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Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land

Chapter 8: Sometimes, I wish Someone Out There Will Find Me

Masterlist Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 (Here!) / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 /

Detention was actually the worst that could happen.

Being in detention is a form of punishment where a student is required to stay after school, during lunchtime, or recess period to complete extra work or assignments. Sometimes, even doing cleaning work around the classroom under the supervision of a teacher.

She would have preferred doing the cleaning over this.

Mr. Munroe decided the best form of detention for running around the halls and causing a ruckus (she found it stupid that it was against the rules to run in the halls. How was she supposed to know that? She had never gone to school before) was for the three of them to sit in silence in his classroom until extracurricular club activities were over.

Thankfully, Bobby didn’t have official practice that afternoon; his only plans were to practice with her in the field by themselves. But the detention would go to his track record, which wasn’t a good thing.

Goldilocks, now named Warren Worthington III (what a posh name-), almost gave a hissy fit over the punishment because he had practice with the debate team. Mr. Munroe quickly stopped his complaining under the threat of extending his detention.

And now, all three of them sat at different desks. The silence was interrupted every few moments by the loud snores of Mr. Munroe, who slept in his chair with his legs over the desk and arms crossed.

They had already tried a few times to sneak off, thinking the teacher was a heavy sleeper and wouldn’t notice it.

They got proven wrong.

Six times.

And that was enough humiliation for the rest of the day.

“Ughhhhh,” she groaned from her desk at the front right corner, just in front of the teacher’s desk. He had sat her there after making the mistake of putting her near the door on her second escape attempt.

Her feet shuffled against the floor, making the sole of her shoes squeak from the friction as her fingers refused to remain still. Cracking knuckles, tapping, tracing shapes, rattling the desk, amongst other things.

It was hell. She needed to move-

“Stop. Moving.” Warren hissed, three desks behind her. Sitting on the second line of desks, while Bobby sat on the third line, on the second desk.

She glared at him over her shoulder, mouthing ‘make me’, her right knee bouncing and accidentally hitting underneath the desk.

A sharp snore from Mr. Munroe’s desk was warning enough to keep them quiet for a few minutes.

“Can’t believe you dragged me into this-”

The girl groaned, throwing her head back. “Do you only complain?!”

Warren huffed, nose scrunched in offense, with his arms crossed. “I wouldn’t complain if I weren’t here because of you-”

“I already said I was sorry!” She turned half of her body in Warren’s direction, catching Bobby’s attention from his improvised desk drawing session.

The blonde boy gave her a harsh glare, jaw twitching, and eyebrows furrowed. He had been like this for the past hour and a half. Chiding and arguing to the air, and getting on her nerves. It had been by a pure miracle that Mr. Munroe hadn’t gotten up from his nap and done something about the wailing boy.

Or maybe he was tuning them out, not caring as long as they didn’t get in a physical fight.

Either way, Warren had made it his personal goal to make guilt eat her alive.

She already felt bad enough for getting Bobby into trouble, even after he had told her it was all alright. Said he preferred this over playing catch by himself in the field, which only made her feel even worse.

And she had also apologized to Warren as well, knowing he was also dragged into this without fault (then again, he was the one who gave away their position to Richard by yelling in the halls-), but that only seemed to aggravate his attitude towards her.

Whatever he was angry about was more than just the detention.

The only positive outcome of this whole situation was the fact that Richard got a chew out from none other than the grumpy teacher who got all of them in here in the first place. Bobby had to pinch her so she would stop snickering under her breath and at least pretend not to look so smug at Richard getting his ass handed to him by a man shorter than him.

All because he wasn’t an official guardian and was getting onto the school grounds without proper permission.

The universe worked in mysterious ways, truly.

“What’s your goal here, man?” Bobby drawled out, genuinely curious. Warren scoffed, disbelief in his face as he put his attention on the other boy. “She has already said sorry. There’s nothing else she can do.”

“What she can do is take responsibility and admit she can’t keep her word when it comes to deals.” He claimed, which made her sputter in offense.

“What deal are you even talking about?-”

“So now you have amnesia out of the sudden?” He probed with sarcasm. “What else? Hit your head and forgot how to answer texts as well?”

The dead silence for a few moments made both boys look directly at her, expecting another quick quip from her. Instead, they got a squittish, almost stressed expression on her face. Eyes wide and unblinking. Lips inward and posture shirking on her seat.

“...Oh, you’re fucking joking-”

She interrupted Warren, “For the record, I did hit my head, and lost my phone, and everything is a bit muddled-”

“Oh my fucking God-” Warren groaned out, hands going down his paleing face.

“But, I got a new phone out of it! So, it’s not that bad-”

“Actually,” Bobby was the one to interrupt this time. “It is bad. And the bar is in hell if you think getting a new phone is the best outcome of this whole situation.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Warren snapped out of his internal crisis to give her a pointed look. “I have the feeling that you did mean it-”

“Same here.”

“Oh, fuck both of you-”

A loud ringtone made them shut up and turn towards the now-waking teacher. He grumbled under his breath, taking his legs off the table, and rummaging through his bag to pick up his phone. With a narrowed glare at the call ID, he got up from his chair with a grunt and walked towards the door.

Not before addressing the teens, who followed his every move.

“I’m right in the hall, so no daring escapes, Wayne.” pointing at her with his finger as he stepped out and closed the door. The girl waited a bit before mocking him with exaggerated facial expressions.

Bobby chuckled while Warren shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching before thinning out.

That was enough for her to get up and sit in the chair at the desk right in front of a puzzled Warren. Bobby didn’t hesitate and sat on the desk beside the blonde, giving him a grin and a shrug in response to his wide stare.

“Alright, let’s clear up some things.” She assented. “Because I would rather not talk about how messy things are at home, and I would prefer not to have any issues with anyone at the only place where I can stay away from them.”

Warren’s gaze shifted to something she couldn’t place. Mostly, because saying that it softened wouldn’t be accurate enough for someone like Warren, who has been showing annoyance and anger from the very first impression.

With a short nod, that shift in his eyes was gone, intrigue now written in them.

“Fine, but we still got a deal.”

Bobby frowned, nose twitching as he leaned forward on his seat. “What is this whole deal thing? Can’t be that serious… Unless it’s about money-”

Warren cut him off with a deadpan tone. “It’s not money. We both have plenty of that, even if Wayne here doesn’t dress like so.”

“Rude.” She muttered with a pout. But Warren continued.

“Our deal was an agreement.” He clarified. “Wayne here, needed a companion for her musical piece at the school’s recital. She needed someone to play the violin while she played the piano. We've been practicing for weeks nonstop until last week.”

And last week, the real Wayne died from drowning, and someone else took hold of her body.

‘Fuck my luck, seriously.’

“And now,” Warren sighed. “Not only am I finding out the true reason why you didn’t answer my texts, but that you have also done a complete one-eighty in personality.”

“I haven’t changed that much,” she frowned. She was pretty sure she and Wayne weren’t that different.

Both boys gave her dumbfounded looks, especially Warren, who for the first time laughed in a mockless manner.

“Actively avoiding your so beloved older brother and preferring school over spending time with your family? Yes, you have changed that much.” Warren chuckled under his breath. “And that’s without mentioning your attitude and charming manners.”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t just insult my wonderful manners.”

“But he’s right,” Bobby butted in, shaking his head. “Not the insult thing, of course. But you have changed. I had never seen you be so…”

Warren took it from there. “So outgoing. So loud. So chatty.”

While Bobby argued about why he was making it sound like it was a bad thing, the young girl began to delve into her own thoughts. Was she really that outspoken? She hadn’t thought about it. After all, she was pretty much relying on what information Wayne could give her. And all of that was surrounding the family. On how she can’t trust them. How much hurt they have caused. How lonely and painful it had been for Wayne to live in that house.

Nothing much about who she was.

Who she truly was.

Her likes. Her dislikes. Her quirks. Anything that made her her own person.

It was a sad realization. But it also made her feel relieved. Relieved that she was different from her, that someone had noticed. That she didn’t have expectations, at least from these two, of how she should act or pretend.

And not saying she wasn’t doing that with the Waynes. But most of her behavior was influenced by what Wayne had shown her. Always on guard and needing to be defensive over anything and everything because it’s what Wayne needed from her. What she deserved because she was no longer able to speak for herself.

And she would do it ten times over. But that didn’t stop it from being tiring and so so lonely.

“Hey, you alright?” Bobby’s cold hand softly shook her shoulder, making her lift her gaze towards the now concerned boys.

Before she could say anything, the feeling of wetness going down her left cheek made her go still. She quickly wiped it away, rubbing the side of her nose while clearing her throat. Trying to disimulate.

“I’m fine. Must be the dust in the room.” She said roughly, knee bouncing.

Warren began to prattle, an awkward and anxious expression as his ears reddened. “I didn’t mean to- I mean, I didn’t expect to make you cry. Don’t listen to shit of what I said- I didn’t-”

It was funny to see how much of a mess he became over some tears, it made her chuckle. Which quickly put a stop to Warren’s yammering and gained a deep relived sigh from Bobby.

“It’s fine, just realized something.” She clarified, making sure her face was dry with the sleeve of her uniform.

The boys exchanged glances, deciding to leave it there for now. If she wanted to say it or talk about it, it would be better if she made the first step.

And she was glad for that.

“You said it was a deal,” her tone mild, changing the subject quickly to avoid any deep talks or emotions. “ What’s your side of it? That’s why you agreed to it, right?”

Now it was Warren’s turn to look like a deer in headlights once again. He cleared his throat, avoiding looking at Bobby, who was looking quite eager to hear his part of the deal. Part of Warren wanted to kick his chair so he would fall off and stop staring at him, but he held it back.

“Yeah. I helped you out with your recital, and then you would help me out with being my plus one to my father’s gala.”

As Bobby choked on his spit and Warren tackled him with a red face while screaming, she stared at an empty corner with a blank expression.

Suddenly, exorcising a spirit wasn’t sounding so bad.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

“I’m not joking, Barb! A man like that couldn’t possibly be a teacher!”

The woman held back her laugh, nodding with a hum as she scrolled down her phone. Both of them were sitting inside Dick’s car. He switched his sports car to another simple model when he decided to bring Barbara to the academy as emotional support for when it was time to pick up his sister from detention.

A detention he found completely unjustified.

Barba thought he was being melodramatic, but Dick was standing tall on his perception and couldn’t be moved from it.

He swore those boys were the ones to be blamed.

It made sense! His defenseless little sister had no way of standing against those brats. They were taller. Bigger. Malicious teenagers, looking to take advantage of her timid, empathetic, and good nature.

That was why she was acting like that: defensive, prickly, and distant. It was an act of avoidance so she wouldn’t bother the family. Distanced herself from them, from him, just so she could shoulder such a heavy burden by herself.

His sweet, poor sister, how alone did she think she was to turn to such a thing?

How could he even handle the fact that he had been ignoring the signs for so long? She had tried to reach out multiple times. A simple hello. Asking about his day. Texting him invitations to recitals.

It was like getting dumped in a tub of ice-cold water the moment he scrolled down their Messenger chat.

‘Hope everything is alright at work. Remember to take some time to rest!’ ‘Hey, Alfred told me you were dropping by. Do you think we can go to the movies together?’ ‘Heard you got a recognition at work today, congrats!’ ‘I've got a recital by the end of the month. I hope you can come for just a little bit.'

A bullet to the head would have hurt less than the realization of how bad he fucked up.

Not a single reply. Not a single one from his side of the chat room.

But that didn’t matter now. He had messed it up, but he’s still got time to make it right! Because his sister was a good person. She was filled with pure goodness, and she would understand that he was trying to fix it. That he was there for her now, and that everything would be alright. Everything would go back to the way it was, and it would be even better, because he won’t leave.

He wouldn’t leave. Not again.

╰───────────✧──────────────╮

Gotham Police Department: 10 years ago

Dick had been taken away from his dinner quite rudely. Both Alfred and Bruce were acting out of sorts with the sudden call from Gordon.

He wasn’t really listening to it, mostly focused on not dying from starvation. Until Bruce had marched out of the kitchen towards the garage, and Alfred took away his plate of food and told him to get in the car as soon as possible.

The two of them didn’t answer any of his questions on the ride to the police station.

But Dick took notice of the faint tremble in Bruce’s left hand. Even when they stepped inside the busy building.

Gordon had been sitting on a bench outside his small office. A small lump was covered by his thick police coat right beside him, their small barefoot legs not able to reach the floor. The policeman was talking quietly to the unresponsive child, whose face was half hidden by the coat and only showing their dark, wide eyes.

As they got closer, Gordon gave them a quick glance and patted the child’s head before standing up and greeting them.

Dick’s attention remained on the kid, tuning out the adult’s conversation as he approched them and sat carefully besides them.

The child was a girl, judging by long lashes and wet curls on her head. Her gaze remained on the floor, staying as still and as quiet as possible. He even had trouble hearing her breathing, thinking about how she could even do it if her mouth was covered by the neck of the coat and nose twitching every once in a while.

“-it was the neighbors who called us. The girl was standing under the rain, screaming for help.” “-have any wounds? Is she sick?” “-a few scratches. But I’m mostly concerned about the mother-”

Bits of conversation filtered through Dick’s ears, looking over his shoulder at the three man before deciding it wouldn’t do the girl any good to listen to them.

“Hey, I’m Dick.” He greeted quietly, smiling down a her.

The girl gave him a glance from the corner of her eye. It took a bit before a small voice muttered what he guessed was her name.

He kneeled on one knee so he was able to look her eye to eye. She was drenched in rainwater, noticing small goosebumps on her legs. The only source of warmth she had was the giant coat around her, and she didn’t seem anywhere near to let go of it.

A frown came up to his face when he looked at her feet. They were raw red, with a few cuts, and with some dirt around it.

“Well, that is not good. You’ll catch a cold like this.” He said with a grin.

She only stared at him, head tilting to the side and nose scrunching.

He began to take off his jacket, using the sleeves to dry her legs. He ignored her flinching, muttering soft apologies, and asking her questions to keep her distracted.

“-never knew! She never told me about it!” “How is Lady Bianca? Has she been internalized?” “-haven’t heard much, but she is under sedatives.” “-she always took her pills. Wait, does he know about this?” “-still in Arkham for now. Nothing has gotten out yet.”

Dick then took off his shoes and socks, slipping the socks in the tiny feet with a laugh when they slipped down. Obviously too big on her.

That got him a small giggle from her, twirling her ankles and making the slip down more.

“Dick” Bruce’s exhausted tone made both of them look up.

The man gave the girl a quick glance before addressing the teenage boy. Crouching down with a grunt before speaking lowly.

“Stay with her for now. I have to talk to Gordon about some papers, and then we can all go home.”

Dick looked at the girl and then back at bruce, nodding with a smile.

“Sure, I won’t leave her alone.”

╰───────────✧──────────────╮

“Huh, is that the teacher?” Barbara’s voice brought him out of his daze. He also noticed how his fingers ached.

His knuckles were white from how hard he was gripping the steering wheel. Dick quickly let go of it and rubbed his fingers, turning his attention towards Barbara’s field of vision as his mouth curled into a disdained grimace.

Right. The teacher.

From the very first impression, Dick could tell the man was rough around the edges. Broad and burly build, accompanied by a brutal presence and dark old eyes. His voice was deep, almost sounding similar to Bruce if it weren’t for the growly edge it had while he was reprimanding the boys and his sister.

Of course, like any responsible older brother, he butted in and tried to talk with him so she could get out of trouble.

Then, he got his own type of reprimand for trespassing onto the school grounds without being a legal guardian. To Dick Grayson, Logan Munroe was a man that shouldn’t be around children if he was going to punish someone that innocent and obviously coerced into this scheme.

At the moment, Munroe stood by the front entrance of the school with a pouting Wayne at his side. She had caught sight of the car, to which Dick waved from inside with a sweet smile.

To which she grimaced and turned her back towards the vehicle.

“Wow,” Barbara laughed. “She is not very happy to see you.”

“She is just upset about the detention,” Dick muttered before honking the horn of his car.

But she only crossed her arms and didn’t look back.

Logan frowned at the display in front of him. He certainly wasn’t expecting this on his first day of class. Much less in such a pretentious academy like this one. It was simple work. Pretend to be a teacher, gather intel around the city, and detect possible awakening mutants nearby.

He had hit the jackpot with having three mutants in his class.

Three possible victims for whatever messed-up scheme was going on around Gotham.

At first, he wasn’t sure if the kids were even aware of their powers. He needed to encounter them separately from the other students so their smells wouldn’t mix and confuse his theory. And if it was by divine intervention (which he would never call it so), all three of them ran into him and lay at his feet.

Quite literally.

So what if he pulled out of his ass some made up rule about running the halls? He wasn’t supposed to be smoking inside the halls anyway, and the kids had ruined a perfectly good cigar.

He was petty, so what? He got what he needed, which leads to the current situation.

The Wayne girl was odd.

Not a bad odd, but a familiar odd.

The fidgeting, the impulsive attitude, the out-of-context comments, and the way she needs to move constantly. Hell, that pout and posture she had right now was like having a walking deja-vu.

All that she needed was some white hair and running shoes, and she would look just like Pietro-

HOOOOONNNNKKKKKK

Which led to the honking annoyance at the front gate.

“Ain’t that your brother, kid?” He nodded towards the car, where a red-haired woman began to hit the guy over the head and yell at him.

She huffed and turned her nose. “Nope. I’m walking home by myself, actually.”

Logan hummed, scratching his jaw before crossing his arms. “You’re a long way from your home, bub.”

The girl muttered under her breath and kicked some imaginary dust off the floor, silently cursing while avoiding looking at Logan and the shaking car with the couple arguing in the background. It was almost non-existent murmuring to her, but to Logan, it was loud and clear.

‘That isn’t my home.’

The man grunted out a heavy sigh, already picturing what was going on here. He nodded to the side, signaling her to come closer so she would pay attention. She dragged her feet slowly, her posture slouching with a glare at him.

‘Yeah, I’m gonna need some DNA tests from Hank after this.’

“Alright, kid, let’s make a deal.” He offered, which got her attention. “You get in that car and go to your house-”

“That’s a shitty deal-”

“Language, kid.” He snarled before clearing his throat. “You go to your house, and I’ll see if I can get you in the track and field team by the end of the week.”

She suddenly perked up, a wide grin breaking on her face. Logan felt pleased at that reaction.

“Since you seem so fond of running around and staying horrible hours away from your house, I would prefer if you wouldn’t crack your head open by running in the hall-”

His breath was knocked out of him by the sudden tackle of the beaming and squealing girl. Logan only patted her shoulder awkwardly while looking to the side with a groan.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,” She bursted with a jump as she stepped away from him, quickly taking off towards the car while waving widely at him with the biggest and almost manical grin as she continued to thank him until she climbed in the backseat of the car.

As the car drove off, Logan just waved slowly with a smirk once he noticed how the young man glared at him from the rearview mirror.

That would be the least of his problems. He needed to make some calls.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

Bruce couldn’t remember the last time he had set foot in his daughter’s room.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had set foot in this side of the manor.

Her bedroom was colorful compared to the rest of the halls and rooms in this dusty old mansion. With paintings and crystals hanging from the ceiling and stained glass windows. A messy desk and unmade sheets in the bed.

So much life in a tiny room in the corner of a dark and gray mansion.

His fingers traced the wooden carvings of the wardrobe, as his eyes swept around for anything out of place that could give him a clue.

Letters. He was looking for letters.

Bruce kept all his correspondence and documents about Wayne Enterprises and personal things in his office. Anything else was in the batcomputer or in the cave document archive.

The letters Bruce was looking for were supposed to be under lock and key, hidden in a secret compartment on his desk cabinet. It could only be open with a key that he always kept with him. Nobody knew about this compartment. Not even Alfred.

The letters were meant for one person. He had never opened them.

He preferred to sweep them under the rug. It was for the better.

Better for her.

She didn’t have to know he had been reaching out.

The farther away he was, the better.

Bruce had allowed the letters to come in for the first few years. Two letters each month, along with a present on her birthday. He had deemed it harmless. Respecting Bianca’s wishes to keep a good relationship with her brother, just so their daughter could have an uncle.

A criminal uncle, but still an uncle.

That was until that man dared to claim custody over her. Showing up with Bianca’s testament and signature in the middle of a patrol night.

It said that as soon as he was deemed sane by his psychiatrist, and continued to go to therapy, Bianca’s daughter would be passed to be under his tutelage.

It had been a dirty tactic, but Bruce managed to keep him locked up and hide the testament. Along with the letters that kept coming twice a month.

Why didn’t he destroy them? Probably because there was still a sentimental part of him that prevented him from doing so.

Now, he regretted keeping them instead of burning them.

Someone had sneaked into his office. Someone had found the compartment. Someone broke into it. Someone took the cards from-

“What are you doing in my room?”

Bruce hadn’t heard the door creak open, so he was caught off guard by his daughter’s sudden appearance.

She stood by the edge of the door, her school uniform wrinkled and hanging a bit off her body. As if it were a size too big for her. Her braid was almost gone, the hair tie loose over her shoulder. The school bag was hanging on her hand, letting go slowly until it reached the floor, and she walked deeper into the room.

She was frowning, eyebrows twisted in annoyance, and shoulders tense.

He wasn’t wanted here.

“Heard you got into trouble at school,” He replied, his hands slipping away from the wooden wardrobe. “Mind telling me what happened?”

“You can ask Richard about it. He was there.” she countered with a shrug. Sitting down on the edge of the bed and staring directly into his eyes.

His hand twitched at the dark color of her eyes. Still unfamiliar with how to handle the pressure in his lungs whenever they clashed with his own.

“I’m asking you.”

“And I got homework to do, so go ask him.”

Bruce said her name in a warning tone, “If you are mad at me, you must talk about it. That’s how it works.”

His daughter aimlessly looked around, gesturing with her hands. “Oh, I am not mad. Not at all. Just a bit busy to talk to you right now.”

She got up and began to shove a startled Bruce out of her room by pushing his back towards the door. Taking advantage of catching him off guard, so he wasn’t putting all of his weight on his feet.

Before he knew it, she had slammed the door behind him and locked it.

Just as he was about to knock on the door and maybe force it open, his phone vibrated with an incoming message. Muttering as he harshly took the phone out, Bruce cursed to himself as a message from none other than Clark asking him to come to the watchtower for an urgent meeting.

Bruce stomped away with a snarl, his steps echoing on the hall farther and farther away.

Meanwhile, she let out a sigh of relief as she slumped down against the door with her legs stretched on the floor. Her head was banging softly against the wood with her eyes closed.

“A warning would have been nice, you know?” She offered to the room.

The lamp on her nightstand flickered on, making her open her eyes as Wayne began to communicate.

“... --- .-. .-. -.-- .-.-.-”

SORRY.

She shook her head with a tired smile. “Is fine. But we gotta talk. Like real talk.”

Getting up from the floor with a groan, she suddenly regretted slamming down on the floor like that as she sat down on the bed once again. Taking one of the pillows and hugging it to her lap, biting her lip as she waited for a sign from Wayne.

The sudden shift in weight on her right side was answer enough.

“So, I met Warren today,” the lights in the room turned off.

“C’mon,” she groaned with a laugh. “A heads up would have been great, but I handled it very well. I think…”

The light bulb of the lamp began to dim up, which gave her some relief that Wayne was still there and willing to listen.

“He told me about the recital. And I want to know if you wanted me to do it.”

Wayne was a ghost, and ghosts have unfinished business if they still remain on the mortal plane. That’s what she had gathered from those restless nights in the library with Wayne as company.

If Wayne’s unfinished business was tied to the recital, then she would have to do it-

“-. --- .-.-.- / -.. --- -. .----. - / -.. --- / .. - .-.-.-”

NO. DON'T DO IT.

That answer made her frown. “Are you sure? Warren told me you practiced for weeks.”

The lamp trembled as its light flickered. “.. - / -.. .. . ... / .-- .. - .... / -- . .-.-.- / - .... . / ... --- ..- -. -.. / -.. .. . ... / .-- .. - .... / -- . .-.-.-”

IT DIES WITH ME. THE SOUND DIES WITH ME.

Wayne’s presence was felt against her back. She returned the gesture by leaning back with a sigh. Her head tilted back to look at the strings of crystals hanging off the roof.

“As long as it is what you want, I’ll respect it.”

Wet clumps of hair draped over her shoulder, the sound of a shrilling breath invading her ears. A faint whisper brought some comfort despite all the wrongness surrounding her.

“Thank you…”

“All good, as long as you are alright with letting me alter the deal.” She chuckled, playfully shoving with her shoulder at Wayne’s suddenly solid back. “If I am going to a gala, at least let me gain something that benefits me.”

Wayne’s laugh was more like nails on a chalkboard. The lights flickering and books rattling on the bookshelves. Crystals tingling and ringing. Even the bedsheets fluttered and hovered around the edges.

The scene felt somewhat familiar to her. Things floating around and moving from side to side by an unseen force.

It wrapped her in a thick blanket of blissful, homely feelings.

Their laughs echoed down the halls, making the lights of different rooms in the manor flicker or cut off. A few of the members of the family were startled by the sudden failures in the electricity. Somewhere in the house, Dick was cursing and yelling for falling on the bathtub while looking for the light switch.

“Oh, that’s right!” She suddenly straightened up, turning around to look at the now still room and empty spot behind her. “Did you find anything that could lead us to what Rio wants? Any clues?”

Wayne stayed quiet for a few moments until a wave of wind made her hair tie fly off, which gained a complaint from the girl. Then, the lights answered once again.

“-. --- .-.-.- / .-- . / -. . . -.. / .... . .-.. .--. .-.-.-”

NO. WE NEED HELP.

The girl sighed roughly at that, picking up the tie and twisting her hair up. “And who could probably help us with this? Anyone in your mind?”

Wayne’s reply almost made her choke on air.

“-- --- -- .-.-.- / .-- . / -. . . -.. / -- --- -- .-.-.-”

MOM. WE NEED MOM.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

Eastview, New Jersey - 10:45 PM

“It’s weird,” Billy mentioned out loud. “I can feel her, but I can’t pinpoint it in any direction.”

He sat cross-legged on the floor, slouching over scattered maps and scribbled notebooks. His room was a mess. One of his walls had a pinboard with a map of the states. Multiple pins with a red string wrapped around them, creating a bizarre web of red all over the board.

Billy huffed, throwing away his pen to the other side of the room. His shoulders tensed as he glared down at the mess of papers.

As if intimidating them would be enough to give him answers.

“Perhaps,” Agatha drawled with a flare as she hovered in her transparent form over the boy and his mess. “We could hit the road for once and for all. Getting fresh air does wonders to the young mind, y’know?”

Billy glared up at her. “We can’t leave.”

His expression flattered as he looked at the framed family picture of the Kaplans on his desk. It was from the bar mitzva. Both the parents and he.

Well, it was actually William Kaplan in the picture.

Not Billy Maximoff.

“Not yet,” he muttered. “Not until I have her location. That way, I will know where to start looking.”

Agatha bemoaned in protest, floating around the room until she lay over on Billy’s bed with a dramatic pose. Hand over her forehead while complaining.

“Who knew being a ghost would bore me to death? You Maximoffs only take the fun out of the afterlife!” Billy just rolled his eyes at her scene, looking back down at his organized mess.

That’s until his eye caught sight of a small closed book, almost hidden beneath his bed.

His spell book.

Billy flicked his fingers, the book flying directly into his hands. Agatha made a questioning sound, flying to look over Billy’s shoulder as he flipped through the pages quickly with an intense stare.

“Anything caught your attention, Billy-Boo?” She snickered once her mind started to piece together what his apprentice was planning on doing.

“Just a thought,” he muttered, getting up from the floor and walking towards the board on the wall. His gaze wandered around the scattered pins, murmuring under his breath while gripping the spellbook rather tightly.

“If something or someone is blocking her physical location,” He turned around, moving the mess on the floor with a snap of his fingers. Then, threw his book towards the bed and waved his hand so a marker landed in his fingers.

The boy began to draw on the floor, as Agatha hovered rather smugly at his side.

“Then this perfect time to put those beautiful mind powers of yours to good use, am I right?”

Billy hummed. “Not quite. I’m still on training wheels for trying anything that drastic.”

“However, The Dreaming is an uncharted field. And that could work.”

Agatha cackled loudly at that.

Maximoffs. So entertaining.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

Author's note: Hello, everyone! It's been a CRAZY week for me. Finlly finished my semester , thank GOD. Got to work on a play after such a stressful semester, pulled a muscle while slipping on fake blood after spining on a stripper pole (Im fine, just a bit tense on the back). And also, finally got enough time to work on my short film script befor starting the summer semester (bc I like to torture myself, obv.) Hope you all like this chapter, remember that I love to answer and read comments and asks. Let me know what are your thoughts and theories of what is to come! Also, added the translations to morse code in the fic too! Lots of love and tight hugs, GG✨

Tag List:

@bat1212 @kneelforloki @1abi @galaxypurplerose @yhin-gg @cxcilla @momentomoribitch @stargirl404 @initial-ari @welpthisisboring @icefox8155 @bunniotomia @alittlelostmoonchild @devotedlyshamelessdetective @shycreatorreview @nirvanaxx1942 @soulsire @ryuushou @rinkydinkythinky @lithiumval @ithoughtthinks @reeyy0-2 @cssammyyarts @lordbugs @ilovecoffe0 @kore-of-the-underworld @fortunatelydifferentqueen @vanessa-boo @livingund3ad @aelxr @im-so-goddamn-tired @lovebug-apple @staarflowerr @xoxoyukixoxo @whyiseveryuseenametaken

Bonus Memes:

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lnfours · 3 months ago

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focal point ☆ chapter 7 | ln4

summary: and i say i don't care, i say that i'm fine. but you know i can't let it go.

warnings: art student!reader, best friend/college student!oscar, college student!lando, slight enemies to lovers!au, slight grumpy x sunshine, language, fluff, some filler, angst (i'm SORRY), lando is simping!!!, and maybeeee some first official date planning

message from jordan: this has been a long time coming... i hope it pays off!!! so sorry it's taken so long, i love y'all! thank u for all ur patience <33

series masterlist | listen to the playlist

you were amongst the many students who was hurriedly packing their bags, glad that the two and half hour long lecture was finally over.

on your way out the doors, you spotted a familiar figure standing across the hall waiting for you to walk outside the room. a smile crept onto your lips as you saw lando, clad in a university hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. his hair was slightly messy and you could tell he hadn’t done much with his free day.

it had been a hectic week. you had finally finished the final touches on your project and it was so close to being ready to be turned in. and with that, lando had been doing really well in his class, of course with the help of you. break was inching closer and closer, and for the first time in a while, you weren't really looking forward to it.

it was still undecided if you were going to be going back with lily, who you had barely seen over the last couple of weeks. you had started to wonder if your friends were ever going to tell you about their little secret. even though you already knew, you wanted them to tell you themselves.

as if he could hear the gears turning in your head, lando sent you a slightly worried expression as the two of you walked towards the coffee shop, "you okay?"

"hmm?- oh, yeah, sorry. just spaced out for a second,"

he held the door open for you, "i don't know if i believe that," you sighed softly. there wasn't really a point in trying to hide it from him. the two of you joined the short queue to order, him using the time to press slightly more, "what's up?"

you sighed softly, "i just miss my friends."

he sent you a sympathetic look, the barista calling, "next!" before he could even get a word in. you ordered your coffee and something to eat, stepping aside and letting the boy next to you order as well. this time, you were quicker than him with his card, which made him huff in defeat.

"you said i could buy your coffee next time," you sent him a pointed look as you sat at a table near the tall windows in the front of the shop, "and this is next time, so,"

he rolled his eyes playfully, "yeah, i remember," you two laughed softly before he spoke again, "you haven't heard from either of them?"

"other than the occasional tiktok, no," you said, "i just wish they didn't feel like they can't tell me."

"maybe they don't want to make things awkward," he shrugged, "y'know, they don't know about us either, so they probably don't want to make it seem like you're always going to be the third wheel."

you hummed playfully, sipping on your coffee, "last i checked, i hadn't been asked out on a date."

he dipped his head in a laugh, nodding, "okay, yeah. you got me there."

"i'm kidding, we don't need to-"

"no, no," he said, "you deserve the best, and a first date is literally the bear minimum, so,"

"okay, fine, if you insist."

"i do, actually," he smiled, "you busy saturday?"

you shook your head, you didn't recall making any plans for the weekend, "should be free,"

"perfect, block out your whole day."

"my whole day?"

he nodded, "yep. like i said, only the best."

you two finished at the coffee shop a little earlier than normal, deciding on heading back to his apartment for a little while. at some point during the walk, your hand had slipped into his. your fingers were intertwined, his thumb rubbing back and forth against the skin of your hand in a comforting way. you ignored the way it sent electric shocks through your whole body, smiling softly towards the ground as you listened to him tell a story involving some of his childhood friends and siblings.

you were both giggling when he opened the door, the two of you stopping in your tracks as you heard a loud squeal and the sound of someone falling to the floor come from the living room. you and lando looked curiously, finding lily on the floor and oscar on the couch, pretending to act cool and innocent.

the two of you looked at the other couple with furrowed eyebrows, "were you two...?"

"no!" oscar said, "no, no, not at all!"

"never!" lily scoffed, "that's so... gross!"

you looked back at lando who was trying to hold back a laugh.

"i don't know what's worse," you started, "the fact that the two of you still haven't told me after all this time or the fact that you're sitting here blatantly lying to my face."

lily got up off the floor, "what're you talking about?"

"i'm saying there's no point in lying when we already know."

"how do you know?" oscar asked, now also standing from the couch.

"we heard the two of you the other night," lando said, "y/n knew it was lily's laugh almost instantly."

she could see the hurt and disappointment on your face as she looked at you, "i swear we were going to tell you-"

"when?" you asked, "when the two of you decided to stop sucking face long enough?"

"y/n," lando said, reaching out to grab your arm to get you to calm down, but you pulled your arm from his touch.

"yeah, well what about you?" lily asked, ignoring oscar's soft plea to not continue this argument, "the two of you have been out and about doing god knows what. you went from not wanting to spend a single second with him to now spending every waking moment with him! when were you going to tell me that you two magically decided that overnight you were attracted to each other?"

“maybe when you weren’t off with my best friend!”

“and i’m your best friend too!” the two of you were yelling now, voices booming off the walls of the apartment.

“yet you sat here and you fucking lied to me,” you said, “both of you.”

“guys, c’mon,” lando said, stepping between you and lily, “let’s not do this.”

“y’know what, if you like it here so much, maybe lando should be your new roommate.”

“maybe he should.”

“sounds good,” she said, grabbing her bag off the floor and walking off, the front door opening and slamming shut behind her. you looked over at oscar, who held a look of guilt on his face.

“we really were planning to tell you,” he said softly, “i’m sorry.”

and with that, he followed her footsteps, the two of them walking out of the apartment. you sighed, bringing a hand to your head at the newfound headache that slowly started to throb at the front of your head.

“c’mere,” he mumbled softly, pulling on your arm and bringing you in for a hug. you sniffled against his chest, his head resting on top of yours after giving it a soft kiss.

“i don’t like fighting with her, but god, she makes it easy.”

he nodded, “i know, i’m sorry.”

“not your fault,” you said as he leaned down, wiping the tears from your cheeks. the same way he did the first time you kissed.

“hey, ‘ve got an idea,” he said, “how about for break, you come home with me? gives you both time to cool down, relax and when you get back, you can talk it out.”

you looked up at him like he hung the stars in the sky, his fingers still catching the falling tears, “you’re serious?”

he nodded with a smile, “i mean, my mums anxious to meet you, so,”

he laughed when you threw your arms around his neck, “thank you!”

he smiled, pulling you closer, “anything for you.”

and he was serious.

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takumiraine · 7 months ago

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Once Upon a Time chapter 7

Danny is still going thru it. I’m not going to put it on Ao3 until I’m done with it. I have no idea about a master post though.

Some blood and a bit of puke in this chapter.

—

Danny was furious. Furious and terrified and alone.

Jason. His one friend. Red Hood. The man who had sworn he wasn’t a Bat. They were the same person. They worked with Batman. Bruce Wayne funded the Justice League. Bruce Wayne was Jason’s father.

He was going to be sick.

Danny stopped running to throw up in an alley, half bile, half swallowed blood. His nose was still dripping and oozing and throbbing and the force of his heaving set it bleeding in earnest again. He swore, spitting on the ground, before flattening himself into the shadows as the trill of police cars sped by, heading the direction he had just left.

He had to find a way to contact Tucker and Sam. Tucker was monitoring the GIW passively, and it was set up to know if anyone searched for him. If there was suddenly more chatter or a mobilization. But if the Bats were watching him…

Danny checked the street and darted another couple blocks before pressing against another wall and checking. When he got to his building, he scampered up to his apartment and locked himself in. Not that the locks would do anything against anyone that seriously wanted to hurt him but…. He moved his bed up against the door too.

Danny went to sigh out of his nose and spattered half clotted blood everywhere again. “Ancients fucking damn it!” Danny felt tears springing to his eyes at the thought of yet another mess he’d have to clean up before he could pass out. He went to the bathroom and growled at his reflection in the mirror. The break in his nose was obvious and he knew that if he didn’t fix it now, it would slowly fix itself over the next week or two.

If he had a shitton of food and a way into the Zone without drawing suspicion he could heal it in a couple hours but…

A deep breath in and a gritted yell out, and Danny was able to reset it, icing it in place with the little bit of his powers he was able to use without drawing attention. Gotham had a lot of random cold spells from that one supervillain. Danny wasn’t going to argue it.

He changed his shirt, and washed out the blood in cold water, gingerly wiping off his face as he went. Once it was laid in the kitchen sink to dry, Danny took the duct tape he had in his drawer and taped his windows shut.

The point was to make it obvious if they were tampered with and make a lot of noise in the process.

From there, he pulled his blankets into the tub, crawled on top of them and went to sleep, thankful it was the weekend. He would get the blood off the wood in the morning. He didn’t sleep well, waking up with barely muffled shouts and gasps for breath as the memories of broken bones healing while being used, burns so bad he couldn’t feel them regrowing nerves, the concussive blast of the Fenton Bazooka, the shredding feeling of the Fenton Ghost Peeler haunting his unconscious mind.

The irony of his parents handing over their otherwise harmless weapons to the GIW who upgraded them into the most painful versions possible under the guise of protecting him from Phantom was not lost on him.

He did not go to campus Saturday or Sunday, but showed up for his Monday class the slightest bit late, anxiety chewing through him like squirrels liked to gnaw through cables. Jason was in their usual spot, but Danny slid into one nearest the door, frowning when he caught Jason looking at him. He knew he was still all bruised up, he had to ration again, and aside from some bottom of the barrel cheap ass junk food, he hadn’t eaten this weekend at all.

He could feel Jason’s eyes on him most of the lesson, and Danny kept his head down, scrawling his notes the best he could with battered and split knuckles. He felt one of the scabs tear and absently lifted it to his mouth, making sure he didn’t bleed all over his notes. From across the room, Danny felt something from Jason’s core and used his own to push back “no” and “asshole”.

Jason might not be able to tell exactly what Danny meant, or even why, but he should be able to get a vibe. Judging by the small flinch, barely perceptible even when Danny was looking right at Jason, Danny was fairly certain his point was made.

The end of class came and Danny was the first one out the door, pushing his core down to nothing and ducking down another hallway and into a doorway of an empty classroom. He sat against the wall there to do his homework, rather than being predictable and going to the library.

Jason was well aware that he had fucked up. Danny looked half dead, more than the first time, with bruises on his face and hands and up his sleeves. Then Danny’s knuckle split and he sucked it into his mouth. Jason felt a pile of things swirl around the place in his stomach the pit occupied. Guilt tinged with arousal, followed by embarrassment at the arousal in this situation and then…. He felt like a wall slammed into the pit. He didn’t flinch, not anymore, but there was a hard blink in response. Danny’s glare told him all he needed to know. It had come from him. Somehow.

Then class was over and Danny bolted almost immediately. By the time Jason made it out of class after him, he was gone.

The next couple of classes went the same way.

Jason needed to find him, to talk, to explain, to apologize, to ask him how the fuck he knew. He almost got his chance on Wednesday when Jason was in the library with Babs, shelving books silently with her. Danny snuck around the corner and startled so hard he dropped the book he had been planning to check out, probably for their lit class. He looked between Babs and Jason for one tense moment, and Jason watched him go pale(r) in the bright lights. He opened his mouth and reached out a hand, and Danny flinched away, fear slamming into Jason like the force of that bomb. When he could breathe again, Danny was gone.

“He’s afraid of us…” Jason muttered, confused. “He took on six goons in the middle of the night and got stabbed, but still walks around Gotham at night without fear…. But he’s afraid of us.”

Babs looked up at him. “We need to find out what happened.” Her voice was matter of fact. “Before B stumbles into it and makes things worse.”

“I know.”

Friday, Jason got his chance.

Danny was creeping across the courtyard and Jason was just happening to cross at a different point. “Danny!” He called, just loud enough to be heard. He had his hands up, empty, as he approached. He was ready for the fear slamming into him this time, and ate the angry that followed behind it. “Wait. Please. It’s important.” Danny didn’t move, didn’t run, though he was scoping out exits. Jason made sure to leave him with several.

“You have one minute. Any other…. Associate…. Joins you and you don’t get another chance.”

“Fair. It’s just us.” Jason came close enough that he could talk without being overheard, hands still up. “I want to say I’m sorry first. I wanted to tell you, but it isn’t something I can really tell people and the relationship is complicated and we don’t really work together. But that’s not the point. B wants to know how you knew it was me and how the pit got to you. We tried to look it…. You… up but there was a weird firewall? Some account required shit and a number. One of the…. Others… called it and it went to a government information warehouse? She pretended it was a wrong number and it was on a burner that we destroyed after but- “

Danny looked ashen. “You called the GIW?”

“You know them?”

“They want to kill me. Again.” Danny crumpled to the ground, hunching in on himself. He took a step closer to hear what Danny was whispering. “-gonna fillet me… don’t have the shield, need to warn Tucker and Sam and…. No not Jazz. She’s normal… she’s safe… they don’t want her… they only want me… my fault…my fault…”

When it turned into Danny just repeating “my fault” over and over, Jason knelt beside him. Danny flinched, curled in deeper, but Jason just gently placed his hand on Danny’s shoulder, reminding him quietly of where they were and that he was safe.

It took time, but slowly Danny’s rapid and shallow breathing returned to normal. He looked up at Jason. “Why…? Why are you doing this to me?”

“We didn’t mean to call the government. Everything ever associated with you has had a firewall around it. Oracle can’t break in without alerting them. Why are they after you?”

“Batman and the league called them.”

“I…. They’ve never worked with the government.”

“Right.”

“Seriously.” Danny still looked skeptical Jason raised a hand calmingly. “Okay. Let’s pause that. Why do you think they would call them on you. What happened?”

“There was a lot of… weird and dangerous stuff happening in my town…. With me. I kept calling the league and leaving them messages. First asking for help… then asking for someone to just talk to me… make sure I wasn’t… going to hurt someone. Then the GIW showed up…”

“What does GIW really stand for?”

“We always called them the Guys in White, because that’s all they wore… but..” Danny took a fortifying breath. Jason noticed he was shaking. “Ghost Investigation Ward. See… my parents… were inventors and I accidentally turned myself into a halfa when I fixed something of theirs…”

Jason stared. It was a lot to take in. Bruce wouldn’t have ignored a kid asking for help. Hell, Supes or the Flash could have been there and back in less time than it took him to have a cup of coffee. So many questions ran through Jason’s mind, starting with why had he been the one the universe picked for this? Dick and Tim were both more emotionally available, able to give more than just a ‘there there’ or ‘that’s rough buddy’. Instead of the reasonable questions, like ‘what kind of weird things?’ or ‘what are you capable of?’ Jason just asked “Halfa?”

“Half ghost. Half human. Technically I died in my parents’ basement. But also I didn’t.”

“Is that how you knew it was me?”

“Yeah. Gotham has a little ambient ecto, all the violent deaths here. Not as much as home but, it works. You died once too though, pretty… permanently. But your core was still weak. It’s formed up a lot more with me, but it’s…. Like a fingerprint.”

“I need to tell B. That you’re being hunted by the government guys and why you think it was him and the league that sold you out. He’s going to want to crack the firewall, and probably hear your side of the story himself.”

“Just… when they come give me as much of a heads up as you can. We were… or you pretended we were friends. You owe me that much.”

“If I have to take on those dicks myself, I will. I won’t let them keep hunting you here. Those of us that died but got better have to stick together.”

Danny still looked suspicious. Jason didn’t blame him. “When he cracks the firewall, he’s going to learn who I really am. If…. If he wants me to trust him, I need to know who he really is.” Danny eventually said, quietly. Jason didn’t blame him.

“I’ll tell him that.” Jason didn’t know what Bruce would say to that. He assumed the answer would be as close to ‘No fucking way in any hell that exists or was ever imagined’ as Bruce got. But he would ask.

Danny nodded. Seeming smaller and way older than he should. Looking like a man that hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in years. Like every drop of anything worth anything had been wrung out of him. Jason knew that feeling. He wanted to make Danny feel safe again. If Danny really did try to avoid hurting people, he deserved safety.

He could have outed Jason to the whole town. He didn’t. Jason thought that was something. “I’ll talk to him.” Jason promised again.

#writing #fanfiction #danny fenton #danny phantom #dc x dp #dpxdc #jason todd #red hood #dp dc crossover #batman #batfam #dead on main

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idkwhatimdoinghere1655 · 14 days ago

Note

GASP are my eyes deceiving me or is there a chapter of that beloved lando nerd series set to come out today!!????

(7) Too Much - Lando Norris

Lando's feelings had been festering for a while now, and he was sure that it wouldn't be long before he caved and told you every intricate detail about how much he liked you. He had planned out monologue after monologue to say to you when he eventually plucked up the courage, but he always found himself chickening out at the last minute.

It nearly scared him with how many times he replayed your day off in his mind, those few precious hours that he spent with you had quickly become burned into the front of his brain and had stayed there like a scar. But, saying something didn't feel like something he was ready to do. Every time he came up with something to say, it didn't feel right.

Plus, with your exams looming ever closer, he didn't want to add more to your plates. If you said yes, all he'd be able to think about is you and finally getting to be yours. If you said no, then he would be kicking himself for reading the situation wrong and ruining the friendship he so dearly cherished.

It was very easy for him to pick up on the clear signs of stress that you had been exhibiting over the past few weeks. You retreated to the library even more often than usual, you weren't as open to going out with him on the weekends, you didn't even pick up the phone half the time.

And, when you did, he couldn't get much out of you since you were so focused on your revision. at least the flashcard holder he had made when you nearly sliced your fingers off was getting used. He admired your work ethic, and he knew that he could never be as dedicated as you were, but that didn't stop him from worrying. There was every chance that you were pushing yourself way too far, and he was waiting to see you crash and burn.

It wasn't like that was what he was wanting, since all he ever wanted was the best for you, but he thought it was inevitable at this point.

You, on the other hand, weren't worried about your wellbeing in the slightest. All you were worried about was exams. Everything that you had learned throughout your time at high school had led up to this moment, and now you just had to put it all into practice.

Everyone was sure that you would fly through with no questions asked, since that was what you had always done. But there were always the demons in the back of your mind, telling you that this time would be different and that you wouldn't quite do as well as you were supposed to do.

Currently, you were sitting in the library with an earphone in the ear turned away from the librarian and your phone propped up in a book so that she couldn't see. You were cracking on with biology, finishing off another past paper.

You had been smashing them every time, but you were always scared of ruining that pattern on the day of the exam. Lando knew where you were, as he tended to, so he brought himself up to see you during the final half of lunch.

You were great to study with since you were so focused and wouldn't distract him, and he knew he would feel guilty if he distracted you and broke you out of your mindset. You didn't notice him at first, too engrossed in your revision to sense him.

Lando was a little stuck on what to do, not wanting to sit there like a lemon but also not wanting to be the thing to pull you out of your focus. "Hey," he quietly said, hoping to not startle you.

"Oh, hey. Didn't see you," you slightly smiled, but he could tell it was forced. It was that smile you did when you were trying to pretend like everything was fine and you were trying to get him not to ask what the matter was. You both knew it was futile, and he hated that you even made the effort to fool him.

"Have you had lunch?" he asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear it from your mouth. This was another one of your bad habits you displayed when you were stressed: you didn't eat. It wasn't that you were actively trying to starve yourself, but you often got so caught up with your work that taking care of yourself often went further down your list of priorities.

"No. Not hungry," you said, avoiding his gaze and focusing back on your paper. Lando knew you were stubborn, and he knew you would shrug him off at every given opportunity, but he wasn't going to let it slide that easily.

"Come on, we're going to get you some lunch." he said, his tone not leaving any room for argument. If you were wanting to be stubborn, then Lando could be too. Before you had a chance to protest, he had snagged your paper from in front of you and stuffed it into his bag.

The scowl that formed on your face was nothing short of adorable, but that wasn't meant to be what he was thinking about right now. "Let's go, or you'll just have to sit here and do nothing for the next half an hour. Choice is yours."

Huffing to yourself, you relented. If you sat there and weren't productive, you would be mad at yourself for the rest of the day. If anything, going with Lando was simply damage control. You were figuring out how to limit the amount of anxiety you'd be feeling later in the day.

"You go and find a bench outside, and I am going to go and get you some food from the canteen. Before you decide to have a hissy fit, I know you won't pick something good for you or filling enough, and I know what you like." he explained with a smug smirk.

Lando led you out of the library and downstairs to where all of the outdoor benches were, leaving you to sit down. One thing that you could never take away from Lando was that he was very good at caring for you. He somehow always knew exactly what you needed, even if you didn't ever want to admit it to yourself.

When he was like this, it always took you back to the day when you were sick. It was like doting on you like a mother hen came so naturally to him. You knew he'd be an amazing first boyfriend, since he was already acting like one. Caring, protective, a gentleman, handsome as ever - all of which being qualities that would be the perfect guy in your mind.

All of it just made you like him more, but you didn't have the time or energy to put into a relationship right now.

Sometimes, it was like the two of you were just avoiding your relationship at all costs. In your heads, you both made excuses as to why it was a bad idea or why it wasn't the right time to start anything with each other. The longer you put it off, the more time ran out before you left school. Before you knew it, you'd both be out of highschool, then sixth form and straight to uni, both left thinking about the 'what ifs' and if you had let the love of your lives slip through your fingers. But those were some very deep thoughts for 16 year olds.

While you were stewing away with your thoughts, Lando made his return with a brown box of food for you. "I just got you a toastie and some chips. I know how you love those frozen, precut potatoes." he smiled, pushing the box towards you.

"Thanks," you weakly smiled, starting to pick at the chips. Lando's grin faltered as he saw how much your appetite had taken a hit during exam season. He knew it was normal for people to lose their appetite when they were feeling stressed, but he never saw you eat anything anymore. At least you were trying.

After a few minutes of silence, Lando spoke up. "How about we do something this weekend? We could go for lunch, take a walk in the park?" he suggested, watching a small frown come on your face. He was preparing for you to say no, and he was dreading it.

He knew it wasn't because you didn't want to spend time with him. Every second that you didn't spend revising was more stressful than the last, but he wasn't about to let you spend the entirety of your weekend holed up in your room. "Please?" he said, observing as you weighed the ideas up in your mind.

"We can go to the library." you stated, not leaving much room for argument. It wouldn't have been his first choice, his second, or even his third, but it would do for now. It was something, at least.

"The one in town?" he wanted to confirm, but he knew that you spent a lot of your time at the library, even on the weekends.

"Yeah, that one." you nodded, taking a small bite out of the toastie. It was as good as school food could get, but you did love it for some weird reason. On a normal day, you would have finished the whole thing and wished for more afterwards, but today you were struggling to get through any of it.

Finishing as much of it as you could, you passed the box to Lando. The boy had an appetite like you couldn't believe, and you knew he could polish it off with zero problems. He didn't want to eat it, but he knew you weren't going to and he didn't want to waste it.

As soon as he had taken the last bite, you stood up and were ready to go back to the library. "Hey, slow down." Lando laughed, tossing the box into a nearby bin. "Let's take it easy, OK?" he said, slowly taking you on the long route to the library.

Your teachers had made you all too aware of the signs and repercussions of burn-out, knowing that your brain couldn't handle the amount of information that you were trying to stuff into it for the prolonged amount of time that you were trying to do it over. Lando was feeling like he was at a loss the more he looked at you with how tired you always were.

Lando wanted to talk to you, to tell you to have a break before you had a breakdown, but he knew it would be futile. The best he could do was offer his company and take care of you the best he could. He also had his own exams to think about, though.

He was struggling to balance his worries for you combined with his own studies, since he needed good grades just as much as you did. Lando had never worked as hard as you had, he knew that, but it didn't mean he didn't want to do well. You had inspired him to be better, to try harder. His academics had become a lot more important to him since he had met you, even if it was better late than never.

He was a bit stuck as to what to do with you as you sat back down in your chair in the library and expectantly looked at him. Right, your paper. Retrieving the papers out of his bag, he handed the slightly crumpled sheets to you. "Please don't work too hard..." he mumbled, knowing that you weren't going to listen.

This was how he spent the coming days: following you to the library like a lost puppy, forcing you to eat something by taking your revision off of you. It felt like the best he could do given the situation. Finally, Saturday rolled around and his mum dropped him off at the library.

He had told her how much pressure you were putting on yourself, and she tried to get him to worry less about you and more about his own exams. Lando was finally doing well for once, and he didn't want to ruin it when it finally counted.

His predicted grades had increased massively since he had met you, and he knew he could actually achieve them. So, he was currently walking on the very fine line between making his complete academic comeback and keeping your sanity somewhat stable.

Lando knew that you would have already gotten there early so that you could cram in some extra revision, so he decided to head straight in instead of bothering to message you and ask if you were there yet.

Just as suspected, you were at your usual table in the corner, headphones on and pen scribbling across your past paper. "Hey," he whispered so that he wouldn't disturb the other library-goers.

You sent him a small smile, but he felt like it got smaller each time he saw it. It was like the spark you always had was dimmed, and he was trying to find a way to reignite it to the fire that used to burn in your eyes.

You didn't say anything for about an hour, and Lando had had it. "Come on, we're going." he said, standing up to pack his stuff up. He wasn't going to get anything done while you were sat there looking miserable, anyway.

"Why?"

"Because you need a break and I know you won't have one unless I make you." Lando sighed, a hint of pleading in his eyes. He was right. He was completely right. You needed a break, and it was becoming painfully obvious that you needed a break.

You didn't feel like yourself anymore. You barely slept because you were so worried about your impending exams. You barely ate because the nervousness kept gnawing away at you. You barely even enjoyed spending time with Lando anymore, and that was really saying something.

If you were being honest, Lando was the only thing keeping you going. He was always there with a smile and he knew exactly what to do to make you feel better. Nobody knew you quite like he did, and it was rather impressive.

Despite what your brain was telling you to do, you caved and packed your things away. The almost smug grin that crossed Lando's face never failed to make your heart skip a beat. "Where are we going?" you asked once you had left the library.

"We are going to the park and you are going to relax. Simple." he told you, his tone leaving no room for argument. You didn't really have the energy to fight with him either - your brain was completely fried.

Lando was glad that you weren't arguing with him, your stubbornness waning ever so slightly. Leading you through town and into the local park, he located a bench and sat the two of you down on it. "So, talk to me, how are you? And don't lie to me, you know I know you better than that." he teased. You were slightly annoyed by how well he knew you, but you also were smarter than to lie to his face.

"I'm just stressed. GCSEs are big things, you know? Sixth form depends on this and universities look at them too. There's a lot riding on this. And Miss Kennedy has that stupid recap test on Monday, which is ridiculous to get us to do now, of all times." you huffed, and you were absolutely adorable.

"You do realise that a silly little maths test is nothing to you?" Lando said, trying to boost your confidence. He knew you had the tendency to make things seem bigger than they were, and it's not like the mini maths test was going to throw everything into jeopardy.

"Yeah but it's just extra stress that I don't need." you grumbled, looking down at your feet while you subconsciously rubbed at the scars on your finger, which was a habit that you had picked up since the accident.

"I know you want to do well, and I know you will, but you can't keep pushing yourself like this. It's just not good for you." Lando softly said, hoping that him of all people would be able to get through to you. You stayed silent, which was a good sign. You were thinking.

"You're so clever that you can literally be whoever you want to be. And, on the very, very off chance that things don't go 100% as you want it, then your school record will more than make up for it. You'll always be the smartest to me, no matter what." he continued, and you still didn't say anything. He was finally making progress.

"If you want, we can bunk sixth form and go traveling and have a blast. Just you and me, and we can do whatever." he laughed, nudging you. Was he laying it on way too thickly? Yes. Yes he was. But did he even care? No.

"Oh yeah? You and me on a world tour, causing trouble and taking names?" you giggled, and God was it good to hear that sound again. It was so sickly sweet like honey, but it was as addictive as a drug. Rays of your personality were seeping through the cracks of the revision wall you had built that was now crumbling, and he was loving every minute of it.

"Damn right," Lando laughed back, and the two of you spent the rest of the time just sitting and talking. It was just like old times, where you were able to sit and talk about everything and nothing as the time effortlessly passed by.

There was no one that he felt more comfortable with, and moments like these reminded him why he like you so much. The main reason was something he had picked up very early in your relationship: you didn't care that he was Lando Norris.

Everyone at school had a preconceived notion about who he was meant to be, but you didn't seem to care. Everything that you had heard about him or had seen of him wasn't something you associated with the real him.

At the same time, you were thinking all the way back to when you first met Lando. You were so convinced that the version you saw was just a character that he had tailored to you so that he could get what he wanted from you. You really thought he was the big bad you had always seen him as around school, but the realisation that it was all real had taken such a massive weight off of your shoulders.

You were both so good with each other, but time was running out. You didn't know if you would be going to the same sixth form, or if Lando would be going at all. He was considering different options depending on the grades that he got. It could have been over just as quickly as you had finally settled again.

Monday had rolled around, and the tension that you had lost by talking things out with Lando over the weekend had come back, and stronger than ever. You knew it hadn't gone well the second that you handed the paper in to Miss Kennedy. Lando thought you were just being silly, that you were panicking like you normally did.

In his opinion, you were going to get an A* and everything would be fine. You knew different, and you had never felt this level of dread before. As suspected, things were not fine as they always tended to be.

Miss Kennedy handed you back your paper later in the week, and you had never felt so useless in your life. 50%. That was a C. You had never gotten a C. Your confidence had already been rocky as of recent, and this didn't help. 'See me after class, please.' Miss Kennedy had scrawled on the top of your paper next to the grade.

Lando kept quiet next to you, his eyes darting between the paper and your face. He saw the tears welling up in your eyes, and all he wanted to do was pull you into his arms and never let you go. It was like you were his piece of fine China, and there was no better way to keep you safe than wrapping you in bubble wrap and keeping you all for himself.

After the bell had rung to signal the end of lesson, Lando walked out with Max, who was asking if he was coming down to the football field for a quick match over break, but he said no and covered it by saying that he wanted to talk to Miss Kennedy about a practice question that he had done once you were gone.

Once the door had closed and Lando was leaning against the wall outside as he waited for you. Miss Kennedy focused all of her attention on you. "I'm not mad, I'm not disappointed, I'm just worried. That grade isn't because you don't know what you're doing, and it has no reflection on what you are going to achieve in your exams."

"That grade isn't because you've been complacent or because you've gotten lazy. That grade is because your brain physically can't keep going at the rate you're going at. A lot of us are worried about you." she said, watching the silent tears run down your cheeks.

"I promise I tried..." you said, your voice cracking as all of the stress overwhelmed you and hit you all at once.

"I know you did, love. I know you did. You are putting way too much pressure on yourself, and it's as plain as day." she sighed, hating the sight of her best student in a long time breaking down in front of her.

Meanwhile, while Lando was stood there, he heard footsteps at the other end of the corridor. Turning his head to the side, he saw Max coming back towards the classroom.

He tried to formulate an excuse in his head, knowing that he couldn't risk Max making assumptions about the two of you. There was no way in hell that he was allowing things to go back to the way they were - he couldn't lose you again.

It hurt him to remember how horrific that period of time was. The endless teasing, the lack of you in his life, the way it felt to see you cry into his mum's arms on your doorstep. "Hey mate, what are you doing?" Max asked, going to open the door to the room.

"Hey, don't. Just wait." Lando said, trying not to rouse suspicion. Max knew him better than that and raised an eyebrow at him.

"I was only going to get my pencil- oh. I see." Max smirked, spotting you through the window while Miss Kennedy spoke to you. "Waiting for your girlfriend, Norris?" he teased, and the bite in his tone was something that Lando hadn't missed.

"I swear to God if you start this again, Max. I just need to talk to Miss about something I didn't understand on the homework, OK?" Lando sighed, and he watched as Max softened slightly. He knew the boy was an absolute arsehole 99% of the time, but there was the niceness that came to the fore 1% of the time. Lando had known Max since they were little, so he knew what his friend was like.

He wasn't a bad guy deep down, he just lacked the common sense and the brain function that was supposed to tell him that the things he said were hurtful. But, his complete disregard of social cues were what made him popular. Lando because of his face and his boyish charm as well as his ability to kick a ball around a field, Max because he was a dick. No wonder they were such good friends.

"Look, man. I know we take the piss, but it's so painfully obvious that you like her. A lot." Max said, sounding a lot more sincere than Lando had ever heard him. "Whether you like it or not, you've just got to go for it. She's all yours, trust me. You've just got to ask." he continued, the sincerity disappearing as soon as the words had left his mouth. "And maybe you'll finally get to kiss a girl," he laughed, pivoting to walk back down the corridor.

Lando should have known that the probity wouldn't last long. It wasn't like Max could say much, all he had done was kiss a girl at a party, and he had been too chicken shit to say anything to her afterwards. "Grab my pencil while you're with Y/N- I mean talking to Miss Kennedy!" he hollered down the corridor, before disappearing out of sight.

Lando shifted on the wall outside, and Miss Kennedy spotted him out of the corner of her eye. She had been conspiring for a long time about the status of yours and Lando's relationship, but there wasn't much speculation to be had. It was laid out for her, plain and simple.

She wasn't really allowed to hug you with the possible threat of it being deemed inappropriate, but she was also aware of the fact that neither you or Lando would say anything. All it took would be the wrong person to walk by, but all she saw was a young lady with the whole world ahead of her but too much stress shackling her down and taking away her ability to be the shining star she was.

Lando sighed as he saw Miss Kennedy hug you, just like he had when his mum had hugged you all that time ago. Yet again, he was an outside looking in as you cried in someone's arms when he so badly longed for them to be his own.

"Is Lando waiting for you or is he waiting for me?" Miss Kennedy chuckled as she saw him still there, watching your encounter. You gave her a small smile as you stepped out of the hug, and that was all she needed to know. "I'll leave you two be," she said, departing the room and giving Lando a look that told him it was his turn to do the consoling.

The second that he could, he was through the door and had crossed the room in a few paces. "Hey... it's OK, it doesn't matter," he whispered in your ear, wrapping his arms around you while he let you rest your weight on him. He was desperately trying to come up with a way to get you see that everything was going to be fine and that you were worrying over nothing, but even Lando didn't know what would do it.

It was like you were an Olympic swimmer who had suddenly started stressing out about a county swim meet - there was no doubt you'd be the best there, but you were still letting it get to your head. Lando wondered what made you so stressed out, because there were plenty of smart people like you who weren't worried about the exams at all.

The best conclusion he had ever come to was that you were just so hellbent on doing well that you put too much pressure on yourself. He always thought that there was more under the surface, but he never had any evidence to back it up. Lando felt like a detective, but instead of solving murders, he was trying to get to the bottom of the mysterious case of your lack of self belief.

"I messed up..." you mumbled into his chest.

"I know, but it's fine. You're still amazing, you're still the smartest person I know. This is just a one off," he rambled, pulling anything out of his mind that could possibly make you feel better. "You're a star."

"But what if I'm not? What if it's all just been plain sailing because it's not as hard as GCSE and I'm not actually that good and now it's hard, I'm just shit and-" you breathlessly rattled out, and Lando wasn't having anything.

There was no way in hell that he was going to stand there and listen to you say that about yourself, absolutely no way. He was not going to let the beautiful, funny, genius girl that he was so irrevocably obsessed with talk about herself like that.

"No. Stop it." he firmly said, pulling back so that he could look you in the eyes. They were glossed over with unshed tears, a bit like how some vases marble. The colours in your irises were almost distorted against the pearly whites of your eyes. He wiped away the tears that were trickling down your cheeks with his blazer sleeve, but they were replaced just as quickly.

"I am not listening to any more of that shit, OK? You are so clever, but somehow you are also really dumb if you think that you aren't going to get the best grades." he said, and he was well aware that he was being a bit too harsh. But being soft with you clearly wasn't working.

"How do you know that?" you countered, and now he was getting frustrated. He was struggling to stop himself from snapping at you, so much so that he failed.

"Listen to yourself! This is the first bad grade that you've ever gotten, which isn't even that bad, and you're acting like it's the end of the world!" Lando raved, and he instantly regretted it. He was beyond annoyed that you were completely unable to give yourself any credit for anything you ever did.

Even when he first met you it was blaringly obvious how you didn't see value in anything but perfection when it came to yourself and the standards you held yourself to. He'd never met anyone so obsessed with faultlessness. He just hated how much you put yourself down.

You were the sun that lit up his day, but all you saw yourself as was the dying embers of a small star, slowly fading out of existence as the gas ran out. He felt bad for getting angry, but you were practically his world. Everything he did, he did with you in mind.

Every time he revised, he thought of how proud you would be that he was actually doing work. Every time he played football with his friends or for the team, he thought about the smile on your face as you sat in the stands as you watched him. Every time he thought about the future, you were right there with him.

He thought that he might love you too much, but he wasn't even sure if what he felt for you was love. He didn't know what love was, which was expected at his bold age of 16. He was only used to fleeting crushes that he would never do anything about, but here he was.

"OK, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." he doubled back, softening instantly when he saw the look on your face. You knew he didn't mean it, but it didn't make it hurt any less. As much as you hated to admit it to yourself, you knew that it was true. Lando was right. It wasn't the end of the world.

You had just gotten so used to being the best that you kept putting mountains of pressure on yourself to maintain the standard. "C'mere..." he mumbled, bringing you back into his embrace. "I just get so frustrated when you don't see how brilliant you are."

The two of you stayed there, his chin on your head as you were snuggled into his chest with his hand roaming randomly around your back. Lando couldn't tell you how long had passed, and you couldn't tell him either, but it still didn't seem like enough time when the bell rang.

"Can I walk you?" he asked, preparing for you to shoot the idea down and say no. The last thing you needed right now was to face the wrath of the other kids in your year because of being near Lando. But, spending time with him was worth it.

"Sure," you smiled, wiping the final remnants of tears away from your face and trying to ignore the red rings that would undoubtedly be around your eyes.

"Spanish, yeah?" he asked, although he already knew. He was in chemistry in the science block next door, and you were so close to leaving school that he didn't really care about being a minute or two late to class. Before you left, he went to retrieve Max's pencil as they were in the same class and he could give it back to him.

He saw the looks that people gave you in the halls, but none of them dared to say anything. They knew they would get an earful from Lando if he were to catch them talking about you, and that was something they were all keen to avoid.

Once Lando had dropped you and started briskly walking to chemistry. And that was when you saw it. Well, her. Lilly.

She hadn't been in for a few days, but after Lando had fully rejected her countless times, she had stopped trying. She had also stopped hassling you completely. Even in class, she didn't speak to you. It was for the best for both of you. She had finally accepted, albeit begrudgingly, that Lando had chosen you, and someone hadn't fallen for her fakery.

When Lando walked into chemistry and handed Max his pencil, his friend was back to being sincere, for at least a few moments. "How was your talk with Miss Kennedy?" he teased again, but he was lacking the malice this time around.

"Fine. I think I've sorted it." Lando played along, leaning against Max's desk while the last few students trickled in. He put the pencil down, just to make a point that he had gotten it.

"Maybe you'll finally get laid." Max laughed, unable to stop himself from going back into the horny teenage boy mentality.

"I'll get laid before you will, and that is a promise. You're too much of a dick."

"More like I've got too much dick." Max retorted, and Lando looked horrified with a mix of disgust yet hidden amusement. He was more mature than Max, and he did find his remark somewhat funny, but he wasn't giving him the satisfaction.

Before Lando could respond, he heard his teacher snap at him from the front of the room. "Lando, you've had all break to chat, get to your seat." she said. If only she knew that he had spent his break doing anything but chatting to Max. He had spent it with his favourite person.

The lesson was only revision, and he knew most of it from being taught it by you. It was the same rinse and repeat with most of his lessons, and he struggled to understand how good you were at teaching him. Maybe it was just because he could listen to you all day, and paying attention to you was one of his most developed talents.

The next week came, and it was finally time for you to leave high school officially for study leave throughout the exam period. You were all piled into the hall, sat in rows like sardines as you looked at the whiteboard.

The teachers gave a few different but wildly boring speeches, and all Lando could focus on was you. You were sat to his left and on the row in front of him, ready with your pens in your hand for people to sign your leavers shirt.

You were one of those people who everyone knew, but likely had never spoken to you during their time through high school. After a particularly boring talk from your headteacher about being upstanding citizens and the importance of working hard, you were allowed to go and mingle.

You had gotten your shirt signed by all of the people you wanted to remember, like your friends and your teachers. You were standing in the corner, waiting for Lando to come over after everyone had gotten what they wanted from him.

It made you smile, for some reason. He had everyone in the palm of his hand, even though he could be a jerk at times, just like his friends. He grinned, wrote stupid messages on his friends shirts, just signed his name on the people who just wanted their shirt signed by Lando Norris.

A tap on the shoulder put you out of your thoughts. Turning to the side, you saw Lilly. "Erm... hi?" you said, failing at hiding the confusion sparked by her presence.

"I... I... look, I'm sorry, OK?" she said, and she actually look... sincere? She didn't seem like she was lying, it didn't seem like her usual act. "I was awful to you, and it's all because I was jealous. You do dumb shit when you really like someone," she mumbled, as if she was scared of anyone hearing her apologise.

"I... wow. Thank you for the apology." was all you were able to say. You had so many questions, but you had the feeling that her guard would go straight up at any sign of resistance from you. "I'd be pretty upset if the guy I liked was wanting someone else too."

"You're really lucky." she said, the flash of jealousy in her eyes was easy to spot. "Please could you sign my shirt?" she blurted out, and you knew it was her attempt at making amends. You weren't going to kick her while she was down, so you signed your name on her back, complete with a note that you weren't sure she'd ever read.

Just as she had signed your shirt as well and you were just stood with each other, Lando saw the obnoxiously blonde hair out of the corner of his eyes and strode over at once. "Hey, no." you said to him, and that was all it took to disarm him.

He knew you were saying 'no' to his thought that Lilly was here for one final jab at you, but she meekly smiled at you and walked off. "She just... apologised." you told him, and his jaw fell slack even at the notion that Lilly had the capability to apologise.

"Yeah, and pigs can fly," he scoffed, thinking that you were just trying to be nice and avoid any sort of negative feelings.

"No, seriously. Look," you told him, turning around and pointing in the general area of where Lilly had signed your shirt. Her name was there in pink sharpie, and she had written a note to you too. 'I didn't mean any of it. You're not a friendless, doormat kiss ass. You're pretty cool - Lilly x'

"Well that is something I never thought I would ever see," Lando said, shaking his head. "And now, it is my turn."

He took your orange coloured pen and found a pretty empty spot on your left shoulder blade to write on. He was writing for a pretty long time considering the limited space and that most people just signed their names and moved on, but you didn't expect much different. "Read it when you get home." he instructed.

"Turn around," you told him, and he knew it was his turn. There wasn't much space on him, since so many people had wanted to put their name on him. There was the most space on his right sleeve, so that would just have to do.

You also wrote a note on him. "Read it when you get home," you mimicked, and all he could do was chuckle. You could always make his heart do somersaults and get his stomach to turn itself into knots with the simplest things.

"How are you getting home?" he asked, slipping his leavers hoodie over his head as he saw people filtering out of the main doors for one final time. He hoped you'd say that you were walking, or that you were getting the bus so that he could take you home.

"My grandma is coming to get me," you said, and that was not the answer he was wanting. But, he would have to deal with it.

"I'll see you in maths, OK? Don't work too hard." he instructed.

"Me? Work too hard? Never!" you cackled as you walked away from him. Damnit, you always had to make him smile, even when he was being serious.

---

Your grandma had dropped you off home and left, leaving you in the empty house as usual. The first thing you did was take off your leavers shirt so that you could see what Lando had written on the back. His handwriting seemed to have gotten worse since your days of plagiarising it, but maybe that was because he was writing standing up.

'You may not always believe in yourself, but I always will. You're always going to be a superstar to me, no matter what happens. If there's anyone who can do this, it's you. Always here if you need me, nerd. Never forget that.' he had written.

For some reason, his words made you emotional. You had never had someone so firm in their belief in you other than teachers. Lando genuinely thought you could do it, and that meant more to you than you could ever express. That boy was something else.

---

Lando and his family had gone out for dinner after they had picked him up for school to celebrate him leaving, and he was waiting until he got home to read what you had written about him. He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, looking a the writing on his sleeve.

'We've been through it, haven't we Norris? But, for some reason, you just won't give up. I told you to work harder to get an A, and you did. I guess I won't have to tell you to go harder after all ;)' you had written.

Lando felt his cheeks redden at the note, a sudden wave of embarrassment washing over him. He don't know what possessed him to say that to you on your second proper conversation, and he hadn't been reminded of it until now. He was glad you had taken it in good spirit, or else he would have been in very different standings with you right now.

Even after all that, he hadn't given up. You knew it, and so did he. But you were worth the relentless pursuit. You were worth everything he had to give. And that was how he knew he had to do something that he had been contemplating since he realised he liked you.

---

A week had passed by, and it was finally time for your first ever GCSE exam: maths. Both you and Lando walked side by side, only stopping just before you went into the exam hall. "This is piss easy, yes? You're amazing, you're unstoppable, maths is your thing." Lando encouraged, and you felt a boost of confidence.

The two of you sat in your seats, and the invigilator told you that you could start. Even looking at the first page made you feel sick to your stomach, but you remembered Lando's words. You remembered standing in the class after Mrs Kennedy had left while he told you everything you needed to hear, you remembered his little pep talk that he had given before you went in.

You could picture the note that he had written for you in your mind so clearly, so you were able to keep calm and crack on.

Lando got to the question about cumulative frequency, and he remembered to plot against the end point - just like you had told him during your first ever conversation. He was able to finish the paper with time to spare and check through his answers, all because you had taught him the best ways to do things.

Exams came and went, and it was finally time for a week long break before another 2 weeks of exams. Only then could you have your 11 weeks of summer. You and Lando had just come out of physics paper one, and were heading into town to get a milkshake and take a stroll through the park to celebrate making the halfway point.

You were happy to have a break, but Lando was nearly sweating due to how nervous he was. Because he was going to have a conversation with you. A conversation that he had thought long and hard about having. A conversation that he had been wanting to have with you for a long while.

Lando was going to ask you to prom. It was scheduled to be after your GCSEs were over, and you had told him a bit about the dress shopping experience. But, he had been desperate to ask you, and he was finally going to do it. You sat down at the cafe that had the best milkshakes in town, and he went to order and pay for both of them. It was a habit that he had, and it was just his instinct.

Once you had been served your shakes and you were talking about one of your Spanish exams, Lando interrupted you. "Can I ask you something?" he asked, his heart pounding in his chest. Was he really doing this right now? Was he actually asking the girl that he'd been pining over for ages to prom?

"Sure," you said, skeptical yet curious.

"OK, so... erm... wow... so..." he stuttered. The words were right on the tip of his tongue, but something in his head wasn't allowing them to spill past his lips.

"Hey, what's-"

"Will you go to prom with me?" he blurted out, watching as your eyes widened and the goofiest smile spread across your face. That was when he knew it was all worth it. That smile, that light in your eyes told him everything he needed to know.

"I... oh my God... yes. Fucking hell, Lando. Yes." you gushed, containing the squeal of excitement that wasn't suitable for a cafe environment. You didn't even take any time to think about it, and you didn't need to. Saying no was never an option. You couldn't believe it. After all this time, after all you had been through, after all you had said, he was asking you to prom.

Could it have been as a friend? Yes, there was every chance that it could have been, but you knew it wasn't. Lando fucking Norris had just asked you to go to prom. The guy who had once been the schools most popular, who you had once thought of as a massive dickhead, the one who you were terrified to be seen with had just asked you to prom, and there was no version in any timeline in any universe where you said no.

"As my date, yeah?" he asked, just to confirm. He had finally asked you, and he wasn't having it be as friends. Whatever chemistry that was bubbling between the two of you was never anything friendly.

"Of course I will, there's nothing I'd like more," you giggled, the smile on your face was absolutely infectious. That gorgeous smile that he would move mountains to get a glimpse of was on full display, and it was all because of him. All because he had finally plucked up the courage to do something he should have done a very long time ago.

Getting here had taken you a while, but that didn't matter to either of you now. You weren't stressing yourself out to the point of it being unhealthy, exams were almost over, and you were going to prom. Together.

"So am I meeting you there or...?" you trailed off, not sure on how this was going to work.

"I want to go with you. I'm borrowing some fancy car off one of my dad's friends, so I can pick you up if you haven't arranged anything?"

"Now that sounds like a plan," you smiled. You could just picture it now: Lando looking unbelievably handsome in his suit while you enjoyed your first outing with romantic intent. It was better late than never.

Lando's heart was soaring. He was going to get to spend his prom night with you as his date, and he had no doubt that you were going to be the most breathtaking thing that he had ever laid his eyes on. Lando could finally keep you all to himself, all his and no one else's.

Things were all falling into place, and he wouldn't change it for the world.

A/N - Your eyes do not deceive you! Finally, after 7 whole parts of this, after around 48k words and a whole lot of teasing, they have finally crossed the platonic/romantic line. Let me know what you would like to see in part 8 of this series! I'd really appreciate it if you could give this a reblog. <3

Also, this is very loosely based off of a song that I am obsessed with by a man that I am obsessed with called Alfie Jukes. The song 'Too Much' is off of his new EP (All Dressed Up For Nothing), and I will definitely be writing something based off of the EP like I did with Five Seconds Flat (I know it's not finished, I'm getting there). Go listen to Alfie Jukes, Eyes Wide has me in a chokehold. Anyway, thank you so much for reading and have a wonderful day/night. Love y'all 💖

|masterlist|the full series|

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula 1 x reader #f1 imagines #formula 1 imagines #f1 x y/n #formula 1 x y/n #lando norris #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris imagines #ln4 #ln4 x y/n #ln4 x reader #ln4 x you #ln4 imagines

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houseofaegon · 26 days ago

Text

ENCHANTRESS ╱ BOB REYNOLDS SERIES

✷ ─── +18 MINORS DNI 𓏲 ◟ ♡ ˖ ࣪ emotional trauma, mentions of death/grief, witchcraft, blood magic, violence, necromancy, ritual magic, body horror (mechanical corpses), mental manipulation, emotional intensity and tension, supernatural possession, canon-typical violence, found family themes, bucky being a big brother, psychological instability (enchantress/void dynamic), unspoken desire, sexual tension (non-explicit), battle trauma.

✷ ─── AUTHOR'S NOTE. i cooked served and ate yall!!! damn okay chapter 2 came fassssstttttt im so excited and so inspired to write arabella and bob omg ughhh i love my babies. my soul probably left my body while writing this chapter because wtf just happened!! i'm sick. i want void so bad and i'm so obsessed with the whole enchantress x void dynamic filled with sexual tension and obsession and need. and yet they still haven't even touched each other. i'm crying. i'm pacing. i'm shaking with anticipation and anxiety. all of the above. we're already deep into the spiritual feral monsterfucker territory and i fear it's only gonna get worse from here. void is obsessed with enchantress, and i am obsessed with them both. i'm unwell. grab your tea, your candles, your crystals because it's about to get darker and hungrier. more chapters coming soon!! i love you all smm and thank you for letting me being unhinged and insane and always cheering for what i write. i appreciate you all so so so so damn much. thank you for reading and giving this unhinged little series a chance. love always, bri.

✷ ─── ENCHANTRESS SERIES. chapter one: beauty in tragedy. chapter two: the devil you know. chapter three: the witch. chapter four: moonlit waters. chapter five: divine hunger. chapter six: to burn & be burned. chapter seven: of teeth & tenderness. chapter eight: bound by blood. chapter nine: ashes between us. chapter ten: salt in the wound. chapter eleven: blood moon. chapter twelve: whispers in the dark. chapter thirteen: the witch and the void.

Life in the Watchtower was easy.

Or maybe Arabella just made it look that way.

Two weeks in, and she was already barefoot in the hallways, leaving salt trails behind her like breadcrumbs. Crystals littered every windowsill and shelf. Vinyls spun on her old record player each morning, Fleetwood Mac echoing through the tower as she cooked breakfast barefoot—black silk robe, bedhead curls, and a wooden spoon in her hand like a wand.

The lights stopped flickering when she passed. The air smelled like herbs and something sweeter. The walls stopped groaning. Dead plants came back to life.

It wasn't magic.

Or maybe it was.

She adapted faster than Bucky ever thought she would.

He’d built her a room the day she arrived—no questions, no ceremony. Just like Tony had done years ago. It wasn’t as high-tech, but it was safe. Warded. Quiet. Full of windows and her favorite things. And it felt just the same.

Felt like home.

Arabella had looked at it once, eyes shining just slightly, and said, “You remembered the salt in the corners.”

And Bucky had replied, “Of course I did.”

Because he did remember. All of it.

The way she couldn’t sleep without her crystals arranged just so. The smell of her cleansing incense, like pine and burnt clove. The soft hum of her chants in the dark, the way she muttered in Spanish when she was half-dreaming.

She slipped back into his world like she’d never left.

Yelena adored her.

Of course she did.

From the first day, they were chaos and fire, two halves of the same wicked coin. They sparred in the gym, Arabella casting misdirection charms mid-fight while Yelena laughed and tackled her anyway.

They had a running tally written in chalk on the kitchen wall. Yelena: 6. Arabella: 7. The last win was a draw, after they both ended up hexed, bruised, and breathless with laughter.

At night, they painted each other’s nails in wine-dark colors and gossiped in three languages. They danced barefoot on the roof under the moon, music blasting, hips swaying, Arabella’s dark hair catching the light like smoke.

“You’re my favorite war crime,” Yelena whispered one night, drunk on cheap vodka and found sisterhood.

“Right back at you,” Arabella replied, clinking their glasses together.

Ava was different. Quieter. Sharper. But not distant. She didn’t speak much—but with Arabella, she sat.

They trained together in silence, matched in precision and grace. Arabella stitched protective sigils into Ava’s gloves and never mentioned it. Ava slipped her protein bars and flowers in return and said, once, quietly, “Your presence is... grounding.”

Arabella had smiled, slow and soft. “So is yours.”

Sometimes they sat on the balcony together, watching the sun rise. Neither said a word. Neither needed to.

Alexei was absurd and endearing.

He doted on her like a second daughter—called her "my little shadow witch" and brought her strange, wonderful gifts from his past: pocket knives with history, books with blood-stained corners, a hand-painted flask from the Soviet years.

He taught her how to shoot with antique pistols even though she didn’t need to.

She taught him how to ward his whiskey with a hangover charm.

Once, she asked him why he always brought her things.

“Because daughters should have gifts,” he said with a shrug. “And you? You are special. You are mine now.”

She’d laughed and hugged him, just long enough to make him sniffle and pretend it was allergies.

Walker surprised her.

Not because he was charming. Because, honestly, he wasn't. He was irritating, loud, too rigid, always a little bit out of sync with her energy.

But there was something… earnest beneath it. Something human.

They argued constantly.

She called him Walmart Captain America or Walker-Red-Flag. He called her Witchypoo in retaliation. But there was a rhythm to it. A low hum of mutual tolerance that slowly grew into something more.

She read his tarot one night after he muttered something about not believing in “that bullshit.”

The next morning, he left an extra cup of coffee on the table for her. Black. Just how she liked it.

He still groaned when she walked into a room.

But he always walked in after her.

And then, there was Bob.

Bob Reynolds, who barely spoke above a whisper.

Bob, who watched her like he was trying not to fall apart. Like he already had.

He was quiet. Almost scared of her at first—not in a way that made her bristle, but in a way that made her ache. He looked at her like he knew she could destroy him.

And he kept showing up anyway.

Bob started coming to her room after midnight.

He started sitting with her at night. Quietly. Without words. She’d be pulling her tarot cards under the moonlight, charging her crystals on the sill, Stevie Nicks humming in the background—and Bob would just be there, reading a book in her chair.

Sometimes he fell asleep on her couch. Curled up like he was afraid he’d take up too much space. She never told him to leave. He never asked to stay. They didn’t talk about it.

But he started bringing his own mug for her tea. Started asking her what the cards meant when she shuffled them slow, eyes half-lidded with sleep.

He never touched her. Never tried. But he looked at her like she was something holy. Like she was the only thing in the world that made sense.

And the Enchantress?

She whispered. Not in hunger. Not in warning. But in awe.

“He sees us.”

Arabella didn’t answer. She never did. But she felt it—deep in her bones, under her skin, in the quiet hum of her breath when Bob looked up from his book and met her eyes.

There was no fear there. Not anymore. Just… recognition.

Like they were made of the same broken thing.

And when he fell asleep on her couch, breath even and hands unclenched, she watched the rise and fall of his chest and whispered ancient words beneath her breath—not to keep him out.

But to keep him safe.

One night he broke the quiet.

“What does it mean,” he asked softly, “when—when the uh, cards keeps showing up upside down?”

Arabella didn’t look up. She was lighting a candle. Her fingers moved with purpose.

“It depends on the card,” she murmured. “But usually? It means something’s resisting.”

Bob swallowed.

She glanced up then, sharp and knowing. “Are you resisting, Bob?”

He didn’t answer. But inside his mind, The Void stirred.

“She’s not afraid of you,” it whispered. “She’d let us in.”

Bob’s breath hitched.

Arabella tilted her head. “You okay?”

He nodded once. Too fast.

She smirked. “Liar.”

The Void purred.

“She’s ours,” it whispered slowly. “Let me speak to her. Just once. Let me see how much her darkness glows.”

Bob gritted his teeth. Looked away.

Arabella didn’t press. She just reached out and gently placed a crystal in his palm—warm from her skin.

“For when it gets too loud,” she said.

Bob didn’t let go. Not for a long time.

Three months had already passed, and life seemed easier for Arabella. The kind of ease that came slowly, after years of unrest. The kind that settled in her bones like warm tea and candlelight.

She still walked barefoot through the halls. Still lined doorways with salt. Still played Fleetwood Mac on her record player every morning like it was a ritual—because it was. Still danced under the moonlight like no one was watching, even though Bob always did. She laughed more. Slept better. She was healing, quietly, completely.

But The Enchantress never slept. She whispered, always. A constant thrum beneath Arabella’s skin. Like wind at the back of her neck.

And every time Bob walked into a room—every time his eyes found hers across the kitchen, across the training mat, across the quiet of her candlelit room...

The Enchantress screamed. Not in pain. Not in rage. In want.

“He carries so much darkness and pain in him,” she hissed. “Let me taste it.”

Arabella had kept her buried. Chained beneath crystal grids and ancestral spellwork. But Bob made everything crack open. Bob felt like her. And the Enchantress was starting to see freedom.

Not to destroy him.

To touch him.

To speak to the Void and be spoken to in return.

It was warm in the kitchen. Sunlight spilled across the floor, soft and golden, washing over the table where the team had gathered.

Arabella was humming under her breath, barefoot and wrapped in a black silk robe that fell off one shoulder. Her hair was a halo of curls, her eyes half-lidded with sleep. A record played in the background—Stevie, again.

The table was loud.

Yelena was trying to argue that vodka counted as a breakfast food while simultaneously sneaking bacon off Alexei’s plate.

Walker rolled his eyes. “You people are unhinged.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Ava muttered, sipping her coffee.

Alexei grinned over his mug. “In Russia, we ate meat for breakfast. And sometimes men.”

“Okay, Hannibal,” Yelena shot back.

“Enough,” Bucky said, laughing into his cup. “Let the witch serve the food in peace.”

Arabella smirked as she walked over with a plate of pancakes—perfect, golden, stacked high, topped with warm berries.

Then—she stopped.

Her body went still mid-step.

The plate slipped from her hands. Fell. Shattered against the tile at her feet like a crack in the world. Syrup and fruit and ceramic scattered across the floor.

Silence slammed into the room.

Bucky shot to his feet. “Bells?”

She didn’t answer.

Her eyes glazed—then turned black for the briefest second. A flicker. A flash.

“Arabella.” His voice sharpened. “What’s wrong? Bells, talk to me.”

She blinked slowly. Her voice was barely a breath. “There’s something happening.”

Yelena was on her feet. “Bella—?”

But Arabella was already moving.

She crossed the room like she was sleepwalking—barefoot across shards of porcelain, bleeding but unaware. Her eyes locked on the console in the corner.

The tower’s tech wasn’t hers—but her fingers moved like it was. Smooth. Instinctive. Like the codes were written in her blood.

“Arabella,” Ava said, voice tight. “What are you doing?”

"You're bleeding," Bucky whispered.

She didn’t answer.

Everyone followed—hovering behind her as screens lit up, one by one. Her eyes flickered, scanning feeds, fingers dancing like she wasn’t even thinking.

And then—

The screen froze.

And her heart dropped.

Security footage from an old, sealed-off subway station. Flickering light. Smoke curling from the stone. Runes—her runes—scratched into metal. Twisting. Burning.

And in the far corner—machines.

Half-dead. Half-alive.

Stirring.

Moving.

“Oh my god,” she whispered.

Yelena grabbed her arm. “What is that?”

Arabella stepped back, hand pressed to her lips.

She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream.

But her voice was hollow when she said, “They’re using dark magic. Twisting it.”

Her pulse thudded through the room like a war drum.

Bucky looked at her. “What do we do?”

Arabella turned toward him slowly. Her eyes still rimmed in black. “We stop it,” she said. Her voice was calm.

But the floor beneath her feet had already begun to hum.

The energy was different now. The warmth of the kitchen was gone—snuffed out by what Arabella had seen. What she felt. The shattered plate still lay back on the floor, forgotten. Everyone filed into the briefing room in silence. Even Yelena, usually muttering curses under her breath, said nothing.

Arabella stood at the head of the room now. Not Bucky. Not this time.

The screen behind her glowed—static-edged footage looping in jagged, grainy frames. The subway station. The runes. The machines.

Her runes.

Bucky leaned against the edge of the table, arms crossed. His gaze never left her.

“Tell us,” he said.

Arabella’s jaw was tight. Her hands didn’t shake—but her voice was colder than it had been in months.

“There’s an old network of sealed tunnels under Brooklyn,” she began. “The MTA shut them down decades ago. No access. No cameras. But something got in.”

She clicked the screen forward.

Close-up footage. A sigil burned into metal. Corrupted lines of spellwork. Smoke curling in unnatural shapes.

“This isn’t just tech. It’s necrotic magic—dark, ancient, and bound to blood.” She looked up. “My blood.”

The room went still.

“They’re using resurrection rites. The same one's I learned from my grandmother. Something’s trying to merge death magic with..."

She hesitated. Her hands hovered above the console, fingers trembling.

“Merge it with what, Bells?” Bucky asked gently, stepping forward.

She swallowed. And then she clicked one more frame forward. The screen froze.

A metallic body, half-rebuilt, cables woven through bone, its chestplate still glowing with a dull, rust-colored arc reactor.

Stamped in silver, unmistakable:

Stark Industries.

Arabella’s mouth parted. Her eyes filled instantly. A sharp breath caught in her throat, and her knees wobbled slightly. She reached for the table like it might hold her up. She stared.

At the logo.

At what it meant.

At what it was

And what it wasn’t.

“They’re using his work,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Tony’s work. They’re—he’s gone, and they’re using what he built to… to raise the dead.”

A tear slipped down her cheek.

“I spent years learning how to put spirits to rest. How to honor them. And they’re using his code to trap them. Trap the souls of the dead. To force them back into metal and ash like—like it’s a tool. Like it’s not sacred.”

She shook her head.

“It’s not just my magic,” she breathed. “It’s his name. His legacy. They’re twisting everything.”

Bucky moved without hesitation. He reached out, gently rested a hand on her back. Didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to.

Arabella didn’t cry—not fully. But her shoulders trembled.

And when she finally looked up, her eyes were dark. Not black, not yet.

But close.

“I’m going down there,” she said, voice low. “And I’m burning it to the fucking ground.”

The silence held like breath.

Arabella stood in front of the screen, her shoulders squared, her hands still shaking. Not from fear. But from rage. The kind of fury that lived in bone and had the power to crush them. The kind passed down through the blood of women who had always been told their power was too much.

“We’re going with you,” Bucky said, his voice stern.

Arabella blinked. Her mouth parted. “No,” she said, voice hoarse. “You don’t understand. This magic—it’s not meant for you. It’s old. It’s dark. It’s not made for you.”

She turned to face them all. Her eyes shimmered, rimmed with black. “It wants to hurt. It feeds on what you love. You step into that circle unprotected and it will devour you. I’m the only one who can walk into that circle and survive it. Alone.”

Bucky’s expression didn’t change. His voice didn’t waver.

“You’re not going in alone, Bella.”

She exhaled, sharp. “Bucky—”

“No.” He stepped forward. Firm. Grounded. “We’re a team. A family. And family sticks together.”

Arabella opened her mouth—but Yelena cut in before she could speak.

“You think I’m going to let you crawl into hell without me? Bitch, please.” She crossed her arms. “If you die and I’m not there, I’m going to hex your ghost. Badly.”

Alexei nodded solemnly. “I will bring vodka and blessed grenades.”

Ava’s voice was soft. “I'm in."

Walker looked like he wanted to protest. Arabella raised an eyebrow.

He immediately nodded. “I’ll… drive.”

Arabella almost laughed. Almost.

Then—he stepped forward.

Bob.

He didn’t speak at first. Just moved, slow and deliberate, until he stood beside her—close, but not too close. Not touching. Never touching.

Arabella didn’t turn her head, but she felt him like a second heartbeat. The weight of him. The pull. The thrum of his power bleeding into the air between them, brushing against her skin like smoke.

Too close.

Inside her chest, The Enchantress stirred.

“He’s here,” she purred, velvet-smooth and low. “Let me taste his darkness.”

Arabella’s breath caught. She held herself still, fingers curling tight at her sides. If she reached out, even a fraction of an inch, she knew she wouldn’t stop. She knew the Enchantress would rise with want, not war.

And in the stillness between them, The Void whispered inside Bob’s mind.

“She burns. I want to feel how hot.”

He didn’t move either. Not even a breath out of rhythm. But his jaw clenched, his eyes locked on something distant, her, and his hands flexed once like they ached to lift and couldn’t.

"I'm going with you. You can't do this alone," Bob whispered.

Arabella didn’t answer at first. Couldn’t. The words hung between them like smoke, like a spell half-cast and waiting.

She exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the glowing screen. Her jaw clenched. Her voice, when it came, was barely a whisper. “You don’t understand what this kind of magic does, Bob.”

Inside her chest, the Enchantress curled tighter, more awake than ever.

“Let him come,” she whispered. “Let him see what I can do with a god in my hands.”

Arabella blinked hard. Shut her eyes. Shut the voice out.

“I’m still coming with you,” he whispered. The Void stretched just beneath the surface of him like it recognized her.

And Arabella, after a beat, nodded. Just once. She didn’t say thank you. She didn’t say don’t.

She said, “Then stay behind me.”

And prayed to everything she knew that he would.

The tunnels beneath Brooklyn were colder than they sould have been, not the kind of cold you could feel on your skin, but the kind that settled into bone and memory. Haunted. Like a nightmare. The air was thick with rot and cooper, and the deeper they went, the more the city above felt like a distant dream.

Ava and Yelena took point, flashlights flickering across crumbling tile and twisted metal, weapons steady. Bucky and Walker kept a slow, even pace behind them, eyes always moving, always watching. Arabella hung back with Bob, her steps silent. She didn't speak. She couldn't. The walls were already whispering.

They’d passed the third tunnel junction when Bucky turned his head just slightly, enough to glance back, voice low. “You sure you wanna do this?”

Arabella didn’t even blink. “I’m the only one who can.” Her voice carried, calm and sharp, no room for argument.

The further they went, the worse it got. The walls began to hum—not with electricity, but with something else. Something dark. Something old. The kind of hum that lived in ritual circles and the mouths of the dead. Arabella’s fingers twitched at her sides, power prickling just beneath her skin. Her breath shortened as she walked, every step dragging her deeper into the echo of magic that felt too much like her own.

Bob shifted beside her, breath stuttering, his hands flexing open and closed. He didn’t say anything, but she felt it—his power swelling beneath the surface like a wave waiting to crash. And then came the sound. Not footsteps. Not breathing. Scraping.

They didn’t have time to react before the tunnel erupted around them—metal shrieking, bone cracking, a dozen bodies dropping from the shadows like meat puppets sewn together with cable and magic. They moved wrong—jagged, broken—eyes glowing red, limbs clicking as if trying to remember how to be human.

Yelena cursed under her breath, blade already drawn, her voice snapping out like a gunshot.

“Well, shit.” Ava phased just in time to avoid a clawed hand, her body flickering with static as she reappeared behind it, driving a blade into the base of its neck.

"What the fuck—" Walker muttered, firing his gun. It did absolutely nothing.

Bucky barked out orders, trying to pull them back, keep the team together, but they were splitting—forced apart by sheer chaos.

Arabella didn’t move.

She walked into the center of it all, slow, deliberate, untouched by the panic around her. One of the creatures lunged and froze midair, stopped by a sudden, invisible force—its body cracking in place like glass. Her voice was quiet. Almost kind.

“Enchantress.”

It wasn’t just a name. It was a summoning.

Her eyes flicked black, her pupils blown wide, and the transformation rolled through her like a flood. Her body straightened, her hair lifted in a wind that didn’t exist, her lips curled into something that was not a smile but close enough to frighten. Glowing sigils ignited across her skin—runes carved into flesh, ancient and burning.

The Enchantress rose with her breath, her voice shifting into something layered, rich, older than anything alive in that tunnel. She didn’t blink as the corpses charged again.

She lifted her hand and whispered in Spanish, a language soaked in blood and moonlight. “Your magic doesn't belong here. Give it back to the earth were it came from."

The wave of enemies collapsed like dominos, falling with a sound like wet bone and shattering metal. One screamed, high and broken, before bursting into smoke. Another reached for her and disintegrated mid-motion. Enchantress didn’t flinch. She smiled.

Bob staggered back a step, eyes locked on her, chest heaving like he couldn’t quite breathe. Inside his head, the Void surged awake, not angry, not violent—fascinated.

“She’s like us,” it whispered. “No—she’s better. She was born like this.”

His hands sparked with light, gold bleeding to black, his vision dimming at the edges. The storm within him pulsed, and he reached toward it, toward her, even if his hands never left his sides.

Enchantress turned her head, eyes glowing black. She looked at him and smiled.

Enchantress didn’t speak, but Bob heard her anyway.

“I see you. I see what's inside you. The darkness. Let me taste it.”

And inside him, the Void growled in response.

“Take it. I want to see what you’ll become when you touch me.”

The words weren’t said aloud, but Enchantress heard them. Felt them.

Her smile deepened, slow and sharp, and she tilted her head like a cat watching prey twitch.

“Oh,” she purred, voice a syrupy echo only he could hear, “you’re going to beg for it.”

And Bob, shaking from the inside out, didn’t dare say a word.

Bucky moved, boots crunching over scorched stone and broken machines as the smoke settled. His voice was low, careful. “Bells, come back to me.”

But she didn’t move.

She was still standing in the center of the carnage, still Enchantress, still glowing faintly with that ancient, seductive light. Her eyes, black as ink, weren’t on him—they were still locked on Bob. Fixed. Fascinated. Her mouth was curved, wicked and slow. The runes on her skin pulsed like a heartbeat.

“She doesn’t want to come back,” the Enchantress whispered, gaze still locked on the man who hadn’t moved, who looked like he was barely breathing.

Bucky stepped closer, steadier now. He’d done this before—held her through magic comas, pulled her back from the edge more times than he could count—but this was different.

She’d never resisted.

Not like this.

“Arabella,” he said again, firmer this time, closer now. “It’s me. It’s Bucky. Come on, baby witch. Don’t make me beg.”

The Enchantress tilted her head, almost curious, but didn’t turn. Didn’t flinch. She was too deep in it, too close to something she hadn’t felt before, and Bucky’s chest twisted.

He took another step. “Bells. Come back.”

And then—Bob moved.

One slow, shaking step forward. Not threatening. Not demanding. His voice was rough and low. “Bring her back.”

Her eyes flickered. Just slightly. The light dimmed.

The Enchantress blinked, and for a moment, there was something soft behind her expression—like a memory. Like regret. She looked at Bob as if she were memorizing him, and then she smiled. It was all teeth and hunger and something ancient and beautiful. Her lips parted, breath curling in the air between them.

“Next time, I’ll let you touch me.”

And then she collapsed.

Bucky was already moving, catching her before she hit the floor. Her body went slack in his arms, her head falling against his chest, her breath shallow but steady. He crouched with her, cradling her like he’d done too many times before.

“Bells,” he whispered, brushing her hair back from her face, “hey, come on—look at me.”

Her eyelids fluttered. A soft groan slipped from her throat. “What… happened?”

“You stopped it,” Bucky murmured, voice rough around the edges. “You brought it down. You did good.” Her lashes trembled, her eyes opening slowly, brown again. Human again. But tired. So tired.

Behind them, Bob stood frozen, hands still trembling at his sides, gold and black flickering faintly beneath his skin. His throat was dry. His pulse too loud. He couldn’t move—not yet. Not when the echo of her magic still clung to the air like perfume and fire, not when her voice—her other voice—still rang like a bell behind his eyes. He could still feel her. Like a storm on the edge of touch.

And then, deep in his mind, the Void stirred.

It didn’t roar. It didn’t rage.

It purred.

“You brought her back. Why?”

A pause. A shiver up his spine.

“I would’ve let her stay. She wanted to stay. She wanted us.”

Bob swallowed, jaw tight.

The Void curled around him like a shadow, low and amused.

“You’re lying to yourself, Robert. You want her too. The way she sees you. The way she smiled.”

Bob clenched his fists. Didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

But he didn’t deny it either.

And the Void laughed—soft and satisfied.

“Next time, you won’t send her away.”

𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐅𝐀𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐍 © 2025. DO NOT STEAL, REPOST, OR COPY THIS STORY TO TUMBLR, WATTPAD, AO3, OR ANY OTHER PLATFORM. Moodboards and graphics made by @houseofaegon DO NOT repost or reuse without credit. chain divider by @cursed-carmine

♱ ˖ ࣪ . taglist: @the-a-word-2214 @favestxrboy @uraesthete @abbysbenchpr @sammystarswrite @pey2618 @qardasngan @lunaoieoie @orithyia-eriphyle @amatiswayland @madzzz6958 @all-by-myself98 @dark-silhouette @ghost-ghost-13 @wyvernthekriger @gayfiretruck @watermeezer @lvmxla @novausstuff @mommymilkers0526 @natureartisian @feralgoblinbabe @misaki-evans @uracowboylikemee @sxlsvv @stillinracooncity @deltamel (if you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know in the comments. love, bri.)

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13tinysocks · 2 months ago

Text

My Dead Girlfriend

Angstrom Levy plays his hand. You fuck it up. [Invincible Variants x reader]

[Part one] [Ao3] [5] [7] [Chapter Index]

6 * Bad Dog [5.5k]

"Since all those lost years when I thought I was the monster,

It turns out I was really the prey

Masturbating and waiting for the raid,

And hating every little thing about you all the way!"

The Ruminant - Go Hang

The acrid breeze makes his blue curtain of a mask flutter. "Give us our shit." You almost don't think it's Mark talking, his voice is so different, so stereotypically New York native.

The man standing on solid air ignores him. Good eye sliding from one Mark to another. "You're down one."

"We're down a lot more than that, numbnuts." Mohawk throws his arms out. Gesturing to the empty space where other Marks could have been, but weren't.

"To be expected. This reality is much more resilient than most." At that, the men surrounding him bristle.

"You meant for us to die." Baldie accuses, crossed arms tensing with the need for violence. "You were never going to deliver."

The man, Angstrom, though you don't quite know it yet, laughs. Holding a scarred finger out to point at you. "I have though, haven't I? More than half of you wished to see this one again."

You are slack in the arms of your savior. Conscious but head spinning with the sudden change of atmosphere. It was a good thing none of them could see your face behind the mask, see that you were awake and biding your time.

But he knows you're awake. The one holding you, the warrior raised on Viltrum from birth. He feels your pulse pick up under his hands, hears the skip of your heart, the faint smell of fear induced sweat under your armor. The others aren't close enough to sense it, you hide your feelings well, play dead good as a possum, but he knows. And he tells nobody.

"You've all had a turn, so I think my end has been delivered." He finishes.

The one with a bare face looks at Angstrom, confused. "I have no idea who that is. Where's William?"

"Yeah." Backs up the long masked one. "Like I'd even give a fuck about some... whatever." he waves his hand, uncaring to find a word for some insignificant bug.

Despite the backlash, Angstrom smiles pleasantly. "I'm aware in your realities, you didn't know or care for (Y/n) (L/n). That is perfectly acceptable. Don't think I've forgotten about the deals we've all made. But to fulfill them, I'll need you to find this dimensions Mark Grayson and bring him to me."

Eyes twitch. Lips curl.

"No," Scars finally says. He looks to you in the arms of that straight-laced Viltrumites arms and barely contains a smirk. He's going to enjoy ripping you out of them. Tearing his arms off for touching you. "I've got what I want. I'm done with this place."

"You are aware I could leave you here or somewhere worse, correct?" Angstrom doesn't sound the least bit concerned regarding the mounting tension. The cracking knuckles. The nasty grinning-snarls, thirsty for a little more blood.

"You won't." Lensless hums, "We'll kill ya before you get the chance."

"Then we'd actually be stuck here forever, dumbass." Mohawk barks. "We'll just torture him instead, duh."

Angstrom rose a brow. "There's only one of her left in all existence, remember that before you threaten me."

You are consumed by crackling green light that seems to statically stick to your armor. You are falling, then not, draped over Angstrom's arm like a coat. Still trying to play knocked out. "I have the perfect reality ready for her if any of you move." He says before you're settled. "Pit of man-eating octomen I've been starving for months, waiting right here." A ring of power encircles your body, not touching you but threatening with its presence. "Move and she's there."

"I don't care, man." Long Mask says.

Angstrom ignores him. "Get me Mark Grayson."

"You've got ten of him right here," Emperor says. "And if you know what's good for you, you'll drop it."

Angstrom laughs, nastily. So hard he shakes you in his grip. "Am I dog now, Mister Grayson?"

"You're no better than one," Emperor replies.

"Look at you all- looking at me like you want me to die. After everything I've given you." Spit flies off Angstrom's lips, landing on your visor. "I met so many of you with snot dribbling out your noses over this thing," he jostles you in his grip as you grit your teeth, "this worthless animal who in so many dimensions joins your conquest. Just some regular human who adds absolutely nothing to nearly every timeline. I don't get the appeal, but I don't have to. Do as I say or she dies."

You observe the Marks. Ready to pounce. To throw caution to the wind. Some are hesitant, actually using their brains but enough of are ready to fucking shred you think you might get eaten by whatever an octoman is.

It leaves you with no other choice. It was just a bonus it'd get him to shut up. You were dead tired of hearing this guy's voice. Hearing any guy's voice.

You let out a weak, groggy groan. Catch Angstrom's attention, which is all you need. Watch the grin spread across his busted face. "Look who's awak-"

"Bite off your tongue." Blood comes out of your nose in such a rush it splattered against the inside of your helmet. Power ripped from you all at once, used on this guy you didn't know, but definitely didn't trust.

Drip, drop atop your helmet. Then came the rivers of blood down his chin. Weaving through his beard. Tongue stuck all the way out his mouth, teeth grinding down, down, down. Sawing, squelching. He blinks, tongue half removed from his mouth, when your hold snaps. A scream that was more a gargle, splatters more blood across your visitor. You're thrown, ass over heel.

His words are thick with pain and a brand-new lisp as he says, "Bad dog!"

The sickly green light surrounds you as a portal opens up behind your back, snapping shut before the closest version of your ex could reach you. The last thing you saw was him smiling with blood bubbling over his lips.

Your landing was surprisingly soft. Skidding to a slow stop on silky tan sand. Scrambling to your knees to see where the portal was. Gone. No green, just a cloudless, hazy sky. Sun fat in the sky. Beating down harsh on the black metal of your armor. Around you there is nothing but more sand and ruins of a society long forgotten.

You don't know what happened. Don't know how to process what happened. Calling out to the nothingness, "Bring me back!" To no reply or help at all.

***

"You-!"

Biting off your own tongue was something the deeply deranged and suicidal did. Despite that criteria, Angstrom Levy had never wanted to do such a thing, but there you'd been- making him do it.

He was in acute shock. Slow. Unable to dodge the hands grabbing him, the fists beating him, not with his tongue dangling half-cut out his mouth. Threats came pouring in quick as they were delivered. Ribs broken. Ligaments torn, good eye gone red with burst blood vessels.

It'd lasted thirty seconds, maybe less, but a voice cut through the violent haze. "We can't get her back if he's dead." Said the boy who killed his father and wore his cloak. God, if Freud were still around.

The words didn't calm them, but soothed the blows like a balm. Mohawk had him by the collar, choking him with it. "Open the portal, cocksucker."

Angstrom rose a hand, the only one he had left after that Viltrumite loyalist chopped the other off. He let it open slow, teasingly so. Power roiling under his skin, revenge on the mind. They'd thought they'd had him down and out, but he was nowhere near dead. He never planned to keep them along for the full ride. The plan was always to betray them. This was much sooner, and much bloodier, than planned. So be it.

"There." He heaved. They turned, looking into the opening to a new world. A world so dry it'd evaporate the marrow out of your bones.

Phantom didn't speak. Just shot his black and blue body through. One down, nine to go.

"That world," he begins, tongue awkwardly flailing over the bottom of his mouth, blood spilling down his throat just to be hacked out, "-that world has major time dilation. She could be very far from the origin point by now. Miles. It'll take him too long to find her... I can't-" He let the portal waiver, looking unstable, "I can't hold it long."

"You can and you will." The ex-prisoner grabbed him by the balls. Through Angstrom's pants but still. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes.

If guilt tripping wouldn't work, he had no other choice. "Wait... I can.. I think I've found her." More portals zap open all around him. Nine in total. "Do you see?" They turn, just to watch the portals shoot closer, swallowing them all whole before snapping shut. Leaving them to fall in the sand and Angstrom alone to his devices.

***

You'd tried it all. Screaming. Looking for an exit. Digging. Trying to call someone, anyone on your phone that had not a bar. All while the sun beat at your back. You didn't give up, not really, just resigned to moving somewhere else. Powers, you knew, were stupid. Angstrom could find you again even if you'd left the dropoff.

You walked. Migraine gnawing at your temples. Power stores drained out. Boots dragged in the sand, prints sifting away as soon as they were made. Moved from wreck to wreck for the tiniest slivers of shade. Baked inside your helmet until you popped it off, wiping at the drying blood with your gloves. When there was a breeze, it felt like a hairdryer, making your eyes water.

Two hours, you'd walked to find nothing.

The sun moved slow, the sky fading to a dull purple, but you knew the second it dipped below the dunes, you'd be dead without a fire. Deserts don't stay hot without sun. Planks were easy come by, old wood waiting to disintegrate into the sand. You rooted through the tool belt attached to the body armor. Tear gas, a high-powered taser, a flare, a knife, ammo for a gun you didn't have, and a to-go first aid kit.

You tried the taser on the wood. It made the old thing crumble in your hands. You tried again to the same result. Again and again as the sun crossed the sky and the heat began to ebb.

***

He flew through the desert, combing it in a gird. Square mile by square mile, searching. Growing more desperate by the second. Head filling with what if's.

It's faint, a mere vibration in his left ear. He banks hard. Following. Forcing his hearing to it's limit- catching grains shifting below his flight path. Then it comes again. Audible this time. Bzzt. Lil more to the left. Bzzzzt! Not long now. He starts to slow right as the sound pinged from below. BZZZT!

"Fuck you, motherfucker." Came out from a line of beams fallen together to make a concrete tent.

He landed gently, trying not to make a dust cloud and scare you away. Watching your back as you tried to light a plank ablaze with a taser. It crumbled in your hands. You scoff, kicking debris into a cloud that makes you violently cough.

You could turn and see him. Husky purple dusk not yet camouflaging his blue-black body suit. But you don't. Instead, you keep trying to tase the remaining sawdust into flames. It doesn't work.

He floats above the sand, slowly rolling into your view.

***

Chaos. Total, absolute, chaos.

Nine of them in the middle of some desert planet, tenth fucked off God knows where. No Angstrom to take them out. No (Y/n) to soften the blow. The rage settled in like a beat behind their eyes, a thrum under their fingerpads. They wanted to choke each other for existing.

Their personal genie had betrayed them, left them for dead.

He wasn't the first to blast off into the desert. Searching for a way out, for you. He was, however, first to shoot into the sky for a birdseye view. The atmosphere thinned, going from an ugly yellow to the familiar dark of space. Above the sphere, he hovered, seeing only sand. Around the planet he went, hoping, then finding those hopes were something juvenile.

The search extended into space. For other planets. He noticed then, flying through the cold dark there were no stars or gas giants or distant worlds. Only the planet they landed on and the too-close sun.

As if Angstrom Levy had found the one reality in all of existence with one dead world. One big, sandy, uninhabitable world. The perfect place for them all to die. The search could be expanded later, with more of them looking, but he doubted even their Viltrumite bodies could reach any planets if he couldn't see them.

He was angry, but couldn't fault the guy. He was going to rip off Angstrom's balls after all. He'd find a way out of this, the same way he'd found a way out of that hell of a Viltrumite prison. Scarred beyond recognition. Coming home to find the love of his life dead and long buried.

Except that now you were down on that sandball, somewhere. Hopefully alive. So why was he angsting up in space?

***

The taser shot out, connecting thick prongs to his suit. Electricity traveled fast through the carbon fiber, penetrating to his skin. He didn't seize and drop. He took it like he was nothing but thin air, like you were imagining him in a wave of heat induced hysteria.

The prongs retracted and he took that as cue to step down into your concrete hut. Coming closer, slow, hands up over his chest like he wasn't going to hurt you- as if you'd believe that.

You hear it. Something moving so fast the air splits around you.

You don't know what you're going to do. Shout? Duck? Gasp? You don't get to decide because he's on you. Holding you hard against himself, feet inches off the ground, hand pressed firm over your mouth. Head tracking the sonic spec in the sky as it passed over. When the coast is clear, he sets you down and backs off. Not leaving your nothing of a camp, but any space willing given by these freaks was noticeable.

"Leave." Power doesn't even bother to tickle your throat. You had jackshit left. Wouldn’t have jackshit for days if your luck stayed bad. You'd only blown yourself out like this one time- that day at the beginning of the end of your life. You'd never used your power on someone else powered before. Barley used it period. Only on little, meaningless, petty things. Until you used it all at once to save his life. Then on him. Blowing out you out like a tire. Failing.

Now you were here. Staring at a fully masked version of him, unable to control him or your life again.

Yet you try, "Go." The taser finds its home in your belt, replaced by the tear gas canister held over your head. "Or I'll set this fucking bomb off if you get any closer." It's a lie so obvious you couldn’t put your chest behind it. "I'll kill us both, I swear to God."

He doesn’t move. Your helmet sits on the ground at your feet. You wonder how fast you could set the tear gas off and put the thing back on. If the GDA-enhanced tear gas would make you go blind.

As you fingered the pin, he pulled something from his belt. A short, metal pin. He approaches the pile of wood you’d made. You back up, knowing he'd catch you if you ran. Knowing you didn't have energy for any more running. He cracks the metal against a shred of concrete. Sparks rained down on the dry material and then there was fire. Small but as he stepped back, blaze growing.

Technically, you knew what he was doing. Starting a fire so you wouldn’t freeze to death, the breeze as the sun went down already cool. But mentally? You had no idea what he wanted. You knew that he was one of the ones that asked for you, that knew some version of you and decided thousands dead was worth it. Even though he was the first to your side on multiple occasions, you couldn’t know what he wanted. If he wanted something in exchange.

The sky had gone a deep gray. Cold settling in between the sand dunes like an old bone's ache. You could leave, but the growing fire was your one and only shot of living. Just a guess, but the taser thing wasn’t going to work.

"What do you want?" You asked, shuffling closer. Still gripping the tear gas hard, reared over your shoulder like a weapon. "Tell me or I'll set it off."

"I'm not going to hurt you." Through that demon of a modulator, you catch a softness, Mark whispering a secret he hadn’t told anyone else. More genuine than you’d heard from any of these alternates.

"How do I know you're not lying?" But there is no reply, and you don’t think he is. He's done talking and you're done fighting.

He sits first. On the edge of an uneven slab, leaving plenty of room for you. You watch him carefully. Sure he's going to lunge, a lurking predator luring you into a false sense of safety. So you lean against the wall instead, watching him and the fire.

He does lunge eventually, ten minutes later. Dashing forth to stomp out the fire as another body streaks across the sky. Tense as you both watched it go by. Waiting until there’s nothing but the night. Then he was back on his knees, cracking the stick onto new planks.

"What is that?" You're still standing. Arm lifting the canister overhead once again.

He looks up from the fire at you. Black going brown in the light. Tentatively, tortuously, and against every nerve in your body, you sit. Slip the tear gas canister back into your belt. Hoping he'd talk if you seemed a little less hostile.

"Tell me where I am. Who the fuck was that?"

You’re not shocked when he says nothing, only annoyed by your acceptance of it. He can’t bring himself to ruin this moment with you, finally alone. Hearing your voice, even angry, was like an angel’s song for the damned. Your face like something out a dream. Any nervous tics, little movements, shifts in your weight, was studied and tucked away to categorize and compare to what he knew.

You at seventeen, nervous and shy and sweet. Could you have become this bitter thing had you lived? Surely not. He'd have made sure you were taken care of. Made you into a wife with nothing to fret over. He hates him. The Mark of your dimension. Wants to turn him inside out for letting whatever happened to you- happen.

You watched him right back with no knowledge of what his gaze meant. None of the same interest, but watching for the same things, instincts of being prey. Wondering when the slowly stalking fox was going to pounce, if the gaze was a challenge. In the thickening night, he was starting to blend in. You could still see his outline and the dark lenses reflecting back your stare. You try to look past them but can't, can't read anything from the blank, dark slate. You look away, wanting a momentary reprieve, backing down from the challenge. Movement. Your gaze right back, tense all over. Hand on the taser holster.

The mask is off. Chin up, he is bare. There is stubble dark on his jaw, skin paler than you recalled Mark ever being, his hair a shaggy mess that hung past his ears, eye bags deep, nearly purple. He was Mark, no surprise there, the surprise was the slate blue of his eyes. Just like his father's.

You pull the taser out, but not wanting to escalate further, voice almost a whisper after you’d grown used to the quiet. "What do you want?" He looks up at you under dark brows and long lashes. It reminds you so much of your Mark you want to strike him, but think better of it. "Answer me."

It comes out breathy, hardly audible. "I just-" Two syllables and his voice breaks. Cracks right down the middle. He shuts his mouth, hand going to his throat, thumb massaging. He swallows, tries again but all that comes out is a hoarse sigh. His brows knit in frustration. He’d talked more than he was used to in the past few days, and with the dry air and nerves, what was left of his vocal cords wasn’t going to cooperate.

You don’t know what’s wrong with him, but now you understand why he wore that modulator.

The mask goes back on. He's given up trying to talk, trying to show his belly like he wasn't a threat. You suspect violence, harassment, almost get up anticipating it, but it doesn't come. You're about to settle down when the ground shudders just outside your camp. You don't get the chance to check what it was because it steps inside between the concrete pillars.

"We've been working together to find a way out of this shithole and here you two've been, love shackin' it up." His mask flutters in front of his face as he talks. Sand stuck to his tracksuit where blood had wet it. "Jesus, yer lucky I found you. Those other dudes have been losing they's fuckin' minds."

Phantom rises, dashing the small fire away. He'd know his alone time with you would be short. They'd find you both eventually, but he was glad to have had it. Even if you looked at him with such disdain. For so many years, that's all he wanted. His voice failing him was punishment for letting you die, for letting this version of you get stuck in an unending desert. He'd make it up to you. Find a voice to say what needed to be said.

He steps towards the other. Long mask, long face, you don't quite know what to mentally call him yet- steps back. Making room for Phantom to exit the ruin.

"I'm not leaving." You tell the newcomer, though you grab the helmet. To throw at him? To cover your head from the cold now that the fire couldn't ward it off?

"You dunno if I've found a way out or not and yer just gonna act like that?" His laugh is humorless, "Glad we weren’t a thing in my world."

Behind him, Phantom jerks his head, a 'come' gesture. Wind, not a breeze, cuts through the dunes and sends winter cold through the cracks in your armor. Settles under the fabric, making you shiver.

"Do you have a way out?" You demand.

"Would'a left your ass behind if I did." He says, stepping further back. Annoyed but understanding you wouldn’t come within a certain distance; despite how fast he could liberate your head from your shoulders. "Come on," he lifts inches off the ground, "the longer you're gone the edgier those shitheads get. I can't take it anymore."

You really, really, really did not want to see any of them. You look back to your concrete shack. But. Survival is easier in groups, right? You know what else is easier in groups? Mass murder. The second you got your powers back, you were taking them out like you'd set out to do. Sure, you'd probably only kill one or two more of them but it'd be enough to kill Mark Grayson four times before you went to hell. Only then did eternity of torture sound bearable.

You also couldn't make a fire, it was freezing, you had no food and you'd be starving soon, and you had nothing to drink but codeine, which was a bad idea.

Phantom waited for you on the ground. Tracksuit, ah there's that convenient nickname, hovered low in the sky waiting. "Let's go already." You can't fly and something tells you Tracksuit isn't willing to walk however many miles it is back to camp.

Phantom taps his masked cheek. At first you're disgusted, thinking he wants you to lay one on him but realize, he's telling you to put the helmet on. You'd seen those old stories of superhuman and regular-Joe-human romances going bad because their lover flew too fast and all the human's skin was flayed off. You didn't want to go to the others, but you really didn't want to go without skin.

You put the helmet on and he moves towards you. Slower than the first time he scooped you up and took you to the sky. He definitely felt bad about dropping you. Elbows move under knees, strong hand supporting your back. Lifting off gently this time. Accelerating slowly enough for Tracksuit to scoff and shout, "Dude, move it!"

You'd never been flying like this. Before, it was too quick to process, too much adrenaline. Now you were burnt out and empty enough to actually process the passing dunes. To feel your body relying on his for support. You would have liked it, really, if it wasn't one of the crazy Marks- which was pretty much all of them. Horrified at any time he'd drop you or dangle you by an ankle until you cried, "Uncle." He hadn't seemed the type, but he also ripped off Psychopomp's arms the second time you met him. He wasn't as forward as the others, which made him less predictable.

The whole flight you were scared shitless, because the second it was over, things were only going to get worse. The bright side was, things were always awful before they got better. Thinking about killing Mark calmed you down a fraction.

Even in the distance, you could see the camp. No mountains to hide its orange glow. The only thing of note for miles upon miles.

Tracksuit sighed with relief, "Thank God." He shot forward, gone, leaving you and Phantom to meander along. You'd noticed he'd significantly slowed. Sucking up all the remaining alone time with you he could get. Hovering hundreds of feet over a massive bonfire. Figures below, waiting with baited breath.

Phantom contemplates the success rate of leaving. Running with you. Surviving alone together. His black boots touch down on the sand. He sets you down, keeping a hand at your back as you wobble to your feet. Unaccustomed to flying. Human heart fluttering in your chest.

You get no peace or relief.

Just Mohawk flying forward and almost knocking you over "Dickhead," he hissed before his fist sent Phantom careening into the desert night. Phantom catches himself, but stays further back, hidden in the dark. It was chilly but this planet was nothing compared to the vacuum of space. To what his life had been before seeing you again. The fire, here and there, were for you. Warmth and signal. He would keep watch from the shadows.

The perpetrator turns to you, sand stuck in his mohawk. "You good?"

You don't meet his eye. Opting to stumble closer to the bonfire, trying to avoid eye contact with the Marks standing around.

"I thought you'd need it," Omni-Wannabe says.

"Where are we?" You stare into it. Hoping they don't notice the answers aren't forced out of them. That they don't piece together the only reason you're not going batshit is because you're powerless.

"A desert," Lensless kicks at the sand, "Duh."

"What desert?" It's hard to keep the venom out of your voice.

Emperor stretches his legs over a rock. Leaning back in his low earthy chair, looking like he meant to be stranded. "You tell me. You're the one who got us trapped here."

You don't bite the bait. You can't fight back, so opening your big mouth is the last thing you should do. But he's looking at you like he wants to chop you to pieces. You go for fawning but not too out of character. "Wasn't expecting anyone to end up here with me."

Under the yellow fabric, his brow twitches. "After all the chasing and defending, you didn't expect backup?"

"I didn't ask for backup." You say, "I have no idea what's going on. One second I'm working, the next this guy," your arm gestures to Mohawk who grins, "is beating the shit out of my boss."

Emperor's muscles tighten. You'd said the wrong thing. Towed the line too willy-nilly. He says, "You really must be dumber in this world if you haven't figured it out yet. Don't speak to me until you do." And goes back to watching the fire.

Crisis averted.

Somebody thinks it's a good idea to rest their fat, meaty hand on your shoulder and say, "Are you okay?"

When you turn it's the bald one. Wearing an expression you think is concern.

You can't help moving away and snapping, "Get off."

"D'aww, somebody mad their geriatric handler didn't pick them up?" Scars is right behind you. Not close enough to touch, but too close for comfort. He could push you into the fire and you'd be roast dinner. "Not expecting to deal with the consequences of your actions, were you?"

This time, for real, you hold your tongue. Stuck straight to the roof of your mouth. You are not fucking with this guy.

He touches you the same place Baldie did. You're scared to shove him off. Baldie was a mistake, one that could've gotten you killed. Scars would be a mistake that would get you killed.

"Hey, look, she's afraid of me!" He announced like it was an honor. "That's a smart girl, but where's that fighting spirit? Come on, I wanna see you try n' hurt me again."

You don't reply. Don't move. Don't breathe.

"Your heart just skipped a beat, there, Dregs. Don't tell me you're gonna avoid me by killing yourself again." His fingers tighten on your shoulder. Nearly bruising. "I won't let it happen again." He's masking his anger being here with nine of himself by playing with you. Relieving stress.

"You're wasting your energy antagonizing her." The grip lightens immediately, someone else to play with. Scars' violent attention turned toward the bare baby-faced version of himself.

"You telling me what to do?" Tension cracked off his split lip.

"No." The other says evenly, "But we're stuck in an alien desert. Now's not the time to pull some master-slave dynamic bullshit on some girl you don't even know. Be smart."

Scars slipped around you, prowling toward the sat man. "And how do you suggest I 'be smart'."

He started counting off on his fingers, "Get more firewood if you don't want her to freeze to death. Search ruins for something that could get us out. Look for food. Rest, conserve energy, because we don't know how long we'll be stuck here. My guess is until we get ourselves out because there's no way Angstrom is coming back for us."

"He will," Lensless says with unwarranted confidence. "He has to know we'll find him and kill 'im. It's dumber to let us be mad n' stuff."

Maskless shakes his head. "He chose this planet because he expects us to die. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm not fighting you guys over some human I don't know. If you're smart, you'll do the same." He slides off the rock and lies himself sideways in the sand. Head propped on his elbow like a pillow. "At least shut up or go to sleep so you can kill echother quicker tomorrow."

Scars took two steps toward him before an arm jutted out, stopping him. Omni-Mark stood between the two like a wall. "He's right. We should sleep while it's cool. Search more tomorrow."

"Who said you're in charge?" Emperor snipped despite being deeply unhelpful.

"I'm not trying to be," he said, "it's just a suggestion."

One you take. Moving away to the other side of the blaze while their bickering went on and on. You sat on a rusted pipe. Maskless a few feet to your right, brow furrowed but eyes closed. The Viltrumite to your left, arms folded behind his back. Posture painfully straight. His eyes flick over to you, head not moving.

You don't see it, but he's content with the situation at hand- for now. He could take the others. Savvy enough to survive in the harshest conditions where the others surely weren't. He'd conquered harsher planets than this without help. Atop of all that, you were choosing to be by his side. That is enough for him, for the moment.

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rememberwren · 11 months ago

Text

/•Harmless Fun 7•\

Former and further chapters can be found here.

You and Johnny kiss. With company. Ghoap/fem!reader, dry humping, kissing, handjobs, exhibitionism, suggestion of blowjobs.

Kissing Johnny only gets easier, and it was easy to begin with.

The next morning sees you running late for work. After your late night, you had forgotten to set your alarm and hadn’t awoken until the sun spilled in through your open curtains and you could hear the sound of Simon bustling around at the other end of the apartment. You had taken the quickest shower of your life, brushed your teeth, and done your best to make yourself presentable, rehearsing potential excuses in your head for your boss. There was a crash on I-57; my car broke down; a child fell down a well…

You didn’t even have time to grab a cup of Simon’s coffee before you were wrenching the front door open, but when Johnny calls out sharply for you to halt, you are startled enough into stopping your frenzied rush, turning to blink at his careful, limping approach. He cups your jaw and brings your mouth to his, tasting like creamer and sugar, just the way you like your coffee.

“Have a good day, hen,” he says when he pulls back, giving you an innocuous smile.

Your eyes flitter to Simon, who is leaning with one hip against the kitchen island, coffee halfway to his mouth, brows raised—it’s reflexive to check on him, to make sure that Johnny hasn’t made him angry with this sudden show of affection. To make sure that you’re allowed to enjoy it. When Simon’s coffee finally completes its circuit to his mouth, you look back at Johnny and give him a shy smile.

“You too,” you say for lack of better words. After you shut the door, you mouth to yourself, Oh my god. Then you remember your own lateness and rush down to the parking lot, praying for green lights all the way to work.

Inside the apartment, Johnny fixes Simon with a smug expression.

Simon shakes his head, eyes rolling toward the ceiling.

When you get home from work, feet aching and a knot in your neck, it all seems to melt away as Johnny sits up from where he was slumped on the couch and draws you onto his lap. You’re careful not to put too much pressure on his bad thigh, gripping his shoulders tightly, eyes flickering around the apartment looking for the looming presence of Johnny’s other half once Johnny’s intent seems clear.

“Where’s Simon?” you breathe.

“Out,” says Johnny, taking your chin in his fingers and coaxing you down toward his mouth. He pauses, lips nearly brushing. “Should we wait so he can watch?”

“What?”

Johnny grins. He leans up the last few hairs’ breadths and kisses you, and Simon finds you in a similar place nearly an hour later.

You’ve shifted of course, unable to kneel for so long without your legs falling asleep. Now Johnny lays with his bad thigh braced against the back of the couch, legs opened for you to be nestled between, your arms looped around his neck so you can play with the soft hairs at the back of his head.

Your mouth feels numb from kissing, your thoughts syrupy and slow, focused only on the softness of Johnny’s mouth, the way his stubble rubs your cheeks raw (and your neck, when he gives your mouth a break and trails his lips down your jaw to the space between your neck and shoulder). Your head feels light and airy, your heart too, positively buoyant with all the affection. The only part of you that doesn’t feel sleepy and slow is that needy place between your legs; there you ache, slick enough for your panties to stick to you every time you shift.

Johnny isn’t unaffected, either. He’s been hard since he dragged you onto his lap, but he seems completely content to do nothing about it. Anytime you try to escalate your kisses into something a little firmer, a little more satisfying, he drags you back to that soft and slow place where it feels like all your thoughts leak out your ears.

“Johnny,” you breathe into the crook of his neck, resting your own sore one. He hums in answer. “Don’t you want—more?”

“Got you in my lap,” he says, hands massaging your hips firmly. “What more could I possibly want?”

You let your pelvis settle a little more firmly against his own, rocking against his hard cock. He can’t control the way his breath hitches at the stimulation, fingertips digging into your flesh.

“Oh, him?” Johnny asks innocently. “Just ignore him.”

“I don’t want to ignore him,” you mutter sulkily. “I want to sit on him.”

Johnny guffaws. Beneath you, his cock twitches.

The door opens and Simon enters. He’s dripping sweat from his run, and for the first time you notice the backpack he carries with him, the way it seems to droop against his back, like it’s filled with something heavy. All three of you freeze at the sight of the other. The moment is broken by a buzzing—Simon fishes his phone from his pocket and sighs, pressing it to his ear.

“I’m listening,” he says, shutting the front door behind him.

Johnny reaches out softly and turns your chin back towards him. There is something in his eyes, something mischievous, but all he does is coax your mouth back down to his and kiss you again. You sigh against his mouth, eyes fluttering closed as he sucks sweetly on your tongue. You hear the sound of Simon’s voice, but his words go in one ear and out the other, the warm rumble of his tenor doing nothing to help the ache between your thighs.

Johnny grips your hips in his hands and—oh, oh god. He rocks you gently against him, his cock brushing against your soaked sex through your respective layers. It sends a jolt through you, even this small stimulation feeling good after denying yourself for so long. You can’t help the sound that slips out of your throat, the little whine that Johnny swallows whole and matches with a warm, pleased hum.

You know what he’s doing now. Had he planned it to be like this? It’s hard to imagine that he hadn’t, not with his earlier flippant phrase of waiting for Simon to watch. Respectability wars with your own need, and you find that it’s far too easy to let your need win, to let Johnny’s hands guide you against his cock again and again, stoking that fire in your belly into something transcendental, something too big to be ignored.

“Johnny?” you hear Simon say to whoever is on the other end of the phone, the name briefly breaking through your stupor. “Being a pain in my ass, as usual.”

You break away from Johnny’s mouth but can’t seem to stop the gentle rolling of your hips. Instead you bury your face in his neck, hoping for some reprieve from the embarrassment that has your face aflame, from the shame that seems to be doing nothing but whetting the ache between your legs.

“Johnny,” you whine quietly. “Be fair.”

“What’s unfair?” he breathes. He jerks his hips up against you softly. “Oh—this? You want me to stop? Just say the word.”

You chance a glance toward Simon and find that he still has the phone pressed to his ear, but his eyes are focused firmly on you and Johnny, his expression of greater intensity than usual: brows lower, eyes darker, scarred mouth barely parted, like he has something to say but can’t. He meets your eyes and hums something noncommittal into the phone. You wonder if he’s paying attention to the call at all.

Simon turns his eyes away. He reaches down and grips the hem of his shirt, lifts it up to wipe at his dripping brow, and it gives you a glance of his body: pale and scarred, but so fucking strong, muscled with a nice layer of padding. Fuck, they are both so painfully beautiful. You realize that Johnny has stopped his gentle ministrations on your hips and that now all the movement is due to you: you’re the one grinding against his hard cock. You hide in his neck again, placing sloppy kisses against his steady pulse.

“That’s it,” Johnny mutters, barely loud enough for you to hear. His hands slip around to cup your arse. “Does that feel good?”

You nod. Anything would feel good after so much time spent on the most innocent of foreplay, anything would feel good with how swollen and wet you were. Johnny’s hands press against you, lengthening your strokes, turning your hasty, jerky movements into slow, sensual rolls of your hips, maximizing the contact between you both.

“Sit up, I want to see you,” he whispers. Your head is so full of cotton that you do, forgetting for a moment that Simon is there. He’s watching you again, one hand braced against the countertop, dark eyes watching the way you grind against his husband’s cock, knuckles white where he grips the phone and presses it to his ear, giving the occasional grunt to whomever is on the other line. Johnny says: “Fuck, yer beautiful.”

You ignore that, unwilling to let him fluster you any more than you already are. Instead you brace your hands against his chest and quicken your hips, feeling the coil inside your belly twist tight. You’ve needed to cum since last night, since Johnny first kissed you with Simon right there watching. All you want is to feel that sweet burst of pleasure, to let it rise up like high tide and drown you. Johnny’s hands smooth along your thighs and up your belly and cup the fullness of your breasts, and that’s all you need to cover your face, mouth falling open as a painfully embarrassing sound is torn from your throat. Your body is wracked with shivers as your pussy clenches tight around nothing, and you’d forgotten over the years just how unsatisfying these kinds of orgasms could be. You needed something inside you, something you could clench down on, if only Johnny had been willing to give it to you.

A door clicks shut. Your misty eyes open to find that Simon is gone.

“Beautiful,” Johnny says, drawing you back down into his arms for a kiss. Against your mouth, he mutters: “Yer perfect.”

“We scared off Simon,” you groan, forehead resting against his own. Beneath you, his cock is still hard, reminding you that he still hasn’t cum yet—likely can’t with just this level of stimulation.

“Yeah, he’s scared t’ death,” Johnny says, eyes rolling, his hands smoothing up and down the small of your back. “Probably already got his cock out in the next room.”

You frown. That wouldn’t make any sense. You decide to focus on what does make sense—helping Johnny find his own pleasure. Reaching down, you lightly trail your fingers over his clothed cock, feeling positively electric when he gives a shaky sigh, cock jerking beneath your tentative touch.

“Want some help?” you ask.

He just gives you a soft smile. “Actually, I know just the person who’s going to help me.”

When Johnny enters the bedroom, Simon is nowhere in sight. The light coming from beneath the ensuite door tells him all he needs to know. He raps his knuckles against the door and waits, unable to help the grin that stretches his mouth and the way his cock nudges at the fly of his denim. The door opens and a hand reaches out, gripping the collar of his shirt and pulling him in, pressing him back against the door with enough force to rattle the knob.

“Hi love,” Johnny coos. “How was your run?”

Simon kisses him, sucks on his full lower lips, licks into his open mouth like it is a cup he can drink his fill from. Johnny meets him with equal fervor, his hands falling to find Simon’s belt already undone, his cock already free and hard. It’s a warm, familiar weight in his palm as he strokes his lover and thumbs at the leaking head.

“Not—not being subtle at all,” Johnny warns him.

Simon just grunts in between kisses.

“What, can you taste her on me?” Johnny teases.

Simon groans and buries his face in the crook of Johnny’s neck where you had buried your own. He presses his mouth to every mark you left behind, teases your teeth marks with his own, hips thrusting into the tight fist of Johnny’s hand.

“You’re not subtle either,” Simon grits out, palms placed flat on the oak door, pinning Johnny in place. “She’s going to catch on that you’re trying to play matchmaker.”

“I’m not aiming for subtle,” Johnny breathes. He presses Simon back with a palm against his chest and drops to his knees, even as Simon’s eyes tighten with disapproval, knowing Johnny can’t remain in the position long. Johnny just grins, easy and lighter than he’s felt in weeks. “I’ve got about five minutes before my leg starts killin’ me…think you can cum before then?”

“I think that depends on how good your mouth treats me,” Simon says.

“I’d better get to work then, hadn’t I?”

#ghoap x reader #harmless fun

675 notes · View notes

tateypots · 4 months ago

Text

New Tricks

18+ MDNI

Pairing: Dark!Joel Miller x f!reader, Dark!Tommy Miller x f!reader

Word count: 4.1k

A/N: Part 8 of Collared. Same as before, it’s dark so please heed the warnings and skip if it’s not for you.

Ok so, I know I promised blow jobs for everyone but this part was getting a bit too long so it's blow jobs for 1, but don't worry no one is neglected in this chapter!

Moodboard is for aesthetics only, reader is not described beyond having boobs and a vagina. Please refer to this post for more info on the series mooboards.

Summary: Tommy's wants to teach you something new.

Warnings: Non-Con, dark Joel, dark Tommy, kidnapping, daddy kink, uncle kink, restraints, stockhom syndrome, oral (m!receiving), unprotected piv, cum play. Let me know if I missed anything.

Part 7 | Part 9 | Series Masterlist

True to his word, Tommy doesn’t force himself on you again, granting you the reprieve you had begged for. He scoots back so he’s sitting with his back against the headboard, you situated in his lap as he talks to you about the kind of books you like, “just want to make sure I get you something you’ll enjoy princess,” he tells you when you’re too shy to open up to him initially.

It feels strange to be spoken to like this. For someone to take an interest. It had been so long since anyone had shown you that kind of consideration. Even before the outbreak. But as you settle into it you realise how nice it is. You fight with yourself again. Try to remind yourself that you are his prisoner. You’re literally bound and naked in his lap. But he’s being kind and sweet, even though he doesn’t have to be. You have to give him credit for that surely? He could have ignored your pleas for a break from his lustful advances. He could have just left you alone to go and sort out the boner he’s been sporting since earlier. But he didn’t. He sat with you, made sure you were ok, made you smile and giggle at his silly stories and goofy antics.

You realise with surprise that you enjoy his company. You enjoy sitting and talking with him. Lounging in his lap with his arms around you. Warm and safe. You want to luxuriate in it. But it doesn’t take long for another feeling to creep in. Guilt. Your mind flits to Joel. Why does enjoying sitting with Tommy feel like a betrayal? It’s stupid. Especially when it was Joel who had sent you into Tommy’s arms with a firm pat on the backside. When he’s watched Tommy fuck you time and time again and never been bothered by it.

You try again to remind yourself of your situation. Of all the things they’ve done to you. To keep your head out of the clouds and your wits about you. But the other half of your traitorous brain argues, what about all the things they’ve done for you. Fed you, housed you, kept you safe. It was only fair that you gave something in return right? Your mind flits back to the image of Joel bursting in and rushing to you, to protect you, and the cautious, rational side of you is silenced by the force of Joel’s concern. The way he’d swept you up, cradled you against his big strong body. It made the breath hitch in your throat and your temperature rise. Suddenly you’d give anything to be sat in Joel’s lap right now.

As if your thoughts had summoned him, the front door opens and Joel comes inside out of the cold. He looks over at you, wrapped up in Tommy’s arms. His face remains neutral but his gaze makes you squirm, has your face heating with shame you know you shouldn’t be feeling. He shucks off his coat and throws it on the hook by the door before slumping down on the old, worn sofa with a groan.

“Wha’s for dinner Tom, s’your turn.”

“Got that venison, was gona do a stew. Let me grab a shower first and then I’ll get started.”

He nudges you off his lap and climbs off the bed, leaning over to give you a little kiss on the tip of your nose before disappearing into the bathroom. Your lips twitch upwards involuntarily at the sweet gesture before quickly dropping as Joel heaves a large sigh, his head tipped back, eyes closed, finger and thumb pinching at the bridge of his nose.

“Are you ok Daddy?” you ask him quietly.

He drops his hand back to his thigh as he raises his head up and opens his eyes to look at you. Your heart skips a beat and your breath hitches in your throat at having his attention on you. As always your body reacts to him before your brain can catch up.

“I’m ok baby, just tired.”

You want to go and cuddle up to him so badly, wrap yourself around him and help make him feel better. The urge is not entirely new but it seems as though your whole world has done a complete 180 today and the ground beneath you feels shaky and unsure. Are you allowed to make such requests? Are you allowed to initiate physical contact? He told you earlier he expected you to be a good girl with no guidance on what that meant. You hesitate a beat before the question tumbles out of you, “can I sit with you Daddy?” You’re nervously biting down on your bottom lip, afraid you might have overstepped.

He sees the nerves on your face and takes a moment to savour it. How far you’d surrendered yourself to him. The sweetest victory he’d ever had. He doesn’t leave you hanging for long, aching to feel your softness against him.

“Course you can baby, come here.”

You release the breath you hadn’t even realised you were holding. You climb off the bed and scurry over to him on the sofa. He offers no instruction to you once you reach him, eager to see what you will do. Sit next to him on the couch? Perch yourself on his lap? He knows which he’d prefer but his ego wants you to choose it for yourself. Choose him for yourself.

You fidget with your fingers for a minute until it becomes clear he’s not going to tell you where to sit. You throw caution to the wind, surprising yourself and him when you fully straddle him, pressing your body along his, getting as close as you can and resting your head on his shoulder, arms around his neck.

Only when you feel the tension leaving him and his arms wrapping around you do you relax fully into him. He whispers gently in your ear, “hi baby.”

“Hi Daddy,” you murmur back. A calmness settles over your entire body, your heartrate dropping leaving your brain hazy and your limbs heavy. All from his proximity. His huge frame wrapping around you, his heat seeping into you through his clothes. You wish he was naked, that you could feel his skin against yours. You’re too lost in the sensation to realise how alarmed you should be at your body’s reaction to him. Instead you let out a little hum of contentment when he rests his cheek on your forehead, the bristles of his beard rasping over your skin.

“Did you have fun with Uncle Tommy? No more mishaps?”

“We talked about books, it was nice,” you mutter, “but…”

“But what baby?” he asks you sternly, wondering what Tommy had done to you this time and preparing to give him hell for it.

You bite your lip feeling Joel tense underneath you. “I missed you Daddy,” you breathe out, “I wish you had stayed with me.” Your face heats once again with shame at your confession and you bury it in his shoulder. You can’t believe how far you’ve sunk for this man. But you need to let him know. The guilt from him seeing you happy in Tommy’s arms is eating you alive, you need him to know you’d rather it had been him.

He relaxes under you and squeezes you tighter to him, beaming with pride. His plan had worked out better than he could have hoped.

“Yeah, my good girl missed her Daddy?”

You nod against his shoulder, “mmmhmmm,” you hum out to him.

“Oh baby, I missed you too,” he tells you, his big hand cupping your side, his thumb gently stoking your back. He plants a kiss on your temple and you preen at his attention. You turn your head to look up at him, giving him a shy smile that makes his dick twitch against your exposed core. God he wants to flip you on to your back and fuck your brains out. Feel that tight pussy wrapped around him. But he knows you’re still a little uncertain despite all the progress he’s made. He knows if he’s patient one day you’ll wake up so irrevocably his you’d do anything he asked without hesitation. So instead he plants a kiss on your forehead and pulls you back into the crook of his neck. The ups and downs of the day catch up with you and lulled by the comfort and safety you feel, you swiftly doze off once more in Joel’s arms.

—————————————————————————

You settle back into your routine with almost alarming ease. They pick back up fucking you the very next day but they always make sure you finish before they do. They are kind and gentle with their aftercare and the affection you once hated is now cherished. They treat you more like a person rather than just a toy to be used then put away in the corner until they want to play with you again. They ask about your life, what books and films you liked, what foods you liked, what hobbies you had. After dinner you invariably curl up in one of their laps. You wish it could be Joel’s every night.

You no longer cry every time they fuck you, but occasionally the tears do still fall. But whenever the voices in your head start to get too loud and judgemental you think back to what Joel had told you. Survival is all that mattered now and you had to do whatever it took to ensure you did. And with no small amount of pain and discomfort you admitted to yourself that in this new world all you had to offer was what was between your legs.

But you were smart. You could learn. And who better to learn from than the two men currently keeping you safe? Tommy had agreed to get you a book. You hoped that in time, if you could show them how good you could be for them that they might be willing to do other things for you. Teach you about hunting and foraging and weapons. It was a pipe dream at best but it gave you something to cling on to. Something to start dragging yourself out of the depths with.

With this new hope the harsh voice of your father telling you how worthless you are, that you’re nothing but a harlot and a whore starts to fade and through the quiet a new, warmer voice starts to come through. A voice that tells you that sometimes all you can do is make the best of a bad situation. That even when it seems you have no control, you can control how you react. And there is power in that. As you’d gotten older and more aware, you started to realise what your mom had meant by that. And in a moment of startling clarity you realised that Joel and Tommy were treating you with more kindness than your father had ever treated her.

You were still mulling over this latest revelation when you heard Tommy’s door open. You watched as he wandered over to the old sofa and plopped himself down on it, morning wood straining his boxers.

“Come ‘ere princess,” he instructed, beckoning you over with his index and middle fingers. The familiar action sent a shiver through you and your pussy throbbed. You’d never seen him do it before but you’d felt it many, many times.

Confused you climbed out of bed and made your way over to him, your chain clanking behind you. Once you were close enough he grabbed you by the hips to position you between his spread thighs. His hands snaked behind you to grab hold of your ass. He looked up at you as he gently kneaded the fleshy globes.

“Gona teach you somethin’ new today Princess. Whaddya say, ready to learn some new tricks?”

Absolutely not you thought to yourself, not that it mattered, you knew it would be happening either way. And you knew this was the perfect opportunity to start showing how good you could be for them. So you swallowed your hesitation, almost choking on your instinct to resist. Instead you meekly replied, “yes Uncle Tommy.”

“Good girl.”

You’re distracted from him removing his boxers by the sound of Joel’s bedroom door opening, the man himself sauntering out into the main room. You pinch yourself when your heart skips a beat at the sight of him, a new tactic you had adopted to try and keep yourself grounded around him. Your arms and thighs were now littered with tender spots of your own making, right alongside the ones you got from them. You knew you were fighting a losing battle; that you’d turn to putty for him the second he put his hands on you. But for now he seems content to watch, pulling out a chair from the dining table and settling in so he has a good view of you between Tommy’s legs.

“Did I miss anything?”

“Nah, we’re just gettin’ started ain’t we Princess,” Tommy replies, drawing your attention back to him. “Daddy wants a show honey, let’s give him somethin’ to think about hmm?”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever is coming and nod, not trusting your voice.

“Good girl, on your knees then Princess.”

You sink to your knees keeping your eyes on Tommy so you don’t give in the temptation to look over your shoulder at Joel. You still feel uneasy when Tommy is touching you, can’t shake the guilt that courses through you when you enjoy it. You know Joel could stop it if he wanted but he is content sitting in his chair watching. He doesn’t care, so why do you?

Tommy cups you face and gently strokes your cheek, his other hand pumping his cock.

“You know what a blow job is princess?”

You nod your head, biting your bottom lip to stop it from quivering.

“Oh yeah? So naughty princess, I thought you were a good girl.”

“My friend showed me a video once, I didn’t want to watch Uncle Tommy, I had to shut my eyes, she wouldn’t shut it off,” you frantically explained, the memory sending anxiety zipping through your body, stealing your breath and making tears prick at your eyes. You had been so scared that your dad would somehow know what you’d done when you got home, that he would somehow have a sixth sense that you had been looking at sexual things on Claire’s older brothers computer. He had already thought that Claire was a bad influence.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he soothes you, cupping your face in his big hand, “I was only teasing princess, I know you’re a good girl. You ain’t in trouble, its ok, you’re ok. Take a big, deep breath for me sugar, that’s it.”

You do as he says and try to ground yourself back in the present. Your dad isn’t here. And the man who is about to put his penis in your mouth has already put it inside you elsewhere countless times, so even if he was, your indiscretion with a friend long dead would be the least of his concerns.

A few more deep breaths and you manage to take control of yourself again, Tommy praises you with a “good girl.” It makes you happy to hear it, even if it doesn’t have quite the same effect as when Joel says it.

“Right, now, we’re gona go real slow. Nothin’ to be scared of. Just gona get you used to having him in your mouth, let you get a feel for him ok?”

“Ok.” You take another deep breath and mentally prepare yourself. You can do this. You can be a good girl for them. Win them over and convince them to teach you how to survive in this horrible world.

You look at Tommy’s cock. You’ve never been this close before. He’s hard as a rock, jutting up from a patch of black curls at the base. You watch the skin shift around his shaft as his hand strokes steadily up and down the length of it, occasionally sweeping over the weeping mushroom head. Now that you’re this close you marvel at the size. You wonder how it manages to fit inside you.

“Why don’t you give him a kiss princess, right on the tip.”

He holds his cock steady in his hand as you lean forward, putting your hands on his thighs to brace yourself. You dip forward and place a little kiss on the head, gasping as the bead of pre-cum that leaked out just as you connected smears across your lips.

“That’s it good girl. Clean off those lips now princess, give it a taste.”

You do as you are told and your tongue swipes over your lips, your nose scrunching slightly at the salty flavour. Tommy chuckles lowly at you. “It’s an acquired taste princess, you’ll get used to it,” he tells you, “go on and give the slit a little lick and then wrap your lips around the head.”

You don’t hesitate, reminding yourself what’s at stake. Even if they won’t teach you, you need to secure your place with them, that little nugget of fear still holding tight in your chest. You give the slit a little kitten lick, collecting more of his salty pre-cum on the tip of your tongue before taking the bulbous head of his cock in your mouth and sealing your lips around it. Out of instinct and curiosity you run your tongue around it, earning you a deep throated groan from Tommy and his head tips back onto the sofa.

“Fuck that’s it princess, keep doin’ that, you’re a goddamn natural.”

You let your tongue explore his tip. You decide that the taste isn’t too bad. Definitely not good but better than you had been expecting. Manageable. You think back to that blasted video that had frightened the life out of you, trying to remember everything you could from what you had watched before closing your eyes. You tentatively bring your hand up to wrap around the base of his cock and gently pump like you had seen him doing. You keep your grip loose, too afraid to hold tighter in case you hurt him but it earns you another moan from Tommy and you want to burst with pride.

Buoyed by your success you slide a little more of him into your mouth, letting your tongue explore further. You feel him twitch inside your mouth when your tongue sweeps over a bump on the underside of his cock and you panic and pull back but before you can pull off his cock completely, his hand is on the back of your head, gentle but insistent, pushing you back down his cock, further again than you were before.

“You’re doing so good princess, Jesus, fuck!”

His hands are now cupping both sides of your face as he guides you backwards and forwards on his dick. "Suck for me honey, hollow those cheeks.”

You do as he says, settling back into it, the rhythm of the movements helping to calm your nerves. His hands drop from your head and you keep up the movements, shallowly bobbing your head up and down.

“That’s it princess, just like that. Look so fucking good with my cock in your mouth.”

His hand moves to yours, gently removing it from around his cock and lifting it to his mouth. You flinch when he spits into it, the warmth of his saliva spreading over your palm. He guides you back to wrap around him, his hand sealing over yours. The grip is tighter now with his hand wrapped around yours and he guides it up and down, in time with your bobbing head.

Your jaw begins to ache and the build up of saliva in your mouth is now unpleasantly running down your chin. But you keep going, pushing through your discomfort to keep your hopes alive. He twitches again in your mouth but you don’t let it spook you this time. You realise his other big hand is now wrapped around his balls. You look up at him and the second your eyes meet he lets out the biggest groan of the morning.

“Gona make me cum princess, better pull off if you don’t want a mouthful.”

You do as he says and detach from him. You hear Joel get up from his seat behind you as Tommy drops your hand from around his cock and begins pumping furiously with his own.

“Where?”

“Tits,” Joel demands as he kneels behind you and reaches round to grab the underside of a tit in each hand and squish them together for Tommy, his fingers flicking and tweaking your nipples sending pangs of delight through you.

“Fuuuuuuuuck!” Tommy comes loudly, hot ropes of his spend spurting from his cock and landing all over your chest and tits. He pants as the last few drops escape his tip, and he slumps back on the sofa.

Before you even register what’s happening, Joel is bending you forward into Tommy’s lap and knocking your knees apart. He barrels into you with a howl and yanks you back up to him, his hands grabbing at your cum covered tits.

“So fucking hot baby, watching you suck that cock. Watching you get painted. Fuck,” he growls in your ear as he pummels your pussy, hard and fast like a man possessed. His mouth latches over his mark just above your collar and he sucks and nips at his discoloured claim.

You struggle to catch your breath with the way he is pounding into you but you’re on cloud nine, feeling his body against you, wrapped up tight in his arms as he marks you as his. Your wanton moans meld with his primal grunts and the hard slapping of skin against skin.

You can do nothing in this position, you look for something to hold on to but his big hand is latched tightly around your tit leaving you only his thumb to grab onto. It still takes up your whole hand, the size difference leaving you light headed. Your other hand reaches forward and lands on Tommy’s thigh, slipping through the mess that transferred from your body when Joel pushed you into him.

Tommy’s hand lands on top of yours, helping to keep you steady. Your head lolls back onto Joel’s shoulder and through blurry eyes you see Tommy leaning forward. His fingers connect with your clit and start rubbing perfect little circles into the sensitive little bud. It’s enough to hurl you off the cliff into the abyss, your whole body seizing with the force of your orgasm.

“Yes, that’s it, fuck baby, cum. Cum for Daddy and Uncle Tommy, such a good fucking girl.”

Their pace never falters, prolonging your high until it almost feels unbearable. You slump in Joel’s arms, completely boneless as he finally pours into you, singing praises for your perfect pussy. You hear him panting behind you, feel him clutch you tighter to him. He kisses up and down your neck, so gentle now in comparison to the brute force he fucked you with.

You’re dazed, body still tingling from your orgasm. You whimper out a soft “Daddy,” and his arms tighten again.

“I’m here baby, I got you. Took it so good for me, such a good girl. Daddy’s gona take care of you now, don’ need to worry about a thing.”

You let your eyes drift closed, reassured by his soft words. You don’t know how much time has passed when you feel him pull out of you, feel him lift you as you cling on to him. Feel your collar being removed. It’s not until he puts you down and you feel warm water that you realise you’re in the bath. He lets you lean against him as he gently cleans you up, murmuring praises to you the entire time.

He dries you off and places you back on your bed. You whimper and grab for him. He gets the hint and climbs on the bed with you, spooning you from behind.

“It’s ok baby, I’ll stay for a little bit, you go to sleep now, get some rest.”

You fall asleep almost immediately. You’ve no idea how long you’ve been asleep when you waken but Joel has gone and your collar is back in place. You groan and roll over and there on your pillow is an old, worn out paperback. You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face as you reach for it. You open the front cover and there on the title page is a hand written note:

From Uncle Tommy for his princess xx

@aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @oldloganslittleslut @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @axshadows @justajoelsreader @ahintofkiwistrawberry @guelyury @rosebuds-and-moonlight @koshkaj-blog @shivispunk @ivoryandflame @tammythr @magpiepills @deviscave @megjohnston23 @pedrosgrogu @pedge-page @guelyury

#dark!joel miller #dark!tommy miller #collared fic #tw kidnapping #tw noncon #tw manipulation #joel miller x f!reader #tommy miller x f!reader #smut #pedro pascal #gabriel luna

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godmadeaterribleerror · 5 months ago

Text

Chapter 7 - Something I Can See

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Big chapter for fans of yapping and Dean overthinking things.

Chapter title from Something to Believe by Weyes Blood

Word Count: 16.8k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Sam and Dean drive you home. Usual warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, big angst, fluff, monster of the week.

Chapter 6 - Chapter 8

Read on A03!

She was going to be okay. They’d managed to get the knife out of her gut, and Sammy had stitched Her up, so She’d be fine.

She was still knocked out, but Her breathing was even. The blade had been so hot Dean had needed to use a towel to hold it, but it was out of Her body. Her wound kept bubbling and blistering, but it wasn’t an infection.

She’d be fine. Dean was going to kill Her, but she’d be fine.

He looked down at Her, spread out across Baby’s backseat and curled into her body. She’d barely made a sound since She’d passed out. Only soft moans and whimpers as they worked on the injury, and a few grunts as they’d moved Her into the car, adjusted Her body in the seat, and set off on the road.

They’d done everything. All Her shit was in the trunk, Sam was sitting with her to make sure she didn’t fall over or get worse, and Dean was breaking every traffic law he could think of to get there faster.

To South Dakota.

To Bobby’s.

It had taken Dean too long, in the parking lot, to actually call Bobby. He’d waited until She was settled, until they’d loaded almost everything into the car, and until Sammy was dealing with the front desk so Dean was alone.

He hadn’t been alone. He’d been sitting in the back of the Impala, Her head on his knee and his hand unable to stop tracing over her face.

It was wrong. Looking at Her like this. Features sunken and hollow, lips drained of blood, breathing shallow in a way Dean could feel. It made his own breath labored, his whole body tensed as She relaxed against him, and he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve the trust of Her vulnerability, the way Her beautiful face was half buried in his thigh, the way She’d let out a weak, sad sound whenever he tried to pull away.

He’d hurt Her. He’d spent the entire night after their fight ripping apart the club grounds and roaring Her name, giving Sam daring looks to say a single thing. He’d beaten himself into the mud in fear that he’d lose Her twice. Once with spat words and a cold look of hatred, then again with a shredded body and dulled eyes.

He’d wanted to strangle Her. He’d wanted to apologize, and shout that he had nothing to apologize for. She’d lied.

Not about what Dean thought She’d been lying about, but She’d still lied.

Although, admittedly, the truth was far more confusing.

Because Dean had stared at the small, robot-print letters on Her phone screen—pixilated and fuzzy and flipping his world upside—and not known how to process them.

Bobby Singer.

There could be other Bobby Singers that weren’t Dean’s Bobby Singer. That weren’t the guy who was practically his uncle, who he’d played catch with, who’d made him food and given Sammy run-down toys to play with.

It didn’t make sense for this to be Dean’s Bobby. Dean had half grown up in that house. He’d stayed there for weeks on end when Dad had been on a really bad hunt—hunts where he’d come back with hooded eyes and fisted hands, snapping short orders because they didn’t have time to waste on sentimentality—and Bobby had never once had a daughter. Especially not a hot, annoying, impossible one.

Dean would’ve remembered meeting Her before. There’s no shot he would’ve ever forgotten Her. He couldn’t. He’d tried. Dean was pretty sure that, even if he’d only laid eyes on Her once in passing, he would’ve been drawn down into Her and never climbed back out.

That was simply what She did. Who She was. A walking, breathing song that Dean couldn’t figure out how to touch but still wanted to try to learn. She got stuck in his head and played there on loop, and if he’d ever seen Her before that moroi hunt, he was damn sure he would’ve remembered.

And Bobby would’ve told him. If Bobby had a kid that was around Sam and Dean’s age, they would’ve known. Dad would’ve known.

Dad should’ve known. And he obviously hadn’t. Whenever Dean had brought Her up, Dad had called Her that little girl.

Hell, Dad had told Bobby about Her. Dad had said Her name and Bobby hadn’t gone Fuckin’ Jesus, John, that’s my daughter. The hell is She doin’ huntin’ a poltergeist.

Bobby had reacted strangely, though. Dean remember him hanging up right after Dad mentioned Her.

And She had mentioned her dad was a gruff, smart hunter. Which described Bobby, and explained why She knew so much random shit about hunting, and that was Bobby’s number in Her phone, and-

She’d lied. She’d said She didn’t know a Bobby. She’d asked Dean what he thought of Bobby.

Like She was curious what he’d think.

Son of a bitch.

Because when Dean squinted, he could see Bobby on Her face. Not physically, but in small divets and shadows on Her face and body and voice.

They rolled their eyes the same way. Like they were done with everyone’s shit, and knew that they were the most competent and reliable person in the room.

She had the same laugh Bobby had. Dean had only heard Bobby laugh—really, fully laugh with his whole chest—three or four times, but it was the exact same laugh. Loud and powerful and almost cartoonish.

They didn’t walk the same way, but they fought in similar movements. Brutal and effective, with no more or less than necessary.

And if Dean really thought about it, there were smaller things he could draw together. How She turned a page, how She held a pencil, how She drank her coffee.

Small mannerisms She would’ve picked up from being raised by someone, the same way Dean would spin his keys and Sammy always flipped his wallet in his hands before opening it.

Like Dad did.

Part of Dean hadn’t wanted to call the number. His thumb hovered far too long as he’d debated if he even wanted to know. If this was really what it seemed to be, and he’d have to piece together a puzzle he hadn’t known existed a fucking hour ago.

She could never know that he’d looked down at Her, and that had been what finally got him. That Her scrunched face had made his heart feel like it was being wrenched and pounded, that he’d run his thumb over Her nose, she’d relaxed, and let out a song-like sigh that had been it.

He’d pressed call, held the phone to his ear, and still not fully believed it until the line picked up after two rings.

“Hey, kiddo, I wasn’t expectin’ you to call until you had that Kelpie down. You alright?”

Dean had frozen, his voice caught in his throat, staring at Her face as static sounded in his ear.

That was Bobby. Bobby clearing his throat, Bobby grunting Her name-

“Is everythin’-“

“Bobby?” Dean’s voice had been hushed, and he’d watched Her carefully to make sure she wasn’t disturbed.

There had been a long moment of silence, this time from Bobby’s end, and then-

“Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s-“

“Where the hell did you find this phone, boy?”

Dean had said Her name, his hand tracing over Her brow, still checking she was real. “She gave it to me.”

“She fuckin’- where is she?”

“She’s right here-“

“Put her on, I need to talk to her.”

“Yeah, uh,” Dean had swallowed, and She’d shifted slightly, pressing further into his lap. “I can’t.”

“Dean Winchester, I ain’t lookin’ to kill you, but if you don’t-“

“No, I- I literally fucking can’t, Bobby.”

“Why in hells balls can’t ya’ pass a phone-“

Dean said Her name again, something like lead coating his throat. “Uh, she’s- She’s knocked out.”

There was a brief second of silence, and Dean had winced when Bobby spoke again.

“What the hell typa’ shit have you two gotten into that she’s knocked out?!”

“A demon attacked her, and we- Bobby, we tried to fight it off but it got a knife into her gut, and Sammy patched her up but-“

“Sam’s there?”

Dean had frowned. “Yeah, uh, who else-“

“Never mind, I thought-“ Bobby had sighed through the phone, something tense growing in his voice. “She stable?”

“Yeah, but she told us to call you.”

“Alright, bring her up here and I’ll be ready. And Dean?”

Dean had nodded, staring at Her gorgeous, almost peaceful face, and there had been a long stretch of silence before he remembered Bobby couldn’t see him.

“Dean-“

“Shit, sorry, what’s-“

“I don’t want you lettin’ a single fuckin’ thing near her but you and Sam, got it?”

“Yes, sir-“

“Don’t yes, sir me, boy. Promise me you’ll keep her in your sight.”

“I will. Promise.”

It had been an easy thing to say. The thought of leaving Her alone had—even as his head spun, and his chest started to mold with the question of why the hell she’d lied—made Dean feel taut and sick.

And Bobby had hung up the phone, and Dean had kept his promise. He’d never left Her alone, not for a second. Sam had sat with Her because Dean didn’t trust himself to care for her properly—didn’t deserve to have Her half slump over his body and sigh against his skin—and Dean’d had to force his eyes to stay on the road, and not drift to check on Her

It was bad enough that his mind had been wandering. Coming up with more and more reasons this didn’t make any fucking sense, and far too many reasons why it did.

She’d called going to Bobby’s home, and Dean felt something like bile in his throat at the thought that whenever She’d said home before, she’d been talking about Bobby. And lying. And letting Dean think She was living in a fancy gated palace, when she’d just been at Bobby’s. But now, when Dean pictured Bobby’s table, he could see Her at it. She slotted into the scene perfectly, just as She fit so well in every other part of Dean’s life.

And he still couldn’t hate Her. He had far too many questions—where the hell She’d been whenever they’d stayed with Bobby, why had She never corrected Dean, why had Bobby lied about knowing Her—and he didn’t know what the hell was happening, but he just couldn’t fucking hate Her.

“Hey, Dean?” Sam had asked a few hours ago, watching Dean carefully from the backseat. “What happened, last night? You just, you called me and said she’d stormed off, but-“

“Don’t.” Dean had muttered, his grip tightening on the wheel, and Sam had sighed.

“Look, you don’t have to tell me everything, I just want to know why she’d just fucked off, it doesn’t seem like her-“

“You don’t know her, Sam-“

“But you do-“

“Do I?” Dean had snapped, his eyes flicking back to Her in the rearview mirrors. Always close, and untouchable, and a mystery Dean could never seem to get close to solving. “I’m not sure anyone knows her, and I certainly fucking don’t.”

“Yeah, you do, Dean.” Sam had leaned forward, his tone far too careful and gentle. “Whatever fight you guys had, however pissed she got, I can’t be that bad-“

“Yeah, it can be.” Dean had scowled at the road, his voice lowering to a grunt. “Drop it, Sam. I fucking serious.”

Sam had sighed, and nodded. “Alright, what about the demon? Do you think we need to be keeping an eye out?”

“Eye out-“

“For another one.” Sam had glanced down to Her, she’d made a small noise of distress, and the sound had ached in Dean’s chest. “Dude, it- It knew who you were. And it seemed to know her-“

“There’s- How the hell would a demon know her-“

“I don’t know, that’s what I’m asking.” Sam had swallowed, and Dean could see the nerves written over his face in the mirror. “You think Bobby will have an idea?”

Dean didn’t know. He’d snapped at Sam that when they got to Bobby’s they’d have plenty of time to figure out what the fuck was happening, but the question was still echoing around his head.

Why would a demon have gone after Her. She was just a year older than Sammy, so she couldn’t have made that many enemies. She wasn’t some kind of target. There was nothing about her that could-

There was everything about Her. If Dean thought about it for too long—which is all he had time to do—She wasn’t just an enigma to Dean. Her family was still her family, no matter how she knew Bobby. Dad had said She’d stolen something, all those years ago. Maybe the demons would want it.

Maybe others felt that pull. Maybe there was something deeper Dean didn’t know how to see.

Maybe there was nothing at all, and the demon had been hunting Her because of her proximity to Dean.

That thought made him feel sore and ill. Dad said that it was a demon who had gotten Mom. A demon who had gotten Jess.

And She wasn’t Dean’s. She’d made that perfectly fucking clear.

But he couldn’t stop looking at Her. Couldn’t stop how the air didn’t feel clean in his lungs because Her breathing was shallow, how his hands kept itching on the wheel to brush over Her cheek and soothe the small wrinkle in Her brow. He could tell himself he just wanted to check for a fever, but he also wanted to move the hair from Her face. Sam was just letting is lie there, and Dean knew she hated people touching it, but she always let Dean touch her. She never slapped his hand away when he touched Her. She leaned into him, and sometimes She smile, and sometimes Dean could pretend she was his-

She wasn’t. She wouldn’t be. Dad had known Mom. Sam had known Jess.

Dean didn’t know anything. He didn’t know why the demon had been after Her, or what She been thinking just stomping off, or why Bobby was her home.

All he really knew was that this still looked wrong. That the sight of Her in pain was making his heart shred itself in his chest, and that he wanted to reach around the seats and touch Her. Pull Her into him until nothing else could hurt Her, until he could get her somewhere safer than him.

She’d be safer anywhere but with Dean. Bobby had said to keep an eye on Her, but Dean didn’t trust his eyes. All week they’d kept seeing things that didn’t really make sense. Every moment they just made Her more beautiful, even as Dean silently cursed himself for still looking.

He couldn’t stop looking. He fucking hated Her for lying, but every single sharp and blunted piece of wrath in Dean’s chest felt more searing when it carved on his own ribs. She was a liar, but Dean was a piece of shit. He’d bitten Her too hard. He didn’t have a damn clue about Her life, but he’d still aimed to kill and then been a whiny son of a bitch when his shot had landed.

She may bring out the most of him, but it was still Dean who was made of all those foul, uncontrolled pieces.

Dad knew how to control himself. Dad wasn’t perfect, but at least he kept himself in line, and he’d tried to teach Dean how to do the same but Dean was just weaker. Pathetic and useless.

He didn’t deserve to be around Her. No matter how much it pissed Dean off that She was better than he was, it didn’t change the fact. Dean wasn’t worthy of being around Her.

And he still couldn’t stop looking. She was dangerous, and awesome, and looked so perfect in Dean’s car—fit so well with everything that was Dean, everything that belonged to him—but she also was impossible. And insufferable. And seemed to be trying to break Dean into pieces, because Her eyes fluttered, her breath hitched, and She arched her back.

All while mumbling Dean.

Her eyes drifted open, a small frown on Her face, and the first thing she said was Dean.

She was trying to kill him.

“Dean.“ Her voice was soft, and weak, and rooted right into the cavity of Dean’s chest. Washing it in silver light with only Her voice, saying his name as Her fingers flexed and she reached mindlessly out into the air.

There’s a brief second where Dean wondered if She was looking for him. Reaching out to see if he’d take Her hand, if he’d reassure her with just his touch.

He needed to get it together.

He didn’t know how.

“I- Dean, what’s- I don’t-“ Her voice was growing distressed, Her slightly gazed as they dragged open. Her fingers seemed to be digging into Her skin as she shrank into the bench, Her breathing speeding up and becoming short and shit-

It looked wrong. It felt wrong. Dean had no right to touch Her, no reason to tense and balk at the sight of Her in pain—small and panicked and almost feral in his backseat, ducking Her head and hugging her body as if she could shield herself—but he couldn’t stop himself from wanting hold Her until she was calm, to wrap himself around her like a barrier from everything else that could hurt Her in the world.

It was selfish as hell. Dean could hurt Her. Dean had hurt Her. He was the asshole who got them here in the first place, all by not knowing how to just control himself.

He didn’t want to control himself right now. Not as Her face twisted in pain.

Not as She kept saying his name.

“Where are we- I- Dean-“

“I’m here,” He muttered Her name, gripping the back of his seat to stop himself from reaching for her. “We’re in the car.”

She went silent, Her body stilling completely, and cold seized over Dean’s body. Why was She just lying there. Why wasn’t She speaking, or shouting, or sneering. Asking questions or spitting venom about their fight, trying to get up or curl further into Herself, why was she so fucking still-

Dean was about to damn it, reach further back, and touch Her—just to feel the warmth of Her body, just to get something of a reaction—when She finally spoke.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, and Dean would’ve never bet on that being what She’d say. On Her seeming to mean it, her face twisted slightly, Her head bowed, and her voice soft. “I- I didn’t mean to.”

He frowned. “Mean to what.”

“Anything.”

Her eyes drifted open. Bright and seeming to glow on Dean’s, looking at him like She always had. If Dean didn’t know better, he would’ve thought their fight had never happened. There was no possible way it could’ve when She was still looking at him. Right into him, into the deep pit in his body that felt smaller under Her attention. Felt lined or coated in warmth and light, because that was what She did to him.

And She still looked vulnerable. Just watching him, something more nervous on her face than Dean usually saw, something almost afraid.

He hated it. She shouldn’t fear Dean, She should trust him. She didn’t, but he needed Her to. At least enough to know that, even if Dean—for some sick, fucked reason—tried to, he couldn’t lay a hand on Her. He could hiss and mock and poison Her with his mouth or presence, but he was pretty damn certain that his body would turn itself to ash before it hurt Her.

Which didn’t make sense. It wasn’t rational, or reasonable, or understandable. But Dean’s hand flexed on the seat, and She practically fucking flinched, and Dean had never felt lower in his life. Any ideas he’d been holding about demanding answers and shouting about everything—their fight, Her lies, his brimming and spilling desire and how She needed to stop doing this to him so he could control himself—began to vanish into thin air. It was impossible to be really, truly angry at Her when she looked like that. Beautiful and fragile and critical to the blood in Dean’s body.

He’d find that anger later, and they’d fight later. For now he just let out a long breath, and shrugged.

“’S fine.” It wasn’t. But it was the only good thing to say here, because Dean might rather stab himself than tell Her about how fucking furious he was, and make Her fold further down. He’d wounded Her enough for a while. “You feeling alright?”

“Yeah, I’m-“ She paused, hands padding over Her stomach. “Did you-“

“Sammy gave you some stitches.” Dean said, watching her carefully. “He’s not great that them, though, so don’t move.”

Her mouth twitched slightly. Dean wished he could touch it. “Where is Sam?”

“Getting gas. We got a few hours left until we hit Sioux Falls.”

“Oh.”

Dean didn’t miss the flash of something over Her face. He didn’t know what. He just knew it was wired, and taut, and brittle. That he wanted to ease it, but didn’t know how. Wasn’t really worthy of trying to learn.

But Sam was taking a while.

And Dean couldn’t fucking stand how fearful She looked.

“If you press on the stitches, does it hurt?”

She raised her brows. “I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to press on them, Winchester.”

“Nah, I know, I’m just trying to figure out how shit a job Sammy did.”

She didn’t look like She believed him, and Dean really wished he’d come up with a better excuse to talk to Her, because now she was lifting up her shirt.

Her skin looked a little raw and torn around the wound, but everywhere else was soft. Smooth. He’d noticed it while patching Her up, that she barely had any pale, raised patches of skin where other hunters did.

No scars was so fucking rare.

But so was She.

And Dean needed to pull it together.

“It’ll hold,” She looked back to Dean, and he had to blink at her. Pretend he hadn’t just been gaping at Her bare skin. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” He muttered, scanning over Her features. She was awake, but there still wasn’t enough color in Her face. Too little fury behind Her eyes, nothing dancing and shining like it usually did. She looked exhausted. Weakened. The little furrow of Her brow tighter than usual.

They had hours to go, and Dean knew how to fix that. He knew how to poke at Her until she snapped and everything bent with Her—all Her force making the world clearer, Dean’s body stronger—and how to walk right up to the invisible line, touch Her just as much as he was allowed, and make Her relax. Sam didn’t. But Dean did.

“I’m coming back there.” He grunted, starting to shift in his seat, and She frowned.

“What?”

“Sammy’s gonna drive the rest of the way, I’ll sit with you-“

“No, you don’t-“

He shook his head. He didn’t want to hear Her say he didn’t have to, because it just reminded him that she didn’t feel this. That there was nothing that called Her to Dean’s side, because if there was she’d be fucking begging him to sit with Her.

He knew that, because he was seconds away from dropping to a new low and begging Her.

“We had Sammy back there all day,” he held Her gaze, trying to make his voice stern. “Only fair you get saddled with me too.”

“I’m not-“ She cut herself off with a shake of Her head. “I don’t need Sam to sit with me either, De. I’m fine.”

De. She said De, and it was maybe the only thing more powerful than Her calling him Dean. Even if She didn’t mean it, the word felt like a command over his body, and that was only another thing Dean didn’t understand.

“You’re- you look like shit, Princess.“ He couldn’t stop the nickname from slipping out of his mouth. No matter how screwed things were, the way Her body loosened slightly at the sound of it was always a small high, and Dean couldn’t figure out how to stop chasing it.

She scowled. “Hey-“

“You just got stabbed, and you haven’t woken up in six hours-“

“I’m awake now-“

“And I’d like to keep it like that.” Dean snapped. “I- you just gotta-“ He ran a hand over his face, because She didn’t want him there, but every time Her eyes drooped or Her body twitched with pain it made Dean’s gut contract. “At least keep Sammy. So you’re not alone.”

She rolled Her eyes. It really did fucking look like Bobby. “I’m not alone, dummy, you’re like two feet away.”

“What if you pass out again? Am I just supposed to pull over?”

“Yeah? I mean, I’m not gonna pass out-“

“You can’t know that, sweetheart-“

“I can guess.” She glowered at him, raising Her chin slightly, and even lying down She looked like royalty. “It’s my body, Winchester, and I feel fine.”

“For now.” Dean muttered, and She wrinkled her nose at him.

“Shut up-“ She cut herself off with a yawn, and Dean’s jaw clenched.

She couldn’t see Her. Every single second that passed no light returned to Her eyes, and everything just grew duller. She’d just yawned. But Dean was pretty certain that—if She hissed at Sam to get in the front seat and not bother worrying about her—the giant baby would listen.

Dean needed to work around this. She needed to be okay.

“You’ll need to keep talking.” He grunted, holding her gaze. “I hear one second of silence, and we’re pulling over so I can move back there. Understood?”

She gave him a flat look. “Are you serious-“

“Deadly, Princess. Understood?”

Dean might be imagining it, but a little color returned to Her face. The flush. And the breath. And the-

“Understood.” She muttered. “You’re such a fucking dick.”

“You’ve told me.” Dean turned back to face ahead, and she let out a long breath behind him.

This silence was short, but maybe the heaviest Dean had ever experienced. It weighed on the top of his chest, and he didn’t know how to push it off, and he wanted to look at Her again, but he couldn’t bear it if She didn’t look at him-

“Dean,” She whispered, and his whole body went alert at the sound of her voice. Softer than usual, but still calling him down. “I’m-“

Whatever She was, Dean didn’t get to know. Sam knocked on his window, waving to Her in the backseat, and Dean had to turn and roll down the window so they could hear each other.

“Dude, why are you hunching down like that, just get in the freaking car-“

Sam rolled his eyes, not moving to from the window. “I still need to get coffee, Dean. And,” He said Her name with a grin, completely ignoring Dean’s glower. “You’re up!”

“Yep.” She returned Sam’s smile, and Dean scowled. She hadn’t smiled at him. “Thanks for the stitches.”

Sam shrugged, leaning a little further through the window. “No problem. They feel okay? Because I was rushing a little to get you on the road, and-“

“They feel fine, Sam. I feel fine.”

Those last words were shot at Dean, and he rolled his eyes. “You won the argument, Princess, don’t get all bitchy with me.”

“I am not being bitchy-“

“You’re being dramatic-“

“I just got fucking stabbed, Winchester, I can be as dramatic as I want.”

Dean scoffed, twisting in his seat. “I’m the one who had to watch you get stabbed-“

“How fucking harrowing for you-“

“What the hell does harrowing mean-“

“Hey!” Sam slapped Dean’s arm, shooting both of them a stern look. “You guys can fight all you want when we’re on the road, but we actually need to get on the road. Tell me what you want from the gas station, and kill each other after.”

She let out a long breath. “Sorry, Sam.”

“Thank you,” Sam said Her name, gave Dean a pointed glare, and Dean scowled.

“I didn’t fucking do anything-“

She scoffed, the sound a rough cough that almost made Dean leap over the bench to pick Her up and hold her to his chest. “Oh, fuck off, Winchester-“

“Wouldn’t you love that, Princess-“

“Dean!” Sam snapped. “Don’t- Just tell me what you want, please.”

Dean opened his mouth, and She cut him off with sharp, short words.

“Don’t say pie. You’re driving.”

Dean was either going to smother Her with his hands around her neck, or with his mouth slammed to Her’s. She was so fucking hot, and annoying, and Dean wouldn’t strangle her because he knew his dumb body wouldn’t allow him, but Jesus, She needed to shut the hell up before Dean made her and then lost her forever-

“Dean?” Sam was raising his brows. Waiting for a response.

“Gimme some coffee.” He muttered, gripping the wheel like it could save him from Her glare, and how it made his skin feel sore. “And jerky.”

Sam nodded, glancing over to Her, and when she spoke her voice was too quiet. He watched to jump over the bench again.

“Coffee and candy?”

“Sure, you want anything specific-“

“Whatever’s cheap.” She said, and Dean was going to break the wheel.

His head was churning and spiraling again. She said that like Bobby said it. The same dismissive cheaper is easier, boy, and I ain’t an idiot to fall for fancy fuckin’ packagin’ tone.

“Snickers?” Sam offered, and She must have nodded because a second later, he was gone.

It was silent. So silent that Dean had a brief, stabbing moment of worry that She was passed out again. His eyes flicked up to the mirror again, and Her eyes were open—pretty and glaring at Dean like She wanted to stab him—but they looked lidded. And the little furrow was becoming more prominent, and Her breathing was a little too shallow, and-

“You’re supposed to be talking.” Dean snapped, and She rolled Her eyes. And it was still exactly like Bobby did, but, son of a bitch it was so much hotter-

He needed to get a grip. He needed to figure out how—when they eventually did get to Sioux Falls—he was ever going to be able to look at Her and not wonder how he hadn’t seen it before. He was a little fucking worried he’d look at Bobby and start to feel that gravitational pull. That Dean would start to orbit around Bobby, and smell him all the time, and hear his voice in dreams-

If that happened, Dean would need to give himself a concussion and pray it erased his memory. He already didn’t love how he wanted nothing more than to crawl over Her and make her smile, and if he started to crave Bobby’s attention too, he’d lose his mind. Crashing into Her was usually good, when she wasn’t trying to give him a heart attack or being the most impossible person Dean had ever met. Crashing into Bobby would be gross. If Dean had to start fantasizing about Bobby under him when he fucked someone, he might just have to kill himself-

“Dean!” She was shouting, Her voice slightly strained, and he turned to frown at Her.

“What’s-“

“What am I supposed to be talking about?”

He frowned. “I don’t fucking care-“

“Alright, then I won’t-“

“No.” Dean pointed a stern finger at Her, narrowing his eyes. “You gotta talk. That was the deal.”

“I didn’t make a deal, you just ordered me to talk-“

“I did not order you, Princess, I’m trying to goddamn keep you alive after you went and got stabbed-“

“Oh, suck my fucking dick-“

The car door opened, and they both turned to see Sam leaning into the car, coffees in hand and snacks under his arms.

“Oh, good, you didn’t murder each other.” Sam passed out their coffees and snacks, his voice a dry mutter that was gonna get him punched. “Actually,” he frowned between them. “If you’re going to fight for the rest of the ride, can Dean sit in the back so I can tune it out-“

“Neither of you are sitting in the back.” She pushed Herself upright with a small, weak sound, and Her hands were shaking. Dean was going to tackle Her.

“Maybe, uh,” Sam glanced at Dean as he said Her name, like he could see the rough tension over his heart at Her insistence to be as difficult as possible. “I mean, I really don’t mind if I do have to sit with you-“

“I’ll be alright without a babysitter-“

“Because you’re going to keep talking.” Dean muttered, drumming his hands on the wheel. “Sammy, apparently her majesty can’t come up with a topic, so that’s on you, but I don’t want a single second of silence, sweetheart, or-“

“You’ll pull over and be a massive fucking baby.” She snapped, and Dean wished She wasn’t so hot when she was pissed. “He threatened me, Sam.”

Dean scowled. “I did not threaten you-“

“Fine. It was blackmail.”

“It was- I-“ Dean whipped around to glower at her. “You’re such a fucking-“

“Bitch?” She sneered, holding his gaze. “Am I a bitch? Am I a spoiled little bitch?”

“That’s- You know I wasn’t-“

“Trying to hurt my little bratty girl feelings-“

“I never fucking said-“

She scoffed, and Dean could swear something hot and wired was fueling all his anger. Maybe it was how the air in the car seemed to be waving, or how every word was venomous and cold and making something inside of him wither, or how breathing was so fucking painful when She was furious and sneering-

“That I’m a bitch? That I’m a controlling fucking bitch-“

“Shut up! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Dean slammed his hand on the bench, and She flinched. Visibly flinched. Recoiled.

“I- I didn’t-“ She swallowed, staring at Her cup in her hands. “Sorry.”

Dean was a piece of fucking shit. He’d done it again. He’d pushed it too far because he was an asshole.

He muttered Her name, his voice low. “I didn’t- I’m-“

“Don’t.” She mumbled, and She wouldn’t look at him. “I’ll keep talking.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, and all he could do was nod. She looked sick. He fucking felt sick. He kept slamming his fist between them, making everything worse, hurting Her in a way he’d never seemed to be able to hurt anyone before-

Sam cleared his throat. Dean had forgotten he was there.

“So, uh, we’re talking.”

Dean opened his mouth to say no, they needed to fucking patch whatever the hell was wrong with him with glue, so he could shove himself into her hands as a pathetic, useless apology, but She was faster. Better. Still a liar, still in pain, but also still beautiful. Still so far away from Dean.

“Yeah. Get in the car.”

Sam nodded, shooting Dean one last look, and leaned out of the car. Dean started the engine—biting his tongue not to vomit a million apologies he knew wouldn’t come out right—and they were back on the road.

Four hours until they hit Bobby’s.

Four hours of beating himself bloody in silence, and listening to Her speak.

Normally Dean would’ve thought there was no better way to spend his time than being drowned in Her voice, and hearing her say anything at all. But normally She wasn’t in this pain, where She’d gesture too broadly and hiss, or Baby would hit a bump and She’d whine. Normally he didn’t have to force himself not to look at Her—and whenever he lost control and his eyes slipped to Her in the mirror, she didn’t look so colorless and drained—and normally Dean allowed himself to speak to Her in more than grunts.

She was acting like everything was fine. Sometimes he’d look back and She’d be smiling, and it didn’t reach Her eyes, and Dean had done that. That wasn’t the injury.

That was just Dean. Ruining everything because She’d fallen from the sky into his hands and he’d bashed Her into the mud.

“There’s…” Sam was said Her name, his voice filled with disbelief. “You don’t actually think that, right?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t think it-“

“But it’s Star Wars! I mean, it’s not perfect, but you can’t seriously believe it’s bad.”

“It is bad, Sam. It’s objectively poorly written, but it has iconic imagery, music, and actors-“

“Because it’s not bad!”

It had been thirty minutes of this. Sam hadn’t needed to look that hard to find a topic, and the moment he’d said the words Uh, you like movies? Dean had known it was over. He’d had this exact conversation with Her before, and it had involved a lot more yelling and shoving than Sam was getting.

It had also involved Her giggling and smiling and leaning so close that Dean could see even the smallest features on her face—tiny bumps and scars, little divets that somehow made Her more beautiful—and smell that strange fruit until it intoxicated him, and he’d thrown his hands up in surrender.

Her eyes had sparkled then. She still wouldn’t look at him now. Even when Sam would echo a point Dean had made before, She shot it down with ease—and a careful, detailed argument that made Dean think She’s been freaking practicing—and Sam would let out a sigh that sounded a little like a whine.

“I don’t think it’s useless, you know. I’m saying it’s not-“

“You just called it the most overhyped movie ever made!”

“And it is, but that’s why it’s not useless. It was the primary cause of science fiction being popularized-“

“Because people liked it!” Sam looked to Dean with wide eyes—as if Dean could fucking do something about this—and then back to Her with a shaking head. “I- They’re maybe the most popular movies of all time-“

“Popularity doesn’t equate quality, Sam.” She said, and Dean hoped She couldn’t see him mouthing along with her every word, knowing exactly what she’d say. “It can, but it doesn’t have to. Star Wars being popular is its greatest strength, because that mean it was able to serve as inspiration for many, better things.”

Sam scoffed. “Like what?”

That was a mistake. If Dean was allowing himself to participate in the conversation, he would’ve been able to tell Sammy that saying that—especially in a doubtful tone—was never a good idea. She’d have examples, and if She didn’t, she’d come up with some right here in the car.

Dean had fallen for that trap before. And he was too fucking tired and bitter to save Sam from it.

“I’m so glad you asked, Samuel.” Dean glanced in the mirror, and that was a wide, blinding, almost manic grin that appeared when She was about to hand Dean’s ass to him on a platter.

He almost felt bad for Sam.

“I- Samuel?”

She hummed, completely ignoring Sam’s indigence. “Almost all science-fiction movies are somewhat inspired by Star Wars, or owe Star Wars the popularity of the genre. And, Star Wars significantly popularized the use of Monomyth in film-“

Dean didn’t remember what Monomyth was. Sam didn’t seem to either, because She cut herself off with a sigh.

“The Hero’s Journey. In movies.”

“Oh.” Sam frowned. “Dean said you didn’t go to college.”

Dean cringed slightly, feeling Her glare through the mirror.

“Did he.”

“Yeah, it’s just surprising, you’re smart-“

“I don’t have to go to college to be smart.”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying, you just- You don’t sound like you didn’t-“

“I’ve read a lot.” She said, and a vision of Bobby’s library flashed through Dean’s head.

There were a shit ton of books in there. Even Sam hadn’t read them all, and Dean was pretty sure Bobby hadn’t either, but he also remembered Bobby saying that they’d all been read.

By Her.

“And,” She was still talking. Of course She was. “I’ve watched a lot of TV, which is how I know I’m right. Star Wars is terrible-“

In the corner of his eye, Dean watched Sam open his mouth, and then make his first good choice of the day and close it.

“But it’s also the only reason we have Indiana Jones-“

“You like Indiana Jones?”

Dean rolled his eyes. Another mistake from Kid Genius in shotgun-

“Shut up, Winchester.”

Dean blinked, scowling at the road. “I didn’t say anything-“

“You were going to.” She snapped, and when Dean glanced back, she was glaring at him. “So shut up.”

Sam frowned between them. “Why would Dean-“

“Her majesty loves Indiana Jones.” Dean grunted. “Good luck, Sammy.”

“Don’t wish him luck, I’m not going to try to kill him-“

“Sure, Princess.”

She kicked the back of Dean’s seat, and he didn’t even grunt. The hit was weaker than usual, and it wasn’t because She wasn’t trying.

She was just weaker. She was still coughing and taking breaths that were far too long. Her eyes were still a little hollowed, and lips in too tight a line, and brow drawn in pain. Dean couldn’t fucking stand it. He wanted to pull over, grab Her and demand that they forgive each other now—or at least try to pretend nothing had happened in the first place—because she was hurt and needed Dean’s help-

“I’m not going to kill you, Sam.” She said, and Sam didn’t look all that reassured. “And I do love Indiana Jones. I think it’s fun.”

Sam frowned. “Star Wars is fun.”

“Star Wars parodies are fun. There’s an episode of the Muppet Show with the Star Wars cast, and it’s better than all the actual Star Wars movies combined.”

She and Sam kept talking—Sam refused to believe one single episode of television could be greater than a film trilogy, and Dean didn’t think She was capable of just surrendering any sort of argument—and Dean’s head started to wander again. Back to Bobby’s house, and every single sign of Her he’d never noticed. Never had reason to notice, or dwell on, or observe, but now he couldn’t stop remembering all the grenadine in Bobby’s fridge that the man himself never seemed to touch, but always seemed to be in use. All the normal books that weren’t for hunting, and didn’t seem like things Bobby would read.

If Dean squinted in his head, he could see the VHS tapes stacked near the TV. There had been a lot of movies he’d stayed up late to watch—action movies and westerns and some fancy art films he hadn’t action movies and TV shows-really understood—but also some he’d never touched. Comedy films and chick flicks and-

“Bobby had that show.” Dean muttered, and She and Sam fell silent. “The Muppet Show. He had a freakin’ VHS tape.”

They hadn’t mentioned it since She woke up. The looming axe over all their heads, that they were heading to Bobby’s, and She’d fucking lied about knowing him.

But Dean hadn’t been able to stop himself. He was never able to stop himself with Her. It was fucking amazing, how he kept managing to make this whole thing worse.

“Yeah.” She muttered. She’d tucked Her knees to her chest. “He does.”

Sam cleared his throat, his voice gentle. “I, uh, you don’t have to answer, but can I ask how you know Bobby? Dean said he raised you-“

“He did.”

“Oh.” Sam looked between Her and Dean with a frown. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Her voice becoming taut, and it squeezed around Dean’s throat. “I’ve told you my dad is a hunter-“

“So Bobby’s your dad?”

“No, it’s-“ She sighed. “I- It’s easier to say father than man who raised me. We’re not related.”

Sam nodded slowly, and Dean stayed perfectly fucking still in his seat. If he moved or breathed wrong, She might remember he was here and stop sharing things.

“If you- How have we never met before?” Sam’s voice was cautious. Dean understood that. “It’s just, Dean and I have known Bobby our whole lives, we’ve spent weeks at his house-“

“I was…” She swallowed, Dean didn’t have to look back to know Her head would be bowed, and she’d be picking Her skin bloody. “Really sick. I had to be kept separated from other people.”

It wasn’t a lie. Dean could fucking hear it, could feel the sinking ache into his bones at Her tired, heavy voice. And it didn’t matter how vague and useless an answer that was—how it just left him with more questions about how sick She’d been, what type of sickness, if She was alright now when she didn’t really seem to be—because it was the truth.

And She looked sad. She wouldn’t look up, and She was tucked into Herself, and there was hair blocking all Her features from view, and Dean wanted to move it and touch Her, trace his hands over Her face until she smiled and her body went loose-

She wouldn’t let him touch Her. If he tried, he’d probably get punched in the gut, and it would leave a gash in his intestine he didn’t know how to prevent or heal.

He was still pathetic though. Still feeling an itch on his skin the longer She looked like she was trying to hide from something invisible, the longer Her brow pressed to Her knees and the acidic silence stretched on.

He couldn’t just stop.

“Keep talking, Princess.” He grunted, and he could feel Her glare sear through his head. It was better than nothing.

“Dean,” Sam’s voice was too gentle. He didn’t get it. How She was too quiet and too bendable and it was making Dean feel sunken and empty. “Maybe we can just listen to music or something-“

“No. Talk.”

Sam’s eyes widened, and if he kept gaping like that, Dean was going to kick and punch him.

“Well, Deano,” She was still glaring at him from the backseat. “What the fuck should I be talking about?“

“Anything, just-“

“Anything isn’t helpful-“

“Tell Sammy what food he is.” Dean snapped, and Sam blinked.

“Tell me what?”

“I’m pie,” Dean muttered, his grip on the wheel white knuckled. “Because the smartass back there is a little genius.”

“I am a genius.” Her voice was harsher than before. Stronger. “And I didn’t just say you were a pie, I said you were pecan pie, you asshole-“

“Same thing-“

“It’s not. The specification is important-“

“It’s damn pie, sweetheart. Pie is pie-“

“Why pecan?” Sam asked. “I mean, why not apple, or cherry-“

“Because I don’t pander.” She said, and Dean had to bite down a snort. “And he’s not nearly sweet enough to be cherry-“

Dean frowned. “Hey-“

“And,” She pushed on, ignoring Dean entirely. “The chewiness of pecan is very Dean.”

He didn’t know how to protest that. He didn’t know what to say to that. Not when he glanced back in the mirror and Her face was so unreadable.

She didn’t sound as pissed anymore. Dean didn’t know what to do with that.

“Okay.” Sam was nodding, looking between Her and Dean with another unreadable expression. Everyone needed to start saying what they were thinking soon, or Dean was gonna lose it. “I- Yeah. I can see that. What food am I, then?”

“Bubblegum.”

Her answer was quick, and if Dean didn't have to drive and brood, he would've laughed at the look on Sammy's face.

"I- Why?"

“You’re sweet. And flexible but still kinda stiff.”

Dean frowned, lowering his voice to speak under his breath. “I’m sweet.”

She hummed. “Yeah, but you’re an acquired taste, Deano. Like pecan.”

She kept talking, but the word bounced and echoed around Dean’s head. Deano. She only called him Deano when he’d said or done something stupid, but She wasn’t really that pissed about it. Deano had an underlying tone of affection to it. A higher sound on the De and a long moment on the O.

She might not hate him.

“Okay.” Sam was nodding slowly, still twisted in his seat. “I can be bubblegum. Is- Do you do that a lot?”

“Do what?”

“Uh, sort people, I guess? Like, what type of drink would you say I am?”

“She doesn’t drink, Sammy.” Dean muttered, and his seat got kicked again.

“I still know what drinks are-““Could you tell us what each one is like?” =

There was a brief pause—Dean could imagine the small, pouting frown on Her face—and then- “No.”

Dean shot Her a wink in the mirror before he could think better, and it was a mistake. She was glowering at him. She was really hot when She glowered at him—Dean could easily imagine smoke rising off Her body and small, silver spark flying over his skin when he touched Her—but her easy, high beauty wasn’t nearly enough to distract Dean from how shitty she looked. There was more gray in Her face than before, She was curled more into her own body, and, son of a bitch, Her eyes were fluttering slightly-

“What about music genres?” Dean said, just to keep Her talking, and She blinked at him. “What?”

“Music genres, Princess. You know hip-hop, pop, the blues-“

“I know what music genres are, asshole, why are you-“

“Which are we.” Dean gave a vague, one-handed wave between himself and Sammy. “Do your thing.”

“I don’t have a thing-“

“Yeah, you do. Give it a shot, sweetheart. Music genres.”

Sam gave Dean an unwelcome, amused look. “You know, it kind of feels like one of us-“

“Shut up, Sammy.” Dean looked back in the mirror, raising his brows at Her. “And you’re supposed to be talking.”

She wrinkled Her nose him, but she also started talking, so Dean didn’t really care all that much. He was rock—but She was annoying, said Latin pop first, and giggled for five straight minutes after—and Sammy was jazz. Fancy bar Jazz.

Dean didn’t know what that meant.

But he really liked the sound of Her voice, and the way She said most everything. She could’ve probably called Sam country music and he’d agree, just because of how She’d say. With a smooth, passive authority that told something in Dean’s brain She’s right. All the freaking time, even when She’s obviously wrong, she’s still right.

Sam was starbursts, and Dean was a KitKat. Dean was dusk, and Sam was noon. Sam was a Lily of the Valley, and Dean was a rose.

Dean had no interest in being a flower. He did like Her telling him what he was. He liked the idea that She’d been looking at him. That She’d thought about him enough to think he’d be a car if he was on object—which was a cheap shot, but still made Dean feel fuzzy—or a tree if he was a plant, or a seal if he lived in the ocean.

He frowned, waiting for Her to elaborate—he still wasn’t allowing himself to speak all that much, because this felt delicate and still slightly fractured—and decided he wouldn’t kick Sam’s ass for being a butthead the whole car ride when the kid took the bullet for him.

“Why am I an octopus?”

She yawned. It made Dean’s stomach clench. “You’re productive and floppy.”

Dean snorted, and Sam shot him a glare.

“Well then, why’s Dean a seal-“

“Cause he’s all big and toothy.”

Dean scowled. He wasn’t nearly as big and toothy as Sammy was, but fighting with Her on reasoning almost always ended up being a dead end. Just as how asking Her what she was only ever resulted in a hum and shrug. Dean’s goal was to keep Her talking, so he had to move on.

“Whatever, Princess. What about out of the ocean animals?”

She shifted a little in Her seat—letting out a small noise that hurt Dean’s whole body—but kept talking. Sam was this, and Dean was that. Dean was that, and Sam was this.

And every time she spoke, Dean could imagine the tilt of Her head, the way she was probably rubbing Her skin at she examined them and thought of an answer with far too much sincerity. He wanted to rub Her skin. To trace his hands up Her legs, watch Her look at him with nothing but softness in her eyes, feel nothing but molten light fill him up from the inside-

He needed to figure out how the hell She always did that. How all of Dean’s fury was now smothered and coated Her, how all the way in his soft tissue he just really wanted to touch Her. To stop giving Her reasons to sneer at him, to stop pushing Her until she fell away forever, for everything to just be alright.

For this conversation to be not edged with the knowledge that She probably didn’t want him around now. Even if She didn’t hate him, he must have snapped everything too much to fix it.

But Dean was pathetic, so he still wanted to care for and protect and follow Her.

He wanted to fix this. To salvage it.

He didn’t know how. He didn’t know why he couldn’t just drop this, just sit with the fact that everything was ruined and over. Why something to the right of his heart seemed to pound and roar at the idea of never touching Her again. Not ever a hand on Her back or brief high-five.

Worse was imagining never hearing Her voice again. Only hearing it call him on the wind.

He couldn’t really hear Her voice now.

She’d slumped forward, Her brow resting near Dean’s shoulder and her eyes turned towards the floor.

“Dean.” She mumbled, and his whole body tensed. “Can we be done with the talking game?”

“No,” Dean grunted Her name. “It’s not a game, you gotta keep talking-“

“I’m good.” She let out a long breath. It was too ragged. “I- I think I’m just a little tired.”

“Well, I need you to keep fucking talking-“

She shook Her head, her temple pressing right into Dean’s arm. “I don’t- it hurts, Dean.” She made a high, weak noise, and Dean was going to break the wheel with only his hands. “Can I have five minutes, please?”

Fuck. She was saying please.

“Princess, just- shit- for an hour, keep talking for an hour- Sammy-“

“Got it. Hey,” Sam said Her name, and his voice was too gentle. She needed it to be shouted, She needed to hear that she had to stay awake, that it wasn’t a damn option for Her to sleep. “Can you tell me more about, uh, movies? What’s your favorite movie?”

She didn’t have a favorite movie. She had about fifty, and they were all dumb, and She was always adorable when She told Dean about them, and why wasn’t She talking-

“Sammy.” She mumbled, grabbing Sam’s arm and turning Her head to him. Away from Dean. “Why does Dean call you that?”

“It was, uh, it was my nickname growing up.” Sam swallowed, giving Dean a desperate look as he continued. “Did you have a nickname, when you were a kid?”

“No.” She mumbled. “People don’t give smart little whores nicknames. But,” Her voice got softer, dropping like She was telling a secret. “Dean calls me Princess sometimes.”

“Yeah, uh, I’ve heard it. He said it like five seconds ago-“

“I like it.” She said, and Dean was going to grind his teeth to dust. “I like him. He’s an asshole, Sammy, but I like him.”

Sam had no right to look like he’d been punched. Dean was the one who had to keep driving and acting like he couldn’t hear.

Sam said Her name, his tone slow and careful. “I think-“

“There’s something wrong with me.” She said, and there was nothing angry in Her voice. She really just sounded sad. Sad and tired. “It really hurts.”

“I know, but Dean’s right, you need to stay awake until we get to Bobby’s-“

She groaned, and leaned further into Dean’s arm. “He’s gonna kill me-“

Sam shook his head. “I don’t think he’ll kill you-“

“He will. He’s gonna tell me I’ve been dumb and reckless, that I was supposed to-“ She paused, then sighed. “I’m not supposed to tell you.”

Sam frowned, looking back to Dean. He needed to stop doing that. Dean didn’t have a clue what was going on. “Why?”

“You’ll tell Dean. Then Dean will kill me. I like him, I don’t want him to kill me.”

“I’m pretty sure Dean’s not gonna kill you-“

“He is.” She let out another sad, little sigh. “He already hates me, Sam-“

“He doesn’t-“

“I don’t…” She yawned, shifting Her head just enough for Dean to see her eyes were closed. “I don’t hate him. I think he’s…”

She yawned again. And She didn’t finish her sentence, and Dean could swear their bodies were going to be glued together. She didn’t seem to remember he was there, but She was still moving closer into him, and he was going to go fucking insane.

Because She was asleep, and they still had an hour to go.

Dean swerved over from the far-hand lane, stopped Baby on the side of the highway, and got out of the car. Sam was smart and understood what was happening—scooting into the driver’s seat without a word—and She just kept fucking sleeping.

She barely stirred when Dean pulled Her backwards, letting Her head rest on his chest and her body slump in his arms. He wasn’t supposed to allow himself to touch Her like this. She might stab Dean if she found out he was hugging Her, holding Her like she was fragile and vital to everything around him. She would stab him again when he’d tell Her that’s because she was.

Everything was easier when he stroked his thumb down Her nose, and She let out a soft, breathy sound before curling fully into his body. The same way She’d tuck into herself, or sink into the mattress or couch after an episode. Like She was trying to shield herself from something.

But now, Dean was Her shield.

And he was so goddamn confused.

They had an hour until Bobby’s—more like fifty minutes now—and Dean still couldn’t wrap his head around what was becoming more and more obviously the truth.

If it was, She wouldn’t be spoiled. And that would make sense—She’d never really seemed spoiled, mostly just smart and confident—if that didn’t really mean that She’d been raised by Bobby. That the girl who’d painted Her nails on Dean’s motel table, who always smelled like sugar and fruit and kind of looked like She was forged deep in a star, had been raised by freaking Bobby. Beer and books and cars and no need to give me extra attention Bobby. The Bobby who was practical, and sharp, and didn’t take any shit-

Son of a bitch.

It still didn’t make sense. There was no reason for Her to lie about knowing Bobby. Dean had even told Her he liked Bobby. That Bobby was the best hunter he knew, after Dad.

He’d probably yell at Her about it, if he could. Shout and sneer and bite—he didn’t know how to just be moderate with Her, how to hold himself the hell together—until She gave him answers. And that never seemed to work.

But Dean also never seemed to learn. Not when it came to Her.

Because even as the confusion and anger bubbled in his chest, it wasn’t nearly as powerful as how goddamn sick he felt. Yelling at Her had gotten them here, and Dean never learned. If he hadn’t pushed and snapped Her, she never would’ve gone off alone, and the demon never would’ve seen her. It had probably realized that She was a hunter and stuck to her trail.

She wouldn’t be in all this mumbled, whined pain if it wasn’t for Dean. She wouldn’t be in danger. She’d probably just be sitting with him and Sam at a diner, laughing and talking until they parted, then found their way back to each other’s paths a few weeks later.

This time, Dean didn’t think She’d come back. One way or another, She’d be gone. There was the way that made the pit in his chest turn into a chasm—the way he outright refused to entertain—but there was also the second, slower way. Where She didn’t hate him, and She wasn’t gone, but Dean still lost Her. She left, and he was alone.

Dean wouldn’t allow the first way to happen. Every time Her breathing was too shallow, he’d snap at Sam to hurry up and try to soothe Her until it was even again. He could give CPR, if he had to. He didn’t know how to do CPR—he should probably learn—but he’d seen Sammy do it, and it didn’t look that hard. Dean could sing Stayin’ Alive. He could press his lips to Her’s and give her his fucking lungs out of his chest to fix this. He could peel off his skin and patch it over Her wound if he needed to.

Stab wounds aren’t supposed to be this bad. And Dean had never been stabbed by a demon, but he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be any different. The knife that the son of a bitch had lodged in Her gut hadn’t even been all that special. Just a smooth, iron blade that was knocking Her—Her—down for the count.

She had to hang on. Dean would want it to be for him, but he knew better, so he’d settle for it being for Bobby.

Because Sam finally parked the car in Bobby’s yard, and Bobby was already outside. Hunched on the step, shooting to his feet before the engine was even off.

Dean suddenly felt like he really shouldn’t be touching Her, or holding her tight against his chest, or trying to smell Her like a creep every few minutes. She smelled good. Like wet dirt—but in a sharp, earthy way that mostly made Dean feel comfortable—chlorine, something vanilla that was cheap and strong, and there was the fucking fruit-

Bobby probably wouldn’t care that She smelled like an odd, unplaceable fruit. He also didn’t have to know why She smelled like chlorine. Dean wasn’t looking to get shot and—based on the way Bobby was glowering at him through the window—explaining what they’d been doing last night didn’t feel like it would be welcome information.

Because Bobby had never looked at him like that. Really fucking angry, with a drawn brow and deep scowl. Dean couldn’t tell if the glare was at him, or for Her, but he knew Bobby was pissed. If his expression wasn’t a give away, the gruff, low tone of his voice was.

Dean was barely out of the car—Her body cradled carefully in his arms, an apologetic grimace already on his face—when Bobby started snapping.

“Fuckin’- balls- Bring ‘er inside Dean, and Sam, grab the stitch kit. My stitch kit, I don’t wanna be usin’ that fuckin’ weak one in the trunk of your car.”

Sam nodded, walking into the house with a tight, nervous expression at Dean over his shoulder. Dean would’ve shrugged in return, but he didn’t want to shake Her in his arms, or make Bobby think he wasn’t taking this seriously. He was. He couldn’t not, because it was Her. And Her breathing was weak, and Her features were so washed over and Her lips were pale and she kept clinging to Dean’s arm-

“Dean.” Bobby grunted, jerking his head to the door. “Inside, now.”

“Yes, si-“ Dean cut himself off, changing himself to only a nod as he moved her into the house.

It was exactly as he remembered it. Nothing ever really changed at Bobby’s house, and every piece of furniture and color was exactly in place with how it had been in Dean’s head, but there more now.

Things Dean had seen but never really given deeper thought, like a mug that was a soft pastel color in the side-table—slightly stained with coffee, and looking long-empty but never moved—and chapstick near the TV, and-

“That’s her jacket.” Dean said, a little stupidly, and Bobby shot him an odd look.

“What’re you talkin’ about-“

Dean said Her name, nodding to the leather jacket that was hooked over a chair. It was a woman’s jacket, not really Bobby’s style, and Her’s. Dean knew it was Her’s. She about ten different jackets—all in different styles and cuts and materials—but Dean also knew all of them. That was the one She’d been wearing on the onryu hunt, that had ended stained in her own blood and the spirit’s ash. She’d shoved it into her trunk before She left the next day, and told Dean she’d clean it later when he’d offered, because he was pathetic and hadn’t known how to not offer.

He’d asked if She even knew how to clean it. She’d flipped him off, told him She did, and said that she’d do it when She got home.

A small part of Dean had gotten toxic at the idea of Her being home. That maybe She’d just pass the jacket off to a servant she didn’t know the name of—She’d probably have known the name, but it served Dean’s anger better to imagine she was worse than she was—and let them touch a piece of Her instead of Dean.

But She’d been here. Cleaned the jacket here, at Her home.

And there really wasn’t any evidence to prove that She didn’t belong here. So Dean was fucked.

“That’s… It’s her jacket.”

Bobby sighed, rolling his eyes. “Believe it or not, Dean, I’m aware. Put ‘er down on the table.”

Dean nodded, tearing his gaze away from Her jacket and setting her flat on the dining room table. She tried to hold onto him. Dean pulled back, and She tried to hold onto him, and he was going to go insane.

Bobby didn’t wait for Dean to fully step away before he was moving. Adjusting Her on the table so She wasn’t trying to sink into the wood, scanning over her with a tight, unreadable expression.

“Knife got in her gut?”

“Yeah,” Dean muttered, his hands fisting at his side. “Sammy did stitches, but they were quick, and-“

“I’ll fix ‘em.” Bobby grunted, hiking Her shirt up her stomach and-

Fuck.

The wound was worse. The stitches looked frayed in Her body, and her skin was definitely blistering, and there was something yellow and sticky that smelled horrible-

“Dean,” Bobby’s voice was tight, his eyes never leaving the wound. “This ain’t lookin’ like a stab wound-“

“It was, Bobby, I saw it-“

“You still got the weapon?”

Dean nodded, and Bobby let out a long breath.

“Alright, go get it while I deal with ‘er.”

Dean didn’t want to go get the weapon. He didn’t want to leave Her side. She was in pain, and She’d tried to hang onto Dean and he didn’t want to leave Her-

“What’re you just standin’ here for-“

“You can-“ Dean swallowed, his attention trapped on Her dulled, beautiful face. “Bobby, you can fix this, right? She’ll- She’s gonna be okay?”

“She’ll be alright. Gonna have some explain’ to do when she gets up, but she’ll live.”

“Explaining-“

“How the hell she ended up with you boys and a knife in her damn gut. Matter of fact, you and your brother better start gettin’ your story straight, cause I ain’t just gonna let you drop my kid off bleedin’ on my doorstep then drive away.”

Dean tensed, and finally managed to really look at Bobby. His expression was still flat, still neutral, but there was something in his eyes Dean hadn’t seen before. Not glazed, but not sharp, just… heavy. Bobby looked heavy. He was staring at Her body with a painfully neutral face that had slightly lines of tension on the edges. He was standing taller than usual, his whole body rigid and wound up, and Dean could really, truly see it.

It had been the truth. If the way Bobby stood and spoke—in tight, clipped words like he didn’t have room to be anything but short—wasn’t a giveaway, it was those last words.

My kid.

Bobby’s kid.

She was Bobby’s fucking kid.

Dean forced himself to move away, his head ducked down and his steps quick as he passed Sam with only a grunt of acknowledgment and returned to the Impala trunk. Sam hadn’t been careful about how he’d grabbed Her things. They were smushed and scattered, pressed against each other and all looking like Her things. Those were things she owned, that they’d grabbed from Her car and motel room. Clothing that wasn’t covered in blood and dirt, a lot of notebooks Dean really had to fight himself not to read, and fewer personal possessions than he would’ve thought.

There was that small, colorful bag that had all Her girl stuff in it, and Her knife, and a backpack that—when Dean zipped it open—was filled with more notebooks, and… plants and rocks. A lot of plants and rocks.

He didn’t have time to try and work out why the hell She was keeping plants and rocks in her bag. He didn’t have time to overstep and push it like he always did, and let himself comb through those notebooks. One did fall open, but nothing Dean saw in it made sense—he didn’t speak that language, he didn’t even recognize it, and there was a weird drawing that he didn’t even know how to start interpreting—so he had to move on. To grab the demon’s knife from when he’d tucked it in the back and close the trunk, because all of this could wait until She was better.

She’d have to get better.

Sam and Bobby were working in silence when Dean returned. Sam holding Her arms to the side as Bobby cleaned the wound and re-did the stitches, a bottle of water at his side that he kept pouring over her skin.

Dean set the knife on the kitchen counter, walking over to stand by Her head. That little wrinkle was back, and Her lips were pressed together, and She was in pain-

He had to restrain his hands to stop them from moving to touch Her. To sooth the wrinkle and brush sweat and hair from Her face. Sammy wasn’t holding Her right. His grip was too tight, and Her arm didn’t look like it was at a good angle, and Dean could hold Her better-

She took a slow, ragged breath, eyes fluttering, and Bobby glanced up to where Dean was standing over Her.

“You get the knife?”

“On the counter,” Dean muttered. “She’s…”

He trailed off, and Bobby let out a long breath. “She’s alright. Almost done with these, and I’m gonna have to fight with her about restin’ when she gets up, but you get ‘er here quick enough. Nothin’ that can’t be patched up.”

Dean glanced down to the wound, and that seemed true. Bobby’s stitches were cleaner than Sam’s, and the pus was half-gone. He didn’t really know how that was possible. Infections didn’t usually just… vanish. But Bobby splashed more of the water over Her stomach, made another stitch, and Her breathing grew steadier.

There were too many questions. What was with the water. Why had one stab wound managed to infect and maul Her skin like that. How the actual fuck was She Bobby’s kid, and why had Bobby never mentioned Her, and why had She lied about something so dumb, and did Bobby know about Her family? About the shit Dad had found, about Her past, about all those weird episodes and how She always hunted alone, except when She was hinting with Dean-

Dean didn’t think Bobby had known they were hunting together. Which offered another question about why. Why hadn’t She told him. Why did She think Bobby would kill her for this, when it wasn’t Her fault, it was Dean’s.

Bobby might kill him. Dean had never seen Bobby so pissed with him. Every time he grunted for Dean to pass him something, his eyes were harsh and focused. It wasn’t hateful, but it was angry.

But Dean had gotten Her hurt. He deserved it.

If She stopped talking to him after, he’d deserve that too. If Dad snapped at him for being an idiot when Bobby told him they’d been hunting together, Dean would deserve it-

“You say a demon attacked her?” Bobby’s question was quiet, and Dean almost didn’t hear it.

He nodded, and Bobby’s jaw clenched.

“You see the assholes eyes?”

“His eyes?” Sam frowned. “You mean the demon-blink thing? Where their eyes go all black?”

Bobby looked up, frown deepening. “They were black?”

“I- I think so?” Sam looked for Dean for help, and Dean just shrugged. He hadn’t really been looking into the demon’s eyes, more focused on beating the shit out of it, and helping Her.

“I dunno, Sammy-“

“Did you see them?” Bobby interrupted, glaring between Sam and Dean as he cut another stitch. “See the bastard go all black?”

Sam shook his head. “I didn’t, but demons have black eyes-“

“Not all demons.” Bobby muttered, glancing up to Her still pained face. “I’ve seen black eyes, orange eyes, and red eyes. If you boys saw anythin’-“

“We didn’t.” Dean looked over Her, then back to the wound. “It attacked, stabbed her, and Sammy exorcized it. Son of a bitch got away-“

“It give you a name?”

Dean frowned. “We didn’t exactly have time to introduce ourselves and shake hands, Bobby-“

“No, ya’ idjit, if we have a name we can know what we’re lookin’ for.”

“Looking for?” Sam leaned forward, looking between Her and Bobby with a frown. “Has- Have you needed to look for a demon before? Like dad?”

“No, Sam, I ain’t-“ Bobby cut himself off, his head shooting up to glare between Sam and Dean. “Did John know you boys have been huntin’ with her?”

“That’s uh…” Sam cleared his throat. “That’s a question for Dean, I think.”

Bobby raised his brows, and Dean scowled. Sam was back on the getting punched list.

“Never got a chance to mention it.” He muttered. “Haven’t seen Dad in months.”

Sam rolled his eyes—punched and kicked—and Bobby’s shoulders visibly relaxed. Dean wanted to ask what the hell that was about—Dad was a good man, even if Dean never really wanted Her around him—but Bobby was already moving on.

“How long you been huntin’ together?”

“A few years.” Sam said, and Dean shot him a glare.

“How’d- You weren’t even fucking there, Sammy-“

“She told me on the onryu hunt.” Sam shrugged, looking back to Bobby. “They’ve been hunting together for years.”

Bobby’s jaw tightened. “That true, Dean?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dean, you call me sir again and I’m makin’ you wait outside-“

“Sorry, I-“ Dean let out a long breath, his gaze trapping back on Her. In so much fucking pain. “It’s true. And she, uh, she never mentioned she knew you, Bobby.”

Bobby huffed something that might have been a laugh. “Wish I could say I was surprised by that.”

“You aren’t?” Sam blinked. “I mean, I- I’m still not understanding-

“Questions later, Sam.” Bobby grunted, cutting the last stitch. “Right now I need your hands brinin’ her shit inside.”

Sam frowned. “Can’t Dean-“

“Dean’s stayin’ here.” Bobby shot him a glare, and Dean swallowed. “No fuckin’ funny business while I’m gone, boy-“

“She’s passed out, Bobby-“

“And if she wakes up, you’re askin’ her how she feels, callin’ me, and droppin’ it there.” Bobby’s eyes narrowed. “No fuckin’ interrogations. You can ask me questions when we get ‘er settled. Understood?”

Dean scowled, but nodded, and Bobby let out a long breath.

“Good. Sam-“

“Coming.” Sam threw Dean a what the fuck is happening look over his shoulder, followed Bobby out of the kitchen, and Dean was left alone with Her.

She didn’t wake up. In the long moments where it was only Her and Dean in the whole world once more, She didn’t stir for even a second. Her breathing grew more and more even with every passing moment, but She didn’t open those brilliant eyes and look at Dean.

Dean didn’t know if She would ever really look at him again.

She didn’t hate him.

She’d been keeping secrets—so many fucking secrets—but She didn’t hate Dean, and when he allowed his hand to trace over Her cheekbone, she leaned into the touch.

Maybe She would leaned into anyone’s touch, but she wasn’t. Right now, She was leaning into Dean’s.

He let his hand linger there as long as he could. She was warm, too warm, almost burning, but it was better than Her being cold. Color was returning to Her face, and there was a heavy flush over her pretty cheeks, but it was better than nothing. No color. No slightly uneven breaths or dried sweat on her brow.

Dean finally got to brush the hair away, and he wasn’t sure how She only got prettier. She was pretty in a way Dean never really cared for before her. She looked like a bird. Untouchable and free and delicate. Breakable, but not because She was weak. Because She wasn’t supposed to be on the earth like this, just how Dean wouldn’t be free or light enough to go where she went.

Because even if this was Her life—even if she wasn’t spoiled and born from comfort Dean would never know—he still couldn’t have Her. If anything this just made that more certain. That She was so good and unnaturally better, that She’d been living down in the mud with Dean this whole time and he’d still been blinded. If She ever managed to crawl out of here, She might become ethereal. Glorious. Brighter than the sun and more heavenly than a paradise Dean didn’t believe in.

And if Bobby really raised Her, everything Dean tried to loathe about Her would probably vanish into the air. Bobby was smart. And good. And didn’t like pointless shit, so there was no way he’d let Her become spoiled or entitled. She wasn’t spoiled or entitled.

She was just awesome.

And Dean didn’t know how the hell he was supposed to live with that now. That he’d bitten Her, and the mark was festering in him.

She let out a soft breath when Dean thumb stroked down Her nose, the movement subconscious, almost automatic.

He had to yank his hand away the floor creaked, and Bobby turned the corner only a second later.

They didn’t speak at Bobby hauled Her up and carried Her away. Dean wanted to go with Her. He needed to go with Her. He needed to have Her look at him one last time, and he needed to work out how to apologize in a way that didn’t make him sound like a little bitch, and-

“Dean.” Sam leaned into the kitchen, tilting his head back to the living room. “C’mon, dude, Bobby said we could get three questions.”

“Three?” Dean frowned, glancing past Sam to where they’d vanished up the stairs. “We only get three-“

“Between us.” Sam sighed. “And he, uh, I think he might be pissed at us.”

A door slammed upstairs, and Dean raised his brows. “You think?”

“You two.” Bobby appeared behind Sam—for a fairly big dude, he could move faster than thought he had any real right to—and pointed between them with a glower. “Sit. Now.”

Sam shot Dean a worried look and shuffled to the table, tugging Dean into a seat as Bobby stood before them, arms cross and eyes narrowed.

“What the hell did you idjit’s say to her?”

Sam blinked. “We didn’t- I mean, I didn’t say anything-“

“Hey!” Dean shot him a glare. “Dude, what the hell-“

“I can’t speak for you, Dean! I mean, you guys are a lot closer-“

Bobby’s glare turned to Dean—the feeling of it searing through his skin—and Sam was now getting punched, kicked, and body slammed.

“Sammy.” He hissed, bracing a fist on the table. “Shut your fuckin’ face-“

“How close would you say you two are, Dean?”

Bobby’s question didn’t need to have that silent, underlying threat for Dean to flinch. It was already a question he didn’t know the answer to. She lied and he sucked ass, but She also liked him—enough that he’d been allowed to hunt with Her at all, enough for her to slur it to Sammy in the car—and he couldn’t stop thinking about Her if he tired.

And he had tried.

And he’d never really seen Her interact with people except for Sam and Dad. And She and Dad clashed, but She and Sam got along, and Bobby obviously cared for her so maybe her liking Dean wasn’t all that special-

“Dean.” Bobby snapped. “Answer my question.”

“I, uh, I don’t-“

“Sam?”

“They’re just friends.” Sam shrugged, saying Her name in a voice that wasn’t nearly reverent enough. “From the hunting.”

Sam was back down to being kicked and punched, because the little shit could’ve easily laughed and said that Dean had a crush on Her—he didn’t, She was just his best friend and the only person he liked to hang out with—but that would’ve probably made everything worse. Especially given Bobby didn’t seem all that happy with the just friends answer either.

“How many years you two been huntin’, exactly

“Uh, I’m pretty sure it’s been like two- But that,” Dean pointed up the stairs. “Hasn’t happened before, Bobby, I swear-“

“I don’t give a shit about that.” Bobby snapped, jerking his head back. “You boys did the smart thing, for once in your damn lives, and listened to her. Brought her here.”

“If you don’t-“ Sam frowned, his face returned to pure confusion. “If you don’t care that she got stabbed-“

“No, Sam, I care that she got stabbed.” Bobby let out a long, breath, shaking his head. “I don’t give a shit that it happened with you two. If she’s gotta get stabbed, I’m happy she ain’t alone to try and stitch herself up, cause that girl ain’t good at takin’ care of herself in way that matters.”

It was Dean turn to frown, sitting a little straighter in his chair. “What do you mean, she can take care of herself-“

Bobby scoffed. “She can do her hair, Dean. She ain’t gonna do stitches.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Has she never done stitches on herself?”

“Not good ones-“ Bobby cut himself off with a glare between them. “This ain’t the point. What’d you do, Dean.”

Bobby and Sam were both looking at Dean, and he groaned.

“I didn’t do anything, Bobby, and if you’re not pissed about her getting hurt-“

“Some injuries ain’t on the surface, boy. I could give a flyin’ fuck about what danger she puts herself in, I know she can handle it better than you two dumbasses, but if you hurt that girl, I ain’t gonna stop her hurtin’ you.” Bobby sighed, running a hand over his face, and Sam cleared his throat.

“Bobby, how, um-“ He glanced to Dean, expression nervous. “You said she’s- I still don’t understand-“

“Sam, if you got somethin’ to say-“

“How do you know her?” Sam’s words were quick and frantic. “That’s- you said we get three questions, and that’s our first.”

They hadn’t actually discussed the questions, but Dean could live with that one. Shit, he’d spent the whole day trying to work that one out himself, and Bobby seemed to know it had been coming, because he dropped in a seat across the table with a long sigh.

“It ain’t my place to tell you everythin’,” he muttered. “All I can tell you two is that I met her when she was a kid-“

Sam opened his mouth, and promptly shut it as Bobby shot him a glare.

“You ask that question, Sam, I’m countin’ it. She was eight, I found her wanderin’, I took her in. Kept her from killing herself, raised her like the daughter I didn’t get before. Which,” Bobby turned to Dean, and it wasn’t fair that he was being singled out. Sammy was here too, hell, he’d asked the question- “She may not be my blood, but she’s the closest thing I got. Understood?”

Sam mumbled an agreement, but those words weren’t for Sam.

So Dean nodded, and hoped Bobby could see all over his face that he really just wanted to go upstairs and check on her. He’d do that after, if he could get away with it. And She was probably fine—Bobby wouldn’t have left her if she wasn’t—but Dean needed to see it. With his own freakin’ eyes, making sure she was comfortable, and relaxed, and peacefully asleep-

“What’s up with those, uh- the-“ Sam swallowed. “Those weird episodes?”

Bobby’s eyes narrowed. “Episodes?”

“When she likes, freaks out and shit. I mean, is it like a really bad panic attack?”

Sam was back to getting punched, kicked, and body slammed. That wasn’t their thing to tell Bobby about. Bobby might know more about Her past, but he obviously hadn’t known that they’d been hunting together, which meant there might be other shit She didn’t want to tell him. Other shit She’d trusted them—trusted Dean—to see, that Sam had just fucking told Bobby-

“Those aren’t panic attacks.”

Sam frowned. “Then what-“

“Not my place.” Bobby said, his tone making it clear that was final. “I know what they are, so does she, and if- It’s up to her what you know. She’ll tell you if she wants, but she’s had a rough time, Sam. So don’t go pushin’ her about it.”

Sam nodded, even as the nervous expression remained on his face, and Dean cleared his throat. He had to ask. Even if all he got from Bobby was a not my place, Dean just needed to spit it out and ask.

“Why’d you… I mean, how did we never know, Bobby?” Dean held Bobby’s gaze, every word slow and careful. “You said she was eight, Sammy would’ve been seven, so we knew you by then. Shit, we were here all the time but never even heard her name. I don’t- Why?”

Bobby let out a long breath, shaking his head slowly. “It’s complicated.”

Dean scowled. He was really starting to fucking hate that word.

“But,” Bobby pushed on, giving Dean a firm, solemn look. “I wasn’t ‘cause of you boys. I said it already, I ain’t gonna tell you what’s not mine to tell, but I never liked keepin’ you apart.”

“But you did.” Dean grunted, and Bobby sighed.

“Yeah, I did. And I’m not gonna tell you I had reasons, cause that’s fuckin’ bullshit help and we know it, but I will say it was all I could do. Not for the best, but the only damn option.”

Dean was pretty sure he was telling the truth. It wasn’t the same alarm he’d learned to set off with her, but it was close. That seemed to be the truth.

Dean wished it wasn’t.

“She said she was sick.” Sam muttered. “When she was a kid. And that’s why we couldn’t know each other.”

Bobby let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Course she did. Sick is one way of puttin’ it. I-“ Bobby looked between Sam and Dean, something weighted behind his eyes. “There were times when she could’ve used you two. Glad she seems to have you now. And I don’t know where your Daddy is, but-“

“He’s hunting a demon.” Sam said, and Dean was out of ways to kick his ass for saying stuff. “The one that killed our mom.”

Bobby’s eyes widened, and the conversation moved on. Bobby asked if She and Dad had crossed paths, Dean told him not for years, and Bobby and Sam started to talk demon. Bobby had books Sam could read. Sam had questions about what Bobby had run into, with his own wife.

She’d told Dean Her dad’s wife died.

Fucking hell.

Eventually, Bobby went out. They’d stayed at the table as Sam and Bobby descended into nerd talk—mostly just Sammy being a little dweeb, Bobby was just smart—and Dean had spent the hours stealing glances up the stairs and wondering how he could get up there. How he could see Her, check on her, without Bobby getting on his ass and shouting about Dean being careful with Her, because he always was-

Except when he wasn’t. Expect when he poison and ruined and wrecked Her in a way he’d never wanted to. When he made Her sad or hollow, put Her in danger, showed her exactly why Dad had been right, that they shouldn’t be close to each other.

Dad had just gotten the wrong reason. Dean shouldn’t be near Her. She was annoying, and stubborn, and reckless, and a know-it-all, and kinda mean, but in a hot way. She was bossy, but it was adorable. She’d snap and taunt Dean, but she never did it in a way that left a mark. Dean always left a mark. And invisible bruise or scar that Bobby must have seen somehow. It must have been why he was so automatically pissed, why he’d accused Dean of hurting Her.

And he had.

So he didn’t deserve to go up those stairs and see Her.

But he was still selfish. And he still didn’t know when to stop.

Bobby muttered that he was going off to get food. The he hadn’t been expecting Her back for a while, let alone Sam and Dean with her, so all he had was canned food that tasted like pig-shit and a half-eaten chocolate cake in the fridge.

Sam grabbed the tiniest, most bitch-baby piece of chocolate cake with a mutter of long week, and moved to settle in library.

Dean started to snoop.

It was so plainly obvious She belonged here. Just like with Her mannerisms—seeing Bobby all over them once Dean squinted—all it took was one quick scan of the kitchen to see more places She’d probably been before. Not just grenadine, but a box of cheesy kids snacks in the back of the pantry. Dean had always assumed Bobby had gotten them for him and Sammy, then never thrown them out. But he’d seen Her buy those exact snacks countless times, and a few of the boxes looked practically unopened.

In the living room there were all those books and movies, and a blanket that was far too fuzzy for Bobby to like. A pair of women’s sneakers and boots near the door. A glittery toothbrush on the bathroom sink, some of that sugar-smelling shit Dean knew she used under the skin, and fancy shampoo in the cabinets.

Dean had seen some of this stuff before, but he’d always assumed Bobby just had a lady-friend. A weird, sparkly lady friend who wrote notes on the margins of some of the lore books in that same language from before. From Her notebook. In Her handwriting.

Lady friends didn’t use a towel—carefully tucked and folded in a closet—that had a little princess stitched onto the corner. Lady friends didn’t watching animated children’s movies so much that, when Dean open the case, the tape looked well-worn and used.

And lady friends didn’t draw with crayon.

But in Dean’s defense, he’d never seen the drawings before. That was part of the snooping. Shifting casually through Bobby’s desk for more evidence, and coming out clutching old, well-worn drawings of colors. A lot of colors. Most of the drawings seemed to be odd shapes and patterns, all in bright colors.

There were a few more, where the drawings were red and black and yellow, with sharp lines and jagged symbols that resembled Her strange writing. Those symbols were repetitive.

Briefly, Dean had an image in his head of a smaller Her, holding a crayon and sitting on the floor of Bobby’s living room, scrawling those symbols over and over until Bobby took the paper from Her. She had braids in that vision. Oddly complex braids that Her small, swollen fingers couldn’t have done.

But Bobby could’ve. And now Dean could see that same small version of Her on the couch, humming to herself as she read a book that looked far too big in tiny hands, while Bobby braided her hair with a scowl.

Dean blinked, and returned the papers back to the drawer. He was about to close it when something shifted in the very back, and a last drawing caught his eye.

It had been separated from the others, and drawn on black construction paper. Tucked into a book and folded carefully. And it was the only one where Dean could tell what the hell it was.

A stick drawing—round body and tiny arms and legs—of a man with a thick blue line on his head and scratches of brown on his face, holding the hand of a girl. Same eyes and hair as Her.

She’d drawn this one too. Of Her and Bobby.

She’d used a light green for Bobby’s skin, though. And a metallic silver for Her own. And the grass was golden and the clouds were red and the sun was white. It was really fucking weird.

Dean chalked it up to the creative liberties of an eight-year-old, and carefully returned the drawing to its place before sneaking up the stairs.

He needed to see Her.

It took him a minute to find Her room, because up until yesterday, he’d thought he knew all the rooms in Bobby’s house. Kitchen, library, living room, bathrooms, and guest rooms. The only room he’d never been in was on the third floor, because Bobby said that room was off limits, and-

Son of a bitch.

He’d always assumed that was Bobby’s room. That Bobby just didn’t want to little boys snooping around and finding his private shit. Dean had imagined that the room would have a wooden-poster bed, dresser, chairs, and simple decorations. Not all that lived in, because Bobby was practical, and knew that in this life getting attached to a lot of personal possessions was pointless.

This room was lived in.

By Her.

Those were books Dean had seen Her grab from public libraries, or exact copies that She’d pulled from her bag. CDs of albums he’d known She liked, plus a few he hadn’t. A few Dean liked, scattered on the dresser next to a book he’d seen Her read, sunglasses he’d seen Her use, and a shirt that he’d never seen Her wear.

It was monotone black, and not Her style or size, and looked like a men’s shirt.

The was a bitter, hot pang in Dean’s intestine and along his heart chamber, because why would She have a men’s shirt. If the overflowing dresser was any indication, She certainly didn’t need more shirts, and it certainly wasn’t Bobby’s, so it all together meant that was the shirt of someone who had given it to her. And she’d kept it, because it looked clean, and Bobby had said he hadn’t expected her back, so it had been there for a while, and who the fuck was giving Her a shirt-

She shifted on the bed, and Dean’s head turned without his permission to look at Her. He’d been trying not to. Gun pressed to his temple, he’d swear he’d tried so fucking hard not to watch Her sleep like a pervert creep. But Her siren-like voice made a small sound, and this room was drowning in that fruit smell, and Dean couldn’t fucking help himself.

It took him a second to find Her. She’d burrowed herself under the covers, the only parts of Her that were visible being a single hand falling over the mattress and Her gorgeous face smushed against the pillows.

Her bed was shockingly normal. This whole bedroom was shockingly normal. She had curtains and a nice carpet, a desk and chair, a large amount of blankets and a hamper and a cork board on the wall. Pinned with notes that were in English—Dean could read those, and they mostly seemed to list new monsters and reminders for hunts—and a few more in that odd language. The walls were painted a dark color, and it made the room feel smaller. Safer. Like this was the only place in the world.

It might as well be.

Dean dragged a chair to sit at the side of the bed, because that felt less creepy than standing over Her as she slept. For a long while he only watched Her sleep peacefully. Softly.

Then Her brow wrinkled, and Dean’s hand moved without thought. Petting over Her nose until she relaxed, and made a soft noise that kicked him right in the heart and reverberated over his ribs.

He let out a long breath, and started speaking in his lowest, quietest voice. Before he could think better.

“You… you got a lot of explaining to do, Princess.” He muttered. “Bobby handled some of it, but he also won’t tell Sammy and I jackshit that matters until you give the go ahead. So you gotta wake up and do that. Plus, I want to call you a fucking idiot for hiding something so freakin’ dumb from me, and I can’t do that while you’re knocked out. So… Wake up. Soon. Get better and wake up soon and I’ll be waiting, because I- I’m just gonna stay a while. ‘Least until you give me some god damn answers. And,” he let out a long breath. She couldn’t hear him. He was allowed to say it, when no one at all could hear him. “I don’t want to leave. I like you, Princess, and if you really don’t hate me, I’ll stick around.”

He had more to say.

But She hummed like she could hear him, rolled a little closer to the edge of the bed, and none of it really seemed that important anymore.

Her fingers flexed. She didn’t hate him.

Dean took Her hand, and he fell asleep at Her side because he never learned, and really didn’t want to.

And when Sammy woke him up, saying Dad needed them for something back in Colorado. That he’d called Dean but he hadn’t picked up—his phone was in his jacket downstairs—so he’d called Sam instead.

Sam had said they were on their way, and told Bobby they were heading out. That they’d let Bobby know how it went, and hopefully be back with good news about the son of a bitch who killed Mom rotting in whatever was lower than hell. Sam hadn’t mentioned Her.

And Dean had to go, but She was still asleep. He needed to go, because Dad wanted him there, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to stay here, in Her small room that was he could sink down into if he tried.

But he had to go.

He wanted to leave Her something. To promise in silent words that could be right to not hate him. That he’d really like Her to keep not hating him. But he didn’t have much. He had his car, and his jacket, and ring-

He set his ring on Her dresser. He’d come back. He didn’t know how not to come back, and hopefully when he did, She’d still like him. At the very least, She wouldn’t have started to hate him.

Because Dean knew at this point that there was no way in hell She felt the pull. He also knew that he’d still follow Her all the way down, and up, and just here.

Dean might just like being with Her anywhere.

And She didn’t hate him.

So he’d press a soft, dangerous kiss to Her brow because he couldn’t help himself, and look back because he had to, and come back because he wanted to.

He’d come back.

End Note: One of the glorious things about nearing the end of the season 1 arc is all of us knowing what happens at the end of the season 1 arc.

Also, as we hit 100k words, I'm unspeakably grateful for the support of the story!!! I can't say it enough, thank you so so much for reading!! I hope y'all continue to enjoy the story!

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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moody-alcoholic · 1 year ago

Text

The Missing Piece

Chapter 6 - Making Them Feel Good

Summary: Ghoap x Reader, throuple. 2.6k words. Reader is female (she/her), army nurse, non descript physical features, names used: Ashe.

CW: +18 MDNI, Smut, sex, multiple blowjobs, oral (M receiving x2), cum swallowing, tiny bit of hurt/comfort.

Previous parts - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy ya filthy animals <3

You feel your legs get moved out the way, there are more then two hands now. Your head is on Simon’s lap the blanket still wrapped round your body. You force yourself to keep my eyes closed not wanting to cause a bother.

“You let me sleep too long” Simon says.

“You needed it.” Johnny replies.

“What about you?” Simon asks sighing.

“Don’t worry about me.” Johnny says his hand falling on your shoulder. You feel Johnny lay back on the sofa, and Simon leaning over to kiss him, you hear their lips smacking together.

“I always worry about you.” You hear Simon say quietly.

“I know.” Johnny says as they pull apart. You feel like you’ve just invaded their privacy, maybe you should have moved to make them know you’re still there, or something. Simon’s hand is rubbing your shoulder as you feel Johnny move off the sofa.

“Want anything to eat?” You hear Simon ask from a distance he must be in the kitchen.

“What you making?”

“We don’t have anything in.” Simon replies, you hear the sound of a fridge door close.

“What time is it?”

“7,”

“Lets order in, what do you think she’ll like?” Simon asks you can hear him making his way back to the couch.

“Let’s order from that Mexican place that does the super stuffed burritos.” Johnny says, there’s silence.

“40 minutes?”

“Yeah that’s good.” Johnny says. You try to convince yourself you’ll let them know you’ve been a wake but you can’t help yourself keeping your body still and your breathing steady, you doze off again.

…

The doorbell jolts you awake, you sit up letting the blanket fall off you. It sounds like a respiratory alarm. You turn to see Simon at the door.

“You good?” Johnny asks his hand on your back. You nod looking out the window it’s dark now. You scratch the back of your head.

“How long was I asleep for?” You ask stretching.

“Hour or so. We got food.” Johnny says as Simon comes over to place a bag on the coffee table.

“I’ll use the bathroom.” You say getting up. You go in locking the door behind you. You look in the mirror your face is red, your hair a mess. After your done you drag wet fingers through your hair. When you leave the room you see Simon and Johnny on the couch, Johnny with his arm around Simon’s shoulders munching on a wrap. You make your way back over to the living room, feeling guilty for eavesdropping on their conversation earlier.

“There’s chicken or pork which one do you want?” Simon asks reaching into the bag.

“Chicken sounds good.” You say and he hands you the wrap you sit in the recliner next to the sofa pulling your knees to your chest. The news is playing, you pretend to pay attention to it as you pull the foil off the wrap taking a bite. It tastes good, salty and oily exactly what you need after today. Simon and Johnny talk about whats happening on the news, you’re half listening to it as you eat the burrito.

“Looks like it’s all kicking off.” Johnny says. Simon replies with a grunt. All of a sudden the Burrito feels stale in your mouth. You put it down on the coffee table. The pit of guilt is not going away. You try to rack your brain to why you’re feeling like this. All you can think about is Simon.

Johnny got to fuck you, Simon didn’t get anything, Johnny said he was rough Simon didn’t seem rough.

“Simon,” You say as you turn to look at him, Johnny is laid up against his chest. His eyes fall on you as you slip out the chair crawling on your knees toward him. “I want to make you feel good.” You say as your hands find his knees.

“Oh yeah? How you plan on doing that?” He asks playfully, his legs parting so you can run your hands down his thighs.

“Let me suck your dick?” You ask. He chuckles and you look at Johnny who winks at you stroking Simon’s chest. Simon’s hand reaches down into his sweatpants pulling his cock out. You were right he’s bigger then Johnny, of course he is, and he’s not even fully hard yet.

“Think you can take it?” He asks, his voice low as he strokes himself in front of you. You don’t care if you can or not now it’s a challenge. You look up at him nodding, Johnny is smiling as he nuzzles his face into Simon’s neck.

Your hands reach out as you move your body between his legs making sure you’re comfortable on you knees and take his cock in your hands. You rub up and down using your thumb to push into the underside. Simon’s head tilts back as Johnny licks his neck. You take a breath in pulling his foreskin back so you can wet his tip with your tongue.

“Fuck-” he moans his free hand resting on the top of your head. You just go for it locking your mouth round and forcing yourself to take the whole thing. You hold your breath letting him fill your mouth up all the way down to the back of your throat. You gag your mouth filling with saliva,

Simon’s fingers run through your hair. Your head bobs up and down as you make sure to take every inch of him your tongue pressing into the underside of his cock as it grows bigger in your mouth.

“You like the way she makes you feel?” You hear Johnny ask between kisses. Simon just murmurs in response, you could never imagine him letting himself go like this especially when he’s walking around with that skull mask on, the one that sends shivers up your spine when you see it.

Right now he’s at your mercy, his body twitching with each stroke of your mouth, each kiss from Johnny. Simon grips your hair tighter helping your head move up and down, he’s rough just like Johnny said making you take him all the way to the hilt as tears form in your eyes. You don’t mind though this is your time to make him feel good.

You move faster pressing harder with your tongue, Johnny’s moaning sweet things into Simon's ears making your body crave touch too. You move one of your hands into your underwear rubbing your clit, you don’t care if you get off but it feels good and it makes you more eager to please. Simon’s hand moves from your hair to your face, gently tapping your cheeks.

“Hey, look up at me love.” He says, you force your eyes open without stopping your pace. Johnny’s mouth is burred in his neck, his hand under his shirt rubbing his chest. “I want you to look me in the eyes when I fill your mouth up.”

Holy shit the tingles travelling through your body are almost electric. You keep your eyes on him letting him thrust in and out of your mouth, your fingers circling your clit as you keep in time with his thrusts. He’s moaning as he gets closer to the edge, you don’t take your eyes off him. He pushes deep into your mouth and you push your head as deep as you can as he cums, his hot seed fills you up as his cock throbs in your mouth.

You wait until you feel him relax before pulling your head back swallowing his cum. Johnny is still stroking Simon’s chest whispering in his ear just quiet enough so you can’t hear. You don’t care though you made him feel good. You feel the pit go away in your stomach as you move your body from between his legs taking your hand out your underwear. You watch as Johnny kisses Simon his hand stroking his cheek.

“Johnny you have to let her do that to you.” Simon says as he pulls away, his hand gently touching himself. You look up at Johnny with needy eyes, the prospect of making him feel good too has got you all worked up again. Johnny seems to pause for a second looking between you and Simon.

“I don’t mind.” You say trying not to sound greedy. Johnny smiles pulling away from Simon spreading his legs so you can move between him. He’s already hard as he pulls his cock out. You look up at Simon who’s eyes have glazed over and he moves closer to Johnny.

“You sure you’re alright lass?” Johnny asks as you take him in your hands. You nod, your tongue licking the bead of precum off his tip. He’s not as big as Simon, not that you’re complaining you’re going to make him feel good just the same. You lock your mouth around him taking his cock all the way to the hilt. His moans are just as good as Simon, the ache between your legs intensifies as you enjoy each inch of him filling your mouth.

“Shite, Si, she’s almost as good as you.” Johnny says. You don’t have time to processes what Johnny is saying you just move faster looking up at him as his eyes roll back in his head. Simon pulls Johnny’s chin to look at him their lips locking together. Johnny twitches in your mouth causing

you to close your eyes and moan on him. He likes that and you work faster hearing him pant trying to keep his cool composure as he gets closer to the edge.

Simon's voice reverberating off Johnny as he tells him how good he’s being. It doesn’t take long before he’s coming too, you take him deep just like you did with Simon making sure you feel every spasm and throb until he’s twitching from over stimulation. You pull away swallowing your second load of the night watching as Johnny sucks in deep breaths Simon stroking his face.

You smile at the getting up picking your glass up from the coffee table and heading into the kitchen. You run the tap for a few seconds the fill the glass up drinking it down then leaving the glass in the sink. When you walk back to the living room you see Simon’s head on Johnny chest.

You decide not to interrupt them heading to the bedroom and crawling into bed. You close your eyes exhausted but satisfied, you can still taste their cum in your mouth as you drift off to sleep.

——————————

You wake with your arm spread on Johnny’s chest, light is coming in through the bedroom window. Simon is behind you snoring softly, you don’t even remember them coming to bed. You slowly and quietly slip out from between them leaving the door ajar and heading into the kitchen.

You’re craving a coffee and after searching through the cupboards for a while you find some and boil the kettle. Your eyes keep flicking to the bedroom door hoping you’re not waking them up. You decide to take the coffee out to the balcony grabbing the throw from the couch on your way out.

The sounds of busy central London fill your ears as you breath in the frigid air. You make your way to the chair pulling the blanket round you and watching the activity on the Thames. The sun is still low in the sky covering everything in a burnt orange hue. You relax back in the chair sipping your coffee.

You think back to yesterday and how natural everything felt. Johnny and Simon being so accommodating, you’ve never felt anything like this before, you’ve never had boyfriends or one night stands treat you anything like the way Johnny and Simon seem to fawn over you. The coffee burns your tongue as you swallow it down.

There was something different with Johnny and Simon, you knew this time it was going to be different. Not just because it was a three way relationship but the fact that it felt like a relationship and not just a fling or a few month fling. Holy shit you were actually falling for them, falling for them both. There was no Johnny without Simon and there was no Simon without Johnny. You smile as you sip the coffee watching the sun rise over the London skyline.

“You okay?” Johnny makes you jump as he sticks his head out the door, your free hand flies to your chest.

“Jesus, sneak up like that on everyone?” You ask as he walks out the door.

“You think I’m quiet you should hear Simon.” He says smiling. “Or I guess you don’t hear him.”

You smile at him get up drinking the rest of your cup as you walk towards him. He moves aside to let you in as you drop the throw on the couch heading to the kitchen. Johnny follows you the whole time as soon as you’ve put the cup in the sink his arms are around you. You turn to look at him as he pulls you closer to him. His lips moving you yours, you sink into his embrace as he kisses you moving his tongue round your mouth.

“Yesterday was amazing.” He says as he pulls away your arms locking round his neck.

“Oh yeah?” You say in a desperate attempt at praise. Johnny just smiles at you his lips moving back to yours, it’s slow and sensual the type of kiss that makes your knees shake, your body warms up as he presses you against the sink.

You break away from the kiss. “Johnny, I really love this, spending time with you and Simon.” You don’t know what to say, you feel like it’s too early to be throwing around the word love. Johnny’s hand comes to stroke your cheek.

“I love it too. We both do.” He sighs rubbing your cheek. “I told you Simon’s not good with his words. Wait till the day he tells you he loves you. It will feel amazing.”

“Will he ever say that?” You ask with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah he will.” Johnny leans down to kiss you. “You know how I know?”

“How?” You ask wrapping your arms round him.

“Because I love spending time with you, and I’ll actually say it.” He smiles kissing you again. “How about you help me make breakfast. Do you know how to cook?”

“I can make pasta.” You say shrugging.

“Then you can cook.” He says moving over to the fridge. “What do you want? Eggs, bacon, beans?”

“Eggs sound good.” You say taking them from his hand.

“Let me show you how to make the best scrambled eggs.” He says passing you a pan you put it on the hob turning it on. He presses his chest up against your his hands wrapping into your waist. He nuzzles his face into your neck.

“Is the distraction part of the process?” You ask cracking eggs into the pan.

“I thought you knew how to work under pressure.” He teases, his hands run round your body as you try to focus on not overcooking the eggs.

“Mornin” You both turn to look at Simon coming into the kitchen. Johnny lets go of your waist turning to greet him. You keep focus on the eggs.

“What do you want? Bacon beans?” Johnny asks him

“I was going to go for a run.” He replies.

“Later, I thought we could have a chat, the three of us.” Johnny says, you turn to look at him. Now you’re nervous all of a sudden. Simon sighs reluctantly and walks over to the coffee machine.

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doitforbangchan · 1 year ago

Text

All Bark and No Bite 12

Masterlist /Series masterlist

Chan x reader (y/n) x ot8

ABO!Nonidol!SKZ Alternate Universe

Previous - Next

Chapter Warnings: Smut, oral (m receiving), grinding, kissing, cursing, crying, fluff, angst, drinking, drunk confessions, suggestive.

WC:8.4k

Chan was right when he thought you would need a lot of aftercare. After the events in the shower he carried you to bed and cuddled you for hours, kissing you and saying how he’s sorry he had to do it. He never apologized for the punishment but he only said that he was sorry it was necessary. The only time he left you last night was to go grab you a plate of dinner that you ate in bed. As far as you knew anyways.

In reality the alpha had waited until you fell asleep then he went and served the punishment news to Felix, who did not take it well. There was a lot of sobbing and pleading but the outcome remained. The beta could not speak to you or touch you in any way until Chan deemed it ok. Felix cried all night but knew he should have followed one of his alphas only rules regarding their omega.

You woke up that next morning feeling uncomfortably sore between your legs. You didn’t feel Chan in bed with you but you did suddenly hear the water running in his bathroom. For a moment you didn’t move, just laying there breathing in your alphas pure scent.

Chan came walking out of his bathroom in just his boxers, noticing your open eyes. His eyes crinkled as he gave you a boyish grin and came to sit on the side of the bed closest to you.

“Morning my love.” he leaned down to kiss your forehead. “I’m running a bath for you. I figured you're probably hurting a little bit, huh?”

You grumbled out a “yeah” and lifted your arms weakly for him to grab you. The alpha laughed lightly and scooped you in his arms, where he brought you to the bathroom. You could tell it was very early, the sun's rays not even quite peeking over the trees you could see from the window. “Wha’ time is it Channie?” you tiredly asked as he lowered your body into the warmth of his massive bathtub. It smelled like he added some epson salts and essential oils into the water.

“Hmm about 6:00 am, maybe 6:15ish. There's a few things that need to be done before we leave and the drive to our usual camping spot is about an hour and a half.” He stripped himself and lowered himself to sit behind you.

“Toooo early” you whined, head laying against his chest as he massages your shoulders. When his hands traveled down further, now getting the knots in your back you let out a sigh. If you had to wake up early, this wasn’t a terrible way to do so.

By 7 you were out of the bath and getting some clothes together to take camping. You had decided to wear a pink boho floral dress that went down to your knees with your new swimsuit underneath. You grabbed a few change of clothes, some sweat pants and a hoodie in case you get cold.

Chan could tell how excited you were for the lake when you came bounding back into his room with your stuff, skipping and grinning ear to ear.

“What’s got you all skippy, baby?” He put your stuff in his duffle bag along with his own clothes.

“Oh I don’t knooooow,” you drawled,wrapping him in your arms, “maybe just that we get to go swimming and camping today!”

The alpha laughed and gave you a wet kiss on your cheek, causing you to squeal and release him. “Can you even swim, baby? You said you’ve only been in the pool.”

“Well, I mean..” you felt your face heat up. “I think I could swim just fine. My feet didn’t touch the bottom of the pool so I had to swim!”

He patted your head patronizingly and cooed at you while still laughing “I’m sure you do your best, my love. Don’t worry though, your alpha will keep you from drowning.”

You huffed and narrowed your eyes at him, poking his chest “ I can handle myself, I’m not a child and I won't drown!” You turned on your heels and stomped out of his room, the man cackling behind you even louder as you left.

Down in the living room is where you found Minho and Seungmin.The front door was wide open and you could hear shuffling and moving outside. The older beta was going down the list and Seungmin was reassuring him that you all had everything. Well almost.

Seungmin was the first to notice you, and he met you at the threshold of the living room with a smirk, “Hey, Baby.” He pulled you in for a swift kiss, and you giggled returning it.

Minhos’ attention was now caught, his focus on Seungmin and how he acted with you. Since Min caught the younger beta groping you the other day he’s been paying more attention to the younger's actions.

Seungmins hands pinched your thighs cheekily as he pulled away from you, “Cute dress.” He laughed as you smacked his hands away.

“Thanks, jerk.” he dodged as you tried to pinch him back. You opted for sticking your tongue at him. “Good morning Min.”

His eyes remained watching you even when he had been caught observing, “Morning, omega. Do you have everything ready to be put in the car?”

“Channie has my clothes in his bag he is filling right now.” You nodded while answering. “ Is there anything I can do to help?”

Minho sighed and ran his hand through his hair, “No I don’t think so. Maybe when changbin gets back you can help fill the coolers but other than that everything is about done. Innie is outside putting everyone's stuff in the cars”

“Where did Changbin go?” you asked as you heard Chan starting to come down the stairs with your combined bag.

“He went to the diner to pick up our food order and then to the store for more beer. He should be back in like an hour.” Min shrugged.

“More beer?! As if the two cases I saw you loading yesterday weren't enough!” You rolled your eyes.

“These boys love camping.” Chan answered as he passed you to take your bags outside. “More specifically they love to get unruly while camping.”

“No better place than in the great outdoors with your best friends, a campfire and a pretty girl.” Minho winked while Seungmin fake gagged. “We also got some fruity drinks for you, baby. And Ji.”

You beamed at that “Really? Thanks! How did you know I don’t drink beer?”

“You don’t really seem the type, baby.” Sungmin smirked at your huff.

Minho rolled his eyes “Anyways, when Changbin gets home we will be ready then we can leave.”

Changbin had already hit the liquor store and the pharmacy, for your birth control prescription (at Chans request), now he was waiting at the diner for everything to be ready for him to take. He was sitting at the counter playing on his phone. The restaurant wasn’t busy, only a couple other patrons sat around in booths sipping coffee. What did catch his eye was the unfamiliar man sat a few seats down.

The guy was young, maybe Changbins age. This town didn’t get many visitors, so it was a little odd to see him there. From what Changbin could tell the guy was a beta, a mated one since he had a mating mark on his neck.

The beta must have felt Changbins analyzing stare, because he turned his head to meet the alphas' analyzing look. He lifted his hand with a grin and gave a little wave, “Hi.”

Changbin was self-conscious about being caught staring, giving back a mild look of panic and a timid wave, “Uhh hey.” The alpha moved over a few seats until he was sat next to the beta. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to be rude. I just don’t recognize you, is all.”

“Ha yeah, I’m not from this area. I’m here to help my uncle with selling his estate.” He held out his hand for Bin to shake. “I’ll be around for a few weeks. My name is Wooyoung.”

“Where the fuck is Changbin? We need to get going!” Minho was clearly stressed out, pacing the driveway. To be fair, it was nearing 9am. You were sitting out on the porch on the outdoor sofa, watching the beta in his plight. Of course you wished to make it better, but unfortunately it was out of your hands. Slowly the rest of the pack shuffled out of the house, all ready to depart for the short vacation.

Hyunjin surprised you when he plopped down next to you with a deep sigh. He leaned his head on your shoulder and grabbed your hand in his. “Hey angel.”

“Hi Jinnie, are you ok?” You lifted his hand and placed a kiss on the back.

He gave you a tired smile, squeezing your hand. “Yeah, just exhausted. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

You let him lean on you as he rested his eyes. “Why not?”

“Felix was a wreck last night. Crying for hours after Hyung scolded him. He needed me, so I stayed up with him.” Hyunjin sighed again, remembering just how distraught the younger beta had been all night.

You froze, dread and devastation filling your heart. You hadn’t even realized Chan had said anything to Felix yet. He hadn’t made an appearance yet, so you had no idea how he was holding up. To be completely honest, you had forgotten about the punishment dished out by your alpha. You were having such a good day so far, it slipped your mind.

Hyunjin could feel you tense up at the mention of Felix, he opened his eyes to see unshed tears in yours, and the sour scent of your sudden mood change filled his nose. “Oh sweet girl, come ‘er.” He embraced you in a comforting hold.

“It’s all my fault, Jin.” You cried, burying your face in the boy's shirt.

Your crying had caught the attention of Chan who was on the other side of the driveway chatting with Seungmin and Jeongin. He just watched from afar, not interfering with the comfort you were receiving from the beta.

“It’s not -”

“Yes it is! I let him do it, I knew we shouldn’t have but I did it anyway. He’s never going to forgive me.”

“Felix has nothing to forgive. He disobeyed a direct order from his alpha. He understands why and accepts it.” Hyunjin was stern yet soft with his words. The beta had sympathy for the younger but wouldn’t defend the actions. He listened the first time.

“Will Chan forgive me, though?” You asked, trying to stop crying. The hiccups were relentless.

Hyunjin found the alpha in question eyes, finding no malice or any negativity, just curiosity. “I would say you don’t have to worry about that, baby. Channie may get his panties in a twist when he feels like he has to go into ‘mean alpha mode’ but he gets over it quickly. He loves you, he forgives easily.” He pet your hair.

“FINALLY!” You jolted out of Hyunjins hold when Jisung yelled from his place on top of his car. Ji was pointing at Changbins car coming down the path.

Changbin stopped the car and popped his head out the open window, “Delivery!”

“And where have you been?! We should have left by 8:30!” Minho stomped over to Changbin.

“Well I met this guy at the diner and-”

“It doesn’t matter, we gotta go.” Minho interrupted, “LETS GO GUYS!” He screamed it so everyone could hear.

Hyunjin pulled you in for a sweet kiss, wiping your eyes as he did so. “It’ll all be ok, love. I promise.” You nodded at his words. He stood up and grabbed your hand for you to stand also. “Let's get loaded and get going.”

You both walked over to the truck Chan was waiting for you at, “Ready to go Omega?” you nodded.

At this moment is when Felix walked out of the house. His eyes subconsciously searched for you where he saw you standing with Chan. You could see the redness in his face and his puffy eyes. He really had been crying all night. “Felix…”

You took a step towards him instinctively, wanting to comfort him but your alphas arm shot out and kept you from moving closer “Omega. Get in the car.” He kept his hard eyes on you, willing you to obey.

Felix saw this happen and ducked his head, beelining for Changbins car. He only sent Hyunjin one pleading look before ducking inside the vehicle. Felix respects Chan too much to disobey him again, even though he badly wanted too.

As much as you wanted to go to Felix you knew you couldn’t. With a look of defeat you climbed into the truck sitting in the middle seat. Hyunjin poked his head in and gave you a sorry smile, “As much as I want to be here with you, baby, I gotta go to Felix.”

“I understand, Hyun, it’s ok. I’ll see you when we get there.” You gave him a tight smile in return, scooting to the passenger seat, clicking in your seatbelt.

“See you soon. Love you.” He poked in to give you one last kiss before he walked to the other car.

Chan got in the driver's seat and started the truck, “ Are you ready, my love?” He was giving you that charming smile that you love.

You figured there was no sense on dwelling on it so you smiled back at him, “yeah m’ ready Channie.”

The drive to their usual campground was surprisingly pleasant, albeit the emotions in the car were a little heavy. Though you liked all the passing trees as you went even further into the forest. Chan let you pick the music in the car and he told you stories about the last few camping trips. From what he told you, the boys did a trip a few times a year, when the weather was warm enough.

You didn’t contribute much to the conversation, a little stuck in your head about the excitement of seeing a large body of water. Chan could feel your conflicting emotions, and could almost see them swirling inside of you. He only wanted you to have a good time so he decided to make a little adjustment.

“Baby.” he started, casually when you were about 10 minutes from your destination.. You hummed in recognition. “I think I may have been a tad harsh, especially since we’re all going to try and have a good weekend.”

“Harsh?” you were confused by his total subject change.

“I’ve done some reflecting, and I’ve decided you and Felix should still be able to at least speak to each other.” He shrugged, never taking his eyes off the road.

You let out an incredulous gasp, “Are you being for real?! I can talk to him?!” Your eyes looked hopeful as you stared at the alpha.

“Yes, I realize that it's impractical that two pack members can’t so much as speak to each other.” He let his eyes travel to you for only a second, to your beaming face. Chan put one hand on your thigh, just resting it there. “Remember, talking is the only thing I am allowing.”

“You got it, absolutely.” You were nodding rapidly, gripping his hand. “Thank you Alpha!” You were squealing with joy at the simplest of permissions, forgetting this was still a punishment and not a reward. As intended.

“You’re welcome, omega. I love you.” He said cheekily, giving you another sly side look.

“I love you Channie!”

Now you feel more jazzed. More ready and less in your feelings. The last few minutes of the drive was less heavy, and before you realized it you were pulling into a clearing behind the other two cars you were following.

You peaked your head out of the window, searching for any sign of water. “Where's the lake?”

Chan opened his door, and got out to come around the other side to open your door, “It’s a few meters through the trees in front of us.” he put his hand out for you to take, “we can’t set up camp to close or we risk getting water boarded.”

Everyone started getting out of their cars, scoping out the area. Immediately the boys got to work setting up camp. You saw Felix get out of Changbins car and went to go over to him but Chan stopped you, “Wait a minute, baby. Let me talk to him real quick.” He shooed you to help the boys unload the truck, then walked over to the younger boy who was standing with Minho and put his hand on his shoulder.

You weren’t able to hear what was being said, and couldn’t read Chan's lips since his back was to you, but you could see a little bit of the light return to the younger betas eyes and a light grin grace his lips. Felix appeared to nod in agreement then his eyes found yours, immediately seeking you out. You raised your hand to wave at him shyly, and he returned the wave.

“You can take this if you want, baby.” Seungmin brought your attention back to the task at hand, handing you an arm full of blankets. He pointed to where you could leave them, and the pack set up camp.

Camp was coming along nicely, tents being set up and drinks already being distributed. When you were putting your and Chan's bag by one of the tents Felix came up to you. “Lix!” You almost went to hug him but remembered you couldn’t. “I miss you.” you smiled the best you can.

“I miss you too, baby.” He grimaced then tried to smile back. “It’s just temporary. We can cuddle again soon enough. I promise.”

You nodded. “I love you.”

“I love you too. More than you know.” You felt your skin heat up at his words. He noticed things were almost done. “Are you ready for lake time?”

“Yeah!” You gave an enthusiastically loud response, then looked down trying not to come off so eager, “I mean, yeah sure.”

“HA! You couldn’t be aloof even if you tried, Omega.” Minho's teasing startled you and you jumped a little, turning to glare at him.

Min put an arm around your shoulder as you responded, “How would you know? Maybe I just hide it really well.” You didn’t miss the way Minho looked at Felix when the older beta touched you, a smirk on his face. “And don’t be a jerk!” You shrugged his arm off.

“Yeah leave Lixie alone, hyung!” Jisung hopped on Felix from behind. “He’s being punished enough.”

“Thanks Sung.” Felix deadpans, looking over it.

Minho put his hands up in surrender, “Ok ok I was just teasing you,” Then his smirk grew almost evil as his arms suddenly shot out and grabbed you. You squealed loudly as he threw you over his shoulder, your fists coming down on his back in protest. “Ow don’t hit me! I’ll drop your ass!”

“No! Don’t drop me, just put me down, you crazy! Aren’t you still setting up camp?”

“We’re done, it's play time now. I thought you wanted to go to the lake? I’m just taking you there.” He walked down the dirt path Chan had pointed out to you earlier.

“AHH no no no no Minho please don’t toss me in!” You couldn't see the water but you were starting to hear it now as he kept walking closer “Min I can't swim very well!”

He stopped near the edge of the water and lightly put you down on the ground. “I wasn’t going to toss you in, omega. You’re fine.”

You let out a sigh of relief and finally was able to look out at the body of water. It was beautiful. Very picturesque, almost like a painting, with the mountains in the background reflecting on the shimmering water. The sun was almost at its highest point in the sky and suddenly being next to the water you really felt the heat.

“What do you think, baby?” Hyunjin said from behind you, turning to see the rest of the pack coming down the trail. Hyunjin had a few towels and a folding beach chair. He didn’t have a shirt on anymore, his bare torso on display. “Beautiful huh?”

“Yeah” you oogled him, “beautiful.” He just laughed and kissed you as he passed.

Chan set you up a chair next to his, under a sun shade. Everyone picked their spots to set their stuff and then it was unleashing a pack of wild dogs. Most of them ripped off their shirts and sprinted towards the water, laughing and pushing each other.

It was like a scene from a movie, all these beautiful half naked men, splashing each other and being idiots yet still somehow managing to look perfect.

Your alpha was one of the few who hadn’t immediately jumped in the lake. He had his own shirt off as well, as he got out some sunscreen. “ Want me to get your back, my love? You need to be coated before getting in the sun.”

“Yes please.” You tentatively pulled your dress over your head, revealing the swim suit you had picked out the day before. The action caught every male's attention,( most of them eyeing you anyways waiting for the reveal) all of them unable to take their eyes off your body. They could see all the bites and bruises left on your body from the last few days, courtesy of Hyunjin, Felix and -mostly- Chan. Thankfully, you didn’t notice the boys in the water stopping to watch you, or you would have been too self conscious and put your dress back on.

Jeongin turned to Jisung and Felix who were in the water with him, “You guys help her pick that out?”

“Yeah.” “Uh huh”

The youngest boy gulped, “thank you for your service.” and saluted them.

“You’re so dumb.” Seungmin tried to push the alpha under the water and thus the play fighting resumed.

It was about an hour later, you were still sitting on the beach though now laying on a towel sunbathing, facing the water so you could still watch the boys all have fun. Now it was just you and Minho left not in the water, the beta still keeping his shirt on also. He had brought you a lemonade a few minutes ago now he was sitting on his own towel a few feet away with a book. You had asked him why he’s not in there with everyone else, and he told you with a grimace he ‘wasn’t much of a swimmer’. It was a comfortable silence for both of you now as you laid in the sun.

Changbin was exiting the water and coming up to the cooler, grabbing a bottle of water and coming to stand next to you. “Aren’t you comin in, babes?” He asked you after taking a drink.

Seeing Changbin shirtless and dripping wet was an ethereal sight. His body was like a well oiled machine, and it was very apparent just how hard he worked on it. You almost had to wipe the drool from your mouth. “Uh” you looked at the water then back to him, trying to pretend you hadn’t just been gawking at him. “I’m thinkin about it.”

The alpha smirked, noticing your roaming eyes. “Are you nervous?” You gave him a timid nod, not hiding it from him. “Come on, I can hold on to you the whole time.” He held his hand out for you to take.

You felt a little unsure, “do you promise?” you held your pinky out for him to swear.

He looped his with yours, “promise.” you let him help you up. “I won’t let you drown, baby.”

Changbin led you to the water, him stepping in first then gently guiding you in with him. The cool water felt good on your heated skin, a sigh of content escaping you as he brought you slowly into the lake.

The group was a few meters out, the water up to their chests. When you got closer to them you clung to Changbin, the depth getting to your nerves. He let you wrap your legs around him as he carried you and giggled at you.

“Look who decided to join us.” Seungmin splashed you, causing you to shriek. “I can hold you if you want, baby.” He had an evil glint in his eye, making grabby hands at you.

“No way! You’ll probably try to drown me!” You clung harder onto Changbin.

“I wouldn’t let him drown you, my love.” Chan swam up, splashing Seungmin.

“Not if I drown you first!” The beta tried to shove Chan under the water and the alpha retaliated and pushed him away with a laugh, clearly not threatened.

Changbin started waddling away, “Lets get the fuck outta this nonsense before Seungmin really does drown Channie and I have to step in. I don’t wanna be liable for that.”

You couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if something happened to your mate? Would Changbin take over as next head of the pack since he's the second oldest alpha? Something tells you Minho especially would not blindly follow behind a younger male. God forbid anything ever happen to your alpha, the thought alone gave you a deep pain in your chest.

‘Stop being so fucking negative all the time. Nothing is ever going to happen to Chan.’ You mentally chastised yourself, shaking your head to dispel the corruptive thoughts.

Felix, Hyunjin and Jeongin were a little further out, and you thought Changbin was taking you over to that group but instead he shuffled to the left and went over to a cluster of boulders that were sticking out of the water.

“Where we goin, Binnie?” you asked, still holding tight. The rest of the pack were getting further from as he went but still in sight.

“Just wanted you to myself for a little while, sweet thing.”

“Aww.” You pinched his cheek, “you’re the sweet one, Binnie. Carrying me around.”

He giggled, “I’m just protecting my omega, from every threat even waist deep water.” You could feel your heart swell at his sentiment, knowing he was being completely honest. He set you on a rock that was low enough for you to climb on, then climbed up to sit next to you.

“Your omega, huh?” You tried for a teasing tone but the crack in your voice betrayed you.

Bin scratched the back of his neck and looked away with a deep red on his face. He cleared this throat, “uh well, the pack omega.”

You scooted closer to him, so your thighs were touching, “that means you’re right, I’m yours too Binnie.” He made a choked sound, and cleared his throat again. There was a sudden confidence you weren’t familiar with coursing through you, it made you bold enough to make a move on him. “Binnie..” you set your hand on his thigh. Even though he had just come out of the cool water, his skin was burning hot under your touch.

“Uh, yeah, baby?” he could feel his dick twitch at the simplest of touches from you.

“I’m just really grateful to have you and I care about you a lot.” you leaned closer but he just groaned and let his head fall.

“Fuck baby, you can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not? It’s true. You said it yourself, your omega.”

He let out a growl mixed with a groan, he lifted his head and his hungry gaze met yours. “ Better be careful, or I’m gonna fall in love with you.” He reached his hand out to cup your cheek.

Now your face was the one heating up, “Would that be such a bad thing?” it came out like a whisper as you leaned even closer. Changbin now was tilting his head closer to you, his eyes falling to your lips.

“Too late.” He closed the gap between you and your lips met. Changbins lips were incredibly soft. He hadn’t been forceful like you thought he would be as an alpha, instead he pressed your mouths together with a gentleness you hadn’t expected. Almost as if he was scared to break you.

You were the one to press closer to him, opening your lips slightly to encourage him to take it further. He took the hint, letting his hand grip your face a little tighter and his tongue enter your mouth. Changbin tasted woodsy, almost similar to Chan but Changbin was more smokey. It complimented his musky scent, both corresponding to make your head spin.

There was a faint ‘whoop whoop’ heard that startled you both, causing you to pull away from him. Back on the beach Jisung and Minho were making kissy faces and hollering at you and Bin.

“Grow up!” Changbin called to them, flipping them off while they laughed. You were about to flip them off too but then your eyes zeroed in on Felix sitting in the sand behind them, a drink in his hand, and the most pained expression on his face as he watched you and Changbin. It made your heart ache.

“Hey Binnie?” you asked tentatively.

“Huh? Yeah baby?” He turned to you , bringing his hands back down.

“Umm,” you twiddle your fingers a bit, “ can we maybe go back to camp for a while?”

He followed your gaze to see the young beta looking forlorn, “yeah baby, we can.” He hopped off the rock into the water, and lifted his arms to grab you again. You scooted down enough to let him take you in his hold once more, and the alpha carried you to shore. “It’s probably after noon by now, if you're getting hungry can we go get some lunch from camp?” He suggested.

You nodded, “That sounds great.” He set you down only when his feet touched the shore. Together you walked up the beach to grab your towels. The three betas were still chilling there under the sunshade, Minho cooing at you both when you approached and Jisung continuing his kissy faces. “Alright calm down you children.” you laughed pushing Ji away as he pinched your cheek after handing you your towel.

“You guys are jealous it’s not you getting precious omega smooches.” Changbin huffed.

“Well, one of us especially is,” Minho let his eyes flitter over to Felix with a devilish smirk. The youngest beta still hadn’t said anything yet, just keeping his gaze ahead at the water.

“You really are an asshole sometimes, hyung.” Changbin rolled his eyes.

“Yeah Min, sometimes you act more alpha than Changbin!” Jisung said with a cackle.

“Now you’re the asshole Han! We were gonna bring back food now I ain’t bringing you shit!” Changbin grabbed your hand and pulled you up towards the trail to the campsite.

“Noooo Binnie please bring me a sandwich!” Jisung whined with a pout.

“Starve!”

Hand in hand you walked up the small trail. The campsite was very close, just unseeable through the trees, undetectable. When the camp was in sight you paused your footsteps, that boldness returning to you now that the prying eyes were gone.

“You alright, babes?” Bin asked, noticing your stopped movements, “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Yeah, I am. But not for food.” ‘What the fuck did I really just say that?!’ Whatever, you said it so now you gotta act on it. You lightly pushed on his chest until his back hit the nearest tree.

“Huh-” you cut him off by pressing your lips against his .He wrapped you in his arms, pressing your body closer to his. This time he wasted no time in shoving his tongue against yours, his battling for dominance- though you didn’t put up much of a fight.

“Mmm” You hummed when he slotted his thigh between your legs, the strong appendage creating some friction on your clothed pussy. As much as you wanted him, you were still too sore to even attempt another alpha inside you. No, right now you just wanted to show him how much you appreciate him for always being so sweet to you. “Mm Bin, hold on.” you mumbled as he started peppering kisses to your neck.

“Hm?” He couldn’t stop, the feel of your soft skin under his lips was addictive. He wanted to run his lips and tongue along every square inch of your body, to taste every drop of nectar you provided. The alpha knew you must be so, so sweet.

“Binnie,” You laid your hands on his chest and gently pushed yourself off of him, his lips chased after you causing you to giggle. “I wanna try something.”

“You can do whatever you want, baby. I’ll give you anything you desire.” He meant it wholeheartedly.

You still had your towel around you so you let it fall to the forest floor below you, and keeping eye contact with him you slowly sunk to your knees onto the towel. “Anything?” You were trying so damn hard to keep your nerves in check. You let your hands find his thick thighs, massaging them as you observed his dick growing in his shorts.

“Anything.” He reiterated with a gulp. Changbin couldn’t take his eyes off your sultry gaze, awaiting your next move. He could tell you were doing your best to keep up a sexy facade and if he was being honest it was totally doing it for him. Anything you do does it for him, really. Blood was rushing further into his cock no matter what you did.

You took a deep breath as you let your fingers trail up his thighs and up to the waistband of his swim trunks. You tried to slow your racing heart as you looped your pointer fingers under the hem. You steeled your nerves and tugged down the still damp fabric down to his knees.

Holy shit

Changbins cock was huge. Thick. Maybe not as long as Chans but Changbin made up for it in girth. ‘These alphas are gonna kill me one day.’

His tip already had a slow bead of precum coming from it as it stood straight up awaiting your attention.

Your mouth was working quicker than your brain. “I don’t think that’s gonna fit in my mouth.”

You both paused for a second, looking at each other like you both couldn’t believe you said it, before both of you burst into a sputtering laughter. His jolting was causing his dick to jump and slap against his stomach, the sight of it in your face was making you laugh harder and in return Changbin did too. It took a full minute to get out the giggles out of both of your systems.

“If it’s too big for you baby, you don’t have to. I know you may not be able to handle it.” Bin said, catching his breath. He wasn’t being facetious but you still narrowed your eyes at the unspoken challenge.

You tentatively reached out and took a firm grasp of his member. You could barely wrap your hand around it. The alpha immediately let out a pained groan, throwing his head back against the bark of the tree. Even the smallest of touches from you was overwhelming.

You sat up further on your knees as you let your hand stroke over him, trying to find a rhythm. You had never come face to face with the phallic appendage like you were now, and now that you were down here with it in your hand you were starting to get more and more intimidated.

With a final deep breath you leaned your face closer and placed a gentle kiss on the head. He let out a whimper at the contact of your soft lips. His little sound was encouragement for you to go further. You slowly parted your lips and slid his tip into your mouth, his precum tantalizing your tastebuds. You let out a low hum at the salty taste.

Changbin kept his hands at his sides, letting you go at your own pace, but fuck was it so hard. His instincts were fighting against each other. His dominant alpha side wants to just claim your mouth and make you choke on it, the other part of him wanting to coo at you and take care of your needs instead. He should have known this was taking care of your needs. You were growing to love the feel of him in your mouth.

He couldn’t help but put his hands on your head when you attempted to take him further into your wet mouth. His girth was a stretch but you were determined. You had seen how it was supposed to be done, you may have been inexperienced but you had still seen porn before.

You eased him as far back into your mouth as he could go, activating your gag reflex as you choked on him.

“FUCK baby! Careful, you're gonna make me blow my load if you keep doing that.” He moaned out when he felt your throat constricting around him. Your mouth was so wet and hot, he could almost imagine your pussy being the same.

You slowly bobbed your head on him, letting out little hums of satisfaction when the alpha began moaning and panting. He kept his hands stationary on the back of your head, but he almost lost it when you looked up at him through your lashes with glossy eyes, and drools started to leak out of the sides of your mouth around him.

“Oh my fucking god, you are the sexiest thing I have ever seen.” He wanted to cry when you hollowed your cheeks and a gurgle came from you with all of the saliva that was accumulating. “God damn how are you so good at this? Nughh wanna live inside your mouth.”

You giggled around him and his hands responded by gripping your hair, causing you to groan. He couldn’t help but lightly guide your head as you sucked on him. You only wanted to please him so you let him do as he wished, you were getting what you wanted either way.

Rambling seemed to be a theme with these boys as Changbin started to spew all his thoughts and feelings out for you while you sucked him off. “ F-fuck your so perfect. Wanna give you everything, wanna take care of you ‘mega.” you let out a whimper of your own. “You wan’ tha’ baby? You wan’ Binnie to take care of you forever? Mmmm yeah I know you do. That’s all I want, omega, all I need. Wanna love on you and build you a big house and- and- fuck- wanna show you what a good alpha I can be.”

Tears gathered on your lash line; either from his endearing sentiment or this thick cock bullying the back of your throat you didn't know. All you did know was how bad you wanted him to cum for you. With all the sweet talking he was doing he deserved it. Your hand found the base of his shaft that you couldn’t fit and you began to stroke him, trying to match movements with your mouth.

“Oh my god im gonna cum, baby your gonna make me fucking cum.” His hips drilled just a little harder as he chased his high. “ mmm you want me to cum in your pretty little mouth? Wan’ your alpha to feed you his seed baby? Nnnuuhgg don’t worry m’ gonna give it to you, Alpha is gonna give it all to his omega.” He pushed you onto him one last time causing you to choke and that was the last push he needed, letting go and a flood of his essence filled your mouth. His eyes rolled back into his head as curses and moans came cascading out of him. The thick knot on the base was inflated fully as he came, luckily your mouth couldn’t reach that far on him.

His load was enough that it was spilling out the sides of your lips, even as you swallowed all you could. You didn’t mind the taste of it, but the feeling was definitely going to take some getting used too. You let him catch his breath and you removed his now softening member from your mouth.

Bin looked down at you with blown out pupils to the hottest thing he had ever seen; you on your knees with teary eyes, lips puffy and red coated in saliva and semen. Fuck he wished he had his phone on him to take a picture. He’d make it his home screen.

“Damn baby…” He puffed out, petting the back of your head affectionately. “You sure you’re not some kind of secret porn star? Cuz that can’t have been the first time you’ve done that.”

It took roughly five more minutes after getting off Changbin that a search party came looking for the two of you. Jisung was worried you had been eaten by a bear. At the sight of you both, changbin looking fucked out and you with puffy lips, Seungmin had retorted with ‘well something definitely got eaten’. Because of course he did. Slowly everyone started to trickle back to the campsite, all hungry and most sunburned.

Night came quickly and by then the fire was lit and roasting hotdogs ‘so cliche’ while everyone had a beer in hand; or maybe two or three (5 +). Everyone was feeling good and laughing. You had even had a few drinks of your own, the alcohol making you incredibly tipsy and feeling relaxed. Chan was keeping an eye on how much you were consuming but overall was letting you let loose. At least you had changed into your sweats and hoodie so the mosquitos wouldn’t get you before you started drinking.

You hadn’t drinken in a while - the last time being a few months ago at your old best friend's house and that was mostly a glass of wine while you watched the oscars- so it had you feeling giggly and light.

Everyone was kind of doing their own shenanigans. Jisung and Changbin were having a drunken rap battle, neither of them coming up with anything intellectual or even coherent. Hyunjin and Felix were having a heated discussion about the importance of proper hair care. Minho was slurring through an explanation of how to cook the perfect hotdog to an equally as drunk Jeongin. Then there was Chan who was strumming a guitar as Seungmin tugged you up from your spot next to the alpha to dance with him.

“I can’t dance!” You tried to resist but your grin gave you away. Seungmin scoffed and yanked you up anyways.

“Like I care if you can, the fact is you will.” He grabbed both your hands and spun you around, then pulled you closer to give you a light kiss. The kindest touch he’s given you yet. He then grabbed you like he was trying to waltz with you, both of you not knowing the correct moves and just stepping all over each other. You were honestly having a great time, until Seungmin being himself couldn’t resist ruining the mood. “You know he’s only making an example out of Felix, right?”

You were caught in a whirlwind at his sudden declaration, “huh? What the fuck does that mean?” you tried to pull away but he kept hold of you, giving you his predacious smirk.

“Chan.” He said it like it was obvious, “He’s using Felix’s fuck up to not only teach him a lesson but teach all of us a lesson. It’s really not cute of him.” He wouldn’t have ever brought it up if he wasn't inebriated, but when the beta had alcohol in him he became even more unsufferable.

“What’s really not cute is that you're saying this right now, Seungmin.” You rolled your eyes at him.

“No but you know what is cute? I mean other than you.” He spun you again so you would be facing Jeongin. “Our poor Innie hasn’t been able to take his eyes off of you since we started dancing. Isn’t that cute? I think he has a crush on you.”

You locked eyes with the mentioned Alpha and he looked away quickly, as if he was ashamed at being caught staring. He did that quite a lot. Stared at you in awe hoping you wouldn’t notice. He also avoided being around you just as often. In your drunken state you were starting to grow self conscious at the reason.

“I don’t think he likes me very much, Minnie.” You mumbled, looking back at the beta who had you in his arms.

“Are you joking?” He snickered, “Oh I think he likes you way more than you know.” He let go of you and gave your butt a harsh smack in the direction of the seated younger male. “Why don’t you go ask him and see for yourself, huh? Give us some entertainment.”

You huffed, “Maybe I will ask him. But not for you, for me!” you marched over to Jeongin with intent as Seungmin cackled watching you go.

Jeongin had been avoiding your eyes so he hadn’t noticed you were coming to him until you plopped yourself down in his lap. He gasped as you seated yourself on him, eyes wide with surprise and his body freezing in place.

“Hi Innie.”

“Uhhh” He was at a loss for words, his brain failing to work the second you touched him.

“Can I ask you a question?” The alcohol you had consumed was making you feel emboldened. Tomorrow when you're sober you will be humiliated. Oh well it will be worth it to get to the bottom of his avoidance.

Jeongin cleared his throat, his face felt like a furnace with how it was heating up. “Umm yeah, yeah you can as-ask me a question.”

“I’ve kinda been noticing you avoid me sometimes…” You started, hesitantly. You didn’t wanna make him upset but you were genuinely curious. “And I’ve kinda been wondering why..”

He bit his lip when you shifted in his lap, already losing his mind and you haven’t even done anything. He still hadn’t put his hands on you, holding them out so they wouldn’t touch. He let out a shaky breath, “ I don’t avoid you, Y/n.”

“Well maybe not technically, but I don’t know, it doesn’t seem like you want to be around me. You seem almost… pained when I’m around.” You were fighting back a pout but your lips did it anyway, having a mind of their own sometimes.

The alpha boy wanted nothing more than to bite those pouty lips, to feel the soft flesh between his teeth. “Fuck” he accidently whispered.

“Huh?”

“N-nothing! Uh it’s complicated, Y/n.”

Your pout grew bigger, “but why is it complicated? Do you- do you not like me?” You leaned away, wanting to cry suddenly. “Is it because of the thing that happened when I was on my heat?”

Jeongin looked at you like you've burned him with your question, eyes shooting to yours in panic. “That's not it at all! Don’t say things like that!” Now you were the shocked one, not expecting his outburst. “Fuck, ok what I mean is, no of course not. I like you Y/n. Maybe too much..” He mumbled that last bit and in your inebriation you almost missed it. Key word being almost.

“Why too much, Innie? Isn’t it a good thing that you like me?” You wiped your tear that fell, then let your face fall into his chest.

He let out a quiet groan at your action, the smell of you weakening his resolve. He knew it would be embedded in his sweater for days to come. “You want me to be honest?” You nodded against him. “I have a hard time controlling myself around you. You make me almost feral. Everything about you is intoxicating. So yeah it’s kinda complicated.”

You let out an involuntary purr, his statement making you suddenly needy. You tightened your hold on him and pulled your face up to meet his. He was searching your face for some kind of disgust but was distracted by the pleased scent flooding out of you. It was making his brain foggy.

“Can I be honest now?” He nodded back at you, “ I really like you, Innie. And I don’t want you to hide away from me. Ok?” He nodded again, eyes closing as he was dragged further into your appeal. “Can-can I maybe kiss you?”

“Uhh, ye-yeah. Maybe a little.”

You leaned in closer to his face and pressed a soft peck to his lips. His hands shot to your waist when you pulled away from him, dragging you back to his mouth as he attempted to devour you. You let out a squeal from the action, catching the attention of Chan who was across the fire still strumming on his guitar.

As if they had a mind of their own your hips gave an involuntary grind on his lap and he growled in response, tightening his hold. Before he could take it any further, you were suddenly yoinked out of his hold and into the arms of Chan.

“Alrighty, that's enough of that. You’re both too drunk for this right now. You can resume in the morning when you're sober.” Chan said as he lifted you off of the younger alpha. “Time for bed, omega.”

You whined but didn’t fight it, letting him scoop you with no resistance. Jeongin almost growled at his alpha, but the sensible part of him knew that was a terrible idea. Look what happened to Felix when he disobeyed.

“Goodnight, baby.” He managed to get out in his stupor. He’s gonna be thinking about you all night.

“Night Innie.” You waved at him, then waved to the other boys as you passed them while Chan carried you to your shared tent. “Night boys! Love you!” you called out. There was a cluster of goodnights and love you too’s.

Chan chuckled, “You love them all huh, baby?” he set you down on the plethora of blankets he made sure to pack for you.

“Mmhmm, I do, Alpha.” Once you were wrapped up in the comfort you felt yourself grow drowsy. “Love ‘em all s’ much.”

Chan got into the blankets with you, letting you curl into him. He placed a kiss on your head as you drifted off. “They love you too, so much.”

You were out like a light.

A/N:AHHH I've had that changbin scene in my head for months before I even started this series so im pretty excited about it lol. The lake pic used above is a pic of the actual lake I live by, any guesses which one it is?

Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!

Also if any one wants to chat about the story or share predictions please send me an ask!!

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ceyanabbiolo · 19 days ago

Text

PHOTOGRAPH // M.S [07]

Summary: Daphne Denoire, a 21-year-old, returns to Boston to after 3 years—but working for her brother’s best friend, Matthew Sturniolo, wasn’t part of the plan. He’s a 26-year-old multimillionaire. She’s the girl he was never supposed to feel this way about. With secrets between them and boundaries set, how far will they go for a love they never saw coming?

Warnings: slightly suggestive, making out.

wc: 5424

Chapter 7: You Want Me To Teach You?

I stood by the window in Noah’s apartment, my hands wrapped around a mug of tea that had long since gone cold. Outside, the city moved in its usual rhythm—cars drifting through slush-stained streets, the sky a soft blur of gray. The clouds rolled slowly, like brushstrokes across a winter canvas.

It had only been a few days since we got back from L.A., but it lingered in my mind.

Without Noah, I found the apartment too quiet. Empty, in the kind of way that makes you start baking just to fill the silence. So, I did what I always did when I needed to feel normal: I baked.

A full batch of cupcakes, frosted with vanilla cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon powder. Once they were done, I realized something strange—there was no one to give them to.

I used to make them for Noah, for our neighbors, for the people I worked with, but now, standing in this in-between space of familiarity and change, I didn’t know who to offer comfort to.

Well—except one person.

Matt was the only one who came to mind.

I boxed up half the batch, grabbed my coat, and made my way outside. The fall chill bit into my cheeks, but it felt grounding. I hopped onto the bus toward his apartment, the container tucked securely in my lap, my fingers tightening around it every time the bus jolted.

I didn’t know why I was doing this, I told myself it was just a kind gesture. Which to be fair, it was.

The bus ride was short, but my nerves stretched it out. By the time I arrived, the cupcakes felt heavier in my hands. Matt’s building towered above me—glass and steel gleaming even under the cloudy afternoon light, a luxury high-rise tucked neatly into the heart of Boston.

I crossed the lobby, heart thudding, and approached the entrance to the private residences. Just as I reached out to ring the buzzer, someone excited—an older woman in a sleek coat and heels, probably another resident. She held the door open for me without a second glance.

“Thanks,” I murmured, stepping in before I lost my nerve.

Inside, the lobby was quiet, marble floors echoing under my kitten heels. I found the elevator tucked at the back, pressed the button, and tried not to fidget.

Twenty-five floors.

The ride was silent, except for the low hum of movement and the soft ding of passing floors. I stared at my reflection in the mirrored walls. My hair was neat. My coat was buttoned. The cupcakes were intact.

What was I even doing?

Before I could spiral too far, the doors opened with a soft chime. I stepped into a carpeted hallway, tastefully lit with minimalistic art lining the walls. I followed the numbers until I stood in front of 2503, the silver numbers sleek and modern against the dark wooden door.

I hesitated, balancing the box in one hand, and lifted the other to knock.

This was probably crazy, but I was already here.

So I knocked.

The door swung open after a moment—and there he was.

Matt stood in the doorway, shirtless, damp hair falling messily over his forehead like he’d just stepped out of the shower. A towel hung loosely over his shoulder, and he wore nothing but grey sweats that sat low on his hips.

For a second, neither of us said anything. His eyes widened slightly in surprise as they landed on me—and then on the box in my hands.

“Daphne?” His voice was rougher than usual, like he hadn’t spoken yet today. “What… are you doing here?”

I held up the box awkwardly, trying not to look directly at his very bare chest. “I… um. Made cupcakes,” I said softly, “You just… came to mind.”

His brows lifted. “Cupcakes?”

“Yeah,” I nodded too quickly. “Noah’s not around, and I always bake too much. You seemed like the only person who might appreciate them.”

He blinked, and a slow grin curved onto his lips, like I’d genuinely caught him off guard. “You brought me cupcakes?”

I shrugged, cheeks burning. “I can go if now’s not a good time—”

“No, no,” he stepped aside quickly, motioning me in. “Come in. Please. I was just—uh—getting ready for the gym. Didn’t expect company.”

I stepped past him, eyes focused strictly on the floor, trying not to let my gaze wander back to him. However, I still caught the faint scent of cologne and clean skin as I walked by.

“Well,” he said behind me, voice amused, “I guess breakfast is served.”

He’s funny, it was 4 PM.

His apartment was exactly what I expected—sleek, open, and modern. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the Boston skyline, and everything was neat in that effortless, masculine kind of way. Black marble countertops, a leather sectional, and muted tones everywhere. It was minimalist, but not cold. It felt… lived-in. Expensive.

I really liked his place.

I walked over to the kitchen island and gently set the box down. “They’re vanilla. With cinnamon frosting.”

Matt followed behind me, towel now draped over his neck. He rubbed the back of his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You really brought me cupcakes.”

“I did,” I said, voice soft. “I wasn’t sure if you were a sweets person, but…”

“I’m a Daphne’s-baking person, apparently.”

That made my stomach flip.

He opened the box, letting out a low whistle. “These look good.”

I smiled despite myself. “You don’t have to fake it, Matt”

“I’m not.” He reached in, peeled back the paper from one, and took a bite—then paused mid-chew, eyes closing for a second. “Holy—okay, no. These are actually unreal.”

He’s gotta be kidding me, no ones freaking out over vanilla cupcakes.

I laughed, a little shyly. “Good.”

He leaned against the counter, still only in those grey sweats, and looked at me. Not just glanced—looked. Like he was trying to figure me out.

“Did you really come all the way here just to give me these?”

I hesitated. “Yeah, I guess… I just needed someone to give them to, and I don’t really know anyone else here yet.”

Something in his expression softened. He swallowed, then said, “I’m glad you did.”

Silence fell between us, nothing but Matt's soft chewing and the tapping of my nails on the counter.

Silence fell between us, nothing but Matt’s soft chewing and the absent-minded tapping of my nails against the marble counter.

Then— A faint rumble. A flash of light outside the window.

The rain started suddenly, like someone had flipped a switch. It hit the glass in sheets, fast and loud, streaking the skyline and blurring the city below.

Matt glanced over his shoulder at the window, then turned back to me. “Wait… how’d you get here?”

I took a sip of my now-cold tea, avoiding his gaze. “The bus.”

His chewing stopped. “You’re joking.”

I glanced up, instantly regretting saying it. “No?”

He blinked. “Daphne, you took the bus in the middle of a storm watch?”

“I didn’t know it was going to storm like this,” I said quickly. “It wasn’t even cloudy when I left.”

Matt walked to the window, parting the curtain slightly. The sky was already black, rain pouring so hard the streets below shimmered with headlights.

“It’s gonna rain all night,” he said, brows pulling together. He looked back at me. “You can’t take the bus back in that.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “I’ll be fine—”

“Daphne,” he said gently, cutting me off. “It’s not safe. Seriously.”

My chest tightened, a flutter of nerves rising in me. “I didn’t mean to… inconvenience you.”

“You’re not,” he said immediately. “Look, I’ll drop you off when the rain dies down a little. Worst case, you wait here an hour and we order food or something.”

I hesitated, glancing at the storm outside, then at him—standing there with no shirt, like all of this was perfectly normal.

“Okay,” I said quietly, trying not to sound too relieved.

His smile was soft. “Good. Make yourself comfortable.”

We were wrong.

The rain wasn’t stopping—if anything, it was getting heavier. Thunder rolled like distant drums, and the sky outside the massive windows was a deep charcoal gray, cut with streaks of lightning that lit up the apartment for a split second at a time.

I sat on the edge of the velvet couch, trying not to fidget too much, but anxiety tugged at my chest. I hated feeling stuck. I hated not knowing when I could leave. And most of all, I hated the quiet voice in my head telling me I was overstaying my welcome.

Matt, on the other hand, looked entirely unbothered, lounging in the kitchen like this was a normal Tuesday night.

“Okay, so… there’s no takeout,” he said, phone still in hand. “Apparently the roads are blocked a few blocks down. It’s gonna take hours.”

“That’s okay,” I said quickly, trying to sound relaxed, like I wasn’t one breath away from offering to walk home in the flood.

Matt tossed his phone on the counter and stretched his arms over his head, yawning. “Guess I’ll cook something, then.”

I blinked. “You cook?”

He shrugged. “If I have to.”

Something about the way he said it—half-cocky, half-resigned—made me smile despite myself.

But then he pointed a finger at me with a smirk. “Actually, you’re the chef here. I’ve had your cupcakes. I trust you more with a pan than I trust myself.”

I gave him a look. “Those were just cupcakes.”

“Exactly. You made them from scratch. That already puts you ahead of me.”

I exhaled, cheeks warming. “Fine. But only if it’s something easy.”

Matt pushed off the counter and opened one of the cabinets. “I’ve got pasta. Multiple kinds actually. Penne, spaghetti, rigatoni….”

I walked over and peered into the cabinet beside him, brushing against his arm as I looked. “Spaghetti feels right. Can’t mess that up.”

He grinned. “I’ll boil the water. That’s the extent of my knowledge.”

I pulled my hair back with the elastic from my wrist and stepped toward the counter, scanning through the fridge and pantry for whatever would go with spaghetti—some cherry tomatoes, garlic, olive oil, a bit of parmesan. Simple enough.

But even as I chopped the garlic and set a pan on the stove, I felt it.

Matt’s presence.

It wasn’t loud or overbearing—he wasn’t even hovering. He was just there, leaning against the other side of the kitchen island, arms crossed over his chest, watching. Calm. Comfortable. Shirtless.

The air felt warmer than it should have.

I wasn’t used to this. Cooking for someone else. Being watched while I moved around a luxury kitchen that wasn’t mine, under the gaze of someone who looked like that.

My hands moved automatically—add oil to the pan, sauté the garlic—but a part of me was hyper-aware of every step I took, every clink of the spoon, every brush of my hair behind my ear.

“You always cook this quietly?” he asked, voice teasing, breaking the spell.

I glanced up at him. “No. Just trying not to burn your apartment down.”

He chuckled, stepping forward to grab two glasses from a cabinet. “You’re doing great. Very composed. But your shoulders are all tense.”

I gave him a playful glare. “Maybe because someone’s watching me like it’s a cooking competition.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m just appreciating the process. It's not everyday that someone makes pasta in my kitchen. I’m usually the type to microwave leftovers.”

I scoffed. “Somehow that’s not surprising.”

Matt smiled, then leaned closer, elbows on the counter. “Are you nervous around me?”

My heart jumped.

I turned back to the stove too quickly. “No.”

He hummed. “Right.”

Dinner came together faster than I expected—simple garlic spaghetti tossed with cherry tomatoes, olive oil, and a sprinkle of parmesan. It smelled warm and homey, the kind of meal that made the storm outside feel just a little less loud.

Matt grabbed two plates and set them on the counter while I finished mixing the pasta.

“You make my kitchen staff seem inexperienced,” he said as he scooped a serving onto each plate. “Are you sure you’re not secretly a chef?”

I shook my head with a small laugh. “Gosh, your so dramatic”

He smirked. “Well, you got to cook for me one day, like properly.”

I giggled, “alright, sure.”

We moved to the couch, plates in hand. He grabbed the remote and looked over at me as we settled into the cushions.

“What do you wanna watch?”

I shrugged, curling one leg under me. “I don’t mind. Whatever you usually watch.”

Matt flipped through Netflix with one hand, the other balancing his plate. He scrolled past thrillers, comedies, and a few dramas. He paused on a show with a sleek black-and-white cover—some kind of artsy crime series I’d never heard of.

“This okay?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said.

He hit play and set the remote down. The show started low in the background, voices murmuring while we dug into our food.

“So,” he said after a few bites, “honest opinion. How were my kitchen skills?”

I arched my brow. “You boiled water.”

“Exactly. Flawlessly.”

I smiled, then looked over at him, more comfortable now. “I still can’t believe you thought takeout would show up in this weather.”

“I forgot the circumstances,” he said, mouth full of pasta.

We both laughed, and for the first time that night, the tension in my chest loosened a little. The storm was still raging outside, but inside—it felt warm.

Safe. Easy.

“Daphne, you’re not going home in this weather.”

I looked toward the window. The rain was still coming down in thick sheets, the city outside blurred and gray. Thunder rumbled faintly in the distance.

“Matt, I could probably call an Uber—it’s fine.”

He shook his head, setting his now-empty plate on the coffee table. “It’s late,” he said, his voice softer. “Just stay. Please.”

I hesitated, fingers tightening around the edge of my plate. “I don’t know…”

Matt leaned back slightly, looking at me with those steady eyes of his. “I think Noah would kill me if he found out I let you go home in a storm.”

That made me pause.

“I’m not saying sleep in the bed,” he added quickly. “I have a guest room. You’d be more comfortable there tonight.”

I glanced down at my hands, unsure why the idea of staying made my pulse flutter. Maybe it was because I didn’t stay there. I always left before things got too...close.

But Matt was pushing. He was just looking at me like he cared. Like he’d actually be worried if I went.

“Okay,” I said finally, almost under my breath.

His shoulders relaxed slightly. “Okay.”

He stood, collecting our plates and disappearing into the kitchen. I sat back on the couch, the hum of the television still playing, the storm outside relentless. I wasn’t sure what this night was turning into—but I knew it wasn’t something I’d forget easily.

When Matt came back from the kitchen, he rubbed a hand through his hair and nodded toward the hallway.

“The guest room was stocked,” he said. “Fresh towels, toiletries—everything you might need. You can take a shower, get comfortable.”

I looked up at him, still unsure, but thankful.

He disappeared into his bedroom for a few minutes before returning, holding out a folded hoodie and a pair of gray sweats, “these should fit well enough. The hoodie’s oversized anyway.”

I hesitated before taking them from him, our fingers brushing slightly in the exchange.

“Thanks,” I murmured.

He gave me a small smile, stepping back. “No pressure. Seriously. Just relax, okay?”

I nodded, clutching the clothes in my arms. As I made my way down the hall to the guest room, I heard him say softly behind me, “Let me know if you need anything else.”

It was quiet. Gentle.

The guest room was nicer than most hotel suites I’d stayed in—minimalist, clean, warm-toned, with crisp sheets and a soft rug underfoot. I set Matt’s hoodie and sweats on the bed and slipped into the en-suite bathroom.

The hot shower felt like heaven. I stood under the spray longer than I probably should have, letting the steam ease the tension in my shoulders.

When I finally pulled on the gray sweats and hoodie, I felt…better. The clothes smelled faintly like laundry detergent and something that was distinctly Matt—clean, warm, familiar. The hoodie hung past my hands, the sleeves swallowing my arms.

I looked at myself in the mirror.

Still me—but softer. More at ease.

I padded out of the guest quietly, and found him still in the living room, flipping through Netflix again. The rain continued to lash against the windows, but inside, everything felt calm.

Matt glanced up when he heard me.

His eyes swept over me once—just once—and a slow smile curved on his face.

“Comfortable?,” he asks, gently.

I gave a small smile in return and walked over to the couch.

The storm still rumbled outside, soft thunder low and distant, like background noise. A show played on Netflix—some teenage romance thing Matt had scrolled to without thinking too much.

I didn’t mind.

We weren’t really watching, not fully. Just letting it play while we sat close, but not quite touching. Every now and then, I’d glance at him out of the corner of my eye. The curve of his jaw. The way he leaned back like this was his natural state—comfort, confidence.

Onscreen, the boy turned toward the girl.

“So… I was wondering if you’d wanna go out sometime?”

I smiled a little. Matt let out a soft laugh.

“Classic,” he muttered. “So that’s how shows think you ask a girl out, huh?”

I glanced at him. “I mean… It wasn't bad. At least he asked. Straightforward.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You think?”

I shrugged. “It was honest. Better than some awkward game or pretending not to care.”

Matt looked at me, something flickering behind his expression. “How would you want to be asked?”

I hesitated, not really knowing what to say, “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”

He looked at me like that answer genuinely surprised him, his brows raising slightly. “No one’s ever asked you out? I’m sure London has some guys.”

I shook my head, letting my fingers run over the stitching on the throw pillow. “Not really. The three years I was there… nothing deep happened.”

He didn’t press right away. The sound of rain tapping against the windows filled the quiet stretch between us. The kind of silence that makes your thoughts louder. I could feel him glancing over at me again.

“You were interested in some guys though, right?” he asked eventually, trying to keep it casual, but his voice was a little softer now.

“Sure,” I said with a shrug, forcing a small smile. “I mean… I had eyes. There were people I thought were cute. But it never felt real. Not genuine.”

Matt’s head tilted, his expression thoughtful. He didn’t say anything for a second, just stared like he was turning something over in his mind.

“Not even when they kissed you?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

He looked confused at first, then narrowed his eyes slightly like he was reading between lines I hadn’t meant to write. “You’ve never been kissed?” he asked, more gently this time, as if realizing something.

My cheeks warmed. I quickly shook my head. “No—I have. Like… once or twice. Same guy.”

Matt leaned back slightly, giving me space, but his focus didn’t waver.

“That’s it?” he asked, something unreadable flickering across his face—curiosity, maybe a bit of disbelief. Somewhat romantically… yes. I nodded, slowly.

He studied me for a second, then tilted his head, voice gentler now, “And how did it feel?”

“The kiss?”

I looked at him, eyebrows raised slightly, and he nodded once, like he was giving me space to answer on my own terms.

I shrugged, fidgeting with the cuff of the hoodie he’d given me. “Like… a kiss?” I said hesitantly, a small crease forming between my brows. It sounded ridiculous once it left my mouth.

Matt let out a chuckle—low and amused, but not mocking. “No, sweetheart,” he said, that nickname curling around my name like warmth, “I mean how did he make you feel? Nervous? Did you like him?”

I winced at the memory, my face scrunching instinctively. The kiss flashed in my mind—awkward angles, stiff hands, the aftertaste of coffee and indifference.

“Felt like… nothing,” I admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “It was basically a peck, both times.”

Matt didn’t say anything right away. The weight of his gaze settled on me, and I felt a strange mix of embarrassment and relief—like I had just revealed a secret I hadn’t even realized I was keeping.

“That’s not a kiss, sweetheart,” he said suddenly, his voice low but certain.

I blinked, unsure if I heard him right.

“What do you mean?”

He shifted a little on the couch, turning to face me more fully, his expression thoughtful—serious in a way that made my heart thud a little louder. “I mean,” he said slowly, “when you kiss someone, you should feel something before it even happens. That anticipation—the nerves in your stomach, the way your heart starts racing... you should be excited. Especially if it’s someone you really like.” He paused, glancing at me briefly before adding, “Even if it’s not that deep, a kiss should never feel like nothing.”

The words sank into me slowly. My fingers curled slightly on my lap. There was something about the way he said it, so sure, so certain—that made my stomach twist, just a little.

I looked at him. His eyes were already on me. Quiet. Searching.

I swallowed, voice softer than I intended, “Have you always felt that?”

He gave a short smile. Not cocky, “Not always. But when is it good? It’s enjoyable.”

There was a pause—soft, weighted—before I spoke again. My fingers toyed with the hem of the hoodie he’d let me borrow, voice barely above a whisper. “Well… I don’t even know how to kiss someone properly. You know, for it to be... enjoyable.”

The moment the words left my mouth, I wanted to pull them back. I wasn’t sure why I’d said it. Maybe it was the way Matt looked at me when he listened—like I could say anything and it wouldn’t scare him off.

Matt didn’t laugh. Didn’t mock. He just blinked, eyes studying mine, like he was genuinely thinking it over. “You’re serious?”

I nodded once, a little embarrassed, eyes lowering to the floor.

Then, to my surprise, I heard him chuckle softly. Not unkind—just amused,“You’re cute when you’re honest like that.”

My eyes lifted back to his, just in time to see the way his expression shifted—thoughtful again. A slow breath left him as he leaned back, one arm draped lazily along the back of the couch.

“You want me to teach you?” The words were so casual, I almost missed them.

My entire body went still. “What?”

He smirked, lifting his hands in mock surrender.

“I’m just saying. If you’ve only ever had forgettable kisses… maybe you deserve to know what a good one feels like.”

I shifted slightly, suddenly aware of how close we were, and caught the flicker of something in his eyes— he took that as a sign of uncomfort.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his tone softening. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

I hesitated a moment, then looked up at him, cheeks warming as I spoke shyly, “No…I’m not uncomfortable. Just… surprised.”

He nodded slowly, like what he said was just processing.

I bit my lip, looking down for a moment before meeting his gaze again.

“Noah wouldn’t appreciate that,” I said softly. “And… it just feels wrong. Besides, it’s unprofessional—I work for you, too.”

Matt chuckled, shaking his head.

“Sweetheart,” he said, a teasing edge in his voice, “you’re already in my home, wearing my clothes. I’d say we crossed the line into unprofessional a while ago.”

My heart started fluttering. Gosh, help me. His offer was so tempting, so good.

He studied me for a moment, then spoke softly,

“You want to,” he said.

“What?” I stammered.

“You want to accept the offer.”

“I—”

I couldn’t even defend myself, because deep down, he wasn’t wrong.

“It doesn’t have to be awkward. Just once. No feelings attached.”

I hesitated, my mind racing with a tangle of thoughts — the risk, the consequences, the part of me that wanted to say no, the part that was curious and craving something different.

Noah wouldn’t approve, that's his best friend... It’s wrong... I work for him too...

But then, a small voice inside whispered, Maybe it’s okay. Just this once. For the 14 year old in you.

Swallowing my nerves, I finally nodded. “Okay... yes.”

Matt’s grin widened, that teasing, confident smile that made my heart skip.

“Also,” I added, glancing at him, slightly serious “Noah can never find out. He’d kill you and me, both”

Matt nodded slowly, his grin softening into something more genuine. “Alright, I promise.”

I nodded hesitantly, feeling a mix of nerves and anticipation. Then, without warning, Matt took my hand and gently pulled me closer by the arm.

“What—?” I started to ask, but he cut me off with a quiet, “Just sit.”

His hands found my waist, steadying me.

“I am sitting, Matt,” I said, blinking up at him.

“I know, sweetheart,” he chuckled softly. “I mean on my lap. I can’t kiss you properly like that.”

“Oh,” I whispered, surprised and a flutter of something warmer rising in my chest.

His hands moved to guide me, and before I knew it, I was straddling his lap. The warmth of his body beneath me, the steady beat of his heart against mine—it was overwhelming in a way I hadn’t expected.

A million thoughts rushed through my mind, but I pushed them aside, silently praying I wouldn’t let old, painful memories take over.

Not now.

Matt was not him. Matt was good. Matt was safe.

I focused on that as he looked into my eyes, steady and reassuring, ready to teach, ready to be patient.

Matt’s hand moved gently to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing softly along my skin.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice low and calm.

I swallowed and nodded, trying to steady my racing heart.

He gave me a small, encouraging smile before whispering, “Part your lips slightly.”

I hesitated for a brief second, then slowly parted my lips just as he said.

Matt’s eyes held mine, steady and patient.

He leaned in slowly, giving me time to adjust, his breath warm against my face. His lips brushed mine gently at first, soft and tentative, like testing the water.

I felt a flutter in my chest, nervous but strangely calm.

Matt smiled softly, his eyes locking onto mine.

“Okay, now I’m going to kiss your bottom lip,” he said gently. I blinked, confused. “You’re supposed to kiss the top one,” he added with a teasing grin. Before I could say anything, he reached out and lightly tugged my bottom lip between his fingers, pulling it just a little. “See? Like this,” he said, his voice low and patient. I swallowed hard, my heart pounding wildly as my stomach twisted into a flurry of nerves and anticipation. Every nerve in my body seemed to sharpen, buzzing with an electric mix of excitement and fear.

Matt gently tilted my face toward him, his eyes never leaving mine, steady and reassuring. Then, his lips brushed against mine in a soft, tentative kiss — just a quick, puckered touch that left a faint warmth lingering where they met.

I hesitated for a moment, then slowly tried to kiss back, awkward and unsure, my lips barely moving at first. Sensing my hesitation. Matt pulled back just enough to whisper, “Relax, sweetheart. It’s gentle, slow. Let your lips be soft.”

He nudged my bottom lip with his own again, guiding me. “Try parting your lips just a little, like you’re about to breathe in.”

He was good at this—really good. Every movement felt intentional but gentle, like he knew exactly how to make it feel right. My senses sharpened, my heart hammering louder with every breath.

My body felt like it was on fire.

Matt’s hands weren’t shy, roaming over my upper body—sliding down my back, resting on my waist and hips, cupping my face softly. The warmth of his touch sent sparks shooting through me, mixing with the growing heat of the kiss.

I liked Matt touching me. Matt touching me felt good, it felt gentle, caring, consensual.

I hesitated for a split second, then tried to mimic him, brushing my lips against his top one, lightly sucking just at the edge, like a gentle invitation. The moment felt electric, and the air between us thickened.

His breath hitched slightly, and the kiss deepened, slow and deliberate. I could feel the heat rising, both from the closeness and from something unspoken simmering beneath the surface.

My hands found their way to Matt’s chest, trembling slightly as the moment stretched between us—charged, warm, and unfamiliar in the best way.

“Keep going,” he murmured against my lips, breathless. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart.”

I nodded softly, leaning back in and continuing.

“Hands in my hair,” he said gently, guiding me.

I slowly brought them up, threading my fingers through his hair. That felt… easier. More comfortable. We were kissing—really kissing now—and I wasn’t thinking, I was feeling.

Eventually, I pulled away, my heart pounding in my ears.

Matt’s lips were still parted, a lazy smile tugging at them. “Look at you,” he teased lightly. “Already a natural.”

I laughed nervously, suddenly shy, avoiding his eyes. The realization of just how close we were hit me, and I shifted in his lap slightly—only to freeze.

There was something under me. Firm, hard, and my face went warm instantly.

I casually got off of him, like I didn’t notice anything.

Matt didn’t say anything, but he casually reached for a pillow beside him, placing it over his lap without fuss. Like it was no big deal.

I brushed my hands down my hoodie, trying to play it cool even though I could feel the heat rising to my ears.

He glanced at me, clearly amused. “You okay?”

“Yep,” I squeaked. He chuckled, the sound low and amused. “You sure?”

I gave a quick nod, still avoiding his eyes.

There was a beat of silence before he asked, quieter this time, “How’d that feel?”

I hesitated, chewing the inside of my cheek. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how right he’d been—how that kiss had made my heart race and my stomach twist in the exact way he described.

But he was looking at me, waiting patiently, and something about the softness in his gaze made me speak.

“It felt… good,” I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. “Like… what you said. The nerves, the build-up. I didn’t think a kiss could actually feel like that.”

Matt didn’t grin this time. He just nodded slowly, like he understood. Like maybe he’d felt it too.

“You deserved to know,” he said simply.

Just like that, I was back to staring at the floor, my chest full of butterflies I didn’t know what to do with. One thing clicked for me though—he said no strings attached, and I had agreed.

Though, as I sat there, heart pounding and lips still tingling, I realized something I hadn’t wanted to admit.

With Matt… it was never going to be no strings attached. Not for me.

Not when his voice made me feel safe. Not when his touch felt like it knew exactly how to handle me—soft, steady, patient. Not when one kiss already had me wondering what the next might feel like.

Even though we hadn’t said anything else, hadn't crossed any real lines yet... I already knew I was tangled.

READ ALL RELEASED CHAPTERS NOW!

[a/n: that was hot. like and reblog! mwah] –ceyana

Tags: @oopsiedaisydeer @ribbonlovergirl @mattsfrenchtoast @lm-a-mirrorball @cholejhunter @urlocallera @kingofeverythingmb @idkwhatimdoinghereeeeeee @malox12 @sturnslux3 @carrielovesmatt @vanillakissesxx @sagesturns @enviedparty101 @kiarasmaybank @mattscore @fmg05 @ed1tssturnn @kenah-sturniolo @tropicfessed @courta13 @meatballlover10 @ellssturn @idkwhatthisis2009 @mattspillowprincess @chrissturniolodailysluts

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fr0stf4ll · 6 months ago

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A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 6

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 9k (long ass chapter lol)

Trigger warning; //

notes; Hello my loves <3 HAPPY NEW YEAR woohooo!!! Sorry for not posting these last few days, but they’ve been looong with all the celebrations. Plus, I had to travel back to my place, and it took forever. So today, you’ll not only get part 6, but also part 7 ;) (it should be up in the next few minutes). This chapter was actually pretty hard for me to write because I had doubts about where to take the story or if I should give more or fewer clues about Y/N’s background. Either way, don’t hesitate to comment because even if I don’t reply to all of you, I definitely read them, and I loveeee getting those notifications. Well, see you in a few minutes for part 7 lol <3

previous ✧ next

Late afternoon shadows stretched across Velaris as you and Cassian stepped off the bridge leading into the quieter district near the clinic. Both of you were weary—three days in Illyria had taxed your energy, even if the journey home was less fraught than the work you’d done in the camps. Your cloak felt heavier than usual, boots scuffing softly on the cobblestones as you approached the modest building that housed the clinic’s entrance and your apartment above it.

Cassian’s shoulders slumped a little, wings drooping as he glanced at you. “We made it,” he said, voice carrying a note of relief. “Another successful adventure survived.” His smile was a bit lopsided, but genuine.

You managed a small chuckle, rolling your stiff shoulders. “A success, I hope,” you answered quietly. “At least some of them seemed open to new methods.”

He nodded, raking a hand through his hair. “They’ll never admit it, but they’ll use what you taught them. You left an impression, Y/N.”

The simple honesty in his tone warmed you. The clinic door beckoned, safety and rest just inside. You paused at the threshold, turning to face him. “Thank you for coming with me,” you said softly. “I know you had other duties, but I’m grateful you lent your presence—and, frankly, your muscle—to ensure no one gave me too hard a time.”

Cassian shrugged, easy humor returning for a moment. “Any excuse to keep the Illyrians in line.” He sobered a fraction, studying you with quiet sincerity. “I’m glad I could help.”

A silence fell, not uncomfortable but weighted with the fatigue of the journey. At length, Cassian cleared his throat, as if remembering something. “Oh, right,” he said, seeming almost amused by whatever he’d forgotten. “Before I go—Rhys asked me to pass along an invitation. He’d like you to join him, Feyre, and a few others for dinner tomorrow night at their townhouse in Velaris. It’s a sort of… well, I guess a welcome dinner now that you’re truly back in the Night Court.”

Your eyes widened in surprise and a spark of gratitude lit behind them. “Dinner?” you repeated, a bit taken aback. “That’s… an honor. I—” You hesitated, a hundred questions floating to your mind. You weren’t sure what one normally did when invited to the High Lord’s home for a meal. “Should I bring anything?” you asked, half-wondering if a gift or some rare herbs might be customary.

Cassian’s grin turned playful. “Bring yourself,” he said simply. “That’s all they’ll want. Trust me, Rhys and Feyre don’t stand on ceremony with friends. Consider it an evening to relax, maybe talk about what’s next.” His gaze flicked over the clinic’s door, then back to you, voice softening. “You deserve a good meal and a bit of comfort after the work you’ve done.”

Touched by his words, you nodded. “All right,” you agreed. “I’ll be there.”

“Perfect.” He exhaled, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Now, I’d better let you rest. I think we’ve both earned a good night’s sleep.”

A small laugh escaped you. “Absolutely,” you said, resting a hand on the door’s latch. “Sleep well, Cassian.”

He gave you a salute that was half-mocking, half-genuine, wings fluttering as he turned away and headed down the street. You watched him go for a moment, then slipped inside the clinic, fatigue tugging at your limbs. Tomorrow, you would face the High Lord’s table, and perhaps some quieter conversations that might shape the next phase of your return.

For now, rest called, and you followed it gratefully up the stairs to your apartment, thoughts drifting between memories of Illyria’s harsh mountains and the warm promise of dinner among unlikely allies.

Back inside the familiar confines of the clinic, you paused just inside the door, drawing in the scents of linen and dried herbs that always lingered in the halls. Your joints ached a bit from the journey, but routine called, and you answered it. Before heading upstairs to your apartment, you moved through the quiet corridors to the records room. A low lamp flickered there, its glow soft against the shelves.

You ran your fingertips along the ledgers, pulling out the records from the past three days. Your eyes skimmed the entries, scanning notes that Elira and the other healers had left. No major emergencies, you read with relief—only a few minor wounds, a mild fever, the usual aches and pains. The neat handwriting confirmed that Elira had continued training the younger healers as planned. She’d even left a brief note: All went well. The younger ones are picking up the new bandaging technique quickly.

A small smile touched your lips. Good. Progress, even in your absence.

Satisfied that the clinic had fared well without you, you tucked the ledger back into place and turned toward the stairs. The promise of rest beckoned, and you ascended quietly, passing familiar sconces that flickered in the gentle air currents. Upstairs, your apartment welcomed you with its calm silence. You shrugged off your cloak, letting it fall over a chair, and considered the state of your legs and back. A warm bath—yes, that would be perfect.

You crossed to the small bathroom, lighting a few candles along the way. The soft glow gilded the tiled walls and the simple, claw-footed tub. Setting the faucet, you allowed steaming water to pour in, scenting it with a bit of lavender oil you kept for moments like these. As the tub filled and steam rose, you breathed deeply, letting the tension roll off your shoulders.

So much had happened—Illyria, the uncertain dynamics in the Night Court’s inner circle, and tomorrow, a dinner invitation from the High Lord himself. But for now, here, in this private sanctuary, you could let all that fade. Stripping out of your travel-stained clothes, you sank into the bath, the warm water cradling your tired muscles. The quiet of the evening settled over you, and the lavender-soaked steam eased the lingering edges of worry.

Tomorrow would bring its own challenges and discoveries. Tonight, you granted yourself peace.

When evening arrived, you found yourself walking through Velaris’s softly lit streets, a bundle of carefully chosen flowers nestled in the crook of your arm. You’d spent much of the day working at the clinic as usual, but your mind had drifted often to the upcoming dinner. Now, wearing a simple but neat outfit—something presentable without being ostentatious—you followed the directions Cassian had given you, making your way toward the High Lord and High Lady’s townhouse.

Your heart fluttered with a mix of anticipation and nerves. It wasn’t as if you were heading into battle, but meeting them on such personal terms, in their private home, was a new threshold. You hadn’t seen Azriel since returning from Illyria, and though he might be present, you tried not to focus on that too much. This evening wasn’t about your confused feelings or the golden thread that tugged quietly at your awareness. It was about respect, camaraderie, and, hopefully, laughter over good food.

Rounding a corner, you came upon the district where the townhouse stood. The soft glow of streetlamps illuminated quiet lanes, and music drifted faintly from some distant party. Ahead, you spotted the house described to you—a graceful building of warm-colored stone and gently sloping roofs. It was large enough to accommodate their inner circle and guests, yet it didn’t loom or flaunt opulence. Instead, it exuded a gentle, welcoming aura.

Plants climbed trellises along the exterior, flowering vines weaving patterns around balconies and window frames. You caught the scent of night-blooming jasmine mingling with roses and citrus blossoms, an elegant tapestry of nature’s perfume draped over the home. It felt alive, this house—a place nurtured by caring hands. A place of growth and warmth.

Approaching the door, you paused to straighten your posture and smooth your clothes. The flowers you carried were modest and cheerful—nothing exotic or rare, just a vibrant mix of blooms from a local florist. You’d considered bringing wine, but after a moment’s reflection, you realized that whatever bottle you could afford would be outshone by the contents of their likely well-stocked cellar. Flowers, though, offered color, scent, and sincerity. That, you hoped, would be appreciated.

Exhaling slowly, you stepped forward, footfalls muffled by the ivy-softened walkway. The door’s brass knocker gleamed in the lamplight. You raised your free hand and knocked gently, heart fluttering once more. Perhaps it was silly to be nervous. You’d healed impossible wounds, steered conversations with stubborn Lords, and confronted your own uncertainties. You could handle a dinner invitation.

As you waited for someone to answer, you let your gaze drift along the eaves and sills. Lanterns dangled from hooks, their glass panels casting soft patterns of light and shadow across the entryway. Everything felt harmonious and attentive to detail—a reflection, perhaps, of the people who lived inside.

In a moment, you would be ushered in, welcomed as a friend or colleague rather than a mere visitor. The thought steadied you. The flowers shifted in your arms, and their gentle fragrance rose to meet you, a reminder that some gestures spoke volumes without words.

You were here, and you would face whatever the evening brought with an open heart.

The door swung open to reveal Feyre, her hair tumbling in soft waves over her shoulders, a gentle smile illuminating her features. She wore something elegant but not showy, a simple gown that played up her natural grace. When she saw you, her eyes lit even brighter, and she reached out, enfolding you in a warm, unexpected hug. It eased a little of the tension that had coiled in your chest.

“You’re here,” she said, voice calm and welcoming. “We’re so glad you could come.”

You offered her the bouquet, a mix of vivid blooms you’d chosen with care. Her eyes widened slightly, delighted. “They’re beautiful—thank you. I know a perfect spot for these.” She stepped back, holding the flowers with a careful tenderness, as if the gift mattered more than you’d dared hope.

She ushered you inside, and you slipped off your coat. Though it hadn’t snowed that day, a crisp chill still lingered in Velaris’s winter air, and the townhouse’s warmth wrapped around you like a soft cloak. Feyre guided you through a well-lit hallway into the living room, where conversation and laughter wove a gentle tapestry over the hush of the evening.

Rhysand rose from an armchair near the hearth to greet you, his violet eyes reflecting the lamplight. “Welcome,” he said, voice smooth and sincere. “Please, make yourself at home. You’ve already met Cassian and Azriel, but allow me to introduce the rest.”

Your gaze swept over the room. Cassian stood near the mantel, a glass of wine in hand, and as you glanced at him, he offered a lazy grin. Azriel was positioned a bit to the side, one arm resting along the back of a sofa. His bandages were gone, leaving faint lines of healing scars hidden beneath well-tailored clothing. He inclined his head softly when your eyes met, acknowledging your presence without fuss.

Seated near Azriel was a stunning blonde female—radiant and poised. Her beauty caught your attention immediately. Feyre noticed your look and added with a smile, “This is Mor—Morrigan. She’s family.”

Mor raised her glass in greeting, her hazel eyes warm with easy camaraderie. “Nice to finally meet you,” she said, voice touched with a hint of laughter, as if you’d arrived just in time for something pleasant.

Another figure caught your eye next: a smaller female, perched on the arm of a chair. Her silver eyes were sharp, ancient somehow, set into a refined face and framed by dark hair. This, you guessed, must be Amren. Your heart gave a small jolt of surprise—she was the one you’d heard described as powerful and formidable, yet she merely gave you a faint nod, assessing and cool, but not impolite.

Near Cassian stood another woman, her posture elegant, her features bearing a clear familial resemblance to Feyre. This must be Nesta—Feyre’s sister, the one who you’d heard was mated to Cassian. Her gaze was direct, but not hostile; perhaps curious, as if measuring who you were and why you’d been invited into their circle. You offered her a respectful smile, and she inclined her head in a subtle, regal manner.

The atmosphere was cordial, tinted with curiosity and acceptance. The fire crackled softly behind you, the scent of rich food and spices drifting in from another room. Feyre gestured to a free chair and you sat, the others resuming their conversations, weaving you naturally into their midst.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Azriel shift slightly, watching the interplay of introductions. Morrigan turned to say something to him, drawing his attention away and giving you a moment to breathe, to take in that you were truly here, part of this intimate gathering.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” Feyre said, settling beside Rhysand, who’d gently clasped her hand. “Until then, relax. We’ve all been looking forward to getting to know you better.”

With those words and the warmth in the room, you felt some of your lingering tension melt away. You were among allies, in a house so beautifully tended, with plants climbing the windows and laughter in the air. It was easy, in that moment, to let yourself belong just a little more to this court you were slowly making home.

As you settled into a free chair near the hearth, the soft hum of conversation enveloped you. The group arranged themselves in a loose circle of armchairs and sofas, each face illuminated by the gentle firelight and the glow of simple lanterns placed around the room. Feyre had taken a seat beside Rhysand, her hand resting comfortably on his arm, while Cassian lounged near Nesta and Azriel, who remained quietly attentive. Mor perched gracefully on a low ottoman, crossing her long legs with casual elegance, and Amren claimed a small armchair as if it were a throne, her silver eyes keen but not hostile.

Feyre, ever the thoughtful hostess, spoke first. “You’ve just returned from Illyria, haven’t you?” Her voice was warm, genuine curiosity shining through. “Cassian told us a bit about your work there. How did it go?”

You drew a steady breath, aware of more eyes turning your way. “It was… challenging,” you admitted with a half-smile. “The healers were skilled but set in their ways. I managed to introduce a few new techniques. Some were skeptical, but I think a few caught on.”

Cassian gave a snort from his spot by the mantel. “Some of them were more than skeptical. Let’s say they were resistant until they saw the results.” His grin flashed, clearly proud of how you’d handled the situation.

Mor tilted her head, golden curls slipping over one shoulder. “Resistance is standard there,” she said, amused. “I’m impressed you made progress so quickly. Usually, it takes a century or two to change an Illyrian’s mind about anything.”

A ripple of light laughter flowed through the room. Even Nesta’s lips curved slightly, though her gaze remained measured. “They can be stubborn,” Nesta agreed quietly. “But if you got them to listen, you’ve accomplished a minor miracle.”

Azriel’s gaze flicked to you then, calm and thoughtful. “Any particular technique you introduced that might stand out for them?” he asked softly, voice barely above the crackle of the fire. There was interest, maybe respect, underlying the question.

You smoothed a hand over your knee, considering. “I combined some Dawn Court infusion methods with local herbs to create salves that heal burns and cuts faster. Also taught them how to more efficiently close a wound using layered bandaging, so it breathes and doesn’t trap infection.” Your shoulders relaxed as you spoke, talking shop easing the tension in your chest. “It’s subtle changes that matter over time.”

Rhysand inclined his head. “Subtle changes often pave the way for greater shifts. Even if they don’t appreciate it now, they’ll notice the difference when their warriors recover more swiftly.”

Amren’s silver eyes narrowed with interest. “You sound like someone who doesn’t fear digging into traditions,” she commented. “I suppose traveling the continents taught you that?”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Exactly,” you said. “Every place I visited had a different approach to healing. By the time I returned, I carried a blend of knowledge. Challenging ingrained habits is never easy, but I believe if we show results, people adapt.”

As the conversation in the living room flowed around you, your attention drifted to Azriel, who’d been listening quietly while the others exchanged stories. Under the soft glow of the lamps, he seemed more at ease than the last time you’d seen him—no bandages, no pained tension in his posture. But you knew better than to assume all was perfect.

Leaning forward slightly, you caught his eye. “Azriel,” you began, your voice low enough that the others, caught up in their chatter, wouldn’t be distracted. “How are your injuries feeling now?”

He blinked, as if brought out of private thoughts. The edge of his mouth curved in a faint but genuine smile. “Much better,” he replied softly, voice smooth and controlled. “Your treatments worked wonders.”

A small surge of satisfaction warmed you. “I’m glad. I worried about scarring, especially on the wings, but it seems my methods held.”

Azriel inclined his head, shadows shifting imperceptibly at his shoulders. “They did. I owe you more gratitude than I can put into words.”

You waved a hand dismissively, though not unkindly. “No need for grand thanks. It’s what I do.” After a brief moment, you continued, “If you find yourself running low on ointment or salve—anything for lingering aches—you’re welcome to stop by the clinic. I’ll make sure you have what you need.”

His eyes flickered slightly, a hint of something unreadable passing there. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, voice still gentle. “Though I think it’s my turn to follow the rules this time. I won’t risk mixing anything that’s not from your hands.”

A quiet huff of amusement escaped you. “Good,” you said, pleased to note even the faintest humor there. “I’d prefer no more surprise remedies.”

He almost smiled fully at that, and you found yourself relieved—relieved that he’d healed, relieved that you could speak amicably, and relieved that, even amidst lingering complexities, you could offer him help without awkwardness.

Rhysand leaned forward slightly, his attention shifting fully to you. “Your skill with Illyrian wings is… notable,” he said, voice calm and curious. “It’s not often we see someone outside these mountains who can treat wing injuries with such precision. Where did you learn that?”

You swallowed, noticing how everyone’s gaze had angled your way. Azriel’s dark eyes were steady, Cassian’s brows lifted with mild interest, and Mor sipped her wine, listening quietly. “I owe much to Madja,” you said with a small shrug, trying to sound offhanded. “In my youth, under her tutelage, I spent time observing healings of various kinds. When I traveled to the Dawn Court, I worked extensively with peregryns. Between the two experiences, I pieced together techniques that transfer well.”

Rhysand nodded thoughtfully, and you sensed approval rather than suspicion. Feyre offered a gentle smile, as if pleased to understand more about your background. Azriel only gave the faintest tilt of his head, acknowledging your explanation.

Before anyone could delve deeper, the door opened softly, and you all turned. Elain stepped into the room, cradling a small bundle in her arms. The atmosphere shifted; the hush that followed her appearance was softer, lighter. She carried a baby—a tiny figure swaddled in soft linens. At the sight of you, Elain’s eyes went wide, a brief flicker of something like panic crossing her face. She managed a stiff, silent nod in your direction, acknowledging your presence.

She crossed the floor and carefully handed the baby to Feyre before moving to sit next to Azriel. The subtle tension that flared in the air didn’t go unnoticed by you. Seeing her choose a seat near Azriel struck a chord, stirring a quiet ache in your chest. The memory of misunderstandings and the complexities of their relationship hovered in your mind.

Feyre, noticing the moment, turned toward you with a warm, bright smile and the infant cradled securely in her arms. “This is Nyx,” she said softly, pride and love coloring every syllable. She stepped closer, letting you see the baby’s tiny, delicate features, the soft tufts of dark hair. “Our son.”

Your heart softened at the sight, and you drew a careful breath. “He’s beautiful,” you murmured, the tension easing slightly at the simple purity of this introduction. “Congratulations.”

Feyre’s eyes sparkled. “Thank you,” she said, rocking Nyx gently. After a moment, she glanced toward Elain and then back to you. “I should also introduce you to my sister, Elain. But I believe you’ve already met?”

Your eyes darted to Elain, who offered another small, tense smile. “Yes,” you confirmed quietly. “We’ve met.” The memory of the morning with Azriel’s injury still flickered in the back of your mind. Elain’s panic that day, her attempt to help gone wrong.

The baby cooed softly, wriggling a tiny arm free from the swaddle, and Feyre adjusted him tenderly. The simple, gentle act redirected your focus to something simpler and kinder. In that moment, held in Feyre’s arms, Nyx represented a softness and hope that contrasted sharply against the intricate bonds and tensions that wove this inner circle together.

You lifted your gaze, meeting Elain’s eyes briefly. She looked away, cheeks coloring faintly, before focusing on Azriel and the room’s gentle chatter. A hush of understanding passed—whatever had happened before still lingered, unspoken and unresolved, but for tonight, perhaps it could remain beneath the surface, overshadowed by the presence of family and the simple joy of a new life in their midst.

You blinked, noting the tiny, budding wings peeking out from Nyx’s swaddle. It took a moment for the sight to register—Feyre and Rhysand’s child had wings. The world narrowed briefly to that small detail, a realization that sent a pulse of concern through your chest. Memories stirred of the quiet horrors you’d learned about: how some winged births could end tragically if the mother’s body wasn’t prepared.

“Oh,” you said softly, voice hushed. “He has wings.” The words escaped before you could smooth your tone. You turned your gaze to Feyre, eyes wide with a hint of shock. “Are—are you all right?” you asked, concern lacing your voice. You knew how risky such births could be, how many mothers—non-winged mothers—lost their lives or their children. The knowledge spilled out in your startled tone, too raw and honest.

As soon as the question left your lips, you caught yourself. This was personal, deeply so, and it might not be your place to ask. A flush warmed your cheeks, and you cleared your throat softly. “I’m sorry,” you murmured quickly, lowering your eyes. “That was intrusive. I didn’t mean—”

Feyre’s smile was gentle, understanding. She shifted Nyx slightly, rocking him in a way that spoke of deep maternal comfort. “It’s all right,” she said quietly, voice kind and steady. “I know it can be dangerous. It was. But I’m fine now—truly.”

She exhaled softly, sharing a glance with Rhysand who offered a reassuring nod. “We had a lot of support, the best healers, and… let’s just say there were extraordinary circumstances that helped.” Feyre’s tone carried quiet resilience, as if acknowledging a trial endured and overcome.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Relief and admiration washed over you. “I’m glad,” you said simply, heartfelt. The image of the tiny, safe baby cradled in Feyre’s arms, half winged and wholly loved, took the sting out of your earlier alarm.

Nyx stirred, letting out a small, contented noise, as if confirming that all was indeed well. And so, in that moment, you allowed yourself to trust in their strength and the healing they had found—together, in this extraordinary court.

The dining table was set with care and elegance, an array of dishes spread like a tapestry of flavors and colors. Feyre had returned after settling Nyx down for the night, and now she sat beside Rhysand, her eyes brighter, freer, as though a weight had lifted from her shoulders. You were seated between Amren and Mor, with Azriel directly across from you. The air hummed with conversation, the gentle clink of silverware, and the faint glow of faelight sconces casting a warm gleam over crystal and china.

The food was beyond anything you’d tasted in recent memory—roasted vegetables drizzled with spiced oils, tender meats seasoned to perfection, a fresh salad of night-blooming flowers and herbs that tasted of moonlit gardens. Between bites, you couldn’t help small hums of appreciation. Mor grinned at your delighted expression, whispering that Feyre and Rhys knew how to choose their cooks wisely. Amren, on your left, merely arched an eyebrow, as if such quality was the norm in this household.

Across the table, Rhysand and Feyre spoke quietly with Azriel about the latest developments with Koshiev’s faction. They didn’t hide the topic, but neither did they elaborate on grim details unnecessarily. Still, the tension was palpable.

Cassian, seated beside Nesta, seemed to pick up on the unease radiating from her. He leaned closer, murmuring something low that drew a reluctant smirk from her lips—a rare crack in her otherwise steely demeanor.

The conversation shifted, soft murmurs filling the dining room as everyone seemed to settle into their own thoughts. But your gaze lingered, drawn to the quiet interactions between Azriel and Elain.

They weren’t doing anything outright inappropriate, of course. Yet the way Azriel leaned slightly toward her, his shadows curling faintly around her seat as though they couldn’t help themselves—it was subtle, but unmistakable. And Elain, for all her delicate, quiet nature, didn’t seem to shy away from him. If anything, the small glances she cast in his direction, the way her hand lingered near his on the table, spoke volumes.

Something was going on between those two. That much you were sure of.

But didn’t she have a mate?

The thought gnawed at you. From what you’d learned during your short time with this group, the bond between mates was supposed to be unbreakable, undeniable. A rare gift—or curse, depending on how one saw it. Yet here was Elain, sitting close to Azriel, her mate nowhere to be found.

You couldn’t help but recall the low, tense conversation you’d overheard between Rhysand and Azriel days ago. Their voices had been hushed, but you’d caught enough to piece together fragments. It had been about Elain, about Azriel’s feelings for her—and about how complicated the whole situation was.

Even tonight, the tension was palpable. Rhysand and Feyre avoided looking too long in Azriel and Elain’s direction, as if their mere proximity might ignite something. Cassian’s joviality had dimmed slightly, and even Mor seemed unusually reserved.

You shifted in your seat, the unease settling in your chest like a stone. Whatever was unfolding here felt like a precarious balancing act, one wrong move away from shattering entirely.

It wasn’t jealousy, you told yourself firmly—because at the end of the day, you barely knew him. Whatever flicker of connection you’d felt when you first crossed paths with Azriel had been just that: a flicker.

Still, you couldn’t entirely ignore the truth you’d kept to yourself. That he was your mate.

You hadn’t planned to speak of it, not now, perhaps not ever. What would be the point? He didn’t seem to know, and you weren’t about to disrupt the fragile balance of this group—or his life—by bringing it up.

But watching him now, seeing the way his gaze softened for Elain, the way his shadows seemed drawn to her as if they couldn’t help themselves... it unsettled you.

You reached for your glass of wine, your fingers tightening slightly around the stem. It wasn’t your place to interfere, nor did you want to. And yet, the sight stirred something uncomfortable in you—an ache you couldn’t quite place, an unease that whispered of things better left buried.

For now, you resolved, you would tread carefully. Whatever this was, it wasn’t your story to tell.

As the conversation ebbed and flowed, you caught snippets of Mor and Feyre discussing the upcoming Solstice celebrations. Their voices carried a mix of excitement and warmth, and even those not directly involved in the planning seemed to lean in slightly, drawn by the festive air.

“Everything’s nearly set,” Mor said with a grin, her golden eyes glimmering. “But I still think we need more lights. You can never have too many.”

Feyre laughed softly, shaking her head. “We’re already bordering on blinding half the Sidra with what we’ve got planned.”

“Exactly,” Mor countered. “Bordering. Not quite there yet.”

The exchange drew a small chuckle from the others, and soon the table was animated with chatter about the Solstice—decorations, food, gifts, the music for the evening. You found yourself listening quietly, a faint smile on your lips as their excitement filled the room.

Then Cassian turned to you, curiosity lighting his hazel eyes. “What about you, Y/N? What are you planning for the Solstice?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Working,” you said simply, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

Cassian stared at you, his expression shifting from surprised to faintly unimpressed. “You’re working?” he repeated, as though the concept was completely foreign to him.

You shrugged, taking a sip of your wine. “I gave the night and the day after to the other healers,” you explained matter-of-factly. “They have families to spend it with.”

His blunt stare didn’t waver. “And you don’t?”

The question hung in the air for a beat too long. You didn’t flinch, though. Instead, you gave him a small, wry smile. “Not in the traditional sense,” you replied. “I’ve spent most of my life on the road. Holidays are just... nights like any other to me.”

Mor frowned slightly, her lips parting as though she wanted to say something, but Feyre beat her to it. “You could spend it with us,” she offered warmly, her eyes soft and kind. “If you’re free after your shift, of course.”

You hesitated, glancing around the table at the faces watching you. “That’s kind of you,” you said after a moment, your voice quieter now. “I’ll see how the night goes, but I wouldn’t count on me. Those nights tend to be pretty busy.”

Cassian still didn’t look entirely pleased, but he let the topic drop, turning to Azriel to mutter something under his breath. Across from you, Feyre and Mor resumed their discussion about the preparations, but you noticed the glances they shot your way from time to time.

The Solstice was supposed to be a time of joy, of togetherness. And yet, for you, it had always been a reminder of the distances you’d kept—between yourself and others, between your past and your present. Maybe this year would be different. But you weren’t ready to hope for that just yet.

Nesta, her tone gentle yet curious, asked, “Don’t you have family here in Velaris? Since it’s where you’re from?”

Cassian’s head turned sharply to her, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. He looked like he was about to respond, but you stopped him with a soft smile, silently telling him it was okay.

“It’s fine,” you replied, your voice steady but quieter now, the words laced with a faint melancholy. “My parents passed away when I was still a child. And... it wasn’t exactly a union their families approved of. My father was a High Fae, and my mother was Illyrian.”

The table fell silent, the weight of your admission settling over the group.

Feyre’s expression softened, her brows knitting together as if piecing together what your childhood must have been like. Even Amren’s usually sharp gaze seemed to flicker with a faint glimmer of understanding.

Rhysand leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table, his voice low and thoughtful. “A High Fae and an Illyrian,” he mused, his violet eyes locking onto yours with a knowing look. “That couldn’t have been easy for them—or for you.”

You nodded, taking a moment to gather your thoughts. “It wasn’t. My mother’s family saw her as a traitor for leaving the war-camps. And my father’s family... well, let’s just say they weren’t thrilled about him choosing someone they considered beneath him. They tried to make it work, but the rejection on both sides was... hard.”

Rhysand’s lips curved into a faint, understanding smile tinged with something more—perhaps a trace of his own memories. “My parents were mates,” he said softly. “But even that bond didn’t shield my mother from what she endured because she was Illyrian. My father’s court viewed her as an outsider, no matter that she was his equal in every way.”

You glanced at him, surprised by his willingness to share the parallel. A small, genuine smile tugged at your lips. “Then I suppose you understand better than most.”

He inclined his head. “More than you might think. My mother bore the burdens of being Illyrian with grace, but I saw the way it chipped away at her. The way others refused to see her worth simply because of where she came from.”

The room was quiet for a beat longer, the group absorbing the weight of your shared experiences.

“Did they stay in Velaris?” Nesta asked gently, her voice curious but kind.

“They tried,” you said, your voice softening even more. “Velaris was my mother’s dream. She wanted a place where their love could thrive without the judgment of others. But it wasn’t that simple. My father’s family refused to acknowledge me, and my mother’s kin wanted nothing to do with either of us. They both passed when I was young, so... it’s just been me for a long time.”

Cassian shifted, his hand tightening briefly around his glass. He didn’t say anything, but the tension in his body told you all you needed to know—he hated the thought of you enduring that kind of isolation.

“I’m sorry,” Feyre said quietly, her voice warm with empathy.

You offered her a small smile, the sting of the memory softened by time. “It’s all right. I’ve built my life on my own terms since then. And Velaris... it’s still home.”

Rhysand nodded, his gaze steady. “Velaris is the City of Starlight. But it’s also a sanctuary for those who need it. And no matter what, you’ll always have a place here.”

The sincerity in his words caught you off guard, and for a moment, all you could do was nod, your chest tightening with a mix of gratitude and something you couldn’t quite name.

The laughter faded into a comfortable hum, and Rhysand glanced at you again, his tone turning slightly more serious. “Speaking of important matters, are the preparations for your trip to the Dawn Court coming along?”

You nodded, resting your hands on the edge of the table. “It’s going well,” you said. “I’m not rushing, though. The meeting isn’t for a few weeks, so there’s time to finalize everything.”

Azriel, who had been quietly observing, narrowed his eyes slightly. “What meeting?”

You met his gaze evenly. “The head healers of all the courts are gathering to discuss the rising tensions in the world. It’s not something we do often—every ten or twenty years, if that. But given everything that’s been happening lately, it was decided that now’s the time to meet.”

Feyre leaned forward, her brows knitting together in curiosity. “Even though you’ve only recently taken over from Madja, isn’t that going to be... challenging for you?”

Her question was genuine, not unkind, and you offered her a soft smile. “Not as much as you might think,” you replied. “I already know all of them. Either they trained me, or I’ve trained them at some point.”

Cassian let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Well, look at you. The prodigy of Prythian’s healers.”

You rolled your eyes at his teasing, though the corners of your mouth twitched in amusement. “Hardly. It’s more about connections and trust. It’s easier to work with people when you’ve already built a rapport.”

“True enough,” Rhysand said, his voice thoughtful. “But there’s still a lot of weight in those meetings. Decisions made there could affect countless lives.”

You nodded, meeting his gaze. “I’m aware. That’s why it’s important we all come together now. We have to be prepared for what might come next, no matter where it starts.”

Cassian broke the tension with a grin. “Still betting it’ll be less of a disaster than a High Lords’ meeting?”

Laughter rippled around the table again, and you shrugged with a playful smirk. “I’d say so. We’re less inclined to argue over who’s the most powerful and more focused on practical solutions.”

“Speak for yourself,” Amren muttered dryly. “I’d argue just for fun.”

The table erupted into laughter, the light-heartedness returning as the conversation shifted to lighter topics once more.

Dinner naturally came to an end, and the group shifted to the living room. The atmosphere turned even more relaxed as the evening stretched on. Cups of tea were passed around for some, while others nursed glasses of wine or stronger spirits. The crackle of the fire in the hearth added a cozy backdrop to the low hum of conversation and occasional laughter.

You found yourself sinking into a plush armchair, your fingers wrapped around a warm mug of tea. The soft glow of the firelight played across the room, highlighting the easy camaraderie between everyone. This wasn’t just a group of warriors and leaders—they were a family. Even in their teasing, you could sense the unshakable bonds that connected them, forged by shared history and unwavering loyalty.

For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to relax, taking in the sight of them. Feyre and Rhysand were curled up together on a loveseat, Cassian sprawled across a large sofa with Mor perched at the other end, her laughter ringing out as he recounted some likely exaggerated tale. Nesta sat nearby, a book in hand, though her attention occasionally drifted to the conversation.

But as your gaze wandered, you noticed something—or rather, someone—missing. Neither Elain nor Azriel was present. The realization sent a small, unwanted pang through your chest, one you quickly buried. Whatever their reasons for leaving, it wasn’t your concern. It couldn’t be.

When your tea was finished, you placed the empty cup delicately on the table before rising to your feet. “Thank you for the lovely evening,” you said, your voice soft but sincere. “But I should head back. There’s still some work I need to wrap up before the night’s over.”

Cassian glanced up from his drink, his grin playful as always. “You’re leaving already? And here I thought Azriel was the workaholic around here, but you might actually be worse.”

His words, though light-hearted, made something twist in your stomach. You tried to brush it off, but then he glanced around the room and added, “Speaking of which... where is Az? Slacking off for once?”

“Leave it, Cassian,” Rhysand interjected smoothly. His voice was calm, but the sharpness in his violet gaze betrayed a flicker of curiosity—or perhaps understanding—as his eyes darted to you. He didn’t press the issue, but the weight of his brief look lingered all the same.

Feyre stood and approached you, her steps fluid and graceful. She wrapped you in a warm hug, her arms firm but gentle. “Thank you for coming,” she said softly. “It was nice having you here. We’ll have to do this again soon.”

You returned the embrace, her kindness settling some of the unease lingering in your chest. “I’d like that,” you replied sincerely, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Cassian’s voice broke through the moment as Feyre stepped back. “You know, if you’re working this late, you might actually give Az a run for his money,” he teased. Then, with a mock thoughtful look, he added, “Though I guess he’s not here to defend his title. Convenient.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Maybe he’s finally taking a well-deserved break,” you said, keeping your tone light as you glanced toward the door.

Rhysand’s gaze followed yours, but he said nothing. The slight quirk of his lips suggested he’d noticed something, but whatever it was, he chose to keep it to himself—for now.

With a final round of goodnights, you stepped out into the cool night air. They were a family, and while you didn’t quite feel like part of it yet, the warmth they’d shown you was undeniable.

As you walked through the quiet streets of Velaris, the crisp night air nipping at your skin, your gaze lifted instinctively to the sky. The stars above were breathtaking—countless pinpricks of light scattered across an endless expanse of velvet black. They seemed so serene, so untouched by the weight of the world below. For a moment, you let yourself be lost in their beauty, your steps slowing as if the universe itself was urging you to pause.

You didn’t notice the tears until a cold droplet slid down your cheek, and then another. Startled, you reached up to brush your fingers against your face, finding your skin wet. Confusion prickled at the edges of your thoughts as you stared at the small drops clinging to your fingertips. You weren’t sad. At least, you didn’t think you were. The evening had been lovely—warm and full of laughter. Yet here you were, crying under the stars.

A hollow ache settled in your chest as you continued walking, the faint echo of your footsteps the only sound in the stillness. You barely knew Azriel. That thought circled your mind like an unrelenting shadow. For all the moments you’d spent stealing glances at him, observing the way he carried himself with quiet strength and grace, there was still so much you didn’t know. So much you might never know.

And then there was the bond. The invisible thread you could feel humming at the edge of your awareness, a constant reminder of something greater, something unasked for. You’d kept it to yourself, not because of secrecy, but because the mere thought of saying it aloud made your stomach twist with apprehension. It wasn’t fair—not to him, not to you.

Forcing a bond on him, on anyone, was the last thing you wanted. Azriel deserved the freedom to choose, the freedom to love without the weight of a bond dictating his path. But even as you told yourself that, a cruel voice in your mind whispered that the bond wasn’t something he would celebrate—not with you as his mate.

What did you have to offer him? Compared to Elain’s gentle beauty and kindness, you felt like a storm—chaotic and unyielding. You’d spent centuries honing your skills, fighting battles, making sacrifices. Vulnerability wasn’t something you knew how to share.

A sharp breath escaped you, your hands curling into fists as your pace quickened. The tears came faster now, silent but persistent, blurring the cobblestones underfoot. It wasn’t sadness, you told yourself again. It was confusion, frustration, maybe even fear.

You weren’t sure when the walls you’d built around yourself had started to crack, but tonight, surrounded by the warmth of the Inner Circle, you’d felt something shift. It wasn’t just about Azriel. It was about family, connection, belonging—things you’d never let yourself hope for, let alone believe you could have.

But as much as you’d enjoyed the night, as much as you’d appreciated their kindness, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being an outsider looking in. They cared for each other deeply, their bonds unbreakable. And you? You were just passing through, a healer with a tangled past and an uncertain future.

The stars blurred as fresh tears welled up, and you stopped in your tracks, tilting your head back to let the cool night air soothe your burning cheeks. You didn’t know what you were crying for—what you were mourning. Maybe it was for the family you’d lost long ago, or the life you might have had if things had been different. Maybe it was for the bond you hadn’t asked for but couldn’t ignore.

Or maybe, it was for the fragile hope buried deep within you—the hope that one day, you might find a place where you truly belonged.

Azriel’s POV

Azriel exhaled a quiet breath as he stepped into the crisp night air, the faint sounds of the dinner fading behind him. The garden of the townhouse was peaceful, blanketed in a soft glow from the moon above. Elain walked beside him, her delicate frame tucked into a thick coat, her hands gripping the fabric tightly against the chill.

The silence stretched between them, comfortable at first. But as they wandered further down the winding paths, Elain drew closer, her arm brushing his. He glanced at her briefly, noticing the faint pink on her cheeks—not from the cold, but something else.

It was when they reached the edge of the garden, where the view of Velaris spread wide and glittering below, that she finally spoke.

"Azriel," she said softly, her voice hesitant.

He turned to face her, noting the awkward expression on her face, the way her hands twisted nervously in front of her. “What is it?” he asked, his tone calm, though a flicker of concern stirred in his chest.

Elain hesitated, her gaze darting away before meeting his again. “Are you sure...we can trust Y/N?”

Azriel blinked, her question catching him off guard. Of all the things he’d anticipated her saying, this hadn’t been one of them. “Why wouldn’t we?” he asked, frowning slightly.

Elain’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s just...the way she talks, the way she carries herself. There’s something...off about her.”

Azriel tilted his head, studying her closely. He hadn’t missed Y/N’s sharp tongue during the meeting at the House of Wind, but her words had been purposeful, her actions deliberate. If Elain was referring to that, it didn’t make sense for her to hold it against Y/N.

“She was doing her job,” Azriel said carefully, keeping his tone neutral. “If this is about what happened at the House of Wind—”

“It’s not just that,” Elain interrupted, her voice rising slightly before softening again. She looked at him with wide, almost pleading eyes. “You don’t realize the way she spoke to me. The way she...looked at me. It was—” She broke off, shaking her head.

Azriel’s frown deepened. He couldn’t recall Y/N being anything but professional, but Elain’s tone suggested she felt otherwise. Still, he wasn’t one to jump to conclusions without evidence.

“Elain,” he said gently, “what exactly are you saying? Is there something specific that’s made you doubt her?”

She hesitated again, her gaze dropping to the ground. Then, after a moment, she said, “I just...feel like she’s hiding something. A lot of things. And it’s not just her past—it’s her power, Azriel. It’s unsettling. What if she’s here for something else? What if she’s working for Koschei?To attack us from the inside?”

Her voice grew more frantic as she spoke, her words tumbling over one another in a rush of worry.

Azriel’s jaw tightened, though he kept his expression calm. He reached out, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Elain,” he said firmly, his voice a quiet anchor. “You’re overthinking this.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, uncertainty flickering there.

“She’s not here to harm anyone,” Azriel continued. “If she were, we would’ve seen signs by now. And even if there were any truth to your fears, I’m keeping a close eye on her.”

Elain’s lips parted slightly, but she didn’t interrupt as he added, “Nothing bad will happen while I’m around. I won’t allow it.”

For a moment, Elain simply looked at him, her expression softening at his words. She nodded slowly, though the tension in her shoulders didn’t completely ease.

“I trust you, Azriel,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel gave her a faint nod, his gaze steady. But as they turned to head back toward the townhouse, a shadow of doubt lingered in his mind—not about Y/N, but about the seeds of mistrust Elain had tried to plant.

Elain bid Azriel a soft goodnight, her steps retreating up the stairs until they faded entirely. Azriel lingered in the quiet of the garden for a moment longer, the chill of the night seeping into his skin as he let his mind turn over her words. Doubt, no matter how unwarranted, was a dangerous thing to sow.

Pushing the thoughts aside, he made his way back to the living room. Feyre, Mor, and Nesta were nowhere to be seen, their laughter and conversations long gone. Only Rhysand and Cassian remained, seated comfortably with drinks in hand.

“There he is,” Cassian said with a smirk, raising his glass. “Thought you’d vanished into the shadows for good this time.”

Azriel ignored the jab, heading straight for the sideboard. He poured himself a generous glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the firelight, and crossed the room to join them. He lowered himself into one of the armchairs, cradling the glass in his hand before taking a long sip.

“You missed the part where we solved all the world’s problems,” Cassian quipped, but there was a lightness to his tone.

Azriel shot him a look but didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he turned to Rhysand, his expression thoughtful. “Did you know about Y/N being half Illyrian and half High Fae?”

Rhysand raised a brow, leaning back in his seat. “Madja mentioned it to me when I first spoke with her about Y/N, but beyond that, no. Y/N hasn’t shared much about her personal life—at least not with me.”

Azriel frowned slightly, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “She’s been...secretive.”

“That’s not surprising,” Rhysand said, his voice calm. “She’s lived a long life, Azriel. People who’ve endured as much as she likely has aren’t quick to share their scars.”

Cassian shrugged, setting his empty glass on the table with a faint clink. “It’s not uncommon, though, is it? Half Illyrians without wings? The camps might not like to talk about it, but it happens more often than they’d admit.”

Azriel’s shadows curled faintly around his shoulders, his gaze distant. “It’s not just that. She’s...different. There’s a weight to her that’s hard to ignore.”

Rhysand regarded him carefully, his violet eyes sharp. “What are you trying to say, Az?”

Azriel hesitated, the words forming slowly. “She doesn’t seem like someone who’s just here to replace Madja or take up the work of healing. There’s more to her, something she’s not saying.”

Rhysand nodded thoughtfully. “She’s a healer, yes, but she’s also a warrior. And from what I’ve gathered, she’s someone who’s fiercely loyal to those she chooses to protect. That doesn’t mean she owes us every detail of her life.”

Cassian leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “It’s not like we’ve shared all our dirty laundry with her either. Hell, Az, you’ve been watching her like a hawk since she got here, and she hasn’t so much as flinched. If she were hiding something dangerous, don’t you think she’d have slipped up by now?”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, his shadows whispering quietly in his ears. He took another sip of whiskey, letting the burn settle in his throat.

“I’m not saying she’s a threat,” he said finally. “But there’s something...unsettling about not knowing where she stands. Especially now, with everything happening in Prythian.”

Rhysand sighed, his expression softening. “You’re not wrong to be cautious, Az. But until she gives us a reason to doubt her, we owe her the benefit of the doubt. She’s earned that much through her work alone.”

“Relax, brother,” Cassian said with a chuckle. “Not everyone is out to stab us in the back. Besides, if she wanted to, she’s had plenty of chances.”

The conversation lulled, the crackling of the fire filling the silence. Azriel leaned back in his chair, the whiskey warming him from the inside out. Despite Cassian’s teasing and Rhysand’s reassurances, the unease in his chest didn’t fully fade.

He’d keep watching. Just in case.

Rhysand shifted in his seat, his sharp gaze settling on Azriel. His expression was calm, but there was a note of seriousness in his voice as he spoke. “Maybe it’s time for you to look elsewhere, brother. To seek someone who could truly bring you peace.”

Azriel sighed heavily, the sound filled with equal parts exhaustion and frustration. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, staring into it as if the whiskey held answers he couldn’t find.

Cassian, never one to miss an opportunity, smirked. “You know, Az, Rhys might actually have a point for once. The world won’t end if you let yourself—”

Azriel’s sharp glare cut him off, but it was Rhysand who pressed on, his tone gentle but firm. “Listen, brother, I’m not here to tell you how to live your life or whom to care for. But Lucien is coming back to Velaris for the Solstice, and I don’t want you to—”

Azriel’s head snapped up, and his voice was cold and clipped as he interrupted. “You didn’t have to invite him.”

Rhysand’s brows rose slightly, but his voice remained steady. “He is her mate, Azriel. Whether we like it or not, that bond exists. Ignoring it won’t make it disappear.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, his shadows curling more protectively around him. “I’m well aware of that, Rhys. But you didn’t need to bring him here. Solstice is for family.”

Cassian leaned forward slightly, holding up a hand as if to diffuse the tension. “Alright, let’s all take a deep breath. It’s been a long day, and we don’t need to—”

“I don’t need your advice,” Azriel snapped, cutting him off as well. His voice was calm but laced with a quiet, simmering anger. He stood, setting his glass down with more force than necessary. “I’m grown enough to make my own decisions, and I don’t need either of you meddling in my personal life.”

Rhysand’s violet eyes followed Azriel carefully, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them. But he didn’t press further, simply nodding once.

Cassian leaned back in his chair, muttering under his breath, “Well, that went well.”

Azriel didn’t respond, his shadows coiling around him as he turned and left the room. He felt their eyes on him as he walked away, but he didn’t look back.

As he stepped into the cool night air, the weight of their words still lingered. His chest felt tight, his thoughts a tangled mess of anger, guilt, and something he couldn’t quite name. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore. Or maybe he did, and that was the problem.

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