#how much of his tv head has feeling in it??

[vmlnrzmp4]

What if Blue Lock dad's parents were visiting to see their grandchild? (Though with an exception of Michael, for an... Obvious reasons, so, how about with Michael instead some comfort stuff with him having some memories of his parents after seeing his mother on TV, then coming back to reality with a family he actually has now?)

a/n: hey lovely, i excluded kaiser here for obvious reasons :(

itoshi sae

"tadaima," sae says nonchalantly as he steps in, his parents following behind.

the moment they enter, natsuki—who had been playing with barbie dolls—gets up and rushes toward them.

"ojiichan!" she calls, sprinting straight into her grandfather’s arms.

sae’s father laughs heartily, kneeling down just in time to catch his granddaughter, "ah, my little natsuki! did you miss me?"

"mhm! so much!" she says, nuzzling into his shoulder.

sae’s mother, standing beside him, crosses her arms, "no hugs for me?"

natsuki giggles and wiggles free, rushing toward her.

"obaachan~!" she sings, wrapping her tiny arms around her grandmother’s waist.

sae clicks his tongue, "natsuki," he calls softly but firmly.

natsuki looks up from the hug. "yes, papa?"

sae stares at her for a second before sighing and turning away. "nothing. forget it."

natsuki blinks then realizes, "oh papa! hug for papa!" she says as sae picks natsuki in her arms.

you chuckle, stepping forward to help with the bags. "guess you were feeling left out, no?"

"shut up," he mutters.

his mother smirks. "he was always like this when rin got more attention as a baby too."

"mom—" sae glares at her.

his father chuckles, placing a hand on sae’s shoulder.

"some things never change."

itoshi rin

"—and don’t forget how you used to follow sae around everywhere."

"mom, enough," rin says, angrily stabbing his food with the fork. but trying his best to be gentle for his daughter.

sakura gasps, "papa, were you a little shadow?"

"absolutely not," says rin.

"yes," his mother corrects.

you couldn't help but look away, your hand covering your mouth as you laugh.

rin groans, rubbing his temples. "can we just eat?"

but sakura isn't done and starts mimicking his every movement. If he reaches for his glass, she does too. If he leans forward, so does she. "look, ma, obaachan! ojiichan! i'm a little shadow just like papa!" she giggles.

you hold back another laugh while rin sighs, giving his daughter a stern look, "sakura. sit properly."

"but papa—"

"sakura," he warns.

his mother laughs, "she really takes after you, rin."

isagi yoichi

"yuki-chan!" yoichi's mother exclaims, taking yuki in her arms and showering her face with so many kissys.

"obaachan!" yuki giggles.

after setting yuki down, yoichi’s mom turns to you, "y/n-chan!" she says, pulling you into a hug, "it’s been too long. have you been taking care of yourself?"

you nod, hugging her back, "of course, mom."

yoichi steps forward, expecting a greeting, only to get a quick pat on the head. "ah, and there's yo-chan."

"mom!" he groans.

his father chuckles, lifting little yuki, "my little yuki-chan has gotten so big! look at you!" then, turning to you, "yoichi isn’t giving you trouble, is he?"

"oi! why does everyone assume that?!" yoichi asks.

his mom smirks, "because yoichi was such a weak little thing growing up. always so soft-hearted, getting teary-eyed over the smallest things."

"mom—!"

"oh, like that time he lost a game and clung to me the whole day, pouting?" his dad adds with a laugh.

"mom! dad! enough!"

yuki gasps dramatically. "papa, you used to pout?"

you let out a chuckle while yoichi buries his face in his hands. his mother simply pats his back. "don’t worry, yo-chan. you turned out fine."

"barely," his dad jokes.

taglist: @anuverse @luciddre @kongkhoi @illyriakrasniqi2007 @passw-0-rd @x3nafix @levihanmyotp [open]

[not-neverland06]

ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏʏ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴅᴏᴏʀ

͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝖲𝗍𝗎 𝖬𝖺𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗋 x fem!reader

╔═ A/N ═╗ Based on this request. I apologize if I got the characterization wrong. I just feel like the darker side to his character is never properly explored. As goofy as he was, he was also a serial killer lmao

✬ Summary ✬ Stu's your best friend, you know him as well as you know yourself. At least you thought so. A snoop through his closet leads to a terrifying discovery. Now, everywhere you turn, that haunting mask is right there waiting.

“God,” you toss the remote on the cushion beside you. It bounces off the oversized couch and flops to the floor. “There’s nothing on TV,” you lament, draping yourself dramatically over the cushions. 

Stu snickers and kicks his legs over the arms of his chair, shrugging with a smug look. “I told you we should have stopped by the video store.” His gaze drifts back toward the TV, grimacing at the obnoxiously loud MTV episode you stopped on. 

“Hell no, Randy’s working tonight,” you scold, sharp gaze snapping toward him. He’s got a stupid grin on his face, clearly having decided that his form of entertainment tonight is going to be pissing you off. “I don’t feel like having him critique me for an hour on my poor taste in movies.”

He snorts and reaches to take a large handful out of the popcorn on the coffee table between you. “Maybe if you didn’t just rent stupid chick flicks all the time, he wouldn’t.” 

Stu doesn’t have time to duck as you chuck one of his mom’s overpriced throw pillows at him. “Don’t act like you don’t love Pretty in Pink.” The pillow knocks the popcorn out of his hand, scattering it across the ornate rug Mrs. Macher bought last week. If she saw the state you’d gotten the house in this weekend, that ever-pulsing vein in her head would burst. As it is, they’re never actually at the house, it’s an oasis for practically half the school during the weekends Stu decides to throw a party. 

For the first time in a while, though, it’s just you and Stu. No one else is here to rile him up or force him to put on a show. He’s at his calmest when it’s just the two of you. Which, honestly, doesn’t mean much for him, but still. 

“I do not,” he objects, stretching out his lanky body and getting to his feet. 

You roll your head lazily to face him, giving him a knowing smirk. “Billy isn’t here, Stu. You don’t have to lie,” you assure him, holding out your arms as he stops in front of you. You already know what he wants, he’s got that specific gleam in his eye as he smiles down at you. 

“I mean,” he shrugs, “it’s not bad,” he concedes. Without another word, he throws himself on top of you, even prepared for it, you still feel the breath rush out in one hefty wheeze. Another thing you don’t see as much when others are around, just how goddamn clingy he is. 

Sure, with his multitude of girlfriends, he’s touchy. But this is something different entirely. He clings to you like he would burrow into your skin if he could. He’s been that way since you guys were kids. While the feeling of others touching you might set you on edge, Stu fits against you like your missing piece. 

Hands drifting up to play with his hair, you settle yourself against the cushions while he goes back to channel surfing, pleased to have you as his pillow. 

The TV drones on, a dull buzz in the background now that Stu has the volume down. With his head practically buried between your boobs and your legs wrapped around his waist, you snicker. 

Frowning, he props his chin on your chest, staring up at you. “What?” He demands, hating to be left out of a joke. 

“Nothing,” you shrug as much as you can with him steadily pancaking you. “Just wondering what your girlfriend would think of us like this.”

“Oh,” he sets his head back down and places your hands back on his head to continue playing with his hair. “We broke up,” he tells you, like it means absolutely nothing. 

“Stu!” You slap his shoulder, and he winces dramatically. As if you could ever do real damage to him. 

“Ow!” He whines, bracketing himself up on his elbows so he can look down at you. “What’s your problem tonight?”

His hips are still lazily pressed against you, pressure increasing the longer he hovers above you. Swallowing thickly, you try to ignore the flush spreading through you. “You didn’t tell me you guys broke up.”

He rolls his eyes, glaring down at you. “I just did,” he points out sarcastically. You swat at his shoulder again, but this time, he catches your hand in his, lacing your fingers together with a smug grin as he keeps you trapped. 

“You’re collecting these girls like they’re trading cards.” Despite his tight grip, you manage to slip out slightly from under him and prop yourself against the arm of the couch. “I don’t even remember the last one’s name.”

His face goes slack, lips parting as you see the cogs in his brain turning. He laughs and glances back at you with a dismissive shrug. “Neither do I. I just remember the tits.”

“Ugh,” you yank your hand out of his, ignoring his petulant frown. “You’re absolutely disgusting. What’s the point of even dating them?”

He slinks back against the other end of the couch. “I just said why,” he points to your chest with a grin, and you reflexively cross your arms. Stu tips his head back, dangling it over the edge as he stares up at the ceiling with a forlorn sigh. “I don’t get it,” he tosses his hands up, and you already know where this is going. 

Head tipped back up, he narrows his eyes at you, “I don’t know why we don’t just date.”

You give him a deadpan look, arms still tight around your chest. “Dude,” you chide, “after what you just told me. Seriously?” When you were younger, him saying this used to set you alight. You’d get all dreamy-eyed, imagining what it would be like to be Stu’s girlfriend. Of course, you’d taken too long thinking about it, and by then, he’d already found a different girl to set his sights on. It had broken your heart, and their relationship had barely even lasted a week. 

By now, you know better than to take anything he says seriously. Everything’s just one big joke to him. He’s so fickle you can’t trust that he would actually put effort into anything more blooming between you. You seem to be the only girl in his life that he actually thinks of as a person, going on a few dates with him isn’t worth screwing that up. Besides that, you’re not going to ruin the only friendship you’ve ever had that’s lasted more than two months. 

Stu opens his mouth like he wants to say anything, but it snaps shut a moment later. His face sets into a glower, and you worry for a moment that you might have actually hurt his feelings. You’ve always thought the suggestion was just a sort of inside joke between the two of you. Though, he has been bringing it up more and more lately. 

Your stomach flips unpleasantly, heart aching with guilt. It doesn’t last long, the feeling always remains fleeting. You’ve conditioned yourself for years to dismiss anything that might actually encourage you to pursue something with Stu. You love him, but you two would just be a spark waiting to light up. 

“You’re staying the night, right?” Stu changes the subject, picking up the remote once more and not meeting your eye. Your lips part, and he cuts a glare toward you, “No girlfriend,” he stops you before you can even say anything. Your brows furrow, and he looks back to the TV. “No sleepovers if I’m dating,” he mocks the pitch of your voice, reminding you of the rule you'd enforced so long ago. Your lips fall in a flat, irritated line at his imitation of you. 

“No girlfriend,” he reminds you, feigning indifference even though you can see right through him. Your plan was to go home, but you know him well enough by now. The set of his jaw, the stubborn way he won’t look at you, there’s no actual choice. You’re staying.

“Yeah,” you acquiesce with a low huff. “I’ll need to borrow some clothes.”

“You know where they are,” he tells you, still not meeting your eye. He’s never been this sensitive after you’ve rejected him before. What’s his problem? Eyes narrowed, you get to your feet, glaring at him the whole way up the stairs. He never loses the indifferent look, passive-aggressively turning the TV up. 

Usually, you just grab some pants from the guest room. But with Autumn descending, it’s been getting colder, especially in Stu’s drafty old house. There’s a soft yellow sweater that you’ve always tried to steal from him, and he’s never let you get away with it. 

Nabbing it would probably ease up the weird tension. He is a freak, he does love seeing you in his clothes. You figure it’s a solid plan and slip across the hallway, quietly opening his bedroom door. 

As always, his room is a hot damn mess. The bed’s unmade, sheets completely untucked, and half of them sprawled across the floor. There’s a clearly well-loved nudie mag lying open on his nightstand, boobs bared boldly to the world. Rolling your eyes, you shake your head and turn toward his closet. 

Your brows furrow, head tilting at the closed door. As odd as it is, Stu never closes his closet. It’s just another tedious task to him. Besides, he likes to just ball all his clothes up and toss them in wildly. You know his family’s old maid threatened to quit if she had to clean his room ever again. But you wouldn’t believe that looking into the closet now. 

It’s not just clean, it’s pristine. Clothes hung up, sorted by color and sleeve length. Jeans all neatly folded away. The box of old books and junk he had just lying about are tucked up on the top shelf. “What the hell?” You whisper, looking around like you just stepped into Narnia. 

Hell, maybe it’s a portal to a bizarro dimension, it would make more sense than him cleaning up after himself. Whatever, you don’t have time to dwell on Stu’s oddities, you’d just be standing here forever if you did. 

You start in the yellow section of his closet, then drift toward the sweaters. And, of course, the only one you want isn’t anywhere to be found. It has to be buried somewhere in here, and you’re not giving up until that sweater is yours. You dig through his folded pile of jeans recklessly, hoping for a bright spot of yellow to be buried somewhere within them. 

Tugging a little too hard on one of the stacks, something hard clatters against the wooden floor of his closet. “Ah, shit,” you hiss, shoving the jeans back and kneeling to try and spot whatever fell. Lowering your head to the ground, you peer under the hems of his shirts on the lower rack and squint into the shadows. 

There’s a vague shape of something, and you reach toward it. Head tilted the other way, your arm stretches under the sweaters, blindly groping for whatever you sent tumbling. Your fingers snag on fabric, and you grin, thinking it’s the sweater you’ve been coveting. 

Pulling it out, your smile stills, heart rapidly increasing speed until it feels like it’s going to beat out of your ribs. There’s a twisting pain in your stomach, anguish and immediate denial flooding through you as you stare down at the mask in your hands. 

It’s just a cheap drugstore mask. Around Halloween, you could find it anywhere. You could easily dismiss it as something Stu bought as a fucked up joke. Were it not for the flaking copper on the chin of the howling mask. Your fingers tighten around it until you think it might crack. 

Slowly, you tilt your head back toward the shirts. This wasn’t what fell. A part of you screams to just chuck the mask back and pretend you never saw it. You could go downstairs, continue your movie night with Stu, and pass out beside him on the couch. Lying to yourself would be so damn easy. It’s just a mask, half the guys in school bought one because they thought it was a fucking joke. 

But your body isn’t interested in weak excuses. Bowing over, your hand swipes across the wood once more, wrapping around the object that fell. Before you even drag it out, you already know what you’re going to see. A pulsing pain spreads through your chest, eyes watering as you stare down at the knife in your hand. 

A serrated hunting knife, to be exact. The same one Dewey said was used to kill Casey only a week ago. God, how had you not seen this? How could you have been so blind?

Stu had been the number one suspect, but Billy had been his alibi, no one could place him at the scene of the crime.

There has always been something twisted about Billy. It only got worse when his mom left. Maybe this was all his idea, maybe Stu was just dragged into this, but he doesn’t really want-

Your thoughts fade into a dull silence in the back of your mind. There’s no excuse. Stu has always been different, just slightly off. His jokes nearing the wrong side of dark. But you never would have thought him capable of something so brutal. 

Footsteps sound up the stairs, and your brain shocks itself awake. Quickly, you toss the mask back under the clothes and shove the knife into the jeans. Wiping your eyes, you leap to your feet and rush out of the closet just as Stu barrels into his room. 

The both of you pause, staring blankly at each other. You, a deer caught in a hunter’s snare. He, the drooling wolf, waiting to pounce. 

Slowly, his eyes drift toward the closet, the light you left on, and the door you hadn’t had time to close. He turns back to you, and something twisted curls at the edges of his lips. Adrenaline shoots so fast through you it nearly knocks you off your feet. 

“Looking for something?” His tone is light, barely audible, as he takes a step closer. It takes every ounce of self-control not to back away from him. 

Something too strained to be a smile curls your lips up. “Um,” you lick your lips, swallowing down the dryness coating your tongue. You laugh nervously and take a step toward his bed. “Just that sweater I love. 

He stalks towards you, and your eyes widen, heart fluttering in your chest. Just when you think he might run you over, he steps around you and heads toward his dresser. You turn, afraid to take your eyes off of him. 

Peeking above the corner of a drawer is a yellow sleeve. He slips it out easily, holding it out to you with a grin that shows off all his teeth. “Thank you,” you whisper, voice cracking around the words as you snatch the sweater out of his hands. 

“I made more popcorn,” he tells you, eyes wild as he stares down at you. “Halloween’s on.” It’s a simple invitation to a movie, but it feels like there’s a knife to your back. You have no choice but to step out of the room and head down the stairs. Every bit of you screams to act natural, to pretend that there’s nothing wrong. 

How could you be? Your best friend, the boy you’re practically in love with, is slaughtering your friends. He’s running rampant through your town and killing girls just because they broke up with him. 

Risking a glance over your shoulder, you see him already looking at you. The smile is gone, now he’s just watching you with this bemused expression, like he’s waiting for you to break and make a run for it. 

You take a seat on the couch, lean against the pillows, and glue your eyes to the screen. Suddenly, Jamie Lee Curtis babysitting is the most interesting thing in the world to you. Stu takes his seat beside you, sinking into your side and wrapping his arms around your waist. Stiff as a board, you can’t find it in you to return the touch, too petrified by the thought of all the blood on his hands. 

He doesn’t care for your trepidation, taking your arms and wrapping them around himself. He presses his face into the crook of your neck, lips brushing against the sensitive skin as he speaks. “What’s your favorite scary movie?”

Avoiding Stu has been easier than you thought it would. Usually, he’s more persistent in making you hang out with him. Especially when your parents are both out of town at the same time. But he’s been suspiciously quiet since you prematurely ended your weekend stay last week. 

You managed to make it through the night. Though, while Stu dozed on top of you, you had been wide awake. Limbs stiff, eyes unblinking, the whole night had been spent on high alert. You’re not sure if he knows you know, or just suspects it. Either way, you should have turned him in by now. 

The second you left his house, you should have gone straight to the sheriff. You know who's behind the Woodsboro murders. You know who the infamous Ghostface is, and have a suspicion who his other half might be. You could have stopped all this. 

Casey and Steve would be avenged. If you had something, another person wouldn’t have been killed two days ago. You didn’t know him personally, you’d never even seen Stu or Billy interact with him. But this felt less like an attack on him and more like a threat for you. 

Keep quiet, or you’ll be strung up by your intestines. 

Triple checking all your doors and windows are locked, you head upstairs to your room. Prepared to camp out for another sleepless night. If you turned him in, you wouldn’t have to live with this paranoia anymore. Every corner you turn wouldn’t be prefaced with the idea that he might be waiting behind it. No matter how hard you try, you can’t pick up the phone and call the cops. 

You lay back on your bed, listening to the radio in the hopes it might lull you to sleep. It never works, but you hold out hope. The shrill ring of your home phone echoes throughout your empty home. Sitting up on your elbows, you glare at your closed door like it might shut the damn thing up. 

Abruptly, it cuts off. The empty halls of your home fall silent once more, the low droning of your radio barely audible above the blood rushing through your head. You hold your breath, eyes peeled on the door in front of you, waiting for… something. 

The phone goes off again, and you jump, shooting off your bed and grabbing the bat by your nightstand. Slowly, you open your door, peeking your head out before you attempt to cross the hall to your parent’s room. There’s a phone in there, and you’re more comfortable up here than you are beside your glass patio doors downstairs. 

You practically kick the door open, jumping inside the room like you’re prepared to bludgeon someone with your bat. The shadows are thick inside, but you don’t see a cloaked figure waiting for you within one. Feeling confident enough, you run toward your parent’s nightstand and grab the phone. Running back to your room as fast as you can and slamming the door closed behind you, you sink to the floor. 

Thumb hovering over the button, you let out a shaky breath and answer. “Hello?” You try and instill confidence in your voice, but you can’t hide the tremor. 

“Hey,” Billy’s voice croons on the other end, he says your name, and a shudder rolls down your spine. 

“Billy?” His name is a hoarse croak as you feel your heart thud dully inside your chest. “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to tell you something.” He pauses, and you bite your lip, nails digging into your palms as you wait for him to speak. “I’ve always wondered,” there’s a click, and then a raspier, unfamiliar voice speaks, “what do your insides look like?”

Something slams against your front door, and you drop the phone with a shrill scream, jumping to your feet and whirling around. You hear Billy’s distorted cackle echo through the speaker before abruptly cutting off. On the floor, three low beeps sound out. Bending down, you pick up the bulky phone and press it to your ear. Nothing but white noise. You toss the phone on your bed and swallow down another scream. No service. 

You’re all alone. 

The startling realization of silence rushes over you, gooseflesh rises along your arms, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. The banging downstairs has quieted and your house is once more silent. But it’s no longer the same vacant stillness it was before. There’s someone here, it’s an instinctive feeling. Long buried prey instincts warning you of a predator sniffing you out.  

Creeping quietly across the floor, you avoid the creaky wood that would give your movements away and once more open the door. It seems foolish to put yourself so boldly out in the open. Being cornered in that room is no better. No matter what, it’s just you and him all alone out here. 

You wonder, as you peek your head around the banister, if this is just Stu stalking you. Is Billy getting rid of a liability? Is it both of them?

One, you could handle on your own. But if it was the both of them, the only thing you could do was go down swinging. If you were going to die tonight, you weren’t going to let it be easy for either of them. 

Your front door is wide open, an easy escape. There was no point in running. Either one of them is waiting outside for you, or they’ve cut the brakes on your car. You crouch, peering through the railings and silently making your way down the stairs. Try as you might, you don’t see signs that anyone has come inside. 

Besides the door, there are no clues to give away where they might have gone. You don’t want to play the role of the bimbo in their sick fantasy. Despite the instinct to call out for someone, you swallow it down and continue through your home. 

Beyond the stark terror of facing your own mortality, there is also the pain of being so thoroughly betrayed by Stu. You know the truth of what he is, of what Billy is. And you kept it quiet. You buried his dark secret like it was your own, protected him. This is how he repays you?

This is his answer after years of you loving him. How could he?

You stand in the middle of your living room, bat hanging limp by your side. The aching pain of grief and fear stills your body. The fight wanes inside you, debating whether or not prolonging this is worth it. The others all fought back, and they died bloody. Maybe if you just gave in, it would be quick, painless. Stu could at least grant you that. 

There’s a brief flash of movement in the reflection of your patio door. It’s slight, like a shifting shadow. Only one thing gives him away, the white, howling mask. Instinct overrides sensitivities, you whip around, bat flying. There’s a low groan as it smashes over his head. 

Reaching up, he snatches it in his hand, using it to jerk you forward. You’re quick to let it go. Instead, you aim for his throat. Hands outstretched as you reach up, gripping his neck as tight as you can. There’s shock in his stuttered breaths, like he hadn’t thought you would fight back. You were beginning to doubt yourself, too. 

Turns out you’re too stubborn to die. 

The bat clacks loudly against the wood as he stumbles back into your mother’s glass coffee table. His legs kick up, tripping you and sending you stumbling into his chest. The both of you go plummeting backward, glass shattering around him and the wood crumpling like a tower of cards. 

Jagged shards cut at your arms and bare legs, but you know he takes the brunt of it. Your grip on his throat is unrelenting, you pick his head up and slam it against the wood. He lets out a dazed groan, and you would laugh were you not trying to stop your best friend from killing you. He seems ridiculous, wearing this stupid cheap mask and moaning like a cartoon character with a bump on their head. 

He bucks under you, hips pressing up against yours as he flips you both over. Pain rips through your back as the glass digs into your skin. Letting out a low whine, your hands slack on him for just a moment. It’s still long enough for him to get the upper hand. 

He straddles your waist, pinning you below him with his weight as he kneels on your swinging arms. You’re utterly paralyzed, with no other choice but to stare up at him as tears stream, hot and slick, down your cheeks. 

Stu rips his mask off, eyes wild as he grins down at you. “Damn, sweetheart,” he laughs, and it only makes you fight harder against him. Screaming through your teeth as you try to buck him off of you. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

He tosses the mask to the side and motions to the knife in his hand, “Surprise,” he practically sings the word, watching for your reaction. You bite your tongue, hiccuping on a sob as you stare up at him through blurry eyes. “Right,” he concedes, tilting his head, “you already knew.”

You can feel the blood pooling beneath you, the glass digging further into your shredded skin. It only makes this all the more unbearable. “Stop,” you beg, voice breaking as you struggle to hold back the tears. “I didn’t tell,” you shout at him. “Why are you doing this?” The tears break around the rage slipping through your voice as you glare up at him. 

“What are you talking about?” He snaps, his amusement waning the harder you cry. 

“Billy!” you shout the name out, just barely managing to wiggle one wrist free. He snatches it up instantly, the knife falling beside you as he leans over you, digging your hand into the glass above your head. “He said you wanted to see my insides,” there’s no controlling the sobs now. You don’t want to die. You don’t want Stu to be the one to kill you. Somehow, though, you think this would have hurt worse if it was Billy holding the knife. 

Stu’s face falls before quickly twisting up into something angry. He backs off, easing his weight just enough for the press of glass to sting a little less. “No,” he utters, shaking his head. “No, that’s not the plan.” 

Stu looks nearly manic as he stares down at you. Something unfurls inside you, years of friendship have you reaching up with your free hand. You don’t know what your plan is until he’s leaning into your touch, eyes never leaving yours. 

His hand grips your waist, easing you into a sitting position. You want to curl up into a ball and go hide in a dark corner. You want to shove glass down his throat and run. The knife looks particularly appealing beside you. 

But you do none of that. You let him tug you closer, hand tightening to the point of pain around your waist, but you don’t think he realizes, and you’re too afraid to point it out. “You’re our final girl, baby,” he practically fucking giggles, and you struggle not to flinch from the sound. “He was just fucking with you.”

“Yeah?” You snap, fingers trailing toward his hair and yanking until his face crinkles with pain. “Then what the fuck,” venom coats your tongue, voice low and deadly, “are you doing right now?”

He smiles, leaning into the way you rip at his hair. “Screwing around,” he laughs, and he sounds like a goddamn idiot. Scoffing, you release him, jerking out of his grip and ignoring the way it pulls at the wounds on your back. 

“God,” you crumple into yourself, shoulders hunching forward as you hide your face behind your hands. “I can’t believe I ever thought you could love me. You’re sick, Stu,” you snap, holding back more tears. 

Blood and glass surround you both, the shattered fragments of your friendship. Stu looks more hurt than when you strangled him. He reaches for you, and you jump back, shaking your head. ‘I was never going to kill you,” he swears. But what does the promise of a murderer mean to you?

“I don’t believe you,” voice a whisper, the tears spill over once more. He looks between you and the knife like he can’t decide what to do. You wait for it, for the snap before he just plunges the knife into your gut. Twisting it and dragging your death on. 

Instead, he lunges forward, wrapping his arms around yours and forcing you into his embrace. “Stop,” you claw weakly at his shoulders, snagging your nails in the cheap cloak. You shake your head, but the fight is over before it even begins. Your arms curl around his neck, and you sink into his familiar embrace. 

His gloved hand skates over the wounds on your back, and you whine, arching away from his touch. He offers a whispered apology, but you don’t believe it. “Billy’s not going to touch you,” he swears. “I’m never going to hurt you.”

“You already have.”

His arms only tighten around you, pulling you into his lap as you cry. You might not believe him, but he knows the truth of it. You’re his best friend. The only person besides Billy he’s ever actually cared about. 

You are his perfect final girl, and he’s never going to let you go. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the movie Scream, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[shalfeis]

hsr characters as your pets, namely cats. I hope you enjoy it. I apologize for the possible ooc.

reader x dan heng, caelus, phainon (separately)

Dan Heng

A very calm and non-confrontational cat. Gets along well with other pets, if they are in your house.

Not picky about food, but still prefers your cooking. If you feed him something delicious, you can hear him purring softly.

Unlike many other cats, he is not afraid of water. On the contrary, he willingly goes into the water if it is cool or warm. He calmly waits until all the spa treatments are completed, which makes your job much easier.

He's not the most talkative, affectionate and active cat in the world, but he always responds when you call him. He always listens attentively to you when you're talking enthusiastically. And at night he likes to lie down on your feet, warm them and purr softly.

If you're sad, in pain, or crying, he'll try to comfort you by rubbing against you, purring, and snuggling up to you. Needless to say, it more than helps?

You often lose some small things, such as keys, and somehow he always finds them and brings them to you. You don't understand how he does it, but it's still very nice.

As for outsiders, he doesn't particularly like them coming. He reacts calmly to them, but always stays away. For example, he's sitting on the couch and watching a new person in your house.

It is not strongly attached to its habitat, it is more attached to its owner, that is, to you. He'll miss the old house, of course, but he's also not against moving. He even shows interest in his new place of residence.

He loves you very much, just like you love him. You thank everyone you can for getting such a good friend and pet.

Caelus

And this is not a cat, but a disaster. Unlike Dan Heng, he is very active and constantly gets into some strange situations. He definitely has a talent for it.

He's certainly not picky about food, he'll eat anything you give him. Sometimes it seems to you that he has a black hole instead of a stomach, because how the hell does he fit so much and he's still hungry??

He's not afraid of water either, but you should be patient, because you won't be able to do spa treatments in peace. As already mentioned, he's very active, so you need to keep him occupied so that he doesn't think to leave the bath in the middle of the procedure. That already was, and you were ready to kill him.

Very talkative. It doesn't matter if you're busy with something or not, he'll say whatever he thinks. But if he's quiet and you can't hear him, then this can only mean two options. First, he's done something wrong and is trying to cover up the crime. The second one, he's not feeling well.

He is also very playful. You have a lot of different toys at home. But for some reason, the box and the packages are his favorites.

This kid is like ginger cats, you'll never guess what came into his head. At first he may purr and caress, and the next moment he wakes up in him the desire to bite you. Or he suddenly attacks you from around the corner when you least expect it.

Nevertheless, at night he likes to lie down next to you and purr like a tractor. And loudly. But somehow it's like white noise to you, and it's hard to fall asleep without it.

He immediately notices when you feel bad. He may not be very good at comforting, but the fact that he's trying to cheer you up, albeit clumsily, makes you feel better.

If Dan Heng is the one who finds your lost things, then Caelus is the one who gets your things lost. You find them in the most unexpected places. How did he even manage to hide the TV remote in the cupboard??

He is interested in every new visitor to your house. He won't be as affectionate and talkative with them as he is with you, but he won't stay away either. He will look at a person with interest and, for example, touch him with his paw or, if he likes a person, play with him.

Wherever you go, he will always be curious. He will actively explore new territory and get to know the world around him. He looks so cute in those moments, he's like a child.

Even though he's a walking disaster and often gets on your nerves, he's still very attached to you and loves you very much. He's not perfect, but that's why you love him.

Phainon

And here we are, have the perfect balance. Quite calm, but quite playful at the same time. Gets along well with other pets. And he doesn't give you any problems.

He's not picky about food, but like Dan Heng, he prefers your cooking more. He purrs softly if the food is really delicious.

He is very willing to go into the water. You can tell by his whole appearance that he enjoys spa treatments. That's why he always smells delicious and his coat is shiny.

As already mentioned, although he's calm, he doesn't mind playing either. You have several toys that he likes to play with.

He's a walking anti-stress guy, not a cat. It's enough for him to meow a couple of times, purr and settle on your feet, and your stress and fatigue go away instantly. At night, you sleep soundly with him in your arms. He purrs softly so as not to wake you up, and warms you up. Dream.

He's your little helper. He finds lost items even before you realize that you've lost something somewhere in the house, and brings them to you. You're very interested in how he does it. Or he calls you when you ask for it. For example, if you ask him to call you when the water starts to boil, he will actually call you. Sometimes it seems to you that there is a person in the body of a cat next to you, and not an ordinary cat.

When you're working, he either sits next to you or on your lap, waiting for you to finish your work. Needless to say, how does it add motivation to finish everything as quickly as possible?

Not to say that he's against strangers in your home. He won't shy away from them, but he won't fawn over them either. His affection belongs only to you. He will sit next to you and calmly look at the guest.

The change of location scares him a little, but he tries not to show it. While you're around, he's exploring a new area with interest and caution. He looks so cute that you can't resist taking a few photos.

Anyway, you have a whole photo album with him. He's too photogenic and handsome, there's nothing you can do about it. And it doesn't look like he's against it.

He's very attached to you and loves you very much. You feel the same way, so there's an idyll in your house. You don't even need a boyfriend with a cat like that.

[777bae]

SWEETENER LUKE HUGHES

Summary :: In Luke Hughes’ embrace, the world fades away. There’s no rush—just the quiet sweetness of being together, where every touch and word makes everything feel right.

Warnings :: none

Word count :: 1.2k

The evening air is crisp, a cool breeze sweeping through the city streets as you make your way toward Luke Hughes’ apartment. The hum of the city feels miles away—faint and distant—almost as if the world outside has been muted. Stepping inside the apartment, the space greets you with a quiet hum of warmth and comfort, like a sanctuary where the chaos of life can’t find its way in.

The soft glow of the overhead lights casts a golden hue over everything. You can hear the faint sounds of a game on TV, but they’re barely noticeable against the backdrop of peace that fills the room. It’s the kind of atmosphere that makes your shoulders drop the moment you walk through the door. It’s not loud or chaotic here. It’s calm, it’s still, and it’s exactly what you need.

Luke is standing by the counter, his back slightly turned as he puts the finishing touches on something he’s been working on—a quiet concentration in his movements. As soon as you step inside, his body shifts, and his eyes meet yours. The transformation is subtle, but undeniable. His smile spreads slowly, like a relief—like the weight of his day is lifting just because you’ve walked in.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice softer than usual, like he’s letting the word float between the two of you. His lips curl into a smile that reaches his eyes, and you see the way his shoulders relax, as though he’s been holding on to something all day, and now, with you here, it’s finally okay to let go.

Without another word, he crosses the room toward you, his movements fluid, almost as if he can’t wait to pull you into his arms. When he does, you feel the warmth of his body envelope you, his embrace tight and steady. It’s not a forceful hug; it’s the kind that speaks volumes without saying a word. He holds you as if you’re exactly what he’s been needing, like you’re the missing piece of his day that he didn’t realize was absent until now.

You breathe him in—his familiar scent of fresh laundry and a hint of his cologne, a combination that somehow grounds you, makes everything feel calmer. His hands rest on your back as he pulls you in closer, and you feel the tension of the day melting away, both from his body and your own. He presses a soft kiss against the top of your head, a tender gesture that speaks of his comfort in your presence.

“I’ve missed you,” he says, his voice so quiet, like a secret only the two of you share. You pull back slightly to meet his gaze, and in that moment, it feels like nothing else matters. The world outside, the noise, the responsibilities—they don’t exist here, in this space between the two of you.

“You have no idea how much I’ve needed this,” you reply, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. It’s true. His presence is soothing, like an antidote to the stress and demands that seem to be ever-present when you’re apart.

Luke guides you over to the couch, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back as you walk together. The golden light from the windows dances around the room, casting soft shadows on the walls, creating a quiet, intimate atmosphere that makes you feel like this moment could stretch on forever. There’s no rush here. No urgency. Just the calm, simple pleasure of being with him.

You sit down beside him, and he pulls you close again, this time with his arm around your shoulders, settling into the familiar, safe space of his side. His fingers trace small circles on your arm, his touch grounding you in the stillness. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, the gesture full of meaning. “You’re exactly what I needed,” he whispers against your skin, and the sincerity in his voice makes your heart skip. You can feel the weight behind his words, the way he truly feels—how much his life has shifted just by having you in it.

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. The silence between you is comfortable, not awkward or heavy, but soft—like the air around you is wrapped in a blanket of warmth and contentment. You rest your head on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. There’s something so reassuring about it, like a quiet promise that everything will be okay. His hand finds your hair, gently brushing it out of your face, his fingers moving with a tenderness that makes you feel like you’re the most important person in his world.

The world outside doesn’t exist in this space. The worries, the chaos, the noise—it all fades into the background. Here, in his arms, it’s just you two, connected by something simple but powerful.

“You make everything sweeter,” Luke says again, his voice low but full of feeling. It’s not a compliment wrapped in expectations; it’s a simple truth, spoken quietly but with so much heart. He’s not just talking about tonight or this moment. He’s talking about every moment with you—the way you make his life feel lighter, how you bring something fresh to the ordinary. You turn everything into something worth savoring.

“You’re the one who makes everything better,” you reply, the words leaving your lips before you can stop them. Luke turns his head slightly, giving you a soft, knowing smile. His eyes sparkle, and there’s a quiet confidence in the way he looks at you, as though he’s seen something in you that he never knew he needed, but now that it’s here, it’s the best thing.

He reaches for your hand, gently cupping it in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. The touch is soft, almost reverent. “You don’t have to do anything, you know,” he says, his voice tender. “Just being here with me—this is enough. You’re enough.”

His words settle between you like a warm blanket, and in that moment, you realize he’s right. There’s no need for perfection, no need for anything but this. Just the two of you, together, in this quiet peace. You squeeze his hand gently, your heart swelling with affection. “You make me feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be,” you whisper, the truth of it resonating in your chest.

Luke leans down and presses a kiss to the top of your head again, the simple gesture wrapping you in the softness of the moment. “I feel the same way,” he replies, his voice thick with the weight of unspoken emotions. You can tell, just by the way he says it, that he means it with everything he has.

The night drifts on in this gentle rhythm, the quiet hum of the apartment the only sound, filling the space between you with warmth and affection. There’s no need for grand gestures, no need for anything more than this. You realize, as the time slips by, that it’s not the big moments that matter—it’s the small, quiet ones. The moments where his hand lingers just a little longer, where his eyes meet yours with that soft smile that says more than words ever could.

You’ve found your peace here, in his arms, in this space between the two of you. And in that sweetness, in that simplicity, you know that this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

[neontiger]

Could you do something about looking into Jason’s wallet and seeing a little picture of you there?

Baby, this is too cute ♡ Wrote this while at work so I didnt have time to edit, so apologies for any misspells or whatnots. Thank you so much for the love ♡♡♡

~♡♡♡~

The week had been rough on both you and Jason, though for wildly different reasons - you with the double shift four out of five days, him with taking down a gang that had until recently been harassing the residents of the Hill - and so when Sunday night rolled around neither of you could be bothered to get dressed for your regular date night.

Pizza and a movie at your apartment it was, then.

You click through the options, all TV shows, but no movie that feels right. Too many choices and your brain is already empty and tired. Jason's not faring better, arm around your shoulder as you lay against him on the couch, his head dipping down every few minutes as sleep threatens to take him.

He groans, head falling back. His hand squeezes your shoulder. "Let me up," he says. "I'm gonna take a shower."

You wrinkle your nose at him. "Pizza's not far, you know."

He shrugs. "I'm gonna pass out waiting for you to pick something. May as well get clean first."

You give a dry laugh as you sit up to let him off the couch. "You stink anyway," you add, for that extra bite, as he leans to kiss your forehead.

He pinches the tip of your nose lightly between two fingers. "You like it."

You watch him walk away, enjoying the view of his broad back in his tight black shirt...his ass in those sweatpants...until he shoots you a knowing glance over his shoulder. You divert your gaze quickly back to the television.

The water from the shower is at full blast when the doorbell rings. You narrow your eyes at the bathroom door - surely Jason can feel that little bit of contempt through the wood - before getting up. You're not wearing much, a thin cotton slip dress to combat the summer heat, and grab his sweatshirt from where he abandoned it earlier on the bed. Decent enough now to open the door, you grab Jason's wallet from the kitchen counter and move to answer as the doorbell rings again.

"I'm here," you grumble, mostly to yourself, as you pull the door open. Habits built working customer service has a small plastered on your face a second later and you quickly flip open Jason's wallet to dig out enough for the pizza and a big tip.

Instead you falter, cheeks flushed, as you come face to face with yourself.

You recognize the picture; you texted it to him one lonely night when he was out, wearing that mask, cleaning the streets, putting himself in danger...why he needed to, what he was trying to repair, you didn't know...you'd been in your bed staring at the ceiling and trying not to cry. He'd texted first, that's right. He wanted to know how your night was. He missed you. The picture was your response: smiling but eyes a little red, very tired, wearing a shirt he'd left behind.

"It’s $21.49, ma'am."

You shove $32 at the delivery guy and snatch the pizza from his hands. Before he can ask about your change you shut the door.

Your heart races. Pumps blood too fast through your veins, making the walk to the kitchen loose and wobbly. You set the box on the counter and stare at the photo.

Jason's not the sentimental one. You're the collector, clinging to bits of him, to souvenirs, because you knew that one day...because you knew. But not Jason. He didn't put memories in objects.

And yet here you were, safe in his wallet where he could always have you.

The shower clicks off. You close his wallet and hurry to replace it on the counter. Your cheeks still burn as Jason emerges from the bathroom wearing only a towel low on his hips. Water beads on his muscled chest and arms, the right one tense and flexed as he holds the towel up with a clenched fist.

"D'you have some of my underwear here?" He asks.

You snort. "Yeah. Closet, third drawer down."

He smirks. "Pervert," he says, before making his way to the closet.

You try not to rush him, to not throw your arms around and kiss him. Instead you make your way as calmly as your overexcited heart allows to the nightstand next to your bed, to pull open the bottom drawer and find the old digital camera there. It's been a few months since you last used it - with him, actually, taking pictures of birds at the park - but it still has enough charge.

Jason glances at you, fixing the waistband of his underwear. "What are you doing?"

You aim the camera at him and snap a photo. He grins. "We should take some pictures," you say. "You know, in case you want to carry one with you. In case you miss me."

He walks around the bed and wraps an arm around your waist. Strong, warm, a little damp...you could melt into him, right now, right here. He takes the camera from your hands. "That sounds like a good idea," he says.

His lips press yours, a smile on them. The camera flashes above you like stars.

[little-glitter-kitten]

I Think The Apple's Rotten Right To The Core Pt 5

Prologue: As your brother, Caleb always took great pride in the fact that he was always the first to notice the little things when it came to you. When you were hurt, when you were sick, when you were lying or keeping a secret. What will Caleb do when he notices just how much his precious little adopted sister has grown? Can he fight the filthy, rotten feelings threatening to ruin all he holds dear?

(Caleb x Reader, no use of 'Y/N, AFAB reader, size difference.)

TW: Pseudo-incest, dub-con, somnophilia, semi-public sex, possessive Caleb, Obsessed Caleb, Yandere Caleb.

YOUR POV:

The trip to the park was nice. Just like old times...almost.

The two of you sat on the swings and chatted, about work, about friends, about your new adult lives but there was an undercurrent, pulsing and beckoning, that was almost impossible to ignore. You could tell Caleb could feel it, too. He seemed to distance himself and on those rare occasions he allowed himself to touch you, it never lasted long, much to your disappointment.

Getting back home around lunch time, you found the note Grandma had left on the coffee table, informing you she had gone out to Bingo and would be back later.

The two of you were alone and the silence became deafening. A silence filled with words left unsaid.

"I..." You struggled to find an excuse to leave the room that had begun to feel suffocating. "need to go make my bed."

With that, you ran up the stairs to your bedroom. Once you got there, you realised it was the worst place for the solace you so sorely needed. You stared at the bed where just less than 24 hours ago, your brother had come from using your body. The bed where you had fingered yourself to orgasm after orgasm, pretending it was his hands.

Hanging your head, you were dealt with another harsh reminder of last night in the form of your dark blue lace panties, still bearing traces of your arousal and Calebs pre-cum.

Determined to keep yourself busy and focus on literally anything else, you decided to follow through on your word and make your bed.

Eventually, you hear the indistinct chatter of the TV downstairs being turned on and you find yourself relaxing into the motions of the task and begin to feel somewhat calmer. Leaning over the side of the bed to tuck in the sheet, you heard a sharp intake of breath behind you.

Looking over your shoulder, you find Caleb at the doorway, his gaze fixed on you like a hawk watching their prey. That was the moment you realised how much your sundress had ridden up your thighs, the slightest peek of your white satin panties peeking out from under the dress.

You quickly turn around and sit on the bed, pulling your dress as far as it goes over your thighs.

"I was just coming to tell you Grandma is back." He clears his throat and shakes his head. "She's making lasagne for dinner."

"Okay." You say simply, unable to find any other words.

"Okay then." Caleb say with a slight chuckle before turning to leave when he stops abruptly, staring at the floor.

Following his gaze, you see what he is staring at. Your panties from the night before.

As memories come flooding back from the previous night, you clench your thighs together and release a deep breath at the small relief of the friction. Calebs gaze shoots over to you, a small knowing smirk on his face.

"You never could lie to me, Mèimei." He says, bending down and picking up the used underwear. "You forget, I know you too well."

You watch as he lifts it to his nose and inhales deeply, his eyes rolling back as he let's out a long steady groan. His eyes flick back to yours as he palms himself through the denim of his jeans. He takes a small step into the room, just enough to step in out of the doorway.

"One last time..." He voice so soft, you almost didn't hear him. "Help me, one last time."

Watching his hips thrust slighting into his hands, you can't stop yourself...you nod.

A relieved smile washes over his face as his fingers make quick work of his fly. His cock springs out and you can't help but look. It's....perfect.

Circumcised, slightly larger than average in both girth and length, with large veins running up either side to the red tip, leaking with pre-cum.

You rub your thighs together, seeking any sort of friction.

"Open them." He says, his tone gentle but leaving no room for argument. "Let me see."

Slowly, you spread your thighs, lifting your dress for him to see your panties that are becoming increasingly wet. His hand begins pumping himself faster as you let him see your white satin underwear.

"Good girl." He brings his other hand, still clutching the blue scrap of fabric back up to his nose, his eyes staring straight into yours as he inhales the scent of your combined fluids. "There's no need to be shy in front of Gēge."

"You two, dinner is almost ready. Can somebody please help set the table" You jump at the sound of your grandmothers voice floating up the stairs but Caleb doesn't lose his momentum at all, his fist still pumping over his cock.

Taking a deep breath, he lowers the panties from his face and turns his head. "Coming!" He calls back, his voice completely unaffected by his stroking.

The surprise must have shown on your face because he gives you a cheeky wink before speeding up his movements a bit more.

You couldn't look away from this man, standing in your doorway, pumping his cock at the mere sight of your spread legs. You couldn't believe you would have such an effect on him to push him to such reckless behaviour. You wanted to know just how far you could push him. You wanted to see him lose his composure and crack his cool facade.

Emboldened, you lift one foot onto the mattress, watching his as his eyes widen, taking in as much of you as he can. Before you nerves get the better of you, you reach down, grasping your panties and slowly pulling them to the side, exposing your pussy to his predatory gaze.

The quiet, slick rhythmic sound of his fist pumping over his cock was broken by Caleb choking back a moan.

In almost the blink of an eye, Caleb was now standing in front of you, pushing you back on to the mattress and coming to hover over you. His hips slotted between your legs as his fist began moving rapidly.

"Watch." He commanded. You looked down just in time to see thick ropes of cum shoot out, onto your pussy. The sound of his deep, long groan in your ear as his hips bucked into his fist, milking the last drops of cum, was something you would never forget.

You lie back, legs spread as his cum rolled off your clit and down your pussy. Panting like you just ran a marathon.

"Filthy girl..." He whispered, his finger grazing through the cum just above your clit and bring it up to spread it over your bottom lip. "Go clean yourself up."

You watched as he stood up and tucked himself back into his jeans.

Looking down at you and your dishevelled state, he gave a slight chuckle before bending down to kiss your cheek so sweetly and murmur in your ear "Unless you like the idea of eating at the family dinner table with your pussy covered in your brothers cum."

With a gentle, loving, but borderline condescending pat to your cheek, he straightened himself back up and left the room.

[giddygrsc]

So, it’s been in my head for quite a while… but… I feel even worse for Catnap after the whole “revelation” from ch 4 of 1006 being Ollie, cause it just makes CN’s situation even sadder.

Like we have "Ollie" warning us about how much of a "monster" Catnap is and how dangerous it is to be in Playcare cause of it... But I wonder now if he actually was just brainwashing us into thinking that Catnap was a devil just so we would be on edge all the time? Dont get me wrong, I am not saying that CN wasnt dangerous, but we barely see him during all the chapter, just once inside the house that, we dont know if it was just an hallucination like the Huggy from the TV, then we see him when he pushes us destroying the mask but didnt harm us past that, just letting us there, then we see him on his shrine, and, after the mini critters and Dogday encounter, briefly when he warn us to leave (IF it was him and not the Prototype trying to lure us). Finally we see him a last time in the confrontation at the end. We dont know for sure if he is even stalking us. Just that he is aware where we are (and that could more possibly have to do with the Prototype than Catnap himself)

And I know some people will try to add Dogday's dialogue in the mix... But considering the recent info, how much if what he said actually happened? Or what if he ended up there because they found out he wasnt actually loyal to 1006? And how do we even know if Catnap is related to any of the deaths of the SC? But going back on track... Now knowing that the Prototype has been the one luring us, and tricking us... How much did he plan ahead? And, if his dialogue says something... Then does it mean that he never even cared for Catnap, his most loyal servant, even a little? At the end is all about him and Poppy isnt it? Like, have you stop thinking, how messed up that Theo, the kid that almost died for his "friend/god", Catnap, the one that was indoctrinated/gr00med into following blinded the Prototype (just like you claim Poppy was by "Ollie"), Catnap that was hinted to yave been a loner with a soft spot for other toys, tortured by the assholes workers like many other toys, was just "another" piece that could be discarded? Damn, that is really sad.

And, just a slight note: the why I address Catnap instead of, lets say, Mommy Long Legs, is cause she didnt seem to be attached to the Prototype, it mostly was her wanting to be free and, following the Prototype to not "be a part of him" so those are different situations. And no, this isn’t also to throw shade to the doggo or trying to excuse CN’s actions, it’s just me overthinking at an inhumane late hour xD thnks for read.

Btw! The one in the draw is player, wanted to make em not the average doll but neither that much ott personalized so fair warning xD

[knight-a3]

Hazbin Masterpost

Heavenbound Masterpost

Vox, the noisy video box

So Vox may not be my favorite character, but he is probably my favorite redesign. I laugh every time I look at him now. He looks like a weird mix of Spongebob, Kraang(TMNT), and Mr. Electric(Sharkboy and Lavagirl). He absolutely hates it.

Notes under the cut

There's too many twinks in this show. So when I was trying to decide which characters I could change, for body diversity, Vox was an obvious one. He needed more bulk so his body could conceivably support the old TV models. Those things could get heavy. The change also had the side effect of making him shorter, which just worked better proportionately.

I liked the idea that Vox could never get rid of his original bulky 50s TV, but also wanted him to be able to upgrade. So I decided his true body is the 50s TV, and he adds an upgraded monitor for a head as technology improves. He's hates that he's stuck as an old fashioned TV, so he hides that under his suit. Since the monitor is just an addition, it can be swapped out easily. It can be damaged and he's technically unharmed. But he can't see through his suit without the monitor, unless he wants to use a security camera and direct himself 3rd person style.

I didn't like that basically everyone has sharp teeth. It reduces the impact for characters like Alastor or Rosie. So I've been having the default be just sharp canines. But with Vox being a TV, there are so many possibilities. I gave Vox "regular" teeth, which helps him look more trustworthy. It fits the corrupt businessman vibe. But the appearance can change with his mood too.

Color TV became available in the 50s, so Vox always had color vision. But I think it'd be funny if, early on, he had a tendency to glitch out by going into black and white vision when he gets worked up. He's mostly grown out of that glitch, but he can't seem to shake the static or TV color bars, and developed new ones as he integrated computer and internet tech into himself as well. Now he gets the Blue Screen of Death, system errors, and city wide power surges.

Messing around with his face is so fun. When he's bored or tired a Voxtech logo will bounce around like the DVD logo, or display a screensaver. His face can get too big for the screen when he's excited, or be small when he's feeling embarrassed. I need to put a troll face on him at some point. It may be an old meme, but man, it feels right.

His left eye turns red when it's hypnotic, to reference those blue and red 3D glasses.

Of the three Vees, he is absolutely the most powerful. Val and Vel are the content creators, but Vox is the platform. The other two, while still powerful in their own right, would never have gotten to the level they're at if it weren't for Vox. He controls the mainstream media.

--TV set--

So we've got some interesting implications with how he functions. He's a TV, but he blue screens like a computer, and he shorts out the power grid. I think it's safe to say he is more than just a TV, he's a multimedia entertainment center. That, and TVs are starting to really blend with computers these days. He's mainstream media.

At some point, I realized that a TV set was a "set" because it wasn't just a single device. A television set was a collection of components, which boils down to a radio hooked up and synchronized to a visual display. I bring this up mostly because I am a sucker for one-sided radiostatic. It's so funny to me. Vox is obsessed.

But I'm going to refrain from too much theorizing about their relationship. Alastor is absolutely not interested in romance. Nor a QPR. He's not even interested in friendship. Alastor is too invested in power dynamics to really consider anyone a friend. Mimzy is probably the closest he has to a friend, and even that has manipulative elements on both sides. But I'm supposed to be talking about Vox!

--Human Vox!--

He is not tall, haha. But his proportions are a bit taller than his demon form. I wanted to go for square glasses, but I didn't see many examples of that in the 50s photos I found. Oh well! My goal was a sleazy business man. He probably had a variety of jobs, but they primarily involved TV. Commercials, PR, interviews, news, game shows, talk shows, screenwriting, etc. Whatever he could do to get more influence. He found himself favoring the business end of things. Making deals and pulling strings. He decided what would go on the air. He's one of those network executive types.

I see lots of people give him heterochromia, but I don't really see a point to that. He hypnotizes people with his left eye, sure, but it's not a different color. It's not disfigured in any way either. Maybe he just had a tendency to wink at people, I dunno.

I think his death involved some sort of severe skull fracture focused around his left eye. Maybe a car accident, maybe he was shot, idk. Maybe seizures were involved. But he was somewhere in his mid 40s to early 50s. I ended up writing 45, but I'm not super committed to that or anything.

For a human name, I see lots of people calling him Vincent and that's sorta grown on me. So I might go with "Vincent Cox".

And because I fell into another research rabbit hole...

--TV evolution--

(below) 50s-60s CRT TV: TV sets were treated as furniture and there could be some very interesting cabinet designs. Color TV was introduced in the 50s, but wasn't quite profitable until the late 60s.

(below) 70s-80s CRT TV: Color TV became more affordable and commonplace.

(below) 90s CRT TV

(below) 2000s CRT to Plasma and LCD TVs: The three display technologies competed, but LCD won out in the end. Plasma and early LCD didn't look substantially different. Plasma was a little bulkier, but was still slimmer than CRT.

2010s and on: LCD improved with LED backlighting. But then OLED removed the need for backlighting entirely, which mixed the benefits of plasma and LCD. (Didn't bother to find a picture example. It's so close to modern at this point)

--Display technology-- (These overviews are very simplified)

CRT(Cathode Ray Tube)--Used through the 1900s to approx 2010. Monochromatic until Color TV developed aroung the 1950s. Worked via vacuum tubes and electron gun that lit up the pixels. They were bulky, heavy, and used a whole lot of power. Widely considered obsolete and no longer made. Video games made while these were in use tend to look better in CRT, since the graphics accounted for the image quality.

Flat screens-

PDP (Plasma Display Panel): Used from early 2000s to approx 2015. Used gas cells that light up pixels when electrically charged. Good image quality and good contrast, but expensive, heavy, and used a lot of power. Considered obsolete and no longer made, despite still having a desirable image quality.

Plasma and LCD competed in the 2000s to early 2010s as CRT popularity waned. LCD eventually won out due to weight and overall cost(including market price and energy efficiency).

LCD (Liquid Crystal Display): Introduced for TV around the same time as Plasma. Works via a liquid crystal layer with a backlight. Slim, decent image quality, energy efficient. Viewing angle matters because image colors are warped at wide angles. Cheaper than plasma. There are two main backlighting types:

--CCFL(Cold Cathode Fluorescent Light): Used fluorescent lighting for the backlight. Image quality was decent, but didn't have good contrast. (the blacks were never truly dark because of the backlight)

--LED(Light Emitting Diode): An LCD that uses LEDs instead of CCFL for the backlighting. Better contrast and efficiency than using CCFL.

OLED(Organic LED): Mixes strengths of plasma and LCD. Self emitting LEDs. No backlight or LCD panel needed, which improves contrast(about as good as plasma was, which is why plasma is basically obsolete now).

--QD-OLED(Quantum Dot- OLED) Adds a layer of Quantum dots to an OLED to improve color gamut. I think. I can't let myself fall too far into this rabbit hole, so I'm not double checking anymore.

((Feb 12, 2025-updated tags)

[cweeming]

act four.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

you sat with your back to his body, your feet on either side of his knees. because his legs were spread apart, yours were spread aswell, easier access to your cunt.

"easy, miss." he huffed into your ear upon feeling you slightly tremble, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. you were nervous - real nervous. being a virgin and getting laid by a dude for the first time didn't go together. "relax and let me take care of things, yes?"

he guided your head back to rest against his shoulder, ensuring you were content. once that happened, he moved his hand between your legs, pressing his palm to your panties.

"this won't hurt, will it?"

Patch smirked, releasing a huff of a laugh. "worse," he teased, in hopes of frightening you just a bit. you whimpered, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

what you hadn't had in mind? for him to be skilled at what he were doing. you released a low groan as you felt his hand go into your panties, the heat of his palm pressing against your cunt. when you grabbed his wrist, he'd have his attention solely focused on you, making you cry out as he grabbed a fistful of your cunt.

"don't make the claws come out, love." he huskily whispered the warning into your ear, grounding his intentions. nothing would stand in the way between you and the pleasure he aimed to elicit.

and so, he began to finger you. his hand dragged upward before rubbing circles against your folds. at first, no symptoms came, until the minutes passed. you laid your head back against his shoulder, holding your breath as you felt your stomach coil. while you couldn't describe it, it were a warm feeling.

"you won't break me," you croaked, Patch side-eyeing you. that were a lie.

no other symptom came and you grew grew bored, his hand continuing to rub circles against your folds. impatient and a virgin, you had anticipated a bit more.

"ain't that a promise?" his rubbing halted as he withdrew his hand from your panties, studying the essence on his fingers. lubrication. you were sexually aroused. he glanced over at you with a smug smile, you doing the same except in confusion. how innocent you were.

"I don't think-" your words trailed off as you watched him sniff his fingers, before licking them. you winced. that's a thing? "... you're supposed to digest that."

"light me a cigar, will ya?" in the midst of tasting you? a man has his own needs, and you supposed you couldn't reject.

"um... sure." not like you knew how to. hell, might aswell try.

you moved so you were straddling his lap again, facing his direction. he had already pulled out a cigar, holding it between 2 fingers. he took out a lighter as you asked, "aren't you worried this'll damage your health?"

"shoulda already." he looked up at you, before handing you the cigar and lighter. "toast it."

you glanced between him and the materials, confused. toast what? the cigar? you barely knew how to handle 2 things at once, much less light a cigar on fire. "how?"

he frowned, motioning the materials with both hands. what was he expecting? it's not like you had a degree in cigartology. looks like you were alone in this one. with shaky hands, you slowly extended them toward the cigar and lighter, feeling first before engulfing them in your grasp. "yes... okay."

you closed your eyes, before taking a deep breath. impress the eyepatch man. with that, you reopened them, before eyeing what you had before you. boy, did it feel like you were being evaluated by a judge on a tv show.

"firstly... you're going to have to." you tried to open the cap of the lighter, but couldn't. looking over at Patch, you giggled nervously, cheeks going pink. "give me a moment."

he opened it for you. you felt a weight lift off your shoulders as you realized he were helping you. simple, you could slap yourself silly. "hold and rotate. the heat is applied to the foot of the cigar. like this."

he activated the lighter, igniting a fire from the head. your lips tightened into a line, slowly scooting away an inch from the lighter. he shot you a perplexed look. "missy, you won't burn even if you wanted to."

to demonstrate, he moved the lighter toward the cigar in your hand. "hold at a 45° angle and rotate."

you did so. the cigar now at a 45° angle, you slowly rotated, watching as the tobacco warmed. all the while, Patch glared at you, a smug smile playing on one side of his face. you were learning.

you spaced out for a moment, snapping back into reality as you felt the cigar leave your hand. your eyes undilated as you fixed your gaze on Patch, who inserted the head of his cigar into his mouth.

"light it," he spoke, cigar still in mouth. you moved the lighter directly infront of his cigar, about to activate it when he grabbed your wrist. "without letting the flame touch the cigar." you blushed, an awkward smile appearing on your face. with a nod, you moved the lighter a few feet away, before activating it - lighting the cigar.

"so... do I get an A?" you asked, in the mood to act cute. Patch puffed a few times before making sure the cigar were evenly lit. "in your dreams." you grunted, your expression turning serious.

"... 'cause that's exactly what I need to hear from the guy who's hooking up with me." you released a hmph, before turning your back on him - sitting in his lap like you had previously. he sighed, rolling his eyes at your antics.

"don't tell me you're not enjoying this." he hooked one finger into the waistband of your panties, setting his cigar aside to do the same with his other hand. you smirked, lifting your hips up so he could take off your panties. "maybe a little."

"a little? mmm..."

the panties slid down to your ankles, and you sat back down in his lap. you had no time to react when his thumb found your clit, rubbing slow circles that made you arch into his touch. you sighed, relaxing your head back against his shoulder.

"you're a cheat." you looked over at him, him doing the same. you couldn't help but release a groan, feeling a warm and tingling sensation spread through your core. "and a damn good one, at that."

he had you at the palm of his hand. does he know how he's making you feel? your inner muscles fluttered and clenched, only growing responsive each second that passed. he took your chin with his thumb and pointer finger, before pressing a kiss to your cheek. you didn't do with kisses.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

you couldn't help but pant as he repeatedly teased the slick entrance to your cunt with his other hand, dipping only the tip inside before pulling out. it sent a shiver up your spine, sweat appearing on your brow while your chest heaved. despite being in an anticipated and excited state, you couldn't succumb to the growing arousal.

"feels good, don't it?" you looked up at him at the sound of his voice, nodding your head.

"it'd feel even better with the sound of your voice..." your hips twitched and rotated, seeking direct contact with his probing fingers "... heard sex is supposed to be sexy. y'know, dirty talk and all."

silence. he paused his ministrations, as if contemplating on your words. then, he plunged 2 fingers deep into your tight heat, causing a sharp intake of breath to escape your lips as your inner walls clenched around the invading digits.

"actions speak louder than words." he whispered into your ear, curling his fingers slightly. you released a moan, grabbing a hold of his arms with your nails. "do I have to keep reminding you of my claws, missy?"

his lips brushed against the shell of your ear, making you shiver with his hot breath. you were about to experience the time of your life - and things were just getting started.

"right. sorry." you released your hold on his arms. your thighs pressed together as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, inner walls clenching and releasing around his fingers. as if trying to contain the growing warmth spreading through your lower belly.

"open," he commanded, thumb continuing its persistent cycle on your clit. you shook your head, but the expression on his face left you with no choice. as you spread your legs open again, your breath came in short bursts.

time went by and his pace varied, sometimes fast and hard while other times slow and deliberate. you never knew about the pleasure stored in your body until each movement drove you to the edge, coaxing out the pleasure. one thing was for sure: Patch's focus remained solely on you, your body language and the ways to improve on his work.

"f-fuck..." sweat gleamed on your skin. your hair were disheveled. how long had this ecstasy gone on for? the pace of his fingers drew you wild, sometimes rapidly pushing you toward the brink while other times holding you back, teasing you mercilessly. the only thing you found helping from cumming right then and there were your nails scraping his skin. "... can't you go a little slower?"

as these words left your lips, you felt yourself begin to tighten. warning signals went off in your mind. you had no plans on cumming.

"oh, nonono-" with a few more skilled thrusts, Patch were aware of your sudden state, your cunt clenching steadily around his fingers. "abort, James, abort!" but, he didn't listen. he smirked, even as he rubbed your clit firmly.

"James..." you strained toward release, breasts pushing towards the ceiling as your back arched off his lap. "... I'm going to..." your face contorted, features forming into a silent moan of pleasure. "... to..."

throwing your head back, your shut your eyes tightly, seeing stars. what you anticipated? to have passed on, entering the heavens. in reality, your legs pressed together, preventing an orgasm and his hands from continuing onward.

"you alright, missy?" your eyes shot open, and you looked up at him. he looked down at you, his hands still stuck between your thighs. you must have realized, looking down at your legs and seeing them pressed together. you didn't have to say anything as embarrassment read your face, a low groan escaping your lips as Patch's fingers left your clit and cunt. "how long was I out for?"

"you weren't." he brang his fingers to his lips, tongue darting out to lick the sticky residue of your wetness. "all you had was an overreaction." he lapped at his fingers slowly, knowingly, as if taking in the flavor of your arousal.

you tilted your head to one side, watching what he were doing in confusion. he had done this before, and were doing it again. he noticed, his tongue swirling and flicking until they came to a halt. "what?"

"I don't suppose what you're doing is normal." he furrowed his brow at your words, a frown on his face. where are you going with this? "the human body isn't meant to consume forbidden things."

"an I like what you did to me would have been helpful." he grunted, crossing his arms over his chest.

[anjee0]

You're beautiful

Female!Reader x Recovery!2010's!Eminem (Fell free to use your own OC insert as well)

Description - Y/n and Marshall have been friends who have been harbouring feelings for each other for a years now. Marshall notices that Y/n has developed an eating disorder and decides to show her just how beautiful she really is.

Warnings - Eating disorder, body dysmorphia, smut, mentions of overdosing and drugs.

Requested by @shadyyrecords

Marshall and f!reader know each other for a long while. They had a really strong relationship, especially because f!reader helped him through his drug addiction when he was depressed bc of Proof’s death, and so he was really protective towards her. They became famous together (him ofc as a rapper and f!reader as a model). But due to comments by her managers and the haters and journalists because of her body she developed an eating disorder and Marshall slowly saw the signs and he tries to help her. He’s scared for her by how much he loves her and he confesses his feelings in the end !! And maybe some sexual tension in the end ?? (Like he becomes a little angry by how much she doesn’t like her body and he decides to show her how gorgeous and beautiful she is)

@sweetmusicvoid (ik u were waiting for this 😼🩷)

You fiddled with the keys in your hand before unlocking the door to Marshall’s mansion, and making your way in. The house had felt all too familiar, your constant visits had turned the house into a second home for you. A place where you could find comfort, trust and most importantly, your best friend Marshall. He was lounging on the couch, mindlessly watching the TV, but not paying much attention. It was common for him to zone out when watching TV.

“Hey Ken.” You greeted.

Marshall snapped out of his trance and fixed his gaze on you, who was making your way to the kitchen for a glass of water.

“Hey Barbie.” He responded as he watched his friend rummage through the freezer for ice.

“You seriously need to invest in those fridges that pump ice out for you.” You said, shutting the freezer with an expression of mock disappointment on her face.

“My fridge is perfectly fine. It serves its purpose and keeps my food and drinks cool.”

“Just a little advice.”

You sat next to him on the sofa and laid your head on his lap, a very common gesture between the both of you. You closed your eyes as you felt Marshall’s hand thread through you hair gently.

You and Marshall were the definition of two peas in a pod. You had known each other since highschool, and grew closer ever since. You helped Marshall with Proof’s passing and his difficult journey to sobriety, ensuring that you were right next to him through every step of the way. It only strengthened your bond, making it unbreakable. You both wouldn’t dare to imagine what a life without the other would be like. Marshall had also helped you in many ways too. One of his biggest being helping you to achieve your dream to become a model. You were both incredibly successful and loved by many. Rumours of you two dating would buzz through the media and tabloids, but you guys would always deny it, stating that they were only friends. However, the two of you secretly wished it wasn’t true, and that you were truly in a more intimate relationship. But both of your pride got in the way, restricting you from sharing this secret that laid deep down in your hearts.

However, the past few weeks had felt off, and oddly different. Marshall felt a shift in the air. The signs started off small. They were noticeable but not big enough to raise any suspicion. But it had only continued to grow. It first started off with you going to the gym more often. 1 hour sessions became 2 hours. 10 minute peaceful strolls to admire the sunset became 30 minute serious jogs with no time for rest. It only got worse when you started skipping meals, claiming that you had already eaten. And for the rare moments when you had eaten, you would take small proportions. Not to mention your habit of excessively drinking water came into sight as well. Marshall had never seen someone chug two glasses of water so quickly. 

He watched you with intent, examining your well rested face. He was so curious to know what was happening behind it. What was making you do this? He pulled out his phone and did some quick research. A few taps and clicks revealed an answer he wasn’t looking forward to. He felt his stomach churn as he read that all your signs had pointed to symptoms of an eating disorder. His breath got caught in his throat, as his eyes continuously scanned over the text again and again. Sighing, he put his phone down as immediate suspicions for your modelling agency came to his mind. He knew how toxic the modelling agency could be at times. He knew that you had been through a lot, but he also knew that you always came back up. 

Marshall softly exhaled through his nose, continuing to run his hand through your hair. A pang of guilt hit his system. How could he let his friend, the person he loves and cares for so much suffer in silence like this. He felt like an idiot for not noticing earlier. He felt a slight twist of sadness that you would keep something so serious like this from him. 

The evening rolled around as the sun started to set, making the sky a beautiful arrangement of watercolours blended together. Marshall looked back at the meal he’d prepared that was sitting on the stove. His lips curled into a victorious smile, feeling proud of his creation. The pair of steaks looked glorious as it sat on the pan, looking cooked to perfection. At that moment, you walked into the kitchen, the aromatic scent of the steaks immediately reaching your nostrils. Your eyes wandered over to the meal, taking in the beauty of it.

“That looks great Marsh.” You complimented, taking a closer look at it.

“Thanks. Set the table up. I’ll serve us some dinner. I made mash for the sides and I prepared some vegetables too.”

“That sounds amazing. But I already ate.”

Marshall felt that familiar odd feeling in his stomach again. His heart beated quickly as his jaw tightened, knowing that you were lying. “When did you eat?”

“When I went out for a jog. I stopped to get some food.” The lie left your lips so effortlessly, like it meant nothing to her at all. Like it was so easy.

“Oh, what did you have?”

“Just a burger.”

“Sounds nice.” Marshall cracked his knuckles, searching his mind for a good response. “If you get hungry, let me know. I’ll serve up some steak.”

You licked your lips and nodded. “Okay then. Thanks.”

You guys settled down at the table, sitting across from each other. In front of Marshall was the steak, plated on a white porcelain plate along with mash and a mixture of steamed vegetables. You sat on the other side, glancing over at the plate every moment or so. Marshall would catch you sneaking a peek every now and then. He could see you were hungry, he saw it in your face.

“Hey, if you're hungry, you can always ask for the other steak.” Marshall said softly.

“No, I can't…” You replied, her voice quiet and timid.

“What do you mean you can't?”

A glimpse of panic spread over your face as you searched your mind for the correct response. “Well, because I already ate. And I'll be sick if I eat more and…” Your voice slowly trailed off. 

His face softened into one of hurt and sadness. He could feel cracks break through his heart as he heard the vulnerability in your voice. Your eyes turned glassy with tears as you struggled to hold them back. Your vision blurred, and finally, you let go, allowing a tear to run down your cheek.

“I don't know Marshall…” You replied as your voice broke. “I… I just…” You took a deep breath that felt shaky and unstable. A lump in the back of your throat formed, choking the words that you could barely form in your mouth.

Marshall got out of his seat and went to your side, kneeling beside you. He looked up at you, his expression one of worry and empathy. He placed his hand in yours, offering a sense of comfort and reassurance. “Let's sit on the couch. And we can talk about this together, okay?”

He brought you over to the couch and sat you down. His hand was still placed in yours, still giving his safety to you. As you sat down, his softened gaze was fixed on you, examining every aspect of your face. He squeezed your hand gently, letting you know that he was ready to listen.

“Everything was fine Marshall,” You started. Your eyes darted around the room, unable to make eye contact with him. “And then my modelling agency started telling me that I was gaining weight and that it didn’t look good.”

Marshall’s jaw tightened as he heard those words come out of your mouth as his blood started to simmer with anger. He nodded and tried to keep his composure as he gently moved his thumb up down your knuckles.

“They told me to start eating less and to exercise more.” A beat of silence hung in the air before you spoke up again. “And I did. I thought everything would be fine. But it just went downhill from there.”

The tears began building up in your eyes again, blurring your vision. You let the bitter tears of sadness and pain roll down your cheeks. Marshall reached his hand out and wiped them away, his heart aching at the sight of your pain.

“Everytime I looked in the mirror, I would just feel disappointed at what I saw. I didn't feel beautiful or confident anymore. I didn’t feel comfortable in my own skin.” Your voice trembled with every word as more tears began falling down your face. “I just want it to stop.”

Marshall pulled you in for a tight embrace. You buried your face deep into the crook of his neck as you grabbed his shirt tightly. He slowly stroked your hair, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, reassuring you deeply.

You couldn’t hold it back anymore. You sobbed into his neck as a waterfall of tears left your eyes. He held you tighter and bought you closer, like he was never going to let you go. 

“Y/n, look at me.” Marshall said as he pulled you away from him. His hands stayed on your shoulders, a firm grip placed. Your face was shiny with tears and your eyes looked tired.

He wiped your tears away and rested his hand at the side of your neck. His thumb grazed your cheek, his touch gentle and easening. “You are the most beautiful woman I have met in my life. You have this beautiful glow to you, the most precious soul and your smile is worth more than anything in the world.”

“You’re just saying that.” Y/n mumbled.

“I'm not. I promise. I would never lie to you like that. I really mean it. And the fact that you don't see just how beautiful you are breaks me.”

“How can I believe you Marshall? I’ve been living in a world full of lies.”

“Because Y/n… I love you. More than a friend. I love you… romantically.”

A glimpse of surprise came over your face. You thought for a moment you were imagining, but no, it was the truth. He really has just confessed his love to you. You felt a cocoon of butterflies break free in your stomach. Your gaze softened and you smiled gently at him.

“Marshall… I love you too.”

“You do?”

“I have. For as long as I could remember.”

A moment of silence hung in the air, letting the tension between them gradually build up. You both inched closer to each other, almost like there was a magnetic force between the two of you, pulling you closer. The space between you became smaller and smaller before your lips touched into a kiss. It was slow and gentle, yet there was so much emotion behind it. You grabbed Marshall’s shirt and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss.

You both pulled away, still holding on to each other. You looked into each other's eyes, capturing each other’s vulnerability. He rested his forehead on yours and placed his hands on the side of your neck. 

“Y/n,” he whispered, his voice low and smooth. “Let me prove it to you.”

“Prove what?” You whispered back.

“That you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

You hesitated for a moment as your breath hitched. You knew you wanted it, but you were scared. What if halfway through Marshall suddenly changed his mind and thought that maybe you weren’t as beautiful as he put you to be. 

The silence worried Marshall. He reassuringly grazed both his thumbs over both of your cheeks. “If you don’t want to, then we won’t do it.”

“No… I want to. But, you won’t change your mind, right? You won’t all of a sudden change what you think of me?”

“Of course not.” The tone of his voice displayed nothing but the truth. He wanted you to feel safe and worthy. He wanted you to realise just how important and precious you were to him.

“Then do it, Marshall. Prove it to me.” You murmured

Those words were all he needed to hear to light the spark in him. He pulled you into a kiss, this time it was more passionate and erotic. His hand trailed to the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him. Your bodies were pressed up against each other, leaving not even a sliver of space between the two of you. His lips moved to your jaw, and then to your neck, peppering soft kisses on your delicate skin as he took your clothes off.

Before you even knew it, you were both stripped of your clothes, the skin of your bare, naked bodies touching. He laid you down on the couch, trailing his kisses down to your collarbones. He pulled away and sat up, taking in the sight of you outstretched on the sofa for him. His hands ran along your curves and down to your thighs. He marvelled at the grace of your body. 

“Y/n… you look beautiful. You’re so perfect.” He mumbled. 

He reached down again, this time he kissed your stomach gently whilst his hands stayed grounded around your waist. He wanted you to make sure that every inch of your body deserved to be loved and cared for. He buried his face into your chest as his hands began to massage your breasts. You let out a quiet gasp, as you ran your hand through his hair, trying to steady yourself under his touch. He began to suck your nipple, making a loud moan of pleasure escape your lips. He twisted your other nipple, making you arch your back and let out a heavy gasp.

He pulled away and made eye contact with you. His blue eyes burned into yours, and the more he looked at you, the more his eyes darkened with lust and desire. “Are you sure you want this?”

“Yes. I want this.”

“If you feel uncomfortable, tell me, and I’ll stop.” 

Without wasting a single second, he slid his hard, thick cock into yours. You moaned at the heavenly sensation, your cunt immediately tightened around him. He began moving, starting off slow and simple, rolling his hips into yours. The sofa creaked underneath you with each thrust. The sounds of your skin slapping merged with your quiet whimpers. Each thrust made your desire for him to grow even more and more. His dick felt perfect in your velvety walls, like it belonged to be there. Marshall groaned into your neck, as the arousal took over him. Your moans and whimpers were the only fuel he needed to keep him going.

“So beautiful… so pretty… So perfect.” He mumbled in your ear, taking breaths between his words.

He began to quicken his pace, his thrust became prominent with passion and excitement. A fine layer of sweat covered your bodies as the tension in the air began to rise. Each thrust became more powerful, sending ripples of pleasure and enjoyment through both of your bodies. The sounds of skin slapping against each other got louder as Marshall exerted more energy into his movement. You dug your nails into his back, creating scratch marks that were bound to stay for a while. Your whiny moans and his throaty groans meshed together, creating a perfect harmony. He whispered reassuring words and phrases in your ear, reminding you every second just how attractive you were. His quick thrusts made your cunt burn with a fiery desire. 

Marshall’s pace slowed down, his thrusts becoming more sloppy and less energetic. Despite the relaxed speed, every thrust continued to feel divine. Your moans had quieted down and had become more softer and lower. You could both feel the end arriving closer and closer with each second. With each push, you could feel the climax reaching your bodies. Each thrust still felt full with eagerness and arousement. 

The last final thrusts were swift and rough. You could both feel a pleasurable sensation bloom in your walls before Marshall let out his final push. Suddenly, his warm white juices squirted in you, coating your velvety walls. You screamed his name, feeling an absolute wave of euphoria come over you. He buried his face deep in your neck and breathed heavily, feeling the fall and rise of your chest.

“That was amazing.” He sighed.

“Yeah.” You agreed, feeling absolutely exasperated.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

After an intimate shower session of you and Marshall being wrapped in each other's arms and letting the warm water run down your body, you both get settled into bed. So much had happened in the last few hours and you were still trying to process it fully. And there was still an undisclosed tension between the two of you.

“Y/n,” Marshall said, breaking the silence.

“Yes?” You responded.

“I want to help you. With your eating disorder.”

You winced at the words ‘eating disorder’. It hurt you like a knife to know that you were struggling with something so serious, despite being in denial about it half the time.

“Marshall. I appreciate it, but it’s going to be difficult.”

“I know. But you helped me all those years ago with my overdose. You helped me overcome my addiction. You were there for the lowest point of my life. When no one offered to help, you did. And now I want to repay the favour.”

Tears welled up in your eyes for what felt like the 100th time today. You quickly wiped them away as your lips curled into a small smile. A glint of hope flashed in Marshall’s eyes that made you feel something deep in your heart. “Okay then.”

“You’ll let me help?”

"I'll let you help."

He wrapped his arms around you and kissed your forehead. “I love you.” He murmured into your hair.

“I love you too.”

Ever since that day, Marshall had put in all his effort to help you overcome your eating disorder. Sure, it took a lot of time, but step by step, you both figured it out together. If anything, it made your bond and love for each other grow stronger. You’d cook meals together, he’d find healthy ways to cope with your stress, help you replace your unhealthy habits with healthy ones and even offered you some professional help. He even helped you to leave your old modelling agency and join a new one that was less toxic and more friendly.

In the end, you were beginning to build a healthy relationship with food. You started to feel happy with how you looked, and every time you looked in the mirror, you saw someone beautiful.

And if one thing was for sure, you and Marshall loved each other very dearly.

A/N: hi everyone! Got a few things to share. Firstly, this is my first 2010’s em fic which im so happy to finally do! Another thing is that i decided to write this in second person instead of third. Please tell me which one u prefer!! Also, if u are struggling through anything serious like this in your life, i am always open to talk to. I’ve struggled with body dysmorphia in the past and i’d be happy to talk to anyone who needs it💗

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Unspoken

You’ve always been the type to say how you feel.

Marshall? Not so much.

But that never really bothered you. He shows you he loves you in all the little ways that matter. He keeps a hoodie in the back of his car because you always forget a jacket. He orders your food before you even ask because he knows exactly what you like. He plays with your hair when you fall asleep on the couch, even though he pretends not to when you wake up.

You love him. So you say it.

All the time.

“Love you, babe,” you mumble against his shoulder before he leaves for the studio.

“Love you,” you call out when he brings you coffee without asking.

“I love you,” you sigh, curled up against him after a long day.

It’s effortless. Natural. Something you don’t even think about.

Until someone else does.

“You ever notice he doesn’t say it back?”

You blink, looking up from your drink. “What?”

Your friend shrugs, leaning against the bar. “I mean, I’ve heard you say it a million times. But I don’t think I’ve ever heard him say it.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” They raise an eyebrow. “Think about it.”

So you do.

And for the first time, you realize… they’re right.

You do say it all the time. But Marshall?

He never says it back.

Not once. Not ever.

Your stomach twists, suddenly uncomfortable.

That night, when Marshall comes home, you’re quiet. Lost in your own head. He notices immediately.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, frowning as he drops onto the couch beside you.

You hesitate. It sounds stupid now, like you’re making a big deal out of nothing. But the weight of it is pressing down on you, too heavy to ignore.

“Do you… do you love me?” you ask softly.

His brows furrow like the question baffles him. “What?”

You swallow. “I say it to you all the time. And you’ve never… you’ve never said it back.”

Marshall stares at you, silent.

You let out a nervous laugh, trying to ease the tension. “I mean, I know you do. You show me all the time. But I never noticed before that you don’t actually say it.”

Still, he says nothing.

And that silence?

It hurts.

You pull your legs up onto the couch, wrapping your arms around your knees. “You do, right?”

Marshall lets out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “Baby, of course I do.”

You nod, waiting.

But… that’s it.

No I love you, no reassurance. Just… that.

You try to ignore the ache in your chest, try to remind yourself that he shows it, that words aren’t everything.

But for the first time, it doesn’t feel like enough.

---

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter.

Marshall shows you he loves you every day. He doesn’t need to say it.

But now that you’ve noticed… it’s all you notice.

It lingers in the spaces between moments—when you kiss him goodbye, when you curl up beside him at night, when you murmur I love you against his skin and hear nothing but silence in return.

Before, you never thought twice about it. Now, it stings.

You start holding the words back, just to see what happens.

He doesn’t notice.

And that? That’s almost worse.

One night, curled up on the couch, you finally ask, “Why don’t you say it?”

Marshall doesn’t look away from the TV. “Say what?”

“You know what.”

His jaw tightens, and for the first time, you see it—something unreadable flickering across his face.

It’s not that he doesn’t love you. You know he does. It’s that something about saying it makes him uncomfortable.

But you don’t understand why.

“You know how I feel,” he says finally, glancing at you. “I don’t have to say it.”

You let out a slow breath, nodding. You do know. But hearing it? That’s something different.

Still, you don’t push.

And that night, when you roll over in bed, your back to him, pretending it doesn’t bother you?

You feel his arm slide around your waist, pulling you closer.

It’s not an I love you.

But it’s something.

For now, it has to be enough.

---

It’s getting harder to swallow.

The way he holds you close at night. The way he pulls you against his chest, fingers tracing slow circles on your back. The way he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking—like you’re the most important thing in his world.

It’s love. You know it is.

But now, every time you say the words and he doesn’t say them back, it feels like a small piece of you is chipping away.

And tonight, you can’t ignore it anymore.

You’re standing in the kitchen, washing dishes while he leans against the counter, scrolling through his phone. It’s comfortable, normal. But something inside you is unsettled.

So you test it.

“Love you,” you say softly, just like you always do.

And just like always, he doesn’t say it back.

He hums in acknowledgment, tossing his phone onto the counter. “You need help with that?”

You freeze, hands still submerged in the soapy water.

That’s it. That’s all you get.

Something snaps.

You turn off the faucet, drying your hands slowly before facing him. “Why don’t you ever say it?”

Marshall blinks, caught off guard. “Say what?”

Your stomach twists. “You know what.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches, his shoulders tensing. “Come on, baby. Not this again.”

“Yes, this again.” Your voice is sharp, and you hate how desperate you sound, but you can’t keep pretending. “I say it to you all the time. And you never say it back. Not once.”

He rubs a hand over his face. “You know how I feel.”

“That’s not the point!” Your voice cracks, and you swallow hard, trying to steady yourself. “I do know. But I need to hear it.”

Silence.

Your chest feels tight. “Do you love me?”

His gaze flickers to you, something unreadable in his expression. “Of course I do.”

Your heart pounds. “Then say it.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t—” He stops himself, shaking his head like he’s frustrated. “I’ve never been good at that shit.”

Tears sting your eyes, and you look away. “You don’t have to be good at it. You just have to mean it.”

He’s quiet.

And God, that silence is deafening.

You take a shaky breath, nodding to yourself. “Okay.”

Marshall’s eyes snap to you. “What does that mean?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “It means I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

His whole body goes still. “What?”

You turn away, gripping the edge of the sink. “I’m tired, Marshall. I’m tired of giving and giving and never getting it back. I love you. I’ve never doubted that I love you.” Your voice wavers. “But I can’t be in a relationship where I don’t feel loved.”

His breath is uneven now, his hands gripping the counter like he’s bracing himself. “You are loved.”

You shake your head, blinking back tears. “Not in the way I need to be.”

The words hang between you, heavy and painful.

Marshall opens his mouth like he wants to argue, but nothing comes out.

And that? That’s answer enough.

So you turn and walk away.

And for the first time, he doesn’t stop you.

---

The guest room feels cold.

You’ve never slept here before. The bed is stiff, the blankets unfamiliar, the space too quiet. Every night since you’ve been with Marshall, you’ve fallen asleep next to him, tucked into the warmth of his arms—even on nights when you were mad at him.

But tonight, you couldn’t.

Not after that conversation. Not after he let you walk away.

You stare at the ceiling, your chest tight, throat burning. You don’t want to be here. You don’t want to be apart from him.

But what else can you do?

You roll onto your side, curling up beneath the blanket. Maybe this is what you needed—space. Maybe it’ll make things clearer.

But God, you miss him already.

Marshall stands outside the guest room door, fingers flexing at his sides, jaw clenched.

You’ve never slept apart before. Not once. Even when you fought, even when he was too stubborn for his own good, you were always next to him at the end of the day.

And now?

Now, you’re in the next room, alone.

And it’s his fault.

His hands drag down his face, frustration bubbling under his skin. He hates this. Hates knowing you’re hurting. Hates knowing he’s the reason.

But what the fuck is he supposed to do?

He wants to say it. He does. He can feel the words on the tip of his tongue, aching to come out.

But every time he tries, something stops him.

It’s not that he doesn’t love you. It’s that saying it out loud has never come easy to him.

And now, because of that, he’s losing you.

His chest tightens, panic creeping in.

He should go in there. Should apologize. Should say what he knows you need to hear.

Instead, he presses his forehead against the door, eyes squeezing shut.

“I love you,” he whispers.

But the words are swallowed by the silence.

And you never hear them.

---

You wake up feeling off.

The guest bed is too firm, the blankets too stiff, and your body aches in ways that have nothing to do with sleep. For a second, you forget where you are—until you turn over and don’t find Marshall beside you.

And then it hits you all over again.

You close your eyes, exhaling slowly. You’d thought maybe you’d wake up with some clarity, some reassurance that you did the right thing. But all you feel is empty.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you hesitate at the door, hand hovering over the knob. You don’t even know what you expect when you step out. Marshall sitting on the couch, waiting? Pacing the floor, doing something?

Instead, the house is quiet.

Too quiet.

You find him in the kitchen, staring blankly at his coffee. He looks… rough. His hoodie is wrinkled, his jaw tight, dark circles shadowing his eyes.

Your heart clenches.

You wonder if he slept at all.

He hears you before you can say anything, his head snapping up. His eyes find yours immediately, searching, hesitant.

For a second, neither of you speak.

Then—

“How’d you sleep?” His voice is hoarse, like he hasn’t used it all morning.

You swallow. “Not great.”

His jaw shifts. He nods, looking down at his coffee like he’s trying to find the right words.

Something about it makes your chest tighten.

You lean against the counter, arms crossing. “You let me walk away.”

He flinches. It’s small, barely there, but you see it.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he admits, voice low.

You study him, waiting, hoping.

He takes a slow breath. “I don’t know what to say.”

That hurts. More than you expect.

You look away, trying to blink back the sting behind your eyes. “You could start with I love you.”

Silence.

The same silence that’s been stretching between you for too damn long.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Right. Okay.”

You turn to leave, but his voice stops you cold.

“I don’t know how to say it.”

You freeze.

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s not that I don’t want to say it. It just—” He cuts himself off, looking frustrated. “It’s not easy for me.”

You turn slowly, watching the way he grips his coffee mug like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“It never has been,” he admits, quieter now. “Not with my mom. Not with Kim. Not with… anyone.” His fingers flex around the handle. “It’s not how I grew up. It’s not what I’m used to.”

You bite your lip, heart pounding. “Marshall…”

He finally looks at you, and God, the emotion in his eyes nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

“I know that’s not fair to you,” he says. “And I know it’s not enough. But it’s the truth.”

You swallow hard. “I don’t need you to say it all the time.”

His throat bobs.

“I just need to hear it,” you whisper. “At least once.”

For a second, you think he might say it. That he might finally give you the words you’ve been aching for.

Instead, he drops his gaze, fingers tightening around his mug.

Your stomach sinks.

And just like that, the space between you feels wider than ever.

---

A week.

It’s been a week since you walked away. A week since you started sleeping in the guest room. A week since Marshall let you.

And nothing has changed.

You still move through the same routines, still exist in the same space, but there’s a distance between you that feels impossible to cross. He’s been quiet, withdrawn—not cold, just distant. Like he doesn’t know how to fix this. Like he’s afraid of making it worse.

And honestly?

You don’t know if it can be fixed.

You miss him. God, you miss him. But every night you climb into the stiff guest bed, and every morning you wake up alone, and every single time you almost go back to him… you stop yourself.

Because the ache in your chest hasn’t gone away.

Because no matter how much you love him, you can’t keep feeling like you’re the only one willing to say it.

Tonight, sleep comes slow, restless. The room is too cold, the blankets too unfamiliar. At some point, you give up entirely, groaning as you push yourself out of bed.

You shuffle to the bathroom, eyes half-lidded, body heavy with exhaustion. But as soon as you step into the hallway, your foot catches on something.

You frown, glancing down—

And your breath catches in your throat.

Marshall.

He’s on the floor, asleep, curled up against the wall outside the guest room door.

Your stomach twists. What the hell?

For a second, you don’t move. You just stare, taking him in—the hoodie bunched up around his shoulders, the way his arm is bent awkwardly under his head, like he didn’t mean to fall asleep there but couldn’t bring himself to leave.

Your chest aches.

You kneel down slowly, reaching out, hesitating before your fingers brush against his hair. “Marshall,” you whisper.

He stirs, brow furrowing, then blinks up at you, groggy and confused. “…What?”

You swallow, voice barely above a whisper. “What are you doing out here?”

He exhales heavily, rubbing a hand down his face. “Couldn’t sleep.”

You bite your lip. “So you decided to sleep on the floor?”

His shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. “Better than being far from you.”

Your heart shatters.

For a moment, you can’t breathe, can’t think. You just stare at him, trying to process the weight of what he just said.

He never let you sleep alone.

Not really.

You shake your head, voice trembling. “Why didn’t you just—”

“Because you needed space,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “But I needed you.”

Tears burn the back of your eyes. “Marshall…”

He shifts, sitting up properly, gaze flickering away. “I know I’m fucking this up,” he says quietly. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

You reach for him before you can stop yourself, fingers curling around his. “We can’t stay like this.”

His grip tightens. “I know.”

For the first time in a week, he’s close. Not just physically, but in a way that makes your heart ache, like he’s finally letting you see the part of him he’s been holding back.

You take a shaky breath. “Come to bed.”

His eyes snap to yours. “What?”

You squeeze his hand. “Not the guest room. Our bed.”

For a second, he doesn’t move.

Then, without a word, he nods.

And for the first time in a week, you fall asleep where you belong—wrapped up in him.

---

Things go back to normal.

Mostly.

You stop sleeping in the guest room. You go back to your routines, the easy conversations, the quiet moments where nothing needs to be said. You curl up next to him at night, wrapped in his warmth, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.

And when you tell him I love you, you don’t wait for him to say it back anymore.

Because you know he won’t.

Because you’ve made your peace with it.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

Because at the end of the day, you just want him. The way he holds you, the way he pulls you closer in his sleep, the way he kisses your forehead in the morning before either of you says a word—that is enough.

It has to be.

And for a while, you think it is.

But Marshall knows better.

He sees the way your smile falters sometimes when you think he isn’t looking. The way you hesitate before saying I love you, like you’re bracing yourself for the silence. The way you hold onto him just a little tighter, as if trying to convince yourself that this—just this—is all you need.

And it kills him.

Because you’re settling.

For him.

And the fact that you’re willing to accept less than what you deserve just to keep him? That doesn’t sit right.

Not one fucking bit.

One night, he’s lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, your soft breaths steady beside him. You fell asleep curled up against his side, like you always do. But even in sleep, you’re clinging to him. Like you’re afraid to let go.

His chest tightens.

He rubs a hand over his face, exhaling quietly.

You’ve given everything to him. And all he’s given you in return is half of what you need.

And for the first time, he wonders if loving you in silence is worse than losing you altogether.

---

Marshall waits until he’s sure you’re asleep.

Your breath is slow, steady, your body warm and soft against his. You always sleep curled into him, like it’s the only place you want to be. Even after everything, you still choose him.

And he fucking hates that you have to.

Because you deserve better. You deserve someone who can give you what you need without hesitation, without making you wait for words that should be so damn easy.

His fingers brush over your back, slow and careful, and he swallows hard.

He should’ve said it a long time ago.

He should’ve said it that night in the kitchen when you asked him to.

He should’ve said it when you walked away from him.

He should’ve said it before you settled for less.

His throat feels tight.

“I love you.”

The words slip out, barely a whisper in the dark.

And you don’t hear them.

He exhales, his heart pounding harder than it should. He tries again, his lips brushing against your hair. “I love you.”

It’s easier like this. When you’re sleeping. When you can’t look at him with those eyes that make him feel like he’s being ripped open.

He closes his eyes. “I love you so much.”

And it feels real. Sounds real.

But morning comes too fast.

You wake up slow, stretching against him, your fingers trailing along his arm. “Morning,” you murmur, your voice still thick with sleep.

His chest tightens.

You smile, pressing a kiss to his shoulder before whispering, “I love you.”

And just like that, the words die in his throat.

He swallows. Nods. Kisses the top of your head.

But he doesn’t say it back.

And when you pull away, just for a second, he sees it—that flicker of disappointment you try so hard to hide.

It fucking wrecks him.

---

But you do.

Marshall tells you he loves you every night.

But only when you can’t hear him.

It’s become a routine, a quiet ritual in the dark—waiting until your breathing evens out, until he’s sure you won’t wake up, and then finally letting the words slip past his lips.

He says it like a secret. Like something fragile.

Like something he’s terrified of breaking if he says it out loud when it counts.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your hair, his fingers tracing slow patterns on your back. “I love you so much.”

And he means it. God, does he mean it.

But in the morning, when you’re looking at him with those soft, patient eyes, the words refuse to come.

It’s been a month of this. A month of almosts.

You don’t push anymore. You don’t ask anymore. You don’t even hesitate when you say it—you just press a kiss to his cheek, whisper I love you, and move on like it’s enough.

But he sees it.

The way your smile falters sometimes. The way you linger in the doorway, like you’re waiting for something that never comes. The way you curl up against him at night like you’re trying to hold on to what you have, even if it’s not everything you need.

And it eats him alive.

Because he knows you notice.

And you pretend not to.

Just like he pretends this isn’t killing him.

But neither of you says anything.

Because if you did, you’d have to admit that love isn’t supposed to feel like this.

---

It’s been one of those days.

The kind that leaves Marshall exhausted, worn thin at the edges. He’s been holed up in the studio for hours, wrestling with lyrics that just won’t come together, the weight of expectations sitting heavy on his chest. The pressure to keep pushing, to keep creating, is suffocating.

And by the time he comes home, he’s drained. Mentally, emotionally—he’s just… done.

You can tell as soon as he walks through the door.

The way his shoulders are slumped, his steps slow and heavy, like he’s carrying the weight of the world. It doesn’t take much to see through the mask he’s put on, to know that he’s not okay.

You don’t ask. You don’t need to.

You just wait.

When he makes his way into the bedroom, you’re already sitting on the bed, watching him, your eyes soft. You’ve learned how to read him over the years, how to understand the moments when he just needs space and when he needs someone to be there. And today, he needs you.

Without saying a word, you move behind him, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, your hands finding the tense muscles in his shoulders.

At first, he tenses, surprised by the touch, but you don’t push. You just begin rubbing, your fingers kneading into the knots, applying just enough pressure to coax him into relaxing.

You don’t rush.

The room is quiet, save for the soft sounds of your movements, the steady rhythm of his breathing. Slowly, the tension in his back begins to melt away under your touch, and you feel him release the tightness, little by little.

And then, without warning, you hear it.

The words that have been hanging in the air for so long, never said, never spoken aloud… until now.

“I love you.”

It’s barely a whisper at first, like he’s testing the weight of it. And when the words leave his mouth, you freeze for just a second, unsure if you really heard it.

But when you glance up, you see his eyes closed, his head leaning back against your chest, the vulnerability in his expression raw.

You can feel the truth in those three words, something he’s been holding inside for so long. Something he didn’t know how to say… but he needed to.

Without thinking, your hands pause on his shoulders, your heart racing, and you murmur softly, “I love you too.”

His breath catches, and you can feel the weight that’s been lifted from him, the relief in the air. He lets out a long, shuddering breath, and for the first time in a long while, the two of you are just present, no walls between you, no hesitation.

He turns slightly, just enough to meet your eyes, and in that quiet moment, you see everything—the love, the apology, the years of feeling like he couldn’t express it, and the realization that, for the first time in so long, he’s finally letting go of the fear that’s kept him silent.

“I love you,” he repeats, this time with certainty, his voice steady, and the words settle between you like a promise.

You smile softly, your heart full, and pull him closer, wrapping your arms around him tightly. This time, you don’t hesitate. You just hold on, because now, it feels like everything is finally as it should be.

And in the quiet of the room, you both know—you’ve crossed the line between almost, and real.

Once the words leave his lips, everything changes.

It’s like the dam inside of him finally bursts, the flood of emotion he’s held in for so long spilling out all at once. He doesn’t even know where to begin—his hands are restless, grabbing at you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away, his lips finding whatever skin is closest.

He kisses the side of your neck first, the soft skin beneath your ear. “I love you,” he breathes, his voice thick with need. He kisses down the curve of your jaw, then back up to your mouth. “God, I love you so much.”

His lips are urgent, desperate, like they’ve been starving for this for years. His hands slide under your shirt, skimming over your skin like he can’t get close enough. He’s pulling you closer, pressing his body to yours, kissing your face, your neck, anywhere he can reach.

You gasp as his lips find the soft spot just behind your ear. “Marshall…”

“I love you,” he repeats, this time with a growl, his breath hot against your skin. “I love you, I love you, I—fuck—”

The words don’t stop. They come tumbling out like they’ve been locked away too long, like he doesn’t know how to stop now that he’s finally saying them.

His mouth moves down your throat, over your collarbone, desperate for any piece of you he can claim. He doesn’t care where, doesn’t care how—he just needs to touch you, to feel you, to pour every ounce of love and affection into you.

“I’ve been so fucking stupid,” he mutters between kisses, his hands sliding down your sides, pulling you closer. “So scared to say it. So scared to lose you. But I—God, I love you. I love you so damn much.”

Your fingers twist into his hair, tugging him up to meet your lips again, and he kisses you with everything he has—fierce, desperate, as though he’s afraid to ever let you go. You can feel the weight of every moment he’s been holding back, and you don’t want him to stop.

His kisses are everywhere—on your lips, your neck, the curve of your shoulder, down your arm. Each kiss is a confession. Each kiss is a promise.

“I love you,” he says again, his voice hoarse and raw, the words coming out like they’re the only thing he knows how to say.

His hands trail down your body, his touch reverent, like he’s rediscovering you all over again. You feel his fingers tremble against your skin, his breath ragged, and you know—he’s not holding back anymore.

His lips find yours again, and when they do, it’s like the floodgates have opened completely. He’s kissing you like it’s the only thing that matters, like the only thing in the world is this moment, this love that’s finally being spoken aloud.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark, filled with so much emotion you can hardly breathe. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice thick with feeling. “I didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t know how to let you know how much I need you.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you reply softly, your fingers brushing his cheek. “I know now. And I love you.”

And with that, he pulls you closer again, his lips crashing into yours with a new intensity. Every kiss is a promise. Every kiss is everything.

[wendichester]

I love your writing and reading your work has become a little daily routine for me ❤️ always puts a smile to my face!

Could I request something in which the reader is friends with Sam and Dean and she is queer, but closeted / doesn't talk about it? (If you're comfortable with writing about this.) Maybe she casually mentions it, or she sits down with them and comes out, you can decide!

`౨ৎ~ safe space,

summary. coming out is hard, even when you know you’re safe.

pairing. dean winchester x queer!reader x sam winchester

wordcount. 448

notes. hiya lovely! thank you so much for requesting and trusting me to write something this special! i hope I was able to do this justice ehe 🩷🩷

You don’t plan to say it.

It’s just another night in some middle-of-nowhere motel, the three of you sprawled out in mismatched chairs and scratchy bedsheets, eating greasy takeout after a long hunt. The TV is on low, some black-and-white western playing in the background, and for the first time in days, things feel… easy.

Dean’s complaining about his burger, Sam’s rolling his eyes, and you’re sitting between them, picking at your fries, feeling warm, tired, content.

And then it just comes out.

“I don’t even like guys,” you say casually, shoving a fry into your mouth.

The words hang in the air for a second, and you freeze mid-chew, only realizing what you just said when Sam and Dean both stop bickering and turn to look at you.

Your stomach twists. Shit.

Dean blinks. “Wait. What?”

You swallow hard, suddenly wishing you could rewind the last ten seconds.

Sam sits forward, brows pinched in curiosity, but not in a bad way. “You don’t?”

You stare at them, heart hammering. You weren’t not planning on telling them—you’d just… never been sure how to.

Dean tilts his head. “Like—at all?”

You hesitate. “I mean, not really. Not in that way.”

Silence. Your pulse pounds in your ears. Well, here we go.

Then Dean shrugs, popping a fry into his mouth. “Huh. Okay.”

You blink. “...Okay?”

Sam smiles, easy and warm. “Yeah. I mean, it’s not a big deal, right?”

You stare between them. “You guys really don’t care?”

Dean scoffs. “What, you thought we were gonna, like, kick you out or something?”

You look away, suddenly very interested in your fries. “I dunno.” You exhale. “I mean, I don’t talk about it much. I just…” You shrug. “Didn’t know if it mattered.”

Sam’s gaze softens. “It matters if it matters to you.”

Dean nudges your arm. “Yeah. And you don’t have to be all hush-hush about it. Hell, I’d rather know if I’m embarrassing myself flirting with some chick you’re into.”

A laugh bubbles up in your throat, and the tightness in your chest eases just a little. “Noted.”

Dean grins. “Seriously, though. You're family. That’s not changing.”

Sam nods. “Yeah. We love anyway.”

And just like that, the weight lifts.

You take a deep breath, then steal a fry from Dean’s tray, lighter than you’ve felt in years.

“Thanks, guys.”

Dean pats your shoulder, then narrows his eyes. “Wait. That wasn’t a pity fry, was it?”

You smirk. “What do you think?”

He groans as you pop it in your mouth, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. And when Sam laughs, the conversation shifts back to normal, like nothing’s changed.

Because, with them, nothing really has.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @kayleighwinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @mrs-pondwater19 ⋆ @img14 ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @myceliumsunshine ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @beakaleak32 ⋆ @bamboobooshark ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098 ⋆ @lacysretribution ⋆ @globetrotter28 ⋆ @aerinu

[according2thelore]

Random question about some ABO verse, but do you think that they'd have something like a sex-ed class during middle/high school?

Like, just imagine Sammy (a bit weirded out) but so amazed that his big brother (O!Dean) has these "innate" abilities to be naturally "perfect" caregivers/companions, wayyyyy better than their "Alpha" dad who just dumps them and disappears days/weeks on end just to go "hunting with friends".

Idk, I like to imagine Sam going into a rabbit hole and reading up on whatever reading materials were available at school/the public library and eventually tries to find some law books after hearing about some changes in omega related legislation.

Anyway I'm just ranting at this point hahaha!

(Just ignore this ask if it's not something you're interested in 👍👍👍)

hi, anon!!!

NOT SOMETHING I'M INTERESTED IN????!?!?!??? this is EXACTLY what i'm interested in, anon!! thank you so much for sending it in!!!!!

let's TALKKKKKKKKK about baby sam PLEASEEE

something i have ALWAYS adored is the idea that sam, when he's young and right in that sweet spot after dean presents as an omega but before sam presents, he wants to be an omega so bad. like. sooooo bad.

his only real alpha influence in his life is his father, and we all know how he feels about his father and his "my-way-or-the-highway" mentality. john says something and expects you to hop-to it, because his word is law. bobby's a beta, and the only other alphas sam ever spends time around is the occasional teacher and caleb, when they end up in the same state and dad needs help on a hunt.

then dean presents, and everything about his little life changes. dean becomes even more protective of him than he thought possible. john pulls him aside and tells him that he and sam are going to have to keep an extra eye out for dean, because people might treat him differently.

despite this, john becomes more distant than ever as they become teenagers and he can leave them alone without raising too many eyebrows or risk them killing themselves like when they were ten and six.

when sam hits sixth grade, his teachers awkwardly announce that this is the first year they'll have a secondary designation class, and all of the kids titter awkwardly. a kid in sam's class has already presented, an alpha with burgeoning pimples on the baseball team.

sam has more context for dean's presentation, why he went still and shocked and why his smell was bad-bad-wrong-new-not-dean before it became fully dean again--fresh and calming and warm. he learns that there isn't really a way to predict what someone will present as, despite the playground taunts and characters in TV shows that insist they always knew someone was one-thing-or-another because of how they acted or dressed.

sam learns that omegas tend to be more naturally nurturing, and how they make nests when they're approaching heat. they're ferociously protective, especially over pups, and they are happiest and have the highest satisfaction rates if they have a strong community.

alphas are natural leaders. alphas are innate protectors, headstrong, and fiercely loyal. alphas scent their pups or mate or packmates to make sure they can go about their business unbothered, and butt heads with other alphas when challenged. alphas are supposed to make sure everyone in their pack is healthy, happy, and most importantly, safe.

sam can't stop his lip curling in disgust. their dad can usually only manage one or two out of three; he hits all three maybe five times a year.

sam's starting to realize that dean is kind of the perfect older brother. and kind of a perfect omega. despite the fact he's still kind of a dick. (sam bitterly remembers this morning when dean flipped the mattress because sam was going to make them late for school.)

sam--resentfully--can't remember the last time dad even tried to scent him or dean before he left for weeks at a time, while sam can still smell some of dean's open air-sunshine-musky scent on his own wrists from dean wrestling him near the door and doing his daily scenting.

it would be so nice, sam starts to think, as he reads about how omegas tend to form incredibly tight personal bonds, and how alphas always butt heads, if he presented as an omega, too. alphas are kind of lunk-heads anyway. he and dean could be the same. the thought fills him with a bubble of buoyant hope that he can't pop, all the way home.

he doesn't tell dean any of this, embarrassed in his fantasies of them running away together and starting a completely new life away from john and his abandonment and mission. maybe even...his ears flush, and he buries his face in his math book to hide his pink ears from dean--helping each other through heats. sam knows what dean smells like when he's in heat. since he's still unpresented, he's in charge of bringing dean food and water and making sure he doesn't die. dean has pulled him more than once into his nest for comfort, sam pressing his perpetually-cold fingers against dean's feverish forehead as dean's head lolled. it's been entirely familial. regretfully so. it would be...nice. really nice. if they could grow up and experience that together.

even if he was a beta, sam could be happy. he could still help dean through his heats, if dean was okay with that. they could still have a fully completed pack-bond, instead of the faint pup one they have now.

he becomes obsessed with omega laws--digging into books and city hall ledgers for hours. one time, a guy corners a seventeen-year-old dean in a gas station and sam--still completely unpresented--almost rips the guy's head off. dean absolutely had it covered, as he keeps snapping at sam the entire way back to the motel, but sam is still buzzing with rage that people are going to do this to dean--treat him like this--forever.

and then sam presents as an alpha, aged fourteen. a late bloomer.

he's devastated. dean pets his hair away from his forehead, stringy with sweat, and sits on the ground outside of the closed motel door throughout sam's entire rut. he parks the car right in front of the door and barely sleeps to make sure no one gets close to their motel room, since dad has been gone for the last week and a half. keeping him safe. an innate, natural protector. an instinctual caregiver.

sam cries into his pillow, even as he feels like his skin is going to peel off his bones, because he and dean will never be the same thing, now.

he knows dean's quietly upset, too. he thinks he failed dad in some way, by not being an alpha. the fact that sam doesn't find a ton of joy in being just like their asshole dad doesn't bring dean a lot of comfort. dean wants to be just like dad, wants to make him proud.

sam couldn't give a shit about making dad proud.

he stays devastated, until his civics class in freshman year. their unit on omega laws sets an absolute fire under his ass. omegas are just as capable as alphas. dean--who can gut a drower in ten seconds and has been stepping between his and dad's constant fighting more and more every single day (even if it's just to throw sam back on his ass, and despite the fact sam knows having two alphas dean feels loyalty for coming to blows and giving off all kinds of commanding and acerbic pheromones is a biological warhead for dean), and loves spaghetti westerns and can drink anyone under the table and has shed gallons of blood over the years to keep sam safe--is better than three of his alpha dad put together.

alphas are supposed to be protectors. they're supposed to keep others safe. and if sam has to be like this, he's going to harness it to help.

he can't stop looking up case law, can't stop researching legal precedent, and civic lawyers who represent omegas in court. he turns in a paper on Trent v Polaski for his AP government class, and his teacher asks if he's ever considered going to law school.

sam feels something hot and sharp and terrifying take root in his chest.

EEK!! i just love this ask, anon! i hope this was what you were looking for, but if not, PLEASE send another, lol! i love talking about omegaverse wincest, clearly!!! thank you again for this ask!! mwah mwah mwah <3

-lizzy

[winchestersisterimaginessss]

request: omg, so i requested the recent vamp story where the sister is taken and what you made was beyond what i was expecting :O it was so good and that you for taking my request!! i have another and was wondering if you’d be open to a part two of some sort? i was thinking maybe one where sister is back hunting again after taking enough time to heal and has a run-in with some vamps on a hunt with sam and dean and they’re just really protective and careful regarding her trauma of the incident. thank you as always, love reading your stuff!! xx

A/N: I’m so glad you enjoyed it!!! That makes me so happy omg. So I added a different story in first and then finished with the story you requested! I thought it would be interesting to see the trauma immediately after and then see how she would react once she got back into hunting and realized it was a vampire just like you said! Hope you love this one too!! Requests are always open please feel free to request anything and everything :))

Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/winchestersisterimaginessss/773244669590110208/request-hiii-i-was-wondering-if-youd-do-a-fic

Sam and Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader

The past few days had felt like a blur—moments of calm, but mostly filled with the quiet, relentless hum of recovery. You were still healing physically, though the scars from your vampire attack had left deeper marks than you cared to admit. The wounds on your body weren’t as fresh anymore, but the memories, the trauma, clung to you like a second skin.

Right now, you sat on the couch, tucked under a blanket, with a bowl of popcorn resting on your lap. Dean was sprawled out next to you, his fingers casually flicking through channels on the TV. He hadn’t said much about the attack, but you could tell he was furious about what had happened to you. Still, he knew what you needed tonight—distraction.

Dean, being Dean, was doing his best to keep your mind off the bandages Sam had to change again. Sam had done this for the past few days—cleaning the bites on your neck, chest, and thighs. The sting of antiseptic, the way it burned and tugged at your skin, had started to feel like a trigger every time, sending you spiraling into panic.

So, Dean had put on some ridiculous rom-com. He knew how much you hated them, but that was the point. He was making you focus on something else, something harmless. He made sure the movie had all the clichéd plotlines that he knew would make you roll your eyes and distract you long enough for Sam to get everything ready.

"How is this even a thing?" you muttered, picking at the popcorn, trying to ignore the way your stomach churned at the thought of the next round of bandages. "I mean, seriously. Who falls in love because of a wedding dress? It's just… ridiculous."

Dean chuckled, glancing over at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "That’s the magic of these movies, kiddo. You don’t have to make sense of them."

You snorted, shaking your head as you tried to focus on the screen, but the images of Sam’s hands on your skin, cleaning your wounds, kept sneaking their way into your thoughts. Every time Sam touched the bandages, it felt like the past was clawing its way back, and the panic that followed was almost worse than the physical pain.

Dean must have noticed the change in your expression, because he immediately turned down the volume, his face softening as he looked at you. “You okay?” he asked quietly, his voice low but filled with concern. You didn't even need to see the worry in his eyes to know he was paying attention.

You swallowed hard, forcing a half-smile. “Yeah, just… thinking. I don’t know if I’m ready for Sam to change them again.”

Dean’s lips twitched into a sympathetic frown. He had been through this before with you. He knew what it was like, not just the physical pain of the bites, but the aftermath, the mental toll it took on you. “He’ll go easy on you, I promise. We have to make sure they’re healing properly.”

You didn’t answer, instead shifting awkwardly on the couch, avoiding his gaze. You wanted to believe him, but there was this knot in your stomach that wouldn’t let go. The thought of Sam getting close to those marks again—touching your skin where they’d been—just felt like too much.

Before you could say anything more, the door to the hallway creaked open, and Sam appeared in the doorway, medical kit in hand. He was dressed in a plain gray hoodie and sweats, looking every bit the calm, collected Winchester he always was, but you could see the way his eyes lingered on you, the worry there that made your chest tighten.

“How you feeling?” Sam asked, his voice as gentle as always. He knew the routine by now—he wasn’t going to rush, wasn’t going to force you to do anything, but the time had come. He couldn’t let you keep avoiding it, either. “We should take a look at those wounds again. They need fresh bandages.”

Your stomach dropped at the sight of the kit. You were already shaking slightly, your hands clenching into fists around the blanket. You felt yourself pulling inward, as though shrinking away from the inevitable. Sam’s presence wasn’t a problem—it was the association with the pain and vulnerability you’d been feeling that made everything worse.

Dean must have seen your discomfort because he was quick to push the popcorn aside and scoot closer, pulling you into his side. “Hey, look, Sam’s not gonna do anything you’re not ready for. But we can’t keep putting this off,” he said, his tone firm but warm. “We’ll get through this together, alright?”

You nodded, but the lump in your throat made it hard to breathe. Sam, still standing in the doorway with the medical kit, took a few slow steps toward you, but he didn’t move too fast. He didn’t want to startle you.

“I’ll go slow,” Sam promised, holding up the kit in a gesture that, while well-meaning, only made the anxiety in your chest rise. “I’ll talk you through everything and only do what you’re comfortable with. We can take breaks if you need them.”

Dean, sensing your discomfort, nudged you lightly with his elbow. “Look, I know this is a pain in the ass, kid, but we’re gonna get you through it. Sam’s gonna take care of you, alright?”

Your eyes flicked between Sam and Dean. Sam was trying so hard to be gentle, his face full of quiet understanding.

“Okay,” you whispered, a soft sigh escaping your lips. You didn’t want to say it aloud, but the truth was, you couldn’t avoid this forever. You had to face the pain. You had to face it head-on if you were going to heal.

Sam moved in, sitting across from you with the kit on the table in front of him. He gave you that comforting smile of his, the one that always made you feel a little bit safer, even when your world felt out of control.

He opened the kit, and you immediately tensed, feeling the weight of the moment settle on you. Sam glanced up at you, his eyes softening with empathy. “I’m right here. It’s just a bandage change. We’ll be done before you know it.”

You nodded, trying to ignore the rush of dread coursing through your veins. You could feel your heart beginning to race again as Sam prepared the antiseptic. The smell of it hit you first—sharp, sterile, and clinical. It made your stomach twist.

Dean’s hand settled on your shoulder, grounding you. “Just look at me,” he said, his voice steady but light, as if he was trying to keep everything casual. “We’re watching this terrible chick flick together. You’re gonna survive this, trust me.”

You didn’t know if it worked, but you found your eyes trained on the TV, watching the movie unfold in front of you even though you couldn’t focus on a single word. The only thing that mattered was Dean’s hand on your shoulder, and the fact that Sam was there, working slowly, carefully.

Sam moved with deliberate precision, peeling away the old bandages with practiced hands, and you could feel the sting of the antiseptic as it touched your raw skin. It burned like fire, and you bit back a gasp, your nails digging into the blanket in your lap.

Dean, noticing the shift in your expression, leaned down to whisper in your ear. “You’re doing great, kiddo. Just a little more.”

It was the constant pressure of his presence, the steadiness of Sam’s touch, that kept you from completely losing it. Sam cleaned the wounds on your thighs, your neck, and your chest with gentle care, his fingers brushing over the sensitive skin. It was a slow, deliberate process, each movement purposeful, but every moment sent a jolt of panic through you. The pain, the stinging, the vulnerability—it all felt like a flood you couldn’t control. Your breath caught as Sam’s fingers brushed against the tender skin near your collarbone. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block it out, trying to push it all away, but you couldn’t. It felt like you were back there again—tied down, helpless, vulnerable. The memories wrapped themselves around you, tight and suffocating, like those vampires’ hands had once been.

You gasped, the sudden panic gripping your chest. "I’m… I’m scared," you whispered, barely able to say the words. You hadn’t meant to speak aloud. You hadn’t meant to break down in front of them, but it all spilled out before you could stop it.

Dean froze, his head snapping toward you, his face twisting in concern. He hated seeing you like this. Hated it. His hand tightened on your shoulder as he leaned in closer, his voice low and steady. “Hey, hey, you’re okay.”

Sam, too, softened, his movements slowing as he looked up from the antiseptic bottle. His eyes were filled with understanding and concern. “I know it’s hard, bug. It’s okay to be scared. Let me know when you feel comfortable enough for me to continue.” Sam said quietly, setting the antiseptic aside for a moment as he gave you space to breathe.

The room felt heavy. The faint hum of the movie was the only thing that seemed to fill the silence, but it wasn’t enough to push away the tightness in your chest. It felt like the walls were closing in, and the sting of the antiseptic that had once been a minor irritation now felt like a brand on your skin.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to force the anxiety back down, but it was impossible. The images, the sounds, the feeling of those vampire hands—the terror—it all crashed over you in waves. The feeling of being completely powerless, unable to stop what was happening to you. Your breath hitched, quick and shallow, as you tried to calm yourself, but it wasn’t working.

“Look at me, please,” Dean’s voice was soft, urging but not pushing. “I need you to focus, just on me, alright?”

You opened your eyes slowly, finding Dean’s face inches from yours, his eyes steady, intense, and full of reassurance. His thumb brushed over your shoulder in slow, comforting strokes. “We’re here. You’re safe.”

You nodded, tears welling up but not falling, a mixture of relief and terror making it hard to breathe. The vulnerability you felt from the scars—inside and out—was overwhelming, but there was something about Dean’s presence, his protective nature, that made you feel like you could breathe again.

Sam, who had been waiting patiently for you to regain some composure, leaned forward, his hands gentle as he began to work again, but this time, slower. His movements were deliberate, taking care to ease the tension you were still holding in your body. He was so quiet, so careful, and it made the process bearable. The burn of the antiseptic was still there, but Sam’s steady presence was grounding.

“I’m here. You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Just a little more,” Sam said, his voice calm and soothing.

Your breath steadied as you focused on Dean, still holding your gaze, his thumb now rubbing circles against your skin. The movie was long forgotten, the characters and their ridiculous romantic gestures a distant hum in the background. It was just you, Sam, and Dean. And in that moment, the pressure in your chest eased, just a little.

But then, as Sam’s fingers brushed the edge of the bandage near your collarbone, your body stiffened again, your breath catching in your throat. The pressure of being touched in the same spot—it felt too familiar, too wrong. And before you could stop it, the images flashed back—the vampire’s cold hands, their grip on you, their teeth sinking into your skin. You were back there, trapped, unable to escape.

You gasped again, your eyes flying open wide, and you shot up from the couch, pulling away from Sam’s hands as panic overwhelmed you. Your chest was tight, the air suddenly thick and impossible to breathe.

“No, no, no,” you gasped, backing away quickly, hands trembling. “I can’t… I can’t do this. Not again.”

Dean was immediately on his feet, his arms outstretched toward you, his voice frantic with concern. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. You’re safe. We’re right here, kid.”

But you couldn’t stop the flood of panic that was choking you, the memories threatening to swallow you whole. You shook your head, backing further into the corner, trying to create space between yourself and everything that was happening.

Sam, too, stood up slowly, watching you carefully, his hands held up in front of him, not wanting to force anything. “It’s okay, bug. You’re okay. We’re not gonna make you do anything you’re not ready for. Just breathe, alright?”

But your breath was ragged, too shallow to fill your lungs, and you couldn’t shake the image of yourself tied down, vulnerable. The fear of it was so raw, so fresh, that it felt like you were living it all over again.

Dean quickly moved to you, his hands gripping your shoulders, his voice low but insistent. “Look at me. You’re okay, kiddo. You’re not back there. You’re right here, with me and Sam. You’re safe.”

You felt him there, his warmth seeping through you, grounding you in a way that only Dean could. His hands were gentle on your arms, but firm enough to remind you that you were real, that this moment was real.

“I’m right here,” he repeated, his voice unwavering. “You’re not going anywhere, and neither are we.”

You nodded, but the tension still hadn’t fully left your body. The tears were right there, but you fought them back, swallowing down the sobs that tried to claw their way out. You wanted to be strong. You didn’t want to break down in front of them, but you couldn’t stop the flood of emotions that kept rising.

Sam took a small step forward, speaking softly. “You know you can trust me, sweetheart. We’ll work through this and take our time, no pressure, no rush.”

You swallowed hard, and as you turned your gaze back to Sam, you saw the unwavering kindness in his eyes, the patience that had always been there for you. And you knew, deep down, that with them, you could find your way back.

Slowly, you took a deep breath. You weren’t sure if you were ready to face it, but you couldn’t hide forever.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’m ready… but only if we go slow.”

Dean’s grip tightened slightly, offering you that final reassurance before letting go. “Take all the time you need, kid. We’re with you.” Sam gently started working on you again, his eyes trained on you, seeing if there was a shift in your expression so he could keep you comfortable.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice strained.

Sam didn’t stop. He kept working, cleaning the wounds, bandaging you up, never once pushing you faster than you could handle. "No need to apologize," he said softly. "You're safe, and you're doing fine."

You wanted to believe him. You really did. But it was hard to reconcile what you felt inside—how each new bandage felt like a painful reminder—against the gentle, quiet assurances Sam and Dean kept offering. They couldn’t erase the past, but maybe, just maybe, they could help you move forward. One small step at a time.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Sam finished. The antiseptic had burned, but now the bandages were clean, fresh, and the tension in the room slowly ebbed away. You exhaled slowly, your chest still tight, but relieved it was over.

“See?” Dean said with a soft chuckle, pulling you closer. “You did it.”

You leaned into him, the warmth of his presence a balm to the rawness of your nerves. Maybe it wasn’t perfect. Maybe the past would always be there, lurking in the shadows. But with Dean and Sam by your side, you had a fighting chance. One step at a time.

And maybe, just maybe, you could heal.

——————

The weeks that had passed since the vampire attack felt like a disorienting blur. Every day, you were confronted with reminders—physical scars that Sam still gently helped dress every few days, the tender bruises where the vampire had sunk its teeth, and the nightmares that would drag you awake in a cold sweat. Sometimes, you couldn’t remember where the nightmare ended and the real world began. But you fought to push through it. You had to. And yet, the deeper parts of you—those hidden wounds—remained raw and unhealed.

But each time you pushed through. You started getting back into hunting and started to get back to the normal you once knew. That night, you tried to focus. You sat in the diner booth with your brothers, surrounded by the smell of stale coffee and the hum of fluorescent lights. You tried to concentrate on the case files spread in front of you, but it was hard. The tension in the air made everything feel ten times heavier, like you were carrying a weight that no one else could see. Sam and Dean, on the other hand, were in their element, discussing the details of the case in front of them.

At first, it seemed like any other missing persons case. Disappearances that could have been caused by anything—wild animals, maybe. But then you noticed the detail that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up: the bodies had been found drained of blood. No signs of struggle, no other injuries. Just lifeless, empty, drained.

And that’s when you saw the look exchanged between Sam and Dean—a quiet, knowing glance that spoke volumes without a single word. Sam’s jaw tightened, and Dean’s face darkened. Their eyes met again, this time just for a brief second, but it was enough for you to know.

Without a word, Sam spoke, his voice steady but laced with the knowledge of what this could mean. “I think we’re dealing with a vampire.”

The word hit you like a physical blow. Your stomach churned, and the room around you felt suddenly far too small, far too tight. You could feel the blood draining from your face, your heart hammering in your chest. You felt the world go quiet, the pounding in your ears drowning out everything else. The word “vampire” clung to the air like smoke, heavy and suffocating.

You had to swallow. You had to breathe.

“Wait,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. Your hand, shaking, gripped the edge of the table as you scrambled to keep your composure. “No… no, it can’t be… I mean, it could be something else, right? Something we’re missing, maybe? It’s not a… it’s not one of those, right?”

The panic was already clawing at your throat. You could feel it. The fear was rising faster than you could keep up with. Your chest felt tight, and every breath came with a sharp, painful gasp. You tried to force the words out of your mouth, tried to convince yourself that there had to be another explanation, that it wasn’t what you feared, that it couldn’t be.

Dean and Sam exchanged another glance, their eyes locking again, this time softer, full of concern. They were already moving into protective mode, but they were careful. Too careful, and it sent a surge of dread straight to your chest. Dean’s brows furrowed as he leaned forward, his tone softer now but no less firm.

“Hey, hey, look at me.” His voice was calm, but you could hear the weight of worry in it. “It’s gonna be okay. We’re here. We’ve got you, alright?”

But the words weren’t enough. You could feel your hands trembling as they gripped the table harder. The world around you felt like it was closing in. The dim lighting of the diner seemed to flicker in and out, and every sound felt distant. All you could hear was the rushing of blood in your ears, and that word. Vampire. Vampire.

“No, no, no…,” you gasped, your voice breaking as you tried to force the panic back down. “It can’t be! We… we must be missing something. It can’t be one of them—not again.”

You were panicking now. There was no stopping it. It was like a wave crashing over you, and you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything except feel the terror. The memories were flooding back, crashing into your thoughts like jagged glass. The bite. The cold hands. The fangs. The helplessness. The terror.

Dean saw it. He saw the fear in your eyes, the way you were trembling violently now, the way your breath came in shallow, frantic gasps. His face softened with concern, and his hand was immediately on your shoulder, his touch firm but gentle.

“Hey, hey, look at me.” He was right there in front of you, his voice low and soothing. “Breathe. You’re safe, okay? You’re with us. You’re not alone in this.”

Sam was by your side now, his tall frame leaning in close, his hand resting gently on your arm, trying to steady you. “It’s alright,” he said softly, his voice steady. “We’ll take it slow, alright? We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

But the words, as comforting as they were, didn’t reach you. The panic was too much. You couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop the fear from clawing up your throat. The memories were too fresh, too close. You could still feel the bite on your neck, the feeling of the vampire’s cold hands digging into your skin, the way you’d almost died that night. It was all too much.

Dean’s grip tightened on your shoulder, his eyes locking with yours. His voice dropped to a softer, more reassuring tone. “Listen to me. We’re not asking you to be brave, not right now. We’re not throwing you into anything you can’t handle. You’re not going through this alone, alright? We’ll be with you every step of the way. Every step.”

You nodded, your breath coming in ragged sobs as you tried to force the panic back down. But it was hard. It felt impossible.

Sam squeezed your hand gently, his voice filled with understanding. “We’ll take it slow. If you don’t want to go out there, that’s okay. We’ll make the call. We’ll figure out a different approach.”

Your eyes flickered between them, the fear still holding you hostage. They weren’t pushing. They weren’t rushing you. They weren’t going to leave you to face this alone, no matter what. It was in the way they looked at you, the way they spoke, the way they moved closer. They were careful, so careful with you, and it made you realize something deep in your chest.

You weren’t alone. And maybe, just maybe, you could find a way to face the terror.

The next few hours felt like an eternity. The night air was heavy, thick with the scent of decay and the sound of your own heartbeat thumping against your ribs. Each step you took toward the dilapidated house felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, the fear coiling tighter in your chest with every breath. You had been through this before—hunted vampires, faced down demons, survived things you never thought possible. But tonight was different. Tonight, you felt like you were walking toward something that might break you, something you couldn’t control.

Dean was in front, steady and sure, his movements swift and fluid, his eyes sharp with focus. Sam was right behind him, tall and calm as always, his brow furrowed with quiet concern. And you? You were somewhere in between—pushing forward but struggling to suppress the deep anxiety gnawing at your insides.

You could see it in their eyes, the way they both kept glancing over their shoulders at you, making sure you were right there. They’d never let you go into this alone, not after everything. They knew you better than anyone. They knew the scars, the fears, and the pieces of you that still hadn’t fully healed from the last encounter with vampires—the one that had nearly broken you.

"Stay close," Dean’s voice was sharp, but it held an underlying tenderness, one that made your chest tighten. He was looking at you now, his eyes softer than they had been when the hunt first began. He could tell you were already on edge, could see the way your hands were shaking slightly as you gripped your weapon.

You nodded, not trusting your voice. You didn’t want to be weak. You didn’t want them to see how scared you were. But no matter how hard you tried, the fear lingered, like a shadow that wouldn’t leave.

The house loomed ahead, dark and menacing. Broken windows, a door hanging off its hinges, the faintest flicker of movement within. A vampire was in there, preying on the town’s innocent. But tonight, the vampire felt different. This one was going to test you, push you past your limits in ways you weren’t sure you were ready for.

The moment Dean pushed the door open, it creaked eerily, sending a jolt of fear through you. You couldn’t help but flinch.

"You good?" Sam’s voice came from behind you, softer than Dean’s, but no less filled with concern. You tried to force a smile, but it came out more like a grimace.

"Yeah," you said, but even to your own ears, it didn’t sound convincing.

"You sure?" Sam pressed. His hand brushed against your shoulder, a quiet gesture of support.

You swallowed hard. You weren’t ready. But you had to be. You couldn’t let them down. You couldn’t let yourself down.

"I'm sure," you lied, the words shaky. But Sam’s eyes didn’t lie either. He wasn’t buying it. He didn’t have to. He knew you well enough to see the cracks in the facade you were desperately trying to hold together.

Dean was already moving ahead, his footsteps confident, his gun drawn. Sam followed close behind, keeping a wary eye on you as he took up the rear. You kept pace with them, the weight of your fear trying to pull you back, but you pushed it down, reminding yourself that you couldn’t break now. Not here. Not with them.

But then you heard it—the unmistakable sound of footsteps in the dark, a low hiss. The vampire. It was here.

Your heart skipped a beat, and suddenly, everything felt too fast. Too real. Your breath came in shallow gasps, and you found yourself freezing, unable to move, unable to speak.

Dean was ahead, focused on the approaching figure, his hand steady with his knife. Sam was behind him, ready, but you were still stuck, frozen in place. You could feel the panic clawing up your throat, choking you. No, not again. Don’t freeze. Don’t freeze.

But it was too late.

The vampire shot forward in a blur of motion, and before you could even think, it was on you. Cold, clammy hands wrapped around your throat, lifting you off your feet, slamming you back into the wall with enough force to rattle your bones. You gasped for air, but its grip tightened, cutting off your breath.

Everything around you went hazy—the world narrowing to the choking pressure at your neck. Your head spun, and all you could think was No. Not again.

Dean and Sam were shouting, but their voices were distant. Your vision blurred, the edges growing dark, your mind starting to slip into panic.

Not again. Not like this. I can’t die like this.

But then something inside you snapped. A fierce, desperate instinct you didn’t know you still had. You shoved against the vampire’s chest with all the force you could muster, your body shaking with effort. For a moment, it stumbled, loosening its grip.

This is your chance.

With trembling hands, you reached for the knife, and in a blur of motion, you cute off its head.

You stood there, panting, staring at the empty space where the vampire had been just moments before. Your heart was still pounding in your chest, the adrenaline surging through you, but the shaking had intensified. You couldn’t stop it. Your legs felt weak, your hands trembling as they gripped the knife, your body fighting to stay upright.

And then, through the haze, you heard them—Sam and Dean. Their voices, louder now, breaking through the storm in your mind.

"Are you okay?" Dean’s voice was low but filled with concern, as he rushed to your side. His hand was on your shoulder, steadying you, but it didn’t erase the worry in his eyes. He was trying to keep it together, but you could see how proud he was. Proud, and afraid.

"Yeah," you whispered, but it didn’t feel like you were answering him. Your voice was weak, the words a mere echo of what you wanted to say.

Sam was right behind him, his face full of soft relief. “You did it,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You saved us. You saved yourself.”

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, but you fought them back, not wanting to show the vulnerability that was already spilling out. You had done it. You had killed the vampire.

But you were shaking uncontrollably now, your body betraying you as the reality of it all hit. The fear was still there, gnawing at your gut, but beneath it all was something else—something you hadn’t felt in a long time. Pride.

Dean’s hand gripped your arm more firmly now, but it was gentle—like he was scared you might fall apart. "Hey, you okay?" he asked again, his voice softer, laced with tenderness. He was watching you closely, searching for any sign that you might break.

You nodded, the motion small, but firm. "I’m okay," you said, your voice a little steadier. But you weren’t okay—not yet. Not mentally. You needed time.

But Dean knew that and didn’t push you. Instead he just pulled you into his chest, his touch gentle with understanding. "You did good. Really good."

Sam stepped in, his hand resting on your back, his expression full of pride. "That was great. You fought back. That’s something."

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breath. "I was scared," you admitted, the words coming out in a whisper. "I didn’t know if I could…"

Dean stepped pulled you in tighter, his eyes softening. "We knew you could. You’ve always been stronger than you think."

They were proud of you. And maybe, just maybe, for the first time in a long while, you were starting to believe it too.

[beescrafting]

Through heaven and hell...

Price is now retired... Living in a slow town with a small population further up in England's more rural area.

During one night at the pub and a near PTSD attack, he finds himself talking to a gentleman named Nikolai.

______

Life was slow now. With creaking old joints, pains from active duty, John found himself in a small little town far out into the country side of England.

It was quiet.

It is nice.

It was boring.

Compared to the normal loudness of a battle feild, the gunfire, the yelling, the bombs... Then again those silent missions... Either way John found himself bored out of his mind.

Theirs only so much a man can do with gardening or trying to learn how to knit.

So alot of the time, he found himself jogging and working out, doing small jobs with helping the community, and then drinking.

This is where John found himself every Friday night, at the pub at the edge of town. It's not the most popular pub, but its a good one.

That's where John found himself right now. Sitting in a corner of the bar, cradling a whiskey to drink.

The bar was briming with life, from workers taking a moment to calm down for the week ended talking with friends and watching sports, to some young men on a few dates with their girlfriends or boyfriends.

This town truly was something else.

Drinking his whiskey John sighed. The noise in the background was slowly startling to frazzle out, sounding like background noise as he more focused on the tv. It was a program about a war going on...

John tapped his finger against the table slightly, taking a deep breath. He was starting to hear the voices of the men he failed to keep alive... The men who died by his side due to his faults.

Their screams of pain over the coms as they suffered and died by the enemies hands.

The sound of gun fire and bombing ringing in his ear it was-

"are you an angel, because I want to pray to you~" A thick russian accent suddenly broke his train of thought from such a wild thing to say.

John turned to face the man only to be met by a older gentleman with a smirk amongst his face. His stuble was nice it really brought out a strong mans exterior if you were to ask anyone.

"pardon?" John said raising a brow as he studied the man.

"ha sorry, just trying to get you out of that head of yours мой друг" (мой друг = my friend) the man said while taking a seat next to John. He was wearing a dark brown leather jacket with some jeans and a nice random t-shirt from something John didn't know. "My name is Nikolai, friends call me nik, and you are?" The man- no... Nikolai asked.

"John... John Price" john replied back, he found himself smiling slightly, he had been lacking a bit with human connection lately after all... And John had a feeling Nik understood him more then he let on.

"well John, care to explain what's got you stuck in that brain of yours?" Nik asked leaning a bit closer after ordering for another round for the pair. Another Whiskey and a cherry vodka.

Mhm very nice.

Maybe this truly is what he needed, someone to talk to and drink with. He hadn't had much contact with anyone from his job in a bit, Ghost and Soap were still in the army serving under a new captain now no doubt, and Laswell had her wife and job in the CIA...

"Well, I use to be in the army" John mumbled before talking more to Nik about what it was like, he and nik both learned a few things from one another. They truly had alot in common.

~~~

This is just the intro for what's going to be started, its not very long but its a ground breaker for what I have planned. Thank you for reading, and if you wish to be tagged for me updates to this, then please let me know, and if you have any questions my ask's are always opened! Their will be other updates too other then short little writings such as art, thoughts, and chapter idea's. I do hope you enjoy this project among the many more I'm work on. - Bee

but i do think i know of two people who'd like this, @panchulien and @hexxedghost ,w,

[moe-kiess]

dating josh headcanons.... paws at u

Dating Josh Levy headcanons!

note: paws right back at you!! I'm not too good at writing Josh, but I had lots of fun writing these during class lol. I hope they're up to your expectations! (^u^)

Right off the bat, the rest of the club is incredibly shocked and jealous that Josh managed to get somebody like you!!

Definitely brags about you to everybody he can. You're like.. his biggest achievement ever.

His parents love you!! they're delighted when you come over. Anything you and Josh do together is fine by his parents, just as long as you aren't causing as much chaos as Josh's other friends do.

Constant pda with this guy! He loves to show you off anywhere and everywhere he can. One of his favorite things to do is hold your hand, with the both of your fingers intertwined as you two walk together. It makes him feel extra close to you, and he doesn't care if he looks like a cornball doing it. His hands get really sweaty though so be warned.

To be honest, just you existing around him makes him feel so much less insecure. Additionally, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE praise this boy for everything he does, no matter how little it is!! He'll literally be putty in your hands, he loves you so much.

You're always the absolute first person to know about any new addition to his collection, whether it's a figure, book, vinyl, etc. You're also the only person he allows to touch anything of his, so be careful!!! Break his toys and you break his heart. </3

Sci-fi marathon dates. He loves having you lay on him while you watch TV together. Probably also sniffs your hair when you're on him because he's just weird like that. These dates are only really reserved for when the guys don't wanna hang out with him, but he'd much rather spend time with you and get a breather from them if he has nothing else to do.

Vents to you about how mean his friends are to him sometimes. I mean, it's not really like he has anybody else to talk to about this, so he really trusts you with his feelings. Please let him lay his head in your lap while you play with his hair, your touch is one of the only things that soothe his nerves.<3