#like oh my god man. its seriously fucking agony

[unfamiliaris]

growing to hate one of your coworkers at your full time job is honestly one of the bottom ten experiences any human being can have and yes its lower than torture and death

[therealhousewifeofharrystyles]

Harry’s Home

Part III.

Read Part 1 Here!

Read Part 2 Here!

Pairing/AU: Roommate!Harry // Roommate!Y/N

Word Count: ~ 4k words

⚠️ Content Warnings: Adult Language, Pining, Sexual Desire, References to Body Weight (“Chubby” Reader), Fantasies of Rough Sex, Breeding Fantasies, Exhibitionism, Explicit Depictions of Masturbation(M&F), Dirty Talk, ~Slow Burn~

So, yeah. Harry and I have successfully become somewhat close. We’ve put up with each other’s shit for long enough and eventually bonded—or whatever the hell you call it when a pair of sex-starved adults live in close quarters and they decide to play nice so the walls don’t come down on them.

Even though it’s the time of year when I can see my breath and I have to wear socks to protect my chilly toes when I’m lounging around the house, when I’m around Harry…I might as well be a tea kettle on the verge of squealing in steaming agony. I guess you could say I’ve been in heat.

I’m catching myself spacing all the time, hypnotized by his comfortable routine. He grasps my attention like it’s second-nature to him, and I have no other choice but to relent—to surrender. How fucking pathetic is that? Like, get a grip, woman. 

But seriously, I can’t take it anymore. I turn powerless and my body betrays me, simply from the man meeting my eyes with his from across the room. For someone to hold this much control over another human being by just existing…not only is it completely unfair, but it feels otherworldly. It’s as though a connection has been birthed out of the rawest, most sinful form of lust, with its sole purpose to fuse a pair of unwed and horny humans. Thus latching itself onto the two of us, melding an incubus with a siren.

I guess it could just be some crazy-intense sexual tension, too. There’s no fun in that explanation, but whatever. The point is that I can’t fucking take it anymore.  Me being so mesmerized by him performing the most mundane of tasks—unscrewing a new jar of jam, rubbing the sleep out of his face as he stumbles out of his bedroom, sneaking little peeks at me from across the room and smirking to himself after he looks away. God. That smirk keeps me up at night…my hands groping myself and massaging my clit to lull myself to dreamland.

Right…so about that…

For the past few months, Harry’s been able to hear me fucking myself through the thin wall that separates our two bedrooms. The divider does absolutely nothing to silence me and my explicit acts of self-pleasure. These walls couldn’t muffle a mouse, let alone an ambitiously horny, and impressively vocal young woman who’s desperate to get her rocks off…hard. 

And I’m certain he can hear everything—every gasp, every whine, every slick plunge of my fingers—or a toy—as they’re used in a merciless attack on my own body in order to chase an unattainable high…It's loud. It’s filthy. 

It’s pornographic.

And yet Harry indulges in my songs. I know he does. The only way I’m able to get myself off is to picture him on the other side…to close my eyes and astral-project my way into his room and assume the role of the voyeur…as the exhibitionist. I’m a walking oxymoron.

I imagine my waves of ecstasy seeping through the walls to awaken his neglected cock in his tight briefs.

I think to myself, 

…I bet he’s wondering whether or not I'm messing with him...if I know he’s listening to me…and if, perhaps, I want him to listen…

If only I were just playing a sick game of tease…Such a possibility would be utterly humiliating for Harry. He loathes feeling like his control is in the hands of another. Said power landing in my hands? Oh…No, no, no. Lest we forget the towel incident? Don’t let the sensitive late-night talks, the apology hugs, or the sleepy cuddles fool you; a switch, Harry is not. Not that he’s told me or anything, but it’s a feeling. When he drags his eyes down to slowly assess me…there isn’t a doubt in my mind that he’s in charge.

He has a limited threshold for teasing and babying, which is precisely why he shooed his own mother out the door after a mere 5 minutes of her jests. Harry spent his entire life as the baby. I sense he’s needed a release for quite some time…and it probably doesn’t help matters that my playful antics are sure-fire triggers for his dark dominance to take over. I think he’s struggled to find the right mate to unleash that part of himself with. At least completely, that is. And I hope I’ve been pressing just the right buttons to experience it all for myself. 

But yes, I’ve been fucking myself with lotsa gusto knowing he’s in close earshot of the action. Hopefully, he’s come to successfully make sense of some of my muffled ramblings beyond his wall as, “Yes, Daddy!” as well as the occasional gasp or moan of “Harry.” What? I like it…

Although I’d love to exacerbate the narrative that this has all just been a cruel game started by yours truly—a game that I’m winning, to be clear—I'm actually not messing with him. This had begun purely by accident, and now I'm just continuing to provide some adult entertainment for my, uh...housemate and…good friend. 

Before you scold me for being a perv, let me just finish explaining the situation. Because if Harry had a problem with something I did, he’d tell me. And he never complained about this. Never. 

Quite the opposite, actually.

The first time I did my private deeds with Harry eavesdropping in the next room, I'd initially felt horribly embarrassed. I hadn't realized how shameless I was, or how loud and desperate the noises were as they came out of me. Once I finally caught myself, it was like space and time had spun to a stop, and I was painfully aware of my raw indecency.

I wasn’t watching porn, reading erotica, or listening to naughty audio recordings. Nope. Only my lustful thoughts fueled the eagerness in my fingers as they played with my pussy. I’d also been blatantly inconsiderate of Harry and his right to privacy whilst they did. I felt dirty. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Pfft, I was hardly thinking of anything. It reminded me of the time just before we moved into this house…when I lurked on his social media pages for the images of his slick, half-naked body which burned themselves into my memory, all just to use him for my own personal, sick, sexual gratification.  

And there I was again—now cohabiting a space with the very inspiration for my filth and frustration—lying comfortably atop a spacious, girly pink towel to protect my bed linens from succumbing to my wetness. My knees were spread apart and my dripping cunt was on full display for my closed door across the room. If anyone walked in, they'd unknowingly be entering what many theme parks tend to call a “splash zone.” 

Luckily, Harry was in the living room watching some melodramatic video essay on YouTube…Or at least that’s where I’d left him before ending up in the not-so-innocent position atop my mattress.

I hadn’t thought about the fact that the house wasn’t empty until I heard my own whiny sighs combined with unmistakable slippery pussy-rubbing echoing throughout the room. My cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of pink once I’d realized the extent of my elevated volume. There was no way Harry couldn’t have heard all that. And I had no idea how long I’d been up to it, or for how long at that high of a frequency.

The click of a door closing nearby interrupted my nervous internal monologue—Harry’s door. He was mere meters away from my partially-nude body, but my private quarters kept me safe from any judging eyes. The wall our bedrooms shared stood as the only barricade between our two bodies. For a while, I dismissed my initial self-awareness and I slowly, and carefully, swirled my drenched fingertips over my clit. More of my liquid arousal coated my petite hand. For some reason, the idea of Harry walking in on me like that had me feeling hot. Realistically, that would’ve meant immediate, devastating humiliation. Did that mean I was into that? I’d say yes judging by the way I was pulsing around nothing whilst staring at my door, picturing the man himself standing there smirking at me…tilting his head and patronizing me. 

…Aw, would you look at tha’…Does that feel good, Sweet Bunny? 

“Mmhmm.” I found myself nodding with a sigh, my eyes relaxed and veiled. My mind refused to backtrack, and instead doubled-down. I probably should have stopped myself right there, but fuck, could self-sabotage feel good.

My brain directed me towards thinking about how pretty and sweet I was on the outside. My body, soft, and my features, so delicate, but so grabbable. Every part of me had an ample amount of plushness to squeeze. To manhandle. My tiny wrists and my elegant neck, the perfect size for a pair of big hands to wrap around. I bit my rosy lip on a whine, then brought my thumb up to rub and tease it before sucking on it. The sinful acts my mouth performed were a secret I kept with the few lucky men who’d experienced it for themselves. I wanted so badly to share that with Harry…I wanted to share all of myself with him. 

“Mmm…Harry.” I moaned aloud, releasing my wet thumb and sneaking it under my shirt, swiping the slick pad back and forth over my sensitive tit.

It was hard for me not to think about Harry whenever I touched myself. I thought about his fingers playing with my hair, him burying his face into my neck the times we cuddled…feeling his hard-on against my ass on the couch…the times when he’d hugged me…and catching his gaze drift down to my tits…I bet he’d thought I’d never notice, even after having done it multiple times in a single conversation. Hmm…was Harry Styles an ass man or a tit man? Or was he something else…? He certainly liked looking at my boobs…and I'm able to confirm that his body has a very positive reaction to pressing up against my butt…

Honestly, I didn’t even care what parts of the body Harry liked the most. All I cared about was how badly I wanted to feel him use mine. I wrapped my small hand around my throat and arched my back up off of the mattress, gasping as I mindlessly pushed two hooked fingers inside my tight opening, picturing a certain tall, curly-headed British man molesting me instead. The sound of my own moans enhanced my pleasure as I rode myself towards peak bliss. My modesty had become non-existent as my hands worked each sensitive spot between my legs and teased at my pebbled nipples. A part of me needed him to hear me that night. I was getting off on that taboo. But that’s all it was…my imagination. 

It was just a silly little fantasy. Harmless exhibitionism. I wasn’t actually being that loud…—but that’s when I suddenly heard more feedback beyond the wall. It’d been some time since I’d heard the door click shut. My personal distractions got in the way of keeping track of time. 

There was an urgent fumbling. A repetitive clinking. The sound resembled a bit of metal hitting other metal. But it was light. Small. Following that, I heard a rough yank and a soft plop as whatever the item was had dropped heavily onto the carpeted floor. An unmistakable hum of a zipper quickly came subsequent to the discarding of the first mystery item—but it was no longer a mystery to me as my sex-clouded mind pieced together what I was hearing. The hands nestled between my thighs slowed at the realization.

Well, Harry’s just changing into his pajamas for the night, right?

My audible x-rated activities bouncing off the walls for several minutes whilst my roommate innocently removed his pants next door…maybe I was overthinking this…I remembered calling out our "goodnight"'s to each other around 10 minutes before I slipped out of my panties and began to shamelessly pleasure myself. He was still in his business-y work clothes when I left him in the living room…and I knew I just heard his bedroom door click shut in the middle of my alone time. And at that point, Harry was right there. He was just trying to unwind, yet happened to be in the room adjacent to mine. It was probably too awkward for him to ask for me to quiet down. 

Poor guy…ugh. I was disgusted with myself. I felt I needed to end my “session” right there, and

I was mentally preparing a nice apology text to send him. There was no way in hell I'd bring this up in person to Harry the following day. Surely I’d be in tears before I could even form the right words. I didn’t even want to imagine the scenario of Harry, himself, mentioning it to my face. Every possible, horrible consequence of my selfishly lewd deeds played out in my mind. There I was, lying there with my knees bent up and spread wide open—my fingers frozen against where I'm most sensitive. The silence made the throbbing in my clit feel even more desperate. 

And then Harry flicked his white-noise machine on.

Oh, God…This was so embarrassing.

I wanted to sink into a black hole and never be seen, nor heard, ever again. The severity of the situation felt devastating to me. Was I truly so grotesque that the beautiful man I lived with had to tune me out with the highest setting of his old, rattly sleep machine?!

Hell, I was more than embarrassed, I was fucking humiliated. For real, this time. And it was all my fault.

I just wanted to disappear.

But just as I was readying myself to book a flight back home to move back in with my parents to spare myself from ever having to look Harry in the eye again…

I heard it. 

I heard him.

“…Mmmhh…”

Beyond the hum of the wimpy white noise, there was a raspy moan on the other side of the wall. I thought I was just imagining it, or that maybe it was Harry quietly retching in disgust, but then it happened again. 

No, yeah. It was definitely a moan.

I held my breath as I focused upon the sound of an abrupt curse followed by the distinctive sound of spitting. 

“...Ahhh, fuck—” 

*ptuh* 

The grunting and other lewd noises continued. I could only imagine Harry’s tightened fist, wet from his own drool, working diligently at his neglected cock.

“...Mm…h-hm…ugghhh…”

It seemed like Harry's white-noise machine had some impressive competition. My lips curved into a smirk and my embarrassment exponentially subsided.

His growls vibrated right through the layers of paint and drywall—sliding their way under my shirt, swirling around my perked nipples before bolting straight down to my fingertips, coaxing them to push deeper into my heat. Squeezing my thighs together and arching my back, I curled those digits and gasped out audibly. Feminine arousal leaked from my center and down the crease where my ass met my thighs. Everything was so slippery. I’d made a mess of myself within seconds. Not to mention, the pornographic squelch of my fingers echoed shamelessly beyond the slick walls of my cunt.

If Harry’s spit-covered palm was loud enough to hear over the white noise, then I knew the splashy reservoir between my legs was audible too.

Another series of grunts and huffs sounded beyond the wall behind me and the white noise machine was switched off. I retracted my fingers and slid them up and down my slit, teasing myself and picturing Harry rubbing the head of his dick along my entrance. My brow pinched hedonistic agony. Oh, God, did I want him inside me…I needed something…anything…

With my less-saturated hand, I reached over to open my bedside drawer and lifted the lower compartment to retrieve the silk satchel that encased my dildo. My sticky-slick fingers fumbled impatiently with the ties until the toy comically launched out of the bag and bounced itself smack down onto the inside of my splayed thigh. I could just picture Harry laughing at my lack of grace even though he was busy with his own deeds next door. The thought of Harry teasing me about the dildo made me blush a bit, and I smiled to myself, imagining his hand reaching out to brush my hair out of my face, his pupils dilating as he’d sit on his knees next to the bed and lean over me until his lips grazed my ear…

Be a good girl and show me what filthy things you do with this, Bunny…Show me where it goes…Show me how you fuck yourself…

I hadn’t realized I’d done it again. I’d gotten lost in that depraved little world of mine, and I whimpered aloud in response to the Imaginary Harry who was speaking in my fantasy, “Y-you want me to fuck my pussy for you, Daddy?” Maybe it was the Imaginary Harry again, but I could’ve sworn that I heard a silky British voice nearby react, “Goddd…dammit, Bun’…Ugh, fuuuck, yes. Fuck that sweet little pussy f’me, baby, holy shit…”

Laying back down, I brought the silicone cock up to my lips and sucked it into my mouth. I slowly bobbed my head on it and soaked it with my saliva after deepthroating it several times. The sloppy blowjob I gave to my dildo seemed to have been loud enough to be heard by Harry next door, as he voiced out, “Oh my god, Y/N…I wanna fuck that pretty mouth.”

I pulled it away from my tongue, a string of drool dripping from the tip, and rubbed the head of the toy against my sensitive clit whilst I responded, bringing me right back to where I needed to be. 

“Mmhh, but you can’t put a baby in me that way, Daddy.”

My own eyes widened and I gasped. I couldn’t believe I’d actually fucking said that.

“Shit! Ughh…Ahh…Ughhhh…Fuck you, Bunny…Almost made me…c-come…Christ—Ohhh, fuck me…”

With my free hand, I sucked on my index finger and let my eyes flutter closed as I pulled it out from my lips, trailing it down my neck, all the way to my breasts. Groping myself as best as I could with the rest of my hand, I used my forefinger to tease my nipple whilst the dildo swirled and swiped around my slickened slit. My breathing picked up quickly. The dildo had eventually disappeared inside my clenching hole. The only audible sounds I remember hearing were those of my own—my high-pitched gasps, the pornographic swishing and squelching of the dildo fucking my drenched cunt, the wet flicking noises of my fingers moving rapidly against my clit…I don’t even remember how loud Harry was at that point, I was too focused on my fantasy—my fantasy with him—to notice. I was so focused, in fact, that I had once again lost all sense of self-control and consciousness, succumbing to whatever had come naturally to me at the time and practically singing out my song of ecstasy for the whole goddamn neighborhood.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod…Harry, please. I need your cum…Oh, god, please come inside me. Fuck all your cum d-dee–oh g…–ah! Yes! Yes! Don’t stop!”

As I begged for my climax, Harry seemed to have been on the edge of his orgasm as well.

“Jesus Christ, you’re gonna kill me, Y/N…You want me to fill you up? Be my little breeding bunny? God…You dirty girl…Fuuuck…oh fuck, I’m gonna come…”

“Yes! Yes, Daddy! I can take it! Please! Yes, yes, yes, yes! Aaahhh!”

I unraveled with a squeak followed by a series of breathless sobs, my hands, wrists, and arms working frantically and my eyes rolled back whilst the kaleidoscope of pleasure poured through my body. Immediately after my explosion, I collapsed like a ragdoll with the dildo slowly pushing out of me, and my fingers slipping around on my clit to prolong my high. As my breathing recovered, I listened to the tail-end of the orgasm taking place from Harry’s side of the wall.

“Holy shit…Fucking take all of it f’me, babe—ohhhh, yeah…uhh-uuggh…mmhh…hm…Damnit…’So much…I wish all this was inside you, Bunny…fucking hell…”

I’d slept like a rock once I finally passed out. I wasn’t even worried about what would come the next morning. Nah, I had the upper hand on this one for once. As a bratty submissive, I’d gotten used to being teased and controlled. What an interesting feeling to exist on the other side. God, it felt fucking fantastic. Unfortunately for Harry, he wasn’t as confident…or at least that was what I’d been able to interpret in the days following. Nights after the first one, I’d carry on fucking my cunt until I was physically too exhausted to move my pretty little hands anymore. I swear I’d heard Harry finish at least thrice in one night once. (Impressive, Styles.) As for myself…well, I usually lost count.

That first morning, I awoke with sore arms, a rogue dildo laying on the floor, my limbs tangled inside my sheets, yet a ridiculous smile was perma-glued onto my sleepy, orgasm-spent face. I tried my best to tone it down, as I didn’t want to prance around the house like I’d just risen from a deep sleep induced by a gazillion-and-one pulsating firecrackers of pleasure. Too obvious, you know? Had to act nonchalant. Unbothered. 

Who was I kidding—I was the most chalant person I knew. Harry would see right through that charade. But there honestly wasn’t much need for pretending on my part since Harry had actively avoided any and all eye contact with me anyway. I’d never seen the man be so meek. It was truly a sight. 

Things would eventually loosen up as the days progressed, especially if it was a work day which meant Harry had an excuse to be miles away from me for several hours. It was somewhat of a bummer because I thoroughly enjoyed this sampling of power I newly held over the man. I reveled in the way our typical roles would reverse the mornings after our little bedtime serenades. They weren’t a nightly occurrence, as I preferred to keep him on his toes; however, they’d happen often enough that I tended to daydream in the middle of my work meetings. I’d even begun to retreat to my bedroom an hour or so earlier in the evenings, giving Harry some lame excuse like tiredness or a headache. In reality, it was me signaling that I needed to get myself off sooner rather than later. Whenever I’d announce my departure, I could feel how much he’d been aching for it all day, too. Harry eventually utilized the same approach to speed up the fulfillment of his own needs. I’d changed up my tempo, my method of pleasure, the filth of my words, even my own positions whilst touching myself. It seemed like it had become almost like a routine for him to wait for me to fall into bed late in the evening. (Yet another one for me to be distracted by…) 

Nothing’s changed. I still imagine that he patiently lays atop his soft duvet with an anxious throb booming against his eardrums…That minutes will go by with him training his ear to follow each soft pad of my feet. And then I shut my door. I waste no time before diving my pretty fingers inside the waistband of my underwear and playing with my sensitive little petal—allowing all the filth to freely escape my lips. And every single time we do this, I’m in my room picturing him naked from the waist down, one hand eagerly pumping his dripping length whilst the other massages his balls and perineum. To this day, the waves of simultaneous pleasure are still trapped only by the few measly layers of drywall that stand in between us.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I know, I know…it’s been a while…but I’m back:-) and this isn’t the end of Harry’s Home—the final part is basically finished, but I wanted to post this chunk of it since I’d been kind of neglecting my account for months now. I hope y’all like it! Xoxo ~ Régan 💋

Tags: @daphnesutton @victoria-styles @pishhhh20989 @heyyyloverr @youdontcaredoyou @jerseygirlinca

[subbytcklslut]

November Tickle Session Commentary

Well, here are my running thoughts as I watch my first session... from November with @dca101 I'm tagging him here so he can get my various fucking rambles from this 🥵😜

Check out this post if you want to have a written account

16 seconds in; Aaand I'm immeditely blushing hearing him talk as he starts tickling my feet.

1 min 40 secs; I just hid behind my hands seeing him lean in and tickle my armpits. I was already giggling in the video before he even touched them.

2 min 8 secs; Blushing again at the slight moan and arch from his lightly running his fingers up my thigh before sudden squeezy tickle attack.

2 mins 55 secs; A squeak left my lips seeing him lickle and bite my damn knees! How the fuck can I NOT blush after seeing this happen again! Fuck 🫣

4 mins 9 secs; I swear to god I'm going to be feeling fucking phantom tickles from watching this-- STILL hiding behind my fucking hands I might add.

4 mins 44 secs; turns out I'm still mostly mouthy as fuck when being tickled. Will I ever learn my lesson? 😅

6 mins 13 secs; and there we go. BEYOND RED IN THE FACE AS HE MAKES ME ADMIT TO BEING A "TICKLISH TOY"

8 mins 7 secs; How the actual hell did I forget about the vibrating feather???? 😯🪶

8 mins 55 secs; Okay sure, I admitted AGAIN and did he stop??? NO, thats just mean. Still grinning like a fool ear to ear as I watch this.

10 mins 39 secs; Some desperation has started to set in.

11 mins 35 secs; FUCK I'M FLUSTERED!!!!!! He's so damn teasy over messages and calls, but its a whole new lever of torture when he did it in person

12 mins 12 secs; the fucking butterflies I got hearing my own moans echoed back at me. Fuuuccccck.

15 mins 21 secs; Definitely feel like I'm living up to my blog name y'all. 🥵🤣

18 mins 10 secs; Seriously, HOW did I forget about the deviousness of the vibrating feather?!?!

19 mins 40 secs; He was barely using the grooming gloves already had like three ' fucks' leave my mouth from them on my feet- WITHOUT BABY OIL

20 mins 35 secs; The fucking laughs and shivers from those gloves used on my armpits-- how in the actual fuck did I forget how bad that was?!?!?! Please get me there again

26 mins 51 secs; that fucking toothbrush attachment made me duck behind my hands just now as it was reintroduced to my tied feet

28 mins 26 secs; My toes are so fucking scrunched watching him focus on my toes with that Pursonic. Holy hell

32 mins and 32 secs; I don't know my place??? My man, it is tied down and fucking wrecked at your fingertips and toys apparently 👀

34 mins 34 secs; Hello baby oil. I'm never going to be able to look at you without a toe wiggle again

37 mins 57 secs; baby oil + grooming gloves= crazy fucking mean tickles and me thrashing off the bed

47 mins 10 secs; we've migrated to 'let's see how needy we can make S with some fun tickle teasing to specific areas"

50 mins 35 secs; yup back to oil and brush torture to my poor feet while being made to admit I'm a tickle toy.

53 mins 27 secs; I can't help but grin seeing everything he put me through and how much I fucking enjoyed it.

54 mins 35 secs; the titular 'exorcism off the bed' still from when he touched the pursonic to my pussy through my panties. fuuucccckkk

55 mins 8 secs; Pleasurable agony. He's told me he'd do it and he fucking delivered it in that moment. Oh my gods I'm fucking red in the face

My final thoughts.

I can see how fucking great it is to have recordings of sessions. That was amazing, and that was just the tied down portion. That whole night will forever live in my head. I'm now a blushing and squirming wet mess from reliving my tickle torment through a screen. I adored every second of it and I can't wait until our next upcoming sessions!!!

[shhhlikeme]

A/N: Feeling writers block so I thought I’d throw in headcannons with some of my fave boys that has been sitting in my drafts! If you want me to continue this with more characters, request em!

————————————

Intentionally or Unintentionally CockTeasing The Haikyuu Boys Because They Can’t Have Sex

(Slight NSFW)

————————————

So this is wah gwan/

Background for Understanding:

Your boyfriend was playing volleyball and pulled the groin muscle in his inner thigh. After several x-rays, he would be out a little longer than a month before making a full recovery. But the doctor told him that the boy MUST refrain from ANY and ALL sexual activity if they ever want to play again. The look on his face looked like he had just been told that the world was ending lmao. You snickered and hugged him. Reassuring them that “It’ll be fine, babe.”

But it wouldn’t be.

Because you were a little shit (unintentional or not).

Needless to say, they were having a tough time refraining from any and all sexual activity—

Here’s why:

Wakatoshi

“Y/N. Do you think this is funny?” Asks your boyfriend seriously as he gives you a disapproving look. You’d think he was your school principal by the way he was chastising you.

You feigned innocence as you pouted at him with wide eyes. “What? What am I doing now, Toshiiii?”

He didn’t blink.

“Must you practice your splits for cheerleading right here? In front of me? Wearing a thong? Why not go to the den.”

Suppressing your urge to giggle, you leaned further into your almost-middle splits as you flipped your hair—looking back at him over your shoulder.

“No, I want to be near you, Tosh.”

Your boyfriend scoffed at your response, unimpressed and frankly pissed.

“I do not want you near me doing that. Go. Now.”

You smile because as your giant serious boyfriend spoke he stared intently at your ass only. You could see the tent forming in his jeans as he watched you stretch.

“You’ll have much more space to do this in the den.” He added.

“Oh? You want me to go to the den because I’ll have more space, love? Or could it be because you want to help me stretch out elsewhere—maybe the inside of my pussy—but the doctor said you can’t?”

Toshi’s mouth fell open at your insinuation. Annoyed and undeniably horny, he makes himself shut his mouth again. You reached your hands forward in the stretch to give your man a better visual of your ass and you could hear him groan from behind you.

Ushijima made a move to take you upstairs before remembering the doctors orders and stopping. He reminded himself why he cared so much about that sport that was standing in his way from fucking his girlfriend to oblivion and tried to calm his anger at you for teasing him.

“I’ll go, then.” He stated angrily. “I’m going to Tendou’s. Tell me when you’re done stretching, and I’ll be back.”

You waved at your boyfriend happily as he left because he looked funny marching out with a huge boner sticking out from his front.

“Okay, baby! I will!”

Hinata

“Whoaa....” Murmured Shōyo as he watched you with wide eyes. For the past three minutes he has had his eyes glued to you while you devoured the ice cream cone he had just gotten you two from your fridge.

You used your tongue to lick all around the vanilla treat. Swirling your tongue up, down, and around, sometimes making a slurpy sound that sounded quite familiar to the boy who missed your blow jobs so much.

Mans sat there watching your tongue like he was in a trance, his eyes flicking from your mouth to his attention-starved dick then back to your mouth.

When the ice cream shrunk enough to be swallowed like your boyfriends cock, you enclosed your lips around it suggestively and met your boyfriends pleading eyes as you did it.

You finished the rest of your frozen treat happily, knowing you just made your boyfriend incoherent with lust.

“Mmmm......it’s so sticky........and tastes so good....” you sigh in delight as you lick your fingers of the white creamy sweetness.

“Shōyo? You haven’t even touched your ice cream. And it’s dripping all over your hand!”

After calling his name twice more Hinata snapped out of his trance, he looked over at his dripping strawberry ice cream cone that he’d forgotten he even had as soon as he heard your first slurp.

“Oh, Y/N. Here, please, take mine too!” He shoved his ice cream in your direction and you slowly take it from your oddly acting boyfriend.

“You want me to..... have your ice cream?”

Hinata nodded enthusiastically before he quickly wiped his hands clean with a paper towel. He leaned his head on his knuckles as he got comfortable, preparing himself to watch you swirl your tongue around ice cream again like this was his favourite Marvel movie!

“Okay, I’m ready.” He says with bright, eager eyes.

Actual footage of your boyfriend Shōyo:

“Go.”

Aran

“Babe. You had to pick this movie on your choice of movie night?” Your boyfriend wiped his face as a show of stress. He begrudgily stared at his screen and then looked down at you through the slits of his eyes.

Pressed to his side on the couch, you smiled up at him innocently.

“365 Days? What’s wrong with it? I think it’s interesting so far. Plus, Atsumu suggested it to me. He told me to play it on our next movie night!”

Aran clenched his fists under the blanket at your words, secretly promising himself to tell his best friend’s new girlfriend how many girls Atsumu has really been with before her the next time Aran went over there.

LMFAOOOOO

“Oh he did, did he? Atsumu. That angel.....” He grimaced. “Was this before or after you told him about the doctors orders when he was worried?” Aran asked between clenched teeth.

“Uhhh.....after, I’m pretty sure. But, Aran, shhhhhhh! It’s getting to a good part!” Aran watched your beautiful eyes light up as the two characters in the movie started fucking on the yacht like animals.

“Ouuu, baby. We should try that position tonight!” You quip, pointing at the screen then taking a sip of your coke.

Aran cursed his stupid friend. “I—“

“Oh right, sorry! I forgot you can’t, poo. But as soon as you are cured, can we try that?!”

Your boyfriend stared you down in mental agony as he pictured pistoning his dick in you mirroring the position on screen—only right now on this couch. His dick jumped.

“Yeah.” He sighed. “When I’m cured.”

“How long again?” You asked as you grabbed the remote to turn up the sound volume during another hot sex scene.

“Too damn long.” He rolled his eyes as he looked back at the porn-disguised-as a-romantic-movie on screen too.

Yams

“Auuuuuuhhhhhhhhh. Yesssssssssss. F-f-f-feels soooooooo g-o-o-o-d-d-d-d, Tadashi.....”

With a violent blush, your boyfriend gave the Furniture store worker a thumbs up.

“I umm.... guess she likes it.” Tadashi reasoned, putting his hand on your shoulder. He squeezed your shoulder silently trying to tell you to quiet down in the store.

Sitting in the turbo massage chair, you moaned some more, letting your boyfriend and the worker know how much you liked how it felt. Tadashi’s ears perked up at every sigh and moan you made. He couldn’t rid his mind of memories of you moaning just like that when you’re on top of him and he has a vibrator pressed to your clit. It was clouding his thoughts. He bit his lip as he zoned out thinking about the fun you two could have on this chair at home with a vibrator. Only a month longer from this stupid injury and you’d be extra sensitive on his dick with the help of this chair....

“—and the parts will be sold separately. Should I ring you up, sir?”

Tadashi was startled when his girlfriend slapped him blindly on the chest to get his attention back to the sales associate.

What is wrong with him? You thought as you felt your lower back getting kneaded. The man is standing right in front of him and he’s zoning out? Get it together, Space Cadet Yams.

“Huh?! Excuse me?! Sorry, what?” Tadashi rubbed his eyes. “Sorry, I was distracted. Can you repeat that?!” He apologized.

The sales associate smiled kindly.

“Sure thing Mr. Tadashi.....so, I was just explaining that the massage chair is the best of its generation. If you look right here on the remote I have— it has 8 brilliant speeds and intensity adjustments. Your girlfriend is on 2 right now which means that if I increase it to, let’s say, 5 ...”

As the associate spoke, Yams was pulled from paying attention to him as you moaned louder when the level setting increased. “O-o-oh my G-g-god.....Dashi y-y-y-es.”

Picturing you saying this while you were grinding on his cunt-buried dick, Yams knew he was on the verge of defying his doctors orders and just fucking you in the car....

The massage chair dug into your tense shoulders yes LORD—

“Oh b-b-baby. T-th-thats-s th-the sp-p-p-o-t-t..”

As a last ditch effort to save his volleyball career, Yams rudely snatched the remote from the employee’s hands, scattering to hide his new erection behind the massage chair.

He clicked a button on the remote to turn the massage chair off fully while blushing at the employees shocked expression due to being interrupted and basically assaulted.

“Um, sorry! We’ll take it!” Yams freaked out apologetically.

“😱 Yamaguchi!” You scolded your boyfriend’s sudden rudeness. “That was so impolit—“ turning in the chair to see your boyfriends dark blush that you recognized to be his horny face, you stopped. It only took one look at him for you to understand exactly why he just acted completely out of character and rude. It reminded you that you have been on this sex strike with him for far too long, ugh.

You stood up from the chair, calling the confused associates attention away from your horny boyfriend. “Um.... I can sign the paper work. Want to bring me to the cash?” You asked him professionally.

The salesman blinked at Yams before looking down at you. “Uh, of-of course ma’am. Follow me.”

As you two walked away Yams’ top half collapsed on the head rest of the chair. He tried to will his hard member to soften but with the massage chair currently under his skin and so close to him, he couldn’t get your vibrated moans out of his head.

He decided that a stroll through the store’s bathroom section might help.

Ya, that would definitely help.

Akaashi

“I know what you’re doing.” Your boyfriend deadpanned as you showed up late to dinner wearing an extremely low cut dress in the chest area. Your breasts could stop traffic in that and you had only just taken off your trench coat after you and Akaashi sat down so he and the female server were basically the only ones who got an eyeful the entire night.

“I like this dress, Kashi. Don’t you? Can you pass me the salad, please?”

Challenging you with his eyes and trying his best not to look down at your remarkable chest, Akaashi reached over to share you some Mediterranean salad onto your plate like a gentleman.

“Say when.” He insisted.

You smiled and leaned forward to peer at his serving so that your boobs were pressed to the forearm he held the bowl with. Akaashi’s breath hitched. After sharing way more than you could eat, you leaned in close to his ear and whispered

“When.”

Your boyfriend’s eyes flickered down to your boobs before he adjusted himself to relieve the tightening in his pants.

“So, how is your injury, babe?” You ask sweetly, taking a bite of the salad and smiling at him.

“It’s fine. As long as I get to play again it’s manageable, but I believe—“

“Crap.” You pretended to be just as uncomfortable as your boyfriend sitting with a boner as you clutched the bottom of your boobs. You pressed them upward, re-situating them with purpose. Akaashi stared at your breasts openly as he took a shaky deep breath.

“What’s the matter?” He asked hungrily, calling back his composure.

“Oh, my bra wire is just bugging me. Boys wouldn’t understand......” You fixed them some more.

“I know what you’re doing, Y/N.” Akaashi licked his lips and watched you basically fondle your soft breasts in front of him. It made his mouth water, but he tried not to show it.

“Hm. You’re the smartest person I know, so I reckon you do know what I’m doing....” You quirked an eyebrow as you removed your hands from your girls and took a gentle sip of your water.

“—Is it working?” You winked at him like a trained seductress-assassinator in a major motion picture.

Akaashi leaned back in his seat, he undressed you with his eyes; also like a trained seductress-assasinator in a major motion picture.

You shivered under the insanely beautiful man’s intensive gaze, closing your thighs to relieve the tension you suddenly felt in your private area since he made you beyond horny with that look.

“It’s working. Yes.” The side of Keiji’s lip quirked up in a half grin. “But I’m fairly certain you don’t know that the doctor called 3 days ago and told me that I am recovering exceptionally fast. He gave me the green light for physical activity again. Sexual: physical activity. I double checked.”

The blood drained from your face as you felt a wave of upcoming pleasure wash through you. You had been waiting 23 days without sex and in a flash you regrettably remembered just how much of your teasing over that period your gorgeous boyfriend had to endure. How much he had to pay you back for.

Akaashi smirked ever so sexily at your shocked reaction. Good, he thought to himself. So you knew what was in store for you tonight.

You stared at him like 👁👄👁

“Waiter.” Your hubby called over your head in his attractive voice with an elegant lift of his glass. He dropped his eyes to look back at you with a panty-dropping stare. As you shivered again, Akaashi proclaimed the weighted words that would inaugurate a long night of screams, kisses, and earth shattering orgasms:

“Cheque please.”

[retiretomysilence]

I have not been on here in approximately five billion years but randomly stopping in bc I’ve finally got a laptop properly able to play DS3 so I am like five years late. I haven’t beaten it yet, but my thoughts so far (I just got to Lothric Castle):

feels better to move around than in ds2, but ds1 still has my favourite “weighty” feeling

why did they fuck up covenants like this, why are the blue sentinels AND the blade of the darkmoon here and sharing the same job, why no blue eye orb, farming for ears was agony, why no penalty for leaving, there’s no loyalty aspect

I like that you can wear a decent amount of armour and still have a good roll without investing a lot in vit

so far my fave run has been my pryo with dark and chaos-infused weapons

offensive miracles are still overall bad lol rip wog

sorcery is pretty underwhelming too

why hexes no return as their own category hggn

oh my god these quest lines are outrageously specific

Karla my beloved

did we really need that ballista in smouldering lake

demon ruins are actually hell to traverse, points for themeing I guess

dancer is a sick fight, aldrich also cool

enjoyed boss battle hitting tree balls

you can respec a lot easily! nice

tbh there’s almost too many gestures

I accept patches bc he’s in every game pretty much but I am done with the ds1 callbacks, we got enough of them in ds2, I get it

was actually more hype for ds2 callbacks (creighton!!!)

rip big poise for big bois

shields not useless but why shield when rolls are free

overall I like the level design, though some areas seem to have too many bonfires

seriously did we need siegmeyer again, like anri at least feels different than oscar but squidward is just siegmeyer

it’s sadly easy to miss npc invasions and therefore specific weapons/gear, best bet is to be always embered or look things up in advance

from my small amount of pvp, I prefer the ds2 pvp and the sheer amount of build variety

expanding on that, I don’t feel like there’s a lot of weapon variety, mostly bc unique weapons are usually bad and you’re better off using a straight sword and spamming r1

hard to get attached to a weapon early on, gotta wait a while for interesting ones

fuck gru, fuck goats, don’t jump on me

fromsoft we’re taking away the swamp area from you for the next three games

you go in the boss door so fast which is awesome, unlike in ds2 where you take your sweet time and get clipped running to the boss

occasional estus refill fighting stuff, nice

do not like fp system, give me back limited but certain number of uses, don’t make me split healing

man fuck those skellies that throw bleed knives at you, they wreck my ass every time

also those big ladies are a constant threat throughout, I’m impressed, that book smack hurts

there’s some good ass fashion souls here

anor londo is just a small area and doesn’t overstay its welcome

tons of rings but they feel fairly distributed through the game and not too overpowered (so far)

the linearity of the game is one of its main downfalls for me, you’re heavily railroaded a certain path that doesn’t open up a ton, you can try dancer early but that seems like a big task, multiple playthroughs chart very similar courses

fire and dark op, I approve

weapon arts are cool in theory but not usually the best option, also eats into fp so those using spells and stuff are disincentivized to use them

a lot of enemies just go ham and while it doesn’t feel unfair, it can feel like the enemies are in bloodborne while we’re stuck in dark souls; ds1 playstyle seems pretty dead for their games overall

fuck those little fuckers that drop from roofs and ambush you, fuck them

rip horace

[e-vasong]

Not sure if youre taking the whumptober asks but can I request #6 with five? 👀 Also sorry new to Tumblr so not sure if I'm doing this right lol love your writings btw!! ❤

Oh!! YES I LIKE THIS ONE.  It is not October, but I’m not so much “participating” in Whumptober as I am just using it to kick myself into gear with writing.  

I may kinda suck at filling prompts, even when I ask for them, but when I do...it takes a really long time because this was supposed to be 1000 words max and is actually like. almost 3000 words of shameless whump.  WHOOPS.  Most of this is under a cut, because it’s long and...well, whumpy.

TW: Torture, electrocution

No. 6: Please... “Get it Out” | No More | “Stop, please.”

“Hm,” Agent Finch laid the bloody pliers back on the metal tray with a clatter.  “You’re as resilient as I remember, Number Five.”   He sneered the words, hands tightening into fists at his sides.

Five supposed that Finch meant for that to be a threat, but he just couldn’t bring himself to take it seriously.  

“Go ahead and hit me, Finch,” he gave the man an affable smile.  “If you really throw your back into it, it might even hurt.”

The provocation worked.  Finch did hit him, then.  Right across the face.  The force of the blow snapped Five’s head off to the side, slamming his skull into the metal back of the chair.  The steel reverberated, the noise echoing painfully in Five’s ears.  It did hurt, in a distant sort of way, but Five had found that being punched was always more jarring than it was painful.  Not to mention the fact that it was just bad technique.  After all, if you really rung someone’s bell...

Well, in an interrogation, where the goal was to disorient your target and trick them into giving you vital information, a concussion could be useful.  But it was a poor tool for torture because it made it easier to zone out, to forget about the pain.  ��And if Finch were any good at his job, he’d know that.

Five sighed.  “Ouch,” he said, voice droll.  He worked his jaw experimentally.  Everything seemed like it was still in its proper place, though the movement tugged painfully on the bruise that had already started to blossom across his left cheek.  

“You can’t fucking run, Five,” Finch said.  There was a new speck of blood on his chin, bright against his salt-and-pepper stubble.  “I know you.  I’d say we have a good half hour before you can jump again; probably longer, with you in pain like this--” Five couldn’t repress the laugh that bubbled up in his chest at that.  “Which is plenty of time for me to make you regret ever crossing--oh for fuck’s sake!  What are you laughing about?”

“Oh,” Five rolled his eyes. “Nothing.  Don’t worry about it.  You’re doing great.”

“What?” Finch’s hand returned to the metal tray, grabbing the pliers again.  “Not enough pain for you?  Fine.  Another fingernail, then.”

Boring, Five thought.  A sadistic appetite with no real vision or talent to follow it through, that was Finch’s problem.  He watched with disinterest as Finch pressed the pliers against his left ring finger, readying himself to breathe through the inevitable pulse of pain that was coming.

“No!” The shout came with a clatter of chains and cuffs as Diego jerked against his bonds.  Five jumped, and Finch did too, pliers slipping from his hand and hitting the ground with a clang.  Huh.  They’d both forgotten, somehow, that Diego was here too. 

“You sick son of a bitch,” Diego bit out, the dramatic fucker.  Five’s annoyance was practically a living creature inside of him.  Diego’s hero complex was both entirely predictable and deeply unwelcome, since Five had this very much under control, not that Diego much seemed to care.

“Shut up!” Five and Finch snapped at the same time, voices overlapping as they spoke.  

There was a brief lapse in conversation, the room falling silent as they both processed what had just happened.  Finch whipped around to glare at Five, and Five glared sullenly back.  He wasn’t about to be the one to break eye contact, but it was more annoying than he’d admit to accidentally end up on the same wavelength as his oldest and most incompetent acquaintance from the Commission.

“Why?” Diego said, responding only to Finch.  “Because you’re some twisted fuck that gets off on torturing children?”

Diego could be dangerously intelligent when he wanted to be, but he was a bad actor under pressure.  And this was a stupid, blatantly obvious attempt at provocation, even by Diego’s standards.

So of course Finch turned back towards Diego, a dangerous glint in his eyes.  

“Diego,” Five said, a warning in his voice.

“You know full well that your brother isn’t as young as he looks,” Finch said, talking over Five.  His voice was calm, but he was moving closer towards Diego as he spoke, successfully baited.

“Oh, sorry,” Diego said, yanking on his chains again defiantly.  They rattled against the ceiling pipe above Diego’s head and Diego winced.  The struggling was likely doing no favors for the discomfort of his position.  “I guess that makes torturing him alright, then.”

“Your brother,” Finch said, “was supposed to be my backup on a job once.  Instead, he shot me in the back and left me for dead.”

Diego, to his credit, looked utterly unfazed by Finch’s unfavorable and one-sided description of their former partnership, even though it was, essentially, accurate.  

“Your back?  Really?" He jerked his chin in Finch’s direction.  “Damn, I’d have guessed he hit you in the face.  Maybe he should have.  Can’t get any worse than this.”

Finch punched him, which seemed to be his default reaction to everything that upset him, the neanderthal.  His fist collided with a sickening crack, and Diego went limp.  Five stiffened in his chair.  For all that he’d critiqued Finch’s technique, the man was still a burly six feet, almost all of it muscle.  A poorly-gauged blow--and Five did not trust Finch to gauge anything well--could do more grievous damage than Finch may have intended.

“Diego?” Five called.  If Finch killed one of his siblngs, Five wouldn’t much care whether it was an accident or not.

There was a heart-stopping moment where Diego didn’t respond.  He just hung there, limp and unmoving.  Five’s breath caught in his throat. 

Then a shudder passed through him, and Diego’s head lifted slightly.  “”M fine,” he muttered, though he was clearly too disoriented to raise his head all the way.  His eyelashes were fluttering as he fought for consciousness, and a bit of bloody spittle dripped from his mouth to the ground.

“Five’s right,” Diego said.  He was slurring his words.  That was bad.  “That barely even hurt.”

But Finch didn’t respond to the jab this time, not the way that that he did when Five had resorted to the same taunt.  Instead, he stopped to look at Five.

“Did you...?” Finch tilted his head to the side, looking thoroughly bewildered.  And then his face split into a wide, almost hysterical grin.  “My, my,” Finch said, and Five went stiff.  

Finch’s smile was smug, like the cat that caught the canary, which was a disorienting turn of events.  Five was used to being the cat, not the songbird, and he rather liked it that way.

“What?” Five said, terse.

“You almost sounded...God, what’s the word?” Finch said.  “Oh, I know!  Concerned.”

“About him?” Five scoffed.  “In his wildest dreams.”

But it was too little, too late.  Finch’s lips twisted upwards in a vicious grin.  

“I can’t believe it,” he said.  “After all this time.  You know, we used to gossip about you in the break room.  Wonder if Five, the best assassin the Commission had ever seen and the Handler’s favorite little pet, had a weakness we could exploit.  We never did figure it out.  Who would have realized...” Finch turned back towards Diego and grabbed him by the jaw, tilting Diego’s head upwards as if to get a better look at him.  “That it was something so...sentimental.”

Finch laughed.  “I mean,” he continued, “we had some really crazy bets going. But this is just-it’s just--oh, don’t scowl at me, I’m trying to give you a compliment.  I guess I really didn’t see this coming from you of all people.  I didn’t even realize you had emotions.  Other than, you know, anger and irritation.  Those I knew about.”

Five opened his mouth.  Finch hushed him.  “Don’t lie to me, Five,” he said.  “You should have heard yourself just now.  That was the most scared you’ve been all night.  You have a soft spot!  All this time, I’ve been hitting the wrong target.  You should have said something earlier.”

Five grit his teeth furiously.  “Leave it, Finch.”

“No,” said Finch simply.  He walked back towards Five, and Five knew better than to think that Finch was coming back for him.  Instead, Finch gathered up a handful of cables, loose electrical wires sticking out of the rubber on one end, plugged into a large metal device on the other, and winked.

“Enough,” Five said, lowly.  “Finch.  Finch!”

“’S fine,” Diego spat.  “I can take it, Five.”

No.  Five struggled, but it was fruitless.  Finch palmed some sort of button on the device, and the air around them filled with an electric hum.  Finch strode idly back towards where Diego was strung up--the device was by Five’s side, presumably because Finch had meant to use it on him, but the cables ran long enough that Finch reached Diego without needing to pull them taut.

“Finch!” Five tugged sharply at the leather straps that kept his arms bound to the chair.  No luck.  

“Hm,” Finch was in front of Diego again.  “Let’s try it out.”  And then he reached out and pressed the exposed wires to a patch of exposed skin on Diego’s collarbone.

Diego tensed.  Five could see the muscles in his neck clenching as he grit his teeth.  He didn’t scream.  He likely couldn’t, paralyzed by agony, but the anguished groan he made in the back of his throat spoke volumes.  

Five twisted fruitlessly in his bonds.  He heard something in his right hand crack, the thumb popping out of place.  He wouldn’t be surprised, from the feel of it, if a few bones had broken too.  But even so, the leather was simply too tight.  

He couldn’t get free.

Finch held it for a moment, then pulled the cable away.  Diego sagged, panting heavily.  A few more tremors went through him, aftershocks as his body processed the pain.

“That all you got?” Diego slurred.

“No,” Finch said.  “It isn’t.”  But before he proceeded, he turned his attention back towards Five.  “You see?  All this over a couple dead civilians?” he asked.  “You realize that I’m going to kill your brother, right?  Was it really worth it?”

“Stop,” Five’s voice cracked.  He pulled at his bonds again, paying particular attention to his now-broken hand.  If he could just force it, he could get free.  In his old body, he might have been able to do it--sure, it hurt, but pain was nothing in the face of the panic coursing through him.  But in this body, he just wasn’t strong enough.  “Please. Finch!”

“Wow.” That did seem to give Finch pause.  He clicked his tongue, sizing Five up thoughtfully.  “You know, the begging is a nice touch.  It’s really making this whole experience a lot more enjoyable for me.”

Then he pressed the wires to Diego’s throat again.  Diego twisted in agony, and Five knew that Finch wasn’t going to let up this time.

Diego was going to die.  Five yanked against the leather straps again as he jerked forward, overtaken by instinct.  It couldn’t end like this.  He couldn’t let it.

And then he was free.  With a flash of blue light, he stumbled out of a jump right behind Finch.  Finch dropped the cable immediately, even before he turned around, likely recognizing the distinctive sound of Five’s warping.  The live wire sparked on the ground.

Five didn’t bother with grabbing a weapon.  Finch twisted around, and Five punched him in the face with his good hand.  Finch staggered, though he caught himself on a nearby pillar of concrete before he could fall.  But Five was behind him before he could regain his balance.  He got an arm around Finch’s neck, braced his mangled hand against Finch’s jaw, and twisted hard.

Five felt the bone break under his hands, just beneath the brainstem.  Even pained and concussed, his technique was perfect.  Finch collapsed to the ground, dead before he even hit the floor, and Five had just enough wherewithal left in him to angle the corpse so it fell on top of the live cable’s exposed wires.

“H-holy shit, Five,” Diego said.  Five’s heart twisted slightly at the sound.  Lapsing back into his stutter like he was, Diego sounded so like the young, childish version of himself that Five had left behind all those years ago.  

“One sec,” Five said slowly, lifting a finger to silence his brother.  It was hard to concentrate on what he was saying, which was...a bad sign.  The world had started swimming strangely around him, and adrenaline could only keep him upright for so long.  But he needed to get them out of there.

He stumbled his way over towards the machine that the cable was hooked up to, hitting the button so that it shut off.  Then he found the lever connected the chains that were keeping Diego strung up and pushed it down.  The mechanism released, and Diego stumbled to the floor, hitting his hands and knees with a pained groan.

“Motherfucker,” Diego said, rolling his shoulders.  He was still shuddering from the electric shock.

“I’ve got you,” Five said, trying to keep his voice steady.  He made his way back over to Diego.  The notion of collapsing beside him was tempting, but Five resisted the urge.  “Come on, we gotta...we gotta go.”

“How-how’d you j-jump?” Diego asked.  “I th-thought you were at your lim...your limit.”

“I was,” Five said.  “Adrenaline.  Hell of a drug.”

“What?” Diego arched an eyebrow.  “D-dude, you like one-one of those moms that lifts a car when they see their kid is trap--” Diego had to stop and close his eyes for a moment.  “Trapped?” he finished, more smoothly this time.

“No,” Five snapped.  “That’s stupid.  And it’s called hysterical strength.”

“Whatever,” Diego rolled his eyes, in a manner that clearly suggested that he didn’t believe Five but was too tired to push the matter any further.  “Just d-don’t collapse on me, al...alright?”

“I don’t plan on it,” Five said wryly.  And then his world listed off to the side.  “Oh.”

He doubled over and threw up a mouthful of blood and bile.

“Shit,” Diego said, scrambling forward to steady Five as he sank to his knees.

“Shit,” Five echoed, and passed out.

                                                           ***

He woke up in a hospital bed, a monitor of some sort beeping monotonously in the background.  

Five sat bolt upright the moment his location registered.  What the hell?

He wasn’t hooked up to much.  There was just the IV sticking out of the back of his left hand, which was an unusual change of pace.  Five turned and reached over to rip the IV out, only to see that his right hand was bandaged.  Heavily.  

Shit.  He’d use his teeth then.

Five had just lifted his hand to his mouth when a bleary voice murmured: “Five...?”

He recognized that voice.  Five blinked and looked up.

“Diego?” he asked.  The burning panic in his chest extinguished, leaving only embarrassment in its wake.  

This was clearly just...a normal hospital.  Diego looked exhaustedly back at him from where he sat half-slumped in an uncomfortable-looking chair that had obviously been requisitioned from elsewhere and dragged over to Five’s bedside.  He had an expression on his face like he wasn’t quite sure whether Five was losing his mind or not.

“What are you doing?” Diego said slowly.

Five hesitated a moment longer, then lowered his hand back down to his side.  “What happened?” he countered, pretending like Diego hadn’t spoken.

Diego narrowed his eyes, but thankfully let Five’s evasiveness pass without comment.  “Some Commission asshole kidnapped us.  Spent some time making mincemeat out of us--mostly you--and then you warped so hard that you tore your stomach lining.”

Five did remember that, now that Diego mentioned it.  Well, not the stomach lining bit, but that was presumably the explanation for the bloody vomit.  

“Huh,” Five said.  “Didn’t know I could do that.”

“Don’t fucking do it again,” Diego commanded, with all the presumptuousness of a child who thought they could get away with bossing around their elders.

“How long has it been?” Five turned narrowed eyes to Diego.  “You should be in bed.  You need to be monitored for cardiac arrhythmia.”

“It’s not--don’t worry about--”

“I fucking knew you were here,” hissed Ben from the doorway.  Diego jumped.  

“Ben,” Five said, relieved.  Finally, someone with common sense.  “Get this idiot out of here.”

Ben froze like a deer in the headlights, startled.  His head jerked up to look at Five, and the irritation and concern clouding his expression evaporated as he broke into a relieved grin.  

“You’re awake,” he said, soft and pleased.  He stepped fully into the room.

“You can’t be serious,” Five said as Ben plopped down on the foot of the bed, gently pulling Five into a quick, tight embrace.  “Both of you are ridiculous.”

“Oh,” Diego mocked.  “How dare we be concerned.”

Five rolled his eyes and spread his hands slightly, gesturing to the hospital room around them.  “As you can see, I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” Diego said.  “You look fantastic.  Really, uh, in the peak of health right now, huh?  Gonna go get up and run a marathon?”

Ben let out a little snort of amusement, and Five glared at them both, utterly betrayed.  

“I can take care of myself, you know,” Five couldn’t ever remember being as relentlessly young and foolish as his brothers--or ever needing this much minding, for that matter.  At the skeptical noise Diego made in the back of his throat, Five tilted his head to the side and said, archly, “Which one of us is still in bed and which one snuck away from medical attention, Diego?”

“Ah, fair point,” Ben turned to Diego, still smiling.

“Oh yeah?” Diego said, sensing that the tide was turning against him and crossing his arms over his chest defensively.  “And what were you doing when you were trying to rip your IV out with your teeth, again?”

Five straightened his back.  “Diego,” he hissed, but it was too late.

Ben frowned, an expression full of worry and brotherly disappointment.  “Five!” he said, clearly dismayed.  Five wilted slightly.  Was this how Klaus felt all the time?  “Why would you do that?”

Five cast a sidelong glance at Diego.  “I was just disoriented,” he said.  “That’s all.  And I’m better now, so it’s hardly worth getting riled up over.”  It probably wouldn’t have taken him long to realize that he was just in a regular hospital once he made it out to the hallway.  

Once he had...he probably would have gone stumbling off to look for Diego, Five could admit that much to himself.  But he certainly didn’t need to tell his brothers that.  No one could prove that he was lying.

“Just,” Five waved them both off.  “Take Diego back to bed.”

“For fuck’s sake, Five,” Diego said.  “I’m just worried.”  Then, as if sensing that Five was not his best bet, he turned mournful eyes towards Ben.  “Just a little longer, Ben.  Then you can rat me out to the damn nurses.”

Ben’s lips twisted thoughtfully as he glanced between them.  “A couple minutes,” he finally conceded with a sigh.  “It’s not like you won’t just break out again anyways.”

“Ha!” Diego said, too loudly.  Five winced, the noise aggravating the pulsing headache that Five hadn’t even realized he had.  “...Whoops.”

Five glared.

“Sorry,” Diego’s voice was closer to a whisper now.  He reached out, lacing a hand with Five’s and squeezing it apologetically.

“It’s fine,” Five said, ignoring the feeling of warmth that bloomed in his chest.  “I’m not made of glass.”

“I’ll leave if you really want,” Diego offered.  “We can let you get some rest.”

If he wanted.  Ha.  Five couldn’t pretend that getting some peace and quiet didn’t have an appeal, but...in it’s own sort of way, it was comforting to have family in the room.  Irrefutable evidence that they were still living and breathing, so real that even all his years of knowing they were dead couldn’t override it.  But Diego did need to go back to his hospital room; Five wouldn’t be the one to pull him from the care he needed.  He refused.  But for now...

Five sighed.  “Fine,” he said, and squeezed Diego’s hand back.  “Just for a few minutes.”

[pars-ley]

Sugar and Spice

Pairing: Yoongi x Taehyung

Summary: The aftermath of a chaotic house party may be the worst and best thing Yoongi could come home to, with a meddling Jimin to thank.

Genre: mxm / friends to lovers / roommates to lovers / drabble / fluff / angst / house party

Rating: 15 (SFW)

Word count: 2k

Warnings: One little bit of explicit language / Angsty and insecure thoughts from Yoongi / Mentions of alcohol and effects of alcohol / mention of strangulation but not seriously.

A/N: Happy birthday Dean! This is for the top secret birthday project for @eternalseokjin​ birthday. I used all the squares on my bingo card too, which were ; Taegi, chaos, pumpkin pie, vodka, cats, Jimin, roommates, angst and fluff. This is my first mxm fic, sorry if it's terrible. I actually enjoyed writing this more than I thought I would. As always thank you to @wheresmymoniat for coaching me on this and helping me approach this new challenge.

Yoongi steps into his apartment, the smell of food, sweat and perfume greeting him, as well as something else, something more unpleasant but he pushes it aside as the music thumping low in the background distracts him. 

His eyes rake over the bodies strewn across the furniture and floor. He drops his bag out of his grip, a thud as it hits nearly the only part of flooring that's visible. 

As he steps over limp limbs and unconscious heads he scans the mess of the kitchen. Various liquids spilt on the counters make his blood boil. 

Goddammit Jimin! He thinks.

He meets eyes with someone who lifts their face out of-what looks to be a half eaten pumpkin pie-long enough to nod in his direction before slamming themselves back into it, attacking it like a ravenous dog. 

He walks quickly past them and into the living area, spotting Jimin a mile off. Head slouched against the back of the couch, mouth gaped open, snoring like a wild animal.

Yoongi heads towards him, stepping in something wet, he looks down and sees a big, black patch on the grey carpet, the smell of vodka hitting and burning his nose instantly. 

Yoongi storms over to Jimin, kicking his foot with controlled anger and enough force to send him jolting awake.

"Huh, what?" He looks around, hazy eyed before finally resting on Yoongi. An audible gulp fills the room. He scours the room, processing the devastation.

"You weren't supposed to be back until tomorrow." Jimin squeaks out. 

"Oh I'm sorry, how inconvenient of me." Yoongi snarls through gritted teeth.

Jimin throws up his hands, palms up in surrender, stands and starts climbing backwards over the sofa, creating some distance between the two of them. Trying to avoid having his neck squeezed by the hands of the angry man, no doubt.

A small black object jumping near Yoongi diverts his attention for a moment, his head snapping in its direction, only for his eyes to bulge at the sight of the danity cat, climbing over people in his direction.

"What the fuck is that?" Yoongi asks, voice low and dangerous.

"Huh, it's a-a cat Yoongi."

His eyes narrow at him. "I can see that. What is it doing in my HOUSE?" He bellows out, awakening the senseless bodies around him with a start.

Jimin jumps, still backing up. "Um, you know I-I'm not t-too sure about that." Yoongi stalks towards him, the urge to smack some sense into his thick head almost overpowering his self control. "Get these people out of my house...now!"

A sea of hurried footsteps parade out of the front door, Jimin frantically waking the others that did not stir and ushering them out.

Yoongi's eyes search for him. Their other roommate. Where one is, the other is usually not far behind. So it surprises him when he doesn't see Taehyung somewhere in Jimin's vicinity. 

He heads to his bedroom, not bothering to knock and barges in, veins full of incensed flames, more than ready to unleash on him too. He's stopped in his tracks, flames extinguished and freezing to icicles, spearing him from the inside.

Taehyung's arm wrapped around some guy's waist, after a night of doing god knows what, as they lay together, spooned in comfort. 

An unwarranted, jealous rage lights the fire in Yoongi's heart instead, consuming him with emblazoned rage and singeing the edges of any hope he had of Taehyung seeing him in the same possible light he saw him. 

He scoffs at himself. The perfection that he is seeing Yoongi as anything other than ordinary, angry, miserable, would be a miracle. 

He lights up a room just by entering it, has eyes on him instantly; eyes full of desire, adoration and it's understandable. Why would someone as beautiful as him want anything to do with someone like Yoongi?

As if hearing his thundering heart roaring into the heavy silence of his occupied bedroom, Taehyung's head lifts in his direction.

"Yoongi, you're back early." He beams at him and it isn't fair, that perfect boxy grin making his heart flutter amidst the envious agony bleeding from every part of him.

Hearing muted voices behind Yoongi, his smile falters. "Oh. Sorry about Jimin, I tried to reign him in but you know how he gets."

Yoongi can't blame him for this mess, not at all, just hearing how his voice drips with sincerity makes him weaker for Taehyung.

He turns away slamming Taehyung's door without saying another word. Regret fills Yoongi instantly, making his stomach churn and ache with guilt. 

Taehyung doesn't deserve that, but he can't trust himself to speak right now.

"Tae didn't have anything to do with this Yoongi, please, don't be mad at him." Jimin pleads.

Yoongi heads straight for the front door, following the row of strangers exiting his domain. The place he couldn't bear to be with Taehyung and his new fling under the same roof. 

"I know." he bites back. "Clean this shit up before I'm back."

The echoing slam of his door vibrates behind him, as he pushes past the zombie-like crowd to get out of the building as fast as he can. 

A drink will calm him down, the burn making him forget the pain and hoping for the numbness to overtake his mind and dull the constant strum of insecure thoughts circling his brain like hungry sharks.

He downs the drain of his second drink, staring at the bottom of the glass like it holds all the answers, his own personal crystal ball.

Ignoring the chatter surrounding him, he slides the empty glass in front of him and taps it when the bartender comes over. 

The sound of the liquid filling it brings him some kind of comfort. 

He notices someone occupy the seat next to him, but his eyes stay fixed on his glass as he pulls it back to himself, cradling it like his most precious possession. Like the 'one ring', enough to rule over him in his darkness and bind him to it permanently. 

"I'll have the same as him." The voice next to him sounds and he recognizes it instantly. Heat rushes to his cheeks and he angles his face away from him to protect what dignity he has left.

"Yoongi, can we talk?" Taehyung's deep, silky drawl is enough to put his heart into overdrive. Taehyung manages to turn him into a shy, lovesick school boy.

"A-about what?" he stutters out, speaking fast as if words leaving his mouth quicker would make him less affected by Taehyung.

"About me...and you." 

Yoongi frowns and finally meets his eyes, a question burning behind his with a ferocity that could take down an entire forest.

"What do you mean?" He asks, struggling to focus over the pounding in his ears making it hard to think. The possibility in his words, although unlikely, still had him balancing on a knife's edge.

"I think you know, Yoongi. When are you going to stop pretending with me?" He turns to him, knees millimetres away from each others , Yoongi could feel the heat from Taehyung's skin through his jeans.

"When are you going to stop lying to yourself and open your eyes? Because if you did, you might find someone here waiting for you to make a decision on what you want."

Yoongi blinks across at him. Taehyung's words frantically roll about in his head as he desperately searches his eyes for meaning. Could Taehyung mean what he thinks he does?

No, how could he? Why would he ever look twice? Yoongi is completely his opposite in most ways. Taehyung's breathtaking and confident, fashionable and playful. Yoongi's just ordinary and introverted, simple and serious. He is not made for him. He deserves more.

"Yoongi, are you hearing me?" He snaps him out of his despairing thoughts.

"I'm...not sure what you mean."

Taehyung sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Jimin told me. Just now. He told me how you feel about me,  how you've felt for a while."

Embarrassment sets fire to Yoongi's face and to accompany it a fresh wave of rage at Jimin. "I'll kill him." He says with gritted teeth, sliding his stool from the bar and standing.

Taehyung's hands are on him instantly. "Sit down Yoongi." He pushes the shorter man back down and he folds underneath Taehyung's touch. If he was honest with himself, he could bend Yoongi to his will, whatever it was and he would obey.

"I'm glad he told me because let's face it, you wouldn't have any time soon."

Yoongi looks back at his drink, angry hands clasping it once again. "Why would I tell you?" He grumbles, "it's my dignity on the line, not yours."

"What makes you say that?"

Yoongi scoffs and downs the dark liquid in one shot, chucking it to the back of his throat,  relishing the way it burns and gives him confidence. "Why would you ever want me?" He laughs, the thought sounding crazier out loud than it does in his mind.

The silence stretches on until he can't help but glance up at Taehyung, to see his eyes wide underneath a furrowed brow. "Yoongi, are you so blind that you can't see?"

"See what?"

Taehyung places a hand on his, the action sending Yoongi's heart into overdrive. "I have yearned for this moment for so long but never did I think this would be what would leave your mouth." 

He frowns across at Taehyung, his response bewildering him completely. How could it not be obvious what Yoongi means?

"Why, I'm just being honest?" 

He shakes his head in dismay. "No you are not. It should be me saying that, not you. You know, I have felt for you for so long but I never spoke up because how could you be interested in me?"

Yoongi's mind stops. A laugh echoes in his head and turns manic. What is this guy on? Is this some kind of joke him and Jimin have orchestrated?

"Yoongi, you're so driven and hardworking and mature. Meanwhile, I'm still trying to figure out what I want to do with my life, while eating cereal out the box and drinking milk from the carton, which I know you hate." Taehyung smiles apologetically, the sight melts his insides into a puddle of liquid love. Who needs organs anyway when he's looking at him that way?

"I feel like I'm such a mess compared to you. You're so put together and I'm just drifting along."

The sadness in his eyes haunts Yoongi and hurts his heart. How dare he think this about himself?

"Hey, hey," he tugs Taehyung's hand towards him until he meets his eyes again. "Don't talk about yourself like that. You're smart and have a long list of talents, once you know what you want to do, they'll be no stopping you. You can achieve great things, I know it."

"You always see the good in me Yoongi, thank you."

"That's because there's so much to see." Yoongi replies.

"Not just in me." Taehyung raises an eyebrow at him and he scoffs again. "Don't do that." He scolds.

Yoongi can't help the laugh that escapes him and Taehyung joins in.

"So, you kinda like me huh?" He teases.

Yoongi tries to fight the smile that pulls at his mouth but fails. "Kinda." 

Taehyung beams at him, grabbing him by the collar and pulling Yoongi against him. 

Their lips crash together in a moment Yoongi has only dreamt about numerous times. It's everything he thought it would be, Taehyung's soft velvety lips moulding against Yoongi's as if they fit perfectly, as if they should have been there all along. 

The smaller man winds his arms around the taller man's neck and pulls him further to him.

Their mouths dance passionately until they're both gasping for breath and have to break away for air.

"Wow, I should have taken charge ages ago." Taehyung says, eyes sparkling with mischief as his blown out pupils pierce into Yoongi's.

"Let's get something straight, Tae, that conversation is the only time you'll be taking charge." His hand squeezes Taehyung's leg as he watches his teeth rake over his bottom lip, the sight both mesmerising and torturing.

Taehyung leans forward and whispers in his ear, "make me yours, Yoongi."

He needs no other words as he stands and leaves the bar, pulling Taehyung along with him. Ready to live out his fantasy and his life with the man he's desired for so long.

[inosukeslefttoe]

girl.... omg.... this game rlly means it when it says itll show me the ultimate despair....

so my first fav character was sayaka right,,, and then it was mondo,,, WHICH ISNT TOO GREAT FOR ME LMAO ALL MY FRIENDS HAVE SUCH TRAGIC FATES THIS GAME IS FULL OF TRAGEDY BUT ITS SO FUCKING WELL DONE AND IM EVEN MORE OBSESSED NOW (was low key scared id actually get depressed bc of this since i tend to get rlly attached to things like this,, and yeah i miss mondo like hell but ITS IN SUCH AN EXHILARATING WAY YKNOW AND I CANT WAIT TO KEEP PLAYING THE GAME)

but lmao i just wanna scream about all the little things that made this part of the game even more tragic,,, so first of all is like,, how similar mondo and chihiro are right ?? like at first you see them and ur like “wow these two are lowkey polar opposites bc mondo big tough violent outspoken scary man while chihiro is tiny passive inferiority complex timid man” but after hearing both of their stories, you can tell that they both suffer from the same things and have the same goal. they both have terrible inferiority complexes, they just deal with them differently: chihiro kinda gave into it and ran away from it by deciding to hide his true self behind something he saw as “weaker” than him and letting that become a part of his identity out of fear that he was too weak to try and change/fight it. Mondo on the other hand overcompensated big time for it and became the ultimate manly man when inside he felt nothing but weak and guilt. also like,, a few times mondo mentioned that hes rlly bad with emotions right and he handles them through anger and violence so,,, this means that whenever he has these negative feelings towards himself he has no healthy way to let them out and just keeps pushing them down and trying to maintin this facade of a strong man and never letting anyone know that hes “weak” but this just ends up as a big ball of negativity and adds to his “weakness”...and like... bro chihiro and mondo couldve grown so much stronger together bc they suffer from the same things but could learn how to deal with it better together and balance each other out.... but mondo acted so quickly and violently and did something he couldnt undo which just added to his self hatred and YKNOW ALSO KILLED THE MOST PURE HEARTED STRONGEST PERSON IN HERE BUT AT THE SAME TIME MAKES IT HARD FOR YOU TO BLAME MONDO AND HATE HIM FOR IT BUT UGH THERES JUST SO MANY LAYERS AND ITS SO EMOTIONAL

next.... as you can tell by the gif.... IS MONDOS RELATIONSHIP WITH TAKA... ill prolly make a post screaming abt how much i love them later lmao but like... god what hurt the most for me personally during this bit wasnt that my favorite boy died/had a whole tragic story.... but that his best friend had to go through such betrayal and such loss. like... not only did taka have to see this side of mondo that mondo was desperately trying to hide and find out that his best friend had broken everything he stood for and yknow,,, feel the ultimate sense of betrayal, but he also had to see his best friend brutally killed in front of him. like,, holy shit man mondo was straight up confessing but taka... TAKA REFUSED TO BELIEVE IT AFTER ALL THIS EVIDENCE AND THAT HIT SO MUCH HARDER THAN LEONS DEATH AND THE LIL RHYTHM MINI GAME THING bc in leons case he was like “it was self defense !! i had to !! its not my fault !!” after murdering someone,, but in this case,,,, mondo admitted to it but it was his Bro who refused to accept it and was fighting tooth and nail to save his best friend. AND LIKE,, TAKA IS THE ULT MORAL COMPASS RIGHT ?? AND HE STRAIGHT UP HAD TO KNOW IT WAS MONDO,, AND THAT BREAKS LITERALLY EVERY RULE ON ANY MORAL COMPASS,,, BUT TAKA STILL FOUGHT FOR HIM WITH EVERYTHING HE HAD..... also i noticed taka cursing and that seemed so ooc but so utterly heartbreaking.... and i love how they added extra drama in the game by having the va violently scream in agony for taka like.... talk about despair lmao. omg and my brother is watching the anime right and he was like lol you should watch the scene from it too if you wanna be more sad.... AND OH GOD HE WAS RIGHT... the fact that taka resorted to some violence by grabbing mondo aggressively and shaking him and yelling ... and the fact that he was like “why did you kill him make me understand” kinda thing and mondo couldnt even look at taka or say anything.... BUT EVEN WITH THAT,,, TAKA STILL COULDNT BEAR HIS FRIEND BEING KILLED AND BEGGED MONOKUMA TO KILL H I M INSTEAD ??? GOD MY HEART CANT FUCKING HANDLE THAT. LIKE THAT BOND THEY HAVE BRO AND HOW MONDO SEVERED IT AND HOW TAKA WAS NOT GONNA LET IT BE BROKEN THAT EASILY AND HHHHHH IM . SO . SAD. but seriously... that was a whole new level of despair imo for this game to add such a beautiful relationship between these two and have it end so tragically by taka, the moral compass, dropping his morals and refusing to see the facts in front of him and still ready to die for his bro.... also the whole “make me understand” line kinda just... he couldnt even condemn mondo for it, he wanted to know his reasonings so he could know that his friend wasnt a bad guy and couldnt die yknow...

HAHA I GOT ALL SAD AGAIN WRITING THIS DUDE BUT ITS JUST SO GOOD HOW COULD I NOT MAKE A POST YOU FEEL ?? im so hyped to start chapter three tomorrow but i swear if it gets any sadder it might actually affect my mood and ill have to take a break... but i think that the death of my fav + the relationship doomed to despair is quite a high level to beat for me personally since i always find things to be more sorrowful when it has anything to do with human connections like that lmao

1/2/21

[greytoiletpaper]

Out on Allen Street, it’s 7 in the Morning

Set in the same-ish Street Siblings universe as First Contact by @cryptids-and-muses and @a-sketchy-character @streetsiblings (they’re awesome), I present my own built-on concept. It’s a bit angstier but sue me I’m an angst ball

AO3 | Deluge

Chapter 1: Drizzle

Jason Todd loved the rain. He remembered it pattering on the roof as he dozed off into the night, curled up with Sparky. Times spent splashing in puddles. Drawing a rare smile from Catherine as bright as the morning sun. Days without Willis, his head stuck in a worn copy of Huckleberry Finn and the ambience set only by the rain as it tracked ran down the window he leant on.

It was raining when Jason woke to his mother’s lax corpse, ears drowning out every sound except the rain’s as it plinked in time with the droplets that dripped down her arm.

--

In front of her, Faizul’s corpse is still. So still that Cassandra Cain can almost block out how the man’s body only radiated pain and fear and agony so strong-and-she-did-that-with-her-hands-her-hands-so-red-and-.

But she can’t, her head is still drowning in the memory, and all she can think about is the fear emptiness that settles in her body. Her gift to understand movement as if it were a language, she learns, is nothing more than a curse when Death comes by her hand. She wrings her red fist, as tainted as her soul because of what she had done. She looks away.

Father David has his arms outstretched, a smile so sharp and so bright that if he were any other man, she would have thought he was proud. He is, but underneath, Cassandra can see nothing but sick and profound glee at what she can do. The decision is easy.

As Cassandra springs out the window, its hinges blew wide open, her father David keeled over, the sky crackles and runs with the long red rivulets off her arms.

--

Now, five months later, Jason ducks his head under the fire escape in an empty alley, the rain in a duet with the nightlife of Gotham. He allows himself some respite as it steadily washes the grime off his surroundings, a pleasant ratatatata above the ambient din that is the dark of Gotham. He is so tired, but he’ll have to move soon if he wants to stay out of sight of kidnappers and killers and whatever else haunts the shadows of Gotham.

A howl slices through the Gotham night as some mug gets his face slammed into a wall. Jason knows this because he can see it right now as the same mook gets decked by a – a girl. Anyone on the streets knows that girls can hold their own but seeing some thirty-something-year-old man get his ass handed to him by a pixie of a girl – he thinks she’s his age, somehow – is something else. Seriously, the guy looks terrified out of his mind as he runs with his tail between his legs after a particularly nasty hit to his crotch.

As if sensing his gaze, the girl snaps her head to him, locking him in place.

“Uh… Hi?” Jason raises his hand in an awkward wave which the girl mimics, albeit a bit stilted, her head on a tilt. The silence between the two of them stretches until the girl seems to see something in him and nods. Out of ideas, Jason digs around his bag and produces a fresh enough apple.

“I’m Jason.” He points to himself.

A beat, and then the girl repeats the gesture.

“Cuh, cuh, cuh,” She struggles with the words, her forehead pinched. “Cuh, ah, ssss.”

“Cass?” The girl nods again, this time rigorously. Unsure of himself, Jason raises the apple to her. “Well, nice to meet you, Cass. You hungry?”

Cass grins, her eyes twinkling as she bites into the apple. Around them, the rain lessens. Just a little.

--

She watches two of her most precious children draw closer, children who will laugh and cry and burn for her love. Gotham watches them come, raises her arms, and weeps with her joy.

“Jason and Cassandra against the world,” Is what Gotham would have said if she had a voice. For years, the city is content to watch her children. She observes Jason and Cassandra as they starve, as they fight, as they grow. On one night, the weather nothing but pluvial, she witnesses them come across the strange car in the alleyway owned by her first child. On that night, she watches as the Dark Knight comes across her most perfect pair of children.

--

“Cassandra,” She looks up at the man they had been living under for the past two months, Bruce. She makes no answer, only staring blankly at him–they were betting on seeing how long it took for the man to get uncomfortable when she does that–who stares back. He continues as if they had not been staring for a full minute, which is not to Cass’ benefit. “Do you know where Jason is?”

Cass, willing to keep trying, keeps her gaze unrepentant. Under her scrutiny, the Dark Knight’s demeanour finally cracks a little. Internally, Cass is ecstatic, but she still really wants to milk it as she keeps up the act.

“Someone call for me?” Jay comes down the stairs. Finally, Cass can break her façade.

“Good morning, slob.” The slob, honest to god, freezes.

“No,” He grinds out of his teeth.

“Yes,” Cass gives him a crooked smile. “slob.”

“Am I missing something here?” Bruce is frowning. Oh right, he was ignorant to their scheme.

“Slob,” Cass repeats with feeling and delights at Jay’s fuming. “S-L-O-B. It means Stupid-Loser-Of-Bets,” She looks Jay dead in the eye again and calls him by the name.

Bruce frowned even further (his body projects such honest confusion that Cass almost laughs). “I was not aware you two had made a bet.”

“A bet I lost because of you, old man!” Jay pipes up, suddenly fuming at Bruce. “You’re Batman, and you can’t even keep from cracking when some girl stares at you for longer than a minute?”

Cass does not hold in her laughter anymore, something she broadcasts to all gathered. Bruce sighs, but at least he waits for her to calm down before he gets to his point.

“Regardless… I need you two to come with me to my office,” As the man leaves, the two share a glance.

“You gonna go after him?”

“You first, slob,” Jay grumbles the entire way to the office, where Bruce waves them in.

For a few seconds, the man awkwardly shifts before he pulls a sheaf of papers from behind his desk.

“I… I quite enjoy having the two of you here. With me,” Bruce admits, looking both of them in the eyes. He takes a deep breath. “I do not want to force this on either of you, but I would love to have you here with me for longer.”

“Permanently, even.”

Bruce lays out the papers on the desk, ‘Adoption Applications’ printed at the top. The letters draw a sharp breath from Jay, and Cass is confident enough with reading to understand what it means.

“Yes,” They both say immediately, and Bruce’s face goes softer than either have ever seen it.

When he asks for their surnames, Cass thinks about saying Cain. Instead, she says Todd.

Shyly, her russet orbs meet his azure ones expecting anger, but everything about Jason only projects love and acceptance. Her grin, something she had not got right yet, is almost identical to the one her brother wears.

“Always wanted a sister. Can’t do much better than you, eh, Cass?”

“Yes Jay,” she pauses. “slob.”

Outside, the sky is open in a light drizzle.

--

If there is anyone in the Waynes that Jason thinks is his favourite, it would be Alfred. An opinion he thinks Cass would be hard-pressed to disagree with. Of course, Cass is still in awe about the fact that Bruce Wayne is Batman (and isn’t that just fucking crazy), so it’s understandable. Conversely, Jason still remembers his first memory of the butler, a kind smile and welcoming arms that promised care for both of them.

“Master Jason,” The boy had looked up to see a crinkle in Alfred’s eyes that he had only ever seen from Catherine. The butler continued, somehow even softer than his usual. “Would you like me to fix that for you?”

Alfred gestured to Jason’s battered copy of Huckleberry Finn that he had cradled self-consciously to his chest. He refused, unsure why the butler seemed to be delighted to see Jason in the way only Cass and his Mom did. But there is something so trustworthy about the man that part of Jason is sure Alfred would do things like that no matter what he asked. So, automatic favourite.

--

Their older brother, Dick (“Aptly nicknamed,” Jay mutters under his breath.), yells whenever he comes to the manor. Most of his visits tend to cycle between him screaming at Bruce or yelling about them. He does make an effort to be a little quieter when he’s talking about the latter. Although, he still looks at Jay with an indecipherable mixture of emotions in his eyes. A pool caught between anger and something unknown to them. It’s not something that upsets Cass, but it puts both of them off, nonetheless.

On the other hand, Barbara is a little more forward in her dislike of the new kids. More often than not, her ire seems aimed at Cass specifically. Privately, Cass thinks Barbara was still angry about Bruce taking her role as Batgirl and giving it to Cass. But, she can see how every time the older girl gets less hostile, another part of her body was long past the role anyway. So, she doesn’t hold it against Oracle.

--

“C’mon Cass, repeat after me,” Jason waves the pages in Cass’ face, which elicits a giggle from his sister. Her giggling unbalances the both of them, so they have to waste another couple of minutes to make themselves comfortable again.

“What’s the use you learning to do right when it’s troublesome to do right and ain’t no trouble to do wrong, and the wages is just the same?”

Cass repeats the words, but she struggles at ‘troublesome’, so Jason repeats it for her. Silence, and then.

“What mean?” He thinks she isn’t asking about the word.

“Well, Mom used to say that it was just that. It might be harder to do the right thing, but it’d be better since you at least did it properly,” Satisfied, his sister merely nods and tries the words again. This time, she only takes three tries until she gets ‘troublesome’ right.

“I think she would have liked you,” He murmurs between phrases and instantly regrets it when Cass’ head turns to him so sharply she jostles him. He is about to brush it off when she nods her head shyly, snuggling closer to Jason.

He thinks, as they keep reading, that things are going to turn out alright. He has Robin now, and Robin gives him magic. Not only that but he’s also got Cass as Batgirl. Sure, she has that weird stitch mask covering her face, but it’s so fitting that he cannot imagine Cass with any other kind of costume. He knows her, and she knows him. For years she has been the sister he never knew he needed.

Together, Jason muses, they’re going to shake the whole damn world.

--

Whether they're from the Justice League or otherwise, everyone is always ready with a snide comment directed towards them. Or, more specifically, Jason. They use words and insults that don’t make sense to her, but she can see them affect her brother. When she asks, all he does is brush her off with lies and platitudes that they both know are fake. It isn’t until Troia huffs and says something that has waves of hurt rolling off Jason’s body that Cass decides she’s had enough.

“Honestly, I can’t believe you’d think you’d ever be like – ow!” Troia, poise flooded with nothing but condescension (she’s too angry to be elated at remembering a word Jason taught her) that Cass quickly corrects with a sharp jab. Like a deer in headlights, she turns and somehow has the gall to look indignant (another word). “Who did – Batgirl?”

“What, are you doing?” Troia fucking blinks. “Why are you treating my brother like this?”

She doesn’t even look guilty.

“Oh, don’t worry about all that. I don’t think it’s anything you’d understand anyway,”

She bends down towards her, apparently not noticing how still she is. Anyone who knows anything about Cassandra Todd knows her stillness means Death. Evidently, Troia is an exception. She's the only one in the room that's relaxed.

“Some people are simply born for this role. No street rat can ever hope to achieve that.”

Cassandra moves before anyone even blinks, her arms a flurry of jabs and punches and vicious kicks as she catches Troia off guard. Even when she finally regains her footing, the Amazon doesn't stand a sliver of a chance as Cassandra lays into her.

A block from Troia awards a savage stomp on her shin. A punch ducked under and followed through into a sequence of blows to the Amazon’s chest. When Troia grips her lasso and tries to restrain Cassandra, the girl only slinks her way past and wrestles it from her hands. Quickly and efficiently, she wraps it around the Amazon’s waist and pulls. For someone so small, Cassandra manages to lift Troia with the lasso with enough strength that when she releases it, the Amazon goes flying into a pillar in the Watchtower with a sharp crack.

Cass picks up her brother and shields him from the Leaguers, indifferent to their shocked and judgemental eyes.

The message is clear.

Even though they’re lost in a veritable sea of people, it still ends up being just the two of them, and Cass is more than okay with that.

Next chapter

[crystalirises]

The Duel You Wove Into His Destiny

Not me writing Pet War angst. Why am I here---

But yes. Pet War angst.

TW:  Character Death and a Sexual Joke (A. Joke. It. Is. Not. Meant. To. Be. Taken. Seriously.)

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886223/chapters/76402061

He’d stolen his father’s bow, a discarded relic of a war that he’d swore was not yet won. His hands trembled, throat dry with the fear of what was to come. Tubbo eyed him from the sideline, a concerned frown etched upon his younger uncle’s face. Tubbo had wanted to call for Wilbur, wished for the conflict to end in a peaceful resolve but he would not have it. His father hadn’t even noticed his cries in the middle of the night and he certainly would not have cared for what he was about to do. His hand found its way to his chest, tracing the life scar of a death that was still too fresh on his mind. He looked down at his fingertips, the marks of fire marring his hands from a death of explosion and heat. They did not know, no one knew for how could he have ever told his father? If he were to say what had been done, he’d never have been allowed to leave the walls ever again. He’d rather die free than stay stuck inside those horrid blackstone walls.

“Scared? All you have to do is apologize and maybe I’ll let you go back home to daddy.”

His attention snapped forward, teeth raising in a snarl. Sapnap had made his way to Fundy’s side of the field, an old bow resting on his shoulder. The arsonist flashed him a toothy grin, twirling the arrow in his hand. Fundy would not be intimidated. He couldn’t be. Sapnap leaned closer, his smug face inches from his own that Fundy had to restrain himself from reaching and clawing.

“Fuck you.” It was not eloquent, not even an insult. He could not bring himself to speak any longer, not if it meant having to prolong the agony of what was to happen. A smirk found its way to the arsonist’s face, this close, Fundy could see the mirth amusement in his eyes. This was a man who could care less for the hearts of others, he’d already displayed that when he had gone out of his way to kill Fungi. He would not lie, he knew he was also in the wrong for provoking the man into a fight. He should have just ignored the burning rage in his chest, and then perhaps he’d move on and be the bigger man in the situation. But Fundy couldn’t let it go. He wouldn’t.

“I know I’m good looking but you’re not my type.” Disgust raced through his veins at the thought of even一 Sapnap mockingly patted his cheek before heading back to his place, a relaxed stride in his step as though he already knew what the outcome would be. Fundy hated him. He hated how he could be so confident and so free. In another time he might have even been in awe of him, but now was not that time. “Take me out to dinner first, babe! Then we can fuck.”

His tail bristled, his cheeks turning a furious red at the callousness and teasing that he was being subjected to. Tubbo glanced over at him, eyes wide with surprise but his uncle could do nothing. After all, he was invited to be a referee. He could not step in to help Fundy, lest he showed a clear bias. Fundy forced a smile on his face, knowing that he had to give Tubbo some form of encouragement, especially since… He held the bow tighter in his hand. He would not think it. He took a shaky breath before stepping forward, Sapnap having already made his way to the center. They stood there, gazes baring into each other’s eyes. Fundy’s eyes glinting with righteous fury and Sapnap’s showing a flash of dull boredom. Fundy hated him, he really really hated him.

“Gentlemen, please turn around.” Tubbo’s voice rang through the still silence, and Fundy quickly turned on his heel. “I shall count to ten, with each number both of you must take a step forward.”

He took a deep breath. “On the count of ten, both of you must shoot… I shall begin.” Tubbo began to count, his feet moving on their own as he notched his arrow into his father’s bow. He had to be ready. He needed to be. He kept his gaze forward, his heart hammering inside his chest.

His fingers trembled. Could he do it? Could he really shoot a man? Would that mean justice for Fungi or was it merely petty revenge? He hadn’t been kind himself in this war, knowing that he had committed his own share of crimes. He hesitated at the seventh count, clear clarity flooding into his mind for what felt like weeks of nothing but sheer anger. He glanced down at his hands, his scarred hands that have felt the warmth of blood. He had killed in this war, he had killed in the first war too. He wasn’t innocent, and in this duel, he won’t be a hero for winning. He’d just be… the victor. And he’d gain nothing but a momentary feeling of triumph and justice…

But was it justice when they’d both already taken so much from the other? He knew it would be cheating, but he casted a look back. Sapnap was a few feet away, but there was a visible tenseness in his shoulders now, the mockingly nonchalant pace that he once had was gone. Fundy looked away, the ninth count ringing in his ears. He was trembling. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. He took a shaky breath, recalling a story his father had once told him. He knew how the story ended, but he wasn’t going to take a life today despite… He smiled, feeling the sting of tears in his eyes. He couldn’t do it. He steadied his hold on his bow, closing his eyes as he imagined a better place. He saw his mother on the other side. He saw Fungi on the other side. He heard the tenth count. He took a final breath, and aimed his arrow to the sky.

---

“Tubbo! Good to see you, is there any reason why you’ve come to visit?” Wilbur glanced up from his paperwork, smiling at the blonde who stood before him. Tubbo didn’t meet his gaze.

“Wilbur, I…” Tubbo fidgeted in his place. Wilbur took the time to put his full attention on his brother, gasping at the sight of blood on the blonde’s shirt and fingertips. A flicker of pain danced in Tubbo’s light blue eyes. “I’m so sorry, Wilbur. No one knew. We thought一”

“Tubbo, calm. Breath, alright? What do you want to tell me?”

Tubbo glanced up, tears in his eyes. “A-as of this afternoon, Fundy Soot was shot d-dead by Sapnap in a duel for The Pet War… Wilbur, Fundy was on his last life. We don’t know how一”

There was a harrowing and suffocating silence that pursued after.

“Wilbur?” He barely heard Tubbo’s voice, his mind going completely numb at the proclamation. He swallowed, forcing himself to breath. Tubbo was looking at him, unsure of what to do and clearly looking for advice. Wilbur didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure if he could bring himself to without crumbling into tears. Tubbo tried to reach a hand for him, but he moved away, hands rising to hold his head. The ringing in his ears refused to stop. “Wilbur, what do we do一”

“Get out.” He sunk into his seat, face pressed into his hands. He couldn’t deal with the presence of another being right now. He could hear Tubbo hesitate, but after a moment, he heard the door to his office close with a soft click. Wilbur was left alone in the silence of his office. He fingers curling into his hair as he pulled at them in frustration. His heart felt like it was breaking.

A hand reached out, scrabbling at his desk until his fingers gripped the edge of a small picture frame. He pulled it closer to himself, eyes focusing on the nearly faded picture. His own face stared up at him - his past self still wearing the yellow sweater that Wilbur wasn’t sure where he’d last left it. He looked much younger in the picture, a man who couldn’t have thought that he’d one day be the president of a country he himself had founded. Oh, to live in ignorant bliss…

He looked over at the small kid that his past self carried in his arms, the little fox hybrid smiling brightly at the camera as his tail smacked right onto Wilbur’s chin. He chuckled, laughing until his joy turned into tears wailing and tears. He pressed his head against the top of his desk, the weight of what had happened finally hitting him with full force. His son was gone. He was dead.

His heart was crumbling into shards, but he couldn’t bring himself to fall apart. He had a country to run… that didn’t mean anything anymore. He screamed, burning anger mixing with the pain.

“Fundy… oh gods… Fundy!”

When was the last time he’d spoken to his son? When was the last time he’d even seen his son? He trembled, trying to remember. He couldn’t remember. WHY COULDN’T HE FUCKING REMEMBER?! Did he say goodbye before he had left for the office? Had he ruffled his son’s hair on his way out? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember. Wilbur couldn’t remember.

Duel… why hadn’t he known about the duel?

Had his son told him and he hadn’t been paying attention? Wilbur shook, terrified at the thought that he could have prevented his son’s death if he had just looked after Fundy more closely.

He didn’t know, all he knew was that his little champion was dead.

He stood up, tucking the picture frame into his pocket.

He had a funeral to plan.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

uh oh not the time for this pet war angst ;-; 

Anyway, explanation: Fundy lost his first life in the final control room, and he lost his second life during the explosion that followed soon after. AKA, I just wanted a way to kill off Fundy in the Pet War because of the whole ‘Philip’ shtick and how Fundy had to die in a duel. So... yeah... bye...

[justanotheronechicagofan]

Previous Chapter 

10. Elephants 

series summary - Will the Halstead brothers be able to reconnect with their sister after 5 years? chapter summary - the Halstead reunion continues Madeline Halstead (oc), Will Halstead, Jay Halstead, Mouse [mentioned]  TW - pregnancy related death 

series masterlist  | main masterlist

Madeline basked in the warmth, feeling her roots revitalising as their chatter enveloped her, a sense of tribe, a much missed shield. Still, It seeped in corroding the cocoon.

It. An unwanted guest - never leaving, always looming. Ready to creep, sprinkling in doubt, threatening to ruin… well, anything. They won’t like them. A decorated hero turned detective and a doctor. They like boxes, they like lines, they like nor-

“Babe, just tell them already!” she could hear Jess’ laughter. Angelic against Its coils.“You’ve got this! They all love them, what’s different this time?”

But what if they don’t Jess? What if they lea-

"-addie, you okay?"

"Yeah, sorry" The brothers watched Madeline flash a smile. They didn't miss her tenseness, the way she clasped her trembling hands onto her teacup. The siblings were glad at the more smoother than expected reunion but they all knew of the certain elephants they couldn’t ignore. They decided to ride out the silence. 

Finally, she broke the quiet. “I uh- I need to tell you guys something. Something important” That phrase paired with her expression would have warranted teasing from the brothers followed by Madeline's bursts of laughter. Something related to getting seconds of ice cream or wanting a second dog perhaps. But this wasn't 5 years ago. 

Madeline bore into them, searching as if their eyes laid a hint of what their reactions would be. Both brothers tried for a reassuring smile, hoping to pass this sudden test she had put them on. Jay hadn't felt this level of nervousness, if ever - which was saying something considering he sat across from _the worst _of what Chicago had to offer everyday - he felt as if she didn't like what she found, there would be another five years lost. 

When she seemed satisfied, Madeline spoke, “Jay- you’ve met but uh I don’t think I introduced him. Not officially anyway. And Will, you haven’t met yet but,” she took a deep breath and beamed, “I have a son. His name is Nathan, Nate … He’s 3 and I love him, more than anything in the world. I know- sounds corny but it’s true” Her expression was undeniable.

Will was elated. He had heard from Jay that night when the detective had stumbled into his apartment - “Will, she was right there. And there’s this kid, the cutest kid man. He called her mama… Fuck - Will, she had a kid and we weren’t there” - still, he could count the times he had been this happy. The brothers knew that after half a decade apart, it would be a gamble if their little sister would want them to be in her life let alone her family’s. Will hoped that her telling them was a good sign - maybe some sort of invitation that would lead to him becoming an uncle… He realised he had just been sitting there - smiling like an idiot - and rushed to congratulate but was stopped by Madeline's shake of her head.

"Please. J-just let me- I need to tell you this" Madeline breathed out, her eyes dripping with something they couldn't quite place. 

Jay recognised the mint green envelope that she pulled out of her purse. She opened it and laid out a photograph on the table, her movements so careful as if the slightest jolt would would make it evaporate. 

They immediately recognised Madeline - younger and thinner - sat on a sofa, mid laughter with a young woman in the middle. The woman reflecting Madeline (who Jay guessed was in her early 20's at most) had blonde hair, glowing skin and a growing bump to match. She was snuggled against a similarly aged man with dark brown skin who lovingly gazed at her as he held her close.

"Danny took this one, it's one of my favourites," her eyes crinkled at the memory. "That's Ty and Jess - they're family y'know. Really helped me out" 

Jay recognised that look even through her misting eyes - it was one he had seen many times before - the look Nadia and Erin had when they had talked about each other. 

Madeline continued, "Jess and I - we were so close, like sisters. And people used to think we were cause of our eyes," she shared a wistful smile, pausing as her baby pink nails traced the edges of the photograph. 

Jay furrowed his eyebrows at the past tense - were they no longer friends? did this 'Ty' have something to do with it? had this ‘Jess’ just upped and left? 

When she looked up, her eyes were filled with pride, "Nate ... he was a preemie, nearly 2 months early. But healthy considering - 4 lbs, 6oz." 

A smile touched the brothers' eyes as they imagined their little sister, a part of that precious moment. But it faded away at her features starting to cloud. 

"But Jess-," Madeline started as if on rote, her agony seeping through her blankness, "-she had complications and they took her for an emergency c section-” 

Jay recognised that look as she trailed off. It was one he was all too familiar with - the one he couldn’t hide. Hoping to be the anchor Will and now Hailey were, Jay shifted closer to her where she was fiddling with her bracelet.  

Madeline jerked, blinking herself back to the banquette. She took a shaky breath and continued, "Before they took her, I was so scared y’know?” Jay couldn’t take his little sister’s gaze as it crushed his spirit.

Her eyes empty, she shared a hollow laugh, “But she was laughing … told me to chill out, that she'd be back with Nate before I knew it-” She braved a tight smile, hoping to smother the pain. Knowing it never did. It didn’t matter that every syllable had been rehearsed, imprinted in her mind - Madeline always wished she could pause at Jess, beaming before they wheeled her away, before they- 

The brothers held a breath as they realised where this was heading. Will had seen one too many of these cases even working in the ED. The ones where what should be a happy occasion would turn into one of much grief - the ones where more often than not, they couldn’t give answers. 

“They said she lost too much blood- t-that there was nothing they could do.”

“Jess- she never got to hold him” 

They saw the blame laced with confusion. The waves of emotions she had fought to surf, the numbers of tears she had shed, the days she had clung onto to arrive at this exact place with her grief. They saw it all. They knew the power of the nightmare those two sentences held. It was too great. 

Will found himself thanking God in that moment. He didn’t know what to feel about that. Or in fact any of it. Guilty for being thankful that it had been the friend that was struck with the ultimate misfortune? Or was it because he let this happen to her, his little sister in the first place? Maybe it was both. Or was it relief? None of that changes anything. He could hear in the back of his mind. None of that changes the fact that you failed her.

Jay didn’t know what to say. Having done one too many notifications and witnessed the tragedy that came with the job, he knew. That no apology would be enough. Probably better than none though he thought. But everything about one just sounded phoney. Because in the end, it wouldn’t change the fact that he hadn’t been there. That he had failed her. All he could bring himself to say was,

“What’s he like?” 

“Nate? He has Ty’s eyes y’know. So Much life in them. And he has this laugh … you have to hear him, it’s just like Jess’ - it lightens everything. Oh and he’s silly and hilarious, just like his Dad … has the biggest heart … he’s just amazing.” 

You have to meet him, I want you to. She wanted to say. Madeline didn’t know why she felt as if she had to make an appeal of Nate. You’ve done this before - why all this now? she thought. But she knew, that this was different. Because this was Jay and Will. 

As he listened to Madeline beam about her son, Jay couldn’t help but replay the all too short meeting he had at her porch that day. And before he could swallow it back, it slipped out, 

“Can we meet him?” Shit. That was way too soon. 

But his growing doubt came to a halt as soon as Madeline’s features lit up. “Y-Yeah? For real? You want to?” 

“Maddie, heck yeah! Of course we do” The brothers’ reply didn’t do justice for how truly, undeniably happy they were. 

See? Told ya Madeline heard Jess’ smile. She breathed again,_ It_ silenced. Madeline couldn’t put a word to it but it felt great, something like relief and ecstasy rolled into one. But she wasn’t done yet. She still had another brother to ask about … 

"And Mousey?” 

Will gave a cautious glance, knowing how much it hurt his little brother to see his best friend go. 

Jay chuckled at that nickname. He hadn’t heard that one in a while, “He went back about 2 years ago, comms specialist”

“Really?" 

“Mmhh. Do you remember the sergeant we used to tell you about? Well, he put a unit together and he reached out to Mouse” Jay smiled, proud. 

With the same admiration as when she was little, Madeline spoke, “Seriously? That’s awesome! That unit’s lucky they have him. And … he’s okay?” Will noticed the look his younger siblings shared - he wondered if it had something to do with that one and only phone call he ever got from Pat while he was in New York. 

“Mads, He’s good, spoke to him about a month ago - I should probably call him again soon though” Tell him you’re finally home, safe. 

“Yeah? That’s great. Maybe I’ll join you, make it a surprise? Oh! And do you know his address? I want to send him something. Samoas and Cinnamon Crunch right? And jerky. Wait… or was that your thing?”

Jay smiled at her chatter, “No, he likes ‘em too Mads. And yeah, I’ll text you everything - Man, he is gonna freak out when he hears you.” He was surprised that Madeline had remembered those little details because even though the nightmares chased him, being overseas felt like another life ago. He guessed in a way it was. Will couldn’t help but feel a pang as he was reminded yet again of how his sister who was barely in school at the time knew more about Jay’s time with the Rangers than him. 

“Good. I missed him” she shared a sweet smile before it turned into a mischievous grin. “So?”

“Yes Madeline?” Will amused, raising his eyebrows. 

She huffed in return, “C’mon! All I know so far is that Jay’s a detective in a district with a nice sergeant and that you work in the Emergency Room in the same hospital as Connor which who kne-”

“Hang on ‘nice’? Which district did you go to?” Jay joked. There was one thing everyone agreed on at the 21st district - Trudy Platt although one of the best cops in the city, nice was not the first word that came to mind. 

“Yeah, Sergeant Platt” she stated as if it was the most obvious. 

“Pretty sure this is the first and last time I’ll ever hear Platt and nice in the same sentence - the less I have to interact with her the better.” Will dramatically shuddered before laughing with the others. 

“But seriously, stop avoiding my question.” Madeline mocked annoyance. 

Will jokingly put his hands up. “Alright, alright,” He straightened up and announced “Well Maddie, I have a girlfriend. Her name’s Natalie-”

“About damn time too. He’s been pining after her for how long? since you started there?" Jay smirked. 

“Ooooh. So she’s at Gaffney’s too? Is she a doctor? Or a nurse? What’s she like?” 

Will’s eyes crinkled at her curiosity. “Yeah, we work in the ED together - she’s a doctor too. Natalie’s great, I think you’ll like her. Hang on -” he paused, fumbling with his phone. “She can’t wait to meet you by the way.” He added before giving her his screen. 

It was a selfie taken in a park or maybe a garden. Will’s girlfriend ‘Natalie’ was white and had shoulder length brunette hair - there was something kind in her eyes as she laughed. Probably to one of Will’s Really Bad jokes… Madeline amused. She’s pretty … I’m loving that top, maybe I’ll ask her where it’s from. Madeline chuckled at her eldest brother’s grin as he held her close. There was only one word to describe his expression - Smitten. 

When she swiped to the next picture, she was pretty sure her heart stopped. It was probably taken a few seconds after the first one and everything else was the same except from one unmissable detail. Madeline zeroed in on the toddler now in Natalie’s arms. Crap, I waited too late. Did I miss becoming an aunt?! How old is he? Maybe like two? 

Will laughed at her shocked beyond belief expression. “You’re not an aunt just yet Tiny. He’s Natalie’s son but hoping that down the road y’know …” He trailed off, giving a lopsided smile. 

“You are SO in love with her” she teased before turning her attention to … “Jay?”

“Good luck” Will laughed. “Even if there is someone, he’s not sharing - Believe me Maddie, I’ve tried.” 

“Uh-huh. Like I believe that. C'mon there's no one?” She tried again, now putting the puppy eyes on max. 

“Nope.” Jay smiled and she couldn’t tell if he was lying - she never could to be honest. Damn his Ranger training. She was about to let it go but she saw Will raise his eyebrows and take a sip of his mug.

So there is someone she smirked. 

As he looked at the row of townhouses standing impressive against the dusking sky, Jay wondered what this place was to his little sister. He had barely resisted the urge to ask the whole less than 5 minute drive to this street. The not knowing was honestly killing him but he heard his partners voice, “She’ll come home Jay.” He smiled, hugging Madeline. Guess I’ll have to follow Hails on this one too.

Watching his younger siblings hugging, Will smiled. Our family’s back. Maybe he hadn’t let himself get there but it was clear to him now how much he had craved it. He squeezed her tight, feeling that missing part of his soul starting to be found. And as he watched her walk through the gate, he made a promise right there and then - He wasn’t going to let go. Not this time.

Walking up the stone steps, Madeline couldn’t hide her grin at her body full with that warm cozy feeling. That’s got to be one of the best days ever. Replaying bits of the long awaited catch up, she chuckled at Will calling her Tiny - a nickname she almost forgot about and hated when she had turned a teen - she now realised how much she missed it. 

The brothers drove back in silence for a while and when Jay heard Will say,

“She didn’t ask about Dad.”

He nodded and stared ahead. That was an elephant he was unwilling to touch. Not yet anyway. 

                                            💙✨🦋✨💙

A/N - The characters belong to Dick Wolf and are from the One Chicago universe he created. Thank you so much for reading! This chapter was really difficult for me to write and at one point I considered deleting the whole series but I kept at it and about 4 months later here we are ;) This one touched on a really heavy topic but I hope I was able to do it justice and that you enjoyed it. I’m still not sure how I feel about it but I think this is the best I can hope for in this chapter - let me know what you think 💗

[asthesamcroflies]

Hi I was wondering if you could write a story with Jax Teller. The reader is pregnant and goes into labor during a lockdown but she doesn’t tell anyone she’s in labor. Eventually Jax or Gemma or Lyla catch on but they won’t make it to the hospital so they have to deliver the baby in the clubhouse. I totally understand if you do not want to write this. Since it doesn’t follow what you are specifically asking. Thanks.

Thanks for the ask - happy to give it a go, so hope you enjoy! :)

Lockdown delivery

“You think I don’t know the timing’s shit? Of course, I know the timing’s shit!”

You could hear your old man’s voice rising angrily, even over the thrum of noise filling the crowded clubhouse. Not for the first time, Samcro had been forced into lockdown by an outside threat for the safety of its members and all those they held dear. Old ladies, kids, some extended family, close friends – all those who were considered at risk now seeking refuge within the clubhouse walls.

All the responsibility, more now than ever, of the club’s young president Jax Teller. Your old man.

It was a huge burden on his shoulders and, for all his usual confidence and authority, there was worry etched between his brows. You hated knowing you were a big factor in adding to that.

With a sigh, you let a hand rest lightly on the huge swell of your stomach. You had to admit you didn’t exactly need all this right now, not at just coming up on thirty-seven weeks pregnant and with the finishing touches still to be done on the nursery and so much still to organise.

You were exhausted and yet here you were, doing what you could to be of practical help and to show your support for your old man.

“Go lie down, baby – we can manage,” Gemma scolded yet again, on her way past with another armful of blankets to make their guests more comfortable. “You look worn out.”

“Thanks,” you managed, through gritted teeth, rolling your eyes at Gemma’s usual bluntness and too stubborn to be dismissed even if it was for your own good. “I’m fine…”

But you trailed off with a pained expression, your other hand going to the small of your back as the dull ache you couldn’t seem to shake only deepened.

“You good, doll?” Lyla stopped briefly in her tracks to check in, but she had her hands full too, trying to feed the impatient little kids who’d been voicing their needs loudly amid ongoing groans over being kept shut up inside, so she accepted your less-than-convincing nod more quickly than she otherwise might.

So left to your own devices again, you took a deep, steadying breath. Goddamn Braxton Hicks contractions. You’d been having them all damn day and… Really? Had it really been that long? Normally, they passed much quicker than that…

No. No, it couldn’t be. You had at least another three weeks to go – not to mention a lockdown to get through!

Maybe you would have that lie-down after all.

*****

“Jax?”

“What, mom?” the biker finally snapped, more sharply than he normally would, riled at having his attention diverted from a quick situation update from his grim-faced sergeant.

Gemma’s eyes narrowed in warning at his tone, but she let it slide, knowing full well the pressure on her son’s shoulders right now. And that she could well be about to add to it.

“Oh, nothing important,” she snarked nonetheless. “Just the small matter of your old lady. You know, the heavily pregnant one?”

That was enough to cut through Jax’s focus on the club and he was immediately on a red alert of a different kind. “What about her? She okay?” he demanded. “Where is she?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing… No one’s seen her in a while.”

“What?! Shit. Well, she can’t have left – no one’s left. Jesus, how do you lose a pregnant woman in here?” Jax bit out, raking a hand through his blond hair. “Sorry, Hap, I gotta go deal with this.”

*****

Gasping in pain, you tilted your head back against the seat, now regretting the seemingly bright idea of taking the weight off your feet in the rare peace of the big old car that had been left in for a service at TM before the shutters had been forced to come down. With every dorm room already full, it had seemed like the best chance of just sitting back and holding on until the pains you’d been experiencing had passed. And you had still been telling yourself they would pass. That there was no way you could be so unlucky as to be in labour in the middle of a lockdown.

Ha, if only that were true.

Trying to remember everything you’d been told about breathing, you couldn’t hold back a cry in response to a particularly strong contraction.

“Oh god, please not now…” you all but sobbed, realising that even if you called out for help, it was highly unlikely anyone back in the main clubhouse would hear you.

But just as panic was about to set it, you heard your old man’s voice calling your name, concern already obvious in his tone. And somehow you found the strength to respond.

“Jax, I’m here!”

“What the hell are you doing out here? I’ve—Oh, shit!”

As soon as you saw him staring at you, you could let your eyes close in relief, knowing at least you weren’t alone in this now.

“Now? Seriously?” he grimaced, before quickly realising that wasn’t exactly the reassurance you needed. “Hey, hey, easy now, darlin’. It’s gonna be okay. We can call an ambulance and see if--”

“I … I think it’s too late for that …” you managed, panting for breath. “I’m so sorry, Jax. I thought it was just Braxton Hicks and--”

You broke off with another cry of pain, making your old man wince in response.

“Fuck,” he swore. “Okay, two seconds, I swear – I’ll be two seconds.”

“Jackson!” you yelped. “Don’t leave me, you asshole!”

“Two seconds!” he hollered back, dashing towards the clubhouse, yelling for his vice president at the top of his lungs – literally turning on his heel and racing back to you as soon as he’d managed to get the attention of a startled Chibs and had the Scotsman running to catch up with him, convinced they were all mere moments from being blown sky-high. Again.

But Chibs skidded to a halt when he realised the truth of the situation, his eyes widening.

“Ah, Jesus Christ, Jacky – I’m no a fucking midwife, brother!” he declared in alarm.

But seeing you sobbing in pain as you caught your old man’s hand in a death grip, the VP crossed himself, kissed the rosary that hung around his neck and heaved a heavy sigh.

“Towels, hot water, and a bottle o’ whisky,” he ordered.

“She can’t drink in her condition,” Jax protested.

“The whisky’s fer me,” Chibs clarified.

*****

It was rare for the clubhouse to fall so quiet in the middle of a lockdown, but with word about what was going on having spread, a hush had fallen over all those now waiting for news – or at least a hush periodically broken by screams drifting through from the garage, making the mothers among those gathered exchange sympathetic, knowing looks, while even the most battle-hardened Sons could only cringe in something close to horror.

And in the backseat of that godforsaken car you’d sought refuge in, you no longer gave a shit who heard what as you struggled in agony, exhausted by your body’s efforts.

“I can’t, I just can’t,” you panted, your hair sweaty and falling in your flushed face. “Please, just make it stop.”

“I know, darlin’, I know,” Jax tried to soothe you, his hand still caught in your death grip, but his well-meaning words enough to make you round on him with renewed energy.

“Do you? Do you really, Jackson? Are you also pushing something the size of a watermelon out of your vagina, darlin’?” you snapped, your voice rising shrilly. “Oh my fucking god, someone just get this baby OUT OF ME!”

Chibs could only chuckle, looking at you over the top of his glasses as he patted your knee gently while your words turned into a roar as you pushed through yet another agonising contraction. “Atta girl. Come on now, lass – nearly there…”

“I can’t…”

“You can, baby,” Gemma coaxed, from where she was hovering anxiously in the background with an armful of towels. “And you’re damn well going to – I want to meet that grandbaby of mine!”

You could only grit your teeth at that, more than tempted to take out all your pain and discomfort on everyone around you, but starting to lack the energy for that. Just when you really did think you couldn’t take much more though, it was done.

And a small whimper turned into a full-throated cry.

“Welcome to the Reaper Crew, wee fella,” Chibs declared, shooting you and Jax a little grin, tears shining even in his brown eyes as he laid the tiny wriggling bundle in your arms.

“A son,” you whispered tearfully, trying not to cry, even as Jax blatantly wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, his arm curled protectively around your shoulders. “We have a son.”

“And he’s absolutely perfect,” your old man nodded, leaning in to kiss your damp forehead, his ringed fingers tenderly tracing your baby’s soft cheek. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

[decayandfanfics]

The great book of sayings

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x FemReader

SUMMARY: He looks at you, his scarlet eyes fixed on yours, burning a hole through your head, every bit the predator he is, but you are as tough as it gets, so, against your better judgment and any well-founded logic, you answer his silent threat, the animalistic look he gives you with nothing less than a fearless smirk, irises burrowing into his pupils.A clever girl. He thinks, finally labeling you inside his head, cursing himself in the very moment he allows his brain to think of you as more than an asset. He is sure (he knows himself enough to know) he’ll think of this moment many times from now on.A clever pretty girl.

Reader is a typical college student until she gets herself tangled with the league of villains.

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, violence, Tomura being Tomura, mentions of murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut later.

A/N: I’m trying so hard to write crusty boy here really in character. At least after AfO is taken. Any misspelled words, english is not my native language so i’m trying Helen.

___________________________________________________________

Chapter 8 / Chapter 9

You show me the man and I’ll show you the rule.

Tomura thinks he knows nothing about beauty, but then she proves him wrong.

(He thought her pretty before already, but after seen it…he concludes she’s the most beautiful, terrific thing he’s ever seen. Not that he would tell her that.)

A feral dangerous creature living inside of her with no other match.

No other but him.

Oh...you have no idea...She told him.

It happens so fast. One moment she’s there, sitting in front of her laptop, pretty and quiet and serene. All harmony and light, resting softly under the sunlight, between her dumb succulents and the spices that fill her home. Then he can hear Dabi’s caustic laugh and the wrong words. He’s disrespectful, an instigator, skilled in the art of making others lose their composure like is his favorite game.

He hears the foul words, the berating, and the mocking aimed to him, while she sits wide eyed and impossible flustered by the kitchen table.

Dabi smirks triumphant, like he always does after giving everyone a piece of his drama and Tomura watches him, wincing, reminding himself again that Dabi is supposedly oldest than him and Toga, and yet he does his best to being an annoying brat.

Tomura knows better to just let him bark, his remarks mean nothing to him, he knows what he is, and he knows what he isn’t. He’s a freak, yeah. That too, but he isn’t a child anymore, so he let it slide, keeping his eyes glued to his phone arching an inquisitive brow, ready to just let it die there.

He just forgot about the stupid little stunts of bravery she has this tendency to commit. (An annoying dangerous trait that makes him chuckle with something akin to fondness.)

She’s having none of the bullshit, Dabi’s little remarks had fed her up after a whole week of spiteful teasing, her precious patience has run thin.

“blue eyes are a mutation too, so you are no one to talk about it.”

The moment she opens her mouth, Tomura feels something warm filling the hollow place where his dead heart should go and it’s so foreign to him that for a moment he panics and thinks (very stupidly) that maybe his energy drink-based diet is finally going to kill him, and he (barely in his sweet twenty’s) is having a stupid heart attack.

But the pain never comes, it’s just her, voicing a clever answer, defending him.

“A quirkless little bitch? Seriously, Dabi? Where you raised in a fucking barn that you know nothing but fuck this and bitch that?

He wants to make her shut it, but he can’t find the words. Not when her remarks are sharp and funny to hear. (Besides, her voice sounds so sweet when she’s throwing smart ass angry comments just to back him up.)

It warms him and enrages him equally. How dare she to defend him? He can speak for himself on his own and doesn’t need her to make any back up about an insult he doesn’t care for. Stupid pretty woman. Trying to shut Dabi, putting herself in danger for the likes of him...Is she insane? (later that day, he’ll conclude that she must be pretty fucking nuts to have them all in her home after all, but somehow the thought only makes him like her more.)

“yeah. I know stupid cunt too.”

Dabi likes to cause havoc and now he’s pissed, so he throws a vulgarity aimed at her. Tomura feels the hot pang of anger at the other man, because the offense is not only an insult, but also a lie.  She’s not stupid nor a cunt. She's sharp as a knife and kind enough to share with them. 

“Dabi, cut it out.” He warns with a grimace, and now the fight has everyone tense in the room.

“I’m sure you do. Pretty useful to describe yourself I bet.” She snarls showing her teeth, an angry frown darkening her features and Tomura swears her eyes begin changing color.

“you sure like to bet, like how you are betting I don’t burn you alive for being an annoying bitch.”

This time Tomura gets fucking furious, something animal revolving inside of him at the idea of Dabi threatening her. But the fight is escalating so fast, he can’t say anything before she answers back.  

“Fuck off, Dabi. This might be shocking for you, but you don’t scare me.”

He wants to laugh at this, truly. Feisty little thing she is when angered, all her soft ways and nerd knowledge thrown out the window in a fit of cocky bickering and a part of him is living for the chaos of it.

“now, that’s pretty fucking stupid of you.”

“Dabi, shut up!” Tomura growls irked with the way her hair has begun to float over her shoulders, now completely convinced that she’s not quirkless at all.

“I’m not the one insulting everyone just because I cannot deal with some fucking daddy issues.”

God fucking dammit woman, just shut up. He thinks frustrated, giving her a look worth a stab.

“YOU DON’T KNOW SHIT” Dabi snarls before kicking the little table in the living room, breaking one of its legs with a loud crack.

“CUT IT OUT!” she screams this time, standing from her chair “I don’t have to know when it’s plainly obvious you have problems with authority.”

“you really think you are so clever, don’t you?” Dabi states, crossing the living room, aiming to her, so Tomura leaves his place in the corner to stand at her side without even thinking why.

“I know I am, asshole!”

Dabi stops his tracks, looming over her like a monster. His eyes scanning her face before looking at Tomura, who stands by her with his hands open in front of him in clear warning.

The black-haired man looks at her before moving to Tomura, his brows raised in surprise as he chuckles darkly.

Shigaraki hates the way he looks at him, like he knows his thoughts. Like he knows he’s been creeping into her room to watch her sleep and the sinister lustful visions that sometimes plague his dreams after some playful back and forth every time she defies him with some smart-ass comment.

“stupid woman. You should know better.”

And then…he just slaps the laptop out of the table; the computer smashing open against the cemented ground.

Tomura remembers this moment like one would remember the witness of a car crush or a catastrophe. A simple second enough to amaze him for a lifetime.

The way her eyes just ignite into scorching red lights shining like burning embers under her frown brow. Her hair floats free from gravity over her shoulders like a terrible chaotic crown as her mouth flash pearly teeth in a feral snarl.

He watches how she claws her right hand, fingers curling, knuckles tensing and Dabi is suddenly choking under the pressure of some raw power. His limbs twisting painfully in horrific motion and unnatural angles in complete agony.

A second later and before anyone could grasp what’s happening, her other hand pointing pinky, index and thumb to Compress, Toga and himself, keeping them frozen in their place, a strange rigid pressure making him feel like he’s full of cement and any movement will shatter his bones and snap his spine.

He can’t move, he can barely breathe. Feeling like if every fiber of his being, every muscle, every cord is solid hard under his skin, unavailing him to get away.

But he can watch, so he watches her terrified and amazed.

Her quirk is rare, and powerful and dangerous. But she keeps it locked away, sleeping soundly, safely caged inside her ribs, like the best hidden weapon, perfect for torturing bodies and bending wills. Buried deeply under her layers of kindness and humor.

One twitch of a finger, and Dabi’s neck would snap in two and they can do nothing but just watch when little blood vessels begin to burst in the white of his eyes as he pants desperate for air, his veins contorting furiously under the marred skin of his neck and the flames scatter in some random parts of his body without any control.

Tomura swears he can hear Dabi’s bones crackle under the invisible force as his spine bends backwards in a sickening angle.

And, as sudden as it begins, ends.

Her hair falls and her eyes are no longer red. Dabi breathes again falling to his knees and for a moment Tomura thinks he will cry out of pure fright.

For a moment he wonders if Toga and Compress want to cry too because that felt like certain death, but is sweet, somehow. Something within him squirms joyfully with the notion of her own violence. She is as dangerous as him, no damsel in distress, no little girl in need of care, no simple quirkless girl, but a horrifying woman. A dangerous and powerful creature with a quirk made for torment, just like-

He looks at her, just to find a sad disappointed face. A thick trail of blood began sliding silently from her nose, tainting the perfect bow of her lip. Only then he notices the bloodshot eyes and how the color has run from her face.

She stands quiet and bitter watching between her hands and Dabi trying to catch his breath. Her face giving away guilt and self-loathing (two feelings he’s very familiar with.) but unlike him, she is no tormentor, she grasps no joy in watching Dabi suffer, nor do she wish of making them quiver to the sight of her.

She is kind, and brave, and witty. Humorous girl, quick at wordplay and puns; buying vitamins and oranges for them and something about no one getting scurvy under her watch.

He wants to laugh hysterically at her sight because she is magnificent, and for a moment he thinks that the boy with the destructive touch and the girl with the tormenting gaze sounds like a hell of a name for rulers and his heart shivers in excitement, but she is crying and clutches her guilty hands against her chest and ask them to forgive her for using her quirk on them.

She didn’t mean to; she didn’t want to. She likes them all very much, so she promises she’ll never hurt them again, and somehow it reminds him of something, but he cannot place a finger on what exactly.

He feels the sorrow drowning him. A grudge so horrid it makes him want to vomit and scratch his neck raw because something in her resembles something in him, but he cannot really grasp the motive of such connection, only knowing it has something to do with the hands he carries around like a symbol of his own distress and a little black-haired boy crying in some familiar backyard.

The sound of the bathroom door startles him and she’s no longer in the living room, but he can hear the quiet sobbing coming from behind the door.

Finally, Dabi decides to just fall backwards against the cold floor, still panting, an arm over his eyes.

Only then Spinner breaks the dreadful silence and ask the question they all want to make.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT.”

Chapter 10

[fndmxreader]

TITLE :   the end  |  part : one.   PAIRINGS :   broken up dean & cas ( in 2015 timeline ),  established poly!dean x reader x cas in present .   SUMMARY :  zachariah’s battle plan chances,  setting his sights on you, the angel sends you forward in time to 2015 to show you what lies ahead  .  takes place before dean visits .    INSPO :    it was a big big world, but we thought we were bigger, pushing each other to the limits, we were learning quicker. by eleven smoking herb and drinking burning liquor, never rich so we were out to make that steady figure. 

    "  YOU TAKE ME BACK RIGHT FUCKIN’ NOW,  ZACH “  you had gotten a lead from an a tore up photograph at bobby’s house of where to go,  however as of right now you were very much in the dark  .   the world had changed,  buildings crumbled,   shot up bodies laid out across the surface like an accessory .   so to say you were on edge was the understatement of the century  .  

    “ BUT YOU HAVE SO MUCH TO LEARN “  he doesn’t care,  continuing to read out the paper of the latest headlines,   you were seething with the narcissism and pride that radiated off of him,  it took everything in you not to slam his face against the dash board until blood poured out from his ears  “  you see,  you’re a problem,   getting in the way of dean saying yes  -  you aren’t meant to be here “  your eyebrows crease at the words,  your silence makes him continue  “ so this is to show you,  the longer you be a little pest,  the longer you pretend you actually matter to dean and... castiel “  the name like venom,  the cool exterior of the man fails to cover up the hatred of his brothers name  “ you’re only allowing this to happen,  in a way,  the world like this is your fault “  

    “ BITE ME “  you snapped,  fingers tightening on the steering wheel,  “ you and the whole fuckin’ armored up birds are so full of shi -  “  the fluttering of wings tells you he left,  you don’t even have to look at the passenger seat to feel the absence .  with a pent up frustration,  your fist smashes down on the wheel .  this wasn’t the first time an angel told you that you were in the way,   but it only made you want to stay more,  to push away the insecurities and stay beside your boys and never leave them,  you don’t care if it made you selfish,   you have been so unselfish your entire goddamn life,  put everyone first  :  gave creatures second chances when they don’t deserve it,  offering shelter to those in need no matter what the eyes hide .  for once in your goddamn life,  you’re going to be selfish so unapologetically that it becomes even more of a damn problem  “  put that on the heaven tabloid,  fucker “ you think,  already knowing that zach has your thoughts and movements on display like some lab rat running around in a maze box  . 

    THE DRIVE IS LONG AND LONELY .  the road seems to stretch out for miles,  your heart pounding all the way as you think back to photograph found,  dean and cas looked ... different,  older,  more warn out . it made your chest ache,  2015 certainly wasn’t expected to look like .... this,  even with the apocalypse,  you never dwelled on it too long,  ever trying to ignore the bad endings and simply think of what it would mean to succeed in stopping the apocalypse  .    your so out of it you swerve on the road,   thank god for the desertion,  otherwise a car crash would’ve certainly took place  .       

    YOU PARK THE CAR AWAY FROM CAMP WHEN YOU FINALLY GET THERE .   sneaking around as best you can as to not alert anyone from inside,  almost tripping on the stray tires and busted signs that scattered around the place,  avoiding the tripwires were an absolute chore,  you wounder how you managed it for a full ten minutes before finding an opening at the side .   allowing a sign of relief as you quickly dart towards he bused fence,  though your heart breaks at what you see ...  baby, completely torn apart  -  you know how much dean loved that thing,  by extension,  you couldn’t help but approach like it was your own,  bottom lip turning into a pout and your eyes borderline watering  “ oh,  what happened ?  i bet dean fought this every step of the way - “   you murmured,  hand slowly trailing over the roof of he car,  wincing at the texture of the rust underneath,  but not finding it in you to pull away . 

    YOU INSTANTLY STRAIGHTENED YOUR POSTURE AS YOU HEARD A GUN CLICK,    the cool metal pressed against he back of your head as a deep rumble of a growl hits ears  -  it’s familiar,  you know it,  never been on this side of it however and because of that your blood runs cold,  the hairs on the back of your neck standing as a wave of anxiety causes your arms to shake as you held hem up in surrender  “  actually,  it was deans idea  - “   

    “ ... DEAN “ you breathed out,  you know this isn’t your dean,  you briefly wonder where you are in all this -  your lips feel dry,  you turn around before he can threaten you again  -  you don’t miss the way his eyes widen with shock,  his mouth falling open before jaw tightens  “ THANK GOD,  it’s been a m - “ 

    “ SORRY ABOUT THIS,  DOLL “  he seems conflicted,  and you can’t help but resist the urge to ask when you could finish a damn sentence around here . though you didn’t have time to dwell on it much,  not when the butt of the gun collides with your head and knocks you out in an instant  .  

    YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW LONG YOU’VE BEEN OUT,  but when you come to you wake up in a dimly lit room,  your body locked in several places as you tried to move,  a low whine escaping your mouth in the absolute agony you were in,  the headache,  the body ache,  for a hot minute you think you’re in hell .  though there is one thing for certain,   you don’t need to look around the room to know dean is there,  he isn’t the type to leave a threat unattended,  out like a light or no   “  how lon - why the FUCK does my thigh feel like it’s been blown to shreds -  “   you body catches up to the pain,  eyes shooting open in shock as you did your best to sit up from the scratchy material beneath you .  

    “ COUPLE OF HOURS “   theres a scraping of a chair against the floor,  the floorboards squeaking with his heavy steps  “  'n i shot you while you were out,  salt gun  -  makin’ sure you weren’t a ghost,  done all the other tests too “   he didn’t have to shoot you,  in retrospect dean thinks that it was more for him that he did that  - to see you were real,  that you wouldn’t just vanish .  though you remain in the dark to those thoughts, but it was easy to detect a hint of remorse at the start of his words,  but he quickly closes off as your eyes squinted in his direction,  doing best to breathe evenly to get the pain under control .  

    “ I’D CALL YOU AN ARSEHOLE,  but you were only doing what you gotta,  damn deany ...  y’got an ice pack or something  ? “ 

    “ ENOUGH “ his tone made you jolt,  in both shock and ...  fear ,    suddenly very aware of how dry the back of your throat was,   eyes widening -  you could never handle the people close to you being angry,  you could take it from anyone,  any creature and any person  -  but sam,  dean ... castiel,  it made something inside you flinch  “  WHAT IS THIS,   what are you... ‘type of joke is this ? “  

    “ ZACHARIAH -  some sort of lesson,  i suppose “      “ CALL HIM,  RIGHT NOW “      “ if i could,  i would  -  i don’t wanna be here just as you don’t want me here “ the words hurt to say,  and you could tell that they struck a cord in dean,  though considering the intense pain in your ribs,  you wouldn’t let it eat at you...  not for another couple of minutes at least,  “ what... happened to you ?” 

    THE AIR WAS THICK,  SOMEHOW HE OXYGEN LEFT THE ROOM .  dean has never been more tense,  his eyes hardened but never before has he wanted to reach out to you,  to hold you,  cradle you and never let your timeline get you back .   his icy heart has never been colder,  but with you there he finally feels it beat  .   how does he begin to tell you what your life becomes  ?  him and cas have never been more apart ( basically broken up,  it was all too much ) between your death and sam saying yes to lucifer,  he broke,  collapsed  -   castiel having his break down over becoming mortal certainly didn’t help matters .  it was 2015,  nobody survives and nothing does .   so he gives you the shortened version,  the version where he doesn’t feel like there’s a knife in throat when trying to speak it  .  

    “ LUCIFER HAPPENED,  i didn’t say yes and sam did -   the croatoan virus ran rapid and now i’m just tryna help other people survive this mess “ a mess he feels responsible for,   a mess he wishes he could take back “  that about cover it  ? “  you only nod,   you feel like your head is about to explode with everything going on, you know he’s hiding more things;  but you can’t bring yourself to press it,  not when you’re having such a hard time trying to adapt to the current situation  “   good,  now you’re staying here,  i have to go on a run and the last thing we need is someone freaking out over seeing ...  you, when you’re out on a run “  he quickly adds the last part,  but you know its bullshit,  you can see the way his eyes cast a shadow  -  it seems this dean forgets how much you know him,  but you let it slide  (  he did just admit he thought you were a ghost,  so you can make an educated guess of what the hidden subject was ) .    you slowly raise yourself from the bed as best you can,  hissing at the pain that shoots through you,  blind from pain .  you miss the way dean twitches to help you .  

    “ SERIOUSLY ?  you can’t just keep me locked in a - “  as your eyes trail over his after you finally blink away the mist,  the look on his face makes you pause,  in fact the look he gave you made your features twist of that of a kicked puppy  “  whatever happened here isn’t my fault,  isn’t any of ours .  don’t punish me for the future shit,  i just got here “  it comes out stern,  even with the waver .    you know you break through to him,  but the walls are still there .  

    “ JUST ... “     it comes out as a sigh,  one hand raising to drag across his face, truthfully he just wanted to get away and fully register the situation at hand,  however to do that he had to get away  -  and by extension,  hide you so he doesn’t have to deal with questions about the situation before being ready  “ stop being stubborn -  “  turning to walk out of the door,  allowing a smile to cross his features as you utter  “says the most stubborn person on the planet.” 

[averygroovymutant]

My Way Home is Through You

Summary: Dean doesn't cope well with Castiel's death.

Pairing: Dean x Castiel

Warnings: (Temporary) Main Character Death, Internalized Biphobia, LOTS OF ANGST, Spoilers for up to 15.19 - ignores the dumpster fire that was 15.20

Words: 5,221

(A/N: I wrote this pre-finale because I was terrified about what would happen in it, turns out I was right to be. I'm heartbroken. Supernatural really said 'fuck the LGBTQ community', huh?)

(Read on AO3) “I love you.”

Dean stood, rooted to the spot, in utter shock. Cas loved him? Cas loved him? His head was spinning and, honestly, he had no idea what was going on. His best friend was sobbing in front of him and confessing his love while Death was literally banging on the door. There was too much happening and Dean's brain was not working fast enough to process it. Cas' gaze flickered to something behind Dean and he turned to see a dark, gloopy-looking portal had opened.

On the other side of the room, the clumsy warding Cas had applied finally gave out and the door burst open to reveal Billie standing there, scythe at the ready. Dean looked back to Cas in panic, knowing this would be his last chance to say something, anything, to the angel. “Cas, I–” he began, but Cas stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Goodbye, Dean,” he said, and before Dean knew what was happening, he was thrown to the floor.

In a flash, The Empty was on Cas – and Billie – devouring them in a flurry of darkness, and Dean was left alone, in the silence of the bunker, with nothing left of his best friend but a bloody handprint on his jacket.

The world was ending, but Dean couldn’t bring himself to get up. His world had been ripped from him, and he had never even gotten the chance to tell Cas how much he had meant to him. Ten years Dean had wasted, hiding his feelings for the angel, when he could have just been happy. A sob ripped its way free from his throat, and once they started, Dean found he couldn’t stop them.

 ~

 Dean awoke with a start, shaking and sweaty, with tearstained cheeks. He had not meant to fall asleep; he had not slept more than a handful of hours since they had returned to the bunker, after stripping Chuck of his powers, as every time he allowed himself to drift off he was greeted by the same nightmare. He wondered if he would ever be free of the memory, of the pain and regret he felt at the words he had left unsaid, despite the fact he had nothing to lose by finally speaking them out loud.

“I need a beer,” he muttered to himself.

In the kitchen he found Sam, on a video call to Eileen, which he promptly ended once he looked up and saw the state Dean was in.

They sat in the war room together, Dean on the floor, leant against the wall, and Sam at the table. They drank to their newfound freedom, to the people they had saved; to the friends they had lost along the way. But no matter how much Dean drank, he couldn’t stop thinking about Cas, the look on his face as the Empty swallowed him, the words he had uttered to summon it–

“What really happened, Dean? With Cas?” Sam asked suddenly, shaking Dean from his spiralling thoughts. “Jack told me about the deal; Cas was only supposed to be taken when he felt true happiness. I know there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Concern was written all over his brother’s features and Dean was just the right mix of tired and drunk and fucking heartbroken that he didn’t even try to stop the words from spilling out of his mouth. “He said he loved me,” he muttered, looking up at Sam with glassy eyes.

“Oh,” was all the younger man said. No hint of confusion, or surprise - or disgust, Dean noted - just understanding.

How can he just accept that? Dean thought, My entire world has been shattered and he says ‘oh’? How does he not have questions?

Dean had questions – so many questions – but there was one that he had been simultaneously desperate and terrified to ask, ever since Cas had said those words; a question to which he was sure that whatever the answer was, it would break him.

“But what did he mean?”

Sam looked at him, one eyebrow raised in confusion, an invitation for Dean to continue.

“Angels… They don’t feel things like humans,” Dean stated, trying to keep his voice even. “So, what did he actually mean when he told me he loved me?”

“It’s been a long time since Cas was like the rest of the angels, Dean,” Sam said patiently, placing his beer down on the table and looking at Dean seriously. “I’m pretty sure he meant exactly what you think he did.”

Perhaps Dean should have expected that to be the answer – Cas had, after all, said that Dean’s love was 'the one thing he knew he could never have’ – but he had been so deeply in denial that Sam’s answer still shocked him. Shocked him, and broke him, like he knew it would; he had let Cas die thinking his love wasn’t returned because, for all these years, he had been scared of what people might think. Scared of disappointing a father he could never gain the approval of anyway. Scared of losing the adoration of his little brother - but the look on Sam’s face made it very clear that he had had nothing to fear.

“You- you knew?” Dean asked, his voice breaking slightly as he held back the tears threatening to fall.

“It was obvious,” Sam replied simply, a sad smile gracing his features, before adding. “You mean to say, you didn’t?”

Dean pressed his palms against his eyes and shook his head, unable to form any more words as sobs wracked his body.

 ~

 Sam looked down at Dean, sprawled on the floor, whisky bottle still in hand. He had sat on the floor most of the night with Dean as he cried, and drank, and cried some more; he had held his brother as he sobbed into Sam’s shoulder, soaking his shirt through with tears. They weren’t usually huggers, but Dean wasn’t usually a crier either – a lot had changed over the last few days.

Sam had watched as the broken man eventually passed out from sheer exhaustion. He hadn’t wanted to move him for fear of waking him up, knowing the state Dean was in he would never sleep by choice, so Sam grabbed some pillows from his room and placed them under Dean’s head.

He thought back to his call with Eileen earlier, when he had explained to her everything that had gone down. He was desperate to see her but he didn’t know what Dean would do if left on his own right now, so had told Eileen he needed to be there for Dean and Eileen had understood, of course. She had assured Sam that she was fine and he could take all the time he needed to look after his brother, and Sam loved her even more for her compassion. In the days that followed, Sam pottered around the bunker attempting to restore some of its power with spells from the books Rowena had left him. He managed to get the monster radar and alarm system back online and was pretty pleased with himself for that.

Dean was like a zombie, only sleeping when he absolutely couldn’t stay awake or when he drank himself unconscious. Sometimes he started crying over the weirdest things, things Sam never would have even related to Cas. Before, Dean would have tried to hide his pain from his brother, considering it a weakness, but it seemed to Sam as though this sadness was so vast he simply didn’t care anymore.

 ~

 Cas did not know how time worked in The Empty, but he thought it had taken Billie a long time to die. The infection seemed to spread through her body far slower in The Empty’s domain than it had when they had both been on Earth; possibly the creature’s punishment for her unforgivable betrayal. Cas had watched, frozen in place, as her body finally gave out and she dropped to the floor, immediately sinking into a pool of darkness, leaving only her scythe behind.

And then The Empty had turned on him. “I’m so happy I will finally be able to go back to sleep,” it told him. It had been wearing Meg’s face previously, but as it spoke, its form quickly shifted to that of the man Cas had given his life for. “But first, I think you deserve a bit of pain,” as it spoke, The Empty twisted Cas’ insides until he was screaming in agony. “Was it worth it?” The Empty snarled through Dean’s face. “Sacrificing yourself for one man who doesn’t even care about you? Giving up a millennia for a human who will be gone in the blink of an eye… Or sooner than that, even. What you did made no difference; you probably bought him a day, at most. He can’t stop God.”

On and on this went, the taunting, the torture, the constant talk of Dean’s death while the creature wore his face. Cas had no idea how long he had been there, it could have been hours, could have been days – time meant nothing in The Empty. The more The Empty talked, the more Cas started to believe what it was saying. He didn’t regret giving up his life for Dean but maybe, maybe if he had found another way to save him from Billie, he could still be there to protect him, keep him safe from Chuck - help him win.

I shouldn’t have left him.

The Empty threw Cas across the endless stretch of nothingness and Cas collided with something solid.

Curious, he thought, Surely I’m the only thing here?

Another wave of intense pain hit him and he clenched his fists, trying his best to contain the screams threatening to burst out of him. In a brief painless moment, while The Empty taunted him more about Dean’s inevitable death, Cas looked at the item he had collided with.

Billie’s scythe. Suddenly, Cas had an idea. A stupid, crazy idea, but what did he have left to lose? Surely he was dead either way? Picking the scythe up, he turned to face The Empty.

“That won’t kill me,” The Empty cackled, flicking its finger and sending a jolt of pain up Cas’ spine.

Cas gripped the scythe tighter as he grit his teeth, riding out the pain.

“I… don’t need… to kill you,” Cas growled, lifting the scythe towards himself.

Realization dawned on the creature’s version of Dean’s face.

“No,” it screeched. “We had a deal!” It dived towards Cas, sending an intense wave of pain through the angel as it did, but it wasn’t enough to stop him.

With all the strength he could muster he cut into his throat and let his grace drain from him.

There was an explosion of light and Cas felt himself being thrown backwards, through some invisible barrier, as if hitting the surface of water. And then, he finally fell asleep.

 ~

 Dean had been dreaming, for the first time in days, of something other than The Empty taking Cas. Barn walls were shaking around him, light bulbs shattering above his head, and a figure approached with the bluest eyes he had ever seen.

I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.

Dean was ripped from his slumber by an alarm blaring throughout the bunker, Cas’ words still playing in his mind. Dean stretched as he stood up from the kitchen chair he had accidentally fallen asleep in; that dream had been the closest he had found to peace since Cas had been taken from him, yet even in the dream he had not been able to shake the sense of loss and regret.

Dean was unsure how long it had been since they had defeated God – it could have been days or weeks – and he hadn’t left the bunker since they’d returned to it. He knew Sam was worried about him; his random meltdowns over the smallest of things were so out of character it was unsurprising, but he simply didn’t know how to be normal after what had happened.

Dean groaned, reaching for the bottle of painkillers sitting on the kitchen counter as the alarm finally stopped and Sam rounded the corner.

“What was that about?” Dean growled, popping a painkiller in his mouth and downing it with a swig of whisky from the near-empty bottle on the table.

Sam shot him a judgmental look, but didn’t comment on it. “Massive energy spike in Illinois, not sure what it could be but I’m heading to check it out,” Sam said breathlessly, and from the panicked look in his eyes Dean could tell this was something big.

“Okay, give me a minute to get ready,” Dean said, attempting a grin. From the look Sam shot him in return, he didn’t get close.

“I didn’t think you’d want to come,” Sam responded, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion and concern. “You haven’t left the bunker in days…”

“Is that all it’s been?” Dean asked quietly. “Seems like an eternity…" He trailed off as his thoughts wandered back to tear-filled blue eyes and heartfelt confessions. He shut his eyes, willing the pain to go away but knowing it wouldn't. "Anyway," he continued as if nothing had happened. "If it’s that big, you’ll need help and it’s probably time for me to get back to what I do best. Killing things.”

Dean knew he was being less than convincing, but he was hoping Sam would just go along with it.

“I thought that wasn’t who you were?” Sam said softly, and Dean held back a sob as he thought of Cas’ words.

You think that hate and anger, that's what drives you – that’s who you are. It's not. And everyone who knows you sees it.

“Let’s just– Can we just get going, please?” Dean begged, and Sam nodded sadly.

“Meet you by the car in ten,” he said.

 ~

 When they reached the location the monster radar had given them, the sun was setting, its golden rays peeking over the horizon as they exited the car and trudged across the field towards the location pinpointed on their GPS. When Dean finally saw where they were heading to, a sense of dread crept over him. He ran ahead slightly, just to make sure this really was what he thought it was.

Straight ahead of them, framed by the setting sun, was a large barn.

“What the hell is this?” Dean growled, angry, but not sure at whom.

“What?” Sam asked, stopping a few meters behind his brother, worried all of a sudden. “Dean, are you okay?”

“This barn!” He shouted as he gestured towards it. “This goddamn barn, Sammy!” He turned on the spot and fixed Sam with a look that made his heart break a little, before falling to his knees.

“Dean!” Sam shouted, running towards the older man and sinking to the ground next to him. “What’s wrong?”

Tears streamed down his brother’s face as he gripped at Sam’s jacket. “It’s the barn, Sammy. It’s the barn!”

“The barn?” Sam questioned, completely and utterly lost.

“It’s where I met Cas, the first time, after he freed me from Hell. This is where we met.”

 Shit, Sam thought, There’s no way that’s a coincidence.

Dean noticed the panic on Sam’s face and tried to calm himself down.

“This is a trap, isn’t it?” He sniffed, rubbing aggressively at his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket. “It’s gotta be.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, helping Dean back up. “This is definitely not normal.”

 ~

 They entered the barn, slowly, carefully, with their guns drawn and their torches raised. The walls were still covered with the warding Dean and Bobby had painted all those years ago, and there, lying in the center of the devil’s trap they had sprayed on the floor, was a body.

“Is that–?” Sam began, before Dean let out a breathless cry.

“Cas?!”

He rushed towards the lifeless body immediately, ignoring Sam’s shouts for him to wait. Collapsing on the floor next to Cas, Dean cradled the other man in his arms. He looked unharmed apart from some dried blood on his neck, and Dean let out a loud gasp when he realised Cas was breathing, slow and rhythmically.

“Sammy!” Dean tried to shout, but it came out as more of a sob. “He’s alive.”

Sam was still standing by the entrance to the barn, his gun still raised as if he expected an enemy to jump out at any minute which was, of course, a logical assumption.

“Let’s get out of here, Dean,” Sam shouted, worry evident in his voice. “We don’t know who else could be out here, just grab Cas and let’s go.”

Dean gently gathered the angel in his arms and followed Sam out the barn, and back to the Impala. Surprisingly, they saw no-one on their way back to the car, a fact which only caused the boys to grow more suspicious.

“It’s definitely him, right?” Sam asked, as Dean placed Cas in the back seat before throwing Sam his keys.

“I’m as sure as I can be,” Dean replied. “We can do all the normal tests when he’s awake but… I think it’s really him, Sammy. There's just something about him... It... smells like him.”

“Smells like him?” Sam smirked, as Dean got into the back seat and laid Cas’ head gently in his lap.

“Shut up.”

 ~

 A couple of hours into the drive, just about when Dean had started to get really worried about Cas not waking up yet, the other man began to stir.

“Dean?” He said, in a voice even raspier than normal, as he gazed up at Dean in amazement.

“Cas,” Dean choked out, running his hand through the angel’s hair, brushing it from his forehead. “Is it really you?”

“Yes,” Cas replied, a pained expression on his face. “But I–”

“Don’t talk,” Dean said, concern lacing his voice. “It looks like you mighta been injured. We’ll be back at the bunker soon enough and Sam’ll have a look at you.”

Cas looked like he wanted to argue but did as Dean asked and stayed quiet.

When they got back to the bunker, Dean helped Cas to his room and left Sam to do the normal tests, and take a look over him with some of Rowena’s spells. Dean waited in the corridor outside, pacing to start with but after a while he sank to the floor, leaning his head back against the wall.

Cas was alive. He couldn't quite believe this was happening, he had been so sure that this time the angel had been gone for good, but somehow he had managed to pull off one last miracle.

Somehow, he had managed to save Dean one last time.

 ~

 Sam exited Cas’ room about thirty minutes later, a worried look on his face.

“Well?” Dean asked impatiently, jumping up from where he had been sitting on the floor.

“It’s definitely Cas,” Sam told him. “And he’s doing okay... but I think you’d better go talk to him, Dean.”

This did absolutely nothing to ease the knots in Dean’s stomach but he approached the door nonetheless, eager to see for himself that Cas was okay.

When he entered Cas’ room he found the other man sitting up in bed, a white t-shirt on his upper half and blankets pooled around his waist. He looked different without his usual attire, more approachable - more human. There was a small mark on his neck, where the dried blood Dean had seen earlier had clearly been cleaned away from, and a cut on his arm where, Dean assumed, Sam had done the silver test.

“Dean,” Cas said, and he sounded much better than he had when he had last spoken on the drive back to the bunker.

“Cas,” Dean answered shakily, trying to control the mix of emotions that had been building in him ever since he saw Cas’ body lying in that barn. Sam had told Dean he needed to talk to Cas but Cas didn’t seem to be offering up any information as to what they needed to talk about, so Dean took the initiative and asked, “How did you escape?”

Cas’ eyes flitted down to stare at his hands and Dean thought he looked almost ashamed…? He said nothing for several minutes, but Dean waited uncharacteristically patiently.

“Dean,” Cas began eventually. “I know I’ve not been of much use to you recently, since I lost most of my powers–”

“That’s not true, Cas,” Dean immediately interrupted, suddenly feeling sick with guilt about how he had treated Cas over the last few years.

Cas gave him a look and continued. “So it may upset you to know… that I am now human,” Dean looked at Cas, wide-eyed and confused, so Cas elaborated. “The Empty is where angels go when they die,” he explained slowly. “Apart from I wasn’t dead, I had just been taken by The Empty. It wanted to put me into an endless sleep, same as with my deceased brothers and sisters – what I had experienced the last time I died, before Jack woke me up... But Billie’s scythe was there and I thought - it was stupid really – I thought that, as I was technically still alive, if I was no longer an angel The Empty wouldn’t want me… So–”  

“You cut out your grace?” Dean finished, his mouth agape in abject horror as his eyes fixed on the small cut on Cas' neck and he finally put two and two together.

“And The Empty ejected me,” Cas nodded. Dean's heart pounded in his chest as panic and guilt spread through him, he had caused this. “I am sorry, Dean; I didn’t think it through. I was just trying to get back to you all – to help – but now I realise what little help I’ll be. Even now Chuck's gone - even just as a hunter - if I wasn’t of use to you with my significantly reduced powers, what good will I be to you as a human?”

“Is that what you think?” Dean asked fiercely, swallowing down bile as he thought about all the things he had said to Cas to make him feel this way. “Cas, I don’t care. I don’t care whether you have your powers or not. I just care about you. These last few days, I’ve been a mess. I thought you were gone for good and I couldn't cope. Seriously, man, I’m just so, so glad you’re back,” Dean was close to tears at this point so he trailed off, not wanting to start blubbering in front of Cas like he had been in front of Sam the past few days. Cas shot Dean a small smile as Dean gestured awkwardly towards the door, “I’m jus’ gonna… leave you to get some rest for now,” Dean was sure that Cas would need some, and he was hoping that now Cas was back he would finally be able to get some peace himself.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas croaked, as he shut the door gently, and Dean got the impression he was being thanked for more than just leaving Cas to sleep.

 ~

 For days, Dean had been acting weirdly around Castiel; unable to find the courage to mention the words spoken before The Empty had claimed him, waiting for the other man to bring it up first, but knowing he would not. Why would he, when he believed his feelings to be unrequited?

Three days after Cas had returned to the bunker, Sam pulled Dean aside and told him he was finally going to visit Eileen.

“You need to sort this out while I’m gone,” his brother told him quietly, gesturing to where Cas sat across the room, reading one of Rowena’s old books on astral projection.

“Sort what out?” Dean replied, trying to act innocent.

“Don’t pull that shit with me, Dean,” Sam growled, eyes flicking briefly back to Cas to check the other man hadn’t heard him. “I saw how you were after Cas died,” Sam muttered, and Dean felt a jolt of pain go through his heart at Sam’s words – even though Cas was back, it still hurt Dean to think about the time they had spent apart. Sam raised an eyebrow at him, clearly noticing the change in Dean’s demeanour. “There you go,” he said matter-of-factly. “I saw how you reacted to him being gone, and the words he said to you before. Don’t pretend like they weren’t said, just because you’re scared,” Dean opened his mouth to protest but Sam just kept talking. “I know you’re scared, Dean, don’t try to deny it. I know it’s hard to admit what you’re feeling, but you have to know that I will always support you? That I always have?” Dean’s eyes widened at this and Sam’s features softened slightly. “You’re not as subtle as you think, Dean. I’ve known for a while.”

Dean wasn’t sure if Sam was talking about Cas specifically, or if he meant on a wider scale, but he was too overwhelmed to say anything in reply. Overwhelmed with love for his baby brother, overwhelmed that someone he cared about so much accepted him for who he truly was.

“Dean,” Sam continued, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder comfortingly. “You’re my brother, you raised me. I will always look up to you, and love you for who you are. I just want you to be able to accept this part of yourself, because it has never changed how I view you.  None of our friends – our family – will see you any differently for who you love, surely you know that? Me, Jodie, Donna, Eileen – we all just want you to be happy. So please, Dean, just sort this out. I know it’s hard for you, but just let yourself be happy. Let Cas be happy.”

Dean didn’t know what to say, but he knew Sam was right – and deep down he had known Sam would support him, of course he would – but that didn’t make it any less scary. Teary-eyed, he looked at Sam and nodded.

“Thank you, Sammy,” he said shakily as his brother pulled him into a hug. “I’ll do it, I’ll make this right.”

Sam beamed at him as he pulled away.

“I’ll see you day after tomorrow,” he told Dean quietly, before raising his voice to shout a goodbye to Cas.

Cas looked up from his book and waved as Sam exited the bunker, a bright smile on the former angel’s face, and Dean’s heart skipped a beat.

He knew he wanted to see that smile every day for the rest of his life, and he knew how to make that happen.

He just had to be brave.

Let Cas be happy, he told himself.

 ~

 “Cas,” Dean said, sitting down at the table, opposite the man. “I think we need to talk.”

Cas looked up from his book, his eyes wide. “If this is about what I said before I, uh, left–” he began but Dean interrupted him.

“It is,” he stated, placing his hands on his knees under the table, so Cas wouldn't be able to see how much they were shaking. “I need to know – did you mean it? Did you mean it how I think you meant it?”

“You still doubt you deserve love?” Cas questioned in reply, placing his book down on the table and leaning forward in his seat.

“Don’t dodge my question with all your cryptic shit,” Dean snapped, but there was no real heat behind it. “Just tell me if you meant what I thought you meant.”

“You know I did,” he said seriously, looking Dean right in the eye.

“Okay,” Dean said with a deep breath. “I just didn’t know if we were on the same page, y’know, with you being an angel. I didn’t know if it meant something different to you.”

“I’m not an angel anymore, Dean. And I meant it- I still mean it. I love you.”

It was no less overwhelming the second time Cas said it. Dean felt his heartbeat speed up and his palms grow sweaty – was he really going to do this? After years of shame and guilt and fear, was he finally going to let himself be free? Let himself be happy?

Dean slowly stood and made his way around the table so he was standing next to where Castiel sat. Cas looked up at him, confusion gracing his beautiful features before he stood too. It felt as though his bright eyes were boring into Dean's very soul.

Cas was so close, his face just inches away from Dean’s. They had stood this close many times before during the ten years they had known each other, but never before with the knowledge that Dean held now. His eyes flicked down to Cas’ lips and back up again, all it would take would be leaning in just slightly…

“Dean,” Cas murmured, and he was so close Dean could feel Cas' breath against his lips.

“Cas,” Dean breathed out, reaching up to cup the other man’s cheek, “I’ve felt this way for so long, Cas, but I was just so used to hiding it. I was so full of shame - of fear. I buried this feeling so deep that when you told me you loved me I just– I didn’t know how to react. But now I know, Cas. I just want the chance to make you happy," Dean took a deep breath, preparing himself to admit something he had spent years living in fear of. "I hope you can forgive me for everything I've said, everything I've done in the past to make you feel unappreciated. There's a lot I wish I could take back - a lot I should have said instead - but I wanna try my best to make it up to you. I'm sorry I didn't have the courage to say this sooner, Cas... But I love you,” Cas’ eyes widened, as though standing there, mere inches away from Dean, with Dean’s hand pressed to his cheek, he had still not expected to hear him utter those words. “I’m sorry I made you think that my love – that I – was something you couldn’t have, but I want you to know, Cas, I’m yours. If you still want me, I’m yours. Always have been.”

“Dean,” Cas whispered, his hand coming up to cup the back of Dean’s neck gently, tears of happiness glistening in his eyes. “I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”

And with that, at last, Cas pressed his lips to Dean’s, and Dean didn’t feel scared any more.

He was finally happy.

Finally free.

 ~

 From the place where he stood, invisible, in the corner of the room, Jack smiled. He had promised not to meddle in human affairs, and he had kept his word, but he had needed to see this through to the end. Just to make sure that these two people he cared about so much got the happiness they deserved. Now that Cas was human, he and Dean would be able to grow old together, and when they died both their souls would be able to ascend to Jack’s new Heaven, where they could all be together as a family, once again.

***

(A/N Thanks so much for reading, this was my first Spn fic in like five years so I really hope you enjoyed and thought they were in character enough. I know Dean was insanely angsty but I just hated how unbothered he seemed to be by Cas' death. And I don't know if logically Death's scythe should have killed Cas even though he was already in The Empty but I don't really care tbh, my fic makes more sense than those last couple of episodes the CW tried to feed us...)

[haloud]

Ooo, Michael and Liz gen! How about a high school time stamp? Two AP kids both competing for valedictorian.

here ya go! i love these two sm

also on ao3

In the sixth grade, Liz Ortecho swears a solemn oath. She is going to vanquish Michael Guerin if it's the last thing she does. Standing there so smug with his first place science fair ribbon, with his stupid rocket. Anyone could make a stupid rocket. Liz absolutely does not spend the next month of her life obsessed with rocketry, striving with single-minded determination to outdo stupid Michael Guerin's extremely stupid first place project before deciding that rockets were so boring that only boring judges would like them and her efforts would be better spent on better things, like working her way through the rest of the Biology section at the library. Brains were her new favorite subject. Maybe if she understood them perfectly, she could engineer her own to never get beat by stupid Michael Guerin again. It doesn't help that Michael is apparently, suddenly best friends with Max Evans, so she sees him all the time now. And he always grins at her and goes "'sup, Ortecho?" like he knows exactly what he did. Vato. Let's see him be smug after Liz vanquishes him. It's the start of a truly epic feud. Rosa laughs at her for every extra hour she spends studying, every extra trip to the library, every time a perfect score on an assignment adds an extra strain of viciousness to her satisfaction. Rosa laughs even if it's kind of annoying to hear all about how stupid Michael Guerin thought that question 5 was C, HA. You'd think Rosa would have a better appreciation for the agonies and ecstasies of having an archnemesis.

On one of those extra trips to the library, Liz is deep into a plot to climb the shelves when no one’s looking when that hated voice says behind her:

“’Sup, Ortecho?”

And he plunks a stepping stool down in front of her. She glares at him. His face would look way better with a few extra holes in it.

Holding his hands up in surrender, he says: “What? I have to use it too to keep from killing myself by dropping forty pound textbooks on my head. Use the tools you’re given, okay?”

The worst thing about having an archnemesis? Sometimes they’re right.

In eighth grade, Michael Guerin breaks his arm. He tells the story of how it happened different every time, with the same grinning smugness that never fails to make Liz incandescent with hatred.

And then he bombs a math test. (Liz knows because she always sits where she can spy on his grades when they have classes together. Otherwise how will she know if she’s winning or not?)

Michael Guerin never fails math. The odd English project here and there, maybe; his favorite class to sleep in is History. It’s lackluster grades in those classes he seems not to care about that keeps Liz’s GPA maintaining a holding pattern above his. But in all the years Liz has known him, he’s never gotten anything less than a perfect score in Math or Science.

She stares at him, at his carefully blank face, at his infuriatingly casual sprawl in the desk, his legs hanging out in the aisle, his head almost on the desk of the kid behind him, his arm…

His dominant arm in a cast, cradled against his torso, preventing him from taking notes.

Well that just isn’t fair at all.

She spends the rest of the test review period copying her own notes for the past week in quick, neat shorthand. The second the bell rings, she’s out of her seat, smacking the originals down right in front of him.

“Don’t feel the need to give them back,” she said.

Michael’s face stays just as blank; in fact, he barely even looks at her. “What’s up, Ortecho? You won, why don’t you just enjoy it?”

“It’s no fun if it’s not fair, obviously. Just use the tools you’re given, why don’t you? It’s stupid that they haven’t given you a note taker anyway.”

“Yeah, well, a lot of things are stupid.”

But not Liz. She’s smart enough to know it’s gratitude that makes him actually join the Mathletes with her when they start high school, putting them on the same team for once, their two heads together leading New Roswell to its first championship in over a decade.

--

By junior year of high school, Liz and Rosa have saved up enough money between the two of them to buy a used car together. Liz is a perfect driver, perfect record, aced the test first try, doesn’t even speed..and the first time she takes the car out, she ends up on the side of the road, trying not to totally lose it while smoke pours out from under the hood.

This car took all her money and all of Rosa’s, how is it already broken? What will she tell Rosa? How will she afford a mechanic?

Better for it to break down now than for Mom to steal it next time she skips town, a vicious voice says in her mind, and that’s the final straw. Liz lets out a scream from behind clenched teeth and slams the hood down as hard as she can.

“’Sup, Ortecho?”

“Fuck off, Guerin!”

She doesn’t need to hear it, how he outscored her again in chemistry, doesn’t need to hear him ask if she’s got her SAT scores back yet. God, why does he have to be here now? She wants to revel in how she almost certainly schooled him at the essay, god damn it!

But he doesn’t even reply to the bile she spits at him, just pulls over in his beat up truck, pops the hood again, and clicks his tongue at whatever he sees in that tangled, bitter-smelling mess.

“Let’s hitch ‘er up, I’ll give you a tow to Sanders’ and drive you home.”

Liz puffs herself up, then lets it out slow. It’s Guerin. What’s he going to do, laugh at her? Not over this. He may be her archnemesis, but he’s not that.

“I can’t afford the fix,” she says.

“No charge.”

“What? No!”

“Look.” He smirks that awful smirk. “I know you’ll pay me back. We’ve got Physics together next year. Your anguish is all the payment I need.”

“Michael Guerin, you are the WORST.”

“That’s what they tell me.”

But he drives her home with the windows rolled down and lets her set the radio. The passing wind tosses both their hair and Liz laughs at how he looks with his curls in a wild frenzy all around him, and for long enough they’re both just kids. Not friends, no. Archrivals, which is, after all, the next best thing.

--

Liz was valedictorian. For what it’s worth.

--

“’Sup, Ortecho?”

Liz whirls around, and her dress whirls with her. Red, not white. Rosa was over the moon.

Michael is leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, vest and shirt half undone, looking ruffled and dreamy, like he just walked out of a magazine. Liz rolls her eyes at him.

“’Sup, sleazy best-man-seduces-the-bride stereotype?”

“Ouch.”

They both burst out into laughter, Liz doubling over and grabbing the vanity to stay upright, Michael buttoning himself all the way up to the top in a mocking show of modesty, until Liz’s laughter turns into anxious hiccupping and he drops the act as well.

“Liz, seriously, what’s up?”

His voice goes all concerned and understanding, the bastard.

“This is stupid, right? I mean, marriage is such a useless social construct now, and forty-one percent of first marriages end in divorce and fifty percent of all marriages, which is also a relevant statistic because I’ve already fucked over one fiancé in dramatic fashion and maybe I should just leave Max at the altar and get terrible person bingo, and—”

“Hey, Liz, hey, breathe.”

Michael helps her sit and rubs her back as she tries to head off hyperventilation.

“This isn’t stupid,” he says calmly. “You want this. You know you do. You already have Max heart and soul and all that sappy shit, it’s okay to want him legally, too. Use the tools you’re given, right?”

Liz sniffs and barks out a watery laugh. Dumbass.

“Who let you get all wise on me? I hate it.”

“Eh, I’m not wise, I just learned how to be a gracious loser.”

“What do you mean?”

“The big day? The fancy wedding, the ring on your finger? You win, Ortecho.” His face goes all wistful.

“Oh.”

Not knowing what to say, she knocks their shoulders together, and it makes him smile.

“Don’t worry about me. Since when have I ever been far behind?”

For their happiness, as hard-fought as it was, it feels right that they should watch it approaching together, neck and neck. Side by side, like all the best archrivals.