pretty often. 

“you’re quiet this morning,” naomi said, her voice cutting through the noise as she turned her gaze toward you.

your head snapped up, startled, and you forced a small smile, “i didn’t sleep well at all. just exhausted.”

it wasn’t a lie, you truly hadn’t slept well at all. after the bar fight with billie just shy of three days ago, you weren’t really feeling all that great. you hadn’t talked to her since, and it was both a relief and extremely nauseating. 

you missed her, deep down. but you knew it was an absolutely horrible idea to reach out, and start this sickening process all over again. you were making small but victorious progress, and you really didn’t want to take any chances at ruining that. 

after the fight, you woke up with a headache that made you feel like your forehead was going to split wide open. you threw up twice, your throat burning as you had finally wiped your lips, standing above the toilet and flushing it. emma had held your hair back for you, giving you tips on how to never throw up when hungover, at least for a lightweight like you. but if you were being honest, it didn’t really interest you to get drunk ever again. 

you had prayed and did Bible study for what felt like an eternity. you didn’t hear God speak, but you figured it was because you had strayed off your path, so the fault settled on you. but you wrote in your notebook diligently, said your prayers thoughtfully, and skimmed the pages of your devotionals carefully. in due time, no matter what was going on, you were sure He would answer.

you even called loretta, as you had missed one of your calls when you fell asleep. she was just calling to check in, and she could tell even through the phone that you were doing at least a little better. 

you had to admit, you were proud of yourself for getting back on your feet. or, so it seemed.

it appeared to everyone else like you had somehow become completely fine. and you had, for a solid…five minutes. but, of course, all the doubts and ‘what-ifs’ began to creep back in. 

you weren’t sleeping well at all, which was the first issue. you’d stay up glued to your studies or scrolling on pinterest until your eyes were burning and your skin was sweating from the constant tossing and turning. and when you finally would fall asleep, you’d wake up with headaches or your limbs tense and unstretched. 

you didn’t have the slightest bit of energy to do anything, either. you were doing just enough to keep A’s in all your classes, neglecting most of the extra work that your teachers assigned, only taking the extra mile when absolutely needed. 

but you were masking it well. you took small victories when you could, although, you felt a little empty. you were tighter with your friends, hanging out almost everyday, mainly as a healthy distraction. but sometimes, all you really wanted, was billie. 

you fought tooth and nail not to pick up your phone and call her. to spill every detail of your life out to her, to update her on how things were, even if they weren’t good. it was killing you that you couldn’t speak to her, even if it was a decision that you had made. 

you didn’t like that you had the upper hand in this situation. you wished that it had fell back on billie, because although it was selfish, you really wished that you could have one less thing on your plate. deep down, you honestly wished that you had never met her at all. 

you were doing fine until she came into the picture. though you knew she didn’t mean you any harm, you were picking up the pieces that she caused to crumble, making you spiral and act irrational, something you would’ve never thought about doing in the past.

but it wasn’t all her fault, you couldn’t put the blame on her. you were there too, and you had to take ownership of that, even though it was hard. 

jules and naomi had raised an eyebrow at your statement like they didn’t quite believe you, but they didn’t press. instead, the both turned her attention back to oliver, who was now trying to win the both of them over with promises of coffee and pastries in order to go record shopping with him.

you tried to focus on their loud, happy chatter, to let it pull you out of your own head, but it was no use. your thoughts were stuck, looping in a way that made your chest feel tight.

you thought about two nights ago, about coming out.

the words lingered in your mind, heavy and sharp. it wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about it recently, you had, a lot— but thinking about it and actually doing it were two very different things. and with naomi and jules sitting just a few feet away, laughing and joking like nothing was wrong, the weight of it all felt unbearable.

emma and oliver already knew, and were doing exceptionally well at hiding it. they understood that it was something you would share when you were ready, and they vowed to keep quiet about it. naomi and jules were wondering about the awkward tension that was taking place before, as you weren’t texting or calling pretty much at all. but emma just shrugged it off, covering by saying you were going through a rough time and just needed a second to breathe. which, wasn’t all that false. 

you glanced at them, at the easy way they moved through the world, at how free they seemed. naomi, with her loud, unapologetic laugh and her wild hair that framed her face like a halo. jules, with her sharp wit and soft smile that could disarm anyone in an instant. they were your bestest of friends, and yet, the idea of telling them felt impossible.

it wasn’t that you didn’t trust them— you did, more than anyone. but there was this nagging voice in the back of your mind, whispering all the worst-case scenarios, how’d they react. what if they didn’t understand? what if they looked at you differently? what if it changed everything?

and then there was your faith, tangled up in all of it like a knot you couldn’t undo. you’d grown up in the church, surrounded by sermons and scripture and songs that painted the world beautifully, but it was in black and white. you’d been taught that love was normal to desire, it was healthy, but only when it looked a certain way, fit into a certain mold. anything outside of that was wrong, sinful, unworthy.

you swallowed hard, the taste of the tea suddenly bitter on your tongue. it wasn’t that you didn’t believe anymore— you still did, in your own way. but reconciling your faith with who you were, with how you felt, was a battle you fought every single day, and it was hard to keep on track, if you were being completely honest. 

“you okay?” naomi’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you looked up to find her watching you, her head tilted slightly in concern.

“yeah,” you said quickly, forcing another smile. “just zoning out. i need to get out of this dorm room.”

she seemed to accept that, nodding as she turned back to oliver, who was now listing off his favorite bands like his life depended on it.

you let out a quiet breath, grateful for the reprieve, but still feeling the weight in your chest.

emma caught your eye from across the room, her expression soft but questioning. she always seemed to know when something was off, even if she didn’t say it out loud, which was needed sometimes. it was one of the reasons you’d told her first, days prior, in the quiet of this very room. she’d taken it well, better than you’d expected, and you were thankful for that. but even her quiet support wasn’t enough to silence the doubts that clawed at you.

the conversation in the room shifted again, this time to lunch plans, and you nodded along when someone suggested the diner a few blocks away, your group’s spot. looks were shared between all of you, and it seemed like everyone had remembered that night that billie came in. but when you smile, and assured them that it was okay to go, they carried on. but your mind was still elsewhere, caught between the fear of staying silent and the terror of speaking up.

you wondered what it would feel like to finally let it out, to let them see all of you. would it be freeing? or would it be just as heavy, just as hard, but in a different way?

“alright, you sure you’re good?” emma asked quietly, leaning closer so only you could hear.

you nodded, your grip tightening around your mug as you took your last swig, the warmth making you feel slightly more at ease, “i’m okay, really,” you said softly, “i’m honestly just… thinking. you know how it is.”

she didn’t push, just gave you a small nod of understanding before straightening up again, making sure to include you in the conversation between the five of you.

“alright, i really think we should just go skating,” jules advocates from her spot on the floor, closing her magazine, “we all love skating. why don’t we do that?”

“because naomi here is like bambi on wheels.” oliver snorts, pointing to the purple-haired girl, and she gifts him a well-deserved, playful slap to the arm. 

emma nods, “i don’t think skating’s a bad idea, i’m down. everyone’s already ready, so, when are we heading out?”

“just need to get dressed, and then we can go.” you say, pulling the covers off of your frame, standing up and heading over to your dresser. you fumble around for something to wear as the four behind you discuss what’s for lunch, and things of that sort. you eventually settle on a jean skirt and a white top to match, with a baby pink cardigan thrown over it. you turn around and show the group your outfit, holding the pieces up to your body to provide something to the imagination, “this cute?”

“adorable!” naomi grins, and the others agree, too, and oliver gives you a sweet thumbs up, which makes you smile. you grab your phone off of your desk and slip into emma’s room, since you figure that changing in there would take less time than walking to the bathrooms.

you close the door behind you, and you look around for a second. emma’s room is a complete contrast to yours— cheetah printed blankets, posters of lana del rey and other singers hung up on her walls, right next to her deep red electric guitar and shelves of different sneakers and expensive handbags. she had a bookcase dedicated to anything but books, it was mostly filled with perfumes, fashion mags, and candles. her desk was a mess, makeup everywhere, and trash anywhere but in the bin, but you admired her style. it was an oddly warm comfort to you, the difference of style, and that’s what you always loved about emma— she was so unlike you, and yet, you two were the perfect set of friends. 

you found her mirror and stood in front of it, slipping off your matching pj set and quickly sliding today’s outfit on. you fixed your hair and toyed with the ends, curling them around your fingers to give their already kinky state a little bit more bounce. 

when you were satisfied with your appearance, you twisted the doorknob and stepped out, doing a little twist for the group as they all cheered. you felt more welcomed than ever— appreciated, accepted, and you wanted it to stay like that, like how it always was. 

but with this huge secret (although it wasn’t so huge, because emma and oliver knew), you didn’t know how long this would last. you were going to latch onto it as long as you could, hoping and praying that when the time came, you would still be loved as you were, before everything went down. 

you knew your best friends, they wouldn’t really care all that much, but it would just be so unexpected coming from you. were you ready for that, truly? were you ready to live out the things you had always felt? you weren’t too sure now. 

you walked back over to your desk, slipping your nearly dead phone into your bag as you leaned against the edge of it, trying to find some sort of calm. the room was filled with chatter, naomi arguing with jules over whether or not they should try the new sandwich spot downtown or stick to the diner, and oliver chiming in with some random fact about artisan bread that seemed nice to try. emma was scrolling through her phone, half-listening but still throwing in a laugh here and there. it was so normal, nothing out of the blue, but you felt this strange ache in your chest.

you thought about how emma and oliver already knew that you were a lesbian, how it had felt like peeling off a bandage and exposing something raw when you’d told them just a few days ago. emma had hugged you tight, whispering that she was proud of you, and oliver had just nodded, his usual soft, understanding smile on his face, cracking jokes back and forth with you. but then, that night after billie called you, it all hit you like a wave.

you didn’t mean to hang up so abruptly. you wanted to hear her out at first, but you quickly realized that it wasn’t a good idea. emma had urged you to hang up, and you did with no hesitation, suddenly realizing that answering in itself was a mistake. 

it wracked your brain for the rest of the night, and it bothered you badly that you couldn’t talk to billie. you felt like at least one more conversation could help, but it was too late for that, and you had to put yourself first. so you put your phone up for the night, falling asleep not to long after emma did. 

and then, you cried. 

but not about billie. about your friends.

it wasn’t even that you were scared of rejection. you knew naomi and jules loved you like family, and you couldn’t imagine them turning their backs on you. but it was the shift you feared— this tiny, delicate balance being thrown off, even if just for a moment. you hated being the reason things felt different. you hated the idea of anyone looking at you like you were someone else now.

your fingers toyed with the strap of your bag as the thought settled in your mind like an unwelcome guest. it wasn’t fair, really, how much weight this little not-so-big secret carried. it was supposed to feel freeing, like shedding an old skin that didn’t fit anymore, blossoming into something new, and much more beautiful. but instead, it felt like walking on a tightrope, praying you wouldn’t fall and drag everyone else down with you. you couldn’t let that happen again.

emma’s voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the moment. “you okay?” she mouthed, her brows knitting together slightly. it’s all she seemed to ask now, but you appreciated the sentiment. you nodded quickly, offering a small smile to reassure her, but the way she tilted her head told you she wasn’t convinced. she didn’t push you, though, she just gave you that look that said i’m here when you’re ready.

and you wanted to be ready, for all of it. for the conversations, the questions, the vulnerability, all the jokes that would be cracked. you wanted to be able to say everything with confidence, to look at yourself in the mirror and feel like you weren’t hiding anymore, like you were proud to be just the way you were. but there was still that small, stubborn part of you that whispered, what if you’re wrong? what if this isn’t who you’re supposed to be? is a phase, something that will pass when the time comes?

you pushed the thought aside, swallowing hard as you forced yourself to focus on the present. the laughter in the room, the warmth of your friends, the way everyone was bickering about oliver’s odd knowledge about sandwiches and bread. you let yourself laugh, even if it felt a little hollow, because you were sure, slowly yet surely, it would make you feel better.

you’d hold onto this moment, this fragile, fleeting sense of normalcy. you’d hold onto it for as long as you could, and when the time came to tell them, you’d trust that naomi and jules would still love you, still see you the same way that they always did. at least, that’s what you prayed for. and lately, that was all you could do.

“okay, so are we ready to go, or are we gonna argue about sandwiches all day?” emma said, rolling her eyes with a grin as she grabbed her keys off of your nightstand, standing up to dust off her wide legged jeans. naomi and jules were still in a heated, albeit playful teasing sesh against oliver, and he was just sitting on the arm of the couch, shaking his head at them.

“for the record,” he interjected, raising his hand like he was in a courtroom, “the sandwich shop idea isn’t bad. but if we’re talking about lunch and activities, why not just roller skating now? we can grab lunch and still get dinner at the diner. there’s that rink a few blocks from here, and they’ve got a food court with, you know, options. not just flavorless-ass bread that’s probably already stale.” he gave a pointed look at naomi and jules.

“skating?” you repeated, “okay, yeah, i’m down.”

“me too,” emma said, already grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder, “besides, i can’t wait to see naomi bust her ass out there. wouldn’t be the first time we’ve seen that, hm?”

naomi gasped, clutching her chest dramatically, “okay, excuse me! i have impeccable balance, so thank you very much.”

“uh-huh,” jules snorted, already pulling her jacket on, zipping it up as she let out a mocking laugh, “we’ll see how long that lasts when you’re out there, bambi.”

the group laughed as you all filed out of the dorm, everyone grabbing their belongings as you closed and locked the door behind you, and then the walk started. emma, jules and naomi walked up front, while you and oliver retreated to the back, following close behind them. you heard easy banter filling the air as you all walked outside, stepping out into the cool air, though the warm sun gave hints of a warmer afternoon. 

“how are you feeling?” oliver asked you as you walked, his eyes glancing down to meet with yours. they were glossed over with concern, but it was out of love, so you spoke honestly. 

“good, overall, i think. i really have no complaints— i just…you know. i get into my own head sometimes.”

oliver nods at you, “i get that. just remember, i’m always here if you need something, ‘girlfriend.’” he nudges your arm on that last part, and you shake your head at him, though you can’t help but laugh.

the walk to the skating rink was a short one, but it was peaceful. occasionally, everyone would turn around and talk, and jules would sometimes snap a picture of a cool tree or pretty flowers on her digital camera. you stayed toward the back of the group, letting their energy pull you along while you kept to your thoughts.

when you all arrived at the rink, the hum of retro music and the buzz of people skating hit you instantly, accompanied with the smell of pretzels and store-bought pizzas. the place had an old-school charm— bright neon signs, colorful lights that reflected off the fresh, polished floor, and rows of skates lined up behind the counter as employees waved the five of you in. 

“this is gonna be so fun!” naomi cheered, her face lighting up as she clapped her hands together. she then looked at emma, who seemed all but convinced that naomi would stay on her feet, “and just for the record, i’m gonna be the best one out there. no questions asked.”

“uh huh, yeah— you’re really committed to this narrative, huh naomi?” emma teased as she slipped a ticket across the counter in exchange for her inlines, “we’ll see how you do, but don’t cry when i’m doing laps around you while your ass is super-glued to the floor.”

everyone laughed at that as they grabbed their skates, and you were last to do so. you grabbed a pair of quads and took a seat on the bench, slipping them onto your feet carefully. emma was already up and skating around, practicing whatever tricks that she had hidden up her sleeve. 

whenever she had to clear her head, she’d go to the rink— something she had been doing since she was younger. that’s where you learned how to skate, from emma’s constant visits to your rink back home, and it felt like that you had a hobby you could both share.

when everyone was ready, the group shuffled out onto the rink, the polished floor gleaming beneath the flashing lights. it was awkward at first, your legs feeling wobbly and unsure as you gripped the railing for support. it wasn’t that you didn’t know how to skate, it had just been so long, but you picked up your pace when emma and jules grabbed both your sides and forced you out onto the floor. 

“you got this!” jules had said, and then you three were off, hands laced within one another’s, skating rhythmically to some old song that was playing on the speakers above.

“look at you!” emma called out, gliding up beside you with ease after you and jules had broke off, skating at your own pace. you were twisting and turning like you usually did, the art becoming more comfortable to you, and you were enjoying yourself.  “you’re not even holding on to the wall anymore! i’m so proud.”

“yeah, yeah,” you said, laughing as you pushed off your right food little harder, gaining more speed with each loop around the rink, “just don’t jinx it.”

everyone was pretty much skating alone now. you were doing your usual thing, crossing your feet and gliding side to side to the music, which was always fun for you. emma was on a roll— skating backwards between crowds of people, hopping on her feet, taking her party tricks to the extra mile. jules and oliver were racing, as they always did— and of course, jules won, also as always. 

meanwhile, naomi was loudly declaring herself the queen of skating, much to jules’s amusement as she stumbled and nearly fell. you tried to contain your laughter, but you had to admit, it was pretty funny the way she swore up and down she was the best out of the group, though she hadn’t even found herself making a full lap around the floor yet.

you were skating peacefully as a new song came on, something by stevie wonder, which you liked. you started to slow down and accommodate to the blue-sy rhythm, but then, as you rounded the far side of the rink, your eyes caught a figure near the edge. your breath hitched in your throat, your heart dropping to your stomach. it was billie.

God, could you ever get away from this girl?

she was sitting on a bench, tying her skates with that familiar furrow of concentration on her face. her hair was pulled into one of the messiest buns you had ever seen, even for her, though a few pieces effortlessly accented her face around the sides. she was wearing a loose sweatshirt and a pair of shorts so long that you couldn’t tell if they were supposed to be like that. but, to your surprise, she was alone.

panic flared in your chest, and if you weren’t as comfortable with skating, you were sure that you would’ve fallen. your mind was racing as you quickly turned your head away, trying to keep her from seeing you. the last thing you needed was another interaction, another moment where she could belittle you, looking at you with that stupid grin that never seemed to leave her face, like she was always teasing you for something. 

you skated past her as casually as you could manage, your heart pounding in your chest. you felt like you were going to burst, like your breath was stolen right out of your lungs. you heaved as you looked in front of you, where your friends were still laughing and teasing each other, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in your stomach.

you felt sick.

you risked a glance over your shoulder, relief washing over you when you saw that billie hadn’t noticed you. she was still focused on her skates, completely oblivious to your presence. which, you definitely wanted to keep it that way.

you tried to focus on your friends, on the way naomi shrieked as she nearly toppled over again, after falling nearly ten times already, but she was saved only by oliver’s quick reflexes as he grabbed her arm. 

“you owe me for that,” he teased, smirking at her as she tried to compose herself, tucking a strand behind her ear.

“whatever, i was totally fine. i could’ve gotten back up.” naomi huffed, wiping a few particles of dust off of her shirt as she stood up.

“sure you were,” jules said, rolling up beside her, her grin wide and mischievous, “next time, maybe we should get you those little kid trainers, you know, the ones with wheels on all four corners? seems pretty fitting if you ask me.”

“you’re all so mean to me!” naomi cried dramatically, though the laughter bubbling in her voice gave her away. she didn’t mind that she couldn’t skate all that well, truthfully, but it was always fun to mess around for a while. 

the lightness of their banter helped ease some of the tension in your chest, and for a moment, you let yourself get swept up in it. emma had started a race with jules now, the two of them zipping around the rink in an uncoordinated blur, while oliver stayed back with naomi, coaching her like a patient older brother, though she still wasn’t quite getting it.

you skated in slow, deliberate circles, careful not to look in billie’s direction again. you didn’t want to tempt fate, not again.

but it wasn’t just fear that made you keep your distance. it was the weight of everything you’d been trying to leave behind— the fight, the tears, the way her voice still lingered in your head, sharp and biting, but also soft in ways that made your chest ache.

you couldn’t reminisce on that though. you had to stay focused on what really mattered, and it wasn’t billie. it was you, your happiness, your walk with God, and everything else that surrounded that. you didn’t have time to pick more stupid fights with her, when she would not and could not ever understand where you were coming from.

“you’re doing great, by the way,” oliver called out, snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts. he had left naomi with emma, though her coaching wasn’t as gentle. your eyes immediately find oliver’s as he skates with you, and you cock your brow at him, still nervous.

“what…what do you mean?” you ask.

oliver rolls his eyes, “i saw her. the others didn’t, and don’t worry, i won’t snitch. but just ignore her, for your own sake. you deserve nothing but peace right now, so don’t let her disturb that.”

“right, yeah.” you nod, but it sounds weak, even to your own ears. you’re just moving, fighting for a distraction, focusing on finding a steady rhythm again. the music shifted to something slower, softer, and the lights dimmed slightly, casting the rink in a warm glow. couples started pairing off, holding hands as they skated together, little holographic, neon hearts sliding against the wooden floors.

“ugh, so cute it’s disgusting,” emma squeaked, skating up beside you and nodding toward one particularly affectionate pair to your right. they were adorable, two girls holding hands and skating identically together. however, it made your chest cave in when one girl was wearing bright, pretty soft hues, while the other was wearing deep blacks and purples, a huge contrast to her girlfriend.

it felt like you and billie, in a way, and you almost gag at that. it seemed like everything reminded you of her, and you didn’t know how much longer you could take it. 

“don’t be a hater,” jules chimed in, coming up on your other side, an easy distraction. you ease up as she teases emma, “maybe you’ll find someone to hold hands with one day, em. miracles happen, i’ll make a phone call to the angels for you, see what they can do.”

“very funny,” emma said, rolling her eyes. “i’m holding out for someone who can actually keep up with me, thank you very much.”

“wait, what happened with that guy i saw you with?” you questioned, hoping that the conversation would flow in a way that would make you forget about seeing billie.

“oh gosh, where do i even begin,” emma dragged on, and that’s when you knew that your plan was in motion. she babbled on about how he was a player and had no common sense, and something about how she didn’t like that he had bed covers with patrick mahomes’ face on it. which, you really didn’t know what that had to do with anything, but you just let her talk.

but then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw her again. billie.

she was on the rink now, skating slowly, her movements a little awkward like she wasn’t used to it. she was smiling, though— a small, quiet smile that tugged at something deep in your chest.

a smile that you missed.

you swallowed hard, your heart pounding loudly in your chest all over again. she still hadn’t noticed you, thank God, but just seeing her was enough to unsettle you completely, working your nerves right back up.

“you good?” emma asked you, nudging your shoulder lightly.

“yeah,” you said quickly, though your voice was too high-pitched to be convincing. you cleared your throat, forcing a smile out as you turned a corner, “just... distracted, i guess.”

emma tilted her head, studying you for a moment, but she didn’t ask anymore questions, “well, let me know if you need a distraction from your distraction.” she said with a wink before skating off to join the others.

you stayed where you were, finding refuge in a wall, letting the others drift ahead. your gaze flickered to billie again, despite yourself, and you wondered— just for a second— if she was thinking about you, too. if she had seen you.

but then she turned, skating toward the far side of the rink, and you quickly looked away, pulling your hair over the side of your face in hopes that she wouldn’t recognize you, if her eyes had somehow found their way to make out who you were, even though you were on the complete opposite side of the roller rink.

you skated to the edge of the opposite wall, trying to put as much distance between yourself and billie as possible. your heart was still pounding, your thoughts racing as you fought the urge to look back over your shoulder, to get one more glimpse, even though you knew you’d regret it.

so you didn’t. because the last thing you needed was for her to notice you.

but then, a sharp pang of anxiety hit you. what if she did see you? what if she thought you were alone, vulnerable, still hung up on everything that happened between you two? it felt irrational, but the idea of her pitying you— or worse, thinking she still had some sort of hold over you— made your stomach churn. you couldn’t let her have that type of victory over you. you were in control, not her.

your eyes scanned the spot that you were in, and then you spotted oliver across the rink, helping naomi wobble along the railing. relief washed over you— oliver was the perfect shield, the one person who could make you look completely unbothered and perfectly fine. after all, he was supposed to be your ‘boyfriend’ now, wasn’t he?

you pushed off the wall, skating toward him as steadily as you could.

 “ollie!” 

he turned around when he heard your voice, his face lighting up when he saw you, “hey, what’s up?”

you skated up beside him, lowering your voice so only he could hear, though your request wasn’t all that abnormal, “okay, this is going to sound weird, but… can you hold my hand?”

he blinked, tilting his head, “uh, sure? what’s going on? is it…?”

you hesitated, glancing over your shoulder to make sure billie was still on the far side of the rink. you looked back at him, “yeah,” you whispered quietly, “and i just— i don’t want her to think… you know, that i’m…”

“still hung up on her?” oliver finished your dead sentence for you, his expression softening with understanding.

you nodded, biting your lip, “i just need her to see that i’m fine. better than fine, even. like… totally over it.”

he smiled gently, reaching out to take your hand. “yup, fake dating duty. got it.”

you felt a small wave of relief as his hand slid into yours, warm and steady. oliver gave it a reassuring squeeze, and you squeezed back, grateful as ever for how quickly he reacted, how eager he was to help you with no complaints.

“you owe me for this, by the way.” he teased as he started skating beside you, his tone lighthearted, and you knew that it was only jokes.

you snorted, “yeah right. just put it on my tab.” 

naomi shot the two of you a curious look as you passed her idle spot next to the wall, “okay, wait, are we holding hands now? did i miss something?”

“we’re practicing for the couples skate,” oliver said smoothly, his tone so casual that even you almost believed him. it was a good lie, one that would hold over your little secret until it forced itself out. and now, now wasn’t really the time for it.

naomi narrowed her eyes, but jules came barreling toward her before she could press further, their laughter echoing across the rink.

you felt a little more at ease now, skating alongside oliver, your hand laced within his. your heart still raced every time you thought about billie, about everytime that you saw her around the rink. but having him there grounded you, reminded you that you weren’t alone.

you cast one more glance toward the far side of the rink, where billie was still skating. her focus was elsewhere, thank God, it was on anything but you.

you exhaled softly, squeezing oliver’s hand again. he looked down at you, raising an eyebrow, “feeling better?”

“yeah,” you said quietly through a smile, “thanks, ollie.”

before he could pay your statement back with a ‘you’re welcome’, you hear jules, naomi, and emma all agree that it’s time to head out and grab some food. they had apparently decided that eating at the diner for lunch was a better idea, saving time to possibly go downtown or go somewhere for dessert and take pictures. so, you and oliver followed accordingly, hopping off the floor and returning your skates to the counter.

as everyone slipped on their shoes and grabbed their things, jules went right back to her teasing of naomi, “so, did you fall?”

“i’m too hungry to argue with you.” she laughed, sliding her tote bag onto her shoulders as the group made their way outside, walking to the diner.

౨ৎ

the diner felt like a sanctuary at first, a bubble of warmth and laughter that protected you from the turmoil brewing just beneath your skin. the clatter of plates, the hum of the jukebox playing some old 50s song, and the low din of chatter around you all made it easy to pretend, just for a little while, that everything was okay, even if it was nothing but that.

you were wedged between emma and the wall in your usual spot, picking at the remains of your burger while naomi recounted some story about her boss at work, who she thought was all types of dreamy. oliver and jules were hanging on her every word, laughing at all the right moments, and emma was chiming in with her usual quick-witted commentary. it should have felt normal, comforting, just like how it was in your dorm this morning. but it didn’t.

you couldn’t stop replaying the moment at the rink. the way billie had looked— so familiar, yet so distant. and, to be honest, it kind of bothered you.

it hurt that you would have to see her around so much, way more often than you would like. it’s like all your hangout spots were hers too, and it was inevitable to get away from her. but you had to try, at least— try and heal from your wounds, try and forget everything that had happened and turn a new leaf. and you knew it would be hard, but you were going to work on it, because you owed it to yourself. you owed it to yourself to be happy.

you were about to take another bite of your burger when the bell above the door jingled, and your heart dropped. you didn’t even need to look to know who it was. the shift in the air was enough. you had felt it before, back at the bar, and earlier in the roller rink. you knew it was her.

but of course, you being you, you looked anyway.

and there she was. 

her presence was like a punch to the gut, a mix of anger, longing, and something else you couldn’t quite place. she looked almost the same as she had at the rink— disheveled, guarded— but her eyes were sharper now, the playful nature of skating long gone.

your stomach twisted and screamed as her gaze landed on your booth, just to your luck. her jaw tightened, her lips pressing into a thin line as her eyes locked on you.

“oh no,” emma muttered under her breath, her fork pausing mid-air, “are you serious?”

“is that…?” jules started, but oliver kicked her under the table, shooting her a warning look, and her lips pursed quiet at that.

you quickly looked away, pretending to be engrossed in the fine lines of ketchup bottle on the table, but it was too late. billie was already walking over to you, her strut quick and strong, like she already had what she wanted to say and do in mind.

“can we talk?” she said once she reached your table, her voice low and tight, standing awkwardly next to your booth.

you placed your head in your hands as everyone went silent, their eyes darting between you and billie like they were watching a live fight scene. and honestly, you knew that’s where it was heading.

but there was nothing you could do. you couldn’t escape, she was here now, so you might as well engage, because there was no other way out of this.

“you want to talk here?” you asked, your voice sharp.

“no,” she clarified, crossing her arms over her chest, “outside.”

“you don’t have to go, love.” oliver said, quiet, but loud enough to where billie could hear. he knew that you needed this— a way out, a cover-up, even if she wasn’t buying it right this second. you felt his hand brush against yours under the table for added effect, though he was unsure if billie could see you two.

but you knew you couldn’t avoid this forever. so, with a heavy sigh, you slid out of the booth, avoiding everyone’s longing and confused looks as you started to walk, following billie out of the door.

the late afternoon air hit you like a slap to the face, much like the way billie had strutted in the diner, demanding a piece of your time like she was the one that owned it. she stopped a few feet away from the entrance, her back to you as she ran a hand through her hair.

“okay, what do you want, billie?” you asked, crossing your arms to mirror her, “i don’t have time for this, be quick and get straight to the point. i don’t even want to be talking to you right now.”

lie.

she turned to face you, her eyes dark and stormy, “honestly, i just want to know why. why you couldn’t just talk to me. why you couldn’t just tell me what was going on, instead of doing all…of this.”

“are you serious?” you snapped, your frustration bubbling quickly to the surface, “are you seriously going to ask me this question again like i haven’t already answered it? what else do you want me to say to you? i told you to leave me alone, and i’m not so sure why this can’t get through to you, so i’ll say it again. leave. me. alone!”

her jaw tightened, and she took a step closer to you. her eyes were glossed over with tears, but you didn’t care at all. you were sick of her acting like she was the victim, like you hadn’t asked her countless times you just leave you be. at this point, she was just harassing you. 

“i-i’m sorry…i know, but…i feel like you’re not telling me everything, y/n. i feel so deeply that there’s something you aren’t telling me, like i’m not getting the whole wide of this story…i just, i needed to know—“

“i don’t owe you explanations about my own life,” you shot back, “why can’t you just give up on me, like you did back at the bar? why can’t you just let me live my life without showing up at the most random times, without making me feel like i’m the one that’s crazy, huh?” 

“give up on you?” billie repeated, her voice cracking. she was full on tears now, “do you have any idea how hard it was to leave? how much it killed me to walk away?”

you flinched at the raw emotion in her voice, but you didn’t back down. she couldn’t phase you now, “if it was so hard, why did you do it?”

“because i didn’t know what else to do!” she shouted, her hands balling into fists at her sides, “you wouldn’t let me in, and i was fucking drowning. i couldn’t keep—”

“couldn’t keep what?” you interrupted, stepping closer now, your own anger flaring, “couldn’t keep dealing with me? with my problems? sorry i wasn’t perfect enough for you, billie, but you knew what you were getting yourself into, it was obvious.” 

“that’s not what i meant,” she said, her voice quieter now but no less intense, “and you know it. you know that’s not how i felt about you.” 

“then what did you mean?” you pressed, your heart pounding in your chest, “i mean, do tell billie, because i’ve been waiting for this. tell me what you really wanna say, because you’re doing nothing but wasting my time.” 

she opened her mouth to respond, but then her gaze flicked behind your back, back toward the diner. you followed her line of sight and saw your friends watching from the window, their faces a mix of concern and curiosity, leaning in so close in hopes that they could hear what was going on. 

billie’s expression shifted, her anger giving way to something softer, something almost vulnerable, like she really was going to tell you how she felt. but just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by a mask of indifference, confusion, of something unsure. 

“you know what? forget it,” she said, shaking her head at you, “this was a mistake. you were right.” 

and then she turned on her heel without a word, and started walking away, her boots echoing against the pavement as she started towards her car. 

“billie, wait,” you called after her, your voice trembling, but it was no use. 

she didn’t stop. she didn’t even look back, and for the first time, you really wish she did. 

you wanted to hear what she had to say, but you weren’t ready. you couldn’t handle all of that, but you thought you could at least try. but now, it was too late. 

it was always too late. 

you stood there, frozen, your fists clenched and your chest heaving as you watched her disappear into the driver’s seat of her car, cranking up the engine and speeding out of her parking spot. 

your friends were still watching from the window, but you couldn’t bring yourself to face them. instead, you turned around and leaned against the wall of the diner, your head falling back as you stared up at the sky.

you wanted to scream, to cry, to do something about this, but all you could do was stand there, the weight of her words and your own anger pressing down on you like a weighted blanket.

and then, you heard the door to the diner swing opened, a voice pushing out into the empty air, 

“i promise you, despite as much as you think you are, you and billie are far from done.” 

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[my-castles-crumbling]

i live in a red state

i wish i didnt.

i wish i wasnt queer

i wish i wasn’t a women

i wish i was safe.

do u live in a red state? u don’t have to tell me.

i want to scream. i want my FUCKING RIGHTS-

WHAT THE HELL WHAT THE FUCK WHY IS THIS FAIR

I want to scream into a fucking field

how the fuck

my grandmother pulled me aside the day after trump won and told me she remembered roe vs wade being instated. she remembered finally feeling like things were going in a good direction, as she gained the rights she deserved.

she told me to buy the morning after pill now. she told me what brands last 4 years before the expiration date.

she told me to tell her if i needed an illegal abortion and she would help me.

she told me she would find me whatever i need. a therapist i can trust. pills. she cried.

i just knew she could little her inside me. i just knew that the her that got rights was screaming inside with me. crying.

my friends call me dramatic. they don’t get it. i can’t feel safe like this. it’s already not safe.

i’m 17. this is my future and I couldn’t even vote for it. It’s my life being ripped away from me.

maybe i’ll go far away for university. canada or england or australia. wherever I can get a visa- I don’t know how it works.

maybe one day i’ll have grandkids and they’ll say “I can’t believe that when you were alive, there was a time without roe vs wade” and i’ll say “I know, but it’s not like that anymore. you’re safe now.”

i can’t have a child under this. i mean i don’t want to yet, but you get my point. CHILDREN Cas, children are being brought into this world, this country. ready to be propaganda’d to death and told the best country in the world doesn’t have free healthcare or safe skls or WOMENS RIGHTS

i have never felt more like i’m living through history. like in twenty years i’ll be pulled over by a kid with a microphone and he’ll ask me “what was it like to lose your rights when you were a child” and all i’ll be able to say is “I had to face the reality that if i’m ever assaulted in my sketchy horrid neighbourhood with misogynistic men, I’ll have to have their children”

i’ll have to say about sitting in a room that’s more male than female at thanksgiving and christmas and just knowing every man voted against my rights. and my safety. knowing that I mean nothing to them.

four years.

what’s four years in the grand scheme of things huh Cas?

it’ll be fine. it has to be.

and if it’s not, my grandmother and me will just run away. and leave my 19 year old brother who voted for trump behind. how am I supposed to feel about that?

Honestly, I think however you feel is completely valid. I don't currently live in a red state, but I did during the last Trump presidency and it wasn't good. I understand a lot of what you're feeling. I know people are saying that it's just four years, it'll be okay, whatever, but I don't know how true that is and even if it is true, it doesn't negate the awfulness that is happening now. How have a right to be upset and feel let down.

[floylia]

𝐈𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊 🖋️

Entry #02: Riding with Death

“Fire will attract more attention than any other cry for help.” — Jean-Michel Basquiat

—S. MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

“To the little friend, without a heart:

In walls where knowledge sleeps,

Monsters dwell in paper heaps.

Kept in time, lost to flames

Play with me, these silly games.

Are you the winner or the mind in chains?

String along the smartest brains,

Be the one without a heart

Play out the missing parts

Help the girl with ears of lies

Heed the whispers, take the signs,

The rules are fluid, make your move,

Until the flowers sway with groove,”

“What is this corny shit?” Sethos chuckles, but it’s an uncomfortable kind. The kind where you’re forced to laugh at a joke a teacher makes just to keep them from starting the lesson.

You take the hand off the table, examining it, before grabbing the ring. You’ve seen it before. You don’t know where. But it gleams in familiarity, until you notice a name carved from within, “Makoto.”

“Fuck.” Aether whispers after seeing the same thing as you.

Scaramouche grabs it. He doesn’t say anything. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking. There’s no frown, confusion, just a stale expression, offering nothing–and somehow, it makes you feel a pit in your stomach with a realization that you know nothing about this man.

“I didn’t sign up for this,” Aether breaks the silence, “Is this a prank? It’s pretty twisted.”

Sethos pulls his phone out, “I’m going to call Cyno.”

“No one is going to call anybody,” Scaramouche says as he takes the ring with him, grabs his leather jacket and walks towards the door.

“Where are you going?” You ask.

But he doesn’t answer.

So, you follow.

You walk alongside him. It’s hard to keep up as if he’s deliberately trying to lose your pace, “What are you doing?”

“You talk too much.”

“You don’t talk enough.”

“I just don’t talk to you.”

“I noticed.”

“That’s the point.”

It’s unfortunate that the elevator in the apartment is out of service. Instead, you’re forced to race down the flight of stairs. But it’s not your feet that hurt. It’s the honesty of his words. The harsh truth that’s sometimes more painful than people’s blatant lies.

You may know nothing about him anymore. But you’re aware of one thing: the spite he harbors towards you. Perhaps that counts for something.

Without realizing, you reach the lobby, and Scaramouche walks to the receptionist. There’s no one there. Just an empty desk.

“Venti,” Scaramouche rings the bell obnoxiously, and a boy with teal strands jumps in his seat, almost dropping the chips he was eating.

“What? Did someone die?” The teal haired boy said urgently.

Not the right choice of words, you think.

“Not yet,” Scaramouche answers.

Even worse.

Scaramouche runs a hand through his silky hair. Even while frustrated, he still looks angelic. It’s hard not to admit that he has grown from the last time you saw him. You’ve always watched his life progress through a screen, thinking that you can still have a piece of his life in your eyes. But now that you’re here, it’s as if the box itself has the same name, yet the puzzle inside has become unrecognizable that the pieces don’t fit anymore.

“Look, did you see the person that delivered a package to my apartment?”

Venti squints at the ceiling, trying to remember, “You have a mailbox.”

“I know. But someone delivered it directly outside my apartment.”

The teal-haired boy looks at the guest list–it’s not a long list, but somehow he still struggles, “It says that they’re affiliated with the Komaniya Express. They were wearing a black helmet, so I didn’t see their faces. It might have been a guy. But I know that he didn’t go past the lobby–so there should be no reason for a package to be outside your door.”

Scaramouche looks at you.

And you knew exactly why.

You nod, silently telling your friend, if you can call him one, that the receptionist is telling the truth. You feel a sense of triumph as you try to stop the small smile creeping up your face.

Scaramouche walks away from the front desk before approaching the postal room. He opens his, and sees a gold lighter with the phrase, “Play with me these silly games.” carved in perfect calligraphy.

“Is there a way we can see the CCTV in the lobby?” You ask Venti who is still leaning comfortably in his chair.

“Yes,” He pauses, “But it’s broken.”

Scaramouche appears next to you, “What about the ones in the hallways?”

“There’s none in the hallways.”

You hear it then. The scratching static noise when someone chooses to twist their words. You hear it everyday. Some are louder than others, depending on how severe the lie is.

This one is regular.

“Are you serious?” Scaramouche rubs the bridge of his nose. His patience is wearing out. You’re surprised he has any left.

Venti nods with confidence, “Yes.”

You shake your head, “He’s lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Venti.” Scaramouche threatens and his stare isn’t playing around.

In an instance, the teal haired boy scratches his hair and puts his hand up in defeat, “Okay fine, It’s broken. Why do you care anyway? What happened?”

“Why is everything broken?” You mumble.

“It broke last night, leave me alone. I just called for service this morning.”

You laugh, “Really? You should check if the phone is broken too.”

He stares at you, blinking rapidly, clearly appalled by your interrogation, “What are you? A lie detector.”

“I could be.”

Venti, sighs and starts dialing for service.

Scaramouche tilts his jaw, “Did you do this?”

“You think I did this?” You scoffed in disbelief.

“Did you?”

His accusation and doubt feels so foreign that a simple “yes” or “no” fails to reach your tongue. What kind of grudge did he hold that trust seems unrecognizable when he looks at you? He was the one that cut the line that connected both of you. So why is he acting like you let go of that thread? Why is he acting like you sunk the ship on your own? In what world did you ever stop holding on to him? His world it seems.

“No. I didn’t do this, Scaramouche. Not everything is my fault, much to your dismay.”

He clicks his tongue, “Yet, everything leads to you.”

“Have you ever looked at yourself?”

“Enough times to realize I was never the problem.”

“You should get that mirror checked.”

Venti clears his throat loudly, “Not to be that guy, but you guys can argue anywhere, but my lobby. ”

You roll your eyes, “I’m leaving.”

“Go ahead, walk away. You’re good at that.”

“Guess we have something in common.”

╰──────»»❀❀❀««──────╯

“Where have you been?” Navia comes around the corner when you arrive.

“Out,” You mumble, too drained after your conversation with Scaramouche.

“Where?” She presses.

“Old friends,” A terrible lie.

Navia’s brows shoot up, “Really?”

You nod, giving her the best reassurance you can muster. You don’t really want to explain at the moment, “Why’d you call me?”

“There’s a field trip later this afternoon. Lumine was supposed to tour the kids, but she got held up in a meeting. So, I was wondering if you can cover that for her.”

“Sure,” you shrug.

She hands you the list. You begin walking around.

You follow the path to refresh your mind. You’ve been working here for the past year. But you still can’t help but be amazed by the large selection of galleries hanging on the walls. It’s fascinating how a museum is like a large sketchbook come to life–where art is held up in display to receive the glory it deserves–to tell a story that can’t be put into words, because sometimes emotions are overwhelming that only colors and ink capture that feeling.

Along the halls, you pass by foreign visitors, children, and Albedo.

His back is turned as he looks at the newest addition in the Museum where five unfamiliar paintings rest. You smile, carefully sneaking up to Albedo in an attempt to scare him.

“What do you think?” He asks after hearing the familiar footsteps.

It was worth a shot.

“I’ve never seen these before.”

He chuckles softly and it’s contagious, “Of course not, I painted them.”

You stare at the first piece. It’s an oil painting. It’s obvious from the vibrant colors and the thick brushstrokes. It’s of a house up in a hill–and you’re instantly reminded of your mentor, Makoto, who would have loved to hang this up in her library. Albedo would have probably sent this to her. She always loved his paintings.

“This is beautiful.”

“Thank you,” He smiles and points at the one next to it. It’s a collection of butterfly sketches where its wings resemble one of a shadow while the other is glowing sparks of gold, “That one’s my favorite.”

“Why?” You ask.

It’s always fascinating to hear an artist’s perspective on the world. They seem to have minds that imitate reality with their own hands–to imagine and create.

“I was going to give it to Miss Makoto,” It was almost a whisper with a hint of disappointment. People grieve in their own ways. You remember crying in Albedo’s arms. The way he comforted you. He said nothing, and nothing at the time, was what you needed. You cried for two that day–for you and him, who didn’t show his grief. You always admired how strong he was for holding on.

Now, in the museum light. You see the way his eyes regretfully stare at the painting.

“She would have loved anything you made.”

He chuckles and looks at you with his paper-white teeth, “I know.”

Albedo focuses on the two other canvases. One is a bouquet of purple flowers you haven’t seen before. The other is a blueprint of a room. You remember how Albedo was considering pursuing architecture but backed out at the last minute. This must’ve been one of those projects he did that year.

You’re in awe, “I’ve always admired your artistic abilities. I’ve never actually appreciated them.”

“Navia told me to hang these up since this side of the museum is bare. They’ll replace it soon.”

“They shouldn’t.”

“You know everything is replaceable here. Where were you by the way? Navia was looking for you. So I called you multiple times, but you didn’t answer.” His expression is laced with concern.

“I met with Scaramouche.”

“How did that go?”

You shrug.

“That’s not an answer.”

“He’s Scaramouche.”

“And?”

“He hates me.”

Albedo’s eyebrows knitted in confusion, coaxing you to say more.

Albedo knows about your history with that purple-haired boy. It wasn’t on purpose. Navia had once asked about your first heartbreak in a game of truth or drink–and the only thing you could think of at that time was Scaramouche–even when you were nothing more than just friends. It turns out that when you play a game that involves the truth and alcohol, a bottle or two works more wonders than your ears.

“Sometimes I wonder if it’s just a big misunderstanding. He was the one that didn’t show up—and now it’s like he’s angry at me for it. Like it’s my fault that he wasn’t on that plane.”

Albedo opens his mouth.

But it’s replaced by a jarring wail of the fire alarm, screeching against your ear. Your eyes follow the loud stomps of footsteps in synchrony as masses of people run towards the exit. Albedo grabs your wrist to do the same. Your pulse quickens, searching for the source of the alarm. The only thing you see is the red beacon guiding you and the rest outside. A crowd pushes against you. You wonder where Navia is. You wonder if the kids you were supposed to tour have arrived.

And you wonder where Albedo is in the sea of people.

No one is holding on to you anymore.

“Albedo!”

“Navia!”

You reach the steps outside, scanning the heads of unfamiliar faces.

Then the world shook.

A high pitch sound scratches your ears. You hear everything and nothing all at once like the sky split itself up. Smoke filled the air. Your eyes water in heat. The smell of burnt rubber and metal coax the air as you see thousands of shattered glass pieces lay along the parking lot in front.

Your hands tremble.

Your heart tells you to run.

But your feet stay.

It forces you to watch the flames swallow a car.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

yea, this is only the second chapter :) reader’s ability will be explained in later. i also have chapter 3 ready, so i might post that after editing

🏷️ (OPEN):

@danfelions @scaraenthusiast1 @meowrenapurrdo @dreamayy @misterpoofin @eternal-dokja @lalalaloveallmydays @jshkfan @kazeyozuha @yotraumainthebuilding @marivaudages

[bellyaz]

CW: Humiliation/Degradation

Your weight is out of control, like seriously.

I didn’t wanna say anything cause I know I played a part in it, but this is insane. At first, I didn’t think about it cause everyone gains weight sometimes, yknow? It’s normal. But you’ve blown up so quickly, it’s almost like you’re doing it on purpose.

I can admit that it all started after that treacherous group project- even though you weren’t that small back then, but whatever. I didn’t see the harm in a hotbox followed by some fast food after every session. I thought it would be a nice treat after we put in all that work.

And when the project was over our group saw it right to celebrate. So we went even bigger; edibles at the buffet. Again, I can admit that we all ate more than we could usually handle, but you? You made a spectacle of yourself. You carried two packed plates each time you got up and it sounded like you were out of breath each time you had to get up. I don’t know if you realized, but when we were leaving your shirt rode up and everybody could see your belly and the top of your ass crack. Oh, and your shirt was clinging to your belly. You even said you looked pregnant, then you started rubbing your gut like you were. We thought it was funny and a couple other people even joined in. But I digress.

Even after the project when we really became friends, we would do the same thing. Get high and eat, get drunk and eat, get cross faded and eat. I noticed you pudging up, but I thought you would bounce back like I do. But you didn’t, and I think it might be too late for that anyway.

You know what else I noticed? You have like, no more stamina. Everybody has to climb the same flight of stairs to get to my room, but you be huffing and puffing when you get here and it lasts for at least five minutes. And it’s getting worst. Like fuck, I’m only on the second floor.

I mean, we can’t even go out anymore cause when you’re always complaining about how all of your clothes are too tight. I mean they are, sometimes when you’re reaching for stuff your belly peeks out… and your shorts ride up a lot. But it’s so obvious why they don’t fit. So we end up staying in, getting faded, and ordering a bunch of food.

And I’m sorry, but going to the mall with you is so draining. I love the shopping and stuff but you start complaining about how you’re “starving” after one store and I end up in the food court waiting for you to go to two or three different restaurants. And THEN I have to sit and wait for half an hour while you shove everything down your gullet while people stare. Aren’t you embarrassed by that?

Ugh, and when we go grocery shopping? The junk you put in your cart is something to be ashamed of. I know Little Debbie HATES to see you coming. I mean, pints of the fattiest ice creams, chips, snack cakes, 2 liter sodas, chocolates, candies… Your cart is always packed but there’s never a vegetable in sight. Isn’t that concerning?

And it’s showing in your body. You have stretch marks all over your belly and love handles, your arms are puckering, you have a double chin now, and your thighs have cellulite all over them. Fuck, you jiggle with every step you take. And again, you’re out of breath all the time. When you come by me, when you get up to go to the bathroom, when you eat... I can literally hear you breathing hard right now, and you’re just sitting there.

Is this your fetish or something? No judgement. I mean, why else would you be doing this to yourself? You stuff your face then “joke” about how fat you feel, like you want me to validate your gluttony or something. You always wear these skimpy little clothes when you come over like you want me to ogle at your growing body, and you eat until you can’t move every time we stay in. And even when we would go out, you swore you couldn’t leave until you ate, which duh, you don’t wanna be out for hours with an empty stomach. So on top of being bloated from the pregame, you packed your gut with some greasy bullshit from the closest fast food place instead of something that would actually keep you full. Cause you would bitch about being hungry like hour into the functions.

So be honest. Does it get you wet? When you overeat and you’re moaning about how fast you made yourself do you soak through your panties? Are you gonna cum in your itty bitty shorts if I touch your fat ass stretched out gut? Hm? What if I pulled your shirt up and made you jump? Actually… I saw you bite your lip a little earlier. Oh my gosh, you got off to this whole conversation, didn’t you?

[pocket-deer-boy]

You ever talk to a person and you get this sense that the conversation keeps lingering a little bit too long and you get the sense that your autism is fucking with you and you were supposed to say something that would bring the conversation to a natural end point and the other person is waiting for that signal but you don’t know what it is so you like stand up and then they keep talking and then you like half leave and then come back and it just keeps lingering and like. What the fuck do i even say anymore i’m so confused are we talking or are we no longer talking i don’t know

[silencedogood1969]

We built this.

Stone by fucking stone,

hand in hand,

marching through fire with blistered feet,

our hearts ablaze with the kind of hope

only the beaten-down can carry.

We ripped the goddamn chains off.

We made them see us.

From DOMA’s ashes,

we stitched rings around fingers

that had been empty too long.

We carved love into laws

that once told us to disappear,

turned closets into doorways,

silence into roaring streets,

and fear into the kind of joy

that makes you cry because you can’t believe

you’re alive to feel it.

We stood under the rainbows,

our faces kissed by decades of protest.

The ghosts of Stonewall whispered to us

from brick walls that still smelled of smoke and sweat.

We danced where others had bled,

and for a moment,

the world looked like it might finally love us back.

But now—

Now, this.

“I’m scared I won’t be accepted for who I am anymore.”

They shouldn’t have to say that.

Not now.

Not after everything we built.

“It feels like we’re moving backward.”

We hear you.

We see it too—

the way the clock ticks in reverse,

the way the progress we bled for

crumbles like paper in their hands.

“As a transgender student, this makes me feel unsafe.”

You should be safe.

You should walk through halls

without your own shadow threatening to choke you.

You should never have to question

whether you have a future.

“It’s disheartening to see the government take away rights from my friends.”

Yeah, it fucking is.

It cuts, doesn’t it?

To watch the world pretend it’s better,

then rip the foundation out

from under your feet.

And we can’t let you believe

this is how it ends.

We won’t let you think

this is what we fought for.

They ban the brave,

the ones willing to bleed for a country

that tells them to sit down and shut up.

“Not like that. Not in that uniform.

Not with those pronouns.”

And for what?

To protect what?

Children?

You mean the ones you’re leaving to dodge bullets in math class?

Sure. Protect the children.

But they’ll pardon the traitors.

The ones who dragged flags through the blood of officers,

smashed glass in the name of “freedom,”

and screamed for the heads of the people

who dared to protect democracy.

One thousand five hundred motherfuckers

who stormed the building,

and you shake their hands,

while we,

the ones who love in ways you can’t stomach,

the ones who fight in ways you’ll never understand,

are left outside your goddamn gates.

And then you have the audacity to call us the problem.

You stand at your podiums,

polished and righteous,

and call us predators.

“Protect the children,” you say,

like we’re the ones raiding libraries

or handing out AR-15s with Happy Meals.

You call us “extremists,”

but it wasn’t us smashing windows,

beating officers,

and chanting for blood.

You love to say the quiet part loud.

“Radical gender ideology,” you sneer.

“Groomers,” you hiss.

You don’t even try to hide it—you wear your hate

like it’s something to be proud of.

We see you.

Your laws, your bans, your bullshit smiles.

We see it all.

You’re scared of us.

Not because of who we love

or how we dress

but because we don’t need you.

We’ve always built our own homes

in the rubble of the ones you burned.

We’ve turned closets into battlefields

and parades into revolutions.

And you think we’re gonna take this?

You think we’re gonna sit down and cry quietly

like we used to,

when you called us slurs

and told us to bury ourselves alive

because the world wasn’t ready for us?

Fuck you.

You think Pride was a parade?

It’s a fucking war cry,

a love song that drowns out your bullshit laws

and your hollow prayers.

WorldPride is coming to your city.

To the steps of your Capitol,

to the heart of your power,

we’re bringing the millions you tried to silence.

We’ll flood your streets with flags,

our colors slicing through the rot of your politics.

We’ll kiss in your parks,

scream so loud you’ll think it’s thunder.

We’ll laugh and dance and live,

because we know what you don’t—

that your fear of us

will never outlast the joy we carry in our bones.

We’re not backing down.

Not now.

Not fucking ever.

We’ve burned before,

but we don’t turn to ash.

We rise,

we roar,

we remind the world who the hell we are.

You can ban us.

You can erase us from your policies,

your bathrooms,

your military,

your damn laws.

But you will never erase us from history.

And you sure as hell will never erase us from this fight.

[obsidianpen]

After reading No Glory and Hauntingly, it's hard to enjoy hetero romance, and it's not just because your way of writing is elite; there could be so many reasons that I went hardcore m/m and f/f shipper. Like, I am dead serious when I say my favorite telenovela pairing is Luisa x Rose from Jane the Virgin. So, I am really, really excited for your original work, and even more stoked that you decided it to be an m/m pair. But yeah, would love to know why you decided that?

you know, it was an interesting thought process that involved a lot of self reflecting. There’s definitely controversy around women writing gay male romance. Most of it is, I think, bullshit, and the arguments such as ‘its fetishizing’ are way off base (no, that would be male directors and producers creating plotless w/w porn, imo). But it was a Big Question: why should I, J…Jamie (lmao I’m almost more OP than myself anymore when I’m online) write a story with a bi male lead, when I’m a female (I love writing bis okay we need more of us!!) ? The reason I like writing Harry/Tom has everything to do with their dynamic and roles in the canon, and nothing to do with the gender. Id ship them regardless. In fact I probably would have realized I shipped them sooner if it was f/m; I was just too young at the time to realize that’s what I was rooting for because I was a bit sheltered in that regard.

anyway - so yeah, why am I still interested in m/m outside of fanfiction? I asked myself, staring at the mirror. So I wrote a little bit out of this original idea, one version as a female lead and once as a male, and you know, it was a pretty interesting exercise. When I was writing a male protagonist, I was… calm? Idk, I didn’t overthink him. I knew who he was and I just wrote what he did and what he thought. But when I was writing a the female version, my anxiety was so much higher! I found myself agonizing over every bit of her personality, worrying if people would find her ‘too this’ or ‘too that’, too predictable, too pretty, not pretty enough, too tough, too weak, etc etc. I felt like no matter who I made her, people would be upset and fucking hate her. And then I realized, oh. This is probably why so many women authors like writing male leads. Because that agonizing feeling, that’s how it is to be a woman, all the time. And it’s so relieving to get to leave that behind when writing a male lead. Maybe this is all deeply problematic on my part, I’m not sure. Internalized misogyny? I don’t think so, just the bleak reality. But yes I likely have issues lmaaao

Another reason was simply that the last original work I wrote has a female lead, so I thought I’d switch it up again. Writing an m/m story is what got me into writing in the first place, so it feels weirdly like have to acknowledge that in new projects I take seriously, too?

and to acknowledge that story I already wrote with the female lead - Starlings - I agonized quite a bit less over her, and in hindsight, I think it’s because she’s a child. She goes through puberty during the story, surrounded by older women, and there are almost no men in the whole thing, so the dynamic is totally different. It’s not big on the romance, either, which also helps. So yeah. No anxiety there. But with a grown ass woman in a story that’s centered quite a bit around a super problematic romance? Anxiety. Anxiety for days. I also feel this anxiety when I write Hermione, btw.

there will definitely be a different kind of worrying writing this new original thing, though - writing a gay magical romance set in southern 1920s America is gonna require a TON of research, and I’m not taking that lightly. But that worrying isn’t nearly as personal, which makes a lot of difference.

I’m interesting in other people’s opinions on this! So please share if you’re willing. 🌸

[stollengoods]

Chapter 5

It’s Not Me, It’s You

Myung-gi x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of: killing, abortion, and drugs.

Summary: Myung-gi manages to piss you off again but this time instead of you going to Nam-gyu, Nam-gyu comes to you. (A bit of Nam-gyu fluff)

————

When you guys got back to your beds, everyone was whispering amongst each other. No doubt, scared out of their minds at what had just occurred.

“I saw Thanos flirting with her before the game, how is he so-“

Myung-gi shook his head, cutting you off, “I don’t know. I saw him push four people not longer afterwards either.”

“Wait. Really ? Like on purpose ?” Your eyes filled with fear all over again as you looked over at Thanos jamming out on his bed.

Myung-gi raised his eyebrows, “Yes. He literally pushed all of them, one after the other they went down like dominos.”

“What the fuck, why ?”

“Bro has to be on something.” Myung-gi mumbled bringing his legs into his chest.

You laughed, “They won’t even give me Midol, I doubt they’ll hand someone narcotics.”

He released a heavy sigh, “It’s scarier to think of the alternative…”

You titled your head, “Which is ?”

He looked at you, his face serious, “That’s just who he is.”

“He could have a mental illness.” You suggested, “But that doesn’t make him evil.”

“It does make him very unpredictable though and in a situation like this you don’t want to be around someone unpredictable.” He released his legs and they hung over the bed like yours. “That brings me to another point, I don’t want you hanging out with Nam-gyu anymore.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips, you honestly haven’t thought of Nam-gyu until he brought him up but you’ll be damned if Myung-gi’s going to tell you what to do.

“Okay, dad.” You replied sarcastically. “What gives you the fucking audacity to tell me who I can and can’t be friends with in here ?” There it goes, your anger rising up again.

He closed his eyes as you raised your voice, “I don’t mean to come off as controlling, I’m just saying it’s probably a good idea to stay away from the people Thanos hangs out with.”

“You can’t just assume someone’s bad from the people they hang around, Nam-gyu hasn’t killed anyone ! He deserves the benefit of the doubt for that.”

His eyes squinted at you, “Oh yeah, he’s such a nice guy because he hasn’t killed anyone yet.” He threw his hands up, “That’s the fucking bare minimum y/n !”

You rolled your eyes, “You know what I mean ! Him and Thanos are not the same. Tell me what he’s done that is bad enough that I can’t be around him ?”

He looked defeated, “Y/n, he’s just no good for you.”

You busted out laughing, “You’re real fucking funny, you know that.” You remarked, as you got up from the bed and grabbed your jacket. “Because you’re one to talk.”

You stormed off to your own bed and Myung-gi knew better than to follow you. He just watched you with his sad puppy dog eyes as you walked away from him. You sat on your bed starring daggers at your feet trying to calm yourself down.

“Your boyfriend giving you shit again ?”

You turned around to see Nam-gyu leaning his arms against the bed above you as he peered down at you.

You scoffed, “He’s not my boyfriend.” You told him as you scooted your legs on the bed, propping the upper part of your body against the wall behind you.

“Aww did I cause a break up ?” He jutted out his lower lip and you playfully rolled your eyes at him. He joined you on the opposite side of the bed, his back propped up against the foot board.

“We’ve been separated for months now. More specifically six months.”

Nam-gyu blinked his eyes a couple times, “Damn. I would think you guys are married, who uses the word ‘separated’ to describe a break up.” He chuckled.

You looked off to the side, “Not married but uh- we were expecting…”

“Expecting ? Oh-“

“Yeah.” You swallowed the lump in your throat. “When I told him, he sent me money to get an abortion and then completely ignored my texts and calls after that.”

You saw Nam-gyu pull his jacket sleeves over his hands, “Wow- that’s fucked up.”

You sighed, “Yeah.”

Quickly thinking of something to break the tension you created, you brought up Thanos to him.

“What’s up with your friend ?” You questioned, trying to be as nonchalant as possible.

Nam-gyu looked back at Thanos making shooting jesters with his hands as he rapped to himself, “Who ? Thanos ?”

You cleared your throat, “Yeah, he seems… very- happy ?”

Nam-gyu nodded his head, “Yeah, the cross necklace he wears, the pendants opens and he keeps his “happy” pills in there.”

You looked at Nam-gyu, “They’re giving him pills ?”

Nam-gyu chuckled, “No, he brought them with him, they just didn’t take them away from him.”

You blinked a couple of times and Nam-gyu uncovered his hands from his sleeves, “Like these two rings I have on, I came with these, they didn’t give them to me, they just let me keep them.”

“Ohh… so Thanos is a drug addict I’m assuming ?”

Nam-gyu pursed his lips, “Yeah… basically.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, why do you hang out with a guy like that ?”

“The same reason we hang out together- we have a common enemy.” He smiled.

You giggled, “I don’t hate Myung-gi…”

He put his hands up in defense, “You don’t have to hate someone for them to be an enemy.”

“Yeah, fair point.”

The speakers crackled on, “We will take another vote. I need everyone to listen for their number to be called. May I remind you that when you vote ‘O’ you are voting to stay, if you vote ‘X’ you are voting to leave.”

“Well.” Nam-gyu grunted as he got up from the bed, “I guess I’ll see you on the other side.”

You smiled, reaching out your hand for a fist bump. He smirked, before bumping your fist with his and walking off to meet up with Thanos.

You got off your bed, fixing to join everyone gathering in the middle of the room, when you heard someone behind you.

“Yah !”

You turned around to a woman with short black hair and a nose piercing approach you. “Hi… do I know you ?”

“No. I just had a question for you.”

You guys began walking down the stairs together, “Okay…”

“How do you know Nam-gyu ?”

You starred at her for a moment, “Umm… I don’t know, we just sorta started talking I guess, why do you ask ?”

She shrugged her shoulders, “You guys just seemed very chummy like you knew each other outside of this place.”

You guys stopped walking once you made it to the center of the room. You tilted your head to the side, “Is there something I’m missing ? Is he your ex or something ?”

She snorted, “Oh god no. Also, honey, I’m gay if you couldn’t tell.” She pointed to her nose piercing as if to prove her point.

“Oh okay, then why the interrogation about Nam-gyu ?”

“Well, I’m usually very good at picking up on what kind of people most humans are. Nam-gyu was a fairly easy read, he bullies people like Min-su to feel a sense of power because with everything else in his life he feels powerless. Therefore he’s just an insecure asshole.” She shrugs her shoulders before putting her hands together and pointing them at you.

“You on the other hand, I’ve noticed have some tension with Player 333 which I didn’t think too much into considering he’s scammed thousands of people out of money, but I saw you interacting with player 196 earlier before she was killed and you seemed like a fairly nice person. So I’m just wandering what a good hearted person like you is doing being buddy buddy with an asshole like Nam-gyu ?”

Your jaw was practically on the floor, “No offense but you sound like a full blown stalker.”

“None taken, I can see your trying to deflect which is fine, I got my answer.” She smiled before walking off into the crowd of people in front of you guys.

“Who was that ?” Myung-gi asked, joining the spot next to you.

“I have no idea.” You monotoned, then focused your attention on him.

He looked over to meet your gaze, “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have told you who you couldn’t be friends with.” He pursed his lips together, “He’s an asshole to me but if he’s nice to you then that’s all that matters.”

You gave him a smile, “Thank you.” It’s the least he could do to make things right but everyone’s got to start somewhere.

[kikyoupdates]

Tears of a Villainess ⭑˚🗡️⭑ 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟-𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔

yandere!ocs x reader

yandere, reverse harem, isekai, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

Reincarnation isn't as great as it sounds, especially when you've been reborn as none other than the villainess. Fated to die if you stand in the heroine's way, you immediately resolve to distance yourself from the plot. As long as you have nothing to do with any of the relevant characters, surely, you'll be able to avoid an untimely death. But in a horrible turn of events, the heroine ends up wanting to get close to you. Are you really doomed to meet the villainess' tragic end? Or is there an even more sinister fate that awaits you?

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Rowan is honestly having the time of his life. 

From the moment he heard about Alistair’s engagement falling through, he had a feeling it would be a huge sore spot for him. Never in a million years would he have expected Alistair, of all people, to be broken up with. For as long as he can remember, everyone has always viewed him as perfection incarnate. He’s a man without flaws—or at least, he’s brainwashed others into believing that he is. 

And yet, someone rejected him. Someone was finally able to look past all the bullshit and see Alistair for what he truly is. 

Rowan knew right then and there that you were the woman of his dreams. 

“...are you fucking kidding me right now?” 

Alistair is angry. That much is clear as day, much to Rowan’s immense delight. Alistair gets annoyed with him all the time, and it’s no secret that they both hate each other’s guts, but it’s a rare treat to see him get this worked up. He can’t remember the last time he was privy to such a visceral display of anger. It’s ridiculously entertaining.

Despite how badly he wants to break down into a fit of laughter, Rowan tilts his head to the side and decides to feign ignorance. 

“I beg your pardon? I understand you’re upset, dear cousin, but I’m not so sure why you’re taking it out on me. [Name] is the one who ended the engagement, is she not? It hardly seems fair to make me the subject of your anger.” 

Alistair grits his teeth. “Spare me the theatrics. You know full well what you’ve done. Is there really no limit to how far you’ll sink, Rowan? Are you really so pathetic that you’ll pursue my former fiancée purely to spite me?” 

“What a hateful thing to say,” Rowan sighs, shaking his head. “I would never act on such petty emotions. Of course, I realize that this isn’t exactly conventional, and I had a feeling it would upset you, but I’d been interested in [Name] well before you got engaged to her. Now that the two of you are no longer involved, I simply decided to act on my feelings, that’s all.” 

“Bullshit. You never breathed a word about her. It seems rather coincidental that you claim to be so enamored with her all of a sudden.” 

“Well, yes, because I had been holding back on your account. It hardly felt proper to express desire towards another man’s fiancée, let alone my own cousin’s.” Rowan pauses, and soon enough, he can’t hide his smile anymore. “I wasn’t completely sure if I wanted to marry her, of course. This was all just a hunch I had. But now that I’ve spoken to her face to face, I’ve made up my mind. She’s such a charming young woman. A real breath of fresh air. In fact, I dare say I’m already head over heels for her.” 

Alistair’s eyes bulge out of his head, and this time, Rowan simply can’t resist the urge to laugh. 

“Charming…?” Alistair blinks in disbelief. “You say [Name] is charming? That snobby, mannerless woman? Do you even know what she said to me? She called me unattractive right to my face. Me. And don’t even get me started on all the rumors I’ve heard about her off-putting behavior. Are you so shameless that you would willingly tie your future to someone like that?” 

Rowan’s laughter just gets even louder, and watching Alistair’s face become increasingly red really is the cherry on top. 

“Haha… ha.” Rowan wipes the tears from his eyes, still chuckling every now and then. “I’ll admit I hadn’t heard the part about her calling you unattractive. Forgive me for laughing. It’s just too funny. But… she never said anything like that to me, so I suppose I have nothing to worry about. As I said, she agreed to let me court her for a while, and her father seems open to the idea of us getting married in the future.” 

“She was just trying to spare your feelings,” Alistair insists. His face feels uncomfortably hot, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it. “She… she’ll reject you before long, just take my word for it. She’s volatile and unpredictable. I’m willing to bet she was just trying to appease her family since they must be worried about the engagement falling through. Besides, you’re not even engaged yet, so I’d hardly call this arrangement ironclad.” 

Rowan’s smile stretches further across his lips. The man he’s resented damn near his entire life is desperately struggling to defend himself and avoid losing face. He’s grasping at straws and offering whatever excuse he can come up with. He’s embarrassed beyond belief, and it couldn’t be any more obvious. 

For the first time… Rowan has something that Alistair doesn’t. 

“Show some humility, Alistair.” Rowan stands up from his seat to look down at his cousin with a cold, vengeful expression. “Your engagement is over. [Name] discarded you, and it’s time you came to terms with that. Besides, I’m not sure why you’re trying to debase her when you were originally going to marry her. If her reputation is as horrible as you suggest, then surely, you should have protested against this in the first place. Uncle and auntie would have understood. It’s rather crass for you to insult her after the fact, purely because she wasn’t interested in you. It shows a lack of character, and worst of all, that you think you’re above everyone else.”

Alistair blinks. He’s so dumbfounded he can’t even think of a rebuttal. It feels like he just got slapped across the face. 

Rowan smiles again. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll forgive your rudeness, on account of the fact that you’re still grieving your failed engagement. But from now on, you need to fix your attitude. [Name] and I are romantically involved, and I intend to make her my wife. I’ll urge you not to soil her name in my presence. I have a bit of a temper, you see.” 

Rowan walks off without waiting to hear Alistair’s response, not that he would have known what to say anyways. He watches as the dark-haired man promptly leaves the manor. It seems like he came here purely to gloat, which, considering how much of an asshole he is, doesn’t come as much of a surprise.

All the same, Alistair feels completely and utterly defeated. He can’t recall having ever experienced such a bitter loss. It’s painful. It’s uncomfortable. Honestly… 

He fucking hates it. 

“Goddamn you, Rowan,” Alistair mutters. He clenches his fist and takes a sharp, shaky breath, fingernails digging into the flesh of his palm. 

You really chose Rowan over him? So, he doesn’t meet your standards, but somehow, that miserable scumbag does? 

Impossible. No. It just can’t be. He refuses to accept it. He refuses to accept any of it. 

He doesn't know how he’s going to pull it off, but right then and there, he makes up his mind. 

You will take him back.

While Alistair and Rowan were busy comparing dick sizes, you were trying to make strides towards improving your reputation. 

“Name tags, my lady?” 

Fiona stares at you, visibly perplexed. She usually looks pretty confused when she’s dealing with you, not that you can really blame her, but you think you’ve got a pretty good idea this time around. 

“Yes,” you nod happily. “So that I can remember everyone’s names. Oh, it’s not like it’ll be permanent or anything. Once I’ve committed everyone to memory the name tags can be removed, but I just think it would help me remember better. I’d like to address all of the people that work here by name from now on. I’m hoping to connect to them on a personal level, so that they won’t think of me purely as their boss. I want to turn this manor into a comfortable place for all.” 

Fiona still looks confused, bless her heart. In the game, the villainess treated everyone like property—especially if they were lower than her in social status. The heroine was the target of a good chunk of her malice, of course, but it seems like commoners got the worst of it, since she probably felt like she could do what she wanted with virtually no repercussions. Which is unfortunately the truth. If you were an absolute scumbag, you could, in theory, bully all these people with zero consequences. The staggering difference in social classes allows for all kinds of unwarranted abuse, which is exactly why you’re hoping to create a whole new status quo. 

“I’m ashamed of my past behavior,” you continue, frowning a bit. It feels weird to apologize for something you technically didn’t even do, but in the interest of maintaining appearances, you need to show remorse. “Like I said before, I’m trying to be a better person, and a big part of that is treating everyone with the respect they deserve. Especially the people that work so hard to support me every single day. I’ve noticed they walk on eggshells whenever I’m around, but hopefully they’ll soon realize I’m not that scary.” 

Fiona ponders for a few moments, then smiles as she nods her head. “I think it’s a lovely idea, my lady. They’ll appreciate the lengths you’re going to in order to help them feel more comfortable.” 

“Well, it’s really not such a big deal. Remembering their names is the least I can do.” 

“Considering how many people are under your employ, I’d say that’s not such an easy task. Besides, I hear from servants that work elsewhere that it’s rather common for the lords or ladies of the house not to remember their names. We’re only servants, after all. What we do isn’t all that remarkable.” 

She makes a pained face near the end, brushing off her remarks with a weak chuckle. You can’t help but frown, and your heart throbs at the sight of it. It’s horrible that she seems to think of herself and the other servants as expendable. Then again, if they’ve all been mistreated time and time again, it’s not surprising their self-esteem would be so low. 

You lean closer and place your hand on Fiona’s head, offering a gentle smile. “That’s not true. All of you work incredibly hard, and it’s your efforts that allow everything to go so smoothly. You keep this place immaculately clean, you repair anything that needs to be fixed, you help cook my meals… and the list goes on and on. You work harder than I can even imagine, and that’s no small feat. Please don’t demean yourself like that. Take pride in a job well done. You deserve it.” 

You pat her head, which you’ve learned is something she greatly enjoys—even if she won’t openly admit to it. 

Fiona just stares at you, and it doesn’t take long for tears to fill her big doe-shaped eyes. 

“Th-Thank you,” she sniffles, trying to wipe her tears before they fall, but to no avail. “I—I really appreciate it. You’re very kind to say that, my lady. So very kind…” 

You smile and give her some time to calm down. Fortunately, it doesn’t take long for her to regain her spirits, and she proceeds to lift her fist in the air, visibly determined. 

“Alright!” she huffs. “I will speak to one of the seamstresses and inform her that we’ll all be needing name tags. I promise we’ll get the job done as quickly as possible. I won’t let you down, Lady [Name]!”

She speeds off before you can say anything else, but it warms your heart to see her opening up to you more and more. Even if you weren’t responsible for the villainess’ wrongdoings, it’s nice to see how positively everyone is reacting to the ‘new’ version of you. 

Well, mostly everyone.

“[Name], darling, Flynn is here to see you,” your mother happily announces. 

You grimace. Goddammit. For the past few days, you kept using your aforementioned sickness as an excuse to ward off visitors, but there’s only so long you can milk that excuse for, and it seems like he won’t be deterred any longer. He is supposed to be your best friend, after all. 

“Have fun,” your mother beams, and she walks off with a spring in her step, heels echoing down the halls. Your parents are both rather fond of you, but she’s been especially chipper ever since she heard Rowan proposed. By now it seems like your parents have completely forgotten the Alistair incident, or they simply don’t care anymore. 

Either way, you’ve dealt with almost all of the game’s love interests so far. Alistair is obviously a thing of the past, and since you’re well on the way towards improving your reputation, Carmine likely won’t have any reason to execute you later on. 

The only person you just can’t seem to shake is this annoying bastard. 

“How are you feeling?” Flynn asks, concern lacing his features. “You look a lot better now, but you’ve never fallen so ill before. I was worried.” 

Sorry, dude. The tales of my sickness were greatly exaggerated. I was basically just looking for excuses so I could avoid you. 

“I feel fine now,” you say, quickly smiling. “Anyways, I’ve got a lot of… math to do later, so I’m not sure how long you can stay.” 

“Math? Ah, yes. Your father was saying you really started applying yourself. He said you were concealing a prodigal aptitude for academics all this time. You sure could have fooled me,” he muses.

You shrug. “What can I say? I’m a woman of many talents.” 

Flynn purses his lips, and it looks like he’s resisting the urge to say anything. Even though he’s your so-called ‘best friend’, even he must realize that the villainess wasn’t exactly competent when it came to well, anything. 

But he’s well-mannered enough to keep those thoughts to himself. 

“Well, I’m just relieved you’re okay,” he smiles. “Oh. I also wanted to ask about your engagement. I heard that you’re apparently not seeing Alistair anymore. When did that happen?” 

“A little while ago.”

“Your parents told me that you’re the one who broke it off. Is that true?” 

“It is. I don’t know,” you sigh, “I guess I just wasn’t that interested in him. It happens. I’m fortunate enough that my parents haven’t pushed for us to get back together. They’ve given me the freedom to be more picky from now on.” 

Flynn knits his brows together. “You weren’t that interested in him…? What about all those times you kept gushing to me about how excited you were for the engagement? You seemed to feel very differently up until not long ago.” 

Ugh. This guy is constantly on your ass, pointing out inconsistencies left and right. Like, even your parents didn’t make this big of a fuss after the engagement fell through. Your so-called ‘punishment’ was doing some math problems. Let it go already, man. 

“Feelings change,” you shrug. “I was excited at first, but I gradually found my interest waning. I realized I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life with him, and I think it was for the best, because he didn’t seem to like me very much either. I’m sure we’ll both find a better match eventually.”

Flynn arches a brow. “You mean to say that you no longer feel anything towards him at all?” 

“Pretty much.” 

“Not even a little bit?” 

“Uh, nope. Otherwise I wouldn’t have broken up with him in the first place.” 

“Huh.” 

Flynn seems to be having a hard time wrapping his head around all this. Truthfully, you don’t know the finer details of his friendship with the villainess. It’s entirely possible that she bragged about Alistair more times than you can count, which is why your dismissiveness probably seems pretty suspect right now. A good friend knows when something is off, as evidenced by the fact that Flynn’s been on your case since the moment you met. 

But… there’s no way he’ll actually figure it out, right? After all, who could ever imagine that their best friend’s been replaced by some total stranger from a completely different world? It’s way too far-fetched. Practically unthinkable.

Yeah. That’s not something I should worry about. 

Never in a million years would Flynn be able to figure out what’s happening, and nor will anyone else, for that matter. Your foremost concern right now is figuring out a way to slowly push him out of your life, because the sooner you distance yourself from this guy, the better you’ll feel. 

“If you weren’t happy with him, then like you said, it’s probably better this way,” Flynn acknowledges. “I would hate to see you stuck with someone who doesn’t bring you joy. You deserve much better than that. You deserve only the best.” 

Well. You’d like to think that you deserve the best, but the previous owner of this body most certainly did not. 

It’s actually kind of disturbing that Flynn sides with the villainess so much, in spite of all the fucked up shit she’s done. It says a lot about his morality.

Yet another reason why you don’t want him around.

“I think I should get a head start on my homework,” you blurt, already walking away. It’s incredibly rude to brush him off like this after he dropped by for a visit, but you figure that if you treat him a bit coldly, he might eventually take the hint and leave you alone.

“Alright,” Flynn nods. “I’ll spend some time chatting with your parents. I don’t have any other plans for today, so take all the time you need. I’ll wait.”

…people around here really don’t know how to take no for an answer, huh? 

You sigh quietly and shake your head. Whatever. It’s going to take some time to completely get rid of him, but you’re confident you can pull it off. Even if he won’t ever hurt you, he’s simply too closely connected with the main plot. You don’t need that kind of stress in your life. 

Flynn watches you walk down the hallway, and he also watches as you grin widely and point finger-guns at one of the servants.

“Duncan!” you exclaim. “Working hard as per usual, I see. You’re doing a great job. Keep it up!” 

The servant awkwardly does finger-guns back before scurrying on his way, and needless to say, Flynn finds the whole scene rather confusing. 

Since when do you bother to remember the servants’ names? As far as he can remember, you’ve always just snapped your fingers to demand service, or pointed to someone and said, “Hey, you.” 

It’s all so strange. He can’t help but feel that you’ve changed somehow, and rather abruptly, at that. If there’s something special going on in your life, he thinks he deserves to know about it. He’s your best friend, isn’t he? The two of you have always told each other everything. And yet, he didn’t even find out about your broken engagement until well after the fact. 

Whatever’s happening to you…

He’s not sure he likes it. 

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[fanofstuff01]

Paul: But sir-

Lucifer: I don’t want to hear any objections! Do what I said, that’s an order!

All the soldiers got how serious he was. Lucifer barely ever treated any of them as actual soldiers he gave orders to.

All: Understood sir.

And with that they left as quick as possible.

Lucifer took his head in his hand as he took out a cigarette with the other, this was too much. First Adam gets shot, and now kidnapped?

No matter what he says he’s going to make him not work anymore.

And no matter who this was, he was going to have their heads.

-

Adam jolted awake from his nightmare when someone kicked his stomach with all his might. He felt the weakest he’ss ever been and could barely even look at who did it when the pain came.

Oh. Vox. How wonderful.

Vox: Wake up, guard dog. Feeding time.

Adam: H-huh…?

Vox rolled his eyes: You know what, never mind. I’m not going to fucking feed you anyway.

Feed him? What?

He winced when a piece of bread was thrown to his head. Oh.

Vox: There. You should be in best condition if your owner comes to pick you up right?

Adam couldn’t see him, but he almost heard his smirk.

He grew up with Lucifer after all..

Future Evesworld Au @fanofstuff01

Why Adam actually went into retirement way early.

Alastor shot him in the hip and knee, but he also kidnapped him. Even though he didn't know that Adam and Lucifer were married he knew that Adam was his lieutenant and best soldier.

So he, kind of stupidly, takes Adam back to the base to be locked in the basement.

-

Adam's right side hurt so fucking much, his hip and knee throbbed with pain and bled soiling his pants.

Alastor chained Adam to the wall, luckily though, Adams visor was recording so even if all that was found was his body, Lucifer would see where their base was.

Adam: He'll fucking kill you for this.

Alastor: Hmm, he'll kill me anyway.

He kicked Adam in the stomach before turning away.

Alastor: Maybe I'll rip that visor from your face and send it back to him. Should really send a message to him.

Adam glared, he couldn't wait to see that fucker get shot between his fucking beedy eyes. Once he was gone Adam did the one thing that he thought he would never do. He wouldn't have done it but he was hurt badly and who knows how close to death he is.

He turned on the visors tracking monitor so that his husband could find him.

Adam hopes it's soon, he feels lightheaded........