#and she will NEVER admit this to either of them

[iceemochaa]

WHO KNEW?

Remmick X Reader

A/N: Heyyyyyy, did somebody ask for Remmick Riding Fic??

I want to say thank you to my pookie @fuckoffbard for giving me this idea. She gave me her blessings to write something that was self indulgent and I wanted to deliver it with love. It took me a while to write and I’m so glad I kept picking at it until it all made sense on paper. Lemme go finish my other 5 fics now. Enjoy :)

Warning: MDNI, No use of name or Y/n, reader insert, Reader isnt described, Riding, fem Reader, AFAB, Creampie, slight breeding if you squint, slight blood play, kissing, kissing with blood, Remmick uses his claws maybe once or twice, cursing, dirty talk, P in V (lowkey what’s the difference), Remmick cries cause I love men being pathetic. Slight Cervix fucking if you squint. If you see any grammar or punctuation mistakes, no you didn’t :)

Word Count:3.6 k

The rapid beats of your heart echoes through your ears, your lips begging for you to stop chewing so harshly. It's only been a few short minutes since Remmick had worked his hands all over you— Freeing you of your clothing, tossing them carelessly in a pile somewhere. He whispered dirty things that he promises he’ll do to you— Soon, later, it didn't matter. All you knew was that Remmick was a man of his words.

He had you pressed against him, chest to chest so that he could breathe you in, Rub his scent right against yours. There's light red hickeys along your neck and arms— something Remmick did when he got all worked up, sucking your skin in his mouth to keep from inserting his fangs. Sometimes he went a little overboard, applying too much pressure until your skin underneath turned a deeper shade.

Currently you looked like a painter's canvas that was going through the rough draft stage; Hints of purple and shades of red painted all over your body. You didn't mind— You liked how considerate he was, never too hard but enough to make you feel, even if you did want him to go further.

For now, This was fine.

When he was done marking your body, soothing kisses placed above the marks— feeling almost satisfied, He tossed you on top of him and got real cozy under your weight. He used his slick tone and smooth voice to ask a simple question that left you paralyzed. A question that your brain has been mulling over and over. It wasn't anything bad— well, maybe to you but Remmick hasn't stopped smirking. He looked like a shark, all teeth and beady black eyes and you were the unfortunate fish that was soon to be his dinner.

“Why don't you Ride me darlin’? .” He said with such an enthusiastic drawl.

Since then you've been in a state of panic. Sure, you've done a lot of things with Remmick that you're too embarrassed to admit out loud but your body still reacts the same— it tingles and gets all warm and mushy when he has you pressed against him, with deep kisses lingering on your lip but this? This right here with your full weight sitting on top of his lap is too much.

“What if I hurt you?” you say in a small whisper but Remmick can hear you just fine. He simply looks at you with a hungry stare, He’s watching you, trying to gauge your reaction. Its the look he usually does when he devotes his full attention to you, shifting ever so slightly under.

“Hurt me? Darlin’ you could never.” he chuckles, tracing soothing circles on the side of your hip but then he quickly adds in, “Trust me, I've been through worse.”

“What's worse than this?” You ask, curiosity getting the best of you.

Remmick stops drawing circles to pinch the fat of your thigh lightly, “Besides burning in the sun?” he takes a few seconds to really search his brain for all the times he had to either catch prey or defend his life. Some of those moments really took a lot out of him, sometimes he couldn’t move for days but there was one thing that still gets his brain turning and his teeth aching with burning rage.

“...Maybe being hit with a guitar.”

A singular brow raises against your forehead. “Is that really true?”

“Now your tryin’ to change the topic.”

“Remmick, please, don't make me do this.”

“m’not making you do anythin’,” his says so innocently, making sure to sprinkle in an extra thick southern accent that gets your mind racing. “I'm just enjoying the view from down here, is all.” he says, “If you want to do something then your free to do as you please.”

”O-Oh okay…”

Sensing your hesitation, Remmick shifts your weight so he can sit up, his face only a few inches away. He plants a kiss right against your cheek, it's short and sweet, nothing but burning love flowing. He adds more, moving his lips lower until it reaches your collarbone then he stops to look at you once more through hooded eyes. “You don’t need to be nervous around me, sugar.” He says against your skin then shifts his head back up so his breath can fan against your face. “We've done far worse.” he says plain as day, the worse being even more freakier things he likes to suggest.

“I’ll gladly accept anything you do to me. You could never hurt me.”

“Are you sure?” You ask once more. Insecurity and fear was a glowing white beacon above your head. You believed Remmick, fully and completely, you just didn’t believe in yourself. What if you suck at it? What if he tells you that he changed his mind about this idea and shoves you off? What if he actually doesn’t like it and he fakes an orgasem? It sounds real childish but it could happen. You would rather indulge in those impossible sex positions he likes to purpose whenever he gets way too in his head.

You shake your head, hoping these feelings would somehow remove themselves from your brain. “You know what, maybe we can do this again later-“

Remmick clicks his tongue in slight annoyance, “Hold on now, Don’t give me that talk.” He chastises you but you can hear the softness in his tone. He wasn’t upset, not at all. An easy going smile, soothing hands, a soft hum. He wanted you to know that this was all fine.

Great even.

“Look, If you want,” he says in a sultry lilt, “I can do that thing with my tongue you like so much right after.”

Huh?

“You know, the one where I lick right up agaisnt-“

“Remmick, Shut up.” You sigh.

“Yes Ma’am.”

Well, here goes nothing.

To build some confidence you figured kissing would be a good start— It was easy and you didn’t have to think so hard about it. You wrap your arms around his neck, hands sliding into the back of his head to feel how soft his hair was. Remmick simply hums, leaning into the touch– almost like a cat. Slowly, You ghost your lips over his, your hand tugging his hair back just slightly so he was forced to look up at you. You can see something deep and primal in his eyes, like he was waiting for you to do this. Have him underneath you, have you take the lead.

You watch as Remmicks eyes glide across your face and slowly land on your mouth, his tongue peeking out to lick across his bottom lip like he was starving— He was always starving for you. You can tell by the way drool builds up in the corner of his mouth, his lips opening and closing like a fish. Like he needed air and the only air he wanted was you.

“Your drooling baby.” You note with a grin, observing the way it slowly drips down onto his chest. Remmick merely smirks, his hand coming up to cup your face in a soft embrace.

“That I am.” He says.

You press your lips right against his, You can hear Remmick breathing in your scent. His tongue pressing against your lips, asking for permission to taste you further. When you do let him in, he wastes no time to explore your mouth, his moan vibrating through you with sloppy sounds mixed with drool. Remmicks hand roams around your skin to keep him grounded. He was trying his best not to take control— have you take the lead but it was getting harder. You tasted so divine.

You glide both of your hands up his shoulders and push him down easily. He follows your lead without hesitation. Once you have him pressed against the bed, you finally break the kiss to plant light pecks on his cheek then slowly work your way towards his neck until you reach the shell of his ear. A low groan erupts from his throat when you suck his earlobe, your teeth working its way to tugging and nipping the shell of his ear soon after.

“Shit— where’d you learn that?” Remmick gasps softly.

“I have a good teacher.” You whisper in his ear, heat building on your cheeks, your nerves slowly turning into want and need— Enjoying the way the roles are slowly reversing. It’s usually him making you squirm and get all flushed but now he’s the one coming undone. You pull back to give him a once over, getting one more confirmation that this was 100% alright. Remmick simply nods his head.

“Well?” He says, “don’t stop now.”

You got this, you chant into your head over and over. He’s okay with it. It’s perfectly fine. Just move.

So you do.

You lift up to grab his weeping cock, feeling the way it burns in your hand. You heard a low groan shutter through the air— His chest starts to move quicker, his eyes growing wider, his fingers pressing deeper into your soft skin now. He didn't have to say anything but his body sure loves to talk— You can feel his muscle fidget under the palm of your hand that’s being pressed against his stomach, The growing anticipation too much to bear. You look towards him for any hints of discomfort, Maybe another confirmation that this was a totally bad idea but he's too busy watching the way his cock is getting closer and closer to where he really wants to be.

Okay, you got this.

He said it was fine, right? You take deep breaths, slowly guiding yourself down until the tip presses against your folds. You're already so wet, practically dripping due to Remmick playing with you earlier before this whole internal conflict started. He glides in so smoothly, entering into your warmth inch by inch. The pain of how big he is completely long gone and now masked with desire.

A small hiss slips from Remmicks mouth, his brows furrowing. “That’s it, nice and slow.” He says. It doesn’t take long for you to be fully seated on his lap now. His hard cock snuggled right inside, right where it belonged.

You stop suddenly, fear brewing once more. “I can’t- fuck, it’s too much,“ you choke out, Your nails digging into his chest to keep yourself together.

“Yes you can— your doing it already.” He coos, like he's trying to calm a frightened animal.

Remmick draws light feathered circles against your skin, his eyes fully scanning your face now. “Darlin, Your doin’ so well,” he says tilting his head back just slight. Still watching you, still trying to calm you down, Your comfort being too important to him.

“Whenever your ready. Move those pretty hips for me.” he sighs softly, “I promise im not goin’ anywhere.”

Here goes nothing.

You finally grow some confidence and lift up slightly, testing the waters, Feeling the way his hand clenches to keep a tight hold on Your hips. He doesn’t want to let you go, you don’t want him too. You come back down slowly, feeling the way your walls grow tighter when he enters once more.

This feels different.

Not in a bad way.

Exciting, new, different.

It feels a little overwhelming at first, trying to make sure you're not dropping your full weight on him all while he’s nuzzled inside your cunt but slowly the burning need grows. You do it again, lifting up to come back down on his length. A soft moan leaving your lips at the sensation. It’s usually Remmick who’s taking the reins; the one finding pleasure for you, Moving at his own accord when he wants. He'll find a rhythm that gets his stomach pooling with heat, a position that has your muscles burning, your mind ditzy.

Now?

You're the one holding the reins, Taking control. Before you know it, you're riding him in slow paces. Your hands pressed against his chest to support yourself— hips grinding down so you can find that slight, hot, burn that makes your stomach churn.

Remmick has his hands tight around your waist, his hold almost bruising. You both don’t say anything, nothing but the low grunts and moans echoing throughout the room. For the first time Remmick isn’t talking his head off— too lost in the pleasure, His eyes pinned to the constant exposure of his cock entering your cunt.

Perhaps you should do this more often, you think.

Soon enough the nervousness begins to wash away into pleasure and your moving faster. The sounds of skin on skin begin to mix into the air. You can feel warmth pooling down from your chest and slowly creeping its way to where you're connected to Remmick, like someone lit a fire under a stove. Your hips were being bruised by his hold, his fingers pressing into your skin. The more you ride him the more you start to take note that his claws are lightly scraping against your skin, leaving unruly red marks. They don’t dig in enough to bleed but you can feel them cementing themselves— A reminder that you made Remmick come undone.

“Sugar, m’close, so so close…” Remmick Whines under his breath, his voice dipping into a higher pitch. While his voice only stirs you on, You can’t help but stare at the way his fangs peeks out between his lips, how his tongue presses against them and then lulls out between them.

“Gonna- mhmm - I’m gonna, fuckkkk. Baby-“

“Not yet,” You groan, stopping to grind down hard, making sure he knows he won’t get a reward if he doesn’t listen. “Not until I say so.” You reprimand him.

Remmick throws his head back, a deep rumble echoing through his chest. You can feel the muscles under his skin tense, his hips practically jump in anticipation.

“m’sorry…” Remmick whines, “Please, I’ll be good.“ Pathetic cries begin pooling from his mouth, his head nodding away from the pure bliss he was experiencing.

“I don’t know…” you say offhandedly.

”Fuck, please, I’ll be good! Just— faster.” He begs, He looked good like this, all desperate and pathetic like. Almost like you’ve been withholding this from him for centuries. To think all it took was riding him like there was no tomorrow.

You watch as his eyes shut close, his breathing becoming unsteady. his fangs peeking out to brush against his bottom lip.

“You overwhelmed baby?”

Remmick bobs his head, sucks in a breath when you slam back down.

“Look at me.” You coo softly.

Remmicks glowing red eyes snap towards your own and what a glorious sight it was.

His ruby eyes half lidded but filled with adoration for you. His chest glistening with sweat and some other substance that you're sure is the copious amount of drool that’s been pooling from the corner of his mouth. How delicious he looked, hair tousled and chest heaving in rapid succession.

“Aren’t you a sight.” You chuckle.

“Please Darlin’ m’not gonna last any longer.”

How cute, you think, Remmick who’s always boasting and teasing you for crying and whining that it’s too much and yet he can’t handle it either.

“How about you beg me darlin. Tell me how much this pussy makes you cry.”

Remmicks eyes widen for a moment, His mouth gaping open like a fish. You swear you can hear the gears turning in his pretty little head. His cock throbs inside of you so good it makes your thighs clench around his waist.

“Your doing so…so, so—fuck, I can’t-“ He sobs in broken syllables.

You fingertips glides down the front of his chest, slowly working its way until it stops on his stomach and you press down slightly. “Yes you can, your almost there.”

“I— mhmm, baby, feels so good—“

“That’s it, keep going.”

”Your so perfect— fuck! made just f’me. Never want to let you go—“

You lean down so that your breath fans against his ear when you say, “You want to come inside?”

Remmicks entire body almost lifts off the bed.

“Yes! please!— wanna pump you full, gonna fucking— shit,” he sobs out loud, “Pussy feels so good, made just for me.”

You speed up once more, the sounds of skin connecting and moans mingled together brings hot fire straight into your core— you're getting so close too, his cocking hitting so deep inside it almost makes your eyes roll back. You figured this would be the time to push your limits— have him come undone with tears in his eyes instead. What a pretty sight it would be, a memory you won’t hesitate to bring again later when he says something smart about the roles reversing back.

“You can do better than that.” You say, testing the waters. “Show me how much you want to cum.”

Remmick doesn’t hesitate to follow your orders, his hips lifting so he can meet your rhythm. His hands moving to squeeze your ass— his claws digging into your skin, holding purchase, using your body to bring him to a climax he desperately needs. You can tell he was close, his hips faltering and then picking up again. He’s practically pounding into you, a speed so inhuman that it makes your pussy numb with pleasure.

God, if he kept going like this— his cock pistoning into your cervix once more, you're going to be sore for days. Wobble on your legs like a newborn dear but you won’t complain. Not when the view of Remmick’s blissed out face will be imprinted in your memory.

“N-Now?” he whines, turning his head to suck a deep mark into your shoulders. His nose tucked into your neck once more. You can feel his fangs brush over your skin just slight, his legs tensing everytime they brush against your thighs and the best part of all? The delicious sound of Remmick pounding into you.

“Y-Yeah, fuck— do whatever you want baby. You earned it.”

Remmick thrusts up into your core a few more times, loud moans echos through the room and he cums right inside of you. Pumping you full, making sure he paints the inside of your cunt white. He doesn’t pull out, no, he wants to make sure your filled to the brim. Nothing but him occupying your cunt from the inside out.

“Ohhh—so tight, mhmmm” he cries into your skin, “I’m— fuckkk!” You can hear a slight hiss afterwards, his forehead pressing into your shoulders. Suddenly you feel warm liquid coat your chest, his mouth gliding along your shouder.

When you turn to look at him, you catch a glimpse of red slide down his chin. He was holding back from biting you— the moment too much for him to handle, his fangs practically pierced through his bottom lip.

“You okay?”

Remmick simply nods, too dazed to give a coherent response anyways. You can’t help but eye his lips once more, watch the way fresh blood pools against his skin. The sight of him all bloody and messy makes your pussy clench around him and he groans.

Without thinking, Your hand wraps around his chin to pull him close, your mind racing with nothing but the need to claim him once more. An idea crosses your mind, something you’ve always dreamed of doing and now was the perfect time to act on it. You squeeze his chin softly, leaning down to plant your lips against his, the muscle bloody and almost swollen but you didn’t care.

The taste of iron and drool only makes the craving grow.

Soon enough your teeth come down to replace the indent of his fangs, biting down hard— making sure another wound opens on his lips and then you just tug. Sucking in his bottom lip, the taste of his blood intoxicating.

You let it go, watch as his lip snaps back into place and Remmick almost howls— his hips jerking up into your cunt, his hands shooting to cup your face.

“Fuck, do it again.” He whines into your mouth.

You comply easily, the taste of him is too good to ignore. You press your teeth down In another untouched area and bite down again, until a fresh new wound cuts open his skin, the flow of blood and spit dribbles out from your kiss.

You swear you can hear Remmick purr against your hand.

When you both part your lips, A long drawn out moan leaves between you two— A spit line follows along until it disconnects when you lean back unto his lap again. You can feel the swell inside, his cocked nuzzled deep into your cervix, right where he belongs. When you finally feel like you’ve had your fill of everything Remmick gives you, his entire being devoted and at your mercy, you sit up slowly.

Remmick hums lowly, his breathing at its regular pace again. He looked fucked up but satisfied completely, a goofy grin laying on his face. He looks down to watch the aftermath, The tip of his cock popping out to reveal an overflow of his cum—it practically spills from your cunt, drooling right back on his pelvis.

“You did so well hun.” You say, teasing and soft, copying the warm southern tone he likes to soothe you with. Who knew you had it in you to reduce Remmick to a weeping mess?

Remmick smiles happily at you, sucking in his bottom lip to taste the spit that lingers from your heavy kiss. His hands moving up to massage your hips. He feels the indents in your skin, the pads of his fingers tracing the lines over and over.

You can get used to this, you think.

“Wanna go again?” you smile.

“Yes please.”

[uncannyalien]

YES I AGREE I HAD A WHOLE RAMBLE ABOUT THIS LEMME FIND IT

She's significantly smaller than all the other Diamonds and supposedly weaker. All the other diamonds are a significant color, either white comprising all colors or yellow and blue which are primary. The only other primary color would be red, but she's *pink*.

But the Diamonds for sure couldn't say that one of their flawless diamonds was off color, so they kept face while treating Pink like a plaything. She had no actual authority, her activities were primarily entertainment, she was more of a little kid to them.

Like the way the Diamonds treat Pink and Spinel are so similar. It seems as long as it's pink, small, and entertaining they dont give a fuck.

Her design is so much like a jester. The shoes with the fuzzy balls, the poofy shorts and tutu, the opera gloves, the shoulder pads, etc.

Like if Pink was *so* perfect and competent like Yellow and Blue, then why was she treated otherwise? Why are their primary memories of her entertaining them or acting out?

Like literally if any other gem acted out as Pink did they'd be shattered immediately. The other Diamonds were constantly accommodating her. The garden & Spinel, providing Pebbles to constantly repair and adjust her room as she wants (assuming the others dont have that)

The "I'm just as important as you!" "Then why don't you act like it!" line really gets me

All I'm saying is if Pink was so perfect as a Diamond why was it such a struggle for her to even get a colony? Why did she have to *ask permission*

And yes I know the whole thing is that differences are beautiful and she was in a toxic space, of *course*. But *initially*. If gems grow out of the ground knowing who they are and what they are supposed to do, what made Pink so different in the first place?

Yes it was a toxic and oppressive system for literally everyone. But with how obsessed with perfection Homeworld is, Pink was kept alive. For her to look and behave differently, she had to be defiant in the first place. The Diamonds had to have taken one look at her and seen something they considered wrong.

And that only emphasizes the story's message. If Pink was an off color herself, of *course* she'd be a victim in a toxic household. Of course she'd struggle for respect and would grow resentment. Of course she would start a rebellion about freedom and being who you are. Also we could say this is further supported when White goes off color she turns pink.

But I believe that Pink was never considered a full Diamond in the first place. She was basically a mascot/pet to them.

Like if the Diamonds wanted a mascot sort of thing, why make Pink a diamond in the first place when their 'purpose' is to rule?

A friend suggests that Pink being an off color can support why every single Gem from Earth is considered bad. Also Pink's rebellion didn't help that along, seeing as some gems believed that Rose was like a mutated strain of quartz

I could probably keep going but I think this is good for now.

Pink Diamond was supposed to be a Red Diamond and was only kept bc admitting that a Diamond could be off color would destroy their whole system around perfection. It explains why, from the very beginning, she was treated differently, thus building her resentment and starting a war with herself. And it further supports the message of the show if the one who started it all was an off color herself.

I really believe in the theory that pink diamond was an “off color” because she supposed to be red diamond, just remember that the yellow, blue and red color are the primary colors💎

[mona-risms]

imagine a Rumi x reader where reader for some reason is the huntr/x bodyguard and Mira just asks Rumi why they even have one cause they don’t need one and she just admits that at first it was for appearances but now she’s just here because one she’s pretty cool and handles Bobby when he’s panicking and two because Rumi thinks she’s hot and Mira doesn’t let that piece of vital information go and just annoys Rumi every time she can with this information

That second thing has to be FORCED OUT of Rumi LMFAO she basically squeaks it out so quietly that Mira tells her to speak up. But judging by the Very Evident blush on her face, it doesn't really take her much to guess and she laughs SO HARD that you'd have to check like "what's going on????" and girlie just laughs EVEN HARDER while Rumi sits there mortified

Every time. Every single TIME you and Rumi are ever interacting w each other (doesn't matter if it's you who approached her or the other way around) and Mira HEARS you two, she'd have The Most Shit-Eating Grin before either bumping into them on 'accident' and pushing you or her into the other person's arm OR taking over the conversation just to essentially verbally multitask via both wingmanning for her and tease the living shit out of her the entire time like "oh you should Totally try working out together, you might pick up a few extra 'Methods' wink wink" "you're not that old stop verbalising 'wink wink'" and then later "stop visualising those abs then first" "SAYS YOU???????"

Unless Rumi tells Zoey asw idt Mira would ever say anything outright (loyal till the END no matter what) but even then she probably would've figured it out herself anyway and would Absolutely join in on the bullshit😭😭😭😭😭😭 Rumi shall Never know peace

[t4kalcvr]

THE GIRL WHO MADE THE CAKE

𝐊𝐄𝐍 “𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐍” 𝐑𝐘𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐉𝐈 word count :: ( 10,924 ) genre :: fluffyyy, romance, pinch angst content contains :: emma and drakens situationship, takemichi’s wedding!! no we are NOT (technically) home-wrecking !!

(..◜ᴗ◝..)

the soft clang of metal echoed in the empty garage as draken leaned over the frame of a half-built bike, grease staining the curve of his wrist. it was quiet, save for the faint hiss of cooling metal and the low hum of a fan in the corner. the kind of quiet that made you think too much.

he reached for his phone without meaning to — just muscle memory by now. his fingers hovered over the screen, slow, hesitant, like they already knew what he was about to do.

emma sano.

still saved in his contacts, like she’d never left.

they hadn’t defined anything. not lately. just… late-night conversations when one of them couldn’t sleep. coffee in silence that still felt warmer than most things. accidental hand brushes that neither of them pulled away from.

draken had told himself he was fine with it. that it was enough.

but takemichi’s wedding was this weekend. and standing in a crowd of familiar faces, watching two people say forever, that felt like the kind of moment you either show up with someone you care about — or you don’t show up at all.

he exhaled through his nose and typed, thumb gliding over the screen with more weight than he’d ever admit:

“you free saturday? takemichi’s wedding. thought it might be nice to go together.”

he stared at the message.

then pressed send before he could talk himself out of it.

the screen stayed bright for a few seconds. no reply. no read receipt. nothing but that tiny, uncertain silence.

he pocketed the phone, wiped his hands off on a rag, and tried to tell himself he didn’t care either way.

he wasn’t very convincing.

(..◜ᴗ◝..)

emma was sitting on the floor of hinata’s bedroom, surrounded by bobby pins, an open makeup bag, and a half-eaten bowl of instant ramen. wedding planning had slowly taken over hinata’s apartment — shoes lined up under the window, garment bags everywhere, florals taped to the fridge.

hinata sat across from her on the floor, still in sweats, scrolling through a seating chart on her ipad. her hair was clipped up in a messy bun, and her face looked exhausted but happy — the way only brides-to-be looked.

emma’s phone buzzed once.

she picked it up without thinking, brushing a noodle off her hoodie. the message lit up the screen:

ken:

“you free saturday? takemichi’s wedding. thought it might be nice to go together.”

she stared at it.

her lips parted, but no sound came out. her thumb hovered, heart fluttering in a way it hadn’t in a long time. not since him.

he asked.

he actually asked.

a smile crept up before she could stop it. it bloomed slowly, softly — the kind of smile that lived in her eyes, not just her mouth.

she typed:

“i’d love to.”

then she let out a sharp little breath and looked up.

“hinata?”

hinata glanced up from her phone. “hm?”

“i need a dress.”

“you don’t have a dress for the rehearsal dinner?”

“no,” emma said, her smile turning sheepish. “not for that. i need a dress for your wedding.”

hinata blinked. “emma. you’re already invited.”

“i know. but… ken just asked me to go. with him.”

hinata’s eyes widened, mouth falling open. “wait—as a date?”

emma nodded, the tiniest bit flustered. “i think so? i don’t know. maybe. but… it felt different. it felt like he meant it.”

hinata squealed, nearly knocking over the ipad. “okay. okay. we’re finding you something gorgeous. like dangerous levels of gorgeous.”

emma grinned, cheeks warm. “i want something that says… ‘i might be over you, but not really.’”

“say less,” hinata said, already reaching for her laptop. “black or red?”

(..◜ᴗ◝..)

the sun was starting to set when emma stepped out of her room, heels on the hardwood floors, smoothing her hands nervously over the silk clinging to her sides.

the dress was deep red — soft and almost impossibly fluid, the way it caught the light and draped against her like it had been sewn just for her. spaghetti straps. low back. a slit that threatened mischief but kept it elegant. she had twisted her hair up into something loose and effortless, a few strands falling around her face in soft waves.

it was a little bold. a little risky.

but tonight felt like a moment that needed something brave.

she took a shaky breath and turned toward the door the second she heard the knock.

when she opened it, there was ken — standing in a dark charcoal suit, a single black ring on his finger, his hair pushed back but still messy at the edges. he looked freshly shaven, like he’d tried without trying. his tie was half loose like he couldn’t be bothered to do the final knot.

he blinked when he saw her. just stood there.

his mouth parted like he was about to say something — anything — but the words got caught somewhere in his throat. his eyes dragged from her heels all the way to the dip in her collarbone and then to her eyes, lingering there like he didn’t want to blink and miss it.

emma smiled softly, cheeks warming under his gaze.

“hi,” she said.

“…hey,” he finally breathed.

she stepped aside to let him in. he hesitated just a second before walking past her, his shoulder brushing hers lightly as he moved inside.

“you look…” he started, glancing over his shoulder, eyes lingering again.

“yeah?” she teased, heart hammering.

he nodded once. slowly. “like trouble.”

she laughed. “good.”

he stood in her apartment — clean and quiet, soft lamplight casting shadows on the walls — and watched her reach for her purse.

and just as she was slipping on her earrings, her phone started to ring.

emma froze.

the name on the screen made her heart drop to her stomach.

she picked it up, voice uncertain. “hello?”

draken watched her face carefully. her smile disappeared, but her brows pulled together in that way she always did when she was trying to calculate something fast.

“wait, now?” she asked, turning toward the kitchen counter, pressing the phone between her shoulder and ear as she reached for her glass of water. “like, right now?”

a pause. her eyes darted toward him.

draken didn’t say anything.

she didn’t either.

just a look — long and quiet.

she wasn’t sure what she was asking for in that second.

permission? forgiveness?

he met her eyes and, without blinking, gave her the smallest nod.

go.

emma’s breath hitched, and she whispered something into the phone — she would be there. she could make it. she’d be there soon.

as soon as the call ended, she stood there for a beat, her chest rising and falling with something that wasn’t quite regret but wasn’t peace either.

“i’m so sorry,” she said quietly.

“don’t be,” he replied, voice calm. unreadable. maybe even proud.

she gave him a quick, fleeting smile — the kind you give someone who matters. someone who understands.

and then she ran.

into her room. heels off. hair falling down. fingers already undoing the zipper of her dress as she vanished behind the door.

draken stood alone in her living room, glancing once at the place where she’d just been.

when he stepped outside, mikey was already waiting near the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, dressed in a sharp black suit like some rebellious little prince.

“where’s emma?” mikey asked, swinging his head up casually.

draken didn’t look back at the building.

“work,” he said simply.

mikey didn’t press. just nodded and fell into step beside him.

and together, they walked toward the wedding.

toward something quieter. something that didn’t quite feel like loss… but didn’t feel like having her, either.

(..◜ᴗ◝..)

the ceremony had been beautiful — all soft pink florals and string lights woven through the rafters, vows that made even the toughest guys clear their throats a little too often. takemichi had cried. hinata had tried not to. everyone smiled through it.

now, the reception was in full swing.

music drifted through the venue — not too loud, just enough for the bass to ripple through the floor. glasses clinked, heels clicked against hardwood, and somewhere near the back, someone was definitely crying over the open bar.

draken stood near the edge of the room, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, a barely touched drink in hand. mikey leaned beside him, tie undone completely, hair slightly windswept from one too many fast spins with the bride on the dance floor.

they stood in companionable silence for a while, watching the people they used to ride into fights with now slow dancing and laughing like they’d never broken bones before.

“you okay?” mikey asked, not looking directly at him.

draken gave a quiet shrug. “yeah.”

mikey turned just a little. “emma?”

draken let out a breath. not quite a sigh. “she got a call. job thing. had to go.”

mikey nodded like he already knew.

“you still want it to work with her?” he asked.

draken took a long sip of whatever was in his glass before answering. “i don’t know, man. i think maybe it’s time to stop waiting.”

mikey raised a brow, clearly surprised. “you? giving up?”

“not giving up,” draken said, voice low, calm. “just… maybe i’m not meant for it. relationships. love. all that.”

mikey stared at him. “you’re not serious.”

“i am.”

“you’re gonna die old and cranky in your garage with a half-finished bike and nobody to nag you about leaving your tools everywhere?”

draken smirked. “sounds peaceful, honestly.”

but then — before mikey could push back — something shifted in the air. like the volume of the world turned down just a little. like something tugged his focus.

draken’s eyes drifted across the room.

and then he saw her.

you.

you were standing just beneath one of the overhead lights, laughing at something one of your friends said. your hand wrapped around a drink, your other gesturing mid-story. you were in a dress that wasn’t trying too hard, but the way it moved with you made it impossible not to look.

you hadn’t noticed him yet.

he took you in slowly — the way you tilted your head when you smiled, the faint line of worry in your brows when you were listening, the way you touched people gently on the arm when you spoke to them. like you meant it.

and then — as if something in the universe cracked just slightly — you looked up.

your eyes met his.

you didn’t falter. didn’t look away or shy from the weight of his stare.

you just… smiled.

slow. genuine. a little surprised, like you hadn’t expected him either, but now that he was here — maybe you weren’t in such a rush to leave.

mikey glanced over and caught the look. his smirk was immediate.

“yeah,” he said, “real peaceful.”

draken didn’t answer.

he couldn’t.

not when you were still looking at him like that.

draken didn’t move right away.

he stood there for a few moments longer, glass warm in his hand, pretending he hadn’t just felt that strange, low pull in his chest. it had been a long time since someone had looked at him like that — calm. curious. completely unbothered by the rough edges.

then, quietly, he started toward you.

you were leaning against a table near the edge of the dance floor, laughing with someone before they walked off to grab another drink. you spotted him the second he started walking over, and instead of freezing up or acting coy, you just grinned — like you were amused by the idea of it.

he stopped just a few feet away, one hand casually shoved in his pocket.

“so,” you said, arms crossed lightly, “are you here to ask me to dance?”

he looked past you at the people swaying under the lights, then back to you. “absolutely not.”

you laughed. “good. because i only dance when i’ve had at least three glasses of champagne or when there’s a serious cash prize involved.”

“you missed the cash prize round,” he said, deadpan.

you snapped your fingers. “damn. i was gonna bust out my interpretive worm.”

he couldn’t help it — he laughed. a real, low laugh, the kind that surprised even him.

you gestured to the empty chair beside you. “well, if you’re not gonna embarrass yourself on the dance floor, you might as well sit.”

he did. the chair creaked a little under his weight, and for a second, the music filled the space between you.

“so,” he asked, “you here alone?”

you took a slow sip from your glass. “define ‘alone.’ emotionally? romantically? physically?”

he smirked. “romantically.”

“yes,” you said. “i came with expectations and left them somewhere near the chicken skewers.”

he raised a brow. “tough date?”

you shrugged. “no date. just me. i figured if i was gonna cry at a wedding, i might as well look hot doing it.”

he leaned back in his chair a little. “bold move.”

“and you?” you asked. “you strike me as the type who claims he hates weddings, but still shows up looking like a half-unbuttoned heartbreak.”

he snorted. “i came with someone. she got called into work.”

you winced. “ouch.”

“yeah.”

“so, you planning to find a replacement?”

he looked at you, eyes narrowing with amusement. “why? volunteering?”

“absolutely not,” you said, smiling as you leaned your elbow on the table, chin in hand. “i mean, look at you. tattoos, slicked-back hair, that whole brooding ‘i fix motorcycles but can’t fix myself’ vibe. i definitely know better.”

his grin curled up on one side. “i wasn’t gonna ask you to come home with me.”

you lifted your glass to him in mock salute. “good. because i definitely wasn’t going to.”

“your loss,” he muttered into his drink.

you both laughed again, easy and unexpected.

then, after a pause, you tilted your head. “you know what?”

“what?”

“let’s not ruin this.”

he raised a brow. “this?”

“this,” you echoed. “this whole thing. the vibe. the not-knowing. let’s not turn it into something heavy.”

he looked at you, intrigued now.

“let’s give each other fake names,” you said. “no contact info. no social media. no ‘call me sometime.’ just tonight.”

“fake names,” he repeated, amused. “alright. what’s yours?”

you glanced up, scanning the room for anything you could steal a name from — and then, suddenly, it came to you. you looked back at him and smiled.

“sundrop.”

“…sundrop?”

you shrugged. “don’t question it. it’s got personality.”

he chuckled. “alright, sundrop.”

“and you?”

he thought about it for a second, then leaned in a little and said, “dragon.”

you stared. “seriously?”

“you picked a flower. i’m picking a beast. balance.”

you laughed, louder this time — a soft, rolling sound that made his eyes warm.

“fine, dragon,” you said. “let’s make a deal. we don’t know each other after tonight.”

“no numbers?”

“nope.”

“no goodbyes?”

“just one night. and we leave it at that.”

he clinked his glass against yours. “deal.”

and for a moment, under the fading lights of someone else’s forever, two strangers decided to exist only in the present.

no past.

no future.

just here.

just now.

the clink of your glasses still hung in the air when you leaned back in your seat, eyes bright with mischief, that sundrop smile still lingering on your lips.

“so,” you said, “what now?”

“we enjoy the night,” he replied, stretching out his legs a little. “eat, drink, mock slow dancers.”

you opened your mouth to agree, but—

“yo, draken!”

you both turned at the same time.

mikey was weaving through the tables, a plate already in his hand, the tiniest smear of red bean paste at the corner of his mouth. his suit jacket was long gone, sleeves rolled to the elbows, tie missing entirely.

“they just put out the dorayaki,” he grinned, waving the plate like it was a holy relic. “you better hurry or i’m eating yours too, draken. i swear—draken—draken, they’re still warm, bro!”

and just like that, he disappeared again into the crowd of dessert-loving guests.

you turned back to the man beside you slowly, your eyes narrowed and your smile threatening to break. “…draken?”

he held your gaze, his mouth twitching with guilt and amusement. “yep.”

“as in… your actual name is draken?”

he shrugged, palms up in surrender. “nickname, technically.”

“mikey blew your cover fast.”

“he really did.”

you tilted your head, teasing. “so what’s the damage? how much did he ruin our sacred no-names pact?”

“just the top half.”

“well, in the spirit of fairness…” you extended your hand as if meeting him for the first time. “i’m y/n.”

he shook your hand gently, still grinning. “nice to meet you, y/n.”

you nodded. “but no last names.”

“agreed.”

“i mean it,” you warned, eyes narrowed.

“same,” he said, still holding your hand for a beat too long.

you stared at each other — the champagne buzz softening the room around you, the music playing like it had been written to soundtrack this exact conversation.

“alright,” you said finally, “we adjust the rules. first names allowed. everything else? off limits.”

he smirked. “no childhood trauma dumps?”

“not unless you bring snacks.”

he chuckled, sitting back again. “deal.”

and just like that, even with names known, the moment held its magic — two almost-strangers choosing, very deliberately, to stay right here.

the band had just started a cover of something slow and vintage when you nudged draken with your elbow.

“alright,” you said, voice playful. “show me your moves.”

he glanced at you, brow raised. “moves?”

“you know,” you grinned. “how you get the girl.”

he leaned back in his chair, a slow smirk pulling at his mouth. “you asking for a demonstration?”

“i’m asking for entertainment,” you teased. “don’t tell me you’ve got nothing in your arsenal.”

he held your gaze for a beat longer, then stood up without a word. you watched as he walked straight toward the bar, that same slow, confident swagger in every step, like the world never rushed him.

he came back with a full bottle of wine under one arm and two elegant glasses swinging lazily from his fingers.

he held them up. “step one: wine.”

you laughed, standing to meet him. “classic. not bad. smooth, but safe.”

“don’t underestimate the basics,” he said, pouring two glasses like he’d done this a thousand times — and somehow made it look new.

as you took your first sip, your eyes flicked to the head table.

“you know…” you said slowly, glancing toward the bouquet resting near hinata’s seat, “we should really do the single ladies a favor.”

“how’s that?”

“we steal the bouquet,” you said with a smirk. “save them the humiliation of diving for it.”

he looked over at the head table, then at you. “you’re dangerous.”

“no,” you said, sipping your wine, “i’m fun.”

he chuckled and glanced around the room, eyes scanning for opportunity.

then he turned back to you and gave the smallest nod — “watch this.”

he stepped forward, lifted one of the wine glasses, and gently tapped the rim with his ring.

ting ting ting

“kiss! kiss! kiss!” he chanted.

you joined in, grinning. “kiss! kiss! kiss!”

within seconds, the room caught on. laughter burst out across the tables as everyone turned toward the blushing couple. takemichi looked panicked; hinata rolled her eyes affectionately and kissed him as guests whooped and clapped around them.

every head turned.

“now,” you whispered, already slipping off your heels.

you moved in sync — draken swept the bouquet under his arm with the ease of someone who’d done far riskier things in his past, and you ducked behind him as the two of you bolted down a hallway, hidden by applause and chaos.

your laughter echoed quietly in the corridor as he pushed open an unmarked door and motioned you inside.

the room was warm and still — an empty space left untouched by the reception. a grand piano sat in one corner, glossy under the soft spill of moonlight through tall, arched windows. velvet curtains swayed gently as the air shifted.

you leaned against the door, breathless. “i can’t believe that worked.”

he held up the bouquet like a prize. “still got it.”

“not bad, dragon,” you said, crossing the room barefoot as your dress swept the floor. “you’ve got moves after all.”

“just getting started,” he muttered, half to himself.

you turned to him, eyes glinting. “well then… impress me.”

he stepped closer, the wine bottle still in his hand, eyes never leaving yours.

and just like that, the game shifted.

not louder. not flashier.

but real. subtle.

the kind of move you don’t even realize is happening until your heart skips.

draken wandered over to the piano, running his fingers across the keys like he wasn’t sure if he should — and then, with a quiet smirk, he sat down and started to play.

the sound that came out wasn’t soft or romantic.

nope.

it was funky.

bouncy.

ridiculous.

you blinked once, then laughed — not because it was bad, but because it was so good and so completely unexpected from a guy like him. it sounded like something you’d hear in a 70s spy movie montage — dramatic flourishes, syncopated rhythm, total chaos.

you looked at him.

he nodded at the empty space in front of the piano bench. “your move, sundrop.”

you raised your brows. “oh, we’re doing this?”

he kept playing, clearly unbothered. “better make it count.”

you stepped into the light with the dramatic flair of someone who knew full well they had no clue what they were doing — which, to be fair, was the point.

you started with a cha-cha that somehow turned into finger guns, threw in a painfully awkward body roll, then added a full spin that almost tripped you off your feet — but you landed it with confidence like it had all been on purpose. your finale? a full-on jazz hands explosion in his face.

“ta-da!” you declared, out of breath and fully committed.

draken’s fingers stumbled on the last chord as he burst out laughing.

“wow,” he said, deadpan through a grin. “i mean… that was something.”

you put a hand on your chest. “be honest. life-changing?”

“you just invented four new dance styles and a lawsuit.”

you laughed as you flopped down next to him on the piano bench, cheeks warm and smile wide. your thighs barely touched, just a few inches of space between you and the wine bottle still rolling gently on the floor nearby.

“okay,” you admitted, catching your breath, “i have no idea how to dance.”

he turned to you slowly, brow raised. “you don’t say.”

“not even a little bit.”

“you really fooled me back there,” he said, eyes mock-wide with awe. “the part where you almost broke your ankle? inspired.”

you snorted, leaning slightly against the piano as you both laughed again — the kind of laughter that came easy and unfiltered, the kind that stayed behind in the corners of your mouth even when the moment passed.

outside, the music of the wedding pulsed faintly. but here — in this quiet little room, in a stolen piece of the night — it was just you and him.

and the tiniest, growing feeling that maybe this wasn’t just fun.

maybe this was starting to matter.

you were still catching your breath from laughing, curled sideways on the bench beside him, your knee almost brushing his. the glow from the moonlight softened the edges of everything — your hair, the curve of his shoulders, the space between you.

he glanced at you, eyes glinting. “you know, it’s kind of a shame.”

you turned your head, playful. “what is?”

“that you’re not getting some tonight.”

your jaw dropped, mock offended. “excuse me?”

he shrugged, lips curling. “just saying. a woman steals a bouquet, does jazz hands in heels, risks arrest… seems like she should get rewarded.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “i could get some tonight.”

his brow lifted. “oh?”

you leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing like you were making a point — like this was evidence in your favor. “you’re a guy.”

“correct,” he said, unblinking.

“you’re here.”

“still tracking.”

“you’re a guy i could get some from if i wanted to.”

he didn’t miss a beat. “absolutely.”

you broke into a laugh that doubled you forward, hands braced on your knees.

he grinned at your reaction, clearly proud of himself. “what, am i wrong?”

“no, it’s the way you said it! like—zero hesitation. so matter-of-fact.”

“i’m just agreeing with you,” he said, mock-innocent.

your laughter faded slowly, leaving the two of you sitting there in that in-between silence — the kind that isn’t awkward, just full.

you met his eyes again. and this time, you didn’t look away right away.

neither did he.

his expression softened — the edges of his mouth twitching slightly, like he wanted to say something else. or maybe lean in.

your heart beat louder than the music outside.

his eyes flicked down — just once. barely.

and that was your cue.

“we are not gonna kiss,” you blurted, pointing at him.

draken dropped his hand dramatically onto the piano, letting it crash into a chaotic jumble of keys.

ba-donnnng.

you burst into laughter again. “i’m serious!”

he just looked at you, eyes narrow. “why not?”

“because if we kiss,” you said, “then it becomes real. and this is not real. this is wine and a piano and fake names and me doing the interpretive worm.”

“so you’re saying… a kiss ruins it?”

“yes. because a kiss makes it mean something.”

he tilted his head slightly. “not if it’s a bad kiss.”

“you saying you’re a bad kisser?”

“not at all,” he said, leaning his elbow on the piano, watching you closely now. “but if you’re scared…”

“i’m not scared,” you snapped back, eyes narrowing.

“then what’s the problem?”

“i just don’t trust you.”

“to kiss you?”

“no,” you said dramatically, “to not use too much tongue.”

he raised both brows. “you think i’d use too much tongue?”

you pointed to his mouth. “you look like a guy who gets cocky with tongue.”

he leaned a little closer, voice low but playful. “i’ll have you know i use exactly the right amount of tongue.”

you rolled your eyes, trying not to smile. “okay, mathematician.”

“balanced. measured. tailored to your face.”

you laughed again — a sharp, bright sound that filled the quiet room.

your laughter faded slowly, and what remained between you wasn’t quite silence — it was breath. thick and warm and close. his knees were still turned toward you, your legs brushing just enough to notice, and the piano’s last clumsy chord still echoed somewhere in the wooden floorboards.

he was watching you — really watching you now. eyes dark but soft, like he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up here, in this little forgotten room with you, but now that he was… he didn’t want to leave it.

you tilted your head slightly, biting the inside of your cheek.

then, quiet and thoughtful, you said, “how about this.”

his brow rose.

you leaned forward a little, chin propped in your hand. “the drum roll.”

he blinked once. “drum roll?”

you nodded, explaining with a little grin, like you were letting him in on a very serious secret.

“you know how every kiss has a drum roll? the part right before it happens — the lean in, the pause, that… build-up. like the universe is holding its breath?”

he nodded slowly, watching you with interest now.

“that’s the best part,” you said, voice soft but certain. “it’s better than the kiss itself, sometimes.”

he tilted his head. “so… you’re saying…”

“we stop there,” you said. “we only do the drum roll.”

“just the lead-up.”

“just the lead-up,” you echoed, smiling. “no kiss. no tongue. no consequences.”

he blinked at you again, then let out a low chuckle. “you’re something else.”

you shrugged. “you in or not?”

he didn’t answer with words.

instead, he turned slightly on the bench, slowly — deliberately — and waited for you to do the same.

you did.

and then it began — the drum roll.

you both leaned in, carefully, like something fragile was held between you. his eyes flicked to your mouth once, then back up to your eyes. your breath hitched slightly, and you felt his fan across your cheek, warm and steady.

you were so close now. so close you could see the faintest scar near his temple. so close you could count the freckles on the bridge of his nose. so close your knees touched fully now, no space left.

but neither of you moved the final inch.

you just… stayed there.

hovering.

breathing.

letting the weight of almost settle around you like smoke.

you closed your eyes for a beat. just to feel it.

and he didn’t pull away.

not yet.

not until a few seconds passed and the silence deepened into something warm and impossible.

then you both leaned back at the same time, slowly, like surfacing from water. and when your eyes met again, there was no teasing in them — just understanding.

you’d shared something.

something small.

but impossibly big.

no kiss.

no contact.

just the best part of it.

the drum roll.

(..◜ᴗ◝..)

“…the drum roll?” mitsuya repeated, brows raised.

draken nodded once. “yep.”

mikey looked up, blinking slowly. “that’s it?”

“that’s it.”

mikey blinked again. “you didn’t kiss her?”

“no.”

“you didn’t ask for her number?”

“nope.”

“you didn’t even find out her last name?”

“i didn’t.”

“bro,” mikey groaned, slumping even further into his bowl. “are you actually stupid or just emotionally constipated?”

“i don’t think those are mutually exclusive,” mitsuya muttered.

draken gave them both a look. “it wasn’t like that.”

“it sounds exactly like that,” mitsuya said, finally lifting his chopsticks. “you met someone who clearly made you soft in the head and the heart, and then you just let her vanish like it was some poetic side-quest.”

“it wasn’t about closing the deal,” draken said, a little quieter now. “it was—i don’t know. it was perfect. she was perfect. we just… connected. for real.”

mikey frowned. “so then why not actually do something about it?”

draken leaned forward, elbows on the table, looking at the warped reflection of his glass of water. “because we weren’t supposed to. that was the deal. one night. no names. no kiss. and it worked. we ended it before we ruined it.”

“draken,” mitsuya said slowly, like he was breaking bad news, “you already ruined it by not following up.”

“it’s not like i’ll see her again,” draken muttered, voice low. “we left it exactly how it started — like a story you don’t finish.”

the ramen shop settled into a quiet stretch.

mikey picked up his tea. mitsuya took another bite of his egg.

draken sat there, still — jaw set, shoulders stiff. until—

“…damn it.”

he shoved his hands down on the table and stood up, the stool screeching under him.

“damn it, i have to see her again.”

mikey nearly choked on his tea. “finally.”

“took you long enough,” mitsuya added, but there was a grin in his voice now.

draken ran a hand through his hair, looking half-crazed and entirely alive. “i don’t even know where to start—she said her name was sundrop.”

mikey blinked. “like the flower?”

“or a soda?” mitsuya offered.

“no idea.”

“that’s the dumbest fake name i’ve ever heard,” mikey said.

“i know,” draken muttered, already pulling his phone out. “but it’s mine now.”

and just like that, the drum roll wasn’t over.

it was just beginning again.

draken was still standing, one hand in his pocket, the other gripping his phone like it might start ringing on its own. his brows were pulled tight, mind racing.

mikey and mitsuya stared at him from the booth, both half-finished with their ramen now, interest fully redirected to the drama unfolding.

“okay, wait,” mitsuya said suddenly, sitting up straighter. “you said her real name was…”

“y/n,” draken said, nodding once. “that’s all i got. no last name. no number. no workplace. just ‘y/n’ and that stupid fake name she gave me.”

mikey furrowed his brows. “sunlight?”

“sundrop,” draken corrected, sighing like the name actually hurt now.

“sundrop,” mitsuya repeated, squinting. “that’s so unserious of her.”

“and yet here we are,” draken muttered, staring at the name in his recent calls. “i can’t stop thinking about her.”

“okay, but listen,” mitsuya said, glancing at mikey. “didn’t y/n hang out with hinata at the reception?”

mikey blinked. “wait. yeah. they were definitely talking by the photo wall.”

“boom,” mitsuya said, gesturing with both hands. “there’s your link.”

“hinata,” draken echoed, eyes lighting up. “hinata would know who she is.”

there was a pause.

and then mikey frowned.

“…they’re on their honeymoon, bro.”

draken’s hand froze mid-dial.

“they just left for two weeks,” mikey continued, now slurping noodles again. “remember? takemichi said something about beaches and zero cell service. and ‘not even god is allowed to call us.’ direct quote.”

mitsuya nodded. “you should definitely wait until they’re back.”

draken slowly set the phone face down on the table. “…yeah. yeah, i’ll wait.”

a pause.

“you’re calling her right now, aren’t you?” mikey said flatly.

“yeah i’m calling her right now,” draken said, flipping the phone over again.

“don’t do it!” mikey exclaimed, pointing at him with his chopsticks. “don’t ruin their honeymoon!”

“you think she’s actually gonna answer?” mitsuya added, mouth half-full. “what’s your plan? leave a desperate voicemail?”

draken didn’t answer — just scrolled through his contacts like a man possessed.

mikey groaned and dropped his forehead dramatically into his bowl. “you’re the worst. they’re probably on a boat somewhere.”

“just one question,” draken muttered, holding the phone to his ear.

“draken—” mitsuya started.

“—and i swear i’ll be respectful—”

as the line started to ring, mikey leaned over to whisper urgently, “ask her about the cake.”

draken blinked. “what?”

“ask her where they got the cake,” mikey repeated, deadly serious. “it was so soft. like clouds. and the frosting wasn’t even too sweet.”

mitsuya nodded solemnly. “respectfully, i second this.”

draken rolled his eyes — but the smile tugging at his lips gave him away.

he wasn’t calling for the cake.

he was calling for her.

the line rang once.

twice.

a third time—

“hello?” a familiar voice chirped.

draken’s eyes widened. “…hinata?”

“draken?” she replied, equal parts surprised and suspicious.

he cleared his throat, forcing himself to sound casual. “heyyy hinata.”

mikey and mitsuya were already mouthing what is he doing? from the booth.

“i just—uh—wanted to say the wedding was so beautiful,” draken said, pacing in a slow circle now. “like… stunning. perfect weather. great venue. amazing speeches. and that dress? you? radiant.”

there was a pause.

“thank you…?” hinata replied slowly.

“also! how’s the honeymoon?” he asked quickly.

but before she could even open her mouth, draken steamrolled ahead.

“so i kinda met this girl at the reception and i was wondering if—”

“ohhh you have got to be kidding me!” hinata exploded.

“here we go,” takemichi’s voice groaned in the background.

“draken, twenty-four hours ago, you were inviting emma to the wedding—like, making a whole scene in the kitchen about how it’s ‘important’ and ‘we’re figuring things out’—and now you’re just suddenly over her?!”

draken winced. “i’ve… moved on?”

hinata let out a long, dramatic sigh — one that probably echoed across the entire island they were honeymooning on.

“what’s her name,” hinata asked finally. “and if it’s my fat cousin kaski, don’t lie. she has beautiful eyes and a killer personality.”

“it’s not kaski,” draken muttered quickly. “her name was y/n.”

“full name?”

“…just y/n.”

another pause. and then—

“well,” hinata said brightly, “you’re in luck!”

draken’s spine straightened. “really?”

“yep! lucky for you, i have my guest list memorized forwards and backwards.”

mikey gave a triumphant thumbs-up from his seat. mitsuya mouthed clutch.

draken exhaled, shoulders dropping. “thank god. i thought—”

“unlucky for you,” hinata cut in, her tone shifting instantly, “there was no ‘y/n’ on my guest list.”

draken froze. “…wait, what?”

“no y/n,” she repeated. “no y-n. no y period n period. no guest nicknamed sundrop. nada. zip.”

“what? that can’t be—”

“draken,” hinata said flatly, “i love you, but we’re on a boat. and takemichi just figured out how sunscreen works. goodbye.”

click.

the line went dead.

draken stood there for a full five seconds, phone still to his ear.

the silence in the ramen shop was deafening.

“…so?” mitsuya asked finally.

draken slowly turned back toward them, stunned.

“she wasn’t on the guest list,” he muttered.

mikey blinked. “you got ghosted by a phantom guest.”

draken dropped into the booth again, hands on his head.

“she’s not real,” he whispered.

mitsuya handed him the bottle of soy sauce like it was a shot of whiskey.

mikey leaned in, totally unfazed. “…did she say anything about the cake?”

“she wasn’t on the guest list,” draken repeated, still stunned, still reeling.

“so she crashed the wedding,” mitsuya said, piecing it together out loud.

“ohh,” mikey said, grinning now. “she’s good. she’s very good.”

mitsuya leaned back in the booth, nodding slowly. “maybe… maybe she gave a second fake name. like, for the rsvp.”

“a decoy fake name,” mikey said, eyes wide with admiration. “damn. she’s a pro.”

“i told you she was impressive,” draken muttered.

mitsuya, eyes suddenly distant, shifted gears again. “wait. what if… she didn’t want to kiss you because she was… a ghost.”

mikey sat up. “wait, yeah! and if you’d kissed her, your lips would’ve gone right through her and it would’ve felt really cold for a second!”

he slapped the table once. “yo. that’d make such a good screenplay.”

draken blinked at both of them. “guys.”

“she only appears under moonlight,” mitsuya added seriously. “only after bouquet tosses and ill-advised wine heists—”

“guys,” draken said louder, waving his hands. “she’s not a ghost.”

“you sure?” mikey asked, resting his chin in his hand.

“yeah. because she picked up the bouquet. solid object interaction. corporeal form. this isn’t ‘sixth sense,’ man.” mitsuya joked.

draken face-palmed.

“wait,” mitsuya said suddenly, sitting forward. “she was sitting across a few bridesmaids during the speeches, wasn’t she?”

“yeah!” draken snapped his fingers. “she was!”

mikey leaned back again. “okay, cool, cool — and how exactly are we supposed to get in touch with any of them?”

there was a pause.

draken looked at his phone.

then he grinned.

“i’m calling hakkai.”

mitsuya’s eyes widened. “you think—?”

“his brother definitely hooked up with one of the bridesmaids,” draken said, already dialing. “maybe she knows who y/n is.”

“that’s such a weird chain of people,” mikey muttered.

the line rang twice before hakkai answered, voice groggy and suspicious.

“…hello?”

“hakkai,” draken said, no time for pleasantries. “your brother hooked up with one of the bridesmaids, right?”

there was a beat of silence.

“…draken, what the hell—”

“i just need her number,” he said quickly. “i’m trying to find someone who might not even exist.”

“uh, no? i’m not getting involved with whatever bizarre scavenger hunt this is,” hakkai said immediately.

draken groaned. “come on.”

“hakkai,” mitsuya said suddenly, grabbing the phone and flipping the switch. “it’s me. listen. it’s romantic. it’s tragic. it’s maybe fate. you want to be the guy who stood in the way of that?”

silence.

then a sigh.

“…give me five minutes. if this girl blocks me, i’m blaming you.”

“deal,” mitsuya said, grinning as he handed the phone back to draken.

mikey blinked. “did you just romance-speech hakkai?”

“it works,” mitsuya shrugged. “i’m terrifying when i’m heartfelt.”

draken stared at the phone like it might unlock all the answers in the world.

and for the first time in hours…

he actually had a lead.

the phone was now on speaker, lying flat on the table between draken, mitsuya, and mikey — all leaning in like detectives on the edge of a breakthrough. on the other end, hakkai’s voice sounded deeply unamused.

“okay,” hakkai sighed. “she’s on the line. but i need more than ‘mysterious girl with a pretty face and a fake name.’ does anyone remember anything else about her?”

“what was she wearing?” the bridesmaid’s voice crackled faintly through the speaker.

hakkai repeated the question. “draken. clothes. anything stick?”

mikey scoffed. “he’s a guy. no way he can even remember her shoes.”

“actually,” draken said, sitting up straighter, “i do.”

mitsuya and mikey blinked in unison.

“wait, seriously?” mikey asked.

“yeah. they were silver — strappy, but with that thin heel, and glittery. like… obnoxiously glittery.”

mitsuya nodded, impressed. “okay cinderella detail, go on.”

“when we left the reception room,” draken said, leaning forward slightly, “i asked her, like, what’s the first thing she wanted to do after the wedding ended. and she said…”

he grinned a little at the memory.

“…she said, ‘take off these damn shoes,’ handed them to me, and then did a full cartwheel across the courtyard. like — no warning. just boom.”

there was a stunned pause.

mikey looked like he’d just seen god. “…you watched a woman do a cartwheel in a formal gown and didn’t immediately propose?”

hakkai’s voice came back, dry. “i relayed the info.”

from the other end, the bridesmaid’s voice lit up. “awww, that’s kind of adorable. they sound cute.”

“yep,” hakkai said, with all the energy of a man in hour seven of being emotionally held hostage. “real fairytale stuff.”

“does that ring any bells?” he asked, hopefully.

a beat.

then:

“nope! sorry,” the bridesmaid said. “but hey — you trying to hook up?”

hakkai deadpanned, “wrong brother,” and immediately hung up.

the line clicked off.

a long silence followed in the ramen shop.

draken leaned back in his seat, rubbing his temples.

“well, that’s that.”

“we tried,” mitsuya said with a sigh.

“you guys owe me,” hakkai’s voice came through one final time — a text, not a call.

mitsuya raised his soda in solemn respect. “legend.”

mikey, still clearly focused on the cartwheel part, muttered, “if i don’t get that at my wedding, i’m not signing the papers.”

draken slumped deeper into the booth.

back to square one.

the silence after hakkai’s hang-up sat heavy over the booth.

draken leaned back, arms crossed, staring at the condensation running down his glass of water like it held answers. mitsuya sipped slowly from his soda. mikey twirled his noodles with exaggerated effort, clearly unbothered by the existential crisis unfolding next to him.

after a few quiet beats, mitsuya finally said, “hey. don’t lose hope.”

draken didn’t answer.

“she could’ve been staying at the hotel where the wedding was, right?” mitsuya offered, voice calm but hopeful. “we could call them. ask if anyone checked in under the name y/n. or maybe just ‘y’ or ‘n.’”

draken raised an eyebrow.

mikey slurped loudly. “or sundrop.”

both mitsuya and draken turned to look at him.

mikey froze, chopsticks in mid-air. “…okay, maybe not sundrop.”

draken shook his head and exhaled, leaning forward with both arms on the table.

“you know what?” he said, voice steady now — not defeated, but resolved. “this is fate.”

mitsuya frowned. “what?”

“i was never supposed to see this girl again,” draken said. “that was the whole point of the night. no names. no contact. no kiss. just that one perfect moment.”

he reached for his drink and stared down at the swirling ice.

“and maybe this is the universe keeping it clean. keeping it beautiful. maybe i’m just being saved from myself.”

mikey blinked. “you being serious right now?”

“dead serious,” draken muttered. “i mean, we’ve wasted half our ramen. it’s cold now.”

“so we just let her go?” mitsuya asked, still not convinced.

“we let her go,” draken said, nodding. “and we don’t talk about her again.”

mikey raised his bowl. “to wasting food and emotional suppression.”

“cheers,” draken said dryly.

the three of them dug into their mostly-forgotten bowls. the clinking of chopsticks replaced the chaos of a few moments ago.

but even as he ate, even as he told himself it was done, draken knew one thing for sure.

he was not done.

not by a long shot.

(..◜ᴗ◝..)

evening settled over the sano house like a blanket — quiet, soft, almost too still.

mikey had just dropped face-first onto his bed, stomach full of ramen, brain full of half-formed theories about cartwheels, ghosts, and unexplainable connections. he was drifting between consciousness and a very necessary nap when—

knock knock.

his eyes cracked open.

“…what,” he groaned toward the door.

“it’s me,” came emma’s voice on the other side.

he rolled over and forced himself up, still groggy, then padded across the room and opened it.

emma stood there, already halfway through pulling her cardigan sleeves down, looking a little flushed but smiling.

“what do you want?” he asked, rubbing one eye.

“just came to tell you something,” she said. “i got the job.”

his eyes lit up a little despite himself. “oh shoot. really?”

“mmhm.”

he leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “look at you. big boss manager lady.”

emma laughed lightly. “it’s not that big of a deal.”

“no, it is,” he said honestly. “that’s huge.”

her smile faltered a little — just a flicker — and she glanced down at her hands. “i still feel bad, though. for flaking on draken. right before the wedding.”

mikey tilted his head. “don’t.”

“i told him i’d go and then didn’t,” she said softly. “he didn’t say anything, but… i still feel like i let him down.”

mikey took a deep breath and stepped back, motioning for her to come in.

“you didn’t,” he said. “and actually… you’re not even ready for this.”

“what do you mean?”

he flopped onto his bed again, head propped on a pillow, one arm behind it. “i’m about to tell you the wildest story. sit.”

she did — crossing her legs at the foot of his bed, eyebrows knit.

“so,” mikey began, “in fact… you flaking might’ve been the best thing that could’ve happened to him.”

and then he told her everything.

from draken getting stood up at the wedding entrance

to the silky dress

to the bouquet heist

to the drum roll

to the ramen shop

to the ghost theory

to hakkai’s wrong-brother hookup connection

to the cartwheel

to the dead end.

he told it with his usual dramatic flair, hands moving with every name drop, every twist, every dumb decision.

by the time he finished, emma’s expression had gone completely still.

“…and so now,” mikey said, “he’s pretending it’s fate, but we all know he’s lying to himself. dude’s down bad.”

emma didn’t say anything.

she just kept staring at him — not shocked, not confused — but something else.

heartbroken.

“…what?” mikey asked finally, sitting up.

her voice was barely above a whisper.

“i know who she is.”

mikey sat up straighter, eyebrows pulled together.

“wait, how do you know who she is? you weren’t even at the wedding!”

emma looked down for a second, then lifted her eyes again, steady this time.

“actually…” she said quietly, “i kinda was.”

“what?”

“i didn’t plan to be,” she started. “i had my interview that afternoon, and once it ended, i was feeling so good — so excited. and i just… i don’t know. i wanted to tell draken in person. to surprise him. so i went to the reception.”

mikey blinked.

“i got there late, right after the ceremony ended. no one noticed me sneak in. and that’s when i saw them.”

she paused, and mikey saw her swallow — like the memory still stung.

“they were in this side room. not completely closed off, but kinda hidden. there was a piano. and they were sitting there. on the bench. really close. laughing.”

she looked away.

“and it hit me. like, actually hit me. how he was looking at her.”

mikey sat there, stunned.

“so i ducked out and went to the bathroom. ladies’ room near the back hallway.”

emma’s voice got quieter, breathier now, almost like she was back there again.

“i went into the last stall. sat down. and just started sobbing. quietly at first. and then full-on snot-level crying. like… embarrassing.”

she gave a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “i kept whispering, ‘oh, damn it. come on. stop it. stop it. what the hell are you doing?’”

“it wasn’t even technically anything. not a kiss. not a confession. but it felt like something. and it made me feel so stupid.”

mikey’s face softened. he didn’t say anything.

emma wiped under her eyes again, even now.

“i’m still sitting there blowing my nose into cheap toilet paper when i hear this voice.”

she straightened a little. “‘hello? you okay in there?’”

mikey raised his brows.

“i panicked,” emma said. “so i went, ‘uhhh… yeah! i’m fine! um… just allergies or something!’”

and then she smiled, a little — but it was fragile.

“i looked down. and i saw her shoes under the stall door.”

mikey froze. “the shoes?”

emma nodded. “silver. strappy. thin-heeled. obnoxiously glittery.”

mikey blinked again, piecing it together.

“i was still crying,” she continued. “and she goes, ‘listen… do you wanna come and cry out here? i’ve been told i’m an excellent hugger.’”

“you’re kidding,” mikey muttered.

“i said no thanks. told her i don’t cry in front of people. or at all. but then i blew my nose again and said, ‘oh man, this is so gross. does everyone snot up this much when they cry?’”

emma laughed softly. “and she goes, ‘hey, you’re speaking to a fellow snotter!’”

that part made mikey laugh too — just a little.

“she was funny. and nice. and she wasn’t trying to pry.”

emma’s face sobered again.

“but then… she asked me. ‘so why ya crying?’”

silence filled the room like heavy fog.

mikey sat back, arms crossed, eyes still locked on his sister.

then he nodded once and said, deadpan:

“because you have feelings for draken.”

emma stared at the floor, arms folded over her chest.

“i don’t know,” she said softly. “maybe?”

mikey’s jaw dropped. his arms shot out like he was trying to stop invisible traffic.

“okay, what is wrong with the two of you!? seriously?!!”

emma blinked, startled.

“you like him! he likes you! just be together already!” mikey threw his arms up again, spinning in a tiny circle. “jeez louise, happiness is not that difficult!”

“oh, listen,” emma said, getting to her feet now, flustered. “yes, i cried in the bathroom. and yes, that was weird!”

she began gesturing wildly. “but that doesn’t mean i’m in love with the guy!”

“really?” mikey shot back.

“yes! the fact is, i don’t know how i feel!”

mikey stepped forward, pointing dramatically. “yes, you do!”

emma stopped mid-motion.

“seeing him with someone else and crying about it? guess what?! that’s how you feel! that is nothing but how you feel!”

the room went still.

they stood across from each other — both breathing a little heavier now, the tension having finally caught up with them.

emma swallowed.

“okay, fine,” she snapped. “i have feelings for him. happy?!”

mikey grinned. “kind of, yeah.”

emma rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful. she let out a long, frustrated breath.

“but it doesn’t change anything,” she said, calmer now, quieter. “i still want commitment. and he’s still draken.”

mikey’s smile faded just slightly. “yeah…”

emma turned to the door, but stopped herself. she took a deep breath.

“what i should do is tell him who victoria is. so he can be happy.”

mikey threw up his hands again. “or you could tell him you’re into him, and then you could both be happy!”

they locked eyes again — less heated now, but still intense. the kind of silence that isn’t uncomfortable… just waiting.

then emma nodded, almost to herself.

“i’m gonna go find him.”

she turned toward the hallway, steps already picking up pace—

“wait.”

she stopped in the doorway.

turned back.

mikey tilted his head. “which one are you gonna tell him?”

emma looked down at the floor.

at her hands.

at the door again.

“…i have no idea.”

(..◜ᴗ◝..)

the ramen shop buzzed with soft noise — the clink of chopsticks, the steady slurp of noodles, laughter bubbling up from booth to booth.

in the back corner sat draken, mitsuya, and nahoya, crammed into their usual booth, the remains of their meal scattered in front of them. nahoya was halfway through reenacting some wild interaction from earlier that day — something about a lady with a parrot in her bag yelling at a vending machine — and both draken and mitsuya were laughing hard enough that nahoya had to pause to wipe his eyes.

“bro, she threw a can of ginger ale at me like it owed her money!” nahoya wheezed.

“i swear, you live in a sitcom,” mitsuya said, shaking his head.

draken was just about to wipe his mouth when the bell above the door jingled.

“hey guys,” came a voice.

they all turned to see emma standing in the entrance, a little hesitant but wearing a half-smile.

“emma,” nahoya grinned. “yo.”

“hey,” mitsuya greeted warmly.

draken straightened, surprised but glad. “hey.”

emma shifted slightly, eyes flicking toward him. “um, hey draken. can i talk to you outside for a second?”

draken blinked. “uh—yeah, sure.”

he stood, wiping his hands on a napkin as he cleared his throat. “what’s up?”

but just then, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

emma opened her mouth again. “i have to tell you something.”

he glanced down at the screen. “um…?”

emma nodded, understanding. “go ahead. pick it up.”

draken answered and held the phone to his ear. “hello?”

“draken, it’s me. takemichi.”

draken smiled faintly. “yo.”

“my lovely bride would like to say something to you,” takemichi added with a chuckle, before handing the phone off.

“draaaakeeeeen,” came hinata’s voice, dripping in sarcasm.

he could already hear airport chaos in the background.

“i’m sorry i hung up on you earlier,” she slurred just slightly, “but my new husband and this vodka cranberry, which by the way cost ten dollars and fifty cents at the airport bar,” — a pause as she shouted in the distance — “when is this plane going to board?!”

a faint, calming “sweet pea” from takemichi followed, trying to gently reel her back.

hinata cleared her throat. “anyway. i realized that sometimes i can act like a crazy person. and i don’t want my new husband thinking i’m a crazy person.”

draken chuckled. “it’s fine, hinata. seriously. don’t worry about it.”

in the booth, mitsuya gestured wildly, pantomiming eating — shoveling invisible forkfuls into his mouth.

“oh,” draken added into the phone, “and the guys were wondering where you got that cake.”

“cake?” hinata asked, confused for a second.

but behind him, emma had gone still.

the noise faded into a dull hum around her as a memory resurfaced — sudden and vivid.

she was in the bathroom stall, sniffling, red-eyed and emotionally wrecked. and then came that soft voice:

“why don’t you take this?”

a bouquet slid under the stall wall.

emma blinked, reached down, and pulled it toward her.

“sounds like you could use it,” the girl had said from the other side.

emma’s voice had cracked. “thank you. you’re very sweet.”

and then: “so are you a friend of the bride or groom?”

a pause.

“actually… neither.”

emma’s heart picked up as the flash faded and she blinked back into the present.

on the other end of the phone, hinata finally answered draken’s question.

“we got it from this bakery downtown,” she said. “it’s called—”

“sundrop sweets,” emma whispered.

draken’s head turned sharply toward her, stunned.

“sundrop sweets,” hinata repeated. “you should go there sometime. amazing frosting.”

draken’s hand slowly lowered the phone from his ear, hanging up without another word.

his eyes widened as it clicked.

he turned to mitsuya, voice low but electric with realization.

“she made the cake.”

draken was pacing now, eyes wild, voice climbing in pitch.

“she wasn’t on the guest list because she wasn’t a guest!!” he turned to mitsuya, pointing like a man possessed. “she made the cake!”

mitsuya blinked hard, like something in his soul had just clicked.

“she made that cake.” he stood slowly. “draken. this is the girl.”

draken stared at him.

“you gotta marry her. today.”

“what—?”

“no, listen to me,” mitsuya said, suddenly intense, gripping draken’s shoulders. “she’s gotta move in with us. do you understand me? this woman bakes.”

“i’m going down to that bakery,” draken declared, spinning on his heel, already halfway out the booth.

but mikey jumped up, grabbing him by the arm and whipping him back around. “no no no. don’t do it!”

mitsuya’s voice shot up an octave. “what are you talking about?!”

draken pointed at mikey, arms flailing now. “yeah! all day long you’ve been busting my apple bag about finding this girl!”

“i know, i know!” mikey said, sweating. “but maybe she’s just… not that into you.”

draken’s expression froze.

mikey hesitated, then added, eyes darting to emma, “and… and maybe that’s why she didn’t give you her number.”

he turned, slowly, dramatically.

“emma? care to chime in with anything?”

all eyes on her.

emma stood frozen, eyes locked with draken’s.

“…yes, draken.”

everyone held their breath.

emma exhaled, quietly but firmly.

“go get her.”

draken’s face lit up like a firework. “going!! getting!!!”

he rushed toward the door—only for nahoya to dramatically slide in front of him like a basketball defense move.

“oh my gosh i love this moment!” nahoya said, giddy, bouncing on his heels. “you know why? because i’m gonna say it. and this time, you’re gonna say yes.”

draken blinked. “nahoya not now—”

“ready?” nahoya rubbed his hands together. “are ya ready to say yes??”

he took a deep, theatrical breath.

“draken… it’s time to get a perm.”

draken, adrenaline pumping, fist in the air: “YES!!”

nahoya threw his arms up in triumph.

then draken paused. blinked.

“…no.”

“oh come on!!” nahoya whined, tossing a napkin at him.

(..◜ᴗ◝..)

the city glided past the windows in a blur of neon and brake lights, muted under the low hum of the engine and the occasional shuffle of a ramen wrapper in the backseat.

draken sat in the passenger seat, eyes fixed out the window, but he wasn’t seeing anything out there.

he was seeing her.

the piano room had faded behind them, and they stepped back into the reception hall.

it was empty.

no lights strung up. no laughing voices. no cake crumbs on plates.

just silence and the leftover sparkle of a party that had already come and gone.

“guess we were gone a while,” she said, glancing around.

draken chuckled. “did we miss the entire party?”

“entire,” she confirmed.

they both laughed, quietly — not the big kind, but the soft, breathy kind that stays with you.

and then she pouted, just a little.

“kinda wanted one dance.”

draken looked at her.

then held out a hand.

“then let’s dance.”

they moved together slowly, no music, just the hush of the empty room.

his hands were steady. hers were light on his shoulders.

her dress rustled gently when she swayed.

it was the kind of dance that made time feel embarrassed for ever trying to pass.

“sundrop sweets! this is it.”

mikey’s voice pulled draken sharply out of his head.

they pulled up to a little corner bakery, pastel-painted and glowing from the inside like it had its own sun.

mitsuya leaned forward, giving draken a firm pat on the shoulder. “good luck, dude. grab me a cupcake.”

draken didn’t move.

he just sat there, fingers tapping against his knee, staring at the front doors like he wasn’t sure what he’d see on the other side — or if he even deserved to see it.

“draken?” nahoya said carefully. “you still with us?”

their dance slowed to a stop.

they looked at each other.

and leaned in.

but just before their lips met, she pulled away — not cold, not apologetic, just… gentle.

a breath away from something real.

“there’s one flaw with tonight,” draken had said, his voice low.

she looked up at him. “what?”

he smiled softly. “i’m gonna have to feel the pain of seeing you walk out the door.”

she tilted her head. thought for a moment. then reached up and touched his chest lightly.

“then don’t watch me go.”

he blinked.

“close your eyes,” she said. “and count to five.”

he hesitated.

but did it anyway.

“one…”

“two…”

“three…”

he could hear her breathing.

“four…”

and then—

“five.”

he opened his eyes.

she was gone.

draken still hadn’t moved.

the guys were quiet now — even mikey — watching him carefully like the wrong word might tip him over.

he stared at the glowing bakery sign ahead.

sundrop sweets.

his jaw was tight. eyes stormy.

“maybe we both need that,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

mikey turned slightly. “need what?”

“this,” draken said softly, nodding toward the bakery. “to stay exactly what it is. a perfect night. no real names. no regrets.”

mitsuya blinked slowly. nahoya was chewing his gum like it was making him nervous.

draken exhaled, long and heavy.

“i mean, so many things go wrong in life. you plan, you build, you fight for things—” he looked down at his hands. “and still, it all falls apart.”

silence.

“but this… this is the one thing that never will.”

his voice dropped, like he was afraid to jinx it.

“it’ll always, always be pure, unadulterated, awesome.”

he turned toward the window, not quite looking in yet.

“if i walk in there,” he said slowly, “i’m robbing both of us of what could be. of what stayed perfect.”

nahoya squinted, leaned forward between the seats.

“dude, the meter’s running,” he said flatly. “crap or get off the pot.”

draken snapped his head around. “what?”

“i’m serious. i will not pay a dime over this.”

“yeah, yeah, i’m going,” draken muttered, pushing open the door.

the city air hit him first — cool, sharp, stirring the ends of his jacket.

he took a deep breath.

then turned toward the bakery.

he slowed as he walked past the big front window.

and there she was.

behind the glass, under warm lights and surrounded by colors and sugar and laughter he couldn’t hear — she was frosting cupcakes.

a small tray balanced on her arm. her brow slightly furrowed in concentration. she was smoothing the top of a swirl, the back of her hand dotted with flour.

she looked so real.

so un-magical in the most magical way.

no red dress. no fancy lights. no soft music playing.

just her. still that girl. but here, in the world, in her element.

his heart thudded.

draken opened the bakery door.

the bell above it chimed, light and bright.

cold air curled in behind him.

and the scent hit him hard — frosting, sugar, maybe a little almond. something citrusy. vanilla in the walls.

his boots touched tile, and everything in him stopped moving.

but in front of him, she didn’t look up yet.

she was still frosting, lost in the rhythm.

just as he’d been, not long ago, lost in the memory.

(..◜ᴗ◝..)

you finish smoothing the last swirl of frosting with a careful flick of your wrist, setting the cupcake down in the display tray with a quiet satisfaction.

your fingers are still a little sticky with sugar when the doorbell chimes.

you don’t look up right away — the sound of the bell is familiar, background noise most days — but something feels different this time.

heavier.

weighted.

you glance toward the door.

and there he is.

standing just inside the shop, like he doesn’t know what to do next.

hair a little messier. jacket half-zipped. eyes locked on you like you’re the only real thing in the room.

your breath catches.

your heart flips over.

and before you even realize you’re moving—

“oh thank god,” you say, voice breathless with relief.

and then you run.

you round the counter without hesitation and close the distance between you and draken like you’ve been waiting forever.

his arms barely open before you crash into him — arms wrapping tight around his neck, face tilted up, and your lips meet his in a kiss that feels like catching up on everything you lost the second you let go that night.

he kisses you back instantly.

it’s not delicate. it’s not rehearsed. it’s not even perfect.

but it’s real.

and it tastes like sugar.

and you never, not for one second, want to pull away.

his hands settle on your waist, grounding you.

you don’t speak. you don’t need to.

the kiss says it all — the missed chances, the “what ifs,” the five-second countdown, and every second since.

when you finally part, it’s just an inch — just enough to breathe the same air and rest your forehead against his.

you smile. he does too.

and outside the bakery window…

“WHOOOOO!!!”

nahoya’s face is pressed to the glass like a kid in a candy store — fittingly.

mikey’s hands are cupped around his eyes as he leans in, squinting. “they’re kissing!! they’re literally kissing right now!!”

mitsuya is behind them, grinning from ear to ear, arms in the air like he just scored a goal.

“HE FOUND HER!! BAKER GIRL IS REAL!!!”

a passerby slows down, staring at the spectacle.

“are they okay?” someone mumbles.

“NO,” nahoya shouts through the glass. “THEY’RE IN LOVE!!”

inside, draken groans softly, his forehead still resting against yours.

“i swear,” he mutters, lips brushing your temple, “they follow me everywhere.”

you laugh.

and suddenly — this moment, this shop, this chaos — ends the most perfect night you’ve ever had.

copyright © t4kalcvr 2025 all rights reserved

💬, this came directly out of how i met your mother season 1 episode 13 😭😭 i absolutely love this episode !!! ANYWAYS ENJOYYYY HUNNIESSSS !!!

permanent 🔖 : @sukunasrealgf @sinamew

[daddymaster21]

Review time!!! I’m already scared by your authors note. Sorry this took so long!!!!

1. Is this the darkness??? Amara, sweetie, is that you????

2. All my homies hate the PTSD nightmares. Smh my head.

3. LMAOOO HER WRITING DEANS NAME ON HERSELF. ME TOO HOMEGIRL.

4. Mmmh. Not sure about that one, Princess. You don’t really have normal dreams

5. Ohhhhhh okay, death makes more sense

6. Man, she’s going even harder than Dean on how she wants to serve him. Which, like… same.

7. DEAN IS SMART AND HES NO LONGER ALLOWED TO THINK OTHERWISE

8. I FUCKING KNEW IT AHHHHHH

9. Fun fact: my birthday is two days before deans

10. Her and Cas are just Creatures, trying their best. I love them.

11. AHHHH THE SMILEY FACE DETAIL

12. Bobby and Sam going through it for real, trying to get their idiots to kiss

13. LMAOOO “PILLOW TALK”

14. NOT BOBBY GETTING THE CONDOM, THEA I CAN’T

15. “You wanted that boy before you even knew him” PLEASE MY HEART CAN’T TAKE IT

16. Yeah, it doesn’t count if you only think about doing something stupid!

17. Girlie. I don’t even know what we’re doing, but I’ll tell you what — it’s gonna stupid, and Dean’s gonna be pissed.

18. CROWLEY MY BELOVED!!! (If I drowned in Mark Sheppard’s voice, I’d die happy)

19. why are you British lmfaoooooo

20. This isn’t going to end well.

21. I’m just like Sam fr. Pretending to be stupid is HARD.

22. Yay!!! More nosy bitch hours!!!! (I love them learning abt each other through the dreams so much. You really knocked this one out of the park.)

23. John Winchester is IN DANGER.

24. Oh. Oh no. The image of him kneeling in front of her. In a church. Thea the symbolism is too good, send help

25. Dean, asked to suffer for everyone: I just don’t know if I can do it. It’s too much. Dean, asked to suffer for princess: truly, I’d volunteer for this.

26. He literally can’t sleep when she’s not there, his body wakes him up every time she leaves 😭😭

27. Team Creature!!! Aw man, if Jack is born in this universe, it’ll be Creatures all the way down!

28. They’ve GOTTA have a conversation, they can’t keep turning into awkward teenagers any time sex is involved

29. Dean describing wanting to fuck her literally just bc she exists lol

30. Jesus Christ WHY WOULD SHE KEEP KISSING YOU IF SHE DIDNT WANT TO KISS YOU. PLEASE I BEG ITS ACTUALLY SO EASY.

31. It’s okay. They’re just babies. I can be patient.

32. I- please??? Why wait??? Do that now, please??????

33. LMFAOOO THE CREATURES ARE FIGHTING

34. “She already explained them to me” I love her and Cas so much I can’t explain

35. literally the only thing I can say about this part is woof.

36. Listen. I know that Princess is gonna be the one who cracks first, but my god if I got to read Dean actually dropping to his knees and asking for that, I would combust on the spot.

37. She’s literally never been wrong about a monster, Cas, just work the odds. It was never gonna be a Cupid.

38. ….either Sam is gonna catch these hands, or this is the monster trying to trap Dean. I hope it’s the latter, but I think it’s the former.

39. Ohhhhhhhh he drank it cause Famine is in town. Alright, he’s forgiven. We’re good.

40. Dean is going to be Very Incredibly Normal and definitely not go out of his mind with lust for her.

41. THAT’S WHY CAS ATE THE BURGERS. OKAY YEAH I SEE YOU.

42. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HE ADMITTED IT

Final thoughts: I’m fucking FERAL right now. And scared for the next chapter.

Chapter 24 - Just Hold On

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Huge chapter for fans of emotional whiplash, Dean's feelings, and Princess and Cas being creatures. Enjoy!

Chapter Title from Twin Skelton's (Hotel In NYC) by Fall Out Boy

Word Count: 19.1k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You try to keep it together, get an offer, and Dean learns something about himself. Usual Warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action

Chapter 23 - Chapter 25

Read on A03!

It’s smiling at you. 

Everything is smiling at you, and you aren’t in control. There’s a hand on your neck—it might be your own—that’s strangling the Silver out of you, and you can’t feel the pain but only because you are far too big for anything like that.

You are everything. 

Your nails are digging into something strong and cold, and black and titanium, and you’re ripping it open as teeth—those aren’t yours—sink a level lower than your skin. You want to stop. You have to stop. You wish you knew how to fucking stop, but it’s right in front of you, and you’ve never been good at control, and-

There’s a laugh, echoing in your ear. There’s gold and purple stained on the walls. The air is thin, but you’re not sure you need it anymore. You just need it to be over. For everything to fall away because you’re so tired, and you’re not in control, and you want to go home.

If you were better—less than a plague, less than just a cancer twisting into whatever’s in your hold—you’d stop. You’d save the choir of souls that are hanging right over your head, forming a stained glass of a picture you recognize, but don’t remember. You’d look up and beg for their forgiveness, because you didn’t mean to. You never mean to. But you’re sick and wrong and you’re a little burrowed in everything, and the teeth in your neck were going to bite Dean- 

Dean.

He’s not here. 

But that’s his Gold. And the Spiderweb is going haywire around you—light dancing off the walls and bursting like a supernova—and you’re fucking everything, and where’s Dean-

The world shakes. It rattles, and all the souls above you let out a high moan, and there’s a soft, delicate hand that’s brushing the hair away from your face and asking ‘are you strong enough, little one? Are you bright enough to bring the rat home?’

You’re not sure. 

You still look at your hands, just to see. But all you find is Gold and pastel blue.

You’ve never been able to save either of them.

And the Sky is high over you, just a level past the souls howling for your attention. But it never does anything except fucking watch when you need it, and rip things in half when you’re trying to keep them. 

It hurts so fucking much. All of it. 

You just want to fucking go home. 

And the strong thing cleaves apart. 

The teeth—stained with blood and singing your name—crow like you’ve brought them a great gift. The hands on your face maybe turn to ash—or maybe they were never there at all—and in their wake is Gold. Shifting, strong Gold and pretty green eyes. You should be falling back into yourself, but the Dean before you isn’t real, so he can’t call you back home

And you can see it. 

Tall. Thin. 

Old. 

It looks old.  

Pale and hanging off of bones, smooth and quiet and content. None of it is trying to escape itself. It doesn’t seem all that interested in being here at all. It doesn’t run like a machine the way white-eyed demons do, and it isn’t humming with a neon power like an angel.

It just is.

And it doesn’t smile at you. It just tilts its head—not quite a head, more of a gentle, black shadow that looks like it should be hiding something, but isn’t—and holds your gaze.

It doesn’t really have a gaze. 

It’s really only mist, in its eyes—not eyes, more like dying stars that have chosen to remain in a stasis—but the mist is boring right into you, and you can’t move. 

You can’t look away.

But it’s not painful. There’s nothing wrong with it looking at you.

It’s not home. But it’s familiar. You might have known it your whole life, moving in its wake as it waited for you to find it, just so it could tell you this. 

No. 

You can’t hear it, but you can feel it in every dark space between the stars and under the dirt, in every decayed bit of life that’s pleading to be called back up. And it’s telling you it doesn’t want you. 

And when you frown at it, you can feel it. 

The power. 

And everything shatters apart. 

Your eyes fly open, but you can’t move. It’s almost paralyzation. Your body is still stuck in the nightmare, and your eyes are darting around but all you can see is the dark, and-

Dean. 

He’s here. He’s fine. Knocked out at your side and snoring into the pillow, his hand resting over yours and his knee bumping near your thigh. 

Slow breaths. Deep, slow breaths, and find what you can see. What you know is real, and not just another haunting terror. 

You’re real. And right now, you’re yours. The Silver is dormant, and the Spiderweb is a little wired, but with every rumbling snore from Dean it settles back down. The sheets are sticky from cold sweat, and Dean’s shirt is bunched uncomfortably on your back. There’s no light leaking from under the door, so it must be impossibly early. Dean’s shoulder still has the bandage from his last hunt, and he’d whined like a baby when you put it on, but still grinned at you the whole time. The book Sam brought you is open on your side-table, and when you manage to sit up, you can still see Dean’s name in Enochian, written in pen on your forearm. 

It’s only been a night. Nothing new has happened, and that wasn’t an omen or a vision, like Lucifer and the cage.

Only another nightmare. 

And it hurts so much. There’s all the usual pain, but then there’s also the noose that’s formed itself around your throat, and it’s made of Death. 

Death looked at you, and it didn’t want you. You raised him, and he told you no. And you don’t remember anything else but pain, and knowing that you’re something so horrible and sick and fucking wrong, that Pestilence calls you pure, and Death doesn’t want you.

It’s not like you can blame him.

You don’t really want you either. 

Dean says to wake him up, when this happens. That if he’s off dealing with apocalypse shit, you should call him or go get Bobby. If you’re drowning in it—in the blue on your fingers, or dying stars seeping into your soul, or all this fucking pain that’s not allowed to kill you, because Death doesn’t want you—then you need to get him or Bobby. If there’s something hollow that’s spreading over your chest, and it’s filled with winding, distorted colors that are calling for you, but you can’t seem to reach, that you can’t just curl up and try to wait it out. 

But he looks so peaceful. His mouth is parted slightly, and there are no lines in his brow of worry. No deep look his eye that reminds you that you’re just a fucking problem. That you’re making this harder for him, because he’d asked you to come home so he wouldn’t have to worry about you, but now he’s fucking worried anyway. He’s been texting you every day to make sure you’re eating, and when he’s home, he doesn’t move from your side.

You don’t deserve him. You’ve never deserved him. He’s always stronger than you’ve ever been, and he’s always too good to you, and he needs some rest. 

When you dare to trace your hand over his cheek, Dean mumbles something you can’t make out and leans into your touch. 

You’re not going to wake him up. 

But you can’t just stay here. Can’t just sit in the pain, or it’s going to shred you into ribbons that Dean will—for some reason—decide are worth braiding back together.  

You shuffle out of bed on unsteady feet, and Dean grunts, but doesn’t wake up. You’re moving quietly. Pulling on sweatpants—they’re a little too big, so likely Dean’s and not yours, but that’s better—and fumbling for a sweater and socks in your dresser.

You don’t bother with shoes, when you slip out of the door and down the stairs. 

The jagged sticks and rock below your feet help you anyways. 

You’re not sure where you’re going, as you walk through the yard. Not too far. You’d promised Dean you wouldn’t run, so you’re only wandering. Letting the cold wind and morning mist bite into your skin, until it starts to buzz with the relief of being numb. 

And you walk in circles—sharp rocks cutting into your feet, but no blood on the dirt behind you—before you end up at the usual place. 

The Impala is locked. Dean always locks it, because—even though Bobby’s yard has newer, better cars for people to steal—he’s careful. 

He’s always so careful. 

And Baby is covered in his Gold. She smells a little like him, too. Lingering cinnamon and leather, and it’s like a tiny haven you don’t deserve. A shield around you so that, when you lay on its hood, you’re not left alone with the Sky. 

Staring down at you, and doing nothing but watching.

“I hate you,” you whisper, and your voice is almost swallowed in the wind. “I fucking hate you. Leave me alone.”

It flashes, but it’s not in warning. It’s a reminder. 

It’s everywhere. You’re never going to escape it. And no matter how much you hate it, nothing will change. 

The Sky will keep watching. Waiting. 

And you’ll just keep growing sick.

You don’t know how long you lay here. Your fingers start to shake and the Sky blinks—now in warning, it doesn’t like when you damage it’s toy—but you just close your eyes. It hurts. Over all your nerves and sore in your gut, it fucking hurts-

“Son of a-“ Warmth wraps around you, and you squeeze your eyes tighter.

If you look at him, you’ll start crying. Again. And Dean doesn’t need that.

“Goddamnit, sweetheart.” He’s tugging you up, until your face is pressed right against his chest. “You’re fucking- How long have you been out here?“

You don’t answer. Your fingers just curl against his shirt—you don’t deserve to have him here, worried about you and holding you so close, but if he leaves you might split into a million fractures that scatter further than the universe—and the ache in your throat grows unbearable. You know you woke him up, and you made him come outside to get you, and you wish he’d just leave you alone, leave you to freeze into a glassy, perfect and docile statue of the monster that you are-

Dean mutters your name, and you shake your head. He’s keeping you wrapped in his jacket like you’re a baby kangaroo, and it’s so warm here. 

His chest heaves with a deep sigh, and your arms shoot around his torso. He can’t go. This can’t be the time he decides to leave you. You should let him—you’re not something that can be saved—but you need him to grab you before you fly away, and your head is swimming with too much pain and you’re so tired-

“It’s okay,” Dean murmurs, his lips brushing over your brow, and a weak sound escapes your throat as your eyes start to sting. “You’re okay, Princess. I’m here.”

You’re not okay. You can still see him staring at you. 

Death. 

Not greeting you like a friend, but something more. Something worse. 

But Dean’s here. And he’s slowly tugging you back, keeping you stuck to his chest as big hands frame your face. His thumb strokes down your nose as you collapse into his touch. The sting grows to a wet blur when you take a staggered breath, and drag your eyes open. 

He’s watching you, so carefully. Holding you the same. As if you might shatter under his touch, or turn to ash if he blinks wrong.

So fucking careful.

“You with me?” Dean’s voice is barely a rasp, still clogged with sleep and deepened from the cold, and you swallow down a sob. 

You did that. Made those lines on his brow appear with worry, make him wake up, made him come save you from drowning yourself.

And he’s more than Golden, in the fog of the slowly rising morning. He’s brighter than the Sky, and that odd, intangible thing his soul is made of is turning and glowing in the light.

Running through it, you can still see it. The shining, silvery river that’s always flowing inside him. That you wove there, and he’s never seemed to find it foreign. 

And that’s likely because Dean can’t see souls. Can’t know that there’s a parasite burrowed into him, can’t even feel it.

But you can lie to yourself a little.

Say he doesn’t fight against it because you’d never hurt him.

Just like you tell yourself that he’s in your orbit by choice, and not because you demanded his attention like a loud, feral beast. 

You’re only the beast to serve him. 

But you’d climb up to the Sky and lay yourself on its alter, if that served Dean. You’d bow your head and let yourself be put on a leash, if you knew he’d be safe. 

He’s still watching you. 

He asked you if you’re with him.

So you nod, and whisper the only thing you can think of.

“All the way down.”

Dean’s throat bobs, and you get a small nod as he tugs you a little closer, and tucks your head right back against his neck. 

“All the way down.” He murmurs, the sound from deep inside his chest and his heart beating right near your ear, and that’s all it takes. 

The first sob is soft, and muffled in Dean’s shirt. He still hears it. Still holds you tighter, instead of shoving you away and leaving you to erode alone. 

Maybe if he did, you’d grow into something better. A tall tree, that he could keep visiting, which would never hurt anyone again. You’d offer him shade in the summer and wood in the winter to keep him warm. And he could come back when he finds a better woman and marries her, and bring his future children to visit you, and you’d just be a tree, but you’d be Dean’s tree-

Your body is shaking with it, now. The pain, rolling out of you in heavy waves and clawing out of your throat.

“I-“ You sniff against Dean’s shirt, your nails digging into the muscle of his back. “I- I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to-“ Another sob wracks your body, and Dean’s arms tighten around you. “I’m sorry-“

“I know, ba- sweetheart. It’s okay-“

You shake your head—he doesn’t understand—and you’re not sure when your legs wrapped around his waist. You’re not strong enough to move them away. “I’m sorry-“

Dean shushes you, pressing another kiss to the top of your head, and then your face is back in his hands. His thumb pets down your nose once more until your breathing is even, and your tears dry out.

Baby. You know I love you, baby.

His gaze is driving straight into you. And you’re still sniffling and blurry eyed, but he only wipes your nose with his shirt, and lets out a long, heavy sigh.

“You wanna dance?”

You blink at him. “What?”

“Dance.” He mutters, his knuckles brushing the last lingering tear from your cheek. “You owe me one, Princess. C’mon.” 

Dean starts to tug you forward, but you’re just staring up at him with an open mouth. You’re not sure you heard him right. Or that this isn’t just another hazy dream. But you can feel his warmth, and his deep voice is so clear in the night air, so it has to be real.

You need it to be real.

You don’t think you’ll be able to manage waking up and replaying this whole scene all over again like a cruel joke-

He sighs and bends down, holding your gaze with a slight frown. “Sweetheart, I can carry you if you need, but you gotta work with me-“

“Sorry.” Your voice even sounds fucking weak. “I- I don’t know what- You-“

“I’m asking you to dance with me,” Dean says your name, his voice low and soft, and your lips pull into what might be a pout. “Please.”

You couldn’t say not to him if you wanted to. And your nod is tiny, but Dean still sees it, and a grin you don’t deserve splits his handsome face. 

And you can’t stop yourself. From reaching up and tracing his jaw, feeling the slightly prickle of stubble against your skin, and knowing he’s real. Golden and alive and—despite all reason—here with you.

But reason has never been either of your strong suits. And knowing you should shove him away and scream for him to just let you go, it would be so much fucking easier for everyone if Dean would just let you go, doesn’t help you at all. 

So you let him help you to your feet and guide you inside, Dean’s hand on your lower back quickly turning into you stumbling a single step, and him hauling you up into his arms. 

“I-“ He clears his throat as you climb back upstairs, his gaze fixed ahead. “Got that honey-cereal thing you like. When I went out with Sammy last night.”

You hum, letting your fingers play with the collar of his shirt. It’s better than scratching at your own skin. “Did the bar have a grocery aisle?”

“Nah.”

“So you just… Found it?”

Dean rolls his eyes, his lips twitching slightly. “Saw it at the gas station. There’s a pack of root beer’s waiting for you, too. Just don’t touch the strawberry ice cream. Hid a condom in there.”

“You- Why?”

“Don’t worry, Princess, it’s for Sam.”

“I think that’s more worrying-“

“Shut up.” Dean kicks open the door, poking your rib slightly and grinning at your small squeak. “He found a blonde chick last night that seemed pretty into his whole wet puppy thing. I’m trying to make sure he stays safe.”

You give him a flat look. “With an ice cream condom.”

“Yep.” He slowly sets you down to your feet, but doesn’t make a single move to pull away. “It’ll remind him.”

“I don’t think it will-“

“Well, sweetheart.” Dean grins down at you, his arm slipping down to hold your hip, and you swallow. “Good thing you don’t need to worry about it. If Sammy gets himself knocked up, I’m not lettin’ him dump the baby on us.”

You giggle, dropping your face into his chest, and you know what he’s doing. He always does it so well, until the pain is there, but faded slightly. Only a drum of your heartbeat—a little heavier than usual—and a pressure in your lungs that gets lighter with Dean’s every word. Your fingers are still tingling from the cold, but you can feel it when Dean takes your hand and tugs you fully against him. Your knees are okay, but you’re not worried about them giving out. 

Dean’s here. 

He’s got you. 

“I- Uh-“ Dean sighs, and you look up at his almost nervous expression. “I don’t know if you want music, but- uh- I don’t have any-“

“You have a phone, De.”

“For calling people.” He grumbles. “Not music.”

You giggle again, not bothering to hide your smile. “You are going to make an excellent old man one day.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m an idiot-“

“I didn’t say that.”

“You were thinking it-“

“No. I wasn’t.”

Your words are quick, a small frown on your face, and Dean raises his brows. “You got something you want to tell me, Princess?”

You sigh, resting your brow on his shoulder, and Dean starts to sway you back and forth. 

The dancing. 

You’re dancing. With Dean. And it’s less dancing and more letting Dean move you around in silence, but it has the same effect.

You’re a little dizzy.

A little drunk on the smell of him and the Gold that’s flowing all over you.

And the silence means to you can hear his breathing. Steady and slow and almost in time with your own, making you come down, down, down. 

Back to Dean.

Always back to Dean.

“You’re not dumb.” You mumble against him, your free hand digging into his shirt. “You’re the smartest person I know.”

“Pretty sure you know yourself, sweetheart-“

“I’m serious.” You snap, pulling back to hold his gaze. “You are not dumb, Winchester. You’re the only reason I even know what I am.”

He frowns. “That’s-“

“You figured out I was mistranslating the Enochian in my head. I only asked Cas to look into the Magdalene’s because you gave me the idea.”

“You would have figured that out yourself-“

“It had never even occurred to me.”

Dean jaw ticks, his gaze locked onto yours, and you’re still dancing. He’s so close. His hair is mussed from sleep, his lips slightly swollen from the same, and it’s a good thing he’s got you. You might have fallen too far into him, otherwise. Dragged him down, until you were both on the floor and you’re straddling his abdomen, trying to show him. Prove that it hurts, so much, all the time, but you love him.

That even when you thought Dean was something that hurt, it was only because you didn’t get to have him at all.

And, for better or worse, he’s here now. 

You’re not allowed to say you love him. Not allowed to show it. 

But Dean’s hand squeezes yours once—checking in—and you squeeze it back three times. 

It means I love you, now. 

He just doesn’t get to know that. 

“We’ll see if I make it long enough to be an old man,” Dean hums, and you blink. 

He’s trying to divert the conversation. And you don’t want to let him, but he just keeps talking.

“And I’d get one of those iPod thingys, but they’re a million freakin’ bucks. I’m not made of money, sweetheart.”

You let out a slow breath, press your cheek back to his chest. Tonight, you’ll let him have it. “I could get you one. For your birthday.”

“You even know when my birthday is-“

“January 24th.” You mumble. “Soon."

You could swear you hear is heart stutter. “Ah. We’ve, uh- I didn’t think I told you that-“

“Think again, Winchester.” Sam had told you.  

“You don’t have to get me anything-“

“Yes I do.”

Dean mutters your name, and you lean back with a glare. 

“I have a whole untapped credit card to burn, Deano. Watch your fucking back.”

He’s still frowning. “But-“

“Shut up.”

A smile tugs at his lips. “So bossy.”

“Dean-“

“Alright, alright.” Dean chuckles, and you yelp as suddenly he’s twirling you around, then pulling you right back into his chest. “Whatever you want, Princess.”

You. The Spiderweb sings as you gape at him. I just fucking want you, Dean. 

But you’re not allowed to say it.

So you hum, and let Dean keep swaying you in the silence. Your eyes are getting heavy again, and you can feel sleep creeping up the corner of your vision, even as sunlight starts to leak through the window. 

You still don’t want this to end. 

“You getting tired, sweetheart?”

“No.” You grumble, moving your free arm to hook around Dean’s neck. “Shut up.”

His laugh is low and deep and right in your ear. “I don’t know, you sound kinda tired-“

“‘M gonna stab you.”

“Okay, Sleeping Beauty. Let’s get you to bed.”

You shake your head, even as Dean pulls you up to his chest and you fold right against him. “De?”

He grunts, and you swallow, the sting of tears building back up behind your eyes. He’s so good. Strong and resilient and careful, and all you do is make him lose sleep, but he’s still carrying you to bed.

“I’m sorry.”

Dean sighs, and you feel his lip brush over your collarbone as he speaks. “I know, ba- Princess.”

You mumble something even you don’t understand as he sets you back in bed, and grab his hands when they cup your face. 

“I need you to promise you’re gonna call me.” He mutters your name, and your lashes flutter as you try to hold his gaze. “I’ve gotta go with Sammy in a few hours, we’ve got a case in a nuthouse to take care of. We’re gonna use that truth-telling thing you did in-“ He cuts himself off, and you know why. 

He’s trying not to remind you of San Francisco. 

It’s sweet.

But it’s still going to hang over your head like a blade. You’re never not aware of it. 

That’s how you ended up here in the first place. 

“De-“

“We’ll only be gone a week, and I’m not gonna have my phone, but I’ll call you from the hospital line. And if start getting the urge to do something stupid, call it like crazy and don’t stop until they let me talk to you.” He’s frowning, his grip tightening slightly against you. “Please. I- Even it’s the middle of the fucking night, just call-“

“Okay.” You breathe out, settling down into the pillows. You’re too tired to argue anyway. “I will.”

Dean nods slowly, then raises his hand between your bodies. 

Your pinky locks with his fast, and he leans forward to press a kiss to your brow as the hand still on your face strokes a line down your nose. 

You let out a soft sigh, and Dean might be saying something, but you can’t really hear it. 

It’s just Dean. 

It’s always just Dean. 

And you sleep dreamlessly, through the morning, and into the afternoon. 

Your days are a little more flexible now. In the weeks since San Francisco, you haven’t been hunting. And the nights like these keep you from Bobby’s hunter fever, because you know.

It’s safer for you to be benched right now. Safer for everyone.

You’d raised Death. You’re not sure how you did it, but you hadn’t needed Cas to tell you that’s what happened. You, with only pain and grief and the Silver, had raised Death for Lucifer. And nobody is pissed at you about it—a bitter, raw part of you really wishes they would be—but they all agree you’re most useful on book duty right now. Trying to figure out where Death might be, helping Sam and Dean with easier cases over the phone, using your spare time to try and transcribe everything you can about the Magdalene’s onto paper. 

You’d called Cas around midnight a week ago, when you were alone. Prayed to him carefully—just in case Gabriel was on the line again—and barely flinched when you’d heard his voice behind you.

“Dean says I am supposed to insist that you sleep,” he’d said as you turned around. “If you call me at night.”

You’d rolled your eyes. “Dean is dramatic. I’m fine.”

Cas’ head had tilted slightly. “Yes. You seem fine.”

“Was that…” You blinked at him. “Sarcasm?”

“An attempt at it, yes. Did it land?”

“Sure.”

“Good.” Cas had paused, still holding your gaze. “You do not seem fine, to be clear. You are… very bright.”

You’d scowled, rubbing at your wrists. “I thought I was supposed to be bright.”

“You are. It is just… Distressing.”

“Distressing? I’m distressing?”

Cas had nodded slowly. “There is a commercial Dean showed me. Where a dog dies, and it makes the other humans very sad. This is similar.”

You’d blinked at him. “So I’m a dog?”

“You are in pain. And it is distressing. To me.” Cas’ frown had deepened. “I can hear it. If you were not hiding yourself from my brethren, they would likely feel it to. Heaven would weep.”

“Oh.” You’d swallowed. “Sorry.”

Cas had shrugged. “Are you going to go to sleep now? Dean was very clear that you should either go rest, or call him-“

“Dean can shove it.” You’d kept your voice flat, even as the Spiderweb had howled at just the sound of his name. “I need to talk to you. I- I have some questions.”

Cas had paused, and you’d sighed. 

“You did your job, Cas. I’ll go to bed after we talk.”

“Alright.” He’d nodded slowly. “What are your questions.”

You’d let out a slow breath, watching him carefully. “You want some ice cream?”

“Is that your question-“

“No. Do you?”

Cas had blinked at you for a second. “I have never had ice cream.”

“Well, let’s fix that.” You’d turned around, calling over your shoulder as you opened the door. “I think we’ve got strawberry and chocolate. You’ll love it.”

Cas had loved it. You’d sat in dark, letting Cas devour the whole bowl, then the chocolate carton as you turned your questions over in your head. You’ve been trying to track Ellen’s soul, but it’s as if she’s vanished off the face of the Earth. It’s not worth asking Cas about that, though, given the whole cut off from Heaven thing. And if none of Bobby’s hunter contacts know anything, she doesn’t want to be found. 

You’ve still been searching though. If only to find Her and say I’m so fucking sorry. I shouldn’t have left, I should have saved Jo, I’m sorry and if you hate me, I understand, but just know that I’m so fucking sorry- 

“You haven’t asked me your questions.” Cas had cut through your thoughts, and you’d sighed. 

“It’s- You might not have anything. And it might be nothing all, but-“

Cas had said your name carefully, and you’d rushed out the rest of the sentence. 

“I found this thing about Men of God, and I’m not sure what it means, and I- Angels are of God. So-“ You’d let out a heavy breath. “Yeah.”

Cas had stared at you for a long moment, then shaken his head. “I have never heard that phrase before. Was it in Enochian?”

You’d shaken your head. “I heard it. In English. From, uh- Lilith, Alistair, and Anna.”

“Anna?”

You’d nodded, and Cas had sighed. 

“She was of a higher rank than I, in Heaven. And Alistair and Lilith were very old demons, both of whom seemed to be aware of you, but- I’m sorry. I don’t know what men of god are.”

“Alright.” It had been a long shot anyway. “I-“

“I can look, though.” Cas had jumped over you, and you’d blinked at him. “If you wish it. It might be able to help with my search.”

“Yeah, uh- Sure. Thanks.” You’d poked your ice cream—now only soup—with your spoon. “How’s the God search going, by the way?”

“Not well. There is… A lot of Earth.”

You’d snorted. “Yeah. Small, big planet.”

Cas had frowned. “Those are antonyms-“

“It’s a dialectic. Contradictory things that are both true.”

“Ah.” Cas had tilted his head at you. “I am sorry. That you have not been able to see it.”

“I’ve seen more of it than Sam and Dean.”

“Maybe. But there is- You are not Sam and Dean.”

You’d blinked at him. “What?“

“Dean told me what Anna said.” He’d murmured. “That your name is written in parts of Heaven I have not seen. And it does not seem to only be Heaven.”

“I-“

“May I ask you a question?”

You’d frowned, but nodded, and Cas had leaned forward. 

“What do you love? Of what this species has created?”

“Humans?”

Cas had nodded, and you’d rubbed your palm as you thought. 

“I- I don’t know. I don’t really think about it. But maybe- Nothing?”

Cas had frowned and opened his mouth, and you’d shaken your head. 

“No, not nothing. Just- Nothing.” You’d sighed. “Nothing that we’ve created. I’ve never been happy because of something. Like I-“ You’d let out a long, slow breath. “You know my knife?”

“The one you keep in your jacket.”

“Yeah, that. It’s- Dean gave it to me. And I love my flask because Bobby gave it to me. And I- I don’t care about the thing itself. I just- I love other people. And the things we do for each other.”

That had been pure fucking nonsense. You’d known it.

But Cas had nodded slowly. 

“I… believe I like that too.”

His attention had returned to his ice cream, and before you could push about the written in Heaven thing, he was talking about how he was fond of bridges.

And you’d remained benched. Researching and spending most days with Bobby, then trying not to smile like an idiot and kiss Dean’s big, stupid and pretty face whenever he came back. 

No demons knock at the door, but Lucifer might be keeping them on a leash. The angels are still after you, but the only reason they haven’t landed on Bobby’s roof to rip you away is because you warded the place to Hell. Four sleepless nights, utilizing Sam’s longer arms to get the ceilings and serval calls to Cas—Dean scowling in the corner and muttering that he’s surrounded by crazy—and Bobby’s house might be the most secure building in the country. 

So you read, and write, and pass the time trying to just get through it. 

You will.

You always do.

When you wake up there’s a glass of water on your dresser, paired with a little paper note folded beneath it.

Nuthouse is in Alabama. Sammy thinks it’ll take five days, so with the drive we’ll be back next Friday. Call tonight, then when we get there - DW

You smile, and tuck the note into your pocket. Maybe you can track down Ketch and demand he give you the first note back—or search all Mexico until you find it floating on the wind—so you can start a shrine. Even the paper has a little Gold on it. And Dean added a little smiley face that he scribbled out at the bottom, and he’s the most adorable thing on the planet, and you love him. 

It might be written all over your face, when you walk downstairs. There’s no other reason for Bobby to roll his eyes at the sight of you.

You stick your tongue out at him, but you’re not doing yourself any favors when you shuffle over to the coffee machine, and see that there’s extra left. Made with your grounds, and the cereal box waiting out for you.

A stupid, wide smile overtakes your face, and Bobby sighs. 

“You look drunk, kiddo.”

“I don’t drink-“

“Wish you did.” He mutters. “Maybe it would give you the balls to tell that idjit you like him back.”

You flip him off over your shoulder—this isn’t a useful conversation to have right now—and focus on the cereal. Dean even cleaned your mug and left it out on the counter, right next to an empty bowl and spoon. And if it were anyone else you’d be pissed about it. About the coddling and gentle treatment, like you’re just a little girl. Like you can’t carve your way through demons with only a knife, or kill monsters with nothing but your head and hands. 

But it’s Dean. 

“You know about this case they got?” Bobby asks as you drop across from him, and you shrug. 

“Dean said it was in psych ward last night. I think they’re going to try and get into it. But that’s all.”

Bobby raises his brows. “You’d already gone to sleep when Sam got the case.”

You sigh, giving him a flat look. “You know Dean and I sleep in the same bed, Bobby.”

“I don’t know shit.” Bobby holds your gaze. “Far as I was aware, you were just sleepin’, not having, uh- Pillow talk-“

“Jesus Christ, it’s not- We don’t-“

“I’ve told you, I ain’t gonna judge if ya are, long as you’re both aware of what’s goin’ on-“

“Bobby-“

“And you’re bein’ safe!” He runs a hand over his face. “I mean, if it comes to it, I’ll help ya, but now ain’t the time to be caring for a-“

“No.” You cover your ears with your hands. “Nope. It’s- We’re not even- Why would you-“

“Found a condom in my ice cream this mornin’.” Bobby shrugs. “Wanted to tell you that’s just gonna make it useless.”

Your face might be burning, and you glare at the cereal in the hope Dean can feel it, even halfway across the country. “Great. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good.“ There’s a long pause, and then- “You can do a hell of a lot worse than Dean, kiddo. And he’s fuckin’ dedicated to ya-“

“Bobby.” You poke at the lingering cereal, floating around in the milk. “Please.”

Bobby grunts your name, and you shake your head. 

“We’re not sleeping together. Or dating. Or-“ You swallow, unable to finish the sentence, and Bobby sighs.

“You remember when you were nine, and I took you out to that safe house I got, in Alexandria?”

You nod, and Bobby clears his throat. 

“Was supposed to be a break. I’d had a rough hunt with a wolf, and you’d been havin’ those nightmares where you’d wake up screamin’ that someone was watchin’ you. But I’d brought the boys up there, month before that. Your magic thingy had started gettin’ out of hand, and John was gonna drop them with me for the week, but I wasn’t about to have you runnin’ to Rufus’ when you were freakin’ out about how the lamps were tired and the walls were gettin’ sore.”

“Rufus stayed with me.” You mutter. “He brought me new crayons, watched soccer, and told me to draw whatever I was seeing. Then you came back and said you were glad I asked about monsters and not math.”

“Sam spent the whole week talkin’ my ear off about fractions.” Bobby mutters. “And you gave me one of those drawings. Drew me green and the grass gold. When I asked you why, you said cause you’re green, and I like grass.”

You swallow, dropping your gaze back to your hands, and Bobby pushes on.

“I keep that in my desk. With all your other…”

“Crazy shit?”

He chuckles. “Sure. But the point I was tryin’ to make is that I brought you up to Alexandria, but I’d forgotten to clear it out. Some of Dean’s shit was still lyin’ around, and you were goddamn fascinated by it. Few of those old movies he loves, car magazine he’d grabbed from a library, and a bunch of candy he’d nicked for Sam. Think that was the first time you ate candy. Your eyes got real wide, and you asked if there were other things that tasted like it. Then you watched all the movies three times, and asked me to bring you more of ‘em.”

The world is blurring a little again. “All you could find was Indiana Jones.”

“Yep. Got you that, and a root beer float, and you never fuckin’ looked back.”

“Bobby.” You don’t want to look at him. To see what you know, written all over his face. “I- I don’t- I can’t-“

“I know you can’t, kiddo.” Bobby lets out a long, slow sigh. “All I’m tellin’ you is that whatever the hell you two got goin’ on, it’s not new. You wanted that boy since before you even knew him.”

“I-“

“You don’t gotta do anythin’ about it. But if you think it’s nothin’, it’s not. I still remember Dean bein’ twelve and askin’ me why that blanket you kept on the couch smelled good. And he’s a dumbass, but he’s good for you.”

“He’s not a dumbass.” You mumble, and you don’t care if it’s not helping your case. You still have to say it. 

Bobby only sighs. “I know he ain’t. But he can be. Just like you.”

You give a tiny nod, and keep your eyes fixed on your fingers. You’re picking at them again. “Can we please talk about something else.”

“You hear me? ‘Bout Dean?”

You nod, and hear Bobby let out a slow breath. 

“Okay, then. What’d you wanna talk about.”

“Uh- How’s the hunt going for Death-“

“Same as it was last night.” 

Your glare shoots up, and Bobby gives you a small, dry grin.

“Finish your breakfast, kiddo. Then we’ll talk Armageddon.”

You sigh, but listen. 

And the hunt for Death isn’t really making progress. Wherever Lucifer sent him, it’s not for television appearances. Most of the day is spent playing the news in the background in hopes of blatant omens. 

You won’t be useless. You might not be allowed to hunt, and you might lose Dean sleep by wandering out in the dead of night, but you won’t be useless. You won’t start screaming about Death in the middle of the night and make it Bobby’s problem. You’ll go sit on your bed and work on what you do best. 

Weird things.

New spells and rituals, trying to resketch that map of Heaven, ideas for how to help Bobby or find Ellen. Through the whole night, ignoring when your eyes go dry and you can feel your teeth, because you won’t be useless.

True to his word, you get a call from an unknown number the next morning. Early the next morning. Your phone buzzing before the sky has even started to lighten, starting your attention away from the notes in your lap.

“Dean?” You pick up in a second, and he laughs from the other side. 

“You know, one day you’re gonna pick up the phone and it’s gonna be the feds. Then you’ll have some explaining to do, Princess.”

You sigh, tipping your head back and smiling at the ceiling. "The feds don’t know who I am, De. Some of us are good at our jobs.”

“Hey, I’m good at my job. I got me and Sammy into this psych ward, didn’t I?”

“You did.” Your smile grows. “With my strategy.”

“Shit.” Dean mutters, and you let out a soft giggle. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“Nope.” You pause, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

Dean’s shirt. 

Dean’s shirt that you’re wearing, because you’re an idiot who misses him and loves him and wants him all the time. 

“I, um,” You swallow. “Are you there? And safe?”

You can hear him sigh through the phone. “Yeah. We’re safe. I mean, we got full bended and spread, but we’re safe.”

“Bended and-“

“Medical exam.” He grumbles, and you can almost see his sour expression. “It don’t know what the hell my ass has got to do with being bananas, but they still had to take a look.”

“Oh.” You flush, and force it to stay out of your voice. “That’s, um- Did it hurt?”

“Nah. It was fine. I-“ Dean cuts himself off, his voice dropping slightly when he continues. “Princess.”

Your flush is spreading. Growing hot between your legs. “Yeah?”

“Why the hell are you up right now.”

“You’re up-“

“I snuck out to leave you a voicemail so you had the number.” He snaps. “I didn’t think you’d actually be awake. Go back to sleep-“

“I never went to sleep.” You raise your voice over his, your knees drawing up to your chest. “I- I can’t.”

The line is only static for another second, then Dean clears his throat. “You wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay. You haven’t been-“

“I’ve been writing.” You whisper, turning one of your notes in your hand. “And thinking. But that’s it.”

“Good.” Dean mutters, and you hear a rustle through the speaker. He might be rubbing his face. “I can try and stay on the line with you, b- sweetheart, but if they catch me, I lose pudding privileges.”

You smile softly at the air. “Woe is you, Deano. I-“

“It ain’t that bad.” Dean speaks over you before you can convince him to hang up. “All they got is butterscotch.”

“Wow. Woe really is you.”

He chuckles. “You have no idea, Princess. You want me to stay?”

“Yes.” Your grip tightens on the phone. Like you can force his voice to stay with you.  Please.”

“Alright, then. I had a great fucking milkshake on the road. Tasted like mint.”

“Dean, you hate mint-“

“I hate toothpaste. The, uh- sharp kinda mint-

“Spearmint?”

“Yeah. That. This was better than that. I’ll take you sometimes. If you- Uh, if you’d like.”

You smile into the air.  “I’d like.”

“Good.” Dean coughs. “Sammy got a salad. Fucking health freak.”

You giggle, and stay on the phone until you blink, and realize the sun has long risen back into the sky, and you’re slumped across the mattress to Dean’s side of the bed. 

He’s fine. The first thing Bobby tells you when you get downstairs is that Sam called that morning, saying they think they’re hunting a wraith and nothing else. If Dean was in trouble, Sam would mention it. 

“Bobby.”

He grunts, and you push one of your papers across the table. 

“Can you read that?”

“The Enochian?” He gives you a flat look. “No.”

“Not that.” You tap the bottom of the page. “That.”

Bobby sighs, and frowns at the paper. “Congelo.”

“Great. Now take this,” you shove a fistful of mint into his hands. “And keep it in your pocket.”

“In my-“ Bobby say your name with an incredulous expression. “What the hell are you talkin’ about-“

“It’s a defense.” Your tone is almost frantic. You can’t help it. “If you eat the mint and then say congelo, then everything within a ten-foot radius will freeze. I tried to keep it as simple as possible, but we’re going to have to up the salt in your diet and get you some pebbles to throw over your shoulder. And you, uh- You’ll have to keep the house about five degrees colder-“

“Kiddo, I ain’t doin’ any of that.”

“It’s not forever! It’s-“ You grab another fistful of notes, shoving them forward as if Bobby could read a single word. “It’s just until I figure out how to heal you-“

“No.” Bobby shakes his head, and you frown.

“But-“

“No. I don’t want you wastin’ your time on me.”

Your brows knit tight, and you scowl. “It’s not wasting time, Bobby-“

“It is if you’re lookin’ for ways to get me out of this chair instead of stop Lucifer.” He snaps. “I ain’t gonna lie and say I’m happy with this agreement, but I sure as shit ain’t putting myself before the damn world.”

“What if I want to put you first-“

“Then you need to remember that there’s no me, no anybody, if there ain’t world.”

You shake your head, your words growing strained. “What- What if something attacks you, Bobby. What if I’m not here and a demon gets to you again, and you can’t get to your shotgun. Then that’s three people that I could have helped, but I failed-“

“Hey.” Bobby grunts your name, and you take a slow, slightly shaking breath. “Breath. I got a piston on me, I keep extra guns places in this house that would shock ya’, and I know my exorcisms.”

“But-“

“If we’re bein’ honest, kiddo, my life expectancy is probably doubled in this chair. You’ve made this place more secure than fuckin’ Alcatraz. I’ll be fine.”

You take a heavy breath, your voice dropping under your breath. “People escaped from Alcatraz.”

“Yeah, three dumbasses who got themselves drowned.” Bobby sighs your name, rubbing his beard. “I’ll be alright kiddo. I got you lookin’ out for me, and if it makes you feel better, I’ll keep the damn mint. But I ain’t doin’ all the other stuff.”

You’ll take it. Just to give yourself a false sense of comfort, you’ll take it. 

But it doesn’t help you sleep better. And the pain still crushes your lungs in the dead of night, but you don’t call Dean. He’s working. He needs the sleep too. 

You’d promised you’d call him, if you were going to do something stupid. But you’re not. Every time you want to go outside and scream at the Sky until your voice is gone and your skin is frostbitten, you just keep writing under your hand cramps. It’s not even spells anymore. It’s Dean’s name in Enochian, a record of things you did that day, a bunch of fantasies you’re never going to speak aloud—that part comes with your hand between your thighs and a small gasp that sounds a lot like Dean—and a list of ideas for Dean’s birthday. 

But it still hurts. 

And you can’t just sit in it. 

You take the knife and the Blade, as you slide out the door. You won’t need them—anything that can really hurt you will trigger the Silver, and then it’s everybody’s problem—but it will be good to have a defense in the morning, when Bobby asks what the hell you were thinking, sneaking of in the middle of the night. You brought a weapon. Everything was fine. 

It isn’t.

Not really.

And you’re not really sure where you’re going. For a second, you’re driving the Firebird to the trail, ready to hike to the waterfall and see Jo—hiking at night might be a dumb idea, but animals tend to like you, and you do have your knife—but you’re not ready. 

You can’t do it alone. 

So you turn around, and end up at a bar. It’s the one Sam and Dean always go to. And you’ll always refuse Dean’s invitation, because they’re going to be drinking and you don’t want to be a bummer. The stick in the mud loser who can’t play pool, won’t drink, and is clinging to Dean’s side, stopping him from getting laid.

Sam had said Dean doesn’t look to get laid anymore.

That doesn’t mean he’d turn down an offer.

You try not to think about it. 

But there’s still the fucking fantasy. Where you do go the bar with them, Dean’s only looking at you. Grinning at you and ordering you a Shirley Temple before guiding you to the pool table with his hand on your lower back, and talking to you through the whole game. Then he wanders over to your stool and stand between your legs, smirking at you before pulls you into a long, deep kiss-

“Are you waiting for someone, darling?”

You blink at the voice from your left—you’ve been staring at your eggnog for maybe twenty minutes—and nod. “Yeah, my boyfriend.”

The voice hums, and your skin crawls. It’s British, and all you can think of is Ketch. “Some boyfriend he is, leaving a lovely thing like you hanging.”

“He’s not leaving me hanging.” You shrug. “He’s a mechanic and I make him shower before he joins me. And I’m really not looking for company, so-“ You turn to look at Mr. British, and your words die in your throat. “Fuck.”

The demon is seeping and sticky and smooth. Blood red.

Crossroads demon. 

His vessel is shorter, dressed on all black with a clean beard. 

Easy body to hide.

You reach for your knife, and the demon just sighs.

“Don’t do that.” He tilts his head to your hand, and you scowl.

“Shucks, buddy, you don’t really get a say-“

“I am not here to hurt you.” He hums, taking a slow sip of his own drink. “No fun in that.”

You pause. The Silver isn’t rising anymore, but it’s not going back down either. Just humming in static. Waiting.

You don’t pull out the Blade, but you don’t move your hand, either. “No fun?”

“God, no.” The demons turns to face you with a smirk. “If I’m being self-aware, no point in trying, either. I’ve seen the news. As far as I recall, San Francisco never had hospital that looked like a hanging garden. Not until you visited it, anyway.”

The Silver flares slightly at that, and your words are pushed through your teeth. “What do you want.”

The demon laughs. “Think I’d rather introduce myself first, actually.” He extends a hand, his smirk growing. “I already know who you are,” he says your name, and you sit a little taller. “But I’m afraid I missed you, when your two handsome buffoons gave me a gentlemanly call. Crowley, King of the Crossroads, anti-Lucifer demon.”

Fuck. 

You’re staring at him, trying to weigh the merits of stabbing him and running. If one demon found you, others could find you. And even if Crowley is—as he very pointedly said—against Lucifer, that doesn’t mean other demons won’t find you and call Lucifer-

“What’s wrong?” Crowley cuts through your cold panic, his brows raised. “Not a toucher?”

His hand.

You’re not going to shake it.

“You didn’t answer my question.” You say, pulling your hand out of your jacket. “What do you want.”

“Well, if we’re skipping formalities,” Crowley withdraws his hand, and his smirk grows. “I want to make a deal.”

“No.”

He sighs. “You haven’t heard my offer yet, you can’t just say no-“

“Yes, I can. No.”

“You are-“ He scowls, scanning over you carefully. “I’m not asking for your soul, darling. This isn’t another Dean’s got a year situation.”

You narrow your eyes, the Silver flaring slightly. “I’m still not interested.”

“Yes, because you don’t know what I’m offering-“

“I don’t care-“

“You will.” His grin returns in full force, wide and snake-like. “Because I can give you Death.”

The Silver flares again. Still too deep in your body to be dangerous, but brighter. You can feel how cold your glass is, from the ice in your drink. “Death.”

“That’s right.” He hums. “And since I can’t take your soul, all you’d owe me is one little favor.”

One favor. 

Death, for one favor. 

You’re not a fucking idiot. And Crowley might have played nice with Sam and Dean, but he’s still a demon. Still smiling at you from inside the vessel, hideous and crude and bloody. 

But Death.

You could fix your mistake. You could make it better.

Dean told you not to do anything stupid. 

“I know you have no reason to trust me,” Crowley says, before you can even open your mouth. “But I promise. I don’t break my deals, and I am very much in favor of a world without the Devil. He doesn’t even do any of the real work. Made us govern ourselves for years, he’s barely more than a figurehead.”

You frown, and speak before you can stop yourself. “Why are you British?”

He rolls his eyes. “Why are you American?”

“Touché.” You sigh and rub your thumb over your palm. “I-“

Crowley shakes his head. “Don’t answer yet. Sleep on it. And if you need proof of my allegiances,” Crowley leans forward, holding your gaze. “So I can offer you a step forward. For free.”

“Offer me- A step forward.” Your eyes narrow. “Why would you do that?”

“Call it an investment. I’ve been told some interesting things about you,” he drawls your name with a small shrug. “And while I’m not looking for friends, I’d have to be a fool to be on the bad side of the girl who kills angels and raised Death.”

“What’s a step forward-“

“You’ll have to find that out yourself, I’m afraid. But I promise I’m good on my word.”

You swallow, the Silver twisting in your body. “And it’s… free.”

Crowley nods, his grin never dropping. “As long as you promise to think about my real offer, yes. It is free.”

And Dean told you not to do anything stupid. 

But thinking about it doesn’t mean you have to do it.

“Fine.” You lean forward, holding Crowley’s gaze, and his smirk grows. “I’ll think about it. Promise. Your turn.”

“Los Angeles, California. See what you find.”

You open your mouth to push, but before you can, Crowley snaps his fingers. And he’s gone. 

Fuck.

——————   

“Dean.” Dad grunted, and Dean’s sat up. 

If Dad needed him, he always had to sit up. Look ready. Prove that he was listening, and that he would be worthy of whatever was needed. The kiddie gun Dad let him keep was in his pants. He couldn’t get into smaller spaces anymore, but he could strong-arm them open. Or just force himself into them, so Sammy didn’t have to. 

Whatever it was, Dean would do it. He could do it. He always did it, and it hurt sometimes, but he was being fucking useful, so-

“Take these.” Dad muttered, passing a pair of scissors into Dean’s hand. “Go inside, cut some cloth, then come out. Anyone ask you what you’re doin’, you pretend you’re dull in the head. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” 

Dean didn’t understand. But he knew better than to tell Dad that. Then Dad would just give the scissors to Sammy, and while Dean could play stupid, Sammy couldn’t. Kid didn’t know how. He’d just freak out about getting caught and start making up frantic excuses until they were screwed.

But Dean could play stupid. He was good at it, too. And he’d figure out what Dad wanted. 

Get cloth. 

That couldn’t be too hard.

Dad had parked around the back of the Church. Out of the view of the road and—more importantly—patrolling cop cars. Dean had heard him on the phone with Bobby this morning, while Sammy was sleeping. Someone had ratted out the guy in room 105 at the motel on Kirk Street, with a bunch of guns and two kids that didn’t go to school. Now they had to wrap up the case and hit the road, before everything got worse. 

That was why Dean was going in, and not Dad. Dad would be in danger.

Dean might be too, but no one was going to hurt a kid. 

Usually. 

And Dean had never been in a church before. He didn’t remember Mom being that kind of religious, and Dad always said ‘you’d have to be a crazy asshole to believe, knowin’ what’s out there.’ Sometimes they’d pass big, dusty churches on the highway, but they looked like nothing. Single-colored building with crosses stuck on the top, all wood or clay or brick. The door always seemed too big, and the signs all said things like ‘There will be judgement’, which Dean wasn’t sure was true.

If there was judgement, it was a little slow. Or misplaced. If there was judgement, Mom never would’ve gotten ganked, and Sammy would’ve gotten to know what normal was. If there was judgement, Dad would get to sleep more, and he wouldn’t ever be angry because everything would be fine.

Dean didn’t remember what fine felt like. 

He was sure he wouldn’t be finding it in an old building that smelled like wet wood and smoke, with some old bald guy yelling at him. 

And that was what he’d been sure all churches would be.

But this wasn’t that. 

Maybe it’s because they were in a city. Dad rarely took them to cities. But Chicago had a problem, and Dad was the only person who could solve it. So, city.

And Dad rarely let them near churches, either. But here they were.

And when Dean shuffled through the too big doors, this wasn’t the wooden box filled with guilt and dummies praying to nothing. 

It was big.

Beautiful.

A ceiling that seemed higher than the sky, and arches that curved over his head like doorways. There was a big organ at the front, stained glass windows lining the walls, and Dean felt small. He felt like he was somewhere he shouldn’t be. It was too bright and colorful, too well-kept and clean. That might be gold, lining the alter, all the benches were shiny and polished, and not one of them was going to give him a splinter. 

It was empty. Oddly empty. It was a Thursday, but a place like this felt as if it should be filled with a hundred people, shouting and singing and doing church things. But it was just Dean, and the stature of the guy on the cross, hanging over the dais.

That looked painful. Really freaking painful. 

Dean didn’t think he’d be strong enough to do that, if he had to. He knew the whole Jesus story—he wasn’t that much of an idiot—and if Dad asked him to hang himself for the sake of everyone else, he didn’t know if he could. 

He wanted to be able to. Wanted to be worthy of whatever people saw in that guy, to make something this beautiful for him. Maybe if he bled enough, just one person would leave a flower at his grave. One person would sit on all those shiny benches, and think of Dean. 

He would never be worthy of all this beauty. Of those painting on the glass of angels, or the spotless shine of the floors. A flower and one person could be all he asked for. 

Maybe one day he’d earn it.

Right now, he had to get cloth. 

There was no one to stop him wandering right up the steps to the big preaching area, and there was some red, soft looking fabric hanging off the alter. That could be what Dad was looking for. And if it wasn’t, Dean would just take the blow, then run back inside until his brain started freaking working and he figured it out. 

He knelt down behind the alter—where nobody would see him, if they walked in—and raised the scissors to make a small, clean cut.

“What are you doing?”

Dean’s head shot up, and there She was. Sitting on the alter with hair shinier than the gold in the pews, looking at Dean with eyes brighter than all the sun leaking through the glass. Dean whispered Her name, his voice a little hoarse, and suddenly he wasn’t small anymore. He was kneeling, but at Her eye level. The scissors were smaller in his hands, and the alter was far from hiding his body from sight. 

He didn’t want to be hidden from sight. He wanted Her to look at him, all the fucking time. And smile, and lean forward while holding his gaze. 

“Dean.” Her voice was teasing, mimicking the tone with which he’d said Her name. He really wanted to kiss Her. “Why are we in a church?”

“I, uh-“ He cleared his throat, grabbing Her knee. 

A little bit to steady himself, but mostly just to touch Her. Make sure She didn’t vanish into the air as the dream fell back into a boring pace. 

“I’m working a case. With Dad.”

“Huh.” She frowned, glancing down at the scissors. “What?”

“He needed cloth from a church.”

“Why couldn’t he get it himself?”

“There were cops.” Dean shrugged. “And this isn’t that bad, sweetheart. One time he had me crawl into the sewer cause he dropped the wolf killing bullets.”

Her brow furrowed into a tight wrinkle. “Dean-“

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He shrugged. “But shit happens. And he got the wolf.”

“I- How old are you?”

“Right now?” Dean frowned. “This is, uh- The ’89 case in Chicago. Woulda been ten.”

The little wrinkle deepened, Her lips falling into a full pout. “That’s-“

He sighed. “Look, Princess, I know. And I’ve come to terms with it-“

“I don’t care.” She whispered, Her fingers reaching up to trail his jawbone. “You didn’t deserve that, De. I- He never deserved you.”

Dean let out a dry chuckle. “That right, Princess? I’m just that good, huh.”

“You are.”

She was holding his gaze, and there wasn’t anything mocking in Her voice. She just had that little furrow in Her brow, a siren-like voice that might be the most gospel this stupid church had ever heard, and Dean didn’t even feel small now. The felt like he was something important, with how She was looking at him.

And he wasn’t. 

But for Her, he’d always wanted to be.

“Well,” Dean drawled Her name, raising his brows. “Who would deserve me, then?”

She frowned. “Nobody.”

Dean blinked. She’d said it like She meant he was too good, when really nobody deserved having to deal with him. Deal with all his shit. The bits he’d forced into himself, the mud he’d been born into, the violence and horror that came with just knowing him. 

And She’d said it so simply, too. Like it was a fact and not just an outright lie. Moving on before he could push it. 

“You know, I’m from Chicago.” Her voice was a hum, Her fingers still lingering on Dean’s face. “Sort of. It was the closest city. I actually came to this church a lot.”

Dean frowned. “You did? If I’m ten, you’re-“

“Seven. Still with my family.”

“Huh.” He scanned over Her carefully, catching Her hand before She pull it away, and pulling Her a little further forward. Until he was higher on his knees, settled between Her spread legs and holding Her gaze. 

“Dean.” She whispered, and he pressed a kiss to Her knuckles. 

“What do you think woulda happened?” He murmured. “If we met then?”

“I- I don’t know.”

“I do.” He shrugged, taking Her face between his hands, and brushing his thumb over Her lower lip. “I’d start goin’ to church a lot more.”

She gave him a flat look. “Dean.”

“Yeah, baby?” He grinned at Her, and She flushed.

“You would hate church-“

“But I like you.”

She sighed. “You’d have to sit still for hours. Without music.”

“So I’d sit next to you.”

“My family wouldn’t have let you sit next to me.”

“Then I woulda snuck you out.” Dean shrugged. This was a stupid, impossible fantasy. That didn’t stop him from having it. “We’d hang out with they did whatever church people do, and if you still wanted to run away, I would’ve taken you with me. But if you stayed trapped with your douchebag family, I would’ve kept coming back, over and over, forever.”

She sighed, giving him a sad smile. “That’s a long time, Deano.”

“Nah.” He shrugged. “Not if I was with you.”

Her throat bobbed, Her fingers curling on the collar of Dean’s shirt, and She was so fucking beautiful. This was what the world should be worshipping. Her. But She shouldn’t have to suffer for it. She was too untouchable, too divine. People should be the ones bleeding for Her.

Dean certainly would. 

And when She leaned forward, brushing Her lips over his, Dean understood how people could dedicate their lives to something they could never be sure was real. 

This was only a dream. Dean was only crashing up into Her in the haze of light and color that was his dream, and only leaning Her down on the alter in his head. And he may never get this again, out there in the real world, but he didn’t care. He’d keep himself as Her shadow out there, and He’d keep Her like this in his mind all the time. 

Sighing easily into his mouth and mumbling his name, pliant and soft under his touch but scratching at his back when he nipped Her lower lip or pulled Her tongue between his teeth. 

Just for the idea of Her, he’d do unspeakable things. 

And for Her herself, he’d bleed all over the floor if She asked it of him.

Everything Dean had to give was Her’s.

All the way down.

Something slammed right into his fucking face, and Dean’s eyes shot open with grunt.

“What the- Goddamnit-“ He dragged the towel off his face, shooting a very smug looking Sam a glower. “This is still fucking wet, bitch-“

“You weren’t waking up, jerk.” Sam shrugged. “C’mon. I already started the car.”

Dean frowned. “You- Why? If you think you’re driving-“

“I’m not driving, Dean. We just need to hit the road, if we want to get to LA before midnight.”

“Before-“ Dean shook his head, and he could still fucking smell Her in the air. It hadn’t helped clear his thoughts. “Sammy, there’s no way we’re going right to the next case without-“

Sam said Her name, and Dean froze. “I know. You want to go back to Bobby’s to see her-“

“I- We need to check on Bobby and the Horsemen-“

“Sure, dude. But she’s gonna be there. So let’s go.”

“Be- In LA?”

Sam nodded, tossing Dean his jacket, and he caught it with a scowl.

“Why the fuck is she in LA, she’s still benched-“

“It’s her case.” Sam shrugged on his own jacket. “I guess she un-benched herself.”

He was way too goddamn relaxed about that. She shouldn’t be on a case right now. And it wasn’t just Dean being overprotective like Sam kept saying. Sam wasn’t there with Her, almost every night. Sam didn’t hold Her while she cried in the dead of night, or see that She was picking at her hands again, or notice how She’d been rubbing Her wrists until they were raw and looked rope burned. 

Sam didn’t wake up to find Her missing from bed. Didn’t feel his heart jump into his throat as he ran outside to find Her, and have it sink right back down into a pit at the sight of Her. Shivering and curled into Herself, all the color drained from Her features.

Sam didn’t feel goddamn useless when he got Her to smile again, but still left Her in the morning. 

Dean didn’t want to leave Her. Ever. If it were up to him, he’d live at Bobby’s and never stray further than he could hear Her calling his name. But the stupid fucking apocalypse meant he had to. And he wasn’t sure if it was the shit in San Francisco that had pushed Her too far, or something else she wouldn’t talk about, but he knew She shouldn’t be in the field. Shouldn’t be anywhere where She might hurt herself more.

And She’d agreed with that. Dean had double checked that She really was fine staying with Bobby, and She’d agreed. 

So he wasn’t sure what the fuck was happening. 

“What do you mean, it’s her case.” Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam, and the kid sighed.

“I mean she called last night, and she said I’ve got a case in LA. Meet me there. That’s it, Dean.”

“She called you?”

“Yep.” 

Dean’s jaw clenched, and Sam gave him an amused look. 

“Holy shit, dude. You were asleep-“

“Shut up.” Dean stomped to the door. “Call her for the details, then tell her to go back to Bobby’s-“

Sam snorted. “No. There’s no way I’m doing that.”

“I’m not asking-“

“No, Dean.” Sam gave him a flat look as they moved across the parking lot. “And glaring at me isn’t going to change my mind.”

“Sammy, she shouldn’t be hunting-“

“Then tell her yourself. I’m not jumping in front of that bullet for you.”

Dean scowled, and Sam let out a long sigh. 

“Look, dude, you’re not gonna be able to stop her. You know that better than anyone.”

Dean did. 

Son of a bitch, he really did. 

And he only grunted at Sam and turned up the radio, but Sam didn’t need Dean to admit he was right. The little smirk on his stupid face meant he already knew.

Trying to stop Her wouldn’t work. It had never worked. If Dean went up to Her and said Princess, go home, he’d get a glare that might hurt just as much as being stabbed. Then She’d been pissed at him, and wouldn’t let him talk to Her, and if She started crying, Dean wouldn’t be allowed to comfort Her. 

The best thing he could do was be there. With Her. For Her. Next to Her as her shadow, all the time. 

Hopefully, this would be a quick case. If not a salt and burn, a monster that She could gank in Her sleep, and She just wanted them there to help her with. They’d take care of it, then maybe actually get to the beach this time around.

And that wasn’t what was going to happen. She wouldn’t have left Bobby just for a monster of the week. 

She wouldn’t be waiting for them at the motel—the drive had been long, but Dean had only stopped for gas once and told Sam to hold it whenever he started whining about the bathroom—with Cas at Her side, if it was something that would be done in a day. 

They were settled in, too. Cas sat at the table, frowning over some of Her notes. She beamed when She saw Dean—and it filled him with light and made him stand a little taller, ignoring Sammy’s eyes roll entirely—and stood up, crossing the room to pull Sam into a quick hug. 

Sam got to go first. That was fine. There was no reason—at least not a logical one—that Dean should be hugged first, so he just rocked on his feet with his hands in his pockets, and he didn’t need to Her to hug him at all-

She almost slammed into him, and Dean let out a wheeze. It was tight. And long. And his arms wrapped around Her in a second, holding Her head to his chest and swaying back and forth slowly.

He could smell the fruit, and Her hair was so shiny, and Her lips were brushing against his neck whenever She took a breath-

Dean squeezed Her once, just to check, and She squeezed back twice. 

His jaw clenched, and he held Her a little tighter.

Something was wrong. 

“Hey, Cas.” Sammy cleared his throat, shooting Dean a should we be worried about this look. “You’re, uh- I thought you were still looking for God, right?“

Cas said Her name, and She pulled back from Dean’s arms with a sigh. “I can tell them, if that would be easier-“

“I’ve got it.” She took a pace back, looking between Sam and Dean with a small, tight smile. “I’ve got a lead.”

“A lead?” Sam frowned. “Like, on a horseman?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. Don’t know yet.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean you don’t know.”

“I know it’s something.” She gave him a grimacing smile. “Jury is still out on what.”

“How’d you find the lead.” She sighed, twisting the skin on her finger. “Research.”

Lie. That was a fucking lie. 

But before Dean could call Her on it, Sammy was talking again. 

“What is the lead?”

She walked back to the table with Cas, who gave Her a tight nod and passed her a paper without a word.

Maybe Sam was right. Maybe they should be worried about that.

“People are fucking each other when they try to have sex.” She said, and Dean couldn’t stop his smirk.

“I think that’s what’s supposed to happen, Princess.”

Flush. Hitched breath. Parted lips that feel into a tight frown. “I know that,” she muttered. “I mean they’re fucking each other up. Like, ripping each other apart.”

She held up the photo—red and gruesome with a lot of guts on the outside of bodies—and Sam recoiled.

“That’s… so gross.”

“It gets worse,” Cas muttered. “Another couple suffocated. To death.”

Dean frowned. “How the hell is that-“

“They were also engaging in sexual acts.”

“Sexual-“ Sam shook his head, then said Her name. “What sexual acts?”

Her voice was barely a mumble. “Uh- 69ing.”

“Oh.” Sam’s eyed widened. “Oh. Shit.”

Dean couldn’t look at Her too long. At how She was very obviously avoiding his gaze and rubbing at Her wrists, hiking her knees up to Her chest as she dropped back at the table. It was just sex. And maybe Dean imagined it with Her, every time he took a shower and whenever She was lying with him in bed—or when he was alone in bed, or when She bent over and he wanted to crowd all Her space and kiss over Her neck, or when She fluttered her lashes and pouted Her lips and it felt like a goddamn spell was being cast over him—but that didn’t mean this was weird. She didn’t even know Dean thought those things.

He was pretty sure She didn’t know. 

If She knew, She’d never said anything. She would have said something. Or, more likely, stopped sleeping in a bed with him. And he played this out a million times before in his head—if She could see Dean’s desire and need for Her, spinning out of control from his soul and trying to touch Her, Dean always wanted to touch Her—but never stopped to circle around what if She could see it, and didn’t say anything, but didn’t hate it, either. 

He wasn’t sure what to do, then. She might be waiting for him to something, just like the kiss in Florida. But Dean wasn’t sure, and he didn’t want to say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing and fuck it all up. 

And if She wanted him, if She was flushed and nervous because of that, then-

Now wasn’t the time to worry about that. People were dying. Fucking each other to death. He needed to focus.

The more he focused, the faster they’d get through the case, the faster they got Her home, the sooner he could think about falling to his knee in front of Her and asking do you want me to touch you, baby girl? Are you thinking about touching me? Cause not a goddamn second passes where I don’t think I’d be a happy man suffocating between your legs-

“Do we have any theories?” Sam asked, moving to stand over the table and Dean clenched his fists. Focus. He needed to goddamn focus. “I know you guys have only been here a day, but-“

“We have ideas.” Cas cut Sam off with slow, careful words, looking to Her. 

Still staring at the floor as Cas said Her name.

“The Enochian. Tell them about that.”

She frowned. “You tell them about it.”

“But you’re the one who found it, and translated it.”

“But you keep saying I translated it wrong.”

“You still got it, though.” Cas frowned, and Sam shot Dean another worried look. “Do you wish me to explain it?”

She swallowed, but shook Her head. “I- Yes. Please.”

“Fine.” Cas looked back to Sam and Dean. “It’s a cupid.”

She rolled Her eyes. “It’s not a cupid.”

“You said I could explain it. I’m explaining it.”

“But you have to say my side too-“

“Your side is incorrect, why would I give them incorrect information-“

“Cas.” Dean grunted, looking between them with a frown as he muttered Her name, and She blinked up at him with shining eyes. “What the fuck is happening here.”

She sighed. “We have a bet.”

Sam blinked. “A… bet?”

“I found Enochian markings on the victims.” Cas said, pushing another paper—this one covered with Her handwriting in the margins—forward. “It is a Cupid’s mark. One may have gone rogue.”

She shook Her head. “But it says meat.”

“It says mate. Meat is a mistranslation.”

“But the word mate in English is derived from meat. And the people were hungry.”

“Hold up.” Dean shook his head, leaning over to frown at the paper. “Mate? Like- Soulmate?”

Cas sighed. “No, Dean. Soulmates aren’t real. Unions are pre-ordained by Heaven for higher purposes, or chosen at the free will of humans. Mate means…”

Cas trailed off, giving Her a helpless look that she only shrugged at, and Dean cleared his throat.

“Sex. It means sex, right.” He frowned between them. “You two are allowed to say sex-“

“We know that.” She snapped, and Dean’s lips twitched as She snatched the paper back with a glare. She was so fucking pretty. “We’re just tired. We’ve been working this all day.”

Sam frowned. “So you can’t say sex?”

“Sam.”

“Oh- Uh, sorry.” Sam scratched the back of his neck, reclining slightly from Her glare. Dean couldn’t blame him. She looked scary. “So- Do we think it’s a Cupid?”

She said no at the exact time Cas said yes, and Dean sighed, running a hand over his face.

“Well, it’s gotta be something-“

“That’s the bet.” She said, crossing Her arms over Her chest. “If it’s a cupid, he wins. If anything other than that, I win.”

“Win?” Sammy frowned between them. “Win what?”

“She will buy me more ice cream.” Cas muttered. “And I will find her a cat.”

“Cas.” Sam said slowly. “You’re an angel. I don’t think you need someone to buy you ice cream.”

“And,” Dean grunted Her name, holding Her gaze. “You can’t get a cat.”

“Why not?”

“I’m allergic.”

“It… will not be your cat, Dean.” Cas frowned at him. “I am getting it for her.”

“Yeah, Dean.” She stuck Her tongue out at him. “He’s getting it for me.”

“But only if you win, right?” Sam frowned between them. “I mean, that’s how bets work-“

“I know how bets work.” Cas said Her name with a shurg. “She explained them to me.”

“And we’ve already shaken on this one.” She sat up a little taller, raising Her chin. “So that’s that.”

Sam had definitely been right. Whatever this was—Her and Cas both staring them down with smug expressions and a bunch of Enochian notes covering the table—was maybe going to give Dean a heart attack.

“Oh- Okay.” Sam sighed, shooting Dean a defeated look. “Did you guys make a plan?”

“We have had a plan for hours, Sam.” Cas’ tone was flat, and Sam blinked. “We were waiting for you to arrive, so it could be executed.”

“Exe-“ Dean shook his head. “Cas, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but it’s damn near two in the morning-“

“We’re gonna go to bed, De.” She gave him a softer smile, and his heart might have just done a freaking flip. “But in the morning, I’m going to take Sam, and you’re going to go Cas, and I’m going to win.”

Cas frowned. “Unless it is a cupid-“

“It’s not a cupid.”

“The point of the bet is that it may be a cupid-“

“No, the point of the bet is that I want a cat-“

“Guys.” Sam raised his hand, raising his voice over theirs. “Splitting up isn’t a plan. I mean- It’s kind of a plan, but not really-“

“Don’t worry, buddy.” She gave Sam a wide grin. “You’re with me. And I’ve got a real plan.”

“Oh- Okay.” Sam put his hand back down. “And Cas and Dean-“

“I have a plan as well.” Cas gave Dean a small nod, and he felt a little frozen. “Dean, there is a diner down the road with burgers you will like. We’ll meet there.”

“We’ll- Where the hell are you going now?”

Cas frowned, rising slowly. “I do not sleep, and there are,” he glanced down to Her. “Other things. For me to attend to.”

Dean scowled. “Like what.”

“Things.” Cas’ voice remained flat. “I will see you in the morning, Dean.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Wait-“

There was a rustle, and then Cas was gone.

And She was still staring down at Her hands, the skin of Her nails picked raw. 

Something was wrong.

“Shit.” Sam muttered Her name, shaking his head. “Do I need anything for tomorrow?”

She shook Her head. “No. Just get some sleep.”

Sam nodded slowly, turning around with a clap of Dean’s shoulder. “I’m gonna go get our bags,” he muttered under his breath. “I’ll take whatever bed you guys aren’t in.”

Dean grunted an agreement, and didn’t look away from Her as Sam moved away.

The door closed, and he crossed the room to kneel before Her, his hands resting carefully on Her thighs. She could shove him away if She needed to. And it would sting over his heart and skin if She did, but he’d let Her. 

She just met his gaze under Her lashes, a small furrow in Her brow.

She looked so fucking tired. 

Dean muttered Her name, slowly reaching up to hold Her face in his hands. “You’re not supposed to be hunting.”

“I- You’re not my boss, Winchester-“

“But I’m your-“ Friend. Best friend. Pathetic guard dog. Shadow. “I know you, Princess. Better than anyone. And you need rest-“

“I- I know, okay. But I need to see this through.”

He frowned. “Why.”

“Because.”

Dean grunted Her name, and She shook Her head. 

“I- I just do, okay. Please.” 

She was saying please. And fluttering Her lashes slightly. And Dean was orbiting around Her, and falling up into Her, but goddamnit, this felt like a shit idea. She was lying about something, and he didn’t know how to push Her on it. He’d never been good at applying the right amount of pressure with Her. And Dean might be damn good at taking care of Her—brushing a little of Her hair back and running his thumb down Her nose—but he’d also been good at hurting Her. 

He hadn’t hurt Her in a while. He never wanted to hurt Her again.

But he couldn’t make it better if he didn’t know what was wrong. He couldn’t protect Her if he was off with Cas for the whole hunt. 

“Princess-“

“I- I want to go see it soon.” She whispered, and Dean frowned.

“See-“

“The waterfall. Where Bobby-“ She swallowed, and it clicked in Dean’s head. 

“Jo.”

“I- I can’t go alone, De. I- I’ve been trying. And I can’t. And I promise I’m not running, and I know this is a bad idea, but it’s my lead and I have to do it-“

Her words turned into soft, weak tears, and Dean swore under his breath. He wasn’t making Her cry. But he wasn’t fucking helping either.

“I- I’m so tired,” She was falling over him, and Dean adjusted in a second. Pushing up to his knees and tucking Her into his chest. “I wanna go home-“

“Then go home,” he muttered Her name. “We can take care of this ourselves, cupid or not-“

She shook Her head against him. “No, I- It has to be me. I- I’m just tired.”

This was more than tired. She was leaning back with sniffles and pouting lips, and Dean knew this was more than tired.

But son of a bitch, he didn’t know how to push Her on it. And at least She’d have Sammy. He wouldn’t let anything happen to Her, if not for Dean, for Her. The kid adored Her. And She was strong. She’d gotten through months alone, right after Jo’s death, without a single scratch.

That Dean could see. 

But he couldn’t push Her on that either. Or on whatever the hell She and Cas were up to. And it definitely wasn’t the time to talk about how—when he kissed Her brow and helped Her to her feet, guiding Her into bed and pulling off his shoes before falling at Her side—he couldn’t stop wanting to fucking kiss Her.

He needed to just be there for Her. Lay at Her side and take Her hand, carefully testing if She’d kick him out of bed like a dog if he tugged Her a little closer. 

She didn’t.

And that should be enough. It had to be enough. 

But it never was. 

She shifted, in the night. Dean drifted in and out of sleep, and every time his eyes would open and he’d regain fully awareness, She’d have moved. Her body now facing his. Her chest pressed to Dean’s side. Her leg hooked over his waist, and their hands still tangled together.

Her face, burrowed in Dean’s shoulder, Her breath warm on his skin. 

It was torture. It was the best goddamn torture in the world, because Dean got to hold Her—kind of—but it wasn’t enough, and now he couldn’t fucking sleep. 

The rest of the night passed with lights on the ceiling, their hands pressed to Dean’s chest the smell of fruit and sugar getting him high on an amazing, horrible drug. 

He shouldn’t think about it right now. It was wrong. Sick. She was his best friend, and She was in fucking pain, and She’d been crying in his arms only a few hours before. 

But She was also humming softly whenever She took a breath, and nuzzling against Dean’s throat, and Her knee was real damn close to brushing against his cock. And in another world, maybe he’d be allowed to flip Her over until she was staring at him all pretty, splayed out below Dean and whispering his name in that siren-like way only She had ever said it. Then he’d kiss the sound off Her lips, and she’d hum softly and tug at his hair, and he’d give Her more. Give Her everything. All She’d need to do was relax into it, and Dean would make Her see all those stars that only seemed to shine for Her. Make Her feel that perfect, slightly pained paradise he lived in, whenever She so much as fucking smile at him. 

He’d made Her scream his name until Her voice was hoarse, then wrap Her safely in his arms, getting Her whatever she needed before She had to ask. He’d fuck Her until She couldn’t walk, then carry Her wherever She needed to go. He’d praise Her and kiss Her until she was a flushed, fucked out mess, and kiss Her again just so She knew. 

That as long as Dean had a say in it, She’d only feel good things. Be good places. Be happy.

He just needed to be the luckiest, most undeserving son of a bitch in the world, and be the one She wanted to be happy with. The asshole from the mud that hadn’t dragged himself up, but had hardened into clay. And She could mold him into whatever She wanted him to be. 

Dean just really fucking hoped it was something where he got to kiss Her, and She stayed wrapped around him for maybe the rest of time. 

He got up the moment light cracked through the blinders. He’d be fucked if She woke up first, and felt the raging boner pressed into Her thigh.

The cold shower sort of helped. The gritting his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut, and jacking off to the fantasy of Her in bed with him—curled at Dean’s side, smiling at him with fluttering lashes and maybe grinding onto his thigh while Her hands wrapped around his cock—helped a lot. And Dean dressed in the bathroom, grabbing coffee from the desk and setting in on the nightstand, with a little scribbled note that he was out with Cas, and to call if they got any leads. 

She and Sammy needed the sleep more than Dean did, anyway. They both looked peaceful, and they’d both been beating themselves up every damn moment they’d been awake, and Dean had been trying to help them but maybe he was only making it worse-

Problems for later. Right now, Dean needed to get a start on the case. The sooner they wrapped it up, the sooner Dean could get Her home. Take Her to go see Jo. Maybe stop and get Her food—not that day, that day would be a lot more holding Her while she cried—and then find the words to ask am I allowed to kiss you still, Princess. And if I am, could we do more than kissing. Could you maybe see yourself holding my hand, wearing even less clothing when you slept, and letting me build you a house that might not be the fanciest thing in the world, but would be fucking ours. And you’d be mine, and I’d just keep being yours. 

Always been yours, Princess. He stared down at Her like a fucking creep, tracing his hands over Her cheekbones. Never gonna be anything else. All the way down, right?

She didn’t answer. 

So Dean headed out the door, and called Cas at the diner. 

“How certain are you it’s a cupid?” Dean asked, right through a mouthful of burger—Cas was right, this place was awesome, they served burgers at six in the morning—and Cas sighed. 

“I am positive.” Cas muttered Her name. “She is caught up on the semantics of the translation. I will admit that I’ve never seen a rogue cupid do something like this, but this year has been… full of firsts.”

Dean grunted. “Yeah, it has. Never seen an angel place a bet before. Or take orders from a human.”

Cas frowned. “I have taken orders from you, Dean.”

“Those were suggestions-“

Cas said Her name carefully. “I am speaking of her. You did not suggest that I ensure she slept.”

Dean scowled. “Well, did you?”

“Of course I did.” Cas frowned. “You asked me to.”

Dean blinked. “Oh, uh- Thanks then. You’re not really gonna get her a cat, right?”

“I will have to. If I lose the bet.”

“What, did you two make a blood oath-“

“I don’t have blood.” Cas paused, his gaze flicking down to Dean’s burger. “You are eating slower than usual.”

“It’s early. And you better lose that freakin’ bet-“

“I am confident in my theory, Dean. You can come with us when we get ice cream.” Cas was still staring at the burger, and Dean cleared his throat. 

“How’d that other thing go?”

Cas’ gaze flicked back to Dean’s with a frown. “What?”

“Your other thing that you left us for. Last night.” Dean narrowed his eyes, and said Her name. “Was it something for her?”

Cas sighed. “If you are looking for me to tell you of our private conversations, Dean, it won’t work.”

“Why the hell not-“

“Because I won’t betray her confidence. Just as I wouldn’t betray yours about the bottle of her perfume that you keep in the bottom of your bag-“

Dean sat up. “How the hell do you know about that.”

“You asked me to grab you a gun, a few weeks ago. And I have eyes.”

“Well- I-“ Dean shook his head, leaning forward. “This is different, Cas. She might get herself hurt-“

“I will not let that happen.” Cas was looking at the fucking burger again. “Dean, I know how you are about your food, but-“

“Take it, man.” Dean sighed, pushing the plate forward. “I’ll get another one for the road or something.”

Cas nodded, grabbing the burger a lot faster than Dean expected, and he frowned. 

“I thought you didn’t need to eat-“

“I don’t. I’m trying new things.”

That didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

Wasn’t enough time to push it.

“Well, if it’s a cupid, how are we gonna find it-“

“You won’t have to find it.” Cas shrugged, frowning around the diner. “This city is a high priority location for cherubim-“

“Cherubim-“

“Cupids. They are low level angels. Not a threat, though.” Cas nodded slowly, and it mostly seemed to be to himself. “I will find it and deal with it easily.”

Dean frowned. “Then what the hell am I here for-“

“The bet.”

“Ah. Right. The bet.” He let out a slow breath, turning over his fork on the table. “If cupids are angels, do you think this is a rebellion situation? Lucifer flips one of them, diapered douchebag goes around ganking anyone he can?”

“Cupids don’t wear diapers.” Cas took another bite of the burger. “They’re naked.”

“Course they are.” Dean muttered. “Awesome.” 

Cas nodded, speaking through a mouthful. “And I am not sure of this one’s motivations. There is no reason for Lucifer to want a cherubim. Human love would not be… of his interest.”

“So you’ve got nothing.” Dean said flatly. “No motive, no theory, no explanation for why this might be happening.”

Cas shook his head, his mouth still stuffed with his burger, and Dean sighed. 

“Dude, we’re going to fucking lose this bet.”

And Cas kept saying they wouldn’t. Dean got his second burger—Cas ordered his own as well, and they were good burgers, but not that good—before they left, and whenever Dean muttered that it would probably be better for them to be helping Her and Sammy, Cas shook his head and said it’s a Cupid. Only they make those marks.

But it wasn’t a fucking cupid. 

Cas summoned the damn thing, and it crushed their freaking bones with hug, then started sobbing about how it would never do that. 

“Are cupids good actors?” Dean muttered in Cas’ ear, and Cas sighed. 

“No. They’re not.”

“So you lost-“

“Apparently, yes. Congratulations on your cat, Dean.”

Dean scowled—there needed to be a way to talk Her out of that—as Cas moved forward to comfort the sobbing cupid.

There was something off about this whole thing. There was a case here—people didn’t just eat each other—but if it wasn’t the cupid, Dean didn’t have a goddamn clue what it was. And She still hadn’t said how she actually found the lead, or given any alternate theories, and this cupid was sobbing, but both the vics had been marked with that meat or mate thing-

“Wow.” The cupid gasped, still hugging a very rigid Cas and staring at Dean, and he blink. “I’ve never seen anything like you.”

“Anything like-“ Dean pointed to himself. “Like me?”

The cupid nodded, and before Dean could open his mouth, the guy was naked and right in front of him. Poking him. His chest and face and arms and-

“Cas.” He grunted, his tensed with the effort not to throw a punch. “What the fuck is this.”

“I am not sure. Brother,” Cas caught the cupid’s hand, and it gave him an almost innocent expression. “I cannot recommend poking Dean Winchester-“

“I know, I’m sorry, it’s-“ The cupid took its other hand, and fucking poked him again. “Can you not see it? The bond in him?”

“The bond?!” Dean looked back to Cas. “What bond? I- Is there something in me-“

“There is nothing in you.” Cas sighed, and the cupid shook his head. 

“But- Look at that! He’d so shiny, and I- I’ve never seen such intricate work, and it’s not even angel made-“

“It?” No punching. He wasn’t allowed to punch. “What is it? I- Cas-“

“You have a connection.” The cupid whispers, his eyes wide on Dean’s. “It is the purest love I have ever seen. It’s-“ The cupid grabbed Dean’s face between his hands. “It is beautiful, Dean Winchester. Your love.”

Dean was frozen. 

His- He- That wasn’t- 

Cas muttered Her name, slowly pulling the cupid away. “He’s seeing her. Cupids are more attuned to souls than the average angel. They can see the webs you weave for each other-“ 

“Webs?” Dean blinked, and his voice was hoarse. “Cas, I- What-“

“Human souls are the most complex in creation.” The cupid offered eagerly. “They are all made of other people’s souls, too! You have your soul, then little bits of all the souls that have affected you the most! And as a cupid, my job is to take my arrow and weave certain souls together, but you- Your love-“ The cupid tested out Her name slowly, and Dean was going break his own hand. “You love her so much-“

“Cas.” Dean felt like something was pressing on his chest. “We’re done, right.”

Cas nodded, and that was all Dean had needed to say. There was a whoosh and then both the angel were gone. 

And it wasn’t pure. 

Dean wasn’t pure. He was made of mud and guts, and the was a shadow, not some shining prince in a fairytale. He killed things for a living, he lied and cheated and stole, he was barely better than the fucking monsters he chopped the heads off of and burned like it was a sick fucking sport. At least they hadn’t gotten a choice. They’d just had shit luck, a bad draw of species, born evil and wrong without a say in the matter. Dean had made that demon deal. He’d picked up that blade in Hell. He’d failed to keep Sammy off the demon blood, and he’d just let those Hell’s assassins keep a gun to his head while Anna killed Jo. 

And he’d held Her, after. And waited for Her. 

But that was because it was a law of fucking nature. She needed to be good. If She wasn’t good, nothing was good. She was warmer than the mud Dean came from, and stronger than the oceans he’d drown in, if She asked him to. More vital than the air he was taking in shallow gasps. Brighter than holy fire. 

And Dean still thought about fucking Her. About getting on his knees until Her legs were shaking, or stuffing Her mouth with his cock until She was moaning around him. That wasn’t pure. 

She was ethereal, and brilliant, and made of damn stardust or something, but Dean had always known he’d only turn that into something bloodied. 

He hadn’t. 

He tended to Her. Been careful. Waited. 

But- The cupid- It-

Dean’s phone rang, buzzing in his pocket and ripping through the air, and-

It was Her.

He picked up in half a heartbeat.

“Hey, Princess, what’s-“

“It’s not a cupid.” Her words were frantic, and Dean could hear how She was running out of breath, and Dean’s grip tightened on his phone. “Dean, it’s not a cupid, you have to tell Cas and come back right now, I- I need you-“

Fuck. “I’ll grab him, sweetheart, but- I need you to slow down and tell me exactly what’s happening-“

“Sam.” She whispered, and Dean’s blood went cold. “Fuck, Dean, he’s- We were looking at the morgue and I turned around for a second, but he was gone. And he’d been acting weird, and I’d seen that there was demon, but-“

Dean muttered Her name, and there was a muffled bang from the other side of the line. “What-“

“He took a hit of demon blood.” Her voice was so fucking soft. “I- I knocked him out. And dragged him back to the motel. He’s tied up. But I- I don’t know what to do-“

She didn’t have to know what to do. 

That’s what Dean was for. 

“I’ll be there in ten.” He muttered, already walking out to the Impala. “Keep him tied up, and don’t answer the door for anyone but me. We’ll deal with it.”

“Oh- Okay.” Dean heard Her shaking breath. “I- I’m sorry-“

“Don’t.” He grunted. The engine wouldn’t start fast enough. “You did good, Princess.”

“I hit him with a hospital poop pan.”

“And he’ll thank you when he’s up.”

She sighed, mumbled an agreement, and Dean forced himself to let Her hang up. It might be better to keep Her on the line. Just in case She thought of doing something reckless-

“Dean.” Cas appeared in the passenger’s seat, and the engine started. 

“Thank Christ,” Dean muttered. “Cas, we gotta go-“

Dean said Her name, and Cas cut him off with a shake of his head. “I don’t think it’s wise for you to be near her, Dean. Not right now.”

“Cas-“

“I have a working theory.” Cas said, his words slow. “And it may be dangerous-“

“I don’t care.”

“Dean-“

“No, Cas. I don’t give shit what’s doing this. We’ll work on the case after. My girl calls me, I go.” Dean pulled onto the street with a scowl. Speed limits were suggestions anyway. “That’s it.”

Cas made the smart choice. He shut the hell up, and let Dean drive. 

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, crossed legged and curled into herself, eyes a little red as She stared at Sammy across the room. There was blood dried on Her lower lip, and it was swollen from chewing. Blood on Her nails as well. 

Sam was tied to the chair, his face still a little stained with demon blood, and bowing his head. 

That was good. If Sam wasn’t fighting it, all they’d have to do is wait for the detox. 

So Dean walked right over to Her. 

There was nowhere else to go. 

His arms wrapped around Her shoulders, Her face buried in his stomach as she held him back, and they stayed like that until Cas cleared his throat and muttered Her name. 

“You have connected it?”

“Yeah.” She sighed, and Dean stepped off to the side so She didn’t have to lean around him. “Meat. Mate. It’s hunger.” Dean frowned. “Hunger?”

“Famine.”

Cas nodded in agreement, and shot Dean an odd look. “I asked the cupid if it’s seen other cases like that. It said it had heard rumors, of pairings gone wrong. And lust is the most… potent of the sins-“

“So he’s been tailing after cupids.” She muttered, pushing to Her feet. “Sirens too. Found a few cases scattered across the country, but they somehow got missed. They start in Maryland.”

“Ilchester?” Dean muttered, and She nodded. “Shit, that’s where Lucifer-“

“I know. It’s Famine.” She let out a slow breath. “Cas and I will deal with it.”

She started to walk to the door, and Dean barely registered the words fast enough to grab Her around the waist with a scowl.

“You and Cas are not dealing with it-“

“It would be the most effective.” Cas offered, very unhelpfully. “I may be affected by the desires of my vessel, but I can overcome that.“

“And they can’t do shit to us.” She said, holding Dean’s glare. “Famine eats souls. Cas has grace, and if he does try to touch me, I’ll blow him up.”

Dean scowled. “I’m not exactly falling apart either, sweetheart-“

“Dean.” She squeezed his hand three times, Her gaze so fucking soft. “Please.”

God fucking damnit. “Fine. But if you’re not back by sunrise, I’m launching a search that’ll make a manhunt look like a lost sock-“

“I know.” She wrapped Her arms back around Dean’s neck, Her face falling into his chest. “Thank you.”

Dean only grunted. “Call me if you-“

“I will.” She was going to choke him, with the way She was clinging to him. He didn’t really care. “I fucking hate California.”

Dean let out a dry chuckle. “So we’re not goin’ to the beach.”

“Maybe we can try an east coast beach.” She mumbled. “I’ve always wanted to go to cape cod.”

Dean had been to cape cod. Lot of box houses and gray sand and dune. No place for a walking, breathing star. 

But wherever She wanted to go, Dean would follow. Just like the goddamn shadow he was. 

And he wasn’t going to just be reduced to dog, pacing around the motel and looking at the door, waiting for Her to return.

That ended up being most of the afternoon, though. The TV played in the background, Dean and Sam ate in silence after the kid had mostly detoxed, and every time Dean glanced at his phone, there wasn’t a new call or message.

“Why aren’t you affected?” Sammy broke the silence around dusk, his voice a little gravely. “I mean, you’re like, the hungriest guy I know, Dean.”

“And I eat when I’m hungry.” He shrugged. “It’s not that complicated, Sammy.”

“Yeah, but, if lust is something that Famine can feed-“ Sam cut himself off with a shake of his head. “I mean, you haven’t gotten laid in a while-“

“I take care of myself.” Dean muttered, and didn’t fucking know why he wasn’t affected. He just wasn’t. And he wasn’t a soul scientist or something-

The cupid. It could see him. It had said his- That it was pure-

“Maybe it’s- I mean, you do eat, and I’ve, uh-“ Sam cleared his throat, and Dean really needed him to just drop it. “Heard you-“

“Sam-“

“You’re loud, dude. It’s sort of a miracle that-“ Sam said Her name, then froze. “Holy shit. You should be like, all over her.”

“Sam.” Dean’s voice was almost a bark. He couldn’t find it in himself to be sorry about it. “I’m not affected. That’s it.“

“No, it’s not. You- Dean, even if we ignore feelings, you at least want her physically-“

“I-“

“And denying that isn’t going to do you any favors right now, so-“

“I’m not denying it.” Dean pushed the words through his teeth, holding Sam’s gaze with a scowl, and Sam blinked. 

“You’re… not?”

“No. I’m not.” Dean was going to snap a few teeth. “You win, Sammy. I want her. I think about her all the time. I dream about her. She’s my whole, stupid world, and I can’t live without her, and I-“ He choked on the last words. Pure. “I know that I want her. But it’s complicated. And yeah, I’ve been thinking about fucking her, but I’m not feeling whatever the hell hit you and Cas, so I’m fine.”

The room was silent for long. Too long. Dean shouldn’t have fucking said that. He’d let a lot of Sam’s teasing about it slide, over the years, but this- She was holy. Sacred. And Dean couldn’t let the fact that he had feelings taint that, or let Sam ruin the very thin line he’s been walking for damn near nine years-

“Dean.” Sam’s voice was barely a rasp. “Oh my god, dude. It’s-“

“Don’t-“

“I knew.” Sam said quickly, and Dean frowned. “I mean, I’ve known. Everyone’s known. But I- I didn’t know.”

Dean stared at him. “Man, if you keep talking in riddles-“

“How long have you felt, uh- That? About her?”

“Yeah, no, I’m not showing you my fucking diary-“

“Dean.“ Sam sighed “I’m trying to help. Just tell me.”

It took a second to say it. This conversation fucking sucked. “Long as I can remember.”.

“As long as- You mean-“

“Yeah.”

“Oh. I- Do I need to say it?”

Dean let out a long breath, and shook his head. He understood. And Sam, to his credit, finally shut up. The detox wrapped up with Sam knocked out—his hands still tied together, and one leg to the bedpost for safety—and Dean just… 

Waited. 

For Her to come home. 

He sat on the couch and stared at the door, and he was fucking pathetic. Dad would have shot him, if he could see Dean now. Would’ve yelled at him about lettin’ the lyin’ little girl boss him around.

All Dean would’ve had to say in his defense was that he liked Her bossing him around. She looked hot while She did it, and She knew what she was talking about all the damn time. And She wasn’t a liar. Not about the stuff Dad thought. She was just bright and consuming and amazing, and Dean knew when She was lying anyway, so it didn’t really matter. 

Dad would’ve then snapped that Dean wasn’t being a man, havin’ Her do all the work. Sittin’ around on his ass like a bitch.

And Dean wasn’t sure what Dad had thought being a man was.

But to him, it felt a lot like when the door opened, She walked through without a single drop of blood on Her body but a heavy look of Her face, and Dean was the first place She went. 

Before the bed. Before Her shoes were off, before Cas was even in the door. 

She went to Dean. Folded into him, with Her arms back around his neck and their bodies slotted perfectly together, letting Cas take the lead as She just stayed in Dean’s arms. 

“Famine’s ring.” Cas muttered, holding it up for a second before dropping it on the table, and Dean nodded. 

“Did, uh-“ He glanced down to Her, and Cas understood.

“It was a clean cut. I stayed outside, she got him with her blade. Is Sam-“

“He’s feeling better.” Dean muttered. “How about you, man. Still craving burgers?”

“No. It passed.” Cas paused. “Dean, I believe we should discuss how you-“

“No. We shouldn’t.”

“Dean-“

“I know.” Dean muttered, his gaze flicking down to Her. 

She was passed out. Warm against him. So fucking beautiful, even with Her hair knotted from the hunt and a little drool already falling from Her lips. 

And Dean knew.

He knew when Cas nodded, and muttered that he had those other things to take care of, but to call if they needed him. He knew when he carried Her to bed, and She let out a soft, sweet sigh. He knew when She curled closer to his body, and Her hand moved into his like a magnet.

He’d felt it forever.

But he only knew now. 

Pure. 

It wasn’t pure. It was just big. Consuming. Easy to get lost in without ever needing a way out. Safe to be trapped in because he’d never want to be anywhere else. It was every single star, and all the planets Sammy used to love telling him about. The deepest parts of every ocean where light didn’t touch, so She’d told him that the fish made their own. The first time Dean had stepped into a church, and he’d felt so small, but wanted to be more. The loudest parts of all the songs he had memorized and all the words She knew that still would never be enough to properly say it. The whole universe, and then whatever was going to devour it in the end. 

Her. 

It was all Her. All the way down.

And it didn’t matter if She tried to rip herself apart again, or if She left a million more times. I didn’t matter if She came back and fell into his arms, or tried to take a bite out of him. If She screamed and cursed his name, or let him hold Her until the pit in his body was only light.

It didn’t matter that the world was ending. Or that She was being hunted by angels, or had raised Death, or had Lucifer making Her friendship bracelets. It didn’t matter that Dean might have to play puppet for an archangel, if he didn’t get killed in the process.

It didn’t matter that it was complicated, because it wasn’t. Everything else sure as shit was, but this wasn’t. 

Dean loved Her. 

And that was all the way down, too. 

End Note: John Winchester turning in his grave right now. Good. I hope he explodes when they fuck.

I'm back!!! Thank you guys so much for waiting the two weeks! I posted a few bonus chapters in the pslams while I was on vacation, so check those out if you want to.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[5starluvr]

NORTHSIDE

pairing: jeongin x reader (fem)

summary: The frat house was too loud. The music too bassy. The beer too warm. You weren’t supposed to stay long. But then Jeongin looked at you like he saw past all of it. And for one night, maybe he did.

genre: college au, smut, angst , one-shot

wc: ~4.8k

warnings: graphic sexual content (oral, protected p-in-v, rough sex, dom!jeongin),party setting, alcohol, one-night stand dynamic,emotionally intense,themes of loneliness, casual sex, fleeting intimacy

The bass is a pulse.

Jeongin leans against the splintered railing of the frat house porch, beer bottle dangling from his fingers, condensation dripping down like sweat. Someone inside is yelling about flip cup. Someone else is crying in the backyard. The night is breathing heat and smoke and perfume and sour breath.

It’s the kind of party you don’t really want to be at, but you show up anyway. Senior year. Expectations.

His eyes are sharp, half-lidded, tracking movement. People pass like smears of color and noise, none of it sticking — until her.

She’s standing alone at the edge of the kitchen, plastic cup to her lips, red as blood. Her eyes sweep the room like she’s trying to memorize it all in case she never comes back. Tight black dress, one strap off her shoulder, hair half up, lip gloss smeared slightly at the corner. She looks too young for this crowd — and too self-aware to admit it.

She’s not looking at anyone.

So naturally, Jeongin looks at her.

He drifts toward the doorway like he’s being pulled. Or maybe pushed.

“Freshman?” he asks, not bothering to shout. If she hears him, because he knows she will.

She doesn’t look at him right away. Just sips. Then: “You say that like it’s an insult.”

Her voice is low. Not soft. Like she only gives it to people she wants to hear her.

He smirks, teeth flashing. “I didn’t say it was.”

“Then why ask?”

Jeongin tilts his head. “Because you’re standing like you don’t know whether to stay or run. And that’s a freshman thing.”

She finally turns to face him. Her eyes are steady. Grey or green — hard to tell under the shitty LED light strip flickering above them.

“I stayed.”

“You did.” He steps a little closer. “What’s your name?”

She hesitates, then gives it. “Y/N.”

He repeats it, quieter. Like a password.

———————-

She doesn’t know why she’s still here. The party is too loud. The house stinks of beer and cologne and sweat. Some guy with a backwards cap just tried to explain NFTs to her.

But now there’s this guy. Tall, sharp-jawed, brown hair tousled like he just woke up — or like he always looks like this. He doesn’t lean in too close. Doesn’t scan her legs. Doesn’t use that voice guys use when they think they’re being charming.

He just watches her like he’s curious. A little detached.

Which is worse. Or better.

She steps into his space first. Subtle. Maybe imperceptible. But he notices — his hand brushes hers by accident, or maybe not.

“You live here?” she asks.

“God, no.” A smile. “I have taste.”

She laughs — short, real.

He tips his beer toward her. “Come upstairs.”

It’s not a question.

She should say no. She should ask his name. She should pretend like she hasn’t already decided.

But she doesn’t.

She just follows.

————-

The door clicks shut behind them.

Someone’s room — no idea whose. The walls are lined with peeling posters and dirty laundry piles. A candle has been burned too low on the windowsill. Smells like wax and vanilla and boy.

She’s already sitting on the bed. Legs crossed, one hand tugging at the strap slipping off her shoulder. Her eyes are locked on him like a dare.

“Don’t act like you’re doing me a favor,” he says, voice rougher now.

“I’m not.”

Jeongin crosses the space and stops in front of her. She stays seated, looking up.

“Then what are you doing?” he asks.

She stands slowly. Her hand slides up his chest — not gentle, not sweet. She stops at his collar, grips it, tugs.

“Staying.”

That single word from her mouth presses something deep and primal inside him, and before either of them breathes again, her lips crash into his.

The kiss is fierce—teeth, tongue, heat. No soft prelude. No testing the waters. Her mouth tastes like spiced rum and want, and he groans into it, gripping her hips through the clingy fabric of her dress.

She’s already tugging his shirt up, her nails scraping his abs. He peels it off and tosses it. Her hands roam like she’s memorizing muscle—over his chest, shoulders, arms. He watches her while she works his belt loose, knuckles grazing his hard-on.

The zipper comes down and she smirks when she feels how hard he is already through his boxers.

“Jesus,” she mutters.

He’s already backing her toward the bed.

Her dress pools to the floor—no hesitation. No shame. She steps out in black lace and heels. The bra barely covers anything; the panties are already damp. She hooks her thumbs in them and starts to slide them down, slow, like she wants him to watch. He does. Every second.

Then she’s sitting on the bed, legs open just enough to tease.

He drops to his knees between them, gripping her thighs. She’s warm, already slick. He leans in, licks a stripe up her slit, and her head falls back with a gasp.

“Oh—fuck—”

He groans against her, tongue working slow at first, then faster. His hands pin her thighs wide, fingers digging in as he sucks her clit and flicks it with his tongue. She’s soaked, dripping onto his mouth, and when she grabs his hair and grinds forward, he lets her.

“Shit—don’t stop—right there—”

He doesn’t. His tongue circles, flattens, dips into her, and then he’s sucking her clit again while two fingers slide inside—wet and tight and so fucking hot.

She arches off the bed, moaning loud now. He curves his fingers just right, finds the spot, and—

She breaks.

Her thighs clamp around his head and her body jerks, cumming hard on his tongue with a strangled sound. He groans and keeps going, tongue softening now, kissing the insides of her thighs, slow licks to soothe her as she shivers.

She looks wrecked. Lip bitten, eyes glassy, chest rising and falling like she ran a mile.

“You’re still wearing too many clothes,” she pants.

He’s out of his jeans in seconds, condom in hand, tearing the foil with his teeth. She takes it from him and rolls it on slowly, fingers curling around him, stroking once—then again, tighter.

“You’re fucking big,” she murmurs.

“Can you take it?” His voice is gravel.

She just pulls him down by the neck and kisses him again—hot, open-mouthed, filthy.

Then she rolls onto her back, legs open wide, and nods once.

“Come fuck me, Jeongin.”

He pushes into her in one long, slow thrust. She moans loud, hips rising to meet him. Tight, wet, hot—she feels insane. He stills halfway, jaw clenched.

“Holy shit,” he growls.

“Don’t stop,” she hisses. “Fill me. All the way.”

He thrusts the rest of the way in and her nails rake down his back, pulling him deeper, harder.

They find rhythm fast—his hips slamming into hers, the slap of skin on skin loud in the room. She wraps her legs around his waist, pulls him in, takes every inch like she’s starving for it.

“Harder,” she gasps. “Faster—fuck, right there—”

He drives into her, holding her down by the hips as he pounds her, the bed creaking with every thrust. Her tits bounce with the movement and he ducks down, sucking one into his mouth, biting lightly until she cries out again.

He flips her over—hands on her waist, pulling her ass up. She looks back at him over her shoulder, flushed and panting.

“Please,” she whimpers.

He sinks into her from behind, deeper this time, and she chokes on a moan, hands clutching the sheets.

Her body takes everything he gives—every thrust, every slap of his hips, the sting of his palm on her ass when she clenches too hard.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groans. “You love this, don’t you?”

“Y-Yeah—god—don’t stop—”

He doesn’t. He holds her hair, thrusts harder, her pussy sucking him in like it doesn’t want to let go. She’s shaking again, and when he reaches around to rub her clit—

She breaks again.

Loud, filthy, clawing at the sheets as she cums hard, body convulsing. Her walls clamp around him and he barely holds on—one more thrust, and then he’s cumming too, deep, gasping her name as he pulses into the condom, body going rigid.

They stay like that for a long moment—bodies slick, breath ragged, tangled in the sheets.

Eventually, he pulls out, ties off the condom, drops it in the trash.

She’s already slipping her panties back on, pulling her dress over sticky skin, tucking her hair behind one ear. She doesn’t look at him right away.

Jeongin stays on the bed, sheets twisted around his waist. He watches her like he’s trying to memorize the shape of her spine.

“You don’t have to go,” he says, voice low.

She pauses at the mirror. Smooths her dress. Stares at her own reflection like she doesn’t recognize it.

“I wasn’t supposed to stay this long.”

He swallows. “Still. You could.”

She turns, finally facing him. Her lipstick’s long gone. Her eyes are clearer now — less drunk, more real.

“You’ll forget me tomorrow.”

“No, I won’t.”

She crosses the room slowly. Not toward the door — but toward him.

And then — she kisses him.

Soft, this time. Nothing like before. A slow press of lips, a breath shared, her fingers threading briefly through his hair.

When she pulls back, her eyes linger on his face like she wants to say something else. Something real.

But instead, she just whispers, “You were the only reason I didn’t leave sooner.”

Then she’s gone.

The door clicks shut behind her.

Jeongin lies back.

Worst thing?

The sheets still smell like her.

[ladykailitha]

Shut Up and Drive Part 4

If you didn't see chapter three, it is not your fault, Tumblr has hidden the damn thing and it's been two weeks. I can see it on my dashboard and even through the app, but site wide and on browser, nada! I even looked through it and couldn't find anything mature to shadow ban it. Hopefully you'll be able to see this one and it'll have the link to the third chapter.

This story is almost complete. I just have one or two more chapters to go and it's done. I am so excited for you guys to see the end.

In this we have Eddie in AP history, along with Robin and Steve. Yes, Steve. I am still on my Steve is smart and a history nerd agenda.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

~

Monday morning was rife with speculation on who had called the cops. Eddie chuckled as the racers tried double speak their way out of revealing themselves to their peers.

The only one who wasn’t there come Monday was Steve Harrington. The rumor mill was as much a buzz with his absence as they were with cops breaking up the races.

Eddie had his own theory on who had called the cops. It was either King or Chronos. King for being beat to hell and not being able to race and not wanting to lose. Or Chronos for not wanting to go up against King and lose.

Then he spotted Tommy Hagan.

He looked smug as hell and suddenly Eddie got it. Holy shit, that asshole! He knew Chronos was going to beat King or at least get a hell of a lot closer than Titan would have and didn’t want to be shown up in front of everyone.

Eddie was tempted to go over there and punch Tommy in the face, break a nose, knock out a couple teeth, but he promised Wayne he wouldn’t start any fights, but he was allowed to finish them.

Billy Hargrove caught him staring at Hagan, though. “Hey Munson, take a picture it’ll last longer. Never mind, you’d fwap to the photo.”

“You jealous, Hargrove?” Munson shot back. “You worried I’ll stop jacking off to your picture?”

Billy flexed his arms as if he was going to hit Eddie, but just then a teacher walked by, and Eddie fell in step with them, keeping the teacher between Billy and himself.

The teacher looked over at him and then sighed. “I know what you’re doing Mr. Munson, and I do not appreciate being used as a human shield.”

Eddie grinned down at him. “But Mr. Burton, I am merely on my way to class and we are going the same direction. Besides I am sticking to the edict of avoiding fights with my peers.”

Mr. Burton shook his head. “I thought you had Mrs. Click this period and I am certain she is on the other side of the building.”

“Then are you not heading for your own class, Mr. Burton?” Eddie asked all wide eyed. “I assumed that to be the case when I started walking with you, as your class is right across from hers. You know, both being history teachers and all.”

Mr. Burton turned and looked up at him with a small smile. “I can’t pull the wool over your eyes, you got me. You are going the right direction. I just wanted to see if I could trick ya.”

“Mr. Burton! You tease!” Eddie gasped. “They should take back your teacher of the year award for being so saucy.”

Mr. Burton laughed. “How do you think I got the award in the first place?” He winked at him.

Eddie never had a problem with his history or English classes, so he always got along with the history teachers. Well... most of them. Mrs. Click was a damn fine history teacher, but no one liked her.

“I wish I was in your class this year,” Eddie admitted, ducking his head.

Mr. Burton patted his arm in sympathy. “I know. I also heard she’s flunking you and that’s one of the reasons you’re not graduating.”

Eddie let out a shuddering breath. “I don’t know why I’m forced to take a history class again, anyway. I have enough credits for history. It’s math, science, and PE that I need.”

“I don’t know, Eddie,” Mr. Burton said sadly. “But I’ll see if I can get together with a couple of the other teachers and see you can’t graduate based on your actual credits and not just them having you repeat your senior year ad nauseum.”

“Thanks, Mr. B.,” Eddie replied with a pained grin. “This is me, so I’ll see you around.”

“Bye, Eddie.”

Eddie slumped down in the desk farthest from the front of the room and waited for the rest of the students to file in. Mr. Burton might be ignorant about why Mrs. Click was failing him, but Eddie had no such delusions. He was in her AP class and she was so sure he was cheating instead of, you know, actually knowing the subject.

He watched as the other students filter into the class. It was a strange mish-mash of juniors and seniors and then whatever the fuck he was.

The smartest of the juniors were Robin Buckley and Fred Benson. They definitely deserved to be there. Most of the class were seniors and the greatest dark horse of the class, even more so himself was Steve Harrington and as near as Eddie could figure, he was writing Mrs. Click’s tests.

He was that good. And because he was that good, she let him get get away with murder. He loved to stroll in fifteen minutes late with a bagel that he would eat, making a mess.

That wasn’t even the worst part of the bagel. It was the way he would chipmunk the thing, his cheeks bulging with the large pieces of bagel that he would shove into his mouth. Eddie had to moved directly behind the guy so that he wouldn’t go feral at the sight.

But there would be no bagel porn today because Harrington was home sick. Thank whatever higher power was out there for that.

When Buckley walked in and saw that the seat in front of her was empty she sighed with relief. Most likely for a similar but opposite problem Eddie had. While Steve was Eddie’s crush, he was pretty sure Steve was drawing all the attention away from her crush.

Which even as far as girls went, Tammy Thompson was not on Eddie’s radar at all. Like sometimes he could tilt his head and go, ‘oh yeah, she’s cute’ and not want to bang said girl, but Tammy? He just didn’t get it.

Yes, yes. He knew he was being hypocritical with the Steve crush especially with what he told Jeff just a couple of months ago. But Steve seemed to grow on him.

Not that Steve improved upon closer inspection. Steve was still a smart ass with more sass then sense. But instead of irritating him like it had done in the past...Eddie found it...argh...cute!

He kept that shit to himself though.

He suffered through the class and shambled out the door to his next class, which thankfully was was Mr. Cohen’s class. Science fiction and fantasy writing. Eddie had taken it as an elective to see he could get more English credits.

Mr. Cohen was also the journalism teacher and yearbook supervisor. So he was having the class write poems and shit for the Reflections magazine because there was a distinct lack of interest that year.

Poems were just song lyrics not set to music yet, so Eddie was a having the time of his life.

“The king on his steed

A heart filled with greed

Races to fill some other need

He rushes forward thundering at great speed”

Okay so it wasn’t his best, but he got Mr. Cohen to laugh at all of them rhyming so he counted that as a win.

“All right, class,” Mr. Cohen said after the bell rang. “We going to read a relatively new book in the sci-fi genre called ‘Ender’s Game.’ It came out in January but it took me this long to get it approved for this class. So I want everyone to come up and pick up a copy. On the inside of each book is a number from one to twenty-seven, you will put your name on the signout sheet next to the number of your book. Please do not outline, draw in, or otherwise deface this book, if you do or you lose it, you’ll pay for it, do you understand?”

The class nodded.

They all filed up to the front of the class to grab their book. Eddie hung back until almost everyone else had picked up theirs. He strangely got number eight, but he dutifully put his name to next to the number and shuffled back to his desk.

“All right, everyone,” Mr. Cohen said. “I want everyone to start reading chapter one to yourselves. Then be ready on Wednesday to talk about your thoughts.”

Eddie started reading the book and was immediately drawn into the world, he was pretty sure he finish the book by tonight.

Which meant he would probably reread the thing several times before the class was over. Which was a plus as far as he was concerned.

He was actually disappointed when the bell rang for lunch. He shoved the book into his backpack and made for the lunch room.

Again not having Harrington gaze at, made for dull lunch. Well he would have to make his own entertainment then.

He got up on the lunch table and starting a rant about how unless the kid enjoyed it and wanted to do something with math or science, students shouldn’t have take them past the basic level. He was never going need to know the golden ratio or e=mc2 or whatever working for the factory down or as a mechanic.

Just as the principal came rushing in Eddie leapt off the table and neatly on his feet.

“Hi!” he said brightly.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to climb up on the furniture of this school,” Principal Higgins snarled. “Just because you were raised in a barn does mean you get you get treat other people’s property like you’re an animal.”

“Ahh...” Eddie said with the tilt of his head. “I wouldn’t go around talking about my mom that way if I were you. It’s not her fault she got cancer and passed away.”

Principal Higgins looked like he had swallowed a very sour lemon. “Just don’t do it again, do you hear me, Munson?”

Eddie just grinned at him, hands on his hips, staring him down. Eddie cocked his eyebrows and tilted his head, daring the principal to put him in detention, suspend him, or out and out expel him.

Principal Higgins did none of those things. He turned on his heel and stormed off, snarling something at one of the lunch ladies as he passed.

“Well that wasn’t very friendly,” Eddie told the assembled students. “Lunch ladies are sacrosanct, everyone knows that.”

He walked up to the offended lady in question and offered to buy her a Coke, one which she gratefully accepted.

He went back to his table and Jeff glared at him. “You do know you only need two years of both math and science, right?”

“And what good is algebra or geometry going do me working at Thacher’s Tires?” Eddie growled back. “All I need is to know fractions and weights and measurements. I don’t need to find pi or know the circumference of a circle to change a fucking tire.”

“No, but you need to know the radius of the tire to make sure you don’t put the wrong one on,” Jeff said cocking his head to the side.

Eddie blinked at him for a moment. “Well, shit.”

“Hey, leave him alone,” Brian bit out. “He just found out that it was those two classes that held him back. Again. They’re not for everyone. And yeah some basic geometry is required for life, but pass me on needing to know what a fucking cosign is for working at Bradley’s Big Buy.”

Jeff’s jaw dropped. “Oh. Damn, man. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Eddie picked at his pretzels and kicked the leg of their table. “It is what it is.”

“Still,” Jeff said with a heavy sigh. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. I know it’s tough for you.”

“It’s okay,” he mumbled and went back to mindlessly chewing on his sandwich.

It didn’t even have mustard on it. It wasn’t like he forgot, it was that they couldn’t afford to get to the store. All the money he made over the weekend went to buying tires for Wayne’s truck. They were starting to get more bald then the owner of the truck and that was dangerous.

Which meant no mustard for his bologna sandwich.

He jumped when something landed square in the middle of his lunch box. He picked it up and it was one of those mustard packets you get at ballparks and the State Fair. He looked up to see Jeff looking at him.

“The deli my mom gets her pre-made sandwiches from,” Jeff said, “comes with little packets of mayo and mustard and since I don’t like mustard I figured you could use the extra.”

Eddie swallowed around the lump in his throat. It was as good as an apology as any. “Thanks, man.”

He ripped open the packet with his teeth and smeared it all over one side of his sandwich. He took another bite and moaned happily, mustard catching on the edge of his mouth.

“Gross,” Jeff said shaking his head and throwing napkins at Eddie’s face, one of them managing to stick to the glob of mustard.

Eddie cackled, wiping off his face. “Mustard is the seed of life, dude. You are seriously missing out.”

“Seed of life or not,” Jeff huffed, “that stuff is nasty. I can smell it from here.”

Brian shrugged his shoulders. “Mustard isn’t that bad. I like it in my mom’s meatloaf and in my potato salads.”

“But that’s mixed with other things to mask it’s vile nature,” Jeff insisted. “Anywhere else and you’re beggin’ the devil’s pardon.”

Eddie sat back with a smile on his face, already feeling a little better than when he started his lunch.

The lunch bell rang and he packed up his stuff, listening his friends talk among themselves, thinking today hadn’t be a complete bust.

As he made his way to his last class he over heard a couple of rich kids talking about some big party that was happening that weekend because their parents were going to be in Indy for the weekend.

Eddie slowed down as he took in the details. Things were definitely looking up.

~

Jeff's views of mustard are the views of the author. :D

ETA: Mr. Burton is a real person, or was I'm pretty sure he's passed considering he was my dad's teacher mentor when he did his student teaching. My 8th history teacher and he was exactly like this. He would start each class with a joke and it would always be terrible. And yes, he even got teacher of the year for his sass.

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[theotherrookie]

"Then they wonder why kids hate schools." Erica grumbled, "I bet they still tell the story of what you did! That guy must be scared of mops too now."

It still wasn't as satisfying as the guy getting skewered or having the mop broken over his head, but it was enough to get the point across.

"You hardly have the need to go unnoticed, Travis. One look at you is enough to discourage many from trying their luck." Willow pointed, "Erica was raised to hunt. It's only natural for her to be conspicuous despite her wardrobe."

"Yeah, sometimes I scare people by accident." Erica confirmed. Perhaps that choice of words was by accident as well. "If those were the second and third, what was the best news you got?"

"The afterlife is extensive. However, she most likely wouldn't mind making an attempt." Willow reassured, "Mother likes you as well as your brothers. That means her usual attentions will be extended to you all as well."

The need for closure would move the ghost lady most of all. Veronica would have agreed in a heartbeat, if only she still had a heart.

Willow considered her options, before tapping into the radio again. The car lacked the charm and bite of the real deal, but she hoped Travis was familiar with KITT. She hated wasting a good reference.

"Come on, Travis! You can't leave me hanging like this. I'm a marvelous car, but I can't do all the heavy lifting myself. That's your specialty."

Erica's ears perked up. "I know that voice! It's that talking car who hung out with that guy from SpongeBob!"

Willow smiled as she tossed her hair back, "I felt like going for a classic this time."

It seemed like these were typical shenanigans between the two of them.

The pocket dimension was very barren, but was far from still. The fog quietly parted as they walked, flowing all around them like an intricate network of streams. It was something Rook found calming in small doses, though her attention was focused elsewhere.

"There's no ugly moquette or buzzing lights either." Rook added, "It can be too quiet at times. Not that hearing distant noises would be any better. I guess it's good for reading, Antonio can probably attest to that. Or not– I'm still waiting for your review of your stay in my liminal closet."

It seemed like a nice way to divert the attention away from some rather unpleasant memories. That wasn't the time or place to start that argument and most of all, she didn't think Lucien should have been present to provide his opinion on the matter. The fae could be awfully unhelpful at times.

Though Bill was being just as helpful, in his own way. Veronica hadn't meant to follow up on her threat, but now she simply had to.

"Too many underestimate the importance of sound values when parenting." Veronica paused, her gaze trailing over at the inevitable duck comment, "You're simply hopeless."

And about to take a ride in the hard to discern void slide. Rook wasn't the only one able to mess with gravity there. Bill could take a ride and think about the consequences of his own actions.

Lucien was simply glad he wasn't the one falling into oblivion. He would simply turn the other way and let Rook have her moment of privacy so she could replenish her magic battery.

"Oh, I see you started synthesizing gold." he told Veronica.

"It's an old family recipe." Veronica replied, "It's a shame we can only use it sparingly these days."

Rook could do nothing but stand for a moment to watch the way everybody was ready to give her some space. It meant more than she was willing to admit. Then again, she never got too sentimental when her marks whenever she started feeling drained.

Rook silently turned and took a few steps away from the group, before there was a shift in the pocket to reveal one of the few monsters she had the time to catch lately. It looked like a hybrid between some kind of reptile and a rodent with a mantis-like head. It didn't really matter what it was or where it came from. She had found it trying to eat some poor schmuck and it had almost slashed her wing off with its claws. Now it was going to do something useful for a change.

"Imagine if Five found you instead." She would probably be starving. There was another shift as a bright light engulfed the monster, before it vanished into a swirly cloud of energy that was absorbed by her marks.

Rook took a moment to simply breathe, before turning back. "I… I'm done."

She didn't want to drag this on to avoid making it more awkward than it was.

Erica, of course, couldn't do anything but cheer at that. "Heck yeah! That guy deserved all the bruises he got."

Somebody had to stand up for children. It was nice of Travis to take the matter into his own hands.

"It sounds like willow and I." Erica said, before she pointed to her double, "She scares people just by standing around and nobody ever hears me coming!"

Both taking great pleasure from the effect they had on people. Willow's attention briefly shifted to the car as Travis got it started and listened to the noise of the engine just a moment before losing interest. Disappointing like its former owner. She might let the others keep this one, after all.

"I'm sure it would be her pleasure to do so." Willow replied, "You should inquire about it directly. There is a high chance she already has some stories to share."

It would have been beneficial in more than a way. The ghost lady would have loved to brag about doing something like that. Having that waiting for her on the other side might have actually persuaded her to take time off more consistently with her needs.

"Let's leave the area. Then I will provide directions to our destination." Willow instructed, "Or we could have a little fun with the GPS."

"We should put on that song that plays in that sketch with the three guys in the car!" Erica suggested.

"We shall, Erica."

They could indulge as long as it was funny.

Like a good host, Rook was keeping track of her guests, especially the ones who had visited before. Russell had made it through on his own last time, strong of the fact that the pocket didn't enjoy holding onto regular humans.

That had changed, but Lucien was already on the case.

"Well, now we know what it feels like to visit the Backrooms." the half fae mused.

"It's more like that infinite Ikea thing." Rook replied. She was quick to summon two endless shelves filled with all kinds of books and knickknacks that stretched past them as far as the eye could see.

It was an excuse to flex the full extent of her occult collection, but it also offered a distraction while she quietly reached to place her hand on Antonio's shoulder. Younger siblings had to be supportive too when needed.

"In my professional opinion, his entire family has never really shined in that regard." Veronica said, "They're just a bunch of power hungry hypocrites. It wouldn't surprise me if he was actively discouraged to improve his technique. He wouldn't be this deranged if he did. They essentially ruined their own child."

As a parent, she simply couldn't stand the thought.

Rook briefly looked at the chainmail, before shutting the chests. "I'm glad you didn't need that."

The battle had gone better than she could have ever hoped for. Both chests floated up to an empty spot on one of the shelves. They would be safe there for the time being.

"Alright, then. Let's all line up and follow mum outta here!"

Veronica sighed and moved to lead the way. "The first one to make a duck joke will take the express way out."

Lucien opened his mouth to reply, but decided for his own good to keep quiet.

Rook fell into step, moving more quickly now that her wings were gone.

"Do you guys mind if we stop by my stash? It's been a long fight..."

Her marks were starting to nag her already.

[jedi-luca]

Head Over Feet: Chapter Eight White Flag

Summary: You didn’t know Dina before she came back to Jackson. She’s guarded, jaded, and carrying the weight of too many goodbyes. Now you can’t stop thinking about her. It’s a slow burn, and you’re patient… but will she ever let down her walls? Or will someone else reach your heart first?

Pairings: Dina x GN!Reader slowburn

warnings: spoilers if you haven’t played the game or seen the show. Slowburn 🔥❤️‍🔥

A/N shout out to @ladylegion93 for this brilliant request (not gonna attach it yet because I don’t want any spoilies)

Previous Chapter

You were just finishing up stacking the firewood outside the rec center when you heard Lili’s laugh drift across the yard. She was talking to JJ, crouched beside him, helping him gather fallen leaves into a little pile so he could fall into them.

Dina was walking over from the garden, sweat on her brow, sleeves rolled up, dirt on her palms. She stopped when she saw them.

Her jaw tensed.

You caught it.

JJ saw Dina first. “Mama! Look!”

He raced jumping into the pile of leaves.

“Hey, Dina,” she said, wiping her hands on her pants. “We’re just having some fun.”

Dina gave a stiff smile. “Looks like it.”

Lili stood. “It’s nice spending time with him. He’s a great kid.”

Dina’s eyes flicked to you. “He is.”

You stepped closer, sensing the air shift. “We were just about to head in.”

But Dina didn’t move.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” she said to Lili.

Lili blinked. “Alright.”

“About Y/N.”

You froze. Lili straightened.

“What about them?”

Dina’s voice was calm. Too calm. “Just making sure you know what you’re doing.”

Lili frowned. “Excuse me?”

“They’ve been through a lot. They don’t just… open up like that. So if you’re here to relive middle school or stir up some old memories-”

“Hold on.” Lili raised her brows, stepping forward. “Is this really about me? Or is this about you?”

Dina went still.

“I care about them,” Lili said clearly. “I’m not playing games. And if you had a chance and passed on it, that’s not on me.”

You flinched.

Dina’s eyes narrowed, but her voice was still soft. “You’ve known them what, a few weeks in this version of the world? You think that’s enough?”

Lili didn’t budge. “It was enough to see how they look at you when you’re not paying attention.”

That stopped Dina. Her lips parted—but no words came.

You stepped in between them before either could say more. “Okay. That’s enough.”

Lili looked at you, her gaze softening. “I’m not trying to pick a fight.”

“I know,” you said.

But Dina was already turning away. “Guess I should go wash up. Wouldn’t want to ruin anything else.”

“Dina,” you called, but she didn’t stop.

Lili stood beside you, arms crossed, eyes thoughtful.

“Guess I hit a nerve,” she muttered.

You let out a breath. “Yeah.”

She looked at you. “You still have feelings for her?”

You didn’t answer.

And you didn’t have to.

Shortly after the garden path crunches under your boots as you walk beside Lili, both of you still carrying the weight of what just happened. Dina’s voice still rings in your ears. Sharp, brittle, full of a feeling she wouldn’t name.

Lili hasn’t said much since, her jaw set in a way that’s unusual for her. Usually she’s soft with you. Playful. Tonight she’s holding something back.

You glance over. “You okay?”

She keeps her eyes ahead. “Yeah.”

You slow your steps. “Lili.”

She sighs, stops walking, then finally looks at you. “I didn’t expect it to hurt. Seeing the way she looks at you. Or the way you…” Her voice trails off.

You shift closer. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“I know you didn’t,” she says quickly, and then softer: “Doesn’t mean it didn’t.”

You want to deny it, to tell her she’s wrong, but you can’t lie to her. Not after everything. So you try something harder—honesty.

“She meant something to me. Still does, maybe,” you admit. “But you… you have my heart, Lili. What happened between us? That wasn’t casual. I’ve never… I’ve never let anyone see me like that. Let alone touch me like that.”

Lili’s eyes flicker, something softening in her expression.

You step closer. “I meant it when I said I wanted to take that step with you. Not because you were here, not because it was easy but because it was you. I wanted it to be you. I love you.”

She doesn’t answer right away. But the storm behind her eyes eases. “I guess it’s hard not to wonder if I’m the safe choice. The one who showed up when she didn’t.”

“You’re not the safe choice,” you say, your voice firm. “You’re the brave one. You gave me something I didn’t think I’d ever have. You let me feel wanted. You didn’t just fill a space. Lili, you carved out your own.”

That finally gets a smile. Small. Shy. “You’re getting better at this emotional honesty thing.”

“Terrifying,” you grin, “but yeah.”

Lili leans in, brushing her hand along your cheek. “Just… don’t leave me in the dark, okay? If your heart ever starts leaning back her way, I need to know.”

You nod. “I will. But right now? I’m here. I’m with you.”

And in that moment, you mean it completely.

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

A few days later.

You spot Dina before Lili does.

She’s standing near the stables, a bag of feed over one shoulder, her dark eyes narrowing the second she sees the two of you ride in. You’re not even off the horse yet and already you can feel the shift in her posture, the slow clench of her jaw.

Lili comes up from behind you, sliding off her saddle and brushing the dirt from her jeans. She catches your eye and smiles, then loops her arm casually through yours.

That’s when she notices Dina.

The smile falters, just slightly.

“Great, the one person in Jackson that hates me more than that Natalie girl.” she mutters.

“Hey, let’s just head home,” you say under your breath. “We’re not looking for trouble.”

“I’m not,” Lili says, straightening. “But I’m not hiding either.”

You nod.

And then Dina walks over.

“Hey,” she says, tone neutral, but her eyes drift immediately to Lili’s hand on your arm. “Didn’t know you two were back.”

“Just got in,” you reply, trying to sound breezy.

Lili gives a curt nod. “Nice to see you again.”

Dina’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Sure.”

The silence that follows is unbearable, tight, like a string pulled too taut.

Dina crosses her arms. “So. You two are…?”

Lili raises an eyebrow. “Still together? Yeah.”

Dina glances at you. “You didn’t mention you were bringing her on patrol. Specifically my shift.”

You shift, uncomfortable. “She volunteered. And she’s good out there. I figured you could rest up I’m sorry I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“She’s lucky nothing happened,” Dina says, tone sharper now. “We don’t usually let tourists lead rides.”

“I’ve been out here before,” Lili says coolly. “I can handle myself.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can,” Dina replies, with a smile so sweet it might rot teeth. “I mean, you seem to have everything figured out, don’t you?”

Lili raises an eyebrow. “Better than leaving someone in limbo because you can’t figure out what you want.”

Dina doesn’t even flinch. She takes a step forward, voice low and sharp. “Oh, that’s rich coming from someone who’s just passing through.”

Lili stiffens.

“At least I’m here,” Dina continues, her tone like a blade. “At least I’m not the one acting like I’m gonna stay.”

“You think I’m stringing them along?” Lili asks, eyes narrowing.

Dina scoffs. “Hello, pot, meet kettle.”

You step in then, hand lightly touching Lili’s arm, heart thudding in your chest.

“Alright,” you say firmly. “We’re not doing this.” The silence crackles between them. Neither of them looks at you just at each other, some silent war playing out in narrowed glances and twitching mouths.

Dina speaks first, quieter now. “I’m just looking out for people here. That includes Y/N.”

“I know,” Lili replies. “But I don’t need you to.”

“For now, until you leave them heartbroken right?” Dina’s eyes flick to you one more time, something unreadable behind them. “Guess I’ll see you around.”

She turns and walks off before you can say anything.

Lili exhales. “Well. That was friendly.”

You half-smile. “You’re both a little scary, you know that?”

She grins and hooks her arm through yours again. “You like it.”

You shake your head, but yeah maybe you kind of do.

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

You were restocking tools at the shed behind the stables when you heard boots crunching gravel behind you.

You didn’t have to turn to know it was her.

“I’m not here to fight,” Dina said quietly.

You glanced over your shoulder. “That’s a first.”

She gave you a look, not rising to the bait. “Just wanted to talk.”

You wiped your hands on your jeans, setting the last wrench in place. “Alright. Talk.”

Dina shoved her hands into her coat pockets. “You seem happy.”

It wasn’t a compliment exactly, but it wasn’t sarcasm either.

“I am,” you said, watching her carefully.

“That’s good.” She hesitated. “But I need to ask… you do know Lili’s not staying, right?”

The words hit sharper than you expected.

You swallowed. “She hasn’t said anything.”

“No, but her parents have. Maria’s trying to convince them to stick around through winter. But they’re just passing through.”

“She hasn’t said anything,” you repeated.

“Maybe she doesn’t want to ruin it,” Dina said. “Maybe she’s trying to hold onto something before it’s gone.”

You didn’t answer.

Dina took a step closer, her voice gentler now as she takes your hands. “I’m not saying it to be mean. I’m saying it because I know what it’s like to think something’s solid when it’s not.”

You looked down, jaw tight.

“I just… I don’t want to see you get hurt,” she added, quieter laying a hand over your heart.

You nodded once, stiff. “Thanks.”

She let out a breath, stepping back and dropping her hands.

“I’ll be here you know… When she leaves I’ll still be the one here for you.” she said.

You watched her go, a bitter wind picking up as she disappeared down the path.

And for the first time since Lili kissed you, you felt the warmth in your chest flicker.

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

“You’re quiet,” Lili said one afternoon, her fingers weaving through yours as you walked the familiar path into town. The late summer air clung to your skin, still warm, but a breeze had crept in, hinting at fall.

You kicked a rock with the toe of your boot. “It’s nothing,” you muttered, eyes scanning ahead like the answer might be somewhere down the road.

Lili tugged your hand gently, grounding you. “Want to talk about it?”

You sighed, voice low. “I guess I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

She stopped mid-step and turned to face you, the corner of her mouth twitching in a sad smile. “Because of me?”

You shook your head, but your eyes didn’t lie. “Because nothing this good stays easy for long.”

Her brows pinched, but she didn’t flinch from the weight of your honesty. Instead, she reached up and brushed her thumb across your jaw, where tension lived like a second skin.

“Then let’s stop thinking so far ahead,” she whispered.

You hesitated, still half-stuck in your survival instincts, in the ache of everything you’d lost before her. But Lili… she stepped closer and cradled your face like you were worth staying for.

“Let’s just be here. Right now. Can you do that?”

You nodded. A shallow thing at first. Then stronger.

And when she kissed you—slow, certain, right in the middle of the street—you let the rest of the world fall away. You kissed her back like she was air after drowning.

She pulled back with a grin. “Come on, you know how Maria gets if we’re late.”

You chuckled. “Yeah, yeah.” But the way she dragged you by the hand like something out of a forgotten life? That made you believe, maybe just for a second, that you could have more.

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

It happened fast.

The sky had shifted—overcast, cold wind pressing sharp against your jacket. You were on horseback, escorting Lili back from a short supply run, joking about something she said at dinner. But your gut had been tight for miles. Like something was coming.

The sound came first: the sickening thwap of an arrow piercing flesh.

Your shoulder exploded in white-hot pain, and you were thrown from the saddle, crashing hard into the dirt. Gravel tore at your palms as your breath caught, shallow and sharp.

“Shit,” you gasped. You looked down at the arrow sticking clean through your shoulder. “Lili- run.”

“No!” she cried, frozen in place.

“Go!” you barked, blood already soaking through your shirt.

She ducked behind the cart just as the air filled with gunfire. Bullets snapped past your ears. A second shot tore into your side. A third grazed your thigh, ripping through denim and skin. You should’ve blacked out. But adrenaline kept you locked in.

You bit down hard and ripped the arrow from your shoulder with a strangled cry, your vision blurring. Blood poured down your arm, but your hands didn’t shake.

You rolled, grabbed your shotgun, and crawled toward Lili. Toward the threat.

Then you saw them…four of them. Raiders. Faces hidden behind masks, one laughing like this was a game.

One charged with a machete. You caught him mid-swing and used his momentum to twist the blade from his hands before slamming it into his skull. His body went limp. You shoved him off without hesitation.

Another swung a bat. You ducked low and drove your elbow into his sternum, stealing the air from his lungs. Then you took the bat and drove it into his ribs, then again across his jaw until he dropped.

The last two opened fire. One bullet caught your ribs. You went down hard, but not before firing. Two clean shots. Both raiders dropped before they got close to Lili.

You hit the dirt again, blood pooling beneath you. Vision darkening.

But you could still see her. Lili, wide eyed behind the cart, safe.

That was enough.

Then the world tilted sideways and everything went quiet.

[sapphicides]

please write that nastylot meta if you feel so inclined!!! i’m a believer as well <3

i’m not sure how coherent or well-written this will be but i have SO many thoughts on their dynamic(s) so i’m gonna try my best to put them together

i think what makes nastylot so compelling to me is that all three of these women have been ostracized or outcasted in some way. either by society, their friends, their families, or some combination of all 3, misty, natalie, and lottie are all intimately familiar with what it means to be “othered.” this seems to bleed into all of their romantic relationships, as well, with lottie being the only main character without a canon love interest, misty’s multiple failed attempts at dating, and natalie’s inability to achieve stability with any of her partners

… which is why it makes perfect sense to me that these would be the three characters most open to polyamory out of anyone. lottie seems like the most obvious candidate for someone who would be into it— out of all three of them, i think she’s the one who craves togetherness and community the most. misty’s desperation is more evident in her drastic and, oftentimes, outright dangerous attempts to get people to pay attention to/like her, but, unlike lottie, misty never really stoops to the point of changing herself for anyone. instead, misty hovers around people like a lost puppy looking for its owner, hoping they’ll see her for what she’s worth if they only get to know her. lottie, on the other hand, takes the opposite approach, projecting an image of stability and leadership while hiding the parts of herself she’s been taught to hate (see: her mental illness)

misty and natalie both have something lottie wants desperately: the ability to be completely and utterly themselves. misty never changes for anyone, despite many people’s attempts at getting her to. natalie is similar in this way, maintaining her sense of morality no matter how bad shit gets in the wilderness + being one of the only survivors who openly admits that what happened to them was traumatizing despite the unspoken agreement to never acknowledge it. lottie, on the other hand, falls so deeply into this role of prophetess that she built in the wilderness that she maintains it into adulthood, creating an entire commune that surrounds her with worshippers so that she can feel connected to people after being isolated and ostracized in her youth, no matter how empty or fickle that connection is

the thing that sets lottie’s connections to misty and natalie apart, though, is that they’re based in the harshest parts of reality that the other survivors tend to look away from: the shared trauma, the innate understanding of one another’s desire for intimacy, and the knowledge that each of them are so fundamentally damaged that they will likely never receive it in anyone but each other. so of course lottie is the key here. she’s the one who proposes the idea of polyamory, likely positing it as a spiritual thing and asserting the importance of the collective (think about how she referred to shauna’s baby as “our baby;” how she acknowledged the wilderness as “just us;” how she’s often speaking in “we”s in both timelines)

misty may initially reject this— despite her desire for a romantic relationship, she’s very much a traditionalist in how she views romance. she has an idyllic perspective on what a relationship should look like, often falling into this dreamy fantasy and imposing unrealistic expectations on the guys she’s interested in. she convinces herself she’s dating ben because, in her mind, it’s a fun, thrilling teenage romance when, in actuality, it’s a nonexistent, one-sided relationship that would be extremely disturbing if it were ever to actually materialize. she even does this with walter, romanticizing him before realizing that he can’t provide her with the emotional support or understanding she actually needs. and i think she realizes this at some point in season 2, on the commune with natalie and lottie and the other remaining survivors who actually do understand her, and that’s when she opens herself more to the idea of polyamory

even though i can see her showing some hesitancy, much like lottie, misty also values the idea of community and would likely open herself up to polyamory more quickly than natalie. where i think natalie’s main issue lies, however, is not with her holding onto some vague idea of monogamy being the “right” way to have a relationship (she was a punk kid in the 90s, trust me she doesn’t give a fuck about that) but moreso with her own commitment issues. i think her issues with her father influenced her in such a way that she began associating emotional intimacy with her dad’s violent outbursts from a very early age. on top of this, her mother seems to have been emotionally distant up until she died, setting a bad example for her from the time she was a young girl that never corrected itself

she’s known to have a lot of hookups in high school and this seems to continue well into adulthood, but there’s a reason they tend to stay as hookups rather than full-on relationships. travis is the closest thing to a real relationship she had and that was far from stable— except for her dynamics with misty and lottie, which seem to not only mimic romantic relationships in the adult timeline (her and misty working together to solve travis’ death, her becoming lottie’s right-hand woman completely unintentionally and “adopting” lisa with lottie) but provide her that sense of stability she can never seem to associate with relationships in both timelines (misty and lottie protecting her from the others in the wilderness, misty and lottie saving her from herself as her addiction/mental health issues spiral in adulthood)

this is also something natalie realizes in season 2 while on the commune— think about how she was initially so wary of lottie, only to give her trust over to her completley. think about how she was initially confrontational with misty, only to be genuinely happy to see and involve her when she joins them. after a while, i think natalie would realize what a critical part of her healing journey letting go of her commitment issues is and ultimately allow herself to be loved and love both of these women; not just from a distance, but as an actual romantic partner

and that is precisely what makes nastylot the most feasible polyamorous relationship out of anyone imo. each one of these girls has something to gain from entering an established partnership with the others, and each of them have a unique, mutual dynamic with both of the others that makes the idea of them entering a relationship entirely believable. i love love love most polyjackets ships but what makes nastylot so compelling to me is its genuine canon basis that a lot of other ships just don’t have

but don’t get me wrong here: i can absolutely meta-ize just about any polyjackets ship involving the main cast. so if anyone has any requests… my ask box happens to be open hehe

[countyourfreckleslikestars]

That’s her best-friend, she bisexual. I like seein’ them girls on girls

Pairing: Heeseung x Fem!reader x fem!oc!character

Word count: about 4,000

Warnings: — f!reader, threesome, oral (f!receiving & giving), 69 position (wlw), fingering, reader eats pussy while getting fucked, praise kink, messy sex, slight jealousy, voyeurism, filthy dirty talk, spanking (light), overstimulation, reader cheats on Heeseung but he likes it? , drunk but consensual sex, mild name-calling (“slut”), use of pet names (baby, good girl), LOTS OF WLW, reader is wrecked and loved on by both, everyone’s a little too into it

Inspired by: this fic series by @mattsstarlet so go show love. If your the owner of the fic and don’t want me using your idea just DM me and I’ll be more then happy to take it down!

Now playing: Good Loyal Thots - Odertari

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10

You and your best friend Star always had some tension. The kind that lingered in the air like a spark just waiting for the right moment to catch fire. You both came out to each other as bi around the same time—some random late-night conversation that spiraled into vulnerability, confessions, soft laughs that held more weight than either of you admitted.

Ever since then, things were never quite the same.

Even when you started dating your amazing boyfriend—Heeseung, that tension with Star never faded. If anything, it got worse. More noticeable. More dangerous.

And Heeseung knew. Of course he did. It was impossible not to see.

The stolen glances. The subtle brushes of your fingers as you passed each other something. The way she’d look at your lips mid-conversation like she was imagining how they’d taste. Like there was a secret buzzing underneath everything, one that he wasn’t fully a part of.

And fuck—he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make his cock hard beyond belief.

He tried so hard to convince himself it was wrong. That his girlfriend couldn’t possibly be messing around behind his back. That even if something was happening, it couldn’t be real.

But deep down, some dark, needy part of him didn’t just notice.

He wanted to see it.

⸻

One night, you all went out together.

It wasn’t anything fancy—just drinks, music, and too much teasing in a tight booth—but you’d dressed up anyway. You wore that dress that barely covered your thighs, the one that clung to your waist and rode up every time you shifted in your seat. Star showed up in something even more dangerous—low cut and backless, hugging her curves, practically made to draw eyes. And it did.

Heeseung couldn’t stop looking at the two of you. Legs brushing under the table. Lip gloss shining under the dim bar lights. And those laughs—those goddamn breathy, tipsy laughs that made him twitch in his jeans.

Before long, shots were being passed around like candy.

You were a few drinks in, warm and giggly, leaning on Star more than you needed to. She rested her hand casually on your thigh and you didn’t stop her.

You leaned in to whisper something to her—something stupid, probably, but the second your lips got close, you both froze.

Her eyes flicked down to your mouth.

Yours did the same.

And you didn’t know who leaned in first. Maybe it didn’t matter. A second later, your lips met.

Soft. Careless. Just a brush at first. Then a little more pressure. Just enough for your lips to part slightly, enough for it to feel real.

Hee saw the whole thing. Watched you kiss her right in front of him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like you’d done it a hundred times.

And fuck—his cock throbbed. He shifted in his seat, trying to hide it, trying to keep breathing like this wasn’t the hottest thing he’d ever witnessed.

You and Star pulled away a second later, giggling like nothing happened.

“Girls will be girls,” he told himself. “It’s nothing.”

But he couldn’t get the image out of his head.

⸻

The next time it happened, it wasn’t in public.

It was late. Just a girls’ night.

You and Star curled up in your bed, oversized shirts and underwear, fresh-faced from cleansing and already halfway through a bottle of wine. Your legs tangled as you lounged across the blankets, faces flushed and limbs loose with that familiar wine buzz.

There was music playing low—something soft, something sensual—and the air between you was thick.

You laughed at something dumb she said, your head falling into her lap. Her hand came up to brush your hair back from your face. Slow. Lingering.

“You’re so pretty,” she murmured, voice low and sincere, fingers still stroking through your hair.

You blinked up at her, heart racing. “What?”

She smiled. “I said you’re pretty.”

There was a pause.

And then that same tension hit again—like déjà vu. Your faces were close. Your eyes locked.

One of you moved. You weren’t sure who.

But this time, the kiss didn’t stop after a second.

It deepened. Turned hungry. Tongues sliding. Teeth clashing softly. Her fingers gripping your jaw as she tilted your head just right.

You pulled back, breathless. “We shouldn’t…”

But she was already kissing down your neck, her hand slipping beneath your shirt, cupping your breast.

You moaned softly, your thighs pressing together.

And then her fingers were in your panties, slipping between your folds, rubbing slow circles over your clit before sliding in—two at once. Her ring and middle finger, curling perfectly inside you as you arched against her.

She fucked you like she knew exactly where every nerve lived. Wrist-deep. Palm flush against your pussy. You came hard, thighs trembling, her lips at your neck whispering filth.

You swore to each other the next morning it was accidental.

But it kept happening.

⸻

Little kisses. Lingering makeouts that left you breathless and needy. Her fingers sliding under your skirt at dinner parties when no one was looking, fucking you slowly with a smirk on her lips. You’d bite your lip to hold in your moans while people chatted just feet away.

Heeseung always pretended not to see.

Pretended he didn’t notice the way your lips were swollen when you got home. Pretended he didn’t see the bite marks under your shirt or the way your thighs trembled when you walked.

But every night, he’d fuck you harder than ever, gripping your hips like he was trying to brand you. Whispering in your ear, “Is this what you need? Or do I need to bring her in next time, huh?”

And you’d moan, because you couldn’t answer honestly. Because the thought of both of them wrecking you at once made your head spin.

⸻

Then came the party.

You were there with Hee, drink in hand, his arm slung around your waist protectively.

You’d only had a couple drinks, but your body was already loose, warm, floaty. You turned to say hi to someone and bumped into her.

Star.

She looked good. Unfairly good. Her eyes lit up when she saw you, and before you could even speak, her hand slid into yours, tugging you away from the crowd.

You didn’t resist.

She led you down a hallway, past a dozen closed doors, and slipped into a guest room tucked at the end. The second the door closed, she shoved you up against it, lips crashing into yours.

You moaned into her mouth as she kissed you hard. Sloppy. Desperate. Her hands roamed everywhere—your waist, your thighs, your tits, gripping you like she hadn’t touched you in weeks.

By the time she pushed you back on the bed, your lips were red and swollen, panties soaked through.

That’s how you found yourself in this position.

Her tongue buried between your thighs, suckling your clit like she was trying to drink your soul out of you. Her hands gripping your thighs, holding you in place as your hips rolled against her mouth.

And you?

Your tongue was flat against her pussy, her taste smeared all over your lips. You licked into her heat, slow and deep, moaning as her thighs trembled around your face.

Sixty-nining with your best friend in a stranger’s guest bed. Half the party just down the hall.

Your moans vibrated into her, your tongue gliding through her folds, dipping into her slick heat before flattening again, drinking her in like water.

The air was thick—hot, sweaty, desperate. The bed creaked with every grind of hips and press of fingers. You could barely think straight. Just the taste of her. The way she whimpered. The pulsing ache between your thighs she never gave you time to recover from.

You didn’t even hear the door creak open.

But Heeseung did.

He stood in the doorway, frozen.

His eyes dragged over the scene—the arch of your back, the way Star was moaning into your cunt, the pure filth of you both, completely absorbed in each other.

His breath caught in his throat.

You pulled back from Star just enough to pant, your lips glistening, voice wrecked. “Hee—”

Your voice died the second your eyes met his.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t blink.

His jaw was clenched. His hand twitched by his side like he didn’t know whether to leave, to speak—

Or to start touching himself.

Star didn’t even stop.

She looked up at him from between your thighs, lips still wrapped around your clit. She smirked, licking a slow, deliberate stripe up your slit before whispering against it, “Are you just gonna stand there…”

She paused.

Sucked your clit into her mouth hard.

You cried out.

“…or are you gonna help?”

That snapped him.

In seconds, Heeseung was across the room, door shutting behind him with a soft click. His eyes never left you. Not once. His movements were slow, calculated. Like a wolf circling prey he’d been stalking for weeks.

He peeled his shirt off first, tossing it carelessly to the floor. Then his belt. Then his jeans. His cock strained against his boxers, thick and hard and already leaking.

“I knew it,” he muttered under his breath, voice low, gravelly. “Knew you two were doing shit behind my back.”

You sat up a little, breathless, still pinned under Star. “I—I wanted to tell you—”

“Shh.” He leaned down, capturing your lips in a slow, filthy kiss. His hand tangled in your hair, holding you still as he devoured your mouth, tongue deep and possessive. “You think I didn’t see the way she looks at you? The way you look back?”

He broke the kiss with a low growl, eyes dark.

“You think I didn’t notice the marks? The way your thighs shake when you come home?”

You whimpered, hips grinding into Star’s mouth again on instinct. She moaned against you, still licking, completely content to keep you open and needy for him.

Heeseung’s eyes flicked down to the sight of Star still between your legs, tongue moving in slow, wet circles. His cock throbbed.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re such a slut for her, aren’t you?”

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Your body said it all—arched, trembling, mouth parted in desperate moans. You looked ruined. And he hadn’t even touched you yet.

He shoved his boxers down, letting his cock spring free. He wrapped a hand around it, pumping slow as he knelt behind you on the bed.

“Let me see that pretty mouth,” he said, guiding his tip to your lips.

You moaned and opened instantly, letting him slip in, warm and heavy on your tongue.

You were being devoured and fed at the same time—Star sucking and licking your cunt like she owned it, Heeseung fucking your mouth slow, low groans rumbling in his chest every time your tongue swirled around his tip.

You were shaking between them, the filth of it all making your brain foggy. The taste of him. The taste of her. The hands in your hair. The wet, obscene sounds of your soaked pussy and your greedy mouth.

Your jaw was slack, lips stretched around Heeseung’s cock as he fucked into your mouth in slow, shallow thrusts—just enough to tease, to taste, to claim.

His hand stayed tangled in your hair, guiding your head gently. But his voice?

His voice was pure control.

“You like this?” he rasped, hips rolling forward, cock hitting the back of your tongue. “Getting fucked in your mouth while she eats your pussy?”

You tried to nod, but Star moaned against your clit, her tongue flicking fast and relentless, and your eyes rolled back.

“Fuck,” Heeseung groaned, pulling out with a wet pop, smearing the tip across your spit-slick lips. “You look so pretty like this. All messy and used.”

You gasped for breath, drool running down your chin, pussy throbbing as Star buried her tongue deep inside you again.

“She tastes so fucking good,” Star purred against your cunt, her voice soaked in hunger. “You’ve been missing out, Hee.”

Heeseung let out a breathless laugh. “Trust me, I’m about to catch up.”

His hands gripped your hips, dragging you up off Star’s face. You whimpered at the loss, your pussy clenching around nothing, aching to be filled again.

“Lay back,” he ordered, voice low, cock heavy in his hand.

You obeyed, your body pliant, dizzy from pleasure. Star slid up beside you, lips glistening with your slick, licking her fingers clean like she was savoring every drop.

Heeseung leaned over you, cock in one hand, the other bracing himself beside your head. He kissed you—deep, messy, tasting Star on your tongue—and lined up with your entrance.

You were soaked. Ruined. Practically dripping down your thighs.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he hissed as he slid in, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt.

You cried out, back arching, hands gripping the sheets.

Star leaned over, kissing your neck, trailing her tongue up to your ear. “You look so hot when you take him,” she whispered, fingers already trailing down your stomach.

You didn’t even have time to respond before she was rubbing your clit again, perfectly in sync with Heeseung’s slow, brutal thrusts.

You were shaking.

Crying out.

Fucked full by one of them, played with by the other.

Heeseung groaned, hips slamming harder now. “You like this? You like getting fucked while she watches? While she helps?”

“I’m gonna be doing more then just watching,” Star giggled, then slid two fingers into your mouth. “Suck.”

You obeyed without thinking, tongue swirling, moaning around her fingers as Heeseung pounded into you.

Everything was slick and wet and obscene.

The sounds—skin slapping, breathless gasps, Star’s filthy encouragement in your ear—sent you spiraling.

Your orgasm built fast, right there behind your ribs, a raw, burning need that grew with every thrust, every circle of her fingers, every filthy praise falling from Heeseung’s mouth.

“You’re gonna come, huh?” he growled, slamming in harder. “Gonna soak my cock while your best friend makes you suck her fingers?”

You sobbed, nodding frantically, thighs trembling.

“Good girl,” Star purred. “Come for us. Show him how wrecked you get for me.”

You came hard.

Violently.

Back arched. Mouth open in a silent scream. Pussy clenching around Heeseung as he groaned and fucked you through it, chasing his own release.

And just when you thought it was over—

Heeseung pulled out.

Star climbed over you.

And they flipped you onto your stomach.

“You didn’t think we were done, did you?” Heeseung murmured into your ear, cock pressing against your ass. “Not even close.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before Heeseung was flipping you over, pushing your chest into the mattress and dragging your hips up.

“Hands and knees,” he growled, voice rough, cock already rubbing between your folds from behind. “Just like that. Fuck—look at you.”

You trembled, legs spread wide, ass in the air, your slick dripping down your thighs. Every nerve was still buzzing from your last orgasm, but the moment he gripped your hips again, your body ached for more.

Star was in front of you now—sprawled back on the bed, legs spread, already playing with her clit as she looked down at you with that same wicked glint in her eye.

“C’mere, baby,” she said sweetly, voice dripping with lust. “Use that mouth again.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

You crawled forward, shoulders low, your face level with her dripping cunt. The scent of her arousal hit you all over again—sweet, intoxicating, familiar. Your lips parted, and you licked a slow stripe up her slit, moaning at the taste.

That’s when Heeseung slammed into you.

You cried out against Star’s pussy, your tongue stuttering against her folds as his cock filled you to the hilt from behind.

“Fuck,” he groaned, already fucking into you with slow, punishing thrusts. “You feel even tighter like this.”

Star whimpered above you, her fingers tangling in your hair as she rocked her hips toward your mouth. “Don’t stop. Keep going. Just like that.”

You moaned into her, tongue sliding back into her heat, lips wrapping around her clit as your body rocked between them. Each thrust from Heeseung shoved you forward, pushing you deeper into Star’s cunt, your mouth wetter, messier, more desperate with every stroke.

The rhythm built fast—his cock driving into you, your tongue circling her clit, her thighs tightening around your head as she began to tremble.

“God,” Heeseung hissed. “Watching you eat her out while I fuck you? You don’t even know what you do to me.”

He reached around and slapped your ass, hard enough to make you jolt.

“Such a dirty girl,” he growled. “Taking my cock and making your best friend come at the same time.”

Star was panting now, thighs shaking. “She’s so good, Hee. Her mouth—fuck—she’s gonna make me come.”

And you wanted that. Needed it. You pressed your tongue harder against her clit, lips sucking, moaning into her like your life depended on it. The vibrations of your voice only made her cry out louder.

Heeseung’s thrusts grew rougher, deeper, his grip on your hips bruising as he chased his own release. You could hear the slick sounds of your cunt taking him, your spit on Star’s pussy, her whines as her orgasm built—

And then she broke.

Star came with a cry, her whole body shaking as her thighs clamped around your face. “Fuck, fuck—don’t stop,” she gasped, riding out the waves, her fingers tugging your hair as she pulsed and shuddered on your tongue.

Heeseung was right behind her.

“Shit—baby, I’m gonna—fuck—” he growled, slamming into you one final time before he buried himself deep, spilling inside you with a broken moan.

You collapsed between them, face still sticky with Star’s slick, your cunt still fluttering around Heeseung’s cock as he stayed buried in you, panting.

The room was silent except for your heavy breathing, the faint thump of music from the party down the hall, and the sound of skin still sticking together from sweat and cum.

Star giggled softly, brushing hair from your face as she leaned down to kiss you.

“You okay, baby?”

You couldn’t even answer.

Just smiled against her mouth, wrecked and satisfied, and moaned softly as Heeseung pulled out behind you with a wet, sinful sound.

“Don’t fall asleep yet,” he murmured, lips against your shoulder, thumb brushing between your legs to collect the mess he left behind. “We’re not done.”

Authors note: Hi guys!! Hope yall liked this one (personally a few tears ran down my thighs while writing) but yeah as I said early is it inspired by a fic series from @mattsstarlet so go show love and support to them!

Love ya, Moon

Tags: (request or comment to be added)

@amoristt @lousypotatoes @infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun @inotaku-talkz @sxmmerchxld @multifandomgirllol @gizaspicebag @truefandemonium @d-dilemma @lovestruck-sky

[blushingsastiel]

It's been three months since Theo has been gone, and honestly, Liam isn't handling his disappearance all too well. They know he's alive (he left a text message specifically for Liam) but that's all that they know now.

Is he still alive?

Is he doing okay?

Did hunters somehow stumble upon the chimera and kill him?

All thoughts hurt when they come pop up in the beta's head, and all in quick succession. When one thought about Liam appears in his mind, the others follow quickly and then it's just Liam spiraling again.

He's gotten better at not thinking about Theo as frequently but it's quite a feat.

Thinking about his stupid, perfect hair that falls across his forehead when he doesn't have any hair product in it (that's Liam's favorite way for Theo to style his hair).

Thinking about those small, rare smiles on Theo's face when Liam embarrasses himself or when it's been a particularly good day with the pack.

Or.

Thinking about those gazes that only happen between Theo and Liam. Those sacred shared looks where Theo ends up looking away first most of the time (because he can't quite look at Liam for long without wanting to either spontaneously combust or throw himself at the beta).

It's all he does is think, think, think.

About Theo.

Liam misses the chimera. Badly.

Immensely.

Sometimes it scares Liam how badly he longs for Theo (and hello, Liam is longing. What is he in — a bad romcom movie?).

Because he doesn't remember missing Hayden this much. That's not to say he didn't have a similar breakdown about Hayden leaving and ending their romance because he isn't saying that.

Hayden leaving did put a small hole in his heart, and he deeply missed her when she wasn't there with her soft smile, soft hair, and the way she made him want to be brave.

But, as always, it's different with Theo. Somehow, somewhere, Theo burrowed deep into his bones, beneath his teeth, and behind his heart, and Liam wasn't mad about it. He wasn't. Liam kept Theo behind his heart and probably always will.

Scratch that — Liam wanted Theo to always have his heart.

While before, pre-Theo-from-hell, would've used this to his advantage, Liam knows post-Theo-from-hell wouldn't. He'd probably rather die than betray Liam or any other member of the pack again (even though he would never admit it outloud — that's just not Theo but actions speak louder than words). Theo would try with all his might (because he's never been in love before) to handle Liam's feelings with care.

Liam knows this to be true... so why did Theo leave him?

//

The beta didn't expect to find out the reason just a couple of weeks later when he finds the chimera two hours away from Beacon Hills.

Just two hours away.

From Liam.

That's how far away Theo was from him.

Just two fucking hours away.

It makes Liam want to scream. At Theo. At the world.

At anything.

Liam wasn't even supposed to be at the town where Theo is currently residing, but his mom and step-dad had raved about this being the only place that had the good cheesecake that his parents wanted for their anniversary.

His mom had already made the order, so all Liam had to do was pick it up even though it was hours away. But, it was his parents anniversary, so if they wanted this specific cheesecake, he couldn't deny them.

Lo and behold, who was behind the counter when Liam walked into the small, but extremely busy, bakery? Theo, of course!

Just the chimera that Liam had been pining for months now, at this point.

Because that's how Liam's luck works.

He's so fucking angry at Theo. So angry that his anchor left him in the middle of the night without so much of a warning. Left him behind with a text message that said Thank you for everything but nothing after that. No other texts or calls from Theo.

It made Liam so frustrated just thinking about how much he hated these past three months without Theo beside him, down the hall in the guest room that had permanently became his room before he left.

(His parents missed Theo, too. At this point, he was basically a second son for them, and when Theo left, he didn't just break his heart. But like most parents, even if his mom and dad were upset with Theo for leaving, they wanted nothing more for him to just come home to them.)

Liam knew his chemosignals have to be spreading and enveloping the whole bakery, not alerting any other customers or employees, except one. Except Theo.

The chimera whipped his head up from where he was leaning over the counter, boxing up a delicious looking pastry, making eye contact with the beta.

After a few agonizing seconds where Theo didn't move away from the pastry and Liam didn't move away from the door, the customer the chimera was helping got his attention back with a confused smile on their face and a polite 'Excuse me?'.

Their trance was broken and Liam finally moved further into the shop with his heart thumping harder and faster than it ever has in a while. He can feel his shoulders dropping their tension the closer he gets to Theo and his scent. Even though Liam is annoyed at Theo, the chimera's honey and coconut scent has been an anchor for him for a while now.

(Sometimes Liam has to imagine Theo's scent and just his entire existence when he feels his anger about to boil over, especially during full moons. His imagination helps him as much as it can, but it's not the most secure thing as it could be if Theo was actually there in person.)

Liam is the next customer in line by the time Theo is done ringing up the previous one. He can feel his heart not slowing down, maybe even picking up in speed but there's nothing he can do about it now.

Theo must pick up on the fact because when they're standing face-to-face with the counter and display case full of different goodies separating them, his eyes flicker to his heart and back to his eyes.

It feels like that night in the elevator.

"How can I help you?" Theo asks, swallowing harshly once he's done. His face looks a little red, and he's biting his bottom lip a little, which makes it almost impossible for Liam to start talking.

Theo's lips. He's almost forgotten how plump and pink they are.

Liam clears his throat before he starts talking, not once letting his eyes leave Theo's. "I'm here to pick up an order under Jenna G."

The chimera nods before turning his back to Liam and going to the refrigerator that is behind him. All Liam can do is watch as Theo shuffles some things around the refrigerator before carefully grabbing a white, cardboard box that has Jenna G. sprawled on the side of it.

He places it on the counter and slides it toward Liam. "That'll be $24.80."

Quickly, Liam pulls out his wallet and takes out his credit card before handing it over to Theo. When Theo gingerly grabs the card, Liam makes a kinda rash decision. He grabs Theo's wrist, the card now in Theo's fingers, and squeezes lightly. "I need to talk to you."

Theo is back to biting his bottom lip as he eyes are blown wide. He's glancing between their hands and Liam's eyes. "Um..."

Liam squeezes the chimera's wrist harder. "Please, Theo."

"Okay," Theo relents, looking a bit weary but not entirely closed off (Liam counts that as a really big win).

The beta let's go of Theo's wrist and waits for the older boy to finish ringing up the cheesecake. It's a little awkward and tense (more than a little), but Liam doesn't let that deter him. If Theo is here, where he's picking up his parents anniversary pastry, it must be fate.

Without meaning to, the thought of Theo working as a baker makes him smile stupidly. For some reason, it seems fitting for the chimera. When they were living together, Theo made it his own personal mission to get good at baking.

At first, he was terrible. His pancakes were either overcooked or undercooked, never in-between, and it took weeks for him to perfect it. But once he got the hang of it, baking became such an important hobby for Theo. The older boy would bake for any special occasion or whenever he was stressed.

Liam especially liked it when Theo would bake for him whenever he asked the chimera to (the beta still remembers the sweet-smelling and even sweeter tasting of the chocolate pie that was Liam's favorite).

When Theo gave Liam back his card, the younger of the two couldn't help but ask the question that was burning through his mind since he realized Theo was right in front of him. "Did you make it?"

Theo ripped the receipt from the register and held on to it. "Yeah, I did. I didn't realize it was for your mom though."

"When do you have a break?"

Finally, Theo handed the receipt to Liam before answering. "Now, actually." Theo looks up from the counter to Liam's face.

"Perfect. Let's talk in my car," Liam says.

(He mostly says that because he knows the cheesecake needs to be kept in some kind of cool air, and his mom made him come prepared. She sent him with a lunch bag that was filled with ice packs to place the dessert in. His mom was always thinking ahead, thank goodness, but everything was in his car.)

When they got into the car and they both closed the car doors, Liam felt something in him snap.

Here Theo was, in the passenger side, just maybe a foot away from Liam. Here Theo was. Next to Liam. So close and yet, the distance between them has never felt greater.

What happened to them?

"So..." Liam starts, hoping to kick-start this (bound to be) uncomfortable conversation but it has to be done.

And, obviously, Theo didn't have the emotional capacity to start it.

The chimera continues to stare at the carpet, arms crossed over his chest.

Liam sighs, knowing this was going to be hard for the both of them. It was going to be hard to keep his anger and frustration in check, and it was going to be hard for Theo to open up and allow Liam to see a fraction of what he was hiding and feeling.

Something has to be done. "Theo, why did you leave? Did I— do something wrong?"

The words left a bitter taste in Liam's mouth. If it was true that Liam did something that caused Theo to retreat and eventually run away, it would kind of break his heart even more.

"No, no," Theo whips his head to look at Liam, words a little frantic. "You didn't do anything, Liam."

"Then what happened?! Why did you leave me — us?"

Theo shook his head and looked away again. Liam hated this. That Theo couldn't even look at him anymore.

Liam felt bitter anger seep into his words as he continued to talk since Theo refused to continue speaking. "You left in the middle of the fucking night. I think I deserve some kind of explanation. My mom and dad both miss you, too. You left everyone!"

The beta continues to barrel through, voice breaking in the beginning, "Why did you leave?"

During his spiel, Theo had dropped his arms from his chest and is, instead, clenching his hands into tight fists. "Do you remember what happened the day before I left?"

At the sudden question, Liam's anger reduces a little bit. "We were at Scott's house. It was a pack meeting."

"And then what happened?"

The beta doesn't understand what Theo is leading to but he answers anyways. "I don't know, we all watched a movie, and I think you fell asleep."

"When I was asleep, I had a nightmare, basically," Theo takes a small breath, "and my nightmare started off regular. About my time in hell."

Liam wants to grab Theo's hand and rub soothing circles into his skin. Theo's sentences are short and clipped, almost like he's re-living that day in precise detail. The beta doesn't like seeing Theo like this.

"But it changed. It was Tara, looming over me, but she didn't just say my name. She actually started to talk to me."

"What did she say," Liam gently asked. He felt like he was trembling, waiting for Theo's next words. The chimera was so close to disclosing what made him leave, and Liam almost regrets asking him, because it's obvious Theo doesn't want to talk about it. At all.

The chimera raised his head to stare at Liam head on. "She said I didn't deserve to be there. To be part of something. To be with you. She said I didn't deserve to be happy."

When Theo utters the last few words, Liam feels like his breath has been knocked out of him. It's not true. None of that is true, but Liam knows that Theo believes them.

"And I believe her. How can I, the one who killed her, allow myself to be happy when it's Tara who deserves that?"

The question is obviously rhetorical (according to Theo and Theo only!), but Liam opens his mouth regardless.

"Because you've changed, you are changing," Liam responds, words tight and sharp. He needs Theo to believe him this time, not the fucked up depiction of his sister that he has in his head. "This Theo that I know, not the Theo who was hungry for power, but the Theo that helps me study, and bakes for me whenever I ask, and drives me everywhere. The Theo who would do anything for any pack member. The Theo that already has. That's the Theo who deserves to be happy," Liam pleads, urging the chimera to believe him.

Theo exhales deeply, almost like he's resigned and the heavy burden in his chest and upon his shoulders still hasn't lessened. "I don't know how much I believe your words."

"Theo..."

"Honestly, Liam, I didn't even think you would care if I left."

There are tears glistening in Theo's eyes, but he doesn't let any slide down his face. Liam doesn't know which is worse — Theo not allowing himself to cry, to feel or Theo uttering the words that make Liam want to punch him or the steering wheel.

"Of course I cared that you left," Liam seethes. He's not looking at the chimera anymore, terrified to look Theo in the eye when he hasn't calmed down yet. Looking away gives him the ability to not say what an idiot Theo was because that's not what Liam had wanted to do when he realized he found Theo again (even if it was purely by accident and luck).

Liam wanted to try to convince Theo to come back home — to come back to the life the two of them had built. Living together and growing together and, overall, having a relationship that the both of them need. And the beta didn't want to mess up by antagonizing Theo or making the older man retreat back into himself.

"I have never missed anyone more than when you weren't there beside me. All that's on my mind everyday is you. So don't you dare tell me you don't think I would've cared that you had left because I haven't stopped thinking about bringing you back home," Liam says, voice deadly calm but on the verge of breaking.

The chimera is officially stunned when Liam is done talking. His eyes are blown wide and his lips are slightly open. Theo's mask is completely gone, not a hint of it anywhere.

"Home?"

"Yeah," Liam nods vigorously, "With my mom and my dad and me and... you. Living there with us again in your room."

"Home," Theo repeats. His expression has settled into a more relaxed face, but it doesn't take Liam long to read how genuine Theo is still being. He's no longer keeping his chemosignals and heartbeat under lock and key. In the air swirling around them and blanketing the two, Liam tries to pick apart the various emotions. He's not exactly great at it, but the most pungent and obvious emotion he can identify is hope.

It's not bitter, not incredibly sweet, but more mellow than anything else. Something in the middle.

"Yes, Theo," the beta stresses. "Please come back home with me. I'll help you pack up all your fucking stuff right now. I..." Liam hesitates, thinking if this is exposing him even more (as if the other parts of the conversation don't reveal, or at least hint, the incredibly strong emotions Liam has for Theo — correction, the love he has for Theo), "I don't think I can leave without you."

Theo breaks. He's crying before the two of them realizes what is happening. Theo isn't a loud crier; he's silently sobbing and he presses the heel of his palms to his eyes, hunching slightly forward.

(Liam really, really shouldn't be thinking this, but Theo is pretty crier. His side profile has never failed him before and it still doesn't fail him even when he's sobbing his eyes out.)

In between quiet gasps and barely starting hiccups, Theo replies, "I don't think I'd let you leave without me." The response is raw, the brutal, honest truth, and Liam couldn't be more ecstatic.

The beta snaps (he had been resisting the urge to touch Theo, try to calm him down and stop his tears) and he grips both of Theo's wrists in his hands and pulls. It forces Theo to dislodge but then Liam is tugging the chimera towards him, despite the center console blocking them from reaching any closer.

It doesn't stop Liam from throwing his arms around Theo's shoulders, squeezing him so tightly that he knows he's using some of his werewolf strength. He's hesitant about the way he moves, but Theo ends up hugging Liam back, tucking his face into Liam's neck and exhaling shakily every few seconds.

They will be fine no matter how long it takes Liam to show to Theo he deserves happiness, and no matter how long it takes for Theo to believe him.

(When the two of them finally arrive back to their house, Jenna and David demand the pair to retell the story of how Liam stumbled upon Theo.

"So... does this mean we no longer can get your employee discount at the bakery?"

"Jenna!"

"What, David?! It's a valid question!"

Later that night, Theo doesn't sleep in his room, but in Liam's bed. It felt wrong to separate and be more than a few feet away from each other, which meant both of them didn't want to sleep separately.

"Thanks for bringing me back," Theo whisperes, back to Liam's front.

There's a slant of space between them that Liam desperately wants to diminish. So, he does. The beta carefully and slowly inches closer, giving Theo the knowledge that he can choose to say no to Liam but that doesn't happen. Not long after, Liam is burrowing his nose into Theo's hair, smelling the combined scents of them. The chimera's posture relaxes even further, his back almost jelly, and he tentatively reaches for one of Liam's hands and guides it to wrap around Theo's middle.

There's no more room left between them.

"Thanks for letting me.")

[niiwa-angel]

People will try and claim that it's eugenics or cruel towards women and girls in vulnerable situations to push abortion, but it really isn't. It's the lesser of two evils. A girl/woman who gets an abortion when she is too young, struggling with addiction, in an abusive relationship, financially struggling, too physically or mentally disabled to care for a child, struggling with extreme mental health issues, or who is going to have to choose between post secondary schooling or her baby is saving that child from a life of struggle.

Including but not limited to intergenerational trauma, early exposure to drugs, exposure to domestic violence, becoming the victim of violence, food insecurity, homelessness or unstable housing, the pain of living with and managing a physical/mental disability, dealing with incarcerated parents, parentification, neglect, and future mental health issues.

I know people who have worked with at risk youth, the problems almost always start with the parents. Parents who, frankly, should never have become parents in the first place. I know workers who supervise children being raised by their 80+ year old grandparents because their parents are incarcerated, addicted, or too mentally/physically incapable of caring for them. These workers will admit that it's not an ideal situation for the children because of the age of the caregivers, but the only other option is foster care and that isn't good either. I know workers who have had to remove children from homes with extreme drug use where the children were showing signs of exposure to what their parents had. Kids as young as three, growing up in a home with used needles, pipes, and straws just littered around, not to mention the actual substances themselves.

One worker told me about a gentleman she worked with who had been 'traded' by his addict parents for drugs. The trauma he has was so intense. He had developed his own addiction in his early teens because of the constant exposure. He'd been present when his mother over dosed and carried that trauma with him. His sister committed suicide because of the trauma and mental illness she'd gotten because of that upbringing.

Abortion should always come before birth. Always. It's out of mercy and kindness that some people not have children.

My hot radical feminist take of the day is that abortion should come before birth. Crazy, I know. What I mean is that, a teen girl should have a choice, but shouldn’t. Same with a drug addict getting pregnant, or a woman in an abusive situation, a porn star, whatever. These women should choose abortion first. It shouldn’t be forced upon them, but it should be convinced and persuaded. It should be a priority to put the woman’s life first.

My teen sister is pregnant. She’s 18. No she’s not a fucking adult. She’s 18 and JUST graduated high school last month. Her mother is a Christian extremist and is going to force her to have this pregnancy, while I’m going to do everything to convince her otherwise. My sisters life should come first, her freedom. She’s been dating her boyfriend for a few months. We don’t know what this guy is really like and neither does she. And pregnancy wears the body down. It can destroy you. She could also develop PPD. We just don’t know.

I always say abortion first. It was abortion first for me. And is it just me, or is it kind of a libfem take to say that it’s all about choice? In the same way they speak on sex work? Like yeah, the government shouldn’t force her one way or the other, but she SHOULD have an abortion for HER sake. For HER life.

[kirkwallguy]

the funniest part about matilda hating marcus and anders' marriage is that it's at least 80% because she sees anders as her estranged brother

[skullamity]

Context: my icon is a self portrait. This is what I look like! And I have looked like this for about seven years (took a few years on T before I could grow decent facial hair and then my hair started falling out haha)

With that in mind, one of the most frustrating things about having been out and transitioned for so long is the blatant discomfort that other people have at being reminded that I was presumed to be a woman until I came out at publicly at 30, specifically discomfort that I, personally, am able to fondly talk about my life before transitioning.

Because here's the thing...I never got the hang of being a woman, but I didn't realize that I had any other options until I was 28ish. But goddamn did I ever TRY to get the hang of it. Every little and big thing that both women in my life and years and years of media exposure told me would eventually make things click for me? I tried! So, a lot of little superficial things like bonding with other women, makeup, buying spicy lingerie, going on dates that other women would have been thrilled about, learning how to dress myself cutely, accentuating my 'womanly' shape.

But also a lot of big things. Got married, and a big part of what Big Wedding pushes on women is finding The Dress, the idea that you will put it on and just Know and you'll fall in love with it, be able to see yourself walking down the aisle. You'll cry when you put it on because it will be The Dress. You'll never feel more beautiful. I must have tried on like 30 dresses and I ended up going with the first one. It was a cool dress! But the more I tried on, the less I felt about any of them. I didn't feel connected to any of them, and the whole experience wasn't traumatic? But it wasn't anything else, either.

Wanted to start a family! Had a couple of early miscarriages, which was sad. But then got pregnant and it took! Had a baby! Motherhood is supposed to be magical! And I love my kid, but I had a really difficult time really connecting with the idea of being someone's Mom, specifically. Tried so, so hard to breastfeed because of the connection with your baby it was supposed to help forge, but the hormones literally made me feel like I was becoming untethered from reality. Figured out I was trans when kiddo was a toddler, and realized that if we wanted to have a second kid I was going to have to push back any transition plans I had if I wanted to make that happen.

It was stressful, dysphoric and way more body-horror than my first go at it because, unlike my first pregnancy, I wasn't massively sick 24/7, so I didn't have the constant quest to keep food down to distract me. Pregnancy ended pretty far in, and because of a shitty doctor who was not willing to listen to me and send me for a D&C, had to use topical medication to evacuate my uterus at home! Incredibly dysphoria inducing, stressful, and my body did not want to give up on producing pregnancy hormones so I had to have weekly blood tests where I was routinely misgendered by people who were trying to reassure me that I'd get to be a mom to a second kid, eventually. Weekly blood tests for SIX excruciating, dysphoric months.

I have had more than one person ask me directly why I would ever admit to any of that, or reference it in relevant conversations--doesn't acknowledging any of tha make me uncomfortable? Don't I want to distance myself from that?

Why would I want to? These were hard, hard years. But I wouldn't be who I am right now if I had not experienced them. I wouldn't have my wonderful kid who is nearly a teenager, and when my wife (before she came out and also started to transition) and I were perceived as a gay couple at various points in the past decade, we would sometimes get asked shit like which one of us was the "bio dad" or generally just what the process was for managing to acquire a human child when both of us were generally assumed to not have the ability or parts to give birth to one. Could we have lied? Made something up? Sure, but then we'd have to remember who we told what and why. We'd have to keep up one or more narratives indefinitely, and no matter what story we picked, we'd always know that whoever we told that was a single conversation with someone who knew me pre-transition away from having someone mad that we'd kept up an elaborate lie to them for years.

It also felt like a disservice to one of us no matter what story we cooked up, and truthfully? I'm appalled that apparently people who were chill with me before I came out, as well as chill with me coming out and transitioning, are instantly no longer chill if they are reminded that my life once looked very different, and expect me to distance myself from things that I experienced and accomplished, for their comfort, not mine.

I think, when it comes down to it, I still feel connected to my own experiences and how things used to be because those experiences were hard! And I fucking lived! Why shouldn't I own those experiences? Why shouldn't I be proud of them? Why shouldn't I talk about experiencing them freely?

The trappings of femininity only felt like a cage to me at the time BECAUSE they were happening to ME. And now that I have transitioned and I look like my icon? Nobody is trying to push me into femininity anymore, it is no longer being traumaticly foisted onto me. Before I transitioned I was really fucking uncomfortable with a lot of stereotypically feminine things, because admitting that I was into them, even if they were something as banal as liking the colour pink, felt like a concession that people in my life could point to to "prove" that I was a woman. But now that I am comfortable in my own body, I no longer feel that way about engaging with stereotypically feminine things. I am actually super comfortable with shit like wearing pink or wearing makeup sometimes or painting my nails, now, because I am engaging with it willingly and on my own terms rather than feeling like I don't have a choice because it is expected of me as a woman.

And even if it was somehow traumatic to me personally, it is extremely easy for me to separate my personal and deeply shitty experience with femininity from the experiences of people who embrace femininity. The femininity wasn't traumatic because it was femininity, it was traumatic because it was being forced on me whether I wanted it or not. Femininity is mostly not for me, but experiencing it makes my wife feel great! I can't consider something like that to be horrible, when that same thing makes my wife so happy!

As it stands, it is more important to me and for me to be able to candidly talk about my life and my experiences without having to self edit to make cis people comfortable, even if it's something that was traumatic while it was happening to me. Why would I try to hide the fact that I had a baby? That was hard, miserable work! I grew a whole ass human being who is now old enough to have inside jokes with me and play couch co-op on the Xbox with me! You best believe I'm going to own that experience, especially since it resulted in the existence of one of my two favourite people on Earth. You bet I feel connected to that process, even if I never ever ever ever want to go through that again.

I know there's this idea that it seems like there are less trans men out there because so many of us choose to go stealth for safety reasons, but...that was never on the table for me. It was never an option that I entertained for even a second, and if you told me I'd be able to go perfectly stealth tomorrow if I wanted to, that'd be a hard pass for me. I am not eager to distance myself from events that made me who I am, because I did some incredible stuff and had some incredible experiences before I transitioned, and I think those experiences and connections are worth more to acknowledge than what life might hypothetically be like if I could pack up and move to somewhere where nobody knows I'm not cis. I am those experiences! Those experiences are me! Still feeling ownership over them and connection to them doesn't make me feel bad! Neither do pre-transition photos of myself! That used to be what I looked like and what kind of life I was living, but it isn't anymore! And that's extremely cool actually!

Question for the trans guys who still feel a connection to womanhood and femineity:

Why? Personally I've found masculinity very traumatizing, and I can't possibly see why you'd ever feel still connected to an upbringing that was likely also traumatic for you. So why do you still feel a connection to womanhood?

[melon-colli]

Anyone else find it cute that Doorknob went straight for AMF and Bin when choosing her teammates?