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benedictscanvas · 10 months ago

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pretty boy, pretty girl - jamie tartt x reader

pairing: jamie tartt x fem!reader

word count: 2.1k

a/n: okay yes. it has been six months. which is actually mad to me, but there we are - whoops! i've been off following my dream and wrote this while procrastinating an assignment, so this is by no means a return!! honestly i was just itching to write it, but i don't know how much time i have for more - enjoy nevertheless <3

warnings: just a little bit of suggestion towards the end, reader is referred to as 'pretty girl' as the title implies amongst other pet names, quite a lot of swearing (some things don't change)

---

“Hi love.”

Jamie barely murmurs it as he walks past you, can’t help himself but to drag a palm along your back, one shoulder blade to the other, as he goes.

He knows he’s bold sometimes, but he swears it’s instinct. He glances back to see whether your expression holds any discomfort, but all he finds is your grin, a tiny wave. He continues on his path towards the canteen, knowing that your corridor conversation with Rebecca is probably important.

Somewhere between here and there, he decides to get your lunch, your usual, and sits alone on a table until you appear.

You do, three and a half minutes later. As soon as he sees you, the irrepressible urge to make you grin again is back with a vengeance. He waves you over to his table with a gesture to the food he’s got for you and- there it is again.

If he was a slightly smarter man, maybe he’d consider why all it took was the sight of him to draw your lips upwards, set your eyes alight.

“Thought I’d save y’ from the queue,” he speaks, still soft, in a tone he feels he only uses with you. You match his unnecessary low volume.

“Thanks, angel,” you say easily, and you must not see his stomach doing flips, “Too good to me, you are.”

“Shut up,” he deflects, wonders if you can see him fluster at your nickname for him, “Are you still coming tonight?”

You groan. He frowns, and you quickly correct.

“Sorry. It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah, you sound proper convinced, an’ all.”

You chuckle, taking a bite out of your sandwich and taking a pause to chew. Jamie eats too, content to let you think before you speak. It was slowly teaching him to do the same.

“I’m just boring, Jamie. My favourite people are all under this roof, but usually they’re sober, you know?”

He often forgets you don’t really drink. Your friendship (however sour that word feels in relation to you) usually confined to these halls, to the pitch, to various football stadiums up and down the country. When they all get a chance to let loose, you’re very quick with the excuses, but he’s believed them blindly until this moment.

“Shit, y’ don’t drink, right? I can’t imagine that’s much fun in a club. I won’t tell anyone if you happen to come down with an illness or somethin’ this afternoon.”

You’re grinning at him again, all bright and sunny. It’s downright infectious, so Jamie nudges your foot with his on purpose and then apologises like it’s an accident.

“You’re alright,” you reassure, “I will join tonight. Even if it just proves to myself I’m not missing out on anything. Maybe Colin’s not as bad a drunk as I’ve been led to believe.”

Jamie winces.

“No, he is pretty bad,” he admits and then finally comes up with something to make you more comfortable, “Hey, what about this? I won’t drink either and we can spend the evening laughin’ at everyone else.”

You poke his hand and he tries not to drop his crisp packet.

“It’s everyone’s ‘relax and recharge’ night, Ted said. We both know you relax much easier with a few drinks in you. And I’d never judge anyone for that, I really hope it doesn’t come across like I’m judging any-“

“It doesn’t, sweetness,” he cuts in, “But actually, I’ll relax better if I’m one hundred percent positive that you’re relaxing too. What better way than judgin’ everyone else, together like?”

You purse your lips thoughtfully, mid-chew. He feels like he’s holding his breath, like he’s underwater and you’re in charge of the oxygen tank.

“Well, see how you feel when we’re there. It sounds lovely but only if you’re still up for it when we’re right next to a bar,” you say, still unconvinced. He wants to convince you fully, but he can’t decide if he should argue with you or kiss you silly before you speak again, “Hey, if not, I’ll buy you a drink?”

“Pretty sure that’s my line, love.”

“I said it, I meant it. Girls can buy drinks for pretty boys, you know.”

He thinks you might have removed his oxygen tank now. There’s some cruelty in that sentence but you don’t know you’re wielding it. He wills himself to flirt back even though it’ll only make him feel sick.

“Okay, pretty girl. One passionfruit J2O, please.”

Another grin. He’s so fucking fucked.

---

He’s been waiting for you for around forty minutes. He doesn’t know if that’s the normal amount of time you take to get ready, even if he wishes he knew, so he just waits, leaning against his car.

After fifty, he decides there’s no harm in just checking you’re alright and haven’t slipped on a sparkly floor that an evening cleaner has done a number on.

You mentioned going to the kit room to get changed, and he meets Will on his way there.

“Hey mate, you seen Y/N?”

Will looks paler than he’s ever been. Guilty. Jamie narrows his eyes and waits.

“Kit room.”

It’s all that Will says. When Jamie doesn’t walk off immediately, still waiting for an explanation for Will’s strange demeanour, Will turns around and legs it all the way down the corridor, turns left at the end and never returns.

Jamie shakes his head and continues in the direction of the kit room. The closer he gets, the more he hears. Muffled banging, shouting. He picks up the pace.

“Y/N? Love?”

“Jamie! Jamie, in here!”

Your voice floats out from the kit room and he hurries over. Still very confused, Jamie turns the door handle and finds the door won’t budge, however hard he shoves his shoulder against it.

“It’s locked, babe. Did you lock it?”

He hears your exasperated sigh and feels a little embarrassed.

“No I didn’t bleeding lock it! Well, I did, when I was getting changed, but then when I unlocked it my side it had been locked from the outside.”

Jamie struggled to put the dots together. Had Will locked you in? Judging by the running, he had… and he’d done it on purpose. A spark of anger shot down Jamie’s spine but he tried to convince himself there must be a reason.

Before he could, there was a hand on his on the door, pulling him away. It was being unlocked by another hand and then he was being shoved inside, hard enough to stumble against one of the benches. A piece of paper was thrown at his face and Jamie groaned as he heard the lock click back in place.

“What the fuck?” he muttered as he stood up fully, more dazed than angry now as he stared at the locked door.

“Jesus, Jamie, are you alright? Who the fuck was that?”

“I dunno,” he says, staring at the door as if it might have answers. Your hand on his face wakes him up, his eyes shifting to yours where you look him over with concern.

“You’re alright, though?”

You ask it like you need the answer, and Jamie needs you to stop trailing a finger along his hairline either way.

“Fine, love,” he assures you, patting the juncture between your shoulder and neck gently until your hands drop to your sides. Then he raises his voice, and he’s not really talking to you anymore, “Whoever’s locked us in here as some kind of joke won’t be fuckin’ alright though!”

No answer. He picks up the small piece of paper from the floor and reads it in his head.

Tell her, you prick.

He’s actually going to hit Roy with his car. Lightly, definitely not enough to damage him, but enough to really, really piss him off.

This was all some ridiculous attempt to make him tell you how he felt about you? Absolutely not. Never. He wouldn’t be coerced into something so delicate, so important.

“What’s it say?”

You’re peering over the top of the paper, but he folds it in two before you can read anything. His chuckle comes out strained.

“It says: Get fucking pranked. Must be Roy, he’s probably scared Will into helpin’ him, the fucker. I’m afraid it’s payback for putting all his socks on the ceiling last week, babe, an’ you’ve been caught in the middle.”

You pause, staring at your shoes. For some reason, you look far more forlorn than the situation calls for, but it’s gone before he can think about it further.

“On the ceiling?”

He nods and you giggle. It’s only as you step away from him in your laughter that he realises how close you had been. He should’ve savoured it.

It’s also only as you step away that Jamie finally gets a glimpse of your outfit and nearly reaches out to the nearby bench for strength. He’s never seen you in a v-neck anything before, let alone a dress, and he thinks it might do him in.

“You look good,” he says lamely, then tries again, “Great. Fan-fuckin’-tastic, I mean.”

“I like that last one,” you smile, ducking your head. He thinks, or rather hopes, you’re a little flustered, “Fan-fuckin’-tastic happens to be what I was going for.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, words gone as soon as he’d found them. And now he was staring. Shit.

“I like your suit,” you say, maybe breathless yourself. It must be his ears. You reach up as if you might fiddle with his lapel but just point towards it before your hand drops again. You practically fall down onto the bench you’re both stood beside and he follows, ever obedient, “Shame no one else will ever see it. How long do you think we’ll be stuck here?”

The suit isn’t for anyone except you. That’s what he’d say if he had any stupid bravery. He’s an awful coward, he thinks.

“Until Roy gets bored or Keeley finds out I reckon,” Jamie guesses, “Y’ wanna play I-spy?”

You sigh, but when he peeks at you out of the corner of his eye, you’re grinning your silly, lovely grin again.

“I spy with my little eye…”

---

It is around 11pm, when Jamie has not long fallen asleep against the jacket he had scrunched behind his head, that he feels your hand on his ankle. He can tell, as he wakes without opening his eyes, that you’re not trying to rouse him. The touch is light, feathery. Maybe an accident.

No, not an accident. It wouldn’t have lasted this long, and your thumb is drawing absentminded circles into his ankle bone. You think he’s asleep and you’ve reached out to hold him anyway.

He opens his eyes but doesn’t move. His legs are stretched out on the bench in front of him and you sit upright next his sock-clad feet, one hand on his bare ankle. You’re staring at a piece of paper so intently he wonders what could possibly be so interesting.

“This doesn’t say get fucking pranked, Jamie,” you murmur, and his hand flies to his jacket pocket. It must have fallen out when he slumped into a slumber. He’s sat up in a blink, watching the hand that had been so soothing, fall back at your side suddenly.

“I’m sorry. Shit. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“No, don’t,” you insist, still staring at the piece of paper. Instead of whirling on him for answers, you reach calmly into one of the boot cubbies beside your head and pull out a piece of paper from one of the boots. You chuck it at him without looking.

He unfolds it with careful, if shaky, hands.

Tell him, you silly shit.

It takes him an absurdly long time to understand what the hell this second piece of paper means. Later, when the two of you look back on this moment (and you do so often), you’ll wonder how he could have been so dense and he’ll spin you a line about how too good to be true it all felt. But in the moment, he has no lines and no words, until your hand lands heavy on his knee this time.

“Jamie,” you say softly, through a grin that is so different from your usual that he could pass out. It’s so beautiful and so strikingly lovesick that he thinks he might actually be sick, “What do you have to tell me?”

“What?”

He feels dumber than he’s ever felt. But your hand is still on his knee and now you’re shuffling closer to him on the bench.

“What do you have to tell me?” you repeat, then you poke his chest playfully as you add, “You prick.”

He still looks confused, so you clearly decide the best way to catch him up is to kiss him.

You pull away after a moment, a moment of pure heaven, because clearly you don't want to kiss him fully until he's all clued in.

"Come on, pretty boy," you say, teasing, "Figure it out. I was going to buy you a passionfruit J2O. It's the sign of all signs."

He should be laughing at your joke, but all he really wants to do is kiss you again. And again.

Maybe again.

"Oh pretty girl," he says, and he feels the rumble of his low tone in his chest. He places a hand on your face, fingers itching at your hairline, "I'll tell you anything ya wanna hear, I swear. Anythin'."

He hears your breath hitch, but he feels it too, where the meat of his palm is covering your neck.

"Anything?" you answer back, "I could have a lot of fun with this."

You scrunch up your brow like you're thinking and he's so stupidly in love with you that he just tells you. Too-soon be damned.

"Smooth talker," you laugh, giddy, and you kiss him again. And it's so good that he doesn't even remember you didn't say it back until hours later.

(at which point, you say it back so many times and in so many ways, Jamie is certain that he's the luckiest man in the world. he might not hit Roy with his car after all)

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x you #ted lasso x reader

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seraphinitegames · 7 months ago

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The Wayhaven Chronicles - Update 05/April/2024

A really successful week this week!

After some suggestions about multiple choices on the same screen from a few amazing patrons, I looked into how to do that and if it would work for the character creation.

And it really has! I could cry it feels like there’s finally a solution, lol! :D

It does mean I had to completely start over, but with how it looks now, I think I have found how I want it to be for all the future books. It means I should just be able to copy everything I’m doing to the next book’s character creation screen and then just add the last book’s stats. That’s going to save SO much time in the future!

Starting over also meant I could put in the new body part selection choice for those who want to specify, though there is also the option to pass it. It was a selection suggested by one of my sensitivity readers to help hopefully make intimate scenes much easier to write, as well as much clearer to read for everyone!

That selection will pop up in the actual narrative for those that import characters, so you’ll still have that choice if you want to specify it for your character, but it means for people creating characters they can go into the story already that choice in place for the intimate scenes (if you want the detailed scenes).

Here’s a glimpse at what the character creator screens are looking like now:

So much cleaner and neater, as well as a WHOLE lot quicker! I’m just not sure how it will pop up on phones yet—hoping not too much scrolling!

The character creation is the last thing I need to finish before the demo section can finally go to the editor and first readers. It’s been worth the time to get it finally sorted though, especially as it means it’s also already set for future books, and I don’t have to spend this much time on it again, or melt my brain with figuring out coding, lol! :D

I’m not keen on the ‘Select a’ bit, but that’s how it shows up automatically, so I’m doing my best to work around that.

So yeah, it was so nice to finally get somewhere on this character creator after so many different tries. I really hope it’ll be so, so much quicker and easier for not just you guys to go through but also me and my readers for testing, hehe!

Hope you all have the most amazing weekend! I’m going to be working this weekend to get this completely finished so the demo section can go to the editor next week, but will be offline as usual, so I'll update you all again next week! <3

#the wayhaven chronicles #interactive fiction #romance #vampires #unit bravo #twc detective #choice of games #hosted games #choicescript #romance fiction #vampire romance #twc book 4 #The Wayhaven Chronicles Book 4 #character creation

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aayakashii · 4 months ago

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I wasn’t sure if you wanted the request through the ask me anything box or under the post for the Kiss me prompts. It’ll probably be easier to do it here, but may I have the kissing prompt with Jin from Tokyo debunker. I would like ❤️16 fluffy and a little suggestive and ❤️21 that is smutty.

I truly love your work! You even help me to improve my own writing. I hope to be on your level some day. Also take your time with mine. I’m sure you are getting a lot of requests right now💙

Yes yes, through the ask box is perfect! And oh my god 😭 I'm gonna think about your words everytime I feel insecure about my writing 😭 truly, thank you so much, I'm so so happy you like what I write and that little old me can actually help people get inspired ;w;

By the way, I'm gonna split your ask into two, since I wrote two different drabbles for each prompt!

The second part of this ask is here!

Warnings: none, just a little bit suggestive

The first few drops of rain began pouring while you and Jin walked away from the old library building and towards Frostheim's castle. The sky had quickly gone dark gray with thunderclouds during your time in the library and your heart dropped, thinking about how you'd have to dry your clothes once you went back to your dorm.

Jim tutted, taking his coat off of his shoulder and raising it over his head like a makeshift umbrella. He pulled you closer to his body without uttering a word and you gasped loudly when your back touched Jin's toned chest.

You felt a traitorous heat burn on your cheeks. The strong scent of sandalwood with vanilla of his body flooded your senses despite the rain that fell hard over and around you.

It made your lower body tingle, and you squirmed against him, slightly frustrated with how easily he could distract you without even trying.

“What's wrong?” he asked as you two began to clumsily walk towards a small gazebo that defied the test of time, the coat barely protecting you from the water.

“W-what? What do you mean?” your voice cracked pitifully, not subtle at all.

Jin raised an eyebrow, eyes quickly flitting towards you as you two entered the small place.

“Well, you look weird.” you winced at his blunt statement “Also, you gasped way too loudly when we started walking here. Did you see something or what?” he asked, shaking his coat and sending countless droplets of water everywhere.

You hadn't even noticed you gasped out loud while sniffing his perfume like a mad dog, and you had to resist the urge to slap your own forehead.

“It's nothing, um, I mean…” you cleared your throat “I was just surprised.”

“By…?” he elongated the word, clearly curious to know what it was that bothered you when you two were walking.

“By… I just thought you, uh. You smell really good and stuff and… yeah…” you averted your gaze, embarrassed, despite following the stupid impulse of just straight up telling him what got you so bothered.

Maybe he would tell you what perfume he was wearing?

Yes, that would be perfect.

As he raised an eyebrow again, a slow and wicked grin spread on Jin's lips.

“Oh really? You like my perfume?” he stepped closer, a predator air to the way he approached you.

“I- I do.” you swallowed hard, eyes locked onto his hands running through his own hair and the drops of rain that ran down his collarbones and into his clothes.

“Go on. Check if you truly like it and I'll tell you what it is.” he leaned down, smirking and exposing his neck to you.

You managed to at least pretend you were hesitating before getting closer and breathing in his scent deeply.

You closed your eyes in bliss, sighing loudly while that delicious fragrance flooded your senses again.

When you opened your eyes, Jin's face was mere inches apart from you, and your breath hitched. His eyes searched for yours, a silent plea for permission.

You nodded and closed your eyes again, humming as you felt his lips softly press against yours.

It was maddening, the feeling of his lips sucking your bottom lip softly and his fragrance drowning you in him.

He gently pushed his tongue between your lips and you moaned, feeling the faint taste of cigarette and tea that was so distinct, so him.

Your little moans and whimpers spurred him on, pulling you flush against his body, holding you tightly as if he was preventing you from ever escaping his arms.

And it's not like you wanted that either.

The lack of oxygen was leaving the both of you lightheaded, so, after a little while, Jin begrudgingly pulled back. You whined and he chuckled against your cheek, warm and damp with the rain that was finally letting up.

“It's Jean Paul Gaultier.” he murmured against your skin.

“What?” you wheezed, still out of your senses.

Jin leaned back to look at your flushed face. You blinked fast, trying to focus on his porcelain face.

“The name of my perfume. Jean Paul Gaultier.”

Your lips formed an “o”, not quite sure what to do with that information.

“Okay. Good.” you nodded “Keep… keep wearing it.”

He smirked, thumb pressing against your bottom lip while he pulled your chin towards his smug face again.

“I guess I have no choice.”

Drabble event rules and prompt list

#tokyo debunker #jin kamurai #tokyo debunker jin kamurai #ask #drabble event

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 2 years ago

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Howdy, so I don't know if you have seen The Last of Us, but if you have, you know the scene where Joel saves Ellie from the hospital and he just ploughs through everyone and its like wow -///-

I just think it would be a really cool like drabble if this was a Din x reader fic? Only if you wanted to write it though!! Also I'm so happy that I'm on your taglist for inevitable because I jump to read it every time that I see that I've been tagged, it has me in a chokehold and the way that you write the reader is so damn good.

Your writing is something that brings comfort to me every week, and the way you interact and talk to your followers is so sweet. I love coming back from a stressful day to sit down somewhere comfortable to enjoy your work.

Anyways thanks for reading this ramble of an ask and I hope that you're doing well :)

[a/n]: combining some stuff here! this is for the anon who asked for this scene AND for @cockscombkingdom who asked for a fic in Din's POV where he takes care of reader and keeps her safe. I started with the plan to make this very sweet and fluffy and I'm not gonna lie a little darkness seeped into it. my bad.

also in case it isn't abundantly clear i am a joel miller apologist thx

Din Djarin x Female!Reader

Warnings: Violence, death, injuries, mild dark!din (if you squint and/or have a problem with murder)

Word Count: 1,440

Summary: You were selfless. You gave and you gave and you gave. The universe planned to only take more, but Din Djarin would be damned if he let it.

LOOK FOR THE LIGHT

"you'd just come after her." -Joel Miller (TLOU)

Din was worried about you. He was always worried about you because you were always on his mind. It couldn’t be helped. Somebody had to because it seemed like you were perpetually too worried about everyone else. Din admired that about you. He always had. You went out of your way to help anyone and everyone who approached. You had a heart that was always willing to give, and it left you too little to use for yourself.

When the two of you first began traveling together, he noticed that about you. Sometimes you’d get so preoccupied watching Grogu you’d forget to eat. Peli had once put you to work, organizing her tools as part of the payment to fix the Razor Crest, and you had been so focused on getting the work done well that you had taken no breaks and ended up dehydrated and weak under Tatooine’s hot suns. It’s why the mission he was delivering you to made such simple sense to him. You were special, is what you told him. Din knew you were special, felt it, but it was for very different reasons. According to you, there was something in your blood, some type of cell, that could cure a lot of people of some terrible, terrible disease spreading through a world in the Outer Rim.

Din tried to keep his distance from you. Tried to not get attached. But you were so selfless, that it naturally brought out his protective side. He couldn't help but care for you, but caring for you as a responsibility had quickly turned to loving you along the way. Din didn’t know a lot about love. Didn’t have much experience with it, lust was easier to grasp, and that left him confused most of the time. Din had no idea how to express what he felt for you, how to explain it in words, so he did the only thing he could do. Din took care of you. Kept you safe when he stopped to pick up quarries, made sure you remembered to eat and drink water, reminded you to go to bed and when you would eventually forget anyways he’d carry you there himself. Din didn't know what love was supposed to feel like, but what he did know was that being without you made his heart physically ache and protecting you brought him happiness.

Maybe that’s all he needed to know.

‘It’ll be okay.’ You had promised him with a smile that made your features glow. ‘Shouldn’t take long.’

That had been hours ago. Din delivered you to the medical facility as he had been hired, but when you hadn’t come back out he sought after you. It’s why he now sat in a small room, Imperials flanking the door, as he simmered in disdain. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

“Mandalorian.” A man stepped into the room. A doctor from the looks of it with thin, round rimmed glasses. The name ‘Pershing’ pinned to his lapel. Din stayed silent. “I was under the impression that you had been paid. Was there an issue?”

“No.” Din replied. “Where is she?”

Dr. Pershing paused and shook his head as if confused. Din tilted his head a bit, an obvious threat in body language, and the doctor was smart enough to realize this. He nervously cleared his throat. “She is being prepared for her operation.” Din narrowed his eyes in confusion. You told him they’d just need your blood. “There is no reason for you to stay.”

“I promised her a ride back.”

There was a tense silence that filled the room at his words. Din watched the doctor squirm where he stood and he needed no further clarification. He shoved up from the table, prepared for a fight, when the Imperials leveled their own weapons at him before he could reach his blaster.

Dr. Pershing held his hands up in a placating manner. “She will be a hero. After we drain her of all her blood, we can make a cure. There’s a 65% chance this will work and save the people of this world.” Din was fuming under his armor. Drain your blood? They were going to kill you. They were going to kill you for something that only had a 65% chance of even working. “She will not be in pain! She’s been put under! She will not feel a thing, and we did not scare her with the news.” Din staggered back as if he had been physically hit. Was this man saying… Dr. Pershing confirmed Din’s thoughts. “We did not tell her this would kill her. We spared her that misery. She went under anesthesia peacefully.”

The words echoed in Din’s head loudly. As if a bomb had gone off right beside him and left him deaf and blind. He walked on autopilot as the Imperials escorted him through the building toward the exit. They were going to kill you. They were going to kill you for a shot in the dark cure. Din was literally paces to the door when his boots stilled. The Imperials shoved him, tried to get him to move, threatened to shoot him, and then Din snapped.

With the practiced precision of a bounty hunter and Mandalorian who spent most of his life in a fight, Din spun and cut down the Imperials in one swift movement. The darksaber glowed angry in his hands, casting threatening shadows down the hall. Never before had the sword worked so well for him, but as Din marched through the facility it was practically an extension of himself. Blaster fire pinged off his beskar and he did not hesitate. If a person stepped into his path he eliminated them. Cold. Ruthless. A predator. Din stalked the medical facility searching for you, and he left a wake of death and destruction in his path.

When he finally caught sight of you, through a window into some kind of clean room. Din felt his heart flutter in his chest. The first twinge of emotion since starting this rampage. It was a reminder of why he was doing this. A reminder that his actions were necessary.

Din stormed into the room, his eyes not leaving your unconscious form as you laid on a table in a hospital gown. The staff in the room panicked in a flurry, and one of them⏤ maybe the doctor maybe a nurse, Din didn’t even register who the kriff it was⏤ rushed him in a poor attempt to stop this onslaught. Din cut them down without blinking. Without taking his eyes off of you. The second you were in his arms, Din felt marginally settled. He wasn’t going to lose you, couldn’t lose you. Din had sworn to himself that he’d take care of you, it was all he knew how to do, and he wasn’t going to stop for the sake of anyone.

Not even the sake of a world.

As Din carried you out of the building it occurred to him that he may be dooming an entire population of people. This world’s chances of survival were dropping from 65% to 0%. He knew that he should care. He knew that this information should bother him. That it should make his steps more hesitant and make his chest ache in indecision, but it didn’t. His choice had never been more clear to him. It was either this world or you. Din was choosing you. He’d always choose you.

When back on the ship, Din had only carried you a few steps when gasping could be heard. He turned around to see Dr. Pershing at the end of the ramp holding a blaster at him. The man was breathing hard, face red, as if he had sprinted all the way here to stop this from happening. Din had to admire his dedication. The man believed in this cause so much he was willing to go head to head with a Mandalorian who had just single handedly cleared out a medical facility.

“I can’t let you do this.” Dr. Pershing snapped. “You’re dooming this world if you take her!”

A blaster fired. Dr. Pershing stumbled back, a hole in his chest, and Din held his blaster firm in his hand. Your legs draped over that arm had hidden his weapon well. A strangled gasp left the man’s lips and he collapsed into a motionless pile. Din shook his head, responding to a dead man’s words, “I don’t care.”

Din would protect you under any and all circumstances.

Was that love?

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #dark!din djarin #sort of #if you squint #the last of us #joel miller inspired #mando x reader #mando x you #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #female reader #reader insert

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strangersteddierthings · 2 years ago

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Writing prompt from this list, requested by @luciana-rowan. #60. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to seduce me." with Steve seducing Eddie with dnd.

This was supposed to be like 1.2k tops however you activated my secret trap card, which is DnD.

“Okay, that’s gotta be all there is, right?” Robin asks as she flips through the book again, pausing to flip back and forth between two pages, eyes narrowed like these pages have offended her personally. She’s leaning against the customer side of the counter at Family Video, and Steve is on the other so they can be facing each other.

Steve is double checking all the notes they’ve written out on notebook paper, Robin’s neat print mixed with Steve’s quick scratchy penmanship. They’ve finally condensed the contents (pages and pages of contents) into easier to look through notes and once they close Family Video, Nancy and Jonathan are going to join them at Steve’s and help him and Robin organize the notes in a way that will flow and be easier to follow.

Nancy because she’s good at the organization part, and Jonathan because he’s the only one of them that’s ever even played Dungeons and Dragons, even if it was only twice (he’s a good older brother, after all).

“Jesus Christ, I hope that’s all,” Steve slides the notebook across the counter and offers up a hand for the Dungeons and Dragons book. They swap, to double check that neither has overlooked anything.

“You know,” Robin says, “this is a lot of effort for one game. Do those kids really have all this memorized?”

“Seems like it,” Steve groans, running a hand through his hair. “That’s why I need the cheat sheet. I can’t be holding up their game for twenty minutes just to look up if something is allowed or not.”

Robin looks across the counter and grins at him. “I think it’s so sweet that you’re finally gonna agree to play. Going to this much effort for it, though... You might make Dustin cry.”

“Well, that’s the goal now,” Steve laughs. “Dustin cries or I’m flipping the table.”

“Well, now I want to be there. Either would be great to witness!”

“It’s not too late to make you a character,” Steve says, aiming for nonchalance and knowing that he might have hit the mark for anyone else, but this is Robin, and she’s always seen right through him. She was the one he ranted to this last time Dustin had asked (read: begged) Steve to join a game, the time that worked because Steve could no longer think of reasons to say no. He had said no, though, to Dustin’s face, but once he got home, he scooped up Eddie’s damn Dungeons and Dragons player handbook. Then called and recruited Robin to help.

Robin’s smile softens into something less teasing. “I can join, if it’ll make this less awkward for you.”

Steve’s surprised by her answer. “Oh. You’d- really?”

Robin shrugs. “Yeah, dingus. You might have had a long-standing weird vendetta about being asked to play but. Well, no one’s ever asked me before, so I guess I never had to think about if I would or not. It’s like you said on the phone ‘it might be nice to just to fight imaginary monsters for once’.”

“Our characters could be twins.”

Robin grins but before she can respond the ding of the door chimes. Steve swipes his hands across the counter, causing the book, notebook, and pencils to clatter behind the counter out of view. Back to work.

It all started when Dustin asked him to stay for a game months ago. It was the third Dungeons and Dragons game he’d dropped him off at after they’d survived Hell for the fourth (hopefully final) time.

“We play the game, but it’s also a time to like, catch up and chat,” Dustin said, all but pouting at Steve.

Steve had put his car in park and shut off the engine. “If Wheeler’s basement still smells, I’m leaving.”

“Yes!” Dustin cheered.

So, Steve followed Dustin into the Wheelers’ house, called a hello to Karen Wheeler, and made his way to the basement. There had been several startled looks in Steve’s direction, but he’d just walked past the table and plopped onto the end couch beside El, like it was something he did every day. Eddie, Will, Lucas, Erica, and Mike were already sitting at the table, using whatever they could find as chairs. Dustin and he were the last ones to arrive it seems.

El smiled up at him. “Hi Steve. It is nice to have company. I have been watching by myself, since Max can’t get down the stairs yet.”

Well, fuck. Now he’s got to walk Dustin in every time in case El’s in the basement, all lonely on the couch, watching her boyfriend play make believe. “Happy to keep you company, El. You have any idea what’s happening here?”

“I have an understanding of the story, yes,” El nodded and slid across the couch to be close enough to whisper to Steve. She filled him in on what she knew, which is not much because it was a new campaign, but she had sat with Mike and Will when they made their new characters and had been to the two previous games.

When the game got going, Steve watched as El leaned forward on the couch, elbows on her knees and chin in her hands. She had seemed raptured with the story, so Steve started to listen in, too. Dustin must have done a shit job at explaining how this game was played these last years, because as he had watched it progress it seemed more enjoyable than it had sounded when described.

More than that, Steve watched as the stress of real life melted away from the kids and Eddie. They were no longer a group of outcasts who had gone through Hell and barely survived. They were a group of friends having fun in a way Steve couldn’t remember experiencing since he had been in elementary school.

It was two more games and one pool party at his own house later before Steve got the idea to offer his dining room up for the game. Specifically, because at the pool party he saw Max sitting in his living room and did a double take at her, the pieces slotting together in his mind. Max couldn’t manage the steep stairs at the Wheelers house, but everything she needed to get to at Steve’s house was ground level – kitchen, bathroom, living room, dining table.

Next session before everyone scattered to the wind, Steve had said, “Hey, what do you say about moving this game to my house?”

Everyone sitting at the table whipped around to stare at him, mouths open and everything.

“What? My house doesn’t smell like armpit and, uhh, Max could come hang out again,” Steve shrugged and was almost mowed over by how quickly El threw herself on him, wrapping his waist in a hug.

“Yes! Yes!” She answered for everyone.

The next game was moved to Steve’s house. He’d rotated the couch so it would face the dining room table so Max, El, and he could sit comfortably and had even bought a bunch of snacks and soda.

Eddie had been the first person to show up. It had taken him four trips back and forth from his van to the dining room to unload everything he’d brought.

Steve eyes it all critically. “I haven’t seen you use half this shit when you play at Wheelers, yet to lug it back and forth. Do you really need it?”

Eddie shrugged, “Who knows? Better to have it and not need it or whatever.”

“You load and unload all this shit every game?”

“Yeah. Wheeler helps usually but he isn’t here so….”

“If you had asked, I’d of helped,” Steve said. “I didn’t know you would need it, or if you’d want it.”

“Oh.”

Steve’s not sure what to think of Eddie sometimes. They’re friends now, or at least friend-adjacent. Well, it didn’t used to feel like ‘friend-adjacent’ until Steve started to sit in on the Dungeons and Dragons games. He got to see a freer side of Eddie, then. One that smiled and laughed a bit more than Steve ever saw. It’s fine. Steve’s fine. He’s not- he is not hurt that Eddie hides this part of himself from Steve.

Besides, Steve knows he’s the problem. Because Eddie doesn’t have this problem with Robin, or Nancy, or Jonathan. He’s seen Eddie relaxed and chill when they hang out, so long as Steve keeps his distance. And even if he hadn’t been sure that he was the issue before, he was after the first time they made eye contact during a game (accidentally) and he watched Eddie reigning himself in. Made himself smaller right before his eyes. Steve doesn’t understand why but he does his best to give Eddie space.

He thinks, maybe, that he makes Eddie uncomfortable on some level. He doesn’t know how, or why, or if he can change it.

Anyway, the next few games after that Steve helped Eddie unload and reload his van until he finally offered for Eddie to just keep the things he didn’t need at his house.

“If you don’t, y’know, use all of this to actually plan each session, you can just keep it here,” Steve said as they cleaned up, Max, Lucas, Erica, and Dustin helping, since Eddie had offered to pick them up and drop them off this time.

Eddie paused in his gathering of papers to study Steve before saying, “You sure?”

“Yeah. It’s not like I use the dining table unless you guys are here. So, just take what you use and leave the rest.”

Eddie took the Dungeon Master book but left his copy of the players handbook.

And those series of events have led to this Thursday night, with Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, and himself sitting at his dining room table, making a character sheet for Robin, and polishing up the one Steve had already made, because Steve isn’t embarrassed about asking for help these days. Jonathan even brought him the set of dice Will had given him when he’d played.

Robin’s not going to join until the next game, but she is going to come watch. Jonathan had explained that adding one extra character would be easy to accommodate but adding two was harder.

“So, if you like the game and want to continue, talk to Eddie about finding a good way for Robin to join,” Jonathan says, pushing the finalized ‘cheat’ sheet and character back to Steve. “If you don’t like playing, she can just replace you next game.”

“Dustin’s going to lose his mind tomorrow,” Steve laughs, having found that the papers look good, and he should be ready to go.

“I think we’re all sticking around to see it,” Nancy says. She’s volunteered to bring Mike, Lucas, Erica, and Dustin tomorrow night, and Jonathan is bringing Max and Robin when he brings El and Will.

“Hey guys, thanks for this,” Steve says when they clean up and everyone gathers to head out.

“Anytime, man,” Jonathan nods to him as Nancy gives him a quick side hug. Robin gives him a hug that lasts far longer before following them out the door. Steve had asked if she wanted to stay over but her parents are expecting her home tonight.

Once Steve is alone, he heads to the phone and dials Eddie’s number.

Three rings and, “Wayne speaking.”

“Hi Wayne, it’s Steve. Uh, Steve Harrington,” Steve says.

Wayne doesn’t chuckle into the phone, because Steve’s not certain he can chuckle, but he’s definitely amused when he says, “well, Steve Harrington, Eddie’s not home. I can leave a note for him to call you back. I don’t know when he’ll be here.”

“Oh, a note’s fine. I’m usually up late anyway.”

It’s a little past eleven when his phone rings. Steve is half asleep on the couch, but the ringing wakes him right up. And if he trips over his own feet on the way to the phone, there’s no witnesses so it didn’t really happen, did it? “Eddie?”

A soft laugh on the other end of the line, “it’s like you were expecting me, Harrington.”

“I was. Or, uh, I was hoping you’d call any way, not expecting because that feels like… loaded somehow.”

Silence, then, “so what can I do for you?”

“Could you, um, come over early tomorrow? Like thirty minutes sooner could work. An hour would be better, though,” Steve looks down and realizes he’s twirly the phone cord around his finger. He stills his hand and yanks it away from the cord, tucking his fist to his chest to keep it in check.

“Oh, I know what you want,” Eddie’s voice says, suggestive in a way Steve can’t decipher, “Yeah, I can come over an hour sooner.”

He’s been caught before he can even surprise anyone, he realizes. That’s the suggestive tone. Eddie knows. And if Eddie knows what he wants, there’s no way Dustin doesn’t already suspect. Ah well. Surprise ruined but it’ll still be fun for the kids. He hopes. Steve puts a smile on his face so he won’t sound upset with himself when he says, “thanks man. I appreciate it. See ya tomorrow.”

Eddie arrives a little more than an hour early but Steve’s not going to complain. He’d been pacing in the kitchen near the front window, so he watched as Eddie pulled up. He has the front door open before Eddie is halfway to the door.

“Someone’s excited,” Eddie wiggles his eyebrows at him as he passes, moving to the dining room to deposit his armful of stuff on the table.

“Nervous, actually,” Steve says, shutting the door and turning to follow. He almost runs into Eddie when he gets to the turn that leads into the kitchen, and dining room beyond it. “Oh, hi. Thought you were at the table.”

Eddie looks confused. “I gotta go grab the lunchbox. Wait- did you say nervous?”

“What do you need your lunchbox for?”

They stand in the kitchen entrance, just kinda blinking at each other for a moment before Eddie says, in a very confused, slow voice, “maaaaybe I don’t know why I’m here early. What did you want?”

Steve heads to the dining room, motioning for Eddie to follow. He pulls out two chairs next to each other, sliding into one and waiting for Eddie to sit in his. Steve reached across the table, to the player’s handbook and the notebook under it, dragging them closer. He turns to be facing Eddie, sitting sideways in his chair now. “I wanted to see if it was okay for another person to join the game. Today.”

Eddie’s eyebrows get lost behind his bangs with how high he raises them. “What? Who do you know that wants to play?”

“Uh, me,” Steve says, pulling the notebook out from under the handbook, taking out his character sheet and flipping the notebook open to the end of his notes, where he’d taken the time to write out some bullet points with ideas for his character backstory. Then he fishes out the dice from his pocket and deposits them on the table.

Eddie is deathly still and absolutely silent. The only movement is his eyes, which flick between the dice, the pages, and Steve’s face. He’s quiet so long that Steve is worried he made a mistake.

“Or, uh, if you’d rather I not- sorry, I just- Dustin tries to invite me all the time so I thought it would be okay,” Steve says, moving to close the notebook. That’s when Eddie comes back to life, his hand flying out to catch Steve’s, halting his hand.

“No! No, of course it’s fine. I’m just- surprised,” Eddie says, slowly, “you’ve been so against it, very vocally, so I’m just surprised.”

“Yeah. I was kind of an asshole about it all, wasn’t I? But when I think about it, like really think about it, I don’t know why I was against even trying it, y’know? Leftover shit from high school, I think. But I’m not that person anymore, so…” Steve shrugs with one shoulder, not sure why he’s telling Eddie these things. They don’t talk like this, usually. Steve finds he wants to, though. “Plus, watching the games, it looks like you guys have fun. Like, real, forget about your day kinda fun. Besides, Erica enjoys it, and she’s the coolest out of all of us. If Erica likes it, it can’t be just a nerd game.”

Eddie laughs and Steve gets to see that carefree smile Eddie seems to reserve for the kids. “Can’t argue with that. Erica is the coolest of this lot.”

“So, here’s what I was thinking,” Steve says, pulling the notebook between them to discuss the ideas Robin and he had come up with. He was going to play a fighter, so he didn’t have to worry about memorizing spells. If Eddie’ll let Robin join, he’d like for them to be twins, or siblings of some sort at least. Eddie nods, jumps on that instantly. Offers for them to have been separated on accident, so they could work on adding Robin more naturally later, with their two characters having been looking for each other this whole time.

Before Steve even realizes it, he’s been word vomiting for far too long about his character’s backstory and why he’d want to join the Party and Eddie has been silent the entire time, just listening to him, a soft smile on his face. “So, that’s what I got for now.”

Eddie let’s out a whistle and says, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to seduce me.”

Steve’s brain skips, or freezes, or something, because it just replays that whistle and those words for a few second in his mind before it helpfully supplies the thoughts ‘yes’ and ‘I didn’t know I could seduce you’. He’s just had an epiphany. Unfortunately, his mouth is still working while his brain does this, so it says, “are you feeling seduced, Eds?”

“AHAHA!” Eddie lets out a laugh that is more a bark before he stands up quickly, the chair falling backwards because he hadn’t bothered to scoot the chair back to give him room to stand. “Funny. Dustin’s right, you’re hilarious. I need a cigarette,” and then he all but runs out the front door.

Steve just watches him go before picking up the fallen chair. He can’t wait for Robin to get here. He needs to talk to her.

When Eddie comes back in, it’s with Robin, Jonathan, Max, El, and Will. Steve slaps his notebook shut quickly and hopes that Will didn’t notice it. Eddie is talking animatedly with Will upon entry, though, so he seems safe. Robin fast walks to the table and scoops Steve’s dice and shoves them in her pocket, because Will will recognize them if they stay out.

Steve stands, notebook in hand, and grabs Robin’s wrist with his free hand and drags her out back. He makes sure the slide-glass door is closed firmly and leads her around to the other side of the pool. He doesn’t want any eavesdroppers.

“Robin. Ok, so you remember by sexuality crisis last year?”

“Of course, Michael J Fox in Teen Wolf got you hot under the collar,” Robin says, “how could I forget? You cried about it.”

“You cried about yours, too! I just wasn’t there for it.”

“Not mocking!” Robin holds up her hands in defense, “just saying.”

“Robin. I think I like Eddie.”

“Oh!” her eyes go wide, and her mouth stays in a little ‘o’ shape for a moment. Steve stands there, letting her process. “Oh. Ooohhhhhh. That- that makes sense in my mind in a way I cannot put into words. Of course, it’d be Eddie Munson -the exact opposite of Michael J Fox, by the way- to also get you bothered. Why didn’t I pick up on that? How did I not notice this?”

“Because, despite our best efforts, we have yet to successfully combine,” Steve says, linking his fingers the way Robin had that day in Family Video before unlinking them to flip a hand back and forth between them. “We do not have time for you to have a crisis about it because I am having a crisis about it, and one of us needs to be level-headed.”

“Right,” she sobers instantly. “Right. We cannot spiral together. You first, I’ll wait my turn. So, you like Eddie. Enough to…. Want to do something about it?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, that was a quick answer. You… you really like him. Give me the details. What am I working with here.”

Steve thinks about it. “When he held a broken bottle to my neck, I was terrified. And a little aroused.” Robin says ew. “I’ve thought he was hot since then. But… when he came to at the hospital, all high on the medicine. He’d smiled softly at me and the first thing he said to me was glad you’re here, big boy. I think the actual crush started then.”

“Make sense, tracks, what with your hero complex and praise kink,” Robin nods and paces before turning back to him. “And the realization?”

He can’t argue the hero complex and praise kink thing, because they both know that would be a lie, so he answers, “When I was done rambling about my character idea, he whistled and said If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to seduce me and my first thought was yes.”

Robin’s eyes light up before she starts marching in a small circle around him as she thinks out loud. “Fuck, Steve, you really don’t do anything halfway. Alright. So, you want to do something about this, but you have to decide what you want to do. Because you are my soulmate and I want you happy, but like Eddie is also my friend and if you are experimenting… Just. You have to be sure.”

“I’m sure.”

She stops her circling to squint at him and read his mind, he supposes, because her face lights up in delight. “Oh shit! It’s not sexy thoughts! You want to like, hold his hand and cuddle on the couch, and like, cook dinner together and serve him breakfast in bed and bicker about whose turn it is to pick up Dustin from school!”

“Jesus Robin, can you not shout that! We are out here, so they,” he flings his hand in the direction of the house, “don’t hear. But, yeah. I… I like him. A lot.”

“I can see that. Like, really see that. You like him so much that just his company would be enough. Disgusting. Let me think,” she waves him off, like he has been dismissed but instead she’s the one walking away, walking figure eights around area in front of him for a couple minutes before whirling around to say, “You have to make your character a flirt. An outright slut, even. For information gathering purposes of course.”

“What?”

“He plays all the other characters, Stephan,” she says, dragging out his name to make it sound like ‘Steff-fawn’, “and you know he’s good at this… being in character thing! So, like, if you can trip him up by being all flirty, then that’s like, got to be a sign that he likes you, too, right? If he doesn’t like you, he can take it in stride. But! If he’s crushing on you, too, this will be like, too good to be true to him, yeah? That’ll fluster anyone, especially if he plays on our team and probably hasn’t had many guys openly hitting on him. Plus, you can always tell when someone likes you. You haven’t been checking for signs that Eddie might like you because you weren’t even aware it might be possible. And I’m not going to get your hopes up, Eddie could be, like, a totally straight dude, but when will it ever be safer to test this?”

Steve nods. “Yeah… yeah. Eddie is good at this character thing. And I do know when people are interested. And this is safe. If I flirt and he doesn’t react, or if he recoils in disgust, I can write what I’ve done off as it’s the game and I’m just trying to be a good player. Oh God, Robin, what if he’s like not okay with gay people.”

“Then we bodily throw Eddie out your front door, never speak to him again, and tell Will he’s the new Dungeon Master.”

“That seems extreme.”

“It’d be fitting. Eddie didn’t bat an eyelash when I came out to everyone after my date with Vicki. He actually congratulated me. So, if he only hates gay men then he’d be a disgusting lesbian fetishist and he’ll have to go ASAP. I doubt that’s the case, though.”

Steve barks a laugh and jerks his head towards the house, an offer to return inside. They turn towards the house and are greeted by everyone lined up along the glass door and windows that lead to the pool. A few of them (Nancy, Max, Will) have the decency to try and pretend they weren’t watching by turning away quickly but otherwise everyone just stares at each other until Dustin hauls open the glass door and shouts, “Are you two fighting?”

“No, we aren’t fighting,” Steve says as he shoves his way past Dustin and back into the house. “Let me grab the snacks and the game can begin.”

Steve moves to the kitchen, with Robin and Eddie following behind to help gather all chips, dips, candy, and soda and deposit them on any nearby surface in the dining room. Steve then slides into the chair to Eddie’s left, where Dustin usually sits before anyone else can take that seat.

Dustin slides into the chair next to him instead of arguing about it, saying, “Captivated, aren’t you? Guess I’ll let you have my spot so you can pay attention better. Told you this game was great.”

“I’ll be paying plenty of attention, don’t you worry,” Steve says to Dustin before turning to Eddie, who has taken his place at the head of the table, and winking at him, “right, Eds?”

Eddie stops moving for barely any time at all, and honestly, if the whole point of where he sat wasn’t to be close enough to catch and catalogue all of Eddie’s reactions, he would have missed the freeze. “Oh yeah. Steve’s been following the story closely.”

Steve looks around the table and watches the kids exchange glances and shrugs before Eddie begins to recall what happened last game and where the Party is headed now. Steve waits for his cue. Eddie’s got several ways to introduce Steve’s character, just in case the kids don’t grasp onto the plot hooks. But they’re good players, who know when an adventure hook is being dangled in their face. When their characters read the notice board, looking for quests, and come across the one of a man looking to hire help in searching for his lost sister, they buy into it quickly.

“You find yourselves at the tavern where the help wanted poster said to meet. There are three other people inside this early in the day, not including the barkeep.”

“Can I go and ask the barkeep if he knows who put the poster up?” Will asks. Will speaks in the first person who it comes to his character far more often than anyone else, Steve’s noticed.

“Of course. The barkeep is a surly looking dwarf who keeps rearranging the glasses behind the counter. He sees you approaching and listens to your question before saying,” Eddie says in his normal tone, before dropping into a deeper, Scottish accent. “Aye. You passed him on the way in. He’s sitting there, close to the door.”

“Do we approach as a group?” Lucas asks, and after a quick discussion and confirmation that the table their quest giver is sat as has enough seating for them all, they agree to approach together.

Eddie nods and says, “You all approach the table and the figure sitting there looks up as you do. Steve, please describe what they see as they approach you.”

Steve opens his mouth to answer but the table explodes. Dustin shrieks and throws out his hands to grip Steve’s arm and just shake him. “Oh my God. Oh my God. OH MY GOD. STEVE!” Dustin is yelling basically in his ear. Everyone is exclaiming something in excitement, and it gets loud, fast. With no end to the onslaught of screaming in sight, Steve resigns himself to this fate.

It takes far longer than it should for everyone to quiet down, and Steve’s a little red after all of it. Because he hadn’t expected this reaction. He thought Dustin might be a little hyped, sure, but this level of love he feels from all these kids, and for them, and how doing something so small, like joining their game, brings them this much joy… He regrets not joining sooner, honestly.

Finally, they quiet and Steve gets to describe his character, Sir Gregor of House Buckington (Robin’s idea of a last name, he’s not afraid to throw her under the bus for that) and the game progresses. When Steve’s asked to make his first roll of the night, everyone jumps to offer their dice, but he just calls out to Robin. She still has his in her pocket. He shoots a look at Will, who he can see recognizes the dice, and smiles at him as he rolls his first D20.

It's almost two hours into the session before Steve sees his chance to flirt. The Party is trying to negotiate a discount for some healing potions, and they’ve failed their check. They can’t afford the potions and Erica, playing the rogue, offers to try and steal them.

“Can I give Erica advantage by distracting the shop keep?” Steve asks.

Eddie looks intrigued by these. “… Maybe. How would you distract him?”

“Sir Gregor will lean against the counter and say ‘Sorry about my companion’s awkward attempts to swindle you of your goods for a fair price. I should have stepped in sooner, but I was a bit… captivated watching you shut them down’ and try and fluster this guy by flirting with him.”

It’s a mixed bag of reactions from the kids that Steve barely hears because he’s focused on Eddie. Eddie, whose face looks a bit redder than it usually does.

“You wanna… flirt with the shop keep?” Eddie’s voice is a bit higher than normal too. Interesting.

“If that’s allowed.”

“Umm, uh, y-yeah,” Eddie stumbled over his words and Steve can feel himself grinning like the cat that got the cream. Eddie is flustered. Steve has flustered him. Oh. This is going to be a good game. “Roll a persuasion check.” Steve gets a 17. “Lady Applejack, if you would, roll sleight of hand with advantage as Sir Gregor seems to have successfully taken the attention of the shopkeep.”

“I am going to enjoy having Steve play,” Erica says as she picks up her dice. “No one else helps me steal things.”

They play for almost four hours, an hour longer than normal, but Steve is surprised by how quickly it slips by and finds that he’s a little disappointed that it has to end, especially since they’ve stopped one round into combat. It’s a terrible place to stop, but if the kids are any later getting home there might be a reckoning done by some parents. The only reason there isn’t one now is because Nancy, ever practical about things, called all the parents about an hour and a half ago to let them know the kids might be an hour or two late getting home.

“We’ll pick up next week,” Eddie says, standing to get a good look at the battle map to copy it into his notebook.

“You can just leave it out so you don’t have to recreate it,” Steve says, like he does every week. “I won’t mess with it.”

And like every week before, Eddie just pulls out his graph paper and starts to track how many squares apart everyone is as the kids pack up their own things and head out. Steve walks them all to the door and Robin hangs back to talk, waiting on the front step. Steve walks out and shuts the door behind him.

“He’s absolutely into you,” Robin whispers. “Do you know that this means? We can go on double dates! I’ll be Eddie’s fake date, because I’m not sure Vicki and Eddie should be left alone to conspire against us but-“

“I think it’s a bit too soon to be planning double dates, Buckley,” Steve cuts her off. “Yeah, Eddie’s into me. But like… into me? Does he even know he’s into me?”

“Right. Could also be in the denial phase, still,” she says, then deepens her voice in a poor imitation of Eddie’s and adds, “I think Steve is hot but in a purely platonic friend-like fashion.”

He laughs, shoving Robin towards Jonathan’s car, where everyone else is loaded and waiting, “go home.”

She leaves laughing and Steve waves them off before going back inside. He finds Eddie at the table, placing the minis carefully back into the tacklebox he keeps them in.

“Seriously, you don’t have to put everything away,” Steve says and Eddie jumps.

“Jesus! Don’t sneak up on me,” Eddie clutches at his heart dramatically.

“I didn’t sneak! You’re lost in your own head if you didn’t hear the door slam or my footsteps,” Steve leans back against the wall, watching Eddie. The other man nods to himself, hands still fiddling with a mini in his hand. The one he’d used for Steve’s character. Steve watches and wishes he could read Eddie’s mind as easily as Robin reads his.

“Thank for playing tonight,” Eddie finally says, placing the mini back onto the table instead of in the tacklebox before turning to Steve. “You did real good.”

Steve gives him a smile he hopes Eddie can see if soft and fond, “yeah? I put a lot of effort into this. Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan helped me.”

“You recruited all three?”

“Yeah. I wanted to put in the effort. I’ve watched several games now; I see how much time you all put into this. It’d be an asshole move to agree to join and not, like, at least read the rules.”

Eddie hums an agreement, “would be kinda asshole-ish, but you’re certainly not an asshole anymore.”

Steve fakes wounded, “you thought I was an asshole?”

“Well, it would be a pretty dick move on my part to think you’re an asshole after everything,” Eddie takes a step towards Steve, then seems startled at himself, like he can’t believe he moved. “Anyway, you willing to play again next week?”

“Yeah, man. Looking forward to it.”

“Cool. Cool,” Eddie nods before turning to gather up the stuff he brought with him. “I’ll see you next week, then.”

“Totally.”

Steve watches Eddie head towards the door and feels something like regret in his stomach. Logically he knows he doesn’t have to rush this. Doesn’t have to fling himself at Eddie immediately now that he knows he wants to, knows that Eddie is at least enough into him to get flustered with his ‘fake’ flirting.

But.

But Steve has lived through four apocalypses and Eddie almost didn’t survive one and life is worth taking a chance on doing things he never thought he’d do (like playing and enjoying a game of Dungeons and Dragons), so- He picks up his D20 from the table and gives it a roll, leaves it up to chance if he should do this now or wait.

It rolls around the table, bounces off the books still left on the table before rolling to a stop.

Eh, 8 is good enough.

“Eddie, wait!” Steve flings open his front door and shouts. Eddie, in the process of backing out of the driveway, brakes. Steve runs across his yard and Eddie, window already cracked, rolls it the rest of the way down.

“Yeah?”

“Wanna go on a date with me,” Steve says, then winces. He used to be better at this. “Please. I mean, go on a date with me. Oh, that sounds worse, like I’m expecting you to. Which I’m not-I don’t expect you to like me just because I like you. Fuck, I’m ruining this. Would you like to go on a date with me, please?”

Eddie just lets him shove his foot in his mouth, but he looks fond more than annoyed. Still, he says, “I, uhh, didn’t know you were… into guys.”

“Guys in general, sure. You, specifically? Ridiculously into you.”

That brings a smile to Eddie’s face. “Yeah?”

“So, uh date tomorrow? After I get off work?”

“Tomorrow,” Eddie agrees easily.

Steve watches Eddie drive away and suddenly he can’t wait for work tomorrow. Robin’s going to implode when he tells her.

Eddie, after getting off the phone with Steve the night before the game: Oh, he wants to do drugs before having to suffer through watching us play dnd again. Better bring my druglunchbox

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #they're slowly combining they just dont know that yet #my fic #platonic soulmates

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kaihuntrr · 24 days ago

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part thirty/closing remarks: author's closing notes

Ending notes to the fic before it returns on the 27th of November!

Hello! Kai, speaking here, post-birthday time (though I have a lot of commitments to do for the upcoming days, haha)! Technically it’s still the 18th in some other parts of the world, so it’s still technically my birthday, so I’m happy to say that Act I is well and truly over. This has been SUCH a while ride and I’m excited to embark on the next one. Now that I’m talking about it, I’d like to be a little mushy about my feelings on it since I’ve been having so much fun writing it.

Truely, The Sea Prince was just meant to be a personal project of mine that I thought I could just scatter bits and pieces of over on tumblr to see if people actually wanted to get interested in it. I didn’t expect gaining friends and having a bunch of people really get invested with what I have! Still, I’m happy to have gotten a strong audience, and I hope the next act is welcomed with open arms.

With some tentative planning, Act II is due to set sail on November 27th!

This is so my co-writer and I can build up a bulk of edits and backlogs for the fic to keep that consistent, every-other-week schedule! It also just so happens that a new life series is around the corner, so perhaps it’ll help stoke some future things for acts III to V? We shall definitely see!

Anyway, that’s enough rambling from me. Before I go, I want to give out a short excerpt of the prologue for Act II, just so you all have something to chew on before the upcoming Life Series! <3 Take care everyone, and I’ll see you on the 27th, should everything go according to plan! (If not, best to check out tumblr, but I’ll do my best to keep on schedule <3)

———

Another day, another perfect time to set sail.

Another chance to strike at the beasts that terrorized the people.

Grian stood proudly at the bow, facing the large iron gate in the distance. He saw the large shadow cast by the stone walls, its darkness providing a sense of safety to the town’s citizens with a glint of the canons that adorned the top. It was a ready defense from any invading monsters, though they never dared to swim close to the islands. Maybe those monsters had some intelligence after all if they knew to stay away from the kingdom. They were protected by the king, the navy, and the hunters, each one ensuring humanity could live and thrive within the walls. It was good. It was perfect.

It was home.

It was going to be another exciting day. The crew planned to sail off into the sea, to find some beasts to kill, and to return to the love and warmth of the people and recover. Prepare, leave, kill, return, rest, then repeat. The simple, monotonous life of a hunter was easier said than done. A lot of hunters risked their lives every day to keep the people safe and sound. It was one of the most noble deeds a person could do in their life- it was even more noble to be acknowledged by the king himself.

One day, this crew was going to earn the king’s approval. They had already slain small packs of those disgusting monsters, an impressive feat compared to the one or two beasts other crews their age had taken down. It was only a matter of time before the king addressed him, his brothers, and their crew. Then, they’d be hunters for the king– better than all the rest! It was going to be one of the best days of their lives, he just knew it.

After all, he was the cunning Grian Solidarity. He was the youngest of his family and had the biggest hunger to prove himself on the wild seas. He and his brothers had made this crew not too long ago, and with how much money they’d been raking in, they just had to be the best out of all the people their age! The amount of people who had looked down on them for just being green, overeager upcomers wasn’t surprising, but Grian could bet those people were eating their own insults now. They just had to be!

Grian rested his hands on the railing, breathing in the fresh air, and hummed in delight. The ship was prepared to set sail and the others would likely return before the gates were scheduled to open. He’d done his part- checking on the weapons and restocking the ship with ammo was pretty easy when he was with Mumbo and Scar- so he had the luxury of sitting back, relaxing while waiting for the others to get on board–

“Grian?” He jumped at the sound of his name. He turned around to see Joel looking around, worried. “Have you seen Jimmy? I haven’t seen him anywhere.” Grian frowned, suddenly concerned.

Jimmy had been acting weird lately. Not only had he gotten that flower tattoo out of nowhere, but he’d been acting a lot more aloof on their hunting trips too. He’d been acting like that for a couple of months at least. He had been pretty scared of the ocean before, when they were younger, but a little exposure therapy didn’t hurt and he’d been fine. It also wasn’t the first time that he had wandered around like this- but he usually came back well before the ship would set sail.

Grian hummed, trying to recall if he had seen his brother in the past few… hours, probably. He ran through where he’d last seen the other members of their crew. He’d seen Cleo hanging around with Mumbo, Scar and Bdubs were doing something together, and Lizzie was out in the port talking to Martyn before he was due to set off with the Kestrels. Grian remembered catching Joel glancing at Lizzie a dozen times earlier, silently wishing she could join them on their hunts. “...No, I haven’t,” he finally said, putting a hand on his chin. “Any idea where he’d be?”

“No, that’s why I was asking you in the first place…,” Joel grumbled. “He’s probably in the harbor somewhere, let’s go look for him.”

“But I just got comfortable…,” Grian jokingly complained. One sour look from Joel made him roll his eyes and relent. Jimmy knew this town like the back of his hand, just like the rest of them. He wasn’t lost, Grian was sure of it. “Fine. But Tim’s probably just wandering around again. You know how he is.” He shrugged. Joel made a small frown and sighed, but followed Grian as the two descended from the ship and into the hustle and bustle of the port town behind them.

To be continued in Act II: Bait.

#the sea prince au #sea prince chapters #limited life smp #limited life #life series #life smp #trafficblr #majorwood #mean gills #coral kids #scottyn #martyn inthelittlewood #martyn itlw #inthelittlewood #scott smajor #smajor1995 #dangthatsalongname #pearlescentmoon #tsp act one

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dozing-marshmallow · 1 year ago

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Would it be alright of I request some headcannons for Chris x co-host reader? Where the reader enjoys the show/challenges the show puts the contestants through just as much as he does? Thx!! 💕

P.S. I really enjoy your writing!

Hi there! Absolutely! And thank you so much, I’m so happy to hear that you enjoy my writing! 😊 Enjoy!

CHRIS MCLEAN X CO-HOST READER HEADCANONS

Regardless of how high your reputation was, this was still Chris’ show; you were lucky to be on it.

If he thought you were hogging the spotlight for too long, he wouldn’t hesitate to interrupt you mid sentence.

Alike the man in question, you had your humble introduction, and screen time explaining the concept of Total Drama to the audience alongside him.

You quickly became famous for interjecting Chris towards the end of his explanation of orders to the campers, with filthy suggestions that poured more weight on their behalf.

Wouldn’t help when you covered your lips in pretend apology.

Unlike Chris and Chef, who chose to eat in the separate tent away from the contestants, you went out of your way to eat in the mess hall, same time as them to rub it in their faces the better quality of food you got in comparison to theirs.

Some of the nicer contestants like Owen and Beth begged endearingly for a share, whilst some of the daring contestants such as Duncan and Leshawna spat curses on you.

Needless to mention, you never let them have that slice of heaven.

There was an episode where Chris let you have complete control over the challenge and whether or not it was a reward one.

“In spirit of the summer camp, I’ve decided on a gardening challenge.” You explain to him,“Each contestant will pick a seed to plant, and they will be given no instruction to what their seed will need in order to grow, so if they’re really stumped, they may be allowed to get a look at their respective seed guides or swap out their seed...in exchange of answering ten questions correctly. These questions can be about anything ranging from humanities to math. For that process, we’ll have them locked in a glass chamber with an easily accessible separate compartment above them filled with all attainable enemies of gardening. Fruit flies, mosquitos, lacewings etc.”

You pause to look at Chris, seeing how he’s catching on where it’s going by his restless face expression,“For every question they answer wrong, the hatch will open automatically, slowly. First team that’s able to have all members grow something will win.”

“Wow! Okay, that’s a really good challenge idea. I’m surprised I didn’t come up with that!” Chris commended you, before he broke out into laughter,“It’ll boost the ratings for sure!” He notices your ready tray of seeds and begins reading out the labels,“Talipot palm... Raspberries... Potatoes... Tomatoes... Hey (Y/N)...” he finds you already beaming at him,“This is a guess...but don’t a lot of these seeds need at least a month to grow?”

“Exactly.”

Also known as the episode of which they do not speak of.

You never understood how in spite of that, you were still the more favourable host to the contestants.

Maybe because you weren’t as self centred as Chris?

Either way, you used every figment of hope to remind them that you aren’t there to make anything easier.

And you remained that way, up to where the show was supposed to be over, had it not been for Owen deciding to gamble his luck and kicking off a new game.

“Owen’s definitely lost his win now.” You comment wearily.

“Tell me about it.” Chris yawns,“I’m so bored. Wanna get back to the lodge?”

“Say no more.”

Long story short, you basically called it- not only did Owen lose his money, but thirteen other contestants got tied with him.

Given the situation, Chris declares a new immediate season, where you would be cued to open an empty briefcase for the producers to have someone edit wads of cash in.

However, you accidentally open up the wrong briefcase, this briefcase storing a pack of water snakes that slithered out onto the planks and into the lake, causing the contestants of the future season(apart from Izzy) to scream and frantically swim their way onto land.

It was a ridiculous scene, but what can be done? You and Chris laugh as the final episode of the season comes to a close.

You’re already looking forward to what happens next! And you have a good sensation the contestants feel the same.

#td chris #chris mclean x reader #tdi x reader #chris mclean #td chris mclean x reader #total drama chris mclean #total drama island chris #request #total drama headcanons

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alex-rp · 2 months ago

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Maya Le Tissier x Reader (PT2)

You’ve moved in and it’s the first game of the season tomorrow, but can you handle a simple movie?

(A/N: I loved writing part 1 - linked below - so I got excited and did part 2! Thank you for the likes on my first! I hope you like this one too)

Warnings: None

You’ve been living together for a week now. It’s been okay, but only because you haven’t had much time alone with Millie and Hayley being around. You didn’t mind though as it allowed you to act like a normal person. On a positive note, it had made settling in with the team a lot easier as you had the support and guidance of your three housemates.

You’d signed late into the window so you hadn’t had too long to adjust and improve on your first training session before the opening game at Old Trafford this weekend. That in itself was a daunting prospect. It was a televised game, in front of a huge crowd and you were likely to feature at some point, even if you weren’t starting. It was a challenge you now felt ready for though.

The evening before the big game, you had decided to watch a movie as a way to relax. Training was far more rigorous today, for obvious reasons, so chilling out was very necessary. Maya brings through the biggest bowl she could find filled with popcorn and leaves it on the coffee table in the middle. The only available space was next to you. Of course it was. Maya smiles happily at you as she lifts your feet up to sit underneath them. “Sorry!” She whispers. “You can put your feet up on me though, as you’ll need to rest your legs to star for us tomorrow” she nudges you with a cheeky smile. That smile… you swear it’ll kill you. You just laugh with a shake of your head.

As the movie wore on, you’d been trying so hard to focus on anything but Maya’s hand running absentmindedly up and down your leg. She’d started off with her arms folded, gently resting on top of you but at some point, one in which you can recall very well, she had decided to test your willpower. You didn’t want to move, but partly because you didn’t want it to stop and you were very unaware if she knew what she was doing. As much as you know you shouldn’t let yourself enjoy it, you couldn’t really help it.

You find yourself watching Maya’s hands move, rather than the movie. Your failure to laugh at a funny scene on the screen draws Maya’s attention to you. That, and your stiffness. “Is everything okay?” She whispers, to avoid drawing any attention from the others. You nod and give her a smile. “Just pre-game nerves. A little premature, that’s all” you inform her, trying to sound confident in your lie. She gives your leg a squeeze. “Anytime you need to talk, or you need a breather, you know where to find me. I know you’ll smash it tomorrow Y/N, but if it gets too much, come to me okay?” Maya smiles at you so genuinely that it hurts to be lying to her in a sense. You find her reaching for your hand. She thinks you need the comfort. You definitely want the comfort, from Maya at least. Who are you to reject it? The second your fingers are intertwined, you can almost feel the tension leave your body. Your captain’s hand fits perfectly with yours. This didn’t have to mean anything, it just your friend being nice to you. Right?

#wsl #maya le tissier #muwfc #woso x reader #woso community #woso imagine #woso #woso fanfics #woso soccer

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adhd-coyote · 4 months ago

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Hi hello! Good morning!

Could I interest you in my Seventeen/Fives agenda and #32? 💜

Good morning, you may indeed! I had a lot of fun writing this one ;3

32 - A kiss while someone watches

Fives can’t get his fucking head on straight.

Your head has never been on straight, Fives, the little voice that sounds like Echo’s teases. Fives mentally flips him the bird. He’s having a difficult fucking time right now, alright? His brain is swimming in whatever drugs they’ve put in him, his head is still pounding from fucking brain surgery, and all of Kamino is on high alert looking for him. This is the only time he’s regretted tattooing his number on his forehead. It’s easy to blend into a crowd of people who share your face until you have a marker to set you apart.

He sends a silent apology to the Shiny he’s shoved into a storage closet and slips out, clad in stolen armor. It’s lighter than what he’s used to, missing all of the extra weight that comes with his ARC kit, but it’ll help him blend in, and right now that’s the most important thing.

There’s chips in their heads. Godsdamned mind control chips in every single vod’s head. Gods, Fives feels like he’s gonna be sick.

Keep it together, Fives. You’re a fucking ARC Trooper, act like it.

Easier said — or thought — than done.

Fives forces himself to take slow, even breaths as he marches down the hall in perfect form. It’s difficult, with his foggy head and racing heart, but he manages. Squads of troopers run past him, unaware how close their prey is, and Fives prays to the little gods that they stay unaware.

“Everyone’s looking for you, verd’ika.”

Fives freezes. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. Alpha-17.

He should have kept walking. Gods, why did he freeze? He could have played it off, now he’s given himself away-

“The hell did you do to cause such a scurry, huh?”

“Please,” is the first word out of Fives’ mouth. “I’ve- I’ve found something, something important, they’re gonna reconn me, sir, please, you can’t-”

“Easy, verd’ika.” Alpha-17’s large hand cups the back of Fives’ neck. On instinct, the tension bleeds away from Fives’ limbs, leaving him pliant in 17’s hold. He looks up, terrified, and meets eyes that look softer than Fives has ever seen before. “C’mon, let’s get you outta here.”

17’s hand leaves his neck and Fives is left scampering after him as he stalks off. He feels like he’s back in ARC training, trailing behind 17, desperate to prove himself worthy of Rex’s recommendation. “Off-planet? You- You’re helping me?”

17 looks back at him, eyebrow raised. “Did you forget I trained you? You’re a smart one, verd’ika, even if you don’t look it. I knew something was up when they wouldn’t tell us why we were after you. But you’re a long talker, and we don’t have time for that, so I’m just gonna have to trust that you’ve got a good reason.”

“I do!” Fives assures, struggling to keep up with 17’s long strides. Normally, he wouldn’t have any issue, but the drugs have made his thoughts slow and his limbs heavy. Alpha-17 puts a hand to the small of his back and pushes him faster. Fives stumbles, but manages to keep up without falling. He realizes the way they’re positioned is deliberate- Fives is between 17 and the wall, and 17’s bulk hides most of him from view. Not to mention that Fives looks a lot less suspicious walking with him than by himself.

“Here.” 17 drags him into what Fives recognizes as a private hangar. He immediately clocks someone else — General Ti — and straightens, hoping beyond hope that she won’t recognize him, already knowing she does.

“Good, you’re here. I’ve prepared the ship for takeoff, you need to leave right now.”

“Wh- What?”

Alpha-17 rolls his eyes and nudges him forward. “She’s helping, too. Got one of those weird Force feelings or whatever.”

General Ti nods, offering a soft smile. “Yes. The Force wants you to escape. So you must leave, now. 17 and I will stall them.”

“Oh.” Fives swallows around the ball in his throat. “Thank you.”

Alpha-17 snorts. “No thanking, verd’ika.”

He takes Fives’ helmet and lifts it away. Fives doesn’t get a chance to wonder why he’s done that, because suddenly there’s a large hand cupping the back of his neck and lips pressed to his. He’s still trying to process that when 17 pulls away, smirking, and squeezes his neck. “Go on, get going. Don’t get yourself killed, and there might be more of that later, verd’ika.”

“Y-Yes sir,” Fives stammers out, reeling. He’s got so much emotional whiplash right now, and no idea how to handle it.

“Fives.” Oh shit, right, General Ti is still here. And saw that. Shit. “There is enough supplies to last you a week on the ship. Go, now, and hurry.”

“Right.” Fives nods quickly, and with one last look at Alpha-17, scrambles aboard the ship and prepares to take off.

Kiss ask game

#ask game #kiss ask game #kiss prompt #arc trooper fives #alpha 17 #fives/17 #star wars #the clone wars #tcw #clone troopers #cloneshipping #fanfiction #my writing

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fanofstuff01 · 6 months ago

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Adam fell to his bed with a thud, as if he got shot. His whole body hurt, he wanted to knock himself out so badly. Angel did mention his body was an absolute shitshow in his first day too, but he didn’t expect it to be this bad. He could feel his eyes whimpering.

His mind was nothing better. He couldn’t help but have it fuzzy alI day. It was a goddamn confusing situation. And shocking.

One night, you’re out to get wild with two sinners and two winners, and when you wake up, you’re seeing those pearly gates. Enough to turn someone’s world upside down. It wasn’t in a bad way obviously, just drained his energy.

He groaned and turned to face the ceiling, placing both his hands on his stomach. He hoped he could drift off to sleep easily, he needed it.

As time passed by, his tiredness was defeated by a stronger feeling. That one feeling he tried to keep buried deep inside all day so it wouldn’t mess his “big achievement”

Loneliness.

He didn’t knew how long he’d been staring at it, but suddenly the plain white upper-wall was hurtful to look at. He teared his gaze biting his lip, subconsciously hugging himself with his wings.

He was happy, right? Of course he was. Why wouldn’t he be? This was his biggest goal for years. -And this was Heaven for fuck’s sake! You could have everything!

Everything…

Well why are you feeling hollow then asshole? Don’t act like you don’t know the real reason.

“Shut the fuck up.” His voice echoed in the suddenly emtpy room. “It’s nothing and you know it. Winners can visit Hell, remember that? Angel and Pentious just came from there. And Sera never had problems with them talking to Lucifer! It’ll be fine! I can see him. It’s no big deal. I just… Have to wait a little. Yeah. Yep. It’s probably because I’m new here.” He sat down in his bed.

But no words were enough to shut that shitty voice off. Seriously, why was he worrying about this that much? It was Lucifer! He’d find a way even if he wasn’t allowed. Which… Was sometimes trouble-bringing but still cute.

Cheap excuses, still lying to yourself, Adam. Why didn’t he told you about this happening then? He would if he knew you two would be able to keep in touch.

He shook his head and went for the light switch. He didn’t want an answer to that. No need.

He wanted to shut his conscious off so bad that he almost missed the small letter on his nightstand. It was red with golden accents, clearly a hellmade one. He took it in his hands and began eyeing it with a small curiosity. Then it hit him.

Hellmade.

He gripped it, almost ripping it off as he desperately wanted to reach the letter inside. Dammit this would be much easier if he still had his claws!

When he finally got rid of that goddamn paper, he quickly began reading. Finally some real explanation.

He smiled briefly when he recognized the handwriting.

To my dear Adam,

As I write this, Angel’s standing at my side. He knows this is a love letter but he’s still sneaking peeks. Honestly, I’m still wondering what Husk sees in him.

That said, he did gave me his word that he’d deliver this letter to you. He says he owes me, for the time I took care of that mothman for him.

You must be really, really confused right now. I’m sorry that I didn’t told you about this happening, I was afraid you’d hate me because I knew it for weeks now. Please forgive me. It was just… Hard to let go of the best thing in my life. But I’m not regretting it.

I can’t write much, heck it would cost me lots of pages if I tried to, but I want you to know I’m so glad you made it, little lamb. I bet you look awesome as an angel.

Love you,

Lucifer.

————

Yeaaaahhhh something from the middle of my recent work. Just gonna drop it here since it’s nowhere near done.

Is this good? I hope so.

#hazbin hotel #adamsapple #guitarduck #adam x lucifer #Sorry because it’s not long

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sociopathicartist · 4 months ago

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heyy!! I was wondering if you could do a fluff (romantic) oneshot in which Sans (UT) has a gothic gf who is actually really sweet, kind and caring towards others despite the way she expresses herself. I'm just really curious as to how that dynamic will play out in their dating life ^_^

LUV LUV LUV UR WRITING BTW

hey! thank you for requesting, i’m gothic in style so i loved getting requested this! i scrambled through a lot of ideas, but thought doing this in a letter format would be the best for showing the full dynamic that sans loves instead of cramming tons of info into a single scenario one shot. hope you enjoy it!

baby,

i’m not too sure why i’m writing to you this time. i guess all the smiles and loving comments you give me whenever i write to you have finally got ‘under my skin’, and i’m writing you another letter right now, probably to be slipped into one of your bags or under your pillow for you to find.

i know a lot of people give you weird looks for the way you dress. i know the barrage of compliments you get when we go anywhere out in public annoys you, but i also know that you accept every compliment anyway despite wanting to be left alone because you don’t want to be mean, and you don’t want to fall under the stereotype that people place on you by just giving a small smile instead of a loud, outgoing thank you.

you’ve never said that to me directly, but i’ve been with you long enough to know how you feel.

i never really understood why people thought you were scary or mean for the way you look, figures they’d think the walking skeleton was scarier, or the seven-foot robot they watch on tv who has a chainsaw that can come out of him at will.

i never thought you looked scary, and i never had the fear that you were going to insult me whenever i asked you for directions down the street where we first met. why would i look at you differently for the way you look whenever everyone looks so different all the time? isn’t it a normal thing to be different?

even though you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen (even if you turned into a worm, which yes, i’d still love you), it wouldn’t matter to me if you woke up tomorrow and decided to change your entire look. your looks aren’t what matters to me, even though i do like the cool eyeliner you wear or the t-shirts you have with bones on them.

i’ve never been loved by someone like the way i am by you.

i can’t get your alluring voice out of my head, and every time i roll over in bed to see the silly letters and doodles you’ve given me that i have pinned to my wall, i can’t help but be reminded of how much i love you. (even though i never forget, baby.)

it makes me so happy to see how much you hang out with papyrus, and how genuinely you treat him. i love seeing you chill out with our friends, and how happy and relaxed you look. i love how you’ve never made me feel dumb for not knowing certain human traditions or cultures, and how you just explain them to me and give me easy reminders when i forget something important.

even when your black lipstick leaves kiss stains on my skull that are hard to rub out, and when you steal my jacket to wear whenever you’re upset or missing me, i’ll never take away from how amazing you are.

maybe i’m gushing a bit too much. it’s a lot easier to write this all out rather than say it directly to your pretty face.

i just want you to know that i’ll never look at you differently for how you dress and that i’ll never be embarrassed and ask you to tone down your makeup or outfit for when we go out. i can’t wait to hang out tomorrow and wrap you in a tight hug, listening to your pretty voice as you tell me about how your day was.

i think i’m going to save the other mushy stuff for a later time. i just wanted you to be able to read this when someone gives you a weird comment or makes a snarky joke. maybe it’ll help you remember that some short skeleton out there thinks you’re the coolest (and hottest) creature to walk on this earth.

i love you, and i’ll be thinking of you always.

- sans.

#undertale #undertale au #undertale alternate universe #sans #sans undertale #sans x reader #classic sans #sans x you #sap #sans headcanons

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fanfictionstuff · 2 months ago

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Amaimon x reader soulmate AU - part one

I don't know how to format this on tumblr. I just wanted to write a short Amaimon soulmate AU. Obviously, I got a little carried about because it'll be at least two, maybe three chapters.

“Big brother, what’s this?” Amaimon questions, holding up his left hand. Upon his arrival in Assiah, an odd red string has materialized on his little finger, and it doesn’t have a physical presence. Each time Amaimon attempts to touch it, his hand passes through. It hangs around sixteen centimeters from his finger before vanishing in thin air, leaving the demon confused.

Mephisto raises a brow. “I don’t see anything. What is it?”

“You don’t see the red string?”

The King of Time swiftly turns away from the younger demon, suppressing a smile. "A red string? I'm afraid I don't see it. Perhaps it's just an illness until your body adjusts to life in Assiah?" He lies through his teeth. I can’t wait to see how this plays out.

The following day, Amaimon slams a book down on Mephisto's desk. "This book claims that a red string of fate connects soulmates. But mine is severed. Does this mean she's dead?" He asks, gazing at the frayed string in his hand. However, he doesn't seem too concerned about the possibility of her death. Mephisto shrugs nonchalantly, "I can't say for sure. I don't have a string myself, and it's becoming increasingly rare for people in the human world to have one. It's possible that your soulmate could have died hundreds or even thousands of years ago.

“Oh. Okay.”

And with that, Amaimon ignores the odd string on his finger. Instead, his attention turns to exploring Japan.

------

“Rin, you think the spirit of a little boy is evil?” You give Rin a look of disapproval as he attempts to keep Shiemi and you safe. “____, is right, Rin.” You nod. “I’m always right when it involves him.”

Rin stammers through his response, explaining that he wants to keep both of you safe and advising you to listen to him. "Hey! Are either of you even listening to me?" Rin's expression turns stern as he notices you and Shiemi engrossed in your phone. "He's been like this since we were kids; I've learned just to ignore him." You remark to Shiemi, not bothering to look up at Rin. Watching a video compilation of the ghost's appearances gives you some clues about its possible location in the amusement park. Shiemi timidly suggests, "Perhaps it would be easier if we split up? We can each take a different area to search for him." She looks between you and Rin nervously, hoping it’s a good idea the two of you will approve of.

You nod. “Great idea, Shiemi. It’ll save us a lot of time; which area do you want to go to?”

You watch her as she makes her way to the funhouse. “Shiemi has never been to an amusement park before. Do you think she’ll be okay in the funhouse?” You grin at Rin. “Remember the first time you went in one? You busted your nose after running into the glass in the maze.” The memory of five-year-old Rin with a bloody nose flashes through your mind; he was so angry. “I hope she doesn’t rush into a mirror or something while chasing him.”

“Do you think we should warn her?” A panicked look crosses Rin’s face. He remembers how much it hurt and doesn’t want Shiemi to have to go through something similar. “Nah, if she does, it’ll be a funny story for her to share.”

“But-“

“No buts- just go look by the rollercoaster. I’ll check out the game stalls.” You nudge him in the direction of the rollercoaster before turning to leave.

The first stall that catches your eye has a goldfish scooping game inside. You can't help but frown at the sight of the fish, some floating lifelessly at the top. How long have they been stuck in the park without being cared for? When was the last time someone fed them?Although you should be searching for the ghost, you feel compelled to clean up the little pool. Maybe it will attract the spirit's attention? Fortunately, there is a freshwater hose nearby. You can drain and refill the small pool holding the fish. You spot a large white bucket that could hold all of the fish while you clean up their pool. It couldn't make things any worse, right? Lost in thought about the neglected fish, you begin cleaning when your main focus should be finding the missing boy. There’s enough of you guys in the park. Taking a moment to care for the fish shouldn't be a big deal.

As the pool starts to fill, the lights suddenly flicker on, and the rollercoaster roars to life. Who turned on the electricity? Wait Rin, he’s at the rollercoaster, right? Your thoughts are confirmed when you see a burst of blue flames. What is Rin doing? It’s a tiny ghost child. There’s no way a ghost has caused this much trouble. So, what is Rin attacking?

What do I do? On the one hand, Rin is your best friend. On the other hand, you’ll be completely useless and might even get in the way. Yukio surely has noticed and is probably on his way there. It’s probably best for me to stay out of the way.

You frown. “What happened?!” Rin is on his knees, looking distressed and battered. “Rin, we’re only supposed to find the ghost! What were you doing? Was there a fight? What happened?” You motion to his beaten body. “And your tail, why is it visible? You need to hide it.”

——-

“Big Brother.” Mephisto frowns at the young demon crawling through his window. “Amaimon, use the door.”

Amaimon ignores the comment. Instead, he lifts his left hand, his eyes following the new length of his string. “It’s longer.” His gaze follows it out the window, though it does seem to disappear at some point. Farther away, much farther. “Oh? Maybe your soulmate has just been born.” Mephisto rubs his chin in thought. He can’t truly say what it means. It’s rare enough for humans to have soulmates. He’s never come across a demon who has a red string. “In that case, you’ll have to wait at least eighteen years.” He shrugs nonchalantly.

Amaimon squats down, biting on his right thumbnail while lifting his left little finger to his eyes. “I want to find her.”

“I don’t think that’s a wise decision.” He tells Amaimon with a tired glance. Just this morning, Amaimon didn’t care about the idea of his soulmate possibly being deceased. Is it because the red string is now most likely connecting them that Amaimon suddenly feels more attached to her?

Mephisto’s words fall on deaf ears as Amaimon disappears just as quickly as he appeared.

As you listen to Rin’s story, you settle comfortably on his bed. “A demon king?” You raise a brow. “And your sword was taken by Yamada, who isn’t really a student; they’re that woman with red and yellow hair, whose real name is Shura?”

“Yes.”

“Aw, I should’ve gone to see for myself. I stayed back because I didn’t want to get in the way, but now I’m really curious. Tell me, what did he look like? He’s a king, you said Demon King of Earth? Was he like some kind of massive stone demon?" You imagine a gross-looking demon that might fit. “What? No. He looked more human than that. I don’t know- I wasn’t exactly focused on his appearance. He definitely looked strange; he had green hair and was dressed really weirdly.” Rin leans back in his chair and gazes up at the ceiling. “Why do you care what he looks like anyway?”

You shrug. “Just curious. You said he’s a demon king. So, I couldn’t help but wonder what a demon king looks like. Anyway, from what you said, it’s amazing you’re still alive. Pretty sure the rest of us wouldn’t have survived that.” You quickly bite your tongue, not wanting to inflate his ego too much with compliments. If you do, he’ll probably be insufferably proud for the next week.

———-

You let out a heavy sigh and run your hand down your face. Today has been exhausting. Wait. Suddenly, you sit up straight in the bed, noticing something different about your left hand. “IT’S LONG! RIN IT’S LONG!” Excitement rushes through you as you jump off the bed and shove your little finger in Rin’s face, forgetting for a moment that he can’t see it. “What is- wait, are you talking about your string?” You nod, excitedly. The string had been there your whole life, though cut off and only around fifteen centimeters long. Why has it been extended now? “Yes! It’s long, but I don’t know how long.” You nudge him gently to the side so you can see it leading out the window, “It’s really long. Oh my god, what do I do?”

Rin follows your gaze, even though he can’t see the string. “Does that mean you have a soulmate?” Your excitement starts to twist with nervousness. “I guess? But who could it be? And why did it show up now.” A curious look crosses Rin’s face. “Huh, maybe they were just born?”

“No! Don’t say that. I’m eighteen.” You slap his shoulder. “Anyway, should I try to follow it? I kind of want to try to follow it.” You grin brightly.

“Follow it?”

“Yes? What else am I supposed to do? Just stare at the now extended string?”

“So, it just suddenly became longer, in this moment?” Rin questions.

“Actually, I don’t know.”

“What? How do you not notice a long red string as soon as it appears?!”

You shove Rin back. “I don’t know, I never pay attention to it, and it’s really thin so I didn’t notice it on the ground. It’s like a string of thread.” Even now you wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t really focused on it. “Would it be weird if I start to follow it now?”

“The sun is about to set _____, demon activity will be higher.” Rin reminds.

“You gonna go with me to protect me?” You joke. However, Rin misses the joke, and his ego inflates. “Yes.” He puffs out his chest. “I’ll even protect you from your soulmate if needed.”

“Never mind, I’ll look by myself.”

“____!”

As you step out into the dimming light of the evening, you follow the red string with growing anticipation. Rin stays close behind, a mix of protectiveness and curiosity evident in his demeanor. The string leads you through the streets, twisting and turning in unexpected directions that make you wonder where it might ultimately lead.

After what feels like hours of following the string, you find yourself standing in front of a streetlight. Your eyes widen as you glance up, then quickly snap back to Rin. “Hey Rin, could you grab something in that shop? I’m kind of hungry.”

“You can’t go yourself?”

“You know what I like here, get something for yourself too.” You shove some money in his hands when you’re sure he’s in the shop; you lift your hand, eyes slowly following the string on your finger to the finger of the figure sitting on top of the streetlight. Your soulmate. “Is it safe to assume you’re the demon that fought Rin today?” Even with Rin’s poor description. This demon above you fits what he said. With his choice in style, it’s hard to focus on one part: his long burgundy jacket, odd forest green arm warmers, and shorts with tights? His red striped shirt with a beige vest and tie matched his shirt. It’s a lot to take in. “Yes, I went to play with him, but he was no fun.” His tone is childish and blunt. “So, you’re my soulmate, right?” He questions, waving his hand in the air. The light reflects in his golden eyes, making them almost seem to glow. “You smell odd.” The demon jumps from the light, landing just centimeters from you, nearly nose to nose. Odd? You take a step back, embarrassment washing over you. This demon, your soulmate, thinks you smell odd. “I like it.” At his words, calmness washes away the embarrassment. “What’s your name?” As he speaks, he reaches for your left hand, observing the string that connects you.

#amaimon #amaimon x reader #ao no exorcist #blue exorcist #blue exorcist fanfiction #blue exorcist x reader #amaimon x oc #rin okumura #mephisto pheles #yukio okumura #soulmates #amaimon ao no exorcist #amaimon blue exorcist #ao no exorcist x reader #soulmate au

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mychoombatheroomba · 5 months ago

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I'll Be Missing You

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 44

Leon writes his letter to Sherry and you both continue to heal in different ways.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

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Chapter Index

He finished the letter just before lights out. You helped, even if you insisted that it hadn’t been much.

It helps to have someone listen to it, Leon had insisted, reading you the words he’d written and rewritten until at last he was satisfied. You’d done your best to point out what you thought Reed and Hellman would want more vague explanations about, suggesting how to phrase some things. Otherwise, your supportive expression and quiet nods were enough.

The letter, though . . . that would never be enough. It would never convey all that Leon wished to say, or all of his regrets. It would never right the wrongs that began that night in Raccoon City.

It was a start, though.

Sherry,

I will never be able to apologize enough for not writing back to you sooner. I’m sorry, I promise if I could have, I would have.

I am okay. I can’t tell you everything, but just know that I’m okay, and I’m so glad to hear that you are too! I’m so glad that you’re feeling better! Told you that you would! You’re a regular Supergirl! I know it’s frustrating, not being able to go back to school. Just keep studying. It’ll be easier when they let you go back that way! I know I probably sound like a boring old fart, but it’s true!

And hey, tell you what? I don’t want you missing out on all the fun. Go ahead and watch Star Wars without me! You can write back to me and tell me all about what you thought, if you want! In fact, that’s my mission for you! Watch as many movies as you can! Read as many books, and just have as much fun as you can! I want to hear all about it!

I wish I could tell you what I’ve been doing these past few months or tell you about the people I’ve met. I wish I could have written to you sooner. I wish a lot of things. Just know that I’m going to be trying to keep people safe, just like Claire did for you. And know that I didn’t forget you. Never could. I don’t know when I’ll be able to visit you. Someday soon, I hope. Until then, please keep writing to me. I’ll write you back every time, I promise!

Don’t get into too much trouble, okay?

But even if you do, I know you’re smart enough to get out of it. Just stay safe, okay? Talk to you more soon, hopefully!

I miss you too.

- Leon

It wasn’t perfect, but you nodded your approval as he finished reading it aloud all the same. “I think that’s good.”

“Not too much?” Leon asked, eyes betraying his worry.

“I’m not exactly an expert on writing letters.”

Leon could sympathize. “Neither am I. Obviously.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d written home because . . . well, there was really no home to write to. He’d wondered if that was the same for you, but there had been enough painful memories resurrected that day. He wouldn’t ask. Maybe you’d tell him eventually, but the two of you had given the fallen their due deference. It was their day, after all, but now, Leon wanted to think of the living.

He wanted to think of just how lucky the two of you were to have survived all that you did, because he’d come so close to never knowing you at all. He’d nearly lived in a world without you - something that in just a few months had become unthinkable to him.

The thought of leaving you in a few weeks was painful enough in his heart. When this had all begun, he’d never entertained the possibility that he’d finish his training before you. You’d been here longer. Trained harder. You were the best and then . . . well, you both knew how easily disaster could befall you and change everything, didn’t you? He didn’t want to leave you behind. Not now. Not after all that the two of you had shared, and all that he wanted to share with you still. But he couldn’t heal the broken bones in your side any faster. All he could do was try and remind you that he was out there. That he would think of you every day.

“I can write to you,” he offered. “When I . . .” he didn’t even want to say it, just as you didn’t want to think about it. Leon saw your expression fall, something in your eyes going a little distant. You were worried. He could see it. He would be worried too, he supposed. But maybe if he wrote to you . . .

You didn’t say anything, at first, just listening to the ever-playing radio.

“I mean, if you want-”

You didn’t give Leon’s doubt time to grow, and he was grateful for that. “I do.” Your answer was simple and straightforward, as it always was.

And as always, it made Leon smile. “I will, then.”

“You’d better.” There was something in your voice. Strained. Brittle. Ready to break. Your voice had sounded like that throughout your entire tale of what happened that night in Finland. Then, as now, you hadn’t been able to look Leon in the eye as you spoke.

So, he reached for your hand, his brow furrowing as the skin to skin contact made your nostrils flare and your lips purse. Like you were resetting the mask you wore. If that was what you needed right now, even if it hurt to see, Leon understood. That still didn’t stop him from holding your hand, even if for just a few moments of silence.

Moments that ended when you spoke, your voice soft. “And you’d better be careful, too,” you finally said, and the desperation of your words . . . it gave Leon pause because he’d never heard you like that before.

He knew exactly why you were making that demand of him now, too. He knew it was because the memories of those you’d lost weighed on you still, because you cared for him.

Because you didn’t want his to be a story you told and mourned in a year.

“I will be,” he agreed, but when you finally turned to him, he knew that his words weren’t enough.

“You have to be-”

Your name slipped from his lips, and he leaned in, his free hand finding your cheek. Making you look into his eyes fully so you would know the sincerity of his promise. “I will be.” Because he wouldn’t leave you alone. He would come back to you, he could feel it in his bones. Whatever other fears he held, he couldn’t let you be another unwalked path, another what if in his life. Another joy taken from him. You wouldn’t lose each other, he would make sure of it.

You would be different.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy,” he told you, and he could see you fight tooth and nail for even the tiniest of smiles to form. And when he still saw doubt in your eyes, he leaned in further. You always were someone who preferred action to words, anyway.

The kiss didn’t last as long as he’d like, but it, like his letter, was a start. A promise.

You searched his eyes when you separated, and Leon felt such a beautiful pain in looking at you, because he knew now what you’d been through. He knew what you’d lost, he knew what you feared to lose. And he knew exactly why you asked your next question.

“How can you believe that so easily?”

Honestly, Leon didn’t know. He had expected only death and pain in his future when he’d been forced to join STRATCOM. He went to sleep every night fearing that he’d relive Raccoon City, and now he was a few weeks away from facing it down in his waking hours too. He had prepared himself for that. What he hadn’t prepared for was you. Your presence and the friendships he’d forged despite the odds . . . if he could find something good in this hell, then maybe not everything was lost. “Not saying it’s easy to believe,” he grinned, “but I do anyway.”

You scoffed a laugh at that, shaking your head but not moving away. “I hope you’re right, then.”

“So do I.” He had to be.

Because the world owed you both that much. It owed you the chance to heal, even if only a little. It may not give you much of one, but . . . well, if it was a lifetime of dressing each other’s wounds, of putting each other back together . . . then maybe he could find it in him to face what was to come.

Maybe he could have hope again.

⧫⧫⧫

“You’re looking better.”

You tried not to frown at the words, because, encouraging as they were, “better” wasn’t healed. It didn’t mean you were back in fighting shape. You still had several weeks before that was the case. Still, after the weeks of rest you’d already endured, it at least was starting to hurt less to breathe. That was something. Seeing the x-rays of your slowly healing ribs was something of a comfort too. To you, to Doc, and to Krauser, who stood with his arms crossed, leaning against a wall on the far side of the room.

“Should be on track if you keep the rest up like you have been,” Doc told you, though you knew the report was for the Major as well.

Krauser had been . . . well, he’d been quiet these last few weeks. Since Memorial Day, really. You’d seen him mostly at night when the two of you set up for the next morning’s lessons, but even then, there hadn’t been many words exchanged between the two of you. A few months ago, that wouldn’t have bothered you. Now, though . . . well, things were changing, weren’t they?

“I’d still give it a while,” the Doc went on, “but you should be okay to move a bit more in two weeks, give or take.” Two weeks and then you could start training again fully. That meant four before Leon’s graduation . . .

“Good,” Krauser cut in, his voice curt as it had been the few times he’d really spoken to you these last few days. “Then I want you with the new recruits in melee drills. No fighting, but you’re going to be giving notes. Watching their technique.”

Your brows furrowed as you looked towards the Major, and you were hit with a feeling of deja vu. And a feeling of confusion, because when Krauser had pulled you in to spar with Leon’s old squad, he’d done it to get you more practice. Watching people fight wasn’t useless in developing skills, you knew, but so much of the extra help you’d given Leon had been because you could physically cross blades with him - him and the rest. If you couldn’t actually fight, though . . . “Not sure how much help I’ll be to you if I can’t demonstrate.”

“Not me you’re going to be helping,” Krauser corrected, somehow sounding more displeased than he already had been recently. “Reed and the other instructors are taking over their combat drills for the time being.”

And just like that, you were pissed off too.

“What?” Your voice took on a tone of incredulity, your focus completely turning away from the Doc because the sheer notion of Krauser not being the main instructor-

The Major’s frown didn’t lessen, but he shook his head and clarified all the same. “Just for the new blood. Hellman and I have things to set up, so we needed to reallocate responsibilities.” He pursed his lips together, then his chest rose as he took a breath. “I need someone watching to make sure he’s not teaching them bullshit.”

Because he didn’t trust Reed.

You couldn’t blame Krauser for that. You sure as hell didn’t trust the agent either. You wouldn’t even agree to help that bastard in any way if it weren’t Krauser asking - if you didn’t know that he had his reasons. As it was, however quiet the Major had been with you these last few days, this set your mind at ease because if he didn’t trust Reed, this request proved that he did trust you. So, there was only one answer you could give. “I’ll do what I can.”

Krauser nodded, his expression that had been so stormy as of late calming just a touch. A moment, that’s all it was, and then the Major pushed off from the wall, his expression resetting once more. “Good,” he said simply, and was about to show himself out when the door opened in front of him.

Someone you didn’t know stepped in - a man about your age, his face drawn in an expression of pain and one hand wrapped around his wrist. One of the more recent recruits, you realized. His eyes widened though, as soon as he caught sight of Krauser standing in front of him. “Major! Sir! Sorry. I was told to have the Doc look at-”

“Then what are you wasting time talking to me for?” Krauser deadpanned before stepping aside, making way for the young soldier to scurry past.

He’d taken a bad fall from the obstacle course, he explained. It didn’t take long for the Doc to have a rudimentary diagnosis. “Probably a sprain,” he informed the soldier, then looked your way, finding you ready and waiting. “You know what to do?”

“Ice it and wrap it,” you answered, already moving towards the door.

Once there, Krauser stopped you with a raise of his pale brow. “Been playing medic, too?” He said it like he almost couldn’t believe it of you. A few months ago, you wouldn’t have, either.

“You told me to make myself useful,” you shrugged, glad that you could pull off that small movement without being in agony, now.

By the smile Krauser gave you, you could tell that he was glad too. “Well then get to it.”

You surprised yourself by giving him a smile back. “Yes, sir.”

He was gone by the time you returned, allowing you and the Doc to wrap the recruit’s wrist in peace. Your work was observed and approved of with a nod . . . and a surprise when evening fell.

You’d never thought that half of a homemade sandwich would look so good.

The Doc looked more than a little amused as he handed it to you, no doubt because of the surprise on your face. “Fair payment for fair work,” he told you. “But not a word of this to anyone. Can’t have people thinking I’m running a deli out of the med bay.”

You nodded, taking the first homemade meal you’d had in . . . well, maybe in years, with an eagerness you hadn’t expected. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Doc.”

You already had your fair share of secrets to keep, after all. What was one more?

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Chapter Index

A/N: Sorry for the delay! Took a little break from tumblr, but I'll be updating regularly again! Also, we're almost caught up to ao3 now! Anyone reading and enjoying this deserves a medal for putting up with how long this shit is XD But seriously, I so so appreciate anyone reading this story, I have loved writing it, I hope you all have loved reading it!

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #jack krauser #resident evil x reader #resident evil 2 #resident evil 4 #resident evil #between the bones #gender neutral reader #leon kennedy x you #no y/n

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thestruidora · 1 year ago

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Sweetheart

Supernatural Fanfiction

Rating: Explicit

WARNINGS: This story will contain but it’ll not be limited to explicit 18+ content including Yandere, Borderline Personality Disorder, Stalker, Possessive Behavior, Romance, Angst, Fluff and Smut, Rape/Non-con Elements, Hurt/Comfort, Therapy, Miscommunication, Plot With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Obsessive Behavior, Smut, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Oral Sex, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink

Category: F/M

Pairings: Dean Winchester/You, Dean Winchester/Reader

Summary: Dean has borderline personality disorder and the reader is his favorite person.

Chapter Updates: Masterlist

Author's notes: I don't even what to write in here at this point. All I can say is that I really hope you guys enjoy because it took me fucking forever to write.

Chapter Four

The Tower

“The Tower is about sudden, shocking change. Change that can knock you off your feet and alter your future as you thought you knew it.”

“Alright, everyone, good work today. See you ladies tomorrow!” George, the construction site’s foreman, yelled out to the workers the second the clock struck 5 p.m.

“Fucking finally.” Dean murmured to himself, putting down the sledgehammer he was holding and taking off his safety gloves, hands free at last to wipe the sweat off his forehead.

“That eager to come home to the wife, huh?” Sid asked him with a knowing smirk, and Dean smiled in return, amused at just how far off his colleague was.

“Oh, you don’t know how much.” He said it with ease, taking off his goggles and patting away the fine dust from his hair.

“I would be too if I had a great gal like Lisa to come home to.” Sid winked at Dean, hands busy with removing his own safety gear.

“Yeah, she’s… She’s great.” The Winchester nodded and looked to the side, the fake smile dying on his lips. “Anyways, I’mma head out. Talk to you tomorrow, Sid.” He bids his farewell, feet moving towards the parking lot, not wanting to prolong the conversation.

“See ya.” Sid waves him off, even though Dean's back was already to him.

Once he's inside his monstrosity of a car — the respectful family minivan —, he lets out a long, deep-rooted sigh.

Out of the windshield, he can see the beginning of sunset, the light blue sky seamlessly turning to a burning orange. If you ask him, the end of his shift couldn't have come fast enough. The days have been longer than usual, each one stretching itself out more than the one before. The hours drag by, and it sure doesn't help that he's been counting them.

But he can't help it, he hasn't seen you in a long time. Too long. Almost two weeks. Twelve excruciating days.

He'll have his session with you in a couple of days, and you'll finally be face-to-face with him again. ‘Cause it's not like he hasn't seen you from afar this whole time, that'd be crazy. He has to keep an eye on you, right? To protect you.

That's what he's been doing. Protecting you. Ever since the very first time he set foot in your office and you told him that the two of you could no longer be friends, he dedicated himself to reverting the situation, but to no avail since you could be so stubborn.

His line of communication with you became thinner and thinner and it felt like the more he tried to reach for you, the more he risked breaking it altogether.

He no longer saw you at the dog park, since your friend with terrible timing had decided to come back from her vacation and get Loki back from you.

You had never officially given your personal phone number to him, even though he has had it for a while now. It couldn't have been easier to obtain, he just saved the contact after seeing your open phone bill atop the table in your living room on one of the many occasions in which he had let himself into your apartment.

So he couldn't just call you out of nowhere, it would be weird and it would raise questions.

He couldn't do it.

It didn't matter that you had canceled his last appointment and that had set him off into a panic attack, which he had never had before.

It didn't matter that he couldn't stop thinking that you had grown tired of him and his stupid problems and his endless daddy issues.

That he literally could not breathe at the thought of how worthless and pathetic you must think he is.

Even though your receptionist had assured him that she made a mistake and overbooked you that week, he couldn't believe that.

You were sick of him, that's what it was.

It had to be.

And even as he sits in the driver's seat of his revolting minivan, knowing full well that he's only a couple of days away from being with you in person, he can't help but want to be near you right now. Just so he can fix it. Whatever it was about him that made you loathe him and despise him, he can change.

He has to see you at that very instant.

It's all he can think about as he turns on the vehicle's engine and drives exactly at the speed limit from the construction site all the way to your house, parking on the other side of the street as he always does.

The big glass windows of your apartment allow for ample observation of whatever occurs inside, giving Dean a privileged view of your form as you turn on the lights on your way from your living room to the kitchen. Your silhouette is bathed in the warm glow of the lamps that shine through its surroundings and light up the space now that the sun has set and night has fallen.

He can see your fingers moving nimbly as you wash whatever dishes you find in the sink, bringing your damp hand to your forehead and then moving to rub at your nape with a sigh when you’re finished.

He can tell you still have your work clothes on as you must have just come home. And it’s not difficult to imagine how tired you are from the frown creasing in the middle of your eyebrows. He can visualize it so clearly now, his own fingers moving delicately across your skin to smooth that frown away.

He has watched you from this exact vantage point for months and it still feels like the first time with the way his heart aches with the need to be closer. The way his hand closes in a fist as though to contain the desire to reach out and touch you in some way.

But alas, he can’t. Because you would turn him away. You would be scared of him. He knows you would, so he just leans back in the car seat, attempting to control the flurrying in his chest, and watches.

You untie your hair from the ponytail you had it in as you move back to the living room and it falls around your face, caressing your neck. Something catches your attention and you walk to your discarded purse on top of the coffee table, retrieving your phone from it. Whatever it is that flashes through the screen causes a smile to appear on your lips before you raise the device to your ear and start to talk.

Dean fidgets in his seat with the uncomfortable feeling of not knowing who is on the other end of the line, but he tries not to let his mind wander to dangerous places. Your sister, perhaps?

You use your shoulder to secure your phone to your ear as you bring your hands down to your shirt and begin to unbutton it. He sucks in a breath at the sight, unsure of what to do with himself as your fingers work their way down till the top is completely unbuttoned, your bare skin peeking through as well as the fabric of your bra.

He notices your mouth moving to form words he can't decipher while you pull your shirt completely off, throwing it on the spacious couch in the middle of your living room before your legs take you back to the kitchen, where you open the fridge to get a glass of water for yourself.

The refrigerator light illuminates the contours of your exposed stomach and collarbone, the supple flesh of your cleavage lightly bouncing up and down with the way your bust is confined tightly by your bra cups.

Dean thinks he might be on the verge of an aneurysm as he witnesses you drink from the once full glass till the water is entirely gone, a couple of drops escaping from your lips in your haste to quench your thirst, running down your jaw to your neck and disappearing in the space between your breasts.

Suddenly his own mouth is dry and he feels as if he's been lost in a desert for ages, those sinful droplets of water that are lucky enough to travel through the valleys of your body being the only source of hydration that can placate his craving.

Once you're satisfied, you leave the empty glass on the sink and go to the living room yet again, this time stopping by the wall adjacent to your flat-screen TV and bending down to freshen up the bowl of kibble for your cat, taking your time to shake the dish side to side till the shorthaired black Bombay saunters into the common area with a regal air about itself, tail swinging lazily and big golden eyes staring affectionately at you as it meows over and over.

You put down the food bowl on its original place on the floor and stretch your arms out to pet the head of the animal, a loving expression taking over your face, more words pouring out from you to meet the phone's receiver, whatever is being said by the other person causing you to laugh unreservedly, the content of the exchange still an unfortunate mystery to Dean.

The cat advances on its dinner and you observe it for a second, before getting up from your crouched down position and moving to stand directly in front of the perfectly transparent glass window from where he can see you.

Instead of making an attempt to hide, Dean props himself forward in your direction, the darkness of nightfall in your poorly lit neighborhood keeping him undetected by your eyes that scan the landscape through the window, seemingly not finding interest in anything in particular.

He gulps incredulously at what follows; you, phone once again glued to your ear with the help of your shoulder, taking your hands south to your pants, unzipping and unbuttoning it, tugging down the waist of the garment until the top of your panties is showing.

He's now a thousand percent sure that he's in absolute perfect health, because if that weren't the case, his heart would've given out by now. He can hear the organ rapidly beating in his ears, blood pumping fiercely, bringing heat to his face as a mixture of shame and excitement overtakes his mind.

He shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be there. A better man would've turned on his car and driven away, and an even greater man wouldn't have come here at all. But Dean proves to be neither of those while he sits there and observes you languidly remove your pants and sigh contently once you've stripped yourself down to your underwear.

You stretch your neck to the left and then to the right, your torso accompanying the movement. Whoever is on the other line appears to say something that you appreciate thoroughly, with the way a wishful smile dances in the corners of your lips, and uneasiness builds inside of Dean at the sight.

He has never been a particularly jealous guy, not with his material possessions — except for Baby —, nor with his romantic partners which, to be fair, had been few in between. Countless one-night stands, sure. But only one or two real ‘girlfriends’ were all the relationships he had to draw reference from. Very short-lived relationships, not to mention.

Of course, there was Lisa, but he never really dated Lisa. They skipped that part and went straight into living together and a marriage proposal, with a kid and a dog in tow. And through it all, he had never experienced the burning feeling of insecurity that he’s feeling right about now.

Who are you talking to at the end of your day? Are these regular calls or just a singular, uncustomary thing? Is the caller an important person to you? Do they play a crucial role in your life? Do they fill a space that Dean could not?

That’s an ominous notion that he’s not sure he can bear. An ugly and twisted, unexpected emotion that Dean hadn’t been previously introduced to takes hold of him as those thoughts ruminate in his mind.

You walk away from the window and make your way towards the couch. A deep exhale leaving you as you sink down onto the soft cushions, a sense of comfort and relaxation appearing to wash over you.

While engrossed in your conversation, the pads of your fingers patter down the expanse of your neck, where they land just below your collar, ending up playing with the strap of your bra.

You tug and readjust the thin piece of material, your eyes unfocused as they stare at the far wall in front of you, blinking slowly while your mouth takes its sweet time to form the words as they come out, the way your lips shape around the unintelligible sounds rendering Dean utterly hypnotized.

There’s something wicked about this.

The fact that he can see you so clearly from the outside of your home, the place where you feel safe, the space where you can allow yourself to be your utmost true, surrounded only by the privacy of your walls.

The reality that he has pierced that barrier and infiltrated a moment that would otherwise be shared with nobody but you.

The position that you are in, so exposed without even knowing, so much of your smooth skin, bare only for his eyes in the quiet of the night.

The way a pleasant tingle spreads between his legs, blood rushing south, filling his cock inside his pants.

There’s something sinister about it, but Dean can’t will himself to care. Quite the opposite, he almost likes it.

His pupils dilate when you switch the phone to your other ear so that your right hand is free and you stretch it behind your back, your arm contorted in a tugging and twisting gesture till finally something snaps open, literally.

The hook of your bra comes undone and you pull the right strap, the same one you were playing with only mere moments ago, off your shoulder and then repeat the process on the other side.

There’s a second of anticipation, a breath that Dean holds in while he leans forward in the car seat as much as humanly possible so that he won’t miss what’s unfolding before him, and then you remove the cups that laid atop your breasts, uncovering the pert nipples that grow into peaks when subjected to the chill air of the evening.

“Holy shit.” His tongue instinctively pokes out to wet his parched lips, since he seems to have forgotten how to breathe through his nose, taking big gulps of air, mouth agape.

You throw the item of clothing aside unceremoniously, not caring where it lands, a noise so full of content escaping you that it reaches him all the way across the street. You rub at the indents the underwire left where it had been held tightly, your hand massaging the skin around your tits, cupping them from the side, and then letting go, the mounds jiggling freely in the most enticing of motions.

He didn’t think he would get to see you like this one day. Maybe never. He wished for it, longed for it, but he couldn't honestlyenvision it happening. He didn’t think he deserved it. He has daydreamed about it, sure, but not once in this scenario, not with him so far away where he can’t touch you, where he can only look.

The light coming from the lamp in the ceiling shone down on you, highlighting the dips and curves of your physique as you sat on your sofa. Like something out of a fantasy book, you cross and uncross your legs, perched on the pliant pad like a mythical creature, dressed only in your underpants. Like a dream.

The person you were talking to must make some sort of funny remark then, due to the way you proceed to throw your head back in laughter and twirl a finger in your hair, Dean’s eyes following the action frame by frame, entranced in the show. To gaze upon you naked like this is arousing in a whole new way.

It’s uncharted territory.

It’s different from porn.

It’s intimate and real.

Because he knows you. He’s seen you in your casual, everyday clothes, and in your stuffy work attire as well. But to be able to spy on what’s underneath.

To get a glimpse of the lovely, overly polite girl from the dog park; the shrewd, excessively serious therapist that leans back in her armchair and analyzes his every move, his every word.

To see you stripped down to your plain cotton panties and nothing more. There’s a vulnerability to it.

He’s forced to palm his dick through the tough material of his jeans when it stiffens and twitches inside his boxers.

Your hand leaves your hair and falls to your mouth, both index and middle fingers kneading the plump flesh of your lips, countenance lost in thought even as you nod and hum to the individual who called you. The same hand travels to your chest, just above the mass of your breasts, where you draw featherlight circles with the tips of your nails.

You seem to really enjoy the sensation, eyelids dropping till they’re closed, slumping down on the furniture that supports you.

Even as you relax in your seat, your fingers don’t quit their journey downwards, anchoring themselves on a particular patch of skin on the side of your boob. A saucy smile breaks from you, teeth showing while your eyes remain shut and you say something Dean can’t make out.

He has never once seen that look on your face, an impish, mischievous air that he wouldn't have expected from you.

Your arm moves just slightly and you grab your nipple, caressing the tumid, puffy bud with gentle, barely-there touches that become bold and confident once you hear something from the other end that encourages you, that shameless smirk widening on your lips.

Dean feels his entire body tense up, from the ends of his hair to the toes of his feet. A sudden jolt of adrenaline causes his heart to race as he watches in disbelief and confusion. And it takes a while, a little too long, for him to begin processing what is happening.

You are fondling your breast, teasing the tip, letting out a small gasp when a wave of ecstasy clearly hits you and your eyes snap open. You can hardly contain your enthusiastic laugh at whatever your mystery caller tells you and then you move to pinch and tug at your neglected nipple, wiggling on the couch, biting on your bottom lip.

You’re… Giddy. Acting naughty and unabashed, toying with yourself while on the phone with someone.

‘Cause you’re definitely not talking to your sister.

But then who? Who’s the motherfucker you give your time to? Your attention? Your carefree attitude? Your sexed-up, wild side?

Because you’d barely even muster a fucking genuine smile to Dean the last few times you saw him, and for a while, he tried to convince himself that you were not disinterested in him, you simply weren’t interested in anybody.

Well, that’s obviously not the case.

You don’t want him, specifically.

But you do want some other guy. Some other idiot who could never understand you the way Dean does. Never comprehend what it feels like to lose your family, to lose a brother. They could never share that bond with you.

Whoever that asshole is to you, Dean can be more. He’s sure of it.

But they’re the one you’re sighing wantonly for. Breathing accelerating as you let go of your left tit and run your hand down your stomach, inching closer to the waistband of your underwear. Your legs part to give way to your obscene exploration and you rub at your center, fingers carefully contouring the outline of your pussy over the cloth of your panties.

A head-spinning mixture of anger and excitement hits Dean so strongly it gives him whiplash. He has to blink a couple of times to try and wear off his shock, vision shifting from blurry and then to clear again as he fights off this dazed feeling that attempts to consume him.

He just couldn't believe it.

You are pawing at your clit, patting the sensitive button, drawing tight circles through the material of your underwear till a wet spot darkened the shade of the fabric. A puff of hot air leaves your parted lips at the sensations you’re bringing out of yourself.The corners of your mouth rise as you whisper some dirty secret into the receiver.

You are so lewd and indecent, without any inhibitions. All for someone else.

And for how long? Did you know them for a considerable amount of time or were they a random hookup, the type you can flirt and have phone sex with but no emotional connection to?

Either way, you must like them. You must find them alluring and attractive. Probably way more than you found Dean to be since you never so much as gave him a once-over.

Were they good-looking?

Were they interesting or charming?

Were they worthy of you?

No. Of course not.

How could they possibly be worthy of you? How could they possibly deserve your impatient, feverish expression or the broken sob that erupts from your throat as you continue to stroke your pleasure point side to side?

How could they have earned the bucking of your hips when you can’t take the feeling of your damp panties clinging to your throbbing core any longer and your hand makes a move to the hem of your underwear, with the intention of touching under the fabric?

He can’t conceive of it. He can’t wrap his head around this being fair. You can’t choose them over him. You just can’t.

Dean reaches for the cell phone in his pocket with trembling fingers, mind fuzzy with too many emotions that he isn’t able to put in order. Jealousy and envy swirling into an interchangeable spiral. Lust and frustration biting each other’s tails. Disappointment and hope swaying to an eerie ballad as his thumb shakes while it presses your name and then the call button.

He takes note of the moment your device starts ringing, the way you react by pulling your arm away from between your legs, frowning at the unknown number flashing across your screen, and interrupting your ongoing connection.

You exhale deeply only to take a calming breath in, looking irritated, saying something of little importance to the bastard you were conversing with, and then suddenly the tone by Dean’s ear stops, there’s a soft click when you pick up, and the Winchester is overwhelmed by the sound of your voice as it envelops him after what felt like forever.

“Hello?” You greet, putting a hair strand behind your ear.

There’s a pause when all of Dean’s blood rushes to his brain, causing an intense dizziness, and he has to contain the need to gasp audibly for air.

He didn’t think this through.

He didn’t think at all.

He just acted.

The idea of losing you bringing a suffocating pang of despair, a feeling that proved itself to be entirely too great to withstand, and Dean just… Moved, without taking the time to consider the consequences of his actions.

But he had to do something. He couldn't just stand idly by while you were being taken from him. Not that you were ever his, to begin with, but he can still change that. You just need to give him a chance. Which seems unlikely to happen now that he has called your number, the one he isn’t supposed to have.

“Eh…” He doesn’t know what to say.

He wasn’t prepared for this. He didn’t have a game plan or a strategy on how to conduct himself. He hadn’t mapped out how this exchange would go in his head, as he typically does. He hadn’t devised a way to take control of the situation.

“Hey, Y/N.” Was all he could come up with.

You appear to be unsettled for a moment, blinking a few times while you search for a name amongst your friends and family that would match the deep, gruff timbre that addressed you and then you ask.

“Who’s this?” You don’t recognize his voice, and it stings to know that you think of him so little, when he thinks of you sooften.

“It’s, uh- Dean.” Should he disclose his last name, as well?

You knit your brows, and he has to convince himself that is not disapproval nor displeasure that he sees flickering across your face.

“Oh, hi, Dean. How are you?” You fix yourself in your seat, choosing to recline your head on the back of the sofa, elongating your neck, and bending your spine. Your chest sticks out as a result, the artificial light coming from above reflecting on the dewy skin of your exposed breasts, and Dean is rendered speechless for a split second.

“I’m alright. How are you?” He manages to respond.

“Fine.” Your eyes roam the space of your living room in confusion, as if him calling you was the strangest of developments. “Hmm, how can I help you?” That’s a great question. You can stop having phone sex with other people, for starters.

“Y-you know, it’s been a while since we had our last session and I just thought that it might be good to have a chat like, before, just to catch up on everything.” It’s his reply.

He can hear the way he sounds, voice faltering, words coming out rushed. It fills the inside of the car and bounces against the walls before entering his ears, the uncertainty so raw that he cringes at what you, a psychologist, might be able to read between the lines.

“Okay…” You stretch out the last syllable, absolutely not buying what he was selling. “But we only had to reschedule one of your appointments, right?” It sure felt like longer than that.

“Yeah, just the one.” He runs a rough hand down his cheek, rubbing at his mouth in a soothing gesture, his palm meeting the prickly stubble lining his jaw in the process. “I think it’s because it’s been a while since we talked without it being in that setting, and I thought we could have a more relaxed conversation, like the ones we had before.”

“I see.” Your features wilt, expression taking on an exasperated look and you turn your head towards the opposite side of the window, hindering Dean’s view of you, but he could swear he caught a slight row of your eyes. “Dean, I was under the impression that we had already discussed this, and why it’s simply not… Viable.”

“I know.” He said it way too loud, having to make an effort to bring the volume of his next sentences down. “And I get it, I’m a patient and that’s all that I can be, but I just wish that we-” You raise your fingers to eye level, checking your nails for imperfections, not particularly displaying much enthusiasm in your demeanor. He puffs out a breath through his nose, completely out of his element. “That we could go back to being friends.”

“I understand.” You let out an annoyed sigh. “But I need to be perfectly clear with you. Once I became your therapist, there was no ‘going back’. Even if we stopped having our sessions, we still couldn't regain the relationship we had before. You’ve shared deep, extremely personal information about yourself with me, and I have analyzed you as a psychologist. There’s no possibility of me ever not seeing you as a patient.”

Dean takes in everything you say, each statement feeling like a stab in the chest. The little world he had built inside his head, for you and him only, crumbles to the ground as if it was made of sand. Disillusion wraps around his throat and he grips the steering wheel till his knuckles turn white.

“Well, fuck.” You make a displeased sound at the curse word he blurts out, almost making it seem like you weren’t sitting on your couch only in your underpants, but he’s quick to rectify anyway. “I’m sorry. There’s probably no good reason for me to ask what you’re doing Saturday night, then?” He chuckles, making a poor attempt at a joke.

Why did he say that? He knew what your response would be. He isn’t some utterly delusional, socially oblivious, lovesick teenager. At least, he never was before. He used to be the complete opposite. A confident, self-assured lady-killer that wouldn’t be caught dead pining over a clearly uninterested woman.

And now look at him.

Why must he humiliate himself like this? When did he turn into that kind of guy? No wonder you find him pathetic.

“No.” You answered, curtly, and even though you’re unaware that he can see you, you shake your head side to side, only to reinforce the refusal. “I mean, you can ask, but I’m just going to give you a deflective answer.”

A toe-curling embarrassment hangs in the air around the two of you, resembling a strong, overly sweet perfume that refuses to dissipate, and all Dean can think to do is retreat, go home to lick his wounds from this lost battle.

Why did you need to be so difficult?

“Whelp, guess I finally got the message. Loud and clear.” A deafening silence extends itself and he clears his throat, the awkwardness building with it. “See you in a couple days in your office, Y/N.”

“Sure.” You agree, and he’s about to hang up before you stop him. “Wait, Dean-”

“Yes?” There’s so much in that one question. It’s just three small letters, but they mean a lot more.

‘Is something wrong?’

‘Did you change your mind?’

‘One word from you, and I’m yours.’

“How did you get this number?” Is what actually comes out of your mouth and Dean deflates, face scrunching up as he murmurs a quiet ‘shit’. Of fucking course that’s what you would say.

“You gave it to me.” He offers, clean and simple. In his opinion, it’s always best to deliver a short, detail-free lie that can be molded and shaped into whatever fits his narrative.

“I…” You think long and hard for a bit, bringing your right knee up, resting your arm on it. “I don’t remember doing that. Are you sure?”

“I’m pretty sure. How else would I have it?” He tightens his lips, praying to God that you’ll fall for that.

“Um…” You pause, considering what would be the alternative. If he managed to get a hold of your contact without it coming from you, that would mean that he’s some sort of creep, psycho stalker, and surely, you wouldn't make that low of a judgment about him. “Yeah, you’re right. I guess I did, then. It’s just that this is my personal number, so if you ever feel the need to reach me again, I would appreciate it if you did it through the business one.”

Ouch. You weren’t pulling any punches today, were you?

“Of course.” Dean agrees through gritted teeth, his ego more bruised than his face after a whole round with the Devil. “My mistake.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You crack your knuckles in the same way he often does and the corners of his mouth lift involuntarily. You were made for him. You just don’t know it yet, and he can’t be mad at you for that. “Have a good night, Dean.” You wish, at last.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” It’s the last thing he says before you hang up and the line disconnects.

He stays for a while longer, resting the back of his head in the driver’s seat, fingers anxiously tapping on the dashboard while he waits to see if you’ll call that son of a bitch again. But you only fidget with your phone for a minute or two before you put it down, coaxing a sigh of relief out of Dean’s lungs.

You get up from the couch and make a beeline for your bedroom then, taking time to lightly scratch at your scalp with the ends of your nails in circular motions, finding the sensation relaxing if your hum of delight was anything to go by.

You stop in front of your closet, opening it to fetch a towel from inside. Once you have it in your grasp, you leave your bedroom and walk the short path to your bathroom, closing the door behind you, the wooden barrier blocking Dean’s field of vision.

Dean can’t hear the shower running, but he can see the vapor escaping from under the entrance and decides it’s time to go. He turns the key and the engine sparks to life, the drive to his house in the picture-perfect suburbs filled solely with thoughts of you. He fixates on whether or not you’re accepting of hot showers only, since he can’t stand them. Maybe the two of you could find a happy medium whenever you choose to shower together.

With that image in mind, he can’t fight the smile that creeps on his lips as he parks and exits the minivan after reaching his destination, the first thing he hears upon crossing the entryway being Thor’s excited barks and the familiar sound of his paws on the foyer’s floor when he runs to welcome Dean back home.

“Hey, buddy.” The Winchester kneels down to pat the German Sheppard’s soft coat, allowing a few affectionate licks from the dog to land on the side of his face before getting up again.

“You’re here.” Lisa’s voice announces as she enters the space, eyeing Dean up and down, inspecting him for something that she doesn’t seem to find. “I didn’t know if you were coming home.” He scoffs at her choice of words.

“What is that supposed to mean?” It’s a challenge. He wants her to say what she’s really thinking. He wants her to yell at him, hit him if that’s what she wants to do.

“Ben was asking for you at dinner.” She averts her gaze, a looming melancholy painted on her pretty brown eyes and Dean’s vexation dwindles.

“Where is he?” He asks.

“Playing video games in his room.” She still doesn’t look at him, preferring to find a nondescript spot on the wall to the right of them to focus on.

“I’ll talk to him before it’s time to go to bed.” He tells her, earning a soft ‘hmm’ in response. He waits to make sure the conversation has come to an end, and she folds her arms, hugging her own waist and remaining quiet.

With nothing left to say, he leaves her where she stands, slow-moving feet taking him to the garage. He closes and locks the door behind him, staring for too long at the outline of the Impala that rests in the room, cloaked by a large tarp.

There are wall-mounted shelves littered with all types of tools and forgotten items, and hidden behind all the paraphernalia, he uncovers the box he came looking for.

He plucks it from its secret place and cradles it in his hands, as if it contained a precious treasure. He then sits in the old recliner they put out of service and moved into the garage a few months back, laying the box on his lap and getting comfortable against the upholstered leather.

He lifts the lid of the box, finding his prized collection in the same way he left it. The dainty necklace with a shiny pendant hanging from its chain. The body lotion that emanated a refreshing and pure smell. A pair of your panties, the off-white lacy one that made his head spin. Those were the souvenirs he took from your apartment and now keeps with him.

Prior to tonight, he had only stared at them in fear and wonder. He feared his actions, how far he was willing to go just to maintain even some small pieces of you close to him. But at the same time, he couldn't help but admire the objects with an awe-inspired twinkle in his eyes.

His right hand moved towards your underwear, fingers lightly brushing the delicate cloth, learning how it feels to the touch. The tactile sensation of rubbing the pads of his fingers against the crotch panel of the garment caused Dean’s skin to prickle with an unnerving heat.

You had been wearing plain cotton panties that night, and yet they looked so appealing as they clutched you by your hips and hugged your ass. Dean brought the piece of clothing he was holding closer, inspecting it carefully, raking over the tiny intricacies with his fingertips.

He imagined you in front of him, dressed only in this flimsy little thing. Would you wear lace for him the first time you let him fuck you? Would the material cling to your pussy lips when he got you wet like you were tonight?

No, he could get you wetter. He could ruin you.

He found himself taking the bottle of lotion and setting the box to the side of him, ragged breaths echoing in the quiet of the room. There’s a fire spreading through his lower abdomen, a burst of need he hasn’t felt this intensely in a long while.

His penis twitches in his pants, begging for attention and Dean gropes it with the hand that is still holding your underwear, just grazing it instead of giving it the friction it demands.

He shuts his eyes, and behind his closed eyelids, he envisions you so clearly. Knelt down between his legs, your smaller, soft hand being the one to scrape the surface of the bulge inside his jeans, teasing him mercilessly.

“Look at how dirty you are.” You’d say, an amused smile plastered on your lips. “Dick half-hard and growing while you finger my stolen panties.”

Dean wouldn't dare touch you, lest you disappear before him like a mirage, so he’d busy his hand by bringing the fine lacy fabric he had been caressing to his face, putting it against his nose and, inhaling deeply. Nothing other than a faint smell of laundry detergent fills his senses, but in his mind’s eye, it’s the sweet scent of your dripping cunt that permeates the space around him and makes his mouth water.

“Want you so bad.” He’d pant, whiny and desperate.

“I know.” Your tone would be so condescending, grinning a cruel grin whilst you’d line the span of his member with the edge of your nails and blow a puff of hot air on it, letting your pouty lips ghost over the swelling organ. “You’re such a pervert.”

You’d look up at him with a lascivious glint darkening the color of your irises, weightless fingers working to undo the zipper of his pants before your hand would delve inside his boxers and takes hold of his pulsating length.

Dean would bite into the cloth of your underwear in a laughable attempt to hold in the hopeless moan that you’d coax out of him as you’d pull out his manhood, now fully erect and needy.

“Your cock is so pretty.” You’d utter under your breath, more to yourself than to him. A fascinated look on your face as you’d stare at it from base to glans, eyes glazing over. “I love how flushed you’re at the tip.”

You’d use your thumb to press at the opening of the urethra as your other fingers wrapped around the mushroom head, and Dean would buck his hips and whimper when you’d smear the precum that had gathered there.

“Oh, sweetie, you’re weeping.” You’d coo and suckle at your thumb, eagerly lapping at the taste, releasing the digit with a pop once it was stripped clean of his essence.

Dean’s eyes would widen at how depraved you could be, how absolutely filthy and debauched you were just for him, and his heart would swell with pride and his brain would swim in endorphins.

“Do you want me to suck it? Put it in the back of my throat?” You’d ask without any intention of gaining a response from him, half of your words coming out muffled since you’d try to speak with your mouth full, alternating your attention between laving your tongue on the tender intersection where Dean’s foreskin would be if he hadn’t been circumcised, and stubbornly seeking to close your lips around the middle of his shaft, head leaned horizontally as you’d litter him with wet, open-mouthed kisses.

“I- I can’t.” He’d cry out, the sodden material of your lace underpants becoming saturated in his saliva, falling through his teeth, and landing on the floor when he couldn’t keep his shameful sobs in any longer. “I need you to come here.”

“I am here, silly.” You’d giggle with no real humor and, like the vixen you are, you’d place both your hands on each of his knees and prop yourself up just enough that the divine softness of your tits would rub up against his member, taut nipples grazing the sensitive flesh and causing Dean to grunt, on the verge of overstimulation.

You would've barely touched him, and he would have been reduced to a puddle in your grasp, every nerve ending in his body feeling raw and overexposed.

“No, come up here. Sit on my face.” He’d beg and you would laugh at the broken state of his voice, but still oblige him.

You’d stand up slowly, your bare tits shaking tantalizingly with the movement and catching his eyes, the way your cunny would still be hidden by the same pair of tight, plain panties driving Dean mad.

You’d move closer then, placing one of your knees on each of his thighs and climbing over him with the help of his arms as they moved to grab a handful of your ass cheeks, the soft mewl that you’d try to keep in stealing his breath away.

“This is what you wanted?” Your timbre would be pure venom once both your legs straddled his shoulders and you held on to the shelves on the wall for support, you’re clothed pussy hovering mere inches from his mouth. “This is what you dreamed of, you freak?”

“Yes.” He’d confess and try to force you to sit down properly by pulling at your flanks, but you’d swat his hands away with a condemning ‘tsk’ and he’d crane his neck up, tongue sticking out to get a taste of the cloth that concealed your lower lips but only being capable of brushing against it with the tip of the muscle. “Please.”

“Oh, my goodness, you’re such a brat.” You’d mock his restlessness, holding firmly onto the wooden shelves as a way to prevent him from making further contact with your center. “All whiny and needy for me.”

Dean would moan in ecstasy when you’d gradually lower your hips by a tiny fraction, allowing him to moisten the fabric of your underwear with kitten licks, giving out a lament as he failed to fully wrap his lips on the sweet spot between your legs.i

He would pinch at the skin of your inner thighs, using his big hands to knead the flesh around your vulva, wordlessly imploring you to give him what he craved.

“Drop your weight on my face.” His voice would come out all raspy with yearning, and yet he wouldn’t care. “Please, Y/N.”

As if you were a goddess tired of the constant prayers and supplications that he laid at your altar, you’d take pity on his poor soul and finally sink yourself down completely against him.

The heat of his mouth would immediately envelop your middle as a sob escaped from deep in his chest, and he would start to suck on your clit through the cotton of your panties like a man possessed.

“What a crybaby.” You’d snicker and his ears would heat up in embarrassment, but he would ignore it in favor of nipping at the fabric that would stick to your pussy due to the mixture of your wetness and his spit.

Dean would gorge himself on you like a starving animal, feasting on your addicting flavor as your slick juices overflowed from you. The sloppy suction noises would reverberate in the room, a continuous frantic slurping that went over the line of pornographic and bordered on offensive.

Even through your taunting, he would hear the soft sounds of pleasure that you would try to control. Your whimpering when his tongue would hit your bundle of nerves just right, and your wailing when he would rake the blunt ends of his teeth over the swollen bud.

“Always wanted to do this.” He’d mumble in between the persistent licks of his tongue on you and his dick would throb as a result of its neglect.

With one hand planted securely on the fat of your right thigh, Dean would let the other move to his deprived manhood, taking hold of it from the base and working his way to the leaking head.

At first contact, The Winchester would feel a shock pass through him, a literal electric pulse that would overtake him with a sensation so strong that he’d be forced to cease his ministrations, the skin of his shaft too sensitive with how hard he had been for so long.

“Can’t even jerk yourself off right, can you?” You’d jeer at him, pressing your gushing cunt to his face, grinding back and forth against his open mouth, and rubbing your stiff clit on his nose, cutting off his air. “Should I get over there so I can spit on that dick, make it really wet?” You wouldn't allow him to answer, using a hand to tug on the short hairs in the back of his head just to hear him moan, the vibrations landing directly on your soaked underwear. “Do you think that would even help or you’re just being an attention whore?”

Your cutting words would only serve to make his member grow even harder, pointing straight at the ceiling, length heavy with rushing blood and balls full of cum, spasming with pent-up readiness, standing perfectly vertical and sullying the shirt that covered the skin below his belly button.

He didn’t even know he could feel pleasure this deep, this piercing, so overwhelming that it blended into pain. And he certainly didn’t know that he would like it, that he would enjoy the overstimulation as much as he did the humiliation. Your scornful remarks causing a fire to spread under his collar, your insolence riling him up to a point where all he could think about was taking whatever you so generously gave him.

Yes, he was a dirty pervert and a freak for you, now would you please shut up and cream on his tongue so that he could form a single coherent thought?

Furthermore, the idea of losing the feeling of your sitting on his face — with the ripe smell of your arousal filling his nostrils at every labored inhale, and the heady taste of your wetness that runs down his jaw —, is so unappealing to Dean that his nails would clamp down on the flesh of your thigh where he held it, so that you couldn't move away.

“Please, let me-” He’d mutter and bob his head up and down on your pussy, the grip you had on his hair tightening and eliciting a groan from him at the sting.

He’d take the forgotten bottle of body lotion, using his thumbnail to pry the lid open. Without being able to see what he was doing, he’d blindly coat a considerable amount of the balmy substance on the leaking head of his dick, the cream mixing with his pre as he gently massaged it down the shaft.

With the moisturizer lubing him up, the rough friction of his calloused hand on the delicate tissue of his massive hard-on would be pleasantly reduced, and an animalistic whine would get caught in his throat from the relief that came with stroking his needy length properly, the rumble of it reaching your center and making more of your molten honey to ooze out of you.

“You’re fucking delicious.” He’d tell you, delirious from the unmatched satisfaction of savoring you ceaselessly, watching you undulate your hips when he sucked you just right while he milked the meat of his penis.

“Yeah? You like it that bad? Eating me out just like this?” You’d ask, all breathy and hoarse, eyes crossing and tongue lolling out to wet your dry lips. “You’re are so sick, fisting your cock while your therapist sits on your face.”

Your filthy mouth would spur him on, the flicks of his wrist getting faster and erratic, the obscene wet noises becoming louder as he drank from you, the clean scent of your lotion pervading the air.

“Uggh!” He’d grunt, suckling on your clit in a wild frenzy, hand flapping up and down the shaft of his quivering dick, the two of you tangled in a mess of limbs and fluids, and it still wouldn't seem to be enough.

He’d want more, he’d want all of you. He’d want to mark you in love bites and paint you with his seed. On your pretty face, on your soft tits, on your lovely cunny.

God, he wanted to cum inside you, stuff you so full of him that you’d forget your own name. He’s sure you’d be tight, but he’d stretch you out, mold you to the shape of him. Plant his sticky essence so deep into you that you could never rinse it off, never rid yourself of him.

He would hear you cry out when you reached your peak, euphoria weighing down your bones and turning your brain to mush. That elastic band of tension would finally snap, and Dean would groan as the first ropes of his release would spurt out of him, landing on his lower abdomen and soiling his clothes. He wouldn't stop pumping the span of his cock, nor would he stop lapping at the dripping fabric of your covered pussy, extending your orgasms till the muscles of your calves began to shake.

Once he was thoroughly spent, he opens his eyes to find no trace of your presence. Only the ticklish sensation of the lace adorning your off-white underpants that he’d been pressing to his face, and the light, enchanting notes of your body lotion that he had used as lube.

It had all felt so real that he takes a while to find his bearings, lungs burning as he gasps for air, never once having experienced this intensity of rapture.

He feels damp with sweat, mingled with the smell of sex, and his hands tremble as they rearrange everything back where it belongs. The leather recliner chair, the now wrinkled clothes he wore, and the priceless box of mementos he kept of you.

After all of it is put back in its proper place, he attempts to fix his disheveled hair before unlocking the door of the garage and tiptoeing around the house.

The wooden floors creak under his feet as he walks to the bathroom, passing through the ajar door of Ben’s bedroom and catching the boy fast asleep in his bed. He hears the clinking of glass coming from the living room and he can assume Lisa is downing her daily bottle of wine.

He goes to bed after taking a relaxing shower, the once tense muscles of his back appearing to be loose and reinvigorated. The soft mattress sinks below his weight, even though his body feels like a flowing feather, and by the time he drifts off to sleep, he dreams only of you.

The next morning, he wakes up early, silently getting ready so as not to disturb the sleep of the brunette who occupies her side of the bed. His breakfast is quick, serving as fuel for the busy day ahead, and the drive to work proves to be uneventful.

It’s tedious labor to go about his business on the construction site, with time seeming to stand still as his mind wanders to more exciting places. A vampire’s nest in Manning, Colorado. A zombie case in Greenville, Illinois. Under your sheets, in your warm embrace.

What a shame wishful thinking doesn’t get him anywhere, though. He will never hunt again, the thrill of the job forever lost, traded by the adrenaline rush of endless sawing and drilling. And as far as spending his time anywhere near the strong pull of your magnetic field goes, Dean refuses to give up. He won’t quit that calling.

“Hey, George, can I talk to you for a sec?” As soon as his watch marks 4 p.m., he marches up to his supervisor and asks the question.

“Sure, what’s up?” The balding man looks up at Dean from his clipboard, ceasing his scribbly writing to give him his full attention.

“I’m gonna need to leave a little early, if that’s okay.” In all honesty, Dean would probably go even if it wasn’t okay. He can always get another gig, but what he had to do today couldn't wait.

“Again? It’s the second time this week alone.” George informed him, putting his pen behind his ear with a furrowed brow.

“I know, but Lisa’s mom has been sick and she’s taking care of her, so sometimes I need to pick Ben up from school.” Dean’s face didn’t twitch by a single millimeter, his gaze never wavering as the lies poured easily from him. “You understand, right?”

George flattened his lips in thought, considering the Winchester’s words.

“Okay, but you owe me.” He said eventually, waggling his index finger at his work colleague.

“You got it.” Dean agreed, smiling contently as he removed his safety gear, patting the foreman on the shoulder before making his exit.

He had the route of your apartment committed to memory, parking in that same spot across your street feeling like the most natural thing to do. Only this time, he had no intention of seeing you perform your daily, mundane tasks, having arrived earlier in the afternoon so that you’d still be in your office.

Your place would be free for him to explore, perhaps succeeding in his search for an object that might be linking the ghost to your home. Once he got that, it was a simple salt and burn and it would be done, you’d be safe. This would mean that, technically, you’d have no need for Dean’s protection, for his watchful eye, or his proximity. He could conclude his therapy sessions with you and go back to his life as if you had never crossed his path.

Everything would be the same as it was before, and Dean could busy himself with dog walks where he’d meet no beautiful women, Ben’s little league softball games, silently having dinner with Lisa, and so on and so forth, ad infinitum.

Yeah, no. Now that he thought of it, he wasn’t going to do that. He was not about to shield himself from your light or deprive himself of your incandescent glow. He was like a moth to a flame, and he had no intention of forsaking your heat. He wasn’t that much of a masochist.

With that issue settled in his mind, he turns off his car’s engine, ready to let himself into your space so that he could rid you from not only this danger, but any others that might present themselves in the future, ‘cause he wasn’t going anywhere. Except that before he can leave his vehicle, he catches a glimpse of a shadow moving inside your apartment.

He squints, trying to get a better look at the figure. As it approaches your living room window, the image of a man becomes clear to Dean’s eyes. He had an average build, not particularly tall. Wavy dark brown hair and clear pale skin, apparently also smoker’s breath from the lit cigarette he was holding.

“The fuck?” Dean curses, whispering to himself, utterly confused by who that man was and what he was doing in your place while you were not there. Did you have a stalker or something?

The guy moves around calmly, taking a puff of nicotine from time to time, checking out the portraits on your wall and the family pictures scattered here and there. He puts out his cigarette when he’s done, preferring to throw it out the window than in a bin, which Dean deduces to be because he doesn’t want you to know he smokes. He then pops a mint into his mouth, as if on cue.

He walks to your bedroom, seeing a lonely stuffed animal on top of your dresser and smiling at it, probably finding the fact that you have it as cute as the Winchester does. He opens your underwear drawer and Dean wants to kill him, gaze at the fear in his eyes before they go dark.

How dare he defile your privacy in this manner? Crudely going through your intimate possessions as if he was inspecting an exhibit in a museum. He shouldn't be allowed to set foot in the room where you lay your head at night, where you are at your most vulnerable. The more time passes with Dean evaluating the situation, the more he wants to go in there and permanently remove that piece of shit from your area.

The man lets out a low whistle when he plucks an especially tiny pair of your panties from the drawer, but before he could do anything more, his phone begins to ring.

“Hi, Y/N.” Dean can read his lips when he picks up, clear as day.

He lets go of the garment, putting it back where he found it and closing the drawer, a stupid smile on his lips as he starts to talk to you, but Dean doesn’t pay attention any longer, completely tuning out after that.

His world seemed to collapse around him. The revelation hit him like a tidal wave, engulfing his heart in a hurricane of seething emotions.

So he was the ‘them’ you were masturbating to last night.

Was he your boyfriend? Fiancé? Dean knew you weren’t married and nothing that remotely inferred that you were in a romantic relationship ever came up. Not during his extensive research on you or when he was the one scouring your apartment. Definitely not during the talks the two of you shared.

Or maybe you simply didn’t want to tell him. Didn’t feel the need to. After all, he was nothing but a patient to you. You certainly had no intention of disclosing personal details of your life, let alone invite him to be a part of it.

The guy talks to you for at least twenty minutes, settling at the edge of your bed. He’s all goofy grins and heart eyes, nervously running his hands through his hair every five seconds, as if he was chatting with his high school crush.

Seriously, this is your type? A wimpy little boy that can’t even handle holding a conversation with you? Has he ever even fucked you properly, or did he just whisper some lines he took off the internet in your ear, and had you take care of yourself?

The mere thought of you, the one he yearns for so deeply, involved with that mouth breather sends waves of uncontrollable rage surging through Dean’s body.

No, this can’t be right. You can’t be wasting your time with someone like this. You could do so much better. He will prove it to you.

Eventually, Fuckface says his goodbye and hangs up, pocketing his cell and getting up from your bed. He straightens the coverings and goes to the kitchen, opening your fridge and taking his sweet time examining the items within.

Dean’s eyes drift out of focus, vaguely aware of what was taking place inside your apartment through his peripheral vision, his brain getting caught in a ruminating spiral.

His head becomes a cauldron of uncontrollable dark thoughts, envisioning what he would have to do to set this right. A chilling torrent of murderous jealousy consumed him, coursing through his veins, demanding satisfaction with a dangerous force.

How could you do this to him? Surely you knew you’re the object of his affections by now, he had made that clear to a point where it was just ridiculous, so why let him burn in fury from the agony of betrayal?

Was this what you wanted, to push him perilously close to the edge?

Maybe it was.

Maybe that was exactly what you intended.

Maybe you were just playing a game of cat and mouse, filling his days with your wonderful, radiating aura and then tugging the rug from under him. Removing your sweet smiles, and your dazzling eyes, and your addictive perfume.

Was this your idea of foreplay?

Fuckface decides on sparkling water — of course he does —, retrieving it from the refrigerator and then moving to explore the contents of the cabinets, searching for a glass.

You need this parasite out of your life. Maybe Dean should exterminate it for you.

He’s so lost in that cyclical headspace that he doesn’t see what was happening at first, the sudden appearance of a flashing shape, the sound of glass shattering and a guttural scream snapping him back to reality.

“Help!” The man begs, voice crackling from sheer terror, a grey-skinned specter rushing at him.

Dean doesn’t even blink, instincts kicking in as he spurs into action, grabbing his salt-loaded shotgun and concealing it in his waistband the best way he can. He leaves his car, sprinting across the street and entering your building, running up the stairs to your floor, climbing two steps at a time.

He bursts through your front door, and he would've for sure broken it off its hinges if it hadn’t been unlocked. He walks forward into your living room, the open-concept layout of your kitchen permitting him to see the gruesome scene as it unfolds.

The ghost of Judith McCook, rotting corpse completely naked, long auburn hair caked to her face with endless dripping water, skin unnaturally grey. She hunches over the guy, snarling like a rabid dog and holding him by his neck with superhuman strength.

Water rushes out the kitchen sink faucet, overflowing it entirely, Judith’s death grip keeping his head submerged. He yells, gurgling under the water, thrashing and flailing helplessly. He pushes against the sides of the sink, arms straining as he attempts to get back up with all of his might.

Dean pulls out his shotgun, aiming at the spirit, salt-loaded cartridges at the ready. He has her in his sights, less than five feet of distance between them. One shot and she would dissipate harmlessly for a short time, enough for the man’s life to be spared.

But… He hesitates.

As he stands there, witnessing the life being drained from a man, a moment of bitter truth pierces through the air. The gravity of the situation was palpable, as fate had placed him at a crossroads. His whole existence had been defined by taking down monsters, saving people, but now conflicting emotions churned within him, tearing at his conscience.

The choice before him was agonizingly clear. Prevent the killing of the one who stood in the way of his own happiness, or let him perish and secure his own desires.

In that fleeting moment, he makes his decision.

The allure of you, of his need to have you all to himself, overwhelms any flicker of empathy or compassion that may have remained and Dean lowers his weapon. He doesn’t look away or closes his eyes, not even flinches, a cruel and calculated resolve settled upon him as he just watches.

The guy’s struggle continued for what felt like forever, desperation rooted deep in his bones while his limbs flapped about, moving erratically. With a cold detachment, Dean waited, till eventually it was over. The moment the man died, body standing still, the ghost vanished, flickering lights accompanying her exit.

The weight of Dean’s ruling, having acted as judge and jury, descends heavily on his soul, forever altering his perception of himself and the darkness he didn’t know resided within.

There are no long sighs or second guesses, he just puts his gun back in his waistband, face unreadable as he gets to work. He rolls up his sleeves, careful not to let the water get on his clothes when he moves to turn off the faucet, pushing the limp body to the floor with a thud.

Under the sink, he unscrews the shutoff valve, allowing a steady stream of water to flow from it. Hopefully, when you come home, which should be soon, you’ll conclude that the soaked floors were due to a plumbing problem. Your apartment already has so many issues, according to you, what’s one more?

The sole of his boots crunch some of the broken glass beneath him, and he goes on to methodically clean it all up, flushing it down the toilet once he’s done.

Back in the kitchen, Dean stares at the cadaver with a tut. He’s lying on his back, lifeless eyes perpetually open and mouth agape.

“Dammit.” The Winchester murmurs to himself, mildly annoyed. It has been a long time since he last had to conceal a body and he wasn’t looking forward to it. “Oh, well. I knew the minivan had to be good for something.”

In less than thirty minutes, he has the corpse in the back of his car and is driving away, thankful that you hadn’t arrived home yet. He crosses state lines, leaving Michigan in favor of disposing of the dead guy as far away from home as possible.

He imagines you’ll wonder about the man, maybe even miss him, but it’ll pass. Dean broke his phone and the SIM card, so soon you’ll come to believe that he simply ghosted you, which makes him chuckle at the irony.

Then, you’ll forget about his existence, free to occupy yourself with what really matters, which is building your relationship with Dean. Because that will happen, whether you like it or not.

It’s past seven at night when he comes home, digging graves not being as easy as he remembered. By the time he crosses the threshold of his house, Thor is at his feet, sniffing instead of barking happily, probably smelling death and dirt on him.

“Finally!” Lisa’s steps are hard and so is her voice when she greets him at the foyer, holding a mysterious bag in her hands, rage taking over her expression.

“I know, you’re pissed about something I did or didn’t do, but can you cut me some slack? I had to work late today. I’m gonna take a shower.” Dean rubs the bridge of his nose as he says it, trying to move around her in the hallway to get to the bathroom, but she blocks his passage.

“I sent Ben to sleep at a friend’s house, we need to talk.” Her gaze doesn’t cower under his like it did last night, her grip tightening on the bag she’s holding.

“For the love of God, now, really? You wanna talk right now?” If there were a contest for world’s worst timing he’s sure she’dwin. All he wants to do at this moment is get in the shower and then drag himself to bed, he has to be rested for his appointment with you tomorrow, after all.

“Yes, I want to talk about the fact that you say you had to work late, but I ran into George at the supermarket an hour ago and he told me that he hopes my mom is feeling better?” She answers without skipping a beat, and Dean curses George and his blabber mouth under his breath. “Yeah, he said that you told him you had to leave work early ‘cause she’s been ill, which surprised me, since that’s the first I heard of it.”

“Okay, that sounds suspicious but I-” He begins to try to explain, not exactly sure where he was going with it.

“Suspicious? It sounds like you’ve been lying to my face, Dean.” She interrupts him, her eyes filling with tears, and Dean can’t pinpoint if it’s from anger or hurt, perhaps both. “You know what? I thought that you were going through a rough patch, that you were missing your brother, I even thought that you started hunting again.”

“Lisa-” He tries once more, but she raises her hand for him to stop.

“And to be honest, I would've understood if it was any of those things.” Her voice cracks and fat tears begin to fall down her cheeks. “But then I find this.” She pulls a box out of the bag she’d been holding, and Dean takes a step forward in her direction when he realizes it’s the box.

“What the fuck is this?” She shouts.

End notes: Yeah, Dean, what the fuck is this?? Also, I do not know who might be interested to know this, but the thing that inspired this story the most was a song by Sleeping At Last called Two, I visualized the plot unfolding after hearing it for the first time, which was years ago. Anyway, the chapters are getting way longer and heavier and that makes them a lot harder to revise, so I was wondering if any of you would be so kind to offer your services as a beta to this fic, it would a great help. Just putting it out there.

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