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rebeliz7 · 7 months

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AUGUST - PART 3

August 3/3

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

…

August, 21th

You walk slowly down the hallway, your eyes firmly locked on the ground and your moving feet. Maybe you’re dreaming, you certainly feel like it.

You try swallowing down the metaphorical knot tied around your throat, but the action only makes your chest ache and you can’t focus on anything but that, no matter how hard you try.

It was always going to end like this, you knew it. You always knew it.

“There she is!” Steve’s voice finally makes you look up, and his face is the first thing you see because he’s coming towards you with a big smile on his lips and open arms.

“Hey,” you manage to say right before he hugs you against his chest, and you hold onto him for a few long seconds before he pulls back.

“Were you sleeping? Sorry to wake you.” He’s smiling, and you know everyone else is gathered behind him, but you can’t look - not yet.

“You couldn’t find a razor in the Middle east?” You ask him, referring to his bushy beard and he laughs, before he wraps an arm around your shoulders and turns back around, dragging you along with him.

He tells you something about beards and everyone laughs, but you don’t listen to any of it as all the blood in your veins rushes to your ears the moment you see them together.

And you have no right, you know it. But to see Wanda’s arms wrapped around Natasha from behind, huge smiles planted on both of their faces, makes you feel as if they’ve shot you and they don’t regret it.

Logically, in this analogy, you know you’ve shot yourself but you can’t help but feel what you feel.

“Told you I’d have his back,” Natasha tells you as she disentagles herself from her wife’s arms, and walks towards you.

You don’t look up, firmly focusing on her face and her dark hair, since she’s dyed it somewhere along their mission. Steve promptly lets go of you to give her way, and you desperately wish that he hadn’t.

“Hey, kid.” She hugs you, her voice soft as she wraps her arms around you and despite feeling like she’s taking everything away from you, you hug her too. “God, you’re tense.”

She smiles, her hands rubbing up and down your arms and you feel like you’re going to be sick.

“Didn’t you tell me you were coming down with something?” Kate is suddenly by your side, throwing an arm around your shoulders and pulling you against her side, and away from Natasha. “I think it might be the flu.”

“Oh, I’ll make you something.” Natasha rubs your arm one last time, and you nod distractedly.

You’re out of it, it feels as if you’re dreaming and you can’t wake up, no matter how hard you try.

“Come on, killer. Let’s let Auntie Nattie here cook you a magic potion, huh?”

“She used to be likable. What happened to her?” Natasha complains and Clint laughs, as does Wanda.

“Clint happened to her,” she says and you finally look up. Her eyes meet yours for a split second, and the emotion unraveling in her hazel eyes almost chokes you up.

But Kate pulls you around and practically drags you out of the living room and down the hallway leading to the elevator.

You can still hear laughter while you wait for the elevator to arrive, and Kate hugs you a little tighter, which you appreciate.

The two of you ride the elevator in silence, walk towards your bedroom in silence and when you go straight to your bed, Kate sits beside you in silence.

…

August, 22th

You don’t remember falling asleep, but the moment you blink yourself awake you realize that you’ve been crying in your sleep.

Everything hurts. Your chest feels like it might be splitting open, and this pain is so real that you could swear that you’ve hurt your ribs or someone kicked the living hell out of you last night.

But the reality is that no one touched you, and the pain that’s slowly consuming you is that of your broken heart.

Kate is gone and it’s only a little after five, and you know you won’t be going back to sleep.

To think that only five hours ago you were happy, and now - God! You can’t feel like this, it’s not fair for you to feel like this. You have no right.

A soft knock on your door makes you look up and before you can think of getting up, Wanda walks inside and quickly shuts the door behind her.

She hesitates the moment the door clicks shut behind her, and she presses her back against it as she looks at you with a pained expression on her face.

“I’m so sorry,” she says after a beat, shaking her head and then she rushes to your bed—to you.

There’s a moment where you think that this might be a dream, but the way she gets under the covers, her cold hand reaching to cup your face and her lips pressing a hard kiss on your temple, tells you that this is real.

“I’m so sorry,” she says again, her lips kissing your cheeks and your lips repeatedly.

She hugs you close and you hug her too, and you finally let yourself cry and she’s there, cleaning your tears away as soon as they begin to fall and kissing you again and again.

You don’t know how long you cry for, but when you stop Wanda’s arms are still wrapped around you, her lips still pressing soft kisses on your temple. All pretenses are gone, she can’t deny knowing exactly what you feel for her anymore and you don’t know what it’ll happen.

You’re afraid to speak, knowing that once you do you’ll have to accept whatever comes out of her mouth in response.

“Let me grab a tissue,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper and she reaches to your nightstand to grab the box of tissues you keep there.

“Thanks.” You take a tissue and she sets the box behind you, before she takes the tissue from your hands.

“You’re so beautiful,” she says as she cleans your cheeks, and you know your chin is trembling when she delicately touches it with two of her fingers.

“I feel like a mess,” you tell her and she kisses you, her lips pressing against yours in a soft and familiar kiss that steals your breath away.

“None of that, you’re beautiful.” She kisses your nose, and although you don’t feel pretty you still try to smile through your pain.

“Was that our last kiss?” You ask her and she takes a deep breath, and lets the air out slowly. You watch her swallowing hard, her own chin trembling as her eyes turn glassy while she looks at you.

Your stomach tightens, like it always does when you know you’re about to be sucker punched, and Wanda kisses you again.

This is it, you think, as you return her kiss. This is your last kiss, and you don’t want it to be.

You kiss for long and excruciating seconds, it might even be a minute but it ends, and she pulls back slightly.

Her hands are still cold as they cup your face, and her eyes reflect pain the longer she looks at you. It almost seems like a storm is unraveling behind her eyes, and you desperately want to know what she’s thinking.

What does she see now when she looks at you?

“That was our last kiss,” she says and although you knew she’d confirm that, it still feels like a stray bullet is piercing through your chest.

“Okay.” Your voice breaks as you nod your head twice, and she takes in another shattering breath.

“We agreed,” she reminds you, her voice breaking as well and you almost gather the necessary courage to ask what you’ve been wanting to ask her for a few days now.

“You did listen to my warning.” You point out and a few tears escape her eyes, and as if she can’t help herself, she kisses you hard and you let her.

She kisses you demandingly, as if there’s a part of her that wants to devour you, take all that she can get from you with one last kiss and you let her.

The pressing of her body against yours makes you lay on your back, and she follows you in kind, her body sliding on top of you with the liberty that you’ve granted her.

But this kiss ends too, and when she pulls back you cradle her face in your hands one last time.

You don’t want it to end, you don’t want this to be the last time that you feel her breath against yours. You don’t want to have to miss the weight of her body on top of yours, and you don’t want to dream about the smell of her shampoo this close.

“Your order, you mean?” She asks you with a hint of humor, though her eyes keep you prisoner of the emotions swirling in them.

“I - Wanda, I - ”

The frightening realization that you almost spell those words out for her, has you both freezing on the spot.

She kisses you again, and you wrap your arms around her as she sneaks her hands under your shirt. You’ve never retorted to tears for any situation you’ve seen yourself involved in, and now crying is all you can think about.

“I’m so sorry,” she says the moment she pulls back, when you haven’t even opened your eyes again yet.

“You keep saying that,” you tell her and she kisses your cheeks, holds onto you and presses her forehead on your shoulder, as if she can’t stand the idea of leaving you.

“Ask me to stay,” she tells you, pulling back and looking into your eyes with a little bit of desperation.

“What?”

“Ask me,” she says, almost pleadingly and although you’re confused you still kiss her silly for a few hopeful seconds.

“August is not over yet,” you tell her, perhaps sounding way more desperate than she just did.

“August.” The word leaves her parted lips in a sigh, or maybe a prayer. “August isn’t over yet.”

…

You go about your day as normally as you can, and you might not feel happy with the way things seem to be about to unfold, but at least you’re not feeling completely destroyed. You think.

Natasha meets you in the meeting launch with a cup of a steaming drink, that she tells you to take to help you feel better. You only meet her stare with a sinking feeling in your stomach, while you try hard not to think about what you’re doing and what it means for her, or you.

There’s a debriefing, not that you’re paying the necessary attention to everything that’s being said.

You do gather a few points. Natasha apparently discovered some very dark and important state secrets that will secure the team’s freedom for good. She’ll no longer have to answer the Government's shady calls, nor do their dirty work ever again.

You only notice Rhodey’s presence when he claps his hands twice, before standing up and hugging her tightly. He’s so proud of her, and he’s not afraid of showing it.

“You did good,” he tells her in earnest and Natasha smiles, but not fully. She’s proud too, you can tell by the way she keeps trying to hold back her smile.

She’s happy that she’s done this, she’s happy because the White House will no longer call upon her with these less than ideal missions anymore.

“It was long overdue.” She shrugs, but everyone else takes turns in congratulating her.

You do your part, of course, as one of her oldests friends you hug her too and congratulate her sincerely. Natasha squishes you, she pats your arms and smiles widely at you, a real smile, a big one and your heart seems to break for a very different reason.

You know she holds a special place in her heart for you, you know she feels somehow responsible for you and you really do love her and appreciate her, which makes all of this immensely harder for you.

The realization that you don’t want to lose her friendship hits your full force. If there was anyone who deserved your unwavering loyalty, that someone was Natasha.

The thought flies out of your mind the moment Wanda’s lips are insistently kissing a path down your neck the second you two find yourselves alone though.

…

August, 23rd

Daisy is a ball of energy around Natasha, she’s eager to know what’s next for her and to be completely honest, so are you.

It’s clear that Natasha’s grown attached to Daisy, at least it’s clear to you, you’re not sure if it is for the rest of the team. She’s never been an S.O. before, and taking over Daisy’s training was a personal favor to Fury more than anything.

“Hey, rookie. Warm up, I’ll be right back.” Natasha calls out, and Daisy gives her a thumbs up without being able to suppress the grin on her face.

“You gotta show me those tapes,” Natasha tells you next and you nod, before the two of you begin to walk to your office.

She’s heard about the simulation you ran since the night she came back, and you know she’s about to give Daisy a small mission, maybe as soon as today or tomorrow.

“What do you think?” She asks you conversationally as you walk through the main reception area. You don’t need her to elaborate, and although you wish you could still see her in the eye, you pretend to check your phone as you answer.

You can’t look at her face, not without wanting to blurt it all out.

It should be easy, you tell yourself. It should be easy to keep this secret from her or anyone for that matter. You’re a trained spy, one of the best, and holding secrets is your specialty. It turns out that you’re still learning though.

“I think starting her off with a low risk mission is the next step to go. You know how it goes from there.”

Your voice carries out and the lull silence that follows it tells you that she notices how hard you’re trying, not that she knows exactly what you’re hiding, at least you hope she doesn’t know.

Which reminds you, you still haven’t talked to Kate and each time you're with Wanda, talking is the last thing you two do.

“You think she’s ready?” She asks as you walk inside your office and you open your laptop, her voice gives nothing away.

You remind yourself that she’s never been an S.O. before, and if she’s asking you this then she wants an honest answer.

You’re her friend. Before you knew anyone else in this team, in this country, before you even knew that Wanda existed, Natasha was your friend and the person who ultimately gave you a second chance.

You owe her.

The guilt settles in your stomach heavily, it feels as if your insides are getting tangled up inside you and it makes you slightly nauseous.

“You think she has what it takes?” She asks you, as you bring up the video of the simulation on your computer, and you finally turn to look at her fully.

“She’s special, Nat.” You nod, and a small proud grin appears on her lips. “She could very well one day lead this team. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“She’s got heart,” she says as you both sit in front of your desk.

“She’s got heart.” You agree, and you press play.

The video is just starting when your phone vibrates with a new text message, and the second you see Wanda’s name on your screen you almost panic.

Meet me in your car. Is all it says, and you’re on your feet before you can even think of an excuse to tell Nat.

“I’ll be right back,” is all you say before you rush out of your own office.

You make it to your car in record time and Wanda’s lips are on yours in an instant. You kiss her back, you hold onto her and when she pulls you onto her lap, you willingly straddle her.

“God, I’ve missed you.” She combs your hair back, a pretty smile on her lips as she smiles up at you.

Watching into her eyes, you can see nothing but sincerity. She’s happy to see you, her hands are touching every inch of you that she can reach and the guilt that was threatening to swallow you whole just a few minutes ago, is gone for now.

“Nat is taking Daisy on a mission tonight,” she tells you, confirming what you suspected . “Clint and Kate are going too.”

“It doesn’t sound like a small mission if they’re all going,” you tell her and she kisses your lips softly, her eyes still shining with mirth as she presses her lips against yours.

“They’re just retrieving a hard drive. It looks like Kate’s contact came through. But you know Nat, she won’t take any chances this early on with Daisy.”

You do know Nat, and in the blink of an eye the guilt returns. This is wrong, and you know it.

It’s wrong to be with her wife like this, to have been with her wife like this.

It’s wrong, and you care. You do care.

“You talked to Kate?” You finally ask her and she nods her head, her hand still on your hair while the other one squeezes your waist slightly under your shirt.

“She won’t say anything.” She assures you, her eyes shining with something else that you can’t fully read, as she stares up at you.

“How can you be sure? If she mentions anything to Clint - ”

“She won’t.” She cuts you off and the sound of her voice tips you off. What swirls in her eyes it’s something you haven’t seen before, sadness maybe.

“You’re okay?” You ask her, as you cup her face in your hands. She turns and kisses the palm of your hand, and then your wrist and the action makes your chest ache. You still think that she might lo - she might have feelings for you.

“I’m okay.” She says softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m okay.” She repeats as she wraps her arms around your waist and hides her face in your neck, breathing you in.

You hug her too, pressing yourself closer and when minutes begin to pass by, you realize that you’re content. What more could you ever want? With her by your side, with her acting like this, you’d never need anything more.

And yet, now that every single thing seems to have fallen in place again, you know that you can’t have her, not for good.

God, you should have never agreed to this. You should have kept your distance. You should have respected Natasha the slightest bit.

“Can I come over tonight?” She asks, lifting her head with unsure eyes, as if you could ever say no to her and completely oblivious to the storm unraveling inside your head.

You should say no, even though you don’t want to, you should.

“Of course.” You nod, although you still feel like there’s something that she’s not telling you.

Maybe she’s going to break this up sooner than you thought she would. God knows you don’t have the strength to do it yourself, so she needs to.

…

August, 24th

It’s past midnight when Wanda slips inside your room quietly. She must think you’re asleep because you watch as she leans heavily against your closed door, her face the picture of anguish but she takes a deep breath, unwilling to cry.

Your stomach drops at the sight, and you feel a pang in your chest.

She’s gonna end this. She’s gonna tell you that she can’t see you anymore, and you’ll accept it because you know this has to end.

“Wan?” You call out, nervous and afraid despite everything.

She takes a moment to take one last deep breath, and then she walks over to your bed with a wide smile that you know is not genuine.

“Baby, I’m sorry.” She says as she takes off her long sweater, leaving her in only a tank and sleeping shorts. “I know it’s late.”

“It’s okay,” you tell her. She gets under the covers as you turn around to face her. That sadness you saw on her face in the parking lot is still there, now more prominent than before.

A part of you knows that she’s hiding something from you, and you’re not sure you want to find out what that is.

“I want to hold you,” she says and you feel something snap, you can’t take it anymore.

“Why do you sound like that?” You ask her and she frowns.

“Like what?”

“Like you already regret whatever you came here to do.”

She’s immobile for a moment, her eyes just taking you in as she ponders on her answer. When she finally moves, she presses herself close to you, to the point where your chests are touching and her hand is pressing on your hip.

“I don’t regret being here with you.” She speaks slowly and tenderly, as if the mere act of talking is hurting her.

If there’s a knot around her throat then you know the feeling well. But she’s fighting against the need to cry, and you can see that clearly too.

Maybe she’s feeling the same way you are, maybe guilt is also about to swallow her whole. You know what the right thing to do is here. You know.

“Then what is it?” You ask her.

“I want us,” she says and you stop breathing. “I want you, all the time. You’re in my mind all the time, and I want you.”

She might not be here to end this after all, and you don’t know how to react to what she’s saying.

“Wanda, I - ”

“Is this what you feel for me?” Her voice breaks, her hand pulling you impossibly closer to her own body. She knows the answer to that question. “I don’t regret you. It’s just - it pains me to have to wait to see you, to touch you, to kiss you.”

She presses her lips against yours harshly, as if desperate to kiss you and you wrap her in your arms in response, kissing her back.

She’s still the love of your life, you bitterly realize.

“I want you,” she fiercely tells you, the torment in her eyes no longer easy to hide as she looks at you. “I want us.”

“But I’m yours already.” You tell her easily, knowing well that you’ve never spoken truer words before.

You caress her cheeks with your thumbs, holding her close. She knew this from the beginning, you never hid the fact that you’re in love with her and although a part of you is elated to know that she does feel something for you, you’re also very much aware of how much she’s hurting because of the same reason.

She looks like she’s about to burst into tears, but she doesn’t cry and she doesn’t speak again either and when she reaches down between your legs, her hand slipping past your sleeping shorts and panties, you don’t stop her.

Gasping against her mouth, you hold onto her as she enters you with her fingers, fast and a little roughly, and you allow it because you can tell how much she needs this. She has a lot to think about but right now, she needs the distraction and you understand that.

When you cum, she doesn’t stop and your strangled cries seem to only fuel her need to feel you closer. She takes off her clothes in a rush before helping you out of yours, just as fast, just as desperate. She’s rough in a way that speaks loudly to you.

She’s not trying to mark you, or to claim you. No, she’s trying to find the answers to this predicament in your body, in your skin, in your scent and the way you gasp out her name each time that she makes you cum.

You want to touch her, but she pins your hands above your head the second you try it, a silent command in her eyes as she lowers herself between your legs one more time.

…

When you open your eyes, you realize that you must have passed out. Not that you can be blamed for it… you have no idea how many times you came and Wanda was - Wanda was insatiable.

“You okay?” She asks you, and with a start you notice that she’s hugging you from behind, and she probably hasn’t slept at all. The small clock on your nightstand points at five thirty, and a heavy weight settles on your chest all over again.

You feel guilty to be here, so guilty that you can’t be fully present even.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You reach for her hand, resting comfortably on your belly, and intertwine your fingers through hers. Your bodies twisted in the bedsheets tell the story of a passionate and slightly wild night and you love it to an extent, but it also scares you.

You love everything about last night, about her words, about her actions. You want her too, you want everything with her and yet, you still know that this is wrong and you both need to put an end to it.

“Wanda, I - ”

“Please.” She presses her cheek against yours, cutting you off and moving fast, as if she knows exactly what you’re about to say. “Please, baby. Give me a little bit of time, please.”

Knowing that she doesn’t want to talk confuses you, no matter how hard you try to put yourself in her shoes. You want to understand, and you do to an extent but to you the answer is simple. You’d never doubt when it comes to her, you’d choose her in this lifetime and every other lifetime because she’s the only person you’ve ever loved like this.

But she’s not free to choose, choosing her right now will mean hurting someone who’s friendship you value. Choosing her will mean hurting her, and Natasha.

She was already in love when you started this, she was never yours, not completely.

The pain she must be feeling, the thought of it is enough to devastate you. You never wanted to hurt her in any way, you never wanted her to experience pain like that because you knew how agonizing it was.

“You meant it?” You still ask and she hugs you closer, pressing her front to your back with relatively more force than necessary, as if she were afraid to lose you.

“Baby,” she whispers, the pet name falling from her lips pleadingly. “I don’t know what to do.”

Her voice breaks and you panic, but when you try to turn around she doesn’t let you, keeping you where you are as she takes deep breaths.

“Please,” she begs again and your heart breaks for her. “Please.”

“You love me,” you speak, without being able to hold it back any longer. You didn’t want to say it out loud, afraid that she’d deny it but that’s no longer an option, is it? And she can’t expect you to say nothing when it’s obvious that this, what you two have together, has stopped being fun.

“Please.” She begs again, her voice sounding more broken and you think she’s crying now.

“Do you?” You ask her softly and she takes a deep breath, her body shaking against yours as she does.

Just when you start to believe that she won’t give you an answer, she pushes lightly on your shoulder for you to lay on your back, her hand still holding yours and her red, raw eyes now looking down at you as she hovers over you.

She’s been crying, and she’s in pain, which is the last thing you ever wanted. The last thing.

She’s beautiful, even when her hair is this much of a mess and her eyes looking swollen. She’s beautiful and you don’t want to lose her, ever…

...and maybe you already have.

“I do.” She speaks the words so softly, a whisper that seems to break her and sew her back together again. “I love you.” She’s frowning, her eyes firmly locking you in.

“Wanda.” She reaches out to wipe away your tears, tears that you didn’t even know were shedding.

She’s just told you everything you wanted to hear, and that only makes your resolve clearer.

“You’re so beautiful,” she says as her face twists in pain and without a second thought you wrap your arms around her, just as she begins to cry.

Hiding her face in your neck, she cries for nearly fifteen minutes without stopping and clinging so hard to you that you almost feel suffocated by the intensity of it all.

She loves you, and you know what to do.

…

August, 25th

She’s gone when you wake up.

You tried to stay up when she stopped crying, but you were so tired and your mind was quiet, knowing well what you’ll have to do to make things right.

The heavy weight of your actions and their consequences seem to settle in the pit of your stomach, and you know the uncomfortable feeling of it won’t leave you alone anytime soon.

So much for your analogy of don’t dwell on things that already happened, and that you can’t control. This guilt is eating you alive and you can’t get past it.

This love-this all consuming love you feel for Wanda is unprecedented, but it’s making you see things as you’ve never seen them before. After what you’ve heard about love, as one does more often than not, you expected it to somehow blind you, to make you lose control of yourself.

In a way you guess it did that, but it also has you thinking that as infinite as love truly feels like, it’s also very limited.

There’s so much you’d do for Wanda, to keep her with you and to make her happy, to make her want you. You can’t imagine yourself saying no to any of her requests, but there are things that you’re not willing to do, there are things that you’re not willing to change about yourself and that’s something that you’ve just discovered as well.

You won’t be this person, you won’t stay and be the one who broke off a marriage, who caused so much pain. You can’t.

The minutes seem to drag on and the day becomes the longest of your life. You don’t look for Wanda, and she doesn’t look for you either.

…

August, 26th

The team arrives early in the morning, all smiles and proud grins in all of their faces. Daisy’s a natural, but you knew that already.

It is with a pang of melancholy that you congratulate her and welcome her on the team. You can’t think of a better person to fill in your absence. She’ll keep Tony on his toes, and Natasha will still have someone to look after in this place. You know she needs it to ground herself.

“Everything okay?” Steve asks you, effectively preventing you from looking over at Wanda when she joins everyone in the hanger.

“I think the sun is setting, Stevie.”

He sighs heavily, a protest dies in his tongue and his shoulders tense at the same time. He’s still the most expressive guy, even after all your effort in trying to make a spy out of him.

A very long time ago, when you were still apprehensive of this team and this place, he made you promise that you wouldn’t run, not that you were planning on it but he needed you to commit to the Avengers fully, and he needed to hear you say it.

So you did, you promised and he promised to understand when your time was up in return.

“You sure?” He asks you and when you kiss his cheek in response, he smiles sadly while nodding his head. “Of course you are.”

…

She finds you in the locker room, and she’s not happy to have been ignored for the last few hours. You turned off your phone for a reason, and a reason alone.

“I tell you I love you, and that’s code for you to ignore all my texts?” She asks, and your stomach drops.

You want, and you want.

You just came to pick up your clothes, but the moment you look at her, a tidal wave of emotion washes over you completely.

“I love you too, you know?” You tell her softly, somehow feeling defeated and that is not how it should have gone. The first time you exchanged these words should have been in a completely different setting, under very different circumstances. “But you already knew that.”

“You don’t think that’s a good thing? Us, loving each other?” Tears are quick to gather in her eyes as she asks you this question, and despite wanting nothing more than to give her the answer she’s looking for, that weight in the pit of your stomach reminds you of what’s right.

“It could have been.” You nod, trying hard to swallow the knot around your throat. “It could have been the best thing.”

“I-I don’t know-” she sighs, the tears gathered in her eyes roll down her cheeks and you want to take away all that pain from her. You never wanted this, you never wanted to see her hurting.

“You don’t know what to do.” You finish for her, and she takes in a deep breath, trying to collect herself.

You always knew, and she told you from the very beginning that she plans to stay married, but that doesn’t change how it affects you. She’s already chosen, that’s why it hurts like it does.

“I know I love you,” she says, her voice sounding much more confident that she looks and you smile, however small.

Yes, you think to yourself, you did want her to love you. But ultimately August was never meant to turn into this, naively you believed you’d make memories that could carry you through the rest of your life. You wanted to know, you wanted to feel, you wanted to experience her but you never wanted to hurt her.

“I love you too,” you tell her as you close the distance and finally reach out to touch her. She’s tense, the hands resting on her hips are slightly shaking, she’s scared.

“I love you so, so much.” You take her hands and pull until she gives in and lets you hug her, and she hugs you back.

“What am I gonna do?” She asks after a beat and you close your eyes, willing your brain to remember what it feels like to be in her arms.

You always knew. You always knew you’d be the one who’d end up losing. You knew.

“I love you, Wanda.” You tell her and she pulls back, a frown on her face as she stares at you. It must be something in the sound of your voice that tips her off.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she fiercely tells you.

“I don’t want to lose you either.” You cup her face, and you notice how hard she's gripping your shirt, she’s still trembling. “But I’m not gonna stay here just to be your mistress.”

Her eyes show nothing but uncertainty now, her grip on your shirt somehow tightens and you know what she’s gonna say even before she does.

“Stay here?” She asks, suspicion lacing her tone and the frown on her face now more prominent, her accent thicker. “You’re not leaving.”

“Is that an order?” You ask her with humor, despite being uncalled for and her frown somehow deepens.

“You’re not leaving.” She shakes her head, her voice stronger and you smile, although the heartbreak you feel might be making it seem more like a grimace.

“This was never supposed to turn out this way,” you tell her and she shakes her head. “You weren’t allowed to fall in love with me, remember?”

“You can’t leave. You can’t. You can’t leave me.” Tears are still rolling down her face, now faster than before.

“You’re hurting, and that was never part of our deal. August was never supposed to make you feel this way.”

“August,” she whispers the word as if it was cursed. You’re starting to see it that way too, so you wouldn’t exactly fault her for it.

“August.”

It doesn’t surprise you when she kisses you, no matter how demanding and desperate the kiss feels. You’d do anything, you think, to stay here with her and forget about the world outside of these four walls.

“You can’t leave,” she tells you, the moment she pulls back, and there’s something different in the way she says it this time around.

“You’re gonna stop me?” You challenge her, but as soon as that wave of bravado comes, it’s gone and you deflate almost instantly.

If you’d been more careful you would have caught the look on her face as she pondered your words, but the moment passes quickly and you take a step back from her embrace, and you try to center yourself again.

“I’m not gonna be this person, Wanda. I’m not gonna be the person that ruins someone’s marriage, I’m not-”

“You’re not ruining anything.” She cuts you off. “I’m not getting a divorce, I’m not-”

“Exactly.” You interrupt her too, her words, like daggers to your heart, give you the necessary push. “There’s a bigger picture here, Wanda. You told me that this is more than just a team, and I get it.”

“We’re not talking about the team right now.”

“We are, whatever happens here-”

“Nothing has to happen. Nothing has to change.” She tries to cut you off again.

“I’m not gonna be your dirty little secret forever!” Your voice echoes in the otherwise empty locker room, and she looks away, at a loss of words.

You have no right, you always knew. You always knew what this was. God!

“I know you’re not getting a divorce, I don’t want you to.”

“You’re not a dirty secret,” she tells you and when she takes your hands, you seem to breathe a little easier. Her hands are cold, which is a reminder that even though everything changes, also everything stays the same.

“Tony knows,” you blurt out as an afterthought, which is absurd because you should have told her a lot sooner.

“He does?” Wanda asks, worry suddenly swimming in her eyes, clear for you to see.

“Yes, I don’t know why I didn’t tell you sooner. I should have.”

“I’ll talk to him.” She assures you, her hands squeezing yours lightly.

Looking into her eyes you can almost breathe in her anxiousness, her slight panic, her confusion and above all, her pain. But there’s something more there too, a quiet and dangerous determination that you’ve seen before, but you don’t know what to make of it.

“What are you thinking?” She asks you softly, her hand reaching out to cup your face, as if things were still the same.

“I’m leaving, Wanda.” You tell her, and she shakes her head.

“No, you can’t just leave.”

“I can, and I will.”

“No, you can’t.” The red mist of her powers swirls in her eyes threateningly, and you flinch back instinctively. Despite having been as close as you’ve been to her for the past month, you’ve never seen her powers this up close, not like this.

“I’m sorry.” She apologizes quickly, her hands holding you close.

“It’s-it’s okay.”

Your heart is beating fast, even after she jumps back when the door bursts open and Steve walks inside, Bucky following close behind.

“Hey, Wanda.” Steve smiles as Bucky takes off his shirt, and you try to get your heart rate back to normal. “Natasha’s looking for you.”

“Thanks. I’ll go find her.” Wanda answers absentmindedly, her eyes still trained on you. “Don’t do anything until we talk. Please?”

You can see her trying to keep her tone casual, although the look in her eyes betrays her. The way she spoke about Kate not saying anything suddenly strikes you differently. You know what she’s capable of, the possibility that she actually made Kate forget she ever saw anything is there.

“Okay.” You agree quickly, and although she takes a moment to leave, she still does.

…

The rest of the day goes by in a blur of uncertainty for you, but however curious you grow about what you think might be happening, you refuse to call or try to contact Wanda.

She doesn’t contact you either.

…

August, 27th

You wake up to the sound of the alarms blazing, and red lights flashing around your bedroom. Friday is repeating a warning message, and you slide off your bed with the utmost care, picking up the gun you keep under your mattress on your way.

Pressing your back against the side of your bed, you try to make contact through your phone but the signal is down and there’s no wifi connection. Friday is still repeating the same message, over and over again, which means that whoever is doing this knows what they’re doing a little bit too well.

You’re about to make for your door when it opens from the outside with a hard shove.

“It’s me!” Wanda shouts when you raise your gun, your finger about to pull the trigger and you let out a hard sigh.

“What is going on?” You ask her, standing up and walking quickly towards your closet. “I almost shot you.”

“Friday is down, Tony is freaking out and we can’t reach Fury, or anyone outside of this place for that matter.”

You dress quickly, changing into one of your tactical uniforms that you keep in your room for emergencies, and load yourself with a few rounds of bullets and two more guns.

“There’s no wifi connection,” you tell her as you pick up your hair and then secure two hand knives onto your boots.

“I know, come on.” She says, and before you can make for the door she grabs your hand, and you finally take a long and hard look at her.

She’s still wearing the same clothes she was wearing before, when you were talking in the gym, and her eyes look red and a little swollen. She looks disheveled, as if she hasn’t slept in days and you’re only barely noticing.

“Where’s everyone else?” You ask her, as you take in her appearance, but she doesn’t answer, instead she pulls you closer until her lips are crushing against yours and you have no other option but to kiss her back.

Frowning, you kiss her quietly and wantonly, even under the circumstances you’re under, you can still feel yourself weaken under her spell.

You don’t want this to be over, you don’t want to have to miss her, you don’t want to have to dream about kissing her and miss the way her lips once felt against yours.

But you know what the right thing to do is.

You have to leave, and you have to do it soon.

Her hand is gripping your hair and her lips bruisingly pressing against yours, when the earpiece you’re wearing crackles to life and Tony’s voice comes through.

“I have control again. Is everyone alright?” He asks, and you pull back.

Cupping her face, you quickly wipe away a tear that’s slowly making its way down her pale cheek.

“You’re not leaving,” she tells you and you feel your heart breaking.

“I have to.” You argue, and her chin trembles as tears begin to roll down her face faster.

“You don’t.” She shakes her head, her hand still gripping your hair and keeping you close.

You hear a shot being fired, and Tony’s loud voice comes through. You have to move, but somehow you find yourself rooted to the spot.

“Wanda.” You sigh and she shakes her head again, refusing to see your point.

“You’re not leaving,” she says and you see her eyes shining red, and a wave of panic hits you unexpectedly.

“Tony?” You ask her and she grabs your waist with her free hand, pulling herself that much closer to you, until she’s pressing her forehead against yours, her other hand still buried in your hair.

“He won’t say anything,” she assures you with morbid confidence.

“What did you do?” You finally ask her, fear lacing your tone, fear that’s quick to spread to every inch of your body.

“August was supposed to be ours,” she says and you grip her wrists as you try to look into her eyes.

“It is. It has been.” Your words don’t seem to register to her, and she lets out a sob that breaks you completely.

“August was supposed to be ours.” She repeats, as if she didn’t hear you in the first place.

“Wanda, what did you do?” Your voice breaks, and she finally looks at you.

There’s an explosion somewhere close, you can hear the team’s voices in your ear shouting, fighting and grunting in pain. Everyone else is battling an enemy somewhere close and you can’t look away from Wanda’s crazed look in her eyes.

“You’re not leaving,” she says again. “I’d rather you stay-”

“Wanda.” You plead, not knowing what’s happening completely.

“-even if you don’t remember us.”

“Wanda, no.” You try to pull back from her hold, but her grip is iron tight.

“I’ll remember for us both.” She assures you, as you become terrified. “I’ll remember for us both.”

She cries, her eyes glow red and she kisses you one last time, however short and bitter.

…

August, 28th

…

August, 29th

You wake up in a Hospital room, alone and confused.

Your head hurts, and your throat is sandpaper dry.

You have no idea how or why you’re in this bed.

“Hey, you’re finally awake.” Natasha enters your room, and when you try to speak and fail, she rushes to pour some water in a cup for you.

She helps you sit up a little bit, and holds the cup to your lips for you to drink.

“There you go.” She puts the cup aside as you lay down again.

“What-what happened?” You ask her, and she sits on the edge of your bed before taking your hand in hers.

“The Compound was attacked. We found you unconscious in your room. You were probably standing too close to one of the bombs that went off.”

You have no recollection of a fight, and the more you try to remember what happened, your headache gets worse. Natasha’s forehead is patched up, and she’s sporting a nasty large bruise on her collarbone and neck, all signs of a battle that you have no recollection of.

“The team?” You ask her, worrisome creeping up on you and she squeezes your hand lightly.

“Clint was shot, and Tony took a hit. He’s being watched, Bruce says he’ll be alright.”

“Bruce is here?” You ask her, as you struggle to swallow, which she immediately notices.

“Here,” she says as she gives you more water to drink. You thank her, and she takes your hand in hers one more time. “You feeling alright?”

“Confused more than anything.” You admit, a frown taking over your expression. “I can’t remember the attack, or what was happening before.”

“It was the middle of the night,” she tells you calmly. “You were probably asleep, we all were. Wanda left to find you, but she never made it to your bedroom.”

Wanda. You think you’d remember if she was ever in your room.

“I must have hit my head pretty hard, huh?” Natasha smiles, however sadly and you realize that she must have been worried. She’s always felt somewhat responsible for you, ever since you joined the team.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she says. “You had us worried for a bit there.”

You’re about to say something when Wanda walks inside the room, and if you believed in cliches, you’d think that she just stole your breath away. As it is though, you look away, barely catching her eyes in greeting.

She’s dangerous to look at, you’ve learnt.

“You’re feeling okay?” She asks, and the anxiousness in her tone catches you by surprise. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” Natasha says. “Just a bit confused, as was to be expected.”

Wanda rushes, or you think that she does, to the side of your bed, her eyes glancing at every inch of your face. Which confuses you even more, the way she’s behaving, since you two have never been that close and you actively try to avoid spending too much time around her--for reasons.

“You’re okay?” She asks you, her hand reaching out as if to touch your face, but she pulls back at the last second.

“Yeah.” You try to nod, and her eyes frantically search for something in your face. “Are you?”

“I’m fine,” she says quickly, too quickly for it to be genuine. “I’m fine.”

You learn about a new terrorist group, hellbent on eliminating the Avengers and every other heroic initiative around the globe, claiming freedom, true freedom, whatever that means.

Natasha has to tell you about a mission she and Steve apparently left on for most of August, not that you can recall it.

The Doctors, and Bruce have to go over several tests with you. They do an MRI and they keep you in observation, trying to figure out how you might have forgotten an entire month, but none of them can explain it.

Wanda stays when Natasha is needed in the Compound, and she keeps a close eye on you, nervously pacing each room you’re taken to and paying close attention to each interaction you have.

“It’s a bit weird, isn’t it?” Kate asks you conversationally when she comes by to visit. Her left hand is patched up, after apparently she stopped someone from stabbing her with her bare hands.

“August is just a month.” You shrug, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. You hit your head and you forgot a few weeks of your life, but overall, you’re okay and you can always make new memories.

“August was important,” Wanda says from the couch where she’s been sitting inside your room. Her voice trembles, and you catch it with yet another wave of confusion washing over you. “August meant something.”

“There’s nothing I can do now though,” you tell her and just when you catch her eyes, she looks away in a rush.

You try not to look at her for long, you make a point of not being close to her, or try to understand what exactly each tone of her voice means. This crush you harbor for Natasha’s wife is dangerous, and you know it.

“I guess not,” she says, her voice uncarestalistaclly soft. It almost sounds as if she’s one step away from falling into the abyss, and you don’t understand why.

“You okay?” You ask her again, and she swallows with obvious difficulty before she nods her head.

“I’m fine,” she says one more time. “They attacked our home, and it just-it scared me, that's all.”

…

August, 30th

The hardest part about being the only one who remembers something, is the constant need to talk about it and knowing that she can’t.

Wanda drives you back home with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She drives your car, the same car you used countless times to drive her away and kiss her silly.

You sit in the passenger seat, looking outside the window and avoiding looking at her, all things you used to do before August tenth.

She continuously tries to swallow down the knot around her throat, but she’s aware that the damn knot is there to stay. No matter what she does now, she can never take back what she’s done. She can never undo what she did.

“You feeling better?” She asks you, and you nod your head. She knows nothing is wrong with you, physically at least, but she can’t help but ask.

“Yeah. I’m okay. Kinda curious about August, but no more than that.” You admit, and she clears her throat subtly, if only to keep her tears at bay.

It seems like your logic about not being able to change the past is back in full force too.

“You spent most of the time with Daisy,” she tells you and that spikes your interest, you turn to look at her fully, while she continues to drive.

“That’s Natasha’s rookie, right?”

“Nat asked you to keep an eye on her while she was away.”

“Did I torture her? Did I make her want to drop the towel? I’m not sure if I’m a good teacher to be honest.”

She smiles, appreciating your usual sense of humor, while a wave of nostalgia curses through her entire body. She misses you.

She misses you so devastatingly hard, and you don’t know because she made sure that you don’t.

Wanting to scream, she grips the wheel with both hands and grits her teeth instead.

“You’re a good teacher,” she says, her voice breaking as she speaks and she sees you catching it, but you’ve gone back to being the person you were before august.

“Why, thank you.” You grin, but you also look away. You look away because you were always respectful, you always kept your distance and you would have never crossed any line if she hadn’t asked you to.

…

August 31st

She doesn’t sleep, she can’t, and Natasha notices.

“I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” She says again and again, when Natasha gives her that look that means she knows something, but won’t say anything until Wanda is ready to talk.

Wanda might never be ready to admit to another living soul of what she’s done in August.

She tracks you down without even noticing. She makes a point of starting lunch when you’re in the kitchen, just so she can see you for a couple of minutes. Because that’s all she gets now, just a couple of minutes that aren’t really hers to have.

She doesn’t eat, she's not hungry.

“I’m okay. I’ll have something later.” She tells her wife when Natasha notices.

Natasha doesn’t push, she’s not that kind of person.

Wanda tracks you down to the gym, where you’re sitting on the mats, trading jokes with Daisy and Kate, and a new wave of guilt threatens to break her.

Flicking Clint’s memory wasn’t that hard, she barely wished for it and the next moment all the suspicion he was harvouring for you vanished. Making Kate forget was a little harder, however young, Kate’s always been the one with the strongest will among the lot of you.

You never knew, although she’s certain that you were close to figuring it out.

She never wanted August to end like this, but the thought of you leaving for good made her panic. She’d rather carry the story of you in her mind, all by herself, than never see you again.

You won’t remember, but she will for the both of you.

After all, August was always meant to be hers and hers alone.

...

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff #scarlett witch x reader #august

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bisexual-cryptid · 1 year

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it all starts because steve can’t bring himself to leave the hospital at first. he just can’t leave max and eddie there alone, and so he neglects taking care of himself and that just so happens to invoke him not shaving either.

he doesn’t grow facial hair super fast, and the fact he is so focused on whether or not eddie and max will wake up, he doesn’t even notice the growing facial hair at first. it’s not until eddie wakes up that he really notices how long he’s been letting it grow.

he’s not there when eddie wakes up. he’s on his shift with max while uncle wayne takes over looking after eddie. as soon as he gets the news that eddie is awake he’s rushing into the room. he nearly collapses when he sees eddie’s bright smile and tired eyes for the first time in weeks. even in a hospital bed, covered in bandages and deep bags under his eyes, steve can’t help but think that eddie looks beautiful.

“hey big boy!” eddie greets as soon as steve is through the door. steve can’t help the desperate laugh that bubbles up in his throat as he rushes over to eddie’s bedside.

“you’re awake!” steve exclaims, being careful not to jostle eddie as he sits himself on the edge of the hospital bed, next to eddie’s calves.

steve watches as eddie’s eyes travel over his face, his eyes widening as he gets down to his lips. he feels his face heat up as he watches eddie look him over, suddenly feeling horribly self conscious about the fact he hasn’t showered in days.

“you- you have facial hair,” eddie says, how voice sounding a little strained. steve brings a hand up to his chin, rubbing it over the hair there as if just realizing it exists.

“oh, uh, yeah. i guess i didn’t realize how long it’s been since i shaved.” steve says self consciously, keeping his hand there to cover some of it up.

“it looks really good.” eddie says with finality, a bright smile lighting up his face as he lets out a pleased giggle. like, an honest to god giggle. “lemme feeeeeeeel,” eddie whines, trying to sit up and reach for steve’s face. steve turns to wayne, realizing now, how out of it eddie must be on pain killers.

“how out of it is he?” steve asks, ignoring as eddie’s finger tips reach his face and start stroking over the hair there. wayne is watching all of this with an amused smile.

“he is higher ‘an a skunk in a tree.” wayne replies, his accent coating his words. steve turns back to eddie, who’s hand is still firmly on his face.

“you’re so pretty, stevie.” eddie says, his voice light and airy. his face is deeply concentrated as he continues stroking his fingertips over steve’s facial hair. steve can feel how hot his face is from both the contact and eddie’s words. he knows eddie is high out of his mind, but he wishes so bad this could be real.

“isn’t he pretty, uncle wayne?” eddie asks, turning to his uncle without removing his hand from steve’s face.

“oh, the prettiest,” wayne replies jokingly. he and steve had gotten decently close in the weeks eddie has been in the hospital so he doesn’t mind joking around with the other man. steve flips him off, not bothering taking his eyes off eddie as he does so.

steve suddenly realizes the strain reaching out to touch his face must be putting on eddie’s wounds. he takes eddie’s hand in his, moving it gently back to his side, despite eddie’s protests.

“you’ll pull your stitches,” steve argues, releasing eddie’s hand once it’s by his side.

“but i wanna touch your beard! it’s soft and pretty!” eddie argues back, tears springing to his eyes. steve starts to panic as the tears start falling down eddie’s face. he turns to wayne, silently asking for help but the man just shrugs at him.

when steve turns back to eddie the boy is reaching out with both arms now and trying to sit up so he can touch steve again. steve panics, grabbing both arms to place them back by his sides.

“steeeeeve, why do you hate me?” eddie cries, the tears falling steadily now as he lets out gross sniffles.

“eddie, you’ll hurt yourself,” steve tries to reason again, but even he knows it’s a losing battle.

“please, stevie. need to touch you,” eddie says, his voice thick with tears. unsure what else to do, steve finally gives in. there’s no way he will let eddie pull a stitch but he also knows he’s losing this fight.

“fine.” steve huffs out, carefully maneuvering himself so he is sitting closer to eddie’s torso instead of his legs before carefully bending over and letting eddie reach up to touch his face. a huge smile breaks out on eddie’s face as soon as he touches steve’s facial hair.

“so pretty,” eddie says wistfully, making steve’s face heat up once again. it doesn’t take long before eddie’s eyes start drooping, and before he knows it he’s back asleep, his hand still firmly on steve’s face.

steve knows he’ll have terrible back pain later, but he doesn’t really care as he carefully positions himself so he can lay his head down next to eddie, making sure his hand stays on his face the whole time in case he wakes up.

#yes this is based off the pictures i just reblogged of joe keery. he just looks so pretty with the little facial hair.#stranger things #st4 #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steveddie #steve x eddie #ficlet #drabble #headcanon #fanfiction #writting

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yesimwriting · 1 year

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Final Girl - Part 9

Final girl Masterlist (all parts in order and extra fics, updated parts 1 - 9)

Series Summary: Y/n can’t believe that she has to leave the only home she’s ever known just because her mom’s latest boyfriend has a house in some town in California. Just as she’s starting to think that Woodsboro might not be that bad, something life altering happens after she agrees to sleep over at Becker’s house. Now her name is practically synonymous with Ghostface’s.

Chapter Summary: Nightmares aren’t that bad when you’re sleeping over at Stu’s house. Too bad no amount of late night movie watching and hot chocolate can cure a bad case of being on Gale Weathers’s radar.

----

The light glints off the knife’s edge so sharply the entire thing warps. The blade looks longer, then smaller, then larger. It changes with each movement of the person holding so much it’s fascinating, almost like a cartoon.

For a second it feels like it’s just that. Like I’m watching Scooby Doo or Nancy Drew or some other kids’ mystery show. Then the knife comes down.

I scream, snapping into the moment as I start running. Everything’s hazy, I can barely register how unfamiliar this place is. Branches are tugging on what I’m wearing, scratching at my face, but I can’t feel them. All I feel is the blood rushing in my ears.

Something cold and sharp digs into my shoulders. I’m thrashing, but it doesn’t matter. It’s too late. My attacker forces me to turn. It’s him--the too familiar white mask, the permanent scream.

He lifts his knife and forces it down. My eyes shut as the blade meets my chest. The pain is a barely there flicker. It’s being drowned out by a tingling sensation that’s taking over my entire body. The feeling disconnects me from it all until my vision fades to black.

Reality returns quickly. My body is laying on something soft, my face pressed into something cushioned.

“No, don’t--” The words come out so tight I almost don’t recognize the voice. Billy.

My head snaps up. The dimly lit space looks like it should be Stu’s living room but something about it feels off. Like everything’s been flipped or something. I don’t see Billy until my mind reconnects the dots and refocuses.

He’s standing with his hands held out cautiously. His back is to me but I can feel his tension. Swallowing back my panic, I force myself to look in the same direction as Billy. That damn mask. Ghostface.

“Billy...” It’s a shaky whisper and I don’t know what I expect from it.

The helplessness washes through me. My eyes drop down, but that makes everything worse.

There’s a thick puddle staining the hardwood floors reflecting the low light of the room. It leads to a pale arm that leads to a shoulder that leads to what--oh. The realization that the mess of glistening red used to be a chest sends a sharp wave of nausea through me.

My gaze shifts up, catching eyes that should be familiar but are too hollow, too blank as they stare up at nothing. Stu.

I scream, my entire body shaking with the urge to get closer like that’d mean something. There’s another sound, some kind of grunt or cry--I don’t--I don’t know--and then Billy falls. First to his knees before slumping over. He lands on his side...next to Stu.

The killer looks up at me with a tilt of their head, they walk over my friends, but they don’t--they--

----

When the darkness of the room washes over me, I’m already sitting up. Not real. Not real. Not real. The tightness in my chest doesn’t go away and a type of sickness that hurts stays in my upper stomach.

I can hear myself panting, but I don’t feel the relief of air entering my lungs. My hand stretches over tangled sheets, a part of me trying to stabilize myself. Maybe that will make the nausea go aw--no.

I’m on my feet in a second, crossing the room to get to the door. Autopilot leads me to the bathroom. Wait--this isn’t my house--I fell asleep at Stu’s. They were both here--so where are they now?

My nausea spikes. I gag, moving instinctually onto my knees.

“Hey.” The voice feels far, I can’t grasp onto it. “Hey,” a warm touch on my back as my hair is pulled back. “You’re okay, angel.”

Oh. I try to breathe through my disorientation as I turn my head. “Stu?”

The amount of nerves in my voice must throw him off but I can’t make out too much of his expression in the dark. Just as the thought settles, the light flickers on and my eyes are squinting to adjust.

Stu moves to stand and keeps a hand on my arm to encourage me to do the same. I’m so stiff and the world is so hazy I don’t think, just follow. The same thing happens as Stu sort of extends me so that I’m in front of the sink.

Another arm is in front of me, holding a tiny cup between two fingers. The liquid is a sharp green. I take the cup before I really know what I’m doing. It smells like the heavy kind of mint that belongs in a dentist’s office.

I bring it to my lips and swish the mouthwash around for longer than I normally would before turning on the sink and rinsing. Such a small thing shouldn’t make that much of a difference but getting rid of the taste of acidic bile in my mouth clears my head enough to let me think.

My head turns in the direction of the arm. “Billy.”

Something clues him into my confusion. It could be the way I said his name or the way I’m just staring like he’s some sort of ghost. He’s trying to figure it out, or maybe he’s trying to piece together a reaction that’s appropriate when someone’s staring this much.

“Hey,” it’s said a little unsurely, “You’re okay. You’re--” His hand finds its way onto my upper back, moving in that circular motion that’s become familiar. It’s enough to let me feel okay about looking towards Stu again.

“You guys are--” I can’t get the words out, can’t figure out how to explain it. “You’re--you’re okay.” I can feel the shakiness in my voice but I can’t bring myself to fix it.

Again, instinct takes over and I pull Stu into a hug. He has to be surprised but he doesn’t hesitate to squeeze me back just as tightly. Billy stays close, his hand still on my back.

They’re both here, still warm and breathing and here. The relief is too much and it joins a flurry of other feelings.

I pull my head off of Stu, “Where were you guys?” I know that anger’s irrational, there are hundreds of reasons they could have both been up, especially since we didn’t fall asleep too late, but I can’t help the panic hiding as aggression in my tone. I try to pull further away, but Stu doesn’t let me. “I woke up and you guys weren’t there and I thought--” I’m not even sure if what I’m saying makes sense, but it’s coming up the same way the bile did, “You can’t do that--you--you left. You can’t just leave.”

“No one’s leaving.” Billy’s voice lacks the defensiveness I expect. “We were just downstairs. I couldn’t sleep so I went to get some water and Stu woke up, and you know how that is.” The attempt at a joke is appreciated, but I can’t bring myself to show it.

Normally, Stu not letting go when I try to push him off bothers me, but now I’m kind of glad he didn’t let me get too far. Something about having them this close is grounding. They’re okay.

“Yeah,” Stu hums, “Who’d leave you?” He says it so casually, so assured, like the thought of going somewhere would have never crossed his mind if I hadn’t said that.

It’s assuring in a different way, not quite getting at all of my panic. “I had a dream that--” The longer I’m awake, the more aware I am of how unnormal I’m being. That doesn’t mean I can stop it. “It was--it was so real, and then I woke up and you--”

They’re being quiet. I know that I’m being a lot and they’re probably still trying to figure out how to react to my panic, but it’s making me antsy. If they’d joke or tease me about this, I’d be able to convince myself that I haven’t fully lost it.

Billy smooths my hair back carefully. “We’re okay,” his voice is low, a little tight. “Everyone’s okay.”

I nod once, trying to convince myself that his certainty is my own. “In my dream--you guys ended up like--” It’s hard enough to mention her when I’m well rested and feeling together. “Like Casey.”

“That’s not going to happen.” Stu’s hold on me goes from fully relaxed to a little firmer.

Argument and doubt immediately bubble up. No one counts on dying. Casey was in her house. I got a call from the killer while home and they knew that Billy was locked out. The cops are still so lost Dewey wants to meet with me again to go over some details. There’s no reason for the killer to just go away...and from what they said the last time we talked, they’re not planning on it.

Stu places a hand on the side of my head, angling me closer with no warning. He places a quick kiss against my temple. I nearly jump before realizing what just happened. That was such a Stu reaction I can’t help but smile a little, even though I shouldn’t encourage him. “You’re cute when you’re worried about us.”

At least that’s the return of something normal. “You say that about everything.”

He breezes past my attempt at harshness, “Not everything.”

“You said it when you noticed that my history folder and notebook match.”

The corner of Stu’s mouth turns upwards, “Ah. The matching notebook-folders.”

I roll my eyes, regretting bringing that up again. He had asked about the matching thing so much I felt like he had to have been making fun of me. “I’m not doing this again, a lot of people color match their stuff.”

“And their sticky notes,” Billy mumbles. I turn my head enough to glare at him. He found me sorting my sticky notes by subject early into our friendship and so far it’s kind of been our secret. Not because it’s a bad thing, just a little type-A and make-fun-able. “Kidding.” Maybe I’d find him funny if I was better rested. He stares at my blank expression for a second, “Are you going back to bed?”

There’s a small chance I’ll never sleep again. I don’t get a chance to answer. Billy steps back, pulling me forward a little. We all walk out of the bathroom and down the hall. Before I can say that I really don’t feel like sleeping right now, Billy walks past the door to Stu’s room.

----

Stu pushes the mug so that it slides against the granite countertop. One of my hands wraps around the handle and the other presses against the ceramic’s side. The warmth soothes me as it leaches into my fingers.

“Thanks.”

He smiles a little, tapping his fingers against the kitchen island, “It’s the least I could do since you’re worried sick over us.”

Billy looks over at us, mumbling some response I barely register, “The least you could do?”

“Whatever, man, you kn--”

The block of knives is only a few feet away. I can only see the handles, the blades are hidden in the wood, but that doesn’t make it any less distracting.

Trying to force myself to stay in the moment, I stare at my mug, studying the giant, cursive London and cartoonish city line that wrap around the ceramic’s side. Big Ben is at the center, almost piercing the lettering. I almost ask about England, but decide not to risk it. Stu’s parents are always traveling. There’s a good chance he wasn’t on this trip. For all I know, the mug was what they brought back for him.

I lift the glass to my lips, taking a few sips. The hot chocolate is almost shockingly good. Perfectly balanced between sweet and cocoa-y. Even the whipped cream and marshmallows are paired so well it feels scientific.

“Y/n?”

I set the mug on the counter, eyes studying the deflating marshmallow lump. “Yeah?” Tearing my eyes away from the marshmallow mutant, I force myself to look up. Billy and Stu share a look. It’s brief, but it feels heavy. Like one of those moments where they slip away into their own world. Normally, when they do that, it’s more like being left out of a joke. This time it might as well as be a psychological assessment. Be more normal. "I’ve never had hot chocolate after 2 AM before.” I take another sip, “It’s nice.”

My recovery feels smooth, so I let myself look up again. Stu’s already staring at me. It’s the kind of focus that wouldn’t be suspicious from him if he’d make some kind of joke about it. Any kind of flirty comment would make it okay and cancel out the seriousness behind his eyes. “You’re feeling better, right?”

The worry is there, but pushed forward with such Stu-like energy that it almost feels more like a statement or request than a question. “A little.” I don’t know how true it is, but it’s easier to say that than admit how unsure I am. And maybe I’ll speak feeling better into existence. “Seeing you guys...knowing you’re okay helps.”

Ah. Sleep depravation is no joke because that’s something I’m definitely going to regret. It’s way too vulnerable and easy to make fun of. I stare at my mug until the quiet’s too much and I have to face what I’ve done. Stu’s not holding in a laugh or radiating a smugness that he’s given into over less. He’s still watching me, but it’s different, softer and more open. I set my mug down before looking over at Billy. His eyes dart down to the sink almost immediately.

My attention snaps back to Stu as he moves forward to place his hand on mine. “Look who loves us.”

I glare halfheartedly as Stu gently bends and squeezes my fingers. “Duh.” Like these two weirdos don’t already know. “I know it was cheesy, but given the circumstances, can you guys please not.”

“That wasn’t cheesy.” Billy’s voice is low, a little rough. “But the nightmare over u--”

“Shut up.” He’s smiling, clearly enjoying my reaction. “Sorry that I’d probably lose it if anything happened to either of you.”

Billy rests his weight on his forearms, leaning forward. The front strands of his hair fall forward as he angles his head towards me. It’d be so easy to extend an arm and push his hair back into place. “Probably?”

I use the hand Stu isn’t still holding onto to grab my mug. “You were mean about it. That got you guys downgraded.”

Stu tugs on my hand with just enough pressure to get my attention. “Hey, leave me out of whatever he says.” I roll my eyes as I take a sip of hot chocolate. “I’m a total sweetheart compared to grumpy over there.”

A burst of laughter tries to claw its way up my throat as I’m swallowing. I know what Stu said wasn’t that unbelievably funny, but something about oversimplifying Billy like that gets to me. “He isn’t grumpy.” I set my mug down. “He’s multifaceted.”

“Multifaceted?” Billy repeats, tone trying too hard to be more wary than amused for it to work. The failure makes me fight down a grin. I like the slips from his usual demeanor, not that Billy’s rough around the edges exterior is something I’d change, it’s just nice to see him relaxed from time to time. It’s also probably good for him.

I nod, committing to whatever bit I’ve accidentally started. “Like a house cat.”

Billy’s eyes stay focused on me, the corner of his mouth hinting at what’s close enough to a smile for me to count it as a win. He looks like he might say something, but then Stu snorts. Laughs in a way that has him pulling on my hand again. “You nailed it, angel.”

Billy tilts his head stiffly, still managing to glare at Stu. It’s still part of the joke, for now, and I need to make sure it stays that way. “So we agree, not grumpy.”

“Hm...” Stu pauses, scrunching up his face as if I’ve just asked him an incredibly deep question that warrants this much reflection. “He’s not grumpy to you because you’re pretty.”

Warmth rushes to my face and I don’t get why. Stu’s definitely said similar and much more intense things before. This comment shouldn’t be different, but he breezed out that last part so casually...like it was factual. “Shut up.”

Stu turns my fingers. “And you have this kicked puppy thing you do with your eyes that makes it not worth it.”

That snaps me out of any embarrassment. I try pulling my hand away, but Stu doesn’t let me get too far. “I do not.”

Stu squeezes my hand between both of his. “Yeah, you do, babe.”

I glare at him and Stu has the audacity to grin. The brief flash of teeth is a little too confident for my taste. He needs to be humbled. I turn my head enough to look at Billy. “He’s exaggerating, right?”

Billy’s expression is hard to read. “It’s just...your eyes.” No. They’re teaming up and turning on me. “It’s not a bad thing.”

Yeah, just what I need, another reason to seem like a cute little, doe eyed victim. It gets under my skin even though I know they didn’t mean it like that.

“Hey,” Billy’s voice is low as he leans a little closer, “We’re just kidding.”

I know that, which only adds to my irritation, because why can’t I just be normal?

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Stu tries, “You’re all big, bad, and scary.”

Stu drops his voice dramatically, and despite myself, I smile. It’s awful how funny I actually find some of the things he does. Sometimes I feel like I have the sense of humor of a middle school boy. Billy raises his eyebrows, giving me a look that screams we really choose to deal with this, huh? He picks a mini marshmallow out of the bag before I can fully react and tosses it at Stu.

The marshmallow bounces off of Stu’s forehead and lands on the counter. I laugh a little more than I should. “What was that for?”

“For being an idiot.”

Stu scoffs, picking another marshmallow. He throws it at Billy. The marshmallow bounces off of Billy’s chest and falls in front of me anti-climatically. “Fuck you.”

His reaction is half joking and half not, like a majority of his more aggressive comebacks. It’s always just Stu going along with it until he’s not anymore. Maybe I should try to say something calming or distracting, just to assure the preservation of the easy mood. But I can’t think of anything, so I just pinch the marshmallow that fell in front of me between two fingers and toss it in Stu’s direction. It hits his arm and falls onto the counter.

They both turn to look at me. The weight of their full attention takes me a little by surprise because I have no good justification for that. “What?” I shrug a little, “Everyone else threw one and I felt left out.”

Stu lets go of my hand, which is a little concerning. He leans back, leg moving forward to push against my seat. The barstool is the kind that swivels so he succeeds in turning me. “You’re lucky you’re cute or people would talk about how weird you are more.”

I push the front of my leg against his in an attempt to get my seat back into place. He doesn’t budge. “Right. I’m the cute, weird one.”

His lips part slightly and his grin feels a little surprised. That can’t be a good thing. “You think I’m cute?”

Oh my god. What have I done? “Hm. I don’t think that’s what I said.”

“That’s what I heard.” His leg shifts, moving so that he’s touching closer to my knee than before.

There’s a chance that I could turn away or push him off, but that feels like letting him win, so I ignore the warmth rushing to my faced. “That’s what you always hear.”

“I heard it, too.”

My head snaps in Billy’s direction. “Don’t encourage him.”

“If Stu had made it up, it would have been dirtier.”

They don’t need any motivation to make these kinds of jokes. I know that I should be smarter about this, commit to my annoyance, but I can’t stop the laugh that slips out. “You guys are the worst.”

Billy moves so that he’s leaning even closer. So close I can make out his individual lashes. “Really looks like you feel that way.”

His voice comes out low, a hint of rasp finding its way into his voice. The words are casual, a return of a joke. Nothing in them can justify the weird rush of heat to my face.

“Yeah, well,” this has to be a sign of sleep depravation, “Looks can be deceiving.”

He adjusts the weight resting on his forearms, “I believe you.”

The reply is a little flat, hard to get, but the underlying amusement is clear. Like there’s some joke I’m missing. “Shut up.” I push myself further back into my seat.

“I didn’t say anything.”

I pick up my mug. “You had a...vibe.” BIlly’s eyebrows draw together. “A making fun of me vibe.”

The corner of his mouth pulls upwards. “A making fun of you vibe?”

“You know what I mean,” I mumble, taking a sip of my hot chocolate.

He tilts his head, as if seriously thinking through what I said. “You sound like you’re tired.”

I knew we’d circle back to this eventually. There’s a good chance they’re tired. When they woke up in the middle of the night, they probably expected to go back to bed soon enough. “If you guys are tired, you can go to bed.”

“We sleep when you sleep.” Stu turns my chair so that I’m facing him a little more again. Great, add their sleep schedules to the list of casualties my new weirdness is responsible for. “Don’t worry, babe, I can go all night.”

Stu looks so pleased with the stupid joke that I give in and crack a smile. “You shouldn’t have to, though.”

His eyes lose some of their humor, softening in a way I don’t quite get. “I’ve stayed up for less important things.”

“He’s tried,” Billy mumbles dryly, looking over at me, “I’ll actually stay up with you.”

I grin, “Wanna draw on his face when he falls asleep?”

Stu lets out an offended scoff from the back of his throat, Billy ignores him, returning my smile. “Permanent marker.”

“Hey,” Stu pouts, “Don’t be mean, or I won’t tell you about my surprise.”

Hm...with Stu, there’s an 50/50 chance that whatever he’s referencing is weird. “Ominous.” His smugness does make me curious. “Okay--tell me.” Stu’s quiet for a second, a hint of smugness in the tilt of his head. I move my arm forward, softly shoving his arm. “Please?”

At that, he cracks, his hand turning over in order to grab mine. Stu places a kiss to the back of my palm. “Only for you, angel.” He then lets me go and stands. Whatever the surprise is, Stu apparently has to leave the room for it.

I blink, turning my attention to Billy, who halfheartedly shrugs. “There’s no telling with him.”

Definitely an exaggeration on Billy’s part, considering the way the two just get each other. It’s a bond anyone could pick up on. “As long as he comes back fully dressed.”

Billy faintly smiles. “Probably a 50/50 chance.”

Tapping my fingers against the counter, I turn my attention back to my mug. “I don’t know, he seemed a little excited.”

Stu comes back before anything else can be said. He’s holding out a VHS tape. Even though he’s still at the edge of the kitchen, I can make out a familiar red on the cover. No way. “You--”

He keeps an arm extended in front of me until the tape’s in reach. I take it and he sits down with a triumphant grin. “I know my girl.”

After I forced him to watch Clueless, I didn’t think I’d ever get him to do anything like that again. And now he just has it here, lying around on a night he didn’t even expect me to come over. He also didn’t pull it out for points earlier. If I hadn’t woken up, he might not have even mentioned it this visit.

It’s sweet and oddly thoughtful, especially coming from Stu. That fits him, though. When I least expect it, he’ll hit me with something like this. I grin, “Someone’s getting soft.”

“I can take it back.”

Gently tapping the tape against his arm, I look up at him. “Don’t you dare.”

The tape is pulled out of my hands. I turn my head in time to see Billy fully steal my weapon from me. “Before you kill someone.”

He’s joking, but the thought of their death is still fresh. My mind isn’t given a chance to latch onto the thought, because Stu leans forward and steals the tape back. “I’ll go set it up.”

Stu stands up again, walking towards his living room. I slide off the stool, ready to follow him. I only make it a few steps before feeling a touch on my shoulder. It takes me a second to think to turn. Billy’s standing closer than I thought he’d be. On anyone else, that natural tendency to move so quietly would weird me out at least a little. But on Billy, it’s just another thing to add to the list of cat qualities I’ll definitely have to mention later.

Or now, considering the way he’s just staring, hand still on my shoulder. “Hi?”

His thumb runs past the loose collar of the oversized shirt I’m wearing and over the base of my neck. “Hi.” Billy presses his lips together briefly, “You’re--” He stops himself, eyes flitting away from my face. “You’re okay, right?”

From him, the question isn’t so much an assumption as it is an almost nervous check in. Billy’s stiff, like he’s bracing himself for hurt. Whether that’s stemming from forcing the question out or concern over my answer or something else all together, I don’t know.

His eyes are focused on something just past me. Billy’s so tense I can feel it in his hold. He’s not squeezing me, but there’s some rigid quality to the contact that wasn’t there before. Whatever he’s thinking of must be heavier than what I’ve been feeling. I don’t know why, but I shift closer and pull him into a hug.

He lets me, eventually moving to place his free hand on my back. “I’m okay.” Billy’s surprisingly warm. “You and Stu just need to really try not to get murdered.”

I feel his exhaled almost laugh more than I hear it. “We’ll try.”

“Good.” The word comes out blunt and hard. I feel the tightness of it in my chest, aggravating the panic that took over earlier. Helpless and grieving and guilty. “Cause I’d--I’d lose my shit if--”

My hold on him tightens. I’m squeezing him so much it has to be uncomfortable and my face is pressed into his shirt even though I can feel tears welling in my eyes.

He runs his hand up and down my back firmly, assuringly. “Nothing’s going to happen.” There’s no way of knowing that. My silence must get to him, because Billy moves his other hand near the nape of my neck, slowly forcing me to move my head away from his shirt. “Look at me.” It takes me a second, but I eventually find it in me to meet his eyes. “Nothing’s going to happen. We’re going to be okay.” I sniffle once before nodding. “All of us, because you’re not the only one that could lose their shit.”

His tone comes out so hard it radiates an aggression that should make me feel worse. It doesn’t, the anger doesn’t make my throat feel tight like it normally would because it’s not directed at me. He’s watching me intently, hand shifting onto my collarbone as if he’s starting to regret what he said.

I nod again, a little more convinced because it’s hard to challenge Billy’s intensity. Almost impossible to not believe him, no matter how little control he actually has over the situation.

“Y-yeah.” My voice feels too small, too childish, like most of my actions tonight. His hand moves forward enough to get his thumb to brush against the pulse point of my neck. “I don’t know what I’m going to do when you two graduate.”

I’m joking. Mostly. Billy lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “We’ll be around, so much you’ll be sick of us.” Again, another thing I want to believe just because Billy’s the one saying it. “If anything, you’re the one that’s going to break us up.” My eyebrows draw together as his thumb presses down a little harder.“Princeton, taking over the world...”

“You’re exaggerating a little.” All of that’s still a world away, and there’s always a chance--knock on wood--that I won’t get in. But the shift in his mood tells me that those maybes don’t matter right now. “You guys could come with, there’s a lot of stuff in New Jersey.” Ah--that was kind of a weird thing to say. I can’t just pack them up and take them with me. That’s not how the world works. “Or--y’know--you guys could just visit and I--visit--I can visit you guys, too.”

Smooth. Billy’s thumb drags down again, the touch regaining its comforting feel as he presses his lips together to fight down a smile. “Come with you?”

“Not like--” I have no one to blame but myself. “I mean--yeah, it’d be cool, and New Jersey’s probably a good place to figure things out...” He’s just letting me ramble, which has to be intentional because he knows how I am. Honestly, it’s a little rude that he’s forcing me to elaborate with so little sleep in my system. “Plus your super awesome best friend would be there.”

His smile eases a little more, “Super awesome best friend?”

“It sounds like something you’d say about me.”

He lets out a breath that’s definitely more amused than he wants it to be. There’s something about getting an extra smile or clearly suppressed laugh from Billy. It’s fun, like a game I’m forcing him into.

“That is how I talk.” His lethal levels of sarcasm take nothing away from my victory.

Billy steps forward. Instead of letting go, he moves his arm so that it’s around my shoulders. I’m kind of glad that he’s staying close. We walk to the living room together.

Stu’s head snaps up from the VCR. “Took you two long enough.” He tilts his head back even further before raising his eyebrows dramatically. “Leave me out of something fun?”

I roll my eyes, slipping out of Billy’s grasp and moving to sit on the couch. “Yeah, actually.” I relax into my seat. “We just hooked up in the kitchen.”

Stu jumps to his feet as I struggle to commit to the bit and not laugh. “Careful, angel.” He sits down next to me, so close our knees are touching as he moves his arm to get me even closer. “I might get jealous.”

It’s not really a threat when he goes there often. Sometimes joking, like he is now and sometimes actually annoyed, like the time I couldn’t go to the movies with him because I had already agreed to hang out with Sidney for the third time that week. But now’s not the time for that, so I play along, “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

The other side of the couch dips, Billy’s arm moving to rest on the back of the couch. “Ouch.”

There’s little harder than trying to keep them both equally happy. “Relax.” I relax further into the couch. “You know you’re both my favorites.”

“But if you had to pick a number one...”

I lift my hand, lazily swatting at Stu’s arm. The back of my hand barely brushes against his forearm. Stu moves quickly, grabbing my wrist before I can retreat. He pulls my arm towards him, slipping his fingers between mine. “Instead of starting problems, you should start the movie.”

“Bossy.” He lets out a quick tsk, reaching over for something on the end table next to him. The crinkling sound of a wrapper has my eyes following his movements. He holds the packet in front of him triumphantly. “Now I don’t think I should give you these.”

My sour gummies! “You actually have--” I reach forward with my free hand, but Stu pulls them back. “C’mon, you don’t even like them.”

“You were mean.”

He’s basically pouting, especially since I didn’t really do anything. But pointing that out won’t get me my gummies. “Fine. I’m sorry and you’re a treasure that I don’t appreciate enough.”

Stu grins, angling his head towards me. “That’s more like it.” He shifts his arm, pulling the packet open before handing it to me. I grin, happily taking the pack and popping a gummy into my mouth. Stu wrinkles his nose. “How do you eat those?”

I pick another gummy from the pack. He has to be exaggerating how much he dislikes them if they’re at his house. “If you hate them, why do you always have them?”

Stu shrugs, a movement I can feel against my arm. “They’re on the list, the house shopper gets them.”

I almost snort, nearly choking on the gummy that’s in my mouth. “I should make a list of all the rich people things you say.”

“Ask him the difference between a house keeper and a house manager.” That only makes me laugh more.

Stu glares past my head and at Billy. “Ask Billy about his family’s vacation cabin.”

This conversation belongs to a different tax bracket. “If either of you bring up skiing I’m leaving.”

Billy angles himself towards me in order to grab a gummy out of the pack. He squishes it between his thumb and pointer finger, exaggerating his skepticism. “That’s where you draw the line?”

I let myself sink further into the couch, “I’m being generous.”

“Mhm.” Billy shifts, moving his shoulder away from mine. I’m about to dismiss it as him being in a personal space mood when he rests his arm on the back of the couch, his fingers brushing against the collar of my shirt. “I believe you.”

The response is brushed over, but there’s a pinch of smugness there that would be easy to dig at. I’m pretty sure that if I were to lift my head, I’d see evidence of it. A sarcastic smile he can’t explain away or a hint of too much humor behind his eyes. But I’m too comfortable to go after it

With no warning, the other side of the couch dips with no warning. My eyes snap towards Stu. I frown. “Stu?”

“Just starting the movie.” His back is to me, but the grin in his voice is is audible. “Try not to miss me too much, sweetheart.”

My nose wrinkles, face briefly pressing into Billy’s side as I cringe. “I think I’ll live.”

The upbeat music of Clueless’s opening starts playing. After a second, the couch shifts again. Stu pulls the now empty gummy packet out of my hand and place sit on the coffee table. He then sits down, closer than before, our legs touching. After my dream, I can’t bring myself to scold him. They’re both here, completely okay. I don’t even say anything when Stu pulls my arm towards him.

Billy lets out a breath that I feel more than hear. “Don’t fall asleep,” he whispers, “You’ll hurt your neck.”

I roll my eyes. Sleep isn’t going to come back to me. It might not for a really long time, and there’s no way it’ll happen during Clueless. And sometimes Billy can be such a mom about things. It’d be more annoying if it wasn’t kind of...endearing to think of Billy as being a little bit of a secret softie. He likes to seem detached, but it’s all surface level.

“Fall asleep during Clueless?” I tilt my head up enough to look up at him. “Do you even know me?”

----

Narrator’s Perspective

Stu’s eyes move away from the screen and towards your face again. It’s been less than 10 minutes, so checking on you is a little pointless, but Stu can’t help it. Sure, you must be tired, but there’s no way--oh. Your eyes are shut and you’re completely still, temple resting against Billy’s side.

“She’s asleep,” Billy summarizes, not looking away from the screen.

Nodding absentmindedly, Stu keeps his attention trained on you. There’s a softening of your features that always comes when you’re asleep. He can make out enough of that easiness, but there’s an underlying quality that feels stiffer. Stu tries to convince himself that any inconsistencies with the pout of your lips and the set of your brow is a product of the low lighting or his own tiredness reading too much into things.

Your reactions tonight had been a surprise display of how well things are working. You’re all over them, you need them, you--He had never seen you like that. Most of it felt the way he imagined it would, but that relief was undercut by a different kind of tightness in his chest.

Stu runs his thumb over your knuckles. Billy sighs, finally turning his focus towards you. He smooths his thumb across your collarbone. “She’s fine.”

Stu presses his lips together for a moment. “Yeah.”

Billy manages to read that just as easily as he read Stu’s silence. He moves his hand to reach for Stu’s shoulder. “We want her needy, not broken. We’ll just ease off, no calls until she’s ready.”

“Yeah, she just--” There’s no way to say it without pushing at one of the lines they’ve both silently agreed to never mention. That moment in the kitchen when you slipped away, the blankness behind your eyes. It paralleled the way Billy gets when he gets into his head and disappears for a few days. The way he’s been for over a week. “You think she might need something?”

It’s an awkward thought to force out, Stu so skeptical of the idea it’s almost like it came from someone else. Therapy, psychologists, all of that mental fix-what-isn’t-broken bullshit has always been a sore subject. “Isn’t her mom a little...”

“Who gives a fuck about her mom?” Billy’s voice comes out more strained than he wants it to. Part of it is worry, part of it is the implication of motherhood and maternal genetics being that significant. “She--” There’s no real end to his sentence. What is it about you that makes Billy so sure you’ll be okay? Makes him so sure you have to be okay?

It’s not that you have that much going for you survival wise. You’re a good person, but that doesn’t mean much. Good people die all the time. You’re smart, but sometimes that just makes things worse. Billy lets himself mull over it, reflect on you and the way you made him feel when you walked in today. He decides then that you do have something going for you. “She has us.”

That admission serves as a sort of apology. “You and me. That’s all the help she needs.”

You shift against his side, still asleep. The way you held onto him earlier bubbles in his chest. It’s one thing for you to need them, another thing to think that they’re so fucked up they broke the one good, normal thing about them.

Stu frowns, noting the heaviness behind Billy’s eyes. It’s familiar, and now some version of that shadow that pulls Billy away from him is trying to take you. “We just won’t leave her alone.”

That might not be the best thing to say, considering that the closest they come to acknowledging Billy’s occasional slip aways is Stu’s extended presence during those periods. The implication that Billy needs to be looked out for the same way you do is also risky, something that could be taken too seriously depending on Billy’s mood.

A beat of silence, but Billy doesn’t stiffen or react to the implied similarities. “Until she snaps out of it, we don’t leave her alone.” They already spend an amount of time with you that’s hard to justify. Especially with the ever approaching grand finale of their plan. “I’ll need help with my history homework or get tickets to some movie, and when I’m not doing that, you’ll need help with an essay or be in a fight with your parents or--or anything.”

Letting go of your hand, Stu leans further into the couch and stretches his arm over the couch. He rests his palm against Billy’s shoulder. “Yeah.” There’s more he could say. A range of things, maybe a joke or two about your unexpected outburst of worry. “We’ve got her.”

Billy nods, the motion stiff as he avoids looking at either Stu or you. He’s used to Stu’s closeness, and your openness tonight did ease that part of him that always assumes anyone that matters is flighty, but it’s pairing itself with things he’s not used to. The combination is starting to make him feel off, uncomfortable in a way he can’t understand.

“We should wake her up.” Billy’s voice is flat. “Her neck will hurt in the morning if we don’t.”

Stu’s expression shifts to something a lot more smug. “I’ve got it.”

Billy rolls his eyes. Stu’s exaggerating in an attempt to bring back a more easy going atmosphere, but Stu’s definition of reasonably touchy is different than most. You’ve been through enough for one night, so Billy moves away. You let out an annoyed sound, trying to move closer to him in your sleep. He ignores the fondness that stabs at him and gently shakes your shoulder. Your eyes squint open.

----

The dimness of the room makes it hard to register the fact that I’m awake. It takes a second, but I get there enough to pull myself off of Billy’s shoulder. I straighten my back, ignoring the hint of stiffness I feel in my neck.

I wipe the sleep from my eyes, looking at Billy and then Stu. “What?”

“So much for too riveting to fall asleep.”

Billy’s a little too amused by the fact that I briefly dozed off. “I was...barely out.”

The corner of his mouth turns upwards, “Then explain the snoring.”

I scoff, moving back to give myself some space to hit his arm. “I do not snore.” He raises his eyebrows at me and somehow that’s more insulting than if he would have pressed the argument. I turn my head to look at Stu, “I don’t snore, right?”

Stu takes my hand, squeezing my fingers. “It’s a cute snore, angel.”

Sighing, I pull my hand away from his grasp, ignoring his pout. “You are so just taking his side.”

He holds up his hands, “You’re adorable, but I’m neutral.”

Yeah, right. “Yeah, you’re Switzerland.”

“Someone woke up moody.”

Because I have no good defense and sleep is still making my eyelids feel heavy, I just glare in his direction. Stu chooses to retaliate by placing a hand on the side of my head and pulling me towards him, placing a kiss against my temple before I can tell him to knock it off.

Wrinkling my nose, I twist my arm back, trying to smack his chest. Stu lets go of my head and catches my open palm with an ease that’s a little insulting. He squeezes my wrist to his chest, head angling downwards. The light coming from the TV changes as one scene cuts to the next. The dimness seems to briefly lodge itself behind Stu’s eyes.

“You know you’ve played into my trap.”

Stu angles his head to one side, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He makes a silent point by lightly tugging on my wrist. “Really?”

“Mhm.” I straighten my spine instinctually, even though any height I get from that is useless. “I’m building your confidence, so that when I decide to attack you, you’ll never see it coming.”

He grins before letting out a laugh. I know that I’m joking, but again, being dismissed that quickly is a little rude. I’ve never given him any reason to think I could kick his ass, but it’s not that impossible. “When?”

I pull my arm towards my lap and Stu lets me go. “Shut up.”

“What? I’m on your side.” Right. “You’re a mastermind, angel.”

Billy sits up before exhaling. The sigh is low and brief but gives away how tired of us he’s getting. I can’t blame him, Stu and I are a lot to manage even when he’s well rested. “I don’t think you have to try too hard to build his ego.”

I smile, turning my head to look at Billy. “It’s not a complicated plan.”

Stu scoffs out a sound of protest before sinking further into the couch. “Fuck you guys.”

A joke about how he’s pouting briefly comes to mind, but I decide that I’m too tired to push it. Considering how little sleep we’ve all gotten, it’d be easy to pass the line between easy going teasing and into one of Stu’s actual moods. “We’re kidding.”

“Yeah,” Billy starts, and I already know it’s not going anywhere good, “You’re the most humble.”

Stu looks over my head to flatly glare at Billy. “Hysterical.”

Despite Stu’s annoyed expression, there’s something about the exchange that’s so familiar it feels easy. Lighthearted despite potentially sharp edges. It’s the specific energy that’s usually associated with a specific group. “You two argue like an old, married couple.”

That shocks Stu enough to make him forget any potential argument. His expression blanks as he turns his head down sharply to look at me. Whatever he finds in my amused expression makes him laugh. “Yeah, like I’d tie myself down to Billy’s sorry ass long enough to grow old together.”

Billy scoffs, and even that feels in good humor. “Like I’d be able to put up with him that long.” The words are dismissive, Billy’s tone bored, but I don’t miss the way he glances over at Stu.

“Please,” Stu mumbles, pushing Billy’s arm from around the ledge of the couch before leaving his hand there, “You’d be lucky.” Stu scoffs out the sentence, but again, there’s something warmer lurking beneath the surface.

It’s hard not to smile at the hidden in plain sight display of fondness. They really do get each other. I don’t know what’s shifted in the two seconds of silence, but I can practically feel them disappearing into one of their silent exchanges. It’s weirdly cute, but it’d be cuter if I wasn’t sitting between them during it. My position feels like it’s highlighting how out of place I am.

Stu’s arm moves off the back of the couch and settles on my shoulders. “Who’s too good for who, sweetheart?”

Yeah, there’s no way I’m even giving that a joke answer. “I’m tired, not stupid.”

He frowns, “You’re no fun.” Before I can respond, Stu adjusts his hold on my shoulder to angle me a little closer to him. “I get it.” To his credit, Stu is whispering, but his voice is still loud enough for Billy to hear. Definitely on purpose. Stu angles his head towards me, leaning closer in order to pretend that this next part’s the real secret,“We’ve got to keep Billy’s feelings safe.”

Billy lifts a hand off the back of the couch and flicks the side of Stu’s head.

Even though I’d have to crane my neck awkwardly to look at Billy, I can feel him shrug. The motion briefly brings how close the two of them are to the front of my mind.

“Ow--man, what was that for?”

I laugh, the sound too sudden and loud for this time of night. Stu might take that the wrong way, but I can’t help it anymore than I can help the way I slump into the couch.

“Okay.” Billy sounds a little like someone speaking to a child resisting nap time, but does nothing to get me off of his shoulder. “Let’s go to bed before you fall asleep again.”

The thought of going to bed isn’t appealing, but I’ve complicated enough things tonight. I peel myself off of Billy’s shoulder and he keeps an assuring hand on my back. Stu follows along, standing up first and then making a point to hold onto my arm like I could fall without his support.

We walk up the stairs almost exactly like that, hovering close together like kindergarteners on a field trip. It’s reassuring as we get to Stu’s room, helping me fight against the lingering anxiety from my dream. I focus on that as I force myself to sit on the edge of the bed. They’re fine.

Billy lays down on the same side he was on before. When I don’t move, he turns enough to nudge my shoulder. I take that as a sign to force myself to actually lay down. There’s no good way to justify the nerves. I fell asleep earlier and nothing bad happened.

“Nothing’s going to happen.” The sentence is forced out and mumbled in a way that doesn’t fit Billy. It feels so hesitant I almost convince myself that I imagined it.

“Yeah,” Stu echoes, moving so that his arm brushes against mine, “Everything’s okay, angel.” He pulls my hand towards him. “Promise.”

Still not the kind of thing that can be guaranteed, but I want to believe them. I nod even though it’s too dark for either of them to see. The motion is more for me, anyway, an attempt to force myself to agree. Things are okay for now, and that’s enough for me to close my eyes. It doesn’t take long for the lingering sleep in my body to come back, dragging me under before I can overthink anything else.

----

Sunlight speckles the darkness behind my eyelids. It’s not an overwhelming brightness, but the change is jarring enough to wake me up slowly. I wipe at my eyes with the back of my hand, a little disappointed that the hazy feeling in my head doesn’t go away with the movement. Lack of sleep, I guess.

I blink, turning my head to check on Stu. He’s still asleep, partially curled onto his side. It could be because of how energetic he is while awake, but Stu’s sleep always seems so full. My head turns in the other direction. Billy’s still, eyes shut, but something about his position feels stiff. I frown, making a point of only studying him out of the corner of my eye even though his eyes are closed. I wouldn’t put it past him to just know.

Billy turns a little, the motion controlled enough to pass as something someone would do while asleep. He lets out a small sigh, another thing that could or couldn’t be sleep. “You’re up.” It almost sounds like an accusation.

So he was awake. Knew it. “So are you.”

He squints his eyes open. A few strands of hair fall forward as he angles his head to look at me. My eyes lock on the way they brush against his forehead. I squeeze my hands together, weirded out by the fact that I think it’d take less effort to push his hair back into place than to not, that it’s taking any effort to not fix.

“Did you sleep okay, at least?”

The question surprises me more than it should. Billy may seem like the kind of teenage boy that’s too cool for a lot of things, but every once in awhile something a little softer slips out. A bit of a mother hen quality that likes to hide under a thin layer of snarky concern. I’d point this out, but I’m attached to our friendship.

I prop my head up. “Yeah, I slept okay.” And I don’t even have to lie to say that. After lying down, it took no time at all for me to fall asleep. An all consuming, dreamless sleep, which is all I wanted. “You?”

“Okay.”

Hm. That was a quick answer. He seems fine, but the shadows under his eyes have been a little more prominent than usual lately. That paired with the glimpse of what I saw yesterday has to be worth noting, right?

My eyes drop to the comforter. “You um...” I press my nails into the fabric. “Yesterday, I know I totally freaked, so I might sound a little hypocritical, but when I got here...you didn’t seem...” Ugh...there’s no good way to say this to him. It’s easy for him to twist things in his head and I don’t want him to feel attacked. “...Like you.”

It’s only been a few seconds, but the silence expands something between us. My nails dig into the plush comforter even harder to distract myself, but it’s not working. I have to look up. Billy’s expression shifts from overwhelmingly blank to something a little harder when our eyes meet.

“It’s just been a long week.” His tone is casual enough, but it’s missing what makes him familiar. “My dad’s on me about grades, senior year...”

Billy did not just try to pin everything on his ‘senior year’. The realization that he’s probably lying, or at the very least, not telling me the entire truth, tries to crawl to the front of my mind, but it fails. It doesn’t matter.

“Whatever it is...” I take a deep breath, “If you ever want to talk about it more, or just...need anything...”

His eyebrows pinch together, eyes taking their time passing over my face. I don’t know what he could possibly be looking for in my expression. He must find it, because he eventually looks down. “Trust me, if I ever want to have a feelings talk, you’re the first person I’ll go to.”

There’s a hint of teasing in his voice that makes it easy to smile. “I get it...” Billy places his palm over the back of my hand. “I’m all mush.”

“Eh,” he tilts his head, playing into the joke as I roll my eyes. He shifts so that more of his weight is resting on his elbow. “You’re nice.” The shift in tone is sharp enough to give me whiplash. “You care about people.”

I keep my eyes on our hands. “You’re nice, too.” He might not be aware of it, but he’s a lot kinder and more careful than people give him credit for. He’s always there when I need him and he always tries to understand. “You’re a good friend, so if you--”

“I’ve seen you get worse over a math test.” Technically true, but that was a complicated situation. It wasn’t just the math test, it was the morning after the Ghostface attack and then I found photos of the Becker’s yard printed in a copy of the newspaper abandoned in the bathroom. But I have reacted pretty dramatically to less than ideal grades before.

Billy’s hand grips mine with a little more pressure than before. “Yeah,” I mumble, already regretting trying to push.

He sighs, “I’m okay.”

Billy relaxes his hold on my hand. “Yeah,” I nod, “Guess I’m just a little overprotective.”

“You like me that much, huh?”

I roll my eyes. “Eh. You’re okay.”

His eyebrows draw together in exaggerated offense, “Just for that, I’m not making you breakfast.”

He lets go of my hand and moves to stand in an attempt to make his threat seem more genuine. I push myself to sit up fully, “You know how to make breakfast?”

Billy’s already approaching the door but he turns his head enough to glare at me. “I’ve never set off the fire alarm.”

“That was one time.”

He dismisses my defense by opening the door. I push myself off the bed, looking over at Stu. He’s still out. “He’s fine, he’ll wake up when he’s hungry.”

I focus on the even rise and fall of his chest. Stu’s face is pressed into his pillow, one leg still covered by his blanket and the other kicked out, dangling close to the edge of the bed. At least one of us knows how to sleep.

“Yeah,” I agree, walking towards the door, “He’s lucky we’re too nice to draw on him.”

Billy looks back at me as he steps onto the stairs, “He’s lucky I don’t have a pen.”

I laugh. “Maybe we can find one.”

The part of the living room that’s too far away from the windows to reach a decent amount of sunlight is still illuminated. An artificial glow catches my attention. I guess no one turned off the TV last night.

I walk towards the TV, crossing my legs beneath me as I sit down. It takes a second because of all the extra buttons on the control panel--rich people TVs should have instruction manuals taped to their sides--but my eyes eventually find the off button. I press it and all the TV does is turn staticky.

“The tape’s still in there, you need to turn off the VCR first.”

Makes sense. I mess with the buttons, turning the whole thing back on and starting over. Billy waits near the couch as I manage to turn the VCR off because after a second, regular cable starts playing. I hit another button. Instead of powering off, the TV switches to another channel. Before I can press anything else, a voice catches my attention. “The police department still has no leads on the crime that has rocked this sleepy community almost a year after the still unsolved murder of Maureen Prescott.”

“Isn’t Gale Weathers that journalist you yelled at?”

Ugh--that’s how I know her. "I didn’t yell.” I stare at her focused expression as she stares down the camera. “I just made my thoughts on her journalistic process clear.” She’s wearing a suit that’s as vibrant as the one she was wearing when I met her at school. “Also my thoughts on what she was wearing.”

The studio lights reflect against her gingery red, blonde highlighted hair in a way that’s unfortunately put together. “She’s kinda pretty, I guess...” Her getting-the-story-at-any-cost personality is something I’d admire if it was directed at anyone else. “For someone that totally sucks.”

“Which is why I’m still pressing forward with an updated version of my book detailing the two crimes, the suspects, and the most recent piece to the complicated puzzle--the sole survivor of the Becker Case.”

Oh, there is no way she means--

My yearbook photo flashes onto the corner of the screen. “Local high schooler, Y/n L/n.”

Blood rushes to my ears. Something warm and assured squeezes my shoulder. Billy. “Y/n?”

The floorboards creek beneath the weight of even footsteps. “Thanks for--” The grogginess in Stu’s voice disappears with the rest of his original sentence, “What happened?”

I finally connect with my body enough to pick my jaw up off the ground enough to form a sentence, “She put me in her fucking book.”

----

a/n billy and stu when the traumatic thing they do is actually traumatic: 😦

also we’re about to get into the gale arch! yay!

----

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thanks for reading!! <3

#scream #scream x reader #scream 1996 #billy loomis #billy loomis x reader #stu macher #stu macher reader #ghostface #ghostface x reader #poly!ghostface #poly! ghostface x reader #final girl fic

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ohbo-ohno · 4 months

Note

Serial killer!ghoap has my brain rotting so bad, I need to share some thoughts.

After weeks, maybe months, Reader has given up. She goes along with whatever the boys want, too exhausted to fight them.

One night, they’re sitting in the cabin, Ghost is reading a book, watching tv, doing whatever. Reader's in his lap, he dragged her there without a fight. Johnny is cleaning some knives, wiping the dried blood off and checking to ensure the blades are as sharp as possible.

It’d be domestic if yk, they weren’t murderers and she wasn't a captive.

Then Johnny asks for her to grab something from the kitchen. She freezes for a moment, then slowly slides from Simon’s lap and pads off into the kitchen. It’s separate from the living room, she’s completely out of there sight, and the door is right there. It’s open for the sake of air circulation, the cabin gets warm in summer.

Reader doesn’t think about the consequences before slipping out the door and onto the porch. She takes tentative steps off the porch, just in case a plank creaks. But once her feet hit the ground, she’s off.

At first, she doesn’t think they’re chasing her. But then a twig cracks behind her. And when she stops to catch her breath, she swears she hears leaves crunching beneath heavy boots.

She doesn’t get far before Johnny has her on the ground, his hips pinning her as he shoves her shoulders into the dirt. They drag her back to the cabin kicking and screaming, then she quiets down once she realizes they’re going to the basement.

She starts begging, sobbing out that she’s sorry and she didn’t mean it as they pull her to the cement floor. Johnny has settled himself behind her, thick arms wrapped around her upper body so she can’t thrash too hard. Simon has a hand on her knee, pinning it as his free hand wraps around her ankle.

She knows what’s gonna happen. Johnny’s in her ear cooing that it won’t hurt, Simons real good at this sort of thing. But he’s lying. The sound of her bones crunching makes her head spin, pain shooting up her whole leg.

Johnny’s the one to wrap her ankle, softly asking if she’s learned her lesson. When she doesn’t reply he goes upstairs, leaving her in the dark basement all alone :(

i’m not sure if this is completely in-character for them in this au, so if you think it fits another better ignore the first line. i just had to ramble bc it won't leave my mind

god im obsessed with this. i need to watch misery again

#i have nothing to add to this but it's SO GOOD #it needs to be on my blog #serial killer ghoap x reader #asks and answers

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messrmoonyy · 1 year

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okay how about Tess and reader having a bet to see who can crack first without sex and reader cracks and begs Tess to fuck her? Thank you our lord and saviour messr 🙌🏻

Bet on it

Tess Servopoulos x fem!reader

A/n- hello. Thank you for the manners lmao it’s ben annoying me people don’t have the decency to be polite. ANYWAYS. I was really looking for an excuse to write about going down in Tess cause it’s been rattling around in my head for so long, so I took this as the excuse. Pls tess gimme one chance I beg tho I won’t lie I don’t like this one all that much but. Have it. What are you gonna do, ask me for a refund?

Warnings- 18+|| tess. Smut: mommy kink. Like it’s pretty strong, oral ( Tess receiving ) , fingering ( Tess and reader receiving sorta )

Word count- 3.7k

Masterlist

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated

It was all Joel’s fault.

Him and his stupid fucking mouth. And maybe Tess too. Either way, you refused to take any blame.

It wasn’t your fault you were… loud. It also wasn’t your fault the walls were paper fucking thin and he just so happened to live next door. The man was damn half deaf and 9 times out of 10 he was passed out anyway, some brain rotting concoction of pain killers and whiskey knocking him out for the count. So it’s not like you’d made any real attempts to be quiet anyway, you just assumed he couldn’t hear.

How were you supposed to be quiet when you had someone like fucking Tess between your legs. You’d like to see anyone keep their mouth shut with her fucking the life out of them. Well. You wouldn’t actually. But that was besides the point.

He was probably just pissed because his sex life was non existent.

‘ you can’t go a single day without goddamn jumpin each other. It’s like livin next to a pair of rabbits ‘ he’d said. Of course you being the stubborn fuck that you were, had said you absolutely could go a day. Joking that it was Tess who couldn’t keep her hands to herself. And she had scoffed at the mere thought of her being the needier of you two.

So that was how the bet had been born. To see who could last the longest. Who would crack first. You’d expected it to only last a couple of days at the most. Tess jumped your bones every chance she got normally, couldn’t keep her hands off of you. But now she was behaving like a fucking nun.

The first few days had been fine. But by day 3 you were regretting it. So by day 8 you’d had enough. You felt like an animal in heat, like you were going insane. She wasn’t even doing anything particularly alluring. Just her presence alone was enough to make you insane. Her voice. Her face. The way she held you when you slept. The confidence she oozed in any and all situations. You were head over heels for the woman, how were you supposed to behave any differently?

Bit knowing how stubborn she could be you’d almost immediately accepted that she wouldn’t break. It wouldn’t stop you trying though. You were trying your hardest to make her crack, from deciding walking around the apartment in your underwear was perfectly normal. To ‘accidentally’ brushing against her when you shared the rationed water in the shower. But other than the occasional glance up at you she wasn’t breaking. In fact when you’d tried another tactic of leaving your button up only half way done up. She’d simply stood and buttoned it right up to the collar for you, leaning in close to your ear and whispering ‘ nice try ‘

By day 10 you decided you didn’t give a fuck about honour or pride anymore. You were done.

You were sat at the table, fingers drumming against the wood as you watched her. She had the sleeves of her shirt rolled in a way that showed off her forearms, she fucking knew you had a thing for that. She was doing it on purpose, knowing you’d snap. You were sure.

You needed to touch her. Needed her to touch you.

You didn’t think it was actually humanly possible to be as desperate as you were. Before ending up in Boston you’d gone years without anything. And yet, now you weren’t even going to make it to 2 weeks. Were you that enthralled by her? That addicted? It was almost embarrassing.

Especially when she seemed as cool and collected as ever.

You tried to ignore her, looking back down at your rota of assignments for the week. But you could still see her from the corner of your eye, wetting the pads of her fingers to turn the page in her book more easily.

You didn’t know if you should be mildly offended or not. That she seemed to be doing much better than you were. Though she had always been the better of you both at masking her true emotions and feelings.

You didn’t know how much longer you could take it. Waking up every morning to soaked underwear because your dreams had been filled with nothing but her, missing the way her fingers felt on your skin, how her teeth felt nipping at your neck. You missed the hickeys, the bruises she always left on your hips when she was feeling particularly rough. The scratch marks you’d leave down her back in response.

You were done.

You got up from your spot at the table and made your way over to her in purposeful strides, plucking the book from her hands and climbing into her lap. She quirked at eyebrow at you, a smug smile already creeping it’s way onto her face.

“ I was reading that “ you shrugged running your hands down over her shoulders and arms, over her chest and grabbing at the collar of her shirt.

“ this bet is fuckin stupid. I need you so bad. I can’t take it anymore “ you whispered, a whiny tone to your voice like some spoiled little kid that was being declined something they wanted. She simply scoffed

“ it was your fuckin idea “

“ I know I know. It was stupid. I’m stupid. Joel’s fuckin stupid “ you tested the waters lightly, pulling open her shirt where she already had the first couple buttons undone. Not revealing anything particularly scandalous, but still overjoyed just at the sight of more of her skin “ please. Please fuck me. Touch me. Let me touch you. Anything. Mommy please “ you whimpered the last part, pulling out every trick in the book to make her crack.

“ oh you’re begging now? “ you whispered a yes, nodding you head. You unbuttoned her shirt with haste, her hands still placed firmly on the fabric of the chair rather than you. You rolled your hips against her, pushing her shirt from her shoulders and tossing it carelessly behind you. But before you could touch her she grabbed the back of your neck, making you look at her.

“ this was your idea baby girl, and you want to end it? “ she looked far too smug and you hated her for it. But you were so desperately horny it was making your brain fuzzy. Your hands traveled down to her jeans, desperate to unbutton those too “ I know your tricks. You just want to win ”

“ I don’t care about winning, Fuck if you won’t touch me let me touch you “ you said, dropping your head to press kisses across her neck “ please mommy” her spare hand that was still on the armrest shifted slightly, still didn’t touch you anywhere you particularly wanted her. But moved. You were working her down “ please let me touch you. Let me taste. I’ll be so good I promise. You win. You win “

You hands trailed back to her chest, grabbing at her through the material of her bra, grabby hands groping at her with no shame.

“ you wanna make mommy feel good? “ the low, sultry, tone of her voice made butterflies explode in your chest. You lifted your head, nodding and not letting your hands stop their wandering.

“ please “ she looked entirely too smug and you knew you would never hear the end of it. She would hold the fact that she had won over you for the foreseeable. But you’d be pissed about that later, in that moment you didn’t give a fuck. The only thought whirring around in your brain was getting your mouth on her, you wanted to taste her on your tongue, wanted to make sure she’d never want to go so long without you again “ can I? Please “

She observed your face for a moment, then gave you a small nod and it was all the confirmation you needed. You slid down from her lap and onto your knees on the floor.

“ always look so pretty on your knees for me “ she mused as you grabbed at her jeans, tugging them down her legs as she lifted slightly so you could get them off “ just so we’re clear, you know this means I win and I’ll be tellin Joel that you lost and not me right? “ you nodded fervently, mildly surprised that she was actually letting you rid her of her clothes. Almost expecting the entire thing to be a joke, making you keep going with the stupid fucking bet until you actually exploded.

But clearly she was as desperate for it as you were. She was just better at controlling herself. She always had been.

“ I know. I don’t care “ the way she was already clearly wet when you tugged her underwear down her legs too, was proof enough that she was well and truly done with the bet too. You practically drooled at the sight, already anticipating the familiar taste of her in your mouth “ wanna taste you. Can I. Please mommy “ you begged and she reached down, lifting your chin and making you look up at her.

“ my poor baby, so desperate “ it was almost mocking. She was fucking loving the fact that she had won “ gonna show mommy just how desperate you are? Hmm? “ in response you ran your hands over her thighs, pushing them apart and tugging her closer “ show mommy what a good girl you are “

She took a sharp intake of breath as you buried your face between her legs, sighing blissfully as the taste of her flooded your tongue. You wanted to reach every part of her, your tongue dragging between her folds, devouring her. No desire in making it last, a burning primal desire to have her coming on your tongue the only thing you could think about.

You spread her with your fingers, lapping at her hole and not letting a drop of her arousal go anywhere but your tongue. Relishing in the small sounds it earned you.

“ that’s mommy’s good girl “ she sighed, her hand threading into your hair and tugging lightly so that your scalp prickled. You hummed a response, not slowing in your ministrations, tracing a pattern with your tongue from her entrance to her clit. Your chin and lips were slick with her. She filled all of your senses.

Your nose. Your eyes. Your mouth. The velvety feel of her walls when you dipped your tongue inside of her, the sounds of her quiet breathy moans and vulgar sounds of how wet she was. It’s what you had been yearning for for days, what your dreams had been filled with. A never ending stream of praise as you made her feel good. You moaned against her, the vibrations clearly doing her wonders.

You own cunt was flooding your underwear, your clit desperate to be touched. You were half tempted to reach down and touch yourself, but she deserved your undivided attention. So you settled with squeezing your thighs together.

“ makin mommy feel so good. Just like that baby “ her voice was breathier and you couldn’t help the smile that crept it’s way onto your face. It was no lie that she was a god when it came to making you feel good, she knew exactly how to pull you apart in minutes. But she was much more difficult to navigate, harder to read. She wasn’t like you. She often urged you to be loud, to make noise and be vocal. But she was the opposite.

For someone so rough and confident she was much more gentle and soft in her reactions. It was all in her breathing, the sharp intakes and the shuddering breaths, the quiet curses that never usually went much louder than a whisper, only getting anything else from her if you managed to get her completely relaxed.

And the near breathless commands and instructions she still gave you, keeping you in check. Keeping you exactly where she wanted you doing exactly as she wanted. And showering you in the praise she knew you so desperately craved from her.

And nothing made you feel better than watching her fall apart. Because of you.

The tight grip on your hair grew impossibly stronger when you slipped in a finger, adding a second when your first was met with no resistance, burying them inside her to the knuckle.

“ fuck “ she whispered under her breath, her eyes falling closed for a moment. You watched her face carefully as you worked her open on your fingers, scissoring and curling them in some attempt to touch as much of her as you could. Stretching and massaging her velvety soft walls with your fingers, honing in on one spot when you noticed her reactions change.

“ such a good girl doin so well for me baby “ the way she was clenching around your fingers told you she wasn’t going to last much longer. So you kept at the pace, fingers curling up and hitting the same spot over and over. Tongue and lips practically abusing her clit in a way that was making your jaw ache, not that you cared “ like makin mommy feel good? Huh? “ you hummed an answer against her that drew another heavenly sound from her throat.

Nothing brought you more joy than watching her fall apart above you, knowing that only you could get her like that. Only you got to see that blissful look on her face, her eyes closed and soft breathy moans leaving her throat and going straight to your cunt.

“ that’s my girl. Like that. Gonna make mommy come. Is that what you want baby? “ you nodded, detaching yourself from her with a mildly obscene wet sound.

“ Wanna feel you come on my tongue“ you practically whined, begging for the privilege of being the one the push her over the edge. To gift her with the same earth shattering orgasm she so often gave to you “ please mommy “

“ since you’ve been such a good girl for me “ you didn’t wait a second longer, withdrawing your fingers and replacing them with your tongue. You gripped at her thighs, holding her in place, your eyes fixed on her face so you could watch every second “ that’s it baby, make mommy come. That’s my good girl “ her tone was higher, breathes quickening the rise and fall of her chest.

You started to rub soft circles into her clit with your thumb, relishing in the way she was clearly losing her composure. Squirming slightly in the chair, pushing your face closer until she was all consuming in your mind.

It was becoming slightly difficult to breathe but you weren’t about to complain. If you were gonna die you figured that was pretty alright way to go out. The searing heat of her on your tongue was enough to make you forget every single other thing in your mind.

A few more thrusts of your tongue and she was gone, head thrown back and her eyes screwed shut, heavenly sound after heavenly sound falling from her lips like music to your ears. You didn’t stop for a second. Lapping up every drop of creamy, sweet release she offered you.

You didn’t stop until she gently tugged your head back, your actions clearly bordering on being too much for her. You rested your head against her thigh, looking up at where she was running a hand through her hair and attempting to regain her composure.

“ you couldn’t have done that a week ago baby? Fuck “ a grin found its way onto your face, happy for the verbal confirmation that she had been struggling just as much as you had. She was just far better at hiding it.

“ I do good mommy? “ you asked softly, pressing a kiss to the silky soft skin of her thigh. She looked down at you with a soft smile and nodded.

“ so good baby. Come here. Up here “ you crawled back up into her lap, readily accepting her kisses when she pulled you in, the taste of her still lingering on your tongue “ seriously baby I needed that when you decided to walk around in your fuckin underwear “ she said when she pulled back, tucking her fingers under your chin.

She looked otherworldly. Her face flushed and glowing, the light sheen of sweat on her forehead and the hazy look in her eyes that could only come from having your lover between your thighs. It made you squirm a little in her lap, your panties completely soaked. You almost wondered if she could feel it.

“ I don’t know how I made it this long “ she laughed at that, her eyes flickering down to where you were wiggling around. She gave you an almost sympathetic smile, the backs of her fingers brushing along your jaw before pushing your hair away from your neck.

“ does my baby need some attention from mommy now? “ you almost sighed in relief, nodding your head “ you want mommy to fuck you? Hmm? “ her nose traced along your neck, lips brushing against the skin and making your cheeks flush and goosebumps follow in her wake.

Her hand came up, palming at your tit through the thin material of your T-shirt as she began working a deep purple bruise onto the tender skin of your neck.

“ mommy “ you whimpered, eyes falling closed as she marked you up in the way you adored most. It made warmth pool in your belly every time. Knowing she wanted to mark you. Brand you. You were hers. You belonged to her. Completely and utterly. And she wanted people to know it.

The friction of the cotton of your shirt against your nipple sent sparks straight to your cunt, your clit throbbing. Desperately wanting to be touched. You needed her fingers. Her mouth. Anything. You were so desperate you even wondered if you’d be able to get off just from the way she was grabbing at your chest.

“ please I can’t- “

“ it’s okay baby “ she cooed, soothing the last of her possessive marks with her tongue before lifting her head again “ tell mommy what you want. Use your words “

“ you. I. I want you. Anything just please- “ you cut yourself off with a pathetic mewl of a sound as she dipped her hand past the waistband of your sweats, fingers brushing over the soaked cotton of your underwear.

“ holy shit “ she mumbled mostly to herself, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment at just how wet you were for her. She hadn’t even touched you “ my baby’s so desperate huh? “ you nodded, dropping your face to her shoulder and hiding from her gaze “ my poor sweet baby “ she cooed, running a soft hand up and down your spine “ if only you weren’t so stubborn you wouldn’t be in this mess would you? Mommy could’ve been eating this perfect little pussy days ago “

Your face burned at her words, still squirming as she ran her finger lightly over your swollen clit through the soaked material of your underwear. It was too light to really do anything, but just enough pressure for you to know she was there. It was infuriating.

“ I need more. Please mommy I can’t take it anymore “ her spare hand gently nudged your face up from where you’d been hiding, cupping your cheek in her hand as her eyes scanned your features. You wondered if your desperation was evident on your face.

No. You knew it was.

“ can you do one thing for me? “

“ anything. I’ll do anything “ she smiled, clearly pleased with your willingness to obey without even knowing what she was going to ask. No questions. No second thoughts. Just complete obedience to her every command. She brushed her thumb across your bottom lip before pushing past and hooking it into your mouth. Her smile grew as you moaned softly, sucking without her even having to ask.

“ I wanna hear all those pretty noises you like to make for me. Can you do that? “ you nodded quickly, knowing there wasn’t even a remote chance you’d be able to keep yourself quiet. Not after 10 days of absolutely nothing from her “ that’s my good girl, mommy loves when you’re loud for her “

You rolled your hips, no patience left in you anymore. She took the hint, rubbing at your clit through your underwear with two fingers. The friction of the cotton, the pressure of her fingers, and the fact that you had been wanting to come for days, meant you were going to be done ridiculously fast.

“ I know baby, I got you “ she cooed as you whined in a frustrated desperation, fingers wrapping around her wrist as you rutted against her hand some more. Your orgasm was so close you could practically taste it “ I know you’re so desperate to come, don’t fight it baby. It’s okay. Mommy’s got you “ you closed your eyes, focussing solely on grinding into her hand, cheeks on fire at the crude squelching sounds your cunt was making as you moved.

“ mommy- “ you whined, biting down lightly on her thumb that was still in your mouth, not holding back a single moan. Letting them all tumble out of your throat without a care.

“ I know baby girl. Gonna show me how pretty you look when you come for me?” You nodded, increasing the pace that you rolled your hips, ignoring the way your legs were beginning to cramp up “ such pretty sounds “ she mused as your moans increased in pitch, your orgasm teetering on a ledge already.

Maybe you should’ve been a little embarrassed. She wasn’t even touching you properly, a barrier of cotton between her fingers and your cunt. But you weren’t at all. A Selfish desire to come being the only thing you could think about. You’d be embarrassed later.

Your climax was intense. 10 days of lusting after her with no release finally coming to a head. She praised you all the way through it, and only withdrew her hand from your sweats when you slumped against her with a content sigh.

She ran her hand up and down your back lightly, pressing kisses to the side of your head.

“ better? “ you hummed a response, trying to live in that afterglow for as long as you could. If you were being completely honest, it had been good to finally get… something. But you weren’t entirely satisfied. Thankfully Tess was rarely ready to call it a night without making you come at least twice. And was also as if she could read your mind.

“ don’t get too comfy baby. We have 10 days to make up for. Mommy’s not done with you yet “ you squealed as she stood up, taking you with her and carrying you over to the bed. You wrapped your arms and legs tightly around her as she lay you down, not wanting her to go anywhere “ now. Let’s teach that fucker next door a lesson shall we? “

#tess servopoulos x reader #tess servopoulos #the last of us #tlou hbo #the last of us fanfic #x you #smut #anna torv #tlou #other characters for exposure:#ellie williams #Joel miller #lgbt #lesbian #fluff

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fruit-salad-ship · 11 days

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SOFT SUPERVILLAINS!!!!

YEEEES!!!!!

Let them have moments of soft!

I will share one I have thought about for the last two days.

Injured and in hiding, the girls retire to a safe house, patching wounds, passing bandages, and peach being the frontline has sustained some serious internal bruising, she hurts, so she pops some pain killers and clumps on an old dusty couch. Her head lolls to the side to watch plum applying a plaster to her arm, she sees her boss’ white clothes muddied, blood splattered, her hair is not it’s regimented style, her nail polish is chipped, her skin sports damage. She is not herself, and yet peach can’t help but fall back on a daydream. Hazy with her meds she doesn’t seem to mind being caught looking. Plum asks her what, a defensive tone, and peach rolls her head to be comfortable and indulges in her little secret.

She tells plum about the secret wish she’d had. She tells her that in another life, she’d have loved to have met her like a normal person. No violence, no spite, no job between them. Peach paints this picture of running a strawberry farm, selling them by the punnet at a farmers market. She is happy, with no one there to tell her what to do. Plum shows up to her stand, and they both seem to click, a background thought in their heads of ‘oh. I was made for you.’ As they fumble around conversation, with peach’s cheeky grin and plums open smile. Neither girl was damaged, they had a normal upbringing with no trauma to shape them into what they are now. Plum buys two punnets after being offered to try one, and they’re good, they’re so good, peach knows it, she grows em with care. Her parting words are that she’ll be here again same time next week, if plum likes them she should come back and get some more, you know, while they’re in season.

Plum of course comes back, same time next week, looking as radiant as ever, and this time peach works up the nerve to ask her to go for coffee sometime, if she likes, don’t have to. Plum agrees. They go on this coffee date and laugh, genuinely laugh. Have fun. Go on other dates, and this is where peach describes a bunch of things that even in her real life, even now sat on that dusty old sofa, plum would enjoy, she knows because she’s been around her long enough to have picked up on her interests.

Plum once upon a time would have used her quirk to get this story, but peach offers it freely, a cocktail of pain killers keeping her calm and numbing out the pain she’s managing. To plum, this is a gift she did not expect to get, always she has to extract information with force, but this is handed to her, this gentle notion of another lifetime where they get to be normal is offered up with peach’s smiles and weak laughter, aware enough that she’s being stupid saying it out loud.

Plum eventually says peach is wrong. It takes a while to find the words, but she toys with a thread on a cushion and mulls over the story. It’s not that it’s bad, she says it’s that she’d have asked to go out with peach first time they met, she’d not wait to see her again, and she’d not let peach lead. There’s no way. This gets a laugh that hurts, but her big guard can’t help it. Of all the things to have an issue with, that was it? Typical.

Peach slips into sleep and leaves plum to chew over the notion of what if. A woman impossibly cautious, daunted by personal connections, fearful of meaningful relationships, she’s been burnt so many times, now it’s natural to guard herself.

Once they’re back to work and healed up, the story hopefully is forgotten, peach put it behind her, plum however, can’t. She’s tried, she’s really tried, but it’s hard to look at that black clad woman beside her and imagine her being anything but a brutal gun for hire. The idea of her being slack, being sweet, is alien. It’s even more abstract to imagine plum would be on the receiving end, even after how she’s treated her, after how they clash hard, how many times she’s used her quirk to mess with her.

Plum stands in a shop later on, peach is gone, it’s just her, eyeing a tray on a shelf, biting her lip in thought, trying to be brave about something so stupid. She picks up the item, buys it, and takes it home. It’s placed on the kitchen table, where she looks at it for a longtime, with wine, over dinner, while sorting out emails and paperwork. Her eyes always return to the thing she bought.

It’s not until the next day, peach back in guard rotation, that she gestures vaguely after her shift ends for the night, trying not to meet the gaze of her member of staff, a woman who’s gone above and beyond in her work. ‘It’s for you.’ Stated simply as she continues typing on her laptop, not even giving peach a moment of her time, as if she had better things to do, when in fact she’d thought about this for almost 2 days now. It made her nervous. Peach picks up a tray of 6 strawberry starts. Little baby plants that need time and care, but could grow healthy. The only hint peach has gotten that her story didn’t just get thrown in the trash as she’d expected.

Neither say anything, plum can feel her looking over, but peach goes home, and carefully plants them up, and waters them in, and looks at them with a very gentle smile. In another life, they’d have been better, had a good honest chance at love, but who’s to say they don’t deserve it in this one? It’s all they got, may as well try to make something of it.

Doodle for fun^

#I think about the girls being soft way too often #and it hits so much harder when they’re not good people #fruit salad #brainrot #doodle #bnha au

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shuttershocky · 2 years

Text

Okay but seriously though, I love how Kaschey and Kal’tsit’s different forms of immortality represent the systems and ideas that they live and perpetuate.

Kaschey’s immortality as depicted in Chapter 8 is emblematic of the cycle of abuse. He moves from body to body with the words “One day you will despair, and in that moment you will become me.” He relies on crushing the egos of his host bodies until they no longer wish to live, taking over completely and denying the person that the host originally was just like how abuse moves through generations, the same evil underneath different eyes and minds, inflicting pain to prepare its path forward.

Kaschey does all this because he is pathetic and weak. He is not strong enough to force anyone to go against their own will if they resist him, so he must torture them until they let go, until they’d rather someone else live their lives.

And once they do, he uses the person they originally were. He takes their name, he wears their face, he uses their powers and connections, their bodies, to live, seeking his next victim as he does.

He would take a child, because a child is easy and moldable. Even if she has a spirit unlike his own and rejects his teachings, he just needs the ideas to be there, festering in her mind until the real world will do the rest of the job. Kaschey and Talulah are just like every child that swears they would never be their parents, and yet in moments of great stress or despair, rage and scream like they did because it’s what they know.

And it doesn’t matter that he’s dead, that Talulah killed him with his own sword, because he’s there inside Talulah, whispering his lessons over and over into her ears, waiting for her to let him in.

That’s why he’s afraid of psychics. He tries to have Ines killed in Darknights Memoirs when he realizes she could see his shadow inside Talulah. He is also caught off guard and put into high alert when Amiya calls for him by name. The Deathless Black Snake has survived for eons by not being perceived—a different name and face every time, different powers, different decades/centuries/millennia. Textually, he fears Amiya because he fears the might of the old Sarkaz kings. Thematically, he fears someone who could see him for what he truly is, a set of living, sentient, hateful ideals.

Anyone who sees him normally hates him can only hate and destroy the face he wears, such as Wei Yenwu with the Duke Kaschey. Someone that sees him and calls him by his real, ancient name though? They make the Deathless Black Snake more than someone’s shadow. They could make him “real”, they might even make him bleed.

Kal’tsit’s life on the other hand, shows the enduring nature of humanity itself. It is just her. Her own unchanging name, face, freak biomechanical body. She is cold in demeanor and (impenetrable in diction) from the agony of living for thousands of years in a hell world, but even all that trauma can’t stop her bleeding heart from helping others.

The only thing about Kal’tsit that changes is her role in the stories of other people. There’s a reason why A Walk in the Dust showed three (and hinted at a 4th) different storylines with different characters: a young genius made to confront that his talents were used for war, a raging widow seeking vengeance on her lover’s killers, a rich baron of a provincial town trying to hide his neighbors from an oncoming political storm. In these, Kal’tsit is a guide, a co-conspirator, an adviser. She’s also a doctor to a girl with a cold, deep in the Ursus tundra.

The reason for this is that Kal’tsit’s life is lived in the exact opposite of The Deathless Black Snake. She goes from era to era, helping others become the people they could be, changing her role depending on what they need. She does not discriminate nor think once about her own status (“I’m surprised someone like you would go all this way for a girl with a cold”), and she’ll do it even if the path the person wishes to take is ultimately self destructive such as Liliana’s quest for vengeance (Kal’tsit warns Folinic’s mother that this is suicidal, but helps her anyway when she sees the latter’s mind is set), her own life lived purely to assist in the lives of others.

(Side note - This is also why she acts as the mother figure to many in Rhodes Island.)

Kal’tsit lives this life so selflessly and completely that her own will does not matter at all in Arknights. Amiya rescues the Doctor against her vote. Liliana would attempt to assassinate Count Boris with or without her. She brings The Doctor to Theresa’s Babel despite her warnings to Theresa that this was not a good idea. She wishes to avenge Theresa by killing the Doctor, but refrains from doing so because Theresa made her promise to protect both Doctor and Amiya no matter what. She appears in Under Tides for the sole purpose of taking Skadi and Gladiia’s place in Iberian prison.

Even with the Baron in A Walk in the Dust, the one who says “I am your fat fowlbeast awaiting its slaughter”, he is willing to sacrifice himself under Kal’tsit’s orders because Kal’tsit is carrying out his wish to protect his town, particularly his friend and his friend’s daughter, since he is just a spoiled, dimwitted rich man who cannot do this himself.

In a way, the Deathless and Kal’tsit are both inhuman. One is a set of living, self-perpetuating fascist ideals whose sole goal is to ensure that Ursus always lives by the rule of force, the other is an old, enduring machine with the sole purpose of helping people live their lives beyond how they could on their own.

...And then there’s the rapper penguin in a Tupac shirt.

#Arknights

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soaringeag1e · 9 months

Text

Escape {58}

Detective!Dean x Victim!Reader

Warnings: Language, Nightmare, Prisons, Inmates?? I seriously just don’t know anymore...

Words: 2,504

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Patreon

The morgue was never a place Dean wanted to be. Hell, no one ever wanted to be there, but it was just part of the job. Identifying victims, finding out how they died, how long they’ve been deceased, what was in their systems and anything else that could tie them to their killer. This part of the hospital was just inevitable.

It was always a gloomy and heavy place to be but for some reason this time, it felt different. Dean felt colder than normal. On top of that, he felt more anxious and he didn’t understand why. There was no one else around and yet he felt as if he were being watched and his instincts were just telling him that something wasn’t right. He wasn’t one to turn away just because something didn’t feel right, though. That was never something he did. But as he approached the gurney in the room, that sinking feeling just got heavier and heavier. The weight of whatever his gut was trying to warn him about was beginning to be unbearable, but he pushed forward anyway and reached out for the sheet.

His fingers shook but he pressed on, curling them around the generic hospital sheet and pulling it down to see who the latest victim was. It was then that he understood why he felt so uncomfortable.

“No…” There you were, cold and blue, lying lifeless on the coroner's slab. “No.” he cries, this time unable to hide his emotions as he looks down at you. His hand gently slides along the side of your face, pushing back your knotted hair as he blinks away tears.

“Why? This can’t be…why?” he chokes, unable to stop the questions from pouring out. He’s lost, confused and in more pain than he can bear. His forehead meets yours and a tear falls onto your cheek from his, but that was about to be the least of his worries.

“Dean.” The soft voice is barely heard and for how much he wished it was yours, he knew it wasn’t. Sniffling back his emotions, he forces himself to part from you and look around the room but sees nothing. He’s still all by himself, alone with the woman he loved.

But before he can turn his attention back to his dead fiance, a figure slowly appears in the same doorway he came in not too long ago and it only takes a few seconds for that figure to become clear enough to recognize.

Honestly, seeing this person is a blessing because Dean now knows that none of this is real. This is just another one of those terrible nightmares that have started to plague him again.

As the woman strolls into the room with slow strides, Dean pulls himself together a bit more, repeating to himself that this isn’t real and that you’re perfectly fine sleeping next to him in the real world.

“Cassie. You look good.” he compliments, and she really does. She looks just as she did before she died. No scars, no bruises, no blood. She was perfect. But unlike real life Cassie, she doesn’t say anything in return. She only looks on, her eyes locked on Dean as she continues into the room, so Dean decides to take control of his dream. As best he can anyway.

“Why?” he asks, looking for any indication that she’ll actually answer. “Why, Cassie? What are you trying to tell me?” It isn’t until she comes within a few feet of him that she stops and more silence takes over. But only for a moment.

“He’s still out there.” Dean’s taken aback at the fact that she actually answered him, but he snaps out of it fast, praying that he can get more answers before he wakes up.

“I know.” he replies, knowing that the man that took his first love from him was still free and it pissed him off. “I know he is, but what do you expect me to do? I’ve done everything I can think of.”

“He’s still out there.” she repeats, building frustration within him.

“Cassie…I know. I don’t know what you want me to do!”

“Dean.” His name is spoken again, but not by the woman in front of him.

His heart races as he spins around and looks to the slab. Your chest is rising and falling at a quickened pace and he can’t help but rush to your side. Your eyes are open and looking right up at him, but they’re filled with fear. Pure terror and it kills him. Real or not, he can’t stand the sight in front of him.

“Y/N. Honey, it’s…” unable to finish his sentence because you start to gurgle and choke up blood, his eyes scan your body as if he’ll be able to find a way to help you. That’s when he sees the scars across your abdomen, all of them bleeding and oozing more and more the longer he looks at them. But before he can panic anymore than he already was, Cassie grabs his arm and yanks him back, her eyes wide and full of fear just as yours were.

“Save her!”

“Wh…what? How…” his question is cut off when he hears the distinct sound of a gun being cocked back and that’s when he looks to his right, his arm still in Cassie’s grasp when he meets the eyes of his friend and partner.

“Eddie?” There’s frustration and anger in his eyes, but when Dean looks between him and the gun, there’s no time to take in the situation. The firearm goes off, the loud noise shaking him awake just like his other nightmares.

His chest shook as he breathed through the fear, through the vivid memories of this particular nightmare. The only thing that was bringing him some comfort was the fact that he could hear you in the kitchen moving around and the smell of fresh brewed coffee was something else he was grateful for.

It was clear that the two of you fell asleep on the couch, probably while watching the movie from the night before but he doesn’t remember any of it. His nightmare felt like hours of pain and suffering as if he were sleeping for weeks.

Falling back against the couch pillow, Dean closes his eyes, letting his body calm from the panic he was just enduring. His right arm flops over his face as he takes in a deep breath and exhales after holding it for a moment. The pain in his left arm starts to beg for attention as the adrenaline from it all dies off and he cringes a bit as he remains laying down.

Unfortunately the scenes from his nightmare flash behind his eyelids making it pretty hard to calm himself, but his mind is clear enough that when a specific shot is thrown in his face, his puzzle solving brain sets off an alarm.

His eyes fly open but it takes a moment for him to move his arm out of his view. Staring up at the ceiling for a moment, he tries to decipher if he’s still under the stress of the nightmare or if what he’s thinking actually makes sense.

Within seconds he’s jumping up from the couch, cursing at himself as he’s careless to be careful with his injured arm but he pushes forward anyway. Rushing into his office, he pulls open the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet, yanking out his first ever case file he put together.

Cassies.

He flips the file open, going directly to the pictures that the coroner had taken. He stomachs the images, looking over the scars that littered Cassie’s body, mostly her abdomen before reaching for the filing cabinet again. This time he pulls open a higher drawer, his fingers dancing along the colored tabs before he finds the one he’s hunting for.

Lawrance Lincher

The name that the media gave Paul McConnell still gets under his skin, but that’s not what he needs to focus on right now.

He flips through the multiple victims, knowing he can look at any of the photos and get his answer, but he turns to your section anyway. He looks over the many wounds on your body, the protective side of him getting angry as he studies the scars but he pushes that aside as he focuses on the reason he came in here in the first place.

“Son of a bitch.” he mutters to himself as his fingers lightly run over each photo and each scar, his throat constricting as he does. “How did I miss this?”

“Dean?” At your presence, he slaps the folders shut and spins in his chair, trying not to look too panicked as he locks eyes with you. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I just…something came to me and I was just looking over some things.” You nod softly but not without trying to see what he has on his desk. Fortunately for Dean, he was successful in closing the files, so there was nothing to see.

“Well…I made coffee.” you tell him, changing the subject.

“Yeah.” he chuckles, resting back in his chair. “I could smell it when I woke up. I’ll uh…I’ll be right there.”

“Okay.” you say after a few seconds. It was clear that you were curious about what he was up to, but you also knew not to dig into his work stuff. And with this? Dean really didn’t want you knowing what was going on.

Dean blocks out the noise around him. His eyes jump from picture to picture, his frustrations running deeper and deeper as he thinks of all the hours he’s spent looking at each case and not once did this ever cross his mind.

When the alarm goes off above the door down the hall, his attention is pulled away from the files and he swiftly pulls them together into a neat pile. The sound of chains scraping against each other tells him how close the inmate is and he runs over his plan again quickly in his head.

As the officers escort the inmate into the room, Dean sees the man roll his eyes but he continues to move forward with the officers, letting them hook him to the metal table. After giving them an appreciative nod, the officers step out of the room and into the hall, waiting for the detective's signal to take the inmate back to his cell. But Dean didn’t expect this to be a quick visit.

Dean stares across the table at the man, struggling to put his focus on why he was there. Thankfully, for him, the man in chains was getting impatient and snapped the detective out of it.

“I don’t know why you’re here, but you’re wasting your time.” Clearing his throat, Dean shifts in his seat and sits up a bit more. “I’ve told you people everything already.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Dean says before sifting through his pictures and finding the one he wants, wasting no more time on why he was there. “You remember this girl?” he asks as he slides a picture of Cassie into the middle of the table. Though he knows the answer, he still studies the man and when he shakes his head, Dean digs for the next picture.

“What about this one?” he asks again as a picture of you lands right next to Cassie’s. Again, Dean knows the answer but he still studies the man and he has to hold back when he sees how he reacts to your picture.

“No. I don’t. But, there were a lot of girls.”

“Yeah. I guess that would be hard.” Dean says as he sifts through his pictures again. He takes a little longer this time, trying to push the vision out of his head. The way Paul smirked when your picture landed on the table. The way he subtly licked his lips…it made him sick.

“What about this?” he asks as he slides a few pictures of the victims' abdomens. One was Cassies, one was yours and just for good measure, he threw in one of the other seven women.

“What about it?”

“Why’d you do it?” Dean asks curtly before sitting back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “I mean, supposedly, from a few statements I’ve gone through, it was a sexual thing. Made it more pleasurable for you, right?” But Paul only shrugs, remaining calm like any other psychopath.

“The thing is…and it’s funny, but the stab wounds are pretty similar to an old case of mine.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean nods as he pulls out Cassies photo from the bottom of the pile.

“This one.” Paul looks at it a moment, confusion evident on his face. “You see, this wasn’t one of your girls.” Even after hearing that, Paul just stares at the photo. “So, it got me thinking…did you stab those girls while you raped them because it was more pleasurable for you? Or for someone else?” That’s when Pauls eyes lift from the picture, but the rest of his body remains still in his seat.

“Because recently I’ve had the pleasure to find out that there were two people involved with this case.” Dean tells him, his finger resting on Cassie’s photo. “So, now that I’m looking over your case again, I’m beginning to wonder if it’s not the same situation.” Paul scoffs and sits back in his chair, seeming as if the observation doesn’t phase him at all.

“What? I mean, you’re already locked up so what’s the harm in telling me? If anything, it could possibly lessen your sentence a bit if you help turn your partner in.”

“I highly doubt that.” Paul scoffs, but Dean is intrigued because the man is not denying any of it.

“It’s worth a shot.” Dean shrugs, a soft smirk on his face as he tries to play buddy, buddy with this sick man. “You’re not denying it.” he states, looking for any kind of reaction, but nothing. “Were you working with someone, Paul?”

“Even if I was….there’s nothing in it for me. So why would I say anything?”

“What if I could talk to some lawyers and see if I could cut you a deal?” Paul looks across the table at the detective with a blank stare. “Would you talk to me then?” It feels like minutes go by and Dean’s afraid that he’s not going to get anything out of this man. But then Paul glances down at the pictures, inhaling sharply after a moment and sitting forward in his chair, resting his arms on the table.

“You have no idea what bear you’re poking at here, detective. But I’ll tell you right now…I’d have to be suicidal to say anything to you,” Dean tries to process what this man has just told him, his stomach twisting in knots as it’s a loose confirmation that he was right.

“So, it better be a pretty damn good deal.”

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