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kunareads · 2 days ago

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if i believe you | chapter four

draw me after you

clan head!satoru x reader

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wc: 3.4k

content: i ended up splitting this chapter because i think this amount of fluff needs room to breathe (and reader deserves good things and happy feelings). please enjoy because next chapter will not be nearly as happy and soft as this!

INTERACT HERE FOR TAGLIST!

18+ please <3

your garden feels wild in the evening. leaves spill over a stone pathway as vines climb the trellises, threading through gaps like they want to swallow them whole.

you’re in the grass, legs folded beneath you, hands resting in your lap. satoru found you out here not too long ago and sat across from you, his back pressed against the trunk of a tree, limbs sprawled out and occupying as much space as possible.

“what’s your favorite time of day?” he asks, breaking the quiet.

you glance at him, hesitant, but his expression is expectant. “late at night.”

he quirks a brow in amusement. “didn’t take you for a troublemaker.”

you shake your head lightly. “i just like when everything’s quiet.”

there’s a pause, and then he says, “your turn,” with a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “i asked you a question, now you get to ask me one.”

you hesitate. you certainly have questions, but you’re not sure they fit in this conversation. so you go with the safest one you can find.

“your favorite time of day?”

“sunrise.”

that surprises you. “why?”

he shrugs, still playing with the earth. “feels like i have the whole world to myself.”

you try to picture him that way—alone at dawn, the world still sleeping. maybe it suits him. an hour or two at peace before anyone can demand anything of him.

“i think we’re opposites, then,” you say. “you like the start of things, i like the end.”

his expression softens. “guess that just means we have the whole day covered.”

you smile at that, and the conversation drifts from there. favorite snacks. the worst places you’ve slept. things you could live without forever, and the things you never want to lose.

you don’t know when it happens, but you stop measuring your words. the hesitation is still there, but it’s smaller.

“what’s something you’ve always wanted to try?” he asks.

“travel. i’ve never been anywhere.”

his brows furrow. “not even once?”

“never.”

he hums, thoughtful. “well, we have to change that.”

you glance at him, trying to gauge if he’s joking. but he’s watching you with that same softness, the words hovering like he’s offered you an invitation you’re not sure you can reach for.

“maybe.” your voice is quieter now. “what about you?” you ask.

“scuba diving.”

the response is so immediate and so unexpected that you can’t help but smile. “you don’t seem like a scuba diver.”

he grins, feigning offense. “i can’t be adventurous?”

“i think you might be enough trouble on land.”

his laugh spills out, rich and unrestrained, making your own smile widen.

the conversation shifts again, like neither of you want to linger on anything that requires too much thought. you find yourself telling him about your family. descriptions come slowly, like you’re not even sure what you’re trying to say.

your father, strict but steadfast. a leader in the only way he knew how. discipline over affection, standards over kindness. his love was earned.

your mother, obedient and devoted. loving in the way she was taught to be. her affection was careful, measured—delivered only when you met expectations and rationed to avoid spoiling you.

their approval was the closest thing to love you’ve ever really felt, and you became very good at earning it. good at keeping yourself small and quiet, at doing what you were told, at following rules so well they’d never have to doubt you.

you don’t realize how much you’re saying until you realize how much satoru is listening. it’s almost unnerving, the way he just lets you speak without steering the conversation where he wants it to go. like he’s content to let you lead, to study your words.

“i miss it, sometimes,” you admit quietly. the words feel like they’ll shatter if you say them too loud.

he doesn’t respond right away, but you can feel his attention locked onto you.

“and the parts you don’t miss?”

you go silent.

you’ve never considered it before. never even thought to split your memories into good and bad, wanted and unwanted. you don’t have an answer because you’ve never looked for one.

satoru doesn’t press. he just watches, waiting to see if you’ll find the words or if you still need time to understand it.

“i don’t think i could’ve survived in your house.” he shifts, stretching his arms behind his head. “i used to get in trouble all the time.”

“not surprising,” you reply.

he grins. “i would skip classes with my friends. sneak off, cause way too much destruction on missions—oh, and pissing off the old guys in charge. that was my specialty.”

“sounds irresponsible.”

“that was the point.”

you think he sounds kind of sad. the way he talks about it, all reckless charm and nostalgia, feels unfinished—like he’s trying not to remember something he didn’t mean to miss.

you unfold your legs, stretching them out in front of you. the air is cooling now, and you listen to the sound of the trees, let it fill the silence where words go. satoru’s gaze slides over you, something almost careful in the way he’s watching. like he’s trying to take you in without crowding you.

you swallow. “do you… miss them? your friends?”

the question feels fragile. out of place. he considers you for a moment, and you can’t tell if you’ve overstepped. but he lifts his brows like you’ve just asked him something fascinating. he’s not smiling, but he’s not frowning either.

“yeah. sometimes.” the answer is casual, but there’s rawness there. “one of them still works at the school. maybe you can meet her sometime.”

it’s quiet for a while. he shifts, his leg resting near yours. “what about you?” he asks. “what’s something you miss?”

he’s watching you now, and there’s something in his eyes that makes you feel like the truth is the only acceptable answer.

“i—” your sentence falters as you sort through the increasingly tangled mess in your head. “i miss… feeling sure of myself.”

it feels wrong when you say it. wrong but true, scraping against something raw, bleeding from some unidentified wound.

“i always knew what was expected of me,” you continue. “i knew what i was supposed to be. even if it wasn’t… easy, it made sense.”

“and now?” it’s quiet, not demanding. an invitation to admit something you’ve been trying not to acknowledge. it makes you want to keep talking.

“now…” you draw in a slow breath. “now i don’t know if i’m doing anything right.”

he’s silent for a moment. not because he doesn’t care, but because the admission hits something in him that he can’t understand.

it feels wrong to him that you’re questioning yourself at all. like you’ve been taught to doubt yourself so deeply that the smallest gesture of ease feels like rebellion. it makes him want to fix it, somehow.

“i think you’re doing fine,” he says eventually. the words are so casual, but they leave a warmth in your chest. “more than fine, actually.”

it’s not the kind of reassurance you’re used to. you glance at him, something small and shy curling in your chest. it’s not a compliment, not really. it’s just the way he says it. like a simple, sudden truth.

the coolness of the night settles in as the sky darkens. you feel more aware of the ground beneath you, the roughness of the grass, the warmth that radiates off of satoru.

“what was your favorite part of being a kid?” he asks, his voice lightening again, a lifeline out of the heaviness.

it feels safe, easier than his other questions. your fingers trace absent shapes against your lap, the motion soothing. “being outside. my mother kept a garden, and i would help her sometimes. picking herbs, planting new seeds.”

“your mother taught you to garden?” he asks.

“sort of.” you pause, the memory slipping free. “she taught me to do things properly. but i liked the parts where she wasn’t paying attention. when i could just do everything how i wanted.” it feels like too much, like you’re giving away something intimate. you look away, eyes falling to the tangled mess of greenery. “it was different, the way she did things. her garden was perfect.”

satoru follows your gaze, picking a dandelion near your foot. “and this?” he gestures to the wilderness surrounding you. “this is you doing things how you want?”

“i think so.”

his smile is soft. “good.”

something relaxes in your chest. “what about you?” you ask, trying to pull the attention away from yourself. “what was your favorite part of being a kid?”

he pauses. “getting away with murder. figuratively. mostly.”

you snort before you can stop yourself. the sound bubbles out of you like a hiccup, breaking the quiet in a way that feels almost obscene.

his laugh follows yours, pleased and unrestrained, proud of himself for bringing that out of you. “what? it was fun.”

“i’m sure.” you can’t keep the amusement of your voice. something about him, so shameless and unapologetic, makes your own hesitation feel ridiculous. he grins, and for a moment, there’s nothing between you but the hum of the garden.

but then he says, “you do that a lot,” almost to himself. you wonder if he meant to say it out loud.

“do what?” you ask, already feeling your shoulders stiffen.

“wait before you speak.” his fingers play idly with the dandelion he picked earlier. “like you’re checking to see if you’re allowed to answer.”

the words don’t hit particularly hard, but they find something tender. something you didn’t know was there until he pressed against it. “i…” you stop. inhale. “i didn’t realize i was doing that.”

“lemme guess.” his voice is low, playful, but not fully. “a lady doesn’t interrupt?”

your lips press together, your gaze falling to your hands. the truth feels too obvious. of course he’s right. he usually is, and maybe you’re starting to think it’s a little irritating.

“it’s polite,” you say finally, the words small. brittle.

“yeah?” his voice is soft, the usual teasing smoothed out. “bet i’d give your mother a heart attack.”

the laugh escapes before you can swallow it down. you’re not sure what it says about you, that you’re laughing at something like this. maybe that’s why it feels like something worth hiding, but you can’t.

and satoru’s grin is immediate. broad and satisfied, like he’s won something. like he’s going to keep winning.

he’s proud of himself for making you laugh, you realize. and that’s… comforting? confusing?

you shake your head, but you don’t correct him. because maybe she would hate him. and for the first time ever, you don’t care. it sits in your chest, unfamiliar, like something you shouldn’t touch but reach for anyway.

+++

satoru is the one who suggested snacks, but not because he was hungry. he just wasn’t ready for the closeness to end.

the air outside had felt light, easy. something about you letting your guard down, even a little, made him want to keep the moment going. so he led you inside, playing it off with a careless grin and a lazy stretch of his arms.

“wait here,” he’d said, flashing you a smile before wandering off toward the kitchen. “be back in a second.”

the fact that you didn’t immediately make some polite excuse to leave didn’t go unnoticed. so he gathered whatever snacks he could find, anticipation growing in his chest. he felt like a teenager with a crush.

now, he finds you in the small sitting area off the main hall—a cozy, quiet space that feels far removed from the rest of the house. a low table with cushions around it, the soft glow of lanterns painting the room in amber.

you look less guarded than usual, like something from before still hasn’t settled back into place. it’s something he’d like to see more of.

“i think the staff have been moving things around to mess with me,” he says as he slides down next to you, a tray of fruit and cookies in one hand. “they can’t outsmart me though.”

he’s rewarded with the faintest twitch of your lips.

he sets the tray in front of you and leans back, watching you reach for a piece of fruit with more hesitance than he’d like.

he’s talking just to keep you there, rambling about the kitchen staff and their obsession with organizing things to the point of madness. you respond, sometimes with words, sometimes with a hum of acknowledgement. but you’re not withdrawing.

he bites into a cookie he doesn’t even want, pretending not to notice the way you move, the way your gaze keeps flickering toward him. it’s only when he shifts to make himself more comfortable that his fingers brush yours on the cushions. a light touch, nothing worth noticing—except that you both do.

the words between you taper off until the quiet feels charged. he notices the way you look at him, how your gaze lingers a little too long before you look away, then back again. like you’re searching for something you can’t quite find.

you’re closer now than you were a moment ago. he’s sure of it.

“didn’t think you’d actually wait for me,” he says. it’s meant to sound playful, but it comes out too soft.

you blink, the faintest hint of confusion flitting across your expression. “you told me to.”

“yeah, but—” he pauses, his finger tracing a line over yours on the cushion. “you could’ve just said you were tired and called it a night.”

your eyes lower, like you’re deciding what to say to that. or if you’re supposed to say anything at all.

“maybe i wasn’t ready to say goodnight.”

the words are so quiet he almost thinks he imagined them. but the way you say it, soft and uncertain, makes something in his chest unwind. his gaze fixes on you now with something he’s not sure he wants to name. something that feels tender and reckless and good.

you’re looking at him like you’re waiting for him to do something. maybe you don’t even realize it, but he certainly does.

he leans in, just enough to see if you’ll flinch, if you’ll draw back into the shell you’ve been living in since your wedding. but you don’t. if anything—if his eyes don’t deceive him—you shift a little closer.

“you know,” his voice comes out lower than he intended. “you’re really bad at pretending you’re not looking at me.”

your face immediately heats up. you don’t deny it. he grins, but it feels more like an admission than a joke. “it’s okay. i’m looking at you, too.”

there’s something so simple about the statement. so stupidly honest. it’s like he’s daring himself to say what he’s been circling around for days.

“you gonna let me kiss you, angel?”

it’s only half-serious. satoru expects you to tense up, to blink at him with that same guarded look you always have when he teases you.

but you’re looking at him without a hint of protest.

“yeah?” he whispers.

you nod. just barely, but it’s enough. he leans in before his stomach can do another somersault.

it’s nothing. a brush of his mouth against yours, enough to test the waters, to feel the warmth of your lips before he pulls back to gauge your reaction. your eyes are wide, but your shoulders are relaxed, your breathing steady, even if it’s a little too careful.

he lingers there, trying to make sense of what you’re feeling—and what he’s feeling. he’s more intentional about this than he’s ever been about anything.

but there’s nothing in your expression that tells him you’re afraid, so he leans in again.

it’s deeper this time. still careful, but not hesitant. his lips press more firmly against yours, his head tilting slightly to see how much you’re willing to give. to see if you’ll give him more.

his hand moves on instinct, fingers lifting to cradle your jaw. the touch is gentle, the pressure light, like he’s scared you’ll break if he moves too quickly.

you don’t break. you let him kiss you, mirroring his movements as best you can. like you’re learning what it feels like to want something. realization settles.

this isn’t pressure. it’s not something you have to endure. it’s something you’re allowed to explore.

he pulls back, but only just. he’s close enough to see the way your lips part, like you’re trying to find the right words and coming up empty. you’re looking at him like you’re not sure what happened.

and then your hand moves.

it feels like a second-guess even as you’re doing it, your hand as shaky as your breath. your fingers brush against his jaw and settle on his cheek, the contact so light that it’s almost not there.

he looks at you with fascination, his gaze dropping to your mouth. and then, slowly, your thumb traces over his bottom lip. just once—more curious than anything.

something inside him stutters. for once, you’re asking him for something.

you’re the one who leans in this time.

your mouth presses against his, clumsy but sure. you kiss him with the kind of caution that makes him want to ruin you, just to see what you’d look like with that gentleness stripped away.

but he stays soft, pliant. lets you take what you want, even if you’re not sure what that is.

without meaning to, you notice things. the way his hand feels against your face, the small, idle circles he traces over your skin, the slight part of his lips. he’s careful and patient and it makes you want to thank him. your chest feels tight, your heartbeat skipping. you’re not sure what you’re supposed to feel right now, but you know you don’t want this to end.

the feel of your mouth against his is something satoru knows he won’t be able to forget. he’s already dreading the fact that he doesn’t know when you’ll let him do this again.

he deepens the kiss, just slightly. not aggressive, not demanding. it’s just… more. his fingers move up from your jaw and into your hair, the touch soothing you.

you realize with startling clarity that you want him. that you want him to keep kissing you. and it knocks the air out of you, because wanting something isn’t something you should to do. want feels like an admission of need.

when he breaks the kiss, his lips don’t go far. they trail to the corner of your mouth, tracing a path over your cheek, then lower, grazing along the line of your jaw.

it’s… too much. but not how you’d expected. not in a way that feels wrong, not in a way that hurts. it’s warm, real, and your chest feels like it’s going to collapse.

it’s not until his lips brush against the spot just beneath your jaw, where your pulse flutters a little too fast, that you gasp. it’s small, but it feels raw and unfamiliar. like something stolen from a part of you that you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

he feels it before you do. the way your shoulders go rigid, as if your own reaction is something you need to hide.

then you pull away.

he doesn’t chase you. just watches as you blink, like you’re trying to wake yourself up from a dream you didn’t mean to fall into. your eyes are wide, your breathing shallow, but you’re not scared. you’re just… startled.

he’s bracing for your apology, for you to retreat into reservation. he’s about to say something—anything to break the tension that’s suddenly wrapped itself around you—when you smile.

small at first, a hint of warmth, something shy. then wider, brighter. like you’re trying to convince yourself that this is real and not imagined. it feels like something he’s not supposed to see.

“okay?” he asks.

you shake your head, exhaling like you can’t believe yourself. “that was nice.”

he watches you a moment longer, his lips twitching. the way you’re looking at him makes him feel like he’s finally done something important.

“yeah?”

you nod, hugging your knees. your cheeks are flushed, your hands trembling slightly. but you look happy.

he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. and then he grins, something easy and genuine spilling across his face. “guess i did something right, then.”

you laugh, and the sound is real.

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hazymoonlinh · 3 days ago

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I have a good one,I'd like to use the chef mc again but this for mydei and she offers to cook for the chrysos heirs,one bite for mydei and he just instantly snatches her up no explanation and literally goes mine,like head over heels fallen in love with her cooking and wants to marry her and she finds it amusing despite the shocked reactions from the trailblazer and dan heng and the others

enjoy!

I hope you enjoy this. 😉 (lemme cook)

Cooking for Mydei

(Pure fluff. Mydei x reader.)

⸻

The first time Mydei tasted her cooking, he barely reacted.

The Chrysos Heirs had gathered for a meal, drawn in by the rare chance to taste a dish prepared by someone other than Mydei. Some warriors took one bite and let out content sighs. Others immediately dug in, savoring every bit of warmth and flavor. Mydei? He ate in silence, the same measured pace as always, as if he were merely refueling his body for battle.

She noticed.

She always noticed.

From across the table, her eyes lingered on him—not out of expectation, but curiosity. She wasn’t waiting for praise or approval, just watching. Observing.

It happened again the next time she cooked.

And the time after that.

Each time she prepared a meal, Mydei would sit down with the rest of them, plate in hand, and eat in that same composed manner. No exaggerated reactions, no unnecessary words. But she kept watching him, and over time, she started catching the shifts—the way his grip on his utensils eased, how his brows twitched slightly in interest, the way he held a spoonful of broth just a second longer before taking a sip.

He was getting used to it.

He was enjoying it.

And before he even realized it, he had started waiting for it.

—

Somewhere along the way, it stopped being just about the food.

He started seeking her out, lingering where she was without a real reason to. When he walked into a room and saw her, something in his chest settled. And when she laughed—actually laughed, not just the quiet amusement she usually had—it felt like something rare and warm, something he wanted to keep hearing.

It wasn’t obvious at first. Not even to himself.

Until one night, when she served a dish and immediately turned to watch him. Not the others—just him.

She always did that, he knew. It was a habit of hers, watching for reactions. But this time, it felt different. Like it was his reaction she cared about the most.

And it struck him, then.

He wanted her to care about his reaction the most.

That realization lodged itself deep in his chest, stubborn and unshakable.

—

One evening, as the sky faded into deep orange, she stood in the kitchen, rolling up her sleeves. Mydei lingered at the doorway, arms crossed, watching.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “You’re early.”

“You’re predictable,” he countered. “Same time. Every night.”

“And yet you still come,” she mused, turning back to the stove. The gentle clink of utensils filled the air. “You sure you’re not just curious?”

“Curious?”

“About how it’s made.” She stirred the pot, steam rising. “Or are you the type to only care about the final result?”

He approached, standing just beside her, close enough to feel the warmth of the fire. “…Both matter.”

That earned him a pleased hum. “Good answer.”

For a while, they simply stood there. She cooked, and he stayed, watching her hands, the way she measured ingredients, the way she tasted and adjusted without hesitation. It was a kind of confidence he respected. No second-guessing. No doubt.

He was aware of how close they were. How her presence had become something steady in his routine, something he looked for without thinking.

When she finally served the food, Mydei took his seat as usual, but this time, she sat beside him.

And she watched him.

He didn’t need to ask why. He already knew.

So when he took that first bite, he let himself react. Not much—just the faintest slow exhale, a pause, a second longer than usual.

It was enough. She noticed.

Her smile was knowing, but she didn’t say anything. She never did.

Until tonight.

“I know you can cook,” she said, soft and certain, “but while I’m here, I want to cook for you too.”

Something settled in him at those words. Warmth, unexpected and steady.

For once, Mydei didn’t have a response.

He just took another bite.

Then—

A loud clatter.

The Trailblazer had dropped their spoon. They stared between the two of them, eyes wide with suspicion. “Wait. Wait. What’s happening here?”

Dan Heng, ever the composed one, narrowed his eyes slightly before rubbing his temples. “Oh. So this is happening.”

The Trailblazer pointed an accusing finger between Mydei and MC. “Since when? How?”

“Since now,” Mydei answered smoothly, taking another bite, unfazed.

Dan Heng sighed. “I knew something was off when he started sitting closer at dinner.”

“I thought it was just because the food was good!” the Trailblazer exclaimed, looking scandalized. “Not because he was simping!”

Mydei finally looked up at them, expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he put his chopsticks down, leaned back, and smirked just slightly.

“Would it make you feel better if I said it was both?”

The Trailblazer looked ready to explode. Dan Heng just sighed again.

Meanwhile, she only laughed.

Mydei glanced at her, watching the way her shoulders shook, the way her face lit up with amusement.

And then it hit him—he wanted to keep making her laugh.

He wanted to keep watching her like this.

He wanted her.

———

Well, since it’s pretty much go against my impression of Mydei (no offense) cuz it would take a whole different personality for him to do this or a whole more chapter.

So I kinda make it a bit slow burn, add a little (a lot) of sweetness, but still makes it as quickly as possible

#hazymoonlinh #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr mydei #mydei x you #honkai star rail mydei #mydei honkai star rail #mydeimos #mydei x reader #mydei #hsr x y/n #hsr x you #hsr x reader

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zepskies · 3 days ago

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Aww yay!! Thank you so much, lovely. 🥹💕 Please don't apologize, I love it!! 😍

I wish he was real at least once a day, I wanna give him a bunch of little kisses all over his face so bad 😩💗

God, right??! 😩 I'd smother him with affection lmao. 💋

I loveee this. <33 honestly the concept of traditional bachelor/bachelorette parties make zero sense to me, like wdym last night of freedom??? i'd simply cancel the wedding, go be free lmaoo 🙂‍↔️🤚🏽

Girl I'm with you!! If you're in a relationship about to get married, what is this "freedom??" 🥴🥴 I feel like Sam would think the same way lol.

ohhh I felt this to my coreeeee 😭 ( those 'fake nice' mean girls are the worst like it gets to a point you'd just prefer them to be straight up lol)

Exaaaaaclty! 😫 You know who I'm talking about here. lol I think we've all encountered those "fake nice" mean girls at some point.

now I understand that this is probably a wild thing to highlight, however, it's making me giggle so bad after knowing how the rest of the chapter goes 🤣 his intuition is on point lmfaooo with that being said, I truly adore their connection. 💓 it's so genuine and comfortable <33 and that spiceeee, it had me blushing ❤️‍🔥🫠 so good 🫶🏽

Ahahaa I'm actually glad you highlighted that part because that's exactly what that was -> foreshadowing for things to...er...come. 😝

Aww I'm so happy you're enjoying their connection so far! Even though it's a one-night stand, it is coming from a genuine place. Glad you liked the sexy stuff to go along with it too. 😘❤️‍🔥

you tell him sammy !! I completely understand focusing on training but a simple text message could have sufficed dean ._.

Right?! Sam's the voice of reason as always lol, while Dean's a bit of a hot mess in this story. 😆

I understand why she did this but still, aagh ☹️ my hopeless hearttt lol

I knowwwww - she did that thing of "let me just lie a bit so I can save some face with this man and not let him know that I was actually really into him and don't just wanna be his fuck buddy." While Dean is just as frustrating, not being clear that he's asking her out on a date, not a hookup lol.

deeeep sigh 😔 (nothing against canon lisa lol)

Ahahaa yep this Lisa is not exactly canon Lisa, I'll say that. 😅

And Dean Dean Dean...

considering the lovely story banner I should have guessed, but this really did surprise me somehow lollll 😭 (perhaps the gif distracted me 🤣)

Hahaaa honestly I love that you were still surprised!! 😜 (It's ok, that gif had me hypnotized sometimes when I was making the header lol)

aww sammy 🥺 he's such a sweetheart, I love him. also I can totally picture that 💀

Sam's a real sweetie for sure. 🥹 You already know he'd give Dean hell if he didn't promise to help her and be there for his baby. 💗💗

~Bitch Face Activated~

lmfaoooooo dean pls 🤣 gotta love that sibling analysis

ahaha thank you for highlighting that line because that was one of my favorites for Dean. 🤣 I think I just like the alliteration of "Big Bird body language."

i'd be blaming her for sure because how is she gonna be mad at something that happened before she was in the picture, then continue to be mad as if she's not actively choosing to stay, which is wild to me considering it's only been two months 💀 (she low-key reminds me of mona from friends 😩)

Yes you're seeing my Friends parallels in this one loll. Very much the Ross/Rachel surprise pregnancy situation, with Mona and Joey (as Benny) thrown into the mix. 😆😆

this could just be my anger issues talking but the urge to bitch slap her has appeared and it only intensified the more she talked 🤠 nothing more irritating than thinly veiled insults and backhanded comments. and how dare she do this, not just to another woman, but a pregnant woman? i'd cuss her out so quick like ho is you cool?? pack it up and put it away nobody asked for your projections negative nelly 🤚🏽

Oh definitely this is the worst Lisa lmao. There's nothing worse than unsolicited health/weight loss advice, especially to a pregnant lady, and ESPECIALLY from someone who has never had a baby and doesn't know anything about childbirth. 🙄 Lisa's 31 flavors of out of line on this one, but no matter how much she wants to hit back, the reader here is holding her tongue mainly because she doesn't want to create more of a mess for Dean. 🥲

oh god my patience could neverrr 😭 it may be a bit irrational, but I would be so upset like you just kissed your gf, do not touch me sir. 🤠more importantly though, how are you going to juggle a new relationship with another woman and be truly committed to all the responsibilities of a new baby? :/ oh dean

And you'd totally be in your right to feel that way. 🥲 Dean's trying to be considerate, he just doesn't know how to navigate this situation very well. 🤣 (Clearly he's never had to deal with real emotions with women before.)

oooo I woulda smacked her hand away, like don't touch me you sneaky wench 🤺

"sneaky wench" got me so hard! 🤣

awww, i wanna give her a huuuuuug :(( honestly he's so real for this lolll

Aww so does Dean (and a lot more lol). 🥲

this was a great first chapter! the preview for the next part has me intrigued, and a bit confused 😅 i’m really looking forward to seeing how this plays out <333

Thank you so very much, friend!! Haha I don't blame you for being confused with the sneak peek, but you shall see. *rubs hands together* There's LOTS of drama yet to unfold in Part 2...

IF I STAY - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: Yes, here’s another firefighter AU! Based on a request from one of my lovely Patreon members: @redhoodieone. She requested pretty much all the major beats of this story, so hopefully I did her request justice! This is also partially inspired by Fools Rush In, a beautiful movie with Salma Hayek and Matthew Perry (Rest in Peace, King).

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis

Word Count: 8.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, thick thirty, hints of body insecurity, but also body appreciation, angst, and hurt/comfort.

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 1: Fools Rush In

Slowly, your eyes slide open into the waking world. Your head is resting on something warm, firm…and a little sweaty. You pick your head up, despite the disorienting, muddy feeling of a slight hangover.

A groan bubbles in your throat. Your gaze travels downward, and you realize that what you’re looking at is more of a who.

Your eyes widen. Oh…my…God…

Not only are you very naked, but your firm pillow is too. It happens to be your best friend’s brother.

Yes, holy fucking shit! You slept with your best friend’s brother.

Biting the inside of your lip, you can’t help but take him in, here in the raw light of day as he lays peacefully on his back. His head lolls to the side on your usual pillow. Your eyes roam over the bow of his lips, the dark eyebrows, lightish brown hair that's softer than it should be between your fingers.

He’s painfully handsome. There’s a slight hesitation in your touch, but you softly trace the cut of his jaw and the stubble spread across it. That roughness feels familiar, and not just under the pads of your fingers, though the thought makes you blush. You begin to remember the night before, almost like a movie reel through your mind…

Ooooh, right. That’s what happened.

It starts at Sam Winchester’s joint bachelor-bachelorette party at a nice hotel downtown. He and Eileen aren't the "strippers and coke" kind of party couple. They're more the "wine and brie en croute with pickled olives" on the expensive crackers you can't afford—kind of couple.

They look perfectly in love, if a bit long-suffering while Dean gives a hilarious, somewhat inappropriate, but still ultimately heartwarming toast to their happiness. After lowering the glass of champagne from his lips, his gaze catches on yours in the crowd. You suck in a subtle breath.

Technically you’ve met him already, being one of Eileen’s bridesmaids, but there’s something about his green eyes that pin you to the floor. When he hands over the mic to Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, his head turning away from you to offer her a smile breaks the spell. It allows you to breathe.

Dean later finds you by the bar. You’re drinking a rum and coke with your slice of cake, trying not to get a single crumb on your dress. You've put a lot of work into affording it, let alone fitting in it. He leans his elbows casually on the counter and looks over at you.

“Hey, how’s it going?” he nods at you with a smile, subtly taking you in first. Then, his eyes go to your plate. “Ooh, red velvet. Gotta get me some of that.”

You smile back at him. “It’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, looks good in your hand,” he says, adding a teasing wink for good measure.

You don't know why that does it for you, but a half-flattered, half-nervous laugh tumbles out of your mouth. Sam has warned you before about Dean. Apparently his older brother is a bit of a flirt; a ladies’ man.

A man whore, are the words Eileen used.

You’re honestly surprised he’s talking to you when Eileen’s other bridesmaids, Lisa and Jo, are sipping martinis together down at the other end of the bar. Guess they didn’t want cake.

They look beautiful in their lithe, strapless little cocktail dresses. You’ve had to give up chocolate, bread, and cheese for three months straight to fit into this dress, something slinky and red that drapes over your thicker, curvy figure. But you’re proud of the fact that you’re letting yourself eat cake tonight, even though you’ve often felt like Mrs. Doubtfire while standing for pictures next to Lisa and Jo.

They’re Eileen’s friends, not so much your crowd. No matter how much you’ve tried to get to know them while helping the wedding planning in whatever way you can, you still get a high school clique vibe from the women, if with more “polite smiles.” Then they’ll typically go back to talking about crystal centerpieces—or whatever in-depth conversation they were having before you were there.

But right now, Dean’s focus is on you. When he asks you more about yourself, you tell him about recently earning an elementary education degree.

“Ah, but you already knew that, because Sam told you we graduated college together,” you realize, with warmth tingeing your cheeks. That subject came up pretty quickly when he introduced you to his brother.

Dean’s smile confirms your suspicions, so you just keep filling the silence on reflex.

“Well, I actually just started teaching my first ever semester of second graders. They’re a bit of a handful, but overall, they’re really sweet.” Your smile falters. “Except for this one kid who likes to put little tacks on my chair. He’s kind of a menace, but I think if I bribe him with enough lollipops, he’ll give it a rest. I mean, it’s a behavioral issue and I should probably call his parents. But it's kind of hard to tell them their son is trying to make my ass into a pincushion."

Dean's laugh comes out in a sharp burst, like he wasn't expecting what just came out of your mouth. You didn't either, honestly. You giggle more out of embarrassment, ducking your head.

"He’s in second grade, you know?" you say, in between laughter. "I don't think that little footnote needs to end up on his permanent record. But then there's Micah. He's so friggin' smart. He can read at the fifth grade level already. Can you believe that? And I know I'm not supposed to have favorites, but his grades on his spelling tests get him a spot in the comfy bean bag chair pretty much every Friday. Honestly, I think that's what I like about working with kids. I get to see that spark on their face when something just finally clicks for them. Their little faces get all bright and happy and…ugh. God, I'm sorry. I'm rambling, right?”

You stop yourself with a hand sliding over your mouth, not quite covering your smile of embarrassment.

Dean’s grin just widens, making the corners of his eyes crinkle.

"It's okay. I kinda like it," he teases.

You duck your head, biting your lip against a groan. He chuckles and reaches out for your hand, earning your nervous glance. He quirks his head.

“Hey, you're passionate about what you do, helping kids. That's nothin' to be ashamed of,” he says, brushing his thumb over your hand. “But sweetheart, I gotta ask. Am I making you nervous or something?”

God, yes, you think, especially at that sweetheart thing. It’s making your heartbeat tick up a syncopated rhythm, but you shake your head, biting the straw of your rum and coke.

“No, not at all,” you say, in a hopefully “breezy” kind of way. You touch your fingers to his wrist. “Tell me about you though. Sam mentioned that you’re a firefighter?”

“Ah, yeah. Firefighter in training,” he says, with a more genuine smile.

He just started at the Fire Academy, and he tells you about all the drills he’s had to learn and all the training he’s had to do to be able to keep up with his classes. You subtly eye him while you sip at your drink, and you notice the crisp cut of his buttoned-down shirt and leather jacket, the definition of muscle across his thighs under the slacks, even while he casually sits.

Your gaze subtly travels down his long bowed legs, smart dress shoes. His cologne is woody and masculine, but not overpowering; maybe bergemot and sandalwood. It pleasantly wafts under your nose every time he gestures with his hands while he talks.

“Aw man, I can’t hold out anymore. I think I need to get me some of that cake before it’s gone,” he says, getting up from his chair.

You’re a bit disappointed that he’s leaving, until he stops short.

“You want another piece?” he offers, gesturing at your empty plate that’s been resting on the counter.

You blink in surprise, but you shake your head. “Oh, no. I probably shouldn’t.”

“Why not? It’s a party,” Dean reasons. His grin is too damn infectious. It has you smiling, and begrudgingly agreeing.

Not only does he bring you more cake, but you watch him eat three whole slices before he asks you to dance.

The rest of it flashes through your mind like strobe lights—the way he’d started small and respectful with his larger hand closed over yours and the other along the curve of your waist. He guided you closer and closer, until you were turned around into his arms, and you could feel his warm breath on your neck.

You felt his lips teasing your skin. Then those hands tantalizingly drifted down your every soft curve, as if showing you a preview of everything he could do to you, and every way he’d make you come apart. You believed him.

And when he whispered in your ear, asking if he could take you home, you let him.

You let him drive you in that big black piece of history he drives. Used to be my dad’s car, he said. A Chevy something. You couldn’t really remember much when his hand was drifting up and down your thigh like that.

His presence burned hot at your back when you two eventually got to the front door of your apartment, your hands just barely shaking as you got the key in. Twist and click—

He waited until you flipped the lights on. Then he turned you around slowly in his arms and pulled you in close, all the while asking you with his eyes and raised brows. This okay? You want this?

“Do I still make you nervous?” he asked, his lips twitching at a smile when yours do.

You nodded, uttering a small giggle. “In a good way.”

That was when he finally kissed you, hot and slow, like he meant to devour you whole. He moaned at the taste of you, at the feel of your ass squeezed in his hands. You clung onto him strong, breathing into his kiss and trying to meet every single demand of his lips.

It soon became a fiery tear to your bedroom, one lamp flicked on, hot breaths and nice clothes crumpled to the floor. You didn’t feel self-conscious even once when he guided you under him on the bed, because he wasted no time in taking you apart, inch by inch.

His lips kissed and licked and sucked a burning trail down your neck, over your collarbone and between your breasts. You felt his hardened length trapped between your bodies while his hands explored you, teasing your breasts and sensitive nipples, and he mapped his way down with his lips.

You explored every part of him you could—every dip of muscle, firm shoulders and the slopes of his back, and then back up to tangle in his hair. Your heated gasps and whimpers filled the room when his sinful mouth found what it was looking for between your legs.

It wasn’t often that you had a strong pair of shoulders to rest your thighs on, but Dean’s grip was hard enough to leave deep fingerprints of pressure on each thigh while he slipped his tongue through your folds and feasted on you.

“D-Dean, oh God,” you gasped. Every sound you made was a sensuous symphony in his ears, washing over his skin and making the well of his desire churn hot in his lower belly. He had to roll his hips into the mattress for some relief for his aching cock, even while he moved his mouth up to your clit, circling the swollen bud with his tongue. He had enough room to slip two fingers deep inside your sopping wet channel, exploring you deeply, stroking and twisting to find what you needed.

Your thighs trembled and squeezed tight on either side of his head. When he sucked your clit tight between his lips, you uttered as gasping moan as that coil snapped its release. Your inner walls fluttered around his fingers. Yours clenched tightly in his hair, threatening to rip out a few strands.

Dean stroked you all through your first orgasm, giving slower licks to your clit. He seemed to sense when you couldn’t handle anymore though. You tugged more sharply on his hair, and he finally pulled away, moving back up your body to gauge your reaction.

You’d collapsed boneless against the bed, but you still managed to smile up at him as you caught your breath.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked. But his self-satisfied grin almost made you laugh. You took his glistening face between your hands and pulled him down for a grateful kiss.

After a moment to savor your lips, he broke away for a second to catch his breath himself. You stroked his back all the while.

“You know, for a minute down there, I thought you might not let me come back up,” he teased.

You choked on a laugh, covering your face in embarrassment.

“Honestly wouldn’t have minded if you did suffocate me,” he chuckled, accompanied by a slap to your left ass cheek. You squealed, and blushed hotly at the way he was grinning down at you.

“Ready for more, baby? Or you want to call it a night?” he asked. His tone was playful, but it was actually a serious question. You blinked in surprise. You’d never had a guy be this, well…generous, and not expect anything in return, especially not for just a hookup.

But you shook your head and sat up, slipping a hand behind Dean’s neck. After a beat of hesitation, you guided him down to you for a slow, sensuous kiss.

“No, I don’t want to call it a night,” you whispered. Your hand drifted down his bare chest, and lower still. You showed him just how well you could return the favor.

And now, come the morning, you’re blushing down to your neck as each scene flashes through your mind. You feel the ghost of his hands all over your body, and how you’d never quite felt quite as bold and sexy and beautiful with a near stranger as you had with Dean effing Winchester. Your best friend’s brother.

You begin to worry your bottom lip with your teeth. How the hell are you going to tell Sam? Especially after he warned you about exactly this. Plus, there’s a reason you don’t typically do the one-night stand thing, and this has the potential to become something very complicated.

You know what, it’s fine! you think. We’re two consenting adults. We’re both single. And maybe…maybe it could be more than a hookup. Maybe we can see each other again, see where it goes.

“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Dean says, his voice croaking with sleep.

You look down at him in surprise. His eyes have cracked open and he has your hand captive, stopping you from continuing to idly trace patterns on his bare chest. You smile in embarrassment.

“Sorry,” you say. Again, you bite your lower lip. “Um, good morning.”

“Morning, sweetheart,” he grins lazily. “You sure wore me out last night.”

Your smile becomes more genuine, even if you turn your face away somewhat shyly.

“Aw, don’t do that,” Dean says. He slides his hand up your arm and behind your neck, tangling into your already tangled hair when he guides you down to his lips for a kiss. “You were awesome.”

You giggle against his lips. “Really?”

“Hell, yeah,” he says, kissing you again.

You shake your head a little. “You were…”

Amazing. Unbelievable. Probably the best night I’ve ever had.

“Perfect,” you decide. Because it’s the truth. The word comes out of your mouth before you can filter yourself though, making you pause. Dean does too, but after a beat, he slowly smiles.

“Oh yeah?” he asks.

You lick your lips, and you nod. “Definitely.”

“Well, then,” he says. His hand moves down to squeeze your hip. “You down for a repeat performance?”

You smile. “Only if I get a turn.”

Bracing your hands on his chest, you slide your thigh across his lap so you can straddle his hips. Dean grins and goes along with your idea. He gets a nice healthy handful of your thighs and helps settle you on top of him. But first, he reaches over into your nightstand drawer and finds another condom, ripping it open with his teeth.

Just like you did for him last night, you take the packet, as well as his generous length in your hands. You gently stroke him to full mast, smiling pleased at his groan of pleasure. Then you carefully fit the condom over him.

“You’re so gentle with me,” he teases.

“Just returning the favor,” you quip, just before you position him at your wet entrance. Slowly, you sink down over his cock.

You both moan at the feeling of him stretching you again, warm and thick and fitting perfectly nestled deep inside. There had been moments last night where he wasn’t all that gentle, actually, but his passion had only spurred yours on more. You know you’ll probably find fingerprint marks on your thighs and ass, but it’s fucking worth it, you think, as you begin to bob a rocking rhythm that serves you both.

Dean arches his back underneath you, his knees coming up to press against your ass.

“Goddamn, baby. Givin’ me quite a show,” he says, in a panting voice that’s deep as sin.

You utter a breathy laugh.

Dean means it though. He’s enjoying the way you brush your hair out of your face, your beautiful tits in his face while you truly let loose for him. He guides you by the stronghold he has on your hips, his fingers pressing into your soft flesh as he ruts up into you, meeting your thrusts.

Your breath quickens, your nails digging into his chest on reflex, and your heart races as that delicious pleasure builds. But when Dean snakes a hand between you and further parts your folds to massage tight circles over your clit, your vision flashes white. You utter a scream of pleasure on his name, your inner walls choking him tight as you throb around his cock. His release hits him like a goddamn freight train.

“Aw, fuck,” he grunts.

He slams your hips down hard, making your thighs slap against his. A ragged groan escapes him in a rush. His hands move to your thighs just under your ass, where his fingers press into flesh hard enough to leave forensic ID, giving him leverage to bury himself deep into your pussy as he spills a hot release into the condom.

Goddamn…

He can almost imagine that he’s coming free inside you, that you’re milking his cock for every drop, until there’s nothing left for him to give.

The thought surprises him. It almost takes him out of the moment, honestly. That’s not a thought he’s ever had before—not with a woman he barely knows (which is most of his hookups, if he’s honest).

In that delicious, fractious moment just after it hits, it’s like those few seconds are suspended in zero gravity. Your arms are shaking, and your forced to collapse against his chest. Dean welcomes you there for a little while, letting you come down while he smooths a hand over your hair.

Though he can't help the urge to let his big hand drift down over your dewy skin, down the gentle slope of your back and over the curve of your generous ass. He gives one cheek a teasing slap. The sound echoes in the room.

"Goddamn perfect ass," he says roughly, smirking at your squeal. You end up grinning hard against his neck.

"'S that my new nickname?" you quip.

He chuckles deeply, moving you along with his chest. "Hell, sweetheart, if you want it to be."

Eventually, you lean back to give him a smile and one last kiss before you pull away from him. You slip off his lap to find your robe, at least. You definitely need a shower.

“So I’m thinking, after we get cleaned up, I could make us some breakfast,” you offer. “Or if you want, maybe we could go somewhere. I know a little diner down the block.”

“I like the sound of food,” Dean agrees with a smile. Ge reaches over for his phone on the nightstand, to check the time. His eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”

He has to get his ass over to the Fire Academy. He has class in barely twenty minutes.

He tears out of bed and nearly trips on the coiled sheets.

“Sorry. Gonna need to take a raincheck,” he says. He hurries to find his clothes strewn all over your bedside floor.

“What’s the matter?” you ask with wide eyes. You cross your arms under your breasts, but it’s more like you’re hugging yourself over your robe. You watch him tear through your bedroom in a tempest of movement.

Dean spares you a glance, but not much else as he yanks up his slacks and belt and dress shirt.

“Gotta get to class,” he confesses. Thank God he has his uniform in the trunk of his car for exactly these kinds of emergencies. He grabs his phone, wallet, and keys, and quickly kisses you on the cheek. He gazes down at you apologetically. “Sorry I gotta cut and run, sweetheart, but it’s been fun.”

Your smile barely reaches your eyes. He’s pressed for time, but he still notices.

He slows himself down and cups your cheek. “Hey.”

He gets your pretty eyes looking up at him, and he gives you a real kiss, nice and slow. He cradles your cheek and brushes his thumb across your skin.

“Thanks,” he says. His now familiar grin manages to make you smile. “And I mean that.”

You shake your head at him. “Okay go, Mr. Future Fireman. Be safe out there, okay?”

He gives you a playful salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

You can’t help but laugh. This guy’s too much. But you don't think you've had this much fun having sex in...

All right, let's not put a timeframe on it.

You watch him leave your apartment, even though you have a sinking feeling in your chest. You knew this was just a hookup for him, for both of you. Part of you just couldn’t help hoping that it could’ve led to something more.

Dean means to call you.

He really does.

After that truly awesome, you shook me all night long, kind of a night, he thinks about you more than he’d like to admit over the next few weeks. However, he finds himself locked into his training. He’s so close to finishing strong and earning his badge, he just can’t afford any more distractions.

Still, he should’ve known that Sam would find out—either through Eileen, or through you directly. He also should’ve expected the way his brother let him have it.

“And you didn’t even fucking call her. See? This is why I don’t set you up with any of my friends anymore,” Sam bitches at him from his side of the small two-seater dinner table. They still share an apartment, though in just a month and a half, Sam’s going to be moving out. He and Eileen already found a house that they’re moving into after the wedding.

“Look, I was going to call her, man. They’ve just been bustin’ my ass at the Academy!” Dean argues.

“Bullshit.” Sam levels him with the same finger that holds his beer.

Dean’s brows raise, high and annoyed. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I’m calling bullshit. Because if you really liked her, respected her, and respected me, you would’ve made the time,” Sam says.

That falls heavy between the brothers for a moment while they eat their pizza.

“Look, I know her. She doesn’t do hookups that often, which means…she probably liked you,” Sam adds. “And honestly, when are you going to give it a real try with someone? You can only visit that free clinic so many times.”

Dean shoots him a glare. He’s had a clean bill of health from said clinic for six months straight.

“Jesus Christ. Enough, all right?” he grouses. “What’re you, Mom?”

“I’m just saying,” Sam says, lowering his crust to the plate. He levels his brother with a more earnest look, lightening up from his anger. “Look, if it’s about what happened to Dad—”

“What, you mean the way he drank himself to death after Mom died?” Dean says. His voice cuts through whatever softball glove Sam is trying to handle him with. “You think that’s the kind of thing I should be looking for in my life?”

“Oh, and what, do you think I’m making a mistake marrying Eileen?” Sam counters.

Dean sighs, shaking his head. “Damn it, don’t put words in my mouth. That’s not what I’m saying, it’s just…I don’t know. Maybe that kind of life—the house, the wife, the 2.5 kids and the dog. Maybe that’s just not my life, okay?”

Sam gives him a long look. He lets go of a deep breath, and he shrugs.

“Okay,” he says. “If you think hooking up night after night for the rest of your life is going to make you happy, then fine.”

Dean nods, glad that they can put an end to this little After School Special.

“Okay.”

Still, he can’t finish his third slice of pizza. He keeps picturing your face when he left you that morning. No matter how you tried to hide it, he still saw the tinge of disappointment in your eyes. It brews something uncomfortable in his stomach, and a sting in his chest.

You’re eating lunch alone in your classroom, finally on your break, when an unfamiliar number flashes across your phone screen. You look down at it in confusion, but with all the caterers and florists and things you’ve helped Eileen with on the wedding, you figure it could be important. You pick up the call and greet whoever’s on the line.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”

You drop your ham and cheese on your keyboard, gaping in surprise.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he chuckles slightly. “Sorry, I know it’s been a minute.”

You frown, because you’re confused more than anything.

“Yeah, like almost a month,” you reply. You put the call on speaker so you can grab up your sandwich and quickly brush off the crumbs from your keyboard. You struggle to say something cool, clever, sexy even. “I’m okay. Just, um…what’s up?”

Smooth, real smooth. You cover your eyes with your hand.

“Nothin’, I was just thinking of that night,” he says. “I had a good time.”

Your frown deepens, despite the beginning of a blush warming your cheeks. If he’s calling you just for another hookup…

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.”

And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition.

“I could make us some burgers, toss in a couple of beers and a movie night,” he adds.

That part throws you though, you’re not going to lie. What, is this a Netflix and chill situation—with a side of fries?

You consider it. You weigh pros and cons at a frightening speed in your mind, almost like Sherlock Holmes contemplating the layout of a dead body and deducing within moments that his wife committed the murder, despite the man no longer wearing a ring.

You want to let yourself be bold and spontaneous and carefree...but it's just not who you are at your core. You're a planner, a cautious person who looks three ways before crossing the street. Letting Dean take you home that night was certainly one of the most spontaneous, wild things you've done since your friends took you out to a strip club after you aced your final round of exams back in college.

(Sam hadn't been there that night, but he did get an embarrassing drunken text from you at 3:00 a.m., along with a few shame-ridden pictures fueled by questionable substances. Yes, he still had the evidence.)

You just don't know if it's smart to let yourself hookup with Dean again. Mostly because you know your heart has the tendency to get attached, no matter how much you warn it not to.

“You know, Dean, I’m pretty busy with my job right now. I just started here a couple of months ago, and I think I just need to focus on that right now,” you say. Part of it isn’t a lie, even though your soft heart is stinging.

“Ah, okay. Yeah. I get that,” he says. You hear his disappointment too. “But I just need to say, I really am sorry for not calling you sooner.”

Your lips tug at a smile. “It’s okay, Dean. Look, you’re Sam’s brother. I just feel like, maybe it’s better if you and I stay friends.”

“Friends, huh?” Dean says wryly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t have three rounds of steamy hot sex with any of my friends.”

Your blush comes swiftly again, burning in your cheeks.

“Be that as it may,” you say, “I just don’t want to do anything that will distract from Sam and Eileen’s wedding.”

“Oh, I’m a distraction, huh?” Dean says flirtatiously.

You begin to smile in earnest. “I think you know damn well what you are, Dean Winchester.”

His deep chuckle practically resonates through the phone and into your chest, going straight down to your pussy. You clench on nothing just at the sound of his voice, making you cross your legs under your skirt. Dear God…

How are you supposed to be even remotely normal around this man now?

But for Sam’s sake (and your own), you’ll have to try.

Two months later, Dean has taken Sam’s dating advice to heart. A week or so after you turned him down, he ran into Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, while he was at the grocery store buying beer and Twizzlers. She was a smart, sharp, sexy brunette. A yoga instructor, he soon found out. So he took a chance on asking her out. They’ve been going slow and steady ever since.

Dean hasn’t heard from you since the rehearsal dinner, but he sees you again at his brother’s wedding. All the bridesmaids are wearing long, royal blue dresses that drape off the shoulders and hug the bust and waist, flaring gently at the skirt. Lisa and Jo wear it beautifully, their hair perfectly smooth and coiled.

But when you step out into the hall outside the church ballroom to join them, Dean actually pauses in what he’s saying to his brother. He nearly double takes when you enter his line of vision—mostly because he hasn’t seen you in a dress since that night. You were sexy as hell then, a lady in red.

Today, you’re absolutely stunning.

After greeting Sam with a warm hug, you turn to him with a nervous kind of smile. “H-Hey, Dean.”

With that, he snaps out of it. Dean smiles, eyes crinkling, and goes over to give you a hug as well.

“Good to see you,” he says, trying not to inhale too much of your nice perfume. It’s even in your hair.

“You too,” you reply. Your smile is a little brighter, more genuine. Though there’s something behind your eyes that he can’t quite place.

What he doesn’t notice is the way Lisa is watching you and her boyfriend, a hint of suspicion on her face.

You do though. You pull away from Dean and assemble into a line with Lisa at the helm. As the Best Man, Dean stands with her, followed by Jo and Brady, another one of Sam’s buddies. You and Benny bring up the rear. Benny’s dad used to work with John, Sam and Dean’s father, on the police force.

According to Sam, John Winchester worked a beat for twenty-six years before his liver finally gave out on him. Dean almost went to the Police Academy to follow in his dad’s footsteps, but Benny, already working his way up to Lieutenant, suggested Dean become a smoke eater instead. The suggestion stuck.

Benny Lafitte is slightly shorter than Dean, but just as broad-shouldered, his auburn beard neatly trimmed. Even though you might’ve thought he was rough around the edges at first, his kind blue eyes spoke the contrary. He offers you his arm like a gentleman.

“Well aren't I lucky, getting the prettiest girl on my arm,” he says, with a charming smile.

You smile, and even begin to blush at the way he subtly takes note of you from head to toe.

“Well, thank you. You’re very handsome yourself. Although, hold on.” You slip your arm out of his for a moment so that you can fix his tie. It’s slightly crooked. You make sure that it lays flat under his collar, smoothing down all the edges and picking off any small dust particles that landed on his collar. Benny watches you with an indulgent smile.

“Am I good?” he asks.

“Very,” you reply.

“I appreciate it, thank you,” he says. You don’t know if he means to sound flirtatious, but his voice is a deep drawl that washes over you pleasantly. You find yourself blushing down to your neck as you slip your arm back around his.

You also don’t notice how Dean glances at you and Benny over his shoulder.

As much as you love Sam and Eileen, it’s difficult for you to keep your mind from spinning into fractals as the ceremony goes on. You can’t help but glance at Dean. He stands there behind Sam dutifully, but you see brotherly pride in Dean’s eyes, in his smile. It makes you smile too. You too love Sam like a brother, and it brings a well of happy tears to your eyes to watch him have his moment with his new wife.

It just also reminds you of what you need to do.

After the ceremony ends and the bridal party files out behind the bride and groom, you excuse yourself from Benny apologetically. You wait until Lisa and Jo go off to take pictures with Sam and Eileen, and you grab Dean’s wrist, pulling him aside.

“I need to talk to you,” you whisper.

Dean gives you a confused look. “They’re gonna need us for the pictures.”

“I know, but this is important,” you say. Your voice trembles with nerves, and so do your hands. Dean notices, frowning in concern. He grasps your arm to try and steady you.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Just come with me,” you implore him. You take his hand and lead him into the women’s dressing room attached to the church sanctuary you all just came out of.

Dean raises his brows at the mess you and the rest of the bridesmaids have made of the room—pantyhose and makeup and clothing litter the floor and most available surfaces, while leftover breakfast sandwiches, grapes, salami, and cheddar cheese cubes are splayed out across one of the vanity counters. Dean is tempted to steal a morsel, but he focuses on you first.

You close and lock the door, which makes his brows raise high again. You know he has a girlfriend now, right?

“Uhh, look, I’m not sure what’s going on here, but—”

You heave a sigh. Again, you take his hand and guide him to sit with you at the vanity. The old stools squeak, the overhead lights a bit too bright. This is not where you want to do this, but you can’t hold it in anymore.

“Dean, I’m pregnant,” you confess.

He freezes. His breath stills in his lungs. His eyes slowly widen as the words click in his brain.

“What?” His head tilts, as if he didn’t hear you right.

You squeeze his hand; to ground him or yourself, you’re not sure.

“I’m about two months pregnant. I found out last week.”

Dean swipes his free hand over his mouth while he tries to compute. He squeezes your hand, tighter and tighter. He points to himself.

“It’s…it’s me? It’s mine?”

You give him a weary smile. “You’re the only one I’ve been with in the last few months. It could only be you.”

Oh fuck. The man’s face begins to pale as he descends into shock.

“But we…I used a condom,” he reasons. “All the—all the times!”

You bite your lip. If you weren’t freaking the fuck out yourself, you’d probably be laughing right now. Granted, you’ve had a bit more time to process this than Dean.

“I know, I was there,” you reply, releasing yet another sigh. “One of them probably broke. That’s all I can think of… Honestly, Dean, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I just didn’t want to disrupt the ceremony or cause a scene before the wedding. But now you know.”

Dean falls silent then. He hasn’t let go of your hand, which you think is a decent sign. He’s likely forgotten that you’re still holding it as he stares off into the middle distance for several seconds.

Eventually, he shakes his head and returns his gaze to yours. He looks uncertain, his handsome face the true epitome of holy fucking shit.

You know the feeling.

But he asks the most important question.

“What do you want to do?”

Briefly you close your eyes as you take a breath. You squeeze his hand before you let go of him.

“I’ve thought about this a lot, and…I’m keeping the baby,” you tell him, though you raise placating hands. “I don’t want money, or anything like that. I just wanted you to know that it’s yours. How much you want to be in his or—or her life, that’s up to you.”

Dean takes a beat before he answers, but you don’t have to wait so long holding your breath.

“Okay. Okay, yeah. I’ll help you. Don’t worry,” he says.

And just like that, all the time you spent giving yourself pep talks for this, telling yourself that you’ll need to be strong no matter what he says, all of it crumbles into relief. Your lower lip trembles, and your body shudders as you break into tears. You try covering your face to hide your shame, but Dean grasps your shoulders.

“Hey, hey. It’s all right,” he says. He tentatively pulls you into a hug. “It’s gonna be okay.”

You nod into his dress shirt, probably staining him with your running makeup.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “Thank you so much.”

He holds you a bit tighter in response.

You and Dean agree to keep this to yourselves for now, at least until Sam and Eileen get back from their honeymoon. It’s difficult to explain why your eyes are all red and your makeup is smudged, but you promise Sam that you’ll tell him later. You know it’s pointless to lie to him though. As a lawyer, his bullshit meter is far too high.

However, you also know that he’s half guessed it by the time you all make it to the reception. When you and Dean came out of that dressing room to join the bridal party for pictures, you're sure that you looked emotionally wrecked. Dean had looked pale as a sheet, his body coiled and tense, as willing himself to seem normal. Sam had clocked both of you with a raise of his brow, but he didn't say anything then, especially after you gave him a pleading look.

While Eileen greets her family without him for a moment, Sam pulls you aside. He notes your glass of diet coke, in a moderate sea of guests drinking champagne and cocktails.

“Are you okay?” he asks knowingly.

Tears well up in your eyes again. You don’t know if it’s your damn hormones going haywire, or just the way Sam asks you, with the love of a friend in his eyes. He squeezes your shoulder gently, prompting you with your name.

“Yeah, I think I will be,” you say.

"Is it the same reason you're not drinking?" he asks. "You and Dean earlier..."

You hesitantly confirm with a nod. Sam blows out a harsh sigh, raising folded hands to his mouth as he processes. You begin to look around on reflex, trying to see if anyone's watching you and Sam have this conversation in the middle of the reception. To your relief, everyone around you seems occupied with drinks, hours d'oeuvres and conversation.

“What did he say when you told him?” Sam asks. His gaze is firmer. You get the idea that if he doesn’t like what you tell him, then he’s about to go grab his brother by the ear himself.

You grab his wrist and give a placating squeeze. “He said he's going to help me, be there for me.”

“Damn right. So will I,” Sam nods, and glances back at Eileen, his new bride, with a smile. “We both will.”

“I know,” you nod as well. “I’ll be okay, Sam. You don’t have to worry so much. Just enjoy your wedding day. It’s the only one you’re gonna get. Well, you know…hopefully.”

You tease him with a wink.

Sam laughs, cupping your cheek. He kisses your other cheek.

“I love you, you know that right?” he says.

You give him a trembling smile through your tears.

Meanwhile, Dean has a beautiful woman in his arms. He turns Lisa on the dancefloor, trying not to trip on his own dress shoes, all the while knowing that his brain isn’t here in his body. It’s across the ballroom, watching you talk to Sam. Dean can tell that he knows, just in his Big Bird body language. He’d also recognize that accompanying Bitch Face anywhere.

“Dean, what’s wrong,” Lisa asks him, and not for the first time. She’s getting annoyed, he can tell. She finally looks over to where he keeps glancing, and she notices you with a frown. It’s also not the first time she’s caught him staring at you tonight.

“What was that earlier in the dressing room? She didn’t really get food poisoning, did she?” she asks pointedly. “What, did you two used to date or something?”

He gives a wan smile. “Yeah, kinda. We…had a thing once.”

“What kind of thing?”

Dean closes his eyes and tries to keep himself calm. He’s pretty sure if he tells her the truth right now, she’s going to find the nearest cocktail and dump it over his head.

But shit, here it goes.

“Well…”

After a long day at school, you drive over to Dean’s apartment. You’d agreed to meet there and wait for him to get off his shift at Firehouse 83, where he just started as a full-fledged firefighter on probation. When he gets home, he’s supposed to go with you to an important appointment with your OB-GYN.

You were hoping he’d already be done with work by the time you got to his place, but Lisa's there to open the door for you. Apparently, he’d already given her a key.

Moving kind of fast, but okay, you think. A second later, you could’ve rolled your eyes at yourself. Pot, kettle, me. Got it.

Lisa greets you with a “polite” smile at best, but she does offer you water at least. You really can’t blame her for not liking you though. She found out her boyfriend got another woman pregnant right before he started dating her. Really, she has more balls than you for staying with him. You wouldn't put it past Dean to somehow have smooth-talked her into giving him a chance.

Or she really loves him. The thought sobers you as you lower yourself down to the couch beside her. Both of you sit there in silence for a moment, trying to figure out something to talk about.

“So, you’re what, six months pregnant?” she asks.

You correct her in thinly veiled annoyance. “Three months, actually.”

“Oh, wow. I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t know why I thought it was six.”

You have a feeling her awkward chuckle is fake, however. She knew good and damn well that you’re not six months pregnant. In her eyes, you must be the size of a parade float.

“If you want, I can recommend a holistic diet to help you get your body back after the baby’s born,” Lisa offers. “No pills, no chemicals. Just good clean weight loss.”

You feign interest. Honestly, you’d like her to cram that offer right up her hooch.

“I can even give you a discount if you want to try out yoga,” she says. “It’s low impact, but you burn plenty of calories. I have a beginner’s class, not too strenuous. Even my least flexible clients manage to do the poses.”

Is that why Dean likes you? Because you’re bendy? Bet if I sat on you, you’d pop like a fucking balloon.

You hide all of these thoughts behind a “polite” smile of your own.

“That’s really nice of you, thanks,” you reply. It’s non-committal enough, but hopefully it’ll get her off your back.

No such luck.

“You know, maintaining a healthy diet is really important for the baby’s health too,” Lisa adds. “It’s not just about avoided raw fish and dairy products. Oh, and processed food is obviously a no-go. Like, I’m sure you haven’t been hitting Taco Bell and all that stuff, right?”

As a matter of fact, you’ve been eating clean since long before you got pregnant. Not that it’s any business of hers whether you enjoy the occasional quesadilla or not.

Your temper snaps at its leash. You open your mouth to reply, when the front door unlocks and opens to Dean, stepping in through the threshold.

Thank God, you and Lisa both think. She gets up quicker from the couch than you, greeting her boyfriend with a kiss. You avert your gaze while you begin to get up yourself.

Dean reaches out to help you, grasping your arm in support. You shoot him a smile.

“I can still get up by myself,” you snip.

“Yeah, all right. Just in case,” he says with a smile. “Ready to go?”

“Oh, yeah. Let’s rock and roll,” you say, trying to hide your worsening mood. You’re exhausted, and irritated, and probably more than a little hangry. Except now, the idea of food just has you feeling guilty for even being hungry.

“Bye, hun. Hope you have a good appointment,” Lisa says, giving your shoulder a pat. You give her the most genuine smile you can muster as you thank her. It's possibly that she's one of those women who don't realize when they're being cunty, but you find it highly unlikely. She's too smart for that.

You follow Dean out the door and over to his car, big and black and sleek as you remember. You settle into the passenger seat with your arms crossed in silence. Dean switches the cassette to one of his favorite Led Zeppelin albums, though he notices your grumpy face.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

You give him some side-eye, but you’re reluctant to say anything. You just shake your head. As irritated as you are, you don’t want to be the friend who badmouths his girlfriend.

God, are we even friends? You wonder. Or am I just his knocked-up baby momma?

And again, you realize that this whole situation is probably hard for Lisa. You just don’t know if she’s jealous, or if she just…doesn’t like you.

“I’m okay,” you tell Dean.

He raises a skeptical brow. Looks like Sam isn’t the only one with a finely tuned bullshit meter.

“All right, how about this,” Dean says. “Let’s grab some burgers after this, huh? From your favorite spot. Shake Shack, right? Side of fries, frozen yogurt. I think I’ll get chocolate this time… Hmm, I doubt Lisa will want anything. She’s gone on an all-vegan kick or something.”

For one shining moment, you were happy and touched at his consideration. But now your body stills in your seat when you remember Lisa’s words. Tears well up in your eyes with a hot sting, and a sob escapes your throat.

Dean is cut off from thinking about getting extra bacon on his burger. He looks over at you in alarm. “H-Hey, what’s the matter?”

You scoff at him through your tears. “Are you kidding me? I can’t eat burgers anymore, Dean. I was already fucking fat. Now it’s just gonna get ridiculous.”

“What?” Dean’s brows knit together in confusion, along with his deepening frown. It gets worse as he tries to watch the road ahead, while at the same time, watching you continue to crumble.

“And after the birth, I’m just going to be an even fatter slob who can’t take care of her baby,” you sniffle and weep, trying in vain to wipe your eyes and get ahold of yourself.

Dean grits his teeth, his jaw twitching. Fuck it.

He turns the steering wheel sharp enough to startle a gasp out of you.

“Dean!”

He pulls the car over onto the side of the road, ignoring the honking SUV behind him. He shifts into Park and shuts off the radio—a big red flag, in your opinion. He’s upset too, and fucking serious, more so than you’ve ever seen him. You stare back at him with wide eyes.

“I’ve never once heard you say that you’re fat,” he says.

You blink at that, but eventually, you’re able to get your tongue to unstick from the roof of your mouth. You wipe the remnants of tears from your cheeks. Your face is already hot from your upset, now tinged with embarrassment.

“You haven’t known me very long,” you say quietly.

It doesn’t help. Dean’s jaw ticks again.

“Well, I’ve never thought it. Not even once,” he says. His jade green eyes are firmly set on yours, and he gestures between you and him with a pointed finger. “The reason you and I are here right now, is because the minute I saw you, I wanted you.”

One corner of his lips kicks upwards. “And that night, you didn’t disappoint.”

Your mouth falls open slightly. You don’t know how to respond, but you do know that a full blush is warming your face and neck. His words have power, and unbidden, they bloom a similar warmth between your legs. You swallow a bit nervously as you bite your bottom lip.

Dean glances down at your mouth when you do. He can remember what your pretty mouth did for him that night. Oh, he remembers all too well. He even had the shade of your lipstick streaked across his skin until he showered up at the firehouse.

He locks that all away when shifts the car back into Drive. If you’re going to make it to this appointment on time, he needs to get going.

And you both have to leave whatever that was right here by the side of the road.

AN: Woo! 😮‍💨 Yep, this is only Part 1, friends. Lisa is a bit different in this. My take was that without Ben in her life, she might be less mature and a bit more catty. As we get into Part 2 I'll leave it up to you to decide why she decides to stay with Dean, and perhaps more importantly, where the reader and Dean can go from here as co-parents. 🤔

If you enjoyed Part 1, please let me know!~

Next Time in Part 2:

“Hey, you okay?” you say, resting a gentle hand on his arm.

Dean shakes his head. “Look, I…I’m sorry for tossing a giant friggin’ monkey wrench into your life. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

If possible, your heart softens even more. You slide your hand down to grasp his.

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

Dean stares back at you incredulously. He can’t believe you could really say that to him. He doesn’t know what to say. He only knows what’s in his mind, and what he feels compelled to do in that moment.

He leans over and kisses you. It’s a firm meeting of his lips to yours, and achingly familiar.

⋆˙⟡ Read Part 2 on Patreon now!

⋆˙⟡ Coming to Tumblr/Ao3 on 3/23

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melwsnt · 23 hours ago

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RAINY CONFESSIONS, DEAN WINCHESTER

summary. being in love with Dean Winchester is basically like torture.

please lmk if you’d like a part two :)

word count. 1,7k

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Dean’s words echo in your mind. They feel so far away, yet he’s right in front of you.

Hypothetically, you should tell him, right? It’s Dean. He’ll probably laugh a little bit, maybe humiliate you without knowing he is, and realize what you’re saying is not a joke.

You replayed the moment in your mind, over and over again, for months, really. Probably even since the very first moment your eyes met.

He was mean, he was cold, you thought he was an asshole and he hated you at first, but you couldn’t help being drawn to that, because it’s Dean Winchester, you’d be a fool not to.

Dean’s presence always made you feel at peace. You’re not exactly sure why- the man doesn’t scream ‘I’m safe and I’m nice’.

But perhaps, that’s why you feel the way you do. You do- feel safe with him around. You know whatever happens to you, it’ll be fine because he’ll be there to protect you, and god forbids someone crosses you or hurts you.

He gets soft with you. Sam’s never seen him act like that- not even he is allowed to put you in your place from time to time, tell you when you’re wrong- or when he doesn’t agree with something you did or say. Dean will always be there to tell him to shut the hell up.

It made you laugh at first, then Sam dared to say something about how weird it was. About how Dean had never cared about someone that much, he’d never been this protective.

It made you think. And you quickly realized that maybe, the thought of him treating you this way, making you feel all sorts of emotions, perhaps meant that you had feelings for the man.

You didn’t like it one bit- at the beginning. It felt foreign, it felt embarrassing, and humiliating, knowing that a man like Dean wouldn’t go for someone like you. He wouldn’t for anyone really- at all. Except maybe one night stands.

Dean didn’t do relationships. He didn’t do attachement, and you certainly didn’t think he did loving.

He was coming from a broken home, a messed up family, everyone around him had pretty much died once or twice, maybe more. He didn’t know how to give his heart to someone, because he was scared of it being broken time and time again.

You knew that. It was obvious. He was just like you. Except you did the loving- the attachement. And if it came to Dean, you would definitely do the relationship.

Dean was confused. He stood in front of you, asking a bunch of questions on a case, and you just- looked like a ghost. You were here but you weren’t.

It felt like ages before you actually looked up, and realized he was addressing you.

‘Wow, you okay there?’ Dean’s stance was the same as always. His hands sat perfectly on his hips.

‘I’m here. Sorry, just thinking.’

‘Yeah? Wanna share with the class?’ He smirked.

You let out a laugh, although Dean could tell it was a fake one. You weren’t laughing because it was funny, but because you were uncomfortable, it was ridiculous.

‘Not really, no.’

Dean took a chair from around the table and sat in front of you.

‘C’mon. You look miserable, you haven’t said a word in like an hour, what the hell’s going on?’

That was his way of being protective over you. He wouldn’t say it, but this bothered him.

You sighed, your hands in your lap, sitting on the bed and Dean still staring at you. His eyes burned holes on you. He examined you closely, and you felt your entire body grow hot.

‘I’m fine,seriously. Just tired, I guess.’

‘You’re a horrible liar. If you were really fine, you’d look up when talking to me.’

And yet you still didn’t dare to look up. He was pushing you, and you feared you were about to break.

Dean, seeing you not answering, pushed his chair closer, if he had to stay here and stare at you until you broke and told him what’s wrong, he would.

‘Okay, enough with the self loathing. Why are you acting like this?’ It was his turn to sigh.

‘Because! My god Dean, how oblivious are you? Seriously! It’s getting on my nerves. You stand there, and it’s like you see me but you don’t! Sure you laugh at my jokes, you look at me, but you don’t- you don’t see me!’

Not sure where that came from, and now on your feet, you made your way to the motel door.

Dean, still confused, jumped on his feet too.

‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’ He yelled after you, still trying to understand what was happening.

‘Going on a walk!’ You yelled back, threw the door open and slammed it.

The irony of it all though, it was raining. Pouring, really. Like in those cheesy romcoms Dean pretends to hate but secretly has a fun time watching with you.

The rain wasn’t a problem, the problem was you realizing that the door had opened again, and Dean was going after you.

‘Will you stop?’ His voice almost sounded like a whisper in the rain.

‘Go away!’ You weren’t even sure he’d heard that, because the next thing you knew, his hand was grabbing you by the elbow.

Soaked by the rain, you finally looked up.

‘Did you mean that? Do you really think I don’t see you?’

‘Do you? Do you even know how long I’ve spent building up the courage to tell you how I felt? And every time I got even the tiniest bit close to it, I felt like a joke. You- made me feel like a joke. And it’s stupid because I can’t even be mad at you for it!’

Dean went to interrupt, but you didn’t let him.

‘No, let me finish, please. I wanted to run and hide, so many times, but I didn’t because a life without you- even the thought of it makes my heart stop. It’s like I can’t breath whenever we go on a hunt together, I’m always so scared something will happen to you. Dean, you’re just- you’re you! And I can’t possibly understand how you could even think that way about me, but if you do, I need to know. I need to know if I’m embarrassing myself, or if all those sleepless nights were worth it. Dean, please I just.. I have to know.’

Dean was speechless. He had so much to say yet nothing would come out.

You felt like an idiot. His mouth was opened as if he was about to talk, but he threw his arms in the air, as to say he didn’t know what to respond.

‘Right. Good to know.’ You laughed without meaning, your hand wiping the water on your forehead.

You turned your back to him and walked away without really knowing where to go.

‘I don’t know how to do this!’

His voice echoed, this time stronger than yours.

You turned around, wanting to hear him out, desperately waiting for an answer. Your arms crossed over your chest.

‘I don’t- I’m not good at this, okay? It’s not something I do. I know, alright? Sam brings it up all the time. How you and I are great together, how much you care about me and me about you. But c’mon, seriously? Why on earth would you go for me? You know I don’t do this. You know i’m not good for any of this. Believe me, you’d have more chance with anyone else.’ You’d gotten close to him in the short time he spoke.

‘You actually think that way of yourself? Dating is not like breathing Dean, it’s not something you know how to do. It’s something you learn, overtime. Do you think i’m good at this? I mean I spent months stressing over every little interaction because I was scared to blur it out. I’m in love with you dean, and i’m tired of apologizing and hiding from it. You don’t have to answer now, you don’t even have to do this with me. But God please stop thinking you’re screwed up in every single department, because you’re not.’

After rambling for what felt like hours, Dean held a small smile on his face. It wasn’t a smirk like he did so well- it was an actual smile.

‘Can you repeat that?’

‘Repeat what? That was a long speech Dean i’m not doing that again.’ You shook your head.

‘Not the whole thing, that crazy thing you said.’ He walked even closer to you, making your heart quicken.

‘The I love you part? Yeah I love you! And i’m not sorry! You’ll have to get used to it, because if I have to tell you that again and again I will-‘

Dean’s lips interrupted you. They were hot on yours, fiery and passionate, and full of love that was yet unspoken on his part. They fit like perfect pieces of a puzzle assembling together. It felt like months of tension, and anger built up being broken apart, like shards of glass.

‘Does that answer your really really long speech?’ His forehead was on yours, lips still hot from the lingering kiss.

‘Hmm. I can live with that for now, if there’s more where that came from.’ You smiled, your hands on each side of his face.

‘Plenty. There’s plenty of it.’ He kissed you again, this time slower, less needy, as to tell you it’ll all be okay.

You could live like that until he’s eventually ready to say the three little words. You knew he felt the same, but you didn’t have to hear it yet, as long as he was by your side, kissed you some more, and took his time to be really sure that’s what he wanted, you’d be okay with it, because it’s Dean Winchester, and not only would you do anything for him, but you’d wait for an eternity to hear him say it back.

#imagine #fanfic #the100 #supernatural #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #sam winchester

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michanvalentine · 2 days ago

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I don’t remember where, but I think it was right here on Tumblr that I read about a sort of challenge a while ago—to say why we like Spawn Astarion.

Well, since I think it’s a really nice thing to do…

Here are all the reasons why I love Spawn Astarion.

He’s an elf. I’ve always had a weakness for those elegant, slender, and ethereal creatures (no, not you, Halsin, lol). High elves, wood elves, wild elves, drow—love them all. And Astarion is a high elf with the most wonderful stuck-up attitude. I adore him.

He’s a beautiful man. Or at least, I think he is. I love his physicality. Sure, he’s got a great body, but what I especially adore is his angular face. Sharp ears, cheekbones, nose, jawline, chin. I love the elongated and captivating shape of his eyes, and those curls on his head. His hair is gorgeous, and even if he hates poetry (well, after having one carved into his back by Cazador, it’s understandable), I find it absolutely beautiful how his curls wrap around his ears! And also at the nape of his neck and on his forehead! xD

The way he moves and speaks. Of course, this is also thanks to the brilliant performance of Neil Newbon—props to him! I could watch Astarion for hours, talking about this or that, gesturing with those elegant hands and tilting his head from side to side. And when he puts his hands on his hips? Aww. And how can we not mention the expressiveness of his face, shifting incredibly between moments of vulnerability and defensiveness, especially in Act 1. In any case, he’s hugely entertaining, as well as just visually stunning to look at—he truly belongs on a stage, as Shadowheart would say (though maybe not the one with the noose, please!). And those abandoned puppy eyes? End of the world. I can’t resist him.

His sarcasm and dark humor. Lol. He kills me. Sometimes he’s inappropriate, idiotic, or downright an asshole—but apparently, I’m a terrible person because I laugh anyway. He’s such a fun companion, and he never fails to entertain me during the game, especially in his banter with the other party members, which is often hilarious.

His disapproval. Oh yes. I still remember my first playthrough— the more he disapproved, the more I wanted to understand why. And I felt personally attacked, thinking: “Look at this bastard, nothing ever pleases him.” But it added just the right amount of spice to my adventure and my relationship with him. It pushed me to ask questions, to want to engage with him, to understand his reasons and have him understand mine. Like a real person you disagree with. That dynamic always fascinated me—our differences.

Our arguments. I loved arguing with him, even when we saw things differently. I enjoyed playing along when we joked about how we’d prefer to die or which of our companions to feed on. It was fun. And it was even more engaging when things got serious—when we talked about Cazador and how cruel he was, or Astarion’s hunger for power, about bending others to his will, the heroes who never saved him, his willingness to deceive and doom his siblings… I loved every word, every clash, every sharp line, every time he made me grit my teeth. And I especially loved how it made me feel—the patience, the attention, the caution with which I picked every single reply, never backing down just to please him, contradicting him whenever I felt it necessary. And at the same time, the fear of losing him for good if I made the wrong move—because I had sensed how fragile he really was.

The surprise! Yes, when he proposed spending the night together despite all the times we had been on opposite sides. I didn’t expect it, and it made me curious. And sure, at that point in the story there’s a personal motive for Astarion—but we know that the offer only comes if he trusts Tav/Durge enough.

The contrast between the monster and the elf. I think this is one of the most beautiful aspects—his duality. The unbearable dichotomy he’s trapped in. Astarion suffers from being seen and treated as a monster. On one side, he leans into his vampiric nature—his thirst for blood and power (the latter driven by fear as well). But on the other, there’s this deep desire for redemption, for connection, to be understood and accepted, for real intimacy, to belong, to have a place in the world. And all those internal battles make him incredibly dear to me.

He’s morally complex. His view of the world—and the people in it—is very dark, especially early on. Personally, I’m not a fan of the spotless hero type—I usually find them flat and boring, especially when they’re not well written. The Gary Stu kind is just unbearable. Thankfully, that’s not the case with Larian’s characters—the writing is top-notch. But when you combine a well-written character with moral grayness, that’s my perfect character. Again, I love the contrast between good and evil, right and wrong. And Astarion is always walking that razor’s edge, constantly pulled between those two forces that often leave him conflicted. And to be honest, I also believe sometimes the ends do justify the means. Within limits, of course. xD

His backstory. I love characters with tragic, tormented pasts—especially when they manage to reach some form of a happy ending. And even more when they’re written as well as Astarion, with such deep themes and psychological complexity that make him feel incredibly real.

Projection. I won’t go into details, but I’ve been to dark places too, and I’ve had even darker thoughts. I’ve hurt people as well—even if I didn’t know or wasn’t able to do better at the time. I just didn’t have the tools. The positive note is that, like Astarion in the Spawn ending, I’ve managed to accept a whole series of unpleasant events, emotions, and feelings—and learned to live with them. Whether I like it or not, they’re mine, they make me who I am, and I keep them with me. And now I’m in a much better place—safe, loved, and seen for who I am, flaws, strengths, and all. And I love being able to offer my pixelated vampire boyfriend that same opportunity.

The breakdown after Cazador’s death. My God, that scene. That release. The moment where Astarion stabs and screams is already powerfully raw—you feel the rage, the tension, the bottled-up hatred. But then—he collapses to the ground and cries. Fuck. That moment is everything. A whirlwind of emotions so deep and intense I could almost feel them as my own. A cathartic release of everything he had held in for too long—pain, sorrow, grief, relief, hope. God, how I love that moment. And I wish I could hug him, wrap him up, comfort him—but it wouldn’t be right. Because that moment is his. He earned it. And he needs it. Anyone who has suffered that much deserves a moment like that—when it all comes out and slips away, leaving emptiness in its place, as terrifying as that may be.

“This is a gift. Thank you. I won’t forget it.” What can I say? This is a conversation that begins in Act 1, with the first act of trust Tav/Durge offers Astarion, and concludes at the end of his quest—in the good ending. Tav/Durge never saw him as a monster. They always trusted him. They knew he still had so much to give—he could be different. Better than Cazador. And the way I played it, constantly clashing with Astarion from the start over our differing worldviews—hearing those words wasn’t just satisfying. It was everything. Because just as I wanted to know him, understand him, and he became a part of me—he also knew me, understood me, and I became a part of him. And we met in the middle. That, fuck, is the perfect simulation of a healthy relationship between two people. And it’s beautiful. Just thinking about it makes my heart race.

“I feel safe with you. Seen.” It’s pretty self-explanatory, but I’ll say just a couple of things. These are powerful concepts. Especially when we’re talking about someone who has been through everything, and finally finds someone who makes him feel safe. Someone who won’t hurt him. That’s huge. And the concept of being seen? I think that’s the most fundamental desire every person on this planet has. And Astarion waited 200 years to feel that. It’s moving. And so deeply fulfilling to hear.

Spawn Astarion’s kisses. The sweetness. That soft side of him that comes out. The way he looks at Tav/Durge as he leans in—his face relaxed, his eyes shining, that smile on his lips. Love, in its most tender form.

Unique dialogues from Spawn Astarion. I’m referring in particular to the confrontation with the Gur after Cazador’s death, and to the moment when Durge wants to leave him out of fear of causing him harm. I find the way he handles these situations absolutely beautiful—it perfectly shows how much he’s grown, and how willing he is to open up to others, to consider their feelings. Even those he once saw as old, despised “enemies,” to whom he spares the pain of watching their children turned into ravenous vampire spawn. That line always moves me—I think it hits incredibly hard, especially given the context and his history with the Gur tribe. And then, of course, there’s the confrontation with Tav/Durge after the betrayal involving Mizora, which again shows how much he’s grown—even in terms of self-perception, understanding his limits, and asserting his right to say no. And what he says at the top of the Netherbrain, when Durge tries to claim it for Bhaal, perfectly reflects how his priorities have shifted since breaking free from Cazador’s mindset.

Self-acceptance. It's such an important, healthy concept. Astarion is perfect just the way he is. He has nothing to fear in that regard—he can simply exist and express himself. He doesn't need more power; vulnerability is okay, being fallible is okay, being full of flaws is okay. Being afraid is okay. You're still worthy of love. And the world isn't this terrible place where you have to crush others to survive—you can find your place among others, with others, and live with others. And it's beautiful to see how Spawn Astarion begins to internalize these ideas.

Facing his fears instead of indulging them. I’ve done the opposite for so long that I can honestly say—it’s usually a terrible idea. Because most of the time it means running away and giving something up. But Spawn Astarion doesn’t do that—he fights. He chooses the hard, uphill path of self-discovery and acceptance. With all the consequences that come with it—no matter how painful, like losing the sun or dealing with the gnawing hunger. It’s an act of immense strength and courage.

He takes responsibility and makes amends. That’s called redemption. And yes, he couldn’t refuse to obey Cazador’s orders—he had no choice—but when the ritual is within reach, the choice is entirely his. The lives of his former targets and his brothers and sisters are in his hands—an enormous burden on his shoulders. And in the moment he gives it up, he rights a wrong both suffered and inflicted. He saves himself and all the other vampire spawn, freeing them from Cazador’s influence and from the path the vampire lord had laid out for them.

He becomes an antihero. Yes, Astarion is better than Cazador. He’s become kinder, more open toward others, more willing to help, and more optimistic about life. But he hasn’t become a saint—he’s still a bloodsucker, and deep down he’s still the lovable rogue I fell in love with, always ready to say something inappropriate, foolish, or even cruel. And to take advantage of situations when he can. I adore him! But he’s still a charming scoundrel with a whole world of possibilities to explore, and plenty of room to grow—both in his relationships with others and in the one he has with himself.

There’s probably more, but I think I’ve written plenty already—and I’ve got a real life and a family breathing down my neck, lol. Let’s just say these are the main reasons why I love Spawn Astarion, why my relationship with him has become so precious to me, and why it’s so damn hard to romance any other companion in camp when that damned vampire is around. Lol.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 astarion #astarion bg3 #baldur's gate astarion #spawn astarion

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marauder-misprint · 3 days ago

Note

Hello, I sent you a request today, but I noticed that my internet was a little problematic, so I don’t know if it reached our request, if I sent it a second time, please don’t take me into account.

Main subject Sirius x Slytherin!Femreader exes, the reader is with one of the Slytherin boy to make Sirius jealous.

Preferably Barty Jr or Evan, Please don’t be Regulus because it’s not me to be with your ex-girlfriend’s brother.

And I know fandom Evanı writes as gay but we don’t know much about it, so why not

Hi! Thank you for the request! ❤︎ I hope you don't mind I went with Barty. Not sure how well I wrote the jealousy part, but hopefully it's good enough :) Also, I know Barty is way too chill at the end of this but it's whatever.

'Break up with Crouch'

Sirius Black x Slytherin!reader

2k words

cw: angst, drinking, jealousy

Pissing Sirius off wasn’t your goal. No. You were a decent enough person. You were trying to move on from him. It was clear that he was moving on from you as he graciously accepted the attention of a different girl every day. But still, even if it wasn’t your goal, something bloomed in your chest as you felt his hardened glare from across the Great Hall.

You were comfortably tucked under Barty’s arm and leaning into his side. You shifted to be able to lean more into Barty.

“Alright, love?” he purred, looking down at you.

“Brilliant.”

Being with Barty so far had been good. You weren’t exactly in the same circle before. Barty had approached you after hearing that you and Sirius broke up – it had been quite the news of the week. Frankly, your entire relationship with Sirius had been a source of gossip for your classmates. Sirius with his entire anti-Slytherin agenda and you with your Slytherin princess behavior shouldn’t have worked. It did briefly, but then you fell apart. It had been a fairly vocal disagreement.

Barty didn’t approach you right away. He gave you a few days to “get over it” and then he started strategically placing himself near you. It didn’t take you long to notice him. He was loud and very in-your-face in a way that made you laugh. Then it was a casual arm draped over your shoulder and sitting next to you during meals. And then when you ended up sitting alone with him in the common room, it wasn’t awkward. It was actually pleasant. One thing led to another and you planned a Hogsmeade trip, – it went really well.

“You got Charms, right?” Barty asked, standing up.

“Yeah. Flitwick will actually murder me if I’m late again,” you told him, his arm quickly wrapping around your waist as you excited the Great Hall.

“Hmm, don’t think he’s the killing type.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Fine, detention for a week. Or fifty points. He won’t be happy.”

“Oh no, not fifty points,” he drawled sarcastically despite walking with you in the direction of your class.

“Please, the bigger issue would be detention. I’d rather not waste my time polishing trophies.”

Barty gave your side a squeeze. “Especially when you can be wasting it with me.”

“Finally, he sees what I’m getting at,” you said with a smile.

Barty walked with you, an arm around you the entire time, all the way to your desk. This had become commonplace since you started dating. Barty didn’t seem to care if he was late to his own classes if it meant spending more time with you. Somehow he didn’t get detention for being late and you weren’t sure how many points he had lost for Slytherin.

When Charms ended, it didn’t take Barty long to find you on your way to your next lesson. To say that he was a bit obsessed with you would be an understatement. Once again, he was at your side until you sat down at your desk and Professor McGonagall shooed him out.

“I will see you next period, Mr. Crouch,” she said firmly. “Please do try to not be late.”

“Right-o, Professor,” he replied with a salute.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head before leaving. You were certain that he would be late for History of Magic, but you knew that Binns didn’t actually care if any attended his lectures. He just taught.

Throughout all of Transfiguration, you could feel Sirius’ eyes on you again. Whenever you glanced his direction, it was confirmed. He frowned deeper every time you made eye contact with him. If it was so upsetting to see you, why was he looking at you? You hated how distracting it was, knowing that Sirius was watching you.

When McGonagall dismissed class, you packed up your notes and left the classroom with Pandora at your side. She was at your side about as much as Barty was, except her reasoning was more understandable being that you had almost identical schedules. It was good that she got along with Barty or your days would be very tense.

You and Pandora got about halfway to the greenhouses when you were interrupted. You expected the hand on your shoulder to be Barty's. But then you heard the voice.

“Darling, a word.”

Sirius.

You rolled your eyes but stopped. You crossed your arms tightly over your chest as you turned toward Sirius.

“What do you want, Black?”

“D’you want me to wait?” Pandora asked, hesitating at the stairs.

“No, go ahead. Cover for me if I’m late?”

“Sure thing,” she said before disappearing.

You turned your attention back to Sirius. “I’ll ask again. What do you want?”

“What’s going on with you?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

“Nothing? And even if something was going on, certainly wouldn’t be any of your business.”

“Nothing,” he echoed. “Being escorted by Crouch everywhere you go? That’s not you.”

“Hanging out with my boyfriend isn’t me? You sure? Seems like you don’t know me all that well then.”

Sirius shook his head.

“I know you pretty damn well, sweetheart. I know you well enough to know that he isn’t your type.”

You scoffed. “Isn’t my type? What, because he isn’t you?” You shook your head. “I don’t have a type, Black.”

“Whatever you say, princess, but be real. He’s not the guy for you.”

“Why do you even care? I thought you didn’t care for people like me, like Junior.”

Sirius stuttered over his next words, unable to form a coherent thought.

“I… Listen… uh… You… I… fuck…”

You gave him an amused look.

“You made it very clear that I’m no longer your problem. No longer your concern. So act like it, yeah?”

You turned away from him and continued your original path to the greenhouses. You were definitely late for Herbology. You knew you’d be coming face-to-face with either a disgruntled Professor Sprout or an annoyed Pandora with how long she had to cover for you.

---

By the end of the week, you were ready to unwind. You heard about some Hufflepuffs throwing a party somewhere on the seventh floor and you wanted to check it out. Naturally, Barty tagged along. He swung your intertwined hands as you walked down a few corridors.

“Sure would be nice if those badgers gave a better description of where they were throwing the party, hmm…” Barty mused as you turned another corner.

“If we’d been personally invited, I’m sure they would’ve,” you replied. “Oh, check that door!”

A door you didn’t quite recognize was up ahead. Barty hummed enthusiastically and pulled you forward. As soon as he opened the door, you were hit with a wave of sound. Someone was quite good at silencing charms. Very, very good.

“I think we’ve found our party,” Barty said with a crooked smile.

Once inside, it didn’t take long for the two of you to get drinks in your hands and to move onto the dance floor. As for any party, no one was questioning your presence without a personal invite. Personally, you thought parties were where you belonged. Outside of Hogwarts, the parties you attended were far more tame, which you weren’t as much as a fan of, but you made do.

You loved being able to feel the vibrations from the music in your bones. If you couldn’t, you would argue that it wasn’t loud enough. You wanted to feel all of it. This party had the music loud enough and moving your body to the beat was easy enough, especially with Barty standing behind you. His hands were planted firmly on your waist, keeping your body pressed against his.

Between the feeling of the bassline and Barty, for once you didn’t feel the gaze of Sirius, despite it being there. You hadn’t spotted him when the two of you entered the room. He had though. Your presence with Barty, with how you were dancing with him, was distracting for him. Sirius couldn’t focus on the pretty Hufflepuff in front of him anymore, not when he couldn’t take his eyes off you and all he could think about were the few times that you’d danced like that with him. He was practically fuming with his grip on his drink tightening.

After another song, Sirius slammed the rest of his drink and moved the poor Hufflepuff out his way. He waited off to the side of the dance floor until you asked Barty to get you another drink. Barty nipped at your ear before leaving your side for the first time of the night. But as soon as he was gone, Sirius slipped in. His hands immediately replaced where Barty’s had been. You spun around and glared at him.

“You are not my boyfriend,” you snapped quickly.

“I was,” he replied, his voice lower than usual.

You rolled your eyes but let Sirius move your hips to the music.

“Junior will kill you if you keep your hands on me.”

“I can handle him. But what about you? Will you be killing me?”

You barked a laugh. “You know I’m able to.”

“I do,” he said, leaning in to say it into your ear. “Which is why I’m wondering why you’re wasting your time with Crouch. He’s below you.”

You took a step back, but Sirius just followed you, taking a step forward.

“He cares about me, something you weren’t able to do.”

“Never said I didn’t care about you.”

You leaned forward. “But I’m a Slytherin.”

“My favorite Slytherin.”

You rolled your eyes again and made to move away from Sirius. Sirius, however, was determined to stay near you. Every step you took away from him, he took another closer to you.

“Break up with him.”

“What?” you hissed.

“Break up with Crouch.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because… because I care for you more than he does.”

You crossed your arms. Sirius stood a stride away from you, looking at you just as softly as he did before you broke up.

“You have no way to prove it,” you said firmly, trying to ignore the feeling in your stomach.

“I will. I will make it up to you.” He took a half step toward you. “If you don’t feel anything for me, stay with him. But if you feel anything for me, anything… Break up with him and give us another chance.”

You frowned and closed your eyes. You did still feel positive emotions for him. You hated that you did and you hated that you were considering what he was asking. You hated that he knew you were considering it.

And then Barty showed up with your drink in hand.

“Oi, this tosser bugging you, love?” Barty asked, eyeing Sirius cautiously.

“Sadly, he isn’t,” you said. “I think it’s over between us.”

“Shit…” Barty said, frowning. “Him?”

You couldn’t look at Barty as you nodded. He put a hand on your shoulder.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. I’m smart enough to know when a rebound is a rebound.”

You gaped as Barty handed you the drink he had just grabbed for you and then disappeared into the dancing crowd.

“So, now that he’s out of the picture…” Sirius said, returning his hands to your hips.

“You have to earn my forgiveness. And that you can love a Slytherin.”

Sirius now had you pressed against his body. “Oh, I can prove that.”

For some reason that you couldn’t pinpoint, you believed him. You believed that he would not only make it up to you, that he would do all he could to get back on your good side and stay there. Maybe it was the fact that you said love and he said he could prove it. He didn’t balk at the word like you thought he would. At least for the time being, you knew that Sirius would be more devoted to you than Barty was and with your history, Sirius would be around for a long time. He knew you and he knew that if he blew this chance with you, your revenge would have him at least in the hospital wings for weeks, if not worse.

Tags: @navs-bhat, @bruxa0007

#marauders #marauders fic #marauder-misprint #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #request #slytherin!reader #sirius black angst

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vividly-vermillion · 4 hours ago

Text

Okay so you had me at plague doctor already because please don't judge me but they're so hot for NO reason at all. Add monster to it and my legs spread faster than I can even hit the reblog button.

Knowing this is from you Cort, I'm going into this with high expectations that I'll know you'll meet and surpass because no matter what you write it's just UGH YES TICKLE MY BRAIN!!!!

I hope you know that a shiver ran down my spine at the intro of this masterpiece and I shivered.

The entire ambient is just so good I have no words for it. But I don't want to stop reading. You set the scene so beautifully and paint a picture for my inner eye, making me a part of the story as if I'm witnessing this live and in color.

Oh lord. the description of the monster... whERE DID MY PANTIES GO???

The pain of loss - the willingness to do everything, to not run away from this it breaks my heart. Mr husband can be a very lucky man to be loved so deeply and sincerely.

THEY WERE BURNED ALIVE OH MY- i literally scrunched up in myself at the image. The downside of the way you paint pictures- the unpleasant ones also appear (which by no means is a bad thing but agsjsbsuidnw I wanna sob)

How does one even measure a soul? Is there ever enough money that would equal the love you have felt for one another? An eye for an eye? Do you need to give yourself away in order to get them back? It's such a cruel question but you portrayed it so beautifully

Great Death was terrible up close, freezing to the touch. Pale. Dead. Not of this realm. The air around him was dense, stagnant, like it had a breath to hold. It simply did not move in his presence. The feeling of his fingers wrapping yours then, pinning them to the countertop, suffusing you with his cold and his darkness made your neck hairs stand upright.

I loved this part so much for no reason at all I think. I just love great death it seems. The way he is so... otherworldly, scaring me down to my bones but also so soothing???

You bled on his cock that night as he savagely fucked you into the table. His nothingness had been moved away, parted in halves to reveal gray and blackened purple hardness. An emaciated belly of similar tones was eye-catching and harsh and familiar, but a view which became unimportant as he impaled you, yanked your head back by hair closest to your scalp, and forced your gaze to the ceiling.

This and the next 4 blocks of text... I can not tell you how they made me feel. There aren't any words for it. It's a strange mix of disgust, sadness, need and strangely enough want? To give yourself to something like great death for love... to get back the love is so... it's a price to pay but a price I'm willing to pay if that means I get my husband back? But it also feels so violating at the same time? Is this even full consent? No one will ever know and I don't care.

He serviced no others in town, but had expressed certain morbid appreciation to you, saying that because of your brazenness, more of the vendors were being skittishly approached by those deluged in grief and delusion....

He is so cruel and absolutely vile but he also seems so.... needy? He is craving this? You scratch an itch that he isn't able to reach and that somehow makes me feel appreciated help i need to tell my therapist about this ☠️

“Perhaps I see a little of what your husband saw in you. No. No, I see deeper than he ever could. I see through you into your core. I see your soul. Oh, how hideous it is.”

Now, sir, with all respect... no need to get mean okay 😭 but the way he yearns, mocks and just takes and takes why am I falling in love with him help

Now Cort... I AM SHAKING YOU BY THE SHOULDERS (gently) WHAT IS THIS ENDING I CRIED LIKE A BABY!! Fuck I did not expect this at all 😭 I feared that at the question above - whats the worth of a soul - that this would happen, that he wanted a soul in exchange but hell I did not expect he would just murder us like this :(( my silly pink glasses dropped because I was falling in love over here like the village fool I fear. The way he saw everything. The beauty, the ugly, he saw our most intimate - our soul.... but noooooooooooo

I dislike great death and hope he shatters the soul jar and eats bricks >:((

Anyways, personal feelings for the monster put aside - this was a truly beautiful piece and as said in the beginning I did not expect to be disappointed. I fear that I will come back to this a few more times because it will haunt my mind in the most beautiful way.

PESTIS

plague doctor monster x reader | 18+ | 3.7k

after the doctors in your town burn the bodies of plague victims, a mysterious cortège of black wagons begins visiting once a month. the one who leads them, great death, asks you what your deceased husband's soul is worth to you, and the result of it begins a convoluted spiral.

story warnings; dead dove do not eat, sexual content, major dubcon, kinda implied size kink?, size difference, his ejaculate is not sexily described lmao, extreme body horror + grotesque details, graphic depiction of gore (at the end), kinda-sorta cannibalism?, mc is pretty shitty in this, murder, disturbing details all around, bodies are burned, frightening imagery, prose + detail heavy, this is a bit of an exploration of greed + touches on some relevant events if you can figure out the parallels, plays with the idea of humans having actual souls, roughly proofread, don't look too much into inconsistencies lmao just have fun.

muted divider by @/anlian-aishang

a/n; originally, this was supposed to be >1k as part of a personal challenge where ppl could vote on a poll for what genre i'd write a piece for. horror won.

thanks to @shouyuus for shoving this prompt from @/deepwaterwritingprompts in my face. this piece followed the prompt very loosely, but still!!

pls share your thoughts + reblog this! it really means a lot to support writers, guys 💙

All anyone knew was that he was called Great Death, and he led a cortège of black wagons with black lace across the windows into town square for one night, once a month.

The procession’s arrival was announced by clopping hooves from skinless, skeletal steeds and enormous wheels jolting across the cobblestone terrain, of which the very foundation of the town had been built on top of. Even though they moved slowly, precisely, in a single line of synchrony, their sound was one of continuous rolling thunder; the roaring fireplaces where all of the bodies were incinerated.

Your husband had been reduced to human soot in one of them, but you weren't allowed to know which one.

No one was.

The doctors had argued it was to prevent grieving families and grave robbers from clawing through the ash in search of bones, scraps of clothing, or valuables discarded with the bodies of nobles. But, none of that made any difference as there was greed and loss, far too much of it to keep people out of the fireplaces and from digging and stealing and reclaiming.

You hadn't been so driven to search for your husband’s things because you still possessed more wealth than he had been burned with. He had been blistered with black and purple pustules of infection and plague before he died, so you feared that breathing him in (breathing anyone in) would fill your lungs with them (with him) and kill you, too.

But, that did not mean that you did not grieve, because you missed the beauty that he brought to your life. You missed his gentle wit and loving mind, how he always sent you exquisite clothing from wherever in the world he had gotten to now.

My love, this is your color!

- Samuel

Every color was your color, in his eyes. And, every piece he had delivered to you became a part of your collection of things. An opulent display of his devotion and good status to show to your friends, anyone sitting with you for quaint tea and distantly sourced food untouched by the town.

Meeting Great Death had come long after the burning of plague bodies, now hushedly called The Incineration, and months since the cortège had first appeared during each waning crescent.

The wagons had filed into town with their thunder, pulled by dead horses that made the ground shiver under your feet. Many townsfolk, including yourself, had been roused by the commotion and hurriedly made themselves decent to check outside. It became a spectacle of groaning complaints, white nightdresses, and bright orange lantern light floating midair in bloodless fists.

All light was to the wagons, which had formed a tight, silent ring around the poisoned fountain spouting brown plague water, and the disoriented chatter had ebbed into anticipatory shushing.

Then, the townsfolk jumped, as the windows with their blackout lace fell forward as though forced from the other side, landing flat like a countertop. The darkness beyond the windows was as dark and dense as it was infinite, smothering pulsing glows from the lanterns as some fearless men awkwardly inched closer to the wagons.

“O’ woe! Tragedy! Tragedy has befallen your home! It has taken your friends and family. It has crushed your souls and stolen theirs. But, have no fear, for we have come to return what once was yours!” said Great Death from somewhere within the throng of wagons and wet skeleton horses.

“What are they worth to you? The souls of your dearly departed. What are they worth to you? To be reunited with those that you loved so dearly and so terribly lost. Wouldn't you do everything you could to have them back? Pay any price? Come! Come! Come all! Let us speak!”

And then, bone-white beaks and hollow eyes emerged from the darkness within the wagons. Each window filled with these spectre merchants; frightening monstrosities in black cloaks and wide-brimmed hats and long fingers pushed into leather gloves.

One townsfolk had communicated what you, what everyone else had thought seeing them, “What are the doctors doing? Haven't we suffered enough because of them? They've burned everyone we loved, and now they're trying to sell them back to us as souls? This is madness!”

“They are not our doctors! Look! Look!” wailed another; a paranoid man, “those are not masks. Those beaks are bone and skin. They are demons coming for the rest of us! Run! Run for your lives! Seal your doors! Hide!”

You were pulled along with the scattering crowd, the dispersing lantern light and slamming doors, but you did not flee inside as everyone else had. Instead, you were coaxed back towards the wagons by a leathery hand and nodding beak gesturing for you to come close.

The wagon was larger than the rest, as was the creature leaning out of the window. There was fleshiness to his long beak, waxen with green veins that throbbed in the swaying light.

Great Death looked at you with nothing eyes, and nearly bent his head sideways onto his shoulder as if his true stature were cramped inside of the wagon. When he spoke, he did so clearly, even without his beak splitting into halves like separate jaws.

“How joyous! You didn't run away. Your grief must be immeasurable. Please, come even closer to me. Come here. Yes, yes, what a lovely thing you are.” Great Death giggled in delight of your obedience, or your foolishness. “You do not wear rags. You are well groomed. You possess no healthy amount of suspicion, yet I suspect you are still mourning someone. Who might it be? You can tell me. Who? Who?”

You sensed he was mocking you with that jaunty voice of his. He asked you like someone who already knew a secret, but who'd wanted to hear the great revelation straight from the source.

“My husband.” You told him. “He was a wealthy merchant who owned many ships. He sailed for more months out of the year than he was home. He could've found someone else far more beautiful, more handsome than I, but he kept me. He always came home.”

Great Death stayed at his sickly angle with his head as he leaned out the window further, both hands grasping the edge of the window-countertop. “Ah, I see. And I assume that this wonderful, merchant husband of yours succumbed to the plague? Yes. Yes, he burned with the rest, didn't he?”

“He burned with the rest,” you said.

“A hideous shame! You do have my condolences. I must ask, have there been any other cases of plague since The Incineration?” His gloves scuffed as he fluttered his fingers outward, away from you and towards the lightless houses and barricaded doors. “I won't hear an answer from anyone else, as you know.”

You couldn't hold his empty gaze, those sockets of penetrating black and looked over his shoulder, hoping to see inside at something.

Somewhere far, somewhere deep, you noticed a faint glow. Tiny hums of light blinking in and out of existence like fireflies. Little sentient creatures with will and action of their own. But, these were colors: mostly bright white, some were yellow and orange, and a few were searing white-blue.

“No,” you said, at last, remembering the question, “there haven't been any more cases since the burnings. Since—”

“The ships stopped sailing.”

“Yes.” you said.

Great Death then withdrew into the darkness of the wagon with his crooked neck and leathery hands. You considered leaving for your home, padlocking the doors and pushing furniture up against them because it was clear that this creature—all of these creatures—harbored no good intentions.

They were not your doctors who had incinerated hundreds of bodies, claiming it as necessity; saying that there was no other way to protect the rest of the town. At the time, houses quarantining the sick had been forcibly broken into by the doctors and other men in masks and gowns. They offered no apologies, no desire for absolution, no mercy.

The plagued were dragged from their deathbeds, their salt baths, their favorite chairs and out onto the streets with no dignity, in whatever way they'd been found. They were taken to the fireplaces, thrown inside those great, lashing lion flames and died screaming as they became smoke and ash. Outrage only came after as it had all happened so quickly, no one had expected it.

The doctors had said nothing. Offered few sympathies, yet promised that this sacrifice, this purge, had saved the rest of the town. That there would be no more plague.

Sometimes, the fireplaces still wailed, but not how they'd had then.

“What is your husband's soul worth to you?” asked Great Death, now back in his window with his sideways head and hands clasped on the countertop.

He'd been there for a while, it seemed. And you were still standing in front of his wagon, instead of being tucked away behind the safety of locks and walls.

“You—do you have him in there with you?”

“Oh, possibly,” he said, calm and unrevealing. His hands lightly thudded on the window-countertop, rattling the glass that it was made from. “I have a little bit of everyone in here, I suppose you could say. What is your husband's soul worth to you?”

You said nothing because how could you measure the worth of a soul? Did a soul cost as much as your vast wardrobe? Did it cost as much as your house? Was it worth the same one of your legs, or a cluster of pubic hairs cut with a razor?

“Do you think his soul is worth your fortune?” Great Death saw your stricken expression just then and let out a breathy laugh. A satisfied laugh. “Is he worth you giving up your clothes? Your house? Your comfortability? Do you love your husband enough to live in rags for the rest of your life?”

You rushed up to his countertop and grabbed his hands with yours. For once, your heart was beating something awful, foul with hot-cold dread that felt wet under your skin. “I—what else is there? What else would you be willing to take? Anything else?”

He was enjoying this.

“I will consider it a fair exchange. Everything material that you hold precious in exchange for the man you love. Wouldn't you say that sacrificing your wealth would be worth it if it meant reuniting with him?”

“I've earned everything that I have after a lifetime of scraping around the slums. I will not return to that,” you said, low in your throat, borderline vicious. “Anything else?”

He let out a windy sound, perhaps a breath, or hum that meant he knew too much. His thumbs, much larger than your own, caressed the peaks of your knuckles, stroked the backs of your hands and pressed down on your veins while he contemplated.

“Come inside, then. Just around the corner.” Great Death moved his slanted head slightly right, indicating a black door at the rear of the wagon, which had been camouflaged by the inky dark. “I'll open it for you. Come along. Come. Come.”

The interior became familiar to you each month thereafter. But, you would always remember how disoriented you'd been first stepping inside of the commodious space filled with all manner of things vile, fascinating, and mystifying.

Great Death was able to fix his neck when he wasn't hunkered by the window that reached only waist-height on him. He and the rest of the soul vendors were like afterimages of each other, seemingly indistinct, grayer, when you stared at one long enough and then looked to another. Great Death, however, came with a heavier beak that curved more sharply; a carrion face capable of tearing through your viscera.

He was one with the semi-darkness, his shapeless silhouette a seamless mesh with air and shadows, of which the yellow tallow candlelight did not fully reach. When he moved, it was swift, inescapable; he glided rather than walked, and you could only follow his pallid features appearing to float midair.

“Forgive me for the mess, it is so rare that I have guests come inside to visit me. Transactions are better done outside, after all,” explained Great Death, already unfastening, untying, disrobing you, and laying you out on a wooden slab of a table. “My, you are lovely, aren't you? I wonder if what I see is what your husband saw in you as well? Ah, that is unlikely.”

There, you watched the serpentine emptiness coil across the ceiling of the wagon, watched the formations in the wood grain come alive with writhing, yawning faces that never lasted long enough to know if they were speaking to you, because Great Death thrusted too hard, made you cry, bleed more, but you didn't tell him to stop.

This was the price you were willing to pay. So, you laid beneath him motionless, sore, regretting your own stubbornness for just a moment until he let out a shuddering breath of release, rutting you with his cock still twisted with your insides. He flooded your walls with cum that felt wrong, gluey, membranous. It oozed out slowly once he removed himself, the pain of him having been there was worse now that there was nothing left.

“Even I experience lust and crave a human’s touch, their soft flesh. Humans are an indulgence we are rarely afforded. Souls, well, as you can imagine, cannot do much,” said Great Death once cloaked in his darkness again. He redressed you, starting with the sleeves, and helped you off of the table with encouraging pats to your lower back. “I greatly enjoyed myself. Thank you for this exchange.”

“My husband's soul, I want it.” Now, as he ushered you towards the end of the wagon, towards the black door concealed in staticy shadows, you ached in countable pulses. “Give it to me.”

Great Death giggled, pressed his hands down onto your shoulders, and nuzzled his lethal beak against your neck.

“Come back to me next month.”

And, that's how it went on from there on out. Each month during the waning crescent, a persistent bright and sharp sickle in the sky, he led the cortège into town square and allowed you through the threshold into his sacred place. He serviced no others in town, but had expressed certain morbid appreciation to you, saying that because of your brazenness, more of the vendors were being skittishly approached by those deluged in grief and delusion.

“Oh, oh, oh, how joyous, my lovely.” He fucked you on the floor as he spoke, ramming you cruelly, until you whimpered and moaned. You wondered if he was trying to make you scream. “What a boon you've become to us all. They're all so happy. Your people. Mine. The souls. None are so happy as me, though.”

Before he'd penetrated you again, before he'd let you through the door, he met you at his window-countertop and asked, “What is your husband's soul worth to you? Have you considered letting go of your fortune? My lovely, you know that you cannot possibly take it with you once you perish and rot, yes?”

Always frightened by the thought and obstinate, you let him have you in whatever way he pleased. The pain eventually washed over with numbness. At times, his long strokes against your walls felt good, and occasionally you would come on his gray and purple cock. Focusing on how thick he felt inside of you, and the white streaks of lightning crackling behind your eyes.

Without fail, he flooded you and made it stay for a short while as if relishing your prolonged discomfort and disgust that he was still there. It would leak slowly, abnormally, as he redraped himself. Concealed his sallow body with protruding ribs, jagged angles, and dark slits spread throughout.

He was corpselike; he looked like rot. His rot inched out you for days after he was long gone, and then the sickness would set in. Red hot fevers and bone cold shivers kept you bedridden for weeks, tended to by cautious maids unsure what to make of your recurrent episodes.

Nothing showed, but you felt festering beneath your skin. Unexplainable in that you saw no such lesions, no lumps lurking in the layers of your anatomy. But, you soothed and scratched yourself like something was there. The maids were worried that your grief had made you spiral into hysterics, and they considered calling one of the doctors to your bedside.

“I will ruin all of you if you bring one of those—those murderers into my house!”

At these times, you could not be reasoned with. There was too much itch, too much sensation, too much boiling under flesh and bone, too much crawling, too much pain, too much hunger, too much vomiting, too much too much too much too much too much…

“What is your husband's soul worth to you?” Great Death had returned during the waning crescent, said you looked unwell. “Will we continue our exchange as we usually do? I am not opposed, you know that. I am very fond of you, my lovely. Come inside.”

You were fragile and fatigued from fighting illness, so it didn't much matter how hard he fucked you into the floor. Skin slapped and moistened with fluids and sweat, and Great Death’s moans broke the stillness in the air.

“Oh, my lovely, I look forward to coming to this town because I know that you're waiting for me.” He said it dreamily, like in reminiscence of a bleary, beautiful memory. A faded photograph lost between pages of a book of someone once loved. “Perhaps I see a little of what your husband saw in you. No. No, I see deeper than he ever could. I see through you into your core. I see your soul. Oh, how hideous it is.”

His body was revealed to you. The dark slits which covered him twitched and opened wide into tens of dozens of pupiless black eyes, and lipless mouths with needle teeth. Purple-red tongues lashed out of the mouths at you, making you scream and struggle beneath his weight.

“This wasn't part of the exchange! I just want my husband’s soul!” you pleaded, searing with panic through every ounce of your being. “I'll give you it. I'll give you everything. My clothes. My house. My fortune! It's all yours!”

His fucking had slowed, stopped entirely as a bullous, flickering light had drifted out from some hidden places in the depths of the wagon. It was gently orange at its center, emanating a pale aura outward, which pulsed like a heartbeat and buzzed with familiar warmth.

You thought to reach for the doomed little thing destined to be smothered by the dark. All light eventually was.

“He's waited for you all along, my lovely,” said Great Death softly. He followed the floating marvel with his nothing eyes as it circled your joined bodies. Eventually, it came close enough to snatch out of the air and snuff out in his leathery fist. “Yes, such a beautiful soul he was. I no longer want it.”

Your breath snatched in your throat, mouth agape. Shock had invited in a swell of watery cold that made you unable to truly acknowledge what had just happened. That you'd lost your husband for a second time; this time forever.

There was no telling smear of blood or glittering orange residue in his open palm when he showed it to you. It was as if it had been a brilliant trick of extinguishing candlelight without a trace.

“Your soul is most foul, but it will be my prize. My lovely, for as long as I find you beautiful and repulsive, you will live on. Yes. Yes, I'll keep you here with me so that I may always be able to admire you.”

Before you could've launched yet another scream into the immense void of the wagon, he thrust his carrion beak into your chest. He wedged it deep through your muscle and blood, piercing cartilage and bone to reach your heart.

Great Death used his hand to rip out the throbbing, glistening organ from the rest of you. He observed blood filling the cavernous well he'd left inside you, saying nothing as it backed up your throat and spilled profusely from your mouth. Once you died, the bright red that had stained your teeth darkened to exquisite purplish-red.

He tore your heart apart into consumable pieces and fed them to his mouths. The piranha teeth and long, licking tongues chewed eagerly; meanwhile, the eyelids on his body closed knowing that the mouths would soon be sated by the decadent meal.

Thereafter, he waited.

He waited for a long time, because souls were oftentimes more timid than their human husks. There was nothing left to protect them from vendors on the prowl, vendors who had built collections across millennia.

But, eventually, your soul did appear before him in stuttering pink light. He caught you easily, let you rest in his hand while he decided on which jar he owned could possibly be enough to house your beauty.

You would turn sinfully red as you matured, became strong, forgot who you used to be.

All you would know is the Great Death and the inside of his vast wagon littered with strange things. He would be kind to you by letting you out of your jar sometimes, but for now, he'd keep you on the middle shelf where he could best see you.

a/n: I have this habit of killing husbands or doing awful things to them and I am very unapologetic about it.

anyway. this wasn't executed quite as well as I'd hoped. but, I wasn't writing to perfection, it was just a little personal challenge for myself. overall, I'm not unhappy with it.

I'd like to bring great death back again in another piece sometime, if y'all are interested.

this was also the first time where I think I've actually, deadass killed my reader-character and it felt so good lmao. I've implied in several of my stories without making it explicitly so.

anyway!!! I'd still love to hear your feedback and would absolutely adore you if you reblogged!!

#nyssa's faves #.dc #.nsfw #I feared that the tags wouldn't be enough to scream incoherently so you'll get it in the more detailed version #the version where I try to form words but it's just explosion noises and car horns in the end #I am so sorry for all the yapping I was live commenting and screaming lol #please don't feel pressured to read my nonsense wailing 🥹♥️#thank you so much for this ♥️

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happysparklingshadows · 1 day ago

Text

A Certain Hunger (7/?)

Chapter 6 ✿ Chapter 8

Summary: A heartbroken reader is trying to piece her heart back together as best as she can with all the resources she has available. The reader tries to be a good friend as she tries to find meaning in dreams and maybe helps with an abortion. The adult reader is trying to connect with her own ghosts as she tries to get through another brunch.

Pairing: Surviving!Poly! Yellowjackets x reader (slow burn)

Warnings: There is talk of abortion (spoiler: it doesn't happen), another trippy dream sequence, sexual tension, ghost Jackie, heartbroken Reader, Adult Reader lore dropping this chapter, and making Natalie jealous with Lottie is becoming a thing, lol.

Word count: 15.7k

Notes: I hope you guys will forgive me for posting this morning instead of last night. I completely crashed after I got home. This needs another edit, but I hope you enjoy it! Also, please tell me what you think about the outfits at the end of the chapter! We did another Poll to see what will happen after everything with Natalie and this was the outcome!

❀ A03 ❀ wattpad ❀ spotify playlist ❀

‘96

You groan in frustration at the small nut in your hand, which is rotten and has a small hole made from an animal. You throw the chestnut onto the forest floor with a sigh. “It’ll just make us more constipated,” you think as you focus on whatever small nuts could still be on the ground. You didn’t have much hope to forage like everyone else, as things have been getting harder lately. No luck with the hunter, and the fishing season was leaving as September started. You sigh again as you roll your eyes.

“Seriously? How the fuck are there no berry.” Mari grumbles as she stands up from a bush. She pulls her leg up and kicks the branches.

“The birds could be picking them off? Or-or mice?” Akilah tries to reason as she rests her hand to cover her eyes. Everyone was feeling the frustration of hunger.

You sigh softly and say, “We’re not the only animals out here looking for food.”

“I’d eat the crap out of a mouse right now,” Van confesses as she sits on a rock for rest.

“Ew.” “Gross.”

“You know, some animals live off eating their own vomit.” Lottie adds, trying to get the attention away from her best friend.

“Okay. Thanks for the image, Lot.” Van sighs back to Lottie, a whisper of a smirk on her lips in humor.

“Did dead cabin guy tell you that, or do you guys just chat about blood and stuff?” Mari snickered to Lottie as she looked over to the crouching girl.

“No, we mostly talk about how Danny Mears dumped you for his own cousin,” Lottie said with a mocking smile, sending it to Mari as she stood up and walked away.

You couldn’t help the chuckle that left your lips. Your eyes followed Lottie as she walked away toward the fork in the trail, leading towards the field area and the thicker parts of the woods. Mari looked at you and then back to Akilah and Van: “Hey! They’re second cousins. And that’s totally legal, you know.”

You look at Mari with a snicker growing wider on your lips as you say to her in your kind voice, “Stand up, girl. You don’t have to defend your cousin's fucking ex. Danny Mears is fucking weirdo.”

You couldn’t help but giggle as you followed Lottie onto the path, ignoring Mari, who was trying to defend herself again. You felt Van behind you as you approached Lottie, who quickly turned around in fear. Van said before you could speak, “Hey, look, ignore Mari, okay? I don’t think she has taken a shit in, like, two weeks.”

You pause as Van speaks to look over Lottie’s face. She had seen something. You felt it in the way her eyes looked burdened.

“Yeah.” Lottie breathlessly replies.

“Are you okay?” Van asks Lottie quickly as she looks her over as you did a moment ago. Seeing the same thing you did in Lottie. Lottie looks behind herself for a second, and both of your eyes follow hers to see only empty bushes and leaves. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Lottie replies again with a soft smile on her lips. “It’s- it’s fine.”

Van nods her head softly and looks her over a little. “Okay.”

Van accepts what Lottie says to her and returns to the others foraging, but you stay planted in your spot.

You didn’t want to sound crazy, but you couldn’t help but feel the need to say. “It’s okay, you know. I’ve seen and heard crazy stuff out here, too, since we’ve been here. I don’t think you’re crazy.”

Lottie looks at you with wide eyes for a moment, then looks behind herself again, and says, “I am crazy. I-I don’t understand what I am seeing. These are wrong.”

You paused as you took in her words, trying to find the right thing to say: “I don’t think you're completely crazy, then. Like the seance thing, I know you can’t speak French. I’ve seen things on my own out here.”

Lottie’s eyes soften as she slowly lowers her eyes to the ground in a mix of confusion and fear. “Like, what did I even say? I’m not good at French, I don’t even-”

“You spoke it like you lived in Quebec, Lottie. It was scary.” You admit to her without needing to think. You didn’t want to tell her what she said as you didn’t want to think about what she said that night. “That’s why I don’t think you made it up like the others.”

Lottie looks back up to you quickly as she studies your face. She shakes her head softly and says, “I didn’t fake it. I don’t even remember anything after the fake boob question.”

You nod and touch her arm for reassurance. “I know. I don’t know if ghosts or spirits exist, but after that, I don’t know if I can say that anymore.”

“What did you see?” She asks, almost desperate for someone to reassure her and tell her she wasn’t the only one seeing what she saw that night.

“Well, what I saw wasn’t during the seance.” You spieled off as you looked back at the others, ensuring they were out of earshot. You said, “I saw it that day; I was gone all day. It-It just wasn’t right.”

Lottie looks at you with an intensity you can’t place. She asks, “What was it?”

“It was this weird-looking tree. It was familiar, but I knew we didn’t have one like that on the trail. It looked like a woman peeking out at me because it curved and stuff.” You try to explain, but you can’t find the right words to convey the horror you felt that day. “I kept walking on the trail, and when I got to the plane, it was like I couldn’t go past it. I felt like I was walking for hours in circles, always coming back to the nose of the plane even though I had passed it moments before. I don’t know if I was asleep, dreaming this all, or something was turning me around for a reason…” You confess to Lottie, who stares at you with wide, concerned eyes, and you let your gaze drop to the ground in embarrassment. You shouldn’t have said anything. “Sorry, I must sound crazy right now.”

Lottie looks at you deeply and is almost lost in your words, looking at the wrinkle in your eyebrow that has formed since the crash. “I don’t think you're crazy. (Y/n), I don’t think you were just seeing things.”

“Well, I have to be because there is no such thing as a tree woman.”

“No, but dreams are said to have meaning to them. My mom always told me that my daydreams were so intense because of my imagination and anxiety.” Lottie explains, her voice growing more passionate as if she is finding a solution to her problems. “But I don’t think it was my imagination. I think it was a vision.”

You paused in your listening to her for a moment to feel the weight of her words because, for the first time in a while, you believed Lottie’s words weren’t out of mental illness but out of her own perspective truth. You couldn’t help but take in her words as a smile comes to your lips. “Like a psychic medium?” you ask her as you lean toward her with a chuckle. “I would believe it. You always know something before something comes out. Like Rebecca Glassmen.”

She chuckles as you remind her of the old gossip about Rebecca being pregnant. Lottie says she was faking it to get her boyfriend to stay with her. It turns out to be true after they break up, and her ex-boyfriend tells the whole school how much of a psycho she is. Lottie clocked it as soon as it was whispered at the Lunch table.

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. When I was 6, my parents took me to the World Trade Center to see where my dad works, and we had a day out in the city. But, on our way back home, we were at this red light, and my parents were talking about something on the radio. I felt this rush through my body. I saw meat and glass and blood everywhere on my mom’s face and my dad’s; I screamed.” Lottie paused as she continued, her eyes glossed over momentarily, and she didn’t seem to notice. You did. “They both looked at me, telling me to shut up, but when I was screaming, the light went green. The car next to us went ahead just as a semi-truck had brakes snap; it was a horrible crash. My mom is convinced I can see things because her mother, I guess, did the same thing. But, um, yeah, the driver of the car survived, but the passenger passed away in the crash, and it’s something not even my dad can explain. My dad doesn’t believe in any of this shit, so he has me go to therapy and take pills to stop them. I wish I had them again.” She says this almost breathlessly, as if she is lost in the present moment but completely focused on your conversation.

You don’t know if you fully believe in all the psychic talk, but it was interesting. You weren’t completely closed off to the idea of the spiritual realm, but after what happened in the attic, you believe there are things you can’t explain. You tell her, “Well, I don’t think I ever disbelieved in the supernatural. My grandparents' house was scary, and I am sure I had seen something before when I was young. I think you did see something before that car crash, Lottie,” You say to her with a soft nod. She beams underneath this almost gloss in her eyes, and you pause as you carefully place your words together.

“I think that not everything you see has a meaning, but something does have meaning because we place it on them. The cross means nothing to Taissa, but to Laura Lee, it means everything because it means something deeply to her. I do think that sometimes we need to place judgment on them and see if they do connect. I think that maybe what happened to me meant that something within can’t get past the plane crash, like I can’t even get in feet of that thing without having a panic attack, and maybe I can’t move on from it. Like, I’m mentally stuck on the plane. I know that sounds crazy, with us being stuck here, but something within my soul is more disturbed by the crash.”

Lottie nods her head and smiles. Her hand comes to her upper arm as she steps closer to you. You two stand so close together that it makes your heart skip a beat and halt your breath. “I think we should meet in the morning to discuss our dreams. I feel better talking to you. How do you feel?”

You wouldn’t help as your eyes scanned over her face. You felt her breath on your skin, breath lodged in your throat, and you felt yourself stunted for a moment. You took a moment to get lost in her brown eyes and tan skin. She was so beautiful. You remember how it felt to kiss her, but you couldn’t let yourself feel that way for her. Both of you placed a boundary around your friend to protect it, but at this moment, it felt like both of you were going to risk ruining it.

Lottie just waits for your answer with her eyes looking down at you like you were prey. You felt the electricity in the air between you two as you finally found your words.

“I feel good. We should.” You breathlessly say to her as you step back against the tree. A cavil memory comes to your mind of when you were pushed against a tree by Natalie. You didn’t want to remember that day. You didn’t want to believe that she didn’t want anything to do with you after everything. But you couldn’t help but lean onto whatever feeling this was as you locked eyes with Lottie. It was something thickening the air around you quickly. You almost felt yourself pull forward to Lottie’s lips by some pressure in the back of your head.

Lottie’s lips started to move before she could speak, and a snap of a branch ripped the two of you from the moment. Lottie snaps her head behind herself, and you peek over her shoulder to see bottle blonde streaks of hair.

You felt a red-hot embarrassment come through your body.

“Hey, uh, I wanted to tell you everyone left- I was just passing through,” Natalie says quickly to Lottie as she looks at her and back to you. You locked your eyes to the ground as a sour pout came to your lips. You couldn’t help but want to cry.

“Oh- Okay, Nat, me and (y/n) were just talking,” Lottie says with an almost nervous friendliness.

“Oh, okay,” Natalie says slowly, with a rasp, as she looks at the two of you. Almost a darkness comes over Natalie’s Aura as she looks at the two of you.

You wanted to sprint away from both of them and cry. You say quickly, “So, anyways, Lottie, let’s do a morning dream circle or something. I’d like that,” as you move yourself off the tree and back to the trail. Your neck clicks as you rush out of your situation. “I’ll talk to you guys later.”

You literally felt your heart start to pound painfully against your chest as you stormed out of the clearing. You wanted to scream.

Why did Natalie look at you like that?

Why did Lottie?

What fucking right does Natalie have looking at you like that with Lottie? All you did was talk. All you did was look. Fuck her. Fuck Travis. Fuck them. Fuck you, Natalie Scatorccio.

You bite your lip in frustration as you look down at the water, praying that something will finally take a bite of food. The river bank was still and smelled of hot milkweed peeking out of the water; the wilderness singing all around you didn’t stop the inner turmoil burning your insides. You couldn’t help but let your mind dwell on Natalie and Travis as they normally did when you were alone.

What were they doing? Hunting? Kissing? Fucking?

You couldn’t stop the spiral of cruel thoughts. It makes you want to vomit sometimes. It made you resurface every insecurity within yourself and blossom under the burning sun of jealousy and bitterness. She loves a boy, and you're not a boy. It’s that simple.

You were only for fucking. And Travis was for love and companionship.

You were just a passing pleasure.

A simple masturbatory lay.

She knew you liked her. She knew you were a virgin. She had to know how you felt and knew you would give anything to her if she acted like she liked you the same. She knew you were desperate for a companion. For someone to love you and for you to love them.

“Natalie sees me the same way she sees Misty.” You miserably thought as you tried not to let the tears form in your eyes.

Her not talking to you has been getting to you. She would be dismissive towards you, didn’t even look you in the eyes at your morning announcements anymore, and giggled at Travis while you tried to get through your words.

You couldn’t help but feel little pieces of glass stab into your flesh every time she stole a glance back at him in your presence. Jealousy has been evergreen within your veins since you lost your virginity.

You knew you shouldn’t be worried about this. Shauna is pregnant, we’re losing food every day, and you miss your family. But Natalie greedily stole all the space in your mind.

“Hey, you okay?” Van asks from the brush behind you. You didn’t notice her walking towards you with a laundry basket. She only saw your back quivering as you were trying to fish.

You glanced behind your shoulder at her as you felt your lip quiver. You were going to cry. You try to calm your voice as you squeak, “I’m okay!”

All efforts to stop her from coming closer were dead in the water as she put down the basket and came to sit beside you. Van quietly looks over at you in concern as she tries to piece together your pain. She gently asks, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

You felt your lip shake as a tear rolled down your cheek. You tried to steel your face, saying, “I don’t know if I should.”

Van jooks at you and scans down to your hands holding the old fishing pole. They shook slightly. The pressure of her kind eyes allowed you to vomit out your feelings.

“I don’t think I am lovable.” You sob out as your face twists into an ugly cry of despair. Your body shakes as you let out your dark thoughts, “I did something stupid, Van, and now I am just feeling so alone because I can’t tell anyone!”

Van is shocked at your outburst but comforts you with her hands on your shoulders. Your body violently shakes, and you feel sadness come over you. “Hey! Hey! What happened, (y/n)? You can tell me!”

“I don’t think I can!” You sobbed as you felt as if your eyes wouldn’t stop rivering down your cheeks. You said, “I could be outting someone.”

Van’s eyes widen for a second, but she quickly says as she grabs your shoulder firmly, “I don’t fucking care, why are you crying?! What happened?”

You cry as Van’s hands lead you down to their chest, and you feel yourself curl into her arms, crumbling under the comfort. You cry harder as you say into her chest, “I had sex with Natalie.”

“What?!” Van says, shocked, but as softly as she can manage not to upset you.

“Me and Natalie, two weeks ago, had sex in the woods when we were alone. She fingered me, and when I tried to reciprocate, she just pushed me away and told me it was all a mistake. She likes Travis-”

“She told you that just after she fingered you?!”

“Yes! She did. She just told me it was all a mistake. She likes Travis. I knew that when I was doing it.” You sobbed as you pulled away from your embrace with Van. You held a palm to your quivering lips. The weight of your emotions cut out your words. “I don’t know why I did it. I-I knew I wasn’t who she wanted.”

“I’m so sorry, (y/n). I’m so fucking sorry.” Van says as she pets the back of your head. She just watches you as you are crying. She is trying her best to calm you down from your helpless sadness. “Tai and I talked about how Natalie was giving you the cold shoulder, and we didn’t know why. Tai asked Natalie what was up, and Natalie said nothing was up and that the two of them were fine. I never would have thought-”

You sniffle as you shake your head, and your eyes close in pain. You didn’t mean anything to her.

“I meant nothing to her.” You quietly say as you look away from Van. Looking at her in the eyes would be too vulnerable for you. “I don’t even get a good lie. I just get we’re fine.” You darkly chuckle at the realization. You felt a twist in your core and changed the emotion consuming you. A giggle formed in your throat as you joked, “At least I know it’s not because I’m fat. It’s because I'm gay.”

“What?” Van asks, bewildered but amused at the mood swings. You turn your head to face her again.

“I know it’s not because I’m fat. I was always worried someone wouldn’t want me because I was too fat.” You laugh as you wipe your nose with your sleeve, cleaning the drips of snot. “It’s because I’m a dyke, and she’s straight!”

Van chuckles softly at your words, but your laughing amuses her. She rubs your back as your laughs slowly morph into cries again. Your hand comes over your face to hide it. You felt much more sadness than Natalie rejecting you, but you couldn’t help but focus only on this nasty feeling.

“I don’t know. I’m hurt because I don’t think Natalie is my friend anymore.” You wept into your hand, feeling yourself shake as you finally released the words into the air. “S-she wants nothing to do with me!”

Van pulls you into another hug as she rubs your arm. She brings you so close you are almost in her lap as she says, “Fuck that. Nat used you and acted like it was your fault. If she doesn’t want to be your friend, then that is on her and not you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You paused as you let Van comfort you in this moment. You looked at her and asked, “I don’t understand. I don’t get why she wants nothing to do with me now.”

“Because she knows she fucked up. Fuck her. I don’t want to leave you now. I’m so sorry. Seriously, I am going to sit here with you all day.”

You try to pull away from her hold, but she keeps you in her grip. “You don’t have to.”

“No, I will.” Van says with a stern lip, “I’m not going to leave you today. You don’t deserve that shit from that fucking burnout. It’s wild.”

You let yourself breathe and calm down as you nudge Van with your shoulder, a smile softly coming to your tear-stained face. You didn’t have any fight in your body anymore. “Okay. Is it okay if we just sit here and look at the water for a while? I can teach you to fish.”

Van nods and softly smiles, “Yeah-yeah, whatever you want.”

‘21

You rub your ring finger with your thumb as you nurse your cigarette. You sat relaxed on the small kitchen table of Natalie’s hotel room as you looked out the window to the parking lot, waiting for Shauna to finally show up.

You knew she was going to be mad at you. She doesn’t even know you’re still in contact with the others. You didn’t know that she kept their numbers. You and her always had some secrets from each other, but Shauna was one to hold a grudge. You normally forgive her misgivings without thought, but she will hound you for weeks about even the smallest withholding of information.

You felt the chair beside you move as someone pulled it out to sit next to you. You slowly glanced at the woman next to you and looked back out the window.

“What have you been up to? I heard about that, uh, ‘Blood Oath’?” Taissa asks as she looks over you with a softness in her eyes.

You softly smile at the words and shake your head as you ash the fresh cigarette. “Yeah, you hear about it.”

“I mean there isn’t a lot of lesbian media out there.”

You look over at Taissa and say, “Yeah, I’ve written a few lesbian romance troilys. I have Blood Oath and Mushroom Circle about a fairy, and I am currently writing Three Wishes about a jinn. I am finally using my history minor and going on a press circuit. I have a whole panel to go to in a few days.”

“How has that worked out for you?” Taissa says as she pulls out a cigarette from your box. Something was comfortable with the women you were with, but you didn’t know how you felt about Taissa coming closer.

“It’s worked out good. I got my dream job, and it keeps the lights on. I think I might be taking a break after this.”

“Why?”

“I’m getting old. I’m losing steam over romance altogether. I’m thinking about finally dipping into sci-fi.”

“I mean, it’s about time. How many times have you read Dune?” She jokes softly as she lights her cigarette. You look at the woman, let your eyes study her, and take her all in. You don’t feel anything negative when she mentions the book you brought to the wilderness. You read it repeatedly, let the others burrow the behemoth, and still found yourself reading it when you were deathly bored. It had something new every time you read. You remember the second spring and summer out there, conversing about the book in an almost book club. It felt light and nostalgic. It was odd, but you didn’t let yourself stop.

“Yeah, I was thinking the same. It could be me correcting all the male centric bullshit.”

“Make it lesbain somehow?” Taissa jokes with a snicker, her nose crinkled playfully, as she puffs from the cigarette.

You roll your head back with a cackle. “You better know it.”

You notice Natalie pacing by the bathroom, but you ignore it. Your attention was off of Taissa, which felt very familiar. These women with you in a closed-in space were something your body seemed to remember as your heart beat faster in your chest. You noticed your fingers didn’t stop rubbing on the other. It was a tick you’ve grown to have over the years, and you looked down on it.

Taissa looks at your hand, then stares down at your ring finger. You felt the hairs on the back of your neck raised as you realised this is the first time she has seen you without your old engagement ring.

“If you're going to ask about it, just go for it.” You sigh as you ash your cigarette in a vodka bottle cap.

“Um,” Taissa looks almost longingly at the table and back at you and asks, “How are you and Van?”

You take a long drag on your cigarette. “We didn’t end up getting married. Van’s mom got sick, and my dad got dementia, and we- yeah.” You sigh. And you felt something sharp come over you as your eyes slice to Taissa’s, and you ask, “How’s Simone?”

Knock! Knock!

A polite knock against the hotel door saves you from hearing more from Taissa. You didn’t want to get any closer to Taissa. She scared you and was a coward when you needed her most. You were too grown to be getting closer to her again and having another toxic cycle begin. Luckily, you have learned how to shoo away politely as possible while letting someone know you weren’t happy with them. Natalie rushed to the door but paused as she held the door handle and slowly opened it to look at Shauna for the first time in almost a decade.

You stood up as you looked out the window to see Shauna awkwardly standing in front of the door, looking behind herself, paranoid. You took your last puff to ready yourself for whatever was to come.

Natalie opens the door wider for Shauna to come in. Tension is thick in the air as the two women lock eyes. You look on at them and smile at Shauna as Natalie paces to the other side of the room and towards the bed.

Shauna looks at you sharply as if to tell you to stand near her, and you find yourself coming closer. With the tension in the air, you can tell there was something more than terror and memories; it was jealousy.

“You look like shit.” Natalie chuckles, sarcastically, as she looks on at Shauna.

“Uh, well, back at you.” Shauna retorts with a pinched smile.

“How’s Jeff?” Natalie whispered in a hiss to Shauna. It was goading and mocking. You knew what she was mentioning, and you couldn’t help yourself as you grabbed Shauna’s forearm gently. “Is he still hocking futons?”

“Okay, no, no!” Taissa says as she leans against the counters with her cigarette in hand. “We’re not doing this, okay? Not after all the shit we’ve gone through. Now, we’re in a situation here. We’re gonna deal with it.” She paused as she looked at Natalie, then back to Shauna, and then back again to let the air settle. “Together.”

You rub Shauna’s arm, comforting her, saying, “It’s bigger than our feelings right now.”

“Okay, fine. What’s- what’s going on?” Shauna asked, exacerbated.

Natalie walks gently to the table where Travis's crime scene photos are. You still can’t make yourself look at them without feeling a rumbling of fear inside you, still marked with the symbol. Shauna looks over and leans forward to look closer, her eyebrow crinkled with caution. “Is that Travis?”

Natalie's eyes looked haunted for a moment, water lining them. You wanted to cry when you felt yourself nod, “Yeah, Shauna. It’s Trav.”

Shauna sits down and looks closer. Natalie says as Shauna looks closer, “Someone stung him up and then tried to cover their tracks.”

Taissa adds, puffing her cigarette, “We think it’s the same person who’s blackmailing us.”

Shauna’s head snapped up in confusion and worry. “What? Blackmail?”

Taissa and Natalie share a look, and then Natalie looks back at you. Neither of you got a text about it. “But you didn’t… get one of these?” as she leans back to the bed to pull out a postcard.

Shauna is completely bewildered as she looks at the postcard. She leans forward, says, “What?” and investigates the rest of the card. She pauses with almost anger in her eyes when she sees the symbol. “No. What do they want?”

Natalie rolls an eye of frustration, and Taissa says before Natalie can speak, “50 grand in cash to keep their mouths shut. We’re not sure exactly what they know, but we don’t want to find out.”

“You all got one?” Shauna asks, and she looks over to you. You feel a lot of pressure on you now, and you quickly blurt, “No. I didn’t get one. Misty did, though.”

“I mean, it’s got to be someone from the team, right? I mean, who else would know about this?”

“That reporter, " Natalie said with a smug smirk. She felt like she knew exactly who had done this.

“Wait, wait. I thought I told you to take care of her,” Shauna says to Taissa, which raises an eyebrow. She was also talking to the team members behind your back.

“I threatened a lawsuit. I told her to back off.” Taissa, crossed her arms, defended.

“Fuck this.” Natalie snaps as she grabs her phone.

“What are you doing?” Taissa asks. In this moment, you feel yourself rubbing Shauna’s shoulder for your own comfort and her own; she feels less tense as the girls talk.

“I’m gonna bring Jessica Roberts- great fake name, by the way- to us. And I’ll just say, 'I’m ready to tell my story.'” Natalie says as she starts to form a text with her thumb.

“No, because if it’s not her, then we are handing her the exact kind of story she is looking for,” Shauna says with a wave of the hand over the crime photos.

“Shauna’s right.” You mumble as you try not to panic. You knew in your heart that Jessica was out of anyone, but you didn’t like the logic of going to her now.

“Yeah, Shauna’s right, Nat. Please.” Taissa agreed as she looked at Natalie worriedly and shook her head. She was rightfully worried as Natalie didn’t stop sending texts to Jessica. “Please, just put the phone down. Stop it. Stop it!” Tassia stressed as her eyes started to widen.

“Natalie!” Shauna calls out to have Natalie stop.

“Please, Nat, stop it. Please, don’t talk to her!” You worry and come closer to Natalie, making Natalie look up at you, annoyed.

“Fucking put the phone down!” Taissa hissed at Natalie, who was slowly putting down the phone.

Natalie tilted her head to Taissa and said, “You know I don’t like it when you yell at me.” She dramatically puts the phone down.

“Can you get the money?” Shauna asks Taissa. You bristle a little at the question but don’t want to make it a big deal.

“I’m working on it.”

“Once you do, we put a GPS tracker in the cash, and that way, we can follow it, and see who, what we’re- we’re dealing with.’ Shauna says, planning out what the mission will be. It felt familiar and quiet; you didn’t know how you placed yourself. “Together,” Shauna added as she looked on at Natalie.

Natalie smiles at Shauna; a little bit of the hatchet was buried, as they agree with the plan.

“I cannot believe I’m about to say this, but should we loop Misty in?” Shauna asks the group, and you feel yourself lean forward on this. You add, “Yeah, I think we should. She could track down the sender of the text from a pin or something, and she could-”

“No. She could be part of it.” Taissa shook her head, and you couldn’t help but scoff at the idea.

“That’s a little far-fetched.” You say to Taissa with a smile, “She would lie about something to make us closer to her, but blackmail us. That is too far for even Misty.”

“Well, she did take me to see Travis, but first, she fucked with my car.” Natalie paused to inform the other two about your trip together. You felt yourself doubting Misty at that moment because it was all odd. “Still, she’s been helping me to figure this all out.”

“Oh, yeah, ‘cause, naturally,” Shauna says as she waves her hand, dry and sarcastic. “Is there anything else I should know about, or does the blackmail, Travis maybe being murdered, and this one playing buddy cop with Misty Quigley just about cover it?”

Natalie sniffed in response.

You sigh and nod as you rub Shauna’s shoulder again. “Yeah, that about does it.”

You feel yourself relax on the sand as your eyes open to an open lake view. It was beautiful. The water simmered in the lake like glitter in the air, making you want to walk into it. A summer breeze gently caresses your face as you gaze at how the sun sets on the horizon's edge. It was pure and something made by loving hands, as Laura Lee once said.

There was someone familiar in the water. Your mother looked at the sun and turned around, the rays of light highlighting the baby hairs that stood atop her head. “Peanut, come into the water! It’s heaven!” Your mother says to you with a giggle in her throat. She was healthy. She looked just how she did in your childhood before her illness. Before, she let her hair go grey. She made the scene beautiful.

A lightness spreads all around your body. You feel warmth you haven’t felt in months. Your mom is here, and she is healthy and young.

You call out happily, “I’m coming! I’ve been waiting for you!”

You stand up and feel almost nothing around you, not even the sand or your clothes, as you feel yourself strip down to your underwear to swim.

You walk towards the water, carefree and almost relieved to see her.

Absentmindedly, you glance down at your feet in habit only to find coldness touching your feet. It wasn’t water of a hot summer day. It was frost. You take a second to look at the snow that fell onto your foot as you walked forward; your toes have the white fluff in between, and you notice how cold you are. You look up to see only your mother gone. You're not at the lake. You're on the snow-covered cliffside.

You hesitated as you slowed your movements. It was your feet in the snow. You were in your underwear. Long hairs came from your legs and even from your feet. As you looked down, you felt something change in the air.

The stillness of everything wasn’t right. It’s the wilderness. It’s not winter yet.

You panic silently as you start to look around. It was all tall birch trees with autumn leaves still attached at the tops. Red and violent oranges stared down at you.

You looked down to almost a pond or a river. It wasn’t clear, as most of your legs were now submerged in it. It was all red. It made you shiver when the water brushed against your thighs.

Laisse l'obscurité te libérer.

You heard something from within the water. You didn’t like this, and you didn’t want this. The water stabs into you a

The water was corrupted—something rotten like the smell of eggs and iron. You felt yourself walk across this water bank, fearing something might grab at your legs.

‘It’s blood.’ you say out loud, as you try lto leave the tainted water. It was death. It was something dark.

“No, no, no. Mom!” You called out in a panic. Did she fall in? Is it red because she is hurt? No, the whole body of water is red; it was like a vein of the forest. You felt your lips quiver as you struggled out of the water, trip on your foot in the sand, and fall into the water until your knees touched the bottom. “MOMMY!” You sobbed out as you tried to look around as you felt yourself not finding your footing.

Splash! Splash!!

You hear splashing in the water before you feel your nose fill with the thick pond water. It tasted as it smelt: “AH!” You yelped when you found air. You tried to move away from the force that pulled you under, only to find yourself being pulled down deeper.

Your thrash and kick, flailing your arms, as you open your eyes to the metallic sting. Nothing but darkness tugged on your leg, wrapped around like a tentacle of some Greek myth, and you can’t help but panic.

You were drowning, but there was no pain. There was no sting of water in your throat.

Waving desperate arms to the sky, the disgusting water above as another body is thrown into the water, almost wanting a hand to pull you out.

As you stared at the body, it was thin, and you couldn’t make out anything to identify the girl whose lifeless body floated down like a rock.

You struggle more as exhaustion comes to your arms and legs and as the being tightens its grip. It doesn’t stop pulling, but you stopped swimming.

You feared what was at the bottom and who had just fallen into the water. But it was peaceful when you stared up at the translucent water. It was enough for you to feel at ease.

‘96

You gasped awake in a panic, a hand resting on your frantic heart. Your body shook as you looked around the dusty, dank attic, and Shauna was lying beside you now, stirring at your noise.

You felt tears fall out of your eyes without you realizing you were tearing up as you try to push air into your body, you were awake. It was just a horrible dream.

Shauna stirred in her sleep and slowly opened her eyes, a frown on her lips. “Are you okay?” she yawns.

You pant as you nod your head. “Yeah, horrible nightmare. I’m fine, go back to bed.”

Creak!

There are the sounds of someone softly stepping up the ladder to the attic, and a pair of shoes are gently placed on the floor. You see Taissa’s head pointing out from the hatch. She almost widens her eyes when she notices both of you awake.

“Hey. where have you been?”

“I had to pee,” Taissa quickly says as she looks to the floor. She goes to her sleeping bag and asks, “What are you two doing up?”

“Bad dream,” Shauna says before you can, stretching her arms on her side of the makeshift bed. You look to Taissa as you try to fix your hair in your grogginess.

“What was it this time? A Cheeseburger-baby?” Taissa chuckled as she stood still at the foot of your bags. You giggle as you try to braid your hair back to where it was before falling asleep.

Shauna laughs, “I should have never told you about that.” She looks down to the ground, and worry seems to pass through her. “What am I going to do?”

Taissa’s eyes soften as she slowly lowers herself to the floor to look Shauna in the eyes. You tie the end of your braid to get closer. “What do you mean?” you ask softly, as your eyebrow crinkles in worry for her.

“I heard that Katie Lindstrom did with the underwire of her bra last year,” Shauna states as she looks at you. She was serious. You just look on at her with wide, concerned eyes. “Shauna, that was a rumor-”

“Have you lost your mind? You’ll die.” Taissa adds with a grave undertone.

Shauna’s lip quiver as she whispers back, “I’ll probably die either way. I’m in the middle of nowhere, and the Ob-gyn on call is Misty fucking Quigley!” she took a breath as she looked away with eyes in her eyes. You wanted to sob at the way she spoke, and you wanted to vomit at the idea you were going to lose your best friend. You grab her arm and rub it to comfort her as a tear rolls down your cheek, looking down to Shauna’s lap, as she continued her rant, “At least this way I won’t die having my best friends-” she cuts herself off.

You paused as you slowly looked up at Shauna’s face, your eyes widening as you turned to look at Taissa. You couldn’t speak, think, or move. The information was just not expected.

Shauna hates Jeff. She doesn’t like him and cheers whenever Jackie and him break up… You couldn't help but look back at everything that happened in your friendship and see the truth. Shauna was sleeping with Jeff, not the whole time, but at least since her hatred for him formed.

“What… what were you about to say?” Taissa asks Shauna with wide eyes, and she also takes in the bombshell and you.

For a moment, only the summer crickets' song could be heard. You looked on at Shauna in disbelief. You couldn’t believe she would betray Jackie, but you couldn’t help but be hurt that she didn’t confide that in you once. “Shauna?” Taissa asks again, more momentous.

“At least this way I won’t die having my best friend’s boyfriend’s baby.” She whispers with a stammer in it from her emotions. She is crying now as she finally looks at you; she feels judged and disgusting. You rub your hand softly. You ask, in disbelief, “It’s Jeffs?”

Shauna doesn’t say anything as her teary eyes burn into yours, almost begging you for forgiveness, like you were Jackie. You couldn’t help the betrayal that painted your face as tears welled in your eyes, overwhelmed with the truth. She was telling the stone-cold truth. You were starting to accept the facts, but it hurt you to think about what Jackie would say.

“Whoa.” Taissa sighed as she felt what everyone was feeling. “Okay. I mean… Wow. Yeah.” She processed as she has Shauna looking at her, “But still, Shauna, it’s not worth dying to keep Jackie from finding out.”

“It’s not Shauna.” You agreed as you sniffled a little bit. You were overwelemingly sad, and your dream didn’t help you prepare for the heaviness of the situation. “Jackie doesn’t have to find out.” As you grab her arm, you quickly say, “We must lie to her. We can’t let this get out. It-it.” You try to find an easy lie as fast as you can. “It was Randy! Randy marsh and you fucked at the party and I saw it! It’s okay! Please, we don’t have to do that, Shauna.”

“I have a plan, alright?” Taissa cut in, “To head south and find help. So just wait.”

You nodded at Taissa’s words. We all needed to leave, and the group needed to start being more aggressive with our approach to leaving. You turned your head to Shauna, came closer, and rubbed her back as lovingly as possible. You were angry with her, but she was deeply regretful in a dire situation; you loved her more than any other feeling. “Yeah, please just wait.”

“Please, promise me not to do anything stupid,” Taissa begs as she puts a hand on Shauna’s knee. You kiss Shauna’s temple, rub her back, and Taissa moves to lie down on her bed.

Shauna was silent as her eyes dried, her tear-stained face plagued by heavy thoughts. She doesn’t respond to your affection but doesn’t push you away when you lightly push her to bed. You cuddle beside her and plead, “Shauna, I will be here no matter what. I love you. Please, we need to find our way out, and I will go with you to get an abortion at a clinic with professionals.”

Shauna nods her head with empty eyes. “Okay.” She weakly says as she turns away from you so you can cuddle her back. You feel her shaking as she starts to cry into her pillow. She cries softly, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You quietly rub her back and look at the back of her brunette hair. You feel a shy tear fall off the side of your eye and into your ear. “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is you surviving this. Fuck everything else.”

Shauna just cries as you softly pet her hair and hold her shivering body. Taissa looks over at the two of you from her bed, concerned, and turns to keep an eye on them.

You wake up in the early morning hours with an ache in your body, and your neck is stiff as always. You feel dark circles under your eyes as you rub your eyes to wake up fully. You sit up and look around the room to see Taissa and Shauna still resting. You felt pressure on your blader as you sat up in your blankets and didn’t bother to mess with your undone hair.

You yawn into your hand as you quietly creep to the ladder and descend. You saw the girls sleeping on the floor, but empty beds were lying about like they were going to where you were going now. You don’t think much about this morning as you peacefully walked out of the cabin and onto your trail to the pooping corner.

As you finished your business, Lottie walked by with a wide-eyed look of excitement: “(y/n)! You’re up!”

You zip your pants and chuckle, “Yeah, I’m up. I had a fucking crazy dream.”

Lottie stands next to you from the other side of the bushes. “I did, too. I asked Van to come with us because her dreams have been off, too, if that's okay.”

You smile and nod, “Oh, yeah, that's fine. I love Van.”

Lottie almost dropped her cheerful smile as she furrowed her eyebrow a bit. She quickly smiled again and nodded her head. “Yeah, she’s great. She’s been my best friend since diapers.”

You nod your head as you try to explain the swing of expressions she made, you walk beside her and say, “Van’s always been nice to me, but since we’ve been here she has been such a good friend to me.” you look down to your feet and back to Lottie,

Lottie nods her head with a pinched lip. She looks away for a moment and then smiles back at you. “She’s a good friend. I’m happy you two have gotten close.”

You look at the side of Lottie’s face, not knowing where her cheeriness went as you say, “Dreams last night?”

Lottie looks back at you in surprise. You were looking at her, thinking, and she says, “Yeah, I had some weird ones last night.”

You return to the cabin to find Van and Laura Lee standing around the fire. Lottie nods over to them with a smile and cuts off your conversation to sit in a circle. Van is placing logs, while Laura Lee is placing kindling in the places between.

You sit down and feel yourself hug the blanket closer in the crisp morning breeze. The others slowly sat beside you in the circling trunks surrounding the main fireplace. Lottie cleared her throat, saying, “Alright, let's start this thing. I had a dream about a talking squirrel, “ She blurts out with a giggle. Laura chuckles as well as Van, “It was saying something about breathing in life and that if I just go with the flow, I would be fine.” She confesses with another chuckle.

You narrow your eyes as you snort, “That’s it? Anything else?”

“Do you have anything better?” Van snarks with a chuckle. She looks over at you with a joking look.

“A little.” You smile at her as you look down at your feet and put them closer to the small fire. “I had a dream about my mom at the lake. I, like, went to the water, and it then became winter. Snow everywhere and shit, in my toes. I saw this lake of blood.”

“Exodus 7:14.” Laura Lee mumbles beside you; you turn your head to her with confusion.

“What?”

“A river of blood is in Exodus 7:14, part of the ten plagues God sent upon Egypt to convince Pharaoh to release the Israelites from slavery.” She says to you, her legs crossed and her hands clasped in her lap. She is trying her best to be here as a spiritual guide, and you are not uncomfortable with her religious lectures.

“Did it have a meaning behind it? Like, was it a metaphor for something?” You ask her as you rub your hands on your thighs, “I don’t know. It was kinda scary.”

“It was retribution for the drowning of the newborn Hebrew boys in the Nile. It took all the water to drink and to water their food.”

You nodded your head as you rocked gently in your seat. “Well, I saw the lake, and somehow, I am inside the lake. I am standing on the shallow end, and it just smells horrible. I got scared thinking my mom fell in, so I looked for her, and then I was pulled in. I woke up as I was being pulled down.”

The three look on at you with some concern, but Van says, “That was a crazy nightmare. If this is to put meaning on dreams or whatever, I think your dream was about you worrying over your mom.”

Lottie nods and says, “Yeah, I think you were thinking about your mom last night before bed, and you felt all those feelings. I’ve had a few nightmares about my parents since I’ve been here.”

As she plays with the cross on her necklace, Laura Lee says, “I think we should pray together. I’ve kept your mother in my prayers, (Y/n). How about we do one together?”

You felt your heart punch when you were touched by the idea that Laura Lee had been praying for your mom since she got sick. When she told her she would keep her in her prayers the first time, Van and Lottie looked uncomfortable, but you didn’t stop yourself when you said, “You know what, Laura, sure. I think that would make me feel better.”

Laura Lee beams as she grabs your hand in her thin pale one; she grabs the hesitie Van’s. She looks at Lottie and slowly grabs Van’s, then yours. You look on at Laura and Lottie, bowing their heads and closing their eyes. You look at Van doing the same as you, looking at the other, trying not to laugh and being sincere at this moment.

“Dear heavenly father, Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us; And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. We ask you to look over Mrs. (L/n) and (Y/n) (L/n) in this time of uncertainty and to have mercy on the health of Mrs. (L/n). Amen.”

’21

You sit across from Mr. Taylor as you try to fix your skirt, desperate for a good brunch. You look back up and say, “So, yeah, my sales have been very good this last quarter because my next book-”

“The Three Wishes thing.” Mr. Taylor asks as he sips on his coffee. He is trying to be interested in your life.

“Yeah, and-”

“What were the sales? Number wise for books?” He asked you before you could speak. You felt 15 again in his kitchen. Shauna looks on at you with a wary expression as you are cut off, but there is a small shimmer in her eye that you know but never said. Envy.

“About 100,000 copies, especially because there is this app that younger people like called TikTok, which has gotten much attention for my work. So, if we’re talking about my other books included, it would be about 400,000 copies of them together. It’s getting decent, but when the whole Twilight thing was happening, I had a peak of 1,500,000 copies.”

“You haven’t gotten a movie deal yet? It sounds like you are doing amazing.” He says with a smile growing on his lips and somewhat pride in the little girl he has known for 35 years. You smile back at the praise and nod.

“I haven’t had any deals in the talks, but some are whispering about the rights going to Netflix or Hulu to adaptation because romance is becoming a big genre for teens again.”

“Ta-da!” Mrs. Taylor says with a smile as she presents her dish. Tuna Quiche.

“Oh, wow,” Shauna says with a nod as she looks at the food with a painfully fake positivity. Jeff smiles, and Mr. Taylor smiles as Mrs. Taylor places the dish in the center of the dining table.

You fake a big smile and say, “Thank you, Ms. Taylor. This looks delicious.”

“I know it’s silly to do this each year,” Mrs. Taylor says with a distant look as she turns to the side table where Jackie’s cake and two presents stood. She lifts the two small box presents wrapped with a blue and a yellow ribbon. “It’s not a real birthday without presents.”

The older woman hands you and Shauna the two boxes that are presented. Shauna is trying to be okay as you beam up to her.

“Thank you, Mrs. Taylor, " you say as you gently pull the ribbon, and Shauna unwraps the small box. You already know what it is, and you want to cry.

“Oh, god, look how cute!” You pull out a small porcelain bunny. The brown rabbit is anthropomorphic and dressed in a purple dress and a white parasol. She looks to be dancing like a southern belle with a winked eye.

“Oh,” Shauna sighs as she tries to smile. She pulls out a mother rabbit with babies hanging from her white skirts. It was cute, but it was heartbreaking.

“Oh, yup.” Jeff nodded as he leaned in, “It’s- she’s got little babies. That is nice. That’s very nice. It’s very pretty.”

“It’s- it’s lovely.” Shauna agreed with a forced smile.

You put yours before your plate as if you were happily claiming it. “You even remembered our colors. Right, Shauna, You’re blue, and I’m purple, and Jackie was pink.”

Shauna nodded her head with the same smile. You smiled as you looked at the disappointed Mrs. Taylor. She nodded lightly and said, “Jackie just adored rabbits.”

You just nod as you see Shauna pursing her lip at Ms. Taylor’s comment. It was a mismermory of Jackie.

Mr. Taylor says as he grabs the pie knife, “Dig in before it gets cold.”

“Great.” “Deal!”

You smiled as Mr. Taylor placed a large slice of the quiche onto your plate. You looked over to your side for a piece of toast. You weren’t excited to taste this. You could die without eating fish again.

“Yum! Where did you get this recipe?” You say as you politely eat at her table, remembering how she corrected you in childhood when you slept over. But you know why she needs you here, why you play like you were her child for this hour. “I would never have thought to put tuna in a quiche.”

Mrs. Taylor beams at your compliment and nods, “I got it from Paula Deen! I just love her, and I wish people didn’t judge her so much.”

You felt Shauna kick your leg as you professionally held in a cackle. You lick your lips as you grab your mimosa. “I agree. I mean, what are we comparing her to? The KKK?” You lie through your teeth to appease the racist old woman you can’t stomach upsetting.

“It’s Jackie’s birthday. Just breathe and lie. Just get through this, " you thought as you let Mrs. and Mr. Taylor ramble about how wrongfully she was canceled for her remarks. You wanted to peel your skin, but you bit your tongue. They have always been this way, but at least they were polite.

There was a lull for a moment as Mrs. Taylor looked on at Shauna, a mix of longing and bitterness.

“You two have an anniversary coming up, don’t you?” She asked as she looked at the couple pointedly. You glance up to Mr. Taylor, who has his gaze on his plate. You drank the rest of your mimosa.

“Yup. Yeah, pretty soon.” Jeff answered with a smile. He was in good spirits despite the tension building.

“Jackie would’ve been so happy for you.” She says in a wispy way, you knew that her Valium was kicking in as as then blinks, “I truly believe that. She was generous that way. And always worried about you finding someone, Shauna. And you too, (y/n).” She added, sending you a small smile at the end. You didn’t know how to take any of the tension as you didn’t in previous years. An ongoing feud only on one side out of grief. You knew Shauna enough to know why she still comes; you come for similar reasons. “Sliver linings, I suppose.”

“I think Jackie would be happy with my New York lifestyle.”

“She would be so impressed with how slim you got. You look just like your mother when you were young. You dress up like those girls on Girls. It made me think if you two went to Rutgers.” Mrs. Taylor compliments and aims through your heart like an arrow—one about your mother, another about Jackie, and a comment on your body. Triple digits in one go.

You smile as you take a bite of your quiche. “Oh yeah, I like to think me and her, and Shauna would go the clubs I got to go to. I went to one with pink lighting and flowers on the wall, and my first thought was, 'Jackie, would love this!’” You thoughtfully replied, as you wanted to bite through the tip of your tongue.

Mrs. Taylor almost ignores you as her head sways back to Shauna. “You two are a-a better match. You're both the type to be content. You don’t want more than, well,” she stops, continuing now, hearing the anger in her words. You look down as you nibble on your croissant. You glance up to see Jeff looking at you in shock. “What you have?”

“Um—” Shauna starts, almost instinctively standing up for herself, but she is too shy to continue.

“Oh, I didn’t mean that in a bad way. No, I mean… It’s nonsense all this talk about having it all. The fact is that you can’t be remarkable and raise a family.”

“And you’re the mother of such a special little child.” Mr. Taylor added to lighten the mood a little bit.

“I don’t even like my own daughter.” Shauna retorts with a dryness that matched the food.

Jeff and you hold back giggles as she says that to say professional in this brunch.

“I don't,” Shauna says again as she looks at you. You knew it was a lie but also not dishonest. You couldn’t help but agree that you disliked Callie's behavior but thought it was too far. Jeff chuckles and shakes his head, thinking it was all a joke, “It’s an inside joke. She’s kidding.”

BRINNG! BRINNG! BRINNG!

You widened your eyes as your phone rang in your purse. You quickly turned to the bag hanging on your chair and picked out your phone—it was your publisher.

“I’m so sorry, I have to take this business call. I will be right back, " you say as you take the purse strap on your shoulder and stand up. You smile to Mrs. Taylor. “Delicious food. I’m excited for cake.”

You leave the dining room quickly as you answer the call outside on their back patio. You sit down on their pool chair, stare off at the flowers in their garden, and pull out a cigarette, resting it on your lower lip.

“What is it, Anderson? What's the good news?”

“We’re underestimating the excitement for the third book. Marketing and Production have called me saying they are seeing the number rise and will print about 100,000 more books.”

You nearly choked as you lit the end of the cigarette. As Anderson spoke, you said, “What?! What happened?”

“Well, there was this TikTok edit for your Vampire Annette, and now we are finally starting talks about a movie deal!” The young man beams into the phone and rambles on, “And, that gives you that needed break, lady.”

You are stunned as you just blink and look at the green weeds. You were lost for words. This was amazing news. You took a drag of the stick and say, “Holy shit.”

“Yeah, Holy shit! You’re going to see a lot of attention soon. I just had to tell you. We will be in touch soon.” Anderson says cheerfully, as he hangs up on you.

You felt yourself still for a moment and held your phone up to your ear still as you smoked away. You didn’t feel happy. You didn’t feel anything for some reason. This brunch has taken out most of your energy for anything else.

“You should be happy, you know, not everyone can make a living off of porn.” A girlish giggle says beside you. You felt your lip quiver as you realized why there was a numbness inside of you: it was because this was going to happen. You turn your head to see Jackie in her orange ruffled bikini from her 15th birthday party, a pool party. She looked so small and childish as she smirked, “You know, if I knew you like vampires so much, I would have watched Nosferatu with you finally after your years of begging and begging.”

In middle school, you three had a movie phase and would watch whatever the other said when you slept over. You pick Nosferatu, but Shauna and Jackie rejected the idea because it was too old, so you all watched Jackie’s pick of It Happened One Night.

You look on at her as you puff your cigarette, a small smile creeps on your lips as it quivers. “You would have hated it.”

“I would have. But we would have been together.” She says with a cheerful smile, it was like a memory of a memory playing out in front of you. You felt 15 again under her gaze.

You had to physically stop yourself from letting yourself cry at those words. You quiver, “I would have, too.”

“If only you said something. None of this would have happened.” She says with a twist in her smirk becoming dark. You wanted to scream with guilt at those words.

You look to your feet as you ash the cigarette and look back up to see the phantom gone from the pairing patio chair. A stinging feeling comes over you that you can’t shake as you slowly look up to the sky. You let yourself cry, smoking the cigarette as if it would clear the stress.

“Jackie should’ve been here.” You think as you shakily take a breath in. Your grief, guilt, and nostalgia lock you in place for a moment.

‘96

Shauna and you crouch down at a Rabbit trap as Jackie says, “I never thought I’d be desperate enough to want to eat a rabbit.”

Shauna sighed as she stood up with nothing. You don’t say anything to Jackie out of exhaustion with the day already. Jackie continues, “Oh, well… I mean, what even is a rabbit? A squirrel with floopy ears and a pom-pom on its ass? Like why? What even is that?”

“It’s a rabbit. What’s this question?” Shauna says warily as she walks forward. She seems as exhausted as you as you walked beside her for support.�� You stop with them as Jackie moans displeasure at the leaves nibbled on by the clever rabbits that missed the traps.

“I’d sell my firstborn for a cheesesteak right now.” Jackie moans to the two of you.

“Can we stop talking about food?” Shauna quickly says as she rests her fists on her hips. You could feel the silent tension of knowing something Jackie didn’t grow inside you. The firstborn comment made you feel like you were walking on eggshells.

“I think I miss Cheesesteak more than I miss Jeff,” Jackie blurted out. Looking at Shauna, you both chuckled at her statement as she continued, “Is that even possible?”

Jackie sighed as she looked away at the trees and crossed her arms. “No, I miss Jeff more. Fuck. I miss his smell and…” Jackie rants as Shauna walks away. You felt the hairs on your neck standing up when you remembered hiding everything from Jackie. She didn’t do anything wrong. You stand there at full attention to Jackie’s words to not let her notice how Shauna looked hurt, “the way he rubbed his wrist with his thumb when we were holding hands, and I even miss his stupid Ace Vantura impressions.”

You rub Jackie’s arm with comforting eyes. “I’m sorry, Jackie. I know you must miss him, " you say as Jackie starts to follow Shauna down the trail. Jackie smiles back to you, understanding and loving the attention you are giving her.

“He must be losing his mind right now. Did I tell you guys he said he loved me before we left?” Jackie says as she looks back to you, and you couldn’t help but express your shock. She just couldn’t tell your shock wasn’t because of the confession. Shauna stops dead in her tracks and turns to look at Jackie. “No, you didn’t,” Shauna replies evenly.

“Did you tell him you loved him back?” You asked quickly to Jackie.

“Yeah. Yeah. I-I didn’t say it back, and… I should have.” Jackie says, keeping her arms crossed. She looks down at the forest floor with a mix of emotions. For a moment, all of you pause the conversation to only hear the crowing in the distance.

“I’m sure he knows how you feel.” Shauna says as she starts to walk on the path, but she stops and says, “Wait. Do you.. Love him?”

You paused beside Jackie with wide eyes, almost wanting to scream at Shauna to shut up, as Jackie looks at Shauna for a moment as Shauna continues, “I just thought that-”

“I don’t know. I-I just shouldn’t have made him wait, that is all. I just got so caught up in making everything perfect, and now, if we die out here, someone else will be his first, and I’m-”

As Jackie was ranting, Shauna stopped to lean against a tree out of exhaustion. She held her stomach as she took a deep breath. You and Jackie quickly came to her side, concerned. “Shauna?” You yelped as you grabbed her shoulder.

“Whoa. Hey, hey, hey. You okay?” Jackie says as she circles the two of you to be in front of Shauna.

Shauna pushes a hair behind her ear and says weakly, “Yeah. I’m just hungry.”

Jackie quickly reaches into her pocket to pull out her last piece of fish jerky and says to Shauna, “Oh, here. Take this.”

“It’s your last piece, I-” Shauna tries to say, as you pull out your last piece of jerky.

“You need it more than me. Here,” Jackie says as she smiles at Shauna to take the food. She doesn’t understand how much truth is in her words. You were sweating bullets at the many opportunities to tell Jackie come up in your face, and you had to resist telling her that Shauna is pregnant.

“Just take it.” You softly push as you look deeply into Shauna’s eyes.

Shauna nods weakly and says, “Thank you.” She takes two pieces and eats them.

You quickly turn to Jackie to lighten the mood, “By the way, if he has his first time with someone else, it doesn’t change you were his first love. And sex is so overblown!”

Jackie chuckles and nods her head. “Yeah, I am. He will just have to think about me when he sleeps with whatever skank you took my place.” She snorted at her joke.

You chuckle with her as you refuse to look at Shauna, knowing this hurts her. " Yeah, you were the most interesting part about Jeff, anyway.”

You all giggle at that joke as you feel Jackie nudge you, “How do you know sex is overblown, huh?”

You blush as you shake your head, turning to walk away. “I may have been fingered before, but it doesn’t count!”

Jackie gasps and slaps Shauna’s arm for attention. She quickly perks up to follow you to get more. “It does, too! I told you when Jeff did!”

“Well, it doesn’t matter now!” You giggle with blush on your cheeks, trying to run away from your two friends who are now pestering you for more information.

You sit beside Jackie, holding her hand gently as you paint pink on her fingernails. “Do you even think that’s true?” Jackie asks Mari, besides her, between the legs of Akiliah, who was braiding her hair.

You snicker as you add, “I don’t think she is a prostitute if that is what you're asking, Jackie.”

“I mean, you can’t not be a prostitute if you're offering blowies for 20 dollars.” With a snort, Jackie says Mari and Akiliah giggling at the rumor about Jessica Lowa.

“Ooohh!” The girls who circle the fire are sent to Natalie and Travis when they return. The whole cabin ground was giggling and whistling over to the couple; you bit your lip as you focused on not painting on Jackie’s cuticles.

“Natalie and Travis sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-” Laura Lee was teasing with a playful smirk. You feel yourself have to hold in a small gasp from your lips as you try to stop the blurring of your eyes from tears. Dear god, you didn’t need them being together rubbed into your face.

Lottie giggles and shakes her head at Laura, “I think they were doing more than kissing.”

You couldn’t help but agree. You wanted to cry.

Mari calls out from the porch, “Hey, Nat, how exactly are you and Flex hunting for out there anyways?”

“I hear it’s beaver season!” Van cuts in with a joke, making you all snicker.

“Maybe a condom.” You giggle yourself at Akilah’s little joke. You push her knee to approve the joke, and she sends you a beaming smile at the praise.

“Ah! Sit and spin, assholes.” Natalie says as she flips off the group, turning for everyone to see it sent their way. When you finish her picky finger, Jackie pulls her hand from your hold, and you look up to see her frowning deeply in anger.

“Is this why we don’t have any food? ‘Cause you been too busy running for mayor of Pound city.” Jackie cuts into the laughs towards Natalie. You look at Jackie and back to Natalie, feeling the tension building.

“Uh, go fuck yourself.” Natalie retorts.

“I guess we shouldn’t be surprised. Nat’s always down for a good time, right?” Jackie says with a tilt of her head. She steps down the steps slowly, coming closer. Everyone pauses what they are doing to see what Jackie is going to say, listening to every word.

“I can’t magically conjure a deer, Jackie.” Natalie says and then points her finger at her for a second, storming closer to jackie herself “But keep talking your shit, I’ll find something to shoot.”

“Oh. Wow. Oh, you’re so tough.” Jackie mocked as she came into Natalie’s face. “I’m not scared of you, burnout.”

“No.” Natalie stares daggers into Jackie’s eyes and says, “You’re jealous. ‘Cause your an uptight, prudish little bitch.”

Taissa runs between the two and pushes Natalie off of Jackie. “Hey! Knock it off!” she says, turning to Jackie, “Both of you.”

The two girls turn their backs and walk away, Jackie sending a middle finger to Natalie as she storms off.

“Fuck that bitch.” Jackie huffs as she passes you to get into the cabin. You just sit there in shock.

You wanted to cry. Natalie wanted Travis and was showing off her claim to him.

You look to your side to see Van whispering to Taissa, Van’s blue eyes look at yours as you get off the porch step to check on Jackie.

‘21

You: I know we haven’t spoken in a while, but I wanted to know if you want to go to the reunion together. You: I also got great news from my publishing house and wanted to celebrate with you sometime. 😊 Van: I don’t think I can go to the reunion. Van: I’m happy to hear about that! Please call me when you can to talk more about this because I can’t stand texting. Van: 3====D You: Okay! I would have called if I wasn’t in a situation! It’s all good. You: I’ll come by after the Reunion. They wanted me to give my graduation speech, which I never got to give. I wanted to give you the chance to make fun of me. Van: I would never.

When you came back inside Jackie’s parents' house, you were scolded by Mrs. Taylor about your smoking, which Jeff and Mr. Taylor only added to. You smiled and apologised on your way out to go to the bathroom real quick, even with Shauna’s pleading eyes for you to stay with her. You sat on the toilet as you typed a text to your ex-fiance, now a long-distance friend, and you sighed as you felt yourself smile. You knew you needed to speak to her about everything happening with the team, but you hadn’t found the time or the mind to do so. You miss her and want to tell her about your life again, even with how things ended the last time you were together. It felt like something within you was looking for Van’s comfort and her presence.

You leave the small bathroom across from the main bedroom and enter the hallway, only to find Shauna standing outside Jackie’s room. The door closing behind you makes Shauna turn to the side to meet your eyes. The two of you share a quiet sorrow this morning. She returns to Jackie’s bedroom and walks into it, leaving you alone in the hallway.

As you reach the white doorway, you slowly step down the hall with a heavy heart. Leaning on the door frame, you look on as Shauna silently stares at the bed. The room was untouched from the day you all left. The white silk of her bed and curtains were meticulously cleaned and steamed, the pink carpet was spotless of any dirt or life, and her vanity was still messily scattered from her rushed packing of her makeup the day of the trip. It felt like her room was stopped in time and space, like the ghost of the homecoming queen was still living there.

As you shyly walked into the room, you felt like a teenager. It made you think of a good memory of one of the many sleepovers you shared. Shauna went into her purse and started to text someone on the other end. You assumed it was Callie as you slowly came over to the end of the bed in the center of the room.

You’re parents were very strict about you going to your friends' houses when you were a child, and they never let you have a sleepover until you were 12 years old. It didn’t matter how many camping trips you went on with Shauna, Jackie, and your parents. They didn’t like the idea of you sleeping away from them. It didn’t matter how much they knew Shauna’s parents or Jackie’s, and they didn’t let you stay longer than 9 pm. It took you, Shauna, and Jackie begging your mother for weeks for her to finally agree that you were to sleepover at Jackie’s at her birthday party, rules being you had to call your mother when you were going to bed and when you woke up to pick you up as soon as possible. A smile comes to your lips as you remember your first time sleeping over at Jackie’s house.

“You remember when we finally had a sleepover with you guys?” you ask quietly as you look at Shauna. She was now looking at the small dairy you both bought after you were rescued to make cute favorite pages of things you knew Jackie would have loved if she was still around.

“Yeah,” Shauna chuckles as she looks up from the pages. “We finally won. We've got to all be together finally…”

You felt sad at the memory, feeling that innocence and triumph were the highlights of your childhood. You felt yourself almost melt into the memories as a chill crept up your spine.

“Okay, read it back to me.” The sweet sound of Jackie’s was heard behind you. She was young, with pigtails on her crown. Her body was petite and still childish, and she looked on at a younger version of you and Shauna.

You had turned your head to the scene. You smiled as you saw your chubby self giggling into her fist as she tried to let Shauna speak. “Okay, so I’ll go. You’re Jeff, right?” And then he will nod or whatever, and then I’ll say, “Your friend Randy told me that you asked him to ask me to ask Jackie if she likes you.” Shauna excitedly reads off the notebook paper, her small finger moving along with the words.

12 year old Jackie blushes as she shakes her head a little, “Just don’t say that I told you that I like him. I don’t want him to think that I’ve been, like, pining over him or whatever.”

You saw your younger self giggle harder in her hands, blushing at the idea of romance, as you said, “I bet you have been writing little doodles about him for weeks now.”

Jackie giggles and pushes your shoulder, pushing you back to the pillows. “Shut up, (y/n). It’s not like you don’t pine over Joshua!”

“Stop it!” Your younger self squeals with Jackie, grabbing her hands to hold yourself up with giggles. You never remember how happy you were as a kid. You smile at the scene as you feel Shauna’s arm brush against your own. She is looking on at the bed as you were.

“What if he says yes?” Shauna asks Jackie as she holds her tassel pen.

Jackie straightened her back, “Then just be like, “Okay, Cool… But definitely don’t act like you know I like him back.”

“Wait. Do you, like, like like him?” Shauna asks Jackie with wide eyes. “Oh my god, Jackie, why didn’t you tell me?”

All your younger selves giggle and are excited. You feel a tear come down your cheek, and your hand comes up to wipe it. You look away for a moment to look at the smudge of black makeup on your fingers.

“It’s not your fault,” Jackie says as she sits alone on the bed. She looks at you with her big innocent eyes and looks at you with pity for a moment. “What happened.” She added, to explain what she was talking about.

“I know,” Shauna says beside you. You look to her quietly as you realize she was seeing everything you were seeing, too. It was real or not real. It didn’t matter.

“Actually, you don’t know.” Jackie retorts with a pout on her lips, mocking. “It’s totally your fault. It’s your fault for not stopping it, (Y/n).” She looks to you with a smile and back to Shauna.

Your lip quivered as you looked at her round face. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have stayed with you that night.” You whisper to the phantom.

“But we were kids. And it was awful.” Jackie says again, more calmly and sweetly. A mood swings with each word the phantom has.

“Why are you here?” Shauna asks softly.

“Why are you here?” Jackie whispers back with a small smirk growing on her lips.

You both look at the bed and whisper together in the bedroom, so you don’t notice when Jeff enters the doorframe. “Where have you guys been?” he says softly as he pauses at the doorframe, unable to walk through. “You left me all alone down there.”

Shauna sighs softly as she looks at her husband, and you quickly try to fix your black makeup. You quickly lie: “Sorry, Jeff. The door was open, and I got emotional. I needed a moment. Sorry I stole your wife.”

You felt a sting of guilt when you knew what you said was truer than he knew.

Jeff nods his head and smiles softly. “It’s okay. Shauna, if you wanna go, we can go.”

Shauna doesn’t react to his words or your lies. She walks past him and says, “We just have to make it through dessert.”

“To Jackie, whose light shone too bright ever to be extinguished from our memories. Happy Birthday, baby.” Mrs. Taylor roasted, you all held up refilled mimosas. You smiled widely as you looked at her.

“Happy birthday.” Mr. Taylor agreed as he momentarily looked up to the ceiling and sipped.

“Cheers.”

“Happy birthday, Jackie!” You say with a cheerful smile as you sip your drink, you don’t stop yourself from drinking it all in one go. “To Jackie.” Shauna adds,

“We’re reading Elena Ferrante in our book club, and it reminds me so much of you girls.” Mrs. Taylor says as you take a piece of cake.

You nod as you push a hair behind your ear, “Oh! Which one? Lost daughter, Days of abandonment?

“My Brilliant Friend.” She beams happily and looks at you as if you were the smartest person she has ever met. You feel yourself pinch a smile back at the mention of the book. Of course, she would think of Jackie when reading that book. “It can’t always have been easy for you, Shauna. Jackie was just so… gifted. I can’t imagine how exhausting it must’ve been, for both of you, to always comparing yourselves to someone so beautiful and smart. ” Mrs. Taylor ranted as she ended, her emotions painting brightly in grief.

You wanted to scream. You never knew why there was so much animosity toward Shauna, but you knew that at some level, everyone saw the marriage as one Shauna stole from Jackie. Shauna was living the life Jackie would have had if she had survived.

“Shauna got into Brown.” Jeff defends with a slight move of his hand. He was over this whole facade. “She’s, uh, the smartest person I’ve ever met. Are-are you a genius?” Jeff turns his head to Shauna to ask. You smile lightly as you eat more of the cake, letting everything happen before you.

Shauna is stunned to silence as she opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Jeff asks again, “Did you ever take one of those tests? You should take one of those.”

“I haven’t.” Shauna bashfully looks down, quiet, uncomfortable with everything. You couldn’t help but feel the same.

“Shauna and I were sleeping together when Jackie and I were a couple.” Jeff blurted out to the old couple. You choke on your mimosa as you try to sit up straighter at the news; a little juice falls on your shirt. There was silence at the table as Mr. and Mrs. Taylor looked on with horror. You couldn’t help but look at Jeff with wide eyes. “Which is, obviously, you know, a shitty thing. But there it is.”

Mrs. Taylor sends a look to Mr. Taylor as ‘I told you so’ as you put down your drink. You wanted another cigarette.

“Because the truth is that Jackie was amazing.” Jeff sighs as he looks at the couple, “But so is my damn wife. And she still is. And I may have been an Idiot then, but I was smart enough to see that.” Jeff looks around the table, and for a moment, your eyes lock together, and you give him a nod of approval. He did right by Shauna, defending her but exposing that was wild.

“And this really is the best Tuna Quiche I’ve ever tasted, Mrs. Taylor.” He added as he toasted to Mrs. Taylor.

You just sit still in your seat for a moment as you find your words: “I found out in the wilderness.” You say as you look at the Taylors. As you spoke, you could see shock written on their faces, adding to this scandal. “It was heartbreaking, but even then, I knew it was them being stupid and not understanding the gravity of how it would hurt Jackie.” You confess as you frown for the first time since being here.

You sigh as you look up to the couple. “Jackie was our best friend. She drank Rum milk punch at parties, and stole your Valium for the trip, and she used to talk about how my arms were chucky. She wasn’t perfect, and I don’t want to remember her that way. She was Jackie. Our Jackie. No amount of years or regrets will change that. She would be happy knowing we all still come together for her birthday; she was humble enough for that.”

You smile and raise your glass again. After your speech, the couple smiles weakly as they agree, and Shauna and Jeff go along.

‘96

After comforting Jackie and trying to bite your tongue about Natalie, you decided you needed to let yourself vent for a moment. With a growl in your stomach, you crawl up the stairs to the attic, logging your emotional day. Exposing every secret, every dirty detail of your night with Natalie, how you’ll go to hell for lying to Jackie for so long. You cuddled in your blankets and didn’t look up when Taissa approached the attic.

She started to unbutton her shirt without even greeting you and paused for a moment. Then, she approached your shared pile of clothes and grabbed Shauna’s white push-up bra.

“Um- Where’s Shauna?” Taissa snaps to you with a grave tone. You turn your head to her as you put down your journal. You don’t understand why the importance right now. You then look at the bra in her hand at the rough cut on the inseam; the wire was ripped out.

You shoot up from your bed, “Oh my god! Shauna!” as you run out of the attic. Taissa is right behind you as you stumble out off the ladder. Once your feet find ground, Taissa slides down the ladder and rushes past you against all your might. She was on the actual soccer team; she ran outside.

Misty spun around to you while holding a cup of ‘medicine’ for Ben. She asked you with furrowed eyebrows, “(Y/n), everything okay?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it, Misty!” You dismissed her as you moved her out of your way, softly, as she stared at the back of your head when you stormed outside.

You come to the door when Taissa grabbed Lottie’s shoulders and asked, “Lottie, have you seen Shauna?”

“Uh…”

“Lottie, have you?!” Taissa pressed harder as you approached the girls, who were already slightly out of breath.

“I think she went that way. Wait! Uh…!” Lottie stops as she looks concerned at Taissa. "Were- were you outside last night eating dirt?”

You paused as you looked at Taissa with wide eyes. The night with dirt under her nails comes to mind.

“What the actual fuck! No!” Taissa hisses as she turns around to run into the woods to find Shauna.

Lottie grabs your arm before you can follow behind her, “Is everything okay?”

You push her hand off as gently as you can as you say, “No, stay here! Don’t tell anyone about this!”

You pull away from her completely, noticing how concerned she was about you and feeling touched by it. Then, from a distance, you follow behind Taissa.

You weren’t in shape before the crash, and you had only lost weight from not having enough to eat. You weren’t doing your best as you panted through the greenery. You were still behind Taissa by a few feet.

It felt like hours as you ran behind Taissa. She stopped to look around momentarily, and you leaned your hands on your knees as you desperately tried to breathe. You saw a footprint in the moss that led to your left. You and Taissa continued as you found your breath again.

You two finally find her sitting against a tree with a blanket under her body. She laid out her supplies beside herself. “Shauna!” Taissa yells as she turns the corner of the tree. Shauna is lighting the end of the wire with your weed lighter.

Witch hazel. A underwire. A lighter. A rag.

You felt your lip curl into a sob when you looked at the broken girl on the forest floor. You couldn’t stomach that this is what you have. You were shaking when you came over to her side, Taissa the other, as you looked over her body.

“Okay. Okay. Um…” Taissa processes as she sees what is before her; she is trying to stay strong. “You’re not going to do this alone, okay?”

You nod your head as you kiss Shauna’s temple. “We’re going to be right here for you. I promise. I will always love you, Shauna.”

Shauna’s lip quivers as she rests her head in your chest. She cries heartily, and Taissa grabs the wire from her hand. She took in a deep breath as she positioned herself in between Shauna’s legs. “I’m going to help you,” Taissa says as she takes another big breath. “If you let me.”

Shauna pulls her head out from your breasts to look at Taissa, and she nods her head. She couldn’t muster up any words for this moment. “Okay.”

You rub her shoulders as you move behind her. You lean Shauna into your body as you hover over your back, putting your legs beside her body to stabilize her. All you could muster in comfort was a shaky, “It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay, Shauna.”

Taissa puts up her curls in a ponytail as she then leans down to perform an abortion as best she can. Shauna lets a shakily breath as she leans down on your body and slides to rest on your stomach. You pet her hair gently and feel fat tears roll down your cheeks. You look at every curve of Shauna’s face, fearing it will be the last time you see it. Shauna nods as Taissa places her hand on her thigh to move the wire inside. You couldn’t help but hiccup a sob as you say, “It’s okay.”

Shauna was panting as you tried to comfort her with your hand in her hair, your kisses to her temple, but she was panicking softly as Taissa inserted the underwire. You hid your eyes into Shauna’s shounder as it shook. You couldn’t watch this. “Okay. Keep going.” Shauna whimpers to Taissa below.

You slowly breathe as you rub her arms and hear Taissa sniffling back. She cries as she pushes the wire further in. Shauna shakes in pain as an agonizing moan comes from her mouth. She bites her fist as Taissa continues to press inward, and she whimpers, but it becomes hard to hear anymore. “I love you, Shauna. Everything will be okay.” You whisper into her ear.

Shauna sobs into her fist and yells, “Stop! Stop! Take it out! Take it out!”

Taissa takes it out as soon as she hears Shauna’s cries. She starts crying as Shauna sits up. “I can’t do it! I can't do it!” Shauna sobs.

You hug your arms around her shoulders as you kiss her temple. Taissa rushes over to hug Shauna’s waist, and Shauna clings onto both of you. “I know! I know. It’s okay.”

Shauna sobs into Taissa's chest, “I don’t want to die!”

You sob yourself as you hear her say that. You rub her back and say, “I won’t let you die, Shauna. You’re not going to die.”

“It’s okay.” Taissa cries as she hugs onto Shauna.

And for a moment in those woods, you all three cried like children in each other's arms. Then, you all quietly, without any words spoken, walk back to the cabin as the sun sets in the distance. You hold onto Shauna’s hand as you walk back and tuck her into bed as soon as you all return. You don’t even think about your journal that wasn’t on your bed anymore.

Taglist: @zhivaxo @h-doodles @homopheli @bigtimesalt8196 @juniperjean @scatorccioz @juniperjean @yaakooi @lottieswebs @juchily @freezinggay @deathly710-blog @ghostoflesbianism @marvelous-wandanatangel @errriiie @anskkks @deathvidal @slutforhotpeople @thursdayygrrrl @day-ziez @evewasheretoday @mayasaurusss @captainbabybear @eleanormall @mommyeater2000 @leonchef @mikititta @tigersarrcool @nyasbae @dykepvppy @jax1118 @oakwave @mmiah @dvrkhcld @swiftin0f @opheliadeservedbetter-27 @psychicdreamwonderland @pinkmoonzzz @under-your-bed-not-in-it @sadsapphic-rose @fictitious-sapphic @gayandfairycore @modernvenuss

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cripplecharacters · 21 hours ago

Note

Hi, I hope you're having a good day! I have a schizophrenic OC and have some questions about psychosis:

What are moments of clarity in the middle of an episode like, as in realizing a delusion isn't true? Can a moment of clarity fully take you out of an episode on its own, or would you just spiral again without intervention?

If you get closer to where a hallucination is "coming from" in physical space, does the sound get closer?

What would it be like if you tried to physically interact with a visual hallucination? -Anon 🐝

Anon 🐝 here again with more questions about psychosis: How common is it to hallucinate (visually or auditorily) people you know in real life? Can you have consistently positive experiences with a recurring hallucination? Thanks so much for everything you do!

Hey!

I have psychosis but not schizophrenia, so please keep this in mind. I'll also say that psychotic symptoms and experiences are extremely individualized, and these answers are based on my own experience, they're by no means universal.

Can a moment of clarity fully take you out of an episode on its own, or would you just spiral again without intervention?

This will depend on a few factors, I think. If someone is in general aware that they have a psychosis spectrum disorder, go into a psychotic episode, and realize "oh I'm Actively Having a Psychotic Episode" then that might take them right out of it, or do so gradually, or at least help them stop freaking out. If someone has the insight of knowing what is happening to them, there's a higher chance they will go back to "normal" faster.

On the other hand, if someone is unaware that they are in psychosis, or what is going on, there's a higher chance they will go back to it. But there are no hard rules - someone who is normally extremely self-aware of their psychotic episodes might spiral into it over and over if they're under more stress than usual, for example.

Another thing is whether the hallucination/delusion is "bizarre" (fantastical, literally couldn't happen, not understandable even in the person's religious/cultural context) or "non-bizarre" (possible, even if highly unusual/improbable). If someone is aware they could be in psychosis, it's much easier to clock something as fake if it's of the bizarre variety (since having an alien in your bedroom is weirder and raises more questions than someone knocking at your doors a lot). That can provide that moment of clarity if you have enough self awareness to go "but aliens aren't real, I must be in psychosis" - though it's not a guarantee by any means ("what if I'm the first person to discover aliens?" -> starts spiraling all over again).

The same above goes for "simple"/"complex" visual hallucinations - if you realize that the "person" is actually just a vaguely person-shaped blob of color, it could just take you out of it, since well, that's not very convincing after you notice that.

There are also ways to "solidify" that clarity. A really common trick I know is to take a photo of the hallucination; if it's not here then you know it's not there either. Some people also take off their glasses and check if there's a mismatch in how the hallucination should look like if it was real vs if it's made up by the brain (if it suddenly looks like an interactive object in a 2000s video game or looks weirdly HD, it's probably a hallucination), though this one never worked for me personally.

What would it be like if you tried to physically interact with a visual hallucination?

I only ever tried to do this while I was fully unaware that I was in a psychotic episode, so keep that in mind.

Looking at it now, I didn't "feel the hallucination" at all. I was hallucinating thing A, and touching real existing thing B (that I thought A was on/under), and I felt exactly what I would if it was just the real physical object B. But because I was hallucinating, I didn't pay attention to that fact, and it certainly didn't "take me out of the hallucination" that the hallucination didn't feel how it should. It obviously depends on the person, but if someone is trying to touch the hallucination and expecting it to feel like the thing, they probably won't notice even if it doesn't feel like it at all. You could be hallucinating a dog and be touching a chair, and it wouldn't feel out of the ordinary.

As for the hallucination touching the person - again, can only speak for myself - tactile hallucinations can be extremely real. Mine felt 100% how they would (if they could logically happen, since mine were of the "bizarre" variety), even looking back at it now.

If you get closer to where a hallucination is "coming from" in physical space, does the sound get closer?

A lot of the points from the answer above will be true for this one too. If someone is completely "in" that hallucination, they might not notice/care even if the sound doesn't get any closer despite them getting closer. But yes, some people can have very realistic hallucinations and be able to tell exactly where its sounds are coming from according to them. If it's a static hallucination that e.g. only shows up in a specific area, they might avoid going anywhere near there.

Also: not all hallucinations that should logically produce sounds actually do. Another thing that the brain might ignore and not question for some people, and take someone else out of the hallucination entirely.

How common is it to hallucinate (visually or auditorily) people you know in real life?

I think media makes it seem way more common than it actually is, but it does happen. This could also be affected by the person's life events, e.g. if a psychotic person has recently experienced something major regarding a certain person, there's a higher chance they could be hallucinating them - because it's Recent and Traumatic. Some people will be hallucinating people they know 24/7 nonstop, others will literally never have it, and a big portion will have a few of those throughout their life.

It is also fairly common to hallucinate recently lost loved ones after their death for people who aren't (long-term) psychotic as well. It's basically a trauma response to high stress, and can happen to anyone.

I'll say, you can hallucinate all sorts of real people: they sure could be your closest loved ones, but they could also be your classmates, your annoying coworker, the cashier at your local grocery store, a religious figure, etc.

Can you have consistently positive experiences with a recurring hallucination?

You can, though I personally never did. I'll leave this question to mods who have more experience with it, though I'll say that you can especially have a positive hallucination if it's a hallucination of something you already like (like a friend, for example).

For the end I'll also mention that there are many more types of hallucinations than just visual and auditory; olfactory (smell), tactile, sexual, somatic (e.g. pain, or feeling like you're moving when you aren't), and command ("the voices telling you to do something", it's usually categorized differently from auditory ones).

Hope this helps,

mod Sasza

Hello!

I have schizoaffective with depression and only have a few things to add because Sasza put everything so well! :)

There's a concept in psychosis you'll hear a lot called double bookkeeping. It's the idea that you both know something is delusional or part of psychosis but believe it anyways. This is something that I experience during early episodes or in the beginning that goes away as my episode gets longer. Some people do not have this at all, some people this is the only way their psychosis shows up. But a lot of how strong a hallucination or delusion is will depend on if you're truly believing it without question or double bookkeeping, or how "in" the hallucination or delusion you are, as Sasza said.

Personally, it's harder to have a "moment of insight" when I am double bookkeeping because I already know what I'm believing or doing is unrealistic or bizarre but I still keep doing it. When I am fully in the delusion, it's easier for something to pull me out (one time a very well timed text message from a friend made me start to question a very dangerous delusion) and for me to go to the double bookkeeping mindset.

As for hallucinations and where they are physically located, I've mainly had hallucinations that feel like they are anchored in place but the opposite is also possible!

I sometimes hallucinate real people, but those times have often been related to strong emotion or trauma, like mentioned. I more often see strangers.

It is possible to have a positive hallucination or delusion, or to have a hallucination that is regularly positive! I have a British voice that brought me a lot of comfort in my last serious episode. He would say very positive things compared to the other meaner voices. I actually miss him sometimes, although I am glad to no longer be hearing voices.

Last little bit I'll add is please remember schizophrenia and schizoaffective involve at least 2 of 5 components, only one of which have to be hallucinations, disorganized speech, or delusions! The others are abnormal movements/catatonia and negative symptoms (asociality, anhedonia, avolition, alogia, and (blunt) affect, the beautiful five As).

Happy writing!

Mod Bert

#mod sasza #Anon 🐝#anonymous #psychosis spectrum representation #mod bert

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killerlookz · 2 days ago

Text

Have You Seen Her Lately? | Joost Klein - Heartbeat! AU

yet another prequel in the heartbeat! au, meant to take place a few days after it can't be that easy (should be read after that part!)

description: joost klein x f! reader- after a messy drunk encounter with Joost and his new girlfriend has left you more heartbroken than you thought was ever possible, a spontaneous text from Joost has you wondering if anything will ever truly be over between you two. | inspired by have you seen her lately by pulp (aka the greatest song of all time i swear)

content: 18+ sexual content, dry humping, angst, hurt/some comfort, cheating, toxic relationship, honestly both reader and joost are kind of the worst in this one (which is why they're made for each other), not proofread

THIS FIC CONTAINS RPF AND HAS BEEN TAGGED AS SUCH, IF YOU ARE HERE YOU SEARCHED FOR IT!

word count: ~7.5k

"So you didn't…" Julie trails off, settling into the back of your sofa, raising an eyebrow as she lifts a flute of cheap Prosecco to her lips.

"Didn't?" You furrow your eyebrows, cocking your head, "Oh god, have sex? No we didn't!"

"Good." She smacks her lips, nodding as swallows down the bubbly liquid. "Did you want to?"

"I don't know…" you think, trying to recall that treacherous night, "I guess I did."

"Wrong answer." Julie shakes her head in clear disappointment.

"Well, I didn't really… I don't know, I was drunk, with a sprained ankle, I don't think it would have been enjoyable anyways."

"Well." Julie pauses, "Even if he didn't try to sleep with you, he's still a dog. I mean, brings his new girlfriend around you and sprains your ankle in the same night, what an asshole!"

"I mean, I guess the ankle thing is sorta both our faults"

"Uh uh" Julie takes another sip from the nearly empty glass, "Nothing is ever your fault, babe. Learn to blame everything on Joost, trust, you'll get over him like that!" She snaps her fingers.

"Well the girlfriend thing is definitely his fault." You concede.

"Did he tell you anything about her?" She perks up, suddenly interested in the potential gossip, "Have you found her instagram? Can I see it? I bet its awful!"

"It didn't come up." You shrug, "I guess your new girlfriend isn't really polite conversation when your ex girlfriend is sitting in your lap."

"I guess not." Julie places the now empty glass onto your coffee table, "Well, now that you got whatever that was out of your system… things really are done right… like really?" Her stare is intense as she asks. You feel almost as if you're on trial, the prosecutor grilling into you, and your life is on the line.

Wow it is not that serious. You try to tell yourself, but you value Julie's opinion, and above all you're embarrassed. The shame eating away at you about how easy it was to fall right back in Joost's arms even after you ended things. Pathetic wasn't a strong enough word for how you felt.

"Right right." You nod fervently, unsure of who you're trying to convince more, her or yourself. "I didn't even mean for whatever that was to happen, just drunk and stupid. It's over."

"Thank god! I mean I love Joost like a brother but…" She rolls her eyes, "I just- I can't! I can't with him right now."

You take a hard look at Julie, noting the lines in her forehead as her eyebrows furrow, the scowl on her face, she really is mad at him, he didn't even do anything to her, why aren't you mad like that? Why can't you be mad like that?

"And you!" Her face softens, "I love you! I love you way more, but please, please promise me you won't entertain this anymore."

"I promise." Your stomach churns as a sheepish grin twits its way onto your lips. You feel as if you've just made a deal with the devil, a promise you can never take back. Betraying your best friend for a boy? That's low.

"Good." Julie pauses to look down at her phone, "Oh well shit!" She sits stiff, straight up, "Didn't notice the time, fuck, I was supposed to meet Anton, for dinner tonight. He said it's important!" She sighs, "I gotta motor, are you gonna be okay, girl? I'm sure he'd understand if I cancel-"

"No, no." You shake your head, "Go! Have fun." You attempt to keep the smile on your face, like it doesn't kill you to know she'll be off having the time of her life with the love of her life, while you're stuck here, heartbreak making you an immovable object on this couch.

That was what frustrated you anyways about your conversations with Julie about your relationship predicament. Her and Anton had been together since they were 15. When she had told you as much the first time you met him you almost couldn't believe it. It all sounded so absurd, being together, with someone, for seven years? Let alone someone you met as a teenager. You could only wish for as much for yourself.

"Ugh, you're the best!" Julie hops off the couch, shimmying over to you, "Remember, Do not text him!"

"I won't." You shake your head, "Swear!" You were only digging yourself deeper.

"Good, Okay I really gotta run, love you!" Julie bends down to place a quick, entirely platonic kiss to your cheek before scurrying out of your apartment before you can even get a word in.

You watch as the apartment door slams shut, leaving you once again in your solitude, the bars on your self inflicted prison cell locked once more.

You should go out. Put on a skimpy little outfit and get free drinks at the bar all night. Go home with an absolute dime piece and try your best to forget about Joost for tonight.

It's tempting, but you know it won't work. You'll try to find him in every man you meet, becoming so frustrated with conversation you can barely listen when they aren't just like him

Part of you had hoped that that night, just a few days ago, when Joost had taken you home upon deciding you were too drunk to be by yourself, you'd be able to remedy the terrible mistake you had made by ever breaking things off with Joost. Of course things were far far from perfect when you were together, but that night, sitting on his lap while you sobbed into his shoulder, even as miserable as you were it was so much more bearable when he was around.

You weren't quite happy either way, what was the point of being unhappy and alone?

Of course, you knew deep down you couldn't go back, couldn't un-break what you had broken. Nothing had been resolved that night. Joost had been kind enough to lay in bed with you until you fell back asleep, a gentle hand on your back was all. You didn't know how long he had really stayed with you that night, but you were certain that he had gone back to the couch almost as soon as you had fallen asleep, as you awoke to an empty bed. A familiar sight these days.

Joost had retained his offer of taking you to urgent care the morning after to get your ankle checked, but you knew a sprain when you felt one- the nausea bubbling in your stomach only added to the agony, not wanting Joost to see you an an even worse state than the one you had been in last night, you just wanted to flee his apartment as fast as you possibly could.

Joost didn't even try to push to get you to stay, or at the very least get your ankle checked, he had just accepted that you wanted to leave with a smile, hugging you goodbye like you were just one of his "boys" complete with a firm tap to your back, it had been nothing like you were used to. "Stay well, okay?" He said as you had exited the building, ready to limp down to the uber that had been waiting outside for you.

Much to your dismay it seemed he was not in the mood for remedying things as you were, he had just been being nice.

You look over at your phone, facing up on the coffee table, uncomfortably void of notifications.

You contemplate picking it up, just getting it over with, texting Joost- what was the worst that could happen? He doesn't respond? It isn't like you aren't already certain you won't be seeing him again.

The temptation looms over you, putting you in a hypnotic state, weak to any form of suggestion. You feel your body slowly pulling forward, like you have no control of yourself, at the mercy of your desperation.

Just as your hand begins to raise, you catch yourself, blinking a few times, what are you crazy?

Stiff, you fall against the back of your couch, and sigh of exasperation leaving your lips. You supposed it was probably another night of takeout and doomscrolling, truly a match made in heaven. Or, more likely hell.

You stare at your phone for a few moments longer, unmoving, unsure of how many more nights like this you could take before you truly went insane.

So lost in your own self pity it almost startles you, even in the warm orange light that bathes your apartment in the final moments of sunlight of the day, the way your phone suddenly glows. It's not something you're used to, having almost entirely shut yourself in since your breakup with Joost.

You sit up, and you can't help but to feel a deep sense of embarrassment at how excited a small little notification has you. It used to be that a day couldn't go by where you didn't feel like you had a million plans, every waking second consumed by the presence of your friends. Now here you were, unable to contain your excitement over one measly notification as you lunge forward to grab your phone. Knowing full well it could be nothing.

But it wasn't nothing.

Nowhere close.

The capital letters of the contact name scream at you: DO NOT TEXT!!!!

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Joost.

Unable to see the message until you unlock your phone, your heart races, anticipation coursing through your veins, nerves trembling as you hold your phone in your shaky hands. What could he possibly want? It feels as if your stomach has fallen straight out of you, the sharp pangs of anxiety making you feel somehow both hollow and heavy.

You tuck your bottom lip behind your front teeth. The floorboards creek beneath you with each rapid tap of your foot.

-hoi! just checking to make sure ur ankle is all guud :)

How endearingly informal. Although you would have much preferred a long, drawn out confession about him still being in love with you, how he will never get over you, begging you to give him a second chance. But you guess you'll take whatever you can get.

Your fingers are almost too fast for your brain, racing to give Joost a response while he's most likely still on the phone.

better! thanks for ask- You can only get so far before you remember your promise to Julie. Not even an hour ago swearing that you and Joost were over, and that you most certainly would not text him. That was much easier said than done when you were under the impression he wanted absolutely nothing to do with you.

You're back to staring at your phone, unsure of your next move. Are you really ready to cut things off completely? To never see him again.

But then again do you have to be ready? How often are you truly ready for things before you do them. Almost never, you suppose, but its probably high time that things end here, before they become an even bigger disaster than they already were.

Well, that's no fun.

better! thanks for asking, can finally walk on it now.

You wait eagerly for a response, hoping the adrenaline of purely just getting to talk to Joost is enough to ward of the impending feeling of regret and shame that will inevitably come with not only lying to your best friend, but not even pretending you had the strength to cut Joost off in the first place.

-good :) sorry abt that again

A moment later, another text

-BTW was supposed to get drinks w bruno tn at that bar by ur place, but he cancelled last min, im near u wanna do smthn tn?

A tempting offer.

Your chest thumps, as you anxiously hover your thumbs over the screen, spinning them in small circles as you search for the right words to say. You know you shouldn't. You really, really shouldn't.

But how could you not?

You try your best to seem nonchalant, attempting to not give away the fact that this is really all you had been hoping for the last few days.

do what?

-im almost at the bar now. u wanna come around?

Alcohol and Joost were never a great mix, but you just could not turn him down, despite the glaring alarm bells going off in your head.

sure. can be there round 8, that work?

-perfect :)

***

You aren't as nervous as you expect to be as you approach the bar, perfectly primed for the occasion by having finished off the bottle of Prosecco Julie had brought over earlier while you touched up your makeup.

The building is dark, still early in the night there are people scattered here and there but not a big crowd. Evidently it isn't hard to find Joost, you could spot that mop of blonde hair from a mile away. He's alone, leaned up against the bar, pint glass fit snuggly in his hand, scanning the place, in search of you, you suppose.

Staring straight in his direction it doesn't take long for his eyes to meet yours. A soft smile appearing on his face once his gaze locks onto you, his free hand lifting up to wave you over. You return a polite smile, unsure of what Joost's true motives were behind inviting you out, that polite smile is all you can muster for now.

"Long time no see." The smile lingers on Joost's face as he greets you.

"Well if a week is a long time…"

"Too long to go without seeing you." He chuckles, its sweet, and you can't help but wonder if he's already wasted or if he's really attempting to flirt with you. The smile on his face turns sheepish, and suddenly he's the shy boy he once was when you first met him- taking you back to better times. It somehow quells your nerves, this doesn't need to be as awkward as you have the tendency to make things.

"Did your hair somehow get longer since the last time I saw you?" You reach a hand up to brush the messy strands of blonde out of his face, immediately going for some form of physical contact to put out some feelers for how tonight might go. When Joost doesn't move away you're certain you can put the moves on a little harder, maybe your dreams of somehow reconciling were not so far out of reach.

Its a move you've done time and time again, you almost forget how intimate it is, staring deep into Joost's eyes, strikingly blue, impossible to not be mesmerized by. Seemingly caught off-guard by how attractive you find Joost to be, despite your knowledge on the intricacies of his appearances, you resist the urge to let an I love you roll off the tongue, just as it had so casually many times before as your fingers brush against his blonde locks.

"I know I know," He laughs, "I need a haircut."

"No," You shake your head, "The messy hair suits you." You finally let your hand rest back down at your side.

"Well how can I ever cut my hair now?"

*** It somehow felt as if you and Joost were complete strangers, having a drunken meet-cute as you get to know each other for the very first time, yet simultaneously the night was drenched in nostalgia, the bittersweet of better days looming over each of you. Everything and nothing had changed, attempting to reconcile the breakup of a whirlwind relationship with the niceties of tonight seemed impossible.

There was some trepidation about what was to come next, yet there seemed to be somewhat of an understanding between the two of you about how this night would end. Joost's eyes constantly straying from your gaze to stare at your lips as you talked, you throwing your head back and laughing a little too hard at things that weren't really all that funny, your hands occasionally brushing over his shoulder or outer arm.

It hardly startled you when Joost, who had approached you from behind after returning from the bar, leaned over, his lips dangerously close to your neck as he talked in your ear to be heard over the chatter and music of the now crowded venue,

"How bout I finish this and we head home, hm?" His voice is low, not loud enough to hurt your ears from his proximity to you. His breath tickles your neck, causing you to shiver slightly, goosebumps forming on your skin. Head home.

"Mmm" You hum, pursing your lips, "Yeah sure," You turn your head, a slight smirk tugging at your lips, as you look behind you, Joost still very much intruding on your personal space. Of course, you don't mind much.

You've never quite seen someone finish a beer so fast in your life, but by now the tension of the night is wearing heavy on the both of you and you're racing to get back to your apartment so you can finally break it.

"Shit." Your keys fall from a shaky hand as you attempt to open your front door. The intoxication and anticipation clearly making a mess of your motor skills. They hit the ground with an irritating sharp jingle, and you lean over to pick them up, accidentally bumping Joost who stands behind you as you bend down.

"Wo-hoa save that for inside," He chuckles,

"Oh shut up." You scoff, but its all very lighthearted, and a much needed confirmation of what was to come.

Finally, you manage to shove your keys into the lock, nearly falling into your apartment as you open the door.

Joost follows closely behind, closing the door behind him with a thud.

"So…" He starts, suddenly freezing up like you hadn't done this a million times before, his eyes shifting around the apartment.

"So what, turning shy on me now?" You bite the inside of your cheeks as you attempt to meet his shifting gaze, was he having second thoughts.

"N-no I- no I just haven't been here in awhile," He blinks a few times, clearly trying to push away whatever it was that he was feeling.

"Oh," You furrow your eyebrows, looking down at the floor, "Yeah, I guess so."

"Sorry," He chuckles, "Did I kill the mood?"

A smirk suddenly appearing on your face as you look back up at Joost,

"Not at all."

"Good," He smiles back, finally stepping fully into the apartment, "Where were we…"

"I think…" You start, cheeks getting hot, thinking about what was to come, you can hardly make eye contact with Joost now, maybe you were the one getting shy.

Too lost in your brief fantasies about where things would go next, you'd hardly realized how close Joost had gotten to you, too fingers pressing under your chin, beckoning you to look up at him.

"Here?" He asks, hovering over you, his lips just barely about to graze yours.

"Yes here."

It isn't long before he's kissing you, really kissing you, not those short, pity shoulder kisses he had been giving you as you cried to him the other night. This was deep, hot, romantic even? Any moment now you were certain you'd be waking up, that this was nothing but a dream to be ripped away from you right as you got to the best part.

But it continued, low hums of content vibrate through the kiss. You can't get enough, lifting yourself up on your tip-toes to shove yourself further into the kiss, feeling your movements beginning to get sloppy as the two of you are finally overcome with pure, carnal desire.

Your legs wobble from your position on your toes, and Joost's hands come to your back to keep you stable. His touch so familiar, his hands knowing your flesh even better than you knew yourself.

"I've got you." He mumbles.

You were so easy, three simple words of reassurance driving you insane. But as strong as his grip on you is, your calves strain trying to keep to his height, and you're more than certain this position isn't great for him either.

You pull away, "Couch?" Voice slightly horse.

Joost leans back, and you finally plant your heels on the floor,

"Ja, ja, lets."

Your fingers graze Joost's tattooed knuckles, intertwining with his, tugging harshly as you rush to pull him over to the couch, eager to get your lips back on his.

"H-hey, I'm not going anywhere" He laughs.

"Am I moving too fast?" You stop dead in your tracks, worrying you're taking things too far too quickly.

"We'll move as fast as you want," An earnest smile on Joost's face as he closes the arm length distance between the two of you, your fingers still interlocked with his.

"Like the sound of that." Your voice barely a mumble.

You're nearly pushing Joost onto the couch, but he seems just as, if not more eager than you as he grabs you by your wrists, pulling you down to sit on his lap. The fabric of his jeans is rough beneath your skin, your skirt rolling up as you straddle Joost's waist, exposing bare thighs. Joost wastes no time getting his hands on you, his fingers trailing up the flesh now visible by your bunched up skirt. It's hard not to let out an immediate moan as the pads of Joost's fingers dig into the supple skin of your thighs, its been so long since you've been touched at all, much less touched like this.

You feel your muscles tense, flexing as you push yourself forward into Joost, almost involuntarily, your most primal urges taking control of you in order to get exactly what you want. You place a hand on Joost's chest, stabilizing yourself as you lean forward to let your lips meet his once again.

Joost's hands leave your thighs, now firmly placed around your waist, holding you to him, any movement of your hips at mercy to his grasp. You waste no time with polite pecks to Joost's lips, instead, immediately resuming to hot, wet, open mouth kisses.

It feels lethally hot in your small living room, and you almost can't wait to shed some of your clothes off. Of course, however, the anticipation of good sex was almost as enjoyable as the real thing and it was not worth rushing the passion of a moment like this.

You arch your back, digging your hips into Joost's, feeling the large metallic buckle on his belt dig into your lower stomach. You gasp slightly, savoring the friction from the rough seam of his jeans below the thin lace of your panties. You let your hand trail from Joost's chest to the back of his neck, pressing your palm into him as you do so, to really feel him under you. You wrap your other arm around his neck so you can fully embrace him, wanting to close every gap between the two of you.

As Joost's palms dig into your sides he drags your hips backwards, once again making you aware of the friction you so desperately need. By now it's obvious that Joost is growing hard beneath you, the already sturdy fabric of his jeans growing stiffer as he once again guides your hips forward.

"Don't be shy," Joost mumbles, tilting his head back ever so slightly to pull back from the kiss so he can get a word in, "Move those hips."

Which is what you would do if it wasn't for the sound of Joost's ringtone suddenly interrupting the moment. You sit up, Joost's grip on you suddenly becoming weak, and then non existent as he awkwardly shuffles with you still on top of him to take his phone from his back pocket.

You watch Joost's face, you ponder if he was really going to take a call at a time like this,

"Shit, shit. I'm sorry," He fumbles with the phone in his hands, his face twitches once the screen glows in his face, eyelids blinking rapidly, "Sorry," He chuckles, before a sigh falls from his lips as he quickly silences his phone, placing it face down on the couch.

"No its-" You cut yourself off, eyes trailing over to where he had put his phone down before whipping your head back to look at him, "Was that important? Who was it?"

"No, nothing. Don't worry about it, pretty, come here." A smirk pressed to his lips as his hands find their way back to your hips, ready to return back to your previous activities.

You let the slight interruption go, just as eager to move things along that you don't care to press about his social life.

You don't meet Joost's lips this time as you lean forward, instead pressing languid kisses to his jaw. Theres a slight stubble on his chin, tickling you as you nuzzle against him.

You continue your kisses, egged on by Joost's heavy breathing, the way his chest rises and falls below you mixed with the sparse groans you illicit from him as you lick over the right spots. Joost seems almost desperate to feel you against him once more, strong hands nearly forcing you back against the bulge in his jeans. Of course you can't complain, the now slick fabric of your panties separating him from your clit so flimsy you're sure you're getting much more pleasure from this than he possibly could be.

"God," You groan, rocking forward, your fingers gripping at the hair that falls at the back of his neck. You dip lower, your tongue licking a stripe up the throbbing artery in his neck, tasting his skin. You attach your lips to the pulse point, placing a small kiss to his flesh before opening your mouth wider, a sloppier kiss now before pressing your teeth to the fluttering vein, hollowing your cheeks to suck at the skin.

You feel Joost's hands suddenly grip into your arms, firm, pushing back, practically ripping you from your spot against him,

"Woah, kijk uit," (watch it) He attempts to laugh but there's a genuine concern in his voice.

Your eyes widen, like a deer in headlights what did you do?

"Huh," You breathe out, clearly bewildered, your eyes roam his figure, what did you do? You think for a moment, as Joost's hands finally loosen on you, dropping to his sides,

"I'm sorry- just,-"

"Oh my god," You feel your heart drop down to your stomach, any arousal immediately leaving your body, he was worried you'd leave a mark, "It was her that called wasn't it?" Accusation rich in your voice as you stare deep into his eyes.

"What?" Joost furrows his eyebrow, his voice stepping up a few pitches, you can't tell if he's genuinely confused or if he's attempting to feign innocence.

"Your girlfriend, you dog!" You climb off of Joost, your backside hitting the couch much harder than you had intended. It was funny, Lina hadn't even crossed your mind, Joost had been putting on the moves almost the second you two locked eyes tonight, perhaps you figured that sometime between now and the last time you saw him they had broken up.

As horribly as you had wanted him, you never really meant any of that stuff you had said to Julie the other night about wanting to homewreck a relationship. It wasn't fair, as much resentment as you held towards Lina, you don't think you could really go through with this knowing there was another girl in the picture. All you could think, what if Joost had done that to you?

"Was it?!" You ask again, harsher now, practically begging for the confirmation.

Joost can hardly make eye contact with you now, barely raising his head, refusing to meet your gaze.

"Yeah- I-"

"You what, Joost? At what point were you going to tell me that you were using me to cheat on your girlfriend?" Any intimacy that had preceded this moment was lost, it all feeling like a complete lie now. Here you were thinking that perhaps this was finally a chance for you to right your wrongs, to make things work with Joost- when apparently he was searching for nothing of the sort.

"Using? I wasn't- I thought you knew?" He seems just as confused as you are, like you should just find this no big deal, "I thought you wanted this?" And the thing is, he's right, you wanted this. Maybe it was your bad for assuming that by attempting to hook up with you Joost was confirming that what he had with Lina was over. How could you have known?

"Being the other woman, is not what I wanted." You cross your arms, and bring your knees to your chest, wanting to just curl up and die right here on the couch.

"It that what you think you'll be?" Joost asks, the confusion draining from his voice, truly just asking now.

"What else do you call the woman you hook up with outside your relationship?" You turn to face away from Joost, closing yourself off from him.

"You're not- fuck" You can't see his body language as you stare at the wall now, your mind reeling, just trying to process all of this- any hope of you and Joost getting better now completely ripped from you, but you can hear the nerves in his voice, unable to tell if they're coming from genuine regret or solely because he got caught.

You bite your lip, tears welling up in your eyes, threatening to spill over your waterline, eyelids fluttering rapidly to try to suppress the small droplets from cascading down your face.

"I just- I thought-" You inhale, feeling yourself about to cry, exhale, "I thought you wanted to see me because you missed me."

"Please-" He pauses, voice strained, "I didn't mean to mislead you, you saw us together."

"God, Joost, why would I have assumed you two were still together after you kissed me." It seemed so simple to you, "Why would I have ever assumed you to be some sort of cheater?"

The room is silent for a moment, save from you sniffling, still attempting to stifle a sob, not ready to cry in front of Joost again.

"I just, I guess, didn't expect you to think anything highly of me." You hear him breathe in deeply, "Het spijt me, you seemed so upset the other night because of me, so I just, I wanted to make you feel better."

You blink a few times, still refusing to turn your heard towards Joost, you can't believe the words coming out of his mouth.

"By making me a one-night stand?" You furrow your eyebrows, voice becoming accusatory.

"No- god, nonono, I wasn't even planning on that, I just wanted to catch up, but then, you seemed like you wanted to… so then I wanted to… and I wasn't even thinking I just, I let it happen." Joost's words are rushed, jumbled, like each syllable, each sound is racing out of his mouth.

"That's the problem," You huff, "Isn't it, Joost, you don't think."

"I just never know what you want." He stops for a moment, "I mean- I think I know and I do it, and I am always wrong."

"So this is my fault…" You trail off, confused at what he's attempting to get at, "You thought I wanted you to cheat on Lina with me? That's why you did it. Thought I'd get some satisfaction from that?"

"This wasn't about her, it was for you, I wanted to see you. I didn't leave my apartment with the intent to do that tonight, but what I told you was true, Bruno cancelled, when I realized I was in the area, I had to at least try to see you."

"But it is about her Joost, you cheated, you were going to cheat, it was so easy for you, and I just can't stop thinking, what if you had did it to me?" A tear finally rolls down you cheek, unable to convince yourself any longer of Joost's presumed innocence. Had Joost ever "not thought" when it had come to you? Just let it slip his mind that he had someone waiting up for him, and got into bed with another woman.

"No, don't say that," He sounds defeated now, "I couldn't do that to you, I thought I was going to marry you, how could I do that to you?"

"But you could do this." You try to maintain your demeanor, not wanting to give into Joost's words of reassurance, giving into the cycle that had ruined your relationship to begin with, perhaps there really was no saving it now. But it's hard not to fold, to be reminded of how much you meant, or do mean to him.

"I swear-" He pleads, "I'll call her, I'll break it off, please if it just gets you to look at me."

You sigh, biting the inside of your cheek.

"No," you let your head hang, "No, no don't do that right now." You shake your head, unsure of where to go from here. You slowly uncross your arms, and finally turn to look at Joost, who seems visibly shaken, his chin quivers slightly, eyes blinking rapidly. He really did seem torn up about this.

You stare at each other in silence for a few moments, both of you hesitant to make the first move. You take in his appearance, timid, distraught, hardly the careless heartbreaker you had been making him out to be. Perhaps you had been wrong too, too quick to anger, too quick to conclusions, you're left stumped, trying to figure out what to make of all this, what to make of each other.

"Will this ever stop?" Your voice wavers, worried about the future for the two of you, worried that the only way to stop the arguing and toxicity between you is to never see each other again. No matter how hard each of you tried, it never seemed to work, your emotions too deep, too intense to ever think rationally when you were around each other.

Joost doesn't answer, and the room remains silent. It's not a comforting silence, no, it eats away at you, every second that passes consuming you with guilt and fear for the future, fear that this may once again be the last time you see Joost. You figured it would have to get to a point, you thought it already had after you had broken up with him. But that's why you broke up with him, knowing at least if you really wanted to you'd have some control over reaching out and talking to him again. If it had been Joost who ended things, who knows? Maybe he would have had a stronger will than you, maybe he wouldn't be so willing to have you around.

Finally Joost speaks,

"You know I love you, right? I mean, whatever happens next, I don't know- just, I love you."

You're nearly brought to tears again, and you wonder if its possible to love someone too much.

"I love you too." You blink away the tears from your eyes, sighing, "I'm so tired." You mean it in every sense of the word, you're drained, physically, mentally, fed up. But most literally you can feel your eyelids growing heavy.

"Why don't you lay down?" Joost asks, scooting over on the couch to give you space, patting next to him.

"Yeah- yeah I should." You nod, slipping off your shoes before curling up in the couch. You're far from comfortable, still in your clothes from the bar, feeling forced to make yourself as small as possible to not take up Joost's space.

"You want to watch some TV?" He asks once more, hesitance in his voice, like he's unsure of his place now.

"Sure," Voice hoarse, "Put on whatever."

The light of the television sears your already stinging eyes, Joost flips through the channels until he finds something that vaguely peaks his interest, your mediocre Dutch making it so you only understood about half of what was being said. When you and Joost had been together, when you'd watch something in Dutch together, or his friends were having a conversation in Dutch in front of you Joost would always lean over to you when he noticed you seemed confused, quietly explaining in your ear what was going on or what was said. But perhaps sensing the mood, Joost made no effort to explain what was happening on the television now. Not that it mattered, feeling as if you wouldn't be able to keep your eyes open much earlier to pay attention anyways.

You squrim in your spot on the couch, unable to get comfortable in the clothes you're in, but unwilling to get up to change.

"Joo?" Your voice is small, quiet, peaking your up from its spot on the couch cushions.

"Ja?" He asks, turning his head towards you.

"Can I have your shirt?"

"The one I'm wearing?" He seems confused, but you simply nod, not in the mood for much speaking. "Sure, I guess." He shrugs before beginning to pull at the collar, lifting it over his head.

If you'd been less tired perhaps you'd spend more time musing at Joost's half naked body, the tattoos that litter his soft skin, just how inviting and at home he looks returning to his relaxed position on your couch.

"Alles goed?" He asks, handing you the plain white T-shirt he had been wearing. You hum in response, content as you sit up from your curled state.

Still sitting, you turn away from Joost, not that you really cared if he were to see you changing, and not like he couldn't see you now. But you assumed perhaps some modesty was needed in this very moment. You lift the shirt you had been wearing over your head, letting it drop to the floor, before discarding your bra in that same pile. You slip the shirt Joost had given you on, you inhale, smells like him. The familiar scent invades your senses, overwhelmed as if he wasn't sitting right next to you. Its reminiscent of the many of times you had found yourself with your face buried in Joost's neck or chest, nuzzling against him, taking in the smell of him, it was comforting, the reminder of the presence of someone you love dearly.

You shimmy out of your skirt, letting that too, fall to the ground before lifting your legs back onto the couch in an attempt to actually get comfortable this time around. You turn towards Joost, who, evidently had been staring at you this entire time.

"Watching me change?" A small giggle escaping your mouth, it was all you could really muster, "Pervert." You smirk

"Well I'll take your little smile as you don't want to kill me that much anymore." He jokes.

"Well," You sigh, "Yeah, you're lucky its hard to hate you when you're half undressed on my couch."

"Mhmm" Joost nods, "I do recall taking off our clothes is how we used to end most arguments." You know he just means to be funny as he says it, but it stings just a little, knowing your arguments were such a memorable part of your relationship.

You roll your eyes, trying to brush it off. You lower yourself back to the couch, not trying as hard to squeeze yourself onto the opposite end, but you still give Joost his space, unsure of the etiquette for the moment.

You fixate your eyes back on the television, more so staring through it than actually look at it before your eyelids become to heavy for your to keep trying to keep them up, sleep quickly overtaking you.

***

You stir slightly, eyelids fluttering as you slowly slip back into consciousness. As your vision adjusts you find you're no longer on your couch, instead in your bedroom, laying in bed.

"Did I wake you?" You're startled by the sudden voice, forgetting Joost had been with you when you fell asleep. You notice he's standing at the end of the bed, comforter in his hands.

"I think so." You concede, voice groggy, unaware of how long you had been out.

"Sorry," He chuckles, "Thought the bed would probably be more comfortable for you."

"It's okay," You give a slight smile, appreciative of the small gesture.

"Do you want me to go?" He asks, as he pulls the comforter over your chest, tucking you in.

"Would you stay?" Your voice is meek, still uneasy about asking such a thing of a man who is technically in a relationship.

"Of course," He nods, smile on his face.

"Lay with me?" You pat the mattress next to you, forgoing your morals at least just for tonight, unsure, unwilling to wake up to an empty bed for another night. Joost nods, walking around to the other side of the bed. You roll over onto your side, watching his movements.

His belt clinks as he begins to undo the buckle before sliding the thick black leather out of the loops of his jeans. You continue to watch as Joost fumbled with the button of his jeans in the dark of your room, the glow of a crescent moon and warm orange street lamps the only light entering your windows. Joost slips his jeans down his thighs, kicking them off to the side as they hit his ankles.

Joost places two hands on the mattress, leaning over before he crawls into bed with you. It all feels so familiar, as if this was just another night you were spending together. But of course, you know its not, the constant threat of how easily things crumbled between you two looming over you. You were sure Joost would return to Lina in the morning, perhaps doing some careful explaining as to why he had been ignoring her calls, after he realizes that this has all just been some great mistake but tonight, tonight he was yours.

The two of you stare at each other for a moment, before Joost reaches an arm out, gently caressing your cheek with his thumb,

"This is nice," He smiles, reaching his fingers to the back of your head, tangling them in your hair.

"I agree." closing your eyes as you enjoy the gentle massage of Joost's fingers against the back of your head for a moment before speaking again, "Would you hold me?"

"Yes," Joost's fingers slip from your hair, "Natuurlijk, (of course), come here." He holds out his arm, ready to embrace you.

You turn to your other side, so your back is to Joost's chest, he wraps a firm arm around your waist, making sure you're pulled against him tight, just as you wanted. His breath tickles your neck with each deep exhale, he seems tired too.

"Wish things could be just like this forever." Your voice is slow, low, just above a mumble, you're just thinking out loud.

"I know, I know" Joost coos, placing a quick kiss just behind your ear, "I'm so sorry, lief meisje." (sweet girl) giving no reassurance that they ever would be, just a concession that he too was mourning what could have been. You can't blame him for not giving you the assurance you desired, knowing how fast things went from bliss to disaster, but you could be glad that at the very least you and Joost seemed to be on the same page, that you still loved each other, that you still regret how things turned out. And that was good enough, for now.

"Please don't leave before morning," You plead softly, "I don't want to wake up alone again."

"I'll be right here, promise."

With that, you can truly relax into his touch, enjoying the gentle reassurance it gave you. Despite everything that has happened, and that may happen in the future, at least he was here now, what more could you really ask for? Tomorrow didn't matter quite yet, figuring you'd cross that bridge when you got there, but tonight, Joost is yours, and you can pretend as if nothing had ever changed, as if this was just another night shared between the two of you.

"Goodnight Joost." You sigh, nuzzling your cheek into the pillows, "Ik hou van jou." (I love you) a small, content smile pressed to your lips, remembering how much Joost had loved it when you, at least, attempted to speak Dutch with him, especially when it was something sweet. You hear Joost chuckle lowly before he speaks too,

"Goodnight, schat." He lifts his head slightly to press a kiss to your cheek, "Slaap lekker, ik hou ook van jou."

#joost klein x reader #joost klein x you #joost klein fanfic #rpf #joost klein rpf #heartbeat! au

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pedropascallme · 3 days ago

Note

Barking anon here, desperately waiting for your ghost fic!! Hoping its full of delicious angst hehe🤞 Also, in your fic, ghost wasnt drugged up, but IMAGINE a pining “definitely hate each other” scenario where the reader (a brick wall like ghost) is drugged up and ends up being a cutie patootie and ghosts pov is just aaajahsjsbshshjsAAAAA. Ahm. Anyways. Love your writing 💥💥💥

You May Never See It

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x f!Reader

Summary: “The fact that, despite himself, to know you was to admire you; to love you, even.”

Warnings: None except for surgery and use of nitrous gas for said surgery. If I missed anything, please let me know!!

AN: I love peeking into Simon's mind and seeing what a weird little freak (affectionate) he is about Common Human Emotions. I tweaked the prompt a bit, but I hope you still like it!

You felt weird.

But it wasn’t a bad sort of weird; it was simply unfamiliar.

Your body felt tingly, your mouth sore. Your skin was hot, but not uncomfortably so, as you absentmindedly dragged your fingers over your arm.

It was almost like you were checking to make sure it was still there, making sure they hadn’t lopped it off as some sort of extra precaution after taking out your teeth. You laughed quietly at the thought, as if the surgeon had decided your teeth weren’t enough, and that your arm would have to go, too, to fit some sort of pre-established quota.

You felt malleable; floaty and content.

The cotton in your mouth made it hard for you to run your tongue over the smooth dents in your gums, harder still to feel the stitches that crossed over them. It didn’t stop you from trying, though, as curiosity got the best of you.

Your trips to the infirmary usually took place after the more thrilling missions, and lasted no longer than an hour. You made sure of it.

You walked in, you let them bandage or stitch you up, and you left.

Now, though, you weren’t so eager to leave. You were comfortable. You were finding your own amusement and enjoying it.

What had started as a vague pulsing in your jaw had quickly become unbearable, and though you’d been uncomfortable, you did your best to suck it up.

You could admit that you were stubborn—difficult, even; headstrong to a hellish degree. But you could not admit when you needed help.

You were ashamed to.

You didn’t need that kind of attention, didn’t want to be viewed as a shrinking violet in what was already such a boys’ club. You hated the notion that you might be seen as anything other than the capable soldier you knew you were. Thus, you found yourself preferring to blend into the background, avoiding unnecessary acknowledgement, doing your job without distraction.

You were fine being stubborn. But you would never be weak.

There were times where it was hard; moments where you truly did want the attention and the care, where you craved a tender touch and a guiding hand.

But that’s when you looked towards Ghost.

He was a guiding force, in a way. His presence certainly encouraged you to be just as cold and domineering, if not more so, than he was. Not that it was a competition, but if it were, you’d like to think that the results would be neck-and-neck.

If Ghost could remain so collected and indifferent in the face of everything he’d lived through—not that you claimed knowledge of any details—then you could keep up your walls.

You felt entitled to it; empowered by him. Appreciated for who you were, your presence alone being enough for him.

But you’d never tell him that. You’d never tell Ghost that you cared, or that you hope he cared, too.

Still, you had to eat. You had to sleep. And when the pain in your mouth began to hinder your ability to do even that, you’d finally given in, letting Price march you down to the infirmary himself.

Though you tried to remain the same stoic force you’d always prided yourself in being, the nitrous was stifling your apathy. You felt happy, smiling absentmindedly, greeting visitors and nurses with overwhelming enthusiasm.

Your mind kept wandering, and for once you let it roam freely. You didn’t say as much—you wouldn’t dare admit it aloud—but Ghost was your main source of enrichment as you lay confined to the infirmary cot.

Thoughts of him, anyway. Fantasies, you might call them.

Wondering if he’d be tender to you if you told him how you looked to him for reassurance, for silent support. Wondering whether that tenderness would translate into a gentle intimacy, chaste kisses and hot touches.

You didn’t even care—you couldn’t if you tried.

You found yourself enjoying the carefree rush; being the center of attention in the quiet infirmary, being giggly, laughing at nothing but the increasing creativity of your daydreams. You spoke openly and gleefully to anybody who stopped at your bedside, and you didn’t care.

When Soap and Gaz wandered in, you didn’t notice their amusement, the way they smirked at your delighted responses and the small trail of drool that had emerged from behind the gauze and over the corner of your lip.

When Gaz asked if you needed anything, and your only response was that you’d “like to see Simon,” you were unsure of where the sentiment came from, but more than willing to share it. And you were completely unaware of the knowing look that the Sergeants exchanged over you; the way Kyle mouthed ‘Simon’ and how Soap had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from prying.

You felt completely uninhibited.

It was nice.

~~~

Simon felt weird.

It wasn’t the good sort of weird, either. It was the kind that made him anxious; antsy to do something but unable to do anything at all except pace around the barracks and wait for his nerves to settle.

And he’d never say it—he’d barely admit it to himself, even as a thought—but the source of this anxiety was you.

You and your unceasing stubbornness; your willingness to ignore your own pain despite the obvious distress; the constant battle that was knowing you.

The fact that, despite himself, to know you was to admire you; to love you, even.

But he wasn’t even going to think about it.

He wasn’t going to think about how dreary the infirmary was or how lonesome your bedrest might be. He wasn’t going to think about how you’d be hurting and sore, and he wasn’t going to think about how he had absolutely no power to ease that struggle for you.

He didn’t even know what a wisdom tooth was, and he decided that, even if he did know, it would change absolutely nothing—he still wouldn’t care.

Not that he was thinking about it. He wasn’t.

And when he happened to pass the infirmary, it wasn’t because he was curious or concerned—he was simply taking a scenic route around the base.

“Oi—”

Simon turned his attention towards the call, watching Gaz and Soap saunter out through the doors of the infirmary. He nodded, silent, as they approached.

“Ye look tense, LT.” Soap smirked, no real worry in his voice.

Simon scoffed, unresponsive and unwilling to feed any of Soap’s teasing.

“Come to visit the Sergeant?” Gaz offered a less prying prompt.

“No,” Simon shook his head, “No.”

“Maybe for th’best,” Soap chuckled, mostly to himself, “She’s outta ‘er head.”

Simon stared at him, waiting for further explanation.

“Actin’ loony.” Johnny continued, looking at Gaz for support.

“Must have her on every type o'drug there is.” Gaz nodded, smiling.

“Never seen the lass so happy.” Soap grinned, sighing out the last word almost as if he felt a sort of sympathy for you.

“Right.” Simon didn’t bother asking any questions; his interest, he felt, was best kept to himself.

“Said they’ll wear off in a few hours,” Kyle shook his head. “Sure you’re not gonna stop by ‘nd see her?” He quirked a brow, trying not to seem too probing.

Simon sighed, rolling his shoulders back slightly.

“Don’t see a reason,” he shifted his gaze from Gaz to Soap and back. “Jus’ a tooth.”

“Teeth,” Soap smirked. “S’a shame, LT—she’d like a visit from ye.”

“Mm.” Simon tried not to roll his eyes.

“Uh-huh,” Soap nodded, “‘Less she was askin’ for a different Simon.”

He laughed, eyes creasing at the corners and shoulders shaking gently before Gaz nudged him.

“Insubordination.” Kyle mumbled, unable to hide his own amusement.

Soap put his hands up in surrender, looking at Simon.

“Jus’ told her we’d pass th’message along, s’all.” He quirked a brow, smirking, before walking off.

Simon tried not to appear stunned, suddenly acutely aware of how he was carrying himself and making sure his body language didn’t give away any changes in feeling.

You asked for him?

By name?

“She did ask after you, LT,” Gaz spoke up as if reading Simon’s thoughts, gaze returning to him after watching Johnny walk off. “Seemed keen on seein’ ya.”

Kyle patted Simon on the shoulder before turning to walk off after Soap, leaving the Lieutenant to nod absentmindedly at the notion that you, for whatever reason, had inquired after him.

His mouth felt dry, and he could feel his pulse jumping in his wrists, but he pushed through the doors of the infirmary anyway.

And you were smiling; you were laughing at nothing, eyes glittering and kittenish as you tilted your head from left to right in inattentive glee.

Simon’s knees could’ve buckled—you looked so docile and sweet, and the sound of your laugh was almost musical.

When you turned your head enough to see him approaching, you grinned, waving at him.

“Hi, Simon.” You sat up slightly in your bed, tongue poking out between your teeth due to the space the gauze took up in your mouth.

Now Simon’s knees did feel genuinely weak; he took a seat by your cot and crossed his arms, trying to keep his posture professional, though he leaned forward a bit, drawn to you.

“Comfortable?” He prompted, quirking a brow after a brief period of silence.

“Feel like a cloud…” You grinned, throwing your arms up against the pillow behind your head.

“Like you’re on one?” Simon asked.

“Like I am one.” You sighed, turning your face to offer the grin to him directly.

Simon nodded slowly, the corners of his mouth turning upwards beneath his mask.

“Seem ‘appy about it.”

You closed your eyes, face adorned with a small smile as you leaned back against the cot with only a small hum in response to him.

Simon couldn’t help but rake his gaze over you once your eyes had closed. He felt free to do so; the knowledge that you wouldn’t see him struggling to keep his expression stoic behind the mask—his eyes going soft and brows dropping—made him feel that it was safe to admire you.

“I’m happy you’re here, Simon.” You sighed out the words, eyes still shut, smile still glued to your lips.

You said his name so gently, and he could feel his breathing go unsteady for a moment.

“Why’s ‘at?” He grunted, voice calm, if not a bit gruff, despite his inner turmoil.

“’Cause I like you.” You reopened your eyes, grinning up at him and, as far as he could tell, speaking in total sincerity.

“Yeah?” Simon quirked a brow, analyzing your features as if trying sniff out a lie.

“You’re nice.” You nodded, tilting your head slightly, almost like you, too, were examining him.

He scoffed, leaning back in his seat.

“No ‘m not.”

You glared momentarily before your features went soft again.

“Shut up.”

Ah. There you were.

“You’re good at your job,” you began to rattle off his good qualities. “You share your cigarettes.”

“Don’t share ‘em,” Simon smirked, finding it so easy to fall into this sort of playful banter with you, regardless of your drugged up state and his uncertainty regarding your praise of him. “You steal ‘em.”

You waved him off, the action appearing to be something like an afterthought.

And though he knew it was mostly the drugs talking for you, he enjoyed the enthusiasm of your words, the manner in which you flattered him. It wasn’t something he heard from you often, and he felt a sudden pang of guilt at the realization that he rarely ever commended you, either.

“…S’nice o’you to say, though.” He conceded, voice going gentler around the edges.

You nodded, smile morphing into an excited grin that caused the gauze in your mouth to move forward ever so slightly.

“Now compliment me, ok?”

He gave himself the permission now to laugh freely; the quiet rumble of amusement was huffed out behind the fabric of the balaclava as his face was overtaken with an awkward grin.

“What d’you want me to compliment you for, then?” He uncrossed his arms, settling his elbows on his knees to meet your gaze more comfortably.

“Say something nice about me.” Your smile faltered for a moment, though your eyes stayed wide and animated—you looked like you were trying to carefully explain the concept of a compliment to a toddler, taking it very, very seriously.

“Anything?” Simon prodded, enjoying the ability he had now to tease you so freely.

“Anything.”

“Anything at all?”

He was stalling, just a bit.

He had plenty good to say about you, but the compliment in itself wasn’t the problem. If anything, he struggled to pick one thing, one minute detail that he could gift you praise for, without risking the dam opening and flooding you with all his hidden away affection for you.

It was the act of issuing the compliment that he found so difficult.

You stared at him expectantly, and he tried to avoid your gaze by rolling his eyes in faux exasperation.

“You’re a good soldier,” he sighed, dropping his face to look at the ground before he found the motivation—the confidence—to look back up at you again. “A very good soldier.”

You grinned.

“You think so?”

“A very good soldier,” he nodded, echoing the sentiment, “Who’s actin’ like a complete nutter cause o’some nitrous.”

“I feel nice.” You giggled quietly, and it made Simon’s chest feel funny.

“I know,” he nodded again, letting his gaze soften and stay that way, despite the way you still looked up at him. Maybe he didn’t mind letting you know, in his own way, that he was having a nice time being near you right now. “I can tell.”

There was a stretch of silence. Your gaze flickered around the room, finding joy in tiny things that only you seemed to notice while Simon continued to stare at you, unabashed now.

“I do like you.” You spoke up again, still staring into the distance and smiling lazily.

“Y’said.” Simon nodded, ignoring the brief pang of whatever it was in his chest that kept making an appearance.

“But I’m serious,�� you turned your face to him again, suddenly seeming incredibly earnest despite the way your eyes still reflected a hazy, drugged out happiness. “I mean it.”

“Sweet o’you.” Simon caught your gaze with his own.

“Now say you like me, too.”

“I do,” he huffed a short laugh, practically sighing it out as he tilted his head at you. “Didn’t think I ‘ad to say it.”

“I like hearing it,” you leaned back in your cot again, turning on your side so that your whole body faced him. “I like you.”

“Talkin’ in circles now, sweetheart.” Simon rolled his eyes, not out of annoyance, but a genuine urge to banter with you.

“I like when you call me that.”

This got his attention.

You rarely, if ever, responded well to nicknames. The last time Soap called you ‘bonnie,’ you’d nearly taken his head off, and when any of the soldiers—Simon included—slipped up on their Britishisms and referred to you as anything but your callsign or rank, you refused to acknowledge them until they called out to you properly.

“Never seem to…” Simon looked at you with uncertainty, waiting for the conversation to bite him in the ass, for you to reveal that you’d been fucking with him this whole time.

“It’s unprofessional.” You sighed.

“But you do like it?” He prodded, somewhat selfishly hoping this meant he could continue calling you pet names without any pushback from you.

“…It’s pretty.”

He smiled. Simon smiled, and though it was hidden by the balaclava, he knew you could see the way his eyes creased, his grin wide and genuine.

He was more than willing to admit his affection for you in this moment, if never again.

“So are you.”

You looked at him curiously, and it was clear that even in your drugged-up state you were confused by his fondness.

"Should have said so when I asked for a compliment.” You quickly fell back into the giggly state you had been in, and Simon began to wonder how much laughing gas was too much laughing gas.

“Thought y’only wanted one?” He leaned back in his chair, face tilted just enough to keep you directly in his line of sight.

“I can have another.” You appeared to be attempting to subdue the eagerness you felt, but your voice gave it away.

“Well, ‘ere you go,” Simon sighed, “You’re pretty.”

You grinned, pressing your cheek into the pillow under your head and scanning his form.

“Do I get another?” Simon mused aloud.

“I…” You faltered, staring up at him dreamily and seemingly deep in thought. “Do you want one?”

“Up to you, sweetheart,” he used the term freely now, mostly to see how you’d react, “Can live without it.”

You continued to stare, lost in your daze of drugs and gleefulness, before finally speaking again.

“I like your mask.”

Simon nodded. “I’m—”

“I like it better when you have it off.” You cut him off, the look in your eye now more akin to the brief moment of pensiveness you’d experienced earlier despite the wide grin you still wore.

Simon swallowed, still waiting for you to pull the rug out from under him, to hear you say you were only kidding and that you couldn’t care less.

When you didn’t, when you continued to stare up at him in your tender daze, he exhaled slowly, audibly.

“…Thank you.” His tone was more serious now than it had been this whole time, his hands going a bit shaky at the notion that you enjoyed seeing his face.

The notion that you cared enough to tell him so.

You just nodded, still resting against the pillow; your eyelids became increasingly heavier, the joy fighting the exhaustion.

“Tired?” Simon muttered, still reeling from your words.

You sighed out a small yawn, bringing a hand up to fiddle with the gauze in your mouth.

“Sleep,” he moved to stand, bringing a hand down around your forearm. “’N don’t touch ‘at.”

You grunted, eyes closing as you grumbled up at him, though you dropped your hand from your mouth.

Simon swallowed again, pulling his hand back and shoving it into his pocket.

He allowed himself one more moment to stare down at you, to drink you in as if it were the last opportunity he’d have to do so.

Maybe it was; you were so goddamn vigilant all the time, he’d never allow himself the pleasure of gawking at you like this if it weren’t for the drugs in your system.

With a soft sigh, one that saw his lungs squeeze tight from lack of air, he turned to walk out.

“Thanks for visiting, Simon.” Your voice was soft, and when he turned—a bit too quickly—to look at you, your eyes were still closed.

He shook his head, closing his eyes, too, for a second.

“Course, sweetheart.”

~~~

He knew, realistically, that you wouldn’t remember; that anything you did retain from the brief period he had spent with you while you were high off your ass in the infirmary would be limited to flashes and fuzzy snippets of conversation.

Still, Simon drummed his fingers on his thigh as he waited, watching his office door so intensely it might as well have been his full-time job.

He ground his jaw, as if stretching it, fully conscious of the absence of fabric over his skin. It always felt like he was missing a part of himself when the mask was off.

When he heard a knock, he cleared his throat.

“Open.”

You stepped in like you owned the place, like his office was part of your own domain. And it did something to him—it always did something to him.

But he kept his composure, watching with apparent disinterest as you stood at attention.

“At ease,” he grunted, watching your posture relax. “Feelin’ better, Sergeant?”

“Yes, sir.” You nodded, though he watched you falter slightly when your gaze settled properly on him.

Your stare burned him a bit, the clear movement of your eyes as they flickered over his bare face made him feel self-conscious.

He was suddenly hyperaware of the lack of effort he put into his appearance.

“Is there a reason you called me in?” You remained stoic, unshaken by his change in appearance and refusing to mention it, but he could still see your eyes wandering.

Simon grunted an affirmative, trying to ignore your unreadable expression and reminding himself of your previous enthusiastic praise of his appearance.

“Wanted t'check in,” he nodded, “Glad you’re doin’ a’right.”

“Yeah,” you huffed softly, the expression you wore almost mistakable for a smile. “Me too.”

Simon hesitated for a moment, looking up at you before sliding something forward on his desk.

“Wanted to tell you ‘at this was…” he sighed, “Well done.”

You looked down at the thin stack of paper he’d pushed towards you, feeling a heat at the tip of your ears when you realized it was a report you’d turned in right before getting stuck in the infirmary.

“Very good work.” He nodded, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat.

“…Thank you, Lieutenant.” You swallowed, muttering as you glanced between him and the report.

Simon nodded again. It wasn't much—it was the bare minimum, really—but he wanted to try. He wanted to make it clear that his praise wasn't a one-off; that he was more than willing to commend you in any and every capacity to the best of his ability, despite his previous shortcomings.

“‘At’ll be all, Sergeant.” He looked up at you, meeting your gaze. For a brief moment, he saw the same sparkle in them that he had seen in the infirmary, and he grit his teeth to avoid the feelings it stirred in him.

“Thank you.” You repeated.

You hesitated for a moment, no longer analyzing him.

“Nice to see you,” with all the confidence he expected from you, you looked him dead in the eye, “Without the mask, I mean.”

“Can’t ‘ide perfection,” Simon tried to play it off, though his gaze bore into you, “Not all th’time, anyway.”

You nodded, letting your face drop towards the floor as you smiled softly.

Simon returned the gentle expression with sincerity, hoping you’d see it for what it was.

Affection; pure and unbridled, in the only way he really knew how to offer it.

The beat of silence you experienced then wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it was familiar; a reminder of why you enjoyed working with each other. It was almost cozy, even—a reminder of why you appreciated each other’s presence. Though, per usual, it remained unsaid.

You straightened yourself out, turning to leave.

When your hand fell onto the doorknob, Simon spoke up again.

“You’re a good soldier, sweetheart” his voice was gruff, the usual gravelly sound of his accent was present, but the words made you stop. “A very good soldier.”

Without turning to him, you nodded, walking out of his office and shutting the door behind you.

The way you blushed so profusely made you wish you owned a balaclava.

Your heart beat eagerly against your ribs as you pieced together his choice of words; the suddenly all too clear memory of his praise of you in response to your giddy admiration of him. And you felt weird.

But it wasn’t a bad sort of weird.