#I know I will just be like both... both is good lmao

[tizeline]

TSAU Season 1 Finale - Part 1

It's about damn time I go over the TSAU's version of the remaining season 1 finale, as well as episode 1 of season 2, so HERE WE ARE! I am too lazy to adapt the entire thing into a proper comic, especially considering several plot points remain rather unchanged from canon, so we're doing whatever this format is instead.

(You should read Cell Talk and Gearing Up before this if you haven't already)

But a quick recap, the Gearing Up comic ended with Draxum in the Dark Armour going up to the surface with Mikey to start with the whole conquering humanity thing. Raph and Leo have offically joined Team Good Guys and they, alongside Donnie, Splinter, April, Shelldon and Mayhem went after Draxum to stop his evil plans.

When they make surface, Draxum and Mikey have already started their rampage and are just kinda wrecking the baseball stadium. The Foot are also at the stadium, clearly still expecting The Shredder to show up or something. Team Good Guys (yes that's their name now) figure it's probably good to try to get whatever info about the Dark Armour they can so April and Mayhem teleport to where The Foot are to try to gather some intel that might help them in the fight against Draxum.

Meanwhile, the others start fighting Draxum and Mikey. Draxum is low-key kinda baffled that Raph just straight up switched teams lmao. Leo is one thing, but Raph has always been so loyal and responsible so it's real suprising that he's completely disobeying orders. None of the Draxum family members are really enthusiastic about fighting each other (except maybe Mikey he's kinda pissed at this point) but they engage in battle anyway. Donnie, Shelldon and Splinter are less hesitant about kicking Draxum's ass and don't really hold their punches lmao. Despite that they're kinda struggling considering both Drax and Mikey are so strong, but that's when April and Mayhem teleport back with that useful intel!

What April learned from her intel-gathering is that The Foot think there is some kind of flaw with the armour, like in canon, you know the deal. What differs from canon is exactly how that flaw occured. Turns out that Donnie when he was younger got a little bit carried away with giving Shelldon cool powerful weapons and Shelldon enced up accidentally shooting up the teapot to smithereens, oopsie! Donnie managed to reassembe it before Splinter saw, but with one of the pieces having gone missing he had to sacrifice his Atomic Lass figurine to plug up the final hole (he's still upset about that to this day btw). BUT POINT IS, like in canon this means that the armour has a obvious weakpoint and if they hit that it might be enough to knock Draxum out of the armour!

You know what happens next, they resume the fighting with this new strategy in mind and eventually they manage to get a lucky hit in and as predicted knocking out the Atomic Lass toy causes Draxum to get knocked out as well. Except YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS and you know it's not quite that easy. Lo and behold, the Atomic Lass figurine was the last thing keeping The Shredder from being resurrected, so now that it's gone? Yeah, the Dark Armour is finally completed, it slurps Draxum's life-force or whatever and then spits him out.

The Shredder is back.

... Except not entirely of course, like in canon he's acting like a wild animal attacking anything that moves, but regardless it's still a new threat they have to deal with. With Draxum being so hurt, Leo makes the decision to portal him back home, and to also send Mikey with him. Both because Draxum probably needs someone to look after him and also Leo doesn't really wanna deal with Mikey's attitude at the moment with everything else going on lmao.

From here on out the battle against Shredder begins. This too goes mostly the same way as in canon, Shredder kinda kicks all of their asses before suddenly teleporting away, and then that song and dance repeats a couple of times before Team Good Guys figure they need a better strategy. Splinter brings up how Big Mama would probably have a way to subdue Shredder, only problem is that it's BIG MAMA and he does NOT wanna go anywhere close to her. In canon Leo brought Splinter with him to BM anyway, but in the AU he kinda respects Splinter, or rather Lou Jitsu, too much to force him to come along. Instead Leo decides he and Raph will go to BM for help, while the others keep Shredder from completely wrecking New York.

The rest of the finale will continue in Part 2! (which is coming soon)

[silens-oro]

Senior Citizen Behavior

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!Reader Domestic fluff/Established Relationship

The Pitt Playlist located here

Synopsis: For the first time in a very long time, it isn't Robby who's coming home late after his shift. Word Count: 1,421 Content Warning: Age gap; No age specified, but I typically write readers with Robby or Abbot as 30+ in my mind. Tooth-rotting fluff. A/N: lmao this was supposed to be a drabble and ended up being a one-shot because I can't help myself when presented with an old man on a silver platter, so there's that.

please comment & reblog :)

It was just before 10pm when you quietly let yourself into the apartment you shared with Robby -a whole two and a half hours later than you were supposed to leave the office, but the end of the quarter was quickly approaching and extra hours were required to be put in by your entire team. 

Gotta think of the shareholders, you thought bitterly to yourself as you shook the snow off of your head and toed your boots off at the door. Your bag and coat found their homes on the wall hooks in the entryway next to Robby’s jacket and bag, and you tiptoed down the hall to the soft glow coming from the living room.  

Robby was an absolute sight when you caught a glimpse of him on the sofa. Mindful to step around the known creaky floorboards, you rounded the sofa to see what the damage was. He texted you earlier in the day that the first couple of hours of his shift were an absolute doozy, and when he called you on his way home he yapped about a fist fight that broke out between two patients who were there because of a fight that landed them in the ED to begin with. 

"Round Two in the Emergency Department," he had said, still beside himself when the department turned into the set of Jerry Springer. 

“Sounds like an episode title of It’s Always Sunny,” you joked into your desk phone as you typed into the blurring Smartsheet on your monitor that you had been working away on for the last three hours straight. You let him know that it was going to be a late night for you and to not wait up. He needed his beauty sleep.

It was a nightmare Robby was all too happy to leave in the hands of Dr. Jack Abbot and his (loving) freakshow of a night shift -they were more than equipped to handle it and Robby couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

All Robby wanted to do by the time he stepped out of those automatic doors and into the fresh air was get home, take a hot shower, eat a good meal, and wrap himself around you like a boa constrictor -and maybe put a movie on so he could fall asleep before the opening credits finished. It wasn’t too much to ask for, and yet Robby found he had the apartment all to himself because you (in an absolute rarity) ended up as the one who had to work late this time around, so he made due with what he had. 

He took his shower and made a quick meal for the both of you before getting comfortable on the sofa with a book he started on his last day off. He got maybe three pages in, blinked once, and the next thing Robby knew, he was out. If you were there, he would’ve told you that he was just resting his eyes for a moment and he was definitely not asleep. No, he wasn’t snoring. All allegations were denied in this situation (that happened many times before), but you'd always give him a knowing smile with a sarcastic ‘sure' thrown his way. 

Senior citizen behavior, you had joked once and he nearly smothered you with the weight of his body as he draped himself on top of you until you apologized through a fit of laughter.  

Robby was sitting mostly upright on the sofa, leaning on a few throw pillows that propped his elbow up on the arm rest. He was in his comfy cardigan (the one he only wore at home after he had taken a shower) with his round readers hanging precariously on the tip of his nose and his latest book smashed flat against his chest. His feet, wearing coziest winter socks because the man was never barefoot in the house, were crossed ankle over ankle on the coffee table making his impossibly long legs appear to be even longer than they already were. 

Robby’s head was tilted back just enough to make his mouth open the tiniest bit, allowing soft snores (that he would deny til he was blue in the face) to escape while he rested -blissfully unaware of his audience, and you couldn’t stop the breathy laugh that escaped you even if you tried. 

“Oh, you are never beating the senior citizen allegations now, Robby.” You teased in a whisper as you carefully removed the readers that were dangerously close to falling off the tip of his nose. You folded the arms carefully and set them on the side table next to the base of the lone lamp that illuminated the room, before gently prying the book from his (more than likely cramped) hand. The book itself was flat on his chest, pages splayed open on the last page he read -or attempted to, anyway. Not seeing a bookmark anywhere, you dog-eared the page and set it next to his glasses with care. 

Robby grumbled incoherently when your palm came to rest on his bearded cheek. The dark circles that were starting to reappear under his eyes made your lips tilt down for a fraction of a second, knowing he was exhausted. Not just physically, but mentally as well. Between what happened with Pittfest just four months ago, and Frank’s situation that Robby blamed himself for (not for Frank using, but for Robby not seeing it until a first day intern pointed it out to him), and the goddamn Patient Satisfaction Scores he was constantly drilled about like the ED was a Primanti Bros. franchise -on top of whatever other bullshit Gloria threw at him, he needed to take some time to himself so he could disconnect -if only for a few days. The problem was that Robby wasn’t the type to disconnect. He felt an obligation because if not him, then who?

It hurt your heart to think of the weight Robby carried day in and day out, like he was Atlas carrying the sky on his shoulders, not because he needed to be punished, but because he needed to be useful and this was the only way he knew how to be. Robby was a great man with an enormous heart who constantly gave himself away at the expense of never getting those pieces back. And while you tried to replace what you could, for every piece you returned, two more were taken away in its place. The toll it took on him was getting more and more noticeable by the day, but still he trudged on. It’s who Robby was, and would always be. 

Waking him up when you knew he needed the rest was the last thing you wanted to do, but you knew if you left him on that couch he was liable to wake up with something out of alignment and that was the absolute last thing he needed. 

You leaned down and kissed his forehead tenderly, then down to his nose, and finally landed on his ever so slightly parted lips (that he was 100% not snoring through). Robby’s eyes started to flutter and a sleepy grin tilted his lips up when he cracked them open and saw you standing over him. 

“Hi, sleepyhead.” You whispered, “I told you that you didn’t have to wait up for me. Your back is going to be screamin' at you.”

“Clearly I didn’t wait up,” He joked, groaning at how stiff he felt from sleeping in the position he was in. He yawned as he stretched his arms up, pulling his t-shirt up to reveal just the slightest sliver of his happy trail low on his stomach, and gently grabbed your hand to pull you down to the sofa so you could snuggle into his side.

Robby drowsily kissed the side of your head as you wrapped your arms around his middle, letting one of your hands slip underneath his soft cotton t-shirt to rub at his ribs affectionately. It didn’t take you very long into your relationship with Robby to figure out that skin to skin contact, specifically in a non-sexual setting, was something he craved. It was comforting and intimate in a way that grounded him and so it became a ritual whenever the two of you had brief moments together that you were more than happy to oblige in. It was never explicitly stated between you, he never asked for it, but you just knew and he loved you for it. “There’s a plate in the microwave for you. Figured you’d be starving when you got home.” His words were muffled because he still hadn't moved. You gently tilted your head up to look at him.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” He chuckled, rolling his eyes. The crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes were pronounced and you couldn’t help but admire how handsome he was -especially when he was smiling. “Because I do. You’re the best.” You smiled up at him, giving him a loving peck. Robby let the kids linger, cupping your jaw to keep you close to him. 

“I try.” He breathed against you, dodging the attention by pressing his forehead to yours. He found comfort in the lingering smell of your shampoo and the warmth that radiated off of you. 

“You do more than try, Robby, and I will always appreciate that.” Again, you kissed him tenderly, your hand coming up to gently scratch at his beard. He gave you the stink eye when you laughed at the tiny groan he let out when you did it.

"I know you do, even if you are a pain in my ass. I love you all the more for it."

please comment & reblog :)

[evenyvn]

All You ; part 03

Idol!San x SingleMom!Reader

Summary : Little Hana noticed the spark between the two adults, tries to play cupid in her own childish ways, but her efforts often end in frustrated pouts. Despite their mutual denial, both adults are clearly drawn to each other-leaving Hana to wonder just how long it'll take them to realize they're in love.

Cw : she/her reader, sfw, fluff, third person POV, a little smau at the end, downbad san, reader has a daughter, stranger to lovers, un-established relationship, marriage mentioned, san is girl dad coded, basically a 10 year old being a matchmaker for two oblivious adults that are totally in love.

originally, this series would only have 3 parts, and this would be the last, but like—i got hit by a sudden wave of ideas, and decided to make it more than 3 parts, and the crowds... is cheering! (lmao me too, i love writing this series).

prev — masterlist — next

Hana was a clever girl—but still very much a child. Sharp-eyed, full of giggles, and not one to whisper when she could shout. And lately, she had made a very big decision: She was going to get her eomma and Uncle San to fall in love.

Because duh. (Hana’s words not me) 

San came to the restaurant a lot now. He laughed with eomma. He helped Hana with her coloring books. He brought tasty snacks everytime he came over. He even let her put stickers on his face one time and didn't complain—not even once. That made him officially the best.

And most importantly? Eomma looked happier now. She smiled more, even when she was tired. Hana thought maybe San had magic or something. Probably.

But they were both so slow. Even for a 10 year old little Hana begins to feel frustrated. 

She might be 10 but she knows from the other moms that frequently visit the restaurant—that if San and her eomma fall in love with each other, they will get married, and if they get married that means San is going to be eomma's husband, eomma's husband means Hana's appa! she giggles delightfully when she realizes that she will finally get a dad she never had. 

And thus begins her (not so) subtle playing cupid for the adults. 

One day, after school, Hana ran into the restaurant with her backpack bouncing and hair a mess. "UNCLE SAAAAN!"

San turned from his table, arms already open. Hana launched herself into them with full force, laughing as he caught her easily.

"I missed you! Did you miss me?!"

"Of course I did," San grinned, twirling her a little before settling her down. "You were gone for sooo long." he said with a playful pout.

"It was only one school day!" she giggled, puffing her cheeks. Then, eyes glinting, she leaned in close and whispered loudly, "Wanna hear a secret?"

San raised an eyebrow playfully, eyes glinting with adornment at the little girl's childish display "Always."

San bent over to her height as she cupped her small hands around his ear. "I don't have an appa, will you be my appa?"

San nearly choked on air. "W-what?!"

Hana nodded very seriously. "I want you to be my appa! because you make my eomma smile. A lot. I think you should live with us and you can eat my eomma’s soup every day. You like soup, right?"

"I mean... yes, but—"

"Good! Think about it!" she said, skipping off to color, leaving the man sitting there blinking like he’d just been hit by a very tiny freight train.

The next few days were full of chaos.

Hana, armed with all the subtlety of a marching band, began her matchmaking campaign in full. She tried everything—from drawing family portraits that included San, to pushing her mom into the seat next to him during meals. Once, she even shoved a napkin at San with the words 'KISS EOMMA??' scribbled in childish handwritting and rainbow crayons.

San coughed for a full minute making Y/N scrambled to get him a glass of water, the male could die of embarrassment right there—he thinks with his fully red cheeks. 

Y/N didn’t catch on at first. She was busy running the restaurant, balancing life, and pretending that her heart didn’t flutter every time San laughed.

She scolded Hana gently one day, after finding her rummaging through her makeup. “What are you doing with my lipstick, baby?”

“I’m making you pretty so Uncle San falls in love faster!” She said as she fiddled with a tube of lipstick, a determined look on her face. 

Y/N almost dropped the makeup pouch she was holding. Face full of embarrassment not expecting her daughter to play cupid between her and the idol. 

“But it’s okay, eomma! You’re already pretty without it! Uncle San is just really slow!” the woman almost giggle at the little comment of San but clears her throat as she gently scolds her, but of course that's not stopping Hana's master plan on getting a new dad. 

Later, while wiping tables with Y/N after closing, the memory still echoed in San’s head. He had NOT stopped thinking about it, he feels delighted of course but also nervous. 

How come a woman like Y/N didn't have someone sweeping off her feet already? She's kind, smart, and of course a beauty that could rival even a goddess. (his words, not mine). 

San sighed as he finally built a nerve to ask the woman with clammy hands, "So.. Hana said... you're not married," he said quietly. before widening his eyes in realization “W-wait I'm sorry— this might be a sensitive topic! I shouldn't have asked…” the man stuttered over his words, cold sweat rolled down his temple. 

Y/N glanced over before chuckling softly, San tried to ignore the little flutter on his heart at the sound of her laughter. "Oh. No, I'm not. Not for a while now." “And it's okay San, I've come to terms with it since years ago. I'm not ashamed you know—raising Hana all by myself for 10 years become my own accomplishment, she's everything that i could've ask for”

He nodded his heart flutter gently at the woman's adoring words, unsure what to say next. "I thought maybe... you were. That I shouldn’t... get close." He said nervously rubbing his neck. 

Y/N raised an eyebrow, before widening her eyes, realizing what the man could’ve meant, “San.. are you perhaps.. took an interest in me?” Her forwardness made the man even more flustered, almost spilling his coffee. 

“I-i… you don't mind if I do right?” 

Y/N smiled faintly, but there was something soft in her voice. "And here I thought someone like you wouldn’t think twice about someone like me."

"Why wouldn’t I?" he said with a curiosity laced on his voice. 

Y/N smiled, a tad bit unsure "You’re an idol. Young, shining, talented. I’m a mom with grocery lists and nap schedules." She chuckled lightly to lighten the sudden tense atmosphere but that didn't erase the slight frown on San's handsome face. 

"And the warmest smile I’ve ever seen," San said, almost without thinking.

She blinked.

Before anything else could be said, Hana peeked from the booth, hugging her dragon plush toy. "Did you ask her yet? Are you gonna be our prince???"

Y/N let out a startled laugh. San turned red to his ears. "Hana!" Y/N scolded gently. "You can't just say that, what if you make San uncomfortable?"

"Nooo, I’m just right!" Hana said proudly with the same determined look on her face, then yawned. "Can we all have pancakes tomorrow? Together? Like a family?"

Y/N and San shared a look.

They didn’t say yes. But they didn’t say no either.

The next day, the restaurant was busy. A couple of nosy regulars had started whispering about the idol's frequent visits. One even nudged Y/N with a wink. “You and the idol, huh?” Y/N waved it off with a polite smile, but her cheeks burned.

Later, in the back kitchen, Y/N sighed as she leaned against the counter.

“He’s too young,” she murmured to herself with a sigh “Too good. And I’ve got baggage. Not to mention it could ruin his whole reputation in a second”

But when she heard San’s laughter from the dining area—loud, bright, and genuine— the way he treated Hana so gently like a father could make something in her chest tightened. Not with fear.

With hope.

Maybe Hana was right.

Maybe San wasn’t here out of obligation.

Maybe... he really liked them.

And maybe, just maybe, she liked him too.

That night, as they cleaned up together again, San turned to face her.

"Noona. Can I ask you something weird?" He said with a playful smile although his heartbeat said otherwise. She looked at him with a teasing smile. "Only if you can handle a weird answer."

He chuckled nervously. "If I weren’t... who I am. Would you think about me differently? Like, if I were just a guy who helped your daughter carry groceries?"

She paused. Then smiled, more gently this time. "San, you are that guy. And maybe that’s the part of you I’m starting to like the most."

San didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t. Something about those words—so simple—yet it wrapped around his ribs and squeezed gently—an ache that wasn’t painful, just overwhelming not in a bad way.

He glanced at her eyes that stare at him with so much kindness and genuinity . They both stare at each other as the realization hits. Hana’s snores from the corner were the only sound for a moment.

Then San smiled—slow and wide.

"Okay then," he said softly. "That’s a start."

And Y/N nodded.

Yes. Yes, it was.

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[biteyoubiteme]

Hi can you do yeonbin throuple thoughts. I really need to be hot and bothered. I love your throuple thoughts so much btw. 😭😭😭😭

throuple yeonbin thoughts

yeonjun x fem!reader x soobin warnings: [NSFW] throuple, poly, no mxm, dom!yeonjun and soobin, no mentions of protection, oral (m!rec), mentions of spit and spanking, jealousy, prob forgot some sorry >< wc: 0.5k an: eeeeekkk thank you sm for reading anon <333 and wait im just now seeing that ive never written about yeonbin huh?? where have i been? anyways adding to the long multi memeber list i have on my page lmao who is surprised??? [m.list]

There is a bit of jealousy laced in the relationship. So faint that most times you don't even notice it, since it's never anything serious. But you could find it in the occasional kiss, Soobin's gentle lips tracing down from your jaw to your neck, and there yeonjun would be watching. 

Yeonjun loved seeing soobin have you, his eyes flicking to every touch, every taste, as if it was him with his hands in your hair, his cock in your mouth. But this was different, the occasional glint in his eyes rolling over the two of you like a bright red warning sign. You were theirs, but never to be one more than the other. 

And you always gave away when yeonjun was feeling this way, your shoulders stiffening just enough to tell soobin he was caught. But it never deterred him in his kissing, his touching. Soobin got bold, no matter where you were, his hands found themselves sliding all over, pushing under your clothes, squeezing your hips, your chest, working to rediscover your body as if for the first time over nothing more than a jealous glance. 

Nothing was ever said about the looks but it was felt in the way yeonjun fucked you. Pushing you to the bed face first, his hands pushing your hips into just the right angle as he pummels you into the mattress. “Look at him,” the demand coming from teeth hidden behind a sneer, your nails scratching at the sheets as you try to think about anything but the sensation of him hitting exactly at the right spot. 

Soobin's jaw would be just off-set, following the line of hickeys he's left on your neck like a claim. He liked to think he wasn't affected by the way yeonjun took you at times like this. So different from the usual soft moments shared, no jealousy coating times when there was no space to not feel love. Your soft moans filling the apartment welcomed as one or the other took their time with you on the couch, in the shower, right against the kitchen counter. 

But this was not that, your eyes rolling back as the lewd sounds echoed in the room like a siren call drawing him into the mix. Because he couldn't help himself, not when he couldn't stand the sight of your mouth being so empty, your eyes pleading with him, just like yeonjun said, “Look at him, show him how good I make you feel.” and yeonjun wouldnt stop soobin from taking your mouth, your back arched, taking them both down, whimpers now sending vibrations along soobins cock, shoved just far enoguh to make spit drip down your chin. 

In the heat of it all the jealousy fades away, gone after you're worn out, soobin’s kisses right at the edge of your now puffy lips, yeonjuns hands rubbing apoligeticly over the heated skin along your ass from any stray spanking, his kisses over your bare back. “I'm sorry, baby, I don't know what got into me.” The light laugh pressed light along your spine. 

“He's such a liar,” soobin chuckles, thumb brushing over your cheek, “he just hates to see how good my hands look on you.” Your giggles covering up the sound of yeonjuns denial.

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[sturnsblogs]

IM SO SORRY

Fratboy!Chris X Toxic!Fwb!Reader

—

7:00 PM sharp, a knock at your door.

You took one last glance in the mirror, smoothing out your outfit, heart fluttering just a little before opening it. And there he was—Nathan. He looked good, all cleaned up, in a black button-up and jeans, but the way his jaw dropped a little when he saw you? That said it all.

“Wow,” he breathed, eyes raking over you in stunned silence before letting out a soft laugh. “You look… incredible.”

You smiled, cheeks warming. “You clean up nice too.”

Nathan held out his hand like a gentleman. “Ready?”

You nodded and took it, the warmth of his palm strangely comforting. He opened your door for you, let you choose the music, and even complimented your earrings—none of which you were used to. You weren’t used to being treated like this.

The restaurant was cozy, dimly lit, soft jazz playing in the background. You were halfway through your drinks, laughing at something dumb he said about the waiter accidentally calling him “sir,” when your phone buzzed.

And then buzzed again.

You tilted it slightly to the side and saw:

Chris:

you really letting him touch you?

lmao that’s cute

Chris:

you know he won’t fuck you like i do

don’t front

Chris:

bet he doesn’t even know how to make you cum

Chris:

you really wearing that dress for him?

you used to wear that shit for me

You sighed, flipped your phone over, and tried to stay present. But right before the screen dimmed, another message lit it up—one you didn’t see:

Chris:

i have your location

don’t forget that.

Nathan was mid-sentence when he stopped, eyebrows pulling together. “Hey… everything okay?”

You quickly nodded. “Yeah. Just—just ignoring someone I should’ve blocked a long time ago.”

He reached across the table, hand brushing over yours gently. “You don’t have to explain. You don’t owe anyone anything tonight. You’re with me.”

You smiled softly, fingers curling around his. “I know.”

You were mid-bite, laughing at something Nathan said about his little sister thinking you were a celebrity from your Instagram when the hairs on the back of your neck stood up.

You didn’t even have to turn around.

The energy changed—instantly. You felt it before you saw it.

Then came the voice.

“Well, well, well… this what we’re doing now?”

Your fork froze midway to your mouth. You slowly turned in your seat and there he was—Chris. Standing just a few feet away from your table, hands in his pockets, head tilted, wearing that smug, cocky half-smile like he didn’t just walk in and ruin everything.

“Chris?” you said, blinking like you couldn’t believe it. “Are you serious right now?”

Nathan stood up slowly, his jaw already clenching. “Yo, man—maybe tonight’s not the night.”

Chris chuckled, stepping a little closer, eyes locked on you. “She look familiar to you, Nathan? Or do you like your girls used?”

Your eyes widened. “Chris, what the fuck?!”

Nathan didn’t even flinch. “Back off, bro. You’re not with her anymore. You don’t get to do this.”

“Oh, you think you’re the upgrade?” Chris scoffed, taking a step into Nathan’s space. “You think she’s really into you? You’re just her little distraction until she gets bored.”

“Funny,” Nathan snapped, “from what I remember, you’re the one who couldn’t even keep her. So, maybe sit this one out.”

Chris’s smirk vanished.

You barely had time to stand before it happened.

CRACK.

Chris’s fist landed first—but Nathan didn’t hesitate.

He stumbled back, shook it off, and before Chris could land another, Nathan surged forward and hit him square in the jaw. Once. Twice. Chris shoved him, they tumbled into the table, glasses shattering, silverware flying. People were yelling, phones were out, chaos everywhere.

“Nathan! Chris! STOP!” you screamed, trying to push between them.

Nathan got one last hit in—right to Chris’s ribs—before you shoved your body between them, both your palms against Chris’s chest.

“That’s ENOUGH!” you snapped, voice sharp. “Chris, get in the fucking car. NOW.”

Chris was breathing hard, face red, blood on his lip, but he stared at you like a scolded kid. “He—”

“I don’t care.” You jabbed your finger at him. “Car. Now.”

Chris hesitated, then followed. Not because you asked—but because he knew better than to fight you when you were like this.

You didn’t say a word in the restaurant’s parking lot. You opened the passenger door, pointed inside, and slammed it shut behind him. He sat there, rubbing his jaw, arms crossed like a damn child.

You threw the car into drive, white-knuckling the steering wheel.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you snapped, not even bothering to look at him. “You can’t just show up to my date and start swinging on people like you’re some damn alpha male—what, do you think that’s gonna make me love you again?”

He muttered, “He had his hand on your back like you were his—”

“I’m not yours anymore, Chris!” you shouted, cutting him off. “You don’t get to claim me. You don’t get to hurt people just because you’re hurting.”

He stayed quiet.

You glanced at him out the corner of your eye. He looked smaller. Less cocky. Like the weight of it all was finally pressing in.

“I should’ve left your ass at the restaurant,” you mumbled.

Chris exhaled, slow. “You didn’t though.”

You turned sharply onto your street. “Because you’re lucky I still give a shit. Doesn’t mean you get to act like a fucking lunatic.”

Silence hung between you the rest of the way home.

When you pulled into your driveway, he stayed still, not even reaching for the door.

You looked over. “Well? You gonna sit there or get out?”

He looked at you. “Are you letting me in?”

You sighed. “Only so I can clean your damn face.”

Chris sat on the bathroom counter, legs slightly parted, hands resting on his thighs. He looked up at you through his lashes, the cockiness long gone now, replaced with something softer—quieter. You stood between his legs, damp cloth in hand, gently dabbing at the cut on his lip.

“Hold still,” you muttered, trying not to roll your eyes as he winced dramatically.

“Fuck, that hurts,” he groaned, head tilting back against the mirror.

“Maybe don’t pick fights at restaurants next time.”

Chris’s eyes flicked to yours. “Wasn’t about the restaurant.”

You ignored that, reaching up to tilt his chin so you could get a better angle. His skin was warm under your fingers. A little flushed. You noticed the bruise starting to form on his cheekbone.

“Jesus,” you muttered under your breath, brushing a thumb gently along the edge of it.

“I let him get that hit in,” Chris lied.

You snorted. “Sure you did.”

He grinned at that—just a little. “You always take care of me like this?”

You swallowed. “Don’t get used to it.”

Chris leaned in, nose barely brushing yours. “Too late.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared at him. You hated how easy it was to fall back into this—the closeness, the tension, the way he made you feel like you were the only girl in the universe when he looked at you like that.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

You shook your head softly. “You don’t get to say that.”

“I’m saying it anyway.”

You stepped back a little, placing the towel on the sink, hands bracing on the counter behind you. “You’re reckless, Chris. You don’t think. You don’t care who you hurt as long as you feel better. And I can’t… I can’t keep patching you up just for you to do it all over again.”

Chris looked down at his hands. “I’m trying.”

“Try harder.”

The silence thickened between you, only the sound of the faucet dripping filling the space. Chris’s eyes met yours again.

“Just don’t shut me out,” he murmured.

You sighed, eyes softening. “Don’t give me a reason to.”

l Chris sat silently on the counter, still nursing the bruises on his face, you stepped out of the bathroom for a second—needing space, needing air. You grabbed your phone off the kitchen counter and immediately opened your messages with Nathan.

You [7:43 PM]:

I’m so sorry, Nathan. I didn’t know he was gonna do all that.

You [7:44 PM]:

I swear I didn’t invite him or anything. Are you okay?

You watched the typing bubbles pop up, then disappear. Then again. Then gone.

Finally—

Nathan [7:46 PM]:

Yeah. I’m fine.

Just didn’t know I was the second option again.

You flinched.

You [7:46 PM]:

No—Nathan, you’re not. I promise you’re not. I just didn’t know what else to do.

Nathan [7:47 PM]:

I mean, I take you out. I show up for you. And the second he acts out, it’s like I don’t even exist.

You [7:48 PM]:

That’s not true.

Nathan [7:48 PM]:

Then why am I sitting here alone wondering why you left with him?

Your heart sank. You glanced back toward the bathroom where Chris was still sitting, quiet now, probably wondering what you were doing. And maybe that made it worse—how used to this kind of chaos he was.

You [7:49 PM]:

Please don’t shut me out. I really care about you, Nathan. I do.

No response. You stared at the screen.

You [7:52 PM]:

Can I see you tomorrow? Please? Let me make it up to you.

He didn’t reply right away. But the “Delivered” beneath your last text sat there like a weight.

Then finally—

Nathan [7:56 PM]:

I don’t know.

Nathan [7:56 PM]:

I’m not mad, I’m just tired.

You sank down onto the couch, phone still in hand. You were stuck in a storm between what you had with Chris and what could’ve been with Nathan.

And somehow, both felt like they were slipping through your fingers.

You’re on the couch, knees tucked into your chest, phone glowing in your hand as your fingers move rapidly over the screen. You’re texting Nathan. Apologizing. Over and over.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know he’d show up like that.”

“You didn’t deserve that.”

“Are you okay?”

“Please don’t be mad at me.”

Nathan’s seen the messages, but he hasn’t responded. The three dots appear and disappear a few times, then finally—

“He just always has to come first, huh?”

Your heart sinks a little deeper into your stomach. You don’t have a response.

Behind you, you hear Chris’s soft footsteps. You don’t even look up, but you feel him getting closer until he’s crawling between you and the couch cushions, sliding his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice so soft it barely carries. “Don’t be mad at me.”

You still don’t say anything. He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”

His arms tighten around you. “You’re mad at me.”

You shrug him off a little, but he stays there, pouting into your back. “I just don’t like seeing you with anyone else. I know I’m a fuck-up, but I can’t stand it. I’m sorry, baby.”

The worst part is—he sounds like he means it. Like he always does.

And you hate that a part of you still melts when he calls you baby.

He doesn’t stop.

Chris nestles in closer, arms wrapped tight around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. His nose brushes the side of your neck before he presses a soft, lingering kiss there.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, breath warm against your skin. “I shouldn’t have shown up. I shouldn’t’ve hit him. I just—fuck, I lost it. I lost it because it wasn’t me sitting across from you.”

You shift forward a little, trying to put space between you, but he doesn’t let go.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, his lips ghosting along the curve of your shoulder now. “You looked so pretty tonight and he doesn’t even know how lucky he is to sit in front of you like that.”

You don’t say anything. You just stare at the TV—muted, blurry, something about it playing, but you’re not watching. You’re too busy trying to ignore the way his fingers slide over your waist like they still belong there.

“I ruined everything again, huh?” he mumbles, kissing your neck again. “You were happy. I saw it. You were laughing. With him.”

You tense at the reminder. He notices.

“I hate that,” he admits. “I hate when you laugh with someone else. I want it to be me.”

You pull away slightly. “Chris—”

“I know, I know,” he interrupts quickly, voice thick. “I know you’re mad. I know you don’t wanna hear this. But I can’t stop thinking about you. I miss you every second, and I know I don’t deserve to say that, but—fuck, I do. I miss you so bad it hurts.”

He presses another kiss to your jaw, slow and desperate.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs again, like maybe if he says it enough, it’ll fix it. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby.”

You stay quiet, unmoved. You don’t lean into him. Don’t hold him back. Just sit there, letting his apologies hit you like raindrops—so many, so soft, but still cold. Still soaking through.

He notices you haven’t said a word. His voice lowers again. “Please say something…”

And you finally do, barely above a whisper.

“You always say sorry, Chris.”

But you still don’t forgive him.

—

A/N- Well..yes.

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys @ribbonlovergirl @freshlyinlovewchris @whore4chris @matts-girlfriend @ariana3lovesu @sturnl0ve @cass-sturn @sturns-mermaid @sunrisemill @fadedstvrn @ikyoudreamofme @mattsdemi @kitkatbar1275 @skelet0nsinmyycloset @lezleeferguson-120 @bells-sturn @sturniolosymphony @kenziesturniolo54 @kikirasweatsweathoho @emely9274 @cherryystemm @realuvrrr @zenithsturniolo @kier-with-a-k @eeyoresturnz @elizasturn @ribread03 @sturnslux3 @costalgirlyr @pizzapocketpocketpizza @arianna1342 @mattsplaything @ed1tssturnn @ivysturnss @ilovemenwithlonghairr @whore4-chrissturniolo

[mylovesstuffs]

This was an absolutely unhinged delight from start to finish—equal parts hilarious, unholy, and unexpectedly sweet in the most absurd way. The premise alone [hot ghost Jeonghan possessing Seungkwan to meddle in your dry spell] sets the tone for 11k of supernatural tomfoolery, and unhinged yet oddly charming ghost shenanigans. I fucking loved him all the way!

This wad balanced raunchy smut with comedic timing like, there are genuinely laugh-out-loud moments [the puns!! the Jeonghan commentary!!!], but the actual intimacy is still hot enough to make you question your moral compass. Also, the way Jeonghan’s ghost is written is menacingly flirtatious menace energy, but in a way that makes you kinda root for him?? Though I was hoping for a little scene of his in the morning 😔

Seungkwan’s involvement [wow, I'm really saying, 'involvenent when it's actually his fic— 😭] adds this perfect grounding element, bringing a layer of awkward humanity that complements Jeonghan’s menace behaviour—and y/n's reactions just tie the whole mess together with horny little bow lol

If you’re into supernatural crackfics with smut that goes harder than it has any right to, clever writing, and three characters that remain charming despite being part of an ethically questionable ghost-human-possessed threesome… this fic will 100% possess your heart [and other things].

Under the cut contains spoilers and my commentary while I was reading.

Meanwhile, you’re about 99.999% sure your apartment is haunted, and whatever ghost this was, they really liked stealing your underwear. — tf?????

dead pervert is much preferable to a live one.— true, can't disagree with this !

“So you assumed I died without any on? How morbidly perverted of you.” His playful smile widened.— help 😭

"For a flesh-and-blood mortal, you're remarkably unfazed," he observes, his ethereal voice echoing slightly. "Most wouldn't last a day with my...unique brand of housekeeping."— fr. Both are unhinged lol

These past few days, you weren’t sure if you were going insane by agreeing with a ghost, or if he was actually starting to make some sense.— both both

He quietly approached, given that his feet were intangible and didn’t reach the ground, — I love how describe this Jeonghan ghost.

“Well, let’s just say I’ve never been rejected in my life. So.”— I think so, too. 100% agree with ghostie.

“It’s going to feel a bit disorienting at first—like a cold shiver running down your spine. But after a few seconds, your mind will adjust, and it’ll feel like nothing ever happened. My voice will echo in your head, almost like it’s your own thoughts. I’ll let you know when it’s me taking control.”— whoa I love how it is. How ghosts work lmao. Genuinely so interested in ghosts rn.

They came and went so fast, you couldn’t make sense of them—fleeting fragments of his past, perhaps, or echoes of something even older.— I'm honestly very curious of Jeonghan's life, what happened and how he died and all of that.

And now it was going to lead you to get laid.— LMAO YES.

‘I almost thought it was my own heart racing, then I remembered I’m dead.’— Jeonghan, I shouldn't laugh but why are you like this? 😭

‘Wow, thank god you have me.’— 😭 well, I don't have you, who will safe me when I'm, too, pathetically embarrassing myself like yn??

and suddenly, your hands were fidgeting with the hem of Seungkwan's shirt. “I figure it’s a good excuse to steal some of your time before Halloween hits."— oh my god, Jeonghan is such a flirt, such a player, such a pro! The playing with the hen of his shirt??! Omg.

He shrugged, turning to leave with an impish grin. “Hey, roommates catch each other with their pants down one way or another.”— JEONGHAN!!! 💀

He dropped his head in defeat, cute little whines escaping his pursed lips. “Fine, but you’d better be my shield for this, okay, neighbor?”— he's so cute 🥺

Before you fully grasped what had happened in that fleeting moment of clarity, your hand made contact with Seungkwan, trailing lightly up his forearm.— did Jeonghan take over???

‘It was so painful to watch.’ — lmao 😭😭😭😭

Jeonghan guided your hand to brush against Seungkwan's ear, teasingly grazing the tip and relishing the warmth that bloomed between your fingers.— Jeonghan!!! 😭 In a way, it's you seducing Kwan and not yn—

“You didn’t think we were just going to watch a movie, did you?”— bold...

“...yes. God, yes.”— YES SEUNGKWAN YES! YOU'RE MY MAN.

He tasted like a life force, fueling the fire burning in your loins— poetic.

expertly taking you apart to have you whole. All to himself as far as he knew.— oooohhh, I'm sensing something 😏💀

where Jeonghan could feel it as much as you could, and you knew it. He got off on this just as much as you did.— oh my god 😳😳😳

baring an ass so round and full they look like they came straight out of the oven.— I love the description so much 🥲

“Don’t apologize to me, Humie.” — is he back to his, 'human' form? 💀😳

“In the flesh. Well, not my own, but you get the idea,” he quipped.— omg he's in Seungkwan 💀

“I just couldn’t take it anymore, Humie. You looked absolutely ravishing. I had to experience you for myself.”— oh my god why am I giggling so much adheedcjyesfjte.

“You want us both,” he answered plainly. “The human and me.”— yeah I think so too but why is he so confident? 🤨🫢

“especially if we get to do what we did to make me black out in the first place.”— uffff yes please. We agree.

boo-ty call 👻 (m)

Pairing: perverted ghost!jeonghan x cute neighbor!seungkwan x afab!reader Genre: supernatural comedy, smut Word count: 11.1k tags: a lot of puns, human body possession (con and dubcon), threesome by definition if you count a ghost, mention of food, cunnilingus, some degrading (slut), light spanking, unprotected sex Summary: As far as unwanted roommates go, your ghostly companion was one you never anticipated. But when this specter began to assert himself and meddle in your dating life—or lack thereof—you started to reconsider your stance; maybe having a roommate wasn’t so bad after all. Especially if he's helping you get laid. author note: it's sluttober! when did i last write anything and have it posted. that's crazy sorry about that yall, but i'm really trying my best to be more active, but ngl its hard. life really gets in the way and we have to remind ourselves to take a back sometimes, even from our hobbies. Thank you to @multi-kpop-fanfics and @seokgyuu for beta reading and helping me perfect this masterpiece and thank you to you guys for your patience. Enjoy! Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @kyeomiis @wonwooz1-blog @horanghaezone

You should’ve known better than to find an apartment listing in the same place where people get lied to about the types of dogs they’re buying. To this day, your aunt is convinced her Chorkie is supposed to be pure Maltese.

Meanwhile, you’re about 99.999% sure your apartment is haunted, and whatever ghost this was, they really liked stealing your underwear. It should’ve scared you. It should’ve driven you away and rushed you out to find a newer, less haunted place to live. But it was cheap, fully furnished, and came with a walkable laundromat and a family-owned market with homegrown tomatoes. Nothing could beat that.

You could tolerate it. It was better than mooching off your parents, who ask every five minutes when you’ll get a 'real' job. Living away from your parents was necessary for your sanity and a dead pervert is much preferable to a live one.

“Can you fucking stop leaving the bathroom light on? I get that haunting is your job and all, but you’re not the one paying the electricity bill.”

If anyone could see you talking to thin air right now, they would’ve had you committed.

“And while we’re at it, could you stop stealing the lacy underwear? They’re gifts, and I don’t wear them, but I might someday, so leave me the option!”

The hallway light flickered before it finally stopped and swift air breezed past you in response, but no returning underwear. You let out a frustrated sigh and shove the rest of your dirty clothes into the hamper before proceeding with laundry day. 

You’ve never seen any part of them, yet you’re always aware of their presence. It was creepy at first, but that quickly turned into annoyance when you realized how limited their grasp on the living world truly was—just a bit of theft and light tinkering. It was manageable, but you still felt uneasy knowing you couldn’t change without feeling watched.

“I’ll be back. Don’t piss me off more when I do. It is not my week.”

Not a day had passed since you two became acquainted that he didn’t find some way to bother you, but there were definite perks to living in hell’s best apartment lease. As your feet scraped across the tiled floor, the afternoon sun briefly flushed your skin, and a familiar flutter stirred in your chest as the thought of something popped into your head. Instead of the usual contempt, longing filled your chest as you made your way to the machine.

“What do we have today, m’dear?”

Your ears perked up at the sound of his voice, and you pretended to nonchalantly turn around, as if you hadn’t just spent several minutes hoping for his appearance. “Oh, you know, the usual—interview clothes, some sweatpants, and a few coffee-stained rags.”

Seungkwan’s lips curled into a soft chuckle, his laugh warm as he tossed his own laundry into the machine beside yours. “Sounds spicy. Mrs. Whirlpool is in for a gourmet meal today.”

He said the weirdest, most ridiculous things, but the real mystery was how you still ended up wanting to kiss him anyway. There was something about his easy smile, the effortless way he tossed his dress shirt into the machine like it was some kind of party trick.

He had a knack for brightening the atmosphere as if he possessed a magnetic otherworldly charm. Whenever you arrived, you couldn't help but wish he would be there, transforming the ordinary task of laundry into an intimate little affair—just the two of you amidst a heap of dirty clothes.

You observed him from the side, noting that his stack of clothes was noticeably smaller than usual. This made you question why he would wash such a small load. “Today isn't your regular laundry day. It’s usually Fridays and Mondays, isn't it? Today’s Thursday.”

The second the words left your mouth, you cringed internally. Great. Way to sound like a total stalker. Creep much?

Seungkwan cocked a smile. “I’m flattered you’ve memorized my laundry schedule.”

You laughed awkwardly, scrambling for cover. “I pass by here and just happen to have a really great memory.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, this might sound kind of gross and embarrassing, but I found these abandoned at the back of my closet. They’ve been there forever, and I had some extra change, so I figured, why not? You know, especially since I’ll be gone at the end of October.”

“You’ll be gone for Halloween?” Well, don’t sound too disappointed.

“Yeah,” Seungkwan said with a soft chuckle, glancing your way. “Family traditions. Can’t miss them. You know, the usual—handing out candy, our neighborhood haunted house contest, all that.”

“That sounds like so much fun. Way better than my Halloween growing up.” 

“Aw, thanks, but trust me, it’s way more chaotic than it sounds. Kids screaming, neighbors going overboard with decorations—it’s a lot." He shrugged as he folded his laundry, a hint of nostalgia creeping into his tone. “What about you? Got any plans?”

“Um… I’m not sure yet. Still figuring it out, I guess,” you answered earnestly, suddenly feeling like a loser with no plans–which you were by definition.

Seungkwan hesitated, his hands stilling mid-fold, the fabric dangling loosely between his fingers. You could see something flickering in his eyes—a jumble of thoughts swirling in his mind like a muddled cloud, visible in the furrow of his brow. “Oh. Well, um…” His voice trailed off, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, as if he were battling whether or not to say what was really on his mind.

"What?" Your curiosity spiked, your heart quickening as you waited for him to continue. For a moment, the only sound was the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall, stretching the already lingering silence.

He quickly shook his head, offering a faint, almost apologetic smile before turning back to his laundry, his hands moving again, but less sure than before. “Nothing. Just—never mind.”

“Oh, okay.” The disappointment weighed on you, heavier than you wanted to admit. You glanced at the washing machines, trying to focus on the steady hum of the cycles, but your eyes kept drifting back to the numbers, slowly counting the seconds until the minutes ticked over, all while the silence between you grew louder.

You finished your load long before Seungkwan could wrap up his, the awkward tension of unfinished business hanging in the air like a thick fog. You glanced at him, hesitating for a moment before mustering a tight smile, trying to shake off the discomfort. “Well, that’s it for me. See you around, Seungkwan.”

He looked up from his laundry, the corners of his lips tugging down slightly. "See you, neighbor," he said, his tone laced with a hint of regret. The moment lingered in the air between you, thick with unspoken words, making it even harder to walk away.

With one last glance at his face, you stepped back, the soft chime of the door ringing behind you as you passed their glass doors.

As you walked  back toward your apartment, you couldn’t help but drop in confidence, thinking to yourself that maybe you didn’t deserve good things like cute laundromat boy. The hallway felt more confining than usual, the walls seeming to close in, echoing the insecure thoughts making rounds in your head.

You leaned against the cheaply painted walls of your cramped apartment, sliding down to sit on the floor with your head in your hands. It was just a childish crush—fleeting and meaningless—yet the thought of him going away scared you more than any real-life danger you'd ever faced. He was the only upside to moving to this part of town, the one thing that made the mundane feel even remotely worthwhile.

As you sat on the vinyl floor, you could still picture the sparkle in his eyes when he first opened those double doors, the warmth of his voice as he introduced himself. What had once been just laundry had turned into something to look forward to, a small break from the routine and a chance to brighten up your day in this sparse town. 

Maybe, if you were lucky, it could turn into a little small-town romance. But now, you couldn’t help but wonder if he even saw you beyond the casual pleasantries. Did he just see you as another neighbor, or maybe just a friendly face? 

The familiar flickering light in the kitchen pulled you back to the reality and up from the ground of your haunted apartment. With a frustrated sigh, you turned your attention to your unwanted roommate. “Yeah, yeah, I’m home,” you muttered, trying to shake off the feeling of melancholy.

As you walked toward the living room, the flickering lightbulbs in the lamps followed your path, their erratic dance a reminder of the presence that lingered in your space. Maybe getting rid of them wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. It could be a way to finally cut ties with the ghost that seemed determined to remind you of your solitude. You chuckled softly at the thought. Perhaps an exorcism could clear out both the ghost and all the pointless overthinking.

But that was a problem for another day. Rotting in bed sounded far more appealing right now. You shuffled into your room, the soft glow from the streetlamp spilling in through the window, casting faint shadows on the walls as the evening deepened. The coolness of the night crept in slowly, the faint hum of the city blending into the background.

As you sank into the familiar embrace of your blankets, the exhaustion in your limbs finally settled, but your mind lingered for a moment longer. You glanced outside, the dim light catching in the leaves of the trees below, and for a fleeting second were at peace. No ghosts, no old washers or dryers, no obsessive crush. Just sleep.

You sighed, pulling the covers tighter around you, letting the hum of old furnishing–and probably the old pervert ghost–as you drifted off into sleep.

Your rest was cut short by a full bladder, ready to burst. With heavy eyelids, you stumbled toward the bathroom, barely aware of your surroundings. As you relieved yourself, everything felt normal—the creaking of the bathroom door, the sporadic running of the faucet, and the occasional flickering of the lights above, indicating his restless presence.

You groaned, rubbing your eyes with your fists. “This wasn’t an invitation, Casper,” you muttered, irritation creeping into your voice.

As if to taunt you, the faucet suddenly turned on full blast, running wildly before shutting off completely, leaving you with nothing but the simmering annoyance bubbling inside of you. With a frustrated huff, you quickly flushed the toilet and turned to the mirror. The lone reflection staring back at you looked as tired as you felt.

With dark circles under your eyes and a complexion that could only be described as dull, it was starting to feel like you were one bad hair day away from getting "gave up" tattooed across your forehead. And suddenly you were wondering whether you looked more dead than the ghost.

Instead of wallowing more self-pity, you washed your hands under the running faucet. If the ghost wanted to bother you, it certainly wasn’t going to be about your hygiene. You kept that on lock.

You glanced back at the mirror and no longer were you alone. Instead, where your reflection should have been was the unsettling visage of your ghost, staring back at you with a smirk that sent a shiver down your spine. His pale features were striking, almost ethereal, with an undeniable charm that twisted your gut. Those mischievous eyes sparkled with a playful malevolence.

Your ghost was attractive–strikingly so–and for some reason that made you dislike him even more.

You shot your shared reflection an unamused smile. “Was that supposed to scare me?”

His reflection chuckled, leaning over his sink to give you an unfiltered view of every extraordinary detail etched into his face like a sculpture. “What? I thought I could finally introduce myself.”

“After months of me already living here? I feel the moment has passed,” you shot back, crossing your arms in defiance.

“Well, I had to pass my own judgment, didn't I? Do you know how many coke-huffing, cheese puff-grubbing, athlete-foot-walking slobs I’ve encountered in my place of residence?” He leaned closer, his expression mockingly serious, the flickering light casting playful shadows across his sharp cheekbones.

“May I remind you that those people were renters? If they paid to be there, who were you to deny them that?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Like I didn’t pay when I was alive? Plus, Muriel definitely wasn’t paying, nor was Monty. They were beyond sketchy.” He rolled his eyes dramatically, clearly relishing the chance to air his grievances from beyond the grave. “Now that I think about it, there was definitely some laundry going on around here—and I’m not just talking about your underwear strewn all over the place.”

“Thanks for the reminder. Would you please leave the undergarments alone?” you replied, trying to keep the irritation from creeping into your voice as if you didn’t sound crazy enough talking into a mirror.

He shrugged nonchalantly, the flickering light casting shadows across his smirking face. “I will once you learn to toss them in the hamper like a normal humie. Upside to being dead: no laundry.”

“I don’t have to take this from someone who can’t even wear underwear anymore.”

“So you assumed I died without any on? How morbidly perverted of you.” His playful smile widened.

You scoffed, incredulous at the absurdity of the conversation you were having—with a ghost of all people.

“You know I’m right…I could sense your heart racing the moment you laid eyes on me,” he teased, a playful grin dancing across his lips as his jaw hung slightly slack in intrigue. His gaze swept over you, lingering on the way your breath caught in your throat, as if he were drinking in every detail, alive in the way his eyes glowed with mischief despite their soulless depths.

His ghostly figure was lean and toned, the contours of his form faintly visible like a lingering shadow, brimming with an energy that felt both alluring and infuriating. The flickering light cast an ethereal glow around him, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaws and the way his seemingly wet hair fell carelessly over his forehead. He leaned closer, the air thickening with a mix of annoyance and something dangerously enticing as if he relished the effect he had on you.

“Are you…flirting with me?” You couldn’t believe you had to ask, but the glint in his eye was undeniable.

“It’s not illegal. Not in the afterlife, anyway. Anything goes here.” He leaned back against the sink, bloodless veins pulsing against his forearms, enjoying the encounter more than he should.

“I…need sleep.” 

You peeled yourself away from the mirror, shaking your head in disbelief, and headed to bed without looking back. You slipped through the sheets, found comfort in their familiarity, and sighed, thinking you escaped.

“You know—”

“Jesus!” you burst out, your heart racing as you instinctively clutched your chest. Opening your eyes, you found the ghost looming above you, his expression a mix of amusement and annoyance. “What now?”

“Walking to a different room isn’t exactly a proper goodnight,” he said, crossing his arms over his spectral chest as if he were the arbiter of etiquette in the afterlife. His expression was mock-serious, and the playful glint in his eyes suggested he found the whole situation amusing.

“As if ghosts even sleep?” you shot back, rolling your eyes.

“No, but it’s polite,” he replied, feigning indignation, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a barely contained grin.

“Is this going to keep happening? You annoy me until I scrape together enough money to move out, or, if I’m not fortunate, end up penniless and homeless,” you lamented, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you threw your hands up in frustration.

“You tell me.”

With a sigh, you shut your eyes again and threw the blanket over your head, seeking refuge. “At least save it for the morning.”

And the ghost did just that—he saved all of it for the morning, better yet the afternoon. Since that’s when you woke up anyways.

“Do people always eat breakfast past two p.m., or is that a recent trend from the last two decades?” his voice called, cutting through the haze of your half-sleep as you started to eat 

“How old are you even?” you mumbled, cereal gnashing between your teeth.

“Old enough to know that you need more than cereal to sustain a healthy human body.”

“Riveting,” you muttered sarcastically, sipping the milk from the bowl. “Next, you’ll tell me that ‘ghosting’ is a real thing in your realm, too.”

“Actually, it is,” he retorts, his presence somehow stronger than it was in front of a mirror, “Happen to be doing it right now. Having some fun.”

“Is that your idea of fun? Stalking me from beyond the grave?”

“Call it what you want, but I’m just trying to keep you company,” he replied, his voice low and smooth, like honey dripping from a spoon. “Besides, who else is going to breathe some life into your dull existence other than someone who’s already checked out of theirs?”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms with a playful huff. “Great. Just what I need—my own ghostly life coach. What’s next? A seminar on the benefits of double-scrubbing the bathtub?

It was meaningless stuff, really. The kind of chatter that filled the air like background noise, a gentle distraction from the world outside your walls. Yet, for someone who was supposed to be dead, he had an uncanny knack for conversation, it only made you assume the type of person he was alive. He could turn the mundane into clear images, painting vivid pictures with his stories about the afterlife—or, more accurately, his gripes about it. Not that you asked for it, but, it was like being told a grand story. Stories you could not for the life of you stop listening to for some reason.

“Okay, ghostie—”

“Jeonghan,” he corrected. “Say it with me slowly. Jeong. Han.”

“Mmh, ghostie! I’ll be back after the laundry is done.”

“No way you’re saving money with how often you—”

“Bye bye, poltergeist!” You cut him off with a wave, stepping out with a load full of laundry.

You had noticed how quickly the days were slipping by, how time seemed to blur when you shared your space with someone—or rather, something—that could actually respond to you in real-time. It was a strange kind of companionship, one that made you forget just how much solitude had weighed on you before.

The passing days also reminded you just how much you needed a breather, to clear your head from this bizarre living arrangement. And somehow, your laundry had piled up, more than it ever should have for someone unemployed who barely left the house. It was odd. Almost like time itself was moving faster, dragging the mess along with it.

“Hey, right on schedule—Thursdays and every other Monday and today’s Monday..”

You almost forgot about Seungkwan amidst all the supernatural nonsense swirling around you, but seeing him brought back memories of your last encounter, and you quickly put on a smile. “Hey there! Look at you, recognizing my laundry schedule too.”

“Thought I’d return the favor since you were kind enough to remember mine. Hope that’s okay,” he replied, his tone light.

You piled your laundry into the machine, carefully measuring out some freshly opened detergent. “It is.”

“Okay… I just want to apologize for being weird the last time we talked,” he said, shifting slightly as he leaned against the machine, his expression turning a bit more serious. 

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” you assured him.

“I just… I don’t know.” He glanced down at the floor, his brows furrowing slightly. “My mind went blank, if I’m being honest.”

You smiled reassuringly. “I get that. Don’t worry your pretty little head over it.”

He looked up, a playful grin spreading across his face. “So you think I’m pretty?”

Fuck. “It’s… just an expression.”

He leaned against his machine, his gaze fixed on you. “Didn’t deny it, though.”

You chuckled, feigning exasperation and mirroring his posture against your own machine. “You’re a lot more cocky than I realized, Mr. Seungkwan.”

“Do you like that?”

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you were left speechless. Your mouth dropped open in surprise as your thoughts bounced from one corner of your mind to the other until finally, they found themselves running down between your legs in a new form of discomfort. “Umm…” 

You turned away for a moment, breathing to steady yourself, gently patting away your very alive heart.

“I made it weird again, didn’t I?” he said, his voice laced with a hint of regret.

You spun back around, shaking your head. “No. No! It just took me by surprise.”

“Sorry about that.” Not sounding all that sorry.

“That’s…more than I’m used to,” you admitted, a slight heat creeping onto your cheeks.

“Thank you?” he replied, a grin tugging at his lips.

You let out a soft laugh, the sound brightening the air between you and making the moment feel lighter and more vibrant. Just then, the machine beeped, a sharp sound signaling that your clothes were done, pulling you away from the heated exchange.

A comfortable silence enveloped you both, but this time it felt different—like the crackling of kindling in the perfect moment when fireflies come out, illuminating the night as brightly as the stars in the sky. You exchanged a quiet glance, catching a glint reminiscent of those stars in his gaze, and for a second, it felt like the universe was telling you, ‘Hey, maybe there's something here.’

When you finally turned to leave, your smile was the biggest you’d ever had. And when he matched yours, it was like you had just won a bizarre lottery. You probably looked a bit unhinged, standing there grinning at nothing while swaying in the damp weather, but you didn’t care. The butterflies in your stomach danced happily, and you found yourself wishing you could hold on to this moment just a little longer, savoring the warmth it brought.

“You look happy.”

Not even the Ghostbusters’ final boss could ruin that for you.

“Cram it, Beetlejuice Lite,” you shot back, because although you’re in a good mood, you relished finding new names to call Jeonghan besides his own.

You hummed to yourself as you folded and neatly put away your clothes, feeling his cool, lingering presence behind you. He watched, like always—probably thinking up who put sugar in your cereal this morning for you to be in such an uppity mood.

“Well, I’ll be. You’re actually putting your clothes away like a functional human being?” His voice oozed mock surprise, but today, it just rolled right off you.

“Yep! Just felt like it,” you replied cheerfully, sliding the last of the shirts into your drawer with a satisfied nod.

“Strange. I thought laundry was your natural habitat now, seeing how often you’re in there… but I guess that’s thanks to a certain ‘living,’” 

You snapped your drawer shut, the sound echoing through the room as you whipped around to glare at him, immediately pulling you away from the happiness you felt not that long ago. “You—”

“Seungkwan, wasn’t it? Cute kid. Didn’t quite peg him as your type, though.” He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

Your eyes narrowed, heart doing an involuntary somersault. Of course, he’d noticed. He seemed to notice everything, like some twisted version of a nosy neighbor, only this one didn’t have the decency to keep his opinions to himself. You wanted to fire back, but your brain was moving a step too slow, still caught up on the casual way he dropped Seungkwan's name. How long had he been watching you both at the laundromat?

“You’re stalking me outside of the apartment now?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“My spirit may be bound to this place,” he replied with an air of nonchalance, “but my soul can roam as it pleases.”

“Spirit? Soul? Aren’t they the same thing?”

He tilted his head, giving you a patronizing smile. “Not quite. My soul travels freely, observing everything within a reasonable distance—it’s not tethered to the apartment like my spirit is. My spirit stays here, out of my control.”

“So, you spied on me just because you could?”

"Call it research. Gathering intel." He shrugged. "Besides, it's not like you were doing anything interesting."

"Oh, I'm so glad I could provide you with such riveting entertainment.”

You shook your head, leaving the bedroom and closing the door behind you, only to have Jeonghan pass through it. "You know, for a ghost, you're surprisingly annoying."

"For a flesh-and-blood mortal, you're remarkably unfazed," he observes, his ethereal voice echoing slightly. "Most wouldn't last a day with my...unique brand of housekeeping."

You paused, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah, well, I'm not most people."

“So,” he began, “about this Seungkwan guy…”

You stiffened, feeling your cheeks heat up. “What about him?”

“Just curious,” he replied casually, though there was a glint in his eyes. “He seems... nice.”

“He is,” you mumbled, suddenly finding your laundry far more interesting than the conversation again.

“And you like him?”

Your heart raced in your chest. “I don’t know,” you admitted, the words almost sticking in your throat. “Maybe.”

“Does he like you?”

You hesitated, fiddling with the edge of your sleeve. “…I don’t know yet.”

There was a beat of silence before he offered, “Want some help with that?”

“No. What? How would you even do that?” You narrowed your eyes, already regretting entertaining this conversation.

He started circling you, wearing a grin that screamed trouble, like a cat ready to pounce. “The only time my soul and spirit are truly joined,” he began in a low, conspiratorial tone, “is when I possess a body and take control of their flesh.”

You rolled your eyes. “Where is this going, Bloody Maury? Skip to the part that makes sense.”

He stopped directly in front of you, arms crossed. “Well, if you’re interested in ‘skipping to the good parts,’ I could possess your body. Help you say what’ll win over Seungkwan in no time.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. “Why in the hell would I be dumb enough to let you do that?”

He snickered, leaning in with a smug look. “Because you’re desperate and haven’t slept with anyone the entire time we’ve lived together.”

“…You talk too much.”

“Think about it,” he continued, unbothered by your glare. “You’ve already got a foot in the door with him. You just need a little boost. I can help.”

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes. “This sounds like some high-level scheme to take over my body. Then I’ll end up stuck sharing it with a ghost, screaming into the depths of my soul for eternity. Thanks, but no thanks.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ve been watching too much supernatural TV. And besides, if I wanted to possess your body for good, I would’ve done it a long time ago. I do have some principles, you know. Consent and all.”

You shook your head, unimpressed. “Nope. I still can’t trust you, ghostie.”

Jeonghan, ever the persistent undead, didn’t know the meaning of giving up—and by now, you should’ve expected as much. And maybe, just maybe, his constant, incessant persuading was starting to wear you down. Sharing the same space day in and day out gave him the upper hand. He knew your quirks, your weak spots—the best and worst parts of you.

These past few days, you weren’t sure if you were going insane by agreeing with a ghost, or if he was actually starting to make some sense.

As you stared off at him, basking in the cool autumn air slipping through the balcony, you started to wonder if his intentions were not as venomous or malicious as you initially thought. There was a strange, quiet sadness in his eyes as if he longed for something he couldn’t put into words. Something that you couldn’t understand even if you tried.

“Am I really so pathetic that the ‘phantom reject’ is willing to help me with my love life?”

Jeonghan glanced at you with mild interest, noticing the way your curiosity had piqued. You sat comfortably on the couch, your elbow propped on the armrest, cheek nestled in your palm, as you observed him. He quietly approached, given that his feet were intangible and didn’t reach the ground, the silence was deafening and he lowered his head to level with you, staring back at you with so much intent it burned to feel his gaze.

He titled his head, brimming with pride. “Well, let’s just say I’ve never been rejected in my life. So.”

“You really think this’ll work for me?”you asked, skepticism lacing your tone.

“Of course,” he replied, with a grin. “You’ve got me.”

You were really considering it—letting a ghost help with your love life. Was this truly insane? Maybe. But it felt like it was worth a shot.

God, this was pathetic. And for once, you had something to be genuinely afraid of. And funny enough, it wasn’t possession. Until, well… maybe it was.

Life had never quite prepared you for this. Standing in your bedroom, surrounded by the overflowing pile of dirty clothes in the corner, you realized you’d put this off long enough—both the laundry and the body possession. You let out a shaky breath, glancing nervously from the mess to Jeonghan. 

His presence loomed, just as insistent as the neglected chores, and you had to steady yourself, mentally sorting through how you’d ended up in this bizarre situation. Laundry? Fine. Ghost possession? Not something you thought was possible. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to assess the ridiculousness of it all.

“Okay, Grim Peeper, let’s do this.”

Jeonghan chuckled softly as you tried, and failed, to shake off the nerves. His movements were deliberate as he approached, eyes narrowing in focus. He watched how the tension gripped your shoulders, the way your breath quickened despite your best efforts to stay calm. His presence felt heavier, and as he took his position in front of you, the air around him seemed to still. 

You could feel the weight of what was about to happen, the looming absurdity of it all. Jeonghan, who usually exuded a kind of careless charm, now looked oddly concentrated, as if he were preparing for something he rarely had the chance to do. His expression, though still smug, carried a certain gravity. But in all honesty, he wasn’t really sure what to expect.

“I’m about to make contact,” Jeonghan said, his tone unusually serious. “It’s going to feel a bit disorienting at first—like a cold shiver running down your spine. But after a few seconds, your mind will adjust, and it’ll feel like nothing ever happened. My voice will echo in your head, almost like it’s your own thoughts. I’ll let you know when it’s me taking control.”

His hands hovered over your shoulders, a ghostly chill brushing against your skin. For a split second, there was something oddly reassuring in his dead, sullen eyes. "You'll be okay. I promise, nothing will go wrong."

You sighed, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down. "Alright, I trust you." Then you glanced at him, a small smirk forming. "But seriously, what do you get out of all this? Helping me, I mean. I won’t judge... Boo-dini."

He let out a short laugh, tilting his head slightly as if considering how to answer. “I…want to remember what it’s like to feel alive again. See what I missed out on.”

“That’s fair,” you nodded, understandably.

“Expected more from me, humie?”

You shrugged. “Thought you’d have a deeper back story, but that’s fine.”

Jeonghan scoffed softly, giving you a teasing smirk before he began. In an instant, he was there—and then he wasn’t. The shift was so sudden it left you reeling. Just as he’d predicted, a shiver rippled down your spine, cold and unsettling. But what he hadn’t mentioned were the flashes of unfamiliar images that flickered behind your eyes, moments you’d never lived but somehow felt were real.

They came and went so fast, you couldn’t make sense of them—fleeting fragments of his past, perhaps, or echoes of something even older.

‘How are you?’ he voice said, interrupting your thoughts.

You quietly nodded, reassuring him.

‘Very well then. Your lead, dear host.’

You wandered into the laundromat with your overstuffed hamper, feeling a bit like a laundry pirate hauling treasure—or dirty socks—across the high seas. You’d made the executive–and rightfully cowardly–decision to skip your usual laundry day, and now it was leading up to this very moment. Jeonghan stayed mostly dormant in your body as you claimed an empty machine, the back of your head itchy knowing another being was sharing your body that has led you this far. And now it was going to lead you to get laid.

It was like clockwork. Any minute now, Seungkwan would stroll in, and Jeonghan would take over, handling all the nerve-wracking nonsense you'd rather avoid.

‘Don’t be nervous,’ his voice echoed, ‘I almost thought it was my own heart racing, then I remembered I’m dead.’

“Sorry,” you muttered softly under your breath, ignoring the supernatural’s attempt at a joke.

‘It’s fine. Everything will be fine.’

“I know,” you sighed.

“You know what?”

You spun around, facing Seungkwan, who’d entered with that casual, friendly energy you always admired. He smiled, raising an eyebrow at your startled expression.

"Seungkwan!" you blurted out, trying to push the embarrassment down as far as it would go.

“Hey, neighbor,” he greeted, already moving toward his machine, gently separating colors from whites. “How are you?”

“Good—Great! Why do you ask?”

He gave you a light shrug, glancing up with a playful grin. “Just sounded like you were talking to yourself.”

“Well, who doesn’t?” you quipped, trying to play it cool. “Sometimes thinking out loud helps clear the head noise, right?”

“Right,” he said, stretching with an amused smile, clearly entertained by your odd, jittery energy.

‘Wow, thank god you have me.’

You quietly cursed Jeonghan in your head for making this harder than it needed to be, before mustering up the nerve to approach Seungkwan, fingers nervously fidgeting.

"Hey, so... you mentioned you were going to be out of town for Halloween, right?"

Seungkwan looked up, surprised and then grinned. "You remembered! Yeah, what’s up?"

You hesitated for a second, feeling Jeonghan’s smug presence lingering somewhere in the back of your mind. "I thought..."

Seungkwan leaned casually against the now-humming washer, hands tucked in his pockets, his curious gaze fixed on you. "Yeah?"

You tried to keep your cool, but the moment the words "we could do something" left your mouth, your brain started to short-circuit. Seungkwan turned to you with that easygoing grin of his, waiting for you to elaborate, and you could already feel the awkwardness creeping in.

Jeonghan’s voice chimed in, ‘You’re fumbling. Let me take over.’

Before you could protest, the familiar shiver ran down your spine. Suddenly, everything felt distant—your limbs moved, but you weren't fully in control anymore.

Jeonghan’s smooth voice came out of your mouth as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I was thinking, maybe we could hang out before you head out of town? You know, catch a movie, grab a drink, something low-key, say my place?"

Seungkwan's smile widened, surprised but clearly intrigued. "You want to hang out with me?”

Jeonghan, still in control of your voice, replied effortlessly, "Of course." Before you could even process what was happening, your feet began to move on their own, gliding across the floor like a spy on a secret mission. Jeonghan closed the distance between you and Seungkwan, and suddenly, your hands were fidgeting with the hem of Seungkwan's shirt. “I figure it’s a good excuse to steal some of your time before Halloween hits."

Your heart raced, and you mentally screamed at Jeonghan, Okay, okay, that’s enough! I can take it from here!

But he was on a roll. "Tomorrow?" Seungkwan asked, leaning casually against the washing machine, though the way he shifted his weight from foot to foot betrayed his nervousness. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty.

"Tomorrow’s perfect," Jeonghan responded smoothly, maintaining the effortless flow of the conversation. "I’ll text you the details."

With each word, your body felt like it was moving on autopilot, and while you were horrified by the lack of control, a part of you couldn't help but feel a rush of exhilaration. Jeonghan was nailing it, but the closeness to Seungkwan was almost too much to handle.

Suddenly, Seungkwan playfully entwined his fingers with yours, his touch sending a jolt of warmth through your hand, as his grin graced his face. Your eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, savoring the warmth of the connection. When you opened them, you found an unreadable expression on his face—intense and smoldering. “Sounds like a plan,” he said, his voice slightly softer now. “Looking forward to it.”

The way he held your gaze made your heart skip a beat, and for a moment, the world around you faded into a soft blur. Even though Jeonghan was in control, your thoughts tangled with the heat of the moment, coursing through you like a fever. 

As soon as Seungkwan turned away to his laundry with a lingering grin, Jeonghan released control, and the reins were back in your hands. You blinked, still a bit disoriented from the possession.

‘See? Easy,’ Jeonghan’s voice echoed smugly in your mind.

‘You’re impossible,’ you shot back.

‘But effective.’

That night, you tackled all the prep work you knew you needed to get done. It had been a while since you’d done anything like this, and you definitely had some dust bunnies and spiderwebs in your attic.

“Humie–oh.”

“Jeonghan! What the hell?” Your eyes flew open as you scrambled to pull the shower curtain over your bare legs, the chill of the water sending a shiver up your spine from the products strewn haphazardly at the edge of the sink. “Do you fucking mind?”

“Well, well. Look at you, all cleaned up. At least yourself, anyway. Can’t say the same for the bathroom floor—or that mountain of grooming products over there.”

You gripped your makeshift cover-up a little tighter, groaning in frustration. “Privacy, please! I barely have any as it is.”

“I’m just saying, I’m proud of you. Now, if you manage to sweep up after, I might even give you a round of applause.”

“Out!” you snapped, glaring.

He shrugged, turning to leave with an impish grin. “Hey, roommates catch each other with their pants down one way or another.”

If you weren’t already a bundle of nerves, Jeonghan was getting far too comfortable for your liking. Leading up to that night and the big day, he had been dishing out advice on everything from what to wear to what movie to play, right down to critiquing the meager food stock in your fridge.

“That’s it, you need to go grocery shopping.”

“I can't afford that right now!”

“Just get Instacart. I don’t care. This apartment is as bare-bones as it gets.”

“I have popcorn, soda, and some chocolate for Halloween when I'm giving them out.”

“First of all, popcorn isn’t actually food. Second, prebiotic soda doesn’t count as real soda. And if you can get chocolate, then you can definitely manage to buy some real groceries.”  

But just as you were about to respond, luck decided to abandon you with a sharp knock at the door. “No time!” you hissed, “now scr—oh, you’re already gone.”  

One moment he was there, and the next, he had vanished. Now, it was all on you, and nothing felt more nerve-wracking. You tugged your shorts down just enough to cover the rest of your bottom, anxiety buzzing in your chest. Your hand hovered over the doorknob as you took a deep breath, trying to muster some confidence before swinging it open to reveal who was waiting outside.

“Seungkwan, hey!”  

“Hey!” he grinned, his Halloween-themed vest adding a playful touch to his outfit as he juggled a couple of bags in his arms. “You didn’t ask, but I thought I’d surprise you with some food. Pumpkin-spiced spaghetti and meatballs.”  

“Oh, uhhh…”  

He burst into laughter, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m just messing with you! It’s actually butternut squash gnocchi and some stuffed peppers that look like pumpkins.”  

“Oh, thank God! That sounds amazing.”  

“Yeah, it’s festive without going overboard.”  

You nodded in agreement, feeling a warm rush of relief. “Come in.”  

As you stepped aside to let him in, you couldn’t help but notice how wholesomely he was dressed compared to your casual attire. Suddenly, you felt a pang of self-consciousness.  

“I like your sweater,” you said, trying to mask your growing insecurity.  

He looked down, a hint of modesty crossing his face. “Yeah, I think it’s just the right amount of festive, but—”  

“It’s festive but not overboard,” you responded, playfully tossing his words right back at him.  

He grinned, “Exactly!”  

You smiled back, feeling a wave of warmth as Seungkwan's presence began to calm your nerves. As he settled into the familiar space of your apartment, you couldn’t help but discreetly scan the room for any signs of your ghoulish roommate. Half-relieved to find nothing, half-disappointed that your spectral “backup” was nowhere in sight, you let out a quiet sigh. And now it was just you—and the human you actually invited in.

Hesitantly, you eased into the spot next to him on the couch, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach. Your hands were jittery as you picked up the remote, scrolling through the movies you’d lined up, your mind racing to figure out what to do next. 

You glanced at him, hoping for some sort of sign or direction, but the words caught in your throat. The longer you scrolled, the more painfully aware you became of the silence, as if it only heightened the nervous tension taking over your body, weirdly missing Jeonghan and how flawlessly he executed what he did yesterday.

"So, movies," you said, aiming the remote at the TV.

"Movies," he echoed, mimicking your tone.

“I mean,” You raised a brow. "What do you have in mind? And there is a right answer."

He chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "Alright, I love Halloween, but..."

"But?" you pressed, leaning in slightly.

"I... really can’t handle scary movies. Halloween Town is probably my limit."

"Halloween Town? The kids’ movie?"

"Hey, don’t knock it. They had great graphics!"

"They had awful graphics!" you shot back, incredulous.

He grinned, half-joking but clearly standing by his point. "Yeah, now. But for its time?”

You shook your head in playful disbelief, unable to hold back a smile. “You’re ridiculous. But fine, your choice.”

You were left with very few options. Seungkwan had suggested a few festive, family-friendly titles, but you managed to persuade him to consider a couple of mild thrillers—some stupid but perfectly on theme.

“The zombie version of Twilight? Seriously? Zombies?" he repeated, stressing the idea with disbelief.

You shrugged, smiling from his reaction. “You might like it.”

He dropped his head in defeat, cute little whines escaping his pursed lips. “Fine, but you’d better be my shield for this, okay, neighbor?” 

The movie began to play, the take-out boxes popped open, and your nerves were on high alert, vibrating like something else does on a normal Friday night for you. Except now, it was just you and the incredible realization that the man you're very much interested in was mere inches away. You were a fucking wreck.

Surprisingly, Seungkwan was genuinely enjoying the film, finding unexpected humor and charm in the cringeworthy blockbuster. His laughter was soothing and infectious, gradually easing your nerves until you started to feel normal again. Why were you like this?

Wait, you felt normal again, but what was normal?

Before you fully grasped what had happened in that fleeting moment of clarity, your hand made contact with Seungkwan, trailing lightly up his forearm. He immediately turned to face you, and your eyes locked, but suddenly they felt as if they belonged to someone else as if you were watching a different kind of film—a film where you were a separate character, experiencing everything from an alternate reality.

“Seungkwan,” your voice spoke, sounding foreign and distant as if someone else were taking control. Jeonghan? 

‘It was so painful to watch.’

Jeonghan guided your hand to brush against Seungkwan's ear, teasingly grazing the tip and relishing the warmth that bloomed between your fingers.

“Hey,” he replied, his nerves speaking for him. “Is something wrong?”

A low chuckle escaped from the depths of your throat, echoing Jeonghan’s playful menace. “You didn’t think we were just going to watch a movie, did you?”

Seungkwan audibly gulped, his eyes darting around as anxiety crept in. “We aren’t?”

“What’s the matter?” Jeonghan leaned in closer, your lips brushing against Seungkwan’s ear. “Where’s that confidence you had yesterday?”

Seungkwan suddenly tossed a pillow onto his lap, speechless and blushing fiercely. “Sorry,” he stammered, caught off guard. “I never anticipated—”

“Oh, really? You never expected to do something other than watching movies?” Your hand gently cupped his cheek, and you could feel Seungkwan melt into your touch with a gentle whimper.

A delighted sigh escaped you, fueled by Jeonghan’s newfound confidence coursing through your veins as your thumb traced the curve of Seungkwan’s Adam’s apple, feeling the rapid thrum of his pulse beneath your fingertips.

“You didn’t think for a second, I’d–you know–keep the night as is, did you?”

He softly groaned in his throat, feeling the tension seep inside him. “Are you suggesting?”

“I don’t want to just watch movies with you, Seungkwan. It’d be more fun to make our own. Isn’t that right?”

“...yes. God, yes.”

He leaned in, cradling your face in his hands, and pressed his lips to yours in a swift, hungry kiss, sending a surge of electricity through you as your tension unraveled in waves. His weight dipped against your body, pinning you against the rough tweed of the couch. His soft moans mingled with your breaths, muffled yet threatening, as if he were desperate to let loose and explore the desire in his heart while you were within reach.

‘That’s it.’

Your hand held the back of his head, catching strands between your fingers and tugged, ravaging his lips as if it’d be the last time you’d get a chance. You weren’t sure when Jeonghan gave you back your control, but in the heat of the moment, none of it mattered.

He tasted like a life force, fueling the fire burning in your loins and the fire kindling in your stomach; he had you wanting more with every passing second. His hands grabbed you recklessly, throwing his weight against you and squeezing your flesh until it was tender and malleable in his hands. This wasn’t something to unfold on the couch, you thought—not when a big, inviting bed lay just a few steps away, calling for you.

Your feet regained enough feeling to guide you off the couch, and before you knew it, you were stumbling toward your room, feverish and driven, with no thought of turning back. Your hands found his clothes, teasing beneath his holiday vest and up his torso, admiring the smooth flush of skin that graced your senses. He gasped, succumbing to your excitement and leaned into it, falling seamlessly into your rhythm.

“Didn’t want to stretch this, but,” he pulled the vest and shirt beneath over his head, tossing them aside in the corner. You let your hand linger longer on his body, running along the curve of his spine as he pulled you closer.

Seungkwan grasped your waist, savoring your lips with gentle strokes of his tongue before lifting you from the ground and onto the bed. Your bodies crushed against one another, peeling off articles of clothing one piece at a time until you were almost bare, expertly taking you apart to have you whole. All to himself as far as he knew.

“Seungkwan,” you called out in pleas, hands cradling the back of his neck as his hair fell over his eyes. “I want you so bad…”

“You’re telling me,” he managed to breathe out,  gripping your underwear at its hem and scrapping it over your hips as he pulled them down. “I’ve thought about you ever since I met you.”

Your heart bloomed in your chest, pleasantly startled by his confession. Your hands ran through his hand, pushing them over his forehead despite knowing they’d only fall back in place. “You were always so…friendly.”

He smiled, pressing it against the corner of your lips and decorating your cheeks and jaw with kisses. “Yeah. I always hoped that we’d be more than just friendly.”

“Well, mission accomplished.” You pulled him back into a lip lock, parting your legs to give him access.

‘Look at all the fun you’re having.’

Jeonghan was like a wandering whisper, weaving through your thoughts as Seungkwan enveloped your senses. Seungkwan’s hands were on your body, touching what’s yours and making it his, where Jeonghan could feel it as much as you could, and you knew it. He got off on this just as much as you did.

‘Feel him rubbing that pretty pussy of yours.’

“So wet…” Seungkwan said with ache, sounding like he was pleading.

His digits found your sensitivity and thumbed over your clit, stimulating you until your voice rang but the last thing you were doing was speaking. You became fluent in moans, fluid in body language, and perfect in Seungkwan. Your breath dragged on, panting against him as your leg hooked to his side, holding him with urgency.

‘So fucking horny…you were begging to be fucked, hmm?’

You couldn’t help but nod, hand lowering to find Seungkwan’s raging erection just within reach. He softly gasped, thrusting into your touch as you held his shaft, stroking his length that felt so full in your hands. So stiff, yet warm to the touch, almost tasting the tension on your tongue. 

‘Look at that size, huh? Imagine how that feels in you. Stretching your pussy and making you feel so full? Doesn’t that sound amazing?’

“I need you in me Seungkwan.” You begged in desperate pants, gripping him by the forearms. “I want to feel you inside me.”

There was a certain eagerness in his eyes, the kind that said he would do anything and everything for you in a heartbeat and succeed. You weren’t dealing with any average guy that wanted to get off. “Fuck,” he whispered, before lifting his upper body, putting himself on full display.

His physique was magnificent in every way, tantalizing and captivating like nothing you’ve ever encountered. You had an inkling of what he looked like under all his clothes, the veins always so prominent on his forearms and hands when he strained to reach something on a shelf, the line of his back when his lifted shirt revealed just a sliver of skin, or his wide hips, baring an ass so round and full they look like they came straight out of the oven. Never have you ever wanted to run your hands over something, nor have you ever wanted to sink your teeth into something. Yet, here was Seungkwan: utterly delectable.

Seungkwan dragged you by the ankles, moving you effortlessly as he angled himself between your legs, your molten heat practically dripping at the sight of him. His groan bounced off the walls, hand coming over your inner thighs and gently massaging your skin. As his kisses started to pepper over your legs, you felt your pussy physically throb, damned to eternal craving.

“You look like heaven,” He cried against your thighs. “Any protection?”

“It’s right–oh.” You picked up a rubber conveniently left at your nightstand, then handed it to Seungkwan. ‘You‘re welcome.’

He set it aside with a smile and instead of putting it on, his face fell on your heat. He tasted you like it was worship; the dance of his tongue was his prayers, while your response flowed like a cascade of blessings. You whined when you felt him pursed around your clit, teeth barely grazing you as he sucked down like you’re the last bit of syrup in a dessert.

At the same time, his eyes glazed over to yours, a hand hovering over your chest, inaudibly asking permission, and when you gave him a wordless nod, he grabbed handfuls of your breasts. He kneaded you between his knuckles, rolling your buds between his fingers, and having you surrender to his chase.

“Seungkwan, please…”

Seungkwan’s eyes glimmered with pride, a sultry testament to the depth of his exploration. The longer he ventured, the more you found ogasmic relief, feeling every ounce of his efforts and every ounce of his pleasure. You held him by his hair, leg anchoring over his back, feeling his tongue massage your inner walls. His voice vibrates inside you, somehow stealing your breath, and filling you with utter euphoria. 

‘You feel that? How much he wants you? How much he craves you. He’s been waiting for this day. And you should reward him. Don’t you think?’

You tugged him up, watch him gasping for air, replace one pair of lips with another. You flipped him on his back, gaining momentum, and relishing in the power of control, and swallowing his gasps. You aligned the hilt of his cock towards you, ensuring you wrapped it protection before it sat between the slit of your folds. 

Seungkwan tilted his head back, his eyes glistening with desire as he admired you, his gaze revealing his thoughts like an open book.  "You're so sexy," he murmured, the words spilling out without hesitation. While his look said it all, hearing it felt like a heated rush of affirmation, and it made you want him more.

You pushed his length in you, feeling his size pulsate through you, and a moan managed to pass through your lips. Shivers ran down through you, goosebumps pebbling your skin, and you realized the raging presence of Seungkwan was going to be the death of you. As he rocked inside you, he held your hips in place, guiding your form up and down on lap, adjusting to your squeeze, and adjusting to how it contracts. “Oh my god, please, you’re driving me crazy.”

“Just like I wanted,” You teased. 

Your lips brushed against his neck, grazing your teeth over his skin before making passionate kisses to his neck, grinding down on his body until there isn’t a hint of space between your bodies. You were growing weary–albeit needy–chasing a high that was so close to be conquered. You felt it, Seungkwan felt it, and damn well Jeonghan felt it. You needed more, just a little more.

Suddenly, the air was knocked out of your lungs, as if something vital had escaped from within you, and your movements were put to a halt. 

“Sorry,” you apologize, pushing the hair way from your face. “Not sure what happened. I promise–”

“Don’t apologize to me, Humie.”

You heard his voice—or rather, an echo of Jeonghan’s voice—calling from below you, and as you met his gaze in Seungkwan’s eyes, your expression widened in shock. “Jeonghan,” you declared menacingly.

“In the flesh. Well, not my own, but you get the idea,” he quipped.

You nudged at the body beneath you, careful of not hurting the host. “Get out of this poor human’s body right now! What happened to consent?”

“Oh, he’s very much consenting to the thrill of this level of intimacy,” Jeonghan replied, a teasing grin spreading across his face.

“Not when it involves a literal ghost!”

“Relax, he won’t remember a thing. My spirit won’t let him. All he’ll recall is the good time he had,” the body thief winked playfully.

“Bullshit! Do what’s right and let the boy go.”

“But I am doing what’s right.” His grip tightened around your hips, pushing Seungkwan’s cock deeper in you as if it was possible and ebbing weak moans from as he pulled you closer, a wicked smile dancing on his lips. “So right.”

“J-Jeonghan,” you stammered, your pulse quickening.

“I just couldn’t take it anymore, Humie. You looked absolutely ravishing. I had to experience you for myself.”

Your head was screaming all kinds of denial, but your body thrived off his confidence, his energy was flowing through you, splitting through you and hitting a spot of pliancy. This was so wrong. “This…this is violating…for him…”

“But you love it, don’t you? It’s like a wicked thrill, a tantalizing pleasure that feeds your deepest, most tumultuous desires.”

You scoffed, trying to ignore the pulsating cock rocking your very core. “And what kind of desires is that?”

“You want us both,” he answered plainly. “The human and me.”

You shook your head, fingers tightening around Seungkwan’s shoulders in a desperate bid for security as you fought against Jeonghan’s seductive temptations. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Then, why don’t you get off of me?”

“It’s Seungkwan I can’t get off of,” You clarified.

You could recognize Jeonghan’s smile, even though it was plastered on Seungkwan’s face—so conniving, so devilish. It exuded an intoxicating power that was inhumane, but irresistible. “But it's me you’re riding–and fucking hell–you look so good doing it.”

“Jeonghan…” You whimpered, pleading for release from his coercion, but as you feared, mercy eluded you entirely.

“Yes,” His palm rode up your body, his lips parting in haughty confidence. “Beg for me, beg for me to fuck you full.”

“...Fuck it. I want you to fuck me full.” You accepted him, feeling the tension of the cock inside you, ripple waves straight into your heat. 

Mindlessly, you accepted his domineering hand that landed on your mouth, feeling it travel past your lips, parting way with his thumb. You wrapped your lips around his digits, sucking them like candy, and the shame that once enveloped your paradoxical feelings dissipated, leaving only a deep hunger in its wake. 

Whether it was Jeonghan or Seungkwan beneath you, it was all true to its very core. You had an undeniable infatuation for your cute neighbor and a strange fascination with the handsome ghost. The connection you felt with both was more than palpable, leaving you with an unexplained frenzy of emotions that would require extensive therapy. You knew the logical choice was the one who was alive, but you had never considered that you could have both—especially not in such a chaotic, unorthodox three-way.

“Look at what a slut you are for us, your lips so perfect wrapped around these slender fingers of his.”

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” you quietly muttered to yourself, grinding harder, sucking Seungkwan’s fingers deeper, and gradually succumbing to Jeonghan’s demands.

Jeonghan let out a deep, rolling laugh that resonated from Seungkwan’s core, a sound so rich and dark it sent a momentary unease through you. “You’re simply giving into your desires, why fight it?”

“You damn well know why,” you spat out his fingers and gritted your teeth.

“Now that’s not nice,” His hand covered the shape of your ass, cupping them in his palms, “Do I need to show you how to be nicer to me?”

“Jeonghan,” you groaned, feeling his digits dig into your flesh as he spread them apart. 

“What’s that, baby?” he experimented, “Looks like I have to make this a teaching opportunity after all? Because you can’t show your gratitude?”

“Jeonghan, please.”

“Well, if you insist.” With an unexplainable, arcane, supernatural force, the dynamics were switched and Jeonghan had you on your stomach, ass conveniently placed in from of him. 

“Jeonghan!”

"I always knew you looked good from every angle, but wow—this one is something else." His hand glided over your curves, Seungkwan’s cock splitting down your divide, you grasped your thirst.

Anticipation was wreaking havoc on your sanity, leaving you in a deafening silence as you waited for Jeonghan to make his move, impatience following. “Will you just–”

A hand clashed against your backside, your skin stinging from impact, and relieving you from a ched yelp. Jeonghan braced you against a groin, the erection nudging at your skin. “So needy,” he chuckled. You felt the tip tease along your slit, eventually filling you up in that familiar way.

You whimper, the size still enticingly foreign, and back into his weight, feel yourself travel all the way down to the base.

“And impatient,” Jeonghan softly groans, grounding himself to you in careful, yet sharp thrusts.

You balled your sheets into fists, your voice muffled as you buried your face in a pillow.

He chuckled against his skin. “That good?”

“Y-yes,” you helplessly whispered.

He slammed down on you, releasing a squeaky spring sound from the bed, both embarrassing and strangely arousing. “Even when I do that?”

“Yes…more please…”

Jeonghan repeated the move, finding a steady rhythm, and watched as your skin and flesh recoiled back against him. He could feel his host basking in the intensity of this pleasure, tears swelling his eyes as your moans echoed in his ears, memorizing from the decibels your voice reached, to the way you looked from behind, and even how the flesh of thighs spilled when you collapsed wearily on the mattress.

“Insane,” He said in hushed whispers.

“Stop it,” you whined.

“Stop what? Showing you how fucking perfect you are taking my cock?” He grunted.

You pressed your lips in a firm lip, clawing down on the bed as your core tightened, every pound drilling into you, giving into his indulgence and taking you along with him. He made every thrust count as the echo of skin slapping faded into the background.

“Oh please, help me cum.” You begged. “Please, please, please…”

His pace quickened, his rhythm erratic. “Yeah, you want your cum to coat around my cock like a good little whore.”

“Yes, Jeonghan please, just give it to me.”

“You asked, and you shall receive.”

Finally, he bottomed out into you, unleashing the reins he held to prolong this moment and cut them lose. Your body was no longer yours, weakened by the spirit draining your energy. Your jaw fell slack, unable to close, a waning moaning stretching for miles, ecstasy coursing through your veins. 

You said one name, then another, and then again. This was really confusing but you were here, pounded into oblivion for what it seem endless eternity, until you realized you were full and not with what you had initially anticipated. In the remenance of fatigue from the sex, you fail to notice the lack of protetction seeing as proof of you supernatural rendezvous was seeping out of you like a slow river.

“Jeonghan!” 

“What?” he drowsily answered as he claimed the side of the bed besides you, evidently using the extent of Seungkwan’s body.

“What the fuck happened to the condom?”

“Please, that’s my own cum.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ectoplasm, you know. Comes from all sorts of places.”

“I hate you so much—am I gonna get pregnant with ghost kids?”

“Relax, and no you aren’t. It’s as effective as…something really ineffective–fuck, I’m tired.”

“And Seungkwan. What about Seungkwan?”

“He’s fine and his release became as good as mine when I possessed his body. His soul is asleep right about now, having a catnap. Now come here.” he pulled you towards him, throwing your covers over you and keeping you away from the draft into to room, slipping you into his arms. “Stop tiring yourself out any further and rest. Everything will be fine when he wakes up like a man that got laid: amazing.”

“Fine,” you muttered with heavy eye lids, “but only because im really tired.”

And from that moment sleep was easy.

You woke up to those same arms, now only asleep and less “ghost-like” and snuggled up closer to him, a newly acclaimed heat source. A soft chuckle escaped him, holding you tighter in his embrace as a kiss fell on the top of your forehead. “Hey there.”

You smile, cupping the side of his face in your hand. “Hi.”

“That was amazing, you’re amazing,” he said, planting another kiss on your nose. “Is it weird to say it felt so good I kinda blacked out?”

“Ha,” you shook your head, knowing the truth, “No, but thank you for the massive compliment.”

He grinned, a flush of red coating his cheeks, before pulling you into a deep and wonderful kiss, entanging his legs with yours. He seeped into realization when he found the mess between your legs, untouched since sex. “Oh shit, I did that, didn’t I?”

“It’s okay, I…have some sort of protection.”

“One moment.” Seungkwan came up naked from the bed, momentarily left the room, and with a noticeably wet hand towel. “I usually have an extra clean one on hand for after my workout. Glad I brought a backpack for no reason today.

As he inched closer, he sat between your legs, uncovering you from the blanket, and politely asked if he could help. When he received your consent, he brought it up to the mess, gently swiping between every crevice, ridding any remnants of cum that might have been left over. 

“You didn’t have to do this,” you reassured, visibly gushing.

“Of course, I do.” He insisted, a sincere smile gracing his features. “It's my pleasure taking care of you.”

It was so disorienting going from the original to Jeonghan’s version and back to the original Seungkwan. As if you were once looking through a window of an alternate reality. Still a lot to process what happened.

“I don’t usually do this,” you try explaining yourself, “I just…I’ve been into you for a long time and I just thought, maybe, you felt the same.”

“I do,” he pressed his lips to your inner thigh. “A lot.”

“So you wouldn’t mind seeing me again?”

“I wouldn’t object to the idea,” he grinned, “especially if we get to do what we did to make me black out in the first place.”

[belovedroach]

Okay, but bees will attack invaders (like wasps) by swarming them and getting their bodies very hot to kill them off if they get too close to the hive (even to the bee's own detriment). Did Patt ever have a similar event w/ Jan? Cause the idea that he tried to light them both on fire to protect Thomas is both sweet and also horrifying-

Also, fun fact: apparently bees can survive heat waves up to 113°F (45°C) before they start to have really bad effects like heat stroke. So Patt's pretty good on the heat department

ohhhh now that's a very interesting bug fact for angst potential!!

idk if this is canon to the bug au, but i like the concept of a young Patton using fire to intimidate the dark sides away from Thomas-

don´t worry nothing bad happens and Patton gets reprimanded later. Just that, you know... everyone is traumatized now lol.

(i know you were refering to lighting himself on fire but idk the match is sooo dramatic and extra lmao-)

[starkid-smosh]

You know the "you attract what you fear ahhh ___" meme? I feel like smoshtwt accidentally does that with damangela because literally every time they hate on damangela, we get some really good content from them lmao. Like they hated on damangela and then we got the Perfect Person podcast, they hated on damangela and then like a week later we got Todd x Angela and now this week they've been hating on them again and we got them playing a couple in TNTL and the fun Gus and Tater moments in this week's spud hut. I mean Angela giving him that cricket and then both of them spitting them out of their mouths was so funny and then obviously Angela crying on his shoulder and putting her hand over his mouth while he comforts her by singing and rubbing her head was cute.

Also I mentioned this in the tags of a post I reblogged but I feel like Angela and Damien have both made it seem like they aren't always super comfortable with physical touch? Like it might've been exaggerated but still I remember Angela flinching a lot and/or backing away whenever someone touched her for a while, and I can't think of an example for Damien off the top of my head and it might just be an autism stereotype I'm thinking of (😅) but I feel like Damien has spoken about that before, so I feel like them being comfortable enough to be all up on each other like that proves that they are in fact friends and close and she *doesn't* just hate him and feel uncomfortable around him.

[professional-rat-eater]

Let’s just be super clear. If you ship Daniel and Armand and you genuinely believe it wasn’t a horribly abusive relationship, then you are reading their relationship wrong and you also believe there are circumstances where relationships between kidnapper/abuser and kidnapped/abused can work. Saying it’s just fiction doesn’t make sense because it still doesn’t exist there.

It’s not about the law, or what was common at the time. The relationship is believable. That definitely happened back in the 1970s. It’s not about whether it could have happened, because those relationships still happen in some places. But just because we don't want to use the medical term for the severe damage being done to Daniel’s mind, does not mean it didn’t happen.

There is no context that you could give that would make a relationship between a regular human (a deeply traumatised one) and a grown powerful abuser healthy. It does not exist, even in fiction. Daniel was an actual human and that isn’t how humans work.

Just call it what it is. If that’s gonna be your thing, be honest about what it actually is. If Daniel himself can acknowledge it, then you should be able to as well. It’s impossible to actually discuss these characters if people are just going to lie and purposely misinterpret them. Daniel’s trauma is literally the entire Devil's Minion thing and Armand is all that there's to it. If Armand isn’t an abusive creep, he is simply not Armand.

LMAO! So for anyone seeing this that didn’t see the post that provoked it, this is word-for-word a post I made about Marius and Armand’s relationship but with the names swapped out for Daniel and Armand.

Hey anon, these are not equivalent and I think you know that. Yes, I’m sure there more people like Daniel who were stalked around the globe by ancient vampires in the 1970s. Maybe there’s enough for them to start a support group for each other. And yes, you’re so right that this is exactly the same as real children who are groomed by real adults in the real world. What a fair and reasonable comparison to make that isn’t at all reductive to both DM and the character you’re trying to defend.

I know you probably think this is the call out post of the century but you’ve neglected to consider a pretty significant detail:

Virtually every Devil’s Minion shipper knows they’re toxic, much like Marius fans who understand him can admit to what he is. I know DM are toxic. If I knew Daniel irl, I would be telling him to get the fuck out of there. We all know Armand is evil and manipulative. It’s literally why we like him. I saw how pathetic and fucked up he was and was immediately enchanted by him. You see the difference between that and the specific Marius fans I talk about? We acknowledge exactly what Armand is and enjoy his character for it. We don’t pretend he isn’t a manipulative murderer. That’s (part of) why we like him. Of course that’s not to say there aren’t those who mischaracterise him too, but you responded to me so I can only speak for myself and what I see my mutuals posting about. I love Armand for what he is. All the good parts, all the bad parts, and that is literally all my Marius post was about. Holy shit. It was the singular point I was actually making. You were so close to getting it. I couldn’t give a fuck who your favourite character is, but quit pretending he’s not everything he is because you’re not a fan of him then. You’re a fan of a fanfic version of him.

I think I’ve probably posted at least a dozen times by now about Armand’s trauma shaping him into a monster, but you used DM so let’s go with that. You what’s particularly interesting about them? The many examples of Armand recreating behaviour Marius subjected him to with Daniel. The love bombing, lavishing him with gifts, being incredibly hot and cold with him emotionally, withholding vampirism from him and eventually turning him when he was dying. They’re a deliberate parallel!! Hello!? Terrible example to use!! It’s almost like traumatised people can in certain cases go on to recreate their trauma to try and make sense of it. You can also see this in Armand’s treatment of Claudia. They could’ve bonded over neglect by their makers and being turned young, but Armand decided to take out his trauma on her instead. I love how fucked up he is. Pretty much every Armand fan who gets him is the same. All DM’s existence proves is that Marius actually did deeply damage Armand’s ability to accept love and how he formed relationships, because he’s a fucking predator in multiple senses of the word. Whataboutism literally doesn’t change a thing. Armand could’ve gone after someone underage too and it still wouldn’t change anything about Marius. If anything, it would’ve reinforced it.

But notice how you were forced to acknowledge that Daniel was in fact a grown adult at the time? If he hadn’t been, the ship wouldn’t be nearly as popular.

Most. People. Don’t. Like. Pedophiles. You can’t be this much of a fan of one and be sensitive about it. I’m sorry to be harsh but it’s literally just the truth. Armand fans get enough shit from people who hate him, and it is only going to be worse if you like Marius. I’m not suggesting that’s okay or that I would dream of contributing to it, but it is going to happen more and more after s3 of the show airs. Prepare for that in whatever way is best for you.

You couldn’t even have your username attached to this. If you’re gonna go so hard to defend your favourite pedo, at least have some conviction about it. No one cares who your favourite character is. Well, I’m sure some people do but those people are weirdos and you should learn to ignore them. Love him as much as you want. I’m actually looking forward to seeing him in season 3, even if he is an utter bastard. Just either quit the mischaracterisation or suck it up and get on board with the fact that even in a fictional setting, and even in gothic horror, people do not vibe with pedophiles and they never will.

[youdontknowe]

Heyyy this is both my therapy and the reason I need therapy so let’s see how much it hurts or helps this week LMAO

* Ehehe standing in the corner like 🧍

* Not the firebird (tbf it has no headlights)

* 😧 he’d be willing to leave BABY? Now that’s a dean in love

* Dean no you cannot play the I was dead card after using I’m on a timer card

* Lol sleepy girly is not waking up yet

* Awh her brain finally processing that he’s back

* lol Bobby always has someone to chew out on their dumb shit

* lol every time skip from sam is just ‘did you get bigger?’

* Ooooo enochian? That is awesome (cue cas and her sharing secret notes to shit talk)

* lol poor sam will never get to know his hair looks good

* I like the detail In translation doesn’t always quite work even if it’s psychological

* Ehehe if I remember correctly she was also compared to a cat (don’t quote me my memory isn’t grand)

* Uhoh I forgot about the whole Sam’s got a problem because of ruby

* I always like how you explain bobbys soul cus it fits his character so well!! Cus of course he’d be something solid cus he’s about the only solid thing for his kids (the boys ain’t johns kids in anything by name in my mind)

* Ooooo Mayhaps they’re like that because chuck has like them as like the most detailed characters? I dunno I could be talking crap

* Pfff dean catching sass off castiel

* Bros doing a lot of bending rules for an angel

* Lmao he doesn’t care she can’t be smited doesn’t even question it he just relaxed like ‘oh thank god(chuck?) that I don’t have to worry about that too’

* By far the most frustrating (in a good way) part of your slow burns is nones allowed to say I love you before like at minimum half way through the fic

* It’s on sight with ruby. She’s catching hands and a magic woodchopper

* Girls trip!! (They’re going to kill something but that’s what really makes a girls trip right?)

* Yesss dragon hoarding gold analogy 10/10

* Lmao at least she’s aware and not ruining Jo’s breakfast with the icky details

* Jo is now getting official little sister shit card for princess

* Lmao “I can see souls, Jo.” I read that in the most deadpan way

* In giggling so hard Jo is just throwing any and all teasing comments about dean whenever she can

* Woohoo Jo your so smart! Really taking after her mentor

* Dean saying please is literally just the magic word to get her to agree to something

* The fact it’s widely known deans obsessed is so funny and yes I agree with Jo I would marry a man who drove from the falls to Texas for me cus I googled it and that’s a minimum 15 hour drive 💀 (America is scary big wtf)

* Damn bro was fast as fuck to get there! He was totally like literally just entering the area and called to get where she was lmao

* Bobby having a topic he will rant for ages about is so dad canon

* Hehehe sleepover ritual is so cute but the image of dean in a face mask - PRICELESS

* Sam being fed up of Dean part 2329473

* I think my favourite little scenes are Dean quietly threatening people whenever princess is asleep on or next to him

* Yk it’s cool to think of like an alternate reality where she IS maybe a bit evil and wants something really big bad to go down and how unstoppable both her and Dean could be, just because he’d do anything for her and it’d be even worse if she guaranteed Sam and people he cares about safe during it

* Sad nightmares :(

* Bro has NO issues getting on his knees for her at any time and I’m living for it. Give me more men on their knees for their girls

* YES more dress content cus she’s rocking silk

* It’s never good when someone gets a bad feeling oh no I’m nervous

* Oh bloody hell it’s a disaster

* OH I like that we’re getting deans pov on what she looks like using her powers

* And back to the shitshow this hunt has become

* I love deans pov in all this it really secures the, chaos- omg she’s so pretty i would die for her- oh shit more chaos

* What’s happening oh no

* I’m panicking people I’m panicking

* OMG IS IT HAPPENING

* ITS HAPPENING AHHHHHH THEY SMOOCHIN

* Shit that was a tasty make out scene

* Lmao that must have been the single most victorious and awkward few minutes for Jo

* Magdalene is a cool asf name

* Ooooooo I love the history lessons and lore drops so much it’s amazing

* Yeah cas bad bad timing but tbf this is probably the best for Dean cus he’s got less things to worry about her hating him for

* Do we get more smoochin action next week? Pretty please

* End note: Dean really needs one of those shiny shock blankets they give out from ambulances n stuff. Hes really just gonna be sitting for weeks trying to wrap his head around the fact she’s seen all that in hell and STILL sticks to him. I love them so much

* It took a a little longer to read this week but I really enjoyed it 💙 im so excited we get to maybe see more physical affection from here cuz it’s finally happeningggg

Chapter 18 - You Can Start to Make It Better

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Return of the swaggy Monster of the Week cases.

Chapter Title from Hey Jude by The Beatles

Word Count: 17.9k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You go home, and try to get back into a rhythm. Usual Warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action

Chapter 17 - Chapter 19

Read on A03!

You have rules.

If you’re going to love Dean, you have to have rules.

To keep yourself sane, and to keep Dean safe.

To ensure that your priority can be making sure Dean stays alive. You can never, ever fail him again, because now that you have him, it will take a biblical tragedy to make you lose him again.

So you have rules.

The first rule comes before the drive home. You stay the night in Texas, but neither of you really sleep. For Dean, it’s so the stiches can set, and for you, it’s so you can feel Dean’s arms around you and hear his heartbeat near your ear, his hand splayed gently over your stomach to monitor the stitches. Then, before the dawn has even fully broken the sky, you go.

Together.

Dean asked you not to run, so now you means you and Dean, together.

He goes to pick you up some non-bloodstained clothing—you’d slept in his shirt, and you’d both silently agreed not to talk about it—as you get the coffee, and when you start to change he takes a tall, rigid stance facing the door. It’s almost adorable, how he’s fidgeting with the cuffs of his jacket and glowering at the walls. Like he’s somehow trying to preserve your modesty.

“We’re taking my car.” Dean mutters, and you freeze with one leg in the sweatpants.

“Dean, I’m not just leaving the Firebird.“

“Yeah, you are.”

“You gave me that car-“

“I’ll send Sammy back for it.” He snaps. “He’ll bus down and drive it back up, and you’ll stay with me.”

You roll your eyes, standing up straight as you finish with the sweats. “You never let Sam drive Baby, why is my car different-“

“Because.” Dean grunts, shooting you a glare as you shuffle over to his side. “I am not letting you drive back to Sioux Falls by yourself after you just got fucking shot, Princess. We’re leaving the Firebird.”

“You can be really dramatic, Deano, you know that?”

His lips twitch slightly. “It’s not dramatic to make sure you don’t bleed out somewhere in Oklahoma, Princess.”

“See, you sound dramatic-“

“And you’re not driving yourself home. Give it up.”

You pout up at him, putting on your best, innocent, sweet expression. “But my car, De. Please-“

“I don’t give a shit about your car.” He grumbles, and that breaks you in a second.

You could see the clench of his jaw and fists, hear the resolve in his voice, and this wasn’t a fight you were going to win. If Dean is valuing you over the car, you’d lost before the conversation even started.

It wasn’t like you really cared either way. If it were up to you, you’d climb onto Dean’s body and never be peeled away from him again.

“What about your car?” You hum, just to selfishly press a little further, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“If that’s what it’s gonna take to get your ass back home, we’ll take the freakin’ Firebird instead. But,” he narrows his eyes at you. “I’m driving, and you’re resting, and that’s it.”

You stare at him, and it creeps right up to the edge of your tongue. You love him. So much. Desperately and eternally, because he cares. More than anyone. All the time. You’ve seen him almost shoot people for looking at the Impala wrong, he’s willing to leave it in fucking Texas for you, and you can see how serious he is in his Gold—solid and burning in his body—and you love him-

“Dean, you don’t need to-“

“I do.” He grumbles, starting to herd you out the door. “I’ll carry you home on fucking foot, if I have to. You’re more important-“

“Than a car?!” 

Dean shoots you a glare, you offer him a soft, teasing smile, and he sighs. “And you’ve got the nerve to call me dramatic.”

“Bold words from the man who just said he’d carry me home on foot.” You hum, and Dean finally grins.

Wide and pretty and unrestrained, staring at you in the breaching light of the morning that’s somehow less golden than he is, and here. Alive.

Not yours, but with you. 

And you love him. 

“I missed you, Princess.” He mutters, and it’s a good thing you’re already half-pressed into his side. Otherwise, you would’ve fallen over.

“I missed you too,” you whisper, and Dean’s grin is beautiful, and there’s the first rule.

This can’t be about you. He’s too pretty and magnetic and Golden, and you love him, but if you’re going to keep loving him it can’t be about you.

“We can take Baby.” You mumble. “I- That was nice, though.”

“No problem.” Dean rubs the back of his neck, and you could swear there was a slight redness to his cheeks before he looked away. “I, uh- Yeah. C’mon.”

Dean half carries you to the car, because he’s an amazing idiot who really seems to think that if he takes his hand off your body for a second, you’ll vanish into thin air.

You understand the sentiment. It’s the same reason that, when you stop for gas after a few hours and he tells you to stay in the car, you shake your head and start to open the door.

“What are you-“

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, I told you to stay-“

“You’re not the boss of me.” You mutter, twisting to glare at him when his arm crosses your chest, pinning you to the seat. “I want a shitty gas station donut, Winchester. Let me go.”

He doesn’t move. “I’ll get you one, sweetheart, just stay-“

“Listen to me.” You snap, leaning forward with a scowl. “If you don’t let me out, I am going to break out, stab you, and sit on you while I eat my donut.”

Dean’s eyes widen slightly, and a small smirk creeps onto his face. “Bossy, Princess.”

“Dean Winchester-“

“Chill out,” he drawls your name, his arm moving back and leaving an almost whining depression where he’d been touching you before. “I’m not looking to get stabbed today, you can get your own freakin’ donut.”

You smile at him in triumph, Dean snorts and shakes his head, and you really don’t give a fuck about the donut. You care about Dean, guiding you inside with a hand on your lower back, muttering low jokes in your ear as you wait in the shockingly long line, and grinning at you like there’s nobody else in the world.

Dean plays his music too loud in the car on the drive back, trying to get you to sing along and pouting whenever you refuse.

“You know, this isn’t very nice,” he grumbles after the fifth attempt. “I just came back from the dead, Princess, the least you could do is sing for me.”

You shoot him glare, the Silver whining in your body at the reminder. “The I was dead card isn’t going to work on me, Deano. I don’t think it’s funny.”

“It’s a little funny.” He shrugs. “C’mon. I think I’m making it work.”

“You’re not.” You mutter, wrapping your arms around your stomach, and Dean drops it like that.

You don’t know if he gets it. The toll his death took on you. And you’re going to do everything in your power to ensure he never knows—that’s just another burden you don’t want him to carry—but there are things you can’t keep him from seeing. 

How you get quiet whenever he mentions it, because the numb feeling of nothing, Dean’s gone so there’s nothing, washes back over your body. The fact that you know you don’t look healthy, because even with the Silver humming once more in your body, you still have bruises from malnutrition and rashes on your wrists from where Ketch tied you up. There’s a gaunt quality to your skin that wasn’t there when he last saw you, and you might not be trying to force the Silver down anymore, but the habit of picking your skin raw is too deeply ingrained to go away.

You have gotten better at the healing, over the past four months. But the weakness from being held captive hasn’t faded away, and it means that you’re too tired to do most anything but rest, and talk to Dean.

You can always talk to Dean. 

He’s keeping his voice softer than usual. Almost gentle, as your eyelids start to droop, and his word fade in and out of your head.

“I’m gonna pull over.” He mutters after another few hours. “Check your stitches.”

You hum, and don’t bother to do anything but wait for Dean to park the car and move so he’s kneeling on the grass before you, then let him maneuver your body, so your stomach is under the flashlight in his mouth.

All your effort goes into trying not to moan, when his fingers brush over your skin. Warm and broad and calloused, so careful when they touch you, like you’re something that could possibly be broken.

You don’t care if the Sky sees this. If it hates it, or doesn’t care because Dean’s keeping you safe and alive. 

You’re for Dean. Nothing and no one else. He’s the one who sits you up carefully and presses a kiss to your brow, before making you drink water and settling you upright once more. Dean is the only person in the universe who, when he scoots back into the driver’s seat and slings his arm around your shoulders, you’d ever even consider leaning into.

Sleep comes easy and peaceful, on Dean’s shoulder, the music humming softly in the background and the Silver flowing softly through the world as Dean drives you home.

It’s twilight, when he wakes you up. Everything is cast in deep shades of blue, and the shadows have grown a little longer in the night, but there’s no pain or fear in your body at all.

It’s all still technicolor. 

Dean’s still here.

And you’re curled right into his side, and you can hear his heartbeat, and everything is okay.

“You wanna go right to bed?” He mutters in your ear, and you blink up at him as sleep lingers over your brain.

“Huh?”

Dean huffs a soft laugh, looking at you with an odd gentleness you don’t understand, but are going to cling to for the rest of your life.

“De, I-“ You cut yourself off with a yawn, burrowing yourself a little further into his side because he’s warm and alive and you’re too tired to stop yourself. “What’s happening?”

“We’re back at Bobby’s, Princess.” Dean watches you carefully, his voice still so strongly low and soft. “And Sammy told me they’d wait up, if you wanted, but if you wanna go to bed, we can sleep in your room, or the room I’ve been using. If you, uh, if you want me in the bed, obviously. We can separate and I can take the couch if you want my room-“

You shake your head, moving your hand to press over Dean’s mouth. 

He blinks at you, and you only stare at him through a slight daze.

“Slow down, Deano, you’re talking so fast.” Your voice sounds whiny to your own ears, but Dean doesn’t really look like he cares, and you’re so tired. “‘M tired, I don’t know what you’re saying.”

Dean grabs your hand and slowly lowers it down, his eyes dancing with a soft light. “You’re tired, sweetheart?”

You nod, dropping your head to his shoulder, and he lets out a low chuckle that rolls through your body. 

“Alright, you’re doing bed then.”

You frown against his body. “What’s doing bed mean.”

“Means you’re acting like you’re freakin’ drunk, ba- Princess.” Dean starts to shift you around until you might be in his lap—the world is all blurry color and Dean, so you can’t really tell—and sighs in your ear. “So Sam and Bobby will just have to wait till morning.”

“Sam and Bobby. Where are-” Your words die as you lean back, and Dean’s face is right there. A breath from yours, and pretty, and there’s so much life in his eyes—all beautiful and so focused on you—that you almost burst into tears.

“Wait, shit-“ Dean grabs your face with one hand, the other keeping you steady by your waist, and that’s enough. Your eyes start to sting, and a weak noise leaves your chest as the Silver pours out into the world.

You’re the easy wind outside the car, the gentle comfort of the Impala—warm and filled with love from Dean’s care—and the soft hope of a lightbulb outside, covered in moths and flickering but still holding out to draw something else into its light. 

You’re not Dean, but you’re curled right against him, and when your eyes flick down to your hands they’re covered in gold, and Dean-

“Fuck, Princess, don’t cry- It’s- I didn’t mean to- Oof-“

You tackle your body fully into his, somehow finding force without movement, and Dean’s arms wrap tight around you in half a second as you sob.

“You died.” Your hands fist against his shirt, and there’s too much dizzy, sleepy fog over your brain for you to do anything else but sob and hold onto Dean. “You- you were gone, and you died, and I couldn’t- I tried but I couldn’t- And you- You were in Hell, and I didn’t-“

You cut yourself off with another strangled sound, and Dean’s hand starts to stroke through your hair.

“I know. But I’m good now.” he mutters in your ear, and it’s soothing. Like a lullaby that’s a little more. A promise. “I know, Princess I do, but you’re okay. We’re gonna get you to bed, sweetheart, you’re real tired and it’s- It’s okay.”

Dean pries you off his chest as you continue to sniffle, his thumb presses to the bridge of your nose, and it’s like a spell. 

The Silver eases back into your body, and you’re out. 

When you wake up, sunlight is filtering through the room. Your room.

You’re back in your own room.

It hasn’t really changed. Bobby seems to have cleaned up all your notes from the floor, and the sheets are fresh and changed, but everything else is as you left it, save for a slight coat of dust.

And Dean.

The last time you’d slept in this room, Dean had been at your side, but he’s not here now.

The only thing that keeps the Silver from bursting out of your body and ripping through the world to find him is the Gold. Bright and strong and covering your whole room, imprinted on the mattress and all across your clothing, a soft lining of it on the door knob and over the carpet. 

Dean is alive. The Spiderweb is soft and iridescent in your body, so he’s still alive, and he’d been here because only Dean is Golden like that.

It wasn’t just a cruel nightmare or trick of your mind, that he’d come to get you, and-

Oh, fuck.

You’re not tired now, but god, you had been when you got home, and you’d fallen apart from nothing at all. Fragile and uncontrolled and sobbing into Dean’s arms when he was the one who fucking died.

And he’d held you, but you’d been far too close. If he hadn’t somehow eased you to sleep, you probably mumbled that you loved him, in your exhaustion. And he had so many other things to worry about, all far more important than you. Dean shouldn’t be responsible for soothing you whenever you lose your fucking mind-

But he had. Because he was amazing, and Dean, and has always had you  when you lost your fucking mind.

You love him.

Second rule.

You can’t overindulge yourself.

If Dean volunteers to care for you, you’ll take it because you’ll never have enough will to not. But you can never ask for more, when he already gives so much. If you ask for more and he gives it, that won’t be love. It will be selfishness, and greed, and the monster in you hoarding him like the gold he is because you love him, and nothing should ever touch him again. 

Instead you’ll be his beast. Snarling and marching in front of him and taking whatever scraps he throws to you. If Dean asks to keep sleeping in your bed, there’s no world where you say no. If he wants to carry you around and stitches up your wounds and hug you in his lap, you’ll keep pressing your face to his shoulder and drowning yourself in his Gold until he either shoves you away, or you start to infect him and you have to put yourself down.

Castiel said you’d already infected him. That you’d embedded yourself in him.

He’d seemed fine. There were all those new parts of the Gold, and the way that the rivers of Silver were glowing and secured through his body, but if that was what Castiel had been talking about, Dean didn’t seem to be fighting it or rejecting it from his soul. 

That could be part of the no overindulging. What you’d planted in Dean seems to have grown roots, and there was no taking that back, but it ends there. With the only exception of saving his life, the Silver will never touch him again. Especially with how little control over it you still have.

When you see Castiel again, you’ll have to ask him what he knows about souls. He’s the first other not-person you’ve met who ca see them. 

As your brain starts to fully kick back into its normal gear—devoid of weeks without sleep and months of being plagued by Dean’s voice on the wind—it hits you that you really need to talk to Castiel again. He’s a fucking angel. Angels are real, and one had saved Dean, and all the Hell dreams were real too, which has to mean something, but you don’t know what, and Castiel hadn’t seemed to know what either, but he was an angel, so he has to know something-

One thing at a time. 

Too much is happening, and you’ll get through it—you always do—but you still had to go one thing at a time.

And you’re home.

You shuffle out of the bedroom on silent feet, and you can hear them before you can see them.

“I still don’t know why I have to go to Texas.” Sam’s voice mutters from the kitchen. “You’re the one who made her leave her car there-“

“She’d been bleeding out, Sammy, I wasn’t gonna just let her fucking drive-“

“But-“

“Sam.” Bobby’s voice grunts, and you can hear the exhaustion in it. You can’t really tell if the gnawing feeling in your gut is guilt of relief. “I’m with Dean on this one.”

“Thank you, Bobby-“

“Not cause you made the right call, ya’ idjit.” Bobby snaps, and you can very easily picture Dean’s dejected puppy look. “If you’d used your fuckin’ brain, you wouldn’t have taken off the moment Cas found her, and one of us coulda driven it back behind you.”

“But, uh, I still did the right thing with the stitches and driving-“

“Stop fishin’ for compliments. You’re lucky I don’t shoot you for only callin’ us two hours before you got back.”

“I was busy,” Dean mutters, Sam snorts, and you finally turn into the kitchen. 

Dean sees you first, but Bobby’s close behind, and once they’re both staring at you, Sam follows their gaze with wide eyes.

“Hi.” You mumble, keeping one hand on the doorframe to steady yourself. “I- uh- sorry.”

It’s all you can think of to say.

And it turns out it’s all you need, because the words hang in the air for a fraction of a second before Bobby’s marching across the room and you’re pulled into a long firm hug.

You hug him back without a thought, and his grip tightens. You can almost feel all of Bobby’s anger and stress and relief pressing into your body, and you’ve been a really shitty daughter but he’s still hugging you, and there’s no urge to let go.

It’s the same way he’d hug you when you were a kid. When you’d make the house go haywire, then curl into a corner and cry for hours. The hug that meant, even though you’d made a huge mess for him to clean up, Bobby was just glad you hadn’t killed yourself in the process. 

And you hadn’t.

But when Bobby speaks, his voice is still gruff.

“Don’t ever fuckin’ do that to me again, kiddo.” He mutters, low enough for only you to hear, and he knows you don’t need to hear the rest of the lecture. About how you damn near killed him, and he doesn’t need to lose you and Dean, so next time you should just come home. You can feel it all in his hug, and that’s enough.

“I won’t.” You whisper, squeezing him a little tighter. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I know.” Bobby pulls back, scanning over you with a tight frown. “You gonna tell us what had you off the face of the damn earth and needin’ stitches?”

You nod, rubbing your wrists as you speak. “I will later.” You lean around Bobby to see Sam still gaping at you from his chair. “Hi, Sam.”

Sam pushes out of his chair without another word, and Bobby barely side-steps him before you’re in another death-gripping hug, Sam almost crushing you into his body.

“Did you get bigger?” You mutter into his chest, and Sam snorts.

“I’ve had a weird seven months.” 

“Ah.” You lean back, and Sam stares down at you, but doesn’t let go. “Same.”

He swallows, and something flashes over his face that you don’t understand. “I, um- I’m sorry I didn’t look for you. Dean was gone, and I knew you’d take it worse than anyone, and you were kind of all I had left of him, so I really should’ve tried harder-“

“Sam.” You offer him a soft smile. “It’s okay. I didn’t make myself an easy person to find.”

He nods, taking a slow step back, and Dean clears his throat.

“Can I have a hug too, Princess?”

You give him a flat look. “I’ve hugged you three times already.”

“Yeah, but I also drove you home, I think that’s earning me another one-“

“I’m not running a hug-based economy, Winchester, they’re fucking free-“

Dean almost crashes into you, and you hadn’t realized how different Dean hugging you really was until you felt them all back-to-back. 

Sam and Bobby had been firm, and almost strangling, but they hadn’t been trying to move you into their body. They hadn’t rested their chin on the top of your head, or moved your face to press into their necks, and you hadn’t tilted your head to try and hear their heartbeats. 

Sam and Bobby had stepped back, after the socially allotted amount of time.

Even after Sam lets out a very loud cough, Dean still squeezes you one last time, and keeps his hand between your shoulder blades as he moves away.

That wasn’t overindulging. Dean had hugged you, and you’d only responded to the pace he’d set. You’d sunken a little further down, down, down into Dean because he’d given you to chance, and you’d curled your fingers at the nape of his neck because the situation called for it.

Still, you have to set another two rules.

Third, you can’t let it show on your face, where Sam and Bobby and anyone else who knows where to look can see. When Dean keeps talking—and he’s right next you, and you love him, and he’s so pretty—you can’t just stare at him with a stupid smile and soft, adoring eyes. It has to be business as usual, no matter what, where you love Dean and it’s kept locked in the Spiderweb.

Fourth, you can’t let it affect work. At all. You have to fucking pay attention as they fill you in on the seals, heaven and Lilith, some guy named Chuck wrote those books, and a girl named Anna who’s now a missing angel.

“Oh, wait, get this.” Sam leans forward, his eyes wide on yours. “Where’s the Blade and your book, there’s-“

You cut Sam off with a long sigh. “I lost them.” 

“You- How?”

“Hunters.” You mutter, twisting the skin on your finger, and Dean’s eyes narrow.

“You got a clue where they are, Princess?”

“Yes.”

Dean opens his mouth to push it, but Sam cuts him off before he gets the chance.

“Well, alright, Dean says you can write in the language too-“

You frown. “What language?”

“Cas and Uriel called it Enochian.” Dean mutters, running his hand over his face. “Angel language.”

“Angel what?”

“You heard him, kiddo.” Bobby shrugs at you, and you must still be clouded with sleep, because there’s no fucking way-

“I speak angel?”

“Yeah, but,” Sam sighs, frowning at the air. “We don’t know why, so if you’ve got something-“

You shake your head. “I’m not an angel, Sam, if that’s where you’re-“

“It’s not. Anna was a secret angel, and that was worked out in a month.” Sam sighs, running a hand through his hair. It’s gotten really long, but—and he’ll never get to hear this—it suits him. “It’s just better than nothing, right? Did you find anything new on, you know…”

You huff a soft laugh as Sam trails off. “Yeah, I know. And sort of. It’s- I was sort of visiting a bunch of witches-“

Dean pushed off the counter with wide eyes. “You were what-“

“Calm down, Deano.” You give him a firm look, and he scowls, but shuts his mouth. “None of them hurt me. They all treated me like I was some sort of royalty. It was really fucking weird.”

Dean frowns, opening his mouth to say something that’s likely going to be adorable and unhelpful, but Bobby beats him to the punch.

“They give you anythin’ to go off of? If they were treatin’ you like that, they had to know somethin’-“

You shake your head with a long sigh. “They didn’t have a fucking clue either. One older one, like really old, said the name for what I was is lost, but-“ Your eyes widen. “Fuck.”

“What-“

You shake your head, and Sam cuts himself off as you stare ahead into nothing and rub your wrists, letting your brain turn over the chance. It’s lining up, and it’s less than a gamble and more of a risk, but there’s no fucking way it’s that easy-

Dean says your name in a low, careful voice. “What are you thinking?”

“You remember how I thought the soulweapons were solemn oath weapons? And you told me that solemn oath means soul?” You run your thumb against your palm, and Dean nods. “I thought that was just, you know, whoever wrote it being weird or something. But if it really is a different language-“

“It is.” Sam mumbles, and you sigh. 

“Okay, but that means I’ve been translating in my head for some fucking reason, and what if I’ve been mistranslating other words like that?”

Sam frowns. “Like what?”

“Like you’ve been makin’ them literal.” Bobby grunts, giving you a small smile and nod, and you stand a little taller. “You thinkin’ of another word you need worked out?”

“Yeah.” You swallow. “Are you guys still kind of fighting with Castiel, or is he going to take a, uh, prayer?”

“He’ll take it if we say we’ve got something interesting. He’s nosy.” Dean starts to guide you to the table. “He’s kinda like a cat. Comes and goes. You’ll like him.”

You give Dean a sweet smile, biting down the words that you already met him, and he did seem a little like a cat. It’s not a lie. It’s an omission.

And that’s bad within itself, but at least until you see Castiel again—and he gets real fucking specific about what the angels have been waiting for means—you’ll have to keep omitting. 

Even if Dean pulls out a chair and helps you into your seat, and the Silver twists because there’s still some muss in his hair from sleep, and he’s still touching you, and you love him.

“I can walk myself, you know.” You raise your brows at him, and he shrugs, dropping in the seat between you and Sam.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Princess.”

“We both know you won’t-“

“Sammy, can we have some paper?” Sam passes Dean a sheet from his notebook, and it’s slid in front of you with a pen.

You blink at Dean, and he sighs, grabbing the pen and moving it into your hands.

“Write down what you want Cas to look at.” He mutters, tapping the paper. “So when we call him, we’ve got something to show him.”

“Oh.” You whisper, glancing down to the paper. “Right. Smart.”

You could swear Dean sits a little taller, his face breaking out in an even wider grin, and the rest of breakfast slides by fast. You do some loose, more pointless catchup about the past months—Sam found some new books he can show you, Bobby’s being a butthead and won’t tell you if he’s been dating, and Dean won’t stop reminding Sam that he needs to get moving to Texas soon—and for long, beautiful seconds, it’s hard to remember that you were gone at all.

But there’s evidence. Proof only you can see that you’ve change. That you’ve all changed.

Dean’s soul is still Golden, even if parts of it are to clearly new and molten from being mended, and Bobby’s soul is still green—although a little more worn, which is going to keep eating at your stomach—but Sam is…

Different. 

There’s more red, even when you give him a quick glance. It’s like blood seeping over his softer tissue and bone, and there’s certainly far less blue to his purple than before. It looks a little like an infection. It’s raw and malignant the same way the Darkness was, and the Silver doesn’t like it. It’s still setting off and keening to spread out over you in an almost chemical reaction. To burst and bubble and flow until all the red is gone, because it’s wrong.

You can’t really think of a good way to mention that to Sam. You’ve never told someone that their soul looks infected before. 

A problem for a later.

Because right now, as you finish up with the word—it takes longer than you’d like, but you’ve never tried to write in Enochian, and it takes an odd amount of effort to separate it in your brain—and you take the time to look at their souls fully, you see it.

Bobby’s soul is firm and pact, like the soil of the ground. Unwavering and firm, but not cold like stone. 

But Sam and Dean aren’t anything you’ve ever seen.

You’d noticed it, when Dean found you, but you’d been tired and chalked it up to exhaustion. Yet you’ve slept, and you’re looking with the intent of seeing, and they’re not anything.

Or they’re everything.

You can’t really tell.

But whatever they’re made of, it’s the same. It’s all light and shadow, shifting and turning like a star inside of them, and almost pure looking. Like it’s raw, but still made from something old. 

You can’t stare. If you stare, they’ll ask questions that you don’t have an answer for. Whatever it is, they’ve been made of it their whole lives, so it’s not another change.

And the changes all fit themselves—except for Sam’s, you’re a little worried about him—but they also still fit each other. You can see that too. How Sam’s soul is running with wisps of Bobby’s green, deeper coatings of gold that look a little like stitches over the redness, and a thin layer of silver that’s flowing through and off of him without leaving any scratches. The marks of silver are on Bobby as well, although a little brighter and further into the muscle of his soul, and then Dean-

Embedded.

You’re embedded in Dean. The rivers of silver as refracting with rainbow and have been almost buried in the Gold, and that’s what Castiel meant.

You don’t get to ask him about it when he arrives.

The introduction is quick. Dean says your name, Castiel—Cas is quicker, and suits him a little better—gives you a short nod, and you both stare at each other for a long second as Dean keeps talking. 

“We just need you to take a look at it.” He taps the paper, and Cas’ eyes flick away from yours, down to the paper.

“That is it?”

You nod, glancing down to the words. Word. When you’ve focused on writing it in Enochian, it’s obviously one word, no matter how it keeps shifting off the paper into four. “I, uh, I might have been giving it a literal translation, because nobody ever actually taught me what I was writing. I didn’t even know I was writing in a different language.”

“Enochian is… very old and complex.” Cas mutters, moving to frown down at the paper. “I do recognize this word, but I’m afraid I don’t know what it means.”

Dean frowns. “How can you not know what it means, it’s your freakin’ magic language-“

“Do you know every word in the English dictionary, Dean?” Cas gives him a bored, pointed look, and you have to cover your mouth to hide your giggle.

“No.” He grumbles, shooting you a glare. “And you’re supposed to be on my side, Princess.“

“I am.” You shrug. “But that was funny.”

Dean rolls his eyes, and Cas keeps staring down at the paper.

"There are some things I will have to check before I give you an answer." Cas turns to look at you, his words slow and cautious. "But I warn you, what I find may not be what you wish to hear."

"As long as it's something." You mutter, leaning back in your chair. "I really don't give a fuck what."

It's a few more minutes where Cas lingers in the kitchen, talking about some new seal Lilith is trying to break, and telling you that—wherever he has to look for the direct translation of your word—it may take him a few weeks to do it undetected.

"Won't the angels want us to figure it out?" Sam asks, frowning down at your paper. "I mean, you told Dean that not even you guys really know-"

"None of my siblings within my rank know." Cas corrects, shaking his head. "It is not information that has been deemed necessary. Our only orders are to keep out of it.”

"Then what's got you suddenly all in on helping her?" Dean raises his brows, and Cas shrugs.

"I am... curious. My brothers and sisters are dying, and if this is what I think it may be-“ Cas sighs. “I am willing to bend things. For this alone. And as long as we are careful, and the seal is dealt with-"

"Your big bosses won't be all pissed.” Dean finishes, running a hand over his face. "I dunno, Cas, that douchebag at Chuck's didn't seem too flexible about things."

"Aw." You give Dean a soft, teasing smile before Cas has to respond. "You're worried about him getting in trouble."

Dean scowls. "Yeah, because they'll freakin' smite him or something, Princess. Then maybe try to get you too-"

"They cannot smite her.” Cas shrugs. “They’ve been very clear about that. It would not be effective.” 

You swallow, but Dean relaxes. That opens up a million more questions, but Dean lets out a slow breath and presses his knee further into yours, and you almost say it again. 

And you know that there has to be a last rule. 

It’s most important of all. 

You can never say it aloud. 

It won’t bring Dean anything but more danger. More grief. Everything is only growing more and more complicated, and telling Dean you love him will only be cruel to you both. Telling someone else will force them to keep your secret, and that’s selfish. 

It will have to live in your head. Where only you can hear. Not even the mirror can know, because the Sky might be listening, and you never want it to touch Dean. 

You love him. 

You’re going to have to find a way to tell yourself that in more silence, because it’s not helpful to repeat. You’re aware. It’s a given. You love Dean.

And you don’t know how you convince him to go without you for the seal case. It’s a lot of promises of phone calls and check-ins, plus the fact that Ruby’s going to be there, and Sam is—rightfully—under the impression that you’ll kill the moment you see her.

“She left me at the gas station. She’s the reason I didn’t get to Dean on time.” You hiss to Sam—Dean, Cas, and Bobby wrapping up in the kitchen—and he sighs.

“She got kicked out of her vessel by Lilith.” He mutters your name, and you scoff. 

You don’t believe him. 

More accurately, you don’t believe what Ruby’s told him. 

But it’s still the right call to sit out the seal case. The angels are still hunting you. Cas is likely risking a fair amount by looking into the Enochian, and it’s better not to draw attention while things are still so fragile. You lie low at Bobby’s for a few days while Sam gets the Firebird, and you keep to your rules. Dean sleeps in your bed, but you only hold him when he holds you first. He hovers at your side like your stitches may rip open if you breathe wrong, and you keep your glances at him measured and controlled, your flush under complete control.

When Jo calls you with a case—bunch of deaths at an opera house, sounding like a lich—you agree to it in a second.

It doesn’t matter how the Silver howls at the idea of leaving Dean’s side. It can’t affect work, and you miss Jo, so even as Dean glowers at you when you hang up, you’re going to go on that hunt.

“I can’t just sit here, De.” You mutter before he can even open his mouth. “Cas said it could take a week, and if the angels are looking for me I shouldn’t be doing the seals-“

“You safer here.” He cuts you off with a grunt. “There are wards, and Bobby can watch you-“

“I don’t need watching. And you don’t get to fucking bench me-“

“I’m not- Son of a bitch.” Dean lets out a long breath, leaning forward and holding your gaze. “Just come with us. I really don’t give a shit if you kill Ruby, I’m all for it, but you just got back-“

“Dean.” You sigh, keeping your tone soft. “I’m not leaving. You and Sam will work the seal, and I’ll be with Jo the whole time.”

“But-“

“She asked me to help. I’m going to. And,” you give him a pointed look. “You can’t stop me. You can either go with Sam, or come on this case with me, but you’re not keeping me here.”

“Bossy.” Dean mutters, and you’ve won.

You want to lean forward and kiss him—at least on the cheek as a thanks—but that would be overindulging. 

Sam’s back by that night, and when the morning comes, you split up once more.

“Call me if it goes south.” Dean mutters your name as you stand in front of the Impala, Sam already in the passenger’s seat.

“It won’t. I know what I’m doing, Winchester-“

“Yeah, I know, just-“ He sighs. “You heading out to New York?”

“Boston.” You correct. “Citizen’s Opera House. We’ll be fine, and you guys can join us if you finish first.”

Dean gives a tight nod and, right before he turns to climb into the Impala, he whips around and pulls you right back into a crushing hug.

You hug him back without a thought, and it’s not breaking a rule. He hugged you. 

“Come with us.” He mutters in your ear. “Fuck the angels and Ruby, it’s safer together-“

“Not for this, De.” You force yourself to peel back, giving him a soft, sad smile. “And I’ll be with Jo. She’ll have a gun.”

Dean’s mouth twitches slightly. You’ll take it.

He presses a kiss to your brow before he takes off, and you really are a monster. A dragon. Taking every bit of Gold Dean gives you and only craving more. You can’t let it show on your face, but he’s driving away, and you want him to turn around. 

He looks back. You see him glancing in the rearview mirror, and it’s all you can do to keep the Silver in your body as he vanishes down the road.

He’ll be fine. Sam won’t let him get hurt, won’t let him be taken away from you, even if Ruby’s there. And you did miss Jo—grinning at you from the motel sidewalk as you pull into the parking lot—but this might have been a mistake.

Because more than anyone, you want to tell Jo. 

The biggest point of the case—at least to you—is to mimic some normalcy. Sam and Dean are trying to stop Lilith from something to do with flowers blooming at night, and if you can’t be with them, you can’t just do nothing. And lich are easy—up until the very end—so most of the case can just be you and Jo talking, like nothing in the world is wrong at all.

“It’s like a scavenger hunt.” You tell her over breakfast, flipping through the evidence she’s already found. “It’ll have a bunch of artifacts it’s tethered its lifeforce to, and once we burn all of those, we find the lich and burn it.”

Jo frowns. “Will it be easy to tell? If it’s a magic corpse?”

“It can illusion itself.” You shrug. “But it’ll just be an illusion, so-“ You pause, glancing down at Jo’s eggs. “I’ll tell you later.”

She grimaces. “It’s gonna be real freakin’ gross, isn’t it.”

“I think it’ll be better if I don’t answer that.”

“Great.” Jo sighs, poking at her plate with her fork. “Ya know, I didn’t think Dean was gonna just let you go off alone.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say nothin’-“

“Yeah, but I know where you’re going with it.”

“What?” Jo gives you a mockingly innocent smile. “That you two should save us all and start suckin’ face- Shit!”

You laugh as she barely manages to doge one of your apple slices, aim right at her head. 

“Fuckin’- I just did my hair-“

“Well I warned you.” You stick out your tongue, a wide grin still splitting your face. “I told you to shut up, and you didn’t.”

“You just don’t want to hear the truth-“

“Because it’s not the truth.”

“God, you’re fuckin’ stupid for the smartest person I know.”

You scowl. “Hey-“

Jo cuts you off with raised brows. “How many times Dean called you, since you guys split up?”

You flush, and do the smart and mature thing.

Ignore her.

But it still scratches at your tongue. You want to tell Jo. To lean forward and whisper that you love Dean, like it’s not something complicated. Like you’re just two girls in your twenties, eating greasy diner food and gossiping about crushes and other pointless, normal things.

You’re not, though. The very next thing you do is grab your knife and a set of matches, then get in the car to go kill a magic corpse. 

The first day really is just a scavenger hunt.

“This place is freakin’ fancy,” Jo mutters in your ear, adjusting the black cap on her head, and you hum in agreement.

“Just act like you belong.” You whisper, scanning over the lobby. “We’re new staff. I’m in hair and makeup, you do sound.”

“I don’t know how to do sound-“

“You don’t have to know.” You shrug. “We just need as much backstage access as we can get.”

“Right. Smart.”

You shoot her a grin. “I know.”

Jo scoffs. “Shut up. How are we gonna know what’s one of those life-objects?”

“The normal effort is a lot of cutting your hand and seeing if the object eats your blood-“

“Eats your blood-“

“But.” You raise your brows, and Jo sighs. 

“You’ve got something else, don’t you.”

“Nope.” You give her a wide grin. “You’ve got me. And the life force is just a faded and split form of their souls. So…”

You spread your arms, and Jo just stares at you. “So what?”

“I can see souls, Jo.”

“Oh, shit, that’s right.” She gives you a grimacing smile. “I kinda forgot. Lot been happenin’ this year.”

“Yeah. That’s fair.” You let out a long sigh, rubbing your palm as you scan around the lobby. “Ready?”

Jo nods, and for such a fancy place, it’s shockingly easy to lie your way into a fake job. 

“I didn’t know we had new people.” The small, pretty girl—sitting at the front desk with a bow in her hair—smiles between you and Jo, and you’ve never seen someone’s teeth be so white. “They never tell me anything, though, so don’t worry about it.”

“They didn’t tell us much either,” you give her an innocent nervous smile, glancing back to Jo over your shoulder. “Do you know where we’re supposed to go?”

The girl waves her hand. “Just walk into the stage. If someone yells at you, tell them to actually tell Lacy things instead of just expecting her to deal.” She pauses. “I’m Lacy, by the way.”

“I guessed that.” You glance to the doors. “Just walk inside?”

“Yeah, um, wait-“ Lacy slides two badges across the desk. “Take these, and uh, be careful. We’ve been having a lot of accidents.”

You blink like you have no clue what she’s talking about, passing Jo one of the badges. “Accidents?”

“There’s been a lot of crew deaths, right?” Jo jumps in with a perfect, fake-worried expression. “Is it gonna be affectin’ the jobs?”

She’s gotten really good at this.

You’re proud.

Lacy shakes her head. “No, bosses say it’s business as usual. Just really bad luck.”

Bad luck doesn’t usually end up making corpses look like they’ve been dead five years. 

Lacy doesn’t need to worry about that.

“Jesus fuckin’ Mary.” Jo’s eyes widen as you step into the house, the stage large and shining ahead of you, rows of red velvet seats around you. “Can we actually just work here? For real?”

You snort. “After we kill the undead wizard, sure.” 

“Right.” She gives you a teasing look. “You think Dean would wanna work mechanics, so you can stay together-“

“I’m going to push you off the balcony.” You say in a flat tone, marching up towards the stage, and Jo laughs before running after you.

“That’s fuckin’ rude!”

“I’m not listening!” You call over your shoulder, not bothering to hide your smile, and push yourself up onto the stage. “There’s nothing in here, by the way.”

“What’d you-“

“No souls.” 

“Oh. Yeah.” Jo climbs up to your side, frowning around the house. “You know, I can play a mean triangle. Maybe they’d take me. Or- Dean told me you can sing, we can run away with the circus-“

“This is the literal opposite of a circus.” You mutter, turning to scan over the stage. “And Dean’s never heard me sing.”

You’re walking before Jo can push it further, because every single mention of Dean is going to make you want to tell her, and you can’t let this distract you from the job.

Lich cases really are easy, when you know what you’re doing. The first thing you find is a delicate, old hand mirror in a dressing room—crawling and twisting with faded gray tendrils—and Jo throws it against the wall before you can stop her.

“That do it?”

You poke one of the shards with your foot, and let out a long sigh. “Yeah. Somehow it did.”

“Awesome.” Jo grins at you, turning around the room with her gun in hand. “Now we fight?”

“There are going to be like, two or three more you know.”

“Three?” Jo gapes at you, and you snort. 

“Yep. Nothing else in here, though.” You start back towards the door, poking your head out the hall to check for other staff. “Jo?”

She sighs from behind you. “No more smashin’?”

You give her an apologetic look. “It’s kind of loud. And we can’t draw attention, or people will split us up.”

“But it’s fun, and it works-“

“You sound like Dean.”

“From you, I’m takin’ that as a compliment.”

You flush again, but you walked into that one.

You’re walking into most of these. The day passes quickly, and you manage to destroy another two artifacts—a comb and a fountain pen—before the building closes. There are no deaths when you leave for the night, but you really wish a stakeout was a plausible option, because most of the night is filled with Jo teasing about Dean.

Most of the whole next day is filled with teasing about Dean. You find a fancy gun with lifeforce, and Jo says you should give it to Dean. It doesn’t help that you would, if it didn’t need to be destroyed to kill the lich. It’s the exact type of gun Dean would like.

It wears off around the afternoon, though. Every single sweep of a room, you find another artifact, and it’s starting to drive you and Jo up the wall.

“You said three,” she grumbles as you drag another mirror into what you’ve deemed the destruction room. “This is more than three.”

You shrug, stepping back so Jo can smash, because she was right. It does work. “Yeah, well, this asshole must be strong.”

“How are we even gonna know when we’re done?”

“I’ll be able to see it, because all its lifeforce will be back inside its body.”

“So I don’t have to do the gross thing?”

You shake your head. “Once the objects are destroyed, you can’t do the gross thing.”

She frowns at you. “Which was?”

“Touching it.” You sigh, wiping your hands on your pants. “You’ll be able to. You know. Feel the deadness, right now.”

Jo wrinkles her nose. “But after?”

“It’ll make you the deadness.”

“Oh.” Jo blinks. “Fun.”

You hum, and move on to the next sweep. 

It doesn’t take all the artifacts being destroyed to work out who the lich is, though. Jo works it out herself by day three.

“Who even wears a monocle anymore.” You mutter, chucking this one at the wall yourself, and Jo tilts her head.

“I’ve seen an old guy doin’ it. The one who waves his hands, while the orchestra’s rehearsin’.”

You frown. “The conductor?”

“Yeah, him.” She pauses, staring into the air for a long second before speaking with slow, careful words. “That was his dressin’ room. And I ain’t seen that monocle on his face before. You don’t think-“

“If you think.” You shrug. “I’m on board. Be careful of the conductor.”

Jo grins, and you’re really proud of her. She’s got this whole case under control, to the point that she barely even needs you at all. She figures out that—as you keep looking everywhere, finding less and less with each sweep—it’s likely that there’s an instrument you won’t be able to get until the orchestras rehearsing again, and that you’ll have to be ready to fight the moment it goes down.

The lich hasn’t been killing since you showed up, though. It’s probably worked out that you’re not just new staff. Figuring out that it’s the conductor puts you back on even ground.

Jo figuring out that it’s the conductor.

You hadn’t even looked at the name on the dressing room, because Dean had texted you, and you’d gotten distracted.

You let yourself off the hook for that one, though. It wasn’t your love for Dean messing with your focus. It was the fact that he’d been blowing up your phone with how he was gonna fucking shoot Ruby in the face.

“I think you should.” You tell him over the phone that night, and he laughs through the speaker.

“I’m this freakin’ close, Princess. I’m serious. She’s a fucking bitch-“

“Do you want me to tell you not to?” You grin into the night air, leaning against the outside of the diner. “Because that would be lying, De, and lying is a sin-“

He snorts. “You were just telling me about how you spent the whole day committing property damage-“

“Which is a crime. Not a sin.”

“So you’re a criminal?”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

“Nah, I wanna hear you admit it-“

“You’re gonna be waiting a long fucking time, Winchester.”

“Alright. I got patience.” You can hear his smile over the phone, and your fingers are still painted in his Gold. It’s going to drive you insane. “Oh, and text me the address of the motel you’re staying at. Me and Sammy are wrapping this up.”

You sigh, ignoring how the Silver start to riot at the very idea of Dean, here, holding you all day and through the night, and why did you suggest splitting up in the first place, you haven’t slept well all week, and all you do is dream of him anyway-

“Dean, you don’t have to-“

“I know. But I’m gonna. And if you don’t text me, I’ll make Sammy do his computer magic to track you down.”

You sigh. You know he’s not lying, and that makes all of this harder. “You’re being dramatic again.”

Dean pauses, muttering something you can’t make out, but raising his voice before you can ask what. “C’mon. Do it for Jo, least she’ll be happy to see me-“”

“I’ll be happy to see you, De.” You cut him off with a frown at the air. “But the seal was all the way in Kentucky-“

“And I love driving.”

“I know, but-“

“Please,” Dean mutters, and that’s it.

He wants to. It’s not indulging if he wants to.

“Sam and Dean are coming to help.” You tell Jo as you slide back into the booth, and her grin is shit-eating.

“Aw, he wants to see you,” she hums when you hang up, and you flip her off without a word.

It’s not effective. 

“You guys are so cute, runnin’ around after each other, and callin’ every night-“

“I got shot.” You mutter, tracing your fingers over your stomach. You haven’t tried to fully heal it with the Silver. At this point, it would be pointless anyway. “He calls to make sure I’m not dead.”

“Cause he loves-“

“Jo.” You shoot her a glare over the table, and she scoffs.

“Why don’t you think he loves you?”

“I don’t want to talk about this-“

“I do! He at least wants you!” She sighs, leaning forward and holding your gaze. “You’re supposed to be smart, you know. Whenever people ask me about you, they ask you know the smart girl that-“

Jo cuts herself off with a sudden, strange expression, and you narrow your eyes. “That what.”

“I don’t remember.” She mumbles lamely.

“Joanna-“

“You don’t wanna hear it.”

“Well now I have to-“

“That Dean Winchester’s obsessed with!” She blurts, giving you an apologetic expression, and the whole world stops for a second. 

Obsessed with. And you’re embedded in him. And he’d apologized, on his knees, and put you to bed and let you crawl all over him and had never wanted you to leave-

“You were kinda all he talked about, before you got back.” Jo sighs. “I’m kinda shocked you ain’t together, after all that. I mean, everyone’s seen it, and if they ain’t seen it, they’ve heard about how you damn near died tryin’ to save him, and how he’s always smilin’ more when you’re at the roadhouse with him.”

“Jo.” You whisper, and the Spiderweb feels like it’s crashing down, down, down all while building and pulsing with light. “Please don’t. I- Everything is so complicated, and I-“

You can’t say it aloud.

And Jo only gives you a soft smile, reaching across the table and holding your hand. She’s such a pretty, soft blue, when you look over at her. Smooth and gentle like water, but still running and turning faster than any other soul you’ve ever seen. 

“I know.” She mutters, and you feel a little like a child. “I just need you to know, cause, God, I ain’t gonna be able to handle another year of y’all starin’ at each other like lost puppies. You’re happier together, and he drove to freakin’ Texas for you, then begged you to come home.”

You sigh. “I shouldn’t have told you about that-“

“But ya did. And if a guy did that for me, I’d marry him.”

“I-“

“I’m not sayin’ you marry him now. I’m just saying thinkin’ he don’t at least want you is insane. But,” she leans back, shrugging and giving you a small smile. “We can talk about somethin’ else now. How’d you get shot, anyway?”

You pause, giving Jo a careful look. She’s really just moved on that fast, her brows raised as she takes a bite of her burger, and you let out a long sigh. “You can’t tell Dean.”

“Ooo, it’s a secret-“

“It’s not a secret, I just don’t want him to-“

“Worry?”

You flush, glaring down at your plate. “Shut up.”

“I’m teasin’.” Jo says your name, giving you a firm look. “When have I ever told one of your secrets?”

That’s a fair point. She hasn’t. And the Spiderweb is still raw in your body as the world grows more and more vibrant, so maybe your judgement is clouded, but maybe it’s just Jo. And you sort of trust her more than anyone in the world. 

And you tell her everything. Studying witchcraft, and trying to look for ways to bring back Dean. How ever has been Silver since he died but it’s all still so painful and hard to control, and Ketch and Davis chasing you then holding you captive. The books—you need to ask them how that panned out, actually—and Enochian and the months on the road.

You leave out the Spiderweb and the Sky and Cas’ visit, for the same reason you won’t tell Dean you love him. That’s not their problems. You won’t make things more complicated than they already are.

But you do mention seeing Dean in Hell, mostly because you have to tell someone.

“Like- In Hell?”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “And I, uh- I don’t think it was a dream thing. It was really realistic, and I saw-“

“You still don’t want him to know about this, right?”

You frown at her. “Yeah, wh-“

“Cause I can see Dean right now.”

Jo nods over your shoulder, you twist in your booth, and she right.

Dean’s standing at the door, his hands in his pockets as he scans over the diner, and when his eyes land on yours, a wide, bright grin splits his whole face.

You love him.

You’re going to fucking kill him. 

“We’ll finish later,” Jo whispers, and you give her a small nod right as Dean stops at your table. 

He’s so fucking pretty, grinning at you as he drops into at your side without a word, forcing you to scoot back so he doesn’t end up half on your lap, and looping his arm around the back of the booth like this is the most casual thing in the world. 

“What are two girls like you doing in a place like this, huh?”

“Dean.” You keep your voice firm, forcing yourself to ignore how he’s pressed his thigh right to yours without a thought. “You’re supposed to be in Kentucky.”

“Sammy’s got it. Rather be here anyway.” He shrugs like as if it’s nothing, already eyeing your fries because he’s a perfect idiot. “You ladies doin’ like a girls night or something?”

“We’re huntin’.” Jo says, crossing her arms and raising her chin, and you slide your plate over to Dean without a word.

He winks at you before he takes one.

You’re going to explode.

“I heard, kid. You know, extra hands never hurt-“

You snort. “Dean. What do you want.”

“Why do I have to want something.” His eyes flick right to yours, and he’s Golden, and you swallow. “Can’t I just be here-“

“What about Kentucky?” Jo pipes in, and Dean sighs.

“I already said Sam’s got it. What are we hunting?”

“We’re not hunting anything-“

“Lich.” 

You shoot Jo a glare, and she just shrugs. 

“We get to smash things,” she tells Dean, and he raises his brows.

“I can smash things, Princess.”

“Yeah, I know you can, De. Jo, if it’s just the instrument-“

“Then the lich is going to reveal itself.” She gives you a pointed look. “And the more people we have for that, the better.”

“Awesome.” Dean takes another fry, settling somehow further into the booth. Into you. “I’ll tell Sammy to call Bobby when he’s done, and we can gank this lich thingy.”

“Cool. But,” Jo shoots you a grin, and you’re going to kill her. “It’s funny you mentioned it, Dean, but we do have a girl’s night. You agree not to be a big whinin’ bitch about it, you can stay in our motel room.”

Dean pauses, glances over to you in a silent question, and death isn’t a firm enough fate for Jo. You’re going to leave her in a room with Bobby after you ask him about historical figures he thinks were secretly hunters or monsters.

You shouldn’t have trained her so well. It’s coming back to bite you in the fucking ass.

There’s nothing you can do but give Dean a small smile and nod—because he’s asking permission, but you split open the world if it meant not having to go another night without him on the other side of the bed—and mouth I hate you at Jo across the table. 

She only laughs, and you’re not going to kill her.

The rest of the night is going to kill you first.

Because you can’t stop seeing it, now that Jo has said something. Dean doesn’t ever just press into people like this, or offer anyone else fries with raised brows. And he fucking pouts when you say no, then grins when you roll your eyes and snatch the fry from his hand. Whenever Jo’s talking he’s listening, but you can’t stop staring at him from the corner of your eyes, and he glances over at you so often. And he helps you out of the booth, and pays the bill—you’ve never seen him volunteer to pay a bill, not unless he was trying to make a dramatic point—and walks you to your car like you don’t have a fucking knife in your jacket.

The jacket that’s always been yours, but he held onto when he didn’t even know if he’d see you again. And the knife he gave you, because he was worried about you.

His hand stays on your lower back with every step.

This isn’t good. 

Not when you can really never say it aloud.

Dean trails you back to the motel in the Impala, and while Jo had been exaggerating about girl’s night, you do have… rituals. 

There aren’t a lot of other girl hunters. And you love the men you’ve surrounded yourself with, but the one most secure in his masculinity is Rufus, and it’s still not pseudo-sleepover-secure. 

Because that’s a better description for this. Neither you nor Jo got real, stupid, fun sleepovers growing up, so it’s become a habit whenever you have a hunt together. A stupid game, or more stupid series of truth or dare—Dean is a banned truth topic for you, and get the most people to leave the bar is a banned dare topic for Jo after the fire incident—with snacks and a movie and-

“I am not doing a fuckin’ face mask.” Dean snaps at you, and you raise your brows as Jo snickers.

“You said you wouldn’t be a little bitch, Winchester.”

“I said whining bitch-“

“You’re still being a bitch.”

Dean scowls, eyeing the plastic in your hand like it’s a bomb set to go off. “What’s it even going to help with, my skin is fine-“

“Yeah, but it’s not-“ You glance down, having already forgotten which mask you chose. “Poreless.”

“I- I fuckin’ need my pores-“

“It’ll make you pretty, Dean.” Jo calls from her bed, and he flips her off. 

You sigh. “Not helpful, Jo.”

“Sorry, mom.”

Dean snorts, and you whack his arm.

“Whose side are you on, Winchester?”

He shrugs. “Whichever side gets me out of that mask, Princess.” 

“What if I say please?”

“Uh,” Dean sighs. “Maybe.”

“What if I say please,” you pout at him slightly, making your smile impossibly sweet. “And I promise not to stab you when you try to check my stitches later?”

“I wasn’t gonna-“ Dean cuts himself off at your pointed look, running a hand over his face. “Fine. But I get to actually check them, too.”

“Deal.” You lock your pinky with his quickly, shoving the mask into his hands before he can take it back. “Go wash your face.”

Dean doesn’t move. He only stares at you, and Spiderweb might as well be made of the Sun in your body, and your pinkies are still locked. His skin is rough, and warm, and feels right against yours, and he can’t look at you like that, or you’ll-

Jo coughs, and you pull yourself back together. 

“C’mon.” You fold your fingers fully through Dean’s and pull him after you into the motel bathroom. 

You sit on the sink for a better, and it’s a good excuse to touch him, as you smooth out the lines of the mask on his face. Taking more time than you need, with more careful fingers than necessary, because you just want to touch him a little longer. 

“Be honest.” He mutters as you move around his eyes, continuing after you hum an agreement. “I look stupid.”

“That’s not a question, De-“

“So I do look stupid-“

“You look very handsome.” You let your fingers trail down to his cheeks. “Stoic. Debonair and heroesque-“

“Alright, alright. I get it.”

“Everyone looks stupid in a face mask.” You mumble, pressing the sheet onto his brow. “You’re still working it pretty well.”

Dean gives you an odd look. “You’ll look good.”

It’s a good thing you didn’t bother with the full overhead light. Dean doesn’t need to see how your flush is spreading down your neck. “Thanks.”

He just shrugs, and the silence stretches on without tension as you try to focus on the mask, you’re touching him because of the mask, not to trace his sharp jawline and slightly crooked nose-

“Dad would kill me if he saw me now.” Dean chuckles suddenly, and your hands still on his face. 

“Because you’re with me?”

Dean shakes his head. “One of the reasons, yeah. Mostly cause I let Sammy talk me into ditching him for a girl.”

You frown at him. “Sam told you to go?”

“Apparently I was driving him insane.” Dean mutters. “He said he had it, and I should, uh, just freaking go to her.”

“Her?”

“You.”

You swallow, and he’s so close. You’re brushing over his lips as you keep holding his face, and the liquid of his mask is sticky, but you don’t really care. 

“Is my face supposed to be tingling?” He mutters, and pulls a soft giggle from your throat.

“Yep. That means it’s working.”

Dean frowns, but lets you keep touching him. And he does look handsome with the mask. It’s insane, and unfair, and even when you finish up, he doesn’t move away.

Neither of you are trying to move away.

And things are always complicated. They’ve always been complicated, but when he’s gotten the chance, Dean’s always stayed, and you can’t tell him that, but you have to tell him something-

“I’m really glad you’re alive.” You whisper, and he beams at you.

Full and happy and so fucking Dean—handsome and Golden and not yours, but still making the Spiderweb catch light and throw it around your body until you’re a little dizzy—and nothing about this is easy, but it still feels it. Dean is here, so pain is somehow foreign. 

You’re suddenly a little afraid of what you’d do to keep him safe, and away from the Sky, out of the angel’s reach.

“Yeah. I- I’m glad you’re alive, too.” He blinks, frowning into the air. “I mean- I’m glad we’re both alive. Uh, together.”

You smile at him, and in the low light of the bathroom, it’s a little like he has a halo.

You still don’t know what his soul is made of. You don’t really care. 

It’s still Dean all the same.

“All the way down.” You take a careful step back, but you’re cruel to yourself, so you let your hand fall back into his. 

It’s his gravity.

You’re never going to be able to pull away.

And if you could, you’d never able to bring yourself to try.

Because he grins, and says it back with a squeeze of your hand. 

“All the way down.”

And you know. It doesn’t matter what Cas comes back saying you are, or what heaven or hell wants from you. You know what you are. 

Dean’s.

You’ll be damnation or salvation or a whore or a monster for him. You’ll be wrathful god if that’s what it comes to. But you’ll be his.

All the way down.

——————

She’d fallen asleep on Dean’s chest. 

At some point during the movie She started to lean into him, and Dean could never be strong enough to push Her away. When Her eyes had started to flutter shut and Her face had angled in his body, he’d pulled her a little closer. When she’d let out a small, soft sigh, he’d been certain that the world could crumble and collapse around them, but he would just stay right fucking here.

Jo had been giving Dean smug, pointed looks when Her arms had wrapped around his stomach. And when he’d carefully moved his hand to brush a little hair from Her face, he’d kept his words to Jo low.

He didn’t want to wake Her up. Not when She was sleeping this well.

“Don’t say a freakin’ word.”

Jo had let out a soft laugh, her gaze never moving from the chick flick on the TV. “I ain’t said nothin’.”

“If you tell Bobby, he’ll-“

“Like Bobby don’t already know.” Jo had scoffed. “He’s old, not blind and stupid.”

Dean had swallowed—Bobby couldn’t know, nobody really knew—but kept going. “Fine, but if you tell Sam about anything tonight-“

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep all the girly stuff you did to myself.” 

“Okay-“

“But I am gonna tell him about this.” 

Jo had waved a loose hand to Her and Dean—their bodies now fully curled together, Her breathing even and steady, one of Dean’s hand stroking carefully through Her hair—and Dean’s jaw had clenched.

The only thing that has kept him from yelling at Jo was Her. She’d stirred slightly as he tensed, and he couldn’t disturb Her. 

And, selfishly, he couldn’t ruin this for himself.

This was the part of being Her shadow that he’d always wanted, but never dared to ask for. The part that was softer, and bloodless, and gave Her even more. Where he got to hold Her and touch her like no one else, and She was safe as long as Dean was at her side. The part that could maybe lead to his hands on bare, soft skin, to Dean being allowed to kiss a little more than Her brow when he could get away with it. 

He didn’t know how to earn that. Hell, he hadn’t even earned this. He could never fucking earn it. She’d told him that She was what they hunted, but that was fucking insane because nobody in their right mind could want to hurt Her. It would take more than a monster to grab something rare and beautiful and destroy it, rather than orbit around it and follow it all the way to the edge of the earth, then down. Dean was the one who’d barely become better than a demon, but the very last fucking thing separating him from the black-eyed sons of bitches was that he still had things to defend. 

No matter how Sammy was driving him insane with the Ruby bullshit, Dean still defended him because that was what he did. Sam was still a kid, and he was smart as shit but he could never handle all the blood and guts the same way Dean was crafted for them. It was the same way She fit so well into Dean, but She could never been made for the mud and darkness. Dean was Her shadow to keep as much of that from Her hands as he could. 

She’d chosen to be here, with Dean. To come home and forgive him for things She shouldn’t ever have to know about, and the angels could forget all their fucking plans, because if She told Dean she wanted Lilith to open the seals and to let the world burn, he’d let it fall apart without a single fucking question.

And She wouldn’t do that. She was made of too many good things, and full of too much light to want the world to be ash. It wouldn’t be any place for Her, so Dean wouldn’t let it happen. 

This was the place for Her.

At Dean’s side, where he could watch over Her and silently crave more until She decided he’d earned it. Because it would never matter what Dean had done until She said it was too far, then the last piece of him that Alistair hadn’t carved into would become the very ash he was trying to save Her from.

“You call her Princess, don’t you.” Alistair sneered, and Dean didn’t respond, only staring at the different weapons before him. “Answer me, boy.”

He hadn’t. It was one of the last lines Dean had for himself. He’d rip himself and a million other souls apart, but he’d never let Alistair touch on the fucking idea of Her or Sammy. It was his last apology to them. The last way he had to protect them, when—if they saw him now—he’d beg them to drive Ruby’s knife right into his ribs to save themselves.

His silence always ended with a little extra torment. Dean could live—or die—with that. It was what he deserved.

“I’ve warned ya.” Alistair hissed Her name in his ear after. “She’d got a special spot on my rack, when I drag her down here. I might not be supposed to hurt her, but I ain’t ever cared ‘bout the rules before. Nothing gonna fuckin’ stop me anyway.”

Dean had tensed, and Alistair had laughed in his ear.

“You think you’re gonna save her? That she’d want you to save her? Be your Princess’s shining white knight and sweep her away into the sunset? Here’s a new lesson for you, Dean. Nothin’ can save her, and if I’m bein’ honest, she might be better off down here, with me. I’m not man of god, and maybe,” Alistair’s breath had been hot over Dean’s face as he’d been yanked up by his hair. “That’s exactly what she fuckin’ needs. Maybe she’ll beg me to hurt her. I’ve heard what a little masochist that one is.”

Dean jolted awake in a cold sweat, the sound of Alistair’s laughter still echoing around his skull. It was just another nightmare. She was still right at his side. His hand was touching the bare skin of Her arm, and when he dared to draw small circles with his thumb, She hummed and let out a soft sound Dean would like to hear for the rest of his life. 

Cas needed to hurry up on that translation. The sooner they had better idea of what She was, the sooner Dean could handle those certain nightmares better. 

They’d never go away.

But at least he’d be able to wake up, look at Her, and know nothing would touch Her. That Lilith couldn’t grab Her and use her against them, and the angels might not want Her around, but they could never hurt Her, and She was—as long as he used all the sharper and bloodied parts of himself right—safe at Dean’s side. 

Or across the room from him, or in his car, or holding his hand and pulling him into the fanciest fucking building he’d ever seen. Wherever he could see Her, and orbit around Her. 

Maybe crash down to his knees before Her, because that had worked real well in his favor last time, and there was really no other proper response to Her when she looked like that.

She really was a fucking Princess. This dress was worse than the one last year. Silk, falling over Her body like it was made for Her—most of the world was—and showing Dean too much for him to properly, but still not enough to satiate him, because was a greedy son of a bitch.

He didn’t have a goddamn clue where She’d gotten such fancy outfits on such a short notice, but he knew his tie wasn’t strangling at his throat because She’d carefully adjusted it before they left the motel. Standing only a long breath away, every bit of Her blinding and beautiful as she chewed at Her lower lip, going over the plan one last time.

“There might be multiple instruments.” She’d said, glancing over her shoulder to Jo, who was working on balancing  in her heels. “Once I find what they are, we have to move fast. Smash them, burn them, whatever you need to do. Then the conductor will be in raw form, and if I can see him, I’ll give you the all clear to burn him. Dean, we have to take separate cars-“

Dean had scowled. “No-“

“We’re about to burn a man alive at a public event.” She’d said with a flat voice. “Once we finish, we have to book it. And I am not making Sam take the bus again. Finally,” Her fingers had stilled on Dean’s chest, Her voice dropping to a soft, firm tone. “Don’t let it touch you. It’ll turn you into a puppet corpse.”

Jo had gaped at Her. “A what-“

“Puppet corpse.” She’d sighed. “It’ll kill you then use your body like a puppet.”

“Oh. Gross.”

Dean had cleared his throat. “Can we go back to the car thing-“

“No.” She’d turned on Her heels, tangled Her hand in Dean’s, and pulled him out the door.

And Alistair hadn’t been wrong that Dean wasn’t a white knight, but he was still Her’s. She was brilliant, and as long as it wasn’t putting Her in direct danger, Dean would do whatever the hell She asked. If She needed an army, he’d been a million fucking soldiers. If She needed a guard, he’d turn into a shield.

If She needed him to stand off to the side of a stage while a lady sang in loud, high sounds and She frowned the orchestra, he’d do that. 

He was even allowed to keep his hand on Her lower back. 

“De.” She whispered, tugging at the sleeve of his jacket, and he glanced down to see Her attention fully fixed on the area below them. “It’s the harp.”

Dean followed Her gaze to the instrument. “You sure?”

She nodded, and Jo’s voice crackled in their ears. “Is there only one?”

“Yeah.” She whispered, scanning slowly over the area once more. “But- Shit, there are so many people here, Dean we’ve gotta-“

Dean nodded. “Jo, you’re in the sound booth thing, right?”

“Uh huh. I think I’m actually gettin’ the hang of this, too.” Jo hummed Her name. “Turns out I can do sound. You want me to steal more earpieces before we go?”

A small smile tugged at Her lips, and She gave Dean an amused look as she spoke. “We’ve already stolen three, and we’re about to totally ruin their performance. I think that’s enough.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jo paused. “Were you tryin’ to talk to me, Dean?”

She giggled, eyes dancing with amusement, and Dean couldn’t really be that annoyed if this was making Her so happy. “Yeah, I’m thinking you can cut all the sound to the audience, we can run out, get it done in the confusion, then get out.”

“That’s good,” She muttered with a nod, and Dean stood a little taller. “Maybe- Jo, can you just amplify the speakers? If you get them loud enough it’ll start a feedback loop, and we’ll get a good-“

“Cover?” Jo finished Her sentence, and Dean could hear the grin in the girl’s voice. “On it. You want a countdown?”

“One second.” She turned to Dean with a firm, determined look. “Go for the harp. I’ll take care of the conductor.”

There was no fucking way Dean was letting Her do the more dangerous thing. That was supposed to be what he was here for-

“And before you argue, if it’s not the conductor, I’ll be able to see who it is. You won’t.”

Son of a bitch, that was a good point. And She had that shining, fluttering look in Her eyes as Dean just glared at Her, the one where she knew She’d already won. “Princess-“

“Please, De.” 

God fucking damnit. “Fine.”

She gave him a wide, sweet smile, and raised Her hand to her ear. “Ready, Jo. Turn it up.”

“Alright.” Jo hummed, and Dean’s fingers started to curl onto the bare skin of Her back. “Three.”

Dean didn’t like this. Something was tight in his gut, and She’d hunted these things before and been just fine alone—with Dean or Jo there to help Her—but this felt wrong-

“Two-“

He muttered Her name, and She gave him a smile, and it was only making him feel sick because something was off about this-

“Go.”

A loud, screeching noise echoed through the theatre, people started shouting as it pierced into their skulls, and Dean had to force himself not to grab Her and hold her to his chest until it all just passed. 

None of this would pass unless he did his job.

Smash the harp. All Dean had to do was smash the fucking harp. Break it into pieces so She could burn this lich asshole.

Dean could break something. He really was good at breaking things, and breaking something for Her might be the easiest job he’d ever had.

He ran into the pit, shoving his way through the orchestra and ignoring people shouts of protest. His ears felt like they were going to fucking bleed, but he’d felt worse, so Dean pushed through it. 

The harp was heavier than Dean had thought it would be, when he reached it.

It still broke easy.

Dean threw his whole body against it, the instrument fell to the floor, and when the first piece of wood snapped off, all hell broke loose. 

People were screaming and running around—that had been a given, the rich idiots probably thought they were under attack—but over all of it, Dean could hear Her, shouting his name.

He turned right in time to see the conductor running right towards him, hands outstretched, and fuck-

Dean dodged as She screamed, and started to fumble in his pockets for his lighter, where was his fucking lighter, he was tripping over abandoned trumpets and seats as the conductor continued to swing at him, and where the fuck was his lighter-

There was another scream of his name, and Dean looked up to see the conductor only fucking inches away, and that couldn’t be good, but right before slightly shriveled hands closed around Dean’s face, the man stumbled back and screeched.

Loud, and echoing through the theater, his whole body writhing, seeming to flicker and wither and-

“Son of a bitch.” Dean muttered as the lich’s illusion fully faded, his body a sticky, browned and boned corpse. “You’re one ugly asshole.”

The lich only screeched again, and as it fell to its knees, Dean looked up to find Her standing on the edge of the stage.

Dean had only seen Her use her thing once, when Lilith had attacked them. And that had only been a primal, feral scream ripping through Her body as Lilith released him with a cruel laugh.

This was different. 

There was no proper way to describe it, but She didn’t look like a human. Or a monster. Or a demon, or angel, or witch.

She looked like Her, turned up to a goddamn million. Everything closer to Her body was more colorful. Her hair was impossibly shinier, and Her skin seemed to be glowing, and Her eyes were fucking bright. 

Her pupils weren’t black anymore. They were silver. 

Dean had never seen anything more terrifyingly beautiful in his life. And when the lich turned to slime at their feet—sinking back into the floor and vanishing like there had never been anything at all—whatever had been amplifying Her seemed to collect back into Her body, her eyes focused right on Dean’s.

He almost fell to his knees again. This was the siren or goddess he’d been silently worshipping since he met Her. This was the royal, ethereal woman he wanted to serve for the rest of with worthless life. And it was just Her, but it was all of Her, and Dean wanted fucking all of Her-

He didn’t see it until it was too late. 

The woman behind Her. 

Not a woman. The illusion of a small young woman—white-teethed with a bow in her hair—vanished the moment the lich grabbed Her around the wrist.

There were two. 

There were fucking two, and Dean wasn’t goddamn fast enough.

The only reason he could hear his roar over the blood in his ears was because it echoed around the theater. And She wasn’t even fucking fighting the thing, She’d gone slack and pale, and Dean was sprinting over the abandoned instruments to get to Her, yanking his gun from his jacket and aiming it right at the ugly bitch’s fucking face.

The shots didn’t kill it, but the lich released Her and stumbled back, falling right on the floor as Jo sprinted out from the backstage.

Jo’s lighter dropped, and the lich died with a scream.

But the fire didn’t slow or die. It only spread across the stage, and Dean was going to have to add arson to his rap sheet again, but he really didn’t fucking care.

All that mattered was Her, pallid and backed into the wall, rubbing at her wrists like she’d been branded.

Dean wasn’t sure if the whole corpse puppet thing was contagious.

That was another thing he really didn’t fucking care about.

“Hey,” Dean muttered Her name as he grabbed her face between his hands, forcing Her slightly glazed eyes onto his. “You’re gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay-“

“It touched me.” She cut him off with a whisper, and Dean’s grip tightened. “Dean, it touched me-“

“I know.” He grunted. “I know, Princess, but it’s- we’ll fix it.”

She shook Her head, still scratching at Her wrists and Dean did the only thing he could think of. He stroked his thumb down the bridge of Her nose until her breathing was relaxed, and she’d slumped forward into his arms.

“Dean?” Jo called from behind them. “I- uh, we should go before the building burns down.”

Dean nodded an acknowledgment, but She wouldn’t be able to run. She was too pale, shaking in his arms and starting to draw blood with Her nails- 

He knocked Her hand away, She made a whining noise, and this was not allowed to be it. He was not fucking losing Her like this, he’d call another fucking demon deal or trap a million fucking angels until they performed a miracle, or-

Cas. He needed to call Cas. 

But first, he had to get Her out before the building killed all three of them. 

Dean pressed a quick kiss to Her brow, and hauled Her up bridal-style into his arms, and the moment Jo was at his side he was moving. Out the back into the cold air of an alley, down the streets until they were at the Impala and the Firebird. 

“Here’s the plan.” He grunted, raising up to face a pale-faced Jo on the sidewalk. “You’re taking her car. Drive for forty minutes west, then stop at the first motel you see. Call Sam on the drive, tell him what happened.”

Jo nodded, catching Her keys with shaking hands. “What about- Dean, I’m- We thought there was one-“

“Jo.” He snapped. “Just fucking go.”

“Is she gonna be okay-“

“Yes. Go.”

Dean’s short, firm words got Jo to move, but he didn’t have a fucking clue if She was going to be okay. She wasn’t turning into a corpse, but She was still colorless and silent, and Dean was praying to Cas the whole fucking ride but they didn’t have a goddamn timeline on this, it might already be over-

It couldn’t be over. Dean had only just gotten Her back, and he’d meant it.

He wasn’t losing Her.

She’d know how to fix this. She knew everything, and She was a genius, so if Dean could get Her to speak, he’d do whatever she said needed to be done to fix this.

Jo met them right where she was supposed to, and Dean gave short orders for her to just keep fucking praying to Cas until he showed up. 

“C’mon.” He muttered Her name, moving her to the edge of the bed and kneeling down, keeping his thumb running down her nose and scanning over Her slack face. “I need you to talk to me, I don’t have a fucking clue how to do this, Princess, I- I fucking need you, c’mon-“

Something was wrapping around Dean’s lungs. He wouldn’t fucking lose Her. Not like this. It was all his head could loop around because fuck, this would kill Jo, and he’d never be able to look at Bobby again, and he would’ve gotten Her back for barely a week just to prove Alistair right.

She was better anywhere without Dean. He’d do anything for Her, but anything wasn’t enough, and She’d survived all those months without him, but the moment he’d gotten back he’d killed Her, he’d fucking broken the one that had always seemed permanent, and he was a vile piece of shit from lower than the mud, and Dad should’ve killed him. Instead of threatening and hurting Her, Dad should’ve pressed a barrel to Dean’s head and shot him. It would’ve saved everyone a whole lot of grief if Dad had gotten some fucking clarity and killed Dean instead, or just let him die in that goddamn hospital-

“Dean.” She whispered, blinding eyes finally focusing on his. “You need to go.”

He stared at Her. “What.”

“Before it hits. I- I can’t feel it, but once it kicks in-“

“You’re going to be fine.” He snapped. This wasn’t a conversation he was going to have, because it wouldn’t matter when She was fine, and they were driving back to Bobby’s like nothing had happened at all. “Cas is coming, and I’ll grab whatever we need to slow this down-“

“There’s no slowing it down.” She gave him a small smile, and Dean’s heart might be trying to claw its way out of his throat. “It’ll be better to burn me. So nothing finds my body.”

“Shut up.” He grunted, his hands tightening on Her thighs. She wasn’t moving away, and maybe if he held tight enough, that would keep Her together. “We’ll fix this, there’s always a way to fix this-“

“Not here, De. I- I’m-“ She started to rub Her wrists, letting out a slow breath. “I could do it myself, but I can’t even feel it, I’d have to feel it to know what to fix-“

“Then maybe you’re fine-“

“I don’t want to risk it.” She mumbled. “Please go.”

“No.”

“Dean-“

“I’m staying right fucking here.” He hissed, rising up on his knees to look Her in the eyes. “And that’s it. You try to kick me out and I’ll come right back in, Princess, I did not spend so goddamn long waiting for you only to lose you-“

“You can’t lose me.” She whispered. “You’ve never been able to lose me. I-“ 

She swallowed, Her eyes starting to go glossy, and Dean wouldn’t let the sting in his own take over. There was nothing to mourn about, because She was going to be fine-

“I’m here.” She pressed Her hand to his chest, and he wasn’t breathing. “All the way down.”

Dean stared at Her. 

He didn’t have enough words for Her beauty. He never had. He’d never been good at words, or saying the right thing, or knowing when to stop or how to keep something. And he’d let the world use him and beat him however it wanted—crawl right back onto Alistair’s rack or pick up only torture instrument until he was a demon—if he got to break that last pattern. Dean could replace words with actions, replace saying the right thing with doing the right thing, and replace knowing when to stop with going until his soul gave out. 

He couldn’t replace Her. Keeping Her was the only option, if She’d have him.

But losing Her to something other than Her own will was simply not on the goddamn table.

Dean had prayed before. Since the angels had showed up, he’d been praying to Cas a lot. 

But he’d never prayed to God. 

And it was all he could do now. This wouldn’t be it. Nothing holy or good owed Dean any favors, but the fucking universe owed Her. It couldn’t let Her go, because She was too good for all of it, and Dean needed Her.

She was the universe. She was bigger and brighter than God, and wherever the hell that asshole was—if he was even real at all—he better be fucking listening because Dean needed Her, and maybe She was God and he just needed to pray and worship Her instead.

The thought moved through Dean’s whole body. He needed to tend to Her. That was what he could see. What he could know. What he’d always known. 

He rose slowly, never breaking Her gaze. Giving Her time to move away as he inched closer, cupping one hand on Her face and bracing the other on the mattress, stopping where if he spoke, Dean’s lips would brush Her’s.

There was no mistaking what he was daring to attempt. No way for Her to miss it, and be caught off guard. A long, strained moment where Dean gave Her the chance to shove him away and curse his name back to Hell, and at least then he’d know. That he’d always be in Her orbit, but to Her, Dean was just another thing, trying to sit in Her light. 

But She wasn’t moving. Her eyes were wide on his, yet She wasn’t looking away. Her fingers were curled on his shirt, and Her breath was heavy from her nostrils.

He licked his lips because he couldn’t fucking help himself, and She flushed, Her breath hitching, and Her mouth falling slightly open.

There it was.

Dean crashed down, and kissed Her.

And he’d never been good with words.

But this didn’t need any.

It was all movement and feeling. Her lips fit even better against Dean’s than he’d ever been able to imagine, and every single bit of desperation he threw into Her, she threw right fucking back. Dean bit at Her lower lip and She moaned, right down his fucking throat as She opened further for him, but when Dean got to press his tongue into Her mouth and have more, She pulled it between Her teeth and swallowed Dean’s groan with the best sound he’d ever fucking heard escaping from her throat. 

She tasted like coffee and sugar and that fucking fruit, Dean could taste the fruit and he was going to get addicted, but there were worse fucking vices to have. At least this one had Her wrapping an arm around his neck and tugging at his shirt to get him closer, She wanted Dean closer and he’d have to be fucking insane to deny Her.

When he pushed deeper, moving Her down to lie flat on Her back and never fucking breaking the kiss, She let him. She let Dean have fucking all of it. He got to overtake Her quickly, and She was responding to all his silents pleas for more and shivering under his touch when he grabbed Her waist and trailed his fingers down, down, down, to the bare skin of Her thighs-

“Dean.” She gasped against him, arching slightly off the mattress, and if God didn’t take his prayer, Dean would put all his torture skills to some good fucking use until the son of a bitch promised to never let anything hurt Her again. 

Until then he’d keep Her caged safely between the mattress and his body, devouring every single sound he was learning so fast to pull from Her body with only his mouth. They were all somehow better than last, and Dean had never felt this fucking high from just a kiss-

A foreign noise breached through Dean’s skull, and he sat up in half a second, pulling Her with him and burying Her tight into his chest. Anything that wasn’t Her or Dean was a fucking threat and-

It was Jo. When Dean twisted around with a deadly glower it was just Jo, and maybe he’d gotten a little too intense about that. 

But She was still in danger. The lich had still touched Her.

“Dean." She shoved at his chest, Her words muffled in his body, and he loosened his grip until She could twist against him.

But She stayed against him. Small victories.

“How, uh-“ She swallowed, and Dean glanced down to see Her rubbing at her wrists. “How long have you been there?”

“Few minutes.” Jo mumbled, staring at the floor, and Dean realized the girl’s whole face was red. “I’m sorry, I just- I didn’t stop it cause I was happy for you, but then I realized it was just gonna keep goin’, and, uh, sorry-“

“Jo.” Dean muttered. “What-“

“Cas is here.” Jo gave Dean a nervous look. “I prayed to him.” 

Dean sat a little taller. She would be fine. “Tell him to get his angel-ass in here and fix her-“

“There is nothing to fix.” Cas was very suddenly in the room, and Jo squeaked in surprise.

“Fuckin’ Christ-“

“My apologies.” Cas said with a small, grimacing frown. “You told me to wait until I was summoned, and Dean did just say to get my ass in here. My ass can’t be here without the rest of me, so-“

“Cas.” Dean gave him a flat look. “Focus. What’d you mean there’s nothing to fix-“

Cas said Her name slowly. “She is in perfect health.”

She frowned. “But the lich-“

“You are not in danger of any lich infection.” Cas shrugged. “It is not possible for your kind to succumb to any sort of preternatural disease, curse, or weapon. At most you will have felt a little sick, but it will have already passed.”

“My-“ She cut Herself off, setting up tall and straight, and Dean caught it. 

What Cas had implied. .

“My kind?” She whispered, Her eyes wide. “Did you- You figured out what I am?”

Cas sighed, and nodded. “I cannot offer a full explanation- The word you gave me is ancient. Uncommon. I would not call it taboo, but it is mostly lost with purpose.”

Dean frowned. “You mean on purpose?”

“No, Dean. With purpose. It has been deemed better for mortals to know as little as possible. Even we are not fully able to comprehend it.”

“Cas.” She muttered, rubbing Her thumb over her palm. “Please just say it.”

Cas let out a long breath. “You are the Magdalene.” He said Her name, watching her carefully as he continued. “They are the oldest and rarest breed of witch, although witch is a… crude term. You are made of the magic witches learn to harness.”

She swallowed, Her voice impossibly soft. “I- I’m a Magdalene.”

“No. You are the Magdalene.”

“Cas.” Dean grunted. “What the hell are you talking about.”

Cas sighed, still not moving from his place beside a wide-eyed Jo. “There is nothing in heaven’s record or knowledge about where Magdalene’s come from. They simply… are. Impossibly rare, and powerful. Dangerous. There is maybe one born every five hundred years, with the rare exception of two existing at once around the end of what your historians call the Common Era.” Cas said Her name again, and Dean was a little worried She wasn’t breathing. “You are the most powerful one recorded.”

“Oh.” She mumbled. “Cool. I- Doesn’t that probably mean whatever, um, Magdalene comes after me will be more powerful?”

Cas shook his head. “Heaven has monitored Magdalene’s since Lilith-“

Dean went rigid. “Lilith? What the hell does that bitch have to do with-“

“She’s a Magdalene, isn’t she.” Her words were still soft, Her attention still trained on Cas. “She said she was like me. That I was her descendent.”

Cas gave Her a grimacing, apologetic nod. “It is a biological trait, yes. There are complexities to it I do not think you’ll care to understand, but before Lilith was a demon, she was the first Magdalene. She had daughters, and they had daughters, and-“

“It led to me.” She muttered, and Cas nodded.

“The birth of a Magdalene has always heralded danger. Change. Lilith brought on demons, Avva, a goat-keeper in Sumar, brought on writing and calendars, and a consort in ancient China name Fu Hau introduced witchcraft to non-natural born-“

Dean sighed. “Man, we’re not here for a history lesson-“

“I am getting to my point, Dean.” Cas’ voice remained flat, his attention returning to Her. “The most powerful Magdalene’s before you were Cleopatra VII Thea Philopato, who brought about the Roman Empire, and Mary-“

“Magdalene.” She finished, Her eyes widening. “Is it- If it’s that old, how can it be named after her?”

“It isn’t.” Cas shrugged. “Magdala was the home of Lilith, as a human. It is simply what you would call coincidence.”

“Cas.” Dean grunted. “The point.”

Cas sighed. “Mary brought on the invention of the human religion, Christianity, which has been… impactful. Both her soul, and that of Cleopatra’s, had a sliver of the Magdalene power.”

Jo frowned, her voice small as she jumped in. “A sliver? How much is in a sliver?”

“My best estimate would be 2.159%.” Cas said. “Although I do not think Dean would want a math lesson on top of my history.”

Dean rolled his eyes, and She let out a soft laugh, even as Her nails started to dig into Dean’s skin.

Better than it being Her own.

“Cas?” She said carefully, and they were already looking at each other like there was a silent conversation Dean and Jo weren’t allowed to be a part of. 

Cas said Her name, bowing his head slightly, and She swallowed.

“How much of my soul is… Magdalene.”

“Half.” Cas muttered, giving Her an apologetic look, and She was going to draw blood. “And from what I have found, that should not be possible.”

“Oh.” She was almost fully curling into Dean’s body. He chanced one arm snaking around Her side, and She held it there.

Small, horrible victories. 

“It is likely why you were able to walk into Hell.” Cas said, looking only at Her, and Dean froze.

“What’d you mean, walk into Hell.” He hissed, looking between Her and Cas. “You’ve never been to Hell, Princess, and nobody just walks in-“

“I- I know, De, just-“ She shot Cas a glare. “You have horrible timing.”

Cas frowned. “I will- is that something to improve?”

“Yes. We’ll talk about it later.” She sighed, giving Dean a careful, soft expression that made something in him balk.

She couldn’t have walked into Hell. Something would’ve grabbed Her, Alistair would’ve known and seen Her and hurt Her, and Dean felt like a million fucking bricks were being pressed down onto his chest. 

“I sort of,” She took a deep, long breath, and whatever it was, Dean kind of didn’t want to hear it. “Could see you, sometimes. In Hell.”

“See me.” He grunted, and She nodded. “When.”

“Every night.” She whispered. “I was- I saw Cas saving you. That’s how he knows.”

She wasn’t lying. 

And there wasn’t a place low enough for Dean in the universe. She’d seen everything. And he’d be able to just beat himself and ignore the bruises if it hands only been his torture, but She’d seen parts of what he’d done. The souls he’d ripped and broken, and there had to be something worse than Hell, for things like Dean. 

“I’m sorry.” She mumbled, and She wasn’t pulling away. 

Dean didn’t know why She wasn’t pulling away. This was the reason. More than an out, a neon sign begging Her to take the exit door, yet She was still here.

He’d never understand Her. She wasn’t caving under any of this, just looking back to Cas and staying pressed to Dean, and She knew, She’s known, how has She known and not fucking left-

“What now?” She asked, and Dean had to focus.

It wasn’t about him, now. If he was going to keep doing the shadow thing right, it was about Her.

“You will need to be careful.” Cas said slowly. “There is more, that I was not able to access, and once it is known that you have reunited with the Winchester’s, precautions may be taken.”

“What-“

“I am not able to say, but mostly because I do not know. I have already lingered too long. Jo. Dean,” Cas gave them both nods, then said Her name with the same movement. “We will talk later.”

She blinked, something flashing over Her face that Dean didn’t understand, and Cas vanished. 

None of them spoke. There was nothing to say. Too much had changed from the morning, and it was all so fucking complicated, and God, Dean really fucking hated that word.

But She was still in Dean’s arms. A hand over his on Her stomach, that fucking fruit smell invading his sense as She leaned slightly further into his body. Into Dean.

So as long as he could manage, Dean wasn’t going to let Her go.

End Note: The emotional whiplash Dean just went through... someone get him like a blanket or something. (Also 300k words to kiss. They're insane)

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[runningincircl3s]

Blood Sport

Noah Sebastian x Reader

Chapter Ten

masterlist

chapter warnings: none!! kinda a filler chapter? :)

okay so i've been slacking with my writing recently lmao, i only have a few more pre-written chapters left before i run out so i want to lock in this weekend and write!!

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

It was the second day of the festival, and the first time that Bad Omens were headlining. To say Noah was stressed would be a massive understatement.

He’d tried to play it cool that morning, acting like the pressure wasn’t getting to him, but it was obvious. You could see it in the way his jaw stayed tight, how he barely touched his tea, how he hadn’t even made a single sarcastic comment all day.

Matt wasn’t much better. He was pacing the gravel outside the trailer like it was a treadmill, muttering to himself about setlists, lighting cues, and potential tech disasters. Meanwhile, Folio and Jolly were lounging in fold-out chairs with ice creams in hand, soaking up the sun like it was just another day.

You sat nearby, drumming your fingers against your knee as the faint sound of Catch Your Breath’s set drifted over from the main stage, but the sound was drowned out by Matt's stressing.

“Matt, chill.” Nick said without looking up from his ice cream, “You’re gonna wear a hole into the ground.”

“Seriously,” Jolly added, stretching his legs out. “You’re making me anxious.”

Matt shot them a glare.

“I’m making you anxious? Good. You're acting like this is nothing, don't you guys realise how serious this is?”

The guys just shrugged and you smothered a laugh behind your hand and glanced toward the trailer. From inside, you could hear Noah running through vocal warm-ups. Even through the walls, his voice was sharp, clear, and too beautiful.

“You sure he’s okay?” You asked, tilting your head toward the door.

Folio shrugged.

“It’s Noah. He’ll be fine once he’s on stage.”

But you weren’t so sure. Whatever had happened between you two the other night hadn’t just vanished, but you could already feel the old walls starting to creep back up. You’d thought about checking on him, just to ease your own nerves, but you knew better. If he wanted space, he meant it.

The trailer door swung open a few minutes later, and there he was, hair messy from his hands, a flush on his cheeks like he’d been pacing, too. His eyes scanned past you like you weren’t even there. He grabbed a water bottle from the cooler beside Jolly’s chair and twisted the cap off with a sharp flick of his wrist.

“You good?” Folio asked.

“Yeah,” Noah muttered, taking a long drink. “Sounds bad but I'm just ready to get it over with.”

…

A few hours later, the guys were getting ready to go on. The energy was like nothing else, a mixture of anxiety and excitement made them buzz, except for Noah. 

He stood off to the side, head down, lost in his own world, toying with a loose thread on his mask. You wanted to say something, but what could you even say? Was there anything you could say that wouldn't make it any worse?

And then, like he could feel your eyes on him, Noah glanced over.

For a split second, everything slowed.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. But he didn't look away, he just held your gaze.

So you walked over.

“No pressure,” you said softly, voice barely above the rumble of the crowd on the other side of the stage. “This is only like, a super big deal.”

He huffed a dry laugh, but didn’t look away.

“Really?” he murmured, “Never would’ve thought.”

You stepped closer, the noise around you fading. 

“You sure you’re okay?”

Noah swallowed, jaw tight. 

“I will be. Once I’m out there.”

“You’re gonna kill it, y’know. Always fucking do…”

“Yeah... I know.” 

“And if you suck, I can always take over.” You smirked.

“Thanks.” He chuckled.

You nodded slowly. Then, without really thinking, you reached for his gloved hand, the one still clenched around the mask, and gently wrapped your fingers around his.

And he didn’t pull away.

For a moment, you both stood in silence, his eyes fixed on the way your thumb rubbed the back of his hand. And when he finally looked up again, there was something different in his eyes. His expression was softer.

“Stay by the stage?” he asked, barely above a whisper. “Just for the first song.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you had to bite back the emotion that rose too quickly in your throat. You nodded.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice steady. “Of course.”

A voice crackled through someone’s headset: One minute.

Noah let go, stepped back, rolling his shoulders before he pulled his mask on, and you made him bend down so you could adjust it for him. 

The rest of the guys had already left, and Noah adjusted his in-ears as he waited for his cue. 

Then it was finally time. The crowd screamed. He gave you one last smile, a genuine smile, beneath his mask before picking up his mic.

And then Noah Sebastian walked on stage like he owned the world, like he was the fucking king.

And good lord did they put on a hell of a show. 

Noah’s stage presence tonight was like nothing you’d seen before, and his voice… He in fact did not suck. You had never seen them play with this much enthusiasm before, like this wasn’t just their job, this was their passion, their purpose. 

This is what they lived for.

You couldn’t help but feel a little emotional knowing this was their last show for this album cycle, but you were glad you were here to watch. Their energy tonight was just unmatched, you truly had no words to describe it. 

As Noah spoke to the crowd, thanking them for coming out, telling them this was their first ever festival they were headliners for, you knew what song was about to come next, which one they were going to finish off with, and a part of you braced yourself to hear Just Pretend again. 

The lyrics had an extra meaning to you tonight, after what he had told you the other night. 

You chuckled to yourself for a moment, I guess love really is the death of peace of mind. 

You’d save that one for later. 

…

“Y/n, I have something to tell you, and I need you to promise you won’t get mad.” Folio turned around in the passenger seat, looking suspiciously guilty.

You, wedged between Noah and Jolly in the back of the van, immediately narrowed your eyes. The guys had come off stage sweaty and full of adrenaline, but after showering and eating, they were all winding down, except for Folio, who was still way too energetic for this time of night.

And now a part of you was curious. A part of you was panicking. 

“…What is it?”

“I might’ve told the guys we could have a hot tub party at our place next week, for finishing the album-”

“We don’t even have a hot tub!”

Folio winced. 

“Okay. This is where I need you to not get mad…”

Your stomach dropped. 

“Nick. What did you do?”

He hesitated. 

“…I may have bought a hot tub..."

“Where the fuck are we putting a hot tub?!” You laughed at how ridiculous this was. “What about my vegetable patch!”

“Hey, you promised not to get mad!”

“Did not!”

Noah, who had been silent the entire ride, cracked an eye open from where he was slumped against the window. 

“In her defence, she never said she would.”

Folio huffed, turning back to you. 

“Okay, maybe I should’ve asked first, but just think about it… imagine all the sick parties we could throw! Or even just coming home from a stressful day and getting in the tub!”

“…I guess it’s not a bad idea.” You sighed, rubbing your temples. 

Folio grinned, triumphant. 

“See! I knew you’d be down for a hot tub party. It’s gonna be sick, just wait.”

…

By the time you got back to the hotel, exhaustion had finally caught up to you. Between running around all day, the rush of the festival, and the chaos that was Folio impulsively buying a hot tub, you were ready to pass out.

You didn’t say much as you followed Noah into the hotel room. Neither did he.

The silence wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable either. It was… something else.

Noah tossed his bag onto the chair in the corner and immediately pulled his hoodie over his head, revealing the tank top underneath. His tattoos stretched with the motion, and you had to force yourself not to look.

You cleared your throat, walking over to your bag to grab some pyjamas. 

“Dibs on the bathroom!” You called. 

Noah let out a breath of amusement as he flopped down onto the bed. 

“Okay.” 

You turned to look at him, meeting his eyes just for a second. 

“Wow, you didn’t even fight me for it, you must be tired.” You chuckled.

His head sank into the pillow, his voice quieter now. 

“Yeah. A little.”

You hesitated.

Something about him felt off. Maybe it was the way he had been so quiet on the ride back, or maybe it was the way his shoulders still looked tense, like he was carrying something he couldn’t put down. Maybe it was just the comedown from the show, but maybe it was something else...

You wanted to ask if he was okay, but you didn’t.

Instead, you grabbed your things and slipped into the bathroom, closing the door behind you.

When you came out, fresh-faced and in an oversized t-shirt, Noah was still awake, sitting up in bed, scrolling mindlessly through his phone. 

You climbed into your side of the bed, pulling the covers over yourself, but sleep didn’t come as easily as you thought it would. For a while the glow of Noah’s phone screen was the only light in the room, casting a faint blue hue against the walls, until he had set it down with a sigh. 

But still neither of you could sleep. 

You heard him sigh after a while, so you sat back up. 

“You’re thinking too loud." You murmured, turning to face him.

Noah let out a quiet laugh, the first real one of the night. 

“Didn’t realise that was a thing.”

“Well, it is. What’s on your mind?”

He hesitated, then sighed. 

“Nothing.”

You didn’t believe him, but you didn’t push.

He picked his phone back up, and there was another beat of silence. Then he spoke again.

“You were right, by the way.”

You blinked sleepily. 

“About what?”

“Earlier. When you said I’d kill it. I really didn’t think I had it in me tonight, but we really fucked it up out there. I'm glad you were here for it.”

That caught you off guard.

Noah wasn’t the type to accept compliments easily, let alone bring them up himself.

Your lips curled into a small smile. 

“Thanks... I always know what I’m talking about. You should listen to me more.”

He set his phone back down on the nightstand. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He glanced over at you, the room too dark to read his expression. “Goodnight, y/n.”

“Goodnight, concrete boy.”

You closed your eyes with a little smirk.

Neither of you said anything else. Neither of you fell asleep right away, either.

…

The soft creak of the bathroom door opening stirred you from sleep. You blinked against the morning light filtering through the hotel curtains.

Then, you saw him.

Noah stepped out of the bathroom, steam curling around him from the lingering heat of his shower. A towel hung dangerouslt low on his hips, droplets of water still clinging to his tattooed skin. His damp hair fell messily over his face as he gently shook his head, stretching slightly before rolling his neck and shoulders.

Yeah. You’ve woken up in your own personal hell. 

You didn’t mean to stare. You really didn’t.

But how could you not when he looked like that?

Then, just as you were about to snap yourself out of it, he flexed.

It was subtle- just a stretch, and a slow roll of his shoulders as he reached into his bag- but you knew. The way his biceps tensed just enough, the way his abs clenched slightly as he shifted. It was intentional.

Your thighs pressed together, fingers curling into the sheets. 

Asshole.

You swallowed, dragging your gaze upward before he could-

Too late.

Noah smirked. Just slightly, just enough to let you know he definitely caught you.

“Morning.” He said, voice a little rough from sleep.

You forced yourself to play it cool, clearing your throat as you sat up. 

“Morning.”

He didn’t move right away, just stood there, towel still in place, so dangerously low, watching you with that amused little glint in his eyes. Like he knew what you were thinking. Like he was waiting for you to crack.

Instead, you huffed and looked away, reaching for your phone. 

He chuckled, finally turning back to his bag, rummaging for clothes. 

“Sleep okay?” He asked casually, as if he hadn’t just been showing off in front of you on purpose.

“Yeah. You?” You exhaled, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. 

He hummed in response, pulling a shirt over his head. You weren’t sure if it was an answer or if he just didn’t feel like talking about it.

You hated how you felt fuzzy inside, it was clear he was doing it on purpose, the playful glint in his eye gave it away. 

But you knew just how you’d get him back, you were planning it already. 

You knew exactly what you would do. 

“Excited for Folio’s hot tub party next week?” You asked, an innocent smile on your face, not letting on that what you were plotting in your mind was far from innocent.

-------------------------------

@bloody-spades @death-ofpeace-ofmind @miss570 @dominuslunae @dontwantthemoney @amelia-acero @noahslutbastian @blade-dressed-in-red @super-btstrash-posts @kait16xo @oobleoob @sunshine-lvrr @lacy1986 @enemiestolovershoe @samanthasgone @superpiratecriminalchef @lukeevangelista @lunabuna991 @ami--gami @bluehairpunklol @darknightstarryeyes @xxkittenkissesxx @renegadebirch

[lochlogie]

Since people are talking about the fireworks scene, I hate that it was ever allowed to be framed negatively. I hate that any of that sequence was allowed to be framed negatively.

I mean, Lochlan is portrayed as so joyful and free and innocent, both naïve and also didn't do anything wrong. The drugs are absolutely hitting him hard and he's just having a good time. In fact, upon rewatch, there's a scene where Lochlan points to fire dancers(?) and they both look and Lochlan mouths "what is happening," or "how is this happening." He's clearly supposed to be even harder hit than Saxon is. That's why Saxon feels guilty the next day, in large part because he knows he promised to look out for Lochlan and couldn't even stop him from taking drugs that clearly had a huge affect on him. That's why Saxon blames the drugs for the incest, and he ultimately blames himself for the drugs.

Anyway Lochlan did nothing wrong. There's no manipulation, he's not being a little seductress either. He's just surrounded by sight and sounds and his brother and he's having a blast.

Touching Saxon's hair can be seen as a cliché high on Molly trope. But it could also be that Lochlan is already worshipping Saxon and is touching him in a way that feels appropriate for that context. Lochlan just wants to touch him. He's longed to have actual intimacy with Saxon because this guy is a huge source of his validation, affection, love? He's almost like a surrogate father for Lochlan (sound the alarm bells NOW). But things have to be kept a comfortable heterosexual masculine distance. Lochlan is so touched starved he just wants to hug Saxon, bury his face in his shoulder and be held like when he was a small child. All Saxon gives him are bro-y chest and back pats. Physical intimacy between men? Gay!

And don't think Saxon is not also touched starved as fuck. The feeling of Lochlan's gentle hands through his hair has him looking like he's orgasming lmao. And the look he gives back at Lochlan as he giggles at the fireworks is probably the first time he's shown such unfiltered fondness for Lochlan. And it's a crucial moment that lets you as the viewer know, he's not a total sadistic narcissist. He does care about Lochlan, in his own way. But he struggles to show it unironically.

Lochlan struggles to be open with his desires, that is for someone to see him, recognize him, allow him exist beyond what he can do for them. Saxon struggles to be open with his desires, that is for the Lochlussy, just kidding, that is for intimacy that's not coated in macho gay chicken incel nonsense.

You can read both of their desires as fucking each other nasty, or at least that's a manifestation of it. Sure, I don't care, go crazy, it's not real. But since I see the entire point to them existing as being some commentary on gen-z masculinity I don't know... compels me though.

So yeah, Lochlan wasn't trying to give Saxon the cookie, whether you think that's cute or evil. He's not trying to seduce him and he's not testing the waters so he can assault him later. I think the emotional message of the hair touching isn't meant to be sexual, I think it's meant to show that both of them do actually like each other, that they've felt lonely/misunderstood up to this point, and that they're feeling a deeper connection at that moment.

Yes, it feels like it's leading to something sexual, but my point is it almost feels more spiritual than that in the moment? I don't know.

[nijigasakilove]

Holy fuck this episode went from 0-100 REAL QUICK. Shaping up to be another incredible Kusuriya arc.

First of all it’s really dope to see both Maomao’s fathers getting some shine in this one. Luomen returning to the rear palace and getting the respect he deserves. At first I thought he was just being a Good Samaritan trying to help the servants and staff learn to read, but I never would’ve guessed it would’ve all tied back to the abortion medicine plotline from earlier in the season! Servants could be used to pass along abortion medicine recipes and if they can’t read they’d never even know! Lady Shin, the caravan, it all makes sense now.

I honestly understand why Shenlü and the other clinic ladies would be so bitter towards the world. Most of them were brought to the palace as little kids, raped by the emperor and then tossed aside and prevented from leaving just because he’d touched them. We already knew the pedo went for underage concubines, but knowing he was taking advantage of even non concubines just makes me feel even LESS sympathy for what Anshi did to em 🤷🏾‍♂️

But wtf was that twist!! Suirei is still around?!! And again where tf does Shisui keep spawning from 😭 normally it’s funny for comedic relief, but I swear she showed up out of nowhere in that clinic and this time it got her in some real danger!! Couldn’t help but laugh when Suirei bribed Maomao with learning the resurrection medicine recipe to get her to come quietly lmao

Laken back on my screen finally! So he’s totally onto Shishou being in on the Jinshi assassination plot and it seems like he knows Shishou is color blind as well. Does that mean Shishou is related to the founder’s family since they had that color blind trait we learned about during the puzzle game? 🤔 at any rate, can’t wait to see what comes of that and congrats to he and Maomao’s mother on their wedding!! They deserve it sm

Can’t wait to see how Jinshi comes to save Maomao next ep. You better get your girl!

[mini-assassin-osiris]

*there’s a broken window and chewed up pieces of boarding. Some footsteps could be heard on the ceiling*

*the trip home was a rather quiet one. Alex did not feel like talking. Not after yesterday and not after the nightmare that was now plaguing him. When they arrive at the palace he stepped out and offered his hand to help osiris out* you can greet Zeno and Nausi... but then straight to your room. I will have some guards board up your balcony and windows.... im sorry.... *he looks away.... he always trusted osiris with his whole being.... but now... he wasnt so sure*

Yeah yeah. Will do… will you still visit me?

*He seems a bit more remorseful to the situation with Aurelius. Maybe guilty? If he is, he’s not emotionally mature or stable enough to realize he is. *

[galactic-magick]

Are the hobbits good at sex? AKA hobbit whore hours

Features both x Reader and x canon headcanons. Special thanks to bestie @supremeleaderoofpoof for discussing all of this with me and listening to me talk about hobbits literally nonstop lol

Frodo:

No, he’s not. He will absolutely learn though.

I think he’d find it really difficult to be in the moment. He’d need a partner who’s very patient and willing to take the lead most times.

He would be very good about aftercare, though. He loves cuddling up after and reading a book together.

He’d like to take things slow, both in a relationship in general and with sex. I headcanon him as demisexual personally. Like I genuinely don’t think sex is on his mind most of the time until he has that super deep connection with someone.

He’d be a super good kisser though I think. He loves kissing.

With Samwise, he’d be a pillow princess lmao. As I will talk about later, Sam is a PRO so Frodo would not have to worry about a thing. Sam has no problem taking the lead and focusing on Frodo’s pleasure over his own.

Samwise:

I don’t think I have to explain anything but I will anyway. Sam is INSANELY good at sex. Like, he canonically had 13 children, okay? All I’m saying is Rosie was getting treated GOOD

LOVES oral. Mostly giving but also receiving. He’s so good with his mouth it’s unreal

He’d be so nervous at first, whether it’s his first time ever or just with a new partner, but once he gets the hang of it he’s so confident and passionate

Aftercare legend as well. Doesn’t matter how tired he is, he’ll wind down with you and make a nice meal and bath before falling asleep, although once he’s older and there’s a bunch of kids he might pass out but he doesn’t mean to lol

Merry:

I don’t know why but I get the vibe from Merry that he thinks he’s very good at flirting and sex but he is absolutely not. It’s not because he’s disrespectful or selfish or anything like that, he just lacks some social awareness and always embarrasses himself when he tries to flirt.

So no, he’s not good at it, but he could be taught. You’d have to guide him a lot and tell him exactly what you want him to do. He’s very good at following directions, he just doesn’t have the innate instinct of how to move or where to put his hands etc.

Once he gets better at it though, I think he could be a switch. In canon I feel like Estella Bolger probably pegs him and he loves it lol

He’s the type to fall asleep right after sex. He feels bad about not staying up for aftercare but he always tires himself out. He prefers morning and day sex for this reason, he’d love doing it as the sunshine streams in through the windows and he’d even be down to do it outside by the river.

Pippin:

I’m definitely biased because he’s my hobbit husband but I genuinely think he would be good. He’s a golden retriever lover boy at heart and would do everything he can to make his partner feel amazing.

Also really good at eating out. You’re his seventh meal of the day, okay? He lovesss oral.

Has crazy stamina. He’ll go for as many rounds as you’ll let him.

His dick is bigger than average for a hobbit. Not to the point of it being painful, but still. I think in general the Tooks are bigger than average because they have an ancestor who was super tall and there’s theories of them having elf ancestry as well.

He’s a complete cuddle bug, so aftercare is very cozy and lovey dovey. He likes skin to skin contact and singing you to sleep. He also canonically loves baths and will definitely splash you.

Bilbo (Hobbit Trilogy Version):

He’s not, but he does have a lot of knowledge about it. He loves his books, and I’m sure there’s at least some books in The Shire about how sex works. So he knows how to do everything in theory but not in practice, basically.

He’s a fast learner, though. He would get the hang of it pretty quickly and get better with time.

Doesn’t have much stamina though. One round and he’s satisfied usually. And then he just wants to hold you by the fire with some tea.

With Thorin, he’d be in for quite the adventure lol. I headcanon dwarves as the freakiest of all the Middle Earth races so Thorin would introduce him to things that were definitely not in his books.

That said, I think Bilbo would be open to some kinky stuff.

General hobbit headcanons about marriage and sex:

Sex is not a taboo topic whatsoever among hobbits. It’s considered a natural and normal part of life and it’s not censored in conversation. Hobbits value love, marriage, and children greatly, and there’s really no reason for it to be a big deal.

Hobbits do tend to be fairly traditional though in their relationships. They usually go through a courting stage when they’re interested in marriage, and usually don’t have sex until their wedding night. Nobody would be shunned or judged if they didn’t wait, it’s just not the norm.

Divorce is unheard of in the Shire mainly due to everyone taking their time to choose their partners and being super loyal and devoted. Absolutely no “I hate my wife/husband” jokes, couples are genuinely in love with each other, and any mistreatment of one’s partner would be detrimental to your reputation.

Nobody’s going to the marriage bed knowing nothing. Young hobbits coming of age are educated by their parents and older siblings generally, and it’s not considered weird to ask questions about it. Hobbits aren’t super medically advanced, but they’re at least familiar with the anatomy and how stuff works.

Hobbits love going down on their partners. It’s weird if one doesn’t, honestly.

Everyone has full bushes. Hobbits are very hairy and they’ve probably never even heard of a razor. Body hair is so normal for them. And yes it’s curly lol.

Their dicks are generally more girthy than long. Dick size isn’t really a topic of concern though, hobbits don’t really care about it.

Hobbits aren’t usually freaky or kinky. There’s some that are, but it’s not the norm. They are very very passionate though.

They are very affectionate and silly during sex, they don’t get super serious during it. It’s supposed to be fun and full of love. Lots of smiles and laughter more than screaming lol. It’s not a performance.

There’s no birth control in The Shire, so if you’re one of the rare hobbits that doesn’t want children you’re going to have to get real good at pulling out or tracking your cycle lmao

[eraserbread]

𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙛𝙚 3 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑤 a/n: you guys... this chapter is so insanely long. i have rewritten it six or seven times by now. send help. but, in honor of 2k eraserbread-heads, i shall release a scrapped version that was just too good to throw away. please read this while i continue working! this will not be in the final chapter cut! :) I am just desperately trying to buy time with this series lmao rip. enjoy! ilysfm thank u for being patient catch up on this fic, here :o

Sunday morning, you wake up wrapped in a blissful bundle, pressed against your husband’s warmth. He’s breathing deeply behind you, strong arm draped across your waist, keeping you pinned. You peek open your eyes, already smiling at his presence. It’s rare, now, to wake up with him. Weekends are yours, but more recently, he’s been dragging off to missions after his scheduled work times, leaving you cold on a Saturday night when you should be shoveling sensual words of devotion between his sleeping lips. 

You missed him so much, now. Always just missing him and wishing he were close, even when he’s pressed into you, he’s not really here. You’re sure he’s dreaming about his mysteriously devastating career move, seeing the things he kills in the back of his mind. You wonder if he’s fighting with his bosses in his rest, just like he does when he’s hunched over in his study. 

It seems like once he turned twenty-eight a month ago, life’s been like a minefield. He goes to work, deals with Curses stronger than him, then heads home to perpetual emptiness. Even your beautiful, smiling face – the dates you take him to and the words you whisper in his ear hardly scratch the surface anymore. Twisted up in this cruel existence, the only thing that makes him feel better is your warmth – the mindlessness that comes in that before-sleep, after-sex haze. It’s a similar feeling to drugs or drink, but he never touches them. Not anymore. Not when there’s so much on the line. 

That hot summer morning, you wait in bed for him to wake, blinking with every few seconds on the clock as they drag on. 08:32… 08:33… 08:34… 

Until you shut your eyes and will the ticking away. 

You know better than to move right now. You know he’ll whine and then glare at you with that look in his eyes if you stir him. You’ll feel like a terrible wife, and that is one thing you are not. 

So, you wait… and wait… 

Two hours later, you hear Kento grunt somewhere in his chest. He rolls over on his back, shifting under the light covers as he tosses his arm over his eyes. You’re nearly chirping with excitement as he shuffles, knowing there’d be no more sleep to be had. 

“Kento?” 

“Give me a moment.” He rasps, bringing both hands to his face to rub his eyes slowly. 

Of course, you’re listening to every syllable he breathes. You don’t move a muscle. 

That is, until he separates his fingers, staring back up at you. The tiniest, hardly noticeable smile forms on his lips. Your insides swim in admiration. 

“I love you.” It’s the first thing you truly say to him, because you know he needs it. “So much.” You reiterate, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the hand covering his right eye. His shirtless chest rises and falls slowly as your lips linger. You’re both moving so slowly, being so gentle and deliberate with each other, that it could feel robotic. The only thing keeping the mechanism running is the blatant and holy love you harbor. It’s too real to be fake – too blinding to be faulty. 

“Please, can we stay in today?” 

“Of course.” You’re replying before truly understanding what he’s saying. “Wait, but I do my grocery shopping on Sundays.” 

“We will get takeout, and you can go tomorrow while I am working.” He pauses, finally pulling his face free. His beautiful hazel eyes are bloodshot and unavailable, but stare into you like you’re a brilliant diamond, so in love. 

“We don’t have to get takeout, we have enough food for me to prepare today.” You sit up on your side, reaching across his delicate skin to brush some unruly hair away. “Unless you want to.” 

“You know, I would rather exclusively eat your cooking.” He lets you dote on him for a minute, blinking up at you gently. You take a moment to trace across the fine curves and lines of his face, hands shaking as you press his lips. He blinks up at you, and presses a tiny kiss to your thumb. “Are you okay?” 

He’s not sure why he asks, maybe it’s your silence this morning, or the way you’re looking at him. With worry, fear – something you feel every time you see him. He came home with another bruise the size of your head on his bare torso. It made you sick when you noticed it. 

Usually, you have the strength to keep it down, but it’s so hard. It’s impossible to love him so much. “This is killing you… slowly.” 

Kento rolls his eyes, averting his gaze. “We’ve spoken about this so many times. I don’t like repeating myself.” 

You’re sitting up, now, back pressed to the headboard as Kento turns to roll out. When he sits up, the reddened mark on his skin makes you sick. It’s much bigger than what you could see. “How did that even happen?” 

“I do not remember.” He speaks plainly, voice incredibly flat. He’s yawning into his hand, heading towards the door. “Go run us a bath… or something, just stop talking.” 

You press your lips together as he walks out, shocked and silent by his brash choice of words. But you do as you’re told. Even with unsure, shaking limbs, you trek to the bathroom to crank the faucet on hot. The pristine, white basin starts to flood with steaming water as soon as Kento steps back in, hovering a steaming mug of coffee to his nose. You try not to look, but the bruise is maddening, stretching from his left side, all the way to his back, twisting around muscle and lowering him to a slight limp. You know he won’t admit that the pain is palpable, but he wants a bath. That’s his way of telling you he’s sore. 

Hand-dipped to test the waters, you wait by the side of the tub. “It’s ready,” You whisper, standing and making space for him and his heavy footsteps. 

The room is completely silent, save for the shrug of Kento’s pants and the drip of water. The mug clinks when he sets it on the side, pinching his face when he makes that maneuver, one leg first, into the water. Steam rises, and he takes a slow breath. 

Then, he speaks. “Come on.” 

He watches you slip off your clothes, eyes lingering on your chest as you step out of your panties. Your clothes are mixed in a pile that you step over, flushed against his stern gaze. As hesitant as you are, you know he’s going to make up for every harsh word he’s ever given you. So, you take that first step into the water, right between his stretched legs. 

Once you’re settled, breathing heavily with your back to his chest, you reply. “It doesn’t hurt too much, right?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

You have to bend right now, knowing how Kento gets about work. It’s like poking a bear, so you nod. It would just have to wait. “I’m sorry, I just worr-

“You know how much your frequent apologies annoy me.” He’s moving, now, reaching to grab his coffee. “Please, let’s not spend our day bickering like children.” 

“You’re bickering with me, I’m just worried.” 

His coffee is more important than you, right now. He makes it obvious with a noisy slurp just out of your eye's view. “I understand that you are worried. I hope you understand that I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“You don’t want to talk about anything.” Usually, you wouldn’t be so stubborn, but you’re his wife. His physical state weighs on you nearly as much as it weighs on him. All you want is Kento to be okay – he’s treating your worry like a slap in the face. 

“That is not true. I like talking to you very much. I don’t like entertaining pointless conversation.” Another noisy sip of his coffee, you scowl into the air. “You told me you were worried, I listened-

“Hardly-

“Hey.” His tone drops lower, more serious and domineering. He’s doing what he does best, discipline laced throughout his tone. “Enough.” 

That silences you. Or is it the clink of his cup as it places it back on the ledge? Either way, you find it hard to relax against his hard chest. It doesn’t feel like home like it usually does, because you’re weary of putting pressure on him. You squirm, trying to slide into a more comfortable position to handle. You’re restless, sighing and shaking as you do anything to break this mean silence. Kento watches you with a raised brow, then catches his breath. 

Then, you feel it – his desire rising for you like a faulty friend. 

“Stop squirming.” He demands, grunting, yet hiding it under another sip of his coffee. 

“Sorry.” You whisper, hands dripping water as you reach to hold the side of the basin. This rising heat is rendering you breathless, now. You can feel the warmth in your bare chest climbing as Kento’s erection does. You decide on a limb – you two didn’t have to talk if you couldn’t get along, but he could be inside of you. Surely there’d be less fight in his bones if he’s warm and muggy with the familiarity of your stretched cunt. 

“I really am,” You continue, voice pitched high and whiny as you gently rise from the water. It’s a tough maneuver, fingers shaking against the wet porcelain. Kento’s eyes are glued to your back, blinking up at you over the rim of his mug. He has half a mind to what you’re doing, but he didn’t think you’d be so bold as to handle his hard cock in your delicate fist, breathing heavily as you set it in the perfect position to sink onto. It burns at first, as everything good tends to do, but that fire morphs into an impossible stretch when you finally make your way flush against his lap. No reaction the entire time, Kento is confused, but highly, dangerously horny now. 

“Didn’t think you’d be so brave.” He chooses to say, taking a deep breath when you’re settled back against his chest. He’s humming around his coffee-stained tongue, tucking some of your hair out of the way so he can kiss the underside of your jaw. “Up, now.” 

“No.” You reply, flushed and pining. The stretch starts to feel normal, slowly but surely. Kento needs more. 

“No? You’ll just sit there?” 

“Mhm.” Nodding, you reach your hand behind your head to feel his steam-dampened locks between your fingers. “F-feels good, right?” 

“Feels like you’re just sitting on me.” To answer him, more out of spite, you clench around his swollen length. “Oh, wow.” 

Kento wouldn’t tell you, but this feeling is addictive. He knows you’re hot with worry, but you’re burning up inside, blushing his body a light shade of pink against the luxurious bath warmth. 

You two didn’t need to talk anymore. All you have to do is rest your head on his shoulder, meshing your breaths with his and letting words linger in midair. He finishes his coffee just like that, buried inside of you, cock drooling and needy, but he wouldn’t let it show.