#and lol Tails seeing this on tv

[kittydoremi]

Cursed Sonic is showing Shadow a view from the top of the building 💙🖤

I love this so much thank you ^^

Sonic and the Cursed Bracelet by @kittydoremi : https://archiveofourown.org/works/54441091/chapters/137912203

Loosely based on this meme:

[wanderingcritter]

Friendly reminder to never EVER let losers on the internet convince you that alterhumanity is wrong or will never be accepted by general society.

I went to my city's local renaissance faire earlier this week and I had genuinely such an incredible experience. I went with my tail, theta delta necklace, and mask (which I may post here once Im fully done with it lol) gear and received so many compliments. Not only that but I saw and talked to quite a few other alterhumans, like at least 10 and that was after only being there for 1 of the 2 days for less than 2 hours. Also please keep in mind that this was by no means a large ren faire (at least compared to others in the region) and the area I live in is very mixed in terms of progressiveness. But at one point I was walking past some vendors and an older lady running one of the booths exclaimed how much she liked my mask and asked to take a picture of it, and explained how her granddaughter was just starting to learn how to make some of her own. And then told me that the booth next to hers was "selling some therian masks" (yes she actually used the word therian completely unprompted!) and sure enough the couple in there were selling some masks made by their 11 year old daughter (which were absolutely gorgeous btw). Afterwards, as I was out near the parking lot waiting for my ride so that I could leave, I was practicing quadrobics and some 5-6 year old kids walked past me with their parents and looked absolutely awestruck. Shortly after another woman approached me and told me that her young granddaughter was completely overjoyed when she saw me me running around and had wanted to come play with me, and had said "Ive never seen a creature play like that before!!"

Not only was the ren faire itself super fun and cool to be at (I can't wait for next year omg), but it was unexpectedly the most positive alterhuman related experiences Ive had maybe ever.

There is a future where we are normal, where others see us as who we truly are and where we don't have to conceal ourselves to avoid judgement. The road isn't always going to be smooth, especially as we grow in numbers, in fact I fully expect things to get a whole lot worse for us in the years and decades to come. But one day, maybe even in our lifetimes, you will walk through a pride parade and see someone enthusiastically waving a massive theta delta flag through the crowd. You will hear strangers casually use species neutral language like it's the most normal thing in the world. You will sit down with your family to watch the newest popular tv show that includes a character who has received species affirming medical care. You will walk past a cozy locally owned business that has an "all species welcomed!" sticker on their window next to their lgbtq+ and poc welcoming signs.

We are everywhere, and we're not going away. There will always be those who refuse to understand us, but there will be more who choose to love and accept us in our entirety, I have absolutely no doubt about that <3

[three-realms-archive]

Biggest Crush

Summary/Details: MC sees someone on TV that they haven’t seen in a while, and the brothers react accordingly. Fluffy and light, all brothers included!

You didn’t mind being squished in between Mammon and Beelzebub on the sofa for the weekly movie night. The former took the opportunity to not-so-subtly snuggle into your side, whilst the latter held a comically-large bowl of popcorn; eighty-percent of which was probably for himself. The movie you watched was some old film that the brothers’ apparently had some nostalgia for, but could only be found on DevilTube. Inevitably, this meant an advertisement would play every so often; and your eyes lit up as a familiar demon flashed up on screen.

“Woah, it’s Darkfang! Yo…” you said, tossing some of Beel’s popcorn into your mouth. The sixth-born simply smiled, content at seeing your cheeks so adorably full, as you continued. “He was the first Devildom idol I ever got into!”

A few noises and hums of acknowledgement came from the brothers. On the TV screen, Darkfang flashed a handsome, cocky smile, winking at the viewer as he showed off what you assumed to be a new fashion line. You feel a wave of nostalgia wash over you.

“Y’know,” you began, voice slightly muffled as you chewed, “I had, like, the biggest crush on him back when I first got here.”

Silence, this time.

Lucifer tensed up. Leviathan peered up from his D.D.D for the first time that evening, with an imperceptible yelp. Satan balled his fists in his lap to stay composed. Asmo bit his lip. Beel stopped eating. Belphegor’s tail thrashed against the carpet.

Mammon’s grip on you was getting a little tight.

“Hey, Mam’. You mind squeezing a bit lighter?” You say nonchalantly, eyes focused completely on the movie, which had started up again after the advert had finished.

Little did you know, no one was paying attention to the movie anymore.

Instead, each brother replayed the advert in their mind; determined to one-up their new competition.

_

Later that week, something strange happened around the House of Lamentation.

Well. Strange things always happened… but this was different.

Suddenly, everyone was into idols. You caught Asmo and Levi studying idol performances more intensely than you had ever seen them study for an exam. Beel had even joined them for dancing practice each morning - complete with synchronised singing and chanting. You could hear the commotion from your room, and it now served as your alarm.

You figured this fascination with idol culture was what got Satan, Belphegor and Mammon in the music room every day after school. They didn’t know you knew, but it was pretty hard to miss when Mammon’s cries of ‘we sound so much better than that idiot!’ rang throughout the halls, accompanied by the rather-hideous combination of sounds from an electric guitar, a classical piano, and a cowbell.

Then, there was Lucifer. You tiptoed quietly into his study one evening, intending to remind him to get some rest. Instead, you found Lucifer sound asleep, his head on his desk… and a poster of Darkfang nestled under his cheek. Beside it were notes - meticulous, handwritten notes - with various facts you recognised about Darkfang’s height, weight, workout routine, diet… even his favourite pie flavour?

“Oh my Diavolo… I never guessed they’d all become Darkfang fans!” You whisper excitedly, blissfully ignorant to the brothers’ true motives. “I’ll start watching him on TV more often.”

(i’m probs gonna start doing more comedy amongst the angst storm lol. a lot of family friends way younger than me recently got into kpop, and i started watching and looking back at old idols i liked - especially vocaloid and kpop idols that gained popularity around the bts wings era. feel free to share any idols you guys liked as a kid/teen!)

[boynarcing]

I hate to be your dog

leon s. kennedy x puppy boy!reader

word count. 2.2k

cws. reader doesn't speak at all, neglect, implied alcoholism, mentions of heat cycles and sex, reader has a penis, fluff

note. I don't like writing hybrids as just a human with animal ears and a tail... make sure you take note of that before you read LOL… again lots of improper grammar my english sucks || title is Dog by Helena Deland

Leon takes care of his puppy. No, really, he does. You don’t need much to keep a dog happy; just a few scratches behind the ears and you’re set. You just gotta keep them fed and clean up after them, is all. That’s it. Nothing more. That’s all he does for you. No soapy baths or a trim. Not even a snip of those gnarly nails you’ve got growing. They’re so big your paws go crooked when you walk. 

You’re lucky if he remembers to feed you or change your murky water full of loose fur and cloudy patches of accumulated dust and grime. Nasty stuff. You’ll still drink it, though. A dog’s a dog; they’ll take what they can get—  rain or shine. 

Don’t get him wrong, he’s not trying to be neglectful. He cares, believe it or not. He’s just got a lot on his plate. Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head over. You wouldn’t understand. Not with those beady eyes and the silly smile you’re always wearing. At least someone is living stress-free under his roof. 

Leon sits on his couch, sipping on a glass of cold whiskey while watching TV. Nothing important. Politics this, criminals that— it’s whatever. A commercial starts playing, one with a pretty lady running through a set of flowery fields to advertise some fancy-sounding perfume. Something, something Eau de parfum. He thinks Ashley would like it.

The cushions beside him sink, the familiar odor of wet dog and stale chips making his nose wrinkle. 

“Hey, off the couch,” He clicks his tongue, hand gently pushing away your pressing face from his chest. You’re insistent, snuffling at his palm with a cold nose. You lick the salty skin, whining softly. Leon hasn’t washed his hands today. How many times has he peed? He doesn’t remember. 

Your tail wags behind you, slapping against the couch with a soft thump. “Hey,” He tries again, half-assedly adding a stern tone to his tired voice. “C’mon, you’re gonna stink it up.”

You wouldn’t stink if he just washed you for once. 

You whine again, pawing at his slacks and leaving short, wispy hairs behind. Leon grimaces. He grabs you by the scruff, ignoring the pained yip you let out and forcibly setting you down on the cold floor, your ass hitting the surface with a blunt thud. 

“Jesus, I just washed these,” He groans, hands sweeping over the fabric of his pants quickly, not getting a single hair off. He doesn’t bother anymore after seeing that. Instead, he turns his gaze down to you, frowning at the pitiful look you give him.

He nudges your side with the point of his shoe, sighing. That’s supposed to be affectionate— at least by his terms. “There’s food in your bowl, isn’t there?” He checks, looking over at the two blue bowls sitting on a dingy plastic mat with cutesy paw pads printed all over meant to contain the pigsty you usually leave after you eat. They’re full. He checks again, and then a third time. Just to make sure he’s not seeing things.

He nudges you again with his foot, this time pushing you a little. “Go, go eat.” His voice rises in pitch, he’s almost cooing at you. You don’t move at all, only tilt your head dumbly, fluffy ears perking as if trying to hear him right. Leon can physically feel the exhaustion soaking into his body like a sponge at the thought of having to figure out what you could possibly want from him. He’s done everything already, hasn’t he?

He slumps against the couch and groans, letting out another sigh right after. Groan and sigh, he could train you with those noises alone. Groan and sigh, they mean leave him alone. You won’t, though. A hard chin rests on his lap, and your big, sad, rheum-coated eyes stare up at him pleadingly. He starts to feel bad. His hand finds the top of your head and ruffles your fur, rough fingers tugging lightly at your ears. He stays there, mindlessly petting you. Lost in thought while he stares into your eyes. You lean into the touch eagerly, tongue lolling out with your happy panting. Leon squints. 

“Is that a flea?” 

Both hands now search through the fur along your ears, and then at the tufts on your throat that lead down to your belly. You plop down onto your side contentedly, mistaking his probing touches for affection, and Leon leans forward, raking his fingers through your tail. 

“Since when do you have fleas?” He looks worried— that’s new. If you have fleas, will he get fleas? He can’t have that. No way. Not in his house. 

He gets up and hastens towards the bathroom. You yip in alarm, following quickly, looking the happiest you’ve been in ages.

Leon doesn’t waste any time running a bath, sitting on the edge, and searching anxiously on his phone while he waits for the water to rise. 

How to get rid of fleas on dogs. 

He reads the first thing that pops up, something about a soapy ring around your neck and a flea comb. He doesn’t have that. He considers calling Ashley for a moment, before quickly relinquishing the thought. She has tons of pups, and she actually takes care of them, but he doesn’t want help. He’s a man; he can take care of this himself. He can get rid of some measly fleas by himself. Plus, he knows that once he invites her over, he’ll never get her to leave, and he’ll end up in a drunken stupor somehow.

The bath is full enough. He turns the knobs, and the water stops running. A small hand towel is stuffed into the drain, keeping the tub from emptying. “Alright boy,” Leon grunts, picking you up by your belly. “Into the water you go.”

He places you down into the warm water, your face blanking with confusion as your fur sticks to your skin. The water reaches the top of your belly, but the rest of you sticks out. You start to tremble like one of those apple-headed chihuahuas, cold. Leon pats your head, attempting to soothe you. 

“There, there,” he frowns, looking around helplessly. Right. No dog shampoo. Nothing bad will happen if he uses his shampoo on you, right? You’re human enough. It’s not like you’re entirely covered in fur. Uncapping the 2 in 1 he uses, he drizzles it over your back, the cold gel making you yip pitifully. “Shhh.”

He rubs the thick liquid onto your back, and then into your fluffy belly. Behind the ears, under your tail— he even goes as far as to get your paw pads into the mix. No matter how much you whine and squirm in protest, he doesn’t falter, merely sparing you with a few gentle words before continuing. Unexpectedly, he’s entirely focused on you. Not his phone, or the glass of alcohol he always nurses. Just you. 

He manages to pluck some fleas out of your fur by hand, but some stick to your skin like glue, hidden well behind layers and layers of matted fur. 

Leon curses under his breath, deciding to get closer. He kneels in front of the tub and tugs you close, working harder to get the results he wants. He’d get rid of those pesky fleas one way or another.

It takes a large amount of elbow grease and time, but eventually, Leon thinks he’s managed to get most of them out. Now, he’s toweling you dry, grimacing in disgust as he watches the murky water trickle into the drain from afar, dead fleas circling the rim idly. He’ll have to clean that soon. The worst of the worst is over though, and he finally gets a chance to catch his breath. You look happy to be out of the water— happy to be clean.

Your fur, once dull and dusty, shines bright, a healthy gleam glazing over your fluff. It’s pretty, he thinks. And it smells great. Way better than the wet dog smell you always carry around. A hint of vanilla and a trace of oats. Some honey, too. Leon inhales deeply, relishing the fresh scent. He pets the top of your head, threading his fingers through the fur around your ears.

“There we go,” He hums, “Isn’t that better? You’re not stinking up the house anymore, buddy.” He coos, ruffling your hair, purposefully riling you up. The bath did wonders, thank god. He was starting to consider building a dog house for you out back.

You wag your soggy tail and shake your head rapidly to dry off, sending specks of water flying everywhere. Leon tilts his head back and squints through the spray, grinning. “Stupid mutt,” he grunts, throwing the towel over your head playfully. 

He watches silently as you struggle to paw off the rough fabric, letting out agitated chuffs. His eyes roam, going over your chest, where your pebbled nipples lay stiff. It’s slightly uncanny how human you are despite your animalistic behavior. His eyes go lower, to where your crotch is. 

He wonders, briefly, how your cock would look standing tall at attention. Is it red and slick, like a real dog’s? He can’t see it now, the length tucked away in its sheath. 

He’ll have to look during one of your heat cycles— when you’re perpetually trying to get your dick wet and sniffing at his groin desperately. Out of curiosity, of course. Nothing more. 

Shaking his head, Leon tugs the towel off your face, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards at your wide-eyed expression. Stupid mutt.

“Out,” He commands with a humph, “come on.”

You give an eager yip, scampering out of the room on your hands and knees, nails clicking loudly against the floor. Leon winces. He’ll have to clip those soon. Today, hopefully.  

After a quick trip to the nearest pet boutique in town and a short walk-in nail trim, you get home looking better than usual. Better as in he can stand the sight of you for once. And the smell.

“Who’s a good boy?” Leon coos, patting his lap after he sits on the couch. You almost stumble over your feet in getting to him, clumsily climbing onto his lap. Leon’s warm, and he smells like a rich old man. Smells, not looks. 

You take a big whiff, pressing your nose into his neck. Your panting quiets into slow puffs of soft breathing, eyes shutting in bliss. Never ever has Leon let you get this chummy with him, so you bask in what you can get. 

The sight melts his stone-cold heart. It’s a necessary balm. One he didn’t know he needed. 

He feels a little guilty. Do you feel sad about the neglect? He doubts you even know about it, but he still feels bad. Poor thing. Not a single thought in your head. Just food and pets. Food and pets and Leon. 

He pats your head, then cups your cheek, thumb wiping away the snot running down your nose. You try to lick it off his skin, but he pinches your nostrils shut admonishingly before you get a chance.

It’s an uncomfortable responsibility, he finds. Having a small boy on his lap like this. A boy that can’t think for himself. A boy that can’t wipe his mouth after he eats. A boy that can’t pee on the damned puppy pads without it leaking through the corners and onto the polished floors.

It’s an uncomfortable responsibility, one he honestly wouldn’t trade for the world. Who would? Having someone reliant on him waiting at his house in rags he’d barely considered clothes beats any wife he could have ever possibly thought of having. 

Who needs a nagging woman around when he’s got a pretty, stupid boy ready to be used as a footstool constantly following after him? It’s everything a guy with an inferiority complex could ask for. 

Leon scratches your back, itching at a spot you’ve been struggling to reach. A pleased rumble draws from you, followed by a yawn. Leon keeps pampering you, watching as you start to drift off on his lap, your face smooshed against his chest. You’re already drooling, leaving small, damp patches over his shirt.

Glancing over at a clock on the wall, Leon lets out a yawn himself once he sees the time. It’s late, almost 10. He tends to sleep earlier, but you’ve kept him busy and distracted all day. It’s not like he had anything better to do; he never does.

The couch isn’t his preferred sleeping location, but it’ll have to do for tonight. He doesn’t want to risk waking you up, no matter how stiff his muscles get. Awkwardly, he angles himself, trying to get as comfortable as possible in a limited space like this. 

Tomorrow, he thinks, he’ll have to get you a shampoo of your own.

[cera-writes]

I’ve been on a recent X-men evolution obsession and like-

Headcannons for X-men Evolution!Kurt Wagner x Gn!reader that’s human and knows he’s a superhero but doesn’t really care? Like they’re just confused on how nobody else realizes Kurt and his friends are the x-men- (Like they don’t where no masks no nothin😭)

A/N: Riiiiight? LOL. Yeah, I can think of quite a few!

X-Men Evolution! Kurt Wagner x GN!Reader (Superhero Obliviousness)

Headcanons:

You first met Kurt at Bayville High, drawn to his quiet demeanor and dry wit. You never saw his demonic tail or sulfur scent as anything but...quirks.

One random afternoon, you saw a news report about a giant Sentinel robot attacking the city. Guess who was teleporting around it with a blue furry friend? You just stared, then shrugged and went back to your homework.

You become Kurt's confidante. He vents about the X-Men's crazy missions, frustrated that no one seems to recognize them. You listen patiently, offering support, but mostly confusion.

Phrases you use a lot:

"Wait, wasn't that... wasn't that you on TV fighting a giant metal thing?" (Kurt: 👁️👄👁️)

"So, like, why doesn't anyone else see you guys teleporting around in broad daylight?" (Kurt: 🙃)

"You're telling me the whole school doesn't know you have a tail? Have you considered... brighter clothes?" (Kurt: 😐)

You become the X-Men's unofficial "civilian consultant." You help them strategize normal people things, like disguises (which they desperately need) and blending in.

Kurt finds your obliviousness endearing. You're the one constant who sees him for who he is, not a demon or a superhero, just Kurt.

You do get worried when they leave for missions. Kurt, bless his furry heart, tries to downplay the danger, but you see the fear in his eyes.

Eventually, you confront Professor X. It's a polite but firm conversation about the utter lack of secrecy. Professor X is surprised, then impressed by your deduction skills. Maybe you could be a strategist someday? (You politely decline.)

Dating life:

Public dates are a nightmare. You constantly have to steer conversations away from the giant robots Kurt keeps "accidentally" bumping into.

Movie nights become a game of "spot the X-Men cameo." Bonus points if you can guess their power being used.

Cuddling sessions often involve Kurt teleporting in exhausted from a mission, tail twitching nervously. You just hold him close, whispering reassurances.

You're the ultimate hype person for the X-Men, even if no one else knows it. You're secretly keeping a scrapbook of their "heroic deeds" (news clippings with doodles and witty captions. You've even sketched their faces and made silly comics about them).

Overall, your relationship with Kurt is a hilarious mix of obliviousness and deep affection. You may not understand the superhero life, but you'll always be there for Kurt.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Dream A Little Dream of Me | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings:

Word Count: 6433

A/N:: There’s a Sherlock reference in here… let me know if you find it!! Lol I did a “New Girl” quote scavenger hunt once, and they’re a lot of fun! So… part 2 to movie/TV quote scavenger hunt. 

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

Everything Ruby had told you was hitting you like a ton of bricks. You’d been smoking a lot more regularly over the past few days, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care that it was worrying Dean. The two of you were physically together, but you both knew your minds were elsewhere. 

The reality of the situation was that there was no way for you to save Dean. It completely shattered your heart, but you knew it was true. As much as you were trying to enjoy the last few months you had with him, it was incredibly difficult knowing what he would be facing very soon. 

However, you didn’t have much time to focus on your woes. Dean had gone out to find Sam who, to your surprise, was at a bar at two in the afternoon drowning in whiskey. You couldn’t blame him, really, given your similar condition. Dean was pacing and worried as soon as he got back to your motel room. His rampage at Sam’s poor decision making, though, was disrupted by a distressing phone call. 

***

It was Bobby. The maid had found him in his motel room unconscious, and she’d feared him dead. Thankfully, he was alive, but he was comatose. The doctors explained to you that he was physically perfectly healthy but just… sleeping. 

“Mr. Snyderson,” the doctor addressed Dean, “you're his emergency contact. Anything we should know? Any illnesses?”

Dean shook his head, looking a bit bewildered. “No, he- he never gets sick. I mean, he doesn't even catch cold.”

“Is there anything you can do?” you asked the doctor. 

“Look, I'm sorry, but we don't know what's causing it... so we don't know how to treat it. He just... went to sleep and didn't wake up.”

Your heart sank further into your stomach. 

***

You helped the brothers search Bobby’s perfectly clean motel room where you eventually found his research and newspaper clippings hiding behind his clothes in the closet. 

“Pittsburgh” was scrawled in big letters next to pictures of various foliage, maps, and newspaper clippings.

“Good ol’ Bobby, always covering up his tracks,” Dean chuckled, given the rack of clothes his research was hidden behind.

“You make heads or tails of any of this?” Sam questioned, looking over Bobby’s research. 

You plucked a piece of paper off the wall. “ ‘Silene capensis’,”you read. “Oh, god, I know that name.”

“Well, you keep workin’ on that, sweetheart. ‘Cause that means absolutely nothing to me,” Dean commented. 

“Here,” said Sam. “Obit.”

The two brothers read over the death of a doctor who’d fallen asleep and simply never woke up; just like Bobby.

You continued to think on the plant. Suddenly, you realized what it was. “Guys, African dream root. I couldn’t think of it immediately ‘cause it’s more commonly known as ‘silene undulata’. It’s supposed to induce lucid dreaming or something.”

“Alright, um…” Sam thought aloud. “So let's say Bobby was looking into the doc's death. You know, hunting after something that started hunting him.”

“Alright, stay here,” Dean instructed you and Sam. “See if you can make heads or tails of this.” He pointed to the closet. 

“And where are you going?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

“I'm gonna look into the good doctor myself,” he smirked, referring to the first victim. 

***

You and Sam were silent for quite some time. Both of you were too drained to speak, it seemed. Your heart was hurting, and you knew Sam’s was, too. You tried your best to focus on researching the news clippings in front of you, but your mind would always pull you elsewhere. 

“You okay?”

You’d forgotten Sam was in the room with you if you were being honest. 

You nodded halfheartedly. 

Sam sighed. “Yeah, uh, I’m in the same boat.”

“I don’t even know what to do anymore, man,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair and throwing your notepad down. “I know there’s nothing we can do, and that almost makes it feel worse.”

“I get it,” Sam replied quietly. “And now, Bobby, and I just… why does everyone I love die, (Y/N)?” His voice cracked a bit and tears flooded his eyes.

“I wish I had the answer, man; I”m searching for it myself,” you said. “And it just… There’s nothing I can do to make this feel better. And I feel like I just got Dean, and now—” You dropped your head. “I’m sorry. Not trying to treat you like my therapist.”

Sam shook his head. “You’re not.”

“And I think the worst part is that Dean is terrified. And there’s nothing I can do or say to save him from that,” you continued. 

“Yeah, well, I wish he’d be a little more honest with me about that,” Sam remarked. 

“I’m his girlfriend, Sam,” you reminded him. “He’s not gonna wanna talk sob-story with his little brother.” You could see you weren’t getting through to him. “Take it from an older sister: we’d rather get our gums scraped than admit fear or stress to our baby siblings. Trust me, if Steven was still around, and I was in Dean’s shoes, I’d be doing the same thing.”

“Well, it’s crap,” Sam argued. “You don’t have to protect us.”

“It’s not about protecting you. It’s about being strong for you. It’s keeping our emotions at bay so that you have all the room in the world to express yours.”

Sam hung his head low. You could tell he was frustrated, but he understood what you were getting at. 

Then, your phone rang. “Hey, Dee. What’s up?”

“So,” he began, “Looks like our Doc was running freaky sleep experiments on his patients. Guy I talked to said it felt like an acid trip.”

“African dream root ‘ll do that to you,” you replied. 

“Yeah, sounds like he was putting it in a tea,” he explained.

“What’s the move now?” you asked. 

“Goin’ to see Bobby. Meet me there,” he instructed. 

***

You and Sam did as told. You found Dean sitting beside Bobby’s bed. 

“How is he?” you asked as you entered the room. 

Dean rubbed a hand over his chin as he turned to look at you. “No change. What you got?”

Sam held files in his hands that compiled your and his research. “Turns out, dream root isn’t just for lucid dreaming.”

“Let me guess. They dose up, bust out the didgeridoos, start kicking around the hackey,” Dean snarked. 

“No, jackass,” you deadpanned. “If you believe the legends, it's used for dreamwalking. Entering another person's dreams; poking around in their heads.”

“I take it we believe the legends,” Dean nodded. 

“When don't we?” Sam said. “But dreamwalking is just the tip of the iceberg. I mean, this dream root is some serious mojo. You take enough of it, with practice, you can become a regular Freddy Krueger. You can control anything. You could turn bad dreams good, you could turn good dreams bad.”

It was clear by the look on Dean’s face he understood what Sam was getting at. “And killing people in their sleep?” 

You and Sam nodded solemnly. 

Dean sighed. 

“So, let's say, uh— let's say, this doc was testing this stuff on his patients, Tim-Leary-style,” suggested the brunet. “Somebody gets pissed at him, decides to give him a little dream visit, he goes nighty-night.”

“But what about Bobby?” Dean questioned. “I mean, if the killer came after him, how come he's still alive?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know.” You stared down at the old man’s resting form. It was the only time you’d ever seen him without him seeming like he carried a tremendous weight on his shoulders. 

“So, how do we find our homicidal sandman?” Dean questioned. 

“Could be anyone,” Sam shrugged. 

“Anyone who knew the doctor; had access to his dream shrooms,” the older one nodded. 

“Maybe one of his test subjects or something?” you suggested. 

“Possible. But his research was pretty sketchy. I mean, I don't know how many subjects he had, or who all of them were,” Dean replied. 

Sam scoffed. 

“What?” you and Dean asked in unison. 

The brunet sighed. “In any other case, we'd be calling Bobby and asking him for help right now.”

Dean seemed to have a “eureka” moment, and a smirk crawled across his face. “You know what? You're right.”

“What?” you and Sam asked. 

“Let's go talk to him.”

“Uh, Dean, that conversation’s gonna be very one-sided,” you said, confused. 

“Not if we're tripping on some dream root,” he smirked down at you. 

Sam huffed. “What?”

“That’s actually not a bad idea, Sam,” you considered. 

“We have no idea what's crawling around in there,” Sam argued. 

“Well, how bad could it be?” Dean shrugged. 

“Bad.”

“Dude, it's Bobby.” 

The younger Winchester considered for a moment. “Yeah, you're right. One problem though. We're fresh out of African dream root, so unless you know someone who can score some…”

“We do, actually,” you said. “Not thrilled about it, though.”

“Who?” Sam asked. 

“Bela.”

“Crap,��� both brothers groaned. 

Sam quirked a brow. “You're actually suggesting we ask her a favor?”

“I'm feeling dirty just thinking about it, but it’s our only shot,” Dean grimaced. 

You turned out of the hospital room and began clicking buttons on your phone. The brothers took the lead, and you began to follow them out to the Impala. 

“Hi, darling,” Bela said. The phone had barely rung once. 

“So good to hear your voice,” you sassed. 

“Aren’t you a sweetheart,” Bela replied. 

“Flirting’s over, though, angel, mommy’s had enough now,” you smirked, and Dean gave you a both bewildered and lascivious look over his shoulder. “I have a favor to ask.”

“Aw, and here I thought you were calling because you missed the sound of my voice,” the woman replied. 

“Promise I’ll check in more often,” you said. “Can you get your hands on some African dream root for me?” You sat down in the car, and Dean began to drive.

She sucked in some air through her teeth. “I think you know what’s coming next.”

“And here I thought you’d give me a freebie,” you sighed playfully. 

“You are a stunner, love, but a lady’s got to pay her bills. Dream root’s a tricky thing to get my hands on.”

“Well, I haven’t really got much to offer you,” you said, feeling dejected. “And it’s not just for me to trip balls on. It’s for a close friend. Bobby Singer. He’s sick.”

“I wish I could help, really, but I can’t just fork it over for free. I’ll see you around, then, (Y/N).” And the phone clicked off. 

You sighed. 

“Trouble in paradise?” Dean questioned sarcastically. 

“Fuck off,’ you replied. 

***

Back in Bobby’s motel room, Sam sat at the desk with his head in his hands. He’d likely fallen asleep about thirty minutes ago at this point, and you and Dean were reading through some of the doctor’s papers. 

“Dean, I’ve been wanting to ask,” you whispered, “were you okay with what I was saying to Bela earlier?”

He gave you a confused look. 

“I mean, we’ve never really had a conversation about exclusivity or anything, but my interest is solely in you. I love you, and I don’t want what I said to her to make you uncomfortable or anything,” you continued. 

Dean thought for a moment. “It really didn’t bother me. Thought it was hot, actually.”

You snorted. “Always thinkin’ with your dick, huh?” Just then, Sam let out a moan in his sleep. 

Dean gave you a surprised look and seemed like he was going to burst out laughing at any moment. “Looks like Sammy is, too.”

“Ew, gross,” you shuddered, scrunching up your nose.

“Sam,” Dean called over his brother’s broken moans. “Sam,” he called a little more forcefully. “Sam!” 

The younger brother’s head shot up, and he quickly brushed his cheek with the back of his hand. 

“Dude, you were out,” Dean snorted. “And making some serious happy noises.”

Sam looked incredibly uncomfortable, and he refused to look in the direction of you and his brother. 

The latter kept teasing poor Sam. “Who were you dreaming about?”

“What? No one. Nothing,” he stuttered. 

“C'mon, you can tell me. Angelina Jolie?” 

“No.”

Dean gave you a smirk before saying, “Brad Pitt?”

That got Sam to turn around. “No. No! Dude, it doesn't matter.”

“Whatever.” The older brother rolled his eyes. “Well, since Bela’s a no-go, we’ve been tryin’ to make heads or tails of the Doc’s notes. Unfortunately, he has worse handwriting than you do.”

Sam remained seated in his chair with his back to you.

Dean looked at him expectantly. “You gonna come help us with this stuff?”

Sam looked around, down to his lap, and then shifted uncomfortably to a standing position. “Yeah, yeah. Just give me a sec.”

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

You looked to Dean suspiciously and grabbed your gun from beside you. Pressing the barrel to the back of the door, you opened it a crack. To your surprise, it was Bela. 

“Hello, darling,” she cooed. 

You opened the door for her to come in, confusion etched across your face. 

“You called me. Remember?” she said, raising a brow. 

“And I remember you turning me down,” you replied. 

“Well, I'm just full of surprises,” she smiled. Bela turned to Sam, who awkwardly waved over his shoulder. 

“Hey, Bela. What's going on?” he said strangely. 

Suddenly, it hit you. ‘Oh, my fucking god. He was dreaming about Bela!’ You were definitely going to give him hell later. 

“I brought you your African dream root.” Bela handed a jar of it to you. “Nasty stuff and not easy to come by.” She dropped her purse next to the television and began to take off her coat which caused a hitch in Sam’s breath that you would have missed had you not been paying such close attention to him since your realization. 

“Why the sudden change of heart?” Dean asked her. 

“What? I can't do you a little favor every now and again?” the woman replied, slipping her coat off. 

“No. You can't,” was Dean’s gruff response. “Come on, I wanna know what the strings are before you attach them.” Bela turned to you. “You said this was for Bobby Singer, right?”

You nodded. 

“Well, I'm doing it for him. Not you.”

That piqued yours and Dean’s interest. “Bobby? Why?” Dean asked. 

“He saved my life once. In Flagstaff.” 

Dean looked down at you and you, up at him, but you ended up just shrugging at each other. 

“I screwed up, and he saved me, okay? You satisfied?” Bela huffed. 

“Maybe,” Dean replied. 

“So when do we go on this little magical mystery tour?” she questioned, looking down at the jar. 

“No offense, lovebug, but I don’t trust you enough to be in the same room with you for more than fifteen minutes, let alone Bobby’s head,” you told her. 

Dean took the jar from you and put it in the safe with the Colt. 

“And here I thought we were becoming such good friends,” she replied. “It's 2 AM. Where am I supposed to go?”

“Get a room,” Dean responded. “Ah, they got the Magic Fingers, a little Casa Erotica on pay-per-view. You'll love it.”

“You…” she trailed off, grabbed her bag and coat in a huff, and slammed the door behind herself despite Sam calling after her, “Nice to see— Seeing you… Bela.”

When the door shut behind the woman, you turned to Sam with a wide grin. “You dirty whore!”

“What? What?!” he asked. 

“Well? Does she give good head?” you smirked wickedly. 

Sam’s cheeks immediately flushed, and Dean just looked between you and his brother completely bewildered. 

***

Almost an hour later, you and the Winchesters were downing disgusting dream root teas with a strand of Bobby’s hair mixed in to enter the man’s head. 

“Feel anything?” Dean asked you. 

You shook your head. “Sam?”

“Nothing here.”

You looked down at your cup, a bit disappointed. 

“Maybe we got some bad shwag,” Dean suggested. 

Just then, thunder clapped and rain pattered the window. 

“When did it start raining?” you wondered aloud. 

Dean wandered over to the window, and you followed close behind. He opened the windows to find the rain not coming from the sky, but from the ground. “When did it start raining upside down?” he questioned. 

Then, you noticed your surroundings were changing. Next to Sam was no longer two beds, but a couch; an old-fashioned one at that. You turned back to Dean, and the window you’d been looking out of had turned into a fireplace. 

“What the fu—” you muttered. 

“Okay, I don't know what's weirder: the fact that we're in Bobby's head, or that he's dreaming of Better Homes and Gardens,” Dean snarked. 

“Wait. Wait a sec. Imagine the place, uh, without the paint job.” Sam started gesturing to the corners of the room. “More cluttered, dusty, books all over the place.”

“It’s Bobby’s house,” Dean realized. “Bobby?!” he called.

The hairs on the back of your neck suddenly stood up, and you felt as if someone was watching you. You wheeled around to the window above the kitchen table, but you couldn’t see anyone. Still, something didn’t feel right. You turned toward the stairs and whispered, “Bobby?”

Still, you were suspicious of what was happening outside. “Dean?” you called. “I'm gonna go look outside.”

Dean whispered, “No, no, no, stay close.”

“Dee, I’ll be fine,” you insisted, walking up to him to leave a kiss on his cheek. “Pinky promise.” 

He rolled his eyes, his face turning ever so slightly pink, and a smile played on his lips as he locked his pinky with yours. You loved that you could pull that reaction from the Dean Winchester with something so simple as a kiss on the cheek.

“Don't do anything stupid,” Dean told you. 

“C’mon, it’s me we’re talking about,” you smirked, walking backward toward the door and still facing Dean. 

“That’s what I’m worried about,” he remarked playfully.

You scoffed and headed outside. As soon as you opened the door, though, you found it was no longer raining. In fact, bright sunshine streamed down. 

You were confused to say the least. Walking down through what would be the junkyard if you were in the real world, you found Bobby’s station wagon. However, it looked much newer and cleaner than it would in your real life. The walkway was well-manicured, and beautiful flowers lined the path leading to Bobby’s front door. 

Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind you. You immediately spun around and tried to reopen it, but someone had locked it. 

“Dean!” you hollered. You headed over to the window that overlooked Bobby’s kitchen table and banged on it harshly. “Dean!”

Despite the fact that you could very clearly see him through the window, he didn’t react to you calling his name or hitting against the glass. Still confused, you headed down the porch. 

A beautiful little pond with flowers surrounding it came into view as you walked further into the backyard. You wished in that moment that you’d figured out a way to bring a gun or a knife into Bobby’s head before you drank the dream root tea. 

When you walked past a line of washed sheets hanging out to dry, you got that feeling again; as if someone was watching you. You wheeled around just to get hit with a bat across your chest. Winded, you fell to the ground, heaving painfully. “Motherfucker,” you wheezed. A hand to your shoulder, you pushed yourself up on your elbow to face the college-aged man who’d hit you. “Who are you?” you asked in as tough a voice as you could muster.

“Who are you? You don't belong here,” the man replied.

“You're one to talk,” you scoffed. “You're in my friend's head.”

“You got a poor choice in friends. This is self-defense. He came after me. He wanted to hurt me,” the man spat.

“Uh, if he was coming after you, it’s ‘cause you killed somebody,” you told him. 

“You should be nicer to me. In here... you're just an insect. I'm a god.”

“You’re overcompensating,” you responded dryly. “The ol' two-incher not workin’ how you want it to?”

The man’s face twisted, and he raised his bat again. “Sweet dreams.”

Before you could react, you woke up with a start back in your motel room bed next to Dean. You were actually still holding your empty cup.

The older Winchester turned to you as soon as he realized you were back in the real world. “You okay?”

You nodded. “You?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “We found Bobby.”

“You did?” you asked. 

“And his, uh, wife,” Sam added. “Looked like he had to kill her. I’m guessing it’s how he got into hunting.”

“Jesus,” you sighed. “Speaking of, we should probably go get him.”

***

With Bobby back in your motel room, he immediately began looking over the papers from the doctor’s research.

“Hey, Bobby,” Dean said. “That, uh— That stuff, all that stuff with your wife? That actually happen?”

“Everybody got into hunting somehow,” he shrugged. 

“I’m sorry,” Dean replied. 

“Don't be sorry. If it weren't for you, I'd still be lost in there. Or dead.” He held Dean’s gaze with the most intensity and meaning you’d seen Bobby look at anyone. “Thank you.”

Dean’s lips twitched upward into a smile. 

Sam burst back into the room at that moment. “So, uh, stoner boy wasn't in his dorm. My guess is he's long gone by now.”

“He ain't much of a stoner.” Bobby picked up a picture of the guy who’d attacked you. 

“No?” You cocked your head to the side. 

“No,” Bobby replied. “His name's Jeremy Frost. Full-on genius. Hundred-and-sixty IQ. Which is sayin' some, considering his dad took a baseball bat to his head.” He picked up another piece of paper and handed it to Sam. “Here's Father of the Year. He died before Jeremy was ten.”

Sam grimaced at the photo. “Looks like a real sweetheart.”

“Injury gave him Charcot-Wilbrand. He hasn't dreamt since,” Bobby finished. 

“Till his whole Freddy Kruger thing,” you nodded. 

“How'd he know how to dig up your worst nightmare and throw it at you?” Dean questioned the older man. 

Bobby shrugged. “Hey, he was rooting around in my skull. God knows what he saw in there.”

“Yeah. How'd he get in there in the first place? Isn't he supposed to have some of your hair, your DNA, or something?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah,” Bobby sighed. “ 'Fore I knew it was him, he offered me a beer. I drank it. Dumbest fuckin’ thing.”

Dean laughed nervously. “Oh, I don't know. It wasn't that dumb.”

Your face dropped. “Babe, you didn’t.”

“I was thirsty?” he winced. 

Sam huffed angrily. “That's great. Now he can come after either one of you.”

“Well, now, we just have to find him first,” Dean tried. 

“We better work fast,” Bobby urged, “and coffee up. Because the one thing we cannot do is fall asleep.”

***

Two days later, Dean was losing his mind. “I mean, this Jeremy guy's not a fuckin’ ghost. Where the hell could he be?” He was sitting at the wheel of the Impala twitching a bit. 

“Dean, you sure you don't want me to drive? You seem a little…” Sam trailed off when his brother gave him a strong look. “...caffeinated.”

“Well, thanks for the news flash, Edison!” Dean grumbled. He tried to grab his ringing cell phone from his pocket, but his twitching hands fumbled. 

You took the phone from him gently and answered it. “Tell me you got something,” you pleaded.

“Strip club was a bust, huh?” Bobby asked. 

“Yeah,” you replied. 

“That was our last lead,” the old man sighed. 

“What the hell, man,” you wondered aloud. “What’s Bela got?”

“What do you got, Bela?” you heard him ask her. 

“Sorry,” you heard her say distantly. “Sometimes the spirit world is in a chatty mood, and sometimes, it isn't.”

“She's got nothing.” 

You repeated Bobby’s statement to the rest of the car. 

Dean threw his hands up in frustration. “Great! Well, I'm just gonna go blow my brains out now!” He angrily grabbed the phone from your hands, and you did your best not to scold him. Dean began speeding back toward the motel, but after a few minutes, he pulled off to the side of the road in the woods. “Alright, that's it. I'm done.”

“What are you doing?” Sam questioned. 

Dean slid down in his seat, resting his head on the back of it. “Taking myself a long-overdue nap.”

You lurched forward putting your face next to his. “Are you out of your mind?!” “Dean, Jeremy can come after you,” Sam reminded his brother. 

“That's the idea,” the older man replied nonchalantly. “Come on, guys, we can't find him, so let him come to me.”

“On his own turf? Where he's basically a god?” you mimicked Jeremy’s words from when he beat you.

“I can handle it,” he shrugged. 

“Not alone, you can’t,” you stated firmly. 

Sam reached over and pulled out some of Dean’s hair.

“Ow!” His hand flew up to rub where Sam had plucked from. “What are you doing?”

“We’re comin' in with you,” Sam said plainly. 

“No, you’re not,” the other Winchester scoffed. 

“Why not?” you asked him. “At least, then, it’ll be three against one.”

“ 'Cause I don't want you digging around in my head.”

“Dean, what am I gonna find up there you don’t want me to see?” you asked. You’d always trusted him, but you were worried about what his response would be. 

“Not you, (Y/N). Sam. There’s some things my kid brother shouldn’t know about me,” Dean grumbled. 

To say you were relieved was an understatement. 

“Too bad,” Sam responded. He had already mixed the teas and handed you a cup. 

You took it and chugged the whole thing; desperately trying to ignore the foul taste. However, nothing changed. 

“Dean,” Sam said, hitting his brother on the arm forcefully. 

Dean jerked up. “For the love of god.” He looked extremely tired and confused. “What are we still doing here?”

“No idea,” you answered. 

Suddenly, you heard a sound outside the car. 

“There's someone out there,” Sam said, on high alert. 

You walked around to the front of the car, and to your surprise, you were sitting on a little blanket with a picnic basket. She— well, you— smiled at Dean, not seeming to notice you or Sam. 

“Hey. You gonna sit down?” the dream version of you asked Dean. 

He didn’t move, he just gawked. 

“Come on,” Dean’s dream-you said. “You know how I feel about you keeping me waiting.”

Dean turned to the real you, a bit embarrassed. 

You smiled up at him as his dream-version of you said, “Dean. I love you.”

Suddenly, the whole scene began to shake. Everything disappeared. 

“Where'd she— you— go?” Dean asked. 

Just then, you spotted Jeremy coming out from behind a tree. Sam took off after him, and you and Dean soon got separated from him. The two of you called out to Sam, but it was no use. You turned back to see that the woods you’d run through had disappeared. Instead, the hallway of an unkempt motel laid before you. 

“Stay close,” Dean instructed you, beginning to walk down the hallway. The door at the end of it opened just before you and Dean reached it. An equally gloomy room appeared behind the scratched-up door. 

You could hear a clicking sound coming from within the room, and then, you saw the light on the desk clicking on and off. “Jeremy?” you asked. 

The clicking stopped, the light remaining on, and you finally got a good idea of who you were looking at. “Dean,” you breathed out. 

“Hey, Dean,” the dream version of your partner said. 

“Well, aren't you a handsome son of a gun,” your Dean smiled. 

“We need to talk,” said dream Dean. 

The two began to circle each other, and you remained in the corner. 

The real Dean nodded. “I get it. I'm my own worst nightmare, is that it? Huh? Kind of like the Superman III junkyard scene? A little mano y mano with myself?”

“Joke all you want, smart-ass. But you can't lie to me. I know the truth.”

The real Dean stopped by the desk, and the dream version stood by the door closest to you. 

“I know how dead you are inside,” the dream version sneered. “How worthless you feel. I know how you look into a mirror and hate what you see.”

“(Y/N), don’t listen. It’s not true,” your Dean assured you when he saw how your heart broke for him. However, you knew that the dream version wasn’t lying; how could he? After all, this was Dean’s imagination you were in. 

“Why do you think I’ve got her here?” the dream Dean spat. “She’s gonna get to watch the show.”

“Sorry, pal. It's not gonna work.” Despite how visibly shaken the real Dean was, he tried to smile through it. “You're not real.”

“Sure I am. I'm you.”

“I don't think so. 'Cause see, this is my siesta. Not yours.” The real Dean raised his arm. “All I gotta do is snap my fingers and you go bye-bye.” He tried it once. Then, a second time, and then, a third, and still, nothing happened. 

“I'm not going anywhere. Neither are you. Neither is she,” the dream version smirked wickedly. The door slammed shut and locked behind him.

The real Dean’s face hardened into sincerity. “Let her go,” he commanded.

“No, Dean,” the other version said. “She deserves to know the truth. She deserves to know what kind of monster she’s involved with. Like I said, we need to talk.” He raised his hand to reveal a sawed-off shotgun. “I mean, you're going to Hell, and you won't lift a finger to stop it.”

The two began to circle each other again, and you stayed frozen in place. 

“Talk about low self-esteem,” the other Dean continued to taunt, chuckling. “Then again, I guess it's not much of a life worth saving, now is it?”

Your Dean muttered to himself, “Wake up, Dean. Come on, wake up.”

“I mean, after all, you've got nothing outside of Sam and pretty little (Y/N) here.” The other version of Dean stopped walking by the desk, and your Dean stopped next to you. Your version gave you a pleading look, although you weren’t sure what he was asking you to do in this situation. 

The dream version continued his assault. “You are nothing. You're as mindless and obedient as an attack dog.”

The real one tried to smile through it, and you knew the brave face he was putting on was mostly for your sake. “That— That's not true.”

“No? What are the things that you want? What are the things that you dream? I mean, your car? That's Dad's,” the dream Dean stated. “Your favorite leather jacket? Dad's. Your music? Dad's. Do you even have an original thought?”

The real version scoffed. 

“No. No, all there is is, ‘Watch out for Sammy. Look out for your little brother, boy!’ You can still hear your dad's voice in your head, can't you?” the dream version pressed. He motioned with the gun toward his head. “Clear as a bell.”

“Just shut up,” the real Dean gritted through his teeth.

The dream one lowered the gun. “I mean, think about it.” He stalked toward your Dean, and you were still frozen in place; undoubtedly by the dream version’s doing. “All he ever did is train you, boss you around. But Sam? Sam, he doted on. Sam, he loved.”

“I mean it. I'm getting angry,” your Dean growled. 

The other version of himself refused to stop, though. “Dad knew who you really were. A good soldier and nothing else. Daddy's blunt little instrument.” His voice had gotten hard and angry now. “Your own father didn't care whether you lived or died. Why should you?”

“Son of a bitch!” the real Dean shouted angrily, shoving the other version into the wall above the desk. “My father was an obsessed bastard!”

The dream Dean tried to get up, but the real one knocked him down again. Your Dean picked up the weapon and hit the other with the barrel across the face before pinning him to the wall with it. 

“All that crap he dumped on me, about protecting Sam! That was his crap. He's the one who couldn't protect his family. He—” the real Dean had gotten so choked up, and you wanted nothing more than to run to him. “He's the one who let Mom die— who wasn't there for Sam. I always was! He wasn't fair! I didn't deserve what he put on me. And I don't deserve to go to Hell!” the real Dean had beaten the other so hard, it looked as though he was dead. Blood was splattered across his face, and his eyes were closed. 

Suddenly, the dream version awoke again. His eyes were completely black upon reopening them. “You can't escape me, Dean. You're gonna die. And this? This is what you're gonna become!” He stood up and began to stalk toward the real Dean, but just like that, you woke up. 

You shot up from your seat in the Impala frantically searching for Dean; demon or otherwise. You were relieved to find him in the front seat.

The sun had begun to come up some time while you slept. Dean was completely silent for the drive back to the motel while Sam informed you and Dean what he’d done to stop Jeremy. 

“How’d you do that, Sammy?” you questioned. 

“I don’t know, I just sort of concentrated, and it happened, y’know?” he replied. 

“What happened?” you pressed.

“I made him see his dad. And, uh, some kind of way, one hit from his dad was enough to kill him.”

“Damn,” you breathed out as Dean rolled the Impala to a stop in front of the motel. 

Sam walked ahead of you and Dean toward Bobby.

You hung back with Dean. 

“(Y/N), I don’t wanna talk about what you saw in there,” he said as soon as the two of you were alone. 

“We don’t have to,” you replied. “But when you’re ready— if you ever are— I’m here. And I still love you. No matter what.” You smiled up at him lopsidedly with your hands in the front pockets of your jeans. 

To show you he loved you, too, he pulled you forward and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. You responded by leaning up and kissing his cheek. And then, he pulled you into a kiss on your lips. Your arms wound around his neck almost like a reflex, and Dean’s arms went around your lower back, holding you tightly to him. 

Sam then interrupted your kiss by asking, “Uh, guys? Come see.” When you entered the motel room, Bobby was pacing angrily.

“What’s going on?” you asked. 

“Bela’s not in her room. She’s not answering her phone,” Sam responded. “She must’ve taken off or something.”

“Just like that? It's a little weird,” Dean said, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Yeah, well, if you ask me, what's weird is why she helped us in the first place,” Bobby replied. 

“I thought you saved her life,” you said. You had a sinking feeling in your stomach suddenly. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bobby questioned. 

“The thing in Flagstaff,” Dean continued. 

Bobby turned to look at you and Dean, who were still idling by the door. “That thing in Flagstaff was an amulet. I gave her a good deal, that's all.”

Dean’s face dropped, and the panic you were feeling was beginning to set in for him as well. 

“You kids better check your pockets,” Bobby said, an edge in his voice. 

All three of you began to feel around your jackets and pants. 

“Not literally.”

You then followed Dean’s gaze toward the safe in the closet. Dean immediately headed over, muttering, “No, no, no, no.” He opened it, and it was empty. 

“The Colt,” Sam breathed out. “Bela stole the Colt.”

Dean slammed the safe shut angrily. 

“Damn it, kids!” Bobby huffed. 

“Pack your crap,” Dean asserted, stomping over to his bag on the couch.

“Why? Where are we going?” Sam asked. 

“We're gonna go hunt the bitch down,” Dean said. 

Your anger was simmering just below the surface. You were angry at yourself for beginning to build a friendship with her and for not thinking she’d find a way to get something over on you. 

You followed Dean out to the Impala where Sam was putting his bag in the trunk. 

“Hey, Sam. I was wondering. When you were in my head, what did you see?” Dean asked. 

“Uh, just Jeremy. He kept me separated from you. Easier to beat my brains out that way, I guess.”

Dean scoffed. 

“What about you?” Sam asked. “You never said.”

Dean shook his head. “Nothing. I was looking for you the whole time.” Sam looked to you as you began to put your bag in the trunk, and Dean moved around to the driver’s seat. Despite not enjoying lying to Sam, you just shrugged and smiled lopsidedly. 

When you got down into the car, Dean looked thoughtful. You were expecting him to take off immediately, but he hesitated. 

“Sam,” he began. 

“Yeah?”

You were intrigued as to where this was going. 

Dean couldn’t look at his brother. “I've been doing some thinking, and... Well, the thing is... I don't wanna die.”

You closed your eyes, your heart saddening. 

“I don't wanna go to Hell,” Dean continued. 

“Alright. Yeah. We'll find a way to save you,” Sam said softly. 

Dean looked up at him, and you searched his expression. It was another one of those confusing looks you couldn’t quite read; somewhere between pensive and saddened, frustrated and resigned. “Okay, good.” His voice was shaky, and you weren’t sure what you could do to make him feel better; if anything. 

All you could hear was what the dream version of himself had said; “And this?” he’d spat, eyes black. “This is what you’re gonna become!”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer Park Steve AU part 7

part 1 | part 6 | chapter 1 on ao3

cw: panic attack, ptsd flashback to minor character death, graphic depictions of… food? lol

Dinner is exactly as chaotic as Steve expected it to be. He and Claudia take opposite end seats with a glass of red wine each, and the kids take the middle and start acting like a pack of caffeinated raccoons: talking over each other, scraping forks against plates, stretching their entire upper bodies across the table and dragging their sleeves through the side dishes instead of just asking someone to pass them the butter; Steve’s starting to wonder if any of these kids have ever eaten at a table before, or if they maybe just wandered in from the surrounding woods. Feral asses.

When they do start asking for things, he regrets wishing they would, because Lucas goes “Erica, can you pass me the salt?” and Erica sneers “I don’t know, can I?” and Mike jabs “Whatever; nobody says ‘may’ anymore, you dork” and Claudia gasps “Michael!” and it all escalates from there until Dustin tries to catapult lasagna off the end of his fork and hits Steve in the side of the head with a glob of warm cheese.

Silence falls around the room.

The cheese plops onto his plate.

“Sh-ii-it,” Dustin breathes, face stuck in wide-eyed shock.

Steve gives Claudia an imploring look.

“Why don’t we clear the table for dessert?”

The commotion starts up again in double time, everyone scrambling to clean up and clear the room before Steve starts bitching about them messing up his hair (and his plate, and his clothes, because the cheese splash sent a spray of little tomato sauce droplets splattering all over him, and isn’t that just perfect; he’s gonna have to hand-scrub the stain out of his khakis), so it’s just him and Dustin left when Dustin’s elbow catches and tips over his wine.

The liquid spills onto his plate: dark, and red, oozing into the uneaten scraps of sauce and cheese and pasta to form a viscous, fleshy sludge. Red like his dad’s office, like his father’s mangled thigh, and it’s just food it’s just food it’s not blood it’s not blood but he can’t fucking breathe, can’t hearing anything beyond the wet, gasping sounds his dad made the night he died, and then he realizes that he’s making them, mouth moving fruitlessly around air that won’t pass, trapped in the bottleneck of his choked-off windpipe.

“Steve?” Dustin asks, and his voice sounds far away. “Shit, shit, Steve! Can you hear me? Are you choking? I know the Heimlich, just- just hold on!”

He snaps out of it when Dustin pulls him halfway from his chair, gets his fists under his ribs and all but punches the air from his lungs. It sets off a nasty coughing fit that leaves Steve snotty and ready to hurl, and he braces himself with his forearms on his knees and stares hard at the ground until the hacking finally stops.

There’s a scuff on his sneakers.

He can’t replace them any time soon.

A moment to catch his breath, and Dustin’s shaking him by the shoulders. “Are you okay??”

Steve keeps his head bowed. “Yeah.” He needs to get the fuck out of here. “Yeah, I’m good.”

He rises from his chair, grateful that everyone else already cleared out before they could witness his little moment, that the blare of the TV from the family room covered the sound of his retching coughs; more grateful still that they won’t notice him now, scampering out of here with his tail between his legs. “Hey listen, man, I’m not feeling so well,” he says absently, fishing his keys from the pocket of his jeans. “Can you get your mom to drive everyone home?”

“Shouldn’t you stay?” Dustin frowns in concern. “If you’re sick? You can go lie down in my room or something, it’s—”

“—Nah, man; I mean, thanks, but…” His hand trembles around his keys, the muscles in his calves screaming bolt, bolt, bolt. “I just- I gotta go.”

He makes a break for it, rushing out the side door so no one else will see him leave (and he knows it’s fucking rude to head out without saying goodbye, but he’s also pretty convinced he’s going to combust if he doesn’t go right now.) “Tell your mom I said thanks, okay?”

“Tell her yourself!” Dustin chases after him, clumsy and slow across the darkened yard. “Dude, will you slow down? Talk to me!”

Steve throws himself into his car like there’s a demodog on his heels. “I’ll call you!”

“What the fuck!” Dustin shouts, but Steve’s already gone.

—

part 8

tagging a few people i know have been following along 🩷 @slowandsteddie @paintsplatteredandimperfect @stevesbipanic @pennyplainknits @ledleaf @hellion-child @formosusiniquis @missjashin @runninriot @xpaperheartso @steddieas-shegoes

[oddsconvert]

I don’t know if you’ve been asked this yet but could we get a snippet of Ronan actually being nice to Izaak for once. Further down the line when he’s good pet. No pain or work around tricks to make him get into trouble. Like how he coddles Henley. I just want to see this boy not scared for two seconds lol.

Some broken Izaak, coming up! Having a little cuddle with his owner! 🥰🙈

CW: pet whump, whumper turned whumpee, intimate whumper, submissive whumpee, light reference to previous torture, begging.

---

Ronan’s gentle fingertips absent-mindedly danced across Izaak’s scalp, waltzing with his dark chocolate curls of hair. Not a flinch or a wince, nor a cringe or grimace came from Izaak. His usually sharp and observant eyes were soft and doe-like, slowly slipping shut as he melted into the tender touch. 

It pained Izaak to admit how taking this was easier. Much easier. Easier than all the kicking and screaming; hissing and scratching, the growling and barking that never got him anywhere other than in a world of pain. Through blood, sweat and tears, Izaak had lost to himself, his fight ripped from him. It was terrifying, almost exhilarating? It was exhausting. But most of all - it felt like sweet relief. In the surrender, Izaak found some twisted sense of peace. 

He purred, like a content kitten, and nestled further into Ronan’s lap. What a fall from grace, what a fucking embarrassment.  From the apex predator to a wounded beast, yearning and vying for comfort.

He couldn't sink any lower if he tried.

“Naw. Sleepy puppy. Should we get you to bed and all tucked in?” Ronan cooed down to his perfect little pet. As he reached across Izaak’s curled-up body for the remote to switch off the TV, Izaak squirmed and whined his dissent. He would bend over backwards to delay being dragged back down to that frigid basement, being chained like a beast, left alone with his thoughts, demons and the ghost of his past tethered to the opposite wall.

Izaak felt his heart plummet as he gazed up at Ronan, pleading with his glassy eyes. He desperately wanted to stay upstairs, safe and warm. Up there, he could believe in some warped sense of normality. Leave the horrors behind and pretend.

Despite how much it disgusted him, Izaak forcibly swallowed his final few crumbs of pride and nuzzled into Ronan’s belly. A calculated act of submission.

“Sir - please. I want to-”

Izaak caught himself there and the plea died on his lips. Pets didn’t have wants. Izaak shouldn’t ever want for a thing, his master gave him all he needed. If he wanted to keep Ronan sweet, he can’t risk silly fuck ups. He should blindly obey and be grateful for what he is afforded. Even if it’s scraps.

A weak sob choked in his throat, "Please...can we stay like this? I'll be so good-”

He was like a begging dog. His eyes wide and pleading, his head tilted to the side. If he had a tail, he’d wag it, too.

Ronan's fingers traced Izaak's sharp jawline, his touch lingering. A moment stretched between them, a silent battle of wills. Izaak's breath hitched, his heart pounding ten to the dozen in his chest. His collar suddenly felt suffocating, like it was two notches-too tight around his neck.

"Oh, aren't you darling, Izzy? You want to stay with me, hm? Curled up in my arms?"

His fingers delved beneath Izaak’s chin and scratched the sweet spot, the place where a dog would lean into the touch and kick his leg frantically in enjoyment. A low rumble escaped Izaak’s throat, his eyes half-lidded in pleasure. He tilted his head up, offering himself to Ronan's hands.

“I have you wrapped around my little finger now, don’t I, pet?” Ronan chuckled.

“Yes, sir,” Izaak whispered, earnestly and shamefully.

“Don’t get me wrong, you were oh so fun when you were naughty. But I much prefer you like this. So desperate, so submissive. Such a needy little thing.”

Never in a million years would Izaak have thought it would come down to this. A shadow of his former self, a mere husk of the man he once was. The once proud and defiant spirit had been broken down, shattered into a billion pieces. Now, he was nothing more than a creature of habit, a slave to Ronan's whims.

"I knew you'd break for me, sooner or later."

Shame settled heavy in Izaak's empty belly. 

“And isn't it a sight for sore eyes! You're a delight. Such a good boy,” Ronan hummed, his voice laced with a hint of cruelty. His thumb stroked across Izaak's puffy cheeks, “So obedient. Don't you worry your pretty little head, we can cuddle all you want, pup.”

Izaak forced a wavering, teary smile to try to hide the turmoil within.

He craved the fire that used to rage fiercely within his core, long since snuffed out. Deep down, Izaak still felt the smallest flicker remained, a tiny ember waiting to reignite. Determination and defiance smouldered, ready to be rekindled.

Instead of fueling it, Izaak resigned to his cruel fate and rested his weary head on Ronan's thighs. "Thank you, master. You're too good to me."

---

Ronan tag list: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast

Izaak tag list: @thewhumpywitch @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @sorrowful-hyacinth @whumpsoda

[bekolxeram]

More observations from the trailer (I'm eating for daaaayysss y'all.)

The mirrored Air France 747 is definitely a placeholder, probably from stock footage. There is only one 747 left still in the Air France livery:

This one, and it's in a museum in Paris.

This is a Beechcraft Baron, just like the one in Airport 1975, but this one is the newer version with a glass cockpit, introduced in 2005.

The is the traffic alert system I was talking about. Sure, it doesn't look like that in real life, but it's pretty close, and the TV one is easier to understand.

The real one looks like this. CA stands for conflict alert.

Look in the middle, so Athena's plane is flying to/out of LAX.

We don't get to see the whole cabin yet, but I think it looks like a 7 abreast 2-3-2 configuration? There's only one plane that usually uses this configuration in economy (unless Athena is escorting a prisoner in premium economy lol), Boeing 767, which again, seems to be the one next to the 119 truck at SBD. (Beware, I'm just making an educated guess here, I can't be for sure until I see the landing gear and/or the tail cone.)

I've been wondering why Athena is on a wide body, where's she going? Across the ocean? Turns out, according to this screen, the plane is flying the PHX - LAX - HNL route, so LAX is just a stopover. I can totally see why you need a wide body to fly from Arizona to Hawaii. So is she going to Arizona? Is it related to the cartel after all? Oh, and the silhouette of a plane is definitely not a 747, no bump in front. (Also there are like 4 airlines left in the world still operating the 747 for passenger service, and I doubt Athena is going to China, South Korea, Germany or Saudi Arabia.)

Absolutely an Airbus cockpit, A320 in this case, you can check it out yourself. The thing is, all Airbus flight decks look alike, the wide bodies have an extra jump seat in the back, also the circuit breakers are located in a slightly different location, but that's it. A total layman probably can't tell the difference, but I think enough of them know about the Airbus sidestick vs the Boeing yoke.

That is a cockpit door, with the little fish eye lens on it. No one can open it except for the flight crew and the cabin crew. The flight attendant seems to be running into the cabin frantically but nothing seems wrong with the plane so far, why?

So the cockpit door blows open by the explosive decompression. (It doesn't quite work that way in real life, but tbh many pilots had no idea about it either before the Alaska door plug incident.) You can see a giant hole in the cockpit. Athena is thrown up then back down very quickly, probably by the erratic and sudden pitch down then back up, could be a course correction effort by the autopilot.

[matchamiko]

i was just thinking about how oblivious denji would be to someone crushing on him the other day… i never thought of him as the type to instantly know (mostly because he doesn’t know what it feels like) but once he does know? you’d think you’d never hear the end of it from him relentlessly flirting with and teasing you, but in reality he ends up just as flustered and shy as you are.

bless his poor heart when he tries asking you out, because no matter how much he tries to play it cool and be the casanova he thinks he was destined to be, his hands are shaking as he gives you flowers he probably stole money from aki’s wallet to buy LOL

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Warnings: first kiss, AFAB reader (use of princess + girlfriend).

₊˚⊹ ᰔ note: m sorry if I did him bad, I haven’t seen much CSM but he’s silly to me and super cute

You’re so right !!! I think he’s so used to seeing relationships in magazines and on tv, this fantastical romantic performance of falling in love and chasing and yearning; that he doesn’t see what’s exactly in front of him. And that’s on him being kinda dumb. Aki sees it instantly; the way you talk more animatedly, seeing them all more, always looking for Denji when you enter a room, searching for his praise and assurance and opinions, subtly fluttering your lashes and pressing yourself against him, asking if you looked pretty and getting a “yeah sure princess” in return.

God does it make your tummy tighten when he calls you that.

He’s so oblivious sometimes, but with very specific things. Denji knows when an advance is being made, he’s hot and cute and of course people have made passes at him so when you touch his thigh or measure your hand against his; he knows you’re sweet on him instantly. He’s all about touching you, getting touched in return so when it comes to the sweet talk and flirtations you shakily send to him; Denji balks and freezes up. He knows something’s up, that you’re trying something with him but he’s nervous and a little unsure with your compliments and adoring questions. He’ll answer you sure, asking for a twirl if you’re wearing something cute or agreeing that those two sweet old seagulls are the two of you but it’s with sweaty palms and a furrowed brow.

It takes a stern talking to from Aki and several yen bills shoved into his pockets to make him snap out of whatever funk he’s in, stringin’ you along like that without even askin’ you out.

Denji is so desperate for you, all lopsided smiles and shrugged shoulder but he’s also so goddamn sweaty. He wants to kiss the back of your hand like the good guys in movies do but he’s kinda sticky and he’s to embarrassed to rub his palms on his jeans - so you do it to him instead, bowing politely and kissing the back of his knuckles softly, lips pillowy and all he’s ever dreamed,

“Did Aki also tell you to ask me out? Cause that’s so cliche of him,” you giggle and sigh in some kind of defeat, looking down at your feet, “I didn’t think you’d catch on, thought I might’ve been too shy yknow? My sister always told me I had to be more confident if I wanted a boyfriend,”

Denji fizzes at the word. Boyfriend. His ears twitch and he puffs out a nervous laugh,

“S’cute that you’re shy,” he fishes something out of his pocket, a paper bag filled with three red bean taiyaki, kind of squashed but still warm from the street vendor, “I was kinda stupid about it to be honest, m’not used to the attention like that - the cute shy kind,”

You inch closer and cup his hands around the bag, visibly flustered but braving the intimacy. Your fingers brush his as you open the crinkled paper, pulling out the fish-shaped pastry and Denji swallows so thickly, he’s scared you heard,

“So?” You tear the fish in half and simmer at the steam hissing off the crimson filling. Denji blinks stupidly when you hand him the tail,

“Uhh, so what? Did you want the tail instead?”

Somewhere in a kitchen, Aki sneezes and curses his roommate.

“So d’you wanna be my boyfriend?” You nibble on the flaky pastry, humming at the sweet taste and Denji wishes he was the cause of your pretty noise. Your question sends him sagging with a weird kind of relief, glad you asked him instead of the other way around because he’s sure he would have probably either sounded too nonchalant or thrown up with anxiety over his wording of it,

“Only if you wanna be my girlfriend,” your cheeks heat up and Denji smiles brightly, shoulders hunching in an effort to get closer to you, biting into the cake with a noise of appreciation,

“I asked first you dummy, that’s not how you’re suppose to - you’re so silly sometimes Denji,”

He’s spooked. Eyes wide when you surge forwards, crushing the bag of snacks to his chest and leaning up into his personal space. Out of instinct, Denji leans away from you but you’re instant, eyes closed and lips parted.

You kiss him. Chaste and warm, nose bumping his and he nearly rips the bag he’s still holding, annoyingly. It takes him a second to respond, shocked at your boldness considering your previously shy nature but he responds either way. Denji cranes his neck down, forcing you backwards a little and you squeak at his reciprocation, mouth open and teeth nipping your lip. He can taste the taiyaki on your breath and you clutch at his wrists sandwiched between your chests with a sweet little sigh. The two of you part after a moment, his cheeks dark with flush and it feels like you’re shaking,

“You’re still silly,” you mumble and he lets out a heavy breath,

“M’your silly now,”

“That doesn’t even make sense oh my god,”

[ssahotchnerr]

Thoughts on Jack and Ellie fighting? :( like all siblings I’m sure they’d have a spat and I’m just wondering what you think aaron would do?

omg they absolutely bicker over a multitude of things 😭 who has the remote/who's picking what's on tv, get snappy at each other if they're in a bad mood, they occasionally get irritated over the smallest of things - omg one time ellie just loses it because jack is simply pointing at her amidst an argument, and she's complaining how he's touching her (like the scene in lilo and stitch LOL). in addition, i can see them fighting more once jack is older - ellie wants to follow him around, hang with him if he's with a friend, the usual little sister kinda things and jack is not a fan.

aaron would separate the two of them, space is needed - it lets the two of them cool down, you or him have a chat with each, and make sure they apologize 🥺 omg aaron totally says the classic - "say you're sorry and give your sibling a hug🤨" line. that's for more when they're little. but when they get older - in the instance ellie wants to tail along while he's with a friend, and won't leave them alone, aaron whisks her away and explains she has to leave jack be - it's amazing she loves her brother and wants to be with him, but he needs his friend time too.

aaron has a similar talk with jack as he enters his overprotective brother phase - like the first time ellie has a date and jack doesn't approve of the guy per se 🫢 (there's nothing wrong with him, jack just doesn't want her dating😭) and then ellie's all irritated with jack and is all, "you can't dictate who i date." omg that starts a lot of drama in the hotchner household 😭 but jack's just looking out for her 🥺 he wants the best for his little sister.

overall, aaron's just very communicative, and goes about solving whatever argument they're having similarly - it helps set them up for arguments down the road with friends, partners, whoever. communication is key!!!!!

[midnightsnyx]

girl at home | mat barzal | part 1

pairing: mat barzal x fem!reader summary: you're eighteen when you find yourself pregnant after Mat leaves for hockey. nearly eight years later, Mat finds out about your daughter and you have to deal with the consequences of not telling him about her.

warnings: mentions of pregnancy & not really edited word count: 1.3k authors note p1: don't mind me starting a new series when i have four other wips on the go :):) i love kid fics and this idea was stuck in my head so i wrote & decided to give it a go and post it. if this does well and you guys are interested, i'll do more. authors note p2: so notes about the series: i gave the readers daughter a name because i hate writing y/d/n lol of course you can change it in your head to something else if you want :) also the last name johnson is just there so i could have a full name but we all know she'll be a barzal also thank u @multifandombabes for giving me the push to post this!! happy reading & let me know what you guys think!

masterpost

In hindsight, you should have realized that it was bound to happen sooner rather than later. You did your best to avoid places you knew he would be when he was home, going to visit your grandparents or other family. Anywhere that would give you the opportunity to not be seen by him, because then you’d have to explain your brown haired, green eyed, seven year old. 

You weren’t proud of your choice to keep Nora a secret from Mat but you did what you thought was right when you were eighteen, sitting on the floor of your best friend’s bathroom four weeks after you had said goodbye to Mat and staring at three positive pregnancy tests. He had just left for hockey and you didn’t want to be what held him back and as time went on, it got harder to pick up the phone so a few months after Nora was born, you erased Mathew Barzal from your life. You deleted the photos, phone numbers, social media, with the only reminder being the little girl.

And it worked fine. Until now.

Nora usually didn’t come grocery shopping with you because you always ended up taking three times as long as you normally would. Except, your sitter fell through and your mom couldn’t watch her so you had to bring her along. Which is totally fine until you run into Mat. Who has a girl with him. 

So yeah, everything was fine until now.

It’s kind of comical the way his panicked eyes dart between the three of the girls standing around him. A quick glance at Nora confirms that she’s two seconds away from saying something to Mat which will not go well since the kid has zero filter.

“Hey, you’re that hockey player mama and grandma watch on TV!” she exclaims and you want to melt straight through the floor when Mat looks at you with one eyebrow raised. 

“Yeah?” he asks, kneeling down so he’s at her level.

“Yeah,” she confirms, and then loudly whispers: “I’m not supposed to watch ‘cause some games are past my bedtime but sometimes I’ll sneak out.” 

He offers his hand and smiles. “Well, it’s nice to meet you…” he trails off, clearly hoping she’ll offer her name. You hope she just says her first name instead of announcing her full name which she tends to do lately.

“Nora,” she tells him, shaking his hand and then to your unsurprised horror, she proudly tells him her full name. “Nora Nadia Johnson.” 

He keeps the smile on his face but stiffens and gently drops her hand. 

“Cool name,” he says, still smiling but you can see the tension in his shoulders. 

“Thanks! My first name means light and my middle name-”

She doesn’t get a chance to finish her sentence because you grab her hand, abandon your shopping cart and high tail it out of the store. She grumbles while trying to keep up with your pace and eventually you just pick her up and carry her to the car.

“What did we say about talking to strangers?” you ask while buckling her seatbelt, ignoring her annoyed sighs. 

“He wasn’t a stranger, you watch him on the TV all the time.”

“Have you ever met him?” you ask, raising an eyebrow and she mumbles something under her breath.

“What was that?”

“No,” she mumbles, crossing her arms over her chest and giving you a look that is so Mathew that you could laugh.

“Well then, he’s a stranger.” 

You leave it at that because she starts talking about the summer camp she’s starting next week. You’re only half listening, trying to get over the shock of seeing Mat and knowing he realizes that he probably has a kid you never told him about. If you were in his shoes, you would be angry so you are expecting him to show up on your doorstep later that evening but he doesn’t. Part of you wonders if the reason he doesn’t come is because of that girl he had with him but you figure if he really wanted answers, he would come regardless. 

What you’re not expecting, is a text from his sister Liana. You still see his family from time to time out in public but after you essentially ghosted Mat, they didn’t really want anything to do with you. When everybody found out you were pregnant, you lied and said it wasn’t Mat’s which nobody really believed but they couldn’t prove it and you’d used your mothers maiden name as Nora’s last name so there were no ties. You were surprised that his family didn’t tell him anyways, but you thought that perhaps they didn’t for the same reason you didn’t.

To give Mat no reason to stay here and instead, pursue his dreams and go play in the NHL. 

So a text from his sister is unexpected. 

Liana: hey, are you free for lunch tmw?

You almost delete it at first and pretend she never messaged you, but you know that there’s no going back now that Mat saw Nora. He’s not stupid. He probably went home and asked his parents about her. So you text her back a reluctant yes and agree on a spot to meet up the next day.

Nora goes to your moms house because you’re unsure if it will just be Liana who shows up, or if anyone else does. You meet up at a Starbucks and aside from the initial tension, it melts almost immediately and the two of you go back to the big sister/little sister relationship you had when you and Mat were dating. Except now, she’s all grown up.

After some catching up, the conversation turns to the reason she asked to see you. She hesitates, picking at her nails - a nervous tick you know she does - before sighing. 

“Look, everybody kind of turned their head with ‘The Nora Situation’ because it was clearly what you wanted, and it was probably what was best for Mat,” she says. “But he knows now, and he’s got questions that we can’t and won’t answer. Dad had to talk him down last night and his girlfriend went back to New York this morning.”

You wince at that, not liking that the reason his girlfriend left is because of Nora but Liana must notice because she shrugs, taking a sip of her drink.

“Honestly, she wasn’t very nice. I’m not broken up over it and Mat didn’t seem to be either.” 

Okay, that is interesting. 

“Anyway,” she continues, “this is Mat’s new number.” She slides a small piece of paper across the table and you gingerly take it. “I know you didn’t want to tell him, and I understand but he knows. So give him a chance, okay?”

You manage a nod and let her leave with the final word. All you want to do is take Nora and leave, to get as far away as you can but something inside you stops you from doing it because maybe Liana is right, and you should give Mat a choice. After all, you were the one who decided to take it away from him in the beginning. 

So later that night, after Nora is asleep, you curl up on your couch with the piece of paper and stare at it for a good fifteen minutes. Regardless of whether or not you text him, you will have to deal with this and you’d rather it be on your terms. You reluctantly type his new number in your phone and hesitate, trying to think of what to even say. This isn’t a conversation you were expecting to have with him. You type and delete a dozen messages before deciding on something simple.

To Mathew: Hey, I guess we should talk.

You take a deep breath, and hit send.

[autumnywinter]

thoughts on yandere merman elliott. NOW /hj

FDAIURHFAUIHFUIAHFIAHEI

I forgot how much of a monsterfucker I am 😭 here's a lil scenario I made in my head. Also since these are all headcanons, I now headcanon Willy owns a truck for the sake of convenience. Just like I headcanon Elliott's cabin is bigger and has more furniture than it actually does lol.

Also I kinda imagine merman Elliott to be slightly different from regular Elliott. Less naturally charming and more comparable to an eager to please golden retriever.

You often fish at the dock by the sea, and Elliott curiously watches you from a distance. He's wary of any humans that aren't Willy, but something about you enraptures him.

He asks Willy about you, being the only human who knows of his existence. Willy tells him what he knows about you, thinking it's sweet he has an obvious lil crush on you.

The more Elliott learns, the more he becomes obsessed. Slowly but surely, he'll work up the courage to talk to you, when it's darker out and you're the only human at the beach. If you freak out, he'll apologize profusely and try to calm you down.

Once you start talking more regularly, Elliott starts begging for you to join him in the water. He'll take it as an opportunity to cuddle you and float around with you on him like a sea otter with its baby

But soon that won't become enough for him. When you start getting more busy, he'll become upset.

What are you doing instead of spending time with him?? Who are you talking to instead of him???

He starts begging you to take him to your home with you, but of course you shut down the idea pretty quickly. He's offended and hurt, but doesn't let it show.

Then he gets an idea. If he could convince Willy to put him in the bed of his truck and drive him to your house, then everything will work out! He could easily convince him that this was already something he talked out with you beforehand.

And his plan works! He shows up on your doorstep.

Y/n:

Elliott: Hello!! :) Are you happy to see me, my love?

Y/n: You gotta be kidding me...

You reluctantly welcome him into your home, and Elliott is fascinated with everything, but most of all, you. He's clumsily crawling up the couch and pulling you into his arms, getting upset when you insist he sleeps in the bathtub.

He's also extremely fascinated with your anatomy. That's what he insists anyway, when he's being a little too touchy.

Most nights, you'll wake up with him holding you, tail wrapped around you as much as it can be, just to hold you close to him.

Whenever you leave, he either dramatically mopes or gets slightly accusatory, whether you're dating or not. As long as you reassure him, he'll let it go, but he'll always be a hater of whoever you choose to spend your time with when you both could be cuddling and watching tv with him instead.

Very fascinated with human media and inventions. Learns a lot of songs he views as romantic. 100% hums 'I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire' to you.

When you do start dating, he becomes even MORE clingy and flirtatious. Praises you for the smallest things, giving you at least a 1000 kisses a day.

Since he learns how to use phones, he's often calling Willy. Tells him to collect some seashells and drop them off while you're gone. He totally makes a necklace out of them and gives it to you, a matching one for himself to show you're officially mates now!

He's not very dangerous as a yandere already, so as a merman he'd be even less so, but he still is just as possessive and obsessive.

He has a harder time masking his creepy behavior since he's never interacted with anyone to really tell him off, nor has he witnessed others doing the same. May ask Willy for more ideas on how to woo you.

Overall, he's still a romantic and possessive/obsessive as ever. Just has much less shame as he normally would.

[hysteria-things]

✿ PROMISE? ✿ PART NINE.

ʚ♡ɞ 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 | 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 ʚ♡ɞ

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: chris x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: another invite to a party was not what you were expecting from your former crush…

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMOKING WEED, mention of intoxication, swearing

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,652

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: you guys must hate me right now😂

i promise (lol) i’ll have a fic out soon! i’ve been struggling so that’s why i haven’t been as active, but i’ll try my best to be :)

“𝐈’𝐌 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐘,” 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐆𝐄 says, waving at the smoke that exits her mouth.

“paige, it’s fine. the pits were three weeks ago. i’m over it. i’m alive, aren’t i?”

she frowns with a nod. paige wanted to hang out with you today since you didn’t have anything going on, so you planned a sleepover with just the two of you. her dad is out of town with her brother, leaving her alone for a few days. you guys are sitting in her living room at the moment with the TV portraying a shitty netflix movie she clicked on, even though you aren’t paying attention to it.

after a second puff, she hands you the blunt. you inhale deeply, the smoke flowing through your body with ease. “anything new going on? more specifically chris related?” she smirks.

“no,” you reply, narrowing your eyes at the girl. you told her about what he did the night of the pits, and she's not letting go about how she thinks you like him.

you don’t.

“that’s boring.” she mumbles. “anything else? not chris related because you’re lame.”

“my cousins are coming tomorrow; my mom told me this morning. they’re staying with monica for a few weeks, who is their best friend since they’re close in age. she lives right next door to us.” you start, putting the blunt between your lips once more. “she’s a family friend i’ve pretty much known my whole life.

“hm.” she hums, falling silent and looking around the room before speaking again. “are you sure you don’t have at least a little feelings for chris?”

“no. we just started being friends again!” you argue. “ask that again and you’re earning a slap across the face.”

she laughs, adjusting herself to where she leans back on her elbows. “is that kevin butler texting? i remember you having the fattest crush on him when we were in middle school.”

confused, you stare at her to see she is looking at your lit-up screen on the coffee table. “shut up.” you snarl, rolling your eyes intensely. “i bumped into him at the pits.”

she gasps, sitting up as fast as lightning. not going to lie, it made you flinch a little. “do you like ryan again? or is this like a love triangle? now things are getting good.” she props herself on her knees to feed into the gossip.

“no, i don’t like kevin.” you say, which is somewhat of a lie.

“please, please, please answer it.” she begs, handing you the phone. you can tell the drug you two inhaled is starting to take over. you snatch the phone from her and open up the message.

“i hope you know i’m coming with you to that party,” paige says, peeking over your shoulder.

“chris is going to hate me.” you say lowly, locking the phone and placing it back where it was before.

she knits her eyebrows together. “why? he doesn’t control you.”

“i know, but i don’t want him to drag me to his house again.” you bite your lip to nibble on it. “that’s embarrassing.”

“chris doesn’t have to find out. you are your own person and you make your own decisions, no?” she says, patting you on the chest.

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 afternoon the next day. when you get there, you see two recognizable cars in the driveway. you sprint up the stairs and enter through the front door, to be greeted by numerous voices overlapping each other. the pitter-patter of paws slam against the wood floors when you shut the door. “oh!” you say in a startle as chichi jumps onto his hind legs to put his front two on your thigh. his tail wags as he greets you with smothers and barks while you pat his head.

peering around the wall, chichi zooms back into the living room. your cousin bethany — who gave you your journal all of those years ago — and her husband dillon are sitting on the floor in front of where your mom and dad are seated. your other cousin amalia and her husband james are on the other couch, their six-year-old twins playing with toys on the coffee table. “y/n!” oliver, one of the twins, exclaims. he runs over to hug you.

“hello, people. fancy seeing you here,” you say, sitting on the floor alongside bethany and dillon.

when your mom said everybody, you thought she was exaggerating, but she meant everybody.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 scurrying through your closet to try and find a perfect outfit for tonight. you usually don’t care about that certain thing, but you have a good feeling about kevin’s party in less than two hours. you groan loudly as your bedroom door opens. “is everything okay here?” bethany asks, peeking her head in.

you nod. “yes!”

“alright, then. i was sent to tell you that dinner’s ready.”

“i’m not eating right now. i’m going out soon.” you exhale sharply, still tearing your closet apart.

she raises a brow, intrigued. “where are you going?”

“out with friends.” you smile nervously, rubbing the sweat off of your hands on your pajamas, looking in the pile of clothes some more to see if a decent outfit will magically appear out of thin air. she gives you a suspicious look, checking to see if anybody is around before closing the door. “who’s the boy?”

“there is no boy.”

“you don’t get dressed up to ‘go out with friends’.”

you sigh in defeat. “fine. i was invited to this party and i want to dress nice, but all i have is bum sh— stuff; and i’m running out of time. the party is in less than two hours.”

she brings her finger up to her chin to think for a moment. you can see a lightbulb go off in her head. “let me make a call.” she pulls out her phone, her nails clicking against the screen. “monica works in fashion. she’ll have stuff to fit, i’m sure.”

speaking of the devil, monica appears at your house in minutes. it’s like you blinked and here she is, her tall figure kneeling in front of the bag she places down and pulls out two dresses. “you don’t seem like the type to wear fancy shit, so i brought these that i know you’ll look good in.”

the dress she is holding in her right hand is a red silky v-neck with stitched openings going up to the stitching that separates the chest from the bottom. the other one is a simple dress that is holographic. you tilt your head to think as you look from one to the other. “my mom is going to kill me if she sees me wearing one of these.”

she giggles, her long hair with blonde highlights falling over her shoulders when she does so. “oh, we got that covered.” she says matter of factly, pointing between her and bethany.

“hence why i am going to help you leave without her seeing, and covering up for you while you’re gone. you’re nineteen years old. you have to live a little, but safely. even if you have to lie from time to time.” bethany says, eyeing her best friend.

“just out of curiosity, does your mom know you snuck out?” you say because this plan seems too good to be true.

“oh, god, no. i’d still be grounded.” she shakes her head and you laugh out loud. “amalia and i used to have each other’s backs all the time when we were your age, younger, even. now, it’s time i have yours.”

you smile at that. she’s so cool, despite her being in her early thirties. amalia is a few years older. after some consideration, you point to the red dress. “that one.”

“good choice.” monica starts. “go to the bathroom and put it on.”

you get up from the floor and go to the restroom which is only a few feet away from your room. taking off what you’re wearing, you slip into the dress. you hum, checking yourself out in the mirror for a few seconds. it fits your form perfectly, your body looking better than it has ever looked in your nineteen years of living. you smirk at this boost of confidence. the more you look, the more you realize how short it is. the weird thing is, you don’t mind.

you look phenomenal.

walking back to the girls with a twirl, you hear bethany audibly gasp. “holy shit. you look stunning!”

“i feel it.”

“ooh, la la. what’s going on here? a secret fashion show?” amalia chirps while coming up behind you, cocking an eyebrow slightly. she goes over to monica to greet her before continuing. “it’s not that you don’t look gorgeous, but why? you got a date?”

“y/n here is sneaking out to go to a party.” bethany grins, patting you on the shoulder.

“no fucking way.” amalia gasps. “y/n, my most introverted little cousin, is sneaking out to party?”

“please don’t tell my mom,” you beg with a hint of worry that she’ll snitch.

she scoffs. “who do you think i am? this is a very special occasion i have to take part in… ‘cause girl, you are rocking it in that dress.”

you giggle as bethany sits you down at the vanity. she grabs her makeup bag that’s in her purse and leans in front of you. monica is scavenging your bedroom to look for jewelry, and she finds some that can match. amalia hovers above you and her sister.

bethany finishes the makeup look after a few minutes and monica hooks you up with a matching necklace and earring set that is silver, all of them giving an approving look. bethany looks at her watch and smiles. “you made it just in time. have fun.” she winks, ushering you to the entrance of your house.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @moncherriis @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @raysmayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @tworosesblackthorn @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hearrtsturns @stars4matt @freshsturns @etershine @sukiipjs @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @ivyyyyyysposts @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @thesturniolos @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @bernardsbendystraws @hoes4matthew @deareststurns

[hyewka]

uhh.. well then, are you able to do any sub hybrid member from txt? like they’re in heat,, and begging reader to help them ><

warnings: non-proofread filth once again, wrote this on a whim lol. sub!dog hybrid beomgyu, corruption kink?

working overtime had become a routine for the past few weeks, consequently taking significant time away from spending time with your pup. when you'd come home at midnight, seeing your gyu sleeping right by the door, probably tired from waiting -- it had your heart clench as you'd pout at the sight.

after staring down at him in regret of how you've been neglecting him for the sake of work and appeasing your boss, you'd eventually see his fluffy ears twitching, signalling his wake -- he recognized your scent. he'd groggily flutter his eyes open, then immediately jump up at seeing the familiar worn out mary jane shoes, his tail wagging. "you're here!"

like always, you'd pull him into a tight hug of how sorry you were and how this would all end soon, the immense guilt weighing down on you, contrast to his cheeriness.

but soon was ambiguous, because yet again, you're arriving to your apartment door, completely exhausted after staying three hours more than you're scheduled to leave. when you unlock your door, revealing your dark apartment, your eyes fell to the floor, like always.

what was different this time was beomgyu's absence. which felt worse than seeing him there in the first place. but you shook your head, pushing down the selfish feeling. if he slept in the bedroom you've set up for him, that'd be an accomplishment.

closing the door behind you, you slip off your mary janes. your eyes loom over the large tv screen naturally as the volume is on higher than usual. it was the only thing lighting up the living room, which made it harder for you to quickly find the remote and turn the shit off. you eventually give up as a throbbing migraine dissipates your interest in looking anymore.

"ugh fuck." you say under your breath, rubbing your temple in hopes of relieving the short sharps of pain. you throw your bag on the couch and walk over to your bedroom -- which is oddly closed.

but then your eyes go over to gyu's, and a smile manages to form on your face. you decide to go to beomgyu's first and at least check on how he's doing, if he's sleeping or if he's awake playing with toys.

when you open the door labeled beomgyu with colorful doodles you both participated in drawing all over, your brows slowly crinkle, your expression dropping when you see no one in the bed. walking over to check more closely didn't change much -- beomgyu wasn't here.

panic pool your chest as your eyes widen, busting out of the pup's room, heading to the bathroom -- hoping that when you turned the knob it'd be restrained but when it opens easily, the emptiness of any occupance of the toilet or the shower making you breath even heavier than before.

did he run away? because you didn't pay attention to him? fuck.

fuck. fuck. fuck!

when you back out the bathroom, you take a shaky breathe in as you continue on to speed walk to where you had placed your bag, quickly scrambling in it for your phone.

but when you finally find it, your foot accidentally steps on an object which made you wince and in turn, drop your phone.

even worse, in response to the contact, your tv shuts close. making the place pitch black, only faintly being able to make out your surroundings.

"shit!" you curse frustrated, bending down to feel up up the carpet in hopes of finding your phone blindly.

but your ears pick up a sound, making your searching hands freeze.

though it was faint and distant, like it was in another room, a prolonged high pitched whimper of your name was still...hearable.

you slowly get up, turning to the one place you realize you were stupid enough to not check before almost calling to report a missing hybrid.

your memory of the floor plan manages to get you to your bedroom door quite easily with no tumbles of sorts, and you heave a sigh as you hesitantly open the door.

though you expected to see the sight, your mouth still slightly fall open when you see beomgyu's lower half feverishly rutting against your pillow, his shirt up exposing his abused, pink nipples, and once again..the moans. you've never heard him like this, ever.

he usually makes a point smugly to you that he can manage his heat period on his own, to which you would a sigh out of relief -- to be completely honest with yourself, though you offered him your assistance, you didn't think you had it in you to start a sexual relationship with your pup. or see him in that light.

but as you stand there, watching him, his hips grinding onto your bed insatiably, his mouth spilling out your name like a mantra...over and over again, you couldn't help but wish that his face wasn't buried in your pillow.

though, you quickly dismiss both the thought and the way your core heated up, an uncomfortable feeling settling in.

you don't think he noticed you coming in, so you decide it'd be best to leave and wait for him to finish instead of interrupting him -- it was the least you could do for him.

when you turn your back, your hear a whimper.

"y-y/n!" beomgyu's shriek only made you shut your eyes, as it felt more directed, sucking in a deep breath. "hnng—i need y-your help"

you turn to face beomgyu again, your previous wish coming true as his head is fully raised, his pretty face not hidden anymore. but your eyes furrow as you study the state of his face, his eyes pooled with tears, dried apparent on his cheeks, his nose flushed red, his black hair sticking to his forehead from the sweat, as his hips still moved uncontrollably rabid.

your instinct of protecting your precious pup move your feet to hurriedly get by his side. "what—what do you need help with? whatever you need, tell me pup."

you're aware that you might have to do things you rather not do with gyu in hopes of keeping your relationship as pure as you could, but at this point, you've seen him humping your bed, which you now realize is covered with spurts of his cum all over -- there was no turning back from that.

when a moment goes without a word and only impure, sloppy moans filling the room, you decide you just have to do what you think is best. your hand glaze his cold cheek, your thumb instinctively wiping away his tears, as you lay a gentle kiss to his pink lips, the ones that were glistening from his drool.

the only thing you know about heat for pups was that they get the most insatiable out of most hybrids... but it still surprises you when his repocracy is instant and desperate, turning the soft kiss to a heaty makeout in a matter of seconds. you pull away with your eyes wide, taking a sharp breath in -- beomgyu letting out a frustrated whine at the sudden lack of your lips from his.

this is real. you were going to do this.

you reach to hesitantly rub the inside of his ear flaps, which makes gyu roll his eyes to the back, as he let out a satisfied moan. "gyu, turn to your back for me. let me make you feel all better." you gently coo, still slowly rubbing.

he obeys as he flips to his back, revealing thighs that were covered with dried cum, and most importantly, his dick coming into full view, the tip swollen red.

you gulp as you were now sitting at the edge of your bed, beomgyu's eyes shut with tear filled lashes made him look all the more beautiful, heaving as he fisted his cock.

"y-y/n, please t-touch. touch—hah! touch me?" beomgyu managed to slur in between his moans.

your finger first poke his tip, just to get a sense of the feel — it was hot. then you hold his wrist, to signal him to stop — he was clearly hurting himself.

when he lets go of his dick, you replace it with yours, and the end of his ear flaps noticeably bending out of relief. "this was how you were getting yourself off? by hurting yourself?" your voice wasn't loud, but it still expressed enough annoyance for beomgyu to whimper a little, as his arm laid on his forehead.

"th—they never taught me." he mumbles.

you pick up a steady pace, eliciting light whimpers from the receiving end.

feeling yourself get angry at yourself for not being aware enough, not checking up on him, selfishly not persisting on helping him out — your hands go up and down his length quicker. "fuck, you should've told me! you're such a dumb pup gyu." you spat, not in control of your emotions, nose flaring as you pump his cock, beomgyu's hip buckling into your hand.

"i'm shorry, i'm sho s—cumming, i'm cumming!" he incoherently rambles, his hips falling as white hot thick liquid spills onto your hand.

when you let go of his dick, that had softened, you bring your hand to your face, stare at the spurt quizzically, as you bite down on your lip.

your eyes go back to beomgyu hesitantly, his chest still rising and dropping, lips so inviting as they hung open — you remember you didn't take a long enough to chance to fully explore it and you internally curse yourself.

beomgyus eyes meet yours, a smile barely holding up on his face muscles, though reaching the shape of his eyes, making them the pure crescents you so truly love, his ears flopped down — and your only thought is to ruin him. completely shred him apart.

impulsively, you get on top of him in a matter of seconds, cupping his cheeks as you harshly met your lips with his. a cut off yelp from beomgyu is heard, so you pull away, a string of saliva slightly connecting your mouths.

what has gotten over you?

you try to apologize for doing what you just did out of whim, but beomgyus large hand pushes your head down, and once again, your lips crashed onto his — causing your noses to rub together as you turn your head's position insatiably like you haven't kissed someone in years.

beomgyu wanted you, hes wanted you for so long now, and for a bit, he thought you wanted him too, but you've been distant, and naturally he thought you didn't want him anymore — so when you voluntarily got on top of him just now, he didn't want to pass up the moment to express what he felt, he needed you.

you felt your pussy throbbing, underwear pooling wet, as beomgyu's unclothed dick was noticeably getting rock hard, pressing between your ass. you were thankfully wearing a short pencil skirt, so you easily slid it down your legs along with your panties when you pull away from the kiss.

you don't waste time to line up his fat cock with your pussy, sitting down on it fully, letting out a sharp gasp at how well it fills you up.

beomgyu doesn't expect the urgency, with no prep "y/n—!" he shrieks, eyes shut. you try to bite down the shit eating grin on your face as you try to move, but a squirm of movement immediately makes you feel a rush of hot substance spurting inside you — he came.

"what was that for?!" you yell, a bit disappointed at his lack of control, but also at the fact that he just cummed inside you. when his eyes open at the raising of your voice, they're shiny, so innocent-like, his brows furrowed upwards.

now you feel like shit.

his dick is still buried inside you, and with the pout on his face, you can't resist to rub his nipples in apologies, which makes him once again, whimper. "don't cum so fast this time, okay pup?"

he nods quickly, to which you smile at.

you move your hips slowly once again, your hands on his chest. finally when you're meaning to pick up your pace, you unbutton your dress shirt, taking it off you, revealing your breasts to gyu, whose ears show more than he needs to tell.

his hands try to grab your tits, but you slap them away. "no touching unless i say so pup."

his brows furrow. "why—" his childish whine is immediately cut short when you harshly pump up your pace, your pussy tightening around his cock as you pushed up and down, your breasts in turn slapping together.

"y/n, y/n! y/n—y/n" beomgyu was like a broken record, a pup fully gone mad as his mouth hung open, shrieking, moaning, any sound, his mind turning into utter mush, the more you rid his cock, unable to control his orgasms — you didn't mind, focused on your hands grabbing fist full of his long hair, as you milked his stupid dick dry.

you were going to fucking ruin him.

[yestrday]

is there ever a soft side to your yandere ayato? are there moments when he treats his darling as more of an actual lover compared to a pet? and is he ever vulnerable with them? :o

did i make him that horrible? i thought the whole 'treat you as a pet' thing was kinda hot. maybe my audience isn't really into that... well, i do understand lol yanderes are meant to love you

hybrid sawshark! ayato isn't one to bow to humans, but he acknowledges the changes you've had on his life. while he does get a kick out of bullying whenever he teaches you, he makes it clear that he likes to pamper you. his competitors are fluffy-tailed dogs and soft-eared mammals. his denticles might not be very pleasing to pet, but he still puts a bit of an effort to make you like him. the others think it's to irk them, especially with the sly smile he sends their way after he successfully woos you over, but thoma knows that it's probably because he's a bit insecure about his lack of... fluffiness.

academy! ayato doesn't put much effort at all. there's a clear power imbalance between the two of you, and he treats you more like a trophy rather than a lover. he showers you with lots and lots of gifts, but as a way to shackle you to him. he does get his soft moments though— laced fingers as you walk through the entertainment district, fond gazes as you focus on your homework, and delicate fingers tucking your hair behind your ear as you fall asleep on said homework. he does get soft, but he never makes it shown to you because he's afraid he might lose the control in this imbalance.

househusband! ayato is a lot more comfortable with you. your marriage isn't arranged or forced; you willingly took him as your husband. so he has a bit more solace and is more willing to open up around you. when none of his yandere tendencies are trigered, you two have a disgustingly normal and domestic life. think: giggling while he twirls you to the music on the tv, hugging you from behind as you cook breakfast, taking you on romantic candlelight dinners because he can, casually flirting with you out of nowhere just so he can see you flustered.