#because you want your kid to be happy against all the odds

[purecommemasolitude]

You guys ever think about s/c/a/r/e/c/r/o/w. Augh.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

I'll Crawl Home

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, memory loss, angst, pining (unrequited love but not really), smut (blowjob, fingering, p in v sex, creampie), love confessions, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: You don't know who these men are, but they seem to know you. Your body seems to like the Handsome one a lot. But the more you manage to remember, the more lost you feel.

Author's Note: This might be one of my favorites. Enjoy!!

Title from Work Song by Hozier

Word Count: 8.6k

You don’t know who these men are. 

There are three of them, all gathered around you with frowning faces and drawn brows, and they seem worried. The tall one in the middle keeps saying your name and asking the one in the tie and trench coat if he can figure out what’s wrong with you. Trench Coat keeps snapping variations of no, he can’t, because the object was guarded against outside interference. 

The third one is silent. He’s a little behind you and wearing flannel like Tall, but his hair is shorter, he’s less lanky, and he’s touching you. His hand is on your arm, his grip so tight it almost hurts, and you’d… barely even noticed. Not because he’s almost inhumanly handsome, or because when he does grumble something in his voice is deep and soothing to your mind, but because your body hadn’t seemed to really register it. And if it had, it hadn’t been worried at all.

But you’re worried. As your brain starts to kick into gear—dragging itself out of an odd, hazy sludge—you are very worried about why Trench Coat, Tall, and Handsome are so close to you. Why Trench Coat keeps saying you’re sick—you’re tired, but overall you feel fine—and why Tall knows your name. Why Handsome is still touching you, why he’s so quiet, why when he looks at you your skin heats and your heart does a little, happy hum.

Why when you yank your arm from Handsome’s grasp, he blinks at you in confusion. Why he says your name so slowly. Why when he reaches back out to you, your body leans forward of its own accord. 

“No!” You shout, and it’s more at yourself, but Handsome’s whole face falls, and he looks like he’s been shot, stabbed, and bled out.

“Shit, she’s talking- Hey,” Tall says your name, reaching to grab your shoulder, and you start to crawl away from him. “Can you- Wait, where are you going-“

“She seems to be experiencing panic.” Trench Coat tilts his head, glancing over your shoulder. “She is likely trying to get to Dean.”

You follow his gaze, and your body is moving to where Handsome—Dean?—had backed away.

“Fuck!” You try to scramble to your feet, ready to run for your life, but you barely make it to your knees before darkness clouds your vision and your head starts to spin.

All three men shout your name, but Dean’s deep voice is the loudest, and when the world grows clear again, he the one who’s holding you upright.

Your body is slumped into him. It’s the same way you’ve slumped into your bed. The same way you used to slump against you mom when you were a kid, because you never thought she could hurt you. Because she’d felt like the safest place to be in the world.

But you don’t know Dean. 

“Don’t- don’t touch me-“ You try to shake him off, but he doesn’t let go. He just lowers you carefully down and moves away, staring at you with an expression that makes your heart ache for reasons you don’t understand. “Who are you people?!”

Tall says your name again. How the fuck does he know your name. “It’s just us, it’s-“ Tall moves to touch you, and frowns when you flinch away.

At least you still know how to flinch away. 

“I don’t knowwho the fuck you are,” you hiss at him. “Or what the fuck is happening, but I want to go home.” You hug yourself, everything suddenly cold, your voice growing small. “Please let me go home.”

Trench Coat nods. “I am able to-“

“Cas.” Dean grunts from behind you, and Trench Coat—Cas—frowns at him. “Don’t.”

“She has requested something I can assist with-“

“She doesn’t fucking know who you are.” Dean snaps, stomping past you, never looking down. It makes the ache in your heart worse. “What the hell do you think is gonna happen when you zap her back to a home she doesn’t remember?”

Tall shakes his head. “We don’t know that she doesn’t remember the bunker-“

“Yeah? Hey,” Dean says your name, his glare and tone firm. Your body has a very confusing reaction to it, your thighs squeezing together as your stomach fills with heat. “You believe in angels?”

You blink. “Like, with wings?”

Dean gives Tall a pointed look, and Tall just shakes his head again.

“That doesn’t prove anything-“

“It proves enough, Sammy.” 

“No, it doesn’t!” Tall—Sammy—crosses his arms, glaring at Dean. “She remembers her own name, it’s not unreasonable to think she might remember her home!”

“That’s cause her name is her name! She doesn’t remember who we are! She’s not going to remember anything else-“

“It may be productive to find out what she does remember before we make assumptions.” Cas cuts Dean off with clipped words, and barely flinches as Dean glowers at him. You’re impressed. Dean seems scary.

Even if your body doesn’t seem to agree. 

“Good idea, Cas, let’s just-“ Sammy drops to the floor in front of you. “Hi, I’m-“

“Sammy?” 

“It’s actually Sam- wait.” Sam blinks at you. “You remember my name?“

“No.” You shake your head, nodding up to Dean. “He said it.”

“Oh.” Sam follows your gaze with a small frown. “Do you know his name?”

“It’s Dean.” You whisper, and another strange expression flashes over Dean’s face. “But I don’t remember it, I just heard it. I’m sorry.”

Dean’s jaw clenches, and Sam sighs.

“Don’t apologize, we’re just- It’s complicated.” Sam runs a hand through his hair, scanning carefully over your face. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

You nod—you don’t seem to have a choice, and you’re not nearly as panicked as you should be—and Sam swallows.

“Okay, you know your name, so how about- What year is it?”

You tell him, and he nods slowly. It goes like that as he asks you the date, the president, how old you are, and when your birthday is. It only flips when he asks you where home is, you answer, and all three men gape at you.

“What’s wrong?” You look between their identical expressions of worry. “That’s where I-“

Sam says your name carefully, his voice tense. “You haven’t lived there in almost six years.”

You blink at him. “No… I- I live there now.”

“No, you-“ Sam lets out a long breath. “How about this, do you know what your job is?”

“Yeah, I’m a librarian.”

That was clearly not the answer they wanted, but Sam pushes on. “Okay, what kind of car do you drive?”

“I don’t drive.” You glance up at Cas and Dean, and they’re exchanging a taut look. This is so fucking weird. “I, um, I take the bus.”

“Fuck!” Dean shouts suddenly, throwing his hands in the air. He sounds agitated. It’s making you agitated. “Goddamnit, she doesn’t remember anything-“

“Actually, she seems to remember selective things.” Cas lowers down as well, his gaze seeming to drive right into your soul. “Are you aware of how you arrived here, in this room?”

You aren’t. You try to remember, and it hurts. Your whole head lights up with pain and you double-over, but that seems to answer the men’s questions all by itself, and they exchange low, tense words as you lay on the floor.

Dean keeps looking at you. He’s not speaking to you, but he keeps staring at you, and your body always seems to respond to it. His jaw clenches as Cas helps you to your feet, and your legs want to walk right into him. Dean scowls as Sam explains that you do know them—that they’re your friends, and you’re cursed, and they’re taking you somewhere safe to help you—and your skin prickles under the feeling of it. As they move you into a sleek black muscle car and take off down the road, Dean keeps glaring at you in the rearview mirror and you want to reach out and touch him. You think it would be really good to touch him.

You really want to touch him. He’s beautiful, in the shadows and low lights of the highway, and right now it’s really just Dean in the whole universe. 

Just Dean. Here. With you.

The wind is cold in your hair and loud in your ears, but the Impala is warm, and the music is louder.

Dean is louder. Singing at the top of his lungs and drumming a little off beat on the wheel, his eyes alight and his smile wide. 

He’s warm, too. You giggle and roll your eyes when he makes a terrible joke, and he grabs your face with a strong, rough, warm hand to pulls you into a kiss, all as the road keeps rushing past you-

Cas says your name, and you blink at him. You’re not sure what the fuck just happened.

“Are you experiencing memory recall?”

“I, um, what?”

“Your eyes.” He says, and you notice Sam twisting around to watch from the passenger’s seat. “They began to move in a manner similar to human REM sleep, however you remained awake the whole time. Were you thinking of something you had previously forgotten?”

“I, uh,” you glance in the rearview mirror. Dean’s suddenly fixated on the road, his grip on the wheel white knuckled. “Have I been in this car before?”

“Yeah, you have.” Sam’s words are cautious, his eyes trained on you. “A lot. Cas, you don’t think-“

“I do. I believe it may be our best shot.”

And that’s how it begins. The moment you return to the bunker—a strange, underground building they claim you’ve lived in for years—you’re rushed through the grand tour in the hopes of triggering just a little more of your memory.

You’d consider it useless if it wasn’t working. If your hands didn’t already know how to sort through their strange classification of books. If you didn’t get flashes of laughter and visions of Sam and Dean around a table in what they call the War Room. If Sam doesn’t show you the kitchen, and suddenly your brain is washed over with a memory of sitting at the table, across from him and Dean.

Dean winks at you as Sam tries to show you something on his laptop. You’re going to kill him. He’s being obvious, and a little mean.

It doesn’t stop you from following him out of the kitchen only minutes later, even though it snaps your dignity in half.

“You’ve got something?” Sam’s almost jumping in front of you, and you give him a small smile. 

“You drink smoothies.”

“They’re healthy.” Sam shrugs, his voice raising to a shout. “Cas! It’s working!”

Dean shuffles into the kitchen, barely glancing at you. “Cas left. Said he’s going to look for a better fix.”

Sam frowns. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

“He told me. And you should bring her to her room.”

Your eyes widen as Sam nods, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Shit, yeah, good idea. C’mon,“ Sam says your name, walking to the hallway. “This should be good for you.”

When you see your room, it does seem like your room. It’s decorated how you’d decorate it, clothing scattered on the floor that you recognize, the walls painted how you’d paint them, but there’s also a shotgun on the dresser and a knife on your bedside stand.

“Shit, sweetheart, this is an awesome gun, where’d you find it?”

You look up at Dean from your bed, fidgeting with your blanket between your fingers. “It was in one of the storage rooms. I can show you later, I think there were a few more.”

“Hell yeah,” he aims it at the wall, his smile easy and boyish. It’s adorable.

You wish he’d stop.

“Dean?”

He hums, still turning the gun in his hands, and you take in a long breath.

“Are we going to talk about it?”

Dean freezes, his eyes wide and almost panicked on yours as he sets the gun back down.

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about. I mean, it’s us. We can be cool.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah, cool. You have a problem, I take care of it. I have a problem,” he gestures between your bodies with raised brows, and you sigh.

“Okay.”

“Awesome.”

“Yeah.” You smile at him, and this might consume and destroy you. But fuck you, you’re going to let it. “Awesome.”

“You got anything?” Sam asks, and you nod. You might have too much. 

And none of it is making any make sense at all.

The week passes like this. More small memories come to you in visions, your head pounds and stabs with pain, Sam hangs over your shoulder and shows you countless places you can navigate but don’t recognize—their dungeon, their gun range, a place called the Dean Cave, a field, and a corner store down the street—all as Dean swirls around your head, but remains just out of sight. Barely crossing your path, looking like a deer in headlights when he does.

But you think you’ve sat with your legs over his lap in the Dean Cave. You’ve trailed after him—holding onto the sleeve of his jacket—in the corner store. You’ve had his body wrapped around yours in the gun range, his voice low and teasing in your ear as he guides your hands.

And the most memories come in your bedroom. Sitting on the mattress with him towering above you, lying on the floor with him under you, giggling as he pins you against the door.

He still won’t look at you. He doesn’t even acknowledge you anymore. He’s locking himself in his room, only coming out to get food, sort through the library, or take his car and leave for hours on end.

Sam is worried.

“This… isn’t like Dean.” He tells you, frowning at the door Dean had just disappeared through. “I don’t know what’s up with him, but you guys were really good friends before. Like, really good.” He gives you an odd look. You’ve been getting a lot of those lately. “There was a while where I was pretty sure that he was finally-“ He shakes his head, cutting himself off. “Never mind. I’ll talk to him later.”

You sleep in your room again. It’s felt strange, because your body doesn’t seem to like your mattress. It doesn’t relax into it like it should, if you’ve really been sleeping here for years. You keep waking up reaching for the other side of the bed. You keep being unable to fall asleep at all because something feels off. 

He’s still here when you wake up. His arm heavy over your stomach as he presses your back against his chest, his breath hot on your neck. 

You should’ve kicked him out last night. You try to never let him fall asleep next to you, let alone wake up in your bed. It’s cruel to you.

Because now you have to have this, and then let it go. You’ll never be able to wipe the feeling of Dean wrapped around you from your skin, and your muscles will never forget how easy it was to relax when he was holding you. 

When you roll over your hands will always know how to linger on his bare, warm chest. Your fingers will always know how to map his every freckle, even if you were blindfolded and submerged underwater. 

Your heart will always know to slow down when you look at him. Especially like this. He’s peaceful here. His eyelashes fluttering and his lips parted, his brow dropped to yours as he sleeps. 

As he has no way to know that he’s doing it.

He’s vulnerable. Dean’s body is letting him rest with you at his side. It’s letting him fall into a strong sleep with steady breaths and slack muscles, even though there’s something foreign pressed against him.

And that’s why this is cruel. It feeds your hope that this could be more. That Dean could ever see you as you see him, that he’d chose to rest with you because deep down, he loves you like you love him.

Deeply and powerfully. Irrevocably and brutally. Made of gnashing teeth and blood caking your nails, but also simple in loud music and wind, soft in golden streetlamps that cast halos around his head. Concrete. Dependable. You will always love Dean, even if you lose everything else you’ve ever had.

And he will not love you.

And this is cruel.

But you still let your face bury itself in his neck. You still let your nose memorize the evergreen and amber smell of him. You still let his skin leave burning marks on yours, as he stays asleep. 

And you just watch him. 

You have to drag yourself out of bed. You have to give Dean a close-lipped smile when he walks right past you in the kitchen, and not scream when his skin brushes yours.

It’s not foreign. 

It feels like you.

And you’re so lost. 

You don’t ask any questions. The few questions you have asked made Sam sad, like you should already know the answer, and he always does this puppy-dog face that breaks your heart. The only questions you’d really want to ask were questions about Dean. About if Sam talked to him, about why—if you’re as close as Sam claims, if these strange snapshots are true—he won’t even look at you. About how he’d looked at you before.

About how you’d looked at him.

But Sam’s too busy for you to even really consider it. He’s calling Cas and someone named Rowena all the time, he’s researching day and night to try and fix you, and he’s coming up with strange new ways to trigger your memory every day.

“Sit there.” He points to the driver’s seat of the Impala, moving around the hood of the car. “You’re driving.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know how to drive stick-“

“Yeah, you do, Dean- fuck.” Sam groans, rubbing his forehead. “Well, let’s try having you sit in it? Just to see if anything happens?”

You nod, and things do happen. When you put your hand on the gear shift, a phantom of a bigger, calloused one covers it, and suddenly you can drive stick. You don’t even have to think about it, you just can. 

It might be worse when you think about it. Sam makes you drive—telling you to go somewhere and refusing to specify any possible destinations—and whenever you try to actually dwell on what you’re doing, you make a mistake. 

So you let your body take over. You drive the Impala where your hands want you to go, and where they want you to go seems to be a dive bar parking lot.

“Huh.” Sam glances around as you both climb out of the car, a small frown on his face. “I’ve never been here before. I know it’s a stupid question, but do you know where you are?”

“No,” you sigh, letting your feet carry you to the edge of the pavement, letting your knees bend down as you sit on the curb. “Not at all.”

“Shit.” He mutters. “Well, you want a drink while we’re here?”

You nod, Sam goes into the bar, returns with two beers, and drops at your side.

“This is…” Sam glances at you, his voice soft. Apologetic. “I’m really sorry this is happening. I mean, Dean went through something similar a while ago, but at least we had an idea of how to handle that, you know? I’m- I don’t even know where to start here.” He says your name, rolling his bottle between his hands. “All we’ve got is Dean saying you touched a cursed object, but he’s being really weird and when Cas and I went back to the building there was nothing. We’re going to fix this, I promise, but...”

He sighs, trailing off, and you clear your throat. You haven’t just sat with Sam since this—whatever this is—started. This might be your only chance to try to get answers in a way that doesn’t make your skull cave in and your heart burn.

“Can I ask you some stuff?”

Sam nods, and you take a long, slow breath.

“How did I end up here? Doing,” you gesture vaguely to the air. “This.”

A small smile ghosts over Sam’s lips. “Dean and I were hunting a vamp nest, and you were one of the witnesses. You helped us out a little, we told you some stuff about how you deal with vamps, and then you got kidnapped. We- Well, we tried to save you, but by the time we got there you’d kind of saved yourself. You’d covered yourself in dead man’s blood from one of their discarded vics, and none of them would go near you. After it was done, you asked to come with us, and you haven’t left since.”

“And we’re… friends?”

“We are.” Sam says, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. “I mean, I know you and I are. You helped me organize the library when you moved to the bunker. I taught you most of the stuff about the lore, and we made up a game about it. Dean calls it dumb, but he just hates that he’s bad at it. Sometimes you go on runs with me, and then you say you’re never running again. You’re the one who convinced me to ask out my girlfriend-“

You blink at him. “You have a girlfriend?”

“Yeah, Eileen. You’re friends with her too. You’re friends with everybody.” Sam offers you another smile, and this one seems less painful. “Even Rowena likes you. We didn’t have to threaten her to help us out here.”

Even as you return Sam’s smile, a last question eats at your tongue, and you’re too tired, too confused to think better of asking it.

“What about Dean?” You whisper. “Am I friends with him?”

Sam sighs. He seems to do that a lot. 

“Yes. Kind of. I… I don’t know.” He mutters, frowning at the pavement. “It’s complicated. I’m not- This isn’t really my place, you know?”

You swallow. “Does he hate me?”

Sam laughs at that. A loud, full laugh that echoes around the parking lot. 

“No.” He shakes his head, clearly amused by something you don’t understand. “I don’t think either of you could hate each other if you-“

“I fucking hate you!” You scream, shoving his chest. He doesn’t flinch. He never flinches. 

Asshole.

“You’re drunk.” Dean grunts your name, catching your hand against his chest. “We need to go home.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Winchester-“

“Yeah, you are.”

Dean starts to tug you across the parking lot, back to the car, and you hate that you just let him. You always let him. He takes you somewhere and you just follow him like a fucking lapdog. Waiting for him whenever he leaves. Whining and whimpering at the door when he’s gone and lighting up from the inside when he returns. 

Barely getting a treat or a smile when he pays attention to you. Only really getting his attention in brief flashes that build your body to an explosion before leaving you to pick up the pieces yourself. Leaving you alone, wracked with a love he can’t return, mending your own heart until he asks to break it again, and you let him.

“You’re going to sleep it off.” Dean mutters from ahead of you, and there are little blond hairs at the nape of his neck that seem silver and gold in the low light. Just another piece of him that’s impossibly beautiful. Another piece you get to touch but never keep. 

“I don’t need to sleep it off!” You yank your hand from his grip as he tries to guide you into Baby, and drop on the curb with a dramatic sigh. “Just leave me alone, Dean.”

“I am not fucking abandoning you at some sketchy bar-“

“Why not?” You raise your chin at him, narrowing your eyes. “Afraid I’ll find someone else? That I’ll crawl into another bed, and they’ll actually like me, and you’ll lose your favorite pet?”

He scowls. “We’re not having this conversation right now-“

“Why not?! You know it’s the truth, Dean! I’m just, I’m your fucking toy and you hate sharing-“

He says your name in a low warning, but you can’t stop now. This pain has been building up and up in your chest and lungs for years, and now that it’s out it’s volcanic. You couldn’t keep it in if you tried.

“But you’ll never actually care about me! I’m easy for you! That was the fucking deal, right! We’re easy for each other and that’s it, just using each other until one of us fucking dies! You keep acting like I mean nothing and then you get all fucking possessive when I try to get over you-“

“You’re not trying to get over me.” He mutters, not fully meeting your eyes. “You don’t have anything to get over. You’re just fucking wasted-“

“Yeah, I am, because you won’t just say that I matter to you-“

“Of course you matter to me, you’re my friend-“

“You’re not my friend!” You scream, your voice echoing through the parking lot. Your head is starting to spin. “Friends don’t do this to each other!”

You’re dizzy. You feel a little faint. 

And you’d just spend an hour telling Dean you hate him. But he’s still grabbing you and keeping you steady.

You really wish he wouldn’t. It would make it easier to pretend you really did hate him. That just his touch didn’t make you feel safe and cared for, even when the dickhead didn’t really care. 

“You done?” He asks, and you hum, something hot and wet stinging at your eyes.

“I hate you, Dean.” You mumble, even as you slump into him. “I fucking hate you.”

He brushes some hair from your face, and your eyes flutter. “I know you do, babygirl.” He mutters, and you don’t think he knows you’re still awake. “Let’s go home.”

Sam’s frowning at you when the real world comes back into view. And when you whisper that you’d really like to leave, he doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t even make you drive, or try to talk to you as you stare out the window. 

He doesn’t push for the rest of the day. He shows you a few more things that trigger smaller memories, and you don’t see Dean at all. 

But he’s everywhere. In every memory. You walk through the library as Sam explains a system you allegedly designed, and a memory of you explaining this exact system to Dean flashes through your brain. He’d made jokes, and you’d giggled, and his smile had numbed your brain. You try to make yourself dinner, and suddenly you’re laughing and throwing food at Dean, right before he presses you against the counter with a searing kiss. You wander through the halls and you can hear heavy, controlled steps behind you. You return to your room, and he’s at your side in bed, wearing the same flannel from the memory in the parking lot. Making you drink water and helping you change, muttering low apologies you can’t actually really hear. Tucking you in bed and tracing his hand over your face, grabbing you a trash can to vomit in when you shoot back up, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. 

His whole face is set in that memory, but it’s all hazy. You don’t know if you trust it, because all the other memories have been sharp and clear, but this one is dreamlike. Like even before you lost your memory, you weren’t sure if it was real. The you who all this happened to might have just made this up for herself. Made up Dean holding her hair back and pressing a soft kiss to her brow as she lay back down, even though you can still feel the warmth of his chapped lips in that exact spot. She might have made up Dean smiling at her when she mumbled that she didn’t actually hate him. She might have made up him staying when she begged him to in a soft voice. 

You don’t know. You don’t know anything. You’ve never felt more lost, never been in more pain. Your body is where it’s supposed to be, but your brain isn’t. It’s restless and worried and tearing itself apart, and when you fail to sleep your body knows how to walk through the halls, even as your whole mind spins and shreds itself to pieces.

Sam was sorry this was happening to you, but you don’t know why. You don’t know him. Every time you’ve seen Cas since you’ve returned, he’s asked you questions you don’t know the answers to. Every day your body remembers things, but you don’t. You want to, you want to so bad, but you’re adrift and drowning in a vast, cold ocean and you can’t even remember how you got there. You keep feeling like there’s a lifeline, just out of reach, but you can’t grab it. It’s not in your room, or the kitchen, or the library. It’s nowhere Sam takes you, nowhere you remember how to go.

You feel like something had been guiding you, anchoring you in the waves, and now it’s missing. Vanished from your hands. 

And now you’re lost, and in pain, and alone. Wandering aimlessly through the depths of the bunker in the dead of night, searching for a lighthouse you’re not sure exists.

You walk into the War Room, and Dean’s already there. Glass of whiskey in hand, head tipped back and eyes closed, the fancy headphones you’d gotten him for his birthday blasting music so loud you can hear it from across the room. You walk up behind him and run a gentle hand over his cheeks, and he doesn’t flinch. His eyes just open slowly and find yours in a second, his attention soft as he tugs his headphones down, grabs your hand, and kisses your knuckles. 

“Hi.” You whisper, and he grins.

“Hey.”

“It’s late.” You run a hand through his hair, and he lets you. He’s amazing and horrible, so he lets you have this. “It’s bad for your back to sleep in a chair.”

“Bad for my back?” He chuckles. “I’m not that old, sweetheart-“

“It’s bad for everyone’s back-“

“Sam sleeps in his chair all the time.” Dean raises his brows at you, and you swallow. “You’re not on his ass about it.”

You sigh. You don’t want to entertain this. You’re too tired for the fight that it will lead to. “Please just go sleep in your bed, Dean.”

He hums, and you let him guide you around the chair, until you’re standing between his legs.

“Maybe I will, if you’re there with me.”

“Don’t say that.” You whisper, unable to move away. He’s going to break your heart again. You’re going to let him, because your heart is traitorous and loves being broken by Dean. It just likes that Dean has to touch it to break it. “Please.”

He shakes his head with a long, deep exhale, and doesn’t say another word. 

But he doesn’t go to bed either. He stands up until you’re trapped between his body and the table, and places his whiskey down, his eyes never leaving yours. He’s scanning over your face with an expression like he’s lost, like he’s looking for something he’s desperate to find but terrified to see.

You don’t know if he finds it. 

All you know is that he’s touching you, and you’re molding into him, and whatever he does to you, you’ll allow. 

As long as it’s Dean doing it.

He unplugs his headphone until the music is filling the War Room, picks up his iPod, and changes the song. This one is soft, a gentle melody drowning you in honey and a daze of Dean. You didn’t think he’d own a song like this. It’s slow and romantic, and it flows so easily as he takes one hand in yours, places the other on your hip, and moves you away from the table.

He starts to sway, holding you steady in his arms, and soon you’re dancing. Really dancing, in measured, easy steps that Dean guides you through. You didn’t think he’d know how to do this. You didn’t think he’d ever do it with you.

But you’re lost in him, and you’ve never felt like you’ve belonged anywhere else. You’re drowning in the song, but Dean’s drowning with you, so you know exactly where you are. Trapped in this infinite and fleeting moment, trapped in Dean’s eyes, trapped in the warmth of his light, casting over your body and guiding you wherever you’ll need to be.

When he leans in to kiss you, you don’t push him away. You could never push him away. Your hands only know how to curl in his shirt and your lips only know how to crash into his. Your tongue always craves Dean’s taste of whiskey and pecan, and your body always knows how to catch the small sparks of lighting his touch creates, then throw them through your whole body.

And Dean always kisses you with everything he has, but this is different. It’s not desperate and needy, it’s long and deep and feels like home. When he sucks on your lower lip, it’s like he’s trying to leave a mark. When his steps still and he dips you down, you gasp, and he breathes it in like it’s more than oxygen. When your arms wrap around his neck, he pulls you closer, like you could be absorbed into his body forever. 

When he pulls away—the song long over, the only sounds in the world his ragged breath and your heartbeat in your ears—he still doesn’t speak. And you don’t move. You’ll be a statue until Dean’s command brings your back to life. You’ll be cold marble, sinking down, down, down until he takes your hand and reminds your body how to be.

And that’s pathetic.

But when he squeezes your hand in his, presses a soft kiss on the space between your eyes, and starts to guide you out of the War Room, you don’t even try not to follow him.

Because Dean would never let you stray from where you’re safe. Next to him.

Your legs are carrying you out of the war room, down a path that they remember but you don’t. To a door that your hand aches to push open, into a room where the air is warm but fresh, and an overwhelming smell of amber and evergreen tints against your nostrils. They don’t seem bothered by it. They seem to relax into it, like it’s an anesthetic. 

This must be Dean’s room. If your body couldn’t tell you that, your increasingly fragile brain would still piece it together. It’s obviously lived in—clothing on the floor, sheets messy on the bed, small bits of evidence scattered on the shelves and dresser—and there’s only one lived in room you haven’t entered before. Dean’s.

Sam hadn’t even shown you where it was.

Apparently he hadn’t needed to. Your whole body had pulled you here.

And that’s your shirt, on the bedside table-

Dean peels off your shirt without a word, discarding it to an unseen corner of the room. You fumble with his belt, your need growing and growing with every second his hands map over your body—he’s already explored it, found places you didn’t even know existed yourself, but he never seems to get sick of you—and Dean just chuckles, keeping his brow pressed to yours as he takes care of it himself. His jeans have barely fallen around his ankles when he grabs your face between his hands and kisses you until your knees are weak.

Neither of you are speaking. There’s nothing to say that hasn’t already been screamed or sobbed or snapped, hasn’t been moaned or mumbled or whispered. 

All that left to do is touch each other, like you have a million times before. Like you will a million times again, because you can lie to yourself that one day your patience will run out and you’ll leave, but you know you won’t. Dean’s changed your body on a level that feels deeper than skin. Your heart only knows how to beat for him. Your brain only knows how to think of him. Your hands only know how to palm at his dick, tenting through his boxers, and your lips only know how to part as he groans down your throats.

You fall to your knees, free him from his underwear, wrap your hand around his proud cock, and look up at him with a soft smile. His massive, rough hand has tangled in your hair, his eyes hooded and throat bobbing, and when you take him in your mouth you know exactly how to play him like an instrument. How to suck when he bumps the back of your throat, how to flick your tongue over the head of him, how to squeeze and jerk off the base of his cock where you can’t get him between your lips. You know to keep going as he starts to groan your name in a low warning, because if he wants to cum in your mouth, you’d never stop him.

That’s another taste you’ll always crave. Salty and bitter and so purely Dean, marking you in a way he can’t take back.

But he pulls you off with a firm tug of your hair, wiping a little drool from your lips with his thumb before tilting your head up and crashing his lips into yours. When Dean hauls you to your feet you crumple into him, and when he tosses you onto his bed you giggle, crawling backwards and spreading your legs in a silent offering you’ve given him a million times before, and will never stop giving him as long as he takes it.

And he always takes it. Dean’s eyes always darken, and he always prowls over you. But it’s never like you’re prey. Never like you’re just a body to be taken and notched on a bedpost. 

It’s like you’re something he’s trying to bathe himself in. Like an external piece of him he’s trying to protect and tend to by covering himself in it. It’s why he always dives down between your legs first, keeping you pinned to the bed with a hand on your stomach, shoving his tongue deep into your cunt and pressing his nose on your clit until you’re writhing and suffocating him between your thighs. When he moves to pull that bundle of nerves between his lips—pressing his tongue flat against you and sucking—a coil in your gut snaps, and you drown his face in your release.

Your body only ever does that for Dean.

You don’t think he knows that. And every time you think to tell him, he’s always already moved on. Risen above you and shoving two fingers into your still raw and sensitive pussy, finding the deepest part of you like it’s a magnet, and rubbing on it as he watches you come undone once more. 

He cleans his hands with his mouth, licking them and smirking at you as you reach for him, trying to grip his body and pull it down over yours. He usually takes his time—teasing and edging you until you’re a whining mess—but tonight really is different. His smile on your flushed, already wrecked face isn’t taunting or lustful, it’s relaxed. And he still doesn’t speak, but when he kisses his way over your navel, up your chest—stopping to suck on one nipple as his hand plays with your other breast, because he’s Dean and he can’t help himself—it’s louder than anything else in the world. He’s taking him time because he’s trying to keep you in his bed. He knows that once this is over, you’ll gather your things and leave, like you always do to protect yourself.

So he’s giving you a reason to stay.

He nips and sucks up your throat and over your jaw, plants kisses everywhere on your face but where you’re begging for him, and pins your squirming body to the bed with his full weight before his mouth finally makes its way to yours. 

He’s kissing you into the mattress, kissing you until your lips are swollen and your head is spinning from oxygen deprivation. He only pulls back to watch his hand stroke his cock, right before he guides himself into your dripping, fluttering pussy and bottoms out in one thrust. He lets out a low grunt as you adjust, and when he rolls his hips, you moan.

And he falls right back into you.

From there it’s only Dean. Fucking you until you’re scratching at his chest and putty in his arms, your mouth is slack as he groans and grunts above you. He hikes your thigh up to push his cock in at a deeper angle and marks your neck and shoulders with bites and hickeys that you hope never fade, building his speed until you’re just a squirming, whining mess and he’s slamming into you at a brutal pace. 

He doesn’t slow down when you cum, clenching around his cock and screaming a high whine of his name. He only swallows the sound with a bruising kiss, plunging his tongue down your throat and rutting harder and harder into your cunt. All you can do is take it. You’ll always take it. If this is how to you get to have Dean, you’ll never push him away.

He cums with a roar against your lips, trigging one last, small, shuddering orgasm through your body, and collapses on top of you.

Dean rolls you over until he’s beneath you, caging you against his chest with big, strong arms. He doesn’t pull out—letting his cum drip down and dry on your thighs—and when your look up at him he’s staring at you with a drunken, awestruck expression. 

His eyes are already drooping, his breathing slowing to an even, steady pace as he keeps you trapped against his body. You wish your hands could remember how to pry him away before he falls asleep, because now you’re going to be trapped here for a long, painful night where Dean’s sheathed inside you and you can smell and taste him everywhere, but he’s still not yours to have.

Yet, you can’t move.

And right as his eyes close, he mutters your name. You almost don’t hear it. You’re not sure you did hear it.

“Dean?”

He repeats your name, and it’s barely a breath. 

“Wha-“

“I love you.” He mumbles your name one last time, and you gape at him. He doesn’t even know he’s speaking. “‘m sorry. Love you. Don’t leave.” He buries his face in your hair, and he won’t remember this in the morning. “Please don’t leave me.”

“What are you doing in here.” 

You drag your gaze away from the bed and turn to see Dean, wearing flannel pants and a white sleep shirt. He’s not glaring at you, even though you’ve invaded his room without permission. He just looks weary. Tired.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, rooted to the spot. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

Something pained flashes over his face, and you feel small cracks form across your heart.

“Whatever.” He mutters, walking right past you without another glance. “Get out.”

“No.”

You don’t know why you said that. This isn’t your place to be, especially when Dean doesn’t want anything to do with you. When he doesn’t want you here. But you don’t feel adrift here. And you don’t want to go.

Dean stares at you. “What.”

“I’m not going.” You hug yourself, your eyes moving back to the shirt on the dresser. “That’s my shirt.”

He huffs, rolling his eyes as he mutters to himself. “So a fucking shirt you remember. Awesome.”

You swallow. “Why do you have my shirt, Dean.”

He goes rigid, but doesn’t speak, so you keep going.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” You don’t realize you’re walking forward he’s closer. It feels right. “Sam said-“

“Sam doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.” Dean grunts, but he doesn’t move away. Even when you move closer. Even as you push on.

“Then you tell me.” You sound like you’re pleading. You kind of are. “Every time I remember something you’re there, but you won’t even look at me! I don’t know who I am, I don’t know what’s going on, and I keep thinking about you but you’re acting like you want nothing to do with me-“

Dean’s jaw clenches, his words pushed through his teeth. “That’s not true.”

“It is! You can’t even stand to be in the same room as me!” You feel like you’re going to cry. You haven’t even wanted to cry, not since this began, but something has crashed down inside of you, and this room feels like a safe place to fall apart.

Dean feels like a safe place to fall apart.

“I’m, I’m so lost, and I don’t know what’s going on, and everything keeps coming back to you but I don’t know who you are! You won’t tell me who you are, Sam won’t tell me who you are, and I feel like I’m supposed to know but I don’t! I know who I am but I feel like I’m missing something, and everything hurts, and I just- I need to know-“

Dean grunts your name, and you let out a choked sob.

You’re sick of being lost. You’re sick of not knowing. And when you meet Dean’s eyes they’re like a beacon, and you can’t help but float into them. 

“Who am I to you, Dean?”

“You’re the love of my life.” His voice is hoarse, and his eyes widen slightly at his own answer. You don’t think he expected it. 

“I’m-“

His hands grab your face—holding you so carefully, like he’s practiced this a million time—and you melt into his touch. 

“You’re everything to me, and I- I fucking failed you.” Dean’s thumb traces over your cheekbone, wiping away a tear. “I can’t fix it. I’ve been fucking trying, baby. I promised you I’d try, but I can’t. I- I can’t. I need your help but you’re-“ He makes a low, strangled sound, dropping his brow to yours. It fits perfectly there. “I can’t do this without you. I never tell you that, I never say that I need you, but I do, and I failed you, and now you’re-“

Dean’s whole body shudders, and your arms wrap around him on instinct alone. He falls over you, clinging to you like you’re going to vanish, and-

“You don’t have to do this.” Dean mutters in your ear, and his hug is going to suffocate you, but you don’t care. Maybe he’ll leave an indent on your body. “We can just fucking destroy it-“

“Because trying to destroy cursed objects has worked out so well for us, historically.” You give him a sad, dry smile, and he shakes his head. 

“There’s another way. There’s always another way-“

“We don’t have time for another way. And it won’t be permanent. All curses can be cured.”

“But we don’t even know what the hell this one does!” He shouts, and you don’t wince. He’s not mad at you. “‘Taking what you value most’ could mean anything, could fucking do anything-“

“I know. But it will kill you if I don’t-“

“We don’t know that-“

You do know that. So does Dean. This object latched onto Dean, and it will either leech his life slowly, involuntarily, or take something from you, along with a piece of your memory. And you’ll lose whatever you need to if it keeps Dean safe.

“Listen.” You hold Dean’s gaze, making your voice firm. “Don’t tell Sam and Cas. They’ll get caught on what happened, and you’ll all start fighting, and we can’t afford that. You just need to find what I value, bring it back to me, and I’ll be okay. Got it?”

Dean shakes his head. “How am I supposed to know what you value if you won’t tell me-“

“I don’t know.” You sigh. “I- I honestly can’t think of what I value most, but hopefully you’ll notice something is missing, and you can track it down.” You give him a soft smile. “I believe in you, Dean. And if I’m awake, I’ll try to help you.”

“You won’t remember-“

“It should only take my memories relating the thing. I probably won’t even know anything is wrong.”

“But I’ll know.” He mutters. “And what if I don’t get the thing back to you-“

“You will get it back to me.” You say simply. He’s Dean. You trust him with more than your life. “And I’ll be okay.”

You start to move away, but he doesn’t let you go. He’s pallid and bloodless from the object draining him, but he’s still strong. And you don’t really want to leave him at all. 

“Don’t. Please.” He mutters your name, and it sounds like a prayer. “I’m not worth this, baby.”

“Of course you are.” You smile at him, tears stinging your eyes as you manage to force yourself away. “I love you.”

His eyes widen, and he looks like he wants to say something, but anything he can say will only make you hesitate.

So you turn away.

Right before you touch the object you have a thought. An epiphany that—if your hand wasn’t already pressed on the object’s cool surface—would have made you break down and scream for Dean to make you stop, to drag you away.

But it’s too late. And everything goes dark.

“Dean.”

He leans back to look at you, and you know him. You know everything about him, and it’s destroying your brain and body, trying to break out but trapped down. This pain is horrible.

But Dean is good.

“You love me?”

He swallows, but nods. He seems afraid. Tense under your hands, like you’re going to push him away and he’ll have to just take it.

He won’t. Because you do the only thing you’re certain you know how to do.

You kiss him.

It’s like fireworks, but there’s no electrically you haven’t felt before, no colors you’ve never seen. You’re swept up in his waves and wide fire, but it could never drown or burn you. You’ve adapted to move with it, to breathe in his water and smoke and trust him to bring you exactly where you need to be.

Against his chest, dipping and holding you steady, pouring his all and then some into your body. And your memory doesn’t crash back into you, it just washes over you like rain. 

Dean pulls back, and you smile at him like you always have. Like you always will.

“Hi,” you whisper, and he grins. 

“Hey,” Dean says your name, and you’ve done this dance before.  “Are you-“

You kiss him again, and you know exactly who Dean is. What he is to you, how he loves you in strong, unspoken silence that kills you and cures you all at one, and how you might be built to love him. 

You are.

And he’s built the same way for you.

End Note: Obsessed with love as a thing that happens to you physically, if you can't tell. Thank you for reading!

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Taglist

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@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

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[b00tyliciousbabe]

munch

bisexualbigboybf! x THICC!male reader

summary: manifesting my future husband

notes: THANKS FOR 1k ppl dem! BEEN IN DRAFTS FOR A WHILE. i think there needs to be some more love + appreciation for bi men and big boys so i amalgamated the two. not a fetish y’all, just a preference, they be taking care of my inner princess and for that i will ALWAYS be grateful. a lot of feminisation in this one so tread carefully. it’s a lil messy (jumps in tenses and stuff like that) but i litch couldn’t focus without getting too excited. ENJOY MY HEARTS.

song rec: normani - big boy (feat. starrah)

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅

your big boy bf didn’t think he had a chance with you at first, nor did he even want one. at first he hated you, watching how all the other men in your life were one flirty conversation away from having a piece of your juicy ass, and how the girls envied and coveted your thick hourglass figure. your sweet personality sickened him ; you made sure to give them your gym routine and your diet, being the beauty guru you were. but what he realised, was not that he hated you, but that he hated not having you. when he realised this, he needed you, more than anything.

you embodied a refreshing style of hyper femininity that made you all the more attractive to your bi man. seeing your body in its thick glory made him love himself more. how your belly added to your voluptuous figure, your plump cheeks, and fleshy muscle surrounding your chest and thighs, he was mesmerised by your form. you were, in his eyes, divine. little did he know that you had fallen first; his broad shoulders, strong biceps and pudgy belly practically had you ovulating. your gigantic teddy bear, standing at a foot taller than you, had a heart of gold and this protective aura around him, enamoured you.

when you debuted your relationship online, you were met with a flurry of mainly positive responses. yeah sure there were the odd few denouncing your femininity and body shaming y’all, but you ignored them because you don’t have to convince the world that you’re THEE baddie b and your man is the sexiest mf to ever exist.

luvagoalz: they are literally the embodiment of the wattpad height difference. I NEED.

user222: y/n getting dicked down DAILY by a giant is so girlboss of him.

sza: bestie got himself a big boy - y/n send me the deets for the wedding.

your bf is a huge gym rat and when you two became exclusive, your already voluptuous figure became all the more defined with his help. you were flawless. you love seeing him in the gym, sweating as the veins in his forearms pop out making him look so attractive. he definitely enjoys your company there, teasingly rubbing his bulge against your ass and face when no one was watching. his exhibitionist kink goes crazy seeing how beautifully your workout clothes hug your butt and cinch your waist. he used to be slightly insecure about his stretch marks but after a cool down session, and you complimenting them like lightning bolts imprinted on his skin, he felt superhuman. you always knew what to say to make him feel better.

he’s so protective of you. always sleeps on the side closest to the door and isn’t afraid to send someone to hospital if they even look at you the wrong way, or in a manner he doesn’t like. in his mind he’s seeded you and you’re literally carrying his kids and thus it’s his responsibility to protect you. it’s almost primal. he isn’t controlling or anything, but finds it incredibly important to remind you that with him you are completely safe.

they say the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and boy was that the case during your talking stage. it was perfect; you love to cook and so he’s more than happy to try your baked goods. your boyfriend loves his sleep on the weekends and so in true house husband fashion you often prepare breakfast in an apron with your thick cheeks hanging out from behind. one day he woke up to the sweet smell of you making his favourite. groggily stumbling into the kitchen, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, long dick swinging out of his briefs as he advanced towards you.

‘good morning love.’ his deep voice sent shivers down your spine as he kissed the words into your neck. he held onto the groove of your hips, caressing your lower back with the tip of his index finger and watched as you writhed beneath him. ‘babe, what are you doing up? you need your sleep, you’ve been working so hard lately.’ you said, breathing haphazardly as he ground himself into you. ‘i missed you. and i want my morning kisses.’ beginning to untie your apron he turned you around, and removed the lace from around your neck. hiking you up on the table top, the heat of your bare ass, that his dick previous massaged into you, was cooled by the granite. you wrapped your legs around him, as your hands stroked his beard. wiping that shit eating grub off of his face, your lips came closer to his own, as you could feel his heartbeat in his throat - this man is so in love with you. the kiss lasted quite a while, precum staining the opening of his boxers and pooling on your thighs. you knew that you were about to be fucked dumb and so you turned of the hob to avoid burning the house down. the fire inside y’all was more than enough to keep you going.

your man doesn’t fully realise his own strength. he was very hesitant to have sex with you for a while and mostly stopped at groping you before his dick got too hard to ignore. so, for your first time, he had to refrain literally ripping your clothes to get to the prize of your nudity. he absolutely loves seeing you (try to) deepthroat. the reason? his size kink goes insane when you attempt to take his gigantic package. this man is LONG and GIRTHY, capable of splitting you in half and abusing all your spots with ease. the veiny sausage he’s packing could do some serious damage but he held back when it came to your first couple times with him.

he always takes time to ensure that your safe and comfortable. initially his size intimidated you, your mannerisms connoting your subtle anxiety. he kissed the fear out of you, reassuringly saying, ‘you know I would never do anything to hurt you.’

your boyfriend is the KING of consent, always ensuring that you want his big cock just as much as he wants to feel the warmth of your boy pussy. one day whilst he was working from home, he noticed you squirming like an omega in heat. he sighed and smirked. ‘d’you want me to fuck you?’ he burst out. already used to his blunt disposition, you nodded. advancing closer towards you, staring down at the desperation in your face, he stroked your hair. ‘use your words y/n, i wanna hear how badly you want it.’ his charisma practically had you high. ‘I need you, please.’ you began to undo the string that held up his joggers, as he removed his tshirt. ‘i can never say no to my baby boy.’ he smiled, pants bunching at his ankles as he slowly railed on the edge of your shared bed.

he encourages you to take him fully each time, praising you because no one else had been able to take him past halfway. ‘i know baby, i know, do it one more time for me.’ he said endearingly, wiping the tears from your face as his dick invaded your throat.‘THERE IT ISSS UGH FUCK! i love your mouth.’ he cooed.

equally, your bf is the only man you’ve been with that’s been able to satisfy you sexually. you steered clear from all the men who were only interested in your body and not your heart and so you had very minimal experience outside of toys and your hands. the few you may or may not have been with were damn near clueless. on the other hand…your man has had plenty of hoe phases. it sly bugged you how he’d been intimate with a greater number you could’ve imagined but all that disappeared when he first made love to you. the best thing about him is that he can handle allat that ass. despite the clear size difference this doesn’t stop you from being a FREAK. He even encourages it. loving your thick globes of ass flesh kiss his lower belly as you push back and twerk all over his dick. his favourite part of your shape are your hips. he wants to breed you full of his children.

whenever he says ‘fuck yeah baby, back that shit up.’ it sends you orbital. it’s well known that the two of you share a huge affinity for doggy. the way you stroke his pudginess while he rails you in that position has become a safety mechanism - one that he has learnt to make the experience all the more enjoyable. with one hand holding you up (realistically struggling to, under the sheer passion of his fucking) and the other one bent behind your back fingering his belly button. his huge dick borderline tears you open and by grabbing onto him makes you feel safe. he usually recognises that it’s getting a bit too much when your moans become screams, and you get tighter. and as much as he loves seeing you overstimulated and fucked out on his cock, he doesn’t wanna break you (completely). so he slows down, soothing your pain with sweet nothings and his large hands massaging your ass cheeks.

for him personally though, he loves to smush you underneath his weight. in prone bone, he has direct access to your ear, whispering words of affirmation but degrading you with the grip of his arms around your neck. his beard hair softly touching your cheek, causing a wave of bliss to hit you, always gets him going. he knows you love hearing him praise you; his grunts are so delectable, a symphony with the percussion of him clapping tf outta your cheeks. as you whine like a lil bitch, they become guttural, like an alpha in his rut. the carnal passion of your heavier and rougher sessions reveal a callous side to his possessive nature. dangerous how much it turns you on.

words can’t really describe how much you love his stomach, happy trail adorning his belly, and riding him offers you the opportunity to see allat that on a platter. his smirk as he tries to contain his excitement that your his and only his.

on the topic of eye contact, you’re favourite mutual position is definitely missionary - your bf adores every inch of you. how your body becomes compliant. your hole crafted to take his big dick. the way it pierces through the walls of your pussy, massaging your gumminess. he sometimes drools from how lost he can be in the experience. ‘take my cock, yhhh baby, fuckkkk.’

slowing down his jack hammering pace, he’d lean forward with his low hanging balls rutting into you agonizingly slow.

‘you like that shit, huh baby? yeah? loving on my dick so well.’ whispering as he begins to mark your collarbone. then moving upwards onto your neck, massaging your previously pummeled throat as you looked up, desperate to kiss him. he exhales into your mouth, breathing life into you that he had taken away with his hard thrusts. his softness escaped as quickly as it arose, thrusting his entire load into you.

‘shit’ you scream as he laughs hoarsely, the rasp in his voice a melting honey.

in the same position, you love his cum face. something about how his eye and nose scrunch as he pants and grunt deeply. his beard ticking your chin. it also allows him to be vulnerable with you. he would hold your head cradling it with an affection rivalled only by how sweetly his tip kisses your prostate with each lengthy thrust. when he first enters, he’s checking to see if your okay, if you want more lube. you say no. legs just above his hips, you bring your hand to stroke his beard as he concentrates on directing his dick in a way that doesn’t make him cum immediately upon re entry.

‘i love you.’ you say getting all emotional from how well he’s treating you. ‘I love you too y/n.’ he leans down for more kisses as your hand now snakes around the back of his head.

he stops, letting you catch your breath, playing with your hair and caressing your face lovingly. your arms drop immediately at the warmth of his touch. he lifts and cradles your head, a delicacy opposing his rough demeanour.

‘I fucking love you,’ your bf grunts, placing forehead kisses, panting, as he starts moving faster. your legs now wrapped tightly around his abdomen like a vice. he plants both hands behind your head, balling his fists at either side of your head to create the perfect foundation to fuck you hard. brings one of his hands to cradle your hair and to bring your head closer to his. your temples meet ensuring that you’re so close and intimate. the man brings his body up, still inside you, collects your legs together, one leg on each shoulder holding onto the thick flesh of your upper thighs, allowing you to adjust, before toppling over onto you again to get deeper inside your pussy. later, moving his hands up to behind your knees, his rugged fingertips grip the flesh of your hamstrings.

your boyfriend brings his fingers up to stroke your cheeks and remove the hair sticking to your face. he’s growling at his need to go ham, but he exercises self-control as a means to take care of you. however, what he doesn’t realise is that his painfully slow strokes transport you to a utopia of bodily ecstasy.

he ABSOLUTELY loves seeing the imprint of his girthy cock in your stomach, pressing down on it to add to your respective pleasures. and when you both reach the top of the mountain, the visual of you being completely fucked out on his huge pole, as it protrudes through your stomach which is now decorated with your own personal release, makes him wanna rail you again. and again. until you pass out or his dick becomes limp. the latter would never happen because wherever you are, that cocks gonna be UP.

aftercare is so underrated with him. in his past relationships, it was usually a hit and quit it situation - his words not mine. thus he didn’t really know what to do at first. he’s so used to hookup culture, that he never bothered. but with you, he knew he had to change; one, because he knew you’d never let him near you again if he didn’t take care of you, but mainly two, because you were his and he had a responsibility to cherish you. considering you literally couldn’t walk and body was limp, your man needed to ensure you were taken care of. though he always reassures you, you make sure to do the same. the first time you spooned him he slept like a baby. BIG BOYS NEED CUDDLES TOO Y’ALL.

he gets really apologetic, constantly asking ‘did I go to rough.’ as he massages the bruises on your hips. sometimes feels guilty that he fucks you too hard. You put his mind at ease telling him that you do like it. your bubble butt and tight hole were made to take his cock.

this still doesn’t stop him from confessing to you; ‘baby, I’m so sorry.’ he kisses your skin. ‘when I see that ass if yours jiggle, it drives me crazy, I just can’t stop.’ it often leads to him overcompensating. as the his cum seeps out of your obliterated cunt. he just wants to make you feel safe. the same safety he feels when he’s with you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅

tag list:

@gayaristocrat

@ghostking4m

@lysanderplume

[i-cant-sing]

Mmmhhh thinking about Yandere Batfam reacting to a reader who runs a very popular blog where she absolutely bashes Batman and Robins- and the batfam takes your criticism very seriously. Maybe not at first, but then Damian (the easiest to tick) got pissed off when you wrote how "he's just a kid in a cheap Halloween costume" and when Damian gets pissed off, he whines. He whines and whines and whines until Dick and Bruce finally listen to him and do something about it. That's when they find out about the extensive threads about them, criticising meticulously each and every action of theirs, how they're causing more financial harm to Gotham and allowing themselves to be idolised and causing more people to comit crimes just so that they could have their 5 seconds of fame with Batman. And ofc theirs a whole page about the Batsignal.

I mean, Damian and Tim have already found out who runs the page (though they had a little bit of a hard time sniffing u out. You were good at covering your tracks). While Damian and Tim are busy going to "have a talk with you", Bruce is at home reading your entire blog about Batfam and realising how some of your points.... kinda makes sense. So, he buys the app where you write your blogs, then has Damian bring you over to the Wayne offices, where he explains he just wanted to meet the person running the blog that generates the most readers on the app. You, just a 23 year old student who's blogging as a side hustle.

You're obviously stunned because why are you meeting Bruce Wayne and also confused because again, why are you here exactly??? Bruce just says that he likes your insights and would like to know more, and he's happy to pay you by the hour you spend talking to him and also on the blog.

He's very much determined to make Batman and Robins be good in your mind, and not that he cares much about what people think about him, it doesn't hurt to have good PR for heroes, lest people should try revolting against Justice league and only end up hurting themselves. There's only so much he could do to calm his metahuman friends.

You're again- CONFUSED, but you like money. The only thing you tell him is that you get to write whatever you want, complete creative control and that you can write about anyone you wish. Ofc, it doesn't register to Bruce that you could possibly write against his family- against his name.

So in the beginning, things are going great. Reader continues making calculated judgements and comments about Batfam and how they could possibly improve themselves, the batfam takes note and tries to do most of the things. Then you'd write something that could almost be seen as praise for "changing their old ways" and they all feel a little bit proud. They don't realise it but some members of the batfam (like damian and Dick) start craving your approval of their actions.

Perhaps something happens, maybe you don't find it fun to write about the bats anymore, so you shift your mind towards a new topic-

The Wayne's.

You research a bit, finding it a little odd at Bruve Wayne's generosity to be adopting random ass kids, a super duper clean record, no scandals or anything- it just- it doesn't feel right. No one's that clean. They have to be hiding something.

So when u can't find anything against them, you let your imagination go wild and start making conspiracy theories, kinda feel like reader goes in her gossip girl era to stir things up so that someone would come forward with something- anything.

Bruce's eyes almost bulge out as he reads the blog's headline-

"The secrets of Gotham's favourite billionaire playboy!"

Shit- did you figure out he's batman?

Nope. In fact, you covered everything but that. From theories about him adopting troubled kids for PR, to the Wayne family actually being a chauvinist cult, to conspiracies about his ties with the Rothschild, his philanthropic donations being a front for illegal activity, the Wayne Manor holding lavish nsfw parties, and even a classic "they drink virgin maiden blood!"

Bruce stood in your apartment, eyes narrowing at your sleeping form on the couch.

"Bruce? What- how did you get in?" You don't remember unlocking your door.

"What is the meaning of this?" He pulled up your article on his phone.

"Huh?" You took a closer look, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. "Oh. Yeah, I wrote that."

"Why?"

You shrugged. "I was bored."

"What?" Bruce could feel himself getting angry. How could you be so nonchalant about the lies you wrote?

"You know this isn't true." "I do." "Then why did you write it?" "I told you, I was bored. Besides, you told me I could write about anyone." You get up with a sigh. "I don't get why you're so worried about this. Barely anyone reads this stuff."

Bruce's brows went up. "There's a 1000 plus views on this already!"

"What?" your eyes twinkled. "A thousand already? Its not even been 24 hours since I posted. Wow, people really do enjoy conspiracy-" you shut up when you saw his glare. "Right, sorry."

"Take it down, now." Bruce orders, brow twitching when you just walk past him and into the kitchen, pouring yourself some coffee. "Why?" you asks after taking a sip.

He glares at you. "Because it isnt true-"

"Then give me something that is."

Bruce stared at you. Is this... is this your way of wanting an interview?

You sighed. "Look, just let me interview you family, I promise to only write the truth and only the truth. No conspiracies, I swear."

"Or I could just fire you. Better yet, have you sued for defamation."

You nodded. "You could, but honestly that would only bring more attention to the articles and more conspiracies would arise. Besides, you and I both know you cant stop me from writing even if I'm in jail."

Bruce watched you walk upto him, holding your phone in your hand. "Come on, just one week- one week at your place, I'll even let you read the article before I post it. If you dont like it, I'll delete it."

I mean... it did sound like a pretty good bargain. Besides, at his home, youd be in a more supervised space.

So here you are, standing in the lobby of the Wayne manor as a posh butler leads you to Bruce's office. Of course Alfred will be a part of your articles. He's too fancy to not be.

And so over the course of a week, you dont really find anything particularly intriguing about the family, even after you interviewed each member. You're mentally groaning at the thought of writing yet another boring article... that is until you accidentally discover the batcave (ok not accidentally, u hid a recorder in Bruce's office and u heard the man discussing about it with Dick)

Anyways, it didnt take long for you to discover the cave, and it took you even less for you to write a scandalous article.

"RICH MAN COSPLAYS AND PRACTICES HIS JUJUTSU SKILLS ON THE MENTALLY ILL! SEE PICTURES OF WHERE HE ROLEPLAYS IN MASKS!"

Unfortunately, before you hit "post", your phone is snatched and you're knocked out.

When you come to, Bruce is sitting in front of you looking beyond pissed while you're tied up in your seat.

"We had a deal, Y/n." Bruce gritted out.

"So? Deal was off the moment I found out you were Batman." You shrugged.

"We had a deal-"

"You really expect me to just pretend like I'm blind after I found out who you really are? Do you think anyone would just give up on a scoop this big?" You tilt your head at him.

Bruce narrowed his eyes at you. "Scoop? Thats what this is to you?"

You nodded. "Sure, you're a hero who fights crime and brings "peace" to Gotham, but who knows for sure? After all, thats how you want the world to see you." You lean as far as your restraints allow you. "I dont trust you, Bruce. Not one bit. There's just- this gut feeling about you. Nothing personal, but I dont get good vibes from you."

"Is that so?" Bruce raised his brow before sighing. "I guess there's no reason to let you go then."

"What?"

He nodded to himself. "Yes, if I let you go now, you'll only cause more trouble for me, but also for yourself. If you post content like that, people will target you- yes, I definitely cant let you go. You're an impulsive idiot who'd endanger herself just to not be bored."

Your eyes widen. "You cant kill me."

Bruce scoffed. "Dont be ridiculous, I can, but I wont. I just want to take care of you, protect you from yourself." He stood up. "I did a little bit of research on you too, yknow? You keep your personal life super private, I have to give credit to you, it wasnt easy to find out about your family. But... money makes the mare go."

Your throat dried as you saw a glint in his eyes. He knew... he couldnt-

Bruce's footsteps echoed as he neared you and ruffled your hair. "Poor you... having to deal with a schizoprenic mom." He leaned down to smile gently at you, but you could sense the sinister intent.

"Dont worry, she'll be taken care of at Gotham Asylum while you stay with us."

girl idk where i was going with this, i just needed to get it out of my drafts (i have another long incomplete draft about platonic yandere dick x gymnast reader where he basically is intrigued by this mini tonya harding who lives for her dead beat father's approval who doesnt give a shit about her unless she comes first. so its upto dick to adopt u and make u a part of batfam)

[jksarchives]

2

[35/35]

ᯓᡣ𐭩

❖ reminder — by @dollfaceksj

Whenever he flies back into town, your doorbell is the first he rings. When he has to fly out again, your bed is the last he lies in. However, you’re not stupid. You know your ex-boyfriend, that also happens to be an up-and-coming professional boxer, Jeon Jungkook, doesn’t come to you only. Unfortunately, you have no right to be jealous, not when you’re the one that ended the relationship. | series [a, s, f]

❖ untitled — by @beautifulfuckup99

“Soul Crossings: This phenomenon can happen with friends or lovers or colleagues, when for a short amount of time you are thrown together and share amazing experiences and awakenings in a past life before one of you is ripped away. They may find you in the next life. And hopefully… the outcome will be different.” | ? [a, s]

❖ the act of falling — by @kooktrash

what was supposed to be a meaningless fling has turned into much more before you both realized you were falling. now all you can do is hope that all the challenges you’ve faced are worth something. | 14.4k [a, f]

❖ there’s only me when there’s you — by @koostattoos

Being new was tough. Starting out in a new school and new town without any idea where to go or any friends was tougher. When coming across Jungkook and his friends, school hadn't got any easier. When you get paired with Jungkook for a project your life becomes hell, or was it heaven? | 15.1k [a, f]

❖ pulling at your heartstrings — by @dreamescapeswriting

2.8k [a, f]

❖ forget me not — by @alexlwrites

The one where everytime you get dumped you pretend that you never met the guy before to mess with their heads. To the point that if you run into them somewhere you reintroduce yourself and act like you've never seen each other before. Enters fuckboy Jungkook who disappears after your night together, not knowing how much he was about to regret that choice. | ? [a, f]

❖ liability — by @alexlwrites

The one where your best friend of years and love of your life is getting married and wants you to be the maid of honor. Luckily for you, the best man is not exactly happy either. | ? [f, a]

❖ too late to dream — by @kookslastbutton

You did it. You married your college professor. You even bought a house together. Against all odds, everything had fallen into place. But after two years of marriage, you begin feeling something was missing. You want a baby but your husband can’t say the same. | series [a, s, f]

❖ bad habit — by @hannieehaee

hiding his secret crush on you was already hard enough for jungkook, and after getting bit by a spider, he'd now have the grueling task of hiding his brand-new superhero identity from you. | 9.4k [s, f]

❖ love; weakness — by @akinnie75

Jungkook’s dreams died years ago because he was told that he can’t love anything. But all of that is about to change during a coincidental meeting with you. | 22.7k [a, f, s]

❖ besties for the resties — by @jessikahathaway

Jungkook had always been your friend since the day you two met as young kids. But what happens when your friendship is put to the test? Can you remain “besties for the resties?” Or will years of friendship be lost in the blink of an eye? | 21.2k [f, a, s]

❖ way back home — by @solemnreads

series [f, a]

❖ what are best friends for? — by @lovelyyyoongi

What begins as harmless matchmaking, ends up in a jumbled mess of emotions for both you and your best friend, Jungkook. | 10.2k [f, a]

❖ strictly platonic — by @jeonqkooks

Sometimes, Jungkook can be a little selfish; and sometimes, the lengths you would go to for his happiness mean relinquishing your own. | 19.4k [s, a, f]

❖ tantalizing — by @littlemisskookie

Back in high school, you were nothing more than a nerd Jungkook wanted to deflower, to get a good fuck from. When he sees you at the club, though, things have changed drastically, and his dominance starts to teeter on the edge. | series [a, s]

❖ all over again — by @jungkookstatts

Paternity leave has its effects on Jungkook. After his first day back at work, he can't help but show you how much he doesn't want to go back. | 4.2k [f]

❖ the boy is mine — by @vanillakook

your big sister has a new boyfriend that you can’t wait to try. | 5.4k [s]

❖ gin and tonic (ft. mingyu) — by @back2bluesidex

If Jungkook is pungent as Gin then you need Mingyu as Tonic water to soothe your throat. | 2.2k [s]

❖ peas in a pod — by @iarchmybackula

3.6k [s]

❖ hotter than hell — by @chateautae

jungkook, lucifer and king of hell, has been cast out of the crimson underworld for a reason he’s unsure of. embarking on his journey for the answer should’ve been easy, if it weren’t for you, the human that nurses his wounded body in her home, and accidentally witnesses the truth of his identity. kickstarting a hellish adventure with the devil himself, you discover lucifer is the most infuriating company ever; and jungkook finds out that maybe his answer to returning home lies within his annoying human confidant. | series [s, a, f]

❖ heart’s detour — by @winterchimez

there has been a rise in kidnapping cases in town, and your brother feared for your safety and decided to send someone who would keep you safe in the meantime. what you least expected was that the biker gang's leader was the one your brother had gotten for you, thinking that this could probably be the biggest mistake you'll ever make in your life. | 22.7k [a]

❖ onsra — by @writemywaytoyourheart

series [a, f]

❖ shatter with me — by @colormepurplex2

Your best friend, Jiyoon, and her husband, Jungkook, have faced years of hardship trying to start a family. In a last-ditch effort to have their dream life, they seek solace in surrogacy. Wanting to see your best friend smile, you offer to become the bright beacon at the end of the tunnel, giving them what they have always wanted. But what happens when you begin to shine your light on their darkness? Things aren’t always as they seem—happiness can be a façade, shattering under the lightest pressure. | series [a, f, s]

❖ four, seven, eight — by @jiminrings

you’re secure when it comes to loving jungkook, knowing that your husband loves you beyond words. what you aren’t so secure about is his first love — someone who isn’t you. | series [a, f, s]

❖ b.a.s — by @explicit-tae

You knew you weren't shit, but you still gave your boyfriend 10 minutes to respond to your text before you went out to be a hoe. Luckily, Jungkook wasn't shit either. | 3.3k [s]

❖ one of your girls — by @ggukiepie

11.8k [a, s]

❖ empty space — by @ahundredtimesover

It started as friendship, turned to a casual fuck, then ended in heartbreak. Turns out, he wasn’t who he said he was, and years later he enters your life again, forcing you to face all the emotions you’d been trying to bury.  | 19.9k [a, s]

❖ house of cards — by @jeonggukingdom

What does safe mean when you are chased by zombies, when every corner you turn could be the last one for you? What do words like home and future mean when you’re always on the run and every moment could be your last? They mean nothing and everything at the same time and Jeongguk is all of the above. He is your safe haven, he is your home and he is your future. But things like that crumble easily in your world. | 17.5k [a, s]

❖ as the world burns around us — by @today-we-will-survive

You haven’t seen the sun in two years. The Virus wiped out a good three quarters of the world’s population and then the wars that followed wiped out half of that. After everything happened, it was only a matter of time before the different countries started blaming each other and emptied their nuclear arsenals. You’re still surprised Seoul survived – if you can call what it has become “surviving”. | series [f, a]

❖ when it all… — by @7deadlysinsfics

6.2k [a]

❖ horizon — by @sokooks

The way you approached life had started to break down Jungkook's emotional barriers. Jungkook couldn't deny that he was drawn to you in a way that was entirely new and unfamiliar. You had become more than just an assignment; you had become someone he genuinely cared about. It was the way you made him feel. With you, he felt more human than he had in a long time. Despite his best efforts to remain detached, his heart had other plans. | 32k [a, f,]

❖ proposals — by @pjxmin

You and Jeongguk propose at restaurants to get free food, but somewhere along the way you start to fall for him. | 18.1k [f, s, a]

❖ written in the stars — by @baepop

You’re the girl of Jungkook’s dreams, literally. The only problem: you’re taken by his best friend | 26.2k [a]

❖ lowkey — by @joonbird

Jungkook is the nude model for your art school's life drawing class. | 6.2k [s]

❖ it was always you — by @hueseok

For as long as you remember, you've always had the fattest crush on your childhood friend, jeon jungkook. it never blossomed into something more though, because that's what happens when life naturally takes it course-you grow up, you move on, and you pretend that those feelings never existed in order to maintain the good friendship that remained between the two of you over the years. So when he visits you after work one day, asking you to marry him, you do everything you can to refuse, because the reason he's asking you isn't due to the fact that he finally realized that he loved you after all this time, but because he thinks he's doing you a big favor. Or at least, that's what you think. | 13.2k [f, a, s]

NEXT | PREVIOUS

[justanothervigalanty]

Jason’s little guy

you and Jason were in the hospital. With a 4 hour old baby boy who was tiny. Very tiny. In all seriousness he was lucky to be alive unlike you you wished you were dead welst expecting child birth for the first time. But yeah your little boy was an early baby and when I say early I mean you were only 32 weeks pregnant and had only recently told your families! This was probably the most stressful terrifying thing for not only you but Jason because your water didn’t just break no no no. Jason needed backup in crime alley and you were the closest person so you put on your suit, red mast and went to kick some criminal ass. Jason was not happy about you being there but he needed the support so he didn’t complain. Until one off the shooters must off notice you small but visible pregnant belly. So take a wild guess at we’re this idiot kicked you. Your stomach. To which you feel to the floor in shock and well according to Bruce the red stain all up his suit was ketchup. So that’s how you ended up in the hospital. Yay (no). Jason had been waiting since the moment you both had talked about kids, holding a small mini him in his arms. But the odds were against him because well the kids check ups took about 1 hour to make sure he was okay and you needed to try Brest feed him which he wouldn’t take. Back to the checkups, he also to Jason’s horror had needed a injection around 1 inch long in his arm and thay just did it right there in front off him before carrying Jason’s screaming baby away again!? He just wanted to hold his son so when they brought him in and handed him to you he immediately gestured that he wanted to hold his kid. So you handed him over showing Jason how to support his head and not to squish him. God you had never seen your boyfriend so happy in your life. He didn’t say anything for about 10 minutes he just sat there staring at his son. Then around 3 doctors walked in. “Um miss L/n and mr Todd we believe your son may have some sort of genetic illness” one said walking over to a now very worried Jason with you terrified on the hospital bed. “As you can see your son has a very bold streak of white and we noticed his eyes Are glow in the dark green.” The doctor said as your son opened his eye to reveal your E/c past on to him. “What?! His eyes were green we all saw it not E/c!” Just then you and Jason laughed a bit. “What why are you laughing this is a serious issue you’re son could be permanently sick!?” Another said a bit disgusted. Jason just laughed and pulled down the hood on his jacket to show his jet back hair and white steak “it’s just some genetic from me” he said “and the eye thing is just how y/n’s eyes look in some light” Jason said holding your hand. “Oh then you should be good to go this evening. Which you gladly did. But there was a change off place you went over to Wayne manor because you had realised you hadn’t told anybody about your baby’s sudden birth. So when you walked in with a hospital bracelet and Jason holding what looked like a small pile of baby blankets Bruce was confused and concerned. “Y/n! Jason! We didn’t see you on the group patrol last night are you ok?” He asked standing up. “Well you could say that” Jason said walking over and handing over your son to him. “I told you I was good at keeping secrets” you said walking over “he is tiny!”

[revelboo]

OUGH your Waspinator fic is sooooooo everything. I like him a lot- he's not one of my mainstays, but ever since seeing TFA as a kid I've always felt a little protective of him. He needs more nice things

I’m sorry, but not sorry at all. He’s puppy. An ugly, puppy that’s going to chew up everything in the house, but still 🤣

Worker Bee Pt 2

IDW Waspinator x Reader

• It’s the sound of something breaking downstairs that drags you out of sleep, squinting in the dark and trying to decide if the noise has been inside the house or outside. There’s another crash with the sound of breaking glass and an odd scraping. Breath hitching, you lunge for your phone and turn on its light, swinging it and yanking the chord out of the wall and nearly screaming. Because there are glowing purple optics staring back at you. “Waspinator?” How had he gotten into the house? You’d left him out in the barn and locked the door behind you when you went in. But he’s different now, looking like a giant wasp to slip ice into your veins.

• “Lonely.” You’re just staring at him, but not yelling at him to go away. Not hitting him or throwing things. So it’s okay? It must be okay. Small, new friend likes Waspinator. Your nest is soft and it creaks under him when he climbs up with you. He’d mass shifted and transformed to get through the door of your dwelling and to maneuver the narrow hall. And you make a funny noise when something cracks and your nest crashes down with him and you both. Antenna flattening back he waits for the anger, but you just stare at him mouth hanging open. Not hitting him or yelling at all.

• Frozen, you stare at the giant, alien wasp that just broke your bed frame. Because he got lonely. And making a happy, humming noise, he just flops down. On you. Head on your chest knocking the air out of your lungs and you flat back on the bed as he throws an insectile leg across your hips. There’s no going back to sleep with him pinning you, mandibles way too close to your face and he’s making a faint buzzing hum. And you desperately want to shove him away from you, but your heart is racing like a mad thing. Because in this form? You’re suddenly realizing you’re scared to death of wasps. Giant wasps specifically. “Little friend?” He asks, purple optics glowing and too close as his antenna swing forward to brush your hair. Cringing, you just nod, because you can’t argue with him when those sharp mandibles are right there.

• “Yeah, sure. Friends,” you tell him, head turning away from his exploration with his antenna. Not angry with him. Even reaching to pat him so gently on the head with a soft hand. Accepting him. Relaxing against your warmth, he tries to figure out if anyone has ever touched him gently before. Everyone always pushes him away, hurts him, but his little soft friend likes him. No one’s ever liked Waspinator.

• Trapped under him, you stare at the shadowy ceiling as your heart beat slows to normal because he’s not doing anything but making it hard to breathe with his weight sprawled across you. He’s not trying to tear you apart with those awful mandibles, just cuddling against you like a big puppy. A terrifyingly ugly, alien puppy. He’d said he was lonely then asked if you were his friend. Staying on his good side definitely sounds like a plan and besides, that little ‘lonely,’ had sounded so broken.

Previous

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[esthercore]

𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐤𝐚𝐢 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞 (#𝟏)

(Gn! Reader)

Aventurine | Jing Yuan and Blade | Dan Feng | Veritas Ratio | Boothill

CW: bullying duh, mild(?) exhibitionism, a bit of a power play, reader is sort of a wimp, tiny dub-con, high school au

Aventurine was one of the cool boys in school, rich, popular, and damn attractive, but one of the sweeter one at that or that's what you thought, as your and his mom introduced you two, as new neighbors. You, one of the poor kids, the one labeled as a charity case.

God, the way he glared at you, like he wanted to kill you was enough to send you into a panic attack, as you immediately excused yourself. The next time you went out of your house, he cornered you, dragging you in on the building's rooftop, pinning you against the railings, half your back hanging in the air, threatening to cut your tongue off if you dared utter a word to this to anyone in school.

Since that day, your high school has been a living hell, as he made his goal to instill fear in you, after all he can't have you, spilling his secret out, the illusion of his power ruining.

You weren't dumb, it was all too obvious to see his mightier-than-thou persona, was a facade to fit in. Yet, you being the little wimp you are, you put up with his bullying, it only started as few teases, and remarks, which you didn't mind much.

After all, you were used to such treatment by his friends already but, this was also a surprise for them too, since you were the first one the Aventurine ever picked on.

All was just fine, till he started invading your safe space, your home after school, because, luck could never be on your side, as your mothers became besties, bonding over being single parents bonding of two teenagers. So you sat every weekend during dinner, in front of Aventurine, as he put on his good-boy act, and you had to witness, your damn mother coddling your bully, all too oblivious.

Holy mother Gaiathra, how tempted you were to tell your mom about all the bullying, but seeing how much she enjoyed the company of her new friend new friend, your bully's mom, you decided to suck it up, for the sake of her happiness.

But soon his actions started getting more and more invasive, as he started shoving you around the hallways, forcing you to sit beside him during lectures, throwing paper balls at you when you refused, and so on. But none compare to the times when he forced you to not attend your classes, dragging you to a random hide outs, making you sit beside him, as he hung out with his friends, bunking classes, as they sat somewhere playing poker or other stupid games.

And don't you dare utter a word when he's playing, 'cause then the hand that's been resting on your shoulder this whole time, will find it's way under your shirt, pinching your cute little nipples?

The first time this happened, was the first time you physically tried to fight back, only to get laughed at by his friend, as they coaxed you into accepting it, after all, it's Aventurine, everyone's dream boy, giving a loser like you his attention, 'you better learn to appreciate it'.

So you did, you learned to just stay there and take it, as his punishment soon turned into a normal occurrence, sometimes making you sit on his lap, as he played, absentmindedly playing with your chest, as you squealed and nuzzled into the crook of his neck, trying to save face, which surprisingly none of his friends found odd, sometimes the one closest to him taking the lead and making you join their little hangout, cause they "like seeing Aventurine happy".

And the worst of it all were, your friends, who teased and shipped you together. How sweet of them to ship you with your damn bully, who invades your personal space, and makes you feel so gushy-mushy inside.

This isn't a romance novel after all!

No, no he's not getting softer to you, giving you random trinkets, like some cute stationary or a toy he won in the arcade. And your heartbeat definitely didn't start rising up whenever you were sitting beside him in class, as he laid a hand on your thigh, before dozing to sleep.

You're just - just going crazy! That's it, crazy enough to let (help) him sneak into your room at night and let him hold you as you both drift to sleep, as he apologized for being mean to you, his hand under your shirt, your arm around his waist, only to wake up alone the next day.

It was supposed to be a one-time thing! When you let him in through because you saw him, crying, and drunk, on the same rooftop, he once threatened to throw you off.

But, you couldn't help it, Aventurine, no Kakavasha, as he made you call him, was just a lonely boy, who wanted fame and power, amongst others, just a boy insecure of not having the same status as his peers, and your heart softens at the fact, after all, you too were once insecure as a child, well not as crazy as Aventurine, going as far as using a different, fancier name in school, or doing reckless stuff to fit in, but everyone has their own story to tell, right?

Perhaps, you could be his friend, he's sweet enough when not in front of others and maybe you are fine with his little groping, right? His friends do call you his lucky charm. Just friends, sure.

Just two friends who sneak in kisses between classes in private, just two friends who found each other under each other sheets in the dead of night, just two friends who hung out randomly in cute little places like cafes, or arcades, but only the ones far away from school, as he still gave you the same treatment in school.

All until one usual day in the hallway, as you were busy stuffing your lockers, and one of his 'friends', a rando, who sometimes joins in, who you didn't know much about, except the fact that he's loaded decided you were the perfect punching bag, to release his anger on.

He pushed you against a wall, his fist up, as you cowered, trying to cover your face, but the punch never came, only a tiny cracking noise, and gasps from the students around you.

Slowly, you removed your arms that were blocking your vision, only to see the boy lying on the ground nose bloodied, and Aventurine glaring at him.

Before you could even say anything Aventurine grabbed your arms and dragged you into an empty classroom, pulling you in a big hug, apologizing profusely.

Thud* Thud* Thud*

You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, as you nuzzled in his embrace.

"This would never happen again, I make sure of it," he promised, looking into your eyes with genuine care and sorrow. The same boy who was so desperate for others' approval, just broke someone's nose in front of so many people, to save a pathetic loser like you.

Your brain freezed at the thought, you didn't even think what you were doing and immediately got on your tip toes, grabbed his collar and smashed your lips together, you saw his eyes widen for a second, and then his gaze softened, as he grabbed your waist pulling you in, and closed his eyes.

After few seconds you both pulled away, and your eyes meet again, except both of your visions were blurry, due to the tears flooding in.

Maybe, you didn't want to be friends anymore, but you didn't get much chance to ponder on it, as in only few for the whole school now, you were already labeled his, something he took pride in (you too).

So as the night fell, you two found him in your bed again, nuzzling into you in his sleep, except this time you woke up next to his pretty face and got peppered with kisses first thing in the morning.

(After that you both got teased a lot by your mothers)

imma post some yan! Aven soon, this was too sweet for me, but i can't see this boy being too mean, unlike some others (everyone else) on the roster

[running-on-coffee-and-anxiety]

Know what? I'm gonna try throwing my hat into the ring for Danny Phantom.

I accidentally electrocuted myself as a kid and never told anybody- nothing serious, I grabbed the three exposed prongs of a half plugged in laptop charger in the middle of the night and didn't want to get in trouble since nobody else was awake. Even if it isn't fatal, it's terrifying and your vision completely blacks out and your arm tingles for days afterwards, and for the whole day after you got shocked your fingers on the hand that grabbed the prongs will randomly twitch, open or close or jerk to the side. You have no control, it's like when the doctor hits your knee to check your reflexes.

Now, from what I can tell from the scene where Danny went ghost for the first time, he really was electrocuted. From what I can tell, his ghost and human halves seem kinda separate- not completely, but the change is there. Where is this going?

Danny never told anyone about the accident- not anybody that could help him, anyways. I propose that, since he never got medical treatment or physical/occupational therapy after the accident, his motor function deteriorates over time.

More specifically, his small motor function is effected- I will be using personal experience in this section, since my small motor skills were so bad I couldn't use zippers or tie my shoes until I was 12, but I'll try putting things in reverse.

Danny starts fumbling with tying his shoes, laughing it off as being tired. Buttons take a few minuets, and even snap buttons become a bit hard. Odd, mildly confusing, but nothing to be concerned about. Then it progresses. He can't properly use tools anymore, it's like nothing is ever precise enough, everything takes a few tries to get it right. His fingers are fumbling everything, his handwriting turns to chickenscratch that not even he can read at times, he struggles to comb his hair because it's hard to coordinate movements, his back teeth are always textured because he struggles to brush his teeth and he can't really reach the back ones properly anymore.

I don't know if this is connected to small motor or not, but he starts dragging his feet and the toes of his shoes wear out quicker because walking while lifting his feet any higher doesn't feel right. This was something I had fixed during occupational therapy, but I don't know if it was just me or not.

Eventually, it becomes sunlight-on-clean-pact-snow levels of blindingly obvious that something is incredibly wrong. Danny's hair is knotted and half-matted because he is unable to brush it properly, when he smiles there is plaque on some parts of his teeth and not others, he always wears slip-on shoes or his laced shoes are always untied, buttons always seem like they could unslip because they're only half-buttoned, zippers in his jackets getting stuck in shirts and he doesn't bother to fix it, teachers can no longer read his assignments and his friends can't read his notes. Nobody can ignore it, but nobody knows how to help when Danny gets so clearly frustrated when he has to do something with his hands and it just doesn't work. It seems like he suddenly developed a hole in his lip, since he always had to lean far over his bowl or plate to not end up on food with his shirt because his hands can't hold silverware steady.

But Phantom? None of those issues. He became a ghost after being electrocuted, of course. Why would there be damage from the initial creation of this half? It could be why he ends up enjoying fighting the ghosts, his hands actually work with him instead of against him.

Feel free to take this idea and do what you want with it, I really liked writing this!

Also if you use this for a fic, please comment the link if possible, I wanna see all the ways people use this :)

Edit: So I started a mini-series about this. Is it any good? Probably not, but writing makes me happy.

Noticed But Hoping For The Best

[coeurify]

actually on my knees begging for a girl next door blurb with Ellie

like imagine moving into the house next to her’s and her being all grumbly and closed off because she cannot physically face the reader because she’s just a loser lesbian and OMG THE UNKNOWN PINING SUJDJSNSNDB

I NEED HER I CANT-

WHERE IS THE LOVE FOR LOSER GND!ELLIE ⁉️

giggles.. cause like.. yea.

if we r talking modern!ellie, oh god would it be the most cliche shit ever (plz tell me if u want jackson!ellie version cause i’d be happy to do that too. or jus more of this concept) [not edited]

⋆˚✿˖° im talking, ellie looking out from her window in her old house, eyes narrowing as a moving truck pulled into the pretty blue house next door. the neighborhood had been recently taken over by young families, which ellie hated— cause why was she being interrupted in her ‘laying in her bed while blasting music and complaining to herself’ alone time by a bunch of kids screaming outside? either way. she expected another one of these cases.

⋆˚✿˖° but then you popped out, trying to handle three boxes all on your own, cheek pressed against the cardboard as you yelled something ellie couldn’t hear to whoever else was in moving truck. you had glanced over at ellie’s house, maybe even up at her window. and maybe ellie was just dramatic, but she flipped away from that window and face down onto her bed so quickly she was pretty sure it was a new record. because fuck you were pretty.

⋆˚✿˖° and it only got worse later, when el was pulling her hair down from its bun, glancing the sun pressing below the clouds. her fingers moved to close the curtains of her window, and there you were, standing at the window directly across from hers. like— shit straight from a taylor swift music video or something.

⋆˚✿˖° and you, almost as awkward as her, let your hands fall down from their place above your head. you had been putting up shades, but once you caught the gaze of your messy haired neighbor, you smiled at her. fuck, you smiled and waved and ellie just turned away and shut her curtains. you know, like the master at social interactions she was.

⋆˚✿˖° a twin frown painted both your lips at the interaction that night, and at the same time you both huffed out, “god, why’d i do that?”

⋆˚✿˖° nothing really got better from there. not when your family forced you over to ellie’s house with a plate of cookies, your sweet smile the first sight ellie had seen that day as she turned the doorknob to shoo away some girl scout selling something. “we don’t need— oh— oh hi.”

⋆˚✿˖° you looked so fucking pretty. ellie was sure it was fake. maybe she was still in bed dreaming. maybe this was about to turn into one of those really weird s- never mind. you were talking now, and not asking to borrow sugar, so definitely real. “hi! uh— I just, we— i mean, my family, we just wanted to introduce ourselves. and give a gift i guess,” you glance to the plate of wrapped up treats and chuckle lightly. because really, cookies?

⋆˚✿˖° ellie was about red as the shirt she was wearing, stammering a thank you as joel creeped behind her at the door. “you the new neighbors kid?” joel had asked, making ellie clam right up. she backed away from the door, like— just side shuffled out of your view with an awkward wave.

⋆˚✿˖° your eyes followed her, fighting back the odd sense of disappointment that you were no longer staring at the freckled and flushed face of your new neighbor. “uh, yea—yes sir.” you eventually spoke again, offering your grin to joel instead.

⋆˚✿˖° one time joel was doing yard work the same time your family was outside working on the garden. you were fanning your sweating cheek with your hand, the warmth from the sun along with carrying in and out heavy tools was not exactly ideal, and you only felt more heated when ellie came outside the door at the exact moment joel ended up making conversation with your mother.

⋆˚✿˖° “your girl in college?” you could hear him ask, but it was lightly muffled, your attention instead on watching as ellie struggled to bend over and tie her converse against the wall. what an odd way to do it. she was balancing some sort of notebook between arm.. maybe pencils too? did she draw? or maybe write? why couldn’t you stop wondering about it?

⋆˚✿˖° your mom answered joel’s question with some version of the story she always does, gushing about how you were doing so well in school, how she was so proud of you. you didn’t tune back in until joel was speaking again, “ah yea, my — well, ellie, she’s in school too. physics major. but she’s got this thing for astronomy too. kid’s always talking about double majoring.”

⋆˚✿˖° god, she was cute and smart? and her name was ellie? you swore the sun got even hotter at the thought of her talking to you about quantum something-or-other, just nodding along. god you could see it now. a hand in that pretty auburn hair.. mumbling ‘mhm.. whatever you say ellie.’

⋆˚✿˖° then you saw her trip down the stairs on her porch as she looked over. full on hand on the side of the stairs to keep her from eating shit on the rocks there. you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, stifling a giggle as you wave her way. only to be given a tight lipped smile as she quickly moved away to her car. god. what an odd girl.

⋆˚✿˖° ellie simply lost it the moment she sat in her car, groaning loudly as she slammed her sketch book on her face. “stupid fucking shoes!” she muttered, as if it was the shoes fault for tripping, and not the way she had been intently staring at your face from across the yard. definitely not.

⋆˚✿˖° but really she couldn’t help it, you looked so good, you were wearing shorts, and ellie was happily taking in the sight of skin before that evil fucking creaky porch board got her tumbling down. fuck. she couldn’t ever talk to you again. not ever. she let her head fall to the steering wheel as she went through a million and one ways to simply become invisible and escape any way of running into you. maybe she should become nocturnal.

⋆˚✿˖° but when she let her head fall to the steering wheel, it honked. like a loud, drawn out honk that had you, joel, and your mother’s head turning to the direction of the sound.

⋆˚✿˖° ellie screeched, and you pressed fingers to your lips to contain another smile. you were pretty sure living here was going to be kind of great.

[razzle-n-dazzle]

Lucifer x F!Reader [Adam’s ExGF]

[context: she’s was an angel created in heaven, and ends up dating adam for a bit this is long after Eden. and ends up leaving him not being able to handle him anymore.]

So~

Another one of his partners is stolen by Lucifer heheh.. she married him and they have a 12 month old baby. Adam being in hell now and is trying to “rehabilitate” is forced to watch his ex partner being happy something he he did so little for her when they were together.

bonus: if Adam snatches the baby’s toy from their hands causing them to cry and everyone to shout at him and argue

. . . 𝘍𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘔𝘺 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 Lucifer / AFAB! Reader

‗( content / trigger warning ) not proofread (we die like Adam), AFAB! reader, reader has a kid, technically this is an (yandere?) Adam / Reader hurt fanfic in disguise, It's Helluva/Hazbin there's going to be cursing. ‗( author's note ) I'm going to try and do Lucifer's personality justice here. I had gone back to reread some of my old Lucifer fanfic to see that I mischaracterized him in a rather noticeable way (at least for me), and that doesn't fly here. So let's hope third time is a charm <3

"To be yours was like holding a thorned rose. It was pretty, sure, yet it pierced, stabbed, and bled my hands the tighter I held on to keep it alive. . . So, I let it die."

To say a bone in his body does not loath Lucifer, would be an understatement. Actually, no, it would be the foulest lie that would have ever been uttered. There was nothing in this world that Adam despised more than Lucifer Morningstar; The fallen angel of corrupted dreams, a thief and tainter of pure hearts, the sole creator of sin and everything that is wrong within the world. Simply to put it, if Adam had a chance to fuck as many women as he could want, in all the positions he could ever hope for, or torture Lucifer without a single repercussion until he's dead on hell's floor; He'd choose the latter. After all, who wouldn't hate the guy after everything he did? Well, apparently one person didn't, and Adam couldn't understand why.

You: The love of his life. Adam didn't get it, he really didn't. How could you, one of the most perfect people in creation, end up with someone like . . . Lucifer? And how could, promptly, Lucifer have been the one to end Adam up in Hell! And how, just how, did Adam ever think he needed the help of Lucifer's daughter to quote-on-quote rehabilitate when he's the original dick and would end back in Heaven by default?! And yet, even with all those questions and odds stacking up against him, Adam still found himself sitting at Husker's bar. He still found himself watching as you sat next to Lucifer, holding a literal baby on your lap, while Charlie cooed over her new baby brother. Honestly, he was a second away from slamming his drink down on the counter or across the hotel lobby to hopefully crack Lucifer's skull open. That fucking bastard. He had no right to not only be sitting next to you right now, calling you his lover, but to knock you up with his kid! He didn't deserve you. No one deserved you but Adam and yet you dumbed him! Him! The original dick, the original first man. Pft. It's your loss anyways. He's so much better than what's his stupid fucking face and his stupid fucking kids. Pft, yeah. It's not like he cared at all! After all, he could have that stupid(ly beautiful) grin on your face ten times brighter than Lucifer could ever.

Adam's days were absolutely miserable anytime You and Lucifer came over to the Hotel, as there was little chances of avoiding either of you. Sure, maybe Adam could hide in his room and pretend like he never say either of you on your visit days. Sure, maybe he could go out on the town and possibly meet someone that was ten times better than you. And, sure, maybe he could just do one of the million annoying tasks Charlie had for the residents. Yet, there was still no avoiding either of you. Not for Adam. Because avoiding you would show Lucifer that he won. That he managed not only to take Lilith, yet Even, and now You away from Adam and let it affect him. Adam was not ever giving Lucifer that satisfaction, and he wasn't going to let you have the satisfaction of knowing that he still . . . loves you. Not that you would be paying attention, anyways. You haven't even spared him a glance, other than courteous waves of hellos when Adam was near some of the other residents. So, if you had moved on, so had Adam! And, frankly, much to Adam's dismay, you had. The fall from Heaven hadn't been a pretty one, not at all. The Seraphim had stripped you of your wings, casted you down based on a senseless accusation that could have "threatened the whole order of the Heavens". It was unjust, and it had stung you heavily during the first few months, but you slowly learnt to cope. Finding someone who could share your same pains helped, immensely. Lucifer had been that person for you. The person who, despite everything you had gone through, seemed to always understand where you were coming from; And, likewise, you were that person for Lucifer. You had made Lucifer believe he could fall in love again, and Lucifer had made you believe you could dream again. That you could create without judgement. And, after years of courting, to two years of being fiancés, to the wedding and now a year and a half of being married you two had a beautiful baby boy. And, much like Charlie, he was the little joy of your shared lives. "Ceyx!" Charlie would laugh as her baby brother tugged on her hair. It was a little painful, yet Charlie didn't mind too much. Not when he looked so adorable with his chubby little cheeks and those big round eyes. "Sorry! Sorry, I should have warned you he started his hair pulling phase," You would pull away from Lucifer, who sat besides you, to gently try and coax Ceyx to let go of Charlie's chair. Though, Ceyx apparently only saw this as a fun little game as he let out a spit of babbles and laughs while you were gently attempting to pry his little hands off. "He had only been interested in Lucifer's hair until now." Charlie would wave you off gently, laughing softly, "No, no, it's alright!" As she had to crane her neck slightly so Ceyx's playful tugs didn't feel like he was trying to rip out her hair. A scowl spread on Adam's face, with furrowed eyebrows and hate-filled eyes, as he watched you five from the top of the stairs. This was the second time You had came over in the last week and he got sicker by the passing visit. And this time was no different, his stomach churn with abhorrence, as he watched Lucifer swoop from next to you to in front of your baby, giving him some tickles on his belly. Adam watched as Ceyx would babble happily seeing his father's face before exploding into a fit of giggles and laughter once Lucifer began to tickle him. He nearly vomited seeing the little baby faces Lucifer was making. Yet, his heart broke seeing the way that your eyes twinkled at Lucifer, staring at him so fondly and lovingly. A look you had reserved for Adam. A look, he knew but continuously denied the truth of, he would never get again from you.

It's not like he cared anyways! . . . Not one bit. Not even as he watched as Lucifer would scoop up Ceyx, whose eyes carried the same shade and light as yours, and spin him around. Entertaining the baby while Vaggie assisted Charlie with fixing her hair, while Charlie watched her dad fond over the newest addition to the Morningstar family. Adam didn't even care when you stood up, gently placed a hand on Lucifer's shoulder, and pecked his cheek. It didn't boil his blood. And, of course, it's not like he needed answered from you. No way. And it was not the reason why Adam stalked your figure from above when you went to the bar to order drinks, after asking your family if they needed anything. And it was 100% not the reason why Adam went to the bar while Husk was mixing your drinks and sit down right next to you. He just needed to catch your eye on final time. To prove to himself that he still held some bit of your heart, that he still had some sort of chance against him, against Lucifer. And, yet, he found no such light in your eyes. You had simply glanced over to him, checking who had sat down next to you. Sure, you didn't give him a vindictive or disgusted look, like most of his exs would have, you didn't really react either. A simply, courteous, greeting before your drinks were finish. You, Adam's eyes, took the first chance to leave the conversation. And it stabbed right through his heart. But it's not like he cared! . . . Right? No! He didn't. He couldn't possibly! I mean, there were so many women fishing after his dick that you, oh wonderful you, didn't even matter to him. Once he got back up to Heaven, he'll find another bitch to replace you like- Snap!- that! He was Adam, after all.

You had been trying to keep things civil between You and Adam during every trip to the Hotel, really. Sure, you had been seriously dating but that didn't mean you had to have tension with the man! Even if he had been a douchebag during your entire relationship, you just didn't need that sort of stress, not with the new baby. But, Heaven's dammit, had he crossed the line today! Charlie had bought a little play pen for Ceyx to play in recently, having set it up and everything for your next visit to the Hotel. It sat a in front of the couch that Charlie, Lucifer, Vaggie, and you usually sat at and wasn't particularly in anyone's way. Charlie had wanted to show you both some of the new-new renovations made to the hotel and you had all thought that Ceyx would be alright with Vaggie in his play pen. You didn't miss the way Lucifer's eyes glanced back towards Ceyx, though, as you three walked up the main staircase. His eyebrows furrowed and his steps slowly stopped, so noticeable in fact that Charlie and you were sure he was about to race down the stairs and snatch Ceyx from his playpen and bring him with you. And you knew he didn't not trust Vaggie, he was just cautious. "He'll be fine, Luci," Your soft, whispered, voice was coaxing Lucifer away from Ceyx. It would only be a moment, you had said, as your hands rested gently on his. The gesture would draw his arm up as you took a step, and then a second, and by the third he reluctantly began to follow you up. Heavens, you wished you listened to his worried father instincts earlier. As mid-tour Vaggie's voice peirced through the whole hotel, "What the FUCK do you think you're doing?!" Which was enough for a signal for Lucifer to dart right back around and sprint down the hallway. Leaving Charlie and you in a dust of confusion for a moment, before you shared a worried look at each other and darted off after him.

The lobby of the hotel was in complete disarray when you caught up to Lucifer, to which he was already on the main floor. His heels clacked on the floor as he skidded to a stop between Vaggie, who held Ceyx, and Adam. Lucifer's breath was labored, yet he still raised his chin as his eyes pierced daggers at Adam. In that moment, in the intensity of his look, you truly understood why Lucifer was dubbed the King of Hell; Even with his wings unfurled and stretched out. Ceyx's cries died down for a moment upon seeing his father, though they only stirred back up feeling the tension, as thick as butter, in the room. "Woah, woah! Hey, what happened?!" Charlie exclaimed as she rushed down the stairs, trying to play mediator before someone decided to jump the other. You soon followed after her, stopping by Charlie's side with a hand rested on her shoulder. Vaggie huffed, standing on the couch with one leg on the cushion and the other on the back of the couch, "Your new guest" —she spat with vigor— "decided it would be a brilliant idea to mess with Ceyx and snatch his toy away while he was playing with it!" And, oh boy, if you didn't smell the smoke from the fire that burnt between Lucifer's horns before, you sure did now. It boiled, flared, and smoked out black with Lucifer's outrage. "How FUCKING dare you!" hissed Lucifer as his fingers flexed, the knuckles in his fingers cracking. "You think you can come into MY DAUGHTER'S Hotel—" "Lucifer," you tried to quell the situation, but knew it would be a futile attempt. "—and put your GRUBBY FUCKING HANDS on MY CHILD!—" Charlie attempted next, stretching out the 'a' in a cautious manner as she gently took a step forward, "Dad!" To only scramble the step back as Lucifer growled. "—and think YOU WOULD GET AWAY WITH IT YOU BASTARD!" and you would subconsciously shield Charlie's eyes with a hand as Lucifer reeled back and punched Adam across the lobby. Flinching as he crashed right next to the bar, leaving a nasty dent in the wall, you whispered a small sorry to Charlie for the damage. Vaggie didn't seem too bothered by the whole event though, as she cautiously stepped down from the couch with Ceyx once Adam was away. There was a jolt back when Lucifer snapped his head around, glaring over at Vaggie once he reregistered that his son was balling his eyes out; And you were a bit afraid Lucifer might punch Vaggie too, yet the haunting glow of red slowly subsided when soft pale yellow eyes grew upon seeing Ceyx. And Adam, as he pushed the debris of the wall off him with a groan, sat up to the scene of Lucifer gently picking up Ceyx from Vaggie's hands. The way his eyes shrunk just a little, while his pupils inflated, with a scrunched and worried eyebrow made Adam sick of looking at his stupid face. Especially when he cuddled and coddled the child, who would have been just fine if everyone didn't make a big deal out of everything. "Fucking snowflakes," Adam would grumble under his breath. His glare pierced the wall nearby before a shadow in front of him covered his light and caught his attention. He was sure it was just someone else there to berate him for something that wasn't even a big deal. And he was about to flip them off, to tell them to go fuck off, until he realized who it was. . . You stood in front of Adam, slamming your foot into his his chest with a snarl on her otherwise beautiful (in Adam's opinion) face, "What the hell was that?!" "What was what?!" Choked Adam as he met your eyes again. You gave him your undivided attention, and sure while it was filled with venom and hate, it was still attention. And, for some reason, he couldn't help but fold under it a little. Dammit! He wouldn't do this for anyone else, so why were you so different?!

"On don't play fucking dumb with me, Adam! You know exactly why you did and I want answers from you." You spat at him, venom leaking from your tone like a snake coiling around his body to squeeze him. And for once Adam was at a loss for words. At least, words that would make the situation better, as all that filled his mind was you. You and how you looked over him. How you were so close Adam could reach his hands out and grab your waist, pulling you down onto his lap. The smell of your perfume, it was different than he remembered yet it suited you. You eyes . . . still that same shade he always loved and- "Fuck, Babe," he would groan, not off put by the way your face drew back with suprise and then scrunched with pure, unfiltered disgust. "You're so fucking hot like thi—" Adam didn't get to finish his statement before a hard— SMACK!— echoed in the lobby, swiftly hushing the voiced that came from around Ceyx. They had been cooing at him, comforting him, though sharply turned to watched as you huffed your way back over to the group and away from Adam; Who was slightly flushed on the floor, a crude snicker stretched on his lips, which did almost nothing to mask the pain that filled his eyes.

Adam had always loathed Lucifer. Yet, after that day it became more deep rooted. Lucifer had taken everyone from him, he started two families that were meant to be his, and he did it without a single drop or tear of remorse. You were meant to be Adam's, Adam was meant to be yours. This isn't how it was supposed to go! And yet. . . when you returned to Lucifer, you whispered to you a concerned question, a small smile returned to your face as you rested his query to bed. And Adam would never forget the way you leaned against Lucifer, gently reaching out for your child, more at content and at peace next to him than you had ever been with Adam. That's when it all truly sunk in for Adam. . . and oddly, it made his desire for you burn more.

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[therainscene]

I've described myself in the past as "overly-queerbaited" as a way of explaining why it took me so long to come around to Byler endgame as a legitimate possibility... but that's kind of a misleading way of putting it.

Truth is, I've always been too much of a cynical fuck to fall for queerbait... or any other story that promises positive queer rep.

[Sherlock couldn't touch me; I saw this cringe homophobia coming from a mile away. Fans mistaking straight anxiety jokes for meaningful gay subtext was clearly doomed to end in mockery. Nobody deserved to be treated like that... but god, it was easy to predict.]

I think it's a symptom of having grown up under Section 28 -- feeling like I'm being unreasonable for wanting to see queerness normalized is such an ingrained habit that even today I instinctively recoil like a vampire touching sunlight whenever an optimistic queer story falls unrequested into my lap.

But I'm hardly alone in feeling this way -- many queer Millennial and Gen-X fans of Stranger Things are against the idea of Byler because it would ruin the catharsis of watching the gay boy growing up in the same era as we did slowly succumb to the same despair that we did.

[For those who haven't played the VR game: Vecna is speaking in this screenshot.]

There's genuine comfort to be found in painful stories -- this type of catharsis is practically the cornerstone of horror as a genre -- so I can't really fault myself or anyone else for wanting it, despite the obnoxious oversaturation of disappointing queer endings in media.

This is the nostalgia show, after all -- and like it or not, for many middle-aged queers in the target audience, nostalgia is shot through with the pain of homophobia and loneliness.

But do you know who else is a hurt queer(-coded) adult who resents happy endings? This cynical fuck:

Henry personifies despair and loneliness and the dark urge to take our pain out on others -- and when Will is in the picture, I would argue that he also represents internalized homophobia.

Will might represent who we were -- but Henry represents who we've let ourselves turn into.

And I don't think many of us want to admit to that, because that would involve questioning why we have so much in common with the literal villain of the show; why we're still so consumed with self-pity after 20+ years that we're obsessing over the fate of some kid.

I'm not suggesting that wanting a less-than-fairytale ending for a fictional gay boy is equivalent to being a child killer lol. It's perfectly valid to want to see your pain acknowledged, and stories which appeal to that desire deserve to exist.

But between Henry's connection to Will and the cycle of abuse themes of the show, it's clear that this particular story simply isn't about wallowing in the bleakness of growing up gay in the 80s, but about self-actualizing in spite of it all.

So I just can't bring myself to want a "relatable" ending for Will.

As much as I struggle to enjoy positive queer rep, I don't want to be so cynical. I'd thrown up so many walls to protect myself as a teenager that I forgot how desperately I wanted to see just one of those painful queer stories end on the same uplifting note that straight stories were always entitled to: with true love overcoming the odds, saving the day, and living happily ever after.

[But I'm A Cheerleader, a surprisingly fun movie about conversion therapy, is proof that stories like this did exist when I was a teen... but finding them in the pre- and early-internet days amidst so much censorship was a tall order.]

What makes Stranger Things different from most queer stories -- and what allowed it to pierce through my defenses and stab me in the gut -- is that it perfectly mimics those bleak, acceptable-to-the-censors stories from my youth -- only this time, the secret uplifting gay plot twist is real.

Not for the sake of shock value or of grabbing some empty woke points at the last second, but because the plan all along was to slap the audience in the face for believing homophobic lies about the existence of queer happiness.

That's some gourmet catharsis, if you ask me.

Just the possibility that my inner child might finally be vindicated has allowed me to truly let myself want the things I want for the first time in 20 years -- and that's the first step towards finally crawling back out into the sunlight.

Happy Pride Month, everyone. 🌈

[princessbrunette]

imagine rafe trying to teach you a little bit of self defense but you just get turned on by him manhandling you and he’s just tsking at you underneath him with your hands pinned above your head lowly whispering “you gotta pay attention kid, there’s bad men out there… gotta know how’t stop em from from thinking they can do whatever they want” and she’d get all blushy and squirming just looking at him all doe eyed like “You can do what ever you want 🥺🥺🩷” He loves how submissive you are !!!!

i love this idea sm but when i started writing it kinda turned into something else ??? kinda dubcon but that’s just how he plays sometimes. reader is clearly wanting it !

ೀ 🍨 ‧ ˚ 🎀 ⊹˚. ♡

rafe was in one of his moods. the odd moods he gets in where he’s suddenly motivated to fix things, handle business, be ‘proactive’ as he puts it. there was no business to handle that day, so he turned his attention to you — deciding now of all times was the time to teach you how to defend yourself.

the idea had sprung to him when he walked into the room and stared you down, coming to the harrowing realisation that you hadn’t even noticed his presence, too engrossed in the book in your grasp. he creeps closer, and you don’t even blink. he edges behind you, and notes the way he could grab you into a headlock if he wanted, or cover your mouth, hell — he could snap your neck. you’d never see it coming.

of course, he didn’t want to ever hurt you — which is why he decided to stage an impromptu lesson. that gets you to where you end up, pinned to the ground beneath him.

“ow, rafe.” you frown wiggling your wrist from his grip until he lets it free with a shake of his head. you weren’t too happy about him stealing you away from your time of relaxation with your book — but you would never give up the opportunity to have your boyfriends hands on you. you thought things would have played out a little more… fun.

“see, you — you did it again. if i put my hand here, what are you gonna do, huh? what’d i tell you?” he raises his eyebrows, prompting a response.

“uhh, bite it?” you giggle, making him sit up on his knees, jaw ticking in frustration.

“you know i’m tryna save your life here, kid. someone comes up to you and grabs you, you’re screwed, ‘cos you don’t know how to protect yourself. i’m not always gonna be around to fight people off okay?”

“why not?” you whine, pressing a socked foot against his chest from where you lay. he wraps a hand gently around your ankle and brings it down, expression displaying his frustration.

“because i am not with you 24 hours a day, alright? m’not playing around here. you gonna listen?” he nudges your thigh with his own and you huff, head moving with a noncommittal nod. “okay.” he brings his body down onto yours, pinning you down with it. he had to be doing this on purpose. “alright, flip me on my back. go.”

you can’t help yourself, you wrap your legs around his waist and bring his crotch flush against yours with a little giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck. he presses his lips together, staring at you blankly from his incredibly close proximity and stays silent until your childish laughs die down. you think he’s going to remove himself, lecture you and walk off for a little while— but he continues to stare, even when you wriggle beneath him, legs split around his body — mound of your cunt pressing up against his bulge.

“you think this is some kinda joke huh?” he asks quietly, and the smile starts to melt off your face. “like — like i’m just doin’ this shit for fun.” he glares, and now your hearts pounding because you only wanted to be close to him!

“no…” you mewl, brows knitted but it’s too late. he pushes himself up on his knees again, looking down on you.

“you know i’m real nice to you. there’s bad men out there that’ll really rough you up. maybe… maybe i should give you a taste of that, huh? show you what i’m protecting you from.”

you go to argue, tell him you’ll listen — but he slides a leg under yours and in one movement flips you so you’re suddenly laying on your front, ass a little raised. he leans over you, collecting your wrists with one hand and pins them down. “nah, go ahead. try and fight me off baby. see if you can.” he speaks eerily calmly and you wriggle, realising you’re totally pinned beneath his weight with no escape. “yeah, that shits scary huh? can’t get out.” he nods and you let out a little cry.

“okay, rafe c’mon!”

“nah, you think this is a game so i’m gonna show you just how fuckin’ real this is a’ight?” he tucks his free hand into your pyjama shorts and begins to yank them down. you hate how your heart feels like it’s in your throat and yet your cunt throbs and your back arches from muscle memory. “better wise up, sweetheart— ‘cos i don’t think you’re getting out of this.” he gives your ass cheek a firm smack, watching the fat of it recoil beneath the touch and you whine.

“teach me! rafe you can teach me, please!” you pout, craning round to look at him. his lip is curled into a malicious smirk, head shaking in disapproval.

“yeah, you know you’re just too late. gonna have to learn your lesson now, alright? remember this shit.”

ೀ 🍨 ‧ ˚ 🎀 ⊹˚. ♡

[stylesispunk]

"The not so invisible string"

not outbreak! Joel Miller x f! Reader

masterlist | next chapter

summary: you and Joel were made right for each other in the wrong time. Now, thirteen years later your paths crossed when both of your daughters get in trouble at school. Would be the right time for you now?

word count: 5k>>

warnings: angst, implications of cheating (emotional). Probably some grammar mistakes because I write things fast.

a/n: New fic alert! Hello, I got this idea and I wanted to write it, so this is going to be a series depending on how this part performs. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. Happy reading 💌

masterlist

dividers by @/saradika

When you’re young, you’re naïve

When you’re young, you know everything

But when you’re young, they assume you know nothing,

That’s why two people falling in love at the age of seventeen doesn’t seem interesting. People will assume a love like that, at that age is just a phase with a tragic ending. Tears, broken hearts, and the promises of never falling in love again.

But this one was different. You and Joel were different, two souls that had met at the age of five, growing up together as best friends, until one fell and then the other. One shared a kiss, and the best friends turned into lovers. 

Isn’t that typical?

It was. Both of you knew, but still, you didn’t listen. Both of you become one soul, destined to be together since you were two kids playing hide and seek together. 

Joel and you traveled the twisting roads of adolescence hand in hand as the years passed. Your shared love was a tapestry woven from the thread of shared dreams and whispered secrets. 

Everything around you changed as well. From the carefree days of children to the turbulent storms of adolescence, your friendship has survived it all. Some tears fell like soft rain, washing away the doubts that crept into our hearts, and there were times of joy that resonated through the halls of your shared history.

Yet, with every rock on the road, you found the strength to rise again, your hands tightly intertwined. Joel became your confidant, the keeper of your fears, and the little light of hope during the darkest nights.

When you both turned seventeen, the very age at which outsiders claimed to be the year of mistakes and growing, one kiss changed everything. The connection between you both only deepened. And when the world might have seen you as naïve, you understood the profound love of your bond. It wasn’t a youthful infatuation; it was a love story written in the stars long before you were aware of its existence. 

People whispered their doubts, predicting heartbreak and the inevitable end of your love story. Yet, in the quiet moments when it was just Joel and you against the world, you knew that your love was timeless. The promises made weren't born out of youthful exuberance; they were the solemn vows of two souls who had found their way to each other, over and over again, since the age of five.

Not even when you left Austin to go to college, the odds against you weren’t able to separate you. The odds seemed stacked against you, with skeptics murmuring that the challenges of a long-distance relationship would surely spell the end of your story. But you defied those expectations.

Letters and late-night calls became your lifelines, bridging the physical gap between you. Each word written and every shared moment over the phone felt like a testament to the enduring strength of your love. You didn’t let the rust grow between you, neither did he. 

He was there the day you graduated, being the first face, you found across the room smiling back at you with proudness. Through that look and grin, there was an oath behind, not only the survival of your love but to distance emerging even stronger. He being there meant that, after this, you both could build your life together, get married, have children, and grow old together. 

“I can’t wait to marry you” he whispered against your lips that night as you made love. 

“And I can’t wait to be your wife” you whispered back, whimpering under his touch.

But with the past of the months, the fights started. He coming home late from work, and your struggling with finding a job added a layer of stress to your relationship. Frustration crept into our conversations, and what were once gentle whispers of love turned into heated exchanges, grappling with the frustration of job rejections and the sense of inadequacy that came with each disappointment. Joel, burdened by the demands of his career, found solace in the late hours at the office.

Spending time with a colleague you dislike because of their closeness, because he seemed to treat her the way he wasn’t treating you now. 

Conversations about the state of your relationship became unavoidable. One evening, as the weight of your unspoken grievances hung heavy in the air. 

"Joel, we can't keep going on like this. I need more from our relationship, and I can't shake off the feeling that you're finding solace elsewhere."

His response was a defensiveness grunt, speaking about the pressure at work, how he needed to prove himself, and how your job search struggles only added to his burden.

“So is it my fault?” You shouted. 

Joel's expression shifted, caught off guard by the sharpness of my words. The defensiveness waned, replaced by a hint of realization. "No, it's not about fault," he began, his voice softer now, "but the pressure at work has been consuming me. I feel like I'm drowning, and I don't know how to balance everything." He sighed, “And you’re not even able to find a job” he added, the words hitting like a sharp jab amid our emotional battlefield.

He ended up calling you a mistake, and you called him a coward. 

 The room fell silent for a moment as the weight of your words sank.  The frustration that had been simmering boiled over into a heated exchange. "A mistake?" you retorted, your voice edged with hurt and anger. "Is that how you see me? As some kind of burden or failure?"

Joel's expression shifted again, torn between regret and the lingering pressure that had driven him to lash out. "I didn't mean it like that," he began, but his attempt to backtrack only fueled the growing storm.

As the argument escalated, each word became a weapon in our emotional battlefield. Accusations flew, and the once-clear path of our relationship was now obscured by the fog of resentment and hurt. The dreams we had whispered to each other now seemed distant and unattainable, replaced by the harsh reality of you present.

“Maybe we should break up,” you said, motionless, tired of the fights. “And I will leave, and take the job I didn’t want to because I didn’t want to leave you here” 

continued, the weight of the decision evident in my voice. The sacrifice echoed the painful truth that sometimes love, even when genuine, isn't always enough to weather the storms life throws your way.

Joel's eyes reflected a mix of surprise and realization, the gravity of the moment sinking in. The prospect of parting ways, of unraveling the life we had built together, cast a shadow over the room.

“Oh, are you surprised I’m not the failure you thought I was?” you asked, a bitter laugh escaping through the tears that spilled down your cheeks.

The room felt charged with the emotional storm of your shared history, the dreams you had woven now frayed and brittle. The vulnerability of that moment exposed the raw truth that love, no matter how deep, could sometimes prove inadequate in the face of life's relentless challenges.

Love has not always survived. 

Joel's silence spoke volumes, his eyes reflecting the complexity of emotions that swirled within. The air felt heavy with regret, sadness, and the painful realization that a choice needed to be made.

And when the lack of words persisted, and in the heavy silence, you walked towards the bedroom, the weight of the decision settling into every step you took. The room, once a shared bright sanctuary, now witnessed the dismantling of a life we had built together.

In the dim light, you fumbled for your suitcase, hands trembling as you threw clothes inside. Each piece of clothing now felt like a painful reminder of what was slipping away. The vulnerability of that moment, intensified by the tears that blurred your vision, underscored the reality that sometimes love, despite its depth, couldn't shield us from the harshness of life's trials.

The sound of the zipper closing echoed in the room, marking the final choice that had been made. Joel remained in the doorway, a silent observer of the disintegration of a shared reality. His eyes, a mosaic of conflicting emotions, spoke of a recognition that what once was could no longer be sustained.

As you carried the suitcase, its weight mirrored the heaviness in your heart. The room, filled with the echoes of your memories from the past, felt emptier with every step toward the door. The unspoken pain lingered a palpable energy that accompanied you through the threshold of a life I had known so intimately.

The choice had been made, and in that moment, the gravity of our decision settled in—the dreams you had shared now relegated to the shadows of what could have been. The door closed behind you, and at that exact moment, you didn’t know how you were anymore, not when this was the first time you would start navigating life without Joel.

And then, when the months passed by, you were face to face again. He tried to change the ending, but it was late. He was going to be a father of a child that wasn’t yours. 

And weeks later, on a night you were out, drinking all your tears and sadness, you met a guy, and three months after, you found out you were pregnant.

Joel and you were going to become parents, but with different people. 

And it seemed like all people were telling the truth. 

When you’re young you know nothing.

Thirteen years later...

Eyes focused on the road, breathe in, breathe out, thoughts wild around your head. 

You were driving back to Austin, back to your past self, to the five-year-old you, back to the seventeen-year-old you, back to…

No, you thought.

Tara was sitting in the backseat, earphones in her ears probably listening to a song that would take her away from her reality, from moving from her home, leaving behind every single thing she grew up loving.

Just like you, you said to yourself. 

“Hey, sweets are you okay?” you asked, glancing at her through the rearview mirror.

“Can we stop for a burger? I’m hungry” She avoided the question, again

“Your father is waiting for us at our new house, then we will get lunch, okay?”

She nodded, not uttering more words. She nodded, offering no more words. Then, she broke the silence. "I’m mad. I’m mad at you for leaving your life behind for Dad."

Confused, you asked, "What are you talking about?"

“You just had your job that you loved back at home; you had your friends. I had my life too and now we have to move here just because Dad said so?” Tara's frustration spilled out.

“He got a better job, that means—”

“That means nothing,” she interrupted. “Look, Mom, I know he loves me, and that he may love you, but he has always loved himself more than us. I think it's unfair for you to leave all that behind just for him.”

“Tara,” you whispered, struck by her perceptiveness. You thought it was incredible how at thirteen she was so aware of every single detail, and how much he knew you.

“I know if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t leave that life behind,” Tara spoke, her words cutting through the tension in the car. "I know there’s no man you would have done that for.”

You took a moment to collect your thoughts, the weight of the revelation settling in before you spoke. "There was one man before," you confessed, catching Tara’s attention. "His name was Joel," you said, the words heavy with the weight of memories, almost feeling a lump forming in your throat.

As you mentioned Joel's name, the car seemed to carry an unspoken history. Tara's eyes widened with curiosity and surprise.

“He was my best friend when we were kids,” you began, a nostalgic smile playing on your lips. “We grew up together, faced the challenges of growing older, and eventually, we fell in love.”

“What happened to him?” she asked. 

"We broke up, and just when we tried to get back together, he found out he got another woman pregnant," you explained.

"He cheated," Tara concluded, a hint of judgment in her tone.

"No, he didn’t, but... I couldn’t bear to be with him, so I left."

"And then you met Dad," she deduced.

You nodded, acknowledging the sequence of events that had shaped your life. The car carried the weight of shared revelations, and the road to Austin became a journey not only through physical landscapes but also through the landscapes of your history.

Tara sat in the backseat, absorbing the complexities of your past.

"But," you added, "even though Joel and I didn't end up together, he will always hold a special place in my heart. People come into our lives for a reason, and Joel was a significant chapter in my story."

The air inside the car was a combination of anxiety and reflection as it approached its new home in Austin. Tara sat quietly in the backseat, her thoughts appearing lost in the stories you had told, still absorbing the specifics of your past.

As you approached the curb, your tires crunched on the cobblestone driveway. The foreign exterior of the new house appeared before you like a blank canvas waiting to be painted with the colors of your new existence. Dwight, your husband, stood on the porch, a bright smile on his face as he noticed the car.

Exiting the vehicle, you opened the back door for Tara, and the three of you stood together in the driveway. Dwight approached, a mixture of excitement and curiosity in his eyes.

"Welcome home!" he exclaimed, wrapping both of you in a warm embrace.

Tara offered a half-smile, still processing the weight of the move and the revelations that had unfolded during the journey. Dwight, ever perceptive, sensed the mix of emotions in the air.

"How was the drive?" he inquired, glancing between you and Tara.

"Long," Tara replied tersely, her eyes flickering with a hint of weariness.

Dwight, aware of the challenges the move presented, placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I know it's not easy, Tara, but I promise you'll find your place here."

The aroma of fresh starts penetrated the air as the three of you entered your new home. Dwight gave Tara a quick tour of the house, pointing out the right closets and stating to her that moving would be a good thing.

Dwight and Tara began to develop their rhythm of connection while unpacking boxes and settling into the unfamiliar home. The new place of residence began to turn from a new area to an area where shared memories would be established as the day progressed.

You couldn't help but think about Joel as you gazed around at the shifting landscape of your life, the echoes of the past fading into the background as you welcomed the present and the promise of a new chapter in your life in Austin.

It had been a week since Tara started school here, and she had begun to settle at the new school, at the unfamiliar hallways, and faces that were yet to become friends. Adjusting to a new environment, especially in the tumultuous teenage years, was never an easy feat. 

That’s what you feared the most. 

One afternoon, as you were going about your routine at the new house, your phone rang. The caller ID displayed the school's number, and a wave of concern washed over you. You answered with a sense of trepidation, already fearing the worst.

"Hello, this is Mrs. Evans from High School. Am I speaking with Tara's mother?"

"Yes, this is her mother. Is everything okay?" you asked, your heart racing.

"I'm calling to inform you that there was an incident at school today involving Tara. There was a fight, and we need you to come in for a meeting to discuss the situation." 

A mix of worry and confusion filled the air as you tried to process the information. A fight? This was entirely out of character for Tara.

"Of course, I'll be there," you replied, a knot forming in your stomach.

As you arrived at the high school, a knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach. The unfamiliar hallways seemed to close in around you as you made your way to the principal's office. Tara and another girl with curly hair stood outside the door,

Behind the curly-haired girl, a man loomed, and for a moment, your heart skipped a beat at the possibility, dismissing the improbable thought as wishful thinking. As you walked ahead, the distance between you and the trio narrowed.

Entering the principal's office, the air seemed charged with tension. Mrs. Evans greeted you, her expression stern but professional. However, your attention was drawn to the man beside you, and when you finally looked, Joel stood there, his mouth agape, his eyes locked onto yours.

Time seemed to hang suspended in that moment as a flood of emotions washed over you—surprise, disbelief, and a surge of memories that had long been tucked away. The collision of your past and present felt surreal, and the room seemed to blur around the edges.

You were 22 again.

Neither of you said anything, instead, you allowed the principal to talk about the situation that had happened. 

Mrs. Evans, proceeded to share the details of the incident with a measured tone, bringing the focus back to Tara and her well-being. As she spoke, you and Joel maintained an uneasy silence, glancing at each other intermittently with expressions that betrayed a mixture of emotions.

"There was an unfortunate incident earlier today," Mrs. Evans began, her gaze shifting between you and Joel. "Tara and another student, Sarah, found themselves in a situation where a group of boys was bothering Tara. Sarah intervened to defend her, and the situation escalated into a physical altercation."

Your concern for Tara heightened, but a glimmer of gratitude surfaced as you heard about Sarah's protective stance. You stole a glance at Joel, whose eyes betrayed a complex mix of emotions—perhaps a reflection of his own memories and regrets.

"Both Tara and Sarah are being appropriately addressed," Mrs. Evans continued, her eyes shifting between the individuals in the room. "We take any form of violence seriously, but we also recognize the need to ensure our students feel safe and supported."

As the principal delved into the steps being taken to address the situation, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease at the reunion with Joel in such unexpected circumstances. The shared concern for Tara momentarily bridged the gap of years and unresolved emotions, creating an unspoken connection.

The meeting concluded with an agreement on counseling for Tara and a commitment to monitoring the situation closely. As you rose to leave, the weight of the encounter lingered. So, you took Tara, delicately by the arm, and walked away from the ghosts from your past. 

“Hey, Tara wait!” The voice of Sarah called out, getting closer to us. 

Tara stopped in her tracks and turned to face the girl with beautiful curly hair, with a smile on her face.

“What?” Tara asked delicately.

“I want you to know I don’t regret what I did for you” She began, “And I have no idea what is like to be in new a place because I’ve always been here, and I also want you to know that you have a friend here. I will defend you from all those stupid guys making fun of you” 

A grin appeared on your daughter’s face at Sarah's words, and she enveloped the girl in a hug murmuring a quiet “thank you” you had still been able to hear. 

Your heart burst, not only for the happiness of your daughter finding a friend but for the tranquility she would feel from now on. Yet you couldn’t bear to lift your gaze from the girls because you knew once you did it, you would have to look at the same face that made you leave this city.

“Okay, Tara it’s time to go home,” you said, delicately grabbing your daughter’s arm, “and thank you, Sarah, for what you did for her”

“No problem” she said, smiling at you.

Once you both, said goodbye, you and Tara walked toward the car until a voice made you both stop your pace, and your heart beated like a drum.

“Yes?” you turned around, finding the strength to face Joel.

“I think it may be great for us to talk about our daughters” Joel spoke, buying some more seconds of your presence.

“Everything is clear." your voice came in a monotonous tone.

“But not between us” he said, with an undertone.

But instead of words, a heat overcame you, and you felt the skin around your eyes burn, you lifted you hand to your eyes, preventing the tears welled up in the corner to fall. But once you did it, you started crying, not knowing how to react and facing your past in front of you, how facing the man you had loved your whole life after thirteen years without any trace of him.

Joel took a step closer, his expression concerned. "I didn't mean to upset you," he said, his voice softening.

You took a deep breath, attempting to compose yourself. “It’s okay,” you said, taking a step back from his touch “I’m just stressed with all the changes” you lied, and grace a tiny smile towards him “We can talk another day when I’m settled.”

He simply nodded, caressing his chest with the palm of his hand in an attempt to take away the pain and confusion of seeing you again. 

With a daughter, and probably married to another man.

“Drive safe,” he said, with a caring touch in his voice.

You nodded, turning on your heel, walking towards the car without looking back. 

“You know her, don’t you?” Sarah asked his father, after seeing his longing expression as he watched you walking away from him. 

“I did once,” he said, still looking at your car as if you would get out and tell him you wanted to try again. 

And inside the car, the events weren’t different from outside. Once you put your seatbelt, Tara kept looking at you as if you were going to break at any moment. 

“He is that Joel, right?” She asked you carefully, trying to get her answer. 

You nodded. 

Tara nodded, her expression was pure concern "Are you okay, Mom?"

You managed a reassuring smile, even though the tears still lingered in the corners of your eyes. "I'll be fine, sweetheart. It's just unexpected to see him again after so many years." 

You took a glimpse in the rearview mirror as you drove away from the curb, leaving Joel standing there. As your mind lingered on a sudden encounter, the familiar surroundings began to blend as well. Your heart was heavier with the burdens of the days gone by, and the tears you pushed back threatened to spill over, again. 

As you drove home, the stillness between you and Tara was loaded with unspoken feelings. Your mind raced with old memories, and you couldn't shake the overwhelming feeling of weakness that Joel's comeback had caused in you.

What were the odds? You thought.

Meanwhile, Joel stood still, watching the car disappear into the distance. The question asked by Sarah still hanging in the air. "You know her, don't you?" Sarah questioned her father, who appeared to be absorbed in the memories that your presence had triggered.

As he tried to make sense of what was happening, his mind was in a rush of emotions. It felt strange and overwhelming to see you after thirteen years. The agony of the past came forward, and he felt for just a moment like an outsider in his own life, watching the movie of the both of you being played all over again.

Joel paused briefly before breaking the silence. "I've missed you," he said, his eyes scanning your face for signs of reconciliation.

You nodded, attempting to conceal the residual worries that had grown during the three months you had spent away from each other “I've missed us as well. Perhaps we should try again," you reasoned.

However, as the talk progressed, the truth began to appear like a storm on the other side of the sky. Joel's hesitation hinted at something more serious, something he had been holding him back. 

"But first, I need to tell you something," he finally admitted, looking down at the floor. "I got involved with someone else during our time apart."

The look on your face was enough for him to know that the news he was about to deliver was going to change everything between the both of you.

“She is pregnant.” He confessed, almost inaudible. 

The room seemed to shrink as the weight of his words settled in. Shock and disbelief mingled with the pain of what it seemed as a betrayal in your mind, but you knew it wasn’t. You had hoped for a fresh start, but this revelation shattered those hopes.

He had a girl to take care of, a baby he was going to love.

"You're going to be a father?" you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper. The reality of the situation was a heavy blow, and you struggled to comprehend the magnitude of the news.

Joel nodded; his eyes filled with remorse. "I didn't plan for this. It just happened."

“No. I don’t need an explanation of what you did when we weren’t together” Hurt, and resignation welled up inside you. "But we cannot be together. No, when you’re going to have a child with someone else. It’s not fair to any of us.” 

Joel's remorse-filled gaze met yours, and he nodded in acknowledgment of the reality you both faced. The dreams of rekindling what once was seemed to crumble in that moment, replaced by the harsh truth of divergent paths.

"This doesn’t change anything between us," Joel whispered, his voice laden with regret, trying to reach for you.

“It does!” you called out, “It does change everything” You took a deep breath, steeling yourself against the waves of emotion crashing within. "I hope you find the happiness you're looking for, Joel. But it can't be with me."

You stepped closer to him, cupping one side of his face with your hand, tracing his cheek with your thumb, and trying to take a picture of him with your eyes. 

One last picture, the last time you will have him this close to you. 

And you leaned in, sealing this goodbye with a last kiss, savoring the sweet taste of his lips mixed with the salt of his tears streaming down your face. He grabbed your face with his last strength holding you back from slipping from his fingers, but once you pulled away, and looked at him one last time. 

Then, you turned away, leaving the room, and, in a way, leaving a chapter of your life behind. The door closed with a soft click, sealing the end of a love story that had once held a promise, but it ended with Joel losing his princess. 

“Let’s go, baby girl,” he said after a moment, wrapping his arm around Sarah, and walking to the car. 

Tara kept stealing glances at you from the passenger seat, sensing the urgency of the scenario. The worry could be seen in her eyes, and you couldn't help but notice how perceptive she had become.

The car pulled to a stop in front of your house, which had become your new home in a place of spirits of the buried skeletons plotted to ruin your life. Tara unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to face you; her face filled with apprehension. "Mom, if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here."

You smiled, grateful for the depth of understanding and maturing in your daughter's eyes. "Thank you, sweetheart. I appreciate that."

As you both entered the house, the now familiar surroundings did little to ease the whirlwind of emotions within you. The past had a way of resurfacing when you least expected it, and Joel's reappearance had reopened wounds you thought had healed.

Once inside, in the quiet living room, your Dwight welcomed both of you with a smile on his face, “Hey is everything okay with you Tara?”

“Yes, Dad, just a misunderstanding,” he said, as if the matter wasn’t important, passing beside upstairs. 

As you and your husband were left alone, he sensed something wrong with you.

"Hey, love, is everything okay?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for a glimpse of the truth.

You forced a smile, attempting to push away the turmoil that threatened to surface. "Yeah, just a blast from the past today.”

Dwight wrapped his arms around you, a gesture of comfort that, for a moment, allowed you to forget the complexities of the day. He pressed a gentle kiss on your lips, and as the warmth of his touch enveloped you, a pang of guilt swept through the figment of your mind, and you couldn’t help but feeling ashamed of yourself for tasting the lips of a man you had settled with because you couldn’t stay with the love of your life.

And you feel disgusted of wanting for him to be Joel.

And at the same time in a different place in the same city, Joel was dreaming of you again.

[alexa-fika]

Hi!! I was the 👻 anon :3

Ok so I have another request a whitebeard pirates x child reader again

So the whitebeard pirates arrived at a spooky island which is dark and gloom like Mohawk island (forgor the name)

So they find reader sleeping with a small teddy bear but when they got close the teddy bear is alive and trying to kill them because the teddy (Name Mr stitchy) is protective over reader because Mr stitchy See's them as family and leader

The reader wakes up but instead of stopping Mr stitchy they just watch because they hate pirates and pirates we're the reason why they are stranded in the island

But then whitebeard appears then starts hurting Mr stitchy making reader to beg and cry to stop hurting their family

So in the end whitebeard coax reader to coming with them

Also can you base Mr stitchy off this? This idea has been in my mind lol

Sorry if this was long :p I'll make the next one shorter :D

Stuffy Meetings (Whitebeard pirates x f!child!reader)

A/N HERE WE GO I KNOW I SAID NOTHING WAS COMING BUT IT CAME AND WHEN I SAW IT WAS YOUR BDAY I HURRIED IT UP. HAPPY BIRTHDAY . Ngl I thought this was a flop but it may be a cook?? Also don’t worry about request ever being long : ) I hope you have a nice bday. In one of the scene I kept thinking about this photo so just so we share the vizion 🕴🏼

Here Reader is replaced by Dokucha which means Reader in japanese

Dividers by @/saradika

“Man, this place is gloomy,” Thatch mutters

“Why did we stop here again?” Ace questioned, wincing as he stepped into what looked like a pile of bones

“We were running down on supplies; this was the closest Island on the way,” Izou replies

“What can we possibly fin- is that a kid?” Ace questions, pausing right in front of the sleeping child

“She got a creepy teddy too; look at that thing; it’s all stitched up; look, the head doesn’t even fit the body,” he said, poking at the plushie

Mr.Stichy moves around at the sudden contact, his eyes flying open as he begins to take in what is happening around him and the danger Dokucha could be in; he is quick to lunge at the man, branding twin sickles

“Man, what is that thing? Is it a haint!?” Thach yells, taking out his dual blades and parring against the attacher

“What the hell?!” Ace exclaims, looking at the odd newcomer

“Get the hell away from her,” the bear growls, pushing Thatch back with his own weapons

“The hell you talking about, you overgrown plushy,” Thatch said, stumbling back

Dokucha rubs their eyes, slowly waking up at the chaos unfurling. She watched how the bear evaded Thatch’s attacks and lunged for him once again, not making any movement to stop or call back the bear.

“Who’s this kid?” Ace asks while keeping a close eye on the stuffed bear

“Not important, the bear’s clearly dangerous,” Thatch shouted back and lunged for the bear, attacking again

“That bear is quick.” Ace comments, igniting his flames and jumping into the fray

“You want to go?!”

Mr.Stichy narrows his eyes, glaring at the flame man

“You’re no match for us!” the man declared while firing off blasts of flames at the bear. At the same time, Izou aimed his way to shoot down the bear

“STOP!” Dokucha screams, running in front of the bear just as Ace was about to make contact. In just a second, as Dokucha stood in front of him, arms stretched to protect him, Mr. Stichy stood behind her glaring at Ace, who had managed to stop, as he pointed his weapons at him

“What?” both of them say at the same time, looking at the screaming girl

“What the hells is going on?” Thatch says

“Don’t hurt him!”

“Him?” Ace said, stopping his attack

“This thing?. Do you mean to tell me you’re attached to this?” Thatch said in a mocking voice

“He’s all I have left,” they cry

“Where are your parents? Izou questions, putting his guns away and approaching the child, ignoring the way Me. Stichy kept his sickles pointed their way, his red eye ominously digging into them

“They died. It’s only Stichy and me now.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Izou sympathizes while still keeping an eye on the bear as Ace and Thatch glance at each other

“We should take her to the Pops.”

“Are you sure? That bear looks really creepy; I wouldn’t trust it.” Thatch says

“She would still be alone if we let her go; I agree with Izou; we should take her,” Ace says

“ She’s not going with the likes of you.” He growls

“She shouldn’t be on her own,” Ace argues while Thatch puts his sword back into its sheath

“It would be cruel not to,” Izou adds

“Like hell, I will let you take her!”

“Listen, I understand we just met; I know you are wary of us, I understand that, and the decision is ultimately yours, but think about her, do you really think she will be able to survive here alone? Even if she does, do you think she will be happy?” Izou questioned

Stichy stills at that, glancing at the trembling child in front of him and slowly lowering his sickles

“How do I know you are not trying to use her?”

“You don’t, you just have to trust us.” Piped in Thatch

He took one last glance at the child and back at them and back to Dokucha

“Do you want to go?” He questions lowly

She looks at the men in front of her and back at the bear and nods her head

“I want to go with you,” she said, grasping his paws

“Alright,” he said, giving jn

“Don’t worry, little one, we’ll take care of you,” Izou reassures while walking forward to pick her up

She wrapped one hand around him

Instinctively not letting go of Stichy’s hand as they walk to the ship

Izou smiled reassuringly at her while walking to the ship as Thatch and Ace walked a little ways ahead

“This kid’s got no one,” Thatch said, shaking his head

“That’s why we’ll take care of her,” Ace replied while heading for the ship

“This is Whitebeard, but we call him Pops,” Ace said pointing at said Captain

She flinched, looking up, up, up until she was finally able to meet his eyes, tightening his grip on Stichy, who gave her hand a squeeze in silent comfort

Whitebeard was quiet for a few seconds before crouching down next to her

“What’s your name?” He asked her

“Dokucha”

“Dokucha?…” he paused before nodding. “A nice name,” he said while smiling

“Hey, Pops, can we keep her?” Ace questioned

“Oh, now, who’s looking to adopt a child?” Thatch joked as he walked up to them

“Shut up; I want a little sister; I know you guys do too. Don’t deny it.”

“I think we should let her stay,” Izou says, joining the conversation

“Why do you want me to stay so much?” she questions, grasping Stichy’s hand tighter

“You’re alone; that’s no way to be. Especially at this early of an age,” Whitebeard said

“Yeah, plus you’ve got no other family, so we’ll take care of you as such,” Ace explained while Thatch remained silent

“Family?” She questioned

“You’ll be my family?” She mumbled tears growing on her eyes, tears that she is quick to wipe away

She glanced at Stichy, who stood next to her

“But I can’t leave without Mr.Stichy.”

“Who said he would be staying behind?” stated Whitebeard

“H-He can stay?”

“I wouldn’t make you leave you’re only family behind,” He said while picking her up.

“Oh god, Pops, you’re gonna spoil her rotten,” Thatch complains as ace, and izou can’t help but laugh.

Okay I think I like it, I just think I rushed some of the areas but other than that I like how it turned out

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

[whalesforhands]

what’s yours is mine (3/?)

previous masterlist next

pairing: geto suguru x reader x gojo satoru

You don’t know a lot of things, and you readily admit that. What you do know, is that the friends you’ve made aren’t something you will ever regret. Until your physical body weakens and becomes nothing, you’re more than happy to give your all until you wither away.

What’s yours can be theirs, too. They’re your friends, after-all. (Omegaverse AU)

You don’t cry.

At least, that’s what you like to tell yourself. That you don’t cry, that you’re a big girl. You can reach for the phone yourself, can use the swing-set on your own, can bite your lip and hold your face to stop the tears from spilling over when you scrape your knee. You can handle it.

Because it would trouble Mama if you didn’t, right?

So you never minded playing by yourself, never cared for the fact that it’s hard for you to get along with other kids back in all those other neighbourhoods, never ever felt that you needed to cry.

You have no reason to, after all. You’re happy, satisfied with the way you are, the way that you live.

So— Why?

Why does your face feel wet? Why are there droplets of water on the remainders of your drawing? You don’t remember rain being indoors. Don’t think that Mama would miss out on any leaks when the repairman came over the other day.

So why were you crying as your nose flared out and your eyes turned red? Why do you keep crying even as you furiously tried to wipe them away? Why does the new kid have to get so angry on your behalf? You don’t get it. Why did your only friend have to tear up the drawing you had spent so much time on? What does Satoru have against your neighbour? You really don’t get it. Not at all.

Why? Why why why why why—

You just don’t know many things. You don’t know why the sky looks blue, why the grass is green, don’t know why the moon can’t stay in the sky for as long as you want…

You really don’t know a lot.

But you know that crying doesn’t stop the two kids in front of you from pulling at each other’s hair and punching at each other, know that it won’t stop them from rolling on your floor as they continued to bicker and shout, know it doesn’t heal the fact that your drawing was torn in half and lying pathetically on your living room floor—

“What’s your problem?!”

“It’s none of ya business!”

It hurts. You know it hurts. To have your one and only friend tear apart your hard work, for him to trample on your attempt at being hospitable. And… To have him to look at you with such disdain and hurt when you tried to stop him from vandalizing your show of friendship.

Is it all your fault?

You know that Satoru can be rough, can be hard to get along with. You know that first-hand, experienced it for weeks on end. Though, you never expected him to react with such violent distrust of others, never expected him to get into senseless fights over someone you’re trying to get along with for the sake of good neighbourship.

(If that even was a word, anyway.)

Maybe it was something strange about the new kid— Geto Suguru. Something off, odd that taps at your brain even through your eyes that were starting to blur with tears. It’s not something you can get right off the bat, but hidden under layers that were hard to see through, kept tightly under wraps.

A feeling that resonates too closely, too close to home with your beloved Satoru.

Because they were smiling.

Even as Satoru’s hands pushed, shoved, punched and grabbed at his face, even when Suguru kicked at his chest and pulled at his hair— It’s like they liked being at odds, liked the fact that they could argue and tear into each other despite knowing the repercussions that could follow.

“Y’er ugly! With rotten soba hair!”

“Speak for ya’self, you misshaped snowman!”

Even as the black silks of hair flailed about, even as he feels Satoru pinch at his skin, you can hear the slight laughs in their hoarse voices, can feel the way the air was starting to lift the tension.

You can feel your heart pound, can feel your blood pump through your veins. You don’t want to be left out. Don’t know what’s gotten into you to feel this way as your hands start to shake and tremble.

And when you steeled yourself, wiping the tears off of your cheeks and the drooling leftovers of your snot, your eyes still caught wind of those shiny purple eyes that gleamed with a hint of insanity.

A blur of black and white, the brush of your flailing hair against your nape and the adrenaline causing your heart to go a mile a minute as you feel your feet leave the ground.

You tackled him. Or, one of them, actually. You don’t know which. With the full force of your body, with your eyes that were squeezed shut, with a loud squeal for a battlecry and an exhilarating exhale that made you want to hope you didn’t hit the new mail-order flower pot Mama had gotten as a gift recently.

You feel yourselves rolling about the soft carpet, the brush of the slightly coarse fabric against your skin as you end up slamming face first into your victim’s soft tummy as your ears end up filling with the sound of a rough slam and a pained groan.

But that wasn’t enough to stop you, even if you were fully aware of the fact that you had committed assault. Even as you lift your strangely heavy head and stamp your feet against the ground.

“Stop fighting, dummies!”

And it works, surprisingly. You’ve never used that much force, not ever in your few years of living. You didn’t know you were even capable of this.

(But to be fair, you don’t know a lot of things.)

“I hate it!” And you can hear your voice crack, your mouth dry and your throat tight, can feel a strange guilt and overwhelming tearing at your already fragile heart. Hate what? Hate the fact that they were fighting?

No. You can’t hate that, can you? They were having fun, no? So what did you hate? Did you hate the fact that they got along without yo—

He’s grinning up at you.

“Sorry, (name)-chan.” It’s decisive, the way Suguru looks at you. Like he’s trying to find the best way to go about his next move, trying to fight back the adrenaline that came with the aftermath of a childish fight.

This was really all your fault.

It makes you cry all the more as you feel arms hug around your neck from behind, an angry, pouting Satoru clutching your head close to his chest and actively trying to tug you off of the bruised Suguru, only managing to get you to tumble your weight off his waist as you continue to cry, your tears drooling down your cheeks and onto his sleeves.

“I didn’t give ya permission to call her by her name!” He’s back to being fierce, biting. Barking his words out with a ferocity you’ve never heard before.

“That’s not for you to choose, ya know?” Your neighbour’s speech turns informal, straight to the point. As if he had given up on any airs he had initially put on, as if he was feeling the relief of breathing normally once more.

Maybe you would’ve noticed if you weren’t too busy breaking down.

“Stop cryin’, weirdo.” You feel a sleeve rubbing against your eyes, the soft grey hoodie turning your eyesight dark and gloomy, soaking up your tears as you feel snot starting to trail down your philtrum and onto your lips as you sniffle harder. “We’re fine.”

“Ugh, don’t rub your dirty clothes on her face…” A small whack and the sleeve flops off with no resistance, the fabric loosened from excessive pulling and tugging. You feel an unfamiliar hand press against your hair, lightly stroking in efforts to comfort you.

“Bleghhh! You take it too!” And Satoru’s shoving his sleeve into the new kid’s face.

“Gross!”

Peace is restored. Or, as much as it was when you’re all sat in a circle and trying to figure out what to do now that you all looked a little too worse for wear.

“You don’t have ice packs in your house?” He’s utterly confused as he watches you press a carton of milk against Satoru’s cheek, your head tilting to the side as you blink at him.

“Nope.” Ice packs? Why would you need that? Can’t you just use normal ice? Are you supposed to have something like that? “I can help you get some normal ice if you want—“

“She’s not poor, okay!” It’s your white-haired friend that interrupts you, his arms crossed and an angry pout on his face. It’s threatening and furrowed in all his entirety, chest puffing out to look bigger than he was as he glares at confused purple. “She says so!”

“…I didn’t say anything about that, though?”

“Hnn— I don’t think plasters are enough, (name).”Now he’s even lost the honorifics when calling to you. Suguru’s tapping against his bruised cheek, feet tiptoeing upon the stool in your bathroom as he observes his injuries in the mirror.

“Hey! No one ever taught you manners, new kid?!” And you’re stuck inbetween the both of them again as you stand as the sole barrier between the two. You feel grateful for the fact that you’re all about the same height.

“But you call her that all the time?” Suguru’s smile is all too mischievous, a smug grin on his face and a hand on his hip. He’s starting to get Satoru’s patterns now.

(You can tell.)

“That’s cause I’m me!” He’s huffing, a hand outreached to grip onto your wrist and tugging you closer so that you were physically on ‘his side’.

“Okay,” A curve of those pretty, slitted purple eyes of his upwards. “Satoru.”

“Hey! I didn’t give you permission for that, either!”

Despite all that, you broke out the bandaid collection you had been keeping for emergencies. Okay, to be honest— It wasn’t for emergencies. Chock full of random patterns and funny looking print, it was something you always asked your Mama to get you whenever she needed to make a quick run to the drugstore. Maybe a few of them were a bit too old, but they were still bandaids regardless.

(And least they would be put to their assumed use. You can’t keep everything the same forever, especially when all you do is open your little box to stare at them.)

But it was looking like the bandaids are a no go, either. Was it a you thing to lack so many resources in your own home? Though to be fair, you don’t exactly patch your own injuries up without the help of your Mama.

“Maybe we could go to my house?” He’s still nice to you even when it was your fault that he’s in this situation, even if you were the one that was meant to be the hospitable one.

Though, it’s not a bad idea—

“Nuh uh.” Here comes the stubbornness you learnt to acquaint yourself with. “No way ‘m I going in some weirdo’s house!”

(“But you’re in my house…”)

“But Satoru,” You nudge him slightly as he continues to stick the funny looking bandaids onto the skin of your arm, trying to think of a reasonable excuse to get him patched up by an adult.

You don’t come up with anything. So comes the next best thing; despite the fact it never works more than half the time.

“Please?”

You can see him furrow his brows at you, spiky hair only bristling ever slightly before he sticks another bandaid onto your leg, the usual glimmer in his eyes turning into one of uncertainty before they flash towards an awaiting Suguru with reddening bruises on his cheek.

“Fine!” This doesn’t mean he’s gonna be friendly though.

(“That was unexpectedly easy.”)

So you find yourself picking up the phone, shooing Satoru off the stool and letting him watch as you slowly push it to be just under the wall-mounted phone within your kitchen.

It rings maybe twice after your fingers manage to press the correct buttons, silently mouthing the numbers you memorized just for situations like this as Satoru stares up at you from the ground, sitting cross-legged right next to a curious Suguru.

“Darling? What’s wrong?” Her surroundings are loud. It sounds like there’s too many people talking in the background as you hear the clacks of her shoes.

“Mama.” Your voice is soft as you say her name, a smile unknowingly creeping onto your face when you hear her reply. “Can I go to… Suguru’s house?”

You can see a head of black perk up at that mention of his first name as a pale hand shoves at his shoulder from the corner of your eye.

“The new… Neighbour, right? Geto-san’s kid.” You nod, even with the knowledge of knowing she can’t see you as a shuffle sounds slightly, the rustle of her clothing against skin. “Did you make a new friend?”

Did you? Can you even consider him a friend yet? Do you even have that right? Maybe it was better to say that you did to ease any of her worries. “Mhm. I think Satoru likes him too.”

(Because that would be enough for her approval right?)

“Is that so?” You can hear her take a slight breath out, as if it was something akin to relief. “Then it’s fine. I’ll pick you up from there after my work, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you, Mama!” You balance on your toes when you shove the phone back into place, crawling down from the stool as you feel Satoru’s hand snatch up yours to help you down.

Your Mama is the best-est. Definitely, there’s no arguing about it as you smile a little too much at the prospect of being able to talk to her for just that little while.

“Y’er so goody-goody.” His tone is haughty, his actions not ever matching as he squeezes your palm and his eyes glare at the floor. “It’s weird.”

You don’t see a problem with being good.

“I don’t wanna trouble my Mama.” You don’t want to trouble anyone, really. You know how bad it can feel. “It feels better when she’s not.”

“Hmph.” Ever with that attitude…

So it comes as a surprise when you see his eyes flash with that unfamiliar blue, his small shoulders squaring and feeling him switch to your other side just in time to cut off the route that Suguru’s hand was approaching.

“You can’t hold it.” He’s huffing and glaring, squeezing inbetween the both of you and physically blocking off Suguru’s sight of view, whilst at the same time shoving you behind him.

He’s adamant about this— So it ends with Satoru being stuck in the middle of the three of you as you all take the short walk to the Getos’ next door.

“Your Mama’s gonna be mad.” You say it out of concern for your newly acquired friend, past the head of white between the both of you.

“Yep.” Like he was used to it, sheepishly scratching his cheek as he grins at you. “Are you worried about me, (name)?”

“Mhm. I don’t want you to get in trouble.” It’s genuine. Who even likes pain, anyway?

“You’re so nice, (na—)”

“I hope she spanks ‘im.” It’s said in tandem with Suguru’s sentence, affecting cutting him off as he keeps his head up and his smug attitude even higher.

“I can hear you, ya know?”

“That’s the point, dummy.”

At least they’re getting along better now. The bickering slowly turning into a silence as you all approach the daunting front door. It looked like it was already frowning in disapproval at the three of you, already looking far too scary despite being just that—

A door.

(Even Suguru was starting to squeeze your arm slightly in worry when you began knocking upon the wood. So even he can get scared, huh?)

“Yes! Just a moment, please!” It’s muffled, sounding like it was coming from metres away as you hear the hurried patter of feet, of soft slippers against cypress wood as the door swings open.

“Hi, Geto-san.” You blink up at her in greeting when she finally lets her eyes trail downward upon hearing your voice, an exhale escaping her once she realizes it was just you.

“Oh, hello dear! What brings you— Here?!” Her voice turns hurried, panicked. And in quite the timeframe as well as soon as she spots the various bandaids doing a horrible job at hiding the bruises and reddening marks, the loosened clothing and light scrapes on their knees from roughhousing on your carpet.

(You should ask Mama to invest in a softer one. You’ll help save up.)

You hope you all don’t get into much trouble. Hope. That’s all you can do now as all three of you are frantically ushered inside and pushed into the wide expanse of his very… Full-looking living room.

His house is— Warm. There were boxes stacked everywhere, piled high until some touched the ceiling. You see some of them half-opened, most still fully sealed as you let your eyes wander around.

It smells… Nice in here. You don’t have to try hard to catch a whiff of the orange blossom room freshener being spritzed about, wafting about the room. Though— If you do try… You can catch the subtle scent of cinnamon. It’s barely there when you stick your nose in the air to catch it, before it disappears again.

You swear you’ve smelt it before, though.

“Oiiiii, (nameeeee)!” You see a pale hand wave about in front of you, blinking pairs of blue and purple huddling before you as you dazed off on Suguru’s very, and you mean very, soft couch.

“My mama finished icing our injuries.” He’s waving at you in efforts to get you back once he sees your eyes go back into focus. “She’s gonna scold us after she calls Satoru’s and your mama though.”

Now that’s bad. You physically deflate onto his plush seat. So much for trying to make a good impression like Mama would have wanted you to.

“Don’t sweat it! I barely ever get in trouble, anyway!” Satoru’s now squishing your cheeks in his palms, rubbing his hands into your skin and messing with you to snap you out of your daydreams.

(Lucky him.

“Whattttt? That’s not fair.” Suguru’s the one pouting now as he crosses his arms.

“Huhu!” A triumphant rub of his finger just under his nose. “Can’t get scolded if you’re the great Gojo Satoru!”)

“Okwayyy.” You pat the back of his hands to signal him to let you go as you try to nod despite the fact that he was holding your face.

“Then let’s go! I wanna play in Suguru’s room before Geto-mama gets us!” First name usage already. You don’t even have time to fully process it before he’s bolting up the stairs, too engrossed in his overwhelming want to judge and intrude into spaces he’s never been in.

“What are you thinking about?” It’s Suguru who asks that as you both slowly ascend, making sure you’re safely holding onto the railing as you take it one step at the time.

“I don’t know.” To be honest, you really never get what was your habit of picking up on smells. It wasn’t on purpose. You really didn’t know why you did it.

And that makes him chuckle. Just the slightest bit as he pats your back, hand reaching for your wrist to gently tug you upwards.

“You’ll figure it out.”

It looks like you will be getting a new friend, afterall.

——

You think time is strange, but not as much if you compared it to the weather. From bright, sunny days that always looked like there were too little clouds— To days where the bright orange of the sun had descended from space to spill over onto the leaves of the green trees. You can feel the wind turn chillier, days turning darker—

Autumn is what Mama calls it. As she was in the midst of unpacking your winter clothes that had been stuffed deep inside the closet. She says it’s because those orange and red leaves mean it’s going to be cold, that the trees are preparing for what you learned to be known as winter.

You don’t know if you can consider them ‘pretty’ or ‘cute’. Maybe the best word to describe the autumn you see right now would be… Orange…?

(Time changes the weather and the seasons— But it certainly hasn’t changed your lack of vocabulary, it seems.)

Oh. And it also changes people’s clothes. Time is really powerful, if you think about it.

“Good morning.” He’s smiling, waving at you with a hand and a blushing face bitten from the cold breeze as he steps into your genkan, slightly shivering and his hair completed windswept tussle. “Let’s go play today?” His head tilts to the side, the scarf around his neck shifting with his movement as his smile grows ever sweeter.

Pretty.

“Okay.”

It’s not all of a sudden, really. You’ve gotten used to either of them coming over to your home now. A quick rap at your door for Suguru, a polite ring of your doorbell if it was Kimiko-san, and very incessant drumming against the wood if it was Satoru. And honestly? You don’t mind, not at all. If this is what it’s like to have friends, you think you would want at least 23 more.

(Because that’s the highest you can count up to.)

Your walk together is silent. It’s not uncomfortable by any means, don’t get yourself wrong. If anything, it was a tranquil that was unlike something you have with Satoru, a tangible emotion that makes your heart flutter that tiny bit and your cheeks warm with a little heat when your small fingers brush against each other when walking side by side.

Until they weren’t, that was.

“Satoru’s always holding your hand—“ You can see the slightest blush on his face when he notices your stare at the intertwined fingers, the heat of warmth so similar, yet so different from when you hold your Mama’s. “So I thought I’d try it out since he wasn’t here…”

Right. He was ‘not allowed’ to do this— All due to the ‘Satoru Ban’ as you both dubbed it. It was inclusive of, but not limited to; the smacking of his Suguru’s hands off of your clothes, the banishment of said boy from Satoru’s playground, the prohibiting of Suguru from even looking at you sometimes.

It’s honestly a surprise how he hasn’t stopped being friends with both of you.

Though, today was supposed to be special. It was the day that Suguru was finally allowed to play at the playground for the first time. The day he was finally allowed to view the ‘special playground’ he keeps hearing Satoru brag about whenever he was in earshot, how he has finally ‘earned his right’ to play with the both of you.

(Which you vehemently disliked as you frowned and pouted at your snowy-haired friend, refusing to talk to him and turning your nose up at your beloved friend until he apologized with a blushing face and his eyes cast downwards. To the both of you.

He’s starting to be a little like you, if you think about it. Kimiko-san has been showing an odd amount of gratitude to you too.)

But back to the main point— There’s nothing special about your hand. No matter how often Satoru liked to grab at it for his own. Your gaze flickers down to your free one, palm facing towards you and stretching, wiggling your fingers about, scrutinizing every curve and groove of it.

There’s really nothing special about it. So you take an exhale out in disappointment. Looks like you don’t have some superpowers, after all.

“Do you feel anything?” Honestly, you’re not expecting much. Not anything specific, really… But it would be cool if Suguru told you he can sense the hidden power you’ve been keeping dormant inside your body all this time.

(Cause that’s how powers are discovered. You saw it in an anime last week.)

“Hm…” He squeezes your hand lightly in thought, swinging back and forth in contemplation as he continues to walk with you in tow. You can feel your hand gently being shaken and played with, his fingers tightening around yours as you let him tussle and squeeze and squash his palm against your own.

It’s for the sake of knowing, after all. And to discovering all your hidden potential. Hopefully. Maybe?

You can hear him hum, hear the contemplation in his tone as he closes his eyes for just those few moments. “It feels nice.”

Too nice, even. He kind of gets why Satoru likes grabbing at them so much now when he tightens his grip upon just the feeling of your fingers twitching ever just so slightly.

“…?” It’s a wordless inquisition, one that he gets almost immediately when he lifts his head up to look you in the eye and the shuffling of his scarf around the lower half of his face.

“I like holding your hand.” Wow. That’s more embarrassing to say out loud than he thought. But… It’s nice. To be straightforward like this. It feels raw, genuine. Something he wasn’t used to experiencing.

It feels right.

“Oh.” Your eyes drift off to the side before they slowly trail to the ground as your shoes tap against the concrete— And to your shoes. Velcro is easy to put-on. Mama should buy you more velcro shoes, since your dream of having superpowers to magically tie straps and strings was just crushed.

“So I’m not the chosen one.” How disappointing.

Odd. You are very odd. That’s what Suguru would think, if he hadn’t watched that anime with both you and Satoru last week.

“Maybe your superpower is having nice hands to hold.”

Maybe so.

And time just kept passing. Through autumn with days spent running about in the playground when it wasn’t too cold, playing with the toys in Suguru’s room when it was the weather’s fault you all couldn’t play outside… And lounging around on your futon when there’s nothing to do.

Though, you know those days don’t last forever either. Soon there were the snowy white winter months where you had Satoru calling almost every day at the earliest hours. With the snow growing annoyingly thicker, and the air considerably colder— He wasn’t allowed to be out much at all.

You hear excessive complaining over the phone as you curl up under your blanket, Mama’s cellphone to your ear and your dozing off self struggling to stay awake to the grumpy squeaks. You spend the time that you are out of your futon waving at Suguru through the window and talking over the phone until Mama needed it back.

Because according to him, it wasn’t fair that Suguru can come and go from your house because he lives right next door, it wasn’t fair that he can’t play with the both of you.

Such was the curse of the pure white days, you suppose. You don’t think you like the snow too much.

And of course, you can’t forget the pollen-filled spring that bloomed pretty flowers that had Geto-mama teaching you how to make flower crowns in her garden— Realizing that it makes your Mama’s sneezes act up a whole lot more; especially when she tries to wear them. An entire season that also brought about Satoru’s growing clinginess when he demands that you allow him to come over everyday, crossed arms and stamping feet and an apologetic Kimiko-san at your door as she tries to offer more snacks as compensation.

(You don’t blame her, you can’t. And at the same time… Mama’s eyes always nearly bulge out of her head whenever she spots another fancy package on the kitchen counter.)

And you learn that days go by all too quickly when you’re having fun, so it wasn’t long until summer was back once more.

Time really is weird. It doesn’t take much to know that. You’re still not really sure if you truly like it.

On the plus side, time brings about age. You realize you’re finally growing up when Mama comes up to you, hands behind her back and all excited sweet smiles and upturned eyes with a the telltale scent of honey as you perk up. You’re happy if she’s happy. So you’re smiling when she presents to you—

A randoseru backpack. Sturdy, heavy, space inside to hold things and has two straps— Definitely a backpack.

“Ya been wearin’ that the wholeeeeeee dayyyyyyyyyyy!” He’s drawling it out hard, all furrowed brows and puffed up face. “Aren’t ya tired???” Gojo Satoru is pouting up at you from his position on your floor as you keep staring at your reflection.

You’re unfazed.

“I think she looks nice.” Suguru’s humming as he nods, a hand under his chin and a smile on his face as he watches you hold onto the straps of your backpack and stare— Almost unblinkingly into your mirror. “It suits you.”

It does, doesn’t it? You’re glad he agrees. Glad he likes it just as much as you do as you keep staring into your reflection with sparkly eyes and jitters in your stomach. This was perfect.

“Mama said it was for—“ What was it again? She taught it to you just this morning. “Eluh… Ment-airy?” Sounds about right.

A blink from the both of them. You’ll admit you aren’t the best at remembering recent things.

“Ya mean school?” Satoru’s got you covered, thankfully. He says he’s so smart cause he gets his own personal teach-er. It must be nice to know so many things. “Pfft,” He flubbers his tongue, his arms and legs outstretching to resemble a floppy starfish as he makes more whines. “School’s bad! Learning’s boring! Just stay home and play with us!”

“I like learning, though.” You do. You’re not the best out there, but at least you like it. That’s what matters.

“Mmm… Is it Akutami Elementary?” It’s slow; the way Suguru pronounces the words. Like he’s careful about not slipping on any of them, like he has committed himself to remembering it.

And you feel your heart fluttering at the name; an odd sense of excitement instilled into you at the recognition, vigorously nodding as you swivel to face him. How did he know?

“Yeah. Mama says I’m going there next spring.”

You can barely help the grin on your face, the happiness making you feel light on your feet and your mind all mushy with joy. Though…

“But I wish you both were there too, though.” And you’re back to staring down at your socks, eyes turning wistful and a frown starting to take over. It would be… Lonely, without them. Maybe you’re just too used to being around them all the time, or maybe you’re just being selfish.

You don’t really know. But you do know that going anywhere without them would be—

“But I’m going there too.“ A blink, a tilt of his head to the side. And he’s smiling right back at you when you’re hurriedly clasping his hand into both of your own, all glittery eyes and excitedly squeezing as you feel the bubble you’ve been keeping inside burst.

“Real— Really? You’ll be there too?” You’re leaning in so close, pushing your face into his own until they were mere inches away from each other as your lip practically trembles in all your stored excitement.

(You won’t be alone!)

You’re funny. Could’ve just asked him first to find out, really. But your hands feel nice on his, so he won’t complain.

You both miss a certain snowy-haired friend, pouting off to the side and finally sitting back up, glaring at the tatami mats of your floor before… He recovers all too quickly with a glimmer in his eyes and a smile on his face.

It’s not like he’s letting the two of you go anywhere without him. That’s banned.

“What elementary did you say it was again?”

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