#i needed something good in my life i’ve been having a terrible month

[zepskies]

Omg really? Wow, thank you so much. That's honestly amazing to me, considering this was one of the hardest for me to write in Smoke Eater. 💞

(But after reading your wonderful review, thank you for making me cry. 🥹💗💗)

First of all, please don't apologize for the heartfelt thoughts you want to share with me. No matter how long or short, I love hearing what you think about my writing, and this is genuinely one of the best reviews I've ever received, because I can tell it came from the heart.

What's crazy is my mom and I also used to watch Chicago Fire together when she was trying to recover from surgery (where she had terrible complications and wasn't well for a long time). It became her comfort show, and I was happy to introduce it to her/have that bonding time where it kept her from thinking about her pain. But I'm so glad you thought to come here to perk yourself up after a rewatch.

honestly I have so many thoughts for each wonderful chapter but I would feel super guilty for spamming :’) this chapter in particular though, hits me harder than anything i’ve ever read before — not in a bad way!🤍

lol girl that's the best kind of spamming. I'd never be upset with that! 😂 Oh good, I'm glad it doesn't hit in a bad way. I was concerned about that for readers when I was first posting this part of the story. 💙

my mom had epilepsy, and I was her caretaker pretty much my entire life. I connect so much with this story because it, feels like i’m reading a mirror, if that makes any sense at all. with all the doctors and the worrying, it’s written so authentically, which is understandable after reading your author’s note. i’m so sorry you’ve experienced such difficult hardships and losses yourself honey, I offer my sincere condolences. and i’m sending you the biggest hugs 🫂🤍🤍

I'm sending you the biggest hugs right back, friend. I'm so sorry about what your mom went through, and what you went through too. Being a caretaker is not easy. I've seen it enough in my family that that's what I drew from in order to write this, so I'm glad it felt authentic to your experience. 🫂💞

now these lines/parts specifically had me crying like a baby lol. december of 2021, my mom had to have surgery at the start of the month. her recovery was going a little slow, but well. however she passed away overnight, 2 days after christmas, completely unexpected. the day before she had been doing so well too— she had more energy and was more mobile without needing as much assistance. came to find out later that’s something nurses call a surge? :/ either way, those moments in particular really tugged at my heartstrings ❤️‍🩹

I'm so sorry for your loss, my friend. It is blind sighting when it comes so unexpected like that. I haven't shared this publicly, but something similar happened with my grandfather this past December. His health declined suddenly, to the point we had to take him to the hospital. After seeming to get better after a few days, he went downhill even harder, and he passed away in mid-December. It's not the same thing as your situation, but I understand the feeling of "why did this happen like this?" But now he's at peace with my grandma. And your mom is free from her pain and discomfort too. ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

this line too. I felt this way for so long after my mom died. I didn’t get the final cause for a while since she passed at home and not at a hospital, and to this day I wish I could go back. wish I could’ve done something different. but SUDEP (or, sudden unexpected death in epilepsy) is completely unpreventable so far. I just find it so cruel that this illness I spent my whole life helping her with, ended up taking her anyway and nothing I did mattered in the end. so reading that line, how she broke down, and everything she had been holding in, it really made my heart ache but I also felt less alone in a way.

And I'm sure you did everything you possibly could, just like the reader in this story. 💞 I didn't know about SUDEP, but I have a family member who takes medication for his epilepsy, so I'm going to be reading up on that. I'm so glad that this simple line made you feel less alone in any small way -- I also thought when I was writing that it not only fit what the character was going through, but that other people who've been caretakers for a family member like this would be able to identify with this feeling as well.

everything that followed, it’s like reading a reflection. I shutdown and just went through the motions afterwards too, but ohhh how nice it would’ve been to have a dean ❤️ his support, how he takes care of her, it’s so heartwarming. and it’s really comforting to read. <3

It's that awful "autopilot" thing that somehow allows us to get through the aftermath, in a way, right? If only we could all have a Dean to support us in those moments. Somehow, reading hurt/comfort fics help me feel better too though. 💓💓

a lot of my family distanced themselves afterwards which, it is what it is. that being said, the sentiment in this story of family isn’t always blood resonates with me a lot. my support system is really small, but they chose to be there for me unlike my blood relatives so, that theme in this story means so much — the way dean’s chosen family shows up for her as well, it’s so sweet. 💖

Ugh really? I'm sorry to hear that. 💙💙 But thank you for pointing that out -- that is the overarching theme of this story, a la SPN style. 🥹 Your chosen family can be just as powerful, if not more, than your blood family. And in this story, Dean's family is basically "adopting" the reader/you into it. 💕

I guess the gist of what i’m trying to say, is I wholeheartedly adore this series and it truly means so much to me 🤍 I appreciate your work so much, and I love the unique feeling each piece of your writing brings 💗💗 I know I may sound like a broken record but truly I don’t think I can ever put into words how much I love your blog. you are an absolute sweetheart, truly a light peeking out between cloudy skies 💞

Wow, I really did tear up of happiness. Thank you. 🥹🥹 I appreciate you right back for reading this story and connecting with it like you did. And I'm so glad that you enjoy my blog!! I've only been here on Tumblr for about 2 years actively, but connecting with people like you is what's keeping me here, and honestly gives me energy to write and express myself when I'm going through hard times.

This chapter specifically was very difficult for me to write for multiple reasons, as you saw in my AN, but again it makes me all the more grateful that this is the chapter you connect with the most. I'm very sorry for your loss though. I'm really touched that this story can give you some small comfort. 💞

(And no it's not too much. Thank YOU for taking the time to share this with me.)

Smoke Eater - Part 11

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,400 Tags/Warnings: Major angst warning. But also major hurt/comfort.

Part 11: “Heart of the Home”

You sat very still.

Your hands were gripped together in your lap when the doctor entered. He was tall and lean and blonde, and he would’ve reminded you of your boss, except this man had a kinder face.

You were sitting on the edge of your grandfather’s bed, hoping the doctor would say the bloodwork and scans came back fine. That they wouldn’t need to admit George into the hospital for further testing. That he could go home in the morning.

But your life had never been quite that easy.

“Okay, George. I’m sorry, but we need to admit you,” said the doctor.

He explained that while the malignant tumor of his cancer had been removed last year, the scans that had been done last month hadn’t been able to detect the bright spots now formed on George’s lungs and lymph nodes.

The oncologist would have to confirm, but you all knew where this was headed. Likely those “bright spots” were tumors.

George nodded slowly at first, taking it all in. He asked what his options were, as far as treatment.

“Your oncologist will go over those options with you,” the doctor replied. “We’re going to move you up to Oncology shortly.”

George thanked him.

And you sat very still. 

A hand fell on your arm, finally earning your gaze. George’s face was oddly calm, though the worry in his eyes was for you. You realized that he’d gently called your name, though you hadn’t heard him. Your ears were ringing.

His mouth parted to tell you something, but nothing came out. So instead, he tugged you into his arms, and he heaved a long sigh.

“I guess we’re here again,” he admitted. He let out a chuckle. “The Lord does like his tests…but maybe that car accident was a blessing in disguise, huh?”

You heard his voice, but your mind was buzzing—mainly with the doctor’s words, and with a bone-deep feeling that threatened to consume you.

Your car, your fault. Options, again. Here again.

Your fault.

When you didn’t answer, George pulled away a bit to give you a questioning look.

“Sweetheart?” he tried. You laid a hand on his arm.

“You still haven’t eaten dinner, have you?” you asked. Neither had you, for that matter. “I’ll get us something that isn’t rubbery turkey.”

George blinked at you, confused, with a growing edge of worry.

“Isn’t Dean getting your meds? Why don’t you wait for him to—”

“I’m fine,” you said, already getting up to grab your purse. “I’ll be back.”

George called your name again, but the ringing in your ears was now pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

You made your way down the hall to the lobby at a brusque clip, even with your neck brace on. You didn’t see Dean, but he certainly saw you as he was walking back into the hospital. Frowning, he followed and called out to you.

You slowed when you saw him, and he soon caught up with you. He rested a hand on your back.

“Hey, where you goin’?" he asked.

“We haven’t eaten in a while. I’m going to the cafeteria,” you said. Though you seemed distracted, your eyes meeting his only briefly. It triggered a small spidey sense running up Dean’s spine.

He gave you your prescription pain medication, which you took with a small “thank you.”

“Everything okay?” he asked. “How’s George doing?”

“Fine. He’s resting,” you said. And by the look of you, that seemed to be true. But he spotted the tremble in your hands when you took the pill bottle package from him. It made him stop you when you tried to keep walking down to the cafeteria.

“Okay, you wanna run that by me again?” Dean asked.

You frowned, and your brows knit together. “What?”

“Is there something going on?” he pressed.

You sighed, but you didn’t answer him. You looked exhausted, and like you’d rather swallow your own tongue than speak. You shook your head and laid a hand on his wrist.

“I’m fine. Dean, thank you for everything you did tonight, but you still have to work tomorrow. Go home, get some rest,” you said.

You turned from him again. That was your first mistake. He reached out and grasped your hand to stop you.

“Hey, wait a minute,” he said.

“What?” you said in irritation. Your second mistake was not being able to look at him.

Dean was frowning in earnest now. Worry clawed in his gut, which was also telling him not to let you walk away from him. His grip shifted to hold both of your arms and move directly in front of you. He dipped his chin, trying to get you to meet his eyes.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said gently. “I need you to talk to me.”

You inhaled a shuddering breath. A wave was rising inside you, threatening to pull you into its undertow. Your eyes burned, red and shining. Dean finally saw it when you raised your head, what little you could. Your mouth began to quiver, looking into his eyes. And it was done.

You could no longer be still.

Dean held you when you fell apart in the hallway.

Dean called out of work the next day to stay with you and George. Gordon would be acting Lieutenant until his next shift, and Dean was sure the man would take full enjoyment out of it.

He couldn’t care about that right now though. He felt that his place was here, being your quiet wall of support while you and George and the oncologist talked about treatment options.

“Normally, at the stage we’re in, I would be recommending chemotherapy,” said Dr. Benton.

“Normally?” you echoed.

“At the rate this is progressing, the treatment would have to be aggressive,” he said. His gaze focused on George. “However, at your age, and the current state of your overall health…at this point, I don’t think the rigors of treatment would be worth diminishing your quality of life.”

“What are you saying?” you asked. Your voice cut like a whip, earning the other men’s gazes.

George was the first one to lay a hand on your arm. “You know what it means, honey…he’s saying it ain’t worth it.”

“Of course, it’s worth it,” you retorted. With your brows furrowed and lips pursed, your eyes went from him to the doctor. “Just because he’s older, we shouldn’t even try? Is that what you’re saying, doctor?”

At that, even Dean drew closer to lay a hand on your back. Meanwhile, George squeezed your arm.

Benton shook his head gravely. “That’s certainly not what I’m saying.”

“How much time would I get, if I started treatment,” George asked, before you could volley further with the doctor.

Benton met the other man’s gaze.

“I’m going to be honest with you, George. You may get a few more weeks, or even a few months. But that is a best-case scenario.”

Dean drove you all home that day, after George decided to formally waive treatment. Both men knew you were angry in your silence, but neither one wanted to press you. Dean was too wary, and George was too tired.

Once he was settled in bed, you hadn’t even left his room yet before you grabbed a notepad off his desk and wandered into the hall. You started to make a list of things you still needed from the grocery store, among other things. Dean took that piece of paper out of your hands.

“Good. I’ll handle this,” he said. “Meanwhile, you can get upstairs, take a shower, take your meds, and get some sleep.” 

You frowned at him. “You haven’t slept either, Dean.”

“I’m used to it,” he said, giving you a wink and a slight smile. Overnight shifts could be a bitch at a firehouse, but Dean was no stranger to having his sleep interrupted.

“Listen to him, honey. He’s speaking sense,” George called from inside his room. The bedroom door was still open. He was settling into his bed while trying to stifle a cough. He sipped at a cup of water you’d brought for him.

Still, you looked reluctant. Dean held your arms and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Come on,” he said. “You were in an accident yesterday. You’ve had one hell of a night. You need your rest, or you’ll be no good to anyone.”

And if you pushed yourself much more, he worried that he’d have to take you right back to the hospital. Dean would rather not have that scare so close to the last one.

He brushed your cheek with gentle fingers. With the limited mobility your neck brace provided, you did your best to look up at him. Your eyes were softer.

“Okay,” you breathed.

“Okay? All right, good,” Dean said. You held onto his jacket for a moment, leaning against him.

“Thank you,” you whispered. You felt the burn of tears behind your closed eyelids. A few of them squeezed past and slipped down your cheeks. Dean held your face, brushing the tears away with his thumbs.

“Hey, I’m here, all right? Just let me help you,” he said. “You can lean on me when you need to.”

“I haven’t had that in a long time,” you admitted. “Part of me doesn’t know how to lean.”

“I get that,” Dean said. But you both knew that there was a long and difficult road ahead. He knew he didn’t have to remind you of it. “Whatever you need, you just tell me, okay? If nothing else, I’ve got a strong pair of shoulders.”

Somehow, you smiled. You pressed your forehead against his chest and inhaled deeply, to steady yourself.

“That you do, Lieutenant.”

You left for your room soon after, but not before you brought him down to you for one more tearful kiss.

Dean then watched you climb up the stairs to your room and nearly went up to help you, but he heard George call his name. Dean ventured back into George’s room and heeded his beckoning hand.

“You hungry? I can scramble some eggs or something before I hit the store. I think I saw two more left in the carton,” Dean said. George shook his head.

“Come ‘ere a sec.”

Dean took the hint and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I just wanna thank you for everything you did yesterday. Everything you’re still doing for us,” George said. He looked exhausted, but whatever he wanted to say was important enough to fight off sleep. He clasped a hand on Dean’s arm.

“You don’t have to,” Dean replied.

George huffed. A smile made his eyes gleam brighter.

“I knew you were a special one, Dean Winchester. Knew it the night I met ya, on your very first date with her.”

Dean blinked, but his pause drifted into a reserved smile.

“How’s that?” he asked.

“Well, I’ll be honest. When I heard that black Chevy rumble like hell’s wheels onto the driveway, I thought I might have to worry about you,” George chuckled.

Dean’s lips quirked.

“But no, it wasn’t that. It wasn’t the pretty flowers, or our mutual love of killer sharks,” George quipped, making Dean’s smile more genuine. “It isn’t your job either, or the fact that you saved her. I just believe that you can see a man’s mettle in his eyes…and I saw it in you when I shook your hand that night.”

Dean took that in for a moment. His hand flexed over his knee. Then he met George’s gaze, though he didn’t know what to say. Sometimes though, honestly was the best bet.

“I’m sorry for what you’re going through,” he said at last. “I can’t imagine…”

George let out a breath through his nose. “I’ll tell you a secret.”

He pointed to a picture frame on his bedside. It was of him and his wife, Sophie, when they were around your age and Dean’s. The couple were sitting on a pier that hung over the edge of the lake in their hometown.

She held him from behind, with her arms wrapped around his neck. Her long hair was being carried by the wind, getting swept into George’s eyes. He was smiling too hard to care.

“I’m ready to smile like that again,” he said. He had tears in his eyes, but he was already lighter at the thought. “I know it’s selfish…but I think I’ve missed her long enough.”

Dean paused. Then he cleared his throat past a small well of something he couldn’t name. He wondered if his dad ever had thoughts like that.

“Well, I’ll let you get your rest,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

George nodded and gave Dean’s arm a squeeze. “All right. Drive safe. Don’t hit any goddamn trees.”

He shot Dean a knowing wink, and it almost had the younger man laughing. George’s sense of humor was something else.

Dean then left George to rest. He made sure he had his wallet, keys, and your grocery list before he left your house and went back to the car. He checked his phone and saw a missed call…from Cas.

Dean was reminded again about Azazel, the kingpin who might’ve ordered a hit on his family. Along with the recent murders and arsons, and the connection from one of the victims to your company, Savage & Co.

Dean returned the call as he climbed into the Impala.

“Dean. Everything all right?” Cas asked. “Sam filled me in about the accident.”

“Yeah, everyone’s okay…well, not really. I’ll explain later,” Dean replied. “Listen, about what we talked about at the bar.”

“Yes.” Cas said gravely. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go to your father about this yet.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.” Dean sighed. “My girl just got some real bad news. I know you gotta keep digging into Savage & Co., but can you keep her out of it?”

“Is she all right?”

“Yeah, more or less…it’s her grandfather.”

“Ah, I see,” Cas said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks, man. I’d rather her just focus on what she needs to do right now, you know?”

“I get it. And believe me, we’re keeping the investigation of Nick Savage quiet for now,” Cas said. “But if we find something, or worse, if I can’t…I’ll likely need to question her. She works directly with Savage, and from what I can tell, she’s instrumental in bringing in and maintaining several of his major accounts.”

Dean stopped at a red light and took a moment to rub a hand over his tired face, rubbing his eyes. “You don’t really think she’s got any idea of what that asshole’s into.”

“I’m not saying she does. But in working so closely with him, perhaps she’s noticed things about her boss, and the company. Things she’s kept to herself, out of self-preservation.”

Dean frowned. He didn’t want to think about shit like that. It made his stomach churn at the thought of you working for someone who might be doing business with a crime lord, let alone Azazel.

“Well, when that day comes, give me a heads up, okay?”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

Dean offered to take another day off to help you, but you wouldn’t let him. He needed to go back to work, and you were able to arrange working from home for the next few weeks.

Even Nick couldn’t refuse to accommodate you in a situation like this. He knew very well that if he pushed you too hard, you’d go directly to HR.

So he backed off, and told you to take as much time at home as you needed. It allowed you to put him, and that afternoon in his office, away from your mind to focus on taking care of your grandfather.

Though you called your best friend the day you got home from the hospital, Andréa didn’t come by your house to see you and George until the end of the week. She cited mounting projects at work and some kind of tiff with her cousin Meg, but it all sounded like excuses to you.

However, she was gracious enough to bring dinner for the three of you on a Friday night. She cut up with George like normal, and even got him laughing, until a coughing fit forced him to stop. It also took most of the joy out of the rest of the evening.

While George went up to his room to rest, Andréa later joined you in the kitchen. You were washing the dishes, trying to focus on what you were doing. But your mind was buzzing continuously with future tasks and worries. Always, tasks and worries.

“How are you holding up?” Andréa asked. She rubbed your back, and you gave her a slight smile.

“All I can do is make him comfortable, for as long as possible,” you replied. There were tears in your friend’s eyes, but she dabbed them away with the back of her hand.

“What do you need? Anything, you just tell me,” she said.

It was a little easier for you to contemplate leaning on Andréa. You had been friends with her for years, and she was like another daughter to George.

On the other hand, asking Dean for help always made you hesitate. What you two had was still so new. You worried that this was too much for your relationship, too fast. 

“Well,” you sighed as you wiped your hands dry on a kitchen towel. You didn’t exactly want to talk about it, but there were things you had to start planning, even if you didn’t know the exact timeframe.

However, as soon as you opened your mouth to reply, Andréa’s cell phone rang. She held up a finger to you and checked it. To your surprise, she actually answered it.

“Hey, babe,” she replied with a smile. You heard Benny’s deep voice on the line, asking a question. “Yeah, I’m still here. I’m probably leaving soon though.”

She continued her conversation for a few more minutes, but you didn’t hear anything after that. A tension headache was sharp behind your eyes, while anger (yes, anger) rolled hot under your skin. Your lips pursed. You busied yourself with straightening up the kitchen until she continued her call for another few minutes.

“Sorry about that,” she said, finally turning her attention back to you. “So what do you need?”

You put away the last dry dish and turned to her coolly.

“Nothing.”

Andréa frowned. She knew there was something off with you, but her furrowed brows betrayed her confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you repeated. “Don’t you need to head out, anyway?”

“No, I was just…what’s up with you?” she asked.

“What’s up with me is my grandfather’s dying!” you snapped. You left her in the kitchen, precisely so that she’d follow you out. You grabbed her purse for her and went to the front door, where you stepped out.

Andréa was dismayed and confused as she followed you out onto the porch. She raised her brows at you when you shut the door and crossed your arms at her.

“I know you, and this isn’t just about that. What’s the problem?” she asked.

“You can’t seem to detach from your boyfriend for more than five minutes to just be my friend. That’s the problem,” you replied. “But why should I be surprised? Like always, you’re too wrapped up in yourself to consider anyone else.”

Her brows knitted together; she looked hurt by your words, but also defensive.

“How can you say that when you’ve been exactly the same way?” she accused. “Since you met Dean, I’d be lucky to see you once a week—”

“I call you every week,” you began, counting the list with your fingers. “You’re always busy, but you never give me a day that works for you. And when we do make plans, you usually cancel. Why? Because you’re going sailing with Benny. You’re going to a restaurant, hours away, just to try the new sushi bar beer garden, or whatever the hell. Or you’re going on an impromptu road trip, or you’re planning a summer trip to Greece. Give me fucking break, Dre.”

By now she was frowning angrily, her arms crossed. “You’re mad at me because I have a life?”

“No. I’m happy for you that you found someone. I really am,” you said. “But we clearly live in two different versions of reality. I just don’t have the time or the energy to entertain yours.”

You knew you were being too harsh. You felt incredible guilt as soon as it all left your mouth…but part of you also felt like a weight had been lifted off your chest. The problem was, you still felt heavy. Just in a different way.

Both of you were crying when Andréa left your house.

All too soon, a week became a month. In that time, Dean called you every day to check on you. He spent most of his evenings with you and George when he wasn’t on shift. And when he was, sometimes Meg would drop in.

She understood your argument with Andréa, and she respected you for taking a stand when you needed to. She even confided you that she’d had similar frustrations with her cousin lately.

But Meg wasn’t your only visitor. Ellen had come a few times to bring you lunch and dinner, even breakfast, though you hadn’t asked her to. You realized then how close Dean must be to his friends at the firehouse, along with the Harvelles; Ellen also refused to take any money from you for the food.

By the end of the month, George mainly spent his days sleeping. Pain medication made his days nearly painless, but not without struggle. You were doing your best to care for him while continuing to work full-time from home. You were also exhausted, though you refused to admit it.

Today was a better day, however, because George was awake. He was also more aware of his surroundings than usual.

He stopped you from adjusting his pillow so you would sit down on the edge of his bed. He took your hand in his, brushing a thumb over the back of it.

“I’m okay with this, you know,” he said. You pursed your lips, but he stopped you from whatever you were going to say. “I don’t want to leave you. You know that…but I’m so damn proud of you. Your Gram was, and still is…”

Your lower lip wobbled as you tried and failed to keep your tears at bay. They stung in your eyes and slipped past your defenses, down your face.

“The house is yours. But if that’s too hard for you, just sell it,” he said, heaving a deep breath. “It’s just the bones. You’re the heart. And you always have been.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but not a sound would come out. You held his hand with both of yours and stared down at them. Until his voice once again commanded your attention.

“I always thought…moving to the city ruined my daughter. That we should’ve stayed in Lebanon. That maybe I gave her too much freedom, and I failed her somehow along the way,” George said. His eyes were heavy with old heartache. And yet, they soon began to lighten.

“But the day we lost a daughter, we gained one too,” he said. Then, he chuckled a little. “And I know I never failed with you, sweetheart.”

That proved to be too much for you. He pulled you into his arms like you were still a child, and he held you for a long time while you cried yourself out.

Though he eventually spotted Dean hesitating in the doorway. He’d probably let himself in with the spare key you’d given him.

George raised a hand from your back and silently beckoned Dean inside his room. He was getting tired, drifting off thanks to the morphine.

“Hey, lookie there. The boyfriend’s here,” George whispered with a bit of cheek. You sucked in a breath and raised your head, wiping at your eyes before you turned around. Dean met you with an attempt at a smile and a gentle hand on your back.

“Just got out of work?” you asked. He’d been on a 24-hour shift, and you’d missed him. You stood and stepped into his welcoming embrace. He dropped a kiss on your forehead.

“Yeah. I’ve got the next couple of days off,” Dean said. He greeted George next and asked him if he needed anything.

“Just some water,” the older man replied.

“I’ll get it,” you said with a sniff. “Need to start dinner too.”

“I already brought some food. You like Italian, right?” Dean said, with a subtle smile. It earned your sigh and a grateful smile. He knew very well that it was now one of your favorites. Italian meatballs always reminded you both of your first date.

“Thank you,” you said, grasping his hand. He squeezed yours with a nod, before he let you go.

When you were out of earshot, George cleared his throat past a wet cough. Dean reached over and grabbed him a tissue. George took it with a nod. Again, he encouraged Dean to come closer.

“I’m not worried,” George said, between deep breaths. “You know why?”

Dean just stared back for a moment. He genuinely had no idea what the man might say next.

“Tell me,” he said.

“My granddaughter’s strong. Always has been, because she had to be,” said George. “But you’re gonna be there when she’s not.”

Dean considered the weight of that charge. The anxiety in his chest felt familiar; like the day he got his badge at the Fire Academy, knowing then the responsibility he held in his hands.

That’s a lot to put on just three months of knowing this girl, came a more selfish thought. It sounded a lot like the guy he used to be, not too long before he met you.

But when Dean thought about you, and what you’d begun to mean to him…

He realized that he only had one answer.

“Yes, sir. I am,” said Dean.

George gave a tired smile. “Good man.”

And that night, an agreement was made. 

In the morning, your grandfather was gone.

Dean held you through what he thought was the worst of your heartbreak. But after that dour morning, it was like a switch flipped inside you.

In the days after George’s death, your shutters came up. You threw yourself into checklists and task after task—in funeral arrangements and planning and contacting distant relatives and friends.

This was your failsafe. Your version of “autopilot.” And these things needed to get done, after all.

But Dean worried when he no longer saw the softer side of you. Like your heart had been wrung dry. 

He inevitably had to go back to work, but in between the demanding hours of his schedule, he tried to get you to slow down. He saw the warning signs of you running yourself into the ground. He just didn’t know how to help you land.

So Dean picked up slack where he saw it, often without you asking him to. He began fixing the house, one section at a time. He enlisted Benny’s help, since he actually had a small construction business. Dean even paid for the materials himself without you knowing.

And one sunny afternoon, he took a break from repaving part of the cracked and uneven driveway to grab a beer inside. You were sitting at the kitchen table with stacks of papers all around you, your cellphone on speaker as some kind of elevator music continued to ring on a loop.

“Can you believe I’ve been on hold with the funeral director for 20 minutes?” you told him in irritation. But you didn’t truly take sight of him until he came back from the kitchen.

He wore a familiar ensemble of jeans and black undershirt with a plaid shirt, rolled up to his elbows. He was covered in a fine layer of sweat, and his hands were dusty and stained from his work on the driveway. Dean looked tired, and that made you feel guilty.

Meanwhile, he frowned and popped open a beer. “You want one of these? Looks like you could use one.”

You shook your head. With a sigh, you hung up the phone. You’d try calling again later. Instead, you focused on the next item of your checklist for today.

“Food. Because we’re gonna need to eat after the service,” you inclined your head. “Okay, still need to come up with a list of caterers, because I don’t think I can cook for that many people.”

Dean nodded at that. “Let me talk to Ellen. She’ll give you a good price, and her food is good.”

You looked up from your notepad and considered him thoughtfully. You wouldn’t have thought to cater from a bar, but he was right. Ellen had great food at the Roadhouse.

“Okay, I’ll call her,” you said.

“No, I’ll call her,” Dean insisted. He set down the beer on the table and leaned his palms flat on its surface. “Sweetheart, I told you I’d help you with all this. You don’t have to do it by yourself.”

“Dean, you’ve done enough,” you replied. Your brows drew together stubbornly. “You’re paving my driveway right now, for God’s sake! This is my responsibility, not yours.”

Dean frowned, making you sigh. You leaned back in your seat and crossed your arms.

“Look, we’ve only been dating for three months,” you said. And in your mind, a good chunk of that time had been spent in the worst hell of your life. “This right here? It’s a lot. I’m not expecting you to deal with all this…”

You bit your lip, and your gaze fell away from his as your insecurities took hold. The thoughts that had been plaguing you every night since this all began, on the night of the car accident.

“And…if you’d rather take a break from us for a while, I’d understand,” you said.

Your voice was more collected than you felt. But that didn’t make it any easier when Dean stared back at you, mostly incredulous. You even thought you saw a thread of hurt there, and it made your heartache worsen.

Dean came around to your side of the table. He dragged a chair back and sunk into it, facing you directly.

“You think that’s the kind of guy I am?” he asked.

You immediately shook your head. You weren’t trying to upset him, or imply that he wasn’t reliable, or trustworthy, or whatever was running through his head. You were just trying to be realistic.

You’re so pragmatic it hurts, as Andréa had often told you.

“Dean, it’s not that…” you began, a bit helplessly. “I just—”

“Just, nothin’.” His chair scraped toward you as he reached out for your hand. He made sure you looked him in the eyes when he said this next part. 

“I’m not leaving you with this.”

Your gaze met his, though you desperately tried to keep your heart from rising into your throat. 

“I’m not leaving you,” Dean said. His tone, his eyes, his hold on your hand was firm.

For a moment, you stared at him, unblinking, even as tears swam in your eyes. 

He’s not leaving you. 

Not like everyone else in your life.

You were grateful. Too grateful, even, for words.

When you finally broke down into tears, Dean realized what an idiot he’d been. Your wall of stoicism had been just that—a flimsy wall. Now it was shattered, and so were you.

It scared him just how much, as he gathered you onto his lap and into his arms. You didn’t seem to care that he was dirty and covered with sweat. You clung to him strong, and he held you back just as tightly.

“No matter what I did, it wasn’t enough,” you confessed. “You save people all the time. I couldn’t save anyone in my life.”

Dean frowned. He cupped the back of your head, and he felt your tears sliding down his neck. His voice was thick with emotion when he was able to reply.

“Oh, baby. It’s not your fault.”

“I can’t…I can’t do anything. Anything that matters.” Your voice was a broken whisper. It damn near broke his heart. 

“Now you know that’s not true,” he said. “I’m not gonna let you lie to yourself like that.”

You trembled and heaved with sobs, and he continued to hold you.

Just be there, Sam had told him, when Dean had called him from the hospital. Sam reminded him again last week, when George finally passed.

Is that all I’m supposed to do? Dean thought. His brows furrowed, but he tried to hide his frustration.

He was used to people depending on him. He led a team. Before then, he’d looked out for Sam all his life. Dean had never had to help someone get through this kind of grief though. He just wanted to help you, in whatever way he could.

Because he was worrying, just like you. That whatever he did, it wouldn’t be enough.

But he couldn’t leave you. 

I can’t, and I won’t, he thought. So he took a breath, and he said the first true thing that came to mind.

“You’re the strongest woman I know, you know that?” Dean said. He spoke low and steady, but with the conviction he felt. “And that’s a tall order, considering some of the badass ladies I’ve got in my life.”

A smile tugged at his lips when he considered people like Ellen and Jo, Jody and Donna. He might’ve lost his mom, but he and Sam hadn’t lacked when it came to influential women in their lives.

“But I saw it the day we met. I see it every time we’re together,” he continued. “You work hard as hell. You take care of everyone around you…”

You were still quiet, trying to stifle your crying.

Dean let out a breath. “Man, if you only knew how much you’ve been helping me. Keeping my damn feet on the ground with this whole…arsonist mess my dad’s been investigating. Digging up the past, my mom, the whole damn thing.”

With a sniffle, you uncurled from him, just enough to reveal your face. Your grip on his shirt loosened, your palm flattening on his chest. He held your hand there and turned his lips to your forehead. He sensed that you were calming down. That you were listening.

“That matters to me,” he told you.

You nodded and tightened your hand on his. “Me too.”

Your voice was still shaky, but it sounded a little stronger.

“See? You might as well face it.” Dean grinned. “You’re a badass chick with a big heart.”

You snorted in response. Your lips even twitched at a smile. He spied it when he looked down at you. And you rested easier against him as your tears subsided.

“Thank you,” you whispered. He dried your cheek with a brush of his hand. 

“For what?” he asked.

“For staying.”

AN: So first off, I'm sorry for the gritty "reality" of this one. It's just where the story took me, though it serves a purpose narratively and for both the reader and Dean's character development.

But also, I think this has just been on my mind, since both my grandmother and great uncle (brother and sister) died within a year of one another due to different forms of cancer. My great uncle passed in May of this year, and my grandmother two years this past October.

Again, I'm sorry if this one was too heavy, but art does imitate life and this was probably my brain trying to express those emotions I couldn't fully make sense of at the time. George will be missed, but will still be felt in the rest of this story, as I'm sure any of you who've lost close family members will understand. 💙

Next Time:

The identity of Azazel will finally be revealed in Part 12. But first...

You nodded. “By the way, it was nice of Sam and Eileen to come. And Meg and Cas.” 

Dean smiled.

“They can be your people too,” he said. “If you want ‘em to be.”

You couldn’t help it. Your tears brewed and bubbled over. And you moved slowly across the couch to twine your arms around his neck. Dean’s lips tugged at a smile, and he welcomed you with an arm wrapping around your waist.

Both of you were still wearing the same clothes you’d been wearing all day; you in your black dress and Dean in his slacks and white buttoned-down shirt, though by now without the jacket, and the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

You were infinitely exhausted. But one thing had become clear to you over the past few weeks.

“Thank you. Thank you for today, and for every day since we met,” you said shakily.

Keep Reading: PART 12

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

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[theftshrubbery]

the merlin resurgence right now is so beautiful i can’t believe my art is on the radar HAHA

[whatifitis]

♡ Cursing The Daylight - LN 4 ♡

Summary: Lando hates knowing you never sleep well so when he believes he's figured out why, he makes it his mission to save his sleepy girlfriend from sleep deprivation.

Author's note: A little blurb thing I wrote at 2 am. I tried my best 😭

WC: 1045

CW: Lando being a bit dumb and the sweetest person ever, fluff

You were currently cursing the daylight, watching as a blue bird flew past your window.

Fucker 

It was yet another sleepless night in your apartment. You continued to stare at your alarm clock, waiting for it to go off, a little reminder that if you were capable of sleeping properly, you’d still have 5 more minutes of sleep. 

For most of your life, especially in recent years, you’ve never been able to get a full night's rest. You’d always end up tossing and turning for hours, as well as waking up about 7 times a night. Every day you would feel irritated and restless due to your lack of sleep. 

However, whenever you slept over at your boyfriend's house, you always managed to get a good night's sleep. You and your boyfriend, Lando, have been together for about 5 months. The first night you two had spent together, was the first time you’d been able to sleep well. You woke up bright and early and you felt amazing, like nothing could stop you. 

Over the course of your relationship, Lando came to be aware of your inability to sleep well most nights. Whenever you would sleep in your own apartment, Lando would receive mass amounts of texts from you, all about how you slept terribly and that you either needed a nap or many coffees. 

Lando, being the ever so lovely person he is, picked up on something. The only times you would get a good night's sleep, waking up and not needing to complain about anything and everything, was when you slept at his place. 

The mattress! The boy thought, she sleeps better at mine cause my mattress is fucking mint. 

Upon realizing this, Lando goes and orders the same exact mattress he has, and has it sent to yours. He thought it’d be a nice surprise for you so that you can get a goodnight sleep every night. Another plus would be that you guys are coming up on your 6 month anniversary, this counts as a gift right?, thinks Lando. 

The day Lando gets an email stating that the mattress was out for delivery, he books it to your place, wanting to be there to see your reaction to his gift and so that he could help you bring it in and set it up. 

Lando arrives at your apartment, greeted by you with a massive smile and sparkling eyes. He wastes no time in pulling you to him by your hips and wrapping his arms around your torso. As you wrap your arms around his neck you say, “As much as I love seeing you, what are you doing here? I thought we were going to meet up later tonight for movie night.”

As Lando pulls away to look at you, the postman has just arrived. “That’s why.” he says, smiling cheekily and pointing to the truck behind him. 

The both of you watch as the postman begins to unload the mattress from the vehicle, before Lando jumps in and helps the man drag the mattress to the door of your apartment. 

Whilst Lando and the man bring the mattress into your apartment, you stand there dumbfounded. 

What the actual fuck is going on? The only thing I’ve ordered to my apartment is a new book and I don’t think the book is that big? Wait, did I order the right thing?!

As soon as the box is in your living area, you confront Lando, “Lan, my love, my gorgeous boy… what the fuck?” you ask, pointing at the big ass box in your living area. 

Your Lan stands there next to the box, all but swaying as he stands and gives you the biggest smile he could plaster on his face. 

The cheeky fuck. 

“It’s a mattress!” he says as he poses next to it, adding a pose for effect. 

“A mattress?” you ask.

“A mattress.” 

After a moment of silence, where you contemplated whether to strangle him or take his credit card away from him, you ask “Why?”

“Cause, you’re always tired and you never sleep well unless you’re at my place. So I figured out why! It’s because you find my mattress to feel so much better and comfier. I even ordered the same bed sheets I have, but I got yours in green since it’s your favorite color. They should be here tomorrow though so for tonight you can spend the night with me or we can use your old sheets.” he proposes, smiling so wide it makes your heart melt from the sweetness that you don’t deserve. 

He gets you the same mattress he has in his home, for your home. 

“I sleep better at yours because you’re there. Not because of the mattress, you muppet!” you exclaim. 

You watch as Lando’s face immediately drops, “what?” he asks. He’s truly been stunned with this information, “What’d you mean it’s not because of the mattress? You mean to tell me I haven’t helped solve your sleeping issues?! I thought I was smarter than all the doctors you’ve seen for this issue!”

You can’t help but laugh at your boyfriend's statement. 

“Gorgeous, you thought that of all the doctors I’ve seen… that none of them have thought that I was sleeping on an uncomfortable mattress?” 

Lando just stood there silent, blankly staring at a wall, likely contemplating all his life choices. 

“Fuck. So, do you not want the mattress? Seems like a hassle to return.” he states as he scratches the back of his neck, wondering how he’s going to return the heavy ass box. “Wait, you sleep better when you’re around me?” he looks at you, somewhat shocked. 

You walk up to him, taking his hands in yours and making him look you in the eyes, “Gorgeous, in the time we’ve been together, we’ve slept on couches and several different mattresses. And I always sleep well no matter where or what we are sleeping on. I sleep better because I’m with you, I feel safe with you.”

“Oh… oh!” he giggles a bit. Red starts to lightly color his face, he’s blushing, “That’s nice.”

You don’t think you’ve met anyone more awkward than this man, but you love him because of that, not in spite of it. 

[pathologicalreid]

excuse me but spencer and kindergarten teacher reader is just what i need and i didn’t even know!! it’s like my new favorite ahhh i need more please!!

fishbowl | S.R.

you offer to bring spencer lunch when he forgets his at home, leading you to become an object of curiosity at the BAU

also kindergarten teacher!reader: kindergarten crush

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: the bau being nosy, kindergarten teacher!reader, pet fish/class pets, lots of dialogue, spencer has his cane word count: 1.79k a/n: i love spencer and kindergarten teacher reader they are very important to me!! i would equate this fic to spencer bringing a girl home for the first time, but home is the BAU. thank you for requesting!

“Ma’am,” an unfamiliar voice said insistently, you snapped out of your awe-induced stupor and looked up at the security guard. He didn’t seem overtly threatening, save for the gun that was holstered to his hip, but he was looking at you the same way you looked at your students when they first came to school in the morning. He was looking at you like you were lost. “Can I help you?”

You frowned at the guard for a moment, fumbling with your school bag for your phone to call Spencer for help. You held the phone in your hand, trying to open it with busy hands as someone approached you, and just as you were about to ask the security guard for a second, you were met with a familiar face. She had cut bangs in her dark hair, but other than that, the woman in front of you was the same Emily Prentiss you had met months ago, “Hey, Miss Y/L/N, right?”

The relief in your eyes had to be visible as she smiled, “Right,” you affirmed, “It’s good to see you again, Agent Prentiss.”

“Oh, no, please, call me Emily,” she insisted, taking charge and reaching over to take your tote despite your protests. “What brought you all the way out to Quantico?”

Ducking your head as she led you through the security checkpoint, you clipped your visitor badge to the waistband of your skirt and crossed your arms in front of your stomach before answering, “Uh, Sp- er, Dr. Reid forgot his lunch this morning, so I offered to bring him something.”

Arching a dark brow, Emily led you into the elevator and hit the button before leaning against the wall – sixth floor, you’d have to remember that. “Y/N… I know,” she said, proffering you a knowing look that made you flush.

“Spence left his lunch at his place,” you shrugged, “I had a half day today, so I told him I could bring something by.”

Humming, watched carefully as you shifted your weight from one leg to the other, “So, you went to Spencer’s place with your key and grabbed his lunch for him.”

Nervously, you looked up at the number above the elevator doors – why was this taking so long? “No, there’s a deli around the corner from my school, he likes the soup there. I have a key, but the deli was on the way. I’ve been watering his plants while he’s away. That’s why he gave me a key. If you were wondering.”

Your secret was out, you rambled when you got nervous. You hadn’t even considered the fact that Spencer would want to keep the private aspects of your life private.

Emily definitely noticed the sigh of relief you let loose as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, “Spencer’s desk is through there. At the end on the right,” she directed you, handing your bag back to you.

As you slung your bag back over your shoulder, you thanked the person who held the door open for you and made your way through the bullpen. “Next time,” you said, garnering the attention of your boyfriend, “You have to come get me. If they ever let me back in this building, that is.”

Casually, he reached for your hand, pulling you closer to his chair until you were close enough to drop a kiss on his lips, “I thought you were going to call.”

Your shoulders slumped as you set the lunch on the only clear spot on his desk, “Terribly, impossibly long story,” you waved him off, setting your bag on the floor as you noticed a familiar wooden apparatus next to Spencer’s desk. “Your cane is back,” you observed, “Are you alright?”

He nodded, “’M fine,” he reassured you, “It hurt this morning when I woke up, but it’s fine now.” He turned his head at the sound of a door opening, you followed his gaze as a blonde made her way out of the bullpen, leaving the glass doors swinging behind her.

It was hard enough to come around to the fact that Spencer’s job was dangerous, but the fact that he had actually been shot – not long before he met you – was even harder to come to terms with. You watched him carefully as he got up and found an available chair for you to sit down in and begrudgingly came to the same conclusion, he seemed fine.

As you unpacked your lunch, a new face approached Spencer’s desk, leaning against the metal, “Reid, who’s this?”

Upon first glance, the man in a V-neck t-shirt was very protective over your boyfriend. From what you knew about the team, that made a lot of sense – Spencer was the youngest member. Taking the initiative, you stood up and reached your hand out for him to shake, introducing yourself to him, and he introduced himself as Derek Morgan.

“Alright, pretty boy,” Derek said, nodding over at Spencer. “So, what brings you here to the BAU?”

Explaining yourself again, you sat back down, crossing your ankles and watching as Spencer’s boss walked by, ushering Derek along with him. “Mr. Hotchner,” you greeted, happy to see a familiar face. Your eyes followed them as Derek said something about this being the first time Reid’s had a girl in the BAU.

You laughed slightly, glancing over to Spencer who didn’t seem bothered by the commotion.

“How do you know Hotch?” Emily asked from her desk, she nodded in the direction of the unit chief.

Passing Spencer a napkin, you looked over at Emily, “He toured my school with his son. They’re talking about switching me to preschool next school year, so I was there – he recognized my name.”

A solemn expression passed over Prentiss’ face, “Right, how is Cody?”

“Good! He’s doing really well, he and his mom are moving over the summer to be closer to her parents, so he’ll be at a different elementary for first grade,” you explained, wondering if they usually got updates like that on the children they find.

You waited for another question, but Emily’s phone started ringing, “Saved by the bell,” Spencer said, switching off his monitor and turning his attention fully onto you. “How was school?”

While eating, you explained how with half days, you usually just have an activity day with the kids and, for some reason, today you found it impossible to get them to stay on task. “I get it though, I think it’s hard to pay attention when the workday is shortened, even if I have a ton of lesson planning left to do after the final bell. Especially if they’re moving me next year.”

“When will you know for sure?” He asked, eyes catching on something behind you.

Shrugging, you balled up your trash and put it back in the deli bag, “I might not for a while. They’re trying to hire someone for preschool but if they can’t find anyone, I might be pulling double duty… What are you looking at?” You turned in the desk chair to find the blonde from earlier and another woman, also blonde, but dressed in bright colors, “Ah,” you said, understanding what Spencer was looking at.

The two women looked away, pretending like they hadn’t been staring. “I’m sorry,” Spencer apologized, “Usually on Fridays most people go off campus for lunch, but it seems like today was the exception.”

Leaning back in the chair, you gave Spencer a knowing look, “They’re tapping on the fishbowl,” you concurred.

“The fishbowl?” Spencer asked, frowning in confusion.

Turning around again, you waved at the two blondes in an attempt to try to get them to come in, “The kids do it all the time, they’re tapping on the fishbowl to see if they can get the fish to move,” you elaborated.

“Fish? What about fish?” A new voice chirped, and you turned to find the blondes had elected to come into the bowl.

You nodded, “Two fish. They’re the class pets.”

“Do they have names?” One of them asked, looking between you and Spencer curiously.

Spencer chuckled, “Nikola Tesla and Rosalind Franklin,” he answered – he was, after all, the one who had named them in the first place.

Beaming at your boyfriend before going back to his co-workers, you giggled at their confused looks, “Do you teach a class filled with geniuses?”

“No,” you smiled, “they’re four- and five-year-olds, they call the fish Nikki and Rosie,” you clarified. “I’m Y/N,” you said, deciding to forego a handshake and waving at them instead.

The two of them introduced themselves – JJ and Penelope – and continued to make conversation with you before the latter of the two gasped, “You should come to girls’ night!”

There was a chime of agreement from Emily’s desk, and you looked over at Spencer to see if he wanted to weigh in. Truthfully, he looked less than excited at the prospect of you spending the night with his co-workers.

“What, Reid?” JJ asked teasingly, “Are you afraid we’ll tell your girlfriend all of your dirty secrets?”

A laugh erupted from Derek’s desk, “He would need to have dirty secrets for you to tell!”

At that point, Spencer looked like he was ready to drop his head on his desk, you reached over and set a hand on his knee. You peered back up at JJ and Penelope, “Can I get back to you?”

Holding up her pointer finger, Garcia grinned, “Absolutely, have Spencer give you my number!”

You stood up at that, gathering your things and silently letting Spencer know that you were ready to leave, “I’ll walk you out,” he offered, standing up, and grabbing his cane as he did so.

Waving goodbye to his team, you led the way out, holding the door for Spencer as he tried to wave away any remnants of your concern. The two of you stood in silence as you waited for the elevator, resisting the urge to hit the call button again as your impatience resurfaced.

The two of you let people off of the elevator before boarding the empty car, “I’m really sorry about… all of that.”

Frowning, you kept your eyes trained on the elevator doors, “It’s like a little family,” you murmured, completely disregarding his apology.

“What?” He asked, turning to face you.

You pointed up toward the sixth floor, “Your team,” you replied. “The way you all function. It’s like a family and you’re the younger brother – at least in that dynamic.”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, “Oh, yeah. Kind of.”

Nudging at him with your elbow, you smiled slyly at your boyfriend, “Do you think they liked me?”

He nodded reassuringly, “I think you will very quickly be welcomed into the family.”  

[merakiui]

angel/angler.

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, stalking, non-con, non-consensual photography, chikan/groping (train molestation), obsession, kidnapping/captivity, drugging, violence, blood, death (or is it??), azul's insecurities and low self-esteem, azul’s not-so-subtle breeding kink, implied disordered eating, reader's height isn't described, but it's written that azul is taller note - to obsess is to hunger like an angler from the deep sea. living his entire life in pitch-black solitude, entranced by an angel's halo; his only purpose is to find the body that will become his lifeline and, one day, his cemetery.

entry 1: 18 April, 20XX.

For anonymity’s sake, I’ve chosen to write using a vague pronoun. Additionally, this diary will be a record of my thoughts so that I can keep my mind and senses intact. In my youth, I was prone to terrible fits of self-destructive rage, and as a result they suggested I write my feelings down to prevent any outbursts. I’m not very physical towards others. Rather, it was the harm I posed to myself that fostered concern.

But this space isn’t for my own views on myself. It’s about someone else. 

I have a confession: I’ve fallen in love with you from the train, and I’ve been in love with you for the four months I’ve come to know you.

You wear perfectly pressed suits, heels of a modest height, tights, and pencil skirts that cut just at your knees. I want to touch you, but if I do you might stop wearing skirts altogether and then I’ll never see your legs again. I suppose trousers aren’t so unattractive. They’re appealing in their own right. Everything looks good on you, though. (Nothing would look even better.)

You work in an office building. I’m not sure which floor, but I’ll know soon enough. I wanted to follow you inside, but there’s a security guard in the lobby. He always greets you, and you always smile and chat with him. You’re a kind person, so I let this pass without incident. But I can’t lie to these pages and say it’s not troublesome when I watch his gaze linger longer than it needs to. 

I’d kill him, but then they’d employ a new guard and you’d make friends with him because you’re so kind. I don’t admire kind people. Rather, I find kindness to be a double-edged blade (Is that the correct phrasing? It’s different in my hometown. We say kindness is like pufferfish—harmless until it’s provoked and then it becomes poisonous). It’s not that I look down on kind people. I just think you shouldn’t be so quick to befriend the world in its entirety.

After plenty of observation, I’ve learned that you often leave your building to get lunch by yourself. This is what you’ve eaten in the week:

Monday - A salad at a popular café. Iced tea because it was a sunny day. A tiny cheesecake for dessert. It was blueberry.

Tuesday - A wrap of some kind. Chicken? Or was it vegetarian? Sweet potato fries. Water.

Wednesday - You didn’t leave your building. Were you at work today? 

Thursday - Another salad. Water. Same café. No tiny cheesecake.

Friday - You went to lunch with that guard. I only remember my irritation and so I’m afraid I can’t make note of your meal for today. He looks at you like an obsessed puppy waiting for its owner to give it attention. I want to pluck his eyes from his sockets so he’ll never look at you in that way again.

You lead a healthy lifestyle, but I can’t help wondering if you’re eating well. Did someone say something about your figure? I’ll eviscerate them for you and then they can see how much it hurts when unnecessary scrutiny is thrown around.

It’s quite late. I want to sleep, but thinking about you has my body wide-awake. I wonder if your mouth tastes like the moonlight shining in through my window. I wonder if your body is soft like mine… Of course it is. A silly, irrational thought. You’re much warmer than me. This is just a theory. I’ve yet to feel and confirm for myself. I will in the foreseeable future.

Before we part ways, I want you to know that I’m not very good at cooking. I’ve picked up a few books and hope to learn. I’m going to practice so that I can feed you better meals one day. Salads are the worst. Fried chicken is the true meal of heaven. I’m certain you would share this sentiment.

If I were to be condemned to a last meal like those serial killers on death row, I’d ask for fried chicken. Knowing you, you’re too good to kill anyone. In this hypothetical, supposing you’re a heinous criminal, your last meal would be something healthy. Do you even like those salads, or are you forcing yourself because you must? I understand calorie-counting well enough, but if there’s one thing to enjoy in life it should be food.

I suppose that makes me a hypocrite. I ought to take my own advice.

Oh. I’m starting to grip my pen with more force and the lines have become shaky. I usually break my writing utensils if my focus strays. I’ll stop here for today. Ink is a pain to clean.

AA.

The morning rush is your greatest enemy.

Jack Howl, the lobby’s security, has suggested giving you a ride on numerous occasions. “It’s part of the reason I got my license,” he explained once, “so that I can protect those who work in this building from the rush. Not like you have to accept my offer. It’s just…convenient for both of us. Again, I don’t care what you do.”

(He does. You see through his gruff surface.)

According to him, the morning and night rushes bring out the worst kinds of characters.

But isn’t that everywhere? you think as you peer out the window, watching the city come into clarity.

Like every morning, the train car is more crowded than a sardine tin. You’re used to being pressed up against other commuters, pinned to the window or between people. You’re flattered to know someone’s concerned, but nothing has happened yet. And why would it? It’s bright outside. No one would dare do something during the day. At least, not in a crowded area where anyone could see and hear.

I wonder what I should have for dinner. I still need to go shopping. My fridge is way too empty, you think, sighing. And I need to follow up with that one author. They’ve yet to get back to me about my edits. Perhaps we should meet in the office instead of through video call… And I also need to finalize that other style sheet after the last round of editing. And then another conference… There was something else. Was I scheduled to have lunch with an author? Or was that next week? I should check before—

The train shudders as it slides into the station. Someone brushes against you from behind. Their hand is pressed against the window just near your head. They steady themselves, their body so close to yours you can hear their staggered breathing.

“Ah. S-Sorry…”

It’s next week, right? I really should check once I get to my stop. This is going to eat me alive all day.

“Mhm,” you hum, waving dismissively.

The stranger standing behind you peels his hand away from the window. A sweaty palm print is left in its wake.

“We will be approaching the next stop shortly.”

Just one more and you’ll be getting off.

A pair of bright eyes blinks back at you in the reflection, watching the city just as you are.

entry 5: 22 April, 20XX.

I’m not a social person by any means. If I can avoid crowds, I usually do. An introvert’s paradise is best spent in the comfort of their own room, after all. But if you prefer outdoor dates I can become extroverted for your sake. There are lots of things I’m willing to do for your sake.

Which is why I’ve forced myself to tolerate the train. I loathe it. It’s cramped and uncomfortable. Most days I’m not even near you, and so all I can do is stare longingly from afar. I content myself with imaginary scenarios like in the books you edit. I’ve mentioned it sparsely in this diary, but you’re a brilliant editor. Most of the novels you work on aren’t exactly my taste, but there’s something to appreciate about them. Reading through them knowing your very eyes pored over these pages dozens of times before publication… I admire your work. Immense time and effort goes into all professions, especially ones that involve meticulous touches. 

With this discussion of careers, you might wonder what I do for a living. I manage my own restaurant chain off-site. It must be shocking news for you to realize: your secret admirer is actually quite successful.

If I’m not able to provide an adequate life—no, more than that. If I cannot drown you in all of life’s luxuries, I should sooner throw myself on the beach and let this soft, wriggling body of mine dry out than settle for the barest of minimums. You deserve only the finest.

In fact, I have a room in my home dedicated to you. A private office in which you can write and edit in peace. It’s furnished with everything you’d ever need. I hope to gift it to you one day.

Remote work is very relaxing. (You’ll know this once you try it here.) When you’re boss, you work your own schedule. That’s why I’m able to fit our secret meetings into my weekly itinerary.

Today’s meeting was quite fortuitous. I felt like I’d won the lottery. Mostly because I was finally given the opportunity to be close to you. So close, in fact, that you didn’t even notice when I slid my phone under your skirt to take a few photos. Your undergarments are unexpectedly plain. Truthfully, I’m somewhat disappointed. I was hoping to learn your lingerie preferences. At the very least, I know your tights are sheer enough to show me the color of your panties.

I consider myself a connoisseur of many things, and I’ve done enough interior decorating in my time to become well-accustomed to color palettes. A fool would say your panties are red, but they’re actually maroon.

That same fool wouldn’t take another breath after glimpsing such a private side of you.

If you must know, my dear, I am excessively avaricious when it comes to the things I like. I have always been this way. I am a collector. A hoarder of secrets. I refuse to let others touch or take the things that belong to me, especially when they are wholly undeserving…

I’ve broken another pen. Thankfully, the mess wasn’t so extreme. Not-so-thankfully, I’ve lost my train of thought.

Ah. Right. Trains.

Today I rode the train, and I was standing right behind you. You were looking out the window, lost in your thoughts, and so you didn’t notice me. You must have seen my reflection, but I wear a mask and a hooded sweatshirt when I go outside. Perhaps it’s a touch embarrassing to admit, but I am very self-conscious of the way I look. Firstly, my eyes are too tired. I’ve read that many people are not fond of eyes with dark circles under them. Secondly, my face is average—unworthy of your love by my lofty standards. My hair never cooperates. My smiles never fit properly. My skin is too pale. My eyes are too blue and my pupils are abnormal. My weight is just a few kilograms above the average. I will work hard to bring it back down for your sake and for my own so that it won’t show. I prefer a slim waist, so I must stomach all manner of healthy foods for the weekend. What a pity… Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you could eat whatever you wanted without having to worry about caloric intake and numbers on a scale?

That aside, there are times in which my glasses sit crooked on my face and it’s a horrifying thought to imagine I walk around looking like that! As if I’ve rolled right out of bed with no regard for my appearance whatsoever!

Perhaps the both of us share one similarity. We are vain creatures who care too much about how we present ourselves to others.

Thus, I conceal myself so that you won’t judge me harshly should you look upon me. Not like you’d do that. You were so immersed in your head that you hardly paid any attention to your surroundings. You should be more careful. What if something were to happen and I wasn’t there to protect you?

The train stuttered to a halt at the first stop, and some fool bumped into me. I should thank them because I got to brush against you. You gasped softly. I watched your breath fog the window. I placed my hand just above your head and apologized softly, and you weren’t bothered in the slightest. Oh, how I envy your carefree nature.

As a result of that stranger’s mishap, I’ve learned something new. You wear perfume. Even with my mask, I could smell it. Strong and flowery, overwhelmingly sweet. Maybe you prefer these scents? I’m more partial to mature scents, but I admit there’s a certain charm to the scents you wear. I wish I knew the exact brand. There are dozens of perfumes with the same notes as the ones I picked up, but none can compare to the one you use. I want to be able to hold the bottle knowing it’s your favorite.

I’ve prattled enough. With the length of my entries, you’d assume I was this chatty beyond the page. I’m not. I only say as much as I think is necessary.

Once again, I’m having trouble falling asleep. I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m looking through the photos I snapped and the outline of your lips against your panties is lovely. I’m sure you’re just as soft and sweet inside as you are on the outside. If only I could experience it right now. My hand can’t replicate the softness or the wetness or the way you’ll probably clamp down when we finally make love.

I can only fantasize for now. What a pain. 

AA.

“It’s going to rain today,” Jack tells you the minute you step through the lift doors into the lobby. He stands straight like a soldier, his shoulders squared and features set into something serious.

“Looks like it, huh?” You glance at the darkening sky outside, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Hopefully it rains after I get home. I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

“I’ll drive you.” He falls into step beside you. “It’s dark out and the station is—”

“It’s only five minutes away. I’ll be fine. I take this way all the time.”

Jack’s lip twitches into a grim frown. The beginnings of a sharp, pearly-white canine flashes at you as his mouth curls. “Fine,” he concedes with a huff. Awkwardly, he scratches the back of his neck and looks elsewhere. “Do what you want. I’m not forcing you or anything.”

You smile at him. “You’re very considerate, Jack. I appreciate the concern.”

He’s like a puppy. It’s really sweet.

“W-Wha—who said anything about concern?” His face is growing warmer by the second, thawing his external ice.

“I’ll be okay. It’s not even that dark out either.”

“Still…” He sighs and cards his hand through his hair. “You haven’t noticed anything weird lately, have you?”

“Anything weird?” You furrow your brows, suddenly confused.

“On your way home. Nothing out of the ordinary? It’s the same every day?”

“Mostly, yeah. Why? Did something happen?”

“No. Just wondering…” Jack looks past you then, searching for something you can’t seem to see. “You sure you don’t want a ride? I can walk you to the station. Protect you if anything or anyone—”

You force yourself to laugh. “Come on. You’re trying to scare me on purpose. This is because I told you I’m editing a horror novel, isn’t it?”

Jack doesn’t share in your humor. Instead, his frown tightens on his face.

“While I’m grateful you want to help, I really don’t want to put that on you. It’s not your job to chauffeur me around. I’d feel bad if I made you do that. So thank you, but I’ll have to decline.”

You turn swiftly on your heel before he can protest, striding out the door into the gloomy night.

When is it going to be summer? It’s way too chilly.

You burrow into your jacket as you beeline for the station. A brisk breeze blows through busy city streets. Even though there are still people out and about, it feels strangely desolate.

Jack’s heart was in the right place, but did he really have to phrase it like that? 

You wrap your arms around yourself and hurry along. Your steps are in time with your pounding heart. A cold sweat beads along your forehead. 

Relax. It’s nothing to get worked up over. I’m fine.

Crunch.

You whirl around, clutching your bag between your arms. There’s no one in sight. The city seems eerily quiet tonight.

Stop scaring yourself. Nothing’s there.

No, it’s not something that could make that sound—a noise akin to a footstep. That belongs to someone.

Is someone following you?

You aren’t going to wait around and find out. Now you’re jogging the rest of the way, your heels clicking against the pavement. Your breath comes in shaky heaves, and by the time you finally step into the station’s blinding fluorescents, adrenaline still vibrating through your veins, you notice the time.

My train—it’s already here! Thank you. Oh, thank you so much!

You rush through the station in a flurry, and the relief is tangible once you’re safe and sound inside the train car. You squirm through the throng of late-night commuters towards the window.

“Sorry. Excuse me. Pardon me,” you murmur as you navigate the crowded space.

You make it to the window just as the doors slide shut. Moments later, the train squeaks into motion.

I worked up such a sweat. I can’t believe I got so frazzled over something as small as a snapped twig…or whatever that was. It wasn’t a footstep. And if it was, it was probably my own.

You shake your head at your reflection.

Look at me, losing my mind all because I let someone’s words get to my head. 

The stranger standing behind you sighs alongside you. You’re about to turn around, but it’s their hands on your waist that stop you. Your blood freezes. Your spine goes rigid.

“Excuse me? Um… C-Can I help you?”

You gasp, horrified, as the hands creep higher until they’re wrapped around your chest. The stranger squeezes almost curiously. Their breath catches on an eager hitch. You peer helplessly at the window. Two blue eyes blink back.

“Wait… Hold on—”

“It’s okay.” A man’s voice. Sweet and silky-smooth. A reassuring whisper. Only you can hear it with this invasively close proximity. It might as well be a drop in the ocean that is the rickety din of the train on the rails. You reach to grab his arms, hoping to pry him off. “I’m not going to hurt you. As long as you’re quiet…”

“No, you can’t. Please, sir. S-Stop… Don’t touch there.” Your fingers curl around his wrists. You squirm against him, your brain blanking.

This can’t be happening… There’s just no way…

Something stiff prods at your ass from behind. You yelp softly when he rubs himself against you. You try to catch sight of his features when you crane your neck, but all you get is a faceful of a dark hoodie. He’s tall enough to block you from the other passengers, his body caging yours against the window. One hand slides away from your chest to slip under your skirt. He gropes at your inner thigh; his fingers draw dangerously close to private territory.

“Sir—”

He inhales a dreamy breath. “Perfect,” he babbles, his words muffled by his mask. “So perfect. Warm… And soft. Just as I thought.”

There’s nowhere for you to run. Nowhere to hide. You’re trapped here with this fiend until you get off at your stop.

“We will be approaching the stop shortly,” the woman on the intercom says, but it doesn’t give you the relief you’re after.

Three more stops and then you’ll be at yours. Three more. Three. Your stop might as well be years away.

Two fingers trace the outline of your pussy through your panties. You’re grateful you’re wearing tights.

His breathing is heavy. He’s mumbling filth in your ear. You hardly register it over the static in your brain.

Gross. So gross. Stop it. Please stop. I don’t want this.

A whine bubbles low in your throat when he presses down against your clit. He caresses you through the fabric of your panties. You slump against the window with your palms on the glass. Your heart is in your throat. You feel sick and dizzy. It’s too hot in here. Everything is spinning. Your heart is picking up its pace. Your hands are starting to shake. 

And there’s nowhere to go. No amount of begging will stop him. He’s all over you, pressed impossibly close—so close you think he’s trying to fuse his body to yours, becoming one mutual unit.

You want to scream, but you can’t find your voice. You can’t do anything. You can’t even think.

“Don’t be scared,” he murmurs, twining his fingers around your trembling ones. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Mmh, no… No—stop. P-Please, sir, please stop.” You shudder against him, and a choked, broken sob rattles through your ribs. 

He chuckles and squeezes your hand. His other circles your tender, sensitive clit, and the contact elicits a whimper from you. “Even though you’re making the cutest sounds? Aah, I wanna be inside you so badly… I’m sure it’s even softer there.”

You bite down on your bottom lip so hard that your teeth pierce the skin. A thin ribbon of blood dribbles down your chin. You refuse to give him that satisfaction. Even though your attempt to snuff your voice is successful, your body doesn’t seem to agree. It shakes in fear and arousal. When he presses against your panties next, he feels the growing damp spot. 

That’s just a natural reaction, right? I’m not actually aroused by this. There’s no way!

Just when you think he might pursue further, he pulls back. His hips are still flush to your ass. You can feel his cock straining against the fabric. It’s gross and demoralizing. You’re nothing but a doll for him to get off to. Less than a person.

The train glides to a halt and the doors open. People exit and enter in a busy fashion. You stare out the window at your blurred surroundings.

When the train eases back into motion, you realize tears are welling in your eyes. They don’t fall. Not yet.

It isn’t until you get off at your stop, sprint the rest of the way home, hurry up into your apartment, and lock the door that the horror of it all finally catches up to you. You collapse to your knees and wail like you’ve just lost something precious—something you’ll never be able to get back.

You’ve never felt more dirty before.

entry 36: 4 May, 20XX.

I did it. I finally did it.

My hand is shaking; I’m so happy. No, I’m more than happy. I’m absolutely overjoyed!

You don’t know this about me yet, but I’m terribly envious. I suppose that’s why I could muster the confidence to touch you and hold you��� Your body is so soft against mine. Every inch of you is beautiful. I wish I could have felt beneath your shirt, lifted your bra to see your bare breasts in the window’s reflection. This is quite the shameless admission. Even I, despite admiring you for so long, am loath to admit it.

You mesmerize me. I’m already flustered just thinking about the way your hand fit in mine when I held it… And you were aroused! I was so close to such a precious area, and you were wet for me and only me. I feel so overwhelmed. It’s a dream come true. You’re such an angel. My angel.

My dear, darling angel, I’m sorry for startling you. That was the only way, you see, and certain circumstances led me to that point. You must understand.

To be unfiltered about it, it was annoying seeing that security guard pester you. I had the strongest urge to kill him, but that’s not something you can do on a whim. Murder is like running a business, in a way. One misstep, a bad investment or a sliver of evidence left behind, and it might spell the end.

That’s besides the point. It’s hardly worth the time. 

Regrettably, while on the train into the city, I noticed you were wearing trousers today. I was right. Last night was a once-in-a-lifetime event. A pity. Your legs in those sheer tights is a vision to behold. Luckily, I have enough pictures to satisfy the craving to see you in them. When you live with me, I’ll buy plenty of tights for you to wear around the house. That way you won’t have to worry if I rip them.

That aside, you’ve started looking over your shoulder more. You talked to that security guard longer than you normally do. It’s irritating. Quite frankly, it pisses me off.

I don’t want to be childish. I understand you’re stressed and nervous. Anyone would be. That’s normal. But I’m not going to hurt you. I even told you those exact words! I’m certain you would have calmed down if you could see my face. Unfortunately, I’m not very blessed in that department. I assure you my personality is far prettier…despite the ugly truths I’ve penned here.

But then those don’t matter when it comes to love. Even in love, couples are supposed to recognize and accept each other’s flaws. So it’s fine if I’m an ugly person. It’s fine if I’m a devil or something grotesque from the deepest trench in the sea. At least, in spite of such darkness, your halo will continue to light the way and I will always be lured in by your luminosity.

I can’t do much of anything right now and that has led me to feel increasingly itchy. I want to feel you again. Smell you. Touch you. I’d like to taste you next time. Part your legs or tear your skirt off and indulge in the space you keep hidden from me. I want to sink into your depths and know the shape of you just as you twist yourself to take the shape of me. 

It’s just not enough. I desire more of you. 

AA.

entry 40: 8 May, 20XX.

It’s been a few days. You haven’t taken the train since. Now you’re driven to and from work by that pest. I was overcome with such frustration yesterday that I slammed my hands down upon my desk and fractured my wrist. For the time being, until my wrist heals, I must wear this unsightly stabilizer-brace-thing and write carefully with my non-dominant hand. I like to consider myself ambidextrous, if only because it’s a talent I’m sure will impress you, as you seem to surround yourself with successful, talented people, but I must admit my lettering is rather…subpar.

It’s not as neat as I hoped it would be. Something to practice while my wrist heals, I suppose.

There’s only so much strain I can take, my angel. Are you really so afraid of me that you’ve chosen to rely on someone else to protect you? If it was funny, I’d laugh. But it’s not. It’s annoying. Must I chain you up by the throat so that you won’t run away? Must I cuff our wrists together so that neither of us can part ways? What must I do to ensure you’ll never leave me?

Every day I spend in solitude, you grow closer to everyone but me. It’s infuriating.

However, there are always silvers of hope to be found and exploited in misfortune. As a businessman, I know this well enough.

I can plan around this. I’ve taken a few photos of your house at every angle. It’s important to think ahead when making a calculated risk.

When you go to kidnap the love of your life, you must dress appropriately, no? Now should I wear a formal suit or something casual?

I have some time and plenty to look forward to.

AA.

Like always, early as usual, Jack is waiting for you below your apartment. You see his car from the window and light up at once.

It’s been two months since the incident on the train. Jack insisted you go to the police when you confided in him a week after the fact. But what could they do? A story isn’t evidence. Evidence is evidence. So to combat that, you’ve avoided public transport altogether. Jack drives you to and from work and anywhere else you need to go. You never knew him very well before this mess, and you regret not starting a friendship sooner. He’s everything you need right now: a friend, a listener, and someone you can trust and rely on.

Like always, he unlocks the door so you can put your things in the back. “It’s my turn to treat for lunch today, so let’s go somewhere you like.”

You shut the door and open the passenger side, sliding in seamlessly.

“There’s no need for that.”

Your heart skips. Your breath stumbles in your lungs. Your body tenses.

You finally look at the driver.

He’s wearing what appears to be an expensive collared shirt with a tie, but the top half is covered by the soft hoodie he’s thrown on over it. He has a mask like before, but there’s no denying his eyes. Bright and blue, deep and deceptive like the ocean, they blink back at you.

The door locks with a click.

You throw yourself at it in a useless effort to escape. The masked stranger seizes your wrist. You scream.

“There’s no need to be afraid. I-It’s only me! I won’t hurt you.” He tugs his mask down to his chin so that you can see the wobbly smile on his face. “Please don’t be scared…”

“Let go of me, you pervert!” You rip your arm free and reach for the door once more. “What the hell are you doing here?! W-Where’s Jack? Why are you—”

You choke around the rest of your words when he wraps his arms around you and yanks you over the seat towards him. You kick out like a deranged animal, breathing heavy and frantic, your eyes darting to and fro. The stranger manages to manhandle you into a chokehold despite the struggle. With his arm wrapped around your neck, he grabs a plastic water bottle with his free hand. Clumsily, he unscrews the cap and presses the lip of the bottle to your mouth.

“I’m sorry for being so rough, but I need you to drink this. Can you do that for me? Drink all of it.” As he says this, he tips the bottle and the strange liquid fills your mouth. You fight against his hold, doing everything you can to resist. He tightens his grip on you, dragging your body closer to his. “Swallow it, or I’ll slit your throat.”

Against your will, very shakily, you gulp down the solution. It tastes bitter and vile like medicine. A little salty.

“I didn’t want to frighten you, my angel, but this is the only way you’ll listen.” He swipes the tear threatening to spill from your eye. “You don’t have to cry. I’ll take you home and keep you safe. Just drink the rest of this and take a nap until we get there. That’s it. You’re almost done. I know it’s disgusting, but you have to drink it all, my love.”

“Why…” you sputter, coughing. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why?” He blinks at you as if the answer is obvious. “Because I love you.”

You can’t understand the logic there. You don’t want to.

Slumping against the seat, boneless and disturbed, you tremble when he leans over to buckle you in. And you continue to do so until you’re pulled into sleep. 

Two blue eyes follow you in your dreams, sticking to your body like old gum under a school desk. In sleep, you feel his hands on you—clinging and cloying like tentacles and the stench of brine, all-enveloping.

entry 179: 24 September, 20XX.

Summer is winding to a close. The last few vestiges of warmth are slipping away. Today’s weather was crisp. Autumn is approaching. 

It’s been a difficult few months. I’ve catalogued my process in the time you’ve spent with me, locked away in our bedroom. I must keep you chained to the bed for the time being. It’s long enough to lead into the bathroom. Until I can trust you, this is the arrangement at present.

They’re still searching for you, albeit not as frantically and frequently. I hope they assume you’ve met some grisly end so that I can finally shelve that anxiety and move on with my life. While I’m relieved it wasn’t as messy as I thought it’d be, I’m just a touch disheartened. I would have loved to watch the light fade from that guard’s eyes.

But that just wasn’t feasible or smart. Besides, what else am I to use my current fortune for, if not the props needed for that day? You call it kidnapping, and while that term is technically true I prefer something sweeter. A reunion of sorts. 

There’s nothing of note to discuss. You haven’t accepted your new home or me yet, so I will continue to wait. I can be patient. I must be if this relationship is going to work (and it will). 

I don’t particularly believe in soulmates. Rather, I find the concept to be foolish. Fate does not dictate an entire life. It is the decisions you make along the way that shape your paths. Just like in my favorite board game. I’d like to play it with you. Although I must admit I already know how our life goes. I have a few routes in mind.

You look at me with such scalding contempt when I imply we ought to start a family, and even though I’ve been victim to that look so many times it doesn’t burn any less. You just can’t see how good this is for you yet.

What else are we to do with our time if not use it to fill quiet halls with the pitter-patter of tiny feet? I have a few names in mind, but for now we’ll take it one day at a time. I’m a patient man despite my temper.

AA.

entry 257: 11 December, 20XX.

Exciting news! Though it may seem small, we’ve reached an understanding. Or so I suspect. You’re not so averse to me anymore. In fact, we take baths together, eat meals together, watch TV together, play board games together… There are so many things we do together as a couple and so, despite the encroaching winter frost, my days have become warmer! Just last night you allowed me to sleep beside you on our bed, and I held you close and you kissed me and I felt like the luckiest man alive.

Finally! Genuine progress!

I won’t delude myself and say that you may finally love me in the way I love you, but a start is a start. I admit I couldn’t help myself. I returned your kiss tenfold, all over your face, down the column of your throat to your collarbone. I was gentle and careful. I didn’t rush.

I like to play experienced in all fields, but even I can’t act perfectly. How should I describe our first time without all of the shameless vulgarity? Perhaps it doesn’t matter. Sex is sex no matter how you try to embellish it. Filthy and imperfect, sweaty and sticky, more effort and exercise than I realized.

You pulled me in close, pursued my mouth with the same want in mine, and it was more cathartic than anything I’ve ever known. Oh, to be kissed by the love of your life! I wasn’t aware such joy existed.

You palmed me through my pajamas and told me you wanted a family—that the idea of raising a little one was perfectly charming. I admit it’s an alluring thought I’ve had long before you lived with me. I’ve always thought you would look very enchanting while pregnant. I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands to myself. Even though it isn’t official yet, it doesn’t hurt to call myself your husband. In my mind and heart, we’re married. It may not seem so to you yet, but it will be.

Back to the matter at hand. Hearing that you wanted a child with me made me happy. I can’t remember if I cried. I must have because you pulled me in close and you, lying beneath me, wiped at my face and told me you wanted me to give you a child. And who am I if not the most doting, most benevolent husband? I’d do anything for you.

This must be what a predator feels when they tear into prey: a rapture so absolute and all-consuming that it covers their brain like a cotton shroud and renders every other action a hazy instinct.

It was a blur even though I was sure I moved slowly. Clothes weren’t exactly shucked. They were in the way and we had a singular goal, far too focused to remove them completely. Thus, they were pulled up, down, to the side, in whichever way provided easiest access. I closed my hands around your breasts and they feel so much softer without the obstruction of clothes.

Perhaps, rather than humans, we’re just anglerfish. Hungry for each other, using the other, a voracious relationship full of mutual benefits. If I could, I’d love to live inside you. I want nothing more than to press myself close enough to feel your heart beat alongside mine. To feel rushing blood. To turn myself inside-out just to satisfy you. Give you every little thing I can offer—brain and body—and we’d cleave through sunless waters as one, together forever.

The word ‘love’ is not large enough to truly encapsulate all that I feel for you.

My forehead pressed to yours. You kissed me once. I felt sloppy. I was sloppy. Inexperienced. We both are. Your hand wrapped around me. I told you it was okay, to do it at your own pace, to tell me if it hurts. But you kissed my every anxiety away, and in just a few strokes we were connected. Perhaps I died then and I’m still dead now.

Maybe I’m writing this from the moon or the deep, dark sea. Maybe all of this is just a long dream and I’m not even human. Maybe I’m the anglerfish stuck to your side, latched on with my sharp teeth, our lives forever intertwined. You taste of fruit and blood and every beautifully painful thing in this world.

For the first time in the many months we’ve lived together, you called me by my name. You gasped it as you curled your legs around my waist and clung to my chest, your arms draped over my neck, nails in my back. You chanted it like a song. I must have done the same with yours.

However, no amount of carnal euphoria can change the fact that I still have my reservations about unchaining you.

A deliberation for another day. It’s time to cook dinner. I’ve improved lots in the time we’ve known each other. You help around the kitchen as well. Harmless things like stirring batter or mixing a salad. I can’t trust you with actual food prep for reasons I’m sure are obvious and understandable. I try to create balanced meal plans. Now that I’m no longer eating alone and surviving off of misery, I want to show you that I’m both a great chef and a conscientious eater.

AA.

You watch the seasons shift outside the bedroom window and there’s nothing you can do.

You live life chained like a prisoner and there’s nothing you can do.

You eat off paper plates with the same utensils made for toddlers and there’s nothing you can do.

You let the same man whose touch was once so covetous pet you all over with his hands and mouth and there’s nothing you can do.

You’re stuck here forever and there’s nothing you can do.

There are highs higher than the clouds and then there are lows lower than the sea. You oscillate between these temperaments, a body thrown around on rocky waves. How you’ve yet to sink and drown for good, you’re not sure.

Today’s low has brought Azul to his knees. You stand over him, gripping the knife in a shaky hold. Chopped vegetables scatter in a rainbow on the floor. He had been chopping them so methodically, so wrapped up in pleasant conversation with you, that he hadn’t been expecting the retaliation. The blade is freshly sharpened. The perfect weapon. The perfect opportunity. Freedom just after this final hurdle.

Freedom that comes with its burdens—with a child and the law and the media and… And then what? A life of loneliness. A life spent working through mountains of trauma. A life in which you can never look at the train again.

Two blue eyes blink up at you. For the first time, Azul looks scared and weak—a small, pitiful thing. For the first time, you have him trapped beneath your thumb.

You want to bring the knife down and put an end to these cyclical days. You want to crush his spirits in the same way he crushed yours. You want him to know pain so brutal it rots him from the inside.

But you can’t. You want to and in an ideal scenario devoid of fear you would. But you can’t.

You dig your heel palms into your eyes and sob. “I can’t! I’m sorry. I… I can’t do it!”

Azul deflates with a deep sigh. “Oh… Oh, my angel, it’s all right. I forgive you. You’re just a little confused. A little emotional—I get it. We all have emotional moments. I’m not upset.”

“But I—I almost… I was going to—”

“You didn’t. You didn’t, my love, and that’s what matters.” 

He beckons you to his height; you lower to your knees. The knife is still clutched in your hands. He looks between it and you, as if weighing which is more dangerous. Volatile emotions or a blade. Maybe both.

Azul wraps his arms around you and rubs your back consolingly. “It’s okay. I’m not angry.”

You sniffle, but the tears won’t stop flowing. “Still… I almost did such a horrible thing to you. I could’ve hurt you—k-killed you!”

“My dear, it’s okay.” He kisses the top of your head, tucking you beneath his chin. “I forgive you.”

Your fingers tighten around the handle. “You do?”

“I do. I always will.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Angel—”

You turn the sharpened point inwards and slam it into his side, just below his rib. It pierces through soft flesh. You pull away just in time to see hurt and betrayal flash across his face, hot like the tears you’re now drying.

Shakily, his movements unsteady, he reaches for the handle. His fingers dance across it, assessing the reality of the situation. You stabbed him. You did it.

He hisses through his teeth when he tears it out. Blood spatters the kitchen floor in a brilliant, vermillion arc. Azul, knife in hand, staggers to his feet and lunges.

You stumble away in a blind panic. 

“How dare you…” He clutches his side with one hand while the other slashes through the air. You narrowly dodge before the knife can slice your arm. Blood seeps through Azul’s shirt, staining his palm red. His expression is twisted in a dark concoction of agony and anger. “I’ve shown you nothing but love and care… I’ve been nothing but patient. I’ve done everything! You were beginning to warm up to me—to this life—our life! I was wrong to trust you. Get back here—”

“You’re crazy! You assaulted me, kidnapped me, threatened me! Do you really think I’d love you after all of that?!” You yelp when his slick, blood-stained fingers wrap around your wrist to drag you down. “Stop! Let go of me!”

You elbow him in the ribs, which causes a shockwave of pain to travel through him, and it gives you enough time to wriggle free. Ripping your arm from his hold, you try to get away when he, aiming to subdue you, grabs hold of your ankle next. You feel the blade sink into your calf before you see it. A terrible cry frays your throat, torn from the depths of your chest like a flower pried from the soil.

“If I’m going to die…” He flops to his knees, wheezing. “If I’m going to die, you’ll die with me.”

“Like hell I will!” you hiss through your teeth, thrashing wildly.

Stupidly, you pull the knife from where it’s wedged in. Blood spurts from the wound, trickling down your leg in a thick, steady stream. You wince and limp towards the door. Closer… You’re almost there.

Azul reaches out with a bloodied hand, his expression utterly shattered. “Wait… Don’t go any further. Please… I need you. We need each other. My angel, my love, please don’t go!”

You tear your eyes away. He’s a monster. You’ll never sympathize with him.

Just before you can get to the front door, Azul picks himself up and wraps his arms around your waist. He pulls you down and your head hits the floor with a harsh smack. You see stars. The ceiling spins above you. You try to get up, crawl away, escape—whatever it takes to lose him—but he clings to your side, holding tight. His blood is warm and wet against your shirt. The pain in your calf is sparking up your leg, joining the ache at the back of your head in duet.

Pressed so closely, the flow of blood slows. Your shirt soaks up what the rest of his already drenched shirt can’t hold.

You watch the ceiling. The light looks like a halo; it shines brightly. Azul blinks up at you, hopelessly, sickly enthralled. The tip of the knife prods at your stomach. If it pierces, you don’t feel it. You’re sore all over. Bruises are already beginning to bloom.

At the bottom of the sea, clothed in frigid darkness, there is no sense of direction.

That’s the sweetest relief while you wade into unconsciousness with a parasitic angler.

[folkloresthings]

BECAUSE I LIKED A BOY / CL16.

in which the world’s favourite pop princess becomes tangled in the life of a certain formula one driver, flipping her entire world upside down.

( charles leclerc x singer!au )

track one: lonesome. track two: fast times. track three: nonsense. track four: opposite. track five: how many things. track six: bad for business.

✩⡱ warnings: cursing

despite being the one to have sent the message, you could only stare at the screen of your phone as it rang, charles’ name lighting up, a picture you’d taken of him filling the screen. just before it could ring off, you pressed the green button and held it to your ear. neither of you spoke for a moment, just soft breathing against the speaker.

“hi,” you whispered, breath held in your chest, wondering if he was really there. you didn’t even know if you wanted to speak to him. hell, you didn’t know how you were feeling — only that you were falling madly in love one minute, and heartbroken the next.

“hello, ma cherie,” charles’ unmistakable accent filled your senses, allowing that breath you were holding to be let out. even now, he was using that silly pet name that made you smile. frankly, the love you felt for him hadn’t really gone away, despite what he’d done. you’d only wished it had never happened, and life could go on.

“lewis came to see me. he explained what happened, but i want to hear it from you.” trying your best to keep your voice steady, your knuckles grip at the bedsheets under you. you could hear him sigh on the other side, a long breath.

“i— didn’t mean for any of this to happen. fuck. i was drunk, too drunk to realise what she was trying to do. i probably should have shut her down sooner, but i wasn’t thinking,” he told you quietly. his voice caught, and you knew then he was crying. half of your heart yearned to comfort him, the other to shake him firmly. “i went looking for you after, but lily told me you’d left. so i tried to catch up, but she kept fucking following me. i had to get security to do something about it.”

you swallowed hard, a hundred daggers lining your throat. what were you supposed to say? if you listened to your heart, you would forgive him in an instant. you’d book a flight to wherever he was racing that weekend and let him bundle you up in his arms, take you to bed and make you forget it all. but you’d been throat a lot. you had to be smart, strong — more than just a lovesick girl.

“i’ve been let down so many times, charles. and i was so blind, i didn’t think you would do it too,” you were both crying, his soft sniffles filling your speaker. “i can’t just… pretend this never happened.”

“you shouldn’t have to. but — i can’t lose you, y/n. shit, you’re the first good thing i’ve had in a long time.”

you choked on a sob, praying he hadn’t heard it. he was sweet, so awfully and cruelly sweet, and it wasn’t at all fair. despite his recent mistakes, he scored five stars every time.

“maybe we rushed into this,” you pondered, and you could practically hear him shaking his head. “i shouldn’t have let you think my heart was ready for all of this. after austin i… i should have waited a little while.”

“y/n…”

“maybe we just need a little time. to figure ourselves out.”

he sighed, knowing he shouldn’t battle you on this. no matter how he wanted to beg you on his knees and make everything better again. “three months.”

“what?” you replied.

“it’s three months until the grand prix final, the last race, and until your finished touring. i’ll leave you alone until then, but i’ll set aside a paddock pass for you there. if you want to trust me then, come. please.” his offer feels terribly gallant, respectful of your feelings, that it brings a smile onto your face.

“alright. three months.”

INSTAGRAM.

liked by niallhoran, lewishamilton, and 900,231 others

yourusername if i’m just writing happy songs, will anybody sing along?

view all 438,927 comments

joeyking who’s lady and who’s the tramp

⤷ yourusername i think we both know the answer to that

user tbh i preferred charles with charlotte than her

⤷ user no i’ve been waiting for someone to agree w me

landonorris setting the last picture as your contact pic rn

user team y/n or team charles take ur vote

⤷ user is this all you people have to talk about? shes her own person and was famous for years before she got involved with him

user tours almost over 🥲

⤷ yourusername 3 months 🥲🥲🥲

INSTAGRAM.

liked by yourusername, lovebotyn, and 12,332 others

ynnews the singular tour is almost over!!!! it’s been such a good few months, we’ve seen y/n go through so much but we’ve also watched her grow 🥺 so very proud of her. fingers crossed for new music & another tour soon!

view all 5,271 comments

user i wasn’t able to go to any of the shows but i have LOVED watching all of the videos of her performing

user the fact taylor, madison, maisie, gracie and olivia all flew to europe just to perform with her when she was in a bad place 😭

yourusername BABY 🫶🤍 this is so so sweet. but it’s you guys that have made this tour, coming out every night and singing along to every word. i love you all more than anything in this world.

⤷ user MOM I LOVE YOU

TWITTER.

INSTAGRAM.

liked by beyoncé, gigihadid, and 828,991 others

yourusername guys 🥺 we won all four nominated categories i could cry. but seriously, thank you all so much for your continued support and love. there’s so many people i could thank, but i won’t get round to them all. you know who you are. thank you ❤️

view all 682,927 comments

taylorswift there’s no one more deserving 🫶

adele 👑👑👑

user GRAMMY WINNER Y/N

harrystyles congrats love!!

user she made it 🥺🥺🥺

lewishamilton my girl !! roscoe says well done 🤍

honeymoon baby girl i’m so proud

user the universe giving her back what she deserves 🙌🙌🙌

IMESSAGE.

tagged: @leclercloml @vroomleclerc @gaviypedrisbride @ncentic @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ferrariloverr @baw-sixteen @rechtrecht @incoherenciass

[marigold-hills]

@wolfstarmicrofic | August 25th: win | 1000 words

CW: attempted mugging, mentions of broken bones

Remus Lupin is well aware what he looks like: the wrong side of lanky, with a nasty scar across his face from falling off a bike at five, and a nastier one down his sternum from heart surgery at fifteen. Weak knees, weaker ankles. Breakable wrists. He surrounds himself in soft things, wears sweaters and cardigans even in the summer, when his varied blood deficiencies keep him cold in the heat.

He doesn’t usually go out in the dark. His library desk job keeps his work hours to a respectable 9-to-5, and he’s not one for bars, or clubs, or any other sort of entertainment that would require him to be out in the evening.

Today? Well, there was a book signing at the library. It run late, and he was having a nice chat with the writer, managing to keep his fan-boying to a minimum (it was the James Potter, after all). There was wine, which he doesn’t usually partake in. So: it’s well past his work hours, he’s pleasantly buzzed and on a high from a successful social interaction. Then he sees him.

It’s probably the most beautiful human specimen Remus’ has ever seen. He was stunning in the library, where he accompanied the James Potter for the signing, and he is just as lovely now, in the dim unflattering streetlamps. The hair, the bone structure, the shoulders. Everything about him made Remus decide not to say a single word to him, only gape half-open-mouthed and watch from across the room.

(Doing it now, as he as good as follows him down darkened South London streets, feels roughly stalkerish. Again, Remus knows what he looks like. He’s got too big ears and slightly too big front teeth and definitely too big a nose. He wouldn’t even try to talk to someone like this, not for all the embarrassment in the world.)

Remus is slower, especially with the crutch he has had to use since he broke his ankle a month earlier. His foot is still in the awkward boot-cuff. There should be no way of him catching up, so no chance of an interaction, successful or, more likely, otherwise.

Out of the shadows, appears a figure. Hooded, wide-shouldered, knife-wielding. The beautiful friend of James Potter doesn’t notice until the man is almost on him, knife pointed at the Nirvana logo on his T-shirt.

Remus can’t hear what’s said, but he doesn’t really need to. He’s lived in South London all his life, from Lambeth to Peckham - he’s seen his fair share of muggings.

Something comes over him. Maybe the late hour, maybe the wine. Maybe the impossible wrongness of a man so pretty being in such a situation. Whatever it is, before he even thinks about it, he’s somehow caught up.

Next thing he knows, he’s behind the mugger.

Next thing after that, the heavy, metal leg of his crutch makes heavy, violent contact with the side of the mugger’s head.

He falls to the ground in a heap of limbs and dark fabric and dropped knifes and for a terrible second Remus thinks:

“Fuck. I think I killed him.”

Through the wine-haze or adrenaline-haze, or maybe your-dodgy-heart-finally-gave-in-haze, he realises he said it out loud.

The pretty man leans down and checks the muggers head, then his pulse. “He’s fine. Well. He’s probably concussed. That was a mean hit,” he looks at Remus with something like appreciation in his eyes. “Thank you, Remus. Lucky you were here, or he’d have probably made off with my phone.”

“You know my name?” Remus asks rather dumbly. The answer is obvious and self evident because the man just said it.

“Of course I do. I’ve been watching you all night,” the cheekiest smile Remus has ever seen. The man prods the prone mugger with the tip of his shoe. “Who knew it’d take something like this to actually get you to talk to me.”

“Huh,” Remus says. (He has a degree in literature, he should really be able to string a sentence together with some intelligence, but apparently it has abandoned him.)

“Should probably call an ambulance.”

And that brings Remus out of his stupor. “You’re hurt?” He just stops himself from checking the man over, hands itching to reach out and feel for the damage.

“For this one. Can’t really leave him just lying on the side of the road.”

“Oh. Right, of course.”

“And they’ll probably arrest him, while they’re at it. Win-win.”

“Silver linings.”

The man – Remus doesn’t know his name – laughs at that. It’s oddly dog like and on another person it’d be too much, too loud, but on him? Perfection. Remus wants to ask to record it. Maybe playing it in the evenings will cure his insomnia.

Adrenaline wearing off, Remus realises that his broken ankle hurts way more than it should. More than it has for a while. The same amount as…

“I’ve re-broken my ankle,” he doesn’t mean to blurt out loud. There’s immediate concern in the man’s face. Remus half-sits half-slumps down to the pavement. “Yup. I’m pretty sure I’ve re-broken my ankle. Fantastic.”

That’s what he gets for chasing down would-be-muggers down the streets of London. It’s probably some cosmic price to pay for hearing that laugh. It must be delirium: Remus thinks it’s worth it.

There are gentle hands on the side of his face, guiding it upward, and gentle eyes full on sincerity. “Thank you for helping me,” the man says again, “let’s get you to the hospital, alright?”

Through the pain-haze or wine-buzz-haze or maybe you-just-assaulted-someone-haze, Remus becomes shameless. “Will you stay with me?”

“As long as you’ll have me,” the man says and the way he looks at Remus? Like he doesn’t have too-big ears and too-big a nose, or the scar, or the hair he can never get to behave.

Remus, more than shameless: “forever, then.”

The laugh he gets in return is somehow even better. There is nothing mocking about it. Instead, agreeable. “Alright. Forever.”

NOTES:

does this count as a meet-cute?

[just-jordie-things]

bad at flirting - fushiguro megumi

word count: 6.2k warnings: swearing + second hand embarrassment summary: megumi doesn't know he's bad at flirting, but his friends are happy to help him! ___

Megumi is totally, absolutely, downright terrible at flirting.  He can’t lay down a vibe to save his life.  Not once has he had the intention of flirting and actually made the person he’s flirting with realize that he’s flirting with them.  It might not be often that he’s attempted to get a girl’s phone number, but it’s never worked.

And to make matters worse, he has no clue.

His friends don’t realize just how badly he needs their help until she comes around- and even then, it’s two months of her attending Jujutsu Tech that they realize the poor boy’s been trying to flirt with her.

It’s Yuuji that spots the odd interaction first.

Megumi had been walking with her, clearly listening to whatever she was talking about that Yuuji couldn’t hear from where he was hanging out on the front steps of the main building.  But he was close enough that when Megumi noticed him, Yuuji gave him a wave and a grin.

The ravenette gives a short wave back- if you could call raising a hand for two seconds before begrudgingly shoving it back into his pocket a wave- before turning towards her again.

He says something Yuuji can’t quite hear, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, and she replies with a nod and a smile, before turning and walking off on her own.

When Megumi makes his way to Yuuji, the first thing he notices is his rosy complexion.

Yuuji doesn’t think he’s ever seen Megumi blush.  The sight makes him snort before laughing.

“What was that all about?” He asks, half teasing as he stands up.

“What do you mean?” Megumi replies, almost dumbly.

“You’re blushing!” Yuuji cackles loudly.  “She must've said something” 

“Not really,” Megumi shrugs.  “Just happens when I flirt” He adds in a mumble.

Yuuji’s entire world shatters around him.  His laughter ceases, his jaw drops, and he’s staring blankly at his friend as if he’s never seen him before.

Megumi? Flirting? Blushing? (y/n)? Megumi’s flirting with (y/n)? On purpose? 

His brain computes it all at once in a fast, sloppy mess of thoughts.  But when it dawns on him, his face splits with a wide beam

“Oh my god you like (y/n)!?” He’s practically screeching with joy.

Megumi tries to scowl, but his pink face betrays him, and it only makes him look more adorable.

“I had no idea!” Yuuji’s bouncing on his feet now, “How long have you liked her? How long have you been flirting with her? What’d you say anyways? Does she flirt back? You got good moves?” 

“I guess,” Megumi shrugs, his hands awkwardly fumbling together.  

He’s never really had a crush on anyone before, not like this anyways.  And he’s definitely never had anyone to talk about a crush with before, so he was fairly nervous talking about it now.

“Liked her for a while,” He mumbles, looking anywhere but Yuuji’s expectant, excited face.  “Probably since she got here.  So… I guess I’ve been flirting with her the whole time” 

“That’s adorable,” Yuuji gushes.  “You guys do spend a lot of time together.  Have you gone on any dates?” 

“Yeah, I train with her all the time,” Megumi replies, all too surely.  “And we study, too” 

Yuuji furrows his brows.

Oh, no.

“Training and studying?” He repeats, confused.

Megumi nods his head.

No Megumi, no.

“Those aren’t dates,” Yuuji tells him.  “Dates are movies.  Or ice cream.  Or a picnic, or… well, anything other than training and studying.  Those are just chores you’re doing together” 

“But it’s just the two of us,” Megumi explains.  “And I’m flirting with her” 

“Okay…” Yuuji still sounds unsure.  “Well, how much are you flirting? Give me a line” 

“A line?”

“Yeah, like, tell me something you say to her when you’re flirting” 

“Okay… uh…” Megumi thinks for a second, before smiling to himself and nodding with certainty that he’d remembered a good one.  “She started training with daggers, and I told her she was smart because she’s best with close combat fighting” 

He’s grinning, the poor guy is so proud, and Yuuji can’t help but wince.

“So you… you told her she was smart?” He asked, just to be sure he’d heard him right, and Megumi nodded.

Yuuji sighs, and shakes his head.

“No… no Megumi that’s not flirting,” He huffs.  “I mean, it’s a compliment, but, like, anyone can tell her a compliment- hell, she probably already knew that dude” 

Megumi’s brows draw together, confused at the feedback.  It was his understanding that complimenting her fighting style was flirty- it wasn’t just feedback or critique, it was personal, and therefore intimate.

“So… so she probably didn’t pick up on it?” He asks.  Yuuji nods.

“She for sure didn’t pick up on it dude,” Yuuji tells him.  “But that’s alright, we’ll figure out some other ways of flirting and see what works best for you!” He tells him eagerly.

“Uh… okay… are you sure?” Megumi’s fingers are tangling together again.

“Of course!” Yuuji claps a hand on his shoulder and shakes him in a friendly manner.  “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t make sure you landed the girl of your dreams!?”

Megumi’s blushing again. ___

“It’s simple,” Yuuji’s voice rang in Megumi’s head as he tried to work up the courage to approach (y/n).  “Just offer to carry her things, and walk with her after class” 

He glanced to where (y/n) was packing her bag up at her desk.  Yuuji and Nobara had just walked out of the room- not without giving him a thumbs up for encouragement- and it was just the two of them left.

How hard could this be, anyways? He thought to himself, finally striding over to her desk.

“Hey, (y/n)” He greeted, albeit a bit awkward, but it was a start.

“Hey,” She smiled up at him as she zipped up her backpack.  “Weird lesson, right? I’m not convinced Gojo’s taken a single class on how to teach” She chuckles to herself.

“He hasn’t” Megumi answers, recalling a memory of the man tossing a textbook in the trash after Principal Yaga had told him to study up on to make him a more qualified teacher.

“Figures” (y/n) shakes her head, but she’s still smiling, so she must not be too annoyed with their teacher’s weird antics.

“Uh, so…” Megumi starts to work up to his offer, but she looks up at him then, and he has to take a deep breath before continuing.  “Can I… can I carry that for you?” 

He points to her backpack, sitting on top of her desk where she’d left it to give him her attention, and she follows his gesture as though she weren’t sure what he was referring to.

“My bag?” She questions.  “Are you off to the field, too?”

No, I’m supposed to meet up with Maki and Yuuta at the library, Megumi thinks, and he’s not a liar, so he doesn’t lie when he answers.

“No” 

(y/n) giggles to herself, before raising a brow at him.

“So you’re going to walk all the way out to the field and then leave?” 

His face feels hot.  His fingers feel twitchy.  Yuuji didn’t tell him what he was supposed to do now, and he felt like an idiot.

“Yes”

Good.  That was a good answer.

(y/n’s) still laughing, but it doesn’t sound malicious like he would have expected, seeing as he’s standing before her making a fool of himself.  It’s sweet.  It’s cute.

His face still feels hot.

“Alright,” She shrugs a shoulder, and hands him her bag.  “You on some step-tracking kick?” 

Victoriously, Megumi shrugs his arm through one of the straps, sliding it onto his shoulder.

“Uh, yeah, something like that” He mumbles, because he’s a terrible liar. As they leave the classroom together, (y/n’s) still trying to suppress her laughter.

She hadn’t quite gotten a full grasp of who Fushiguro Megumi was.  He could be quite odd most days, never acting one certain way.  Some days he was mysterious and quiet, some days he was dorky, and some days he would say the most out of pocket things to her that she wasn’t quite sure how to react.  Nonetheless, she enjoyed his company, and was curious to get to know him better.

“What are you up to with your free afternoon?” She asks him, breaking the silence they’d fallen into since exiting the class.

“Just studying,” He shrugs.  “You?” 

“Training,” She shrugs back.  “I haven’t really done anything else since I got here.  Though I’ve been dying to go see Tokyo, I’ve never been” 

She peeks over at him out of the corner of her eye, a part of her hoping to find out if he was free this weekend.  Maybe if she played her cards right, she could find a way to spend some more one on one time with him.

“Oh really?” He hums curiously.  “It’s cool, I guess.  Probably cooler if you weren’t raised there” 

Her heart deflates a little, but she bounces back quickly and forces a smile.

“I’m sure,” She agrees quietly, with a small, awkward laugh.  “I guess it’s old news to you guys, huh?” 

“Nobara loves the shopping district, if that’s what you’re into, you should hit her up for a trip” Megumi tells her with a smile, certain with himself that he’s given her a great piece of advice, and also an outing with a new friend.

She can’t help but smile back at him, but there’s a sinking feeling in her chest that he wasn’t as interested in her as she thought he might have been, and her spirits dampen a little. “Good to know,” She replies.  “I’ll have to ask her if she wants to hang out sometime” 

She lets out a little sigh, her disappointment evident, but luckily they’ve reached the field, and she takes her bag from him.

“Thanks for carrying it, and walking with me,” (y/n) tells him.  “That was sweet of you, you didn’t have to do that” 

“I didn’t mind,” Megumi tucks his hands into his pockets.  “Good luck in training” He tells her with an all-too confident smile for a guy that didn’t realize the girl he was trying to hit on just gave him a clear opening- and he missed it completely.

“Thanks,” (y/n) hums.  “Good luck with studying” 

With that she’s heading off, and Megumi’s on his way back to the building, hoping Maki hadn’t left a bunch of threatening texts on his phone about him being late.  He’s just about to check when out of nowhere, his other two friends are racing towards him.

“Well? How was it!?” Yuuji’s grinning, certain that Megumi couldn’t have messed up such a simple, classic indication of romantic interest.

“Let me guess, she’s completely into you and you’re going out this weekend?” Nobara’s also grinning, her hands clasped together in excitement.

“Well, no, but she did want to go to Tokyo, so I told her you’d probably love to go” Megumi tells her.

Nobara and Yuuji pause, look at each other, and then their smiles drop and they’re both frowning at him.

“You’re kidding” Yuuji states, like it wasn’t even a question, because it had to be a joke.

“No,” Megumi shakes his head.  “I figured it’d help her be closer friends with-” 

“Idiot!” Nobara smacks the back of her hand against his shoulder, effectively cutting him off.  “Why wouldn’t you offer to go with her?”

Megumi opens his mouth to defend himself, but realization strikes and he shuts himself up before he could even try.  She was right.

Stupid! He scolds himself and slaps his palm to his forehead.

“It’s alright! It’s okay!” Yuuji scrambles to reassure his friend.  “You still did a nice thing for her and had some one on one time, so… next time let’s just try to get you two alone for a little longer and… and we’ll talk more about how to move things forward, alright?” 

He’s nodding at both Megumi and Nobara, hoping that she’d help pitch in to agree that he hasn’t completely blown it.

She rolls her eyes, but ultimately Nobara agrees to help.

(Clearly he needed all the help he could get) ___

Megumi wasn’t always the best at complimenting people, but complimenting (y/n) is what he’d been trying to do the past couple months, so Nobara suggested he focused more on that route.  Words of affirmation couldn’t go wrong, right?

However she did tell him he needed to be a little more… romantic in his choice of compliments.  

“Compliment her beauty! Tell her she has pretty eyes, tell her she’s the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen, stuff like that” She’d said.

Saying something so intimate made his stomach do backflips, but if that’s what flirting was and that’s what would show (y/n) he liked her as more than a friend, then Megumi told himself he had to give it a shot.

And luckily a few days later, the perfect opportunity presented itself.

It was a nice day out and the two of them had made plans to study.  (y/n) had suggested they do so at one of the many picnic tables scattered around the courtyard, to properly enjoy just lovely weather.

So there they were, just the two of them, comfortably quizzing each other, when Nobara passed by, seemingly casually.  She makes a face at Megumi that he interpreted to mean ‘don’t fuck this up!’, but when (y/n) notices her, it’s nothing but smiles and waves.

“How does she look so pretty all the time?” (y/n) huffs, admiring the girl but clearly feeling a pinch of jealousy.  “I swear, it’s like she doesn’t even try” 

This is it! This is an opening! Megumi cheers internally, proud of himself for knowing this was the right time to say something, just like Nobara had taught him.

“It’s not like you’re trying” 

(y/n) blinks, her eyes meeting his as she tries to figure out what he just said, because it made no sense.

She must have looked just as confused as she felt, because he’s stammering suddenly, trying too hard to explain himself.

“I- I mean you aren’t- you don’t have to- try, I mean,” He’s stuttering over his words so much she can barely keep up with what he’s trying to say.

He drops his head in his hands, hoping to cool his rapidly heating face, and also hide his embarrassment.  He definitely fucked that up.  And now he’s making a bigger idiot of himself by hiding behind his hands like a child.  He wonders if he could convince his shikigami to kill him so he doesn’t have to look at her and further humiliate himself.

“What were you trying to say?” (y/n) asks, and to his surprise her voice is soft.  It’s not cruel, she’s not laughing at him, and she doesn’t seem to be teasing him at all.  The question sounds… genuine.

Megumi sighs, dragging his clammy palms down his face and keeping his eyes focused on the ground as if that would keep her from seeing his embarrassment.

“You don’t have to try to be pretty.  You just are” 

He’s still not looking at her, so he misses the way she grins, although she tries to bite it back.  The blush creeping up her neck is threatening to take over her whole face, and she’s positive she’s making a fool of herself for reacting so girlishly to the compliment, but she can’t help it.

“You’re just saying that,” She says, giggling as she shakes her head.  “You’re cheesing” 

“No, ‘m not,” Megumi mumbles, turning his attention back to the textbook in front of him.  “You’re very pretty” He adds in a quieter, almost too quiet, voice.

(y/n) blinked slowly, sure that when she opened her eyes again she would awake in her room, and this would all have been a silly dream.

But there he is, in front of her, furiously highlighting something, with a significant coat of pink over the bridge of his nose.  He’ll have to ask Nobara later how the hell he was supposed to keep this up, because there’s no way he could look her in the eyes with how hot his face feels.

Did flirting mean he’d always be a blushing mess?

Smooth talking was not easy.  And Megumi had a feeling he hadn’t quite been so smooth.  He’d have to find another way to flirt with her without making him shrink into the collar of his shirt.

Sparing his embarrassment, (y/n) dives back into their studies, asking him to quiz her with her flashcards again.  It takes a few minutes for him to stop stammering and blushing, but after a while he’s back to his usual self.  Maybe just a little more nervous than usual.  But (y/n) doesn’t mind.  In fact, she sort of likes it.

Yuuji comes by when they’re wrapping up their study sesh, hanging out and chatting with them both while they pack up their things.

While (y/n) is distracted with organizing her flashcards, the pink haired boy gives Megumi a grin, and a wink.  Megumi’s stomach drops in fear of whatever that was a signal for.

“So,” Yuuji starts, and Megumi mentally braces himself.  “Nobara and I got paired up for a mission tomorrow! So I guess it’s just you two for movie night” 

“Movie night?” (y/n) crinkles her brow, not recalling a plan for movie night.  “I’m sorry, did we have plans?” She asks sheepishly, embarrassed to have forgotten.

“That’s okay! No biggie, since it’s just you and ‘gumi here” Yuuji elbows his friend in the arm, maybe a little harsher than usual.

Was that supposed to be some signal to say something? Megumi casts his friend a confused look.  This was a stupid ploy anyways, there was no movie night.

“Don’t call me that” Megumi rolls his eyes in response, choosing to ignore the hint, whatever it meant.

“Okay,” (y/n) shrugs a shoulder, sending a smile towards Megumi.  “I mean, I’m free.  Is there already a movie picked out?”

Yuuji turns to his friend, smiling proudly that his plan worked, and he’d scored them some one on one time that wasn’t studying, for once.

“Uh, no, guess not” Megumi replies lamely, unsure of what kind of recommendation to make.

Truthfully, he preferred reading.  He didn’t hate movies, and he’d seen many in the past, but he didn’t know what (y/n) preferred, and he didn’t want to pick something she’d hate and make her change her mind.

“Great! I’ll pick one then,” She decides, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

Megumi visibly relaxes.  Yuuji brings his fist to his mouth to hold back a laugh, but it’s not very discreet.

“Hope you like horror” (y/n) says

“Yeah, I, uh, horror’s good” Megumi stammers.

She laughs, and Yuuji decides this is a safe spot to end the interaction and all but drag Megumi away.  He bids (y/n) a cheerful goodbye as he shoves his taller friend away, leaving (y/n) confused but still laughing at the weird pair.

A moment later Megumi looks over his shoulder and gives her an awkward wave goodbye.  She returns it, smiling at him.

He’s a little far to be sure, but she swears, he’s blushing again.

Leading her to wonder if her suspicions were true.

Did Megumi have a crush on her?  ___

At this point, Yuuji and Nobara had pretty much threatened Megumi that if he couldn’t get his shit together for this movie night, they were going to take matters into their own hands to put him and (y/n) together.

“We’ve pretty much secured you a date, got it?” Nobara had snapped as she searched through his closet for just the right thing to wear.  “Do you know how hard it is to convince Gojo we need to go on a paired assignment?” 

“Uh… not hard at all?” Megumi had replied.

“Well… that’s true.  But it’s not how I wanted my Friday night to go!” 

He hadn’t loved letting Nobara go through his closet and dress him up like an oversized doll, but he also didn’t hate the end product.  It was simple, but the black jeans and dark green sweater must have been the right choice, because when (y/n) met him in the common room she’d smiled and complimented him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out of uniform,” She’d joked as she plopped onto the sofa.  “You clean up nice”  

He hesitated for a minute before sitting beside her, suddenly all too aware that it would be just the two of them, for the whole night, on this couch.

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not” He replied.

(y/n) took the remote and began searching for the movie she’d had in mind, but not before chuckling at him and shaking her head.

“Of course I’m not,” She says.  “I mean it.  You look nice.  You have good style, Megumi” 

Alright, so he’ll have to thank Nobara later, and also make sure to never get rid of this sweater.

“Thanks” He mumbles, the familiar feeling of a blush already creeping across his nose.

(y/n) finally finds the movie, and excitedly pushes play before tossing the remote to the coffee table in front of them.

“I love horror movies,” She tells him, settling back into the couch cushions.  “But you should know, I also hate them” 

Megumi gives her a confused look.

“You love them and hate them?” He repeats, not understanding.

“I think they’re great, but, uh, I hate jump scares” She admits, turning away from him to watch the intro credits.

“Well, everyone hates jump scares,” Megumi tells her, also focusing on the movie.  “But you exorcize curses scarier than any movie monster” He adds.

(y/n) bites her lip to keep herself from smiling too hard.

In all honesty, she’d been far too giddy about this movie night.  She’d spent too much time choosing just the right film to show Megumi, and just the right outfit to wear to seem as casual as possible.  She’d been crossing her fingers that her suspicions were true, that Megumi had the same crush on her that she had on him.  But being too nervous to outright ask him, she decided she’d do everything she could to make tonight the most perfect, easy going, fun night she could.

Megumi gets pretty immersed into the film, although with the intro alone he’s pretty much able to guess how the rest of the movie goes, he doesn’t mind.  It helps that (y/n) seems very into it, and keeps looking over at him to see his reactions to certain scenes.

About halfway into the movie, Megumi pauses it.

“Do you want popcorn?” He asks, and (y/n) breaks into a smile and nods at him.

Despite him offering to make two bowls and bring it out to her, (y/n) follows him into the small kitchen and waits with him while the bag is in the microwave.  She pulls herself up to sit on the counter while they wait.

“So what kind of movies do you like?” She asks, hoping to spend these few minutes getting to know him better.

“Oh,” Megumi laughs under his breath, wishing he was a better liar.  He decides a little truth to her question wouldn’t hurt.  “Actually, I kinda prefer to read” 

“Really?” (y/n’s) eyes light up.  “What do you like to read, then?” 

“Nonfiction mostly,” Megumi says with a shrug.  “I know, it’s boring” 

“I don’t think so,” (y/n) says, which he doesn’t expect.  “I actually love reading about science, and true crime” 

He does his best to hide it, but Megumi’s thrilled.  A common interest, Yuuji said to find a common interest and stick to it!

While the popcorn pops, Megumi asks more about the books she’s liked, and even asks for a few recommendations.  She promises to text him about them later so he won’t forget, and he promises he’ll read them.  (y/n) seems to be happy about this, and Megumi mentally cheers to himself.

Their salty treat is finished shortly enough, and Megumi grabs two bowls from the cabinet.

“You can just put it in one, I don’t mind sharing” (y/n) interjects before he dirties either of the smaller bowls.  “Unless that bothers you, of course” She adds.

“It doesn’t bother me” Megumi replies, swapping out the dishes for one larger bowl that could fit the whole bag.

(y/n) hops off the counter and snatches the bowl as she walks back into the living room, Megumi trailing closely behind her.

He takes the bowl back from her as he sits on the couch, and when she sits behind him, he realizes the beauty of sharing the popcorn.

“You better brace yourself, Megumi, because this is when the movie gets really scary” (y/n) says, and she sounds like she’s only half joking.

He musters a small laugh, but she’s sitting much closer to him than she was before so that they could share their snack easier, and his brain is getting foggy from the sweet smell of her shampoo.

Was it flowery or fruity? He wondered but couldn’t tell, and he couldn’t get enough of it.

She wasn’t wrong, the movie did take a turn for the darker, although Megumi wasn’t really one to get genuinely scared from scary movies, (y/n) did flinch here and there at the jumpscares.  With the side of her thigh pressed against his, he could feel it every time her leg twitched.

Their eyes remained glued to the screen, lost in the movie as the main character tiptoed around the house with only a flashlight for lighting.  Megumi could understand now why everyone hated the main characters of these movies, they were always running off on their own and getting themselves into more trouble than necessary.  Although he is reminded of Yuuji.

Encaptured by the tv screen, they’re both blindly reaching for popcorn here and there, addicted to the buttery treat as soon as they’d started eating it.  As Megumi reached his hand over to snag another piece, he’d accidentally brushed his fingers over (y/n’s), not seeing that she’d also been grabbing some.

Anxiously, he pulls his hand away, turning to apologize right away.  But (y/n) looks over at him with a smile before taking a few pieces and popping them into her mouth, turning back to the movie, clearly unfazed.

From that alone, Megumi feels his face go hot, and he tells himself he’s not going to have anymore popcorn, just to save himself the embarrassment.

But, if he did have a craving for a few more pieces, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if his hand touched hers again… would it? 

He felt hot from his neck to his ears, and he’d already lost track of the last few minutes of the movie.  Meanwhile (y/n) only seemed to get more comfortable, tucking her legs up onto the couch underneath her, thus making her lean just the slightest bit more against him.  She was so close Megumi was holding his breath.  She didn’t even realize this until after a few minutes, she noticed he wasn’t eating.

“Am I hogging it?”

She was whispering, even though there wasn’t currently dialogue in the movie, so he wouldn’t have been all that distracted if she’d spoken normally.  However, when he looked down at her to ask what she meant, he’s immediately distracted again.

She’s so much closer to him now that when he looks down at her, her face is just a few mere inches away from his.  He doesn’t think he’s ever been this close to her, not even when training.  His voice catches in his throat, and he spends a good minute just silently staring at her with wide eyes.

(y/n) starts to blush under his intense stare and close proximity, but she doesn’t shy away from him, she simply repeats her question.

“The popcorn,” She clarifies, shaking the bowl with the remnants of their snack.  “Am I hogging it?”

Megumi’s eyes briefly flicker to it, but quickly return to hers as he shakes his head.

“No, you’re good,” He finally speaks, and finds that he’s whispering, too.  “I mean, I can always just make more, if you want” 

He’s talking slowly, like he’s not really sure of what he’s saying, but (y/n) doesn’t mind, or find it all too odd.  She’s quite enjoying getting an up close view of his face.  She allows herself to really take in all his features, the way his hair almost hangs over his eyes, the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, the deep blue of his eyes, she’s getting positively lost in staring at him.  Even as the main character is screaming for their life on the tv in front of them, neither one of them loses their focus on the other.

Megumi’s mind is running wild, noticing the trail of her eyes everywhere they go.  As he’s admiring her, she’s admiring him, and he’s trying so hard to work up the courage to do something when her lashes droop low and her eyes land on his lips.

“And for the love of god, if the moment arises that you should kiss her, then fucking do it!” Nobara’s voice rang in his head.

He’s not sure how he landed himself in this perfect intimate moment, but he knows he shouldn’t waste it.

“I- I think you’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen,” He stutters a little, but tries to ignore and keep this brief burst of confidence intact.  “And, I’m glad you wanted to, um, hang out” 

A small smile tugs at the corners of (y/n’s) lips, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering around even more from the flattering.

“That’s funny,” She murmurs.  “I was just thinking the same thing,” 

Megumi’s flustered, his heart is beating excessively, his face is hotter than it’s ever been, and his tongue is tied, but he smiles back at her, soft and warm and inviting.

“Can I ask you something?” She asks, and he nods, swallowing the lump in his throat.  “Have you been trying to flirt with me?” 

(y/n) can’t contain the smile on her face as she asks him her question, too eager for his answer.  And when his blush darkens and his eyes momentarily stare down at nothing, her hopes only skyrocket.

“Trying” Megumi mutters the word she used back to her.

“So you have?” (y/n) giggles, leaning in closer to meet his eyes again.

Her eyes are so bright, Megumi can tell, even without the lights on in the common room, even with little to no light coming from the tv due to the dark setting of the movie.  She’s practically glowing with happiness.

“Yeah,” He admits nervously.  “I have” 

(y/n) moves the popcorn bowl off her lap, moving away from him briefly so she could set it on the coffee table, before leaning back towards him, just as close as she was before.  His instincts battle as half of him wants to lean back to give her space, and the other half wants to close the rest of the distance between them.

“Is that what all the compliments on my training were about?” She asks with a knowing smile.

Megumi nods his head shyly.

(y/n’s) giggling again, soft and angelic and he couldn’t possibly be upset that she’s laughing at him, because the sound is so sweet he’d do anything to make her laugh more.

“There wasn’t a movie night, was there?” She asks quietly.

He shakes his head this time.

“So… Yuuji just wanted to set you up, huh?” She asks again as she starts to put the pieces together.

Megumi raises a hand to the back of his neck awkwardly, but he knows he can’t really convince her otherwise, so he confesses.

“Yeah… he… said that I wasn’t doing a good enough job and that I needed a push” He admits, turning his head to the side to hide the now burning blush on his face.

“Well, that’s kind of silly, I thought you were doing a great job,” (y/n) says, and Megumi peeks back at her out of the corner of his eye.  “But I can’t complain, I’m just glad I got to spend more time alone with you, anyways” 

Slowly, he faces her again.

“You are?” He asks, unsurely.

(y/n) nods and gives him an affirmative hum.

“I thought you were just really into studying,” She teases.  “I didn’t think I’d ever get you alone for something fun” 

Flustering, Megumi tries to defend himself.

“I- I like fun stuff too” 

“Like what?” (y/n) asks.

Trying to think on his feet, he thinks back to what Yuuji had described to be actual dates.

“Ice cream,” 

He says it so surely, so confidently, that (y/n) has to bite down on her lip to keep herself from laughing this time.  She has a pretty good understanding of what he’s trying to say, but he’s just so damn cute.

Megumi cringes at himself, smacking his own forehead and wishing the ground would swallow him whole, because it was impossible to keep his sanity when he was talking to her.

“I didn’t- I didn’t mean it like that,” He assures her.  “I meant I like going out.  I would like to go out- we- we could go out-” 

“Megumi,” (y/n) ends his misery, reaching forward and tugging on his wrist so he’d remove his hand from his face.  “I would like to go out with you for ice cream” She tells him with a sweet smile.

He doesn’t know what he did to make this girl like him, because he’s pretty sure he’s made an idiot of himself every time he opens his mouth, but he thanks whoever is watching over him that he’s done something that works.

“Really?” 

(y/n) nods, her hand sliding into his, fingers slotting in the spaces between his.  Her hand is significantly smaller compared to his, and it’s so warm it’s almost comforting.  It is comforting.  He can feel his shoulders relax, and his heartbeat finally slowing to a normal pace.

“Really” She affirms.

The tv is flickering with the rolling credits of the movie they’d forgotten, and Megumi finally feels like he could have a grasp on this whole flirting thing.

“Can I kiss you?” 

(y/n) smirks.

“It’d be a shame if you didn’t” 

He didn’t need much more of an answer than that.  With his free hand wrapping around the back of her neck to draw her a few mere inches forward, his lips slant over hers and any embarrassment left in him disappears in a second.  (y/n) returns his kiss with fervor, letting his hand go so she could give into the intrusive thoughts that had attacked her all night, running her fingers through his hair, nails scraping slightly at the nape of his neck.

The sensation was enough to give him an ego boost, and Megumi drops a hand to her hip, pulling her closer until her chest leaned into his, and even still he pulled more, and more, until they couldn’t possibly be any closer.

His lips dragged over hers as his nose prodded hers to the side, tilting his head to deepen their kiss further.  A hum of approval traveled up her throat and vibrated gently against his mouth, and she could only sneak in a few more kisses until she had to pull on his sweater to make him stop so she could catch her breath.

Their blushing faces are mirrored now, both smiling shyly, and still clinging onto one another.

“Did Yuuji give you advice on that too?” (y/n) chuckled, her chest heaving as she caught her breath.  Megumi chuckles, his eyes falling to her now swollen lips.

“If I say yes, are you going to stand me up for our ice cream date?”

The pair giggle quietly amongst themselves, (y/n’s) arms wrapped loosely around his neck, Megumi’s arms wrapped loosely around her waist, neither one of them wanting to part even though their movie had ended and it was rather late into the evening.

“So it’s a date now?” (y/n) quirks a brow.

Megumi smiles, more sure of himself now than he has been in the last couple of months.

“Of course it is” 

(y/n) smiles back at him melting a little further into his embrace.

“So then I suppose that makes you my boyfriend” She adds cheekily.

Megumi raises a hand to curl his fingers under her jaw, his thumb stroking lazily over her skin.  He watches this movement for a minute as he relishes in the delight of being bestowed such a title.

He decides to steal the moment with a kiss, which (y/n) happily returns.  This kiss is softer than their first.  It’s also shorter, but just as passionate.  He’s smiling again when they part, resting his forehead against hers as he gazes fondly into her eyes.

“I suppose it does”  ___

this was supposed to be SHORT what did i DO

xoxo ~ jordie

[chishiyasleftnut]

Is there going to be more parts to stuck with you where chishiya redeems himself I guess

IM BAAAAAACK! ٩(◕‿◕)۶

Thank you for your request and patience, it’s been a rough couple of months. I’ve always wanted to make an insane author note and it’s finally my time to shine:

I had a mental breakdown, got hospitalised due to it, had to fight to get sick leave from my studies (I was supposed to be done with my bachelor’s now so rip that), and then when things finally lined up I GOT A CONCUSSION. So, it’s been a rough couple of months but now I’m back and unstoppable (⌐■_■) 

Anyway, I hope you’ll like this story!

Stuck With You (part 3)

(Read part 1 and part 2 here)

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤 Genre: Smut Warnings: Smut. Includes oral (both female and male receiving), penetration (female receiving), unprotected sex. Pairing: Chishiay x fem!reader

Plot: After spending the night together in more than one way, Chishiya finds it hard to keep his hands off of you - even in a life and death situation. The real question is: what have you two become?

3082 words. 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

You felt as if you had barely closed your eyes when you were rudely awakened by chirping birds, sunlight shining through the thin and cheap material that the tent was made of. With a big yawn, you sat up in the tent, stretching your sore limbs before looking to your left where Chishiya had spent the last few nights, expecting to see him laying besides you with dishevelled hair as he always had in the mornings. To your surprise, he was nowhere to be found.

“I swear to God if this was some weird type of ‘hit-it then quit-it” I’m going to tear him to shreds the next time we meet,” you mumbled, immediately getting flashbacks to previous similar situations.

With no other choice than to continue your day, you got dressed in silence before emerging out of the tent. And there he was: carefully fidgeting with something you couldn’t quite make out. His head turned towards the sound of the tent zipper unzipping.

“Morning, princess,” he smirked. “Did you sleep well?”

“I slept fine.” That was a lie and you both knew it. You looked like a hot mess with dark blue bags under your eyes and your hair all tangled up. “I thought you ditched me, I won’t lie.”

“Do you think so little of me?” he said, his grin only growing more annoying by the second.

You shrugged to avoid the question - truth be told you still weren’t sure where you had him - and moved closer to him, sitting down next to him on the grass and looking at whatever he was creating. Noticing your peaked interest, he replied to your silent question.

“It’s a stun grenade. Probably not deadly, but it’ll do some damage,” he said nonchalantly. Noticing your confusion, he continued. “I thought it would be a good distraction if we run into problems. It might buy us some time if we need to run.”

“I didn’t know you could run.”

Although the air that huffed out of his nose told you that he found your remark funny, he decided not to reply to your snarky comment.

“Anyway, it’s good to have, isn’t it?” he asked.

You shrugged again, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of him knowing once again that he was right. Why did he always have to think so far ahead? It was annoying you relentlessly how he was right more often than he was wrong. It was Chishiya who spoke first, looking at the stun grenade before stuffing it in his left pocket.

“There’s a hearts game,” he said while pointing distantly towards the sky.

Your heart sunk. Playing a hearts game with an ally was either incredibly beneficial or terribly traumatising. Although you wouldn’t say it out loud, you didn’t want to risk losing Chishiya and you had a feeling that he agreed. Actually, who were you kidding, you knew very well that Chishiya would sacrifice you without a second thought way before you had the chance to sacrifice him. Still, it felt unnecessarily risky.

“Do we have to attend it?”

“Mhm, it’s the closest one to us.”

And that was that. With no counter arguments, you both picked up a few belongings and headed towards the big banner floating above who knew what. Jack of Hearts.

The venue was an old prison. The big iron door which encapsulated the depressing location eerily creaked as you carefully entered the slowly deteriorating building. Of all the games sites you had been at, this was definitely up there in creepiness. With each step you took, you got reminded of the horrors this place had once been home to. You shivered at the thought, trying your best to conceal your feelings about the location.

Much to Chishiya’s dismay, you were required to hand in all potentially dangerous belongings before you could enter the game. Chishiya kissed his teeth and reluctantly let go of the stun grenade he had spent all morning on assembling.

“A shame,” he said monotonously. “Seems like I won’t get to test my creation.”

You muttered a silent thank God under your breath. The idea of a homemade stun grenade didn’t seem very safe to you, and with your luck it would somehow explode in his hands and kill the both of you.

“Did you say something?”

Crap. He heard you. It was like he had super-human hearing at times.

“No,” you lied, causing Chishiya to sneer. Nonetheless, he luckily dropped the subject.

The game started not long after you put on the collar supplied to you by the game masters (whoever the hell that was). The metal was cold, but otherwise it wasn’t particularly uncomfortable. That was good, considering you had to wear it for an unknown amount of time.

The rules were simple. Each person’s collar showed a symbol which you had to announce every hour in a private jail cell. Easy enough, right? The only catch: you couldn’t see this symbol by yourself. The collar was placed in such a way that it was impossible to do so. The obvious solution would be to use a reflective surface - something that was regrettably forbidden by the rules. If you said the wrong symbol: game over. That meant the game was one big exercise in trust with the sole goal of killing off the unidentified Jack of Hearts.

You breathed a sigh of relief when you realised you would not be forced to be in a position where you or Chishiya could get hurt. You trusted each other, right? At least more than you trusted the other strangers in the prison. This would be fine.

And for the first time in what felt like years, it was fine. What you hadn’t considered was how God awful boring this game would be, giving you nothing to do but eat snacks and talk for hours. There were already clear alliances formed amongst the players, causing the Jack to hide safely amongst an unsuspected group of players until someone inevitably fucked up and mistrusted their group.

The boredom had started to hit both you and Chishiya hard. Although he tried to hide it, you knew there were only so many packages of biscuits one man could eat before he went insane. It therefore shouldn’t have surprised you when he pulled you aside at the beginning of the 4th round.

“What are you-“ you managed to exclaim before Chishiya covered your mouth and dragged you into his cell.

“Shhh,” he said with a smirk, looking rather pleased with his plan to waste some time. He immediately yet carefully closed the heavy cell door, making sure not to slam it shut. “Be quiet, we don’t want everyone to hear, now do we?”

“Hear what exactly?”

Despite your confusion, you instinctively lowered your voice to comply with his request. You had long ago stopped questioning Chishiya on these things.

“We’re both bored, aren’t we? I can think of a thing or two we could do to make the time go by faster.”

And that’s when you got it. Sex. He wanted sex in the middle of a game. This wasn’t the Chishiya you knew back at the Beach - that Chishiya would never have been willing to be vulnerable at all, much less during a game.

“What, am I that addicting?” you joked, snaking your arms around the back of his neck. It wasn’t like you were about to complain over or resist his offer. If you spent one more round doing nothing you might actually have died from boredom.

“Very much so,” he admitted, his own hands finding their way to your waist.

It felt good knowing you were wanted - and by Chishiya of all people. Feeling a rush of confidence, you initiated the first kiss, pressing your lips against his firmly. As expected, Chishiya immediately reciprocated, gently leading you towards the wall and pushing you up against it without breaking contact with your sweet lips.

When Chishiya’s hand left your waist to sneak under the waistline of your pants, his mind occupied with lewd thoughts of what was to come, you took the opportunity to switch the position around, taking him by surprise as you pivoted and pushed him forcefully against the cold wall.

The look on his face was priceless, but you didn’t have time to bask in the rays of satisfaction you felt. Instead, you dropped to your knees and placed both hands on his thighs, making sure to look at him up through your eyelashes.

Without hesitation, you hooked your fingers under his sweatpants and pulled them down, revealing his half hard dick. You broke eye contact to gaze at his length, examining the thing that made you feel pure bliss the night before. The thoughts of last night’s encounter made your mouth salivate, causing you to gulp down the excess saliva.

You must have been staring for a while, completely absorbed in the memories, and fully disconnected from reality, because you suddenly felt Chishiya’s hand grabbing yours, gently guiding your fingers around his half-erect dick. You understood what that meant, immediately going to work on making him harder, gliding your hand up and down his entire length, watching as it grew and grew.

Once you noticed small droplets of pre-cum oozing from the tip, you placed your flattened tongue at the base of his dick before sliding it up all the way. Not having expected the sudden change of sensation, Chishiya shuddered and gasped in one breath, his hand moving into your hair.

You flicked your tongue over the sensitive head, enjoying the way his hardness twitched each time the slightly rough yet at the same time soft tissue of your tongue brushed over the tip. Satisfied with the reaction this got you - and feeling as if you had made him wait long enough already - you opened your mouth just wide enough to take him in his entirety, letting his dick fill up your throat as you took him down to the root.

“Fuck,” you faintly heard Chishiya mutter, your other senses almost completely dulled by the feeling of Chishiya’s length occupying your esophagus.

As Chishiya adjusted to the warmth and tightness of your throat, his fingers entangled in your hair. He pulled on it ever so slightly, silently begging you to fuck him with your mouth. And you did, diligently bobbing your head up and down, savouring the feel and taste of him with each movement.

Just as you felt like you had gotten into a good rhythm, Chishiya pulled your head away from his body, your mouth leaving him with a wet, pop sound. He shuddered slightly at the cold air which had so suddenly hit his now wet skin before he pulled his pants back up.

He noticed your confused eyes, but instead of speaking he pulled you up on your feet and guided you towards what you could only imagine was the prison cell’s bed. The bed (if you could even call the cold metal slap that hopefully once had held a mattress a bed) wasn’t exactly comfortable, but neither was the shitty two-man tent in which you two last shared a moment. At least you had more space now than you did last night, opening up for more possibilities.

With a small push, Chishiya got you seated on the metal before kneeling down on the floor in front of you, swiftly pulling off your pants and underpants and seating himself between your legs. The coldness from the metal now directly against your bare buttocks didn’t exactly feel nice, but luckily for you it didn’t take long before he hiked both of his arms underneath your thighs and lifted your lower body up against his face, so you were doing a shoulder stand.

Wasting no time, he immediately plunged his tongue into the depth of your core, licking up your arousal as if he had been wandering around a desert for days with no water. Your sounds went from confusion caused by the awkward position to deep pleasure in record time, your moans being harder and harder to suppress when he finally flicked his tongue over your so far heavily neglected clit. He hummed and growled as he indulged in your taste, the vibrations from his mouth only furthering your arousal and excitement.

His tongue was working overtime, alternating between circling your love button and pushing deep inside of you. You were so zoned out from reality, entering an almost trance-like state brought on by his tongue, that you barely noticed his hand moving down your body, sliding underneath your shirt until it reached your breast. There, Chishiya snaked around your bra and began massaging your boob, occasionally putting extra focus on your sensitive nipple.

Despite the objectively rather awkward and uncomfortable position, you soon enough felt a cascade of pleasure engulf your entire being as Chishiya’s mouth helped you reach your climax. Chishiya didn’t stop - instead he continued to flick his tongue around your most sensitive area, accompanying you through every last pulsation your core made. Once your hand-muffled moans had turned into soft whimpers, he put you down and wiped his mouth with his arm.

Now that you were fully horizontal again, you began feeling the aches in your neck. Perhaps doing a shoulder stand for God knows how long, on a metal bed, was not the best choice. Chishiya too looked as if he was internally questioning his decision to eat you out like that, but he wasn’t a quitter. Not wanting to waste even a second more than he had to, he stood back up and pulled down his sweatpants, his hard length slapping against his stomach once freed.

His dick didn’t even need extra attention before he was set to go. It was so perfectly ready for you; hard, red, throbbing, with a bead of precum adorning the tip. It was almost beautiful - well as beautiful as a dick can be. You didn’t get to admire it for long before he climbed on top of you, pushing your body further down on the metal bed and immediately entering you once on top of you.

With his dick buried so deep inside of you that it almost felt like he was piercing through to your stomach, Chishiya began thrusting in and out of you, his tip forcefully slamming against your cervix each time. You were well aware that you were supposed to be quiet and yet you couldn’t help the moans and whimpers that left your lips. Chishiya quickly covered your mouth with his hand, shusshing into your ear through his own low groans.

Your hands found their way around Chishiya’s torso, gripping tightly onto the soft fabric of his hoodie. Had he not been wearing said hoodie your nails would have painfully been digging into his skin, leaving marks for hours to come. Luckily for his back that was not the case and he barely even noticed how tightly you were clinging onto him.

“I’m gonna-” you began saying into his hand, your words muffled. To everyone else, the sounds would have been unintelligible, but Chishiya knew exactly what you were trying to say.

“Come,” he demanded, growling the command into your ear.

Your mind completely blanked after that, your body only able to feel the immense pleasure that was flowing through every fibre of your being, raising every little hair on your arms and igniting nerves you didn’t know existed. The intense pulsation from your core caused Chishiya to finish soon after, his dick rhythmically spouting his seed deep inside of you.

You both rode out your high together, Chishiya eventually collapsing down on you, grounding you further down on the hard, metal bed. The only sound audible in the room was that of heavy breathing. That was until Chishiya suddenly stood up and redressed his lower half. You raised your eyebrows at his promptness, something that he noticed.

“We can’t stay in here all day. We have a game to play,” he said. Perhaps you were imagining it, but you swore you could see the faintest satisfied smirk on his lips.

You had no reply, but instead followed suit and put you pants back on. As you stood up you felt the sensation of Chishiya’s seed slowly seeping out of you, but you tried to ignore it. It wasn’t like there were tissues laying around to help with that right now.

The silence in the room was thick, a contrast to the sounds of pleasure that only a few minutes prior had faintly echoed around the bare room. That was, until you bravely decided to ask the question that had been on your mind since last night.

“So, what are we?” you asked, trying to sound more confident than you were. He, of course, saw right through you. He always did.

“I don’t know, what are we?” he repeated like a parrot, avoiding answering the question. You knew it was because he loved toying you around. Perhaps you liked being toyed with too, but that felt more like something you should discuss with a therapist than with Chishiya.

“No no no, I asked you first.”

He didn’t reply. Of course he didn’t, that would have been too easy of him. Instead, he opened the cell door again and gestured towards the hallway outside.

“We have a game to finish.”

And that was that. You knew you wouldn’t get a better answer out of him - not today at least - so you followed his lead, exiting the jail cell and pretending as if you hadn’t spent the last small hour with Chishiya rearranging your guts.

The following rounds were slowly getting more and more dramatic, with the other groups disbanding due to betrayals and a general sense of unease spreading through the prison. In that regard, you were quite lucky that you had Chishiya. Even more so when he eventually cracked the code and helped you both survive the game unarmed.

Together you silently walked back to the little camp that you had created and mutely crawled back into the tent. No words were spoken as you both laid flatly down on the mats next to each other. What was there to say? Bringing up the game would do nothing but remind you of the precarious situation you were in. Bringing up what happened during the game would require both of you to openly discuss feelings. Yeah, no. Silence was the right option. At least for tonight.

[PART FOUR HERE]

[its-time-to-write]

how about a Jamie x reader fic when they go away to Amsterdam they sit together on bus and they wake up cuddling and then there’s an issue w hotel booking and there’s a one bed trope and they end up waking up cuddled together and then they admit feelings and reader goes to game with a tartt jersey on <3

I’ve been thinking about this forever, and I’m terribly sorry it took so long!! I do enjoy being an adult, but I’m at a point in life where I don’t have much free time and if I do, I use it to sleep😂

I really miss the days when Ted Lasso was still airing and the x reader tags had new content every day. I feel like that one meme of Thanos when he’s like “Fine. I’ll do it myself.” Shoutout to all y’all who are still here and reading my stuff! Love you!!

smile at me

It’s straight-up fucked. It really, really is. But also maybe it’s good, as Keeley pointed out, because not having a boyfriend anymore means you can focus on yourself?

Or something. 

Of course he had to break up with you right before leaving for Amsterdam. Hell, he broke up with you because you were leaving for Amsterdam. 

“I don’t want you going to another country with a bunch of other guys,” he had said. “It’s them or me.”

“It’s literally my job,” you told him. 

Apparently, that didn’t matter. 

But what-fucking-ever, you’re at Keeley’s waiting for a car to take you to the airport, and she’s promised to make sure you don’t think about your stupid ex even once. 

It’s times like these you wish Ted were still here with a spot-on pun and some dad-type advice. All you ever get from Beard is a weird anecdote and a vaguely threatening look. 

Keeley chatters on for the entirety of the ride to the airport, through customs, and all the way to the lounge. 

“You’re gonna get loads of great content for the socials, babe. Candids, action shots, behind-the-scenes. Friendlies are fucking amazing!”

Last time Richmond were in Amsterdam, they had lost horribly. They’re hoping to make up for it this time around. 

The plane is full of Greyhounds, both footballers and coaches alike, with Rebecca at the very front. Keeley plops done in the seat next to her as Dani waves at you from the middle. 

“I saved you a seat!” he calls. You smile as Sam takes your bag to put it in the overhead. “Thanks, Dani. You excited?”

Dani grins. “I think this time I am ready to see a whole field of tulips!”

You laugh as the lads roll their eyes. Jamie leans across the aisle toward you and says, “Oi, what’s the twat doing while you’re away?” 

You press your lips into a thin line. “Not a clue.”

He raises an eyebrow and says, “You break up with him?”

“He broke up with me.”

Jamie twists his face into a scoff. “And you wonder why I call him the fucking twat. Prick. Bet it was so he could finally fuck his coworker.”

You shrug. Jamie’s never liked your boyfriend. It’s not like you were together long, only a few months. And sure, he was a little bit of a twat, but sue you. You had a special place in your heart for pricks with a heart of gold, only he didn’t even have a heart at all. 

“You should date someone better,” Jamie continues. 

You glare at him and retort, “Oh yeah, because it’s just that easy. You got some one in mind?”

Jamie gives you his most angelic look and says, “What about me?” which makes half the plane dissolve into laughter, yourself included. 

“Cheers, Jamie,” you say as you wipe your eyes. “I needed that.”

A strange look crosses his face, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual cocky expression. “Anytime, love,” he replies as you turn to start a conversation with Dani. 

As much as you’d like that, Jamie would never date you. His joke stings a little but you brush it off. Maybe you’ll find another twat in Amsterdam to distract yourself from the fact that you’re half in love with Jamie Tartt.

—

“I’m sorry, we don’t have a booking under you name,” the hotel concierge says.

You tap your nails to your wrist. “Are you positive? I’m with AFC Richmond, they should’ve had one.”

The concierge taps on his computer for a moment before shaking his head. “No, I’m afraid we don’t have anything. And all of our rooms are booked this weekend. Might I recommend the hotel down the road?”

Damn it. There’s no way this is happening. Everyone else has gotten to their rooms without a hitch and here you are, alone in the lobby as you pull out your phone to call Keeley. There’s no way this is fucking happening. 

“Everything alright?” asks a voice behind you, and you jump. 

“They don’t have a room for me, and they’re fully booked,” you explain. 

Jamie looks at the concierge, who shrugs apologetically, then back to you. He asks, “Why don’t you share with me?” and you frown. 

“I thought you were rooming with Declan,” you say. 

Jamie lifts a shoulder. “Yeah, but he switched with Richard because O’Brien fucking snores and he don’t give a shit.”

You say, “So you’re with Richard, then,” and he shakes his head. 

“Nah, Richard’s with Jan.”

“I thought Dani was with Jan,” you say. These fucking footballers. What’s the point in having set rooms if they’re just going to switch it all up.

“Dani is with Jan,” Jamie says patiently, as if this all the most obvious thing in the world. “But Dani’s a cuddler, so he’s probably going to fucking end up with, I don’t know, Isaac or someone. Which means I get a room all to meself.”

“Right,” you say slowly. “Alright, I can do that. As long as you don’t mind.”

Jamie winks. “Sharing a room with a pretty girl for four days? Ain’t a problem, love.”

You laugh and follow him to the elevator.

—

It feels a bit like playing with fire, agreeing to room with Jamie. Especially since you’re freshly single and definitely open to a rebound. But there will be two beds and a lot of space and anyway, you’ll be busy with the match and social media, respectively. 

Except as soon as you walk through the door, you realize there’s a tiny little hitch.

“There’s one bed,” you blurt out, so surprised you’re unable to filter your words. Jamie blushes a little bit as he says, “Yeah, um, Cockburn and I hate sleeping alone, so we asked for one. He grew up sharing a bed with his brothers and I just fucking hate being alone. I can sleep on the couch if you want.”

“No,” you say firmly, “you need good rest. It’s not a problem.”

It’s not a problem. 

Or at least it wouldn’t have been if Isaac had been a shittier captain. 

But as it is he’s great, so he’s got the whole team going out to dinner at a pre-determined location complete with a dress code of no t-shirts and apparently you count as part of the team, so you have to go too. You’re in your massive bathroom trying to curl your disgusting travel hair when Jamie walks in wearing one of those white hotel bathrobes.

He asks, “You mind if I’m in here?” so you shake your head, struck temporarily mute by his bare clavicle. Fucking hell, you feel like a repressed Victorian woman. 

Jamie says, “Mint,” and goes about his alarmingly detailed skincare routine. You’re pretty sure you’re done with your hair so you crane your neck in an attempt to check the back. 

“Missed a spot,” Jamie says. “Want me to get it for you?”

You shoot him a dubious look but hand him the curler. He runs a hand through your hair, picking up the offending strand and it’s all you can do not to shiver. 

“Mum taught me,” he explains and you nod ever so slightly, not wanting him to accidentally burn your neck. Jamie says, “All good,” and runs his whole hand through your hair this time, making the curls bounce. 

You choke out, “Thanks,” and hurriedly put away your things, desperate to leave before Jamie can pick up on the fact that you can barely handle being in the same room as him, and that you have great concerns about what the night will bring. 

—

“You look fucking hot,” is the first thing Rebecca says when you meet her in the lobby. Keeley looks mildly offended that Rebecca took the words out of her mouth, but she just laughs and taps your arm. 

“Gonna break a few hearts tonight, yeah?” she grins.

You’re not sure about that, especially since dinner turns out to be a very domestic affair. It’s loud, sure, but it’s definitely toned down since it’s a pre-match celebration instead of a post-match one. You’re with Sam, Keeley, and Roy with Jamie far, far away. You push all thoughts of him from your brain only for memories of your ex to surface. You frown. 

“The fuck’s wrong with you?” Roy says and for a moment, you think he’s talking to you. But he’s actually talking to Jamie who has moved from his place across the restaurant to right behind your chair. 

“Fuck off grandad,” Jamie says good-naturedly. “Wanted to tell this one that some of the lads are going out dancing after this. Not too late,” he hastily adds at Roy’s burning scowl, “just for two hours and we’re only allowed one drink.”

You’re pretty sure that’s a bit more liberal than Roy likes, but he nods his head slightly so he must be in a good mood.

“So, you coming?” Jamie asks and before you can reply Sam and Keeley chorus, “Yes she is.”

You give Keeley a Look before turning back to Jamie. “Guess I am,” you reply.

The smile Jamie gives you does more to make your head spin than any amount of alcohol you’ve had in your lifetime.

—

Jamie has taken it upon himself to wipe that frown off your face. He might have been watching you over dinner and that might have been why he chose that exact moment to invite you out, but he’ll never fucking admit it to anyone except Sam. And Keeley. And maybe Cockburn when it was the off-season and they were a little tipsy. (But not drunk, never drunk.) 

So yeah, sue him if he’s spinning you around on the crowded dance floor just because it makes you laugh. It’s not his fault that he’s been wildly in love with you since the day Higgins hired you. It’s not his fault that you’re easy to be around and have the most beautiful smile he’s seen in his life. 

And fuck, it certainly isn’t his fault you can’t see in yourself what others do. Why you settled for a piece of shit like your ex, he’ll never know. But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do his best to show you how special you are. He knows you’ll never feel the same about him, but maybe he can help you level up your standards. Maybe if you’re with someone good, it’ll hurt less that it’s not him. 

So he lets you hold his hand for the entirety of the two hours that the team is out and doesn’t say a word when you don’t let go in the cab back to the hotel. 

You’ve gotten that closed-off look in your eyes again, the one that means you’re thinking about your ex, so Jamie knocks his shoulder into yours and asks why he can’t have the password to the team’s Instagram account, which is a sure fire way to get you to lecture him on irresponsibility and aesthetics and the best way to get your eyes to come back to life.

—

Honestly, it’s easier to fall asleep than you might have expected. It’s a big bed and you’re fucking tired. 

You just didn’t expect to wake up in the middle of the night crying, but it’s always fucking like this when you go through a breakup. You go to sleep fine and wake up sad, so you do your best not to wake up Jamie except you’ve both ended up entangled in each other’s arms, so he can feel you shaking. 

“Hey,” Jamie says in a soft voice, “You’re okay, love.”

You half expect him to push you away once he realizes you’re so close, but he only pulls you closer and presses a kiss to your forehead. Maybe it’s because you’re both half-asleep, but it feels like the most natural thing in the world. 

You sigh and settle into him, drifting off in a matter of moments. 

—

You wake up to a pair of blue eyes watching you. 

“How you feeling?” Jamie asks, voice gravelly with sleep. 

You just blink at him. It’s hard to form coherent sentences within the first ten seconds of waking up, and even harder with the memory of Jamie’s arms around you last night. 

Wait. Not just the memory. The present reality because neither of you have moved. 

Jamie misinterprets your silence and begins to extricate his arms.

“Sorry,” he says, “I’m not to trying to like, cross and fucking boundary or something. Should’ve left you alone.”

You’re still not awake enough to talk so you grab him to stop him from moving away. He gives you a questioning look so you say, “I wouldn’t have agreed to share a bed if I thought you were a creep.”

Jamie grins. “So like, if Jan had offered to share a room you’d’ve said no.”

You wrinkle your nose as you say, “Jan’s not a creep.”

“He’s the fucking worst,” Jamie grumbles, “And anyway, can we not talk about Jan fucking Maas this early in the morning?”

“Sure,” you say, “let’s talk about something else.”

Despite your comment, you both lapse into silence. You’re enraptured by Jamie’s blue eyes. You’ve never been able to study them this close before, and you want to take this opportunity to memorize every fleck of green. 

Jamie seems to have a similar thought, except his gaze flicks to your lips. 

“I have morning breath,” you tell him and he says, “Real men don’t give a shit, babe,” before leaning forward.

It’s softer than you’d expected, sweeter. 

It’s also strange to think that you’re making out with Jamie in bed, and that he’s the one who initiated it.

The thought is so absurd that you giggle, mid-kiss. Jamie breaks away and says, “Oi, there’s no way that was a shit kiss.”

“No,” you say between giggles, “it’s just weird that we’re doing this. Like, how are we supposed to look each other in the eye after?”

Jamie moves so he can look at you better, and you roll from your side to your back. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“Oh come on, we share a room and a bed, we kiss because I have all these sad feelings and you’re feeling a lot of emotions about the match, and then we have to work together after. It’s silly.”

Jamie cocks his head. “That’s what you think is happening?”

“Yes?” you say. None of this is going how it’s supposed to. “What do you think is happening?”

“I like you,” he says, and there is absolutely no mistaking his meaning. 

“Oh,” you reply in a small voice. “Since when?”

“Since before you started dating the twat. When Higgins introduced ya to the team.”

“That’s a fucking long time ago!” you exclaim. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Jamie rubs his face. “Yeah, ‘cept you showed up to work tellin’ everyone how you started dating the twat. And I ain’t a home wrecker.”

You groan. “Fuuuck. I literally only dated him to try to get over you.”

Jamie shoots up. “What?!”

“Yeah,” you say, “I’ve been like a little bit in love with you ever since you winked at me during that first promo I did.”

Jamie blows out a breath. “Okay. Think that’s enough talking. C’mere. We’re making out proper, like, then we’re going to breakfast.”

You grin as you climb onto his lap. 

[mrslankyman]

Change

Mike Schmidt x (Fem) Reader

-> eventual smut

-> Mikes friends Sister

-> mentions of alcohol/drunk mike

->3.5K words

————————————————————————————————————————

Everyday felt the same. It was the same drag. Wake up, work, go to sleep, wake up, work, go to sleep and so on.

Today was different how ever. I was going over to my friend Tyler’s house. Abby decided to stay at her friends this weekend. So I had some down time.

I head up to his house. Knocking on the door. He lived about 10 minutes away. Took me 20 to get here. I like to just drive around. Take my mind off things.

Tyler opens the door and looks down at me. He’s always been taller. Which made me slightly annoyed.

“Come on in. Oh by the way.. my sister moved in. She needs a place to stay so. Sorry if she annoys you.” He chuckled and plopped on his couch. I’ve only ever met Tyler’s sister once. Back a few years ago. She came to his Christmas party.

I shrug not really caring and sit down beside him. He chats with me about random things. We hadn’t hung out in 2 months. We’d call but that was about it.

”Hey, I gotta run to the store.” Tyler says getting up. “Im gonna get us some booze. Gonna have a fun night. Your sisters at a friends yeah?” Tyler asked making sure it was okay to get drunk tonight.

“Yeah she’s staying over.” I answer looking down at my shoes. Even around Tyler I couldn’t seem to pull out a happy tone.

“Sick. Ima go get some then. You need to loosen up a little tonight. Relax. You can watch what ever you want.” He says as he headed out. Of course. He leaves me alone here.

Not that I mind much. I’ve stayed over here a lot before my dad took his life. Back when I had a little more freedom.

Not that I mind taking care of Abby. She gave me a reason to keep going. Though sometimes a little break is nice.

I hear a door down the hallway open. I almost forgot Tyler’s sister was here. She came walking into the living room. Her eyes landed on me and she gave a confused look.

“He went to the store.” I said looking over at her. My eyes linger a little. She must of got all the good looking genes. Tyler got zero.

“Mike right? Tyler’s friend?” She asked walking over. I nod and look at the tv again.

“Yeah.” I don’t look at her. I keep my eyes on the Tv. “Not much of a talker?” She asked curiously.

“Not really..” I say my voice quite. I didn’t wanna show any interest. She was Tyler’s sister. I also felt slightly uncomfortable.

“You and him gonna get drunk?” She stood up and headed to the kitchen.

“Probably. I don’t drink much so.. this will be fun I hope.” My reply wasn’t much of a welcoming one. I didn’t wanna talk. I hated talking to new people.

Last time I talked to her I was more than likely black out drunk on Christmas.

“Right. Well I’m gonna go back to my room. Don’t tear up the house please.” Her request made me look at her. She was already off down the hall.

I assume Tyler makes her clean or she does most the cleaning. Tyler obviously wasn’t the one keeping this house so in order.

——

I was about 8 beers in. They tasted terrible. But my mind was fuzzy. One thing I liked about getting drunk was I didn’t feel so sad. I loosened up. Me and Tyler were cracking jokes. He offered to invite some more friends over. Soon enough there was a party.

How the hell did we get to this? There was about 10 of us now. Not too big of a party but still. This house was too cramped for all of us. They were busy watching some game show on tv.

I stumbled down the hall to the bathroom. I felt like I was gonna throw up. Maybe drinking wasn’t so fun. I finally made it and slung the door open. Falling down and just breathed heavily.

When did walking become so tiering?

I let my head fall back on the rim of the tub. Just sitting there. Trying to subside the feeling. I hated throwing up. Something about it just made me afraid.

I covered my face and then slid my hands down. Letting them pull my skin till they fell off back to my chest. Foot steps came walking to the bathroom. Probably Tyler or one of his friends. They’d make me get up and leave. I didn’t feel like leaving though.

Instead my eyes landed on Y/N. She looked down at me. Partly confused and partly annoyed. “This is my bathroom. If you wanna puke in Tyler’s go upstairs.” She walked over to me and bent down.

“I don’t wanna go upstairs. I wanna stay here.” I looked up at her with pleading eyes. She sighed and sat down beside me instead. Crossing her arms over her chest.

“Fine. But I’m staying in here with you.” She kicked the door closed with her foot. “I don’t like any of Tyler’s friends. They’re all annoying.” She leaned her head back line mine. Smiling a little.

“Yeah. I don’t think they’re so bad.” I shrugged. Honestly that was a lie. I hated them. They were too loud and wanted to watch sports all day. I just wanted to sleep. Or be alone.

“You live in town?” Her question jolted me out of my thoughts. “Yeah, only a few minutes away. Where did you come from?” I turned to her.

“I was going to college back in our home state Arizona but.. money ran short. So I asked Tyler if I could stay with him here. He makes good money. He said yes and I work down at the diner now. Sparkys. It’s nice. My co-worker Ness says I should leave. Go back to college and be the great scientist I should be. I wish it was that simple.” She sighed. Her eyes going down to her feet. That feeling of not being good enough hit home to me.

“Hey, you’ll make it back one day. Stuff takes time. You wanna be a scientist you say? That’s pretty cool. I just work security at the mall.” I tried to cheer her up. Make my life sound terrible. I mean it is. She doesn’t have to know that.

“That’s not so bad. I think a security job suits you. Maybe I will.. or maybe I’ll change careers. Maybe being a server at Sparkys my whole life would be amazing.” Sarcasm laced her voice at the end. I frowned slightly and looked away. The buzzing feeling coming back in my head.

“I get it. Feeling like a dead end. Life is difficult but.. we all make it with what we got.” I closed my eyes. She said something but I honestly didn’t hear. I was already asleep.

——

So rightfully so when you wake up in your own house after blacking out in a friends bathroom you’d be confused. Which I was. I looked around. How the hell did I even get back here? Did I drive? No possible way.

I looked down at my night stand and the answer was there for me. I picked up the small slip of paper.

‘You blacked out, drove you home. Lucky Tyler remembered your address. - Y/N’

A small smile creeped on my face. At least there was some hope for kind people in the world. Aunt Jane could use some lessons.

I grabbed my black hoodie and slid it on. Going for my dark blue jeans.

I didn’t have work tonight. So maybe I’d take Abby out for dinner.

——

I would be lying if I said I picked Sparkys cause it’s my favorite diner. It’s not. I only come here sometimes. Abby loved it though. She loved the milk shakes.

We headed inside. Abby over joyed to get out of the house. Me on the other hand. I had about $10 to tip our waitress. She deserved it.

We headed inside picked out booth and waited. Y/N came walking over. In the usual Sparkys outfit. She smiled at me before seeing Abby.

“Didn’t know you had a kid.” She teased. Abby’s face scrunched up. “Gross. He’s my brother.” She corrected. Doing what kids do best and acting disgusted.

“Yeah she’s my little sister.” I nodded noticing Y/N’s demeanor shift. She seemed relaxed. Maybe she thought I had a wife or girl friend. Which wouldn’t look good if she took me home.

“What can I get for you two tonight?” She asked pulling out her note pad.

——

We ate dinner. Got the check. $14.30 wasn’t so bad. Abby did get a milk shake. I watched Abby as she raced out to the car. I slid down the $10 tip writing on the napkin.

‘Thanks for taking me home. - mike’

I walked up to the cash register. Paying the bill and heading out to take Abby and me home.

——

So to say the least I hadn’t seen Y/N in 2 weeks. No reason to go to Tyler’s and no reason to go to Sparkys. Until Abby begged to go. She wanted a milk shake. I couldn’t say no.

So we headed back. Going inside felt different. Like my hope of seeing Y/N against wasn’t going to happen tonight. And truth be told. It didn’t. Ness sat us. I remember him. I’ve talked to him maybe 4 times. Heard about him through Y/N as well at the ‘party’.

he greeted us cheerfully and sat us down.

“I’ll be back with that Pepsi and your milk shake.” He smiled and walked off to the kitchen.

I was looking around. Searching for Y/N. Why I have no clue. Why did I care if she was working tonight?

“Who you looking for?” Abby asked curiously I quickly looked over at her. “No one just looking around.” My face blushed. Of course she catches me.

“There’s not much to look at. Are you looking for that girl?” She smiled wide. How does she always know?

“No..” I lied feeling my face flush more. “Sure.” Her simple reply told me everything. She definitely knew.

“She’s pretty. Why don’t you tell her you like her?” Such an innocent question. Why don’t I tell her?

“I don’t know Abs .. it’s complicated.” I sighed leaning my head in my hands.

“It doesn’t have to be complicated.” She urged on. “Just tell her she’s pretty.”

“I.. Abby let’s drop it okay?” I was getting irritated. Not at her. At my self. I always do this. Never say what I want too. I guess if I want to get with someone I have to make moves.

On big problem is she’s Tyler’s sister. I don’t wanna just date his sister without his approval.. which in part isn’t his business but.. we’ve been friends for so long it be wrong to not ask.

“Here’s that milk shake for you little lady.” Ness says smiling setting down Abby’s milk shake.

“Y/N says thanks for the tip. She wasn’t sure when she’d see you again. But she told me about it.” Ness spoke to me. Which made me look at him confused for a moment. “Oh ugh.. tell her it’s no problem.” I answered nervously he gave a little smirk. Like he was definitely going to tell Y/N about this interaction.

——

It’s been 5 weeks. 5 whole weeks. I really should’ve left my number. My mind races every night. Thoughts of her. How can someone fall for another in such short time? With such little interactions?

I feel like knowing she cared enough to take me home made me fall harder. Never having anyone in my high school days also makes this harder.

My mind tracks back to any girl I’ve talked too. Any girl I’ve let get intimate with me that would end it after a week or two. None of them did something this small that made me feel this much.

I close my eyes and all I can see is her. I doubt she thinks of me.

I haven’t went back to Sparkys. I don’t wanna look like a creep. Though I’d die to see her again. Just chat. Even a simple hello would be enough.

I’m cool on the outside how ever. Abby hasn’t mentioned her since that night at Sparkys.

Tyler hasn’t called me. I assume we won’t hang out for a good while again.

The second I thought all hopes were lost and this crush of mine was a waste I met her again.

We were down at the store. Just trying to get some last minute groceries before it closed. I bumped into her.

She said she had to get some food for the house. Tyler never wanted to go grocery shopping. I nodded and listened to her rant. She thanked me for the tip. Thought she told me not to do it again. It was too much money to leave as a tip.

She wasn't wrong. I could really use every penny I got but.. it seemed worth it for her.

We exchanged numbers. Stating how she had few friends in this town. On the outside I was cool about it. Just giving her my home phone number. On the inside though. My stomach was doing flips.

——

So we call. We chat. We hang out at my house. She didn’t want Tyler to think she was stealing his friend.

Funny enough she was.

We sat on the couch. It had been 3 weeks since we started talking. Abby went off to some friends for the weekend. Tabitha was the girls name. They had been friends for a while. I had no problem with her going to a friends. At least she had more than me.

“You think this movie is good?” Y/N asked as I looked at her. Shrugging I lean back in the couch. “Honestly no, but it’s something to watch.” She giggled at my response. “I suppose you’re right.” She leaned back copying my position. She was slightly closer.

Closer than she had been before.

I could feel her arm against mine. The heat from the small amount friction felt like it set me on fire. Not even the sleeves of my black hoodie could cloak the feeling of her arm.

I don’t wanna be a perv. I wish I didn’t pick jeans to wear tonight. They weren’t doing me any favors as I felt my dick harden.

I prayed she didn’t notice. It be to obvious if I took the pillow at the end of the couch and hid it. It also be weird if I didn’t.

My eyes stayed glued to the tv. My face turning red. My stomach was doing flips. All just from her arm touching mine. That was until..

“You okay?” She asked looking in my eyes. I looked back at her nervously. “Yeah.. fine.” I swallowed back my spit nervously. She was leaning closer. Too close. If the bulge in my pants didn’t scream I like you the redness on my face sure would.

Her eyes flicked down. I was so caught. She’d tell Tyler and he’d tell me off for finding his sister attractive. I’d lose a friend. I’d lose my dignity and be even more embarrassed.

I watched her as her eyes flicked back up to mine. A small smirk spread across her face. Not the reaction I was thinking off.

“Want some help?” She asked, when did her voice become so seductive? If it was possible my face got even redder. It felt like the fiery pits of hell had come up to my face.

“W-what..?” Of course I sound like a nervous idiot. “Do you want help?” She titled her head having that look on her face. Her hand rested in my thigh now.

“Would it be weird if I said yes?” Some confidence had come back. I could do this.

“It be weird if you said no.” She giggled and slid her hand up further. Her palm of her hand rubbed up my bulge. Did I get the right size jeans?

I groaned as she rubbed back and forth. It was one thing to have my hand do it but to have hers? It felt 10x better.

I leaned my head back and let her do her thing. Till she crawled up onto my lap. I opened my eyes and looked at her.

She smirked down at me wrapping her arms around my shoulders.

“You’re so hot.” Her words hit my ears and that was it. She pressed her lips to mine and my hands instantly went to her grabbing her hips. She grinned against me, I’d push her down harder. Moans escaped my lips in between kisses. The feeling of her jeans against me was something else.

She finally pulled away. Catching her breath between unbuttoning her jeans. Before I could even blink they were off. Leaving her in her underwear. My eyes shot up to her. Trying to be as respectful as I could.

“I didn’t take you to be such a horny guy. You fooled me with the sweet and quiet act.” She unzipped my jeans. I don’t respond. I was too caught up in the moment. Before I know it she had my pants off and was back to grinding. This time it felt 100x different.

It almost hurt how good it felt. To feel my cock slipping between her folds. Though I slightly wished the fabrics of our under garments weren’t there.

Her tongue slid into my mouth after a small gasp. I didn’t ever wanna let her go. I didn’t ever want my dick to go soft again. I just wanted to make out on this couch for ever.

“I want you Mike.” Her words made my dick twitch, my heart race, and my head spin. “I want you too..” I moaned out as she kissed my neck. Her lips were so intoxicating. Wether on my lips or skin. I wanted them. I wanted them all over me.

I was growing tired of waiting. I wanted her. I wanted her so bad. I wanted her now, tomorrow , and forever.

I slid my hand down. Pulling my dick out of my boxers. She put her forehead against mine and we locked eyes. She nodded slowly. Giving me the green light to go head. I used my other hand and pushed her underwear to the side. Giving me enough room to just slid in.

She moved her head to the crook of my neck and moaned. I gently guided my self inside before I was all the way in.

“You’re so fucking good.” She whispered in my ear. That sent me in a craze. Because I don’t even remember when but we ended up in my room. Clothes completely off. Going on round 2.

——

My thoughts spun around as I saw her laying on my bed. Naked. I looked down at my self.

We did it..

i felt her shift and sit up slowly. I felt her eyes on me so I turned to look. Her face was red and she smiled awkwardly. “Hey..”

“Hey.” I answered looking down. Should I ask? What if she thought last night was a one time thing? Just a quick fuck and go back to being friends.

“Was last night-“ “did you-“

We both stopped and laughed a little. “You go first.” I offer, she nodded and sighed.

“Did you..like it? Or well.. do you like me? I just wanna know if last night was just something for fun or do you genuinely like me?” Her question stung a little.

She thought I was just doing it for fun? Do I come off as that big of an ass hole?

“No. No no.. I didn’t just do it for fun. I genuinely like you.. a lot.” I scooted closer. She smiled a little. Relief washed over her face.

“Thank god… I was worried you were just using me.. as like.. I don’t know ‘My friends hot sister is in town let’s try to fuck her.’ .. I don’t know. It’s stupid.” She looked down. I frowned and leaned closer to her.

“I’d never do that to you. I think you’re a beautiful and smart girl. Someone who doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment. I wanna get to know you. Learn about science with you. Hell maybe even.. go further in life with you… if you wanted to that is.” My face flushed as I pooled out my thoughts. Her sweet laugh filled my ears and she kissed me. Not a sexual kiss, just a sweet gentle kiss. Much different from last night.

“I’d love to teach you about science and go further in life with you and just get to know you as well..”

I felt over joyed. That was until we had to tell Tyler. Turns out he already knew. He had a hunch his sister talking about some guy everyday wasn’t just some guy.

Abby approves of her too. They often hang out and color together. I’m sorta jealous I can’t join in on the ‘girl squad’ hang outs but. At least I have my two favorite girls in the whole world with me.

That's all I need.

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 16

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

🔥 Series Masterlist

Song Inspo: “Run to You” by the Pentatonix

Word Count: 6,200 Tags/Warnings: Physical altercation, perilous situations, fire hazards, injuries, angst, Nick and Azazel being evil psychos. 

Part 16: “Break Down the Gates”

The holiday couldn’t last forever. Eventually, you had to go back to work.

Dean didn’t like it, and neither did you. Hell, even Sam had tried to find an opening in the district attorney’s office for you. Unfortunately, all of the positions you were remotely qualified for were filled.

And as your bills had to get paid, it meant you had to take Betsy all the way up to the 22nd floor of the Savage & Co. building on a Monday morning.

Dean was already calling you.

You couldn’t answer until you got off the elevator and away from its shitty reception, but you let out a sigh before you called him back.

“Hey,” you greeted.

“Hey, sweetheart. How you doin’?” Dean asked.

“I’m good. I just got to my office,” you replied. I was also fine 20 minutes ago on the road.

You had to be patient though. You knew he was worried about you, now for more than one good reason.

“Good. Got your taser all charged up?”

“Yep, it’s in my purse,” you said. You closed the door to your office and locked it. “Which is going in my desk. You’re at the station?”

“Yeah, having my coffee right now.”

“Okay, tell the guys I said hi.”

“Will do,” said Dean. “You need anything, just call me. If you can’t get ahold of me, call Cas, or Sam, or even my dad.”

“I promise I will,” you replied. “I have to get to work here, but I hope you have a good day. And be safe.”

“That I will,” he promised in turn. “You too, baby.”

You smiled.

Once you hung up with Dean and got settled at your desk, you started by powering through your work emails. All too soon, however, there was a knock at your door. You fought against the tremor of unease that ran up your spine.

“Who is it?” you asked.

“It’s Marv,” replied your coworker, through the door. “Since when do you lock yourself in your office?”

You let out a breath and smiled. You got up and went to let him in. “I’ve found that people are less likely to interrupt me when they can’t get in.”

When the door opened, Marv gave you a look of begrudging acceptance.

“I hear ya,” he said. The man was a hermit himself, so if anyone was going to understand your self-barricading, it was Marv.

He handed you a hard-copy manilla envelope containing his monthly report, because he also had a disdain for email. 

“Why don’t you give this to Nick yourself?” you asked with a frown.

Marv held up placating hands. “Because he’s an ass, and I can only deal with so much idiocy in my life.”

“Then give it to Josh! He’s the new Senior Manager,” you pointed out.

“Josh kisses Nick’s ass. Therefore, he’s become an even bigger idiot,” Marv replied. “I’m telling you, my constitution just can’t bear it.”

You rolled your eyes and took the folder from him. “All right, get outta here. I’ll deal with this.”

“Thank you,” he said, inclining his head. He soon left to return to his hole of an office. You’d only been in there once. It had been stacked to high heaven with books and loose papers. You didn’t know how the man functioned, but you assumed it was equal parts caffeine and Prozac.

So you took the report, and you went up to the 30th floor for the first time in months.

You went down the hall to Josh’s office first, but you could hear from the other side of the closed door that he was locked in a meeting with one of the more difficult clients.

You could come back later, or just drop the folder off with Nick’s assistant.

You went back down the hall and found that Nick’s office door was cracked open, but you weren’t about to go in, even just to deliver a simple report. You didn’t want to speak to him, let alone enter his office.

His assistant was out on a break, it seemed, so you couldn’t just give it to her. You contemplated leaving it on her desk with a note. But that’s when you heard the voices coming from within the office.

“As you know, my father’s back in town,” you heard Nick say. You inched closer to the door and cautiously peeked through the three inches of space in the doorway. There was another man inside, slightly taller than Nick, but leaner. He was dressed casually, in jeans and a plaid shirt. His long arms were crossed as he listened.

You could tell by the way he stood, however, that this wasn’t an associate from one of their accounts. He didn’t look like a businessman or a lawyer. The way he stood was sharper, more calculated even in his laxness.

Your brain caught up with the conversation as Nick continued to speak.

“We’re working together on this,” he said. “Keep an eye on the cop. Wait for an opportunity.”

“Together, huh? Azazel has his orders. You trying to take his place?” the other man replied. His voice was thin and nasal. You saw his profile, however. His eyes were dangerous.

Your gaze widened at the implications of his words though. Azazel?!

“Dad agrees with me. The guy’s not getting the hint, so we’ll need to remind him who really makes the rules,” Nick said.

You blinked in shock. Holy shit…Nick’s father is Azazel.

You clasped a hand over your mouth before the gasp could escape. A sharp breath still echoed through the hall. The men’s heads began to turn, but you did as well—away from the door and booking it down the hall as quietly and quickly as you could.

Your heart pounded while you searched for a way out of the hallway, out of plain sight. You found the nearest bathroom and went into the women’s. It seemed empty, at least.

There you rushed into one of the stalls and locked it. You realized that you had your phone in your pocket, and you took it out with trembling hands. Your thumb hovered over Dean’s name as panicked breaths escaped you.

But the more you thought about what you’d heard, and Nick’s ominous threat about a cop, you found yourself scrolling lower in your contacts. You called John Winchester.

It rang a few times, and all the while you made silent, fervent prayers. Pick up, damn it! You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears.

“Winchester,” he answered.

“John, it’s me,” you whispered. “Azazel’s here. Or, he’s not here, here, but I know who he is. Well, I mean kind of—”

“Okay, wait. Slow down,” he said. “What about Azazel? You know who he is?”

“He’s Nick’s father,” you hissed. Trying to contain yourself and speak quietly was not easy. “I met him once at a company networking event, like a month after I got hired. Daniel Savage. He built Savage & Co. from the ground up. But he handed off the reigns to Nick years ago.”

It seemed to take John a moment to compute on that one, but he eventually replied.

“You’re at the office now?” John asked.

“Uh, yeah!” you replied testily. “I’m hiding out in a bathroom stall.”

“Okay, take it slow, all right?” he said. “You’re gonna go back to your office, calm. Like you didn’t just hear what you heard. You’re gonna take an early lunch, and you’re gonna come straight to the precinct for me. We’ll make sure you’re safe.”

You took a deep breath to steady yourself as you nodded, even though he couldn’t see it.

“Okay. I need to call Dean,” you said.

“I’ll fill him in. Just focus on getting out of there,” John said.

You agreed, but you still felt shaky when you ended the call. No one had entered the bathroom, and it had been a few minutes already, so you chanced stepping out of the stall and into the hallway. That too was empty.

You sucked in another steadying breath. This time you went down the stairs to get back to your office. It felt unusually warm in the stairwell. Hot enough that you actually started to sweat on the way down to the 22nd floor.

Damn, did the AC break or something?

You made it back to your office, though when you opened the door, you were unable to be relieved. Nick sat in your chair at your desk. He gave you a smile.

“Good morning,” he said.

“You’re not supposed to be in here. Get out,” you snapped. You had no patience for another tête-à-tête with him today; especially after what you just saw.

And it hit you then. You were a witness.

You eyed Nick more warily. He had one of his gold golf clubs in his hand, and he leaned on it as he stood. He set up a putter’s stance next to your desk and hit a golf ball with a gentle swing. The ball rolled into your flat shoe.

“I want to go over that report you brought upstairs,” he said.

You shook your head and went cautiously over to your desk. Your purse was inside (you were kicking yourself for not taking it with you upstairs). Nick was too close to your desk for comfort, until he moved to retrieve his golf ball. It allowed you to move farther into the room.

“Anything you want to discuss can be done via email. Right now, I’m meeting a friend for lunch,” you lied. Your gaze was off the man for maybe a few seconds while you grabbed your purse from inside the desk. Another realization hit you in that moment.

How did he know it was me who brought the report?

By the time you looked up, Nick was shutting the door to your office. He tilted his head at you with a darker edge to his smile.

“You saw something you weren’t supposed to. Didn’t you, sweetheart?” he said.

You steeled yourself with a breath. You felt inside your purse, and your hand wrapped around your taser. You pulled it out and switched it on, pointing it towards him.

“Step away from the door or I’ll fry your ass,” you threatened. It lost its effect somewhat, with the way your hand was shaking, but it was a threat, nonetheless.

Nick raised his brows at you. He still had his golf club in hand. His movements were slow as he stepped away from the door, and closer towards you.

“Sure you know how to work that thing?” he teased with a shrug of his shoulders. “If I were you, I’d take a breath. Relax a bit. Come sit on my knee.”

That last bit was teasing, despite the way he eyed you, even now with a shade of desire. The kind that claimed and stole in its taking. It made you want to spit in his face.

“You’re a bastard,” you replied. “Turns out, the bastard apple doesn’t fall far from the bastard tree.”

“Watch it,” Nick warned. You saw the dangerous edge in his blue eyes. “That’s my dad you’re talking about.”

He swung the club at your head.

You managed to duck, yelping as it crashed into a lamp instead. You tried to run for the door, but that was when Nick grabbed you by the hair and nearly yanked the hairclip right out.

A short scream escaped your lips as you grabbed for his wrist. He shoved you hard into the wall, where you lost your footing and fell. Your head cracked against the accent table that once held the lamp, and your vision blurred on the way down. Glass crackled under your arm and bit into your cheek.

A strong hand grabbed you and hefted you up. You felt a trickle of wetness rolling down the side of your face as you stared up into his. It must’ve been blood, but all you could focus on was the satisfaction in Nick’s eyes. Finally, they seemed to say.

But then he paused. Confusion was written across his face.

“Do you smell smoke?” he asked. You both saw it climbing under the door of your office.

It was a distraction that broke you out of your frozen fear.

On pure instinct, you jabbed at Nick’s ribs with your taser. His hands fell away from you and he went down like an elephant, jolting and writhing on the ground. You gasped for breath above him while you realized what you’d just done. You tilted your head down at him.

No, you weren’t done.

You grabbed his golf club with your free hand. When he tried to reach for your ankle, you jammed the heavy club into his hand until he shouted in pain. For every moment of frustration, anxiety, and fear this man had caused you, you gave it back to him with one heavy swing of that club into his stomach. (And maybe one more for good measure.) 

He doubled over, groaning, coughing a bit of blood. You tossed the golf club and grabbed your purse with a shaking hand. You left him where he laid.

As soon as you open the door, however, you were pushed back by the cloud of incoming smoke. You coughed and squinted against it, but your eyes widened again when you realized what was happening.

The building was on fire.

For some reason the alarms weren’t going off, but it was clear to see what was in front of you. Smoke was clogging the halls. People were rushing out of their offices for the stairwell. You couldn’t help glancing back at Nick; he was slowly pulling himself to his feet.

Part of you knew he might not make it if you left him, but when he looked up at you, with pure hatred, your fear overrode any mercy that might’ve made you turn around.

So you fled for the stairwell behind the small crowd. There were flames making their way down along with the smoke. That was all right, because you all were running in the opposite direction.

You had to blink a drop of blood out of your eyes, and you raised a shaky hand to a cut above your brow, which was also tender to the touch. You were bleeding, clearly, but you couldn’t think about that right now. You were just trying your best not to get pushed or trampled while you hastened down several floors.

The signs pointed to Floor 10 when you felt a buzzing in your pocket. It was your phone, you realized. You were about to fish it out of your pocket, but you were forced to stop short on the stairs, along with everyone else. 

The flames were coming from the floor below as well, blocking your exit.

Once again, Dean frowned while checking his phone. You still hadn’t answered his text from an hour ago. Benny came to sit beside him on the couch in the firehouse common room.

“What’s got you spacin’ out?” Benny asked, noting his friend’s mood.

“I don’t know,” Dean admitted. “But I’ve got a bad feeling, Benny.”

Benny’s brows furrowed. “Why, what’s wrong?”

Before Dean could answer, his phone rang in his hand. He perked up to answer it, until he realized it was his dad calling. He accepted the call and brought the phone to his ear.

“Hey, what’s up?” Dean greeted.

“Thanks to your girl, we know who Azazel is,” John said. “Daniel Savage. Nick is his son.”

Dean’s heart dropped into his stomach; his shock was followed swiftly by worry.

“What? How’d she find that out?”

“She called me this morning. I told her to come straight to the precinct, but she’s not here yet. That was an hour ago,” John said gravely.

Dean’s eyes widened.

And then the alarm sounded overhead. Over the intercom the dispatcher reported a working fire at a commercial building. The address was the same as your work building: Savage & Co.

“Is that you?” John asked, once the intercom message was finished.

“Yeah,” Dean said. He was already up and out of the firehouse, getting his turnout gear on with the phone pressed to his ear. His heart was hammering in his chest, but his tone was rock steady.

“If she’s still in that building, I’m gonna find her.”

Firehouses 18 and 20 had already arrived by the time Firehouse 25 got to the scene of the Savage & Co. building. The flames were sky-high, consuming from the top and the bottom. Just by looking at it, Dean thought there had to have been at least two points of origin (where the fire was started). He doubted this was an accident.

“Okay, 25,” Chief Singer said to the entire Truck 79 and Rescue Squad crew. “House 20 got here first, so Chief Sanderson’s calling the shots. He requested our help in clearing the first five floors. Their crew is already on floors 30 through 20. House 18 has the middle.”

Dean went up to Bobby and spoke just loud enough for him to hear. He filled him in on what John had just told him about Azazel, and that you were most likely somewhere in the building.

“She’s in there, Chief. I have to find her,” Dean said.

Bobby saw the desperation in the younger man’s eyes, and he sympathized. “Have you tried calling her again?”

“She’s not answering,” Dean replied. “If he found out what she knows, he could be after her. That means she could be somewhere near the top.”

“Or she’s in the middle. Or she’s already out of the building,” Bobby reasoned. He quelled Dean’s protest with a raised hand. It then fell on the younger man’s shoulder. “I understand, son. But I’ve got a protocol to follow, and so do you, Lieutenant.”

Dean’s lips pressed together. He knew his rank and his responsibility, but you were in danger. You could already be hurt, or trapped, or…

Dean rounded up Truck 79 with swift, barking orders. After donning their helmets and masks, his and Benny’s team made their way inside. The first floor was wall to wall rolling flames. The heat was nearly overwhelming, like entering the gates of hell.

There was no moving safely through the first floor, so they had to move on to the closest stairwell and try to make it up to the second. Dean held Benny back for a moment.

“I’m going up! Stick with the guys,” Dean said. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the cacophony inside the stairwell.

Benny frowned. “What’re you doin’? You heard the Chief!”

Dean shook his head. He knew he was about to defy a direct order, but he couldn’t shake the gut feeling that you were still in the building somewhere.

“I’ve gotta find her,” he said.

“You think I don’t want to find Andréa?” Benny said. “She hasn’t answered my calls either. They could be anywhere, Dean!”

Dean clasped his friend’s shoulder. “You’re making my point, man.”

And he took off up the stairs before Benny could stop him.

“Damn it, Dean!” Benny shouted after him.

“Where’s he going?” Jack asked. He and Gordon were the only ones to hang back while the rest of their crew followed their orders and searched the second floor, not realizing that their Lieutenant was no longer with them.

“To go be an idiot,” Benny growled. But he wasted no more time. He followed Dean up the stairwell.

Gordon shared a quick look with Jack before he started his own climb up the stairs.

“You can follow protocol, or you can back up the Lieutenant,” Gordon called down.

In that moment, Jack made a decision. He followed Gordon and Benny.

You had to follow the rest of the crowd after you all couldn’t make it down the rest of the stairs safely. It landed you somewhere on the 10th floor, where the group scattered. Your head was aching, your heart pounded in your ears, and you didn’t know where to go.

You fled for the stairwell on the other side of the building, and in turning a corner, you smacked right into Andréa. You gasped when you caught hold of each other.

“Oh my God!” she cried, and she grabbed you into a hug. “Are you okay? Why’re you bleeding?”

“Catch up later,” you choked out. It was so hard to breathe; you were coughing every few moments.

She looked on you worriedly and let out a cough herself. “Come on.”

She pulled you along with her by the arm. You joined a smaller group that were heading for the opposite stairwell. Unfortunately, not all of you would make it there.

A piece of the weakened ceiling crumbled and fell in a fiery heap. Andréa had been just a couple steps in front of you, and it meant you saw it before she did. You pushed her forward so she would make it across. You were forced to stop short and protect your face from the embers.

You nearly tripped and fell back, but you used the wall to steady yourself. You looked up at the sound of Andréa calling your name. You found her terrified face. There was now a wall of fire separating you from her and the rest of the group.

“Keep going!” you coughed. “I’ll find another way.”

“No, I’m not leaving you!” she called back. She pushed away the man that tried to urge her on towards the stairwell.

“Go!” you shouted, even though it raked across your throat. You forced yourself to straighten up and turn away from her. The only chance you had was if there was a way around this hallway that still led to the stairs.

Oh shit, you gasped when you turned the corner. The fire was only getting worse. The building was being consumed, and you almost couldn’t see past a few feet in front of you with all the smoke. It stung in your eyes and clogged your throat.

You stumbled along until you found a room that you could escape into. It was another restroom. The fire hadn’t yet reached inside the women’s bathroom on this floor; maybe you could wait it out like you would a tornado.

Okay, clearly I’m fucking delirious, you thought. You huddled in a corner under the sink and tried and failed to take even breaths without coughing or panicking. You pulled out your phone with shaking hands and tried once again to call Dean. The reception was absolute shit in the entire building now.

It rang, and rang, and rang. Tears slipped down your cheeks.

But despite your dismayed thoughts, he actually answered.

“Hey! Baby, are you there?!”

Your mouth fell open in shock. You clutched at the phone. “Dean!”

You coughed, and you realized smoke was rising under the bathroom door now. The fire would spread here soon enough.

“Where are you? I’m here at your building!”

“Bathroom, 10th floor!” you managed to reply. “I couldn’t get out.”

“It’s okay. I’m coming right now,” he said. “Stay put for me.”

“Yeah,” you said, with a shaky breath. You couldn’t exactly leave. “Dean, don’t hang up.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “Where’s…r—oom?”

He was glitching in and out. You gripped the phone tighter in panic. “Dean?”

“Can…ear m…”

“Dean!” Your tears fell anew. You had another reason to struggle for breath as you tried to reach him.

You slid out from under the sink to try and get better reception, but it was no use. The call failed.

“Shit!” You nearly tossed your cell across the room out of sheer frustration.

Then you paced back and forth, trying to think of what to do. Should you leave your momentary shelter to go and find him, or would that just run the risk of him never finding you.

You didn’t know. You didn’t know what to do.

God, I’m so fucking screwed…

You slumped against the wall and tried to stifle your coughing, all while you also tried (and failed) to form some kind of a plan.

Until the bathroom door bursting open startled a scream out of you. Was the fire coming in?!

The move did allow more smoke to infiltrate the bathroom, but instead of the fire, you saw a firefighter in all his gear. This time, it did include the helmet.

“Fire Department!” he called out.

You would know that voice anywhere. And even through the mask, you recognized the man’s eyes when he went to you.

“Dean,” you sobbed. It was halted only by a series of lung-wracking coughs and wheezing. He quickly took his helmet and mask off so he could fit the mask over your soot-covered face.

“It’s okay, deep breaths. I gotcha, baby, just breathe,” Dean encouraged. His arm was around your waist, holding you close while the oxygen finally allowed you to take in slower breaths and relax against him.

“Okay, let’s get out of here, huh?” he said. He put his helmet back on.

You grabbed the front of his jacket. “Don’t you need the mask?”

You were still having trouble breathing, coughing on every other word. Dean shook his head.

“You need it more right now,” he said.

You realized that Benny was holding the bathroom door open.

“We gotta go!” he said.

“Benny, Andréa was here,” you said. His eyes widened behind his mask. “She got out, I think. She made it to the west stairwell.”

“Okay, yeah, because no one’s getting out the east wing,” Gordon said. You noted him standing just behind Benny, with Jack in tow.

“There’s a block,” you said, pointing just ahead where you saw the pile of debris. More parts of the ceiling had crumbled around it, making it a fiery minefield. There was no other way around it at this point—only through it.

Gordon and Jack went through first, followed by Benny. With their jackets and protective gear, they were able to jump through like a flaming hoop. And they would be able to help catch you and Dean from the other side.

“Okay, you ready?” Dean asked.

“If I say no?” you said, holding onto him tighter. His hand soothed over your hair. You’d lost your clip a long time ago (along with your purse), so your hair was probably wild and frizzy and covered in soot, along with the rest of you.

Dean grinned down at you. “Then I’d say, don’t you worry. I’m not gonna let you fall.”

Even now, through your fear, he could make you smile. You steeled yourself and took a breath. You could hear it so clearly with the mask on. That, and your own heartbeat.

He counted down to three, and on the last beat, Dean covered your head and shoulders and ran with you under the flame-covered ceiling. He managed to help you jump over the fiery debris on the ground. On both of your heavy landings, a wooden support beam fell.

There was a shout from Benny, but it was too late. All Dean could do was cover you. The beam broke over his back and knocked his helmet clean off. He took you with him when he fell.

Your scream rang out—half at the fall, but mostly for Dean. It was Benny who dragged you and Dean out first. Gordon and Jack took over hefting an unconscious Dean, while Benny hauled you up onto your feet and led you to the west stairwell.

You passed out just as you felt fresh air hit the mask.

You woke to bright, fluorescent lighting that made you wince. An oxygen mask covered your mouth and nose and was strapped around your head. You made a sound of discomfort and tried to take it off, but a hand stilled yours.

“Don’t.”

Eileen’s concerned face came into view. You were confused, though happy to see her.

“You’re in the hospital,” she said. When you tried to speak, she held up a finger to you. Wait, said her eyes.

She took out her phone from her jean pocket to text someone.

“Sam is coming,” she told you, before she drew closer to sooth a hand up and down your arm. You felt tears in your eyes at just that small comfort.

They fell in earnest when Sam entered your hospital room. His eyes held the concern of a friend and a brother as he approached on your other side.

“Hey, how do you feel?” he asked, laying a hand on your shoulder.

You wheezed a breath and rasped, “Water.”

Sam nodded and grabbed you a plastic cup filled with cold water. It felt like literal heaven once the mask was off and you were able to drink. He helped you while Eileen held the mask away from your face.

After you’d had all you could drink, he took the cup and Eileen placed the mask back over your face.

“Where’s Dean?” you asked, after clearing your throat. You still sounded like a chain smoker, and your head was pounding. “Is he okay?”

“He’s stable,” Sam said, with a sigh. But when he didn’t offer anything more, you raised expectant brows at him.

“What else?” you said. Your tone told him not to skimp on any more details.

Sam’s gaze met yours. “The beam burned through his jacket, on his back. It hit his head. They…had to perform a minor surgery to relieve the pressure in his brain, but he’s stable in recovery now.”

He was quick to add on that last bit when you began to crumble. Eileen encouraged you to breathe through your tears. The oxygen could only do half the battle if you didn’t breathe properly.

“I want to see him,” you said.

Sam frowned and held up a placating hand. “I don’t think that’s—”

You ignored him and tried to sit up. With or without his approval, you were getting out of this bed.

“Okay, you’re not listening,” Sam sighed, though he immediately went to help you. He shot Eileen an imploring look over your head.

She got the hint and helped you on her side. Together they helped you stand while you removed the mask, then the heart monitor and other wires taped to your torso.

The Emergency Department team had left your pants on, thank goodness, but they’d clipped through your blouse and bra. So the paper gown was mostly to cover your top half like a light blue poncho. It was a bit airy in the back, but Eileen held it closed for you. Right now, you didn’t care much about your modesty. You were also walking around the hospital barefooted.

At least Dean was on the same floor. It was just a long walk down the hall.

“Can you call Benny and ask how Andréa’s doing?” you asked, coughing a bit.

Sam eyed you in thinly veiled concern, but he agreed. The last he’d heard from Benny was that Andréa had been cleared by the paramedics with minor smoke inhalation. You were clearly worse.

Sam held you upright when you finally saw Dean. He had to guide you into a chair beside Dean’s bed, where he slept on his side. On his back was a large stretch of white gauze across his upper back, from nearly shoulder to side at an angle.

“The doctor said they’re only second-degree burns. It looks worse than it is,” Sam said quietly.

Eileen rubbed your back in the hopes that you’d stop crying.

You could only focus on the gauze, the smaller nicks and burns around Dean’s face, the bandage and thick gauze near his temple where they’d apparently had to drill into his skull. He also wore an oxygen mask, because if all that wasn’t enough, you were sure “smoke inhalation” was on the list, thanks to the way he’d given you his SCBA mask.

Gently, very gently, you took his hand. Your thumb swept over the back of it, over each knuckle.

“Did they say when he’d wake up?” you asked. You rubbed at your aching stomach. Does smoke inhalation cause nausea too?

Your chest was also tight. You’d head back to your room sooner or later and get the oxygen mask back on.

Before Sam could reply, you heard a groan below. You looked down at Dean with wide-eyed hope. It took a moment, but his eyes slid open. They were unfocused and dark, until they found your face.

You smiled tearfully. “Hey, baby.”

Your free hand caressed his cheek. His eyes briefly closed at your touch. When he realized you were holding his hand, he squeezed a bit. That was enough for you.

Just then, however, you had to let go of his hand. Whatever was left in your stomach from this morning seemed to be revolting. You turned your head quick to throw up onto the hospital floor.

Both Sam and Eileen called your name when you slid out of your chair and onto the floor. You blinked tears out of your eyes…or actually, it was black spots encroaching on your vision.

Sam pushed the chair out of his way to get to you. He gathered you into his arms and shouted for a doctor while Eileen went for the emergency button on Dean’s hospital bed.

The last thing you saw was Dean’s worried face out of the corner of your eye, before the blackness took you.

Dean could barely speak behind his oxygen mask, but Sam saw his worry as the nurses carried you away in a stretcher with Eileen following close behind. Sam crouched in front of his brother and clasped his hand.

“She’ll be okay, I promise. I’m gonna look out for both of you,” Sam said. “Right now, you need to sleep.”

Dean’s brows furrowed. In that small gesture, Sam also saw his stubbornness. He almost smiled. You and Dean were a match made.

“Just rest, Dean. I’m going now to check on her, but not until you close your eyes,” Sam said. It took another stubborn minute, but Dean eventually relaxed as well as he was able. His eyes closed as he fell back under the pull of medication and painkillers.

“How’s he doing?” came the voice of their father in the doorway. Sam’s expression morphed from gentle to austere. His head turned towards his father.

“How does he look like he’s doing?” Sam asked. “He had a burning ceiling fall on him. He has the mother of all concussions, and he just saw his girlfriend collapse.”

John was quiet, in contrast to his youngest son’s ire. He stepped into the room and watched his eldest. Sam saw the man’s age in the lines around his eyes, in his slow gait when he raised a gentle hand to comb through Dean’s greasy hair, mindful of his injuries.

“This shouldn’t have fucking happened,” said John. His voice was tired and gruff. Sam knew what the weight of guilt looked like, but what he didn’t yet see was regret. If John hadn’t kept digging, digging, Azazel wouldn’t have taken it this far.

Okay, Sam didn’t yet have proof that Azazel burned down the Savage & Co. building…but he didn’t believe in coincidences.

“No,” Sam said. “It shouldn’t have.”

“What the fuck was that?!” Nick shouted.

He was still dusted with soot and sporting some cracked ribs from the day’s activities. He’d stumbled into his father’s house, taken a bottle of bourbon from the man’s shelf and started drinking straight from the crystal glass.

Daniel eyed him coolly from the balcony, smoking a cigar. “Whatever do you mean, son?”

Nick was furious. He stomped over, not caring how expensive liquor was splashing on him.

“Why’d you burn the whole damn building?” he demanded to know. “I could’ve died!”

“Alistair got you out, didn’t he?” Daniel pointed towards his son with the hand that held his cigar. “See, unlike you, I think ahead.”

“I’m serious,” Nick hissed. “Our company is still important—”

“My company,” Daniel interjected, “is not that building. However, the building itself was a liability.”

Nick’s brows knit together in confusion and anger. “What the hell’re you talking about?”

Daniel took a long drag of his cigar, puffing in Nick’s face. The latter coughed. As if he hadn’t had enough smoke in his lungs today.

“Don’t you see?” Daniel asked, with a sigh that also said he wondered how he could’ve produced such a moron. “It puts distance between you and ‘Azazel’ if you’re also a victim of his threats. It destroys any physical evidence of me having been there, along with any files you would’ve eventually had to turn over to the police and the FBI.”

Nick let that idea sink into his brain. He realized that it did make sense…but he deflated as something else occurred to him.

“Uh…see, that would’ve worked, but, we have a problem,” Nick scratched his head. “Someone knows who you really are.”

By the time Nick finished explaining about you, and what you’d overheard, Daniel’s sharp gaze managed to strike fear into Nick’s heart.

Yet to his surprise, the other man’s temper didn’t blow. Daniel kept it all inside as he continued to smoke. Cigars tended to pacify him better than cigarettes.

His lips twitched at a humorless smile. “Well, that is a problem.”

“But she probably died in the fire, so we’re good,” Nick shrugged.

“No, I doubt she did,” Daniel sighed. “You’re not that lucky.”

He rolled his shoulders. Then he grabbed Nick’s arm and twisted, until his was crying out and pinned to the nearest wall. Daniel threatened to put out his cigar in the soft underbelly of the arm he held.

Nick looked up at his father with wide, pleading eyes.

“Like everything else, that girl is a problem I’m going to fix,” Daniel said. “Along with the whole Winchester brood.” 

AN: 🫣 Don't hate me lol. It gets better for them, I promise. But we have a few more chapters left to go and a few more twists in store!

Next Time:

The first time Dean was awake for longer than a few minutes, he asked about you.

Sam wasn’t surprised. He was frankly relieved that he had an answer for his brother.

Keep Reading: PART 17

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

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[maxdibert]

The Marauders fandom is one that someone could easily enter only to quickly lose interest, and that's exactly how I feel right now. I “joined” (or rather got dragged into) it around late September or early October of THIS YEAR, drawn in by the excitement of everyone creating their own stories for the characters. As someone who also loves to write, I found it fascinating and immediately felt a connection to the community.

The biggest mistake of my life has been getting involved in this fandom. The level of toxicity is almost shocking. It baffles me that many of the members are four years older than I am, able to pay taxes and even vote. I had hoped that their age would mean they could engage in meaningful discussions, conduct thorough research, analyze characters effectively, and write about them with depth. But I’ve been let down repeatedly.

First, it was Jegulus, a ship I couldn't understand because, I admit, I am someone who takes canon a little seriously even when I'm making fanon things, and these two do NOT seem like they'd work well together. Then, it was like characters that are known to be BAD PEOPLE were suddenly cool kids that were either gay, twinks or just given this sob story so people could like them (Regulus, Sirius, Barty Crouch Jr, Remus, James, hell, even Evan and Mulciber...). Next, the girls were thrown to the side and given WLW ships just so they could stay out of the way of MLM ships.

What finally pushed me over the edge was the overwhelming disdain for Severus Snape. The constant name-calling, the people who genuinely believed that being hung upside down for humiliation wasn't a form of sexual assault, and the accusations of him stalking or being obsessed with Lily—all while completely overlooking the fact that he represents one of the truest reflections of a guy clearly needing HELP and STABILITY. The idea that "he deserved to be bullied" really stung, and it feels like I’m constantly being pushed away for simply admitting that his character means everything to me. After all, he offers me something to delve into, to grasp and wrestle with in my thoughts. He's also realistic, because wouldn't you be miserable too if you had to grow up in a domestic abusive situation, go to school only to get bullied??

How can I come back to a fandom after so long, happy to finally become social again after being socially anxious, only for the fandom to be crap? How can I look up to anyone my age and think they know what they're doing when THIS is how they act? I understand it's fiction; I know that I shouldn't be pissed because it is a fanon-based community, BUT fiction and reality can cross over and over and over again. There's a point that some people need to realize that whatever they say or do with a fictional character will mirror how they'll react to people like that in the real world, even if they don't notice they're doing it.

(P.S. - I don't have good grammar, so this might be hard to read...sorry!)

Honestly, I’m sorry you had such a terrible experience. I guess for those who also enjoy Severus as a character or are his fans, being in that fandom must be a nightmare. I mean, I’ve literally seen them fangirl over absolutely EVERY character except him—I have no idea what their deal is. Some people say it’s because adult Severus is unpleasant, but, hello? Barty Crouch Jr.? Seriously? That man not only tortured a couple into insanity but also locked a man in a trunk for months and triggered the son of the couple he drove insane. To me, it all boils down to beauty privilege and classism. What I don’t understand is looking down on people who are in that fandom but also happen to be Snape fans. I mean, there are plenty of people within Snapedom who, for example, like the Marauders or are fans of Sirius or Lily, and I’ve never seen anyone give them crap for it. I wouldn’t give anyone crap for that.

In fact, my issue with the Marauders' fandom isn’t that they like the Marauders but how they try to justify the unjustifiable, whitewash their actions, or completely destroy their canon personalities.

Anyway, I feel really bad because, in the end, people use the internet to pass the time, have fun, vent, or escape the real world, and it’s such a shame that they’re met with rejection instead. But, honestly, what can you expect from people who minimize or whitewash bullying other than more bullying?

[rweoutofthewoods]

Hi Mere I don't want to imply anything but I'm worried that your new relationship stopped helping you be creative and put out updates. Is your fiance not letting you write? I'm concerned about you.

Look, i appreciate your concern and I’m sure you have good intentions but let me set you straight.

I met my fiancé through writing. we used to write together every single night. They’ve been nothing but my biggest fan, my biggest supporter, the person I can turn to for honest and kind feedback. When I was writing Youngblood and I wrote a chapter I absolutely HATED it was them who encouraged me to rework it into something I was proud of and who didn’t let me give up and just hate myself for it.

And when I said I wanted to stop writing for a while let me tell you there was a big silence and they gave me a look of horror and asked if I was okay because YEAH, it’s very unlike me.

But first I want to say, that just because you guys have known about my relationship for a little while doesn’t mean that’s as long as it’s existed. I was happily in this relationship when I was pumping out 3 chaps a week, and I’m happily in it now that I’m posting 0.

The honest truth is I’m burnt the fuck out. I don’t want to write because I have zero interest in it right now. It doesn’t make me happy, I’m not motivated or burning to do it like I used to be. I wrote nonstop through my last two years of college, through graduating, through working a terrible food service job post grad, living in constant dread of what came next. I’m just burnt out. I’ve been pumping out jegulus nonstop since 2022, ofc I was going to lose steam and move away from it eventually.

Im just busy and tired! I’m moving in a few months, I have a full time job now, I go to work at 8am and come home at 5 or 6 and I don’t want to write. I want to spend time with my family or my friends or my fiancé. In December I worked for 17 days straight without a day off, I needed a break! And when I want comfort and happiness I don’t have to turn to writing to find it.

I’m mentally at the best I have been in a very long time, and I don’t need to write like someone has a gun to my head to cope anymore. I had a very unhealthy and obsessive relationship with writing. And I always joked when people asked how I wrote so much that it was mental illness. But it wasn’t really a joke, I was unwell and coping with fanfic. So while I’m sure some of you may be sad to see my writing slow, I hope you’re happy for me because it’s a good thing!! I want to heal my relationship with writing and I want it to be something I simply do for fun, not something to fill some hole inside of me.

So while I’m sure you mean well, I just want to remind you guys that you see a very small piece of my life and my relationship. So I’d appreciate not making assumptions 🩷

[drdemonprince]

Can we really expand our window of tolerance as autistic people? I’ve been working on that kind of thing for so long and I can’t tell if I’ve made any genuine progress or if I’ve just unconsciously doubled down on masking :(

We can! But our expanded distress tolerance can't come out of nowhere. Something has to give. So for example, for me, I have way fewer sensory issues these days than I used to have, by a wide margin, and I have significantly less social anxiety and don't need much social recharge time on the level that I used to. I have more distress tolerance for sensory input and for social stressors now than I ever have before -- but this has required lifestyle changes and unmasking in order to get there. Let me break down both these improvements and how they happened:

Even as recently as a year ago, I would have terrible sensory meltdowns on a regular basis. But I haven't had a single sensory meltdown in months, maybe not even a single one for the entirety of 2023 so far? And that's because I have a) cut out caffeine, dramatically reducing my physiological stress levels, b) cut back on some workplace stress by reducing my commitments, c) stopped taking on additional projects outside of work that I didn't want to do and that only caused me stress (workshops and talks), and d) began working from home far more consistently, and made myself a wfh office that is more comfortable.

Now I operate from a really solid base of sensory comfort most days and I'm not overloaded with information or overwhelmed with obligations. This means I am far more tolerant of screaming people on the bus, the upstairs toddler slamming her feet on the floor, ambulances blaring by, noisy concerts, people bumping into me at the bar, etc.

I also am, for the first time in my life, clear-headed enough to recognize when I am starting to experience sensory distress, and can intentionally put on sunglasses or pop in ear plugs or remove myself from an upsetting situation more quickly. I had to experience what being relaxed and not overstimulated felt like, and get accustomed to living that way, in order to recognize subtler signs that I was feeling shitty and take steps to address those small annoyances before they exploded. I can handle a lot "more" in an intentional way now because I built my life to allow "less." My overall distress tolerance has still expanded -- but it's because I stopped masking and began attending to my sensory and stress regulation needs.

For the social piece, my distress tolerance has also gone up due to unmasking. If I was still motivated by passing as NT or being socially acceptable all the time, I'd be so overwhelmed being around people and worn down by every interaction. I also wouldnt be able to advocate for myself. But in the past few years I've become more and more openly weird and outspoken in my needs and true feelings, and I've recognized that the right people actually love me more when I do so and show up for me, and so being honest or even difficult to deal with is not really a threat.

This means I just don't experience much distress being honest or difficult to deal with anymore. I really can tolerate the discomfort of telling someone they're wrong or that I'm hurt without freaking out about being hurt or abandoned, because I've had a lot of good experiences with it and because I enjoy being unmasked so deeply that I just can't put my personality back in a bottle.

Masking lowers distress tolerance because it frays your nerves with stress and wears you out and bars you from ever getting to attend to and regulate your discomfort when there are signs of it happening. In order to increase your distress tolerance, you actually have to learn to better honor your discomfort early, and preventatively, so that you don't bubble over into a meltdown after days or weeks of ignoring your needs.

I think some people think distress tolerance is about becoming more tough, but it's quite the opposite. We become more resilient by getting better at recognizing and attending to our hurts.

[pepprs]

hi, everyone. i hope you all are doing well. i’ve been meaning and wanting to check in here for many months but i have also been too afraid to. but i want to do it now because im potentially at a turning point and i want you all (especially close friends and mutuals who i haven’t talked to in a long time) to know what’s going on because unfortunately i do not have the strength to reach out individually right now, as much as i desperately want to.

when i left this place a year ago my depression was extremely bad. i didn’t know how long i was going to be gone or whether i was leaving for good, but i knew i needed to make some changes in my life before i could be here healthily again. well… 2024 has been a year of IMMENSE change for me! a lot of it has been for the good. i made some progress in my life by moving out, and i’ve had a lot of joy and healing in (very slowly) building a home for myself and figuring out what kind of life i want to live and how i want to live it. (im learning how to drive! i have string lights and stuffed animals and a wii! i am capable of solo travel!)

but… a lot of the changes that have happened this year have been for the worse. in almost every respect 2024 has been one of the most difficult and painful years of my life (and that is saying something!). this year a couple of traumatic things have happened to me and around me, and it has been extremely hard to live my life despite and beyond them. i have been dealing with physical and mental health issues that have greatly impacted my quality of life and make it unbearably difficult for me to get through every day. i am constantly running on negative spoons. one of the most damaging outcomes of this is that i have almost completely withdrawn from society both online and off and that is not an exaggeration. ive stopped talking to all of my friends and family except for people i see every day at work. i impulsively isolate myself when im in pain / distress despite knowing both emotionally and logically that it makes literally everything worse and i don’t know how to (and often can’t muster the mental strength to) work through the shame and grief and anxiety to seek connection and support. and im struggling to take care of myself including physically and its having severe consequences in every aspect of my life and in the lives of people who care about me. i live alone and i still think that was the good and right choice for me to make, but i am profoundly and agonizingly lonely. my depression was extremely bad when i left here, but i think despite everything it might be even worse now.

all of this is to say: this week i finally decided i can’t suffer like this anymore, and i began the process of seeking a formal diagnosis for my depression and other mental health issues and exploring additional treatment beyond talk therapy (most likely meds but there may be other things too / instead; still at the very beginning stages of figuring it all out). i am extremely anxious about many dimensions of this but also hopeful that it will help me hurt less because when i tell you at this point my brain and heart physically ache from depression like 85% of every day…. lol. im really hoping that once i get my mental / emotional pain under control i’ll be able to start tending to the parts of my life that have withered while ive suffered and repair the damage of my neglect as best i can. (which is to say… if you’re my friend and you’re reading this please know i love you and i miss you terribly and i am so sorry we haven’t spoken and i am so sorry im telling you this in a tumblr post you may not even read instead of a reply or a call back. i still love you and i want you to know it is not you specifically i am ghosting, its everyone. i am trying to build the strength and im scared i can’t but i hope i can.)

that said… i have decided i am not going to be coming back to this blog. i miss this place and the community i felt connected to here, but the way i was using this website as a public diary was extremely unhealthy, and as much as i miss it and still crave the instant comfort/validation i see clearly now with months of distance how damaging it was. (i truly cannot believe i was oversharing like that lol i am so private now (yes due largely to mental illness but still!)) i am so grateful to everyone who reassured me when i was struggling and celebrated my successes. this was the first place, online or off, where i (misguidedly but it’s true!) could actually be honest and candid about things happening in my life and my reactions to them instead of communicating it all through metaphors in my art and poetry, and it truly mattered that i had that experience here so that i could seek out more spaces like it in my offline life. i know i already said thank you in a previous update but really… thank you. 💗🫂

im not planning on deleting this blog. i may come back here and share updates like this one from time to time, but otherwise i will leave it as it is. but… i do want to get back to using a few of my fandom-centered sideblogs because looking at and compiling art of things i like is a low-energy thing that makes me happy! so you may see activity there every once in a while (tbh during this hiatus i have opened tumblr from time to time to look at art and save a bunch of posts that i wanted to reblog eventually lol). but… if i notice myself slipping back into bad habits i may private the sideblogs or abandon them completely.

i don’t know how to end this post. actually wait yes i do. one of my all time favorite artists is anna-laura sullivan (@/annalaura_art on instagram) and this is one of my all time favorite drawings of hers (so much so that i made it my lock screen so i can look at it every day!). this saying has brought me a lot of comfort and i hope it (and her other art) will bring you comfort too if you’re also in a dark place.

one more thing: not to be kind of a freak but in writing this post i discovered a longer version of my goodbye post from last year in my drafts. i don’t remember why i didn’t post it and obviously it’s outdated now but i want to share the draft because i went into more detail about tumblr having been helpful for me specifically when it comes to my mutuals + info / disclaimers about how to reach me and i want you guys to hear that in my past self’s voice lol! i put it under the cut if you want to read it!

2023 tess said it best: i hope you know how much it’s meant to me to be in your company. thank you for sharing and thank you for listening. i love you. happy [almost] new year. be well. good luck. shine bright. until we meet again ☕️🐈🫂💗