#and then i fucking. went to school?? and walked in like nothing happened???

[wvyik]

cherry soda goodbyes ⋆˚࿔

teen! dean winchester x mean girl! reader

ʚɞ summary: you don’t catch feelings. and he doesn’t stick around. that’s the deal. but this one? it doesn’t taste as sweet going down.

ꕤ warnings: mdni! explicit content, angsty angst with a whole lotta comfort, cinematic smut (literally), mentions of cheating? kinda, aggressive kissing, “i hate you, i love you”, lots of swearing, fluffy open ending, lots of pining-turned-soft-love, references to violence, emotional stability not included. proceed with caution. this is your fairytale, and it hurts (in the best way).

MINISERIES MASTERLIST. NAVIGATION. PREVIOUS PART.

It had been good. Too good.

The kind of good that made you suspicious of every smile, every lingering glance in the hallway, every late night phone call that lasted until your voice turned to whispers and your eyelids started to slip closed. It felt like happiness was holding your hand with one and hiding a knife behind its back with the other.

But still, you let it happen.

Because Dean Winchester had become a fixture in your world. Not like a boyfriend. Like a storm. Loud, impossible to ignore, always rolling in whether you were ready or not. You didn’t try to cage him or change him. You just… watched him settle in. Watched the way he started leaving things in your locker; notes scribbled on crumpled receipts, dumb candy wrappers with “thought of you” written on the inside. Watched the way he started memorizing your schedule better than you did. Watched the way he looked at you, like you were some kind of miracle he didn’t believe in but was clinging to anyway.

And you let yourself believe it would stay like that. That it wouldn’t break.

That he wouldn’t leave.

It started small. Subtle.

Missed texts. A little more distant in the mornings. That haunted look in his eyes when he didn’t think you were watching. He’d snap out of it fast, cover it with a smirk or a dirty joke, pull you into him like he was trying to memorize your warmth.

And then, he stopped showing up.

Not for school. Not for late night drives. Not for you.

No warning. No explanation.

Just… gone.

At first, you told yourself it was nothing. Maybe something came up. Maybe Sam needed him. Maybe he lost his phone or got grounded or his car broke down or—something. Because the idea that he’d just vanished, after everything, after kissing you like you were his entire world… hurt.

More than you wanted to admit.

Amber noticed first. She always did. “You okay, babe?” she asked, nudging you with her acrylics tapping your desk. You smiled. Lied. Said you were tired. Said it was cramps. Said anything except the truth.

The truth was you hadn’t slept. That every noise outside your window made you look up hoping it was the Impala. That your chest felt like a sinking ship and no amount of gloss or eyeliner or “fuck them all” attitude could stop the ache in your ribs.

You didn’t know where he went. Or why. But you knew something was off. Something big.

And the worst part? He didn’t even say goodbye.

The halls looked the same. Fluorescent lights too bright, floor too polished, voices too loud for a place full of people pretending they don’t care about anything. It was just another Tuesday. Except it wasn’t.

Because you weren’t the same.

Your walk was slower, even if your heels still clicked like a threat. Your eyes didn’t scan the halls for fun—they searched. Hunted. Hoping to catch a glimpse of green eyes and leather jackets, hoping he’d be leaned against your locker like he used to be, cocky grin and some dumb comment that made your stomach twist.

But he wasn’t there.

He wasn’t anywhere.

And the silence he left behind? Was so fucking loud.

You snapped at some girl in the bathroom for taking too long at the sink. Bit the head off a guy in English for asking to borrow a pen. In gym, you didn’t even pretend to try. Coach shouted, you rolled your eyes, and everyone pretended not to notice the fire behind them.

They were talking. Whispering. You knew it. You could feel it.

“She looks like hell.”

“Guess her boy toy finally got tired.”

“Didn’t she used to run this place?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t even look. Because if you did—if you acknowledged it—it would be real. And you weren’t ready for that. Amber kept sending you glances. Eyes full of worry and lip gloss. But she knew better than to say anything. At least for now.

The worst part? You missed him in the little ways.

Your locker was too quiet. The seat next to you in history was too cold. The walk home was just… a walk. Not a chaotic, giggle-filled escape with his fingers brushing yours or a whispered “meet me later” in your ear.

No one had kissed you in two weeks.

And it felt like withdrawal.

But you kept your chin up. You kept your lips glossed. You still strutted down the hallway like it was your runway, even if your eyes didn’t sparkle the same.

Because even when your crown was cracked, you wore it.

And if Dean Winchester had any idea what he left behind?

You hoped it haunted him.

You don’t cry. You never cry. Not in public. Not in the girls’ bathroom. Not in the back row of homeroom, even though everything inside of you is screaming.

No. You don’t cry. You burn.

And today? You’re on fucking fire.

Because anger’s finally settled in her seat next to you, and she’s wearing your perfume and laughing like the devil. And when some sophomore had the audacity to ask if you and “that new boy” were over? You looked her dead in the eye and said, “Do I look like I’ve ever been someone’s fucking phase?”

But the rage didn’t come from nowhere.

It came from all the unanswered texts. The nights you waited for that engine to roar outside your window. The way your bed felt wrong without him in it, and your skin felt cold in all the places he used to touch. The anger came when you opened your phone for the hundredth time, and it was just empty. No “thinking about you.” No stupid flirt. Not even a fucking meme.

He just… vanished.

So yeah, you’re mad. You’re livid.

Because what kind of person walks into your life like that—burns it down—and then disappears like smoke?

He made you soft. He made you laugh. He looked at you like you weren’t just some pretty face and a reputation. He knew things, real things, and now he was just gone like none of it mattered.

So you kicked your desk halfway through history. Got sent to the office. Stormed out before the secretary even asked your name. The hallway floor shook beneath your heels, the whole school getting out of your goddamn way. And that felt good, didn’t it? The power. The fear. It felt like control.

But it wasn’t. Not really.

Because no matter how loud you slammed the door, or how many people you bit back with that venom-coated tongue, you were still the girl he left behind.

The girl who gave him her body, her secrets, her favorite Led Zeppelin song, her fucking heart—and he just… walked away.

So you laugh. Bitter, biting. It echoes off the bathroom tiles where you’ve locked yourself in.

Because the truth hurts worse than anything else. You didn’t just miss him. You hated him for it. And maybe, just maybe, you hated yourself more for letting him in.

It happens on a Sunday.

The house is quiet. No music blasting from your speaker, no Amber pulling you out for coffee runs. Just silence. The kind that creeps under your skin and makes you feel too much. You’ve barely left your bed since Friday. Your makeup bag sits untouched on your dresser, and your hoodie feels more like a shield than a fashion choice.

You don’t cry. You’ve told yourself that a thousand times. That crying is weakness. That if you keep your eyeliner sharp and your tone sharper, no one will know just how ruined you really are.

But tonight? Tonight, you slip up.

You’re in the kitchen, barefoot, hoodie sleeves pulled down over your hands, pouring cereal you’re not going to eat. And your mom walks in. Just her. Hair in a messy bun, grocery bags on the counter. Soft, tired eyes.

She doesn’t say anything at first.

She just watches you. Watches the way your hand trembles. Watches the way your jaw clenches like you’re holding back an earthquake. And then she does the mom thing. That terrifying, magic mom thing where she just knows.

“Sweetheart,” she says gently, “what’s going on?”

You freeze. Staring down at the milk in your bowl like it holds the answers. Your throat tightens. You shake your head.

“I’m fine,” you mutter. But your voice cracks. A little too high. A little too fragile. And that’s it.

She crosses the room in two steps, pulls you into her arms like you’re five years old again, and for the first time since he left, you let go.

“I thought he loved me,” you whisper. Broken. Barely audible. “I thought… I don’t know. I thought I meant something.”

Her arms tighten. One hand on the back of your head, cradling you like she used to when you had nightmares. “Oh, baby…” she sighs. “I’m so sorry.”

And then it pours out of you. The nights you waited by the window. The jokes that meant too much. The songs. The promises. The way he made you feel like you. Not the version everyone gossiped about. Not the mean girl. Just… you.

“I let him in,” you choke out. “I let him see everything, and he still left. What’s wrong with me?”

Your mom pulls back just enough to look at you. She cups your face in her hands, her thumbs brushing away the tears that smear your mascara.

“There is nothing wrong with you,” she says fiercely. “You gave your heart to someone. That takes guts. That’s brave. And if he walked away from that? From you? Then that’s not your failure. That’s his.”

And god, hearing her say that? It shatters something inside you. In the best, most aching way. Because for the first time, you don’t feel crazy. Or dramatic. Or pathetic.

You just feel human. A daughter, in her mother’s arms, grieving something real. And even though the pain doesn’t vanish… it softens. Just a little.

Because you’re not alone.

Not tonight.

Two weeks pass. Then three. Then a month.

And Dean Winchester fades like he was never even real.

The rumors die down. People move on. There’s some new bad boy now. Tattoos, a busted skateboard, smells like cheap weed and fake rebellion. He parks in Dean’s old spot and leans against his car like he owns the school. Girls flock to him like flies to a flame. Amber rolls her eyes and calls him a “Hot Topic discount,” and you don’t even look twice.

Because he’s not him.

You still walk the halls in heels and Juicy. Still keep your lip gloss sharp, your hair perfect, your reputation untouchable. People still whisper when you pass. Some fear, some awe, some leftover scandal from the month you set the world on fire.

But it’s different now.

You’re different now.

You try to keep your crown on straight, keep the mean girl mask flawless. But some days? It slips. Some days you catch yourself glancing at the door like he might walk in late, leather jacket slung over his shoulder, that smirk just for you. Some days you remember how he used to hold your pinky under the table when no one was watching.

No one talks about him anymore.

And it’s not fair. Because you still feel him everywhere.

In the silence between bells. In the ghost of a song on the radio. In the empty seat behind you in English class.

The world keeps turning. The school keeps buzzing. And you? You’re just trying to survive it. All of it. Without him. And somehow, that’s the hardest part. Because you were on top of the world. The queen bee. The sharpest tongue in the room.

But without him?

It’s not a kingdom. It’s a cage.

It’s stupid, really.

You weren’t even thinking about him today. You’d finally convinced yourself that you were okay. That time was doing what it always promised—it was healing.

So when you decided to clean your room, it wasn’t some symbolic fresh start. It was just dust and clutter and the smell of your favorite citrus spray. Something mindless. Something quiet.

And then you found it.

Half-buried under your bed, balled up and forgotten like it hadn’t meant everything once.

His shirt.

That damn grey one he always wore. The one with the tiny tear near the hem, soft from too many washes, still carrying the faintest trace of his cologne—leather, spearmint, sin.

Your body stops moving. Time stutters. You just… stare.

Your hand doesn’t reach for it at first. Like touching it will shatter you. Like it’ll make it real.

But you do.

You grab it.

And the second your fingers curl around the fabric, it’s over.

Your knees hit the floor.

And then the sob rips out of you; ugly, violent, and raw. The kind that shakes your whole chest, breaks something open in your ribs. You press the shirt to your face like maybe if you breathe deep enough, he’ll appear. Like maybe, maybe, maybe this whole thing was just a sick joke and he’s outside revving that loudass Impala waiting to pick you up.

But he’s not.

You tried to bury it. You buried him. You pretended to be fine. But that one stupid shirt is louder than every scream you swallowed these past few weeks.

So you sit there. On your bedroom floor. Shirt clutched like a lifeline. And you cry for all the things you didn’t get to say. For every kiss you didn’t know would be the last. For the way he disappeared without warning, without goodbye.

It’s been a few months. The kind of months that stretch, where you can’t really tell if time is moving fast or slow, but it is moving. And for once, you’re moving with it.

You’ve spent countless nights reflecting on everything. On him, on the drama, on the moments where you almost let yourself lose who you were. But now? Now, you’ve figured out how to breathe without him in your chest. You’ve figured out how to laugh without it hurting. You’ve learned to love yourself again, not because of what you had, but because of what you deserve.

The end of the school year hits hard, but in a good way. It’s bittersweet. There’s no more drama, no more confusion. No more “what-if’s.” It’s just you now, with a future in front of you that’s yours to own.

Graduation day comes and goes, and you stand on that stage, holding your diploma. You smile like you mean it, like everything you went through was worth it because, in a way, it was. The person you were in September, in October, in December? She’s different now. She’s stronger. More sure of herself. She’s learned the value of her own voice. And she’s learned how to let go when the time is right.

As the ceremony wraps up, you spot Amber in the crowd. She’s waving wildly, practically jumping up and down. Even though you’ve had your differences, you both know that you wouldn’t have made it through without each other. You catch her eye and flash a grin, that same confident, sharp smirk she’s always known you for.

She throws you a wink and a thumbs up. You don’t need words. You’ve always been in sync when it matters most.

The drive home is quiet, but not uncomfortable. You’ve got a playlist of songs you used to listen to with him, the kind that now bring a weird sense of nostalgia. You don’t skip them though. You listen. You don’t need to run from memories anymore. You’ve made peace with them.

Later that night, as you sit on your bed, scrolling through your phone, you see something that pulls at your chest. A picture of him. Just a random shot from someone’s vacation to the next town over, but there he is, looking like he doesn’t belong there. Like the wild part of him will never fade, no matter how many new places he goes, how many new people he meets.

You stare at it for a long time, your heart doing a weird flip in your chest. For a moment, you think about reaching out. To ask him how he’s doing. To ask him if he ever thinks about you, too.

But then you stop. You remember your mom’s words, how you’d come to realize that you’d been clinging to something that wasn’t meant to be yours forever. You’ve grown up. He’s grown up. And sometimes, people just walk in and out of your life, like a song you hear on the radio. One day, it’s playing, and the next, it’s gone. And that’s okay.

You finally put your phone down, letting out a deep breath. You’re not waiting anymore. Not for him. Not for anyone.

You’re going to be okay. And that’s all that matters.

Somewhere in Colorado, 3:47 a.m.

The Impala hums under his hands like muscle memory. Like a ghost that knows its place. The open road stretches out in front of them, all cracked concrete and flickering signs, the kind of nothingness that used to make him feel free. Used to. Now it’s just noise. White static between his ears. He drives, but his mind stays back in a hallway somewhere. In a pink mini skirt. In a laugh that won’t leave his fucking head.

Sam’s in the passenger seat, reading something off his laptop, vampire nest, a couple states over. Nothing too messy. Nothing they haven’t done before. But Dean’s only half-listening, nodding and throwing out a grunt or two to let his little brother think he’s present.

He’s not.

Because it’s been months. Months. And she’s still sitting behind his ribs like a goddamn bullet he never got removed. Still wearing that lip gloss. Still rolling her eyes. Still crawling into his bed with soft hands and a mouth that made him forget his name. She’s everywhere. In his music, in the way he can’t look at the passenger seat too long without thinking of her feet up on the dash. She used to sing in his car, barely on key, but louder than anything he’d ever heard. He used to pretend to hate it. Now he’d kill to hear it again.

He told himself leaving was the only way. That she was better off not knowing about the monster guts and motel rooms and fake IDs. She had this whole shiny life ahead of her, and he couldn’t taint it with the curse that follows him everywhere. He thought it’d be easy; one last kiss, one last good morning, and then the wind. But he didn’t count on how quiet it would be after.

Sam looks up from his laptop. “You good?”

Dean forces a smirk. “Peachy.”

He’s not. Because every night, he stares up at cheap motel ceilings and wonders if she’s moved on. If someone else is holding her hand in the hallway. If she’s laughing again. If she hates him.

He deserves it if she does.

What messes him up the most? He left to protect her, but he misses her. He misses her in ways he doesn’t know how to fix. He misses her when he’s got blood on his knuckles and when the night’s too long. He misses her when Sam falls asleep next to him in silence, and there’s no smart mouth to keep him grounded. He even misses her yelling. The way she used to tear down anyone who looked at her wrong, like a goddamn firecracker.

She made him feel seen. Like he wasn’t just a mess of scars and daddy issues and bad decisions. Like he was worth knowing. Worth kissing slow. Worth staying for.

But he couldn’t stay. Because people like him don’t get people like her.

So now he hunts. Drives. Drinks. Repeat. He acts like it never happened. Like she was just another girl, another soft memory tucked into the backseat. But no matter how fast he drives, he can’t shake the way she looked at him when she let her guard down. Like he wasn’t dangerous. Like he could be hers.

And the worst part?

He still is.

Sometimes it’s just him. A motel room with flickering lights, a bottle of whiskey, and his own damn hand. And it’s you, every time. He lays back, breath heavy, and he doesn’t even have to close his eyes to see you. That look you gave him the first time you undressed for him, all confidence and cotton candy danger. The way your lip curled when you teased him. How you’d say his name all soft and sharp at the same time. Dean. God. It kills him.

His hand’s rough, calloused, not nearly as soft as yours— but he imagines it’s you touching him, that smug little look you got when you realized just how easy he was for you. He grits his teeth, muttering out filthy, filthy things into the dark. Things he never said out loud before you. Things he only learned because of you. He fists the sheets, hips jerking up, jaw clenched like he’s mad at himself for needing you this much. For being weak for someone who’s miles away.

And on the nights he lets someone else into his bed? It’s worse. The girl could be sweet, hot, eager, but it’s empty. Just a body. He closes his eyes while he’s inside her and prays she sounds a little like you. That she moans the way you did, breathy and mean. That she pulls his hair, scratches his back, whispers how much she wants him. But she never does. They never do.

Because no one takes him apart like you.

Sometimes he fucks like he’s trying to forget you. Fast, rough, cold. But when he’s alone again, the sheets are still damp and you’re still gone. His chest hurts. His hands shake. He puts his head in his hands and thinks about that night in your bed, the way you kissed him like you were saying goodbye before either of you knew you’d have to.

He’s ashamed of how many times he’s whispered your name under someone else’s breath.

But fuck if he doesn’t want you more now than ever.

Sometimes he cries.

Not all the time. Not where Sam can see. Not in the middle of a hunt or when the adrenaline’s still pumping. But late at night? When it’s quiet and the only sound is the soft hum of the A/C unit in some nameless motel off I-70? Yeah. That’s when it happens.

He’ll be sitting at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it holds some answer. And that shirt, the one you wore the first time you slept in his bed? Yeah, he keeps it. Folded in the bottom of his duffel. He’s washed it, but he swears it still smells like you. Like strawberry lip gloss and danger and soft cotton comfort. Sometimes he just… pulls it out and holds it, presses his face to it, breathing you in.

And that’s when it hits him.

He’s not okay.

He left you. Didn’t say goodbye. Just vanished into the smoke of some ghost town he was trying to exorcise from his bones. He tells himself it was for your protection. That he was keeping you safe from his world. But some nights, that excuse feels thinner than the sheets he’s tangled in.

The tears come slow, at first. Just hot, stinging blinks. Then his throat gets tight, and his breath starts to hitch, and suddenly he’s shaking. Quiet, but falling apart. Not sobbing, but crying. Real, aching grief. The kind of heartbreak that makes you wish you were dead because at least then you wouldn’t feel so goddamn much.

He punches the mattress sometimes. Calls himself a coward. Wonders if you still think about him, or if you’ve already moved on. Found someone safe. Someone normal.

Someone who stayed.

And then he really loses it. Because he knows, deep down, no one will ever love him the way you did. And even worse? He might never get the chance to love you right.

A totally random case. Except fate’s a little bitch sometimes.

Dean’s hands are still steady on the wheel as they roll into the familiar stretch of highway, the one he’s driven on a hundred times before. Same old route. Same old song. But today, it’s different.

He’s back in your town. And he can’t stop thinking about it. About you. About the way it used to be when it was all so simple, when the days didn’t end with him alone in some dingy motel room nursing a drink and an ache he couldn’t name.

The town looks the same. Small, sleepy, but now there’s something off about it. A ghost. Maybe it’s the memory of your face that hits him when he drives past the gas station, or the way your high school’s sign catches the corner of his eye like a knife in his ribs. “Hillside High School. Home of the Tigers.”

It’s been months. So much has happened—hunting, killing, running—but in the back of his mind, it’s always been you. He never planned to be back here. Hell, he didn’t think he’d even want to.

Sam notices his quiet. “You good?”

Dean doesn’t answer right away. He’s watching the road, watching the scenery pass, but inside, his head’s a mess of memories. Every street corner, every building, reminds him of a time he’s been trying to escape. Of a girl who had him wrapped around her finger without him even realizing it.

“Yeah. Just—just thinking about the case,” he mutters, shaking his head like he can shake it off.

Sam eyes him, sensing it. But he doesn’t press. Not yet.

They pull up to the rundown motel a couple of blocks from the high school. Dean’s been here before. A lot of hunters have stayed here. But tonight, it feels wrong. Like there’s something lingering in the air, something he can’t put his finger on. He doesn’t even really know what he’s expecting, maybe you’re gone. Moved on. Maybe you’ve found someone else, someone better.

But when they start talking to locals about the missing kids—another one’s gone, just like the others—the signs hit too close to home. Wendigo. A predator that preys on the vulnerable. It feeds on fear, and it’s been stalking this town for years. But there’s a reason Dean feels like the weight of his own past is here, too. This thing is hunting, and it’s pulling him back to places he’d rather forget.

He tries to focus on the job. They get in the car and drive toward the woods, the night stretching out in front of them like an endless road. Sam reads his books while Dean just stares ahead, the headlights illuminating the thick trees as they head into the brush.

Sam doesn’t ask questions. But he knows something’s off. Dean doesn’t make small talk. Doesn’t joke. Just goes quiet.

“You wanna talk about it?” Sam asks after a beat.

Dean’s jaw tightens. He wants to say no. But that damn ache won’t go away. “Not yet,” he says, as if it’s a choice. But the truth is, it’s because he’s scared. Scared of what seeing you might do to him. Scared of remembering how much he fucked up, how much he lost, how much he messed everything up between the two of you.

“Dude,” Sam said, looking up from his book. “You’ve been staring at the road for a good ten minutes now. You sure you’re okay?”

Dean blinked, his grip on the steering wheel tight. The question wasn’t about the road. It wasn’t about the case. Sam knew that. But he wasn’t asking, so Dean didn’t feel like answering. He didn’t feel like answering anything at all. He just nodded, though, the tired, hollow feeling creeping back into his bones.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just thinking,” he mumbled.

Sam didn’t press. He knew better than to push Dean when he was in one of these moods. The last thing Sam wanted was to get into another argument. But the silence in the car was becoming unbearable. So much so that Dean almost wished for the noise of gunshots or the screeching tires of a hunt to cut through it.

They finally made it to the woods, and the air felt thick, like something was wrong. It wasn’t just the case that was off, it was something else. Dean couldn’t shake the feeling that it was more than just the Wendigo stalking the woods, something about being back here, something about the memory of you, was gnawing at him in a way he couldn’t explain.

They parked by the edge of the woods, the trees looming over them in a way that felt almost like a warning. Dean didn’t really want to be here, but he had a job to do. And Sam, being Sam, was already ready to go.

“Alright, let’s check it out,” Sam said, grabbing his gear and making his way toward the tree line.

Dean followed, his feet heavy as he moved through the underbrush. The moment they stepped into the woods, it was like the world narrowed down to just the rustle of leaves and the crunch of their boots on the ground. The cold air was thick with the scent of pine and something else, something sharper.

Sam looked at Dean, noticing the distant look in his brother’s eyes. “Dean, you good? You’ve been like this since we got here.”

Dean waved him off. “I’m fine, Sammy. Let’s just finish this hunt, alright?”

But Sam wasn’t convinced. He followed Dean closely as they moved deeper into the forest, eyes scanning the area for any sign of the Wendigo. Dean was still quiet, too quiet for someone who normally had a snarky comment or a sarcastic quip ready for anything. Instead, he was tense, shoulders stiff, eyes flicking between the trees, but his mind wasn’t on the hunt.

Dean’s thoughts kept drifting back to you—how he couldn’t shake the memory of your smile, the way you would talk to him when no one was around, the way you’d look at him like he was the only thing in the room. He didn’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, he stopped thinking of you as just a distraction. He stopped thinking of you as just a thing to pass the time when he was feeling lonely. He realized, way too late, that you were someone he couldn’t let go of. But now, months later, you were gone. You had your life. You were moving on. And he was still stuck in the past.

“Dean!” Sam’s voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and urgent.

Dean snapped back to attention. Sam was pointing up ahead, his face tense. There was a rustling sound in the trees, and Dean’s heart kicked up in his chest. They had the Wendigo’s scent—this was it. The thing they’d been chasing for the past few days.

“Get ready,” Dean said, his voice low.

They moved cautiously forward, but as they crept through the trees, the wind shifted, sending a chill down Dean’s spine. He was getting that sense again, the one that felt like something was wrong, like they weren’t alone. His instincts were screaming at him, but he couldn’t figure out why. And then it hit him. It wasn’t just the Wendigo that was haunting him, it was the damn town. It was the memory of you that refused to leave him alone.

“Dean!” Sam called again, louder this time, his voice cutting through the fog of his thoughts. “It’s close. I can feel it.”

Dean snapped out of his reverie and looked up. Sam was pointing toward the thick of the trees, his stance alert, ready. Dean took a deep breath, trying to shake off the nagging feeling at the back of his mind. The Wendigo was close, and they had to end this now.

They spread out, moving in a semicircle around the area where Sam had pointed. Dean’s senses were on high alert, but he was still off. He felt disconnected, his focus blurred. As much as he tried to push the thoughts of you from his mind, they kept circling back, catching him in a loop. He wasn’t ready to confront this. He wasn’t ready to admit how much he had fucked things up.

The Wendigo’s growl sliced through the silence, and they both turned toward the noise. It was quick, fast, too fast. Dean’s breath caught in his throat, his grip tightening around his gun. He glanced at Sam—Sam was ready, but Dean’s head was still half a mile away.

The Wendigo struck first, its hulking form darting out from the darkness of the trees. It was fast, almost too fast, and before Dean could even aim, it was on Sam. Sam struggled, trying to shove the creature off of him, but the Wendigo was overpowering. Dean’s heart hammered in his chest.

“Sam!” Dean shouted, rushing forward.

He pulled Sam out of the creature’s grasp and threw him to the side. The Wendigo’s eyes burned with hunger, and it turned toward him. Dean raised his gun, pulling the trigger without hesitation. The shot rang out through the woods, but it wasn’t enough. The Wendigo barely flinched.

“Shit,” Dean muttered under his breath. “This isn’t working. We need to get it out of the trees.”

Sam was still getting to his feet, but his head snapped up. “We need to lure it out. Into the open. We’ve got to burn it.”

Dean didn’t hesitate this time. He pulled a flare from his jacket and tossed it into the air. The Wendigo followed it, coming closer to the open clearing. But Dean wasn’t prepared for how fast it was. It moved so quickly that it was on him before he could react.

Sam, looking panicked, raised his gun to help, but Dean wasn’t sure they had enough time.

“Sam!” Dean shouted again, just as the Wendigo’s claws scraped across his chest, tearing through his jacket and leaving deep scratches on his skin.

Dean gritted his teeth, his own blood mixing with the dirt on the forest floor. But he couldn’t focus on the pain. He couldn’t focus on anything except the haunting image of you that still burned in his mind.

In the chaos, the Wendigo disappeared back into the trees, disappearing into the darkness, leaving them standing in the clearing, panting, and bruised.

Dean’s eyes were wide as he looked around. “We’re not done yet.”

But Sam’s voice broke through the tension. “Dean. We should have gotten it. Why didn’t it work?”

Dean wasn’t sure how to answer that. He wasn’t sure he cared. The hunt had gone sideways, and deep down, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t just the Wendigo at fault. It wasn’t just the town.

It was him.

It’s a Tuesday night, a little past six. The café’s half-empty and smells like burnt espresso and cheap vanilla candles. Your shift ended a while ago, but you’re still sitting at your usual corner table, sorting through receipts and stuffing tips into a worn envelope. It’s automatic. Repetitive. Easy.

This is life now. Early mornings, split shifts, stacked textbooks you barely crack open between work and exhaustion. You’ve got responsibilities. Deadlines. A half-decent GPA. A car that rattles when you turn too hard. A cat you adopted on impulse and named after some vintage brand. You take care of yourself. You get up on time. You don’t need saving anymore, not even from yourself.

People still ask sometimes, mostly the ones who knew you back when your name was always tied to his in whispers and side-eyes. You give them the same answer every time, all shrug and raised brow and “he left, I didn’t.” And it’s true.

You don’t think about him.

Not really.

You don’t stay up late wondering where he is. You don’t check your phone. You don’t stare at the sky hoping a certain Impala rumbles down your block like some movie moment. You don’t replay the hallway kisses, the sneaking out, the soft “I think I love you’s” that maybe meant more than either of you could admit. That chapter closed. You let it.

You don’t miss him.

But if you’re honest—really honest—there are pieces of him still around. Not ghosts, exactly. More like fingerprints. The way you only ever play rock music when you clean. The old leather jacket shoved in the back of your closet you keep meaning to donate. The exact way your body still tenses when someone new looks at you like they want to love you.

You don’t think about him. You don’t wonder if he thinks about you. You’ve stopped checking rearview mirrors like they hold answers. You’re not that girl anymore.

You’re steadier now. Still sharp, still stubborn. But there’s something calmer in you. A version that doesn’t flinch at loss, that learned how to stand still after the earthquake.

You close your notebook, sling your bag over your shoulder, and head out. The sky’s already dim, and the air’s colder than it should be. You tuck your hands into your sleeves, look both ways, and keep walking.

He could drive past you right now and you wouldn’t even blink.

At least, that’s what you thought about the whole situation about two weeks ago. That he was gone. That you were over it. That it was done.

Right now?

You don’t fucking know anymore.

It all started with the disappearances.

A string of them, spreading like a disease through the edge of town. First it was just rumors. A girl from the gas station never clocked out. Then a couple who never came home from a hike. Then a jogger. Then a teenager. All scattered. No pattern. Nothing official yet—just whispers, Facebook posts, people saying “weird shit’s happening again.”

You wouldn’t have paid much attention. You’ve got enough to worry about; rent due next week, your boss lowkey threatening to cut your hours. You’re not the kind of girl who investigates missing people. You’re not the hero.

Despite all the warnings being everywhere, that road back home was your favorite. It’s not like you’re trying to look for trouble.

You just like driving.

That’s what you tell yourself, anyway, when the clock hits midnight and the roads are empty and you’re still wide awake. The woods outside of town are quiet, wrapped in that weird fog that clings to the trees like it knows something you don’t. You roll your windows up, keep the music low. Lock the doors.

Because people are going missing.

And sure, the news is calling it an “unidentified serial assailant” like that makes any fucking sense. Like that explains how a guy goes out for a smoke break and never comes back, or how hikers are disappearing without a single goddamn trace. The whole town’s on edge. People cancel their camping trips. Parents are picking kids up from school again. Neighborhood watch groups are back from the dead.

And still—you drive.

Because your car’s safe. It’s familiar. It smells like old perfume and a vanilla air freshener that died six months ago. It’s got a blanket in the backseat and a stun gun in the glovebox and you know every dent in the body like freckles on skin.

And maybe you like the quiet. The way it wraps around you like static. Or maybe it’s the hum of the engine, something you can actually control. Maybe it’s just better than sitting still. Better than thinking about the way everything feels off lately. Like you’ve got this bruise under your skin that hasn’t shown up yet, but it’s coming.

If fate was trying to fuck you over, it clearly succeeded. Like, got-on-its-knees-and-sucked-the-life-outta-you succeeded.

Because now? Your car; your safe, cozy, emotionally supportive, trauma-bonded little shitbox—has died. Just flatlined in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, on a stretch of road so dark it might as well be the inside of Satan’s asshole.

And you’re sitting there, jaw clenched, hands still gripping the wheel like you can will the engine back to life through sheer rage alone. Spoiler alert: You can’t.

“Fucking perfect,” you mutter, slamming your palm against the dashboard like it’s personally responsible for the betrayal. “This is literally how every slasher movie starts. Bimbo breaks down in the woods and next thing you know, she’s running in heels while Jason or whatever the fuck chases her down with a machete.”

You’re not even wearing heels, but that’s beside the point.

It’s late. Like, witching hour late. The kind of late where time feels fake and the air is too still and every rustle outside sounds like a serial killer doing yoga.

Your phone has one bar, because of course it fucking does, and it’s doing that thing where it decides if it wants to work or not like it’s the main character. The headlights flicker once before going completely dark, and that’s when your heart does this little Olympic-level somersault.

“Nope,” you whisper to yourself. “Absolutely the fuck not.”

But you still glance out the window. Of course you do.

Because that’s human nature, right? You hear something in the dark and your dumb monkey brain goes, hey let’s look! instead of let’s run and maybe don’t die today.

And yeah, there’s movement in the trees. Just a flicker. Just enough to make your blood run cold and your stomach drop into your ass. You lock the doors. Instinct. As if that’ll do anything against whatever’s out there.

And you sit there in silence, breathing too loud, trying to convince yourself that it was nothing. That the fog’s playing tricks. That you’re not in the beginning of some twisted-ass Final Destination reboot.

Still, you reach for the glovebox. Your fingers brush the stun gun.

“Fuck around and find out,” you mutter under your breath, staring into the dark like it owes you money.

But deep down, something’s shifting. A feeling you can’t quite name. A pull. Like maybe you are being watched. Like maybe something’s coming. And you’re not sure if you’re more afraid… or curious.

Because suddenly—out of the silence—there’s a knock on your window.

Your soul leaves your body.

Like, you genuinely think that’s it. You died. Slasher movie confirmed. This is where the creepy guy with a skin mask gut-punches you through the window and drags your corpse into the woods.

You grab the stun gun, turn like a fucking warrior, and—

“Woah!” the guy flinches, hands in the air, eyes wide like a scared Golden Retriever. “Easy! I come in peace, I swear.”

He’s tall. Like, stupidly tall. The kind of tall that makes you immediately suspicious. What the hell are you doing out here, you lanky cryptic? And worse, he’s kind of hot. In that “I’m majoring in philosophy and listen to too much Radiohead” way. He’s got shaggy hair, a soft jawline, and dimples. Dimples.

��Who the fuck are you?” you ask, stun gun still aimed like your life depends on it.

“I—uh—it’s Sam.”

You blink.

“Sam who?”

“Sam… Winchester?” he says, like it should mean something.

It does. But your brain short-circuits trying to process it. Because last time you saw Sam Winchester, he was a shy lil freshman with floppy hair and a backpack that weighed more than he did.

This? This is a man. A whole-ass man. With a broad chest and long legs and the voice of someone who listens to NPR and probably knows how to change a tire.

“You’re not Sam,” you say slowly. “You’re—like, Sam’s older cousin or some shit.”

He laughs. “Nope. Just puberty.”

You lower the stun gun a little. “Damn. You hit the genetic lottery hard, huh?”

“Dean always said I was a late bloomer,” Sam says, smirking. “Guess he wasn’t wrong.”

And that name? Yeah, that one lands like a motherfucking missile in your chest.

Dean.

Your heart lurches. Your vision blurs just for a second. And then—you hear it.

“Jesus, Sammy, did you find the—”

You freeze. Because that voice. That deep, cocky, gravel-dipped-in-sex voice, you’d know it anywhere.

Your stomach drops as Dean Winchester appears out of the darkness, flashlight in hand, leather jacket slung over one shoulder like he just walked out of a goddamn CW poster.

He’s older. Sharper. Still hot as hell. His hair is shorter, jaw scruffier, and his eyes—God, those eyes—land on you like a freight train.

And the moment he sees you?

He stops in his tracks. Silent. Stunned. Like he’s just seen a ghost.

You, meanwhile, are malfunctioning. Fully. Completely. Brain buffering like a 2003 Dell computer. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you mumble, shoving the stun gun into your purse. “What is this, romantic horror plot twist hour?”

Dean blinks, steps forward like he’s not sure you’re real. “You…”

“Yup,” you cut him off, crossing your arms. “Me. Not dead. You know—despite the whole you disappearing without a word thing.”

“Okay,” Sam says, backing away slowly like he just walked into the middle of a soap opera and wants no part of it. “I’m gonna… check the perimeter.”

You shoot him a thumbs up. “Cool. Don’t get murdered.”

Dean steps closer, careful. Like you’re a deer about to bolt.

“You okay?” he asks, voice softer now.

You glare. “Oh, now you care?”

He flinches. Just a bit. Just enough for your heart to ache and your blood to boil. There’s so much to say. So many things clawing at your throat. Instead, you just glare at Dean. “You have the audacity to show up after vanishing like a goddamn ghost? After everything?”

He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s complicated.”

“No, it’s not,” you snap. “You left. No calls. No texts. You just disappeared, Dean. Like I was a fucking pit stop.”

His jaw ticks. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then explain,” you say, arms crossed, chest tight. “Please. Enlighten me. What excuse are we using tonight? You joined the CIA? Witness protection? Secret modeling career in Milan?”

Dean opens his mouth. Then closes it.

Of course. No answer. Just that look. Like he regrets it. Like he missed you. Like he still wants you. But you’ve spent months scraping yourself off the floor. You’ve moved on. You have a job. A life.

You clear your throat. “So, what? You two creep through the woods saving damsels in distress now?” you snort, despite yourself. “Can either of you fix a car, or am I gonna have to start walking like I’m in a fucking ‘Final Destination’ movie?”

Dean softens. “I can fix it.”

“Cool,” you mutter. “Because if something kills me out here, I’m haunting your ass.”

Dean looks at you for a moment longer, like he’s memorizing the way your mouth moves, like he’s trying to piece together the version of you he left behind with the one standing in front of him now.

And something in you aches. But you’re not letting that out. Not tonight. Not yet.

“Fine,” you sigh, finally stepping back. “Fix my car, Winchester.”

He gives a half-smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

And just like that, you’re back in the woods with Dean.

Only this time, you’re not the same girl who fell for him. And he’s not the same boy who broke your heart. Not that you know the half of what’s really going on… yet.

But fate?

Yeah. That bitch is cooking.

Dean’s underneath your hood, fiddling with wires and muttering curses under his breath like the car personally offended him. You’re pacing nearby, arms crossed, eyes flicking between him and the surrounding trees like something might jump out.

He glances up once. Then again. Finally, he slams the hood shut and sighs. “Alright,” he says, avoiding your eyes. “It’s not gonna run tonight. Your alternator’s toast.”

You blink. “You just made that up.”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Point is, you’re not driving out of here.”

You narrow your eyes. “So what, I camp out in my car? Roast marshmallows? Wait for Bigfoot to come tuck me in?”

Dean’s jaw tightens. “You can’t stay out here.”

“Oh really? Why not? Planning on murdering me, Dean? Huh? You and Sasquatch over there gonna toss me in a ditch?”

He laughs— dry, tired. “You always did have a flair for the dramatic.”

You step closer. “Then tell me. What’s so dangerous about sitting in a car on a backroad for a night? I’ve done dumber shit.”

He’s quiet. Too quiet.

You watch his face, and something in his expression shifts,!like he’s doing math in his head, like he’s weighing what he can say without cracking open a whole world you’re not ready for.

“I just—” he sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “I shouldn’t’ve left. Back then. I know I fucked up.”

You pause. He’s not looking at you. You don’t know if he can.

“I wanted to stay. I wanted to tell you everything, but…” he trails off, glancing toward the trees. “I couldn’t. You wouldn’t have believed it anyway.”

Your heart kicks a little faster. “Try me.”

He laughs again, sharp this time. “Yeah. Not tonight.”

You scoff, stepping away. “You’re still the same. Still full of bullshit.”

“No,” he says suddenly, voice rough. “I’m full of regret, okay? That’s what I’m full of.”

You stop.

He steps closer now, slowly. “You were the only good thing I had in that place. And I left you. And that’s on me.” You stare at him, blinking hard. You don’t know what to say. But apparently, Dean’s tapped out of honesty for the night. He shakes his head and steps back.

“You can’t sleep out here,” he says, quieter now. “Just… come with us. I’ll take you home. I’ll even drop you off a block away if you wanna pretend we never ran into each other.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And why, exactly, can’t I stay out here?”

He hesitates. Then shrugs. “Bears.”

You snort. “Bears?”

“Big ones,” Sam chimes in from behind you, voice way too serious for the dumb lie. “Like. The size of minivans.”

You blink between them. “You guys suck at this.”

Dean grins faintly, and for a second, you almost remember what it felt like to laugh with him, to kiss him, to fall asleep tangled up in limbs and leather and whispered jokes in the dark.

And damn it all, maybe you are a little tired. A little scared. The woods really are way too quiet. So you sigh and open the passenger door. “You better not be kidnapping me.”

Dean raises both hands. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout.”

“Not with that attitude.”

He helps you in like the gentleman he only sometimes pretended to be, and as you settle into the seat of his car—the same one that used to smell like pine and danger and home—you tell yourself it’s just a ride.

You’re not falling for anything. Not again.

But your heart doesn’t get the memo.

The engine hums low beneath you, and the road ahead is all shadows and fog and unanswered questions. Dean clears his throat. Doesn’t look at you. “So… where am I taking you?”

You turn your head real slow.

“You used to know that,” you mutter. Not even looking at him. Just staring out the passenger window like the trees are more interesting than this emotional landmine of a ride.

Sam, in the backseat, freezes like he can feel the silent explosion about to detonate. He shifts awkwardly, adjusting his bag or maybe just trying to phase into the upholstery like please do not involve me in this straight-people argument from hell.

Dean swallows hard. Knuckles white on the wheel. “Yeah. Well. Things change.”

You scoff under your breath. “No shit.”

The silence rolls back in like a thundercloud. Sam coughs. You swear the poor kid looks like he wants to roll down the window and just tumble out at 40 mph.

You finally, finally rattle off your address, staring out the window still, because eye contact? In this car? No thanks. Not unless you wanna start sobbing or throwing punches.

Dean hums low in his throat, like he’s filing the info away with all the other things he’s tried so hard to forget but never really could. You notice the way his jaw tightens, the way he shifts in his seat like his leather’s suddenly choking him.

You don’t say anything. Neither does he.

You pass that old corner store you both used to walk to late at night, that gas station where you’d steal snacks and dare each other to drink the weird canned “energy beer,” the back alley where you kissed for the first time and nearly got caught—where he whispered you were the only thing in this town that didn’t suck.

You’re not crying. You’re not. Dean clicks on the radio, but it’s just static. He shuts it off again. Sam glances between you two, then sighs and mutters, “I’m gonna pretend to be asleep.”

Dean snorts quietly. You try not to smile.

But that ache in your chest? It’s still there. And it’s not going anywhere.

He pulls up in front of your house. The porch light is on. Everything looks the same. But you don’t feel the same. Not at all. You reach for the door handle.

“Wait,” Dean says.

You freeze.

He finally turns to look at you. His eyes are softer than you expected. Tired. Full of something like guilt, maybe even love, but you don’t know anymore. You don’t trust yourself with the maybe’s.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “For everything.”

You just nod. Quiet. Because if you talk now, you’ll unravel. Then you open the door, step out, and shut it behind you. You glance back. Dean’s still parked there. Still watching. Still waiting for something.

And then it just hits you. Fuck it.

You walk back down the steps, barefoot on the cold concrete, heart pounding like you’re in one of those dumbass rom-coms you used to make fun of but secretly watched on repeat. You march right up to his window, lean down just enough to see that stunned look on his face, and say it before you can even stop yourself:

“Stay.”

That’s it. One word. Like you’re offering him a life sentence and a second chance in the same breath.

And oh he’s already fucking moving. No hesitation. His hand flies to the keys, yanks them out of the ignition like they’ve personally offended him, then turns to his stunned little brother and just chucks them into Sam’s lap.

“Drive back to the motel,” he says, breathless. Eyes never even leaving yours. “I’ll get back later.”

Sam blinks. Looks down at the keys in his hand like they’re a ticking bomb. “Dude. I don’t even have a license.”

Dean just shrugs, already halfway out of the car, slamming the door behind him like it owes him money. “Guess tonight’s the night, then.”

“You’re gonna let me—?”

But Dean’s already walking toward you, like nothing else exists. And Sam’s left in the car, holding the keys, yelling out the window, “WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO IF I GET PULLED OVER?!”

Dean doesn’t answer. He’s already at your side. Close. Real close. And for a second, neither of you say a damn thing. You just look up at him. He looks down at you like he’s still catching up. Like you knocked the air out of him.

Then you turn back to your door, heart thudding, pulse in your throat, and whisper: “Well? You coming in, or what?”

Dean follows. Of course he does.

Behind you, Sam yells something about how “This is a federal offense!” as the Impala peels off down the street.

Neither of you care.

The door slams behind you both, cutting off the world outside. The air between you and Dean is thick—charged with a type of tension that feels like it could snap at any second. You feel like your chest is on fire, and it’s his fault. It’s always been him.

You stand there, your back straight, but your eyes never leave his. He’s staring at you, all intense, all brooding, like he’s got every damn answer on the tip of his tongue, and you just want to slap it out of him.

“You think you can just waltz in here, after everything?” Your voice is cold, sharp. “You think you can just walk back in after you fucking vanished without a word?”

Dean doesn’t move, but you can see the muscle in his jaw twitch. The anger is there, simmering behind his eyes, but you’re not letting up. Not this time.

“You don’t get to act like I’m the only one who fucked up,” he grinds out, voice rough. “You think it’s easy? You think I wanted to leave?”

Your lips curl into a bitter smirk, the anger flowing through you like adrenaline.

“Well, you sure as hell didn’t make it hard for me to think you didn’t want to leave. You didn’t leave a damn note, Dean. You didn’t give me anything. Not a reason. Not a goodbye. Just—“ you make a motion with your hands, a little dramatic, because you feel it “—just gone.”

Dean’s face tightens. He looks like he might snap, his chest rising and falling with every breath. But he holds it in, just barely. He takes a step forward, like he’s trying to hold it back, but you can feel it in the way the tension in the room thickens. He’s not about to give you the satisfaction of making him crack—but you’re pushing him. And you know you’re doing it on purpose.

“I didn’t leave because I wanted to hurt you, alright?” His voice drops lower, darker, as he steps closer. “I left because I’m a goddamn mess, okay? You want honesty? Here it is. I can’t give you what you need. I can’t be what you deserve.”

You swallow hard. It stings. It stings because somewhere in that mess, you still want him. But you’re not going to let him have that power. Not this time.

“So, what? You just thought I’d forget?” You step closer, your body tight with rage. “Forget the way you made me feel? Forget the way you walked out and left me, without a damn word, after everything we had?” You poke his chest, hard, pushing against him like you’re daring him to move. “You think I’m some fool? Some girl you can just drop and pick up when it’s convenient for you?”

Dean’s hand snaps out, grabbing your wrist in a firm grip. His touch is hard, desperate, like he’s trying to hold onto something, anything, before it all falls apart.

You can feel the heat in his palm, the electricity coursing through you, and despite everything, despite the fury boiling in your veins, your body reacts. You try to pull away, but he’s not letting you. He’s not done with this. Not by a long shot.

“You think I wanted this?” Dean’s voice is raw now, almost broken. His lips are barely an inch from yours, his breath hot against your skin. “You think I didn’t think about you every goddamn day? You think I didn’t miss you?”

It’s like he’s cracking, breaking open, and for a second you almost feel bad for him. Almost. But not enough to stop.

You shove him back, hard, until your bodies are separated. You’re panting, your chest heaving. His eyes flicker with that spark again, and before you can say anything else, before you can stop yourself, you grab the front of his shirt, yank him down, and slam your lips against his.

This isn’t sweet. This isn’t gentle. This is aggressive, needy, filled with all the years of pent-up frustration and yearning. His lips are rough against yours, his hands on your body, pushing you into him like he’s trying to prove something. And God, you kiss him back with everything you’ve got—because despite everything, you fucking missed him. Missed the way he could make you feel like you were the only person in the room, even when he was hurting you.

His hands are everywhere now, pulling you closer, his mouth moving against yours like he’s trying to claim you, like he never left. You can taste the anger, the hunger, the desperation on his tongue. The kiss is heated, frantic, almost violent, as if he’s trying to erase the distance between you, trying to pull you back to where you were.

But you can’t let it happen that easily. Not this time. You break the kiss, gasping for air, and you push him away again, harder this time, until you feel the cold air hit your skin. You’re pissed, still angry, but there’s a part of you that’s conflicted, torn between wanting to scream at him and wanting to drag him back into your arms.

You stand there, chest heaving, heart pounding, as the room swallows up the words you want to say. But something is gnawing at you, deep in your gut. It’s like a weight pressing down on your chest, and for a moment, you almost forget where you are, who you are.

Suddenly, everything feels familiar. Too familiar. The anger. The frustration. That stupid ache in your chest that’s never really gone away. You can taste it again—the bitterness, the sweet sharpness of betrayal, the familiar tug of wanting something that you know you shouldn’t.

For a split second, you’re back there. You’re back in high school again. Back when everything was so much simpler, but you were so fucking naive. Back when it was all about him. Back when he made you feel like you were the only person who mattered in the world, just to walk away when it suited him.

God, you hated him. You hated him for the way he made you feel. The way he made you think you were special, only to leave you on your own when the world got too hard for him to handle. You hated the way he made you believe you were the one thing he cared about, then shattered it all, like it was nothing.

And you’re standing here now, looking at him, feeling all that shit flood back in. You can’t escape it, no matter how much you try.

He’s right in front of you, still breathing heavily, eyes searching yours, and you can feel the anger bubbling up again. But this time, it’s different. It’s not just anger. It’s something deeper. Something darker. Something you thought you buried.

You stand there, staring at him, and suddenly, you’re not sure who you are anymore. The lines between then and now blur, and all you feel is that gnawing emptiness. Like you’ve never left high school. Like you’ve never escaped that shitty reality where he always has a way of worming his way back into your life, making you question everything, just to leave you to clean up the mess he left behind.

For a second, you want to scream. You want to tell him to leave. To get out. To stay away. But instead, all you do is shake your head, because it’s not that simple. It never was.

“You’re still the same, Dean.” Your voice comes out sharper than you intended, but it’s the truth. The truth you’ve been running from. “I thought I was done with you. Thought I was over it, but you—” You cut yourself off, throwing your hands up in frustration, the tears threatening to spill but not quite making it. “You’re the same. And I’m still here, feeling like a fucking fool, thinking you’ve changed.”

Dean flinches, like the words hit harder than anything you’ve said before. But he doesn’t back off. He just stands there, a flicker of something—guilt?—passing through his eyes.

You want to scream again. You want to throw something. You want to hit him. Because goddamn, you do feel like that girl again. That girl who thought maybe, just maybe, there could be a happy ending. But there’s no happy ending here. Not with him.

“I hate you.” The words slip out before you can stop them. The venom in your voice is pure, raw, something that’s been building up for months, for years. The weight of it all settles in your chest, but this time, it feels… right. For once, you let yourself feel it.

Dean stands still, like he’s been struck. But you don’t care. Not anymore.

“I hate you, and I hate what you’ve made me. I hate the way I keep coming back. I hate that I still want you, even after all the shit you’ve pulled.”

You’re not even sure what you expect him to do. Maybe you want him to argue back. To fight you. To make it worse so you can get it all out.

But Dean doesn’t say anything. Not a word. He just watches you, eyes dark with something you can’t quite place. And that’s the worst part. He doesn’t say anything, because he knows. He knows you’re right.

And that just makes everything worse.

You want to leave. You want to walk out of the room, slam the door behind you, and forget this night ever happened. But you don’t. You can’t.

“You think you can just walk back in here and fix it all, don’t you?” Your voice cracks, but you don’t care. “Well, you can’t. You can’t fix this, Dean. You never could.”

And then, for a brief moment, he looks like he’s about to say something. Like he’s about to finally say the thing that’s been stuck in his throat all this time. But he doesn’t. Instead, he turns away, hands clenching into fists by his side.

The air between you two is thick, suffocating. You’re shaking with all the anger, the frustration, the hurt, and before you even realize what’s happening, you raise your hand, the slap coming from nowhere, stinging like fire across his face.

The sound echoes through the room, and for a second, everything freezes. You both stand there, chest heaving, as the tension holds its grip.

Dean’s eyes flicker, a sharp breath escaping him as his cheek reddens. For a moment, it feels like you’ve done something irreversible. But instead of backing away, instead of flinching in anger, something shifts. His gaze softens—something almost painfully familiar—and the bastard mutters a curse under his breath, like he’s trying to push down the feelings you’ve just thrown at him.

But you don’t care. You want him to feel it. You want him to feel the sting of everything he’s done.

And that’s when it happens.

“Baby,” he says, voice low, his eyes locking onto yours, the softness in his tone almost cutting through you like a knife. “Baby, I didn’t mean—” But he doesn’t get to finish. He doesn’t get to explain himself this time. You’ve heard it all before, and you’re so fucking tired of it.

Before you can stop yourself, the anger twists into something different—something desperate. You feel the lump in your throat. You hate yourself for feeling this way. You hate how much you still care, how much his stupid voice can break you.

Your hands are trembling as you step forward, and you don’t even think twice. You grab his collar and yank him towards you, smashing your lips into his again. The kiss is hungry, frantic, everything you’ve been holding in for so long pouring out all at once. His lips meet yours with the same fiery intensity, pulling you closer as if he can’t stand the space between you.

And then, you feel it. His hands, on your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as if he’s trying to wipe away the years of hurt. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t hesitate. He kisses you back like he’s starving, like he’s been waiting for this moment just as much as you have.

But then, as quickly as it started, the kiss breaks. You both pull away, breathless, eyes wide and filled with something too complicated to name.

And that’s when you feel it, your body trembling in his arms, that lump in your throat finally giving way to the overwhelming rush of emotion. The tears spill down your face, hot and raw, and you let out a shaky breath. It’s not just anger anymore. It’s everything. It’s the hurt and the longing, the betrayal and the love you can’t seem to erase.

“Fuck,” you whisper, your voice cracking as you bury your face in his chest, unable to look at him. You hate that you’ve let him back in. You hate that you still want him. But you can’t stop it. Not now. Not when everything feels so damn broken.

Dean doesn’t say anything, but you feel his arms wrap around you tightly, holding you against him like he’s afraid you’ll slip away again. His fingers run through your hair, gentle this time, as if he’s trying to comfort you in ways that words can’t reach.

“Shh, baby. It’s okay,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice thick with something that almost sounds like regret, like guilt.

But you can’t look at him. Not right now. Not when you don’t even know what this is anymore. You don’t know what he wants, what you want, or where the hell you’re supposed to go from here. All you know is that you’ve just made a mess of everything—and you don’t even know if you can fix it.

But for now, for this moment, you let him hold you. Let him whisper empty promises into your hair. Let him kiss your forehead like it’s all going to be okay. And maybe, just maybe, you can convince yourself to believe it.

You pull back from his chest, his warmth still lingering on your skin like a cruel reminder of everything you lost and everything you still fucking want. Your lips are swollen, your breath shaky, and your heart? Yeah, it’s a goddamn wreck. You look up at him through tear-blurred eyes, mascara streaked and bottom lip trembling.

“Why?” you breathe, voice small, barely holding itself together. But it cuts through the air like a scream. “Why the fuck did you leave?”

Dean opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Just air. Like he’s trying to think of a lie that doesn’t sound like one. His jaw clenches, his hand still cupping your face, but you flinch away from it now. Because no, not this time. You need answers. Not touches.

“Just fucking say something,” you snap, wiping your face angrily with the sleeve of your hoodie. “Was it me? Did I scare you off? Or was it just a game, Dean? Get the bitchy girl to fall in love with you and then bounce?”

He runs a hand through his hair, backing up a step like he needs space to breathe, and it makes you feel sick. “It wasn’t like that,” he says, and it’s almost a whisper. Like he can’t even handle his own voice.

“Then what was it?” you yell now, all that composure just snapping like a cheap string. “What was so important you couldn’t say goodbye? That you couldn’t—fuck, that you couldn’t even send a text?”

You’re sobbing now. Like ugly, gasping, can’t breathe sobs, and Dean looks like he’s about to fall apart himself. His hands twitch like he wants to pull you back in, hold you again, but he knows better.

“I couldn’t stay,” he says finally, and his voice breaks in the middle of it. He looks at you like you’re the only real thing in the room, and it’s killing him. “I wanted to. You have no idea how much. But my life… it’s not normal. I’m not normal.”

You blink at him through the tears. “What does that even mean?”

He hesitates. You can see it. The truth threatening to fall off his lips and then; slam. Door closed. Shut tight. Locked away. “I can’t tell you,” he says. Quiet. Final. Like it’s some kind of goddamn death sentence.

Your body stiffens. “Then why are you here now?”

He swallows hard. “Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Because every time I closed my eyes, it was your voice. Your laugh. Your fucking lip gloss. I thought I could bury it, but I can’t. I tried to forget you and all I did was miss you.”

You laugh through the sobs. A broken, bitter sound.

“And what? You just thought you’d show up and what—pick up where we left off? Like I didn’t break after you left?”

He looks like he’s in hell. “No. I didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect any of it. I just…”

He trails off again. Because there’s nothing else to say. Not really. You wipe your face again, your hands trembling. Everything hurts. Your chest. Your head. Your heart.

You turn toward the window, needing to breathe, needing space, because this is too much. All of it.

And behind you, Dean whispers, almost too softly to hear, “I never stopped loving you.”

You don’t even realize the words are about to fall out of your mouth until you’re already saying them.

“I love you too, Dean.”

It’s quiet. But not soft. It’s not some shy little whisper—it’s a punch to the gut, raw and bruised and real. The words scrape your throat on their way out because you’ve held them in for too fucking long.

Dean freezes like you just shot him. He stares at you, eyes wide, breath hitched, hands slightly lifted like he’s afraid to touch you unless he knows you mean it.

You mean it.

Your voice is shaky when you say it again, but firmer this time. “I love you, you asshole. I loved you even when I hated you. I fucking missed you. And I shouldn’t. God, I shouldn’t—but I do.”

And then he’s on you.

It’s not gentle. It’s not careful. It’s years of anger, confusion, lust, longing, and heartbreak shoved into a kiss that feels more like a fight. His mouth crashes into yours, hot and desperate, teeth clashing, hands gripping like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he blinks. Your back hits the wall, the coat rack rattles, and you swear you feel the whole damn house shake when his hips press flush against yours.

“You have no idea what you fucking do to me,” he growls against your neck, biting just a little too hard, and you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders. “You think I forgot? You think I didn’t think about this—about you—every goddamn night?”

Your shirt’s off. You don’t even remember how. His hands are everywhere—gripping your thighs, your waist, palming your ass like it belongs to him, like he’s trying to remind himself it’s real.

“You left,” you breathe, tearing at his belt, voice cracking. “You left me, and I still wanted you.”

“I know, baby,” he whispers like it’s killing him. “I know. I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you. Let me show you.”

He carries you to the couch like you weigh nothing, like he’s carried you before in his dreams a hundred fucking times. And when he lays you down, it’s not rushed. Not now. His kisses slow down—deeper, messier. Like he’s savoring it. Like he’s starving.

Clothes hit the floor. Your breath hitches as his fingers trail down your stomach, lazy and teasing. You whimper, hips lifting on instinct.

“Still so fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, dragging his lips across your chest. “Still mine.”

And yeah, you should argue. You should push him away. But you don’t.

Because maybe he is yours, too.

When he finally sinks into you, it’s like everything breaks loose. He groans low in your ear, your back arches, and you cling to him like he’s the only thing anchoring you to this world. Every movement is thick with tension and need and fucking relief. Like all this pain finally has somewhere to go.

He whispers your name like a prayer between every thrust. Kisses the tears off your cheeks even while you’re gasping into his mouth.

It’s slow and rough and so full of love it hurts.

And when you both fall apart, clinging to each other, bodies shaking, he doesn’t let go. Not even for a second. His arms wrap around you like a shield, like he’s never letting you out of them again.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, pressing his lips to your temple.

And for the first time in a long, long time, you believe him.

Sunlight filters in through the half-open blinds, painting lazy stripes across the floor and your tangled sheets. The house is quiet. Still. Heavy with that early morning silence that feels like the world’s holding its breath.

You feel him before you see him, his arm still loosely slung around your waist, chest pressed to your back, legs tangled with yours under the blanket. His breathing is deep, steady. Slower than usual. Like even in sleep, he’s trying to drag this moment out for as long as he can.

You don’t move for a while. You just stay there. Let yourself feel his warmth, the scratch of his stubble against your neck, the weight of his arm around you like it was never supposed to be gone.

But eventually, he shifts.

You feel it in the way his fingers twitch, in the sigh he lets out before gently pressing a kiss to the back of your shoulder. His grip tightens for a second, like he’s considering staying right here, like this.

Then he sits up.

You roll over slowly, propping yourself up on your elbow, watching as he pulls his jeans on, the leather jacket slung over the chair nearby. It hits you all over again—he’s still Dean Winchester. Wild, unpredictable, never really yours.

He turns to look at you, hair a mess, eyes heavy with sleep and something softer. “I gotta go check on something,” he says, voice low and gravelly. “Won’t be long.”

You sit up, tug the sheets around you like they’ll protect you from what you’re about to say. “Please don’t disappear again.”

He stops dead in his tracks.

For a second, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Then he kneels by the bed, cupping your face with both hands, thumbs brushing just under your eyes.

“I won’t,” he murmurs, and he means it so hard it hurts to look at him. “I swear. I’m coming back.”

Your lip trembles, and he leans in, presses a kiss to your forehead so gentle it makes your chest ache. One more to the tip of your nose. Then your mouth.

He lingers there, noses brushing, his hand cupping your cheek like you’re fragile and holy.

“Lock the door when I go,” he says, smirking a little, even though his eyes don’t match. “And don’t do anything stupid.”

“Too late,” you whisper.

He grins. Kisses you again—deeper, like a promise.

Then he’s gone.

And you’re left with nothing but the scent of him on your pillow and the hope that this time, he meant it.

You immediately text Amber, because duh. This is huge news,

The Skype call rings three times before Amber’s pixelated face pops up on your screen, messy bun perched like a crown of chaos, face mask half dried, and a bag of Hot Cheetos in hand.

She doesn’t even say hello.

“WHAT. THE FUCK.”

You flinch back from the camera. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

Amber gasps like you just murdered her puppy. “Don’t ‘sunshine’ me, you man-stealing whore—I say that with love—but WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT. WHAT THE FUCK. BITCH.”

You bite back a smile, sipping your lukewarm coffee. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

Amber squints like she’s trying to burn the truth out of you. “Dean. Winchester. Is in your bedroom. With your ugly ass curtain pattern. After WEEKS of you being like, ‘Oh I hate him. Oh I’m soooo over it. Oh I don’t even think about him anymore.’ BITCH YOU LIED.”

You break. Start laughing. Like full-on, hiding-your-face, can’t-breathe laughing.

Amber throws a Hot Cheeto at her camera. “Don’t laugh, bitch! I’ve been INVESTED. This was supposed to be enemies to lovers to you key his car. And now you’re telling me it’s bedhead to forehead kisses? NUH UH.”

You’re still giggling, but your cheeks hurt and your chest’s doing that dumb flutter thing because she’s right. She always is. Even when she’s dramatic.

“Okay, okay,” you breathe. “We didn’t plan it. He just—he showed up, and the car broke down, and then—”

Amber cuts you off with the fakest gasp you’ve ever heard. “YOU HAD A CAR-BROKE-DOWN MOMENT? You absolute rom-com-ass disaster.”

You flop back against your pillows, groaning. “I hate you.”

She snorts. “You love me. Now tell me, was the sex as good as I think it was? Because you look GLOWY.”

“Amber—”

“You’re glowing like you got baptized in dick. Start talking.”

You groan, but the stupid grin is permanent. “Amber, I swear to God—”

“No no no. You don’t get to play shy, not after making me listen to you sob over him for months. You cried about his jawline once, bitch. Now he’s biting your neck and whispering ‘baby’ or some shit like that and you expect me to be calm?!”

You flop back dramatically. “I’m unwell. He had me begging.”

Amber’s face goes blank. “Begging?”

You just nod.

She deadpans. “I’m actually gonna throw myself off a building. So you’re telling me he said nothing and just looked at you with those fucking green eyes and you turned into a slutty Victorian ghost?”

You cover your face. “Stoppppp.”

“No. Because you’ve ruined me. Now I need therapy and a cigarette, and I don’t even smoke.”

You peek through your fingers. “To be fair… he was like—rough. But soft? Like, he kissed me like he was starving but also like I was porcelain. Then he said my name all slow like I was his last prayer.”

Amber lets out a squeal so loud the audio distorts.

“I can’t even look at you right now,” she gasps. “He came and left like a damn fever dream. Who even is this man?”

You bite your lip, soft for a second. “I think… I still love him.”

Amber’s eyes go soft. Just for a second.

Then she snaps back. “Okay but did he pull your hair or was he more of a neck-grab kinda guy—”

You launch the pillow at your laptop.

It’s been two weeks.

Two weeks of Dean pulling into your driveway at impossible hours of the night, headlights off, that Impala purring like a secret. Two weeks of whispered “you up?” texts that you pretend to be annoyed by but answer in less than three seconds. Two weeks of him slipping through your window like a goddamn teenage cliché and leaving before sunrise, the scent of leather and cologne still trapped in your sheets.

But it’s not just sex. Not even close.

He started bringing you shitty gas station coffee in the middle of the night like he remembered how you take it. One night, you made the mistake of joking that you liked the taste of his toothpaste more. The next time he showed up? Spare toothbrush. Minty.

It’s the little things, the soft things, that are ruining you.

Like how he kisses your shoulder when he thinks you’re asleep. Or how he runs his thumb along your knuckles when your fingers are tangled together. Or the way he looks at you when you’re not looking at him, like he’s memorizing you for when he has to disappear again.

Because he still won’t say what he’s doing. Where he goes during the day. Why he always seems tired, a little bruised, a little wrecked in ways he won’t explain. You asked once. He kissed you until you forgot the question.

Sometimes he talks in his sleep. You caught him murmuring Sam’s name once, and something about “silver bullets.” You pretend you didn’t hear it.

But the truth is? You’re getting used to the ache. To the waiting. To the quiet rhythm of loving someone you never really have all to yourself.

And he’s trying. In his own broken way, Dean is trying. He leaves notes sometimes—ripped-up scraps of napkins or receipts stuffed under your pillow. Dumb shit like: “You snore.” or “You looked cute yelling at that barista.” or “I dreamt about you again.”

You keep every single one.

The sneaking around, the secrecy, the tension? It only makes everything burn hotter. One minute you’re arguing about his distance, the next you’re pinned to the kitchen counter, biting back moans so the neighbors don’t call the cops again.

But underneath the heat, there’s this hum of something worse—inevitable. You can feel it in the way he pulls you closer but never says why he has to keep leaving. Why he won’t just stay.

You don’t ask anymore.

But you’re starting to wonder if you’re just the pit stop. The safe place he gets to rest before the road takes him again. And you’re starting to wonder how many times you can let him go before your heart stops letting him come back.

It starts stupid. Like everything between you two.

You’re in his lap, legs over his thighs, half-eating half-throwing popcorn at his face while a shitty horror movie plays in the background. His flannel’s on you, because of course it is—he showed up at your house two hours ago claiming it was “cold,” but he just wanted to see you in it. You didn’t fight him on it. You never do.

Dean’s chewing obnoxiously loud, mouth open, just to piss you off. You throw another kernel at his forehead.

“Swear to God, Winchester, I will smother you with a pillow.”

“Promises, promises,” he smirks, grabbing your wrist mid-throw and pulling you closer. You’re nose to nose now, and he smells like soap and sin. “You’re real mean for someone sitting in my lap.”

“You like it,” you mutter, cheeks hot.

“I do,” he says, softer this time. His thumb brushes your jaw. “Way too much.”

You blink. The room goes kind of quiet, except for the movie screaming in the background. His hand lingers at your waist. He’s looking at you like you hung the damn stars. You try to play it cool, but your heart’s going feral.

He clears his throat, then shrugs like he’s trying to downplay what he’s about to say. “So, uh. If I asked you to, like… be my girlfriend—”

“You’re doing a terrible job of asking,” you interrupt, smirking but suddenly breathless.

Dean groans dramatically. “Alright, alright—fine. Jesus.” He pulls you in tighter, palms flat on your back. “Will you be my girlfriend, you pain in the ass?”

You laugh so hard you almost fall off him, then catch yourself by grabbing his shoulders. “God, you’re the worst.”

“That’s not a no.”

You roll your eyes, tug him by the collar, and kiss him slow, lingering. When you pull back, your smile’s stupid and lovesick. “It’s a yes, dumbass.”

Dean grins so wide it makes your stomach flip, and then he’s lifting you like you weigh nothing and spinning you around until you’re both breathless and tangled in laughter.

“Mine,” he murmurs into your neck.

“Yours,” you whisper back, still laughing.

The movie’s forgotten. The popcorn’s all over the couch. And for once, there’s nothing hanging in the air between you except joy.

Time slips by like a dream you don’t wanna wake up from.

You’re not just sneaking kisses in dark hallways anymore. You’re holding hands in the open, tangled together in diners, gas stations, anywhere he can steal a moment with you. You’ve got a new favorite hoodie—because it’s his, obviously. Worn and warm and smells like him. He lets you wear it without even teasing you, just stares a little too long and mumbles something like, “Looks better on you anyway.”

There’s still distance, sometimes. He leaves. You know he’s got a life that doesn’t quite belong to the world you live in, but now, he comes back. Not just with bruises and vague excuses, but with flowers he clearly picked up at a sketchy roadside stand, with candy he says reminded him of you, with his lips on your collarbone whispering “missed you” like a confession every time.

One weekend, he takes you to some little town with a view so good it looks fake. You’re up on the hood of the Impala, legs stretched out, his arm around your shoulder. It’s sunset, stupidly cinematic, and Dean’s just staring at you instead of the sky.

“What?” you ask, nudging him.

He shakes his head like you’ve just smacked him in the chest with a brick. “You’re it, y’know that?”

You laugh. “It what?”

“Everything.”

It’s so soft you almost miss it. But you don’t. You feel it in your fucking bones.

And it’s not that you needed the world to know about you two. It’s not that he had to announce it with neon signs and fireworks. It’s just… something’s different now. You’re not hiding. You’re not a dirty secret. He shows up when he can. He tries. He holds you like he means it and tells you without words, every time, I choose you.

And the scariest part? You believe him. You’re in love. Deep, stupid, hopeless, soul-snatching love. And for once, it doesn’t feel like it’s gonna ruin you. It just feels right.

It’s been months. Good ones. Scary good. You’ve memorized the freckles on his back, the way he bites his lip when he’s focused, the quiet little huff he does before saying something vulnerable. You’ve seen him at his softest and his most tired. But still, something’s always been there. Behind his eyes. In the silences. Something he’s been holding back.

And tonight, he finally lets it crack.

You’re curled up in bed, legs tangled under your favorite blanket, movie playing low in the background, some shitty old horror thing that he’s making fun of under his breath. You throw a popcorn kernel at him. He misses the catch and it bounces off his nose.

“What, ghosts don’t move like that?” you tease, giggling.

He doesn’t laugh back. You blink. “Babe?”

His shoulders tense, eyes fixed on the screen. Then he pauses it.

And there it is.

“I gotta tell you something,” he says, voice way too serious for this soft-lit bedroom.

You sit up a little, confused. “Okay… you’re kinda scaring me, Dean.”

“I don’t—fuck, I don’t wanna scare you. But I can’t keep lying. You’re too important for that.” He rubs his hand over his face, lets out a breath that sounds like it’s been stuck in his chest for years.

“You ever wonder where I go?” he asks. “Like… really go?”

You shrug. “I mean, yeah. But I figured you were just… busy. Or had, like, a weird job or whatever.”

He laughs—short, sharp, almost bitter. “Yeah. Weird’s one word for it.”

“What do you mean?”

And then he says it.

“I hunt things. Monsters. Like—actual fucking monsters. Vampires. Werewolves. Ghosts. Wendigos.”

You stare.

Silence.

Then—“Okay.”

He blinks. “Okay?”

You shake your head, dazed. “I mean, no, not okay, what the fuck are you talking about, but like… you’re not joking? You’re not high? You’re not having a stroke?”

“No.”

“…Do I look like the kind of bitch who dates a vampire hunter and doesn’t get to see receipts?”

He laughs—really laughs this time—and it’s a little unhinged.

“So show me, then,” you say, arms crossed. “Prove it. If you’re telling the truth… I wanna see it. I wanna understand.”

He goes quiet again. You know it’s not an easy ask. Not with what he’s seen. But you also know he trusts you now. Enough to let you in.

“You sure?” he asks, serious again. “This changes everything. I can’t unshow you.”

“Neither can that time you got ketchup on my silk pillowcase and said it was ‘a battle scar,’ but here we are.”

He smirks.

“Alright, sweetheart. I’ll show you.”

And suddenly, the world you know? Yeah. It’s about to fucking shatter.

It’s funny how fast you got used to holy water in the glove compartment.

How normal it feels now—salt rounds instead of makeup wipes in your bag, Latin scrawled in the back of your planner, exorcism chants memorized like lyrics to your favorite song. The girl who once walked hallways like a runway now walks crime scenes in a tailored suit and a badge that reads a name that’s not hers.

But she walks it with him.

You and Dean, shoulder to shoulder, dressed in black. FBI knockoff fits on point. You’re outside a rickety police station in the middle of nowhere; just another small town with secrets, another case you’ll solve in a motel room over takeout and sarcastic flirting.

Sam’s on the other side of the parking lot, probably charming the local sheriff with his whole “I’m tall and non-threatening” routine.

But you? You’re leaning against the Impala, arms crossed, eyebrow cocked. Dean steps up beside you, checking the gun tucked under his coat.

You smirk.

“You ready, Mr. Thompson?” you ask, all fake authority and faux-innocence.

Dean turns to look at you, and God, you’ll never get used to the way he looks at you now. Like you’re not just his partner in hunting, but his home. Like he’d burn every monster to the ground if you asked him to. Like he still can’t believe he gets to have this—you.

He slides his sunglasses on.

“Always, Mrs. Thompson.”

Your fingers brush as you head toward the station together. And when they finally lock, it feels like the whole world clicks into place.

This isn’t high school anymore.

This isn’t hallway kisses and angry diary entries and confused heartbreak.

This is the life. Your life.

You and Dean Winchester. Fake names, real love, monster blood on your boots.

Together,

Always.

ꕤ notes: i’m so sorry this took so long omg. i literally deleted the draft like twice?? full-on meltdown, lost everything, had to rewrite while crying fr. but we made it. we pulled through. barely. this was actually supposed to end in angst. like… i was planning a full jessica season 1 moment for reader lmao. i was in my evil era. but i folded. i couldn’t help myself. love won. also, i know this probably feels rushed in parts, and i’m sorry about that. i wanted to give it more time, but the vibes were too strong, and i got carried away lol. thank you sm for all the love on this series. every reblog, comment, freak out, scream, made this so worth it. i love u. like a lot.

SPECIAL THANKS TO @rosemichael12 ‪‪❤︎‬

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[pulchrasilva]

Oh my god. Thank fuck for my dreams' inability to fit real life details into them because that was horrible. I was real scared for a minute

[goddamnitmahtin]

A Smooth Criminal

(A dc x dp prompt)

Danny moved to Gotham after high school. Went to college. Got a degree. Found out the thing he got a degree for wasn’t able to hire him because his vitals looked half dead and he couldn’t just tell them he was in-fact half dead. Danny was never going to be an astronaut. Not only that, he had massive college debt. Well fuck.

So Danny started doing odd jobs until he found a more stable income at a psychic reading service of all places. Obviously Danny couldn’t see the future. So he only took clients that wanted to talk to dead people. Which was something he could do, given he had an object that might have had some ectoplasm on it or one of the ghosts that typically hung out in the shop knew where to find the person the client was looking for. Being that this is Gotham, not many people that die here actually cross over into the Ghost Zone. Danny was going to have to look into that at some point. But for now, it meant he had only ever once had to tell a client he couldn’t help.

Now Danny before coming to Gotham, hated psychics on principle. Most were lying and telling their clients utter bullshit. But his current boss seemed to be different. Her name was Lilith and she was very much legit when it came to precognition. She often would tell him ahead of time if a client was going to be difficult and who to watch out for on certain days. On more than one occasion, one of her warnings saved him from a mugging or kidnapping.

So, Danny learned to like his life as a medium and used the money from his job to pay his rent and pay off his college debt. Lilith paid him well and the shop had enough customers to back it up. His hours were based on appointment most of the time so he had more free time to do other things if he didn’t have many appointments for the day.

The only time that the hours went to an 8 hour shift were when one of them left to go on vacation or visit family. Thats where Lilith was this week. Out of town visiting family. Because of this, the shop’s services were limited to Danny’s medium appointments. The shop almost never had walk ins since it was so busy. The only time it ever really happened was when Lilith was gone. And most of the time it was someone wanting to buy a crystal from the window display. Nothing Danny couldn’t handle.

Except that was until Red Hood walked in, oozing with toxic ecto and a shattered mess of a core, tossed a set of pearls at him and told him to get reading.

Danny tried to help, he did. The pearls were covered in ecto and seemed to be from a tragic event but there was no ghost attached to them. Whoever they belonged to had passed on to the Ghost Zone or wasn’t dead. Danny said as much and asked Red Hood if he knew his core shattered. Danny then offered to help repair it. Red Hood did not like that. Danny got punched in the face. And he did not get paid.

*that night on call with Sam and Tucker*

Danny: And then he punched me in the face! Can you believe that?!

Sam: Given that he is a crime lord? Yeah I can.

Tucker: ….

Danny: Tucker I don’t like your suspicious silence.

Tucker: *starts giggling mischievously*

Sam: Tucker what are you doing?

Danny: Tuck-

Tucker: So what you’re saying is that- you’ve been hit by, you’ve been STRUCK by- a smooth criminal. *starts playing Smooth Criminal by Micheal Jackson except the name Annie has been edited to the name Danny*

Danny: I hate you so much

Sam: *laughing hysterically*

Tucker: *singing* Danny are you okay? Are you okay Danny?

Danny: *looks into the metaphorical camera like Jim from the office*

…

Red Hood: *nearly falls off the fire escape he was using to spy when the guy from the psychic shop looks right at him*

[moonsgemini]

apple pie - cowboy!rafe

summary: Rafe Cameron would have a lot of things in his life differently if he knew he’d meet an angel like you. Befriending your brother in the small town was the best and worst thing that happened to the both of you.

warnings: cowboy!rafe, brothers best friend trope, fem reader, she/her, mentions of religion but reader isn’t very religious (yeah idk either), smoking, alcohol, mutual pining, kissing, also found family you could sayyyy

an: this is inspired by feathered indians by tyler childers & my ongoing need to find a cowboy whose obsessed with me. I didn’t include topper in this bc I do not see him as a cowboy LOL y’all let me know if you want a part two. Was really feeling it at the beginning but idk if I love it.

-

Megan Maroney blasting through your headphones wasn’t enough to muffle the sound of the slamming front door and numerous loud footsteps that followed. The familiar sound of rowdy boys filling the house, then came the familiar muffled voices. It only surprised you a little because it was still early into the night.

Usually your brother and his friends came back around three in the morning from the bars, but that’s if they didn’t have work the next day. You knew they didn’t have work because your brother, Mason, had promised to take you shopping in town. You could only assume that they got into some sort of trouble. It’s the only reason why they’d be back early.

Slipping your headphones off you got up from your desk where you had been working on assignments for your summer class. Climbing down the stairs in nothing but your cut oversized tee shirt that exposed your collar bone and soft sleep shorts.

Your brother spotted you immediately, “Hey! She’s awake!” Mason exclaimed with a mouthful of the apple pie you had baked earlier. The slur in his speech giving away his intoxication.

You scoffed with a smile, “It’s only ten Mase,” you turned to the three other boys that were gathered around the kitchen table, “hi fellas.”

They greeted you with mouths full of pie. Except him. He was leaning back in his chair with a dopey grin and bloodshot eyes, his plate clean and pie long gone. You figure the other three were on their second slice.

Your gaze lingered on him like it always did. That warm feeling in your chest returned, it always did when Rafe was around. It made you feel fidgety and nervous. Like a school girl with a crush. So typical it’s on your brother’s best friend. That thought brought you out of your Rafe induced haze. You walked over to where Mason stood as he ate the last crumbs from the pie tin.

You grabbed it from him with an eye roll, “Well I’m glad you boys enjoyed that. Lucky I made two more. They’re for church tomorrow.”

“You always make the good stuff for church,” Kelce mumbled with his eyes closed blissfully savoring the dessert.

You laughed, “Maybe if y’all went you’d get a slice.”

Mason shook his head at the boys, “Why do you think I go.”

Rafe snorted, “To stare at Thea Foster actually.”

Your brother rolled his eyes and muttered, “She has a boyfriend.”

You smirked placing a hand on his shoulder, “Well I heard there’s trouble in paradise.”

He turned quickly to you bewildered, “From who? When? Why?”

Rafe, Kelce, and Jake burst out laughing. Your poor brother was so in love with a woman he couldn’t have. Rafe understood his pain, but he couldn’t let Mason know that. When the boys quieted down you answered his question, “From Sarah Ann at the nail salon yesterday. She said Thea found fake lashes in his car and then a couple weeks later she followed him because he said he had a work emergency and sure enough he was meeting some girl from the city.”

“That fucker,” Your brother seethed, “I’ll thank him then kill him and then thank him for fucking up.”

You patted his chest as you past him to grab the boys dishes, “Relax big guy.”

“Let’s celebrate with a shot,” Jake said knocking on the table excitedly.

Kelce nodded, “My buzz is wearin off.”

Rafe shrugged watching as you placed the dishes in the sink, “Sure.”

He had smoked a whole joint by himself on the way here and he was still feeling the effects. Something that he had started to regret when you walked down the stairs. He thought you’d be asleep and you wouldn’t see him high and drunk. It’s not like you hadn’t seen him like that before, but he preferred to be sober around you.

Mason poured every one shots including you. Rafe looked up at you with a mischievous smile. The floaty feeling in his head making you look like an angel. Soft bare face and comfortable clothing. He imagines you waiting at home for him dressed like that. Waiting to have dinner together after a long day. That fantasy always made his heart clench.

Mason finished pouring the glasses and began handing them out. The amber liquid sloshed onto the table since he filled them all to the brim. You’d make him clean the kitchen tomorrow.

You looked up at Rafe and found him already looking at you. Your heart raced ou held up your shot glass with the guys. Mason went on about friendship and comradery. The two of you not looking away from each other. Feeling emboldened you didn’t look away not even when you felt your blush move down your cheeks to your neck and chest.

Everyone tipped back their glasses taking the shot. The liquid burning the pit of your stomach. You scrunched your nose in disgust, “ugh I hate whiskey.”

Rafe scratched the back of his head, “I need a cig.” He walked towards the stairs heading to the office. It was the best place to get onto the roof. A spot everyone liked to go to because it looked over the whole ranch.

You pointed at the dishes in the sink, “Wash those before bed. I’m gonna finish studying then go to bed so don’t be too loud.”

“Yes ma’am,” Mason teased.

The two of you had moved to the small town a five years ago. Mason found his dream job on the ranch they live on and his boss the owner, Mr. George, let the two of you stay at one if the houses on the property. You were just grateful to leave your hometown and your parents. Your brother always felt like your only family and when he asked you to come with him you didn’t hesitate. You started community college at the next town over and got a job at the local diner. You two had built community here. Your brother befriending the other ranch hands Rafe and Jake and the local bartender Kelce who had all become more like brothers to him.

-

As you made it up the stairs you passed the office and peered in. The cool summer breeze blowing in through the open window. You stood in the doorway for a few seconds contemplating whether to go out there or not.

When you met Rafe you felt all that ooey gooey stuff you had read about in romance novels. You thought it wasn’t real because it what world would a man make you feel like that. Your faith in the male species to sweep you off your feet had completely disappeared. Until you met him. It was a weird feeling in the pit of your stomach.

It didn’t help that he looked at you the same way. Or when he would do sweet things like buy you trinkets when he went out of town. He’d give you rides if Mason couldn’t and if he was around you never had to carry anything yourself.

Rafe always wanting to be near you if you were around and making sure you’re safe. When your brother had gone out of town he texted and called all weekend making sure you were safe. He almost got in his truck and slept outside your house to make sure nothing happened but he talked himself out of that.

You were his best friend’s little sister. He loved Mason and didn’t want to do anything that would ruin that. It took Rafe so long to rebuild his life in the small town he didn’t want to ruin it by hurting you. He would lose you and your brother.

You climbed through the window to see Rafe sitting on the ledge probably on his second cigarette. You watched as he tilted his head back and exhaled.

“ain’t anyone ever told you that those things will kill you,” You said with a smirk as you walked over to sit beside him.

He shrugged with a smirk, “Never had a good reason to quit.”

You held two fingers out for him motioning for him to place one between your fingers. He shook his head with a laugh as he got one from his almost empty pack.

You brought it up to your lips as he pulled the lighter out. Rafe cupped the end of the cigarette as he lit it. Your eyes watching him the whole time. Rafe fought every fiber of his being to not look at you or else he’d throw out the damn cigarette and kiss you. You didn’t know the power you held over him. He’d cross rivers, oceans, and valleys for you without a second thought.

“I’ll come with ya to church tomorrow,” He said breaking the silence. He doesn’t even know why he just said that. Rafe has never been religious and the only times he’s thought about it were when you showed up in his life.

Now you weren’t devout or anything but when you moved here it felt like a good place to interweave yourself into the town. The move also had you feeling a little lost so you went to where people always say they find something. You’re still not sure how you feel about it but you still go when you can. Your brother started joining you after a couple weeks.

You snorted, “I’m sure you will.”

“I’m serious I’ll go,” He bumped your shoulder with his.

You smiled at him, “Okay Rafey. Then I’m gonna make sure you go because I already know that you’re stayin the night.”

He looked at her with a playful scowl, “Who said I’m stayin?”

“You’re still stoned and you’ve had more whiskey,” You shook your head, “You’re stayin.”

“Whatever you say boss,” He flicked his cigarette off the roof after finishing it.

You rolled your eyes, “I’ll get you up bright and early don’t worry.”

“As long as I get some more pie tomorrow.”

“I did make you something,” You flushed a bit at your next words, “I made you those peanut butter chocolate chip cookies you like. Hid them from the guys or they’d eat em all.”

“You’re so sweet,” He admitted, “those idiots wouldn’t savor them like me.”

You laughed softly trying not to look at him or you’d burst into flames, “So true. I’ll give em to you after church tomorrow.”

“S’that my reward?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded, “So you better behave.”

He was feeling bold now. After your shy confession he wanted to be bold. His fingers itched to touch you, “What happens if I don’t behave?”

Your eyes widened a bit not expecting him to say something like that. Did he mean it like that? You couldn’t over think this right now. The tension in the air thick and pushing the two of you closer together.

You shrugged, “I could show you right now.” You didn’t even know what you mean by that but before you could take your words back a voice behind you two broke whatever trance the two of you were in.

“Hey! Are you just gonna let the rest of us get wasted by ourselves or what!” Mason exclaimed as he stuck his head through the window.

Rafe snorted, “I’m comin jackass.”

“I better finish my assignments.” He climbed through the window and held his hand out for you as you stepped through.

“Can I ask a favor?” You asked him. The dim lighting in the office illuminating his face in a way that made him look like a Greek God.

“Anything,” He responded and Rafe truly meant anything.

You sighed, “So after church tomorrow I wanted to go to that book store in the city and Mason is gonna take me. But I don’t really want hungover grumpy Mason to take me,” Just then you heard a thud and loud laughs downstairs.

“Well you know ho-“

Before you could even continue he was nodding his head, “I’ll take you, don’t worry.”

You beamed up at him with bright eyes and a wide smile, “Thank you Rafey. I’ll be quick too.”

He shook his head and wrapped an arm around your shoulders starting to walk you both out of the room, “None of that you can spend the whole day lookin and I won’t care.”

You looked away as your smile grew timid and that damn blush was back. He stopped in front of your bedroom and you already missed his warmth.

“You know where to find us when you wanna have some fun scholar,” He teased lightly.

“Yeah yeah. You know where the blankets are and please make sure that if those idiots want to go home they’re good to drive.”

He mock saluted at you, “Yes ma’am.”

Rafe constantly teased you about your over protection of the group of men. Truthfully he found it endearing because no one has cared so much for him. Even if it’s lumped in with your brother. None of you had family here so it was nice that the five of you had created your own.

As you sat back at your desk you couldn’t stop thinking about Rafe. Honestly you never stopped but after seeing him it always amplified the thoughts. There’s nothing in this world that you wanted more than Rafe Cameron, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to act on it.

You didn’t want to ruin your relationship with your brother. He’s never been that overprotective but you had no idea how he’d be if you dated his best friend. So your fantasies of the tall cowboy remained as just that, fantasies.

-

If wrangling four six foot plus men to church would get that shocked look out of Mrs.Cramer you would have done it a long time ago. The old woman could hardly believe you got those ‘hooligans’ to come. The boys had a bit of a reputation. Not necessarily bad but they knew that if something was going on it was probably them.

Like when Jake drunkly rode a pony into the post office. Or when Mason accidentally left the pig pen open and there were thirty pigs loose in town.

The five of you were now back at your house. Rafe was waiting downstairs for you to finish changing. The other boys were drinking beer watching a baseball game. Mason was beyond grateful he didn’t have to take you anymore.

“I’m ready,” You announced while walking down the stairs. You had changed into your red boots, denim shorts, and a white tee shirt. Simple yet it had his mouth watering. Imagine what it’d be like to peel it all off. He needed to get it together.

“Be back later Mason,” You waved them goodbye before grabbing your purse. Rafe mumbled a bye as he followed after you like a puppy.

-

Not only did Rafe not complain about anything you did in the car but he also let you pick the music. He was having the time of his life. On the outside he looked concentrated on driving and completely unbothered.

“It’s right up there,” You pointed to the building coming up.

He pulled into the parking lot, “You been here before?”

“I have but it’s been a couple months.”

He parked and opened the door for you. The smile on your face making the forty five minute drive worth it.

Well forty five minutes later he was starting to get antsy. He swears he’s seen you make five circles around the fairly small book shop. He was sitting in a purple chair meant for reading. You had given him about six books and your purse to hold and you were still browsing. The only reason he was getting impatient was because he was hungry.

You walked over with two more books, “Okay now I need to narrow these down to just three.”

His brows furrowed, “Three?”

You nodded, “Tips were short this week and I had to use my savings to fix my laptop.”

He stood up holding the six books, “Come on lets go pay.”

You followed him trying to keep up with his long strides, “Uhhh did you not just hear me I can’t afford it Rafe.”

“That’s why I’m buying all of them for you,” He shrugged as if it were nothing.

“No no no,” You pulled his arm to stop him right before the counter, “You can’t do that, that’s too much.”

“You want them all right?”

“Well yeah but-“

“But nothing baby, I got you.” He turned to the counter where the cashier was waiting for the two of you to finish.

You stood behind a bit dumbfounded by not only his kindness but because of what he called you. Baby. That was new.

-

After a long day of book shopping, pizza eating, and laughing you were drained. On the way home you had fallen asleep, waking up once he turned onto the dirt road that led to your house.

You yawned, “We’re here already.”

“Yup and it looks like Mason’s not home.”

“Oh he texted me telling me he was going to a bonfire. We’re invited but I’d rather stay home.”

Rafe opened the door for you like he had been doing all day. He also held your heavy bag of books.

“Me either honestly.”

“You wanna watch a movie with me?” You asked hoping he’d say yes.

“I’d love to.”

You plopped yourself onto the couch to browse movies. Rafe set the books down on the kitchen table before joining you. Except he stood in front of you and grabbed your boot tugging it off each foot.

“Thank you Rafey,” You smiled at him.

You put on Twilight knowing he won’t care and secretly loves it. Today had been perfect. Rafe made you feel like the only person existing. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted him to be more than a friend and it was starting to pain you, but it was something you could live with for now.

A half hour later you had dozed off onto Rafe. Your leg draped over him and face tucked into his neck. His head leaning on yours and one hand in your hair the other around you. This was the best sleep Rafe had ever gotten. He could feel you all around him he didn’t want this to ever end.

Yet you both jolted awake when you heard the front creak open and voices following. Twilight had ended an hour ago and New Moon had started playing. You and Rafe broke a part trying to fix yourselves. A rosy tint to his cheeks as he peered over at you with a teasing smirk. You couldn’t help your blush either as you returned the mischievous smile.

“Hey you guys are back how’d it?” Mason asked as he walked into the living room with Kelce.

“It was good, got lots of new books,” You turned to Rafe with a knowing look.

“Hey is that,” Kelce pointed at something on your inner thigh. You had one leg bent so your inner thigh was facing up on display. An right on it was an impression of a long horn and some intricate designs. Everyone knew who had something that looked like that.

“How’d that get there?” Kelce asked with an amused smile as he pointed between your thigh and Rafe’s belt buckle. He burst into laughed as mason groaned.

“Guys I know y’all like have a thing for each other but I don’t wanna know that stuff,” Mason gagged.

“What Mase!” You groaned, “Nothing like that!”

Rafe laughed feeling a weight lifted off his shoulders, “Dude we fell asleep.”

“I sure hope so, not on my damn couch.”

You decided to mess with him, “Well if you insist.” You grabbed Rafe’s hand and laughed as you pulled him upstairs. He didn’t even hesitate following and also laughing.

You dragged him into your room turning so your back was to the door. Still holding your hand Rafe used the other to push the door closed. Walking you both back in the process so your back was against the closed door. One hand beside your head and the other moving from holding yours to holding your waist.

His head dipped down as your laughter died. Things suddenly felt serious and you realized how close he was and he was touching you. It felt really good.

“So uh sounds like Mason is okay with us,” Rafe murmured.

“Is that you confessing you like me?” You teased looking down at his lips.

He nodded causing your noses to brush, “Yeah I like you baby, can I make it anymore obvious.”

“Can you?”

He squeezed your waist with a smile before dipping down and finally molding his lips to yours. It was like being able to breathe for the first time. His mouth felt good against yours. He kissed you with desperation and need showing you just how long he’s wanted this. How he’s wanted it just as much as you.

Both his hands were now on your waist and traveling over your body feeling every dip and curve. The small whine you let out making him want to throw you onto your bed, but he promised himself if he ever had you he’d take his time. Savor every moment with you.

You pulled away breathless and drunk on him, “I like you too if you couldn’t tell.”

He pecked your lips, “I’ll buy you all the books you want just to hear that again.”

“I like you,” You leaned down up and kissed him again, “Now can we finish the twilight series?”

[nezuscribe]

𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader

part two of after all this time

summary: you try to make sense of everything after that night with gojo satoru, the slytherin prince, but as much as you try to run away from it, it seems to follow you more. but he has to hate you for it, right? that could be the only explanation for why he seeks you out...right?

warnings: 18+ mdni all characters are 18, gojo slight angst, messy makeout, gojo eating pussy like his life depended on it, fingering, unprotected sex, penetrative sex

word count: 12k

note: yay! part two is done! please comment and reblog, it's really appreciated. thank you @jadeisthirsting for beta reading! <3

slytherin!gojo masterlist + jjk masterlist

If there was one thing you grew to understand about Hogwarts, it was that the castle was entirely unpredictable. 

From the moving staircases, the random ghosts that would appear out of nowhere, to the disappearing portraits that sometimes only reappeared to listen in on student gossip, you knew you had to expect the unexpected when it came to ancient school. 

But never in your wildest imagination would you have thought that you would’ve kissed Gojo Satoru. 

You couldn’t even pretend that it didn’t happen, despite the fact you wanted so desperately to obliviate your mind and move along with your life. 

You could still feel his lips on yours, even days after it happened. You could feel his hands on your body, the way he held you to him, the way he kissed down your neck. You could still hear the way he said your name, breathless, almost desperate. 

“Fuck,” he had whispered, heavy on your lips as he dipped down again to kiss down your chin tilting your head up to expose the column of your neck, “Fuck,” he said once more, diving down as he sucks and bites at your skin, his movements growing faster and more erratic once he hears the soft and sweet mewls that escape your swollen lips. 

You tried to blink it away.

“Satoru,” he had said against your skin, “Not Gojo. Not you.” 

Not you. 

That Saturday and Sunday you refused to move from your bed, huddled under blankets as the other girls in your dorm came and went. You could hear the loud party they held after yet another win at the quidditch game, so you just cast a silencio charm around your room, feeling your mattress create a permanent dent in the fetal position you were lying in. 

One of the kinder girls of your dormitory, Celeste, crouched down to where your head peeked out from your swarm of blankets, her brown brows furrowed together with worry, but you promised her it was just a stomach flu, nothing to worry about, and told her to go enjoy the party. 

That next Monday morning you made sure to go to the transfiguration classroom, glad to find that skipping breakfast helped to see that nobody except for Professor McGonagall seemed to be in the room, of course, aside from that little snowy owl perched atop her desk, its wide eyes blinking slowly at you as you walked in.

You remember how Professor McGonagall looked up briefly, annoyed that a student was here before classes even started, but she did a double take when she noticed it was you, welcoming you by saying your last name with a little bit of surprise. 

“How may I help you?” Her eyes looked at you over her glasses, her hands lay flat on her desk, next to the quill she was just using. 

“Professor, I have a request to ask of you.” 

A part of you was glad that you were such a good student, one who never asked for much and gave everything you had towards the work you did, especially for her class. McGonagall’s thin bow raised slightly, her lips pursing together as you motioned for you to continue. You swallowed thickly, pulling out the thick pieces of parchment tied together, your contribution to her essay, as you laid it down on her table. 

“I would like to change my partners…if possible,” your voice was shaking, “I have my work all done here,” quickly going to show her the work that you had done, but her hand outstretched, her slender finger grasping yours as you halted your movements. 

When you looked at her face, the only emotion you could trace, which was one you had never seen on the older woman, was genuine concern.

“Has Satoru done…something” She tried to find the right words, but you insistently shook your head, trying to act as if nothing was wrong aside from you.

“No, no,” you sputter out, “It’s me. He’s done nothing wrong. I just,” you sigh, trying to calm down your heart, noting that the large clock outside had struck three times and that her first-year students would be filing in any minutes, “Please, I’d do the rest of the essay alone if necessary.” You know that you were pleading with her at this point, but you couldn’t care. 

McGonagall looked you over once, noting the bags under your eyes, the way you actively looked like you hadn’t slept in days, and thought for a long second before she nodded, waving you along as other students started to come in. 

“I’ll take care of it,” she said, a promise, and you thanked her extensively, bidding her goodbye as you ran across school to make sure you didn’t miss Lupin’s riveting defense against the dark arts lesson about warding off vampires. 

And she stuck to her word. 

That day you sat in your usual seat, in the back, but instead of Gojo sitting next to you was a disgruntled Charlie Reeve, his arms crossed like a petulant child, depressed to be split up with his friend despite not having any work done. 

You saw his flash of white hair, stopping in confusion when he saw the Gryffindor in his seat, your eyes locking briefly as his nose flared. 

“Oh, Mister Gojo, I had to rearrange some partners,” Professor McGonagall called out, motioning him to come sit up front with Benny Thompson, “Some people thought it’d be better to leave this essay until it was absolutely necessary.” She cast the two Gryffindor boys a knowing look, not necessarily a lie, and deep inside you felt grateful that she was able to find something believable. 

And so, with all of your tedious efforts to make sure that you never bumped into Gojo Satoru, you went weeks without really seeing him. 

Of course, it was difficult, increasingly so as it seemed that he was everywhere you went. When you went to the library, he was there, at your usual table, either reading or working on homework, which meant that you had to weasel your way into the astronomy tower to do your work.

And then he began to go to the astronomy tower, you’d see him looking over the ledge, his hair flickering in the wind, his back thankfully to the stairs as you quietly made your way down, running away to find somewhere else. 

Sometimes when you were lying in bed, trying to go to sleep, unwillingly, your mind traveled back to that night. And it seemed like all your hard work was in vain because despite trying to act as if he didn’t exist, he was something that you could never forget. 

Gojo acted indifferent, however, which both helped and stung a bit. Helped because you were glad he went back to forgetting that you existed, and though you wanted him to act as if he maybe had feelings for you, you knew he never would, and so you blended back into the background

But despite it all, you found that somehow October bled into the unforgiving winds of November, which slowly turned into the winter of December. 

Your classes were wrapping up, and teachers no longer cared much seeing that they too were looking forward to the long-awaited and deserved break.

You found that with the workload that was slowly dying down (for you at least, seeing how you had finished up most of your exams, and all the essays and projects the professors had assigned to you months in advance were done, unlike some people who believed in the power of magic enough to leave it to the last week), you visited Hogsmeade more. It offered you some solace to take your mind off of everything. 

The snow was beginning to set both on the ground and on top of all the roofs and signs, making the small village look like a wonderland you’d see inside a snow globe. A part of you couldn’t stop the happy smile that made it on your face as you walked through the cobblestone streets, looking inside every shop as if you had the money to spend. 

On one of the Saturdays, you were able to give yourself a rest from the work you had to finish before the break started. You bundled up, a silver and green scarf wrapped around your neck, your old mittens (passed down from your mother, of course), and your thickest knitted sweater, went out for Hogsmade. 

Hogsmeade is usually busy during December, which you like, pretending that you were somewhere far away, perhaps a little village in France, as you gently make your way around the eager students ready to buy things for their families for the holidays. 

After a couple of years of visiting this place, you’ve picked up some key knowledge. Never go to Honeydukes before seven, otherwise, it’s entirely ransacked and they sometimes stock up on Saturdays at half past seven. Zonko’s is only good once in a while, otherwise, it’s too overwhelming, and Gladrags Wizardwear had something marked off if they went unnoticed for too long. 

And, perhaps the best part of your visits to Hogsmeade, you had a pass from McGonagall, which let you stay an extra two hours. While most students made their way back before their ten o’clock curfew at night, you were able to get special permission from Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape to stay till midnight. 

You told them that you didn’t do anything crazy and that the only reason why you longed to stay out late was really only for Saturdays because the three broomsticks sometimes brought in the wizarding jazz society, a group of witches and wizards who played live on their respective instruments. It was your favorite part of Hogsmeade, and after some negotiation, you were allowed out after ten. 

But before then, you spent your time in the other shops, browsing for nothing in particular. 

You found yourself admiring some of the intricately made quills outside a window that was on display. Surely expensive, but you simply looked at them, your face almost pressing up against the chilly glass to get a closer look. 

There was a group of friends a couple of feet away from you, and you could hear the giggling now and then about something, but you didn’t think it’d be best if you looked over to see what was going on, mind your own business. 

You walked along, moving to the next shop window when you noticed that the giggling almost seemed to be following you.   

You felt yourself peeking over briefly, somehow not being shocked that it was some of the seventh-year Slytherins, the kids you had grown up with, looking over at you, the girls pointing to something near you as they laughed behind their hands. 

Tough skin, you reminded yourself, trying to ignore it as you tried to look at the new cauldrons. At least, you would’ve distracted yourself had you not heard a loud, almost animated rip. 

You look down, but not quickly enough to see your bag tear open, some of your knuts fell out, along with your chapstick, your tissues, and some other miscellaneous things. 

It didn’t take a genius to glance over at the girls, to see one of them with their wands out as one of the other girls cackles, and while you were used to their antics, it didn’t hurt any less.

You bent down, going on your knees, trying to find some of the things that had disappeared in the snow. One of the girls, Avery McKenna, who talked loud seemed to talk even louder, as if wanting to get your attention. 

“Satoru! Satoru, look!” She spoke in a whisper which was louder than your normal speaking voice, and you looked from your lashes at the mention of his name. 

And you saw him as one of the other girls shuffled around, tugging at his coat sleeves to direct his attention away from whatever shop window he was looking into as she pointed a finger at you on the ground. You quickly looked back down before you made eye contact with him, your fingers growing cold from the bite of the snow. 

You didn’t want to know what he looked like, what sort of smile would take over his face at the sight of you looking like this. You pick up your bag, putting it under your arms so that it won’t grow wet from the snow, inspecting the gash with a heavy heart, realizing that there’s no way to mend it. It looks like a wolf had slashed its claws through the fabric, something that no needle and thread, or even a reparo charm could fix.

You shove the coins in your pockets, holding the rest in your gloved hands as you stand up, cheeks heating up in embarrassment as you feel their stares on you, the snow seeping in through your pants, causing you to shiver as you try to find a place you could into to get this sorted. 

Thankfully, The Three Broomsticks was just up ahead, and so you tried to mute out all the people behind you as you turned your back, walking up the street as you heard the snow crunch under your shoes, sniffing from the cold as you walked into the familiar pub. 

—-

The Three Broomsticks was a Hogsmeade staple. 

Inside the pub was a roomy place, a fire always lit in the corner, the flames crackling almost all the shouts and yells and drunk laughter. Up on the stone walls were photographs of famous witches and wizards who had visited the pub, paintings of people long past that used to frequent it, and family members of those who owned it. It smelled of ale and peppermint, the atmosphere warm and welcoming, something that you always enjoyed. 

It was usually full, so you count yourself lucky to find a little empty booth near the back. 

You got some water seeing how the last knut you needed to buy a butterbeer got lost somewhere in all the snow, and laid out all of your things on the table, including your mauled-up bag. 

You wipe at your eyes, careful that nobody sees the stray tears, and allow yourself to sit against the wooden booth, shutting your eyes for a second. 

You count to ten, allow yourself to calm your breathing down, and crack your neck, moving it around to your left and right side. The sun was nearly starting to set and it was already five, so it was going to be a bit before their usual jazz band came. Although you’d been looking forward to it since last week, at this point you just wanted to go back, have some soup, and then sleep. 

When you open your eyes you find yourself staring at the ceiling, breathing deeply through your nose as you look back down, a surprised gasp escaping your lips to find somebody sitting in front of you.  

“I-” Gojo starts but you’ve already started collecting all of your things off the table, your heartbeat skyrocketing as you shove whatever you can in your pockets, sitting up as you try to leave.  

But he’s fast, sitting up from his seat, blocking you with his tall body as you feel your heart in your throat, pounding away rapidly as you try to look away from him. 

He’s here, he’s here, he’s here. 

His hand is holding your elbow, he’s holding you, and he seems desperate, his eyes searching yours, begging you to just listen to him. 

Why is he here? Why is he holding you?

“Can we talk?” His white brows are furrowed, his lips parted as his thumb rubs up and down on your skin, “Please?” 

What does he want? 

You’re looking at him, really looking at him for the first time in months, and despite not seeing him face to face for a while, you can still notice the little changes. There are bags under his eyes, he seems worn down. His eyes, the ones that you often dreamed about, were swirling with unspoken emotions. His lips looked like they were chewed raw, much like yours. 

But he still looks like he did that one night in October, the way he spoke your name as if it were the only thing he could say, his hair tousled by the December winds, and his cheeks flushed a rosy pink. 

“I n-need to…” you swallow thickly, your mouth running dry as your eyes dart around to not look at him, “I need to go.” 

But you don’t, and he knows that you don’t.

“Your water…miss,” the waitress suddenly comes around with your mug full to the brim with water, looking curiously at you and Gojo as she sets it down on the table, giving you a small smile as she walks away. 

“Please,” he says one more time, and his voice is heavy, piercing through your chest and into your mind, working like a devil’s snare as it wraps itself around you until you are entrapped by everything that is him. 

You look at the door of the pub, noting that none of his friends are either there or outside, and you look at him once more.

You lick at your gnawed lips, letting out a defeated sigh as you give him a single nod, watching as his face breaks into a smile, his shoulders sagging from the release of tension as he helps you back into your seat and climbs into his own, across from you, and you set all your stuff back on the table. 

His eyes follow your movements, look at your bag and the contents that used to be in it and he whips out his wand, going to cast a spell before you cut him off. 

“Reparo didn’t work,” you mutter, fidgeting with your fingers as you awkwardly sink into your seat, watching him intently as if he had been a painting you’d been studying that suddenly came to life. 

His eyes flicker to yours and he puts his wand away sheepishly. 

“I didn’t know that they were going to do that,” he finally says, breaking the silence. 

You nod curtly, looking at your hands resting in your lap as you try to think of what to say. Of which emotion you should call upon to do the talking for you, which thing you had been itching to say to him ever since that night. 

“It’s nothing they haven’t before,” you finally say, looking up at him with a sad smile, watching as his chest rattles with an inhale. His fingers are interlocked with each other as they rest on the table, his green sweater resting snuggly on his muscular frame as he leans in, as if he were scared you were going to disappear. 

He goes to open his mouth to speak, but you cut him off again. 

“Why do you care?” 

His mouth shuts, his blue eyes shimmering brightly in the light of the fireplace. He doesn’t seem angry or annoyed, just shocked. 

“What?” 

You breathe roughly out your nose, looking away briefly as you click your tongue against your teeth, your fingers gliding across the mug, the little water droplets that slid onto the table creating a ring around the cup. You twist and turn it around by the handle, deep in thought. 

“Why do you care so much? Why do you care about what happens to me?” You press, your head tilting to the side. You try to look fierce, trying to channel the anger, the pain, the hurt that you’ve been feeling not only since October but since you first stepped foot through that castle. 

His lips parted as if he were going to say something, but his head dipped, his fingers playing with that gold ring on his finger, the one of his family crest. 

“I…” Gojo can’t seem to finish, can’t seem to find the words. But that’s fine because you’re finding them for him. 

“I’ll find a new purse and I’ll move along with my day because I’m used to this Gojo,” your voice is slowly growing, “I’m used to your friends, to you and your pureblood hierarchy. So stop acting like you’re this hero that should get rewarded with whatever it is you want from me by talking to me o-or pitying me,” you ramble, your voice dripping with venom, your eyes stinging as you try to control yourself, “Just please stop acting like you care.” 

He doesn’t say anything, his lips pressed together tightly, his jaw ticking. His eyes reflect a storming sea right now, one a sailor would never return from.

“That night, when you kissed me,” your voice was loud enough to be a whisper, but he hears you, his breathing hitching as he most likely thinks back to that night, “Were you able to cross off another check mark on your list? Did you finally fulfill all the crazy things you wanted to accomplish?” 

“Stop,” he seethes out through clenched teeth, his eyes daring you to continue. 

You’re glad that the pub is so busy and so loud to cover the two of you. 

“Did I taste different than the pureblood girls? Than Alicent? Than Eliana?” You pushing him, pushing at his buttons because this has to be it, this has to be when he finally tells you that you were some bet that he made with his friends, that kissing you was worth some extra galleons to fill his pockets as he came back gallivanting to the other Slytherin purebloods. 

His eye twitches, his breathing heavy as he murmurs another stop but you just shake your head, hoping that he doesn’t see the gloss covering your eyes, the way your lips are trembling thinking of all the possibilities. 

“You’re mean, Gojo,” the words fall from your lips, heavy, pointed straight at him, and you can feel a tear drop down your chin, splattering on the table, right next to all the water droplets from your mug, “A-and you don’t even realize it. Or maybe you do, I don’t know,” you shrug, “Those weeks when we were working on that essay I sent an owl to my mum and she sent one back saying how happy she was that I finally had a friend.” 

There’s a beat of silence. 

You can’t stand to look at his face. 

You helplessly wipe at your cheeks, looking away as you heaved in a shaky breath, nodding confidently for your own sake as you stood up.

“I need to go,” you mutter,  your water sat untouched as you made your way around the people standing and talking, made your way out the door, and let your tears loose. 

—

The break couldn’t come by any faster. 

You occupied your time and mind by doing everything possible. 

You found a broom closet that was big and comfortable enough for you to do your work, and most days you found yourself there. You ate your meals alone, as always, and made sure that wherever Gojo was, you weren’t.

One of the only things you could look forward to was when the holidays came and when everybody left. It meant that only a handful of Slytherin’s stayed and that meant that you could finally have some moments of quiet to yourself. 

Hogwarts was a different kind of magical during Christmas time, and you tried to take time to appreciate the dozen trees, the floating candles that had red ribbons tied around them, the little snow clouds that sometimes followed you around, and the mistletoes that some of the fifth years thought would be funny to hang up around the castle. 

And when the breaks finally came around, you watched as people bid each other farewell, their bags packed sufficiently enough for the two-week break as they made their way out of the school and to the train, waving at each other until they departed. 

You watched from the stairs, knowing that you too could go home, but seeing that your mom picked up more shifts around the holidays, you’d just be spending these two weeks alone rather than surrounded by strangers, which you still preferred. 

The professors seemed to be in a better mood around this time as well, and it helped with distracting you from all the other thousand thoughts that were running through your mind. 

The Slytherin common room was always empty around this time of year. Seeing that most of the kids went to their families, it gave you some time to actually enjoy the amenities you usually miss out on during other times of the year. 

The room itself was decorated with a large Christmas tree near the large, arching window that looked out into the black lake, and stockings on the fireplace of those students that were staying. 

Despite Slytherin and their hatred for the color red, the room was a nice mix between the two clashing colors. 

After dinner, on the first night with everyone gone, you made your way down to the dungeons, muttering out the password as the large doors swept open, allowing you inside. 

Your first thought was to sit in front of the fireplace on one of the couches and catch up on reading, but seeing that there was almost nobody here you decided to go change into something more comfortable. 

Making your way up the stairs that led to the girl's dormitories you noted that most of those who were staying were relays from years before, some fourth and sixth years, a couple of first years, and rounded the corner that led to your room. 

Well, that would’ve led to your room had it not been blocked. 

“Sorry!” You cry out in surprise, a little shocked, and then your shock melts away as you feel like banging your head against the stone wall when you see that it is none other than Gojo. 

“I need to tell you someth-”

“The train left!” You cry out, feeling like dragging him out by his hair. 

“I’m aware-”

“Then why aren’t you on it?” You push past him as you go to open your door, feeling him right behind you. 

You’re glad that all of your other roommates are gone because Gojo doesn’t seem to be giving it much thought as he comes in as well. 

Your arms are crossed as you look around, looking for something, anything, that you could use to ward him away. He’s standing awkwardly at the doorway, wringing his fingers in a way that he never does. 

He’s wearing a loose sweater, gray in color, and it seems to make his eyes even more striking. There are still bags under his eyes, but his face seems a little more flushed as if he was slowly coming back from the dead. His white hair is tousled, and you note that he hasn’t styled it in a while. 

“I’ve been thinking ever since the three broomsticks,” he’s talking and you’re pacing around the room, trying to act like you don’t care that he’s here, “And I have some things I need to tell you.” 

You’re rummaging around in one of your cupboards, but he knows what you’re doing, and he steps a little closer to you, shutting the door behind him as you glance up at him briefly, raising a brow. 

He swallows, running a hand through his white strands as you turn your back to him, looking through your jewelry box as you begin to take off your earrings. 

“I saw you, this summer.”

You stop. 

Gojo continues. 

“My parents had some ministry work to do, and we went to the city. I was walking around one day, trying to figure out where I was supposed to go when I saw you,” Gojo sounded nearer, his voice more desperate, “I saw you through a window. You were working… I think. You had this apron on and you were walking around this little restaurant.” 

You swear you could hear your heartbeat. 

“And you were smiling at something this guy said, and you just looked so…happy,” he pauses, “And pretty…you looked so pretty and I didn’t know what to do because I’ve never felt this strange feeling in my chest where…” 

Where everything just stops, then starts moving in tandem as if there had been a loose screw the entire time until now. 

“And I think I’ve always felt this way, you know?” He’s not stopping, and you’re scared that if you look at him you’re going to believe him, believe that he’s telling the truth and that this isn’t some sort of dream you’re forcing yourself to see, “In our fifth year, when you were telling the class about your happiest memory, you had this smile on your face. Or last year, when we were in potions and Nanami said a joke, you’d laugh and I just felt so…lost.” 

He’s lying. 

“N-no, no, you’re lying,” you croak out, moving past him as you keep your head down, going over to your bed as you sit at the end of it, needing something to sit down on because otherwise you’d collapse.

“I’m not,” Gojo pleads, his voice behind you, “And for so long I thought I was lying to myself because I didn’t know what I was feeling,” he takes a few steps closer, standing at your bedpost, “I’d never felt this way about anyone. A-and you’re right, you are different. You’re so different from anybody else and I love it.”

You’re shaking your head, your back to him as you sniffle. 

“I don’t believe you,” you mutter, your arms wrapped around your middle as your head dips down, lashes wet with tears. 

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds and you realize it’s because he’s moving to where you’re sitting, and you see him clearly as he crouches down on the ground, his hands moving to hold yours as he forces you to look at him. 

It’s such a strange sight seeing the Gojo Satoru, the Prince of Slytherin, the most stoic and composed person you’ve ever met so…vulnerable in front of you.

“I know-” 

You’re shaking your head at him, lips pouting together as you blink slowly, your nose scrunched up in frustration. 

“You’re lying-” 

“I’m not, I’m begging you, please-” 

“You’re lying, Gojo,” You say, your voice cracking as you feel your tears rolling down your, collecting on your chin before they splatter crudely on your bed sheets, “You don’t feel this way about me. You’re either lying to me o-or to yourself because…” you struggle to find the words, “Because in no world would you feel this way about me.” 

His hands are warm, his thumb gentle as it rubs over your knuckles. And you don’t notice it until he pulls them away to wipe at your tears, his fingers soft and slow against your skin as you hiccup.

“But I do,” he whispers, his thumb cradling your cheek, “I do. Y-you’re so smart, and kind, and witty, and caring, and you’re so wonderfully you.”

This is too much. 

“You don’t know anything about me,” you plead, wondering when he was going to give up the act and leave so you could be alone. 

“You only eat your eggs if there’s a little bit of syrup on them,” Gojo says immediately, and your eyes shoot up to his, “You put an extra flick on the dots of your i’s, you like McGonagall most out of all your other professors, you never change your necklace, you-” 

You push him by the shoulders, frustrated knowing that he’d never stop, changing the subject.

“If you cared about me you would’ve done something,” your voice isn't yours and you can’t recognize it as it escapes your windpipes, “I mean, you only had three years. Y-you called me a mudblood, your friends never stopped when they were doing, you - you,” deep inside, your breath is lodged inside your lungs and you choke on it. 

Gojo cradles your head, pulling you into his chest, and for some reason you let him. You melt into his warmth, into the way he holds you as if you were the thinnest piece of glass, and you can’t remember the last time somebody held you like this.

His hand rubs up and down your back, and you feel your tears and snot wet his sweater, but he doesn’t seem to care. 

“I did,” his own voice shakes, “I did, and I…” he swallows his bile, “I wish I could go back and take it back, take all of it back. If I could trade everything I have to turn back time and change the past, I would. I’ll spend my life making it up if you’d let me. You have no idea what I would do…” for you.

You pull away from him, and he lets you. 

“You’re all I’ve ever been able to think about this past year. And especially ever since that night, I couldn’t get you out of my mind,” his hands go up to hold your face, tracing your features with the most delicate touch, “Your eyes, your nose,” his finger glides down the slope of it, “Your lips, your skin, your hands.” 

“But,” your hands go up to his wrists, pulling them down and he lets you rest them on your lap, hanging off your every word as if you were religion, watching you preach as he remembers every word, every syllable, every tone and inflection you have as gospel, “I’m a muggle-born,” you laugh wetly and painfully, “And you hate muggle-borns.”

And for once you see him break into a small and melancholy smile that's full of years of longing, of confusion, of wanting, and his white strands fall on his face. Unconsciously you move them out of the way so that you could see his eyes. 

“My parents hate muggle-borns, and I’m their only son,” your eyes drop to that gold ring, and he notices, “I believed them, and for so long I felt so confused because you weren’t like anything they described,” his lips quivered, “I don’t hate muggle-borns, and I don’t hate you,” he raised your hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to them, “I could never hate you.”

You inhale shakily, your heart thumping in a strange, new rhythm. 

“What about the others?” You ask shakily, “Your friends, your parents, everybody else?” 

He shrugs, looking indifferent as he plays with your fingers. 

“I’ll get new friends,” he shoots you a small smile, “And I can just buy new parents.” 

You snort, rolling your eyes at his antics, and he brightens up seeing your change in demeanor. 

“You…like…me?” You ask finally. 

He lets out a little bit of air in a disbelieving chuckle. 

“I like you more than the air I need to breathe,” he kisses your knuckles again and you snort, rolling your eyes as you wipe at the corners of them. 

“Then how have you been breathing all this time without me?” You ask a bit teasingly, wondering how you never noticed that his eyes have little specks of green in them, or how the blush on his cheeks sometimes traveled up to his forehead. 

“Horribly,” he says and you give him a small laugh, “But it feels like I just took my first breath after eighteen years.” 

—

After that, Gojo could not be separated from your side. 

He sat next to you during all of your meals, throwing nasty jinxes at anybody who looked at the two of you weirdly. Sure, people couldn’t stop talking, but after the first three people who left with a red ink-looking stain on their face, they learned to keep their whispers low. 

When the two of you were in the common rooms he laid next to you as you read, or vice versa, pulling you into his chest as he told you stories from his childhood. 

And of course, it took you a while to warm up to him, but slowly and surely you felt at ease around him, feeling like you could be as true to yourself without any fear of repercussions because he loved you wholly, and he had no cares about anything else. 

“What’s that you’re reading?” He’d say sometimes, looking over your shoulders to scan whatever book it was that you were reading. Thankfully you still had a couple of days till Christmas, and another week of break after that, so the common room was empty, spare for a few stragglers. 

The fireplace crackled in the background, the smell of cinnamon and cloves heavy in the air. 

“Voyages with Vampire,” you reply, turning the page as you hear him groan next to you. 

“Lockhart? The fraud?”

You giggle, shoving him a little bit, eyes never leaving the page as you try not to lose your spot. 

“Yeah, but his books are interesting.” 

And Gojo didn’t care too much, because as you got to read your book he got to be with you, which was all he’s ever wanted since he was fourteen. 

Other days he’d take you to Hogsmeade, his hand holding onto yours, letting you steer him into the different shops you wanted to look at, a content smile on his face. He loved the way you looked, bundled up in your scarves and sweaters, and he loved that it was mainly just the two of you, seeing that Hogsmeade was unusually empty with everybody gone. 

And sometimes he’d squeeze your hands a couple of times just to let you know that he was there, and you’d squeeze back twice, looking behind your shoulder so that you wouldn’t miss his boyish grin. 

He mentally noted all the things you picked up, asking if you wanted it, but when you saw that he was beginning to pull out his wallet you shook your head sheepishly, putting it back as you began looking at other things. 

“Let me just get this-” 

“No!” you cried out, embarrassed as you moved away from whatever shelf it was, hearing him let out a sigh of frustration, laughing at his childish antics. 

“But I can just-” 

“No, Gojo,” you’d tell him, your voice a little sterner, “I don’t like you because you have money. Too much of it, might I add.” 

And he’d pout, his arms circling your waist as he petulantly stays in place, resting his chin on your shoulder so that you can’t move. 

“But I just so coincidentally seem to have it,” he pressed a kiss to the side of your head as you tried to look at something else, trying to act like you didn’t turn to jelly in his hands, “Why won’t you take it?”

You giggled, angling your head to look back at him. 

“Because I don’t need a bursting raspberry delight,” you chided him and he’d groan, pulling you even closer to his chest as he outstretched one of his long arms, picking up something in front of you, inspecting it as he showed it to you, putting it back as you shook your head, “And I don’t need cockroach clusters.” 

And you smiled, feeling happy, genuinely happy as you continued to look around the store with Gojo latched onto you. You felt normal for once, felt the way you’ve been wanting to feel ever since you were eleven.

—

The days passed by and you found yourself back in the common rooms the night before Christmas, sitting on the couches, facing Gojo as you listened to him talk about all the things he’d been wanting to tell you.

The days passed by and you found yourself back in the common rooms with Gojo the night before Christmas, letting him play with your hair as you leaned up against him on the couch, reading another book. 

“Did I ever tell you how Benny Thompson didn’t know what an animagus was?” Gojo says randomly and you gasp, looking over your shoulder as he nods as you lay your book down on your chest. 

“You’re lying,” you say and he shakes his head, twisting and turning that ring on his hand the way he usually does when he likes to fidget. 

“And he asked me if the books in the library had all been written in the actual library,” he continues and you let out a loud, shocked laugh, holding your hand over your mouth in disbelief. 

You put your book on the table so that you could move up closer to him so that you wouldn’t have to crane your neck so much. 

“Well, to be fair, I think he was just a bit disgruntled to be moved away from his partner in crime,” you move some of the hair out of his face as helmets you sit on his lap, his hands resting comfortably on your waist as you lean in to whisper, “Seeing how I saw them hooking up in one of the broom closets.” 

Gojo’s lips part, eyes wide in shock as you nod slowly, a smug grin on your face.

“Makes sense,” he finally muttered and you snorted, thinking back to how the two boys literally couldn’t be away from each other for too long before they made a fuss about it. 

Most of the other students had gone up to their beds, excited for the early morning they’d be having with presents and such, but you liked staying up this night, liked watching as the presents slowly appeared under the tree.

His mouth opened in a small yawn and you moved slightly, feeling guilty for keeping him up so long. 

“Do you ‘wanna sleep?” You offered, twirling some of his white strands around your fingers as his eyes traced over your features. 

His hands moved up and down your back, holding you close to his body. 

“But the presents?” Gojo started, looking at the big Christmas tree near the fireplace as you giggled, noting how he was trying his best to control the yawns that were threatening to spill from his lips. 

“I’ll just look at them tomorrow,” you promise with a giggle, swinging your legs off from him as you stand, stretching your arms above your head as you let out a tired yawn of your own, rubbing at your eyes as you bookmark the page you were at, watching as he stands up, doing a little stretch of his own.

He slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you to him as he presses a kiss against your forehead, letting you lead the way back to the dormitories. 

“Promise to wake up early tomorrow?” You say, looking at him with a raised brow, watching as he crosses his hands across his heart. 

“Swear on it,” he assures you with a little cheeky grin, his shoulder playfully knocking yours as you snort. 

The two of you walked in comfortable silence, your eyes taking in all the festive decorations, not noticing how he couldn’t stop looking at you. The girl's dormitories were on the left, and down the hall, you’d find the boys, which meant that you were the first to depart as you neared the top of the stairs. 

You move to stand in front of your door, your book in your hands as you stare up at him, noticing the pink flush that never seemed to leave, all over his cheeks. He looked so pretty like this. 

“This is me,” you say jokingly and he chuckles softly, his hands back on your waist as you feel him press a gentle kiss to your forehead. He never pressured you to kiss him back, always leaving small yet thoughtful pecks either on the crown of your head or on your face, wherever he’d find that you didn’t squeal as he tried to kiss.

He says your name quietly, looking down at you as you meet him in the middle. 

“Merry Christmas Satoru,” you whisper, and you see the wide, boyish smile that breaks across his face when you say his name, loving it only when he hears it from your lips. 

“Merry Christmas sweetheart,” his voice quieter than usual, kinder, and in a lovesick way that not even amortentia could replicate.

You look up for a brief second when you sense something is off, and you giggle at the little green and white plant that is forming above your head.

“Mistletoe,” you mutter. 

“Hm?” He sounds confused until he looks up when he sees it growing, it’s green leaves and little white flowering buds, looking back down at you. 

And again, just like that night in October, you don’t know which one of you it was that moved closer to bridge the gap, but either way, only seconds later did you feel him press his lips against yours, and you were gone.

He was gentler than the last time as if he was savoring your lips, your taste, the way you moved against him. Gojo wrapped an arm around you, tugging you to him, his other hand fumbling with the door handle as the two of you tumbled inside, his foot raising to kick it shut as you tangled your fingers in his hair. 

“S-satoru,” you whine, needing more of him, needing him in a way you’ve never felt, your eyes fluttering shot when he bites at your lips, his tongue prodding past your lips as you let him, your stomach fluttering delightfully, “More, need more,”

His eyes flicked open for a second, ensuring you were okay, and he grinned. 

His lips resumed their movements, sucking and yours, teeth nipping as your face became of a mess of spit, moaning slightly as he nudged your jaw up with his nose, your head tilting backward as you gave him more room on your neck. 

Mindlessly you reach for your wand in your back pocket, waving it near the direction of your door as you lock it and cast a muffliato charm, something you would thank yourself for greatly later.

Gojo was relentless as he pressed kisses and sucked harshly on your skin, needing to mark up what was his, needing people to see that you were his, and you could only whine as he left dark marks on your skin, soothing them with little pecks as he moved down. 

His scent was all-consuming, the way he held you made you go dizzy, and if only you knew that what you felt, he felt ten-fold more. Gojo was so crazy about you, that if you told him to jump from his broomstick he’d gladly do it.

“Is this,” he sighs, trying to catch some air, “This okay? Do you want me to stop?” 

And you quickly shake your head, muttering out no, no, as he chuckled darkly, moving your (his) sweater away from your shoulders so he could kiss down there too. 

Your hands, which had been wrapped around his neck, fell to his chest, pushing at his sweater as you wanted to paw at the skin, wanting to feel more of him, and you heard his breathing stutter, his lips pausing momentarily at the feeling of your hands on him. 

He says your name like a mantra like he’s been waiting his entire life to say it, and you catch his eyes once again like he’s asking for permission to continue, and you nod, smiling up at him as you let him.

Your fingers grasp at the hem of his sweater, tugging it upwards so that you could see his skin beneath, the muscles sitting nicely, a glimpse you sometimes saw when he was moving around too much, and your heart stumbled. 

He helped you, tugging it upwards and over his head as he discarded it somewhere on the floor, and for once you feel the air get knocked from your lungs. 

He’s built. Long, muscular shoulders, soft skin that shouldn’t be as daunting as it looked right now, but he wasn’t even focused on that, his nimble fingers running across your waist where your sweater had hitched upwards, and you just know that you need more of this. 

You’re not even thinking as you shed it off of you, joining him on the floor, and his eyes widen, swallowing thick as he sees what he only thought he’d be able to see in the back of his mind as he dreamed. 

You were stunning, and suddenly he thought back to the statues he saw in Italy when he traveled there as a child. He thought back to how those ladies looked, and how the sculptors must be twisting and turning in their graves when they could’ve had you as their muse. 

“Stopp,” you whine, embarrassed, your hands going up to cover your naked skin, but he gently pushes them down, kissing your collarbone, the skin above your breasts which were still hidden with your bra as he shakes his head. 

“You’re beautiful,” he mutters, the words escaping him as if his mind is working faster than any other part of his body, “So beautiful.” 

He dips his head back down to kiss you, and a surprised sound escapes your lips, but you welcome it nonetheless, feeling entranced by him, by the fervor in his movements, as if he wouldn’t survive without this.

His hands worship you, slow and careful as they run against your naked skin walking you back so that your knees hit the back of your bed. 

“You’re pretty good-looking too,” you try for a joke but it falls short from your lips because it’s true. You’d read stories of Aphrodite and Persephone fighting over Adonis just because he was the most gorgeous man they met, and you were worried that if the gods were real you’d have to hide him away forever. 

He hums in the back of his throat, as if he didn’t believe you, and gingerly laid you down on your bed, his massive body looming over you as you smile, a gleeful smile on your face as you try to make sense of what your life was. 

“What’s so funny?” Gojo teased, pressing little butterfly kisses on your cheek, the tip of your nose, your chin, and you couldn’t stop smiling, feeling ticklish when he kissed your neck again, a light giggle falling from your lips that made his ears turn pink. 

“Nothing,” you said breathlessly, squealing when he bit the skin in the middle of your tits, swatting at his head as he grinned, pressing a soothing kiss to the spot. 

“No, it has to be something,” he argues, kissing down the valley of your breasts, down your stomach, never breaking eye contact with you as you swallow thickly, no longer laughing as you feel a heat growing in your stomach, “Is it funny when I kiss here?” He presses a kiss above your navel, “Or here?” He’s reaching the top of your jeans, pulling them down slightly to kiss your hip bone, “Or maybe here?” 

And you shake your head, want and desire in your eyes and he chuckles darkly, slowly unbuttoning your jeans as he slides them down your legs, his heart sputtering in his chest when he comes back up to see you all sprawled out for him. 

You feel self-conscious about your choice of undergarments, both old and nearly falling apart at the seams, not matching in any sense of the word, but Gojo doesn’t seem to care. He looks at you as if you’re a painting that’s suddenly come to life, and he doesn’t know how to handle that. 

You reach behind yourself to work at the old clasp of your bra, sliding it down your arms as you lie back down, looking sheepishly at him as you realize you’re far more exposed at the moment than he is. 

But Gojo seems to have gone to another world, not moving from where he was as his eyes don’t leave from your chest. 

“Don’t look at me like that!” You shout, trying to cover up your bare chest with your hands but he gently tugs your wrists away, his blue eyes wavering as he groans, getting closer to you before he glances up.

“Don’t hide from me then,” he’s pleading, beginning, “Please.” 

And you can’t, because the way he presses gentle kisses to your bare breasts is unlike anything you’ve felt before. You’re breathing hitches, and your head falls back to your pillows as his mouth closes over on your nipples, a moan ripping from your throat. 

“Oh,” you say, breathing shakily through your nose as his other hand goes to your other tit, his thumb flicking over your nipple as you feel yourself grow wetter down there, terrified that there’s going to be a pool when he looks. 

He sucks, bites, marking up this territory that only he’s going to see, his pink lips switching to your other one as you whine out loud, feeling lightheaded as he presses three kisses to your hard nipple, worshiping you like you were his deity. 

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he says with a mouthful of tit, pulling up from your chest as he kisses you briefly, kissing down your body one more time before he settles in between your legs, “And no man has been more willing to die than me.” 

You whine when his hot kisses trail up from your calf to your knees, wet as they glisten in the candlelight as if he was making his path visible up to where you were burning, needing for him to meet you. 

“You talk a l-lot,” you’re trying to sound steady but you can’t when he’s looking at you like that, but he just kisses the inside of your thigh for a second long, his nose nudging at your clothed cunt as you whine. 

You’ve only heard about the other girls talking about sex, feeling embarrassed as they acted out what the other guys did with them. They talked about how they threw them around on the bed or how they pushed their heads down into the pillows but they never mentioned anything about this.

“You’re right,” he murmurs, “I should stop.” 

And he doesn’t give you any warning as he presses a kiss to your clit through your underwear, your little gasp of surprise going straight to his dick. He hitches your legs on his shoulders, looping a finger around the waistband of your panties as he slides them down, a deep, guttural groan almost punched from his lungs at the sight of your glistening cunt. 

Fuck, he thought to himself, you actually were going to be the death of him with the way he still can’t properly breathe around you. 

“Perfect,” Gojo whispers, his head dipping down, “You’re perfect.” 

And before you can chide him again, he dives down, his tongue licking and sucking at your pussy lips, your back arching off of the bed as your fingers grasp onto his head for support, unknowingly pushing him even further into you. 

He’s fast, tasting you as he groans again, your saccharine essence bursting against his tongue, and he can’t control himself. It’s so messy and wet, and you can see your juice shining on his chin when you glance down briefly to look at him. 

“O-oh,” you stutter when he pushes a slender finger inside your walls, clenching down on him as his lips find your clit, suctioning at it as you whine for him to go fast, “Oh god,” 

He smiles against you, his finger slowly moving in and out, his lips kissing your clit, feeling the way you grew tight around him and didn’t stop. 

When he added his middle finger you felt like you were going to die, not knowing how you’d be able to handle all of him if this was just you losing yourself on his fingers, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care right now. 

His fingers are long and reach deep within you, something you’ve never felt before, but knowing that you’d surely die without it if he stopped.

“S-Satoru,” you’re mewling, and he thinks he could just cum with the way you’re saying his name, “Don’t stop, please, f-faster.” 

And he kisses your cunt to tell you that he hears you, his fingers positioning in and out of you, his tongue alternating from where his fingers were to going back up to your little bud, your eyes screwed shut as you feel that rope grow tighter and tighter in your stomach. 

His unoccupied hand travels up your stomach to toy with your breasts, flicking your nipples back and forth, the added sensation along with everything else causing you to nearly lose whatever sanity it was that you had left. 

Your toes curled, your fingers gripping onto his white strands even tighter, feeling bad for how hard you were pulling at him, but he urged you, loving that sting. 

“How do you feel?” He takes a break, his voice a little muffled, his fingers not stopping as you whine helplessly, “Everything okay?” 

And you can tell he’s just teasing you because when you push his head back down he goes willingly, acting as if you were his last meal on this earth and he just couldn’t wait for the sweet release of death. 

“Good,” you moan, “S-so good,” and your voice is egging him on, making him go faster and faster, your toes curling as he switches between his fingers and his mouth, doing something heavenly that you never knew you could experience. 

You’re growing tighter around him, your chest heaving as you feel something strange, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, coming. 

“W-wait, ‘Toru, I…” and you can’t stop it, your eyes going white as he doesn’t stop either, his fingers pistoning in and out of you with no remorse, “I don’t know…fuck…coming, I…” and you’re just babbling mindlessly now, your back almost off of the bed as something snaps and you’re gushing around his fingers. 

It’s euphoric, the feeling. You can’t breathe but somehow you can breathe better than you have in your life, your walls clenched around him like a vice, your thighs shaking as you cum around his fingers. 

You wailed out a hopeless moan, your hands covering your mouth as if that could silence you, fat tears dotting your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure you were feeling and you were trying to fill your lungs back up with air as his mouth never stopped sucking at your clit until he was sure your climax was over.

When you finally calmed down and sank back onto the bed, Gojo sat up from between your thighs, his hair messy, chin and lips soaked with his spit and your release, his eyes a bright cerulean blue. 

You watched as he stuck his fingers in his mouth, cleaning you off of him, moaning like a whore at the sight. He dipped back down, kissing you feverishly, letting you kiss yourself on him as you whine, feeling like a different person entirely. 

When he pulls away there’s a line of spit connecting your lips, and he’s never looked happier.

“Are you feeling good?” He’s rubbing soothing circles on your hips, “Want to stop?” 

You groan, swatting at his shoulders. 

“You’re too attentive,” you say, and he snorts, kissing in between your brows as he pecks your lips one last time, reaching down to unbutton his pants, and throw them somewhere along with the rest of your clothes. 

You watch in a love-sick haze as he tugs at his boxers, his fingers quick as he discards them too, and suddenly, the two of you are bare before each other. 

He is Adonis, you finally decide when you get to get a full look at him, there’s no question. 

His legs are just as toned as the rest of him, his thighs huge with pure muscle, something necessary to be quidditch captain as well as one of the best seekers Hogwarts has ever seen. The v-line that leads down to his…oh god. 

He’s huge, and while you haven’t been with any other guy, you can tell that he’s big. His dick sits hard and angry against his stomach, his pretty pink tip leaking with pre, curving slightly. Your mouth waters at the veins that start at his base, his white hairs trimmed, and go upwards. 

How would he fit in you? 

“Don’t worry,” Gojo assures you, as if reading your mind, “I’ll go slow. Tell me at any point if it hurts, okay?” 

And you nod, your mouth watering as he climbs atop of you, his hand near your head as he presses one final kiss to your hairline, wrapping your leg around his waist as his other hand goes down to finger his dick, plunging two fingers into your wet pussy, lubricating it in your wetness as he looks down at where the two of you met. 

“Ready?” He asks, and you can only whine, murmuring out a needy yes as he chuckles, your legs spreading open to accommodate him, and he lines his tip up with your entrance. 

You feel like the air that you had so tirelessly gulped back seconds ago was punched out of you at the feeling, and he stays true to his words, going as slow as humanly possible so that you could get used to his length. 

He pushes past you gently and carefully, your walls clenching around him, memorizing every vein he has, the curve of his dick, and you watch as his hips press into yours, the way his abs tense as he tries to go slow. 

It stings, but in the most delicious way possible. Your eyes dot with tears, but you need him to move, not knowing why he was taking so long.

Gojo balances himself above you, and you grow wetter and wetter the more he sinks into your warmth, your legs circling his waist to pull him in even closer, your arms tangling around his shoulder, into the hairs at his nape. 

“More,” you whisper, needing him unlike anything you’ve needed before, “M-more, ‘Toru, please,” 

His eyes look at you with slight apprehension. 

“Are you s-” 

“Yes,” you cut him off, your legs tightening around him as he groans, his dick pressing more into you, sinking into you completely until all of him was sheathed inside your cunt. 

You could feel him in your stomach with the way he was pressing up into you, feel the outline of his dick against your skin, and his head dipped down so that you couldn’t see his face anymore, his breathing stuttering as he tried to regain his composure, trying his best to not pull out and slam back into you. 

Gojo gives you a couple of seconds to grow used to him and tries to be as much of a gentleman as he can be, but with every other tick of that clock on the wall he thinks he’s going to go inside, not recognizing himself anymore. 

Your chest heaves, and you nod. 

“‘M ready,” you say finally, and his head draws back up to you, his brows furrowed together, trying to make sure that you weren’t just saying that for his sake, but you nod again, “I’m ready.” 

And god, he feels like he’s finally seen the light as he pulls out of you, nearly all of his dick from your snug cunt, your juices shining in the light, and he pushes himself back in, groaning out from deep inside his chest as you clench around him. 

He does it again, and again, and again, and before you know it he’s slamming his hips into yours. 

“Shit,” he moans, his voice deeper and lower in pitch, “F-fuck, you’re so tight, you have’ta,” he lets out whine when you clench around him, “You have to relax, please sweetheart, you’re killing me.”

His hands are leaving bruises on your hips from how hard he’s holding onto you, your moans mixing with his as your ankles dig deep into his back, your back arching so much that your tits were pressed up against his chest, gleaming with sweat. 

“Mhh, ‘Toru, oh my g-god,” you can’t even recognize your own voice, “S-so good, s’big ‘Toru,”

You watch as he drops a hand in between your two bodies, his fingers rubbing at your clit as your mouth opens in a silent scream, sweat dotting at your forehead as you bit your lip to keep in your debaucherous moans. 

He bites down on your shoulder, leaving yet another mark, his nose inhaling at the last remnants of your perfume, making sure he’d never forget a single thing about tonight. 

His fingers along with his dick are driving you to ruin, and you feel that same coil coming back, being pulled taunt deep within you far quicker than the first time. He’s relentless against your clit, kissing your tits gently as you cry out. 

“Shit, I…” you can barely breathe, his own groans and moans filling up the room, “I can’t, I feel like…!” 

“I know, I know,” he says, knowing what you’re meaning, what you’re feeling, because he’s not too far from his own release either, “Come on, let go, I’ve got you,” he muttered against your glistening skin, edging you on even more.

Your fingers tangle in his white strands once again, pulling him closer to you as your lips lock with his, the kiss messy and not even coherent but you don’t care because as his tongue mingles with yours, his hips never stopping and his fingers picking up pace, you moan out loud, lewd and wanting into his mouth as you come. 

This time is even more intense than the last time, and you can’t stop clenching around him, your cum coating his dick, making it even more wet as you spasm around him, your eyes seeing stars, feeling a loud thumping in your head and chest. 

It doesn’t help that he doesn’t stop either, your orgasm lasting even longer as he chases his own high, his head thrown back in an instant as he pulls out to finish on you, white spurts coating your heaving chest, painting you like his own portrait. 

“Fuck,” he sighs out, his white lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he looks at you, underneath him, covered in his cum, and feels something primal surge in his chest at the sight, like you’re his god and he’s finally in heaven.

Even after he pulls out you feel yourself pulsing around nothing, already missing him as you whine absentmindedly at the loss.

When you finally calm down, you crack your eyes open to see him sitting on his haunches, pushing back his sweat soaked hair away from his face as he shoots you own of his wide grins, your own face breaking into a smile as you throw and arm across face. 

You feel the bed dip, and peek out to see him walking away. 

“Where…?” You croak out, your voice hoarse, and he throws you a wink from over his shoulders, finding a clean towel in your little bin that you keep at the end of the room for when you and the rest of the girls need to shower.

He brings it over to you, grabbing his wand, casting a small aguamenti charm on it, only to get it slightly wet, as he comes back to where you were lying. 

You silently watch as he gingerly drags it across your body, cleaning you up between your legs, wincing at the way you inhaled sharply, still feeling raw, and kissing your stomach in an apologetic manner. He then dragged it across your chest, making sure he got everything, throwing the towel in the dirty bin as he climbed up to bed with you. 

“Thirsty?” He asks, and you nod meekly, graciously accepting the cup that he fills with the pitcher near your bed stand, gulping it all down as some of the water droplets fall on your chest, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you set it to the side, falling back in your bed 

The bed isn’t really meant for two people, especially one with his size, so you have to cuddle close together, but you don’t mind the way he pulls you closer to his chest, pulling the blanket above so that it rests on your naked body. 

“Good?” He asks simply, and you nod again, craning your neck to look up at him as you smile gleefully. 

“Good.” 

—

That morning, you were the first to wake. 

You blink slowly, sitting up, wiping at your eyes as your mouth opens in a loud yawn. 

You look over to Gojo next to you, his hands still strewn across your waist, his lips parting slightly as he sleeps gently. 

You don’t want to wake him up, not used to seeing him so at ease, but you remember that it’s Christmas morning, falling back down to your mattress as your fingers tap on his bicep, watching as he cracks one blue eye open. 

“Hmm?” He hums tiredly, annoyed that you had moved away from him, pulling you back to the furnace that was his chest. 

“You promised you’d wake up,” you say with a whine, giggling when his eyes snap open, never wanting to break a promise he makes to you, sitting up suddenly as he looks around the empty room. 

“I’m kidding,” you tease, “I don’t usually get much, come back to sleep.” 

Gojo yawns, rubbing his hands across his face, and gives you a knowing look. Your brows furrow together in confusion, tilting your head to the side. 

“What?” You ask, sitting up next to him as his thumb traces against your knuckles. 

“Nothing,” he kisses your forehead, your nose, your cheeks and then finally your lips, “It’s just that I think that the majority of presents under that tree are for you,” Gojo says with a grin, watching with a smile as your face breaks into the cutest grin, your eyes bright as you tug on his fingers. 

“Really?” you’re already getting out of bed, the smile on your face never ending as you tug on your jeans from the floor, “Really?” 

“Really,” he says, handing you your sweater as you pull that on mindlessly, your movements fast and hurried, excited for Christmas morning for the first time since you were a kid. 

“Oh, and,” he holds onto your wrist, stopping you momentarily as you try to pull on a sock over your feet, “I have something I wanted to give you…in private.” 

Your eyes squint together, trying to see if he was going to say a dirty joke or if he was actually serious. 

When he releases your wrist, he unfolds your hands, taking your ring finger as he slides a ring across it, something that he must’ve had hidden in his hand for a good second because you never saw him get anything. 

“What…?” You turn your hand around, only to see his gold ring, embellished with his family crest, shining back at you. 

“‘Toru, I…” You were shaking your head, going to take it off, but he stops you, his blue eyes shimmering a light sky color, creasing upwards as he gives you one of the smiles that he only reserves for you. 

“It’s yours,” he says, closing your fingers into a fist as he brings it up to his lips, kissing it softly, “And besides, it’s just a placeholder.” 

You let out a disbelieving chuckle, looking at the ring once again as you glance up at him. 

“Placeholder for what?” 

Gojo gives you another knowing look, as if you should know the answer to this question. 

“You’ll see,” he promises, and you laugh, helping him put on his own clothes, messing with his hair, pushing it back so that it wouldn’t be so messy. 

“You want to be my husband?” You say teasingly, walking to the door as you cast him a glance, “Because you should know that I need to get a stable job and house and everything before I even think of marrying. Are you sure you’ll want to wait that long? After all that time?” 

He pulls you in for a hug, kissing the crown of your head. 

“Even after all that time,” he murmurs against your hair, “Always.”

taglist: @satorusemepls, @mokonasenpaiposts, @kao-ri, @rinxgojo, @notsochillnerd, @astral-hydromancy, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaron, @tedbunny333, @13-09-01, @mynameislove1, @hyunsuks-beanie, @uziwork, @haychhans, @cccccccccccleo, @sweetteez, @mxdwomann, @sorcerersseestars, @tiramusuc0ffee, @sourairi, @luringfantasy, @gojoswife69420, @empathum, @luna-v-roiya, @r0ckst4rjk, @hyori2, @kaisenkalogathia, @kraytjustkrayt, @nobayashi-blog

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine being Sylus' high-school sweetheart, like the typical power couple that everyone in the campus knows about. A subject of envy and admiration. The couple that eveyone aspire to become.

Imagine years went by and you loathe the very same man you once dreamt of becoming your other half. The one you once build all your dream with only to come crashing down when he left without a word. Not a damn word and he vanished right after that very same night he promised to be yours and only yours.

Imagine Sylus who came back like he never left, at the very same night were you were declared as the heir, the next leader into your father's mafia legacy, there he waltz in the room. Only to have known later that day that he was heir of the rival group your family has been on conflict with.

Imagine not too long after that night, you were walking on your own only to find yourself pressed down on the wall but it was alright, you have been drilled into this situation long ago so it did not take you a lot of effort to press the tip of your gun into his skull, specially when he did not even bothering nudging you off. "It's been a while, Kitten." "Well fuck you- Sylus."

Imagine fucking hating him. You fucking hate him, the way he left without saying anything, the way he act like nothing happened after leaving you. The way he made you feel like all those sleepless nights wondering if you were never enough was all for naught. You fucking hate him, goodness gracious you do but fucking hell. You do miss him.

"Just so you know, I still fucking hate you." You stated in which made him chuckle. Leaning over you to give you a kiss on the crown of your head, fingers brushing through your bare skin as he laid down right beside you. "I know Kitten." He was not asking for forgiveness. Not when he know he doesn't deserve it. Nevertheless, this was enough. Looking over you, he finds you asleep. "I love you. I never stop loving you." Or maybe not, by the way your hand curl into a fist that goes unnoticed by him.

Imagine all the secret late night talks, all the exchange glances. The way the two of you would sneak into the night only to see each other. All the confidential mission but were secretly going out for a date with none other than your family's number one enemy heir. It was funny when you think about. How much you love and hate this very same guy who once break your heart was also the same guy who was slowly trying to fix it.

Imagine one day, you find yourself staring at a white ceiling. Eyes adjusting on the blinding light as you raise a hand to cover it when all of a sudden, you were bombarded with questions. "Who are you?" That was the only question that came out of your mind before everything came crashing out. Your head starts to ache. And before you knew it, everything went black once again.

Imagine years went by ever since the massacre of the your mafia organisation. Sylus got a report stating a person looking very similar to his long lost lover who was believed to have perished long ago has been spotted. It was not like he was not looking forward to it, but it was also not the first time such report came into him. He received at least a hundred reports every month only to be disappointed when everything was done. He knew you were alive, you body was never found. You have to be alive.

"Who are you?" He felt like he had been stab in the heart when you look at him with such distrust. Even when he left you and came back like the asshole he was, you never looked at him like that. "I'm not the one you are looking for." You walked passed him like he was nothing. "Weirdo." You utter, yet somehow. It hurts when you did such thing which was strange, you don't even know that guy.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

: I fucked this one up, I'm sorry.

[wwooyology]

Scream For Me | Y.JW

「paring」 : ghostface!bf!jungwon x fem!reader 「word count」 : 4.4k

「synopsis」 : word of a masked serial killer spreads like wildfire in your small town, but it never fully sets in until you come face-to-face with the very killer who just so happens to be your sweet boyfriend and he has an ulterior motive.

「genre」 : pure smut with some plot, horror/thriller, angst, serial killer au

「warning」 : jungwon is a killer, blood, dom!jungwon x sub!reader, knife play, cursing, fingering, petnames (baby, princess, my love, slut), won is MEAN, messy, oral (f. receiving), jungwon is kinda manipulative in the beginning, degradation, dacryphilia, choking, minor hair pulling, making out, unprotected sex (don't be silly, wrap your willy), thigh riding, teasing, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, begging, marking, breeding kink, creampie, passing out, slight manhandling, I feel like I def missed a few things, pls lmk!

「note」 : so I kinda went a little crazy with this one... this has been a serious brainrot so I hope you enjoy it! also, it's only been lightly edited!

The room suddenly felt ten times colder than it did just moments before, your heart was racing and you could hear it through your ears. Your phone was tightly clutched in your hand as your eyes scanned all of the windows in your house, his words still ringing in your head.

“It’s such a shame, a pretty thing like you left your doors unlocked…”

Word of a serial killer in your small town had gotten to you, but you never really thought much of it because, of course, you were always with your boyfriend. However, the one night that he had family matters to attend to was the very night this killer decided to make his move.

Tears had already pooled in your eyes, terror filling your veins. The person had used a voice changer so it wasn’t like you could try to figure out who it was by their voice. You stood in your kitchen racking your brain for possibilities on who this masked killer could be, all while your front door creaked open quietly.

The sound of your floorboards creaking caught your attention, head turned in the direction of the noise. Without a second thought, you started slowly walking down the hall. It was almost like the fear had made you lose all your common sense, doing things you swore you’d never do while watching horror movies. 

“Hello?” Your meek voice called out, bouncing off of the empty halls, gaining no response besides a small echo of your own voice. 

A scream tore through your throat as a vase next to you fell and shattered, glass fragments scattering all around your bare feet. Looking down with wide, teary eyes, you try to tiptoe around the broken shards without cutting yourself. 

‘What did I do to deserve this…?’

The tears finally spilled from your eyes as you made it to the end of the hall, seeing your front door wide open. This was actually going to be the end, wasn’t it? You’d never get to finish school like you planned, you’d never get to hang out with your friends anymore, see your parents at dinner, or volunteer at the animal shelter with Jungwon. Jungwon. Oh, how you wish you could talk to your sweet boyfriend one last time, tell him that everything would be okay and that you love him.

You were torn from your thoughts as a loud crash was heard from upstairs causing you to nearly jump out of your skin. Cries fell from your lips as you looked between the open door and the stairs, debating on whether you should just run for it.

‘Why the fuck am I even asking that?’ 

You turn, making your way to the front door, however, before you could step through the threshold you heard a voice.

“Y/n? Baby?” 

Your heart dropped at the sound of your boyfriend's voice, why is he here? Turning away from the door, hands trembling as you reached for the railing of the stairs. “Won?” Your voice cracked as you tried peeking up the stairs, but saw nothing.

“Baby, help me please.” He sounded like he was on the verge of tears and it broke you, tears streaming down your face, sobs falling from your lips. 

Whether it was the fear or the need to save your boyfriend you turn and go back down the hallway, stepping over the glass once more. As if luck wasn’t on your side at all, you ended up stepping on a stray piece of glass causing a sharp pain to shoot up your leg. A loud cry left your lips as you leaned against a wall, the phone falling from your hand.

Tears continued to stream down your flushed face as you grabbed your foot to look at the damage done. Biting your lip you grab the shard before pulling it from your foot, a trail of crimson blood following after it.

Another crash from upstairs reminded you of the situation once more and you scrambled to the kitchen, straight to the knife stand. Grabbing one of the bigger knives, your hands trembling as you made your way back to the stairs, walking through the living room so as to not step on any more glass. 

You call out for your boyfriend once more as you take the steps slowly, leaving a trail of red behind you. However, you were met with silence.

Terror struck you as you got to the top of the step, there were boot prints on the ground that you hadn’t noticed before, leading straight to your bedroom. Holding the knife defensively in front of you, hands trembling, you move to the ajar door, pushing it open.

Your eyes went wide as the door swung open, there was your boyfriend, on his knees in the middle of your room.

“Jungwon!” You quickly made your way towards him, throwing all caution to the wind to make sure he was okay. The knife fell from your hands as you dropped to your knees in front of him, the sound of soft cries falling from his lips. “Hold on, I'll get you out of here.” Panic and worry surge through you, going to untie his hands from behind him, only to realize. He wasn’t tied up.

“Oh y/n, y/n, y/n.” The cries turned into laughter as he lifted his head meeting your eyes. Jungwon watched in amusement as the worry on your face morphed into terror. You try to reach for the knife that you discarded, but you aren’t quick enough. Jungwon snatched the object off of the ground, “Ahahah now my love, don’t act too rash now.” he chuckled as he towered over your trembling form.

The sight of the tears falling from your beautiful doe eyes as you looked up at him caused his cock to twitch behind his pants. 

Your eyes trailed from his blood-speckled face down the length of his body before falling on the mask in his left hand. The same Ghostface mask that the police have reported the killer to always be wearing. Looking back up you met Jungwon’s eyes as realization set in. The man before you, your boyfriend, the same man who would never hurt a bug, was a cold-blooded killer.

Jungwon smirked as he crouched down in front of you, moonlight gleaming off of the knife in his hand. You watched him in fear, fear of what he was going to do with you. Was he going to kill you? Or was all of this some sick joke his friend put him up to, but with the curfew in town set you knew that'd be hard to pull off.

“Why are you so surprised, my love? I thought you were smarter than this.” His voice was cold, nothing like the warm and sweet one you were used to. Then his words registered in your brain, what did he mean? Taking in your confused expression he brought his hand with the mask, taping a gloved finger to his temple, “Use that pretty head of yours.”

As you thought more and more about how the killings always lined up when he wasn’t with you, the more you started to realize that it had been right under your nose. 

Jungwon watched with a sadistic smile as he noticed your shaking die down, as well as your breathing evened out. Even in this insane situation, your body was subconsciously relaxing in his presence. 

“It was really you?” Your voice shook as you looked back up at him, tears silently flowing down your face.

Jungwon just hummed with a nod, “Yep.” he popped the ‘p’ as he brought the knife closer to his face, inspecting it. “It’s therapeutic honestly, you should try it sometime, I know how stressed you get.”

You swallowed thickly as you watched the light bounce off of the sharp metal, your fear was slowly melting away. Noticing your lingering gaze, Jungwon pointed the knife towards you, the sharp point barely a centimeter away from your nose. Your breath hitched, eyes wide as you looked from the weapon to your boyfriend's dark eyes.

“Don’t be getting any funny ideas now, princess.” His tone is dark, making your stomach flip. 

“I wasn’t…” Letting out a shaky breath you reach forward cautiously still believing that he would never hurt you, grabbing his wrist and pulling the object away from your face. “I wasn’t going to, Won, I swear.”

He chuckled darkly before dropping his mask to encase your throat in his palm, squeezing hard enough to limit your oxygen. Pushing your body down roughly until your back was flat on the cold ground, his body caging yours underneath him. He traced the knife down the side of your face, a crazed look in his eyes causing a whimper to leave your lips, rubbing your thighs together.

Your head started to spin as so many emotions started to spiral, but fear and lust were the ones to overthrow the others. Why was this turning you on? You were supposed to be fighting to get his hand off your throat, but you only hoped he’d squeeze more. The knife that was so close to cutting your skin only excited you more. Then his face, god his face covered in blood was a sight you didn’t know you needed.

Noticing how you started to squirm underneath him, Jungwon smirked, squeezing your throat more. A broken moan tore through your lips as your eyes screwed shut, heat pooling in your lower gut.

“Are you enjoying this?” He leaned closer to your face, warm breath brushing across your lips. Your eyes fluttered open to show him the need and lust that swirled in them causing him to smile, his teeth peeking out from between his lips. “Such a dirty slut,”

He pulled away slightly to trailed the blade over your collarbone, before moving to hook the knife under your shirt. You whined as the sounds of your top ripping filled the room.

“And you’re not wearing a bra, such a naughty girl.” He teased as he placed the blade back on your bare skin, tracing the tip down the valley of your breast leaving goosebumps in its wake. A shaky sigh fell from your lips as you looked at your boyfriend, whose gaze was already on you, studying your reactions.

When he brought the blade to the sensitive skin of your nipple, you cried out, head falling back. Jungwon could feel himself growing even harder in his jeans, never knowing his sweet little girlfriend would enjoy something so dirty. Then he got ideas of how he could torture you until you were begging for his cock.

A broken ‘please’ fell from your lips causing Jungwon to look at you with a sadistic smirk, dragging the blade away from your boob, and down your stomach. When he got closer to your core, your hips bucked causing the knife to puncture your skin. Your head fell back with a moan at the sudden pain, it ignited a new kind of flame in your gut.

“Fuck.” Jungwon cursed as he watched in amazement at how your body was reacting. He pulled the blade away from your skin resulting in a whine from you. Blood trickled from the small cut flowing down your side before meeting the band of your sleep shorts, dying the fabric red.

He chuckled as he watched you squirm under his hold, your hands trying to reach him. Letting go of your throat you let out a gasp before he grabbed the back of your head, his lips smashing into yours. A small yelp of surprise fell from your lips before melting into his lips, matching his pace, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt.

His free hand trailed down your sensitive skin making you moan into his mouth, his fingers tracing circles on the inside of your thigh as he got closer to your core. Your hips buck into his hand desperate for his touch.

"Hmm, you're not very patient, are you?" Jungwon whispered against your lips before biting your bottom lip, nearly drawing blood. You whimpered at the pain before he pulled your lip into his mouth, sucking harshly making your head spin.

His fingers slipped past the waistband of your bottom, smearing blood on your abdomen in the process. Your jaw fell slack, a moan falling from your parted lips as his finger brushed against your slit.

“Such a dirty, dirty girl, I’ve barely done anything and you’re already so wet.” He berated you, watching you whine, tears pooling in your eyes because your body felt so hot and he wasn’t doing anything to help, just watching with that same smirk on his lips.

“Please, Jungwon, please please.” You sounded like a broken record begging for him to do something.

However, he pulled his hand from your pussy and moved away from your body altogether. You moved yourself to sit up, watching him with wide eyes as he walked towards your bed, pulling the gloves off of his hands. He sat on the edge of the bed before looking over at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Well? Get over here.” His voice was rough, with a hint of annoyance as he watched you continue to sit on the ground. Seeing anger flash across his face made your stomach turn causing you to scramble to your feet. 

Jungwon watched as you meekly walked towards him, your boobs bouncing slightly with each step you took. When you stood before him, he looked up at you taking in the sight of you looking right at the bulge in his jeans shamelessly.

“If you wanna cum so badly…” His voice broke your trance making you meet his eyes as he grabbed your hips, pulling you into his lap. You whined as you felt his bulge press right against your clothed core. “Then ride my thigh.”

“But-” “It’s my thigh or nothing, princess. I’m not lifting a finger to help you get off.” He cut you off, getting ready to push you off of him, but you grabbed his shoulders telling him to wait.

Your face flushed in embarrassment, he’s never asked for anything like this any other time you’ve had sex. He was always sweet and making sure you were taken care of, but seeing this new side of him was a sort of whiplash.

As you moved to straddle his thigh, he removed his hands from your hips using them to support himself as he leaned back. Watching as you started rocking back and forth on his thigh, hands fisting his shirt trying to ground yourself. Sigh-like moans leave your lips as you spread your legs further trying to gain more friction.

Jungwon watched in amusement as your body shuddered in pleasure, trying to keep yourself balanced. However, the closer you got to your climax the more rushed your movements became and the volume of your moans increased.

“Wonnie please…” You whined as you slumped forward, legs growing numb due to the overwhelming pleasure. Jungwon knew you were close because of the way your jaw fell slack and your knuckles turned white due to gripping his shirt so tight.

“Oh come on baby, you’re not tired already, are you?” He mocked you as you continued to whine out, rocking your hips furiously. Wanting to prove him wrong you sat up a little bit more, your head falling back. 

Your high was so dangerously close that you could taste it, “W-Won!”

“Go on, cum on my thigh like the desperate slut you are.” His words had you tipping over the edge, your body shaking as you rode out your orgasm. Jungwon sat up taking your hips in his hands once more, pulling them further down on his thigh, a loud moan leaving your lips. He continued to rock you against him, forcing your body into overstimulation.

“W-Won- fuck, ‘s too much.” You whimper, head falling into the crook of his neck, hand on his bicep.

“But you were so desperate to cum baby, I’m just helping you.” He chuckled as he felt your body shudder, face still buried in his neck. Leaning forward a bit he pressed a kiss to your shoulder making your body tingle. 

You could feel another high creeping up on you, “Won… I’m close.” Another, softer moan left your lips as you kissed his neck. He flexed his thigh underneath you causing your body to tremble as another orgasm washed over you, groaning against his neck.

Jungwon didn’t give you a second to rest, picking you up and laying you on the bed. Not even a second later his lips were on your neck sucking harshly leaving bright red marks in his wake. A loud moan broke through your lips as he bit down on your collarbone, hand flying to his head. 

He left a trail of his marks down your chest before taking one of your nipples into his mouth, your back arching pushing further into his mouth. Your fingers tugged his hair against his nape causing him to groan against your skin, hands on your hips pulling your body flush against his.

“You taste so sweet, baby.” He raised his head, his eyes holding an animalistic gleam, “but I bet your pussy tastes sweeter.” Your head falls back as he cups your core, pressing against your clothed core. With a devilish smirk, he lets his lips trail down your tummy, licking your wound and letting the crimson liquid coat his tongue. 

Looking down you felt like you wanted to combust at the sight of him tracing his tongue along the trail of dried blood. When he got to the hem of your shorts he pulled away, meeting your eyes as he tugged them down your legs. Watching the way you held your breath, eyes following his hands until the cloth was completely off of your body. 

Throwing them to the side, Jungwon turned back to you taking in the sight of your body, completely bare before him. Grabbing your ankle he brought it to his shoulder pressing a kiss on your calf watching as you squirmed under him, your lip between your teeth keeping from letting any sounds slip.

“Why are you so quiet now baby?” He asked as he trailed to your inner thigh listening to your breath hitch. Getting closer to your core, he blew on it watching the way your hole clenched around nothing. Chuckling darkly he laid your leg over her shoulder before licking a long stripe up your slit collecting your juices and cum on his tongue, humming at the taste. Your hands go to tangle in his hair, but he stops you. “Ah, hands behind your back.”

“But-” “Now, or I’ll tie you to the headboard and you won’t get to touch me at all.” He threatened and you whined but followed his instructions nonetheless. Arching your back enough to place your arms underneath before laying back down, trapping them.

Satisfied with your actions he goes back down on you, harshly sucking on your clit, eliciting a loud cry from your lips. He hummed against you, finally getting you to release your sounds again. He continued to devour your pussy like a starved man, broken moans and cries fell from your parted lips, hips bucking against his face.

His hand that was holding your hip moved to press down on your stomach, keeping you in place. Your eyes rolled back as you felt his tongue against your gummy walls, his nose pressing against your clit deliciously. 

“You taste heavenly my love,” He groaned against you, making your head spin, a cry of his name leaving your lips, fingers digging into the sheets under you. When he pressed two fingers into you so easily you felt like you could cum then and there. 

His pace was relentless as he pumped his fingers into you while switching between soft and hard sucks on your clit. The sensation was driving you insane and you felt like you could scream. 

You didn’t even give him a warning when you came as his fingers brushed over your sweet spot. Your vision turned white as you screamed his name, everything becoming extremely overwhelming, but he didn’t let up on his pace, dragging your orgasm out as long as he possibly could. You tried to get away from him as you felt another orgasm creeping up quickly, but his grip was too strong.

“Scream for me again princess, let the neighbors know who’s making you feel so good.” He smirked as he looked at you, his lower face glistening in your juices. His fingers continued to abuse your sweet spot until your whole body shook.

“OH MY GOD!” You cried out as your fourth orgasm of the night hit you like a tidal wave. Jungwon watched smugly as you rode out your high on his fingers before pulling them from your needy hole.

You whined softly at the sudden empty feeling and he laid your trembling leg down on the bed before leaning over you, pressing his lips against yours. You moaned at the taste of yourself on his tongue, he pulled your arms out from underneath you.

He grabbed your hand before leading it down his torso before groaning as your fingertips brushed against his clothes cock.

“You feel that baby?” He hissed through his teeth as you pressed your palm against him, “It’s all because of you and you’re gonna help me right?” He asked as he nipped at your jaw earning a whine from you, “gonna let me fuck this slutty pussy right?” You moaned as he moved your hand to your own sopping cunt. 

“P-Please.” You begged looking at him, eyes pleading with him.

“Please what princess?” He brought your hand to his mouth, licking your juices off of your own fingers, “you want my cock?” You nodded, biting your lip, eyes never leaving his. He grabbed your other wrist before pinning your hands next to your head, rolling his hips against yours, a moan tore through your lips. His lips ghosted over yours, “I wanna hear you say it.” 

His eyes bore into yours, your bottom lip quivering. With another roll of his hip, your brain turned into mush. Your hands balled into fists, eyes screwing shut, “fuck, Wonnie please, I want your cock in me so bad, fuck me please, Wonnie, please.” You rambled on as Jungwon watched you lose yourself smugly. He doesn’t know why he didn’t try this earlier, this was the hottest he’s ever seen you and it made him ten times harder. 

Releasing his hold on you he moved back to pull his shirt over his head leaving you to ogle at his bare torso. Reaching out you let your finger brush against his skin before he gave you a look making you retract your hand worried he’d deny you of his cock for longer.

Undoing his belt and unzipping his pants he pulled them down along with his underwear letting his dick spring free. Your mouth watered at the sight of it, yearning for it even more. Noticing your gaze Jungwon smirked, moving closer to you and grabbing your thighs pulling you closer to the edge of the bed.

“I haven’t even put it in yet and you already look like you’re about to cum.” He teased as he slapped the tip of his cock against your clit making you whine and squirm. A smug smirk tugged on his as he lined his tip up with your entrance watching your eyes roll.

“Fuck.”  You cursed as he pushed in before stilling and grabbing your hips to keep you from moving them, a whine leaving your lips.

Without any warning, he thrusted into you stealthing his length in you in one go causing you to quite literally scream his name, nails digging into the sheets. He smiled sadistically as he leaned down next to your ear, pushing deeper into you.

“You just love getting fucked by a serial killer don’t you y/n?” He nipped at your ear, “I bet you’d love it even more if I wore the mask huh?” Your brain was foggy, not able to voice a single thing, but your body did the talking for you. Jungwon groaned as he felt you tighten around him, squeezing his dick like you never wanted him to leave. “You’re such a dirty slut.” He berated you with a smile before he pulled his hip back until only his tip was left in you.

He thrusted his hips back into you, a moan leaving your lips as your eyes rolled back. He kept the brutal pace, his hand that was on your hip traveled up to your neck, squeezing and making you squeak. Tears fell from your eyes, drool spilling from the corner of your lips as you babbled nonsense. 

Jungwon could feel himself grow even harder at the sight of your fucked out state, taking in your teary eyes that would look at him before rolling back when he hit a particular spot in your cunt.

“God, you feel so good, princess.” He groaned as you squeezed around him, he had been hard for so long that he knew he wasn’t going to last long, not if your pussy kept squeezing him like this. “Fuck I’m not gonna last, I need you to cum for me, baby.” He breathed out as he grabbed your leg, throwing it over his shoulder. The new angle had you seeing stars, your vision quite literally going dark, a pitiful squeak falling from your swollen lips. “I’m gonna stuff you full of my cum and you’re gonna take every last drop like the good little slut you are.”

His words were your tipping point, your orgasm hitting you like a ton of bricks. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan and Jungwon groaned loudly as you squeezed him so hard, pushing him over as well.

His cum painted your walls white as he continued to fuck it into you and you were milking him for all he was worth as your walls continued to pulse around him. He felt your body go limp against his making him look up at your face seeing that you had passed out.

“Aww, how cute…” He cooed as he continued to roll his hips into yours until he went completely soft inside you. “Don’t worry I’ll take care of you.”

@wwooyology | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[nervousimposter]

Eddie started finding notes in his locker his sophomore year. The first couple of them, he just tossed without reading. He didn’t need to read what those asshole bullies wanted to say about him. But curiosity won out after two weeks of constant notes and he finally opened one. It was the single most impactful thing he’d ever read. 

I think you’re the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen. 

He kept that note. And every other note he got from that point on. If anyone were to ask Eddie what he regretted most in his life, it would be those two weeks of notes he tossed without reading. Ten slips of paper with unknown writing that he wishes he could get back. Add them to his ‘mystery boys notes’ box. And he was a mystery, the note writer. Anonymous. Unknown. Impossible to catch. 

Eddie held out for a month. A whole month before he decided to stage a stake out. He watched his locker like a hawk. In between classes, during classes, lunch, after school and even one absolutely horrible day where he came in an hour before school started. But the mystery boy had to be invisible. He never saw anyone approach his locker but his daily note was always there. And Eddie; poor, unfortunate, infatuated Eddie dealt with mystery boys’ notes from ‘82 to ‘85. Four agonizing years of the most heart-warming, loving notes. 

I wish I was as brave as you.

Did you change your shampoo? Your hair looked so soft today.

God, your eyes have to be the biggest fucking eyes I’ve ever seen. So pretty.

I like how long your hair is getting. 

Saw you walking down the hall today and I’ve never wanted to kiss someone more. 

They started cute. Compliments here and there, even a doodle every once in a while. Hearts and smiley faces. But as the months and years went by, the mystery boy got deeper. Confessions and secrets. 

I think if I had a different dad, we would’ve been best friends.

Can you fall in love with someone you’ve never talked to?

I dream about us. 

I’m a boy. I’m sorry.

I want to hold your hand. Those rings are something else. 

I saw you trying to catch me. Adorable.

I wish I could take you on a date. Not give a shit what my dad would say or what people would think. 

I wish I could be brave enough to talk to you. 

You’re still the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen.

I’m graduating this year. I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you. I think I’m going to try to figure out a way to keep dropping these off next year. I don’t want you to forget about me.

The notes didn’t continue when the school year started. Eddie was embarrassed to admit he cried that first night. He wasn’t sure how the mystery boy was going to be able to get the notes to him but he fully believed it was going to happen. He went five weeks with no daily note in his locker. And then, it showed up on a Monday. He almost missed it, the tiny slip of paper. 

Sorry this took so long. Had to figure out how I was going to sneak these in here. I don’t think I’ll be able to call you pretty every day of the week this time around but I’m going to try my best! 

And mystery boy was right. The notes were always there on Monday. Just Monday. But Eddie didn’t complain. One note a week after five weeks of nothing almost had his heart bursting from his chest. It also narrowed down his search. Sort of. Mystery boy was either coming in on those Mondays to drop off the note, sneaking in on the weekends when the school was empty OR after school on Fridays. And look, he’s failed to graduate high school two times in a row now but he wasn’t stupid. Did it take him three months after the notes to start again for him to realize who it was? Yes but to be fair, for two of those months it was Eddie wallowing in denial. 

Five weeks into school was when he restarted Hellfire. Three weeks before that was when he brought in those new little freshman sheepies. The same freshman sheepies that got picked up by Steve Harrington. Steve Harrington who graduated last year. Steve Harrington who he catches staring at him from his beemer in the parking lot every Friday night before he takes the kiddies home. Steve who he categorizes as someone who is so far out of his league that it just couldn’t be him. But it’s been three months and there isn’t any other former Hawkins high student running around in or near the school. And now that Eddie’s almost certain Steve has been mystery boy these past few years, he can’t wait. He’s been in love with a figure made out of slips of paper for four years and his nonexistent patience has truly run thin.  

He calls for a break 15 minutes before they normally end their sessions. Tells the boys he needs to run to the bathroom and almost sprints out the door. His locker sits in the hallway just around the corner of the drama room. The door closing shut echos through the empty hallways, alongside the squeaks coming from his shoes as he hustles towards his locker. He freezes as soon as he turns the corner. 

Steve probably only had 30 seconds after hearing the door open and shut to process what he was going to do. He could’ve run or hid, maybe pretend like he just needed the bathroom while he waited. But Eddie watched him pause as they made eye contact instead. Watched as Steve looked him up and down. Watched him relax and lean back against the lockers behind him with a lazy smirk. His arm slowly moved up and Eddie could see a slip of paper held between his fingers. Steve didn’t break eye contact with him at all as he proceeded to shove the paper between the vents of his locker. They stayed like that for what felt like hours. Staring. Broken when Steve pushed himself off the wall and walked towards him. He didn’t stop. Side stepped around Eddie before they could collide. A faint brush of his fingers along the back of his hand as he walked past him. And Eddie just watched him pass. Just like he watched him slip that note in his locker, he watched Steve walk back down the hall and out the front doors.

He waited only five seconds after the doors closed behind Steve before he jogged over to his locker. Grabbed the note and shoved it into his pocket before running back over to the drama room. Told the guys that they stopped at a decent spot and would meet again next Friday. Walked with them to the parking lot to head home. To catch a glimpse of Steve. And there he was, sitting in his beemer, staring again. This time though, Eddie smiled at him. He smiled at him and pulled the note out of his pocket. Opened it right there in the parking lot while he stared back at Steve. It only took him a few seconds to glance down to read. And as soon as he did, he threw his head back and laughed. Cackled really. He looked back at the beemer and saw Steve with the widest grin. Watched him lift his fingers off the steering wheel and wiggle them at him before he started pulling out of the lot. He looked back down at the note in his hand and chuckled again. Who knew Steve Harrington knew DnD well enough to draw a perfect rendition of an eight sided dice?

Wanna go on a d8? - Steve Harrington xxx-xxx-xxxx

[interloved]

nerdy!anakin skywalker who’s secretly a freak

requested by poll!

description box; the nerd with the glasses that tutors you turns out to be not so innocent after all. and he looks even more delicious without his glasses.

warning; heavy nsfw warning, mentions of cheating and an affair, porn with a bit of plot, anakin is a total pervert and freakyyyy, smut under the cut!, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

ANAKIN SKYWALKER IS A nerd, and it’s by default that he doesn’t associate with ‘your kind’.

the popular kind, the pretty kind.

the ones that run around with the football players, the kind of people that have this certain aura that just makes everyone look at them the second they walk into the room.

most of the popular people at your school were known to be arrogant douchebags, unintelligent jerks and vain bitches who thought they were above everyone else. but not you, though.

you were different. you were popular, really uniquely and breathtakingly beautiful, but your heart and soul were just as pretty as you. you also had a jerk of a boyfriend, and you really sucked at mathematics and physics. but luckily for you, your desk mate anakin skywalker, who also happens to sit next to you in physics classes, knows that. and also happens to be a very valued tutor.

“another D?”

anakin’s gaze is deplorable, his lips are pressed together in a pitiful way.

“yeah,” you wince as you examine the big, red D on your paper, “can’t say i didn’t expect it though. i thought the questions were really easy—maybe that should’ve given it away.”

anakin is hesitant, he doesn’t want to upset you—he knows you’ve been called stupid and dumb plenty of times by teachers, but really, he knows you’re not. really, you excel at subjects like history, english or music, you just… need a little tutoring. but he also knows you’re too prideful for that. you’ve never been bad enough at a subject to need tutoring, but you’ve been consistently getting D’s the whole year and there��s nothing anakin can do.

he would’ve let you copy his answers, but the teachers never look away during exams. he wouldn’t have done for just anyone—he would’ve only done it for you.

you’re the kindest person he’s ever met. you probably don’t remember but a couple of years ago, maybe a little more, he was getting bullied real bad. and not just by anyone, a guy named dylan. he was your boyfriend at the time. and still is. fucking asshole. anakin hated him passionately.

but you’d broken up with him after you’d caught him throwing punches into anakin’s stomach. you had yelled at him, even slapped him, you had taken anakin by the hand and went to the school nurse with him. and you were so kind to him. so sweet. so nice.

honestly, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when he developed a huge crush on you. but he never confessed, he knew you were out of his league, and not his. especially after your (shitty asshole! anakin would treat you so much better) boyfriend dylan had apologised to him and you in a heartbreaking manner through a big gesture, and you had forgiven him.

ever since, dylan and anakin still give each other dirty glances and nasty glares, but he never laid hand on him again.

anakin would like to describe you and him as friends. you talked to each other in every class you had together, especially physics, because you sat next to each other, and you always greeted each other in the hallways.

but you have never hung out together and you’ve never been to his place, or he to yours.

“listen, maybe you… maybe i can study with you.” anakin muttered gently, carefully studying your face expressions as he made his suggestion.

your eyebrows formed into a frown, “you think that’ll help?”

anakin nodded, relieved you weren’t taking this as badly as he’d thought you would, “yeah, sure. i’m a tutor, you know? i can explain stuff pretty well.”

“oh, i wouldn’t want to impose—” you’re quick to deny, you hate bothering people.

fuck, you’re the sweetest person there is. truly an angel sent down from heaven. anakin made up his mind, right there. he would do anything to make you his.

“no, you’re not imposing. i want to. i want to do this for you.” he smiled, but seeing your hesitant face, he added, “besides, we’re friends. isn’t that what friends do for each other?”

a small smile tugged at your lips. “really? you… you’d do that for me? but i really don’t want to be a bother! you’re so smart and clever, you have so many tutees and you’re probably so busy—”

anakin would be replaying those words in his mind tonight. non-stop.

“listen, i really don’t mind. it’ll be like us hanging out. ‘kay? you don’t need to worry about it, i’m happy to be at your service.”

you hesitated for a second. and then you smiled, and anakin knew he’d won. “OK, then. it’ll be like a hangout.”

“it’s settled then,” he smirked at you, “my place? tomorrow afternoon?”

you laugh.

“your place, tomorrow afternoon.”

YOU HAD ABSOLUTELY NO idea how you ended up like this. in his bed. in this position. moaning and whimpering his name.

you were on all fours, legs trembling and quivering, your arms weak and the only thing that was holding you up was anakin’s toned arm, hooked under your waist, holding you up firmly as he thrusted into you.

you had never noticed it before, but his arm… looked so… delicious when it was flexed.

“that feel good, darling?” the smirk in his voice is all too evident, he got off on the way you were so fucking responsive to his every touch.

his hands went from caressing your thighs and kneading your ass to playing with your nipples and tugging back your hair.

“haven’t even begun properly fucking you and you’re already so soaked. does your boyfriend not fuck you, angel?”

your mind is nothing but chaos, and your stomach all fuzzy, and the only thing you can do is whine around his cock, writhing underneath him. you nod, you just nod because your boyfriend’s cock doesn’t kiss your cervix like this, your boyfriend’s cock doesn’t fit into your womb so fucking well, because your boyfriend doesn’t make you feel so, so, so good.

“n-need you to go faster…”

he kisses his teeth with his one, making a quiet ‘tsk’ sound. “that’s not very polite, demanding others like that. what’s happened to your manners, angel?”

he’s fucking you agonisingly and painfully slowly from behind, the question papers he brought and physics notes he made for you, just for you, carelessly scattered in front of you. your hands are gripping them as you moan.

“f-fuck, ani—please just… won’t you fuck me faster? can’t… can’t, ‘m not—hah—”

“all right, all right, doll,” he replies to you sweetly, bending over next to your ear, still thrusting into so painfully slowly, “only if you admit that you love me more than your boyfriend.”

your eyes widen. “b-but—”

“ah-ah. no buts. say it or i won’t let you cum.”

you loved your boyfriend. you did! but anakin just made you feel so, so good…

“love you more than my boyfriend,” you moan quietly, closing your eyes in shame.

“‘m sorry, what? i didn’t catch that.” he grinned teasingly.

“ani,” you whine, “don’t be like that.”

he laughs. “all right, all right. cum for me, doll.”

author’s note;

i have never written smut like this before. please have mercy on me 😭😭

[whore4mattsturniolo]

WY@ - Dealer!Chris x Stoner!Reader

Chris hadn't heard from you in days. It was like you had gone completely ghost on him. Normally, he wouldn't care. Hell, he would disappear for days and come back like nothing happened. But that was him. You never went more than a day without texting him, always updating him on little things throughout your day, asking him random questions. So where were you now?

He opened Instagram, his messages flooded with randoms asking him when he was gonna be at the next party, pillheads begging for a drop off, girls trying to shoot their shot. He never answered them. He saw the ring around your profile picture, his eyes squinting as he pressed on the image.

It was a picture of you and some other dude he barely recognized, maybe from one of your mindlessly yap sessions, maybe he'd just seen him around before. He didn't know. Either way, the dude was too close. His arm was wrapped around your shoulder, holding you tight as the two of you were slumped on the couch, the dull light of the TV illuminating the dark image with a light cloud of smoke surrounding you. Chris grips his phone tight as he stared at the photo, his heart beginning to race.

This was why you were dodging him? This was who you were ditching him for?

In a blink, he was in his Audi, speeding down towards your house with his music blaring loud through his speakers. He gripped the steering wheel tight, making his knuckles turn white. His eyes were red and dry as marijuana surged through his veins.

Chris knocked on your door, hearing the sound of laughter and music from the other side.

No response

He knocked harder, ending it with a kick to the bottom of the wood.

You begrudgingly move off the couch, apologizing to your friend sitting beside you.

He was your friend. Well, he was your dealer before Chris, who had been locked up for ages. You had been friends since middle school, having introduced you to weed in the first place and was the only person you trusted buying from. Being the first person he called when he got out, the two of you spent a few days together, enjoying each other's presence.

You didn't tell Chris this because it wasn't his business. He never told you who he was hanging out with, so why would he expect you to tell him?

You sluggishly walk towards the front door, rolling your eyes and scoffing at the insistent knocking. You open the door halfway, standing in the open space and keeping the rest of the apartment out of view to whoever was standing outside.

"Where the fuck you been at?" Chris asks, attempting to look over your shoulder. "Who the fuck you got in there?" He tries to push past you.

"Fuck—Chris I'm busy. What are you doing?" You say, pushing him back into the cold night.

"What am I doing— fuck are you doing?" The two of you struggle for a moment, before he makes his way inside, locking eyes with your friend on the couch, now sitting up with his elbows on his knees. Chris is still, his fists clenched at his sides. "This who you been dodgin' me for? Who the fuck is this?"

"There a problem?" The man on the couch suddenly gets up, moving to stand in front of Chris. He holds the tool resting in the waistband of his jeans, sizing Chris up with his jaw clenched.

"Yeah there's a fuckin' problem—"

"No, no there's no problem," you say in an attempt to diffuse the situation. You move in between the two men, tension in the air thick. "Chris, get out," you say lowly, looking Chris in the eyes. He's still staring at the man in front of him, pushing you out of the way. The weed in your system sends you wobbling, but the growing adrenaline pushes it out.

"Nah, not 'til you tell me who the fuck this kid is," Chris says firmly, his voice raised.

"Ay man, don't fuckin' push her like that—"

"I'll tell her whatever the fuck I like," he pushes your friend. Hard. He barely even flinches, standing tall over Chris, before pushing him even harder.

Chris stumbles back against the couch and lets out a dry laugh, rubbing his hand over his jaw. "Un-fucking-believable," he stands up, now standing over you. His eyes are low, his expression unreadable. He swallows thick, looking between you and your friend. "You're unbelievable you know that? Got me stressin' over you, and you're over here fuckin' on somebody else—"

"Chris we're not fucking!" You almost shout, your friend now behind you. He never breaks his gaze on Chris, his own jaw clenched, still gripping onto the gun in his pants. "Just get the hell out."

He runs his tongue over his teeth, a small smirk growing on his face. "Yeah. Yeah I will. Don't ever gotta worry about me again angel," he draws out the last word, sending a shiver down your spine as he backs toward the door. "Have fun with him. Hope he fucks you better than I do," he says dryly. Chris looks up at the man behind you, before opening the door and leaving, slamming it behind him.

You stare at the door, your chest rising and falling in rapid succession. What the fuck just happened.

Your friend laughs, breaking you out of your thoughts. "No way you're fuckin' wit' Chris. There's no way." He crosses his arms as you turn to face him, letting out your own laugh.

"Needed to buy from somebody while you were gone," you try to hold the shakiness in your voice, still distracted from the events from earlier. You walk back to the couch, sinking into the leather cushions as your friend sits next to you, rubbing your arm in an attempt to soothe your nerves.

"Don't worry about him. He not shit."

A smile tugs at your lips as you start to laugh. "I already know it." The air is as light as it was before Chris showed up, but your heart is still heavy. Now that your friend was back in the picture, you didn't really need Chris anymore. Not his weed, not his stupid, petty arguments, not him.

And yet, you still wished he was sitting on the couch next to you.

[covenofagatha]

But you're my stepmom! (Part 9)

Word count: 2100

Warnings: mommy kink, rough sex, bondage, spanking, oral, overstimulation

Taglist: @stayevildarling@i-just-cannot@hazey-g@buttercandy16@320viada@evilangels-stuff@rmaximoff@morganismspam23@aboutcustardcreams@sasheemo@rigglemethat@walkethisway@mommywandas@r-3-becca@harknessshi@ihaveawifebutwerenotmarriedyet@polaris-likethestar@ahintofchaos

You don’t hear from Agatha after that for a day and a half. 

You can’t help but feel like you did something wrong. Was it making her pull over on the side of the road because your needy cunt was begging to be filled by her cock? Was it taking her hand with yours and holding it for the rest of the drive to get pizza? She didn’t seem to mind in either moment. 

Nothing else had happened Monday night once you two had come back to the house. She had given you a chaste kiss in the car, telling you to behave, and you had. The hug you’d given her before you left for the night was the picture of appropriateness. 

Everything had been fine, so why was she icing you out like this? 

It’s sixth period on Wednesday when you finally get a response from her. 

You’re sitting in Biology, textbook standing straight on your desk to hide your phone, staring at your messages with Agatha. 

You’ve sent probably close to thirty texts since Monday night, all of them going unanswered. You were confused at first, then angry, then sad, these emotions spilling into your various messages. 

I had a really nice time with you tonight ;) 

Hey, everything okay? 

Agatha what the fuck 

I’m sorry for whatever I did, please just talk to me. 

You’re wondering if you should send another one now when suddenly, the bubble with three dots pops up. 

She’s typing. 

For the first time in a day and a half, she’s not actively ignoring you. You hold your breath, almost afraid to keep watching. 

Sorry I haven’t replied. Come over after school? 

No explanation for the radio silence. You feel bitter and debate not answering just so she gets some kind of semblance of the hell you’ve been going through. 

But it’s Agatha and she has you under her spell. You can’t imagine not obeying.

Okay. You type back. 

You get a gut feeling that tells you something is wrong. 

Fuck. Did your dad find out about you two? The thought sends your heart racing and nausea climbs into your throat. 

You tell yourself that surely your dad would’ve said something to you if he had found out that you and his wife were fucking. This rational thought helps a little bit but you know that something isn’t right. So if it’s not that, then what is it?

You completely pour over every single interaction you’ve had with Agatha and this consumes you until the last bell of the day rings. You don’t even remember walking across the hall to seventh period but you clearly must have. 

On the drive to your dad’s house, a pit grows in your stomach with every turn that brings you closer to an inevitable confrontation. You absolutely hate conflict.  

You take a deep breath before ringing the doorbell. Your palms are sweaty and your heart feels like it’s pounding in your throat. You remind yourself to breathe. 

Agatha opens the door and moves to the side to let you in. “Hey,” she says quietly. 

And that sets you off. “‘Hey?’ That’s all you’re going to say? I haven’t heard from you since Monday! I texted you like a million times and you say ‘hey?’ What the actual fuck, Agatha?” 

Pain flashes in her eyes and then it’s gone. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Things were happening, I was busy.” 

You scoff and roll your eyes. “Were you also busy when you fucked me in your bed? In your car? When I went down on you on the couch and made you cum harder than my dad ever did?” You wish you hadn’t brought up all those memories because now you’re angry and turned on. 

At the mention of your dad, she grabs your wrist with a bruising grip and drags you upstairs. She brings you into her room and shoves you against the wall with unnecessary roughness, her lips catching yours in a harsh kiss. She bites your lip so hard that your mouth fills with blood and you hate how hot you find it when she licks it off her own lips. 

“Are you okay?” You ask, seeing the black glint in her eyes. Something is off. 

But she doesn’t answer, only slides her hand up to clasp your throat. Your breath hitches in spite of yourself and her eyes darken. “Do you trust me?” 

“Yes,” you say without thinking. You know you shouldn’t let her touch you until she explains herself, but you are too desperate to feel her hands on you again. Her face lights up in a wicked way and she leads you to the bed and shoves you down so your stomach is on the bed, ass in the air. She flips your skirt up and you shiver at the cold air on your bottom. 

You can almost hear her grin as she slides her fingers up and down your covered slit. It’s embarrassing how wet you’ve become from her practically manhandling you. 

“Good,” she says and her hand cracks down on your ass. You gasp and lurch forward on the bed, the sting clearing all the thoughts in your head. 

“Fuck!” 

Her hand tangles in your hair and she pulls you up so your back is now flush against her front. “Count for me,” she whispers lowly in your ear and then lets you go so you fall back onto the bed. 

“One,” you say weakly. 

She spanks you again and your hands grapple with the bed sheets. 

“Two.” 

Again. 

“Three.” The pain has started bleeding into pleasure and you begin slowly rocking your hips against the bed to release some of the tension building between your legs. 

“Ah, ah,” she tuts, hands grabbing your waist, holding you still. Her fingers dig into the skin and you inhale sharply. “Don’t move.” 

“Mommy,” you beg, panting for more. You have to tense your muscles so you don’t start grinding again after she slaps you again. “Four.” 

“Almost done, sweetheart,” she coos, rubbing her hands on your ass cheeks, soothing the burn. Agatha literally has to peel your underwear off because of how wet you are. She then spreads your thighs even more and takes in the sight of you. “Oh, baby, you like this a lot, don’t you? You’re dripping onto the bed.”

You keen and nod your head pathetically. 

“Last one. You’re being such a good girl for mommy.” 

You arch your back in preparation, but this time, she smacks her hand straight on your pussy, fingers landing directly on your clit. You cum from just the bit of stimulation with a guttural moan and she watches in awe as your body contorts. 

“Five,” you say weakly, once you’ve come down from your wave of pleasure, just in case she wants you too. She laughs and flips you over, not giving you any time to recover before burying her head between your legs. Your back shoots off the bed and your hands immediately find purchase in her hair when her tongue gives you a filthy lick but she stops. 

“No touching,” she warns. 

“But, mommy!” you protest. 

She stands up and walks to her nightstand, your cunt cold against the air now that she’s not near you. 

Agatha pulls something out and walks back over to you. “Move to the top of the bed,” she instructs. You do without hesitation. She climbs on top of you, showing you the two lines of rope that were behind her back. You whimper involuntarily. “Are you okay with this?” 

“Yes,” you rasp, too quickly and she chuckles evilly. She leans down to give you a quick peck on the lips and then she makes quick work of tying you to the bed banisters. 

“Not too tight?” She checks and you move your wrists experimentally. You feel like with the right amount of force, you could free yourself if you needed to. 

“They’re good,” you say, voice clouded with lust. “Can you–” And then you stop, unsure if it’s okay to ask. 

“What do you want, baby girl?” Her fingers stroke your thighs reassuringly. 

“Canyoufuckmewithyourcock,” you spit out. She raises an eyebrow, silently prodding you to slow down. You try again, forcing yourself to pause after each word. “Can you fuck me with your cock?” 

She groans out loud. “Such a good girl, using your words like that. Since you took my spanking so well, I think I can arrange that.” She goes back to the same drawer where the restraints were and pulls out her harness and strap. She shimmies out of her pants and hastily gets ready for you. Your hips have started undulating ever so slightly in anticipation. 

She climbs back on the bed, rubs her strap-on against your opening to lube it up, and then slowly pushes in. You immediately feel better with the fullness, your anxiety at Agatha’s weird silence the last few days ebbing away. She gives you a second to adjust to the size and then starts fucking you like an unhinged woman. 

She snaps her hips with every fast thrust, pulling a strangled noise out of you each time. You’re both panting with the exertion and one of her hands finds your throat again. She squeezes and your cunt clenches around her cock, making it harder for her to move. 

“Mommy, fuck, yes,” you sob, the pleasure making you lightheaded. All of your senses are completely overridden by her. All you can feel is Agatha and you wish more than anything you could touch her. But being tied up and completely at her mercy is driving you absolutely crazy. “I’m so close.” 

You can feel her smirking against your skin where she’s leaving bite marks and then soothing the spots with her lips. She keeps fucking you just right. 

“Don’t cum yet,” she says, voice gruff. You whine and she grabs your chin with the hand that was around your throat and turns it roughly so you’re making eye contact with her. “Who do you belong to?” 

She picks up the intensity of her thrusts, if possible. You’re teetering on the edge. “You, mommy, only you!” You wail. 

“Good girl,” she purrs. “Cum for me.” As if you’d be able to stop yourself. 

Your second orgasm hits you much more intensely and you can’t stop chanting her name as she fucks you through it. Your mind goes blank for a second in the bliss. 

She pulls out slowly, leaving a gaping emptiness inside you. It doesn’t stay that way for long, though, because after she takes the strap and harness off and throws them across the room, Agatha moves down the bed and thrust her tongue into you. She sucks your clit into her mouth and you gasp at the stimulation. It’s too much as she eats you out with renewed fervor.  

“Mommy, fuck,” you mewl and strain your wrists against the ties. “It hurts.” 

She pauses for a moment to look up at you through hooded eyelashes. “You can give me one more, can’t you?” 

You nod meekly and she grins, diving back between your folds. It doesn’t take much for her to coax you back to the edge and a few minutes later, you’re crying out her name when you cum for the third time, her hot mouth knowing exactly what to do to make you scream. 

You wince as she gives you one last lick and then she climbs up to pull you into a deep kiss. Her tongue moves into your mouth with raw hunger and you go to put your hands around her before you remember that you’re tied up. Agatha notices that you’re struggling and smirks before untying you. You move your stiff arms around to get the blood flow back. 

“How was that?” Agatha murmurs. 

“Really good,” you answer honestly. Your brow furrows. “Are you okay? You seem a little off.” 

She doesn’t say anything, just lies down on her back on the bed. She motions at you and you cuddle against her body, head resting on her shoulder. Her arm comes around you and you draw soft patterns on her stomach, enjoying the feeling of her warm skin. 

You almost forget that you asked her anything and you’re about to drift off to sleep when she whispers, “Your father is having an affair.” 

[hadersversion]

‘tis the damn season.

“so we could call it even, you could call me babe for the weekend.”

pairing: rafe cameron x pogue! reader

warnings: 18+, SMUT, p in v, fingering, begging, overstimulation, use of babe....let me know if i forget anything lol. ALSO in some places in america, thansgiving eve is literally just a holiday to get drunk in your hometown

your home for the holidays for the first time in years. you've been avoiding rafe, the reason you've been away for so long, but after seeing him again all the old feelings come back. when rafe sends a text one night, you end up in the back of his truck like old times.

i parked my car out front of my childhood home, staring at the old exterior.

somethings never change.

being back in the outer banks felt strange. it has been a while since i have been back, avoiding come home for as long as i can. but with a few begging phone calls from my mom and kiara, here i am.

i knock on my front door and am greeted with a bright smile.

"jj?" i ask, confused.

"welcome home, stranger." he says, with a hug and grabbing my bag.

i walk into my living room and see the pogues, sitting with my mom. a homemade 'welcome home' banner hanging above their heads.

my mom comes over and gives me a big hug. "i thought i would never see this face again." she says with a squeeze.

"boston isn't that far, mom." i tell her but i know she would never leave the outer banks. never in a million years. i turn towards the others and smile. "i wonder who could've put this together?" i say, looking at kiara.

"hey it wasn't all me, pope was the one who brought it up." she says, engulfing me in her arms.

"guilty." pope chimes in, joining the hug. i feel jj and john b join in as well. my family.

we break away and hang out in the living room, catching up.

"don't tell me you went all city on us, y/n." john b pokes fun at me.

"not completely. but it is nice having more things to do than hang on the beach and smoke." i wink.

"who could want more than that?" jj asks, making us all laugh.

"speaking of," kiara starts. "there's a little thanksgiving eve celebration happening at the wreck. just some people from high school. nothing big."

"just a chance to get drunk of our asses and go to dinner the next day hungover." jj says, causing kiara to nudge him.

"what do you say? want to join us?" i look around the room at my friends, all eager waiting for my response. with a sigh, i nod and they all cheer. "thank god, i don't think i could've done that alone."

i smile and nod. it should be fun, it will be. but my brain can't help to wonder if the one person who's kept me away from coming home will be there. no, he wouldn't. not with the pogues. but a part of me can't help but hope to see his face.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

i fix my sweater in the mirror in my room, my body fidgeting from anxiety. it's been a few days and i still can't shake that feeling from my body about being home. sure, i'm happy but this place holds so many memories. memories i wish to bury. i stare at the photo booth picture tucked into my mirror of him and i. i guess i forgot to hide this with the rest of the stuff. i take it off the mirror and sigh, examining it.

almost four years since it was taken. almost four years since we called it quits. and yet, he still haunts my memories. his presence making itself known through cheap beer at the bar, expensive men's cologne at the mall, exhaust that leaves motorbikes as they ride down the street. he's always there, whether i like it or not.

the sound of a horn breaks me free of my thoughts.

"y/n, they're here!" my mom calls from downstairs.

"coming!" i open my dresser drawer and slip the photo in before racing downstairs. i kiss my mom on the cheek and slip out the door, rushing into the van.

"ready to get fucked up?" jj asks with his devilish smirk.

i roll my eyes and laugh. "let's go."

we pull up to the wreck, it's already dark outside and a slight breeze fills the air. we all hurry in, greeted by familiar faces. my name is called from every direction, old friends from high school or the beach. all my fellow pogues who i know and love. when i'm done making my rounds, i head over to our table. everyone has some drink in their hand, beer or cocktail, and they all smile up at me.

"who would've though little y/n y/l/n would be a pogue celebrity?" pope jokes.

i flip him off and slide in next to john b. kiara hands me a beer and i take a sip. "i'm not a celebrity, i'm just one of the only people from this island who actually made it off."

they all make jokes at my despair, teasing me in any way they could when sarah walks up. i feel my stomach flip and i smile at her. "y/n!" she embraces me. "i'm so happy to see you!"

i hug her back and smile. "me too, sar. how's everything been?"

"the usual but i can't complain." she sits next to me and lays her head on my shoulder. "it's been forever."

"it has." i sigh. "it really has."

we all share stories and laugh around the table. we take shots, chug beer, and play different drinking games. just like old times sake.

"i need another beer." i say with a slight slur in my voice, standing up. "anyone else?" everyone shakes their head as i excuse myself.

i walk up to the bar and wait my turn, twirling my debit card in my hand. it could be the alcohol but i feel content and happy to be home.

"y/n?"

until that moment.

i don't want to turn around, i don't even want to accept my fate in this situation.

i know that voice, i could recognize it in a crowd of millions of people. it was the voice that lingered in my dreams, my thoughts.

i turn around and look at the man.

"rafe."

he looks older, his hair buzzed and some facial hair covering his face. but those eyes. they are the same eyes of the boy i loved.

we stood there, not saying a word. just taking the sight of one another in.

"i didn't know you were home." he says, not breaking eye contact.

i nod, biting my lip. "i am, i got home monday."

he chuckles to himself and shakes his head. "how long you here for?"

"till saturday. then i'm going back to boston." my throat feels scratchy and my face is on fire. i want to be anywhere but here now.

his eyes continue to study me. "two more budweiser's, please." he says to the bartender. i open my mouth to protest but he shakes his head. "on me, think of it as a welcome home gift."

the bartender hands me the beer and i smile. i turn back to rafe and tip the bottle to him. "thanks."

"no problem." he clinks his bottle to mine. we both take a long sip. my eyes are desperately trying to find a place to land, ending up on the bright sign above the bar. but rafe's are still on me.

"you okay?" kiara asks as she walks behind rafe. she is my gurdian angel.

"yeah, just waiting for my beer. excuse me." i squeeze past rafe and walk back to my table. i look back at him and smiles. i hate him.

a few drinks more and my ears are ringing. it was loud and everyone was far too drunk. i excuse myself for air outside. there are a few people lingering, smoking cigarettes or waiting for ubers. i smile and take in the nostalgia.

"you know, it would've been nice to know you were home." i hear rafe's voice next to me.

i roll my eyes and look up at him. "oh, would it have been? sorry, i didn't think you'd care." i say coldly. that liquid courage is taking control.

he looks down at me. "and why would i have not cared?"

"hmm, let me think." i put my finger to my chin. "oh, right. 'don't ever contact me again. we're so over. i wish i never met you. blah. blah. blah.' do you want me to go on?" i say to him.

i watch as he processes what i said to him, the words of our last fight. he looks guilty, for once in his life. "that was years ago, y/n. w-we were just kids."

"oh, really? then why haven't i heard from you for the past few years? phone works both ways, rafe." i say, shrugging.

he stands there quietly, i got him.

"how's school been?" he asks, nonchalantly.

"are you for real?" i ask.

"what? i'm being nice." he says.

i huff with frustration. "you are such an ass." i push pass him and walk onto the sidewalk.

"where are you going?" he asks, following after me.

"away from you." i say, not looking back.

i hear him run up behind me and he gently grabs my arm. "y/n. y/n, stop."

i turn to look at him. "what do you want from me, huh? you want to torture me even more?"

he stares at me, hand still on my arm. "what? of course not. y/n, i missed you."

"fuck off." i spit out without thinking.

"you're drunk."

"and you're an asshole." i say, flatly. "you...you fucking broke my heart and you expect me to act like everything is fucking dandy?"

"y/n." he tries to plead his case.

"no, rafe. you don't get to waltz in here and act like everything is okay with us. do you know how much you fucked me over? one day you're telling me you love me and you want to move to boston with me and the next, you're dumping me over the phone." i poke his chest. "i did everything you wanted, i kept what we had between us a secret, i took care of you. and nothing was enough for you."

he looks down at his feet in guilt. "i-i know, i'm sorry. i was...i was fucked up back then. with my dad on my case and the drinking...i wasn't okay. i felt like..." he cut himself off.

"what, rafe? you felt like, what?" i ask.

"like i was going to hold you back, alright?" he raises his voice. "you are too good for this place, for me. i didn't want to hold you back. i loved you too much to do that to you." i stare at him and laugh. "what? what's so fucking funny?"

"you, rafe. you." i sigh. "instead of being a man and handling your emotions, you ran and hid. we could've worked that out. but you were too scared." i close my eyes and shake my head. "goodbye, rafe."

i walk down the street, hugging my body as the wind blows. a weight has been lifted off my shoulders but there's still that feeling i get whenever i think of him. that feeling that i miss him.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

thanksgiving flew by, even though i had a hangover that felt like it would last a lifetime.

i helped my mom clean up the kitchen as the pogues did the dishes and took the trash out. just like old times.

once we were done, we sat outside around the bonfire. you would think after yesterday, drinking would come to a halt but jj found a bottle of vodka in the freezer and mixed it with kiara's apple cider. we all enjoyed each other's company but my mind could not help but wander. my last conversation with rafe ringing through my head.

"instead of being a man and handling your emotions, you ran and hid."

i shake my head and take a sip of my spiked cider. as much as it rang true, there was still that part of me that wonders 'what if?'. the more i thought about it, the more i wanted to pick up my phone.

no, i need to be the bigger person. i'm stronger than that. i can't text him first.

then i felt my phone buzz in my lap.

rafe: hey

i stare at the text and bite my lip. i know i should ignore it, let it go unread. but my fingers work against my brain and type 'hi' back to him. i sit there, eagerly waiting for a response.

rafe: can we talk?

rafe: i'm sorry about last night, i'm a fucking idiot.

rafe: there's so many things i could say to you rn

rafe: but i miss you.

rafe: i wanna see you.

i look around at my friends and sigh, they would be so mad at me for this.

y/n: sure, give me like an hour.

y/n: park down the street at the usual spot.

my friends leave my house, mainly due to me faking another wave of hungover puking. i run upstairs and check myself out in the mirror, i look damn good. when i get his text, i sneak out the backdoor and hurry down the street. i see his truck parked under the big tree, the spot he always parked in.

i open the truck door and hop into the passenger seat. i look over at him, he's still in his dressy clothes. a blue polo that hugged his arms right and khakis that made his thighs look exceptionally big. he knew what he was doing and i can't tell if i hate him or love him for it.

we drive in silence for a bit, his radio playing music faintly. his hands grip the steering wheel as his mind looks like he's on another planet. i play with the ends of my sweatshirt, anxiously waiting for him to do something. anything.

he pulls up to the beach, the spot where we would always come to. it was dark and the waves crashed against the shore loudly. he turns the car off and looks over at me.

"thanks for meeting me." he says simply.

"sure."

"i'm sorry about last night. you went out to have fun and i ruined it, i know i did."

i just nod at him.

"and...you were right. about it all." he sighs, running his hands over his face. "i should've manned up, talked to you about how i was feeling. but you know how i get. i get too in my head and just jump to conclusions. it wasn't fair to you." he looks into my eyes. "these past few years without you have been a living hell and i have only myself to blame."

"are you drunk? high?" i ask.

"w-what?"

"are you not sober?" i ask again.

"i'm sorry, what? of course i'm fucking sober." he says. "why would i not be?"

"rafe cameron...taking accountability? i'm sorry, it just seems so...foreign?" i laugh.

"i'm being serious, y/n."

i laugh again. "oh, i'm sure. and...the sky is green. we live on the planet pluto. aliens exist and so do unicorns!"

he pinches the bridge of his nose. "y/n, i'm telling the truth! god, you always joke around."

"yeah, because i know you." i say to him. "and you would rather eat concrete than admit you are wrong."

"eat concrete?" he asks, with a smirk.

"you know what i mean!" i huff with frustration.

he grabs my hand and stares in my eyes. "y/n, i am fully sober. we are not in another universe, it is not opposite day. i was wrong and i am sorry."

my brain malfunctions as i look into his eyes. "y-you mean it?"

"every word i said."

my brain not working means i experienced a lack of better judgment. i grab rafe by his collar and connect our lips for the first time in years. this kiss, the one i have longed for since i left this place, was the missing puzzle piece i've been searching for in my life. everything seemed to make sense again.

his hands cupped my cheeks as his tongue slipped into my mouth. he was hungry for me and i wasn't going to stop him because i felt insatiable as well. his hands roamed from my cheeks down to my neck and onto my shoulders.

i needed more.

i climbed onto his lap and straddled him. my arms connected around his neck as he pressed against me. i felt his cock hard against his khakis and i wanted it. i wanted it all. i rubbed myself against him, causing us both to moan.

he continued to kiss me until he broke away and looked at me. his puffy lips formed a cocky smile as he brushed his nose against mine. "you missed me."

"shut up." i was itching for more.

"admit it, you missed me. you missed the way i made you feel." he states.

"rafe, shut up and kiss me, please."

"ah ah ah." he shook his head. "not until you tell me."

"you're such an ass." i roll my eyes, trying to catch my breathe.

"yet, here you are, rubbing yourself against me in my truck." he says, kissing my cheek. his lips then go to my ear and down my neck. "i want it all with you, right now, babe. but i need to hear it."

"fine! fuck, i missed you. are you happy?" i groan, needing him.

"very. get in the backseat." he demands. i quickly follow his order, hopping in the back over the seats. he gets out of the truck and opens up the back door, sliding in next to me. "come here." he pulls me back onto his lap and we pick up where we left off. i continue to rub myself against him as he sloppily kisses me. "just like old times." he jokes and i hit his shoulder. "c'mon, don't act like you don't think about it."

"oh, i do. but i bet you think about it more than i do." i smirk.

"probably." he laughs. his fingers fall to the hem of my sweater and he plays with it. "now are we only here to kiss or?"

"why? you wanna fuck me in your truck? just like old times." i say, making fun of what he just said.

"i do, i wanna fuck you right here, right now. it's all i've been wanting to do." he kisses my jawline. "do you want me to fuck you?"

this is what i missed the most, our back and forth.

"yes, rafe. i want you to fuck me." i moan out.

with that, he practically rips my sweater off my body and starts to kiss down my chest. his large hands palm my clothed breast. i bite my lip and let my head fall back, missing the way he affected my body. i felt his hand snake around to the back and unclip my bra quickly.

"show off." i say, out of breathe.

i smirks and connects his lips to my nipple, sucking and licking it. his hand massaging my other. "don't pretend you don't like it."

i smirk and shake my head.

he continues to focus on my tits, going back and forth between the two.

"more." i whisper, eyes clenched shut.

"what was that?" he asked in a teasing tone.

"i need more, rafe. please." i beg.

"look at you all needy for me. i knew you missed me." his hand slipped under my jeans and panties, stopping right at my core. i felt his fingers curl inside me, going in and out. "all wet for me, huh? what a good girl." he pushed in, fingering my cunt, when his thumb found my sensitive bud. he added pressure, circling it, and i felt as though i was seeing stars.

"s-shit." i cry out, moving my hips to try and gain some friction.

"feel good, baby? let me hear how could i make you feel." he picked up his pace and a pornographic moan escaped my lips. it's been forever since someone has made me feel this good. rafe knew my body like it was his own, he knew how to get me going. "there we go, like how my fingers feel?"

"u-uh huh." i nod, mouth hanging open.

his fingers worked their magic, rubbing my clit at a pace that'll make me come undone in no time. "love the way you look on top of me, baby. so fucking sexy." he attached his lips to my tits again and continued fingering me.

i felt on fire.

i place one hand on the window and the other on his shoulder, holding on for dear life. the more he whispered about me and the faster his fingers were going, i was cumming on his fingers before i knew it. i rode out my high, screaming his name. once i was done, i felt him pull his fingers out of my pants, my juices getting all over myself. i stared down at him, trying to catch my breathe, as he popped his fingers into his mouth and sucked.

"just as good as i remember." he cleaned his fingers off and kissed me again. my hands ran down his buff chest and stopped at the bottom of his polo, lifting it up. his gold chain laid against his chiseled body, he was perfect. i felt as though i was in a trance as i began to kiss down his chest. i could feel his groans vibrating in his chest and i smirked because i was the one making him feel this way. "i need to fuck you."

"you need to?" i laugh, kissing lower and lower.

"yes, y/n. i need to bury myself inside of you, please." he pleaded.

"i like when you're the one begging." i bite him lightly, causing him to hiss.

"i bet."

i unbuttoned his khakis and sat up so he could slip them off. his grey boxers were discolored from the precum leaking off his cock. he took his underwear off and his cock sprung out. "i-i don't have protection." he said, mentally cursing himself out.

"well, are you clean?" i ask.

"yes. i-i haven't been with anyone since." he openly admitted.

i felt the darkness overtake my eyes as i lower myself down onto him. his breath hitched as he slipped all the way in. he was deep inside of me, causing a few tears to leave my eyes. but the pain subsided as he started to rock my hips with his hands, moving me back and forth. i picked up the rhythm he started with me and placed my hands on his shoulder to steady myself. i felt the truck rocking back and forth as i did so.

his hands found my ass and rested there. "fuck, i missed your pussy. so good, takes me so well." he kissed my chest as i grinded back and forth.

i felt my finger nails dig into his shoulder as his cock hit all the right spots. i looked down at him and he stared at me in awe, like i was some work of art. "fuck, rafe. you're so big."

i bite my lip as i let my head fall back in pleasure. i ride him fast as i keep saying his name. "shit, y/n. you're such a good girl, you're so hot. you feel so tight."

i connect our lips, i feel his hands tighten around my ass. this means he was close. "i want you to cum in me, rafe." his eyes widen as he opens his mouth to ask for permission. "p-please fill me up. i miss it so much." i say, trying to catch my breathe.

with that, he lets out a groan and my name falls from his lips like a prayer. "y/n." i feel him coming inside me, painting me. it doesn't take long for his thumb to find my clit again. with the extra pressure applied to my overstimulated cunt, i feel my head reeling. the air in the truck is hot, making it almost hard for me to breath. it all feels too much, my body releasing onto rafe yet again.

we sit there, panting with our eyes closed. i rest my head on his sweaty chest and he kisses me gently. he rubs my back, tracing circles into it.

"felt even better than i imagine." he says, his voice gruff.

"you thought about it a lot, huh?" i smirk.

"all the fucking time."

i take him out of me and sit next to him in the truck. the windows are foggy and our hands find each other, holding them. i get a sense of weird nostalgia, from how things used to be with us.

"well that was a thanksgiving to remember." i joke, trying not to feel overwhelmed by what happened.

"'tis the damn season." he replies.

i slowly slip my sweater back on and try to find my pants.

"w-wait." rafe says. "is this...is this it? just a single fuck and you're gone."

i look at him, his eyes pleading with me.

"i go back to boston on saturday rafe, we only have like a day and a half."

i wish we could keep this going, i wish this was how things always were. but i had to think realistically. i have to go back home, i have to move on with my new life.

he grabs my hand and squeezes it. "boston is only an 11 hour drive. hour or two by plane."

"rafe." i say.

"i can't lose you again. i can't, y/n. these past few years have sucked without you. i can't wait until you come home for christmas again. now that i've got you again, i can't risk it."

i sigh and kiss his hand. "i know. i know." i close my eyes and shake my head. "we'll make it work. we almost did it before."

"we can do it again." he smiles sweetly. i kiss his lips gently, laying my hand against his chest.

"you'd do an 11 hour car ride for me?"

"y/n, i'd fucking walk if i have to." he smiles.

i roll my eyes and kiss his cheek. "you're so cheesy."

he lays me back against the truck seats and kisses me. "don't act like it doesn't work for you."

[bunnliix]

Pay Attention to Me

Pervert!teez: a collaboration within pirateeznet featuring:

Hongjoong written by @potatomountain | Yunho written by @skteezcursed | Yeosang written by @desirehorizon

San written by @flurrys-creativity | Mingi written by @mingsolo | Wooyoung written by @daddyfordaeddy | Jongho written by @sanjoongie

Pairing: Camboy!Seonghwa x reader Summary: You're roommates with Seonghwa, and he's been trying to get your attention for a while now, maybe you'll finally pay attention to him after what he's done. wc: 4.8k AU: college and camboy!Hwa Genre: Smut MDNI warnings: Fem!reader, perv!Seonghwa, livestreaming on sex sites, masturbation, panty stealing, reader being upset cause life is stupid and frustrating, reader bursting in on Hwa's livestream, yelling, teasing, edging, vaginal penetration, reader and Seonghwa being switches, listening in on someone getting off, pet names (baby, doll), unprotected sex (use a condom y'all), biting, hickeys, nipple play, handjobs, kinda praise kink, some light degradation, dacryphilia, orgasm denial, rough sex, mentions of exhibitionist fantasies, I think that's it, please tell me if I missed anything!

You got home after a long day at university, your classes kicking your ass as always, flopping down face first on your bed. Thankfully, the apartment was quiet, your roommate Seonghwa nowhere to be seen nor heard. Whatever he did in his room, it seemed to only happen at night, which between that and the sounds that sometimes traveled between the thin walls that separate your bedrooms gave you enough clues as to how he earned money. There were times that his job made it hard for you to focus on studying late at night, and you swore that he was loud on purpose sometimes. 

You never really minded having Seonghwa as your roommate, it’s not like he was an asshole or anything like that. Honestly, he was the best roommate you had had over the years, as he paid you his half of the bills on time, and left you alone when you needed alone time, and it didn’t hurt that he was attractive.

He usually went out of his way to bring you things throughout the week, and unless you were neck deep in an assignment, you always thanked him. Like now, as your door opened to reveal Park Seonghwa in all his glory, looking like a fucking supermodel.

“I bought you some chocolate, it was on sale at the grocery store.” He said, walking into your room and dropping it next onto an empty spot on your desk.

You looked up at him, “Thank you Seonghwa.”

“You can call me Hwa, y’know,” he reminded you, smirking down at you.

“I’ll remember that for next time,” you said, both of you knowing full well you wouldn’t remember. Whether on purpose or not, was up for debate.

He moved to lay on your bed as you watched him walk over. Your eyes locked on him as he stretched, arching his back in the process before he relaxed fully, smirking when his eyes met yours. You looked away quickly, focusing back on your work. 

Seonghwa just lays there silently looking at you while you work, waiting to see if you’ll give him and look at him. If you’ll give in and pay attention to him. Like he’s wanted you to do for the last year.

You had noticed Seonghwa, but you never acted on it. First, you were too busy with school, and second, you didn’t want to ruin the dynamic you two had currently. You enjoyed that you both worked well as roommates, and honestly, good roommates weren’t a dime a dozen. Plus, he was really nice and friendly, when he wasn’t being a bit odd. But his oddities never outweighed the good that he brought to the table.

He continued to lay on your bed for at least a couple hours, you were too absorbed in your schoolwork to notice exactly when he left your room, but you felt something was off. However, you couldn’t say what exactly was off about your room, so you chalked it up to him just accidentally disturbing something while he had entered or left. You thought nothing of it as you left your room to get a quick snack before heading to bed. You did have an exam in one of your classes tomorrow morning, and you needed all the rest you could get. And maybe you’d get to sleep before Seonghwa’s nighttime activities started up once again.

You stumbled into your apartment, completely drained yet also feeling ready to scream. Your day could not have gone worse, and you hoped that maybe you’d be fine now that you were finally back at home. Taking a deep breath as you slid off your shoes and headed towards your bedroom, you heard noise coming from Seonghwa’s bedroom. You felt your body tense up once again, hoping that you’d have the house to yourself since your roommate supposedly had class tonight, but you were wrong. 

You tried your best to ignore the sounds coming through the walls, tried to ignore the moans, as you entered your room and found it decidedly messier than you left it. It looked like someone had rummaged through everything, but you had left it organized and clean when you left this morning.

In particular, you found that your dresser had been almost ransacked. The drawers had been opened and closed haphazardly and you knew that no one but Seonghwa had access to the apartment, so it had to be your roommate. You couldn’t believe that he would actually look through your drawers, and as you took a breath and tried to calm down as you fixed the drawers, you noticed that your laundry basket was included in the ransacking of your bedroom, and saw that the pair of underwear you had thrown in their this morning had disappeared. You couldn’t believe that your roommate would be such a fucking pervert, and all patience and calm left you as you stormed out of your room, first banging on his door before slamming Seonghwa’s door open.

As you slammed his door open and went to yell at him, you instead found him in his bed, one pair of your underwear held up to his face, while another was wrapped around his length. You saw his camera recording and the stream up on his monitor, meaning that he was live on whatever cam site he used. The pervert was using your clothes to get off in front of others, and you couldn’t believe the audacity. But, you quickly focused back on the matter at hand. 

Seonghwa turned to look at you, as he continued to stroke himself, and as you two made eye contact, his eyes rolled back as he came into your underwear. His body tense as his orgasm washed over him while a stain appeared in the underwear wrapped around his dick.

You stood there shocked into silence as you watched him orgasm, unable to make any noise at all. You couldn’t believe what you had just witnessed, and as much as you were furious, you weren’t sure what to do now. Except maybe burn both pairs of underwear that he had taken.

By the time you had returned to reality and managed to put together words to yell at him, you found that he had ended his livestream, and had returned back to laying on his bed, your underwear still in his possession.

“You’re a fucking pervert!” you yelled at him, finally able to say something, “You really went and stole my underwear to jerk off into for your perverted desires.”

“I did,” Seonghwa admitted, staring at you, “What about it?”

“What about it?! You’re a perverted bastard,” you shouted, “You rummaged through my room and used my clothes, covering them in your sperm!” You shivered in disgust at the reminder of what you witnessed.

“I’d say you’re the pervert here,” he countered, “You stood there and watched me cum into your underwear.”

“I-,” you stuttered, unable to think of a quick response to his words.

“Cat got your tongue?” He taunted you, raising an eyebrow at you.

“How can I be the pervert when you were the one using my underwear to get yourself off,” you replied back, turning to leave the room.

“Yet you watched, and I know you’ve heard me when I’ve been working. I bet you had some fantasies about me, but here you are calling me a pervert,” he said, and before you could leave the doorway, a hand gripped your wrist, stopping you.

“Park Seonghwa, let me go,” you said, trying to pull your arm out of his hold, to no avail.

“Hmm, no. I don’t want to,” he said, pulling you back into his chest, “You aren’t even curious as to why I took your underwear? Not even the slightest bit nosy?” His voice was like velvet as he whispered in your ear.

Your body stiffened as he held onto you, as his arms wrapped around your torso. You were curious, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of winning. You didn’t want to give in, though fucking hell it was tempting. Seonghwa was so tempting, but he was also a panty sniffing pervert and you were at war over what you would do next.

“You won’t even respond to me, doll?” Seonghwa asked you, his hold on you growing just the tiniest bit tighter.

You bit your lip to stop any noises that threatened to escape, and this didn’t go unnoticed by Seonghwa, whose chuckle made you shiver.

“Are you trying to keep your pretty whines from me?” He said, one of his hands coming up to cup your face, as his thumb pulled your bottom lip down while you whined at his actions, too flustered by his presence to stop yourself.

“There’s those pretty noises,” he mused, “I finally get to hear them without having to strain my ears to hear them through the wall.”

At his confession, you managed to find it in yourself to pull away from him, turning to face him. He had been listening to you pleasure yourself through your shared wall? God he really was a pervert. You had been fooled into thinking that he was sweet and nice and not someone who’d do these kinds of things.

“What the fuck?” You said, both to him and to yourself, “You really are a nasty fucking perv.”

“I’m a nasty fucking perv who wants you,” Seonghwa said, reaching out to pull you close once again, and you let him. 

You were unable to stop yourself from thinking about how many times he had listened to you, and you know that he must have heard you call out his name at least once. You felt his hand come up to cup your cheek, as he tilted your head back so your eyes met his. This was when you realized just how close you were, his face only inches away.

“Hello doll,” He said, a smirk on his face, “Can I kiss you?”

You almost wanted to giggle, it felt so different from the Seonghwa only minutes prior, but you responded by closing the distance between the two of you, your lips connecting. It was gentle at first, neither of you pushing for more, and you felt yourself melting into your roommate’s arms. And that was when Seonghwa took control of the kiss, as his lips pressed hard against yours as you were almost gasping for air as he did so. You felt him smirk into the kiss, before his tongue swiped your bottom lip, and you allowed him to take more, feeling completely swept up in his actions, in Seonghwa himself.

You kept kissing him until he pulled away, and you found yourself almost out of breath as you stared up at him, while he smirked down at you. Your eyes were wide open and just starting to become the slightest bit glassy. You looked debauched and he loved it, he loved the way you looked at him, the way your clothes were just starting to look ruffled.

“Are you okay there doll?” He asked you, knowing full well that you were a bit lost for words, judging by your expression.

“Have you always kissed like that?” You asked him, catching him off guard, but he just chuckled and nodded, answering your question.

Instead of saying anything more, you just wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down for another kiss, needing more from him, needing more of him. Your lips crashed together against him and it wasn’t long before Seonghwa once again took control of the kiss once again, as his hands wandered down your body and found your ass. You gasped into the kiss as he squeezed, your back arching and pushing you closer to him.

Seonghwa started walking you both back towards his bed as you kissed, sitting down and pulling you down onto his lap as your legs straddled it. You didn’t pull away from him despite the change in location, his lips having become addictive. It took Seonghwa pulling back for you to stop, and you whined as the kiss ended, desiring more.

“I don’t think I’m the pervert anymore, you’re even needier than I am, baby,” Seonghwa said, chuckling, “But I love seeing you like this. You’re so adorable like this, all needy for my kisses.”

You felt your cheeks flush and heat up, knowing that he wasn’t wrong. You had become needier for him, for his touch and kisses. You wanted more and as his hands squeezed your cheeks once again, you couldn’t do much more than whine and lightly grind down into his lap.

“Oh? Have I gotten you all riled up, darling?” Seonghwa said, already knowing the answer.

You hid your face in his chest, unable to respond, which only made Seonghwa smirk further, knowing he had succeeded in making you flustered. Well, more flustered than you had been prior. Your hands find purchase in his hair, lightly tugging on the strands. This prompts a moan from Seonghwa, as his eyes closed as you tugged on his hair once again.

“B-Baby,” he stuttered, “If you keep doing that, you won’t be leaving this bed for the rest of the day.”

You tugged at his hair one more time, harder than you had before, and his reaction is immediate. His head fell backwards as he groaned and ground up into you, before you suddenly found yourself looking up at him as he leaned over you as you laid on his bed.

His eyes were wide but filled with desire as he stared down at you. He spoke as his eyes connected with yours, “You asked for it now, baby. I hope you’re ready for the consequences.”

You didn’t have a moment to ponder what those consequences would be before his mouth was attached to your neck, sucking and biting on the skin. You felt him bite down hard enough to leave a hickey behind on your neck, right where you were the most sensitive. You moaned as he continued kissing your skin, before he pulled away so he could remove your top, leaving the top half of your body exposed. He sat up, laying on top of your hips as he stared down at you, taking in the sight of you on his bed.

“You’re so pretty, doll,” Seonghwa said, “I can’t wait to ruin you and make you even prettier.”

You looked up at him as he just continued to stare down at you, before you got impatient and reached for his arms, pulling him forward towards you. He almost fell right on top of you, quickly pulling his arms out of your hold to brace himself above you.

“Someone’s impatient, I see,” he mused, chuckling at your actions. You didn’t give him any response, frustrated with him taking his time now that you were topless. Your hands snaked their way into his hair once again, pulling on it and tilting his head back in the process.

Seonghwa was taken by surprise at your actions, and in a split-second decision where you decided to fuck it and take what you wanted from him, now that he had gotten you worked up, you pushed him off of you and onto his back next to you. You climbed into his lap, straddling his hips. As he stared up at you with a bit of shock in his eyes, you took advantage of his nearly naked state and left your own set of marks, starting at his neck and trailing down his collarbone to his chest. If he was going to play this game with you, you wouldn’t let him win easily. Or at all.

You looked up at him, finding his head tilted back as his eyes disappeared into his skull, and suddenly something snapped into place in you and you wanted to see him like this more. You wanted to get back at him for being such a pervert.

Your mouth wrapped around one of his nipples, softly sucking on it, your tongue swirling around the bud as the man squirmed underneath you, noises falling from his mouth as he was unable to stop them. This only spurred you on more, as your other hand came up to play and pinch his other nipple, while you bit down softly on the one you were teasing with your tongue. 

“F-fucking hell doll,” Seonghwa panted, trying to catch his breath, “W-Where did this come from?” He asked, before groaning as you continued your actions.

You pulled away from his nipple, giving him a tiny break, “You took too long,” You said, like it was obvious.

Deciding to move on from torturing his nipples, you kissed and bit your way down his torso, as his hands found purchase in your hair, his grip not overly tight, but enough that it felt good, and pushed you to move further down his body. Once you reached his boxers, you looked up at him, seeing that he was watching you intently, though you could see that his eyes were dark with desire and need. 

You only paused for a moment more before you moved to straddle his legs, as his hands moved away, so that you could remove his underwear. You hadn’t really paid attention to what his length looked like when you had barged in earlier, but now you realized that he was definitely larger than average. You were only pulled from your thoughts when Seonghwa chuckled, as you looked up at him.

“Does my size shock you baby?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, while you blushed and looked away from him.

“N-No,” you said, stuttering slightly.

He only laughed once again, finding your reaction adorable, and telling you as much. You pouted, but quickly found your composure again and wrapped a hand around Seonghwa’s cock, stroking it once as he groaned in response. You smirked at making him speechless with just one little action.

You continued stroking him from base to tip, changing up the speed ever so slightly to see what affects him the most. As you watched him slowly start to fall apart in front of you, you felt yourself start to become needy like you had been before. You ground your hips down onto his thighs as you stroked him, as Seonghwa started pleading with you, becoming overwhelmed as a result of everything going on, as well as the realization that he’d finally get to have you, that you were here and finally paying attention to him.

“Baby, please,” he pleaded, “I need more, need you.”

Whines were falling from his mouth as he continued to beg and plead, becoming more desperate as you purposefully slowed down the speed of your hand. You continued teasing him until you both couldn’t take it anymore. You were so aroused that you were constantly grinding down onto his thighs for stimulation, while Seonghwa’s eyes were filled with tears as he was reaching his limit.

You decided it was time to put him out of his misery, as well as some much needed release for yourself. You moved off of his legs, so you could pull off the rest of your clothing, leaving yourself entirely nude. You saw his eyes roam your body, and you felt the desire to ruin him as you took him in, his dick that was fully hard and straining, needing release, his pretty pink nipples hard and in need of more attention, and his expression. Oh, his expression was beautiful, his eyes filled with tears and looking at you, pleading for you to give him more pleasure, his bottom lip swollen and red from where he kept biting it, and his cheeks with a pretty blush across them, telling you just how affected he was by all of your actions.

You straddled his hips once again, bracing yourself against his abs as you lined yourself up with his cock. You slowly sunk down onto it, your eyes rolling back as you were filled with his length, the feeling better than any dildo or toy you had tried thus far. Both Seonghwa and you moaned as he bottomed out inside of you, the feeling intense for the two of you.

You adjusted to the feeling of him inside your hole, feeling more filled and satisfied than you could remember, and you wondered why it had taken so long for you to finally give in to your desires. Slowly, you rose back up, till only the tip of his length remained inside, before you sunk back down again.

You felt Seonghwa’s hands come up to rest on your hips, his grip tight but not tight enough to hurt you. His hands helped guide you as you rode him, as you braced yourself once again, with your hands on his abs. As you slowly bounced on his cock, watching the man underneath you losing himself in the pleasure, as you slowly felt that same lust consume you as well, as you leaned forward and connected your lips to his.

In between kisses, Seonghwa kept babbling about how good you feel around him, and how he’d imagined this moment, but this was so much better than he ever could have imagined. You giggled at him, finding him adorable but kissed him hard to shut him up, taking control of the kiss as you increased the pace, bringing him closer and closer to the edge. You swallowed any whines that escaped his mouth, before pulling away and pulling off of his length just before he was going to come.

“Why,” he whined at you, “Please please please, baby, let me cum please.”

Seonghwa kept pleading, but you only chuckled before lining yourself up and sinking back down on him at an excruciatingly slow pace. You wanted to hear him beg, it made you even hornier, as you looked down at him as he begged and pleaded with you while his large, pretty eyes filled with tears, and some had already made their way down his cheeks.

You reached down to cup his cheek as you started bouncing up and down on his length, smiling down at him. “You look so pretty like this, doll,” you said, placing emphasis on the pet name, as you saw his eyes roll back as the word rolled off your tongue.

You felt him thrust up into you, making you sink down fully on his cock and stop moving entirely. “Ah ah ah, no moving or I stop moving. Patience gets you much further than disobeying me,” you told him, feeling on a high as the combination of the feelings of lust and power push you to be bolder than you normally would be.

He immediately stilled, as a petulant whine left his mouth. You didn’t expect him to listen so well, but you wanted to see more of him like this. So obedient and a good boy for you. You rewarded him with starting to ride him once again, quickly setting a fast pace even as your thighs burned.

You felt yourself come closer to your own release as you rode him, squeezing and clenching down around his length as you slowly got closer to falling off that cliff into your own pleasure. You found yourself having to brace yourself even more against his torso as you chased your own orgasm, as Seonghwa whined and cried out as he was close to reaching his own.

You saw Seonghwa getting close, and in another power play, you dropped down once again, sitting fully on his dick. You saw tears fall down his cheeks as he was prevented from coming for a second time. You got unbelievably more aroused as you watched him cry, as you brought your hand to your clit, your thumb rubbing circles as you felt your high get closer and closer. You saw Seonghwa’s eyes widen as he watched you get off while sitting on his length, his eyes glassy with lust as he sat so close to the edge of pleasure.

“Gonna get off on your cock,” you said to him, moaning as he babbled and begged you to let him come, enjoying how much power you had over him in that moment.

You added just a tiny bit more pressure to your clit, needing just a bit more to push you over that edge. You clenched down around Seonghwa’s length as the pleasure of your orgasm rushed over you, keeping yourself upright only by your hand on his torso, as your pussy tried to milk him for his seed.

As you rode out your high, you keened in pleasure as wave after wave washed over you. Your eyes had rolled back so you were unable to see Seonghwa watching you intently, memorizing what exactly you looked like lost in the throes of your orgasm. Though just as you came out of the haze you had been in, you found yourself on the bed as Seonghwa snapped.

“It’s my turn to take what I want, doll,” he growled, pushing your legs up over his shoulders, “You made me wait, and I can’t wait anymore.”

You tried to retort, but as he started a brutal pace, chasing his own high now, you were unable to speak, only whines and moans coming out of you. His hands on either side of your body, gripping the sheets in a death grip. The sounds of skin slapping against skin was the only noise in the room, besides the grunts and moans coming out of both of you, as you found another release rapidly approaching while Seonghwa let out strings of curses, telling you that he was close as well. 

You knew your bottom and thighs would be bruised in the morning with the force behind his thrusts, but in the moment, it felt so fucking amazing, and you wanted more of it. You were so close to the edge, and you just needed the slightest bit of stimulation before you would tumble over that edge. Seonghwa picked up on it, angling to hit that sweet spot inside as his fingers rubbed circles into your clit, pushing you right over the edge within seconds of him doing so.

Your eyes rolled back into your head as your second orgasm washed over you, your body tensing as you felt Seonghwa hit his high as his hips stuttered before his sperm filled you up, the sensation of which prolonged your own high. You whined at the feeling of being filled as the pleasure hitting you over and over again felt like it lasted forever. 

“Fuck, baby,” Seonghwa said, his voice a little hoarse, “Your little pussy is really trying to milk me.”

You looked up at him with glassy eyes, still being lost in the haze of how good he had made you feel. He cooed at you, a slight smile on his face as he saw how fucked out you were as a result of him. He winced slightly as he slipped out of your hole, his length feeling very sensitive. He watched as his seed leaked out of you, and if he hadn’t been edged by you, the sight of it would have made him hard once more. It was such a pretty sight for him, as he imagined you sitting in class as his come leaked into your panties, as you tried not to let anyone know about your before class activities. 

He shook those thoughts away temporarily, intent on returning to them later, as he left you in his bed while he ran to get a warm towel and wipes to clean you, wanting to make sure you were taken care of properly. He was very gentle with you as he wiped you down and cleaned you up, making sure you were as thoroughly clean as he could while you still laid in bed. You watched him perform this aftercare and smiled gently at him when he returned to you after putting everything away as sliding onto the bed next to you.

“Did you have a fun time doll, with your perverted roommate?” He asked you with a smirk on his face, to which you smacked his arm before turning away from him.

“Once a pervert, always a pervert,” you complained, ignoring him.

“But you finally paid attention to this pervert, so I got what I wanted baby,” he said to you, his arms coming to wrap around your body, pulling you close to him. You let him, content to stay in his arms for now.

“You wanted me to pay attention to you, all this time?” you asked, thinking he was being silly.

“That was all I wanted, doll. I just wanted your attention on me, and only me.”

Taglist: @bethelighthalazia @callmeghostly

[hopelesshaidys]

i cannot physically stop thinking abt american transfer student! reader x bkg

like i’m american and compared to japanese culture americans are so fucking messy 😭 that being said if you went to public school (and wasn’t apart of the “popular” group) you’ve witnessed crazy shit-ESPECIALLY in the south like these schools are not for the weak

you never back down from his insults or threats, bc you’ve dealt with dickheads like him all the time in america! public school was insane so this doesn’t phase you at all. when he notices that you don’t even flinch at his crazy antics he feels…different. especially when you insult him right back like it’s nothing. you always have a come back for him and you have physically fought him (and won) on multiple occasions. it makes him start to admire and respect you (and obviously fall in loooooove)

he slowly drifts closer to you, mentally and physically. i am a stern believer in physical touch bkg like fucking fight me. he would want to always be near you so that yall will accidentally brush hands or bump shoulders, every touch sending a shock down his spine

tbh i think the only way to be able to date bkg is to also be mean and i just cannot stop thinking about FUNNY their pre!relationship would be

*bkg saying some bullshit*

you, mumbling in english “big back bitch”

bkg: HAH⁉️WHATD YOU SAY⁉️

we know that shoto can speak english (at least like decently) and tbh i head cannon denki speaking english as well bc idk it suits him. with that being said, whenever you say something crazy in english shoto is always like 😮 and denki is HOWLING meanwhile bkg is CRAZY jealous bc he can’t understand english

like u don’t understand bkg is soooo jealous bc u and denki bond over music, tv shows, and movies and he keeps kicking himself on passing up his parents offer to teach him english. not to mention yall whisper shit in english a LOT and you guys are not slick with how much yall be giggling. bkg is always glaring at yall whenever that happens, and there have been a couple of times where you felt bad so u told him what yall were saying and you get so happy when you see his mouth turn up into a smile while he chuckles.

this is so random but it also pisses him off when u have t shirts on with english words. so it’ll be like dinner time and he’s huffing and puffing and ur like “???” and he keeps glaring at ur shirt like “what does he have against the tv show friends like he’s never heard abt it until now???” and it wasn’t until denki was like “yooo you watch friends? that show is so stupid i love it” that he settles down. from there on out you always find a way to translate your shirts for him

AND MUSIC don’t even get me started on music. you’re singing along so passionately and he’s like. “what are they singing abt i HAVE to know” so he’ll try to be sneaky and use his phone to translate stuff. if it’s a song abt a shitty ex he’ll have the most violent urge to fly to your home state and kill the ex who made you feel like this-but if it’s like megan thee stallion? my dude is sweating and blushing but pissed bc he’s sweating and blushing and basically long story short kirishima goes up to talk to him and gets blasted in the face.

he watches all your favorite movies and tv shows (subtitles on) and he will never admit it but he loves when you whisper the translations in his ear.

another thing that peaks his curiosity is you’re friends from home! america is 14 hours behind tokyo…so talking to ur friends from home can cause difficulties. when it’s late at night the class will see you furiously texting your friends bc it’s morning time for them. sometimes on weekends you guys are able to call, so if you’re ever on call walking into the kitchen for a snack bkg is so curious as to what you and your friends would be talking abt. he always sneaks a peek and you best believe he learns all of your friends names and faces.

friend: “who was that hot guy that you were talking to?”

you: “huh? oh that’s katsuki, i told you abt him”

friend: “dude…you were totally giving him fuck me eyes”

you: “AYO DO NOT EVEN START WITH THAT SH-“

(he was looking at you with such passion and love in his eyes but ur just too dumb to see it)

you tend to crave a lot of american snacks and food, and sometimes bkg will go out to a special shop that has american shit and bring it to you.

“you wouldn’t fucking stop saying how much you wanted it so here take it nerd”

*you’re all teary bc like “omg he went out of his away to go across town to get me some stupid snacks omg im falling for him”*

you love cooking american foods/foods you grew up with for the class and you specifically yearn for bkg’s approval. you eventually learn about his love for cooking and he teaches you japanese dishes while you teach him the dishes you know. the two of you bonded so much while cooking together.

(this part is me venting so just bare with me okay) and god forbid you have a toxic ex in america that’s some fucking loser white boy bc bkg will rip that man to SHREADS. he has you cry laughing over all the insults he comes up with when you finally crack and show him a picture.

“he literally looks like a block of feta cheese yn, he looks like the type to trip on his own shoelaces. he definitely doesn’t read any higher than a ten year olds level-“

it actually ends with a sweet moment of him watching you laugh and when you two lock eyes he tells you that you deserve better, that you deserve someone who will actually treat you well. he scurries off after that bc he realizes he was too soft in that moment and you never stop thinking abt that.

eventually you get him to confess and start dating, obviously having to take it slow bc there’s no way bkg dated anyone before you. slowly figuring out everything that works for the both of you, the relationship is very loving and accepting.

bkg slowly learns all of your favorite songs and knows what they translate to. when you sing love songs to him not thinking he knows what they mean, he just smiles and says smth cheesy like “oh you must really like me huh?”

you of course teach him words in english and you try to tutor him in the language but he’s not the easiest person to teach to, especially a whole new language. but the couple of phrases you teach him are just for your sake so you can talk shit and include him in it, and he loves it so much.

(dw bc by the time he’s an adult he can speak english and his accent is SO cute and you love it so much bc everything he does is so amazing)

when the two of you get older you are able to bring him home! he meets all of your friends and family, even tho he’s literally the most nervous you’ve ever seen him. he knows english by this time but he keeps overthinking it so much, and once he’s surrounded by a bunch of people who’s first language is english he messes up a couple of times and sometimes messes up translations. he gets so mad at himself but you are able to talk him down and tell him not to be so hard on himself.

you bring him to all of your favorite restaurants and areas, shopping included. he wants to know everything about where you grew up, hoping it will somehow grow the two of you even closer to each other. once you’re in public and at restaurants you still insist on speaking japanese since that was the language the two of you used when you fell in love, and even tho you guys get weird stares you refuse to switch. bkg also enjoys it bc when it’s the two of you speaking japanese it’s like you two are in your own little world, like you two really do belong together.

but also you guys shit talk in japanese so. much. like it’s not even funny. if you have family members that you dislike, you better believe you’re whispering in his ear all about it catching him up on family lore when he meets all of your family.

that’s all i can think of rn, but god. i’m obsessed.

[inkskinned]

she's three years younger than i am, and i put on cascada as a throwback, cackling - before your time! i've been borrowing my brother's car, and it's older than dirt, so the trunk is like, maybe permanently locked. when the sun comes through the window to frame her cheekbones, i feel like i'm 16 again. i shake when i'm kissing her, worried i won't get it right.

in 2003, my state made gay marriage legal. where she grew up, it wasn't legal until 11 years later - 10 years ago. if legal protections for gay marriage were a person, that person would be entering 5th grade. online, a white gay man calls the fight for legal marriage boring, which isn't kind of him but it is a common enough opinion.

it has only been 9 years since gay marriage was nationally official. it is already boring to have gay people in your tv. it is already boring to mention being gay - "why make it your entire personality?" i know siblings that have a larger age gap than the amount of time it's been legally protected. i recently saw a grown man record himself crying about how evil gay people are. he was begging us, red in the face - just do better.

i am absolutely ruined any time my girlfriend talks about being 27 (i know!! a child!), but we actually attended undergrad at the same time since i had taken off time to work between high school and college. while walking through the city, we drop our hands, try not to look too often at each other. the other day i went to an open mic in a basement. the headlining comedian said being lesbian isn't interesting, but i am a lesbian, if you care. as a joke, she had any lesbian raise their hand if present. i raised mine, weirdly embarrassed at being the single hand in a sea of other faces. she had everyone give me a round of applause. i felt something between pride and also throwing up.

sometimes one thing is also another thing. i keep thinking about my uncle. he died in the hospital without his husband of 35 years - they were not legally wed, so his husband could not enter. this sounds like it should be from 1950. it happened in 2007. harassment and abuse and financial hardship still follow any person who is trying to get married while disabled. marriage equality isn't really equal yet.

and i don't know that i can ever put a name to what i'm experiencing. sometimes it just feels... so odd to watch the balance. people are fundamentally uninterested in your identity, but also - like, there's a whole fucking bastion of rabid men and women who want to kill you. your friends roll their eyes you're gay we get it and that is funny but like. when you asked your father do you still love me? he just said go to your room. you haven't told your grandmother. disney is on their 390th "first" gay representation, but also cancelled owl house and censored the fuck out of gravity falls. you actively got bullied for being gay, but your advisor told you to find a different gimmick for your college essay - everyone says they're gay these days.

once while you were having a hard day you cried about the fact that the reason our story is so fucking boring to so many people is that it is so similar. that it is rare for one of us to just, like, have a good experience across the board. that our stories often have very parallel bends - the dehumanization, the trauma, the trouble with trusting again. these become rote instead of disgusting. how bad could it be if it is happening to so many people?

i kiss my girlfriend when nobody is looking. i like her jawline and how her hands splay when she's making a joke. there is nothing new about this story, sappho. i love her like opening up the sun. like folding peace between the layers of my life, a buttercream of euphoria, freckles and laughter and wonder.

my dad knows about her. i've been out to him since i was 18 - roughly four years before the supreme court would protect us. the other day he flipped down the sun visor while driving me to the eye doctor. "you need to accept that your body was made for a husband. you want to be a mother because you were made for men, not women." he wants me to date my old high school boyfriend. i gagged about it, and he shook his head. he said - "don't be so dramatic. you can get used to anything."

the other day a straight friend of mine snorted down her nose about it, accidentally echoing him - she said there are bigger problems in this world than planning a wedding.

[gh0stsp1d3r]

Kinktober day 10, pain kink w/logan howlett.

kinktober masterlist

logan loved pain.

after he’s gone through so much in one life time, the thin lines between pain and pleasure began to blur, fusing into each other. It didn’t bother him anymore, and instead, turned him on.

This had dawned on you completely by accident, when you were watching him being scolded for having yet another cigar in the school. He scoffed, waiting for Scott to walk away before he pressed the butt of it into his skin, you furrowing an eyebrow at him when you walked into the kitchen, his mouth forming an “o” shape and letting out what sounded like a low moan as he put it out on the palm of his hand.

He glanced up at you, mouth closing and pretending as if nothing had just happened. You rummaged through the cabinets, giving him a smile and nod while watching his palm heal in seconds.

“Hey.” He spoke, rather flushed and embarrassed at the fact that his cock was now aching in his pants, covering his hard on with a beer bottle that he had stashed. He stared at you, and the way that your shorts rode up when you reached further into the cabinets….

Okay, yeah, you guys were fucking underneath the school roofs. But you couldn’t help it. He was hot. You’ve been plotting on him since the day you’ve seen him.

“Hi, lo.” You replied, finally grabbing what you were reaching for. Which was also a beer bottle. He snapped out of it when you went to sit on the counter, swinging your legs as you popped it open. He cleared his throat, the tension in the room getting harder to ignore.

Yeah, you ended that night being pushed up against the wall of his room, his door locking and him lightly pushing you down onto the bed, his hands and lips traveling your body, clothes now scattered across the room.

“So fucking pretty.” He murmured out against your skin, looking up at you from In between your thighs. He left a kiss on the inside of your thigh, before tearing off your panties with his teeth.

When logan ate you out, it was heavenly. He loved doing it, you loved it. It was a win-win. His tongue flicked over your clit, before poking and prodding at your entrance.

You let out a moan, your back arching off the bed and you tugging on his hair, experimentally. You haven’t done that before, but the reaction you got out of him….

He looked up at you for a moment, you immediately feeling bad and beginning to think that you did something wrong, opening your mouth to apologize before he cut your sentence off.

“Do that again.”

“Wh…what?”

“Do it again.” He repeated, before diving back into your pussy, you letting out a shudder and tugging on his hair, you listening to the low growls and grunts he made when you did so.

“Harder.” He murmured when he pulled away for a moment, looking up at you. You just nodded weakly.

Holy shit, holy shit. You wished you discovered his thing for pain earlier.

“Logan!” You cried out, his tongue working faster, sucking and licking your soaked hole, the grip he had on your thighs leaving deep little crescent shaped marks. You came on his gave, his tongue going back to licking it all up, you jerking lightly.

You stared up at the ceiling, eyes wide and breathing heavy. You looked at Logan who had quite literally come in his pants from that.

“So… this pain thing you have….” You started.

“Don’t.” He sighed out, grabbing a rag and cleaning your body and his own before grabbing a change of underwear and laying next to you.

“That’s like hot as hell.” You told him, staring at him.

He was the one to furrow his eyebrows now, letting a chuckle escape him.

“yeah?”

“oh yeah. I’m most definitely gonna use that to my advantage.”

“I wouldn’t mind that.” He shrugged, you smiling at him, before moving to cuddle up next to him, laying your head on his chest, his arms wrapping around you.