#god damn home crafts

[jontheketeld]

should i tell them the kitchen roll trick?

[meek-shall-inherit]

my thanksgiving plan is just make it through dinner (i have autism so that will Not be easy!) and then run downstairs and just read death note and draw the rest of the time . we'll only be there for a few hours so it wont be that bad i dont think

[reignpage]

Frat Boy!Gojo

Mojito: bottomless brunch and bottomless life

Word Count: 3.0k Contents: angst, cursing, some dark themes, threat of violence, not proofread

Still no message from Gojo. 

You don’t expect him to reach out. He hates you. And it’s not as if he’s going to say congratulations for your engagement to the Zenin, if only because it won’t be announced until months later, when the forced engagement allegations with the Gojos die down, or so your mother says. 

Knowing the probabilities, you still can’t help but check your phone every minute or so. 

It had only been hours after your mother had so graciously broken the news to you and despite that, you’ve found yourself at yet another family dinner discussing wedding preparations. It’s some sort of cosmic mockery, you think. This time, however, you’re at the world’s most frigid hellhole. 

The Zenin Manor is as repulsive as ever — the decor is gaudy and hideous, with bright red carpeting, random displays of medieval armour and taxidermies ranging from great bears to little rabbits. In every room, and there are many, they’ve hung up chandeliers made of, what you can only guess to be Swarovksy crystals, and even the hand soaps in the bathrooms are Chanel. If you steal one, you could probably fund someone else’s tuition for a year or two and they wouldn’t notice. You’re tempted to try.

And then, there’s the actual inhabitants. 

The way they laugh haughtily, flaunt their perfectly aged wine, and look at you with those stone-cold beady eyes all Zenins seem to be born with. It’s all so plastic. A polystyrene bonanza. Women of your age snickered behind manicured hands and French tips, men of all ages leered with sickly sweet gazes, and even the children looked down on you. A baby scoffed at your dress. A fucking baby. 

You hated it here when you were a little girl, and when you were a teenage, and you hate it now as a woman about to marry into the damn family. 

With the way your life is going, you feel inclined to agree with Nietzsche; God might just be dead. 

Or, at the very least, mean.

“You take philosophy, no?” A lady around your mother’s age asks, cutting through the conversations at the long dining table. 

Gulping down bitter-tasting wine, you force a smile, your mother’s nails digging into your thigh. Somewhat flustered by the way she seemed to have read your mind, you answer, with a jovial tone, “That’s right. It’s been an interest of—“

“Oh, goodness. Philosophy is such a dreadful subject. All that talk about nihilism and whatnot to no end. Life is so amazing, why ruin it with miserable ideas against capitalism? Capitalism built this country!”

Someone else says, “It’s an awfully useless subject too. As I’ve been discussing with the Ryomens, we should do away with these Mickey Mouse degrees. All these arts and crafts and ridiculous gender studies rubbish! The children need to learn about the economy and maths and science! How else will they ever contribute to our society?”

A round of hums of agreement resound. 

You don’t say a thing the rest of dinner. And no one asks you for anything either.

The wedding has been planned without a single input from you, from the peonies that will litter the aisle to the peach bridesmaids dresses on the Zenin girls you don’t even know to the fact that you’ll be dropping out of Eden University to begin your stay-at-home life immediately. 

You listen to all that they have to say, static playing in your head, nodding as if on autopilot until you’re guided to your room by a maid. And in there, huddled against the door, you cry.

Within five years, you had lost everything. First your family’s fortune, then your best friend, and now your freedom. You should have taken the engagement With Gojo more seriously, should have tried harder to make him like you, because even if he couldn’t grow to love you, you’re at least confident enough to say he’d never steal your future from you. If anything, it was you stealing his from him. 

There’s no one you can talk to. Your only real friend is in a coma, your father is always too drunk to know what’s going on, and your mother?

Not a single memory of a heart-to-heart can be found when you think hard about the last time she was willing to hear you out. In fact, on the car ride over from the hospital to the manor, she only rattled off all the conditions the Zenins had made, the rules and expectations they had.

You have a curfew at six in the evening, you cannot bring friends over (which is fine since you have none you’d want to show this side of your life to), you cannot ever, under any circumstances, be seen with Gojo (also fine since you’ll probably never see him again anyways), and worse of all, your wardrobe will be managed by a family-approved stylist to ‘ensure you don’t tarnish the picture-perfect image they’ve cultivated over centuries.’

This whole thing is fucked. 

And you hate that you’re crying over it but nothing can be done, you supposed. At least this way, your family will be taken care of. Your father might just get the help he needs and the stick up your mother’s ass will be taken out and burnt…hopefully. 

Not to mention, it’ll be much easier to pay for Asahi’s hospital bills this way.

Right, so it’s okay. It’ll all be okay. 

You’re going to be just fine. 

No matter how your life is turning out, you’ll find a way to thrive, just as you have done before and you will again. The Zenins will leave you alone as long as you comply — wear their stupid clothes, attend their stupid events, smile like a stupid wife, bear some stupid Zenin babies, and you’ll be fine. 

Oh fuck. 

You’ve forgotten all about the actual man you’re marrying: Naoya. 

There’s no telling what that man is thinking. Maybe he has just as much interest in this marriage as you do, maybe you’ll rarely ever see him, and maybe the rumours are wrong. 

Is this all just wishful thinking?

Maybe you need to consider backup plans. But where could you go? Who can you turn to?

You sigh, head thudding back against the door. 

This room they shoved you in is just as ugly as the rest of the manor. Everything is so over-the-top and stereotypically feminine you can almost taste the artificiality of it all. There’s a pink lace canopy over some grandmother-like bedsheets, everything’s in pastel, and there are mirrors on every wall as if that’s all a girl could ever want or need. This prison tastes like strawberry-flavoured children’s medicine. And you think you might just throw up the dinner you’ve just eaten. 

You need to get out of here. 

Sneaking away is a lot easier than you thought it would be. The hallways are empty, and downstairs, past the foyer, you can hear the chattering in the dining room as they plot how to ruin your life and the high-pitched, pretentious laughter is fuelling your escape. There’s no life in this place, like the limp wick of a candle, only being lit to perform, and then blown out again when the watchful eyes are gone. 

That will indubitably drive you insane when you’re permanently trapped there. You’ll be brought out like fine china for charity events, to rub elbows and kiss ass, the winding key at your back turned and turned, tightening the spring inside until your smile is pulled higher up your cheeks and you dance like a circus monkey, all cute and whimsical with the threat of a whip always in the shadows, beyond the tent. 

Could you last ten years living like that? Even five? One?

You ponder all those questions on your way to the hospital, grateful that your dress, or what remains of it, provides a camouflage in the darkness of the night. 

At first, the hospital gave you reprieve every night, allowing you to distance yourself from your family and your own stuffy home, but then university started and you could only go a couple times a week, and then eventually only every Thursday, though here and there you’d visit more often, under the guise of going to the spa for part of your wedding preparation. There’ll be no more of that. 

It felt like betrayal to live the life he was supposed to, which is probably why the only friends you made are only good for getting high and accompanying you to raves. 

But still, you’re the only one who visits him, and now that you’re getting married to a Zenin, you wonder how often you’ll get to visit now. Once a month? Every year?

Breathing another heavy sigh, you walk through the familiar hallways, the ones that ironically feel much more alive than that god-forsaken place. The nurses smile at you, so do the patients through their open doors. You belong in here just as much as they all do. This is your true home. 

“What happened to your dress?”

You look to your left. 

A little girl is staring at you through the doorway of her own suite. You smile. 

“Hi, Noba. How are you?”

She kicks her little feet out, miles higher than the floor. Despite how late it is, she’s still awake, short hair bobbing with the tilt of her head. “Good. What happened to your dress?”

Stubborn as hell, you know she’ll follow you around and keep asking if you don’t surrender now, so you reply, “Got into a fight. It was terrible. I won, though.”

“Was it with that boy?” The look of confusion on your face makes her roll her eyes, tugging the line of IV with a wave of her arm. “Y’know, that snowman-looking boy. The really loud one. He was asking everyone about you. Even Shoko. She kept telling him to go away because she was helping me eat breakfast but he wouldn’t stop talking.”

Your heart clenches. 

“It wasn’t with him. But it’s okay. I’m fine.”

She isn’t convinced, you can see it in her doe eyes but she shrugs and shuffles on her bed. “My mummy says that all the time. I’m always in here but she says she doesn’t mind as long as she gets to be with me. Why do adults lie?”

You don’t have an answer and she doesn’t expect you to. Lying back on her bed, she stares at her pale hand, so small and fragile, and shakes it, entranced by the needle lodged inside. 

Your heart clenches again but for a different reason; Nobara’s been here longer than Asahi has. In fact, she hasn’t left since she was born, the nurses say. And yet her headstrong attitude has never wavered and she’s always a ball of light that cheers the other patients on. Sometimes you’d find her in your friend’s room organising the flowers, throwing out the wilted ones. You couldn’t imagine this place without her but more than anything, you really hope you can. 

“Are you going to see your friend?”

Nodding, you give her, what you hope is, an encouraging smile. That drops, though, when her head turns, arm dropping, and her eyes meet yours. You feel  spine-tingling dread crawl up your spine before she even opens her mouth. 

“He’s already got a visitor but I think he’ll be happy to know you came when it isn’t Thursday yet.”

Getting to his room is a blur, your body moved on muscle memory alone, and when you push the door open, the pounding of your heart thudthudthudding against your chest like a bomb ticking, all your worries come alive. 

Because, there, standing by an empty bed, is your future husband. 

His grin is twisted and shivers rapidly wrack your body, piercing your bones, hooking themselves in your flesh. He’s dressed in hunting clothes, a speckle of blood on his collar the only thing out of place. The bastard’s even brought the gun along, it’s leaning against the foot of the bed. 

And he doesn’t look the least bit surprised to see you here.

“Good evening, bride.”

Disgust crawls in your throat. His voice is indescribable but it’s just as plastic as anything else in his home. It’s the kind of voice that speaks nothing but high class politeness even though it’s riddled with thorns of venom. That’s a voice you’ll have to listen to for the rest of your life and it’s coming from a mouth you’ll have to kiss tomorrow.

Carefully, you take a step inside. “What’re you doing here?”

Fingers skimming the sheets on the bed, he lifts a shoulder in a shrug. He’s making it abundantly clear that he’s only answering what he wants to answer at his own pace, on his terms, and not yours. 

“I simply wanted to get to know my bride better. It’s been some time now since we last saw each other, no?”

Your hands ball up into fists, nails threatening to draw blood out of your palms. That pounding in your chest isn’t going away and sweat is dripping down your back. It feels as if you’ve wandered to the gates of hell, the threat of judging fire smouldering on your skin. 

“I must say,” he begins, eyes scouring your body in both repulsion and intrigue, “your personal style is not quite what I like, but on our wedding day all of that will be taken off, so I suppose it matters very little. They’ve told you your wardrobe will be managed by the estate, yes? You need not answer, I’m sure they have, and if they haven’t, well you know now.”

When you don’t say a thing in response, he continues. 

“You might feel like it’s all happening so fast but I must admit,” he muses, exploring fingers reaching the barrel of his gun now and you’re stuck in place when he lifts it up, aiming it at your head, “I’ve been planning this for a while now. I’ve had my eye on you since you were but a child clinging to your mother’s skirt even as she tries to shake you off. It was a curious sight. And when I found out about your engagement to that Gojo, I was livid. Of course, I knew all about your family’s misfortunes, try as your parents did to conceal it all, so I took no offence to the arrangement. No, what upset me most was that he was going to get first taste.”

Even with the distance between you, two metres or so, you can feel the phantom kiss of the cold metal against your forehead. You don’t need to wonder how he managed to bring a gun into a hospital; he’s a Zenin, they do as they please. But the knowledge that if you called out for help no one would come makes you gulp despite the dryness of your mouth.

You won’t humour him. You won’t listen to his spiel, won’t buy into the bullshit he’s spewing. Whether there’s any truth to his words or not doesn’t matter because the intention is all the same: he wants to rattle you. The rumours were true, just as you had suspected — he takes great pleasure in fucking women up, starting with their minds. 

Steeling yourself, you ask again, “What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”

His grin grows impossibly wider like he’s glad you caught up on your own. The Zenin watches your eyes scanning the bed and then the room and the bed again; he’s been waiting for you to walk into his trap, an unfortunate deer all vulnerable to his violent desires. That was the real trap. 

Carelessly, he throws the shotgun on the bed. It bounces only once, settling in quite comfortably. You grimace. It’s still pointing at you.

“You’ve been visiting another man for years now. That wouldn’t look good for me if my wife paid so much attention to someone else, would it? No, I didn’t think so.” 

He steps towards you, adjusting his collar so casually one would think he’s talking about the weather.

“Erasing your party-girl history is easy; most of those ingrates you associated with are too high to even remember their names. But your visits to the hospital? Well, I can’t kill every patient here, can I?”

The twinkle in his eyes tells you he has definitely thought about it and he’d be very eager to try. You know he isn’t bluffing. You’ve always known what men like him, apex predators with limitless money, can do and do do. It was something your father did all the time, until he messed with the wrong people and made the wrong call and then he lost all his influence. 

“So, I took matters into my own hands.”

Blood running cold, you ask tentatively, “What did you do?”

You already know the answer. Maybe you knew it before you even came in, before you left the manor, or as soon as you met him at some party and his cold, unfeeling eyes never left yours. r

Every step he takes towards you sends you reeling back until you’re pressed against the wall and goddamn it you hate hospitals. Or better yet, hospitals hate you. His body heat is suffocating, the musky cologne he wears is too strong and it makes your eyes water. Everything about him is wrong. His hair isn’t white, his laugh isn’t addictive, and the windows to the void inside aren’t pretty and blue. 

When a hand, baby smooth, brushes your cheek, all you feel are prickles scraping your skin, like the tongue of a cat. 

“It was bad enough I had to get a Gojo’s leftover. What I will not put up with is sharing my wife with some no-name dribbling vegetable.”

Leaning in close, you can do nothing but let his lips tease the shell of your ear. No one’s coming. No one will help. No one will see your descent into oblivion as the very last of your spirit is crushed under the weight of his madness. And certainly, no one will catch you.

“You tell me what you think I did.”

He said it like it was some joke. The world’s funniest joke. But you’re not laughing. In fact, when your eyes fall upon that empty bed again, you feel like screaming. 

And so you do. 

All the way to the altar. 

[spliffymae]

rapper!onyankopon.

just some head canons i have.

in my head im imagining a blend of dave and fridayy, where he can sing as well (he got variety!). same universe as my musicproducer!connie fic but reader is not famous here, as opposed to w/ connie’s. (lol i gave her a last name too—davis.) in my mind, im picturing ony from the uk and connie from ny.

★　*　　°　　　　🛰 　°. 🌓　•　　.°•　　　🚀

rapper!ony who first pops up on the scene in a music video of his friend connie’s song. he wasn’t featured on the track, but rather just in the background getting hype with everyone else.

but y’all know how the girlies get when a fine black man/woman/person start trending.

rapper!ony who wasn’t shy about his craft, but just wasn’t big on social media. his agent hated it, he loved it. he simply released music, let people know, and then went about his business.

rapper!ony was trending and although he didn’t take this as an opportunity to get in his social media bag, his best friend, musicproducer!connie did!

rapper!ony who goes from a couple thousand people knowing what he does to over a million people screaming his lyrics at they’re phones on tiktok in ONE night.

“bro, you can’t even get mad at me gang!” connie yelled from his shower. ony was sitting outside, accosting his friend for what he did. “you said you didn’t care what happened to the project!”

“but tell me if you gon post it and make it a whole thing, nigga damn!” ony yelled back.

rapper!ony who now has to adjust to his quickly rising popularity. he has yet to know the number of artists looking for a feature; and he doesn’t know that he secretly has some of these industry boys shaking in their boots because where the hell he come from?

no, rapper!ony is too busy focusing on whyyy they’re a million fan edits of him across tiktok and instagram. clips of him from his streams, connie’s videos, and his other friend’s content.

ony groans as connie’s message banner pops up on his phone, the message being a link to a tiktok. when he clicked it, it was a fan edit of him using his song ‘when it comes to you’. “bro, who keeps sending these to you, man?!” ony exclaimed. connie heard it from his room and snickered.

rapper!ony who had to adjust to being the attention at these red carpet events. he usually just walked behind connie and his girl, along with the rest of the entourage but now he is getting stopped for photographs.

there’s nothing like listening to music live. so rapper!ony puts on a fake smile and pushes through the crowded carpet to get inside. he waves to people he’s worked with, artists, and fans who called out to him. all so he can hear some music.

he sees connie holding hands with his girlfriend, both of them making goofy faces at the cameras. he softly smiles at the couple, but before he could make way, connie somehow senses him and turns to him “ony! ven aquí!” damn!

rapper!ony who doesn’t expect much from the awards show. just to go, support connie, and go home. he was nominated,yeah, but he was also in the category with some of the most popular artists right now…so he wasn’t feeling all that confident.

rapper!ony who is shocked as shocked can be when his name is called from the podium for best new artist.

“F**CK YEAH!” connie yelled, jumping up from his seat along with his girl and the rest of the table—aran, zora, jean, armin, and mikasa.

rapper!ony who walks up on stage with connie who is still screaming from excitement.

“uhhh, i’m not gonna lie, mans weren’t expecting to win still.” ony laughed, running a hand over his fresh waves. the audience laughed with him.

“first i would like to thank God, the most high who has blessed me with this amazing opportunity. i want to thank my people for having my back; connie—this man,” ony pointed behind him to connie, who was full out filming the moment on his phone.

“who told me on a random day when we were cleaning out our college dorm room that if we made a project together we would be the new heartthrobs of the generation. connie i thank you for being you; having my back and working alongside me. my brother for life, that is.” connie screamed, and so did his girlfriend from the audience as the claps poured in.

“and finally, i want to thank my heart in human form. the woman who made all of this possible, y/n davis. she don’t like the attention so im gonna hear bout this name drop when i get home. but babes, i love you, and thank you for being my rib. i owe you the world and more. and to her parents, thank you for my better half. thank you lot again. love!” ony raised his hand with the award, smiling and waving to the crowd and cameras as he walked to the back.

meanwhile, across the country, cuddled up in her bed was y/n, who was watching the award show before going to sleep. she had expressed to ony she wasn’t too sure about going, not liking the cameras and attention. he reassured her it was okay because there wasn’t any way he would be winning with who else was in the category.

so…safe to say when you saw your boyfriend on the stage with the award in his hand, you could not contain your shock and excitement. you jumped out of bed screaming and quickly getting to your phone camera to record the tv. squeals and “yeah baby” was all you could say as he gave connie his thanks.

but then… when you heard him say your name, for everyone around the world to hear, everything just turned to shock as your phone fell from your frozen hands, still recording. you were stunned. he said your name. your government name. on national television.

“ONY!!!”

[supernotnatural2005]

Hi I don’t know if you’re accepting requests but can you do a Dean Winchester one where he barely got back from purgatory and his touched deprived? I don’t know if it’s too much and if it is I totally understand

Heal Me

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Dean is still battling with the aftermath of Purgatory, drowning in his guilt over Cas. But there's one thing that grounds him, that he craves more than anything. You.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings/Tags: Light Smut (18+), established relationship, angst, reunion, fluff.

AN: I want to apologise to the dear, sweet anon that sent in this request, for taking so long to get to it! I may have wrote this multiple times, before I felt this justified the request. I hope it was worth the wait ❤️

Main Masterlist

Dean leaned against the doorframe of the ensuite bathroom, arms crossed over his chest, watching you as you brushed your teeth. The overhead light casts a soft glow over you, catching in the strands of your hair, illuminating the delicate slope of your shoulders. You were right there. Real. Flesh and blood.

Not some cruel mirage conjured by his mind, a hallucination crafted by exhaustion and desperation.

He still couldn’t believe it. After a year of nothing but dirt and blood, of the constant fight to survive in God’s, literal, armpit, he was here. Back home. With you.

And yet… part of him wasn’t. Not really. Not fully. Half his mind was still stuck there, where the air was thick with rot, where the rush of adrenaline was a constant companion, where every muscle in his body was wired for the next fight, the next kill, the next second of survival.

A part of him missed it.

Not the fear, not the exhaustion. But the clarity. The single-minded purpose of it all. It had kept him alive. Purgatory had kept him alive.

But then you had touched him—just hours ago, when he’d first walked through the door, and the weight of the past year pressed so heavily on his chest he could barely breathe. You had cupped his face with shaking hands, your touch feather-light but solid, grounding.

Your eyes had brimmed with tears, searching his as if you weren’t sure he was real. And when you whispered desperately, “Is it really you?” Like you had spent the past year seeing your own ghost of him, something inside him broke.

Because for the first time in a year, he felt human again.

He hadn’t told you, Sam, or Kevin the whole story—how could he? How could he explain Benny, the vampire he should’ve killed on sight but instead had become like a brother to him? How could he tell you about the gnawing guilt over Cas, the weight of failure that sat heavy on his chest like a damn cinder block? 

He’d spent the last two days, since crawling out of that hellhole, replaying the last time he saw him, the way he slipped through his fingers, the way he couldn’t save him. It haunted him, lurked in the shadows of his mind even now. Maybe one day he’d talk about it. Maybe one day he’d find the words.

But not now.

Now, he just wanted you.

As you rinsed your mouth, oblivious to the war still raging in his head, he stepped forward. Silent. Stealthy. Predatory.

Old habits die hard.

His arms slid around your waist from behind, and you stilled for half a second before relaxing into him with a soft exhale. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in, the scent of soap and something inherently you washing over him.

You were warm. Soft. Safe.

He tightened his arms around you, pressing you flush against him, as if that alone would be enough to rid him of the phantom weight of that place.

You lifted a hand, covering where his rested over your stomach. You squeezed gently, rubbing your thumb across his knuckles, soothing and sure. “You okay?”

He swallowed hard, nodding against your skin. He didn’t trust his voice.

Because the truth was, he wasn’t okay. He was frayed at the edges, unraveling at the seams, his body still caught in survival mode, his mind still in a place where softness didn’t exist.

But this—

This was grounding him.

You turned in his arms, eyes searching his face. Your fingers lifted to cup his cheek, just as you had when he first walked through that door, and he melted into it. His lashes fluttered shut, his breath shuddering out of him as your warmth seeped into his skin. He chased it instinctively, nuzzling into your palm like a starving man, because fuck, he was starving.

He needed more.

His lips found yours before he could think twice. Desperate. Searching. Real.

Your breath hitched, but you kissed him back just as fiercely, fingers threading through his hair, anchoring him. He groaned into your mouth, the sound ripped from the depths of his chest, because this—this—was what he craved. The press of you against him, the slide of your hands over his skin, the tangible proof that he was alive. That he made it out.

His hands roamed, fingers skimming under your shirt, mapping out the soft planes of your back. He needed to feel more, to memorise you, to replace the cold, hard edges of Purgatory with the warmth of you.

“Dean,” you breathed against his lips, voice wrecked, hands fisting in his shirt.

“Need you,” he rasped, his forehead pressing against yours, breath ragged. His fingers traced the hem of your sleep shorts, slipping beneath, palms skating over the bare skin of your thighs. He shuddered. “Need to feel you—please.”

You nodded, tugging at his shirt, lifting it over his head, your hands immediately splaying over his chest, his shoulders, his back—anywhere you could reach. He hissed at the contact, not in pain, but in relief. Your fingers traced over new scars, memorising them like you had memorised him a lifetime ago.

And when you pulled him back to you, guiding him toward the bed, he went willingly.

The need between you was sharp, all-consuming. Clothes were shed in hurried movements, lips never parting for long, hands exploring, relearning. When he finally pressed you into the mattress, covering you with his body, the weight of you beneath him made his chest ache. 

His fingers trembled as they traced the dip of your waist, the curve of your hip, like he was memorising you all over again—like he was terrified you’d slip through his grasp if he didn’t anchor himself to you. Your skin was soft beneath his calloused hands, a stark contrast to the roughness he’d known for the past year. It soothed something raw inside him, eased the ache little by little, but it also had him desperately reaching for more.

He kissed you slow and deep, savouring the taste of you, letting it drown out the memories of blood and death and loneliness. His lips ghosted over your jaw, down your throat, lingering at the place where your pulse beat wildly beneath his mouth. He needed to feel it, needed the proof that you were here, warm and alive beneath him.

When he finally pushed inside you, he gasped, the sheer relief of it stealing his breath. He buried his face in your neck, shuddering as your body welcomed him, surrounded him, made him feel whole again. Your hands found his back, your touch warm and grounding as you held him close, fingers threading through his hair, whispering soft reassurances against his temple. He clung to them, clung to you, let himself be tethered in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to be in so long.

And as he moved—slow at first, then deeper, more desperate—his lips mapped every inch of skin he could reach, reverent, worshipping. Your nails dragged along his spine, your body arching into him, and he groaned, the sound breaking from his throat like a prayer.

He didn’t know how long it lasted, only that he never wanted it to end. He chased the warmth of your body, the way you gasped his name like it meant something, the way your breath hitched as he murmured your own against your lips. It wasn’t just about need—it was about feeling, about reclaiming something he thought he’d lost forever.

When he finally collapsed against you, breath ragged, skin damp with sweat, you held him, pressing lazy kisses to his temple, his shoulder, anywhere you could reach. He wasn’t sure how long you stayed like that, tangled together in the quiet. He just knew he didn’t want to move.

There was a long road ahead of him. He knew that. Knew that Purgatory still lurked in the back of his mind, that the fight and the guilt wouldn’t fade overnight. But here, wrapped up in you, in your warmth, your touch, your love—he let himself believe, just for a moment, that maybe this was the start of finding his way back.

AN: I had another similar request to this, set in the Michael storyline Touch. I've noticed it seems to be a bit of a running theme with Dean, being 'touch starved', which I am more than happy to get behind, because we all now he is 😭💔. I hope you guys liked this one ❤️

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter

@tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2

@deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown

@jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @shadysoulangel

@piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27

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@arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @jaredpadonlyyyy @waynes-multiverse

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@rach5ive @ladysparkles78 @globetrotter28 @kayleighwinchester @amberlthomas

[lorelune]

(kaiser x reader // minors dni // soulmate AU, references to physical abuse, smidge of yan kaiser)

kaiser doesn't want a soulmate.

his father burned off his soulmate mark with the butt of a cigarette before kaiser knew how to spell his own name. it was beat into his head that he was so much less than human, and why would such a thing need a soulmate?

his exterior puts people off once they actually talk to him. he inherited his mother's looks, and his father's heart, and any ideas of romance or deep companionship aren't really something he entertains. there's a wisp of a thought, once in a while, when he sees a mother kneel down to wipe the tears of their child or when he watches one of his teammates share an embrace with a partner following a game. there's a sliver of something there that kaiser sees, that is vulnerable and lovely and part of him aches for it in a way that's damning.

it's very easy for him to reject the feeling.

he doesn't seek his soulmate. he doesn't attempt to restore that mark that was burned away on the back of his hand. he covers it with a tattoo instead. in interviews, when pressed about his relationship status, his soulmate status, he's honest and callous— he doesn't fucking care. it's a pathetic thing to want and he won't indulge it.

it's easy to ignore. to focus on playing and crushing what he can, and not focus on the potentiality of a soulmate.

it's very easy until he meets you.

michael kaiser knows the moment he meets your gaze that you're his soulmate.

it's just like how everyone describes it to be. you look each other in the eyes and it's like... oh, he's home, isn't he? it's safety, it's peace, it's security that michael kaiser has never once felt before in his life. whatever he managed to craft through his own violence doesn't hold a candle to the way just looking at you makes him feel.

your breath catches, you hover just in front him.

(you're— just some stupid makeup artist, assigned to this photo shoot—)

"get the fuck away from me—" he spits.

you say in tandem. "— i need to use the restroom."

you bolt. the crew for the shoot isn't very large and everyone notices the palpable change in the air. kaiser white-knuckles the arms of his chair so hard that he can't be sure he would break the wood of it.

he excuses himself. tells ness to fuck off and leave him alone too when the other tries to follow him.

he splashes water on his face, tugs on his hair, even punches himself in the cheek in the bathroom. his heart won't stop pounding. the urge to find you, seek you is so strong, makes him feel physically ill.

the makeup you'd just applied to his face runs down his cheeks. even the red under his eyes is smearing.

kaiser isn't going to be able to collect himself enough to be professional, that's fine. he doesn't need to be. he'll request a new mua and tell your team that you said something off-color to him. maybe get you'll get fired and it will be that much easier to never see you again.

it's very unfortunate that fate tends to weave soulmates together, again and again. yarn spun with two different color fibers, unable to be separated once intertwined together.

you're collapsed again the wall, just outside the bathrooms. kaiser can see you shaking, can see how quickly your chest is rising and falling. you're alone too—

(he did this.)

he doesn't feel guilty. he doesn't feel fucking guilty. why would he?

you shoot to your feet. "hey, um— we should—"

"god," he clicks his tongue, crossing his arms. "following me to the bathroom of all places?"

"what?" you tilt your head. "i wasn't following you, i just needed some air. regardless, we should talk—"

"pathetic and perverse," kaiser sizes you up, leaning down to look at you. he hopes you feel as small and stupid as you are. "what horrible traits for a soulmate to have."

you still, meet his gaze again. the same warm, wanting feeling returns to kaiser, so unignorable it makes him feel ill. he'd vomit on you if that wasn't more than you deserve.

"god, you're awful, aren't you?" you scoff and cross your arms over your chest. "i was warned you'd be, but you really are a piece of work."

it's weird, how you calling him awful makes some part of him feel so desperately bad. it's a little part of him, bruised up and small but loud. he grits his teeth and ignores it.

"i don't need you." he reminds you, reminds himself. "i have no interest in a soulmate."

meeting you doesn't change that.

"oh, good. we're on the same page then." you shoot back, a conviction in your voice. "neither do i."

... what?

you're his soulmate. if there was anyone in the world who was supposed to want him, it was you. the stars crossed upon your births just so you could want him, that you'd need him, that you'd think well of him— right? that's what his teammates talked about, the few that had met theirs. that's what all the movies he'd watched from his cardboard cot in his father's home had said. and more convincingly, that's what michael kaiser knew in the broken, unsound thing that is his soul to be true.

you are supposed to want him.

"what?" he finds himself asking, venom in his voice. "why don't you elaborate on that?'

you flinch with it, rolling your eyes. your deflections seem effortless. "i don't care about having a soulmate, regardless of if its you or not. i wanted to make sure that you got that.it would be best if we forget that... this ever happened, yeah?"

oh, no, no, no— you don't get to run away from him. that can't happen. kaiser doesn't even realize he'd backed you into a wall until you physically hit it. it startles you; kaiser thinks you didn't notice either.

"works for me." kaiser tells you. "i'm glad that you can understand that i'd never want you."

he, in that moment, believes it too. kaiser fully believes that he will let you walk out of Bastard München's training facility and never see or think of you again. he will cut you from his mind, shed that which inhibits him.

(even if that feels... impossible. but, it's just another impossibility for him to overcome, yes? that's doable. understandable.)

it looks like you've been slapped when he says it. you rub over your soulmate mark. it's in the same spot on your left hand as his once was. (kaiser just read an psychology article about how this is a common self-soothing behavior. especially in those who have experienced some sort of attachment trauma—)

he sneers.

"go cry about it later. you're on the clock aren't you?"

"i'm not crying about it." you aren't but the way you get defensive and weird about his words lights in a fire in him that feels... dangerous to let continue to burn. "and aren't you working too?"

"i'm the talent." he smiles. you frown.

"oh my god," you duck away from him, back to him. "i'm so glad neither of us want each other because you're fucking insufferable already."

it feels. bad for him to hear. and yet kaiser wants to hear more of it. he wants to hear all about how you don't want him, why you don't want, and he wants to make so, so sure that you know that he doesn't need you either.

"i'll put in a complaint," he hums, matching your strides and speeding up just enough to take the lead. you're walking the same way after all. "i'll get you reassigned. i could get you fired."

"that's— taking it a bit far, isn't it?"

"i don't think it's taking it far enough." kaiser stops, whips around, and god knows that threads of fate possess him but he leers down and brackets you against large, circular column. the air is still and quiet, and he can hear the way your breath catches as he invades your space. he hopes you can feel the heat of his breath as he speaks, nearly nose-to-nose with you. "i'll pay your way to move out of the country, even. i would put you on the other side of the world."

"is it just your soulmate that you're rejecting, or love in general?" you laugh. "because no one will want you if that's the way you speak to someone you're supposed to love."

"i'm supposed to be tethered to you," he reminds you. "love is taking it a bit far. seems like you're attached already."

"you're the one who is looking at me like you want to eat me."

(doesn't he want to devour you?)

kaiser barely stops himself from spitting on you as he recoils. noa will only tolerate so much of his attitude.

you walk in silence back to the photo shoot, the room clearly away something is wrong with him. and you. but mostly him because he refuses to have you work on him further and instead makes himself a problem for the other three makeup artists available.

that night, he returns home alone. he stalks your employer's website, finds you, and finds everything about you. what you do, how long you've been doing it for, your education, your friends, your family, what you like— who you are.

he hates every bit of it. he hates how he can't stop himself.

there's another photo shoot next week, promotional materials for the new season. he has solo shots to take. and it only takes a few texts to make sure that only makeup artist there will be you. he can corner you again, probably, make your life worse so you know what an absolute mistake your making in not wanting him.

kaiser smiles to himself as he makes his arrangements. he delights in the sour expressions that he's certain you'll make when you see him again.

it's not that he cares about, he doesn't, he really doesn't. but... isn't there a particular type of pleasure to be reaped from making you, his soulmate of all people, squirm from discomfort? from his research on you, he's getting ideas, angles to force you into it.

it's enticing. it's enthralling.

and it has absolutely nothing to do with the specter of warmth that you could potentially provide him.

nothing at all.

and if it is— he'll make sure you never know, anyway.

[bullet-prooflove]

Misdemeanour: Jack Abbot x Reader

Tagged: @kmc1989 @dizzybee03 @noxytopy @flyinglama @yousigned-upforthis

Companion piece to:

The Asshole King - Jack discovers you have an unusual technique for dealing with patients.

Bob Dylan - You help Jack to relax after an incident at the hospital leaves him temporarily blind.

Because Of You - Jack realises he's starting to heal in more ways than one after you spend the day taking care of him.

Boston - You reflect on the past after your ex-husband makes an appearance on a trying day.

This God Damn Fucking Day - Jack steps into the fray with things get messy between you and you ex-husband.

Jack doesn’t find Myrna, it becomes a Robby problem when the clock ticks over to seven signalling the end of his shift. He’s got much more pressing issues to attend to, like where his fiancée disappeared to. He pops his head up into Psych but there’s no sign of you.

She left half an hour ago, he’s told, which is a kick in the balls considering you carpooled together.

You’re mad at him he supposes. Ordering you out like that.

It’s something that will resolve itself over the next couple of hours because the truth is you’re not really mad at him, you’re mad at the asshole you’ve just discovered was fucking your sister while she was in his care, the same asshole that fucked you under his care.

That revelation, it’s a lot, he doesn’t blame you for taking off to try and get a little headspace.

He’s already crafting his letter to the ethics committee when he gets the call at home. A number he doesn’t recognises flashes up on his screen and it takes him a sec to pause the game in in the background before he picks up the phone.

“Yea?” He says half distracted.

“This is a collect call from Allegheny County, do you accept the charges?” He pauses then because now he realises maybe you didn’t just take a drive out to your sister’s gravesite after all.

“Yea, I’ll take the charges.” He says setting his laptop town on the coffee table and pinching his brow. “Faye honey, you there?”

“Jack.” You say, your voice frighteningly calm compared to the last time he saw you. “I got arrested and I need you to post bail.”

He rubs his palms over his weary features because this day, it just keeps on giving.

“Did he press assault charges?” He asks you as he pushes up from his seat and heads towards the wall safe, where he keeps a healthy portion of cash alongside your personal documents and your sister’s jewellery.

“Vandalism.” You inform him. “Someone carved the word cunt onto his hood of his car and then took a shit in the front seat after smashing the windows.”

Jack freezes, half way through dialling the code.

“Obviously it wasn’t me but that son of a bitch told them he saw me do it, hence why I’m currently in lock up diagnosing all sorts of bullshit for my cellies.”

���Fuck, I think it might have been Myrna.” He tells you as he opens the safe and starts to count out the bundles from his ‘go bag’ stash. “She was still at large when I left the hospital this morning and she hated him on sight.”

“Wow.” You say digesting this new information. “I gotta be honest I’m not even mad about it, he deserves all the bad shit that comes his way. Literally in this case.”

Jack tries to choke back a laugh as he closes the safe and picks up his backpack to stuff the money inside. He’s glad to hear the humour in your voice because this situation it’s fucked up especially after the day you’ve had.

“Faye honey.” He says after a beat. “You doing ok?”

“Yes, no, maybe…” You respond with a sigh. “I don’t fucking know anymore Jack. I was angry, then I was sad and now I’m ambivalent over the whole thing. I just want to come home, get a shower and sleep for the next three days. I don’t want to deal with anymore of this shit.”

This is your breaking point. He feels that acutely as he cradles the phone under this chin. You don’t have the mental capacity to see beyond this moment right now, not when you’re in the thick of it. Jack does, he knows he implications of this, he can see the fall out clear as day and the intention behind it.

A second-degree misdemeanour, it’s enough to get your medical licence revoked.

That’s the punishment for not playing ball with Richard, he can’t take away Jack but he can take away the other thing you love.

“Can you hang in there for me just a little longer?” He asks you softly. “There’s something I’ve got to do and then I promise I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Sure.” You say despondently, the phoneline beeping to tell you your call time is coming to an end. “Because what’s a couple more hours in this hellhole right?”

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[yawnderu]

A family of his own.

The thought never occurred to Simon, not when his duty has always been to his country and the queen. A clean-cut soldier through and through, an attack dog, in a way; yet you managed to break down the walls he spent years carefully crafting to protect his peace, walking into his heart as if it was your God-given right. Settling comfortably into his heart, making a home in it, invading his every thought no matter how hard he tried to kick you out of his head.

It wasn't the lack of trying that caused his situation, but rather your persistence. He could push you away as much as he'd like and you still clung to him like a barnacle, refusing to move, merging into his shell to the point his whole self was more yours than his. His heart was yours to seek shelter in, his mind empty and ready to be occupied by you, his body kept clean and healthy for your soft lips to kiss all over, his cock hard and leaking, always ready for you to ride and suck.

He was too pussy-drunk and in love to even care when you suggested to do it raw, seeing it as an honor rather than an action that would have consequences, yet how could he think clearly when your wet cunt was wrapped around him, your pretty tits bouncing up and down while you ride his hard cock? God fuckin' bless Newton.

He knows what exactly caused this— how every single time he was close, his warm hands wrapped around the curve of your waist, holding you in place while he drilled into you; making sure your orgasm hit first before he kept thrusting into that sweet spot, hips stuttering while his hot, white seed spilled into you.

And what did he learn? Absolutely nothing new. Actions have consequences, he knew that much, and he truly wasn't surprised when the sweet thing he had waiting for him at home delivered the news with a letter, pretty handwriting adorning the white paper with something that would change his entire life. Pregnant, she said.

He spent many restless nights thinking about it, but surprisingly, not a single second was put into thinking how to get out of it. No, the thought of you getting pregnant was carved into his brain since the first time you suggested doing it raw, fully aware of the consequences, yet never giving it too much thought as your warm walls wrapped around him always numbed his brain.

Pregnant, he thought, seeming fond of the idea rather than conflicted. Simon was financially stable, had his mental health under control, was too professional and damn good at what he did to ever even get himself injured, yet he found himself putting even more care at being the Ghost, never wanting to come home to you with even a scratch, and he managed for thirty-nine long weeks.

Every single time he saw you, you looked even more lovely, full belly growing even larger and rounder, a protective hand always over your own stomach. The image always melted his heart, making him fall even more in love when his warm hand was laid over your stomach, applying soft pressure until he could feel the little bugger kick away underneath his palm.

"Lovely girl s'gonna come out ready to chuck a bloody grenade." His gaze softened when he heard your laugh, his hand doing nothing other than provoking the little one to keep moving and kicking, completely enamored by the sight of his fiancée resting in his arms in bed, cuddling her up and keeping her safe from the world.

The thought of having a family never occurred Simon, yet he was so ready to welcome his little girl into the world and break the cycle once and for all.

[greatdenimbeast]

Diamond Castle au- introducing, Shadow, Muse of History, Astrology and Astronomy

Once a mortal in ancient Greece, moulded from clay by an inventor and brought to life by the blood of a god, he spent his years caring for his ill sister, Maria. Doing his best to assist his creator in finding a cure. Since the blood of god ran through his veins and, seeing that his existence was a miracle in of itself, it stood to reason that he could be the miracle that helped save her

Cuz he was quite literally born yesterday, his sister loved to tell him stories about historic events, tales of gods and heroes to teach him about the world and how it cane to be. She was a damn good storyteller too, always leaving Shadow craving for more.

His favourites were the ones related to the stars, the constellations, so much so that Gerald noticed and taught him how to properly chart them

Maria wasn’t allowed to leave the house, her grandfather fearing that the elements would be too much for her and that often made her sunny demeanour dull and, looking to cheer her up, he did his best to find ways to brighten her mood until found one that worked

He entertained his bed-ridden sister with tales of history, of old dead heroes, of gods, of prophecies, things that he had picked up from local traders and travellers when he was out running errands for Gerald.

Maria was enthralled by them, hanging off of his every word

“The island of Crete truly holds such a monster?”

“It’s travellers gossip, but who’s to truly say.”

He wasn’t as good of a storyteller as she was but he did keep record of every story he could, and Maria loved it so that was all that mattered

As Maria got worse, Shadow started praying and giving offerings to the god Asclepius and the god Apollo, he doubted they would come to his aid but if there was a chance they could help he wanted to be sure.

But it was getting harder to cure her, some of the medicinal herbs they needed grew far off and the merchants that brought them to the markets to sell them kept marking up the prices out of greed. So Shadow, who had been blessed with inhuman speed, was sent off to pick the herbs himself, allowing him the opportunity to venture and see more of the world and bring back more stories, even making a few of his own, slaying a few monsters on the the way

The soldiers for the nearby king didn’t make it easier, tormenting the people for laughs, outright stealing, sometimes outright killing people when they refused to cave to their demands. Gerald was always being pulled away from his work for a cure to craft machines and statues for the king, the only reason the soldiers were unable to harm him or Maria when he refused was because of Shadow being there to protect them.

This became an issue when the king decided that he wanted Shadow

Soldiers stormed the house and workshop, taking the inventor prisoner, dragging him away to the castle and as Shadow tries to get Maria to safety she pushes him out of the way of blade and gets stabbed through her stomach

Shadow blacks out.

When he comes back, his hands are covered in blood, the bodies of dead soldiers litter the floor, his ears are ringing.

The only other breathing Shadow could hear besides his own was the shaky, laboured breaths of his older sister

He rushed to her side and examined her, the wound was deep, too deep. He tried his beat to clean up the blood but he could barely see what he was doing past his own tears. As he did he prayed, to his other father, to Apollo, to any god that would listen, to please save his sister, to not let her die

Then Maria’s hand squeezing his stopped him

“Sh…Shadow… o-one more story…”

“Maria please, please, i have to treat this, I won’t let you die, i won’t let you, i can’t let you die!”

“One…one m-more… please?”

“…okay… okay, one more story.”

So he shakily told her a story, about the fabled diamond castle, the birthplace of music, home to the museum of music. He struggled to remember parts of the story but Maria shakily helped him fill in the blanks

Then as the story concluded, Apollo made his presence known and applauded the two on how exemplary their storytelling was. It turns out Shadow has gained Apollo’s attention for a while, ever since he started praying to him and he had an offer for him

He wanted him to be his muse, an inspiration, a god. Initially Shadow wanted to refuse until Maria winced and coughed in his arms, then he got an idea

“…Lord Apollo I will accept this honour on one condition, that you heal my sister of her wounds and her ailment so that she may live as freely as she wishes.”

Apollo accepted these terms and gave Shadow, ambrosia (the food of the gods). It burned away his mortality and left him a god

And Apollo fulfilled his part of the deal, healing his sister, and did Shadow one better by turning Maria immortal so that she may be Shadow’s attendant to assist him in his duties before whisking them both off to the diamond castle

50 years later Shadow meets the next muse

[mihii-i]

CAN I PLEASE REQUEST A MIZU X FEM READERRR

The reader gets captured by Fowler and Mizu rescues her, the reader is basically another medic, very kind and sweet, polar opposite of Mizu, but she knows Mizu is a woman and the two of them fall in love. Meanwhile when she sees the condition that the reader is in (beat up, used, etc) she literally is like for a second "lowkey I don't need his info lemme kill him." But ofc doesn't do it, comforts the reader, taking off her blue kimono and giving it to her, wrapping her in it and picking her up and carrying her out of the castle <3 while whispering words of encouragement to her. This time it's Mizu taking care of the readers wounds, and she like becomes ringos little assistant to help work on her.

If you want to have them have a pre established official relationship you can! And if it's not too much trouble, please work on this as fast as possible. Thank you so much for your time!

animosity of an onryō.

Pairings: mizu x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, wuh luh wuh, mention of injury, violence, blood, gore, tw fowler he will always be a tw in my eyes, reader got fucking crucified my gods, basically like how taigen was being tortured but worse, guys I’m still recovering from the fact that I found out people ship mizu and fowler unironically sendnhelp, mizu goes genuinely insane like she did in ep 6, mikio is mentioned I hate him more than fowler, I should’ve censored that old bitch’s name sorry guys, not proofread.

A/N: I LOVE HOW THIS TURNED OUT SO MUCH OH MY GOD I FEEL LIKE IM CRAFTING A SPECIALLY MADE MEAL FOR A QUEEN IN A SHORT AMOUNT OF TIME PLACED AS A SPECIFIC TIME BASED ORDER YK also this is how well I write when I’m not rushed and don’t have school and enjoy what I’m writing I’m so glad I have the free time and motivation brain blast to write this rn anyway mizu come home the kids miss u 🕯️

Blurry figures writhed in the line of your fogged periphery, the burning ache of your wrists seared into the wooden board being accompanied by screams of pure anguish and rage in the background. You couldn’t utter a single word as you caught sight of the two people pushing against each other with a heightened murderous intent clouding the area, harboring an awful atmosphere of bloodlust in the vicinity. It wasn’t difficult to immediately identify the figure on your left as Fowler, his broad shoulders and bulky stature quickly making him recognizable.

Coughing out, you uncomfortably writhed against the board, back dragging along the splintering wood as each crimson trickle of blood dampened your clothing. The noise in your ears only vibrated in an agonizing ringing sound, reverberating through every fiber of your body, etching itself into the confines of your skull as your head began to spin from the sheer ache tightening your muscles.

“Where the fuck is she?”

You recognized that voice.

It was one which you found yourself bounding through several stages of affection with. One that you feared, yet also adored. You used every bit of strength you had to tilt your head up, focusing your bleary vision onto the leaner fighter looking up at Fowler with nothing but pure hatred. You were far away from the two, yet you could recognize those piercing blue eyes anywhere, taking note of the bloodthirsty glint that always shone in them at the mere sight or mention of her targets.

You could only watch in your crucified state as Mizu’s elbows dug into Fowler’s push back on her, teeth grinding together as she let out a breaking yell before driving her katana into his shoulder, earning a hiss of pain from his throat. You only found yourself, drowning in the infernal fury of the ongoing fight between them, masking the air with a deathly thirst that could not be quenched.

“You really..really want that damned girl back don’t you? Pitiful little lady wouldn’t even open her mouth no matter what we did, might as well cut her tongue out.” Fowler rasped out, voice morphing into a chuckle gurgling from the blood rising in his throat as he grasped his wounded shoulder. Mizu’s anger only heightened at his degrading words, each movement of her sword against his torso becoming more and more intense as her temper thinned. “Abijah Fowler. You will tell me where (Name) is before I make you regret the very moment you decided to be born.”

Suddenly, a wicked smile quickly replaced the flash of fear in his eyes as soon as it appeared, his head nodding off to the side in your direction as he seemed to raise his eyebrows toward you like some sort of signal. Mizu followed his eyes as she kept her menacing demeanor up, glancing over in the same direction he was locked on. Her eyes widened with nothing but absolute terror.

Her grasp on her sword briefly faltered, almost clattering the metal against the ground as she took in your battered form, loosely hung from the two nails confining your palms into the bloodied wood like a butchered animal. Nearly every single inch of your skin was doused in crimson, various wounds tainting each limb. Whether it was a slash from a knife or a flattened bridge of skin from a hammer, any horrific type of torture that could possibly be conjured up was present across your body.

You parted your lips weakly as you caught sight of Mizu’s racing sights fixed onto you, attempting to call out her name despite the sting that bit at the back of your mangled throat.

“Mi..zu..”

She only felt her heart sink at your brutalized stature, your life barely hanging by a thread as you were practically mauled—rendered to the point of being unable to even scream. A sudden flare of contempt erupted in Mizu’s eyes, feeling a bubbling sensation of fury finally snap within her as she saw you hanging like a ragdoll. Slowly, her head turned back to Fowler, fueled even further by the smug expression plastered across his face.

You couldn’t even register what was happening anymore past the screams, only being able to hear the sodden rips of flesh and blood alongside Mizu’s remorseless onslaught of cries, bashing Fowler in with a blinding wrath which left even her unrecognizable in your view. The well-trained and cold samurai who seemed calculated with every move she performed, no matter how brutal, was now tearing at a man with no coherent thoughts present in her mind—only hate.

The rancorous barrage unfolding before your eyes nearly made your chest ache. Sure, despite your sweet nature completely opposing Mizu’s unfeeling one, you had always acknowledged the importance of her revenge. You knew that she had to kill the remaining three men who had potentially soiled her very existence by bringing a monster into this world, and you were supportive of it.

But this? This wasn’t what she was aiming for. This was just her lusting for blood, seeking to make them suffer more than her own satisfaction required. And it made your pulsing veins nearly run cold and stop.

“Aha. You need me to get to the other two..you can’t get to them without-“

“I don’t care.” She snapped, tightening her hand around the tsuka of her blade to dig through the first layer of his forearm and saw at the bone; earning a scream from Fowler which seemed as if it was elicited from genuine terror and pain this time. You finally hunched your shoulders back to use every drop of energy you had left coursing through you, yelling out for her to stop.

“It’s no..t worth it..stop it, please..”

Your choked out noise almost instantly made the scorching fire within her subside down to a tiny flickering flame, her blade embedded in Fowler’s side pausing at its cut midway. Looking down, it had finally seemed that she had come to her senses, breathing ragged and shallow as she yanked out her katana with a grunt as Fowler toppled to his knees.

Using his immobile state as an opening, she quickly rushed toward you, hands swiftly twisting at the nails hammered into your palms as you whined out hoarsely in pain. Her heart only clenched at your strangled noises, taking your holed hand in hers tenderly as the nails cluttered onto the floor. Mizu wanted to circle her arms around you tightly, squeeze your body against hers and dig her face into the crook of your neck while whispering sweet promises to never let you go again. Yet there was no time to act on what she wanted now. All that mattered was getting you out of that god awful castle where you had been abused past a breaking point.

Your head spun as you focused on Mizu’s face splattered with blood, her worried expression contrasting the violence that she had put on display not too long ago. “It’ll be okay, (Name). Hang on.”

Shrugging off the dark blue kimono fastened by her obi, she scooped your limp body up in the fabric, allowing you to bask in the warmth of her tattered clothing as she held you to her chest.

“I’m sorry.”

She paused, muttering against you once more.

“I should’ve never left you like this. Thank you for being there for me.”

Her uncharacteristically soft whisper brushed over your cheek, hand ghosting the blood seeping through the blue fabric shrouding your wounds, yet she couldn’t care any less about how messy her clothes got. As long as she could get you back.

…

“Now let me be there for you too.”

In one swift motion, Mizu clamped her teeth around the blade of her katana while you were swayed up in her grasp, using her own body to ram into the window and shatter it as the two of you descended down from the ninth level down into the freezing waters below.

Shards of glass flipped through the air, spinning as they scattered in all directions and occasionally grazed your already broken skin. You felt yourself swallowing your own breath in the icy pits of water engulfing both you and Mizu, her arms fastened around you like a lifeline as she held you close. She wouldn’t get caught up in her revenge to let someone precious die. Not this time. Perhaps she had changed from who she once was, transitioning from a cold blooded killer who clear out anything blocking her path, into someone who poured her heart out for a woman who was her polar opposite.

You couldn’t stay awake much longer, the border between life and death currently wavering in and out of sight and disappearing into an uncertain gamble between the two. Eyes shutting as the numbness spread to every inch of your body, you laid back, allowing yourself to be submerged in the blue embrace you had tainted a sickening red.

—

“Is she alive?”

“Master, be patient..she has a pulse but I don’t know if she’s even conscious right now.”

“How can I be? She practically got ripped open by Fowler! Even then these wounds look far too gone to even come close to healing..”

“They’ll heal, trust me.”

Muffled voices exchanged between two people echoed in your ears, a sharp sting interrupting any train of thought you had going on as you became well aware of your consciousness. A sore ache throbbed across every inch of your muscles, contracting tightly as you could quite literally feel the slits ingrained into your body. From what it felt like, they seemed to be stitched up, with a damp cloth pressed against the formerly open wounds.

You slowly blinked open your eyes being met with the dim light of a candle bouncing off the wooden floor. Your back was pressed against a tatami mat as you lay still like a corpse, the biting throb still twitching across your taut muscles. In an instant, you caught the sight of Ringo’s face hovered above yours, his eyes looking off in the distance as his blunt hands were situated on his lap. He was humming to himself while staring elsewhere, possibly waiting for you to wake up.

As soon as he looked back down at you, his expression contorted into one of surprise, delight following up almost instantly. “Master! She’s awake!”

You heard a rush of footsteps thudding across the floorboards, before the silhouette of a lithe woman’s shadow loomed over you, hands planted by her sides. Her slender fingers traced over your battered knuckles, thumb brushing along the torn off ridges of skin still healing before breathing out a long awaited sigh of relief.

“Mizu..?”

She nodded, squeezing your hand a bit and urging you to not strain your voice too much. Her downturned expression harbored a light of vulnerability striking off her cerulean eyes, as if she was mortified at the possibility that she would never see you open your eyes again. Ringo nodded in her direction with a smile, standing up and heading out the front door into the front of the unfamiliar cabin-like structure you were enclosed in.

Wasting no time, Mizu bit at the thread in her hands, pinching the needle between two fingers in the other. “Hold still.” Snaking her hand below your sagged arm, she lifted up with ease, pushing the needle and thread in tandem as you sucked in a breath to endure the searing push of the needle through your skin each time. She carefully stitched up the exposed wound, looking up at your face twisted in pain with her own expression of pity.

Your breathing came out in shallow gasps for air, the wounds still having a profound impact on your body as it was quite difficult to move your limbs without it feeling like being torn apart, much less retain your ability to walk around normally. You found that you were still curled up in her kimono, serving as a sort of padding against your back, layered atop the tatami mat. Honestly, it was a great substitute considering there wasn’t a futon anywhere in sight around here.

Ringo came back in, holding a bowl between his stubby hands as he carefully set it down beside your head to cool, harshly blowing at the steam wafting from the bowl. Once he deemed it was cool enough, he signaled Mizu to lift your head up—to which she did, as he held the bowl carefully, making sure it didn’t slip from his grasp. You swallowed each pour of the soup-like meal down your throat, being able to drink a bit easier after each swig.

—

Ah. What you would do to go back to those times.

You had always trailed behind Mizu with a smile, never leaving her side no matter how many times she had grumbled out for you to leave. Every moment spent with the stoic samurai had held nothing short of your heart racing beside her, as if you were in a realm of bliss no matter how harsh she was with you at times. No matter how many gruesome battles you found yourself walking into at her side, no matter how many times you stood at the brink of death and nearly toppled off the edge, you didn’t regret even an ounce of what you experienced.

For some odd reason, you found yourself captivated by Mizu, drawn in by the cold blue eyed samurai. At times, you even suspected that there was more beneath that ‘unbreakable’ exterior than she was letting on. The two of you had found yourselves closer than you could ever imagine, heart to heart with every wretched and dark secret burrowed in the crevices of your souls, yet still choosing to adore even the most monstrous sides of one another.

Even when you found out that it was a woman who lingered beneath the facade of a man, your view of her didn’t change at all. In fact, your trust only grew, knowing full well you saw a vulnerable side of her that very few had experienced.

You had taken the parts of her she deemed as impure, the parts she kept hidden from others along with the raw hatred engraved into her very existence, and huddled it into the warmth of your affection. Allowing the supposed animosity of an onryō to be hemmed between your arms as you poured our every drop of love you fostered within you to the demon.

You recalled a bunraku puppet show you had once seen, depicting the vexations of a woman who had fallen to once again arise as an onryō. Yet it was clear, that the tempestuous being had only risen from anguish. From the fact that it had been betrayed once, torn apart and trust crumbled right before its very eyes.

Perhaps that’s what you saw in Mizu. A broken woman who seeks nothing but satisfaction, completely shooting down the prospect of happiness at all. Despite how truly shattered she was from the inside, you didn’t mind it at all. You wanted to pick up each shard yourself, piece it back together slowly & carefully. Even if it slit your palms and stained them red.

The supposedly hardened walls she had gradually came down around you, her vulnerability shining through her guarded front. You were right. She had been betrayed by everyone she knew to ever exist, one of them being her late husband.

Mikio. You never knew him, yet his name alone left a bitter taste in your mouth. You promised—no, swore on your own life that you would never betray her in the way that man did. She was your top priority, the only one in this world you would ever feel so strongly towards. So strongly to the point where your bones lit up with a roaring flame of passionate adoration whenever you were in her arms. Mizu was everything to you, and you would rather die than let that change.

Till death do us part was a silly phrase, as you knew that you would grasp onto her, even after your pulse ran cold.

—

“Are you feeling any better?” Mizu inquired, her hand still supporting the back of your head. You mustered up the strength to nod briefly, returning her a smile which made her chest flutter just from the sight. Leaning into her chest, you breathed out a huff of air, clearing up your chest as you were slowly recovering and regaining the ability to breathe. Finally, you were able to speak up, albeit in a strained and raspy voice.

“You know..I never thought that the one whose injuries I always treat ended up treating mine.”

“I suppose that’s life’s cruel way of throwing irony in our face.”

Mizu’s face beholded a somber expression, one that made you tilt your head in confusion as you opened your mouth to ask.

“Hey-“

“I put you in danger. And even then, you endured all that just to stay alive.” She cut you off as if she predicted that you were about to ask her what was wrong, her voice seemingly held up as if it was threatening to break any moment. “I shouldn’t have. I thought that was the last time I could ever tell you that I love you.”

Your still discolored hand reached up to brush against her cheek, to which she was met with a look of surprise.

“(Name)-“

“You know that I would rather die than ever stop loving you.”

Mizu only hummed in response, carefully taking your recovering frame into her arms as she pressed a chaste kiss to your temple. To which you held back onto her with shaky hands, fingers weakly digging into her back.

“Thank you. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Thank you for my ember.”

A/N: I am deep fried rn this took so long but I love how it turned out I was far too passionate in writing this I’m screaming yippee

I listens to every bes ost while writing this (and ended up crying at some of them) forgive me but this deadass took like a whole ass 5 hours to write but tbf I did take like a 30-40 minute break at some point sooo

Anyway I love this request so much thank you for making a special request too cause that just fuels me to write good ily

[mothhball]

five-finger discount

Pairing | Neil Lewis x Reader

Warnings | 18+ SMUT, DUB-CON, fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex, blackmail, sex on camera, brief edging, creampie, cheating, cursing, Moth pretends to know anything about movies

Summary | You’ve been trying to make easy money, but you’re not as subtle as you thought. Some lessons need to be learned the hard way.

Words | 4.4k

Notes | FINALLY DONE. and vaguely inspired by 70s porn haha

MINORS DNI

INT. GUMSHOE VIDEO – THRILLER AISLE – DAY

“No, it's not. That's not what she said. Someone is in trouble. Something bad is happening!” squawks a woman from the running TV in the background while your fingers trace over the backs of the VHS as you walk past the shelves.

1 PM on a Wednesday certainly is no rush hour at Gumshoe Video. Even the most annoying film bros don't come here at this time of day to flaunt their knowledge of the craft and subsequent absence of social skills. You're in the clear, pretending to deeply think about your choice in entertainment for the end of the day, even though that couldn't be further from the truth. Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you spot the business owner, entranced by the film that he put on to pass the time, and you can see his plush lips silently mouthing along to the dialog. Cute. And easy to trick.

It's not your first time here. No, you made sure to become familiar with the place over the course of months now, learning where each genre and title has been sorted into its rightful place.

Certain old VHS-tapes can sell for a small fortune online, and for every tape you rent, you take one for free with the plan of selling it to the highest bidder. Currently, you have a stack at home, waiting for you to finally stop procrastinating and open up that damn eBay account.

Your pinky catches on a specific tape. 'A History of Violence', currently estimated to lure an additional 199 bucks into your greedy bank account. Quietly, you pull out the film, leaving a gaping hole in the neatly sorted row as you slip it into your purse.

With nimble hands, you try to rearrange the tapes to make the missing VHS a little less obvious, but in your haste, a few of them escape your clammy grasp and clutter to the ground. A head of silky brunette hair whips around, and you're met with pretty blue eyes as the store owner turns to face you.

You let out a giggle, trying to sound as vapid and innocuous as possible. You’re in character now. The persona you chose? An unassuming, ditzy little thing that’s hot enough to distract him, but stupid enough as to not get suspected of any wrong-doings. You’d say you’re a good actress. A fantastic one, even.

"Sorry," you purr, batting your eyelashes at him. "I'm a little clumsy today." You're already bending over to pick up the tapes when he makes his way over to lend a helping hand, and you make sure to show off your cleavage in an intentionally accidental way. You know he’s into you. You’ve been seeing the heat in his gaze for weeks now, along with the occasional crack in his voice and an almost endearing desire to impress you. It’s his biggest weakness and the reason your plan has been working flawlessly until now.

"Hey, hey, no worries. Uh, gravity wins sometimes. Don't sweat it," he grins at you, brushing his fingers against yours as the two of you work together to put everything back into place.

"What exactly were you looking for anyway?" he suddenly asks, breaking your focus for a second.

"Uh, Moonstruck," you mutter, completely on autopilot. The store owner nods, pursing his lips as he mulls over your answer. You’re aware of your blunder before he even answers.

"Moonstruck? Then you're in the wrong section. You know, with how often you come here, I thought you got the hang of our layout by now." Fuck, he’s got you. Play dumb. Play dumb!

Your poker face almost cracks, but you keep your composure. Or at least you try to. "Huh? Oh - I... right. God, I'm just all over the place today." You giggle again, relieved by the way his grin seems to soften. Hook, line and sinker. He may think he’s detective Sam Spade from ‘The Maltese Falcon’, but you’re Brigid O’Shaughnessy. Or he’s Batman and you’re Catwoman. Or – well, it doesn’t matter. Baseline is, you’re snatching tapes right from underneath his nose while he’s too busy fantasizing about what’s underneath your clothes.

The store owner speaks up again, lazily rubbing the back of his neck as he leans against the shelf, and his free hand wanders and gestures around a bit as if he’s trying to figure out which pose would look the coolest and most effortless.

“Right. Actually, that wasn’t really fair of me.” You tilt your head at him, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly which prompts him to elaborate. “Some of our tapes went missing. Y’know, some of the oldies and goldies? That’s why I didn’t stock Moonstruck this week.”

Your lips part in surprise, but all you can reply with is a soft ‘oh’. The store owner shrugs, leaning in towards you. There’s something conspiratory about his expression which makes your stomach churn a little. “Yeah. But I do still have it. It’s just in my office.”

There’s a beat of silence as you mull over the unspoken offer. Your plan is built on the one tape you always rent for cheap. No one would think you’re stealing if you’re actually paying for something, right? Despite this, you wonder if you should call it a day and head home with the stolen film hidden in your purse. Alibi be damned.

“I… That’s great. Uh, actually, I was just about to –“ he cuts you off with a casual wave of his hand, and the grin on his face widens once more.

“Don’t worry. I’ll even give you a discount. Just follow me.”

INT. GUMSHOE VIDEO – NEIL LEWIS’ PRIVATE OFFICE – DAY

The private office of Neil Lewis, cinephile and pop culture enthusiast, is decorated with a distinct Film Noir charm, lovingly empathized by leather chairs and a checkered floor. Not to mention the letters on the door. He calls himself a private investigator. A joking title that makes you palms sweat ever so slightly. You notice that he set up a small camera on his desk, but he brushes it off as a regular procedure.

"So... Moonstruck,” he starts, gesturing for you to take a seat. Which you do. “Great pick. Just curious - Why did you go for that one?" The question makes you pause for a second.

"The... the cover spoke to me,” you casually lie, trying to sound somewhat cute, but it doesn’t land. Neil’s expression quickly betrays his skepticism, and his lips part while his narrowed gaze wanders around the room for a minute. "Hm. And what about the other one?"

"What do you mean?" Play dumb, play dumb, play – but he’s not letting you off the hook so easily.

"The other tape."

Silence fills the office, and you swear the VHS in your purse is starting to burn a hole right where it’s settled in your lap.

"Which... other tape? I just picked out this one."

"Ohhh, right. Sorry. My bad. Just… Moonstruck." The way he’s saying this makes it seem like he enjoys the taste of the letters on his tongue. You nod, a little too eager to get this conversation over and done with.

"So you won’t mind me looking through your purse?" Neil leans forward in his seat, folding his hands on top of his desk. Your eyes briefly fall onto the little desk name plate that’s undoubtedly just made out of shiny, golden plastic. But it does the job. It intimidates you. At least to a certain degree.

“No,” you lie through your teeth, trying to shrug off the tension. “I… it’s certainly no problem, Mr. Lewis. None at all.”

Neil lets out an apathetic sigh as he rises from his seat, causing the leather to squeak. His steps seem a little too confident for a video rental owner as he moves around the desk to first walk over to the door and lock it. “Neil is fine. I’m not a big fan of… formalities,” he starts, coming up behind you to set his hands on your shoulders. His hands are gentle but firm, causing your body to warm right down to the deepest layers. To make his control over the situation even more apparent, he splays his hands, tracing your collarbone with his middle finger. It’s subtle enough that he could pass it off as a figment of your imagination if you should choose to speak up. But you don’t. You stay quiet, even as he leans down and you can hear the murmur of his voice right next to your ear.

“Open your purse.”

You bite your tongue, slowly opening your purse to find Cher’s face grinning back at you. It’s Moonstruck. In all of its romantic glory, and it makes both you and Neil freeze for a moment. You lick your dry lips, saying the first thing that comes to mind.

"That's mine."

"Yours?" You wouldn’t know, but his eyebrow twitches upward at your ridiculous claim.

"Yeah. A... personal copy." Great, now you’re doubling down.

"With my name on it?" Silence, yet again. You could basically hear the dramatic music that the producers of any reality TV shows use in the background of any tense scene. But this isn’t scripted. No, all of this is improvised.

"... what are the odds?" you croak, feeling how your throat goes dry in real time. Neil scoffs in reply, shaking his head, and his grip on your shoulders tightens a tad before he lets go entirely. His expression is stern as he steps in front of you, leaning against the desk and crossing his shapely arms over his chest. For a moment, he’s silent, letting his eyes wander all over your form in a slow, appreciative way that makes your palms get sweaty. “You do know I have to call the police, don’t you?”

“What?” Your breath hitches in your lungs, and you blink a few times, almost in an attempt to shake yourself out of this very strange dream. “This… this is just one tape. Isn’t this kind of excessive?”

“Yeah, maybe it’s one tape today. But you’ve been coming here for weeks.” Your jaw drops, but you can’t seem to come up with an appropriate response. You’ve been had. For the past months, you were convinced that he only saw you as a little piece of eye candy wandering through the store, but he’s been seeing right through you all along. Now you definitely don’t feel like Catwoman anymore. When he notices that you’re not going to say anything, Neil continues.

“Did you really think we don’t have security cameras all over the place? Well, I’ve been watching you the entire time, playing along when you pretended to be all ditzy and cute. It’s not just one instance. It’s a whole case, baby. And you’ll go to jail.” That makes you break out of your stupor, and you can feel your pulse speeding up.

“No- wait, no, no, no. Please, can’t we just talk about this for one second?”

“I don’t bargain with thieves.” He’s smug. Too smug for your liking, considering that he’s threatening you with the loss of your precious, precious freedom.

“Please, I’ll do anything,” you plead, fixing him with the biggest puppy dog eyes you can muster in an attempt to appeal to the soft, awkward side of him. And he cracks. At least the tiniest bit.

“Maybe… maybe we can work something out. But I’ll need to search you first. Who knows what else you’re hiding.” He gestures for you to stand, and you get up from your seat, causing the leather cushioning to faintly squeak once again. “Spread your arms. To the side.”

Your expression settles into a pout, but you do as you’re told, much to Neil’s satisfaction. He returns to his previous position behind you and starts by touching your shoulders, slowly trailing his hands down your arms. His fingers leave tingles behind on your skin, and you’re even more aware of how close he’s gotten when you feel his breath on the back of your neck. His cheeky hands continue to wander, making their way down your sides, softly squeezing around your waist before he moves on to your hips. You try to think about it as a TSA search, but it’s a little hard to do when his hands linger for much longer than necessary on your thighs and your calves as he crouches down. Once he’s satisfied, he straightens back up, and you almost think he’s done before he leans in to rasp into your ear.

“You’re gonna have to take your clothes off… so I can search you more thoroughly.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you’re about to protest, but he’s already pulling your top off, tossing it aside before he moves on to your shorts. A sigh escapes him as he pulls them down along with your panties, and he doesn’t give you even a second to recover before he’s gripping and caressing the curves of your body. Leaning his chin on your shoulder, he runs his fingers over your hips, feeling how your skin warms beneath his touch. “Take your bra off.”

“What? There’s no way I could be hiding a tape in there –“ In response, Neil lightly pinches your thigh, causing you to jump a little and let out a soft whine. Seems like there’s no way around it. With shaky hands, you reach behind yourself to unclasp your bra, and Neil leans back ever so slightly to give you the space to move. That is, until your tits are exposed, and his body is glued against yours once more. The feeling of his hardening cock pressing up against your ass sends heat into your core, and you instinctively clench your thighs together. Of course, this catches his attention.

“Ah, so you are hiding something.”

He wraps his arms around you, steering the two of you over to the mirror he hung on the wall next to his ridiculous little costume rack. You watch your own flushed expression as his hand slips between your legs to let his fingers trace over your already wet folds. With a groan, you try to avert your eyes before he corrects you with a rough grope of your breast.

“No. Eyes on yourself. I want you to see the guilt on your face while I search you.”

Reluctantly, your eyes return to the mirror, just in time for him to plunge a finger into your velvety pussy. Your lips part, and as much as you’d like to keep quiet, your resolve crumbles immediately when he finds that sweet spot inside of you. Within minutes, the office fills up with the sounds of your pleasure and the obscene squelching of his fingers in your wet cunt. And he’s thorough in his search, quickly working you up from one finger to three, making your toes curl against the checkered floor. For a moment, he drives you up to that delightful edge, only to pull his fingers out of you at the last second.

You don’t have the capacity to complain when he lifts his hand towards the light, showing off his glistening digits. Both of you are entranced by the sight, and Neil lets out a soft wheeze before he licks his fingers clean.

“Yeah, I made up my mind. Get over to the desk and bend over.”

“I have a boyfriend,” you whine, turning your head to give him your biggest puppy dog eyes.

“Well, you should’ve thought about it before you stole from me. Losing those rare tapes was a financial disaster for me. I’m risking this store. And I’m not gonna do it without something in return.” He finishes his sentence with a light smack to your ass which only manages to get you even more riled up. It’s hard to disagree with him when he knows just how to get you going.

Neil drags you back over to the desk, angling the camera in just the right way before he hurriedly tears his clothes off completely. The sight of his urgency makes your chest fill with butterflies, but you still need to protest. You have to!

“I don’t usually do this… what if my boyfriend finds out?”

“That’s one more reason to behave. You wouldn’t want him to see this little clip, right?” he asks, although the question is entirely rhetorical. You’d love to feel guilty, but you can’t bring yourself to it.

 His hands run from your shoulders down to your hips, kneading your flesh with the attentiveness of a potter crafting a masterpiece, and he leans over you to place open-mouthed kisses down your spine. You shiver, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth to stifle the noises that are threatening to escape your mouth. With a quick movement, Neil reaches under your knee to guide your leg on top of the desk, and you let out a soft sigh when you can feel your arousal rolling down the inside of your thigh as he spreads you open with two fingers.

“You know… nice girls wouldn’t get this wet in situations like these. Then again, you’re a filthy thief, so you’re the furthest thing from a good girl.”

Neil wraps one arm around your waist, pulling you back against his chest so he can latch back onto the side of your neck, sucking and biting while he uses his other hand to guide the tip of his cock against your drooling entrance. His naked skin against yours fills your head with need, and you press up against him a little more to feel him more closely as he slowly pushes inside your velvety cunt. Both of you let out a hiss, and Neil follows it up with a needy whimper as he stills for a moment.

“Fuck… oh fuck,” he breathes, causing your lips to twitch up in subtle amusement. Neil’s hand shakes as he adjusts the camera, making sure to get everything in frame, and in this moment, you clench around him on purpose, causing him to moan right into your ear. “Jesus Christ, don’t do that –”

The slap to your ass is meant to punish you, but it’s doing the exact opposite, and you let him know this by moaning his name. His lips return to your pulse as he pushes his cock deeper into you, stretching you so perfectly that it sends goosebumps over your skin. Or maybe it’s because of his warm breath on your ear. Or his hands diligently kneading your tits. The cocktail of heated touches and sensations is literally making you feel drunk.

“Your cock feels so good,” you whine, causing him to suck in a sharp breath at the praise.

“Yeah?” he chuckles, bottoming out inside of you before he starts to set a slow, sensual rhythm. “You’re such a depraved little slut… getting off on your punishment. If only your boyfriend knew.”

Neil rolls his hips against yours, drawing a moan from both of you that would fit perfectly on the set of a porno. Maybe you’re hamming it up a little to feed his ego. But that isn’t very hard to do when he fills you up so deliciously, making you wetter with every thrust.

You’re already starting to feel breathless when he slowly speeds up, drilling into your dripping pussy with even more fervor. Words are starting to become a little difficult, but you try your best anyway. “You’re better than him. SO much better –“

Your reward is a second smack – aimed at your chest this time.

“You’re damn right I am,” he groans, sucking another hickey into your skin and adding to the little necklace of bruises he’s been placing around your neck. “Suck these for me, will you?”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, but it doesn’t last long when he brings his fingers up to your mouth, and you eagerly latch onto his digits, still faintly tasting yourself from earlier. You suck them down to the knuckle, running your tongue in between them in a way that makes him groan and pound your cunt even harder. Once his fingers are sufficiently coated in your saliva, he pulls them free from your lips and reaches between your legs to rub your clit.

The one leg you’ve been standing on threatens to give out immediately, but he holds you up with his other arm, and gently guides your hands into place to better support yourself on the desk. Neil nuzzles his face into your hair, breathing heavily against the shell of your ear.

“If you promise not to steal ever again, I might let you cum on my cock.”

His words are intercepted by quiet grunts and whimpers, and you find yourself agreeing pretty quickly, blabbering out promise after promise.

“I’ll never – never steal again! I swear, I swear, I swear, please! Please, please let me cum –!”

You’re almost not recognizing your own voice due to the desperately needy tone that’s laced through your pleading, but Neil doesn’t mind. Quite the opposite, really, because you can feel his thrusts picking up in intensity. He rewards your obedience by rubbing your clit a little faster, and you have to bite your knuckle as to not cry out his name. Fuck, it’s only noon and you’re approaching your release at breakneck speed.

“Fuck… I – I’m close,” you breathe, turning your head to look at him from over your shoulder. His teeth are back in your neck as he kisses and bites at your skin, and his voice sounds strained as he answers you.

“Go ahead… let go for me. If only your boyfriend knew, hm?”

That’s it. Your orgasm rips through you, and you let out a whine as you claw at the surface beneath you. Neil is generous enough to let you ride out your climax, but you can tell how impatient he is when he suddenly pulls out, swallowing heavily.

 “On your back.” He doesn’t have to tell you twice. It’s a little awkward, but you manage to scramble and reposition yourself, lying back against the desk and looking up at him with flushed cheeks and tousled hair. Neil is in the same state, licking his lips and swallowing dryly as he guides his cock back into your cunt, aided by his thumb on the base of his length.

“Fuck… how can you still be this tight? Shit, FUCK…” He’s cursing and muttering under his breath, having half a brain to readjust the still rolling camera as to not miss a single second. His hands guide your legs around his waist, and he leans over you, staring at you through blown out pupils that clash against the vibrant intensity of his ocean gaze. His pretty face is red, and sweat beads on his forehead, causing his hair to stick to his skin. Without thinking, you reach up to push it back, causing both of you to still for a second before Neil finds his tone again.

“M’gonna fill you up… and send you back home to your boyfriend with a creampie in that pretty cunt. Alright? Alright.���

You can only nod in response, hearing your own racing heartbeat in your ears along with his continued grunts and moans. His hands on you are gentle, but his thrusts definitely aren’t as he pounds you against the desk. Neil’s hips smack against yours, causing every novelty item around the two of you to tremble along to your feverish rhythm. You tilt your head back but he goes after you, finally capturing your lips in a hungry kiss that he’s been trying to hold back from the entire time. But now that he’s rapidly approaching his own climax, the self-restraint is completely out of the window.

Your tongues clash, and you moan into his mouth when his hands find yours, linking your fingers together. Neil’s lips faintly taste of iced coffee as he licks against your tongue, and your grip on his hands tightens when his movements start to become erratic.

Your lips stay locked the entire time, even as he lets out a guttural groan when he finishes inside of you, thrusting into you a few more times to push it in as deep as possible. Finally, he stills and pulls away from you, unable to resist stealing one last peck from your swollen lips. You’re still breathing heavily as his hands roam over your body once more, relishing the feeling of your skin beneath his fingertips. Now that he has material on you and you promised not to steal again, he’s gentle. Almost too gentle, and you have to clear your throat to snap him out of it.

Neil catches himself, blinking down at you with soft eyes while he wipes some sweat off his brow. There’s a subtle twitch in his lips that tells you that he’d love to keep touching you, but he’s aware of the setting you’re in. Almost reluctantly, he pulls out of you to let you retrieve your clothes. While you’re getting dressed, he checks the camera and stops the recording before he speaks up.

“You’re free to go, then. You know what happens if I catch you stealing again, right?”

The question prompts you to nod in response, and you mumble out a “yes” as you pull your top back over your head. Once Neil confiscates the VHS from your purse, you’re free to exit the store on trembling legs, cringing a little at the feeling of your combined fluids leaking into your underwear. But God, this heist was worth it.

INT. YOUR PLACE – LIVING ROOM – DAY

As expected, the house is quiet when you get home, and you let out a deep, satisfied sigh as you throw yourself onto the couch to decompress for a moment.

Not even 20 minutes pass until the front door opens, and you hear familiar footsteps. A lazy smile spreads over your face, and you sit up, watching you boyfriend as he kicks off his shoes and throws his jacket over the coat rack on the wall. He makes his way over, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your lips, and your vision is filled by ocean eyes and faint freckles. Neil chuckles softly, placing the camera onto the coffee table before he sinks down on the couch next to you and pulls you close. “I’m glad Lucien agreed to take over the rest of the day.” You hum in agreement, closing your eyes when he brushes his fingers through your hair to massage your scalp.

“I think that was our best one yet.”

FIN.

tags: @ellebelleshelby @cilliansprincess @mcumorningstar @x0xomady @mandies24 @detroitbecomevenom @pretty-bluebird @ink5ouls (couldn't tag) @flwrs4aust @vampmary1411 @ashdrinksoatmilk @luvizuku @nnattu @ptolemaniac @kiss-me-cill-me @celebrities-imagines

[trippinsorrows]

ltye + gym time

authors: this was inspired by a request/suggestion by @romansthrone we all know smut is hit or miss for me, but this felt very much like something that needed to be done, so here we are. i.e. idk wtf this is, but we're just going with it, friends.

warnings: smut

words: 2k

gif belongs to @romanreigns (don't know why the stupid tag never works smh)

Solana has come to enjoy training. Come to enjoy feeling herself growing stronger: mentally and physically. It’s a different but welcomed experience. So, it’s no big deal to her when Bayley and Naomi text that they’re stuck in traffic due to a bad accident that essentially shut down the interstate. Knowing they’re going to be more than just a couple minutes late, they instruct her to get started on her stretching until they get there. Not a big deal.

She’s confident enough to do that all on her own.

But therein lies the issue.

She’s not alone.

Because walking into the home gym, she’s met with none other than the hulking 6’3 frame of her husband who’s in the middle of a bench press.

“Oh.”

Solana was unaware of the fact that Roman planned to come back home after leaving their bed around 7am this morning. She figured he’d get his workout in elsewhere, maybe the Warehouse. Not at their home though. Especially not when she needs the space to train.

But her reaction is not one of anger or irritation. It’s something…..else. Something that’s solely driven by the fact that Roman’s physique is something crafted by the Gods themselves. His massive shoulders and bulging biceps are on full display in the sleeveless dri-fit workout top, and she would never admit it out loud, but it’s hard for her eyes not to focus on the bulge that’s pressing against his workout shorts as he pushes his muscles—and her self-control—to the limit.

It’s only when he goes to sit up that she redirects her attention to another machine. Anything to hide the truth of what she was really staring at.

“I—” She clears her throat. “I—I have training today.” Solana grips her water bottle, tightly, as she forces her gaze back on him. Her stomach caves in just ever so slightly watching him stand up and walk over to her. “I—I need to stretch.” Something flashes in Roman’s eyes, something she recognizes but refuses to feed into. “Bay—Bayley and Naomi. They’re—they’re running late.”

“Mmmm.” Her body is practically on fire under his intense gaze, the way his eyes can’t seem to decide if they wanna focus on her face or her chest. “How late?”

But, it’s that question that makes Solana realize she has to take some control. Stepping to the side of him, she moves over to the area with matts that face a section of mirrored walls. “I—I won’t bother you.”

She hears Roman behind her. Sees through the mirror how he can’t seem to rip his eyes from her ass. “You never bother me, Solana.” It’s an almost sweet sentiment that makes her smile a bit until the next part comes out. “But you damn sure distract me……”

No, no, no

Walking back over to him, almost shuffling, she takes a deep breath, doing her best to stay focused and not distracted like him. “Okay, we—we can share this space. I do my stretching and you just….like….do what you do.” She nods and can acknowledge the fact that she’s not sure just who she’s trying to convince. Him or her. “Okay?”

Roman doesn’t say anything, just tilts his head to the side, tongue licking his bottom lip.

Oh my god.

“Okay,” she says over a shaky breath, turning to walk away so she can get started and be done. Maybe she can talk the ladies into training outside today, because it’s clear Roman just got started and won’t be done anytime soon. And his focus seems to be on everything but working out, which is no good for her when she’s also struggling to remember her reason for even coming in here….

To her credit, Solana does well. Ish. Because every so often, she’ll look into the mirror and accidentally catch Roman’s eye. Sometimes, she can tell he was already looking in her direction. Other times, it’s truly a coincidence. Regardless of the reason, it helps her realize one very important thing.

That she’s just as distracted by him as he is by her.

But, she stays strong, stays as focused as possible.

Until she does one too many moves, one too many distracting moves. 

Solana is bent over, hands on her right foot, enjoying the stretch of her limbs, the releasing of all tension in her muscles when she feels it. Feels him.

Solana gasps and shoots upward. Roman is directly behind her, his erection pressed into her ass, his hands on her hips. “Roman!”

“You really expect me to just stand here watching you bend over every which way and not get hard as fuck?” His hand moves to her stomach, bracing her against him. Solana’s hand moves over his as her eyes flutter shut.

“Roman….” The resolve is practically gone, and even she can admit she sounds more needy than anything. That nothing in the way she says his name indicates she wants him to stop, wants him to move away.

“You said you need to stretch, right?” He’s so cruel, the way he shifts behind her, almost teasing his rock hard dick against her ass cheeks at the same time he moves his hand upwards and gropes her breast. “So let me stretch you out.” 

It should be a no. Should be a declined offer. Something that doesn’t result in clothes and plans being discarded in favor of carnal temptations being fulfilled. 

She needs to be ready for training. He needs to lift. 

They had agendas that shouldn’t be altered, but the minute Roman looks at her through the mirror, full lips lifting into a smirk as he slips his hand into her sports bra and gently squeezes her breast, she knows that it’s a wrap. 

And in what feels like only seconds, Roman has her shorts off, her panties somewhere thrown about and her hands planted on the mirrored wall as he thrusts deep into her from behind.

“Roman.” When he’s inside her like this, dick throbbing and pulsing, it seems like the only word in her vocabulary is his name, a couple of profanities, and a few almost slurred indistinguishable sounds that could be words but really aren’t. “Mmmm”

Roman, however, can’t seem to take his eyes off her ass, the way it bounces off his thick dick that’s coated in her essence. “All this body you got, and you really thought I wasn’t going to touch you?” His hand moves to the small of her back, helping to steady her. “Wasn’t going to bury my dick inside you and watch you come apart?”

Solana says nothing, too focused on trying to keep her knees from giving out. Roman’s thrusts are controlled and focused but powerful and profound. It’s hard to keep her arms steady as he drives into her with all the passion and desire.

“P–please—” Eyes crunched up, Solana has the hardest time not screaming, yelling, shouting, anything to release the influx of overwhelming emotions—and pleasure. It hurts, but it doesn’t. It’s good, but it’s amazing. Too much but not enough. He’s giving her everything she needs yet more than what she can handle. “I—ca—” Moving one hand off the glass, she reaches behind her and struggles to get out a logical request. “It’s too—”

At that, he pauses, stops completely, his dick only halfway in her, and she’s never been so annoyed. “Am I hurting you?”

If not for the fact that remembering her name is a struggle with how good he feels inside her right now, Solana would feel a little bad. Would feel guilty for making this man think that anything about how he’s fucking her currently hurts. What hurts is the feel of only a part of his girthy member inside her, teasing her.

“No,” she answers confidently, unsure as to what her goal was in the first damn place. 

“Good.” Solana moans and whimpers as he’s cruelly slow with shifting his hips as he works his way back inside of her. “Then take it, baby.” God, this man is unreal. “You can do it, can’t you, sweetheart? You can take all of me. Just like you did last night.”

Just the memory alone of Roman slamming into her, holding her legs up high and on his shoulders is enough to make her come. To make her finally lose all control and fall to the floor as her orgasm tears through her, hindering her of all autonomous mobility. 

“C’mere.” Once again, she protests when he completely removes himself from her. Solana hates the hollow and empty feeling between her legs. Roman then turns her around, and she gasps as he hikes her on his waist and moves her so that her back is against the wall. 

With one arm supporting her weight, she is both embarrassed and impressed how he manages to position and guide his dick inside her wet, velvety folds. It’s enjoyed and welcomed, but what’s neither of those things is Solana’s thought at him having to hold her up. 

“Ro, I’m—” She bites down on her bottom lip, hands on his shoulder as she rocks into her. “T–too heavy.”

The last thing she wants is this man getting hurt, but the almost insulted expression on his face seems to indicate that’s the last thing on his mind.

Roman’s big hands dig into her hips as he asks with an almost haughtiness. “Do I look weak to you, baby?”

Nothing. Nothing about him screams weak.

And he emphasizes that strength as her head is naturally rocked back against the mirror while  he starts to fuck her from this new position, deeper almost, more intimate. Her breast bouncing against her ribcage from the force of his thrusts. 

Roman groans again, pushing his dick into her, mesmerized by the almost discombobulated expression on her face. He fucking loves how much she loves this. How much she loves the feeling of him inside her almost as much as he loves being inside her. 

“Goddamn, this pussy gripping the shit out of me.” He nips at her neck, hissing as Solana’s short acrylics press into his skin. “Soaking wet and just for me, huh?”

She moans into his shoulder, shaking her head, that stroke of Roman’s ego encouraging him to shift her up higher, this different position just enough to help him find her spot. The evidence in how her whimpers and moans get louder combined with those thick, luscious thighs tightening around him. 

“Love the pretty sounds you make, baby. All fucked out like this on my dick.” Roman is almost certain he could spend the rest of his life fucking his wife and never grow tired, never want to pull out or not experience the majesty of her wet ass pussy. “You gonna let me fuck you like this tonight? Hmm?” It’s a wicked thing to do, Solana thinks to herself. Mean for him to ask her something like that when she’s in no position to deny him. An impossible thing with how good he’s making her feel. “Gonna sit on my face so I can eat that pretty pussy till you’re pushing me away?”

Fuck.

Roman’s filthy talk during intimacy is something she’s certain she’ll never get used to, even if it does make her cunt flutter and throb with need. 

“Y—y–yes, baby.” Because only a fool denies a god. “Oh, shit, right there—”

“Damn straight.” He squeezes her ass, wishing he’d taken her top off. He loves her titties almost as much as he loves her ass and wishes he could have them in his mouth right now. “My sweet girl letting me take care of her.”

And take care of her does he. In every way, especially like this. Always like this. 

Solana holds onto him, clutches him close as he continues to talk her through it. The perfect combination of nice and nasty, tugging and pulling her closer and closer to her limit, to that edge where stars are the only thing she can see as a burst of intense, almost painful pleasure shoots through her, making her hold him even tighter. Roman’s tender voice is in her ear, encouraging her to ride it out, to let him fill her up as his own release arrives over him. 

He’s gentle in the way he   pulls out of her, uncaring of the cum, both his and hers, that saturates his dick. He’s too focused on the excitement at watching it spill down in between her legs and the way she continues to hold him, clearly unable to stand and walk on her own.

Solana lays her forehead against his chest, panting, “that—that was—”

“Always is,” his smart reply is also accurate. Intimacy with her has easily become one of his top three favorite pastimes. Her pussy is fucking addictive. Smirking, he does his best to ignore the fact that he’s still technically semi-hard and could absolutely prop her right back on his dick. Kissing the top of her head, he dances his fingers across her lower back, half-joking, half serious when he suggests, “you should let me stretch you out more often.”

[explicitred]

In streamer au male reader was self aware and teases some of the characters like when he doesn't come home they'll receive a message from him saying "better luck next time "insert reader emote""and maybe can come out of the game and many chaotic things

Genshin Impact Streamer AU (Self-Aware Reader)

letss gooo?? omg what a hot new character!!! woahh... and they're reading these words...???

You slyly smiled as you dodged those pesky pink and blue wishes. They looked more like meteorites the more you practically danced above the clouds, the little wishes becoming faster and... more desperate? ...Hah. They must be the one spawning these things, hm? How cute. Perhaps it'd be fun to tease them a bit. After all, now I know how needy you are for me <3 (im sorry)

"Better luck next time~!" They literally slam their desk, dramatically crying as they lose their pity to someone else. NOOO- PLEASE! THEY SKIPPED SO MANY OTHER CHARACTERS WAITING FOR YOU!! (And so many sacrificial rituals-) They just need to get you so they can stare at you for hours in the game! Their chat spams them with crying emojis and encouraging words, while others laugh at their misery, finding them amusing. Wait, wait wait. You winked? You spoke? ...Wait, was that a new feature? OH GOD THAT'S SO HOT- TEASE THEM MORE- Kaeya, Childe (only skipped other characters to stay loyal to you. he's a good wife! and only reason he's crying is because you keep purposely dodging his wishes even after he was guaranteed getting you! mans has enough money to keep at it anyway), Kaveh (prolly starved to get you lmfao. HE ATE CAT FOOD), Lyney, Venti, Heizou

Just stares at you as you tease them, saying to them "Better luck next time~!" Theories are going through their head... The math is mathing... The brain is braining... Hmm... 🤔 Albedo, Alhaitham, Heizou

Takes a billion screenshots of the textbox, repeating to themselves again and again "better luck next time" with a happy smile, taking this as you noticing them. They think nothing of this "new feature", thinking that Genshin just slid this in without telling anyone. I guess they're too happy to be properly teased...? Ayaka, Childe, Thoma

Not surprised but still crying their hearts out. RIP the sacrifice of their wallets. Mona, Bennett (platonic).

Now, when you literally get out of the screen...?

Oh, my! Who's this fine person? Wait, it's you? Sheesh, you look better up close! WAIT WHAT- (internally freaking out but very blushy blushy) Childe, Xiao, Diluc, Wanderer, Lyney, everyone.

Just straight up gets on one of their knees. They've had dreams about this moment. They've written fanfics about this moment. And who cares if this is an hallucination or dream? They're going to make the damn most of it! Taking out their carefully crafted and customized wedding ring, that they bought just for this fantasy, they propose to you. "Will you... marry me?!" Albedo, Yae (She's written and published actual fanfics of you), Childe, Itto

They pass out. That's it. I guess you're just that hot, huh? You might have to help them~ Ayaka, Itto, Kaveh

Literally so embarrassed. They're just in their pajamas, slightly messy hair and all. Regardless or not this is a dream, they have to look good for you 24/7! Ayaka, Cyno, Neuvillette, Xiao

You look around, seeing their room filled with merch of you. Blankets with your face on them, towels with your face on them, posters, figurines, shrines, etc. And... And... IS THAT A POSTER OF JUST YOUR ABS-!? And a f*cking CAT named after you!? Oh god. Get me out of here. some people...

A few days later...

They've adorned you with the softest, coziest pajamas! They're now currently trying to convince you to sleep with them in their bed. Maybe sneak in a few cuddles or two... "Let me love you and show you how special you are <3" Childe, Ayato, Alhaitham, Albedo, Diluc, Neuvillette, Wriothesley, Kazuha, etc...

Not afraid to show you to other people, even though they have a literal fictional character with them. "Hey! Here's my hot lover!" "Wha-? ...I might have to steal them from you. Ahem! Oh, do they like cosplaying or something?" Alhaitham (knows he can get away with just saying that you cosplay a lot), Albedo ("oh? they just like cosplaying."), Childe ("don't care, lol. anyway, look at my hot spouse-"), Ayato ("cosplaying."), Heizou ("just say that you're cosplaying!")

Constantly trying to hide you. After all, they have a literal fictional character who came out a game! Who knows what people will do if they know of this?! Sucrose, Wanderer (he just doesn't want people to look at what's his), Diluc, Ayaka

Panicking and blushing hardcore every time they see you. Oh, goodness... Do you even know how perfect you look everyday?! How perfect you are each and every second?! They blush so much just from looking at you... How are they going to survive with you living with them from now on?! Everyone.

INDIVIDUAL STORIES: CHILDE, XIAO

AGGHHH! STOP DODGING THEIR WISHES!! THEY LITERALLY SPENT THEIR LIFE SAVINGS FOR YOU 😭😭😭

Wait- Life savings? Pfft, nah. That's just some spare change. Childe sighs, dramatically slumping in his chair as he loses the 50/50. The chat was currently going wild on him, making fun of him for getting the wrong character.

"LLLLL" "💀💀💀" "can't believe he lost 😭" "wait, why is everyone reacting as if he doesn't have over 9999 wishes?" "lmfao"

The ginger man pouts, whining cutely. "Chaaattt~! Stop making fun of me! I'll get them this time! It's guaranteed anyway!"

"...Huh?"

Childe blinks, seeing your splash art... move? ...Huh. That's weird. Did Genshin add this new feature? Usually, the splash art doesn't move when on the initial summoning screen.

"Huh??? Is this a new feature?" "Damn, you really are Genshin's golden child..." "omfggg step on me this new chara so hot" "love this new character, i'll be yo baby mama trust"

Childe huffs, seeing a text on his screen, a bit confused, but slightly amused nonetheless.

"Better luck next time~! <3"

"Hmph, just you wait, darl- comrade! I'll get you!"

Xiao's face reddens on stream, clicking onto the wishing screen, seeing your splash art. God, he wants you so badly. Too bad he's not guaranteed you since he won his last 50/50. He just hopes he'll win this one too. ...My, you're still as hot as ever! His chat seemed to agree.

"AHHHH WE'RE ACTUALLY DOING IT" "I WANT THEM TOO" "marry meeeeee new chara"

Well, here goes his primogems... Down the drain it goes!

Click.

Please, please, please- He loves you so badly-

He'll get on his knees for you! Just come home!

His breath hitches, seeing a golden star appear on his screen.

He's all entirely yours! Just please-!

After a few clicks, hurriedly rushing through the three-star weapons, Xiao's eyes land on Keqing.

Xiao frowns, returning back to the initial summoning screen after a couple more clicks, wistfully staring at your splash art. Great. He didn't have anymore primogems for you.

He suddenly chokes, jolting slightly in his chair as he sees you winking at him, mouthing the words "Better luck next time~! 😘" as a textbox appears with the same exact words.

Damn. Now even his love a fictional character was teasing him!

Bonus: (aka my drafts)

"Aggghh... I spent so much money!!" Childe huffed as he kept clicking the 10-pull button repeatedly, staring at his screen as if in a trance. "...Oh, right. I'm rich!" His chat exploded with comments such as:

"Bruh you FORGOT that you're rich??" "rich people problems" "dude lost the 50/50 LMFAO HELP" "MY GUY YOU HAVE A BILLION INTERTWINED FAINTS WHAT YOU ON ABOUT 💀💀💀"

Childe thought out loud, thinking to himself. "Oh, but maybe my darling will appreciate it if I do another ritual and sacrifice-"

"What, you're going to push another fictional cat off of Liyue's dock-?"

bonus bonus: (another scrapped draft!)

merch. merch. merch. Your face on a hoodie? Wallet out. A rip-off figurine version of you when you're doing the fisheye meme? Bank account out. Doesn't matter. If your face is on it, give. Their fans think that they're too obsessed with you, but they don't see your true beauty!! Literally browses and buys merch of you on stream. "Hey, chat, which item do you think looks better? I think this potted plant version of them looks nice, but maybe we should buy them as a smegsy raccoon-" Wha...? We don't have anymore money...? JUST SELL THE HOUSE-

me when my partner doesnt do his part and its worth 50 percent of our grade

[dekariosclan]

What do you think are some things that would give Gale “the ick” ? I think we all know he values people’s character over all but everyone has some things that just make them go “egh”

Ah, an excellent question! 🧙‍♂️☝️💜

You are so correct that our wizard values people’s character above all; Gale is not put off by appearances, because he’s solely interested in the values and kindness of each individual he meets. In addition, he is extremely open-minded and forgiving, so I think his list of ‘ick’ traits is relatively small. I myself have narrowed it down to three things that I think give him ‘the ick’, two of which are linked to his in-game dialogue, and a third one that I personally think is just….very fitting of Gale. So let’s get into it!

1.Disgusting eating habits. Ah, the infamous ‘STOP LICKING THE DAMN THING!’ Which of course comes after Gale is so appalled at seeing Tav sampling rotting spider meat (and their…enthusiastic reaction…) that he floats the idea that ‘the time might just have come when you and I should split ways.’

I think his disgust here is more than just the unsavory food factor, because per Shadowheart, there have been times when the team has had to consume fish heads and stale bread just to survive. But this isn’t a matter of survival, it’s a choice to stick rotting spider meat in your mouth! The same mouth that issues orders to the team, talks to Gale in friendship, OR shares a kiss with him if romanced…just the thought of what Tav’s breath would smell like gives ME the ick!

2.Disgusting hygiene habits. Look, we all know Gale loves (and I mean LOVES) a musky Tav 😍. And oh, what’s this, a sweaty Tav in battle?! Muscles all shiny and sleek?? Why yes, Gale appreciates that too! Very, very much! What I’m talking about is the truly gross stench of the Goblin camp (‘this place is rotten!’ as Gale says), the foul sewers in Baldur’s Gate (‘nothing like the stench of human effluence to make you regret any and all prior life decisions’) and Act 2’s bloody disgusting illithid colony (‘Gods, that smell! Abattoir crossed with privy.’) Gale makes it quite clear he is not a fan of any of it.

The thing is, Gale isn’t a super fastidious guy—his home in Waterdeep has books scattered all over the place, and Tara even says he keeps his potions in disarray. All he’s asking is that Tav not kiss any diseased Goblin toes or take a dip in any sewer runoff. But Tav working up a bit of a sweat? That’s fine! Totally fine!

And finally, the last thing that I think would give Gale the ick (albeit a modern-day AU Gale) is:

3.The use of AI for artistic creation. I’m pretty sure Gale, the man who crafted a beautiful night sky with his own two hands and told Tav, “I know this is all unreal, but I created it for you,” would despise AI. Gale values creativity and imagination, and to have them thrown away for the sake of outputting an image or piece of writing faster would be appalling to him. Seeing the Ghibli AI art trend would make him shut down his computer, rub at his temples to try to calm down, fail miserably, and then burst out at the dinner table: “DO THEY NOT REALIZE THAT BY CREATING GHIBLI ART VIA AI THEY HAVE STRIPPED IT OF EVERYTHING THAT MAKES GHIBLI ART SO BELOVED IN THE FIRST PLACE?!” while Tara and Tav try to calm him down so he doesn’t spill his wine.

[supernotnatural2005]

The Arrangement - Chapter Seven

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Christmas has arrived and the annual holiday chaos ensues. Although with an exchanging of gifts comes a surprising shift. (I'm a poet and I didn't know it 👀🤣)

Word Count: 6.4k

Warnings/tags: SMUT!(18+ONLY) fluff, swearing, mentions of death non-cannon.

AN: Okay this one is a rollercoaster of emotions so I apologise in advance! 🥲

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist < Catch up here

Christmas had arrived, and the chaos was already in full swing.

The night before, you’d made another one of those pecan upside-down cakes—only after getting the green light from the self-proclaimed dessert connoisseur. Dean.

With it, you’d packed up all of yours and Dean’s presents, hauling them over to your family home while he went to pick up his folks, Sam and Jess. His dad’s truck was still at the shop, waiting on a new part, which meant Dean was stuck playing chauffeur.

That left you arriving first. A mistake.

The moment you stepped over the threshold, you walked straight into a war zone.

Ellen was already in full commander mode, barking orders in the kitchen while Jo stood at the counter, aggressively stirring something with the enthusiasm of a hostage. The second Jo spotted you, her eyes lit up with desperation, and she silently mouthed, help me.

You had half a mind to backpedal right out of there.

The house smelled incredible—roasting turkey, buttered rolls, a vary of herbs and spices—but the warm, festive aroma was nearly overpowered by the thick tension of Ellen’s military-grade organisation.

You barely had time to drop your gifts under the tree—a large Douglas fir standing proudly in the corner, dressed in colourful lights, tinsel, and a mix of store-bought and handmade ornaments, including the lumpy crafts you and Jo had made as kids—before Ellen’s sharp voice rang out.

“Where the hell have you been? Jo’s about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.”

Jo let out an offended squawk. “I am standing right here.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Ellen shot her a look, hands on her hips.

You bit back a laugh. Even your father—tough, grizzled old Bobby—was keeping his head down at the kitchen table, nursing his coffee like it was the only thing keeping him safe. He caught your eye and gave you a look that clearly said, don’t make any sudden moves, kid.

“Bobby, taste this,” Ellen demanded, shoving a wooden spoon dangerously close to his face.

Bobby sighed, grumbling something under his breath, but ultimately took the spoon. He chewed, swallowed, and muttered, “Needs salt.”

“Damn right it does.” Ellen shot Jo another look—clearly, she’d been involved in its preparation—and was already moving to fix it.

Jo seized the opportunity to edge closer to you. “I swear to God, if she makes me redo one more thing, I’m ‘accidentally’ dumping the whole salt shaker in.” You snickered, a little too loudly.

“You two better not be conspiring,” Ellen called over her shoulder, because of course, she had a sixth sense for mischief.

It was a half-hour later before Bobby was greeting the Winchesters and Jess at the door, the men exchanging firm pats on the back as everyone piled into the house, shaking off the winter chill.

Mary was the first to pull you and Jo into warm hugs, pressing a kiss to your cheek before heading straight for the kitchen, already offering her help. John and Sam followed, both of them pulling you into equally drowning hugs.

Jess gave her own cheerful greeting, before linking her arm with Jo’s as they disappeared into the bustling heart of the house, like she’d always belonged. 

Meanwhile, the men took exactly three seconds to gravitate toward the living room. Bobby cracked open a beer, passing one to John, who took it with a grateful smirk. Sam and Dean flopped onto the couch, their eyes drifting toward the TV where a football game was already playing.

Dean stretched out with a satisfied sigh, sinking comfortably into the cushions, looking as if he had just pulled off the greatest heist in history—sneaking in without being assigned a single task.

That cocky grin of his was still in place when he caught your eye across the room. You lifted a brow, giving him a look that clearly said, Really?

Dean just winked at you, smug as ever, thinking he’d truly gotten away with something.

Big mistake.

“Dean,” Ellen’s voice rang out from the kitchen, cutting through the warm hum of conversation like a blade. “Be useful and set the damn table, would ya?”

Dean froze mid-smirk, the slow realisation creeping over his face like a deer caught in headlights. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

“What? You thought you could just sit there looking pretty?” she snarked, one hand on her hip, an unimpressed brow arched.

Dean gaped at her, mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.

“Everything you need’s in the garage,” she added, already moving on to the next task. “Might be a little buried under Bobby’s clutter, but I think you’ll manage.”

She shot him a mockingly sweet smile before turning back to her work.

Dean groaned dramatically as he stood, glancing longingly toward the couch where John, Bobby, and Sam were already settling in, beers in hand. His gaze flickered back to you just in time to catch the way you were absolutely beaming at his suffering.

His eyes narrowed. Betrayal.

You just shrugged, biting back a grin. You should’ve known better.

With another exaggerated sigh, Dean trudged toward the garage, muttering something under his breath as he did.

Bobby, who had been watching the whole thing unfold with quiet amusement, caught your eye and shook his head with a chuckle.

“I don’t know why he thinks he’s gonna get away with it every year,” Bobby mused, taking a sip of his beer.

“Because every year, he tries,” you replied, laughter bubbling in your chest. “And every year, Ellen shuts that shit down.”

Bobby let out a warm chuckle, shaking his head again as the familiar hustle and bustle filled the house—the football game playing in the background, the clatter of pots and pans from the kitchen, Jo and Jess giggling as they tackled another one of Ellen’s relentless tasks, and the muffled curses coming from the garage as Dean rummaged through the mess.

It was chaotic. It was loud. But It was home.

By the time dinner was ready, the madness of the day melted into something warm and familiar as everyone gathered around the table. The scent of roasted turkey, buttery mashed potatoes, and Ellen’s signature stuffing filled the air, making your stomach grumble in anticipation.

You took your usual seat beside Dean, the space between you non-existent as his leg brushed against yours under the table. Subtle, but deliberate. A quiet little reminder that he was there—always there. The warmth of it spread through you, making your chest feel a little lighter, a little fuller.

As plates were filled, glasses raised, and the room settled, John cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. He did this every year, it was a tradition of sorts.

“Before we dig in,” he started, looking around the table, “I just wanna say how damn grateful I am to be sitting here with all of you. And I couldn’t be prouder of the people in it.” His eyes flickered toward Jess, who flushed under the attention, a shy but happy smile on her face as Sam squeezed her hand.

“We’re lucky to have you, Jess. And Ellen—” he turned toward the woman who had undoubtedly done most of the work, “I don’t know how you do it, but this spread looks incredible. So, from all of us—thank you.”

Ellen scoffed but the corners of her mouth twitched, a hint of pride in her expression.

“Alright, alright,” she waved him off. “Enough talkin’. Eat before it gets cold.”

And with that, everyone dug in, passing plates, stealing bites before things even made it around the table, the warm chatter of conversation bubbling up again.

Sam talked about applying for law school in the new year, a small spark of excitement in his voice despite his usual modesty. Jess shared how she’d be going for her master’s in nursing, and the pride in Sam’s eyes was impossible to miss. 

John and Bobby fell into easy conversation about the shop, both gruffly pleased with how business had been steady, even picking up in the last few months.

Meanwhile, Jo chimed in with stories from the police academy, her excitement shining through as she recounted her latest training exercises. “They had us do a pursuit drill last week,” she said, eyes alight. “I swear, some of these guys wouldn’t catch a cold in winter.”

Ellen snorted, shaking her head with a smirk. “Good. Let ’em sweat a little.” Though her tone was gruff, the glint of pride in her eyes was unmistakable. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with showin’ ‘em up if they’re too damn slow. Maybe they’ll actually learn a thing or two from you.”

Grinning, you raised your beer in agreement. “Heck yeah!” Jo laughed, clinking the neck of her bottle against yours. 

And with that, more laughter rang through the air. A warmth settled deep in your chest; the kind that only came from being surrounded by people who felt like home.

These were your people—your family. And yet, as you took it all in, a quiet pang tugged at your heart, an unshakable thread of guilt winding itself around the joy in your chest.

You hated to let your mind wander there, but it was impossible not to. Your mom should be here. It was silly—fleeting, even—but in moments like these, it only made you realise just how much you missed her.

Before the ache could settle too deep, a familiar weight pressed against your thigh—a warm, calloused hand, grounding and steady. You looked over to find Dean already watching you, his green eyes soft, knowing. He didn’t say anything, didn’t have to. He just knew.

And for that, you were so incredibly grateful.

So, without hesitation, you slipped your hand into his, squeezing gently. His fingers curled around yours, solid and sure, and just like that, the hollow ache in your chest eased, even if only for a little while.

Once your stomachs were full, buttons popped open on jeans to accommodate the swell of well-fed bellies, even more so after Mary’s delectable apple pie and your added addition of the pecan upside down cake, which received high praises all around as well as the demands to make it again.

Everyone gathered in the living room, drinks in hand, ready to fully unwind as the last part of the evening commenced—the opening of gifts.

Laughter and playful banter filled the air as presents were exchanged. Mary smiled warmly as she unwrapped a beautifully scented perfume set, followed by a delicate silver necklace from Sam, who had clearly put thought into his gift. John, ever the traditionalist, gifted her a pair of elegant earrings that had her gasping and gripping his arm in surprise.

Jo, with her usual sharp eye, had gotten Bobby a brand-new cap to replace his old, withered one—the fabric of which had seen better days. Bobby grunted something about his old cap being just fine, but the way he ran his fingers over the brim of the new one gave away his appreciation.

For Ellen, you had gone all out, knowing how frustrated she’d been when her trusty old mixer finally gave out. The moment she unwrapped the sleek new one, her eyes lit up, and she threw you a look that was equal parts gratitude and mock disapproval.

"Now, why'd you go and do that, kid?" she huffed, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.

Then came Dean’s gift to Sam.

Sam tore through the wrapping, only to pause, his face deadpan as he held up a can of shaving foam and a razor. The room erupted into laughter - Mary shaking her head in a mix of disapproval and amusement, Jo outright cackling along with Jess and John’s booming laugh. 

"What?" Dean said, feigning innocence. "You’re a grown man now, Sammy. Figured it was about time you learned how to shave."

Sam rolled his eyes, but the fond smile tugging at his lips gave him away. He couldn’t even be mad—especially after the stunt he pulled last year, gifting Dean some weird off-brand gas station soda and a pack of vegan condoms. Their ongoing prank war of who could give the worst gift was practically tradition at this point.

Finally, the last gift of the night remained. Dean’s.

You hesitated for a moment, suddenly feeling a little nervous as you reached for the wrapped package tucked under the tree. This wasn’t just some random gift—it was personal. Deeply so.

Dean took the square-shaped gift from your hands, his brows furrowing slightly at your sudden shift in demeanour. "What’s this?" he asked, assessing it’s unique shape.

"Just open it, Winchester," you teased, though there was a quiet anticipation in your voice.

Dean ripped the paper away, his movements slowing as he uncovered the unmistakable cover of Led Zeppelin II. But not just any copy. The original pressing—the very one he had lost in the house fire all those years ago.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just stared, fingers tracing the edges of the worn cover. The room, which had been filled with chatter seconds ago, fell silent as everyone watched the two of you with knowing smiles.

When he finally looked up at you, there was something raw in his eyes. Something unspoken, but so deeply understood between the two of you.

"How—?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

You shrugged, trying to play it off lightly. "Charlie helped me track it down. Took forever, but…it was worth it."

Dean swallowed hard, his jaw working as he blinked down at the album, running a hand over his mouth like he wasn’t sure what to say. You could tell it had touched him, and you took it as a good sign you’d done something right.

"This is…" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Damn, Singer. This is-” He breathed out, like he couldn’t quite comprehend the words. He then pulled you into a hug. From your spot on the floor, it made it a little awkward, but you melted into his embrace. 

When you pulled away, there was a look in his eye, you couldn’t quite place, but it made your heart flutter and cheeks warm. But the moment was fleeting, and just as quickly, your attention was on John as he asked to take a look at the record. 

"Man," he said with a distant grin, "this brings back some memories." His voice faded into his own nostalgia.

But Dean's focus remained on you. His chest tightened with a sharp pulse as he watched you talk, your hands moving animatedly as you explained where you’d found the record and divulged your own fond memories of it. The world around him seemed to blur, all the noise fading into the background as his eyes stayed locked on you.

You really were something else. 

His fingers twitched in his pocket, where his real gift for you sat. The important one. He’d already gotten you some of your favourite perfume and a new work bag, but this one... this one was special, and one he felt was best to give you without an audience. 

It was nearing midnight when everyone began bidding their goodnights and retreating to their rooms for the annual stay over. John and Mary took the spare room, while you’d offered Sam and Jess yours, leaving you to bunk with Jo and Dean to claim the couch.

Before turning in for the night, you stepped outside for a breath of fresh air. The winter chill bit at the skin beneath the thin material of your tights as you wandered further into the yard, your boots crunching softly against the frost-covered ground. Eventually, you perched yourself on the familiar hood of one of the old, hollowed-out shells, wrapping your coat tighter around yourself and tucking your legs up on the bumper.

Despite the cold, the sight before you brought an undeniable sense of peace. The sky stretched wide, an endless inky canvas scattered with stars, each one burning brilliantly against the dark. Growing up far from the city’s glow, nights like these had always felt like a gift—an uninterrupted glimpse at something vast and timeless. 

You’d spent countless evenings like this as a kid, staring up, dreaming about all the places you’d go, all the things you’d do. And sometimes, you liked to believe your mom was up there too, watching over you with that same twinkle.

The soft crunch of gravel behind you pulled you from your thoughts.

“Hey.”

You turned toward the deep, familiar voice, finding Dean making his way over. He was bundled in his leather jacket, but what caught your eye was the thick, dark blue scarf wrapped snugly around his neck—the one Mary had given him for Christmas. It was endearingly uncharacteristic, and the sight made you smile.

He hopped up onto the hood beside you, the old metal groaning under the added weight. Only then did you realise just how cold you were, his warmth seeping into you from his proximity. Without thinking, you shifted slightly closer.

“Knew I’d find you out here,” he murmured, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. He didn’t need to say more—this spot held years of memories. The two of you had spent so many nights just like this, staring up at the sky until Bobby hollered for you to come inside.

A comfortable silence settled between you, the kind that didn’t need filling. But after a moment, Dean cleared his throat, shifting slightly.

“I, uh… I got somethin’ for you.”

You turned to him, brows knitting in curiosity as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, terribly wrapped package—newspaper and duct tape, classic Dean.

Tilting your head, you took it from him, turning it over in your hands. “How come you’re giving this to me now?” you asked, a hint of confusion in your voice before a slow, teasing smirk curled your lips. “Is it something dirty?”

Dean let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. “No, no, nothing like that.” But then his amusement faded, replaced by a nervous energy as he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s, uh… personal. Didn’t think you’d wanna open it in front of everyone.”

That made your stomach flip, and you glanced down at the package, peeling away the layers carefully. Beneath the mess of tape and newspaper was a small, unbranded white box—the kind that usually held jewellery. The weight of Dean’s gaze made you nervous, his tension almost palpable.

And then you opened it.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Nestled inside, resting on a cushion of velvet, was your mother’s locket.

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest. You had lost it years ago, back when you and Dean were just kids, playing in this very yard. It had devastated you, left you inconsolable for weeks until you had no choice but to let it go.

But here it was.

Dean shifted beside you; his voice softer now. “Found it a few months ago when I was helpin’ Dad and Bobby move one of the old cars. It was in rough shape, so I had it cleaned up, got a new chain put on.” His voice dipped even lower. “Figured you might wanna have it back.”

Tears welled in your eyes, spilling over as your trembling fingers lifted the locket. Slowly, you opened it, revealing the tiny, worn photograph inside—your mother’s smiling face beside your own youthful one.

“Dean…” It was barely a whisper, your voice stolen by the sheer weight of the moment.

Dean swallowed hard, his own eyes a little glassy. “Can’t believe it was still out here after all this time,” he said, trying for nonchalance, but you could hear the emotion laced beneath his words.

You clenched the locket in your fist before turning to him, overwhelmed. And then, without thinking, you threw your arms around his neck, holding him tight as a sob broke free from your throat.

Dean didn’t hesitate. He wrapped you up just as tightly, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other tracing slow, soothing circles along your back. His warmth seeped into you, grounding you as sobs wracked your body.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, voice rough but gentle. “I gotcha.”

And you believed him. Because he always had.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, held together by the strength of his arms, but eventually, the storm inside you began to settle. When you finally pulled away, you let out a shaky, humourless laugh, swiping at your tear-streaked face. “God, I’m a mess.”

Dean’s lips curled into something small but fond, his eyes flicking between yours. “Yeah, well… you wear it well.”

You huffed out a breath of laughter, glancing down at the locket in your palm, the delicate chain glinting in the moonlight. It felt heavier than it should, like it carried not just memories but something deeper—something you hadn’t let yourself feel in a long time. And Dean… he had given it back to you.

That same warmth spread through your chest, tightening around your ribs. You swallowed thickly and looked back up at him, trying to find the words that could match what you felt.

“Really had to outdo me on the sentimental gifts, huh?” you teased, because teasing was easy. It was safer than the emotions threatening to crack you wide open.

Dean let out a deep, full laugh, one that sent a flutter through your stomach. “You know me, Singer. Can’t have you winning all the time.” He nudged your shoulder playfully, and for a second, it felt like it always had—like the easy, unspoken thing that had existed between you for years.

But tonight, it felt like something more.

You studied him in the quiet, the way the moonlight softened the sharp edges of his face, the way his green eyes held something warm, something unguarded.

You held the locket out to him. “Help me put it on?”

His expression shifted, something flickering behind his eyes before he nodded. You turned your back to him, lifting your hair off your neck, and the moment stretched between you.

His fingers brushed against your skin as he fumbled with the clasp, his touch light but lingering. You bit your lip, trying not to react, but then you felt the warmth of his breath ghost over your shoulder, and a shiver ran through you.

When you turned back, your breath caught. He hadn’t moved away. He was still close—so close you could see the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, the way his gaze flickered down to where the locket rested just above your collarbone before rising to meet yours.

His fingers reached out, barely grazing the metal before his touch lingered. “Beautiful,” he murmured. His eyes still on you.

The space between you felt smaller, charged with something neither of you dared to name. Your pulse quickened, but this time, it wasn’t from the familiar rush of lust and desire. This wasn’t about chasing a high.

This was about you and him.

And for once, neither of you seemed in a hurry.

Slowly, you leaned in. Your foreheads touched first, breaths mingling in the cold night air. His hand came up, fingertips brushing along your jaw, his touch tender and warming you from the outside in.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but you meant it. 

Dean swallowed, his lips parting like he wanted to say something, but instead, his other hand came up, cupping your cheek. His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones, slow and reverent, and then finally, he closed the distance.

His lips met yours, soft at first, tentative, as if savouring the moment. You sighed into him, your fingers sliding up and around his neck, anchoring yourself to him as you let the world slip away.

Beneath you, the rusted hood of the old scrap car was cool against you, a stark contrast to the warmth of him, the steady burn of his touch. And then that familiar heat flickered to life, but this time, it didn’t crash over you in a reckless wave. It didn’t burn wild and consuming like it always had. Instead, it soldered—slow, steady, simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to be stoked.

Then you licked into his mouth, and Dean groaned—low and deep, the sound vibrating through you. His fingers curled at your waist, gripping tighter, and suddenly, the space between you wasn’t enough.

You shifted, pressing closer, deepening the kiss, and he met you without hesitation. His hands moved—one sliding up the curve of your back, the other bracing against the hood beside you, keeping you steady as the car groaned softly under your combined weight.

Your fingers tangled in the short hair at the nape of his neck, tugging just enough to draw another sound from him—this time rougher, needier. It sent a thrill through you, and before you could stop yourself, you shifted again, knees brushing against his thighs as you tried to get closer.

Dean’s breath hitched, and then his hands were everywhere—sliding down to grip your hips beneath your coat, fingers pressing into nylon covering your thigh and warm skin beneath.

The old car beneath you creaked with the movement, but neither of you cared. Not when his mouth left yours to skim along your jaw, not when his breath was hot against your skin before he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss just beneath your ear.

You gasped, tilting your head to give him more, and he took it—his lips dragging down the column of your throat, lingering, teasing, tasting.

This wasn’t just lust.

It wasn’t rushed or reckless, fuelled by adrenaline like it had been so many other times.

This was something else entirely. Something heavier. Something that had been building between you for far longer than either of you had let yourselves admit.

And maybe that should’ve terrified you.

But then Dean’s hands flexed at your waist, pulling you flush against him, and his mouth found yours again, capturing you in a kiss that left no space for second thoughts.

"God, I want you," you mumbled against his lips, your words tumbling out between kisses, desperate and unfiltered.

Dean groaned, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breaths coming hard and uneven. His eyes flickered around the scrapyard—the rusted metal beneath you, the cold night air nipping at your skin. This wasn’t ideal. He wanted you warm, comfortable, spread out beneath him with nothing between you.

And then an idea hit him.

“C’mon.” He stood, pulling you with him, and you followed eagerly, heart hammering as he led you toward the Impala. The familiar sound of his keys jingling had you biting back a grin. Of course. The house was full, and neither of you had an empty room to escape to. This was the best option.

And honestly? It felt right.

Dean opened the back door, and you glanced at him with a knowing smile. He smirked back, before capturing your lips in another kiss, slower this time.

You pulled away to shove at his leather jacket, pushing it off his shoulders. Taking the hint, he shrugged it the rest of the way off and then unwrapped the scarf around his neck, while you shimmied out of your own coat. You set them aside carefully in the backseat, then slid inside, Dean following right after, shutting the door behind him.

The moment the latch clicked; he was on you again.

His hands framed your face as he kissed you with newfound hunger, the metal walls of the car closing you in, making everything feel headier, safe. His fingers trailed down your sides, gripping at the thick fabric of your sweater dress, bunching it in his fists like he wanted to rip it off you.

You arched into him, hands roaming over his chest, pushing his flannel off his shoulders. He helped you, shrugging it off in a swift motion before his hands were back on you, slipping beneath the hem of your dress. His fingers brushed against your thighs, the heat of his touch sending a shiver up your spine.

Dean pulled back just enough to meet your gaze; his pupils blown wide with desire. His hands fisted the fabric at your waist, and with one slow, deliberate movement, he peeled your dress up and over your head, tossing it aside.

His breath hitched as he took you in. It was a sight that blew him away, every. Single. Time. No matter how many times you did this dance. The glowing light from the moon above softly illuminated your skin. His fingers traced up your sides, thumbs grazing the swell of your breasts before he leaned in, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone.

You let out a soft sigh, threading your fingers through his hair as his mouth travelled lower. He reached behind you, unclasping your bra with practiced ease, slipping the straps down your arms. The moment they were free, he groaned, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples before his mouth replaced them.

Heat pooled low in your stomach as he kissed and sucked at the newly exposed skin, his tongue circling, teasing, until you were arching against him, nails digging into his shoulders.

"Jesus, sweetheart," he rasped, his breath warm against your skin. "Every damn time… you get more perfect."

Your stomach flipped at his words, and then he was kissing lower, dragging his lips down the centre of your stomach, pressing reverent kisses along the way.

He nudged you back until you were lying against the seat, your legs falling open naturally. You quickly kicked off your boots before his fingers hooked into the waistband of your tights, dragging them down slow, teasing, before slipping off your underwear along with them.

His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, spread out beneath him, chest rising and falling in anticipation.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, shaking his head in awe, still not quite believing he could have you like this. Then he kissed his way up the inside of your thigh, his breath hot and teasing against sensitive skin, sending a fresh wave of need coursing through you.

His hands slid under your thighs, pulling you closer, settling himself between your legs. And then his mouth was on you.

A sharp gasp left your lips as his tongue dragged through your folds, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. He groaned at the taste, gripping your thighs tighter as he did it again, this time flicking his tongue against your clit just to hear the way your breath hitched.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly, and he groaned against you, the vibration sending pleasure sparking up your spine.

"Fuck," you breathed, your head falling back against the leather seat as he worked you over with devastating precision—slow, unhurried, savouring every little reaction.

Dean licked into you, his tongue circling your clit before sucking softly, drawing a sharp cry from you. He kept going, never rushing, never letting up, letting the pleasure build in slow, teasing waves.

Your thighs trembled as heat coiled tighter and tighter in your belly. Dean could feel it—feel the way you tensed beneath him, feel the way your grip on his hair tightened.

“That’s it,” he murmured against you, his voice low and rough, the vibrations making you whimper. He flicked his tongue just right, pressing two fingers inside you at the same time, curling them, stroking that perfect spot—

And then you were gone.

A strangled moan tore from your throat as pleasure crashed over you, waves rolling through you, stealing the breath from your lungs. Dean didn’t stop, didn’t pull away—he worked you through it, his tongue lapping up everything you had to give, drawing out every last tremor until you were nothing but a boneless, panting mess beneath him.

Finally, he pulled back, pressing one last lingering kiss to your inner thigh before looking up at you with a wicked smirk, his lips glistening.

“Every time,” he murmured, voice dripping with satisfaction, “you taste even sweeter.”

You bit your lip, amusement flickering in your eyes despite the heat still coursing through your veins. But you weren’t done—not even close. Curling a single finger in a slow, teasing come hither motion, you smirked.

“Get over here, Winchester.”

His smirk widened, something dark and hungry flashing in his eyes. Without hesitation, he crawled up your body, moving with that same effortless confidence that always made your stomach flip. His gaze never left yours, heated and intent, the weight of it alone making you shiver in anticipation.

The moment he was close enough, you reached up, hand curling around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss that was all heat and desperation, tongues tangling, breaths mingling, the taste of yourself still lingering on his lips. He groaned into your mouth, his hands framing your face, fingers threading into your hair as he kissed you deeper, like he never wanted to come up for air.

Sparks reignited instantly, the heat between you crackling like a live wire. Your hands moved with purpose, sliding down the hard planes of his body until they reached his belt. You made quick work of it, unbuckling it with practiced ease, fingers moving to the button of his jeans, undoing them in a swift motion.

Dean groaned, resting his forehead against yours as you worked him free, helping him slide the denim down his hips. He kicked them off the rest of the way, the fabric landing somewhere on the floor of the car, long forgotten.

Your breath hitched as your eyes dropped to him—all of him. No matter how many times you’d seen him like this, touched him like this, it never stopped stealing the air from your lungs. He was a masterpiece, all firm muscle and golden skin, every inch of him devastatingly beautiful.

Dean swallowed hard as you wrapped your fingers around him, giving him a slow, deliberate stroke. His breath stuttered, a low groan slipping from his lips as his head dropped forward.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice rough with want.

You watched him, your stomach twisting in pleasure at the way his jaw clenched, his brows furrowing as your fingers teased along his length, exploring every ridge, every sensitive spot you knew would drive him crazy. Pride swelled in your chest as his hips twitched slightly, completely at your mercy.

His hands flexed beside your head, fingers digging into the leather as he fought to keep control. His eyes flickered open, locking onto yours, blown dark with lust.

“Fuck me, Dean,” you whispered, voice dripping with need, but there was more to it than that. It wasn’t just lust. It was longing. A raw, desperate ache to be close—to feel him in a way that went beyond just bodies colliding.

Dean swallowed hard, his breath coming rough and uneven as his hands trailed up your sides, tracing the curves of your body once more with a reverence that made your chest tighten.

He didn’t need to say anything. You knew he understood. You saw it in the way his expression softened, in the way he dipped his head, pressing his lips to your temple before shifting to settle between your thighs.

He exhaled shakily as he rocked his hips forward, dragging the thick length of his cock through the slick seam of your pussy, coating himself in your wetness. The slow glide sent a shudder through you both, your breath hitching, his jaw going tight as he let himself savour it—this anticipation, this moment.

A moan tumbled from your lips when he did it again, the head of his cock catching against your clit just enough to make your hips jerk, your fingers tightening around his biceps. Dean groaned, the deep, gravelly sound vibrating against your throat as he dropped a kiss there, his movements deliberate, teasing.

Then, finally, finally, he pushed in.

Agonisingly slow, he stretched you open, inch by inch, filling you completely, letting you feel all of him. Your nails bit into his shoulders, your breath catching in your throat at the overwhelming sensation of him sinking deep, deeper—until there was no space left between you. He was everywhere, surrounding you, consuming you, and still, you wanted more.

A soft whimper left your lips, your body arching to press closer, needing to feel every part of him. Dean cursed under his breath, dropping his forehead to yours as he bottomed out, his chest heaving, his body trembling from the effort of holding back.

“Holy… Fuck,” he stuttered, voice strained, like the words were being dragged straight from his soul. He kissed you then, slow and deep, as he began to move, his thrusts measured, drawn out—like he wanted this to last, like he was memorising every gasp, every shiver, every way your body reacted to him.

Your hands roamed over him, greedy and restless, mapping the broad expanse of his back, tracing the curve of his spine, the dip of his waist. Every inch of him was hot and solid beneath your touch, his muscles flexing with every slow, deliberate roll of his hips.

It was different this time. It wasn’t hurried, wasn’t frantic. It was more. The way he moved, the way he held you—it was deeper, heavier, laced with something neither of you dared to name but both felt down to your bones.

“Dean,” you breathed, your voice breaking around his name as pleasure coiled tight and hot in your belly, building with every stroke.

“I know, sweetheart,” he rasped, his lips dragging along your jaw, his hands gripping your hips just a little tighter. “I got you.”

And he did. He always did.

Your bodies moved together in perfect sync, every slow, precise thrust pulling you higher, closer to that edge, until the pleasure became unbearable. You were drowning in it, in him, your fingers tangling in his hair, your nails scraping down his back, desperate for something to hold onto as the pleasure crested and crashed over you.

Dean groaned your name, his rhythm faltering as your walls clenched tight around him, dragging him down with you, pulling him under until he was right there with you, his release hitting with just as much intensity.

His arms trembled as he held himself over you, his breath warm against your skin, his body still pressed tightly to yours as the aftershocks of pleasure rolled through you both. Neither of you moved for a long moment, tangled together, limbs heavy, hearts hammering in unison.

And then, he kissed you—soft, lingering. As if he wanted to seal this moment between you, to hold onto it for as long as possible.

Because this time, it was different. 

Dean knew it deep in his bones. 

He’d finally come to the earth shattering conclusion of his admittance.

He was hopelessly, undeniably, and completely in love with you.

AN: I mean this was expected right!? But finally! Dean can admit it. Wether he has the guts to say it, is another story... more to come next week 👀

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Next Time...

Four drinks in, and you were feeling the perfect buzz—light, warm, and just uninhibited enough to let loose. You’d spent the night bouncing between your friends, sipping your drink, and genuinely enjoying yourself. Even Dean, who had been hovering around you all evening, had somehow managed to pull you onto the dance floor for a little friendly—or maybe not-so-friendly—dancing. His hands had settled on your hips, his breath warm near your ear as you moved together in a way that felt entirely too natural. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the fact that you had finally let yourself stop overthinking for once, but you’d melted into him. Your body responded to every little shift of his, and for a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe that maybe he felt it too. But the moment passed, and now here you were, walking toward the bar with Dean at your side, your skin still tingling from where his hands had rested. Then, as if the universe had a cruel sense of humour, as you were walking, someone bumped into him, severing your connection with his hand on your waist.  “Lisa?”

[akxmee]

𝗜 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗟𝗜𝗘𝗦, 𝗜'𝗟𝗟 𝗘𝗔𝗧 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗠 𝗨𝗣. //𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎.

choso x stalker!reader

She was obsessed with her cute neighbour, so she always made excuses to enter his house. He knew it, and still let her in.

14k words.

Tw: creepy things stalkers do, mentions of locking people in, obsession. There's no +18 scenes, only a few heated kisses.

'Choso Kamo.'

That's the name of one of your computer's documents. It was the last among the rest of the files, locked with a password and completely secured.

Why, you may ask?

Well, let's put it like this. Everyone has a favorite thing, don't they? Kids have a favorite ice cream flavour, teenagers have a favorite TV show they always watch no matter what, adults have their favorite company to make deals with... Well, you had a favorite too. It was Choso Kamo, your adorable neighbour who moved in next to your house not so long ago.

He was your favorite person, your favorite hobby.

Collecting photos of him was something creepy and you felt bad for it at first, but he looked so cute playing with his cats in them that you started to enjoy having little albums in your carpet about him. You even dedicated a whole schedule to the man; writing down when he worked out, whenever he ate, when he started drawing as he usually did thrice a week..he was just so perfect, so made for you.

Yeah. If god exists, he made Choso just for you.

Fate has intertwined you two the moment he became your neighbour, you were so sure of that. Not only was he totally your type, you guys had a lot in common!

You two liked cats, you liked the same bands, you both liked the same food, enjoyed the same shows, read the same genres when it came to books..you even started to like crafting too when you first saw him working on something at his garden! Yes, the look on his eyes as he sawed the wood, the sweat on his forehead falling as he drove the screws and the exhausted breaths he left as he carried those heavy pieces into his house drove you head over heels, so now you like crafting too! Not because of the hobby itself, but because choso looked so good doing it that you may aswell like the days he crafts something.

Besides, it was tha reason you were working right now. A lemonade with a refreshing effect, that's what you were making for your hardworking neighbour. You added the perfect amount of ice that you knew he loved, pouring the liquid in a cute vase and heading to his home to pay him another visit.

Yeah, another visit.

You visited his house frequently, always having a excuse to do so. And somehow, he was kind enough to always let you enter! Now you both were in "friendly neighbour terms", but you wished to get even closer. Because you could pat his shoulder, but you wanted to hold his hand and because you could talk to him, but you craved to kiss him. Everything you desired was proximity, closeness, being able to call him withouth making any dumb excuse.

But that was something that required patience and insistence, just how you were being right now.

—Y/N? Is something the matter?

Ah, that sound got you out of your trance. You looked up, finding choso who just opened the door. He looked so damn good, and you melted just by the way his tired eyes focused on your figure.

—Not really. I could hear the saw from my house, so..

He scratched the back of his neck, giving you an apologetic smile.

—I figured you did, sorry. I'm crafting some furniture for my house.

You shook your head.

—No, no! It's okay, I understand. I knocked just to give you this, you looked...—Your eyes analyzed him, fighting the urge to drop any compliment. —..exhausted, and i thought you would enjoy this.

The black haired man looked at your hands only to see you offering him the vase of lemonade. He raised his eyebrows, his lips curved in what almost seemed like a cute smile for a second. He grabbed the vase you gave him.

—That's so thoughtful of you, thanks.

He smiled, you nodded.

—Want to come in so i can give you a drink in return?

That's what you were waiting for.

Choso was always so kind, letting you enter his house for food or games whenever you did something for him. That's his way of payment, since you knew he had issues with money and couldn't afford to pay you whenever you helped him change his lights, shelves or doors (he never asked for your help, however you somehow casually just happened to pass by whenever he was struggling with something like that). You always reassured him that it was fine, but he still insisted on having you over for dinner or lunch.

You smiled.

—Yeah, that would be nice.

He let you in, and you sat on his sofá while he brought something for you to drink. Minutes later he came, sat down next to you and gave you a cup of tea.

—Not as refreshing as the lemonade, but I promise it's good.

He handed it to you and you thanked him as a result. You gave it a sip and a surprised expression appeared on your face. He noticed that and asked:

—Is something wrong with the tea?

You instantly shook your head, resting the cup on your lap.

—Nothing at all! It's just, this is my favorite tea.

—It is? It's my favorite tea too.

He laughed at your reaction, as you smiled sweetly at him. To him, you were a cute girl he had for a neighbour that he could rely on when he needed help with his home or ask for help when it came to baking something for his little brother whenever he would visit and also a great companion he liked to have around since you were sweet and fun, but that's just his impression of you. He didn't know you were as awful as he was when it came to baking but mastered it just for him, he didn't know you found boring changing lightbulbs and only found fun the time spent with him and neither was he aware of the fact that you weren't giggling because you thought he was funny, but because you were so excited about having another thing in common with him.

The evening went great, you both laughed and updated eachother with gossip from your neighbourhood. You were making progress day by day, and you could feel It by the way he seemed more and more casual as the visits kept happening. He was growing more comfortable with you, and you were loving it! Choso talked to you about his brother Yuji, about how life working as an artist was and even showed you some photos —which you already saw, but now that he was the one showing them to you they looked even prettier—, he also asked about how to make Apple pies and more.

But that's not one of the main of reasons you came here for.

—Hey, Choso?

He hummed, taking a sip of his lemonade.

—Could I use the bathroom?

He looked at you, then pointed at the hall.

—The last door, the one on the right wall.

You already knew that, but thanked him anyways and went on your way there. You counted the Doors: one, two..then the third one. That's the one you're looking for.

Not because it was the bathroom, no.

Because it was his bedroom.

You entered the room, checking every corner you never saw through the window. He had a small computer on the desk, a few clothes on the floor, school items scattered all over the sheets of the bed such as a few pencils, notes, papers and more to be seen. Looking at the walls, you found several posters and pictures he made along with photos of him and his family: most of them were with yuji, his little brother, at places like a lake, his first day of kindergarten, at a sleepover...you found yourself smiling because of that, he was just so perfect. You had to capture this place, the place that held the most of his personality out of this home. Just a picture, only to visualize what kind of things he likes or what kind of furniture he's more fond of. You just needed a picture, something to have as a reference to analyze him, and it was as simple as clicking a single button of the mini polaroid you carried in your purse. However, as your hand reached for your purse to grab it...

—I think you're at the wrong bathroom, aren't you?

You froze.

Right behind you was Choso, the owner of the voice, leaning on the frame of the door while looking at you waiting for an answer. You weren't even facing him and you could already feel the grin on his face while he talked to you. Did he find out? Did he know the reason you entered his room? A lot of questions ran through your mind in a span of seconds. You tried to keep calm telling yourself things such as "no, how could he ever know? He wouldn't have let me in if he did" or "it's imposible for him to know I had a camera, since I didn't even get to grab it" and eventually, you had the courage to turn around to make visual contact with him and make up a lie.

—I'm sorry, got distracted in the way.

He kept quiet, letting you continue talking since he was not satisfied with your answer. You turn your gaze to the walls of the room, finding a lot of artpieces he made. You looked at him again, pointing at them with your eyes to let him know what you were going to refer to.

—I just wanted to see them up close. You showed me through photos, but i never thought they would be so...detailed. It's truly beautiful.

He seemed to be taken back by your answer.

—You think so?

—I really do. You're a great artist, Choso.

The black haired male looked like he bought your excuse. He looked actually touched by your lie and you obviously knew why; that's why you chose to lie with it in the first place. Choso was never validated as an artist, being always told that he could do so much better if he studied something like economy or science. Nobody really complimented his art withouth mentioning how it, as good as it is, should be kept as a hobby instead of dedicating his whole life to it because it just wouldn't really make a lot of money. He knew that, but still chose that life ignoring people's words. However, sometimes it was imposible to ignore it and he somehow became insecure when people gave his art compliments, since he didn't really know if they meant them or if they think the same as the rest.

And that's exactly what you knew that he was thinking right now.

—You're not going to say anything else?

He expected you to throw your advice now. He was expecting you to say something among the lines of "it's beautiful, but I personally wouldn't dedicate my whole career to it", waiting for something hurtful like it always happens. He waited and waited, and you finally talked.

—Yeah, I do.

He mentally sighed. Oh, he was a fool for believing that you could be different just because you were his friend. Choso ran a hand through his hair, messing up his bangs a little.

However, you proved him wrong.

—Since you draw so good, could you teach me one day? I really need it for this project at school, so i thought that maybe you...

You kept talking, but he stopped hearing whatever you were saying. Choso's expression suddenly stiffened, he gulped and his jaw tensed as you kept going on something he lost a few seconds ago. His eyes lit up with a complete different light, and he took a few steps towards you.

Noticing his silence and the way he walked to you, you grew worried. You did know that this was a sensible topic for him and already planned how his reaction would be, but this was not what you expected as he looked so intimidating while he slowly made his way towards you.

—I'm sorry, did I talk too much? Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, you don't have to actually say yes.

He grabbed you by the shoulders with such force you did not expect from him. Fuck, you messed up didn't you?

By the way he was looking at you, yes the hell you did.

That's the least you ever wanted, honestly. Choso hating you for touching some personal topic was the worst thing that could happen to you. You just complimented him, so why? He was frowing, his muscles tense, his body language indicated that he was nervous and his expression showed he was deep in thought. You wondered how did you even manage to get him like that, to get him to shift his personality like that. One minute he was touched by your words, now he was looking at you like you were something new to his eyes.

And you were, he just wasn't showing it how he should've.

Why? Because he never received this type of trait from someone. Something as simple as that, he never experienced it even though he craved for it for so long.

—What are you doing?

He asks you, his tone demanding for an answer.

—What?

You answer, and there's seconds of plain silence until he talks again.

—To me.

That tone.

That soft tone and cracked voice as he whispered with such tenderness, urging you for an answer desperately.

Now you understood, looking up at him and figuring out his expression. His grip on you was not because he was angry, but because he didn't want you to run away from his question. His frown was not because he was angry at you, but because he was trying to figure himself out. His shaky hands and body language was not screaming at you to stop talking, but to keep doing so.

You finally broke him down.

It took you months worth of visits, weeks and weeks of effort to make this man finally see in you what you see in him. You relaxed.

—You finally see it, don't you?

Your hand traced his jawline softly, watching him close his eyes as he leans into your touch like a puppy. This was all you ever wished, to have him like this. If you knew it only took a few compliments, some deep talks about life the nights after you help him fix his garden and making him some food from time to time to make him finally look at you like this, you would have done it sooner. But once again patience is key, so you don't complain now that he opens his eyes and adverts his gaze towards you in such a delicate way.

—I do.

You grin.

—That's good.. that's good. How about you and I, having dinner at a restaurant tonight? Let's get to know eachother.

He hesitates at first but then nods, according to your words.

—Sounds like a good plan.

You already know everything about him, but the idea of having a date seemed so casual and so cute you couldn't help but cheer internally. How would it be? Would he dress and look handsome for tonight? Would you two share your first kiss then? Would he lend you his jacked if it's cold? God, you were so excited! He was just the perfect man, choso had everything you ever wanted and that's all that mattered. It's okay if it rains, choso will cover you from the water. Doesn't matter if your heels tire you, choso will carry you home. It's also okay if you don't like the food at the restaurant, choso will surely share his with you. He actually will, because you know everything about him when it comes to a relationship too. It only took creating a fake account and pretending to be some random girl to ask his exes how he was in a relationship. You had to be informed of what you would be getting into, of course!

They all agreed that the man in front of you was a true romantic, detail-oriented and above all very observant of his partner. Aside from that, the complaints that caused them to break up were each one different from the other. However, when it came to complaints or the reason they broke up, each was different so you didn't have anything to base yourself on.

But oh, you were rushing things again weren't you? You two didn't even have a first date, and you were already thinking about how you would be as a couple! You'll see when the time comes.

—Then, I'll leave and you come pick me up at 9. I'll look pretty for you, so look handsome for me.

He looked at you with certain surprise.

—You'll leave?

—Well, yes. You don't want me to look like this at the date, no?

You signaled to yourself, making him look at your simple dress and face with a casual makeup. You wished to look pretty and have an elaborated makeup to your date, and he seemed to catch up. Choso shook his head.

—That's what I thought. I'll see you at nine, then?

—Yeah.

Yet, his grip on your shoulders didn't cease. You gave him a few seconds to let you go, but he didn't.

—Choso?

He looked to the side, and a slight blush could be seen on his cheeks.

—I'm sorry, you don't have to do it if you're uncomfortable but..can I at least get a goodbye?

Oh, oh.

You were speechless for a second, did he just ask for you to kiss him that politely? Then you chuckled, making him look at you with an embarrassed expression. His grip on you disappeared, and he covered half of his face with his hand for you not to see the shame in his face.

—Nevermind, i'm taking things too far. I'll see you at nine.

He didn't even have the chance to run away from the situation when you grabbed the collar of his sweater and gently pulled on it to get him closer, giving him a little peck on the lips. Choso was the one to quickly pull away in surprise, but soon he realized what just happened and leaned back again for another one since he wasn't satisfied with that little taste. He grabbed cupped your cheek with one hand while his lips collided with yours in a way that you weren't even upset your first kiss isn't at the date. The feeling was almost as if they were giving you something that you have been longing for for a long time, something that you have only had the pleasure of imagining becomes a reality.

Then you pulled away, in need of air.

—That's enough for a goodbye, isn't it?

He looked at you in silence, panting as he catched his breath. Soon after, his lips were on yours again with more intensity than before, dancing a tango of emotions where the music increased with each gasp of air. Eventually his hand found the back of your neck to deepen the kiss, and his tongue explored your mouth with a lot of ease. He seemed to have a lot of experience, while you were left trying to catch up on his rythm.

—Not enough. Five more minutes and you go, please.

He pleaded when you separated before kissing you again. You didn't even have time to say yes, but the way you reciprocated the kiss told him more than enough. Soon enough his other hand found your waist and guided you out of the room, through the hall. His bedroom had this huge window —which you were really thankful for, by the way. It always gave you such a good view of him when you were looking at him through your window—, and he didn't want anyone looking at you two since it was an easy thing to do, so he guided you through the hall to another room between heated kisses with your fingers tangled in his hair. You ended up with your back against the wall while Choso took some keys out of his pocket, opening the door while leaving a trail of light kisses on your neck.

It wasn't strange for him to have a key to a room, since it was a normal thing for people in your neighbourhood to do so since burglasses were quite common so they kept valuable things safe in a room. You guessed he was taking you there since it was a more private area, but you found yourself with a room. Not enough time was left for you when you were thrown on a bed, having choso on top of you while pinning one of your wrists above you. You looked at him, who stared back at you intensely.

—Choso, five minutes already passed..

The man looked at you for a few seconds more, like he was admiring you. He looked absolutely breathtaking, His hair was messy, his eyes half open, his breathing altered, and his lips stained with the lipstick you were wearing. You dreamed so many times of this moment, yet you also wished for the date to happen so you couldn't entertain this more.

—I'm sorry, I just can't help It.

He kisses you once again. A soft tender kiss is left in your lips.

—Now that I have you, i can't let you go.

Once again. This kiss seemed to have more emotion than the rest, and it felt like he was devouring you.

—I can't let you go.

And again. Now, the kiss feels desperate and feral, he was kissing you again and again as if he was an animal.

—I can't. You can't go.

You were getting worried about what he was saying, but when you tried to get your wrist out of his hand a metalic sound was heard. You pulled.

CLANK.

You tried to pull again.

CLANK.

—Choso?

You asked, confused.

His hands left your wrist, and then you saw.

You were chained up to the bed.

He got up from the bed, and you tried to do too. However, you failed and almost fell off the bed due to the force of the pull that the metal gave you in reaction to your quick attempt of getting on your feet. He stopped you from falling, sitting you on the bed once again.

—Shh.. it's okay, don't freak out.

—What do you mean don't freak out? Is this some time of kinky roleplay?!

You tried to pull on the chain with your free hand, but it was no use. He scratched the back of his neck nervous, making a face of disappointment.

—Yeah, I figured you wouldn't like this place at first but don't worry, you'll like it eventually. It's pretty, isn't it? Look.

He grabbed your face and forced you to look around, and you found the least thing you could ever expect from this man. How could you not notice this when you entered? There were pictures of you all over the walls, a map of the city and different dots connected on a cardboard. A lot of your pictures were also on a desk, alongside with little hearts drawn of them. There was a part of one of the walls that was completely covered in drawings of your face in different angles, of your body and you doing some of your hobbies. Anyone that looked at it would easily think you were his muse. A computer was opened on the desk that had different recordings of the outsides of your house, and you were sure all of those pendrives scattered near were just about the same thing.

—It looks creepy now, but I'll eventually clean it. You know, you weren't supposed to come here today..—He, still grabbing your face, made you look at him by raising your chin with the intention that you maintain eye contact with him.—I was still making cute furniture for you to enjoy this place..but then i saw it. I saw what you tried to do.

His free hand reached his pocket, taking out your mini polaroid that was supposed to be in your purse. When did he take it? Fuck, it probably was while you two were kissing.

—I saw that you, deep inside, were just as sick as I am. And i couldn't resist it.

Your jaw tensed, but you still talked.

—Why?

He grinned, and his voice came out in a whisper.

—Because i have been waiting for so, so long.

He smiled at your innocence. Did you really think you were being sly with that dirty, little secret of yours? No, Choso had his eye on you for longer than you did. He saw you at work once, then he grew obsessed with you even if you never noticed him. Seeing you at work was not enough, so he eventually bought a House next to yours as if fate wanted him to get closer to you, and noted how to catch your attention. He changed his whole personality into some shy, cute and fun but still serious with black cat aesthetic boy just because he knew it was your type, and even went as far as creating profiles on social media acting like his exs whenever you, with another account he managed to find, asked about how he was in a relationship. That account was simply "asking for a friend", but he knew better than that. He lied to you, telling you just what you wanted to hear about a perfect boy in a relationship and stupid reasons of the breakup each different from another so you wouldn't think he had any specific red flag.

God, you were so adorable that he could lock you up forever.

Except for the fact that he already was.

—No, you're another whole level of sick. You were so normal, we had a lot of things in common..

—But we do! Y/N, look at me.—he brushed a strand of hair off your face, smiling softly.—We have things in common. We're both so in love with eachother, it's okay..

—No, Choso. You were meant for me..

His smile faded.

—I still am.

—No you're not. You were fake.

You were conflicted. You were sick in the head, but he was just another whole level. While you were happy with having him by your side, keeping photos of him and observing the man, he was locking you in. You had absolutely no right to complain, because you were just a little bit less bad than he was even though you were still guilty.

You tried to fool him, and you ended up being fooled.

—You're in denial, Y/N. Everything I am now I will forever be if you like it, I built myself just for you!

He was growing more demanding by minute, his grip on your face increased and you couldn't open your mouth to reply.

—You liked cats, I like cats too. You like some bands? well guess what, i like them too! You like that damn tea?! I like it too even though it tastes like shit!

He kept screaming, trying to reason with you.

You bit your lip and slipped out of his grasp. He seemed upset at that, but eventually decided to let you be.

You were still too in shock to understand what he did for you, weren't you?

—Fine, do whatever you want..—He moved away from you, leaving you there still chained to the bed. —It's not like you'll be going anywhere soon.

He scoffed, and you felt such a rush of emotions going on at the same time. Every feeling that you may have accumulated towards him during all these months disappeared from your heart as if they were pieces of a puzzle. Each moment you grew excited because you were just about to visit him, each photo you took of him and hung on the wall while you daydreamed of the day you could take one together with him, each moment you replayed in your head every conversation with him again and again before going to sleep...it all vanished. The love you felt slowly turned into a darker feeling that extinguished it until it turned into a kind of repulsion, disgust. You knew that the day will come when you your karma will come for you for having gotten into such dangerous terrain, but you didn't expect it to be this way.

Specially for it to be this man.

The man you idealized so much, the man you thought to be so perfect.

The man you claimed to have so many things in common with.

Well, now you knew for sure.

You did have a lot in common with Choso Kamo.

Author's note: not my favorite fanfic, honestly. It's not edited since it's 2am and i don't wanna re-read, so tell me if you find any mistakes! By the way, new chapter of "dogs and Cats café" will be out next week when i'm finally done with my final exams.

Hope you liked this, I'll be reading your comments 💕