he probably set it up himself

Some more jack and Gabe for you in these trying times. I’ve basically tricked myself into making an extremely lazy half-assed fanfiction at this point.

I feel like Gabe is the kind of guy who takes himself so seriously he won’t let his guard down until he is 100% sure he isn’t getting set up to be the punchline to something. And Jack is probably the type who doesn’t like to over-explain things.

/ 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21 / 22 / 23 / 24 / 25 / 26 / 27 / 28 / 29 / 30 / 31 / 32 / 33 / 34 / 35 / 36 / 37 / 38 / 39 / 40 /

You’re His Ex Girlfriend and You See His New Girlfriend Wearing Your T-Shirt: Part 3

Part 1

Part 2

Masterlist linked in bio


If she closes her eyes hard enough, and just at the right moments, Y/n can feel Harry in Dan.

It’s quite peculiar, how she finds Harry in almost anything. It’s something she finds so riveting yet so dangerous at the same time. He’s everywhere, he’s in every breath she takes and in every move she makes, and it’s something that brings her an overwhelming sense of comfort yet an overbearing sense of instability.

Dan—an individual full of insecurities and excitement—who varies oh, so differently from Harry, can feel like him if she really tries hard enough. His arms don’t hold her quite the same, and his lips aren’t as soft and flavorful, but if she squeezes her eyes shut, and she loses herself in the memories of Harry, it’s like he’s almost back again—only in the most minuscule of ways.

Which is why, now, in this moment in time, Y/n can barely keep her eyes open.

It’s the first time Y/n brought Dan to the house, letting him stop by to watch a film after his shift. It’s a little something he’s wanted to do for a while, and after many coffee dates and many pleads from Dan, she finally took the step of being completely alone with him.

Gabby decided to go to a friends house and insisted they take their time together. It started off wonderfully; a bottle of red wine, a box of chocolates, and a bag of popcorn while they watched Jaws.

It was all wonderful, until Dan decided to make the move.

Dan is on top of her, lips connecting to hers in a lustful motion. It isn’t that Y/n doesn’t want to be in this position, but more of her being hesitant to do so. She hasn’t kissed anybody since Harry, and although Dan is one of the nicest people she’s ever met, she can’t find it within herself to keep moving any more forward.

And everything about it feels wrong.

Between all the touching, all the kissing, all the feelings within her, she can’t stop thinking about Harry. She can’t stop thinking about how much she misses him and how much she wants him back. She’s still in love with him, so much so that doing this with someone else makes her feel dirty—makes her feel like she’s betraying him.

And it’s all too much, because no matter how hard she closes her eyes, no matter how hard she tries to feel him, he’s not there, and she can’t help but seem to think that he never will be—not anymore.

“No, no, stop.” She whimpers, shaking her head in an attempt to reject Dan’s restless lips.

He doesn’t stop, however, too engaged in the moment to really understand the words stuttering from her mouth. He continues kissing her, instead, moving down to her collarbones.

At this point, Y/n starts to hyperventilate. Between the sobs daring to escape her chest and the lack of air from her previous activities, everything is straining against her. She doesn’t fully understand how she was able to get this far without it being with Harry.

“Stop!”

Her arms push Dan off of her until she’s alone on the couch as he’s panting on the floor. She can’t breathe. Her chest is tightening and her cries are so harsh that her lungs are collapsing inside of her.

She reaches her hands up to the roots of her hair, pulling back on them as she tries to gather all the oxygen she can. At this point, her head feels light and her sight is completely blurred by the tears flowing out of them—ones that she doesn’t even try to stop.

“I’m s—so sor—ry.” She hiccups, her head falling to her hands.

Dan gulps as he tentatively stands from his spot on the floor, his hands up in front of him as if in a panic—trying desperately to figure out how to fix the mess being made in front of him.

He looks around the room, as if in search for something to guide him through this situation, but there’s nothing. All the room occupies is a broken woman, sobbing breathlessly on a couch in front of him, muttering incoherent phrases under her breath.

“Okay,” he huffs out, nodding his head to himself, “It’s okay, yeah? You’re okay?”

He occupies the empty spot next to her, hesitantly wrapping an arm around her shoulders in an attempt to comfort her. In all honesty, Dan is complete shit at helping people during emotional breakdowns, and considering this one had happened so suddenly, he had absolutely no warning that he would be put in this position.

Y/n feels bad, she does, considering Dan doesn’t deserve the treatment she’s given him and surely doesn’t deserve what was once an innocent date to end up a complete disaster. But she can’t help it, and she can’t stop now, no matter how hard she tries.

“It’s Harry, isn’t it?”

His voice is nothing but a whisper, and the words that spoke out from his lips nearly brings every movement in Y/n’s body to a halt. She never told him that it was Harry who broke her heart, and to be honest, she doesn’t even find the strength within her to begin to question how he even knows of Harry—especially his relationship with her.

Of course, their relationship has been publicized for years, but Dan is a very closed-off type of person. He’s not much into music, either—another part of him that differs so drastically from Harry—and spends a majority of his time working or spending time outside rather than succumbing himself in social media.

He looks down at the rose ring wrapped around his pointer finger, twirling it around with the hand that was once wrapped around Y/n’s shoulders.

He knew the moment he saw Harry’s reaction that this ring very much belonged to him. He wasn’t quite sure why she sacrificed it so mindlessly—why it seemed to have no story behind it. But between everything Gabby’s told him and everything he’s gathered from her previous relationship, she wanted nothing more than to get rid of every reminder she had of him.

He doesn’t feel worthy enough for it, though. If Y/n and Harry don’t find their way back to each other, he feels she should at least give it to somebody that she loves, not somebody she needs to help her get over her heartbreak.

He slides it off his finger, placing it gently on the palm of his hand before closing his fingers into a fist.

“We can’t keep doing this, Y/n. Not if you can’t talk to me.” He mutters softly, “Not if you’re still in love with him, we’ll be getting nowhere.”

This makes her cry harder. She still doesn’t have the audacity to look up at him, no, how could she? After everything she’s done?

This is why she always ends up alone. No matter how in love she is, no matter how much effort she puts into a relationship, they always end up leaving her. It’s happened long before Harry, and she was so convinced he’d stay when he came around. She was so dead set on him being her forever, but the same thing happened again. He left, just like everyone else.

And now, Dan is leaving her, and although she can’t exactly blame him for doing so, it’s another wound to her heart—it’s another pain in her chest that only seems to increase with pain.

He sighs sadly at the sight in front of him, upset with himself that he’s probably a partial reason for her soul-shaking sobs and lack of air, but he has no other choice. If he stays with her, he’d be forcing her to love someone she doesn’t. He has to let her go if it means to possibly make amends with her happiness again.

He takes one of her shaking hands away from her face and bringing it towards his lap, spreading her fingers away from her palm so that he can set the ring softly against it.

She sobs at the sight, bringing her opposite hand to her mouth as she tries to quiet herself down.

“This was Harry’s, it always was. This belongs to you, Y/n, not me.”

She nods, trying her best to smile at him as a form of appreciation, but it fails miserably. He understands, though, that she cares, and doesn’t ask her any questions.

“I’ll let Gabby know to come home now, okay?”

He kisses the top of her head, the way he always does, before removing himself from the couch and toward the front door.

“Take care of yourself, Y/n. I mean it.”

And then, he’s gone, leaving Y/n alone in an empty house and her haunting thoughts. She feels the world is closing in on her, only giving her a restricted amount of air and a limited amount of light to see what’s in front of her.

She’s alone—she’s left by herself in a dark room that’s only being illuminated by the television light, where nobody can hear her, where nobody can touch her, where nobody can see her; in a place where she just can’t trust herself.

She’s left alone, as she’s always left, and she just can’t take it anymore.

Her emotions become so strong that her body collapses onto the floor, her head throbbing and throat burning from all the tears and cries. She can’t breathe, her lungs failing to take in oxygen and her chest is pounding.

It’s so bad that if Gabby doesn’t come home soon, she actually believes she’s going to die. She feels the tug on her heart and feels how hard it is for it to do its job properly—she practically feels it overworking itself.

“Oh, God.”

Gabby finds her on the floor, making her immediately drop her purse and run to her collapsed body. Y/n is a withering mess underneath her, completely drenched in sweat as violent sobs erupt from her body.

She’s quick to sit her up properly onto the floor before lifting her back onto the couch, running a comforting hand down the side of her neck as she begins to shush her down to a calm state. However, her attempt falters when Y/n shakes her head to remove Gabby’s touch from her neck.

“I can’t—I can’t—“

She tries to find words to explain what’s happening to her right now. Between the pain in her body and the feeling in her head, her brain is scrambling with so many fearful thoughts that the only thing she can truly comprehend is being saved from this horrifying feeling.

“Hospital.”

Gabby is taken aback when she says it, completely astonished by just how serious this all is. She realizes this isn’t a situation that she can fix on her own, and it makes her feel like such a bad friend that she can’t give her what she needs.

Tears fall from her eyes in panic, well aware that her friend is undergoing something far worse than a mental breakdown, but also knows that the hospital won’t be able to help her.

Only Harry can.

“Let me call for help, okay?“ She asks softly. “I’m gonna send help.”

When Harry sees Gabby’s contact light up his phone, something inside of him instantly fills with worry. He knows, without a doubt, that Gabby hates him more than anybody ever since what happened. And knowing her so well, she would never reach out to him, especially when her negative feelings toward him were so strong, unless it’s serious.

“Gabby?”

“You have to do something, Harry.” She cries through the phone, peaking over her shoulder to look over Y/n from her location in the kitchen.

She’s still a mess, holding her hand over her heart as if it were going to mend the pain. Her head is thrown over the back of the couch, her other hand running over her face continuously. Her sobs haven’t settled, only seeming to increase with panic over the unfamiliar reaction occurring over her body.

“She thinks you don’t want her and—Harry she thinks she’s dying. Her heart is so broken. She keeps saying her heart is going to fail her and I don’t—I don’t know what to do. I don’t think there’s anything I can do. She—she was trying so hard. Harry, please, you have to—you have to—“

Harry leans on his elbows over the kitchen counter, huffing out a shaky breath when he hears both Gabby and Y/n’s cries through the phone. He rubs his hand over his face, doing anything to prevent the tears nearly pooling out from his eyes.

He’d be lying if he said that guilt isn’t eating him alive in this moment. And it’s not that he hasn’t felt any remorse or any guilt since he’d broken Y/n’s heart, but he’s now fully aware that he has to look at the damage he’s done. He’ll have to witness all the pain, all the heartbreak he’s put her through, and nothing makes him feel worse.

“I’ll do anything.” He whimpers. “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I promise, I won’t keep doing this to her, you have to believe me. Just—“ he lets out a broken breath, reaching his hand up to rub his eyes to prevent any tears from escaping, “just tell me what to do.”

Gabby wipes the tears from her cheeks, yet again peering over to watch over Y/n on the couch. To her dismay, there is absolutely no improvement.

“Come here, pick her up, and bring her home. Just talk to her, please. Nothing makes her feel worse than believing you don’t want her anymore. Hell, even if you don’t—I don’t know with you anymore—just give her something. You’re the only one that can fix this.”

He sighs, nodding his head before making his way out of his house without much of a response to her. He’s only concerned for Y/n, and is so focused on getting to her so that he can prove to her that he’s changed—that he’s not the same Harry he was and is going to be there for her for as long as his life lasts, even if she doesn’t allow it.

But it’s upon arrival he realizes how much more serious this is than he thought. She’s completely breaking down, every inch of her shaking and fear written on her face. She’s a complete and utter mess, a completely wrecked version of such a beautiful, unbroken woman who had so much love in her heart and surrounded by so much love in the air.

And even though Harry knows she believes she’s going to die, apart of him believes she’s already dead. The life inside of her has burned out and is now just a product of what once was. The Y/n he always known is long gone—so far gone he almost doesn’t believe it’s her.

He looks at her with the most distraught and sympathetic look Gabby has ever seen. She has never seen so much guilt in somebody before that—no matter how much she hates him—she can’t help but feel sorry for him, too.

“Baby, hey. Hey now, it’s alright.” He whispers, kneeling in front of Y/n’s shaking figure and tentatively reaching for her hair so that he can attempt to calm her down. “I’m here now, I’m right here.”

A pitiful sound leaves her lips when she looks up at him; something between a whine, a sob, and a groan. It’s messy from her throat being raw from all the screaming and cries, and it leaves an indescribable pain that only makes her cries stronger.

She can’t even think properly, everything in her body overworking itself. It’s something she’s never experienced before, and all the fears of it being permanent rush through her veins—leaving her with an overwhelming amount of anxiety.

“She’s having a panic attack.” Harry mumbles to Gabby, making sure to rub gently over the back of Y/n’s neck. Although panic attacks weren’t common for her, whenever she was overwhelmed and stressed, this gesture always seemed calmed her down.

“I don’t know what to do. I can’t drive with her like this I—Gabby, how do I focus with her like this?” He cries, the situation in front of him making his body turn to shambles, “Especially when it’s my fault? How do I—do I keep her here until she’s calm? I don’t—I don’t know—”

Gabby shakes her head, reaching her hand over to graze his tense shoulder. She squeezes the muscle softly, almost as a sort of reassurance.

“She needs home, Harry—” she whispers, “she needs you.

He nods, choking back sobs as he brushes the hair out of Y/n’s face. The skin of her face is red and completely soaked, but this is the first time he’s seen her since the morning in the grocery store, and she’s never looked so beautiful.

“I’m going to take you home with me, Y/n. But I need you to breathe for me, can you do that?” He asks, holding her face delicately between his hands, “Breathe with me.”

Y/n sucks in a deep breath when Harry inhales deeply, attempting to rid all the anxiety and pain settling inside of her. Her inhale is broken between hiccups and cries, but as she keeps eye contact with him as she tries to calm down, a little part of her feels revived.

“It hurts.” She whimpers between sobs, referring to the pain in her chest and the throbbing in her head that just can’t seem to heal.

She watches as Harry’s face scrunches with an agonizing cry, and she knows he’s aware of exactly what she’s talking about. She’s been brokenhearted for so long, she doesn’t even think he’s the least bit shocked when she tells him her heart is hurting.

“I know, baby. I know.” He whispers as he kisses her forehead gently. “Let’s get you home, yeah? Make you feel better?”

And as much as she wants to hate him, or yell at him for everything he’s done to her and make him understand just how much of her life he’s ruined, she genuinely feels like her body is going to collapse at any given moment. She needs him, even if it’s just for right now, she has to just focus on everything happening in the now. Harry’s come back to her and she’s about to go back home.

Because if she doesn’t think about the present moment—Harry holding her, Harry kissing her, Harry about to take the both of them back to their house—she’ll never find a way to fix herself. She’ll be stuck in this anxiety and pain for far too long—so long that it could actually kill her.

So she closes her eyes, only focusing on his touch and his breath fanning over her wet face. She forgets the t-shirt, she forgets all the times he’s ignored her after declaring them to take a break, and she forgets about Jessica. At least for right now, she can focus on all that tomorrow.

She nods, and it’s then Harry notices how much more calm she is. Although she’s still crying and still incapable of speaking much from the aching in her throat, she’s breathing properly again and her once undying sobs have turned into soft whimpers.

He leans in so that he can properly wrap his arms around her, hooking one hand on her back and the other under her knees. There’s no way in hell she’s capable of walking—not like this, and in all honesty, he would much rather hold her now than leave her side for another second.

It’s when Y/n is being held so close to him again that the aching in her chest seems to almost vanish completely. And although there is still a weight on top of her lungs, and still a slight uncomfortableness in her heart, she’s finally able to breathe again.

“I’m gonna make this all better, okay? I promise you, gonna fix you.” He mumbles with his lips against her hairline, making sure to keep rubbing the back of her neck softly.

It’s a promise he intends on keeping—a promise he never plans on breaking again. He could never live with himself if he were to keep putting her through all of this pain. She’s the most undeserving person—he knows that—and he knows she’s too pure to go through all that she’s been through the past couple of months.

The car ride is completely silent, only Y/n’s cries and small sniffles filling the empty space. Although she still isn’t completely calm, she’s improved so much since he first came to pick her up and it is able to keep his mind at ease. At least while he drives.

And he doesn’t miss her hand sneaking over the console to intertwine her fingers with his. He doesn’t expect it but he also doesn’t mind it. If anything, it makes him feel better just as much as it does her.

When they pull up to the driveway of their once shared house, every bit of composure she’s withheld in her body is breaking down by the second. Her strength is wearing thin, and knowing she’ll be reuniting in the house where Y/n and Harry once had everything makes her more afraid than ever.

Harry notices her sudden shift in mood and doesn’t hesitate to unbuckle himself from his seat and walk around the car to where her exhausted figure is sobbing, slumped against the passenger seat. He sighs meekly before unbuckling her, as well, and lifting her against him the way he had before.

“Hey there, s’alright, I’m here. We’ll work this out, but you need to sleep first, yeah? Looking very pale and I know you well enough to see you’ve been lacking sleep.”

Although they both know Y/n isn’t going to respond, she wants to continue listening to him speak. It’s something she hasn’t heard in so long, and she wouldn’t even care if he was talking about the goddamn weather, she just wants to hear him again.

He keeps talking, too, because he notices the effects of his voice on her anxiety and how the muscles in her body relax under his words. He’ll stop at nothing to make sure she’s okay again, even if it means having a one-sided conversation.

“You know how you are, too—grumpy and sensitive when you’re tired. Almost take my head off if you don’t get more than seven hours. Remember that one time at my mum’s Christmas dinner party? Barely slept the night before from wrapping so many gifts that you genuinely got upset with me for not knowing your favorite alcoholic beverage.” He chuckles softly. “Funny lil thing.“

Through the nonstop crying and the frown that hasn’t left Y/n’s lips in what feels like an eternity, the first smile stretches from her lips. It’s the smallest closed mouth smile he’s ever seen, but it’s there, and it’s the most genuine feeling of happiness she’s had in so long.

When Harry unlocks the door, he wastes no time making his way over to their couch. He knows very well that she wouldn’t want to sleep on their bed, considering she’s well aware of what he did with Jessica on that bed and he wants no reason to upset her any further.

He sets her down in front of the couch, petting the top of her head softly before gathering a blanket and a pillow for her to sleep on.

He sets it up like a bed, almost, before turning to leave so that she can have her privacy. He doesn’t think she’d want to sleep with him, so he decides to sleep in the guest bedroom since he knows she’d always pick the living room couch over that room.

But before he gets too far, Y/n weakly captures his fingers in hers, pulling him back towards her.

His head snaps down to her finger, noticing the rose ring being worn beautifully on her middle finger. He almost chokes when he sees it on her, eyes wide and lips slightly parted in half confusion and half in awe.

“Please,” she whimpers, “stay.”

He snaps out of his trance at her words, slowly nodding his head as a small “of course” falls from his lips.

He lays comfortably on the couch, looking up at her when he finds a position where she can lay beside him.

“If you want you can take the—alright” he huffs.

His eyes narrow as he watches her lay on top of him—fully on top of him; her cheek nesting right where his shoulder meets his neck as her arms slither around his sides until her hands meet under his back. Her legs tangle perfectly in between his, and in any other circumstance, this probably wouldn’t have been an ideal sleeping position for the either of them. But Y/n is exhausted, both physically and mentally, and she feels this is the only position she can sleep.

Harry doesn’t mind, and easily ignores the subtle uncomfortableness in his back as he wraps his arms securely around her frame.

Although Y/n is already fast asleep on top of it, he’s unsure how he can close his eyes for longer than a blink. This could be the last chance he has to be with her in this way. He’s unsure what tomorrow holds for the both of them and their relationship—it could end entirely or create an entirely new beginning.

With the possibilities almost endless against their favor, he doesn’t want to miss a second of what could be the last of her in his life. So, he embraces the feeling of her tight hold, the little puddle of drool on the shoulder of his t-shirt, and the tickle on his chin from her loose strands of hair, because this could be the last time he feels all of that.

But he also can’t help but feel that small bit of hope still latching onto him. That somewhere—deep down—he knows they belong to each other for the rest of their lives. And that, maybe, if the universe decides that their relationship should end tomorrow, he knows destiny will find a way for the both of them again.

So, he holds her a little tighter, breathes her in a little harsher, and soaks up all the extra warmth in her body, and prays that everything will be okay.

“Hey, Barold?” 

“Yes, dear?”

“Are you dead?”

Barry’s head pokes into the dining room table, the Neverwinter Times folded into his hands. He looks down at himself, pokes his own nose. “I don’t think so? I don’t look dead.”

Lup looks him up and down, then says, “Yep, you really don’t.”

“Why?”

In response, Lup takes the package she’s been holding, grabs it by the ends, and turns it on its head. Letters - bundled into packs bound with black ropes, spare ones scratched on torn napkins, envelopes-within-envelopes written in deep dark ink - spill all over the table.

“What are these?”

“Consolation letters,” Lup says, grinning. She plucks the first one off the table, slits it with a brightly-painted red nail, and begins to read. “‘Dear Lup Taaco, my cult and I would like to express our condolences for your loss.’ Aww, that’s so sweet, they’re cult-bonding.”

Barry narrows his eyes. “Is that a necromantic cult or a religious one?”

“Dunno.” She tosses it aside, picks up another one. “‘Dear IPRE, sorry for your loss. We hope Barry feels better soon. We know most people don’t feel better after being dead but he’s done it before.’”

Barry drifts forward, looking at the stack in apprehension and slight awe. He picks one up at random, skims it, and turns white. “Why do these people think I’m dead?”

“Don’t know, but there’s definitely a consensus, babe,” Lup says. “Aww, someone sent a bunch of dead flowers! I’ll pass them onto Merle.”

“Lup, no, this is weird. This - this is weird.”

“Yeah, for sure,” she says, leafing through the next letters. The mound grows intimidatingly the more Barry looks at it. “What did you do?”

“I - I don’t know.”

“Huh. Maybe someone started a dumb rumor. You never know the kinda shit floating around Faerun these days.”

True? Okay. Okay, no, this is just another mystery. Maybe there are clues in the truly preposterous number of letters sitting on the table. Carefully, Barry picks the first one up, a letter wrapped in a satin ribbon and addressed in dark ink so black it almost looks tar. He tears it open gently and sets the envelope aside, then begins to read.

Dear Miss Lup,

I’m really really sorry your husband is dead. I want you to know that my mom and my dad love him too and that if you ever need someone to talk to because death is a really really bad thing then you can send us a letter any time. I’d give you my mom’s frequency but I don’t know it.

Love,

Carnila

Below is an address. It’s from the far east, a remote village that Barry only knows because he passed through there while hunting for Lup a couple of years into his search.

He’s not freaking out so much as very, very confused. He’s certain he’s alive. Pulse beating in his throat and everything. So why does everyone think he’s dead?

He goes through a couple more without finding any clues. Most are of the same vein - sorry for your loss, hope you’re doing better. A couple recommend Lup some therapists in Neverwinter. Two cite him as his inspiration for practicing necromancy. He’s gonna need to pay those fans a personal visit. Probably with his scythe.

“Barry?” Lup says after a little while. She’s set the letters down and is now looking at him strangely.

He opens another one. This one’s written in blue ink. All the others have been black. Really goes to show what kind of person picked Barold J. Bluejeans, lich and necromancer-turned-reaper extraordinaire, as their favorite of the seven birds. “Yes, dear?”

“When you died, you picked up your bodies, right?”

Barry freezes. He thinks back to those ten years on his own, dying repeatedly. He’d had a process - he’d freak out, flicker a little bit, and pull himself together - with admirable speed and courage, of course. Then he’d grab his jeans (can’t leave those behind), a couple hairs, a bunch of blood (which wasn’t typically too hard to collect), the coin, some supplies, and take off for Wave Echo Cave.

He’d leave the body, though. He didn’t need it.

“Barold J. Bluejeans,” she snaps, setting down her letter with a thwack on the table. “Did you leave your corpses strewn all around this continent?”

“I only needed a little blood to make a new body!” he yelps. “I was a lich, it wasn’t like I could pick up my body and carry it with me!”

“You managed to keep the same clothes for ten years!”

“I’ve had these jeans for a hundred years, they’re precious to me!”

“That’s fair,” Lup says, grinning too widely to be angry. “So you’re telling me, these people stumbled across your dead body and thought it was you?”

“Probably,” he replies sheepishly. “I mean, in my defense, I didn’t think anyone would find it. I kinda fell off a mountain range.”

“And you didn’t go collect them when you got an actual body?” she asks, gesturing toward him.

“I was a little busy creating your body.”

Lup sighs, exasperated. She throws an envelope at him. It drifts unimpressively down to the table. “This is it, Barold. This is what you get when you don’t show up at press conferences ever. People start to think you’re literally dead.”

“I hate them,” he mumbles. “Too many spotlights and reporters and questions. I get all sweaty.”

“You’re one of the seven birds, babe. People want to know your story.”

“They already do, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, but they want to hear it from you.” She glances over her shoulder at the Taako Time™ calendar hanging on their wall and grins. “Babe, there’s one tomorrow and you’re going.”

“I don’t wanna,” he whines. “Lup, they…they suck. All the reporters and the microphones and the spotlights….”

“No arguments, dear,” Lup says, standing and crossing her arms over his head to rest her cheek on his hair. “Lucretia hates them too and she goes.”

“She was the Director of the Bureau of Balance, she’s good at that shit now,” Barry grumbles. “Besides, Davenport doesn’t have to answer questions.”

“Davenport’s at sea, babe. Getting to interview him is like finding a Shiny.”

Barry groans, tugs on a strand of Lup’s hair. It’s dyed red toward the ends. “If you loved me you wouldn’t make me go.”

“I love you,” Lup affirms, “so I’m making you go.”

“Can I at least - ”

“No, you can’t wear your tuxedo T-shirt. You have to wear the sweater vest I bought you.”

Barry slumps his head toward the table. Lup slides down his neck to rest her chin on his shoulder. “Cycle forty or sixty-eight,” he asks, words muffled by the table.

“Forty,” she decides. “I won’t make you do sequins.”

“Thank the Queen.” He straightens. There’s ink on his forehead. Lup laughs, then licks a thumb and wipes it away. “Gross.”

The letters flare in the corner of his vision. Sighing, Barry tugs Lup onto his lap. She sits with a laugh, gleeful and teasing, and reaches reaching for a letter of her own. Leaning her temple against his, she slices open another letter, and begins to read.

“Wow, babe,” she says after a couple minutes. “You’re really an inspiration for some up-and-coming dark magic babies.”

“I know,” he sighs. She chuckles and ruffles his hair affectionately. “I’m gonna have to go talk to them.”

Lup’s counterproposal is cut off by her Stone of Farspeech buzzing against her collarbone. She picks up without looking and says “Heyo, Blupjeans household, whaddya want?”

Barold J. Bluejeans!” screeches her brother’s voice through the receiver. Barry jumps. “You wanna explain to me why my dining table is fuckin’ swamped with condolence letters?!

Lup and Barry turn to stare at each other in horror. Then, right on cue, Barry’s Stone rings. He checks it. It’s Magnus’s signal. They stare at it.

“Oh Gods,” Lup groans, and picks up.

Barry? Barry, are you okay?” comes Magnus’s voice. There are a couple of dogs barking in the background, as there always are when Magnus calls. “I heard you were dead, I know it sucks, like, serious ass to be without a body, I wanted to check in, and also tell you that I’ve got a ticket for Neverwinter on hold if you need me down there - ” he says.

Lup and Barry exchange glances. Barry begins to laugh.

The Three Waves of Discworld

So I’ve been thinking for a while about the Discworld books, and how they can be divided up into three rough thematic phases; not based around the focal characters, but rather what the story is about.

The first wave, which begins with The Colour of Magic and I would say ends with Guards, Guards! or Faust Eric. These books are parodies of existing fantasy, and thematically spend a lot of time exploring the conventions of these stories, both mocking them and codifying them as fact for the Disc. We get a lot of witches and Rincewind books here.

Having set up the status quo, the stage is then set for the second wave to enter, starting with Moving Pictures. This is when Pratchett starts to branch out in terms out his parodies, and moves from fantasy parodies to other areas of society and culture, from the movies in Moving Pictures to shopping centres in that weird Reaper Man subplot, to guns in Men at Arms. Notably, all of these are based around external forces disrupting the status quo, and having to be set right. My favourite example of this is probably Jingo, where the external force disappears by itself when the island sinks back into the sea. Hogfather, Carpe Jugulum and Thief of Time all fit into this wave, which has kind of a fuzzy boundary with the third wave. 

Fantasy has always, as an overall genre, had a problem with the idea of growth and change. The idea of “Setting right what went wrong” and protecting the existing status quo has always been a major element in a lot of fantasy stories. “Restoring the true king” is a popular one which is lampooned by the character of Captain Carrot, but Discworld itself has, up to around 1996, had a problem with this itself (notably, the point of the Carrot subplot in Men at Arms is that he is the true king but delibrately chooses not to reveal himself in order to defend the status quo) Its plots, while often having some changes for individual characters, rarely allowed the setting itself to change, and the change that occurs is put right by the end.

The first book to sort of challenge this is probably the fantastic Feet of Clay, one of my favourites, where the role of the Golems is examined and by the end, the concept of a Golem owning itself is introduced. This is a major change for golems in the setting, but it isn’t really played with much here. The two books that really kick off the third wave come, fittingly, at the turn of the Millenium; 1999′s The Fifth Elephant, which examines dwarf politics, and the 25th Discworld novel, 2000′s The Truth, which is the first time we really see a persistant technological change in the setting. The newspaper set up by de Worde is a major factor in all the later books, and notably it is the protagonist of The Truth that is trying to disrupt the status quo with the creation of the newspaper. It isn’t films or rock music, which are eldritch abominations that must be stopped, but an organic and important change in the setting. This is the main theme of the third wave: the Disc is changed and shaped in lasting ways by the actions of the main characters, particularly on the wider social level. Cherry Littlebottom helps to change dwarf gender norms, goblins and orcs are introduced to society at large (admittedly in rather easy ways), and the biggest change of all is the introduction of everyone’s favourite conman, Moist Von Lipwig, who progressively creates or helps create the postal system, paper currency, and the first train network. In the Tiffany Aching books, we see both changes in the social structure that were made far earlier and then ignored (the female wizard Eskarina Smith in I shall Wear Midnight), and a double whammy in the death of Granny Weatherwax and appointment of Gregory as the new witch for her old area in The Shepard’s Crown. In the three waves, we go from stasis, to active defence of the status quo, to challenging and changing it.

Obviously this isn’t a perfect model. While I think the switch between waves one and two is fairly clear, as I noted above waves two and three are far more fuzzy in their boundary. Most notably, while I said that The Truth was the first major wave three book, between it and Monstrous Regiment and Going Postal, we have the second wave’s last hurrah; Nightwatch

Nightwatch is entirely build around the idea that nothing changes. Carcer’s actions threaten to change history, and Vimes has to put it back, while on the other side of the thematic coin, the revolution that the past characters, including young Vimes, are fighting for explicitly just results in more of the same, putting Mad Lord Snapchase in charge.

Except that…even here, we know that this is not true. Vetinari is in charge of Ankh Morpork in the modern day. Vimes has risen through the ranks to become the commander of the watch and a lord himself, a far cry from his humble, improvished beginnings.

The world will change, and sometimes those changes must be fought, but often we need to fight for those changes ourselves.

5

The kids exposed us last time. Might as well do it ourselves this time. - NamJin probably

here are a bunch of AMAZING fics I’ve enjoyed and loved reading throughout the month of august. I recommend that you read these great fics in september, if you haven’t already!! also check out the HL Summer Fic Exchange!

(all fics with a star are my favorites and if there are two stars then it was a favorite favorite)


1. How Far We’ve Come 32k

“This is Harry Styles,” Chiron offers.

He’s beautiful. His eyes are a stunning green, the color of new foliage. The new kid’s limbs are long and lanky—he looks extremely uncomfortable and uncoordinated. Louis internally smirks to himself, guessing the kid probably won’t be too skilled with a sword, or a bow, or anything sharp, most likely. His hair falls to his shoulders in sets of loose, brown curls. The color is rich and luscious, resembling soil so much that it looks like flowers could sprout from his hairline at any moment. But Louis’ eyes are stuck on his soft looking lips, pink as flower petals and slightly parted as his eyes scan the horizon of the camp.

“Welcome to Camp Half-Blood, Harry.”

2. It’ll All Come Up Roses 4k *

Louis was leaning against the railing of the bridge, looking down at the water completely lost in thought when he heard someone approach the bridge from the side that he came from. Glancing up, he noticed Harry walking towards him, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, and seemingly lost in thought. Louis shifted his weight onto his other foot and stood up properly, watching quietly as Harry walked past him. Louis opened his mouth. He wanted to say something to Harry to break the silence, or at least to get him to notice him standing there against the bridge railing - but the words got stuck in Louis’ throat, and he snapped his mouth shut, going back to staring down at the water mindlessly instead. All the while, trying hopelessly to figure out what the fuck he’s doing with his life. Harry kept walking, and soon Louis was once again left alone to his thoughts.

Or the one where Louis really doesn’t hate his neighbor who keeps waking him up at the crack of dawn. Ft magic, Liam, Niall, and Zayn barely being mentioned, Harry and his fucking motorcycle, a date and a kiss.

3. Freeze This Moment in a Frame and Stay Like This 5k

Harry (not so) secretly crushes on the cute footie player and fills pages with sketches of him.

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20 Autobot Leaders Rated by How Much I Want to Punch Them

Starting with the big guy, the granddaddy of them all, G1 Optimus Prime. He’s like a father to me. I can’t in good conscience punch him, even if he sometimes deserves it for bad puns. 1/10 punchability I just can’t do it 

Rodimus Prime ranks high in the punchability for some because when Optimus died in the original movie, it traumatized kids so much that all their negative feelings got channeled into unbridled rage towards the guy who replaced him. However, I hate those guys because they became insufferable as adults, so that really just lowers Roddy’s punchability for me personally. 4/10 punchability he still kind of deserves it though 

Grimlock led the Autobots for a length of time I can’t remember after Optimus died in the Marvel comics. His was a reign of terror. I can’t decide if his jughead crown is kickin or if i want to kick it off him. 7/10 punchability he gets some lenience for his childlike innocence

Another Marvel comics leader was Fortress Maximus, who was also Cerebros. He was also the leader in the Headmasters anime after Rodimus flew off into space forever but I don’t think he actually had a personality in that. He’s a matryoshka of Autobot leaders with each getting smaller and more punchable than the last, ending in Moody College Student Spike Witwicky, who is thankfully the first one on this list who I don’t have to climb something to punch in the face. 9/10 punchability I’m a very short person so I might have to climb something anyways but that isn’t going to stop me

Last Marvel comics character, I swear. Captain Picard Hi-Q binary bonded with Optimus for a while, then Optimus died (this was about the third time), and Hi-Q eventually turned into Optimus so we just considered Optimus alive again. Don’t think too hard about it. 3/10 punchability I really like Star Trek TNG so I probably wouldn’t punch him

Ginrai’s robot self looks exactly like Optimus Prime, but he isn’t. Why he looks like him is sort of hand-waved away in the anime. The real-life reason, of course, is because he was just the Japanese release of Powermaster Optimus Prime. Ginrai is really good because he talks like an American teenager even when his robot form separated from his human self to become the Autobot commander at the end of Super-God Masterforce. 0/10 punchability I just can’t really punch a guy wearing converse, skinny jeans, and suspenders

Star Saber makes me forget that the Autobots were ever good guys. I don’t think he even has a personality outside of “noble and heroic leader.” He adopted a human son and tried to send him to a Catholic school but he doesn’t even buy him a uniform. The kid barely even goes to school in the end. 9/10 punchability don’t adopt a human if you’re not prepared to care for him

Optimus Primal is a good Autobot leader because he never even set out to be anything more than a captain on one ship but ended up sacrificing himself to bring life back to the planet, probably sparking a religious following. He won the “Power of the Primes” vote so he’s got to have a pretty low punchability, but he also looks like his malleble gorilla face would feel nice on my powerful fist. 5/10 punchability when POTP stuff starts coming will his name change to “optimus primal prime”?

Lio Convoy being a cat makes me not want to punch him so much. However, he isn’t a good father. Don’t worry about the kid not really being his son in any sense of the term. Why is ineptitude at fatherhood a recurring theme for Autobot leaders? 8/10 punchability Lio Junior deserved better

I’ll admit that Beast Wars Neo is the only thing on this list that I haven’t seen or read any of, so Big Convoy is mostly here for completion’s sake. Hence I’m rating him entirely on his appearance. Mostly I wouldn’t want to punch a mammoth, because they’re extinct, but I think he could take it. It would be a good workout for both of us. 10/10 punchability no hard feelings, we’re just two dudes lovingly punching each other

In Japan, he’s known as Fire Convoy, continuing their tradition of Autobot leader names, but in the west he’s the first-ever reboot of Optimus Prime. I don’t have a lot of opinions on him as a person or leader, but his existence opened the floodgates of Optimus Primes to come, which I have mixed feelings on. 5/10 punchability I can’t think of a reason to punch him, but I also can’t think of a reason not to

Armada Optimus Prime suffers from being Armada Optimus Prime. I think this was when they really managed to distill “Optimus Prime” down into its truest form. No longer was Optimus Prime a character, but a concept that extended beyond fiction and into our world. Optimus Prime means something. Optimus Prime is a figure for justice, honor, and liberty. 8/10 punchability I still can’t forget Energon though

Do I have to say anything. I’m not even somebody who vehemently dislikes Hot Shot, but for the love of god, why did he ever get to be a leader. 6/10 punchability I’d punch him but I wouldn’t put a lot of force into it, he’s not even worth it

Movie Optimus Prime is. uh. something else, all right. I can admire the movie taking the idea of Optimus Prime and going “okay, but what if he was also a murderbeast?” because I think that’s something we all really wanted to see play out. In practice it kind of scares me. 2/10 punchability I’m worried if I went for his face I’d no longer have mine

Animated Optimus Prime is a good boy. A baby boy. He’s trying his best in a world that seems against him. We all love him. 0/10 punchability I simply can’t bring myself to mar those luscious lips

I’m sure Animated Ultra Magnus did some great things during the war, but, yunno, seeing how Cybertron under him during peacetime is sort of a Stratocracy, I question his fitness to be the leader of a planet. They really gonna let the government run experiments on civilians? Okay. Alright. 4/10 I don’t want to punch him per se but I do sort of want to lead an armed rebellion against him

Hhh. HHHH. HOOGH. HHHAAAHH. HEH. HHhhhHHH. Just seeing Sentinel Prime’s face fills me with anger. If let loose, this rage could level mountains, sink continents, and incinerate entire solar systems. If there is any good in the cosmos, Sentinel Prime will not go unpunched. His face will be shattered into pieces with the sheer power of my unbridled fury. 10,000/10 punchability I have already punched him, spiritually, and I will do it again

I mean, alright. Prime Optimus Prime is kind of the distilled essence of Optimus Prime. If you took all the other Optimus Primes, and took all the things they had in common, and then took out a little bit of the anger because let’s be real here all the other Optimus Primes are quite a bit angrier than this one, you’d get Aligned Optimus Prime. Which is kind of how the Aligned continuity as a whole works. So, yeah, That Sure Is Optimus Prime. 3/10 punchability his soft-spoken words of wisdom would calm me down before I ever even raised my fist

Heatwave is the quintessential non-Optimus Autobot leader. He’s noble and courageous with a good sense of justice, but he was thrust into leadership without being the best and it and is a bit of a hothead. You can use that exact sentence to describe so many of the bots on this list. 4/10 punchability I don’t want to use violent methods when it comes to Rescue Bots but sometimes Heatwave’s personality warrants it 

I honestly can’t believe it took 30 years for a Bumblebee to be leader for reals. It happened so gradually that nobody was surprised when it happened, and yet it also feels like nobody can really accept it. I know I can’t. He doesn’t even look like any Bumblebee. Is this how longtime G1 fans felt when the Unicron trilogy started reusing names for different-but-not-wholly-different characters to keep the trademarks? 8/10 punchability we know you stole your schtick from Hot Rod via Hot Shot so stop trying to act like you’re so special 

I actually feel extremely bad for Reiner. I know people don’t like him because of his actions, but it’s all about perspective. I made a list of all the bullshit Reiner had to go through so far.

1. Born as a mixed race boy and not accepted by his Marleyan father, leaving him with his self-hating mother and Eldian family.

2. Only goal was to bring his family together again by making them “Honorary Marleyans.”

3. Poor in physical fitness, combat, academics, marksmanship. Only thing he was good at was being passionate about being a “good son” and killing the walldians

4. Becomes the armored titan and now suffers from ymir’s curse leaving him only 13 years to prove to be a “good son”.

5. Comrade Marcel is eaten alive right in front of him by Ymir’s titan.

6. Infiltrates the military and meets Eren Yeager who openly tells them about how the Colossal and Armored Titans ruined his life. Guilt probably set in by now.

7. Gets in too deep and gains an alternate “Soldier” personality which conflicts with his “Warrior” personality.

8. Loved by the majority of his squad and is considered the big brother of his peers.

9. Battle of Trost happens and ends up causing the death of a friend, Marco, who overheard their conversation revealing their secret. He then disassociates himself with this event and wonders why Marco is being eaten.

10. Indirectly caused the deaths of several soldiers by telling Annie where Eren was.

11. Unable to tell his grieving comrade, Connie why his mother was turned into a mindless titan.

12. Realizes that Ymir is the titan that ate his friend and can’t do anything about it.

13. His identity is revealed and all the sudden most of his friends now want him dead or gone.

14. Guilt tripped by former good friend, Eren, who now has him and Bert on his murder list.

15. Loses possesion of Eren, meaning he lost the chance to bring home the Attack Titan and the coordinate, possibly the most powerful titan.

16. Fights against Eren and literally gets his head blown up by former comrades.

17. Rescued by Piek and escapes Paradis without his bestfriend, and without the Coordinate.

18. Now has less than 2 years left and is trying to justify in his head that what he did on Paradis was right.

19. Can now see that his cousin, Gabi is going down the same path as himself to inherit the his Armored Titan.

20. Returns home to his family, only to still be stuck in the internment camp and his father still gone.

This truly makes me sad. He failed to do what he promised his mother and himself to do. The Marleyans lied to the families so they could have child soldiers who were ready to die at the chance of having their family become Honorary Marleyans. I wouldn’t be surprised if we saw Reiner break down crying after everything he’s been through.

Imagine you've found work in the country

You never thought that desperation would lead you to such a situation.

With a new era of peace welcoming the kingdom, there was no longer high demand for a blacksmith in the city. Your father, who had been employed by even the royal family, had lost his job. Your family had lived a comfortable life in one of the richer districts. Now, you had been forced to sell nearly everything in an effort to make ends meet. Your father took whatever odd jobs he could find. Your mother became a servant at the castle. Your siblings, older and more talented, found jobs easily. You couldn’t bring yourself to enjoy the merits of their hard work. You were young, but you were sure that you could be hired somewhere. You couldn’t lift much, given your easy life, but there was bound to be an opportunity lurking just around the corner.

That opportunity, you quickly learned, was in a brothel. After moving to the slums, there was one at the end of your street. You passed by it every day and night as you searched for jobs. The workers, both men and women, were clad in revealing clothes. Through the windows, you could see that those layers were quickly shed. You knew that they made good money, especially since you had seen some of the richest men coming and going, sometimes even bringing gifts. If a wealthy individual liked someone well enough, they could simply buy them for indefinite use. They would be showered in jewels and gold, but they would never be truly free. The consequences were too great. You worried what your family would think.

You eventually came across an advertisement for a position on a farm. The owner was looking for more help. The contract would last one year, give or take circumstances. The pay was better than any other job you could have taken, given your small list of skills. You would finally be able to help your family. The owner would give you a room in the homestead, so your family wouldn’t have to spend money to feed you. You would send them money every moon or so to help them cover rent.

“Hey,” A voice rumbled behind you, “When’s breakfast? I’m starving.”

You pulled yourself from your thoughts, glancing to the window. The sun hadn’t risen yet. Meals were always at dawn, noon, and dusk. The night was dangerous outside of city walls, so field work was only done during the daylight hours. When you first arrived at the homestead five days prior, you had been assigned as the cook. You did your job well enough, save for a few small mishaps. The work wasn’t very challenging. The hard part was dealing with the field workers. They were all more beasts than men. Even the smallest towered above you, strong enough to lift you with one hand. In the mornings, they smelled of booze. At night, of sweat and dirt. But that wasn’t the issue.

You didn’t turn to look at him, instead focusing on the eggs you were making. If you burnt them, you wouldn’t hear the end of it, “It won’t be for another hour, at the very least. You should get some more sleep. There’s still ale left in the-“

The floorboards creaked, the man moving closer. Your grip tightened on the frying pan as you watched his right hand reach around and grab your breast. He squeezed, then slipped his hand between your apron and your dress. His fingertips found your nipple, pinching. Your breath hitched. You swallowed the desire the hit him in the face with the hot pan, instead moving the scrambled eggs away from the stove. His other hand found purchase beneath your skirt, tugging your smallclothes to the side so he could thrust a finger inside of you.

You tried to push him away, but his grip was too tight. He was used to chopping firewood and steering cattle. Manhandling you was easy for him.

Besides, even if you did manage to land a hit on him, you would be the one punished. You had learned that lesson on your first day. After signing your contract, preparing dinner, then heading to bed, one of the men had gone into your room. You fought back, hitting him across the face with a broom. When you went to the owner to report the worker, he berated you for harming one of his workers. He was only in it for the money. If one of the field workers was injured, they wouldn’t be able to work as well. He told you that, also you were primarily the cook, you were also considered a morale booster. Apparently, the homestead made more money when the men had something to sink their cocks into. From what you heard in your few days there, you were beginning to suspect that the owner also partook in a morale boost from time to time.

The man pulled you away from the stove. You wrenched away from him, glaring. For a brief moment, you saw the scar that the broom had left beneath his eye. He had told you afterwards, a hand in your hair as he pushed you into the mattress, that he liked your fire. He kept talking, even as he gripped your waist and fucked you harder. He had been working at the homestead for years, but they had only recently started employing women.

The first, Jenn, quickly became a favourite of the owner and got pregnant. Still, you had seen her with the workers. She had been serving drinks as you cleaned dishes when one of them pulled her into his lap. Her dress was tight over her swollen belly as he tugged her back to meet each of his thrusts. She made no effort in being quiet, though she asked him to be gentler for the baby’s sake. Her contract was technically up a month before her pregnancy was discovered, but the owner kept her on the grounds that she couldn’t work as well in her current condition. The very thought made you shudder. With the way things were going, you wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up pregnant again shortly after giving birth.

The second and third, Trish and Corina, were a bit younger than you and rather mousy. They were intimidated by the men, which made them easy targets. Trish, who was slender, was being to show. Her dress rounded out just a bit when she stood up straight. The men had laughed about it, one of them saying that it was obvious when her dress was off. Corina, who was curvier and had a bit of pudge on her stomach, hadn’t shown any signs. Still, you figured that it was only a matter of time.

You, on the other hand, had only been working there for five days. You had bled just before leaving for the homestead, so you had a little while to think of a way to escape. At the very least, you could devise a plan that would keep you from becoming a permanent employee. You had quickly discovered that most of the workers preferred a certain girl, though they would often take advantage of any opportunity if in the mood. The one currently trying to undress you, however, only had eyes for you. After you fought back against him, it seemed that he reveled in the idea of forcing you to submit.

He bent you over the counter, his stiff cock pressing against you. Only his trousers and your skirt were in the way, but he would remedy that easily. A large hand pinned you onto the countertop. Even as you squirmed and tried to kick him, he merely laughed as he pulled your smallclothes to your knees. He lifted your skirt, the cold air causing you to hiss. Fingers stroked and prodded, rubbing your walls. You reached back, trying to claw at him. The sound of rustling clothes made you tense, only for him to brush against your entrance. You didn’t have the chance to retaliate. He buried himself to the hilt. You couldn’t help but cry out, unbearably full. When he shifted, you could feel the tip move over your cervix. It made you shudder, blinking back hot tears. It was painful, but exactly what he wanted.

He withdrew, setting up a lazy pace. There was still time before the others would wake and come downstairs. He could take as long as he wanted. Even if they found you both in the kitchen, no one would do anything about it. If anything, one of the workers would probably insist that he was next in line.

The hand on your back lifted, instead tangling in your hair. A swift pull made your back arch. You straightened, ready to slap him, but his other arm kept your elbows at your sides. You had no way to fight against him. Your jaw tightened. You swore that you could feel your stomach distended by his cock, a small bump moving upwards and outwards each time he filled you.

“Come here,” He grabbed your face, his fingers prying your jaw open. He forced you to look at him, his smirk only widening as you glared. His cock twitched, your breath caught in your chest, “Give me a kiss,” His mouth covered yours, leaving no room for refusal. His grip kept you from biting him, your teeth digging into your own skin as his tongue entered your mouth. He still tasted of booze.

He withdrew slowly, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his. You pulled your head away in disgust, wanting to clean your mouth out with soap as soon as he let you go. His pace had quickened, each thrust deep and rough. You winced, hoping that he was close. The sooner he was done, the sooner you would be able to clean up and forget it ever happened.

His arm left your sides, only to hook around your neck. Your nails dug into his skin, trying to pry him off. He wasn’t choking you, but just a little more pressure would close your airway. His other hand slipped up your dress, toying with your breasts. You choked back every whimper. Hearing you cry out only spurred him on. He would only taunt you, wondering aloud if your body wanted this, wanted to be taken and filled and bearing his child.

His touch wandered lower, settling just below your navel. With every movement of his hips, a small portion of your stomach shifted against his hand. You forced yourself to stay quiet as the end of his thrusts became rough. He was doing it on purpose, trying to get a reaction out of you.

His mouth moved to your ear, “I can’t wait to see you stuffed full with my brat in your belly. You’ll be trying to do your job like a good little cook but they’ll be kicking up a storm. A big, strong troublemaker, just like their daddy. I’ll fuck you through your labor pains and get to see the look on your pretty face when you realize that you can’t fight what’s happening, you can’t stop yourself from having my kid. The boss will be livid. You’ll owe him another year of work for giving him another mouth to feed. I just have to keep you full until my last two years are up. Then I can take you with me and make you my darling little housewife. It sounds like the perfect retirement, doesn’t it?”

“I’d rather die,” You growled. He pulled you in for another sloppy kiss, his grip and pace unforgiving. You’d undoubtedly have bruises within the day and a bit of a stumble in your gait. You pulled away from him, breathing ragged. His fingers slipped between your legs, rubbing in quick, harsh circles. Your knees quivered, then buckled. A yelp of pain escaped you as he hit your cervix, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. You turned just enough to put a hand to his chest, trying to push him away. You couldn’t let him finish inside of you. You weren’t going to have his children.

But a sudden pinch to the sweet spot between your legs sent sparks up your spine. Your entire body tensed, more out of pain than forced pleasure. You tightened around him like a vice. He twitched inside of you, barely able to withdraw an inch before filling you again. He grinded against you, each movement causing you to shudder. It was overstimulation on your part. You were dizzy, even as he returned to tracing small circles.

He stilled, panting and sheathed within you. A familiar warmth pooled. Your grip loosened on his arm, exhausted. You could feel some of his seed dripping down your thighs. You would have to bathe when you had the chance. He let you go. You leaned against the counter, trying not to fall. He removed himself, adjusting his trousers. You refused to look at him, silently hoping that he would leave.

He smacked your rear, “I’m going back to bed. See you at breakfast.”

You looked to the pan of eggs you had been making before he had intervened, seeing that they were cold. You would have to start from scratch.


Author’s Note: Hello! Keira Metz here! It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything, so I decided to start a new tale. Depending on the response from all of you lovely readers, I’ll continue this. Otherwise, I can whip up something new. Also, there may or may not have been some foreshadowing in this one, ehehe~

Lie to me - Dean Winchester x Reader - Chapter 3 (French Mistake AU)

Title: Lie to me

Pairing: Dean/Jensen x Reader x Sam

Word Count: 4,985

Warnings: None

Imagine: Imagine Dean and Sam getting transported to the French Mistake universe. Only for Dean to realize he is married to you, his best friend, love of his life and… Sam’s girlfriend.

Great thank you to @gaveherhearttotheliontattoo for being an amazing beta!

Read Part 1 here! l Read Part 2 here!

“What’s this?” his voice was shaking and as soon as you took notice of what he was talking your eyes widened.

“Oh crap, was that there all this time? I would have ruined the surprise.” you exclaimed, rushing to his side to take the photo – let’s say – from the fridge.

“Wait- wait-” Dean blinked “What surprise?”

“What do you mean?” you looked up at him, truly perplexed “The surprise. You know the one we have for Jared and Gen and practically everybody else in our fam- Alright, what is going on Jensen?”

“I’m- I’m alright, it’s just that-” he shook his head “I’m sorry it feels almost as if I’m not- not myself today.” he cleared his throat and in the end you sighed, giving him a sympathetic look.

“Baby” you cupped his cheek “Do you need to get some rest? Honestly just-”

“No, (Y/n).” he shook his head, cutting you off softly as he took a hold of your hand “Just- can you tell me what this is?”

Keep reading

7

4x01 “Lazarus Rising”
“Dean Winchester is saved.”

This will just hands down always remain one of the most epic moments of “Supernatural” to me, because there is so much to love about this scene in which Dean diggs himself out of his grave (and damn yes if the Doc Benton episode in S3 didn’t serve as a massive set up here). The way he struggles, but manages to pull himself out and then falls on his back and just stays like that for a while just breathing. I mean, this is the first time in 40 years that Dean (technically his soul, but you know what I mean…) at that point has probably filled his lungs with fresh oxygen (and not just sulfur stained air of Hell) and it’s likely the first time in 40 years that he has seen the sun, that he has seen green, nature. And that alone must be extremely much to take in. Now imagine all that, but when you finally open your eyes and look around you find yourself at the center of destruction, a place in the middle of nowhere that looks like a nuke went off, that nuke possibly being connected to you. So yes, I love how you can see all that on Dean’s face. The relief of breathing, of managing to escape that coffin prison - though I think at that point he may well believe that this could be just a trick played on him by Alistair or whoever else as a means to torture him some more when he realizes that he isn’t actually “saved”. You can see that bit of weariness and uncertainty in his eyes and then when he see the destruction, when it seeps in that this amount of power displayed on that field without a doubt is connected to himself and who/what raised him and then you can see that it does indeed trouble Dean quite a bit. And yeah, last but not least - and yes of course I had to mention this as I have an obsession with it, you guys know… lol - the upwards zoom is just genious and is one more major moment of many throughout the series framing Dean not just as the “righteous man”, but more so a “christ figure”.

Highschool!AU Jeno

find college!nct (here) & hs!haechan (here)

  • favorite subject: art 
  • least favorite subject: pre-calculus 
  • voted most likely to: win a noble prize 
  • jeno is,,,,quite far removed from the detached art student trope that like everyone in his highschool thinks he 100% totally is
  • secretly, he loves laughter and corny jokes. he likes playing video games with haechan and jisung, betting on basketball games in the gym, and doing what any other highschooler likes to do
  • unfortunately, probably due to his almost always stoic expression and the sketch book under his arm - people get the wrong idea
  • and don’t get me wrong, he isn’t bullied for it or anything - people just think he’s unapproachable ,,,,,,,
  • handsome looks at such a young age, so much artistic talent, it’s hard to approach someone who just seems more mature
  • “mature my butt, jeno can’t even make fried rice.” haechan snorts once when another classman asks him about jeno
  • aside from spending countless hours sketching, wrappers from snacks and half empty cans of coffee littering around him, jeno likes sitting in the art room after school is over
  • the lightening pours in through the big windows and it’s quiet, jeno sometimes listens to music or just enjoys the silence
  • apparently people made up a rumor that countless people have come to him and tried to confess - but he cooly shrugged off their letters and presents with a cold glare
  • this rumor of course,,,,isn’t true,,the only person who even knows that he’s in there is the art teacher and jisung who puts his nose in just about anyone’s business
  • plus if someone did confess to jeno, he’d become a stuttering shy mess - seriously he wished more people knew he was a down to earth guy
  • he’d even confided this to jaemin, when he and the others visited him in a different town
  • “why don’t more people want to be my friend?”
  • jaemin had weakly smiled “are those idiots not enough?” he was referring to haechan who had gotten pen marks all over chenle’s arm and was lying that renjun had done it instead. in the corner, jisung was chatting to mark - puppy eyes to the eldest in the room (probably asking him embarrassing questions about college)
  • jeno had shook his head, “they’re more than enough - but apparently i come of,,,,”
  • jaemin smiled and it made jeno’s heart feel a little warmer when he said “you’re not cold jeno. you’re just reserved, you protect yourself. nothing wrong with that.”
  • but yes, jeno is a real angel!! like he’s always helping the art teacher carry supplies and clean up spilt paint
  • he isn’t very good at math, but goes to tutoring when he can - the senior who helps him is absolutely in awe of how cutesy jeno can be
  • with a half-moon smile, little chuckles, and moments of cluelessness which makes them go “you must be popular with the ladies?”
  • jeno just sinks down in his seat,,,,,,,mumbling that he’s far from it
  • he likes history too, especially korean history even though most of the class is him kicking jisung under the desk to wake up
  • his uniform is always neat and he looks well-put together 
  • someone had made a nickname for him,,,,cold hearted prince from a manhwa ,,,,,,,
  • haechan had thought that name was a RIOT and did not let jeno live it down - not until it all changed,,,,,,because of you
  • you had just transferred to the school, you weren’t aware of jeno until you realized your elective class was art
  • and the, obviously best artist there, was jeno
  • who on the first day, you couldn’t help but walk by his canvas - you were all supposed to be doing portraits of animals
  • and the face of an almost perfectly realistic kitten stared back at you on his half-done canvas
  • you had stared at it for god knows how long till jeno looked over his shoulder
  • “yes?”
  • you snapped out of it, almost dropping the paint in your hand
  • “oh, um i ,,,,,,, i came over to ask if i can use your brush?”
  • shakily you pointed to the large brush that rested on his easel
  • jeno blinked, but handed it too you before he could think to ask why
  • you bowed your head, and rushed away with a thank you trying to save face and not look like a fool
  • as the bell rang for the next period, you scurried up to the person who had been working beside you
  • “hey, who is he?”
  • you asked, one hand on your backpack strap, the person looked over to see you were talking about jeno
  • they gave you a sad smile
  • “lee jeno, cold hearted shoujo? no wait, manhwa prince.”
  • your eyebrows knitted at the sound of the weird nickname
  • the person just shrugged “he sticks only to his friends and apparently doesn’t even react when people confess so - don’t get your hopes up.”
  • you nodded, but still from the corner of your eye watched him
  • he had hung back and was talking to the teacher,,,,,
  • he didn’t look cold at all
  • your first month passed rather boringly, you’d made friends and all of them were keen on jeno being next to unapproachable
  • but you didn’t get it,,,,maybe because you hadn’t grown up around these parts like everyone else
  • but were you the only one seeing his cute little smiles while talking with the art teachers, the way his laugh sounded light when he hung out with his own group of friends, how he seemed really passionate about drawing
  • one afternoon you had walked past the art room on your way to make it to the book club you signed up for
  • when you saw jeno,,,,
  • he was hunched over a large drawing pad, his bangs falling over his forehead and the light making his figure look like it was outlined by a soft glow
  • he seemed to be humming to himself, very low and sweet
  • again you found yourself staring - it was hard not 
  • you heard someone call out his name somewhere else in the room, and quickly you hurried to hide behind a set of lockers close by
  • a minute or two passed and jeno walked down the hall, probably to get supplies for the teacher
  • cautiously, you made your way into the room. the teacher was in the connected office and wouldn’t be able to see you
  • so while jeno was gone, you were practically alone
  • you didn’t dare touch the drawing pad, but you did look at what he had been working on
  • to your surprise, it was a sketch of a vintage car - a mustang maybe? something that looked like it came straight out of the 70s
  • to your surprise, the details of the drawing were neat and spot-on
  • it looked like it had been traced from a magazine
  • “do you need to borrow brushes again?”
  • you jerked at the sound of the voice, reddening cheeks when you saw jeno standing at the door
  • you thought for a moment he was mocking you, that you’d look into his eyes and they’d be iced over with something mean
  • but they weren’t
  • they were a warm chocolate brown, his mouth was up in a small smile. he was,,,,,joking around with you
  • “o-oh i just,,,,i just,,,,,”
  • you didn’t have a quick excuse so you pointed to the sketch of the car “is this yours?”
  • he laughed “the drawing is, not the car. i wish it was the other way around.”
  • he came over and pulled out the chair where he had been sitting, he got comfy and picked up his pencil again
  • you watched in amazement as he easily filled in more details almost effortlessly,,,,,,, “are you a robot?” you mumbled thinking he wouldn’t hear it but he did and he laughed again
  • you couldn’t believe that the boy in front of you was supposedly ‘cold’ ,,,, he was nothing but cheerful 
  • “it took a lot of practice, i still have more to go.”
  • you wanted to say something like i think you’re perfect right now,,,but decided against it,,,,afterall this was your first real conversation with him
  • you realized only ten minutes after watching him work some more that book club was basically over - jeno was also finishing, packing up his pencils and getting up
  • “do you take the train?” 
  • he suddenly asked and you shyly nodded
  • he called out a goodbye to the teacher and motioned for you to follow him 
  • “i take it too, want to go together?”
  • you couldn’t believe it,,,you were walking out of the schools gates with lee jeno
  • LEE JENO
  • and he was making easy conversation, with jokes, the handsome features on his face less serious and more relaxed
  • you were sure no one in school would believe you if you told them - the students who were still there and spotted you two looked shocked beyond belief
  • “i actually just remembered, i have to stop by the store before i get on the train!” jeno grimaced, smacking his hand against his head as if he’d forgotten something extremely important
  • “why?”
  • “ive gotta get some stuff for my halloween costume, jisung wants us to do the scooby doo gang,,,,,”
  • your eyes widen “,,,,who are you supposed to be?” 
  • jeno gives you a slightly sad look “haechan is going to be fred, jisung wanted velma, chenle daphine, renjun said shaggy before i could so -”
  • you put your hand over your mouth,,,,,,,, “you’re going as scooby???”
  • jeno made a pouting face, so cute it almost made your stomach turn, but you were too busy trying not to burst out into laughter
  • the cold prince of your high school,,,,,,,,,,dressed up as sooby-doo,,,,,,,,
  • jeno tried to tell you it wasn’t THAT funny,,,,but you couldn’t lie - it was
  • before you even knew it, you had silently agreed you were coming along and once you walked through the doors of one of those pop-up costume shops you pointed to the set of brown dog ears that hung on display
  • “i think you’ve met your match,,,,,”
  • jeno cringed, but took the ears off the shelf and put them on
  • “woof!” he exclaimed, then hid his face in his hands as you stifled a giggle
  • “it’s ok,,,it’s very cute!!” you tried to cheer up jeno but it was beyond hard to keep from laughing
  • you two spent a good hour in there, picking out silly costumes, trying on fake vampire teeth and wigs, just having a good time in each others company
  • and at some point, with you shifting through funny looking outfits on one of the racks, jeno noticed for the first time that he was getting along with someone so easily
  • someone that was outside of his immediate friend group
  • and you looked,,,,,adorable,,,,,your uniform slightly messy from all the costumes you’d tried on, your backpack had a swinging charm from of it that jeno hadn’t noticed before, and your small smile - the one you had just for yourself
  • jeno was sure his heart had made an extra loud thud in his chest,,,
  • “maybe you should convince jisung that you guys can go like,,,,pac men,,,,,or,,,,,,vampires?”
  • you said suddenly and jeno snapped into reality with a faint smile “ah,,,maybe”
  • you noticed the change of tone and check your time “it’s getting late, we should get to the train.”
  • jeno agreed and you two left the store, the guy at the entrance shot you a glare - probably angry about you two spending a good hour in there with nothing to show for it
  • but you and jeno just giggled to one and other
  • the train was even more crowded with people coming home from work, so you and jeno found yourselves closer than before 
  • practically smushed against the pole you were holding onto,,,,,you each gave each other nervous glances and then chuckled
  • “do you want to go into art?”
  • you asked curiously, to try and ease the embarrassment of standing so close
  • “maybe,,,,,what about you?”
  • you told jeno of some of you dreams, noting how diligently he listened
  • again - you didn’t know how people thought he was detached, unapproachable ,,,, it just didn’t make sense
  • so you asked,,,, “why is your nickname cold manhwa prince?”
  • jeno blushed at the nickname, but also rolled his eyes “did jisung tell you that? ,,,, i don’t even know myself. i think im just,,,,”
  • he thought back to jaemin’s words “reserved?”
  • you made an oh sound and nodded, thinking about it till you heard that your stop would be the next
  • “well,,,i had fun with you today. i don’t think you’re cold at all,,,,” you said, the last part a little bit quietly
  • jeno felt that loud thump in his chest again
  • you were so close so he could hear you, but he could also smell the scent of your hair, feel your elbow against his
  • “i had fun too,,” he added and the door signaled that they were opening
  • you pushed past the crowd and heard faintly that jeno said goodbye
  • when you were out on the platform, you couldn’t see him through the sea of people but you waved anyway
  • the warm feeling of his arm pressed against yours followed you the whole way home
  • the next day in school you had art again, and unlike usual you set up your spot near jeno
  • he seemed both shocked and happy that you did,,, the rest of the class just exchanged whispers and wide eyes
  • but you didn’t care, you and jeno talked easily
  • he made a comment about how he’s never had someone in art class to chat with and you just gave him a silly thumbs up “im that person then!”
  • over the course of the week, you and jeno grew closer and you’d even had lunch with him and his friends
  • jisung had looped an arm around you and went “jeno has never made a friend on his own - you are a REAL gem”
  • haechan had chewed his food slowly and leaned over to jeno “a friend? or is it something more?”
  • jeno bit back his tongue and the table turned to face him,,,,you almost dropped your chopsticks
  • sensing the tension, renjun coughed “pass me your leftover rice chenle you ate too much already.”
  • but even with the distraction,,,the thought crossed your mind,,,,what did you think of jeno? and what did he think of you?
  • the night of halloween,,,,you found out
  • because instead of going to a party being thrown at some students house with his friends, jeno had asked to meet you in the city
  • you were waiting outside of the train when someone tapped your shoulder and you turned to see jeno,,,,
  • but instead of his uniform he was wearing a cheap gold crown and a cape of red velvet
  • “im the cold hearted manhwa prince” he said with a straight face and then burst into laughter
  • you joined him only to stop and point to the fake horns on your head “a demon,,,,,,,,,the pre-calculs demon if you would” you joked, knowing jeno hated that subject
  • he made a fake gagging noise and you asked finally why you were here
  • “i want to go to the party, i want you to come to.”
  • you blinked,,,,you’d love to go by why hadn’t he just asked over text
  • jeno seemed to stutter a moment and then added “i want you to come,,,,,as my date,,,,if that’s ok?”
  • you felt the world freeze for a second,,,,date,,,jeno’s,,,date?
  • but before you could think of what to say your head was nodding - because of course,,,,,of course you liked jeno,,,
  • how could you not like him? not after seeing him in that art room, a glow like an angels halo around him
  • not after laughing with him in the halloween store
  • not after watching the boy everyone said you couldn’t even be friends with open himself up in front of you
  • your hand felt nothing but perfect when it held onto jeno’s
  • and at the party you were greeted with other students staring at you two in awe while haechan slid down the handle of the stairway, messy blood painted over his collar and fake fangs crooked in his mouth, “i called it! i knew they’d fall in love! congratulations to your first day~~ a halloween anniversary!!” he laughed and vanished into the crowd
  • the rest of jeno’s friends reacted more or less without surprise, renjun said he knew jeno was in love. he was smiling more.
  • dating jeno,,,,was like opening a new chapter in a book because there is so much more to him than what you see
  • the love of art, the cute laughter, the serious work ethic, the easily flushed red embarrassment,,,,all of that was just the icing on the cake
  • the actual jeno was even a little clumsy, a complete nerd who housed one piece figures over his desk, could play guitar and had the voice of an angel
  • better yet, you found out about his chocolate sweet tooth and highscore on literally every mobile game you ever knew off
  • “i didn’t know i was dating a gamer,,,” you joked seeing him beat yet another level of some game on his phone
  • he stuck his tongue out and asked if you were going to finish your chocolate shake
  • you laughed and held the straw out for him “here you go, cold manhwa prince”
  • he scrunched up his nose “not you too,,,,jisung never lets me live already,,,,,”
  • your first official date after the halloween party ,,,, which btw you would have kissed at if chenle hadn’t walked in on you two,, was sitting in the library bookshelves afterschool watching ‘howls moving castle’ on a borrowed laptop
  • you had been shocked that jeno never watched it seeing as he liked animated movies, but then you’d leaned against his shoulder and woke up to your head in his lap while jeno sketched some doodles on his notebook
  • you’d sat up, completely embarrassed but jeno just showed you the little doodle
  • it was of you snoozing, a big air bubble coming out of your nose
  • you playfully pouted and he’d ruffled your hair - it was nice,,,,it was warm
  • sometimes you watch jeno sketch,,,,you might do it between studying or listening to music,,,,,but seeing him at work is so relaxing
  • he looks serious - but not cold,,,,,,,just hardworking and admirable
  • jeno has sketched you,,,,but you don’t know because he’s too shy to show you
  • (of course haechan knows about this and pesters jeno about possibly gifting them to you one day,,,,,but jeno keeps saying he has no idea what haechan is talking about)
  • but also you know when to let jeno have space,,,you don’t hover and you let him be alone with just paint and paper,,,,jeno is so thankful for that
  • you guys both are kind of new to dating ,,, so when jisung asks to see your couple shirts or rings or phonecases you just stare at him
  • and he orders you to to go down to the shopping distract and pick something out that matches
  • you end up getting charms of jeno’s favorite anime character,,,,,it’s corny but,,,,,,,jisung accepts it
  • but texts jeno like ‘get them an actual present next time!’
  • sometimes you and him meet up to go to the museum and jeno tells you which artists he’s grown to like,,,,sometimes - like most highschoolers - you end up spending more time in the gift shop than the museum
  • you start saving up to buy jeno some fancy brushes which when you gift him makes him a stuttering mess and he apologizes for the price and you’re like no no it’s ok
  • you learn he likes cats,,,even with an allergy,,,,,so you guys just coo at them from petshop windows
  • jeno wants to kiss you one night,,,as you’re taking the subway home and it’s just you two in the corner seats
  • but you get up too fast and he misses, falling first into the seat were you were just sitting
  • “are you ok??” you asked, hurrying toward the door. he waves it off and then spends the rest of the ride telling himself he’s got to get it together
  • when he does kiss you ,,,,, for the first time,,,, it’s because you’re both are trying to take a cute couple photo for jeno’s instagram
  • it’s near the big christmas tree they have up at the mall
  • and as he has his hand out with the camera, you try to focus on it and smile but then right before you know it - he leans in
  • and with his free hand cupping your cheek he kisses you,,,,
  • the sound of the camera click breaks you out of your dream like state and when you pull back you touch your lips
  • “did,,,,,did you just?”
  • he grins sheepishly and looks at the camera preview,,,,,, “it’s blurry should we do it agai-”
  • you beat him to it, putting both hands on his face and kissing him agai
  • he tastes a little minty,,,,,it’s nice and you feel like you could kiss him forever
  • jeno feels the same way about you 
  • the amount of times you’ve had talk jeno out of wanting to get a pokemon tattooed on him later in life is: too many
  • when jeno throws away a sketch he did in frustration, you always get really sad - sometimes you pick them up and you have some hanging on your wall
  • which jeno tells you you don’t have to do,,,he’ll give you some of his better ones but you say that these are just as good
  • when jeno calls jaemin to tell him about you,,,,he can almost hear jaemin smiling on the other line
  • “see, you’re not cold. you’re just reserved, but it sounds like you let th right person in.”
  • jeno lets you wear his sweaters 100% and then he grins to himself when the sleeves are too long on you
  • people in school still can’t believe it’s true, not until you and jeno are walking hand in hand out the gate and even though he tried to hide it
  • his kiss on your forehead basically made everyone in your grade swoon
  • you guys don’t do a lot of pda,,,,,,but jisung still makes faces when you drop by jeno’s class to give him a snack or just tlak
  • and jisung is like “ugh,,,i can feel the love and it’s crawling all over my uniform!!” ,,,,, you and jeno ignore him and chenle just goes “its cuz you’re jealous bro”
  • jeno once tells you his favorite season is winter, when you ask why he lists off a couple of basic things: the pretty snow, the holiday cheer, the sweaters
  • but then he looks at you and smiles mysteriously, you ask what it is
  • “i think i might change my favorite season to fall though,,,,” 
  • “why?”
  • “because that’s when i met you.” 
Superfamily Thing

Dad and pops were fighting again.


They had been for at least a week now. Peter was used to the occasional blowup for a night, maybe two, before they got all stupidly sappy with one another again.
This was new. Scary.

They avoided each other in the day and screamed at each other in the night when they thought he was asleep. Pops had been sleeping in the spare room for at least six of the seven nights it had been going on for. Dinner time had become a nightmare; Uncle Clint having to swap seats so he was sat in between them and prevent another fight from springing up while they ate.


He didn’t want them to split up. Divorced parents were a pain in the ass, according to the girl who sat next to him in math class. She was always talking about what a hassle it was, moving all her stuff from one house to another every weekend.

And it meant one of them would have to leave. Move out. Get a new life and a new partner and maybe even a new kid-

But Peter really didn’t want to think about that.


Today was the fifth day of Peter coming home to see only one of his parents in the kitchen, where there should usually be two. They tended to hang around, waiting for him in order to ambush him and ask questions about his day. Their latest fad was ‘so how was Wade today?’ or something along those lines, in that stupid sing-song voice that adults always did when they were being dicks.

It had been irritating- but Peter wouldn’t have minded now. If it meant they’d been doing it together, sending stupid smirky grins toward one another or just holding hands at the table rather than looking cold and tired- he wouldn’t have minded at all.


Today it was dad who greeted him. He was sat with a coffee in hand and tablet in the other, idly tapping at the keys and trying to keep his eyes open. Peter knew he hadn’t been sleeping well- it wasn’t exactly hard to tell. And although they never spoke to him about what they did with the avengers, Peter could guess that that had been the trigger for all the stupidity lately. 

He didn’t have to be the genius he was in order to figure that out. Pops hadn’t come back from the mission two Fridays ago; they’d hurried him off to hospital instead. And then three days later, once he’d been given the all-clear, dad had brought him home, where they’d proceeded to have  a huge argument. Right in front of Peter. 

Honestly, he’d just wanted to be able to sit with pops and make sure he was okay- let him stroke his hair and quiet his worries and say how tough he was, that he wouldn’t go down that easy. But instead he’d had to be hurried away by Uncle bruce, who was rolling his eyes and apologizing on behalf of them, saying that he’d be able to talk to his pops soon, but it wasn’t a good time right now.

Peter had scowled, told Uncle Bruce moodily ‘I’m thirteen, not an idiot- I know that’, and then slammed up to his room to wait it out. And, of course, Pops had hobbled up eventually; sitting on the bed with him and assuring him he was okay, he was tough as nails, and he would always, always come home to Peter.


Except he’d been alone. and usually, no matter how mad they were at each other, Pops and Dad had always talked to Peter about this together.

That had been the first warning. From then on, it had seemed things just got progressively worse.


“Hey squirt- how was school?” Dad asked, when Peter dropped his bag and began making his way into the kitchen in order to make himself a bowl of cereal (he was a growing boy, okay, shut up, cereal in the afternoon was perfectly fine, his Uncle Clint did it all the time).

he shrugged. “Eh- it was okay. Boring, as usual; they gave us a test, I aced it, again, as usual,” Peter explained, carefully avoiding the fact that they’d been learning about The Battle of New York in lesson that day. He knew it was a touchy subject for his dad, and he didn’t want to risk upsetting him.

Dad raised an eyebrow, taking a sip from his coffee and watching Peter with a look on his face. Peter just sighed. He knew what was coming.

“So how was Waaade?

He sighed. “Ugh, Wade was fine, he smiled at me while i passed on the corridors today and that was literally all that happened. I honestly don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of this, he called me cute once-”

“Once is enough,” his dad shrugged bemusedly, poking Peter in the side as he walked around the table to sit next to him and get to work on his snack. 

“That is not a snack, Peter,” dad said, because unfortunately he was good at reading Peter’s mind like that. “That’s like, a full meal. We’re having dinner in an hour, are you serious-”

“School is hard work,” Peter complained, flopping on to the stool and leaning on his dad’s shoulder theatrically, “It drains me of energy that I need to replenish with Lucky Charms.”

“Natasha will blow her top if she sees you eating that- it’s her turn to cook tonight. And if she chooses to murder you for eating beforehand, then there isn’t much I can do. I know you’re my son, but the whole parent-bond thing only goes so far-”

Peter bumped him on the shoulder and he laughed quietly. It was nice to see the tension ease off his face a little.


Of course, then everything went wrong again.


“Hey Peter, didn’t know you’d be back so ear- oh,” his Pops said, entering the room and faltering when he saw Dad already sat at the table.

There was an awkward pause. Peter guessed they must have got the days wrong for which one of them was going to go and talk to him about his school day. 
That tended to happen when they didn’t actually speak to one another and acted like they were Peter’s Goddamn age.

Pops managed to collect himself, though- walking forward and smiling as he reached out to squeeze Peter’s shoulder, before heading to the cupboards and grabbing a mug. “You had a good day today?”

Peter shrugged, wishing it didn’t feel as tense as it did. Why the hell did parents have to argue anyway? It was stupid. They were being stupid, and Peter just wanted them to kiss and make up already- because that’s what they did, that’s what they always did, right? This wasn’t going to last, it couldn’t- Peter didn’t want to have two homes, he didn’t want Dad to marry someone else or Pops to have different kids-


It was only then that he realised Dad and Pops had moved, resting a hand on each shoulder while he leaned forward on to the table and hid his crumpled face in the crook of his arms.

 “Peter! Hey, baby, what’s happened, did something go down at school-”

“Do we need to go in, because we’ll go in, okay- whatever’s wrong, we’ll sort it out. Are you being bullied?”

“Did someone hurt you?”

“Did you have an argument with your friends?”

“Were y-”

“IT’S YOU TWO!” Peter yelled, jerking upward again and throwing his hands in the air. “God, this is the first time you’ve been this close to each other in ages! I haven’t seen you look each other in the eye when you’re around one another except to argue! Why the hell are you both being so stupid? I don’t…I don’t want you to get divorced! But you will and then you’ll both find stupid new people and have stupid new lives and leave me behind and we won’t be a family any more and I don’t want that so just STOP FIGHTING!”

He didn’t stop to listen to whatever stupid crap they tried to throw at him; instead kicking the chair he was sat on over and storming out of the room angrily, ignoring their calls and running up into his room before they could bother him. 

(Read more, mobile users!)

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anonymous asked:

can you do a daddy!dom!phil and dom!pj with bottom!dan? if you could have dan call pj something like sir that would be great too. Feel free to add anything

Yo I went a bit nuts with the “add anything”. Includes daddy!kink, exhibitionism, degradation , toys, fisting, double penetration, Dan being a little cock/cumslut jfc someone stop me.

Phil loves living with Dan, there’s no question about it. When it comes to roommates, Dan’s the full package; he’s Phil’s best friend, so he always has someone to talk to and play video games with, but he’s also his boyfriend, which means blowjobs and cuddles, too. He has all the other attributes of a great roommate as well – he cooks and cleans up after himself and always pays his rent on time. It’s very rare that they squabble and if they do it’s over something silly that’s resolved by the time they head to bed together. They’re perfect for each other, but the only problem with having such an incredible all-in-one human like Dan is that they tend to forget other people exist. It’s never on purpose, they just have a habit of getting caught up in their little life together and end up neglecting their other friends. That’s why, when Phil realises it’s almost been a year since they’ve seen PJ, he picks up the phone and invites their old friend around.

Another thing Dan and Phil don’t do as much as they used to is drink, so when the curly-haired 26-year-old turns up at their door, green eyes twinkling and right hand clutching a bottle of Jack Daniels, Phil knows it’s going to be an interesting night.

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{PART 14} I Won’t Stop You (M) // Jeon Jungkook, Vampire!AU

Originally posted by jengkook

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Vampire!AU, Fantasy, Angst, Smut

Summary; You wake up feeling a mixture of happiness and confusion at the remembrance of your night with Jungkook. But he soon chases away all confusion - showing you, yet another side of him that you can’t help but enjoy. Meanwhile, Yoongi shares his thoughts with Namjoon, revealing part of his grand plan to him.

I update this series every Tuesday evening, 9pm-10pm (UK Time)

Please note: This chapter contains scenes of a sexual nature. 

{Part 1} // {Part 13} {Part 14} {Part 15}

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Character Analysis: Shiro

[ Lance ] [ Hunk ] [ Pidge ] [ Keith ] [ Allura ] [ Coran ]

Just for entertaining meta-ish purposes I’m going to do these in the order that the characters are introduced in the show. So that means we’re starting off with Fearless Space Leader. 

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Secrets

Peter Parker X Reader

Word Count: 1907

Warning: There is a teeny bit of kissing. But it’s kind of cute????

A/N: Hey, I know this isn’t a Crash Landing update, but I’m kind of struggling with it at the moment. So, I wrote this. Also, if you haven’t seen an earlier post, I’m away for the next four-ish weeks, so don’t expect to hear all too much from me for a bit. I am trying to queue up some writing, but I can’t make any promises! I love you guys!

Want to be tagged in future fics? Please let me know!

(not my gif)

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He’s Dangerous, But Not Around You: Part 3

A/N: This sort of ends abruptly, but if I didn’t end it here the imagine would have been extremely long so I’ll be posting part 4 within the next three days x 

Part 1 Part 2

Masterlist linked in bio


Three months after Harry called off his relationship with Y/n, it was his birthday, and just like every other year for the past five, the boys decided to spend his birthday weekend at Louis’ family lake house. It was one of the few times a year they’d go- only saved for special occasions. It’s secluded, far from the city, but close enough so that it’s not too much out of their way.

Their tradition when it comes to Harry’s birthday weekend has remained the same for years now. A bonfire, a couple of poker games, countless amounts of beer, and occasional midnight skinny dipping. However, this year, the only change in tradition is Y/n not being there.

The second Harry steps foot out of his car, the whole idea of spending his birthday without Y/n makes him feel sick to his stomach. This was their favorite place to be together. They didn’t know why, but something about the privacy and the exclusiveness of it enhanced their relationship in unimaginable ways. They have had many occasions where they would flee from London without a word and spend a couple days alone here. 

The guys scurry out of the car in excitement, absolutely stoked to be back in the grand Tomlinson lake house. Harry sighs, slamming his car door shut before half-heartedly making his way inside.

He can’t blame their excitement when it came to the celebration weekend, however, they hadn’t seemed to notice how off Harry became the first couple of hours upon their arrival. But what else did he expect? He didn’t tell them, he didn’t tell them any of it. He didn’t want to. He knew they knew, anyways, but he had constantly beat himself up, blaming himself for destroying the one thing in his life he felt was genuinely worth fighting for. If he had told them what he did, he would never hear the end of it. He didn’t need anyone else to remind him of how much he had fucked up.

But ever since Y/n had left, something in him changed. He had no desire to fight anymore. Three days after he broke it off, he was worse than ever. Getting himself into numerous fights multiple times a day. It was his way of coping the loss of her, the loss of his only true humanity. However, when the fourth day came, and Harry started to really understand the fact that he was never going to see Y/n again, was when the pain really set in. He felt himself suffocating in a horrendous amount of guilt. 

She had tried so hard, she pushed him harder than anybody else had. Nobody put as much faith in him as she had. She stayed with him in times he truly didn’t deserve it. Hell, there were even days where she was so mad at him that all she could do was yell and yell and yell, and even then she still slept in the same bed as him. He couldn’t live with letting all of that go- letting her go- so he decided to prove himself wrong

It was the biggest fight of his life, the one against himself; when half of him wanted to inflict his pain onto other people and the other half wanting desperately to change himself for the sake of his relationship with Y/n. But he knew he was stronger than the monster inside of him, even though he believed he was weaker. What made him strong was Y/n’s relationship with him, he would stop at nothing to get her back.

It didn’t take Y/n more than a couple days to tell Zayn what had happened. He called her, asking what was going on since Harry had been a complete wreck with no sign of her in his life. She explained, in the best that she could between her harsh sobs and broken whimpers that Harry had left her. He broke up with her, tried to convince her that they didn’t belong together, and eventually confessed that he wasn’t willing to change for her. 

Y/n made him promise not to tell anybody else because she felt that this was Harry’s responsibility, not anybody else. Of course, Zayn kept his promise and never said a word about it to anyone. 

The rest of the guys tried to get it out of him, though. They never forced it, but occasionally mentioned her to see what he would say or do, but he just ignored them. The mention of her name killed him on the inside, and he, truthfully, still couldn’t face the reality that they aren’t together anymore.

To say the guys have been concerned for him is an understatement. Yeah, he’s stopped fighting, but he’s still not the same Harry he was when he was with Y/n. He’s constantly thinking, his mind always somewhere not where it’s supposed to be. He drinks more, too, which used to spike up his anger, but now only spikes up his sadness. He has no motivation to do anything besides stay in his house and dwell on the guilt he’s carried.

Getting him to the lake house is one of their ways of getting him to heal. They just don’t know how much this place kills him, though. God, he can’t even look at a single square inch of it without seeing her in his head. How the hell is he going to get through the weekend?

The boys begin to notice how hurt Harry is when he begins to prepare for the bonfire they planned on having later that night. This is Harry’s first birthday after his break up with Y/n, and instead of telling them how truly heartbreaking it was for him, he avoided that topic of conversation completely. He was already depressed enough, he didn’t need to bury himself in it on his own birthday.

While Harry sets up the firewood needed for the bonfire, he’s distant. He’s distracted, not consuming himself in any of the boys’ conversations. They know Y/n’s already on his mind, she’s the only one who gets him daydreaming.

Harry sighs, lifting heavy piles of wood and constructing them into a setup for later. He’s finished now, has been finished for a while, but he just can’t stop. All he can think about is how Y/n isn’t with him, how she’s probably in her new home, sulking, hating him for ruining her life. It’s his birthday, and she probably hates him.

He sighs, placing his hands on his knees and leaning forward, eyes trained on the ground. He just can’t get her out of his head, no matter how much he tries to distract himself, almost every waking moment he’s thinking about the first time they met.


They were at a party Zayn’s aunt decided to host. It was a casual-formal event, just something special for her close friends to feel welcomed to upon their return to London after being in the states for a while.

Zayn was, obviously, invited. His aunt even insisted on him bringing his best friends, which he probably would have done anyways because he wasn’t too familiar with the family the party was for. The only member he’s ever really talked to was Y/n. She was super shy, very introverted, but was extremely sweet nonetheless. She had talked to Zayn a couple times when they stayed at his aunt’s house simultaneously. Other than that, they didn’t talk much.

“C’mon, you’re just gonna stand in the corner all night?” Zayn approached Harry, a glass of vodka held loosely in his hands.

Harry was pissed he was even in the situation he was in. Social events weren’t his thing, never something he found entertaining. He didn’t care about this stupid family’s return, he didn’t even know them.

“This is the last goddam place I want to be right now” Harry seethed, “I’m pissed off at you for even fucking forcing me here, don’t force me to try and mingle too.”

He let out a slight grumble in Zayn’s direction before making his way to the mini bar. On his way, in the midst of his aggravation, he felt a body collide with his. He groaned, a slight growl in the mix, definitely not in any mood for people to get in his way.

“Watch where you’re-“

“Oh, sorry” the girl gasped, “didn’t see you there.”

Harry’s body immediately froze at the sight of her. She was the most stunning woman he’s ever seen. Her eyes were sparkling with sorrow, lips parted slightly due to the impact. Her outfit complimented her body shape beautifully, leaving him absolutely speechless.

“I- It’s okay” he stuttered, eyes never leaving her, “are you okay?”

She nodded slightly, completely captivated by the most handsome man standing in front of her. God, how he was so beautiful, she would have never known a man like this could ever exist in this world.

“I’m okay” she softly spoke, “thank you.”

Harry insisted on buying her a drink as a way to apologize for not exactly paying attention to where he was going. They chatted for a while, mainly about the party. Come to find out, she was the daughter of Zayn’s aunt’s friends. She hadn’t gone to the states with them, however, she didn’t really make too much of an effort to go and see her in her stay in London.

They were talking quite well, considering Harry definitely did give her an attitude at times and somehow made her feel extremely intimidated whenever he did so. But he had to admit, it was one of the best conversations he’s had in a while, despite his unfriendly character.

“What’s your name, by the way?” Harry finally asked.

She blushed slightly.

“I’m Y/n. And you?”

“Harry.”

“Oh, you’re Harry.” Y/n said quietly, a hint of realization in her tone of voice.

Harry didn’t like the way she said it, as if insulting him in a way. Which, for him, was a bit of a let down considering there was a moment where he genuinely believed she was different.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Harry snapped, his voice somehow rougher and more raspy than how it was before, “Like you’re any better?“

His fierce stare upon her made Y/n feel belittled. When he spoke to her, he made her feel as if her existence was the dirt beneath his shoes. No wonder Zayn had warned her, no girl like Y/n could survive five minutes with such an intimidating man.

“Oh- um- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that Zayn had told me to stay away from you.” She stuttered, her voice barely above a mumble.

She still refused to make eye contact with him, only for the sake of her safety. She was too afraid to look at him now, when his body seemed tense and eyes filled with aggression. She was an easy pray for people like him to feed on- to get a good kick out of.

“I should go” she muttered, “It was lovely to meet you.”

Almost too quickly, she grabbed her bag off the bar and began to make her way back to where she was before. However, before making it too far, she felt a hand grab ahold of her wrist.

He didn’t know why, but when he had seen the fear set in Y/n’s eyes, an overwhelming feeling of guilt set upon him. It was strange, to feel so much of it hit him over one girl’s reaction. He had done this many times to many people, all of which having a moment of complete vulnerability during his encounters with them. But they didn’t necessarily make him feel anything more than the slightest bit of regret.

“Hey” he whispered softly, delicately pulling her back to where he was standing, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Y/n looked into his eyes as he spoke, giving her the reassurance she needed. He was genuine, she could tell, his eyes screamed sympathy.

“It’s oka-“

“But Zayn is right,” Harry continued, slowly letting her arm go “you should stay away from me.”

Before she had any time to react, he had walked away from her.

The rest of the night, Y/n was determined to speak to him again. After meeting him for the first time, she had an innumerable amount of questions she pressed Zayn to answer. Why is he always angry? Is he dangerous? But why was he so nice to me when I walked away?

Zayn explained that Harry wasn’t someone she should be concerned about. All he told her was that he had been hurt one too many times and it caused him to become violent towards those who threaten potential pain. He doesn’t apologize to anybody, and told her that it was quite strange how he had to her.

Harry couldn’t stop thinking about her. He didn’t know what it was, exactly, that intrigued him so much. Besides the fact she was the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid his eyes on, she was so easy to talk with. She was quiet, and apart of him liked that about her. The moment he hurt her, he just felt so bad, like it was the last thing he ever wanted to see.

Which is why he walked away from her.

When he saw Zayn later that night, he had asked about her. He asked how they had known each other, asked about her life and where she lived. He was determined to know more about her. It wasn’t even that he just wanted to, but it felt like he had to, like he was being compelled to feel this way toward her.

Right as he was about to leave the party, he had heard her voice behind him

“Harry?”

He slowly turned to look at her. She was looking as shy as ever, fingers fiddling together, cheeks blushed, eyes unsure. She didn’t know exactly what she was going to say, but she wanted to try.

“I want to get to know you.” She spoke softly, her hand reaching up to tuck some of her loose hair behind her ear.

He swore his heart melted. The second the words fell from her lips, he was willing to do whatever it took to get to know her.

“I know you said I should stay away from you, but I don’t want to.”


“Harry,” Zayn mumbles, snapping Harry out of his thoughts, “do you want to talk about it?”

Harry didn’t realize he was near tears until Zayn snapped him out of his trance. He didn’t look at them as he returns to placing the logs in piles, contemplating whether or not to disregard his statement or not. Of course he wants to talk about how much mental pain he’s in from not being with Y/n anymore, but he just can’t talk about it. They know that, too, because if he were ready, he would have already.

“Can you stop asking about her, please?” He groans, tossing the last piece of wood onto the top of the pile, “I know you guys know, so please, don’t make me say it.”

He doesn’t bother to look at them, instead, wiping off some of the sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his flannel before making his way inside the house to change out of his sweaty clothes. He didn’t want to seem rude, but he’s completely and utterly broken, if he has to be questioned about her again he swears he’ll actually become ill.

Half-heartedly making his way to the bedroom, Harry opens up the duffle bag that sits on top of the bed, that he has yet to unpack, searching through the folded clothes to find his plain gray t-shirt he plans on wearing for later that night. Slipping off his flannel and sliding off the now dirty white tank top underneath, he puts on the t-shirt, throwing the dirty clothes into the laundry bin.

Once changed, Harry begins to unpack the remaining clothes out of his bag. His hands are shaking as he does so, breathing heavy when he sets his clothes down on the bed. His stomach twists with sick at the idea of sleeping in this goddamn room.

This was the first place they made love. It was within the first month of being with each other, filled with beautiful romance and bliss. It was the best night of his life. It was the first time he had touched someone so delicately before. The first time his violent hands spread love throughout her body. He said words he never thought he’d say again. Words that he actually fucking meant, words to express how his once cold heart felt warm for what felt like the first time in his life. 


It was her first visit to the lake house. She had just finished cleaning up the remaining dishes, insisting that even though she was the guest, she had to contribute to the clean up after having a barbecue. Harry was sitting by the kitchen table, just watching her, observing her as she hummed an unknown tune, her hair messily tied up on her head. He could hear the boys playing poker in the living room, which he would have played if Harry hadn’t already planned on taking Y/n out near the lake after she had finished cleaning up.

“Alright, Harry, all done.” she smiled, “Now what was it you wanted to show me?”

She made her way toward his sitting frame, taking a seat right on top of his lap. Combing her fingers through his hair, she planted a delicate kiss on the tip of his nose, making Harry’s face blush the color of roses. He reached his arms around her waist, nuzzling her body against his.

“Hm,” he hummed, kissing the exposed skin on her shoulder, “was gonna show you the lake, but almost considering just cuddling you all night long.”

Y/n smiled as Harry leaned in to press a hard kiss against her soft lips. She breathed out heavily, fingertips moving to caress his cheeks, his unshaved stubble scraping against their pads.

“Gross!” they heard Niall call from the living room, “I call the room farthest from yours!”

They both laughed, Harry rolling his eyes at the comment.

“As fantastic that sounds” Y/n smirked, raking her fingers on his back under his shirt, “this is my first time here, and it’s your birthday weekend. I want to explore it with you.”

She leaned down to quickly peck his chapped lips, which soon turned into a wild smirk. His green eyes looked into her brown ones, his fingers dancing along the nape of her neck.

“I can do that for you.”

Once they were by the lake, they sat in silence together. She was cuddled into him, sitting in between his legs, her head rolled back onto his shoulder, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. They admired the nature they were surrounded by, overwhelmed by the feeling of each other’s company under the moon. It felt like a dream, every bit of it did. It was such a surreal moment for them. They didn’t need to speak about anything for a while, being this close to each other, feeling each other’s bodies against one another was enough for them. They felt closer than ever.

They kissed, and kissed, and kissed. So much so that Y/n ended up on top of him. Her legs were straddling his waist, hands roaming under his shirt, nails scratching at his ribs. Harry had his hands all in her hair, as if trying to pull her closer to him, as if it were even possible.  Her lips traveled down to his neck, kissing every bit of the exposed skin. She just couldn’t get enough. They both couldn’t.

“Y/n.” Harry whispered.

“I love you, Harry.” She muttered against his skin.

“So in love with you.“

It was the first time it was said. They both knew they loved each other once they met. Hell, it was obvious. It didn’t need to be said, but she said it anyways. She said it like she meant it, too, like her heart was blooming as she spoke. God, he even felt her tears against his neck. She was so overwhelmed by their love, the words just slipped out in the moment, but oh how she meant them.

In that moment, he was a weak man. He completely surrendered himself to her love. He was willing for it to have all control over him. He made a promise to himself, to devote his life proving his love for her, proving that he will be the man she deserves in her life, not the man he had other people see.

“Y/n,” he whispers again, fingers gliding down her waist, “I’m so in love with you. I always will be.”

That night, once he had taken her to their room, they made love over and over and over again. It was their first time, opening up to each other in a completely different way than they usually did. His lips captured hers perfectly, his hands fit in hers as if they were, quite literally, made for each other. His name became a mantra, her body became a temple. It was an entirely new level of trust. It was a night that they could have re-lived every day for the rest of their lives, easily, with not a complaint in the world.



Fuck” Harry spits, reaching the back of his hand up to eyes in an attempt to wipe the tears threatening to spill.

He can’t sleep in here, there’s no way he could, not without Y/n. Not without her in his arms, not without making love to her beforehand. His bed at home made him sick enough, but here? He just can’t fathom it.

He begins to shove the clothes he’s started to unpack back into his suitcase. He can’t stay in here another minute. He’ll lose his goddamn mind.

While zipping up his bag, he hears the front door open. Niall’s laugh fills the silence in the house upon his entrance, which gives Harry an idea on how to fix his sleeping situation without raiding the couch.

“Niall!” Harry yells, slinging the bag over his shoulder.

Niall makes his way up the steps toward his voice.

“Yeah?!”

“We’re switching rooms!”

“Oh hell no!”

Niall goes into the room Harry’s in, his face strict and serious.

“You and Y/n have fucked on that bed way too many times. I don’t even think you washed the sheets last time you guys did it on there, either. Pretty sure this room has a permanent stench of sex because of you two.”

Harry’s jaw clenches. Normally, he’d have a rational conversation until he got his way, but he isn’t taking this situation lightly. So, instead, he grabs Niall’s wrist harshly, eyes narrowing down at him as he takes a threatening step closer to him.

Niall’s eyes widen as he looks up at him. Not even because a small part of him felt intimidated, but because this is the first time Harry has shown aggression toward anybody within the past couple of months. There is a chance the part he’s been hiding is becoming unleashed, but Niall knows it was easily set off by Harry’s many failed attempts to get Y/n out of his head.

“I don’t think you understand, Niall” Harry seethes, “I may have not laid my hands on anyone in months, but missing Y/n doesn’t only make me sad, it makes me dangerous. I will not hesitate to do whatever it takes to be as far away from this room as possible. Now I will not tell you again, we are switching rooms.”

Niall rips his hand out of Harry’s grip, shaking it around a bit from the amount of pressure Harry was gripping it with.

“Alright, Jesus,” he groans, “but you better wash those fucking sheets. I refuse to sleep in a bed full of sex.“

Harry lets out a breath he was holding in, somewhat relieved that he doesn’t have to be spending three nights in his own personal hell. 

Adjusting the strap of his bag onto his shoulder, Harry slowly nods as he continues to look at Niall. He feels bad for treating him in the way he just did, but the idea of becoming more hurt than he already was is something he wouldn’t be able to live with. 

“Yeah, yeah I will.” He mutters. “I’m sorry, by the way, for that. I didn’t want to hurt you, but I can’t be in this room for another second without losing my mind. I really can’t.”

Niall sighs, slowly reaching up to wrap his arms security around Harry. Being like his brother, he really has felt so bad for what he’s been going through. He can’t imagine the heartbreak, or how he’s even surviving the breakup as well as he has. 

Harry reaches his arms around Niall’s body, hugging him back.

“It’s okay, bud. I get it, you don’t have to apologize. I’ll even wash the sheets for you.”

Harry lets out a slight laugh, shaking his head briefly before detaching himself from Niall and making his way into his room.

Once settled, Harry makes his way down to the kitchen to grab a couple of beers and take some time to himself. If this weekend is going to haunt the living shit out of him, he might as well try to make himself relax the slightest bit.

With a bottle of beer held loosely in his hand, he opens the sliding door that leads to the porch. Leaning his body against the doorway, Harry admires the sun setting on the lake, watching as the wind moves the leaves in small dance.

For the first time since the breakup, he actually feels at peace.

“She broke up with you, didn’t she?” Liam asks, suddenly joining Harry on the porch as he sips on a bottle of beer, slinging his arm around Harry’s shoulders.

Harry rolls his eyes, the accusation of her leaving him must have been the topic of all their conversations. Of course that’s what they thought, it must have been so convenient for them to think Y/n could live a great life without him while he would be a danger to the streets. That’s how much he needed her, but they never seemed to notice how much she needed him, not how Harry noticed.

“Why is everyone so convinced that if we were to ever break up, she’d be the one that called it off?” Harry snarls.

“I was the one who ended it.” He continues, “It wasn’t working out.”

He takes a swig from his beer, eyes still trained on the view of the lake. He doesn’t want to continue this conversation, doesn’t want to relive the night that tore his life apart. Most of all, he doesn’t want to talk about it here, at this stupid fucking lake house, and have to dwell on the pain he wishes he could erase. He doesn’t want to be reminded that he was the one who did this to them.

“C’mon,” Liam sighs, “she was the only thing you had. She was the only one to get this Harry back. You were just afraid she’d leave you first.”

Harry decides not to answer, not knowing how to respond. Of course that’s why he ended it, that’s how he operates. He pushes those away just so that nobody pushes him away. He could deal with anybody else doing it, but if Y/n had left him first, there was no way he’d ever make it through that. Not a fiber in his body doubts that for even a second.

“Have you spoken to her at all?” Liam breaks the silence.

Harry looks down at his beer, circling it in his hands. Why does he keep asking him questions he clearly doesn’t want to answer?

“She said she never wanted to see me again.” Harry mumbles, “I haven’t spoken to her since she left.”

Jesus, Harry.” Liam whispers. “Are you okay?”

Something about that question makes something inside of Harry twist. Is he okay? How can he be okay? He hasn’t seen the love of his life, hasn’t talked to her, hasn’t even heard the sound of her breathing in months. Every part of his body hurts every time he thinks about her because the feeling of being away from her is the most painful feeling in the world.

His life was consumed by her love. His entire world changed when he met her. Nobody else could he lay his hands so sweetly on, could his voice speak so softly to, could his heart swell so greatly for. She changed him, even though he was too scared to admit it to her, she changed him. She gave him hope- gave him a reason to hold onto himself.

Since she’s left, in times when he’s at his all-time low, all he can think about is how his arms felt holding her, how his lips felt kissing her, how fucking relieving and beautiful it was to talk to her, and how he let all of that go.

How can he be okay?

Tears cloud his vision, his hands begin to shake. Oh, God. He thought he was over this. He thought he was over the emotions, he didn’t deserve them. He did this, he caused all this, this was his decision. Yet here he is, again, fighting back the tears that have been so desperate to be released.

“I mean” Harry begins, his voice shaking as he speaks, “I mean, I fucked up everything. I had everything I ever needed and I was the one who let it go. I was starting to think that her leaving me would be worse but now-”

He’s choking back sobs, face wet with unwelcomed tears, “now I can’t stop thinking about how much she hates me right now. She has a home without me, she lives her life without me, she is falling asleep at night without me. And the worst part is that she didn’t want it that way. That was all me, everything is because of me!”

Liam rushes to wrap his arms around him, pulling Harry’s head down onto his shoulder so that he has a place to cry. Harry’s holding him like it’s his ever last bit of hope, almost as if grasping for reassurance for his relationship with Y/n.

“Harry.” he whispers.

“Trust me, Liam, I didn’t want this, either” he continues, words scrambling out of his mouth, “but what else was I supposed to do? And now I’m at this stupid fucking lake house where we talked about getting married and she’s not here with me and I can’t do this anymore!”

He’s completely helpless now. His body is weak, shaking against Liam’s tense frame. He’s in so much pain, so much heartbreak that he’s almost screaming, begging God for some mercy because he can’t take this anymore. The constant thought of her, the constant reminder that he’s never going to see her again rips his heart out every second of every day.

“I just really don’t want to know what it’s like to live another day without her” his voice quivers, “I never do.”

Harry’s wet eyes meet Liam’s sympathetic ones. Liam opens his mouth, preparing to say something, but Harry simply shakes his head. He can’t do this anymore. 

He pats Liam’s shoulder- thanking him for being by his side- before turning around to walk away. He slides the glass door open, walking inside the kitchen to replace his now empty bottle of beer with a new one.

“Wait,” Liam mumbles, “wait, Harry, I have to tell you something.”

Harry stops in his place, slowly turning his body around to look at him. He cocks his head to the side, eyebrows furrowed, seeming confused.

“Y/n- she’s- she’s coming here tonight.”  

“After the finals, let’s end this”

Okay, so ever since this scene caused all that fuss, I thought about what made it so shocking, but also tried to think about what made it make sense, or rather, not-so-shocking.

I guess what made it the most shocking was everything that happened in Episode 10, with the whole engagement, and sightseeing, and Viktor taking the viewers on his own tour of Life and Love. But then again, Episode 10 was mainly written from Viktor’s POV. The last we saw of Yuuri was in Episode 9, where he was saying:

We all know this was Yuuri’s plan, even through Episode 10. Sure, Yuuri proposed, but that was already for their personal life, and not the professional skating careers. Their proposal was meant for them alone, regardless of the Grand Prix Final outcome.

But when I go back to it, I think the moment that had me convinced that Yuuri’s mind would change was this:

This part above starts giving us a small hope that Yuuri is thinking more long-term, since that’s what “until I retire” sounds like (or we hope to be). But:

What got me was this reaction of Yuuri to Viktor’s words.

At first, I thought his crying was the kind you do when someone says something so sweet and so meaningful to you. I thought his tears were just of emotion and love. And they probably partly were either way.

But when I look at it again, his tears and his expression hold some anguish, distress, dread. Because he doesn’t know how to tell Viktor yet that even if Viktor doesn’t ever want him to retire, Yuuri has his heart set on retiring after the Grand Prix Final. His tears say, “thank you, but I’m sorry, that’s not how it’s going to be, I’ve made up my mind.” But I think Yuuri was just too overwhelmed by the moment and the mood to tell Viktor what he really wanted to say.

He said it himself right before that airport moment:

But because of the events that transpired as soon as he saw Viktor, he didn’t get to say it, that he was going to retire after the GPF regardless of what he wins.

Because of that, that whole conversation got postponed to the infamous, heartbreaking, End of Episode 11.

Lots of people have probably thought about this, but I just wanted to give emphasis to that moment where Yuuri cries at the very end of the airport scene, because I think it was the most telling moment that warns us of what he says in Episode 11.

I Think I Wanna Marry You...(Part II)

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: none; S/P/N- Sister’s Preferred Name.

Summary: The reader, distraught over not having a date to her sister’s wedding, considers asking one of the Winchesters to pretend to accompany her; will Dean manage to save the day and play pretend for two weeks, or will his feelings get the best of him?

Word count: almost 4k

A/N: yo this blew up way more than i ever thought it would thank you so much for the support <3

Dedicated to: @quixoticcat, @skymoonandstardust, @girliciousdreams, @captainbitchslap, @awkward–jay, @fandomlover03, and @daesunglg

PART 1

~*~*~*~*~

Friday arrives much faster than anticipated. It’s a warm, brisk morning, the sunlight raining down and painting  Massachusetts with a summery essence. Fallen leaves litter the yards of suburban homes and a canopy of those that remain is spread across the road, only a few dots of light peering through.


“Textbook illustration of the apple-pie life.” Dean remarks as he steers the car down a long strip of tarmac. “God…it’s making me sick already.”


“Hold it down. You know I don’t want you throwing up on any of my family members.” Y/N admonishes, letting her gaze avert from watching the houses roll by and unto the elder Winchester; today, despite her attempts to persuade him,  he’s still settled on wearing his usual hunter get-up—jeans and a plaid (obviously)—and his chin is adorned with a feint patch of stubble. His eyes are set on the road, focused, but she don’t miss the way his mouth quirks up at the remark.


Sam laughs as his eyes follow the array of little homes. “Noted.” He says. “Anything else Dean needs to know should probably be voiced out right now. You don’t want him making a fool out of himself around your family either.”


“We talked about this already last night.” The elder Winchester groans.


“No cussing around my mom, no crude jokes, saying the grace is a must, and—“


“And be sure to talk politics with your dad. Yes, I got all of that the first hundred times you told me.” Dean, rolling his eyes, makes a turn for the left and Y/N heaves a sigh of relief. They pass a group fo teenagers walking to school (way too late).


“Okay.” Y/N sighs, then raises her finger for emphasis. “Oh—also, be sure to try and interact with all my brothers. They love that.”

“We’ve met your family before, Y/N.” Sam’s eyes never leave his screen as he twiddles away at his phone.


They had; at the birth of her hunting career with the boys, years back, Y/N had had to make trip down to Massachusetts to handle a siren case that the Winchester’s provided extra muscle for. Their time in town had been spent at her parents’ home.


“I know, but this is different.” She defends. “Dean is….” She pauses, eyes skittering over to the elder Winchester for not so much as a second before they return. “….my boyfriend. Or pretending to be my boyfriend. There’s going to be a lot of pressure.”


“Your folks don’t seem like the type.”


“I just want to rub it in their faces that I’m.”—she raises her hands in finger quotes—“not single anymore so that they’ll get off my case.”


The elder Winchester nods slowly, pulling a face. “Makes sense.”


“Not really.”


“Shut up, Sam.”


The younger Winchester finally lifts his head from his phone. His gaze bounces from Y/N to Dean. “What did Cas say, by the way?”


“About tagging along?” Dean casts a brief glance into the backseat. “Not much. He said that he doesn’t see why we need him there anyway. I told him Y/N’s sister was getting married and she gets to bring a couple of friends, and seeing as we’re the only ones she has…” He trails off. Y/N then smacks him on the shoulder, earning a satisfied smile. “I’m kidding. Kind of. I told him that we want him to come with.”


“And he said no?”


Dean shrugs and continues to drive. The conversation ends there for a moment, and once a silence spreads throughout the car, Dean tunes the radio on and Y/N turns her head to the window.


Trees and houses and roads oh so familiar from her childhood escapades through this tone roll by. Streets, cafes. Although vast and very busy, she knows this place like the back of her hand; the local pool where their family used to go on weekends, the private schools she bounced between. Just down the road, wedged in the valley nearby are the woods where she encountered her first monster at the tender age of sixteen.


So many memories. So much attachment. Y/N hates Massachusetts more than anything; because it reminds her of how idyllic her life was before she started hunting. It reminds her of people and of places and everything the rest of her peers experienced that she didn’t get to; hunting whisked her away from her life, stripped her of a regular teenage hood. But then again, she’s not complaining.


She chose this life. She chose Sam and Dean. She loves Sam and Dean. You can tell her that the sky is red and that pigs fly and she’ll still believe all that first before she believes that they boys are anything but her family.


Boston is a few kilometers off the highway, down a winding road lined by thick trees and shrubbery, and with a few residential buildings scattered around. Despite being a large neighborhood dotted with mansions and the like, it’s a lot quieter. The rumble of the Impala’s engine is evident as Dean, instructed by Y/N, steers his way through. The outline of the city is painted against the canvas of the bright blue sky as they approach. The traffic, taken the time of day, is minimal and so they manage to get to the hotel in time.


In the parking, Dean kills the engine immediately, and then, heaving a heavy sigh, turns to Y/N.


His face speaks no ounce of nervousness, which only makes the young girl’s stomach coil into a tighter knot. She wants him to be nervous. One of them has to, and Dean’s placidity leaves room for only her own anxiety. “So….?”


“So…” She replies, trying to ease away her own nerves. Her hands feel clammy and the back of her neck is hot.  “Just don’t be nervous, yeah? My parents are like predators—they can smell your anxiety a mile away.”


“Not helping.”


“Not supposed to.”


“I feel like I should be telling that you, Y/N.” Dean remarks. “You’re shaking like a leaf.”


“No, I’m not.” She is. It’s a terrible lie and very evidently so, but thankfully none of the boys say anything. Instead, however, Dean reaches out and envelopes her hand in his. Y/N then stills, and feels the color drain from her face.


The contact is warm, assuring. Her hands slides perfectly into his and their fingers intertwine, palms pressed flat.


“We’re gonna kick ass.” Dean says confidently. Y/N doesn’t hear him—she’s looking at him, staring him dead in the eye, but the words enter one ear and fly out the other because her hand is in his and it’s nice.


It’s nice.


They’ve never held hands before, not like this. Dean guiding her through a dark path on a hunt, Y/N pulling him with her as she runs from a vampire. Their hands have definitely touched before, and their skin has definitely grazed before, but this is so alien to Y/N, because it feels nice and like everything that it’s not supposed to.


Dean stares into the young girl’s gaze as he tugs on her hand, offering a brief smile. “Come on.” He goes to open the door. “We’re gonna be late.”


Once his hand leaves hers, it’s like her trance has been diminished, like spell once cast over her has been broken. She floats back to reality. Sam is hauling their bags out from the trunk, she realizes, and Dean is trying to fit as many weapons into his luggage (just in case) as he can. She quickly gets out. The hotel, adorned with a very tropical theme, is down a strip of cobbled path with a few plants at the sides. Y/N follows the Winchesters, trying to keep the pace, when she hears Dean call to her.


She turns. “Huh?”


“Give me your bag.” He says, his hand open as they walk. Y/N stares at him for a moment, eyes glazed over. She’s still a bit dazed. Looking at Dean now feels alien and almost unreal, like she’s looking in one of those funny funhouse mirrors. Maybe it’s just the stress of this wedding, or the heat, she thinks, trying to brush it off


“Oh, uhm.”


“I got it.”But before she can speak, Sam plucks the rucksack from her and hoists it up on his back. Dean scoffs.


“Wow, Sam.”He rolls his eyes as they approach the hotel. Towering above them, it’s a giant of a building, quaint balconies perched up on room, it’s years and history written out in the way vines climb in slender tendrils along the stone walls. Inside, the ceiling climbs so high one might think it reaches the heavens


“Maybe Y/N should have asked you to play her boyfriend instead.” Dean remarks as they stroll in. The place is packed; an eclectic cloud of people roams the room, all with their luggage in hand.


Sam smirks. “Maybe she should have.”


“The reception’s over there.”


Y/N points to the desk ahead. Shuffling through the crowd, the trio makes their way over to the counter, the receptionist smiling at them. She’s young, probably older than them, but still her skin is taut and plump and her brown eyes gleam as she speaks. She types something into the computer and in a moment heir rooms are assigned, all courtesy of her family. Sam has agreed to carry everything upstairs and meet them at the lounge, so Y/N and Dean decide the time alone can be used to go over their ground rules again.


They wander over to the bar, a noticeable distance between them. The room is ambient, lit up by little warm lights suspended from the high-set ceiling despite it being day. Slow jazz music floats through the crowded room. As soon as they settle down, swarming like locusts in a field, the waiters come over, all trying to fix a menu in their faces until Dean ushers them away and says that they’re not hungry. Y/N is a little bit disappointed—she hasn’t eaten all morning—but says nothing, instead focusing on the man before her.


“Can I cuss around your sister?” Dean asks as he leans back in his seat.


Y/N nods vigorously, her expression saying that the answer is quite obvious. “S/P/N’s got a mouth like a sailor. A little profanity won’t hurt. Not around my parents though.”


“Not around your mum…?”


“Not around either.” She says. “They hate it, think it makes you look delinquent.”


Dean nods thoughtfully, then goes on asking various questions. Time seems to drift by unnoticed, the conversation bouncing from one end to another like a ball in a tennis court.


“Can I drink?”


“Sure.”


“Smoke…?”


Y/N wrinkles her brow in uncertainty. “You don’t smoke.” She says; it’s a firm statement, a proclamation rather than a question


“But if I had to?“


“Fine.” The young girl lets out an exaggerated sigh.  Dean chuckles. The sound is precise and brief but still manages to bring a shy smile to her face.  Moments later, the table has quieted for some reason, so Y/N lifts her gaze to Dean, regarding him curiously. She knows that look—it’s hard not to when she’s seen it so many times, with Sam or Cas, or even first hand. Gaze set on the floor, his lip is tucked between his teeth and he runs his tongue over his lips, his contemplation evident until he finally looks up.


“So,” The elder finally allows their eyes to meet. “What about us? You know…our boundaries, instructions. Do’s and don’ts. What do we say if we get the stereotypical how did you meet quiz?”


“Doesn’t really matter.” She waves a dismissive hand and then leans back in her seat. The fiber of the backrest presses into her back, crackling quietly. “My parents already know we met through hunting, but we could always just use some other cover with my other relatives.”


“So we lie?”


She quirks a teasing brow and smiles. “You have no problem lying that you’re an FBI agent basically every day. Lying that you met me on vacation or something can’t really be that hard…?”


“Where was our vacation to?”


“So we’re settling on the vacation-thing?”


Dean shrugs. “Any other options? I’m sorta just following here. It’s your plan.”


“Don’t say it like that. We’re a team, Dean.”


“Right, almost forgot that.” The elder Winchester chuckles and shakes his head. “Okay. What if we met on unconventional grounds? Maybe I nearly ran your dog over and you got pissed, so you tried flagging down my car and threatened to press charges. You didn’t, of course. My good looks and wit managed to persuade you into changing your mind and just having dinner with me instead.”


Y/N rolls her eyes at the green-eyed hunter, her mouth quirked upwards. “Is that your definition of romance? It sounds like bad lifetime movie.”


“It’s realistic.”


“It’s dumb.”


Dean pouts, then folds his arms and leans back in the chair. “Whatever.” He grumbles. “You think something up then.”


“Vacation it is.”


“You’re insufferable.”


A wide grin stretches across Y/N’s face and she revels in the victory, when Sam walks up. He comes up from behind her, the only indication of his arrival being the way Dean’s eyes dart to the space past her seat.


“You guys aren’t eating?”  He asks, pulling out a seat from the table nearby. He sits and turns to Dean.


“Do you want to?” The elder Winchester looks to Y/N—he’s asking her.


Opening her mouth to speak, she’s about to decline (because they don’t have time to sit and eat anyway), but the grumbling in her stomach reminds her of her hunger. The sound is embarrassingly loud. Her mouth instantly shuts, and Dean’s eyes widen.


“Shut up.” Y/N chastises as her cheeks are swarmed with pink. The elder Winchester doesn’t listen. He begins to howl with laughter, clasping his stomach, and Sam snickers along with him.


“Whatever.” She turns her head, scowling, as his laughter begins to melt away. Leaning back in his seat, little bubbles of laughter escape him, and he lifts his hand.


“Waiter.”He calls. A few feet away, with long curly blond hair, one of the servers from earlier turns. Dean’s ruddy face smiles at him as he calls him over. He scuttles over, a polite smile on his face.


“Yes, sir?”


“What do you want, Y/N?” Dean’s voice is ribbing and smug.


“Shut up.” The young girl rolls her eyes and turns her attention to the waiter. He’s young and his face is dotted with little pink spots of acne. She orders a chicken salad, just like Sam, and Dean goes for stake. Moments later, the food arrives, hot and scented with herbs and spices.


They eat and then, stuffed and satisfied, head up to their rooms to get cleaned up. Y/N just got a call from her parents asking where they are, that they’ve been waiting on them for a while now and everyone is already arriving


when they finally get to their room, Sam waiting out in the hallway, she and the elder Winchester hurry to get ready. Y/N curls her hair and throws on some mascara while Dean runs a quick shower.


“Okay, this is it.” She says, standing by the bed; the light from outside floods the area, bringing out the very delicate and chic design: the walls, painted mocha brown, are adorned with little trinkets and the bedspread is a light toffee color. There’s a potted palm in one of the corners, candles practically everywhere, and the wooden floor is warm beneath her bare feet.


“Operation Wedding Crasher is in pursuit.” Y/N says to Dean


Standing in the bathroom, he’s just gotten out of the shower and is trying to fix his hair, running his fingers through it and muttering profanities beneath his breath. She’d insisted that he changed—taken how many outfits he’s recycled, she’s pretty sure he wore that very one years ago when he first met her parents


“Roger that.” He takes one last look in the mirror, checking his stubble and hair, then walks over to the bed where his shirt sits.


Y/N tries not to stare at his bare-chested form as he quickly slips on the shirt, the front undone and exposing his caramel-colored skin. Instead, she clears her throat and turns away. This is the only way; if she doesn’t, she’s going to end up drooling a puddle on the floor or letting her gaze linger for too long, and that’s the last thing she needs right now. As if things weren’t awkward enough back in the car.


She then looks down at her hand, once encased in Dean’s, the marks from her battles with monster’s still there. There’s a little crescent shaped scar sticking out in her palm that speaks of a hunt years ago, a hunt with a rugaroo that ended in tears and blood and Y/N clasping onto Dean’s shirt for dear life. It’s hard to forget. She can recall getting it, can remember the pain of having to kill that young girl because of the abomination she had come, can still taste the blood on her tongue and feel the pain in her hand.


This life has left her with various moments like that. It’s a packaged deal when you’re a hunter, a sort of terms-and-conditions scenario, to have at least one hunt that has managed to strip you of normality. Something that took you over the line that separates you from the regular world—that was it for Y/N. She was it. That girl couldn’t have been older than seventeen. Having her blood on her hands had definitely been the initiation into the hunter’s game for Y/N.


She has been through so much in her time as a hunter and it shows; on her face and on her body. On her hands. She runs a finger along the tissue, watching it intently. Dean is speaking in the background, saying something to her that she can’t decipher because she forgets to for a moment, until the memory nudges at her conscience once more. The rugaroo hunt. Her scar.


It had been Dean to help her that night. It had been him and his nobility to carry her out of that house before she could bleed out; it had been him and his care, his selflessness, that got her to the car parked miles away from the woods they were in; it had been Dean to stop the bleeding and the tears that seemed to rain from her eyes after she killed that young girl and it had been his hands to cloth the wound in her own.


It had been and it will always be Dean, because Dean is her family.


“Y/N?” He says, pulling her from her reverie.


The young girl immediately looks up and whips around, facing the elder Winchester who is already dressed and ready to go. Y/N’s eyes widen; she doesn’t say it, but the outfit change was definitely a good idea.


Because wow.


Her eyes rake up and down the green-eyed hunter’s structure, taking in the sight of his crisp burgundy button up and dress pants—he looks stunning. He always looks stunning. It’s not weird for Y/N to say because it’s Dean and everyone notices his attractiveness upon first encounter, but this is a whole different case. It’s still him, of course. His eyes are still vibrant green, breaching into a hazel-gold, and his hair is still chestnut brown and his smile and his heart and everything Dean Winchester is still evidently there, but it’s just…different, like looking at the same thing but from a different angle.


“Uhm…” He draws out after a while.


Y/N looks back up to his eyes; her face then flushes and she swallows. “Sorry, uh” She stumbles, clasping her hands together and trying to regain her composure”—you were saying?”


Dean is smirking. “I look that good, huh?”


“Oh, shut up.”


He chuckles. The first few buttons of his shirt are popped and you can see a patch of caramel-tinted skin peering out at you, a feint scar on his collarbone adding some extra touch. “I was saying that we should get going. Sam’s already waiting up for us.”


“Right. Uhm, so we’ve gone over everything, yeah? You get the plan?”


“Yes. Act like we’re dating.”


“Act like we’re in love.” Y/N corrects as she grabs her satchel from the bed and goes to Dean at the door. She stands, body facing him. “There’s a big difference. My parents are going to be all over my case for these two weeks if they see that you and I don’t have any chemistry.”


“We already do, though.” He defends.


“Whatever. Then let’s amp it up—mega chemistry.”


“Mega chemistry, huh?”


“Yeah.” She smiles; it’s goofy and a bit shy because, God, did she really just say that?


But Dean doesn’t seem to mind, because his lips turn up to and he shakes his head. “Dork.”


“Let’s go.”


Y/N goes to open the door, her hand hovering right above the knob when Dean cuts in.


“Can I hold your hand?” He asks.


The young girl then stills and her hand floats away from the door. She stares at him; his voice is calm and collected, like he’s asking her what’s the time or how she is.


“You…want to hold my hand?” Y/N’s uncertainty is evident.


Shrugging, he pulls a face, an expression that says no duh, why not.“Yeah.” He answers. “We are trying to portray that mega-chemistry, aren’t we?”


“We are.”


“Yeah…so.”


She feels him reach out, like it’s happening in slow motion, like she can’t do anything, and take her hand in his. Their skin grazes and fingers lace. His hand is far bigger than hers, rougher, too, but it’s a satisfying contrast as the butterflies in her chest are roused.


Dean’s smile is ribbing and smug and Y/N’s heart is in her as she feels her palms clam up. He opens the door and they step out into the hallway, the heat immediately smacking onto them. Sam is leaning against the wall, typing away at his phones, and he looks up when he notices their presence.


A smile twists at his lips. “There’s the happy couple.”


“Shut it.” Dean says, smirking as they begin to saunter down the strip of corridor.  Y/N is trying to mollify her feelings, rinsing them away, trying to rationalize why they’re even here in the first place. They shouldn’t be. She shouldn’t be getting so worked up over something like this, but it’s hard to. The past few days, with this wedding situation overhead, have been nerve-wracking—could that be it? she wonders. Could those anxieties be the cause of her frazzled emotions?


But she doesn’t have time to ruminate. The elevator takes them to the ground floor and they shuffle out once the doors open, Sam and Dean talking about how weirdly excited they are about meeting Y/N’s family as they walk through the ballroom and then out into the garden. . Picnic benches are set up across the expanse of greenery and evergreen trees sprout from the ground all around. There are cobbled paths through and fairy lights (currently off) strung up between branches willows. She remembers this place from when her dad would bring her along on workshops and send her out here to play.


Y/N notices her mother first.


Her hair is an ashy blond, curled into a bob, and she’s wearing a white caftan and jeans. She’s smiling, laughing at the table cluttered with familiar faces. Only about two or three people are strangers to her.


Then, as if instinctively, she clutches Dean’s hand tighter in hers. He then casts a brief glance at her, one of caution, worry, almost, and Y/N meets his gaze.


“I’m nervous.” She admits, visibly gulping.


His eyes regard her curiously. “Why?”


If only she knew. But she doesn’t, so Y/N only shrugs and looks back ahead. When they’re a few feet away from the table, that’s when S/P/N notices them because, gleaming like the sun in a salmon colored dress, she rises from her seat and welcomes them with a smile.

“Y/N!”

 ~*~*~

Part 3

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