#using the bandaids to cover the bites so I can’t pick as easy and I’m trying to distract myself because I don’t need More scars

[s-ccaam-era-crepe]

Let’s play a game: how many bandaids is scam wearing right now?

[rina-writes]

Mom and Dad

Summary: In the same way that Grayson jokes about being the dad, you are the “mom” friend.  It never occurred to you how strange this was until you and your close friend Grayson are babysitting your cousin and someone actually mistakes you for a family.

Genre/Warnings: Fluffy, Secret Crush, Baby Fever

A/N:  This is a concept I thought of that I forced into a fic.  I’ve been obsessed with 90s aesthetic (particularly film and media and the “grainy” filters) so I am also adding some pictures that inspired me. I don’t own any rights to these pictures and thank you to these beautiful people for inspiring this fic! 

You first met the twins on one of their trips back home to Jersey.  You were visiting a family friend who happened to live near their house.  It was super early in their YouTube careers, so you only knew from your family friend that the boys had dropped out school, moved to LA, and made videos online.  Like most people hearing this, you assumed the Dolans were a privileged family with spoiled kids that only worried about when their next trust fund payment would hit their account.  You were pleasantly surprised when, upon hearing that you were visiting, the Dolan family welcomed you into their home and threw a little barbecue for you and your folks.  Not only were the boys down-to-earth, but they were also kind and easy to be around.  You became fast friends and often spent time together when they came to visit.

It would be a lie to say that they didn’t play a role in you deciding to move to LA for college.  They talked about LA so much, that you always wanted to live there.  The couple times you visited, the twins showed you how much fun sunshine could be, even if you missed the four seasons of the northeast. 

It would also be a lie to say that BOTH the twins were your motivation for wanting to move to the sunny state.  You were a bit partial to the younger, but larger twin, Grayson.  The way you would describe your connection was that you and Ethan were similar, but you and Grayson were compatible. You agreed on the things that mattered, but you and Grayson balanced each other out. Where he was impulsive, you were calculated.  Where you came off aloof, he was gregarious.  You liked to think you brought out the best in each other.  You had a small crush on Grayson, but it was one of those crushes you only felt when you were near to him.  When you were back in school, you didn’t think about him that much.  However, when you hung out at their house or went out to grab a bite, you were completely consumed by him. His hair, his eyes, his laugh, his large hands...everything about him seemed to be crafted by the heavens.  

You didn’t want your feelings to get in the way of your friendship, so you never told anyone how you felt.  Of course, some people figured it out.  Most girls around the Dolan twins fell for either of them. They had that effect on people because they would make you seem like the most important person in the world.  Grayson definitely catered to you more than Ethan. It didn’t help your feelings for him, as you often spent time together doing menial tasks.  That’s why you weren’t entirely surprised when Grayson offered to help you babysit your cousin.  It was a combination of two things Grayson enjoyed: helping people and pretending to be a dad.

Your cousins were visiting you in LA from Jersey.  Your first cousin and his husband recently adopted a toddler named Monica.  While they were excited to have her in their life, you knew that your cousins needed some alone time.  You encouraged them to build a couple’s day full of activities from the spa to dining at an exclusive restaurant.  To ensure they could some of alone time, you would watch Monica for a few hours.  It took quite a bit of convincing, like most new parents, they were attached to their kid. After multiple conversations, and almost begging, you finally convinced them to let you take her out for a fun day in Los Angeles.

You mentioned it casually the night before you were going to pick her up.  You were at dinner with the twins and a few of their friends.  Grayson’s eyes sparkled instantly.

“I can help you with Monica.” He grinned widely.  “We can take her to this new museum for kids.  It’s free entry on Saturday mornings.”

“Why do you know that?” Ethan asked, yelling at his brother despite sitting next to him.

“I saw an article about it...” Grayson yelled back. “Some people read about the news Ethan.”

“O-kay” Ethan put up his hands as he rolled his eyes.  “Trying to show off for Y/N because she’s in college or whatever.  I see you.”

“I’m not...” Grayson said, his voice getting softer as he glanced at you. 

“Well, it works out.” Ethan shrugged.  “You’re such a mom, Y/N.  I can’t get over that Snap! The one where you were tipsy, but still  putting all the girls in your sorority to bed.  You braided that one girl’s hair!”

You blushed as there was a chorus of laughter from the table. “Oh come, on! I’m not a mom, I’m just responsible.”

“It’s okay, Y/N.” Grayson reassured you.  “I have to take care of Ethan all the time.”

Ethan narrowed his eyes at Grayson. “You don’t take care of me...”

Grayson opened his mouth to argue, but you put up a hand to stop him.  Once those two got started, nothing could get them to shut up.

“Tomorrow then?” You smiled, nodding at Grayson.

“Tomorrow!” Grayson confirmed nodding back.  There was a moment where you locked eyes like there was some weird secret between you too, but neither of you seemed to know what it was.  Blushing, you both awkwardly sipped your beverages until someone changed the subject.

When you went to pick Monica up the next morning, you were greeted by big hugs from your cousins. 

“Oh my goodness, Y/N” Your cousin said, looking at you while picking up Monica. In the background, his husband put the final items in Monica’s travel bag.  “Is that your mom’s shirt? I remember her wearing something similar back in the day.”

You laughed and nodded, looking down at the thin, emerald green sweater with four adjacent squares in red, yellow, blue and pink going across the bust. You pulled it down to cover your leggings that stopped at your ankles above your dark slip on shoes. 

“I stole it from the attic.  It’s kind of my style right now.” You grinned.  “Do you like the hat?”

“The beret.” Your cousin’s husband corrected as he leaned over to tilt it to the side. “I believe that was your mother’s too.”

Your cousin and his husband had dated for a long time before getting married.  They practically grew up together, so naturally, your cousin’s husband also knew your family too.  It reminded you a bit of you and Grayson. Except, the dating and married part, of course.

“You got me!” You shrugged, laughing again.  “The lady has great style what can I say?”

“Alright,” Your cousin sighed as he gave Monica a final hug. His husband kissed Monica’s cheek before your cousin handed her to you. 

You took the little girl in your arms.  She had a bit of weight to her, but she was still quite small.  She was close to your complexion, with large eyes and a tiny mouth. She was quiet, constantly observing and didn’t seem to react to anything, not even being handed off to an almost complete stranger.  You made a mental note to make sure she was by your side at all times. 

“You have your pull-ups, your snacks, your wash cloths, your bandaids....” Your cousin tapped the bag on his husband’s shoulder.  “You have it all! Anything you need, do not hesitate to call us.”

“Don’t worry!” You comforted them.  “It’s only six hours.  I’ve babysat for 12 hours and that was for three very....not nice children.  Monica has veteran babysitter with her today.”

“You know we trust you!” Your cousin smiled.  “We just know how much of a doozy it can be to take care of a toddler.  Besides, I think we’re getting a bit of parent separation anxiety.”

You shifted Monica to your hip and reached out for the travel bag. “And she will be back in your arms in six hours! Make sure you are rejuvenated and relaxed when you meet her.”

“Well if you insist...” Your cousin joked, not without taking another longing look at his daughter

“Are you sure you can take both?” Your cousin’s husband asked as he prepared to hand you the travel the bag.  “While she may try to trick you into carrying her everywhere, she can walk.” He added a laugh.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”  You nodded.  Just as you were about to take the bag, you heard a knock on the door.

Given that it was a hotel, the three adults looked at each other with confusion.  Your cousin opened the door to see a nervously smiling Grayson waving at you.

“Sorry I’m late.” Grayson apologized stepping in.  “I didn’t want to take the Porsche so I borrowed a car from one of my editors.  It took longer than I expected.”

“No worries.” You smiled, “But I thought we would meet at the museum?”

“I figured you would need some help.” Grayson grinned. “No sense taking a Uber if I have a car.”

Grayson looked around and upon seeing the travel bag made a soft ‘oh’ sound as he took it from your cousin. 

“Oh, this is Grayson.” You introduced Grayson to your family.

“Is this your boyfriend?” Your cousin’s husband asked after shaking Grayson’s hand.

“No,” You laughed softly, hoping it sounded natural and not panicked/secretly thrilled, “He’s a family friend who lives out here in LA.”

“I’m family, and I don’t remember him being a friend.” Your cousin quirked a brow.

You could see Grayson’s face turning red and you cleared your throat. 

“I think we should get going before the museum is no longer free, huh?” You said, changing the subject before the interrogation continued.

“Ha, good idea!” Grayson said, catching on quickly.

“Be safe you two!” Your cousin called as Grayson held the door for you.  

You smiled as Grayson led you to the car.  He was a little dressed up with a long sleeved white shirt, tucked into his dark jeans with a designer belt.  You were so used to seeing him fully casual with no shirt and the tiniest shorts.  It made your heart melt that he had gotten dressed up for Monica.  

Grayson put Monica’s travel bag in the trunk of the black sedan, before running over to open the door for you.

“Take your time.” You told him.  “We’re in no rush, right Mo?” You asked Monica, who was sucking her thumb and taking in her surroundings.

You eyebrows went up in surprise when you saw a car seat in the back seat.

“Ace Family...” Grayson explained, blushing softly.  “I read that young kids should always have a car seat and I wasn’t sure if your cousin had one.”

“I think she usually just sits in someone’s lap.” You bit your lip.  “But, I’m sure this is way safer.  This is so thoughtful, Grayson!”

Grayson beamed at your words. It warmed your heart when he gave you the large goofy smile.  It was his natural one when he wasn’t posing for pictures or trying to look hot.  The smile that only came out when he was really happy.

You watched as Monica fidgeted in the car seat, making it almost impossible for Grayson to buckle her in.  He started to sweat, the stains appearing under his armpits and you fought back a chuckle.

“Let me try?” You offered.

“Uh sure...” Grayson bashfully moved away, watching you as you distracted Monica with the jingling bracelet on your left wrist while you used your right hand to buckle the first clip.  Monica reached for one of your charms and you took the opportunity to clasp the other belt that finished the part on her waist.

“Hands up!” You said, excitedly, secretly surprised that Monica followed your direction, but also happy she did since Grayson looked so impressed.

You buckled the seat belt that went over her body and leaned back to look at her.

“Feeling good, Monica?” You asked.

She nodded softly, looking off in the distance.

“Give me a wiggle.” And you shook your shoulders.

She glanced at you and mimicked you with the same emotionless expression.

Grayson laughed. “She is actually the cutuest.”

“I know right?” You said, looking at him with your lower lip jutted out, a pout in reaction to her cuteness.

Monica looked between the two of you before turning her attention back to whatever outside the window seemed to be so interesting.  She was probably the most laid back toddler you ever met.  This was going to be easy.

“Should I introduce myself?” Grayson asked nervously.

“Honestly, I should probably introduce myself too.” You laughed.  “She was just kinda handed to me.”

You leaned over to be in front of Monica and she turned slightly to give you her attention.

“Now, I’m Y/N.” You said, putting a hand on your chest.  “We met last year, but you probably don’t remember.”

You put a hand on Grayson’s shoulder.  “This is Grayson.”

Grayson stuck out his hand for a handshake and you sputtered laughter.

“Grayson, she’s three she won’t...”

Monica took Grayson’s hand and he shook, giving you a smug expression.

“You were saying?” Grayson asked making you roll your eyes.

“Okay, okay...” You put your hands up. “You’re pretty good with kids...so far!”

You pointed at him, to emphasize that he hadn’t won you over just yet.  

“You just wait, Y/N.” Grayson said, walking to the driver’s seat. You followed suit, and walked to the passenger seat.

“I’ll be such a good a dad, you’ll be calling me Daddy.” Grayson winked, and glanced at you to see your shocked expression. “Oh good god, not like that.”

You laughed, punching him lightly. “I’m just kidding, Gray. I know what you meant.” 

“Oh sure laugh it up.” Grayson said, rolling his eyes as he started to drive. You glanced at him and the tips of his ears were still red from blushing.  So cute...

When you arrived at the museum, Monica’s personality busted out. She loved the exhibits where she could touch stuff, enjoying the slime the most.  You spent about 45 minutes just watching her sticking her hand in goop.  You and Grayson took turns holding her and helping her make shapes with the material.  You took pictures of Grayson, your heart melting seeing his genuine happiness playing with Monica. Every time she made her little toddler giggle, Grayson’s smile double in size.  You were going to treasure these photos forever.  

“I’m going to the bathroom.” You said to Grayson, who gave a quick nod.

You smiled and walked to the bathroom.  After doing your business, you inspected your face.  You dug into your bag and went to apply lip gloss.  You fixed your hat a few times, still not sure if it really went with your hairstyle.

“Uhm, excuse me?” A woman about your mom’s age alerted you.

“Hi?” You turned around and you eyes widened to see Monica holding the woman’s hand, sucking her thumb.

“Monica...what...” You reached down to pick Monica up and the lady smiled softly. You were about to ask for an explanation, but the lady quickly provided one.

“Your husband said you were in here and your daughter wanted to use the bathroom.  He said you would be the girl fixing her beret in the mirror.”

You blushed and laughed softly.  “My husband, huh?” You shook your head.”Well thank you...”

“Come on, Monica.” You said to Monica who was holding on to your shoulder with her free hand.  “Let’s go potty.”

You helped Monica use the bathroom, realizing that Grayson did not provide you with the travel bag, so you had to clean her up without the fancy wipes and creams you cousins packed. 

With both of your hands washed, you escorted Monica out the bathroom who, the moment she was out, ran to Grayson who was waiting across the hall.  He picked her up and she held on to him, resuming sucking on her finger.

“I forgot you would need this.” Grayson said, gesturing to the bag on his shoulder, while he shifted Monica’s weight to your hip.

“I know, my husband is so silly.” You narrowed your eyes.

“What did you want me to say?” Grayson said, looking around embarrassed.  “Monica started crying all of a sudden saying she couldn’t hold it.  I ran with her to the bathroom, but I couldn’t walk in and I wasn’t going to take her into the guy’s room.  So, I started to explain that you were in there and she was like “Oh I’ll take her to your wife.” I didn’t want to correct her...it felt like a bad time.”

“I’m just relieved that Monica didn’t announce she had two dads.” You laughed.  “Might have been a little awkward to explain with my husband waiting outside the door.”

“Yikes,” Grayson said, making a face. “Though, I am sorry. I didn’t realize it would put you in such a predicament.”

“It’s fine!” You tried to assuage his worries, laughing. “I mean, we’re like 20...it’s her fault for thinking this was our kid. And that we were married. She’s the weirdo”

“I dunno...” Grayson said, looking at the three of you in the reflection of one of the displays. “It’s not the weirdest thing in the world. Being assumed to be married to me?”

You noticed a bit of bite in his tone and you frowned.  “You’re not the problem, Gray.  I’m just saying we are a little young.”

Grayson didn’t say anything to you in response. Instead, he asked Monica if she wanted to go to the dinosaur exhibit again, another favorite of hers.  She started bouncing up and down, and Grayson carried her toward the exhibit.  You scurried to keep up, confused at what you said to tick him off.  When you arrived, you saw there was a show for the kids.  It was one of those shows where there was a “dinosaur expert” and some people in dinosaur costumes explaining each of the species.

Grayson put Monica down in front and went to stand in the back with the other parents.  He was staring straight ahead, pretending to be very invested.  You could tell he was pretending because his eyes were glazing over. 

“G-Gra--” You started to say, but then his phone started to vibrate.

Grayson glanced down and ignored the spam call, showing his background. The background was of you playing with Monica in the slime.  You blushed and pretended not to notice. Suddenly, it made sense why Grayson was so huffy.  You didn’t want to get too excited, because you were still not 100% sure it was true.

“Hey,” You nudged him. “You’re going to be a great dad one day.”

Grayson glanced at you before looking forward. “Thanks...”

“While, I’m not ready to be a 20 year old mom,” You bit your lip, “I would be down to date one of my best friends...”

Grayson whipped his head to stare at you and you smiled. You unlocked your phone to show your wallpaper, a picture of him playing with Monica.

“Huh,” Grayson smirked. “I didn’t realize how creepy that is until I see it on someone else’s phone.”

“It’s only creepy if you’re not dating the person.” You smiled.

Grayson bit his lip and chuckled. “Thank goodness we’re changing that.”

Your eyes widened.  “Are you asking me out?”

“At the dinosaur musical...” Grayson said, gesturing to the stage.  “Of course, the only place where mom friends and dad friends can truly be ourselves.”

You laughed and Grayson continued to scold himself out loud for being the lamest person ever.

“Would it be weird to kiss someone at a dinosaur musical?” You asked, glancing down at the floor.

Grayson tried to hide his smile, but it was stretching across his face too quickly. He cupped your cheek and pecked your lips softly. As he began to pull away, you started to kiss back, keeping you two connected for a few more seconds.

“That was nice...” You said, smiling. “Really nice.”

Grayson put his arm around you and kissed your forehead lightly.  You both turned toward the show and watched for a bit before Grayson leaned in and asked,

“Can we tell E we started dating tomorrow?” He looked away as he continued to speak forcing you to lean in to hear him. “I don’t want him to know I finally made a move at a freaking dinosaur musical.”

You laughed and grabbed the sides of his jaw to turn him to face you. “Maybe, but you’ll have to make it worth my while.”

Grayson gave you a mischievous grin as he leaned down to rest his forehead on yours. His eyes bore into yours causing the heat to rise to your cheeks. You blushed more as Grayson’s voice, suddenly deepening to whisper said,

“Remember that conversation about you calling me Daddy...”

[ff-imagines]

Hey i hope its ok to request something. If not just ignore this. Can you do some salt and pepper mantis shrimp general headcanons? I love your writing by the way💙

Hell yea cyberpunk babe time

• This man? Right here? He’s? Complicated.

• Getting into a friendship with him is hard enough.

• He straight up won’t trust you for a really long time, doesn't matter who you are.

• You thought Boston was hard to win over? Y’all aren’t ready for pepper.

• Honestly the best way to get him to really trust you is to be here for him but distant at the same time. Don’t be overbearing, but do small favors and little pieces of kindness for him.

• Don’t get it wrong, this isn’t a game of “waiting for him to come around” as much as it’s proving your willingness to be patient, and able to give him space.

• He doesn’t make himself easy to love, and he doesn’t feel love easily.

• how you treat others directly affects how he sees you.

• He’s very watchful of you, and honestly very nervous.

• He doesn’t trust you at all at first, he tends to watch over you in less of a protective sense and more of a… “keeping an eye on your enemy” kind of way.

• You unknowingly prove to him your kindness, and it kinda stuns him honestly. He’s used to seeing the worst of humans, so seeing genuine care is…. weird.

• When you notice he isn’t hanging over your shoulder as much, that’s when you can start getting closer.

• His favorite is spinach noodles, but honestly any food you give him he’s pretty grateful for, even if he doesn’t vocalize that.

• He doesn’t have vocal manners at all honestly. Saying your “please-and-thank-yous” was never something that was really… important in his past.

• Surprisingly it will be….. technically both of you who makes the first move

• when he’s fairly confident you’re trustworthy he decides to just keep you close and protect you with all he’s got. That doesn’t necessarily mean romantic, so you’re the one who makes that move.

• Blunt honesty is best. If he senses any jokes or teasing he won’t even consider believing what you’re saying.

• If he feels you’re being honest, he’ll most likely retract for a day or two before coming back to you and simply sitting down close to you. He’ll try to say something in reply, but he can’t seem to get it past his tongue.

• Hold the pepper boys hand, he’ll melt.

• His prosthetic arm might also jump in temperature so make sure that’s not the hand you’re holding lmao

• From that point it’s just as slow as befriending him is.

• A good way to reassure him is with food. Boys got a pretty fuckin big appetite. He won’t eat around you though, that requires taking off the mask. He takes to a room without people and happily munches.

• A great way to get closer to him is…. keeping cute band-aids on your person!

• His skin is actually pretty sensitive and he gets cuts and bruises pretty easily.

• He’ll reject the cute little characters and designs on the band-aids at first but they kinda grow on him, eventually he’s covered in cute cat ban-daids head to toe.

• Will actually melt inside if you stick a band-aid on yourself to match him, even if you’re not hurt.

• You walk out the bathroom with pastel pink bandaids on your nose and he’s thinking “????????? Ily??????”

• He doesn’t have a lot of hobbies, he's never had the time to gain any, really.

• In hanging over your shoulder he gets an idea of what things he’ be interested in trying, though!

• He loves to look at alt fashion. He’d never really try any outfits but he might be down to pick out some for you!

• His fashion isn’t exactly… mainstream? But it is unique and strangely appealing!

• You will be hanging out a lot with Boston lobster. He admires him above all else so, be prepared for that lmao

• Will most likely quietly gush about you to Boston if Boston asks. Only if you’re not around though because he could never say these things to your face lmaoo

• doesn’t really let you touch his prosthetic arm, he’s worried it’ll hurt you.

• He’s also very insecure about it in general.

• Showing interest or complimenting his arm greatly catch him off guard, they’re actually his favorite compliments, even if he has trouble accepting them.

• Shrimp himself is actually a very jealous and possessive person.

• The people he claims as ‘his people’ are under his constant watch, and anyone he deems as dangerous or even just mildly annoying will not be met with any sort of kindness.

• If he catches or finds out about anyone flirting with you, especially a human, he has no problem sorting this… problem with violence.

• Lord help anyone who dares try to touch you, I sincerely hope they had a good life because he’s sending them to god in 500 pieces.

• He definitely prefers indoor dates, far far away from anyone else.

• He’d prolly absolutely love a video game date.

• His favorite games are story based, stuff like the last of us, beyond: two souls, farcry 3-5, etc

• Detroit: becoming human really struck a chord with him, he adores that game.

• Doesn’t like multiplayer as much since it requires talking to people

• His ultimate show of trust is sleeping around you.

• He’s very nervous to test around others, even Boston to a degree, him taking a nap around you means more than you think.

• Would feel very emotional cuddling with you, especially if you fell asleep.

• He takes it as a sign of trust on your part as well.

• His favorite position to cuddle is where you’re both on your side, facing each other. Likes to tuck your head under his chin and rest an arm loosely over your waist.

• Takes a while for him to fall asleep because he’s just not used to this level of affection, but that doesn’t mean he’s not savoring every second.

• Will take a long time to take off the mask. I’m talking l o n g.

• There’s a lot of speculation on what he looks like, personally I think he’s got a normal looking face but has big fangs.

• Like, some serious chompers.

• He knows literally nothing about intimacy, that definitely includes kissing.

• At first there’s… a lot of teeth in his kisses lmao rip

• he loves ghosting his teeth over your skin, just to see how you squirm.

• Loves to bite around the junction of your shoulder, the back of your neck, and lightly nibble on your wrists

• Hickies from him make you look like you got attacked by a rabid rat lmao

• He feels a twinge of pride when anyone asks “what happened to your neck?”

• “I happened, disgusting human.”

• Once he does start getting comfortable with affection his possessiveness gets cranked up a lot, as he gets a tad clingy!

• “Hmm? No, don’t get up yet. It’s…. comfortable here.”

• Overall he’s a nervous, untrusting boy who finally found someone worth trusting in.

• He will not let that go anytime soon.

[missperfectlyfine13]

A Bandaid For Your Bullet Hole (Chp. 7/?)

Read below or on AO3

It’s been two weeks since Beca kissed Chloe. A whole two weeks since Chloe told Beca how she feels. Two weeks since Beca admitted that she likes Chloe too. And Chloe is patient, she really is, but she’s starting to get a little antsy.

She’s especially antsy because Beca is acting like nothing ever happened. Jesse still shows up after Bella’s rehearsals to take her to dinner or to walk her back to her dorm. He still greets her with a kiss that Beca doesn’t hesitate to return.

Chloe stopped by her dorm last Saturday morning, with a cinnamon roll and coffee…only to find Beca’s side of the room empty. Kimmy Jin told her that she thought Beca was at her boyfriend’s. Chloe confirmed that by text later.

Maybe this is Beca’s answer to her? She chose Jesse, but why wouldn’t she say it to Chloe’s face?

Then there’s the fact that the freshman has been avoiding Chloe like the plague. It’s like pulling teeth to even get the girl to reply to her texts. The whole situation is making Chloe wish she had just kept her damn mouth shut, because this…this is way worse than what she assumed was unrequited feelings. Beca kissed her…told her that she likes her…and then chose to stay with Jesse. But Chloe just wants to hear it. She just wants Beca to say it, then maybe she can start to move on.

“Hey are you ok?” Chloe hears the voice of her uptight best friend, then feels the sofa dip next to her, “You’ve been a little distant.”

Chloe simply nods, not wanting to actually talk to Aubrey about the Beca situation, knowing that it would end with a lecture, “I’m fine.”

She finally turns to look at the blonde, who is giving her a pointed stare, “Bullshit.”

“Bree, I’m fine. I swear,” Chloe lies through her teeth, turning her attention back to the textbook in her lap.

“Ok, is it your mom?” Aubrey pushes along, clearly she’s not going to let it go.

Chloe considers lying and saying it is her mom, but she doesn’t want to worry the other girl, “No.”

Aubrey sighs and Chloe can see her rubbing her temples in her peripheral vision, “Ok then, is it…Beca?”

She wants to blurt out no, but instead finds herself letting out an embarrassing squeak and a shrug of her shoulders. Something about Aubrey always makes Chloe break down and tell the truth, it’s like she physically can’t lie to her.

“What did that little brat do to you?” Chloe isn’t surprised by the venom in her voice, there’s no hiding the fact that her two best friends really don’t get along.

“Don’t call her that,” she snaps out, still trying to focus on the words in front of her, but it’s impossible, so she closes the book and sets it down next to her.

Aubrey sighs again, but when she speaks her tone is softer, “Stacie told me about New Year’s Eve, Chloe, I really didn’t think you had it that bad for her.”

“Ok, well I do. Sue me,” Chloe looks back up at Aubrey, who surprisingly is not giving her the glare she expected.

“What happened Chloe?”

There’s no sense in trying to cover it up now, “I told her how I feel. She kissed me and said she likes me too, but she’d have to think about it. It’s been two weeks and I still haven’t heard anything and now she’s avoiding me too.”

Aubrey grumbles incoherently under her breath, it’s probably a good think she can’t understand it, “I swear to god, she’s not going to know what hit her…”

“Bree, calm down. It’s ok, I should have seen it coming. She does still have a boyfriend, she doesn’t owe me anything,” as sad as it is to say, it’s true. Chloe doesn’t have a much of a right to say anything, she is the one who confessed her feelings while Beca was still in a relationship.

“She at least owes you the decency of a yes or no,” Aubrey rolls her eyes and flops backwards into the couch, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Well what am I supposed to do Bree?” Chloe asks her friend exasperatedly, “Walk up to her and demand an answer?”

“Yes,” Aubrey says immediately, “Or at least get her to talk to you about things.”

Chloe drums her fingers on her leg nervously, the blonde has a point. She picks up her phone and checks the time, 9 pm. Beca might still be up, she could chance it and try and call her or head over to her dorm. Anxiety washes over her like ice water as she weighs her options. After a minute or two of her best friend eyeing her in anticipation, she whips her phone out of her back pocket.

She hits Beca’s name in her contact list and waits as a ringing noise fills her ear. Aubrey gives her a supportive smile. Chloe’s just about to give up, but then the voice of the younger girl finally makes her jump.

“Hi Chloe.”

“Hey Beca.”

There’s a small gap of awkward silence before Beca says anything. She’s honestly surprised that Beca answered her, with how hard she’s been avoiding Chloe.

“So, what’s up?”

Oh right, Chloe is the one who called her, “Um, well honestly, I was kind of wondering about the other night.”

“The other night…?” Beca sounds confused, apparently she’s not being as transparent as she thought.

“Like the night I told you about my feelings…and then you kissed me?”

“Oh.”

The one-word response sits in her gut like a rock.

“I know you said you needed some time…” Chloe starts to say hesitantly.

“Do you think we can talk about this in person?” Beca cuts her off abruptly, asking the question with a little more gusto than Chloe had expected.

It almost knocks the wind out of her, she composes herself quickly though, not wanted to put any doubt in the other girl’s mind, “Of course. Are you doing anything right now?”

There’s a brief patch of silence, she can practically hear Beca thinking from here, “No…come on over. Kimmy Jin is gone.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Chloe tries not to sound too eager, she shouldn’t get her hopes up. She could be going to Beca’s dorm to have her heart crushed.

************

She really does try to slow herself down but she’s in her car and sitting in the parking lot of Beca’s building in ten minutes. She briefly thinks about sitting and waiting five minutes before going in but disregards the idea quickly. She’s too anxious to wait any longer.

Before she can process her actions, she’s standing in front of Beca’s door, knocking lightly on the white wood. The door swings open and Beca is standing on the other side, looking almost as nervous as Chloe feels. Her hands are balled up into the sleeves of her sweatshirt, she’s biting her lower lip lightly, her eyes glancing over Chloe expectantly.

“Can I come in?” Chloe asks after a minute of the brunette just standing there blocking the entrance.

“Oh right, yea definitely,” Beca opens the door wider and lets Chloe walk through finally.

The two naturally gravitate to Beca’s bed, the only real spot for them to sit in the small shared space. Chloe makes herself at home, sliding backwards so her back is against the shelving built into the wall. Beca follows suit but leaves a generous amount of space between the two.

“So…” Chloe clears the dead air, looking at the other girl hopefully.

“Can I be honest?” Beca asks timidly.

Chloe nods, waiting patiently for her to continue.

“I’ve really been struggling with this,” she starts to say, pausing briefly.

That much is clear. If it had been an easy decision, Chloe would have had an answer long ago.

“It’s not for the reason you’d think either,” Beca twists her hands together nervously in her lap, “This is really hard to explain, I’m bad with feelings usually…but, what I feel for you is so much more than anything I’ve ever experienced before.”

Her words make Chloe’s heart thrum almost painfully in her chest. That wasn’t what she was expecting her to say, but she couldn’t be happier. Especially, because she feels the exact same way.

Before Chloe can say a word Beca continues to speak, “It scared me, so that’s why I’ve been avoiding you, but when you called tonight, I realized that I can’t go any longer without seeing you, talking to you.”

Chloe reaches across the bed and lies her hand gently over Beca’s, “Hey it’s ok to be scared.”

“I feel so stupid,” Beca replies softly, “I like you so much, but here I am running around with Jesse still because it’s easy.”

“Hey…look at me,” Chloe picks up her hand that had been on Beca’s and instead uses it to brush a tendril of hair out of the other girl’s face, successfully getting the brunette to look at her, “I didn’t want to say it, I didn’t want to scare you, but I feel the same way about you Bec. I know it’s a bit scary but if you’re willing to try…I think it would be worth it.”

Their eyes finally lock and the steely blue gaze that meets hers is full of something she can’t quite put a finger one. Dare she say a look of love, even though she highly doubts it. At least it’s no longer the pained, anxious look that had graced her face when she met Chloe at the door earlier. As she studies the other girl, she is suddenly, keenly aware that Beca’s face is moving closer and closer to her own. Beca’s eyes flit back and forth from her lips. As much as she’d love to lean in and feel those rosy lips against her own again, she can’t. She can’t do that while Beca still has a boyfriend, out of respect for herself…and Jesse. Beca needs to prove she’s serious about this first and break up with her boyfriend.

Chloe scoots backward and clears her throat, “I can’t do that Bec.”

The freshman looks utterly confused and a little hurt, “Why not?”

“You still have a boyfriend,” Chloe replies simply, and a look of realization hits the other girl.

“Oh yea…you’re right,” Beca looks a little sheepish as she scoots away from Chloe.

She doesn’t want this to end right here though, she needs to confirmation that Beca really does want to try this, “Once you break up with Jesse, I swear these lips are all yours…and believe me, I would love to spend forever getting to know yours.”

A blush creeps it’s way across Beca’s cheeks, “I haven’t stopped thinking about our kiss since it happened…”

“Me either,” Chloe says it with such ease because it’s true, every night the feeling of Beca’s lips against hers fills her dreams, she finds herself lost in thought throughout the day wishing it would happen again.

“I’m going to break up with Jesse this week, I promise,” Beca says it so sincerely, Chloe is convinced that it will happen.

“Are you sure you want to do this…with me?” Chloe can’t help being insecure about the whole situation, even though Beca just told her that she’s breaking up with him.

Beca nods vigorously, “Yes. I’m sure…I really, really like you Chloe.”

“I really like you too Bec,” Chloe wishes she could lean over and kiss Beca, just like she tried to do earlier, but she’s waited until now, she can wait a little longer.

[babiekeiji]

only you

pairing: kageyama tobio/f!reader  word count: 4678  warnings: nsfw! includes mafia themes, detailed sex, some blood, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, some sorta unrequited love (yes you already know i’m the biggest whore for this shit), some making out 

synopsis: kageyama tobio is part of a mafia and he can’t bear the thought of losing the ones he loved - and you don’t even know if you’re on the list.

a/n: HELLOOOO this is my first ever work here on tumblr i hope you guys like this one (even though it’s basically just . porn w a lil plot) yes leave me comments about how you guys liked this one!! hehe happy reading (◍•ᴗ•◍)

The night is quiet. 

The only sound you hear is the soft buzzing of the air conditioning system and the clink of the ice in your drink, starting to form little tears outside your glass. You place your head in your hands and turn to Yachi, another medic of the mafia you belong to. 

Yachi drums her fingers against the metal table she is sitting next to, anxious. “When are they coming back? It’s been nearly six hours.” 

“I wouldn’t expect this one to be so easy,” Sugawara says, putting the last batch of gauzes and bandage rolls on the same table where Yachi stays adjacent. He puts his hands on his hips, “I wouldn’t expect any of their missions to be easy.” 

Yachi begins to bite her nails in anticipation, her eyes pinned to the front doors of the manor. “Daichi would call, right? If he needed us?” 

“If he needed us that bad,” you respond, taking your drink, “He would. Otherwise, he’d let us wait here.” 

“I get worried for them every night they’re away,” Yachi muses, “We’re practically living in the middle of nowhere; it’s so hard to navigate at night.” 

Sugawara sits down beside you on the couch, reaching for your drink. “They’ll be fine,” he sips, “They’re good at what they do—the most they’ve ever come back with was Hinata with a broken wrist.” 

The silence ensues as the night grows. Sugawara falls asleep next to you on the couch, and Yachi gets up to make herself a cup of coffee. 

How are you? You text Kageyama, to which he responds after a few minutes. 

Almost done, he texts, I don’t know if anyone’s hurt. I’ll text you later on the way home. 

Okay, you reply. Take care. 

Keep safe. 

“What’d he say?” Yachi comes in and sits on the couch across from you, a steaming cup of joe now in her hands. “I was hoping he texted you.” 

“Kageyama doesn’t know the number of casualties,” you shake your head. “I don’t think we can call Kiyoko, either. They’re not exactly supposed to be on their phones in the gala.” 

“How’d they get into this super-secret, all-rich-people gala again?” She asks, “I’m almost never told how their missions usually work.” 

“Kiyoko hacks to get them in, I think.” You say, “Though this should be an easy mission for them. I hope there aren’t a lot of them injured.” 

“We’ll have to ask Daichi permission to leave soon,” Sugawara stirs, “We’re running out of medical supplies.” 

“Oh, shit, we are,” you glance towards the few remaining materials on the wheeled table. “I can go out tomorrow. I’ve got a practical exam for anatomy at 2 PM.” 

“I’ll try to pick you up after school,” Sugawara answers. “But for now let’s try to get some rest.” 

Sugawara lets you study his body while he sleeps, all while Yachi herself starts to drift off while she holds the now lukewarm cup of coffee in her hands. Sugawara starts to correct you on your mistakes halfway; at least the best he can in his groggy state. “You’re going to fail that exam,” he blinks slowly, yawning. “Did you even bother studying?” 

“Yes, I did study!” 

“Then why do you think the needle goes through here—”

The ground rumbles, signaling the nearing of a vehicle. Sugawara’s eyes light up and Yachi is suddenly wide awake. He motions for everyone to keep quiet, waiting for a sign that the car outside is them. 

The familiar sound of Daichi’s car’s horn echoes in the night, and Sugawara is quick to run to the front door to let everyone in. 

Tsukishima enters first, supporting an unconscious Yamaguchi with his hand wrapped around his waist, Yamaguchi’s arm slung across his shoulders. “He was drugged,” He says, approaching Yachi. “Someone was onto us.” 

“Huh?” Yachi squeaks, quick to rearrange the couch’s pillows for Yamaguchi to lie on. “Settle him here, please.” 

“Hey!” Tanaka enters, a cut on his cheekbone, Nishinoya limping after him. “We did great!” 

“No, we didn’t,” Tsukishima rolls his eyes, sitting on the floor. “We would have been if Kageyama’s ass didn’t have to knock over the champagne tower.”

“Did he actually?” Sugawara asks, nudging Tanaka and Nishinoya to sit down on your couch. “Y/N. Get off. It’s time to work.” 

“Daichi and Kageyama aren’t here yet,” you muse, eyes not leaving the opened front door. “Why?” 

“Ah,” Tanaka waves his hand in excuse. “He’s getting an earful from our big daddy about how he almost compromised our mission and shit.” 

Hinata runs through the doors, telling you to get up hastily so he can sit on your spot. “I’ve got a scratch on my knee,” he points to the part of his leg pant that ripped, showing a long, thin line of a wound, “It doesn’t hurt so much, though, so you can treat me later.” 

You grab a rubber ribbon, a bottle of antiseptic and a few pieces of gauze. “Jesus, what did you land and trip on?” You ask as you begin to tie the ribbon above Hinata’s wound, trying to control the bleeding. Hinata leans back on the couch and closes his eyes. 

Nishinoya snorts, “That’s a story.” 

Sugawara puts a small bandaid on Tanaka’s cheek and ushers him off the couch so he can treat Nishinoya next. 

As you finish cleaning Hinata’s wound, you see Kageyama and Daichi walk through the door, the first looking dejected with his head looking down to his shoes as he walks. Though your heart flutters at the sight of your pseudo-boyfriend, you can’t help but wonder why exactly he’s so despondent. He’s usually up and at it with Hinata after missions, arguing about who exactly did better between the two of them until Daichi or Sugawara tells them to cut it out. Today, Kageyama didn’t even bother looking at you before he left the living room. 

Daichi settles in between Nishinoya and Hinata with a long sigh while Kageyama proceeds up the stairs of the manor, most likely heading to his room. 

“Jeez,” Suga says, feeling up Nishinoya’s leg. “You did a number on him this time.” 

“Ow!” Nishinoya says as Sugawara stretches his leg towards himself. “Ow, shit, stop!” 

“He can’t stop, idiot,” you chuckle, starting to tape the gauze to Hinata’s leg. “He needs to treat your leg so you won’t cramp later on.” 

“My leg just cramped, do you want me to cramp again?”

Sugawara stands up to get a hot pack for Nishinoya’s leg. Yachi is finished patching up Tsukishima and Yamaguchi and walks over to help Daichi. 

“I’m not hurt,” he stops her with a raise of his hand. “I just have an excruciating headache.” 

“Let me check your blood pressure at least,” Yachi says, going to grab her kit. “You might need more than a painkiller.” 

“Where is Kiyoko?” Sugawara asks, entering the living room with a hot pack and a cold pack, giving it to Nishinoya. “Here. Alternate these on your leg every fifteen minutes until the ache is gone. Shoo!” 

Nishinoya mumbles a quick thank you, Suga and leaves to his room upstairs. Daichi sighs for the nth time that night. “Kiyoko’s still out buying some supplies. She might not be back until dawn.” 

“Poor Kiyoko,” Yachi says as she finishes taking Daichi’s blood pressure. “You’re all good, Daichi. I’ll go fetch you a painkiller for your headache and you can go on and rest.” 

“Thanks, Yachi. You’re the best.” 

Hinata seems to have fallen asleep on the couch because you start hearing small noises of snoring coming from him while you roll his pant leg back down. Standing up, you move his face side to side slowly, checking for any more injuries before you leave. “Hinata’s all set,” you say, smiling. “And super asleep too.” 

“That boy almost died,” Daichi shakes his head. “He tripped and got left behind.” 

“How did you guys almost get caught…?” You ask, grabbing the blankets under the table for Hinata, Tsukishima, and Yamaguchi, who are all sound asleep. 

“Kageyama knocked over a champagne tower on accident,” Daichi replies. Yachi approaches him and asks him to hold his palm out so she can give him his painkiller. Daichi takes the pill and the glass of water and swallows it before saying, “And behind the champagne tower was the man we were trying to avoid. He recognized Kageyama right away and called his goons on us.” 

“Poor thing,” you say, glancing up to his room. 

“You should go to visit him, Y/N.” Sugawara smiles, sitting down beside Daichi. He yawns. “Better check up on your little boyfriend before he locks his door.” 

“Shut up, Sugawara,” you say as you collect some stuff to bring up to Kageyama. “He’s not my boyfriend.” 

“He isn’t huh?” Daichi chuckles. “Do you wanna explain why I’ve been seeing you go out of his room at 2 am lately?” 

“Shut up! Goodbye. I am going now!” 

“Hey!” Sugawara calls while you climb the staircase. “Not too loud tonight, okay? I have condoms in my room.” 

“Sugawara!” 

“They’re chocolate-flavored!” 

— 

Kageyama is silent. 

You don’t know how to react because he lies on his bed, back facing you, with almost all his mission clothes strewn on the floor—the expensive tie you picked out for him lies beneath his work table, his Gucci belt hung on his chair, his socks on his nightstand, his vest, dress shirt, and blazer was all thrown across the expanse of his room. He is left bare, with only his dress pants to cover him up. The small lamp that sits on his desk illuminates the room, albeit hardly enough for you to make out the shadows of his toned back. 

“Kageyama?” You whisper. “It’s me. I’ve got to clean you up.” 

He’s not the type to be so despondent after a mission. You don’t hear him cry, though—you wish you did because when you sit on the edge of his bed and look over to study his face, he’s staring straight ahead like he’s looking five hundred one meters away. You set down the pile of instruments and materials on the space of his bed and pat his leg softly, trying to comfort him at least. 

With the faint light of the room, you can see multiple cuts on his forearms and a bruise starting to blossom on his shoulder. His side is filled with scars and faded yellows of bruises from missions in the past. Kageyama’s hands seem okay—his knuckles are bloody and bruised, but it doesn’t look like the blood came from him. 

You scootch over to run your fingers through his hair. “Kags,” you say softly. “I’m here for you.” 

Kageyama closes his eyes and starts to shift so he’s lying on his back. He opens his eyes to look at you. “My best friend almost died today, Y/N.”

With the faint glow of his small lamp, you make out the tears that slip from his eyes. Kageyama’s eyes are glossy, and so full of love and emotion for his best friend as he starts sobbing, his hands instantaneously reaching up to wipe the tears off his face. You gently take his wrists away from his face and start swiping away each tear that comes out of his eyes. 

“Because of me,” he says in between sobs. “Because of me, Y/N. He almost died because of me.” 

He’s so beautiful when he’s overcome with emotion. 

But you don’t know what to say to him that will make him feel better. You don’t think saying that will make him feel better, so you sit in silence, wiping away his tears. 

He pushes your hands away to start angrily wiping his tears. 

He doesn’t stop crying as you prepare antiseptic-soaked cotton for his cuts. You gently take one of his arms and swipe the cotton slowly, slowly over his wounds, blowing over them right after to ease the burn. His crying is reduced to sniffles, and soon enough, he stops crying altogether. 

“You’re beautiful when you’re open to me like that,” you say, placing cute teddy bear band-aids on his smaller cuts. You take one of his hands and kiss all of his fingers. “I love knowing you trust me enough to cry to me.” 

He uses the same hand you kissed to cup your face. He looks at you with a blank look on his face, running his thumb over the expanse of your cheek. “I still have to patch you up,” you whisper. “Give me a few minutes, okay?” 

He nods and lets you handle him. 

When you touch Kageyama you feel like you’re holding something so fragile; you’re afraid that one single move you make on him will break him and make him hate you forever, but Kageyama’s always so gentle with you. He’s not going to flinch or groan in pain when you deal with him, because he knows you’re scared. He always tells you good job after you fix him up because he’s just that thoughtful. He stares at you with stars in his eyes while you wipe an alcohol round on his knuckles to get rid of the blood. 

“Where else are you hurt?” You ask, and he shakes his head. 

Kageyama pulls you to him and wraps his arms around you. “I was so scared, Y/N,” he whispers. “I didn’t want to lose Hinata.” 

You run your nails over the dip of his back where his spine is supposed to be, “You didn’t, Kageyama. You know to be careful the next time around.” 

He holds you even tighter if that were possible. “I don’t know, it’s just—what if I actually lost him this time? And if I did, it was because I was so dumb?” 

“Kageyama—”

“I almost got him killed, Y/N.” He pulls away and looks you dead in the eyes. “I almost killed my best friend.” 

You’ve had enough. 

You grab his face with both your hands and bring him to you to kiss him square on the lips. “You’re fine, Kageyama,” you say, before kissing him back even more. “You two will be alright.” 

Though you say such comforting words, your heart aches because you say them with every bit of love you have for him inside of you—but you know he won’t love you the same way you do. 

You know he won’t love you because he’s scared of losing you the most. 

Take the risk, you want to tell him, while you kiss him even more. I’m worth the stakes. Hug me. Kiss me. Fill me up. Love me, in all the ways you can. Love me in all the ways you want. 

Take the risk, you think, as you hold his face in your hands, your breaths mixing together as you look into his eyes, so intense, and so full of love, Love me. 

You shift to straddle his waist. Your mouth pecks the corner of his mouth and trails down to his jaw. “You’re okay, Kageyama.” You remind him again, as you bring your face back to him. You kiss him again, prodding your tongue to his mouth, which he gladly opens for you. Your tongue explores every flavor of him Kageyama has to offer, while Kageyama lets his guard down enough to start sucking on your tongue. You pull away to place your mouth on his neck, no spot left unkissed. 

Soon you begin sucking, licking, biting everywhere around his neck. He moans, “Fuck.” Kageyama places his hands on your hips, and you know exactly how to move them to get him riled up. 

As you continue to mark his neck, you grind on him faster, moaning in time with him. “Fuck, baby—” he breathes. “You’re so good.” 

You stop your assault on his neck to suck on his bottom lip, then his tongue. “Mmf,” he whines, hearing the lewd sounds of your mouth wrapped around his tongue. He pulls away to whisper, “Baby, stop.” 

You stop, doing your best to grind on him slower than before. “What’s wrong, Tobio?” 

He places a firm grip on your hips and squeezes his eyes shut, and it’s only now you notice that his breathing has gotten erratic. The warm glow of his lamp provides you the small shapes of the blossoming love bites on his neck and collarbones. “I.,” he whispers, shaking his head. 

“What do you want, Tobio?” You say, halting the roll of your hips on his clothed cock. You take one of his hands and lick up his thumb before putting it in your mouth. You moan, making the lewdest face you can. You can feel his cock twitch in between your thighs, which only drives you to continue your grinding, his thumb still in your mouth. You let go of his hand and place it back on your hips. “What do you want?” 

Kageyama’s eyes are closed in pleasure as you continue to grind on him. “Fuck,” he says. “You’re so hot.” 

You chuckle and lean down to kiss him square on the lips. 

Kageyama gets tired of your grinding and switches your places so he’s on top, humping his clothed, fully-hard cock uselessly against your pussy. He settles his forearms to the sides of your head and leans in enough just so your mouth is next to his ear, and you whisper, “My body is yours, Kageyama.” 

He moans quite loudly at that.

“Don’t say things like that, Y/N.” He says, hastily taking off your shirt and your sweatpants. 

“Why not?” You bite your nails, watching Kageyama get riled up. You arch your back as he reaches for your bra clasp, undoing it with ease and tossing it to the side, leaving you practically bare naked in front of him, save the panties you have on. 

He leaves a kiss on your lips first before going to lick the length of your throat. “You don’t know what you do to me, baby.” He sucks on the spot he knows you’re weakest and he has you moaning. 

Kageyama’s hips continue to grind against yours, his cock getting harder and harder by the second. The trails his own kisses down to the valley between your breasts and kisses both your under breasts before taking one nipple in his mouth and the other between his forefinger and thumb. 

“A-ah, Tobio,” you say, eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure nearly overwhelms you. “Your tongue feels so..so good.” 

He releases the nipple in his mouth with a lewd pop, “Yeah? You like it when I have your tits in my mouth, baby?” 

“Mmm,” you nod as he takes the other one into his mouth and starts sucking harshly on it, this time biting it too. “Oh Tobio, fuck!” 

As he continues his assault on your breasts, he stops grinding to play with the hem of your panties. “Can I?” He asks, tugging. You nod hastily and he wraps his mouth around your nipple again, sucking even harsher this time. Tobio takes off your panties and drags a finger up and down your folds. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” Kageyama smiles. “This wet for me?” 

“Only for you, Kageyama,” you wrap your arms around his neck as he settles his face in between the crook of yours. “Only for you.” 

Every single touch Kageyama delivers feels like a lick of fire straight from the hearth of the gods; your skin hot to the touch. Kageyama’s fingers, palms, skin roaming everywhere on your body only leaves you wanting more and more of him to warm you up even further.

His calloused thumb starts to rub gentle circles on your clit, causing you to moan. He drags another finger up and down your slit before easing it into you. “I love that you’re so wet for me, sweetheart,” he whispers, finally starting to piston his one finger in and out of you. “It’s so fucking hot.” 

He adds another finger and makes his pace inside of you even faster, and soon enough, you’re writing underneath him, tears in your eyes, the knot in your stomach starting to become irritating as Kageyama seems to be nowhere near letting you cum. Soon enough, he adds a third finger, which just has you crying in pleasure as his pace slows. “Kageyama,” you whine. “Kageyama, Kageya—”

He uses his other hand to cover your mouth. “Do you want the others to hear who’s fucking you good, Y/N? Is that what you want?”

You moan as his words drip in filth. He curls his fingers inside of you, finally reaching your sweetest spot. You moan and whine and writhe under him as he continues to pump his curled fingers inside of you. “You’re so loud, Y/N,” he chuckles. “I love that I make you like that.” 

“Only you, Kageyama,” you whisper, “Only you.”

He pulls his three fingers out of you so suddenly you whine from the emptiness. 

“Kageyama,” you moan. “I want you in me, Tobio.” 

Kageyama swears at your filthy words. He’s quick to stick two of his cum-coated fingers into your mouth for you to suck on, the other hand going to unbutton his pants. He pulls away for a second to take off both his dress pants and his underwear to finally reveal his cock—standing proudly, not quite lifted due to how heavy and girthy he is. His cock is already leaking precum as he strokes it in front of your wet pussy. “Like what you see?” He teases, prying your legs wide open. 

“I’d like it better if it was in my mouth,” you mumble, rubbing tight circles on your clit as he gets himself slick between your folds. “Or if it was actually—ah—in me.” 

He positions the head of his dick to your entrance, smiling at the heat that meets him. “Where’d you learn to talk like that, baby? That’s dirty.” 

You bite your nail and shrug, spreading your legs even wider for him. “I try to figure out what things you like to do while we fuck.” 

Kageyama pushes himself into you little by little, the stretch and the fill of his cock inside you burning but at the same time feeling like the best thing in the world. “Kageyama,” you moan as he leans down to place his head between the crook of your neck. You turn your head to the side so you can whisper into his ear, “You fill me up so good.” 

Kageyama almost growls at your words, inside of you balls deep now. His breathing grows more and more erratic with every centimeter of him inside of you. “Move, Kageyama,” you plea, raking your nails down his toned back. “Please, move.” 

“N-No, baby, I—” he shudders. “I can’t, I—fuck—you feel so good. I might cum with two thrusts.” 

Kageyama does his best to keep still, tense as he can be, while you wrap your hips around his waist and start moving on your own. 

“Stop.” Kageyama hisses. 

He then proceeds to fill you up to the brink again, balls deep, and pound into you at a monstrous pace. Kageyama’s not too big and not too long; he’s just enough that whenever he thrusts inside of you, you feel like heaven. His grip on your hips is sure to leave marks for days, but in the end, you know you love looking at them in the mirror, along with the love bites he loves to trail down your body—to you, it’s a sign of how much Kageyama loves you. 

At least, how you hope he does. 

Kageyama moans shamelessly into your ear, whispering I love the way you feel and You’re so tight. His filthy words only add to the knotting in your stomach, just as your fingers begin to rub tight circles on your clit. You moan as Kageyama finally gets to the spot only he knows how to reach, and from that point on, you’re nothing but a writhing mess underneath him. 

“Love it when you moan like that for me,” he says, kissing your cheek while also slapping your ass, the smack resounding throughout the room. “You make the most beautiful faces.” 

“Fuck, Tobio,” you whine as you throw your head side to side. You grab one of his hands and put it to your breast, to which he understands what to do right away. Kageyama begins toying with your nipple, and soon enough, is bringing one of them into his mouth once again, all while his thrusts never cease to hit your sweet spot. “Oh god, just like that..” 

He stops all his ministrations on your body, sitting up and spreading your legs even wider before he thrusts in and out of you again, watching you take him so effortlessly. “You’re so wet, Y/N…” he says, and the tone of his voice confuses you. “I..I love that you’re so wet…” 

Your libido suddenly disappears, and you reach up to cup his face. “Tobio—”

He jerks his face away from your touch and wipes across his cheeks—why was he crying? In the middle of sex too?

Nonetheless, he places your leg onto his shoulder and pounds into you again, this time, crying above you as well—and really, you don’t know how to feel because Tobio’s cock is hitting places your fingers can’t reach but at the same time his tears roll down the valley of your breasts and now you can’t help but cry too because everything just feels so good and wow Kageyama’s thumb is on your clit—

And you’re coming, his name on your lips like a mantra, again and again—Tobio, Tobio, oh god, yes! 

He stops thrusting and cums inside of you, his sobbing still continuing, groaning while he rides out his high inside you. “I—ah—I’m sorry,” he cries. “You felt so good around me and today was just so stressful—”

You smile cup his cheek with your hand, wiping away one of his stray tears with your thumb. “It’s okay, Tobio. You’re safe with me.” 

At that, Tobio bursts. 

No, he literally bursts—his face bunches up a little bit before he closes his eyes and starts crying so much. He collapses on top of you and just wraps his arms around your waist, crying and crying and crying and crying, snot starting to collect on your skin and tears rolling down the sides of your body. But you don’t mind. 

You really don’t mind, because these are the few moments you know are special between only you and Tobio; nothing else in the world can compare to you feel when you’re with Tobio, whether in sex or just in general—so all while Tobio shakes and stutters and cries and moans on top of you, you hold him tight, even tighter than you have before because you know you may never get to experience a love like this ever again. 

Even if you know he can’t love you back. 

Kageyama pulls out of you only then, going to lay beside you instead. “I’m sorry I cried while we had sex,” he sniffles. “I’m just—I’m so stressed.” 

“It’s alright,” you remind him, and you think you won’t ever stop reminding him that it’s okay to feel. Moving closer to him, you wrap your arms around him and bring his head to your neck. “At least I know you’re comfortable around me.” 

“I’m most comfortable around you, Y/N.” 

You inhale sharply, trying your best not to even think of saying it— 

“I love you, Tobio.” 

You’re so stupid. You already know what he’ll say next. I love you too, he’ll start. But you know I can’t. 

He sighs and clings on to you just as tight. 

“I love you even more...” 

And you’re left waiting. Waiting for the moment your back hits the ground after falling from the highest altitude in space. Waiting for the moment your heart breaks into fractions and pieces so you can piece them together right away, once again. 

But the fall never comes, and the night stays the same. 

The night is quiet, and so is he. 

[writing-radionoises]

to be loved

ship: odazai, fyodazai, kunikidazai if you squint

genre: alternative universe

prompt: in an alternate universe where when someone who cares about you touches you, it leaves a colored mark on your skin, dazai is covered in so many unwanted marks from his abuser.

notes: tw for mori typical bullshit, referenced self harm, and implied sexual content. this is also just. my au but yall are free to do whatever you want with it as long as you credit me ^^

Most people value and adore marks.

The colored hand prints and kiss marks that litter each and every person’s body, each one unique from the other.

It means that someone cares about you, loves you in any way possible.

Whether it be platonically, romantically, or familial.

However, Dazai is not one of these people who values the marks.

Being passed around from person to person has left him with left marks, most of which fade after he is passed off again.

When a mark fades, it means the person has forgotten about you, or that they’ve died.

Many of Dazai’s past caretakers have died.

However, that would be why Dazai loathes his marks or the romanticization behind them.

His body is covered in marks. Bruise-like hand prints litter his body, predominately on the wrists and waist.

He has a distinct hand print over his mouth, a hand once used to silence his screaming and protesting against the perpetrator.

Dr. Mori Ogai is the cause behind these marks. He has a tendency to manhandle Dazai, toss him around however he pleases, and use him like a toy.

Dazai hates Mori more than anything, and had always wished the marks would just disappear. He wished Mori would stop caring about him, forget about him.

He wished Mori would die.

There was nothing that Dazai hated more than feeling like Mori’s toy on display, everyone who saw him could see all the pain Mori put him through.

Dazai covered himself in every way possible. Bandages, oversized clothes, jackets in spring.

But the marks pop out against his pale skin like neon colors.

Over time, he got used to them. He got used to having no other marks than from Mori, to looking like a beaten up toy, like a broken porcelain doll.

It was, until Dazai met Odasaku.

Odasaku was a kind man, his hand was littered in little hand prints from children, like rainbow face paint. He had a warm and comforting smile, and pushed Dazai to become his friend.

The first mark Dazai had gained outside of Mori’s was one of Odasaku’s. Oda had grabbed his hand, and when he removed his hand to bid a goodbye to Dazai, a green mark remained over Dazai’s left hand.

It looked fluorescent against Dazai’s pale skin, and mellowed out over time into a pretty pastel green. Dazai would trace each where Oda’s fingers laid before sleeping in awe.

To think another person would care about him.

Many marks would follow. Odasaku was an affectionate person, he left Dazai with forehead kisses, cheek kisses, hugs, and anything of the sort.

The green of his marks popped out against the once disgusting and gross color Mori had left Dazai with.

Soon enough, the green color would be painted on his lips, as well.

Dazai grew fond of the marks Oda would leave on him, and would ignore the ones Mori had left.

More colors followed suit with Oda’s.

Ango’s was a light brown, only the slightest bit darker than Dazai’s skin tone. He left behind the ghost of hand shakes, ghosts of the memory of wiping off Dazai’s face.

A light brown lingered against Dazai’s scarred arms from Ango’s stitching, overlapping with the bruises Mori left.

It had shocked Dazai the first time he saw such marks, having believed that Ango could care less about him. But nonetheless, Ango’s marks appeared on his skin, and never left.

When Osamu had picked up the homeless and sickly Akutagawa siblings, he had noticed the younger one, Gin, was covered in blotchy and inky black hand prints. Against her cheek, along her hands, on her shoulders. Dazai found the same marks on himself later that night after carrying the older Akutagawa to his car. Sure enough, a blotchy black handprint laid against his collarbone, where Ryuunosuke had clung to him like a kitten.

Dazai had remembered reading somewhere that black markings were rare. A certain part of him was rather happy that Ryuunosuke had left one on him.

Over time, Dazai started looking more and more like an abstract painting than a person.

He loved it. He loved feeling loved.

But all good things come to an end.

Ango betrayed him and Odasaku, leading to Odasaku’s death, and eventually to Ango abandoning Dazai.

The last mark Odasaku left on him before his death was a light touch on the cheek as he pulled off the bandages covering the scar Akutagawa had left Dazai.

He asked Dazai to do one thing for him, one last thing to make Dazai happy.

To be on the side that saves people.

An unconventional request it was, hard to process among every other thought racing through Dazai’s mind.

He didn’t want Oda to disappear, he didn’t want the last person to truly love him to die yet.

The thought of the marks Oda left on him shattered Dazai’s heart. The last thing he would have left of Oda, gone.

… And yet, the green marks never disappeared.

Weeks went by after Oda’s death, Dazai would awaken every morning and stare into the mirror, waiting for them to fade.

But they didn’t.

Oda may have been gone, but his love wasn’t. His love for Dazai would outlive him, and carry Dazai to trying to do the right thing.

He left the Port Mafia.

He waited for Akutagawa’s marks on him to disappear. For Mori’s marks to disappear.

They never did. If anything, Akutagawa’s marks grew more vibrant against his skin.

He couldn’t tell if he was getting paler, or if the marks really were changing color.

Mori’s marks remained, much to Dazai’s dismay.

He’ll just have to wait for the old bastard to die.

The surprising part, more so, was that Ango’s marks stayed. The cinnamon color remained over his hands, in streaks against his face, and underneath his knees from being carried.

Dazai never understood why they didn’t. He couldn’t comprehend Ango still caring about him after all this time.

He wondered if Ango’s marks stayed on Odasaku, too.

He never found out the answer.

Dazai had his identity erased, now at 19 years old, and bought a cheap apartment with his savings.

No longer a mafia member, but now just a kid.

… A kid just barely under the drinking age. Which was annoying.

Dazai converted his former alcoholism into a caffeine addiction.

There was a coffee shop down the street from his apartment that he liked to go to, despite the sad memories with it.

His first get together with Oda and Ango.

“I’ve… Only had black coffee before, I don’t know what to get,” Dazai mumbled, rubbing his bandaged arm awkwardly as Ango turned to him.

Oda was already at the counter, ordering something.

“Do you need suggestions?” Ango asked, to which Dazai nodded.

Ango pulled Dazai close against his chest, readjusting his glasses as he began to narrow things down for Dazai, figuring out something he’d like.

Dazai was incredibly confused by how much Ango knew about coffee, he was certain the other had been too busy to visit coffee shops like this all that much.

“Can I have a large iced white mocha with… Four extra shots of espresso?”

“You want six in that?”

“Yeah, please,” Dazai said with a smile.

“Alright…” The cashier said, wary as she looked over the total, “That’ll be 600 yen.”

Dazai handed the woman his money, and left the line to go sit down by the window.

It’s frosty outside, winter is making its way into Yokohama.

Dazai will have to buy a new jacket soon…

A man slides into the seat across from Dazai. He adorns a clean white button up, and a fluffy white coat over his shoulders. His hair is a deep purple, shoulder length and silky smooth, a white fluffy hat atop his head. His face is soft, and his piercing violet eyes bright with curiosity, wonder with the world around him. There’s a bandage over his right cheek, and bandaids all across his fingers. It appears he has a habit of biting them.

Dazai can’t find this man anything short of gorgeous. The smile on the man’s face tells him more people think the same.

“My, my, you are an interesting looking one,” says the man with a smile, a foreign accent slips into his Japanese with easy, “Like a patchwork doll, I have not seen anyone quite like you.”

Dazai returns the smile, “So I’ve been told. You’re a strange looking one yourself, you aren’t from around here, are you?”

The man nods a no, “Ah, no. I am from Russia, though I am fluent in Japanese and English.”

“Far way from home, I see. Your Japanese is very good for a tertiary language.”

“Thank you,” replies the man, “My former teachers regarded me as a language prodigy. Ah, I’ve forgotten to ask… What might be your name?”

“Osamu Dazai,” the brunette replied, propping his head up in his hands, “Yours?”

“Fyodor Dostoevsky,” he replied.

“Dosto… Dos-”

“Fyodor is fine. I understand in Japanese you call people by their last names, however, Russian last names are hard on the Japanese tongue.”

“Fyodor-san,” Dazai corrected, “You are quite the stunning one, you know? Your beauty is incomparable to anything I’ve ever seen.”

A smile appeared on Fyodor’s face, Dazai half expected him to get flustered, though he remained calm.

“Many people say the same, I don’t quite understand. I believe I’m rather average looking, to say the least…”

The server provides Dazai with his drink, and passing what appears to be a caramel macchiato to Fyodor as she leaves, Dazai hums a thank you to her.

Fyodor pops the lid off his drink, fishing out a small bottle of clear liquid and dumping it into the drink as he stirs with his straw.

“Vodka? Isn’t it like nine in the morning?”

“I said I am Russian, did I not?”

Dazai laughs a bit.

Fyodor writes his phone number on Dazai’s napkin later.

His handwriting is crooked and messy, though to Dazai, it looks amazing.

He doesn’t quite understand his interest in this Fyodor person.

Dazai awakens in a hotel room.

He’s been in ones like these time and time again, never remembering where he was.

After Odasaku died, Dazai developed a habit of letting people take him home for temporary pleasure.

However, this one is different.

The hotel room smells heavily of alcohol, yet the place is rather neat. Coats hung up on the closet doors, lean counters, suitcases emptied and set to the side.

Dazai pulls the white sheets closer to his naked body as he glances next to him, to see the sleeping body of Fyodor Dostovesky.

His hat had been discarded, placed haphazardly on the bedside table, yet he looked incredibly peaceful when he slept.

Dazai remembered more bit by bit. Fyodor invited him to a bar, asking if Dazai would teach him a little more about Japanese drinking culture. They, of course, got drunk. He supposed Fyodor and him hooked up shortly afterwards.

Dazai wasn’t surprised, he did this with just about every man he met nowadays.

Dazai glanced down and over his own body.

No new marks. To be expected.

Yet, when he looked over Fyodor, he was a blank canvas.

He adorned no marks from what Dazai saw.

His brows furrowed in confusion, Fyodor must be a well-loved man with his beauty and interesting personality.

At the very least, he would have marks from his mother and father, right?

The plot thickens, and Dazai slides out of bed to get his clothes.

Fyodor awakens shortly afterwards, greeting Dazai with what Dazai assumes in a ‘good morning,’ though he has spoken in Russian.

He watched Fyodor brush out his hair, button up his shirt and place his hat back on, and then proceed to order breakfast in for the two of them.

Dazai comes to the conclusion that Fyodor is an amazing actor, and that he definitely has a hangover he’s not talking about.

As they eat, Dazai decides to spring a question.

“You don’t have any marks at all, do you?” He asked the other man.

Fyodor glances up from his food, shifting his head to the side as he nods.

“Yes, I have no such markings. It is a mystery to me as well.”

“Not even ones from your parents, eh?” Dazai asked, shoving a piece of omurice into his mouth.

“My parents died when I was young,” Fyodor explained, “It was my fault, it was an ability accident. I was fostered shortly afterwards by a priest, though he never left any markings on me, either. I do not know much of anyone outside of them.”

“So you’r-”

“Unloved,” Fyodor interrupted, followed by a smile, “But I do not mind. I have never left markings on another person, either.”

Dazai’s brows furrowed, “Never, huh?”

Fyodor nods, “Never. I have started to believe I’m incapable of doing such.”

“Incapable of caring for others?”

The Russian man looks up, thinking about his answer for a few minutes before looking down at his food. There’s a slight somber look in his eyes, one of loneliness and doubt.

“I suppose so.”

It’s been years since Dazai and Fyodor met. Their relationship broke off, Dazai joined the Detective Agency, and Fyodor went off to become a terrorist.

Dazai is now 22, and Fyodor is 23.

It is not the first time they have seen each other again after all their years as teens, but the first time they’ve been alone together since then.

They both escape from the prison, Fyodor now his enemy instead of a past lover or friend.

But Fyodor still smiles at him like he’s a friend.

No marks appear on Fyodor’s skin, though Dazai has gained some new ones.

Soft yellow ones from Kunikida, his partner.

A brash violet from Atsushi, his newest apprentice.

A dull green from Fukuzawa, his mentor and father figure.

Among many others from so many of the agency members. Dazai is back on his feet, he feels loved once more, and will not let anyone take that from him.

And yet, when Fyodor looks at him, he can feel the slightest bit of jealousy from the Russian man, too.

He wants to be loved, too. Dazai knows it.

Dazai wonders if he’s the only person who has ever cared about Fyodor, wonders if Fyodor even knows it.

Fyodor readjusts his hat as he walks closer to Dazai.

“Might I show you something, Osamu?” He asks.

“If it isn’t death, sure,” Dazai replied, half joking.

The smile on the other’s face softens, “It is not death, I promise.”

Fyodor fumbles with his hands before taking the left one, fingertips covering his bandaids, and gently caressing Dazai’s cheek. It feels cold, the other’s anemia leaves Fyodor with icy cold hands and feet. He used to tease Dazai with it, but this was not him teasing.

Fyodor’s face is soft and genuine and as he removes his hand, followed by a weak smile.

“I thought I should probably contribute to the masterpiece.”

Fyodor leaves before Dazai can say anything as he presses his hand against his now cold cheek, looking into his reflection in the glass windows.

A baby blue handprint had made itself home on Dazai’s cheek, where Fyodor had touched him.

A smile came to his face.

“So you weren’t incapable after all,” Osamu says, softly.

How peculiar...

[soulwillower]

right • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader smut)

requested: fluffy smut with richie reuniting after 27 years

warning: swearing i assume, smut, fluff 

[this takes place during chapter 2!]

1.1k words

♡

when richie’s hotel door swings open, it looks like he was waiting for you.

he must’ve known you’d come up sooner or later. he looks like he knows why you’re here, like he saw the glances you were giving him earlier at dinner. he looks how you feel: lost, relieved, scared, and happy. 

but he’s staring at you now, so you force your voice to work even though your thoughts were swimming. “richie.” you start, unsure if you’re talking to a stranger or the boy you once were in love with.

“hi, y/n.” he says simply, a thoughtful look on his face as he lets you through his door. that’s not the way you remember him. he was always all screams and laughter and wide grins and windswept hair.

him. your richie.

you slowly look around his room which looks a lot like your own hotel room before you look back up to him. peering at his face, you see flashes of a young boy with coke bottle lenses and bandaids on his knee, cigarette in hand. you see your younger self, sitting next to him and pressing a kiss to his lips while he flings an arm around you.

how could you forget richie?

he chuckles a little bit, running his fingers over his face and breaking your trance. you watch him carefully. “we-” he starts again before huffing out a short laugh. “i forgot you existed for twenty-something fucking years.” he states and you nod. you’re feeling overwhelmed.

“do you... remember? us?” you ask softly. he just nods at you, a grin on his face. your stomach flips and you beam at him. “of course i remember. you were smokin’ back then. and you still are now, if i do say so myself.” he says cheekily, making you chuckle.

“well...we have to make up for lost time, then.” you say, tentatively putting his arm around your hips. your hands fall on his shoulders easily, “i guess we do, y/n/n.” he whispers, pulling you in for a kiss. you can't help but think of how easy this feels. how right.

it feels like the kind of kiss people wait 27 years for; it’s passionate, and he slowly pushes you down onto the bed behind you.

you look up at him and lift your shirt off, then grab the collar of his shirt and pull him on top of you. he groans, “fuck, you’re so perfect, y/n.” you blush into the kiss like you’re 14 again.

he’s kissing you just how you remember, but this time with thirty years of experience and a need to reclaim all that time as your own. together.

you feel warm inside.

a few minutes later richie’s pulling your pants down, pressing kisses onto your stomach and rubbing your thighs. you’re panting and almost 100% sure you’re going to have hickies to cover up tomorrow. you laugh lightly - you haven’t had hickies since college. "what're you giggling' at?" he asks playfully, poking your sides. it’s so sweet you might cry. 

you shake your head, "just you, richie." you whisper. you sigh as he kisses you, his fingers slipping down to rub against your heat, slipping one finger inside of you. you gasp at the feeling and he adds another immediately, kissing your hairline as he mutters, “holy shit.” 

he starts pumping his fingers into you slowly and your breathing comes out in stutters of pleasure, your fingers glued to his shoulders. he kisses you as he picks up the pace, thumb rubbing against your clit softly. you buck your hips up and he smiles into the kiss. you can’t stop whimpering as he works on you, his fingers moving deftly inside you and making you sigh with pleasure. 

his lips dance over your neck, your chest, your stomach and then he’s coming back up to kiss you again, pulling his fingers out of you. 

he strokes your hair as he grinds himself into you gently, kissing your forehead before kissing your lips. you feel his hard cock through his pants and you slip your hands down to unbuckle his pants. he pushes them off and kisses you again, pumping himself a few times.

“i need you.” you say quietly, kissing him softly as you feel him teasing your entrance. one of his hands laces with yours as he kisses back. "you have me." he mumbles against your lips. your stomach does a flip.

he groans lowly as he sinks into you. you gasp at the sensation, your hands falling on his large shoulders as he bottoms out. you whimper a little when he starts to move but he’s kissing your neck and your cheek and your lips and it’s suddenly feeling right.

it feels right to be with him and the thought of that overwhelms you. “i missed you,” you utter through gasps as he sets a pace. you feel the familiar sensation of pleasure and move your hips along with his, chasing your high.

he fills you up, making your toes curl as he kisses you. “i missed you too, sugar.” he mutters, eyes shut in pleasure as he thrusts into you.

his hands are everywhere, stroking your sides, your face and your breasts as he fucks into you.

 it's sweet, tender, and you can't stop whimpering his name as your stomach clenches in pleasure. he’s filling you perfectly. your hands rake down his back before threading into his hair. you bite your lip, covering a smile of pleasure as he hits the spot deep inside of you that makes you gasp.

“richie!” you moan, your hands threading through his hair as his thumb drops to rub at your clit. “i’m close.” you whisper in his ear. he's making you feel better than you ever have before and your mind flashes to how in love you were with him. he looks at you, a ghost of a smile lingering in his face as he thrusts into you and then he kisses you again.

this kiss is slower - it’s meaningful, loving, and conveys more than words ever could. you finish together, his thrusts slowing your a stop as you both ride out your highs. he pulls out, kissing you softly before pulling your body closer to his, pulling the covers over both of you.

this is where i’m supposed to be, you think. this is right.

[lavendersoft]

My Soulmate’s Soulmate.

Part 5

Soulmate! AU-

Synopsis: Before you meet your soulmate your world is black and white, without color. When soulmates meet, their world glows with vibrancy. The reality, however, as harsh and uncommon as it is, is that you are not always your soulmate’s soulmate.

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, Taehyung x Reader, Jungkook x Taehyung (poly!au)

Warnings: some angst.

Author’s Notes: there’s a lot of crack in this one.

--

They both noticed Jungkook as soon as he entered the building, his presence notably panicked.

He was dressed in his usual comfortable work attire. His hair looked ruffled and messy as if he’d been running his fingers through it, something he does when he’s stressed or nervous.

Jungkook all but ran to where they were seated when he spotted them. His eyes darting back and forth between the two.

“What happened Why are you..?” he asked cautiously.

You stood up to calm your partner as much as you could. Wrapping your arms around his torso gently and leaned to kiss him on the cheek.

You knew the news was going to break him. Somewhere deep down you think he may have already suspected it, but was choosing to disregard the signs. Then again, you hadn't the slightest idea when the same thing happened to you. The dreaded memory replays in your mind over and over, “I can’t see color, Y/n.” until tears start to swell in your eyes. You wouldn't wish this fate on anyone, especially not your own soulmate. Then a thought rushes over you. Glancing over to Taehyung you give him a teary, sympathetic smile. He was going through the same predicament. Still, he keeps a semi-stoic facade.

“I think you’d better sit down, Kookie.”

He did so immediately after giving you a wary glance. Taking the seat across from Tae who watched the couple intently, Jungkook was practically vibrating in his shoes with anxiety.

“Someone please tell me.”

You and Taehyung exchanged a quick look before you gave a curt nod.

“Jungkook,” Tae started, “There’s been a huge misunderstanding. From all of us.”

Jungkook gave Taehyung a curious look.

“What do you mean?”

Rip off the bandaid, Y/n.

“Jungkook, you’re not Taehyung’s soulmate.”

The air went cold around you when your boyfriend’s eyes shot towards your direction. 

“I am.” The words felt unnatural to say. 

Jungkook’s eyes shot between the pair in front of him, his mouth trying to find the correct words.

“What do yo- How did you- what are you talking about?”

“I didn’t start seeing color until the night I met Y/n.” Tae stated quietly.

Jungkook’s face displayed a range of emotions, from confusion to skepticism to distress to realization. Jungkook’s shoulders relaxed as he leaned back in his seat. His hands reaching up to cover his face as he laughed bitterly.

“I’m such a fucking dumbass.”

The instinct to comfort your soulmate came over you like a tsunami. You prayed he didn’t push you away.

He didn’t. In fact, he pulled you into his lap and buried his head in your neck. His heartbeat was racing and you could tell how much this must hurt him. You reach up to smooth his unruly hair and bring him as much solace as you could.

“You’re not. We all made the same mistake. We didn’t read the signs well. It’s not your fault.”

“Yeah, it’s not exactly a common situation.” Tae added. You nodded your head in thanks.

“Exactly.”

After Jungkook’s breath had stabled and after a minute of Tae fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat, you figured you should get off Jungkook’s lap as not make Tae too uncomfortable. Tae, the gentleman he is, quickly offered you his seat while he went off to search for another chair to bring over.

Jungkook was in deep thought for a while. You figured you should give him some space while you continued to make small talk with Taehyung.

“So the cover art is coming along well?” You asked absent mindlessly. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jungkook’s head shoot up in alarm.

“It’s okay, Jungkook,” you murmur as you don't want to upset him more, “I know you’ve been seeing him. I’m not angry, I understand.” You explained. Jungkook’s eyes shift down in guilt as if he were a kicked puppy, avoiding eye contact with you.

Taehyung smiled and nodded, “Yeah, I think we’ve actually decided on a piece. But Jungkook insists that you’re not allowed to see it until debut.”

“What? That’s not fair!” You pouted and crossed your arms, trying to lift the heavy mood.

“Trust me, you love it.” Jungkook spoke, his voice soft.

After saying your goodbyes to Taehyung and promising to contact him again, you and your boyfriend went home. He was quiet most of the night until walking into the bathroom while you were putting on a much-needed face mask.

“We need to talk.”

“Hm. That doesn’t sound good.” You responded.

“No, it’s actually just a proposition.”

You lifted your eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“Don't get mad, okay? It’s just an idea.” Ugh. You’ve heard that before and the aftermath is never good.

 He took a deep breath,

“What if we,” His tongue darted out to wet his lips in nervousness, “What if we tried a polyamorous relationship?”

You nearly dropped your bottle of toner in shock.

“What?!” The idea had actually already crossed your mind but you'd never tell him that. You figured he wouldn't want to but your soulmate is an unpredictable one.

“Please, just listen!” He took in a deep breath,

“This situation couldn't be any more perfect, for the circumstances at least. I love you so much, Y/n. If you aren’t my soulmate I’m glad that you’re my soulmate’s soulmate. It’s like a love triangle!”

You sigh, leaning a hand on the counter to stabilize yourself and your thoughts. 

“A love triangle isn’t a good thing, Kook.”

“Okay, then.. a love circle, Miss Technicality.”

You started to feel like such a pessimist next to your optimistic boyfriend.

“Jungkook, we’ve been in relationship for years. We just met Taehyung. We need to give it sometime before we go asking him to join a polyamorous relationship with people he just met two weeks ago.”

“So, then, you’ll consider it?”

“I don’t want to scare him off for your sake. But, yes, I’ll consider it. However, we have to do it the right way. Let’s start with one of us asking him on a date.”

“It should be you.”

You were a little dazed at his suggestion.

“Me?”

“It’s only fair. I’ve been on a few ‘dates’ with him already. I know him pretty well. It’s you who needs to get to know him. Not only that, but I’m sure he’ll be happy about it. With you being his soulmate and all. But!” He holds up a finger as if to scold you,

“No kissing! Not until he agrees to date us!”

You’re half tempted to bite his finger but instead you decide to pull him in for a hug.

“Seems a bit blackmail-ish but,”

For the first time in a long time, you have hope for the future of your relationship.

“Deal.”

—

The cell phone in your hand feels like a stone.

Five days have passed since you met Taehyung at the bookstore. Jungkook continued to meet Taehyung for the finishing of his cover art. He promised he’d keep it professional although you were a bit doubtful. That would be close to impossible at this point. 

I wonder what Tae thinks about all this. Is he uncomfortable meeting Jungkook after finding out that he’s Jungkook’s soulmate? Are they really keeping it as professional as Jungkook makes it seem? 

Is it really a good idea to make a commitment to a poly relationship with all of these suspicions?

Ah. You’re stalling yourself again. You’ve been dreading making the phone call that your boyfriend so eagerly awaits.

“It’s easy. Just call him and ask. That’s it. You’re his soulmate so he’ll be more than welcoming of the invitation.” Jungkook’s been trying to coerce you since he brought up the idea.

“I’ve never done it before,” You explain, “You’re the only real partner I’ve ever had and you made the first move, remember?”

He grins at the warm memory.

“You were so cute and bashful.”

“Obviously. I’d just met my soulmate. Anyway, focus.” You have such a hard time fighting the smile that threatens to spread across your face. Jungkook always seems to bring out the fondness in you. He definitely knew how to play that to his advantage. He gets everything we wants just by giving you that puppy dog pout.

“Ask him if he wants to go with you to get bulgogi. He loves that. Tell him you were craving it and you thought of him, he’ll get all flustered. Guaranteed.”

“Well, aren’t you the charmer. I knew you a flirt but damn.” You land a playful punch to his shoulder. You try to calm all your nerves and the voice in the back of your mind.

“Here goes everything, then.”

The phone rings only once.

“Hello?” His deep voices chimes through the speaker.

“Hey. It’s Y/n.”

“I know.” You could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“You know?”

“Caller ID, Y/n. You think I wouldn't save my own soulmate’s number? Plus, I’ve kinda been expecting your call.”

You roll your eyes knowing Jungkook could see your face turn three different shade of red from embarrassment.

“YeaH-” your voice and your resolve cracks, “-ehem, yeah, I was just calling to um... ask if you wanted to like, uh, meet me tomorrow night for some bulgogi.” Your boyfriend silently coaches you as you continue, urging you on.

“It’s just that I’ve been craving you- I mean it! I’ve been craving it. And I thought of you.” 

And I want to die.

Jungkook hits the ground laughing. You know Tae could probably hear him. 

“Well if that's the case, how could I refuse?” Tae’s voice is smooth and confident. He’s just as flirty and aloof as Jungkook is. How the hell are you gonna survive two playboy boyfriends?

“Great. Meet me at six?”

“I’d prefer picking you up if you don't mind.” 

“Oh. S-sure. Yeah, that's fine. See you tomorrow?” You hate the way your voice trembles.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” With that he hangs up, leaving you a blushy, embarrassed mess. You look down to see Jungkook squirming with uncontained laughter. The next thing he knows he’s being chased with the slipper you’d been wearing.

“You asshole! It’s not funny! That was so embarrassing! Stop laughing, I swear to God, Jungkook!” 

“It’s not my fault you’re so fucking terrible at flirting! Like what the hell was that, Y/N!”

--

Taglist: @ourwhispersbecomeouranthems @fantasyjoon  @ally22042000 @ireadfanficsonthisleavemealone @embrace-themagic  @lexi-tries-art @ccmemoirs @just-call-me-trash-can @karlykim92 @omg-sol-s-dreamland

[dolanswhore]

Moonlight. (5) never going home.

Series masterlist. ||| 

Tags : @graydolan12

The morning wasn't a friend to her, the cold, crisp morning air danced along her face causing red cheeks along with goosebumps to show for it. The moment her eyes opened, the sun shined against them from the window, lighter color iris expanding, waking in it's blaze. Despite how warm the wools and furs underneath her were, she noticed the beautifully sown, brown fur drapped across her shoulders and tied into a perfect knot forged from some kind of leaves against her neck. One of the twins had to notice how cold she was and instinctively fixed the problem. On the table sat a bowl of freshly picked strawberries, which the two males retrieved this morning, but there was no sign of either one.

Without even thinking, feet carrying her to the exit of the shack. It didn't feel right, something stirring deep in her stomach, warning her this wasnt a good idea, it wasnt right to be leaving them. She continued to run though, with thoughts of her family, seeing them again, seeing her friends, telling them about the beast that guards this forest. It was difficult with no shoes, branches and sharp rocks creating bruises and bleeding cuts with every step.

Y/N was running so fast, her eyes squeezed shit from the chilly wind drying her eyes, which caused her inevitable crash into a large, solid tree that knocked her right onto her rear with a loud gasp. When finally opening her eyes, mouth falling ajar, it wasn't a tree she ran into but the wall of a man Grayson. His arms crossed against his hard, solid chest, a snarl clearly shown against features. Disappointment as well, as he clicks his tongue. Disappointing him didn't sit well in her stomach, squeezing and gargling causing heat to pain her chest. All she could think was how stupid of a pull the moon goddess gave her.

"How could you be so foolish?" Grayson's feelings were obviously hurt, his one and true mate running from the home he had provided for her. "You know what is in these woods. Do you want to be killed? And look at your feet. You hurt yourself in the process, and didn't even succeed."

She says nothing, only hangs her head low at his ill words. Those words burn in Grayson's throat, even the comment of death makes him sick to his stomach. "I'm sorry, i shouldn't have said that to you."

It is sincere, but she still can't help but feel a burning inside his chest. She couldn't deny she was mated to these two males, feelings with them were just to easy to feel, too strong, and with her body showing how much she hates making him upset. "What have me and Ethan done wrong? Why are you running away my half?"

She chooses not to answer, to turn her head back towards the direction of the shack, stumbling as she stood. She manages to limp a foot before Grayson's strong arms lift her bridal style carrying her the rest of the way.

Ethan was already there, a deer carelessly draped over his shoulder like it was nothing. Her eyes studying the giant bite that ended the deer's life on its neck, delievered by Ethan's beast side. Grayson had already told him through the mind link the two shared. Y/N could tell he knew because the same look of disappointment that covers Grayson's features are replicated against Ethan's.

Both followed her inside, Grayson resting her against the furs gently as Ethan graps the bowl on strawberries placing them next to her, "Eat."

Her feet stung, the look on her face said it all. She expected them to help her, freak out that she had injured herself seeing they were so protective, but nothing came. She couldn't wabble to the bucket of water if she wanted too, her feet were sore, raw to the touch, the furs of the blanket worsing them. Wincing in pain, she held her right foot, by nature, the one she favored and held it to nurse it. She expected at least one of them to help, but felt her heart drop to her stomach as both turn away without a glance. Shoulders sludged instead of how tall and strong they always stand, like kings. Her attempted escape for freedom, not only hurt her feet but broke the hearts of the two males that would do anything for her.

After hours of anticipation her stomach growls not only in hunger but from how hot her chest burned at sadness she created for the twins. Luckily she did manage to clean her cuts, wrapping her feet in patches of animal skins that were dried out and left in a box. The forest's bandaid. When the door did finally open, the smell hit her instantly, all of a sudden the males help a srong, sweet smell. When closing eyes all she could see is vanilla and cinnamon, but behind them but not as strong, the smell of smoked deer meat that they carry on plates made of clay, by their hands. The forest smell was many things, metallic, flowers, the wind even seemed to have its own smell.

No words were said, they barely even glanced at her, leaving that sickening twisting of her stomach. The males got three plates out, placing an heaping amount of food on theirs and enough food on hers to keep her full for days. They say nothing, Ethan just reaches over the table placing it to the opposite side of him with a small thud.

They eat without her, like some kind of exile. Y/N couldn't take it anymore, their pain was her pain. Standing wasn't easy, but didn't hurt as much either. With every step a new sound of pain left her lips, leaving the twins mouth dry, Ethan pushes his food away, suddenly not hungry. She stops right in front of them, dropping to her kness. She looks at Ethan and Grayson, meeting their eyes with sincerity. "I'm sorry. It hurts disappointing you like this. I just wanted to see my family, don't hate me." The thought alone making her heart crumble inside her chest.

It was a churn inside both of the Male's stomachs. A knot forming seeing their queen on her knees in front of them. She was a queen, a queens are equal to their kings."Don't you gravel to us."

Grayson's fingers wrap around hers, helping her onto his lap. "Never do that again." Ethan mumbles, hating the sight of it. "We will always forgive you. You were crafted from the moon for us, my heart."

She had never felt so much love as her cheeks fill with heat, a small blush warming every inch of her body. Without thinking her nose falls into Grayson's neck, mocking the way he does to her, sniffing the sweet smell of cinnamon. Grayson's body burns at her touch, a pleasurable sting that warms his cheeks and thighs. Ethan and Grayson look at each other shocked. "You smell so good."

Next she crawls onto Ethan's lap, nose pressed against his carotid vein, the place her mark will lay. Vanilla so strong her stomach twists as her tongue meets the skin, a small moan falls from Ethan's mouth. Involuntary, but she was touching his most sensitive spot, the spot the held so much meaning amoung wolves. "You do too. I could smell both of you forever."

Grayson's nose now takes in her scent, her chest pressed against her back, heat where they touch. Her skin begins to buzz as Ethan mimics his brother, lips wrapping around her shoulder, sucking the skin that it will leave purple marks. "I like when you touch me."

"Your wolf is in her wake." Grayson's fingers trailing against both of her arms, soaking up the heat along them. "Being with your mates must have brought her along. You're smelling us, which means you must smell the forest against us."

"Tell us what you smell." Nose against the tanned skin of Ethan had him shivering. "You smell of that deer you killed earlier." Her hands bring one of his to her nose, "berries, and dirt."

She was back to Grayson, straddling his lap, her nose to his chest, "water, and leaves." His hands to her, "ashes, and cooked deer meat."

"Seems like we have a great hunter, Ethan." Ethan smiles in agreement, large arms crossing over his chest. Looking up at Grayson in confusion, his nose presses to her neck. "A great nose you have, you will be a gifted hunter and tracker."

Ethan is taking in her intoxicating scent as well, "and you smell like us, my little hunter."

Ethan's long fingers hold a piece of deer meat out, she leans closely, taking a bite from it. They were providing for her, filling her with the food of their hunt, nothing comes with greater respect.

She continues to take food from their hands, in their culture, the greatest sign of acceptance, the greatest honor she could give them. After dinner, their belly's full, Grayson had carried her to the warm comfort of the furs. "Sleep. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow." With a soft touch of her cheek bone and a kiss to her forehead. Ethan was right behind him, sniffing her scent and placing a kiss against her hair.

"Why?"

"We have decided to go back and take our rightful place."

The memories of the moon goddess talking through Grayson fills her head with vivid images. "Where are you guys going?"

"To train."

"Sleep." Ethan says softly, pulling the furs to her chin. "Tomorrow we should you our way of life, the way we were raised. Tomorrow you will be trained as the great warrior we know you will be."

With one more kiss to her head, they were of into the night, not returning until the sun had risen. The lines of the moon once again painted against their skin, blood smeared across their lips, a sacrifice to the moon goddess for great fortunes.

In Ethan's hand were a small wooden box, a small rattling sound with every step taken towards Y/N. "Goodmorning."

Grayson's couldn't help but touch her, fingers under her chin to meet his yellow eyes. "Would you like to bathe?"

She nods unsure. Feet are better today, a little sting but not enough that she was able to walk. The morning was beautiful, it was hot for what the past days have been, almost like mother nature was giving one last day of sunshine before the deadliness of winter comes. The strong smell of cleaness, along with the swishing of water, she knew they were close to the source.

Grayson was the first to strip, pulling the linen cloth down his muscular thighs. Her mouth dries instantly at the sight. Ethan was soon to follow, water reaching to his belly button, her cheeks heat at the sight of them. Mountains of hard muscles, chest swelling into pecs, defined stomachs. All eyes were on her. " i am not getting naked in front of you."

"Modesty isn't know along our kind. " Grayson takes the bar of soap that was shaped like a jar, guessing he or ethan had made it themselves.

"Its normal to be naked, natural." Ethan offers as Y/N shakes her head.

"Lesson 1 of today. Most of the pack will be naked, when you shift wolves don't wear clothes. Now come bathe with us my half." Grayson's hand extends holding the soap out for Ethan to take.

"Turn around."

"We are your mates we will see you naked eventually."

"Not today wolf."

Ethan and Grayson follow her wishes, turning for they cant see the sight of her, only the thousands of trees in front of them. The water is cold against her legs but feels so good, the grime against her feet already peeling from her skin. She's not as tall as the males, but stands for her nipples are covered. "Soap please."

Ethan and Grayson turn at the same time, eyes roaming the bare skin of her shoulders, the swells of the top of her breast. Ethan's soft hands meet hers. "Let me wash you my heart."

"No, I got it." It was hesitant, but she stayed strong, her fingers taking the soap, pressing the bar against her bare skin.

"We made you this." Grayson stands above the pond, nakedness making her cheeks pinch pink. A beautiful silk dress, tan, seeing it was made from a deerskin, sewn beautifully at the sides, from the hands of the two males.

"It's beautiful."

Grayson smiles sweetly, as Ethan exits the water as well. "Come, your training starts soon."

"What about breakfast?" The twins turn around, allowing her to slip on the soft dress, it fit exact, showing off the curves of a woman. "That is next the lesson, to find your own."

Ethan and Grayson dress themselves in their linens. "Come here."

She is placed between Ethan's legs as his soft hands squeeze her hair, allowing the moisture to fall against his thighs. The comb runs through her knotty hair quickly with his strength. Grayson sits in front of her, legs crossed. A green thick muck of pain in the palm of his hand as his fingers draw lines against her face. "I just took a bath wolf."

He rolls his eyes as her hand meets his, stopping him mid line. "How will the moon ever see you then my half? She will see you as a warrior."

Ethans fingers began braiding her hair into tight little braids, corn rolls against her head. At the end of every braid bead of red, blue and gold are placed. "Why are you putting these in my hair?"

"The female warriors wear these. Its a sign of strength, of endurance. The red represents the blood you spill for the pack, the blue shows loyalty to the moon and pack. The gold show you are mated."

Grayson and Ethan finish quickly. Grayson's finger always seem to find her skin, while Ethan allows her to have time to adjust but Ethan couldn't help bit touch her cheek, dried paint against fingers. "You look beautiful."

"A dream, truly." Grayson talks as well, both hearts swelling for their female.

"What if I don't want to be a warrior?" She doesn't meet their eyes, head handing low not wanting to actually know.

"You were born for it. A luna must protect her pack."

"I don't want to be luna either." Ethan sighs, the feeling of his fingers missed as he removes them. Grayson's lips kiss her shoulders, "you were born for that as well. You were never taught these ways, you were raised wrong."

"I was not raised wrong! My family loves me."

"You're family has wakened you. Left you defenseless against these woods." She looks at Ethan, the one who usually agrees with her but is suprised as his eyes are hard, agreeing with his brother.

"Will I ever go home?" She felt sick as Ethan answered, "No."

If she has eaten, it would be all over the ground in front of her, but instead her lip quivers, pushing away Ethan and Grayson's comforting touch. "Why?"

Both look at the ground, grayson decides to speak, feeling his brother's heart thump against his chest. "You'll never come back if we allow you to go."

Chapter 6 coming next week!! Let me know if you want to be tagged.

[waywardrose13]

Whispered to the Wind

Request from Anonymous: Can u write an angsty sister!winchester fic where the reader is Dean’s younger sister, and Dean’s always finding some reason to fight with her, mainly bcuz John treated he nicer, and she sells her soul for him, and before she goes to hell, she tries to fix things with Dean, but he didn’t listen, and kept fighting with her, and then he and Sam realize that she sold her soul for Dean, but when they get to her, they realize it’s too late??? Thanks lol. Sorry it’s long

Pairing: Winchesters x Sister!Reader

Word count: 6489 (Wowza)

Warnings: ANGST, language, character death, violence, neglect towards a sibling, Dean’s a dick, Sam’s a dick, favoritism, (what could be counted as) abuse, depression, loneliness, crossroads deal, self loathing, self blame, not enough editing to satisfy me

A/N: This is long and angsty and I’m not sorry. I hope you like this, anon! It took a while for me to get back into a writing mood so I don’t know how this turned out. I hope it’s decent lol.

Feedback is encouraged and greatly appreciated! It’s what keeps me motivated and it always makes me smile:)

Masterlist

Y/N Winchester didn’t have many friends. One of the many downsides of being a hunter. But because of this, her secrets would pile up. Inside her mind, memories of bad days or hunts, or feelings that left her in the dark, would stay inside her mind, going unheard of.

Except, she had one way of letting things out. One body who she trusted with everything. Who she would lay down with, feeling the soft strokes of them against her skin.

She would turn her face up to the sky, and whisper to the wind, letting it carry her secrets with her. Her words would eventually fade, but the wind kept every tone, rolling it this way and that way as it moved, carrying her darkest secrets to the lightest parts of the Earth.

The wind would whisper back; soft howls in the night, whistles through the trees. It was a way of communication. Y/N’s way of knowing she was never truly alone. That the wind carried much more than the leaves and scattered promises, but the souls of those before her. Spirits who floated about the Earth, allowing the wind to move them as it may.

No matter what happened, Y/N would always lean on the current outside. And whether or not she could hear it, she still whispered to the wind, letting her secrets float along with it.

***

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Dean growls. Y/N flinches at his tone. Dean rarely talks to her, and if he does, it’s usually in an accusatory voice or one of anger and disgust. But she will never get used to it, not coming from her older brother.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” she murmurs. “Really. I didn’t mean to.”

“Take it easy on her, Dean,” Sam says, placing a hand on his older brother’s shoulder. Dean shrugs him off, his emerald eyes trained on her with fury.

“You need to grow up. Stop acting like an immature spaz. You could have blown our cover and gotten us all killed with how much noise you made,” Dean says. She frowns.

“I was pushed down the stairs, Dean,” she tells him. “It wasn’t exactly my fault. And we’re all alive, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, we’re all alive. But is the victim alive? Is little fourteen year old Courtenay alive? No!” He yelled, he shoved her, making her stumble back a few paces. She winces at the throb in her shoulder from her fall, but held her tongue. She’s used to the shoves, now. And she’s used to his words. “She’s dead because you’re a fucking spaz who can’t even handle a goddamn spirit.”

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Like I said-” He pushes her back. Hard. She topples over his bag and falls onto her back with a grunt- “Spaz.”

He stalks off, leaving his things in the library. She picks herself up, blowing cool air on her scuffed and stinging hands. She sighs, shoulders slumping as she looks over at Sam. He stares at her, a torn look on his face.

She bites her lip before trudging away from him, slipping her bag back over her shoulder and walking towards her room. Sam frowns as he watches her go.

Dean has always been cruel towards her. He’d pick fights with her and constantly nip and nag. She was their younger half sister, John becoming soul caretaker of her when she was four. She was his little girl. He showered her with love and affection, bringing her gifts from when he traveled across the country, with or without the boys. She stayed with Bobby usually, but that didn’t stop John from letting her choose her bed in the motel room when she did tag along, or let her sit up front even though she wasn’t old enough. He let her have the extra food, or the extra blanket, let Y/N choose where they ate. Sam was jealous of her for a long time. She had so much more attention than he and Dean combined, even though she hadn’t known him for as long. When John died, Y/N was ten, and that’s when her life turned around drastically. She no longer was allowed to sit in the passenger seat, or choose her bed (usually being forced to sleep on the floor if there wasn’t a couch), she had no say in the restaurants. The brothers thought she’d be a brat about it, that they’d be able to rub it in her face that now John was no longer alive, she had to suffer how they did.

But she didn’t complain. Not once. Inside, she was hurting. Because she now realized how much her brothers detested her. No matter if she used to offer her bed to her brothers, even if she chose it. No matter if she pushed them to help in restaurant choices. No matter if she used to offer to share her extra food. No, none of that was remembered by the brothers. They remembered how John had treated her. How she had it so much better than they did.

Years went by. Sam began to soften towards her, and in a way Dean did as well. Sam eventually realized it wasn’t her fault and over the years, his jealousy had melted away, leaving behind the guilt of treating his sister so poorly for so many years. Dean, however, never let up his relentless bad attitude. He picked fights with her mostly, over the simplest things at that. But no matter what, Sam always chose Dean’s side. Even if the jealousy was gone, underneath was still the kid who had been angry at her for so many years. And even if he was softer towards her, he was still cold.

She was twenty-two now, and Dean’s attitude never changed. Sam still chose him. But she chose them.

A few weeks later, Y/N drops a dish to the ground. It shatters on the floor, shards sliding across the smooth tile. Dean slams his fist down onto the table, making her jump and slice her foot. She only winces.

Dean groans and Sam watches silently as his brother gets up. He doesn’t say anything, jaw set firmly as he stalks over to her. He watches as she grabs a dish rag and bends down to clean up the broken porcelain.

“See, remember this the next time you hold someone’s life in your hands,” Dean says, sneering. “Because if you can’t even handle taking care of a damn plate-” he jerks his foot up, knocking the rag from her hand, sending the pieces back to the floor. The clatter makes Sam flinch, and he closes his eyes- “Imagine what would happen with a human life.”

She cleans it up without a word, ignoring the throb in her foot. Small trails of blood are left behind with each step she takes, but she doesn’t realize it. Not until he does.

“Oh great, now look,” Dean sighs, annoyed. He pushes on her shoulder as she looks down at the red against gray. “Well? Clean it up.”

She huffs, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around her foot before taking the sponge and wiping up the blood.

“There? You happy?” She bites back. She tosses the sponge into the sink and walks away without another word.

Life goes on for Y/N. It’s similar to that, her daily life constantly filled with negative comments and picks at her. She does a good job of not letting it bother her. Dean has a sweet side. It usually only shows itself when he’s drunk. He’ll hug her and sit with his arm around her on the couch, and sometimes even apologize. He’ll tell her how great of a hunter and person she is, telling her that his anger was really pointed towards their father, not her.

But sober Dean rarely showed that side. He’d go on, pretending nothing happened the night before, like he wasn’t brotherly to her. She never brought it up to him, she had learned that the hard way.

Dean had his moments. Tiny slivers of care would slip through his mask sometimes. Like how he gave her a bandaid after getting a papercut, not saying anything. How he makes her coffee in the morning, just right for her taste, like clockwork. How he always remembers to pick up a packet of mint gum and the new issues of the magazines she reads. He’ll even pull her close, or kiss her forehead as he walks by. It’s the little things that prove he cares. And even though she has been put through his wrath, she loves him.

***

Something had gone horribly wrong.

Dean gurgled and choked as the blood seeped into his lungs. He clutched his ripped open chest, his insides spilling from his torso. Y/N’s stomach twisted as she sprinted across the field, screaming her throat raw as tears spilled down her cheeks. Sam had taken care of the wendigo with much difficulty, joining his siblings.

“Get off!” Sam snapped, pushing his sister back who was desperately trying to hold together their torn open brother. “This is your fault!”

She swallowed back the insult, knowing it was no use. Knowing it was true. She had tried jumping in front of Dean, trying to save him. But she tripped, only pushing him further into the monster. Landing them where they were now.

She watched from a short distance as Sam tried desperately to hold Dean together, tears flowing down both younger siblings’ cheeks as his failed attempts only made them that much more anguished. Sam moved to Dean’s chest, bringing his hands up to his heart, pumping it. Y/N’s stomach rolled, and she quickly leaned over to deposit what was left of her lunch.

Y/N fell down onto her rear, legs coming up against her chest as she sobbed, E/C eyes trained on her eldest brother; the brother who never cared for her; the brother she loved unconditionally.

Her heart shattered when Sam stopped his movements, his fingers fumbling for a pulse through all the blood and his shaky hands. He let out a low cry when he found none, hands fisting themselves into Dean’s torn jacket, forehead leaning down to rest on his shoulder.

“No!” Y/N cried, fist pounding against her heart, the pain unbearable. She had lost her siblings in the past, but each time hurt no less.

Sam’s head snapped up at the sound of her voice, and he let out a low snarl. Getting up from his dead brother, he stalked over to her, bending down and lifting her by the collar of her shirt.

“This is your fault!” He slammed her back against a tree, her head cracking against the bark painfully. She groaned, and his hand closed itself around her throat.

“Sam, ple-please!” She said, hands gripping his wrist. He brought his knee up, colliding it with her stomach. She hunched over, and he took the time to bring his fist up against her cheek.

“Go to hell, Y/N,” he hissed, throwing her down to the ground. She landed on the gravel and the rocks and the bloody grass, eyes unfocused as his words replayed in her mind.

Sam picked Dean’s lifeless body off the ground, stepping around his sister and carrying him through the forest to the green-eyed hunter’s beloved car. But Y/N stayed put, chest heaving and fingers going numb as she thought, as she whispered.

Go to hell, Y/N.

Sam’s voice rang in her mind, and it was then that she knew what she had to do. It wasn’t like her life had purpose anyway. All she did was burden her brothers, and it wasn’t like they wanted her around anyway. No matter how much she loved them, she knew that no matter what, she’d never have that love back. She felt as though Sam had warmed up to her, but the blatant disregard of her proved otherwise. And with the words of only living Winchester brother still fresh in her mind, those words drifting along the current around her, she swallowed thickly, rising from the ground. She knew exactly what had to be done, and she set off towards the car to do exactly that.

***

Covering up the box, Y/N didn’t feel one hint of nerves. She knew that this would be the best for everyone, and she stood up feeling as though for the first time in her life, she was doing something truly meaningful.

“Hello, little Winchester,” a sultry voice said. Y/N turned, eyes landing on a pale woman with light auburn hair cascading down her back. Brown eyes locked on hers seductively.

“Hello,” Y/N said.

“I’m assuming you’re here to trade your soul for someone else’s,” the demon said. She looked Y/N up and down, smirking. “Every Winchester has tried it once or twice.”

“Bring Dean back,” Y/N said, straightening her spine.

“Ah, pretty boy got himself taken down, hm?” The demon laughed, placing a hand on her hip. “Never thought he’d be the first to truly go.”

“Please. I’ll go with you now, just please bring him back.”

“Eager,” the demon smiled. “Well now, problem is, dear; Dean has killed many of us. Why the hell should I bring him back?”

“Because I’m giving you my soul,” Y/N said.

The demon laughed loudly, her head thrown back, hair swaying like fire.

“You? You’re not even full Winchester!” She said, eyes flashing black. “Why would I want your soul?”

“Look, I know we- Dean- doesn’t have the best track record with demons. And I may not be full Winchester, but you’ll have half of one in hell. Isn’t half better than none?” Y/N asked, eager. She needed to do this. If she didn’t, Sam would loathe her forever, and Dean would be dead. She couldn’t bare the thought of her being alive while he’s rotting in the ground.

The demon thought for a moment, eyes trained intently on the young Winchester. The girl was right, and she’d be praised in hell for getting a Winchester down there. Smirking, the demon stepped towards Y/N.

“Alright, deal,” she said.

“Can… can you make them not remember him dying?” Y/N murmured. “I don’t want them figuring out I made a deal. It’d just make it worse.”

The demon frowned at the dejected look on Y/N’s face. She may be a demon, but something about the youngest Winchester drew her in, and she felt a pang of sympathy that she quickly tried pushing away.

“Sure,” the demon said. “But when your time is up, their memory resurfaces.”

“How long do I get?” Y/N asked.

The demon sighed. “You want me to bring Dean Winchester back? Six months. Tops. Want me to erase their memories? Three months.”

“Three?” Y/N whispered.

“Take it or leave it, hon. I don’t have all day.” She shrugged.

Y/N’s eyes closed for a moment as she nodded. “Ok.”

The demon smiled triumphantly as she pulled Y/N close, pressing her lips to hers to seal the deal.

***

Y/N carefully walked into the bunker. It had been three days since she made her deal. Neither Sam nor Dean had called her, wondering where she was. It had broken her heart that they hadn’t cared enough to phone her, but she shouldn’t have expected anything more.

Peeking her head into the kitchen, her heart swelled when she saw Dean pouring himself a cup of coffee. He was cut up and bruised, but he was alive.

Dropping her bag, she didn’t think as she rushed towards him, throwing her arms around her neck as tears streamed down her cheeks. Dean stumbled back, some coffee sloshing over the edge of his mug as his eyes widened with surprise.

“Jesus… kid, the hell are you doing?” He didn’t move to hug her back, or push her away. Y/N didn’t care if he moved or not, but not being pushed away was all she wanted. She pulled back after a few moments, smiling smally at him.

“Just… missed you is all,” Y/N said quietly. Dean raised a brow at her tears.

“Missed me? You were gone three days.” He patted her shoulder, giving her the kinder sign of “get off me.”

“Yeah, I-I know but… I missed you. Sorry.” She wiped her tears and took a few steps back.

“Oh, you’re back,” a voice said behind her. She stiffened, hoping the demon held up her end of the bargain and erased Sam’s memories too. Turning to him, she bit her lip in anticipation. “I need you to wash the dishes.”

Y/N raised her brows. “That’s… that’s it?”

Sam looked up from his tablet, meeting her eyes, then Dean’s, then hers again.

“I… do you want more chores?” Sam asked, furrowing a brow.

“You shouldn’t be giving me chores at twenty-two anyway, Sam,” Y/N said, eyes narrowing. “And no I just thought maybe you needed to say something else…?”

Sam shrugged. “No.”

Y/N nodded. “Okay. Well, I’m going to put my things away, I guess.” She turned once more, giving Dean a quick hug before taking off, bending down to retrieve her bag and headed towards her room.

The brothers shared a look, both with matching expressions of confusion on their faces.

“What the hell was that?” Dean asked. He shivered in what only could be described as disgust. “She fucking hugged me. Twice.”

Sam shrugged again. “Don’t ask me. ‘M just glad it wasn’t me.” He grabbed an apple, rubbing it on his shirt before taking a bite and walking back out of the kitchen, leaving Dean alone.

The green eyed hunter shook his head, furrowing his brows.

“Weird.” Was all he said before he took off towards the library.

***

Two Months left

A month has gone by since the deal Y/N made. Another month of neglect and hateful comments that made Y/N want to lay in bed and never leave. She hated it. Hated how much she loved them, and how much they hated her.

Sitting next to Dean at the table in the library, he shot her a quick glance before letting out a long sigh. Scooting his chair back, he grabbed his whisky bottle and lore book, leaving the room. Y/N frowned, slumping in her chair.

He didn’t even want to sit next to her.

“Dean, wait,” she said. He stopped in his tracks, and she stood up. “I just… I don’t want there to be tension like this between us.” She swallowed, her hands fidgeting. “I understand why our relationship is the way it is but… I want us to fix it. I want us to be siblings. Please.” Because I’m going to hell and want a good relationship with my brother before I go.

She looked over his shoulder, giving her a look before looking down at the ground. He seemed to think for a moment, and hesitated, before stalking off without a word. Y/N slumped down in her chair.

She knew why they despised her so much. She wished she could change the fact John had showered her with more affection than the boys. She wished they realized just how uncomfortable it made her, watching the brothers’ frowns as John brought yet another gift to her. She wished they remembered the times where she offered her bed to them, or her spot in the front seat, but they’d throw it back into her face every time.

She jumped as her duffel bag landed on the table. It was one of two, both packed and ready to go for an emergency hunt. She usually used one for any regular hunt, and by Sam throwing it to her harshly, she knew they were gearing up for something.

“Get your ass in the car,” Dean said walking back out into the library with his own duffel in hand. She didn’t realize how long she had been sitting there. The picked up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder and headed towards the garage.

***

Wincing, Y/N limped into the bathroom. She tried not to let it show just how much pain she was in.

Sam was about to get clawed to death. She saw it before he did, and once he turned, it was too late. Almost.

She tackled the wolf to the ground, taking the claws into her hip as she did so. She screamed in pain as he raked them downward, taking chunks of her flesh with him. She fumbled with her gun, killing him instantly as she pulled the trigger.

Sam and Dean hadn’t acknowledged that she saved Sam’s life. They hadn’t even said a word to her after the hunt, let alone ask if she was okay. She knew better than to pipe up, however. She had gotten herself hurt enough times for them to know that they’d just bitch at her.

Truth was, she was an excellent hunter. One of the best out there. Any hunter they had come across said so. The brothers would shrug it off, often giving the other hunters odd looks as if they had a few wires loose. They never realized how much she did. How she slipped in and out of the shadows with agility like a cat, pouncing on the monsters when the time was right. How she fought her own matches and watched her brothers’ backs like a hawk simultaneously. The only times she had gotten hurt on hunts were saving their asses. And she couldn’t even get a thank you.

Closing the bathroom door behind her, she locked it, just in case her brothers came into her room. Which, she knew they wouldn’t. Getting her own room now a days was easier, and the rare occasion that the motel didn’t have more than one vacant room was hell.

Dean’s constant bitching at her and Sam’s silence raged the wars inside her mind, and she didn’t take it unless she needed to.

Turning on the faucet, she grabbed one of the white washcloths on the counter, ripping her flannel off, leaving her in her black undershirt. Wetting the cloth, she gently lifted her torn shit, exposing the ribboned skin.

Biting her lip hard enough to draw blood, she washed the wound, wiping away any blood and dirt particles. Her raked skin moved with each swipe, and silent tears streamed down her face at the excruciating pain.

But she was a Winchester. And she had been doing this on her own since she was thirteen.

So she gritted her teeth and finished cleaning the wound, stitching it like a pro and taking it like a woman. She stared at herself in the mirror nearly the whole time, watching the needle wave in and out of her skin with precision, her hands trembling slightly from blood loss, but face focused on her task, jaw clenched to keep her whimpers down.

She took a quick shower afterwards, making sure to rinse down any other dirt, blood and grime, grunting a few times as soap dripped into the wound.

She slept restlessly that night, thinking over how her brothers ignored her pained expression and bloody shirt. But it was nothing new. Not to her, anyway.

***

One Month Left

Y/N sat in the diner alone, hands fiddling with her phone as her eyes watched the world go by outside. She was waiting for someone, someone who had long past through her life, leaving her in the wind. She had scattered, like leaves in the Autumn, drifting silently along the current as she was swept this way and that way through across the states with her brothers.

The bells chimed above the door, and her eyes looked up, landing on the person who she was waiting for. She sat a little straighter, teeth sinking into her lower lip as he cautiously took a seat across from her.

He was a bit rougher around the edges now. It had only been two years, but for her it felt like a lifetime. You never forget your first love, and his chocolate eyes were soft and kind as they gazed into hers, reminding her of a time where she wasn’t so miserable.

“Hey, Andrew,” she said softly, lips twitching into the smallest of smiles. The man across from her smiled back, his hand reaching towards hers slowly, allowing her to pull back. But she didn’t, instead letting the first touch of comfort in years fill her with warmth, his large hand covering her smaller one, fingers interlocking slightly.

“Hey, Y/N/N,” he said softly, voice husky and dripping with honey. She sighed, looking down at their hands as her lip trembled. “What is it, pretty girl?”

He always was so kind, even after she broke it off with him. He understood why. Sam was soulless, and Dean had just resurfaced into the hunting life. After not seeing either brother for a year, she was ecstatic, but the heart crushing pain of the realization that she wasn’t missed, or barely thought of by either brother, fucked with her head. She knew Andrew didn’t deserve that. He needed someone better.

And even though her brothers didn’t give a shit about her, she didn’t want to leave them.

“I uh… I wanted to make amends, Andy,” she said. She sniffled, placing her other hand over the both of theirs. “I made a deal.”

Andrew sucked in a breath. “A deal? As in…”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Dean… he was dying and I couldn’t- couldn’t let him die.” She wiped her tears. “The world needs him. It doesn’t need me.”

Andrew let out a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly. “We’ll figure out a way to save you.”

“No,” she muttered. “If we do that, he drops dead. I can’t have that.”

“Why? Why did you do that for- for him?” Andrew asked.

“He’s my brother.” Y/N shrugged, eyes never leaving the table. “No matter what. No matter if he doesn’t…. Doesn’t care about me. I love him.”

“I know,” Andrew whispered. Y/N’s eyes locked with his finally. “So, what do you want me to do?”

Y/N bit her lip again. “I… I never stopped loving you, either. And I just… I didn’t know who else to call. I wanted to see you again. I wanted you again.”

Andrew smiled warmly at her, and he reached across the table to touch her cheek gently. She leaned into the comforting touch, lips gently pressing against his palm.

“You got me, pretty girl,” he said quietly, like a whisper of the wind. “You always got me.”

***

Y/N stirred. Rays of sunlight shined through the curtains, creating an early morning orange glow in the room. She moved a bit, feeling the heavy arm across her bare waist. She flushed a bit at the memories of the night before, but her heart had felt a bit fuller, the cracks it had sealed together a tiny bit.

Andrew’s arm tightened around her and his nose pressed into the back of her neck. She knew she needed to go. She needed to get back to the bunker and sort things out. She didn’t have much time left, and her things needed to be donated or given away properly. She didn’t trust her brothers to honor her wishes regarding them.

“Do you need to go?” He asked, his voice a purr against her back.

“Yes,” she breathed, hand closing around his. His fingers traced lines over her pelvic bone, trailing up to the swell between her breasts.

After getting dressed and freshening up, Andrew led her back out to her car hand in hand. She turned in his hold, hand cupping his cheek to press a sweet kiss to his lips.

The wind blew against them, swaying their souls in it, letting them dance in the early light before they say their final goodbye. It held the last secret “I love you” whispered to her dear, letting it travel in its current and fade away.

Watching as she climbed into her truck, he bit the inside of his cheek, willing the tears to stay put until she was driving away.

The wind kept that a secret, too.

***

The Final Day

Y/N had sorted everything out. But she had yet to tell her brothers. She wasn’t sure how. She wasn’t sure that they’d care. She spent her whole life being loathed by the people she loved most. How were you supposed to bring something up like this to people who barely tolerate you?

The hallucinations put her on edge. She knew Dean went through it years ago, and she thought maybe he’d understand. He’d remember what it felt like; knowing you were going to be ripped to shreds in a matter of hours, dragged to hell for all of eternity. Of course, his eternity was only four topside months. An angel saved him. Y/N knew the grim reality of her situation. That no one would be coming to save her. She knew she wasn’t worth it. Knew she wasn’t important enough.

So she said goodbye. She allowed her fingers to trail along the walls of the bunker, cool tile against warm fingertips. She took slow steps through the library, savoring the rustic smell of the old books, memorizing her favorite part of the bunker. She slowly made her way up the stairs and to the door, pushing it open and stepping outside to say goodbye to her old friend.

Leaning her head back, she sank to her knees, hands running over the cold grass beneath her, the sun warming her closed eyelids.

And she whispered.

She allowed every thought, every worry, every painful memory and feeling that she never shared out. She poured her soul into the wind, letting her words drift away, letting her pain float away. She wanted a smooth death. A death without regrets and pain. She wanted to die knowing that she did right in the world.

When it got close, she went back inside, sitting in the library. Her teeth were sunken into her bottom lip, eyes unfocused. Her brothers weren’t to be found, but she wanted to sit and relish in the quiet that was the bunker.

The howls grew louder, and she knew it was only a matter of minutes. She wondered if hell would be so bad. She would need to get off the rack in a matter of years, she supposed. Maybe become a janitor of hell. She didn’t want to change. Didn’t want to be altered to something evil. But deep down, she knew it was inevitable.

Dean’s voice echoed from the hall. Jumping up, she rushed towards it, stopping in her tracks at the sight of her brothers smiling and laughing, a rare thing to see. She took a mental image, wanting that to be the last thing she remembered of them.

“Hey… hey guys,” she said, swallowing thickly. They looked over at her, smiles faltering slightly.

“Hey,” Sam said. “Whatcha doing?”

“Oh, uh… nothing,” she said quietly. She moved closer to them, wringing her hands. Closing her eyes for a moment, she decided that she didn’t care what they thought at this moment, that she was going to die soon and all she wanted was a hug from her big brothers.

A single tear fell down her cheek as she leaped into Dean’s arms, squeezing him tightly to her. She could feel his breath hitch and body tense, but she didn’t care. She buried herself into him, breathing in his scent and memorizing him. Afterall, she did this for him.

It only felt like seconds before Dean was pulling away, an odd look on his face. Sam jumped a bit when she turned to him, giving him a similar treatment.

“What are you doing, kid?” Dean asked, raising a brow. Y/N pulled away from the youngest brother, taking a few steps backwards down the hall towards her room.

“I just want you guys to know that… I understand. I wish I could have been better. A better hunter, friend… sister. I wish I didn’t make you hate me so much.” She furrowed her brows, eyes blanking again. She flinched at the howl, the hounds even louder know. She swallowed thickly, continuing. “I wish… I wish I was lovable. I thought I was for a little bit. With Andrew. But I know that no one will ever truly love me. And I get it. I do. I’m not a lovable person.” She sniffed, tears falling. She laughed, rolling her eyes, wiping her cheeks. “I’m too loud! And I can’t cook. I don’t have a specific music taste and I can’t make decisions. I’m clingy and awkward and I don’t trust very well. I’m shy and clumsy and a terrible shot.” She chuckled, face screwing up. “But… I tried. I have so many other faults, and I tried to change each one. But eventually, I gave up. I realized that I fucked up so badly, I couldn’t change the way my own brothers looked at me.” She nodded a bit, looking at them again. Their faces were matching expressions of confusion. Sam almost looked guilty, but Dean… Dean’s face was somber, green eyes softer than usual. “But I want you to know that… I understand. I hope someday you can forgive me. I want you to know that… that I love you both so fucking much.” She laughed again, and wiped her nose with her sleeve. “And I understand why the feelings aren’t reciprocated. But I hope someday, you’ll look back on me and at least know that I love you.”

“Why are you saying this stuff?” Dean asked. Y/N looked at him, heart almost shattering. She reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

“You always take care of Sam, Dean,” Y/N said softly. “But promise me to take care of yourself. I love you.”

Turning away from them, she turned her head as she walked away. “I’m going for a walk.”

***

The fire burned hot; orange and yellow flames licking up towards the sky, embers spitting out and drifting silently back to the ground. The white sheet quickly caught, the unrecognizable body underneath it burning, flakes of ash the only thing left of a soul too bright for the world.

The brothers’ memories had come back, just as the demon said they would. When they found the ribboned body, heard the screams, smelt the blood… they slowly came back. Sam realized what she had done, and Dean put two and two together.

They hadn’t said a word as the prepared her for the hunter’s burial.

So here they were; outside in her favorite field. One surrounded by trees, a small pond sitting perfectly under a shade of leaves by a few willow trees. Frogs croaked and lily pads swayed against the water, the sweet, earthy smell uplifting. But that smell was trumped by the smell of burning wood and flesh.

Y/N was gone. Her last breath had been exhaled, the wind carrying it along, letting it relish in the world for a moment. Her body had been light, her soul bright, and the wind allowed it to sway with the others that still lingered on Earth, let her dance among the leaves and brush against the flowers once more.

Sam was the first to turn back. His footsteps faded away towards the bunker, but Dean remained. His eyes were set on the sheet, his mind full of pictures of what lay underneath.

There were no deals thought of. There were no rescue parties. There was just a pair of brothers who never understood the good they had in front of them, instead allowing hate and jealousy to clog their outlook on her.

Dean felt a pang of guilt. Guilt because she was dead because of him. Guilt because after all the years of torture from him, she still damned herself to hell in return for his life.

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like the guilt, the conscience that suddenly showed up and berated him for his actions towards her. So he buried it. Just like he did with everything else.

He boxed his guilt up, packing it away in the very corners of his mind, allowing himself to not feel the guilt. He couldn’t change his ways now. It was too late.

When he finally turned away, the flames had died down, now a small flicker in the dark. All that remained of Y/N Winchester was a pile of ash, and it was hard to believe that a person like her would only leave behind such a pile, when she was so extraordinary. And Dean realized he never allowed himself to realize just how extraordinary she was.

Y/N’s soul had long been dragged down to the depths of hell, where she would spend all eternity. Dean tried not to think of that fact as he walked towards the bunker, his guilt tucked away for another time.

***

It was midnight, Y/N’s favorite time. The moon was full, the silvery rays casting an ethereal glow on the world below. Critters skittered through the brush, owls watching over the world as the foxes and raccoons danced in the light of the moon.

Underneath a pyre of wood, where a fire once burned hot, but was now an empty shell of burnt wood, sat a pile of ash. A few strips of charred sheet lay about, the burnt edges flapping slightly at the lightest of breezes.

As the moon moved, it’s light slowly shined over the pyre, and that’s when the wind picked up.

The ashes began to drift. They skirted along the Earth, through the dirt and over the soil, before the wind picked up and blew them into the air. It swirled and moved, the memory of a girl who was once made of the ashes haunting the sight. The silvery moon watched from the night sky as the ashes took one last stand, swirling up into the wind as it whipped this way and that way. The wind carried the girl through its current, allowing one last dance. And as the wind moved, you could almost hear the sound of a voice. It was hushed, almost undetectable. But for those who truly listened, you could hear the sound of a girl murmuring quietly. You could hear the words be carried through the air through an invisible current.

It was the words that were once whispered to the wind that were carried, the secrets held dear, that lived on. And as the ash settled, scattering across the Earth and into the pond, the wind died down, but the whispers still flitted through the trees, carrying the lively words of a girl once bright through the leaves.

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[softforcal]

hey I was wondering if you already have a slytherin!ash and slytherin!reader hc ? If not could you maybe do one ? bc I am LIVING for slytherin!ash (and him being a little bit hufflepuff and the reader also being a little bit gryffindor) ok bye love you 🥰

SLYTHERIN ASH X SLYTHERIN READER

-because you’re in the same house, you’re in the same sort of circles

-he definitely has noticed you and you’ve noticed him too

-because you’re both gorgeous

-you have a few classes with him and you usually sit in the Slytherin sections together but people sit between you

-you get close to Slytherin!Calum who you have more classes with

-one day your friend who you usually sit with is sick so you go sit with Calum. Ashton shows up and sits on his other side

-Calum leans back so Ashton can join in the convo

-it’s the first time you really talk to Ashton

-and you two hit it off right away

-Calum pretty much just sits there and isn’t even in the convo, listening to you and Ashton just riff off of each other

-after class you leave and Ashton walks to his next class with Calum, “she’s amazing.” he states. Calum agrees. which is saying something because Calum isn’t known for making friends easily

-the next day when you have class together, Ashton waves you over again

-Calum mostly just sits there again while you and Ashton talk

-this continues for two weeks

-finally Calum pulls Ashton aside and is just like “look, if you want to take Y/N out thats cool but i’m tired of sitting between the two of you while you eye fuck each other.”

-Ashton is shook but like…. he HAS been eye fucking you

-and he had been picking up vibes from you but Calum confirmed it

-”fine, so i’ll sit next to her in our next class.”

-”Ashton. i mean ask her out. ask the girl out!”

-but for some reason this Slytherin FUCK can’t ask you out

-he just can’t

-he’s such a Slytherin, but when he’s around you he becomes sort of Hufflepuffy which is odd, all giggles and blushing

-and although you’re a Slytherin, you definitely have some Gryffindor traits, like you always seem to have a handle on things

-so Calum realizes that if the ultimate Slytherin power couple is going to happen, he’s going to have to approach you

-but…. he can’t just throw Ashton under the bus

-but every class he watches you and Ashton flirt

-finally Calum is just like “we should go get butter beers sometime.” you and Ashton both agree

-then Calum straight up doesn’t show up

-so it’s just you and Ash

-and half way through the hang out you both realize… it’s kind of a date

-you two vibe so well

-but neither of you wants to come out and call it a date

-and Calum is like, are you seriously making me do this shit again

-so he says you should all study together in the library. again he doesn’t show up

-”i think Cal is trying to tell us something.” you laugh when its obvious he’s not coming

-”what’s that?” Ashton asks, flipping through his textbook

-you sigh, putting your hand on his textbook so he has to stop flipping through it, as he turns to protest you press your lips to his

-and this SLYTHERIN FUCK can’t be happy with the awkwardness of you two sitting next to each other and kissing so he straight up stands, picks you up and sets you on the library table, standing between your legs as he cups your face and kisses you

-a few other students are around and they’re just gawking at you and Ashton because classic fucking Slytherins not caring about anyone around them

-then Hufflepuff Michael and Luke turn around a bookshelf and see you and Michael bursts out laughing

-Ashton pulls away, glaring at the Hufflepuff

-you push at his chest so you can get off the table and he moves out of your way, you collect all the textbooks that are scattered on the table

-you grab Ashton’s hand and pull him out of the library, finding a quiet hallway

-then you press him agains the wall, knocking the books to the ground as you grab his face and kiss him

-now that you’ve ripped off the bandaid, the Slytherin impatience is coming out

-he’s usually a dom type of guy but he’s used to Hufflepuffs who let him throw them around so now that he’s on the receiving end he’s kinda shocked

-i mean, he’ll take the dom position back but he’s okay with you pressing him up against the wall for a bit

-but he gets impatient again and grabs you by the hips, turning so you’re against the wall, pinning your hands above your head

-somehow Michael and Luke walk by you two again and Michael laughs again

-”get a fucking room!” Michael yells before running away for fear of the wrath of the two Slytherins

-”we really should get a room.” you breath when Ashton pulls away

-going back to the Slytherin common room and there’s a brief fight over whose room you’re going to, its solved through rock paper scissors

-ending up in his room

-lots of lip biting and throwing each other around

-finally he’s just like “look, one of us has to back down a little.”

-and you’re like “fine, but just a little.”

-really raunchy sex where you’re both fighting for dominance and one of you always gives in for a bit then fights again

-you both mark each other up like a motherfucker

-cuz off the bat you’re both possessive

-and you know you can both take it

-choking, spanking, the works because you both Slytherins fam

-cuddling afterwards, both out of breath, the marks already appearing on his neck

-tracing each others marks and laughing

-an unspoken agreement that you two are together

-because you both feel things very passionately

-trying to sneak out of his room after but Calum is leaning against his door frame waiting for you to sneak out with a grin on his face

-you try to lie about the reason you were in Ashton’s room but Cal just rolls his eyes and goes back into his room

-the next day you spend all morning covering up the marks

-when you get to class he’s not even hiding his

-and his arm goes over your shoulders immediately

-he presses a kiss against your cheek

-Calum stays quiet but he has the smuggest grin on his face ever

-you two stay together as much as possible all day and people definitely notice

-by dinner the entire Slytherin table is talking about it, as are a few of the other houses

-everyone is watching because you two are THE Slytherins

-Calum secretly spread the news with the help of Hufflepuff Michael because he wants all the credit for it

-”so is it true you two got together because Calum ditched you two on a hang out?” one Slytherin girl asks

-Calum bursts out laughing because thank fuck people are giving him credit

-”i heard that you almost fucked in front of two Puffs.” another guy grins

-Calum coughs “true.” and earns a smack from Ashton

-you laugh and Ashton grins at you, he fights the urge to kiss you

-he don’t gotta fight the urge that long because obviously you aren’t feeling very patience that day and end up kissing him

-it gets a bit heavy and people are whistling so you have to separate yourselves

-Calum actually has to sit between the two of you again and it feels like the start of the year all over again

-”stop eye fucking each other.” Calum groans finally

-”he’s right.” Ashton says, standing and grabbing your hand as the two of you go to actually fuck each other

-yeah, i mean, it’s pretty easy for you two to GET IT whenever you want because you are in the same house and sneaking to each others rooms is easy

-yeah you two can’t keep your hands off of each other, a teacher actually pulls Calum aside (because he’s your keeper for some reason) and instructs him that he has to sit between you two in every class

-Ashton still throws his arm around his buddy so he can reach your shoulder because any touch is better than nothing

-poor Calum. it was not a good idea. you two are animals.

-you two are fiercely protective of each other

-and because you’re both Slytherins, no one fucks with you

-you two are a scary power couple

-you make out way too much but people are way too scared to call you out for it

-yeah you two kinky and horny. im sorry. it’s truth. i spit only fax people

-you always push each other to be great

-power couple. power couple. power couple.

-every other house would be scared of you two

-because like, you look like super hufflepuffy and adorable together but the second someone takes your attention from each other, resting bitch faces are back on

-yeah this would be a sexy as fuck pairing fam

[pengychan]

[Coco] Mind the Gap, Pt. 14

Title: Mind the Gap Summary: Modern Day AU. Tired of Ernesto’s snide remarks, Imelda decides to put him in his place and her husband is more than happy to help. It was supposed to be a one-night deal. Things quickly get out of hand. [OT3, mostly porn and humor. Plenty of instances of Ernesto being Dramatic, Imelda getting Sick Of His Shit, and Héctor trying to be the peacekeeper. Don’t expect anything serious.] Pairings: Ernesto/Héctor/Imelda Rating: Explicit.

Art by Dara.

[All chapters are tagged as ‘mind the gap’ on my blog.]

A/N: Aaaand shit hits the fan. You knew it was coming.

***

“I honestly cannot figure out if they’re dancing or fighting.”

“A bit of both, really. Brings out their best, through. You know, makes it more, er… passionate?”

“Oh, it does,” Armando agrees, staring at the scene through the glass. “Absolutely.”

Héctor smiles a little and follows his gaze. In the next room over, Imelda and Ernesto are singing - more to keep the tempo than for any other reason, they already recorded their cover of La Llorona with Héctor playing and that will be the audio - and dancing in front of a green screen, several cameras recording every move. Ernesto looks dashing in his best white charro and oh, Imelda is a dream in purple.

It was Armando’s idea to involve her in the music video, really, soon after the three of them had recorded the cover. He hadn’t been so keen on the idea of having Imelda sing with them as a guest - he had a couple of big names in mind - but after listening to the less-than-professional recording Héctor had on his phone, he was willing to give it a chance... and loved the result.

Truth be told, convincing Imelda to star in the video as well wasn’t easy; she was uncomfortable at the idea and honestly, Héctor was ready to drop it at the first ‘no’. Ernesto seemingly dropped it as well, but made a few sly remarks on how he couldn’t blame her for being worried she couldn’t keep up with him and his dancing. 

Which gained him, of course, a raised eyebrow from Imelda.

“You do realize, I hope, that this attempt at goading me into it is about as transparent as it gets.”

“Is it working?” Ernesto asked, only for her to roll her eyes. 

“No. I have no interest in humiliating you in front of your agent.”

“Oh?”

“You’re the one who wouldn’t be able to keep up.”

“Then prove it.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Chickening out, I see.”

“This isn’t going to work.”

“So you’re just going to pass on a chance to show me up in front of our manager?”

“...”

And… that was it, really, and here they are now, going through the routine time and time again, each refusing to give ground and dancing at their absolute best. It is the last thing that still needs doing - everything else is done, their debut album ready - and Armando wants to wrap up the filming within the day. If Ernesto and Imelda keep going like this, which Héctor is fairly sure they will do, they’re going to be exhausted by evening, but that’s not going to be a problem.

Héctor will very gladly take care of both of them.

***

“Don’t tell me you’re tired, Ernesto.”

“Absolutely not. Are you?”

“Not at all.”

Héctor bites his lower lip not to laugh at the conversation, which they’re carrying out sprawled at the opposite ends of the couch in a way that belies their words - both of them laying back, boneless and so obviously, utterly exhausted. Ernesto’s hair is dishevelled, whatever product he put on it clearly having given in, while Imelda’s hair is loose on her shoulders in dark waves. Even tired, she is beautiful. Ernesto is… not quite as much, but Héctor doesn’t mention it. 

Instead, he grins and picks up his guitar. “So, who’s up for another round?” he asks, and barely ducks under two pillows thrown at him at the exact same time. Dante leaps to catch one, only to miss and crash against a chair while Pepita takes possession of it, to sit on it with the dignity of a queen. The other pillow is snatched by the Chihuahua pack; it takes all of them to carry it across the room, and they disappear beneath an armchair. 

Normally, Imelda wouldn’t tolerate any pets but Pepita to take possession of those pillows; now, she seems very much beyond caring. As for Ernesto, he really never gave a damn.

“... I take it we’re not going out to celebrate wrapping this up?” Héctor pushes his luck again.

“No,” Imelda drones just as Ernesto mutters, “Tomorrow.”

Héctor’s grin widens. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re tired-- ouch!” He yelps, in surprise rather than pain, when something - Imelda’s slipper - smacks against his thigh.

Still sprawled on the other end of the couch, Ernesto nods. “Good shot.”

“Thanks. And I have another one.”

“Just kidding, just kidding!” Héctor protests with a laugh, holding the guitar up and almost hiding behind it. “But there is a fun activity I can suggest. One where I do all the work!” he almost shrieks when Imelda’s hand reaches for her other slipper. 

The hand pauses in mid-air, and her eyebrows go up. “All the work?”

“Yes!”

She glances at Ernesto. He tilts his head. “Am I included in the fun activity?”

“Oh, like you would accept any answer but yes,” Héctor laughs, finally putting down the guitar. “All right, step one - you get your clothes off.”

“That sounds like work to me.”

“And you said you’d be doing all of it.”

“Ay, since when are you so laz--” Héctor ducks suddenly, and Imelda’s remaining slipper through the air. He jumps aside, and gives a victory grito. “Hah! Missed-- ouch! Ow! Seriously?”

Now missing a shoe, Ernesto gives him a satisfied smirk. “My aim is better,” he tells Imelda.

“I didn’t go for the head,” she points out. 

“See, that’s the problem. You don’t aim high enough.”

Héctor rolls his eyes. “... Is either of you interested in what I’m suggesting?”

As it turns out they are very, very interested. But also very, very tired. 

Half an hour later, buried beneath their snoozing forms - they stayed awake through the process of taking off their clothes and getting to the bedroom, but not much longer - Héctor sighs, trying to will his erection into going away, as he’s clearly not getting to use it at all tonight.

Ah well, there will be time to make up for it in the morning. Then maybe they’ll go out for a late breakfast someplace fancy, to celebrate the fact the album is done - their first step into proper stardom, as Ernesto calls it. Not that stardom matters much to Héctor, but it will be nice to have some extra income. So that Imelda can get a proper shop soon, and maybe they can start thinking… maybe…

Above him, Ernesto shifts sleepily and yawns. Héctor finds himself yawning as well, and the thought stays incomplete. He shuts his eyes, smiles at the tickle of Imelda’s breath against his neck, and lets sleep claim him as well. The future may hold a lot for them as Ernesto says but, for now, Héctor is happy to simply enjoy the present as long as it lasts. 

It doesn’t last.

***

“Mierda.”

That is far from the most original thing to say; probably the very same word countless women found themselves uttering in various languages in the privacy of their bathroom, staring at two small lines on a pregnancy test stick - but at the moment, Imelda is unable to think of anything else to say. She can only lean back, heart in her throat, trying to think through the buzzing sound suddenly filling her ears.

No. No, no, no, no, no. It can’t be - it just cannot be - she’s on the pill, has been taking it religiously for the past several years, every day at the same time without fail. And she was lucky, too, never had any complications or side effects. Take the pill every day, stop a few days - cue period - and then on with the pill again. Nothing has ever gone wrong… until now. 

Because she stopped taking it as usual, and there was no period to speak of. She tried not to worry, because sometimes human bodies are odd like that, and picked up the pregnancy test as an afterthought, thinking a negative result it would give her some peace of mind before she booked an appointment with her doctor to figure out if she needed to change brand of birth control. 

Looks like I’ll have to call her for entirely different reasons.

Despite the voice in the back of her mind telling her that pregnancy tests are not infallible, Imelda can feel panic beginning to tighten her throat - because she knows that neither is birth control. But the pill is supposed to be effective in… over ninety-nine percent of cases. It worked until now, how can this be happening? What has changed in the past month? She can think of nothing, no big changes other than adopting a hyperactive and particularly stupid stray dog, full of ticks and with an infection--

… Wait. Wait just a moment.

Mind in turmoil, Imelda stands and throws open the medicine cabinet. There are some blisters of painkillers ‘just in case’, disinfectant, bandaids, some tampons, hair products she had told Ernesto to store somewhere else - and something else, the open box of the medication they all had to take after taking in Dante to find out he had a contagious fungal infection. Imelda tears it out of the cabined, pulls out the instruction booklet, and reads through it. 

As it turns out, she should have done it much earlier. 

Caution: when taken alongside birth control pills, it reduces the level of the hormone--

The booklet falls off Imelda’s fingers, floating slowly down on the tiles. She stares down at it for a few moments, then a few minutes, her ears buzzing. Now she knows what went wrong; later, once she shock has worn off, she will kick herself for being so careless. But right now, the one big question in her mind is what is she going to do about it.

It shouldn’t make her feel gutted. She and Héctor do want children; they agreed to wait until her business properly took off - and it has - and he got a foot firmly in the music industry - and he just did. This is... earlier than they planned, but it is what they wanted.

Except that, when they made plans, Ernesto was not yet in the picture. Not the way he is now.

At least… yes, at least there isn’t the issue of not knowing who the father is; in all the nights they have spent together, Ernesto has never been in her. At first because she didn’t want him to be - she considered that something for her husband only - and then… it had simply not happened. It almost did last week after they finally went out to celebrate the wrapping up of the album and oh, thank God, thank God he was too tipsy for it.

The father is Héctor, it can only be him, and it spares her the ordeal of not knowing and all the mess that would come out of it - because what would they even do, if it was Ernesto’s? Tell the truth, and force a child to deal with the stigma for the arrangement the three of them were in? They could decided to lie about it, pretend otherwise, but what if the truth got out? What if the child grew up to look far too much like their good family friend? Someone would find out, and… ah, she can’t imagine anything good coming out of it. It is a relief to know it will never happen.

But along with the relief, there is a burning sense of shame. Did she truly nearly get herself in the position of getting pregnant without even being certain who the father would be? That was… irresponsible of her. It had been meant to be a one-night deal, but it got well out of control and now it’s been… God, almost a year. How could she let it get this far?

Much, much too far. It cannot continue.

No, it really cannot, with a baby on the way. She will be a mother, Héctor will be a father, and Ernesto… he needs to be only a family friend again. She won’t object to Héctor and him being something more than that, as long as it is done discreetly and away from their home, but the three of them sharing a bed… that needs to end. The third wheel - she ignores the thought that Ernesto has come to be more than that, she must, if she’s to carry this out - needs to come off. 

It would be far too dangerous with a child at home, asking questions. A child who would take the fall if word got out that their mother and father share a bed with another man, because it would be delusional to think their arrangement would simply be quietly accepted. Imelda could face the disapproval with her head held high if need be, but how could she ask that of a child? What kind of mother would let that happen?

It had to end, eventually. He’ll understand, he must. It is for the best. For everyone’s sake.

By the time she leaves the bathroom, the positive pregnancy test in her hand, Imelda has her mind made up. It hurts more than she ever thought it possibly might - a dull ache in her chest - but that’s not relevant right now. There is a baby coming, and she needs to do the right thing. 

Even if Ernesto doesn’t agree, he must come to accept it. He’ll bounce back, Imelda tells herself, and she can believe that. Maybe she’s overestimating how attached Ernesto actually got. He’ll probably go back to his flings and one-night stands, if those ever really did stop. 

Maybe he’ll throw a tantrum, as he often does when he doesn’t get his way, but she’s sure he’ll eventually be glad to have bailed out once the realities and responsibilities of having a child in the house become clear; he’ll mock them over the lack of nights out as he used to do only last year. She’ll get annoyed, and he’ll laugh it off. Like old times - arguably better than old times, because she refuses to think the understanding they have reached can simply vanish like that. 

He’ll still be welcome in their home, just not in their bedroom. If she and Héctor are to be parents, it is time to put childish things behind them. She understands that and, she’s sure, so will her husband. Anyone with an ounce of common sense would see it is the only way forward. 

“Héctor.”

Her voice is flat when she calls out, still somewhat numb, from the door of the living room. It causes Héctor - who is sprawled on the couch, song book in his hands and a foot braced against Dante to keep him from taking over - to look up, a pen in his mouth and another behind his ear. The one in his mouth falls off when he sees her expression and opens his mouth to speak; the other is dislodged when he sits up, putting the songbook aside. 

“Imelda? What is it? Are you all right?” he asks, concern plain in her voice. Imelda draws in a deep breath, grip on the positive test tightening, and speaks quietly. 

“We need to talk.”

***

“We need to talk.”

Héctor hears Imelda’s words through the loud blaring of an alarm. Or at least, that’s what it feels like: ‘we need to talk’ is very firmly among the top ten sentences that can make people question their every life choice, from the womb up to the second those words reach their ears.

We need to talk. 

All right, all right. Time to keep his cool. Maybe he did something wrong - he probably did something wrong - and now they will talk it through. It is all right. Time to act as any reasonable adult would. Or not.

Nuh-uh, no. Nope. Nope nope nope. Abort mission, abort, abort. 

“Great! We will! Soon! Soon-ish,” Héctor blurts out, and goes to grab his guitar, which is resting against the wall. His panicked brain fails to pick up the fact he’s holding it sideways. “I just thought up a song - I mean, I was thinking up a song - the words are giving me some trouble but I got most of the melody down, want to hear--”

“Héctor,” Imelda speaks up, putting a hand on the guitar. She looks… ay, she looks pale, and Héctor’s dumb panic immediately turns into concern. He puts down the guitar, almost dropping it on the only part of the couch not occupied by Dante, and cups her cheek. 

“What… what is it? Are you feeling ill?”

“No, I--”

“Do you need to see a doctor?”

“Possibly later, but--”

Héctor’s brain somehow freezes and starts working twice the normal speed, simultaneously. The result is that he only gets stupid thoughts, but in much quicker succession than normal. She’s seriously ill, she has cancer, she’s the calmest person ever to experience a heart attack and oh God when was last time either of them did a full health check-up?

“Oh my God, you’re ill!” 

“No!”

“You’re pale!”

“Héctor--”

“You said we need to talk, and you were using That Voice, it has got to be something serious!”

“Well, it is something serious--”

“I’ll call an ambulance!”

“No, you will not-- Héctor, put the phone down-- por Dios-- I’m pregnant, Héctor!”

Héctor’s neurological functions skid to to nearly a full stop, leaving enough electrical activity to keep him breathing, but just barely. He stammers. He drops the phone. He stares. His brains sputters back into activity. 

“Pregnant,” he repeats, as though trying out a foreign word. Imelda bites her lower lip, nods, and holds up something - a stick. A pregnancy test with two tiny lines showing on the screen. Héctor blinks at it. “... How?”

That gains him a look that’s somewhere between stunned, pitying, and ‘oh God who did I marry’. “... The usual way?”

Ah. Right. That was… no, wait. It wasn’t that stupid a question, she’s supposed to be on the pill, and-- and--

I’m going to be a papá.

The realization hits him like a ton of bricks, kickstarting his brain into a semi-functional status again. He blinks at her, his face beginning to open up in what’s probably the biggest, dumbest smile since… their wedding, maybe. Probably since ever. 

“A baby? You’re having a baby? We’re having a baby?”

Imelda seems to hesitate a moment, then her own expression opens up in a smile. It is somewhat tentative, but there is no mistaking the sheer joy of it; it’s like it occurred to her just now that she ought to be, and is, happy. “Sí. We’re having a baby.” 

Héctor’s grito is loud enough to make Pepita shoot from the chair she was napping to the ceiling, while Dante flops off the couch with a yelp and runs to hide under a table. Imelda may also be trying to say something about her eardrums, but it’s lost in gales of laughter when he grabs her, kisses her, and twirls her around - improvising a silly, very uncoordinated dance across their living room.

Imelda laughs, too; she kisses him back, throws her arms around his neck, dances with him as he sings - “What color's the sky? ¡Ay mi amor, ay mi amor!” - and eventually they both stumble back on the couch, laughing, holding onto each other as the notion sinks in that they’re going to be parents. 

It’s... a little earlier than they imagined it would happen, but it’s all right. They can make it work, Héctor knows they will, and-- ah, he can’t wait. He only just knew they have a baby on the way and he can’t wait to meet them. 

“Imagine your parents’ face when we tell them-- and your brothers-- they're going to be tíos!”

“And they’ll never get to be in the same room as the baby unsupervised,” Imelda mutters, with a slightly exaggerated shudder of fake horror. Well, maybe not entirely fake.

Héctor laughs again, as though drunk on happiness, ignoring the brief stab of sadness at the thought that their baby will only have one set of grandparents. And no tíos from his side, since he never had siblings and-- ah, what is he thinking? Ernesto is going to be their tío, of course, they grew up together, it’s only fair.

“Wait until I tell Ernesto!” he exclaims, wishing the cabrón hadn’t chosen that day of all days to go get his nails done; if he were home, he’d be running downstairs in minutes to pound at his door and tell him the news. “I fully expect him to be the godfather! And to try and not hog all the attention at the christening, if he can manage-- are we doing that in Santa Cecilia? I think it would be nice, but Ernesto never wants to go back, so maybe--”

“Héctor.” Imelda’s hand is light on his cheek, her voice quiet, and Héctor knows something is amiss before he glances at her, at her somber expression. But this time, there is no panic: just the quiet realization of where this is going. “This is what we need to talk about. Ernesto,” she says, taking his hand. She looks saddened, but resolute. “... We’re having a baby. A child to raise. This-- the arrangement has to end.”

Oh. There is a stab of something in his chest, the kind of ache that comes with the realization that something good - something wonderful - has to come to an end, and sooner than planned. But Imelda is right, as she usually is; a child is going to change everything. A child in the house is going to change everything, and it’s their responsibility to make… adjustments. She can see that, he can see that… and he hopes that so will Ernesto. 

“He will understand,” Héctor says through a lump in his throat. But it hurts, and his words sound unconvincing to his own ears. 

For all the talents Ernesto has, knowing when to step aside was never one of them.

***

Something is… wrong. 

It takes a while for Ernesto to notice, really, because throughout the dinner he’s rather busy talking - about the album, about future projects, about the new guitar he wants to buy, about himself in general because he does find himself to be a very interesting subject. They’re halfway through the main course when he realizes he’s not getting interrupted nearly as often as usual; by the time the waiter brings in the desserts, he finally notices the nervous glances they’re exchanging. Or at least, Héctor looks nervous; Imelda just seems to be… bracing herself.

Something is not right, Ernesto thinks, only moments before Héctor clears his throat.

“So, uh…” he manages a smile that is, at the same time, delighted and absolutely unconvincing. “Imelda and I have-- we have news.” He puts a hand down on the table, palm up, and Imelda grasps it with her own.

Later on, that is something that will keep coming back to mock him through sleepless, lonely nights: those joined hands, the way the fingers intertwine, how perfectly they fit. How complete they are, without him. But right now, it just unnerves him slightly; he looks up from their joined hands to meet Héctor’s gaze, confused more than alarmed. 

“News?”

A nod, and the smile becomes a less forced, brighter. By his side, Imelda is expressionless as a sphynx. “We’re having a baby,” Héctor says, and grips Imelda’s hand tighter.

Ernesto stares. Blinks. Opens his mouth, closes it again, opens it once more.  “... What?”

Another squeeze of Imelda’s hand, but Ernesto doesn’t notice: he can only stare at Héctor’s, too stunned for words, as he swallows and speaks again.

“Imelda is pregnant. We’re going to be parents.” The smile again, more tentative, more anxious. Ernesto’s eyes shift to Imelda, who remains expressionless. She is trying to keep control over the situation; Ernesto takes it as cold indifference as she nods and speaks, her voice calm, her words measured. 

“... I am.”

Ernesto’s head spins a little. This is… bad. A kid would change everything and he doesn’t want things to change. “But how-- I mean-- I thought you were…?”

“I was on the pill, but some medication... interfered. I am five weeks in.”

“Five weeks,” Ernesto repeats, and there is some relief in his voice. Five weeks is still early enough for it to be taken care of - it would be a nightmare in Santa Cecilia, but in Mexico City? It can be done. He opens his mouth to say it aloud, but Imelda seems to have read his mind.

“We do want this baby, Ernesto.” Her voice is just a little more forceful, and again Ernesto is briefly stunned into silence. She sighs. “We always wanted children, you know that. This only comes… a little earlier than planned.”

Ernesto blinks, and turns to look at Héctor. He looks saddened, and it hits him suddenly - he knows where this is going. This is it, then - he’s getting the family he’s always wanted, they both are, and Ernesto is… no longer needed. He shakes his head, acutely aware of the fact he can’t say too much or too loudly, being in a restaurant and all. Only later, in hindsight, will he realize they told him in a restaurant to keep him from making a scene. 

“Wait, wait-- what about--” what about me? “What about-- us?”

Héctor swallows. “You are still my best friend,” he says, and tries to reach across the table to put a hand on Ernesto’s arm, but he pulls back with a scoff. 

“Oh, so that’s it? It’s over, just like that?”

Imelda shakes her head. “You and Héctor-- I won’t mind. But not at home, and… not with me.”

Is she serious? Does she really think it is enough-- that he will just-- Christ, does she feel anything about it at all? She may as well be made of ice, and Ernesto clenches his teeth, fury burning in his chest. He’s so angry, all of a sudden; at her for not caring, at himself for giving a damn that she doesn’t care, and at Héctor for just taking her side. 

Of course he’d take her side. She has him whipped, and he’s a coward.

“You can’t!” he snaps, and finally her indifferent expression is broken, the hint of a frown creasing her brow. 

“I can. I have every right to call myself out of it. Or would you force me?”

“What-- no!” 

“There you have it, then. The arrangement, as it is, needs to end. I can’t keep being part of it.”

Anger barely in check, a sudden ache in his chest, Ernesto turns to Héctor. “And you agree with this?” he snaps. His best friends returns his gaze, still saddened… but his voice is firm. 

“There’s a baby coming. We need to… to make some changes, even if we don’t like it. For the baby.”

Oh, of course. Anything for the damn baby that’s not even a baby yet-- but what about about him?

What do they care? They have their baby now. A brand new third wheel. That’s all I was, no? It was stupid to think that had changed. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

It stings - a lot - and Ernesto realizes that if he stays there he’ll scream or, worse yet, break. So he does the only thing he can do: he stands abruptly, almost knocking down the chair, and storms out of the restaurant - trying not to think, saying nothing, without looking back. 

He doesn’t think he could stand turning to see those two still there, hand in hand - but ah, it’s no longer just the two of them, is it? There are three people around that table. The perfect number.

And he’s not part of it anymore.

***

“All right. What’s wrong?”

Sofía’s voice rings out in the darkened room. Ernesto, who’s staring at the wall and scowling, makes a face despite knowing she can’t see it at all.

“Nothing,” he says, hoping it will be enough. It clearly… isn’t.

“Yeah, no. You show up and suggest drinks, which was always your code for ‘fuck later’, and I say sure, got no plans for the night and it’s been a while. With you, I mean, I kept myself busy.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“We go out to have the drinks and you hardly talk, which is not unwelcome but also unlike you, since you can spend up to three hours talking about yourself without pausing - I timed you once,” Sofía says, and pokes him in the ribs. “Cigarette?”

“Not good for my voice,” Ernesto grumbles, still resting on his side to glare at the wall. He hears the sound of a lighter, a deep inhale, and he hopes she’s done talking. She’s not.

“I mean, really - there was karaoke going on and you didn’t elbow your way to the microphone. That is so unlike you it gets into worrying territory.”

“I was not in the mood--”

“Then you come to my place, fail to get it up - not that unusual, really--”

“Hey now--”

“-- But nothing some work can’t fix, and then suddenly you have a headache and would rather just sleep.”

“You’re giving me a headache right now,” he points out, turning.

“So you did not have a headache,” Sofía mutters, and triumphant note in her voice, and Ernesto snorts, shutting his eyes. There is a huff, and she rests her chin on his upper arm, blowing some smoke in his face. “Come on, who was it?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I recognize heartbreak when I see it, amigo.”

“I’m not heartbroken!” he sputters indignantly, spitting out the last word like it’s something rotten, and turns his head to glare at her - getting another puff of smoke in the face.

“Hu-uh. And I’m a bride of Christ,” she mutters, and pulls back to rest on her back, a hand reaching out to tangle in his hair. “Look, I still have no plans for the night. If you want to keep up your Macho Act I’ll go make myself a sandwich, have another smoke and go watch a movie or something. If you’d rather talk about it, I’ll listen. You’ve got time until I finish this cigarette to decide.”

Ernesto lets out scoff and stands, throwing the sheets off himself. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he says sourly, grabbing his clothes. He’s out of the door a minute later, slamming it shut, and gaining no reaction but a raised eyebrow and another drag of the cigarette.

***

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[unicooky]

This is my secret Santa for @sharkflavor!!!! The prompt I chose was “quirkless Kacchan”, and I added a vigilante twist to fit the idea I had in mind,,, anyways, I hope you like it!!!

Death is an old friend of Izuku’s; they’ve met quite a few time, almost shook hands once or twice, though they’ve never gotten this close to each other before, with Death’s cold breath washing over him, its hands roaming Izuku’s body like a lover’s would.

He lies there, defenseless, eyes wide fixated on the villain’s rapidly-approaching blade.

This is it, he thinks faintly, feverishly. I’m going to die. I’m going to die with All Might’s legacy.

Izuku holds his breath, heart crashing against his ribs, nails dug into palms, eyes stinging with tears. No, no, no—

Several things then happen at once. He hears a noise so loud it deafens him; smoke bursts from somewhere in front of him; it slithers down his throat and pools into his lungs. His ringing ears don’t pick up the battle cry coming from behind him but he sure feels the hand grabbing his neck and dragging him away from the fight — away from a certain death.

Izuku’s tongue is heavy and dry in his mouth but he still manages to spout a few words. “L-Let me—“

“Shut up,” he thinks he hears the person say, but the sound of the explosion still echoes brutally in his ears. Their grip is surprisingly strong and Izuku, shaking from the adrenaline, can’t gather enough strength to free himself. His blunt nails claw at the hand wrapped around his neck as he tries to focus on activating One For All — in vain.

Through clouded eyes Izuku watches helplessly as he’s led toward a dark alley, only to be tossed against a wall.

“Weak,” the person says, and this time Izuku can discern every letter clearly. His ears still buzz and his skull still pounds but the voice cuts through it all, loud and close and sharp. “You call yourself a hero, but you’re the one who actually needs saving? Weak.”

That voice. Izuku knows that voice, can find it deep between washed-out childhood memories. “Kacchan.”

The figure takes down its hood and grins, mean and twisted. “Deku.”

“I— Thank you. For saving me.” A nervous chuckle slips past his lips. “It’s been a while.”

Kacchan sighs, rolls his eyes, and turns around. “I’m going now. Don’t follow me.”

“Wait-”

“I said, don’t follow-”

“Can I offer you a coffee?” Izuku blurts out and immediately regrets it. Fresh out of a disastrous fight, with his hero costume in shambles and covered in bruises, Izuku’d probably make quite the scene should he stroll inside a coffee shop like this. To his surprise, Kacchan only closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose and grunts.

“What did I just say.”

“That, uh. I should not follow you,” Izuku squeaks, staring at Kacchan like a deer caught in the headlights. Kacchan glares at him. “And that you were going to go. But! There’s so much we need to get caught up with, and I hadn’t seen you in so long, and you did save my life so I should probably make it up to you but-”

“Are you fucking looking down on me?”

Izuku frowns. “Of course not. I’m just—“ he pauses, wrings his fingers together, looks around. “... I’ve missed you. I really did, Kacchan.”

Kacchan looks unsure for a second. He freezes and leans back on his heels, lips pinched. “Stop making fun of me,” he then says, his voice quiet and cold.

“I’m not,” Izuku says. Kacchan stares him down with those glorious eyes of his. They are bright and deadly like a polished blade but Izuku stands his ground, his heart a war drum as it beats inside his rib cage.

Even if you put a gun to Izuku’s temple he would not be able to tell how much time passed like this. It could be a second; it could be an hour. Kacchan then sighs, runs a hand through his hair, glares at Izuku.

“You know what? Fuck it. Alright, I’ll come, but you’re paying.”

Excitation thrums through Izuku’s bones, a bright and joyful melody. “Great!”

“I’m ordering the most expensive thing on the menu, though,” Kacchan warns.

Izuku nods. “That’s fair. Also, could we maybe pass by my apartment before? I need to grab my civvies.”

“Whatever.”

The walk there is, at first, uncomfortably silent. Izuku tries to spark up the conversation a few times, without much success; Kacchan’s face is unreadable and his lips are sealed, he is a marble statue.

Izuku closes his eyes and remembers the small Kacchan he used to love, the one who still lives in his memories, the one who would charge at invisible enemies with a fearless grin and raised fists. The Kacchan in front of him is strong —of course he is— but there’s something cold and solemn in his eyes. Izuku can tell he hasn’t strayed from his goal; the few grenades still attached to his belt tell as much, though he knows Kacchan’s dream of being a hero has been buried at the bottom of his closet, along with the All Might figurines he used to collect.

“We close yet?”

“Ah- yes.” They still have a few streets to cross and corners to round before they reach his apartment, though he can’t say that, for he can feel Kacchan’s growing restlessness. Izuku picks up the pace.

Wrong move.

Apparently Kacchan takes that as a challenge, because he starts jogging, smacking his shoulder against Izuku’s in the process. Izuku frowns. That won’t do.

So he jogs too, catching up easily to Kacchan and running ahead. Kacchan does this annoyed little grunt but when he reaches Izuku again there’s something warm in his eyes —oh. That’s new. Izuku feels his chest swell, and ignores it promptly.

Kacchan’s legs are longer, so they eat up the sidewalk easier, but Izuku’s not going to let him win. Maybe they would look like absolute children this way, elbowing each other subtly and knocking their shoulders together to throw the other off-balance, if Kacchan did not have explosives strapped around his hips and if Izuku wasn’t wearing a bloodied hero costume.

As they climb up the stairs to Izuku’s apartment he hears Kacchan laugh a little, and that does things to his heart. It’s a sound he hadn’t heard in long, long time, a sound that slithers between his ribs and makes him feel bright in the face.

Izuku may not be a child anymore but somehow he feels so very young.

Izuku comes out of his room dressed in his civvies to find Kacchan staring at the pictures he’d hung up on his fridge.

“Why the fuck did you keep that?” Kacchan asks abruptly, turning around to stare at Izuku. He’s holding an old ripped photograph of them as kids, with Kacchan’s grin missing a few teeth and Izuku’s knees covered in All Might bandaids. Kacchan looks angry but his expression lacks bite; it’s guarded, suspicious, but there’s something like quiet hope simmering under the surface.

“I’ve missed you,” Izuku replies carefully, taking a measured step towards Kacchan. “Of course I wasn’t going to throw that away.”

Kacchan eyes him up and down, eyebrows pushed together slightly. “... D’you always need to be that sappy?”

“I’m not being sappy,” Izuku answers, a slow smile digging in his cheeks. “‘M just saying the truth.”

Kacchan’s nose scrunches up and his cheekbones turn bright and pink like the dawn. “Whatever. You ready to go?”

“Sure.” Izuku grabs his keys and throws a glance at Kacchan. “Though it’s gotten kinda late, could I, huh, treat you for dinner, instead? Or something?”

“It’s beginning to sound like you’re trying to ask me on a date, nerd,” Kacchan snorts, and Izuku tries to ignore how his chest rattles with the heavy beating of his heart.

“Maybe I am,” Izuku squeaks out quickly and darts out of his apartment to escape Kacchan’s impending wrath.

He only gets to speed walk across a few meters until he feels a hand wind around his elbow and yank him back. “What the fuck,” Kacchan hisses. His breath is scorching as it washes over Izuku’s face. “Why the fuck did you say that?”

“I-I just- I wouldn’t mind going on a date with you, Kacchan. I… I wouldn’t mind at all.”

“But—“ Kacchan swallows and frown, though he looks more confused and maybe vulnerable (vulnerable, what a scary word it must be for someone like Kacchan) than angry. Kacchan’s hand leaves Izuku’s arm to hang limply at his side. Izuku wants nothing more than to hold him, to stop him before he can finish the deadly sentence he’s trying so desperately to utter without breaking. “But I’m—quirkless.”

Ah. There it is. The elephant in the room, the sword dangling over their heads. “I know,” Izuku finally says, slowly, thoughtfully, tasting every word with care before letting them go. “I used to be, too.”

“But you’re not- you’re not- quirkless. Anymore.”

Such a heavy conversation for such a mundane setting. There’s no rain pouring out of flashing skies, no dramatic music or slowmo going on. There’s only a silent hallway with Kacchan looking small and out of place under the buzzing neons and Izuku in a tacky t-shirt with his lip split and his cheekbone bruised.

“You got your quirk from All Might, didn’t you?”

Izuku picks at his nails. He knew Kacchan was more than smart enough to figure that out on his own, though he had hoped the question would come later.

“Yes.”

“He chose you.”

“Yes.” Izuku can see where this is going, and his heart breaks a little.

“And he didn’t choose me.” Kacchan looks so young this way, so lost, so unlike the Kacchan that saved him with only a handful of grenades and his courage.

“I don’t think you’re seeing this the way you should—”

Kacchan’s lips do this horrible thing where they twist and stretch in something that looks exactly like a smile but feels like a knife to the gut. “That’s so easy to say, isn’t it. But, really, is there truly any other way to see the situation, Deku? All Might had a choice to make. He picked you, not me. That’s it.” Kacchan buries his hands in his pockets and buries Izuku’s heart six feet under. “There. I think we’re done. I’m going home.”

Kacchan turns around. Izuku closes his eyes and imagines everything that could happen now — he could go back inside his apartment and let Kacchan go, wake up tomorrow and move on, carry on with being a hero and never hear of Kacchan again. He opens his eyes, because that’s not what he wants, that’s not what he wants at all. “Wait!”

Kacchan freezes, though he doesn’t look back at Izuku. “What.”

“Do you- do you remember how we used to play in the river behind my house?”

“The fuck?”

“You’d always catch the most butterflies, and make the most ricochets. I thought- I thought you were so amazing. I always looked up to you.” Kacchan turns around and stares at him. The silence hangs low and heavy over them, full of maybes and almosts. “That- that hasn’t changed. You saved my life, earlier- if you hadn’t been there, I would’ve died! You’re still amazing, Kacchan, quirk or not.” Izuku looks down at his shoes, voice stuck in his throat, and repeats: “You saved me, Kacchan. That’s… that’s what heroes do.”

“... Shut up,” Kacchan says, and it sounds weak. Undone. “Shut up.” He’s almost crying, though Izuku can’t tell if it’s from anger, relief, or a mix of the two. He doesn’t look totally pissed anymore, only weary, so weary.

Izuku takes a few careful steps toward Kacchan, looking for a sign that would tell him to back off, though it never comes. He ends up almost toe to toe with Kacchan, and Kacchan — Kacchan drops his head on Izuku’s shoulder, and weeps. Izuku cries a bit too, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary, is it?

A few minutes pass, slow and tortuous. Then Kacchan snorts through his tears, and says: “So, what about that date?”

[monochromemedic]

Bath time

This isn’t smut it’s just long and probably really cringy and awkward but I mean I spent time writing it so.

King angrily chattered at Bim who drew his hand back and yelped, looking around nervously. “Come on King, when are you going to turn back to normal huh? I mean i’m giving you a sandwich, you love sandwiches!” King backed into a corner of the house, giving a low hiss before swiping at Bim’s hand, causing him to drop the sandwich and back up. “Son of a bitch! Come on King you drew blood!” Bim hissed threw his teeth, grabbing his now bleeding hand. King huffed and began to gnaw on the sandwich on the floor before picking it up in his mouth and running away. I walked up behind Bim seeing King run off before looking at Bim. “How’s it going?” “How do you think it’s going it’s like dealing with a feral cat!” Bim sighed and rolled his eyes, taking his hand away from the wound to see the bleeding marks. “With how much King has been acting I wouldn’t be surprised if I got some strange disease now. Some... squirrel flu.”  Bim looked over at me before  looking back at King who was a few feet away, gulping down the lunch meat sandwich. “I don’t know what he sees in you that’s different then us. Listen I gotta clean this up before it gets infected. You try to talk some sense into him oh ‘squirrel whisperer’ “ He huffed as he walked away towards the bathroom. “Don’t... call me that” I called after him before giving up and turning to King. He looked scraggy, a little dirtier then he had been ever since he turned feral. Probably out chasing rabbits. The day was nice after all. As I walked up to him I noticed how deteriorated his clothes were becoming. It was shredded at some points, other points there  where gaping holes, showing dirty, scarred skin. I squatted down next to King, earning a small guttural noise of acknowledgement as he finished the last bite of the sandwich. “Hey buddy... You can’t go around scratching Bim like that.” I whispered softly, looking down at his hands. His nails were dirty and sharp, almost like claws. How they could go from looking like normal nails to something like that in just a matter of a month was beyond what anyone knew. Dr. Iplier said something about how King was basically half animal, although it wasn’t until he went feral did I suddenly began to see how animalistic he could be. Before it was just his strange pad like features on his hands and feet, and the occasional glance at a fang or a lit up eye in the dark. But now? It was if he wasn’t the same man. “You’re really dirty King. Maybe we should give you a bath. You use to love bathes but... when was the last time you took one?” I asked him grabbing a hand and looking it over in mine. It was large and filthy, incredibly gritty. He kept his eyes on my hands, wary but trusting that I wouldn’t try to attack My eyes met his and I smiled, ruffling his hair and kissing his forehead, earning a soft grunt from him before getting up. “Come on, let’s see what I can do.” It took a while of stopping, calling his name and moving again for him to get the idea that I wanted him to follow me as I took him into the nearest bathroom which Bim just happened to be leaving, a fresh bandaid on his scratch. “God!” Bim jumped, a hand going to his chest “What are you doing?  You know he’s following you right?” I nodded my head as King scooted behind me, chattering as Bim eyed him up, swallowing hard. “What are you gonna do with him?” Bim asked before looking back at me “Don’t tell me your planning on bathing him...” I gave a weak smile before Bim shook his head and began to walk away. “It’s gonna be like bathing a cat the size of a full grown man... Your just gonna put your hand in a blender and i’m not about that today.” I shook my head and looked to King as Bim walked away “You wouldn’t do that to me would you King?” I asked as I shut the door behind us and grabbed a towel. King circled around on the floor and gave a soft grumble as I started the bath, feeling the temperature of the water. “King you wanna jump in? It’s really nice come on feel” I said holding my wet hand out to him.  He lowered his head and began to sniff before taking his tongue and lapping up the water. I shuttered and pulled my hand back, giving a little laugh as my face turned pink. “No King don’t drink it. We gotta bathe your dirty ass. Come on get in the tub.” King’s eyes stared up at me before peaking his head over the side of the tub seeing the bath begin to fill up. He seemed interested at least, his hand began to dip into the water. “Isn’t that nice? Don’t you wanna go in and get all clean?” A small chatter came out of him before he sat back down on the ground. I smiled and took his cloak beginning to take that off. “Come on the first couple of days you loved running around naked. We basically had to glue these clothes to you. Besides I don’t think running around in wet clothes would be good. Gotta give you some new ones.” I muttered to myself as I began to take off his shirt or what was left of it. He seemed to get the hint and chattered, curling around and beginning to scratch as his pants, tearing it off literally. “I mean... we could of... tried to stitch that back up but I guess not.” I sighed.  King smiled wide and hopped into the tub with a splash, causing water to get everywhere. “Great...”  I muttered. I got up and turned off the faucet, looking at King happily dunking his head under the water  before looking back up at me. I smiled back, grabbing the soap and beginning to douse a loofah with it, searching him up and down for the best part to start.  I could feel my cheeks reddening at his nudity, trying not to focus on that and instead beginning to scrub his shoulders. The water was already turning a disgusting shade of dirty brown from the filth rubbing off of him. I had a feeling that I would probably have to fill the tub back up with fresh water as some point if this kept up.  King didn’t seem to want to be clean and instead wanted to splash around in the water or bite at the bubbles. “King stay still come on... just for a little while. Doesn’t that feel good to get all clean?” I asked him as he chomped at a bubble and began to scrunch his face up. I bit my lip and tried to stifle a laugh as he coughed and stuck his tongue out, beginning to growl lowly at the bubbles. “Aw sweetie... It’s just a bubble it’s not gonna hurt you doofus.”  I began to rub down his chest and back, feeling his wet muscles under the soap. At some points he closed his eyes and gave a small mutter under his breath. I was just glad he wasn’t splashing around anymore, it was much easier to clean him. With him calm I moved to his legs, scrubbing them down as well as I could. He began to squirm again, giving little grunts and groans as he tried to tug away. “Oh stop it i’m almost done. Besides I didn’t get to squish your little beans yet.” I chuckled poking the cat like pad under his foot. He gave a loud squeak and pulled away quickly, loudly chattering and trying to make himself low in the tub. “Aw come on don’t be like that I was saying you were cute King... besides I gotta wash your hair.” I began to scratch his head, slowly adding shampoo and beginning to scrub the dirt out. I was lucky he loved getting his head scratched, his body slowly lifting from the tub and getting as close as he could to my hand. “At least we can do this... that’s right good boy.” I cooed to him as he began to purr, closing his eyes and moaning. I began to push him back into the tub, grabbing a cup and filling it with water before dumping it over his head. The water spilled over his face, causing him to sputter and shake his head. “Ack! I’m sorry King! Come on stop doing that!” I asked, covering my face from the dirty water hitting my face. King was already exiting the tub, beginning to shake his whole body  before nudging against me, asking for more head scratches. I stared at him, shaking my head and draining the tub before covering him in the towel. “We use a towel. We don’t shake like a dirty dog ok?”  King’s eyes darted over me as I began to rub him down, cleaning him up the best as I could before he darted off naked into the house like I knew he would. He stayed for a lot long then I thought, getting most of him dry before I opened the door and let him loose. He took off like a bat out of hell, scrambling around the house and earning screams from the other egos. I could only laugh as I got up and tried to clean the mess we left behind as best as I could before moving to the couch and collapsing. Although washing him was easier then I thought, it still wasn’t easy per say. Trying to keep a grown animal man in a tub and NOT splash around was hard when he was probably three times as strong as you. I closed my eyes and slumped down, trying to relax when I felt a weight on the couch beside me. My eyes shot open as a naked, still wet King began to climb on to my lap, resting his head on my lap and looking up at me with tired but thankful eyes. My cheeks couldn’t help but turn tomato red but I knew I couldn’t force him off. This was his way of repaying me after all, or at least from what I could guess. My hand pressed against his wet hair and began to scratch, earning a happy chirp form the king. “I think they just got you all wrong King. You’re a good boy. I know you are.”

[kl4us4]

NEAR THE LIGHTHOUSE (Murphy x Reader)

Request: hey, writing this request to you will take a lot of energy out of me because I’m socially so fucking anxious I can’t even text a stranger online so please go easy on me?/ could you write something where the reader is a grounder already living in the lighthouse bunker, so she sees Murphy passed out and wounded on the beach where jaha left him so she wakes him up or tries to drag him inside and takes care of him. but they still get locked in and maybe they fall in love with each other?

A/N: i love u, sorry it took so long to post this request but i love the idea and hope u like what i’ve come up with

masterlist

The sun shines onto your face as you step outside of the lighthouse bunker, feeling the fresh air cleanse your face. Nature often has a restoring effect on you and you wonder how lucky you are to be able to live where you do; away from any clans or leaders. 

You gaze upon the shore, admiring the tiny waves stretching beyond the cover of fog in the distance. Serenity washes over you as you walk towards the ocean. 

Murphy lays on the ground, breathing lightly. He’s unconscious, the only movement being his chest rising up and down. The sight of the stranger stops you in your tracks.

You waste no time in running up to him, kneeling beside the bruised and beaten boy. Shaking him slightly, you place your hand on his neck and feel the steady pulse. He’s alive. 

 “Hey, hey!” You call to him, slapping his face repetitively but gently. His eyes open slightly with exhaustion. “I’m here to help you but you need to get up. Please.” 

Maybe he hears the urgency in your voice. Or maybe he realises how weak and close to death he feels after Jaha’s beating. Whatever the reason, the mysterious boy says nothing, barely even opens his eyes and does as you say. He stumbles up with your help and you lead him back to the lighthouse. 

“You’re doing good. It’s not too far now.” You assure him. Adjusting him on your side, you help him up the small incline with great difficulty. You can feel him begin to walk himself which means he’s waking up. Turning to him, you place a hand on his chest in case he decides to pass out again. “You okay?” You wonder, looking at his fluttering eyes. 

 He furrows his eyebrows, eyes narrowed at you. “Who’re you?” 

 Raising your brows, you look him up and down. “I should be asking that to you. You’re on my island.” You retort, stepping up the incline. 

 “Your island?” He repeats, lifting his aching head to look around at the gigantic stature that is the lighthouse. 

 “I’m the only one who lives here.” You tell him, walking past the threshold of your house. “I found you on the shore, practically half dead. Here.” You state, gently laying him down on the couch. “Don’t move.” 

 “Couldn’t even if I tried, sweetheart.” He smirks, aching at the sharp pain along his ribs. 

You hold your breathe at the nickname, not actually being used to hearing another person address you endearingly. It’s been so long since you’ve been on your own. 

 Pausing at your first aid kit, you shake the thoughts away from your head and grab the disinfectant and bandaids for the gash on his cheek. “So,” he begins, looking around the bunker, “why are you helping me?” 

 You pause again, this time to turn and walk to him. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

 “You’re a grounder.” He states, as if it’s obvious. 

 Opening the kit, you retrieve a cloth and soak it with disinfectant liquid. “Is that supposed to mean something bad?” 

 He shrugs, just sits there watching you with his big light eyes. “No. Just that our people hate one another. I assume you didn’t get the message that we’re on the edge of a war.” 

 Gently placing the cloth to his cheek, you shake your head. “I guess I didn’t.” 

He hisses, instinctively grabbing your wrists with a strong grip. It burns but the pain subsides and he looks ashamed. “Sorry.” He lets go of your hands, settling to bite the inner corner of his lip. 

 “Don’t worry.” You tell him, wiping the blood from his defined cheek before opening a bandaid to place there. “Where else are you hurt?” 

 “Nowhere, sweetheart. Just a bit bruised.” He assures you, sitting up and holding his head as it aches. 

 “How did you get here?” You wonder, in awe of the first person you’ve seen in years. No one ever comes to this island. 

 He looks at you suspiciously, “You ask a lot of questions.” 

 Giving him and small smile, you sit beside him. “What’s your name?”

 He smiles back, holding his hand out. “John Murphy but everyone just calls me Murphy. Who are you?” 

 “Other than your rescuer, my names Y/N.” You make him chuckle quietly, taking his hand and shaking it. You’re about to say something else but a loud noise rips your attention away from him. 

 Looking towards the door, you turn just in time to catch a glimpse of it slamming shut. Letting go of his warm hand, you jump up and rush to the door. “What the hell is going on?” He asks, his voice lower and harsher than it was ten seconds ago. 

 “I-I don’t know.” You admit, pushing on the door with all your strength. It doesn’t budge. 

 “How can you not know?” He asks, pushing on it with you, “You live here.” His voice raises volume when he realises even he can’t push it open. It’s a full force of steel. 

 “It’s never done this, I-“ 

 Pushing you against the door itself, Murphy places his hand at the base of your throat. Not close enough to hurt, just close enough to scare the living daylights out of you. “What sick game are you playing?” He snarls, feeling the veins in his temples swell with panic. “Who put you up to this? Jaha?” 

 “Who? What? I didn’t do this, John.” You shake your head vigorously, your eyes wide with just as much panic and fear as his. “You have to believe me.” 

“Well, somehow I just don’t.” He replies, cold and harsh, “It’s not funny anymore, open the door.” Your hand goes to his, resting there as you look him in the eyes. 

“John,” you begin, “This is a doomsday bunker. I’ve lived here thinking it’s inactive, why would I want to be locked in here with a stranger? I. Didn’t. Do. This.” 

 He looks into your eyes, listening to the sincerity in your voice, and he decides you’re telling the truth. Most likely, anyways. “Shit.” He curses violently, letting you go as his chest rises and falls along with yours. His fingers gently graze your neck as he retrieves his hand. His mind races a thousand miles an hour. 

Another click is heard, making your stomach sink. “Containment doors sealed.”

Murphy begins banging on the door, his eyes wide with fear as he realises the doors may never open again. “C’mon, c’mon!” 

The whole house seems to be going crazy, the lights flicker on and off and you hear the shouting of a distant voice. “Chris! Chris?!” 

You both share a look - a look of shock and desperation - before running towards the sound coming from the television in the lounge room. Your eyes are wide, never knowing that this black rectangle was still in use. It’s more than 100 years old.

You stand beside Murphy, both of you watching with anticipation as two men run up to another man in a red cardigan, who is passed out on the exact couch you’re standing beside. 

The men mumble to one another but the one thing you hear clear as day is “That son of a bitch let A.L.L.I.E out.” Murphy paces up to the screen, his eyes wide as he watches on as if he’s engrossed in the story. 

Looking beside the couch to see the shining of the small handgun beside it. Picking it up, you watch him with wide eyes. “John.” You step away from him, not sure about what he’s going to do next. 

Placing the gun in the back pocket of his jeans, Murphy stands up and removes his thick jacket. He begins grabbing things from your house, using heavy objects in attempts to break open the door. Many days pass like this, in a blur of loud crashes of metal upon metal and Murphy screaming in frustration. 

One day, almost a month after you first met, you walk up to his crouched figure to place a hand on his bare shoulder. He flinches away, turning to look at you. His eyes are wet and red from him staying up all night.

“Murphy, you need to sleep.” You tell him, calling him by his last name after he got mad at your constant use of his real one.

“What’s the worst that could happen, sweetheart?” He stands, taking a step closer to you so that his bare chest is almost touching yours, “I’m already locked in a bunker with no contact to the outside world.” Pushing past you, Murphy knocks your shoulder and you feel your built up anger burst.

“Fuck you, Murphy.” You shout, turning around to push him back. After a month of being stuck with him, his rude remarks, his kind remarks, his conflicting nature, you’ve had enough. “I’m stuck here, just as much as you are!” You shout, pushing his chest back once more.

“You’re the reason I’m stuck here!” He steps towards you, shouting in your face.

Your chest rises and falls with deep anger, making you not care about anything that happens next. “I SAVED YOUR LIFE!”

“AND YOU RUINED IT!” He replies, his troubled blue eyes find yours and you have nothing left to say, “Now get out of my way.” He orders, making you step aside so he can find his way to a spare bedroom that he’s claimed.

You do so, stepping aside. Your frustration is still present and you feel your senses are overloading at the sound of the T.V still playing videos of ALLIE’s creation. Picking up one of the empty wine bottles that you and Murphy have been leaving around, you hurl it at the screen with a scream, taking pleasure in the way it flickers and dies.

Murphy hears the sound leave and silence appear knocking at his door. He lays in his bed. All he can think about is how he’s never seen you give up like that. You’ve always been positive, always dealt with his negativity. 

But today, you were different. It was like something snapped inside of you, something broke. He felt guilty for being the cause of your unhappiness. The lighthouse was silent as Murphy stood up, heading for your bedroom. 

Seeing that the light was still on, he knocked, hoping that you would answer. “Y/N, I-” 

When he walks in, he sees you fast asleep, curled up with the blanket wrapped around you. You were so tired that you forgot to turn the lamp on. Murphy feels himself smiling and the feeling is foreign.

How can something so precious be caught up in such horror? He walks to your bedside table, turning the light off before he lays down beside you. Immediately, he feels your warmth grow as you snuggle close to his body.

“John.” You whisper, waking up despite your eyes staying closed. Murphy, for once, doesn’t mind the nickname. 

“Hey, sweetheart.” He whispers back, letting his arms wrap around your figure, “I want to apologise. For everything.”

You open your eyes, looking at him through the darkness. “You’re going to have to be more specific.” 

He chuckles, meeting your eyes. “You don’t deserve to be around someone as negative as me. All I do is bring you down. I know we’re both stuck here. And I hate it because you don’t deserve to be stuck here.” He pulls you closer to him and you breathe happily. “I’m sorry. I’m going to try to be better - nicer. I don’t want to deserve to be here.” 

Smiling up at him, you place a hand on his cheek as you kiss the other side of his face. “I accept your apology. I’m sorry for yelling.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t yell at me earlier.” He admits, running his hands up and down your hips, “I’ve been horrible.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “We’re in a horrible situation.” You reply with a shrug, “But I’m sure we’ll get through it.”

Murphy nods, giving you the inklings of a smile as he leans closer to you. For a second you think he’s going to kiss your lips but instead he presses his lips to your forehead, holding you close. That’s how you fall asleep and that’s how you wake up.

Another few weeks later, you feel the effects of famine and dehydration making you dizzy and tired. You’re late to wake up and the only reason you do is because you can’t feel John beside you.

“Murphy?” You call out, knowing that the only place you can use his real name is under the cover of the dark night. Walking to the lounge room, your heart simultaneously breaks and stops. “Murphy?”

He turns to you, tears streaming down his sunken face. He’s skinnier now than how he was when you first met him - both of you are. He doesn’t answer you, just looks back to the gun in his hands.

You slowly walk to him, your eyes wide as tears begin to form. The thought of the warm boy that sleeps beside you suddenly going cold makes you afraid. “Don’t come near me.” He states, making you freeze as soon as you’re in front of him. 

“What are you doing?” You inquire, already knowing the answer. Murphy sniffs, wiping the tears from under his eyes. His eyebrows are furrowed and he looks as though he’s thinking something over and over again. “Murphy, you’re scaring me.”

“Go back to your room.” He tells you, not even looking at you. 

“No.” You protest, taking another step towards him. He raises the gun underneath his chin and you instinctively shut your eyes tight. “Please, put the gun down.” You whimper.

Murphy sobs, “I can’t do this anymore,” he begins, breathing hysterically, “we’re going to die soon anyways. We’ve run out of food, Y/N. We have nothing left. Nothing.”

“I have you.” You reply quickly, your voice urgent and desperate. “And you have me. We have each other, John.” 

Murphy closes his eyes for a few seconds, contemplating. You take this as a chance to move closer to him. He looks at you when he opens his eyes. 

“I need you.” You tell him, wiping your own eyes. “I wouldn’t have made it this whole time without you. Please don’t do this, you matter to me. And you’re not alone; you’re strong. You’re stronger than you know.” In the course of your speech, you’ve moved closer to him despite the gun never moving from it’s place under his chin. 

He watches you with bated breath as you grow closer to him, pressing your hand against his cheek. “Please.” You whisper, “I need you.” When you place your lips upon his, John lets go of the gun and pushes it aside in order to kiss you back. 

The anticipation of the kiss makes you both feel ethereal or like you’ll live forever even though it seems to be the opposite. Pressing your forehead against his, the kiss lasts a long time before a noise breaks you apart. 

Both your heads snap to the side. “Containment doors released.”

Jumping up, you both desperately run to the door. Gazing at it for a second, Murphy feels his entire life about to change. With one push, it opens and your senses are overloaded with joy.

The sound of birds from nearby trees greets you as the bright, intense sun shines on the both of you, warming your face. He turns to you, quickly rushing up to you and smashing his lips to yours as he holds both your cheeks in his hands.

Pressing his body against yours, you smile and let out a small laugh as tears of joy stream down your face. “We’re free.” You smile, ignoring the pain of hunger you feel in your stomach, “We’re actually free.”

Murphy looks at you, feeling slightly ashamed that he ever put you in the situation you were in ten seconds ago. “Thank you.” He mumbles, giving you a genuine smile. He doesn’t have to explain it, you know what he means. He’s thanking you for saving his life... twice.

[itoldheraboutyou]

i feel different - chapter 3

you can read previous chapters here: ch 1, ch 2, ao3 link

notes: thank you so much for the love i’ve gotten on the past two chapters! it means a lot to hear feedback. so, trying this new weekly update thing lol. don’t hold me to it though because i do tend to burn out rather easily. anyway, more interaction as promised. enjoy, friendos. :)

chapter 3

i’m leaning up against the counter of judy’s bloom, quietly watching as cyrus puts together a bouquet of flowers. it’s late, so late we’re the only ones left in the store. it was the last day of school, so we were out with everyone earlier, that’s why i’m here now. but there’s an eery feel to the place when it’s empty, despite having all the lights on. its very apocalyptic in a scary way, but maybe that’s just because i’ve been watching the walking dead. cyrus is overseeing a myriad of flowers, taking his time in choosing the right ones. his fingers brush gently over a particular white flower, taking a quick pause to rub the velvety petals between his fingers.

“what kind of flower is that?” i ask, my gaze lingering on it as cyrus moves on. he picks up another kind of flower before returning to the counter, his calculating eyes running over his selections.

“that was a gardenia.” he replies without looking at me. instead he focuses his attention on the flowers in front of him, switching two that seem to have been in the wrong place. i smile slightly, observing him work so meticulously.

“i like that one,” i look back at the flower. “it’s pretty.” cyrus is so caught up in his work i doubt he heard me, but he speaks again after a second.

“i can’t put it in the bouquet, it won’t match.”

“doesn’t matter, just thought it was pretty.” i shrug, seeing cyrus gather up the flowers and hold them up, looking at them how they should be looked at. he sighs with uncertainty, setting them back down on the table. “when did you become interested in all this?” i wonder aloud, my eyes only leaving his working hands to see him determinedly biting his lip. “aren’t you like, allergic to everything in here?”

cyrus chuckles, “ya, probably. i spend half my time getting yelled at by bowie because i don’t want to touch anything and the other half running away from bees.”

“sounds fun.” i deadpan.

“very, actually. well, the bees are traumatizing,” he clarifies, and i grin. “but i’ve always been into flowers. another nerdy, uninteresting thing about me i guess.”

i roll my eyes, tempted to reach out and lightly shove his shoulder, but i don’t. “i mean, everyone has uninteresting shit about them. i don’t think that is though. nerdy? definitely-“

“okay, okay, we get it, i’m a nerd.” he mumbles, annoyed, and i smile at him teasingly. “i’m a nerd and i’m jewish, i’m a literal walking stereotype.”

i laugh, continuing to watch him. after a few more minutes of working and reworking the arrangement, he pulls out a ribbon from one of the drawers and ties it neatly around the middle. “there. azaleas, yellow tulips, and white carnations.”

“it took you that long to put together 3 kinds of flowers?”

“excuse me!” cyrus raises his voice in foe offense. “shut up jonah, artistry like this takes time!”

“oh, artistry,” i say in air quotes. “i’m sorry.”

“i’m talented!”

“they’re flowers, cyrus.”

“don’t let them hear you say that!” cyrus hisses, covering the flowers lightly with his hand.

i laugh, “jesus, i didn’t know they were capable of being offended!”

“very capable and very offended.” cyrus shakes his head with a grin.

“how much do i owe you?” i ask, reaching to get my wallet from my back pocket.

“nothing, these are for bex and bowie, right?”

i nod, suddenly remembering that’s why i’m here. damn, it’s so easy to get lost when i’m around him.

“take em, bowie won’t care.” cyrus shrugs, coming out from behind the counter and handing me the bouquet. we’re close now, the only thing between us are the flowers.

“he will with you giving flowers away for free like this!” i warn with a slight chuckle. cyrus shakes his head.

“no one else. just for you, jolamajama.” i smile at the old nickname. just me. “why are you going all out anyway? bex and bowie already know you, what’s so important about this dinner?” he asks, moving back behind the counter. there’s more than just curiosity in his voice, but i can’t quite pinpoint exactly what it is. the space in front of me feels too empty now, i want him where he was.

“wanna keep the image up, ya know?” i chuckle, trying to play it off as a joke. i get a sudden wash of déjà vu, having said that phrase to my brother last night too. cyrus just nods.

“of course. you better be on your way then.”

i frown, thinking about having to leave. i should want to go to andi’s, i should want to go impress bex and bowie because i’m dating their daughter. and i do, of course i want to do that, i’m gunna go do that. “you’re right, i’m gunna be late. see you?”

cyrus nods, giving me a wave. i walk up to the door with my bouquet, turning the doorknob and- i turn the doorknob and... okay the doors not opening. i start jiggling the knob, but it won’t budge. great.

“uh, cyrus, the door won’t open.” i inform him. his eyebrows knit together, coming over to the door. he tries the same thing, even pushes at it, but it still won’t budge.

“shit,” cyrus curses, running his hand through his hair nervously. “shit!” he says again, beginning to pace. “oh my god, jonah, we’re stuck in here!” he whines, grabbing my arm. i feel a sense of pride as cyrus grips my arm for comfort, like he feels safer when he touches me.

“cy, it’s okay,” i reassure him, lightly touching his arm with my other hand before pulling free. i walk over to the counter and set the flowers down. “let me just call bowie, okay, we’re gunna be fine.”

cyrus nods, walking closer to me as i pull out my phone. i try bowie a few times, but nothing. cyrus is really freaking out now.

i sigh, setting my phone down on the counter too. “no ones answering me.”

“jonah, i don’t want to die in a flower shop called judy’s bloom!” he starts pacing again.

“hey,” i walk over to him, getting into his space. “hey, you’re not going to die in here, okay? i promise. just- is there something in here i can open the door with? like, a screwdriver?”

cyrus nods, “in the back, i think. what’s that going to do, though?”

“just get the screwdriver?”

he goes into the back, coming out with a screwdriver. when he hands it to me, i suddenly realize that i genuinely have no idea what to do with it. okay, let’s just, uh, go to the door first. i walk over to the door and kneel in front of it, having an internal debate with myself about why i ever thought this was a good idea.

“be careful.” cyrus says in the background as i try and pry the door open. which is actually pretty ironic because instead of prying the door open, my hand slips and cuts itself on the exposed wood.

“fuck!” i hiss, the screwdriver clattering to the floor. i ignore it, too distracted with gripping my hand and biting my tongue so i don’t scream.

“jonah!” cyrus is immediately at my side, clutching my arm with both hands. “are you okay? what the hell did you do?”

“well, honestly i had no idea what i was doing and now my hands bleeding!” i smile sarcastically through clenched teeth.

“damnit jonah,” cyrus rolls his eyes, and i feel like a puppy being scolded. “you’re an actual idiot, come on.” he sighs, dragging me to the counter. he disappears into the back again, coming out with a med kit.

cyrus reaches out and grabs my hand, holding it tightly in his grasp. he walks me over to the sink in the bathroom, shoving my hand into the cold water.

relief washes over the wound, and i can breathe properly again. cyrus makes me sit with my hand under the running water for a minute or so, and when i say make i mean he makes me. when he finally does let me leave, he leads me back over to the counter and pulls out some disinfectant.

“cyrus, jesus, please not that shit!” i plead, but cyrus just smiles, amused at my discomfort.

“should i say the overused, innuendo line?” his smile turns into a smirk, and i groan.

“if you must.”

the brunette plays doctor, pouring some disinfectant into the bottles cap and dabbing some gaze into it. “this might sting a little.”

i make an attempt to groan again, but it turns into a genuine cry of pain.

“sorry, sorry, sorry!” cyrus repeats as he cringes, trying not to look at me as i writhe around like a wounded animal.

the sting finally subdues, and i yank my hand from cyrus’ grip. “alright, that’s enough of that demon water.”

“demon water?!” cyrus full on cackles, and i crack half a smile.

“there’s holy water, and then there’s that. it’s demon water!” i try and connect logic to it, but cyrus just shakes his head fondly.

“honestly, i’m jewish, so i can neither confirm nor or deny if that’s how holy water actually works.”

“is that not how it works? i’ve had limited experience with it.” cyrus reaches back in the med kit to get a bandaid.

“you’ve had experience with holy water? why am i thinking that probably ended terribly?

“because it did,” i watch as cyrus unwraps the bandaid and gently places it on my cut. “my moms been convinced our house has been haunted since we moved in, so a couple years ago she bought some holy water off of ebay and just covered our house with it.”

“seriously? my step mom just talks to the ghost in our house.” cyrus says as if that’s completely normal.

“she talks to it?”

“she’s a jewish woman jonah, they’ll complain to anything that’ll listen. must be where i get it from.” i open my mouth to reply, but before i can do that my phone rings.

“jonah? we’ve been waiting for you over here, why did you call me?” bowie answers.

i watch as cyrus starts closing the med kit. “we’re trapped in judy blooms, the door won’t open.”

“we?”

“cyrus is with me.”

“oh. well, all you have to do is tilt the doorknob up and then turn.” bowie gives me the directions.

“ever heard of fixing it?” i quip, and he laughs.

“i’m sorry, really. i’ll get someone to fix it tomorrow, okay? we’ll see you in a bit.”

i glance over at cyrus, who’s looking at me expectantly with his big brown eyes. “see you in a bit.” i decide, grabbing the bouquet from the counter and approaching the door. i follow bowie’s instructions, tilting the knob up and then turning. with a click, the door gives way and opens. cyrus races out before me, frolicking aimlessly on the sidewalk.

“freedom! oh, thank god i didn’t die in there! i was not wearing a good sweater for that.” he dramatically informs me.

“i think it would’ve been fine. the one you’re wearing right now is pretty docious.”

cyrus rolls his eyes. “jonah, we just escaped death. leave that phrase in the 8th grade where it belongs.”

laughing, my eyes look down at the sidewalk before flicking back up. it had to end sooner or later. “i better go. thanks for uh-“ i hold up the bouquet and my injured hand.

“no problem. feels good to be the one not getting hurt.”

i smile, “bye cyrus.”

•••

“hey, jonah!” bex greets me as she opens the door. “come in!”

i shuffle inside, handing the bouquet over to her with my signature jonah grin. “for you.”

“oh jonah, this is so sweet.” bex says just as bowie and andi approach. “andi, your boyfriend is so gentleman like. you found a good one!” she winks as i cringe at the word boyfriend.

andi hugs me, kissing me on the cheek. “hey.”

“hey.” i reply.

“you want me to take these?” bowie gestures to the bouquet and bex nods.

“please. to tell you the truth i don’t even know if we have vases.”

bowie chuckles, “i’ll find something.” the girls make their way into the kitchen, leaving bowie and i here.

“is this why you were at the shop?” he asks, and i nod. he inspects the arrangement, and suddenly his smile dissolves into a frown. “so cyrus put this together then?”

“mhm, it’s really pretty, isn’t it?”

“huh,” bowie’s eyes flicker between me and the flowers, a knowing look in them. “very pretty. you must be starving, huh? let’s eat!”

i follow him into the kitchen, the smell of food filling my senses. i shake off the uncomfortable feeling i got from that exchange, trying my best to get out of my head. i’m just not feeling like myself i guess? or maybe i’m feeling too much like myself.

we sit down and start eating dinner that thankfully, bowie cooked.

“you’re not picky, are you jonah? i made burgers and fries, figured you’d be chill.” i hear him explain, passing a plate to andi.

“oh, uh, ya no, definitely not picky.” i chuckle nervously, taking the plate as andi hands it to me.

“that’s good. so uh, i don’t know what to talk about at these things, this is my first one.” bex says bluntly, looking a little lost.

“mom, why don’t you ask jonah about frisbee?” andi offers. i can tell she’s trying to be helpful, but honestly there’s not really much for me to talk about.

bex takes a drink of water, setting her glass back down before responding. “oh ya, how’s that going?”

“well,” i mumble, running my tongue over my chapped lips. “it’s summer now, and the season doesn’t start till school does, so.”

“you must be practicing though?”

“i mean, when i find the time.” i shrug, taking a second bite of the fry i’ve been nursing this whole time.

andi kicks me under the table, sending me a nasty look when i turn to glare at her. i try and straighten up and force a smile, but i can’t stop thinking about if i were at cyrus’ instead. i wonder if his parents are as entertaining as he says.

i answer a few more superficial questions about senior year and my future and to tell you the truth i bullshit my way through every one. it’s not like they were pushy, bex and bowie never are. i just think they were at a loss for what to talk to me about, and it’s not like i was giving them any help. after awhile the two get into their own conversation that i haven’t been paying attention to, and andi stands up.

“jonah and i are done,” i ate half my burger and a single fry. “can we go set up the board games while you guys finish up?”

“sure, take your plates to the sink though.”

we both nod, picking up our plates and bringing them to the sink. i rinse them both off before andi physically pulls me into her bedroom.

“what’s going on?” she whirls around on me, looking upset.

“what do you mean?” i ask despite knowing exactly what she means.

andi huffs out a breath, sitting down on her made bed. “jonah if you didn’t want to come tonight you should’ve just told me-“

“i did want to come!” i say exasperatedly, sitting down next to her. did i though? no, i wanted to come and show bex and bowie how good of a boyfriend i am... oh.

“then why weren’t you there?” she throws her hands up, clearly frustrated. “they were trying to talk to you and were just- somewhere else.”

“i know, you’re- you’re right, i was, i just- i’m...” i trail off, licking over my lips as i glance down at the floor, and then back up to her. “sorry.”

she drops her shoulders, shifting uncomfortably. “jonah, what’s been going on with you? you’ve been acting so- weird lately,” she looks at a loss for words, not really knowing how to describe my behavior. i don’t either.

i fold my hands in between my legs, keeping my gaze on the floor. “what is me acting weird to you?”

“what?”

“you said i was acting weird.” i’m just curious, i don’t know. what does she really define as me not being me? do i even know? i’ve been wearing a mask for so long.

“look, jonah,” she says, and i take that as a hint to turn towards her. “we’ve been on and off the past couple years and i just thought, ya know, that this would be a turning point for us in wanting something more serious.”

“it was, it is.” i reply automatically, stumbling over myself.

“jonah you weren’t even mentally present-“

“i’m just tired, well, i’ve been tired. that’s it, alright? i’m okay.” i try and reassure her despite my breathing starting to get heavier. goddamnit, not now. “can i uh, call daniel and let him know i’ll be home late?”

andi smiles bitterly at me. “jonah i think you should just go home.”

“what? babe, i’m just tired-“ she stands up, opening the door for me.

“we’ll talk later, i just need some time.” she says, her mind made up. i can’t even argue with her, my breathing is getting uneven and i’d rather not be here when i start to panic. i nod, standing up and following her out the door.

“mom, dad, jonah isn’t feeling well. he’s gunna go home.” andi announces upon entering the room.

“aw, are you sure?” bex gives us a confused look from where she’s standing over the sink.

“very.” andi stares daggers at me. i guess i deserve that.

“well, i’m sorry, kid. hope you feel better.” bex says, looking over at bowie.

bowie smiles, coming over to clap me on the back. “ya, it was great having you.”

i thank them both before following andi to the door, struggling to keep myself under control. we say goodbye, and as soon as she shuts the door behind me i’m off to panic alone. i would call amber but it’s too late, she’d have my head if i woke her up right now. oh well.