#and I'm like...were that I could but that is not a power I have at the moment

[poguehearted77]

Hi!! I saw that your requests were open and I'm a big fan of your work and I was wondering if you could write something for rafe where reader is a pogue and they need to steal something from tanney hill but Rafe comes home unexpectedly and reader is supposed to distract him but they end up fucking >.< tyyy!!!

Oooh this is freaky. I love it.

My requests are still open.

smut!! -> >.<, penetrative sex, rafe gets flashed, dom! rafe, missionary, size kink, tummy bulge, rafe doesn't pull out..

In and out. That was the plan you and Sarah had agreed on. She would search through the office while you guarded the halls to make sure the coast remained clear.

Things got complicated. Plans changed when Sarah realized that Rafe had taken the liberty to add locks onto the cabinets where the files are kept. Your heartbeat drummed through your ears as you noticed the flash of headlights from Rafe's truck shine through the glass windows.

"Shit. Sarah, Rafe's back early. ETA on the files?" you panic, scurrying through the tiles halls until your feet take you into the office where the blonde crouched, picking the lock with a bobby pin. "I've almost got it. Distract Rafe, keep him as far from here as possible."

Your legs carried you as fast as they could, hoping to meet him outside the front door but he was already inside, your head bumping into his firm chest at full force, sending you tumbling to the ground. "Holy shit. What the-" He's mid-curse when he notices the face of the intruder. Your face.

"Y/n? What the hell are you doing in here?" His thoughts beat your lips to the answer as they geared the possibilities. His jaw locks as it dawns on him, "Where's Sarah, huh? Is she in here? You helping her steal from me now too?"

His steps are powerful as they begin to clear the premises but you desperately grab onto his bulging biceps. "No, Rafe! Stop." Not expecting him to obey so easily, he whips around, startling you.

Just over his shoulder, you see Sarah's head peek out of the office. She gives a wave with the needed files in hand. You had to make sure Rafe didn't turn around, at all costs.

"I thought you were different, y'know? I always thought you were too good to be hangin' with those pogues-" He's about to turn around while Sarah sneaks out the back. You do the first idiotic thing that comes to mind. Your fingers are hooking under the fabric of your top and heaving upwards to flash him your tits.

His sentences break off into chopped, undecided stutters and his hands slowly reach for your round mounds. His hands were hesitating until you gave him a slight nod. "H-holy shit. Most fuckin' perfect pair of tits I've ever seen." His mind is racing to catch up with his hands that gently massage your breasts and you let out a soft moan.

That's the last time either of your clothes were still draped across your bodies. The interaction was quickly followed by uncalculated steps and heated kisses toward the couch where he'd laid you down and fucked you dumb.

"You feel that?" Rafe relishes in the depths of your soaked cunt that sucked in his generous length. Summoning him to a state of bliss, serving a sentence he wished would last the rest of his lifetime.

His hand is placed arrogantly on your lower abdomen where the outline of his girth could be seen pushing up against your insides. Surely, the question is rhetorical as you'd been reduced to a whimpering mess under his touch.

"My dick's splittin' you open. You fuckin' like that shit?" His hips snap, and you squeal, your whole body jolting with every moment of his much bigger one. The sight of you beneath him was more than enough to get him riding along the edge of ecstasy.

"You got the best fuckin' pussy on the island, goddamnit." His lower lip is tucked between hiss teeth, doing his best to hold himself back.

Rafe wouldn't deny any allegations of previously imagining having you in this very position, but the reality puts the products of his imagination to great shame. "R-rafe!" You moan, unbelievably turned on by your 'sworn enemy'.

"Yeah-- shit. Me too." It's not long before his thrusts begin to falter with strained grunts but added force, and he cums not long after you do. He slowly pulls out, admiring the stringy white cum that kept you connected before he realizes what he's done.

"Rafe..." You slowly sit up, dreading the consequences of his actions. "Fuck--I know, shit. I jus' got so caught up- and your pussy jus' felt so good. I wasn't thinking straight." You're both scavenging to get your clothes on as he rambles on.

He reaches into his back pocket and grabs a wad of cash, "Go get a plan B, and we can both act like this never happened, okay?" With a cold gaze, you pocket the money before rushing outside where the Twinkie is waiting for you around the corner out of sight.

"Y/n! Oh my god what took you so long? We thought Rafe had done something to you." Sarah gasps once you finally pull open the doors of the van. Your head shakes, "Nothing. Just Rafe being Rafe, let's go."

[arueshalaetablebuildingsociety]

One thing to note is that this doesn't factor-in non-occupant fatalities, which would very likely increase all brands numbers significantly.

But one thing I noticed is that this article presents interesting data and then draws an absurd conclusion from it; namely, blaming the drivers "taking safety features out of context."

This is unethical journalism in its most textbook form. Here is why:

- Tesla is not the only brand that over-advertises safety features, even though they are one of the easiest examples to point to thanks to Elon's ridiculous publicity stunts like shattering the "shatter-proof" windows.

- Tesla Drivers are not a unique demographic of people. As a subdemographic of Executive Car owners (High end Lincolns, Audis, BMWs, Mercedes), they might trend towards more "faith in technology" than their counterparts, but not so much that it would explain a doubling of fatal accidents as measured by occupants of the vehicle. That level of attribution is ludicrous.

- Teslas have several known safety flaws and several correlating high-profile fatalities.

The doors tend to lock closed in the case of a power failure, which may only be released via an unmarked switch with a location varying across models but almost always requiring some disassembly of the dashboard. In the dark or other low-/zero-visibility situations like being underwater or having the cabin fill with smoke, this is effectively a death sentence for the driver and all passengers.

The batteries ignite readily and combust vigorously when exposed to moisture in the air thanks to the Lithium used in their construction, and resist traditional firefighting methods due to the whole "combusts in reaction to the presence of water or moisture" issue.

Crucial operational and safety features such as gear shifting are relegated to purely touchscreen controls, which is insane on the face of it. Touchscreens are an interface which require precise inputs and can't by their very nature guide you in supplying those inputs. Their surfaces warp and distort under prolonged exposure to heat (like might be found in the interior of a car in warm or hot weather), distorting the input in unpredictable ways even if it is entered correctly. They process a large amount of data in collecting the input to generate the output, leading to memory leaks, latency, and crashing. And the monitors that supply their display tend to degrade in a way that generates more heat over time, degrading the performance of the touchscreen if not causing outright failure by saturating it with false inputs.

All of these issues would have to be accounted for before one could begin to make assumptions about "Operator Error" if there were literally any standard of ethics being applied.

And I'm going to jump back to touchscreens for a second:

August 21st, 2017:

On an exercise with an exhausted crew, the USS John S. McCain experiences a loss of steering and propulsion control, causing it to deviate into the path of the Liberian-flagged Tanker Ship, Alnic MC. The resulting collision killed 10 sailors on the USS John McCain and crippled the ship.

What caused this collision? The US Navy officially blames the Captain, in a Certified BuOrd Moment™ [for those unaware: the Bureau of Ordnance was the body behind the insane failures and even more insane coverup of the Mark 14 Torpedo, notable for its proclivity to blame crews and captains for failure in handling the torpedo even in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary].

But what was a more proximate cause was the Touchscreen Controls for the ship's steerage and engine power. The TOUCHSCREEN CONTROLS for the STEERING and ENGINES. In a throwback to the Mark 14, crews had no ability to access the manuals for the equipment (the only manual available was written entirely in Norwegian), very little if any training in using the equipment, and no training on what to do if the equipment failed.

So when a "feature" none of the crew were aware of was unwittingly discovered, the ability to decouple one of the shafts (driveshaft but for a ship) from the touchscreen controls, the crew encountered a situation where they wholly relied on a single poorly-understood system to avert disaster.

And then the Bridge Touchscreen crashed.

There's a whole lot more to this story, such as the "big red button" and the whole extent of crew fatigue, and I highly recommend the Lions Led By Donkeys bonus episode about it; but the overall moral of this story is don't put any function on a touchscreen that would create a hazard to the operator or any bystanders if the touchscreen failed.

holy shit

i knew teslas were bad but "literally twice as deadly as the average vehicle" is something else

[dcxdpdabbles]

Hi Drabbles,

I wanted to ask if you still do prompts and if you do can you do the one below?

So Danny is the Ghost King and was friends with Bruce’s parents so he felt when they died. They could become ghosts but I’ll leave that up to you. But either way, Danny feels their death and assists Alfred when he can to raise Bruce. Due Danny’s visits and Bruce’s holidays in the infinite realms they (Bruce and Alfred) became very Liminal. So they have slight powers. One day, Danny comes over with Ellie and Dan (who are like siblings to Bruce as both we deaged/destabilised and Danny raised them) but Bruce forgets he never told the newer kids about them as Danny hasn’t come over in a while. Dick has meet them, Jason has heard about of them but the rest don’t know about them.

There were three strangers in their house. Usually, that would be okay, as multiple people came and went through Wayne Manor. It was customary to hire random crews to help set up for a Gala, or maybe some representatives from the various charities they helped would come over for dinner or a meeting.

Sometimes, a few of Bruce's old party buddies would pop up to get him to stop being a dad and return to his party boy days. They've all learned how to dance around visitors and hide their identities.

The thing was, these strangers were kept from the main parts of the manor. Their rooms, the sitting lounge, Bruce's Office, Damian's art studio, Jason's library, Tim's game room, Cass' dance studio, and Duke's music record room were all inaccessible.

Bruce would always ask if someone attempted to sneak away and stop them. There was a time when paparazzi disguised themselves as crew members—the three idiots even got jobs at the cleaning company—and tried to see if they could find a scandal on the children.

Brucie Wayne was seen crying hysterically on the news that night for accidentally pushing down a piano on them. He was trying to take it up to the Music Room as a surprise for Duke and wanted to avoid bothering the cleaners to have them help him. He had no idea the rope he was using to drag the grand piano up the stairs would have snapped and rolled backward onto the paparazzi, who had previously been taking pictures of Cass practicing without her knowledge.

People told him not to feel bad, as Bruce had cameras in the hallways of his home due to the last time someone broke in, and it was obviously not his fault. Some people said they deserved it, but Bruce wouldn't hear it. He paid for all their medical bills and gave them enough funds to tie them over for three weeks while they recovered.

Everyone shook their heads at poor Bruce. After all, the piano had fallen so far that the only real harm was that each of them got a few bruises and a broken arm, but that was all.

The point was that no one went up there that shouldn't be.

Yet here, standing in the middle of the Gaming room, were three strangers who were all aggressively battling it out on an old remaster shooting game.

"This is way harder than I remember," said the oldest one, who seemed to be Alfred's age.

"That's cause you always sucked at games," The woman taunted, but her words were countered by the other man shooting her down. "Hey!"

"Ha!" Barked the last man from where he was twisting his elbows, moving alongside his running character. "I'm unstoppable!"

Tim turns to his siblings, about to ask them how they want to play the dramatic scene where they would throw these people out, but his words catch in his mouth upon spotting Cass' expression.

Her narrowed, guarded eyes watched the three with the same amount of steel she had reserved for only the worst of their enemies. Whoever they are, they set off so many alarms in her. She knows they're dangerous.

At once, this minor inconvenience turned into a severe risk to his health. He snaps back towards the strangers, tense and ready for battle. Around him, the rest of his siblings are in similar stances, quickly signing how they would attack.

What kind of message were they sending if someone on Cass's danger scale was able to break in undetected and choose to play with their things? Was it a show of what they could do? Claim that they could beat the Bats without really trying?

The woman's eyes snap towards them so fast she could have been a speedster. He had even noticed her turning around; one second, she was back to them. The next, she was half-turned, staring at them. It looked like a poorly edited video. Everyone jumps, but all she does is smile. "Hey, it's Bruce's kids! Anyone want to call the winner?"

The older gentleman drops his control, turns around to fully face them, and gasps. He puts one hand on his chest and the other right above his mouth. "Look at them! There are so many! Alfred must be so excited to be a grandfather. Why aren't you two giving me grandbabies?"

"Ugh, not this again." The man sighs, continuing to play despite the fact that the other two are no longer paying attention.

"It's fine time you find someone nice." The other protested.

"I'm not nice," Countered the player. "I highly doubt someone would want to find me."

"That's not true, Dan. Most of my co-workers want your number, " the woman chirps. "Also, stay away from my office. It's gross."

"Aren't half of your office married?"

"That's why I said most, you idiot."

"Just for that, I'm going to your office dressed like a romance novel protagonist. The modern professor who goes home for the holidays and finds his humanity again. I'll have a trench coat and everything."

"How dare you. Then I'll strut by your friends in a bikini."

"That's mean. It's not Halloween; there is no need to scare them."

"I'll kill you-"

"Enough! Honestly, you two, you're in your late thirties. Stop bickering."

"No matter how old we are, Dani will always be my little sister."

"Aw. " Dani poses the same as the older man—hand on chest, hand over mouth—and looks close to tears. "I love you too, you big waste of space."

Cass creeps into the room, somehow vanishing from view as the three strangers chat. Tim is still determining where she is, but he figures she'll strike when she has the opening. He feels Duke palm the knife in his pocket, and Damian lowers himself in preparation to throw a ninja star.

Dan snaps his head up with a laugh. "Wow, you're fast. A little too loud, though. Make sure to flatline your heartbeat when sneaking up on people."

Cass drops down over him, but Dan only laughs. Her blade goes right through him, and her fast place kicks do nothing. She accidentally cuts the controller in half, stopping the man's laughter.

"No! I was winning!"

"Ha!" Dani barks, uncaring the ninja star that goes through her right shoulder and flies through her body to exit on the other side. "Dan forfeits!"

"How does this count as forfeiting-"

"Guys, the children are trying to kill us." The older man cuts in. He levels the Waynes with large, grandfatherly eyes. "Children, why are you trying to kill us?"

He says it the same way someone would as a child why they were putting things in their mouths.

"Not kill. Just harm," Duke responds, voice low and dangerous. " Why don't you answer our questions. How did you get in here?"

"Alfred, let us in. He said we could make ourselves at home while he stepped out." The old man frowned. "He went to get Bruce from his office."

"Who are you?" Tim demands next, filing away the claim that Alfred let them. The butler would have told them days in advance if someone would have access to the game room.

"I'm Danny Fenton. These are my children, Dani and Dan." Danny introduces, eyeing the crowd. "We're close friends of Alfred and Bruce."

"How-"

"It's so good to see you all again!" Dick cheers, running down the hallway and still in uniform. He jumps over his siblings in an impressive flip, not breaking stride to race into Danny's arms.

The older man holds them open seconds before they crash together. "Dick! Look how big you've gotten. Oh, it seems like only yesterday you were waist-high!"

"Ha ha ha, it has been a few years, Granpa Danny. Hi Auntie, Uncle! How are you?"

"Dickie, my sweet pea, look at you!" Dani squeals, leaning in for her own hug. She passes through a confused Cass like a ghost. "So handsome! And Tall! Who told you that you were allowed to grow taller than me?"

"Seeing that you are barely over five' six, everyone," Dan laughs, clapping Dick on the shoulder. "It's a shame we're twins, so I'm no taller."

"Um, Dick?" Tim calls as his brother breaks in fast-paced, reassurances that no matter how tall he is, he will always be open for hugs from the shorter adults. "Who are they?"

"Oh these are Fentons. Danny helped Alfred raise Bruce, so their like our extended family."

Tim blinks, wondering if this feeling of confusion is what his classmates mean whenever they joke about being at family functions and people who last saw them as babies walk up to them like they should know them. It's an odd feeling.

"Oh, them?" Jason says from behind the hallway. He peeks in casually, lowering his gun and raising the soda can in the other hand. "I heard about them but never met them. They have level purple clearance."

"Of course we do! We build that stupid cave for Bruce." Dan scoffs. "He got stuck down there as a kid and thought it was safe just to make an entire headquarters in a hole. Honestly."

"At least Bruce has a career and children," Danny says pointingly.

"Please don't compare me to my cousin." Dani groans. "It's exhausting."

Yeah, this is definitely extended family.

[jo-harrington]

Blueberry Muffin (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Summary: Eddie notices you're good at sharing your food. A little too good.

Pairings/Relationships: Older!Eddie Munson/Reader

Warnings/Themes: Established relationship, Food/Eating, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Brief mention of financial concerns, Discussion of trauma from previous relationships

Note: This is something entirely personal to me, it was something my ex did one-upon-a-time ago. But, like with everything else, Eddie Munson is a powerful tool to help you get over some of your issues. This fic might not be the best, but it helped me work through some old issues. And I'm pretty proud of that.

Shoutout to @undead-supernova who inspired me to write this while we were chatting about her excellent fic We Are Going To Be Friends, and @dr-aculaaa who is one of my lifetime mutual trauma ride-or-dies and told me my ex was actually trash (and they were trash).

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

If there was one thing that was the key to yours and Eddie's relationship, it was food.

Before there even had been a relationship, food had been one of the keystones of your friendship. You met at a friend's thanksgiving potluck, you always planned your outings around where you'd eat and the snacks you’d get, and during the group road trip up to Milwaukee for Mac and Cheese Fest, he'd finally gotten the courage to ask you out.

Food was life. You both agreed.

You were always good about sharing your food.

You, as in the two of you, sure. But specifically you.

It wasn't until the two of you were together and spent more time alone with each other that Eddie realized just how good you were at sharing.

Actually, good wasn't the right word.

Meticulous was more accurate.

If you took a bite of his burger when you went out for dinner, he had to have a bite of your pasta.

If you bought a pint of ice cream to share during movie night, you matched each bite spoon for spoon. However, if after a certain point of sharing he insisted that you could have the rest of the pint because it was your favorite flavor, the pint would inevitably make it back into the freezer without another spoonful taken.

On and on it went.

He tried to ignore it, but once he noticed it, it was hard not to.

At first, he thought that it was some relic of a less-than well-off childhood. Like Eddie, you'd grown up with a single parent and were occasionally foisted off on well-intentioned relatives to watch you while your mom worked. Thankfully, food was never scarce for either of you, but the fact that you'd been forced to grow up quicker than the others made you aware of generic-branded groceries and your mothers stretching their dollars and the pursing of lips when the bills came for special occasion meals out.

After a while, though, that reasoning disappeared. Yes, there were still habits that you formed from your mother's frugality but never to the point of anxiety.

This was something else.

And it all came to a head the day you brought home a bag of leftovers from work.

"Tom always orders too much when the execs visit the warehouse," you explained excitedly as you proudly showed off a plastic container of some gourmet salad and a few wax paper-wrapped sandwiches.

Then came the pastries.

A cherry danish you grabbed for Eddie specifically, and a pistachio-cream filled croissant that Eddie had heard you gush about a million times over. A few tiny cream puffs that both of you eagerly popped into your mouths.

And one blueberry muffin.

"Oh!" You faltered at the sight of it and then looked back into the obviously empty paper bag. "I thought there had been two."

"That's ok," Eddie shrugged. "We can just split it."

"No!" you snapped at him, your eyes wide. "You can have it."

"Sweetheart, I know you love muffins as much as I do," Eddie scoffed. "We'll just split it. No big deal. It's a pretty big muffin."

He watched as you worried at your lower lip for a long, drawn out moment before you nodded.

He kissed the side of your head and turned to grab plates and drinks. He carried as much as he could out to the living room so you could eat dinner in front of the TV. When he returned to your side to grab the food and start plating up your plunder, he stopped in his tracks at what he found.

Splitting a muffin was a no-brainer, typically. Or so Eddie thought. Just peel the paper lining and split that sucker in half. But there you stood, knife held in a shaky hand, shifting back and forth a few millimeters every so often, trying to find the exact equator of the confection before you so it could be cut in equal halves.

"What are you doing?" Eddie asked as gently as he could, but you still flinched, and when you looked up at him, your eyes looked glassy.

"Just cutting the muffin in half," you tried to laugh and play it off, but Eddie could see through the facade.

"It's just a muffin," he tried to offer, as though reminding you that it was, indeed, just a muffin would break you from this fit.

"It is," you looked down again, almost in shame. "Isn't it?"

He let you have a second, let you put the knife down and take a few deep breaths to calm yourself. When you nodded and held yourself a little more confidently, Eddie closed the distance and split the muffin in half by hand, right down the middle along the score line you had started.

And he pretended that he didn't notice the way you'd held your breath while he did it.

"Let's have dinner then," he suggested.

---

"You gonna tell me what all that was about?" Eddie asked once dinner was almost over, his mouth full of cherry danish, crumbs spewing from his lips as he spoke.

You ignored him for a second, picked at your own laminated pastry, until he continued.

"You know I always thought your mom really hammered the sharing is caring thing with you. But you went full King Solomon on that muffin and...I know that look in your eyes because I've seen it in the mirror a ton of times. That was fear. That was pain. So, are we gonna talk about it?"

You sighed and considered telling him no, you wouldn't be telling him jack shit, but...how many times had you pried into things that you really had no place asking about and he still told you anyway. That's how communication worked; that's how a relationship worked.

And that was how you got into this mess wasn't it?

"You remember my shitty ex?" you began tentatively, with a question.

"Shitty ex Number 1," Eddie scoffed. "Or shitty ex Number 2?"

"Number two."

"Should've known," he said under his breath but nodded for you to continue. "Alright, so what else did they do?"

Because the list had been...extensive already, you were loath to admit.

But you were with Eddie now, and things were infinitely better. You could work through these hurdles with him.

"It all started when we still worked at the mall together," you began. "Before we even started dating, actually. We'd meet on breaks and shoot the shit and one day, the little bakery only had one blueberry muffin."

You glared at the split muffin sitting on a plate on the coffee table, as though it was at fault, and not your ex.

"We decided to split it. Nothing wrong with that. We only had a fifteen, it was just a snack. But when they went to split the muffin...they took the muffin top, and left me with the stump."

"The...stump?" Eddie asked slowly, unable to comprehend.

"Yeah," you leaned forward and tapped on the base of the muffin that had previously been encased in paper. "The stump."

"That's...only assholes split a muffin that way." He paused and considered it. "But it's Shitty Ex Number Two. So I shouldn't expect anything less."

"I didn't think anything of it then," you continued. "Or the next hundred times we split a blueberry muffin on breaks, even when we started dating. They would always get the delicious, crispy, sugary muffin top, and I would always get the stump. Half-clinging to the wrapper, maybe a blueberry burned on the bottom. Never an equal half, always less-than!

"Until one day, there was this especially delicious looking muffin. It wasn't even at the mall, we were on a real date! At a real, nice bakery. With blueberry muffins, because that was our thing, and I made the mistake of asking if I could have the muffin top. Just once. And they looked at me like...like I just asked them to sacrifice their mother or something."

You felt your lip tremble, and the familiar sting of tears in your eyes.

That sense of loathing that you always felt when you thought of that moment, or really any time you got a blueberry muffin.

You took a breath and said, "they just told me that if I really loved them, I would let them have the damn muffin top. Because it was their favorite."

"That's bullshit!" Eddie got to his feet, arms thrown up in the air. "Sorry sweetheart, that's bullshit and, I'm sorry but, you deserved so much better. You deserve to have half a muffin. Half of the whole muffin, not just the stump. Fuck, you deserve the whole damn muffin yourself! It’s just a muffin!"

"I know!" You shouted back at him, causing him to stop his ranting and raving. "Don't you think I know that? It’s just a muffin and I shouldn’t have had to make myself accept less than what I deserved but it was the first in a long line of things where they made me feel like I wasn’t worth half. I wasn’t worth anything. And if I tried to prove that I was, to them and to myself, I would look crazy. Because it’s just a muffin.

“That's why I started...that's why I started taking what I deserved. I started taking half, instead of giving everything Eddie. If you get a bite, I get a bite. With everything. Because I deserve it!"

You thought of the way you had to meticulously tried to split the blueberry muffin earlier.

"Maybe...maybe I take it a little too far sometimes," you muttered, letting the tears finally fall. "Because I don't want to be selfish like they were, and take more from you than you deserve."

"Baby," Eddie dropped back onto the couch and corralled you into his embrace, pecking kisses to the side of your head. "Who fucking cares? Don't worry about me. Shit, I'll give you anything you want. I'll take anything you leave behind. I'll give you my whole cheeseburger at Benny's, if only you asked for it. And if you left me one singular pickle chip, I'd take it without complaint."

"I would never ask you," you laughed wetly.

“No, but you could ask, that’s the point. And I would give it to you.”

"I know I could. And I know you would...I just...I can't break myself from the habit. Not yet, at least."

"I get it," Eddie said into your hair as he continued dropping kisses. "The shitty exes leave their scars and you do your best to keep from opening the wounds up again. I get it."

You knew. You both had your fair share of scars.

---

It took a few minutes, as you basked in one another's comforting presence, before you inevitably shared the damn muffin you brought home. Eddie insisted on letting you take an extra bit off his muffin top, even when you rolled your eyes and told him to stop.

Neither of you brought it up again for a few days, but you both were a little more conscientious when you shared food.

You made nachos for his Friday night DnD session with the guys and he left you the core nacho that held everything together; it was extra gooey with cheese, and loaded with jalapeños. You made sure to take an extra big bite of his pint of rocky road when he offered, even if he didn't want a single bite of your rum raisin. And when it was his turn to take bites of your food, you didn't pay attention to how much or how little he took.

It still felt a little wrong, but it was insanely healing. You didn't need to worry about keeping things fair and equal with Eddie; your relationship was already fair and you were equals.

And of course, Eddie kept your revelation at the forefront of his mind to hold you accountable to your own bullshit. He noticed when you fell into old habits before you could and even came up with a form of punishment if you subconsciously made sure to take the same number of bites off a shared plate as he did:

He would give you a vegetable off his plate.

"I'm not a fan of broccoli anyway," he grinned cheekily, waving his fork with the aforementioned green in front of your face one night at dinner.

"You're an idiot," you shook your head, but took the bite regardless.

It was slow and steady, but you were getting over the hurdle together.

Then one day, the unexpected happened.

You were at work, doing your little mindless computer work as you did, when your coworker called your name from the front of the office.

"Is it your birthday or something?" Jill laughed as she hauled something through the sea of cubicles.

"No, did someone get me flowers or something?" you asked and stood from your desk to meet her halfway.

"You can't eat flowers," she said as she turned the corner, holding a massive basket.

Full of blueberry muffins.

You didn't need to read the card tied to the cellophane-wrapped basket full of baked goods to know who it was from, but you did anyway to satisfy your coworkers' curiosity.

And they didn't quite understand it, but it made your heart melt.

I didn't ask if they sold a basket of only the tops, because I didn't want them to think either of us were sociopaths. It’s just a blueberry muffin. But you're worth every muffin in this damn basket, sweetheart. Never forget that. Love, Eddie

[letorip]

aline

“et j'ai crié, crié "aline!" pour qu'elle revienne, et j'ai pleuré, pleuré, oh j'avais trop de peine”

===+++===

pairing: wednesday addams x reader

summary: sometimes you’d talk about dying to wednesday, though it was something an addams couldn’t ever really fear. that was, until the person being lost was you.

warnings: erm you die lol, major character death, wednesday being sad, mentions of blood, self sacrifice, maybe a little contrived way to die but too bad

word count: 1.6k

A/N: i promise im okay but this was truly an interesting plot line to follow, and i couldn’t bear not writing it down. if it made you sad, don’t worry, because i have more fluffy stuff on the way. it was something short i had considered doing for a long time, so even if this flops i'm completely happy with how it came out.

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"Wednesday?" you asked, eyes on the wooden ceiling of her room. From the way her head rests against the warm plane of your chest, she can feel the smooth skin move as you say her name, heart right under her ear. It nearly lulls her to sleep, had it not been a question.

"Yes?" she purrs, lazily propping herself up on her arm. There are heavy weights on her eyelids, but the line of your mouth tells her something is troubling you. You’re too saturnine, much too glum for what you and Wednesday just did, and her eyes soften imperceptibly, her thumb going to your side to quietly stroke itself back and forth there. “What’s plaguing you?”

You can’t help but shudder at the contact of her hand and the goosebumps the pads of her fingers leave in their wake. “Are you... do you...," you attempt, the question falling flat on your tongue. She furrows her eyebrows at your hesitation.

"Say your thoughts,” she says, forehead creased in concern. It's almost funny, how caring and soft she is, now that she's given up on trying to seem aloof and apathetic towards you, her skin warm against your own.

The Addams Curse to love someone with every fibre of their being had taken hold of Wednesday entirely, and she looked at you sometimes like you held her beating heart in your hands, or at least like she'd cut it out for you, if you were to need it. She raises a hand, gently brushing a few hairs from your forehead.

“Are you afraid of dying?”

Her eyebrows furrow even further, scanning your face for any indicators of harm. “Where is this coming from? Has something been done to you?”

But you shrug, finally looking down to look her in the eyes with softness. “I was just wondering… are you?”

She narrows her eyes. “You know I’m an Addams. Death is a friend, not a foe. Fear of that serves no purpose. Only cowardice from facing a fight. Only to make you weak.”

Your eyes flit away. “Hm.” There’s no hiding of disagreement in your tone, and it has an embarrassing amount of power over her, how she itches to know what goes on in that head of yours.

“What?”

“I think… I think my fear is what makes me strong. I’m afraid of losing those I care about. And so I fight with every bit of sweat, blood, and tears that I have. Your loss is my deepest fear, Wednesday. My deepest.”

She stared at you momentarily, then looked out the window to the stars. “How is one to fear death when it is far from the end? Death may take me from your sight, but it cannot take me from your heart. There I live, vibrant and whole. Forever.”

===+++===

You’d never even realised how much blood the human body could actually hold, until you were standing there in the centre of the quad with an arrow straight right below your heart, its steel tip poking from your back. Your own blood coated your hands where you cupped it, dribbling down the splintered wood and splattering in droplets to the cobblestone in thick, dark red splotches.

The blood— your blood— is coming out even more now, and you turn to look at Wednesday, where you had shoved her out of harm’s way. Her eyes are wide in horror, like she's seeing something straight from a nightmare of hers, and you take a clammy step towards her, frigid and burning at the same time.

“Wens—” you stammer, and suddenly your knees are giving out. She rushes forward, trying to catch you in her arms, but you're too heavy, deadweight that tugs on her. You fall onto them, your knees, clutching at the newly opened maw of your chest with a gasp, and before you know it you’re falling forward towards the floor.

Wednesday follows you down, catching you before you can land, and she holds you tight, turning you over onto your back as the arrow sticks straight up from the heart she cherishes so much. The wood is already splintering, nearly falling apart, and her hand goes to your wound as if trying to put your blood back into your body.

It’s uncomfortable, with the metal tip of Xavier’s arrow sticking from the back of your chest and lightly prodding at her front, but she squeezes you tightly against herself, hands frantically travelling the length of your torso and raking over your arms, anywhere she can reach. But there’s nothing she can do. It’s a thought she refuses to confront, but Wednesday specialised in dealing with dead things; she was unfamiliar with how to keep things alive, no matter how much she needed you to stay that way.

Crackstone is cackling from his belly, a toothy sneer spreading itself out onto his leathery face as he looks at the damage he’s done, stomping towards you. “Hey!” Bianca yells from the opposite door, and the pilgrim whips around, as Xavier takes another shot at him. It lands in the pilgrim’s arm but he pulls it out like a twig, snapping it and tossing it to the ground, before he makes his way towards Bianca.

Your white shirt is completely soaking itself in your blood, droplets running down Wednesday’s fingers where she tries to hold the wound and apply pressure. But there was no saving a skewered heart.

"No, no, no," she coos, voice barely above a whisper and tears already pricking at the corners of her eyes. You're crying out in pain as the arrow shifts within you, fingers scrabbling at Wednesday's arms where they hold at you. Your fingernails sink into her skin, and she winces but doesn't pull away.

"Wens," you say again, infinitely weaker than before. "Wednesday…” It’s like your mouth won’t move coherently with your brain, like words mean trudging through ice and slush to come out, even the red-hot ones you need to say. “H—Hurts,” you spit out, and with it comes a small stream of blood from your mouth as you cough and air becomes less and less available.

She nods in a rush, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. “I’m aware, I know,” she’s completely crying now. “We will get you care, cara mia, just hol— just hold on for a little while.” But you’re shaking your head.

“Don’t have— I don’t have—” you’re coughing up more blood, and she wipes it from your chin with a shaky hand. There’s just too much of it, everywhere. You had once gifted her some as a token of your devotion and it was a prized possession of hers, but now there was so much and she would have given it back in a heartbeat if it gave you any more of those.

She can vaguely hear Bianca and Xavier yelling on the other side of the quad, and various fires rage on in their chaotic yet vibrant corners, tickling against her skin in large crackles, burning in the reflection of your eyes that stare up at the sky. Your head is leaning against her shoulder, and she raises her hand, stroking through your soft hair as you heave in her arms.

“You must live, I promise you,” Wednesday insists fiercely, “I promise you, if you die right now, I will kill you.” But its tears that streak down her face, her jaw clenching and dark eyeliner running down her cheeks. She’s squeezing you right against herself, feeling the pain of the sharp arrow poke at her own skin.

“Vibrant and wh—whole?” you said with a smile, feeling your voice begin to slow down and with it, the beating of your heart. The blood has pooled in a sick puddle around your body.

She’s shaking her head. “Cara mia, we don’t need to do this, we will get you to a doctor. You will be—”

“—Wednesday,” you interrupt. Your voice has reached an eerie calm that sends a shiver down her spine, and it snaps her from any sort of hope. “Vibrant… and whole?”

She looks down at you for a moment, tracing the features of your nose, the planes of your cheeks, the colours of your eyes and the wryness of your smile. Wednesday swallows. “Forever. You know that. You must always know that.”

You nod, letting out a small laugh. It hurts, she can hear you wheeze right after you done it, but you sit in silence for a moment, and she can feel you get slower and slower, and your shirt gets redder and redder. The tears are uncontrollable, now, as she sits there with you. Her friends are losing in the corner, but she's losing something unthinkable, and she's so damn scared the entire time it's happening.

"The stars look beautiful tonight," you whisper so only she can hear it, your voice cracking at the end. In seconds, you're gone. She can feel the life, the glorious life, evaporate from you, your head lulling back against her and your weight becoming a hundred times heavier, but she doesn't move, squeezing you against her.

She's unsure how long she stays like that, but when she can no longer take it, she shifts, laying you down on the ground. You look peaceful, looking up at the stars, and it takes an effort to close your eyes that Wednesday had never felt with the dead before. She gently closes them, shutting the door on the eyes that used to captivate her very heart. It's almost like she could convince herself that you're only resting for a moment, and she leans over you, placing a meaningful kiss upon your forehead, just like she would when she snuck out after a night of sleeping over, and there were no prying eyes there to watch.

"Vibrant and whole," she whispers like a promise, turning back to the fight with a piece of the sword in her shaking fists. "For you, cara mia."

===+++===

well that was sad... anyways more happy stuff coming next time

[thesilmarillionblog]

𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 ── Part 6

Click here to read the first part.

Summary: In the hopes that things would improve between you, you choose to lose your virginity to your friend Dean Winchester because you have been in love with him madly for a long time. However, he doesn't feel the same about you.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Warnings: +18! (Minors DNI), SMUT!, soft, fluff, sick reader, soft dean, fingering, teasing, intimacy, love is in the air, confessions, naive sam, awkward and touch starved dean

Word Count: 14.9K (huuuuhh)

A/N: English is not my first language.

Song: 'Deathbeds' by Bring Me the Horizon Click for Series Masterlist!

When you said those three words in the most forceful yet gentle way possible, Dean's eyes widened in surprise. There was a long, heavy stillness now. As you recovered your calm, you realized you were holding your breath and examining every facial expression. Only surprise was there. His lips parted as though he was looking for something to say as you let go of his hand and turned around, tidying up the mess. Your heart was racing so hard that you didn't want him to say anything at all. All you wanted to do was flee and scream because you felt foolish and reckless.

Since the night you allowed him to touch you, you have done everything in your power to keep your friendship intact and stay healthy. It was absurd how simple it was to sever your relationship with just three words. They were sincere, though. There was no turning back now. In reality, touching each other in the most intimate way could never repair what you had broken down. You had feelings for him for a long time, but it would be simpler if you had no feelings at all.

Even though you repeatedly reminded yourself that you didn't want Dean to treat you like any other hookups, you didn't want that. You wanted to feel taken care of and at least somewhat liked by him. You wanted to be special for him and get intimate. 

You could now see, though, how self-centered you truly were about it. Even though you didn't intend to be truthful with him about your little secret, you should have been honest from the very beginning. Without hesitation or second-guessing, you told him how you truly felt, and there was no way to undo what had happened. With your heart pounding, you quickly walked to Sam's side after gulping without looking back at Dean. You believed you were having a heart attack or something because of how quickly and powerfully your heart was beating against your chest. 

Your coworker looked at Dean and you strangely, as though she had detected something, and Sam was staring at you both with the same bizarre look. However, when he saw Dean's hand covered in bandages, his face shifted.

As you assisted him in getting up with Dean, you questioned, “How did you even manage to hurt yourself like this?” You didn't look back at Dean, but you could feel his gaze on you. 

“I guess I was being a little too confident,” he moaned painfully. You nearly laughed when you saw Sam's puppy face. He said, “Dean, are you okay?”

There was a strong desire to flee without turning around. You could throw up there because your heart was beating so hard. You were feeling nauseous from that overwhelming feeling. In fact, you were feeling ill. It didn't matter if being honest was important; you were now doomed. You were lying to yourself; it was completely unnecessary for you to display such bravery by saying it. Saying such things in a hectic situation was easy, but how could you now look Dean in the eye from now on?

You may wish to think about moving as soon as you can. To avoid Dean, it would really be preferable if you spent the night with Robb. God, why would he ever come to the hospital and say things like that to make you feel weak and make you say such things? He should have understood how his words and behavior affected you.

“I'm...alright,” Dean murmured quietly. His voice was a quiet whisper as he spoke. You legs felt shaky.

“You both are okay, but careful with the wounds,” you managed to murmur before Sam carefully stood up. 

As Dean assisted him, Sam grumbled in a concerned tone, “You look horrible. You're working a lot nowadays. It is important that you take some time to yourself, right? Just to rest a little at least. If you quit working, the whole country won't just die. You know, you can come over tonight. Dean would prepare dinner for the three of us. Well, I can invite Ruby, too. We haven't spent a day together in a while.”

You've never felt more miserable in your life than when Dean looked at Sam. Even though you heard noises coming from Dean's room when Jo was with him weeks earlier, you thought you would never feel so bad. You were wrong. That was the worst. Without attempting to ascertain Dean's thoughts at the moment, you said hastily, “You're... right, but I'll be working some time more, and I'll think I'll have some rest afterwards.”

Sam waited for Dean to break the tension and convince you, although you did look a bit uncomfortable. When Dean didn't speak or interrupt, Sam was perplexed, which made things a little awkward. Sam gave a sigh. “Okay. You are welcome to visit whenever you like. I'm just saying, Don't ignore my texts.”

“Thanks, Sammy,” you said, attempting to lighten the situation by caressing his wound, but he made a sound of pain. It was impossible to change the atmosphere between you and Dean, but you hurried away as if you had been saved when you were called in to see another patient. 

After some time, you sipped some water, but your stomach hurt and your throat still felt dry. Your legs were shaking uncontrollably, yet it wasn't because you were hungry or too exhausted to stand. You tried to convince yourself that there was nothing wrong with your body and that you just needed to get some sleep after washing your hands and face.

Though you were ready to exit the restroom, you started throwing up. You attempted to hang on somewhere, but the bitter taste made you gag more. This time, you found yourself crying when you began to throw up. Perhaps it was a result of all the stress you were under due to the past few days. You simply felt dreadful. 

You heard someone say, “Oh my god,” as she placed a hand on your back and massaged it as though she wanted to soothe you. “Are you okay?” 

You nodded hastily, embarrassed, trying to ignore the stinging pain in your gut. “I am.” As you proceeded to puke into the closet, tears streamed down your cheeks. Your colleague's hand continued to touch your back as your knees brushed the dirt off the floor. You were too focused on yourself to pay attention to the questions she was asking.

“Are you pregnant?”

When you attempted to tidy up yourself, you stated, “No!.”

“Really,” she said in a worried voice as she glanced at your lower abdomen. “You were just doing okay, you know.”

“Really, I'm not pregnant. I'm sure,” you attempted to persuade her. “Not much happened recently. I suppose I'm just a little unwell.”

While others entered the restroom and departed after they gave you odd looks, she nodded and helped you with cleaning up. “Are you hungry?”

“No,” you sobbed softly, embarrassed by your body's reaction to Dean's overwhelming presence. You were aware that it was only psychological. You were already exhausted and were making every effort to suppress everything that had been causing you days of anxiety. At last, your body had surrendered and rejected your indifference.

You said, “I guess I just need some break,” before she asked any more questions. “I shouldn't have put in so much work in the first place.” She gave you a short nod and rubbed your arms.

“Well, I suppose not. You should not overexert your body, as you are aware of this. Your eyes beg you to go for a nap. How you were able to keep upright for so long is a wonder.”

“Yeah.” You smiled gratefully at her. “Thank you. I believe I can handle myself now.”

Taking a quick glimpse in the mirror and realizing how pale your face appeared, you washed your mouth and face to get rid of the awful taste and smell. She gave you more advice, but shortly after, she exited the bathroom while you cleaned your face and agreed with all she said. You were hoping to take a seat on the floor and unwind for a while. But you knew that all you needed to do was return home and shut yourself off from the outside world.

Dean wasn't chatting as much as he used to, so Sam complained a little on the way home. When Dean reminded him not to get carried away on hunts, he sounded harsh, but Sam ignored his erratic attitude. The ache in Sam's abdomen was making him goran in pain. God, that would take a while to heal. Fortunately, Dean would recover soon enough. His hand was going to heal far more quickly.

Given how silent Dean stayed, Sam couldn't help but think about how you two had been acting somewhat strangely this past weekend. He pondered; maybe Sam didn't see it properly since something happened between you two. Sam followed Dean as he sat on the coach, seeing him put his fingertips to his lips and lose himself in contemplation, dwelling on things Sam couldn't anticipate. Sam pretended to be fiddling with his phone as he watched his big dumb brother play with his lips and ruminate.

In the meantime, Dean pondered over the three words you told him as though they were the simplest to utter aloud. Dean's heart constricted as he continued to reflect on the day he unknowingly took your virginity and made the first move. He was trying to figure out what was going on between you and him by replaying the same scenarios in his mind, but he was drowning in uncertainty and a flood of emotions.

He was no longer able to recall why he had made the first move weeks before. It didn't make sense to blame each other for ruining your friendship. Now it could not be fixed. In separate ways, each of you was guilty. But why he didn't care about that at all was beyond Dean's grasp. 

Dean became irritated with himself for not seeing you clearly when he recalled certain specific memories involving you. Perhaps it was always obvious—you were obvious—but he had inadvertently missed it. The three words that left your lips and the way you placed them into expressions without hesitation were replayed in his head while Dean's fingertips brushed his lips and he took a long, deep breath. He was aware that you were always fearless when hunting and all, but he thought that since you avoided getting to know people, you would be afraid to let them in.

Dean believed you.

It would be foolish of him to try to disbelieve you. You were the most genuine and kind person he had ever come across. He smiled quietly to himself, knowing that you had given yourself to him without expecting anything in return and that he was genuinely loved. Though impulsive and free-spirited, Dean was different this time. He felt no regret for it. But he could not yet pinpoint what it was that was making him both excited and annoyed.

“What's wrong with you?” Dean jumped when Sam spoke suddenly. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he was unaware of it. 

When Dean noticed he was bleeding his lips from playing them so wildly, he scowled. His body stiffened. “Nothing.”

Sam was obviously unaware of the situation between you and Dean, but it wasn't because Dean was unwilling to divulge information until certain issues had been handled. He didn't want to add to the awkwardness of the situation.

“Don't lie to me,” Sam grumbled bitterly. “It's obvious something is wrong with you.” In annoyance, Dean rolled his eyes. “With you and Y/N, actually.”

As soon as Dean heard your name, his body tightened, and he flexed his muscles while staring at Sam with his arms folded across his chest. Sam was getting ideas from his silence that were difficult to verbalize. After all, you were friends for a year. However, Sam was aware of his big brother's greedy need to date and sleep with each woman he encountered. Sam breathed, disturbed by the pictures that flooded his head. He had to ask and needed Dean to say no, even though he wasn't eager. 

Dean's eyes widened as Sam put a hand on his forehead as if he wasn't ready to hear the answer, and he asked, “Did you sleep with her?” 

He warily observed his big brother's facial reactions and the way his lips were parted to defend himself, but Dean's words remained in his mouth. Dean finally began, “Why-” but Sam groaned in annoyance as he realized he was right about everything that he thought was inappropriate. 

Sam muttered, “I can't believe you,” in disbelief. He was aware that his brother had always been a playboy and Casanova, but he had hoped that things wouldn't work out with you as well because Sam knew you were looking for something deeper and serious as Dean was in passionate relationships only that didn't last very long. Sam simply knew that Dean hadn't been looking for love lately, even though his brother wasn't that incapable of loving someone or anything. Dean just wasn't searching for anything serious. Sam knew that.

You were different than him about that for sure.

Dean's stance changed as he inhaled deeply, feeling more like the younger brother. His uncertain expression faded. He finally stated, “We are not some goddamn teenagers,” in a firm voice, while dismissing Sam's remark. 

Once Dean basically confirmed what had happened between you and him, Sam folded his arms over his chest as if he were about to deliver a lecture. “What the hell, Dean? We've been friends with her for a while. More than a year, in fact.”

“And?” Dean almost said something even more offensive, like “was being for a year supposed to stop his dick,” but he restrained himself. 

“What do you mean 'and'?” Sam shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment. “Are you the cause of her recent behavior? It's not her style to work that hard, disregarding interactions and other things.”

Dean had been thinking about the same issues. Of course. But Sam's words struck him hard, causing him to squirm uneasily on the coach. He remained silent and wished Sam would simply stop bothering him. He needed to think about what he should do going forward to avoid making things worse. 

“Possibly.” Dean didn't deny.

“Did you friendzone her?”

“What the heck is it supposed to mean?” Irritated at the word but unsure of its exact meaning, Dean snapped at last. It sounded neither pleasant nor lovely. It was quite hostile. He became irritated at Sam's tone, which suggested that Dean had done something wrong. 

Sam added clumsily, “I mean, you know afterwards,” while Dean waited for him to finish speaking and glared at him. “Did you discuss it? Was she comfortable with it being a one-night stand?” As if he were a teenager, Sam flushed when he spoke about you and Dean in that way. He wondered if Dean had discussed it with you at all. 

“It wasn't a one-night stand,” Dean immediately opposed his brother's hint. 

“What was it then?”

“Not a one-stand obviously,” Dean said in defense. He hoped that his brother would stop asking questions about things that were no longer of interest to him. Dean declined to divulge your little secret or the events of Halloween night to Sam. It was about you and him, and Dean needed to figure it out by himself.

“It was just heat of the moment, then?” Sam made a suggestion, as if he wanted to help his brother open up and understand him. Given how much you've been ignoring him and Dean lately, Sam would not discuss this with you given that he plainly believed you wouldn't be keen to talk about Dean at this time. If you wanted to, you would talk about it already.

“No.”

Sam sighed and acknowledged that his brother wouldn't be quite so easy to break at this time. “For gods sake, Dean,” he mumbled. He wondered if Dean even knew what he was doing. “How do you manage to do complex things when they are so easy to resolve?”

Dean replied, “You wouldn't get it,” with seriousness.

Taking a few snacks from the kitchen, Sam remarked, “Well, I think you're the one who don't get a shit.” The tiny struggle that his brother was experiencing almost made him chuckle. But given what a mess you were, it was readily apparent that Dean was the reason you were suffering. “Does she like you, or do you even like her?”

After turning his head away from Sam, Dean got up and left for his room to avoid getting any more questions and to give himself some space to thoroughly think about how to handle this matter. While his brother was clearly perplexed and waited for a response, Dean remained silent. Still, Dean was also in a difficult situation. After everything that had transpired between you, he wasn't okay with the idea of tossing you away. It was never his intention and would never be.

He cared about you.

As he sat on the bed with his phone in his hands, his pulse was pounding, recalling how you expressed yourself when you truly told him you loved him. Dean was aware of your earnestness. He was too shocked to talk when you left him stunned in the hospital, but now he felt different, as though the purity of your words had somehow roused something within of him. It was incredible how you could always get under his skin in every manner with only basic words.

Knowing that you cared for him for a long time and that your love for him was so gentle that he didn't even notice it until you finally spoke your true feelings made Dean chuckle. He felt compelled to look after you because he felt a stronger, warmer, and deeper connection even though he had taken your virginity. It wasn't about that night. 

Dean liked you.

The reason he took you that night was more than just intense lust. He wanted to touch you, kiss you, and be with you all the way. Even if he was unaware of it when he was with Jo, something had clearly changed in him after that night. Perhaps his intention was to hide something and pretend that you were the same. It wasn't.

You remained the same, but he had changed.

Putting down his phone, Dean undressed and decided to take a shower, as if that would solve. He wanted a little more time to think about you while taking a cold shower. Dean thought about what he should do, knowing that he would have to wait until your shift ended. It would be disappointing if he chose not to speak up with the same courage that you did. You were both grownups, after all.

After driving home, you got inside and promptly put everything you had on the coach. Every part of your body hurts, including your back and stomach. You could no longer throw up, but there was a revolting taste in your mouth that nearly made you puke with disgust. There was nothing left in your body, though. Before taking the medicine, you tried your best to eat something. Once you entered your room, you were under the covers without even changing your clothes. Though you thought you would be fine sooner, your legs were trembling a little.

In simple terms, your body had finally given up because you were so overwhelmed by all that had happened over the past weeks. You reasoned that vomiting might be a metaphor. Your body was working hard to release all of the stress and negative energy that you had long disregarded. After all, you were a nurse. Nobody understood your physique as well as you did.

You tried to persuade your body to go to sleep by closing your eyes, but your mind tricked you by keeping you preoccupied with Dean. You couldn't get him off your mind. His eyes, his touch, his smile, his voice, his face... You couldn't help but yearn for him. That was sick. You needed him so badly.

You used to look after him while he was unwell. You were happy to care for him and did everything in your power to help him recover, not because it was your job. You wanted him to know that anyone could love him and that Sam wasn't the only one who cared for him. You never performed them in order to receive something in return.

But it hit you in the gut when you realized you had no one to look after you. You started weeping in bed as soon as your eyes began to well up. You were unsure of whether you sobbed because you were sick, lovesick, or because of Dean, or because you were in dire need of compassion and no one was there to provide it. It didn't matter why. One by one, you wept for each one.

In order to call Dean right now, you wish you hadn't told him you loved him. You wanted him to come over and stay with you until you felt better. You had to deal with things on your own, whether you had the energy or not, because you had done the most ridiculous thing in your life—telling him you loved him. Your body failed you even if you took several medications.

You were so overcome by your feelings and weary of crying that your frail body finally gave way to sleep. Even though your body ached, all you could think about was Dean.

Dean realized you must have returned home by now after keeping himself occupied with his car and weaponry. Since the morning, you have been on his mind constantly. Even when he peed, ate lunch, and in other situations, he couldn't stop thinking about you. You seemed to be in his veins in some way. However, Dean didn't whine about it. Dean was pacing the room, unsure whether or not he should have texted you. He occupied himself with his searching after taking a shower and made the decision to meet you.

After taking a long breath, he put his hand on his hip and straightened his posture before calling you. Even though he wasn't sure what to say, he planned to have a proper conversation with you and to offer eating dinner outside. You used to stop by several nice locations months ago. He hoped you were hungry.

Once Dean saw that you weren't very eager to pick up his calls, he scowled while he waited for your answer. Nevertheless, he patiently waited for you since he didn't want you to believe that he was reaching out to you in vain. You still avoided responding even though he was stubborn.

Whispering to himself, “Come on,” he waited. His uncertainties vanished and were replaced by curiosity. Dean pondered if you were cutting off him from your life entirely, ignoring him, or being too embarrassed to answer his calls. That would be ridiculous. Dean didn't believe he had done anything to encourage you. You were doing okay up until now.

Dean was abruptly irritated by your choice to tell him how you felt and to not allow him to react, making all of the decisions on your own and leaving everything up in the air. With a decision made, he exited his room, placed his phone in his pocket, and got into his car. Since the morning, he had been experiencing some worry and a slight lack of confidence. But suddenly it was all gone. Everything would be resolved once you could work things out and have a straightforward conversation.

When Dean noticed that every light was on, he patiently waited outside before calling you again. He wondered whether you were deliberately making him irritated by being so insistent. As he unlocked the door with the keys you handed him a month ago, Dean took a deep breath and felt proud of the trust you placed in him. That trust was something he prayed Robb or no one else did not have. He desired it all for himself. Sharing was something Dean disapproved of.

Feeling like a teenager, Dean's heart pounded wildly on his chest as he entered your house. You were nowhere to be seen in his sight. Disturbed, he called your name while acting awkwardly. Hiş voice came out softer than he had anticipated and refrained from calling you in an affectionate manner, with lovely nicknames. He had no idea how much he wanted to establish a fresh relationship with you until now.

As soon as Dean saw your bag on the coach, he became stiff and worried. He wasn't happy with the silence. With a brief glance around, Dean came inside your room without knocking. There was nothing to hear in the home except the creaking of the door. He observed your sleeping body after he turned on the lights.

A ghostly smile came on Dean's lips as he took a big breath, his heart so full of relief. But as soon as he saw you were humming in your sleep, his smile vanished. You weren't sleeping peacefully; it was apparent. You appeared to be in agony or suffering from nightmares.

With a swift motion, Dean sat down on the bed and instantly placed his palms on your forehead to take your body temperature. You weren't okay, but it wasn't like you were burning. He placed his palm on your warm cheek again and gently said your name to wake you.

Your eyelids slowly opened as you felt rough hands dancing across your flesh, but initially you were unable to see who was caressing you. Yet you recognized that sweet voice. You searched for strength as you started to come to your senses.

“Dean?” you eventually managed to whisper. You groaned in disdain at the irritating taste in your throat. Your body and spirit had finally been overtaken by the illness. Your body felt very little at that time, and you were so weak and lazy. The air was so chilly that your fingers clenched around the blanket.

This time, he mumbled, “Hey, sweetheart,” with worry. You had no idea if your mind was playing ridiculous games with you. Perhaps that was your brain's way of safeguarding you to feel a bit better. You tried to open your eyes, but you were unable to tell the difference between hallucinations and the real world.

You just mumbled something, but your own ears couldn't even hear it.

He said, “I've been calling you for hours,” at least to get you to wake up and start a conversation. “Have you gotten cold? Why didn't you give me a call?”

Despite Dean's best efforts to get you to speak, you only sighed in a whisper and fell back asleep. Remembering how professional you were when he was ill in the past, he felt powerless and was unsure of what to do at the moment. But he could tell you were cold just by the way you looked. Raising Sam taught him things that only parents and doctors should have known. It must have been brought on by working so hard without resting.

He called your name again, but this time you fell asleep again without even letting out a small moan. You gasped as he gently stroked your face and then pushed the cover away. “Come on,” he replied, insistent that you didn't nod off.

You sighed, “I'm cold,” while refusing to let grip of the blanket's corner. You woke up when the cold touched your flesh.

It broke your heart to see Dean on the bed as you opened your sore eyes. The instant your eyes met, the air tightened up. Your hand stopped struggling, and you were unable to stop yourself from crying again. Tears caused your vision to become unclear.

He gently explained, “You've got fever,” and set the blanket aside. “Have you eaten something today?”

You gazed at his attractive face while your tears continued to moisten your burning cheeks. “I don't know,” you replied. Right now, the thought of eating something makes you feel nauseous. All you wanted was to get into bed and go to sleep, to doze off till you healed.

“You haven't eaten anything, then. All right,” he said and attempted to assist you in standing up by placing his hand on your arms. Even though you knew he wasn't being harsh or anything, his hands seemed heavier. You started crying uncontrollably because you felt vulnerable. Dean was talking to you as though you hadn't declared your love hours before, and your back was already hurting a lot.

He whispered, “Why are you crying now?” curiously. His fingertips hovered over your arms as though to soothe your body, but you were afraid that he had created something that would physically harm you. “Are you hurt somewhere?”

You just said, “I want to sleep,” while glancing at him. Your view was so vague that it was impossible to see his face properly.

The way you gazed at Dean with the big tears still streaming from your crimson eyes warmed his heart. He really wanted to calm you down, reassure you, and make you feel better, but he understood he had to deal with your body first. “Come on,” he said. “I'll prepare you the greatest soup ever, which will help you recover quickly, but first you should take a good, cold shower. The soup will be fantastic, I assure you.”

It didn't seem like Dean's attempt to brighten your mood was successful. You lowered your gaze and remained quiet, as though you were not listening to him. His question was abrupt: "Do you want me to help you shower?" He didn't make any nasty suggestions. Dean was just trying to figure out how to get you feeling better, and he was ready to do anything.

“What? No!”

You were worried about how serious he was now, and the thought of him helping you shower startled you up.

“Don't be childish. Regarding health and medical matters, there is no shame. You are more educated about this than I am,” he mumbled, overjoyed by your reaction. Even though Dean had already seen everything, he didn't say it to embarrass you even more. “Your fever has to be treated right now. And if you continue to act obstinate, you know, I'll have to take you to the bathroom myself.”

In order to persuade you, Dean spoke in a very serious tone. “Act more reasonably, as you are the nurse here and should know better.” Dean sighed as he saw your feeble figure and helped you get up, which you did not object to this time. The first thing you said was “Okay.” Now you stopped crying. “I can handle myself.”

You gave him a quick, shy glance, and Dean gave you a very suspicious look. “Good girl. While you take a quick shower, I will quickly cook a delicious soup for you. Don't make me check on you, okay?”

You whispered, “Alright,” as your body guided you to the bathroom. You indeed had to take a fast, cold shower. You couldn't help but feel a bit cheerful even though your head hurt. It felt so good to be cared for by him that you could be sick all the time.

After your brief shower, you stretched your muscles and finally put on your pajamas, feeling as though your bones had been renewed. The number of hours you slept without even changing your trousers was extraordinary. Dean was right. After your little shower, you've been feeling slightly better. The exhaustion was still present, though. Your eyelids couldn't stay open at all.

The kitchen was still being used by Dean. You had no energy at all, even though you really wanted to go there and talk to him. Your fingers were clenched around the blankets to keep your body warm as you began to tremble and you found yourself back in bed. You were cold. Your mind also calmed down and ceased ripping apart you with negative ideas about Dean while he was around. You were finally free of pain. Your body continued to unwind beneath the covers while he came to check on you and spoke to you, giving the impression that he wasn't mad at you or anything. The headache had almost gone away. You just needed to relax by getting some sleep.

From a distance, you could hear him calling your name, but you lacked the power to take action.

“Hey,” he grumbled. Dean arrived in your room with a cup of soup. “You're not sleeping yet. Not until you finish eating this miraculous soup. Are you aware of the amount of work I put into it?”

Knowing what he was going to do, you hugged the covers tightly. Your body shivered, and you moaned in protest as he pushed the blankets away, just as you thought he wouldn't be able to remove them from your hands this time. The smell of soup only made you scowl in disdain; it had no nice scent. You had no desire to ever eat something again.

“I just need some sleep.” You cringed at your sick tone.

After making you get up just enough to allow you to start eating your soup, Dean gently sat down next to you and placed the tray on his lap. He gave you a gentle push before your tired hands picked up the spoon, adding, “You just lay down nicely, sick nurse.” He did everything he could to cheer you up and start a conversation. Rather, he saw that your cheeks were flushed, which was adequately amusing.

As soon as the spoon reached your lips, you groaned in agony due to the extreme warmth. You didn't say anything to avoid coming out as ungrateful. “Sorry for that,” Dean said in a regretful whisper while blowing out the smoke a few times with an apologetic look. He didn't change his mind when you told him that you could handle yourself.

Every time he calmly blew the smoke before you ate, you saw that he had changed his clothes. Dean was wearing pajamas now as well. You pondered where he would be sleeping, and your heart melted at the idea of him spending the night with you. In order to prevent him from reading your face, you nibbled your inner cheeks and focused on the soup's flavor. It was really excellent. Dean was correct to create a miraculous soup that may accelerate your recovery from illness. You were already feeling better, even if you still had backache.

“Thank you, Dean.” You frowned and turned your head away from the spoon, refusing to consume the entire soup when you felt your nausea returning. “I

think that's enough,” you murmured timidly.

Thankfully, Dean placed the tray aside while you used tissue to wipe the corners of your lip. After displaying a few of your medications in his palm, he inquired, “Which one do you need to take? Since they do not have boxes, it is impossible to determine which one is helpful.”

Your cheeks flushed as you saw one of the pills you had been taking since the night with Dean in his hands, but you remained silent. At this time, you were relieved that he was rather naive. There was a pregnant silence in the room as you picked the right one, drank a glass of water, and then wrapped yourself with warm blankets once more. You instantly closed your eyes to keep from looking directly at Dean. As a result of Dean's crushing presence, your eyelids were firmly closed and your heart was racing.

You wanted to let him know how wonderful he was and how his compassion and sincerity made you feel better than you had in a long time. However, you were not allowed to utter any of those. You had so much you wanted to say at the moment, but you held it back out of shame and guilt. You turn away from Dean and pay close attention to his movements in the room, hoping he won't talk about what you told him and will pretend it never happened. If he couldn't love you back, you just wanted him to be this way forever. It meant the world to you that he was taking care of you in this way. It was quite adequate.

Dean immediately climbed into the bed after you had closed your eyes. Your body stiffened up, and your heart began racing as soon as you felt his weight on the bed. The way he affected you was embarrassing. But even though you knew it was only an act of kindness, it still made you unfulfilled and sad. Because you wished so desperately for him to feel the same way about you, it became a prayer. Your body longed for him—to experience his comforting presence and touch.

“Are you feeling better now?” The silence was disturbed by Dean placing his palm on your forehead to measure your temperature. Hearing his talk so near made your body shiver, and you could feel his hefty presence just behind you. You closed your eyes as though something would happen and he would leave. You could have broken at any time since your body was so rigid.

You muttered, “Yes,” as your back hurt like it was trying to prevent you from getting a good night's sleep. “Just a sore back. Overworking must be the cause.”

With a sudden connection, you gasped as his large hands began rubbing your back. You began moaning a bit with relaxation since the intense closeness of the situation was so overpowering. When Dean felt your tight body slowly letting go under his touch, his lips curved pleasantly. There was nothing sexual about the moment. Dean kept on massaging your back in the hopes that it might make you feel better.

After caressing your back enough, he moved to place his head directly behind yours and withdrew his hand. You realized you had shifted till your head was resting on his thick neck, and you wished he hadn't been listening to your heartbeats when he was so close. You felt safeguarded, but perhaps it was your sleep or the touch of him that made you impulsive. The moment was so lovely and delightful that it couldn't have been produced by the wildest dreams.

Dean's hard kiss on the back of your head caused your lips to parted. Once he smelled your hair, you were relieved you had showered. He said, “You smell so nice and fresh,” moving slightly to ensure that you both slept well.

Your body relaxed even more as you let your head drop back a bit more and kept your eyes closed as soon as his hand took yours into his warm ones. Your lips may brush across his chin if you make a small movement. You no longer wanted to sleep; all you wanted was to savor that moment of perfection indefinitely and to keep quiet about it. Your mind and soul had been craving that intimacy for months.

Both of your hands remained on your stomach as Dean's hand continued to touch your fingertips. His breathing caught your attention. The only sound in the room was the rain that had begun to fall outside. As Dean's hands continued to touch you in harmony, the calm sounds of the raindrops filled your entire being with fulfillment and a state of bliss more than the last time, as though each one were filling a hole in the pit of your soul.

You didn't know if it meant something for Dean. But that didn't matter. Whatever Dean was prepared to offer you, you were prepared to embrace it. As soon as your exhaustion gave way to sleep again and you sensed Dean getting closer, you knew it was time for a restful night's sleep.

After a long and pleasant sleep, you stretched your body in between sighs of delight. You smiled a bit as you felt Dean's hand on yours, thinking he was still asleep. Taking advantage of the fact that he didn't move behind you, you leaned your back on his chest a bit further.

“Good morning to you too,” Dean remarked abruptly in an amusing manner, causing you to jump and then freeze in shame.

You said, “Morning,” as if you hadn't just been brushing against his body.

“Slept well, I guess.” To check if you still had a fever, Dean touched your forehead and asked. Fortunately, you were fine. He was happy to be able to help you the way you deserved, and it filled his chest with pride.

“Yeah, thank you, Dean, for taking care of me.” As you thanked him for enhancing your mood in every manner while your mind considered saying different things. Dean, overcome with excitement, moved behind you so he could meet your gaze. Your muscles stiffened up once again as you worried about what was coming. Right now, you didn't want to talk at all.

When Dean moved, your hands were waiting on each side of you, hovering over your body. “I'm sorry,” he said softly, paying close attention to your eyes. As you considered what to say, you licked your dried lips. You were ready for rejection, but you wanted to keep yourself composed so that your friendship wouldn't end over something so... dumb.

“That night, I didn't want to upset you or hurt your feelings.” He said, “When I found out about... You know,” without bringing it up to avoid making you feel uncomfortable. “It didn't go...waste.”

You shook your head and mumbled, “Dean,” disturbed that he actually believed it to be a serious issue. He interrupted you before you could respond and continued.

He stated, “What's special to you is special to me as well,” in a firm tone.

With beseeching eyes, you murmured, “It's not special, I promise, I swear,” so that he would never feel guilty for something he was uninformed of. You alone made that choice. He was correct to hold you responsible for something he had no control over. You need to have apologized for it. “I never expected anything in return.” Even though your cheeks were flushed, you continued firmly, “I would never.” You understood that in order to mend your disagreements, you needed to have this talk.

He said, “I know, I know,” as if that wasn't what he was attempting to convey. “I just want you to know how pleased I am that it was me. It didn't go wasted, alright? Can you forgive me?”

“Of course.” You hurriedly answered with a sweet tone. “There is nothing to be forgiven,” and in an attempt to convince him of your sincerity, one of your hands instantly reached up and caressed his arm.

Your gentle touch caused Dean's eyes to soften and his body to relax. When he saw that you were panting deeply and that he was nearly on top of you, he gulped and licked his dry lips. His thoughts were swiftly superseded by other things. At last, his eyes ceased observing you as you chewed your lips. Dean made an effort to focus on your small talk.

The idea of going on a date with you made his heart race. Dean was ready to go all the way with you. He knew, however, that he should be doing it right. If he weren't a grown man, he would be blushing at the thought of your proclamation of love for him. He wouldn't talk about it until you were more comfortable and at ease with him. Dean knew you were a little shy right now. “Now that you're feeling better, would you like to go out tonight? With me?”

“For what?” you inquired naively. Your fingertips were gently massaging his biscep.

This time, Dean smiled when he saw your look of confusion. Whether or not it made you shy, it seemed like he had to start acting braver from now on. “A date?”

Your lips were parted in shock as your hands went down on his muscles. You continued to stare into his beautiful green eyes as you attempted to make sense of what he was saying so you wouldn't ridicule yourself in front of him. You weren't sure whether he meant something else, but he appeared to be rather serious. “What date?”

As Dean said, “I'm assuming we both are ready to make little amendments about our relationship,” he began to get closer to you. Already, the gentle motion of your fingertips on his arm was causing him to imagine inappropriate things. When you showed him how bold you were in your love declaration, Dean wouldn't dare to deny his own feelings for you. He was eager to see how well you two could work together since he had such affection for you.

Though your heart was racing, you couldn't help but feel a little insecure because of the way things had been going lately. If Dean was acting this way because he had taken your virginity without knowing about it, it would hurt you more than anything he had said. “Dean,” you finally muttered, “I would never force you into something you're not into just because of such an insignificant thing. It doesn't matter. I swear,” you said firmly, though your voice was a little cracked, but you needed him to believe you because you were totally honest about it. “I cannot undo what I have told you, but I'm willing to keep our... friendship maintained. I don't want to lose-”

Dean decided to disregard your words and let your actions speak more by capturing your lips and silencing you, even though you made earnest attempts to convince him that you were okay with moving forward as you have in the past. You were so shocked that you didn't move as Dean did his best to push his tongue into your mouth by trying to part your lips. His hand lightly brushed your neck in an attempt to elicit a response.

When you eventually regained consciousness, you parted your lips to allow his tongue to enter. As soon as you let him, his frantic kisses slowed and softened, like though you had just been into a fight and he had calmed down. When Dean intensified his seductive kisses, your uncertainties and fears vanished. It was hard to imagine if he would respond to your love in the manner you were hoping for. However, you choose to let him take control and wait patiently to see what comes next.

As he began shifting on the bed and gradually climbing on top of you, you felt hotter the softer your kisses became. He withdrew to let you both catch your breath, but he continued to stroke your burning lips with his reddened ones. Desire flooded your body as though you hadn't been sick the day before.

Dean, who was already having trouble resisting the need to shove himself between your thighs, briefly closed his eyes to gather himself. He didn't intend to do it. Well, for the time being. He moved slightly away to look at you. You were staring at him with such tenderness and love that Dean momentarily stopped breathing. You placed both of your hands from his arms to his neck and shifted your head slightly to signal him to come closer.

Without hesitation, he put his hands around your upper thigh and squeezed it tightly while giving your burning lips another intense kiss. His painful erection was going to take over his body and take over his entire being. He was losing control of himself because of your tender hands on his neck, your fingers following the veins there, your passionate kisses, the tiny moans on his lips, and your tiny movements beneath him. Dean began sucking your bottom lip as you did the same for his top lip after he gave you a gentle squeeze on your thigh to help himself relax.

You eagerly awaited him to place himself between your legs, but Dean seemed to be holding himself back by declining to initiate contact. You hesitated a bit, moved slightly beneath him, and lifted your hips without breaking the kiss, putting one of your hands on his back after gasping at how hard he was. You couldn't keep your hips in the air for very long, so you needed him to pin you down on the bed.

“Dean,” you moaned at last, unsure of how to ask without coming out as desperate.

When Dean heard your tiny moan and his name on your lips, he caught them again to stop you from pleading for more. He wasn't sure how long he could hold back from you. Of course, it wasn't the right moment, but you two were acting too eager to make him think properly. Dean wanted you to know how much you were hardening him with your kisses when he finally placed himself between your legs. After feeling his hardness on your clothed pussy, you moaned into his lips and carefully put one hand beneath his t-shirt to touch his stiff abs.

In order to give you the friction you wanted, Dean grabbed your hips and abruptly pressed himself between your legs, rubbing harder on your pussy. He was ready to strip you right away and shove his cock inside when he felt his body tense beneath your touch. That's not the proper moment, he reminded himself.

Dean moaned against your lips, “We need to calm,” but his body betrayed him, and he kept stroking himself frantically between your legs while stealing little moans from your lips. You were going crazy because of an unsolved pressure between your legs.

You asked innocently, perplexed by Dean's choice to not go all the way, “Why?” Didn't your kisses enough as a response to all that was going on? Your body didn't listen to him at all.

“We don't have to rush things,” he whispered into your mouth. Your lips were swollen and red. But you weren't being stopped.

Even though he was telling you that you didn't need to make any funny business right now, his body was telling you otherwise. In the hopes that Dean might change his mind, you instantly returned Dean's kisses. The idea of becoming something with him and the closeness of his touch sent your pulse pounding with thrill and happiness.

Although Dean's pulsating manhood was screaming for him to act at once, he maintained his composure. He was adamant about doing things correctly and decided not to shove inside of you by lowering your underwear. Instead, he drew himself back a bit and rubbed your clothed pussy through your pajamas to offer you that little ecstasy and calm your body's desires. He touched you gently there, and you immediately gasped with anticipation. Dean closely observed your facial expressions to determine if you were at ease or not. The corner of his lips twisted into a little smile once he was certain that, based on your pleased look, you were perfectly at ease with his touch.

Your pajamas' thin fabric allowed you to feel his large fingers there, slowly following the line of your pussy through it. You let out a little groan and raised your hips higher in order to establish rhythm. You bit your lip to avoid moaning aloud and demonstrating how desperate you already were. It was insufficient to provide you with the same pleasure he had bestowed upon you weeks before. You needed him to touch you there without any fabric between you.

You pleaded with yearning eyes, “Dean, please,” as your hand moved from his tempting abs to his arms, which were massaging you in that precise spot. Dean tormented you as his lips curved with delight and his motions grew even slower, as if he wanted you to beg for more once again. You showed your desire for him by raising your hips again.

“Is that not enough? Do you want more?”

“Yes,” you said, your cheeks flaming with embarrassment at how needy you were already under him while he was in control of his own body, unlike you.

Dean kept his motions steady while you pleaded with him with your eyes and words, looking at your lovely figure underneath him, your messy hair, and your exquisite scent to appreciate the moment more. You hesitate a moment before placing your shaky hands between his legs. You were simply touching and blinking your eyes while you examined his reaction. You weren't palming his erection, but just touching. It would have been so simple for him to thrust himself inside you at this very moment by lowering your underwear. Dean knew he needed to wait a little longer to make the sex flawless, as you deserved, even if he was on the verge of bursting due to the intense closeness he shared with you.

Under your gentle hands, he felt hard and heavy. You wondered why he hadn't already made a move. You didn't have to wait for anything. Dean couldn't help but groan in desire and thrust himself into your hand with a sudden motion that made you gasp in excitement. You were getting wetter by the sounds he let out than he made you with his fingers. His rough, lustful sounds were filling your heart with joy. You wanted him to see how much you wanted to make him feel the same things and to express your deep love for him.

Encouraged by the way he responded to your touch, you squeezed him firmly through his sweatpants, tightening your grip until he shivered and groaned deeply over you. Making him feel this way filled your heart with fulfillment, resulting in your heart racing madly on your chest. Right now, you could do anything he wanted.

Dean's hands grabbed the soft one that was massaging him there and put it behind his back so he wouldn't lose himself entirely. You gave him a perplexed expression. “We will not rush, alright?” he said after kissing you firmly on the lips.

You mumbled, “Fine,” not happy with his answer. You didn't want to appear overly eager, but it appeared that you were not successful. At the very least, you prayed he wouldn't stop rubbing you there.

“I'll give you what you need.”

When Dean dropped your sweatpants and underwear to reveal your dripping pussy to him, a little grin faded from your lips and was replaced by shock. While he was doing this, he continued to gaze at you, analyzing every facial expression to see whether you were actually comfortable. Even if he wouldn't fuck you right now, he would not leave you like this, unsatisfied.

You bit your lips in anticipation as you rested your hands on his back, your knees shaking with enthusiasm. With a little smirk, Dean said, “I wonder if it's wet there.” To lighten the mood, he teased you even though he knew he would find you drenched.

“Yeah, me too,” you said with a little smile, but the way he massaged your thighs extremely slowly, as though to drive you insane, made your legs tremble.

You groaned against his lips as soon as he palmed your pussy to determine your level of wetness. You were certain that your underwear must have been ruined since his fingers moved so effortlessly between your pussy lips. Although Dean was aware that you were leaking there, he was not expecting you to be this soaked. His cock begged to be released as it throbbed against boxers once more. He could slide into you without even making you come. You bit your lip hard as Dean's playful smile changed to one of seriousness and he inserted a finger abrubtly.

Dean moaned as he inserted his finger all the way inside of you, saying, “You feel so tight, so nice.” His praises made you feel at ease and prepared to take in everything he had in store for you. It wouldn't be hard for you to take him if he simply shoved himself into you now, lowering his boxers.

Whispering, “Just for you,” you placed your hands on his neck and ran them over his skin.

He smiled, and his pulse raced with delight at your response. He felt cherished and loved for based on the astounding compassion and affection in your hands. Dean wanted you to surrender yourself to him completely, given that he knew he desired you in every way.

You moaned into Dean's mouth just as he pressed his lips to yours and started to finger you properly, overjoyed by your response. Inside your lips, he hushed his own groans, although he struggled to maintain his composure. Dean was going crazy because of the way you touched his neck and drew him in closer to your mouth. You moaned loudly into Dean's lips as he pushed a second finger. His cock was pulsing with every sound you made now, because you used to be a bit quiet weeks earlier. He enjoyed the fact that while you were laying under him, at his mercy, you were unable to stop your moaning.

You gave him frantic kisses in return, as the pleasure he was giving you caused your walls to tighten around his fingers inside of you. His fingers worked in sync with his tongue in your mouth. You drew back and let out a loud gasp as your head hit the pillow and your back arched as Dean expertly worked with your clit with his thumb and curled his fingers.

He started to finger you more roughly after hearing your desperate moan. He was also biting and sucking your neck wildly, making marks there as if he intended to mark you as his.

He groaned, sensing that you were getting closer. “Do you want me to make you come?” You were failing, but you were holding back in order to prevent yourself from coming too quickly.

You pleaded, “Please, Dean,” sensing that you were getting close. Your body yearned for release, but you didn't want it to stop.

As his meaty fingers continued to torture you with pleasure, he moaned against your lips, “Will you take whatever I give you?”

“I will,” you said hurriedly. “Always.”

“That's my girl,” Dean praised you again and kissed you, his fingers moving more strongly inside you. You moaned loudly as you came around his meaty fingers when he curled them again and hit the perfect spot. You were unable to remain silent any longer due to the intensity of your orgasm. As he absorbed the screams you produced into his mouth, your legs were trembling and your pussy was throbbing.

Dean's other hand aggressively squeezed one of your tits through your t-shirt before placing it beneath your chin before his kisses became softer and relaxed as the effects of your orgasm wore away. This time, as you came to your senses, Dean gave you a very delicate, warm kiss and carefully lifted up your sweatpants and underwear.

The sensation of his smile on your lips made you smile too. Each part of your existence was at ease now. Though shyness started surfacing, that was the most amazing and intense thing you have ever experienced—not hurried, not in quiet, not in the darkness in any way—Dean was aware of the love you had for him and could now see you in the light of day in every possible way imaginable. You sighed with happiness as he withdrew; you could kiss him indefinitely, even if both of your lips were burning.

“You okay?” Taking you into his arms on the bed, Dean asked, panting heavily himself. He still had a noticeable erection, but you could see he wasn't going to go all the way just yet. That was very unfortunate.

With your head resting on his chest and your cheeks heating, you responded, “Very much,” putting your palm to your lips, not looking too cheerful or excited.

Dean was relieved to see you relaxed and doing much better than you had yesterday. Even though his erection still hurt in his sweatpants, he didn't care about it anymore. He embraced you more tightly and made his mind that he was excited to see whatever the future held for you. Dean was struck by the way his heart pounded while you were still panting heavily like a leaf in his arms. The feeling itself was something he didn't want to lose.

After such agonizing weeks, you were now lying on top of him again, closing your eyes this time to savor the precious moment. He didn't say the same three words to you, which you didn't expect already because it wasn't that significant. He had already done so for you; you were truly touched by his kindness, his care for you last night, and—above all—the way he expressed himself via the actions he took. You were fine with using the same three words over and over again. You merely wanted that he never depart from you and continue to care for you in this way.

Dean's phone began to ring shortly after you woke up. You two had to go back to sleep. You didn't have the energy to get up, even though his phone kept ringing. This is how you could sleep forever. Even though your back pain was almost gone, you still wanted to take a little more time to just unwind. You would never again work so hard.

After gently placing you on your side on the cushions, Dean climbed across your body to retrieve his phone from the table next to the bed. Your slumber began to wane as soon as you felt his weight on you, and you yawned and slowly opened your eyes. Dean grumbled and eventually picked up his phone. “Sorry,” he said.

“What happened?” you said, wiping your eyes as you wrapped blankets over your cold body. Your body tenses up at the sound of Sam's voice, and you instantly shut your mouth. Your cheeks flushed at the thought of being heard by him. Dean offered you a wink and a side smile as he listened to Sam, finding your silence cute.

When Sam heard a drowsy voice on the phone, he blinks. All of a sudden, he lost his words. With a bewildered tone, he said, “Are you with Y/N?” He was shocked to learn that Dean met you after spending much of his time in front of the mirror. He was plainly mistaken when he believed his older brother had spent the night with someone else.

“Yeah,” he said. Sam rolled his eyes, but he was unable to contain his chuckle at his brother's haughty and joyful tone.

“You know I can't deal with all the shit out here myself, right?” Sam sighed and asked. He had to ruin your moment even if he didn't want to. Sam pondered whether you two had started dating.

Sam actually pictured you and Robb together because you both had long-standing friendships and similar occupations in the same area. He was unaware that his brother was already eyeing you, and vice versa. He couldn't see the big picture given that he was blind. He heard Dean sigh heavily as Sam went on with the problems he and his brothers had to deal with.

He eventually responded, “Alright, alright, Sam,” in a composed tone. “On my way.”

Since Sam's wounds were still fresh and he needed to take care of himself, you questioned, “Is everything alright?” worried that something had happened to him.

“It's nothing.” Dean stretched his muscles and looked at your body. “He's just being whiny about dealing with werepires, witches, and other strange things without me.”

You shifted on the bed and said, “You both are still wounded,” as Dean stood up and began stripping in front of you to change. You instantly looked down at the bed, embarrassed that you didn't know how to react when he stripped in front of you. You doubted Dean was feeling bashful about the sudden thickening of the air.

“It's alright,” he calmly said. He looked to see whether you had been watching him, but he saw that you were fiddling with the sheets. “Just regular things.”

You realized that you had never seen each other truly naked since the first time, when you were both wearing costumes and it was dark, when you heard him take off his t-shirt. You have never laid eyes on each other's bodies properly in daylight. You felt nervous at the idea. There were moments when you could see his muscles in the upper body or when he was hurt in his belly, but you didn't glance elsewhere except at his wounds to avoid taking advantage of the circumstance. But now you wanted to see him.

“You missed the whole show, I'm just saying.” As he grabbed and put on his shirt and jeans, Dean winked.

“Is there anything I can do?” you said, smiling slightly at him.

“There is, indeed. Just have your breakfast, remember to take your medicine, and get more sleep. In order for us to have the dinner that we discussed outside tonight, you must regain your strength, okay? So that's the best you can do at the moment.” Dean's tone was quite serious. He was ready to leave. He didn't stay a little longer so you could have breakfast together, which made you a bit upset. But you were satisfied with what you had. Everything that had happened since yesterday night was beyond comprehension, and it was already too much.

You nodded and watched him adjust his clothes again before you got out of bed. “Okay,” you said. You needed a second shower.

You both gazed at each other anxiously, unsure of what to do. Awkwardness suffused the atmosphere. You didn't know what to say to break off the silence since you weren't sure what you two were exactly. Dean just had a similar expression to yours when he glanced at you. “Say hi to Sam from me,” you finally said, but you cringed at your own words.

Dean gave you a strange look as you waited anxiously after he got his phone and put everything else in his pockets and then examined his clothes. “Alright,” he muttered back.

Disturbed by his own strange actions, Dean gathered himself and confidently walked up to you, kissing you on the lips. From the way your lips became crimson and warm, he realized how much he really liked kissing you. The kiss was enhanced by your nervousness, and the way you react to him with the same fervor was adorable. Dean hoped his actions spoke louder than words, although he didn't put it into words. He thought you wouldn't be into the friends with benefits thing, which he wasn't into either, obviously, not with you.

When Dean withdrew after the firm kiss that had warmed your heart, you glanced at his bandaged hand again to make sure he was okay. As you carefully examined his hand and gave it a mild massage, he stated, "You're not going to work today, right?"

“No way.”

“Good.” Dean said, “Just have some rest,” taking your hands in his. “I'll call you when I'm done.”

“Okay. Tell Sam to take care of his wounds. He must also get plenty of rest in order to recover rapidly.”

Dean added hastily, “Don't worry about that,” and then he was gone.

You exhaled deeply as soon as he left your house, and your palm paused on your chest to listen to your heartbeat. You were astonishingly well, as if you weren't even sick, in contrast to yesterday. You felt as though a lot of energy had been poured into your soul, and you smiled broadly to yourself. You considered every aspect of your time with Dean as you prepared a delicious breakfast for yourself to further savor the experience. You reminisced on how he touched, kissed, hugged, and cared for you. No one could have touched you the way he had.

Remembering how he wanted to go farther with you and how you couldn't stop moving when cutting a tomato, you giggled this time. Though you felt awful about it yesterday since it made you sick and you thought it wrecked everything, you were happy with your declaration of love. You could speak those three magical words into his ear forever.

As you considered what to wear, you thought about what dinner you would be having this evening. Since you were either at work or chasing ghosts or monsters with him, you were never able to wear the outfits you bought when you fell in love with him months ago. It appeared like you were going to spend those hours contemplating what to wear and other things until Dean gave you a call.

When Dean called and said he would be there in fifteen minutes, you were so preoccupied with what to wear and worried that it would be too much to put on a dress that you took your head between your hands, powerless to act, helpless. You had plenty of time to think things through, yet you were unable to effectively manage the time you had. Choosing the most modest of them, you brushed your hair aggressively and quickly. You wish you were as fast as you were at the hospital.

Dean was patiently waiting for you while leaning back against his car and placing his hands on his chest. Since he had left your house, he had been thinking about you, which was causing him a little stress at the moment. He wanted to proceed with things as you deserved. Sam, you, and him spent a lot of time together, but this time, going out with you was different. That meant something, even though you didn't say as much to each other. It was your first date.

Dean shifted into a more relaxed stance, clearing his throat and placing his hands in his pockets. He stopped resting back against his car and smiled at your delighted figure as soon as you opened the door. You appeared little beneath your oversized jacket as you drew near.

You walked up to him and said, “Sorry, Dean,” in an apologetic manner. You attempted to be calm so that you wouldn't be distracted by his attractive, lengthy form. “Have you been waiting for long?” He looked awfully good.

As soon as Dean responded, “No, I just...” Your legs were already trembling a little, so you hurriedly opened the door yourself without waiting for him to do it for you or at least give you a hug. Confusion seized Dean's lips as he carefully closed the door. Your excitement and hasty movements made him smile and shake his head.

In order to avoid becoming chilly and ruining your entire week, you were clinging to your large brown vintage jacket. “How is your hand feeling now?” you asked in a tone of concern as soon as Dean put his bandaged hand on the steering wheel. You saw that the bandage had previously been renewed.

Dean chuckled and stretched his fingers to indicate that he was okay. “Yeah, it is,” he responded. “Have you rested enough?”

“Yes, I've got better. I suppose it was all due to my extreme tiredness.” You looked at his flawless side profile and murmured again, “Thank you, Dean. For taking care of me, for making me feel better.”

Dean winked at you and replied, “Don't mention it,” pleased that you told him he did well. “My pleasure.”

In contrast to what you expected, Dean sat down next to you rather than across from you when you first got to the location where you, Ruby, Sam, and Dean occasionally hung out. Since it was already heated inside, you hurriedly removed your jacket. Your big brown jacket and long dark green dress must have made you appear a bit silly.

In order to avoid giving himself a hard time, Dean moved his eyes away after he realized they were locked onto your deep, delicious cleavage. His wicked eyes were literally twitching due to your skin, and his brain was sending messages all the way between his legs. His nose was flooded with your delicate scent as soon as you removed your jacket. Your skin and the way you looked in general were flawless. Dean moved slightly in the seat and pressed his hand on the head of your seat. When Dean stated, “It's pretty cold outside nowadays; you must be very careful,” you were reminded of your sickness.

You murmured, “It's actually quite hot inside.” No matter what Dean thought, you probably wouldn't take off your jacket if it got even a little cold since you've never cherished cold weather.

"Oh, yeah?” Dean said with a chuckle, wetting his lips and arching his eyebrows. He became aware that he had never previously seen you wearing a dress like this. Dean's heart melted as you smiled tenderly at him, and he couldn't resist gently touching your arms.

You shuddered a little at Dean's abrupt, gentle touch on your arm and teased him, “Plus, you would be there to take care of me, right?” It should be illegal since he looked so handsome.

Dean said, delighted by your playful behavior, “Seems like someone got used to being taken care of already.”

Your heart began to behave normally around him as the tension between you lessened, even if you were still a little anxious. You told Dean about your college days and the times you witnessed the most ridiculous and absurd patients you saw in the hospital while you were eating dinner in peace. Dean also talked about the old, bittersweet days with Sam, which melted your heart. You told him everything good about him when he got a little critical of himself.

Fortunately, Dean showed consideration by not inquiring about your confession, your feelings for him, or the precise beginning of your feelings. You would feel quite uneasy and less confident because of it. The date was really different, yet it was also just like every other lovely time with him. There were situations when you both couldn't stop touching one another while chatting.

It was difficult to resist touching him. You were already accustomed to that as well. Dean's kind and passionate strokes had already become addictive to your body. It went really well, even though you thought it may have gone a little worse because of the anxiety you had been feeling. At the beginning, you were somewhat too shy, but Dean helped you start acting more like yourself.

You didn't even notice how quickly the time went by since you were eating a meal side by side and touching each other while you chatted and revealed more intimate details about lives. Dean's smile was contagious, and you felt your heart skip a beat when you saw how joyful and natural he was. His demeanor also inspired you to speak even more. It was already midnight.

The physical distance between you as he drove was a bit agonizing, as you had become used to spending hours sitting by his side. You wanted to be close to each other to forget about the times you were apart, and you were basically free to touch each other as you wanted. When Dean called your name, you leaped. Dean halted the car, but you were unaware that you had arrived.

“That was a very enjoyable night,” you said timidly, looking out and unsure of what to say. “Thanks for the dinner.”

You waited for his answer while licking your lips. You smiled sincerely at him and idly fiddled with the hanger of your shoulder bag. Dean's mouth opened, but he seemed to be looking at you as if he were pondering what exactly to say at this moment. He gave you the kind of glance that made him look as if he wanted to pause time and enjoy this sincere moment.

“My pleasure. I had a great time,” he added, grinning at you. Abruptly, “Are you working tomorrow?” he said.

“No,” you shook your head in response. “I'll be off from work for at least three more days. I informed them that I was still feeling bad and somewhat worn out.”

Dean exhaled a sigh of relief. He was already planning new activities to do while he was with you. Most significantly, you needed some downtime after working nonstop due to him. He wanted to take responsibility and put things right. Dean wanted to make you happy, sort things out, and start something fresh with you, not to relieve himself.

“Yeah,” you nodded quickly to him while you kept chewing your inner cheeks. It wasn't out of the ordinary for you to want to bring him inside. However, things had changed, and you were unsure of how to behave or what to say. He had you at his mercy.

As you were about to bid farewell before heading away, Dean's fingers reached your neck, and his lips captured yours. In response to his gentle kisses, you eagerly parted your lips and let him in. Your hand dropped to his chest as you let your bag drop to your feet, only feeling his heartbeat against your palm.

His kisses were gentle and soft at first, but you were unable to suppress your need and want for him, so they became urgent and mirrored your hunger. You were reluctant about leaving. You wished he would stay. You whimpered into his lips as your hand moved from his chest to his thick neck. Dean's gentle kisses quickly became intense. He was now giving you fierce kisses in return for your urgent ones. You were kissing each other like you've never kissed before.

His low growl made your heart race as you moaned into his mouth as he bit and sucked your lips. With a swift movement, Dean's injured hand grabbed your ass and moved your body into his seat, on his lap. Watching you between his legs caused him to groan. Dean was even harder since he was aware of his impact on you.

As Dean touched your legs through your long dress, you pulled back to catch your breath. You could already feel your pussy contracting with anticipation. Your entire body yearned for him. You looked him in the eye when you licked your swollen lips while placing your hands on either side of his face. Dean smiled at you to gauge your response, and it was warm and delightful. Through his jeans, you could feel his dick throbbing beneath you.

He had been encouraged to continue by the passion and affection he saw in your eyes, and as his hands began lifting your dress, you shivered with impatience. He moved steadily and slowly. After all, you had plenty of time to enjoy each other.

You were seated on his lap, rubbing your covered pussy against his cock as soon as he raised up your dress. Your heart was pounding wildly. You already knew you were ruined there already. “Dean,” you whimpered desperately. You hoped he wouldn't leave you like this.

He grinned victoriously at how much you desired him and how dependent you were on him. You stared at him and said his name with love and affection, and it wasn't simply a simple sexual yearning. Dean's heart pulsed blissfully into his chest. He longed to be loved and wanted by you. He intended to provide for all of your needs.

“What do you want me to do?” While his wounded had been waiting on your hip, Dean asked on your lips. Then he softly stroked one of your tits and squeezed it firmly.

While he waited for an answer, Dean gasped in surprise and confusion as you bit your lip and abruptly rubbed yourself on his hard cock. Dean's lips twisted into a little, sly smile. His injured hand remained on your underwear, helping you to move on him while the other hand kept pressing and kneading your breast through your clothes.

Dean's gaze was fixed on your cleavage as you kept rubbing yourself on his cock slowly so that neither of you would finish too soon and you could savor the moment. You pressed closer to his hands and watched the driven expression in his eyes. As his hand moved into your cleavage exposed your breast, squeezing your stiffened nipple, Dean checked your face to make sure you were completely well. You moaned a little louder this time because of the way he rubbed his thumb on your breast.

In order to establish a rhythm with you, Dean lifted his hip a little higher and started to suck your breast into his lips extremely aggressively once his mouth approached your nipple. “Ah, Dean!” you moaned, pressing yourself into his lips and nailing his shoulders.

Dean slowed his passionate kisses and then stopped, laying his head on your chest and panting heavily, just as you were ready to lose yourself on him. You whimpered as you felt him pull out his thick fingers. You had not finished yet. Was he unaware? He raised his head to meet your startled look as he planted a very gentle kiss on your bare chest. He knew you would do anything for him at this moment, didn't he?

He was completely hard, hurting down below, watching you lose yourself on his lap while wearing this outfit. Dean wanted you to ride him till he released his ropes inside you right now in Baby. Badly.

However, he needed to know that pleasure and desire weren't the backbone of what you were doing. He needed to express his affection and respect for you, even though it was obvious that you were desperate for any physical contact, and it was driving him insane. He needed you to see how gentle and caring he was toward you. He desired to offer you all that you had given him.

Dean replied, “Not now, sweetheart,” and put his hands behind your back, basically offering you a hug as you were lying on top of him, half-naked and in need. Dean kissed you on the shoulders and adjusted your dress.

You said, unhappy that you had been pushing this off since the morning, “Why not?” You felt okay with it. “Because of your hand?”

When Dean saw that you were being serious, he couldn't stop laughing. As though his cock would stop because his hand was simply injured a little. “Not because of my hand obviously,” Dean remarked. “Like I said, we don't have to rush things, alright?”

“But we've already done it.” You moaned, not pleased with his response, “Twice.” You didn't want to come out as so desperate, but you were no longer bashful.

“Someone is impatient, huh?” With a groan, Dean's hands traveled along your back.

Dean kissed your forehead firmly and then gently put you back in your seat, placing his hand beneath your chin. “All I want to do is make everything perfect because you deserve it. I don't want you to believe that we are only having sex out of passion. That is never the case.”

You replied swiftly, “It already is flawless,” and his comments made your heart sink. He was being so honest about your relationship for the first time, and you forgot about everything else when he acknowledged how much he cared for you. “I would never think otherwise.”

Looking at his hand, you timidly said, “But if you want, you can come inside," before the stillness deepened. “I can check out your bandages.”

Dean teased, “Thought you wouldn't be working for some time.” Before you grabbed your bag and opened the door, you looked at his hand and arched an eyebrow.

With the same humorous tone, you added, “Just because I pity you right now, Mr. Winchester,” before grinning broadly and closing the door on his face while you waited for him to follow you.

Fortunately, Dean used his keys to open the door when you noticed you had left yours inside. He continued making fun of how thrilled you must have been about your little date. You were overjoyed that you kept assuring him it wasn't. Dean wasn't convinced.

You swiftly got what you needed from the restroom as Dean grunted and sat down on the coach. As soon as you sat down next to him and got the fresh bandages ready, you saw that Dean was looking at you with such a lovely expression that you instantly smiled back. Right now, you must have been thinking the same thing. You remembered the night when he took you in this coach without even knowing how much you loved him.

Even though it was completely dark and you couldn't see each other at the time, you knew you were seeing each other in every manner now. It was spiritually as well as physically. Dean was unaware of your love for him at the time, but he now acknowledged your true feelings for him. Your want to be with him was obvious to him. Before you began to remove his bandages, you placed his hand in his palm and gave it a very gentle kiss that caused his eyes to widen in wonder. That moment filled your heart with so much love and powerful sensations. You hoped you could make him realize how much you valued that moment and how much you admired him.

Dean offered you the same caring kiss while placing his hand under your chin, understanding what you were thinking. It was just lovely; it had nothing sexual about it. Dean cracked a smile and said, “Deja vu, huh?” as he drew back.

“It's like yesterday. Time flies,” you whispered as you carefully cared for him, taking care not to hurt him.

Dean remarked regretfully, “I wish I knew,” which caused you to pause. “I would make it perfect, you know, rather than being quick and doing it on a coach in darkness.”

His words instantly made you blush. “It's not important, I told you already,” not pleased that he was still feeling this way. “I'm just glad it was you, Dean.”

“Well, I'm glad about that too.” Seeing that you were still obstinate about it, Dean also sighed.

When you are done, you exhale deeply and place everything on the table after gently looking to his wounded hand. Without wasting any time, Dean embraced you and made you giggle with a playful animal growl he made. He placed a cushion beneath his head and made your body lie on him, as if reenacting the scenario, and now he was lying on the coach. You shifted on Dean a little as he gave you a strong hug that seemed like he would never let you go.

He was surprised by the way you gazed at him. Dean closed his eyes as though in anguish and melted into your touch just as you softly placed one of your palms on his cheek. After seeing his face, you placed your head on his chest in joy, delighted by the way strongly his hands wrapped around you. Dean had no idea when you had begun to affect him in this way. Your touch made him feel so hungry and desperate that he was on the verge of letting out a defeated sigh and asking for more.

As you leaned on his body on your coach, you both glanced at one another without exchanging words. Your eyes brightened as Dean took your hand in his and gently caressed your fingers.

Feeling a little talkative, you asked, “Do you really want to sleep like this?”

“Why not?” Dean grinned right away, reminding you of that night to make you feel bashful. “It's not the first time after all.”

Even though your cheeks turned hot, you couldn't help but smile and ask playfully, “What if the electricity cuts out again? You know, we didn't change our clothes. It might be a little uncomfortable to sleep like this.”

Dean's eyes narrowed at your bold suggestion, and he licked his lips. “Well, if it does cut off, sweetheart, we won't need our clothes at all,” he said in a whisper in your ear while placing his finger beneath your chin. “Your attractive boyfriend will provide for all of your needs.”

By the time he finished his sentence, Dean had planted a kiss on your lips, and you were grinning uncontrollably into the gentle kiss while your heart was beating madly with joy. The scene was so exquisite that you nearly started crying. After Dean treated your wound, you were feeling much the same as when you slept with him in the same coach back in the day. Even though he had touched you, cured you, and taken care of your hand, something severely wounded and damaged your spirit that night without you even recognizing it. But now you felt entirely healed. Everything about Dean—his words, his kisses, his touch—healed you in the most exceptional way.

THE END.

Author's Note: Hi there! Here we are. WASTE is the first Supernatural fiction I ever wrote and the first fic I completed. Fun fact: Although I am aware of all the spoilers, I have only seen the first six or seven episodes of Supernatural. I apologize if I wrote characters 'out of character' . As an asexual, writing romantic material was a little challenging, but please share your thoughts with me. Your feedback inspired me to write a +55K word count series. I WILL UPLOAD TWO OR THREE SPECIAL CHAPTERS! I'm not going to let this go just yet. Those chapters will be SMUTTY. Since this is my first complete series, please let me know what you think. I love you all!

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[meanbossart]

So, I was thinking after the newest Bhaalist DU Drow art (and his hand dangerously close to Astarions throat): what would happen if Astarion runs away? Did he ever try?

And, what's also pretty sad, how does affection look like for them in this AU? Does Astarion just push through and dissociate? Can he ever say no? Or does he hope the love of his life (or unlife) changes at some point?

Thankies 💕

CW: Non-explicit description of a coercive sexual relationship.

You know, I'm not sure he would try to run away. I haven't thought about this AU in quite as much depth as I have their canonical story, but I do know that DU drow has turned Baldur's Gate and the area around it into quite the scary place. The "immediate and absolute control over the brain" outcome that we get in the game is a bit too easy for me, but he DOES retain the stones and therefore ownership over it, not to mention a huge bargaining chip in political control of the vicinity.

The church of Bhaal is reinstated, and while it will never be in the interest of Bhaalists to be blatant about their activities, it would become common knowledge that they have eyes everywhere. Killing is still ritualistic rather than mindless massacre, and indoctrination is prioritized - they can't expand and fulfill Bhaal's will if all potential followers are dead. People who don't yet follow the gospel have reason to cooperate with them since that lessens their chances of being killed.

So, if the darling of the cult's head were to suddenly disappear, everyone infected would be immediately zapped with the knowledge of exactly what he looks like and where he was last seen, and what the repercussions are for anyone who fails to report his whereabouts. Astarion knows this, DU drow would make sure that he does.

Also, it would probably be far too easy for Astarion to justify his own compliance and try to make peace with the situation. This IS the man he fell in love with, he DID encourage his pursuit for power at every step, he may not be the grand vampire ascendant, but he is the Murder Prince's beloved. He doesn't beat him, he doesn't torture him, he spoils Astarion with riches, comfort, and all the fresh blood he could dream of; all he asks for in return is his eternal devotion, constant affection, adoration, control over where he is, wears, does, and total surveillance.

When the alternative is braving the cold, ruthless world as a meager little vampire spawn while being hunted down by your ex's minions (hm, sounds familiar) being the equivalent to your partner's boutique pet starts to look pretty desirable. Astarion falling to old habits and resigning to his circumstance seems pretty likely to me. If he did run away successfully, life would be a whole lot harder for him. If he runs away unsuccessfully, he loses the trust of his murderous, power-hungry partner and the few liberties he is afforded at all.

Speaking of liberties, saying no to intimacy is one he still has, however the consequences for being frigid and nonreciprocating would come in other forms, over time, and Astarion would probably rather spare himself the trouble and just play along as the highly affectionate and fiery lover that this DU Drow wants him to be. The happier he is, the easier things are.

Not to mention that, occasionally, he can pretend that everything is back to how it used to be when they are being intimate.

I think there are vulnerable moments where he hopes he will snap out of it, but most of the time Astarion is convincing himself that he hit the jackpot, that he has DU drow wrapped around his finger and he will be able to turn this more in his favor eventually.

[ariestrxsh]

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 content warning: smut, use of vibrator, degradation, unprotected sex, dumbification, size kink, threesome, dom!matt, dom!chris, sub!reader

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 author's note: this is the second ending i wrote for this fic. enjoy! 🤍

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 summary: chris and matt find a flaw in the bet you made with them, meaning you submit to them.

love potions part two (second ending)

Chris was using your vibrator on you, the same vibrator he'd just found you using on yourself as you laid completely naked downstairs on their couch.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 Day Fifteen

"I'm tired of you being such a little slut all the time," a shirtless Chris smirked down at you while a shirtless Matt was pinning your wrists above your head.

They had just woken up and come downstairs for breakfast to instead find you, practically begging to be fucked by them both.

You had been getting annoyed at how disciplined the two of them were, ignoring your teasing and not giving into you. It was halfway through No Nut November, and you were doing everything in your power to get into the two boys' heads and make one of them cave on the bet you'd made with them.

"I bet you're both gonna have to go touch yourselves after this, aren't you?" You asked, giving both Matt and Chris a devious smile. You peered down at the way Chris' cock was straining against the cotton fabric of his pants.

"Why would I touch myself when I could just fuck you?" Chris wondered aloud. "Because then you'd lose the bet, and you'd lose No Nut November," you replied between whimpers as the soft buzz of your toy stimulated your clit.

"Well, there's a loophole in the bet you made," Matt replied, tightening his grip on your wrists. "If one of us loses the bet because they fucked you, then the other gets to fuck you after. And so did either of us really lose?" Chris asked, sneering at you.

"I like the way you guys think. Not as dumb as you both look," you responded smugly. "We might both look dumb, but not as dumb as we're about to make you on our cocks," Chris shot back.

Chris turned off the vibrator he held in his hand, tossing it off to the side, and he started to pull down the waistband of his sweats. You watched as his cock sprung out, letting out a gasp at how big it was.

Before you had much more time to react, he was gently running the tip up and down your slick folds. "I knew you wouldn't be able to go a whole month without nutting," you scoffed at his lack of self-control.

"Doesn't matter, sweetheart. I'm still getting what I want," Chris told you as he rested the tip at your entrance and without skipping a beat, he thrust his hips forward, stretching you out as he entered you inch by inch.

You gasped and let out a squeal while you peered up at him wide-eyed. "You love how big it is, don't you?" Chris asked in a sweet voice. You nodded.

"Say it," Chris demanded, dying to hear you compliment the size of his cock. "I love it, Chris. I love how big you are," you whimpered. It had been so long since you'd been properly fucked.

"Take this big dick, you little slut," Chris panted, relishing in the way you gripped around him. He quickly picked up speed, moans pouring from his lips while he plunged his cock into your drooling hole, bucking his hips back and forth and watching the way his member moved in and out of you.

"Fuck," he groaned under his breath, admiring the way his length looked coated in your arousal each time he pulled out before pushing it back in again.

"You like being used by us, don't you?" Matt cooed, running the back of his hand delicately along your flushed cheek. You bit your lip and nodded. "Use your words, princess," Matt softly ordered you. "Yes. I love being used," you whined.

Chris slammed into you over and over, both of them studying the way your tits bounced and admiring the metal jewelery that decorated each of them. Chris reached down and cupped one of your breasts. "So fucking hot," he whispered, running his thumb over your pierced nipple, drawing more pornographic sounds from you as he teased you.

Chris could usually last a long time in bed, but it had been weeks since he'd cum, and it had been weeks of your relentless teasing. He could already feel that familiar feeling in his lower belly quickly building. You could feel the way he throbbed inside of you, begging for relief.

His pretty blue eyes were locked on yours, his expression softening, and the prettiest moans you'd ever heard falling from his full, pink lips. Before he could even make the conscious decision to finish, he was injecting you with his milky, white fluid, his cock twitching as he filled you up.

"Oh my god," he softly whimpered, looking down at the mess he made in your hole. A satisfied smile formed on his fucked out expression as he delivered a few final thrusts, pulling your climax from you as well.

You started to clench around him, your legs shaking, and your eyes rolling back into your head while Matt held you down against the couch, watching the whole scene unfold.

Before you could even recover from the incredible sensation, they were switching spots. Chris' grasp around your wrist was tighter than Matt's had been, and it immediately turned you on again to have him handling you that way.

Matt positioned himself between your legs, pulling out his poor, neglected cock. He wasted no time before he drove his hardness into you, stretching you out once more.

"Oh, fuck," the words passed through your parted lips as Matt rocked his hips back and forth, quickly gaining momentum and chasing sweet release as soon as he entered you.

Matt placed both your legs on his shoulders to gain deeper access, and you both moaned louder as he orchestrated himself further into your pretty pussy. His hands wandered towards your breasts, and he gently squeezed each one.

"You like taking us both, one right after the other, don't you? Fucking slut," Chris smirked down at you. You didn't need to answer. The desperate look on your face said it all.

Matt's cock was extra sensitive after being neglected for so long, and he was already on the tail of his climax after only a few more minutes. His fervent moans filled the room as he peered down at the way he slipped in and out of your drooling slit.

It was too much. He couldn't take it anymore. He started to pulsate inside of you, pumping you full of his seed. His expression was steeped in pleasure, his brows drawn together in an almost-concerned-looking manner, his cheeks flushed and pink, and his jaw hanging slack in awe.

His hooded blue eyes were fixated on your pussy and the way you started rhythmically tightening around him as you finished as well. He studied the mixture of both of your fluids that varnished his pretty cock as he pulled out of you, nearly collapsing from how intense his orgasm felt.

"Fuck," Matt breathlessly whispered, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. "We both got to tag team you, and didn't even have to wait until November ended," Chris chuckled, amused with himself for being the one who found the loophole.

You laid beneath them in a puddle of cum and drool after having the sense fucked out of you. You could barely form a thought or a sentence, but you finally mustered up the brain cells to utter the words, "Well played."

[annasellheim]

We're sitting at the table I'm glaring at them. These heroes ("The Big Three" as they are known in the industry) are questioning me? ME? They're questioning ME???

These motherfuckers made me come to the Cape Crusaders big, tacky mansion to justify my actions to them?

The thing that pisses me off the most about their reservations is the fact that what I do SO MUCH MORE IMPORTANT WORK than them. These idiots just punch bad guys in the face and send them to prison, just so they can escape and start the cycle over from scratch.

I've already saved so many more lives than they ever will. I've made more of a positive impact on this planet than anyone will ever know.

Because my power is to stop disasters, and the most effective way to do that is to prevent them.

No one knows how many wars I've stopped before they began, how many diseases I found vaccines for before they became epidemics, how many cities and countries I've helped create infrastructure for so they could avoid being over run by natural disasters.

And my job is made even more difficult than it sounds because no one can truly fathom how bad things would be if I don't use my powers. I have to fight ppl tooth and nail to get it anything to happen because they don't know how bad it'll be if it's not acted on.

No one sees what I see. They don't feel what I feel. They'll never know the particular ache in my chest that somehow has has an entire narrative wrapped in it whenever a potential disaster hits me. An ache that is so powerful that it's made my knees buckle multiple times.

And the feeling doesn't dissipate until the disaster is fully prevented. It means that when I know something needs to be done, I have to make sure it's dealt with, or-

It's destroying me in a way. Doing so much, all the time, with no compensation or recognition.

The heroes at least knew about my powers and know that I have nipped a bunch of really bad shit in the bud.

The villains thing has come up before and it's irritating. For years I thought it was because they were lazy and just were angling for help over shit that I didn't have time for, and in the big picture, didn't matter. Asking for even more help than I already provide.

I'm at my limit already.

But looking at these three at this table in this enormous, extravagant kitchen, it hits me how wrong I am.

These heroes don't have my powers. They can't foresee and stop disasters. For all they know, these clowns that rob banks and occasionally attack and murder people, can cause major disasters down the line. I'm not perfect, I can't stop all disasters. I have to sleep and eat and work a fucking day job.

I still feel residual aches from time to time for every disaster I've failed to stop.

They aren't trying to get more free work out of me, they're trying their best to figure out what villains can do major damage in the future.

They're scared.

"So, the way my powers work," I say while leaning back in my chair, "is that at some point, I know something will go from being an issue to a problem to a disaster. I can only intervene when I know it'll be disastrous, otherwise I can't use my powers, it's like they don't exist. Until something goes over the thresh hold of becoming a potential disaster, it's like I have no powers at all."

"How do you know when a disaster is going to happen? Is it like a vision?"

"It's more internal than that- it's like a feeling I guess...I'm not sure how to articulate it."

Huh, no one has ever bothered to ask me anything specific about my powers or the work I do. I don't have a lot of answers if they keep prodding.

"So, yeah, it's not that I'm neutral to villains, it's just all of the ones you guys been dealing with don't-" I yawned "- don't give me that feeling. I'll let you know if it changes."

I put my head in my hands. Fuck, I'm so tired. It's not like I can stop being a hero, I see the alternate world where I don't intervene, I feel it. But I'm so, so tired.

"Go take a nap."

My head shoots up, "What?"

The Masked Crusader (dumb ass name btw, just like his dumbass mansion) says it again, "Go take a nap. I'll make us all dinner. Go use my guest room and pass out for a bit.

Damn it, did I say I was tired out loud? Or was mind reading one of his superpowers? I can't remember, things have been so overwhelming recently, my memory is shot.

"No, the Masked Crusader can't read minds, that's me" Brainiac says.

Oh. Shit. Right.

"We just, we see you burning out, let us support you for once," chimed in the Singing Banshee.

This was not how I was expecting this conversation to go AT ALL.

Banshee continues, "You've got a lot of walls up, probably from years of running yourself into the ground saving thousands of people without any help. So, we're now going to help you."

"That's not a request by the way," the Masked Crusader says as he slides me a glass of water. "We're doing it whether you like it or not."

Shit, I hadn't even realized I was thirsty. Have I drank any water all today?

And then *BOOM* I get hit with it- the feeling of an impending but preventable disaster. But it's different than any other disasters I "felt" before.

It's me... It's me, in the near future, collapsing and being unable to do anything about, well anything. I wouldn't be able to stop future disasters, hell, I won't be able to function. And the only way to prevent it was to lean on these people.

This was a lot.

I chugged the rest of the water and wiped my mouth.

"Ok, thanks..." I whispered.

This was too much to think about right now. It was too much to feel right now. I'm not used to, I don't know, being taken care of. I don't know how to be supported.

I'll figure out a way to properly navigate this later. Right now I needed to lay the hell down.

You're a superhero who specializes exclusively in stopping disasters. The other heroes just don't understand why you need to remain neutral to the villains…

[thewitchblue]

"I'm curious about something."

Jason asked you one snowy November. You turned away from your computer to face him with a fond smile on your face. You were working on a case for him by researching the deceased and locating their soul to speak to the victim. He approached you and leaned against the desk. You asked,

"What's up, buttercup? What's on your pretty mind?"

You noticed his hand trying to hold yours, but you turn ghostly to prevent him from touching you. You're a grim reaper, one of several scattered throughout different continents, and very dead. Hurt flashes in his eyes, but he asks as casually as possible,

"Is it true about the embrace of death?"

Well, that's a new thought you didn't expect to hear him ask. You blinked in confusion before answering vaguely,

"I'm a Reaper, pretty boy. Consider me one of the Valkyries from Norse mythology; I'm here to guide souls to their specific place. I don't embrace or kiss the souls. Their soul is often already floating around when I get there. That's why some people experience after-death moments with loved ones. Grandma's last kiss, a child holding their mother's hand, parents embracing their newly orphaned children, little things like that."

You weren't sure how to explain your job in a way that makes sense for the living, but you tried. Jason seemed unsatisfied by your answer, so you asked kindly,

"What did you really want to know, my love?"

He frowned at your ghostly hand. Is it really too much to want to touch his partner? He paused and said after a beat of silence,

"I... want to hold your hand and kiss you, but you always pull away. I want to know why."

You gave him a sad look and softly admit,

"I've never touched a living soul since my death. I'm worried what will happen to you if I did touch you."

He grumbled and offered his father as a sacrificial lamb to find out what happens, but you laughed and softly said,

"If you can stomach Bruce being the first man to ever touch me post-mortem, I'll touch him."

You knew that wouldn't be the case. He huffed and pouted, but softly admitted,

"I want to be the first man you ever touch since your death."

You look at him seriously for a moment. You know Jason would drop the topic if you told him no, but part of you wanted to say yes. You weren't sure if you wanted to let this go. You want to hold his hand on a cold winter day and kiss him thousands of times to make up for lost time.

With great hesitation, you touched Jason's arm. He was warm against your timid hand and so muscular. You slowly run your hands along his arms while watching him carefully. You waited to see if he was feeling anything negative. You weren't sure if you felt his life force leaving him or his pulse racing under your hand as you held his wrist in your fingers.

Jason shivered under your light touch. You were freezing cold, but he didn't feel any different than he felt before. You looked in awe that you could touch a living soul without consequences, and he was so smug.

He had a feeling it would be okay to touch you. He thought it was adorable that you wanted to protect him from your ghostly touch, nonetheless. He was only 87% sure he would have been fine. He didn't know if you could turn your power on-and-off like he hoped and now knew was possible.

You hadn't known people could be this warm. You've been dead for so long, you had forgotten. Souls are cold, so you're never warm.

You grin at him and immediate pull him into a kiss. You could kiss him! His soul isn't being pulled out of him! You were ecstatic. Once you started, you found you couldn't stop.

You gave him thousands of kisses as he chuckled. He's never seen you so happy. You held both his hands in your scarred ones.

Your soul shines in happiness, which makes him grin. He loves you and loves the confirmation you loved him, too. Your soul tells him everything you're feeling, and he's never seen you this happy. It's reassuring to see your love for him pulsing throughout your ghostly spirit. It's like you couldn't keep it in.

Your eyes lit up at the new revolution. You were bursting with love and adoration. You tell him as you held his face in your hands,

"These hands are forever yours. You're going to be stuck with me now onwards."

He laughed at the serious tone and kissed your hands with a grin on his face. The lights in your apartment flicker in response to your happiness, but you can't help it. Your powers charge and pulse when you get emotional.

You murmur as you caress his face in your hands,

"I love you."

You run your fingers through his hair while he buries his face in your neck and wraps his arms around you.

"I know, pipsqueak."

He nips your neck playfully, partially surprised you let him. You kiss his forehead and draw him closer with your arms,

"Good. You deserve to know."

[selfloverrrrrr]

Witch!Reader x Demon!Satoru. He promises to fulfill her wish in exchange for something. She wants to be seen as a human being instead of a monster, the only thing she really wants is to be loved, and unfortunately he knows that. He fulfills her wish, but in return he imprisons her in his castle and promises to give her all the love and care she deserves (but in a very dark way).

The Ritual~

Warnings : smut , heavy smut, unprotected sex, Noncon, Kidnapping, physical and emotional abuse, biting, size difference, Yandere Gojo, demon Gojo, witch reader, jealous, obsessive, manipulative....

( All characters are aged up/18+)

Minors Do Not Interact

Read the warnings carefully....if you don't like my stories block me not report

Y/n's POV

I was born in a witch family. My mother was a witch too. So were my ancestors. I'm also a witch. I didn't know what was it when I was a kid. Is being a witch a good thing or a bad thing? I always used to ask myself. But all I knew was my mom always used to hide the fact from everyone that we all are witches.

So many years passed. I grew up. I'm an adult now. And I still don't have the answer that if being a witch is good or bad. But for me it became a curse. A curse for which my whole family got killed. The king hired to kill all the witches in his kingdom. He's such a powerful king. And that's why my family isn't with me now.

We all were unaware that they were attacking us. It was the middle of the night. I saw them kill everyone in front of my eyes. I ran away from there. But they saw me. I ran all I could. And for god's blessings they couldn't find me. Now I made a small hut in the forest.

All time fear attacks me that they will find me and kill me too. I can't live like this. I need to find a way where I can live like normal people. So I started learning witches techniques. Maybe any of them will help me? I started reading the books of my ancestors.

I started learning many magics. But none of them are for what I was trying to find. I never did witch activities before. I started searching in all those books. Maybe, just maybe something that will make me like the other normal people and I can live a normal life just like them?

I searched all I could. But nothing was related this. But then I found something. A book which is sealed. I looked at it. It was the last hope. I opened the seal. It was too old. Am I even gonna find anything from here? I opened the book anyways. After some time of reading what I found can actually help me. The things written in the book are:

"He got sealed. After all those trying, we all witches are successful. We sealed him. He, the strongest demon. He got birthed and from that day it was all the witch's job to end him. Though its not possible to kill him. He's too powerful. We all were also shocked that we got him sealed. He was birthed to destroy the world. He wants to rule it. He has destroyed too many places. He has killed too many people. And after doing rituals we managed to seal him. That demon, that monster's name is:

Gojo Satoru"

I kept turning the pages and the last page got my attention.......

Process to unseal Gojo Satoru

He'll fulfill your wish

My heart started beating wildly. Should I do it? It is mentioned that he is too dangerous. But he'll fulfill my wish. I don't have anything in my life. Does it even matter if I risk it? If I don't do it people are gonna try to kill me all the time. Then I should take a risk. I have to go to the place mentioned in the book.

The place mentioned in the book is the old burnt castle at the end of the forest. I've seen that castle from the young age. Everyone told me to stay away from there. But they never told me the story behind it. Today I got to know about the real story behind it.

The ritual needs to be done at night. So I collected all the things that were needed in the ritual that day. And I went there the next night. I wore a hooded dress so that no one could recognise me. And I was lucky that there weren't any people there. I quickly made my way inside the old castle with a candle in my hand.

I entered the castle. It was huge. There's dust everywhere. And the castle is burnt also. It made me curious about what happened here? I kept walking. The huge stairs from the middle. I have to go to the top room of this castle. As in the book there's a throne room which is the ritual room. I went up there.

I pushed the door open and my mouth was wide open by the beauty of the throne room. I wondered what it looked like when it wasn't burnt. I went towards the throne. I don't have enough time to do the ritual. I quickly set up what was written in the book. Then lit up all the candles. Then started doing the ritual. My heart was thumping against my chest.

As I completed the spell. The wind started flowing heavily. Suddenly all the candles were extinguished together. Then the wind stopped flowing. And all of a sudden all the candles lit up together again. Then I saw a tall human figure sitting on the throne.

He has a huge masculine body. He's tall, has handsome sharp features, white hair, white eyelashes and those gorgeous blue eyes. He looks exactly the same said in the book. He's wearing all black royal clothes. He turned his head on both sides and the cracking sound echoed through the room. Then he looked at me.

Can that beautiful person be that dangerous? I asked myself. "So you're the one who unsealed me?" He spoke. I have to respect him. "Yes, my lord" I replied looking at the ground. "Hmmmmm.....well, this place is still burnt and dusty everywhere.... and I don't like my castle to lose its beauty" he said and threw a hand beside him.

A blue ray came out of his hand. And all of a sudden the castle turned all new. Not burnt anymore neither dust anywhere. I was already gorgeous and now it has become more gorgeous. A huge black gorgeous castle. "Hmm.....so what's the reason you unsealed me?" He asked.

"my lord, I'm a witch.... people of the king are killing all the witches. They killed my family too. I don't wanna live like this. I was to live like normal people. I want everyone to think of me like normal people. I want to be loved." I replied. And then there was silence. I could feel him staring at me.

"So you don't wanna be a witch any more and want to be loved right?"he asked. "... yes. My lord" I replied. He smirked. "Okay....done" he said swiping his finger in the air. My eyes widened in hope that now I can live like normal people. I looked at my hand and the witch sign was gone.

That means..... that means I'm not a witch anymore? I was so happy. "T-thank you... thank you, my lord" I said with a smile on my face. I stood up. I said "I should go now-" he didn't let me finish "No" he said. It almost seemed like an order. I dared to look at him. And there was a sinister smirk on his face.

"I didn't give you permission to leave" he said and went up from the throne. And within a blink I was standing in front of me. I got frightened and took a step back with a gasp. "You scared?" He asked with a smirk. I didn't reply. "Are you?" He asked again tilting his head. ".... N-No" I replied.

"okay.... then come with me... let me show you something" I said with a grin offering a hand to me. I have to accept his hand and so I did. And within a blink we both were standing in front of the window. How fast is he? "Look at the kingdom. I own this. I'm gonna burn this place" he said. Now he was definitely terrifying me.

He placed a hand on my waist and pulled me against him. Now this is getting too uncomfortable. "And you'll be watching them die with me from here. And I'll kill them first who killed your family" he said. What does that mean?! "M-my lord I should go now" I said. "And I already said no" he said looking at me.

"you want to be loved, right?..... you'll be living here in my castle with me.... and I'll give you all the love you need" he whispered in my ear. My eyes widened. Oh no no no. This is not what I want. He wants to kidnap me in his castle?! Shit I don't have my powers anymore either. What should I do now?!

"what happened?" He asked and nuzzled his face on my neck. I took a deep breath and pushed him. Then ran all I could. I was running through the corridor and bumped into someone. Of course it's none other than Gojo Satoru. I don't have any ways now. I automatically started crying.

He smirked. "Didn't thought someone has the bravery to disobey me" he said and started walking towards me and I started walking backwards. "P-Please let me go I don't want that life" I cried. "Oh darling you don't know how much I love to see people crying. And for your life I'm the one have the power to decide how you'll live" he said.

Then he clapped his hand and we both were standing in a.... BEDROOM?! He grabbed my hand and pulled me against him. "Now tell me what you were saying?" He asked. "P-Please....let go... P-Please" I said. "Let you go? But didn't you wish to be loved? I'm giving you the love you deserve" he said while grabbing my ass and squeezing it.

I yelped at that. "P-Please I don't want to stay her-" before I could even complete my sentence he threw me on the bed and claimed on me. I screamed so loudly out of fear when threw me on the bed. "Didn't you say you're not scared? That seems like a lie now" he said and took off a strand of hair out of my face.

"it's been years since I was sealed. Never thought I'll get this gorgeous gift as soon as I get unsealed " he said with a smirk and pressed his lips on mine. I tried to push his chest but he grabbed my hands and held them beside my head while kissing me aggressively. He pushed his tongue inside my mouth.

I was shaking my head in protest but he didn't stop. When he stopped he immediately grabbed the top of my dress and tore it off. How strong is he??? He tore off a dress with Corset with his hands?! I almost screamed when he did. I covered myself and tried to crawl up.

He grabbed my hair and made me look at him. "Did I say to cover yourself???" He asked. His eyes shined. Tears falling down from my eyes. He smirked and licked my neck with his long tongue. I was shaking from fear. "You know seeing you scared makes me more turned on" he whispered.

I couldn't breathe. He grabbed the hem of my dress and pulled it over my head. My boobs bounced out. He looked at those with lust in his eyes. His eyes shined in the dim light. He didn't waste any time, crashed his mouth on my breast licking, sucking and teasing the nipple and squeezing the other one with his hand. I moaned in the sensation. I grabbed his hair and tried to stop him by pulling it but it didn't even affect him. "M-my lord stopppp" I screamed but he didn't stop. "It's Satoru, darling.... I won't kill you if you call me Satoru"

Then he took off my pantie. He looked at my pussy. He rubbed his finger on my clit and whispered " so wet. You naughty little slut, getting wet for me huh?". Then he licked my pussy. I couldn't help but moan loudly. He smirked at my reaction and undo his pants.

His dick sprang out. It was too big and too thick. "Look... this is what you have done to me..." he said while stroking his dick. Fear grabbed me by my neck. " S-Satoru no no no... P-please no... s-stop" I begged and called him Satoru as he said so maybe he listens to me? but didn't even listen to me and slammed his whole dick inside me in one slide. I screamed. He didn't even give me time to adjust his size and started thrusting in and out roughly. I was through my legs with pain and begging him to stop. And he liked it so much. His thrust became harder and harder.

I clenched around him tightly and he moaned loudly " you know.... you're the first witch I love....I always hated all the witches.... never seen such a gorgeous witch like you.... f-fuck what great present I got as soon as I got unsealed" he started rubbing my clit with his thumb and I bite his shoulder scratched his back to control myself. With a few more thrusts I came. He was still thrusting roughly. I felt his cock pulsing inside me. I tried to push him away with all of my strength." Ughh...no no no no...ahhhhhh... I don't want this ..." I moaned. "Do you still think you can make me stop?" He said with a smirk. I dig my nails more deeper into his back as he Marked me. He continued thrusting. Within a minute he came inside me I could feel his seed inside me. He pulled out. He fell beside me on the bed.

"You need to be loved? I'll give you all the love you deserve..... now spread your legs again.... I'm not done yet.... I was sealed for over 500 years.... you don't expect me to stop right now, do you?" He said and chuckled demonicly.

Give me your requests guys....

I love when you give me your requests 💕

[nottswitch]

Hey love, i was wondering if you could do 22 and 24 with sub Draco :) ? Absolutely loooveee ur work and I'm super curious to see what you come up with !!

hi babe, i’m so happy you like my work, and thanks for your request!! 💘 it’s my first time writing for draco, so i’m a bit nervous, but also excited. hope you enjoy :)

prompt list

22. "not here, please."

24. "it’s all over."

۶ৎ navigation ; masterlist ; draco m.list ; how to request

18+ smut

dinners at the malfoy manor had always been a fancy occasion, even with just draco’s friends – he was a bit of a show-off, or a lot, depending on his mood at the exact point in time. you were sitting next to him at the generously served table, sipping on the most expensive white wine one could find in the entirety of britain and listening to the guys discussing something quidditch-related.

his suit caught your eyes again, and you turned your head to have a better look – not that you hadn’t already seen it from all possible angles, but there was something about this particular piece that made you want to ruin the perfection that was the smoothness of the designer fabric. and you knew just the way to do it.

pretending to listen to mattheo’s endless rambling about the latest falmouth falcons win against appleby arrows, you casually slipped your hand under the table. it found draco’s thigh with practiced ease, softly caressing the silky-smooth leg of his trousers. immediately, you felt his muscles tense under your touch, which made your lips tug in a smirk around the rim of your wine glass.

"not here, please," draco whispered in a strained voice, trying his best not to look as your hand started traveling up, up, up, your fingers skimming and kneading his inner thigh. you raised an eyebrow, the gesture subtle, but obviously catching his attention even from the corner of his eye. draco swallowed, obediently spreading his legs a bit further apart to grant you access – the look in your eyes told him everything he had to know, and his cock, already half-hard, twitched at the realization of what was about to happen.

you watched the situation sinking in for him, and without further ado, placed your hand right on the tent in the black, silken fabric of his pants. draco’s fingers tightened around his own glass, as tight as his teeth were clenched – he prayed to everything that was holy that none of the guys would have an idea to ask him a question right now.

you slowly palmed him through his trousers, the time spent to get him fully hard being comically short. you felt the flutter of his pulse nearly beating out of his cock under your hand, making you feel even more powerful than you already were. draco’s thighs tensed at each movement, and you could hear his breathing getting more shallow – a sign that no one but you could understand.

a few torturous moments later, his trousers were unbuttoned, the bulge in his briefs now bared to the chilly air inside the dining room. a shiver ran up draco’s spine at the sensation, and he took another sip of wine to at least appear somewhat nonchalant. his gaze was fixed intently on mattheo, who was in the process of demonstrating a particularly impressive movement of his favourite beater during the game. under the table, hidden by the cloth, your index finger was circling the tip of his cock through the briefs, feeling the spot rapidly dampen with precum.

"f-fuck," draco quietly stuttered out, immediately washing the word down with a sip of wine. your eyebrow quirked up, and the next second, your palm landed silently but firmly on his thigh, giving it a punishing slap. draco closed his eyes, his hand almost squashing the glass, to stop himself from flinching. his cock didn’t listen, though, twitching eagerly at every single brush of your hand, be it a gentle caress or a smack.

"quiet,” you whispered, your eyes not leaving the chatting guys across the table, blissfully unaware of what their friend was going through. draco swallowed and nodded, leaning back against the leather of the chair and pretending to keep up appearances.

your hand went back between his legs, continuing the up-and-down movements over his warm length. you knew it wouldn’t take long for him to cum, not when he was in public like that, so to say. he kept still, but you could see tears starting to well up in his eyes from how painfully aroused he was and how much he was already aching to come undone.

a squeeze, and there it was. you could see draco’s legs shake under the table as his cock was nearly bursting out of his briefs, string after string of white seeping through the thin fabric and staining his pants. your hand was safely out of reach, so you didn’t even have to wipe it, just pull it up and rest it on the table. draco didn’t have such a privilege, discreetly glancing down and realizing he would have to either clean all of this up somehow or stand up with obvious white stains on his crotch. he glanced at you, his eyes pleading for you to do something, but the only thing you gave him was a small shrug. however, the sight of his glassy eyes made your expression soften just a bit.

"it’s all over," you murmured quietly, so that others wouldn’t hear. you leaned in, your lips brushing against draco’s ear and making the tiny platinum hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "if you clean yourself up nicely, i’ll give you a reward once everyone leaves."

it took everything for draco not to whimper at your sultry words. he knew exactly what you meant – the night was going to be a long one.

[lichenes]

Lockjaw

Someone requested Silco x brothel worker!reader (AND I WILL WRITE IT, KEEP YOUR EYES PEELED.) but. I raise you one better. Silco in love with a brothel worker, NOT reciprocated HAHAHAHAAAAAA. I'm going fucking insane. I'm going crazy. The smut is also here... ig... I did a shit ton of research cuz my seasoned writer best friend said it was difficult to get right. Any feedback is appreciated!! CW: reader has a pseudonym (Lulu), porn with plot (AND ANGST HAHAHAHA), SW!reader, eating out (reader receiving), piv briefly mentioned, wear protection kids, fleabag reference - i couldn't help myself. wc: 639 .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚

Dark drapes. Burgundy carpets. Gold candleholders. You could smell the incense all around you. The cool, night air calmly was circulating and mixing with the warm feeling spreading in your chest. The room was overflowing with prestige and cachet. 

Silco was between your legs as you stared at his beautiful, bicolored eyes. You were toying with his locks as he greedily pleasured you. He couldn’t take his own eyes off of you. He was mesmerised by your squirming body, by your quiet moans and by the way you were just- almost there. 

He detached himself from you, denying you pleasure once more. You whined at the sudden loss but were eager to get even more from him and tonight, he wanted to give you it all. He hurriedly unbuckled his belt and slid his pants down his legs putting the garment neatly on the chair behind him. 

“Hi Lulu!” Said Juliette entering the break room where you were spending your last moments alone for the night. “Hi Julie, how you doin’?” She was in a good mood. “I’m doing okay! I got a massive tip from this one guy, and-” She trailed off saying how glad she was to not have taken a sick day today. You didn’t quite listen. “Lulu? I asked you a question.” You came back to your senses and answered the trivial question she presented you with. 

“So, how long are you staying?” You began answering but she interrupted you. “Oh!” She hit herself lightly on the forehead. “Silco’s coming today right? It’s Wednesday after all.” You nodded. “Looks like you’ve got quite a night in front of you.”

Your thoughts were interrupted by him getting close to your face. He was breathing heavily, yet a certain intimateness was flowing from him today. As he kissed you, you could taste yourself on his tongue. Slight hints of expensive cigars were also there, the taste was intoxicating. 

With his lips still on your own ones, he pushed you back onto the bed and caged you in his arms. He kissed a trail down your neck and chest before he put his hands on your thighs and spread them wider- right to his liking. He pulled back for a second. “You look divine.” 

He entered you with a slight resistance and let you accommodate his size before he started moving. With each encounter he was becoming more gentle. You never mentioned it, you never even noticed it up until now. You were fearing the- worst. 

Your legs were bent at the knees, you were trembling a bit from the intrusion. You were propped up by your elbow watching him enter and exit you. You reminisced about the first time he ever showed up here. Quickly you were pulled away from your thoughts by him burying himself to the hilt. 

“Lulu you were requested.” 

“Lu- oh, Lulu.” Moaned the most powerful man in all of Zaun. 

“I’ve been watching you for quite some time.” 

He emptied himself into the rubber and stayed inside you for a moment more, relishing in the closeness. Closeness he was to lose soon enough.

The break room was empty. “I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you.” The silence was filled with his confession. “Clients aren’t supposed to be here.” You said, dressed only in a warm robe, keeping you from getting goosebumps. He leaned against the doorframe, his eyes becoming dark, darker than any substance ever synthesised, soulless and- subdued.

He hung his head and turned his back to you, his coat in hand as he professed. “What’s keeping you here?” You didn’t answer. “Lulu.” He pleaded. “It’ll pass.” You answered. 

He walked onto the street, rain falling freely from the sky. His messed up hair was becoming wet. “I don't think it will.” He said to no one in particular.

.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ masterlist

[smokescreenimusprime]

not my usual but it was too perfect to pass up and the idea was NOT leaving my head. Decided to write a snippet for @keferon's IMMACULATE Mecha Pilot Jazz AU, though apologies if the charactization is a lil funky, this is my first time writing either of these characters and double apologies for the undoubted slew of grammar and spelling errors

but that aside, I hope you enjoy :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Is It Self Sacrifice If It's Not Really You?

Despite the cacophany of the battlefield, Prowl's scream cut through it with with the ease of a freshly sharped blade through flesh and found it's home nestled into Jazz's ears.

He barely had a second to look up, hardly more than a glance, but it was all he needed to make out familiar white and black.

A Quintesson, one of the smaller but more freaky looking ones, was looming over his collapsed frame. He was pinned, his back to solid rocky walls and the Quint at his front, jamming it's tentacles into every crack of his armour they could.

He was putting up one hell of a fight, but something was wrong.

"PROWL!" he shouted, shifting his weight in preperation to bolt. "HOLD ON, I'M COMMIN-"

But the screech of the Quintesson he was currently grappling with forcefully stole his attention back, barely any warning given before it's gaping maw latched onto his mech's forearm.

It pulled, joints and plates creaking with the strain but still holding strong. It shook it's head and Jazz brought a hand up to brace against the outside of the monster, if only to stop the arm from being completely ripped out of the socket. He landed a few solid kick as it lifted him off the ground, but it's movements were still largey effortless, like his frame weighed as much as a tin can.

Prowl screamed again. This time it was louder.

Against all common (sane) sense, Jazz looked away from his enemy and toward Prowl

Some of his external plating was damaged, gouges in messy circle patterns with rivulets of blue energon sluggishly bleeding out. He seemed to be smoking too, thin curls of smoke wafting off his cables. His eyes were flickering wildly, something Jazz had grown to associate with too much damage and too little power.

All of the damage paled in comparison to where Jazz's focus was.

Now, Jazz didn't know how these guys had their mechs built, but they could hold up to some serious punishment. Their engineers seemed to keep an even more meticulous eye on any damage, and Prowler and the other's all had frames clealy meant to last.

But they were all still vulnerable at their cores.

And the Quintesson's tentacles, sparking with a terrifying yellow and red electricity, were pulling and prying right at the plating above that core.

It was starting to show some give too, a testimate to the true strength of the offending monster. Chest plating, no matter the make, didn't come off easily, intent to protect the most vulnerable parts of a pilot.

The electricity was already frying his frame, if it got a straight shot of that to his chest-

Jazz needed to do something.

Jazz needed to do something.

But what, what could he do, whatever it was it needed to be quick, he didn't have time to finish off this Quintesson, there wasn't time for finesse, he just needed to go to help to F I G H T -

Jazz readjusted the braced positioning of his legs, thanking for what was probably the thousandth time the engineers who'd made the adjustment to give him more flexibility and agility, and brought his free arm high above his head.

And brought it down.

His trapped arm creaked, the plating denting and squealing as the metal controted, sparks going flying and red error messages flashing in his vision.

He did it again.

And again.

And again.

He made sure to keep his blows aimed at preciscely where he knew it was weakest and made sure to push with his legs as hard as he could, swaying side to side and focing the joint to bend in ways it had never been meant to. His movements became a dance to the orchestra of cables snapping and metal ripping and electricity cracking and his arm b r e a k i n g , the dance growing faster and more determined the louder the music played.

It felt like eternity, and the phantom sensation was disorienting. There was no pain, only uncomfortable pressure that built up and up and up, perfectly in time with the warning messages he forcefully dismissed. It was far from pleasant, but it was nothing compared to the cold burning terrified angry fight flight save him running full blast in his brain.

And with one final crack akin to lightning, he was free.

It was the furthest thing from a clean break, and to his mild surprise it didn't break at the elbow but rather a bit above it. In the second of freefall he had, he couldn't help but admire the shredded stump and mourn how he knew Ratchet was going to have his head for all the extra work.

He hit the ground in a roll and popped up running, stumbling and nearly falling face first into alien dirt at the sudden uneven weight distribution but he simply let his partial fall carry him forward until he was sprinting full speed.

With his remaining hand he grabbed the Quintesson and pulled, not letting go until it wasn't tearing into Prowl's front and instead embedded several feet in the ground. He dashed, not giving it even a moment, standing tall in front of Prowl.

The Quint got back up, enraged screeches and chitters coming out of it's mouth.

"Back off," Jazz growled back.

The Quintesson attacked, and everything became the hyperaware blur combat always became.

Dodge, dodge, punch, dodge, kick, kick, punch, dodge, jump, kick jump-

One of it's tentacles latched right onto the open stump and set a wave of electricity in.

His mech's vision went bright white, sparks exploding out even inside his cockpit and the smell of burning metal filling his nose. All the protective insulation was made useless from the direct route into the mech's systems.

Jazz jerked his arm stump back and headbutted it.

He got a tentacle to the face for his troubles, grabbers squeezing and cracking the visor. He planted his feet, one on solid ground the other on the slack of the tentacle, and pulled as hard as he could.

A decent chunk of the face came left it, not deep enough to affect any systems or his vision anymore than it was already damaged, but enough that it certainly wasn't pretty.

He kept more distance after that. Wouldn't do any good for him or Prowler if he got fried too. But the Quintesson was desperate, like a cornered animal, grabbing and clawing at anything it could gets it's tentacles on. The same gouges Prowl had began to litter his own armour as it kept making grabs, and the beastie even managing to get a few more much briefer electrical surges in.

It was obvious only one of them was going to walk away from this fight, and Jazz was not going to let it be the Quint. Prowl would kill him if he did

Finally he managed to get in a lucky shot, albeit at the cost of his feet. The Quintesson tried to get in a bite like it friend had, only to be met with the full force of Jazz's feet pressing them apart.

The teeth and other horrors might've torn through his feet but dammit if it wasn't satisfying to hear the crack as its jaw snapped and the body went limp.

The battle was still going on around them, but it was starting to wind down. A trio of bots had even started attacking the one Jazz had left behind.

The immediate area was clear, and there were more than enough bots he could shout out to for backup if he needed it.

"Prowler, you okay?" he said, though he noticed his voice had a bit of static lacing it. Maybe getting his face ripped off did more damage than he thought, or it could be lingering damage from the electricity. "Sorry it took me so long to come getcha, talk, dark and bitey kept me a bit occupied."

He wiggled his stump with a chuckle, leaning in closer. Kneeling down was difficult with the leaking hydraulic fluid and Quintesson salivia making it hard to get a solid grip, but with the current state of his visor he didn't want to risk missing anything on Prowl. To his relief, despite the extensive denting and electrical burns, Prowl's chest was thankfully uncompromised. Hopefully his mech was insulated

The electricity seemed to have done a number on his connection to the head though, the eyes were still glitching wildly and his normally expressive face seemed stuck.

"J-Jazz..." Prowl stuttered, and Jazz found himself frowning. Maybe Prowl got a bit more banged up on the inside than he thought. "You- your-"

His eyes were flickering wildly about Jazz's mech, and he could practically hear his friend's battle computer crunching away.

"Ah, don't worry bout that," he rapping his mech's chest with a fist. "This old frame's gone through worse. Nothing delicate got smashed, and I've barely got a scratch on me. Ratchet'll have me right as rain before you know it, so don't worry your pretty little head one bit."

"Speaking of, I'm gonna go find 'im," he stood back up, looking around the battlefield. "The fight's pretty much over, and I'm not sure if it's a great idea for you to be moving after all that zappy nonsense. Just sit tight and-"

"No!"

Jazz startled a bit at the sudden shout, looking back down at Prowl. The other man's mech suddenly lunged up, sitting straight and looking at him with wide eyes.

"Prowler? Is somethin wrong?"

"I will contact Ratchet," he says in a rush. "A comm message will be more efficient than searching on foot, not to mention I'll be able to tell him what to prepare for,"

Jazz raised a brow.

"Go right ahead, Prowl," he chirped despite his suspicion. He was fairly certain Prowl was hiding something from him, but prying would just make him clamp down tighter.

Prowl didn't seem like the sort to hide things from medics but...

He sat his mech down and leaned back against the wall. "You don't mind if I wait with ya, do you?"

Just to be safe.

Despite his initial assumptions, Prowl actually seemed to relax at his suggestion.

"Not at all."

[sandwitchstories]

Sweet Suffering

Hi guys! I'm back! I hope you all enjoy another adventure in Mouse's Mini-verse with your favorite pink haired, two year old menace!

For more adventures with Mouse and Dad!Sukuna, check out my Daddy Duty Series on my AO3 - Here! )

Author's Note: For anyone new to my Dad!Sukuna Series, Mouse is Sukuna's, currently, 2 year old daughter with reader.

Summary: Kenjaku makes a surprise visit and Mouse strikes again. Kids say the dandest things, don't they? (My alternate title for this fic was 'Mouse vs Kenjaku')

If you would prefer to read this story on AO3, click here !

WC: 1900

CW: reader is referred to as 'Mama' and 'Mother' but not described, toddler dad Sukuna, girl dad!sukuna, true form Sukuna (4 arms), it's pretty much Dilf Sukuna fluff and crack, family fluff, Uraume and Kenjaku (Heian era) are bothi n this one, there is 1 swear word, no one likes Kenjaku

Sukuna sat on the engawa having tea while Mouse roamed around the yard singing a song she made up as she went, picking flowers, piling up leaves and doing a jump occasionally that reminded him of a frog. He had no clue what the little jump was for, why she was doing it or where the hell she had learned it from, but it was keeping her happy and occupied so he said nothing. If he had learned anything thus far in the 2 years he had been a parent, it was to NOT try to make sense of toddlers.

Sukuna raised his head and narrowed his gaze as he felt a powerful curse energy approaching. This visit was unplanned. And you were not going to be a happy camper when you got home if the curse approaching was still here. Mouse apparently sensed the energy too as she froze and looked towards its direction before bolting to him. 

“Papa! Papa! Papa!” She squealed, racing across the yard as fast as her stubby little legs could carry her. He lifted her up when she reached him so she could stand on his thigh. She immediately leaned into him and tangled her hands in his clothes. 

“You're fine, Mouse,” he told her, putting a hand on her back to steady her and soothe her. 

Sukuna was glad you were not there as Kenjaku came into the yard whistling. You couldn't stand him. The nicest thing you had ever said about him was that he was a leech that had latched onto Sukuna’s power and wouldn't let go. He knew you were right, but Kenjaku had talents and knowledge that Sukuna required for his plans. 

“Who is that, Papa?” She asked as Kenjaku strode towards them in a new body. Old one must have served its purpose and been discarded already. 

“Why, Mouse! Don't you recognize me? It's Kenjaku,” the curse said in greeting.

“That him?” She asked in a loud whisper that sounded wholly suspicious. “Him face is different.”

“Yes, it is. That's his curse power,” Sukuna answered. She was a bit too young to know the full details just yet. Maybe in a year or two.

She looked at him and then Kenjaku. She leaned in and asked him yet another question in a loud whisper. “Is Kenjaku a friend, Papa? Mama said-”

“Mouse, go find Uraume so I can speak with Kenjaku. That’s not a request, by the way. I am not asking,” he said, not wanting to know which one of your opinions on Kenjaku she was about to come out of her mouth. You had many of them and none of them were favorable. Not that he cared about the curse’s feelings, but right now he had a need for him. He set her down on the engawa and gave her a little push. “Go. Inside.” 

She gave a hmmmph and walked inside with her little nose turned up and her arms crossed. He heard her pause at the doorway with his sharp hearing. “I know you are still there, Mouse. Go.”

Kenjaku gave it several moments and waited for Sukuna to nod before he spoke. “So how are things here in the world of domestic bliss?”

“What did you come here to speak to me about?” Sukuna replied. He was in no mood for Kenjaku’s bullshit. He was dealing with enough sass from the 2 year old he had just sent inside. 

“What? I can’t stop by to see an old friend?” Kenjaku asked as he poured himself a cup of tea. 

“It’s not your style. And we’re not friends. Lets not start lying to each other after all this time,” Sukuna said.

“Fine. Have it your way. I have figured out how to do what we spoke about,” Kenjaku said. “It is the reason for my taking control of this vessel.”

“Really?” Sukuna was weary. “And have you tried the process yet?”

“Not on a person,” Kenjaku said, he gave Sukuna a side eye. “But are you human? Or are you a curse?”

“A calamity. Come back when you’ve perfected it, and then we will talk seriously,” Sukuna said dryly. He could hear two sets of footsteps heading their way. “Don’t show up here uninvited again.” 

“I do long for the days we could speak freely and for longer. I never needed an invitation before,” Kenjaku almost sounded like he was sulking. 

“You’ve always needed an invitation,” Uraume in greeting as they came out to the engawa, kneeling in respect to Sukuna with a broom in their hand. “Master Sukuna. Mouse said that Kenjaku is here. I came to see if you require anything.” 

“Ura-rau! Use the broom! Use the broom!” Mouse jumped up and down, pumping her fists in the air, directly next to where they kneeled.

“Be quiet, Mouse,” Uraume snapped, still looking down. 

“But Urau-rau…”

“Not yet,” Sukuna answered. He would have to make sure to ask what that was about.

“We were trying to have a discussion,” Kenjaku gave the two new additions a side eye.

“I was picking flowers,” Mouse said, hands up in the air giving the curse a shrug.

“It’s a little different, Mouse,” Kenjaku answered. “This was important.”

Sukuna closed his eyes and shook his head. Was this guy seriously trying to reason with a two year old? Especially that two year old. 

“Mine imbordant too! My flowers were for Mama,” Mouse said emphatically with her hands on her hips, narrowing her eyes on Kenjaku. Without taking her eyes off of the curse in front of her she asked, “Mmmmm, Papa? I can pick more flowers now, please and thank you?”

Sukuna smirked. There it was. Mouse’s famous audacity. He had been waiting for it. “Fine, go.”

“Yay!” she ran over to him and grabbed onto his arm, hugging it and kissing his bicep, looking up at him with a smile. “Thank you, Papa!”

He held her arm and helped her off of the engawa before she skipped off but not before giving Kenjaku a quick victory smirk. The cursed looked at him and said, “She is her mother’s daughter, I see.”

Sukuna snorted in amusement. He couldn’t deny that nor would he want to. He had married someone incredible, one of a kind. Why wouldn’t he want her to be like you?

“And what of it?” Uraume asked, giving Kenjaku a disgusted side glare.

“Oh, not a thing!” Kenjauk said with a smile and wave of his palm. He looked at Sukuna. “You have changed. Don’t lose sight of our plan.”

“Did you need anything more?” Sukuna asked, not in the mood to discuss this further when Kenjaku hadn’t even perfected this technique. The curse needed to prove he could actually do it before Sukuna would discuss it further.  “If not, our business is concluded.”

“As you wish,” Kenjaku said, standing to leave. “I will return after I have confirmed results.”

You came through the gate at that moment, carrying goods from the market. Your smile faltered when you saw the curse standing next to him. Mouse ran to you and hugged your leg, looking up at you with a smile and holding up a handful of weeds. “Flowers for Mama!” 

“They are beautiful. Thank you, Mouse,” you said with a smile, rubbing the back of her head with your free hand.

“It’s okay, Mama. He leaving,” Mouse said, patting the back of your leg reassuringly. 

“Good,” you answered. 

“We will meet again soon,” Kenjaku said to Sukuna before heading out of the yard. He paused in front of you, “A pleasure to see you again.”

“The pleasure is all yours,” you answered with a fake smile.

Kenjaku looked down at Mouse and gave her a smile and a wave. “Bye bye, Mouse! I’ll be back soon!”

“The pleasure is all yours,” Mouse glared at him. 

“Enough, Mouse,” Sukuna said as Uraume choked while trying to suppress laughter behind him.” While he did feel a need to correct her attitude, he would rather his daughter hate Kenjaku than have anything to do with him.

The curse turned up his nose and exited the yard, closing the entrance behind him. Sukuna watched you and your daughter, both smiling and talking between the two of you, discussing what goods you had bought at the market. He was in no rush for his plans to come to fruition. He wanted to enjoy the little moments like these for as long as he possibly could.

“If you have no need of me, Master Sukuna, I would like to go start preparing for dinner. I have decided to make a dessert. Does mochi sound good?” Uraume asked.

He had a feeling they would be making some type of treats this evening as an unspoken thank you to Mouse for their treatment of the curse. “Sounds good to me. You may go.”

Mouse came running to him with you trailing behind. She had one left over flower in her hand as she ran to him. “Papa! Head down, please and thank you!”

He leaned down to her level, curious what she intended to do. He screwed up his face as she not so carefully put the flower behind his ear. 

“All done, Papa! Now you look pretty too!” She kissed his cheek and pulled back, giggling with a smile.

He sat up, the flower still in place and noticed each of you had a flower behind your ear too. He felt ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. But the smiles on both of your faces made him roll his eyes and leave it alone. “Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome, Papa!” Mouse preened before gasping and running away.

“Now what the hell is she doing?” Sukuna asked as he stood, giving you a gentle kiss and taking the bag of goods from your hand. 

“Apparently picking another flower,” you said, watching Mouse hunt for the perfect one for her needs. She found it, snatched it up and came running back. 

“I be right back,” she told the two of you, clambering up onto the engawa and taking off running yelling out at the top of her lungs, “Uraume? Where you go? I gonna find you!”

“Don’t,” came the equally loud reply.

“I’m guessing everyone is getting a flower adornment,” Sukuna said with forced disgust as he glanced down at you.

“It’s not so bad, besides,” you said, tilting your head back, a sign he had learned meant you wanted kisses. He obliged and brought his head down. You cupped his face and kiss him before moving to walk away and looking over your shoulder, “It suits you.” With that, you walked away.

He had every intention of drying and keeping the flower, but he would not let either of you know and he would not let that slide. A flower accessory suiting the King of Curses? And not even a fucking poisonous one? Ridiculous!

Giving in to the absurdity he recently found himself being faced with regularly these days, he stormed after you calling out, “The hell it does! Take that back!”

“No take backs!” you called over your shoulder with a smirk on your face.

“I’ll show you no take backs, brat,” he growled under his breath. He’d wipe that smirk right off your face. His suffering had no end in sight. But what sweet, sweet suffering it was.  

[amoebab22]

I completely agree with this. I feel like this is one of the worst parts about Veilguard. My Inky is in the South, and while I firmly believe Orlais is the devil, it's very weird that Tevinter is just super chill about my elf Rook when my elf Inky had constant micro-aggressions as well as just out and out slurs hurled at her. Also I'm going on a rant about Mythal.

SPOILERS BELOW

Bellara also seems to just...kind of ignore that I'm an elf? Davrin makes more sense. He left his clan and joined the Wardens because he just didn't really vibe with the Dalish. He'd think of himself as a Warden first, I think. Wardens don't seem to give much of a shit about your race or religion or sexuality or whatever. In The Calling, they canonically don't give a fuck about the gay couple in their little group, or that Fiona is a mage and an elf. Absolutely irrelevant. So Davrin could start to fall into that mindset because frankly, it's a nice way to live. It's just not real outside the Wardens.

So when Bellara is like oh my god our gods are evil and Davrin is like eh, fuck 'em, that's actually about the most realistic reaction we've got re: elves. Davrin is just out here like yo I'm a little busy saving the world fuck them gods. Love Davrin.

Also, in Inquisition, there's concern that knowing Corypheus's artifact is Elvhen will cause violence against elves. So knowing it's the Elvhen gods causing all of this? The consequences of that, even if an elf Rook saves the world, should be looming for a Shadow Dragon in particular. Clearly Inquisitor Ameridan's race did nothing for the elves of Orlais. It was covered up over time. His sacrifice meant nothing to the humans. This should make Solas's plans to restore the elves much, much more tempting.

The way the Crows were presented REALLY bothered me as well as someone who romanced Zev. The Crows *tortured* him, sexually assaulted him, made him feel worthless, because it was seen as necessary. Sure, Lucanis being blood family might give him a very different perspective and experience, but Jacobus is just allowed to be a Crow and start his own house when he wouldn't kill? I mean, I totally agree that prolonged, public shaming and imprisonment is worse for this individual, but like.... That's not how the Crows work. They kill stuff for money. Sure, they run Antiva and would be pretty pissed off about the Antaam taking their territory I'm sure, and they might work with Rook since Rook helped Lucanis and he's a big deal to the First Talon. But like... It should be a hard choice to work with them for Shadow Dragon Rook, because SLAVERY.

I feel like the pullback on slavery is to make Solas's actions seem more ambiguous, and to make it seem like there was some equal power between him and Mythal. But I have a very hard time believing he was never Mythal's slave. Also, a spirit of BENEVOLENCE? Get ABSOLUTELY fucked. She was fine with SLAVERY. Thought she could just slowly phase it out, maybe. Yeah, no .

Because here's the thing: slavery is evil. Whatever you have to do to stop slavery, short of participating or killing slaves, is pretty easy to justify. Maybe I'm just John Brown-pilled from living in Kansas a good chunk of my life, but killing slavers and slave owners and freeing slaves is MORALLY CORRECT. FULL STOP. A "kind" master is still a master. Sure, you can give them a chance to free their slaves and make reparations first, but waiting to vote slavery out didn't work. The US had to go to war. Haiti had to rebel (and give basically all its GDP to France for like two hundred years. Fuck Orlais AND France).

The only reason my Inky was able to befriend Dorian, at first, was their shared trauma in going to the future. That changes people (that whole quest fucked me up the first time I did it) and I think my elf Inky was looking for reasons to trust Dorian and ignore the system he participated in. She didn't have to see it so it seemed less real. He's an altus so he doesn't own the estate. He seems open to other opinions! And some part of him knows it's wrong, or he wouldn't be so awkward upon talking to Inky the first time.

But Solas's inherent and never fully overcome distrust of Dorian isn't wrong. Solas needs to see action; words aren't enough. I don't blame him.

This is the same softening we saw of the Templars in DA2 and Inquisition, but if you read The Stolen Throne and The Calling and play DAO, it's very clear that mages are oppressed by the Chantry and live in horrible conditions. The ones in Lake Calenhad are described as pale and kinda sickly looking (or something like that) because they don't get any fucking sunlight. Fiona is happy to go to the circle at first because she was a SLAVE in Orlais (Honestly Loghain's hatred of Orlais is justified even though his actions aren't). If you decide to allow the right of annulment or whatever in DAO, Zevran calls it genocide. Zevran isn't one to mince words. He doesn't pretend he isn't a killer or that he wasn't tortured.

My Inky and my Rook are both 'no gods no masters' types, which is why I think clan Lavellan sent their First on a risky mission supposedly by herself (got real sick of her shit lol). As a result, she heavily sympathizes with Solas's cause, and would have happily joined him in bringing down the Veil if he'd just agreed to spend time making sure as few people died as possible, particularly after she meets the Avvar and sees how spirits really are. She knows Solas better than anyone, and even without a full explanation, she'd know that his reasons for doing this were morally right. He freed her people. He never meant to hurt them. He can't live with his guilt. Inky (who in my game was more like 30 because I don't think she could have made decisions or led on her own at 20, nor would she have been a studied enough mage) wants freedom for everyone. She's chaotic good.

Rook is a Shadow Dragon who killed slavers a little too hard for an organization dedicated to killing slavers (based Rook). They're also chaotic good, and a bit of an idiot, bless them, who kinda sees everything as a nail because they have a hammer. They see slavery, they fight it. Fuck the consequences. Solas did the same.

So why is Rook not bringing up slavery a lot? Why is Rook only finding out that Solas freed slaves on the regular at the beginning of the game? Did Varric just decide that wasn't worth bringing up to a person whose entire life revolves around ending slavery? Why is Rook not having an existential crisis after talking to Solas and finding out the truth of his past in his memories?

Look, all I'm saying is that I don't understand why more people aren't angry with Mythal and why no one is talking about slavery and racism. The whole point of fantasy and sci-fi, and the point of Dragon Age, is to critique modern society through thinly veiled references. That's why people get so passionate about Star Trek. And yeah, yes, it's necessarily going to make a piece of media more niche, or people are going to bitch about it (especially gamer bros my dude calm down, sorry something is very briefly not about you), but it makes a game *good* and lasting

BG3 did a good job of exploring the themes of trauma and power imbalance, and while some characters I think needed more fleshing out (Wyll my beloved, I owe you a lengthy fanfic for the injustice done to you), it was particularly powerful in Astarion. The people are ready for real exploration of real issues. We always have been. Backing off was a mistake.

ANYWAY I have feelings and none of my friends share my special interest. Here you go.

Why Fenris could Never Cameo in Dragon Age: The Veilguard

In the run up to Dragon age: The Veilguard, I was almost certain that Fenris would be our main legacy character from previous games. Not only has he been central in the comics released between DAI and DATV, he is an escaped Tevinter slave who's plot revolved around magisters, magic and the structural prejudices surrounding elves in Thedas. Not only that, but he's canonically in Tevinter killing slavers currently so he's geographically in the right place for us to meet him.

About halfway through the game though, it was clear to me: Fenris could never cameo in The Veilguard. Because he'd break it.

How the Veilguard treats Thedas is...odd to me, to say the least. I will be writing another post about how much I adored the expanded big lore in this game (the titans, ancient elves were spirits, where the blight came from etc.) and yet while these large lore expansions worked for me, the actual culture of modern Thedas is entirely softened, its sharp edges filed down until it's a sanitised fantasy world devoid of what made the franchise so vibrant and compelling in the first place.

So let's start with Fenris and slavery. In all three games, the reality of slavery is pushing at the corners of the world. In DAO Loghain allows Tevinter Magisters to enslave elves in order to raise money for his war effort. In DA2 Fenris is fighting to be free from slavers who will not leave him be, let alone the reminders that the city was built by slaves which are everywhere. In DAI one of the two possible mini-bosses is Calpurnia who was a slave, and characters such as Gatt and Dorian both show us how much slavery is tied into Tevinters culture and success.

But DATV the first game actually set in Tevinter where we get to see the famed Minrathous...it's like the game purposefully wants to avoid the issue. I can feel it tilting the camera away to not allow me to see. Slavery is mentioned, but never talked about in depth or as a specifically ELVEN problem in Tevinter. This might have been done to be less problematic, it feels ignored.

We are in DOCK TOWN. We are at the DOCKS. You would think that slaves from all over Thedas who are being smuggled and bought by various groups would be everywhere. You would think that the injustice in dock town would be partly built on the back of ships we've seen in the comics crammed with elves in chains. This is the world Dragon age set up for us. And yet...nothing. zilch. A tiny easily skippable side quest where we free a couple of venatori slaves, but only one of whom is an elf.

None of our Tevinter characters seem to have been influenced by their culture even a little bit when it comes to how they view elves; there is no moment when Neve fucks up and says something prejudiced, no moment when Bellara or Davrin are distrustful of her for being a Tevinter mage.

The same goes for Zevran; a character who epitomised the issues with the crows. The crows have consistently been characterised as very morally dubious assassins who kill for the highest bidder and who buy children on the slave market and torture them as they grow in order to assure that they reach maturity able to withstand torture without giving away a client's name. Zevran is very explicit about the fact that if you fail a contract your life is forefit.

Nobody responds particularly to you if you're an elf. Nobody trusts rook less for it in Tevinter. Nobody treats Rook any differently. Even DAI had better mechanics for this; with nobles in Orlais less likely to trust you as an elf.

Considering one of the main plot points of this game and what makes Solas sympathetic is the fact that he was fighting against the slavery of ancient elves...you'd think the game might want to mirror that in modern Thedas. It might want to show us how characters fighting to end slavery in Tevinter are similar to Solas and how the society Solas fought against was similar to the one that characters we love such as Fenris have fought against in modern Thedas. Maybe we'd want to explore how in a world of slavery like this, how could the answer NOT be to tear it all down? Maybe we should have that option at the end of the game so it really can chose whether we agree with Solas and his plans or not.

Adding Fenris to this game would entirely break the game because Fenris refuses to allow you to look away from this horror. He is a sympathetic character who had to learn to trust mages again because of course he didn't trust them. Of course he didn't. Fenris wouldn't allow the camera to shift focus because he's literally covered in the lyrium scars that show how slaves are used as experiments in Tevinter. Fenris WOULD question Neve on how she feels about elves and slaves. Fenris WOULD have things to say about Lucanis and the crows (let alone the fact Lucanis is an abomonation). So he could never be in this game; he'd drop a bomb on it's carefully constructed blinders to the very society its supposed to be set in.

And yet, in DATV, the crows are presented as...a found family of misfits and orphans? The politician who opposes the crows having absolute power in Antiva is framed as a comically evil idiot who doesn't understand that the crows are ontologically good. Yet...they're NOT. Crows in this game act more like a secret rebel group than an assassin organisation. We see no crow taking contracts with the VERY RICH venatori magisters despite being hired killers. We see crows just refuse to kill people despite having a contract because 'its crueler to leave them alive'. The crows don't feel like the crows here, they feel like a softened version of a cool assassin group who are cool because they wear black and purple.

Our pirate group are also sanitised; the Lords of Fortune are good pirates who only steal treasure that's not culturally significant. Theyve clearly read the modern critiques of the British Museum and have decided to explicitly stop anyone levelling similar critiques at them. There is no faction of the Lords of Fortune who aren't like this, no internal arguments about it. Everyone just. Agrees. And is able to accurately tell what a cultural artifact is vs. what treasure that you can have yourself is. Rather than showing us why a pirate stealing cultural artifacts might be bad (like in da2 where such a situation literally causes a coup and a war) it just tells us it's bad. But also pirates are cool so we still want them in our world.

This issue seaps into Thedas and drains it of any of the interesting complexity and ability to SAY anything that this franchise had before this game. It becomes a game about telling and not showing rather than the other way around. The games have ALWAYS asked questions about oppressive structural systems and their interplay with society, religion and culture and how these things can affect even the most well meaning character. Dragon age at its best IS a game about society and how society functions both for and against it's characters and what happens to societies built on cruelty and indifference. The best bad guys dragon age has given us are those who are bad because they embody these systems or have been shaped by them. Our main characters have had to wrestle with questions surrounding how to exist in these systems, fight against them, learn and grow.

Yet every group you come across in DATV is sanitised and cleaned up to the point of being as non problematic as humanly possible. None of our cast of characters have to wrestle with where they came from or the world that shaped them. None of them have to confront their own biases. They start the game perfectly non-problematic and end it that way too.

And this just...isn't what Dragon Age has been in the past. It isn't why I love the franchise. The whole game just felt, in a way, hollow. And this was a CHOICE and it is why the legacy characters are few and far between. Too many dragon age characters are just too...angry and complex for this game. You can feel them pulling their punches on this one. I have to imagine they did this because they didn't want to be criticised or have too much controversy? But I think it honestly goes far too much in the other direction and just makes it bland.

I can't imagine what I say here will be unique, but it is the basis for a LOT of my other thoughts on this game so I wanted to get it out of the way first. The softened Thedas and characters make this game by far the weakest in the franchise.