#panic at the disco fluff

[fullcollapse-mp3]

ryan ross x reader <3

NOW REUPLOADED ON AO3!!! MY USER IS @/tboymikeyway!!!

ryan ross x gn!reader!! ☆ ryan gets tired after a show and you and him cuddle about it <3 (fever era)

an: hi!! this is my first fic on here so sorry if it sucks :,) constructive critiscm is always welcome. reblogs are always appreciated <3 hope you like it! x3 warnings: none!

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

you lay on the backstage dressing room fold-out couch as you hear the music out on stage die down. As the guitars die down and the cheering gets quieter you hear footsteps sdown the hallway and jolt up. The door opens with a click and your boyfriend, Ryan, walks in looking sweaty and tired.

"Hey baby," you say, as you stand up and walk over to Ryan, hugging him softly and kissing him a kiss on the check, "how was the show?" Ryan smiles softly and sits down in the chair next to the vanity before saying anything.

"Yeah, it was okay," He says with a yawn, stretching his arms over his head before grabbing a makeup rag and rubbing his eyeliner off. "I'm just tired, you know how I get after these things." The makeup remover revealed that Ryan had very dark eyebags from not sleeping well the past few nights. The shows always went super late into the night and the band usually had something to do early in the morning so it was no wonder he wasn't sleeping well, but it had always made you feel bad considering how hard he worked and how tired he was all the time.

"Come lay down." You say as you lean against the vanity. Ryan gives a questioning look before you continue talking, "Yeah, I'll turn the lights off and we can just lay down a sleep for a bit, you obviously need it" You say with a light chuckle. Ryan murmurs a word of agreement before pushing the chair out and walking over to the fold out couch and laying down.

You walk over to the light switch and flip the lights off, engulfing the room in darkness except for the small light bulbs around the mirror of the dresser.

You make your way over to the couch and lay down next to your boyfriend and wrap your arms around his small waist. You tuck your head into the crook of his neck and kiss him, "You did really good tonight." You say while smiling.

Ryan laughs quietly before talking Ina very quiet voice, "Be quiet, you said I could sleep" He says with a small chuckle. You couldn't see it but you could tell his face was getting red from the compliment.

"Yeah, whatever" You say before planting a small kiss into the back of his hair, you pull Ryan in closer to you and you both end up falling asleep together before doing the same thing over again tomorrow.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

hii!! hope you enjoyed :D this is my first fic on here so I hope it doesn't suck a lot LOL. this wasn't proofread or anything so there's probably some mistakes but just shhhh. anyways I hope u liked it :3 if you're one of my mutuals pls tell me if this sucks or not LMAO

[camjsad0]

Birthday wish ‧₊˚✩彡

- Ryan ross x reader oneshot !! got bored and js wrote this lol. this is my first oneshot so expect to see a few mistakes sorry😞💪💔

- Fluff <3

- WC: 741

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★

It was 6:30pm on a tuesday, just a few days after ryan’s birthday. I was laying on my bed, staring at the ceiling thinking about random stuff while listening to my favorite band. This was usually what i did everyday.

My thoughts were quickly cut off when i felt my phone vibrate.

I lazily grabbed my phone and saw that ryan had sent me a text. I instantly checked what the message said.

“Hey, can i come over??”

I nervously typed on my phone and sent him back a text,

“yeah sure, what time r u coming over?”

“ill be there in 10 mins :)” he replied.

I sent him a like and got off my bed, making my way to the vanity.

I didn’t know why i was so nervous, it was normal for ryan to come over. However, i never really cared about what i looked like. But for some reason i’ve been developing feelings for ryan—— although i keep trying to be indenial about it because i knew that telling him how i felt can result into having my long-time friendship with ryan ruined. I knew for a fact that ryan viewed me only as his friend, nothing else.

I pushed away my thoughts and quickly started to brush my hair, put a decent amount of lipstick; just making myself look like i totally haven’t been rotting in my bed for days.

A few minutes have passed, and i heard a knock at my door. My mom probably had already let him in, I opened the door to see ryan’s surprised look on his face. “What got you all dressed up?” in a teasing manner. “I went out earlier.” clearly i was lying, unfortunately ryan picked up from my weird tone and replied “You’re totally dressing up for me, aren’t you?” smirking as the words flew off his mouth. “Oh shut up” trying to hide my flushed face, quickly turning around and making my way to my bed as i sat down on it.

“Wanna watch a movie?” looking up at him as i asked. “Yeah sure, how about this one?” he said as he picked up a CD from the small shelf. He comfortably sat down on my bed as i set it up and hurriedly sat down beside him.

30 minutes in, and i sensed that ryan was getting bored of the movie, and honestly so did i, it was just your typical horror movie. He yawned and placed his head on your shoulder. You awkwardly sat there until you finally felt comfortable enough to lean your head on top of his.

“You’ve been acting weird lately, what’s wrong?” he randomly blurted out. I didn’t know how to reply and froze for a few minutes before i finally replied, “It’s nothing.” I stuttered out before getting up and rushing to my bathroom. My heart beating fast, as if it was about to fly out of my chest.

Why were you feeling this way towards ryan? Your bestfriend for years?

You stood there for a few minutes and realized that you had probably left ryan startled. You hesitantly pushed the door knob open.

Ryan was holding your journal in his hands, casually flipping through the pages. Reading it with a smile on his face, I don’t even think he noticed you.

You almost fled there to snatch your journal back, although you knew that ryan had probably already read enough to know how you felt towards him.

“Why did you never tell me how you felt?”

“I’m sorry, but i knew that you only viewed me as your friend-“ you were cut off. “Why would you assume that? What if i liked you too?” He admitted. I couldn’t believe what i just heard. I never even noticed that he had feelings for me too. “What do you mean?”

“God, you’re so oblivious (y/n). I’ve liked you for years. But you were always busy being with some guy that didn’t even treat you right. It crushed me to see you being treated that way. I never had the chance to tell you how i felt-“ you immediately cut him off by placing a soft kiss on his lips. Leaving a faint pink kiss mark on his lips, making you giggle. He leaned forward to kiss you again, this time being more passionate. He pulled off and reached a hand to your cheek.

“I guess my birthday wish came true.”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★

[cosmicobubisi]

Cosmic's Malleyuu Whump vs Flufftober: Day 18

"I see what's mine and take it" (Panic! at the Disco, Emperor's New Clothes) / Bewitched

Yuu's party watched in horror Malleus's body twitched uncomfortably, Rollo standing unfazed over his body.

"Bastard!" spat out Yuu, bursting out of the vines and raising their staff to charge a spell. From the corners of their eyes, Yuu could see the other members of their party do the same, or at least their own version with their respective weapons.

Rollo, however, was not amused.

"Cross me again," he warned, and raised his staff over his head.

Yuu tried to fire, but the shot was a total waste. Rollo vanished into the shadows too quickly, the bolt of magic ended up bouncing off the polished stone wall, dissipating into the ground.

Though minor, the attempt would end up costing Yuu precious seconds of sorting out the situation. As the resident healer, it was often on them to sort out complex magical problems whenever they were presented to the party, and this would prove to be a thorny mess to sort out.

Yuu, however, did not know that at this time. Still, when Malleus rose from the cloud of smoke that had enveloped his body to a dizzying height, they were able to guess that Rollo was indeed a very, very powerful wizard.

It was easy to see why Malleus was doing so. His lower half appeared to have been replaced with the body of some sort of reptile, with scaly flesh and clawed limbs and all of that.

Yuu guessed it was a dragon, though they'd never seen one. It matched the descriptions they'd heard.

How had Rollo been able to summon so much transformation magic at the drop of a hat? He'd have to have constructed the body of the dragon with something, would it be prudent to destroy his supply and cut him off.

Or... was this something Malleus could do innately?

"Yuu!"

Before they could blink, someone was tackling them to the ground. They'd become to fixated to notice the haze leaving Malleus's eyes as he took a swipe at them.

The long, vicious claws were mere breaths away from Yuu as Ace held them down, and Yuu was thankful the wind had been knocked out of their lungs, lest they scream at it all.

They saw Jack draw an arrow as Deuce tried to stick Malleus with a knife in the stomach. Both points seemed only to agitate Malleus more, however, and he roared so loudly, Yuu felt it in their chest.

Yuu rolled away to let Ace snatch his sword off his belt and charge forward, and Yuu began firing up a spell, though they didn't know which one to use.

Malleus's eyes were wide, his teeth gnashing and grinding, the still-human part of his body flailing wildly.

He attacked Deuce, who screamed and ran away as fast as he could, just barely dodging a sickening snap of Malleus's jaws.

His jerky movements suggested he was being yanked somehow, possibly against his will, but Yuu's brain was paralyzed with fear, and they couldn't quite think straight.

Malleus's tail swung around, crashing Jack into Ace, and Yuu saw what it could be that was puppeting Malleus- Rollo, standing behind him with his staff plucking at some glowing strings.

Yuu fired again, but Rollo vanished once more. They found him again quickly in a ledge on the walls, but Yuu knew it was no use in trying to shoot again without a better strategy. He was just too fast.

Instead, Yuu tried to summon a great ball of light and explode it right next to Malleus. They took most of the energy out of their spell, instead maximizing the remaining energy as light and sound to create a flashbang.

If he was falling prey to baser instincts, this irrationality might care him off, and indeed, his wretched squeals made Yuu's heart wrench.

But it worked. Yuu saw Malleus trying desperately to rub the light out of his eyes, allowing Yuu's party to regroup.

Rollo would not stand for it. With a cold glint in his eyes, he raised his hands, and Yuu swore they could see the puppet strings attached straight to his fingers.

Malleus went slack, tear tracks running down his cheeks, then rigid, all with the same vacant look in his eyes before his pupils sharpened.

Onto the object in his line of sight- Yuu.

He surged forward to slash at them, and Yuu hit the floor to dodge. His fixation had not ended, however, and he pushed them further and further into a corner of the room as Malleus attacked.

"M-Malleus!" Yuu exclaimed, feeling their staff tap the back of the wall indicating they'd run out of space, and with that, time.

To anyone else, the change might have been imperceptible, Yuu thought there might have been a chance that the words had actually sunk in.

"Malleus," they said again, trying to sound calm. "You remember me, right?"

They tried to examine whether or not the minute change sin his face meant he was listening, but the biggest tell to Yuu was that he wasn't attacking anymore. He was still coiled tightly like a predator, but at least Malleus had stopped for now.

"Yuu!" exclaimed Epel, but Yuu had to ignore him to focus.

"Malleus, please remember," insisted Yuu. It seemed it was their voice more than their words he was responding to, so Yuu kept talking. "I know you can calm down. You must be scared, right?"

He was breathing heavily, as if the strings were taking a physical toll on him. Yuu could see his shoulders heave up and down.

"That's good," said Yuu, lowering their voice a bit. "That's really good. You're doing good, you know that?"

Malleus was only staring now, tense body having seemingly uncoiled a bit.

"Thank you, Malleus," they said.

Just then, another voice cut in.

"Attack!" shouted Rollo, and Yuu's stomach dropped out as Malleus lunged straight for them.

There wasn't even time for them to scream as his claws sunk into them, but to their surprise, Yuu was actually fine.

One of Malleus's long clawed limbs had grabbed onto them, lifting them to his eye level.

From this close, Yuu could see just how unhinged he look, the magic clearly twisting his body in cruel and unusual ways.

"Malleus! I said, attack!" ordered Rollo, but Yuu could hardly hear him over he pounding in their ears.

They tried to stay still as Malleus examined them, fist squeezing and loosening with no regard for their security.

"Oh no, Yuu!" They recognized that as Jack, calling up helplessly from below.

Malleus had finally centered his gaze on them, though, and had semeed to come to a conclusion.

Nodding to himself, he growled a bit to the people below him, enveloped Yuu beneath his great wings, and before they knew it, the two of them had vanished, having teleported away.

[loverontheleft]

Happiest (revised)

Original request(s): I would love an imagine where the reader and Brendon are at Disney World, and he proposes in front of Cinderella Castle and it’s just so fluffy and sweet? Thanks! Aaaaaaand I would love to have a Brendon x reader imagine during a slow dance in their home followed by really slow, passionate, fairly vanilla sex.

Brendon x reader

Word count: 3.9k➡️5k

Warnings: nothing really. Pretty vanilla per the request.

-||-

“Bren, why are we walking so fast?” You’re practically trotting alongside your boyfriend, your hands tangled together as he cuts through the crowd—well, as he follows through the parting of the people Zack makes as he cuts through the crowd while Jake brings up the rear, his camera in tow. “Our next Genie+ pass isn’t until—” you pause to think.

“5:30. For the Seven Dwarves. But—” Brendon cuts himself off and tugs you close so you’re flush against him as a tour group in bright yellow shirts marches by, chanting at the top of their lungs. “But we’ve got somewhere to be,” he finishes, stroking the small of your back. “Come on, my love.” He nods in the direction where Zack and Jake are waiting patiently. Before starting though, he adjusts his hat as the stragglers of the tour group shoot you both furtive looks. You nudge him and look up at him, and he looks back at you. You’re silently asking the question, and Brendon nods. There’s a bit of time.

He waves at the teenagers, who squeal in stunned recognition, while you dart away to tell Zack that Brendon needs five minutes. Mission accomplished, you move back to where your boyfriend stands, and offer to take the photos. He beams at you, and the girls are gushing with gratitude to you both.

Photos taken and Zack alerted, he’s back to his brutal pace, and you and Brendon are laughing as you stumble over each other to keep up with him. Jake is taking his time, stopping and shooting his own photos seemingly at random but always catching back up with you by weaving through the crowds effortlessly. When you finally come to a stop, you stare up at the castle in front of you. “Brendon, what are we—” but your stomach growling interrupts you before you can finish the thought. He smiles.

“Fixing that. Come on, Y/n. We’re having lunch at the castle!” Brendon beams at you as Zack leads your group into the tunnel cutting through the castle and opens an ornate door on one side. You must look like a child at Christmas when you launch yourself at Brendon, hugging him tightly, and you can hear the shutter of Jake’s camera going crazy. “Happy, Princess?” Brendon murmurs in your ear. You nod, still clinging to him.

“You do make me feel like a princess,” you tell him, smiling radiantly. “I’m the luckiest, happiest girl.”

He kisses your forehead and holds you close as Zack lets the cast member at the hostess stand know the four of you are here. “Zack doesn’t mind being the responsible adult, handling all of this for us, does he?” You cling to Brendon, and he shakes his head.

“Nah. For one thing, he knows I shouldn’t do it myself. Best to lie low whenever possible. Small things like the photos earlier aren’t a big deal, but…my name on a lunch reservation feels different. And our anxiety manifests differently. Mine, I need to avoid it all. He needs to feel like he’s in control. And this way, he is. Despite what he may say or how he rolls his eyes, he likes taking care of you. He knows you’re important to me,” and Brendon breaks off so he can kiss you softly. “He knows you’re important to me, which means you’re important to him. He knows you make me the happiest I’ve ever been so…he’s going to keep you safe and keep you around.” Brendon shifts a little, biting his lip. “I love you.”

Your eyes are welling, and you clutch him to you. “I love you too. Thank you for treating me so well.” Brendon smiles and brushes his lips over yours once more, murmuring that he’s only treating you the way you deserve to be treated. “Still…” you trail off when Zack beckons. “Oooh! Time to go,” you say giddily, tugging at Brendon’s hand. “Let’s go, baby!”

-||-

“How do I look?” Brendon angles the plastic crown on his head and looks to you for approval. “That bad?” He teases when he catches your rapt expression. “Yikes, I knew I’d look dumb, but—” and as he reaches to remove the crown, you shoot out a hand and slap his away.

“Don’t you dare. You look gorgeous,” you murmur, transfixed on him. “Absolutely gorgeous. My Prince Charming.” He beams at you and raises his glass to yours, tapping them together lightly. “To us,” you say with a smile. He echoes your toast happily, and you both drink. Zack and Jake mimic the two of you, making you and Brendon blush and laugh.

“Sorry guys, we’ll try to stop living in our own little world,” you offer, and Jake shrugs, urging you two to lean together so he can take a photo. Brendon gets up and moves around the table to wrap his arms around you, and you smile up at him, forgetting about the camera and everything else. You tend to do that in his arms. There’s the snap of the shutter—you both blink, adjusting your expressions for the camera.

“Don’t bother,” Jake says with a wave, studying the preview screen. “That candid was everything.” He turns the camera to show you both, and you gasp quietly. “I know, right? It’s perfect.” Jake looks ridiculously pleased with himself, but you have to concede that the photo is definitely your new favorite.

Brendon kisses the top of your head before moving back to his seat. Once seated, he reaches across the table, taking your hands.

“Alright, time for a confession.” You look at him with wide eyes, and he smiles nervously. “This technically isn’t just a vacation.” Brendon pauses, and you nod, encouraging him to continue, even though you’re confused. “I have something important to do later. But if you’ll bear with me, I promise it’ll be worth it.” He smiles reassuringly and squeezes your hands. “I promise.”

“I believe you,” you tell him, raising your intertwined hands to kiss your interlocked fingers. “You always keep your promises. What do you have to do later that’s important?” He mimes zipping his lips and grins at you as the server places your side salads in front of you. You’re distracted; you give a quiet squeal of delight and gesture at your salad bowl. “Bren, even the croutons are shaped like Mickey!” He laughs delightedly at your glee and nods, watching you happily. “B, this is amazing. You’re amazing. Even if you won’t tell me what we’re really here for, this is amazing, and I’m so happy.”

“I’m glad. You being happy is all I ever want.” He shoots Zack a playfully dirty look when Zack gags into his cheeseburger, and you all laugh before digging into your food. “I mean it,” Brendon murmurs later over the slice of cake you’re sharing for dessert. “You being happy is everything to me.” You stab a piece of cake with frosting and bring it to his lips, smiling when he delicately plucks it from your fork.

“I am happy. I'm so happy. Brendon, my love, I’m the happiest. Are you?” You ask the question softly, taking your own bite. He nods eagerly, echoing your statement and strokes your hand that’s resting on the table with his index finger. “Good. You are so good and kind and wonderful. You deserve to be the happiest you can be,” you tell him, leaning in and meeting his lips for a soft, chaste kiss. As you part, the server approaches with the bill; Brendon holds out his wrist to tap his magic band to the scanner. Quickly, he signs the slip she offers and adds a tip before the four of you stand.

Brendon slips an arm around your waist and holds you close so Zack can lead the way out of the restaurant. You duck your head and follow Zack out, Brendon right behind you. His hand on the small of your back is soothing; you relax into his touch. Once you’re outside, you both slip your hats back on and check each other. “Good?” You ask, and he nods, kissing you quickly.

“Perfect. I’m good too?” He asks, tugging at the brim of his hat, and you echo him, taking both of his hands in yours and swinging them back and forth. “Good,” he affirms, squeezing your hands. “Let’s go,” he says after a moment, beckoning you to follow him. You’re at a leisurely pace now, and Zack pauses by a building designed to look like a fire station on Main Street. He knocks on a door, and it opens; Zack herds you and Brendon inside.

“Here we are,” Brendon murmurs, shrugging out of his leather jacket, leaving him in black jeans and a black t-shirt. You shiver just looking at him, and he slings it over your shoulders. “Cold, sweetness?” When you nod, he presses his lips to your forehead. “Then I’ll leave it with you. And my hat.” He nests it over yours. “Keep those safe for me?” He asks, and you give him a quizzical look.

“Where will you be? Wait, where are we?”

Brendon smiles sheepishly when a Disney cast member trots up with a clipboard in hand. The back of the clipboard has a familiar wreath logo on it, and you gape at him in disbelief. “Are you…no…wait. Are you—are you going to be in the Disney Christmas parade?” You’re whispering, even though everyone in this huge room seems to be in on the plan.

He grins at you and nods as another cast member appears with a garment bag. She unzips it swiftly and whips out a jacket you’ve never seen before, but it’s definitely meant for Brendon: the gold swirls look like a recent tour jacket, but these are slightly more precise, more uniform, and they look like—you grab his arm. “Those are Mickey heads!”

Brendon smiles and nods as he slips into the jacket, and yet another cast member comes up with a small black case that opens to reveal his signature golden microphone. “Urie, you sneak!” You exclaim in a stunned whisper, unable to stop grinning. “I didn’t even know they were recording today. This is the best surprise ever.”

“Hopefully not ever,” he murmurs with a small smile, passing you the microphone to hold while Zack slips him the box with his cufflinks; they’re a custom black opalescent set you got him last Christmas with his band’s logo engraved in them, and you get a little thrill every time you see him wear them. “Okay. I’ll see you soon, my love.” He kisses you once more, holding you close and breathing you in. “I won’t miss our Genie+ pass. Promise.” He pulls back and smiles, eyes shining. “I love you, Y/n.”

You whisper it back, hand him his microphone, and he blows you one last kiss as he’s whisked away by the cast members; you whirl around to look at Zack and Jake. “You guys knew?” They exchange looks and then meet your eyes. “Oh, of course, you knew. He couldn’t take one step without one of you knowing about it. Okay, so…now what? Do we get to watch? Where do we watch?” You’re impatient; you just want to see him perform. You know they’re taping and will require several takes, but you don’t care. You love watching him perform and want to see every moment of it.

At your question, a woman looks up; she recognizes Zack and waves the three of you over. There’s a cluster of large monitors and chairs; Jake makes himself comfortable in one and you do too, settling in to wait.

It’s been probably about twenty minutes when one of the cast members who is standing around introduces herself and says she’s in training to work in the boutique doing hair; she asks if she can practice on you. You’re not opposed, but you don’t know the plan. When you glance at Zack, he shrugs and nods, telling you you’ve got the time.

She flags down two fellow cast members to do your makeup and nails after begging to let them practice on you, and before you know it, your vision is entirely blocked by the woman doing your makeup and, honestly, you don’t mind. You know they’re not filming yet, so you're not missing anything, and the brushes feel good on your skin. You only did the bare minimum this morning: a tinted moisturizer, some mascara, and your lip gloss. But Shannon, as she introduced herself, is going all out, studying you from different angles while Tori works on your hair, debating between different styles behind you, and Renee works diligently at your cuticles. The camera shutter startles you; you look up, and Jake is grinning at you innocently, telling you Brendon will want to see you all done up.

-||-

“God,” you marvel, looking at yourself in the mirror. “You’re all incredible!” They blush and thank you before turning their attention to the monitor where you can see Brendon’s float just edging onto the screen. His voice carries through the air, and you’re swooning internally, watching him work the crowd from the Nightmare Before Christmas float he’s been assigned. Everyone else in the waiting area is mesmerized too, and your heart swells with pride. Your man is so talented and makes people so happy. He’s clearly having the time of his life, and you can’t wait to curl up in bed with him and have him tell you all about it.

It’s been maybe thirty minutes of repetition, of pulling the float back to reshoot from a new angle, when Zack checks his watch and comments that your clothes, a pair of jeans and a long sleeve t-shirt with Brendon’s leather jacket thrown over it, don’t really match your face and hair. The three women guide you out of your chair and lead you away with knowing grins, telling you not to protest.

“I blame you for this, Zack!” You call back teasingly before falling into stunned silence when Shannon flings open a door to a room that’s filled with what looks like dresses in every shade and every type of fabric known to man. “Well,” you say with a good-natured shrug. “You’ve done my hair, nails, and makeup…might as well dress me up too.”

-||-

“Oh Y/n!” Zack exclaims in a teasing voice. “You look like an absolute princess!” You roll your eyes at him and smooth your hands over the black crepe sheath dress Tori convinced you to put on. Brendon’s jacket is still keeping the chilly air off of your otherwise-bare shoulders and you insisted on keeping your high-top converses on; still, you do actually feel pretty fantastic.

Zack checks his watch again. “Right. Come on.” He reaches for you, and you shoot him an alarmed look, saying you’re not going anywhere; you need to go change out of the dress. “No time. We’re going now.” He’s putting a hand on your shoulder and steering you towards the fire station entrance and back towards Main Street, despite your protestations. “Come on, let’s go.”

When you step out onto Main Street, your breath catches. The parade is still going, and it’s absolutely incredible. Zack keeps walking, the hand on your shoulder propelling you gently forward. As you approach the castle, Zack waves at another cast member with a clipboard and headset, and there’s a call to pause. Brendon’s float is centered in front of the castle, and Zack nudges you through the floats. You look up; Brendon is waiting for you, an expectant smile on his face and—is that anxiety in his eyes? “

Brendon, what is this?” Your voice shakes, because you think you know. At least, you hope you know. The hair and makeup, the change of clothes, the manicure, the perfect positioning of the float in front of the castle—it’s all hinting at one thing, and you know you’ll be disappointed if you’re wrong. “Brendon?”

Instead of answering, he holds out one hand for you; you take it, and he leads you to the center of the float, smiling at you reassuringly, his thumb moving in soft circles over the back of your hand.

“I love you,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand. Your eyes are wide, your legs are trembling, and your hands are shaking as he raises the microphone back to his mouth. You’re more sure than ever that you know where this is going, and you take a steadying breath. He’s worked so hard to make this all possible; you’re going to take it all in and remember every single detail.

“Two years ago, you made me the happiest man alive when you said yes to being my girlfriend. It’s been two amazing years, and I can honestly say you being by my side for the highs has made them that much sweeter, and the lows have been so much more bearable. You’re perfect for me; we complement each other so well, and I’m so wildly in love with you. I don’t want to go a single day without you in my life. Y/n Y/l/n, will you make me the happiest man alive once more?”

Your hands are over your mouth, and your eyes are brimming with tears as he drops to one knee while fishing a small box out of his suit jacket. Eyes on his, you drop your hands, letting him take your left hand with one as he holds the open ring box carefully in the other. “My love, my dream girl, my princess—can we add one more title? Will you become my wife and do me the honor of marrying me?”

You’re nodding, repeating your “yes” over and over again before the whole sentence is even out of his mouth, and he’s on his feet in an instant, his arms around you as his lips find yours for a passionate, ecstatic embrace. The crash startles you both; you pull away and start laughing giddily as the gold glitter fireworks explode behind the castle. “You’re absolutely incredible; you’re the best man I’ve ever known,” you tell him, forehead resting against his and lips brushing.

“Because you make me strive to be. Let me put your ring on your finger, my love,” Brendon murmurs, stepping back and taking your left hand again so he can slide the ring onto your finger. It’s a perfect fit and truly stunning; it’s a large, round solitaire diamond that shines like nothing you’ve ever seen before. “It looks beautiful on you,” he tells you softly, and you fling your arms around him again, telling him it’s absolutely perfect as you kiss him deeply. His hands slide down your back and move past your waistline; you arch into him, desperate for more. Zack clears his throat, and you pull apart, beaming at each other and breathing hard.

“You’re on a float for a family parade in front of Disney’s castle; everyone is watching. Keep it PG,” Zack intones. “Good news; that was the last take for Brendon. You’re both free to go.”

-||-

“I have one more surprise for you,” Brendon murmurs, stroking your hand lovingly as you sit snuggled up beside him on the grass at the fireworks viewing party following the dessert buffet he booked for your group. You look at him in wonder; he’s had surprise after surprise this afternoon.

“It’s a good one,” he assures you, and you laugh, nudging him with your shoulder and telling him that each surprise has been perfect. “I think you’re really going to like this one though,” he says with a smile. “I hope.” He slings his arm over your shoulder and you burrow against him, warmer now that you’re back in your original clothes—though you appreciate his sneakiness earlier; he knows you well and knew you wouldn’t want to be in jeans when he got down on one knee. The first firework goes off, and he turns his head slightly to kiss your temple. “I love you,” he whispers. “Thank you for making me happier than I ever thought possible. I truly am the happiest I’ve ever been.” You smile up at him and murmur it back, cupping his face in one hand and drawing him in for a long kiss.

When the fireworks come to an end, Brendon stands and offers you his hand; you clamber to your feet and wait for the crowd to disperse. Zack is standing close by and Jake is leaning against the fence of the garden seating area, having gone for a walk to take some photos. When the people thin out, Zack nods and follows closely behind you while Brendon leads the way. Your hands are tangled together and he’s beaming when you approach the castle again. “Brendon, dinner here too?” You’re teasing, but he nods, running his thumb over your ring.

“Sure, we can order room service if you’d like.”

Your eyes go wide. “Wait, what?”

“Honey, we’re home,” Brendon says in a dramatic voice, knocking on a door. “We’re staying in the Cinderella Suite. Just for the night though,” he amends with a grin. “A gift from the Mouse to us, celebrating our engagement.” A cast member in an opulent blue velvet uniform swings the door open and greets you by name with a broad smile. He guides you inside and invites Brendon to tap his magic band against a small panel under a painting of the glass slipper. He does so, and elevator doors slide open. You’re in awe; Brendon guides you in after the cast member, Nathan, and Zack and Jake bring up the rear. As the doors shut, you’re still staring at Brendon in silent wonder. The doors open to a marble foyer, and Nathan leads the way, giving you a brief tour of the space.

Once he leaves, Zack checks in with Brendon, who nods and tells him that you’re both fine and definitely in for the night. “Go back out, have fun,” Brendon tells Zack and Jake, who don’t need to be told twice. The elevator doors close after them, and Brendon turns to you, eyes soft.

“Alone at last,” he murmurs, taking you in his arms. “My sweetest girl. My gorgeous princess. My love. My fiancée.” The word makes you beam; you throw your arms around his neck and he lifts you up slightly, carrying you into the living room, or the salon as Nathan called it.

Brendon places you gently on the couch so you’re sitting, and he turns towards the bookshelves, messing with his phone. After a moment, Sinatra’s “All The Things You Are” softly fills the room. “Dance with me, sweetheart?” He extends a hand to you, and you place yours in his eagerly, letting him pull you close.

He’s singing softly in your ear as you dance slowly, one of his hands sliding down your back to rest at the curve of your spine. “All that I want in all of this world is you,” Brendon’s voice is low and smooth, and you find yourself melting into his arms. He holds you tightly before carefully dipping you, and you swoon playfully. You giggle as he brings you upright again, and you cling to him. “I’m the happiest man alive,” he tells you, kissing you softly. You nod, going on tip-toe to kiss him back tenderly.

As the song closes though, you tug at his shirt, leading him back towards the bedroom you saw earlier. You’re ready to really celebrate. “Bedtime, sweetness?” He follows eagerly when you nod, practically tripping over himself as you both laugh and race to the bed hand in hand.

The large bed has an ornate canopy over it, and he lifts you up and lays you out over the plush comforter. “Let me take care of you,” he whispers, and you nod, already barefoot as his fingers work at your jeans.

He makes quick work of your clothes and it’s not long before you’re both under the covers, pressed against each other with roaming hands and eager mouths. “Brendon,” you murmur against his lips. “I need you.” Your hand sneaks down to stroke him gently, and he kisses your temple. One of his hands slips between your thighs and nudges them apart so he can trace his fingers against the wet heat he finds there. You’re moaning and squirming, desperate for more; you drape your leg over his waist, and he pulls you even closer.

“Need you,” you repeat, running your fingers through his hair and rubbing against him. “Brendon, please.”

“I know, sweetness,” Brendon murmurs, kissing you softly. “I know. I need you. But I also need to get you ready for me; can’t just—” and his hips rock forward. “What kind of fiancé would I be if I just stripped you naked to get my cock in you?”

“Fuck,” you whine, clinging to him. You’re not sure if it’s the feeling of him against your thigh or the things he’s saying, but you’re overwhelmed with lust. “I know you’re being wonderful right now, but—”

Brendon laughs, shaking his head and kissing your forehead. “But nothin, sweet girl,” he teases. “We’re going to do this right, okay?” When you sigh your acceptance, he moves down your body and presses a gentle kiss to your hip. Your back arches just feeling his warm breath on your skin, and your legs fall open wider for him. “Good girl.”

“Oh, yes,” you moan, delving your hands down under the covers to grip his head. “Oh please, Brendon, yes!”

His tongue is moving with delicate strokes, lips caressing and breathing heavy. You’re glad he insisted on foreplay; you love his mouth so much. Brendon’s making soft, desperate sounds as he buries his face in you more firmly, his fingers wrapping around your waist and holding you in place on his mouth. After a moment, both of his hands move behind your knees, guiding them up so the blankets drape over him loosely.

You can’t stop moving against him, can’t stop whimpering his name and praising his tongue or the way he’s slipped two fingers in deep and is curling them back. You gasp, and Brendon nods, murmuring that he wants you to come for him. “Come on my face; give me all this sweetness—love you so much, want you to let go, really come for me. Know you can, and you know I want it all. Give your man everything you’ve got.”

You kick the blankets off, needing to see him. His dark eyes flash up from between your legs; you moan when his tongue rubs against your clit, and then you’re coming hard. Your body is trembling, eyes wide open, lips parted, and your fingers curl in his hair as you come with a loud squeal.

Brendon groans, tongue caressing while his fingers keep stroking through your climax, and you’re trembling when he crawls up the bed to take you in his arms. “Hi, my love,” he murmurs, grinning when you clutch him close and kiss him desperately. “It was good, then?”

“Yes; god, so good,” you whisper, nodding to reinforce your point. Brendon sighs contentedly, running a hand between your legs and stroking over his length. “Need you,” you remind him, and he agrees, situating himself over you and kissing you as he pushes in. His quick intake of breath matches your short gasp of pleasure; he caresses your face as his hips move slowly. “Yes,” you repeat, raking both hands through his hair and holding his mouth close to yours. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Brendon says as he rocks forward again, going deeper this time. “Does this feel good?” You tell him yes, you can’t get enough of him; his mouth is on yours again, and he’s got one hand resting on your thigh while the other cups your face, lingering between you and the pillow. You’ve got one hand playing with his hair at the nape of his neck while the other strokes over his back. “I love you so much,” he repeats, resting his forehead against yours.

“I love you too,” you whisper, clinging to him. “So much. I’m going to be your wife.” At the word, both of you break out into uncontrollable grins, and he holds you tight, both of you moaning and moving together slowly. “Oh B,” you whimper, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “Don’t stop.”

“Not gonna,” Brendon groans, breathing hard. “Y/n, love, my sweet girl, you feel so—”

“Yeah,” you agree in a tight voice. “Yeah, you feel so good—oh god, Brendon! Brendon! Now!”

“Y/n, yes!” The hand framing your face moves to caress your hair and his mouth is on yours with urgency. You’re both moaning into each other’s mouths, your tongues touching and lips moving together as his stomach tenses, and you feel him come. Feeling him brings a hot second wave of pleasure through you, and he groans, clutching you close as you tremble under him. “That’s it honey, come for me. Come for your future husband.”

“Ooooooh fuck,” you gasp, eyes rolling back in your head as you quiver in his arms. “Brendon, yes!”

“Y/n,” Brendon murmurs after a moment when both of your breaths are steady and even again, nuzzling your nose. “You’re so beautiful. All the time, but especially when you come for me.”

“God, Brendon,” you say with a soft laugh. “You’re—you’re perfect.”

“You are too, Y/n. Perfect and perfect for me,” Brendon says as he brushes your hair over your ear and pulls you closer still. “You’re so damn perfect for me. You’re everything I've ever wanted in a partner. I can’t wait to marry you,” he whispers in your ear, stroking your thigh.

“I’m pretty sure they call Disney the happiest place on earth,” you mumble, resting your head against his chest. “Well, I can confirm that’s true. I’m the happiest girl alive right now, and I will be, as long as I’m your wife. So basically forever,” you say with a soft smile. “Since I’m always going to be yours.”

“They also call it the place where dreams come true,” Brendon tells you, kissing your forehead. “And, to quote the love of my heart, the light of my life, and my future wife…I can confirm that’s true, because you’re my dream girl, and I’m always going to be yours.” He kisses you once more as you snuggle in closer. “Y/n…all of my dreams came true today. I love you so much.”

[uncaaj]

Fanfic: I Luv U Emo Boy XD (DuckTales 17)

Based on an AU by @georgiarose and Glo

READ NOW ON AO3!

The perfect day off began like this- with the drop of a CD into a boombox. The disc whirred to life and the echoing notes of a lonely piano filled the subdued, poster-riddled bedroom of Gyro Gearloose. He stretched his lanky arms to the ceiling and brought them down gracefully, cracking his neck just as the lead singer of his favorite band began to tell a story.

When I was a young boy

My father drove me into the city

To see a marching band

Gyro swept his long, jet-black bangs out of his eyes. 

Perfect.

Walking over to the mirror next to his dresser, he snatched a black tube from the top of it and unscrewed the cap. The brush inside emerged covered in cheap eyeliner, color “Eternal Night.” As he carefully drew the makeup around the perimeter of his eyes, making sure to keep the lines simple and clean, he contemplated what he was going to wear. The sun was at its summer peak, roasting everything outside to a fine golden brown. No matter, for he had laid out his outfit the night before, something his parents would call a proactive and studious action. What did they know? They shouldn’t get their hopes up thinking he’d ever live the life they did. He just didn’t want to spend forever deciding what to wear, not when that time was better spent browsing for the new Haythorne Heights CD, which would be out any day now.

That, and impressing his boyfriend.

Speaking of, it was time to see if he was up. He probably was. Gyro was a late sleeper, something his parents frowned upon. Whatever. Gyro closed up the eyeliner and returned it to the dresser, making a mental note that he should get more while he was out. He grabbed his phone and flipped it open, heading straight for the top of his contact list.

“Gyro!” called a voice outside the door. “Can you please turn your music down? Your father can’t hear the big game!”

Gyro rolled his eyes and turned the knob a fraction of a percent down. Parents.

+++

Oh, well, imagine

As I’m pacing the pews in a church corridor

And I can’t help but to hear

No, I can’t help but to hear an exchanging of words

Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera tried not to nod his head to the upbeat, plinky sounds of his own boombox as he applied his eyeliner. Luckily he had done this so much, he had the application down to a fine science. All of his friends were jealous, even Gyro, the emo-est emo he’d ever known.

Fenton’s phone vibrated on his desk. Speaking of…

He finished up and screwed the brush back into the vial. He flipped the phone open with his thumb and saw the new text notification.

“hey loser XD u up?”

Fenton smiled and started pressing the keypad, which he also knew inside and out for the perfect SMSs. “I woke up at 9am this morning. Are you up?”

“lol who r u, my mom?”

“I love you too. :3 When are you coming?”

“in 10 min, we got the new spiked bandS @ the HT”

“:DDDDDD”

“see u soon”

His bedroom door opened. Fenton shut the phone and looked up. M’ma Cabrera walked in, lugging a laundry basket. “You got your clothes sorted, pollito?” she asked.

“Yes, M’ma, on my bed,” said Fenton, turning the music down so he could hear her properly.

She held the basket out on the bed’s edge and scooped the pile of neon tees and striped pull-ons into it with one motion. “So who’s taking you to the mall today?” she asked.

Fenton gulped and ran his fingers through his long purple-tipped hair. He had forgotten to mention that part until now and he knew she wouldn’t be thrilled knowing who he’d grabbed a ride from. “Er, Gyro Gearloose,” he said with a nervous chuckle.

M’ma sighed and put the basket onto the bed. “You know I don’t like you hanging out with that boy.”

“M’ma, he’s not that bad-”

“He’s careless, he’s disrespectful and he smokes- bad habits very easy to pick up. And I bought you all those nice shirts for your first college semester and you are dressing like a piñata!”

“M’ma, this is what everybody’s wearing. But I’m not doing it to fit in. It’s an expression of who I am.”

M’ma sighed again and wrapped her son up in a big hug. “Your mama can’t help it. I just don’t want you getting into any trouble, that’s all.”

“I’ll be fine,” said Fenton, trying a little to squirm out of the hug. “I trust him, and you can trust me.”

M’ma nodded. “Okay, Fenton.” She smooched him on the forehead and went back to grab the laundry basket. “Just make sure you’re back by dinnertime, okay?”

“Yes, M’ma,” said Fenton, waving her out. As soon as the door shut, he exhaled in relief. He loved his M’ma, but boy, was she smothering sometimes.

A little while later, Fenton heard a car horn outside his window. His excitement spiked in his chest and he practically tumbled out the door into the living room. “I’m leaving, M’ma! Love you, see you at dinner, bye!” 

It all came out as one word as he bolted out of the house, but M’ma understood it perfectly anyway. Her own motherly instinct spiking, she carefully placed the sudsy plate she was sponging back into the sink and made her way to the front window. Peeking through the blinds, she saw Fenton and Gyro leaning against the latter’s car. Gyro, dressed in a black beanie, black t-shirt whose band logo she didn’t recognize, black skinny jeans, and black boots despite the blazing temperature outside had his phone held up high, Fenton in his other arm as they posed for a picture. M’ma sighed, seeing wisps of smoke emit from the cigarette in Gyro’s mouth. She knew Fenton was at the age where she could let go some and let him live his life, but darn it if he didn’t make so hard to do so. Still, it was the price of the gig and she would love him and support him to the ends of the earth no matter what.

As the camera shutter clicked, Gyro caught sight of Mrs. Cabrera peeping at them through the front window of Fenton’s house and sent a dark sneer in her direction. She was unfazed, police women usually weren’t, and made the “I have my eyes on you” motion toward him before letting the blinds go and returning to whatever it is she was doing. Gyro rolled his eyes.

“What’s up?” said Fenton.

“Parents,” Gyro scoffed.

“She means well, I promise. She bought me this the other day.” He motioned toward his pink shirt with a kooky character on the front from that one Invader Zir show on TV.

“Well, that’s something. You’ll get tons of likes when I post this on ThisSpace later.”

“D’ya think we’ll make front page?” Fenton bounced on his toes at the thought.

Gyro blushed. Gods, he was so cute. All he could do was shrug and give him a peck on the forehead, then walked over to the driver’s seat of his all-black rustbucket. As Gyro and Fenton peeled away from suburban hell, engine sputtering all the while, he asked, “You mind if we stop at Starducks first? I feel like the undead.”

“Fine with me. Maybe I’ll try that new hibiscus refresher they have.”

“You’re so fruity, dork.”

“You’re my boyfriend so who’s really the fruity one?”

“...touche.”

Gyro pressed the play button, and the two lovebirds entered their pure nirvana set to a CD in a stereo.

Dance, dance

We’re falling apart to half-time

Dance, dance

And these are the lives you love to lead

Dance, this is the way they’d love

If they knew how misery loved me

[ryanross5eva]

ABSENCE [RYAN ROSS X BRENDON URIE]

TW: Self harm, self harm references, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, child abuse, blood, sharp objects, suicide attempts, suicidal thoughts and suicide references .

Please do not continue to read if you are sensitive to any of these topics!

Angsty/fluffy Teen! Brendon Urie x Teen! Ryan Ross oneshot.

Word Count: 6753

Hope you enjoy, please comment on any errors or improvements/suggestions or if there are any trigger warnings i missed! This is my first post. I apologise if it's bad yikes >_<.

Also put any one shot requests into the comments.

If you have any other ships or x readers (of emo men) put them in the comments.

—————-

Ryan kicked his shoes off and walked into his house. The horribly familiar scent of alcohol filled his nose, quickly running upstairs to avoid his dad. They lived in a relatively small town, his dad only went to his job for alcohol. He was getting money from his dead wife's bank account; he figured that kept Ryan’s needs sorted. Ryan would often get beatings from his dad, he never had a safe place until he went to school. Even at school he would be bullied and Ryan usually went home to cry himself to sleep. He always wishes everything would be different. Perhaps it would be better if his mom was here; he still went to visit her gravestone every weekend. His dad didn’t care for her except for the money he obtained from her death.

Ryan usually woke up at 5:45am to get ready for school. He had to do everything himself, so it took him longer than others who had their parents support. Ryan had set out all his clothes for the day, until something caught his eye. He looked down at the faded scars on his wrist; they reminded him of the times where he used to self-harm to feel better. Especially after his mother’s death. He stared around his room; the wooden box containing blades had an unusual enticing aura. fuck. He couldn’t relapse now, he’s 3 whole months clean; nearly 100 days.

He swiftly grabbed the blade and made 7 deep slashes across his wrist. He grabbed a tissue to clean himself up.It was the middle of summer and 71.6°F outside. He’d either just have to risk being spotted by teachers or wear a jacket all day. It was way too hot for a jacket and he had sports today; there is no way he could go with a jacket on all day. His school didn’t even have any goddamn air con. Ryan eventually decided to leave his jacket at home and try to cover up his fresh scars with band bracelets. He scrambled down the stairs with his bag slung over his shoulder.

“GET HERE RIGHT NOW!” His dad furiously shouted, Ryan could feel his stomach bubbling with anxiety and dread. He had to obey his father otherwise the punishment would be 10 times worse. He knew what was coming, it happened everyday. His father would punch him and occasionally break glass bottles on his head. Ever since he was born his dad became addicted to drugs. He blamed it on Ryan as he became a father when he didn’t want to.

As Ryan obtained eye contact with the burly irate man, he could see him clench his fist and shake with frustration. He braced himself as he took a clean strike straight to the head, that would definitely bruise quickly. Ryan always had to lie to the teacher and make up excuses. For example ‘I fell over.’ or ‘I got in a fight with another student.’ but Ryan knew he couldn’t keep up th at counterfeit for much longer.

Tears burned his face as his dad yelled for him to leave. He didn’t have anyone anymore. No mother, an unloving father and zero friends. The teachers that he could supposedly go and talk to didn’t even care, that's their job! They're supposed to fake sympathy even if they don't even mean it.

Ryan slammed the door and shoved his headphones in his ears. Even if he didn’t have any special people in his life, he had music. One day he dreamt of being famous. School had recently been getting worse for him; people would constantly call him gay or emo. Sure, he dressed in band shirts but he wasn’t the definition of emo. He never dated anyone, how would he even know if he was gay! His favourite band was my chemical romance, he always looked up to them. Everyday he would listen to them on the way to school. They truly changed his life, they were his source of comfort and inspiration he needed.

Ryan sucked in a deep breath as he arrived at the school gates. Almost immediately getting shouted at. When would this stop? Would it ever stop before it got too much? He just headed to his locker to prepare for English. BANG. There he was in Ryan’s eyeline, the well-known school bully. Already being bullied 3 minutes into the school day…yay. Ryan hated this, being bullied everyday just to go home to an even worse environment. He learned life isn’t always fair but can always be unfair.

He sat in English literature class, alone and bored. The students awaited the arrival of their teacher, Mrs Kay. Everyone was throwing paper aeroplanes and pencils at each other; until, Mrs Kay walked into class with an unfamiliar student. As she saw the disastrous sight of the classroom, she gave a disappointed sigh.

“Class! sit down, please welcome to our classroom a new student. His name is Brendon Urie.” He slowly made his way to the back of the classroom and sat in one of 3 empty desks next to Ryan. He tried to ignore the stinging on his wrists as a new wave of anxiety hit him. He tried to cover his fresh, beedy, scarlet cuts as best as he possibly could; hopefully no one would notice because then he’d be perfect for the bullies to target. They already did anyways, he just couldn’t have anyone see what he went through. His mental state was at an all time low. But, his thoughts were quickly interrupted by the new kid.

“Hey, as you know I’m Brendon. I thought you look pretty cool; I like your style. So, I thought I’d come sit next to you! What’s your name?” Ryan stared at him with shocked glassy eyes. No one had ever been this nice to him.

“Oh, um hi, thanks I’m Ryan Ross. I like your style too.” A smile crept upon his face. He hadn’t felt a genuine smile since his mother was still alive. Brendon shot back a true friendly smile back at him.

“I was wondering if we could have lunch together? If you have any friends I’d love to meet them!” Ryan’s smile faded away slowly. The other boy gave him a sympathetic confused look. He cleared his throat as Ryan just stared off into space.

“Shit, sorry. Yeah I’d like it if we had lunch together,” Ryan paused before continuing with the hard part. “I don’t have any friends though, the only human interaction I usually get is teachers or bullies,” He sighed and let out a small laugh. Brendon stared wide-eyed at the skinny tall boy.

They sat through the rest of the English lesson quietly, occasionally making jokes or commenting on things Mrs Kay said. Ryan kept seeing the teachers glance at his wrist, he continued to shift in his chair. RING. That was the bell for class to be over. Finally! He could get to know Brendon a bit more. But he just had to be interrupted by Mrs Kay.

“Ryan, could I have a word with you please?” Of course Ryan had to agree to it. Who was he to refuse a goddamn teacher? There certainly is no way to get out of this. He just nodded his head and walked towards her. “Ryan, I’m concerned about you. I’ve seen your wrist and I have these mental health concerns and possible ways to fix them on these documents. I need your dad to have them, is that ok?” His palms became sweaty and he tapped his fingers together.

“Is there anyone else we could give it to Mrs Kay?” Ryan anxiously asked.

“Do you have any friends that could help you?” She questioned, obviously knowing the boy’s social life.

“Actually I do,” Ryan replied as he snatched the papers out of her hands and ran to go meet Brendon in the lunch hall.

He took a deep breath before he entered the grand lunch hall. Ryan sat down next to his new friend; he quickly grabbed his lunchbox out of his bag.

“Hey, so I need to tell you something important. Then I have a huge favour I need to ask you,” He spluttered as Brendon took a bite of his sandwich. He happily replied with a simple nod. “Around 5 months ago my mother died,” Brendon looked at the boy with a flabbergasted expression upon his face. “Also, my dad beats me and he is addicted to drugs and alcohol. Obviously having all of that happen to me is quite a burden, after my mom died I fell into a deep spiral of depression…” Ryan didn’t quite realise how many tears started flowing down his face at this point. Brendon wrapped his arm around him as a source of comfort.

“It's ok Ryan, take your time,” He took a small slurp of his drink before panning his attention back to him. Ryan sucked in a deep calming breath before continuing. Words failed to come out of Ryan’s mouth, so he did the next thing he could think of. He carefully removed all the bracelets for his wrist and showed them to Brendon. “I get it Ryan, I’m here for you.” He engulfed him in a warm caring hug.

“I’m sorry, we just met. I shouldn’t have told you this, I understand if you don’t want to be my friend anymore.” He got up to run away but Brendon grabbed his arm to pull him back. Ryan winced at the stinging sensation reappearing.

“Ryan. I still want to be your friend. I can tell beneath everything that you’ve put up with is a boy who just wants to feel loved again,” He stared at him with an understanding look in his eyes as Ryan slumped back down. “Anyways, what was this ‘favour’ you needed me to do?”

“Mrs Kay gave me these papers about mental health. She said I need to give them to someone because they might be able to help me with panic attacks and stopping self harm,” Ryan sniffled. Brendon took the papers out of his hands and quickly scanned over them.

“How about we go to my house later? We can get to know each other even better and we can discuss these papers,” He flashed a toothy smile at Ryan. He just replied with a simple nod.

The rest of lunch and school went a lot smoother than usual from Ryan’s perspective. Having a friend around really does make life more enjoyable. They agreed to meeting each other in the parking lot after school.

Brendon talked about himself on the walk to his house, simply so Ryan could get to know him better. They scraped their shoes along the warm concrete sidewalk as they approached the Urie’s household.

“I’m home now mom!” brendon shouted as he took a step closer to his kitchen. “I brought a friend over, hope you don’t mind,”

“Of course not honey!” Mrs Urie exclaimed whilst wiping her hands on a towel. Ryan nervously gulped before gaining the courage to speak. His eyes nervously flickered around the room, seeing quite a few religious items such as multiple bibles.

“Hi Mrs Urie, I’m Ryan, nice to meet you!” He blurted before being pulled into a motherly hug. Tears filled his eyes. He forgot what a mothers love felt like.

“Nice to meet you too Ryan, friends are always welcome here!” He only had time to reply with a small nod as he got dragged upstairs by Brendon. Before he knew it he was entering Brendon’s colourful yet very teenage room.

“So, I had a look at the papers and it’s just about frequently checking up on you. I think we can handle that,” Brendon cheerfully explained.

“Yeah, I think we can!” Ryan replied with a cheshire-cat-like grin spreading upon his face. His smile was clearly contagious as brendon has an identical one spread across his face as well.

They continued chatting together but were eventually cut off by Ryan’s phone buzzing. Seeing as it was his dad, he thought he better answer it or there would probably be consequences. “Sorry Brendon, I have to take this,” Brendon simply nodded as Ryan headed just outside his room.

“RYAN! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?” His dad shouted down the line. Ryan started to anxiously pick at his nails as he thought of his response carefully.

“I’m at a friend's house, sorry.” His breathing slowly picked up as he awaited his dad’s reply.

“Just get home now, I’ll just have to punish you later!” He sighed. Ryan’s eyes pricked with tears as he slid down the wall. Teardrops soaked his jeans as he quietly sobbed. He ripped a piece of paper from his homework and wrote an explanation to Brendon.

‘Sorry. I had to leave :P’

He grabbed his bag from the hallway and left the Urie house. Thank god his house was only a couple blocks away. God only knows what his dad was about to do.

Brendon slowly creaked his door open; it’d been 10 minutes since Ryan left to take the call. Surely it can’t take that long. To Brendon’s surprise, Ryan wasn’t there at all. He frantically scrammed back into his room to flop back onto his bed. Had Ryan text him?

From Ryan:

I left a note, sorry.

His heart raced as he crept back outside and read the note. He left Ryan a few texts along the lines of ‘Don’t worry’ or ‘Where did you go?’ to say he was concerned about him was an understatement. He was extremely distressed over his new friend. What if he gets beaten again? Even though he only met him today, Ryan was his number 1 priority. The scent of food disrupted his thoughts. He went downstairs and slumped down at the dinner table.

Ryan took a deep shaky breath as his dad opened the door. “Get here you little shit.” His dad’s voice rang through his ears. The only sound Ryan could let out was a weak whimper. Before he knew it, an empty beer bottle was smashed against his head. His dad gave out a menacing chuckle, pushing him straight to the floor. “You are garbage, don’t forget it.” Ryan sluggishly walked upstairs; he felt exceedingly lightheaded. Even more than all the normal times his father beat him, he was so used to the sensation. But he could tell this was unusual. When he entered the bathroom, his vision went blurry and dark as he collapsed into a heap on the ground.

Three hours later.

It was 8:15pm, 4 whole hours since Brendon last spoke to Ryan. Brendon was casually scrolling myspace, until he noticed how alarming it was that Ryan hadn’t responded. His mind panned back to what he had told him earlier, wait, did he go home? What happened with his dad. He didn’t have any time to waste as he chucked on his shoes and yelled to his mom. “I’m going to check on a friend, is that okay?”

“Of course honey,” and with his mom’s confirmation he sped out the door. His sneakers scuffed along the damp concrete and he puffed out heavy exhausted breaths. Rain fell upon his face as he ran so hard his legs nearly gave out.

Hang on, how was he going to get in? Fuck. He should've thought of this before he sprinted here. After pondering on what he should do, he spotted a window which was cracked open. He squeezed his body into the tight gap and got into the house. He could see the staircase from where he was standing. Loud chuckles and clattering of beer bottles against tables were erupting from the room next door. So, if that was Ryan’s dad he could easily get upstairs without being caught.

Once he tiptoed upstairs, a thud sound came from behind a closed door. Surely no one else was here, right? As the cogs turned in his brain, it came to him that it was Ryan. Frantically, his hands turned the doorknob to reveal Ryan curled in a ball on the ground. Brendon examined his whole body checking for injuries; blood was streaming out of his head. He inspected the injury closer and pulled small shards of what looked like beer bottle glass out from his brown locks.

“Ryan, can you hear me?” Brendon calmly spoke as he shook the young boy. He didn’t respond. His body laid unconsciously on the freezing tiles. Small teardrops turned into loud sobs as Brendon held Ryan as if he was fragile porcelain. He picked up Ryan and retraced his previous footsteps to end up back at his house. “MOM!” Brendon let out a shaky cry out of terror.

“Brendon? What’s wrong honey?” His mother quickly rushed to the front door and gasped before being interrupted by Brendon.

“Help me to get Ryan to hospital please,” He said through his teeth whilst choking back tears.

“He’ll be okay honey, I promise. Now, go get in the car,” She quietly answered as she rushed to get her keys. Brendon buckles his seatbelt faster than ever as he props Ryan up against him. Mrs Urie didn’t say a word to him; it was clear he was very distraught about this whole situation. I mean, who wouldn't be?

Brendon wiped away his tears as they stepped into the Emergency Room. His mom rubbed his back as a source of comfort; he just hoped that Ryan would be okay. Brendon sucked in a deep breath before talking to the worker at the front desk.

“What seems to be the problem?” The worker asked in a caring tone.

“My friend has an abusive dad, he didn’t respond to my text for hours. So, I went to check up on him and found him with glass in his head and he was unconscious on his bathroom floor.” He sniffled as he awaited the response.

“Ok, your friend will be in to see a doctor in 5 minutes max,” They thanked them before sitting down. Brendon anxiously shook his knee up and down as he waited. Ryan was so precious to him. They’ve only known each other for a day, but Brendon still felt this overwhelming need to take care of him and be there for him.

After a five minute wait, the nurse asked for them. “Ryan Ross? Doctor Lockwood is ready for you.”

“I’ll wait here, good luck.” Brendon’s mom gave him a pat on the back. He carried Ryan to the doctor; then he was instructed to place him on a hospital bed. Before he could even blink, the doctors got straight to work as they stitched up his wound.

“Mister Urie,” Dr Lockwood began. “I would like to discuss Ryan’s injury with you,” Brendon sat with the doctor for 45 minutes and explained. Worry ran through his veins as he thought about Ryan. “Well, Ryan’s stitches should be finished, if you would like to go and see him!” Lockwood exclaimed whilst looking at his rusty watch.

Brendon nodded and rushed to go see his friend. “Hi Ryan, how are you holding up?” He quietly whispered.

“I’m good, what happened? I don’t remember much..” He sniffled and gave Brendon a half smile. He explained for a 3rd time what happened and after an hour Ryan got discharged.

They got back into their car and Brendon sat in the back, just in case anything happened. “Ryan,” Mrs Urie spoke up, “I don’t think you should go back to your house, at least not tonight. It really does not sound safe for you, also I’m sure Brendon wouldn’t mind a sleepover!”

“B-but my dad will be really mad if he finds out I left and I’m not there.” Tears slowly welled up in his eyes.

“Ryan, I promise I won’t let anything happen to you. May I have your dad’s number? I’ll tell him you're staying at ours, then I will have to tell the police, okay?” Mrs Urie had her mind set on this, it was extremely wrong to do this to a kid. What a monster he must be. Ryan just leaned his head on Brendon’s shoulder, occasionally lifting his hand to wipe his tears away.

They silently unbuckled their seatbelts and made their way inside the house. Brendon led Ryan upstairs to the bathroom and got a spare toothbrush out for him.

“Uh Brendon, I don’t have any clothes to sleep in,” Immediately after, he went to get clothes for him. He grabbed shorts and a baggy hoodie. Ryan took the clothes from Brendon and muttered a small thanks.

“You can get changed in here, I’ll go to my room.” Giving him a little smile, he exited the room.

A few minutes later, Ryan was ready for bed. He stared confused at the floor; oh great, there’s only one bed. “Do you want me to sleep on the floor, Bren?” His heart fluttered at the thought of a nickname. Brendon blushed before clearing his throat.

“Oh no, I don’t mind you sleeping in my bed! It’s massive anyway,” He awkwardly chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. Ryan slowly crawled into bed next to Brendon. He clicked off the bedside light and snuggled down into his pillow. “Night Ry,” Ryan felt his cheeks heat up and glow red with the simple nickname. No one ever made him feel this way, what emotion even was this? He couldn’t quite figure it out; he copied Brendon’s previous movement and fell into a calm slumber.

-

The next morning, Ryan awoke with an extra warm sensation to one side of him. It seemed that Brendon had attached himself in his sleep. He wasn’t complaining, it was quite relaxing. He reached over to his phone on the oak table. His eyes squinted as the bright screen flashed violently. Brendon stirred in his sleep as Ryan took a few pictures on his phone. He could tell Brendon was waking up, his deep snoring stopped and he was constantly moving. Eventually he ended up with his head on Ryan’s chest, Brendon rubbed his eyes and yawned.

“Morning Ryan, sorry for kind of sleeping on you,” He let out a content sigh and grabbed a bottle of water. Ryan stretched out his long arms and sat up.

“It’s ok, I don’t mind,” He grinned and headed to brush his teeth. Brendon quickly did the same thing, after proposing the idea of pancakes. Ryan eagerly agreed as he leaped down the stairs.

They sat together on the couch with the white noise of the television buzzing in their ears. After they had finished their pancakes, they shared memes on their phone and had a normal chat. Brendon’s mom interrupted them with an idea. “Y’know you guys could go out today!” Ryan quickly accepted the idea with a cheerful nod. Brendon exchanged glances with him as they decided upon a final decision. “There’s lovely restaurants in the town centre, I’ll give you some money boys.”

“Oh, It’s okay Mrs Urie. You don’t have to give me any money; you’ve done more than enough by letting me stay here.”

“Don’t be silly,” She chucked, “having your company is lovely, I don’t mind giving you money!” Mrs Urie smiled as she handed Ryan $50.

“Let’s go get ready then!” Brendon grinned as he excitedly ran upstairs. “I’ve got some clothes you can wear,” He shouted. Ryan flinched at the loud shouting, growing up he always hated shouting, even before his dad started to abuse him. His dad would usually have screaming wars with his mom; no matter what, it would end in his mom crying and Ryan trying his best to comfort her. He was only young, he couldn't do much about it.

Twenty minutes had passed, they were both completely ready and went out. “Mom! We’re going now,” He yelled, waiting for his mother’s response.

“Okay, remember to be safe!” Mrs Urie scrambled to grab her phone as they left. She dialled the police’s number to tell them about Ryan’s dad. Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Hello ma'am, what are you calling us for?” They answered; she went on to explain about his situation (In extreme detail) for almost an hour straight.

“Thanks for your report, we’ll send the police around there now and hopefully remove any harmful substances from the house.”

“Thank you so much, goodbye.” With that being said, they hung up and presumably got to work.

Brendon and Ryan were in the town centre now; they walked the streets together, hands occasionally grazing each other. They eventually entered a small restaurant tucked in the corner of a street. Two lengthy hours sharing conversation and eating lunch.

Once they had finished their meals, Brendon had called the waiter over and paid for the food.

“How about we head to the restroom quickly and then go home?” He suggested with a small smile on his face as he admired Ryan. He replied with a mini nod and smiled back at him.

Brendon was washing his hands in the marble sink as Ryan stared at him. He grabbed a few paper towels, drying his hands off. Straight after, they left the restaurant, feeling content.

“That was a really good meal!” Ryan beamed but was abruptly cut off by a man in all black + a mask attack Brendon. He was put in a headlock and had a gun put to his head; it wasn’t a busy street and the restaurant windows were tinted. No one would see.

“GIVE ME YOUR MONEY!” The man barked. Brendon whimpered as he couldn’t reach his pockets and stared at Ryan for help. He proceeded to punch the man square in the face. He couldn’t stand to watch Brendon be hurt any longer.

“Fuck off; don’t ever threaten us again.” Ryan growled as he scrammed. Brendon had tears in his eyes, frozen in shock. He engulfed him in a hug, Brendon only responded by resting his head on Ryan’s shoulder.

He rubbed his back and sighed. They stayed like that for a good minute until Ryan cupped his cheeks and wiped his glistening tears away. Their eyes were locked onto each other as they breathed deeply. Brendon slowly leaned closer and just before he could pull away; Ryan’s lips collided with Brendon’s. It was a sweet caring kiss, nothing but care and affection.

A moment was spent with Brendon longingly looking into Ryan’s hazel eyes. Suddenly, Brendon pulls back and pushes him away, a new-found rage filling his pupils.

“Ryan, boys can’t love boys,” He said as he ran away, shouting at Ryan to not follow him.

The bus was due in 3 minutes.

Brendon ran like his life depended on it; his lungs felt as if they were collapsing. His feet were on fire, he finally reached the bus stop just as it arrived. The bus hissed as the air brakes were being used. The double doors swung open as Brendon eagerly ran inside and raced to the back of the bus.

His hands traced designs on the polyester fabric of the bus seats. Thoughts raced through his mind at a 1000mph. Brendon couldn’t get Ryan out of his head. Every thought or idea was centred around him.

Shit.

He didn’t like Ryan. He couldn’t! His mum simply would disown him, she’s the most religious person he’d ever met. She would NEVER let Brendon see Ryan again. But, did Brendon actually have feelings for him?

The way his stomach gets butterflies whenever he thinks of him. The way a light dusty blush brushes his cheeks whenever they touch. The way he admired every movement Ryan made.

Fuck. He wasn’t just simply in love. He was head over heels. He had to tell someone, it had to be Ryan.

His mind wandered, taking him back to a time where his mother had a strong point of view.

~ Flashback ~

“Brendon! Pay attention, young man,” His mother disciplined as he played with his shoe laces.

“Sorry,” He muttered, turning his attention to the boring pastor. The pastor was talking about being homosexual, he didn’t appear to have a very fond opinion of it. Brendon’s mom was so brainwashed by him, she fully believed his opinion on homosexuality was right. It wasn’t; everyone should be accepted for who they are.

In the end, her views were so extreme that homosexuality is the reason they moved. She’d found out that there was quite a few homosexual kids at his school and refused to stay there.

~ End of flashback ~

Brendon had come to a realisation, he was bisexual. Even though his current love interest was a man, he had felt sexual attraction to women as well.

The bus came to a halt. He rushed out of the musty bus and raced to his house. He needed to make things right, but first he needed to know Ryan was ok.

Swinging open the door, he shouted for his mother. “MOM!” He yelled in a frightened tone.

“What is wrong? Where’s Ryan?” Brendon felt a sickening sensation form in his stomach at the small mention of the boy.

Ryan sat cross-legged on the sidewalk, tears flew down his face as he thought of Brendon. How could he just ditch him like that? He thought that Brendon was there for him after the incident with his dad. Oh, that was another thing to sob about. His shitty father. Why did he have to end up like this? Ryan reminisced on all his memories with his mother, tears increasing their quantity.

He did know one thing that would make him feel better. He knew it wasn’t the best solution, but it would put a temporary stop to his emotion. Cutting himself, that's all he could think to do. The sky had dimmed, now being a dusky grey. Ryan shuffled down the alleyway and yanked the shiny, metal blade out of his pocket. His hands roamed to pull his sleeve up. A few cuts, that's all he needed. He couldn’t seem to stop.

Ruby blood pooled around him and darkness overcame him.

“Mom, I left Ryan in the town centre. We had a slight argument,” Brendon whimpered. He curled up into a ball on the floor and weeped. “Please, go get him,” He pleaded.

Mrs Urie nodded and responded in a soothing voice, “Ok dear, you go upstairs and calm yourself down!” She exited through the front door and started up her car. Brendon dragged his body upstairs and flopped onto his comforting bed, recollection of cuddling up to Ryan washes over him.

After a while, she arrived at her destination. She glanced around the restaurant, Ryan was nowhere to be seen. Un popping her pocket, she grabbed her phone out of her pocket.

To Brendon:

Hey, is (restaurant name) where you went? I can’t s-

Her typing was cut off by her view being attached to a boy in the alleyway. Hurriedly, she scrambled over to him, her heart felt as if it was in her throat. It was Ryan.

“Ryan,” she called out, “I’ve come to get you!”

No response. Dead silence. The blood glimmered in the dull street lights.

“Oh my…” She gasped. Mrs Urie picked up Ryan in her arms and ran as fast as she could to the car.

She frantically propped his body against the leather seats. Her hands rummaged in the back of the car for her first aid kit. A green bag was quickly opened, strings of bandages were pulled out.

Slowly, stretchy bandages were wrapped around Ryan’s wrist, she applied firm pressure as it soaked up his blood. His limp body was put into a more comfortable position, buckling up their seatbelts, she started the car.

Ryan stirred in his slumber, his eyes soon adjusted to the colourful street lights.

“Mrs Urie?” He earned a small gasp out of her mouth.

Shocked and stunned, she replied, “Yes Ryan?”

“Where are you taking me?” He said with his eyebrows knitted into a confused expression.

“Just back to my house,” She said with a friendly smile on her face. She pondered for a moment, then got the courage to express her thoughts. “What happened between you and Bren?”

Several tears were appearing in his eyes, just at the simple mention of the boy. Gosh, he really was in love. It was just a shame his gay realisation had to be so tragic.

Eventually, he spoke up, “Uh, I kissed Brendon,”

“YOU WHAT!” She screeched.

“I don’t even know! It just felt right at the time…” He trailed off.

“You and Brendon are seriously in for it when we arrive at home! And do not even THINK about texting him to warn him!” She scolded. Ryan sat silently for the rest of the ride; he wished the ground beneath him would open up and swallow him whole.

They arrived and to say Ryan was horrified was an understatement. His hands were shaking and his eyes were threatening to spill tears.

“BRENDON! GET HERE NOW!” She squawked. Brendon knew that he was in for it. By the tone of her voice, reminding him of his father, Ryan grew more anxious.

Thundering steps boomed down the staircase as Brendon came rushing down. His eyes bulged out of his head; as he looked at Ryan, a panicked expression spread across his face.

“What happened Ryan?” He blurted with a soft, worried voice.

“You! You don’t care about me,” Ryan yelled, emotion loud in his voice. Brendon stared at him in shock, he felt as if a piece of his heart shattered into a billion pieces.

“Ryan, listen to me!” He pleaded, but Ryan slammed the door and ran to their bathroom. Brendon thought that Ryan hated him; little did he know, Ryan was going through the exact same thought process.

Ryan curled up in the corner of the bathroom, tears didn’t just fall, they were crashing around him. He thought back on wanting the world to swallow him up; he realised he was just suppressing his feelings. Ryan was suicidal.

He balled his fist up and shoved them inside his denim jacket pockets. Something cold pressed against his knuckles.

The blade.

Resisting wasn’t an option, he was overcome with an extreme need. A need his mind said he must fulfil.

However, he found his wrist wasn’t enough this time. He needed more. More blood. More thrill.

More pain.

This urgency for more resulted in him slitting his throat. First, only starting off with small cuts, blood rushing to the surface, but not dribbling onto his skin. The emotion had gotten so intense, he began to cut deeper. Blood rushed down his neck, ruining his shirt and occasionally dripping onto his jacket.

Ryan had started to feel light-headed. He stumbled around the bathroom; fuck, how was he meant to hide this scar. Before even taking any protocols into consideration, he began to clean up. Brendon didn’t have anything to clean cuts with. Of course he didn’t, what was Ryan thinking?

Carefully, his freezing hands pressed the paper towel against his neck. Sucking in a breath - caused by the pain - as it began to sting.

Why didn’t his attempt work? All he wanted was to be gone, he’d thought there was nothing else left for him on Earth. He might as well just die. He thought he was pathetic, that's what drove his passion for pain.

A knock came from the old, creaky door.

“Ryan,” Brendon said firmly. Ryan’s heart leapt out of his chest, he couldn’t face Brendon, at least not now. Quickly, he wiped his teardrops away and tried to steady his voice.

“Yes?” Ryan said, his voice slightly shaky from previous events.

“Come out, please…” His tone was hopeful; all he wanted was for Ryan to come out of the bathroom.

Ryan choked back his tears as he examined his neck in the mirror. “I can’t,” Ryan thought carefully about his response, but nothing was a good enough reason.

“I promise I don’t hate you…” Brendons voice trailed off before he continued. “I actually have some, uh, complicated feelings. I'd like to talk to you about it. But only if it’s alright with you!” He took a huge gulp, awaiting the other boy's reply.

No reply was made. Ryan lowered his head into his knees; he’d never been this bad. He let everything get to him, every comment, every action and most importantly everything. Some things (or people) are better off being shut out.

“I’m coming in Ryan; I can tell you're not okay,” Brendon waited for any final reponses. Finally, he turned the door knob with his hand.

He was speechless, bloody tissues and more cuts on his wrist. But, he hadn’t seen the worst of it yet. Brendon sat opposite Ryan.

He rubbed Ryan’s shoulder comfortingly. He was waiting for some form of eye contact; looking to find meaning and emotion in his eyes. Any form of communication would work, a sign even!

Ryan pricked his head up. Brendons breathing faltered as he saw his neck. Hundreds of thoughts ran through both their minds.

Suddenly, a harsh slap was delivered to Brendon from Ryan. It was all too overwhelming for him. His brain was shutting down and he wasn’t thinking straight.

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!” Ryan raised his voice.

“FOR FUCKS SAKE! RYAN, I’M JUST TRYING TO HELP YOU!” Brendon felt his eyes rapidly well up.

“Well. Maybe I don’t want your help!” He said, quite a bit quieter this time.

“Clearly, you need someone's help! You can’t go a single fucking day without cutting yourself,” He muttered, Brendon was extremely pissed off by now. He had never been in a situation like this; all he yearned to do was help. Help the special person in his life.

Brendon realised that he shouldn’t have said that, he could’ve just ruined their (complicated) relationship completely. He seemed to snap out of his thoughts when Ryan was sobbing.

Brendon did that. He realised he made Ryan this sad.

“I’m so sorry Ryan, I wasn’t thinking! I didn’t mean it,” He apologised, Ryan meant so much to him. How could he do that to him?

“Go away,” Ryan sniffled. “I hate you,” He wept. Brendon knew he didn’t actually mean it. Even Ryan knew he didn’t mean it. Ryan had also come to the realisation that he did in fact need help.

Brendon stayed sat opposite him. He was lost for words; he had no idea what to do. He stayed silent, wishing that Ryan would say something first.

Fortunately, his wish came true. Ryan finally spoke up after what felt like an hour of silence - in reality it was less than a minute.

“Bren,” His cheeks dusted a pink shade at the pet name. “I need help,” He said and took a gulp of courage.

Brendon took Ryan’s hand in his hand. “Y’know I’d get you any help you needed,” He told him, maintaining a calm eye contact.

“All I need is you,” Ryan sighed softly; finding a sudden surge of confidence. Their eyes were like gravitational pulls towards each other; not leaving their view.

Brendon pulled Ryan into a deep, passionate kiss. Breath slightly shaky as their lips parted.

“When I left, I realised that I’m in love with you…” Brendon blurted. His cheeks burned a bright pink hue.

“I guess it’s true,” Ryan snickered, the other boy just stared, confused.

“What?” He questioned, trying to think of the answer, mind blanking.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder,”

—

A/N That is the end of this oneshot! Hope you enjoyed it! Fun fact: this was based off of something I wrote in class :p

[sunraies]

Rafe x Sleepy! Reader where he freaks out that she’s not answering her Phone and thinks The worst scenario that she’s sick of him, cheating etc. But It gets better when she calls him while he’s with The boys and she’s in her pj’s telling him she just woke up and asking what happened that made him call so many times 🥹

Sleepy baby

As requested above

Warnings - insecurities, toxic thoughts, drug use, drinking, and mentions of sex. Ending fluff.

*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*

16 hours ago, you posted to your insta story. 16 hours since you'd been laughing, smiling, singing, and dancing into the camera. Music pumping and disco lights blazing as you partied into the night.

You looked so happy, surrounded by your college friends. Some he knew, and some he didn't. He wished he could have been there with you. Long distance was slowly killing him, he was sure of it.

Although he'd been uneasy about you going so far away, things had been working out. He visited as often as he could, and you came home for the holidays. But it was moments like this when he started to doubt it all. His mind would spiral.

At first, he thought there was a reasonable explanation for you not texting him when you made it home and for not responding to his messages. You were probably to tired and drunk, simply forgotten.

But as the hours ticked by and multiple messages and phone calls later, his mind began to wander to darker places. You didn't need him anymore. You had finally realised it. You had found someone else. Someone else had found you.

You were a college student, you didn't need some hometown boyfriend dragging you down, you had finally decided to live your best life. Without him. Party, sex and drugs.

Well, two could play at that game. The moment Topper had told him about a party happening, he immediately said he would go. Fuck it, he was still the Kook King, he knew how to party, how to have any person he wanted.

The problem was that you were the only person he wanted. After a few drinks, he found himself where he normally ended up at parties. Sat with his boys, Topper, Kelce, and Barry, nursing a beer, smoking a blunt, doing a few lines, and glazing into the fire pit as the sky of endless stars shone above them.

"Bro, that's like the billionth time you checked your phone." Topper pointed out as Rafe pulled his phone out of his shorts pocket again.

"What's up, Little Miss Havard ghosting you?" Barry teased as he through arm an over Rafe's shoulders.

"Fuck off" Rafe tried to shake his arm off before sighing as looked at his phone again.

All that stared back at him was you as his lock screen and a couple of notifications, but none from you.

"Oh, shit. You really think she is?" Barry's smirk dropped, suddenly noticing his friend genuinely down about something.

"She's probably just busy," Kelce tried to reassure him. "You know with essays and shit. I mean, I have a shit ton, and that's just online"

Out of everyone in their little friend circle, you were the only one who moved the furthest away. Topper was on a gap year, Kelce was doing online courses, Barry was dealing, and Rafe had to follow in Ward's footsteps. A few of your friends did gap years.

Rafe nodded slowly. "What if, what if she's do -" He didn't finish his sentence as his phone screen suddenly lit up. 'FACETIME - Baby 😍 💍'

He nearly dropped his phone in the panic of answering it. For a spilt second, he thought about letting it ring out of spite. You'd not answered any of his. But he couldn't do it, for all the spiralling his mind had been doing. He needed to talk to you.

"Rafe, hey, you ok?" You looked so sleepy as you rubbed your eye. "I'm so sorry, I've been asleep all day"

If he could have jumped into the screen and kissed you in that moment, he would have. You looked so adorable, hair in a mess, no makeup, clearly sat in your dorm room bed as he recognised the bed sheets and the tapestry on the wall behind you.

What made his heart warm the most was that you were in one of his t-shirts. One of many you had borrowed/stolen.

He knew he was smiling at his screen like a complete goof. But he didn't care.

"Where are you?" You asked, trying to work out the noises around him and odd lighting of the fire pit. "Why did you call so much? Everything ok?" You asked, concerned.

"Everything's good, baby," He smiled. "Just at a party with the boys." He turned the phone around to show them

"God, Rafe, no don-" Too late, there you was in all you sleepiness. Proudly held up on his phone screen.

"Mrs Country Club!" Barry greeted as the others said "yo" and "hey"

You awkwardly waved and smiled as your cheeks burned before Rafe turned the phone back him.

"Well, I better not keep you from the party. As long as everything is ok?" You could tell something wasn't quite right, but didn't push it. He'd tell you in his own time. He always did.

"Everything is fine, my sleepy baby." He smiled, not giving a shit if the others heard.

"Alright, see you this weekend? Facetime tomorrow?" You smiled as he nodded before saying I love yous.

"Aww, my sleepy baby. Sleepy bab-" Barry teased before Rafe pushed him. Causing his chair to topple backwards onto the grass. Making everyone who witnessed laugh.

He glanced at his phone one last time, seeing you smiling face on his lock screen and new message 'Baby 😍💍 - I really do love you ❤️😘'

[winwintea]

on my bike

PAIRING ↬ ghost rider!lee jeno x fem!reader (feat. yu jimin/karina)

TAGS ↬ fluff, action, romance, angst, hidden feelings, best friends to lovers au, marvel au, ghost rider au, superhero au, antihero jeno potentially, reader is actually a mutant named surge, but she doesn't know it yet, karina is basically emma frost, this is NOT canon to actual marvel lore lol, more inspired by comics than the movies, jeno is a mix between johnny blaze and danny ketch, wrote the word 'venegance' so many times im starting to believe jeno is batman actually

WARNINGS ↬ mentions of alcohol and drug abuse, jeno crashing out, stunts going wrong, and a fight scene

SUMMARY ↬ after a brutal attack, stunt motorcyclist lee jeno stumbles upon a cursed bike and becomes the ghost rider. now bound to the spirit of vengeance, he fights to control his hellish powers while you, his childhood best friend, fall under the influence of a powerful telepath. as your own abilities awaken and tensions ignite, one question remains: will you save each other or burn together?

WORD COUNT ↬ 14.7k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ for @sungbeam's action figures collab!!!!! tysm for letting me join, this was literally the first time i've ever participated in a collab... and it was so fun. definitely challenged myself here, i'm not used to writing super hero or such action-packed scenes so if it's bad i apologize lol. anyways title is inspired by purple kiss i am in love with them now actually.

PLAYLIST ↬ no roots - alice merton; on my bike - purple kiss; nightmare - halsey; highway to hell - ac/dc; play with fire - sam tinnesz, yacht money; bang bang bang - bigbang; million dollar baby - ava max; mad head love - kenshi yonezu; wanted dead or alive - bon jovi; the chain - fleetwood mac; house of memories - panic at the disco; hymn for the weekend - coldplay

“LEE JENO.”

you muttered under your breath, watching as the sound of a roaring motorcycle echoed through the streets of your city, a blur of black and chrome weaving recklessly through traffic. “Of course.”

The bell above the door jingled as Jeno strolled in, helmet in hand, his trademark smirk plastered across his annoyingly perfect face. His leather jacket was scuffed from what you could only assume was another unnecessary stunt, and his bleached white hair stuck to his forehead with sweat.

“Guess who just broke his own jump record,” he announced, sliding into the booth across from you.

“You mean guess who just almost got himself killed,” you retorted, narrowing your eyes at him.

Jeno raised his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, Y/N. It’s not like I landed on someone’s house or anything.”

“Not this time,” you snapped, folding your arms. “Seriously, Jeno, you can’t keep pulling this shit. You’re going to hurt yourself. Or someone else.”

He rolled his eyes and leaned back, draping one arm casually over the seat. “What’s life without a little risk?”

“Life without you being the industry’s walking insurance liability?” you shot back. “Sounds nice.”

For a second, his smirk faltered, but he quickly bounced back, leaning forward to snag a fry off your plate. “You worry too much. It’s cute, but unnecessary.”

“Don’t call me cute,” you muttered, snatching your plate away before he could grab another fry. “And I wouldn’t have to worry if you didn’t make it your mission to stress me out every single day.”

“Hey, if it makes you feel better, I’m perfectly fine right now,” he said, his voice light but tinged with something defensive.

You gave him a pointed look, gesturing toward the fresh scrape on his arm. “What about that, then? Don’t tell me that’s from cooking. You never cook.”

Jeno glanced down at the scrape, shrugged, and smiled sheepishly. “Fine, maybe I’m a little scratched up.”

“Scratched up doesn’t even begin to cover it,” you muttered, your voice softening. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep watching you do this to yourself, Jeno.”

His smile faded completely now. He suddenly shifted uncomfortably in his seat and grabbed his helmet. “Look, Y/N, I get it, okay? But this is who I am. You don’t have to like it, but you don’t have to stick around either.”

“That’s not fair, and you know it,” you said, your voice cracking slightly. “You’re my best friend. I’m always going to stick around. But that doesn’t mean I’m just going to sit here and watch you destroy yourself.”

Jeno hesitated, the weight of your words settling in the space between you. “I’m fine,” he said, but the words lacked conviction. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Yeah, well, too bad,” you replied, standing up and grabbing your jacket. “Because I do. And one day, your luck’s going to run out, Jeno.”

The crowd at the high-stakes stunt show was massive. Rows of bleachers packed with spectators buzzed with anticipation. You sat near the front, hands gripping the edge of your seat, your stomach twisting in knots. Except it wasn’t from excitement, but from anxiety.

Jeno was notorious for taking unnecessary risks, but tonight felt different. This wasn’t just a local showcase; this was a high-profile event with reporters and big-shot sponsors. The stakes were higher, and so was the pressure.

He’d even sworn he was “clean this time,” but you weren’t convinced.

“Ladies and gentlemen, get ready for the highlight of the evening!” the announcer boomed, his voice carrying over the speakers. “The one, the only—Lee Jeno!”

The roar of the crowd was deafening as Jeno rode into the arena, his sleek black motorcycle displayed under the spotlights. He raised one hand in acknowledgment of the cheers before revving up his engine, the rumble vibrating through the stands.

You exhaled sharply, muttering to yourself, “He better not screw this up.”

“Y/N!” Jeno’s voice rang out through his helmet’s mic, directly out of the speakers. He pointed at you, earning a cheer from the crowd. “This one’s for you!”

You rolled your eyes, your face heating up as you pulled your hands over your eyes. The spectators around you erupted into laughter and applause. “Great,” you muttered. “Now I’m part of the show.”

The announcer continued hyping up the crowd. “Jeno will attempt a daring backflip over not one, not two, but three flaming trucks! A feat no rider has dared before!”

Your stomach sank. Flaming trucks? Three? You shot Jeno a warning glare as he revved the bike again, giving you a wink in response.

Oh we’re so fucked.

Unbeknownst to you or Jeno, a group of shadowy figures loitered near the equipment trucks at the edge of the arena. But they weren’t here for the show. Instead, they were here for revenge. One of the men, a burly figure with a scar slicing through his brow, tightened his grip on a wrench.

“Showoff thinks he can cheat us and walk away?” he growled, “Let’s see him jump when his bike doesn’t even make it halfway.”

The group moved swiftly, one of them sneaking into the mechanics’ pit to tamper with Jeno’s ramp. Another slipped toward his bike, loosening key components. They didn’t care about the collateral damage. This was to send a message.

Jeno revved his engine once more, signaling to the crew that he was ready. The crowd roared as he sped toward the first ramp, flames rippled against the sides of the trucks he was about to clear.

You leaned forward in your seat, heart pounding. “Please don’t die. Please don’t die,” you muttered under your breath.

Jeno hit the ramp with precision, the bike soaring into the air like a black comet. The first flip was smooth, flawless even, and the crowd erupted in cheers.

But something went wrong on the descent.

The bike wobbled midair, tilting dangerously to the side. Jeno fought for control, but the tampered suspension buckled on impact with the second ramp. The motorcycle skidded, sparks flying as Jeno tumbled, his helmeted head slamming into the ground with a sickening thud.

The crowd gasped in unison, the cheers turning to horrified murmurs. You were on your feet in an instant, heart in your throat.

“JENO!” you screamed, scrambling down the bleachers toward the arena floor.

Before you could reach him, the saboteurs’ plan spiraled even further out of control. The flames from the trucks flared, spreading to the hay bales that lined the arena. As you sprinted toward Jeno’s crumpled form, one of the burning bales exploded, sending debris flying.

You didn’t even have time to react as a sharp piece of metal tore through the air, striking you across the side. Pain bloomed in your ribs, and you crumpled to the ground.

Dazed but conscious, Jeno pushed himself to his hands and knees, shaking off the stars in his vision. When his gaze landed on you lying motionless on the dirt, blood seeping into your shirt, something inside him snapped.

“No, no, no…” he muttered, dragging himself to his feet. His bike was destroyed, the flames were spreading, and you. You were hurt because of him.

Ignoring the chaos and his own injuries, Jeno stumbled toward you, scooping you into his arms. “Stay with me, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Please.”

He didn’t know where to go, only that he had to get you help. Cradling your limp body, Jeno ran blindly, the roaring flames and chaos fading into the background. His arms ached from carrying you, your weight heavy but nothing compared to the crushing guilt that clawed at his chest. He glanced down at you, your face pale, a streak of blood running from your temple.

“You’re gonna be fine. You hear me? Just fine.” he whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling. 

The junkyard loomed ahead, its twisted silhouettes of rusted cars and mangled scrap metal casting long shadows under the moonlight. The attackers had scattered once the chaos at the arena spiraled out of control, but Jeno wasn’t about to risk being found. Not with you like this.

He stumbled into the junkyard, his knees nearly buckling as he reached what looked like the remnants of an old garage. The air was thick with the metallic tang of rust and oil. He carefully laid you down on an old tarp, brushing a strand of hair from your face with shaking fingers.

“Okay, okay…” Jeno muttered, looking around frantically. “Think, Jeno. Think. I need to—need to stop the bleeding.”

He tore a strip from his tattered shirt and pressed it against the wound on your side, and watched as your chest slightly rose up and down. Relief flickered in his chest. This meant you were still alive. 

The makeshift bandage was quickly soaked through. “Dammit,” he hissed, running a hand through his hair, smearing grease and sweat across his face. He needed help, but there was no one here. No one except—

The motorcycle.

It caught his eye in the far corner of the garage, half-buried under a pile of scrap. Its frame was unlike anything he’d ever seen, sleek yet ancient, with intricate carvings etched into the metal. It seemed almost alive, faintly glowing with an otherworldly orange light that pulsed like a heartbeat.

“What the…?” Jeno muttered, taking an unsteady step toward it. He couldn’t explain it, but something about the bike drew him in. The air around it felt heavier, charged with an unnatural energy that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

He glanced back at you, lying unconscious, and then at the motorcycle. Desperation clouded his judgment. Maybe. Just maybe? It could help. He didn’t know how or why, but the pull was undeniable.

Jeno reached out, his fingers hovering over the handlebars. The metal was warm, almost hot to the touch, and the glow intensified as if reacting to his presence.

“This is insane,” he muttered, but his hand closed around the grip anyway.

The second his skin made contact, a searing pain shot through his arm, up his spine, and into his skull. He screamed, his knees giving out as an overwhelming heat consumed him. Flames erupted from the motorcycle, engulfing him in a fiery inferno that didn’t burn but felt like it was tearing him apart from the inside.

Memories flashed before his eyes. Every reckless decision, every lie, every failure. The faces of those he’d hurt, including yours, swam in his vision. And then, a voice echoed in his head.

“Lee Jeno.”

Jeno’s body convulsed as the fire intensified, his skin crawling with molten energy. When the flames subsided, he was no longer the same. His hands burned with chains of fire, and his eyes glowed a fierce, demonic orange. He looked down at himself, his reflection faintly visible in the bike’s chrome. His face was a skull, wreathed in flames. The Spirit of Vengeance had awakened. Jeno was its vessel.

“My new Ghost Rider. Your sins are heavy. But your vengeance will be greater.”

“No,” Jeno whispered, his voice distorted, sounding like something almost inhuman. “What…what did you do to me?”

And then, Jeno heard the shouts of the attackers. They had followed him, closing in to finish what they started.

But they weren’t ready for what they found.

Jeno stood, the chains in his hands igniting with blistering heat. The Spirit of Vengeance surged within him, and with it came a single, overpowering urge: punish the guilty.

The attackers froze as he stepped forward, his skeletal face illuminated by the flickering flames. “You came for me,” Jeno growled, his voice echoing unnaturally. “Now you’ll burn for it.”

He lashed out with the chains, each strike searing through metal and flesh alike. The air was filled with screams as the flames consumed the saboteurs, leaving them scorched and broken. Vehicles erupted in explosions, sending shards of scrap flying through the air as the hellfire spread uncontrollably.

When the last of the attackers fell, Jeno stood motionless amidst the chaos, the flames dancing across his body slowly beginning to recede. The roar of the Spirit dimmed, leaving an oppressive silence in its wake.

And then he saw you.

The sight of your unconscious form lying so still on the ground sent a jolt through him. The fire in his chest flickered, replaced by an overwhelming horror. He dropped the chains and stumbled to your side, his skeletal hands trembling as he reached for you.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice raw and human once more. The flames that had raged across his body faded completely, leaving him kneeling in the dirt, cradling you as his normal face returned.

Tears stung his eyes as he pulled you close, his arms wrapping protectively around your limp body. The junkyard was silent again, save for the faint crackle of dying embers.

“What have I done?” Jeno whispered, his voice breaking as he pressed his forehead to yours. Even as the Rider, his mind. his heart. It all was still his. He couldn’t lose you.

The sound of distant sirens jolted him from his thoughts. He knew that if he stayed the two of you would be questioned. He gently lifted you onto the back of the fiery motorcycle, the flames reaching your body but leaving you unharmed. The bike seemed to growl beneath him, its power thrumming in his veins, and for the first time, Jeno felt a strange sense of control over the chaos.

With a sharp kick, the motorcycle roared forward, flames streaking behind it as Jeno sped off into the night. 

The steady beep of a heart monitor was the first thing you heard as you drifted back into consciousness. It was followed by the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the sterile, antiseptic smell of a hospital room. Your body felt heavy, and when you tried to shift, a sharp pain lanced through your side.

“Easy,” a soft voice said.

Your eyes fluttered open to find Jeno sitting beside your bed, looking utterly wrecked. His black hoodie was rumpled, his knuckles bruised and scraped. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his normally cocky demeanor was nowhere to be found. Instead, he looked worried for once in his life, like he was afraid you might disappear if he blinked.

“Jeno.” you rasped, your throat dry. 

Relief flooded his face as he leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the bed. “You’re okay,” he breathed. “You’re okay.”

“Jeno.” you repeated again, your voice stronger now. 

He hesitated, guilt flickering across his face. “There was an accident at the show,” he began cautiously. “You…you got hurt. But you’re safe now. I got you out of there.”

The memories suddenly came rushing back. The flaming trucks, the explosion, the searing pain in your side. And then…nothing.

Your heart rate monitor began to beep faster as anger bubbled to the surface. “The show,” you said bitterly. “Of course. Because you just had to pull another one of your stunts.”

“Y/N, it wasn’t—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, your voice sharp. “Don’t you dare try to defend yourself right now. I almost died, Jeno.”

His shoulders sagged, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I know,” he said quietly. “And I’m so sorry. If I could take it back—”

“But you can’t, can you?” you snapped, your hands pointed at him accusedly. “You can’t take it back, Jeno. Because this is what you do. You push and you push until someone gets hurt, and this time, that someone was me.”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s the problem,” you shot back. “You never mean for it to happen, but it always does. And I’m the one who has to pick up the broken pieces.”

Jeno flinched, like your words had physically struck him. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes. “I can’t do this anymore, Jeno. I can’t keep watching you destroy yourself with drugs and alcohol, while dragging everyone else down with you.”

“I’m trying to change,” he said desperately, leaning forward. “I swear, Y/N. I’m done with all of it, the…everything. I’ll stop.”

“You always say that,” you muttered bitterly, turning your head away. “But nothing ever changes.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the faint beep of the heart monitor.

“I’ll make it right,” Jeno said after a long pause, his voice trembling. “I don’t know how yet, but I will. I promise.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. The pain in your side was nothing compared to the ache in your chest. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him as he slowly stood and stepped back.

“I’ll let you rest,” he said quietly. “But…I’m not giving up on us, Y/N. I’ll prove to you that I can be better.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the sterile, too-quiet room.

Sometimes Jeno’s promises were often just as hollow as the man who made them.

The roar of the motorcycle echoed through the empty streets as it skidded to a halt in the middle of an empty alley. Jeno ripped off his helmet, his chest heaving as he stumbled away from the bike. The orange glow of his eyes dimmed, leaving him in the dim light of a flickering street lamp.

“What the hell is happening to me?” he muttered, running a hand through his damp hair. His reflection stared back at him in a cracked window—human again, but the memory of his skeletal visage haunted him.

This wasn’t the first night he’d changed. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt it—the fire in his veins, the overwhelming urge to hunt, to punish. It wasn’t just a feeling; it was a presence. Some demon was inside him, whispering in his mind, urging him to give in.

“They deserve to burn.”

The voice was deep and guttural. It slithered through his thoughts like a venomous snake, tightening its hold every time he tried to ignore it.

“I’m not listening to you,” Jeno growled, gripping his head as the voice chuckled darkly.

“You can’t silence me, Jeno. You’re mine now. We’re one.”

The demon never introduced itself. It didn’t need to. Jeno already knew as soon as he touched that damn motorcycle. Zarathos. The Spirit of Vengeance. The demon that had bound itself to his soul, using his body as a vessel.

Jeno clenched his fists, the faint glow of hellfire flickering across his knuckles. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. “I didn’t ask for this,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m not a killer.”

“But you are a sinner,” Zarathos hissed. “And sinners punish sinners. The world is full of filth, and we will cleanse it.”

“No,” Jeno snapped, his voice echoing in the empty alley. “I’m not your executioner.”

The demon’s laughter rang in his head, low and mocking. “You say that now. But you felt it, didn’t you? The thrill? The power? The fire in your blood when you burned them? You enjoyed it.”

Jeno’s stomach churned at the memory of the attackers writhing in agony, the fire consuming them. He hadn’t wanted to hurt them—at least, not like that. But Zarathos was right about one thing: the power was intoxicating. And that terrified him.

He slammed his fist into the brick wall, leaving a charred dent in the crumbling stone. “You’re not in control,” he growled. “I am.”

“For now.”

By day, Jeno tried to maintain some semblance of normalcy. He performed his stunts, practiced at the arena, and plastered on a smile for his fans. But every time he climbed onto a bike, the fire inside him stirred, eager to be unleashed.

It was always worse at night.

Jeno stood on the rooftop of a dilapidated building, the city sprawled out below him like a labyrinth of shadows and flickering lights. The Spirit of Vengeance buzzed in his chest, pulling him toward something or someone.

He saw the scene before he heard it: a man in an alleyway, grabbing a young woman by the wrist. She screamed, struggling to pull away as the man loomed over her, a knife glinting in his hand.

Jeno’s vision blurred, his body moving on autopilot. The flames ignited before he even touched the bike, and when the Ghost Rider landed in the alley, the ground cracked beneath the weight of his fiery presence.

The man froze, his eyes wide with terror as the skeletal figure loomed over him. 

“You,” Jeno growled, his voice layered with Zarathos’ demonic timbre. “You prey on the innocent. What do you think you deserve?”

The man dropped the knife, stumbling backward. “I—I didn’t mean to—please, don’t hurt me!”

But the Spirit of Vengeance didn’t care for apologies. The chains in Jeno’s hands ignited, wrapping around the man and lifting him off the ground.

“Stop,” Jeno muttered, his human voice fighting to break through. “He’s not worth it.”

“He’s guilty,” Zarathos snarled. “And guilt demands punishment.”

The man screamed as the chains tightened, the hellfire scorching his skin. Jeno’s hands trembled, his skull burning brighter as he fought to regain control.

“He’s human,” Jeno argued. “I won’t kill him.”

The demon roared in frustration but relented, the chains loosening just enough to drop the man to the ground. The would-be attacker scrambled to his feet and ran, his screams fading into the distance.

Jeno stood in the alley, the flames around him slowly fading. He turned to the woman, who was staring at him with equal parts fear and gratitude.

“Go home,” he said gruffly, his voice still tinged with the Rider’s growl.

She nodded quickly, thanking him and disappearing into the night.

When the alley was silent again, Jeno collapsed against the wall, his human form returning. He buried his face in his hands, his body trembling.

“You see?” Zarathos sneered. “You can’t stop me forever. And soon, you won’t want to.”

Jeno closed his eyes, the weight of the demon’s presence pressing down on him. He didn’t know how long he could keep fighting. But for now, he had to try.

The neon glow of the gas station sign flickered in and out, bathing the parking lot in harsh, artificial light. Jeno leaned against his motorcycle, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in one hand and a cigarette in the other. His hoodie was pulled low over his face, but anyone who looked close enough would see the cracks in his façade—the trembling hands, the bloodshot eyes, the faint glow that threatened to seep from his skin if he let his guard down.

The whiskey burned his throat, but not nearly as much as the fire that roared in his chest every night. Zarathos was relentless, clawing at the edges of his sanity, and the only way Jeno could silence him was by drowning himself in the haze of alcohol and pills.

“Just a little longer,” he muttered to himself, taking another swig. “Just until I figure this out.”

The lie tasted bitter, but it was easier to believe than the truth. He was losing control.

The next morning, you found him slumped over in his garage, reeking of smoke and booze. You hadn’t heard from him since you were discharged from the hospital, so you wanted to at least check in on him. But you weren’t pleased with what you saw. So much for promising change. 

“Jeno,” you said sharply, crossing your arms as you stood in the doorway.

He stirred, groaning as he lifted his head. “Y/N? What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you that,” you shot back. “Why aren’t you at practice? Or, I don’t know, trying to clean up your mess for once?”

He winced at your words, sitting up and rubbing his temples. “Not now, okay? I’ve got a headache that makes me want to kill myself right now.”

You scoffed, stepping closer and yanking the bottle out of his hand. “Are you serious right now? This is what you’re doing with your time? Drinking yourself into oblivion while I’m out here trying to recover from almost dying?”

“I’m trying to deal with it!” Jeno snapped, his voice louder than he intended. He stood, swaying slightly, his eyes bloodshot and tired. “You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t hate myself for what happened to you?”

“Then stop making it worse!” you shot back, your voice rising to match his. “You’re spiraling, Jeno, and you’re not fighting this addiction at all.”

“I didn’t ask for this!” he shouted, his voice cracking. 

The raw emotion in his tone caught you off guard, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

Jeno exhaled shakily, running a hand through his messy hair. “I didn’t ask for any of this,” he said quietly. “But I’m trying. I swear I’m trying.”

You shook your head, your anger softening but not disappearing. “If this is your idea of trying, Jeno, then you’re failing.”

As you turned to leave, something stopped you. A memory from the news. Whispers of a “fiery skeleton” that had been spotted taking down criminals in the dead of night. You hesitated, glancing over your shoulder.

“Jeno,” you said cautiously. “You’ve been out a lot at night. You wouldn’t happen to know or run into that ‘fire guy’ people are talking about, would you?”

His entire body stiffened, his back turned to you. He didn’t answer right away, but the silence was damning. “...No.”

“Jeno,” you pressed, stepping closer. “What’s going on? What aren’t you telling me?”

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, his voice strained. “Just…forget about it, okay?”

But you didn’t believe him. Not for a second.

“Jeno,” you said again, your voice soft but firm. “Look at me.”

He didn’t move.

“Jeno, look at me,” you repeated, more insistent this time.

Finally, he turned, and for the briefest moment, you swore you saw it—a faint glow in his eyes, like embers dying out. Your stomach twisted, a mix of fear and concern swirling in your chest.

“What happened to you?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Jeno shook his head, stepping back. “You don’t want to know,” he said quietly.

“Yes, I do,” you insisted. “I’ve known you my whole life, Jeno. I’ve stood by you through everything. Don’t shut me out now.”

But he just shook his head again, grabbing his helmet and heading for the door. “I can’t,” he said, his voice hollow. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you alone in the dimly lit garage, more confused and worried than ever before.

So you needed a change of pace. If Jeno wanted to shut you out, then maybe you could use your time to focus on yourself more. 

You found yourself in your favorite cafe. The snug little store was warm, the scent of roasted coffee beans wrapping around you like a comforting hug. You were halfway through your drink, scrolling aimlessly on your phone, when the chair across from you was pulled out.

“Mind if I join you?”

You looked up, startled, to see a strikingly beautiful woman with an air of effortless confidence. Platinum blonde hair framed her sharp, elegant features, and her icy blue eyes sparkled with curiosity. Her tailored white coat and knee-high boots screamed sophistication, making you suddenly self-conscious of the oversized hoodie and jeans you’d thrown on.

“Uh…sure?” you replied hesitantly, gesturing to the chair.

She smiled, setting down her drink with precision. “I hope I’m not intruding. You looked like you could use some company.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Do I?”

She tilted her head, studying you like you were an interesting puzzle. “Call it intuition.”

“I guess you’re not wrong,” you admitted, leaning back in your chair. “It’s been…a rough few weeks.”

“I’m Karina,” she said smoothly, extending a hand.

“Y/N,” you replied, shaking it. Her grip was cool and firm, her smile almost too perfect.

“So, Y/N,” Karina said, resting her chin on her hand. “What’s been weighing on you? I’m a great listener.”

You hesitated. Something about her was disarming, almost magnetic. Before you could stop yourself, the words started spilling out. “It’s…complicated. Let’s just say someone I care about is making it really hard to keep caring about them.”

Karina nodded sympathetically, her expression never wavering. “The burden of loyalty. It’s a heavy one, isn’t it? Is this about a man?”

“Yeah,” you said, surprised by how much her words resonated. “I’ve known him forever, but lately…I don’t even recognize him anymore. He’s hiding something, and it’s tearing us apart.”

Karina sipped her drink, her gaze never leaving yours. “Sometimes, people hide because they’re afraid. Afraid of being judged, or rejected. But that doesn’t excuse them from the hurt they cause.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how accurately she’d summed up your feelings. “Exactly,” you said quietly.

“I know it’s not my place,” Karina continued, her tone gentle, “but maybe you need to take a step back. Focus on yourself for a while. You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.”

Her harsh words settled over you, surprised at her directness. But it was comforting to hear such honesty for once.

“I was thinking of it, but I don’t want to lose him either.” you admitted.

Karina’s smile widened just a fraction. “Well, if you ever need someone to talk to, other than him, I’m here.” She slid a sleek, white business card across the table. “Call me anytime.”

You picked up the card, turning it over in your hands. There was no title, no address—just her name and a number embossed in silver.

“Thanks,” you said, tucking it into your pocket.

“Don’t mention it,” Karina said, standing gracefully. “Take care of yourself, Y/N. You deserve it.”

Over the next few days, Karina became a fixture in your life. She’d text you to check in, send little messages of encouragement, and even invite you out for coffee or dinner.

At first, you were wary. People didn’t just waltz into your life like this without a reason. But Karina was warm, attentive, and had an uncanny ability to say exactly what you needed to hear. Plus, she was looking for friends in the city too since she had just moved here. 

“So, what’s the full deal with this guy?” she asked one evening over dinner, sipping a glass of wine. “The one who’s been giving you all this grief.”

“His name is Lee Jeno,” you said reluctantly. “He’s my…well, we’ve been friends since we were kids. But he’s got issues. Big ones.”

“Oh damn. The stunt biker guy.” Karina raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Issues like ‘he forgot your birthday,’ or issues like ‘he’s a raging alcoholic or drug addict or some other addiction’?”

You laughed, though it was tinged with unease. “Closer to the second one, honestly. Well, he’s always struggled with it. Yet, he’s been acting so weird lately. Disappearing at night, avoiding my questions. And sometimes, when I look at him, it’s like he’s not even Jeno anymore.”

Karina leaned forward, her expression unreadable. “And you’re sure it’s just him trying to hide his addiction? Nothing…bigger going on?”

The question caught you off guard. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing,” Karina said breezily, waving a hand. “Just that sometimes, people go through changes. Big changes. Ones they don’t know how to explain. And sometimes, it takes someone else to help them see their true potential.”

You frowned, her words stirring something deep inside you. “I don’t know. Jeno’s not exactly the ‘ask for help’ type.”

Karina’s smile turned enigmatic, her blue eyes practically glowing. “Maybe not. But some people just need the right nudge. And who better to do that than you?”

There was something in her tone, something that made your skin prickle. But before you could dwell on it, Karina raised her glass in a toast.

“To new beginnings,” she said, her voice smooth as silk.

You hesitated, then clinked your glass against hers. “To new beginnings.”

As you drank, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Karina knew more about your life and Jeno’s than maybe she was letting on.

The opulent room was bathed in shadows, the flickering light of a chandelier casting jagged shapes on the polished mahogany walls. Karina stood at the center of the large, round table, her white ensemble a stark contrast against the room’s dark and decadent decor. Around her sat the upper echelon of the Hellfire Club, an underground organization of mutants with a reputation for ruthlessness and manipulation.

“Karina,” a deep, commanding voice said, breaking the silence. It belonged to the Black King, the leader of the group, whose piercing gaze bore into her. “My dearest White Queen. You’ve been unusually proactive lately. Care to share what’s captured your attention?”

Karina smiled coolly, folding her hands in front of her. “I’ve found something—or rather, someone—of immense potential.”

The Black Queen, a woman with sharp features and an even sharper tongue, leaned forward with an arched brow. “Do tell. Potential isn’t exactly rare these days. Why is this someone worth our time?”

Karina stepped closer to the table, her heels clicking against the marble floor. “Her name is Y/N. She’s a baseline human. Or so she thinks. She’s yet to manifest her mutant abilities.”

She paused, letting the words sink in before continuing. “Her energy is…raw, untapped, but powerful. I’ve felt it. It’s dormant now, but when it awakens, it will rival even the strongest of us. I’m surprised it’s taking her so long to manifest, but that’s what makes it so powerful.”

The Black King steepled his fingers, his expression unreadable. “And what makes you so certain she’s worth the effort? If her powers haven’t manifested yet, there’s no guarantee they ever will.”

Karina tilted her head, a hint of amusement in her smile. “Oh, they will. I’ve already seen the signs—subtle as they are. Her emotions are volatile, and she’s drawn to chaos like a moth to flame. It’s only a matter of time before the spark ignites.”

The Black Queen’s lips curved into a smirk. “Interesting. And what do you propose we do with her once this ‘spark’ ignites?”

Karina’s smile turned predatory, her blue eyes gleaming. “We guide her. Shape her. I’m sensing some crazy electrical forces. Imagine what we could accomplish with her power under our control.”

“And if she refuses?” the Black King asked, his tone cold and measured.

Karina’s expression didn’t falter. “Then we ensure she has no choice. After all, loyalty is just another form of control. And I’ve already begun earning hers.”

A murmur rippled through the room as the other members exchanged intrigued glances.

The Black King leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Karina. But if you can deliver on your promises, the rewards will be worth the risk.”

“I always deliver,” Karina said smoothly.

The Black Queen raised her glass, the golden liquid catching the light. “Then here’s to your little pet project. Let’s hope she’s everything you claim she is.”

Karina raised her own glass in return, her smile never wavering. 

“Oh, she will be.”

Jeno stood outside the café, arms crossed and jaw tight as he watched through the window. There you were, sitting across from Karina again, laughing at something she’d said. The way you leaned in, the way she smiled that calculated, flawless smile—it all set his teeth on edge.

He clenched his fists, the faint flicker of flames threatening to ignite beneath his skin. Zarathos stirred in the back of his mind, growling low like an animal sensing danger.

“She’s not who she seems,” the demon whispered, its voice grating like embers crackling.

Jeno didn’t need Zarathos to tell him that. He’d felt it the moment he’d laid eyes on Karina. Something about her was too perfect, too polished. And the way she’d latched onto you so quickly? It wasn’t right.

He waited until Karina had left before stepping inside. You looked up, surprised to see him, but your expression quickly shifted to irritation.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your tone defensive.

Jeno didn’t answer right away, pulling up a chair and sitting across from you. His leather jacket creaked as he leaned forward, his dark eyes searching yours. “We need to talk.”

You sighed, already bracing yourself. “If this is about Karina—”

“It is about her,” he cut in, his voice firm. “Y/N, you don’t know her. Not really.”

“And you do?” you shot back, crossing your arms.

“I don’t need to,” he said, his tone rising. “Something about her is off. I can feel it.”

You rolled your eyes, exasperated. “Oh, great. Now we’re relying on your ‘feelings’ to judge people? Like your intuition ever worked in the first place. I’m lucky to be alive right now.”

Jeno’s jaw tightened. “I’m serious, Y/N. She’s not who she says she is. People don’t just waltz into your life and start playing therapist out of the goodness of their hearts.”

“Maybe she actually cares,” you snapped. “Unlike someone who disappears for days at a time without a word and comes back smelling like smoke and regret.”

Jeno flinched at your words, but he pushed forward. “I’m not perfect, okay? But I know when someone’s trouble. And Karina? She’s got ‘trouble’ written all over her.”

“Why do you even care?” you demanded, your voice rising. “You don’t get to swoop in and play the hero after everything that’s happened. I don’t need your permission to make new friends.”

Jeno looked at you, his expression a mix of frustration and something softer—hurt, maybe. “I care because I don’t want you to get hurt. Again.”

For a moment, you almost softened. Almost.

But then you thought about Karina. How she listened, how she didn’t judge you, how she made you feel seen in a way Jeno hadn’t in months.

“You don’t get to tell me who I can and can’t trust,” you said coldly. “Karina’s been more of a friend to me lately than you have.”

Jeno stared at you, his lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re making a mistake,” he said quietly.

“Then it’s my mistake to make,” you shot back.

He stood, his chair scraping against the floor as he shoved it back. “Fine,” he muttered, turning to leave. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Later that evening, you met Karina at her apartment. A sleek, modern space with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city. God, you were poor as hell. She greeted you with a warm smile, handing you a glass of wine as you settled onto her plush couch.

“You seem tense,” she noted, sitting gracefully across from you.

“Just had another fight with Jeno,” you admitted, swirling the wine in your glass. “He’s convinced you’re some kind of…villain or something.”

Karina chuckled, the sound light and melodic. “He doesn’t trust me?”

“Not even a little,” you said, shaking your head. “It’s like he’s looking for reasons to push me away.”

Karina reached out, placing a hand over yours. Her touch was cool and comforting. “Sometimes people lash out because they’re afraid. Fear can make them see threats where there are none.”

You sighed, leaning back. “I just don’t get it. Why can’t he see that you’re trying to help me?”

Karina’s expression softened, but there was a flicker of something behind her eyes—something calculated. “It’s because he doesn’t understand you the way I do. You’re special, Y/N. More than you realize.”

You frowned, her words catching you off guard. “Special? What do you mean?”

Karina smiled enigmatically, her fingers brushing against yours. “You’ll see. In time.”

Her words left a lingering unease in your chest, but you pushed it aside. Karina had been nothing but kind to you. Jeno didn’t know what he was talking about.

Jeno leaned against the wall of his garage, staring blankly at the ground. Zarathos growled in the back of his mind, restless and impatient.

“You should have burned her,” the demon hissed.

Jeno closed his eyes, his hands balling into fists. “Shut up.”

“She’s manipulating her. The girl you care for. Can’t you feel it?”

Jeno’s jaw clenched. He didn’t need Zarathos to tell him that. But what could he do? You weren’t listening to him, and every time he tried to warn you, it only pushed you further away.

“Then stop warning her,” Zarathos said, his voice low and menacing. “And show her what that woman truly is.”

Jeno opened his eyes, the flames flickering faintly in his irises. For once, he found himself agreeing with the demon. 

“You’re finally listening,” Zarathos hissed, its voice echoing in Jeno’s head.

“Don’t get used to it,” Jeno muttered, gripping the handlebars of the bike. “I didn’t ask for you, and I’m not letting you run the show.”

The Spirit of Vengeance laughed, a dark, grating sound that sent chills down Jeno’s spine. “You think you can control me, boy? You’re nothing without me.”

Jeno scowled, the flames creeping up his arms flaring brighter in response to his frustration. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for her.”

“Ah, the girl,” Zarathos sneered. “You think she’ll forgive you? That she’ll see you as anything but a monster?”

“She will,” Jeno said firmly, his voice steady despite the doubt gnawing at him. “But first, I need to figure out how to use this…whatever this is.”

Zarathos growled. “Vengeance isn’t a tool, boy. It’s a purpose. A fire that consumes everything in its path.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not here to burn the world down,” Jeno snapped. “I’m here to protect it.”

The Spirit laughed again, its voice dripping with disdain. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

Determined to understand his new abilities, Jeno spent every spare moment testing the limits of his powers. He discovered that the flames responded to his emotions, roaring to life when he was angry or scared and flickering out when he calmed himself.

One night, he stood in the middle of an abandoned road, the cursed motorcycle idling beside him. He took a deep breath, focusing on the growing warmth in his chest, and held out his hand. A whip of fire erupted from his palm, coiling and snapping like a living thing.

“Not bad,” he muttered to himself, extinguishing the whip with a flick of his wrist.

But every small victory was overshadowed by the constant presence of Zarathos. The Spirit’s voice was a relentless whisper in his mind, urging him to give in, to embrace the fire and let it consume him.

“Why fight it?” Zarathos taunted. “You’ve felt it, haven’t you? The power. The thrill.”

Jeno ignored the voice, climbing onto the motorcycle and revving the engine. The flames along its frame flared to life, illuminating the darkness around him.

“I’m not your puppet,” he muttered, tightening his grip on the handlebars.

“We’ll see,” the Spirit replied, its laughter echoing in his ears as he sped down the road.

One evening, while patrolling the outskirts of town, Jeno stumbled upon a group of men mugging an elderly woman in an alley. His first instinct was to intervene, but as the flames began to crawl up his arms, Zarathos’ voice returned, stronger than ever.

“Punish them,” it hissed. “Make them suffer.”

Jeno hesitated, his heart pounding. The men turned to face him, their eyes widening in fear as they took in his glowing eyes and the flames licking at his jacket.

“Hey, man, we don’t want any trouble,” one of them stammered, backing away.

Jeno clenched his fists, the fire burning hotter. Zarathos was screaming in his mind now, urging him to unleash his fury.

“They deserve it!” the Spirit roared. “They’re guilty!”

But as Jeno looked at the terrified men, he saw something else—fear. Regret. They weren’t innocent, but they weren’t beyond saving, either.

“No,” Jeno said aloud, his voice steady. “Not like this.”

He extinguished the flames, stepping forward and forcing the men to flee with nothing more than his presence. The elderly woman thanked him tearfully, but as he walked away, the weight of Zarathos’ disapproval settled over him like a storm cloud.

“You’re weak,” the Spirit snarled. “One day, you’ll see. Mercy has no place in vengeance.”

“Maybe not,” Jeno muttered, mounting his motorcycle. “But I’m not just vengeance. I’m also me.”

The more Jeno used his powers, the more he began to notice strange connections—patterns he couldn’t ignore. The criminals he encountered often mentioned a name in hushed tones: Karina.

One night, he followed a lead to an abandoned warehouse, where he found a cache of high-tech weapons and equipment. The markings on the crates were unmistakable. This wasn’t ordinary crime.

“She’s not just some innocent bystander,” Jeno muttered, running a hand through his hair.

“You’re finally catching on,” Zarathos sneered. “She’s more dangerous than you know. And she has her sights set on your girl.”

Jeno’s heart sank. He didn’t want to believe it, but the evidence was piling up. Karina wasn’t who she seemed, and if she was connected to you, that meant you were in more danger than you realized.

He revved his motorcycle, the flames roaring to life. “Not on my watch,” he muttered, speeding off into the night.

The fire burned hotter now, fueled by a new determination. Jeno wasn’t just fighting to control the Spirit of Vengeance anymore. He was fighting to save you.

You sat in Karina’s sleek, modern apartment, the dim lighting casting long shadows on the pristine walls. A strange tension filled the room. Karina’s usually serene demeanor had shifted; there was an intensity in her gaze, something calculating behind her sharp blue eyes.

“You’ve felt it, haven’t you?” Karina asked, her voice soft yet commanding.

“Felt what?” you asked, frowning as you set your cup of tea on the table.

“That spark,” she said, leaning forward, her fingers steepled beneath her chin. “The moments when your emotions run high—fear, anger, pain—and something stirs inside you. Something you can’t explain.”

You blinked, your pulse quickening. You had felt something—fleeting moments of electric energy coursing through your body, like static building up but never quite releasing. But you’d written it off as stress or adrenaline.

“How do you know about that?” you asked warily.

Karina smiled, a knowing, almost maternal expression crossing her face. “Because I’ve seen it before. I know what you are, Y/N.”

Your throat tightened. “What I am? You make it sound like I’m not a human.”

“You’re not just human,” she said, her tone dripping with certainty. “You’re a mutant.”

The word hung in the air, heavy and charged. You stared at her, the weight of her statement pressing down on you. “That’s not… I’m not…”

“You are,” Karina interrupted gently. “It’s why you’ve always felt different, why strange things happen around you when you’re upset. It’s your gift, Y/N. Your power.”

Your mind raced, flashes of unexplained incidents from your past bubbling to the surface: the lights flickering during arguments, the faint hum of electricity in your veins when you were scared. 

A mutant? But mutants were both feared and loved by society. Oh god, what would Jeno think?

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Karina reached out, placing a hand on yours. “You don’t have to say anything. I know how overwhelming this must be, but you’re not alone. You don’t have to go through this by yourself.”

You looked up at her, tears pricking your eyes. “What am I supposed to do? I don’t even know how to control it.”

“That’s where I come in,” Karina said smoothly. “I can help you. I’ve been where you are, Y/N. I know what it’s like to feel lost, to feel like the world doesn’t understand you. But I do.”

Her words were like a lifeline, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of hope. But then a small voice in the back of your mind—Jeno’s voice—echoed faintly: She’s not who she says she is.

You shook your head, brushing the thought away. Karina had been nothing but kind to you. Jeno didn’t understand.

Karina led you into a hidden room within her apartment, the walls lined with advanced tech and holographic screens displaying maps, dossiers, and data that you couldn’t begin to comprehend.

“What is all this?” you asked, glancing around in awe.

“This,” Karina said, gesturing to the room with a flourish, “is part of something much bigger. A movement, if you will. The Hellfire Club.”

You turned to her, confusion etched across your face. “The Hellfire Club? What is that?”

“We’re an organization dedicated to ensuring mutantkind rises to its rightful place in the world,” Karina explained, her voice laced with passion. “For too long, mutants have been oppressed, hunted, and treated as less than human. But we’re done hiding. We’re done being afraid.”

Her words stirred something in you—a mix of fear and curiosity. “What does this have to do with me?”

Karina stepped closer, her gaze piercing. “Everything. Your powers, Y/N—they’re extraordinary. Once they’re fully awakened, you’ll be capable of things most mutants can only dream of. But you need guidance. Training. And that’s what I’m offering you.”

You swallowed hard, your mind spinning. “I don’t know if I can do this. I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“None of us did,” Karina said, her voice softening. “But we don’t get to choose what we are. We can only choose how we use it. And you, Y/N, have the potential to change everything.”

She paused, letting her words sink in before adding, “But to do that, you have to let go of your fear. You have to embrace who you are. And you have to trust me.”

There was something magnetic about her, something that made you want to believe every word she said. But deep down, a seed of doubt began to take root.

“What’s the catch?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

Karina smiled, her expression unreadable. “No catch, my dear. Only the promise of a future where you can be free—where we can all be free.”

You hesitated, torn between the comfort of her words and the nagging feeling in your gut. “I need time to think.”

“Of course,” Karina said smoothly. “Take all the time you need. But remember, Y/N. Your power is a gift. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.”

As you left her apartment that night, your mind was a whirlwind of emotions. You wanted to believe her, to trust her, but something about her intensity unsettled you.

And as you walked into the cool night air, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were standing at the edge of something much larger and much more dangerous than you’d ever imagined.

Jeno sat on the curb outside your apartment, his head in his hands, shoulders slumped under the weight of exhaustion and regret. His jacket was torn, his knuckles bloodied from a fight he barely remembered, and the faint smell of whiskey lingered on his breath. He stared blankly at the empty bottle in his lap, the flames of his inner turmoil simmering just beneath the surface. The night was quiet, the kind of stillness that made his thoughts louder, more unbearable.

When you stepped outside, startled to find him there in the dead of night, his eyes met yours. They were glassy, but not from the alcohol. There was something raw and vulnerable in them, something you hadn’t seen in a long time. For a moment, you hesitated, unsure whether to approach him or turn back inside. But the sight of him—broken, disheveled, and so unlike the confident Jeno you’d always known—pulled you forward.

“Jeno?” you said cautiously, stepping closer. The cold night air bit at your skin, but the tension between you was far more chilling.

He looked up, his eyes hollow yet filled with a desperation that made your chest tighten. “Y/N,” he croaked, his voice hoarse. He stood, swaying slightly, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him. “I—I needed to see you.”

Your heart clenched at the sight of him. He looked like a ghost of the man you once knew, his charm buried beneath layers of pain and self-destruction. “It’s the middle of the night,” you said, crossing your arms, trying to shield yourself from the emotions threatening to spill over. “You can’t just show up like this.”

“I know,” he said, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “I know I’m a mess. But I—” He paused, his voice cracking. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

You frowned, torn between frustration and concern. “What do you mean?”

Jeno’s hands trembled as he gripped the bottle tighter, then hurled it across the street. It shattered against the pavement, the sound cutting through the stillness like a scream. “This!” he shouted, gesturing wildly to himself. “I’m losing control, Y/N! Of everything. Of my powers. Of… of me.”

You stepped back, startled by the outburst. “Jeno, calm down—”

“I can’t!” he yelled, his voice breaking. “I’ve tried. God, I’ve tried. But it’s like I’m fighting this thing inside me, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep it at bay.”

His hands ignited for a split second, flames licking at his skin before fizzling out. You froze, your breath catching in your throat. The sight of the fire—real, tangible fire—coming from his hands was impossible to process. Your mind raced, trying to make sense of what you’d just seen. “Jeno… what was that?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He clenched his fists, shaking his head as if trying to push the Spirit’s voice out of his mind. “It’s me,” he said bitterly. “Or… it’s not me. I don’t even know anymore.” He looked at you, his eyes filled with a mix of fear and shame. “I’m not just some messed-up stunt rider, Y/N. I’m… I’m the Ghost Rider.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and surreal. Your mind reeled, struggling to reconcile the Jeno you knew with the stories you’d heard about the fiery vigilante haunting the city. “The Ghost Rider?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper. “That’s… that’s impossible.”

“I wish it was,” he said, his voice hollow. “But it’s real. The flames, the power, the voice in my head—it’s all real. And it’s killing me, Y/N. Every time I transform, it feels like I’m burning from the inside out. And the things I’ve done… the people I’ve hurt…” He trailed off, his hands shaking as he ran them through his hair again. “I’m a monster.”

Your heart ached at the pain in his voice, but the shock of his confession kept you rooted to the spot. “Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, your voice rising. “All this time, you’ve been dealing with this alone, and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want you to see me like this!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “I didn’t want you to look at me and see a monster. You’re the one person who still sees something good in me, and I couldn’t risk losing that.”

Tears welled in your eyes as his words hit you. “Jeno, you don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to carry this by yourself.”

“And then there’s you,” he said, his voice softer now, filled with anguish. “You’re the one thing. The only thing that makes me want to be better. But I’m screwing that up too, aren’t I?”

“Jeno…” You didn’t know what to say, the weight of his words leaving you stunned. Your mind was a whirlwind of emotions. Shock, fear, anger, and an overwhelming sadness for the man standing in front of you.

He stepped closer, his eyes searching yours desperately. “I can’t stand the thought of losing you. Not to her. Not to Karina.”

You stiffened at the mention of her name. “This again? Jeno, I told you—Karina’s helping me. She understands me in a way you don’t. She—”

“She’s using you!” Jeno snapped, his voice rising. “You think she cares about you? She’s manipulating you, Y/N. I’ve seen it. I feel it.”

“You don’t know her,” you shot back, anger flaring in your chest. “You don’t know what I’ve been through or what it’s like to feel so out of control. Karina does.”

“And I don’t?” Jeno asked bitterly. “I’ve been out of control my whole damn life. But I’m trying, Y/N. I’m trying because of you.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and he ran a hand down his face, his composure crumbling. “I love you,” he said finally, his words barely audible. “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. And I’ve been too much of a coward to say it until now.”

The confession hung in the air, heavy and charged. Your breath caught, your heart pounding in your chest. “Jeno… you can’t.” you began, your voice faltering. “That’s so unfair. You can’t fucking drop that on me?” 

He grabbed your hands, his touch warm despite the cold night air. “Please,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Please don’t trust her. Don’t let her pull you into whatever she’s planning. I can’t lose you to her.”

You pulled your hands away, your heart twisting painfully in your chest. “You don’t understand, Jeno. I’m finally starting to figure out who I am, and Karina is helping me. I can’t just walk away from that.”

“And what about me?” he asked, his voice breaking. “What about us?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, tears welling in your eyes. “I don’t know what I feel anymore.”

Jeno stared at you, his expression a mix of heartbreak and resignation. “You’ve already chosen her, haven’t you?”

You couldn’t answer. The silence between you was deafening, and when Jeno finally turned and walked away, the flames that had always surrounded him seemed smaller, dimmer.

The air inside the abandoned factory was thick with tension, the kind that made your skin prickle and your breath catch in your throat. The dim, flickering lights overhead cast long shadows across the rusted machinery and crumbling walls, creating an eerie backdrop for the confrontation you knew was coming. You stood frozen at the edge of the room, your heart pounding as you tried to steady your breathing. Your hands trembled at your sides, tiny sparks of electricity dancing between your fingers. You clenched your fists, trying to suppress the energy surging through you, but it was like holding back a tidal wave.

Karina stood at the center of the room, her white suit pristine despite the grime of the factory. Her diamond-shaped earrings caught the faint light, glinting like shards of ice. She watched you with a calculating gaze, her lips curled into a faint smirk. “You feel it, don’t you?” she said, her voice smooth and unnervingly calm. “The power inside you, begging to be unleashed. You don’t have to fight it, Y/N. Let it out.”

“Stop. Get out of my head.” you snapped, your voice shaking with a mix of fear and anger. 

Her smirk widened. “Darling, you can barely control your own abilities. I’m just helping you clear your mind. To help you relax. ”

Before you could respond, a deafening roar tore through the silence. The factory doors exploded inward, shards of metal and wood scattering across the floor. Flames erupted in the doorway, and through the inferno, Jeno emerged on his motorcycle, the Ghost Rider in full form. His flaming skull cast an ominous glow across the room, and his chain dragged behind him, leaving scorch marks in its wake.

“Karina!” Jeno’s voice was a guttural growl, distorted by the Spirit of Vengeance. “Step away from her.”

Karina turned toward him, her smirk never faltering. “Well, well,” she said, her tone dripping with mockery. “The Spirit of Vengeance finally decided to crash the party. How… predictable.”

You took a step forward, panic rising in your chest. “Jeno, don’t do this!”

He glanced at you briefly, his fiery gaze softening for just a moment. “Get out of here, Y/N. I don’t want you to see this.”

Karina laughed, a cold, melodic sound that sent a chill down your spine. “Oh, she’s not going anywhere. Not when she’s finally starting to understand her potential.”

Jeno’s flames roared brighter, his chain snapping taut in his hands. “You’re not laying a finger on her.”

Karina’s eyes glowed with a faint silver hue, her telepathic powers flaring to life. “I don’t need to lay a finger on her to destroy you, Jeno.”

The telepathic assault hit Jeno like a freight train. His flames flickered, dimming as he staggered back, clutching his skull. The Ghost Rider’s growl turned into a pained roar as Karina’s voice echoed in his mind, sharp and venomous.

“You’re a failure, Lee Jeno,” she hissed, her words cutting deeper than any physical blow. “A coward. A junkie. You think you can protect her? You couldn’t even protect yourself.”

Jeno dropped to his knees, his chain clattering to the ground. His fiery skull dimmed further, revealing glimpses of his human face beneath, twisted in agony. “No,” he muttered, his voice trembling. “No, I—”

Karina stepped closer, her voice dripping with venom. “You left her to die, Jeno. You’re the reason she almost bled out in that junkyard. And now you think you can save her from me? You’re pathetic.”

“Stop it!” you screamed, stepping forward. But an invisible barrier, a telekinetic shield, held you back. You slammed your fists against it, sparks of electricity crackling against the force field. “Let him go!”

Karina didn’t even glance at you, her focus entirely on Jeno. “You’re nothing without the Spirit of Vengeance. Just a broken man with nothing to offer.”

Jeno’s flames sputtered, his body trembling as he fought against her mental assault. But then, something snapped.

A surge of electricity exploded from your body, shattering Karina’s barrier and sending a shockwave through the room. The force of it knocked Karina back, her telepathic hold on Jeno breaking as she stumbled. Sparks danced along your skin, and the lights in the factory flickered wildly, casting the room in a chaotic strobe of light and shadow.

Karina’s calm façade cracked for the first time, her eyes narrowing as she stared at you. “What…?” she muttered, her voice tinged with disbelief.

You looked down at your hands, electricity arcing between your fingers. The buzzing energy in your veins was overwhelming but exhilarating, like you were finally alive for the first time. “I don’t know what you did to me,” you said, your voice trembling but firm. “But I’m done letting you manipulate me.”

Jeno rose to his feet, his flames roaring back to life as the Spirit of Vengeance surged within him. He turned to you, his fiery gaze filled with both awe and concern. “Y/N… your powers…”

You met his gaze, a flicker of resolve igniting in your chest. “We’ll figure it out later. Right now, we stop her. Together.”

Karina’s lips twisted into a scowl. “You think you can stop me? Both of you are just scared little children playing with powers you don’t understand.”

Her eyes glowed again as she prepared to strike, but this time, you were ready. Electricity coursed through your body as you raised your hand, sending a bolt of lightning toward her. Jeno’s chain ignited in flames as he lashed out, the Ghost Rider and your newfound powers colliding in a chaotic, electrified storm of fire and fury.

Sparks flew as your electricity surged wildly, ricocheting off metal beams and machinery, while flames from Jeno’s Ghost Rider form scorched the ground. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid smell of burning metal, the heat of the battle pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket. Karina narrowly avoided both attacks.

You stood in the middle of it all, suddenly trembling as the power in your veins pulsed out of control, the air around you crackling with raw energy. Every breath felt like fire in your lungs, every heartbeat a thunderous drum in your ears.

“Jeno, stop!” you shouted, your voice breaking through the storm of noise. “I can’t— I can’t control it!”

“Y/N, get out of here!” Jeno growled, the hellfire in his skull burning brightly as he dodged a telepathic assault from Karina. His chain lashed out, the flames leaving a trail of fire as it whipped through the air. “I’ll handle her!”

“You can’t handle me, Rider,” Karina sneered, her diamond-covered hand catching the flames of Jeno’s chain and deflecting them with ease. The impact sent a shower of sparks cascading to the ground, illuminating her cold, calculating smirk. She twisted her body back to flesh, her eyes glowing as she aimed a telepathic blast toward you. “And neither can she.”

The attack hit you like a freight train, sending you stumbling backward. Your head throbbed as Karina’s voice echoed in your mind, sharp and venomous. You’re a danger to everyone around you, Y/N. Look at him. He’s already breaking because of you.

“No!” you shouted, gripping your head as electricity sparked uncontrollably from your body, burning holes in the ground. The pain was unbearable, a searing heat that threatened to consume you. “Get out of my head!”

Jeno roared, swinging his flaming chain toward Karina with a ferocity that shook the room. “Leave her alone!”

Karina turned to diamond just in time, the chain clashing against her hardened form with a deafening clang. The force of the impact sent a shockwave through the factory, shattering nearby windows and sending shards of glass raining down. Jeno pulled back and lashed out again, but the attacks only glanced off her unyielding body, leaving faint scorch marks on her diamond skin.

“You’re predictable,” Karina taunted, reverting back to her human form. Her voice dripped with malice as she stepped closer, her heels clicking against the cracked concrete. “And reckless.” Her eyes narrowed, her telepathic powers flaring as she struck again, this time targeting Jeno. Which is why you’ll never be enough for her.

Jeno froze, his flames flickering as the words hit him like a punch to the gut. The Ghost Rider’s growl faltered, his fiery skull dimming as Karina’s mental assault dug into his deepest insecurities. “I… I…” he stammered, his voice trembling.

Seeing her opening, Karina lunged, her diamond form shimmering into existence as she aimed a devastating punch at Jeno’s chest. The blow landed with a sickening crunch, sending him flying into a stack of metal crates. He hit the ground hard, the flames around him sputtering as he struggled to rise.

“Jeno!” you screamed, your voice raw with panic. Electricity surged through you, the power building to a dangerous level as your fear and anger took over. You raised your hands, the energy crackling wildly as you unleashed a massive bolt of lightning toward Karina.

She shifted to diamond just in time, the electricity ricocheting off her hardened form and striking a nearby generator. The explosion sent a wave of heat and debris crashing through the factory, the force of it knocking you off your feet. You hit the ground hard, the breath driven from your lungs as pain shot through your ribs.

Karina emerged from the smoke, her diamond form flickering as she reverted to flesh. A thin trail of blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, her once-pristine suit now torn and scorched. “You’re meddling in things you don’t understand, Y/N,” she hissed, her voice laced with frustration.

“And whose fault is that?” you shot back, electricity arcing dangerously around you. Your body ached, your vision blurred, but you forced yourself to stand. “You lied to me. You used me.”

“I gave you purpose!” Karina snapped, shifting back to her human form as she tried to invade your mind again. But you were ready this time.

The moment her telepathic influence touched you, your electricity surged outward in a massive wave, cutting off her connection. The lights in the factory exploded, plunging the room into flickering darkness lit only by Jeno’s flames and the electric blue glow of your powers. The air buzzed with energy, the tension so thick it felt like the room itself was holding its breath.

Jeno took advantage of the distraction, his chain wrapping around Karina’s leg and yanking her off her feet. She hit the ground with a sharp thud, immediately shifting to diamond to avoid his next attack. Jeno’s flames roared brighter as he swung his chain again, the fiery links crashing against her diamond form with enough force to send her skidding across the floor.

“You’re out of tricks, Karina!” Jeno snarled, his skull blazing with hellfire.

Karina smirked, standing slowly. “Am I?”

With a wave of her hand, she sent shards of diamond-like energy hurtling toward you. Jeno’s flames flared brighter as he leapt in front of you, the shards disintegrating against his burning form. But the force of the attack sent him staggering, his flames flickering as he struggled to stay upright.

“Y/N, focus!” he shouted, glancing over his shoulder at you. Blood dripped from a gash on his forehead, his human form flickering beneath the Ghost Rider’s flames. “You’ve got this. I know you do.”

You swallowed hard, your heart racing. The chaos of the battle overwhelmed you, but Jeno’s words anchored you, giving you the strength to push past the fear. Electricity sparked and crackled around you as you raised your hands, channeling the power into a focused current. The energy shot forward, slamming into Karina with enough force to send her flying into a pile of crates.

She staggered to her feet, her diamond form flickering as she struggled to maintain it. For the first time, she looked rattled, her breathing ragged and her movements slower, more deliberate.

“This isn’t over,” she hissed, her voice dripping with venom.

“We’ll see about that,” Jeno growled, flames flaring as he stepped forward.

You steadied yourself, your hands still sparking, ready for whatever came next. For the first time, you felt a glimmer of control over your powers. With Jeno by your side, you knew you wouldn’t back down.

Karina straightened, her diamond form flickering as she reverted to flesh. She held up a hand, her expression unreadable. “Enough,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost resigned. “I can’t keep this up forever.”

Jeno growled, his chain igniting in fiery protest as the Spirit of Vengeance pushed him to finish the fight. “You don’t get to walk away, Karina.”

But you stepped forward, placing a hand on his burning shoulder. “Jeno, wait,” you said, your voice firm but calm. “Let me handle this.”

Jeno’s skull turned slightly toward you, the flames in his sockets flickering with hesitation, but he relented, lowering his chain. “Fine. But don’t trust her.”

You turned to Karina, your chest heaving as you fought to steady the overwhelming power coursing through you. “Why are you doing this?” you asked, your voice trembling—not with fear, but with exhaustion and hurt. “You said you were helping me. Was it all a lie?”

Karina’s diamond form flickered briefly before she reverted fully to flesh and blood. For the first time, you saw something human in her eyes—regret, perhaps, or maybe doubt. She wiped a smudge of dirt from her cheek, straightening her posture.

“I didn’t lie,” she said, her voice softer now. “Not about everything. You do have incredible potential, Y/N. More than you realize. But… I didn’t approach you purely out of kindness.”

“Then why?” you demanded, the electricity around you sparking dangerously.

Karina hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Because I needed you. Your powers. For the Hellfire Club’s plans. You were… a means to an end.”

Your chest tightened at her words, but before the anger could take hold, she continued.

“But,” she said, glancing away, “it wasn’t all manipulation. I—” She paused, the unflappable Karina momentarily at a loss for words. “I enjoyed spending time with you, Y/N. You’re smart, kind… and you made me see things differently.”

“Differently?” you asked, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Karina met your gaze, her icy composure softening. “I’ve spent so much of my life doing what I thought was necessary—making hard decisions for the ‘greater good.’ But being around you… it reminded me of who I used to be, before all of this. Before I became... this.”

Jeno stepped closer, his flames dimming but still present. “If you’re having second thoughts, prove it. Walk away.”

Karina looked between you and Jeno, her expression conflicted. For a moment, you thought she might lash out again, but instead, she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a pair of sleek, metallic gauntlets.

“Here,” she said, tossing them to you. You caught them instinctively, the cool metal humming faintly in your hands. “They’ll help you control your powers. Keep you from accidentally frying someone. I was supposed to give them to you after you joined us.”

You stared at the gauntlets, then back at her. “Then why are you giving me these now?”

Karina smiled faintly, a flicker of genuine warmth breaking through her usual cool demeanor. “Because I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did. Power without control... it’ll destroy you. And I’d rather not see that happen.”

Jeno crossed his arms, his fiery gaze narrowing. “This doesn’t absolve you of everything you’ve done.”

“I know,” Karina said, her voice quiet. She turned to you, her expression serious. “If things get worse. Like if the Hellfire Club comes after you. Call me. I’ll help you.”

“Why?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it.

Karina gave you a small, almost sad smile. “Because despite everything, I care about you, Y/N. More than I expected to.”

With that, she turned on her heel and began walking toward the factory’s exit.

“You’ll never stop looking over your shoulder if you go back to them,” Jeno called after her, his voice hard.

Karina paused at the doorway, glancing back over her shoulder. “Maybe,” she admitted. “But we don’t all get to ride off into the sunset with a gorgeous woman who can manipulate electricity by our side, do we, Rider?”

And then she was gone, disappearing into the night like a ghost.

You stood there, clutching the gauntlets tightly, your heart a storm of emotions. Jeno stepped closer, his flames dimming until they extinguished completely, leaving him in his human form.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer now.

You nodded, though you weren’t entirely sure if it was true. “I think so. For now.”

He gave you a small, tentative smile. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

The factory was a wreck. The floors were scorched, the walls cracked from the battles you fought, and the lingering scent of burnt rubber and ozone filled the air. You and Jeno both stood in the aftermath, looking like a pair of survivors who had just stumbled out of a warzone—except, in your case, the war was against a woman who could turn into a diamond. And, you know, manipulate minds. No big deal.

You winced as you flexed your wrist, the burn from a stray blast still making your skin tingle. Glancing at Jeno, you noticed his own set of injuries: deep cuts across his arms and a nasty gash on his forehead, not to mention his previously pristine jacket now reduced to ash and scorched fabric. Classic Jeno, always wearing the most expensive thing in a junkyard brawl.

“Hey, so…” you began, shifting uncomfortably as you tried to ignore the awkward silence hanging between you two. “About all the… revelations tonight.”

Jeno shot you a sideways glance, and you could see the weight of everything that had happened sinking in. The Spirit of Vengeance had left him, so at least he wasn’t looking like a flaming skull for now, but you could still see the lingering guilt in his eyes. The man was a walking metaphor for a storm. Wild, unpredictable, and, apparently, in need of a good therapist.

“Yeah, you don’t say,” he muttered, rubbing his head. “So, uh, what now? Do we pretend that didn’t happen? Or is the whole ‘electricity-generating mutant’ thing a forever deal?”

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “You think I just woke up one day and thought, ‘Hey, I’ll be a walking lightning rod for the rest of my life’?”

Jeno winced as he straightened up, his movements stiff. “No, I didn’t, but... you know. Seems like that’s exactly what’s happening.”

“Great. I’ll add it to my ‘What I Did Wrong Today’ list,” you muttered, feeling the familiar surge of frustration rise in you. But it wasn’t just at your powers. It was at the one thing you couldn’t quite shake off: Jeno.

You narrowed your eyes at him, your tone suddenly more serious. “And what about you, huh? Still think popping pills and riding a bike through fire is a good coping mechanism? Especially since you’re apparently made of fire now?”

Jeno flinched, and for a moment, it felt like the old Jeno was retreating back into his shell—the one he built to protect himself from all the things he couldn’t face. He kicked the ground, looking at his scuffed boots. “I didn’t— It’s just…” He sighed, unable to finish the sentence.

“Jeno,” you said, voice softer now. You placed a hand on his shoulder, though he didn’t meet your eyes. “I’m serious. If you want to stay in my life. If you really care about me at all. You need to get help. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

Jeno glanced up at you, his usually cocky demeanor replaced with something a little more vulnerable. “I know,” he said quietly. “I know I’ve messed up. And I promised you I’d get better. But—” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “You’re right. I don’t want to be that person anymore. I don’t want to lose you.”

You took a deep breath, your frustration dissipating just slightly. The old, familiar bond you shared was still there, tangled in with the new, raw emotions. You nodded, but added with a small, teasing smirk, “If you ever try to pop a pill in front of me again, I’ll use you as a lightning rod. Got it?”

Jeno gave a half-laugh, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips. “Got it. No more pills. Just the occasional dramatic motorcycle crash for old time’s sake.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s so much better,” you deadpanned. “But seriously, Jeno, I can’t help you if you don’t help yourself first. I won’t watch you burn up from the inside out.”

He met your gaze, the flicker of sincerity in his eyes making you pause. “I’ll try, Y/N. I swear. I’m tired of hurting myself—and you.”

You nodded again, feeling the weight of the conversation settle into your bones. “Good. And, uh, while we’re on the subject—if you ever want to not be on fire for five seconds, I’ve got these new gauntlets that could help with the whole ‘literal fire hazard’ thing. Maybe we should figure out how to duplicate them.”

Jeno’s eyes flicked to the gauntlets you were still holding, raising an eyebrow. “You think those are going to keep me from turning into a human torch?”

“Well, they won’t stop you from being a hot mess,” you quipped, “but they might help with the literal hot mess part. Try them on. See if they can cool you off. But give them back, I don’t wanna electrocute you later.”

Jeno chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re something else.” He pulled the gauntlets on with a shrug. They fit perfectly, “Better than getting burned alive, I guess.”

“That’s the spirit,” you said with a small smile. “See? We’re making progress.”

He gave a small, half-smile in return. “One step at a time.”

The first few days after the chaos in the factory felt like the world had hit the pause button. You were still grappling with the full weight of what had happened—the fight, Karina’s departure, and the truth about your powers. But more than that, you were trying to figure out how to not burn down the nearest building while you practiced controlling your mutant abilities.

Your bedroom had turned into an impromptu testing ground for your electrical powers, and you were starting to actually feel like a walking lightning rod now. The first time you accidentally zapped the toaster, you almost burned down the kitchen. It’s fine, you told yourself. I’ll just keep a fire extinguisher in every room.

"Okay, just breathe," you muttered, staring at the lamp in front of you. Your hands crackled with electrical energy. "Focus. You’re not going to fry this lamp into oblivion. You’ve got this."

The lamp flickered. Then, with a sudden snap, it exploded in a burst of light.

"Okay, maybe not. Plan B: Try not to set anything on fire this time," you groaned, rubbing your forehead. You glanced at the charred remnants of your lamp. Great. I’m a walking disaster.

Meanwhile, in the next room, Jeno was wrestling with his own set of issues. His recovery wasn’t as simple as just kicking a habit. It was as if his very soul had to unlearn years of reckless behavior and self-destruction. And while he was committed to getting better, you had a sneaking suspicion that his journey would involve more than a few missteps along the way.

You walked into the living room, where Jeno was sitting on the couch, staring at a glass of water like it held the answers to all of life’s problems.

"How’s it going, big guy?" you asked, leaning in the doorway.

Jeno glanced up and sighed dramatically. "I’m just sitting here, contemplating the universe. You know, the usual."

"Right. The deep, soul-searching kind of contemplation." You gave him a pointed look. "Or are you trying to convince yourself that water can’t be addictive?"

He shot you a dry look. "Very funny. But no, I’m actually just trying to make sure I don’t relapse into firing up my bike for no reason."

You raised an eyebrow. "And that’s going well, I assume?"

"Actually," he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender, "I’m being good. No fire, no bike stunts, just... boring old rehab."

"Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find a way to be extra dramatic about it. It’s your brand."

Jeno smirked, the hint of his old self shining through. "Yeah, well, I’m trying to unbrand myself."

You chuckled. "Good luck with that. I’m pretty sure the Ghost Rider brand is hard to shake."

Jeno exhaled through his nose, rubbing his forehead. "I hate that name."

You threw your hands up. "What? It’s catchy!"

"Catchy? It sounds like I’m auditioning for a cheesy horror movie," he grumbled.

"But the cool demon guy gave you it."

Jeno gave you a playful glare. "And he wants me to exterminate every sinful person in this world, so is he really ‘cool’?"

You shrugged, smiling. "I’m just trying to make sure you don’t fall into your bad habits again. Humor is the only thing that gets me through this madness."

Jeno stared at you, a mix of amusement and sincerity on his face. "Thanks, Y/N. Really. I... I don’t know what I’d do without you."

You softened, though you couldn’t resist throwing in a final jab. "Probably set something on fire, knowing you."

"Don’t tempt me," Jeno warned with a grin.

"Okay, okay," you relented, holding up your hands. "I’ll stop. But hey, how about we both try and figure this out without burning anything down, deal?"

Jeno looked at you, a little more serious now. "Deal."

And so, you began this new chapter, with a growing sense of purpose. You and Jeno were both trying to reclaim control over your lives, and though it wasn’t easy, it was at least a little bit more bearable with each other’s help.

As for you, well, you still had a lot to learn about controlling your powers. But you figured you could start small, maybe with not blowing up your appliances. After all, if you could survive your own chaotic life, maybe saving the world wasn’t that far out of reach.

The night was cool, but the air still carried the buzz of the day’s chaos. The city sprawled out before you, lights flickering in the distance, the world oblivious to the storm that had just passed through. You and Jeno stood side by side in the parking lot, where the remnants of your battle and struggles were already fading into the distance.

Jeno’s bike sat next to you, the engine idling with that low growl that had always gotten your heart racing—before you knew all the trouble it would bring. You felt the familiar charge in the air as your hands crackled with electric energy, but it was different now. Controlled.

“Well, this is... weird,” you said, tapping the side of your gauntlets and watching the sparks dance around your fingertips.

Jeno shot you a sidelong glance, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, you being the dangerous one now. What’s next? You’re gonna start taking over the world?"

You rolled your eyes. “World domination? Please. I’ll start with not burning down my apartment.”

Jeno gave you a knowing look. “One step at a time, right?”

He mounted his bike and revved the engine, the sound echoing through the empty streets. You followed suit, stepping onto the back of his bike with a practiced ease that only came from years of friendship—and more than a few questionable decisions. 

As Jeno revved the engine again, you looked at the skyline one last time, feeling the electric hum of your powers simmer beneath your skin.

"You know," Jeno said, breaking the silence as his hand gripped the handlebars tighter, "I think I’ve got a name for you."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh, no. I’m not falling for this again."

"No, seriously. You need a name," he insisted, glancing at you with that same cocky grin. "Surge. It fits. You’ve got the whole ‘electricity’ vibe going on."

You stared at him for a moment, and then—after a deep, soul-searching pause—let out a dramatic sigh. “Surge? Seriously?”

“Yeah, it’s perfect,” he said with a shrug, clearly pleased with himself. "It’s got that ‘superhero’ ring to it."

You immediately shoved him lightly, making him almost lose his balance. "Shut up, Jeno. That’s the worst name I’ve ever heard."

“Come on, it’s not that bad!” he protested, his laughter echoing in the night. "Alright, alright, we’ll work on it. But you can’t deny it—Surge has a nice ring to it."

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Just drive, Jeno. You’re lucky I’m not zapping you off this bike right now.”

“Okay, okay, you win.” Jeno started the bike and, with a final glance toward the horizon, sped off into the night, the flames of his chain lighting up the road ahead.

The wind whipped through your hair, the flames of Ghost Rider and the crackling electricity of your powers illuminating the streets as you rode side by side. The world still had its dangers, but right now, the night felt endless. 

“Like would our ship name be Surge Rider or Ghur—”

“Shut the fuck up and drive.”

TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @yizhrt @polarisjisung @multifandomania @spacejip @peterm4rker @viasdreams @mango-bear

[sunskisser]

hi, my darling!! i love, love, your writing, and just wanted to say that i am obsessed! may i please request scarf (i can't find the emoji) 😭 with our dearest remus? the prompt would be — “is there anything i can say to make this less awkward?”

thank you so much darling! <3 and here’s a scarf for you🧣(found the emoji for you haha 😉)

mistletoe | r.l.

— “Is there anything I can say to make this less awkward?”

remus lupin x reader —★— word count 1.7k

summary: you attend your neighbour, sirius’ christmas party, where remus saves you from a bully before kissing you under the mistletoe :)

cw: fluff, mean bully cormac mclaggen, protective remus <333, reader gets panicky, sirius is a protective + matchmaker friend haha

Your eyes dart around the living room nervously, drink sloshing around the cup in your hand. The music from the speakers is booming, blaring disco lights making it hard to see much. You can’t seem to spot any familiar faces.

Sirius, your next-door neighbour and friend, was throwing a huge Christmas party. All his old friends were there too. You were familiar with them, having seen them quite a bit whenever they went over. And they seemed nice for the most part, if a bit raucous. You think you’d probably feel better around them than stranded in this buzzing, foreign crowd.

You continue taking cautious steps forward, eyes trained on the ground as you push your way through bodies of people dancing and snogging and puking and – fuck.

You don’t even realise that you’ve spilled your drink all over someone until he, not very nicely, alerts you to it.

“Hey!”

It doesn’t occur that he’s calling out to you. Your hearing is all but closed off to the noise of the party.

“Hey – you!” All of a sudden there’s a hand wrapped around your wrist, and you freeze, quickly whipping around to find the source. It feels like your flight or fight mode has been activated, and you’re squirming away before you can even spot his face in the sea of people.

Breaths are loud, deafening in your ears. They might be yours, or maybe they’re those of the crowd starting to gather round. You’re not quite sure.

Your eyes land on him. The buff blonde in front of you, grip tightening around your wrist as he pulls you closer. There’s words coming out of his mouth. Spit landing on your nose. But you can’t seem to make out a thing he’s saying, phrases like stupid girl and bitch slipping through your consciousness and adding fuel to the fire of panic in your throat.

You open your mouth to apologise, though you’re not quite sure what you’ve done. Nothing comes out but a pathetic croak.

The scary man’s voice gets louder and louder. You’ve never quite seen rage in human form, but here he was. Here he was. And he was going to be the death of you, you’re sure of it.

“Hey, man.”

Another voice, getting closer. It’s softer. Gentler. You feel an arm around your waist, and the touch is kind enough to not make you want to pull away.

“Let go of her, please. It was an honest mistake.”

“But this bitch –”

“I said,” you can hear the hint of hardness in the nice man’s voice, “Let go.” Somehow, you know it’s not directed at you. His grip on your waist tightens the slightest bit, but careful not to hurt.

There’s a beat of silence before the harsh hand leaves your wrist. The relief is immediate, the familiar feeling of a come down after a painful high. Your skin doesn’t feel so foreign to you anymore.

“Thank you,” the kind man says from beside you, though he doesn’t sound very grateful. “I’m sure Sirius could spare you one of his shirts, if you’d like.” Once again, there’s no actual apology in his tone.

Without waiting for a reply, you feel yourself being gently steered away. You look around as you walk, spotting expressions of shock and humour and all sorts of funny feelings.

You twist your head to take a look at your saviour, feeling like your heart might stop beating all over again.

Remus Lupin. You liked him more than you knew him.

You’ve seen him a few times at Sirius’ place, spoken to him even fewer. Yet nothing but sweetness came to mind at the thought of him; all softness and pretty scars and kind smiles. You think maybe the word gentleman was made for him. Even Sirius seemed to be lovelier in Remus’ presence, which was saying a lot, because you thought your neighbour really was quite lovely already.

You’d never seen Remus so riled up before. Honestly, you didn’t think he was capable of it. There was a silly little feeling in your tummy, to know that he had gotten so worked up to protect you.

“Sweetheart,” his voice brings you back to the present. And he’s back to normal, back to the soft, calm man you so adored.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” he smiles bemusedly, though his brows are bent with concern. You realise he’s brought you to the kitchen, where there’s fewer people and more air to breathe. The feeling of his thumbs gently rubbing your wrists is almost too much to bear. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m –” you try not to shudder as the thought of the angry man comes back to you, “fine. I’m fine.”

Remus gives your hands a squeeze. “Okay. You’re okay now, yeah? I’m sorry about Cormac. He was a dick in high school too,” he sighs. “Once a dick, always a dick.”

You let out a giggle. “Really?”

He grins, a proper one. “Yeah, really. One time, James — you know James, right? The bespectacled one with the curly hair —” he continues when you nod, “— yeah, so James walked right up to Cormac and —“

“Hey,” Remus is interrupted by Sirius, breathless as he shoves past people, into the kitchen. His brows are pinched together as he pulls you into a half hug. “Hey, babe. Are you good? I heard what happened just now with McLaggen, the asshole.”

“I’m okay, really,” you squeak out as Sirius pulls you even closer. “Sirius —“

You feel your cheeks heating up when you hear Remus chuckling. Sirius lets you go from the hug now, but his grip on your shoulders is vice-like as he looks you over like a concerned mother hen. “Are you sure you’re okay? He didn’t touch you, did he?”

“Well, he did, but —“

“He touched you?” Sirius sounds close to appalled. Remus is snickering now, and you feel like digging yourself a hole and crawling into it. “The bastard! I’m gonna —“

“Sirius!” you hiss, cutting him off. “I’m all good, I swear. Remus got me out of it.”

Sirius flicks his gaze over to Remus. In a split second, you know what’s coming when you see the twinkle in his eyes.

“Sirius. Don’t you dare.”

He flashes you a quick grin before turning to his friend, wiggling his eyebrows. “So, loverboy here saved you, huh?”

Remus quirks an eyebrow at you questioningly. You turn to Sirius with a pleading look; you knew he knew all about your little crush. But of course, he wouldn’t stop there.

“Did he swoop you into his arms? Catch you as you fell?”

“No…“ you mumble shyly, shoulders up to your ears.

“Well,” Sirius smirks, “He can now!”

The only warning you get is a wink, before Sirius’ hand is on your shoulder and he gives you a push.

You let out a yelp as you tumble backwards, straight into Remus.

Embarrassment washes over you as his strong arms immediately come around your waist, swiftly pressing onto your stomach as he steadies you. “Woah, woah, easy there. Are you okay?”

You blink. “I… um… I…”

The feeling of his hands on you is distracting, too much to take. It’s like your legs have turned to jelly, tongue to rubber. Words turn to dust on the tip of it.

Maybe this is how you perish, you think. You’d die of shyness in Remus’ arms; perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad way to go.

A loud gasp startles you out of your reverie. Both you and Remus turn to find Sirius staring at you with his hands on his cheeks, eyes dramatically wide and mouth agape.

“Oh. My. God,” he gushes, stepping towards you. “What do we have here?”

You shoot him a glare, hoping it conveys both your desperation and annoyance. Sirius seems, or rather pretends, to understand nothing.

“Would you look at that?” he continues with a grin, chucking his head upwards. You look up to feel your heart drop.

There’s a quiet snort from Remus at the sight. Green leaves, red ribbon adorning it. Mistletoe.

“Mistletoe!” Sirius exclaims, as if it weren’t painfully obvious.

You cringe, immediately hanging your head to stare at your hands. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth and hope the red on your cheeks isn’t as obvious as you think it is.

Sirius is annoyingly loud as he continues to yap, but your heartbeat is louder.

Remus clears his throat. You blink, whipping your head upwards to find him looking at you with an apologetic smile. He rubs the nape of his neck bashfully. “Is there anything I can say to make this less awkward?”

A soft huff of laughter escapes you despite yourself. “No, I… I don’t think so.”

He grins. You feel your resolve melting into a puddle. “Kiss me.”

Remus blinks, eyes widening for a split second before his lips quirk upwards. “What?”

“Kiss me,” you breathe, hoping you don’t sound as anxious as you feel. “I mean, not because I want you to or anything —“ you laugh nervously, “— but because it’s mistletoe, and — oh.”

Remus’ lips are on yours in a moment. The squeak you let out dissolves into his mouth, hand gently cupping the back of your head.

You feel his soft hands on your waist and his sweet lips on yours and you feel like you’re falling all over again.

This is what that muggle singer Sirius loved — Elvis Presley — must’ve been feeling, you think, when he wrote Can’t Help Falling in Love. He must’ve been kissing the epitome of love itself, because you seemed to be falling into Remus, melting into his touch. If you were a fool for rushing in, then so be it. You’d be anything to taste his lips again.

Remus lets go all too soon, though you’d probably feel the same way if he let go after a lifetime. He gives you that sweet, sweet smile again, and you can’t help but smile back.

“You know, we don’t always have to be under the mistletoe to kiss.”

“We don’t?”

“No,” Remus grins, “like right now.”

He tugs on your waist, stumbling until your back hits the wall. He kisses you again, and you’re suddenly very grateful for Sirius. You’d have to thank him for three things this Christmas — introducing you to Remus, inviting you to this party, and most importantly — for that song reference.

san’s christmas sleepover

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 11 - You Might Drown

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Much lore and emotions and banter incoming. Enjoy!

Chapter title from Miss Jackson by Panic! At the Disco ft. LOLO

Word Count: 17.1k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Everyone adjusts to shifting dynamics and a secret is revealed. Usual warnings.

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

Chapter 10 - Chapter 12

Read on A03!

She drooled in Her sleep.

Just a little bit. Just enough to be caught the streetlights leaking through the curtains, and let Dean know that it was there. A little line that—if he stretched out his hand and allowed himself to pretend he was someone who could be worthy of Her—he could wipe from her cheek. 

He never did. He lay in the dark and listened to Sammy’s occasional snore and the wind howling outside their window, and just watched Her until he passed out.

He didn’t have dreams anymore. Every single dream of Her that had been gripping him by the throat had become faded when Dean had found his way back into Her orbit, but now they were gone. He hadn’t had one in weeks. Even his nightmares—where Sammy was only a body, and he pulled the trigger on Dad but it didn’t work, and She was on fire on the ceiling but he couldn’t just fucking reach Her—had been dulled around the edges. Now slightly faded, washed out, as if someone had scrubbed them away and all that was left was a faded, washed-out imprint.

Now all Dean did was flop down on the bed without a word, watch Her stretch out and curl into herself on the other side of the mattress, and try not to drown in how close She was. He could feel the heat from Her body. See every small bump on her beautiful face, every dip in the fabric of Her shirt, and—when that same shirt would ride up, pooling a little higher around Her abdomen—the faded scar over Her stomach.

That always made him a little sick, his stomach turning and heart missing a heavy beat. 

He could never bring himself to look away.

She looked amazing like this. Peaceful. Dean had never seen Her so relaxed, never seen Her fingers rest against something without tugging at it, never seen Her body without tension that she’d always scratch at herself to relieve. 

But here She was, facing Dean in Her sleep. Vulnerable and drooling and—against all reasonable odds—trusting Dean.

And he was being a fucking creep. Watching his best friend in the dark, imagining what would happen if he reached out and pulled Her into his chest. Held Her there until the sun rose, and then a little while after.

It was a new ritual he’d made for himself. Watching Her. It made it more real that She was there. In Dean’s bed. Not in the way that he ached for in his gut and a little to the right of his heart, but there.

She was still there.

Every night. In every town. 

They had woken up in that train car, and Dean’s eyes hadn’t still been swollen and heavy with exhaustion. She had stared at him from Her own side of the bed—rubbing that scar on Her palm, an unreadable expression on Her pretty face—and when She’d broken the silence, it hadn’t hurt.

“Thank yo-“

“Don’t.” He’d cut Her off with a shake of his head, watching Her carefully. Trying to see if he could get Her to break this apart first, because he knew deep, deep down he’d never be able to do it himself. “It work?”

She’d nodded, and hadn’t broken anything. She’d fixed something. She’d given in a small, soft smile and things had healed. Clicked and set up Dean’s spine, making him feel a little taller, and stronger, and more durable where he’d been pliable and muddied before. He’d done something for Her, and it had worked, and maybe the crashing and razing aftershocks of their conversation could’ve not had consequences. 

They had.

But even then, they hadn’t been all that bad. 

“I really-” She’d cleared her throat a few hours later, and Dean had looked up from his sandwich with raised brows. “I didn’t want to leave. I had to, and you can’t blame Bobby, and I promise, Dean, I-“

“I trust you, Princess.” He’d shrugged, and he did. Even if he didn’t, She’d said his name, and that always made his instincts a little blurred and bias in Her favor. “But if you ever pull a fucking Houdini like that again-“

“I won’t.”

He’d scanned over Her open features, trying to find a new excuse to hate Her and push her back, away—where he couldn’t hurt Her and She couldn’t see him—but he was running out of them. And all the remaining ones were weak. 

She was still being insanely stubborn about the arrowhead. Keeping it in Her jacket with Her knife or hiding it in corners of Her bag Dean could never seem to find. Not that he was trying to take it—She'd kill him if he did, arguably in a more painful way than any demon or hellhound—but because he needed to know. To understand why She was losing her brilliant, usually sharp and rational mind over something so stupid.

And he couldn't work it out. He could never work Her out. 

He couldn't hate Her for that either.

No matter how it drove him up the wall, Dean couldn't despise Her for being an enigma. It was beautiful. Like the stars on a long highway in a flyover state, or how when the sunlight would angle just right in a dusty motel room, the air would swirl and shine like a small, glowing tornado. It trapped Dean's attention. It trapped Dean. And he would never be able to hate Her for it because when his whole life was truly just the mud—now tangled and mixed with guts and grime and bile—it was almost like a drug to look at Her.

Beautiful. Drop-dead gorgeous. Strange in a way he'd never want to change, even as he was dying and losing his mind and everything was so complicated—fucking complicated—but She still fit like a puzzle.

No matter how the last two years had changed Dean, She still molded against him and filled up that pit inside of him like it was what he was made to be.

Something for Her.

And he couldn't hate Her for that either. 

Because it would be better to be for Her. It would certainly be worth far more than he was now. If Dean lead any other life, if he wasn’t him but She was the same, then he could imagine always just being for Her.

It was another reason to hate Her he’d never been able to hold onto. He could breathe and exist in the fact that She was starlight, and Dean was only a void that absorbed Her light and never gave anything in return, but it never stuck. It slipped through his fingers, and he still wanted Her—almost fucking craved Her, resting in his car and smiling at him from across a table and suddenly everywhere but still never enough—and he’d never know how not to.

She was too beautiful. It was almost wrong, almost inhuman, if it wasn’t the only thing Dean felt like he’d ever really known. They weren’t fighting anymore, and it made Her even more striking because he was permitted to look once more, and it was corrosive in his body. How She was somehow still a siren, still calling him, and he could never just stop falling.

She could be mean and bossy and annoying and test his patience, but that was always eclipsed by how bright She was, how Dean was blinded by Her, being beautiful and near him and made of some kind of glorious, wrathful, unexplainable light that made him shine, deep in the cavity of his chest. The only thing Dean could find wrong with Her was that she’d left. She’d lied about being sick, and She’d hidden, and She left him, but he fucking understood it.

Dean ran the scenario over and over in his head and knew that, if it was him, he'd have done the same. And he loathed that. How the limited parts of Her that he did understand were the ones where he was reflected, where She vanished because she was an idiot who just acted without damn thinking, and Dean would've always done the same.

He was doing the same. And his only hope for the thing—the deal, the contract, the timer, his lie that gave him no ground to stand on against Her—was that he would bet almost everything he had that She would've done the same. If it was Her, and someone She cared about had been empty-eyed and cold on the ground—Dean tried to pretend it would just be Bobby, but then an image of Her cradling his body would flash through his head, and a painful fever would mold and tighten around his heart—Dean knew She would’ve made the same choice he did. 

And maybe that would save him. When She found out. 

Because that was the only real reason he had left. Dean was on a deadline. Literally. And She still didn’t know, but he couldn’t figure out a way to tell Her—hey, Princess, you know how we said Sammy only ‘almost’ died? Well, that was a fucking lie—and he’d never dreaded anything more than Her face, or wrath, or fear, or worst of all, care, when he told Her, so he didn’t. He’d have to—because it was clear She was embedding herself back into his life and he’d never been strong enough to carve Her out and toss her away—but he hadn’t. 

And he didn’t bite or lash or sneer, or just get Her away.

At the end of the day—in that train car when he’d believed Her when she said she wouldn’t vanish on him, and he’d tried and failed not to let that sink too deep into his body—Dean would never be able to just get away from Her. 

He wished there was at least something in him that could learn how to be cautious or angry about that.

But She was here, and everything was better, and there was nothing left but Her. In the whole universe, Dean could still only really fucking feel Her.

“Sam will be here in a day,” he’d told Her as they’d wandered off the train station in Chicago, re-reading Sam’s message as he spoke. “He thinks we should lay low.”

She’d hummed, scanning over the paper map She’d gotten—stolen, but Dean knew better than to point that out—from a concession stand. “He’s right.”

“Did I say he was wrong, Princess?”

“No, but you were going to suggest we try to meet him halfway.”

Dean had scowled. She’d been right, and he didn’t really love how that let Her push a little further into his existence. Her knowing him like that was dangerous.

“Well, what do you think we should do-“

“There’s a motel. Few blocks away.” She’d raised Her brows at him. “Back on lockdown, Deano.”

He’d rolled his eyes, but followed Her out of the train station all the same. He’d follow Her anywhere. A beatdown, cracked pavement and rusted door-hinges motel was—in the grand scheme of things—nothing at all.

And they’d been at the check-in desk as Dean asked for a room and She flipped through the free magazines with a bored expression, and the whole world had tipped on its head.

“We’ve only got a one-bed room available at the moment,” the receptionist had said, eyes fixed on the grainy computer screen. “But checkout is in an hour, so if you come back-“

“The available room is fine.” She’d hummed, and Dean felt something bright and technicolor burst through his body.

He had to turned to stare at Her, his mouth slightly open, and She’d just been raising her brows at him. 

Daring him to say otherwise.

So he’d said nothing, and they’d never fucking gone back.

At first, in Chicago, Dean had told himself it was because of safety. They’d been on the run from Hell’s Assassin’s, they hadn’t had the time to just wait for a two-bedroom to be open.

Then Sammy had picked them up. Dean seen the look of quiet shock on his brother’s face, when Sam had walked into the motel room and seen to single bed, but the kid had been smart and shut his mouth. 

For at least a few days, Sam hadn’t said anything. Dean hadn’t said anything. She hadn’t said anything.

But they’d gotten to the next motel, and Sam had raised two fingers at the desk, and She’d shaken her head.

“We can share one.” She’d shrugged, fidgeting with the cuff of Her jacket as she spoke to the receptionist. “Two-beds, though. Please.”

Sam had shot Dean a what the fuck look, and Dean was starting to get a little pissed that Sammy couldn’t figure out that he didn’t know. With Her, Dean never knew. 

He could only repeat that it was cheaper, even though none of the money they spent was actually theirs. And it wasn’t like She’d ever cared about cheap before.

“Is this cashmere?” Sam had asked a few weeks back, picking up Her sweater off the counter. “Where did you find cashmere?”

She hadn’t even looked up from Her book as she answered. “Don’t remember.”

“You don’t-“ Sam had said Her name slowly, shaking his head. “This is like- this looks vintage-“

“Sam.” She’d given him a flat look over hooded eyes, and Dean had been very glad he was sitting at a table and no one could see how he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

Sam had swallowed and dropped it, and Dean had been forced to come up with another reason. 

Staying all in one room was safer. Against any monsters, against any demons, against the green-eyed sons of bitches that were still on their tail.

“How they’d even find you?” Sam had asked him in a diner, and Dean had grunted, his eyes mostly fixed on where She’d disappeared into the bathroom.

“Dunno.”

“You can’t just not know, Dean-“

“Well, I don’t Sam, and I’m not just gonna have a freakin’ epiphany because you told me to-“

“I’m asking you to think, dude, not have an-“ Sam had paused. “When did you learn what epiphany meant?”

He’d shot Sammy a glare. “I can know five-dollar words, college boy-“

Sam had drawled Her name, and something Dean really needed to get under control had flashed through his blood like lightning.

“What about her-“

“She used that word, didn’t she.”

There had been a very annoying look of glee of Sam’s face, along with something strange Dean hadn’t really been able to place. 

So he’d just scoffed, and forced himself not to keep glancing back at the bathroom door. 

“Shut up.”

Sam had just kept grinning. “I like having her around. It makes you smarter.”

“I said shut up, Sammy-“

“And happier.” Sam had added, his voice slightly softer. “I don’t know what happened before Chicago-“

“Sam-“

“But you’re happier, Dean. And you’re drinking less, and you- I don’t know it’s just good to see.”

Dean’s jaw had twitched. He knew all that shit. He didn’t need Sam to say it. Sam saying it made it real. Made it something he was going to lose, when it came to the end. Made Her something Dean was going to have to lose, made it so much fucking harder not to cross that line. 

“You guys are- Uh-“ Sam had poked at his diner salad with a fork, and Dean had felt like he was being studied. “You’ve been sleeping in the same bed.”

Dean had scowled. “Believe it or not, Sammy, I fucking know that-“

“Did you before?”

“Before-“

“She left. The whole- with Dad and Azazel-“ Sam had paused, frowning at his plate. “You know. All that.”

Dean had let out a long breath. “No. We didn’t.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Sam had given Dean another strange look. Dean was getting a little tired of them. “What changed-“

“I don’t know.” He’d grunted. “And I don’t want you bringing it up, Sam. It’s- it doesn’t matter.”

Sam had blinked at him. “Dean, this is the first girl I’ve ever seen you wake up next to-“

“We’re friends.”

“Yeah,” Sam had scoffed. “Sure, man.”

Dean had scowled. “What the hell does that mean, sure man-“

Sam had cut off Dean’s crude impression with a flat look. “If you were friends, you would’ve told her already. About the deal.”

“That has fucking nothing to do with this.” Dean had hissed, leaning across the table. “I’m hiding it because I have to-“

“I don’t think she would agree-“

“Of course she wouldn’t, Sammy, I’m not an idiot-“

“So tell her-“

“No.” Dean had snapped, raising his fork to point at Sam as he spoke. “I’m serious, Sammy-“

“So am I-“

“I’m more serious. You tell her about the deal, or bring up the whole sleeping thing in front of her, and I’ll dump your laptop in the next river we drive past. Got it?”

Sam had sighed, running a hand over his face. “I’m not bringing it up with her, Dean, I’m talking to you. And you have to admit you’re not just sharing a bed because it’s convenient-“

“It’s because it’s safe.” Dean grunted, and the metal of the fork had felt like it was going to bend in his hand. “We’re being hunted by demons while chasing demons, Sammy, it’s not smart to split up.”

“Yeah. That’s true.” Sam had shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest and raising his brows. “Why doesn’t she ever share a bed with me?”

Dean had recoiled like Sam had burned him. There was another reason to make this reasonable, and simple, and nothing really to think about, flushed down the toilet by Sam’s bored words. 

He hadn’t gotten time to come up with a witty, smooth response before the bathroom door had opened and She’d returned to their table. He’d only given Sammy his most threatening keep your fucking mouth shut glare, and grinned at Her as she’d rejoined their booth.

“God, that bathroom was fucking disgusting. I think I saw shit on the walls.” She’d nudged Dean’s shoulder as She slid in next to him. Right next to him. If he leaned just a little to the side, their shoulders would bump again and She’d be real, really there, really staying with Dean until he found a real way to lose her- “Close your mouth, De.”

Sammy had laughed, and Dean had snapped his jaw closed with heat rising up his neck. She wasn’t looking at him anymore. She couldn’t know he’d been thinking about Her, about how soft her skin looked and how shiny her hair was and how she smelled like fruit, she always smelled like fruit, she was going to drive Dean out of his mind because what the fucking Christ was that fruit-

“I’ve got a case in Arkansas.” Sam had said, looking more to Her than to Dean. “Town called De Queen seems to be having a rush season of missing people, and lot of them have their hearts missing-“

“So wolves.” She’d said, turning Her glass in her hands. 

She hadn’t ordered a drink, but Dean knew Her—even after years apart, trying to forget just how much She was, everything he’d ever learned about her was still tattooed on a place more vital and obvious than his brain—so he’d order one for Her. Orange soda. 

As Sammy had kept talking about the case and She’d listened, her lips wrapped around the straw without thought, and things sparked in Dean’s body. Things that were bright and swollen and likely pride—he’d done well, he’d known Her, and she was watching Sammy but Dean had gotten Her something she liked—and other things that he’d never been good at pretending he didn’t feel. 

His pants had been tighter. He’d almost been able to see Her eyes fluttering at him slightly, and watching him with that same intensity but a blown-out expression, and Her lips around him, and She was so pretty and she’d just hummed and what would that sound feel like, vibrating through around his-

“It’ll be in and out.” Sam had been saying, and Dean had needed to almost physically shake those images out of his head. “It’ll be quick. Easy. Something to do until Ruby finds us a way to stay off those- uh- the Hell’s Assassin’s radar-“

“I’m already sold on it, Sam. You don’t have to keep convincing me.”

She smiled at Sammy’s sheepish expression, something in Dean had whined that the smile wasn’t at him, but then She’d given him an quiet, amused look that had been just for Dean, and he’d grinned back.

He was grinning a lot more lately. 

Nothing had ever been more complicated, more exhausting, more draining, but She’d smile and Dean would feel light and infinite and satisfied all while still starving for more.

He’d grinned at Her in the mirror the whole ride to Arkansas, and this—trading jokes and teasing comments and laughter over the music and Sam’s bored and half-annoyed expressions—was so much better than trying to pretend She wasn’t there. Dean didn't know how he’d managed that for a whole month, now that he was back to something closer to what they’d been before, he’d never go back.

It wasn’t the same. But it was closer.

If it was the same, She wouldn’t have walked into the motel room at his side, set down Her bag on the bed they’d be sharing that night, and sprawled across the couch like it was Her’s.

It might be. Everything, in some way, seemed to be made for Her.

Dean was certainly getting no better at pretending he himself wasn’t. Not when over the next few days he’d crashed further back into Her, following Her clever orders and walking one pace behind her all the damn time. He’d slashed and hacked at the wolves—Sammy doing the same just a few paces away and Her spinning her knife in her hands and moving in an oddly smooth dance with her every target—until it was over and She was back in his car.

And the streetlamps cast shadows that were designed to make Her more beautiful, and Dean’s eyes were magnets that were meant to draw to Her.

Weeks passed, just like that. Small, simple cases across the country, all of them sharing one motel room, and Her on the other side of Dean’s bed. They never touched. They never spoke about it. And Dean wasted every night away, pretending that in some other world, he’d be worthy of touching Her and he’d cross that final line.

He never would be. 

He couldn’t be. 

Not when he was still lying to Her. It was for the best, be he was still doing it. He was finding times to sneak around with Sammy and keep working on his way out of the deal, all while lying to Her.

And She’d only ever smile at him, when he and Sam left Her to go do some research on Lilith.

“We’ll be back in a few hours,” he’d said, grabbing his jacket from the bed as Sam stuffed his laptop in his bag, and She curled at the headboard of their bed, not looking up from Her book as she’d responded.

“Alright.”

“If demons show up-“

“I’ll be fine, Dean.” She’d turned a page, Her voice so fucking neutral. She hadn’t been pissed, or worried, or afraid, or anything. It might have driven him crazier than anything else could. “I’ll handle them-“

Something red had flashed over his eyes. “The hell you’ll handle them-“

“And then I’ll call you.” She’d looked at him under Her eyelashes, and they’d fluttered slightly, and Dean didn’t know when the fuck She’d picked up that habit—he didn’t really want to know—but it was going to kill him. “And hide until you come to save me.”

His eyes had narrowed at Her mocking tone, but he’d pushed on. “Good girl.”

It hadn’t helped anything. The way Her eyes had widened, and She’d flushed. And a hitched breath, and parted lips-

Sam had cleared his throat, looking between them with an odd expression, saying Her name like he was worried it would set off a bomb. “What are you, uh- You got plans while we’re gone?”

She’d nodded, ripping Her gaze away from Dean as if just looking at him was electrocuting her.

“I- um-“ She’d swallowed, glancing back to Dean. Almost seeming to check he was still there. “The case. And the arrowhead. I’m going to keep looking at it.”

Sam had sighed. “I don’t get why we can’t just turn it over to Ruby.” He’d said Her name cautiously, because they’d had this conversation a few times, and it had never ended in Sam’s favor. “I know you don’t want anyone else to touch it, but-“

“Yep. I don’t.” She’d raised Her chin, her voice smooth and bored, and poor Sammy had already lost. “Anything else I can help you with?”

Sam had looked to Dean for help, Dean had shrugged—he didn’t know why Sam bothered, She was immovable and powerful and Dean couldn’t do anything but be a little more Her’s every passing day—and given up.

“Fine.” Sam had grabbed his own jacket, shuffling to Dean’s side at the door. “And Dean’s right, keep the doors locked, and the blinds closed. Don’t answer if it’s not us, too. We can’t be possessed, so-“

Sam had cut himself off with a frown, giving Her a strange look, and She’d wrinkled Her nose and looked back to Her book.

“Okay, Dad.” 

“I- I’m younger than you-“

“And he’s right,” Dean had jumped in, forcing himself not to snort at Sam’s indigent expression. “One wrong noise or knock, Princess, and you need to call us. We need to be careful-“

I’m always careful, De.” She’d smiled at him again, he’d blinked at Her like an idiot, and if Sam hadn’t half dragged him out the door, he was pretty sure he would’ve been stuck there—trapped near Her like a fly in honey—for the rest of his life.

His very limited life.

“Did you see her toothbrush?” Sam said from across the table, glancing up at Dean over his laptop. “It’s glittery.”

Dean grunted, turning another page in his book. They’d been here damn near three hours, searching for some sort of loophole in the deal, hitting dead-ends and coming up empty handed. Just like always. “Yeah. What about it, Sammy? You want one?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “No, Dean, I’m just- It’s new.”

Dean raised his brows. “Toothbrushes?”

“Living with a girl, jerk.”

“Oh.” Dean took a fry from his basket, frowning as he chewed. “I mean, we’ve got conditioner now. Seems to be the only difference-“

“I’m not saying it’s bad. It’s just different.” Sam’s nose scrunched slightly. “I found a pad in the bathroom last night.”

Dean sputtered. “That’s- I’m eating, dude, for fuck’s sake-“

Sam rolled his eyes. “Grow up, Dean, it’s not like I’ve never found your jizz-filled socks in the trash-“

“That’s not the same-“

“You’re right. It’s a lot fucking worse-“

“Shut up.” Dean snapped. “I’m sorry living with a girl is so revolutionary for you, Sammy, but-“

“It’s not.” Sam shrugged. “For me, at least. I was- uh-“ He swallowed, frowning back to the table. “Jess.”

Shit.

Dean opened his mouth to say something—he wasn’t quite sure what, but he’d find it, just to make Sam stop looking like a kicked puppy—but Sam was faster.

“This is your first time living with a girl, man.” Sam gave him a pointed look, and Dean had a bad feeling about where this conversation was going. “Who’s- I don’t know- It’s her, Dean. It’s-“

Sam said Her name, something bright and powerful reared its head just to the right of Dean’s heart, and he scowled as he cut Sam off.

“I know who it is, Sam.” He muttered. “I- We’re not fucking talking about this. Read your book.”

“Have you guys ever kissed?”

Dean was going to break a jaw. Either his own, or Sam’s. “I said read-“

“Look- I didn’t-“ Sam ran a hand over his face, letting out a heavy breath and leaning back in his seat. “I know things are complicated-“

“They’re not.” Dean grunted. “We’re friends. That’s it.”

“Friends don’t share a bed-“

“We’re not fucking talking about this-“

“We need to, Dean!” Sam wouldn’t just look back to his laptop. Suddenly the nerd was more interested in having a conversation instead of researching, and Dean had never been more annoyed by it. “You have four months- Less than that, and she’s going to find out, and if- fuck, she could help, dude. I know it, maybe more than you know it-“

Dean narrowed his eyes. “What the hell does that mean-“

“Never mind, just,” Sam braced his hands on the edge of the table, tilting his head slightly at Dean. “She could help. With this. And until you two figure out what this whole thing between you is-“

“There’s no thing-“

“I’m not blind.” Sam’s voice was flat, and he looked almost disappointed in Dean for even daring to try and deny it. “There’s a thing. And you don’t want to di- You’re not going to want to go with it unresolved. If it comes to that.”

Dean kept his face painfully flat. Bored. Empty. “Are you done?”

Sam sighed. “Dean-“

“No. I said we’re not talking about this.” Dean looked back to his book, even as his head started to spin around that thought of Her, holding his body, crying and screaming if She’d ever dare to grieve for him. “Keep reading, Sammy, or get your teeth knocked out.”

“Fine.” Sam still didn’t look back to his laptop. “But I still think you should tell her.”

“No.” He grunted. “Read.”

“But-“

“Read.”

Sam finally fucking listened, and Dean felt like there was iron pressing on his chest. He knew everything Sam was saying already. He’d said it in every fucking diner they’d moved through, every moment that they were alone, always shifting in exact words but never ending a different way. 

But Dean wouldn’t tell Her. He’d repeat it over and over to himself until it was a rule, a law, a commandment. Dean wouldn’t tell Her. He wouldn’t cross the line. He’d try not to think about Her body across the mattress, or be haunted by the sounds on the wind that sounded like Her screaming his name, or close his eyes and see Her burning on the ceiling. 

He’d forced himself not to dwell on how, in the end, whatever had gotten Azazel to threaten Her had probably been his fault. Azazel had no reason to just threaten Her. She was awesome and perfect. And Dean had driven Her away just by fucking existing, but he was selfish so he’d pulled Her back into an unstable and crumbling place She’d never be able to stay.

Himself.

He wouldn’t never be able to keep Her.

He tried not to think about that either.

A lot of Dean’s time lately was spent just clinging to things in quick moment he couldn’t be allowed to think about after, because it would make him feel sick about how it would all be gone so soon.

He’d let the car engine idle for just a few seconds longer, to ingrain the sound on his ears, and hope it would follow him to the grave with Her voice.

He ate a little slower, because son of a bitch he was going to miss burgers, and he wanted the taste to linger on his tongue like fruit until he wouldn’t suffocate on the smoke when they burned his body.

He’d trace his hand over Baby’s wheel, and hold his gun with a little more care, and touch that fluffy blanket—the one She’d been taking with them from town to town—whenever She and Sam weren’t looking. He stared at the sunset a little longer, because who knew how many colors there would be in Hell, and he took colder showers because he’d heard where he was headed was burning.

And She liked warmer showers.

She liked shower that would fill the room with steam when She opened the door, and make Her look like an Angel or spirit or something when she walked out wearing a too big shirt and too small shorts.

It was hot, at night. And the motels didn’t exactly have great air conditioning, and She had every right to wear whatever the hell She wanted, when she wanted.

It didn’t stop Dean from standing a little too rigid when She passed him, or having to shift his hand when She sat down, or needing to make a rule about what he wasn’t allowed to sit in an memorize.

Her. So close to him. Closer than She’d ever been but never further away. Beautiful and intoxicating and untouchable.

And God, did Dean want to touch Her. He’d always wanted to touch Her, but now it felt like a cancer. It was most of what he thought about, when he wasn’t hunting or looking for a way out. Too much time had been spent behind the wheel of Baby, forcing himself to focus on any desire or sensation but the phantom of touching Her.

And She was really trying to kill him.

Because when he and Sammy got back to the motel—no new paths, no hope for Dean to have more time—She was on her knees, groping around under the bed with Her perfect ass high in the air.

Sam said Her name, frowning at Her on the floor, and Dean felt like he was going to fall over when She crawled backwards at looked up at them with wide, bright, pretty eyes.

“You’re late.”

Dean frowned. “Didn’t know we had a curfew, sweetheart-“

“You don’t.” She shrugged. “But you said you’d be back in a few hours. That was more than a few hours.”

“Aw.” He couldn’t fight the smirk curling over his lips. “You missed me, Princess, didn’t you.”

She flushed. Breath hitched. Mouth parted for only a second before She scowled, and Dean needed to stop pushing his luck because something was bound to cave, and it really couldn’t afford to right now.

“Yeah,” She gave him a flat look, twisting a ring on Her finger. “I was really lost without you, Dean. Don’t know how I made it by myself. For five whole hours. I should’ve called CPS.”

Her tone was dry, and dripping with sarcasm, and that was a lie. She was lying, Dean fucking knew She was lying, but he couldn’t figure out what She was lying about, or why-

“You find anything on the arrowhead?” Sam asked, moving to the table, and She looked away from Dean with a shake of Her head.

He wished She’d look back. He wished She’d never stop looking, because he’d really forgotten how completely alive he’d feel when she did. It was incomparable. 

He really wasn’t supposed to think about it.

“No,” She hummed, still playing with Her rings. Lie. “But I got the vamps.”

Dean frowned. “The vamps-“

“The case, De.” She looked back to him with an amused expression. “The reason we’re here.”

“Right. Case.” Dean scratched his head, give Her his best grin to try and cover how he had completely forgotten they were actually working a case. “Vamps.”

She stared at him for another second, giggled, and looked back to Sam with an amused expression.

They kept talking about the vamps. It took a minute for Dean’s brain to catch up, because he was caught on that fucking giggle. It was still a musical, lovely sound that a looped and filled his every dream, and it was better. Coming out of a Her he could see—instead of just an echo or ghost of Her in a dream—was like being shot up with pure fucking euphoria. And She’d given him that high like it was nothing, without even knowing what it did to him, how Dean was suddenly willing to do whatever She asked him just because She’d fucking giggled and smiled at him. How it took him a minute to refocus on the conversation, because his brain moved faster than his willpower, and he had to force himself not to get lost in thoughts and ideas of other, equally perfect and bright sounds She could possibly make.

Sounds like that giggle, but breathier. Higher. More needy, maybe a little dazed or strangled, maybe formed in a noise that could be his name-

“Dean.”

He blinked, trying to keep his expression as blank as possible, keep at least the illusion that he’d been paying attention. “Princess.”

She sat a little taller as She made a face at him. Dean didn’t even remember when She’d sat down. “Back me up.”

“I- uh-“ He glanced at Sammy, who mostly just looked annoyed. “You-“

“He wasn’t listening.” Sam waved him off as he said Her name. “And I’m not doubting you. I’m just- you need to be sure. We don’t have the time for mistakes-“

“I know that.” She snapped. “And I don’t make mistakes. It’s the warehouse.”

Dean frowned at Her. “The warehouse? For the vamp nest?”

“Wow,” She grinned at him. “Sam was right, you were not listening-“

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up. When the hell did you have time to find the nest-“

“While you and Sam were coming up with more dead ends on Lilith.” She gave Dean a pointed look, and he rolled his eyes.

“Alright.” He said Her name, bracing his arms on the back of Her chair and smirking as she stared up at him. “What’s making you so freakin’ sure?”

“The current owners have had it for generations. It’s abandoned, wired off, but people still report sightings of people moving in and out, usually around the same time every year. My guess is it’s an old vampire family that likes to visit home.” She tilted Her head at him. “Your rebuttal, Mr. Winchester?”

His grip on the chair tightened, and he leaned down a little further. He could smell the sugar and fruit. He was drowning in it. “No rebuttal.” He drawled, giving Her a mocking pout.” Why do you always think I’m gonna fight you, sweetheart? Pretty fucking rude, if you ask me-“

“I didn’t ask you.” She leaned up herself, holding his gaze, and Dean was sure the wood was going to splinter under his hands. “And maybe because you do always fight me-“

“No, I don’t-“

“Yes, you do-“

“I fight you when you do something fucking crazy, Princess. This,” Dean reached around Her tapping the papers on the table. “Is awesome. Good job.”

She flushed slightly. “Shut up.”

“I was being nice-“

“You were being patronizing-“

“No. Nice.” Dean winked at Her. “You did your part, sweetheart. This next bit is all me and Sammy.”

She wrinkled Her nose at him, and She was so close. If Dean was even just a little drunk he might have tried to kiss that little wrinkle, tried to tip Her chin back with a hand just greedily see more-

“You guys are gross.” Sam muttered, obviously ignoring their glowers as he continued. “And I actually did find a lead on Lilith. So this one isn’t me. It’s you two. Together.” Sam sighed, looking back to his laptop. “Yay.”

Dean scowled. “What the fuck around talking about, Sammy. We came up empty handed-“

“You came up empty handed. I found something I had to double check with Ruby, but now I’m sure.”

She turned in Her seat, and Sammy was going to get punched for taking that away from Dean. “What is it?”

Sam sighed. “Just a hunch, but I want to see if it leads out.”

She frowned. “Leads-“

“Looks like it’s just you and me then, Princess.” Dean smirked at Her, sparing only a quick, acknowledging look over Her head at Sam. “Stay safe, Sammy. Use protection.”

“Eat me.” Sam muttered, and Dean rolled his eyes, looking back to Her.

“I was talking about a gun,” he mock whispered. “But now I’m worried he’s leaving us to go get some ass-“

“Dean.” She slapped his arm casually, and it was like She’d fucking burned the feeling of Her skin onto his. It took all of Dean’s effort not to rub where She’d touched him, like he could make it sink in further. “Shut up. Sam, are you sure this can’t wait until after the nest-“

“Yeah- uh- Pretty sure.” Sam shot Dean a nervous look. “I mean, I know it’s just a vamp, but you guys will have it handled, I think-“

She shook Her head. “It’ll be safer with more people-“

“You trying to get out of spending time with me?” Dean jumped in, and if Sammy had a brain, he’d let Dean handle this. “I’m wounded-“

She narrowed Her eyes. “I told you to shut up. And you’re the one who’s always telling me to hunt with people-“

“Wrong. I tell you not to hunt alone. And you won’t be alone.” Dean threw Her his most charming, winning smile. “I’m all yours, Princess. Just you, and me, and a bunch of vamps.”

“It’s- I really don’t think-“

He said Her name, making his voice a little more stern. “Sammy’s a big boy. He’ll be fine.”

“I’m barely going a state over.” Sam added. “You can call me if something happens, and I’ll be back.”

She looked between them, rubbing the scar on Her palm, and fuck She really needed to stop being so brilliant and hypnotic, just for five minutes. Just until Sammy was out the door, had a stolen car, and left before She could think even just a little deeper about their argument. 

Because She was right. Dean was being a hypocrite, and they would be less safe, and chasing Lilith could wait until they ganked the vamps.

But Sam wasn’t going to chase Lilith.

He’d used the code phrase. See if it leads out. 

Sam had a lead on Dean’s deal, and that couldn’t wait, but they also couldn’t just fucking say that.

So there was a rush of relief through Dean’s body when She sighed, and let it go. She never let anything go. Ever. The fact that She let Sam walk out of their motel room with such little fight was nothing short of a miracle. 

And Dean was alone with Her. Again.

But this time would be better. This time would be that same similarly to before. This time he wouldn’t have to pretend that he didn’t want anything more than to be pressed right up against Her, pretend that every time he looked at Her he didn’t stare, because he needed to make sure She was real. That She was there. He needed watch Her move so gracefully and carefully, needed to see how the whole world always seemed to change just to fit around Her.

And he still needed to pretend he wasn’t craving all of Her. Every part of Her. Whatever the hell She’d offer him, how She wanted him to have it, all the damn time.

But he didn’t need to pretend he hated Her. That a little part of him was always whining to see Her smile and hear Her voice. 

“This should be fast.” She muttered a few hours after Sammy had left, sorting back through Her papers with that furrow in Her brow. “In and out, Deano. Get the vamps, no messing around.”

He scoffed. “I have never once messed around in my life, Princess-“

“Uh huh.” She smiled up and him, and Dean was pretty sure that if he reached out and touched Her, she’d be warm and shock his body like a defibrillator. “Are you ready?”

“Born it. Popped out of the womb waving a gun around, blasting freedom music-“

She rolled Her eyes, but Dean didn’t miss the small smile on Her gorgeous face. “I am going to stab you.”

“That’s not very nice-“

“I’d say it’s incredibly nice.” She hummed, pulling on Her shoes as Dean stood above Her, failing to not lose himself too much at the vision before him. Her on Her knees, right below him, smirking up at Dean with bright eyes, so fucking close-

“How is stabbing me nice-“

“I’m giving you a warning.” She pushed back to Her feet, her eyes never once leaving Dean’s. “I could just stab you, De. But I’m being sweet and giving you a chance to run.”

He laughed, shaking his head and opening the door. “Nah, sweetheart. You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

Something pulled and twitched in his chest at his own words. She wouldn’t have to work to get rid of him. Four months and he’d be gone forever, and She’d probably hate him for it. 

Maybe Dean should start taking Sam’s get out of the contract thing a little more seriously. Because he had been working for it. Despite what Bobby and Sam might claim, Dean wasn’t just rolling over. But he wasn’t scratching and biting and straining right up to edge to be free. To fix this. 

But—somewhere deep and empty in the cavity of his chest and for into that pit in his body—Dean hadn’t really cared. Sam would move on, probably better than he could if Dean stuck around. Bobby would drink, but he always drank, and he’d move on too.

She’d move on. Watching Her pull Her knees to her chest in the passenger’s seat of the Impala—rubbing Her calves and letting her hair fall a little over Her face as she hummed along to Dean’s music—Dean knew She’d live without him. It wasn’t even a question. The world fucking molded and blended for Her, so of course She’d move on. Find someone forged and crafted from the same diamonds She was. 

That strange, obvious and colorful and bright quality She’d always had, where She lit up everything. Where those same deep, dark corners of Dean existence were no longer daunting, because She made them easy and smooth. 

And there was the problem. Dean could see into himself, and it was hideous, but She wasn’t flinching away. And She’d move on, but he didn’t want Her to. Whenever She traded teasing words with him or settled further into the seat of his car, Dean just wanted to freeze the moment and exist in it like an old, oversaturated photo forever.

She giggled again—Dean didn’t even remember what he’d said, only that She’d giggled and his grin had split his face for the first time since that fucking deal—and Dean might have to keep himself around just to hear that sound over and over and over- 

“You’re not using a gun for this, right?” She glanced up at him from the trunk, and Dean frowned. He didn’t even remember leaving the car. All he’d been doing is following Her, always, anywhere She told him to go, he’d go-

He needed to get a damn grip. 

“I’m using the, uh-“ He reached around Her to grab the machete with a smirk, forcing himself not to dwell on how She stood a little taller—maybe even shivered—when their arms brushed. “Here we go. Ready to gank some-“ Dean glanced at Her—watching him with Her arms crossed and an expression like She was watching an adorable child with ice cream—and frowned. “What are you doing.”

“Waiting. You two,” She nodded to the machete. “Seemed to be having a moment. Didn’t want to ruin it.”

“You’re a riot.” He muttered Her name, rolling his eyes. “Grab one and let’s move.”

“Grab one-“ She cut Herself off with a strange look, shaking her head. “A machete?”

“Yeah, unless you’ve got one shoved up your ass-“

“I’m not using a machete, De.” 

He scowled. He could not let the use of De cloud his judgement. “Princess, you better not be trying to do what I think you’re doing.”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

Dean’s jaw clenched, his words low and firm. “Being fucking stupid-“

“Rude-“

“And taking on a vamp nest with a freakin’ knife!”

She paused, then nodded. “That- Yeah, that’s what I’m doing.”

For a brief moment, Dean wondered if She’d really been made just to test the limits of his sanity.

“No.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t get to say no, Winchester. I know what I’m doing-“

“I know you do.” Dean grunted. No matter how much he fucking hated it, he knew better than to pick an argument with Her about her infuriating, strange, and cardiac arrest inducing hunting tactics. “But you said in and out. And if you use that little baby knife, this will take us fucking years. Sammy will come back and find us skeletons. So no.”

She gaped at him. “First of all, that is not how time works. Second, you got me this knife-“

”I didn’t think you’d make it a fucking religion-“

“A relig- I- Your-“ She flushed slightly. Dean didn’t get to think about it before she was pushing on. “I am going to kill twice as many vamps as you, even if you use two machetes.”

“Sure, Princess.”

“I will-“

“I said sure-“

“No you didn’t, you said sure, it’s not the same-“

“Yes, it is-“

“No, it’s not. And I will kill more vamps, Winchester.”

“You wanna bet on it?”

“Yeah!”

He paused, frowning at Her as a lot of the raging fire in his body—the amazing, furious, demanding life and attention of it only seeming to ever come out fully around Her—was cooled in a second. “Really?”

She blinked at him, Her own stance relaxing slightly. “Why not?”

“Uh…”

Dean didn’t have a good reason not to. It would be more fun. If he won, he’d get to lord it over Her for four whole months—maybe more if that odd flare of maybe he should put more effort into trying to live continued, and whatever Sammy’s thing was panned out in their favor—and if he lost…

“What are we betting?” He asked carefully, and Her brow furrowed slightly.

“We’re both broke,” She said, and Dean realized She was really thinking about this. “And I don’t want to put Sam in the middle of anything-“

Dean scoffed. “He’d live-“

She cut him off, just by raising Her hand. “I think that, maybe- Yeah. That’ll work.”

“What-“

“I use my knife.” She pulled out the blade from inside Her jacket, and Dean had never been more envious of a weapon. “You use your dumb machetes, and whoever gets the most vamps wins. The loser,” She grinned at him, raising her chin. “Owes the winner a favor. Any favor.”

Dean raised his brows. “Any favor?”

His head was going to some places it shouldn’t be, very quickly. Her on Her knees again, or under him in Baby’s back seat, or naked above him, on his lap-

“Yeah.” Her voice was a little soft, and there was a pretty flush on Her face, and Dean felt shame—hot and prickling—over his skin at the thought that she’d maybe somehow seen exactly what he’s craving. “Anything.”

They were just staring at each other. Dean didn’t know when it had gotten so humid, or when the rest of the world had blurred into only color, or why he wasn’t moving to grab Her and pull her into him, letting them both crash down, down, down-

“Uh-“ He said Her name, swallowing slightly, and the ring of Her phone sliced through the taut air.

She pulled it out with a frown, scanned over the contact, and shoved it back in Her pocket.

Whatever composure She’d lost a second ago had returned. If Dean didn’t know better, he’d have thought he imagined that moment.

“Spam call.” She said, holding out Her hand as Her attention returned to Dean. “We got a deal?”

“Yeah.” His voice was still a little gravely. She didn’t seem to notice. “But I’m not shaking on it.”

“Dean-“

He raised his pinky silently, his challenge written all over his face, and this felt far more important than it should. Critical. Almost cosmically vital.

And that was insane.

But Dean couldn’t fake the flood of light through his body when Her pinky locked with his.

“You’re going fucking down, De.” She taunted, Her smile wide as they shook. “I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Maybe.” He drawled, memorizing the small gasp that left Her mouth as he pulled Her forward, until he was colliding and crashing into Her once more. Just as he always had. “Or maybe I’m gonna wipe the floor with you, Princess.”

She grinned. “Big talk.”

“I can back it up.”

“You sure about that, Winchester?”

He smirked, leaning down closer. He could be selfish and brave enough to be a little closer. “Yeah. I am.”

—————

You won.

It had been closer than you would ever tell Dean. Had he gotten a little luckier and you’d been just slightly more distracted—Dean moved with shocking grace through the fight, a gritted expression of determination on his face that had made the world silver and your gut a little fuzzy—he would’ve taken it. But you’d gotten the jump on a few more vamps than Dean with the whole maybe you’re a monster thing, and you’d known you’d only barely won before it was even over. 

When the vamps were all just bodies on the floor and you and Dean were drenched in blood, he’d looked over to you with a proud grin and puffed out chest, dropping his raised machete to side.

“Six, Princess.” He’d smirked, closing the space between you and leaning over your body until you were almost consumed by him. His smell and pretty face and the warmth of his body, pressed almost right up to yours-

I had been a miracle you’d been able to raise your chin and smirk right back.

“Wow. Amazing.” You’d kept your voice causal as you crossed your arms, and you were pretty sure you’d seen the exact moment he’d realized why you weren’t worried. Something had flashed into his eyes, and he’d almost seemed to brace his body, like the impact from your words could possibly cause him real harm. 

He’d said your name slowly, and you’d shaken your head, giving him a mock pout.

“Don’t you want to hear my result-“

“Not if it’s more than six.” He’d grumbled, and another giggle had escaped your mouth.

You’d been standing in a body-filled warehouse, and you’d reeked of blood, and there had been some guts and odd fluids clinging to cuffs of your pants, but you’d giggled. You couldn’t stop fucking giggling.

“Tough luck, Deano.” Your grin had widened as you’d bounced on your toes. “Eight.”

He’d stared at you, then around the warehouse, and shaken his head. “How’d you even find eight-“

“Pure-“

“Don’t say talent.” He’d raised the machete at you, narrowing his eyes, and his tone had been really low. Low and deep and rough, and he hadn’t really been pissed but there had been a firm look on his handsome face and something shining in his eyes that you’d wanted to pry out of his body-

Dean should count himself lucky he was able to make you so fucking dumb just by being around you. It was what made you let go of any gloating, suggest you head back to the motel with only one, mockingly cheerful reminder of the favor he now owed you. He’d rolled his eyes with a small grin, and his shoulder had brushed yours as he’d walked past you to the car, and you’d gotten a little stupider, and fallen a little further.

It had been that, and the fact that you have… Things to do.

Things Dean doesn’t get to know about, because they lead to longer, more complicated decisions that will likely result in him finally seeing you for the disease you are, and leaving you for good.

And you’d like to hold onto him a little while longer. Just long enough to not infect him, just long enough to feel him, just long enough to keep resting in the almost inevitably of Dean. 

Because you’ve been sleeping. Since that night in the train car, all the pain has been slightly soothed and eased because you’ve been sleeping, and Dean doesn’t hate you anymore, and things aren’t good but they’ve gotten better. You’ve gotten better. You still burn your skin and pick your fingers bloody to fight the Darkness, and the White still overwhelms you with just how violent and demanding it can be in Dean’s presence, but you’re not clawing your way through just fucking existing anymore.

It’s easier to be, when you have Dean. When he grins at you and the world is silver, and he grabs your arm or trades a small, almost secret look with you, and you feel a little less like a plague or a parasite. 

And there’s still pain. There’s always pain. Dean and his gravity aren’t a cure, and the pain is far from gone—in the worst moments you have to lock yourself in the bathroom, because Sam and Dean can’t see you flay yourself apart just to keep them safe—but your exhaustion has waned slightly, and you don’t know how you’re going to go back when something breaks.

Something will have to break. You never trust it—trust yourself—to stay together.

But you’re letting yourself have this for now, even if that makes you even more of a monster. At least you’re still hurting. It feels like a toll you can pay for daring to invading Dean’s life, for taking everything he gives you and letting it blur the Darkness and White back together, letting it mend those fractured pieces in your body just a little further.

And there’s some fear. Corrosive and loud fear, over your spine and skull. Fear of how close those pieces are to fusing fully back together, and what that might end up meaning. 

Maybe nothing.

Likely not. It’s never that easy. 

But hopefully, whenever all the glass-like pieces in your body hum and move back into each other, nothing will have to change. 

It’s a fear you’ll have to swallow for now. Let is fester and grow as Dean guides you into the motel room—with a hand not quite on your lower back, but between your shoulder blades—and a new flurry of life sparks in your body and everything gets a little better. 

Right now, you have things to do.

You’d sent Dean out to get dinner as soon as you’d both cleaned up. Whatever he wanted, as long as it kept him out of the motel room. As long as it gave you time to call Jo back.

It takes her two rings to pick up, and when she does, you don’t waste any time.

“Did you find it?”

You can hear her sigh through the phone. “You gonna say hi to me-“

“Hi, Jo.” You drop on the foot of your bed, spinning your knife in your hands. “How are you?”

“Hi,” She hums your name, and you can hear the turn of pages in the background. “I’m doin’ well. You know, you’re worse than Sam and Dean-“

You let out a mock gasp. “That’s so mean-“

“Don’t make it less true.” There’s a pause through the speaker, her voice suddenly much softer. “You sittin’ down?”

“Yeah?” You swallow. “Did you-“

“I got it. Like, five hours ago. But you weren’t pickin’ up-“

“Dean and I were hunting.” You mumble, and Jo lets out a loud gasp. 

“Without adult supervision-“

“Shut up.”

“Does Sam know you were goin’ out without a chaperone-“

“Jo.” You snap, glancing at the door as your face starts to heat. “The arrowhead, or I tell Bobby to stop giving you cases.”

You can almost hear her eye roll. “You do that, I’m tellin’ him about how you sleepin’ with Dean-“

“Sleeping! Literally sleeping! Why did I-“ You let out a long breath, flopping onto your back. “We don’t even touch. We’re definitely not-“

“Fuckin’?”

“I’m going to drive to the roadhouse and burn all your clothing-“

“Don’t do that. Dean’ll follow you and it’ll be a whole thing-“

“Arrowhead.” You snap, and Jo sighs.

“Fine. You got it with you?”

“Yeah.” You roll over, reaching over the edge of the bed to grab it from your bag and bracing for the impact of touching it.

It’s immediate. You pick it up and all the golden mess of Dean that you’ve gotten so good at ignoring start to almost glow. He’s tangled in the sheets and marked on the mattress, carved into the wooden seat and chairs, scarred over your skin wherever he’d touched you in the past few days. 

There are a few stains of Sam, too. You can’t ever see them unless you’re holding the arrowhead, but they’re there. The color is less metallic than Dean’s, and it doesn’t almost capture and demand you in the same way, but it’s Sam. It’s a little wrong. A little off-hue, like you’re looking at something that had been mixed with what it never should’ve touched, and now it’s simply… different. A deep, vibrant purple that’s bloodied with red, dull but present on Sam’s bed and the stack of books he’d left of the coffee table.

“You got it?” Jo asks, and you nod before realizing she can’t see you.

“Yeah. Go.”

“Alright, it’s,” she lets out a long breath, static in the speaker, and you tense. That can’t be good. “I’m thinkin’ it’s more than a witch artifact.”

“Yeah, we got that already-“

“No,” she says your name carefully. “I’m- It’s a lot more. It’s somethin’ real old. Every single thing I’ve found is just a big red warnin’ sign sayin’ no. Don’t touch.”

You frown at the air. “Did you check the witch books I emailed you-“

“Yeah.” Jo sighs. “Those things are the firmest ‘bout it. Every mention of anyhthin’ like it I can find in them is just tellin’ you not to go close to it. It’s- Seems like it’d be an overload. Like they’re weak circuits, and the artifacts are a fuckin’ lightning bolt.”

“I- Artifacts?”

“Yeah. Seems like there’s a whole collection of ‘em.”

“Okay.” You swallow, turning the arrowhead between your fingers. “Do we have a name?”

“Yeah, but there a little bit of an issue with it. I sorta- I can’t read it.”

You blink at the air. “What?”

“It ain’t in any language I can find. I even had Ash run it through one of his dumb fuckin’ translators.”

“And?”

“It broke the computer.”

“Fuck. Okay.” You stare at the ceiling, hoping the roof will fly off and there will be some sort of answer written in the sky. “So what do we know?”

“Right, so, it’s part of that collection I was talkin’ about, and it looks like it was made by some group of old, kinda taboo witches. I couldn’t read what they were called either, same language as the arrowhead, but I got that they don’t seem to be around no more.” Jo takes a deep breath, and you can practically hear her brain turning. “Seems like it’s made to be an enhancer of their powers or somethin’. Some stories say it’s a weapon worse than an atomic bomb, but it seems more like the witches were the bombs. This just makes ‘em stronger. More focused.”

You can feel a heavy, crushing weight start to press on your chest, and the Darkness is beginning to stretch out of your body. You can feel the wear of your shoes by the door, and the weakness of the motel lamp’s lightbulb, and the pressure of the creaking floorboard to support all the furniture-

You screw your eyes shut, digging your nails into your palm. “Can we destroy it?”

“I’m not sure.” Jo says. “I mean. We got two options, if that’s what we’re doin’-“

“It is.”

There’s a pause over the speaker. “You can use it, can’t you.”

“Yeah.” You whisper, some odd sort of fear that the wind will hear you and tell Dean overtaking your senses. “It’s- It’s like being jumpstarted or something.”

“Maybe we should keep it-“

“No.” Your eyes shoot open. “We need to get rid of it.”

“I-“ She sighs. “I know you don’t like usin’ your- the thing-“

“Jo.” Your voice is soft, and you can hear your own desperation, but you don’t really care. You need this thing gone. You’ve spent too many hours when Sam and Dean aren’t looking, running your finger over the carvings on the arrowhead, getting a little dizzy as you read the words written in that odd, shifting language, over and over. “Please.”

Another pause, and you don’t have the energy to argue or push about this. You have too much to do, too much to worry about, and never enough time because Dean will be back soon-

“Can you read the words on it?” Jo asks, and you frown.

“Some of them-“

“Which ones? The Latin?”

“Yeah, but,” you glance back to the arrowhead. “There’s, um, the fourth language-“

“Shit.” Jo mutters. “That’s lookin’ like the same language the names are in. And I- I’m gonna tell you how to destroy it but I need ya’ to think about not doin’ it. Please.”

You frown. “What do you mean, the names-“

“What the arrowhead is called. And the name of the witches. I’ll send you some photos. Promise me you’ll consider it-“

“Consider-“

“Not destroyin’ this thing.”

You sigh, but nod. “Yeah. Promise.”

You do mean it. Even as you sit up and jot down Jo’s instructions to destroy the arrowhead, you really do plan to look at those photos and consider not destroying it. 

Looking at the needed ingredients to do so, you’re not sure you have a choice.

“Dude, where the fuck am I even supposed to get Prophet’s blood or the tooth on a Levia- What the fuck is a Leviathan-“

“I’m just readin’ what I found,” Jo says your name with a sigh. “And I told you, we got one other option, but you ain’t gonna like it.”

You glare at the long, impossible list. “Try me.”

“Usin’ the thing.”

“The-“ You choke on your own tongue as you realize what she means. “No.”

“It’s the only other way. Says it can be razed as it was made-“

“We don’t know that my- that that is how it was made-“

“We’ll know when you see the photos.” Jo’s voice was a little too soft. The paper is crumpling in your hand. “I told you that you weren’t gonna like it.’

“Jo-“

An engine revs outside, and you freeze. That’s the Impala’s engine.

Dean’s back.

“Send me the photos.” You hiss into the phone, shoving the arrowhead back into your bag and pulling out a book. “I- I’ll figure it out.”

Jo starts to say something, but you hang up before you can hear it. 

Dean shuffles back into the motel room right as you settle at the headboard of the bed, giving him your best, perfectly innocent and harmless smile.

He frowns at you. “What are you up to.

“I- I’m not up to anything-“

He sets down to bags, crossing his arms with a firm, disbelieving gaze. “Try again, Princess.”

You hold up your book with a shrug. “I mean, I’m reading-“

He grunts your name, and you’re going to punch him. You need to figure out how he just does that. How he just knows.

“I promise, De.” Your smile is sweet, somehow more docile than before. Right now your best bet is to roll over and hope he drops it. “Nothing but me and a book.”

He stares at you for a long second, but lets out a breath. “Fine. Keep your freakin’ secrets-“

“I’m not keeping secrets-“

“I said fine, sweetheart-“

“I’m not-“

He gives you an unreadable expression, and you can feel the White curling and cowering because you are keeping secrets, and you do that all the time, but this gnawing fucking guilt about it only ever happens with Dean-

“Are you hungry or not?”

You sigh, but nod. “What did we get?”

“There’s a diner few roads over,” he pulls out some paper containers, sliding the larger one to you and setting three more in front of his own seat as he drops down. “I heard they make awesome pie-“

You giggle, moving to sit across from him. “You think everywhere makes awesome pie-“

“Yeah, well, pie is awesome-“

“Or you’re just predictable-“

“Two things can be true.” He winks at you, and you scowl, glaring at your own burger as you open the container. It’s not good how quickly the Darkness stopped bellowing about your lie and the whole arrowhead situation when Dean only just winked at you. 

Your phone buzzes as you and Dean eat in easy silence, and you can feel the stutter in your heartbeat as you read the message on the screen.

Jo Harvelle

Here u go

Ash wants me to remind u not to try and translate them

But i dont think itll be a problem

She’s right. You open the attached image and almost crush the fry in your hand, because you can read that. It’s moving and flowing strangely on the screen—just like on any page, or the arrowhead itself—but you can still read it.

The arrowhead is a solemn oath weapon. Created by the women of the-

God fucking damnit. 

It’s exhausting, to see that fucking word, over and over and over, and never know what it means. To only get more questions than answers, to try and understand but come up with nothing, to want to at least show it to Sam, but know that’s not a fucking option. 

At least you have a good reason to destroy it now. If it’s made for you—for the Darkness—you can’t feed it. You can’t indulge it. You’ve worked too fucking hard for some ancient, weird weapon to overpower your resolve to be better, to make you into whatever Azazel had thought  you were-

“Why’re you makin’ that face.”

You blink up at Dean, a little bit of ketchup smudged on his cheek as he watches you. You want to wipe it off with your fingers. 

You can’t.

“Swallow your food, Dean.”

He rolls his eyes, but does, and you can’t let that sink too deep into your skin.

“You gonna answer my question-“

“Ketchup.” You point to your own cheek. “Here.”

Dean frowns, tries to lick it off with his tongue—which is incredibly cruel and distracting—and only manages to get it when you chuck at napkin at his stupid, amazing face.

“You’re a child-“

“You like it.” He mutters, and you almost fall out of your chair. “Stop distracting me.”

“Distracting you-“

“Yep.” He snaps, leaning forward as he watches you, his attention wrapping you in gold and the world is so good and if you shift in your seat your knee could bump his- “You were making a face, Princess. Why.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “I was not making a face-“

“Yeah, you were.” He waves you off, like this isn’t even something to try and argue about. “What’s wrong.”

“Nothing-“ You sigh, twisting a ring on your finger. “Everything is fine, Deano-“

“Lie.”

“I- Stop doing that-“

“I’m not doing anything-“

“You’re getting cocky.” You snap, not even sure what you’re saying. Most of your mind is trapped on Dean. “You can’t know when I’m lying, Winchester-“

He smirks. “Ah, So you are lying-“

“I- no-“

“Yeah-“

“Dean.”

Your voice is a little harsher than you’d wanted, but it does the trick. He closes his mouth and stares at you, and you take several deep breaths, just to ensure that the Darkness is truly all the way down.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.”

He looks like he’s going to protest, so you push on.

“Please.”

His jaw twitches slightly, and you can see his grip tighten on his own burger, but he lets it go. By some miracle Dean nods and takes another bite of his burger.

There’s a long moment of silence before he speaks again through his mouthful. 

“How you gonna use the favor?”

You sigh. “Chew, De.”

He starts to make exaggerated chomping noises, and he’s really lucky he’s cute.

“You’re a child.”

“You sound like Sammy, sweetheart.” He shrugs. “How you gonna use it?”

You sigh, leaning back in your chair and poking at your fries. “Not sure.”

“Can you give me a heads up on what you’re thinking?”

“Hm.” You scan over him, a small smile creeping over your face. “No.”

He scowls, a little bit of meat falling out of his almost pouting mouth. “C’mon, Princess-“

“Chew-“

“Is that your favor-“

“No.” You raise your chin at him. “But if you don’t, you’re sleeping on the floor.”

It’s a strange, empty lie. You both know that. Dean could just sleep on Sam’s bed. He could sleep on the couch. And you’re not going to kick him out, because for reason you don’t understand—you never do—your body had decided it needs Dean Winchester to sleep. And you won’t let him sleep on the floor if he tries to call your obvious bluff, because it’s already been a long day, and you have no interest in getting lost in your own body, swallowed by the Darkness and clutching your knife like a lifeline. 

But Dean listens to it like is real. Chewing and swallowing, muttering under his breath before he takes another bite.

“Bossy.”

You kick him under the table, and he barely flinches, but still whines like a dog. 

“Fuckin’- Son of a bitch-“

You roll your eyes. “You’re fine, you big baby-“

“I’m wounded, sweetheart. You killed me-“

“You look fine to me. Incredibly alive, even.” You grin at him, pretending you can’t feel how the Silver—blending easily once more under Dean’s gaze—keens and bucks in your body at just that thought of Dean being wounded. “I’d say you’re thriving. You’ve got a burger and pie. I’m worried you’re going to cum.”

He coughs, and you don’t miss the red at the tip of his ears. “Shut up.”

“No-“

“Unless you’re gonna use that favor to keep talking.” He drawls, and the room is suddenly very warm. “I’d suggest you listen to me, Princess.”

You scoff. He doesn’t get to win, no matter how pretty and… Dean he is. “Don’t you want to know what I’m going to use the favor for?”

He raises his brows in a silent question as he chews, and you shrug.

“I’m going to save it.”

Dean chuckles as he swallows, his tone made of pure amusement. “Of course you are.”

You frown. “What does that mean-“

“It’s the smart thing.” He shrugs. “Shoulda guessed you’d get all fucking practical about it-“

“Sorry for planning ahead-“

“Planning?” He smirks at you. “What’re you planning, sweetheart?”

He has to be doing this on purpose. Making you stupid with how he’s the only thing you’ve ever really seen, the only person that’s ever made everything technicolor, made the world, made you ready to crash down and move into him at just his boyish grin and teasing words. You’re going to kill him.

“I hate you.” You mumble, twisting a ring on your finger, and he laughs.

“Sure-“

“Well what would you have used it for?” You snap, almost immediately regretting the question when his grin grows.

“That’s a secret, Princess.” He drawls. “You’ll have to lose to me in another contest to find out.”

“Well, that’s never happening-“

“It will.” He shrugs. “And I know exactly how I’d use that favor.”

You roll your eyes, even as his words settle too deep in your stomach. “Have you been planning for it-“

“Yeah.” Dean grins at you, and it might make you pass out. “I get a lot of downtime in the car, gotta pass it somehow.”

“What-“

“I know how I’d use a favor from you, from Sammy, from Bobby,” he counts off each name on his fingers, and they’re broad and callous and you miss touching them, having them touch you-

You need to pull it the fuck together. 

“Not my fault I think about these things and you don’t,” Dean says your name with another fucking wink and you glower at him.

“Well, I don’t need to think about it that much.” You cross your arms, holding his gaze. “Most things I need I could just convince you to do.”

Something flashes over his face again. It seems important. You wish it would linger, just a second longer, so you could figure out what it meant. Why it drew you further into Dean, if it was part of that magnetic and impossible pull to him, if maybe, just maybe, against any and all reason and odds and logic and evidence, maybe Dean could feel this too-

“You’re gonna regret not thinking about it when the genies come.” Dean shrugs, and you blink at him.

“The genies-“

“Like in Aladdin-“

“I- I know what they are-“ You shake your head. “De, genies aren’t real.”

“Djinn are.” He shrugs. “Why can’t we have something nice for once. Just one freakin’ monster who’s fun and doesn’t try to kill us.”

He looks so grumpy. And adorable. And he’s frowning at his burger like it’s personally responsible for every monster in the world, and God, it’s so hard to fight the smile on your face.

“You think about how you’d use genie wishes a lot, Deano?”

His glare flicks up to you, and you could swear it softens slightly. “You don’t?”

“No, not really-“

“Well, now we gotta work it out.” He smirks at you, raising his burger for the last bite. “Three wishes. Basic genie rules. Go.”

“What are basic genies rules-“

“Can’t kill anyone. Can’t bring someone back from the dead. Can’t make anyone fall in love.” Dean frowns at you. “You haven’t seen the movie?”

“You have?”

He shrugs. “Came out when Sammy was nine. Snuck out to see it in theaters with him will Dad was hunting. Wasn’t shit.”

You swallow. You can’t let how equally cute and infuriating that is—the tragic but sweet image of a thirteen-year-old Dean taking Sam to the movies, sitting with too much candy and popcorn and watching just a normal, easy movie John never would’ve let them see himself—make you fall further into him. 

“So you know exactly what you’d do with yours?”

He nods, chewing on that last bite, and you tilt your head at him. 

“Is it a secret.”

Dean rolls his eyes as he swallows. “First I’m not supposed to talk and chew, now I’m keeping secrets cause I’m following your rules, pick a fucking lane, sweetheart-“

You kick him again. “Tell me what they are, and I’ll figure out mine.”

“Nah, I don’t trust you-“

“Dean-“

“I’ll tell you one, you tell me one.” He braces his forearms on the table, holding your gaze. “Just like our old game. You in?”

You swallow. You hate that he remembers that. You don’t know why’d he’d forget, but you still hate it, because it tells you that this means something to him. Not as much as he can’t stop meaning to you, but something.

“Yeah.” You mumble. “You first.”

“Free food.”

“Free-“

“Food.” He smirks at you. “Forever. I’d get to walk into any diner, tell them what I want, and get it for free.”

You laugh, and it’s loud and clear and real. “You already do that, De. You don’t have any real money.”

He shrugs. “And now I wouldn’t be committing a crime, sweetheart. Everyone’s winning. You go.”

“Bobby gets a vacation.”

Dean frowns at you. “Just one?”

“No.” You fidget with the napkin in your hands, thinking through your wish as you speak. “More like… once a year. One week, every year, all the monsters and spirits take a break. Just fucking chill. And Bobby gets a break.”

“Why not just get rid of all monsters, all the time-“

“No killing people, De. And genies love loopholes. I feel like a wish that big would have some consequences.” You narrow your eyes. “Stop telling me how to use my wish, and say yours.”

He rolls his eyes, but does. “Good water pressure. Everywhere.”

You snort. “You’re adorable.”

“Shut up. You’re-“

“I want my own car.” That one is easy, and well worth it for the way Dean’s eyes light up. 

“I can make that one happen, Princess.”

You raise your brows. “By stealing it?”

“No, by fixing up one of Bobby’s scrapped ones. I’m good at it.”

“I-“ You swallow, and you’re once again in danger of falling over from how fucking sincere he looks. Sounds. Is. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” He says, something odd flashing in his eyes. “You pick one out, I’ll do it. It’ll take me three months if I actually try.”

“Will you?”

He winks. “I always do, Princess.”

“Okay.” Your voice is a whisper. You like this game. “Third wish?”

“I-“ He pauses, and when he continues his voice has dropped slightly. “Would be nice for Sammy to go back to college. Live a normal life.”

You frown, speaking before you can think. “What about you?”

He stares at you. “What about me?”

“You hated it last time he left, De-“

“Yeah, I remember-“

“No, I just mean-“ You sigh. “What would you do? Your whole life is Sam.”

Something flashes in his eyes again. You’re getting desperate to learn what it is. “It’ll be fine, Princess. Sammy- he deserves a break. Been a long year, and he’s a smart guy-“

You glower at him. “You’re a smart guy-“

“Yeah, and I’m-“ He cuts himself off abruptly, shaking his head. “It’s just a wish. Not real.”

He looks so sad. You don’t know why.

It’s going to make you insane. 

And you can’t stop the words out of your mouth.

“Fine. Then my wish is you get a normal life too.”

“I- What?”

Dean’s almost gaping at you. You don’t know how to shut the fuck up.

“You heard me, Winchester. Sam gets one, you do too.” You swallow, the words spilling out of you as a damn doesn’t break, but forms a small crack. It’s just enough. “You deserve it, and don’t say you don’t because you’re wrong, and I’ll kick your fucking ass, and you should- I don’t fucking know, if Bobby gets a break and Sam gets to be normal, you should probably get more-“

Dean says your name, but you’re on a roll, and the crack hasn’t quite patched.

“So my wish is that you get more, actually. Something good. My wish is that you, you massive asshole, get something good.”

The crack seals. 

Dean’s just staring at you.

And you can’t look away from him, or move, or take it back because you had meant it, and you don’t really want to. 

You’re just staring at each other, and suddenly there’s a violent fear bursting through your body that you’d said too much. That Dean can see it. How you’re always just a little bit his, even when you know you shouldn’t be. That you do know you shouldn’t be, but that never stops you, and you’d do more than you’ll ever allow yourself to think about, just for Dean, always for Dean, always Dean-

“It’s-“ You swallow, still unable to tear your gaze from his. “It’s late.”

He coughs, his voice a little hoarse. “Yeah. We should, uh-“

“Sleep.”

“Yeah, that. Sleep.”

You stare at each other for only a few more seconds, and both seem to remember how to move at the exact same time. 

You don’t speak as you get ready for bed. You can predict what he’ll do and how he’ll do it like a sixth sense—because you know him, nothing is ever easier than knowing Dean—and he seems to be able to do the same.

Probably not for the same reason.

Can’t think about that. Not now.

Not when—once you’ve both showered and brushed your teeth and shuffled into your respective sides of the beds with only occasional nods and glances—you have a job to do. 

A job you can’t fuck up.

You stare at Dean for a long while after he falls asleep. You tell yourself it’s just to check that he’s really asleep.

And you know it’s a lie.

But you don’t really care.

He’s amazing. He can’t be yours, because you already make everything for him harder than it needs to be, but you’d also seen how he stared at you when you’d said you want him to have a normal life. Like you shot him up with light, that same odd, critical thing flashing in his eyes as his broad chest had heaved slightly, and you’d seen the whole room wash in gold, almost twining right into the Silver, and those fractured pieces-

They’re like crystal, they’re so close to being back together. You’re close to being back together. To being whole a way you haven’t been in eight fucking years. 

It’s terrifying. It’s hitting you now, watching Dean sleep peacefully in the dark, just how fucking scary that is. Something might change. You might change. You might get worse, grow sicker, start to crumble as more pain overtakes your body-

But it’s doesn’t feel like that. It feels luminescent. 

You’d like to feel it more.

But you have work to do.

You slide out of bed, move to the bathroom with the arrowhead in one hand—your eyes squinting as the gold of Dean starts to blind you—and lock the door behind you.

This is going to fucking hurt. It’s everything you’d sworn not to do. You’d promise yourself you wouldn’t use the Darkness like this again—it’s wrong and make you too much and you can barely stand to just be you as it is—but you don’t really have that much of a choice. Jo’s list was too long. This needs to be done tonight.

The blur begins. You’re not fighting, but the blur still kicks in, and you don’t know how you manage, but you do it. With teeth that might crack and a grip that could strangle a god, you hone the Darkness through your body and the arrowhead crumble in your hands. 

There’s something else, a little lost in the blur, that numbs the pain of the Darkness ripping through your body. It’s a slightly damp towel that smell like spice and grass and is washed in Gold, pressed to your thigh as you sit on the floor and take long, strained breaths. 

You’re not only you anymore. You’re the sting of the bathtub, still burning from your scorching shower earlier that night. You’re the mirror, not cracked but a little frustrated, like it wasn’t to scream things it’s captured but can’t share. You’re the grime on the tiles and the howl of the wind outside the motel, begging to find a place to finally rest.

You’re that towel, and it doesn’t feel foreign. It’s almost familiar. Like a lullaby, or anchor in a hurricane, or compass pointing you back to where you need to be.

Dean’s side.

Laying flat on your back once more, staring at the ceiling until the ache of the White to just look is overwhelming, and you have to roll onto your side to watch him.

You’re pathetic, and weak, and wrong and sick and vile. You’re staring in the dark like a weirdo as he sleeps—peaceful and slack faced and easy—and you have no intention of looking away.

Because it’s Dean.

And he’s beautiful. 

He’s beautiful everywhere, but here—in the shifting light and shadows of passing cars light of the sky through the window, making his pretty face look like it was carved rather than simply born—he’s ethereal. Heavenly. Nothing on his face but Dean. Full, slightly parted lips and mussed hair and deep snores that could knock you out if you’re not careful.

But you’ve never been careful.

The only thing that keeps you awake is how, as the blur begins to fade and Darkness fails to settle back into that barbed and beaten cage you keep it in, everything becomes pain. Throbbing at your head and making the world waver, twisting like a spike behind your eye and keep them open.

It’s going to kill you. You think that maybe, this time, when you can’t it out at all but it’s cancerous and savage through your whole body, you might just wither away and die. Dean will stay safe. You’ll be saving him, if anything, from yourself. 

And it won’t kill you. It will only feel like it, for a long, long time, but that’s just how it’s always been. And you’ve always gotten through it. 

But now it hurts. And Dean’s right there, and he’s maybe the closest thing to perfection you’ve ever seen—his crooked nose more rugged than broken, the scars that you can see on his arms evidence that he’s fighting and sturdy and if you touched him, he might actually feel it with a fraction of the intensity you do—so you think dying at his side would be easy.

But hearing his deep and guiding voice would be better. Falling further into him would be the best thing you’d ever do with your rotten little life. Because he’s always Dean, and you’re always you, and all you’ve ever really known—understood and learned and repeated and worshipped—is that moving into Dean is right.

You don’t remember reaching out to take his hand, but his fingers tangle between yours like it’s an instinct, and he squeezes his grip in his sleep, and it’s as if all the pain is pushed through his body.

It may be a restless delirium—made of exhaustion in your every nerve, and the moonlight and just another passing pair of headlights—but just before you pass out, you could swear the world is all only silver and gold, molten and glowing and flowing together in the spaces between everything you can see, and everything else you can’t.

When you wake up, it’s all gone.

And the first thing you realize is that Dean’s hand in still in yours, and his body as shifted so that he’s holding arm over his stomach, and his body is half blocking you from the sunlight of the window and the noise of Sam-

The second thing you realize is that Dean has maneuvered himself to block you from Sam, brutally attacking you both with a pillow. 

“Sam, knock it off, you’re gonna wake her-“

“I’m trying to, genius, she’s the only one who can help-

“That’s fuckin’ rude, Sammy, I’m right damn here-“

“Do you know where the arrowhead is, Dean?”

Dean shrugs, and the movement is careful. Controlled.

Like he’s really, actually trying not to wake you up.

“Maybe I do-“

“Dean-“

“But I’m not gonna tell you! I’m not trying to get freakin’ murdered by the Queen of Stabbing over here-“

Sam scoffs. “Please, dude, like you actually think she’d ever stab you-“

“She’d stab me!” He sounds offended. It almost makes you giggle, because you can perfectly picture his indignant expression. “I’m stabbable, Sammy. I’m more stabbable than you-“

“Do you want her to stab you? Is this a new kink of yours I’m going to have to deal with-“

“Shut the fuck up, bitch-“

“Does she know about how you’re into hentai, De?”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you-“

“No. You won’t. You’d have to let go of her hand.”

You can feel Dean tense against you. He still doesn’t let go. 

This is starting to feel like you should really pretend to wake up.

“Sam, I swear on my Baby, if you say one more word I’m going to make Azazel look like a damn saint-“

Sam mock gasps, Dean’s grip on you becomes almost bone-breaking, and you fake a loud yawn before this end with Sam’s head bashed against the wall.

You decided—as you blink your eye open and look between them with a perfectly fake sleep expression—that they never really need to know you were listening. That you’re going to be replaying and picking it apart in your head for maybe the rest of your life, but they will never need to know. 

“What’s-“ You give another fake yawn, just to really fucking sell it. “Oh, Sammy, you’re back.”

Dean���s grin could make you move mountains. “She called you Sammy-“

“I heard it.” Sam snaps, but he doesn’t really sound all that angry. More stressed. There’s a tick in his jaw and a vein in his neck.

You don’t know Sam the same way you know Dean—deep in your body, woven somewhere into the fabric of your existence and with a depression that’s made only to fit Dean on the White—but you do know him.

And something’s off.

“Where’s the arrowhead,” Sam says your name, standing tall with his arms crossed, and you feel something curl in your gut that’s made of you didn’t come up with a good lie yet. “Ruby messaged me last night, she wants to look at it again.”

“I- uh,” you swallow, and it can be part of the show. “I may have, kind of, uh-“

Sam grunts your name, and you curl a little into the mattress as your brain spins and spins and tosses and digs and comes up with-

“I sort of fucking lost it, okay!”

Sam blinks at you, and you really wish you did know him as well as you know Dean. His jaw is clenched, and he’s just staring, and he’s leaning a little back like he’s afraid you burning him or something, and you don’t know what any of it means. Not like you do with Dean. If you knew, you’d know if you sold it, how serious that is to him, just fucking anything at all about what Sam’s thinking-

“Dean.” He mutters, his gaze barely flicking away from yours. “Go get us some coffee, please.”

Dean frowns between the odd standoff that begun to form, and shakes his head. “You go get it-“

“No. Go, Dean.”

“I’m not your fucking butler-“

“Dean!” Sam shouted. “Get the fucking coffee.”

There’s a heavy tension of silence over the room. Sam shouted. Really fucking shouted. At Dean. 

Even Sam looks shocked with himself. But he doesn’t back down. He just narrows his eyes at Dean—rigid and gaping and very much still on the mattress—and you’re worried it’s going to turn into something with broken walls and chairs and skipping town again-

“Dean.” You mutter, squeezing his hand—still fucking in yours—before you can stop yourself. “Can you please get me some food, too?”

He frowns at you, saying your name slowly. “I’m not just gonna leave you-“

“It’s Sam.” You keep your voice soft, but flat. “And I really would like some coffee. Please.”

It’s a shock he doesn’t argue. That Dean just scans over your open, carefully neutral features, nods, and stands up. He looks between you and Sam with a tight frown as he pushes on his shoes and grab his jacket, you give him a soft, reassuring smile, and it somehow soothes whatever had been rooting him in place.

He half-slams the door behind him.

And then it’s just you and Sam.

“You didn’t lose it.”

You frown at him. “Sam-“

“What did you do.”

“What did I-“ You scowl. “I didn’t do anything-“

“Yes, you did-“

“How would I have done something-“

Sam sighs, running a hand over his face. “I don’t know, I just know you did! You- I don’t know what was going on with that thing, but you messed with it or broke it or changed it or-“

“Sam.” You snap, moving to sit on your knees as you glare at him, twisting a ring on your finger. “It was an artifact older than most modern countries. Older than fucking Rome. I would not have done something, I couldn’t have done something-“

Sam says your name, and you’ve never seen him look that heavy. Defeated.

Worried.

“I know.”

“You-“ You stare at him. “What do you know-“

“I know what you are.” He mutters, suddenly unable to meet your eyes. “Dad told me, before he died.”

The world freezes, only for a brief moment, but when it rushes forwards, you can’t really feel it.

You can’t feel anything but the pain of the Darkness, threatening to knock you out, down, over, cave you in and rip you to shreds and stitch you back together as something worse than you’d been before. Because this is your worst nightmare. This is your worst fucking nightmare, but it has to be real because you’re in so much fucking pain and Dean isn’t here-

Sam says your name slowly, and you shake your head. You must have misheard him.

“I don’t-“ You voice is weak. Unsteady. You don’t really think you sound like yourself. “You’re- You- I’m-“

Sam moves like he’s going to reach for you, you flinch back on instinct, and he hangs his head with another side.

“I haven’t told anyone.” He says, watching you like you’re a feral, cornered animal. “I mean, I’m guessing Bobby knows-“

You’re still shaking your head, and the movement has become almost manic. “I- I’m not- Sam-“

“I didn’t tell Dean.” Sam makes his voice a little firmer, and you don’t know how to handle how quickly that makes things slightly better. “And I’m not- I know- knew, my Dad.” He runs a hand through his hair, shifting on his feet. “I’d be willing to believe he made it sound worse than it is-“

“It’s not good, Sam.” Your whisper escapes you before you can stop it. “I- I’m trying to be better, but it’s not good. Whatever John told you- It’s- He’s probably not wrong.”

Sam frowns. “He told me you were a witch. That Azazel said you were damnation or something-“

“He did.” Your body seems to think that, if it makes itself small enough and your hand—moved to your throat before you can really reckon with it—tightens enough, you’ll be able to strangle the Darkness out of your body and turn into only air. “I am.”

“You’re-“

“A witch. Or- I don’t know. Witch is too-“ You swallow. The room is spinning, and now you can feel all of it, and it’s too big, and it’s too much. “I don’t know-“

“It’s- I’m not- shit.” Sam swears under his breath, and you think he’s trying to help but you can’t really see anything but blurred color and the whole universe. “I’m not gonna tell Dean,” he says your name, and it sounds a little like how you’d say a child’s name. “I’ll keep it a secret, but I- You can trust me, I need you to know you can trust me-“

“I destroyed it.” You mumble. Your voice sounds like it’s echoing through your bones. “It was- You were purple, and everything was gold, and I- I had to-“ You stare at Sam as he becomes sharp. Dark purple with that red, right there and critical, and heavy. You can feel how fucking heavy he is. “Sam- I had to- It was- Please- I’m trying, I’m trying- I’m trying so fucking hard but it hurts-“

Sam moves for you again.

You can’t stop recoiling away, and it’s not because it’s Sam.

It’s because it’s not you. Nothing is you, and the world is too much, it’s too fucking much and you can’t let go because you’ll hurt something that matters but it fucking hurts and you can’t breathe and Dean, where’s Dean-

“I, uh- I think I’m gonna go get-“

“I’m not-“ You don’t think he’s there anymore, and you’re not sure who you’re pleading with, but everything is crashing, and the sky feels as if it’s on your shoulders and where’s Dean-

What you mean to say is I’m not going to let it decide what I am.

What comes out is a strangled scream as the world blurs once more, but you’re the monster. You’re what’s being hunted. 

You don’t know when the Gold arrives. He’s shouting at something that matters, but not nearly as much, and he’s touching you but you don’t bother to flinch away.

You know him.

He fits here.

He pries your hand from your throat and pins it against the mattress.

His thumb is pressing against your nose and stroking down, and it’s like some sort of song that calls you, moves you back into you.

Dean’s right in front of you, his brow drawn in concentration and concern, and he smells like spice and grass and he’s there. Warm. 

His skin is a little golden in the morning, and his hair is still spiky, and he’s real and all focused on you.

“Dean,” you whisper—you don’t know why, but it feels critical to say—and he lets out a long breath, and nods. 

You drop your head to his shoulder with a shaking sob, and he holds you there. You’re vaguely aware that Sam is gone, and you’ll need to apologize to him later. Explain everything in a way that doesn’t end with Dean keeps your hand pinned to the mattress because he somehow knows what you’ll do if they’re free. 

But right now, all you can do is lose yourself in Dean. Here. Holding you. Touching you. Letting you rest somewhere safe, and breathing in what has to be an accidental time with you, and Dean.

“You gonna talk about it, Princess?” 

Dean’s voice is so quiet you almost don’t hear him. And when you shake your head, he only sighs.

But he doesn’t go. You keep your head on his shoulder, and he lets you, and neither of you even try to move

And inside your body, it’s luminous and colorful as all those fractured pieces move and blend back together.

End Note: I just know that Sam isn’t even that bothered by the witch thing. He’s more annoyed he can’t bitch to Bobby about how she and Dean are sharing a bed.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist (If you want to be added, please fill out the form!)

@brtodd @artemys-ackles @sthefferrete @lyarr24 @deansbbyx

@bakugotypecrashout @kittycain @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @Zuberweirrd @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco

@ambiguous-avery @elle14-blog1 @impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @heyimolive

@itsdearapril @speedypersonawhispers @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused @kamisobsessed

@arcticwisteria @youroldfashioned @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378

@godhelpthisbtch @ilovedeanwinchester4 @wecangetlostinthepurplerain @sleepykittycx

@immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @maddie0101 @chi-raz @lori19

@wynnthewynnderful @redwinexsupernova @tiana-kh @woaheasytig3r @canibeyourghoulfriend

@lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey @and-i-wish @ghosth0ney

@funkenniffler @laurakirsten0502 @deans-yn

[aventoru]

morning routine

warning(s) : doesn't make sense bc it's not supposed to, a parody of ashton hall, crack+fluff

a/n : those crazy morning routines have taken over my fyp and i was reminded of kaiser's morning affirmations 😭

4:05 am

kaiser wakes up to the worst alarm known to man — the DEFAULT one. you’re quick to take the pillow from underneath you and smack him in the face. he smacks you back and it turns into a pillow fight. once that settles down, kaiser gets up from his luxury bed with silk sheets worth thousands of dollars and uses a remote to open the blinds. too much sunlight pours in and he’s nearly blinded by it (everybody in the comments knows this was filmed at 11am).

4:36 am

kaiser stands in front of a bowl filled with ice and pours water into it, then he proceeds to dunk his head in. you are seen walking past him in the background and fully push his head in. the football player panics and quickly lifts his head, turning around to glare at you. you cackle hysterically at his appearance. his frown deepens at that. “you look like a wet cat,” you say in between laughter. the comments agree with you.

5:17 am

kaiser arranges, then rearranges the stuffed animals on his bed (courtesy of you). he then repeatedly punches a plushie of oikawa tooru, your favorite character from the anime haikyu. you’ve shown him the video of the oikawa plushie abuse, so of course he knows what he’s doing. kaiser thinks if he’s already hopping on one trend, he might as well do all of them.

5:49 am

kaiser reads his daily affirmations out loud. he’s standing in front of the mirror, and the only thing he’s wearing is the hello kitty pajama pants hanging low on his waist. “nothing is impossible. you’re god’s chosen emperor. you’re better than isagi yoichi,” he repeats. you walk past, chiming in, “and you also bagged a hottie like (name)” before slapping his butt. he yelps as his concentration breaks and returns the gesture.

6:23 am

you and kaiser throw a party in the living room to “wake yourselves up”. the blinds are closed shut with the only source of light being the disco ball spinning above your heads. you’re still in your pajamas wearing sunglasses with microphones in your hands. 2014-2016 USUK pop songs are blasted through the speakers and you two sing along passionately. you’re surprised the neighbors haven’t filed a noise complaint.

6:54 am

kaiser gets ready for his job, you get ready for yours. he has the worst bedhead with that haircut, so you always help him in that aspect. on the other hand, he helps you choose an outfit. “you look good, babe,” he smirks as you two do an outfit check in front of the camera. “i know i do,” you respond cheekily. as a finishing touch, kaiser sprays on his godawful, headache-inducing cologne. you regret standing so close to your lover.

7:02 am

after you’re both looking prim and proper, you stand at the front door to put on your shoes. kaiser ties the laces on his cleats and before you could pick out your own pair of shoes, he beats you two it. he bends down and inserts each shoe onto your leg, fingers gently grazing your ankles. you blush at his gentle gesture and kaiser stands up. you two walk out the door together hand-in-hand.

7:03 am

you two walk straight back in and take your shoes off. it’s a day off, which is why you both have time to film this in the first place. you both get unready, and kaiser dunks his face in a bowl of ice again. this time, he forces you to do it with him.

7:33 am

kaiser teaches you how to play football in his massive backyard. there’s a mini goal set up as he teaches you to shoot. now, he’s standing opposite of you, acting as the goalie as you take your best shot. you kick the ball in decent form, just like how he taught you. the ball stays in the air for 4 minutes—

7:37 am

—then it lands on his face. you gasp as kaiser falls down, quickly rushing to his side. the damage is minimal that won’t stop him from using this to his advantage. he whines and rolls around on the grass, reaching a hand out for you two pull him up and when you grab it, he pulls you down with him. “you’re so childish, micha!” you smack him on the chest. he just smirks in return. you’re both dirty and sweaty now, but at least he’s gotten his revenge.

8:00 am

after cleaning up, you take kaiser to a flying yoga class. at some point he gets tangled in the fabric, dangling in mid-air. you nearly die of laughter as you take the opportunity to spin him around like a helicopter. he dies a little on the inside and you feel a sense of victory over the famous athlete.

8:41 am

kaiser makes you breakfast, which you enjoy together. with his athlete diet though, the foods he can consume are limited. so, after the healthy breakfast, you decide to treat yourself to dessert (aka more sugar than kaiser’s allowed in a lifetime). kaiser gives you a look of concern which soon morphs into one of affection.

you both are a little chaotic, but that makes you perfect for each other.

comment section

h1or1 : most sane morning routine 😭

bachira.m : @/isagiyoichi can’t catch a break

iluvkaiser: oikawa is anywhere but nationals

⤷ (name) : @/iluvkaiser HELP 💔

saeitoshiseyelash : (name) is a hottie

⤷ (name) : @/saeitoshiseyelash shidou i know it’s you

⤷ michaelkaiser : @/saeitoshiseyelash leave.

nikooo : 4 minutes in the air is crazy work 💀

[wonwayne]

whatever you say ☁️ park jongseong

pairing : bf!jay x fem!reader genre : tooth-rotting fluff warnings : none! word count : 0.85k

a/n : i don't really know what this is. but it's cute. (just HAD to write on this thought [creds to @atrirose] because husband material jay !!)

home. nothing felt better than coming back from an achingly long work day to the smell of you. closing the door softly behind him, jay let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. comfort always seemed to creep up on him like this, with subtle reminders in the air that you would always be there for him, ready to—

“help me build the titanic?”

you beamed up at your boyfriend, legs crossed on the living room carpet, encircled by seemingly infinite lego pieces in red, white, yellow, and black.

not quite what jay was expecting to come home to. but he approached your little recreation ground anyway, lunging carefully towards the box packaging. “another 2000+ piece lego set?”

“9000!”

“oh—”

“9090, to be exact.”

jay nodded, kneeling down by the carpet to match your eye level. “... that’s really—”

“wait no, 9092! sorry i keep correcting myself, it’s just that i forgot to add the jack and rose minifigures.” you pointed proudly at the thumb-sized people. “once i’m done with the ship, i’m going to have them at the bow like that iconic scene. and then maybe every few days i’ll move them to the floor and put rose on a little door.” you held lego jack up to your boyfriend’s face. “you look just like him.”

he glanced to the side before mirroring its boxy grin. “do i?” you nodded vigorously. “well that’s very flattering, y/n, but i should say,” and he looked emphatically at the heap of legos strewn between him and you, “you’re making it very hard for me to hug you. any closer, and i’m bound to step on a lego here.”

your expression morphed instantly from disquiet to delight. god, you could never get over how adorable he was when he said the sweetest things in the sternest voice. “i’m sorry!” you burst out, sweeping the pieces to the side and jumping into your boyfriend’s arms. “i’ll be right at the door to hug you next time.”

“thank you, love,” he murmured as he kissed the top of your head, “keep working, i’ll make dinner and help build as soon as i can.”

even more adorable, you thought, for calling your lego-building “work.”

tragically, jay found you breaking your promise just a few evenings following. anticipating your pretty face peeking out of the doorway, he practically raced out of the apartment elevator. but instead of anything to look for, he was met by faint screams and hearty laughs — your laugh among them, and panic consumed him. who would she be laughing with in OUR apartment besides me? why the screams?? what if she’s—

bursting the door open, he was yet again unable to make sense of… you. you, belting taylor swift at the top of your lungs, dappled with rainbow light under the mini disco ball you’d set up in the far corner, mid-cartwheel with a wireless mic in one hand, dangerously close to crashing into both your partners in crime, jake and sunghoon.

they steered clear of you swiftly before freezing at the sight of a narrow-eyed jay.

“uh, y/n,” sunghoon began (poor boy), “i think—”

“—BUT THIS LOVE IS BRAVE AND WIIIIIIIILLLLLDDDDDD,” you persisted, thoroughly unaware of your boyfriend’s presence, and nearly assaulting the sofa as you landed from the cartwheel.

it took you till the end of the song’s bridge to notice your friends’ conspicuous silence. following their uneasy gaze, you saw jay maintaining the hardest poker face you’d ever seen him wear before.

but forget the “oh hi”s, skip the “let me explain”s — you glided over to where jay stood by the entrance and, offering the mic to him, sang quietly: “and i neverrrrrr saw you comiiiiiiiiiiing.” you sounded impossibly good.

“you should’ve,” he said, voice low, and with the hint of a pout, “seen me coming.” at a louder volume, he addressed the boys while his arms wrapped around your waist, “why do i have to come home to these two losers making a mess on a respectable thursday evening?”

jake opened his mouth to protest, but jay’s attention was already back to you. “you invited them?” he asked casually, pulling you closer in.

“i was getting bored without you,” and it was your time to pout, “had to unwind somehow.” you conveniently left out the detail that you had organized the whole “mess” in the house, and that the other two had played absolutely no part.

“with karaoke at the ungodly hour?”

“well, only because you arrived at an ungodly hour.”

he paused for a moment, then conceded, “right. of course, love, i’m sorry.”

you missed jake’s priceless expression as he made eye contact with jay across the room.

“P A R T N E R  P R I V I L E G E,” he mouthed as aggressively as he could.

jay scoffed, and buried his chin deeper into the crook of your neck.

the only privilege, he would tell the boys later, was that of him having you in his life.

[yuta-nakamots]

Shadow - L.Ten (Teaser)

Pairing - Loki Variant!Ten x Sorcerer!Female Reader

Genre(s) - Fluff, Angst (Action included in the full fic)

Warning(s) - None 

Summary - When a time fracture brings a mischievous Loki variant named Ten into your world, he’s determined to rekindle the love you shared in another life. As the TVA closes in, Ten must choose between defying destiny for a stolen relationship or letting you slip through his fingers once again.

Teaser Word Count - 0.5k

Estimated Release Date - May 15, 2025

Author’s Note - This is set within the Loki series universe and may contain spoilers if you have not watched both seasons

Taglist - @k-vanity @cosyhomenet @neocity-net (send an ask or leave a comment if you’d like to be added!)

Written for the No Capes Collab hosted by @kabira. Part of my Seven Deadly Sins Collection.

Now playing: Shadow - Ten, House of Memories - Panic! At the Disco, Infinity - Jaymes Young, Dream In A Dream - Ten

Your duty is to the mystical arts and safeguarding reality, studying diligently as a devoted apprentice under Doctor Strange, the Sorcerer Supreme. One fateful night, you were at the Kamar Taj with Strange and Wong, analyzing unstable readings in a spell when the air cracked open like shattered glass—a time fracture.

From its shifting glow steps a man. He moved gracefully, yet his aura reeked of danger, a mischievous glint in his eyes. You recognized the green cloak billowing behind him and golden horns sprouting from the crown on his head. The Loki variant scanned the room, his gaze immediately locking with yours as if you were the only person present. 

You prepare for a fight, assuming he’s a threat, yet he doesn’t attack. Instead, he smiles, his eyes full of longing, an expression of heartbreak flickering across his facade of confidence. Strange is quick to respond to the danger of a Loki variant and immediately tries to contain him when you fail to take action, but the man slips away with a bow. “I’ll find you again,” he murmured. 

“What was that?” You were breathless as you looked to Strange and Wong for any semblance of advice.

“A Loki variant, that’s for sure,” Wong confirms.

Doctor Strange closed his eyes, the amulet around his neck glowing green as he tried to locate the man who had just pranced through the Kamar Taj. “I can’t find him. I don’t see him in any of the realms.”

Your next encounter with the Loki variant came when you were in line at your favorite cafe, catching that same slashing of air out of the corner of your eye. You sighed, your plan of getting breakfast and coffee before heading off to the local sanctum to check in with Wong needed to be rescheduled. For now, your priority was to protect civilians from any danger the variant imposed.

The Loki variant appeared through the tatters of reality, blending in among humans without his cloak and horns, yet carrying himself with a presence that is impossible to mistake. He approaches you as you stand in line, and you contemplate how to best defend yourself, how to attack and neutralize the Loki variant if he tries to harm the civilians nearby. But he doesn’t, and something about him is just so achingly familiar.

“At your favorite cafe, I see,” he states, his voice floating as if it were music. 

You finally turn to look at him fully, acknowledging him. “You come here often, too?”

“Only with you.” He wore a half-smile on his face, not entirely reaching his eyes. “You’re getting your usual breakfast and coffee before going to the sanctum.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. 

A silence fell over the two of you as you struggled to formulate a response to him. “Have I met you before?”

“Ah, I see you don’t even know me in this life,” his expression falls. “Ten, God of Mischief,” he states, extending a hand out to you.

You give him your name, taking his hand in yours and shaking it briefly. When you let his hand go, his touch lingers just a second longer. Something like electricity sparked through your veins.

[android-and-ale]

2024 Spirk Fic Year In Review

After a five year dry spell, I finally started writing again in late 2023. Creating fanfic has been a shock and a joy to me this year. It's incredible going into 2025 once more feeling confident in my ability to assemble words into sentences.

This year I added another 50K words to One Daily Shoulder Pat, posted 12 short stories (complete fics under 10K words), wrote my first Spirk poem, and created some very special pasta art.

It's interesting to look back and see trends in my own work. This has been a year of ridiculous Vulcan names, bemusingly wholesome dirty talk, and flipping the script on reliable tropes.

Here's a list of links to all of it. If you're following me for One Daily Shoulder Pat, I humbly invite you to take a peek at some of my short work to hold you over while waiting for new chapters.

FANFIC

Not in Front of the Klingons rated E, 6766 words

Old Married Spirk completely destroy a hotel room with middle aged sexual shenanigans. There are also Romulans and one very disgruntled Starfleet Admiral.

T'Ruth and Consequences rated T, 2354 words (no Spirk)

The bored teenage daughters of a Vulcan and Romulan diplomat decide to swap clothes for the night.

External Existence rated E, 2457 words

There are a lot of stories about Jim freaking out when he sees Spock's alien junk for the first time. In this fic, it's Spock's turn to be shocked by what Jim's packing.

Discounts at Starbase One rated M, 3654 words

My most popular fic this year! Y'all really like my zany take on an accidental bonding story!

And Filled With Tomorrows rated E, 5886 words (not fluff)

My "City on the Edge of Forever" fic won a silver at this year's Philon awards. It's a soft, gentle story in a cold, hard world. Plus, there's a bonus scavenger hunt for classic book titles embeded into the text!

The Herald of Surprise rated M, 5165 Words

This sequel to Replicator Roulette is full of S'chnanigans. Spock sends Michael Burnam a pic of her Spencer's Gift Troll level holiday present in action, setting off a sibling drama spiral.

Featuring art by @celestialvoyeur!

Lie Back and Think of Vulcan rated E, 8455 words

Part 3 of the "Panic at the Disco" fics. Fluffy relationship shenanigans ensue as Kirk visits Spock on the Enterprise. Reading the earlier ones adds some backstory, but this can be enjoyed entirely on its own.

Featuring art by @celestialvoyeur!

Formerly Pinky's Pleasure Planet rated T, 9956 words

Pre-Relationship Jim and Spock, two men unable to enjoy shore leave at the best of times, face off on a relaxing pleasure planet in an attempt to solve a mystery first. Meanwhile their respective crews are there for the cheap drinks and beach games.

Featuring art by @justveeing!

Sulu's Secret Stash rated T, 3547 words

With only three days left before a dreaded shipwide inspection by an admiral with a grudge, Kirk and Spock must face the ire of the crew in order to rid the Enterprise of its most popular contraband.

Space Sirens rated E, 5683 words

Kirk plays Odysseus among the Sirens in my Aliens Made Them Do It fic.

The Admiral's Toaster rated T, 6839 words

Instead of taking disabled Pike to Talos, they take him to Omicron Ceti III - better known as the Pollen Planet.

Featuring art by George Henry!

Illogical Consequences rated T, 2624 words

An illicit tabloid recording of Jim and Spock alone on shore leave lands them in front of Starfleet Command.

ART

Imagine the Pastabilities

12 types of pasta 2 iconic Space Husbands 1 K/S Advent prompt

POETRY

Numerological Fallacy

While Jim sleeps, Spock ponders what their future together will mean

[ahoysteviex]

WRITING COMMISSIONS OPEN‼️IN FINANCIAL DISTRESS

Hello everyone. I'm opening writing commissions because I am in dire financial distress right now. PLEASE consider hiring me or donating to me right now. My family NEEDS help.

MY SITUATION:

I am currently living with my family and we are living with relatives. My father has been nonstop searching for work and getting nothing in return. He will get interviewed sometimes and despite being more than qualified and the interview going well, he won't get the job. My mother is disabled and can only work part time but has also not had any luck getting part time work. I have a younger sister who has to be taken out of school and put into online school because we cannot afford gas to drive her to and from school every day. My mother just got discharged from the hospital two days ago after having surgery to have her thyroid removed because she had thyroid cancer. She's an amputee and cannot afford the supplies for her prosthesis. We have a phone bill to pay as well as a storage unit payment for a unit with all of our stuff in it that we'll lose if we cannot make the payment.

To make matters worse, my maternal grandparents are evil people (I can make a separate post explaining this situation further if need be) and had it out for my parents for months. They are emotionally and mentally abusive and manipulative people. Last month, they started a loud, heated argument, as is typical for them. It was relatively short, but eventually my father leaned over and slammed the bedroom door. Honestly, "slammed" even feels like a stretch. But my grandparents called the police and lied to them by saying my dad slammed my grandfather's hand in the door. The police arrested my dad over this despite there being little to no physical evidence and my mother, sister, and I all testifying that it was not true. This happened the weekend before Christmas. My great uncle was able to call in a friend and get my dad released from jail, but he's going to have to sign bonds papers tomorrow and we do not have the $350 they're asking for, so my father may be detained again. He is just getting his foot in the door at Wal-Mart and is waiting on them to call him to finish his onboarding process and this is throwing a wrench into all that.

We're trying desperately to get on our feet. We want to move in to a place of our own. But it's just one misfortune after another. We need money to pay for my mom's medical expenses, our storage unit, our phone service/Internet, gas, and now legal expenses to keep my dad with us. And that doesn't even touch on the car trouble.

MY WRITING:

These commissions are a desperate attempt to help myself and my family, as writing is my only real skill.

I have experience writing for OR would be able to write for the following fandoms:

Stranger Things

Arcane

Texas Chainsaw Massacre

Scream (1994)

Apex Legends

Overwatch

God of War (4 & 5)

Baulder's Gate 3

Dead by Daylight

Cyberpunk 2077

Disco Elysium

My Chemical Romance

Panic! at the Disco

Fall Out Boy

One Direction

I'm proficient in romance, angst, fluff, domestic/familial, and NSFW. I'll write basically anything as long as it isn't a NSFW situation involving minors or animals. I'll write Canon Character x Canon Character, Original Character x Canon Character, and Reader Insert. I'll even do those little head-canon posts. Anything, I just need commissions.

You can find examples of my work on Ao3 here, or under my "my writing" tag here on Tumblr.

I will also beta read for you!

Here is my ko-fi.

Please use that to buy a commission from me! You can also donate there without buying a commission if you want to do that too. And if you aren't in a position to help financially, PLEASE reblog this post to get more eyeballs on it so that other people are given the opportunity to help me.

Thank you for reading. ❤️‍🔥

[her-power]

The End of All Things (e.m. x fem reader)

C/W: 18++++ MDNI, I'm serious! Sweet! Eddie, smut, fluff, fingering (f receiving) oral (f+m receiving) unprotected p in v (don't be silly, wrap your willy!) making out, swearing, grief, hurt/comfort, parentloss, death, talk of death, best friends in love summary: This takes place 5 years after the events of S4. Midsummer 1991. Eddie & reader are in their mid twenties. Eddie is your best friend and has come to you after an unimaginable loss you just endured. You realize your feelings for him during this time, and sweetness and sexiness ensues. I originally was going for a subtle smutty-ness, but I got carried away, whoooops. (I suck at summaries, I'm so sorry)

A/N: This is based off of a life changing event that happened to me when I was seventeen. A lot of it has actual conversations/reactions from said event. This was insanely therapeutic for me to write, and I thank you all for reading this if you do, this goes out to all the ones who suffered a loss and are still actively healing. I see you, you are a rockstar and keep going <3 I also pay a little homage to Matthew Perry/Chandler Bing. I'm still not over it and Chandler will always be my comfort character like Eddie. This may have multiple parts, I also semi-proofread this, sorry for any mistakes! The title is a Panic! At the Disco song, it's been on repeat for awhile for me and I think it's perfect for this so definitely take a listen to it after you read this.

Word Count: 7.5k

“She’s gone.”

Your breath hitches as you stare at the wide amber eyes of your father from where you sat on the couch. He was clasping your hands tight as you stared at him. Your throat tightens.

“You’re lying.” A smirk tugs at your lips, this was a joke. The second those words left your lips you felt something cold creep up your spine, turning your stomach into knots.

“Honey, I’m not. She’s gone, she—” 

You stand up fast, ripping your hands out of his. Your bottom lip trembles as you feel your tears burn the corners of your eyes. 

“You’re lying!” You yell at him. “Where’s Mom?! Where is she?! You’re lying!”

Your father drops his face into his hands, his shoulders shaking with sobs. You knew he wasn’t lying; you knew it. It didn’t mean you had to believe it.

She wasn’t dead. She wasn’t dead.  Wasn’t. Dead. She’s dead.

Those words swirl in your mind as you quietly groan. Your fingers clench at the hem of your black camisole, pulling and tugging at the thin material, feeling too hot, too tight. 

“N-no…” You whimper, your vision blurring as you stare at your distraught father.

Your very core burns, it stings, and you couldn’t tell if you had a heartbeat. Is that what she felt? You wonder.  Hunching forward, the pain in your chest was building and building as you loudly gasp.

“Nooooooooo!” You wail loudly. You find yourself pumping your legs towards somewhere, anywhere. An escape.

The door.

You swallow back bile as you push your front door open with your shoulder, you awkwardly stumble down the front steps, and the cool midsummer air caresses your face as your feet hit the paved driveway. You gasp again, gripping at your chest, and then you scream.

You didn’t know you could make a sound like that. A sound that was full of pain, full of anger, full of a feeling of invisible hands squeezing your heart until it bursts in your chest. Your scream echoes through the quiet neighborhood; you inhale another shaky breath, nails clawing at your stomach as you wail again. 

A dog barks in the distance, a porch light turns on, then another. You swear you just heard someone say your name. You lift your head to the sky; the stars were so visible and beautiful that night, looking like small freckles kissing the dark sky.  Your legs tremble beneath you, they’re numb, and you feel them start to buckle-

Strong arms grab you from behind, wrapping protectively around your middle; hot breath hits the back of your neck. Cool metal from ringed fingers touches your skin, hugging your arms to your chest as you let out another heartbreaking wail.

“It’s me, it’s me, sweetheart."

Eddie.  Your best friend since you moved to this shitty town ten years ago. Your sweet, chaotic, beautiful Eddie.  Your legs finally give out and he gently cradles your back against his chest, resting his forehead against your bare shoulders, feeling the roughness of hard pavement as your bum hits the ground. Your head leans back against his shoulder, his curly hair tickling your cheek ever so softly.

“H-how…” You try to form words; they were caught in your throat; you weren’t even sure if you had a voice anymore.

You wanted to ask how he got to you so fast, and if he could hear you all the way from his trailer a mile away. You’re practically sitting in his lap; his calloused fingers gently smooth out your mess of waves in your hair. Your vision blurred with hot tears as you could feel the Earth shattering beneath you. His hands find your face, his fingers cup behind your ear as he turns your face to his gently.  Only the soft light from the front porch light illuminated his handsome features.  Eddie. Your Eddie.  His big brown eyes are wide as he stares at you, he looks terrified. He has never seen you this way before. You called him a few hours ago in the afternoon to tell him your mom had to go to the hospital for an emergency surgery, that you had to stay home to wait by the phone for updates from your father and you would promise to call him when you knew more. You were supposed to go to his place to smoke some weed and order pizza, a traditional Thursday night thing for you both. You figured he probably wondered what was taking so long, it had been hours. And for as long as you have known Eddie Munson, he didn’t have much patience; it was hard for him to sit still. Your fingers twirl the ends of his hair as you try to focus on him. 

“Tell me.” He says quietly.

You can already see tears forming in his eyes, and you suddenly realize this is the closest you’ve ever been to him. Your noses were almost touching. You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head from side to side, spitting and blubbering out more tears as the pain tightens its grip on your heart once more.

“I can’t.” You manage to gasp out. “Don’t…Eds, don’t make me say it.”

His hand cups over his mouth as he stares at you, realization settling on his face. 

“No…” He inhales sharply. “No, Y/N…there’s no way.” 

A memory flashes in your mind just then, a memory from only a few months ago.

You sat on the counter in the kitchen with your mom and Eddie as she made dinner. She was making his favorite chicken parmesan because it had been the five-year anniversary since he was no longer a suspect of those murders that had occurred that Spring. Your parents never believed he had anything to do with it, and it was your mother standing up for him at the town meeting that really helped his case, partially because the entire town was afraid of a hard-headed strong woman who grew up in South Boston, Massachusetts and also there was no evidence at any of the scenes of his involvement, or that he was a Satan worshipper.  The other kicker was that Jason had disappeared, and everyone just assumed he did it after that. However, it didn’t stop the town from calling the cops every time they saw him walking somewhere or blasting Metallica from his speakers in his trailer. When your mom had her back turned, he attempted to stick his finger in the boiling pot of homemade meat sauce. Your mother wasn’t stupid, you swore she had eyes on the back of her head. She poked him in the side with the ladle handle, causing him to yelp.

“Come on! Just one taste! I promise I won’t ask for anymore until it’s ready. I’m STARVING.” Eddie pleaded, giving her a pathetic puppy dog look. 

“Kid, get out of my kitchen. I’m not falling for that look again, I got stuck with you for ten years!” Your mother chuckles, stirring the sauce. 

“You got stuck with a very handsome, talented, super funny son you always wanted! Did I mention handsome?” He towers over her and had sweetly rested his head on her shoulder, giving her a goofy grin.  Your mother used the palm of her hand to push his face away and laughs.

“It’s my caring daughter’s fault for LITERALLY dragging you out of the mud that summer.” 

Eddie looks at you, his smile reaching his eyes. “Yeah, your daughter is pretty awesome.”

He winks at you, and you roll your eyes, trying to hide the heat rising to your cheeks. 

“Don’t kiss my ass, Munson.” Your mom laughs. “I’m sending you home a plate for your uncle, and you better give it to him this time!"

“He politely declined!”

“No he didn’t, you ate it on the way there!” You banter back at him. He whips his head around to look at you, his face falling in mock betrayal. 

“You are not my best friend anymore!” He wraps an arm around your mom’s shoulders and kisses the top of her head. “She’s my best friend now!”

You roll your eyes and laugh, hopping off the counter and making your way back to your room, but not before hearing your mother say this to Eddie:

"Everyone is out of their damn mind for not getting to know you or love you like we do. Jokes aside, honey, I can never ever replace your own mother, but I will make damn sure that you know that you can always come to me for anything.”

“Awww, Mrs. Y/L/N. Don’t make me blush-ow!” He laughs, you’re guessing she pinched him.

“I’m serious, Munson.” 

“I know, I know.” You can hear the smile in his tone. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.” 

You stare him now; he’s trying so hard not to cry. 

“Fuck.” His voice shakes and he pulls you into his arms for a hug.“Fuck. I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.” 

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his Motley Crue t-shirt. Your mouth muffled by his shoulder.

“I’m sorry too.” You whimper. He hugs you tighter, and you can’t help but completely melt into his arms. 

Your father had left the house the same night. Your mom’s brother lived an hour away, who was completely beside himself over the loss of his little sister. You could see that your father was exhausted, that he was tired of making fall calls and answering the phone. You could tell he wanted to go see his brother-in-law. He was already talking about arrangements, and you pretty much forced him to go see your uncle, that the arrangements could wait and that everyone needed to clear their head because she had just died. You assured him that Eddie didn’t plan on going anywhere and that she wasn’t going to be alone, that Wayne was aware of what had happened and knew where he was.

You sat on the floor of your living room an hour after your father had left. The rotary phone was at your hip, the receiver at your ear before you slammed it down and yanked the cord from the wall. You were over the phone calls too. The cops were called, apparently a neighbor had saw Eddie “lurking” around your house and assumed that was the cause of your screaming.  You were too pissed, too grief stricken, too exhausted to bite your tongue. You had snapped at Office Hopper, but as always, he handled your snapping as graciously as he always did.

“Who was it?” You snapped. “Mrs. Hansen, right? That bitch always had a problem with us because my mother was so outspoken. She could never say shit to her face but would say it to our other neighbors. Well, guess what Kathy! SHE’S DEAD NOW!” You scream out your front door, Eddie’s hands were on your shoulders, gently pulling you back in the doorway.

“Easy, easy.” He mutters in your ear. 

“Y/N. There’s no need to yell, I’m so incredibly sorry for your loss, but when we get a call that is concerning like that, we have—"

“Why is he still being targeted as the town freak? He has done nothing wrong, ever! We’re not in school anymore, we’re practically grown-ups. We work, we play nerdy games, and we listen to music. Come on, Hop. You know she didn’t call over concern for me. She hates me.”

Hopper sighs, taking off his hat. “You have to be respectful to your neighbors. You know this. Especially…” He lowers his voice and leans closer to you. “Especially the ones who call when a cat shits on their lawn.” 

A smile tugs at your lips, and your face softens. 

“Get some rest kid. Let us know if you need anything.” He glances at Eddie. “Take care of her, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eddie nods. “Yeah, I know Hop. Thanks.” He says softly.

You shut the door quietly and lock it. You glance at the clock, not believing it was after midnight. You comb your fingers through your knotted hair.

“I’m going to wash up. I need to scrub this fucking night off me.” 

He nods at you, and you gently squeeze his hand as you walk by him into the bathroom. Eddie watches as you walk away, his breath hitching as soon as you close the bathroom door. He runs his hands through his hair and shudders. Eddie was usually pretty good with his words, most of the time he could never stop talking, but tonight, he had none. He had no idea how to comfort you, he had no idea what to say, or what to do. He loved your mother.  That woman took him in like her own with no questions asked and it got to a point where Wayne would offer her money, which she would always refuse. She was the only one besides Wayne to defend him after the murders and all the bullshit with Hellfire. You had told him that Hopper had to practically restrain her from punching one of the mechanics who wanted to go on a witch hunt to find you; you told him you had never seen Hopper so scared for another human being.  Eddie has tears form in his eyes and he quickly swallows them back, groaning quietly from the stinging and aching in his chest. Your mother treated him like a son, and he knows he would never feel that again and that hurt. It also hurt that Eddie had never told her how he felt about you, how for so many years he would be brave enough to pull her aside and say something but would pussy out last minute. Eddie wanted your mother’s approval. It had been like that for ten years. Yeah, he slept around, wasn’t a virgin by any means, but none of them ever stuck. All those girls, those women, he always wished it was you. He loved you; he loved you so much, but now, he wasn’t sure if he could ever tell you.

You peel off your clothes after you begin filling the bath, you stare at yourself in the mirror. You look like you aged fifteen years in a few hours. Blood shot eyes, hair a wild mess, cheeks crimson from all the screaming and tears. You sigh as you step into the bath, the water hot and you wince as you feel every muscle unclench as you slide into the porcelain, until just your head is exposed above the water. You stare up at the tile on the ceiling, marking each corner that had cobwebs that you made a mental note to clean. You close your eyes, inhaling a breath as you sink your whole face under the water. The sounds are muffled, the sound of the faucet still filling the tub vibrates around you.  You wonder what it felt like, what she felt. Did her heart stop first? Or her brain? Did she know she was going to die? You open your eyes underwater, your chest clenches again and you stop holding your breath. Your mother’s lifeless face flashes in your mind and you gasp in water, quickly lifting yourself up, knocking over the shampoo bottles. You sputter and cough out the water you had just inhaled. Tears spring to your eyes and you begin to sob and suddenly felt so, so alone.

“Eddie.”  You groan out, but your voice felt small. “Eddie!” You call again, the tears still spilling. 

You hear a shuffling of footsteps outside the bathroom door, and a soft knock. “Are you alright in there?”

You had forgotten you were naked and submerged in water as you lean forward to turn the faucet off. You felt insanely vulnerable, but you needed to clean yourself up. You just didn’t want to be alone.  You bring your knees up to your chest, resting your cheek on your knee, doing your best to cover your breasts and torso. The lower half of your body was hidden by the soap bubbles. 

“You can come in.” You tell him meekly, wiping away the hot tears.

You knew he hesitated, it took him a few moments to respond. “Are-are you sure?”

“Yes, I just need…I just need someone in here with me.” 

The latch on the door clicks open, and he slowly pushes it open with his toe. His eyes were already averted to the ceiling as he walked in, trying his best to be respectful. 

“You can look at me, Eddie. It’s okay.” Wow, you thought to yourself, you were feeling brave.

A blush rises to his cheeks, and he meets your eyes, breathing a sigh of relief when he could only see your bare shoulders, legs and back. He sits on the floor next to the bathtub, leaning his back against the wall and looks at the side of your face. 

“Talk to me.” He says sweetly, resting his chin against the lip of the porcelain.

He watches you make the washcloth swim back and forth in front of you, and he gently leans towards your hands, taking the cloth from you. He waits for you to say something, but you don’t. He takes the small bottle of body wash and squirts a glob of it on the cloth, gently massaging it into the fabric. Your heart was racing, and you hear him inhale a shaky breath. He kneels up a little, the warm washcloth hits your skin so gently as he carefully traces circles around your shoulders. You shudder, a warmness settling in your tummy. 

“What am I gonna do?” You say quietly, tears burn your eyes again and you groan, you were tired of the tears.

Eddie swallows hard, gently moving a piece of your hair back to wash your neck. This felt foreign to you, this semi-erotic moment of him touching you like this, so sweetly, so gently. Your Eddie.

“I don’t know.” He says to you. “I wish I did, but I don’t.” 

You lift your head to look at him, seeing a blush creeping up as the hills of your breasts are exposed. You watch him as he concentrates on your back, gently moving the cloth up your neck, your eyes flutter close. He dips the washcloth in the water and squeezes out the excess, pausing before moving his way towards your lower back.

“You know whatever you need, I’m here. Okay?” He tells you and you nod. He gently wipes away an exposed tear from your cheek. “You’re kind of stuck with me at this point.” 

Your face scrunches up in mock annoyance and he laughs, you chuckle. “Yeah, I know. Thank you.” 

He's looking into your eyes now and your eyes dart to his lips, before looking back into his eyes. He quickly glances away to finish washing your back and you turn your body towards him so suddenly, water splashes up and he drops the washcloth. You don’t know where this feeling came from, how you just wanted to continue to be touched by him, be loved by him. Was it the grief? You weren’t sure, but you sure as hell wanted to feel something else besides the fucking horrendous pain. Your hands are on his shoulders, the wetness from you dampened the ends of his hair as he stared at you with wide eyes. 

“What are you doing?” He whispers, his hands reaching up to cup your wrists.

You could tell he didn’t want to overstep, and he kept his eyes just on you, your eyes. He was a gentleman in all the right ways; but he desperately wanted to look at your body. You were fully exposed to him besides your lower half, and he had dreamt of a moment like this. Your hands touch his cheeks, your nose barely grazes his.

“Kiss me, please?” You say quietly, and his breath hitches.

His hand cups the back of your wet hair, pulling you towards him slightly as your breathing picks up. You could feel him tremble as you lean closer, your breasts pressing against the coolness from the porcelain, your nipples hardening at the contact. You push your mouth onto his, his plush lips as soft as you imagined they would be. He uses his other hand to cup your neck, you opened his mouth with yours, feeling his tongue enter your mouth so carefully. You were kissing your best friend. You were kissing your best friend. You were kissing Eddie. Your Eddie.

You wrap both arms around his shoulders, and his hands wraps around your middle. He was getting comfortable, years and years of his love for you was spilling out in this exact moment. You feel him lift you so easily out of the tub, awkwardly stumbling into the wall. Not realizing how strong he was, he grabs your ass, hoisting you up to wrap your legs around his waist. You could feel his clothes soaking from the contact of your wet skin and could feel the wetness that pooled between your legs as he kept kissing you, blindly searching for the handle of the door. The cool air from the living room air conditioner hits your bare skin, causing gooseflesh to prickle all over you. You push your body against his more, deepening the kiss and he groans, bumping into everything you both contacted. Pictures became crooked on the walls, you heard something tip over from a few of the shelves, and you finally make it to your bedroom door. Your back hits it a little roughly, and he pulls away from you to catch his breath before pressing his mouth to yours again and he finds the doorknob with one hand as the other continues to hold you up. You both fall to your bed with an oomph, you start laughing hard because your head had clunked against the headboard, and he looks at you with wide eyes.

“Shit.” He breathes out, pulling away from your lips and laughs. “I’m sorry, are you okay?” 

You smile at him and nod, your lips pulsating from the kissing. He smiles down at you, rubbing your cheek, your hair, his hand gently smooths its way down your bare arms, towards your hips. He’s still looking at you, wanting to make sure it was okay for him to really see you before going further. You rub his cheek, and he leans into it, gently kissing your palm as he hovers above you. He was still trembling, and you take his hand, placing it on your skin below your breast. His calloused fingers squeeze the spot gently, his fingers barely grazing the underside of it as you watch his throat bob. He leans towards you and kisses your lips gently, leaning back on his heels as his eyes dart over your body. You bend your knees ever so slightly; he places his hands on your knees and kneels between your legs. He lets out a sigh and smiles sweetly at you and pulls off his shirt. His fingers trace a soft line over your ribs, he makes circles over your navel, the soft skin at your hips. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers to you, he chuckles awkwardly. “I mean, you’ve always been beautiful to me, not that just your body is beautiful. Your face is beautiful too, and your heart. All of you, everything—”

“Eddie, take a deep breath.” You smile, moving your palm up his torso and cupping his cheek.

He laughs, inhaling deeply, and places both hands on the side of your head as he leans down, your legs wrap around his jeans, feeling his eager bulge through the zipper. He kisses you softly, pulling away to look into your eyes. You could see tears form at the corners of eyes and you hold his face in your hand.

“What? What is it?”

He sighs, leaning up on his elbow. “For so many years, I wanted to tell your mom something that had been eating at me.” He groans, a single tear falls down his cheek and you wipe it away. “I wanted to tell her how insanely in love with you I was…I am.”

Your eyes widen at his confession, your heart does a back flip, and you feel your own tears prickle your eyes. 

“I know it doesn’t mean much now, because she’s gone…fuck.” More tears spill from his eyes, you wipe them away, he holds your hand to his cheek. “I loved her. I loved her so much and she became a mother to me at a time when I really needed her, and she always told me I could tell her anything. I should’ve told her how I felt about you sooner, and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

Your heart broke for him. You knew how much he really did love your mom. Their relationship was for sure that of a mother and son. He had called her one night from the Hideout in the middle of the night because he got into a fight with a stupid townie and she’d bring him back to your house, cleaning up his wounds and comforting him. One night he had fallen asleep on your couch from a night of too much drinking, and she tucked him in, placing a large cooking pot next to him in case he had to puke. She would do so many motherly things for him that he wasn’t used to, and once he was finally comfortable enough to accept those gestures, he felt like a little boy again.  You bite your bottom lip to stop it from trembling and you give him a smile.

“I think she knew.” You curl your fingers through his hair.

“How?” He asks you.

“I never really thought much about it at the time, but she would throw subtle ‘son in law’ jokes at me and I would just ignore her. Because you were my best friend, there was no way you’d feel any other way than that. Or so I thought.” 

You trace an outline on his lips with your finger. “You love me?”

He nods, not bothering to wipe another stray tear away. “More than you know.” 

“I love you, too.” You tell him softly and he smiles.

“Yeah? You sure?”

You roll your eyes, tugging a piece of his hair and he yelps. “Don’t make me take it back.”

He laughs, caressing your face with the back of his hand, smoothing out your wet hair. He leans down, kissing you softly. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him onto you, he lets out a hot breath as you push your tongue in his mouth. His hands travel down the dip in your shoulder, down the middle of your chest and stops on the curve of your breast. You feel the coolness of his metal ring against your skin, your nipple hardens, and you gasp in his mouth when you feel his fingers gently pinch the hardened bud. His mouth finds your throat, leaving kissing trails down to your shoulders, still pinching and squeezing your breasts as you squirm beneath him. His mouth takes your nipple in his mouth, and you hear him softly moan as he gently bites down. His tongue swirls around the bud and sucks, and you arch your back. His hand travels down your navel and over your sex. You whimper when you feel his fingers spread your lips apart and he runs a finger over your clit. He pulls away from your breast and kisses you hungrily, his fingers tracing circles around your clit, pushing down and he smirks against your lips when you let out a loud moan. No one has ever taken their time with you; you have only had sex with two men in your life and it was always you finishing them off first and them being “too tired” to return the favor. Eddie knew what he was doing, you knew this wasn’t his first rodeo, and you desperately wanted to know what else he could do. He pulls away from your lips, licking and kissing a trail all the way down to your navel. He leans back on his heels, and your eyes widen at the outline of his hardened cock beneath his jeans. He places his fingers in his mouth, sucking off the taste of you and you squirm at how sexy he looked. You bend your knees and open your legs wider. 

“Damn.” He mutters, scooting back to lay in front of your dripping cunt. He wraps his arms around your thighs and pulls you closer to his face. “You really are beautiful.”

He kisses your clit gently, you arch your back, gripping at the sheets beneath you. His tongue swirls around the sensitive nerves, and he sucks on it, letting out a loud groan. It vibrated your entire body, and you moan. His fingers press into the meat of your thighs as he buries his face closer, his tongue lapping at your hole as you could already feel yourself about to burst. You grip his hair, tugging on it hard, which sends him into a frenzy, and you feel two fingers slide their way into you. 

“Eddie…”  

You moan his name, and he begins to pump those fingers into you, pressing against the sponginess of your g-spot. He continues to devour your clit and you lean up on your elbows to watch him. You couldn’t believe this was happening, you couldn’t believe that your best friend of ten years was doing these things to you.  Your Eddie.  He pulls away from your clit, feeling you clench around his fingers, and he slinks his way back up your body, his chin wet and dripping of you. He kisses you passionately, you moan at the taste of yourself, and he continues pumping his fingers in and out. His thumb finds your clit and rubs circles, you hold onto his shoulders as he kisses you, feeling yourself close to release. He pulls away from your lips for a moment.

“Come on, baby. I know you can cum for me.” His voice was lower, almost deeper.

Those words almost sent you over the edge, words you never in a million years thought would come out of his mouth. He pumps harder and groans as your hand finds his cock through his jeans and you rub your hand over the material. You dig your nails into his shoulders, and he lets out a hot breath against your neck, whimpering at the sheer intensity and passion.

“Fuck, Eddie…”  

You moan out in pleasure and he groans against your neck. You feel the pressure building and building in your lower belly and you cling onto him as your orgasm rips through you and you cry out. He keeps his fingers inside of you, riding the orgasm out with you, the overstimulation was insanely uncomfy but as he kept pumping into you, you eased into another hard orgasm and your body shook beneath him. He slides his fingers out of you, you catch your breath as you continue to cling onto him. His hands grip your hip, and he looks at you, a smile creeping on his lips. You sigh, crashing your lips against his, unbuttoning his jeans hurriedly and sliding them off. His lips graze against your ear lobe and you roll him onto his back with your legs and he giggles. You laugh, kissing his lips, his neck and you lean up on your heels. His hands hold onto your hips.  The length of him was almost intimidating, you bite your bottom lip and take him in your hands, gently moving your fist up and down. He lets out a deep groan and his eyes squeeze shut, arching his back. You rub his precum over his tip and he shivers, you move your head towards his cock and glance up at him. He looks at you with half lidded eyes and you lick a long strip from the base all the way to the tip, taking him into your mouth. 

“Oh…oh my, unghhh—”  

A loud, throaty moan escapes him, surprising you both and you both laugh. He covers his face with both his hands shyly, slightly embarrassed by the sound he just made. You kiss his tip, licking down his shaft and he whimpers. He grips the back of your head as you bob up and down, taking him all in, rubbing his balls to get him to squirm. He let out a low growl, a sound so animalistic and sexy you couldn’t believe you were the cause.  He wanted to feel you, he wanted to be inside you and couldn’t wait any longer. He pulls at your hair, lifting your head up, your lips were swollen and wet with spit. 

“Come here.” He says breathlessly. “Now.”

You crawl up to him, his lips catch yours in a passionate kiss. You were trembling now as you lined yourself up with his length. He cups the back of your head, sweetly pecking your lips as his other hand grips at your hips. You keep your face close to his, your lips barely touching as you lower yourself onto his cock. He squeezes your hips, throwing his head back into the pillow and lets out a throaty groan. You whimper as you take him all in, slowly rocking your hips to get used to the size of him as he stretches you out.

“Are you okay?” He whispers to you, lifting his arm up to cup your cheek. 

You nod, pleasure was building in your belly as you grind against him, your clit rubs generously on his pelvis. You look into his eyes, running your hand up his chest, over his tattoos, tracing his lips with your fingers. You insert two fingers into his mouth, which he takes willingly and sucks. You move your hips up and then down, hard. His moan vibrates on your fingers as you rock faster against him; you remove your fingers and begin playing with yourself with that same hand as he watches you in awe. He arches his hips into you, and you cry out, your head falling back, he caresses and pinches your nipples.  You lean forward, using the headboard as support to continue your movement. His tongue traces circles around your nipple, sucking hard and squeezing both with his hands. He moves onto the next one, you moan louder into his ear, and he grabs your ass, burying his cock deeper into you. 

In one swift motion, he flips you on your back. His eyes stare into your soul, and you kiss him. He kisses you back with the same hungriness from earlier, taking your leg and moving it onto his shoulder as he thrusts into you.  An insanely pornographic sound escapes your lungs, and he smiles against your lips. He leans up slightly to stare at your face, you were biting your bottom lip, and your eyes burn into him, and he could feel his heart growing bigger and bigger for you in that moment. You grab his perfect ass with your legs to push him further into you and he arches back; your lips go to his throat, gently nibbling on it and licking all over. Your orgasm was building in your belly, and by the way he was slowing down and getting a little clumsy, he was close too. 

You pull his face towards you by the back of his head. “Fuck me.” You tell him through gritted teeth.

His beautiful brown eyes dilate, and you see the pure lust take over in his stare. He leans back on his heels, pulling himself out of you and you frown, he pulls you towards him hard by your thighs, his fingers for sure going to leave lovely bruises. But you didn’t care.  Before you could make another comment, he slams his cock into you, and you scream out. He holds onto your hips, rolling his against yours at a hard pace, you swear you could see all the fucking colors of the rainbow. 

“Fuuuuck…”  He moans out. “Oh fuck-I’m gonna—”

“Don’t stop, Eddie.”  You whimper, his cock slamming into your g-spot over and over was making you forget your name. 

You move your hands down and find your clit, rubbing vigorously against it as your cunt clenches against his cock. He watches you rub yourself, a smile toys on his lips as he stares in wonder at you, he felt as if he was fucking a goddess.

“Oh god…”

“Cum with me, baby. I want to feel you.”  

He groans loud, and that was enough to send you screaming, and crying out his name as you came all over his cock. You grip the sheets under you, still cumming hard and he slams faster into you, the bed squeaks and the headboard bangs into the wall and he sputters. 

“Oh…my…unnngh.”  

He slams into you once more, you could feel the warmness settle in your cunt as he came inside you, feeling his cock twitching as he slowed his pace and cried out, collapsing onto your chest. He rolls his hips against you and shudders. The two of you lay there in a pile of limbs, heavy breathing, and sweat. He lifts his head up to look at you, smoothing out your still wet hair, and presses his lips to yours. Your tongue goes into his mouth, and he moans softly, cupping the back of your head, deepening the kiss. He slides out of you gently, and pulls away from you, laying on his back. His hand rested on your thigh, and you could feel him dripping from you; you needed a minute. Or several. 

“Well,” he says breathlessly. “I’ve never done that with you before.” 

You weakly slap his chest and laugh loudly; tears prickle your eyes as you feel another laugh roll out until you’re full-blown cackling. He looks at you with a raised eyebrow and you laugh harder. He shakes his head, laughing with you, turning onto his side to rub your tummy gently. Your laugh was one of the things he loved about you because it was so contagious, and that this was the first time today he could see pure happiness on your face. 

“I’m sorry.” You manage to say, your laugh still rolling out of you. “I don’t know why I’m laughing so hard. Oh wait, I do, you’re a fucking idiot and I love you.” 

He laughs, kissing your cheek. “No going back now.”

“No.” You say, catching your breath, bringing your palm up to his cheek. “Never.” 

He kisses your lips, your cheeks, your neck and leans up on his elbows. “My clothes are soaked.”

“I’ll put them in the wash.” You kiss his nose, slowly sitting up in bed, you could already feel the soreness between your legs. “I’m pretty sure my mom folded a bunch of your clothes you left here the other day.” You pause and turn to look at him. 

“Of course she did.” He says with a sweet smile, tracing your spine with the tip of his finger. “Do you want me to go get them?”

You knew he only asked because the washer and dryer were in her little den with her vanity mirror. 

“Uh, no. It’s okay.” You give him a smile. You go into your dresser, pulling out underwear and your oversized Queen tour t-shirt you got in 1987. Your mom had bought the tickets for you and Eddie; Eddie was indeed a total metal head, but he had a soft spot for Queen, probably because you loved them so much. You throw on the clothes and turn when you feel his eyes on you.

“What?” You ask, a blush creeping up on your cheeks as you stare at his naked body.

His right arm, which was covered in a full tattoo sleeve, was bent behind his head as he looks at you. 

“Nothing.” He smiles sweetly. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around this. Around us.”

You lean over to him to kiss him, he holds your head,, leaving lots of pecks around your cheeks and lips, causing you to giggle. You pull away, turning around to grab his mess of clothes on the floor, throwing his dry boxers to him. He takes this opportunity to smack your ass and you yelp. You narrow your eyes at him, and pull out his chain wallet, snapping it open, pulling out some cash, you could only make out a few ten-and one-dollar bills. 

“I’m taking this.” You tell him, shoving the bills into your underwear. 

“Pretty cheap date, don’t ya think?” He laughs, pulling his boxers over his hips as your face falls into mock shock, you pull out the cash and throw it at his face, causing him to laugh harder.

You shake your head, leaving the room, heading towards your mother’s den. You slow your walking down as you meet the closed door. The grief starts to creep up again, your hand trembles as you reach for the doorknob. You twist the knob and push it open. An aroma of peach, rose and slight Sandalwood hit your nostrils and you have to hold onto the wall for support, blindly finding the light switch. The light is bright, and you squint, your eyes already filling with tears as the scent of your mother was everywhere in this room. Her vanity sat perched against the wall, the wood was a soft amber color. She had rebuilt this vanity after getting it from a garage sale a few years ago. You gently run your hand over the fabric of her sweater that hung behind the chair she always sat at; whether to do her make up, or randomly sketch some drawings in her sketch book. You pull your hand away as if burned, and you quickly go to the washing machine, tossing Eddie’s clothes in as well as some dirty ones that were in the basket.  You see his folded clothes on top of the dryer, your heart hurt with how right you were and how she would never fold his clothes again.  You groan, looking over the clothes, sniffling. You take out his Metallica tour t-shirt, and his black jeans. You exit her room after shutting off the light and quietly shut the door.  Eddie was strumming at your acoustic as you walk back in, smiling at you at you hand him the clothes. He sees the tears in your eyes and immediately puts the guitar back on the stand.

He takes your hand, “What happened?”

You shake your head, trying to smile. “Nothing…it’s nothing. I’m okay. Can we go to bed?” 

He looks you over once with concern and nods, gently kissing the top of your hand. You crawl into bed, leaning over him to turn off the light on your nightstand. You curl up next to him, burying your face in his chest. He wraps his arms around you, pulling the blanket over the both of you. You feel his lips kiss your hair and you sigh. All the sadness, all the grief had fallen away as he held you and you wished you could stay like that forever.

As if the universe was working against you, you woke up screaming. You were covered in sweat and tears pooled from your eyes as a panic attack settled deep in your chest. You sat up, leaning against the headboard, bringing your knees up to your chest as you scream out a sob. Eddie had woken up immediately, feeling you thrash around before you woke up. Dawn was approaching, and he flicks the light on. He kneels in front of you, placing both of his hands on the side of your head.

“Hey, hey, look at me, I’m right here.”

The dream you had replays over and over in your head like a broken record. You let out a painful groan, holding onto your stomach as you to try to speak and to calm your breathing before you hyperventilated. 

“She…she was right there. Right in front me.” You tell him, your voice choking with sobs. “Right there! She was so close to me and I tried to reach for her hand but she kept moving away from me, and I ran to her. I ran so fast, but she just kept going further and further away until I couldn’t see her. And then she was gone. She was gone.”

You cry, hard, and he takes you in his arms, hugging you as you wept. You wail and he tightens his hold on you, gently rocking you as you gripped onto his arms.

“I’m not ready for this.” 

“I know.” His voice trembles, smoothing out your hair. “You don’t have to be ready for something like this.”

“Why did she leave me?” You whimper, your entire body shakes.

“Why was she taken away from us!? Oh god…” 

He kisses your head, your cheek, finds your lips and kisses them softly. 

“Please don’t leave me.” You choke out. “Please.”

“I’m not going anywhere, baby. I promise you.”

“Don’t leave me.” You cry, holding onto him for dear life. He rocks you and you cry. You weren’t ready for the coming days, you weren’t ready to keep feeling this sorrow phone call after phone call, hug after hug, tear after tear. You weren’t ready for today. You weren’t ready for tomorrow. You weren’t ready. You weren't ready.