#and i was like. oh god. how am i ever gonna draw a grand piano. or even an upright. theyre gonna kill me

[bmpmp3]

and of course here's the drawing from my recent voicevox cover~

[cupsofsuga]

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 ━ 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 *:·。.

{ ⚠️} WARNING - This is a yandere au, meaning the following may be triggering to some viewers.  I am not trying to discriminate the boys in any way, this is for entertainment purposes. Viewer discretion is advised!!!

{ 💐} REQUEST - ❝ Can I have the boys reactions to an s/o who show her possessiveness by wearing their clothes ? She's all happy and proud to go to the university or whatever wearing their shirt because " That way everyone will know that I'm yours and you're mine , plus it smells like you 🥺 " ❞

{ ☕️} NOTE - thank you so so much for requesting, dollface!

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐊𝐉𝐈𝐍

━━━ November’s essence kisses the air of your living room, it’s fierce caress trailing across your skin. You, ever so intelligently, stated with pride that you could handle the cold, regretting the choice as the embers of moonlight trace their fingertips across naked goosebumps. Strolling through the halls of your home, shivering from the sharp wind, you find your bedroom with intentions of retrieving some form of warmth. You discover a grey hoodie, lethargically tossed over a chair. The owner’s identity is quickly exposed, as the sweatshirt descends down your form due to your lover’s broad shoulders. You have now found solace, drowned in the scent of cologne.

Oh, and the blush that blooms beat-red across Jin’s cheeks is a sight you’ll never forget.

Following that occurrence (and the rest of the night spent smothered in your boyfriend’s lily-pure affection), you’ve taken notice of Jin’s not-so-subtle efforts to usher you into wearing his clothes again. At first, it began with leaving articles of clothing in numerous places, but that plan backfired as you silently scolded him under your breath for not tidying up after himself. This strategy escalated into Jin planting his clothes in your drawer’s, then claiming it was an “accident” or "a way to save space.” The red hues painting his ears and the way he avoids eye-contact jeopardizes his weak filter, though. At least you find his everlasting, spring-scented infatuation beneath the facade of damp rain and rotten trees. Be careful, though. If you venture too deep into the depths of Kim Seokjin and you’ll find sights of crimson-stained sins.

❝ God, you have way too much power over me, y’know? I’m always so soft for you, ‘fucking moron. ❞

𝐌𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈

━━━ The evening mist glides through the brume of your boudoir, where you are embraced by the neglected clothes of your boyfriend like snow sleeping on a pine tree. After a particularly cold night strikes your studio apartment, the empty sheets and abandoned blankets failed to bring the solace of the sweltering summer-warmth your lover possesses. You yearned for Yoongi and the moonlight, the coffee stains, and stormy nights that kiss his form. The rhythmic melody of his gentle voice; the crow’s caress that wanders his skin. And despite his overbearing worry and protectiveness that you’ve brushed off as “concern for your health,” you crave those December eyes and that feeble heart. Fortunately for you, your knight in shining armor didn’t venture too far away. And finding you nestled under numerous covers causes worry to immediately swell within his heart.

His concern is distinctly evident, as his shrill voice of distress invades the midnight breeze. You swear you feel him shiver with dread when he feels how frigid you are when he shakily takes your hand into his. And before you express your refusal to his care, Yoongi vanishes from the bedroom to draw you a bath. If you think he’s exaggerating your discomfort due to the November weather, think again. Your name is then sung into the air, blossoming into the twilight’s brume as you escape the warmth of your bed and stroll to your lover. Before you, you’ll find the hot water adorned in bubbles and flower petals, candles littered around the room (far from the tub, for your safety), melodies of violin and piano reverberating through the area, and the sugary caresses from your Yoongi as the cherry on top. Whilst adorned in the blissful harmony of peace, you can't help but let your mind wander. His worry has always been grand, so grand that you fear his heart may actually stop beating if your safety was ever at stake.

Oh, well, at least he cares. Maybe a little too much.

❝ My Y/N, if you ever, ever need anything, I will always be right here… Always… ❞

𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐊

━━━ Finding your boyfriend nestled under a canopy of your clothing was never a shock, as your scent of cheap whiskey and jasmines beneath the August sun lulled his soul to ease. The sultry high he’s given when inhaling another article of clothing is euphoric, infinite. To breathe in your musk is to find an eternal night beneath the purple rain; to drown in the depths of you is to savor the stars as they breathe out the dust of twilight. There’s a garden that thrives around the simple presence of your fragrance and Hoseok can’t imagine a greater bliss that is your essence. That is until he finds you draped in one of the many sweaters he owns, the red threading like Autumn against your form.

He was always swift to recognize his infatuation, but to know the emotions he immerses himself into are mutual emits a variety of nymphs to tangle themselves with his heartbeat. He feels the rhythms of sunlight as they batter against his ribcage and nothing, nothing is as ecstatic as this.

Twilight has occurred, the moonlight bleeds through the glass panes and hits your eyes ever so elegantly. It reflects a soft radiance as if the moon was swimming in your irises. You are beautiful, lying on the couch with his sweater on like a stray cat who will soon vanish into the arms of the night. It was no secret that Hoseok adored seeing you in his clothes, as his boisterous admiration morphed into suffocating infatuation. There was even a time where you reached into the pocket of his sweater during class and find a folded piece of paper containing a sweet note (that was just a tad bit creepy) along with doodles of hearts, flowers, cats, and dogs. Hoseok's love may cut deep with its shattered-lily touch, but it is entirely pure. Despite the obsession seeping through his affections, he loves you more than you could ever possibly know.

❝ Hey, isn’t it crazy how after all this time, you still manage to give me so many butterflies? I… I think I’m gonna love you forever… ❞

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐉𝐎𝐎𝐍

━━━ You anticipate for your lover to return to your home, stumbling around the adobe in utter boredom. Although this lifeless night is all too dull, you notice how the penthouse you wander around resembles a palace. With its crystalline chandeliers and marble tiles, its paradisiac view of the city that never sleeps and melodies of chefs and maids rustling around the residence. Through the lavish estate, you find the bedroom, embellished in opulent riches of all kinds. Then, there’s the closet, decked out to the brim in treasures of Gucci, Chanel, and Prada. There’s jewelry, bags, shoes, nearly every single article of clothing an item you couldn’t dream of affording in your past, mundane life. Your eyes settle on a blazer, exquisitely threaded with the finest of silks nestled deep within the closet.

The coat is a tad bit too large for your form, but you believe it fits you like a glove. And despite there being a faint stain of spilled champagne on the sleeve, coming home to his summer sunset wearing his attire like its armor, Namjoon has never tasted bliss as divine as this.

The skies once painted baby blue morph into the dark hues of twilight. Night has come, euphoria has been found within the tendrils of your hair on his chest and the littering of bubblegum-pink kisses across your skin. For reasons Namjoon can’t define, seeing you in his clothes causes his heart to tremble and plummet. There’s this sudden veil of exhilaration, like a July night spent with your record collection and red wine. It’s an enchantment that aches deep within his chest, where the desire to submerge you in his affections burns within his heart. He gazes at your now sleeping form, naming off every detail of you that he loves so much like he’s counting dollar bills in his hands. His moonlight’s essence, his lavender’s breath, his garden full of violets. You have taught him how to live without rain and he can’t gift you enough gratitude for this blessing. But, just don’t be surprised when you find your closet covered in dust. You’re only allowed to wear his clothes from now on.

❝ Damn, blue is an outstanding color on you. Maybe that should be the color for our wedding… Wait- shit! I-I-I didn’t say anything! ❞

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍

━━━ Upon the surface of your bed, the voice of rain trembles against the thin roof above you. Tree branches sway with the heavy wind, lightning lashes like a whip against the evening floor. You feel the nightly embrace of bitter inclemency, as the earthly musk swims around the bedroom. Despite finally having a night alone, you notice yourself longing for the tumultuous warmth of your lover. A single night spent in isolation, Jimin didn’t take it lightly. After all, what is life without the iridescence of a Summer’s kiss? How can he breathe without immersing himself within the depths of his angel’s orchestra? You can assume what thoughts of hunger are rumbling through the boy’s mind, but you are oblivious to the saturated sound of Jimin weeping into his cold flesh.

You retrieve one of his sweaters in the meantime, inhaling his fragile scent of honey and moonflowers. He must be adorned in several layers of just your clothes, you joke to yourself. The enchantment of the rain’s melody and the fragrance of your boyfriend then lulls you into slumber, to where you then awake the following morning to dawn painting the optimistic face of Jimin.

Finding you in his sweater, knowing you had missed him, he had blushed like a tomato ready to harvest, that confident and broad facade melting like ice cream, to where he became a sugary puddle of flowering feelings and summer velvet. He looked like a young schoolboy who had received a love letter in his locker, as the blood of Aphrodite paints his cheeks rosy and utter bewitchment has him smiling like a lovestruck idiot. As you then regain consciousness, you are then smothered in Jimin’s affections. He kisses you everywhere wild as if leaving a single inch of skin unloved would kill him. He’ll even go as far as to order a shirt that reads “JIMIN + Y/N 5EVER” or just straight-up purchasing a conjoined sweater, so you’ll never be separated ever again. It is insane how infatuated he is, yes, but there is not a single soul within our universe that could cherish you as utterly as he does. And Jimin will walk with that fact to the grave.

❝ Ngh! No, don’t leave! Stay in bed, just for a couple more minutes! Maybe even a couple more hours, please…? A couple days…? ❞

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐓𝐀𝐄𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐆

━━━ October has bloomed, the saturated leaves are painted damp as rain kisses the earth below. You have lost track of the months settled within the isolated cottage, but enough time has been spent for your new boyfriend to grant you the privilege of taking a hike (with his presence alongside yours, of course). To stay warm within the frigid weather, you encounter one of Taehyung’s sweaters, arm sleeve hung over the side of the hamper. As the clothing sits on your form, you immerse yourself in the expensive musk of your lover. He smells like a century spent in the clouds with peaches and fairies; he smells like Autumn as pumpkin pie and Halloween nights essence dances with the ghosts in the attic. It is ethereal the way summer’s affection seems to litter the fragrance he dresses with.

Upon seeing you standing beneath the rickety door frame, adorned in his moss-colored sweater, Taehyung had blushed with utter joy and bewilderment. He had nearly dropped the midnight-black umbrella in his hands, stunned upon witnessing you in attire as mere as his coat.

After a stroll through the empty fields beneath the rainfall (and hearing the shutter of a camera for the umpteenth time), you retreat to your humble adobe. The following night is spent in blissful harmony, where you’ll sleep beneath the canopy of stars, locked within his daisy-chain embrace. You are his scarlet kingdom, his summer’s honey, his garden adorned in fineries such as nymphs and emeralds and birdsong. As dawn blossoms in the sky, you awake alone within silken sheets, the revelation peculiar. As you regain consciousness and study the sunlit bedroom, you find Taehyung’s clothes folded neatly on the end of the bed, drenched heavily in cologne. You nearly cough from the intensity, studying the note rested on top, where your partner exclaims he needed to run for groceries in calligraphy. Besides this note, however, is a necklace with a vial swung upon the string. With closer inspection, you come to the horrifying conclusion that the crimson fluid within the glass was his blood. You now shall never be apart again, not with Taehyung right beside your beating heart.

❝ Oh, Y/N, to spent everyday with you like this, it’s like everything I’ve lost has returned home to me. You truly are a blessing, my love… ❞

𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐊𝐎𝐎𝐊

━━━ It is a muggy Wednesday morning, where fog coats the floor of dawn, and the dense breeze embraces the earth’s redolence. Today is frigid, as the embers of the piercing winds kiss your honeyed skin. You can’t help but long for Summer to return home, where the sky turns pink in its sugary excellence and where you’ll find youthful infatuation on the curb of Cherry Street, like two poodles whose leashes have entangled beneath the Eiffel Tower. With philosophies of sweltering fantasies, you clutch a leather jacket, oblivious to its owner. Into the grey forest of high school, you’ll find every fragment of boredom known to mankind. But, throughout the dull conditions, at least you have your Jungkook.

Catching sight of you in his jacket causes a heavenly glow to inflate his heart, the essence of clouds and angel’s tears scattering his soul. It feeds into his possessiveness as if he was marking you with his scent, claiming you like a wolf would with his mate.

From thereon, you take notice of Jungkook’s subtle efforts to indulge you within his scent. His affections morphed from shy, rosy-pink compliments to physical touches, as if clasping onto you would drown out the musk of all those heathens you call “friends.” Your scent of moonlit harmonies and dusk in California had since dissolved into his scent of melting chocolate and cigarette smoke. His possessive tendencies may be extreme (like that time he snuck into your closet at 4 in the morning and perfumed every article of clothing with his cologne), but his intentions are ever so pure. You are his siren song, his sunset gaze, his purple rain. You are everything to this boy, with galaxies burning within your chest and distant realities snaking their way through your soul. Within the heart of Jeon Jungkook, you live inside Eden's garden, crafted just for you. And there’s only so much time before he scoops you into his embrace and never let's go.

❝ … You smell different… Who is it? Who have you been talking to? What is that blonde I always see you with? I swear, I’ll gouge out his eyeballs with a plastic spoon and force him to eat them!! ❞

[sortasirius]

“Last Call” and Canon Bi Dean

This is going to be very long, very rambly, and very emotional.

Really though, I had high expectations going into this, and quite honestly?  Jeremy Adams blew me away.

This episode is about Dean’s growth, it’s about who he was to Lee, and who he is now, about overcoming his own desire to just stop caring and keep on fighting for the innocent.  But most importantly to me?  This episode canonized bi Dean.

So let’s just get right into it, we know from the beginning that we’re meeting Lee, Dean’s old friend that Sam doesn’t really know or isn’t really close with, but the way Dean leaves?  He doesn’t want to bring down the mood of Sam and Eileen in his post breakup depression funk?  Good grief.

The bar is cool and right up Dean’s alley, and right out of the gate we get the promo scene with the waitress that we were all wigging out about.  And my hunch was right, Dean just kinda rolls right by, which man, Dean from season 1?  Hell no.  She’s just his type, clearly into him, and yet, Dean’s world literally falls away when he sees Lee Webb singing onstage.

You can’t really do justice to the way with words to the way that Dean looks when he sees Lee and realizes who he is, Jensen and Christian have so much NUANCE in their scenes together, and the history behind them is palpable, even though we don’t know the extent of it.  And Lee is just the same way, looking Dean up and down and “Dean Winchester,” just to hammer home that something is going on here and we should not ignore it.

“You got time?”  “Always.”  Bruh. There are so many details that we can pick up on about them, their relationship, who they were to each other.  Even Dean’s little “you sound good,” come on guys, what the fuck?

That’s another thing: why don’t we know the history?  Why do they shy away from talking about why they split apart?  Dean is clearly upset when Lee mentions Arizona, what happened?  Why did John and Dean never mention Lee? And obviously Lee knows John, hell he seems more sorry than Dean does that John’s dead, but then again, the Dean that Lee remembers idolized John, so that’s definitely a big change for Lee, because Dean clearly doesn’t idolize John anymore.

I just want to hear about everything that’s mentioned in the episode in more detail: Lee and Dean went hunting together, presumably alone, since John caught them drunk on a hunt.  What went on?  I think we know. How often did they hunt together? How long had they known each other? D E T A I L S please Jeremy Adams!!!

“I don’t think I have seen you since Sammy was in college.”

“Right.”

“I mean, hell, I thought you were-”

“Dead?”

Also Lee does this little teasing laugh and everything about them is soft and my chest hurts.

“I mean, that’s usually how this ends, isn’t it?”

And what I want to talk about here is Lee’s reaction, because he doesn’t shrug and do the usual “so it goes” that so many hunters do, he looks at Dean, like really looks at him, he sighs and says a simple “yeah” with this look that’s so soft and so full of something and Dean looks away (doing his eye motion thing he does with Cas) and Lee breaks contact too and looks down and smiles and oh my god.  I told yall this was going to be rambly but I didn’t draw breath while typing that lmao.

I wanna know about the Arizona thing, I want to know why it made Dean uncomfortable when Lee mentioned it, and I want to know why it’s glossed over.  These two were like best friends, you can tell, and for them to just stop talking?  Hm.

They swap tales, talking about the triplets that they “split em up fair and square” even though that’s not possible and they had an orgy obviously.  Dean has this look with the waitress again and you can tell he appreciates it but like?  That’s the end of it?  In the next scene she’s gone and it’s just Lee and Dean talking, Dean making Lee laugh and enjoying it, it’s just so...romantic?

And even though, the second that Lee doesn’t recognize someone he should puts all of us, as the audience on alert, it doesn’t even cross Dean’s mind that Lee is doing something wrong, it’s not even on his radar.

“There’s nothing you can’t have, man.”

“Then who’s gonna kill the bad guys?”

“Somebody else.”

And Dean looks away, because it’s clear what Lee is asking.  He’s asking for Dean to stay.

When Lee starts up the band, I was just struck by how much they look at each other, getting in each other’s space, Lee leaning forward, Dean watching him walk away.  Guys.  This happened in front of our faces on screen.

“Can’t sit around lip syncing ‘Eye of the Tiger’ when no one’s watching.”

This is a callback to the ghost sickness episode, but also an intimate moment that no one gets to see of Dean.  Sam catches him in the act of it on that episode, so how does Lee know he does this?

And then, let’s get to the singing.  Dean’s always postured to Sam that he can’t sing (which we all know Jensen has the voice of an angel) and the buildup to him actually singing was so beautiful, because Lee knows he can, he teases him with the “Eye of the Tiger” thing, winks at him, keeps trying to pull him onstage, stands there and bites his lip when Dean’s singing.  I mean.  I’m at a loss to what else you would think about them, it’s just plain as day: they were together.

The whole thing is just so playful, and we never see playful like this from Dean.  It’s flirty and funny and sweet and just such a nice change of pace, so good for Dean to be with someone that clearly wants to be with him, who he has history with (amidst the divorce he’s currently in w Cas).  Even when they sing together they can’t keep their eyes off of each other and the whole thing is honestly too much it’s so fanfic-y and I can’t handle it.

And then, the big thing, Lee slaps Dean’s ass in the middle of the song, and Dean doesn’t blush, he doesn’t stand up straighter like that’s weird or wrong, he grins this huge amazing beautiful grin and says “you son of a bitch.” What else are we looking for here?  He’s bi.  He’s bi.  With the lighting behind him and the bar named Swayze’s and Lee staring holes through him, we finally saw onscreen, canonical proof that he’s bi.  Sure, it’s been hella subtextual before, but this is text, and no one can ignore it.

At the end of the song, one of Lee’s hands is gripping Dean’s shoulder, and Dean’s arm is around Lee’s waist??????????  Help??????

They round it all out with kicking some gross guys out of Lee’s bar, and Lee stares at Dean and says “still got it.” I mean....I’m running out of ways to say the same thing over and over.

“Best friend’s don’t just leave without saying goodbye.”

“They do if they deserve it.”

Hmmmmmmmm, something to think about with these lines.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on okay, but this is not you.”

Compare that with:

“Cas, this isn’t you, this isn’t you.”

Cool.  Fine.  I want to die.

Lee became the monster because he thought there was no point in being a good person anymore.  You can’t stave them off so you might as well “have a little fun.”  Which I think is interesting because of how apathetic and hopeless Dean’s been since Chuck, since Jack, since Mary, since Rowena, but when it comes down to it, he’s always going to care, which is why we love him.

But what I really want to talk about is the way Dean’s face twists when Lee touches him, he turns his head away, his face contorts, like he wanted Lee to touch him, but not like this.  We’ve seen Dean’s heart break so much in this show, he’s lost so much and so many, but this is something so different.  It’s not only betrayal, or a realization that he has to kill Lee, it’s the loss of what he had with Lee, what he felt for him.  It hurts to watch as an audience member, and I can’t imagine how it is for Dean.

Dean’s voice also breaks when he tries to call Lee back, in case you still had any tears left to cry.

The gunfight is intense, but not nearly as intense as what’s coming.

“I don’t know you.”

“You don’t Dean?  I am you.  I’m just you that woke up and saw that the world was broken.”

“Then you fix it.  You don’t walk away, you fight for it!”

No double meanings in this episode are there?  Perhaps this is a little bit of what happened between them all those years ago bubbling to the surface?

And then we get one of the best fight scenes in the show, and you know when Dean gets that cue stick, that it’s game over for Lee, but what I wasn’t expecting is the sheer heartbreak on Dean’s face.  They both look down at the wound, like they’re both surprised, and Lee holds Dean, he fucking holds him, and this fucking piano music plays when Lee says “okay” and drops to the floor, and Dean leans against the pool table because fuck, how much more can he lose?

And because not even THAT is enough, ten seconds of divorced Destiel distress?  Where Dean clearly wants to talk to Cas but Cas is still giving him the cold shoulder and it breaks Dean’s heart but he doesn’t know how to fix it????

There’s just so much to unpack here, the show is teaching us new things about Sam and Dean and Cas all the time, and yet I feel like I really know Dean know, I;ve seen a little bit of him that I had never seen before, and I’m just grateful. I’m grateful for Dean, grateful for these writers, grateful for his growth.  I’m grateful for the angst and the happiness he had with Lee, however fleeting, and I’m grateful that I get to leave this episode with the fact that Dean is oncreen bi.  Sure, it can be up to interpretation, he didn’t come out and say it, but that’s because he didn’t have to.  Lee knew, so we knew, and that was all that mattered.

This silly, weird show is important to me for so many reasons, (clearly, since I talk about it all the damn time), but Dean especially is so important to me, I see so much of myself in him, and him being allowed to be him, without some grand coming out scene is even better than I could have ever hoped for.  So thank you, Jeremy Adams, for giving us bi Dean, and one of my absolute all time favorite episodes in the show.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 5: Don’t Even Think About It]

Hi y’all! I’m so sorry I’ve been gone for so long...finals and job hunting got the best of me. I will be updating more frequently going forward. As always, thank you so much for reading!! 💜😘

Series summary: You are an overwhelmed and disenchanted nurse in Boston, Massachusetts. Queen is an eccentric British rock band you’ve never heard of. But once your fates intertwine in the summer of 1974, none of your lives will ever be the same...

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, very very very little sexual content.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @bookandband​ @queen-crue​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

You’re in the crowd at The Rainbow, although you aren’t sure why; this has already happened.

Freddie is skulking across the fog-draped stage as he belts out the chorus of In The Lap Of The Gods...Revisited, all glistening tan skin and teased hair, a pillar of nimble black leather; John is only a silhouette in the mist. Brian looks like something that’s crawled out of a cocoon: leggy and insect-like, the sleeves of his flowing white blouse like a pair of wings. And Roger...Roger’s in the back, of course—“the hardworking one in the back,” he always says—with a glittery black kimono-like shrug hanging loosely off his bare shoulders. He’s drumming feverishly, sprays of Heineken flying off his floor tom, his forehead and blond hair dripping.

“Whoa, whoa, la la la, whoa...

I can see what you want me to be,

But I'm no fool,

It's in the lap of the gods...”

Somehow, as the fog clears, Roger’s eyes find you in the crowd. He grins in that effervescent, blameless way that he does. And now you know for sure that this is a dream; because there’s no chance Roger could see that far without his glasses.

There’s a banging noise coming from somewhere, but it’s muted, distant, splintered like an echo.

Dream Roger is fading away, dissolving as the lights shade to black on the stage. He disappears, and then Freddie does too, and then Brian, and finally John. The crowd you’re standing in is a sea of churning, indistinguishable faces.

The banging grows louder, closer. You can hear a new voice now.

You swim up from unconsciousness and punch into daylight. You’re laying on your back in bed in a small, rustic hotel room; it takes you a second to remember what the world looks like now. It’s not November at the Rainbow Theater. It’s December 11th, and you’re in Rome.  

You sit up in bed and turn towards the door. Whoever is out there is knocking so forcefully that the distressed wood rattles on its hinges.

“Hey, Dorothea Dix, wake up!” Freddie is shouting through the door.

You rub your eyes as your feet touch the cool teak floor. The band flew into Rome late last night, and has one full day to burn before their concert on the 12th. You’d pitched the idea of visiting a few museums, the Colosseum, the Pantheon, the Roman Forum, St. Peter's Basilica, maybe even the Baths of Caracalla or the Temple of Venus and Roma; but it had been difficult to get anyone to commit at 2 a.m. when you were all exhausted and dragging luggage into the modest, quite geriatric hotel. Queen may finally have a Top 20 album in the U.S., but the streets aren’t paved with gold just yet.

“Darling, need I remind you that this was all your idea, you simply must wake up this instant—!”

You swing the door open. Freddie is standing in the hallway in a vivid yellow-and-black jacket and white jeans, tall boots, dark hair huge and curly, folded aviator sunglasses peeking out of his pocket.

“Get ready, bitch,” he says, grinning, then slips the sunglass over his dusky eyes. “All those gorgeous marble blokes with their cocks hanging out aren’t going to ogle themselves.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You start with the ruins, then end up at the National Roman Museum after lunch. Brian and Chrissie meander through the halls of cracked marble goddesses and heroes and piecemeal fractions of bodies, their hands intertwined; Chrissie took a few days off work to meet the band in Rome, and she’s glowing with the thrill of being reunited with Bri. Freddie is contemplating the displays, tapping his chin thoughtfully and chatting as John nods along and sketches in his notebook. There’s a photographer scurrying around snapping photos of the band for some magazine, to the vexation of the museum employees. They scowl from the corners of the rooms, their suits pristine and arms crossed, muttering to each other in Italian.

Roger leaps in front of a hulking statue of Perseus and mimics the pose. “What do you think?” he asks you, wielding an invisible spear. “Am I courageous? Divine? A mirror image?”

“You’ll have to work on the hair. And gain like a hundred pounds.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Pounds?!”

“Whoops. Kilos. A lot of kilos. But I think I like you as you are. Can I see your hands?”

Roger falls out of his pose, smiling. “Yes ma’am.” He presents his palms for inspection. The first weeks had been hell for him as his hands were worked into touring shape, repeatedly blistered and worn raw, iced and treated and bandaged by you each night only to be pummeled all over again the next day. Of course, Roger hadn’t described it that way; he shrugged at the blood and swollen knuckles, his eyes already alight with the promise of future shows. That’s just a casualty of fame, love, he’d told you. I’d take it all again and more. The last of his blisters have healed now into discolored callouses, rough whirlpools of memories from cities like Glasgow and Bristol and Helsinki and Munich. “I can get more pounds too, you know. I’ll be swimming in them. I’m gonna buy you a mansion when we get home.”

“Not so fast, blondie.” You graze your thumbs over his rugged palms and release him. Aside from your annoyingly incessant concern for Roger, your job hasn’t proved to be too taxing: there have been sprains, minor lacerations, severe hangovers, some alcohol poisoning, and one case of syphilis that you identified and sent the unfortunate man to a doctor for, all of which afflicted the roadies rather than the band.

“How’s Jo doing?” Chrissie calls over from where she and Brian are scrutinizing a sculpture of Apollo. She tosses Roger a smirk.

“Fine,” he replies briskly. “It was amicable. She understood. Nothing personal, just with the tour and everything we knew it wasn’t going to work out. Bad timing, that’s all.”

“Hm. That’s not exactly how she described it.”

Roger sighs, irritated. “Well, Chris, I really can’t control what she chooses to tell you, can I?”

“Shhhh. Play nice, love,” Brian coos, massaging Chrissie’s shoulders.

Roger pops a cigarette between his lips and moves to light it. A museum employee rushes over, waving his arms frantically. “Per favore, signore, no smoking near the exhibits—!”

“Oh, right, right. Sorry.” Roger tucks the cigarette away, then turns back to you. “Okay, no mansion then. What’s your fancy? Diamonds and gold? Tigers on leashes?”

“A harem of sensual Italian men?” Freddie suggests. Chrissie bursts out laughing.

“I hope not,” Roger says.

“You know what I really want?” you say, eyeing busts of Hadrian and Nero.

“What?” Chrissie asks.

“A camera. A really good one. To document all of this, our adventures. I mean, I know we have...” You wave towards the magazine photographer, who’s mostly snapping shots of Freddie and Roger. “But it would be nice to have my own photos. Carry them around in my wallet, force strangers to look at them, cover my refrigerator with them, all that sentimental stuff. So the minute you kids start making real money, I’d like a nice Canon. Or a Nikon. Or whatever the best camera is.”

“The Canon F-1 is quite good,” the photographer offers.

“Perfect! Clearly, I know nothing about cameras. And will need a hefty instruction manual. But I’m still excited.”

Roger winks. “I believe in you.”

As you all wander into the next room, Freddie spies a grand piano and sprints to it. He slides onto the bench and begins testing the keys. A distraught museum employee appears instantly.

“Signore, please, this is for the museum staff only, please signore!”

“Oh relax, darling, I won’t break it.” He begins experimenting with some light, jazzish melody.

“I love Rome,” you decide as you stroll past the Aphrodite of Menophantos. “Are you sure we can’t stay here forever?”

John frowns as he shades in whatever he’s drawing in his notebook. “It’s too bad we couldn’t make it to Florence.”

Freddie rolls his eyes from the piano. “Deaky, darling, this Dante’s Inferno obsession has got to go. It’s positively morbid.”

“He ends up in paradise,” John protests wryly.

Freddie snorts. “Yes, well, Florence is a three hour drive each way. Next time perhaps. Once we’ve all got private jets and Nurse Nightingale over there has her posh camera.”

“And we’ve acquired trophy wives to pose with us,” Brian jokes. Chrissie squeals and shoves him good-naturedly.  

“We could go to the beach,” John proposes.

“A seaside rendezvous?” you say playfully.  

Freddie hums and nods as his fingers fly over black and white keys.

“Signore...” the museum employee begs. The photographer circles Freddie and the piano, snapping picture after picture.

“The beach?!” Roger whines. “It’s too cold for that! We can’t swim, we can’t sunbathe practically naked, what’s the point? And we’re checking out that club tonight. The one by the hotel, what’s it called, Fred? El Fuocolio?”

“Il Fuoco,” Freddie corrects, amused.

“Ah. Forgive me for not keeping up with my Italian.”

“We don’t all listen to opera, you know,” you tease Freddie. He peers over at you thoughtfully, then continues playing. “I’ll go to the beach with you, John.”

He almost drops his notebook and pencil. “Will you?”

“Of course. I’ll have fewer opportunities in my life to see the Italian seaside than get tipsy and evade dodgy men at some bar, most likely. Although I will miss seeing your dancing.”

“Aww!” Now Roger is dejected, his huge blue eyes pleading. “You have to come with us.”

“Next time,” you promise him.

“This time.”

“Next time.”

“Fine.” He points at John. “Don’t let her get eaten by a shark or run off with some Italian playboy.”

John grins. “I’ll do my best.”

Two burly security guards arrive and begin shouting at Freddie in Italian. “Oh fine, fine!” he snaps as he stands and abandons the piano. The museum employee beams triumphantly.

“Fred, I think we’ve tormented them enough,” Brian says.

“Bri, can we go to the beach too?” Chrissie asks. “Please?”

“It’ll be chilly.”

“I have a jacket. And I can borrow yours if necessary.”  

Brian chuckles. “Okay. We can go. Ostia’s the closest one, I suppose.”

“You’ll love it,” you tell him. “It’ll be like time travelling. You get to stand on the same shore that the ancient Romans did, bury your feet in the same sand, watch the same sunset. That should appeal to an astrophysicist such as yourself.”  

“How poetic,” John muses.

Roger comes to you, shrugs off his black leather jacket, drapes it over your violet sweater.

“Roger, don’t—”

“I’ll miss you,” he interrupts, smiling, then presses his lips fleetingly to your forehead.

~~~~~~~~~~

The four of you take a crowded, decidedly unglamorous bus to Ostia and walk the beaches under the fading afternoon sun. It is chilly by the crashing water, and the wind whips across your cheeks forcefully enough to sting; but none of that stops you. Brian and John collect seashells, and Brian retreads all the details of the tour—all the things he wishes he could do over, all the things he wants to change going forward—as John listens, smoking and nodding when appropriate. You and Chrissie kneel in the cool sand and shape castles with your hands, giggle about how messy and lopsided they are, scribble notes in the soft sifting remnants of stone and quartz: Chrissie loves Bri, Buy Sheer Heart Attack today, Queen was here. And you’re thinking about Roger more than you should be, and Chrissie knows it; but she’s not going to say anything about that now.

When the boys come back, Bri sits in the sand next to Chrissie and begins to decorate her castle with the shells he found: scallops and clams and tulip shells and oysters and tiny lightning whelks. She claps and hugs him, leaps into his lap, pulls him in for a kiss.  

“This is terribly unfair,” you say, staring morosely at your now even less impressive sandcastle.

John appears beside you and offers a massive pink conch filled with very small, pristine, glossy shells. You gasp and clasp a palm over your heart.

“Really?!”

“Yeah,” he says, puzzled. “Who do you think I picked them for?”

“You’re the best. The absolute best. A treasure. I owe you my life. Wait...” You pick up a thin shard of driftwood and write into the side of your sandcastle: John Deacon, and then a heart encircling it. “You are officially lord of the sandcastle.”

“A prestigious position, surely,” he says, smiling, then passes you the conch. “Go on.”

As you place the shells, he finds a dried bit of seaweed and impales it on the piece of driftwood, then plants the makeshift flag on the tallest tower of the castle.

Brian glances over and shakes his head, his mess of curls shivering. “Chris, love, I fear we’ve been outdone.” Then he nods to the words you and Chrissie carved with your fingertips. “Leaving letters in the sand?”

“Promotional material,” you quip; but you can tell the wheels in Brian’s magnificent mind are whirling.

As the sun sets over the Mediterranean Sea, golden speckles of light floating disembodied on the waves, the four of you get gelato and browse through bookstores and wander down cobblestone streets. And on the bus ride back to the hotel, Brian points out constellations as you hold the conch shell in your lap and doze against John’s shoulder.

~~~~~~~~~~

Brian and Chrissie depart to get dinner when you arrive back at the hotel, taking the rare opportunity for a date night. You try to think of a more romantic destination than Rome. Paris? New York? Venice? Probably none of those. You push the images that flood your thoughts away: candlelit meals with violins serenading in the background, the warm cascading glow of streetlights, tossing coins into fountains older than either London or Boston, gazing over the table and into the ensnaring oceanic eyes of the person who won’t be there. Roger.

“Do you think Roger and Fred are back yet?” you ask John in the lobby. He’s still got his notebook in his jacket pocket, but he won’t let you see it.

“I doubt it, but let’s find out.”

You ride the elevator to the band’s floor, still clutching the conch shell, as John fields ideas for dinner.

“Roger’s going to want pizza and beer, but we might be able to get Freddie to go for something more swanky. Actually, he’ll probably order dessert first. There’s a restaurant down the street that I heard has phenomenal tiramisu and lasagna.”

“Oh god. I would kill for a good lasagna.”

“No need for all that,” John says. “We don’t have enough cash for your bail.”

“If they serve lasagna in prison, you can leave me here.”

“But then who would patch up our debaucherous roadies?!”

You laugh as the elevator lurches to a halt and the doors open. “Just call me up in prison and I can talk you through it—”

You step out and turn down the hallway; then all the air vanishes from your lungs. Roger’s fumbling with his key as he tries to get into his room...and pressed between him and the door is a raven-haired, modelesque woman in a short red dress. His eyes are closed, her tongue darting between his lips, his free hand skating up her bare thigh and beneath her dress. And suddenly you’re being dragged back into the elevator, John’s arms locked around your waist. He hits the button for the lobby then reaches for you uncertainly.

“Are you okay—?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m totally fine, I’m...” But for some reason, your throat is burning and your eyes are blurring with tears. You try to blink them away and they drop down your cheeks like rain.

“You’re not,” he realizes softly.

“Goddammit,” you choke out, sobbing.

“Hey, don’t do that,” John pleads. “Please don’t do that, please don’t cry—”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, this is so stupid...” You fan your face and try to wrangle your breathing. The way he was touching her...I can’t forget the way he was touching her. “I am so stupid.”

“You’re not,” John flares. And when he opens his arms you rush into them, burying your face in his jacket as he pulls you closer, drowning you in his warmth. “You’re not stupid,” he says, quietly but severely. “You’re wicked smart and wonderful and perfect, so you’re not allowed to say anything to the contrary. Alright?”

“Okay,” you whisper. And it occurs to you—as your breathing slows, as your tears subside—how incomparably comfortable this feels, homey even.

John clears his throat. “Hey, not to break this up or anything, but you’re sort of stabbing me with the conch shell.”

Incredibly, you laugh as you back away, swiping at your eyes. “Sorry.”

The elevator doors open, and John leads you out into the lobby. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” he says. “We’re going to go to that restaurant on the corner and I’m going to order a lasagna—”

“John, I don’t think I can eat anything.”

“Doesn’t matter. Did I say you were going to be forced to eat it at gunpoint? No I did not. I’m going to order a lasagna, and if you want some awesome, and if you don’t we’ll just sit and talk. And you can nibble table bread or drink so much wine you forget today ever happened, whatever you want. You make the rules. But we’re going, and I’m ordering lasagna.”

“Okay,” you reply, sniffling, smiling up at him gratefully.

The restaurant is teeming with tourists, and you end up seated at a tiny table near the back with very dim lighting and a roaring fireplace. It’s deliciously hot, burning away your misery; or, at least, making it feel as if it might belong to someone else, as if maybe you heard about it from a friend or in a song, maybe even dreamed it. You take Roger’s leather jacket off and hang it on the back of your chair. When the waiter arrives, John orders for you.

“One lasagna, the biggest one you have, and extra table bread, and uh...” He skims the menu. “Two red wines and a Coke. And a sparkling water. So the lady has a selection.”

“Si, signore. Grazie.”

When the waiter leaves, John lifts off his jacket too, then unbuttons his shirt to his navel. The sweltering glow of the firelight dances across his pale skin in a way that is mysteriously distracting. “Well, it definitely doesn’t feel like December in here.”

“I’m sorry, maybe they could move us—”

“No, that’s alright, I know you like it. And one should be sweating in Southern Italy, don’t you think?” He tears off a hunk of bread when it arrives and plates it for you. The conch shell lays on the table by the salt and pepper shakers, to the visible confusion of the waiter.

“Thank you. For everything, John. Really.”

He gazes at you with those blue-grey eyes that can look like either clouds or steel depending on the occasion. Tonight they are misty, like the froth over waves, impossibly soft. “It doesn’t mean anything,” he says gently. “I don’t know if that helps at all, but I think it should. It doesn’t mean anything to someone like Roger, what you saw tonight.”

You sigh. “I guess it doesn’t. And I’m sorry, I know it’s ridiculous, I know that, and I’m just so frustrated and...and...I get it, I get that I have no right to care about anything Roger does, which is why I feel like such an idiot for reacting this way, but I just...I just...I’m just so...so fucking torn up about it and I’m sick of being surrounded by it all the time and I’m...I’m so...I’m...look, I’m sorry, can you button your shirt or something? That’s very distracting.”

“Oh, it’s distracting, is it?” John asks, grinning.

“Don’t you dare—”

He undoes several more buttons. “How about now, are you sufficiently distracted?”

“John, no!” you wail, laughing.

“I wouldn’t want to do anything to distract you from your tortured inner monologue...” He removes his shirt entirely and tosses it to the floor. “How are you now?”

“Very distracted,” you wheeze.

“Excellent.” He smiles, resting his face in his hands, the firelight flickering over his bare chest and shoulders, reflections of flames in his eyes. “See, you don’t look so sad now.”

“No, I guess I don’t.” You bite into your hunk of bread. But still, the way he was touching her...  

John sips red wine and smirks teasingly. “You know...if you ever get tired of the celibate lifestyle...I’m always game.”

You laugh, shaking your head, and open the Coke bottle. “That’s very much appreciated. But I don’t just want sex.”

“I know,” he replies, solemnly now. “You want him.”

“That’s pretty pathetic, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think you’re pathetic at all.” That seems like it must be a lie, but John sounds genuine.

“You’re my best friend, you know,” you tell him. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Certainly not get treated to authentic Italian lasagna.”

You chuckle. “I’m sure that’s the least of your talents. Veronica is a very lucky woman.”

John nods, staring down at the table now, pushing crumbs around with the back of his hand. “If you say so.”

And, in the end, you managed to eat your half of the lasagna after all.

~~~~~~~~~~

When you get back to your hotel room, it’s very late in Italy...which means it’s only early evening in Boston. You pick up the phone and resolve to use the last of your miniscule weekly allowance for a long distance call.

Your mom answers on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Guess where I am right now.”

“Hopefully on a date with that nice Roger boy.”

“Oh my god, Mom.”

She titters pleasantly. “Tell me, dear. Germany? No, no. Spain.”

“Rome.”

“Oh!” she sighs, steeped in nostalgia. “Daddy and I went there on our honeymoon! Ages ago, of course. But it was wonderful, otherworldly. Like getting lost in a fairytale. How do you like it?”

“I love it,” you murmur. “Mom, can I ask you something?”

“Always, dear.”

You twirl the phone cord around your fingers anxiously. “How did you know that Dad was the one?”

“Hm.” She pauses; and you can envision the way she takes a step back and glances up at the ceiling whenever she’s thinking something over. Oh, maybe I do still miss parts of Boston. “Well...you know Daddy wasn’t single when we met. And neither was I.”

“Yeah, I think I remember that part of the story.”

“I’m not sure if I can explain it, dear. Truly. I...” She drifts off, pondering it. Finally, she says: “I’d had plenty of other boyfriends. I’d been interested in other people. And people are all so different, they all have something unique to offer to your life, whether good or evil. But when I met your father...I just felt like I couldn’t live without him. Suddenly nothing else seemed possible if he wasn’t in the picture. Like if he wasn’t there I’d spend the rest of my life missing him. Does that answer your question?”

“It does, yeah.” You close your eyes and feel the dark Mediterranean night air breeze in through the open window. The conch shell has found a temporary home on top of the antique dresser. “I love you, Mom.”

“Aww, I love you too, honey. And you’ll make the right decision, whatever that is.”

You look out into the constellations that Brian introduced to you earlier, Aries and Fornax and Perseus. “I hope so.”

[sunfish999]

if y’all ever wanted to know anything about me... i tried

hm I’m bored (i say this as i should be doing geometry homework

1. read: probably the paladin prophecy, or the finisher (just books i’ve read like 500 times, idk about understanding but--) watch: the vampire diaries? (idk i watched the entire series in 7th grade wygonnad) or aquamarine movie? listen to: XYLO, LUME, more specifically Need Nothing by Verite 

2. bro i have no idea who they are actually but I’ve seen like 2 fanfic writers who write exactly like me and seem to think exactly like me i love that. also a reg writer? uh probably mark frost? i aspire to write like f scott fitzgerald but it never gonna happen hun (cos i wanna major in physics not literature lmao)

3. holy fuck lets pick like 3 fandoms, aight? uh first lets go w my hero academia? tokoyami ofc? next... percy jackson bich-- nico LMAO no maybe bianca? hm HARRY POTTER -- ginny prolly although i dont want to date harry (oops) The maze runner? tommy actually ;; naruto? fucKINH ROCK LEE BABE uhhhsdfhh star wars is anakin and voltron is lance (or pidge actually) i should stop buuuut yeao ok

4. i think my name is fine but i aint gonna share it here (also kinda wish my nickname was charly though thats all im gonna say ALSO yes laurel is a faux name yes 

5. human being because i do nothing. lol but yes i think that who i am as a person should be based off my actions, for it is how i act that shows other people who i am, not ‘who i am inside’ dont make fucking excuses for your actions people 

6. yea i believe in 1 god and i was raised as a catholic christian but i am accepting of all religions and views

7. i mean kinda??? idk im very polish and so i eat lotta polish food (gr8 stuff right there) but im just american so yea 

8. muscial artists, well bitch i only started actively listening to lots of music (aka spotify) like last year but i listened to ari grande when i was young ofc but i dont rlly feel connected to her. maybe like, adele? probably her yea 

9. yes i am a visual artist (preferred medium is watercolor) i looooove singing although i suck so i just do it for fun, i played the french horn for 2 years (also suck so not really lol) um i also write for fun and im good at writing informative essays (my school is big in the english program lol) i was also in 3 plays but i dislike theatre so no. also i like clothes i am a fashion artist wow

10. tf? idk? i have like 3 mottos: “if you want something done right, do it yourself” “the answer to existence is not why we are here, but how we affected others during our time here” “jack at all trades, master at none, better than a master at one “ “you don’t have to speak to be present” “consider how hard it is to change yourself and realize what little chance you have in trying to change others” “do the scary thing first, and get scared afterwards” “the very fact that you're actively looking for ways to become kinder, and attempting to understand your flaws and change them for the better is fair proof that you as a person, are kind.” OK YEA MAYBE I HAVE A CREED SO WHAT 

11. ideal day lol art, reading, and binge watching tv in bed while eating. otherwise spending the day meditating in a forest in spring where its warm but not too warm and just not speaking the entire day 

12. both. i have 3 cats and 2 dogs. love all of them dearly though i’d consider myself a human puppy vs a human kitty (im not a furry calm tf down)

13. outdoors, if you mean nature. if you just mean social activity, then indoors 

14. as i said before, i like singing even though i suck, in grade school i learned the ukelele, piano, and french horn. i remember none of that now 

15. influential books my ass. LETS GO: 1. into the wild (krakauer) 2. Fahrenheit 451 (cant remember author name but its fucking iconic and a classic and it made me think) 3. just gonna go an put harry potter because that shit changed my life 4. the hobbit? idk, iconic 5. i wanna read more literature-y books soon but whatever, i feel like i should say the great gatsby but honestly with writing my essay and everything i just dont give a shit anymore

16. ok i feel like if my parents werent as strict when i was younger id have less depression and be less stressed but then i would also care less about my grades and being kind and i like that about myself sooooo 

17. lol this is EXACTLY me guys because its fucking anonymous as hell because i know none of you (except for like 2 mutuals but ive never met them irl but they’re cool) i dont trust my friends. or family, for that matter

18. my patronus is a wolf thanks for asking; and my power animal: symbolizes instinct, intelligence, and an appetite for freedom. embody personal power and balance between self-control and animal instincts. a guide to inspire you to live more freely

19. im a gryffindor, i took the pottermore test twice and got it both times, also, i took it doing the opposite and got slytherin, so i aint them (but i love slytherin sooo)

20. fuck are you serious? honestly hogwarts would be awesome as hell but probably middle earth because it still got the magic but it gorgeous as hell 

21. yea i’d probably say i love easily since i like barely talk to my crushes and yet i think i really really like them because GODDAMN 

22. school. daydreaming. eating. phone. drawing. 

23. i feel like once i move out for college i’d like em a heck of a lot more, so probably like at least once a month? when i’m older? like at least once every 2 months? i love my extended fam though

24. oh fuck my friend from school and i fucking liked chinchillas when we were little, we always text each other the same thing at the same time, i always know what shes thinking and what the basis for her actions is. shes the bff that doesnt always act like it all the time 

25. fuck yes 

26. pansexual and PROUD but still in the closet except for the whole internet and 3 friends 

27. ok honestly i feel like i dress kinda like a basic girl just more minimalistic and modest but i kinda totally want the gays to recognize me and also i fucking want those patterned polos because hell to the yes. and also i want bangs but i do sports and i feel like id look ugly because everyone says they would (waiting til college, naturally) otherwise love my freckles and real dark eyes

28. honestly, probably like a 2-3. i don’t care SO much about what people think, but i’m fucking annoyed by really dumb things super easily. i’m just really good at hiding it so no one ever knows 

29. why music wtf OK: 1. need nothing - verite, 2. lover like me - off bloom 3. strapped - FOOL 

30. why the FUCK all my quotes are in my creed bitch lemme search :

“growing up is giving up” 

thanks for listening to my TED ED talk aaaaand i hope you know me a bit better and i hope i didn’t accidentally give away too much info and someone will come kill me ok BYE 

[whydontweships]

a WYATT ship please? I’m short, blonde hair w/ purple underneath, nose pierced (left), curvy, blue/grey eyes. I have anxiety i try my best to push myself an control it not always successful. i love art mostly drawing, music i play piano, my friends describe me a sarcastic an sassy, i put up a front an pretend i don’t care but i’m not afraid to stand up for myself or say what needs to be said. i can be very stubborn an sometimes petty but i don’t mean too. i’ll admit when i’m wrong thanks ❤️

Who You Are To Them:

J O N A H: You’re his significant other.

you were practising your favourite piano piece on the beautiful grand piano daniel had chosen for the why don’t we house. you felt so calm in this room, sun coming through the window warming your skin.

little did you know jonah was watching in the doorway of the room. his heart was fluttering watching you play. you finish the song and turn around to get off the seat, finding jonah in the doorway.

“how long have you been there?” you question the boy.

“only long enough to realise how talented you are” he answers.

“you say that every time!” you exclaim, hitting him lightly on his chest.

“and every time it’s true. you make me fall even more for you every damn time.” he says, as if it were obvious.

you take this chance to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him to shut him up.

“if that’s your way of shutting me up, i don’t think i ever wanna talk again” he mumbles with a smile.

J A C K: You’re his younger sister.

“okay what colour should i dye the underneath of my hair this time?” you ask the curly headed boy in the grocery store.

“hmmmm. have you done purple yet?” he says looking up from his phone.

“jack. look at the back of my head right now, tell me what colour it is.” you say, pointing to your hair, tied into a ponytail.

“oh. it’s purple.” he says, face going red.

“you’re not very observant, are you jack?” you ask.

“not particularly, no.”

“so, what colour should i go next?”

“blue!” he pipes up.

you grab a blue box dye and chuck it in the cart jack was leaning on.

“alright let’s go, jonah just texted and said he got dinner for everyone and i am starving, all this shopping has made me hungry.”

“we’ve been here for literally 15 minutes, y/n.”

“hey. never underestimate my stomach.” you say, fake-seriousness in your tone.

“whatever, let’s leave, jonah’s really impatient when it comes to food” 

“aw just like me.” you reply.

“you two really were made for eachother.” he says with a smile, causing you to blush.

D A N I E L: You’re his best friend.

“listen, y/n, i don’t think rollercoasters are a good idea.” he says, nervousness in his voice, staring up at the structure in fear.

“don’t be a baby, danny, nothing could go wrong here, it’s perfectly safe.” you say in a backhanded attempt at comfort.

“you know how much i hate heights! this isn’t fair.”

“get on the rollercoaster with me and i’ll give you twenty bucks.” you say, starting to lose faith in the lanky boy.

“your powers of persuasion are incredible.” he says, hopping in the line, no idea what was ahead of him.

after the ride was over, daniel looked you dead in the face, he’d gone pale.

“never. again.”

“i can’t believe i just took your rollercoaster virginity!” you exclaim, laughing.

daniel had sat down on the ground, head in his hands.

“out of all people, i lost my virginity to you!” he jokes.

“hey you know you loved it.” you reply with a wink and you blew a kiss in his direction.

“god how am i still friends with you?” he questions, rhetorically.

“cause i can convince you to do scary things for 20 dollars.” you answer his question anyway.

“of course, makes sense now.”

Z A C H: You’re his partner in crime.

“zach how much longer is this gonna take I feel like I’m actually dying.” you say, filling another balloon and throwing it into corbyn’s room. 

“we’re almost done, I give it a little less than 20 minutes.” he replies, chucking some more balloons into the room.

“I have to admit, it looks really cool for some reason, what if it backfires and they just get some really cool instagram photos out of it?” you ask.

“then it’s a win-win, corbyn doesn’t get mad at us and he gets something cool to post!” he says.

20 minutes pass and zach throws the last balloon into the room, shutting the door. 

“and now, we play the waiting game.” zach says with a smirk.

you two head downstairs and put a movie on tv as so to not look suspicious when corbyn comes home.

minutes later, corbyn walks through the door and takes his shoes off. 

“i’m just gonna go take my bag upstairs, be back in a sec.” he says, jogging up the staircase.

you and zach look at each other in anticipation.

“ZACH! Y/N! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO MY ROOM?” he shoutts from the second floor.

you and zach both race up the stairs and laugh at corbyn’s face. a mixture of confusion and annoyance.

“how did you even manage this? i was only out for like four hours!”

“teamwork!” you and zach exclaim in unison. 

“you know... it actually looks kinda cool, mind taking some instagram photos for me?”

you roll your eyes, typical corbyn.

he posts the photos later with the caption:

“@imzachherron and @y/ig/n made me look like boo-boo the fool.”

C O R B Y N: You’re the one that got away.

he was sat next to jack by the pool, watching you and jonah have the time of your lives and he couldn’t help but feel  a tug in his heart.

jack was the only one who knew about corbyn’s crush on you from before you ended up with jonah, corbyn confided in jack because you were his little sister, he thought he could help him get you.

but corbyn was too late.

“jack i can’t be here right now.” corbyn murmurs quietly.

“she’s all i’ve ever wanted and now she’s all i can’t have. tell them i went to get food or something, please just cover for me.”

“you got it man. but just so you know, her and jonah have been having a lot of problems recently, i don’t know how much longer they’re gonna last. i really hope you get her one day corbs. not that i don’t love jonah, i just think that you two are much better for each other.”

corbyn doesn’t say anything, he just half-smiles, gets up and leaves. 

“where did corbyn go?” you ask, unaware of the conversation your brother just had with him.

“he went to the store, you guys want anything? i’ll text him.”

“oh yeah tell him to grab me an iced tea and uuhhh subway if he’s around there, he knows my order.” 

“i don’t even know your order” jonah laughs

but corbyn did, he remembered everything when it came to you, the boy had it bad. he was so close but so far away from you.

there you go! that’s that! hope you like it! 

love jade xo

[huntertales]

Part Four: There’s Something About Sam. (The Third Man S06E03)

Episode Summary:  Sam, Dean and the reader call Castiel for help when they investigate a case about several dead police officers who seem to have been killed by the plagues of Egypt. With Heaven in a state of chaos, God’s weapons have been stolen. The four head off to find the thief and come face to face with an old enemy. Meanwhile, the reader and Dean try to work like professionals with one another, and not let old feelings get in the way. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Slight Sam x Reader) Word Count: 4,810.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

You wondered why things couldn’t work out in your favor just once. You weren’t asking for much. Just for the natural order of the universe to smooth itself out. For Heaven and Hell to get their crap together. For God to come out wherever he'd been hiding to stop his children from fighting. You saved the world once before from ending, you'd be damned for Raphael to undo all your hard work. But you weren't mighty and powerful like you were before. You’d spent the last year hunting monsters like werewolves and wendigos. You were a hunter now, not a demon who had a safety net underneath your feet to keep yourself from getting killed. You were disposable.

You looked over your shoulder when you heard another roll of thunder after the room lit up from a strike of lightening, giving you a better sight to what was going on around you before it fell back into darkness. Maybe it wasn’t your time to call the shots, but you had a feeling that it was best to grab the brothers and get the hell out of here before it was too late. Balthazar wasn’t going to do the right thing by handing over God’s weapons to Cas. You didn't want your heart ripped out of your chest from an archangel you left in a ring of holy fire all that time ago. If you knew anything about angels, they held grudges. They wouldn't stop until they got exactly what they wanted—destroying whatever got in their way. And the four of you stood in his way of doing that for Raphael.

You were about to suggest the idea to Cas that it’d be better to get the hell out of here while you still had the chance. But the words died at the tip of your tongue when you looked straight ahead at the dead body on the floor to see that one of his fellow brothers had popped in. You tightened your grip around the blade and let out a frustrated sigh from how tonight was going not so much in your favor.

“You’re making a mistake. Please, there is another way.” Cas spoke up as he put his hand up in a way to show that he wanted to do no harm. But from the look in his fellow brother’s eyes as he stepped over the body, you had a feeling you were past the point of talking. “Brother, please, I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“But I’ll gladly do it.” You made the first move before either you or Cas could get hurt. You flipped around the blade and threw it across the room, managing to lodge the weapon exactly into the angel’s chest. You heard a scream erupted from his throat with a sudden bright light escaped from his body, making you shield your eyes, taken back from the harshness. You slowly lowered your hand back down to your side when you heard his body thump to the ground. All though you were quite impressed with your first official angel kill, when you looked over at Cas, he stood there with a hardened look on his face. Like he was upset with what’d you done. “What? I had to do something.”

He looked away from you as his lips stretched into a frown. He understood that it was the four of you against Raphael and his followers. That wasn’t what made him upset. It was the blatant lost of control, order that had kept his siblings in line since the beginning of time. But there only had been order when there was a Father to discipline them. These were Godless times they were now facing. There was no such thing as order anymore. Just pure, raw chaos for power. For violence against those who didn’t agree for their cause. Cas had been trying to keep things from escalating to this point. But it seemed he didn’t have the choice of playing nice anymore.

“Why won’t any of them listen?” Cas asked himself quietly underneath his breath.

“Because your siblings are all dicks.” You muttered to him, but your response when unnoticed to the angel when he was caught up in his own personal thoughts.

You scoffed quietly underneath your breath from what you insisted on dragging yourself into as you walked across the room to grab the only weapon you had to defend yourself with. The room illuminated once again from the storm brewing outside. Another rumble of thunder followed soon after. You went down to grab the blade from the now deceased angel’s chest, knowing you had very limited time until Raphael showed up. But you didn’t think he would make a personal invite so soon without sending another one of his brothers up to finish the job. Of course. If you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself.

"They don't listen, Castiel, because their hearts are mine."

You quickly looked over your shoulder to see that none other than Raphael himself  standing right besides Cas. You didn't waste a second in warning him as you tried to grab the blade and somehow take the angel before he could any sort of harm. But you were slower to the draw than he was. Before your fingers could brush against the handle, you felt yourself being thrown backwards and across the room, landing straight onto the hard surface of the floor. And colliding head first with one of the legs of the baby grand piano. You hit your head hard enough to stun you for a few moments, taken back from the pain that started to settle in your head and the rest of your body just seconds after.

Raphael had took it upon himself to start with the biggest thorn in his side, Cas. The archangel threw his fellow brother out the double doors and worked his way to throwing him down the stairs, presuming you weren't going to be much of a trouble for now. But he should have known not to underestimate someone like you. Raphael wasn't the first archangel you had the pleasure of meeting. And you'd be damned to let him start something you had died for to begin again.

You steadied a hand on the piano and forced yourself to your feet, wincing slightly when you brushed your fingers against the abrasion on your forehead. It wasn't the worst wound you ever gotten, you would survive. You managed to grab ahold of the blade again and exited the double doors, running down the staircase and to the bottom floor where you saw Cas. But when you got down, you noticed that you were too late. And stumbled upon to a rather strange sight.

"Well," You furrowed your brow in surprise to see that  none other than Balthazar was standing across the room. And where Raphael had been was now replaced with an enormous amount of salt and his suit that he was once wearing. "Guess I'm late to the party. What happened here?”

“Quite a marvelous trick you missed out on, Y/N. Same thing happened to Lot’s wife. Idolize the poor sucker and your kitchen is stocked for life.” Balthazar chuckled to himself, seeming to find all of this amusing. You looked over at Cas, who was taken back himself to see that his fellow brother had come back. You doubt it was out of the kindness of Balthazar's heart. He figured this way, the archangel would be out of his hair for a while. "Well, now Raphael will have to go shopping for a new vessel. Should give me a nice long head start on him. Until next time.”

“Next time? Don’t leave so soon.” You said, your lips stretching into a smirk from the trick you were about to pull on him. “The fun’s just getting started.”

You looked away from Balthazar when you heard the flick of the lighter come from the one Dean was holding. Without a warning, the older Winchester dropped it to the ground, setting the trap the boys had set, going for the second plan if things had failed. Balthazar was trapped with nowhere to go. You crossed your arms over your chest from the successful move all of you had managed to pull. But the angel didn’t seem all that amused from what was going on.

“Holy fire. You hairless ape.” Balthazar hissed at the older Winchester. "Release me."

"You didn't say 'Mother May I'? Manners are everything. Especially for narcissistic, self-entitled angels as yourself." You said, not falling for whatever sort of threat he would try and say to make you change your mind. “First you start with taking your marker off Aaron Birch’s soul.”

Balthazar’s eyes narrowed on you from your command, “Am I?”

“Oh, Sammy.” You called out the younger Winchester’s name, knowing you had the imagination and all the right tools to make the angel do whatever you wanted.

“Unless you like your wings extra-crispy,” Sam came out from the room he’d been hiding in to bring out the clay pitcher that held the holy water that you would need. “I’d think about it.”

Balthazar wouldn’t be intimidated by you and the Winchester, three hunters who was about to try to go up against someone powerful as himself. He looked to his fellow brother, hopeful that he might do something to change your minds. “Castiel, I stood for you in Heaven. Are you gonna let one of them—”

Castiel cut off his brother, knowing exactly where he stood on the grounds of this. “I believe the hairless ape has the floor.”

“Very well.” Balthazar agreed to the new terms of this plan, finding his own pleasure in seeing how you reacted to the offensive terminology used against yourself. You’d been called a lot of things before in the past, but that was a new one for you. You watched as the angel shut his eyes for a moment and quietly whispered something underneath his breath. “The boy’s debt is cleared. His soul is his own.”

“Why are you buying up human souls, anyway?” Dean asked, curious to how something like that could be useful for an angel like Balthazar.

“In this economy? It’s probably the only thing worth buying. Do you have any idea what souls are worth? What power they hold?” Balthazar’s set of questions made you feel uneasy. You looked away from the angel and to Dean, who seemed to share your same mindset about what could have been so wonderful about something precious as souls. But you wouldn’t get any sort of answers as to what sort of ability they had in the wrong hands. “Now, release me.”  

“Suck it, ass clown, nobody said anything—” Dean wasn’t ready to let the party end just yet. But it seemed your fellow friend had other feelings about that. You watched as the flames slowly began to dwindle until they were gone. You quickly looked over to see that Cas was the one responsible for extinguishing them. “Cas, what the hell?”

“My debt to you is cleared.” Cas told his fellow brother, you scoffed at what was unfolding.

“Fair enough. “Balthazar agreed.

And just like that, Balthazar disappeared from your sight. You let out a sigh of frustration as you looked over at Cas, wondering why he would do such a thing. But before you could term him a new one, the angel vanished from your sight. You could feel your fists clenching in anger at what just happened. After spending over a year trying to get ahold of him, Cas would only stick around for how it pleased him. Something in him changed. And it sure wasn’t for the better.

+ + +

On the downside of things, the car you and Sam had for the past year was crushed due to a couple of angels fighting. (Which Cas had rudely didn't not apologize for.) But on the brightside of things, the gang was back together again like old times. You were sort of excited to see Baby in all of her glory again. A smile wouldn't leave your lips as you carried your heavy duffel bag to the open trunk, where Dean shuffled around a few of his own set of weapons, trying to make room again for the both of you. You let out a frustrated sigh as you dropped the bag to the ground, your arms beginning to grow sore from the heavy bag you had been holding for the past few minutes as the man reorganized his stockpile of weapons that had grown since the last time the three of you were hunting together.

“Gosh,” Dean grabbed a shotgun and tossed it to another compartment for safekeeping as he spent another few moments organizing things. “I didn’t realize I had this much stuff back here.”

“Well, we need some space.” Sam said, dropping his own duffel bag down when his brother put down the secret compartment where all of his supplies were. “Kind of picked up some stuff along the way.”

You finally managed to toss your bag into the trunk, letting out a sigh of relief at the mundane task. You looked to see there was a few lingering objects hidden in the way back of the trunk that didn’t belong to the three of you. You bent over and grabbed what appeared to be a mask from the back to inspect it. You furrowed your brow at the rather frightening sight and nodded your head at Dean, wondering what the hell you were holding.

“Oh, that’s Ben’s Halloween costume.”  Dean said.

“Huh.” You placed the mask against your face and pretended to scare the boys, having a clue of what it might have been. Through the eye holes you saw Sam roll his eyes as Dean let out a quiet chuckle from how ridiculous you looked. “Wendigo? Creepy and accurate.”

You tossed the mask back into the back for safekeeping so Dean could shut the trunk and all of you could get back on the road. You were more than happy to claim your old spot in the back as Sam headed for the passenger’s side. All of this was second nature to the both of you. Dean took his spot rightfully next to the driver’s side door, but before he could slip in, there was something on his mind. It’d been bothering him for a while now. But after the last hunt, the worry was growing to the point where he couldn’t deny it anymore.

“Hey, so, uh...are you okay?” Dean asked what sounded to be a simple question to his little brother. You leaned against the car as you looked over at the younger Winchester. Sam didn’t think twice about answering with a happy grin, saying that he felt great. On the outside it seemed that he was okay. Sam hadn’t shown any sort of signs of being off balanced. But that was when he was going through everyday life. When he was hunting, sometimes it told a very different story. “Really? Because there’s been a few times you got me wondering.”

Sam looked at his brother with a confused expression, "Come again?"

“Well, like where were you when Cas was giving the holy-taser treatment to that kid?” Dean asked a simple question. He could have gone to you and share his concern. You had been hunting with the man for over the past year, out of anyone, you knew Sam better than you knew yourself sometimes. But Dean wanted to confide in his brother first. The younger Winchester, yet again, didn’t show any sort of concern for his strange behavior. He thought everything was fine. “Really? Because, honestly, I felt like it was just Y/N and I raising a card.”

“Right. I mean, I was with you.” Sam backtracked as he tried to explain his reasoning. You narrowed your eyes slightly at the man, knowing you’d been seeing the same exact sort of behavior from him. The old Sam would have been there right with you to stop it from happening. Maybe it was Hell that made him harder around the edges. Maybe he didn’t care. “But, I don’t know, we needed the intel.”

“Yeah, I know, but we tortured that kid to get it.” Dean said, setting up some bait for his brother to take and feel guilty. He waited for some sort of puppy dog expression that he was almost starting to miss. Sam let out a quiet sigh, as if he wasn’t sure what to say to make this situation better. “I just didn’t get the feeling that you even cared.”

“You’re wrong.” Sam said, shaking his head at the accusation.

“I mean, I’m just trying to figure this out, because something’s different about you. You know that.” Dean said. His brother nodded his head, not denying that part about him. You eyed both of the boys slowly, watching as this scene unfolded in front of you before your gaze settled upon Sam to see what else he had to say.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Sam agreed with his brother. Dean looked at the man standing at the other side of the car, not believing a single word that was coming out his mouth. Sam decided to put the truth out there in a way that the older Winchester could understand. “I’ve been hunting nonstop for the past year with Y/N. Kind of out in the wild, you know? So, yeah, I suppose I’m a little rough around the edges.”

“Yeah, I get that. But I just don’t think I’m getting the whole scoop.” Dean said. He watched as you and his brother grew silent. You looked away from the older Winchester to stare at something in the far distant, Sam sat himself down on the hood of the Impala. “You went to hell, Sam. And, Y/N, the second time around isn’t always easy. Believe me, I know what that does to a person.”

“To you. You know what it does to you. It tortured you, you know? I mean, can't forget what you did to Y/N. Look at how that turned out for the both of you. I think that it still bothers you. And I'm sure you're not happy with how we’re handling things.” Sam suddenly seemed to be a smart ass from the sly remark he managed to squeeze into the conversation, taking you and his brother by surprise. The younger Winchester went back to his normal self when he smiled again and let out a soft chuckle. “But, Dean, I’m okay.”

Dean didn't know how to feel about what his brother said. It brought him back to when you and him were taken out of hell. The lying he did, the trust you put in him when you gave him something that almost ruined your relationship for good. For some reason, Dean took offense to what Sam had said. You’d been to hell twice, each time was with a different brother. The older Winchester cracked under pressure and did things that, yes, he regretted to this day. But down in the cage it was two against two. He had a feeling Lucifer and Michael wouldn’t have played nice with his little brother, who had dragged the both of them down to the cage.

“So, you’re saying, that you’re stronger than me?” Dean couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what the younger man was trying to get at without saying those exact words. “You and Y/N got some unhealthy relationship I should know about?”

"We're best friends, Dean. Y/N and I have been through a lot these past few years. Things you’ll never understand.” Sam said, giving the truth and a little bit of a lie all wrapped up in one. "I'm just saying we're different people. You and I.”

Dean should have felt better at hearing what his brother said. Sam had gone through something that might have been worse than a torture session with Alastair, the infamous demon who shaped sinister and homicidal personalities out of the foolish people who sold their souls. Dean got a free pass when he started torturing souls, starting with the person standing beside him. But he had a feeling what he witnessed for the first ten years was nothing to what you had seen. You and Sam had faced the Devil himself and his older brother. You stopped the apocalypse from happening, you mouthed off too many times to form grudges. There had to have been some sort of lasting impact on the personality.

But you didn't show it. You didn't show any sort of signs that things were as they were before you went to hell, or afterwards. It was like you were back to your old self. (The woman he fell in love with.) But things weren't as they were before. The both of you had found salvation in other people. Dean had Lisa, you had Sam. He didn’t want to think that your relationship with his brother passed for anything more than best friends and hunting partners. Back when he first got out of hell, with his mind still fresh with the things that he did to you, he thought that he could keep the past buried and start a happy relationship with you. He’d been wrong before. And the man felt, with some time, he would be proven wrong once again.

+ + +

Sam's lack of empathy wasn't the only thing in him that changed. Dean rested his head against the motel pillows as he rested his forearm against his closed eyes, hoping sleep would come after riding around for most of the day. The three of you were happy to have things back to the way things were. But if you were gonna continue on like nothing happened, you needed a case to find and some wifi to do that. It was decided that all of you would crash at a motel for a day or two to figure out a case and hit the road again. The usual routine for getting rooms was as the following: a double for the boys, you happily settled for a single by yourself for some privacy. But for some reason, Dean was sitting in a queen sized bed, overcome with paranoia that wouldn’t let his mind rest. Why did you and Sam want to share a room all of a sudden?

“I don’t know,” His brother shrugged at the question. “We’ve been doing it for the past year. It’s just for one night. And besides, I’m sure you want some privacy.”

Dean scoffed to himself at the reasoning. He still couldn't shake off this feeling...like you and Sam were keeping something from him. But what was it? For long as he could remember, the both of you had been close. Sharing stupid nicknames constantly talking about nerdy stuff, and spending hours together doing research. It was innocent stuff like that. And that phone call. He couldn’t shake the noises out of his head. It kept replaying itself in his head like a broken record.

Dean spent almost two years with you. He knew what you sounded like in bed. It only made his wander to places that shouldn't have gone.He wondered what might have caused such a big jump to lead to the point of no return.

Two people come out of hell, scared out of their minds. No family to confide in except for each other. Close quarters, a little too much alcohol after a rough hunt. You always had a caring side of you that Dean loved. You could smile and just like that, the world felt like a better place.

Dean finally forced himself to ask the question that had been lingering in his mind during this entire hunt. Were you and Sam...intimate with each other? So what if you were? What sort of business did he have to judge that? Dean had spent plenty of nights with Lisa, doing things that would make even the sex-crazed person blush. He didn’t expect you to be celibate, waiting for something that the both of you knew would never happen again. But you weren’t also the type of person who found comfort in strangers like he had for all those years.

The theory did pose a few problems if it were true. You’d only been intimate with Dean, no one else. And jumping into bed with Sam felt weird. Talk about keeping it in the family. Dean rolled his eyes from how dirty he felt thinking about how the saying turned into a whole other meaning. It was just his mind playing trick on him. Maybe he was a bit jealous. Maybe he still had a small thing for you that was buried deep inside. He didn’t know that yet. He blamed his wandering mind on how much time was left between hunting. And how he didn’t have his brother’s small habits to keep him occupied. Dean realized why he didn’t like being alone. Because he was forced to be with his own thoughts and create stupid scenarios that probably weren’t real.

Dean felt his body beginning to finally relax when he began to think about Lisa. How she was probably sleeping alone right now, thinking about him. His lips stretched into a small smile when he thought about her and Ben. He made a mental note to call them tomorrow morning to see how they were doing. But the thought only lasted a second before his ears picked up on the sounds of footsteps coming from outside in the hall. It was probably just one of the other guests that checked in. Dean heard a muffled voice, along with a familiar echo of a laugh. Dean felt his eyes open. Suddenly he couldn’t sleep anymore.

He slipped out of bed and headed for the shut door that was locked. Ever so quietly, he pushed the lock back until he clicked into place, twisted the handle, and cracked open the door so one of his eyes peeked out into the hall to see what was going on.

Dean noticed that his little brother was standing out in the hall with a smile on his face. One hand was holding a sick pack of beer, the other carried what appeared to be take out, your favorite kind. Sam said something about you opening the door. From where he was, he couldn’t hear all that much, or see anything for that matter. But he didn’t stop staring. A few seconds passed before light illuminated the hallway and the laugh could be heard again. It took Dean a few tries before he saw you step out into the hall, wearing what appeared to be a man’s shirt that was at least a few sizes too big, and nothing else.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about that. You liked to steal his shirts long before the two of you started dating. Dean cracked the door even slightly more, watching as you leaned against the door, a smirk spreading across your lips before your teeth sank down onto the bottom flesh. You opened your mouth as you reached out a hand to place it on Sam’s chest. Dean could feel his stomach twist into knots. It’s nothing. Without thinking about it, he stepped back, all before slamming the door shut and locking it.

You felt your hand drop to your side when you heard someone slam their door shut, taking you by surprise. You quickly looked around to see if it had come from the room just down the hall, but you couldn’t tell. You let out a breath and back to the man in front of you. The look in your face began to change slightly, it turned into an emotion that Sam hadn't felt in a very long time—guilt. Things were different now that you were back on the road with Dean. Your unconventional relationship with his little brother had to come to an end.

“This has gotta be the last time.” You whispered to him, stepping back into the motel room as Sam followed behind and shut the door behind him before setting things down on the table to make his hands free.  “Dean can’t ever know.”

“Of course. My lips are seal." Sam promised you. He began walking forward to you, the same look in his eye that you had seen before began to slowly come creeping back. You tried to find any sort of sign that he was feeling guilty for what he'd been doing over the past year. But you couldn't see anything in them. He slowly backed you into a corner before he placed each arm against the wall, trapping you for the last time.  “It’ll be our little secret.”

[Next Part]

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