#another ao3 story that i'm finally posting here

[archaeren]

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

[creamecafe]

I haven’t seen many fics about player 333 yet (Myunggi) 😔 Could you do maybe an enemies to lover type story with him!!!

Wicked Game | Myung-Gi Pt. 1

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: You're stuck in the squid games fighting for your life. It also doesn't help that you are stuck with a wanna be rich scammer fraud.

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: Myung-Gi x GN!Reader (No pronouns used)

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: enemies to lovers, hurt

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝:

𝙰𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎: Thank you so much for requesting. I hope you enjoy this! Also the reader is an ex of Myung-Gi before the games. Please understand I don't HATE Kim Jun-hee, I just thought it would fit more for enemies to lovers. I also believe I may put this into two parts as the 3rd season is yet to come

If you would like to be tagged for the next part, let me know in the comments down below and I'll add you to the list!!

Want a request for a Squid Game character like this one? Check out my latest post, read my request guidelines and send a request!

Read on Wattpad & AO3 here

Joining the squid games could possibly be the last thing any person with common sense and a reason to live would consider doing. Unless they either had none.

That's what it looked like for you. The games you had to do to win 45.6 billion won had you either questioning if it's still worth it to still keep going or just to end it all on this island.

Out of all the people in these games, there's one face that you despised seeing and wondered how he's still alive after what he did, Myung-Gi.

He's your ex boyfriend. Being with him was great at first, but once he was invested in the crypto coin thing business, it felt like you're being cheated on. It also didn't help that he had an affair behind your back with a girl named Kim Jun-hee who turned up pregnant.

You didn't hate Kim Jun-hee, as you felt bad for her that your ex abandoned her and their baby, but the whole thing hurted you.

There's nothing more you wanted to get out of here with enough money to move to another place and start off fresh.

When you first woke up in the dormitory with all the other players, you wondered where this possibly could go. You looked around to see so many unfamiliar faces.

Then a man in a pinkish red suit all the way across the room wuth a black covered mas with a white triangle comes out from double doors and starts explaining why majority are here. Because of their debts.

They showed different videos of people playing Ddakji and getting slapped in the face. There was one face you recognized, your ex. It wouldn't be surprising that he was in debt for trying to chase after the crypt coin thing.

It looks like you're not the only one who hated him, many people who fell for the crypto coin were also mad at him. A purple-haired guy stood out from the rest, as he was a rapper you heard from others who were apparently fans. You had no interest in him or your ex but were wondering what the whole ordeal of winning money is.

You had to sign a waiver for the games, and you were soon directed to take pictures. It was rough enough. Then you would have to climb stairs that seemed like you were going to Mount Everest. You saw your ex from the right side across. You also didn't want to risk being seen.

Finally, you reached the first game after what seemed like an eternity. There was a huge robot doll and the whole layout was supposed to imitate a school playground with its blue sky and sand ground.

"Hey there pretty" You turn around and see the purple haired guy who was talking to your ex

"Who are you?" You exclaimed looking him up and down not in the mood to be hit on.

"I'm Choi Seung-hyun, Thanos for my music. You might of heard my raps before?"

"If I did, I probably would want to be deaf right now. Including not hearing this conversation."

He pretended to be hurt and put a hand over his heart.

"Ouch girl. Cold aren't you?"

You rolled your eyes. He sees another girl walks by and also tries talking to her. Poor girl, you thought.

"Y/N?" You hear your name being called and look around.

"Y/N!" A hand fell on your shoulder and you flinched turning around.

It was Myung-Gi. Your panic turned into annoyance as you rolled your eyes again.

"What are you doing here?" He asks

"Should be asking you that too, but I think it's obvious."

"Can we please talk?"

"What's there to talk about Myung-Gi? You chose a cyrpt coin over me and cheated on me, and got another girl pregant"

"And I regret it very much. Please come back."

"Share those regrets with the others in here too, including the mother of your child."

He tried to reply back but you walked away from him, ignoring him.

Speakers came on, explaining the rules of the game.

A screaming man came into the front and said it's not what we think the game is. He exclaims that if you move, you'll die.

People around you scoffed and found the man crazy. It seemed like to you he was crazy too, but what if he was right?

He was still screaming telling people not to move a muscle when the game starts.

The robot started turning around and putting her hand up to the tree to not look at the other player.

It started singing.

"Everyone freeze!" The man in front says.

Nobody moved a muscle. Your eyes looked around and saw no one moving. What if the guys telling the truth?

The doll looked away and you started moving forward quickly along with everyone else.

"Everyone freeze!" Yelled again the older man.

There was a scream coming from a girl who moved. She laughed exclaiming she just moved. A bullet came through her head and she dropped dead.

The guy really wasn't lying then. One wrong move, you're dead. More people started moving and more gunshots were coming.

Bodies were dropping. People are screaming. This was a bad idea to be here. You were also pretty sure you were going to die with your ex boyfriend. That another cherry on top to add.

"If you don't make it to the finishing line on time, you'll also die." The man yells but has his mouth covered like he was going to take a sneeze.

It felt impossible to win this game. You were so sure you were going to win money but now the only thing you could be winning is death. You wanted to see if Myung-Gi was still alive.

But you couldn't risk being shot. Everyone sooned formed into a single file line. The man explained that the doll can't see what's behind a person if there's a bigger person in front.

More gunshots came. More bodies dropping. You couldn't stop now though. You're close to the finish line, you can feel it.

You soon reached the finish line relieved that you made it alive. You looked around for Myung-Gi to see if he's alive.

Why do you care so much about him? You thought to yourself.

It's just basic human sympathy you thought. Hating him is one thing, but him dying is another.

The game ended and you witnessed the man who warned about the game, you see his number was 456 and another, a woman helping a man who got shot in the leg reach the finish line get shot in the head.

This isn't just a game. This life or death. Everyone including you who passed were allowed to go back to the dorms.

Zoned out walking, seeing bodies and blood, you hear your name being called.

"Y/N!"

Turning around to see who called your name, you see Myung-Gi run up to you.

"Hey, are you okay?"

A light smile came from your face.

"Yes I'm alright and you?"

"Alive thank God." He chuckled.

You chuckled lightly but didn't know what to say after. Usually, you would have something smart to say to him but after what happened, you wanted nothing more to be out of here.

There were yelling and shouts to how the man knew they would shoot if you lost the game. They were accusing the man of being behind the game.

A pink guard then came out and congratulated us for completing the first game. It then if a majority voted to O, you could leave the game.

Everyone chose their own sides O and X. You chose X, even though you desperately wanted the money to be able to move to another city. You see Jun-Hee, his other ex, chose X too. Myung-Gi chose O, which you weren't surprised.

Unfortunately there were more O's than X's which meant you had to stay. You were heartbroken but also upset and turned to Myung-Gi. Now you wish he died in the first game.

You went up to him and turned him around aggressively and slapped him across the face. People looked at you guys, but you didn't care.

"You're really that selfish, you had to choose O?"

"Y/N-"

"The mother of your child is in this game and you choose O. I should have known from the start dating you was a bad idea. If these games don't kill you, I will."

You stormed off away from him and went to your bed. Myung-Gi probably thought you were bluffing about you killing him.

Something deep down you wanted to keep that word true.

It looks like you'll have to wait and see the next day.

𝙽𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 | 𝙼𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝚂𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚍 𝙶𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝙹𝚘𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝!

[kiss-inthekitchen]

pairing: spencer reid x reader

set sometime in early s2; you get stuck sharing a room with your favorite boy genius who absolutely cannot know that you have feelings for him. and also, there’s only one bed. fluff, f!reader (i think there's only two usages of gender markers)

word count: 4.7k

notes: this is a rework of a very old fic i used to have up on ao3. i'm thinking i'll do more of these, i've got a few spencer fics in the vault and it was fun to rework this and see how my style has changed :)

You shivered against the cold desert air. Twirling a keyring around your finger, you headed for the door marked 3. You were exhausted from the day and so, so ready to collapse into bed as soon as you got inside your room. 

You turned the key in the lock while Spencer waited behind you. It was late, and you and the team had pulled into a motel for the night, having been dragged out to a tiny rural town by the unsub after days of tracking him through surrounding areas. He’d been apprehended, finally, and handed over to local police around midnight. You all had decided it best to spend the night before driving back into town in the morning for take off. 

So here you were, at one of those single story motels that still used actual keys instead of key cards. Given the time of night, you knew vacancies would be scarce, so you’d already expected to have to double up on rooms. Gideon had stayed behind at Quantico, leaving Hotch and Morgan in one room and JJ and Prentiss in another, with you and Spencer sharing the last room. You’d hung back while JJ got everything figured out with the concierge (who was just a bored looking kid posted at the desk), and then she’d passed you your key with its little keyring attachment listing the room number and you all bade each other goodnight.

You’d been on the team nearly a year already, but you were still the rookie compared to everyone else. Even Spence had two years on you. But seeing as you two were the youngest, and the least inclined toward the more physical parts of your job– the chasing, tackling, firing your weapon parts– you were paired off with him more often than not. 

You weren’t complaining. You’d come to know Spencer pretty well, and you didn’t feel much apprehension at the thought of sharing a room with him for one night. 

That is, until you opened the door. 

“Oh,” you said involuntarily.  

"There's only one bed,” Spencer said. 

“Sure looks that way.” 

"At least it's a queen?" 

There was a brief pause before you both started speaking at the same time. 

"Maybe we can go back to the concierge–" Spencer began. 

"I mean, I guess I don't really–" 

"–although, JJ did say we got the last–" 

"–mind as long as you–" 

You cut yourself off this time. It’s not like there was another good option, unless one of you wanted to sleep in the car. "This is fine?" it came out as a question rather than a statement. 

"I think so? I wouldn't want to– to make you uncomfortable or anything."

"This is fine," you repeated, more sure of yourself this time. “And you don’t make me uncomfortable.”  

It was only kind of a lie. You trusted Spencer with your life, of course. But he also made you nervous. He was sweet, kind, always seeming genuinely interested in anything you had to say. And of course, anyone could see that he was attractive. You were developing feelings for him, and in a job where your coworkers and your crush himself were all adept at reading people, it really wasn’t a good position for you to be in. You just hoped Spencer was as oblivious with women as Derek made him out to be. 

"We should get out of the doorway," Spencer suggested, and you realized you'd been standing in the threshold this whole time.

"Right."

The two of you walked in, Spencer closing and locking the door behind you. It was a modest room in a tiny town; your standard ugly-patterned, faded bedspread draped over the queen bed in the center, a window looking out into the parking lot, and a dresser that didn’t even have a TV on top of it. You headed straight for the bed, sitting on the edge and removing your shoes while Spencer stood by with his hands in his pockets.

"You know, if it's a problem I can sleep on the cou– uh, the chair," Spencer offered, looking back mid-sentence and realizing that the only additional furniture this motel offered was one rigid looking armchair by the window. 

"No, you're not doing that."

"What?" he asked, taken aback by the quickness of your response.

"You're not sleeping in that chair. It looks horribly uncomfortable and I’m sure it’s never been cleaned, and I know how you’d feel about that.” 

Spencer grimaced, not having thought about that particular detail. “Yeah, but, I mean… I’d do it for you.” 

God, why did he have to say stuff like that? Like you were something special. And why now, when you were stuck in the same room with him until morning? It probably didn’t even mean the same thing to him as it meant to you. He was one of the most caring people you’d ever met. He’d probably say that to any one of you on the team. 

Or maybe sleeping in a chair meant nothing to him at all. Maybe he actually didn’t want to share the bed with you and that’s why he was trying so hard to avoid it. 

Ugh. You just wanted this day to be over. It was late, the case had been a week long, and now you were probably in for a fun night of overthinking and second guessing when you’d been expecting silence and easy, dreamless sleep. 

Okay, maybe that last part was never really an option, but still. 

“Look,” you sighed, “I know this isn't an ideal situation but there's a perfectly good bed here, so let’s just share it. If you’re okay with that. It's just one night and tomorrow we'll be back home and nobody has to know about it."

You had to fight from squeezing your eyes shut in regret. You wished that had come out differently. You chanced a look at Spencer, realizing that you’d been staring down at the faded carpet pattern while you spoke. 

The look on his face was one you hadn’t seen before, and you almost couldn't place it. He seemed sort of disappointed. Disappointed that he had to share a bed with you? Or that you'd made it sound like you didn't want to share a bed with him? Nope, you could not go down that road tonight. You shook your head once as if it would clear the thoughts from your tired mind. 

“I’m okay with that," he said, casually enough that you could almost convince yourself that you’d just imagined the look on his face before. "So, do you want the shower first, or...?" Spencer asked.

"No, I can wait, you go ahead," you said. You desperately needed the moment to yourself anyway.  

You started rifling through your bag for pajamas, toiletries, and your charger as an excuse to look busy while Spencer made his way into the bathroom with his things. As soon as the door closed behind him, you flopped back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as if it might hold all the answers. 

Spencer couldn't know about your feelings. For one thing, you were pretty sure there was a rule against dating your colleagues in the BAU. If not, there probably should be. You were such a close knit team, and if anything went wrong… you couldn’t imagine how difficult that would be. But then, the evil and uncooperative part of you also couldn’t help but think that things might go right. 

From the beginning of your time at the BAU, you’d been drawn to Spencer. It just kind of made sense. You’d gotten through school at an accelerated pace– though not as quickly as him, the man was on another fucking level when it came to academics– and you were one of the only people who found his fact dropping actually interesting, often asking him follow up questions. He’d looked adorably shocked the first few times you’d done that. 

He listened intently to your passionate rants about your favorite films and tv shows, even though he hadn’t seen any of them. When the two of you had discovered a shared interest in mythology and folklore, Hotch nearly had to separate you so you would actually get some work done. It was like you were a kid in school again, and you might’ve been embarrassed if you didn’t find it so funny, if you weren’t so giddy at the idea of a friendship that could make you feel like a kid again. 

Spencer understood you in a way that other people didn’t, laughing at your jokes even when they didn’t land for anybody else. When people interrupted or spoke over you, he always paid attention, and in situations where you were trying to add details to the profile he’d bring the conversation back around to you. 

Throughout your life you’d learned– through painstaking trial and error– to fit in pretty well in most any group you found yourself in, but you’d always considered yourself to be a little weird. A little too different. But when you were with Spencer, you felt like you didn’t have to try so hard. You could both be a little different, together. 

Spencer opened the bathroom door then, startling you. You’d been so lost in thought you hadn’t even noticed the water turn off. You looked over to see him wearing a loose white t-shirt and pajama pants, his hair still damp. And now you knew what Spencer looked like fresh out of a shower. And of course it was endearing as hell. 

“If that’s how you’re planning to sleep,” Spencer began, referencing how you were laid out in the dead center of the bed, your arms fully outstretched and hands hanging off the mattress, “then I think we might have a slight problem after all.”  

You walked out of the bathroom a short while later, dressed in your usual sleepwear of shorts and an oversized shirt. You’d put your hair up in a bun to protect it while you showered, and now it hung loose around your shoulders. You simultaneously wished your outfit was cuter and uglier; knowing your giant t-shirt wasn’t flattering your figure while also feeling like you had too much skin exposed. Not that it mattered. You were just going to get some sleep and then wake up in the morning and head home. Everything would be back to normal. 

Spencer’s in bed already. He’d turned off the big light while you were showering, the lamps on either side of the bed casting him in a softer, warmer glow. He looked up from his book to find you standing there, and the soft, familiar look in his big brown eyes had you rooted to the spot. 

“Hey,” he said softly, patting the space next to him in invitation. 

You conceded, finding your legs again and sliding into bed beside him. “Hey.” 

He fidgeted with the pages of his book, ultimately shutting it closed on his index finger to mark the page. “So, uh, are we okay?” 

“Yeah, of course,” you answered genuinely, feeling bad that your internal struggle had manifested in a way that worried him. 

“Okay, cool,” he said. He paused long enough to let you explain if you wanted to, another invitation. You knew he wouldn’t push it if you didn’t offer something up. You wanted to give him an explanation, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. 

“Sorry,” you managed. 

“For what?” 

“I don’t know… acting weird, I guess. It’s just been a long day.” 

“Oh, well, you don’t need to be sorry about that. You’re always weird.” 

Your mouth dropped open as you looked at him. “Look who’s fucking talking,” you scoffed. Some of the tension dropped from your shoulders, glad he hadn’t questioned you further. 

“Language, please,” he held up a hand to stop you. “I’m delicate.” 

“Wha–?” you let out a surprised little laugh. “You’re an idiot!” 

“Yeah okay, tell that to my I–.” 

“Oh, my IQ of 187,” you finished for him, rolling your eyes. Even that was full of endearment. “God, you are so annoying.” 

“Hm. Y’know, this might be a long night for you. I’d hate to keep you up with my annoyingness.” 

“I feel like you could’ve come up with a better word than annoyingness, Mr. 187,” you tilted your head where it rested against the headboard, looking up at him. 

“Oh, she’s being a smartass now!” he split into a surprised grin, and you could swear your heart skipped a beat. 

“You just said ass.” 

“Wow. How quickly you’ve corrupted me.” 

“Right, of course. It’s my fault.” 

“I knew you’d agree.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” you laughed. 

Things felt a little bit more normal after that, joking around with Spencer like you normally did made the rest of the night feel less daunting. 

Shortly after that, the two of you agreed that you should get some sleep, each reaching over to turn out the light on your respective sides of the bed. 

You let yourself sink into your pillow, the exhaustion you had been feeling giving way to a hyper awareness of Reid’s body next to you. You were kept awake, completely overcome by the foot of space between you and Spencer; the consequences of crossing that space, the way it might feel, the curiosity over whether he was laying awake too, thinking the same thoughts as you. Even with that foot of space separating you, you could feel his body heat. You longed to move closer to him, to touch him, to let his warmth seep into you and lull you to sleep. 

But you didn’t, and you wouldn’t, because this was just an unfortunate booking mishap. It didn’t mean anything. Tomorrow it would be over, and you could more easily go back to hiding your feelings from everyone else and yourself. 

Eventually, exhaustion won out. 

You woke what could’ve been a few minutes or a few hours later, the sky still dark. You couldn’t tell what exactly had woken you up, only the sense that you’d moved, almost like you’d fallen. But fallen from what? 

You blinked in the dark, the street lamps in the parking lot providing enough residual light to keep the room from being pitch black. 

Reid was sitting up. He must’ve bolted upright, you thought. Had that been what moved you? Were you lying on him?! 

“Hey, you okay?” 

“Sorry. Just a nightmare,” he said as if it was nothing. “Sorry to wake you.” 

“What was it about?” you ignored his apologies, sitting up as well. 

“I don't really even remember,” he breathed, almost like it was funny. “Just having a physiological reaction to whatever it was, I guess.” 

You had nightmares too, of course. You all did. You hated remembering them, but you also hated the times when you woke up in the dark, dazed and inexplicably scared. Without thinking, you reached for his hand. 

He turned to look at you then. “I really didn't mean to wake you,” he reiterated. 

“I figured,” you smiled slightly. You noticed his breathing was just a bit too fast. You rubbed your thumb over the back of his hand, leaning over to rest your weight against his side, your head on his shoulder. His nervous system would regulate itself quicker this way. 

“You were on my pillow, by the way.” 

“What?” you ask, your head jerking back from him. 

“I totally called it. You rolled right into the center of the bed in your sleep. Total bed hog.” 

“Hey!” you protested, pulling your hand back from his in embarrassment. So you had been lying on top of him. Or at least really close to him. His hand chased after yours, finding you again. 

“That wasn’t me complaining about it.” 

“Oh,” was all you could think to say back. 

It was quiet for a minute. You let your head fall back onto Spencer’s shoulder, but your heart raced in your chest. 

“Can I ask you something?” he questioned, his tone becoming more serious. 

“Oh– of course,” you answered, your brow creasing. 

“What did you mean when you said ‘it’s not ideal’ and ‘nobody has to know about it’?” 

“Wh– I– Spencer, come on.” 

He didn’t give you an out this time. Just waited for an answer. 

“I don’t even really know,” you sighed.  

“I believe you’re being partially truthful about that.” 

“Don’t profile me.” 

“I’m not. I just know you.” 

You sighed. “You know, sometimes I hate that stupid memory of yours.” 

“I don’t need an eidetic memory to remember that. It was a weird thing to say, and it happened like four hours ago.” 

“You’re guesstimating. And it wasn’t that weird.” 

“Maybe not, but the way you said it was. And you’re avoiding my question.” 

You continued to avoid it, biting down on your bottom lip. 

“And you stuttered when I brought it up.” 

“I told you to stop profiling me.” 

This time, he just hummed in response. 

“And so what if I stuttered?” 

“Stuttering is usually more my thing. A nervousness thing.” 

Maybe this was actually your nightmare. Maybe you’d wake up soon and none of this would’ve been real, and you wouldn’t have had to explain to Spencer that the reason you’d had an attitude was because the situation tonight had made it harder to hide your feelings from him. Big feelings that became a lot harder to ignore when he was this close to you, still holding your hand, the mix of scents from his detergent and deodorant clouding your judgment. Of all the embarrassing scenarios that you could’ve imagined playing out tonight, this was very high up on the list. 

“I said ‘it’s not ideal’ because it’s not, just by definition. We were supposed to get a double room and we didn’t. Not ideal. And I said no one has to find out because I can already see Morgan having a field day with it and I know the exact expression that’ll be on his face–” 

“The eyebrows,” he nodded, lips pursed. 

“And then everyone else will get in on it and I just figured…” you sighed. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to deal with that.” 

“That all makes total sense.” 

“Good,” you breathed. Too relieved. 

“Now tell me the rest of it.” 

“God, Spencer–” you huffed out, frustrated. He knew you too well. 

You wanted to run. Maybe you could go sleep in the car after all. And then ignore Spencer for the rest of the day, and then the year, and your life, and– 

“Don’t make me say it,” you breathed. This had to be a dream. 

“But there is something to be said?” he questioned, his tone hushed, almost reverent. 

It was just vague enough. You could pretend it was nothing. 

“Yes.” 

You felt like you’d just blown your life up with one word. 

Spencer took a deep breath, your body cresting and falling with the movement of it. 

“You make me feel better about being myself,” he confessed.  

You shut your eyes. You had a constricting feeling in your throat suddenly, and the awful realization that you might cry. 

He spoke again, because you couldn’t. “I haven’t always felt good about it, you know? And then you joined the team, and, well– you changed a lot of things for me. And you’re beautiful, obviously, and I was scared to mess up what we have, because it’s special, I think–” 

“It is.” 

“–and then you started freaking out when you saw the bed,” he was smiling now, you could hear it, “and I thought, maybe it wouldn’t be so crazy… maybe I could make you feel that way too.” 

“You do. Of course you do. I feel like I can be my full self with you. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt like that before.” 

Spencer laughed, a little delirious giggle, and squeezed your hand in his. You’d managed to avoid crying, thankfully, and you grinned along with him, looking down at your joined hands as you squeezed him back. 

Things seemed to still for a beat, the two of you sitting with this moment and letting it stretch out. You still couldn’t really believe this was happening. You might have to tell Spencer to pinch you. 

“So what does that mean for us now?” you asked. 

“Well, for right now at least, I think it just means that we can go back to sleep without overthinking things into oblivion.” 

“I was not–”

“Okay, this time I am profiling you, and you’re lying,” he cut you off, his smile still evident.  

“Oh, this was such a mistake.”

He continued like you hadn’t spoken, laughing a little as he went. “I could practically hear it. It’s like, you know when a computer is trying to use too much processing power and the fan starts whirring really loud? Like that but just like right next to me, like tangible—“  

“Okay! Thank you so much, I actually totally got it, you can stop now.” 

He laughed, and your cheeks warmed. 

“For the record, I meant we could both stop overthinking.” Then he shifted a little, facing you a bit more. With the hand that wasn’t holding yours, he brushed a strand of hair from your face, a fake pout on his lips. “Sorry I make you nervous.” 

You cackled at that, if it was possible to cackle in hushed tones. “Oh, I bet you are. Besides, I know you like me now, so you’ve lost that card.” 

“Are you certain of that?” 

“Certain that you like me or certain that you can’t make me nervous?” 

“The latter. I do like you, if that was unclear.” 

Your heart sped up, contradicting you as you answered, “Then I’m certain you can’t make me nervous.” 

He titled your face up to his then, using his index finger underneath your chin to make you look at him. “You’re an awful liar.” 

You just shrugged, watching triumphantly as Spencer’s gaze fell to your lips. “It’s been working out pretty well for me so far.” 

“I guess it has,” he murmured, closing the distance between you and finally kissing you. 

After so many months of imagining (and berating yourself for imagining) what Spencer’s lips might feel like on yours, you weren’t disappointed. 

For once you didn’t have to think at all, the chemistry between you and him drowning out everything else. His hand fell to your waist, and yours moved to the curve of his jaw, pulling him closer as his mouth moved against yours. Your teeth grazed his bottom lip and he gasped, and your skin felt like it was lit up from the inside. 

You pulled away to breathe, and to process, and to try and stop your head from swimming. You were rewarded with the awestruck look in Spencer’s eyes as he opened them again. 

“Okay, was it just me, or–” 

“That was crazy,” you breathed.

“Crazy,” he agreed. 

“Spence?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I don’t think we’re getting back to sleep tonight.” Your eyes widened at the implication of saying those words at that time. “Not, like, in the sex way, though,” you hurried to correct yourself. “I need like, 4-5 business days to process things first, and I– well, I just meant, like– you know?” 

Spencer was nodding at you even as his eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “Can I still kiss you during those 4-5 business days?” 

“Oh, yeah,” you said, sounding breathless. 

“Cool,” he agreed. “You seem really nervous, by the way.” 

“Well, you kissed me.” 

“I did.”  

“How were you not nervous?” you breathed. 

“Oh, I was. Your reaction is making me feel a whole lot better about it though.” 

You scoffed half-heartedly. “I do so much for you.” 

“You do,” he replied earnestly, letting go of your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “We could lie back down, if you want. Like we were before I so rudely woke you up.” 

“Yeah, I’m super mad about that,” you joked. “Anyway, I was asleep for that, so you’ll have to show me what I was doing.” 

He seemed all too pleased to do so. “Okay, so you were basically like,” he leaned back against the pillows, pulling you down with him, moving his hand to the side of your head to guide you to the place where his shoulder met his chest, “Like that, and then your arm was over here,” he picked up your arm and guided it around his waist. 

“Oh god, that’s so embarrassing,” you said, realizing that he must’ve been awake when you’d done it. 

“Yeah, I know. Really terrible time for me.” 

“I can imagine. I can scoot back over to my side of the bed, just say the word.” 

“Don’t you dare,” he said, squeezing you closer. 

You trailed your fingers up and down his waist, feeling more content than you had in ages. 

“I can’t believe you’d suggest that I would have sex with you right after confessing my feelings. Like, take me to dinner first at least.” 

“Oh my god,” you half-exclaimed, half-laughed. You felt your cheeks heat up again, grateful it was still too dark in the room to be noticeable. “You’re right, I’m so sorry. How’s next Friday?” 

“Hmm, I don’t know. My work schedule is kind of unpredictable. I’ll have to get back to you.” 

“You’re such an ass.” 

A few short hours later, you were back on the jet with the rest of the team. You were lying on the couch while Spencer sat in a seat one row up and across from you, both to avoid suspicion and so you could try to catch up on sleep. He sat facing away from you, but with the angle you were at you could still see one side of his face if you tilted your head up. 

You were just beginning to fade when your phone buzzed next to you. 

Spencer: I have to tell you something, coworker to coworker. 

You looked up to see him blank faced, looking down at the book in his right hand, holding his phone in the left. 

You text back: okay? 

Spencer: My crush asked me out last night. 

You’re exceptionally glad no one was sitting close enough to see you. Spencer had caught you off guard, and you felt an infatuated grin spreading across your face. 

You: what did u say? 

Spencer: Wanted to get your opinion first. 

You: i think u should say yes, obviously. 

Spencer: Idk, I’m kinda nervous. I think she’s trying to jump me on the first date.

You just barely managed to refrain from laughing out loud. You looked up at Spencer again, and he’s looking at his phone as if it contained nothing more than a weather report. You’re astounded. 

You: one could argue that technically you’ve already slept together, so there’s less to be nervous abt

You saw his eyebrows raise just slightly. Success. 

Spencer: You’re trouble, you know that? See you Friday night

You: i promise i won’t try to jump you 

Spencer: Oh

Spencer: I fear I may have shot myself in the foot here

You: i wouldn’t worry about it too much

Spencer: That’s rich coming from you 

You rolled your eyes even though he couldn't see you. 

You: whatever. wear something sexy ;) 

You heard him blow air out of his nose, an almost laugh. 

“Something funny?” you heard Derek ask. 

Shit. 

“This book contains a historical inaccuracy that was proven incorrect eight years before its publishing date,” Spencer replied without missing a beat. 

Unbelievable.

You: you’re unhinged :*

Spencer: Go to sleep already, would you? 

You: coworker to coworker? my crush keeps interrupting my beauty sleep 

Spencer: He’s probably worried about the worldwide implications of you becoming any more beautiful 

You: i guess that’s why the universe gave you insomnia :( too pretty 

Spencer: Stop flirting with me

You: bc you’re too delicate?? 

Spencer: Yes 

You snapped your phone shut, feeling dazed. You watched the clouds go by in the window across from you, and you couldn’t help letting your gaze slide over to Spencer. He’d put his phone down as well, concentrating on his book. Or pretending to concentrate. He was turning the pages much too slowly for his actual pace. 

You: you have got to do a better job of fake reading than that

You heard a page turn. 

You looked up again to see the ghost of a smile threatening the corner of his mouth. 

This was going to be fun. And also, you were so screwed. 

[skyfallscotland]

Writing Advice: tips, tricks & helpful links, from your friendly neighbourhood fanfic author ✨ (part two—the resources)

see part one—the advice here

verbiage: • show, don't tell—a guide by @lyralit • this crazy big list of dialogue tags from @slayingfiction

diversity & inclusive writing: • a collection of helpful posts about BIPOC, gender, and body neutral inclusion in writing collated by @lavenderursa • this post on writing disabled characters by @cripplecharacters if you're not writing from experience

adding depth to your characters: • exploring character backstory and good traits gone bad by @saraswritingtipps • dark past ideas from @sas-soulwriter • @lyralit's list of things to think about when crafting a character

story structure and depth: • plot structures and this story planning template from @wordsnstuff • this collection of links from @oflights including fantasy name generators, child development guides, and height comparison visuals • finally, @writingquestionsanswered full stop, they have some fantastic guides and advice on things like this post on how to deal with writer's block and this one on how to start a story.

smut (i'm not gonna lie, there's a lot of smut resources): • the classic—quinnanderson's 'ultimate guide to writing smut fic' on AO3 • smut synonyms from @plaidstiel-wormstache • @maybeeatspaghetti's smutty dictionary • another smut thesaurus from @prurientpuddlejumper • this list of praise kink dialogue, also a good site for sex positions • sex positions for deep penetration (with diagrams) • this guide by @void-my-warranty • and not quite smut, but this post on how to write a kiss scene from @youneedsomeprompts

writing software: • a collection of alternatives to google docs, by @the960writers • here is @yekokataa's AO3 template for scrivener

prompts, for when you want to write but need a nudge: • @creativepromptsforwriting • @deity-prompts (who also has an excellent masterlist of writer's advice)

I may update this list occasionally who knows, but for now I hope some of you find it helpful 💗

[thewinter-eden]

Upcoming Sequels

Crack!Horror SKZ Series Part 2s :

Sequels to original one shots. Dark comedies with gritty themes, satirical humor, and happy endings. These are meant to be STUPID and FUNNY, not imperative literature. Light or suggested romance, sfw. I still don’t condone any of these behaviors btw.

Bang Chan

Part 2 (You Live Like This?) - home invader!Chris makes good on his promise to rob your ex to avenge your painful breakup, only to find that you're already there trying to collect your belongings. In order to keep your ex-bf from including you as an accomplice in his inevitable police report, you have to pretend you don't know the robber who keeps flirting with you. Satirical robbery, verbally abusive ex, fake threats against you and your ex, cheesy Chris, exasperated reader, coffee.

Lee Know

Part 2 (That Your Man?) - mugger!Minho patrols his usual haunts, one of which being the parking lot where you first met. One night, mid-mugging, he sees you through the window of the coffee shop where he first bought you cake--but you're there with the man he thought you were going to break up with. He decides stealing girlfriends (or, rather, you) is now included in his job description. Mugging, Minho still has a gun, asshole bf (still), evidence of past successful muggings, fake boyfriend.

Seo Changbin

Part 2 (Blink Twice if You Need Help) - stalker!Changbin has been banned from your new house. Despite his tendencies, you like him and you want to keep seeing him, but you have one rule: he has to give up his stalking ways and get to know you organically. Unfortunately, it seems, some habits die hard. Changbin's bad at dating, Changbin watches you sleep (okay Edward), patient reader, humorous confrontation, Changbin getting caught (multiple times), role play jokes

Hwang Hyunjin

Part 2 (Don't Look At Me Like That) - hitman!Hyunjin is now your roommate. He's keeping you hidden from your father, who desperately wants your 25-million-dollar trust fund, even if it means ending your life to get it. As your condition worsens and the attempts on your life increase, it's getting harder and harder for Hyunjin to keep you alive until your birthday. Cancer, numerous assassination attempts, asshole father, sweet Hyunjin, exasperated Hyunjin, reader is having the time of her life watching assassins fail, cake.

Han Jisung

Part 2 (You Called?) - demon!Jisung has made a deal with you. Your friendship for his protection. Now, you have a demon randomly popping up all over your life - in your apartment, on your dates, at school, in your car - and you're finally getting used to it. What you're not used to, however, is being picked on by other demons who want to know why Jisung's spending so much time with you. Dorky demon Jisung, threatening vibes from the other demons, trickery and tormenting, dancing.

Lee Felix

Part 2/3 (All Ye Who Enter Here) - ghost!Felix is one of the many souls trapped in your haunted house, much like yourself. You've just found out that you're capable of shouldering the responsibility of helping your victims find new life after death, unlike the way your mother allowed hers to fade. NOTE: when I posted All Ye Who Enter Here on AO3 (username the_winter_eden), I posted both pt-I and pt-II as a single 5k part. I know this story was confusing and a lot of people got stuck in the nuance rather than having a more direct storytelling approach. I don't currently have another part planned but I'm open to exploring this further if people want it. It would concern reader's journey in atonement for the victims she killed during her life and possibly turning Blacktree House into kind of a "found family" situation (it's crack!horror it can be wildly unrealistic lol) Just let me know! And let me know if there's something specific you would want to see in an additional part.

Sequels for the remaining members will be added once original posts are complete.

Comment a request to be tagged!

Comment or ask any thoughts/suggestions you have, as these will most likely be the final parts for these storylines.

Thank you all for so many notes and kind words!

tag list: @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @estella-novella @babyphotos0325 @softfor-svtptg @furfoxsake22 @tubelightanyaa @kayleefriedchicken @rockstarkkami @sp1derst0rrr @eastjonowhere @its-stayville-forever @allenajade-ite @naraportokala @jinniejjam @blackberryrains @feetoffthemalfoy @highandalive @scarlet789 @ramadiiiisme

[cellophanejpeg]

two is better than one | s. hanta ft. k. denki

s: What was supposed to be a night alone with Sero turns into something more once you see Kaminari is just as a freak as you are.

w: threesome, recreational drug use, smut, explicit smut, sex, smut smut smut

n: heyy, i have two more chapters left for these series, however i've reached a writer's block, so i'm not sure when they'll be posted lol. feedback is appreciated and i'll miss this story so much when it's done (i might be stalling a bit ngl). anyway, beta read by jemifiss as usual! | read on ao3

previous | next | start here

“Are you kidding me?” You whisper, stepping into Sero’s apartment.

“Sorry.” He takes the bags from your hands and closes the door behind you.

It’s been almost two months since you and Sero had some time for yourselves and tonight you thought you’d have a private moment in his apartment. However, upon entering his apartment, you notice Kaminari slouched over the living room couch. His face tells you he’s high out of his mind.

“He just showed up,” Sero explains, leading you to the kitchen.

“I thought we were gonna…” You trail off, hinting at the one thing you've been expecting all week.

“I know, sorry…” He's still smiling as he digs into the snacks you've brought.

“Are you–” you push his shoulder so he looks at you, “Are you high right now?”

Sero looks like a deer caught in headlights. His smile falters for a second, his eyebrows curl upwards, and he shrugs, getting caught.

“Guilty,” he says, giggling as if he was caught stealing from the cookie jar.

You groan, “Alright, you know what? I can come back another day–”

You're already walking out of the kitchen, ready to put your shoes back on and leave, when he runs after you, wrapping his big hands on your shoulders.

“Wait, no! We can watch a movie! Kaminari brought some brownies you used to like.” He pleads with a soft voice.

A sigh leaves your lips, shoulders sagging, “Hanta, you know I don’t do that anymore…”

When the war was over, you had to go back to school and pretend nothing had happened, which was proven to be the worst to happen. You used to have panic attacks, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t handle loud noises – one time, you even lashed out at Bakugou for yelling in class –, so Sero introduced you to edibles, as a last resort. It wasn’t until the school had started offering mandatory counseling sessions that you finally started to fall asleep without getting high.

“Okay, okay, so hang out with us?” Sero smiles at you, still gripping your shoulders tightly, “I miss just being with you… Not just fucking your brains out.” He chuckles under his breath.

You sigh again, closing your eyes.

“Fine. But if he eats all my snacks, I’m leaving.”

“Look who it is!” Kaminari exclaims when you enter the living room. You smile, plopping down on the couch beside him. Of all Sero’s friends, Kaminari is the one you’re closest to. You don’t talk to him on the regular, but you’re definitely more comfortable having a conversation with him than with anyone else in the friend group. Maybe it’s because he’s so close to Sero. Or maybe because he makes you laugh just the same. “You gotta tell me…” He slouches an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him, “How big is it?”

“What are you talking about?” You frown, grabbing the remote to choose a movie for the three of you to watch.

“You know, Sero’s dick.”

You freeze, heart dropping to your stomach. Slowly, you turn your head to face Sero, on your left side. He’s drinking from a soda can when you start staring daggers at him.

“What?” he asks, noticing your furious eyes set at him.

“You told him?!” Your voice is louder than you intended, but it still makes Sero startle and Kaminari remove his arm from around your shoulders.

“I might have…” Sero brings his shoulders to his ears, slightly scared of you. He’s never seen you so angry like that before.

“Aw, c’mon, baby.” Kaminari chimes in, coming closer to your ear, “You don’t have to be embarrassed, it’s okay.”

“I’m not embarrassed!” You argue, trying to pull away from him, “I just never thought Hanta was the type to kiss and tell.”

Sero’s eyes widen as you stand up from the couch and face him. In a quick movement, he leaps from the couch and kneels before you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your lower belly.

“I’m sorry, angel!” He whines, “I was just so happy I couldn’t keep it to myself, I’m so sorry, I promise I’ll make it up to you!”

“What are you talking about?” You try to pry his arms open to be free of him, but his grip is too strong. You look down at his bloodshot eyes and something stirs inside you. Maybe it’s the way he kneels to you, the submissive look in his eyes, but you feel your face so hot that you have to look away.

“I’ll eat you out,” Sero quickly says, pushing your skirt up, trying to bunch up the fabric to have access to you, “I know it’s been a while–”

“Hanta!” You try to hold his hands, very aware that his friend is sitting on the couch, watching the scene. Your fingers desperately grip the hem of your skirt as your eyes shoot to Kaminari, who’s made himself comfortable by leaning back on the couch, sipping from his soda. He has a weird look on his face, like he isn’t shocked about Sero’s actions, “Wait– Kaminari is here–”

“He likes to watch,” Sero mumbles as he finally gets access to your underwear, pulling them down and pushing your skirt up.

“What–”

“And Sero’s always a horndog when he’s high,” Kaminari says.

Sero’s fingers slip in your folds, opening you up, his tongue following right after. You hold back a moan as realization falls on you.

“You’ve done it before?”

Kaminari breathes out a laugh, setting his drink on the coffee table and standing up. Sero pulls your underwear even further, a hand wrapping around your ankle so you lift it up, freeing one leg from the undergarment. He dives into you further, putting your free thigh on his shoulder. In a second, Kaminari is behind you, hands slipping under your shirt and tickling your waist.

“You mean have we fucked before?” He says in your ear, “Or have we shared someone? Because the answer is yes, either way.”

The thought of Sero and Kaminari – and probably someone else – in bed makes your breath hitch. You’re shocked to find out your childhood best friend is a horny bastard, but the idea turns you on more than you’d like to admit. Or maybe it’s the way Sero’s tongue rubs deliciously against your clit as his fingers nudge your entrance.

“And you know what, angel?” Kaminari whispers, licking your earlobe, “I’m also a horndog when I’m high.”

His mouth latches at your neck, giving your skin open mouthed kisses, sucking and nibbling, and you can’t hold back anymore. Sero’s fingers finally press inside you, now that you’re wet enough, and you have to hold yourself on his shoulders for balance. If it wasn’t for Kaminari’s grip on you, you’d definitely have fallen over already.

“She likes that.” Sero mumbles against you, when you squeeze his fingers inside you, as Kaminari nibbles your ear, sending chills through your skin.

“Hanta…” Your hands tangle in his hair as you slightly grind on his face.

“Say the word, and we’ll stop.” Kaminari’s hands slip under your shirt further, until they reach your breasts. He grabs them with a light grip, massaging the muscles, until he finds your nipples and pinches them softly. A whine escapes your lips, your orgasm already building inside you.

A turn from your head and your lips press against Kaminari’s, kissing him fervently, the more you feel pleasure growing in your lower stomach. You squeeze your eyes shut as Sero’s fingers curl inside you, pressing on that spongy spot that makes you go crazy. A particular twist of your nipples, combined with a suck of your clit, have you coming undone, whining into Kaminari’s mouth. Your legs almost give out, but he holds you in place as Sero stands up and grabs your chin, pulling you away from his friend.

Sero kisses you roughly, hands pulling your shirt up to expose your breasts. His rough hands squeeze your breasts, harshly pinching your nipple and making you whimper. You notice he’s more dominant when he’s with Kaminari, who’s softer and gentler. Sero’s lips leave yours so he can kiss Kaminari, only pulling away so he can pull your shirt over your head, discarting it on the floor.

“Bed. Now.” He squeezes your cheeks before pulling you and Kaminari by the wrists towards his bedroom.

Kaminari undresses his shirt on the way to Sero’s room, unbuckling his belt as you reach the bed. Sero is already shirtless, pulling his sweatpants down, and rummaging his bedside drawer. He pulls a pack of condoms from it and rips one off, throwing it at Kaminari who laughs at his eagerness. Meanwhile, you try not to think about what is happening as you take your skirt off, finally baring yourself completely to the two men in the room.

Sero lies on the bed, back against the headboard as you crawl over to him. His cock sits hard against his lower abdomen when you wrap your delicate hands around it. You stroke him, licking the tip and going slow, like you know he likes. Kaminari positions himself behind you, fidgeting with the condom Sero tossed at him, and you twitch, anticipation pumping in your veins. He lifts your hips, having your ass up, runs his fingers through your folds.

“Fuck,” Kaminari whines as he pushes inside you. You’re so wet and open from your last orgasm that he slides in easily, as he refuses to give you time to adjust to his length.

A gasp leaves your lips as Sero’s hand flies to the back of your neck, the other cupping your cheek. You roll your eyes back as Kaminari sets on a punishing pace, much rougher than you’re used to. A squeeze of your cheeks makes you refocus your eyes on the man in front of you, who watches you intensely. If you weren’t being fucked out of your mind, you’d notice the moment of soberness in his eyes.

The way your body bounces back and forth with each thrust from Kaminari, the moans that leave your mouth, the trembling from pleasure of your hands as you stroke Sero – all these details give him a weird sensation in his chest. Is he having a panic attack? It wouldn’t be the first time it happened while he was high. But, no. This is unlike any other feeling he’s ever had. He’s always wanted to be with you in a carnal way, but this is something else.

He leans down to kiss you, soft lips a contrast to the rough pace of Kaminari, and then he pushes your head down, leading you towards his cock again. He doesn’t want to feel his heart thumping for no reason. So he makes you wrap your lips around him, pushing you further, until he hits the back of your throat and you gag. Your fingers tighten their grip on Sero's thighs as you force your way out of his hold, gasping for air.

“Can't breathe!” You exclaim, wet lips and tears running down your face.

Kaminari’s thrusts falter, recognizing the look of worry in Sero's face as he cups your face again and brings you to a kiss.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Sero whispers, kissing your lips, your cheeks, your nose, “I'm sorry, angel.”

The softness in his voice would've had your stomach doing backflips, if it wasn't for Kaminari pounding his cock inside you. Prompted by a look of reassurance of his best friend, Denki resumed his rough pace, making you gasp again. Sero pulls you to him, wrapping his arms around you, at the same time Kaminari does the same, fingers digging in your hips and pulling you roughly towards him. You all adjust the position, so your face is resting against Sero's chest, but your ass is still up for Kaminari. 

“Can't believe you were keeping this cunt all to yourself,” Kaminari groans, slapping your ass cheek roughly as he pushes his cock inside you again. You yelp, shutting your eyes with pleasure.

“You like it?” Sero mumbles to you, “You like when he's rough like that?”

You murmur a whine in response that he assumes is a yes. Sero cups your breasts gently, such a contrast to Kaminari's harsh  movements.

“Are you gonna come all over his cock, like the good girl you are?”

“Fuck, keep talking like that and I'm gonna come all over,” Kaminari grunts, slapping his hips on your ass.

“That's a good thing I'm not talking to you then,.” Sero barks back, and you'd laugh at their interactions if it wasn't for the fact you felt an overwhelming orgasm coming.

Then, Kaminari does something that has you almost breaking down. He presses his thumb on your back entrance, as if he's going to finger it. It's just a tease, but it's enough to make you see stars as you succumb to your pleasure, letting all out on him, on the sheets, everywhere.

“Whoa!” Kaminari laughs, “Why didn't you say you were a squirter, baby?!”

Because I'm not, you want to say, but you feel like you're going to pass out. You barely register him slowing down his thrusts and cursing as he comes, following right behind you. You just collapse on Sero's chest, trying to focus on his face. He's half soft now, and you feel bad because you don't think you can handle one more round.

“You didn't come,” you whisper as Kaminari leaves for a moment to fetch a towel so he can clean himself.

“I don't mind,” Sero whispers back.

“But–” you try to wrap your hands around him again, but he just holds it, lacing your fingers together.

“It's okay, angel.”

Before you can argue further, Kaminari is back with a fluffy towel and, soon enough, he's wiping your legs, drying as much as he can.

“Bath?” Sero asks, rubbing his thumb on your cheek.

“Yes, please.”

“Your wish is my command.” He kisses your forehead, hopping off the bed and going toward the bathroom.

Kaminari scoffs as he lays on his back, wiping the sweat from his forehead and sighing heavily.

“What?” You ask, pulling the sheets up to cover your chest. Not that it would do anything to hide your body from him now that he's seen everything. You're trying not to think about how you're going to face him in the next group hang out, when he answers your question,

“He must really like you. Sero's never satisfied until he's finished,” Kaminari laughs again, “And running you a bath? I mean, he gives aftercare, but he's not exactly the king of it, you know?”

“What do you mean?” Confusion is clear in your voice as you lean on your elbow to face him better.

“All I'm saying is that, every time we've been together, he's never acted like that.” He explains, “Maybe he's got a soft spot for you…”

You try not to hold on to the hope he might have the same feelings as you, but it's stronger than you. The way he's been so soft to you during this entire night has the butterflies inside your stomach going crazy. Your heart skips a beat at the possibility of you and him staying together.

“What are you guys talking shit about?” Sero resurfaces from the bathroom, still naked, leaning on the doorframe. You hold back a dreamy sigh.

“You,” Kaminari replies, a shit eating grin on his face.

Sero groans, rolling his eyes at his friend.

“Anyway.” Kaminari jumps out of the bed, stretching his arms above his head. “Same time next week?”

Sero groans even louder as you bark out a laugh.

@lousypotatoes @shoyosdoll @fresa-luna @crazyvalerie1236 @siillkie

[lesbians4armand]

Do you have any DM fic recs? I feel like there has been so much fic posted since the finale and I can't keep up.

OKAY dear nonnie I am so so sorry for making you wait so long for a response, I am notoriously terrible at replying to asks. I kept meaning to and then forgetting, but we are here now 🙂‍↕️

Here are some of my favourite Devil’s Minions fics!!

• I'm the Devil's Minion And He Grants My Every Wish

(Series by OracleOfTheSea, gorgeous writing and take on past and present DM in these three fics, I love this one)

• bodice ripper

(by nonfatalinfection, explicit, body horror, true freak DM sex, really enjoyed this one personally but might not be for everyone, so check tags!)

• i’m a man (and you deny it)

(INCREDIBLE work by mercuryhatter, who is on tumblr @armandposting, brilliant exploration on armand’s story and present feelings on Venice, set post-canon as he explains to Daniel who Amadeo really was, mature)

• At Least Death Means I’ll Never Be Afraid of Dying Again

(by MitchieSawyer, mature. I don’t tend to include AUs in recs but this one caught me so hard, it was truly amazing. Modern, Human AU that deals with the heartbreak and difficulties of terminal illness and death, keep tissues on hand for this one.)

• i’m a mess, but i’m the mess you wanted

(by real_enough, explicit. another human au, but one I found myself really enjoying, very sweet)

• red tint my world, keep me safe from my trouble and pain

(by rockwetman, explicit. armand watches rocky horror, once in 1975 and once in 2022. this fic speaks to my rhps loving heart, can’t recommend it enough)

• honey and pineapple

(by duri, explicit. AMAZING fic where daniel and rashid-mand get it on, one of my faves and my favourite genre)

• a haunting just for company

(by valkyrisms, explicit, post-s2 with armand just. living in daniel’s house. very fun, but unfinished as of now)

• two broken souls

(series by serafina20, explicit, post-s2 devils minion. a huge favourite)

• Lie Back And Let Me Unlock You

(by Thunder_Puss, explicit. human au but they’re possibly even more freaks than they are in canon, set in the early 2000s, armand is a cannibal, and daniel is his willing(?) victim. unfinished as of now but updates regularly)

• Dirty Thoughts

(by Yielded Desire, explicit. Daniel is super horny for Rashid and Louis and Armand project images of their coupling into his head to get him off. very fun indeed)

Finally, a little bit of shameless self-promo, by ao3 is ultraviolet_glow, where you can find many of own my DM ideas

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

Feb 5th

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1. hi there! i remember reading this fic ages ago and i can't seem to find it again - lwj has dreams/nightmares about falling. one scene i remember clearly is lwj waking up from a falling nightmare, stumbles and wwx catches him and holds him. i think they were in an inn? it's either canon or post-canon. it would be awesome if you could locate this - i've looked through the various requests others have sent it for hc/touch-starved/nightmares but couldn't locate this particular fic.

FOUND? Bitter Plants Bearing Sweet Fruit by Kryal (M, 83k, WangXian, graphic depictions of violence, canon-typical horror elements, Worldbuilding, Desert, Misuse of Historic Setting, Original Character Death(s), Case Fic, aftermath of canon, ridiculously long author notes, Established Relationship, Nothing Explicit But Shameless Innuendo) It's in a later scene, but Lan Zhan kinda sleeps walks into WWX after his nightmare

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2. hello! looking for a canon divergence fic, set during the sunshot campaign. what i remember is a scene where jc whips wwx with zidian. wwx collapses (having no golden core). lwj, who already knows that wwx has no core, intervenes and brings wwx to the medical tent. if i'm not wrong, there were two versions of the chapter in the medical tent, with a version that's with more jc bashing? I think it's a pretty long read. thank you! @potatokunst

ah this is right thank you thank you! the other version of that scene is in another story in the same series :)

FOUND! these colours fade for you only by doodlebutt (T, 36k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Everybody Lives, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, …eventually, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, bed sharing, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Sunshot Campaign) features Lan Zhan knowing about Wei Ying's missing core, Jiang Chen whipping Wei Ying with Zidian, causing him to collapse, and Lan Zhan rushing in to help him. I don't remember there being two versions of Wei Ying's treatment, though it's been a while since I read it.

as love and its decisive pain by doodlebutt (T, 1k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, alternate ending for chapter 8 of these colours fade for you only, canon-typical violence and injuries, Angst) (the other version if anyone is curious)

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3. Hello again!! This time I’m look for help finding two stories! A) was a 3 chaptered ao3 WIP with inventor Wei Wuxian who made (among other stuff) a spiritual hairpin for jyl, it worked with her pacifist cultivation and slowed or paralyzed fierce corpses… and B) an au that was maybe on tumblr where the empress/empress dowager showed up for wwx because his father was a hidden prince?? I don’t know how much of the story was part of the au and how much I daydreamed so I don’t have more details… @pinsluke

3A)

FOUND! Here Again (Spirits Rise, Unbroken) by TheDefenestrator (T, 74k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, Slow Burn, Happy Ending) which is two chapters and a time travel, but definitely has inventor wwx with jyl has a pacifist/tranquility hairpin!

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4. HELP…

I read a fic cannot find WWX is working in an office LAN something and he brings A-Yuan to work still a baby and usually he sleeps in one of the drawers of the file cabinete, LWJ comes in and sees the baby and asks to what WWX says something about he’s, filled correctly , LWJ takes the baby and LQ and LHuan buy all kinds of designer clothing and on their way to the baby furniture store @bkpmystinen

FOUND? Threadfic by 0Pink_Blossoms0

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5. Can you help me find this fanfiction? I’ve never actually read it before but the summary was something about how WWX was forced to marry LWJ after the archery competition when he removed LWJ’s forehead ribbon, and then years later after an unhappy marriage, he finally calls HC and LBH for help. I think HC and LBH are his sworn brothers in this fic, also. @sagegreencomforter

FOUND? The Wrong Choice by XunMichoco (Not Rated, 32k, WangXian, XiCheng, XuanLi, BingQiu, HuaLian, ZhuiLing, LQ/YQ, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, YZY is nice here, JFM being best dad, best sis JYL, JC is protective, Dark LWJ, WWX wants LWJ dead, mentions of xy, Sworn Brothers, Mpreg, YQ respect, SS is nice here, Forced Marriage, LXC is Suffering, From Nightmares)

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6. I have two fics I'm trying to find again. I read them a while ago, so I'm only putting details I'm sure of.

A) Lan Wangji is travelling and comes across a little lost paper man. He finds the silent paper man very endearing and with a lot of personality. They learn to communicate as they travel, and Lan Wangji grows attached. The paper man is obvs Wei Wuxian.

B) a Cloud Recesses fic, based on The Untamed. A Caught At The Cold Pond and Now Arranged To Marry fic. Wangxian are sent to a cabin and isolated there for a little while. I remember one scene where Wei Wuxian is trying to draw and keeps moving Lan Wangji further out of the way because he's mad at him and it makes Lan Wangji cry. There was also a puppy involved and Lan Wangji helping Wei Wuxian participate safely in the puppy's life. There was also something about the house they're in being alive? I think maybe also a winter storm and a dragon.

Anything you can do will be greatly appreciated. You guys do great work. Thank you! 🙏 @feralplantwife

6A)

FOUND! a paper friend by soft_wanning (G, 4k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fluff, Paperman WWX, Identity Porn, Meet-Cute, Different First Meeting)

6B)

FOUND! Headband Wedding Bootcamp by gwynseren (M, 50k, WangXian, Accidental Marriage, Misunderstandings, Some Humor)

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7. I hope I'm doing this right, I've never sent in an ask before. Also don't know if what I wrote is appropriate.

There was this one fic, I think it was post-Sunshot campaign, where the abuse Wei Wuxian experienced under Madam Yu was exposed to the cultivation world. The details I remember are that the cultivators thought Jiang Cheng was continuing this abuse and even going further with sexually assaulting Wei Wuxian. The rumors/misunderstanding got to be so bad that Junior Lan Disciples actually stepped in to get Wei Wuxian away from Jiang Cheng after they witnessed a confrontation between the two and Wei Wuxian flinched or backed away from Jiang Cheng.

That's all I can really remember. I don't remember if it was a one-shot, part of a one-shot collection, or an unfinished fic. @freestrawberrynight

FOUND? 🔒chapter 15 of Vrishchika's Short Prompts

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8. for the fic finder! its a time travel fic where wwx falls off the cliff and finds himself in the past then raises his child self as if he were his father, been looking for a while but i just can’t find it myself 😭 @thwispsings

FOUND? In Another Life by SingingInTheRaiin (M, 21k, WangXian, Time Travel, but not the usual way, LWJ is smitten, WWX is a dumbass, LXC knows what's up, Portugese Translation Available)

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9. I’m not sure if it was Wattpad or Ao3 but I remember a scene where Wei wuxian is being stalked by a shadow/ mysterious figure but as the story goes on it turns out it was Lan Wangji from a different universe or time line that lost his Wei Ying so he decided to try to take this Wei wuxian. I think he was also getting memories or visions from far into the future and starts making references from the 20s century. I don’t remember if it was a time travel fic or a MDZS react fic.

FOUND?🔒我拿青春赌明天 / I’ll wager my youth against tomorrow by tombenough_and_continent (T, 37k, WangXian, Science Fiction, Historical, Time Travel, Enemies to Lovers)

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10. Hii, for fic finder. I've been looking in my bookmarks for a while but can't find it smh :( all I remember was Madam Yu hits a yuan with zidian

FOUND? Consequences by Remma3760 (Not Rated, 58k, WangXian, XiSu, XuanLi, Canonical Child Abuse, Abusive YZY, Good Uncle LQR, WWX is a Lan, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Bad Parents JFM and YZY) the whipping happens in chapter 25

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11. For a Fic Finder - I'm looking for a fic that i thought i had bookmarked. As usual, i can't find it, and don't recall the title.

It's set after Wei Ying loses his core, etc. The three siblings are back at Lotus Pier. Wei Ying is pretty drunk all the tome. So Yanli and Jiang Cheng write to Lan Zhan & adk him to take WY to Gusu to heal or detox. WY isn't happy but he goes. Then evades LZ's efforts to cleanse the resentment. One day he's in the back meadow & meets a tiny toddler Jingyi who is upset, i forget why. They make friends. There is a mystery about an array that kept Madam Lan stuck in her house (in the story it's not the Jingshi). I think WY figures out that her essence is still trapped. The boys end up freeing her, she borrow's WY's body long enough to talk to LZ. Turns out she's a Heavenly Official and LZ and Lan Xuchen are demigods. Before she leaves, she gived WY a part of her strong goldrn core. At the end of the fic, they confess, and the guys adopt little Jingyi, and obviously live happily ever after.

Any help tracking thid down is so much appreciated!

NOT FOUND! Practical Considerations by teawater, the_anthropologist (E, 97k, WangXian, JC & WWX, LXC & WWX, LQR & WWX, Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence, Found Family, Spouses to Lovers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Politics, Scheming, Lán Elders are assholes, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, eventually BAMF LXC, learning to make decisions, Learning Self-worth, Self-Esteem Issues, Sweet Wangxian, Domestic Fluff, Fix-It, JC is a big asshole, he improves somewhat but it’s open-ended, WWX learns to stand up for himself, Quote: Come Back to Gusu With Me, POV wwx, POV LWJ, POV JC, Golden Core Reveal, Teacher wwx, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Alcohol as a Coping Mechanism, Past Suicidal Thoughts, Post-Sunshot Campaign, WWX Protection Squad, Feelings Realization, WWX protector of the twin jades, Protective LWJ, Protective WWX, Protective LQR, Demonic Cultivator WWX, WWX is Loved, Married WangXian, Genius WWX, Everybody Lives)

FOUND! if i had the strength by agloeian (M, 16k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Post-Sunshot Campaign, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Fix-It, somewhat of a case fic, Heaven Official's Blessing inspired gods & ghosts, Mild Alcohol Abuse, (see WWX's canonical coping mechanisms), Mental Health Issues, WWX is not in a great place for a lot of this fic, He Gets Better Though!, this fic is all about learning to give yourself the help you give others tbh, Baby LJY, recovery fic, Accidental Baby Acquisition)

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12. I remember starting a fic where LWJ stabbed himself and WWX through with Bichen before the 33 Lan elders could get to them and now I can't find it anymore. I pretty sure it was some type of time travel fix-it and I think LWJ apologized to Bichen for using it to hurt WWX or smth. If you could somehow find it I would be eternally greatful ♡

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13. I apologize if I have already sent this ask, I cannot remember.

For fic finder, I’m hunting down a fic that didn’t say it took place in Sacramento CA but almost certainly did. I remember almost nothing else about it other than the Jiangs live in the Bay Area, lwj lives in a town that “people don’t usually move to” and wwx moves to the area and lwj shows him around to things like apple hill or the costume mansion. This is like. A super specific and weird request but iykyk

Thank

FOUND? so hot you're hurting my feelings by isabilightwood (E, 40k, WangXian, JYL/WQ, Modern, Oblivious LWJ, Didn't Know They Were Dating, no moms were harmed in the making of this fic, mama lan took LQR in the divorce, LWJ Has Friends, all WWX characterization decisions were made to make LWJ pine harder for his own boyfriend, Fluff, Eventual Smut, Bottom LWJ, Halloween, WWX's birthday, Sub LWJ, Light Dom/sub, Spanking)

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14. Hi, I'm looking for a fanfic about Dragãoji and Foxxian where they were in a marriage contract because Foxxian was fertile. I only read the synopsis where Jiang Cheng said: if you marry him they will give us an army. Now I feel like reading it but I lost it. @quwieiidkd

FOUND? heavy is the crown by sweetlolixo (E, 58k, WangXian, High Fantasy, Dragon LWJ, Fox WWX, Romance, Dubious Consent, Warrior LWJ, Pregnant WWX, Language Barrier, Size Kink, Dark Royalty, Game of Thrones!Drogo/Daenerys Premise, Eventual Happy Ending, Breeding Kink, Arranged Marriage, Everyone Falls In Love With WWX At First Sight, Rape/Non-con Elements)

~*~

15. Hi, I have a request for Ficfinder. I read a story awhile ago. I don't remeber much of it, just one scene where both Ln Zhan and Jiang Cheng were making soup for Wei Wuxian. Both were sure they were making his favourite, Jiang Cheng was making the lotus root and pork rib soup while Lan Zhan was making egg drop soup.

This was after the Burial Mounds, so Wei Wuxian had stopped eating meat. i think it was all about which one knew him best? Not really sure. Any help finding this story would be much appreciated. Thanks. @remma3760

FOUND! Where the Winds of Change Blow by merakily (G, 17k, WangXian, Angst and Humor, Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Golden Core, Family Bonding, Flashbacks)

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16. Hi I'm looking for a fic that I found through here lol. It's cssr & wcz survive but are very injured, wy is in a coma for a bit. They get to Lotus Pier to recover and it was a longer fic. That's all I remember 😅

FOUND? Building a home by R95irth (T, 586k, WCZ/CS, JFM/YZY, WangXian, JC/WQ, JYL/JZX, 3zun, BSSR/LY, MS/Sisi, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, Everyone Lives, Angst with a Happy Ending, Horror, Nightmares, Canon-Typical Violence, Complete list of ships in the serie summary, Family Fluff, Found Family, Babies, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, but not done by the Lotus Pier squad, Also JGS exists so canon related things linked to him, Same goes for Lan parents)

~*~

17. Hi I was looking for these two very specific fanfics that I think I read on Wattpad years ago!

A) The First one is like: (Alternative AU) Wei wuxian and Jiang chang go to this school together and they like each other but the other person does not know they like each other and then Wei wuxian meets the principle's son lan zhan and they fall in love but Jiang chang is still in love with Wei wuxian and the story continues. 

B) The second one is like: Wei wuxian time travels back to his past after he falls down the cliff and then tries to harm himself to stop the future from hapenning but his loved him stop him and the story continues.  (like angsty at first and then turns to comfort - also I remember Jiang chang after knowing the truth becomes super protective of Wei wuxian in this story)

I honestly appreciate all your help - I have been trying to find them for ages but they seem to have disappeared :(

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18. hi!! for the next fic, would would you mind finding this one fic of an alternate universe, modern setting? In this fic, Wei Ying was a single adopted parent to A-Yuan I think, and he takes A-Yuan to a hockey camp where there is a guest coach who turns out to be Lan Wangji. Wei Ying and Lan Wangji used to play hockey together in college or something but Wei Ying had to drop out to help out Wen Qing and raise A-Yuan and disappeared for a few years. Anyway that is most of what I remember for this fic but it was super cute and I really want to reread it. I’ve tried every tag I can think of but I just can’t find it. Looking forward to hearing back from you if you can find it!! Thanks! @roundhen

FOUND?🔒Never Have To Ask by literaryoblivion (T, 14k, WangXian, Modern AU, Hockey, Kid Fic, Mentioned JYL, Mentioned JC, Fluff and Angst, Single Parent WWX, NHL Player LWJ, POV WWX, Past Character Death, Minor Character Death, Mentioned WQ, Car Accidents, Pining, Love Confessions, Friends to Lovers, Reunions, Mentioned Junior Ensemble, First Kiss, Requited Unrequited Love, Requited Love, Flashbacks)

~*~

19. Hi so I was trying to find a fic that I listened to a few months ago I have no idea where it is right now because I did not add it or bookmarked it so it's a podfic. I know it is it's modern setting with magic wwx is a demonic cultivator and lwj is a cultivator they work together or something and they were like on a case about a haunting of the some house and wwx get injured or something or he performed empathy and lwj is so worried so he takes him home to wwx's apartment and the apartment building is where the wen lives and he sees them talks to them for a bit and then went to wwx's apartment turns out wwx apartment is haunted but the ghost is just like harmless or something I remember one Pacific scene where lwj is laying down on the bed and the ghost is right above him and then wwx wakes up and says to the ghost "knock it off"or something along those lines that's all I remember @constancebloodstone

FOUND? when I look over my shoulder by cafecliche (T, 10k, WangXian, Modern AU, exorcist LWJ, medium wwx, vague The Conjuring AU, some horror elements, Pre-Relationship, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort)

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20. Hello! First, great work. Now, I'm looking for a fic where LZ is de-aged by a deity during a nigh hunt close to the burial mounds and this results in the truth about WY being revealed and he gets his core back thanks to the deity too. I think LXC and NMJ are there too. Thanks in advance. @multitudeofmes

FOUND! A Child’s Wish by Hauntcats (Not rated, 13k, WangXian, WWX & Wen remnants, Celestial meddling, Not JC Friendly, Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Everyone gets what they deserve, Age Regression/De-Aging, Child LWJ)

~*~

[lunarobyn22]

Here's the fic for those of you who want to read it on Tumblr instead of AO3! (I'm tired so this is my peace offering in place of today's Faebruary post 🙃) Check out @cloudninetonine 's "A Player's Aid" au, it'll give context for this!

Legend Gets What (He Thought) He Wanted

tags/warnings:

Threats of Violence, no y/n, Reader-Insert, Mention of making murder look like suicide, no one actually wants to die so don't worry, The others are there briefly, reader gender not specified, Kinda death threats but not exactly, Legend Needs a Hug, Reader Also Needs a Hug, They both get one tho don't worry, Resolved ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending

Summary: Legend is convinced that modern!reader is a traitor and a danger to the chain. He wants to get rid of the threat...Reader just really wanted to use the bathroom, but they somehow end up at sword point.

You all sat by the campfire after yet another long day of long walks punctuated by not long breaks and long fights. You were exhausted, from both the physical toll taken by the day as well as from dealing with Legend’s near constant attempts to make everyone hate you. Heck, you were almost starting to hate yourself because of him. You had to forcibly remind yourself that he’s likely only lashing out because your knowledge of everyone’s adventures probably made him feel vulnerable. You yawned and turned your focus to other things.

Your mind relaxed as you looked around. Your head was leaned to the right on Wild’s shoulder, and Hyrule sat curled up in front of you with his head in your lap. Wind had finally tired of regaling the chain with yet another tall tale, and thus had retired to intently watching Sky as he worked on a new carving. Twilight, Time, and Warriors were conversing in a relaxed manner, laughing at stories of Time’s shenanigans in the War of Eras as “Mask.” They told some embarrassing stories, and Time held a near perpetual blush in his ears and a fake annoyed expression thinly veiling his amusement. Four was quietly polishing his various weapons, making sure they were well-maintained for any future skirmishes. And finally, there was the chain’s resident salt shaker, the Veteran. Legend sat a few feet to your left, not-so-subtly eyeing you with jealousy and what you might label “loathing,” probably because Hyrule had chosen you as his pillow instead of his predecessor. He pretended to sort through his myriad of magical jewelry, but you knew better. You also knew better than to call him out at the moment.

Everyone (mostly) was at peace, full from a good supper provided by Wild, happy from the stories Wind had told, and now content to do as they pleased until it was time for the first watch to start. By your guess, each of the three watches lasted three hours, 9 PM - 12 AM, 12 AM - 3 AM, and 3AM - 6 AM, or just after sunrise, depending on the season. It was about 8:30, and your eyes had been drooping for an hour already. You let your mind wander as you stared into the fire, pondering where the tips of the flames disappeared to as they peaked and vanished, dipping back to the firewood just to jump up once more a second later.

All too soon Wild was nudging you and Rulie back to your own bedrolls as Sky set up for his watch period. You hazily recalled meaning to clean the mud and blood off your shoes as you took them off, but decided to just do it in the morning before you all set off again. It’s not like the stains were going anywhere while you slept. You were out almost as soon as you pulled up your blanket to your chin. You didn’t even hear Wild’s small chuckle as he tucked you in before he walked away to his own sleeping spot.

Your faint dreams of red eyes haunting the dark corners of endless mazes were interrupted by a twig snapping by your face. You inhaled sharply as your eyes flew open to assess the situation, but relaxed once you saw that it was just Sky going to wake Legend up for his shift on watch. He glanced down to you and offered a sleepy smile of apology, which you returned in kind, before nuzzling deeper into your pillow (which was unfortunately rather thin and small, but you figured that even if you had brought a full-size memory foam pillow from home, it wouldn’t stand a chance of fitting into your bag, no matter how enhanced it might be).

You faintly heard the Vet bemoan his fate as second watchman before his blanket rustled and he walked to the fire. You’re pretty sure he intentionally stepped on the same twig as Sky had when he passed by you, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of a flinch. Through half-lidded eyes you could vaguely see the grouch circle the camp before sitting on a log before the fire and facing the woods that surrounded your camp. He was even more grumpy tonight, because not only was he designated for the worst shift ever, but he didn’t even have a choice as Time forced it upon him due to a particularly scathing remark he’d made towards you earlier in the day.

You tried not to focus on his insults and apparent hatred, you really did, but recently it was getting harder to ignore. His questioning of Hyrule’s sudden loyalty to you turned to questioning everyone’s desire to not kick you out or abandon you to the next monster camp they found. He seemed convinced you were either an evil witch who forced Hyrule and Wild to love you, a monster disguised to destroy them, or even a direct agent of Dark Link (who you’d not-so-affectionately dubbed “Dink”) and planned to betray them all any day now. You, in turn, had stopped vehemently insisting you were harmless, and eventually resigned yourself to simply not rise to the bait of his stinging statements of distrust. You knew he’d been through a lot of pain and loss through his many journeys, but that didn’t excuse his treatment of you. Only your mother’s advice kept you somewhat sane — “bullies only prosper when you give them a reaction. If you don’t react, they have less reason to target you.” And yet, Legend’s berating only continued.

You silently huffed a sigh and turned around to lay on your other side, facing away from the fire. You didn’t really love the idea of turning your back to the one person who very clearly wanted you to cease existing, but you knew he had enough sense not to literally stab you in the back when you were both surrounded by witnesses who would decidedly not appreciate such a thing. Plus, the fire was too bright for your sleepy eyes anyway. You started a breathing exercise, prayed you’d assumed correctly about not getting murdered by your upset comrade tonight, and closed your eyes again.

——

An hour or so later you quietly groaned and sat up. Not only could you not fall asleep, but your bladder was beginning to rebel against the idea of waiting until morning to relieve yourself. The chain had made camp just a ways off from a wide yet shallow creek, and you decided that since you were already awake, you might as well go ahead and rinse your shoes off, too. That way they’d be dry in the morning and you wouldn’t have to worry about walking around in shoes that made your socks cold and wet. You shuddered at the thought and slowly stood, stretching your arms above your head and popping your back, then bending down to pick up your shoes and a bar of soap you’d bought in the town you all just passed through.

Legend spared you a calculating glance from his seat, saying nothing. You simply waved with your free hand and then signed “toilet” before walking away to take care of business. You didn’t have to look over your shoulder to know that he was staring holes into the back of your head; you could practically feel him doing so anyway. You sighed, choosing to instead focus on the foliage you passed on your walk, faintly illuminated by the fire back at camp and the dim glow from a bracelet Wild had given you. He said he’d used a brightbloom seed to make it, and you had been sure to express your gratitude. It was much easier than having to carry a torch, which was not only difficult if your hands were full, but was also very bright to your still-asleep eyes. That, and you’d almost started a forest fire last time you’d been entrusted to carry a torch when you weren’t yet fully awake (once the crisis had been averted, Legend of course claimed that you had done it on purpose, but you were so tired that you just gave him a deadpan stare with a raised eyebrow and plopped back onto your bedroll to resume sleeping).

After answering nature’s call and washing your hands, you sat criss-cross by the creek, took off your dirtied shoes, and started splashing them in the frigid water. It was colder than you’d expected, but everything barring your hands was still warm enough, and it helped shock you to be more awake and aware. You used some more of your soap to aid your struggle against the grossness crusted onto your shoes, thankful that they were made from something like leather, so it wouldn’t be too difficult to clean once you actually got started. As you washed, you listened to the sounds of the world around you, now returned since you were no longer disrupting their peace.

A sound like cricket chirps mixed with owl coos set the backdrop for the soundscape, while the occasional breeze played with leaves and stuck them in your hair. If you listened closely enough and stopped your washing, you swore you could almost hear the life within the flowers and greenery by your feet, the very soul of the land of Hyrule, its perseverance, growth, progress and patience, all poured with a parent’s care into each and every living thing it supported, down to the smallest weed by the creek bed where you sat.

The water before you seemed to whisper, not in the way the Sheikah technology would, but more like it was a living feeling, as if it wanted to impart to you the knowledge it had picked up on its journey to this place. You had heard a story, once, that water could hold memories; that every molecule of water in the world has existed since creation, for it cannot be created or destroyed by those who need it to survive. Every single drop had a story to tell, an event it had witnessed, a place it had once called home. Perhaps some of the water burbling and giggling before you was the same way — some of it might have seen the rise and fall of entire civilizations, the existence of every single hero, princess, and villain up to that very moment — and it would continue to amass these secrets, both big and small, every detail it would pass by, and no one would ever fully decipher its stories, its warnings, its wisdom and playfulness. And even so, it would continue to exist and endure, trickling on through the ages and epochs.

You were somewhat prone to these random philosophical trains of thought, and had thus been unknowingly sitting, unmoving, almost unblinking, in the same place for the past twenty minutes. If anyone were with you, they might have thought you to be having a memory episode akin to the ones Wild sometimes had. Indeed, you were so lost in the wanderings and ramblings of your own mind that you had no idea you were being watched. You had no clue until a sound was made that caused you to spring to your feet with a gasp and reach for the dagger you’d sheathed at your hip.

Legend stood at the tree line a few feet away, posture tense and, dare you say, predatory, unsettling stare boring into your own wide, surprised eyes. “What are you waiting for? Or should I say, who are you waiting for?” You blinked away the black spots at the edges of your vision from standing up too quickly, and relaxed the hand that held your knife as your brain worked to understand the situation.

“What?” you tried to be quiet, still recovering from being shaken out of your reverie. “Why would I be waiting for someone? They’re all asleep last I checked. Ooh shoot, did I wake someone up? I’m so sor-”

“Cut the crap, [Name],” he stood up even straighter, the line of his shoulders taught with anger. “I know you’re waiting for someone to give all your collected information to. Don’t pretend you’re all so goody-goody. I’ve seen the way you ask too many questions, always looking for more details to collect, more ways you can betray us, betray them. I knew you were a snitch, and I don’t know how you bewitched them all to trust you, but they’re all too blind to see it. But I’m not. I see right through you, I have from the start.”

He had stalked closer during his speech, his voice dropping to a threatening whisper you had only ever heard in movies. His approach had caused you to back up until your still bare feet felt the water’s lapping edge. You had dropped your boots, you weren’t exactly sure where, but that was only a vague thought in the very back of your mind. Your eyebrows scrunched together as your mouth opened and closed, trying and failing to come up with a good enough response. You weren’t spying, you were trying to find answers! You came from a completely different world, of course you had questions! He of all people should understand that, and yet he still accuses you? This finally snapped your patience, and you decided to just spell it out him:

“Look, I know you hate me, but this is too far, Legend. I am not some evil being to be defeated like in your adventures, I am not planning to cause trouble for you all, and I sure as anything would never betray you guys, especially not after the trust that has been extended to me by some of you. This group took me in, saved my life, helped me learn to defend myself, protected me time and time again, and I’ve only ever tried to help you, or at the very least not get in your way. I get that I’m not some ‘chosen hero’ with crazy butt-kicking skills, I know that I’m only okay-ish at fighting, not nearly as good as any of you, and I understand that my extensive knowledge of your adventures puts you on edge, but I swear on everything that I’m not a traitor, and the main thing that I just really don’t know is why you despise me when I’ve never even given you a single reason to do so!”

Your voice had steadily increased in volume, not quite to the point of shouting, but certainly not whispering any more. He seemed a bit surprised by your willingness to defend yourself, but he hid it quickly with a scowl and what sounded almost like a growl. You noticed dully that the forest had fallen tensely quiet.

“Oh drop the act, turncoat ,” he spat, “you have never been one of us, and the only reason I didn’t drop you off a bridge yet is because Hyrule would have my hide and Wild would poison my food. But don’t mistake my inaction for acceptance or ignorance. You’re no better than any of the enemies we fight on a daily basis. You’re actually worse, because you’ve wormed your way into my group, my allies, my brothers. You think you’re something special just because you got some of them to trust you?? You’re a parasite, a threat, and tonight is all the proof I need. I knew I should’ve spoken up more from the moment you oh-so-conveniently happened to stumble into our lives. You’re going to regret ever messing with us, and Dark Link will soon know without a doubt that he cannot ever send his agents into my family without dire consequences.”

His expression twisted to a hateful snarl, showing some of his teeth in an almost animalistic display of animosity. Your face, on the other hand, was flickering through countless expressions too quickly for even you to comprehend. You knew some of what you felt, pain, sadness, anger, guilt (even though you had no reason for that one), confusion, denial, and eventually a sort of raging, spiraling emptiness that screamed inside your chest. Your breathing quickened to an almost hyperventilating speed, and your eyes grew blurry with tears you’d been suppressing for weeks. Your hurt, misty eyes locked with a pair of violet, violent, volatile ones, and you realized that he was waiting for your response. His next actions could depend solely upon your response; your very life could depend upon whatever words next left your mouth.

You had tried so hard to be friendly to the group of Links, to not aggravate Legend too awful much. You had tried to help out wherever you could, to not be a burden, to not slow them down. You tried to let the pain of rejection roll off of you like water, to not let it get under your skin. You had tried so, so hard to be one of them; but you weren’t. It was at this point you realized what he’d said without actually saying it — he was afraid . Afraid of losing the only family he had left. He’d already lost his uncle, Marin, the whole island of Koholint, and almost all the people of his Hyrule viewed him with disdain at best and outright hatred at worst. He’d had to leave Ravio and Fable back in his Hyrule, and he never knew when (if) he’d ever see them again. You realized on an even deeper level the true message behind his words — ‘you are a threat to those I love. You are dangerous. You bring pain and that is all you’ll ever do. You are not worthy of any trust, comfort, protection, or love from anyone, least of all my brothers. You would be better off never having met us, having never existed.

You would be

better off

dead.’

You had tried so hard, and yet… You had never actually brought anything to the group but problems. You thought through your interactions with them all, but all you could see is the many ways you’d caused them worry, stress, or even anger. You were another mouth to feed, another bed to pay for at inns, another liability in fights, another person to slow down for as they walked. You were a burden. No, worse: you were a danger. What if they were so busy looking out for you that they didn’t see an enemy until too late? What if you slowed them down to the point where they couldn’t get where they were going in time? What if you drained their food or rupee supplies too fast? What if you got hurt again and caused stress and tension to rise, causing fights and even divisions to break out. You were a problem. Not a traitor, no, and not intentionally endangering, but they couldn’t afford to have you around any longer. And you couldn’t just leave, you’d die within a day if Dink didn’t find and torture you, but Legend wouldn’t be satisfied until he knew for a fact that you were out of their way. Permanently. He didn’t just want you to disappear; he wanted you gone. And finally, with a sinking heart, you realized just how right he was.

 At this final revelation, a tear finally did slip past your lashes down to meet your quivering chin. You felt your thoughts scatter like startled deer, your heart thundering in its cage, pounding in your ears, scaring away the life in the forest around you. And you decided. You were a danger. You had no power here.

“I - I’m so sorry , I - I never meant to drive you apart, I -” you paused to hiccup and take a breath. You knew you were breaking, your composure deteriorating, but it was too late to stop. “Legen- Link. If you truly see me as a threat, if you truly believe that I will bring nothing but harm to you, to my-your friends, if…if you think that - that I should - I should never have met you, that I should never have…existed, I…I know I can’t force you to change what you so deeply believe, I -” You gasped a little shuddering inhale, and you made your final decision, the choice that you knew would be your last. You steeled yourself, and spoke. “If you honestly believe that you would all be better off - be safer - if I was gone, if you believe I’m a threat, that I would hurt you, that I - harbor ill intent, then…” you swallowed, still taking short, stuttering breaths. Then you turned around, held your hands palm-outward and arms open to the sides, and bowed your head; you left your entire back and neck, your spine, completely exposed to the man who wanted you dead. You leveled your voice, and accepted your fate. After all, he was an experienced hero, while you were just an inexperienced nobody. He would know what he’s talking about, what would be safest and best; you wouldn’t. He was not prone to emotional decisions; you were. If that was the case, then he was right. You were a threat to your friends.

“If you truly think that I should die for the good of the group, for their safety and happiness, then…then I… I trust you to do what’s right for your family. I would never willingly hurt any of them, I never wished any of you ill but…maybe I do just bring bad luck. Maybe I truly am a curse, a threat, a liability. If that’s the case, maybe - I know I can’t just leave, since Dink is after me and I know too much so - maybe I really am better off dead.”

There was a moment of silence, and then you heard him unsheathe his sword. The back of your neck prickled with danger, but you didn’t dare look over your shoulder. You counted the seconds as they passed, and you realized you had made it to thirty and nothing had happened yet. Why the hesitation? You assumed you’d be dying by now. Perhaps…perhaps Legend feared taking the blame for your death? Causing more division within the chain? Well, you shouldn’t let that stop him if your friends’ lives and safety were at stake. You would do anything to protect them, no matter what. Legend was right, and this had to happen. He had to do this. So why hadn��t he yet? You decided to offer some support, try to speed it along. You were never one for fearing the future but you really wanted this to be over, since you could feel the dread clawing up your throat, numbing your words and preventing any cohesive thought, forcing you to stand still and hear your blood thundering through your ears.

“You could, uh, you could make it look accidental, if you want?” You suggested. “Maybe - maybe I slipped, hit my head on a rock in the creek, maybe I drowned after I fainted or something, maybe I was playing with my knife and - and accidentally hit an artery.” At this point you started to hyperventilate again, desperate, but unsure as to why. “Maybe I was surprised by an enemy, a - a stalfos! - and I was too slow,” you continued, “or - or maybe I was kidnapped, maybe I was gutted by an enemy, maybe I - I just hit my head on something, maybe I had a - a - a hidden injury,” you were nearing hysterics now, “maybe, maybe I just — maybe I did it myself? Maybe I just couldn’t go on? Maybe, maybe I, I just - what if - I,” you lost your sense of words for a moment, “I can’t, I - what about if I just - just - You don’t have to take the blame, you know? You - you could cover it up! Maybe you just were doing your final rounds at the end of your watch and just found me - m-my body, maybe -”

“[Name] are you serious?” He cut through your rambling and you guessed he thought you sounded rather impertinent. You were trying to tell him how to do his job, and you’d kept on repeating what he likely had already worked through in his own mind.

Your mouth clicked closed so quickly your teeth almost clipped your tongue. Perhaps he wanted you to die quietly. You realize you were panicking and might’ve been too loud. Oh no, what if you woke someone up? Then Legend would get caught, and you would be the cause for even more trouble for everyone, and things would get even more tense, and if they were more distracted then they’d be in more danger, then…

…

…

…

You were still alive for some reason, although if you hadn’t been breathing so heavily you would have heard someone else’s suspiciously loud breathing behind you. As it was, you continued to hold still, arms sore from being held out, but you didn’t dare move. Even you knew better than to rob a predator of his prey, especially when he is so close to the killing blow. You were no fool, you knew he’d likely planned this for a while, and you knew better than to irritate him further. You just wanted to say one more thing, one final reassurance.

“I only want what’s best for them…best for you. I don’t hate you, contrary to what you probably think. I’m so sorry for any pain I’ve caused you, I truly am…I - I only ask that you make it quick, not for my sake, but if I was too loud a second ago and it woke anyone up and they found you kil-” your breath hitched, “killing me, it — it might make things worse for you all, and the last thing I wanna do is make things harder for all of you guys, I love you all and I—”

“Just SHUT UP!” Legend’s voice crashed through your pleading, and you stopped. And through the suddenly deafening silence, you realized something. Had his voice cracked? You listened more intently. He was breathing unevenly, almost gasping, almost…no, no your soon-to-be-killer couldn’t possibly…

He inhaled deeply and hoarsely whispered, “ Why? How, how could you just, just…” And in his struggle for words you heard something you would never have considered possible.

You had offered to die, just like he wanted, and

Legend —

Link —

was crying .

The man who wanted you dead, who planned to watch the light leave your eyes, was crying.

Perhaps he was just so happy you’d stopped resisting? Or perhaps he simply disliked the idea of causing someone pain? Yes, that was likely the reason; you were still a person, after all, and you knew that the Veteran, despite his callousness, did in fact have a heart (however guarded it might be).

“…It’s ok, Link,” you whispered reassuringly, “I’ll probably hardly even feel it, and if you’re right, and I’m sure you are, then…I deserve it anyway, and…I trust you to do what’s right, because…well, you’re a hero. You’re Link. I’m just… I’m nobody , nothing, so…It’s okay…” You stopped there, you knew he didn’t want you to talk, but darn it you always had a weak spot for people who cried, and you just had to try to reassure them, even if this particular person was planning to send you to meet your Maker a bit earlier than you’d thought you would.

But…there was still no sudden pain, no sword through your chest or severing your head, no sudden hit to the skull, nor were there hands forcing your face into the water until the bubbles stopped, nor any cutting, no slitting your throat, just…quiet sobbing?

Your mind froze for a second, and you held your breath to see whether the crying was actually from you. And it wasn’t. So, you waited. What else could make Legend wait? He was a hero, right? Maybe he just needed to psych himself up? It couldn’t be easy, you figured, literally stabbing someone in the back —

OH! Maybe that was actually the problem? Maybe he wanted to be at least a little more honorable and kill you face-to-face? After all, back-stabbing has a rather negative connotation attached to it. Facing forward and watching your killer do the job wasn’t really what you’d prefer, but it’s not like you had much choice in the matter. After all, he was the one with the sword.

In order to solve this newfound problem you slowly turned around and faced your whole body towards him, eyes closed, arms still out in a sign of surrender, tense muscles still ready for whatever method he would choose to end you. Maybe it would be kind? Likely not, seeing as you were a threat to his family. 

Tentatively you opened your mouth and quietly reassured him, “If you want to do it head-on and not with my back to you, that’s…cool too? I-”

“Oh goddesses,” he practically choked on the words, “you…you actually are serious…?” His voice was rough with…emotion? Confusion? But why? You were giving him what he wanted, right? You were keeping your frien- his family safe…right?

Right?

And then you cautiously cracked open your eyes a little bit, and then opened them all the way, and you lifted your gaze and actually looked at him, rather than just listening.

And you saw that he was an absolute wreck.

Rarely seen tears now freely flowed from his violet eyes, and he had to sniff to keep his nose from running too much. His chin quivered slightly and his adam’s apple bobbed as he tried to find words without openly sobbing. He dropped his sword as his posture went slack, a hand raising to cover his mouth, his watering eyes wide with disbelief and something remarkably akin to grief. Your confusion turned to concern for the man before you. Why was he crying? Was he hurt somewhere? Surely that was the case, for no one could change their mind as abruptly as he seemed to, right? 

He finally whispered hoarsely, “You…do you really…you’re actually willing to just…let me kill you?” He seemed shocked at your actions, but you didn’t know why. Unless…oh gosh, had you misread the situation?? You weren’t sure how you could have, but what if you did? What if you were the one to make him cry? How awful of a person could you be?

“I — I’m sorry, I — yeah, I meant it, really. I mean, I still do, but — I-I’m sorry if I misunderstood, I really am, I just wanted what was right, and I — I just figured you’d know better than me, that you’re right, but I didn’t mean to upset you, I swear, I’m sorry for making you cry, I never wanted that, I just wanted to keep them — keep you all — safe, but if I—”

“Just…stop… please .”

And you froze. Because Legend…he’d said please . He had never said please in the entire time you’d known him, and certainly not while addressing you of all people. So, you stopped. Your arms were in pain, however, and you risked slowly lowering them so they could lose their pins and needles. He didn’t react. He just brought his fist to his eyes in an attempt to get rid of the tears. He was no longer actively crying, so you counted that as a win. You continued to look at him, confused, but not trying to talk any more. You figured he would decide what to do in a minute. Maybe, you thought, he was crying with relief that he could finally stop fighting you.

And then he finally spoke again, in a very small, very subdued, almost unbelieving voice. “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?” He seemed to hardly believe it.

No, you denied the small spark of hope trying to take root in the void of your chest. There’s no way. It’s too late. He’s going to kill me. He can’t have been wrong. I’m supposed to die, right?

He raised his eyes to meet yours once more, and it was all you could do to nod in agreement. After all, you had never tried to deceive any of them. You’d only ever endeavored to tell the truth, and you weren’t going to stop now of all times.

“You’re not…a witch?” He seemed to almost be thinking aloud, not actually talking to you anymore, but you nodded along anyway, just in case. “You’re not actually a traitor, are you?” He murmured, “You’re…goddesses, you’re not even evil, are you? An enemy would never turn their back to me, Dark Link would never surrender, but…that means you…you’re just a person…just…” Then, in an even smaller voice and with an emotion you couldn’t quite place, “You’re…just you? Was I about to — to kill — an innocent?”

And at that moment you recognized his emotion: horror.

Link was mortified, absolutely horrified that he, a hero of courage, one of Hylia’s chosen, a bearer of the triforce, savior of realms and countries, Link, was about to kill you, a person who had never actually harmed him or his brothers, someone he’d been so set on not trusting that he’d tried to twist you into something that you’d never been. You had tried so hard to protect them where you could, to ease their burdens, to not cause problems, to bond with them, to ignore his acidic hatred, and you’d been through so much pain and loss, and been targeted by Dark himself, and he still had tried to make everyone reject you. You were traumatized, hunted, injured, afraid, and he still hadn’t held back. Your questions had never been any sort of interrogation, but simply confusion. The trust you gained from the others was simply friendship, not any sort of witchcraft or manipulation.

And, with mounting terror, he finally, deeply, truly realized that he had somehow even convinced you — sweet, innocent, confused, traumatized, eager-to-help, optimistic [Name] — that you actually were the problem, that you should — 

Oh goddesses, he’d convinced you that you were better off dead, that you should want to die — that you should just let him kill you. And for some heartbreaking reason, you had not only agreed, but then you’d exposed your most vulnerable points, without any sort of armor or protection, dropped your weapon, lowered your guard, closed your eyes, and told him to do what he believed was right…

You thought he was going to kill the person he should have been protecting this entire time. And you endorsed it only because of ignorant trust in someone who was supposed to be a hero.

And when he panicked, you’d tried to help him kill you .

He looked at you and saw your pain, your sadness, your survival, your resignation, your scars, your desperation to help others, he saw YOU, and not a trace of what he’d so firmly believed you to be. He was planning your death, and you’d tried to comfort him.

And Legend broke.

He did something neither of you expected; Legend, the one who had tried so hard to hate you, vaulted over the small distance between you, wrapped his arms around you, and held on so tightly he thought he might never let go. You had stiffened at first, halfway expecting a knife in your back, but when that didn’t happen you relaxed, almost dizzy with relief and swirling emotions, and you hugged him back just as fiercely. His face was on your shoulder, head bowed so that the fabric of your shirt muffled his increasingly panicked sobs and hiccups. And through those noises you could hear him apologizing relentlessly,

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, goddesses I’m so sorry, [Name] I — I’m so — so sorry, I’m sorry, I was so blind , I’m sorry, I was wrong, I was so, so, so — wrong, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” and so he continued.

You finally breathed for what felt like the first time since he’d snuck up behind you. Your heart was pounding and, now that you held Legend in your arms, you could feel his heart thundering just as quickly as your own. You gently lowered the two of you to the ground, trying to comfort him even as you worked through your own dissolving panic. You held him as if he were a child, gently rocking back and forth as you tried to imbue him with a sense of safe-secure-trust-okay.

“Shhh sh sh shh,” you whispered, “it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re okay, I’m okay, shh shh shhh, it’s okay, I…

I forgive you, Link.”

At this statement he began to sob even more heavily, and your own tears soaked his tunic as surely as his did your own.

“NO! No, you shouldn’t! You — you — I almost killed you!!” He pulled back and looked at you without letting go. “I would have killed you, [Name]! You — you can’t just forgive me! I — I’m so sorry, I can’t ever explain, I — I was so sure you weren’t trustworthy, I didn’t even give you a chance, I — gosh I basically just tried to freaking kill you, and you just…you can’t just — just —” he fell into hysteric hiccups once again, allowing you to interrupt.

“Well then, it’s a good thing you don’t decide what I can and can’t do, isn’t it?” You released your hug to hold his face in both hands, using a thumb to brush his tear-stained cheeks. “I’ll admit…I was, for a moment, scared, but,” you cut off his heartbroken and shattered gasp, “I get it. I don’t excuse what you’ve done, but I do somewhat understand and I forgive you, Legend. I choose to forgive you, Link.”

…

His world stopped in that moment. He stared into your eyes, so open, brimming with tears that he had caused. You shouldn’t forgive him. He was going to murder you, literally stab you in the back, in cold blood, right outside the safety of camp where his own brothers, who trusted both him and you, slept peacefully, placing full faith in him to keep the monsters at bay. And yet here he was, more of a monster than any of their Ganons or Ganondorfs could have ever hoped to be. He was despicable.

And then you even went so far as to offer him a watery smile that tugged gently on the Sheikah scars adorning your face, the scars of what you’d endured and survived. Oh goddesses, you were trying to comfort him — him — instead of yourself. You opened your arms and offered him another hug, and he was suddenly so thankful you were alive, that you were there with him, and that he hadn’t killed you. And he finally, fully, completely collapsed, releasing the pain he’d hidden away for so long from so much betrayal, distrust, and loss, burying his face into your shoulder once more. His stuttering breaths and hiccups prevented him from speaking, from begging you to hate him back, from telling you to strike him down then and there as surely as he planned to do to you, from screaming until his voice gave out simply because of his pure loathing toward himself, toward this monster he had let himself become.

You gently nudged him back toward camp, all the while holding him and tracing pointless patterns along his back, caressing his hair and whispering forgiveness in his ears. You fell asleep trying to keep watch for him by the fire, both of you tangled up in the other’s embrace, resting in the safety of someone you loved.

You both slept soundly and without nightmares for the first time in weeks.

….

And as the two of you sat there after crying your souls out to each other, having realized how much you actually cared for one another, the sounds of the forest slowly filtered back, joining with your sobs in a beautiful melody of mourning and life, shame and forgiveness. Your rivers of tears mingled together and joined the small creek, the whispers of your pain, relief, salvation, and reconciliation joining the water’s ever-increasing library of whispered memories and silent emotions. And it would never tell a soul, for no one could know what it knew; and you would never, ever know just how happy it was to gain your streams of tears and joy instead of the rivers of your life-blood. 

And if the third watchman woke to find the two most bitter of enemies curled up together asleep by the fire, tear tracks on their red-splotched faces, hair unkempt and, in your case, feet bare, and if he simply draped a blanket over you both and almost cried himself, well…who needs to know?

[puppetmaster13u]

Well Shit I'm Actually Writing This-

So have Art & a WIP of one of the ideas <3 ------------------------------------------------------------

   “What the fuck.” 

   The fish-snake-whale-man seemed to go through several expressions within a few moments, finally ending on one that Danny could only describe as, this may as well happen but still what the Fuck. And then he was being picked up, which he should not be that small, but the not-ghost was also huge- 

   “That- this is a whole ass child,” the fish-man seemed to be going back to hysterical, the emotion practically dripping in the air. “Holy shit you’re a whole ass child- y-you’re what, five?” 

   Danny let out an angry noise at being called so tiny, even as he inwardly acknowledged the fact that he was incredibly small at the moment. Stupid zone and stupid ghost bullshit. He could be back home sleeping but noo, when would he ever get to actually sleep on a school night. 

   They made another hysterical-sounding noise, head falling back against the wall. “Oh fuck you’re an actual full on child- why is a child down here-” they took a deep breath, lure dimming as they closed their eyes. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck-" 

   That was a lot of cursing, and honestly Danny couldn’t help the judgment that crossed over his face as he tried to squirm free from their hold. Maybe he’d gotten used to the whole wish-cursed situation that was in Amity, but really he didn’t think that much cussing was required. 

   Then again, he didn’t exactly have a good idea about what this place even was- but he’d been in far more dangerous places! Probably. He thinks at least? Look, he’d already established there was something wacky going on with his head, so it wasn’t his fault if this turned out as dangerous as some of his worse incidents. 

   Well, it couldn’t be as dangerous as opening an interdimensional portal right on top of himself, so.

Who knows if I'll finish enough of this to actually post it as a full story on AO3 lol, but lemme know if u have ideas or wanna be tagged

Also for those who want Lore: Here's Sebastian's Wiki Page

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Cariño [Part 7]

Jake Lockley x f!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Series Masterlist

Summary: The story comes to an end.

A/N: I know, it's been centuries, chapter 6 was posted in June 2023 (the shame), but here is the ending. Finally. Honestly, I'm not very happy with this story as a whole, but now it's done.

Warnings: kissing, p in v sex, cream pie, oral (both receiving), reader can't speak Spanish, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 3239

You had gone to Jake’s room early the next morning and knocked. No answer. 

You’d tried calling his phone, the one that worked yesterday. His number was out of service.

After speaking to the front desk, you found out he had checked out the night before, barely two hours after you had last seen him. 

A little after 8am you received the rest of the money into your bank account, payment for the job. 

It was fine. Really. 

He is an adult. He could do what he wanted. He didn’t owe you anything. 

But it hurt. A lot. 

You pushed the feelings down deep until you could almost walk on them. There was no need to dwell on this, dwell on him. But your thoughts kept migrating back, like a compass needle swinging north no matter how hard you shook it. 

You got ready and boarded your flight, not home, but to another job. Procuring and authenticating a Ruben, the honest, legal work you had pushed back a little so that you could get Jake his ankh. 

It was simple enough, practically a done deal and you were home and paid within two days. 

You heard through one of your contacts that the day after his party Edward Malay’s mansion had caught fire. He had seemingly died in the blaze. 

All you could think of was the look he had given you when Jack’s hand was on your waist. 

You let the rest of the following week slide by without any work, your heart just wasn’t in it. But by the Wednesday Detective Eric Peterson, the officer who worked for the police art and antiques unit, had called you asking for your help and promising you weren’t going to get hit in the face again this time. 

You took the job and got on with your life. There wasn’t much else to do. 

.

It was evening on a Friday night, and after trying to stop yourself from nodding off in front of the television you finally admitted defeat. Switched it off and got up to go to bed. 

There was a knock at the door. Ordinary and repetitive. 

You frowned. Waited a moment before moving closer to the door, keeping your footsteps light. 

Ever so carefully you checked the peephole and saw…

Jake. 

It was like a pin had been pushed through your chest, a sharp and small and perfect pain. 

Jake.

He hadn’t knocked like he usually did, forgone that familiar, distinctive sound.

You swallowed and opened the door. There was a split second when his gaze fell on you, the tiniest moment where he seemed to disappear and be replaced by someone else.

“Jak-”

 He surged forward before you had even fully opened the door, his hands cupping your cheeks and his lips meeting yours. 

The force of his actions made you step back as he stepped forward, moving with you so that the kiss remained unbroken. 

You froze, surprised and questioning whether you had actually fallen asleep on the settee and this was all about to become some half remembered dream. 

He pulled back, crestfallen, mistaking your shock for rejection. 

“I’m-”

You didn’t let him finish his sentence. 

You moved forward, grabbing hold of his jacket and pulling his mouth back to yours.

He let out the sweetest little moan as he kissed you back, wrapping his arms around you as his tongue slid into your mouth. He nudged the front door shut with his foot before he walked you backwards and further into the room. 

For a moment he pulled back, breathing hard, his hands still on your face. “Cariño,” he stroked his thumbs over your cheeks, seemingly searching your eyes for something and kissing you again deeply when he found it. 

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and the back of his neck, running your fingers through the hair that wasn’t covered by his cap at the nape. 

Slowly he continued to urge you back until your legs nudged against the armrest of the settee. You let out a small moan as his tongue danced over yours and pushed you back into the sofa, his right hand coming around to press flat on your back and keep your descent slow and controlled. 

You pulled off his hat and pushed his coat from his shoulders, urging it down his arms as he shimmied it the rest of the way down and climbed on top of you. 

He slid his right hand down your side, your outer thigh, before hooking his fingers under the back of your knee and pulling your leg over his hip. He pressed in close, lightly grinding against you for a second until you pressed at his lower back with your calf and pushed him fully down. 

The fiction sparked pleasure along your veins, burning into your skin as you clawed at his shirt trying to pull him impossibly closer. 

“I’m sorry,” he managed to mutter between kisses. “I shouldn’t have just taken off.”

You kiss him back fiercely, “You don’t owe me anything-”

“I do cariño, I do.��� He kisses down your jaw, nipping lightly at your skin until you yelp. You can feel his smile as he presses his lips to your skin to ease the burn. 

“Jake,” You pull him back slightly, tugging lightly at his hair so that you can see his face. You’re not sure why you’re doing this, why you need to have this conversation now of all times. But emotion twists in your gut and won’t let you let this slide. 

His eyebrows pinch together slightly as he moves back, his eyes soft and hesitant. Expecting more rejection. 

You can’t help but stroke his cheek, the beginnings of stubble brush along your fingertips. “Jake,” you repeat and he closes his eyes briefly at the softness in your voice. “You don’t owe me anything, you can do-”

“I owe you an explanation.” He stares at you so sincerely it’s like his gaze is piercing into your soul. “I owe you-”

“Ja-”

“I wanted to kiss you again… back at the hotel. I wanted to…” He moves a fraction closer, his right hand sliding down to your waist as he presses his hips more fully against yours and rocking ever so slightly. 

You bite back the little gasp that wants to escape your lips. 

“I wanted to…” he swallows, his line of sight fixated on your lips as his tongue runs along his own, “make love to you.”

Your heart beats so rapidly that it echoes in your neck. 

“But instead I,” he shakes his head, crunching up his face as he internally chastises himself. “I fucked up, I-”

You silence him with your mouth on his, unable to hold yourself back any longer. 

He moans wantonly against your lips, eagerly accepting your tongue when you lick into his mouth. His hands are cool from the outside air, but it’s a balm to your feverish skin as he slides the tip of his fingers under your top and skims along your hips. 

Jake rocks against you feverishly, groaning happily when you wrap your legs around his waist fully. His erection pressed against you, the zipper of his jeans brushing perfectly along your core. The sensation spikes along your nerves and makes you squeeze his arms in a desperate attempt to pull him closer. 

He mouths at your neck, sucking and licking, paying particular attention to every sigh and hitch of your breath. 

“I have… so much,” he swallows, his voice muffled by your skin. Not able to pull himself away for even a second to speak clearly. “I need to tell you,” he pauses, biting his lip. “There are things that you should kno-”

You take his face in your hands and kiss him again, soft and sweet even though his lips are hot and wet. “Later.”

“Cari-”

“I mean this in the nicest way Lockley, but if you don’t sit back,” you move as you speak, unhooking your legs from his waist and urging him into a sitting position on the sofa, “and let me do what I want, then I’m never going to forgive you.” 

He keeps his hands on you as you gently manhandle him. A soft expression all over his face, as if his heart had cracked under the strain of carrying his emotions for far too long. And now the joy in his chest had no choice but to seep into his skin. 

“What do you want to do?” His voice is quiet, reverent almost. And, in that moment you’re sure he would fall on a sword if you uttered the words. 

You shift back, off the sofa and onto your knees between his legs, your hands on either side of his thighs to push them a little wider. 

The heavy bulge of his erection strains against the denim, practically seconds away from popping the neatly stitched seams. His cock twitches under your gaze and Jake lets out a soft groan as you squeeze his thighs, scrapping your nails along his inseam. 

“I want you to…” You slide your palms higher until your eager fingers can reach his belt. You flick open the buckle, pulling the leather free before you undo his trouser button and start to pull down his fly.

“You don't have to.” He whispers. His eyes glued to your face, his hands balled up by his sides and pressing into the sofa, barely resisting the urge to grab the back of your neck and pull you close so he could rut against the heat of your mouth.

“I want to.” You hold his gaze, slowly tugging the zipper down. 

Jake breathes hard, the air catching in his throat as his cock throbs. It's painful how much he aches, straining against the tough, unyielding fabric. 

He gasps when your fingers touch the skin just about his waistband and eagerly raises his hips to help you pull his clothing down to his ankles. His cock bobs free with a dull slap against his stomach and when you finally take him gently in your hand and kiss the very tip, he nearly comes on the spot. 

You press the palm of your free hand firmly against his inner thigh, a gentle reminder to keep him vaguely still and his legs parted. His muscles tense and twitch, flexing under your fingers.

His voice is weak when he mutters your name, soft and strained. You flick your tongue over his head, swirling twice before pulling back a fraction and look up at him. 

The warm artificial light makes his skin glow, the shadows on the sofa perfectly outlining his form, like a work of art you’d been tasked to assess. 

“Please,” his breathing is controlled even as his chest rises and falls. 

You wait until he starts to continue, to finish his thought, it’s only fair really due to the amount of times he’s teased you in the past with trivial things, before you take the tip into your mouth. 

Jake swears under his breath, his eyes screwing up as he fights the urge to buck and you bob your head slowly before you sink deeper. 

“Fuck,” He hisses, his eyes glazed. 

You hum softly as you suck and lick, relaxing your jaw as best you can to take as much of him as possible. His little pants and gasps for air make you lightheaded, your blood singing as he twitches on your tongue. 

You slide your hand from his thigh, up his leg to lightly roll his heavy balls in your palm. 

“Shit, cariño, I…” He moans, his stomach muscles clenching as he flinches forward. Pleasure sparking up his spine and twisting along his nerves. His orgasm so close it’s almost blinding. 

He wants to press close, to let you play him to your own heart's desire and come down your pretty throat with a scream. 

But he won’t. Yet. 

Jake finds the strength to take hold of your shoulders, “Stop, please.”

You do instantly and he sighs, eagerly leaning forward and kissing you fiercely. Licking into your mouth and groaning when you sink your fingers into his hair. 

He gently guides you into his lap as he hurriedly helps you pull off your clothes and the rest of his. 

“So pretty,” he groans as he mouths at your breasts, suckling lightly as he slides his left hand down your side and presses at your core. 

You shiver involuntarily under his touch, swallowing down a moan as he softly circles your clit with his calloused fingers. You squeeze his shoulders, your hips bucking automatically at the slow drag. 

He hums low in his throat, watching you with dark eyes. Languidly he runs his middle and forefinger over your folds, barely there pressure. “Can I?” He mutters as he rubs at your clit again, hardly even taking the edge of the ache. 

You nod rapidly, “Jake, please, I want you to-” You moan loudly as he presses inside. 

He swears at the wetness that greets him, quickly curling his fingers and stroking as he presses against your bundle of nerves with his thumb. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as he moves, keeping time with the rocking of your hips. 

“That’s in cariño,” he whispers, his voice thick, “take everything you want.” 

You almost don’t recognise the whine that leaves your lips as your own. Pleasure twists and pulses in your stomach, claws at your skin as your thighs burn and shake. 

He litters your chest with wet, desperate kisses, his stubble scraping deliciously over your skin. Somehow he manages to swallow a groan as you tense, his cock twitches, smearing salvia and precome against his stomach. 

“Jake,” you gasp, the weight in your stomach dropping as he strokes and pulls the pleasure from your bones. 

“I’m here, I’m here,” he whines, his voice nearly as desperate as your own. “Please, please,” his throat is dry as he mindlessly begs, transfixed on the look and feel of you. 

You come all at once, your orgasm piercing through your muscles and running like a current through your nerves. Jake guides you through it, holding you close and muttering sweet words and you shake and shatter in his arms. 

He slowly pulls out of you as you weaken, kissing your temple and stroking your back. You press your face into his neck, breathing hard. Your skin is hot but his touch is soothing. 

“I’m sorry I wouldn’t tell you what cariño means,” he whispers, there’s a weight in his chest, a tightness he needs to shift that’s fracturing. “It-”

“I know what it means,” you smile and pull back so that you can look at his face. “I just kept asking to see when you would tell me.” 

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “You’re cruel to me cariño.” He teases, his eyes bright. “Too cruel.” 

You grin before you kiss him deeply, wet and warm as your tongue slides over his. He shivers delightfully as you just scrape your nails over his scalp, lost in your touch. 

His cock presses hot and heavy between your bodies, desperate for any kind of friction and when you angle your hips away from his slightly Jake just thinks you mean to tease him all the more. 

He certainly doesn’t expect you to raise up on your knees while you kiss him feverishly, nor did he predict how you guide him to your centre and just sink down. 

He moans, his forehead pinched together in ecstasy as you envelop him, so soft and warm and he nearly chokes, stammering out swears and please as you squeeze.

“Cariño,” his hands fly to your hips, tensing and desperate as you finally take all of him. 

You rock slowly, moving in a long figure of eight as your body adjusts to his size. The thickness stretching you wonderfully. 

Jake gasps, his fingers digging in as he holds on for dear life. Bliss buzzes along his skin, settles at the base of his spine with a dizzying speed. “I’m,” he swallows, his breath hitches as you move a fraction faster. His cock pulses as it rubs within you, pleasure building and building and building. “I’m so sorry, I can’t, I’m gonna…”

You don’t let up your movements as you lean forward, ghosting your lips over his. “Please,” you dart out your tongue, running lightly over his bottom lip. “I want you to.”  

Jake groans loudly, gasping for air as he pulls you as close as physically possible. His hips thrust up as he comes hard, the sensation whiting out his vision as he calls out your name in prayer. 

‘Thank yous’ fall his hushed whispers from his mouth as he shakes and recovers, his heart racing in his chest. You can’t help but watch him, transfixed in how his face pinches and glows in pleasure.

You’re smiling at him when he opens his eyes, and you brush some of his loose curls from in front of his face as he gazes at you. 

“You okay?” You giggle, joy rising up in your chest at the love sick look he gives you. 

“More than,” he kisses you softly, his strong arms hugging you close. “More than more than.” 

Without warning he twists, moving you onto your back flat against the sofa while staying deep inside of you. You let out a little yelp of surprise that turns into more laughter. 

“I love that sound,” Jake kisses your nose, grinning. “I think it is my second favourite.”

“Second favourite?” 

He nods, “This is the first.” He moves quickly, pulling his softening cock from your pussy only to quickly dip down, kissing your stomach once before he presses the flat of his tongue in one long, slow lick through your folds. He groans as your combined fluids fill his mouth, and your cry of pleasure sounds in his ears. 

He swirls his tongue over your click one way and then the other before he gently presses two fingers on either side of your entrance and stretches slightly, opening you wider. “Fuck, such a mess here.” He groans, biting his lip at how your muscles flutter under his hold before he gets back to the task at hand. 

“Jake,” you gasp as his warm tongue runs over you again, the tip just dipping inside as he flicks up, trying to gather as much of your combined release as possible before he swallows. 

You wriggle under the onslaught, your back arching off the cushions as he works on you, quickly hurtling you towards another orgasm. 

He groans as you writhe, using his hands to pull your legs over his shoulders without breaking his rhythm. He flicks his tongue, alternating between sucking and licking until you’re sobbing and soaking a wet patch into the sofa. 

His fingers knead your thighs and ass cheeks, coaxing you to buck and grind exactly how your desperate body is begging you to. 

Your orgasm takes you by surprise. One second you’re moaning and thrusting up into the wet heat of his mouth, the next you're practically paralysed as pleasure washes over your mind, body and soul. 

Jake groans as you come, not letting up on his onslaught until you're panting heavily and limp. As he sits up you can feel his cock against the back of your thigh, hard and ready once more. 

He grins devilishly, “Can I fuck you again cariño?” 

Thank you for reading!

 want to be tagged? •  if you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[starmocha]

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ masterlist — series

lol it's been bugging me that the main masterlist doesn't have some stories sorted by series (AO3 does), so I finally gotten around to making a subsection so my ocd can calm tf down 🫠

【 tag list available - request to be added 】

last updated: dec. 25, 2024

someone you loved

Based on the 30-day absence text messages. Stories can be interpreted as standalones or sharing the same universe. cw: angst, tragedy, grieving status: 2/4 completed [will update to include future love interests] 01. the day bleeds into nightfall (Zayne/MC) 02. never the same (Rafayel/MC) 03. (Xavier/MC) 04. (Sylus/MC)

sweet little snowdrop

Stories about Zayne and his three-year-old son. status: ongoing indefinitely // updated sporadically 01. 12:30 PM Checkup 02. Carrot Cake

bright little starlight

Stories about Xavier and his two-year-old daughter. status: ongoing indefinitely // updated sporadically 01. Time-Out

pretty little coral

Stories about Rafayel and his three-year-old son. status: ongoing indefinitely // updated sporadically 01.

sing little birdie

Stories about Sylus and his three-year-old daughter. status: ongoing indefinitely // updated sporadically 01. Rock-a‐Bye 02. Hide-and-Seek 03. Little Dino random scenarios: 01. Taking Little Birdie to the Amusement Park 02. Daddy is a Kitty?

birds of a feather — 《 MDNI 》

Sylus with a breeding kink because fuck yes y'all peer pressured me into making this a series i blame you guys jk i'm digging this too, but i was enabled ❤️ status: 2/3 completed 01. but if it's forever, it's even better 02. it was always you 03.

Bride of the Dragon King — 《 MDNI 》

Once upon a time, I yapped that I wanted a dragon!Sylus AU...and then people enabled me, so here we are. (Note: This was conceived prior to the announcement of Sylus' myth, Beyond Cloudfall. I still consider it a dragon AU, since I interpreted Sylus as an East Asian dragon as opposed to a western like in his myth.) status: 1/3 completed 01. Prelude 02. Bride of the Dragon King 03. Epilogue

dreaming of a winter wonderland

My Sagittarius instinct told me to do something impulsive again. So I did. Twelve days of Christmas/winter-themed ficlets, 3 for each love interest. This lowkey may be me trying to find joy in Christmas again lol ヾ(✿˶◡‿◡)ゞ status: 7/12 completed 01. to: my true love (Sylus/Reader) 02. do you want to build a snowman? (it doesn't have to be a snowman) (Zayne/Reader) 03. in a gingerbread house built for two (Rafayel/Reader) 04. you shine like the stars, you light up my heart (Xavier/Reader) 05. ‘tis the damn season and deck them goddamned halls (Sylus/Reader) 06. you're the only one, my love (Zayne/Reader) 07. and this year i promise (Rafayel/Reader) 08. (Xavier/Reader) 09. (Sylus/Reader) 10. (Zayne/Reader) 11. (Rafayel/Reader) 12. (Xavier/Reader)

All Love and Deepspace fanfics are posted only on Tumblr (@starmocha) and AO3 (loveppears (108am)). They will always be cross-posted to one another. Stories are prohibited from being posted elsewhere and I do not allow translations of my works under any circumstances. Reblogs are ok and encouraged! ♡

Thanks for reading! ☆

[mr-yuugo]

Find Out For Yourself

-Lilia Vanrouge x Reader [Gender Neutral]-

Words: 1,597

Summary: After a few frights, the reader finds out that Lilia really isn't a girl.

Posted this on my AO3 account as well as Wattpad!

Rain poured down from the thundering sky. You, Grim, and the two heartslabyul freshmen ran to the ramshackle dorm. "Myah! Henchman hurry up!" Grim growled in your arms. You were currently carrying him, shielding him as best you could from the rain. Beside you, Ace scowled. "Shut it Grim! Or I'll make the prefect put you down!"

At Ace's words, Grim shut up only letting a few grumbles leave his mouth. Finally arriving at the dorm's porch, Deuce was quick to open the door. You all hurried inside. "Augh finally out of the rain." Ace cheered. You nodded your head putting Grim down on the floor. "You boys stay here I'll go get towels for you to dry off."

Heading to your bathroom you reached for the towels you would need and quickly headed back to the lounge. You saw them taking off their coats and placing them messily on the floor. Handing them the towels you took the liberty of drying grim off before doing so yourself.

After you were all dry you all sat in the lounge. A sigh left Ace's lips as he pouted. "Great now we're stuck here..." Grim simply rolled his eyes. "You saying you rather be outside in the rain? Be my guest!" Grim said sticking out his tongue.

"Calm down you two." You groaned in annoyance, Deuce nodding his head. "Do calm down, I'm sure Y/N wouldn't care to throw both of you out if you kept being annoying." Deuce grinned.

"You wouldn't do that right Y/N..?" Ace mumbled as he slowly turned to you. Chuckling you hummed. "Who knows? Keep it up and I just might have to." Ace shivered at your words, deep down knowing you could if you really wanted to.

...

Thunderstruck as all of you talked in the lounge. Grim in your lap as you both shared a blanket. You and Grim had your backs turned to the window, sitting on the carpet resting your hands on the table in front of you.

Deuce and Ace shared another blanket as they sat on the couch. You all took turns telling scary stories. "Okay okay, have you heard about the ghost that haunts diasomnia?" Ace whispered to which Grim let out an annoyed grumble. "Please ghost stories? I thought you could do better than that. Me and Y/N literally live with them!"

"Hear me out, have you guys even been to their dorm?" Ace asked, you all shook your head from left to right. "Well, they say that when you first get sorted into diasomnia you always have trouble sleeping the first night..."

"Why is that?" Deuce spoke his voice quiet as he clung to the warmth the blanket gave him. "Well, there is a mysterious figure that watches them from the windows. Watching their every step to ensure they're fit to join diasomnia. And well you know how diasomnia is, it's so creepy and dark."

Thunderstruck once more as Grim jumped slightly in your lap. Grinning you spoke, "So do you think this ghost might terrorize other dorms?" You asked. "Eeek! Don't even say such a thing!" Grim scolded you as he clung to you. Ace laughed creepily as he nodded slowly. "I'm sure Y/N! I remember you saying that you would sometimes wake up to see stuff in your mirror right?"

You nodded and Deuce sat up straight. "You don't think it has something to do with the diasomnia ghost do you..?" Ace raised a brow, a teasing smirk on his face. "Is Deucey scared?" Deuce furrowed his brows. "Am not!" He said angrily. "Anyway, they say the creature appears upside down, almost like a bat. Just like tonight, thunder strikes causing a very small light to shine on the creature."

When Ace said that, your mind drifted. "Upside down like a bat..." You hummed. "Ah, that reminds me of that vice house warden..." You mumbled. Grim's ears perked up. "What vice house warden?" He asked.

"I'm not sure you remember but I first encountered them when we came back to the dorm after the whole scarabia showdown. They appeared out of nowhere, floating upside down. I believe their name was Lilia." Deuce let out a hum "Oh that is the name for diasomnia's vice house warden right?" Your memory came back to you as you eagerly nodded your head. "Yeah, that's it! Actually, I wanted to ask if-" An exceptionally loud thunderbolt halted your words.

Deuce's eyes widened as he nudged Ace. "D-did you see that?" He asked with his eyes going wide. "See what Deuce?" You asked him. You saw him nervously gulp. "On the window! I saw something floating around and I'm already telling you it was no bird or animal!" Grim crossed his paws, an annoyed look on his face. "Did the story really mess you up that bad?"

"No! I swear I saw someone! Did you see it, Ace?" Deuce asked. "No, I didn't stop messing around Deuce," Ace grumbled. "I promise I am not-"

BANG

Grim shrieked at the sound. "What was that?!" He yelled out, his claws going into your skin. Wincing you scolded him. "Stop it Grim! And Deuce it was probably nothing how about we all just calm down?" You saw something from the corner of your eye. Leaning your body back slightly you notice the previously closed door to the lounge is now open.

"Wasn't the door closed?" You asked as you got up from your spot on the carpet. Carrying Grim in your hands you left the blanket on the floor. "Oh please Y/N not you too. I swear it's probably nothing like you said." Ace rolled his eyes.

Getting closer to the door Grim clung to you tightly. "Why are you investigating it!? Haven't you seen the movies?" You stood in front of the open doors, looking to your right you quickly glanced up the stairs. Noticing nothing you walked through the hallway that led to the front door of the lounge.

"Y/N wait up! Don't leave me behind!" Deuce hurried up and began walking next to you. Ace also coming to walk with the three of you. "Look! The front door is open." Grim shrieked. Giving Grim to Ace you slowly walked up to the door and opened it fully. "Weird...there is no one here." You quietly said.

Deuce let out a sigh of relief. Turning your body to walk back to the lounge you came face to face with someone. "Hey there!" You heard the voice in front of you speak. "Ahh!" You all screamed as you put a hand on your racing heart. Floating upside down was the dripping wet house warden. "You did it again!" You yelled as you calmed down.

You heard Lilia laugh as he floated down landing feet first onto the wooden floor. "Mind if I stay here to dry?" He asked you, an innocent smile on his face. "Sure you're more than welcome too." You smiled at him as you began to look him up and down. "They really do look like a girl...but that voice says different." You thought with a sigh. "Well, it's useless to think about it."

"I'll get you a dry towel." You told him before turning to the boys who looked kinda of nervous. "Mind taking Lilia to the lounge? I'll be right back."

...

Lilia was now dry and you were both enjoying some late-night snacks. The rain hadn't given up as you smiled at seeing the sleeping figures of Ace and Deuce sleeping comfortably on the couch. Grim had already retired to your shared room as it was just you and the fae talking quietly while eating your snacks.

"Didn't you teleport last time we met? I'm sure you could have made your way to the mirror chamber just fine." You raised your brow in suspicion. Lilia chuckled and slowly nodded his head. "I suppose I could but I just happened to see you all having so much fun, I wanted to join in too."

"Ah, so Deuce wasn't going crazy..." Giggling quietly you looked at Lilia from the corner of your eye. Your eyes wandered around his figure almost as if you were analyzing him. His eyes met yours, catching your attention.

"Hm? What is this? What is it that you hope to do by undressing me with your eyes?" He said, sending you a teasing smirk. You blushed in embarrassment, "I'm sorry it's just that you look so much like a girl. You're very pretty you know?"

Lilia's eyes widened for a second before closing, the teasing smirk finding its place on his lips once more. "I suppose I am huh? Well, it's all just part of my innocent look." He stopped talking for a second before he turned his body fully to you. "Would you like to find out for yourself?" He asked. You tilted your head in confusion. "What do you mean?

Lilia reached for your hand, an innocent smile on his face. You saw him slowly bring your hand up placing it on his chest. His palm was on the back of your hand as he moved it around in a circular motion. You gasped in shock but didn't dare move away.

You heard Lilia let out a pleased hum. "So?" He asked as he let you pull your hand back onto your lap. You stared at him, no words leaving your lips. You're face turning redder than a tomato.

He just sent you a cocky grin as he watched steam blow out from your ears.

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Ink & Oath (tattoo artist!Mafiaso!Dean W.)

Summary: Reader comes to a quaint tattoo shop to get some much needed work done to her back piece... little does she know that her entire life will change in just a few short moments.

WC: 13.5K

Warnings: mafia au,tattoo artist dean nongraphic smut, angst with a happy ending, pregnancy

Read on ao3!

A/N: i wasn't going to put this piece on tumblr, because of it being so long. Plus i'm honestly so tired of the blank blogs giving empty notes and not really giving much else. So i'm *probably* not going to keep this posted if it receives nothing but likes w/ little to no reblogs. I worked extremely hard on this piece a few days ago and it's honestly so discouraging to not get /something/ in return. Anyway, whatever.

--

You’re standing at the counter of Winchester Ink, half-annoyed and half-desperate. The sleek, industrial-style tattoo parlor is packed, and the receptionist informs you that due to their packed schedule, only 40 minutes of work can be squeezed in today. You’d planned to finally finish the intricate back piece you’d started with another artist—one who bailed on you last minute.

Agreeing to the partial session, you put down the deposit and prepare for a follow-up. The artist does incredible work, but it’s not enough to bring your tattoo to completion. When you return for your second appointment, you’re shocked to find the shop’s owner himself—Dean Winchester—waiting for you. His broad shoulders and sharp green eyes hold a glare that’s almost as intimidating as his reputation.

He explains that your rushed appointment cost him money and time—and now you owe him. But when he notices your determination and sees your unfinished ink, a mischievous smirk creeps across his face.

“Alright, sweetheart,” Dean says, leaning on his desk, “I’ve got an offer. You want your back piece done? You’re gonna work it off. Be my shop assistant for a few weeks, cover some shifts. And maybe… I’ll finish the job myself.”

The lines between professionalism and something much darker start to blur as Dean’s attention becomes far more personal than just your tattoo.

You blink at him, trying to gauge if he’s serious or just messing with you. The way his smirk deepens when you hesitate tells you he’s enjoying this way too much.

“Are you even allowed to do that?” you ask, crossing your arms.

Dean shrugs, completely unbothered. “My shop, my rules.”

You glance around the parlor, the buzzing of tattoo machines filling the space, the scent of antiseptic and ink in the air. The place is busy, artists hunched over their clients, lost in concentration. Winchester Ink has a reputation for being one of the best, and Dean Winchester himself is practically a legend. It’s an opportunity, but it also feels like a trap.

Still, you want this tattoo finished. It’s been sitting on your back like an incomplete story, haunting you every time you catch your reflection. You can’t let it stay unfinished.

With a deep breath, you square your shoulders. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

Dean grins like you just handed him the keys to your soul. “Atta girl.”

The next day, you show up, not sure what to expect. Turns out, working at a tattoo shop is nothing like you’d imagined. It’s long hours of cleaning stations, refilling ink wells, running the front desk, and dealing with clients who can’t decide on a design to save their lives.

Dean watches you like a hawk, making sure you don’t slack off, but there’s something else in his gaze too—something that makes your stomach flip. And when he finally gets you in his chair, stretching your skin taut beneath his gloved hands, the air between you shifts. His touch is precise, his focus unwavering, but every now and then, his fingers linger just a second too long.

“You sure you can handle working here, sweetheart?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin as he leans in, the tattoo machine whirring softly.

You lift your chin, refusing to let him see how much he affects you. “I can handle a lot more than you think, Winchester.”

His smirk returns, this time laced with something darker, something that makes your pulse stutter.

“Good,” he says, dragging the needle across your skin in a slow, deliberate stroke. “Let’s see just how much."

--

The next morning, you step into Winchester Ink, now seeing it from the other side of the counter. The usual buzz of tattoo guns fills the air, along with the scent of antiseptic and ink. Dean, already working on a client, jerks his head toward the reception desk.

“You’re on desk duty today,” he calls over his shoulder. “Phones, appointments, clean-up. Try not to scare off the customers.”

You roll your eyes but take your place, answering the phone as a biker-looking guy strolls in, flipping through the portfolio. It’s an adjustment, sure, but you settle in fast. You’re almost enjoying it—until Dean appears behind you, close enough that his breath warms your skin.

“Not bad,” he murmurs, his voice rough, teasing. “But don’t think I won’t put you to work scrubbing floors if you slack off.”

You turn to retort, only to find yourself inches from his sharp green gaze. The tension crackles between you like a live wire, and from the slow smirk spreading across his lips, he knows it too.

Maybe this deal isn’t as simple as it seemed.

The shop closes late, and you’re still sweeping up stray paper towels and discarded ink caps when Dean finally locks the front door. Most of the other artists have already left, leaving just the two of you in the dimly lit space. The buzzing neon "Winchester Ink" sign outside casts a soft blue glow through the glass, flickering faintly like it’s seen too many late nights.

“You survived day one,” Dean says, leaning against the front desk with an amused smirk. “I was half-expecting you to run out crying after dealing with that Karen who wanted a ‘spiritual wolf’ tattoo on her lower back.”

You snort. “Please, I’ve dealt with worse.”

“Yeah?” He watches you for a beat, arms crossed over his chest, his black t-shirt stretching just enough to be distracting. “Guess we’ll see if you can handle tomorrow.”

Something about the way he says it—low, laced with something unreadable—sends a slow shiver down your spine.

“You really that desperate for free labor?” you tease, tilting your head.

Dean’s smirk deepens. He steps closer, just enough that you catch the faint scent of leather and aftershave beneath the lingering ink and antiseptic.

“Nah,” he says, voice dropping a little. “I just like watching you squirm.”

Your pulse kicks up, and you hate that he can probably tell. But before you can come up with a sharp response, Dean straightens, stretching his arms behind his head like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“Go home, sweetheart. Get some rest.” He nods toward the back. “Your tattoo’s not getting finished if you pass out on me halfway through.”

You don’t move right away. The reminder of why you’re here—why you agreed to this in the first place—grounds you, just enough to shake off the heat in your chest.

“Goodnight, boss,” you say, deliberately casual as you set the broom aside and grab your bag.

Dean just chuckles, low and knowing.

“Night, sweetheart.”

And damn him, you swear you can still feel his gaze on your back long after you’ve stepped outside.

--

Working at Winchester Ink is no joke. The shop is always packed, and between scheduling appointments, sterilizing equipment, and dealing with customers who either can’t commit or want the worst design ideas imaginable, you barely have time to breathe.

Dean? He’s a menace.

He pushes you, makes you run errands, hands you the mop at the end of every shift like it’s some kind of personal game. But the worst part? The way he watches you.

It’s not outright—nothing you could call him out on—but it’s there. A glance that lingers too long. A smirk when he brushes past you, his hand skimming your lower back like it’s an accident. And the way he says things.

"You look good behind my desk, sweetheart."

"Bet you’d look even better covered in more ink."

"Careful, sweetheart. Keep biting that lip, and I might start thinking you’re doing it for me."

It’s infuriating. Mostly because part of you likes it.

--

By the time your shift ends, your feet ache, and you’re pretty sure you have ink on your cheek. Everyone else has already left, and it’s just you and Dean—again.

“C’mere,” he says from his station. His voice is softer than usual, but there’s still that teasing edge to it.

You hesitate. “Why?”

He taps the leather tattoo chair. “You wanna get that back piece finished or what?”

Your stomach flips. “I thought we were waiting—”

Dean raises a brow. “You put in the work, didn’t you? I think you’ve earned a little progress.”

You swallow hard. This was the deal. Your tattoo. That’s why you’re here. That’s all this is.

Right?

You climb into the chair, heart hammering as Dean snaps on a fresh pair of gloves. His fingers ghost over your skin as he carefully peels back your shirt, exposing your unfinished tattoo. The cool air sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s nothing compared to the way Dean’s touch lingers, his fingertips dragging just a second longer than necessary.

“Relax,” he murmurs, voice close to your ear. “I’ll take good care of you.”

The tattoo gun hums to life, but the only thing you can focus on is him—his breath against your neck, the steady grip of his hand on your waist.

And when he starts tattooing?

You swear it has nothing to do with the ink and everything to do with the way his touch sinks under your skin.

The sharp sting of the needle drags across your skin, but it’s not the pain that makes your breath hitch—it’s him. Dean’s touch is firm, his other hand resting against your waist, grounding you. His breath ghosts over your exposed skin as he leans in closer, the scent of leather, whiskey, and something unmistakably him flooding your senses.

“You’re tense,” he murmurs, voice rough and low. “Gotta loosen up for me, sweetheart.”

The words send a jolt of heat through you, pooling low in your stomach. You grip the edges of the chair, trying to focus on the rhythmic buzz of the tattoo gun, but it’s impossible when Dean is right there, his presence overwhelming.

He works slow, deliberate, the pressure of his hand steadying you with every pass of the needle. His fingers, clad in latex, slide against your skin, adjusting your position with a touch that’s almost too gentle. And maybe you’re imagining it, maybe it’s the adrenaline, but there’s something in the way his thumb sweeps over your side—something that feels less like a professional touch and more like a test.

A challenge.

“You okay?” he asks, but there’s something smug in his tone, like he already knows the answer.

“I’m fine,” you manage, though your voice is breathier than you’d like.

Dean chuckles, and you feel it vibrate through you. “Yeah? You sure?” His voice dips lower, teasing, and then—fuck. His hand moves, sliding just a fraction higher, his thumb tracing the dip of your spine in a way that has nothing to do with the tattoo.

Your pulse hammers. You should say something, should shift away, should stop this before it goes somewhere dangerous.

But you don’t.

Instead, you let out a slow exhale, pressing just slightly into his touch. It’s barely anything, just a shift of your body, but Dean notices.

Of course, he does.

His grip tightens—not rough, but possessive. The needle lifts from your skin, and suddenly, he’s not working anymore.

You hear the quiet click of the tattoo gun shutting off, the eerie silence of the shop settling between you. Your heart pounds as Dean pulls his gloves off with a slow, deliberate snap.

Then, he leans in, lips just brushing the shell of your ear.

“I think we both know this ain’t just about the tattoo anymore.”

You swallow hard, your breath uneven. “Dean—”

“Tell me to stop,” he says, his voice nothing but a growl now. “Tell me to back off, and I will.”

But you don’t say it.

You can’t.

Instead, you turn your head just enough that your lips are a whisper away from his. The air between you crackles, electric, and then—

He kisses you.

It’s not slow. It’s not tentative. It’s everything—all that tension, all those unspoken words, poured into one desperate, claiming kiss. His hand fists in your hair, tilting your head back, his other arm sliding around your waist and pulling you against him, hard.

You gasp against his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours, demanding and sinful. His teeth graze your bottom lip before he sucks it between his own, and you swear you feel the heat of it all the way down to your core.

“Fuck,” you whisper when he finally pulls back, your lips swollen, breath ragged.

Dean’s eyes are dark—dangerous.

“Sweetheart,” he drawls, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist, his voice pure sin. “We’re just getting started.”

--

The air in the shop is thick with heat, the scent of ink and sweat lingering between you. Your back is still tingling—not just from the fresh tattoo, but from the way Dean had held you, touched you, ruined you right there in his chair.

You’re still catching your breath, your body limp against the leather, when you feel him shift behind you. His fingers trace over your spine, a ghost of a touch that sends another shiver down your already overstimulated body.

“Y’alright, sweetheart?” His voice is hoarse, rough with something smug and satisfied.

You manage a breathy laugh. “You really have to ask?”

Dean chuckles, and you feel the warmth of it against your bare shoulder before he presses a slow, lingering kiss there. “Just making sure you didn’t pass out on me.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re too spent to come up with a sharp retort. Instead, you sigh, shifting slightly as you feel the ache settling into your muscles.

Dean moves away, and you hear the rustle of fabric as he tugs his jeans back on. You should probably do the same, but right now, your body feels like it’s made of liquid, melted into the chair that still smells like him.

A moment later, something soft lands on your back—a towel, warm and slightly damp.

“Clean yourself up,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, rough around the edges in a way that sends another ripple of warmth through you. “I’ll grab you some water.”

You prop yourself up on one elbow, watching as he moves across the shop. His shoulders are broad, his movements lazy, like he’s entirely at ease, but there’s something else there too—something in the way he glances at you over his shoulder like he’s still thinking about what just happened.

Like maybe he’s not done with you yet.

By the time he returns, you’ve pulled your clothes back on, though your skin still hums from his touch. He hands you a bottle of water, watching as you take a few slow sips.

“So,” you say finally, breaking the silence. “This part of the standard Winchester Ink experience?”

Dean smirks, leaning against the counter, his green eyes flicking over you like he’s already plotting his next move. “Nah,” he says, voice low. “Just the VIP package.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Right.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. The weight of what just happened still lingers between you, heavy and unspoken. And maybe this should be awkward—maybe you should be freaking out, wondering what the hell this means for the deal you made, for the tattoo, for anything.

But you’re not.

Instead, you watch Dean, the way his jaw shifts slightly, the way he looks at you like he’s still hungry, and you realize something.

This isn’t over.

Not even close.

And judging by the way Dean grins at you, slow and wicked, he knows it too.

You knew something was off about Dean Winchester. No man carries himself with that much confidence—that much authority—without having something to back it up.

But nothing could have prepared you for the truth.

You’re sitting in his apartment, a loft-style space above Winchester Ink, still tangled in his sheets, wearing nothing but one of his flannel shirts. The tattoo on your back is finally finished, but that’s the least of your thoughts right now. Because Dean just told you something that should have made you run.

He’s not just a tattoo artist.

Dean Winchester owns this city. Or at least, the parts that matter.

He’s the leader of something much bigger, much darker. The kind of operation that people whisper about in hushed tones, the kind that law enforcement pretends doesn’t exist because even they’re too scared to take him on.

And yet… you’re still here.

“You’re not saying anything,” Dean murmurs, watching you from across the room. His back is to the window, the neon glow of the city framing him in pale blues and reds. His green eyes are unreadable, but there’s tension in the way he holds himself—like he’s waiting for you to get up and walk away.

You take a deep breath, considering your words. “You just told me you run a criminal empire, Dean.”

He huffs a dry, humourless laugh. “Yeah. Guess I did.”

You tilt your head. “What do you want me to say?”

Dean studies you for a moment, then looks away, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I don’t know. Figured you’d freak out. Maybe tell me I’m a monster.” His voice is low and rough, like he’s bracing himself for something inevitable. “Most people would.”

You take a moment, looking at him. Really looking.

And what you see isn’t just power, or danger, or the weight of everything he’s done. You see a man who has lost too much, who carries the weight of his past like a chain around his throat.

“You’re not a monster,” you say softly.

Dean’s eyes snap to yours like he wasn’t expecting that answer. “You don’t know the shit I’ve done.”

You exhale, pulling your knees to your chest. “Then tell me.”

He hesitates, his fingers twitching at his side. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter than you’ve ever heard.

“My dad built this empire,” he says, staring out at the city. “He wasn’t a good man. He did a lot of bad things hurt a lot of people. But he kept us safe—me and my little brother, Sam. When he died, I took over. Thought I could do better, clean things up.”

You already know this story doesn’t have a happy ending.

Dean swallows, his jaw tightening. “I tried. But this life? It doesn’t let go. Sam didn’t want any part of it. Got himself a real job, a real life.” He lets out a bitter chuckle. “Thought I could keep him safe if he stayed away. But they still found him.”

Your stomach twists. “Dean…”

He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “I buried him six years ago.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and for the first time, you see it—the real Dean Winchester. The man who lost everything, who built his own empire on the bones of his past.

And yet, he told you.

He let you in.

You slide out of bed, crossing the room before he can stop you. When you reach him, you press your palm against his chest, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart beneath your fingers.

“I’m still here,” you say softly.

Dean’s breath catches. His hands, rough and calloused, come up to cradle your face like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. His thumbs brush along your cheekbones, and when he speaks, his voice is almost pleading.

“You should be scared of me.”

You smile, just a little. “Maybe.” You lean up, brushing your lips against his. “But I’m not.”

Dean groans softly, his grip tightening, and when he kisses you, it’s different this time. Not just hunger, not just claiming.

It’s desperation.

Like he’s been drowning for years, and you’re the first breath of air he’s had in a long, long time.

Dean kisses you like he’s unravelling—like everything he’s kept buried for years is clawing its way to the surface. His fingers grip your waist, pulling you flush against him, like if he holds you tight enough, he can stop the ghosts from creeping back in.

You let him.

You let him take what he needs, because you’re still here. You don’t flinch when his hands slide lower, gripping you with a kind of desperation that has nothing to do with lust and everything to do with the fact that he’s terrified. Terrified that now that you know the truth, you’ll vanish like everyone else he’s ever cared about.

But you don’t.

Instead, you press closer, wrapping your arms around his neck, tilting your head so he can deepen the kiss. His tongue slides against yours, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring you, like he’s memorising the way you feel against him.

His hands roam, calloused palms skating over your skin, slipping beneath the flannel you’re still wearing. When his fingers find bare skin, he exhales against your lips, his breath uneven.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, almost like a warning.

You pull back just enough to meet his gaze. “I’m still here, Dean.”

Something in his expression cracks, just for a second, before he fists the back of your shirt and tugs you toward him. His lips brush against your temple, your cheek, and your jaw. His breath is warm and ragged.

“You don’t know what you’re signing up for,” he mutters against your skin, his mouth ghosting along your collarbone.

“I don’t care.”

Dean stills. His grip on you tightens for half a second before he pulls back just enough to look at you, searching your face like he’s waiting for you to change your mind.

“You should care,” he says, voice rough. “People in my world don’t get happy endings.”

You reach up, fingers tracing along his jaw, feeling the tension there, the way his muscles tighten beneath your touch. “I don’t need a happy ending.” You tilt your head, letting your thumb brush the corner of his mouth. “I just need you.”

A low sound rumbles in his chest, something between a groan and a curse, before his mouth crashes back onto yours.

This time, there’s no hesitation. No restraint.

Dean takes—his lips moving against yours with purpose, his hands gripping your hips, lifting you with ease as he carries you back to the bed. The mattress dips beneath you as he lowers you onto it, his weight pressing you into the sheets, the warmth of his body chasing away the chill of the night.

“You sure about this?” he mutters against your lips, his forehead resting against yours.

You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him growl. “Shut up and kiss me, Winchester.”

Dean grins against your mouth before he does exactly that.

And when he claims you this time, it’s not just need—it’s something deeper, something neither of you are ready to name yet.

But it’s there.

And neither of you is letting go.

Dean doesn’t just kiss you—he devours you like he’s been starving for something real and only just realised you’re the thing he’s been craving. His hands are everywhere, sliding under the flannel you stole, gripping your thighs, tracing over the fresh ink on your back like he’s memorising the way his work looks on your skin.

The sheets are tangled around you both, the air thick with heat and the scent of him—leather, whiskey, something dark and utterly intoxicating. His mouth drags from your lips to your jaw, then down, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your throat.

“I should ruin you,” he mutters, voice dark and full of something dangerous. “Make sure no one else even thinks about touching you.”

Your stomach tightens, heat pooling low in your belly. “You already have.”

Dean groans against your skin, his teeth grazing your collarbone before he sucks a bruise there—one that’ll be impossible to hide. “Damn right, I have.”

His hands are rough, calloused from years of working with them, but the way he touches you? Reverent. Like you’re something precious, something breakable—but only if you want to be.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his lips trailing lower, his breath hot against your skin.

You grip his hair, tugging just enough to make him look up at you, those sharp green eyes blown wide with hunger. “I want you.”

Dean doesn’t hesitate.

And when he finally gives you what you want, it’s not just sex.

It’s a claim. A promise that he is yours and yours alone.

The city hums beyond the window, but inside Dean’s apartment, everything is quiet except for the sound of your slowed breathing and the faint rustle of sheets as he pulls you against his chest.

You’re spent, muscles aching in the best way, his warmth sinking into your skin. His arm is draped over your waist, fingers tracing lazy patterns against your stomach like he’s not ready to let you go.

“Still not scared of me?” he asks, voice rough with exhaustion.

You smile against his shoulder. “No.”

Dean huffs a laugh, but when you glance up, his expression is unreadable—something guarded, something uncertain.

“I meant what I said,” he says after a moment. “This life isn’t clean. It’s not safe. Being with me? It means something. You don’t just walk away from it.”

You tilt your head, searching his face. “Are you asking me to?”

Dean’s fingers tighten against your waist. “No.” He exhales, something shifting in his gaze—something like vulnerability. “I’m asking if you can handle it.”

You reach up, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the scar on his shoulder, one of many marks that tell a story you’re only just starting to understand.

“I think,” you murmur against his skin, “I can handle you just fine.”

Dean makes a sound—something between a groan and a chuckle—before flipping you onto your back, caging you beneath him once more.

“Sweetheart,” he drawls, his smirk slow and wicked, “you have no idea what you’ve just signed up for.”

But the way he kisses you after?

It’s a promise.

And you’re not going anywhere.

The familiar buzz of the tattoo gun fills the air, but this time, the sound isn’t the only thing making your pulse race.

You’re back at Winchester Ink, straddling the tattoo chair, your shirt discarded, leaving only your black lace bra as Dean hovers behind you. His fingers graze your skin—not with the same desperate need as last night, but with something just as intense.

Possession.

“You sure about this, sweetheart?” His voice is low, teasing, but you can feel the weight behind it. This isn’t just any tattoo—this is his mark, something new, something permanent.

You glance over your shoulder, meeting his eyes—dark, intense, hungry—and smirk. “You gonna keep asking me that, or are you actually gonna put your money where your mouth is?”

Dean chuckles, shaking his head, but there’s something sharper behind his amusement. He leans in, his breath ghosting over the back of your neck. “Careful, sweetheart. You’re playing with fire.”

Your stomach tightens, heat curling low in your belly, but you don’t break eye contact. “Maybe I like the burn.”

Dean mutters a curse under his breath before snapping on his gloves. The scent of antiseptic and ink fills your lungs as he dips the needle, and then—

The first sting.

Your body tenses for half a second, but Dean’s free hand finds your waist, grounding you. “Breathe, baby,” he murmurs, his tone softer now, intimate. “You know the drill.”

You exhale slowly, sinking into the sensation. The pain is sharp, but it fades into something almost hypnotic, especially with the way Dean’s fingers press into your hip, steadying you.

The shop is closed—Dean made sure of that—but the thought of anyone walking in, seeing you half-dressed, stretched out beneath his hands, sends a thrill through you.

“What’s it gonna be?” you ask after a while, voice laced with curiosity. You hadn’t asked for a design, just told Dean you wanted something from him.

Dean hums, his tone smug. “Something to remind everyone who you belong to.”

Your breath catches, but you don’t argue.

You wouldn’t want it any other way.

Minutes pass, the pain blending into pleasure, and when Dean finally leans back, wiping the fresh ink clean, you swear you feel his lips brush your shoulder.

“Done,” he murmurs.

You twist to look at his work, and your stomach flips when you see it.

A small, intricate sigil—subtle, but unmistakably his. Right along your ribs, where only he would ever truly see it.

You glance up at him, your heart pounding. “That what you wanted?”

Dean peels off his gloves, tossing them aside before gripping your jaw, tilting your face up to his. His thumb brushes over your lips, his gaze dark.

“Oh, sweetheart.” His smirk is slow, dangerous. “We both know this is just the beginning.”

The tattoo still burns, a dull ache that lingers under your skin—but it’s nothing compared to the way Dean is looking at you right now.

You’re still straddling the chair, breath unsteady, your skin warm under the shop’s low lighting. The ink along your ribs feels like a brand, like a claim, and Dean? He’s drinking you in like he’s memorizing every single second of this moment.

His fingers brush over the fresh ink—featherlight, barely a touch—but it still makes you shiver.

“You like it?” His voice is rough, low, laced with something possessive.

You meet his gaze, and for a moment, there’s nothing between you but the hum of the tattoo gun, the scent of ink and antiseptic, the tension coiled thick in the air.

“I love it,” you admit, and it’s not just about the tattoo.

Dean's smirk flickers, something darker lurking beneath it. He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because it means you’re mine now.”

A shiver runs through you, but it’s not fear. It’s need.

You don’t pull away. Instead, you tilt your head, baring your throat just slightly—an unspoken challenge. “Oh yeah?” you tease, your voice softer now, breathless. “That what this means?”

Dean huffs a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. His fingers trail lower, over the ink, then down to your waist, pulling you forward until your chest brushes against his.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours, “you’ve been mine since the second you walked into this shop.”

You should push him away. Tell him he’s being ridiculous, that a tattoo doesn’t mean ownership. That he doesn’t own you.

But the truth?

You don’t want to belong to anyone else.

So instead, you smirk, dragging your nails down his chest, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath your touch. “Then maybe,” you murmur, “you should remind me.”

Dean’s grin turns wicked, his hands gripping your hips, his mouth already crashing onto yours.

And as he presses you back into the chair, the unfinished tattoos and the world outside forgotten, you realize something:

You don’t need a reminder.

You were his from the start.

--

The night is quiet—too quiet.

Winchester Ink should’ve been locked up an hour ago, but Dean insisted on keeping the doors closed while he finished some business in the back. You were wiping down the front desk, waiting for him, when the first gunshot shattered the silence.

Pop-pop-pop!

The windows explode inward, glass raining down as you instinctively duck behind the counter. Your heart slams against your ribs as tires screech outside, bullets peppering the front of the shop like a damn war zone.

Then—heavy footsteps. A voice shouting your name.

“Sweetheart!”

Dean.

He bursts in from the back, gun already drawn, his sharp green eyes scanning the chaos before landing on you. In a second, he’s in front of you, crouching low, shielding your body with his own. His breath is rough, his muscles tense, but his voice? Steady as hell.

“You okay?” he demands, his fingers curling around your wrist, checking for injuries.

“I’m fine,” you manage, swallowing back the adrenaline climbing up your throat. “Dean, what the hell—”

Another round of gunfire cuts you off.

Dean’s jaw clenches. He peeks over the counter, eyes narrowing as he counts heads outside. You follow his gaze—black SUVs, men with weapons, their faces hidden under masks.

“They’re here for you,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he mutters darkly. “They are.”

He turns back to you, and for the first time, you see something raw in his expression—not just anger, not just control, but fear. Not for himself. For you.

“We gotta move, sweetheart,” he says, shifting so his body shields you completely. “Stay behind me. No arguments.”

You nod, your fingers curling around his jacket as he pulls you toward the back exit. His gun stays up, movements sharp, calculated. The Dean Winchester you know—the inked-up, cocky-as-hell tattoo artist—is gone. This Dean? This is the real one.

The leader. The fighter. The man who kills for the people he loves.

A shadow moves near the doorway, and Dean reacts instantly. Bang! One shot—dead center. The masked man drops without a sound.

Your breath catches. You’ve never seen him like this. Never seen death come so easily to him.

Dean turns back, his hand finding yours. “You still with me?”

You meet his eyes. Despite the gunfire, the danger, the fact that he just killed someone—you're not scared. Not of him.

“I’m with you.”

Something flickers across his face—relief, maybe—but there’s no time to dwell on it.

More men are coming.

Dean tightens his grip, pulling you close, his lips brushing your forehead before he exhales sharply. “Then let’s get the hell out of here.”

And as the two of you disappear into the night, chased by bullets and fire, you realize something.

Dean Winchester isn’t just dangerous.

He’s deadly.

And you just walked willingly into his world.

The shop smells like antiseptic and fresh ink, but beneath it lingers something metallic. Gunpowder. Blood.

Dean’s grip on your wrist is tight, dragging you through the back hallway of Winchester Ink, his jaw clenched so hard you’re surprised his teeth haven’t cracked. The shootout from earlier still echoes in your ears, your pulse hammering in your throat.

You should be scared.

But you’re not.

You should be questioning everything—how many people Dean just killed, how easily he moved, how ruthlessly he handled the ambush.

But all you can think about is the way he shielded you, how his first instinct was to grab you, tuck you against his chest, his own body between yours and the bullets.

Now, inside the safe room of the shop, he’s pacing like a caged animal, gun still clutched in his fist, blood splattered across his knuckles.

“Dean.” Your voice is steadier than you expect.

He stops, his sharp green eyes snapping to yours, wild and dark.

“I told you this would happen,” he growls, voice low, ragged. “Told you my life isn’t safe.”

You take a step toward him. “And I told you I could handle it.”

Dean exhales sharply, shaking his head, his fingers flexing like he’s trying to keep himself from reaching for you. “You don’t get it, sweetheart.” His voice is quieter now, rougher. “I kill people. Not just assholes who deserve it—anyone who’s a threat. Anyone who crosses me.”

“I know.”

His brow furrows. “Do you?”

You take another step, close enough now that you can feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the blood drying on his skin. He’s still Dean—the man who tattooed you with steady hands, the man who kisses like he’s trying to brand you, the man who just tore through enemies to keep you alive.

Your fingers graze his wrist, just above the gun. “You could’ve let me go,” you whisper. “Could’ve left me behind.”

Dean lets out a breath, harsh and uneven. “Not an option.”

You press your palm against his chest, right over his heart. “Then stop trying to scare me away.”

His control snaps.

One second, he’s standing there, tense, on edge—then his hands are on you, everywhere. Gripping your hips, dragging you flush against him, his mouth crushing against yours.

It’s not gentle. It’s desperate.

Like he needs to feel you alive, solid, beneath his hands.

“Mine,” he mutters against your lips, his voice raw. “You’re mine.”

You nod, gasping against his mouth. “Yours.”

Dean pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath ragged. “Then from now on, sweetheart? You stay glued to my side.”

Your lips curl into a smirk. “You just want an excuse to keep your hands on me.”

Dean huffs a laugh, his grip tightening. “Damn right I do.”

And just like that, Winchester Ink isn’t just a tattoo shop anymore.

It’s a battleground.

And you?

You’re standing right next to the king.

The aftermath of the shootout settles into a strange, electric silence. The back room of Winchester Ink feels too small, too charged. Outside, Dean’s men are cleaning up the mess—disposing of bodies, wiping down shell casings—but inside, it’s just you and him.

Your pulse hasn’t slowed since the moment the bullets started flying. You should be shaken, but instead, you’re standing in front of Dean, watching the way his chest still rises and falls too fast, his gun hanging loosely in his grip.

His knuckles are raw. Blood smears across his inked skin, a dark contrast against the swirling black designs crawling up his forearm.

He looks dangerous.

He is dangerous.

But the only thing you feel when you step closer is heat.

Dean watches you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. His fingers twitch, like he’s deciding between pulling you closer or pushing you away.

“You’re not scared,” he finally mutters, almost accusingly.

You raise a brow. “No.”

Dean lets out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “You should be.”

You shrug. “You keep saying that.”

His jaw clenches. “Because I keep waiting for you to wake up and realize I’m not a good man, sweetheart. I’m the kind of guy people run from.”

You tilt your head, letting your gaze drag over him—the blood, the bruises forming along his jaw, the way he’s still standing between you and the door, as if another threat could come at any moment.

“You think I don’t see who you are?” you ask softly. “You think I don’t get it?”

Dean says nothing, his silence heavy.

“I know what you do. I know what this shop really is,” you continue, stepping closer until your fingers ghost over his forearm, tracing the ink there. “And I know you didn’t hesitate to put yourself between me and those bullets.”

Dean swallows hard. “That’s the problem.”

You shake your head. “No, Dean. That’s the part that tells me everything I need to know.”

His eyes search yours, something flickering behind them—uncertainty. Vulnerability. Maybe even something darker, something deeper.

“You’re not afraid of me,” he finally says, quieter now.

“No.”

He exhales slowly, shaking his head like he doesn’t quite believe you. Then, before you can say anything else, his hands are on you again—tugging, gripping, claiming. His lips crash against yours in a kiss that’s all teeth and desperation, like he’s trying to consume you.

You don’t resist.

You meet him with the same fire, your fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer. You can taste blood on his lips, feel the way his breath stutters when you press your body against his.

Dean breaks away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his hands flexing against your waist.

“I kill for you,” he murmurs, voice raw. “I’ll burn the whole fucking city down if it means keeping you safe.”

You don’t doubt him.

And that’s the most dangerous part of all.

It’s been months since that night—since the shootout, since Dean pulled you close, breath ragged and raw, demanding you stay with him. Since you allowed yourself to slip deeper into his world, where danger was an ever-present shadow and the line between love and possession was blurred beyond recognition.

Now, you're sitting in the back of Winchester Ink, the familiar scent of fresh ink and leather comforting in a way you didn’t expect. Your shirt is tight, stretched over the curve of your stomach. Your fingers rest lightly on it, tracing the tiny life growing inside of you.

Dean’s son.

The weight of that realization still sometimes hits you like a freight train—his blood runs through you, through the baby you’re carrying.

You’re not just his lover anymore. You’re the mother of his son.

And, God, does he make sure everyone knows it.

Everywhere you go now, there’s the unmistakable, possessive edge in the way Dean looks at you. His hands never leave you, whether he’s holding your waist or brushing his thumb over your wrist. The people in the shop, his men, they all treat you with reverence—like you’re untouchable.

Because you are. To him, anyway.

You shift on the couch, trying to get comfortable, but the weight of your growing belly makes everything feel… off. You smile softly, your hand resting again on your stomach.

“Is it kicking again?” Dean’s voice breaks through your thoughts, soft but commanding, as always.

You glance up to see him standing in the doorway, his dark eyes already on you, softened by something that could almost be called gentleness—a rare sight from the mafia king. His hands are in his pockets, but he’s still intimidating as hell, the muscles of his arms straining under the black shirt he’s wearing.

“Yeah,” you admit, a small smile tugging at your lips as you rub your stomach. “It’s starting to feel real now, you know?”

Dean crosses the room in a few long strides, his gaze never leaving you. He kneels beside you, hands instantly reaching for your stomach like they always do when he’s near. His fingers are warm, rough against your skin.

“Damn right it’s real,” he mutters, a soft grin curling his lips. “You’re carrying my heir.”

His words, so heavy with ownership, almost make you laugh, but then you feel a flutter under your palm. The baby kicks again, strong enough to make you gasp.

Dean’s face softens, his hand pressing gently against your stomach, as if he’s trying to connect with the tiny life growing inside of you.

“You feel that?” His voice is low, almost reverent.

“I do.” You smile up at him.

He’s quiet for a moment, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin. His gaze flickers up to meet yours, and for a brief second, you see something in him that no one else gets to see: vulnerability.

“You’re not just mine now, you know.” His voice is barely above a whisper.

You raise an eyebrow, confused.

He meets your eyes, his expression fierce and possessive. “You’re carrying my son. That’s not something I take lightly.”

You know he means it. You know Dean doesn’t do lightly. He owns everything he touches, and now, he’s made you his queen.

You reach out, cupping his jaw with your hand, pulling him closer. “I know, Dean. I’m not going anywhere.”

He lets out a breath of relief, but there’s something darker, something more primal in the way he kisses you—his lips urgent against yours, demanding.

His hand moves lower, caressing the side of your belly, the other pressing against the back of your neck to pull you even closer. You melt into him, feeling his warmth, his power, and the weight of his love—of his claim—surrounding you.

You are his, and you always will be.

Dean pulls back just enough to look you in the eye, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “I’ll protect you. And the baby. No one will ever hurt either of you.”

You nod, smiling softly at him. “I know.”

His hand slides up to your neck, cupping your jaw, his gaze darkening. “Good.” Then, with a soft but insistent pull, he presses his lips to yours again. His kiss is rougher this time, more demanding, as though trying to make you feel the depth of his promise.

As you melt into him, you know one thing for sure:

You are his. Completely.

And no one, not even the world outside these walls, can take that from you.

--

The sterile scent of the hospital is sharp in the air, mingling with the soft beeps of machines around you. You’re propped up in a bed, your body sore from the grueling hours of labor. Your arms are still aching from where the IVs had been placed, but there’s a weight on your chest now—the kind of weight that makes everything worth it.

The small bundle in your arms—your baby, Dean’s baby—softly coos, the tiny body swaddled in a pale blue blanket. You stare down at the little face, marveling at the miracle you just created, your heart swelling with something fierce and protective.

Dean’s sitting beside you, his rough fingers lightly brushing the side of your hand, his gaze never leaving you or the baby. He hasn’t moved since the moment the baby was placed in your arms, his body radiating tension as if the world outside could suddenly break in and take everything from him. From you.

His eyes are dark, intense—like a man who’s seen too much blood to believe in peace. But the way he looks at the baby in your arms? There’s something almost gentle there, something protective and soft, like this tiny being is the only thing that could make him show any weakness at all.

It’s a weakness you know he’ll do anything to protect.

But you’re not prepared for what comes next.

The door bursts open.

Your heart skips, your hand instinctively tightening around the baby. Dean is on his feet in a second, moving so fast you barely register the movement. His body is between you and the door before the intruder has even fully entered the room.

A man—dark hair, tense shoulders—stands in the doorway, his eyes flickering quickly over Dean, then to you. He’s got a gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans, the cold metallic glint catching your eye.

Dean’s expression is pure stone, his hands already reaching for the gun hidden beneath his jacket.

“I told you,” the man says, his voice low but sharp, “the baby's the next target.”

Dean’s jaw clenches, his teeth grinding together. “Get out.” His voice is thick with menace, each word weighted with the danger of a man who has nothing left to lose.

“I don’t think you understand,” the man says, taking one step forward, the gun clearly visible now. His hand rests on it, like he's daring Dean to move. “We’ve got orders. The baby’s a liability.”

You flinch at the words, the weight of the situation settling in. You’re not just the mother of Dean’s offspring anymore. You’re a target.

Dean’s movements are so fast, you don’t even have time to react. He pulls the gun from his waistband, smooth as a snake, and in one fluid motion, he’s pointing it at the intruder’s head.

“Leave. Now.” His voice is ice-cold, every syllable laced with authority and the threat of violence. The room feels smaller, suffocating. The air is thick with the promise of danger.

The man’s hand hovers over his gun, but Dean’s eyes never waver, never falter.

“You don’t want to do this,” the man warns, a tremor of hesitation creeping into his voice.

“Last warning,” Dean growls, his finger pressing lightly on the trigger. “Get. Out.”

The man stares at Dean for a moment longer, before his gaze flickers to you—the mother of his enemy’s spawn—and then he seems to make a decision. Slowly, he backs out of the room, never breaking eye contact with Dean.

When the door clicks shut, the tension in the room snaps. Dean holsters his gun, but his body remains rigid, every muscle in his frame still coiled tight, as if he’s waiting for the next attack.

You can’t breathe.

It’s almost too much—the rush of emotions, the exhaustion from labor, the fear that still clings to you. You want to scream, but you only manage to whisper. “What was that, Dean? What the hell was that?”

Dean turns toward you, his eyes filled with something primal, his hand going straight to your side, pulling you against him. His arms envelop you like a fortress, protective and warm.

“They’ll never stop coming,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice thick with the weight of the life he’s pulled you into. “But I’ll never let them touch you. Never let them take what’s mine.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, your hand resting on his chest. “Dean…”

“Don’t say anything, sweetheart. Not right now.” His hands cradle your face, his thumb gently brushing across your cheek. “You’re not just carrying our baby anymore. You’re my queen. And anyone who thinks they can take either of you, they’ll be facing a war they don’t want.”

A chill runs through you, but it’s not just from fear. There’s something else in his voice—something deep, something dangerous.

And it’s terrifying.

But it’s also comforting.

Because you know one thing, without a doubt:

Dean Winchester doesn’t lose. Not anymore.

And neither do you.

The room falls into silence again, save for the soft breathing of the baby in your arms, a new life and a new threat, forever intertwined with Dean’s world of shadows and blood.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The buzz of the tattoo machines fills the air in Winchester Ink, the low hum a familiar soundtrack to your day. Your hands are busy, one on the counter, the other moving skillfully to help a new client pick out their design. The shop is quieter than usual, but it’s still early, the door just having closed behind the last customer who left for the day. The steady rhythm of your work is a welcome distraction—until you hear the soft sound of footsteps approaching.

You glance over your shoulder, only to stop dead in your tracks.

There, standing in the middle of the shop, is Dean. But he’s not alone.

In his arms, swaddled snugly in a soft gray blanket, is your baby. The little one is asleep, content and peaceful—completely unaware of the chaos that swirled around its birth. Dean’s eyes meet yours, the same possessive look in them, but now, there’s something softer, something tender beneath the hard edge.

He takes a few steps toward the wall, his gaze never leaving you.

“I’m teaching them the family business,” Dean says, a smirk playing on his lips.

You blink, processing the words. “What?”

Dean doesn’t answer directly. Instead, he pulls a small padded wall-mounted bassinet from beside one of the stations, carefully setting it down against the tattoo wall. He adjusts a few straps, making sure the baby is securely tucked inside.

You watch, your heart skipping a beat. There’s something about the way Dean handles the baby—so careful, so deliberate—that takes you by surprise. He’s never showed much patience with anything in his life… except for this.

“Dean…” You take a step forward, a small frown creasing your brow. “What are you doing?”

He shoots you that smug grin of his, the one that drives you crazy in all the best ways. “I’m teaching them how to survive in this world. It’s not enough you’re carrying our blood. I need them to know how to handle this.”

You blink again, unsure if you’re about to laugh or scold him. "You’re setting the baby down against the tattoo wall?"

Dean’s jaw tightens slightly, his gaze flickering to the little bundle. “It’s not just any wall. It's our wall.” His voice drops lower, his eyes flashing with that dangerous glint you know too well. “You’re not the only one around here that needs to be toughened up, sweetheart.”

Before you can reply, a soft cry rings through the air, and you turn to see the baby stirring, fingers curled, lips pursed as it starts to wake.

You rush over without thinking, your heart pounding, instinct driving you as you scoop the baby into your arms.

Dean watches you for a moment, his posture still tall, like he owns the room. When your eyes meet his, there’s something in the way he looks at you—a hint of pride, mixed with something dark, something almost possessive.

The baby settles into your arms, its tiny face scrunched in that adorable way babies do when they’re just waking up. You smile softly, the weight of your love for this little one threatening to break you. But Dean’s presence beside you is like a shield, strong and unwavering, giving you strength you didn’t know you had.

“There you go,” Dean mutters, his voice softer now, his arms crossing over his chest. “Just need to toughen up a bit more, kid.”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you gently rock the baby. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

“Maybe. But in this world, we need to be.”

You raise an eyebrow, but before you can respond, a customer enters the shop—an old friend of Dean’s, someone who’s clearly seen their fair share of tattoos, judging by the sleeve of ink already visible on their arms. They’re a regular, and you’re used to handling them on your own, but today, Dean stands beside you, just a step behind, his protective aura nearly suffocating.

The client sits down in one of the chairs, and you turn your attention back to them, pulling out a design sketch from the folder. “So, you wanted something custom, right?”

Dean moves to stand just behind you, his gaze flickering from you to the client, eyes hard. His presence is imposing, like a lion lurking nearby. His fingers brush against the top of your shoulder, a subtle reminder that he’s still there.

“You’re getting the best I’ve got,” Dean mutters, his voice low enough only the client can hear. “Don’t waste my time.”

The client hesitates, looking up at him and then at you. There’s a moment of tension in the air, as if Dean’s mere presence commands their respect. They nod quickly, understanding that there’s more than just ink on the line here.

You work on the design, laying out the details, explaining the placement as you always do. The buzz of the tattoo gun fills the air, but your mind can’t help but wander back to Dean—watching, waiting, always so protective.

And when your eyes flick to the bassinet against the wall, you see Dean’s gaze fixed on the baby, the softness in his eyes evident, even if he’s trying to hide it.

The family business, he’d called it.

And as you glance at the client, then back at Dean, you realize the full extent of what that means.

You and your son are the center of Dean’s world. His empire. His everything.

And no one, not even in this room, would dare to touch you or the life you’ve built.

Dean would see to that.

---

The sun is warm on your skin, a soft breeze rustling the trees around you. For the first time in what feels like forever, you’re not in Winchester Ink, you’re not in the chaos of Dean’s world. You’re outside, in the real world, with your baby tucked safely in your arms. It’s a rare moment of peace, and you’re soaking it in.

Dean walks beside you, his presence still larger than life, but today, it feels different. The weight of his usual dominance is softer, almost protective in a way that makes you feel safe—not just from the world outside, but from him.

You glance over at him. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, showing the tattoos that run the length of his arms, his posture still straight, but his eyes are warm as he watches the baby in your arms. Every step he takes, every glance he throws your way, speaks volumes. He’s here—truly here. No business meetings, no threats, no blood spilled. Just him—Dean, your partner, and the father of your child.

"How do you feel?" he asks quietly, his voice always so gruff but softened by the moment.

You look down at your baby, whose tiny hand has wrapped around your finger, a soft coo escaping from them. You smile, looking back at Dean. "Like everything’s perfect."

Dean’s lips curl into a rare smile, one that’s softer than you’ve seen in a long time. It’s a smile that feels more genuine than any of the cold, calculated grins he gives in the tattoo shop or when he’s dealing with business.

You walk through the park, the sound of children laughing and playing around you, birds chirping overhead. It’s almost too perfect—like you’ve stepped into a moment that isn’t meant for people like Dean. People like you.

But here you are.

Dean takes a step closer, his body brushing against yours, his hand brushing against your waist protectively. His gaze flicks over your shoulder to the baby in your arms, and you feel a shiver of warmth run through you.

"I can’t believe how small they are," Dean murmurs, his voice low, almost like he’s in awe.

You smile down at the little one. "They’re only going to get bigger, you know."

Dean’s eyes meet yours, a flash of something fierce flickering in his gaze. "I’ll protect them, sweetheart. No one’s taking what’s mine. Not now. Not ever."

You chuckle softly, but there’s an edge to your voice when you reply, "I think we’re safe here. We’re just… family today."

Dean’s smile deepens, but there’s still that ever-present glint in his eyes—the reminder that no matter where you are, he’s still the king of his world. And that’s a world that’s made of blood, ink, and power.

"Family," he echoes, the word heavy on his tongue. He looks down at the baby again, his expression softening. "Yeah. This is all I care about now."

You lean into him slightly, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the strong beat of his heart beneath your palm. "You’re good at this, you know. Being a dad."

Dean’s eyebrow raises, a small, teasing smirk forming on his lips. "I wasn’t sure I’d be any good at it, but I guess I’m figuring it out." His gaze softens as he looks at the baby. "I’d kill anyone who thought otherwise."

You roll your eyes, but you can’t suppress the smile that tugs at your lips. "You really do make everything sound like a threat."

Dean chuckles, the sound rich and deep, and for a moment, you allow yourself to imagine a life like this—simple, quiet, full of moments that are just about you and him and your baby. A family.

But even as that thought swirls in your mind, you know that this peace, this quiet moment, is fleeting. Dean’s world doesn’t just let you walk away from it. It pulls you back in, no matter how hard you try to resist. And you’ve come to accept that. Because as dangerous as that world is, it’s the one where your heart beats the strongest.

And as long as Dean’s by your side, you’re ready to face it. Together.

Dean’s hand slips into yours as you both stop at a bench, the baby still in your arms, nestled comfortably against your chest. He sits down first, and you follow, sitting next to him. He wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer, his hand resting on your leg, grounding you in this rare moment of normalcy.

The world around you continues—kids laughing, families strolling by—but for you, in this moment, time stands still.

This is your family. And Dean’s right. This is all that matters.

"You’re my everything, sweetheart," Dean says softly, his lips brushing your temple. "You and the baby. I’ll never let anyone come between us."

You nod against him, breathing in the scent of him—leather, ink, and something uniquely Dean. "I know."

And for once, you allow yourself to believe it completely.

--

The sun is low in the sky now, casting a warm, golden glow over the park. You and Dean are sitting on the same bench, your toddler nestled comfortably on your lap, their small hands wrapped around a stuffed toy. The baby—who’s growing bigger by the day—rests in the stroller beside you, peacefully asleep.

It’s a rare moment of tranquility, and for once, you feel the weight of the world ease off your shoulders. The tension from the past months, from the dangers that come with being with Dean and the world he inhabits, seems to dissipate when you’re here, in this bubble of calm.

Dean’s hand rests on your thigh, his thumb absentmindedly stroking over your skin. His eyes are on you, but it’s not the usual hard stare. There’s something softer there—a vulnerability that you don’t see often. He’s been different ever since the baby arrived, a side of him you’ve been learning to understand.

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “What are you thinking about?”

Dean’s lips curl into a smirk, but there’s something nervous about it. “Just… you, sweetheart. You and the kids. And what I want to do next.”

Before you can ask what he means, you feel a small hand tug at your sleeve. Your toddler, wide-eyed and eager, pulls on your arm to get your attention.

“Mommy!” they say, their voice high-pitched with excitement. “Look!”

You look down, your heart melting at the sight of your toddler, holding out a small box, the velvet lining peeking through.

“Mommy,” they repeat, clearly serious. “This is for you.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You glance up at Dean, whose gaze has softened into something that makes your heart race. He’s watching you with that same intensity, but now it’s mixed with something else—something raw and honest.

You take the box from your kid, your fingers trembling slightly as you open it. Inside, nestled carefully, is a simple yet stunning ring. A diamond, elegant but not flashy, set in white gold with delicate engraving along the band. The ring that could change everything.

“Dean…” you breathe, unable to tear your eyes away from the glint of the ring. You glance back at him, your heart pounding. “What is this?”

Dean stands up, slowly, carefully, his hand reaching out for yours. He drops to one knee in front of you, his movements deliberate, measured.

“Sweetheart,” he says, his voice surprisingly gentle, “I’ve never been good with words. Never been good at this… stuff.” His gaze flicks to the toddler, who’s watching intently, their small face beaming with pride. “But I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

You feel your heart skip a beat, your hand instinctively going to your chest. You know exactly where this is going.

“I don’t need the world, not anymore.” Dean’s voice drops even lower, his eyes never leaving yours. “All I need is you. And I want to make sure you and the kids are mine. For good. So, what do you say?”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you look at him—really look at him. The man who’s seen things that would make most men break. The man who’s shown you what it means to truly care. The man who’s protected you, fought for you, and built a family with you.

“I—” You swallow, emotion thick in your throat. “Yes. Yes, Dean, I’ll marry you.”

Dean smiles—a rare, genuine smile—and slides the ring onto your finger. The weight of it, the finality, makes your heart swell. You’ve never been more sure of anything yourself. This moment, this family, this life—it’s all yours. Together.

He stands up, pulling you into his arms, the ring sparkling between you. Your toddler jumps into your arms, eager to be a part of the hug, and Dean chuckles, holding you both close.

“We’re a family,” Dean murmurs against your hair. “And we’re never going anywhere.”

You close your eyes, the world around you disappearing for a moment as you let the warmth of the moment settle in. The past, the dangers, the blood—it doesn’t matter anymore.

This is your family. And Dean’s made it clear that he will fight for it. Fight for you.

And you’d fight for him, too.

Forever.

--

It’s been years since that day in the park. Since the proposal, the wedding, the birth of your son. Time has passed, and with it, your family has only grown stronger. Your little one, once a tiny bundle, is now a teenager—tall and lean, with that same fire in their eyes that Dean has. They’ve spent their years in the tattoo shop, learning the business, the art of ink, and more importantly, the way of the Winchester world.

The shop is bustling as usual, a steady stream of clients coming in and out, getting their tattoos, chatting, and sharing their stories. But today, something feels different. You can feel the shift, the weight of the next generation taking shape. Your child—your teenager—stands at the counter, just like you once did. Their gaze flicks to Dean, who’s overseeing everything as usual, arms crossed, his intense green eyes never missing a beat.

Dean’s been watching them grow, guiding them, teaching them. Not just the art of tattoos, but the code that runs deeper than ink—that’s part of the Winchester legacy.

You’re sitting at the back, flipping through some paperwork, but your eyes can’t help but watch the scene unfold in front of you. Your son is sitting with one of the artists, learning the flow of a new design, a quiet determination in their posture. They’re like a mirror of Dean in so many ways—calm, collected, and with a sharpness that hints at something darker, something deeper.

Dean’s voice breaks through the hum of the shop, a low rumble that commands attention. “Kid,” he calls, his gaze sharp but approving. “You’re not just here to learn how to make art. You’re here to learn how to run this place. And when the time comes, it’ll be your job to make sure it stays running.”

Your son looks up at him, nodding with that same serious expression that’s so much like Dean’s. “I know, Dad.” They’re not scared. They’re not hesitant. It’s like they were born for this.

Dean nods approvingly and walks over to where your son is working. He places a hand on their shoulder—a gesture of both authority and affection. The weight of that touch is something you know all too well. It’s the same touch he’s given you, the same reassurance that says you’re mine, and I’ll make sure you know it.

You stand up from the back and move toward them, quietly observing. Your heart swells with pride, mixed with the heavy weight of the life they’re stepping into.

“Everything okay?” you ask, your voice soft but steady.

Dean glances up at you, a smile tugging at his lips. “They’re learning. Got a good head on their shoulders.”

You look at your teenager, who’s now carefully sketching out a new design, their movements swift and precise. Their concentration is unnerving, even more so than Dean’s at their age.

“You’re teaching them the ropes?” you ask, your gaze flicking to Dean.

“I’m teaching them everything,” Dean replies, his voice low and controlled. “Business, loyalty, the family code.” His eyes flicker back to your son, watching them work. “They’ve got the skill. But they need to understand what it takes to lead.”

You swallow, your heart tight in your chest. It’s not just tattoos Dean is passing on—it’s everything that comes with being in this world, with him. The mafia lifestyle, the control, the power that pulses through his veins.

You’ve seen the darkness that follows Dean everywhere, the long hours, the moments when his past comes rushing back. You’ve seen the way his eyes harden, the way he can turn from loving to lethal in an instant. And now your son is learning that same side of him—the side that can protect and destroy with equal intensity.

“Do they know what this life means?” you ask, your voice suddenly quiet, worried.

Dean’s gaze softens just for a moment. “They will. They’re not a kid anymore. They understand what we do.” His eyes shift to the teenager again. “And they’ve got what it takes to keep this legacy going. I see it in them. They’re not afraid.”

The words hit you harder than you expect, and for a brief moment, you feel a flash of the weight of it all. This life is dangerous, it’s unpredictable, and the world you’ve built together—your family, your empire—is always under threat.

But then your son looks up, meets your eyes, and gives you that small, knowing smile. It’s as if they’ve already made peace with this life, just like you and Dean have. They are part of this, and there’s no turning back.

“We’ve got your back, Mom,” they say, their voice steady. “Always.”

The words are simple, but they carry more weight than you could ever imagine. You feel a lump form in your throat, but you swallow it down.

“Just don’t forget that you’ve got to stay smart. There’s always a price,” you reply, trying to keep your voice level. “The tattoos, the ink—it’s not just art. It’s a symbol of what we stand for. You remember that, okay?”

Your son nods, their eyes filled with the same quiet confidence you’ve seen in Dean for years. “I will.”

Dean steps forward then, his arm wrapping around you, pulling you close to him. You lean into his warmth, your hand resting on his chest.

“This is their world now, too,” he murmurs against your ear. “We’ll make sure they’re ready for it.”

The weight of it presses down on you, but you know Dean’s right. This world is theirs now. The legacy is theirs to carry, to shape, and to protect.

And as you look at your son, standing so tall and unflinching in the face of everything this life demands, you know that Dean’s right about one thing: they’ve got what it takes.

The Winchester name will live on.

The night had started like any other, calm and quiet. The tattoo shop had closed for the evening, and the low hum of the neon lights outside cast a soft glow on the shop floor as you and Dean sat in the back, the baby long since tucked into bed and your teenager nowhere to be seen. The air smelled like ink and leather, a familiar comfort in the chaos of your life.

But that peace shattered in an instant.

Dean’s phone buzzed once. Then twice. Then a third time. He didn’t pick up, not yet. The silence lingered for a moment too long before you saw his posture shift—his muscles tensing, his eyes narrowing. You could feel it in the air; something was wrong.

"Dean?" you asked, but it was too late. He was already moving, pulling his phone from his pocket with a cold, calculated expression.

He answered the call.

“Where the hell are they?” Dean’s voice, usually low and measured, was tight with barely contained fury. “What do you want?”

You felt it then—the gut-wrenching, icy realization.

Your heart skipped. You were already on your feet, rushing towards him.

“Dean, what’s going on?” you asked, your voice shaky.

Dean didn’t answer you right away. His eyes were locked on the phone, his lips tight, his jaw clenched. He took a slow breath before his words hit you like a freight train.

“They’ve got our kid.”

A rush of cold terror slammed into you. Your breath hitched. “What? Who? What the hell do you mean?”

“Somebody took them. For ransom,” Dean growled, his hand tightening around the phone. "They want money, but it’s not about money. It’s never just about money."

You could see it now—the flicker of rage in Dean’s eyes. A darkness, deep and unsettling. His body was wound so tight you could practically feel the tension radiating off him. He hung up abruptly, his face pale but his eyes burning with something darker.

You took a step back, your heart pounding in your chest, your mind racing. “What do we do? Dean?”

Dean’s eyes flashed with a storm of emotions, none of them good. “We get them back. Now.”

He turned on his heel and strode toward the back of the shop, where the emergency stash of weapons was kept. You followed, heart in your throat. You knew Dean better than anyone. He was a force—calculating, ruthless, deadly—but seeing him like this, seeing that raw desperation and fury... it made your blood run cold.

“Dean, wait, let’s just—”

“No,” he interrupted sharply, the venom in his voice making you flinch. “No more talking. This isn’t some negotiation. This is personal. Whoever thought they could touch my kid is about to learn what happens when you mess with the Winchesters.”

You were barely able to keep up with him as he grabbed his gun, the sound of it clicking into place ringing in the otherwise silent room. He was already sliding on his jacket, the hard edge of his jawline like stone.

“You’re not going alone,” you said, your voice firm, no longer the shaky one you had been a moment ago.

Dean stopped, the briefest hesitation crossing his face. His eyes flicked to you, narrowing, but you saw that brief flicker of worry. It didn’t last. He took a deep breath and turned to face you.

“You’re staying here with the baby,” he ordered, his voice low and controlled. But the undercurrent of his tone betrayed him. He was barely holding it together. “You’re safer here.”

“Don’t tell me what’s safer, Dean,” you snapped, taking a step forward. “They’re our kid. I’m going with you.”

He gave you one long, unreadable look before his lips twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile, but more of a grimace.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he muttered under his breath. “They’ve crossed a line. And I’m about to show them just how bad an idea that was.”

Before you could argue, Dean was out the door, moving fast. You had no choice but to follow.

The city streets blurred around you as you and Dean sped through the darkened roads. Dean’s knuckles were white on the wheel, his jaw clenching so tightly you thought it might break. His gaze was laser-focused on the road, but his mind was already somewhere else—somewhere far darker.

The message had been clear. The voice on the other end had been muffled, but the demand had been simple. Money, or we end them. But the truth was far more terrifying than that. Dean knew this wasn’t just a random kidnapping. This was a message.

And Dean never let messages slide.

You didn’t dare ask questions as the car whipped through the streets. Every second felt like an eternity, but Dean’s pace never faltered. You could feel the anger rolling off of him, thick and palpable. He was slipping back into that dangerous, unpredictable rhythm you knew too well.

“I’m gonna tear their fucking world apart,” Dean muttered, his voice tight with venom. “You don’t touch what’s mine and expect to walk away. No one does.”

He slammed the car to a stop in front of an old, rundown building—no lights, no signs, just a hollow shell of a place. His eyes flicked to you, once again soft for a fraction of a second. “Stay close, sweetheart. Don’t let them get to you.”

Before you could respond, Dean was out of the car, moving like a shadow—fast, calculated, lethal. You grabbed your own weapon and followed close behind. You knew, even without him saying a word, this wasn’t just about money. This was about respect. About vengeance. About showing whoever had taken your child just how badly they’d fucked up.

Inside the building, it was eerily quiet—until the sound of a door creaking open echoed through the dark. Your heart stuttered, but Dean was already at the door, his presence commanding. You could hear voices inside. One was familiar—your child’s, a little shaky but still strong.

The seconds felt like hours.

Dean motioned for you to stay low. You crouched behind him, your heart thudding in your chest as you followed his lead.

Then Dean burst through the door. The sound of gunfire rang out, deafening and sharp. It was chaos—screams, shots, but Dean was a whirlwind. He moved faster than anyone could react, gunfire flashing, bodies hitting the floor.

And then you saw them. Your child, bound to a chair in the corner of the room, looking at Dean with a mix of fear and relief.

“Dean!” you shouted, rushing to their side.

Dean had already disarmed the remaining goons, his eyes cold and dead set on the leader of the operation—a man who had made the mistake of thinking he could get away with this.

Dean was on him in an instant, grabbing the man by the collar and lifting him off his feet. “You think you can fuck with my family?” His voice was a deadly growl. The man’s eyes widened in terror.

The next few moments were a blur. The others were dealt with swiftly—brutally. Dean didn’t speak again, not until the building was clear and your child was free.

Dean walked toward you and your som, his demeanor still cold, but his hands trembling just slightly as he reached out to untie them.

“You good?” he asked, his voice gruff, but you saw the tightness in his jaw, the undercurrent of worry he was trying to hide.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Your son’s voice was steady, but you could see the relief in their eyes.

Dean looked at them, then back to you, his voice softer this time. “No one ever takes what’s ours again. Not while I’m breathing.”

And for a moment, you believed him.

It had been weeks since the nightmare ended. Since Dean stormed through that warehouse like the wrath of God himself and took back what was his. Since he’d carried your son out of that hellhole and brought them home, holding them so tightly you thought he’d never let go.

Things had settled, in the way only the Winchesters knew how—cautiously, quietly, always keeping one eye open. But the weight had lifted. Your family was whole. And today, for the first time in a long time, life felt normal.

The shop was closed for the day. No buzzing tattoo machines, no clients, no business meetings in the back with men who spoke in hushed voices. Just you, Dean, and your now fully-recovered teenager spending the day somewhere safe—somewhere untouched by the chaos of the world outside.

The park was bright and warm, sunlight filtering through the trees, kids laughing in the distance. You sat on a picnic blanket, watching as your son—your fighter—taught their younger sibling how to climb onto the jungle gym. Dean stood off to the side, arms crossed, that usual scowl on his face, but you knew him well enough to see through it. The tightness in his jaw wasn’t anger—it was pride.

“You gonna hover all day, Winchester?” you teased, nudging his arm.

Dean huffed, shaking his head. “Not hovering,” he muttered. “Just… watching.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Watching for what? Squirrels?”

Dean shot you a look, but there was no real heat behind it. “You know what I mean,” he said, his voice quieter now. “After everything…” His gaze flicked back to your teenager, who was laughing as their little sibling clung onto their back, begging for a piggyback ride. “I just need to know they’re okay.”

You softened, reaching for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “They are okay, Dean. Because of you. Because of us.”

Dean let out a slow breath, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Yeah,” he murmured, almost like he was trying to convince himself.

You squeezed his hand. “Hey. Look at them.” You tilted your head toward your kids. “They’re happy. They’re safe. They’ve got us. And nothing’s ever gonna change that.”

Dean didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you for a long moment, like he was memorizing the way you looked in the sun, how your eyes held no fear, no worry—only love.

Then, finally, the scowl eased off his face, replaced by something much softer.

“Damn right,” he said, pulling you into his side, his lips brushing against your temple. “No one’s ever taking what’s mine again.”

The wind rustled through the trees, the laughter of your children filling the air, and for the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt right. Whole.

No threats. No gunfire. No fear.

Just family. Just home. Just forever.

//this is your kind reminder to REBLOG!!//

[waywardstation]

It's the Third Anniversary of PLA!

It's kinda hard to believe the Game is out for 3 years now.

Also 3 years of a good part of the Fandom crying over Ingo's unfortunate fate and the whereabouts of his twin brother.

But it also means almost 3 years worth of your content as well!

3 years of laughing, crying, cheering and rooting for your Akari and Ingo whom she adopted as her uncle/fatherly figure.

3 years full of fun shenanigans, exciting stories and heartwarming and wholesome content.

I know with the release anniversary I am a little early but I wanna say thank you already for giving us so much wonderful content in those 3 years! Keep up the good work! (in your own pace and without stress)

WHAT A FANTASTIC THREE YEARS IT HAS BEEN!! It is wild to think that Pokemon Legends: Arceus came out three whole years ago today. I still remember having the game delivered to my door on that day, and opening it and going in blind cause there was literally like nothing out for the gameplay yet. Immediately ran into Ingo and how Irida described he had appeared here from another place like me, I didn't recognize him at all but in my head I kept going 'he looks like a crashed pilot or something he looks so cool', grew attached to him cause we were in the same situation but his was way worse but he was still kind, and also cause he looked cool to me haha. Only after he started talking about Emmet and Chandelure in Wayward Cave did I realize he wasn't a new character and I had seen him before.

Grew obsessed with his whole story, wrote my first fanfics ever and kept them to myself for weeks, but I wasn't seeing a lot of the content being made that I wanted to see at this point (it's understandable though the game was still so new) so I then made a tumblr account to finally post them, because I didn't realize AO3 had such a long account creation waitlist lol.

IT HAS BEEN THREE YEARS SINCE THIS BEGAN WOW.

I am so, so happy that you and other awesome people have appreciated almost three years of my silly self-indulgent content now, I still see some of the same people who came around my blog three years ago interacting with my stuff today, and that means so much. And it's been so exciting seeing people still jump into this fandom today, too!!

Thank YOU Neko, for being one of those people who have been here since the beginning and for always motivating me and being kind to me, and wishing me well and sharing such awesome ideas you have yourself!!! And thank you everyone who has interacted with this blog and taken the time to appreciate my content and be a friend to me ;v; <3

I am working on some stuff to post for the anniversary today. I have content ready, its just uncertain how much of it will be done haha. I'm cleaning up WIPs that have been aging in my docs!! Happy three years to Pokémon Legends: Arceus, my favorite game, so so important and special to me!!!!!!

[ineffable-xenanigans]

A Mouthful of Blessings (4/6)

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, applying a minor miracle to both the oysters and the ox ribs so that they’d stay at a safe temperature for an indefinite amount of time. This might take a while, after all, and it would be unbecoming to let their lovely dinner spoil in the interim.

Continue reading Chapter 4: Flood on AO3!

Also: I'M A DEMON, I��LIED. This chapter was supposed to go up tomorrow, but I finished the illustration and couldn't help myself. Also yayyyyyyy we finally got to have some proper smut 😈

Speaking of illustrations and smut, you'll encounter the full NSFW image as you read on AO3, hehehe. But here's another snippet, as a treat.

Vintage underwear inspo a bit later, just click on Keep reading :D

If you haven't come across this fic before, you could also just start reading A Mouthful of Blessings from the beginning...

Rating: E Length: 6 chapters (8k words) Summary:

This story starts, as it will end, with a prayer. In Chapter 1, we learn that angels can hear the prayers that name them. In Chapter 6, Crowley uses this knowledge for good and evil; in other words, so he can dirty-talk Aziraphale while his mouth is otherwise occupied. What happens in between? A whole lot of things, actually, including but not limited to: love confessions, crying, laughing, suggestive oyster shucking, and a flood.

The remaining chapters will be released tomorrow and the day after tomorrow!

Tag list (let me know if you wanna be added!)

@snognes @naturallyteal @eybefioro @ineffablyruined @ineffably-queer-book-lover

🎨 only: @good-omens-gallery

🌶 only: @goodomensafterdark

As I mentioned in this post, I had a hard time deciding what kind of undergarments I wanted to put Aziraphale in. After some discussions on Tumblr and Discord, I ended up going with a style that was apparently popular between the 1930s and 50s (actual fashion historians, please correct me if I'm wrong).

Source: vintagedancer.com/1930s/1930s-mens-underwear-history

Source: vintagedancer.com/1940s/1940s-mens-underwear

Source: vintagedancer.com/1950s/1950s-mens-underwear-history

Those aren't the only images I looked at, but I think those sources are quite nice because they show you a lot of the variety going on back then.

I just liked the details of the curved waist on the front and the snaps on the back :3 oh, and there's supposed to be a couple of seams back there, but I didn't draw them because I was too lazy *coughs* I couldn't get them to look nice in this particular pose *chokes* I made the deliberate artistic choice to keep his undies simple to match the tablecloth, of course.