#this song is so perfect for them i'm dying

[deadlilmoon]

If you knew how lonely my life has been, And how low I've felt so long. If you knew how I wanted someone to come along, And change my life the way you've done. Feels like home to me, feels like home to me, Feels like I'm on my way back where I come from. Feels like home to me, feels like home to me, Feels like I'm on my way back where I belong.

Bonnie Raitt - Feels Like Home

[sceletaflores]

isn't it messed up how i'm just dying to be him?

pairing: stanford!art donaldson x stanford!fem!reader

summary: and there it is. there’s that glimmer of attention, that hint of acknowledgement of him. the heavy look of rage taking over your features, the bite in your tone, it’s what art’s wanted for months. your undivided attention.

—or: art tries to get through to you about patrick, it doesn't go how he thought it would.

word count: 6.2k (i'm so sorry lmao pls still read it's good i promise)

warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), switch!art a little bit, creampie, kinda hate sex but not really, more like angry sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, art is lowkey a little gay for patrick (it's literally canon), tiny bit of manipulative!art, art is just kinda an asshole in disguise honestly, hints of mean!reader cause i live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties, art being a bad bro, porn with too much plot, no use of y/n.

authors note: so this is basically a re-worked version of art and tashi’s dining hall scene when he’s trying to convince her that patrick isn’t in love with her. it’s really similar just way more messy and angry and with sex. this is literally just a tiny thought i had that somehow spiraled just a little bit, but i needed some lowkey asshole!art in my life. i had so much fun writing this, like way too much fun lmao. title is a lyric from fall out boy’s "sugar, we're going down swinging" cause that song fucks so hard and it's soooo art coded. okay bye! mwah xoxo

psst! tftw series masterlist!

Art Donaldson is a patient guy. He's nice, understanding, empathetic. It's something he prides himself on, lots of guys on campus are pricks, but not him. He's "the sweet blonde guy that plays tennis, like, really well!" according to most people who've met him.

That being said, he's not blind to the fact that you frustrate him to the point of wanting to shout himself hoarse and rip his hair out.

It's been a while since he and Patrick met you for the first time at the Open, and Art has been through hell and back about a million times over by now.

He still so vividly remembers watching you step onto the court, the almost visceral reaction he had. The crowd was cheering and clapping nearly as loud as they were for Tashi. There were even a few signs made in support of you scattered throughout the stands. Big poster boards plastered with your name and your winning streak and pictures of you playing, tennis balls and rackets drawn from markers decorating them.

It was obvious you were a favorite, and it was more than obvious how much you lived for it.

Smiling and waving to the crowd, fully basking in their respect and adoration. You were nearly glowing, Art couldn't take his eyes off you. He could tell that Patrick was thinking the same thing, if the way his thigh tensed up where it was plastered against Arts was any hint, his breath slightly catching as you started stretching.

"Goddamn..." Patrick had muttered under his breath. Art could distantly see his hand clench on top of his thigh when you bent over to tighten your laces. He always tries to be less shameless than Patrick but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t just as affected by you, fighting the urge to shift in his seat.

After you and Tashi walked up to the net with matching smiles and shook hands for a little longer than usual, it was time to start. Art watched as both of you got in position on the opposite ends of the court. Both of your faces lost the easy-going, excited expressions you’d shared when you first walked out, hardening in concentration as Tashi got ready to serve.

Patrick and Art openly gawking at the two of you would have been embarrassing if it wasn’t so fucking justified.

You and Tashi made magic happen on that court. 

It was powerful hit after powerful hit. Tashi’s backhand was out of this world, your overhand was a monster. Every rally, every volley, every serve was pure perfection. Art had never seen tennis played like that before in his life, he couldn't help but get sucked into your world the longer he watched.

The match was close, completely neck-and-neck throughout each set, neither of you willing to give an inch to the other. Tashi won by a single point, hardly wasting any time before she vaulted over the net to come barreling into your open arms, crashing into you so hard it knocked the two of you to the ground.

You both grasped at each other like lifelines on the hard concrete of the court as the announcer crowned Tashi the 2006 girl’s U.S Open champion.

Art let out a long breath and deflated a little deeper in his seat. His mind racing, he didn’t need to look at Patrick to know he felt the same. They sat in silence like that until the stands were practically empty. 

“What time did you say the party was again?”

Art pointedly ignored Patrick staring at him with a shit-eating grin on his face, stretching his arms out in feigned nonchalance. Patrick just snorted, shaking his head and squeezing Art’s thigh.

That was then, now Art sits across from you in the Stanford dining hall at the same table you two eat lunch at everyday, trying to stay cool as you complain about the latest biology lab you’re doing. 

He’s hardly listening to you, too busy trying his best to not glare too obviously at the hoodie you're wearing. One that he knows for a fact belongs to Patrick. You must have kept it the last time he was in town. The Nike swoosh embroidered to the front almost mocks him. Art puts his water down with a little more force than necessary.

Patrick and you being…whatever the two of you are now was something he tried his best to be okay with in the beginning.

Patrick’s his best guy, Art should have been so stoked that you were into him as much as he was into you when the two of them walked up to congratulate you and Tashi at the Adidas party. Only being able to steal you away from the house after you said your goodbyes to Tashi and her parents, inviting you to join them down at the beach.

It was obvious you were playing into Patrick’s attempts to get in your pants. Not blushing or averting your eyes shyly when he blatantly checked you out, throwing out smart comebacks to his sleazy lines, looking up at him through your lashes and biting your lip.

It would have been soul-crushing if Art wasn’t such a good friend. So, he stifled the rising feelings of jealousy and plastered a smile on his face as he watched Patrick shamelessly flirt with you.

It wasn’t like it was your fault. Art didn’t come on as strong as Patrick, he never did. Plus it wasn’t like he and Patrick had talked about who could try and score with you prior to the party, anything was fair game.

Besides, you were nice enough to Art that night. Chatting about college admissions and smiling at him over your coke bottle. Sure, it stung seeing you laugh at Patrick’s stupid jokes while the two of you smoked off the same cigarette, but there was nothing he could do about it.

You choosing Patrick had nothing to do with him. Everyone always chose Patrick, he was used to it by now.

At least he thought he was, but the longer it was just you and him, the more angry he felt each time Patrick would visit and steal all your attention. It wasn’t just jealousy or frustration anymore; it was a gnawing, consuming rage that twisted his insides every time he saw you light up around Patrick.

Patrick didn't fucking deserve you. You were too good for him. Nothing like all the easy, ditsy girls he fucked his way through at the academy. You were special, unlike any girl Art’s ever met. Patrick would just take you for granted. He'd grow tired of you, completely dismissing you when he got bored enough. Any day now he'd call Art to spill on his latest hookup with some chick he met on tour. 

But Art didn’t want to sit around and wait for that day to come. He couldn’t stand the thought of you being hurt by Patrick’s inevitable indifference. The idea of you, heartbroken and discarded, made his blood boil. You deserve more than that. You deserve someone who sees you for who you truly are, not just a trophy. 

Art knows he could be that person for you if you’d give him a chance, if for once you’d look at him instead of Patrick. He just has to find a way to get you to understand that.

“Pat texted me this morning,” you say from across the table, boredly poking at your pasta. “He’s gonna be here later this week, says he wants to go see 30 Days of Night. You and Tashi should come with us.”

Art hums noncommittally, not looking at you as he takes another bite of his salad. You do this a lot– extend invites to Art and Tashi when you and Patrick go out.

Art knows you think you’re being nice by trying to make them feel included, but getting invited usually means having to watch Patrick touch you and kiss you and walk around with his hand in your back pocket.

Art’s fork stabs into his salad roughly. He takes a slow breath, trying to calm the emotions starting to swirl inside him. “Yeah, sure,” he says eventually, forcing a smile. “Sounds fun.”

He sneaks a look at you from under his lashes. You’re already looking at him, brow raised at his clipped tone. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

Art shakes his head, waving a hand dismissively. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, still watching him with a hint of skepticism. “Are you alright? You’ve been weird all day.”

Art lets out a small laugh, but it sounds more sour than sweet, and finally looks up at you. You look back expectantly, concern lingering in your eyes. “Nothing, it’s just…” he pauses, drumming the fingers of his left hand on the table, “the fact that you two are still going out surprises me. That’s all.”

He regrets it as soon as he says it, words sounding way more patronizing than he wanted. His chest immediately tightens with guilt, but he doesn’t wince or shrink back like he normally would, just keeps his eyes on you.

Your brows furrow, a tiny frown pulling at the corners of your lips. “What?” you ask, fork stilling in your hand. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Art just sighs, putting his fork down and leaning towards you. “I know Patrick better than you do,” he says with a tiny shrug, “he’s always had a hard time with…commitment.” He says slowly, searching for the right word.

You don’t say anything for a couple seconds, eyes scanning over his face slowly like you're examining him. Art forces himself to not start squirming under your intense, studying gaze.

You don’t seem to like what you find, eyes narrowing as you push your tray away from you and lean back in your seat. “Are you seriously shit talking your own best friend right now?”

Art’s brow raises, that wasn’t the reaction he was expecting, at all. His jaw ticks in annoyance, his hand balling into a fist on the tabletop.

“I’m not trying to shit talk him,” he says calmly, voice tinged with frustration. “I’ve just seen how things go with him. I’m looking out for you.”

Your eyes harden, disbelief mingling with irritation. “So, what? You think you know what’s best for me or something? Are you my keeper now?”

That pisses Art off, now you’re just being an asshole. His brows furrow, arms crossing in front of his chest defensively. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He says, tone harder than before.

You scoff, anger spilling over your face. “Well what the fuck do you mean then, Art? Because you dancing around whatever it is you obviously want to say is really starting to piss me off.”

Irritation flares in Art’s chest, piercing and sudden. He swallows it down, breathing out his nose slowly to try and calm himself. The air between the two of you is tense now.

You’re loud enough that a few people sitting at tables nearby start to quiet down, discreetly trying to listen in.

“Patrick doesn’t love you.” Art says spitefully, his fingers grip the muscle of his arms tighter. It’s childish, but he doesn't care.

Your eyes widen, clearly caught off guard. You recover quickly, letting out a disbelieving laugh as you push away from the table with a harsh scrape of your chair. "Excuse me?" Your voice cuts through the air, sharp and incredulous.  

He stays silent, letting the weight of his words hang heavy in the air. Your eyes narrow, searching his face for any sign of retreat, but Art meets your gaze head-on, jaw set stubbornly.

You stand with your arms crossed over your chest as you stare down at him. “Why are you telling me this? Why do you care if Patrick loves me or not?”

Why do you care? The question makes his heart drop down to his stomach. Dread mixes with the anger in his chest. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, he doesn’t want to make a scene in the middle of the dining hall. You’re just being so difficult.

You’re jumping to defend Patrick, not even trying to hear him out, just like you always do. Still refusing to give Art the attention he deserves. It’s fucking infuriating.

“I’m just saying,” he says, voice distant and cold, “he hasn’t been in love with you for a while. He’s told me.” 

It’s a lie, he’s hardly spoken to Patrick recently, but he’s in this now. He may as well go for broke, he always plays to win after all. 

Your face contorts grimly, another disbelieving laugh punches it’s way out your chest. You don’t seem to notice the amount of heads turned in your direction, or maybe you just don’t care. “Oh, he’s told you that has he?” you parrot back mockingly, head cocked to the side as you stare daggers at him, “That’s fucking bullshit Art!”

Art clenches his fists, jaw flexing in anger. He’s never seen you this mad before, never expected to be the cause of it. But at the same time he’s fucking angry too. Angry at you. Angry at Patrick. Angry at himself.

His eyes narrow, holding your own heated gaze without backing down because if there's one thing he hates most, it's losing. “You don’t get it do you?” He mutters quietly, shaking his head in dismay. 

Your jaw tightens, eyes blazing as you lean forward, bracing your hands on the table to get up in his face. He can smell the familiar fruity sweetness of your perfume.

“What’s there to get? The only thing I’m getting right now, is a front row seat to you being a vindictive little prick.” You bite out, breath fanning over Art’s face. “Who even said I wanted Patrick to be in love with me? Who said I gave a fuck about any of that?” You question sternly, brows furrowed as you scowl at him.

Art scoffs loudly, his face twisting in disgust as he rolls his eyes. His blood boils at having to sit here while you bitch him out. He wants to strangle you, to take you by your shoulders and shake you so that you’ll listen.

To make you see what he sees. To make you love him. “Please,” he hisses through gritted teeth, shifting so he’s leaning across the table just as you are, his eyes dark. “Everyone wants Patrick to love them. Everyone wants his attention. You want it.”

You just blink at him, taken aback by his outburst. You stare at him, not budging as your eyes scan over his face for a second time. And there it is. There’s that glimmer of attention, that hint of acknowledgement of him.

The heavy look of rage taking over your features, the bite in your tone, it’s what Art’s wanted for months. Your undivided attention.

After a few tense seconds you just laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You might be the worst fucking friend in the world.” You say simply, like you're reading off this week's forecast.

Maybe he is.

Art can feel the heat rising to his cheeks in anger, in embarrassment, in hatred, in lust. The way you’re looking at him makes something stir deep in his gut. His heartbeat echoes in his ears.

You’re so mad, but in that you’re giving him a hint of your attention, giving him the time of day, and you’re still fucking defending Patrick. Rage seethes in him, hot like fire. Yet even in this moment, you’re the only person that really matters. The intensity of your gaze pulls at something raw inside him.

“He doesn’t deserve you.” His voice is lower, pinched with thinly veiled frustration threatening to boil over.

"And you think you're the expert on what I deserve, Art? Last time I checked, your own love life’s track record isn't exactly stellar."

It’s a low blow, bringing up how Tashi rejected him a while back. He hadn’t told you about that, so Tashi must have. He laughs, but his lips are pulled up in a sneer.

"Don’t start deflecting,” Your name falls from his lips sharply, stabbing through the thick tension in the air. “This isn't about me, it's about you. You're setting yourself up to get hurt, and I'm just trying to warn you–"

"Yeah, well, I didn't ask for your fucking opinion," you snap, "maybe you should focus on your own damn problems.”

Art’s jaw tightens further, his frustration finally getting the best of him. "Fine, do whatever the hell you want. But don't come crying to me when Patrick does what he always does— leaves you for someone new."

You stare at him incredulously, shock and anger warring in your expression. "I can't believe you just said that."

"Yeah, well," Art mutters bitterly, looking away. "Believe whatever you want. Just know that he’s playing with your feelings.”

You huff, throwing your arms out at your sides in frustration. “What fucking feelings Art!” you say loudly, not quite shouting but you’re getting there. “Sure, Patrick and I fuck but that doesn’t mean we’re playing husband and wife with each other!” 

You’re definitely way too loud, voice steadily rising in volume the more you talk. Seemingly not caring about who’s around to hear you yell about fucking Patrick. “In fact,” you continue, shaking an accusatory finger at Art, “you’re the one trying to get in my head and play with my feelings, you fucking hypocrite.”

His mind whites out, filled with blinding jealousy all over again. He wants you so fucking badly, he could be everything you needed. Why can’t you see that? How could you be so blind? How could you not see that Patrick was using you, just like he used everyone else?

Art leans further across the table as you speak, his hands coming up to grip the edges of it tightly. “You’re so fucking naive, you know that?” He snaps in a biting tone. It’s harsher than he’s spoken to you during this whole fight.

Your voice drips with sarcasm as you lean forward, eyes locked on his. "Oh, well forgive me for not seeing the truth according to Saint Art."

“So fucking naive.” He repeats, spitting the words across the table meanly.

“And you’re a fucking pussy.” You bite back, leaning in even closer so Art can see your lips form around the words maliciously. You sway close enough that the tip of your nose bumps against his. His breath catches, going ragged in his throat. You’re so close to him. He can smell you, can practically taste you on his tongue.

He wants to take you in his arms, to hold you and kiss the anger off your face. The only thing keeping him from lunging out is the way you look. Your whole body is rigid with anger, eyes dark and cheeks flushed. You’re so beautiful. He has to remind himself that he’s supposed to be pissed at you and fight the urge to pull you in and really taste you.

But then you're backing away completely, “I won’t waste my time on stupid shit like this,” you mutter, turning to pick your bag up off the floor. “Thanks for lunch, Art.” You say sarcastically, not even looking at him as you turn on your heel and walk towards the dining hall’s exit before he can respond.

Art’s heart lurches forward at your words, not with pain, but with want. He watches you leave, the regret quickly setting in once you’re not here to play into his resentment. It hits him like a cold shiver, he wants to feel good for speaking his mind, for telling you how it is. Maybe on some level he does, but it’s overshadowed by how awful he feels.

Art stares down at his unfinished salad, appetite gone. He sighs loudly, standing up to toss his own tray plus the one you left behind. He tries his best to ignore the stares he can feel following him as he walks out.

ᯤ

Art wallows in misery for the rest of the day, skipping the practice he had planned after lunch. He just locks himself in his dorm, laying on his mattress and staring at the ceiling as he replays the fight in his mind. Replaying every word you said to him, every word he said back to you, every angry look you gave him. 

He thinks about texting you a thousand times. Typing and deleting different messages until he eventually gave up. He knows you’re beyond pissed, that him reaching out will only piss you off more and he wants to try and salvage this before you completely shut him out. The thought of losing you is why he never wanted to bring it up in the first place, regret settles in his gut like a ball of lead.

And yet, there was a small part of him that hoped, despite the shit show in the dining hall, that you’d see the quiet care he showed, the way he was there for you, and choose him for once. But hope was a dangerous thing, and Art wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out.

Hours go by with nothing from you, it’s the longest you’ve gone with talking since the semester started. He forced himself to study for his biology final in a lazy attempt at taking his mind off you. You’d usually be in his dorm room right now, all spread out on his bed like it’s your own as you talk his ear off about something like your asshole psychology professor. 

The longer he sits at his desk the longer the ache in his chest consumes him. Art would do anything to know what you were thinking right now. He’d grovel for your attention, he’d fall to his knees and beg and plead if that’s what it took for you to forgive him. 

He’s getting ready for bed when his Blackberry pings on his night stand, it’s almost embarrassing how fast he rushes over to it. His heart stutters in his chest when he sees it's a text from you. It’s only two words, a simple ‘come over’. 

Art’s never moved faster in his life, rushing out of his room with only his phone, wallet, and keys. 

He makes it to your dorm in record time, nearly sprinting across campus to hurry up and get there before you change your mind. All that needy rushing completely vanishes once he’s actually outside your door. 

Art hesitates, staring at the little door decals taped on with your name written on them in black sharpie. He rests his ear against the door, but he can’t hear anything. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, brows pinched as he wrestles with himself.

“C’mon Donaldson, don’t be such a little bitch.” Patrick’s voice rings out in the back of his mind. He takes a breath and knocks on the door.

Barely a second passes before it’s swinging open and you're there, gripping the front of his shirt and dragging him inside your room. Art's back hits the closing door with a thud, his breath catching in surprise. His hands shoot out to brace on either side of the door, knocking over a racket resting on the wall. Everything he brought with him falling to clatter onto the wood floor loudly.

You look rough, eyes slightly red and puffy like you may have been crying. Your breath comes out in short, quick bursts as you stare up at him. All the anger he swore would come rushing back when he saw you drains out of him in a second.

His face softens, a tiny frown on his lips. "Hey, what’s going on?" he asks, voice a mix of confusion and worry. His hands come up to hover near your hips, hesitating at the last second, not sure if he should touch you.

Without a word, you’re flying forward while yanking him down by his shirt. Closing the distance between the two of you with your lips crashing against Art’s. It’s so sudden, so completely out of left field, that Art stumbles forward a few steps, hands gripping your hips tightly to steady himself.

It’s almost pathetic how easily he kisses back, not even hesitating. Flashes of Patrick’s face go through his mind as he eagerly reciprocates, not stopping him from pulling your hips flush against his. He definitely might be the worst friend in the world, all the loyalty he felt to Patrick tossed out of his mind the second your tongue slides past his lips.

It’s intense, there’s no romance or gentleness about it. Your lips move against his almost violently, all the aggression and anger from earlier still very much there. He’s never kissed a girl like this before, it’s not how he imagined his first kiss with you would go. He’s still getting hard in his sweats anyway.

Your tongue fucks into his mouth roughly, it reminds him of the time he and Patrick kissed when they were still at the academy for “practice”. He moans loudly into your mouth, letting you dominate the kiss and just trying his best to keep up. Your teeth clack against his roughly, biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to have him whining embarrassingly high and needy.  

“It’s over with Patrick,” you breathe hotly, slick lips brushing his with every word. “I want you to fuck me.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Art’s dick feels hard enough to burst out of his sweats by sheer force, but he pauses, pulling away from you with a hesitant look. "I-" he tries, voice cracking slightly. He can feel his cheeks starting to burn as he clears his throat. "I don't think that's a good idea. It's so soon, and I mean you're obviously going through something and I don't want to take advantage of yo-"

An incredulous laugh bursting from your lips effectively cuts Art off, your eyes roll to the ceiling in dry amusement. “God, Art.” you scoff, both hands pushing off his chest to create space between the two of you. He keeps his hands on your hips, the thin material of your bottoms bunching in his grip. “You’re such a fucking little bitch, you can kiss me but you won’t fuck me? What is it? You scared of Patrick or something?”

The taunt hits Art like a slap across the face, he freezes for a second before disbelief gives way to white hot rage. You just stare up at him smugly, lips red and wet. Art bares his teeth, using his strong hold on your hips to force you backwards until your knees hit the edge of your bed.

“You’ve pushed me and pushed me and pushed me,” he spits, glaring down at you as he speaks. “Acting like such a fucking brat. You want me to fuck you?” He pushes you back onto the bed roughly, covering your body with his, letting his weight sink you deeper into the mattress. “Fine, I’ll fuck you.”

Art sits up, ripping his shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere behind his shoulder. Your greedy eyes rake down the toned muscle of his torso, hands coming up to lightly scratch your nails over his abs. His breath hitches, goosebumps breaking out all over his skin. He grabs your wrists, forcing them down and pinning them to the bed. “No touching.” he chastises, leaning down to bite the skin of your neck roughly. Sucking hard enough that he’ll definitely leave a mark. 

His dick twitches against the inside of his sweats at the thought of you walking around campus with his claim staked on you, at the thought of Patrick, if he was still coming down, seeing it and immediately knowing who left it there. He slides his knee between your legs, he can feel the warmth radiating from your pussy, can feel how you’re so wet it’s soaking through your bottoms and onto his thigh. 

You hiss at the sting of his teeth, trying to squeeze your wrists out of his strong grip. Your thighs tighten around his knee, hips bucking up against him. “Are you gonna fuck me anytime soon, Art? Or do I need to find someone else that’s not all talk?”

Art chuckles darkly, nipping at the sensitive skin of your collarbones. “You can bitch and moan all you want, but I haven’t even touched you yet–” he leans forward to whisper directly into your ear, “–And you’re still fucking soaked for me anyway.” He drags his tongue along the shell of your ear in a dirty stripe. 

You let out a keen, pretty and high, grinding your hungry pussy against his knee faster. He lets go of your hands, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your stomach. Tossing you around like it’s nothing, just manhandling you.

“God,” he groans, big hands coming up to knead the meat of your ass, spreading it lewdly making you moan softly. “You’re so fucking hot.” He whispers, words falling from his lips like he couldn’t hold them in any longer.

Art keeps one hand tight on your hip, the other fumbling with the drawstring of his sweats so he can push them down to finally free his aching dick. Letting it spring out to slap up onto his bare stomach, trailing a thin line of pre-come across his abs. 

You squirm under him, feet kicking out as you struggle in his hold. Your head craning over your shoulder and zeroing in on his dick, hard and red and leaking. “You came over here with no panties on, Donaldson?” you taunt, pushing your ass back onto the sensitive length of his erection. “How slutty–” 

“Shut up,” he snaps harshly, but his dick twitches where it’s dragging over the seam of your ass. He’s leaking like a faucet, leaking like a girl, all over your light green plaid bottoms. It strikes him suddenly, how familiar they look. He stares at the worn down fabric covering your ass, at the way his pre-come stains the material darker, at the way they hang too low on your hips, too big for you. 

“Are these…are these Patrick's,” he asks slowly, voice low as his fingers skim over the soft material. You chuckle wickedly, wiggling your hips back teasingly. 

“Yeah, they are,” you say, sliding your ass back and forth over Art’s dick. “You’re leaking jizz all over your best friend's pants, Art.”

Art groans loudly, chin dropping to his chest as hips jerk against your ass involuntarily. A full body shiver wracks through him like lightning, eyes screwing shut as he tries not to come all over your ass. “Shit–” he bites out sharply, voice rough and scratchy. He can distantly hear you laughing at him through all the white noise buzzing in his ears.

He breathes out through his nose, willing himself to calm down. He needs to be in control for once, needs to teach you a lesson for ignoring him for so long.

Art’s hands come up to the waistband of your– Patrick's– pants, fingers digging underneath the loose material and forcefully yanking it down along with your panties, only pulling them down to your mid-thigh. You yelp in surprise, hands gripping the sheets of your bed tightly. 

“I need to get inside you, right fucking now.” he rumbles thickly, flipping you onto your back again. He needs to see your face when he fucks you for the first time, needs to burn it into his mind forever.

“Fuck yes,” you reply eagerly, arms coming up to circle around his shoulders. “Finally.”

Art doesn't reply, eyes fixed on your bare pussy, so fucking wet and shining underneath the shitty ceiling light of your dorm. His mouth waters, he wants to drop to his stomach and eat you out until you're shaking and squirting all over his face. His dick drools at the thought, but he’ll have to wait. He needs to fuck you.

He takes his dick in his hand, dragging it through the silky skin of your soaked folds. He spreads your wetness around your clit, rubbing the leaking tip over you back and forth teasingly. You whine, thighs starting to shake on either side of him. He drags his dick back down to your clenching hole, lining up and slowly sinking inside the tight, wet heat.

Art doesn’t give you any time to adjust to the thick head of his dick breaching your tight hole, burying himself to the hilt inside of you with a sharp thrust. 

“Fuck!” you cry out, legs coming up to wrap tightly around his hips, digging your heels into his lower back. “Shit, fuck you’re– God, you're so fucking deep.”

“I’m going to use your fucking pussy however I want,” Your name falls from his lips, dirty and blistering. “because it’s the least I deserve for putting up with your bullshit for so fucking long, and you’re going to be good and lay there and take it.” He drives his point home with a mean thrust of his hips.

“Fuck you, Art.” you mutter back, trying to keep up the bratty act even though your voice is going breathless and needy.

Art doesn’t ease into it, pulling back only to start pounding into your pussy ruthlessly. Sharp slaps of his hips stinging your ass each time he drives back in, your eyes roll back in your head, slack lips parted in pleasure as he fucks you. 

Art can’t help but lean down to claim your mouth, kissing you a little too sweetly for the moment. He can’t help it, not when you’re under him making the sweetest noises, letting him fuck your perfect fucking pussy like he owns it. God.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Art growls, breaking the kiss to rest his sweaty forehead against yours. “You’re so fucking, tight. Feels so fucking– shit, so fucking good.” His hips speed up, desperately rutting into you.

“Art,” you whine, nails scratching down his back hard. “I’m so close, fuck I’m so close– keep going, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop–”

He cuts off your rambling with a kiss, groaning at the way his name sounds getting fucked out of your mouth. The loud squelch your pussy makes each time he buries himself back inside has his ears burning, he can feel you soaking the skin of his thighs with every thrust.

“Wanna feel your tight pussy milk me dry,” he grinds out through gritted teeth, picking up his pace. “Fuck, I‘m gonna come, I’m gonna fucking come.” He ruts into you harder, splitting you open with every thrust. The skin of your ass turning red and raw from how hard he’s giving it to you. 

Your hands come up to bury themselves in his hair, tugging sharply to make him look at you. “Inside,” you pant, eyes glazed over and wild, “come inside me Art, please. I’m on the pill you can, you can come inside me.” Your legs tighten their hold on his hips, ankles locking snugly over his lower back so he couldn’t even pull out if he wanted.

“Fuck!” Art shouts your name hoarsely, hips stuttering as he unloads in you. Hot come spraying the walls of your pussy. You let out a broken moan, your whole body shaking as you come with him. Your pussy chokes his dick so tightly, gripping him like a vice, milking him.

Art tilts his head up, catching your lips with his to greedily swallow down all your moans. He keeps going, shallow thrusts of his hips working you through the aftershocks of your orgasm until you’re kicking at his back, whining at him to stop. He collapses on top of you, his sweaty skin sticking to the fabric of your shirt. 

It’s quiet for a while, the two of you silently trying to catch your breath. Your hands come up to his head, sliding into the messy strands of his hair. “It’s pretty late now,” you say slowly, nails scratching against his scalp softly. “You could…you could stay here if you want.”

Art hides the wide grin breaking out on his face in your chest, arms coming up to circle around your waist. “Yeah, that sounds good.” He whispers back, squeezing the soft skin of your hips once.

It’s only later, when you’ve fallen asleep on his chest, that he stares up at the ceiling lost in thought. He’s too worked up to sleep, so fucking thrilled that it worked. His plan actually worked. You’re his now. He looks down at you, glowing softly in the moonlight filtering through your window, deep hickeys scattered across your neck. He drags his fingers along your cheekbone, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

This is what he’s wanted for so long, you.

You asleep in bed with him, you curled up in his arms, you with his come steadily dripping out of your swollen pussy.

Art can hear his Blackberry start buzzing on your nightstand, lighting up with an incoming call. Even from far away he can read the name displayed on the screen. Patrick. He lets it ring.

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[nvrsaidiwasinurcloset]

omg this just popped into my head and i desperately need it like i literally will not be able to stop thinking about it about it till it is written but, ethan landry x reader fic based on gods and monsters by lana del rey oml like it would be phenomenal… i don’t want it to incorporate the lyrics i just want it based on the idea of the song? but not about them being actual gods and monsters like to her ethan is a god. especially the lyrics “this is heaven, what i truly want. it’s innocence lost.”. basically reader is super innocent and ethan sees her as an angel and feels the need to ruin her and she sees him as a god and is obsessed with him. super smutty and him praising her and talking her through it. i know this was a lot but i am obsessed with your writing and i think if you wrote this it would be amazing, but only if you’re comfortable 🫶☺️

HI! I hope this was what you wanted. 💕

Gods & Monsters - Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader

This contains SMUT - Minors DNI

Summary: You're obsessed with Ethan and he's obsessed with you, but he'd dying to destroy your innocence.

Contains: Fluff-ish moments, Smut - Oral(m and f receiving), fingering, p in v, riding, rough-ish sex. Reader isn't a virgin but doesn't have a lot of experience.

A/N: This was one of the fics I lost the other day, and I'm so sad because I liked what I'd already written before. BUT I was determined to get this done lmao

You didn’t expect to fall so hard for Ethan Landry. What started as a small crush on one of your friends led to full-blown infatuation. Once you found yourself hanging off every word that slipped past his perfect lips, always making sure you were beside him whenever you’d go out with your friends, and even letting your grades slip a little just so you’d have the excuse to be alone with him to study, you realized how fucked you were. You didn’t care, though, because he’s everything you wanted.

He was tall, and very attractive. But what really sucked you in was the way he lit up whenever he talked to you about the things he was passionate about. The way his voice sounded first thing in the morning when you’d all spent the night at Tara’s. The way he ignored any other girls that looked in his direction, at least when he was with you.

Ethan was just as caught up in you as you were with him. The first night you walked into Tara’s, he could’ve sworn you were literally glowing. He thought you were the most gorgeous girl he’d ever seen, and once he talked to you and realized how sweet you were, he knew he had to make you his. He found himself daydreaming about taking you on dates, holding your hand, kissing you. But sometimes, his thoughts weren’t so innocent.

He knew you weren’t a virgin, but after a drunken game of ‘Never Have I Ever’ turned sexual, he learned that there were a lot of things you hadn’t done. He wanted to be the first, and hopefully only person you’d do those things with. He even went as far as wondering how you’d sound, the faces you’d make, how much of him you could take in your mouth before it was too much. He felt a little guilty from time to time for thinking about you in that way, because you were just so sweet. But the desire to destroy your innocence just kept getting stronger, no matter how hard he’d try to push those thoughts about you to the side.

The two of you shamelessly flirted with each other, so much that the rest of your friends thought there was something more going on than there was. It wasn’t uncommon for Ethan to pull you into his lap whenever there wasn’t an empty seat available beside him, or for the two of you to be so caught up in your own conversations that you’d forget your friends were even there. He wanted to take things to the next level, but he’d always get nervous and shut down whenever he got close to kissing you.

You lived down the hall from Tara, which made it so convenient for you and Ethan’s study sessions. Whenever you had plans with your friends, Ethan would come to your apartment to study with you before. With exams coming up, Ethan couldn’t stop thinking about how he needed to get over his nerves and finally make a move. He knew he’d still get to see you, but he wouldn’t have the excuse to spend alone time with you.

As Ethan sat on your bed, his fingers moving against his keyboard, you started to get bored. He kept peaking over his laptop screen to see you stretched out on your stomach at the foot of your bed, scrolling through your phone.

“That’s not homework,” he said, playfully scolding you as you sat up to look at him.

“If I have to keep looking at anything school related, I’m going to go crazy.”

“We still have over an hour before we have to go to Tara’s. What would you like to do?” He asked, closing his computer to give you his attention.

“We could watch a funny movie. I need to laugh,” you suggested, as he shook his head.

“We don’t have enough time for that…but,” he said, sitting his laptop on the bed beside him. “I know how to make you laugh.”

He smirked as he crawled closer to you. You knew what was coming, the slight look of panic in your eyes making him chuckle before his fingers dug into your sides.

“Ethan,” you whined, trying to grab at his hands to pull them off you. You were starting to tear up from laughing, and your breathing was getting heavier. “Stop it! You’re going to make me fall off the bed!”

“I’d never let that happen,” he said, his fingers not letting up.

“Seriously, Ethan!” You were starting to wheeze from laughing so hard, so he finally pulled his hands away. You placed one of your hands on your chest as you tried to take deep breaths, as Ethan settled back into the spot he was in before on your bed. “That was so mean.”

“I think it’s funny that you’ve never tried to get me back,” he said, a smug look on his face. “Is it because I’m stronger than you?”

“Knowing you, you’d have me pinned to the bed so I wouldn’t be able to move while you tickled me.”

Ethan got a little caught up in the idea of that. He wanted to have you pinned to the bed, but not to tickle you. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice you were moving closer to him, the only thing bringing him back into the moment was when your fingertips started to move against his sides.

“Hey!” he said through his laughter as he grabbed at your hands. You weren’t going to give up easily, so you moved to straddle him, pulling your hands away every time he reached for them. “Please, you gotta stop!”

“No,” you said, your hands moving further up his ribs, making him laugh even harder. He knew it wasn’t meant to be sexual, but the way your ass was rubbing against him as you moved was making him hard.

“Stop!” he yelled, finally grabbing your hands. Your face dropped as you looked at him, and he immediately felt guilty for yelling at you like that. “I’m sorry…you’re just,” he said, letting out a gasp once you started to move off him, your eyes going wide once you felt how hard he was underneath you. “That. You’re making me hard.”

“Oh,” you softly said, staring at the bulge in his jeans. “Is it a bad thing that I did?”

“No…I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he sighed, before he sat up. “Does it make you uncomfortable that you do that to me?”

He watched your cheeks turn pink at his question. This wasn’t how he planned on making his move, but the door was wide open for him to have the conversation.

“No,” you said, “have I made you hard before?”

“I get hard just thinking about you,” he confessed, the sexual tension in the room getting stronger as each second passed.

You were starting to get nervous as you sat there. You didn’t have the most experience in the world, your previous sexual encounters with your ex mainly consisted of you just laying there and waiting until he was done, so you didn’t know how to give a blow job. But you wanted to learn. You wanted Ethan to teach you.

“Can I…suck it?” you asked, his eyes growing wide. “Sorry, stupid question.”

“No, it’s not stupid…do you want me to tell you how to do it?” he asked, as you smiled and nodded. “Okay, uh, I’ll just get these off.”

He slid off the side of your bed and unbuttoned his jeans before shimmying them down his legs. You gawked as you saw the tent in his boxers, wondering if you were in over your head for even thinking you could do this.

“I hate to ask this…” no he didn’t. “But would you want to get on the floor? It’d be easier for you.” You nodded as you slid off the side of the bed and stood in front of him. “Wait,” he said, once you started to drop to your knees. You stood back up to face him, as he leaned in to kiss you. You needily kissed him back, your hands on his cheeks as he started to rub your hips. Once you pulled back, he smiled at you. “You don’t feel like you have to do this, right?”

“No, I want to do this,” you said, looking at him as you sank onto the floor.

“Fuck…eye contact like that is good,” he said, running his fingers through your hair. “I guess I’ll just slide these down.”

His fingers hooked under the waistband of his boxers as he slid them down his thighs, his cock springing free right in front of your face. He let out a sweet laugh once he noticed how wide your eyes got.

“Do I just put it in my mouth?” you asked, as he groaned at how innocent you were.

“Let’s start with just touching it,” he suggested, as you nodded and reached your hand up. “Wrap your hand around it…just like that, baby,” he said, taking a deep breath as he tried to contain himself. “Now move your hand back and forth, but not too fast.”

You did as he said, your eyes glancing between his and his cock. You weren’t sure if you were good at what you were doing, but he was breathing heavier the longer you did it.

“Do you want to try to put it in your mouth?” he asked, as you nodded and leaned forward. “How about you just do what you think is right and I’ll tell you if it’s bad or good?”

“Okay,” you shyly said, hoping that you would get it right.

Ethan’s biggest fantasy was coming to fruition. His head was spinning as you took the head of his cock in your mouth, your hand still stroking him. Even though you weren’t a virgin, he still felt like he was devirginizing you, at least in this way.

“That’s perfect,” he said, his eyes looking into yours as you sucked on his sensitive tip. “Try to take a little more.”

You did as he said, easing a little more of him into your mouth. His hand tangled in your hair, his grip loose. The last thing he wanted was to push you too far and make you want to stop when you’d just started. He was about to ask you for more, when you boldly took as much of him as you could in your mouth, to the point that you were gagging around him. You quickly pulled your head back, refusing to make eye contact like you’d just done something wrong.

“Hey,” Ethan said, his hand that was in your hair moved to your chin. He tilted your head so you’d look at him, your eyes already watery from the gagging. “If you want to keep going, there’s a little tip that helps with that.”

He showed you the thumb trick, and talked to you about bobbing your head too, along with moving your hand. Once you felt like you had a better understanding of what you needed to do, you leaned forward, taking just as much of him in your mouth as you did before.

You were still gagging a little, but not as bad as you did the first time. Your mouth kept getting more and more wet, the feeling making Ethan groan. His hand snaked back in your hair as he fought the urge to thrust in your mouth.

“You’re doing such a good job,” he praised, “Twist your hand a little…oh fuck.”

You were catching on quickly, and Ethan was so proud of you. Your eyes stayed on his, even when tears started to slip past your lower lash line. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, his grip on your hair tightening.

“Can I try something?” he asked, his eyes pleading with yours. You hummed around him to let him know he could, because the last thing you wanted to do was pull him out of your mouth.

He started to thrust past your lips as you gagged around him, your free hand gripping your thumb as hard as you could. Big, fat teardrops were flowing down your cheeks, but you were loving it. His eyes were fluttering as his jaw dropped open, but he still stayed focused on you, not wanting any of this to be too much.

“I’m gonna cum,” he said, his voice a little raspy from his panting. “Can I cum in your mouth?”

You hummed around him again to respond, the vibrations around his cock sending him over the edge as his hand tensed up in your hair, tugging on it harder than he wanted to. You just kept moaning around him, so turned on as his salty cum coated your tastebuds. He gave a few more weak thrusts as his hand in your hair relaxed before he slowly slid out of your mouth.

“Are you okay?” he asked, reaching down to take your hand. He helped you to your feet before wiping the tears off your cheeks.

“Yeah, I liked that,” you said, your voice raw from all the gagging. “Can we do it again?”

“We can do anything you want to,” he said, placing his hands on your hips to hold you close. “But right now, can I eat you out?”

“Oh, Um,” you mumbled, your cheeks getting rosy at the idea. “You want to do that?”

“I’m not your ex,” he said, smirking at you. “I bet he never made you cum.”

“He didn’t,” you sighed, as Ethan backed you towards the bed.

“I will,” he said, as he started to lift your shirt.

Ethan got you out of your jeans and shirt, leaving you in just your bra and panties. He hovered over you, his mouth moving against your neck as his hand roamed your body. You were squirming as you tried to patient, but it was getting harder for you, especially when his hand reached in between your thighs and rubbed you over your panties.

“So wet,” he mumbled against your neck, his breath giving you goosebumps. “I can’t wait to taste you.”

He pulled his hand away as he sat up, grabbing your hands for you to sit up, too. His hands reached around you to unhook your bra, his mouth not leaving your neck as he slid the straps down your arms and threw it to the other side of the room.

“We have to go to Tara’s soon,” you reminded him, as he pulled away and started to laugh.

“We’re probably going to be late.”

He leaned down, taking one of your nipples in his mouth. You started to whimper as he sucked, pulling off it with a soft pop before he moved to the other side.

Once his lips trailed further down your body, you were trying so hard to be in the moment, but your mind started to wander. You practically worshiped the ground Ethan walked on, and all he wanted in that moment was you, but you still didn’t know if this was going to anything more than a friends with benefits situation, or if he wanted to be with you like you wanted to be with him.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, pulling you from your thoughts as he started to kiss your inner thighs.

“Mmm, it’s nothing,” you moaned once he started to suck your flesh into his mouth.

He pulled away to look at you, “No, tell me.”

You sighed in frustration, both from him stopping and you really didn’t want to pour your heart out to him in that moment. But he just kept staring at you, waiting for you to say something.

“I’ve…fuck,” you sighed, taking a deep breath. “I want this…but I need to know how you feel about me.”

He smiled at you as your blush spread across your cheeks. “You haven’t realized that I’m in love with you yet?”

“In love with me?” you asked, as he slid your panties down your legs.

“Mhm, I’m fucking obsessed with you,” he said, before he buried his head between your thighs.

“Shit,” you gasped, as his tongue licked fat stripes from your entrance to your clit.

He started to focus on your clit, giving all the attention to your needy bundle of nerves. You looked down to see that he was watching you, taking in all the little faces you were making. He was alternating between swirling and lightly sucking, the stimulation making your entire body feel hot.

He slid one of his fingers inside of you, your legs feeling shaky as he moved it against the spot inside of you that you weren’t even sure existed. He watched you start to fall apart over just one finger, and once he added another one, you were a whimpering mess. He licked your clit a few more times before he pulled away to talk to you, his fingers still moving.

“You never told me how you feel about me,” he said, curving his fingers to apply more pressure.   

“Unfff, fuck,” you whined, your hands tightly gripping the comforter underneath you.

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll stop,” he playfully said, smirking as his fingers brought you closer to the edge.

Your brain was turning to mush, but you pulled yourself together for a second, not wanting him to stop. “I’m in love with you, too.”

He leaned back down to your clit, sucking on it a little harder than he had before. Your whines got louder as the euphoric feeling washed over you, his free hand holding down your bucking hips. It felt so good that your eyes started to water, your entire body tingling as he worked you through it.

Just as you came down from your high, you heard a knock coming from your front door. You were too fucked out from Ethan’s fingers to even care, as he started to laugh.

“I bet that’s Tara,” he said, as he laid down beside you. “We’re late.”

“Fuck,” you groaned, lazily sliding your naked body off the side of your bed, landing on your feet.

You grabbed your robe and put it on, your legs still wobbly as you made your way to the front door. You looked out the peephole to see Tara and Mindy.

“Hey,” Tara said once you opened the door, her smile dropping once she noticed you weren’t dressed. “Are you still coming over?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there soon,” you said, noticing both of them staring at something. “What?”

“Is Ethan here?” Mindy asked, a smirk playing on her lips as she realized what was going on.

“Yeah, we’ll both be over in a few,” you said, still not understanding what they were looking at.

“Okay…you might want to cover that up before you come over,” Mindy said, gesturing to your neck as Tara started to giggle.

You bit your bottom lip as the embarrassment hit, realizing that Ethan sucking on your neck earlier must’ve left a hickey.

“No, you know what? You guys finish whatever ‘studying’ you’re doing, then come over. We’re sorry for interrupting,” Tara said, fighting off her laughter as she and Mindy walked down the hall to her apartment.

You sighed as you closed the door, knowing that you and Ethan were definitely going to be grilled once you did go to Tara’s.

“Why didn’t you tell me you put this on my neck?” you said, glancing at it in the mirror after you walked back in your room.

“Are you embarrassed that they know you’re mine?” he questioned, walking up behind you. He rested his head against your shoulder, but your mind was in a haze once you felt his hard cock pressing against you.

“You know how long I’ve wanted to be yours? I’m definitely not embarrassed,” you said, making him laugh as he moved your hair to the side the place more kisses to your neck.

“Well, I did hear them say we should finish studying,” he said, as his hand reached over to untie your robe. “I’m not done studying you yet.”

“Fuck,” you gasped, when his hand started to massage one of your breasts, gently pinching at your nipple. Your back leaned against his chest as you relaxed into his touches, your breathing getting heavier as his hand trailed lower. “Can I be on top?”

“For a little bit, yeah,” he mumbled against you as his fingers rubbed across your still-soaked pussy. “Is that okay?”

“Mhm.”

You had so many things you wanted to do with Ethan, so many things you hadn’t experienced yet. Any nerves you had about your inexperience faded, your confidence showing as you got on top to straddle him.

“Take your time, I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, as you grabbed his cock that was resting against his lower stomach. You lined him up with your entrance and started to sink down on him. “So tight,” he groaned, as you tried to get used to the stretched-out feeling. He wasn’t all the way in and you already felt so full.

“Mmm,” you moaned once you’d taken all of him, your ass meeting the top of his thighs.

You took a minute, trying to adjust your legs to the most comfortable position as his hands ran up your sides. Once you started to bounce on him, his hands went to your hips to help you move. Your bottom lip went in between your teeth as you held eye contact with him. Once he started to thrust up into you, your hands went to your breasts, massaging them as he helped your hips meet his.

He loved having you on top, and he loved watching the way your tits bounced, but he needed to be in control. He needed to push your limits a little until you were falling apart underneath him. He held your hips in place a few seconds before he flipped you over, a squeal flying out of your mouth. He smirked down at you before he grabbed the back of your thighs, pushing them toward you with his hands.

“Stop me if anything hurts, okay?” he said, as you smiled and nodded. He slid back inside of you, his hands right below the back of your knees as he started to pound into you.

Your mouth fell open as he fucked you, every sound that built up in your throat flying out. He was so deep, but the tip of his cock hit your g-spot with every thrust.

“That feel good?” he asked, pushing your legs closer to you. You babbled in response, the new angle making him go even deeper. “Look at you, so cock drunk, so perfect.”

All you could do was whimper as you felt yourself getting close. You were fighting to keep your fluttering eyes open, because you didn’t want to miss a single second of watching him. The beautiful boy that you’d fallen so hard for had a thin layer of sweat on his forehead that his curls were starting to stick to, his bottom lip was in between his teeth. You felt so submissive as you just laid there and took it. You were okay with him using you in whatever way he wanted, because you’d do anything for him.

“You gonna cum, baby?” he asked, as he felt your walls start to flutter.

“Yes!” you cried out, your hands shakily gripping the comforter again as the wave crashed into you so hard your vision got fuzzy. You kept trying to talk as he fucked you through it, his teeth showing as he smiled at your babbles.

“I’m almost there, baby. Can you take it a little longer?” he asked as your eyes peeled open to look at him.

“Yes, it feels so good,” you moaned, as he sped up, chasing his orgasm.

Your body kept jolting like little aftershocks from the intensity of your own orgasm, and you were feeling a little overstimulated, but the last thing you wanted was for him to stop. He was going so fast and so deep as he panted, mumbling your name as his head started to roll back.

“Gonna…fuck. Cum,” he said, pulling his cock out and shooting his release all over your tummy. He caught his breath as he looked at you through his hooded eyes. You smiled at him as he moved to lay on the bed beside you.

“I think we need to shower,” you said, glancing down at his cum on you. “I don’t really have anything that has a manly scent, though.”

“That’s okay. I’ll get to smell like you,” he said, his fingertips brushing against your arm.

After your shower with Ethan, you concealed the giant purple mark on your neck and took the walk of shame over to Tara’s. Your friends got quiet as you walked in, glancing back and forth between you and Ethan.

“Sooo,” Chad said, noticing Ethan’s wet hair, “Did you two finally realize that you’re meant to be together?”

“Oh yeah,” Ethan said, as Chad walked over to dap him up.

“It’s about time. It was getting exhausting to watch the two of you,” Mindy said, as Tara nodded in agreement.

You, Ethan and Chad walked over to sit on the couch as Mindy pushed play on the movie she was waiting to start until you got there. After a few minutes, Chad looked over to Ethan.

“Dude, this is a little blunt, but you smell so good right now.”

You started to giggle as Ethan laughed and wrapped his arm around you, holding you close.

“He’s right, you do smell good.”

[thebiggerbear]

"Sleep. I'll keep you safe." - Dean Winchester Prompt Response

Summary: When Sam calls to tell you that Dean is gone, you can't accept it. Not until you visit the offline Bunker and see for yourself. ...But is he really gone?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader; Dean Winchester x Huntress!Female!Reader

A/N: Prompt from @thelonelyempath. I had this idea for a scene in my head that took place during 15x20 with the reader and Sam & then from there it just kind of wrote itself, including the semi-twist. Hope it's okay.

There is a song mentioned in here ("Is This Love" by Whitesnake) which is a sort of homage/dedication/thank you. I read this Dean x Reader fic a long time ago (I can't remember the name of the fic or the author right now, I'm sorry!) but they used the song for some Dean/Reader time in the Impala and I had never heard the song before so I checked it out. I have become obsessed with it. It's so perfect, not only for Dean but in general as an 80s love rock ballad. So thank you to that author whoever you are!

This is meant to take place between mid-15x20 and Dean's foray in The Winchesters (pre-series).

Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.

Warnings: angst; mentions of character death; mentions of implied sex

Word Count: 12k+

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel

Dean Taglist: @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl; @brightlilith

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat; @deansbbyx

"Sleep. I'll keep you safe."

Soldier Boy version ✨ Beau version ✨ Jenny version ✨ Tom version ✨ Jason version ✨ Anael version ✨ SDV Alex version

You sat on the corner of the bed in your motel room, numb, your phone next to you, having been forgotten long ago. 

It couldn’t be true. It wasn’t. You refused to believe it. How was Dean just gone? On a simple hunt? How?

Sam had called you to give you the news. You could hear the breaks in his voice as he relayed what happened, sounding as if he had been crying just a few minutes before. Vampires. Who were mute. A gang of them run by a vampire named Jenny they had faced off with years ago. On a hunt with John. She had gotten away and they thought she was gone for good. Apparently not.

You were frozen, in shock, unable to process what he was telling you. 

“Y/N?”

“I… I need to see him,” you whispered.

Sam was quiet for a moment before he forced out, “I gave him a hunter’s funeral.”

You shut your eyes in pain. “What?” You could feel your throat tightening as well as your chest.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but I had to. I couldn’t…” You heard him take a breath. “I couldn’t make the long drive with… I just couldn’t.” You could hear those breaks again and you should have been hurting for him, that not only did he have to watch his brother die but he’d had to burn him alone. But right then you got angry and you couldn’t help snapping at him.

“Why would you burn his body, Sam? You know we need his body to bring him back!”

“Y/N, he didn’t want to be brought back.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Yeah, I do. He told me right before he died. As long as I was going to be okay,” Another break. “He was done.”

A tear rolled down your cheek and regret immediately consumed you. You knew Sam was telling you the truth. Dean making sure Sam would be okay as he was dying clinched it for you. Sam had always been his main concern. You started mentally berating yourself then. If only you hadn’t let fear stop you, you could have given him something to live for, to fight for. He would have let Sam call for help, call Jack, something. He would have made sure he somehow made it home, just like he always did. But you didn’t and now, he was gone. Truly and irrevocably gone.

Another tear slipped down your cheek and you quickly wiped it away. “I have to go, Sam.”

“Y/N, I—”

You ended the call and tossed the phone onto the bed. You weren’t trying to be heartless. Sam was obviously struggling and you should be there for him. That’s what Dean would want, you knew that. The two of you being there for each other, helping one another, you looking after his little brother while he looked out for you. But you just…couldn’t.

Why hadn’t you called Dean? After everything that went down with Chuck and Jack? Why hadn’t you reached out? You owed him that at the very least. So why hadn’t you?

You knew the answer to that. You were scared and like a coward, you’d told yourself it wouldn’t have made a difference. It wouldn’t have changed anything. But a part of you knew it would and that scared you just as much.

You thought back to the last time you’d seen him, right after he and Sam went to try to get Amara on board against Chuck. He was still reeling with the news that Cas had told him before he’d left, that Jack was going to sacrifice himself to kill Chuck. He cared about Jack, more than he let on, even though the kid had accidentally killed Mary. Jack was family to him and he was having a serious moment of doubt. If Jack’s plan would work; if he should let it happen; if he should tell Sam; if Chuck hadn’t been right, he would win in the end. He was so beyond tired of that: Chuck winning. He didn’t want to sacrifice Jack but if they could be free of Chuck and have a chance… 

He was torn up about it and he’d called you, asked you where you were, then begged you to come to the Bunker when he found out you were only an hour or so away. You hadn’t wanted to, you could hear the desperation in his voice and you knew all too well what would happen if you went. You were still hurting and you didn’t know if you could survive that. 

You didn’t bother telling him that the reason you were an hour outside of town was because you’d temporarily settled there, not sure where to go or what to do. Sure, you took on hunts here and there, but ultimately you were lost. Ever since Dean broke things off with you because he couldn’t tell what was real anymore versus what had been Chuck all along. The breakup had hurt, of course, but that caused pain in you that you weren’t really sure you would ever come back from. Him thinking everything between you might not be real? After you’d given him everything you could because you deeply loved him? In your heart, you knew it was real, but when you had said this to him, he’d simply responded with “I don’t” in his typical detached way he adopted whenever he had made up his mind that he had to do something for the greater good, no matter how hard it might be. You thought he had already broken your heart, but it shattered right then in your chest.

Since it was Dean, though, and he never begged, you went. And sure enough, what you worried would happen, happened. One minute, you’d been wiping the rare tears he let fall around you, and the next minute, he was kissing you and gently pushing you back onto his bed. You could feel the desperation in his movements, his touches, the way his lips trailed over your skin. Shockingly, he took his time with you, and it only hit you halfway through that this was his real goodbye. It wasn’t guaranteed that Billie’s plan would work but he hoped it would. And if it did, then that meant he and Sam would finally be free and they could hang it up if they wanted to, do something else with their lives and move on. And that possible future didn’t include you. 

You’d silently cried then, holding onto Dean as he moved and moaned into your ear. When he pulled back to kiss you, your cheeks were free of any tear tracks and you kissed him back. You wondered how on earth he couldn’t feel that this was very real between you as you moved your hips to meet his in a tender rhythm as he held you in his lap, his green eyes staring into yours as he held you close. Sex was sex but this right here, this right in between you right then that he refused to put a name to, it was beyond real. You knew he could feel it just as much as you could…so why was he still hellbent on throwing it (and you) away?

A little while later, you had laid there, with his head on your chest, running your fingers through his hair in soothing strokes, his body still entangled with yours, staring up at the ceiling as you both were still trying to catch your breath. Your heart spoke for you before you could stop it. “I love you,” you whispered, meaning it with every fiber of your being.

It shocked the hell out of you and made something warm and fluttery happen inside your chest when he sleepily murmured to your skin, “Love y’too. Don’go.” You ended up chalking it up to him being in a post-sex sleep daze though, not knowing what he was really saying or even really having heard you correctly. That or he only meant for the night because the very next morning, things went back to how they were.

Dean seemed surprised when he woke up to find you next to him, scrolling through the news feed on your phone for any new cases. You’d given him a warm smile. “Hey, sleepyhead,” you teased.

Instead of smiling back, though, he cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “Hey.” You could see that familiar detached expression settle on his features and you knew he was regretting the night before. He had been drinking by the time you got there, sure, but he hadn’t been inebriated. He was incredibly lucid by the time he made a move on you so try as he might, this couldn’t be chalked up to a drunken mistake.

You could literally feel that wall going back up and you gave one last ditch effort to keep him from shutting you back out, even laying a hand over his. “Dean, don’t—”

He pulled away from you and got out of bed, quickly slipping on his Scooby Doo boxers and jeans that he grabbed from the floor. You might have smiled seeing the familiar underwear that you hated but secretly loved if you weren’t hurting so much. “I’m hungry. You hungry?” He asked, slipping a black t-shirt over his head. “I’ll go see if Sam’s cooking anything up. I need a serious cup of coffee. You just…” He glanced back at you, seeing you holding the sheet tightly to your chest as you watched him, compulsively swallowing when he saw your eyes glistening. “You, uh, just come out when you’re ready.” He then made his way out of the room, closing the door behind him and never looking back. 

You sat back against the headboard, dissolving into a fit of tears and quiet sobs. You knew you should have never come. Once you were able to breathe without fresh tears welling up, you got yourself cleaned up and redressed. You splashed some water on your face and you took a deep breath before leaving the room. You were near the bunker stairs when Sam called out to you.

“Hey! Y/N!” 

He was coming over to you, a big smile on his face. He was pleased to see you.

“Hey,” you greeted back just as warmly, forcing a smile.

He gave you a quick hug and you could see Jack a little ways behind him, giving you a smile and wave. “I didn’t know you were here. We were just about to have breakfast. Why don’t you join us?”       

“Oh, I…”

You were saved from having to make an excuse when Dean appeared next to Jack, his expression severe and cold all at the same time. “She’s got a hunt she’s heading out for. Possible vamp nest in Duluth. Right, Y/N?”

Just when you thought he couldn’t hurt you even more, there he went proving you wrong. “Right,” you agreed quietly. You turned a wan smile onto Sam. “I’ll take a raincheck.”

“Duluth?” Sam glanced from his brother to you. “Maybe we can give you a hand on this one.”

“We can’t,” Dean stated firmly. He gave his brother a look and Sam’s brows furrowed before realization played upon his features and his jaw tightened. He turned apologetic hazel eyes onto you. “Donna’s up that way. If she needs a hand, she can call her,” Dean added.

You felt sick to your stomach. Obviously, you weren’t heading to Duluth or anywhere near Minnesota but the way he dismissed you so casually…the pain was overwhelming. The smile you kept on Sam turned into more of a grimace. “I appreciate the offer, Sam, but I’m good. Like your brother said, I can call Donna if I need anything. Don’t worry. Thanks, though.” You squeezed his arm and then turned to make your way up the stairs.

“Best of luck,” Dean gruffed out. You turned to see pure ice staring back at you. 

You pressed your lips together to keep from falling apart right there, from demanding why Dean had obviously only called you for sex and a pick-me-up when there plenty of women in Lebanon that could do that for him, from begging him to wake up and see you were right in front of him and that what you had was very much real before it was too late. Instead, you continued climbing the stairs. 

“Keep us updated and give us a call if you need anything,” Sam called after you.

“Will do,” you forced out.

“Good luck,” Jack offered.

When you reached the top, you glanced once more at Dean. His expression hadn’t changed one bit. The green gaze staring back at you was cold, hard. You let out a huff and shook your head, turning to open the door and close it behind you. That had been the very last time you saw him.

After that, you went back to the motel you had been renting a room in, packed up, and headed across state lines. You ignored Dean’s calls but took Sam’s. 

Apparently, at some point, you had vanished when Chuck disappeared everyone. You had no idea until Donna filled you in. That explained the several missed calls from both Sam and Dean and the voicemails they left. Both had sounded desperate, especially Dean. 

“Please, Y/N. I know you’re pissed at me and I get it but please call me back. Or call Sam. I don’t care. Just as long as we know you’re still with us and that you’re okay.” His tone sounded rough around the edges but considering the context Sam gave you when you did call him (there was no way you were calling Dean, especially not now), you realized they were just desperate to get in touch with anyone, having lost Cas and being the only three forms of life left on the planet.

Dean was right, you were angry. Angry that he’d used you that night, angry that he’d broken your heart in the first place. He had pursued you before you got together, not the other way around. By the time you let your guard down enough to let him in and things kicked off between you, he was deep in. Or so he’d said. By the time he ended things, you were deep in yourself. Now…now you were in even deeper thanks to him, so deep you were pretty sure Dean would haunt you the rest of your life no matter how you tried to shut him out of your heart.

Another tear rolled down your cheek. Though, you’d never meant the word haunt literally.

You wiped your face with your sleeve and let out an aggravated breath before getting to your feet. You grabbed your coat, your emergency bag, your hunting bag, and the car keys from the table near the door. You locked up and got into the car you only used for hunts and grocery trips now, starting it and backing out of the driveway. 

It’s not that you doubted what Sam had told you or Sam himself, but you needed to see things for yourself. You turned the car in the direction that would lead you to Kansas.

You opened the door to the Bunker, seeing nothing but darkness greeting you, the clanking of the door being the only sound to echo in the large chamber. That was strange. They never shut it down when they left for hunts. You hit the lights and hearing a loud thrumming sound, you watched as they came back on, one by one. You had your own key since you were also a Legacy. You’d never been more thankful for that fact when you arrived to find the Bunker locked down, no Sam in sight.

You shut the door behind you and dropped your bags near the table. You bit your lip to keep your eyes from welling up when you noticed an unfinished chess game on the table, most likely one that Dean and Cas had been engaged in, but now neither of them would be back to complete it. Instead, you focused on the matter at hand. You pulled your gun out and an angel blade, slipping the latter into your coat pocket in case you needed it. In the other pocket, you slipped a flask of holy water and a small piece of iron bar you could wield if need be. In your gun sat silver bullets; you couldn’t be too careful nowadays. Especially if the word was out to the world of the supernatural that Dean Winchester was gone and only Sam was left now, alone. 

You slowly made your way down the stairs, listening intently for any other noises you might hear. All that you could make out besides your footsteps was the low hum of electricity that was commonplace for the old bunker. You cleared the library, the hallways, the kitchen, the shower room, the infirmary, the Dean Cave where you’d been forced to watch The Lost Boys and slasher films more times than you cared to count (you had dug your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from crying when you saw the DVD cover of Tombstone left near the TV), every single room in the place until you came to the one that made a lump form in your throat. You swallowed it back down and forced yourself to focus, raising your gun that much higher. You opened the door and hit the lights, scanning every which way. The room was clear.

You lowered your gun and made your way inside, the lump in your throat back again. Your eyes roamed over the hastily made bed; the empty dog bowls on the floor (which made your brows furrow in confusion slightly); the messy desk; the empty beer bottles on the table; the headphones on the nightstand; the shotguns on the wall; the books scattered about; the load of laundry sitting off to the right in a corner. Memories washed over you and your eyes began to sting as tears welled up. 

You’d walked into the room to find Dean jamming out on his bed, listening to music through the headphones he’d insisted on buying on your last trip. You huffed out a laugh and dropped the laundry basket of folded clothes onto the bed, garnering his attention. 

He opened his eyes and glanced up to find you smiling at him. 

“What are you listening to?”

He held one of the phones away from his ear and you could hear some serious strumming of heavy metal guitar coming out of it. “Huh?”

“I said, what are you listening to?” You asked a little louder.

“What?” He nearly yelled.

You picked up the top item from your pile, his Scooby Doo underthings, and playfully tossed it at him. It landed squarely on his chest and he immediately jumped up as if it had burned him, his cheeks turning redder by the second as he threw the headphones onto the bed.

“You did my laundry?” He asked in horror.

Amazing. You two had explored every single inch of each other time and time again, been sort of rooming together for the past month, but he was embarrassed that you washed his dirty underwear?

You shrugged and began to place his folded clothes on the bed. “I had room in the washer so I figured I’d grab yours, too. You’re welcome.”

“You washed our clothes together?” He sounded genuinely surprised.

You gasped and gave him a mock look of horror. “Oh no, not together.” You tossed a pair of jeans over at him and he caught it in time. “I used detergent, fabric softener, dryer sheets, and everything,” you teased. “But putting it away is where I draw the line, pal. That’s on you.” You pointed to the neat pile sitting on the bed before moving over to the door to head to the room you kept your things in down the hall. 

Arms wrapped around you from behind, stopping your trek, and Dean murmured into your ear, “You washed my clothes for me?”

“And folded, too,” you pointed out. “Don’t forget that.”

“Mmm, what else can I get you to do for me?” He grabbed the basket from you and placed it down before gripping your hips and moving in to kiss your neck.

“Hey, I’m not your maid. I had room in the washer, that was it. Don’t get used to this,” you laughed before digging your teeth into your lip when you felt his tongue on a particular part of your skin. 

“What if I want to get used to this?” He moved up to your jaw line.

“I’d say you’re SOL. Unless…”

“Unless?” He hummed near your lips.

“Unless you finally let me tidy up this room a little.”

His head shot up, frowning down at you. “What? Why, what’s wrong with how it is now?”

“Well,” You wrapped your arms around his neck. “Some of these papers on the desk need organizing, the books can be put in a stack on the table over there, these empty beer bottles can be thrown out, the shotguns you have near the bed can be put away…”

“There’s nothing wrong with anything you just mentioned,” he grumbled.

“Oh, really? So the other night when you were doing that thing—”

“That thing you really like,” he interrupted, smirking cockily at you.

You had to keep from rolling your eyes and smirking yourself. “When I moved, I knocked into the shotgun and it fell. It almost went off. You remember that?”

“Nothing happened or went off, well, except you.” His smirk got even bigger. “You remember that?”

This time you gently swatted at his shoulder. “Dean.”

He heard the warning in your no-nonsense tone and laughed, leaning in to kiss you. “Alright,” he whispered to your lips. “I’ll put the shotguns up out of the way. But everything else stays.”

You huffed out an exasperated breath. One of these days when he wasn’t looking, you swore you’d do as exactly as you’d suggested. Clear out the empty bottles and stack the books at the very least. 

“Hey, it’s all about compromise, right? Speaking of that,” He turned you around in his arms and you were once again facing the laundry basket he’d left on the floor. “Find a space and keep some of ‘em in here.”

A pleasant shock ran through you. “Are you sure?” You whispered.

He slowly turned you back around and gently cupped your chin. “Yeah, sweetheart, I’m sure. You’re practically sleeping in here every night, anyway. I’d rather you not have to put back on the same clothes from the night before or walk naked down to your room. Then again, naked…”

You glared up at him, making him chuckle and brush his lips against yours. “I just didn’t want to crowd you,” you admitted after a moment. “It’s your space. If I’m in here too much, I can—”

 “I want you here.” You gazed into his green eyes, unsure, but all you saw staring back at you was softness with a glint of earnestness. He was telling you the truth; he really wanted you to stay. 

“Okay,” you agreed with a shy smile.

He beamed at you and then picked you up, making you gasp loudly and wrap your legs around his waist. “Not that you’re gonna be needing them right now.”

You shook your head and kissed him as he walked you both towards the bed. When he had you on it, you could hear the music coming from the forgotten headphones. “Is that…Whitesnake?”

Dean smirked down at you. “Uh huh. One sec.” He reached over, quickly clicked something on his phone, and the music suddenly changed. You smiled when a familiar song started up.

“Really?”

“What? It’s our song.”

You framed his face with your hands, looking up at him affectionately. “Dean Winchester, secretly sentimental and sensitive guy extraordinaire,” you teased him.

“Shut up,” he mumbled. “I’m not any of that crap. It’s the first song we made good use of Baby’s backseat to, that’s all. Now that you’re staying in here, we gotta celebrate.”

Romantic. You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Like I said, sentimental.” You pulled him down to you and kissed him sweetly. Needless to say, he had been right; you hadn’t needed your clothes for a little while.

You took in a ragged breath, your fingers gently touching over the papers on his desk. While you hated the empty beer bottles and you didn’t want to end up possibly shot with a salt round during a passionate moment of sex, you really hadn’t minded how he had things. You knew this was the first home he and Sam ever really had. He could keep things messy or disorganized if he wanted to; he had more than earned the right. It might sound silly to someone else but he deserved to experience living in a home, mess and all, like everyone did at some point in their lives. Not only did he not have a place to do that since he’d been four years old, he’d never felt comfortably settled in anywhere ever to be able to do it. You remembered him and Sam telling you how long it had taken Dean to settle into this room, to think of the Bunker as not just theirs but home. You’d kick the crap out of anyone who tried to take that away from him, and you would be the last person to try to do it yourself. You still thanked him when he hung the shotguns up on the wall; you were beyond grateful. That time, he was the one who went off and quite happily.

A sob nearly tore its way out of your chest when you saw his handwriting on one of the papers. Your fingertips traced each letter. How could he really be gone?

You ran your fingers over an open file, wondering what he had been looking at, when you heard the clicking of nails on the floor behind you. You spun, lifting your gun, to find Sam standing in the doorway, watching you with wide eyes as a dog appeared beside him. That must have been what you’d heard. You lowered the gun and let out a relieved breath. “What are you doing here?”

You winced internally at your question. He had every right to be here, this was his home. You were the intruder.

“The monitoring system we set up… I was alerted that someone was in the Bunker. I locked it down and I know only he and I had the keys, so I didn’t know if…” You watched as he compulsively swallowed.

You turned back to the desk. “I get that. Where were you, by the way? Why did you lock it down?” He didn’t answer for a moment when you glanced over your shoulder at him, seeing his gaze glued to the ground. “Sam?”

His eyes flicked up to yours and he swallowed again. “I was on my way to Austin. For a case. But then…” He gestured towards you. “I turned around and headed back to see.” You noticed he didn’t mention why he had locked the Bunker down but then again, he didn’t really need to. Who else would be coming here now that Dean, Cas, and Jack were gone? Mary was gone as well as most of the other hunters you’d worked with over the past couple of years. Apocalypse World Bobby was still up in Minnesota somewhere. Apocalypse World Charlie and Stevie had moved East, choosing to retire after what happened with Chuck temporarily disappearing everyone. Garth and Bess still lived in their home with their family. Jody and the girls had their own operation up in Sioux Falls with Donna lending a hand every now and then. And you…well, you never told Sam where you were. 

You gave him a slow nod and dropped your eyes back down to the desk, running your fingers over the pages of an open lore book Dean had been reading. It was probably ridiculous but you thought maybe you could somehow still feel him here (though you did not want him to be a ghost), that perhaps by touch or sight or smell even that you could somehow connect to what his last days had been like. You wondered if he somehow knew deep down or if he hadn’t seen it coming. Even though he had always told you that he didn’t see a good ending for himself down the road, that he was forever bound to this life, you knew he also secretly fantasized about his life going in a different direction, one he’d included you in once upon a time. You then wondered if there was a girl somewhere who was either waiting for a phone call she would never get or was crying her eyes out because Sam had given her the news like he had you. It hurt to think that maybe he had found someone that he envisioned another future with instead of you, with someone he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Chuck hadn’t inserted into his life as a manipulation or a story device. Someone that he didn’t question what he had with them, if it was real. Though at the same time, you hoped he found a little piece of happiness. You still loved him enough to want that for him.

You briefly closed your eyes in pain when you remembered that last night you spent with him, telling him you loved him. You truly meant it and even though he hurt you again and again, you still did. You forced the thought away and instead chose to focus on the open book in front of you. “What was he working on?” You choked out, quietly clearing your throat once you heard how rough your voice sounded.

You turned the page, seeing mentions of witches and vampires, when you realized Sam never answered you. You glanced back at him, arching your brows in question.

Sam’s eyes were wide and laser focused on your body, his mouth hanging open. Shit.

You should’ve known that despite the dark clothing you were wearing, the long black coat you were sporting, turning away from him, that you wouldn’t be able to hide your secret much longer. Truthfully, it wasn’t even something you’d thought about when you set out for the bunker. Had Sam been here when you arrived, he probably would have seen it then.

You turned towards the younger Winchester and Sam’s eyes flickered up to you. “Are you…?”

“Yes, Sam.”

Sam closed his mouth and swallowed, glancing back and forth between you and your protruding belly. You read the clear question in his eyes that he was burning to ask.  

“You’re going to be an uncle.”

Except the few times he’d been close to death, you’d never seen Sam look so pale.

You and Sam sat on the edge of Dean’s bed, Miracle (as you’d come to find out was the dog’s name) laid at your feet, his head on his paws.

“How?” Sam finally asked you.

You snorted in amusement. “You know how.”

“No, I mean… Why didn’t you tell Dean? Did you tell Dean? Because he didn’t tell me and I don’t think that’s something he wouldn’t have told me.”

You wet your lips with your tongue, feeling the heavy weight of guilt and sadness wrap around you once more. “No. I didn’t tell him,” you whispered. It was now the biggest regret of your life, right before the second biggest one of you walking out of the bunker the morning you’d last seen him and not fighting harder to get him to let you back in.

“Were you ever going to?”

Your eyes snapped to Sam at the judgment clear as day in his tone and they narrowed. “No, I wasn’t. He made it pretty clear he wanted nothing more to do with me or anything related to me. So, no, Sam, I wasn’t,” you snapped.

He pressed his lips into a thin line and looked down at his lap.

You turned your gaze forward again, taking a breath to tamp down the familiar anger and resentment that you’d worked so hard to try to let go of. After a moment, you rubbed at your forehead. “Yes,” you muttered. “I don’t know. I think so…”

Sam stayed quiet and let you sort through your thoughts which you were grateful for. You’d been caught completely off guard by the pregnancy yourself. When you found out, you thought back to how you unwisely didn’t take your usual precautions and since you and Dean had broken up long before that, you hadn’t been too concerned with maintaining your birth control. 

You’d thought over your options. Bringing a kid into the hunting lifestyle was the worst thing you could do to it. Dean and Sam were living proof. Their mom herself had known it which was why she tried to get out when she married their dad. Not to mention, it would make you vulnerable in your line of work and the kid would always be in danger, always have a target on its back. Plus, you were pretty sure that even if you told Dean, he’d be less than thrilled. He always told you he didn’t want kids, for the very reasons you were now facing. And did you really want to bring a kid into the world that Chuck was about to end, only to have a father who was dismissive of it, or even hated it? You didn’t think Dean would be capable, he’d been great with Jack and Ben after all, but this was different. This kid would have his blood, his genes, would look like him somewhat. Sure, he had that in Emma once and that had torn him up, but this would also be different. This was for the long haul. And that’s only if he even wanted to be in this kid’s life. Which he might opt not to. How could you do that to your child? So you considered choosing to end the pregnancy, which would have been a true mercy given everything stacked against it before it would be born, but eventually you decided otherwise. 

You’d heard the baby’s heartbeat on a checkup while you were still mulling it over, and that was it. Dean wanted to know if what you had was real or not? Here it was, its little heart thumping away deep within your body. After that visit, you’d decided the hell with it. You were someone who believed everything happened for a reason, well before things with Chuck went bad though you still operated on this age-old belief most of the time. You were having a kid, one who would be half of you and half of Dean, the love of your life for all intents and purposes. Though it had hurt when he dismissed you that morning, perhaps this had been the reason why he called you out of the blue, wanting you to come to him, and why you went despite knowing what would most likely happen and how much pain it would cause you.

So you made a decision to start pulling out of hunting. Donna rented her family cabin in Hibbing to you. Bobby hadn’t been back since Mary died so it was sitting empty and unused. You hid the pregnancy as best you could but ultimately, once the first trimester was over and you had popped, you couldn’t hide it anymore. Donna found out though she never knew who the father was. She didn’t pry which you appreciated. When she called you to warn you that Billie was making people disappear left and right, a familiar fear clawed at your chest. Not only fear for your child but also the fear of what if Dean found out about it. That was the only thing that kept you from offering to come down to Kansas to help. 

“We’re going into some place warded to protect us. You should do the same. I can send you pictures of the sigils they’re using.”

“Okay, thanks. Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

“Yeah, don’t you worry. We’ll figure this out. You just stay safe in the cabin. You and…well, you know.”

You appreciated her staying discreet when you heard Sam’s voice in the background. “I will. Thanks, D.”

“You betcha. Talk soon.”

You hung up and Donna did indeed send you the pictures. You did your best with what you had but it didn’t matter in the end. The last thing you remembered was painting a sigil on the window and then everything went black. The next thing you knew, you were back at the window, your finger extended towards the glass, the half-finished sigil staring back at you. You noticed the sun was in a different position in the sky than it had been and you immediately grabbed your cell phone. Two days had passed. How? 

It hit you then what happened and you dropped the phone with a cry, immediately grabbing at your stomach. You ran for the machine Jody had shipped to you after Donna told her. At the time you’d been annoyed, but right now, you couldn’t be happier at the sheriff knowing about your pregnancy once your baby’s heartbeat echoed throughout the bedroom. You let out a huge sigh of relief, rubbing your belly affectionately. “We had quite a scare there, didn’t we, kiddo?”

It dawned on you then that while you had vanished, you were back, baby and all. Did that mean everyone else was back, too? You went back downstairs for your cell phone and immediately called Donna. Yep, everyone was back, they had all disappeared, and it wasn’t Billie but Chuck who had done it. You asked after Dean and Sam and that was when she told you about Cas and then Jack. You knew both brothers would be devastated, especially Dean, and you considered breaking your radio silence to call him. However, you chickened out at the last second and called Sam instead to check in.

It’s not that a part of you didn’t want to tell Dean he was going to be a father, it was that you were scared of what would happen when you did. Originally, you had feared that he would turn his back on you completely, more importantly on his kid, but now you were worried that maybe it would be the exact opposite. While you would be happy for him to be actively involved in your child’s life as its dad, you also knew Dean. He would try to resume things between you, make it work for the kid’s sake. Just look at how long he tried to make it work with Lisa for Ben’s sake. Not that he didn’t love her and he ended up leaving to protect them, but even Lisa knew his heart wasn’t in it. While that had been for different reasons involving hunting and Sam’s reappearance in his life, he still tried to make it work. But as he’d told you, the family thing didn’t work for him, and besides he already had a family with Sam, Cas, and Jack. You hadn’t missed how he didn’t include you in that group; you supposed you should’ve known then. 

You didn’t want him to fake wanting to be with you just to give your kid some semblance of a family life that Dean himself hadn’t really had. You didn’t know if you could take him forcing himself to kiss you goodnight before turning his back on you every single night. Or forcing a smile when he’d come home after a long day and you were the first thing he saw when he stepped inside. It was a ridiculous fear to have, you knew that, and you should be stronger than this — you were stronger than this. Not to mention, you knew you were being selfish and not at all fair to your baby or Dean. But the images kept replaying over and over in your mind, making you flinch, and you told yourself you’d tell him the next day. The next day turned into next week, then the next month. Before you knew it, you were in your third trimester and you were getting a call from his younger brother to inform you of his untimely death.

Maybe that’s really why you raced down here from Hibbing. Maybe that’s why you wanted to see for yourself that he was gone. Not only to confirm that the man who had your heart was gone for good, but also so you could tell him, hoping he might hear it wherever he now was. Or maybe by some act of mercy Jack could relay it to him, wherever Jack was. It was cowardly, you were a coward, and you hated yourself for it. You knew you should have told Dean months ago, after you found out that he and Sam had beaten Chuck, Jack was in charge of the universe now, and the world was not coming to an end anytime soon. Regardless, you couldn’t turn back the clock.

A tear escaped that you quickly wiped away, not caring if Sam saw or not. “You know, when you first told me about Dean, I considered a demon deal.”

Sam’s head snapped up. “No! That’s not what he would want! No!”

You held out a placating hand. “I know. I’m not going to do that.” He seemed to deflate slightly in relief. “I can’t, anyway.” You motioned to your bulging stomach. “I couldn’t do that to my kid. Only be around for 10 years and then poof, I’m gone? Even if it had Dean, if Dean wanted it that is, it’s still terrible to do that to a kid.” You winced slightly when you realized you were saying this to Sam Winchester of all people.

“Dean would’ve wanted it,” he assured you quietly.

You grimaced and dropped your gaze down to the dog who was staring up at you. “Maybe.” You reached down to pet his head. 

Sam placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “He would’ve.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, thinking over his words, when you murmured, “Is there any way to get him back?”

Sam let you go and his hazel eyes began to shimmer. “No,” he choked out. “I, uh, checked with Jack and he said it was his time. So…no.”

“What?” You snapped, getting to your feet. “After everything you’ve done for that kid? He just—”

Sam got to his feet, tenderly cradling your shoulders. “I know. I didn’t want to hear it either but…Jack’s right.” Your jaw dropped, ready to let some f-bombs fly (which you usually tried to avoid since the baby could now hear you), when Sam’s hands moved up to your face, trying to get you to listen. “He was ready to go. Jack confirmed it. Dean’s in Heaven and he’s at peace.”

Tears were on the edge of falling when you heard that. “He’s in Heaven?”

Sam nodded, a tear making its way down his cheek. “Yeah. He is.”

If Dean was in Heaven…well, then that was some consolation at least. Just when he thought he’d never make it there thanks to his being a demon for a short stint, being killed by a Hell Hound, and everything that had occurred over the years — even some of the things he’d done. But that also meant he was gone, for good this time. It was confirmed; he wasn’t coming back. It hit you like a freight train and it punched a huge hole in your chest. You felt as if you were falling, falling, and would never stop. Dean was…gone. “Then he’s…”

“He’s gone,” Sam confirmed. “He’s not coming back.”

Your knees buckled and you nearly fell, Sam thankfully having caught you. You heard a wailing sound but you had no idea where it was coming from until you felt it ripping its way out of your body. Sam gingerly picked you up in his arms and moved you onto the bed. You were violently sobbing and you barely noticed Sam holding you, gently rocking you back and forth, his own tears falling into your hair. Miracle had jumped up and laid next to you, whining quietly and trying to shove his head under your hands, rubbing his body carefully against your belly. 

There was no way. No way that this was real. This had to be a nightmare. But when you heard Sam sniffle above you, choking out, “It’s going to be okay, Y/N. I promise, it’s going to be okay,” you knew that it wasn’t. Memories of Dean’s face, his laugh, his smiles, his touch, his scent, the way he looked at you when you’d both been happy together, his kisses, the way he felt like home in a way that no other person or place ever could, the way he made you feel safe — all of it smashed over you like a tidal wave and it didn’t let up. Dean Winchester, the man you’d loved with all of your heart, the man whose child you now carried inside of you, was gone. And there was nothing you could do to bring him back.

Dean had just pulled the Impala over at a beautiful spot, where you could see nature’s beauty for miles. He rested back against Baby and marveled at it all. There was even a double rainbow that showed up and Dean chuckled, knowing that had to be Jack’s doing considering there hadn’t been any rain. Then he wondered if it did rain at all. How did things like that work up here anyhow?

He was still enjoying the view when Jack popped in next to him. 

“There he is.” Dean grinned and went to give him a hug before he thought better of it. “Am I still allowed to…you know?”

Jack smiled. “Of course. I like hugs.”

Dean laughed and embraced him tightly. “Thanks, kid. For everything you did up here, I mean. Bobby told me.” He pulled back, clapping his shoulder in thanks. “So, where’s Cas?”

“He’ll be along shortly but first, I need to show you something.”

Dean’s brows furrowed but he shrugged. “Okay.”

Jack placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder and next thing Dean knew, he was back in his old room at the Bunker. “Whoa,” he whispered, thinking Jack and Cas had built the Bunker just for him. He would be able to wait for Sam here, in his home. He hoped the TV in the Dean Cave worked and that he still had access to his music. Baby’s radio had worked so he had high hopes. He was about to thank Jack when his eyes suddenly caught sight of someone in his bed. Well, two someones. 

He glanced towards Jack who gave him a subtle nod, silently encouraging him to get closer. Dean shot him a confused look but did move closer. When he caught sight of you, his heart dropped into his stomach. Even being dead, he felt the same exact thing he felt the last time he had seen you. You were the one who got away, or more appropriately, the one he pushed away. 

Sure, he’d been confused when he found out everything in his life was a lie when Chuck revealed himself to be a giant dick, but he did love you. He had such trouble reconciling the two: what he knew to be true and what his mind was telling him. No other romantic relationship had worked out for him, all two of them prior to you, and now he knew why. Chuck liked him better on his own, being the guy with no strings attached and rolling through town to save the girl, kill the monsters, get thanked, and move on his way. The only other person Chuck liked having in the Impala regularly was Sam. You, well, you he hadn’t seen coming and after the Big Bad Chuck reveal, he had to wonder why. 

He had never meant to hurt you, though he couldn’t seem to stop from doing it. If things weren’t real between you all of this time, he didn’t want to keep pretending like they were. That wasn’t fair to either of you and he certainly didn’t want to continue stringing you along when his heart was no longer in it like it used to be. So he let you go, as painful as it was and as wrong as it felt, he did the right thing by you. Then that night he’d called you out of the blue, he’d been torn up about Cas’ revelations about Jack’s actual role in Billie’s plan, how badly he wanted Chuck gone, and how while he didn’t want to sacrifice the kid, he wanted his and Sam’s freedom more. Without thinking, he’d picked up the phone and dialed you. He shocked himself when he asked you to come over after hearing you weren’t that far away, and you shocked him even more when you agreed. 

Dean hadn’t planned for you two to be intimate, but once you were there, right in front of him, it hit him hard how much he missed you, missed what you had together. So he made a move and you let him. He’d put everything he had, everything he felt but couldn’t tell you, into this stolen moment in time between you. And then the next morning, he thought it had all been a dream until he turned his head and saw you laying there, hair adorably disheveled, sheet covering you, doing something on your phone. It briefly reminded him of the many mornings he’d woken to find you in this exact same position, already up after a wild night, searching for cases. He wanted to bask in the comfort and familiarity for a moment longer, but when you turned and smiled at him, greeting him like you always had, he started kicking himself internally. He didn’t want you to think that this meant things would change when he knew they wouldn’t. He was being unfair to you and it wasn’t right. He’d been a selfish bastard and now he had to go into dick mode which would hurt you again. And sure enough, he knew he did when he saw your face fall as he easily dismissed you, not once but twice. He winced at the memory; he certainly didn’t blame you for not taking his calls or returning his voicemails after that.

The truth was that while he had initially been confused about his feelings for you and their validity, he knew he cared deeply about you and the most important thing was keeping you safe. He didn’t want you involved in the Chuck showdown, which is why he rudely dismissed you that morning, making up an excuse of a case in Duluth, something he knew you’d go along with. After watching you leave, as the door closed behind you, his heart fell into his stomach and he felt about three inches tall. He hated hurting you, hated pushing you away, but he knew it was for the best. You needed to be safe; not a target for Chuck.

After Chuck had been defeated and Jack took over, Dean realized in those months that he’d been a grade A idiot when it came to you. Sure, he’d been a cold dick, but he also had been a complete dumbass. He still loved you and he missed the hell out of you. What you had together had been something special that he stupidly threw away. There were quite a few nights after quite a few drinks, he’d picked up his phone and hovered over your number but he never actually called it. How could he even think of asking you to forgive him and give him another chance? After everything he’d said and done? He truly was a selfish bastard. 

When he didn’t call, he then switched over to all of the photos and videos he had taken of you and both of you together. As he heard your laughter, saw both of your smiles, watched how you looked at him and the affection you’d shown him, he continued drowning his sorrows. He wanted so much to talk to you, to apologize and explain, and ask if he could come see you, but he never let himself ask. He didn’t deserve it; he knew that. 

Now, here you were, asleep on his bed, Miracle curled up next to you. Staring down at you, he wondered how the hell he had ever let you go. And now, he’d never get to hold you again, feel your touch, or even share a conversation with you ever again. Even though Dean was at peace with his fate, regret languished within his chest the more he studied your face. He reached out to brush some hair back over your face but sadness overwhelmed him when he realized he couldn’t even do that small simple touch. Not anymore.

Dean’s eyes narrowed when he noticed an arm curled around you, almost protectively, pinning you to another body. His gaze traveled up that arm to find his younger brother, asleep right behind you. That surprised him but he quickly put two and two together. You must have gone to the Bunker when Sam called you to tell you the news and here you were, in Dean’s room, asleep on his bed with his dog. And while he didn’t begrudge you or his little brother some comfort you both might need, he didn’t like the look of that embrace or that Sam’s face was buried into the back of your neck.

Dean glanced back down at the arm, seeing Miracle staring right up at him. He couldn’t help but smile at the canine who had been his companion for months before he died. “Hey, boy,” he whispered, not sure if he would be heard or not but not wanting to startle you if he was. “How are you?”

Miracle didn’t seem to react at first, not until he got up and moved closer, wagging his tail. Dean went to try to pet the dog, hoping he could at least touch the animal, but he never got that far. His eyes zeroed in on just what Miracle’s body had been blocking.

His wide eyes flicked up to you, to Sam, back to you, and back to your fairly large and round stomach. The hell with being heard and possibly scaring you two. He glanced back to find Jack watching him. “What the hell is going on here, Jack?”

“They’re sleeping.”

“I’m aware of that,” he growled. “But what—”

Just then, Cas popped in next to Jack. When the angel saw Dean, he offered a soft smile. Dean felt himself relax slightly and a part of him wanted to go hug the angel but another part of him was nervous to. Plus, he really wanted to know what the hell was going on. He shifted his eyes towards Jack, his jaw tightening. “What the hell are you showing me?”

Cas glanced towards the bed, realization lighting his features, before he turned to Jack as well.

“The present,” Jack simply answered.

Dean cursed under his breath, not caring that both Cas and Jack could hear him. “The present of what? Because from where I’m standing, it seems like some time has passed.” He gestured towards your stomach. He tried not to be angry with you or Sammy, he really did, but dammit, his brother knew how he felt about you! Him dying didn’t change that! Besides, Sam had something going with Eileen last he knew, whatever happened to that?

“What you’re seeing is a few days after your death.”

Surprise ran through Dean at that revelation. So, this wasn’t some screwed up future scene he was witnessing? His eyes roamed over you, coming to rest once again on your stomach. You were very pregnant, looking as if you might be ready to pop any day now, he wasn’t sure. But one thing was clear; there was no way the baby was Sam’s. Sam wouldn’t have been able to keep that secret from him that long and he just didn’t see you or Sam going behind his back like that while he was alive. You were pissed at him, maybe even hated him, but you would never do that to him. Nor would Sam. The only answer was that you had found someone else and you were starting a family with them. Now he understood your radio silence even more. You might currently be sad at the news of his death, awash in memories in his room to where you’d fallen asleep on his bed and Sam had to comfort you, but you had truly moved on. That burned him even more. While he was happy if you were happy, knowing you’d found someone who wouldn’t break your heart and would treat you better than he ever could, a part of him was saddened by this knowledge. He knew you were too good for him, that you deserved better, but to see it confirmed in such a way, well, it was heartbreaking.

“So if she’s… Then she’s…” He couldn’t even put it into words; it hurt too much.

Jack clasped Dean’s shoulder. “The child is yours, Dean.”

Dean wasn’t alive anymore but if he had been, his heart would have stopped. He turned to Jack, shocked. “What?”

“You’re going to be a father,” Jack supplied, letting him go.

“But…how?” Dean’s gaze fell on you once more.

Cas suddenly appeared on his other side. “You don’t remember how you conceived the child?”

“What? No, I just…”

“Dean,” Jack called. 

When he turned to look at the new God, the latter held up a glowing finger to him that almost reminded him of that movie E.T. “What are you gonna do with that? Check my temperature?” Speaking of E.T., hadn’t that been one of the last movies picked for movie night before the Chuck showdown?

Jack smiled and touched the finger to his forehead. Within seconds, Dean was reliving every single moment between you two:

…When you’d met. 

…When he decided he’d liked you while you decided you didn’t like him too much.

…His constant flirting and trying to win you over.

…Your begrudging friendship that then grew into something more.

…Your relationship.

…Your breakup.

…All of the times you’d been in pain because of him.

…That last night.

…The next morning. 

Then the memories shifted to yours from after that morning: 

…You finding out about the pregnancy a couple of months later.

…Your hemming and hawing over calling him to tell him.

…Your fears.

…When you’d vanished with everyone else.

…Your panic upon your reappearance.

…The time you spent getting ready to retire from hunting and set up a normal life in Hibbing while preparing for the baby.

…The call from Sam with the news of his death.

…Your regret at not telling him about his child and your drive down here.

…Your conversation with Sam.

…Your collapsing in grief at finally realizing that he was gone and not coming back.

All of it that led to the scene he was witnessing now. He felt everything you felt, heard every thought, saw every tear, every smile. 

By the time Jack pulled away, Dean’s eyes were wet. He wasn’t sure how he was able to produce tears as a dead man but he did. Not only did he feel how deeply he’d hurt you, but he also felt just how deeply you loved him. He already knew he’d been an idiot when it came to you, but he really had no clue before this just how incredibly stupid he’d been. It had always been real between you. That hadn’t been Chuck. Not by a long shot.

Dean discreetly wiped his eyes. “Send me back.” His tone was firm and he wasn’t really asking.

“I’m sorry, Dean, but your time on Earth is up.”

Dean turned a menacing glare onto Jack. New God or not, he didn’t care. “She’s having my kid and she needs me. They both need me. Sam, too. After everything I’ve done for this world, you owe me.” Jack stared him down, unbothered by the taller man’s attempt to make demands. “Now I appreciate the Fixer Upper: Heaven Edition, I really do, but I should be with them. I deserve a shot at this and you know it.”

Jack mused on that for a moment before staring up at Dean sadly. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that.”

Dean scoffed. “Then why bother showing me any of this? Why bother telling me that it’s my kid she’s about to have? What’s the point, dammit?”

“You were afraid that you had left nothing behind of value, except Sam and your beloved car. Afraid that your life hadn’t amounted to anything in the end. No matter how many people you saved, no matter how many connections you made, no matter what good you did. ” Jack gestured towards you. “It did amount to something. You are leaving behind something, something important. A legacy,” Jack gestured to your stomach. “A family,” he waved his hand over you and Sam. 

Dean’s jaw clenched and he ignored the stinging in the corner of his eyes. “So this was just to show me what I can never have. The girl, the kid, the life…that’s just aces,” he muttered.

“No, Dean,” Cas spoke up. “What Jack is trying to explain is—”

“--your life amounted to more than you thought it had,” Jack finished.

Dean watched as Miracle went back and curled up against your belly once more, his head on his paws as he watched the scene in front of him. The corner of Dean’s lips tipped up into a smile. It was almost as if the dog knew it was his kid in there. And he was determined to protect it in Dean’s absence. His smile faded though when he thought of how he wouldn’t be able to see his kid, at all. He’d had enough of this. “That’s great. Appreciate the pep talk, fellas. Now, if you could send me back so I can actually raise my legacy and take care of my family, that’d be much appreciated.”

Jack and Cas exchanged a glance. Dean knew he wasn’t winning this one but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep trying. “It’s not your time yet,” Jack answered cryptically.

Dean’s head snapped in his direction. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that now your time is in Heaven, not Earth. And it’s best if you return to it.” Before Jack could snap his fingers, Dean held up a hand.

“Whoa, wait! That’s it? You’re not even gonna let me stick around to see what I’m gonna have?”

Jack smiled once more. “You’re going to have a son. A strong, healthy son.”

Dean reeled from that information. “A son?” He choked out.

Jack gave him a happy nod and held his fingers up again.

“Wait, wait! I’m serious, Jack. Why can’t I stick around?”

“You know what happens to ghosts, Dean. Besides, you’ve already been admitted to Heaven.”

“But you can do something about that, right? Like bring me back?” When Jack didn’t respond, Dean became desperate. “At least let me check in on them every now and then or something! You’re telling me you can’t even do that? You’re freaking God!”

Jack’s smile faded. “You’re not an angel, Dean.”

“No,” Cas interrupted. “But I am.” Cas stretched out his wings that were a lot brighter than Dean remembered. If he wasn’t dead, he was pretty sure he would at they very least be blinded from the brightness right about now. “I can take him back when he’s ready and I can escort him on any future visits.”

Dean was shocked but also beyond grateful at Cas’ offer. While they hadn’t spoken yet about how things were left between them before The Empty took away the angel, he couldn’t imagine it would be easy for Cas to watch as he pined over someone else, as he watched his kid grow, but Dean was grateful all the same. 

Jack appeared to think this over before meeting Cas’ intent gaze. “You will make sure to bring him back each time.” At Cas’ nod, Jack gave him a knowing yet affectionate smile. “I expect you to keep to the rules during these visits.”

“Of course,” Cas agreed.

Jack then glanced over at Dean. “If you’re worried about her and your child, you don’t need to be. Sam is going to watch over them.” Dean’s eyes widened slightly and his head snapped in your direction, his eyes shifting to Sam’s arm around you.

“What the hell does that mean?” He demanded.

“It means that your family is going to be safe. They’re going to stick together. Sam is going to help Y/N raise your son. He won’t allow any harm to come to them.” 

His jaw tightened, thinking it should be his arm over you, him behind you, him helping you raise your kid, you two together. He should be the one to take his son fishing, teach him about girls when he got older, show him how to keep Baby going, be the father his old man had the potential to be but minus a few things. He’d do whatever it took to keep the kid out of hunting, to give him a shot at a full happy life. He’d give up hunting himself in order to make it happen. And you…if you’d take him back, he’d never leave your side. Hell, he’d marry you if you let him. After Jack had caught him up to speed on everything you went through, everything you had felt and were feeling, he’d spend the rest of his life making it up to you, letting you know every single day just how much he loved you, if only you’d let him. If only Jack would allow him to come back. It felt beyond wrong that he wasn’t there and Sam was stepping into his place. Sam shouldn’t have to; he should be able to go and build his own family with Eileen or whoever, get married, have a couple of kids, buy a house, get out of hunting and go back to school — do whatever he wanted with his life. Not this.

“Dean.”

His eyes slowly lifted to Jack’s, who was a lot closer now than he had been before. He laid a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder. “It’s as it should be. After you died, Sam was lost. She’s going to need help when the child is born.” He stared at Dean meaningfully. “They all need this.”

Dean’s gaze briefly roamed over the three of you on the bed before landing on Jack again. He thought back to his cryptic words from before. “Will I ever meet my kid? Get to see her again? Outside of Heaven?”

Jack’s expression didn’t change nor did he say anything but he squeezed his shoulder. That was the only response Dean was going to get apparently. 

Dean huffed a snort and shook his head.

“I told you, Dean. There would be no more meddling with the world from on high. I will not repeat Chuck’s mistakes. Everything is as it should be.”

Dean’s jaw clenched and he dropped his gaze. No, everything wasn’t as it should be. He made up his mind then to talk to Bobby when he got back. There had to be something he could do to get back to Earth, to get back to you and Sam and the baby…to get back to you all. If he couldn’t convince Jack to send him back, he’d find some other way.

Jack released him as Cas came to stand next to Dean. “I’ll see you back in Heaven.” He then looked at Cas. “Not too long.”

Cas gave him a nod and like that, Jack disappeared, leaving the angel and the hunter alone. Dean wasn’t thinking about how that might have set them up to talk about Cas’ last words to him before dying; right now, his focus was on you.

“Cas, please…can I touch her?”

“Dean…”

“Please,” he begged. “Just one last time. I’m not gonna get to be with her or raise my kid. I just want to touch her one last time. Please, Cas.”

Cas thought it over and then moved closer to the bed, leaning down to place two fingers against your forehead. Dean’s brows furrowed when he noticed a golden glow appear from the touch. “Whoa, whoa, Cas. What are you doing?”

“I’m giving you what you asked for. Y/N’s a light sleeper, like all of you hunters. If she wakes up, she could think she’s being attacked by a ghost or some other entity. I doubt you want that.” He pulled away and gave Dean a look.

“No,” Dean quietly agreed. Cas moved away to make room to let him in. Dean gingerly sat on the bed, about to touch you when he glanced up at the angel, unsure. Cas gave him a nod and Dean turned to gently run the backs of his fingers down your cheek. He felt your warm and soft skin this time when he came into contact with you and he let out a small breath of relief, sadness filling his chest. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. Had I known, I would’ve…” He supposed it didn’t really matter what he would’ve done. “I should’ve been there. You shouldn’t have had to go through all this alone. I should be there with you now, ready to help you take care of the kid. I…” He tenderly moved your hair behind your ear. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I never wanted to hurt you, but I had to keep you safe. I didn’t want you to become a target for Chuck. And I never should’ve…” He could feel a familiar stinging at the corners of his eyes and he wasn’t surprised that his voice was a bit gruffer when he next spoke. “I knew what we had was real. I know I questioned it for a second there but I always knew. That’s why it was so important to me that you were safe. But it doesn’t make what I did and said okay. And I’m sorry for that.” He ran his fingers lightly over your lips, wishing he could kiss you one last time, feeling you kissing him back. “I love you,” he whispered, a single tear falling down his cheek that he hastily wiped away. He stroked the apple of your cheek tenderly with his thumb. “And I always will.”

Not really wanting to pull away from you but knowing he was on a time clock, he reluctantly moved his fingers away from your face and laid his hand on your belly. He couldn’t feel anything except the taut skin underneath his fingertips, but it was enough to make him smile. “Being that you’re my kid, you’re probably going to give your mom a run for her money. Try not to make her too crazy, huh?” He let out a watery sounding laugh. “I’m sorry I can’t be there but your Uncle Sammy is going to make sure you and your mom are taken care of. Okay? He’s going to show you how to toss a ball around, help you with your homework, all that stuff. Just do me a favor, though. Don’t let him feed you kale the whole time and don’t let him get you into his true crime podcasts. The guy is a classic nerd, don’t let him turn you into one, too.” His smile slowly faded. “Saying all that, he’s one of the best guys I've ever known and I know he’ll be good to you, be good to your mom. So cut him some slack when you get older, alright?” He rubbed his thumb in gentle circles. “Take care of your mom for me. I’ll be watching over both of you. I hope I get to meet you someday.” Unable to resist, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your stomach before sitting up and coming face to face with Miracle. The dog quietly whined and Dean gave him one last good head scratch. “You look out for them, okay buddy?” The dog whined again and Dean patted him.

“Dean,” Cas gently called.

Dean nodded and slowly got to his feet. His eyes shifted to Sam who was sound asleep, giving him a soft smile. “Thanks for taking care of them, Sammy,” he whispered. He didn’t vocalize that it was only temporary, that he was hell bent and determined to find a way to get back. His eyes then landed on you and he reached out to you one last time, trailing a fingertip along the dried tear tracks on your cheek. “Cas, can we just stay until they wake up?”

“Dean, Jack said—”

“I know what Jack said,” Dean snapped, glancing back at the angel whose parted lips pressed into a thin line. Dean immediately felt sorry for snapping at him; it wasn’t Cas’ fault and he wasn’t angry with him. He softened his tone. “I just want to be here when she wakes up. That’s all.” Cas seemed to be wrestling with his request. “Please, Cas,” he begged. “I just want to see her like this, awake.” He was slightly embarrassed at admitting that to his best friend but he wasn’t sure when he’d be allowed to visit again (and what he might be able to figure out to get himself back or how long it would take), and he had the strongest urge to see you up and about, walking around, pregnant with his kid. Not to mention he wanted to hear your voice one last time. “Please,” he whispered in a broken plea.

Cas stared at him for a moment before giving him a nod. “But after she wakes, we go back.”

“Thank you, Cas.” He meant it. While he highly doubted Cas would get into any real trouble on his behalf, he knew how difficult it must be for the angel to unwillingly push against Jack’s rules.  Dean turned back to you, carefully sitting down next to you, caressing your face. “Sleep, sweetheart. I’ll keep you safe,” he murmured. He also made you a silent promise: he would do whatever it took to get back to you. His eyes briefly roamed to your stomach. To get back to both of you. Fate and the universe and all that crap be damned.

A/N: Please don't hate me.

Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for this character.

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[mcrslover]

MCR quotes for anyone who needs them:

"Kids would say they were going to kill themselves then they heard our music... it's our mission"

- Mikey Way.

...

"Reasons why mcr is good for you

juradsleigh:

Feeling like a rad vampire? Listen to bullets

Feeling angry? Listen to 3 cheers

Feeling sad? Listen to black parade

Feeling colourful and happy? Listen to danger days

Feeling like breaking up your band? Listen to death never stop you"

...

"This is for every kid out there... That dyed their hair a fucked up colour and can't get a job. They got a tattoo on their neck like Frank, and can't get a job. That does this because they fuckin' love this. This song is for every kid in the audience- even if you don't have fucked up hair or tattoos-every kid on stage, this song's about us, this song's about you, it's called The Kids From Yesterday."

- Gerard Way.

...

"Stop covering your children's eyes.

Everything is fucked up and pretending it's not won't make it any better. I'm tired of people praying for a change when it's up to them to get off their asses and make a change."

- Frank Iero.

...

"I spent most of my time in the back of the class, just drawing. My goal was to not get noticed in school, because spent so long not being noticed anyway or being treated as if I were invisible that I started to like it.

I've learned that it's actually not very lonely... It's like, you have less friends but the friends you have count more. I met a lot of people that weren't outsiders, or they were very popular, and they have a lot of friends but I don't know if they're the kinds of friends you would call up at 3 am to help you out or talk about being depressed."

- Gerard Way.

...

"Promise me, when MCR's gone, you'll do what it takes to survive. You're strong enough to do it without us."

- Gerard Way.

...

"All your quirks and all your problems, even your depressions, and your failures that's.. that's what makes you, you."

- Gerard Way.

...

"If you or someone you know is severely depressed you need to fucking talk to someone! Your mom, someone in school, I don't give a fuck! Because suicide is fucking bullshit."

- Gerard Way.

...

"Being happy doesn't mean that everything is perfect. It means that you've decided to look beyond the imperfections."

- Gerard Way.

...

"Nothing is worth hurting yourself over, nothing is worth taking your life over"

- Gerard Way.

...

"If we never play another show again, just keep yourself alive."

- Gerard Way.

...

"We're outsiders, we're the kids who didn't get dates for the prom, we're the kids who were confused, who didn't fit in with the cliques, who weren't part of the in-crowd.

Growing up can be a very frightening and confusing time, and I think people look at us and see it's okay to be different. They see that there is a way other than what they're being offered. That you can stand out, that you can be creative, that you can be yourself."

- Gerard Way.

...

"gerard-hey:

I love MCR so much it's like they have a song for every situation. Feeling sad? Listen to The Lights Behind Your Eyes. Feeling frustrated? Listen to I'm Not Okay. Feeling Energetic? Listen to Na Na Na. Feeling like you wanna kick some ass? Listen to Destroya.

Feeling rebellious? Listen to Teenagers. Feel like you wanna break up your band? Listen to Fake Your Death."

...

"The difference we want to make is, number one, to let these kids know that they're not alone, that they're actually not that messed up, and that they can do whatever they want they can express themselves in any way they want without being persecuted or called a faggot or some kind of racist thing. Really just get people to get over their stuff so they can live."

- Gerard Way.

...

"Whatever happens to you, no matter what, l'm always fucking there for you... Don't forget that. I don't give a shit if your boyfriend dumps you. If your girlfriend dumps you. If you're working a shitty job or can't get through school. If you can't get through a fucking Harry Potter book, there's nothing worth dying over. There's nothing worth taking your life over. I will always fucking be there."

- Gerard Way.

...

"If you come to an MCR show, you're probably a little fucked up, and that's okay because we're just as fucked up as you. It's us against the world. And it's great because there's thousands of us in one place."

- Gerard Way.

...

"Someone doesn't like you? Fuck it.

Having a bad day? Fuck it. Didn't get that job, or that grade, or that promotion you wanted? Fuck it. Fighting with your lover? Fuck it. Feel fat today? Fuck it. Losing control of everything and everyone? Fuck it.

What matters now won't matter soon; the truly important thing is that you are alive, and that you have the capacity to do absolutely anything with this beautiful, crazy coincidence of being on this earth. Just stick your middle fingers in the air and think, 'Damn, I have it good."

- Gerard Way.

...

"You're going to come across a lot of shitty bands, and a lot of shitty people. And if anyone of those people call your names because of what you look like, or bedause they don't accept you for who you are. I want you to look right at that mother fucker, stick up your middle finger and scream

"FUCK YOU!!"

- Gerard Way.

...

"Real revenge is making something of yourself."

- Gerard Way.

❤️🖤❤️🖤

[gingermintpepper]

Okay, let's finally talk about EPIC's Apollo

I feel very compelled to say, first of all, that I do not dislike Epic. In fact, I am very fond of Epic and have been following its production and status very eagerly! I attend all the launch streams, I watch all of Herrans' update videos; I am, at the end of the day, a fan and I want it to be known that my words are spoken out of love and passion as much as they are spoken from a place of critique.

So really, what my problem with Epic's Apollo?

In the briefest possible terms; the choice to have Apollo be defined by his musical aspect in God Games is thematically strange. And not in the 'oh well in the Odyssey, Apollo was important to Odysseus and his family so it's weird that that wasn't kept in Epic' strange, strange in the sense that Odysseus' character arc since My Goodbye has been getting more and more obviously Apollonian and so it is positively bizarre that when we get to meet Apollo, the god seems entirely disinterested in him and his affairs. So much so that he is not even defined by any station that would indicate that he has been watching over and protecting Odysseus and his family.

What do I mean by 'Odysseus has been following an Apollonian arc'? I'm so glad you asked!

Remember Them is the last song in which Odysseus explicitly uses his sword until Mutiny where he must use it to defend himself against Eurylochus' blade. He uses it to help enact the plan to conquer Polyphemus and, due to Polites dying in that battle, Polites who wished for Odysseus to put the blade down entirely and embrace a post-war life, Odysseus also retires his sword. This is an action that symbolically separates him from Athena - and the image of Odysseus as a traditional warrior set for him in Horse and Infant - as much as My Goodbye physically separates him from the goddess and her war-ways - from this point onwards, Odysseus will no longer be leaning on Athena's wisdom or methods to solve his problems. Likewise, he will no longer be able to rely on her protection.

Odysseus thusly solves most of his upcoming problems through diplomacy and avoidance. He approaches Aeolus - a strange and ambiguous god (both in gender and in motivation) and appeals to them for help. Circe too, he approaches not with wishes to conquer or for revenge, but for the safe returning of his men and an alternate way forward. In all of these scenarios, there is some Apollonian element which is subtly interweaved alongside the influence of other gods; it is with a bow and arrows that Polyphemus' sheep is slain (and thus it is this Apollonian element which is at the root of Odysseus' spat with Poseidon), it is a vision of Penelope that warns Odysseus that his men are about to open Aeolus' wind-bag, Circe's peace offering to Odysseus is to refer him to a prophet of Apollo who has since died.

In this way, Apollo is walking alongside Odysseus for all of his journey after Athena departs - even in the Underworld, he is guiding him. It is Tiresias' proclamation that is the last straw for Odysseus, it is by the power of a mouthpiece of Apollo that Odysseus decides to embrace his ruthlessness. It is with the bow and arrow that Odysseus subdues the siren who sought to trick him, likewise, Odysseus does not attempt to undermine or escape the fate of paying Scylla's passage price - he knows of the doom about to befall the six men and quite unlike the rest of the journey until this point, he does not fight against it. This all comes to a head on Thrinacia where it is a blade which sacrifices the sun god's cow and brings destruction upon the crew once more.

My point with all of this is that when I heard the teasers for God Games years ago, it made perfect sense to me that Apollo would be Round One - he is not Odysseus' adversary and has no reason to oppose Athena's wish to free him. From other teasers about what will happen in the climax of Epic, Apollo will still be walking alongside Odysseus - it is Apollo's bow that Penelope will give the suitors to string. Likewise, it is Apollo's bow that will prove Odysseus' legitimacy and identity. That bow will be the power by which Odysseus hunts his adversaries and cleans out his palace - it is Apollo who is the avatar of Odysseus' ruthlessness, not Athena.

So tell me, truly, what was the point of having Apollo raise a non-argument in God Games? Why have him appear unconcerned, aloof and slightly oblivious? Why have him appear in his capacity as the Lord of Music at all?? And if the intention was never to make Apollo an active player in Odysseus' life like he was in the Odyssey, why keep Odysseus as a primary archer?

The answer of course is that Apollo is inextricable from the fabric of the Odyssey - his influence and favour exudes from Odysseus just as much as Athena's. In Athena's ten year sulk, it would have been Apollo who kept Telemachus and Penelope safe. It would have been Apollo protecting Odysseus from Poseidon's gaze as he travelled the seas (according to the Odyssey anyway)

Forgive me for not being excited about something that I thought was being purposefully set up. I was extremely ecstatic about all of the little Apollonian details that litter the sagas because I know where this story ends up (loosely) but all God Games did was reveal that maybe those Apollonian details were not intentional at all, but merely the ghost of the Apollo who persistently haunts those he favours, even if he cannot explicitly come to their aide in an adaptation.

[project-sekai-facts]

Hey I've been wondering, could you explain Akito and his death symbolism? It's been constantly mentioned or implied in his recent focus songs and VBS covers (getting lines about "death" or "dying" and the likes)

It's just because the fandom is using that to mischaracterize him as an overly depressed and suicidal guy (another Mafuyu copy; pls save him and Tsukasa) and I just don't think that's what the writers mean to say and the point of his whole character!!!

(prefacing this: I'm aware there was a thread about this going round twitter a while ago, I haven't read it specifically because of this ask and if anything is the same that wasn't intentional and I apologise)

A large part of Akito's character arc is his difficulty with improvement and his sheer determination and passion that goes alongside it. He had always viewed his lack of natural talent and unrefined skills as something that made him inferior, which only led to him pushing himself to his extremes, and trying to face things independently and head-on. This is something that's touched on heavily in the STRAY BAD DOG event, where we get to see him learn to rely on his teammates more and realise that he isn't alone. Find A Way Out continues his arc of personal development, with him realising he's actually not so different to the people he looks up to, and finally learning to accept and feel confident with his improvement instead of just pushing forward almost desperately. It's that idea of him finally realising that he won't always be a step behind everyone else and good things are actually coming with his hard work.

Building off that idea, it's like a sort of rebirth. And that's where the links to Kashika come in. Kashika is a song about death and longing which gets horribly misinterpreted and has led people to believe Akito is suicidal which is simply untrue. The thing that's dying in this context is Akito's old self. The child who had no talent and was falling so far behind everyone. The child who worked so, so, so hard to be perfect is dying. And that sounds like a negative thing but it's really not. It's a metaphor for Akito reflecting on himself and moving on from the past and breaking new ground.

The 2DMV adds another layer to this with its marigolds, which not only symbolise death, but also can symbolise a renewal. And in this case, renewal refers to Akito's growth following the events of FAWO. He finally faced up to his past mistakes and overcame them, but even then he won't let himself feel relief. It's only with the help of Taiga's story about Ken that he's finally able to be more satisfied with himself and how far he's managed to come. He's finally able to break out from that belief that he's forever going to be stuck behind, and he's able to have faith in himself. Realising that Ken was just like him and managed to get to such a high level of skill and be so respected by those around him finally lets Akito believe that he too can reach that same light.

The butterflies in the background again symbolise renewal or transformation. It's not about death as per se, it's about change. Change and growth and transformation are recurring themes in prsk's character writing, and Akito is no exception. While on a surface level, Kashika is about death, if you put it next to the story, it's about regeneration. Akito is moving forward and leaving the old him behind, he says as much in the FAWO story.

If you actually read the lyrics to Kashika, it's genuinely kinda shocking to me how much people misinterpret its connection to Akito as a character. Like I get the song talks about death a lot and wanting to die, but particularly in these extracts you can see some of the key points of the FAWO event - Akito's determination, passion and self-acceptance. It's a song about Akito growing up, physically and emotionally, and saying goodbye to his past self.

Now as anon pointed out, the marigolds previously appeared in his card from Light Up The Fire. And while in the case of this event, it was most likely drawn to connect with the story surrounding Nagi's death, but it's worth mentioning that every character had their own flower, so the marigolds are specific to him.

As I mentioned in today's fact, aside from being associated with death, grief, and mourning, marigolds can also have positive connotations of optimism and passion based on their warm and vibrant colors. One of the key elements of LUTF was despair and grief, shown through more ways than one. Whilst the truth of Nagi's death came as a shock to the VBS and the others, the following battle with Taiga crushed their hope to the point that everyone except VBS gave up. VBS decides to keep trying for Nagi, and again there's that idea of a renewal. They know the truth now, and are going to come back and get better. Now while this is more general about VBS, the marigolds are still specific to Akito, considering how he's always been the most determined one who has taught himself that the only way he can succeed is through sheer perseverance. Whilst it applies to all of VBS in this instance, it applies even moreso to him.

Also it leads very nicely into his fes card story, which follows after the events of LUTF from his point of view. Something notable about his fragment sekai is that it's a completely barren wasteland. It's dead. And to top it all off, he gets amnesia. However the whole point of his sekai is to remind him of his determination, remind him that he has never once given up on this dream, how he's fought and fought to hold onto it and shouldn't let what happened with Taiga and the truth behind RW strike him down. Despite the area being dead and barren, and despite the fact he can't even remember who he is at all, he still pushes forwards and keeps walking through the dangerous environment because he knows he can't just sit around, he knows he has to do something. He knows it's not a choice, it's a necessity for him to persevere, even if he can't remember why. In the end he does remember, and finds a single flower that is managing to flourish despite the harsh conditions, and he even compares himself to it because truthfully they're one in the same. Even in a hopeless situation, Akito manages to pull through. In a metaphorical sense, he can't truly die, he still finds a way to thrive even if the world is against him. His determination truly is the core of his character.

And that leads us nicely to BURN MY SOUL, which I would consider to be the end of his first character arc. Despite having learnt a lesson about his true strength and potential in FAWO, he still hasn't reached that full potential, and he still believes that he needs to keep pushing and keep working. Through Ken's advice, he's able to realise that he's been so focused on perfection that he's bottling up all the passion inside of him. Because he's so passionate about music and it's this passion that fuels his resolve that is ultimately his core, his soul. And especially after everything that's happened, the fact that there's still a lingering sense of despair after the incident with Taiga, he needs to truly let that passion burn and realise that his true potential has been inside of him all along. His role as assigned by Ken is to light up a fire amongst the people again, so he let's the fire within him burn freely for the first time, and it works exactly as needed and is able to rekindle hope throughout the town and in one of his teammates.

Back to that idea about how metaphorically Akito cannot die, I really like the symbolism of fire within VBS and Akito in particular because it's framed in such a way that the fire lit by RW is a flame that can't burn out. Even with things such as CRaZY's "I'm so ready to die" and the "I'm going to pry it open like I'm going to die" voiceline that plays when you pull his WL card, it's not meant in such a way that he wants to die, but in a way that he's going to put his all into it as if it is the last thing he'll ever do. Akito doesn't want to die, he wants to live to see things through to the end. He's too determined to let anything snuff out his flame, and even then that makes me think of the original usage of snuffing out a flame, which was actually to trim the wick so the flame could burn brighter. If you care enough about that dumb candle analogy, you could say that Taiga/the events of LUTF tried to extinguish Akito's flame, only for him to come back from the dead (and quite literally considering the wasteland in his fes card), and now he's only burning brighter and stronger.

Akito's death symbolism isn't a negative thing. Akito isn't someone who wants to die, he's too determined to die. No matter how much the universe tells him to give up he'll never stop pushing and never stop breaking down the walls around him until he sees his dreams through. All his death symbolism is equally tied to the idea of rebirth or even just living. Kashika is about him leaving his past behind and moving forward, his fes card is about his passion counteracting despair, and Burn my soul/CRaZY/Break down the wall are all about him being so fired up that he's going to act as if it's his final day. He's learning to be satisfied with his life and where he is. He's ready to live and to say he wants to die is a great injustice to his character arc.

[the-ria]

Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying

I saw Fall Out Boy earlier this week and I'm still not over it 😳 so I decided this would be the perfect opportunity to share a drawing I did last year for the Seasons FOB zine hosted by @andpierres

The idea was that all the albums were separated by seasons and each season had its own visual and lyrical themes to pull from. For my drawing, I went with one of my favorite lyrics from Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying and added a bunch of visual references to other songs off of From Under the Cork Tree and Infinity on High! See how many of them you can spot 👀

[tragedybunny]

Sunlight and Stars in the Sky - Astarion x F!Reader

I've been at this so long I'm not even sure if it is any good, but it's as finished as it will get I suppose. It ventured into angst a little more than I had planned and I'm thinking there may be a part two. But anyway, here's the end up with the nicknames they use for each other in my other fics.

The Githyanki Creche is not the promised salvation and you deal with it by trying to drink your problems away. Astarion ends up taking care of you and starts to deal with his feelings and the fallout of his actions.

Unsteady footsteps came up behind him as he stood by the dying fire, in another life that would make you a perfect target. “‘Starion,” you said in a little sing-song voice from behind him. 

“Yes, my Sweet,” turning, he’s already wrapping an arm around your waist to steady you. From the footsteps he could tell you’d been drinking. The Githyanki Creche hadn’t turned out to be the salvation you had hoped for. Some of your companions were taking it worse than others, Lae’zel was in her tent, talking to no one, and you, you were piss drunk. 

“I hate this,” you lean into his chest and despite the grim reality, he feels an odd sense of contentment. 

“I’m sure nobody is particularly enjoying the moment but-” He was cut off as your lips started to kiss their way along his collarbone.

“You know what could make it better…” Teeth suddenly nip him and he jumps involuntarily while you giggle, you put him on edge lately for some reason. “A quick little tumble in the bedroll.” 

Just the thought of taking you in this state of inhibition, so little control over yourself, makes his stomach turn. A small part of him asks if you ever have control given his lies, viciously he kicks that part back down. “Not tonight, my little Snack, you are far too drunk.” 

The pout you reply with is impressive. “Aw, don’t you like me anymore?” Despite your clear inebriation, the words are like a blow and he’s lost for a moment. 

“Of course I do.” Instinctively, he pulls you closer, only for your fingers to start fumbling with his trousers. Gently he takes your hands and holds them away from himself. “Alright, I think it's clear you need some water and to lay down." 

"I'm fine." You push away from him and wobble dangerously before ending up on your butt in the dirt. "Ow," dejectedly, you stay where you landed until your shoulders quiver and he worries tears are next. 

Sighing, he reaches down and scoops you up in his arms, looking you over to make sure you didn't hurt yourself. "How about a deal Darling," he can't believe what he's about to say, "you agree to lay down nicely and get some sleep and I'll let you stay in my tent tonight?" 

"Really? You never…" The two of you have never shared space for more than a perfunctory few minutes after sex, and usually Astarion very much prefers it that way. But you're a drunk emotional mess and you just seem to need him and that small part of him that he keeps pushing away wants to help you. "I don't want to, gods what's the word, im-im-"

"Impose?" The way you nod silently without looking up plants a strange sensation in his chest. "Don't be silly, you're my partner aren't you? How could you be imposing?" Softly he kisses your forehead and starts toward his tent. 

As he settles you gingerly among his blankets you look around with wide eyes as though surprised to be here. "It's so red," you giggle before slowly laying back and staring at him as he gently removes your boots. 

At least you had ceased your attempt at erotic pursuits for the moment. "I'll get you some water, you need to stay up long enough to drink it." 

It only takes a few moments for him to retrieve your waterskin from your tent and return to find your eyes shut. He takes a brief second to just watch the way your chest rises and falls and the sublimely peaceful expression on your face. "Sweetheart," kneeling down next to you, he holds out the waterskin, "you need to drink some water." 

Eyes slowly open and you sit up, making a little whining noise. "Fine." Taking the waterskin, you drink most of it in one go before lying back on your side facing him. "Happy?"

Your sudden aggressive tone makes him chuckle, of course he's seen you fight, but right now you're as threatening as a lost kitten. "You'll feel better for it in the morning, I promise." 

"Mmm," already your eyes are closing again. "Lay next to me?"

The soft plea feels irresistible despite knowing he's feeding you another pretty lie and he shouldn't encourage this. If only you weren't so damnably kind to him all the time; his sweet sunny little half-elf, even from the moment you met, trying to help a stranger kill an Intellect Devourer; he wouldn’t feel so odd about everything. You’d fed him when he’d tried to bite you during your sleep, stood up for him after, protected him from the Gur, and listened to every rant and complaint with an open mind. Even during sex, you tried so hard to please him, to make him feel good too, readily experimenting with anything new, and offering up your throat time and again. The mask must have slipped a few times because once you’d very embarrassedly asked him after the act if you were a bad lover. He’d tried so hard to reassure you he was just having a bad day, afterall, it wasn’t your fault he couldn’t feel the same pleasure, but you still looked so sad for a long while afterward.

Cuddling up close to you, he wraps you both in his blankets, arms enfolding you, and can’t help but notice how perfectly you fit next to him, head tucked under his chin, like you were made to be there. Gods, what’s wrong with him? He lays a delicate kiss on the sensitive little tip of your pointed ear and you hum contendly. “Happy now, my little bit of Sunlight?” The pet name slips off his tongue, surprising even himself. 

“Does that still mean I’m irritating,” you mumble softly and he puzzles over it before remembering. 

Another moment of kindness from you. One of the first days after the Nautiloid, he’d seated himself so far away from everyone at the campfire, he was practically in the shadows when you came to sit next to him. “You can come closer to the fire Astarion, you don’t have to keep so separate.” 

“I’m fine,” he’d snapped at you, panicking that anyone was so near to him so soon after escaping Cazador’s endless cruelty. Your mouth opened to answer back and he’d cut you off. “I said I’m fine, hells, you’re as irritating as the scorching summer sunlight.” You’d backed off but not before he’d seen the hurt in your eyes. The compliment feels as though it turned to ash in his mouth at the memory, he wishes he could take that night back. There's a lot of moments from those first days he wishes the same of. 

“That was a very strange couple of days for me,” his fingers find your hair of their own accord and start brushing through it. “But no, I mean you’re bright and warm and beautiful,” and not meant for creatures like me, he adds silently. “Like Sunlight.” 

Eyes opening, you tilt your head back to look up and study him for a moment, unexpectedly lucid. “And you're as wondrous and amazing as the whole night sky full of stars, and worth any bit of darkness.” 

The words leave him stunned as you close your eyes and settle back against him. “You don’t mean that.” 

“Of course I do, my Starry Sky,” you punctuate it with a kiss on his neck before drifting back in your half-asleep state. 

There's an urge to retch and cry at the same time, what a farce he’s made of your affection. He holds you tighter, as if that could undo any of what he’s done. You deserve the truth, he knows that, but not tonight, because once you know, you'll despise him. A few more days, to soak you up, just like sunlight, and then he’ll slip back into the darkness he deserves, where there’s nothing to warm him. 

[neo-kid-funk]

RAEAEAEEAH OH MY GODSSSSSSSS WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME ABOUT PRINCE NICO?? MY BABY IS SO BEAUTIFUL LIKE??? AND WE WERE JUST LIKE 'OMG YEAH SILVIE DOESNT NEED TO KNOW HE EXISTS'. IM CRYING THROWING UP AND CRAPPING EVERYWHERE AT THE SAME TIME (not on my baby girl nico of course)

OOKAY OKAY I KNOW YOU'VE BEEN EXCITED ABOUT THIS AND IVE BEEN DYING TO DRAW THIS FOR YOU!!! I am going soo wild over the Prince! Nico and Mermaid! Percy au,, so I've been like super excited to draw this ,,, and I hope you like it!!! Thank you for always leaving comments on my posts!! I love reading them!! 💖💖 and also also another thing!! I know you've been waiting for the playlists,, so I thought your ask would be the perfect one to share the Percico Playlist on! Again, I'm sorry the playlist is full of such sad songs,, i just added songs that I like that I feel like fits their vibe,, idk. Anywayyss Goth! Nico and Baby gurl Leo playlists are coming soon!! You're awesome!!!💖💖

🌊☠️

Hopefully this link works 😵‍💫 if not I'll try to upload it separately

[teambyler]

Will's anti-Vecna song should be David Bowie's "Heroes"

We know from the new BTS pic that he has headphones and a Walkman. Like Max, he might be fending off Vecna:

Max's anti-Vecna song was highly personal to her. It helped her through her guilt and depression and feeling like she deserved to die.

For Will, "Should I Stay or Should I Go" is cute, but it doesn't have emotional weight. It might have helped a child Will in the Upside Down in s1, when it made him think of home and Jonathan, but he's all grown up now. He's changed.

If Byler becomes realized, David Bowie's "Heroes" is the perfect song for Mike and Will's relationship that would help Will resist Vecna. It's canon that Will likes David Bowie: kid Mike prefers the androgynous rock star over Kenny Rogers (s2e1).

@surferbeto on YouTube comments:

This is a heroic love song. Bowie starts out crooning but pretty soon he ramps up and belts it out hard. This song is about risking getting shot by East German border police and dragged over barbed wire for love. This is about young love against impossible odds. It's about that gloriously tragic fantasy... of giving our life in some grandly romantic way to save the life of our beloved. Maybe by taking a bullet for them and dying in their arms in the shadow of the Berlin Wall.

Having David Bowie's "Heroes" in the show would call-back to Peter Gabriel's somber 2010 cover from s1, when Mike hugged his mom thinking Will was dead. But Bowie's original is defiant, triumphant, and bittersweet. (Seriously, if you haven't yet, listen to it before reading further. It's perfect.)

It would play when Mike and Will have their first kiss. Their song of losing each other is now of finding each other.

If Byler is realized, it could play as Mike and Will dare to hold hands in the school hall, as we fade out to the end credits.

Will would put it on his Walkman. If Will and Mike are bullied for their relationship, "Heroes" perfectly expresses their defiance and willingness to love each other despite the harm that might come to them.

It's the song that would most help Will in case he gets Vecna'd. It doesn't just remind him of Mike; it culminates his journey over the five seasons. As a kid he told Jonathan he's not a baby, not just a victim. Despite seeming shy and weak, he has a huge amount of quiet courage, but his struggle in s3 and s4 was largely internal. ("I'm not gonna fall in love.") Show creator Matt Duffer says about s5: "Will's going to be a big part and focus... We're starting to see his coming of age, really... You're starting to see him come into his own." If Byler becomes real, then his fight becomes external, confronting the homophobia in Hawkins and the literal hell threatening his friends. He will rise to the occasion.

"Will really takes center stage again in [season] 5," Ross Duffer told Variety. "This emotional arc for him is what we feel is going to hopefully tie the whole series together. Will is used to being the young one, the introverted one, the one that’s being protected. So part of his journey, it’s not just sexuality – it’s Will coming into his own as a young man."

In s2, Will only allowed Mike to protect him because he didn't feel pitied by Mike; Mike saw his strength. A stronger Will will pay him back and protect him from the twin dangers they face.

It's Will's turn to be the hero. His fight for others is his fight for himself. "Heroes" perfectly expresses his journey of defying all odds to fight for HIS RIGHT TO LOVE.

-teambyler

[tashid4]

I literally ran over here cuz I just saw a clip of a hiphop dancer and ballet dancer dancing together for the olympics and I'm like OHH??

Perchance hiphop dancer!bakugou and ballet!reader???? I WANT TO KNOW UR THOUGHTS.

I LOVE THIS SO MUCH. PLS THIS JUST AWAKENED SMTH IN ME

(SORRY IF THIS TOO LONG???)

You were often training a bit later than the other dancer. You were a perfectionist, your moves needed to be clean, smooth and precise. Ballet was intransigent, one mistake could ruin all of your efforts. That is why you were still in the dancing, you've been in here for hours now and the sun had already set. You did so many pirouettes that your head was spinning. So many jumps your feet were bleeding. But it still wasn't enough. You needed to be perfect. After a particularly hard spin you fall to the ground, your body not able to handle the pressure. Your body couldn't handle the effort your brain wanted to make.

"Damn, that was definitely interesting" a voice came out of nowhere. It was a bit mocking but the tone of his voice made you curious. Deep and cold, you could feel all his confidence through his voice. You turn around to see where the voice was coming from. That is when you first laid your eyes on him. His blonde messy hair were stooding out in the darkness of the room. His cherry red eyes were locked on you and you were scared they might see through the deepest places of your soul. He was way too relaxed compared to you.

"Are you done ? I want to train" it kinda surprised you because you never saw him before. You were here everyday and you know everyone. Moreover, he definitely didn't look like the type to do ballet but you could be wrong. "Oh yeah sorry. I'm leaving" "Good."

You start to pick up your stuff and finally take off your pointe shoes. Since when have you been wearing them ? Probably a few hours now. While you put your things back into your bag, the blonde haired boy

settled in front of the mirror. He was wearing a black tank top, revealing his surprisingly muscular back. And a baggy jean which fell perfectly on his ankles. You couldn't look away from him. There was something about him that made you admiring, it was almost obsessing. When the first notes of music sounded and his body began to move, your jaw almost dropped. It was the first time you saw someone dance like this. Every move was perfect, coordinated but most of all it was passionate. It was almost as if he he didn't have to think about the next step.

At the end of the song, you realised you had been sitting on the floor for almost 5 minutes, not moving an inch, your eyes focused on him. When he noticed you were still here, a smirk appeared on his face.

"Like what you see?" your cheeks immediately turn red. Of course you liked it how could you not. The way he danced was absolutely mesmerizing. He music started again and he went back to his choreography. You had to summon up all your motivation to get up and leave the room, and not only because your feet were hurting like crazy...

For several days afterwards, you trained until your feet were bleeding, until your legs were shaking and until the hiphop boy was back in the room. He was always coming really late, when everybody had already left. It was only you and him at this time of the night. But but your conversations are always very brief. It was only a few words and often it was only him making fun of you for training too hard. But one night, he decided to come earlier. He wanted to see you dance, he wanted to see you really dance. Because everytime, when he entered the room you were too exhausted to perform a simple choreography. He was dying to see your true potential. That is why he showed up at 8pm, bag on his shoulder, when you had just started rehearsing your pirouettes. When he saw you spin like this, he immediately understood why you were so tired every night. They were perfect. The way your legs and arms move was so graceful he'd think you were an angel. He studied you for a very long time, never getting sick of it. He doesn't know why his chest feels so weird, why his heart feels so full when he looks at you dancing with your sheer white skirt.

After a moment you finally realise he's here, you deduce that it's time for you to leave. "I'm sorry. I'm leaving." But when you start to head toward your bag, he grabs your wrist. Your heart skips a beat when you feel his hands against your skin. They're soft, and strong at the same time.

"Wait..."

He went to turn the music back on. When the first notes were heard, both your bodies began to move in rhythm. Your moves where slow, controlled and elegant. His were strong, fast and unpredictable. It was so different yet so similar. Your two bodies sometimes touched, in which case he'd grab your hand and spin you around like you were the most beautiful thing he ever saw. You danced like this for a while, disconnecting your brain, all you could think about was his body moving in time with yours.

When the music stop, you look into his red eyes, losing yourself in it. "Where did you learn to dance like that ?" your question made him smile "I never learned, it's just something i like to do" "I wish I could be as talented as you without needing to train like crazy." He let lout a small laugh, amused by your response. Your faces were only a few inches away and he couldn't prevent his heart from beating way too fast when looking at your eyes. "You don't have to train so hard, just let your body express itself."

"There's actually something my body wants to do, but i'm not sure if it's reasonable" Your tone and the look in your eyes changed when pronouncing this last sentence. Mentally debating with yourself, you were thinking about your next move. Your heart was racing and your face was growing red.

But in the end, the blonde haired boy didn't give you time to think about it. He grabbed the back of your neck and gently glued his lips to yours. Kissing you, silencing all the voices in your head.

[irishmammonagenda]

hiiii ! ^_^ I love your writing sm

I was listening to music just relax, and randomly I thought of MC with "You're loosing me" AND I HAD TO SHARE IT WITH SOMEONE. Especially from minute 3:00 to the end 😭😭😭😭 imagine a fic inspired in that song with a traumatized mc after their death 🥲

hiya!! i'm so glad 🫶🫶🫶🫶 tbh i dont really listen to taylor so i had to look up this one, but oml it kinda does fit MC sm???!!!

honestly tysm for the ask, i don't normally write seriousish fics so this was a fun change grma <3

ALSO IM SO SORRY THE TITLES SO CRINGE I COULDNT THINK OF A GOOD ONE

Surface Tension- Obey Me x Reader

Summary: MC died 😱 and reincarnated as a demon, only their death affected them more than they thought. Word Count: 2.8k+ Warnings: Mentions of Death, leans more into Lucifer x Reader, especially at the end. (i am so sorry abt that I had no idea where this fic was going myself tbh) Descriptions of drowning. Hurt/Comfort? I have no idea how to write trauma I am so sorry, (this isn't apart of my 'Death is a Debatable thing Au) dividers are a mixmatch of ones by @plum98 @isisjupiter and @cafekitsune bc im indecisive

The thing you missed most were your pact marks. Intricate designs etched into your skin, that shone the colours of the people you loved, a reminder you were someone. You had something. A security blanket of sorts. Now they were gone, clear glass sin, almost poreless, uncanny replaced the lines and marks and humans´ perfect imperfection that provided a canvas for the hues that you were sure had painted your heart.

It hurt.

You fiddle with your hands, trying to contain the urge to just...pop. The horns and the tail had been disorienting to get used to. You still preferred your 'human' form, the only issue was controlling it. It would come with time, or so everyone had told you.

They told you a lot of things would come with time. You weren't so hopeful.

"I....it's just-" you flick your gaze around the room, looking anywhere but the demon in there with you. "...the dying part..."

"The dyin' part..." Mammon sits by your side, ever your first man, his eyes gaze at you, so loving, so adoring, it hurts your heart. "I don't understand the dyin' MC....I couldn't never understand the dyin'...." He brings a hand to rest on yours hesitantly, his false bravado nowhere to be found.

"I know you don't Mams..." You meet his gaze, his eyes as blue as the sky on a summer's day, warmer than the sun, and softer than silk when he looks into yours.

"It doesn' mean I won't try te....understand...I mean." He clears is throat awkwardly. "There's nothin' I wouldn't do for ye...not now not ever."

Your heart feels heavy.

Rushing water beats against porcelain. Steam slowly rose in swirls as the bathtub filled up. You fold your towels and set them by the sink beside the clothes you had set out. Pulling the satin robe that was a gift from a certain Asmodeus, you placed it on one of the hooks on the door, before twisting the taps to a stop. You submerged yourself into the warm water, your tense muscles relaxing as you leaned backwards in the tub from where you were sitting, legs touching the bottom of the porcelain. 

It had been so long. 

So long since you were able to just relax like this. You loved the brothers and the others, but sometimes you needed the solitude of your own thoughts. That wasn’t to say Asmo’s self care nights weren’t relaxing. 

You sighed. 

The water enveloped you, you had leaned back enough to where your head had begun to submerge. All was well. The water was warm, your muscles slowly relaxed, along with the rest of your body. Your eyes slowly blinked closed. 

All was fine. Your relaxed muscles let your head fall back. All was well. Your ears were now submerged. All was fine. 

Except it wasn’t. A switch had flicked. Your eyes shot wide open. You could no longer feel the bottom of the porcelain bathtub, panic and dread tugged at your arteries, squeezing your jugular. You flailed and thrashed your limbs, your head dipped under for a millisecond. 

Clear water turned murky. 

Your arms burnt after another weak attempt, head breaking the stormy surface of the lough for a moment; only a moment. Hardly long enough to draw a breath. Your eyes stung. Your throat ached, desperation choked at your airways. 

You found yourself submerged again. The currents slammed into rocks. Your hair rose upwards, strands sticking to your face like some sort of seaweed, hindering your vision as the waves flung you against hard rock. Your hands clawed at the stone, too slippery to catch a grip. The stormy water slammed you against another rock. You broke the horrid surface of the water, gasping and spluttering. Your throat burned like sinners in the 7th circle of hell. You just barely gasped in a morsel of oxygen before being dragged under by the force of the waves. 

You were slammed mercilessly into another hard wall of stone, your attempts at clawing for a grip so desperate you drew blood at your fingertips. 

You had survived demons, witches, angels. You had survived hell. Yet earth would be the one to take you out, so it seemed. You couldn’t hold your breath any longer, your mouth opened. You inhaled desperately, lungs aching for air. Water filled them instead. 

You gasped and spluttered. The surface of the water too rough to do a dead man’s float without risking your life further. The waves smacked you against hard rock once more, eroding at your hopes for survival. 

This was it. 

You were going to die. You’re drowning. You’ve drowned. 

The last thing you felt before you succumbed to the wild waves was the dull glow of your pact marks. With the last of your strength, you let out a silent scream, submerged by the water. 

You screamed. Frenzied hands pull your sobbing form out of the clear water of the bath pulling your soaked, sobbing form to their chest. You gasp for air, lungs burning. 

“MC! Y-you’re fine! Don’t worry…you’re okay…you’re okay…!” An uncharacteristically frenzied Beel holds you to his chest, massive arms enveloping you, he cards a gentle hand through your hair as you sob and upheave, your chest tight and your breath running from you. “You’re okay MC….follow my breathing…”

Hardly hearing him, you comply either way. Matching the breaths of the sixth born, your heart rate begins to slow, your breathing begins to even. Eventually, you sit wrapped in the arms of the Avatar of Gluttony, breathing deeply and slowly, your heart rate slowed, your sobs quitened to the occasional sniffle, the tightness in your chest remains. 

You chuckle humourlessly. “I’m sorry Beel….got your clothes all wet.” 

Beel shakes his head seriously, eyes on yours. “It’s never a problem. Not if it’s you MC.” He stands up with you still in his arms. Carefully, the redhead sets you down on your two feet. Strong hands on either side of you, a stabliser. “C’mon…let’s get you dressed MC…can you stand?”

Slowly you nod.

That night you found yourself in the living room, Belphie asleep, head on your shoulder. Mammon splayed across your lap, Asmo’s arm around your waist, Beel was on the other side of his twin, but held your hand, rubbing soothing circles subconsciously into your palm. Levi sat on the ground, switch in hand, cheek leaning against your thigh.  Satan and Lucifer sat on the nearest armchairs though they sat facing opposite each other, Lucifer half reading official documents, half watching the show his brothers and little human demon were watching, Satan doing the exact same, except his reading material was a book. 

You weren't sure how or if they knew what had happened an hour prior, but you were sure they knew this would cheer you up in some capacity.

You squeezed Beel’s hand, the knot in your chest coming undone just enough you feel light.

The transition from Human to Demon was a hard one to get used to, one thing that hadn't changed however; were the balls hosted by Lord Diavolo. The only difference being that now you sported curved horns on the top of your head. You quickly found that Asmo liked to decorate them with little trinkets.

Which he had done today, as well as helping you pick out your outfit for the ball. You gave a twirl in one of his full length mirrors.

"Thanks Asmo I love it." You smile, messing with an ornament on your horn. Those are taking a while to get used to.

Asmodeus laughs gleefully, waving his hand. "It was nothing darling. I'd love to do it again! Oh...~ You look so gorgeous...." He says dreamily before he turns back to his makeup, carefully lining his lips in a dark pink.

You blush at the praise before leaving the room, not wanting to risk being (fashionably) late.

"MC!" Lord Diavolo greets cheerfully, pulling you in for a hug against his bare, tanned chest. The gold in his eyes and horns glow like fire in the light of the ballroom. "I'm so glad you could make it! You look stunning!" He laughs, strong arms wrapping tighter around you.

You smile, "I'm glad to be here, Dia."

"I'm glad..." He says softer now. If the both of your words were an innuendo, neither of you pointed it out.

Barbatos appears silently at the left hand side of the Demon Prince, shaking your hand, you give him a sweet smile.

You barely get to greet him before the Demon Butler swiftly makes his way across the ballroom, and out of the glazed, oak door that led to a short corridor and then led to the kitchens.

After more peasant conversation with Diavolo, another Demon Noble had arrived, the scarlet haired prince pouted at the thought of leaving you before waving and making his way towards one of Hell's Aristocrats.

You wave him goodbye, you scan the Ballroom, eyes locking with violet ones. The seventh born gives a small smirk, lazily making his way toward you.

Belphegor had seen your dreams. He had felt the water pool into your lungs, the air escaping your grasp, the harsh bruising of the rocks you were slammed into.

He saw every dream, tried to stop them from reaching you. Sometimes he failed, your mind wanted to return to that moment. To pick it apart, to relive what it didn't understand itself, to find an impossible answer.

Sometimes your mind, your wonderful, horribly beautiful mind; would be too adamant, would loop back to it.

He didn't protect you. Not when he first betrayed you, not when he crushed your bones in his grip.

He couldn't protect you. Not when you were flung from rock to rock, sharp edges digging into fragile skin. Not when water burnt through your throat like fire.

He couldn't protect you. Not when your dreams bypassed his control. Not when the thin threads of your trauma induced nightmares slipped through the cracks.

The Avatar of Sloth could only do so much, yet, it never felt like enough. He couldn't protect you.

"Hey Belph!" You grin, closing the distance between the two of you. "You seem distracted, whats up?"

Belphegor snaps out of it, lips upturning. "Oh nothing, I just thought of something for the Anti-Lucifer League....What about you, MC, enjoying yourself?"

"For the most part yeah! But I haven't seen Mammon anywhere...." You say thoughtfully before deadpanning. "He's going to be strung up upside down by tomorrow morning, isn't he?"

"Yep."

Hours passed, a sleeping Belphegor had been handed over to Beelzebub, who was currently carrying his twin home. You were tempted to ask to join, but decided against it.

You weren't made of glass, you had agency. You could handle a silly ball.

Standing in one of the corners, beverage in hand, you'd elected to just people watch for a while.

Levi sat semi-hidden by a curtain at the grand window, switch in hand, noise cancelling headphones in, no doubt reaching the end of his social battery.

Satan stood at the other side of the Grand Hall, talking with contacts and connections you couldn't recognise. Golden blond hair perfectly in place. Asmo must've fixed it up for him.

Speaking of Asmo, he was on the dance floor with various succubi, giggling, smiling, and just in general being a social butterfly.

Mammon however, was still no where to be seen. Probably looking for treasure. Classic Mams. You smile to yourself.

Lucifer stood, being entertained by admirorers of all shapes and sizes. You stiffened.

Sometimes you forgot the brothers were Hell's Most Eligible Bachelors. It was easy to forget, seeing as you lived with them, and they were all idiots.

You could feel Levi's worried eyes on you none the less. Your stomach twisted with his sin, orange as a yolk, what came first? the chicken or the egg? You didn’t know nor did you care. Why would Lucifer choose you anyway? A weak human demon who couldn’t even survive a…-

You gripped your drink tightly, knuckles lightening. You took a sip, but with your tense muscles, the liquid burnt its way down the wrong side of your throat.

You spluttered.

Even the droplet. Even the sip. It grew, multiplied even, filling your lungs like goop, you gasped for air. The ballroom flooded a murky green. Stumbling, you pushed through the oak door to the hallway, where it was quieter.

Your heart beat out of your chest, your breathing was laboured, leaning against the wall, you lost your boyancy, dripping down until you sat on the ground, knees to your chest.

You stayed like that for a moment, catching your breath, engaging your senses.

Three things you could hear;

Idle chatter from the ballroom, completely muffled by the heavy wooden door and stone walls. Your own laboured breathing, although it was catching up to you. The blood rushing in your ears, evaporating from a rapid raging river to a small sparkling stream.

Three things you could see;

The stone wall, dark liath limestone blocks and bricks melded together, midievil in their design, they reflected the light of the overheard torches in a subtle, orange glow. The glazed panes of a glass window, the moon shone bright tonight, as it always did in the Devildom. You liked to think it was watching over you. Maybe it was.

If you turnt your head to the left, an archway was visible, a simple one. It dug into the stone wall and ceiling, pushing against the internal structures, standing out whilst holding together.

You continued your listing, smell and taste were ruled out, on account of you not being able to taste, and there not being any real noticable smells.

Three things you could feel;

The fabric of the clothes Asmo chose for you streched on your skin, the seams digging into your thighs where you sat on the ground.

The stone floor, hard and cold, even with the layers you had on, you shivered ever so slightly.

And lastly, you could feel the phantom ache of pact marks long faded, your heart heart, though it had stopped beating out of your chest. You felt calmer, more in control, yet still;

You sniffled.

After all; you didn’t have the best track record for keeping your head above water.

That’s how Lucifer found you. The door hissing open and his signature boots clacking softly along the ground announced his presence.

“MC, my love, are you alright?” He raises an eyebrow, The Avatar if Pride putting his aside and hunkering down so that he was more or less eye level with you, concern pooled in his expression. He reached a gloved hand out and caressed your cheek.

You nod, croaking out an "I'm okay now..."

"Are you sure, my darling?" The first born looks into your tired eyes, before tilting his head, asking for permission. You grant it.

He pulls you in for a hug.

"What upset you, dove?" He asks softly, rubbing soothing circles on your back.

"I-...I just feel like I've...like I've lost you all...and myself I guess...It sounds stupid! I know...but I just...-"

Lucifer hushes you, "Nothing you could say could ever sound stupid. He pauses. "Unless you're with Mammon...or planning something with Satan and Belphie."

That squeezes a giggle out of you. He smiles, tilting his head, a strand of raven hair falling ever so out of place at the movement, crimson eyes stare into yours.

"But that's not all, is it, dear?"

You mumble something unintelligible, but count on Lucifer Morningstar to hear it. "Have I told you yet? That you look absolutely gorgeous tonight, MC?" He asks in all seriousness. You avert your gaze.

He grabs your chin softly, "I'm serious, Darling. You're the best person at this ball, the best thing that has ever happened to my brothers...to me. Sometimes I feel you truly don't realise that...seems I must take care to remind you more often, my love."

You try to speak, but the air swallows up your words, your mouth open and gaping like a fish.

Lucifer's lips quirk up, he pulls you closer to his chest. You lean into him, giving a weak smile, ear pressed against his breast, listening to his heartbeat.

You felt calm; content even,

T he hug wasn't a fix it all. It wasn't some magic wand that had been waved, you weren't suddenly better. You were still traumatised, that emptiness, though dull, still ached in your heart, along with the places on your body the bright beautiful symbols of your pacts had been sketched onto your skin.

The hug was comforting none-the-less. Lucifer was impossibly gentle. He would cradle the ashes until you built yourself back up again in his arms, phoenixes need time to adjust before they can spread their wings, after all.

It would be hard. It would be so so difficult, so taxing, to rise from the ashes once more, to thrive again, but you had an army of idiots that loved you, who would go to the ends of the earth just to see you smile. It wasn't okay yet, you weren't 'fixed', you wouldn't be for a long time but you had years upon years, decades upon decades, centuries upon centuries.

i physically cannot write anything overly angsty bc im a wee softie smh this took me ages i am so sorry abt that </3 also i had another ask that i started planning out halfway through writing this and the contrast in the tone i was going for is so funny🧍‍♂️

[sugarrushproductions]

Hazbin Hotel Finale Spoilers!! You have been fucking warned!!!

Viv you wonderful troll you! I called both Adam and Pentious dying, but I didn't expect to see the latter in heaven and the former meeting his end because of Nifty!

EP 7 doesn't have much I want to talk about, though a quick thing about all the songs. The only one I truly loved was Carmila's the rest were fine and I loved all the callbacks to previous songs.

Dude, the fucking rollercoaster of emotions I felt at the end-

Rosie is great, I still say her and the cannibal's are hellborn until I'm proven otherwise

I'm scared for that deal. I hate IOU deals, Al could ask Charlie for anything.

Vaggie gets her wings back, yeah!

Carmila's shoes being her weapons was amazing!

I think that's it for EP 7.

The bar scene with Huskerdust 😍

I think we saw Husk starting to really fall for him.

Them this whole finale is just so cute, I want more!

Nifty instantly going after Angel after Charlie tells her to stab angels is just perfect.

Nifty and Al, jeez, I didn't expect to be so cute.

The little roach crown 🥺

We were all worried for nothing, Charlie is just emotional.

Also, Chaggie kiss! Now Huskerdust and I'll be set!

The V's are literally just watching them and I feel like some of their reactions

Alastor has been holding back. His fight with Adam is amazing.

And he has a mask... Did not expect that.

Seeing him curse again was amazing.

Charlie is so cute!!!

Angel and Cherri are a power duo!

Husk is so real!

So it seems Adam really did eat the apple.

Vagatha.... I love you Pentious.

"These fucking angels won't stop coming!"

"Ha!"

"Ok, I walked into that one."

That whole exchange is gold.

Lucifer Ex Machina! Yes!

I love his fight with Adam. It's so much fun!

Husk used his wings to shield the others, I'm crying!

Luci, hun, that's not how you say that..

And shut up Val!

Ok, but really, Velvette looks so cute in this.

Fat Nuggets is alive! And Keekee too! Yay!

I was sad about Pentious dying

Then surprised and happy to see him in heaven!

I actually figured he'd been the first to be redeemed. Sorry Angel.

But seriously, suck it Sera!

Speaking of heaven....

How the FUCK did Lilith get there? Why is she there? How the hell could she just abandon her family?

Also, I can't believe they fo

So many fucking questions, Season two needs to come so quickly.

The Hotel looks so cool! I can't wait see it in action.

I know I missed a lot, but God damnit this show is awesome!

[asherthehimbo]

Outliving the stars | Choi San

synopsis: You've always felt a part of you was missing, the desire for something greater only being lessened when you were gazing at the stars. You know you lost something, someone, you just dont remember what, who. Maybe the astrology major your friend sent you on a blind date with has the answers.

Pairing: Choi San x Male!reader

Info: one shot, words(2.1K),

Trope: reincarnation, Immortal x mortal, hurt/comfort

Warnings: mentions of nightmares, anxiety, topic of death, suggestive jokes, it's said they have sex but no actual smut, injuries, birthmarks shaped like scars, insecurity, self scrutinizing, social anxiety, overthinking, talks of past lives

Song inspo: Burn out the stars - Bryce savage

It was at times like these that you wished you could punch your best friend. Wooyoung was sweet, but you swear he had it out for you, sending you out on a blind date with nothing but a first name. Now you were standing at the planetarium entrance like an idiot waiting for someone you didn't even know.

Wooyoung had pesterd you for three weeks until you finally gave in. He kept trying to set you up with one of his classmates, and you were too tired to register what you were agreeing to. "Come on [Name], you can't keep being hung up on some mystery guy from your dreams. San, on the other hand is perfect, broad shoulders, an astrology major, rich, handsome face, smooth voice and he's kind" Wooyoung rambled on as you were sitting in your dorm, trying to finish the economics paper you had that was due on Friday.

"Do you want me to go out with this guy, or do you want to do so yourself?" You asked him, only receiving a pillow to your face as a response. Sighing, you looked at Wooyoung, who was taking up your entire bed. "If I go on this date, would you let me finish my paper in silence?"

Wooyoung immediately jumped up from the bed. "YES, OKAY YAY!I'm gonna go tell San you agreed! Oh! This is gonna be so much fun! SATURDAY 1PM SHARP, " Wooyoung shouted while jumping around before sharply turning on his heel to sprint out of the room, leaving with a shout of "WEAR THOSE CUTE JEANS I BOUGHT YOU!"

You only sighed, turning back to your paper and relishing in the silence.

You did, in fact, end up wearing the jeans he bought you, black baggy jeans with white stars splattered on them, matched with your red converse, and a red hoodie.

You did not want to be here, it was cold, people were staring (probably because of the scar on your face, a voice in your head told you, you ignored it) and you were craving a strawberry refresher. You guess arriving an hour early wasn't the best course of action, but you were up early, not being able to sleep the night before.

Dreams of your faceless lover had once again plagued your mind. It had been a common occurrence ever since you turned 10. You would be cuddled up in the arms of a man you could not remember, but you knew him. In a soft grass field he would be holding you tightly, you would both be watching the stars, you listening as he points out different constellations, these dreams were safe, they made you feel at ease.

But all too often, these dreams would evolve into nightmares, the same 7 scenes playing out. Your therapist had said it must have been a physiological way to deal with your own insecurities. The birthmarks that littered your skin had always looked like scars. You remember talking to her when you were 12. She said it was your brain trying to justify the marks, trying to create a story for them.

You believed her. After all, she knew better, but these dreams just felt so real, so vivid. You would hear your own heartbeat slow down and hear the cries of your mystery lover as he holds onto you. You could feel the tears dripping from his face onto yours. No matter what turn these nightmares had, they always ended with you dying in his arms.

You guess Wooyoung had been right in his concern, as your best friend he knew first hand the effect these dreams had on you. The nights you wake up gasping for air, vomiting out your dinner, clawing at your neck because something in your throat is burning. The times you're awake while your consciousness is still trapped in whatever nightmare you were experiencing. He had been there since the age of 10, he had been there.

You rubbed together the two sleeves of your hoodie, starting to feel more uncomfortable as time passed by. People were walking past, laughing, and giggling at one another. You wondered what was so funny, what were they all laughing at? Were they laughing at you? no, you didn't do anything funny, did you? oh, it's your face, right? Your face is funny, it's ugly, creepy, the scar covering your eye, one you did not deserve. A mutated freak born with scars that were not earned a fake, a- "[Name]?" A hand on your shoulder disrupts your anxiety fueled thoughts.

You turn around to find a black haired man, he's a little shorter than you, although his shoulders are broad. Jawline sharp, eyes as soft as a warm blanket on a winter's night, despite the intimidating structure of the man, his eyes, his smile, his dimples, he seems inviting, familiar almost.

He stands smiling at you, the arm he used to grab your attention is hovering awkwardly in the air, his cheeks are flushed, a pink matching one of the familiar drinks in his hand. "Umm, I'm San? your date. " he seems unsure of himself, but you find it cute, having to suppress a giggle so as to not make him feel bad.

You give him a small smile as you mentally thank Wooyoung for choosing someone good looking,"Nice to meet you, San." You nod your head at him as you shift your weight between your feet. You're being so awkward right now, but something tells you that San doesn't mind.

Despite your lack of social skills, the interaction itself does not seem awkward. Although you can feel something straining it, you brush it off to first date jitters. "Oh!um I also got us some drinks, Wooyoung said you liked strawberry refreshes, although I don't know if he was messing with me. He has a tendency to do that lately, but um drink?" San asks as he lifts up the hand, holding two drinks questioningly. His shoulders seem to tense as he awaits your reaction.

"Woo didn't lie, I do like Strawberry refreshers, thank you" you nod your head at him, his shoulders relax as he lets out a breath of relief, he picks up the pink drink from the holder in his hand and gives it to you. Your fingers touch for a moment as you take the drink from him and you jump back a little, San doesn't seem all that surprised, but he chuckles "Static electricity's a bitch, huh?"

You don't think that's how it works, but you laugh along nonetheless. It's weird as you walk with San into the planetarium. You don't like new people, don't feel comfortable around them, yet with San, it's different. You feel safe with him. He feels so familiar.

You spend the day following San around the planetarium, he excitedly points out constellations, and you swear the fake stars above your head shine dimmer than the light in Sans eyes. Somewhere along the line, your hand had been intertwined with his, as a precaution to not lose one another, you told yourself.

The date ends when the sky outside matches the one in the planetarium, a dark purple background with little specks of light twinkling above you both. The date lasted the whole day and you were having so much fun you didn't even realize, Wooyoungs gonna kill you for not telling him how everything went immediately but you can't find it in yourself to care about the headache your best friend will inevitably give you tomorrow morning.

That night, you sit on your bed, smiling down at the goodnight text from San, despite him having wished you a goodnight merely a few hours before when he walked you to your dorm. That night is the first night you sleep peacefully, no dreams of your mystery lover, no dieing, no waking up in a cold sweat despite it being winter. Nothing

Instead that night you sleep, cuddled up with the tiny red star plushie that San won for you at one of the planetarium games, you named her 'astéri' the greek word for star. Also, the exact name you put as your contact for the man who won her for you.

Your relationship with San had been a fast development, one date, then two, then you start eating lunch together, he starts walking you to classes, he joins your friends and you on movie nights, he plays games with Yunho. San becomes a part of your life faster than you can imagine, and you don't even care.

It's on your hundred day anniversary, a hundred days of dates and hangouts, and obviously being together despite no official title, that San officially asks you to be his boyfriend.

It's an emotional ordeal. He made a picnic in his backyard, creating a fort where you could both lay down and watch the stars on the soft grass. It's summer now, much hotter than when you first met, you wear a red tank top. San has expressed his love for your collarbones before, and thinking back to the moment makes you blush.

He was a bit tipsy when he blurted it out, face flushed pink given the alcohol of the drinking game he had played with your friends earlier, the room was hot, filled with college boys and liquor, so of course you took off your jacket, San had started cheering, then giggling, talking about how much he liked your neck, your collarbones. You don't know if he remembers this moment, you hope he doesn't, it would save you the embarrassment.

San presents you with a necklace on the night of his confession, a black leather strap threaded through a red star that's rimmed with silver. On the back of the necklace, the name 'astéri' is carved, under it lies numbers which look like coordinates. You don't ask.

San slips the necklace around your neck, fingers trailing dangerously slow along your shoulders. You were scared at first, you liked San, loved him, as much as you trusted him, you were scared of what his reaction would be.

He may have seen you in strappy clothing before, but he's never seen the extent to which your birthmarks your scars cover your body. The worst of them were located on your waist.

Despite your hesitance, the way San looks at you after you agree to be his, after you agree to let him be yours, it makes you want to kiss him, let him embrace every part of you and let you do the same to him.

He looks at you like you yourself were the star and who were you to deny a mortal access to a celestial entity?

That night, you learn the true extent of San's love for you, the way he trails his fingers overy every inch of your skin, extra soft kisses placed on the marks littering your body, he's gentle almost as if he knows the phantom pains they bring you, despite you never having told him.

That night you and San become, you and San, under the stars. On the soft blanket he laid out in his backyard as the warm wind of summer nips at your exposed skin.

It's when you're lying down, breathless, in between San's arms that he starts talking, answering your question from earlier that night. The numbers on the back of the necklace, the coordinates, are of a star San bought in your name. He literally bought you a star and named it 'astéri'.

"You deserve the whole galaxy, and yet I do not have the power to retrieve it for you. This way, you can have a piece of the outer world, and it can have a piece of you"

You don't think you've ever felt so loved in your life. You had fallen for San so quickly, so hard. It's hard to imagine a time when he wasn't in your life, despite the fact that you hadn't known him long, everything with him just felt so right.

You were sure you were meant to be with San in every lifetime, meant to spend every moment of your life with him. When you told him this, it had been the first time you ever saw him cry, genuinely cry. It was as if your words affected him more than you knew. You're sure they did.

That's one thing you never did understand about San, he has told you everything about himself, but you still felt as if something was missing, a piece of information locked away, it was like he was guarding it, scared you would find out. He thought he hid it well, but you prided yourself on knowing people, knowing your boyfriend. You trusted him. He would tell you when he was ready.

You and San would watch the stars burn out together, watch the world fall in each others arms, protected by a love so pure that the only thing left in the universe would be you and San

Taglist: @xavi-in-kpopland @itsvxlentine @liyatime @hetalia-pol @mommahwa1117

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[sluttysnowangel666]

The Song of Blackwoods & Brackens: Chapter 15

masterlist

Chapter 15: The Battle of the Burning Mill

cw: graphic depictions of war

𐂃 𐂃 𐂃 𐂃

I didn't know how I got there. All I knew was that these moments were about to be my last.

Everything had happened so quickly. The situation spiraled out of control before I even realized it was occurring.

Smoke was everywhere, bodies were everywhere. I couldn't walk without stepping on someone. I knew I was going to die. I could barely walk, could barely see.

I could live with dying. I made my bed, I'm ready to lie in it.

He and I were doomed from the start. I loved him; It ruined my life.

———

"I wish I could keep my hands off of you." Benjicot says, kissing my forehead repeatedly.

"Touch me all you want, Benji. We've got a month of time to make up for." He smiles, continuing to plant gentle kisses on me.

He holds me close, our bodies still wet and cold from the water. "Does something trouble you?" He asks.

I sigh, "How could you tell?" I pause for a moment. "I just... I curse the Gods for making me as they did."

"What do you mean?"

"A Bracken." I say, saddened. "A Bracken woman."

I turn to face him before continuing, "I want to love you freely with no consequence. I want to stay in bed all day and eat cake with you. I want my brother to love me, despite what I'm doing to our house, to my duty."

"Fuck duty." He says.

"I wish we could just run away together. Live here, hunt, fight, fuck, build our land, maybe our own new house... A family."

"What would you name our house?" He asks.

"Brackwood." I jest, and he laughs.

"You truly do something strange to my heart, my lady." He says. "I think we should return. Midday is nearly upon us."

He pulls me up. We dress and begin our walk back. I don't know why, but I feel an impending sense of doom.

We make it back to the edge of the woods, when Benjicot pulls me in for a tight kiss.

"I love you, my lady." He whispers into my lips. "I've loved you since the day I met you."

"I love you in return, Lord Blackwood."

We part, painfully, like getting a limb cut off during a fight.

I make my way back to the castle, and my heart sinks at the sight before me.

My brother's horse, my uncles carriage, and... a Lannister carriage.

"Oh, no. Oh, Gods no." I whisper to myself. I turn to run, but I turn right into the arms of my uncle.

I gasp in shock, I try to break from his arms but he has me tight.

"Uncle-"

"Be quiet!" He yells. I immediately burst into tears. My uncle curses and drags me into Stone Hedge as I cry and fight and drag my feet.

He covers my mouth to keep the Lannister lords from hearing me sob as we pass the council chambers. He opens my door and shoves me inside to the floor.

"I've had enough of this. You will get out of your brother's clothes this instant or I will cut them off you myself, get you in that bloody dress, and let that Lannister wed and bed you here and now!"

"You wouldn't dare!" I scream at him through tears. He unsheathes his sword.

"Is this how you dare treat the Lady of House Bracken?" I yell as he yanks me by my arm, using his sword to rip through the fabric of the back of my tunic. "Your own brother's daughter?"

He turns me around, forcing me to look upon the most angriest stare I'd ever seen from his eyes. He raises his hand, and lands a cold, harsh slap across my cheeks. I fall to the floor, holding my cut cheek from his ring in pain. "You are to never speak to me of my brother again, or I will have your head. Fuck the Lannister alliance, I will behead you myself."

He waits, but when I say nothing he exits my chambers; My cheek bloody, my clothes ripped, everything perfect beginning to fall apart.

My sadness began to grow into anger. I was so stupid. I did this to myself. It was mine own fault for falling in love with him. I should've just left when I had the chance,

married the Lannister. I hated this place, I hated my brother for never caring, my uncle for the same, the servants, the handmaidens, the other lords. All they did was watch and let it happen.

I stood up and stormed outside, but the guard my uncle placed outside my door grabbed my wrist.

"Let me go. This will be your only warning."

He laughed. "Your uncle said you weren't to leave this room... He said I could use any force I wanted to keep you here."

I unsheathed my sword. He was quick, but I was quicker. With one shove I slammed my sword into his stomach. He fell to his knees, the blood eliciting gurgling, choking sounds as he began to drown in his own blood.

He fell on his face, dead.

I had killed my first man.

While I didn't know it yet, I would kill hundreds more in less than an hour.

I went outside, straight to the boundary stones. My tunic was almost ripped entirely, revealing my whole backside, but I didn't care. I was fuming with so much anger, fear, adrenaline. Nothing would stop me. I was going slightly mad.

I began moving the stones, one by one, by myself. Nothing was about to get in my way.

"Aeron!" I turn and look, to see some Bracken men walking towards me. "You moving the bloody stones again?" They ask laughing.

"Yes." Is all I respond. They begin to help, and I don't make any attempt to stop them. Within 10 minutes, there's a small enough clearing for the cattle to walk through. I chase them with my sword, herding them to the Blackwood land.

Twenty minutes pass of me sitting with the men along the stones, talking.

"Can you even get that thing up?" One of them asks about my sword.

"Well enough for killing Blackwoods." I say, and they laugh.

And then the sweetest voice, like a siren song to my ears, yells in anger.

"BRACKEN!"

I turn and look, unphased. I knew it would be him to come. No one else got more upset over the stones being moved than he did.

His eyes soften. He looks me up, confused at my disheveled appearance. He continues anyway, angry even more so now that he knows I messed with the stones.

"Put the boundary stones back." He says, stern, but not harsh. His way of warning me.

"We didn't move them!" I say, marching towards him.

"Oh, did they move themselves then? Just rolled their way over so Bracken cows can fill their bellies on Blackwood grass?"

"The assize of Riverrun-"

"Fuck the assize," He says, exasperated. "and fuck you. This is our land."

I look at the men behind him, weighing my options, then I look back to him.

"It's Bracken land." His eyes fume with anger, yet he's utterly confused if this is a jest. Was I alright? Everything had been such a dream this morning. He wondered what the bloody hell happened between then and now.

I ignore the snarl on his face and turn to walk away. "Babe killer." I mutter, loud enough for him to hear.

"What did you say?!" He knows it's no longer a jest now. I'm, for some reason, being serious. What he can't figure out is why. He's concerned, yet angry with my blatant disrespect. I stop, nodding my head. Will I do it? Do I dare begin this game?

I turn.

"Your false Queen Rhaenyra is a kinslayer."

He hides the shock in his eyes. Benjicot was fading, and Bloody Ben was returning. He's done with this bullshit game. If I'm willing to roll the dice, he's willing to take the gamble.

"Your uncle declared for Aegon... Did he?" He steps towards me. I say nothing. "Well, then. Let me tell you Aegon Targaryen is no true king."

He steps closer, mere inches away from my face. "Just as you... are no true knight."

I'm fuming, as is he. "You're both craven..." A shove to my chest, "Little..." another. "Cunts!" A final harsh shove, pushing me back into one of the Bracken men.

I unsheathe my sword, aiming it towards him.

He laughs, a frightening laugh, filled with anger and resentment. His lips curl into a smile and he glides his tongue over this teeth. "You wouldn't dare."

Is it a threat, or a plead not to do it?

"Y/N..." He whispers a quiet plea so only I can hear. The clarity began to hit me, the way he said my name like that. I had lost myself for a moment.

I lowered my sword, but it was too late.

One of the men behind me swung at one of the Bracken men, and from there it turned into a ballroom blitz.

The men around us began fighting, swinging their swords. The sound of the metal clashing was deafening.

Someone went to swing their sword at Benji, and I reflected it with my own. The man pushed me aside, shoving me into the boundary stone. I hit my head hard, immediately going dizzy. I touched the warm liquid seeping down my face, and turned to see Benji had struck down the man who pushed me.

He came to me, pulling me on my feet. "We have to go now."

More and more fights began breaking out. For every Blackwood that showed up, another Bracken did as well. The field was becoming surrounded with men, horses were whining, trying to avoid the cross fire. My uncle and brother run up, swords unsheathed, Lannister men hot on their heels.

"Go, now!" Benji yells at me, his voice is fuzzy due to the ringing in my ears.

"I won't leave your side." I yell.

"Y/N, no one is surviving this, go!" He shoves me behind him as my uncle approaches.

"Y/N?" Aeron asks, "What the hell are you doing?"

The fighting around us doesn't cease, in fact it grows, spreading like wildfyre.

"Aeron-"

"Your sister has been ruling in your stead, pretending to be you, Aeron." My uncle yells over the fighting. Aeron grows angry. He unsheathes his sword, going to step around Benji.

"Don't touch her." Benji warns, shoving Aeron back. Aeron stares, shocked.

"What in the Gods names have you done, Y/N?" My uncle asks, immediately understanding everything that has happened while he's been gone.

"Aeron." My uncle starts, "Bring me her head."

"Aeron, my blood, please." I beg.

He sighs, sadly. His voice cracks at his words, "I hope you'll forgive me, sister."

I shove past Benji, sword in my hand, raising it to fight my brother.

"Y/N!" Benji yells, preparing to swing at Aaron.

"Benji, stay back!" I command him. He's terrified to follow that order, but he does.

"Brother, listen to me-"

"How could you betray our family?" He sobs, our swords clashing together.

"We never were a family!" I yell in anger. "You don't know what he's done to me! You never cared! But, I still love you, brother! Please stop this." I cry.

Aeron brings his sword down, slicing it right down my eye.

I fall to the ground, screaming in agony. Blood poured down my face. I was blind. My brother, my twin, had cut out my eye.

Time slowed, yet the next events transpired so fast.

I looked up with my good eye, my brother standing over me, Benjicot with his sword slowly raising, ready to shove it into Arron's back.

My brother cocks his sword back, ready to take my head clean off. I take my hand off my eye, picking up my sword with both hands. It nearly slips from all the blood.

I shove it into my brother's stomach.

The world goes silent. Everyone watches. I just killed the heir to Stone Hedge.

I sob, and pull out my sword. His hands move to his stomach, and he falls to his knees in front of me.

"My blood." I sob, cradling his head in my hands. "I'm so sorry."

"Sister..." His bloody hand reaches up to cradle my bloody cheek. "I am sorry... Sorry I wasn't... a better brother."

He coughs, spitting up blood. I pull him into my lap, sobbing. "We... were born into this world, my sister, but we were never meant to die together."

He closes his eyes, and they never reopen. I sob, cradling his body to my chest. I kiss his head. My childhood best friend, the one I played with, who raised me until my Uncle took him under his possessive control.

"You dare mourn him, when this is your bloody fault. You killed the heir, you whore. You're no true Bracken."

I look up at my uncle, my chest rising and falling with intense anger. Tears fall from my eye.

Benji stares at me, fearful of the woman he loved turning into a mad man before him.

I stand, my brother's body lying at my feet. The fighting continues.

"Kill them all!" I cry out, "Kill every fucking Bracken and Lannister until their line is dead!"

"Get back, Y/N!" Benjicot yells, shoving my arm down to keep me from raising my sword.

"Stand back, My Lord!" A Lannister yells, standing in front of my uncle with his sword drawn.

Bodies start dropping like flies, and in the chaos I lose sight of my uncle. Benji fights behind me the whole time, both of us protecting each other's backs.

I suffer a severe blow to my leg, the gash is deep, making it near impossible to walk on.

"My Lady, you must go immediately." Benjicot says, holding me up to keep me from falling.

"Find my fucking uncle." I mumble.

"It's over! You must go! I will finish this for you, that I swear, My Lady."

I shove him off me, balancing on my good leg. "Don't lose sight of who you are, Y/N. Go now, before it's too late."

"My brother is gone. I will kill my uncle, even if it kills me."

"Then I'm sorry for what I'm about to do." Benji says, holding his sword towards me.

"Why are you protecting him?!" I yell.

"I'm protecting you! Don't be a fool! I will not lose you!"

"Do what you must." I say, raising my sword back. He sighs. I give him one last look, blood covers him from head to toe.

"Don't. Don't make me do this." He begs.

"I always knew you were a cunt, Blackwood." I say. He cries, red tears falling down his cheeks.

"Please. I'm begging."

I swing my sword at him, but he blocks it. The unfortunate part for him is he trained me. I know his moves. I know how to best him.

We fight. I fume with rage, he cries in sadness, both of us mourning who we were just a day ago.

I swing, but he knocks my sword out of my hand and sneaks upon me from the right, where my eye no longer could see him. He grabs my wrist, and I gasp.

"I'm sorry, Y/N."

Everything goes dark.