#lizzy writes

[wordsarelife]

—the game

pairing: mattheo riddle x fem!reader

summary: after one night with you, mattheo can't help but want more. sadly, you aren't the type for relationships: “that you no longer are, what you used to be, ever since you bared your skin for me”

warnings: suggestive, mentions of sex, angst

notes: get ready for angsty and soft mattheo riddle who is an absolute simp for you lmao, very angsty but with a happy ending :)

inspired by ‘the game’ by annett louisan

that you no longer are what you used to be ever since you bared your skin for me

"are you alright?" you were laying on the side, observing mattheo's face. he wasn't looking at you, keeping his eyes on the ceiling.

"y-yes" he breathed lowly and for the first time in ever, he didn't seem as cocky and arrogant.

"cool" you shrugged. you were just trying to be nice, he wasn't your boyfriend or anything, so his mood wasn't really your problem. you threw back the cover and got out of the bed, tapping across the room to collect your clothes.

"where are you going?" he asked, sitting up. his eyes followed your every move.

"to my room?" you wondered, why he was asking.

"oh" he leaned against the bedframe, taking out a pack of cigarettes. "do you want one?"

"what?" you laughed in disbelief "do i look like a hooker to you?"

"no" he shook his head. you watched him for a few more seconds, before you stepped into your skirt and put your sweater on. "bye, mattheo" you smiled mischievously, before you left the room.

that you′ve lost your head in a single night and you're seeing things in another light

he didn't know yet, but that very night, you left a loneliness in him that he had never felt before. it seemed like ever since he got undressed for you, he wasn't how he used to be.

when you would see him around hogwarts he was often staring at you, thinking.

"you're staring again" theo elbowed mattheo. the classroom was quite big and you were sitting across from him, whispering with your friend.

"huh?" mattheo looked up at theo.

"she might notice" theo reminded "you're not invisible, matt"

"sure" mattheo shrugged his shoulder.

theo was the only one of his friends who had noticed the change in mattheo's character. he was acting unusal, especially because he hadn't hooked up with anyone in the last few weeks. he didn't have the courage to ask him about it yet, but he knew it had something to do with him always staring at you.

mattheo had been interested in sleeping with you for a long time. he had thought just getting it over with would stop his bubbling obsession, but it seemed to have made it worse. he wasn't used to desire someone like that, especially not after he had slept with them.

there was nothing new for him to see and still he wanted to do it again. for him it was like every single girl had suddenly disappeared. there was only you. sitting across from him. in a different light. and that scared him deeply.

during dinner theo had finally stopped making comments. mattheo was thankful for that, but he still tried to stray away from watching you, even if his eyes seemed to automatically find you.

"hey" blaise sat down on the bench in front of mattheo, successfully blocking his sight on you.

"hi" mattheo and theo chorused, before they continued eating. well, theo did, mattheo was just pushing food around on his plate.

"okay" blaise said "what's wrong with you both?"

mattheo send theo a look, who sighed "nothing"

"i should've stayed with pansy and draco" blaise muttered, nodding his head at the two sitting a few spots down. "even if they're hardcore flirting, at least that was some what interesting"

"wohoo!" enzo sat down next to blaise "the party can start!" he announced dramatically. mattheo rolled his eyes at the boy. blaise was annoying on his own, but the combination with enzo was nothing mattheo could take today.

it had been a month without sex and mattheo was feeling the effect.

"are we in a bad mood today?" enzo teased.

"fuck off" mattheo shoved his plate away and crossed his arms, bending his head down.

"hey" a soft voice made the boys look up. you were standing next to mattheo, who quickly scrumbled to his feet.

"hi" he said "how are you?"

"i'm fine" you smiled, sending an irritated look to enzo, whose eyes grew big as he recognized you. "is your friend alright?" you asked mattheo.

mattheo turned around and knew immediately who you were talking about. enzo was flailing his hands dramatically, hitting blaise on the shoulder over and over again, as if that would be enough to transfer his thoughts. "ignore him" mattheo tried his best to smile at you effortlessly, but was nervous about the reason you were talking to him in the first place.

"okay" you stretched, focusing on the boy in front of you again. "you forgot your notebook" you held it in his direction and he tried to hide his disappointment.

"oh" he nodded "thank you" you send him a last smile, before you turned around and walked back to your table

"that was horrible" theo muttered in mattheos direction, when he sat down again. before he could answer anything, enzo broke into a giggle.

"what's going on with you, you moron?" blaise looked at enzo in disgust and slid a bit to the side, rubbing his arm, that was probaly blue now after enzo had hit it multiple times.

"that's the girl!" enzo blabbled "from the party! the one you took back to the dorm!" he pointed his finger at mattheo. it seemed like enzo enjoyed knowing something secretive for the first time. normally he would be the last to hear about his friends flings.

"and?" mattheo shrugged, acting nonchalantly.

"yeah" blaise shrugged "she isn't the first and probably won't be the last, am i right?"

mattheo nodded relucantly and theo wiped his face with one hand, trying to hide his expression.

"hey mattheo" annie, a slytherin mattheo was sitting next to in potions, slid in on the bench next to him. he had been pursuing her for a few weeks, before he had slept with you.

"hi" mattheo replied absentmindedly.

blaise and enzo exchanged a confused look. theo shrugged. and mattheo? he seemed to be utterly uninterested in talking to annie any further. he turned his head away from the girl and she opened her mouth, but before anything could come out of it, blaise entered the non existent conversation.

"i'm good at sex too, sweetheart" he send her a smug smile, followed by a wink, while wiggling his eyebrows.

theo tried to hide his face, ashamed at what his friend was babbling and annie wrinkled her nose, looking at blaise disgusted.

"what?" she asked and then turned to mattheo "aren't you going to say anything?"

mattheo shrugged and took a sip from his water. annie shook her head outraged and got up. "arrogant asshole" she threw her head back and walked off.

that because of me you would leave a love and now I'm all you're dreaming of

"what was that?" enzo asked and even he seemed to be irritated now.

"what do you mean?" mattheo acted like he didn't have a clue what his friend was talking about.

"annie" blaise exclaimed, pointing in the direction the girl had just left. "you wanted to tap that ever since the school year started"

"you just ruined your progress" enzo added.

"i don't care" mattheo got up. his eyes caught yours across the hall. you smiled at him, before you continued your conversation with a boy, mattheo had never seen before, who was obviously flirting with you "i don't want her anymore"

blaise and enzo turned around. blaise clasped a hand over his mouth as soon as he realized what was going on.

"the girl from the party?" enzo asked confused, he was a bit slower.

"y/n" mattheo corrected, burying his hands in the pockets of his trousers

"what about her" blaise elbowed enzo. hard. "ow! blaise!"

"just look at him" theo muttered and mattheo didn't even hear his friends talking anymore. he was too focused on you and that boy, focused how you touched his arm and threw your head back from laughter. a month ago it had been mattheo talking with you like that. now you were the only thing that mattered to him and it seemed he couldn't be more irrelevant to you.

"shit" enzo mumbled as he realized. mattheo took that as his cue to leave and do something about his pathetic situation.

"can we talk?" he asked and you looked up at him confused.

"we're sort of in the middle of something" the unknown boy said. mattheo ignored him, sending you a pleading look.

"sure" you agreed, excusing yourself and following mattheo out of the hall and into an abondened classroom.

"so, what did you want to talk about?" you crossed your arms, leaning you back against one of the tables.

"you're driving me crazy, y/n" he quickly said and you raised your eyebrows. "i can't get you off my mind, ever since that night"

"oh" you simply said "i didn't want to mislead you, mattheo"

that dismal to be when every now and then someone else i′ll see again, it wasn't planned that you now feel like one of many

he sighed, his hand running through his curls. he stepped closer and the worried look on your face was making him go feral, the way you looked up to him through thick lashes, your hair, your smell, everything about you. his hand cupped your cheek softly, his thumb brushing along your lip.

"mattheo" you muttered. you didn't know that he was thinking more of that night "i thought we both agreed that this was just a simple hook up"

"it's not simple anymore" mattheo whispered and his breath fanned over your skin, making you perk up and inch closer. but you had to control yourself. it would be different for you than for him, you didn't want to take advantage of his feelings. "i want you to myself, all of you" he said and confirmed your worries.

"mattheo" you pleaded again. you touched his cheek. and his skin felt like it was burning under your touch. "i don't want to be someone's girlfriend" you muttered and you could see the hurt in his eyes.

"i can't bear to see you with him" he admitted "not with anyone"

"i didn't want you to feel like one of many" you said softly. he let go of your cheek and you took his face in both of your hands. "we can do it again" you looked into his eyes "but it's not like that for me"

"i don't care" mattheo crashed his lips to yours. he lifted you up on the table behind you, deepening the kiss and opening your ponytail with a quick gesture. he broke the kiss, leaning his forehead against yours. you stroke his cheek and he smiled, tears shimmering in his eyes. "be mine. just for now"

"okay" you said and you felt worse at the smile that appeared on his face.

he nodded. "okay"

that you fall in love, because we do it. that it affects you so much i did not know that

mattheo climbed on top of you, pushing you down on the table and both of you knew that this was a volatile arrangement. you would keep your promise, but he knew you weren't his. he ignored that as he opened your bra and littered your collarbone with kisses.

you looked up to the ceiling and felt the guilt bubble inside of you. this felt wrong. and you were scared that mattheo was confusing lust with love. after all you weren't the type for relationships and you had thought he wasn't either.

you both parted ways after that night in the classroom. you kept out of his way out of guilt. and he kept away from you in the hope that whatever he was feeling was finally going to disappear.

halloween came and went and mattheo felt himself indulge in meaningless hookups, just like before he had been with you, but it wasn't the same. it felt wrong, like a duty he couldn't fulfill.

you weren't able to forget the feeling of the touch of his skin. the way it burned under your hand. they way nobody elses skin had ever burned under your touch. not like that atleast.

it took less than a week for a note to find you and for you to return to the abandoned classroom during nightfall. it made your heart burn to see him like that. desperate for your warmth. that night he took you out of the castle and while you were laying on the grass and watching his features shine under the stars, you had almost wanted to cry.

the sight of him saddened you and made you wish to give him all he was longing for. but you couldn't and mattheo knew that, but that night you were his for a short time once again.

you decided that this was going to be the last time. you would break it off the next time he would send a note. seeing the hurt in his eyes broke you more and more. especially when he tried to advert his eyes from you around the castle. as if he was constantly telling himself off for liking you the way he did.

leave it be, i can't deal, i have too much respect for how you feel

he was waiting for you when you arrived the next night. the glint of hope, any time you came to your secret meetings made everything so much worse.

"we have to stop doing this" you got right to the point.

mattheo's face fell. "what?"

"this isn't doing you any good" you admitted "i can't bear to hurt you"

"okay" he said "then don't go"

"it will hurt so much more if i don't go now"

he shook his head "you don't know that"

"i do" you assured unwillingly "it's not the same for me, matty"

"you don't feel anything?" he muttered, gently touching your face "does this do nothing to you at all?"

"not in the way you would want" you looked to the ground, trying to avoid his eyes. "i don't do commitment"

mattheo stepped back from you and nodded bitterly. "yeah" he shrugged. "why would you?"

you saw the tears glistening in his eyes. "i have too much respect for you and the way you feel than to play with you like that"

"don't say that" he shook his head and adverted his eyes.

"i'm sorry, matty, i truly am" you tried to grab his hand, but he moved backwards "but what did you expect? i told you the truth from the beginning"

"i know" he pushed his hair back, looking from the ground to your eyes "i thought, maybe, if this was going on for longer, you would eventually like me like that"

this was it. this was the moment your heart broke. he was looking at you and a single tear slipped down his cheek. in that moment you truly regretted ever coming close to him.

"you don't want that" you promised "you don't want to know me in a way that's more than for a night"

"i do" he argued "of course i want that"

"i will just let you down, matty"

"don't be ridiculous" he grabbed your shoulders

"loving me is not easy" you said loudly, trying to escape his hold.

"i know" he admitted "it's fucking hell"

you looked up at him in surprise. "you don't know what you're saying" you turned your body away from him with a sudden movement. "you don't love me. you can't love me"

"you'd be surprised at how much" he said softly. you turned around and looked at his face. you had known that he wanted more from you than you were able to give him.. but love? you had initially thought that whatever it was that made him dream of you, would be forgotten in less than a week. at least that was what had happened with any guy that claimed to like you before.

"i love you" he said, more clearly. "so much"

you couldn't allow yourself to hope. you couldn't take his words seriously. you shook your head and his smile died once again. whatever part of him had hoped to convince you was crashed and burning by now. "it will go away"

he watched in dispair as you silently left the room, without looking at him. he sank down on the table behind him, burying his face in his hands. what he didn't know was that you were doing the exact same right outside the classroom.

the next morning during breakfast you felt burned out by how much you had cried that night. your eyes felt puffy and your voice was hoarse. you ignored the conversations your friends were having around you, even if you got talked to. instead your eyes were fixated on the empty spot next to theo nott.

theo, who had noticed your look, send you a sympathic smile and shrugged his shoulders, making it obvious that he knew as much as you about mattheo's absence.

you got up from your seat aprublty, leaving the hall quickly and ignoring your friends questions. you took the fastest way to the astronomy tower you knew. you couldn't sit at the table and act like everything was normal. you wanted to be alone.

you let you legs dangle, the pole inbetween them securing your seating.

"seems like we both had the same idea" a sudden voice pulled you from your thoughts. you looked up. mattheo was standing at the stairs. you got up from your place.

"i'll leave" you assured him. after yesterday, you felt like it was your duty to give him space. he wasn't the problem, you were. and you didn't want to cause him any more harm.

"you don't have to" mattheo shrugged and you noticed that he was lying. he would rather have you leave again then look at you while knowing you would never reciprocate the way he did it.

"it's fine" you smiled, but it wasn't genuine. you walked past him, but unintentionally stumbled and almost fell down the stairs. he reacted quickly and caught your arm.

he let go of you after he had stabilized your footing.

"thank you" you mumbled

he ignored it. "maybe you should go to madam pomfrey, your arm is burning hot"

you perked up at that. "what?" you whispered.

"your arm is burning hot" he repeated, assuming you just hadn't heard him.

you looked at him in disbelief, remembering how his skin used to feel under your touch, and how the reason behind it all had been simple and plain love.

but you had to know for sure. you pulled your blouse from your skirt, quickly unbuttoning the last buttons. you pulled it up, so that your skin was bare. "can you touch me there?" you asked and mattheo's eyes widened.

"what the fuck?" he wondered.

"can you just do it, please?" you asked again and he sighed, but softly touched you. "is it hot?"

"your skin or this situation?"

"the skin" your face reddened.

mattheo nodded and frowned. "alarmingly, actually"

"open your shirt" you directed and to your surprise, he did like you had asked without the slightest hesitation.

you pressed you hand against his chest quickly. his skin was burning underneath it. you smiled.

"touch my face" mattheo cupped your cheeks. he nodded silently, confirming that your face was as hot as the rest of your body.

your smile grew even bigger and mattheo smiled back hesitantely, still confused at what was going on. "can i hug you?" you asked.

mattheo nodded and opened his arms for you to step in. for the first time you were doing something that didn't involve sexual lust. you breathed in his smell of nicotine and perfume and you wondered how something so simple could be so special. you stepped back and you knew that you were now seeing things in a different light, everything, even him.

"i'm probably not good at it" you admitted "but i think i'm in love with you"

mattheo smiled at you and laughed. "you were teribble at it, yeah" he grinned "so there is much room for improvement"

you giggled, but quickly grew serious again "i'm not good at being committed"

"me either" he said and stepped closer, taking your face in his hands once again. "but we will manage, we can learn together" he promised and kissed you softly. both of your lips were burning up.

"that sounds like a plan" you smiled, touching his cheeks with your fingers "but it will be hard to love me" you looked down.

"i don't care" mattheo crashed his lips to yours. he drew you close to his body, deepening the kiss and squeezing your waist in a way that made you squeek in surprise. he broke the kiss, leaning his forehead against yours. you stroke his cheek and he smiled, happy tears shimmering in his eyes. "be mine. for longer than now"

"okay" you nodded and you felt butterflies errupting at the smile that appeared on his face.

he nodded and you mirrored his smile. "okay"

[according2thelore]

You are married to Sam Winchester. You don’t have a name.

You met him in a bar. Or a park. Or a diner where you worked. Or a library you were studying in. Or on the bus route back to your apartment. Or in the frozen aisle of a grocery store. The location doesn’t matter, but you know that you know him. That’s all you need to know. He smiles at you, and you smile back. He’s nice to look at, in the way that shards of stained glass are nice to look at. In the way that car crashes are captivating, in the way that a tree can be both dead and alive at once, in the way that homes disappear one room at a time. It doesn’t matter. You open your mouth to introduce yourself but the waitress-librarian-cop-bus driver-clerk talks over you. He never asks again. I’m Sam, he says. It’s a nice name. He’s got a nice face.

Dating him is easy. He never asks any questions about you. You ask questions about him, but he doesn’t like it, so you learn to stop. I had a brother, he offers once, in the way that someone says, I tried to kill myself. You nod. His name is Dean. It’s odd, maybe, that he refers to Dean in both past and the present tense. He doesn’t like it when you question things like that, though, so you keep quiet. Sam says strange things sometimes, when you’re sitting entwined on your couch watching reality TV. I killed monsters. They killed me, sometimes, too. He says. Your eyes go wide. He reassures you, It doesn’t matter. You melt back against him.

Oh, okay. As long as it doesn’t matter, that’s alright with you.

You get married. You get married in a courthouse, because Sam doesn’t like churches. I’ve made too many promises in churches, he said. I can’t break any more.

Okay, you say. You never liked churches much anyway. Or maybe you do. Maybe you believe in God. Sam doesn’t. He says he killed God. You believe him, because he’s got a knife carved from bone hidden under your boxspring. He keeps herbs and finger bones in jars and a golden bowl in your china cabinet, and won’t let you touch them. When the clerk hands you your wedding certificate, you smile as Sam kisses you. You’re excited when you take the paper from him, hoping to see your name. But in the space where it’s supposed to be is blank. Sam rubs a finger over Marriage Certificate, then over his name scribbled in pen. It’s perfect, he says, looking up at you with distant stars in his eyes. Oh. Okay, it’s perfect. That’s good. 

He cries out for Dean in his sleep. Night terrors so severe that they upend you from his bed shake him awake once a week. He screams in a language you’ve never heard before. After those nights, Sam doesn’t look you in the eye. He doesn’t talk after nightmares, and you don’t know how to shake him back to consciousness.

You catch him in the reflex of doing things. Odd things set him off. A rerun of that medical drama you binged in undergrad shuts Sam down, and he doesn’t come home until after dinner. An Asia song plays in a grocery store and Sam drops the milk in the middle of the aisle. You find him having a panic attack behind your car in the parking lot. 

He has an old car in the apartment’s parking garage that you’re not allowed to touch. It’s vintage—a beautiful thing, because you know a lot about cars or maybe you don’t—and it’s got an arsenal in the trunk. He buries salt lines in your yard. If you sneak up behind him, he’s got a knife to your throat before you can explain yourself.

Sam laughs at something on his phone, and goes to show someone, but it’s always only you there. It seems to disappoint him. When he’s upset, he gets more upset when you say the wrong things. It’s a dance that you don’t know the steps to, and Sam’s too tired to teach you.

It’s okay, you’ll learn yourself. You buy him almonds at the grocery store. You always keep the thermostat above seventy two degrees Fahrenheit. You always grab him a second of whatever you get: a beer, a sandwich, a blanket. You sleep on the side of the bed closest to the door. It’s not perfect. When you do the laundry, he gets frustrated with you because you fold things “too big.”  He always orders two sides of fries. He buys ground beef that he doesn’t eat.

He has a dog. The dog doesn’t like you, but it doesn’t not like you either. Sam hates you for it. Dean loves this dog. He loves Dean, too. Sam told you. You wilt. Another test failed. Dean’s really good at this game, but you’re not. Dean’s good at most games, at least the games that Sam likes to play. You try to love the dog more after that, giving him treats and actually cooking the ground beef Sam throws away every week to feed him. When Sam sprints into the kitchen as the smell wafts through the house, he collapses when he sees it’s just you. He doesn’t talk the rest of the weekend.

Sam gets a job at the factory. Or the construction site. Or the law firm. Or the local community college. You work as a nurse. Or a doctor. Or a cop. Or a secretary. Or a chef. It doesn’t matter. The details are blurry. Sam invites you to a Christmas party with his coworkers. This is my wife, Sam says, proud. His coworkers smile, but they never ask your name. You don’t have one. That’s alright with you, as long as it’s alright with Sam. You’d hate to embarrass him at a work party.

You have sex. You get pregnant. You have a kid. Those things happen in some kind of order, but it gets mixed up sometimes. 

You’ve always wanted a girl probably, but when you look into the face of your son, you realize that you’ve never wanted anything as much as you want this child. Or maybe you never wanted kids. But you have one now, and he’s your priority. You’re a good mom.

Sam didn’t have a good mom, didn’t have a mom until he was in his thirties, but she didn’t last long. So it’s important to him that you’re a good mom for his son. You’re going to take the job seriously.

We should name him Dean, you suggest, and Sam sobs into your hair. Your chest warms pleasantly. You like it when Sam holds you like this. When Sam shows you the birth certificate, your eyes catch on the name. Dean Winchester Junior? You ask. That’s for naming a child after a parent. Sam looks at the baby in your arms—wait, now it’s in his arms—and says, Dean is as much of a part of this as either of us.

The space for Mother of Child is blank. You’ve never seen a picture of Dean Winchester. Or Dean Winchester, Sr. now. 

You fall asleep in an apartment and wake up in a house with a porch and a white-picket fence. That’s nice. It’ll give the dog space to run around. In your child’s sixth month alive, Sam sleeps in the child’s crib with a knife. Just to make sure, he says. Nothing’s going to happen to Dean. It takes him a long time to say the name without flinching when he’s talking about his son. When your son turns a year old, you finally remember to ask what Sam’s tattoo means. He looks surprised that you’ve mentioned it. It’s a tattoo that I got with Dean. He says. Of course it is. You’re angry, but it’s gone again, because these are things you’re supposed to accept about Sam. It keeps demons from possessing me. Demons? You ask, startled. Sam’s mouth thins into a line. Yes. You need to get one, he says. And the second that Dean turns sixteen, I’m signing that form and we’re taking him in to get one, too. You’re alarmed, until Sam tells you that it’s okay. That’s a relief. You get the tattoo, right over your left breast, and Sam fucks you so hard that you can’t walk the next day. You introduce your family to your boss one day, This is Sam and Dean!, and Sam shoves the baby into your arms and has to leave the room. We’re calling him Dean Junior from now on, Sam says later, after the hunted look in his eyes melts into exhaustion. Alright. 

You clean the house. You wear sundresses. You like your job, but not enough to let it get in the way of being a mother. Sam teaches Dean Junior how to throw a ball. He helps him with math homework. You make meatloaf and take Dean Junior to soccer games.

You realize late—too late, maybe—that all the pictures of you on the mantle are a little blurry. You can’t remember the last time you saw your own reflection. You pull out your driver’s license. It’s blank, just your address. No picture of you. Your hair colour is just “dark.” No height. “Thin” is your weight. You speed on the way home from work so you can get pulled over. You hand over your empty license and your blank registration, and the cop barely gives either a glance. You’re free to go. He says. Everything’s in order.

You walk in the front door, and Sam kisses you on the cheek. He’s had to get glasses recently, and they make his face look even more handsome. Welcome home, honey, he says, smiling. Do you remember when you told me you killed God? You ask, because that sounds vaguely familiar. Sam blinks at you in confusion for a couple of seconds. The house shudders around you for a second.

Yes, Sam says, voice distant. Yes, I think I did. There’s a new God now though. I helped raise him. He’s a good kid. The house stills. There is no room for nasty things here. Only good. You nod, relieved. I’m glad he’s a nice boy, you say, picking up your son. If anyone could raise God, you could.

Sam looks haunted by this. He retreats.

Sam doesn’t tell you everything. Sam won’t ever tell you everything. 

You look into the face of your son as he swings his legs lightly against your hip. He’s got green eyes, and he’s sucking on his thumb, a nasty habit you’ve tried to break. Sam shows Dean Junior pictures of his brother. He tells him stories, when Dean Junior’s asleep, about the open road, about cicadas and fireworks and greasy diner food and sunscreen and used textbooks and ash.

You sit on the opposite side of the door and cry because this man is a catastrophe and he hunted monsters and he loves everything more than you thought anyone could love anything. He’s half a soul, crammed into one body, edges ragged. He’s over two hundred years old. And he likes cherry slushies and he’s killed angels and he dreams of his brothers hands and he’s seen the face of God. 

I love your uncle, you had heard his voice, a low murmur in Junior’s nursery one night. Sometimes I don’t know how to exist and be so unknown. Even when we didn’t speak, he knew me. No one has known me in years. I don’t think anyone will ever know me again.

You kiss him and try to make it like his brother would do it. He’s grateful. Sam’s grateful for a lot of things. He calls your lives together an “apple pie life.” But you don’t like apple pie. Or maybe you do. It doesn’t matter.

It’s okay. You’re just Sam Winchester’s wife. You’ve got a son named Dean.

You’ve spent your whole life sharing them both with a dead man. 

crossposted on ao3 here

[lizzy-theshyone]

Soft Moments

a/n: I know I said that I want to write some reader inserts but I couldn't keep it for this one. This is something more wholesome so please bare with me qwq

summary: If Lailah only listened and trusted him for keeping his promise. Luckily Bael did this time, otherwise she would have been in danger.

cw: Implied sexual content, mention of alcohol and drugs

Ship: (Implied Beelzebub x MC x Bael), Bael x MC

word count: 1607

“I’m almost done, Lailah… I promise. You can go ahead, I’ll catch up to you as soon as I am done with all the paperwork.”

An empty promise again. Lailah paces around in the bedroom she shares with her boyfriends. Even though it’s mostly her and Bael since Beelzebub never really is in Abyssos. Anger bubbles up inside of her as his words continue to echo in her head.

“He should just tell me if he doesn’t want to spend time with me…” she mutters to herself but then Lailah stops in her tracks as she looks out of the window, watching the illuminated city streets as an idea pops up in her mind.

“He’ll catch up… Then he should act on it…” the female whispers angrily, blinded by her emotions.

Without any other thought, she leaves the bedroom and heads for the front doors of the palace. He said he’ll catch up to her, right? So it wouldn’t be too bad if she goes ahead into the city, right? Oh, how wrong she is.

Roaming the back streets of the city, Lailah is incredibly blinded by her emotions so she doesn’t notice some Devils following her. As the Daughter of Solomon she is some kind of a celebrity in Hell, but being a celebrity loved by everyone still has its dangers.

“Ah fuck… Where am I? I have been here before but can’t remember where to go now.” Lailah concludes. She stops abruptly and looks around. Abyssos is dangerous even without the angels attacking and she knows that, but her irrational thoughts got the best of her and now she regrets it.

“I hope he won’t be mad at me…” she murmurs nervously when she turns around in order to go back to the palace only to find herself cornered by the Devils that followed her.

“It’s a rare sight to see the Daughter of Solomon alone in the streets of Abyssos. Let us treat you to a drink.” One of the Devils says in a cheerful manner.

Well fuck.

“Would you like to try some high quality drugs as well?” Another one asks and holds a bag with some purple powder out to her.

Lailah tries to swallow that lump in her throat, that has built itself up due to the increasing anxiety. If stranger danger has a personification, it is Lailah.

With a nervous smile she shakes her head, frantic eyes look for an escape route. She knows those Devils wouldn’t want to hurt her, they are drawn to her because of her heritage. They won’t hurt her, right?

“That’s a very kind offer, but I’m afraid I have to decline. I have an urgent appointment.” Lailah claims with a shaky voice. Cold sweat runs down her neck. She shouldn’t have left the palace on her own. She should have waited in the bedroom for Bael, instead of running off alone into the streets of Abyssos, knowing that others would try to get to her, even though if they are nice.

“Are you sure you don’t have some spare time? Solomon always tried to make time for us.” A third one presses and gets a little closer to the female.

Solomon did, but Lailah is not Solomon himself. Her breath hitches in her throat, unable to speak up again she backs away slowly, her body shaking slightly, until she bumps into someone behind her. She turns her head and sighs in relief when she sees Bael standing right behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“The Daughter of Solomon has an appointment with me, so please excuse us.” He tells those Devils while his arm tightens around her waist. The Devils look at each other in confusion and without any other words, the substitute King picks the female up bridal style and leaves the scene with her. His grip on her is tight as he carries her wordlessly back to the palace.

Lailah on the other side fidgets with her hands, unable to read her savior’s face. Is he mad? Is he relieved? He could be anything but happy with how her little stunt went.

“We talk about that at home, Lailah…” Bael announces with his voice being firm as he doesn’t even look at her, his eyes are focused on the busy streets of Abyssos.

He sounds disappointed but not mad, which is not so bad but not so good either. She imagined something better like cuddling or getting laid instead of getting scolded for her reckless behavior which is his right after all. Since she knows how dangerous Abyssos is, especially around this hour. The streets are packed with all kinds of people and not only the nice ones.

The dissonance of the city is far from enough to drown out the silent tension between Bael and Lailah. The dead air between them remains the whole way through the city and into the bedroom. The Devil places her carefully on the bed before he settles down next to her and pulls her close.

“I know you were mad at me for telling you I need to finish the paperwork, but I can’t have you to going out alone at this hour. I know others don’t want to potentially harm you but the city is dangerous… Lailah, you already have a damn target branded on your chest because of that bastard Seraph Gabriel… I can’t have you in any more danger than you already are…” Bael explains in a half lecturing way as he holds her close, his arms are wrapped around her waist and his head is resting on top of hers.

“I know… I’m sorry… I didn’t want to worry you because you have enough stuff to worry about. I was just… mad and felt a little bit neglected though I know you don’t neglect me in any possible way. “ The female whispers and snuggles up to her boyfriend for comfort. The comforting feeling of his arms wrapped around her makes her feel safe and sound. She closes her eyes and hums contentedly, breathing in his calming scent. A long period of soothing silence follows.

“I don’t know why but I really appreciate to have you all to myself once in a while… But I don’t want to come across as selfish. We are three people in this relationship after all…” Bael whispers into Lailah’s hair, breaking the silence, while he draws circles on her skin with his gloved fingers.

Lailah can’t help but chuckle about that, smiling to herself a little and opens her eyes again.

“Treat it like a reward for doing all the hard work that isn’t actually yours… You’re doing great, Bael… but you need to take more breaks, you workaholic idiot.” She states sternly reaching up to pinch his cheek, but giggles as he grabs her wrist and plants a soft kiss on it. This little gesture reminds her that he treats her like a princess whenever they get to spend time together.

“I know… I know, but I want to get the excessive amount of work finished… Though it becomes more instead of less…” Bael mutters and falls backwards into the pillows with his girlfriend and kisses her forehead briefly, earning himself a sweet giggle of her that makes him smile warmly at Lailah. He relaxes a little further and plays with a few of her purple strands of her silky hair, moving her bangs out of her face so he catches a good view on her mismatched colored eyes.

“You know how much I hate it when you do that…” Lailah complains and blushes as he does so, breaking eye contact with him but as soon as she feels his hand on her cheek, she looks at him again shyly. His soft smile sends a warm feeling to her stomach before she leans forward and steals herself a kiss from him.

“I just love looking at your eyes… I think they compliment each other… the dark blue that reminds me of the sea, the yellowish gold that almost matches my own eyes. I know you hate them for their mismatching color, so I have to love them and I am required to love them for you as well…” the Devil confesses with a loving smile on his face and leans in closer to her, his lips almost touching hers.

They keep looking at each other for a while, seemingly minutes, before Bael finally closes the distance between them and kisses her softly, his eyes closing slowly to let himself fall into the comfort of their tender moment. Lailah does the same, letting out a soft sigh and her hands are pressing against him to steady herself a little and to maintain this little moment between them as innocent and civil as possible.

“Only making out tonight? Nothing more?” Bael asks as he pulls away a little with a smirk on his face. His voice is husky and it appears like he is left breathlessly. He pulls her tight to his body by her waist before he takes the initiative to pin her down beneath him, causing her blush to grow bigger.

“As long as we don’t break the bed again, I- I don’t mind us getting at it…” Lailah stutters out while she stares up at him along with a certain sparkle in her eyes, her cheeks have a bright pink hue to them. A smug smile is tugging at the corners of her lips that are sealed with those of her boyfriend as soon as the sentence leaves her mouth, therefore they can finally indulge into their small moment of intimacy.

[ineffable-hyperfixation]

"Do you ever actually remember being happy in heaven Angel??"

*the smallest of nods*

"Really?? Really, name me one time!"

*angry hesitation*

"When? When were we ever actually happy there??"

"YOU! You idiot! I was happy when you were there!"

[katebishopofearth]

Treasure Map [a blackbonnet fanfic]

Fandom: Our Flag Means Death Pairing: Blackbonnet Characters: Stede | Ed Rating: T Other tags: body worship | soft | plot what plot

Treasure Map

With the devotion of a worshipper at an altar, Stede parted the open robe to trail his hands over the marks painted across Ed’s body. Black ink gleamed beneath his skin, some faded with years and the sun, others crisp and fresh. They were the ink with which he wrote his life’s story – voyages, nautical miles, boundaries crossed, sudden whims and flights of fancy. Stede could draw them from memory by now – the tentacles that wound around one bicep, the mermaid that rested on the other, the spread-winged eagle in flight across his collarbones.

Then, silver and faded blush, were the scars. These Stede traced with a loving touch, not to erase but to pay homage to the hurts they once caused. From the shooting star left by a blade across a knuckle, to the cluster of stab wounds in his left gut, each a testament to a foe Ed had fought and survived, they spelled out Ed’s life in spilled blood and split skin. 

Tattoos and scars, Stede touched them all with equal reverence. Marvelled at the fact that he had the immense privilege of touching Ed’s body without shame or fear. His hands roamed across raised ridges and fading ink, committing them to memory like sacred texts. Memorising the exact angle at which scar tissue crossed the scales of the serpent near Ed’s elbow, and the silver ridge like breaking waves that pointed towards the shark. They were all a part of Ed, a testament to the places he’d been and the things he’s survived, before fate had guided him to Stede. 

Tracing each drop of ink on the map of Ed’s body, guided by the constellations of scars, Stede found the treasure he’s been seeking all along. He knew just how to make Ed sigh with pleasure when he stroked the feathers of the swallow on his ribcage, how to elicit a satisfied hum by following the snake up Ed’s arm all the way to the curve of his neck. Wine-dark eyes watched him with wonder as he worshipped Ed’s body with his hands.

Stede met waiting lips with his own, sealing the deepest mark of all – the one not made with ink or blade, but the one that ran inside both their hearts, deeper than permanent ink. 

[read on AO3]

[averytiredfanfictionwriter]

Where have I been?

Not entirely sure who'll care what I have to say, but I'm gonna say it anyways just like with the Skydoesminecraft situation. I will not be writing for Minecraft youtubers anymore, save for the Hermitcraft community. They seem to be the only ones that I watch that are consistently good creators. Unfortunately, I will not be writing for anything dsmp related, even though I'd stopped a while ago. Trying to write any of the remaining ideas I had concerning Techno is just too painful still, and I don't know if it'll ever stop being painful. And with the allegations that came out against Wilbur and most recently George, I don't feel comfortable engaging with their content/the streamers who are still friends with them. This extends to all of the "dream team" and the band Lovejoy, seeing as they have yet to make a public statement, at least that I'd seen.

All that said, what will my content look like seeing as I haven't posted in at least a year? Well, there's going to be some changes. I've grown out of fandoms, and into new ones in the last year. I got really into the Modern Warfare series and Call of Duty: Ghosts throughout last year, so some of those guys and girls might make an appearance on my page occasionally. Hermitcraft might also make an appearance, with the fics being in the same style as the other hermit fic I'd posted. Outside of that, I can't give an exact list anymore because I haven't felt truly interested in anything. I'd lost the ability to enjoy all the things I used to enjoy as I got further into my depression, and it all culminated in my making a few drastic changes in May of last year. I left my job and got a better paying one working overnights because I would cry going home at just how awful my days were and how poorly treated I'd been for the 4 years I worked there. I made a bunch of new friends online and got into some niche internet drama outside of Tumblr that I might share my side of in the next few months- not to drag up old fights, but to warn people who might be thinking of or currently watch a certain TikTok creator. I'm about to DM my first D&D campaign with some of my new friends and I'm very excited about it because I've spent more than 7 months planning and creating it.

But most importantly, in my time away I realized a lot. I've been dealing with major writers block for more than a year because every time I tried to write I compared myself to the other writers I follow on here. Specifically in the modern warfare community. I had so many ideas for fics, but every time I sat down to write them they wouldn't come out as good as I wanted them, or it wasn't up to the standard that I was trying to meet because I thought that no one would read it if I didn't meet that. Even now, just venting, I'm worried about how many likes and how much engagement this post will get and that's such an awful mentality to have. I used to love writing, and I still do. But I've learned to accept that it's okay to be at a different level of writing than the others on here, and that I shouldn't stop just because my characterization sucks or sometimes the plot is a little rocky. I shouldn't be worried about all of that, because writing fanfiction started as me writing for myself. It all started, way back when I was a young teenager, making a Wattpad account and writing my first fic, which I believe was a purge fanfiction with Skydoesminecraft and the rest of Sky Media. I'm 21 now, and I can definitely say I've improved, but I'm tired of trying to base my improvement on how good everyone else is. I'm tired of being depressed about how other writers make it look so easy to just have these great, cinematic moments in their fics with wonderful lines that stick with you after you finish reading them.

So, back to the question. What will my content look like? It'll look like whatever I want it to look like. I'm going to write for who I want, when I want. If that means posting 20 batman fanfics in a row, and then making a complete 180 to Hermitcraft or Criminal Minds or even House, then so be it. But I'm going to be doing it for me, and not for how many likes and followers a particular character or fandom will get me.

If you read all this, thank you. I really do appreciate everyone who's ever engaged with my stuff on this site, it truly does mean the world to me.

(Also, quick aside. If you're from the HermitCraft fandom and you write weird nsfw with them, for the love of god block me now. I saw a fic where Grian rapes Docm, and I'm never going to be able to unsee it thanks to it not being tagged right. They are all real, grown people with families. What the fuck.)

[lizzywrites1]

“Finding Friendship” Sneak Peek #1

The line had dwindled down and the couple stood in the shade of the umbrella, Agustín sharing his stories of just that morning after she’d left for the town square. He’d managed to fall down every stair in Casita on his backside and bruised his tailbone. “I’m fine of course, having used my personal emergency stash of candies that mi bella esposa made for me.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I love them, so much!

[dollkisses05]

need someone obsessed with me in a very poetic and unfortunate way

[platitudinalteen]

More memes based on my wip, because it's fun, lol.

[nikoforgot]

murder drones comic i made in the format of a groupchat

[wordsarelife]

like lockwood, best friends to lovers

—you belong with me

pairing: anthony lockwood x fem!reader

summary: reader has to flirt to finish a mission. much to the dismay of Lockwood she is far too good at it

warnings: flirting with sexual themes??

shortages: f/n — fake name

note: okay sorry this got a bit out of hand and it didn't really end where or how I intended it to. let me know if y'all would be interested in a part two!!!

part two: that's the way I loved you

you walked down the steps. the red dress you were wearing fluttering around the middle of your thighs. your hair was styled, Lucy had curled it after she had done your make—up

“test, test” you whispered into the little microphone you were wearing in your hair, so it would stay hidden

“we can hear you, y/n” George answered and you could swear he was rolling his eyes “we tested it a minute ago”

“sorry” you muttered

“leave her be” Lockwood said to George. he would always come to your rescue, even if you didn’t ask him to. that’s why he was your best—friend after all.

you breathed in deeply and snatched a glass of champagne from one of the waiters trays, gulping it down in one shot. you checked your lipstick in the little mirror Lucy had packed into the small bag you were wearing, before your hands found your waist and pulled down the dress, so your cleavage was showing

you stepped forward and sat down at the bar, right next to the guy you were targeting

his hair was black and he was actually attractive if it weren’t for the people he had killed to create sources. it was just your task to find one of them though, or better put: to occupy the man until Lucy had found the source.

“hi” you smiled, turning your head and also your chest, so the man could get a good look at it

“hello” he grinned and you swore you could’ve thrown up then and there. “would you like a drink?”

“sure” you outstretched your hand “i’m f/n”

he took your hand and shook it “Sebastian, and i’m glad to share a drink with a beautiful woman” he slid the drink the bartender had just supplied, towards you

“thank you” you smiled, raising the glass and taking a sip from the alcohol

“so, what brings you here?” Sebastian asked, while his hand found its way to rest on your knee

you could hear Lockwood and George drag in the air through the mouths loudly, like Sebastian had just touched their knee

you tried not to react to their sudden sounds, but Sebastian was good at picking up your emotions it seemed.

"everything alright?" he asked, leaning even closer

"yeah" you smiled, trying to fight the uneasiness you felt because of his proximity "I'm not used to the company of handsome looking men" you tried to save the conversation and Sebastian seemed to like your compliment

you ignored Lockwood's scoff while you watched Sebastian lean back in comfort "well" he smiled smugly "I'm all yours, beautiful"

you could hear Lockwood and George gag at the same time, you would have liked to do the same, but Sebastian was still looking at you. "what a lucky girl I am" you laughed instead and patted the shoulder of the male, who, again, smiled smugly at the gesture

his hand wandered a bit higher on your leg and you could feel it close to the hem of your dress. you threw a panicked gaze in Lockwood's direction. discreet enough that Sebastian wouldn't notice. it seemed like he was occupied anyway, with watching his own hand make its way up your leg. with every inch it felt like you couldn't breathe

you just hoped that Lucy would be quick.

"what brings you here, pretty lady?" Sebastian repeated his question from earlier, to which he had never received an answer

"work" you smiled nonchalantly, trying to keep your composure. his hand was resting for now, that was good.

"what do you do?" he smiled

"I've worked for a few agency's for a while (truth) but after I lost my talents I settled down and changed to the office area of fittes (lie)"

you pretty much still had your talents, you were only seventeen, but now you where trying to look much older. this was achieved by the make up and the obnoxious and uncomfortable push-up bra you were wearing. it felt like they would fall out of your dress any moment. Sebastian seemed to like the sight of your décolleté a bit too much, you noticed, while his eyes wandered down to your breasts while you were talking. you would have liked to slap his head and tell him how impolite it was to directly look there, not only under normal circumstances but while you were talking as well.

you weren't used to that kind of disgusting men behaviour, even if you had lived with two of them for the most of your life.

you could stand in front of George and Lockwood just wearing a bra and they wouldn't dare and look. Maybe because George was like a brother to you and Lockwood- Lockwood was a gentleman

your thoughts wandered away from the conversation at hand and back to the brunette agency head, who alway managed to make you feel at ease. even on mission like this one, he was looking at you across the room and anytime you would catch his eyes, your breath would calm and you would feel safe.

also, he had promised you to come and save you if things went too far. he was your best-friend after all.

your eyes wandered back to meet Sebastians and you remembered what Lucy had told you. if you feel uncomfortable just put yourself back in control. so you leaned forward, so he could get an even better look at your cleavage. he stammered while talking but quickly continued normally. you took his hand from off your leg and interlaced your fingers. he wouldn't notice that you were actually trying to keep him away, he would see that gesture as you falling into his trap. that was what men always thought.

now that you were back in control, your mind felt at ease and you felt less like a little girl that needed to be saved. now you were a woman. and he, he was still a man, luckily.

"I travel a lot" you answered the question he had just asked you about your work "I check out different agencies all around the world. make sure that they are working right. we wouldn't want any rules broken, would we?" you fluttered your eyelids and watched in satisfaction what effect that last purposely chosen sentence had on him

"n-no" he stammered

"are you alright?" you asked pitiful

"yes" Sebastian tried to gain back his composure and actually succeeded "but I must say, you're the most breath taking woman I've ever seen. everything is where it should be"

"oh my god" George muttered loudly, disgusted by the objectifying words the older man had just said about his friend

"I'm stopping this" you watched as Lockwood stood up from his place and George tried to hold him back. you knew that it was on you to prevent him from cancelling the mission. you send him a look that told him to sit down again and he eventually listened and scoffed

"thank you, Sebastian" you leaned closer, now speaking into his ear "you look more than daring yourself, if i'm allowed to say so"

"you are" he nodded leaning forward

now the moment had come. he would kiss you. you weren't sure if it would come to that point, but you had sworn to do it if it needed to be done to keep the mission from failing. a second before your lips connected, Sebastian was drown back

drawn back by no other than Lockwood. you were a second away from screaming at the boy, when you noticed Lucy across the hall. she had done it. the mission was completed. you no longer had to flirt with that scumbag.

"oh, Tony" you muttered in surprise, still playing a role

that was what you guys had agreed on. the moment Lucy would come back, Lockwood or George would interrupt the conversation and act like they were an old friend of yours who was in town coincidentally and had seen you sitting at the bar.

"f/n" Lockwood muttered angrily and you raised your brows, watching his expression "I'm sorry" he said turning towards Sebastian and outstretching his hand "Anthony Lockwood"

Sebastian took the hand he was being offered and shook it "Sebastian Keen" he said, still confused to what was happening

"nice to meet you. can I ask what you were doing with my girlfriend?"

"your what?" Sebastian asked loudly and you had almost joined in. his eyes wandered to you and you tried to stay in role, even if Lockwood had just completely changed your script

"my girlfriend" Lockwood repeated unnecessarily "were you bothering her? because it looked like that"

"no, she wanted-"

"yes, Tony" you interrupted, opening your eyes wider and letting them fill with tears "it's alright, dear" Lockwood outstretched his hand and helped you to stand up "stay away from her, you hear me?" he said threateningly

"I didn't harass her or anything. she's lying" Sebastian said angrily

Lockwood shook his head "doesn't matter, just don't ever talk to her again, alright?"

"sure" Sebastian shrugged his shoulders "she isn't that pretty anyways"

Lockwood interlaced your hands and walked you away from the man "she obviously is" he muttered to himself, but you heard him and had to smile at his words "you're pretty too" Lockwood turned his head to you while walking and smiled at your relieved expression

"I'm glad you didn't have to kiss him"

"I'm glad too"

"well, luckily your boyfriend was just around the corner" he smiled but you could see the sincerity in his eyes

you nodded, eyes glistening happily "yes, luckily he was"

[according2thelore]

LITERALLY that "dad I'm gay and stronger than you" post had me like ..! my friend and I have been screaming for A Week Straight about the concept of Actual Child Monarch boykingofhell!Sam manifesting his powers early on and just. he and Dean figuring this is probably just another one of those Things We Don't Tell Dad. like, Sam who always knows where the radar traps will be on the interstate, and Sam jedi-whammying the motel clerk into forgetting their overdue payments... John flipping his absolute shit when he finds out; Sam being like "you can't stop me" and John being like "... You're /twelve/, yes, I can" and Sam being like "uh. you're just a guy, dad. I have all of hell at my disposal. do your worst, I guess???" John figuring that if he can't exorcize the hell outta Sam, he can at least make sure Sam can't get out of hell; telling Dean that he really tried but that the demonic forces killed Sam before John could save him; smash cut to early-20s Dean in his first year of solo hunting encountering a crossroads case, where the vics freak out anytime they're alone with him because "can't [he] see that massive fucking hellhound trailing after [him]?!" and the crossroads demon who can't believe who they're looking at when he finally gets them cornered. crossroads demon who smokes out under exorcism, but not before telling Dean "your brother wants to see you"

...anon...holy shit anon...

you are so correct!!

i think that in this situation (growing up with (to his knowledge) a dead sam, and a dad that "let" him die) dean would be more than passively suicidal. he doesn't care about himself, he failed. sam is dead. dean gets reckless, but he just barely avoids dying more than once, just a hairsbreadth.

he drinks until he can't walk straight, gets in the car, and wakes up in the motel parking lot. he goes half-cocked into a werewolf hunt, and he's sure that there's a werewolf behind him about to take him out (and isn't going to stop it, not really), but when he finally gets his finger around the trigger and turns around, the werewolf's ten feet away looking blank and confused. he puts a nominal effort into stitching up a bullet hole, doesn't even bother digging the slug out, and passes out in a random motel. next morning, the bullet's on the nightstand, and the stitches are even and tight. it's not enough to be completely concerned--hell, dean's borderline black-out drunk at any given moment, can't remember the last time he was completely sober--but it's...weird.

animals suddenly hate his fucking guts. dean used to tease sammy about it, about the fact that animals seemed to love dean and hate sammy. they would cringe away from sam's touch, skitter out from under his feet. birds would land on the impala if dean was driving, deer would poke their heads out of the woods if he walked past. but now...dean can't remember the last time he even saw a dog.

they just...flee. even at witnesses' houses, dean sees food bowls and chew toys and hears nails clacking on wood upstairs, but they tuck tail and run as soon as he knocks on the door.

after that first case, that first crossroads case where they name the thing, a Hell Hound...dean thinks it's bullshit. he's heard of black dogs, but this is new. it's weird.

he names it hooch. he and sam had seen that movie at a drive-in one summer, and he figures he's kind of fighting crime, right? he jokingly orders an extra patty on his burger and leaves it out for his imaginary dog, and the next morning it's gone. on the next hunt, the vampire doesn't even come within fifteen feet of dean before something rips its leg off at the knee.

when he calls the demon, it keeps looking down at dean's feet warily, back and forth, like something is pacing between them, something low. the demon keeps giving vague non-answers, distracted, and dean slaps his thigh, calls, 'hooch. down, boy.' and the demon...stops.

then those words...your brother wants to see you your brother wants to see you yourbrotherwantstoseeyou YourBrotherWantsToSeeYou.

dean is apoplectic. he finds the colt, finds the gate, heads into hell without a second thought, muttering to hooch the whole way (you better fucking rip some demons up you lazy son of a bitch).

sam's eyes are yellow, all the way through. bright yellow. he's huge. grown. beautiful. it's everything dean never thought he'd get to see. he dreamed about sam being this old, about sam having hands that dwarf a machete handle, of shoulders that blot out the stars.

sam doesn't react at first, knows that dad sent dean on a solo hunt before it all went down, but doesn't know how much dean knew about it, about dad locking him down here. dean doesn't even question why he's on a throne, why demons flank him on either side, heads bowed, why no demons even tried to stop dean from getting here, why they flinched away from him like something would swoop out of the dark and steal them if they brushed his shoulders.

"sammy," dean says--begs, really--for the first time in years, sam's smile falters. his eyes are hazel again, and his bottom lip trembles, and dean begs, "come with me, come home. please."

maybe it works, and they leave, and dean pulls sam into a hug so vicious that they both cry. maybe sam works from afar, and they relearn each other. their first hunt is ripping john winchester's head from his shoulders and trading kisses in his blood.

or maybe it doesn't. maybe dean stays, because they won't be separated like this, not again. the world's got other hunters, and dean has sam, and the rest of it can go fuck itself.

and sam has the life he's always wanted: power. respect. love. dean. (those last two are the same, really). and a dog, that keeps stealing dean's shoes.

anyway anon...much to think about...i love this...and you, coincidentally, mwah.

you and your friend galaxy-brained this one i fear.

-lizzy

[dearausten]

nah cause the fact that jane austen wrote a character like emma woodhouse is still insane to me. she threw all the standards out the window and was like hey, here’s this incredibly complex and nuanced character, she’s selfish, privileged, manipulative and arrogant, but she’s also really fucking kind, she would do anything for those she loves (including sacrificing a lot of her liberties), she is able to admit that she’s made a mistake and grow from it, because those things are not mutually exclusive. and i think the reason why everyone is trying to girlbossify their heroines to make them like lizzie bennet (which is an insult to her character but that’s another story) is because they’re scared to write characters like emma. which is understandable, because she’s unlikeable-ish, and they don’t want to take that risk.

honestly the way jane wrote emma is IMPECCABLE and not everyone can pull it off, but i wish female characters with actual flaws were more popular.

[ineffable-hyperfixation]

"Th..this is *hic* all my fault"

"No...no Angel it's not...it's," Aziraphale sobbed again, "ok..ok why, how do you think this is your fault?"

Aziraphale worked on catching his breath, having a question to focus on did help, "if...if I'd just said no - stayed with you"

"And what would they have done to us then? Hmm? Think they wouldn't have killed or tortured me to get to you that much sooner?" Crowley wasn't sure what reaction he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't a fresh wave of sobs and tears. He snuggled his Angel closer as Aziraphale managed to sob out

"If I wah...wasn't so sel *hic* selfish," he caught his breath enough to get out "so selfish, if I'd stayed away...but I couldn't...and I saw" he all but moaned the last word as he pulled back to look into Crowley's face, clutching his shirt, "I saw how much it hurt you! Every single time I pulled away. But my God...my God Crowley what else could I do?? They would've killed you! Forced you back to hell to keep us apart!? Something! But I couldn't stay away" the absolute anguish in his voice would've brought Crowley to his knees had he been standing, but as it was while Aziraphale buried his head into Crowley's chest, Crowley wrapped his arms tighter around him, ignoring his still sore wing, and huffed out a bitter laugh,

'We've wasted 6000 years, because I was trying not to push him, and he was desperately trying to do nothing at all....just to save me'

[katebishopofearth]

I know this is out of nowhere but do you have any tonynat fic snippets you can share with us? I really love your writing 🥹

Ahhhhh this ask means so much to me you don't even understand 🥹

Here's... a thing...? that started out as a response to a prompt from a million years ago, it takes place in a Hollywood AU, but in order to write for that AU I obviously had to develop the entire elaborate backstory, after which... I did not finish writing for the prompt I am so sorry 😭 it's in the works I promise

But for now, here's the backstory:

In the glamorous world of Hollywood, money alone wasn't enough to open doors. You also needed status and fame, the ephemeral currencies of Hollywood.

And Tony Stark was nothing if not Hollywood royalty. He grew up in the limelight, the only child of celebrated actors Howard and Maria Stark. He had cameos in blockbusters before he could walk, became a leading man at the age of sixteen, and made a name for himself as not only a brilliant actor but also a notorious playboy following in his father's footsteps. Everywhere he went he had a different girl on his arm, he courted the affections of a handful of men, and when an interviewer asked him about settling down, he shrugged off the idea with his trademark devil-may-care smirk.

Natasha Romanoff found it all rather amusing. Because for a year now, Tony Stark hadn't been going home to his sprawling beachside mansion with a carousel of beautiful and interchangeable men and women. He had been going home to her cozy townhouse, cooking dinner in her kitchen, and spending his evenings curled up with her on her couch.

It had started as a chance encounter at the friend of a friend's, which led to an evening of lively, engaging conversation over drinks. He had seen her debut movie, which came out eight months ago, a small indie picture about two sisters that made barely a splash critically or in the box office. But he had seen it, and he had some surprisingly deep and pointed insights into it. It proved to her that there was a brain behind all his bravado, and broke through any reservations she might have had about his status as the A-lister of A-listers.

Then Tony expressed interest in her new project, and she cast him in a supporting role. They spent a lot of time together during that project – two months in the middle of nowhere. When Natasha was deep in the mires of rewrites, shooting schedules, and editing, it was Tony who brought her a sandwich, a cup of tea, or an aspirin. Sometimes, he acted as a sounding board, letting her bounce her ideas and frustrations off him. Other times, he cajoled her into taking a break – watching old spy movies, going for a walk, or drawing her out of her hyper-focus with a lively debate over something as pointless as almond milk or the Star Wars prequels.

It was on one of these breaks, in the last two weeks of shooting, that she kissed him. It might have been in the middle of From Russia With Love, in the middle of a field at dusk, or  in the middle of a discussion about aliens. The details didn't matter – what did matter was that despite his reputation, despite the energy that fizzled between them, Tony didn't make the first move. That had always been reserved for Natasha. When she pulled back and asked him, "was that okay?" he smiled so that the edges of his eyes crinkled, and he said in wonderment, "no one's ever asked me that before", before he leaned in for another kiss. When their lips met, it was with a sense of inevitability, like they had been, all this time, finding their way to each other.

After that, the world shifted imperceptibly. It was the subtlest of paradigm shifts. Even after the shoot wrapped up and they went back to LA, and Natasha dove into the post-production phase of her film and Tony started shooting a new movie in his superhero franchise, there was no picking up their normal lives again.

[jellieland]

"You know," says Jimmy smugly, "I think second is the best spot to die in, actually."

"Really," says Mumbo, exasperated.

"Yes, I don't know what you're so happy about," says Lizzie. "You barely lasted ten minutes more than me."

"Doesn't matter. Not out first, baby!" He crows, triumphant, to the neverending void.

"And you killed me last session!"

"...Yes, I, uh, I'm sorry about that one. Sort of. Mostly," he says, momentarily cowed.

"I can't believe you people," says Lizzie. "They didn't have a funeral for me. I died first, and you got one, and they didn't even have a funeral for me!" She sounds indignant, but a look of genuine hurt crosses her face for a moment.

"I'm going to be honest, Lizzie," says Mumbo awkwardly. "I think they had bigger things to worry about. I- I think Joel was quite sad about it, though. If that helps?"

"I suppose it's better than nothing." She crosses her arms.

"But- wait, hang on. Jimmy?" says Mumbo abruptly. "Did you say you wanted to go out second?"

"No!" Jimmy protests. "I just think if you have to go out, then second is sort of ideal, really, if you think about it!"

"No!" says Mumbo, indignant. "No, surely third is better, actually! And to extend that logic, fourth would be better as well, and fifth, and- well, you get the idea. Anyway, my point is that I did better than both of you!"

"Hey, don't bring me into this!" says Lizzie.

"Anyway, you're wrong," says Jimmy, back to being smug again.

There is a short silence.

"You, uh. You gonna elaborate on that one, buddy?" asks Mumbo.

"Well," says Jimmy. "Obviously going out first is terrible. Would not recommend. I don't know why anyone would do it, honestly, I know I would never-"

"You're going on my list," says Lizzie, cheerfully.

"Wait wait wait, no, I didn't mean it, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I really am!"

"Hmm." Lizzie narrows her eyes. "Acceptable. For now."

A few moments pass.

"You may continue," she says.

"Right," says Jimmy. "What was I saying?"

"You were being wrong about how the ranking in this game works," offers Mumbo.

"No I wasn't!" says Jimmy. "Just, let me explain. Now, you obviously don't want to go out first, sorry Lizzie, but it's true."

"I will concede that point," says Lizzie. "It wasn't great."

"But—have you seen how they get?"

"How they... get?" Mumbo frowns. "What do you mean?"

"The people who don't die."

"I- now, I don't know if you remember this," says Mumbo, "But third is a new record for me, so I really don't know how you expect me to know that."

"Anyway," interjects Lizzie, "Mumbo and I have only done this once before. I mean, I guess people started losing it a bit once you two died, but it wasn't that much different to how it already had been. Although I wasn't around for that long at that point."

"Yes, but, it-" Jimmy frowns. "I haven't seen much of it either. But there's something- I don't know how to explain what I mean. Maybe you haven't noticed, but there's stuff with Grian, Scott, Pearl."

He stops, sighs. Looks at the ground.

"Martyn's going to be alone, now," he says.

"Well," says Lizzie, a little acerbic. "You don't have to have people die for that to happen, you know."

Jimmy gives her a look that is a combination of sheepishness and genuine regret. "Ah. Yeah. I guess not."

"So you're right," says Lizzie. "I don't know what you mean."

"...I did feel bad," says Jimmy, quietly.

"You... did?" asks Lizzie. "What about?"

Jimmy looks at her, then off to the side. "...When I killed you."

"Oh."

"I really didn't mean to," he says. "I felt bad. It wasn't satisfying. It was just... a person I cared about. Dead. Because of me. Because I acted without thinking, because I wasn't paying attention."

"...Oh." says Lizzie, softly.

"And that was when I knew you would come back," says Jimmy.

Lizzie and Mumbo exchange glances, unsure.

"I'm good with second," says Jimmy. "I think it's the closest you can get to winning, actually."

They stand there, silent, for some time.

"Well," says Mumbo eventually. "I still feel like third is a bit better, though."

"Mumbo!" cries Jimmy.

"Mumbo, come on, we were just having a moment!" says Lizzie.

"Yes well, look, I really need this, guys," says Mumbo, shifting his weight from side to side. "I don't know if you know this, but I've had a really bad day. It was just terrible!"

"I think we've all had pretty bad days, Mumbo!" says Lizzie, raising an eyebrow. "I don't know if you've noticed, but we all died!"

"Yes, I- I had picked up on that, actually."

"I don't know," says Jimmy. "My day was great!"

They keep talking, and bickering, and the emptiness stretches off into the distance.

It's nice, not to have to be there alone.