#i'm being so serious when I tell you to heed the warnings

[turtlecleric]

Bay!Raph x Reader; heavy angst; reader in peril; lots of hurt and very little comfort, if any; to be clear, Raph is not the bad guy in this one

CWs: graphic, drawn out sexual assault/non con, kidnapping, almost torture, non con choking/breath play and filming, murder, death, gore, seriously this is dark dark dark PLEASE don’t read if these topics are even slightly upsetting to you, reader has a terrible terrible time

-

They've got you tied up too well. You can't pull away, can't do anything but strain against the ropes uselessly. Your shoulders are already sore from the way your arms are secured behind your back. Your thighs are bound to your calves, so even if you did manage to pull away you wouldn’t be able to run. 

You can't stop shaking. You don't know why that fills you with so much shame.

The one behind you presses a kiss onto your shoulder. You lean away from him as far as you can, but he’s got you sitting in his lap and he’s perched on the edge of the bed, so you can’t go far without falling face first onto the dirty carpet of the motel room. Regardless, his hand curls around your jaw, tilting your head back and pulling you flush against him. He holds you there, your arms stuck between your back and his front, the back of your head pressed uncomfortably against his shoulder. Your skin crawls at the feeling of his lips against your neck, but when you squirm it only makes him hum into your skin appreciatively.

You try to remember what the guys have told you about being in this sort of situation, but… there’s only bits and pieces. Honestly, you hadn’t thought you would ever be in this sort of situation, despite their warnings. Despite Raph’s warnings.

You should’ve listened a bit more carefully. Then again, you woke up here. You don’t remember how you ended up with these guys, so… you don’t know what you could’ve done to avoid this. 

“Pretty, isn't she?” the one behind says.

“Too pretty to be a mutant's slut, that's for sure.”

Your eye is drawn to the one who responded, the tall blond that’s been rummaging around in the duffel bag on the opposite bed. It’s the first time you’ve heard him speak, and something about his voice - something you can’t put a name to - makes alarm bells sound in your head. Then he turns, and when you see what he’s holding your blood turns to ice.

A small remote. And a video camera.

The blond steps toward you, fiddling with the buttons on the remote and muttering something you can’t parse over the harsh breathing in your ear. The vibrator they've strapped to you turns on suddenly, and when you jolt and gasp the one behind you laughs, his breath hot against your neck. 

The blond towers over you, pointing the camera down at your face where it’s still held in place by the grip on your jaw. You can see the little red light that means it’s recording. “What was the freak’s name again?”

“Raphael,” the one behind says, a smile in his voice.

“That's right. Say hello to Raphael, baby. We're sending him a copy of this when we're through.”

Your eyes widen at that, and the blond huffs in amusement. He says something else, but you don’t catch any of it, too busy thinking about the fact that Raphael is going to see you naked and tied up in the arms of another man, he’s going to see whatever happens here, he’s going to see and hear and he’s going to-

The one behind you releases your jaw. He shifts you in his lap and holds your legs open, and the camera is aimed at the place between your legs. You can’t help the small “no” that slips from your mouth, the instinctual spasm of muscle as you try in vain to close your legs. 

“Don’t worry, pretty thing,” the blond says, reaching out his free hand to trail his fingers along your inner thigh. You’re still shaking. You hope it’s not visible on the camera. “We’re gonna have some fun.” 

No no no no no no no.

Your body flashes hot as your breathing picks up, as your eyes start to burn with tears. The blond makes a fake sound of sympathy before pushing two fingers inside you. The sudden, sharp pain makes you choke on an inhale, and you can’t help but whimper and squirm as he starts to pump them in and out. 

Fuck. Fuck. It hurts.

“Just like that,” he mutters. “Let him hear what we’re doing to you.” Your mind races, trying to think of something you can do. There has to be something. You can’t let them win. (Haven’t they already, though?) Maybe you can just- you can just try to minimize the impact of it all somehow. Yes, okay. You can do that. 

You press your lips together, trying to keep quiet. Trying to keep still. The blond must catch on, because he makes another sound - this one of disappointment - before he pulls his fingers out of you and stares down at you with a blank face. 

You don’t want to look at him. You don’t want to look at the camera that’s now aimed back at your face. You don’t want to look at anything in this dingy motel room, actually - so you close your eyes and try to imagine that you’re anywhere but here. There’s shuffling. Movement. You think of the last time you saw the guys. Game night. You’d won almost every time, and Leo had been so-

The clink of a belt shatters that thought. Your eyes fly back open to see the blond pull out his cock, already hard and leaking. He tilts his head at you, the corners of his lips pulling up into a smile, and aims the camera back between your legs. Your eyes grow impossibly wider and you open your mouth, but before you can speak he shoves his entire length inside of you in a quick thrust. You can’t help the scream that claws its way out of your throat - or any of the sounds that come after as he starts to pump in and out, in and out, in and out. 

You’ve never felt pain like this. Burning, sharp, raw - it hurts. Fuck, it hurts so much more than you could ever have imagined. And everything, every sensation, it’s too much. The hands palming at your chest, the lips on your neck, the constant painful drag as this stranger fucks you, the vibrator that does nothing to make any of this feel remotely good. Too much, it’s all too much. It hurts. It hurts, and you can’t stop crying, and Raphael is going to see this.

“Such a pretty little thing,” the one behind you murmurs into your neck. His breath ghosts along your skin, making you shiver with disgust; it smells of cigarettes and rot. “Bet she’s nice and tight, yeah?”

The one with the camera groans, thrusting into you faster. His voice is low and breathy when he speaks again. “If she comes on my cock that means she likes it, right? How would that feel, Raphael? Knowing that I made your little whore come for me?”

“Please,” you whimper. “Please stop.”

A hand presses over your mouth. “Shhh, it's okay, baby. We're gonna take care of you. And when we're done, the rest of the dragons will get a turn while we wait for loverboy to get his little gift.”

The words take a moment to sink in, but once they do your panic skyrockets. They're laughing, god, they're laughing while your heart threatens to beat right out of your chest, while this fucker's dick spears into you like a knife. It hurts. You can't focus. You can't think. You can't breathe.

You actually can't breathe, you realize belatedly. The one behind has your mouth and nose completely covered. Your struggling renews, more frantic this time, and again you hear laughter. Your pulse is a rapid, wild thing, and the pressure in your lungs, in your head, is all you can focus on. Your lungs are burning. Fuck, your head is going to explode. Maybe it already has, with these white dots sparkling in your vision. You keep trying to pull away, to move your head so that you can get even a tiny bit of access to air, but it's useless. Everything hurts, and they're laughing, and you can't fucking breathe. 

Are they… they're going to kill you. They're actually going to kill you, on camera, and then they're going to send the video to Raph while the rest of the Purple Dragons do whatever they want with your fucking body, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. 

You're going to die. You're going to die. You're-

The hand finally releases your face, and you gasp for air, desperately filling your lungs with blissful, sweet oxygen at last. They're still talking, but you can't make out the words. You can't. You can only focus on breathing, barely conscious of the pathetic wheezing sobs that are punching out of your chest. 

There's a rough tapping against your cheek. The one fucking you, he's talking to you now. You try to focus on what you're seeing, what you're hearing. The blond. He's talking to you. Focus. 

“-nt to breathe, baby? Huh? Alright, you get one: I'll let you breathe or I'll stop fucking you. Your choice.”

That's not a choice, you think blearily. He's just trying to get a rise out of Raph. He'll say something about how you want this, since you asked to breathe. 

Fuck that. 

You know you're going to regret this. You know. But suddenly rage swells in your chest and-

“I want you to stop fucking me, you piece of shit.” Surprise blooms across his face right before you spit in it, glaring with everything in you as he looks down at you in shock. A second passes, then his shock is replaced by fury as he wipes the spit from his cheek. 

He slaps you so hard your ears ring. The force jerks your head to the side, but then there's a hand covering your mouth and nose again. It's him, this time, and he pounds into you with renewed vigor. 

“You're getting fucked either way, princess,” he snarls. “You should've been smart and taken the out.” 

The seconds feel like hours as your lungs burn. Your torso spasms, the muscles in your arms struggling uselessly against the restraints. More laughter. More talking. He's still fucking you so hard your entire body is jolting with each thrust, but other than that you can't make sense of anything through the panic and the burning and the constant, desperate need for air. 

You're on the verge of passing out, you're sure, when they let you breathe again. Dizzy, exhausted, you beg for them to stop. Your own voice sounds garbled and strange. You don't even care what you sound like, everything fucking hurts. 

Again, his hand covers your mouth and nose. Again, you feel as if you’re dying. Again, he waits until you’re sure you’re going to die before he lets you breathe.

Pathetic, you hear, but you aren't sure if that's them or your own mind. 

Talking. He’s talking to you again. You try to focus, but you can’t. 

The hand returns.

On and on and on, again and again and again. Everything is awful, everything hurts, and sometimes you’re breathing, but most of the time there’s just the burning burning burning in your lungs, in your core, in your everything, everywhere, it’s too much and it hurts and you just want it to stop.

At some point the men switch. At some point they switch back. At some point you’re lifted, then placed onto the bed on your back. 

You can breathe, though, and that’s what matters. 

There’s more talking. Everything is blurry. Everything hurts. Too much. It’s too much. You can’t. Stop. Shaking.

Focus. Focus. 

The blond hovers over you, thrusting lazily into you. Where is…? You let your head fall to the side and see him. The other one. He’s sitting on the opposite bed, now in charge of filming, apparently. A hand grips your jaw, turning your face back toward the one hovering over you. “You keep your eyes on me, slut,” he says in a low voice. “Keep your eyes on me and I’ll let you breathe this time, okay?”

You don’t get a chance to respond.

Several things happen at once. First, there’s a loud BANG, accompanied by more light spilling into the room. Next, you see a weapon lodge itself directly into the neck of the man above you with a disgusting, wet sound. You have just enough time to recognize the weapon as a sai before the blond releases your jaw, reaching for his own neck. His hands hover in the air, unsure. It’s as he’s staring into your eyes - his face growing redder by the second, his torso spasming, guttural, wheezing sounds coming from his throat - that you realize the irony.

He can’t breathe.

More sound to your left. There’s a blur of movement that you can’t make sense of. You can’t tell what’s happening - and then suddenly the blond is gone. You don’t even know where he went, but he isn’t on top of you anymore. He isn’t inside of you anymore. There’s a series of thuds. Grunts. Visceral crunches and the sound of splatters and- you don’t know, you don’t know, you can’t tell what’s happening.

“Raph, enough!”

Raph. Raph is here. And Leo, too, that’s who said that. You try to look around, but you… can’t. You can’t get your muscles to cooperate. You can only let your head fall to the side, and you see the man’s body sprawled on the opposite bed. Not the blond, the other one. His… his head. It’s gone. Blood is spraying out of his neck in spurts, soaking into the sheets of the bed, and you don’t know why, you don’t know why, but you feel like you can’t breathe again. 

You close your eyes, but it does nothing to erase the sight of the decapitated man. He’s still got the camera in his hand. 

There’s more talking. This time, though… it’s familiar. Arguing, sure, and pretty much yelling rather than talking, but still. The sound of it helps you to breathe a little slower. 

Someone says your name. Soft, and sad, and quiet. You open your eyes to see Donnie’s face, his eyes wide and worried. What is he worried about? Maybe you can help.

Oh. Right. 

What’s wrong with you?

You try to smile at him, but his expression twists into something that makes your smile drop. You feel more than see him releasing you from the restraints. The relief in your sore muscles is overwhelming, but… you’re feeling a bit strange, actually. “Donnie,” you whisper. “What’s wrong with me?”

He responds, but you… aren’t sure what he said. You can’t keep your eyes open. That’s odd, right? Maybe you should be… more worried about that. 

“Where’s Raph?” you ask. 

You don’t know what the words are, but you hear Raph’s response. He’s here. He’s here, and… it’s going to be okay now. It’s going to be okay now. Right?

“Yeah, shorty,” someone says. Not someone. Raph. Wait, Raph is here? He sounds… devastated. What’s going on? “It’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you.”

[joosthead]

We need more bottom joost content im so fucking serious…I need subby joost or I’ll explode RAUGHHHHHH

FUCK i love a subby man ... i fully agree we need more subby joost bc just look at him. guhh . anyways hope you enjoy these thoughts teehee it's genuinely filthy pls heed my warnings. also i'm unsure honestly if this is subby more than it is about edging and overstim but . send me another ask w more thoughts if you'd like something different as well < 3

₊˚⊹⋆ reader: nb!reader. lmk if i missed something and it's not nb, i will change accordingly!!

₊˚⊹⋆ cw: smut (unprotected sex, edging & overstim m!receiving), drunk sex (both drunk, but this is where edging comes in). send an ask if you need more details about this part <3

rpf ahead—don't like it, don't read it!! you've been warned. do not repost this on any other platform.

18+ only — explicit rpf content ahead, minors dni.

in general i feel like so much of his vibe is so pillow princey. he loooveess to lie down and take whatever you'll give him

he generally is a tease and loves being teased, and i think this is a huge part of his submissiveness—i won't pretend like i think he's the biggest subbiest sub ever with how fluid he is but i do think in every session together, he lurvsss some teasing and edging.

absolutely adores a handjob w edging. sunday morning and he's so so hard cuz he just woke up that way and he has to wake u up. you roll over and you're like "are you actually serious?" but you're not gonna let your baby suffer (and you tell him such, which makes him even harder). he doesn't know what's gotten into him—he's usually much stronger than this, usually the one pampering you, making you ask for it, but he fully turns so whiny when like this. in minutes, you have him moaning like a bitch, teasing him with your tongue but never actually taking him into your mouth; when he gets close, you cease your stroking of his cock, and watch as it's like his entire body reacts to it, and hear how labored and heavy his breathing gets when you've brought him to the precipice, but never over. a beautiful sight, his pink cheeks amidst his pale skin, the rosy color creeping down his neck and his chest and the leaking angry pink tip of his cock, wet and slick as you stroke him to completion.

loves being taken care of fsfs. being called pretty, handsome, pretty boy (this one especially). it's so serious for him. loves getting his ego stroked in all ways possible, but especially if he's on his knees for you.

it really never happens except for when you're drunk but. he fucking loves when ur both sloppy drunk and all you can really think is your own pleasure. there was one time you two came home from the club, kissed all the way up the stairs, you palming him through his jeans the entire way; then the moment you got him laid down on the bed, you rode him, got off, rolled over, and went to sleep. he had to jerk off by himself to get the edge off, looking at you next to him on the bed the whole time. in the moment, it was very (sad violin noises) but looking back on it—that drunk and frenzied look in your eyes, almost like you didn't care about him or his pleasure...it was so hot and a little part of him felt ashamed for thinking so.

but the shame never sticks around too often, never lingers. he knows you care about him, knows that it was just a symptom of one too many drinks and his hands exploring your body (i.e. your hips and ass) the entire night to make you use him the way you did.

drunk or not, i think his favorite occurrence is when you're riding him and he just gets to watch you lose it atop him, grinding back and forth on it. it may not be the most stimulating for him specifically. but seeing you use him, the only thought in your mind your own pleasure—he really loves it.

i don't think he'd be into being edged when you're actually fucking—the better alternative to being used like a toy is overstimulation. when he cums before you, there's something in his head that insists that he has to make you cum one more time before he can rest. then you say, "please, just a little more, joost," and he knows he has to do it. strangled, he says, "i can't, i can't do it anymore, schat," but he knows he should, sloppily thrusting into you before he gets soft, the pain of the overstimulation completely lost on him in the venture for your own pleasure.

i also have a lot of (good. great even) feelings about joost talking ab liking his ass eaten but idk if i can go that far here yet

i need him

[stinkrascal]

TRANSCRIPT

Breanna: You like to drink, huh? Vladislaus: I was planning to clean... Breanna: Uhuh, I bet. Vladislaus: [ clears throat ] It is no matter, we must continue our training. Breanna: Training? We can't count all that walking we did as training?

Vladislaus: Training one's powers is very different from training one's legs, my dear. Breanna: To be honest, I think I got the hang of it. Vladislaus: What makes you say that? Breanna: I dunno, I just do.

Vladislaus: Very well, then. Perhaps our training can wait. It's dawned upon me I know very little about you. Breanna: I dunno nothing about you.

Vladislaus: Tell me something about yourself. Breanna: You tell me. Vladislaus: About... yourself? Breanna: About you, dumbie. Vladislaus: ...What would you care to know?

Breanna: Where you from? Vladislaus: I can't say. Breanna: What, it's a secret? Vladislaus: I have no memory of my origins. Breanna: Oh. Oopsies. Well I'm from Louisiana, I lived in Evangeline parish most my life.

Vladislaus: What about your family? Breanna: ...What about them? Vladislaus: You must have someone worth mentioning. Breanna: I got a mom and a sister. That's it. Vladislaus: That's it? Breanna: Well, I used to date this one guy... Vladislaus: What of your father? Breanna: He died when I was little.

Vladislaus: I'm sorry. Breanna: It's fine, I don't even think about him honestly. What about you? Do you got any family? Vladislaus: None that I remember.

Vladislaus: I have spent two centuries here. It is only here that I have any meaningful memories. My spawn are my family, now. Caleb, Lilith... and you. Breanna: Huh? Oh. Cool.

Vladislaus: [ chuckles ] Perhaps cool is not the word I would use to describe one losing their memories to the passage of time, but to each their own. Breanna: Nah dude, I hope I lose every last one.

Vladislaus: You say this, but when your past begins to feel like a distant dream, I think you will feel differently.

Breanna: I think you got a big fuckin' head.

Vladislaus: All I ask is you pace yourself. The transition from human to vampire is more overwhelming than you give credit.

Breanna: I'm being careful, you don't have to remind me. I'm not stupid.

Vladislaus: I am urging caution, that is all. I realize your quick progress has emboldened you, but that is all the more reason to heed my warning, girl.

Vladislaus: You cut it very close today. Breanna: ...It really was an accident. Vladislaus: I never said it wasn't.

Vladislaus: You are only a fledgling. Of course, it is so that your powers... escape you at times. That is why I urge you to be cautious, my dear.

Vladislaus: [ snickers ] And that is why we have a rigorous training routine! Breanna: Rigorous, my ass. We haven't done shit today. Vladislaus: Nothing escapes you.

Breanna: Uhuh. You're alright Mr. Straud. Vladislaus: Vladislaus, please. Breanna: My momma always told me to respect my elders. Vladislaus: Thank you for that. Breanna: So how old are you anyways?

Vladislaus: [ sighs ] Old enough to know better. Breanna: I'm 21 by the way. Vladislaus: Good to know. Breanna: So you're like 30? Vladislaus: Is that a serious question?

Breanna: Yes? Vladislaus: I am well over two centuries old, my dear. Breanna: Oh. I meant, like, your body. Vladislaus: Isn't it rude to pry a man about his age? Breanna: That's only for women dumbass.

Vladislaus: Where do you think you're going? Breanna: Oh, nowhere. Just going to find Lily. I gotta ask her something important. Vladislaus: Have you forgotten your training? Breanna: We're vampires, why would we train in the sun?

Breanna: Shouldn't we train at night? Vladislaus: I hear your point. Breanna: It's pretty sad you need me to tell you how to do your job dude. Vladislaus: It is, isn't it?

Vladislaus: Farewell, little creature. Stay out of trouble. Breanna: Always!! ❤

[resowrites]

Suspicious Minds - oneshot.

Summary: Henry attempts to put a cot together…

Pairings: AU!Henry Cavill x Wife!OC

Warnings: fluff, banter/British humour, language, dialogue heavy, nondescript OC body type/appearance, hastily written/lightly proofread.

WC: 2099

A/N: Remember, this is pure fiction (as in completely made up), and not in any way meant to reflect reality. My work must not be copied, reposted, or translated elsewhere. Likes, follows, reblogs and comments are thoroughly welcome and appreciated! Gifs/pics not my own. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for visiting!

Suspicious Minds - oneshot.

The noises from the nursery were growing louder and louder. Eventually, she decided she'd have to go investigate. She pushed back the door to find Henry in the middle of the room, kneeling over a booklet of instructions. Nuts, bolts, and long planks of wood were scattered everywhere. "Good God, it sounded like a gorilla enclosure in here… I'll have to put a picture of you on the wall with all the other animals—"

"I'm trying to put this sodding cot together, okay?! The instructions are a bloody nightmare…"

"Well, can I help? Surely it can't be that difficult, it's only four sides after all."

"No, it's fine. I don't want you doing any lifting—"

"Well that's not like you…" He rolled his eyes.

"Still, I'd rather we erred on the safe side." She huffed and leaned against the wall while Henry muttered to himself. "Take a seat, I want you off your feet."

"Yes, m'lord! Shall I have a kip while I'm at it?" He locked eyes with her again.

"Why, are you feeling tired? Darling you must rest—"

"Henry I was joking! Stop being such a fusspot. And hand me those instructions or they'll have left home by the time you're finished." Henry sighed but handed her them nonetheless. "Right, first thing's first, do we have all the parts?" He cast a glance around him.

"As far as I can tell—"

"Good, now do you understand that a failure to heed the warnings and follow the assembly instructions could cause serious injury and/or death?"

"Will you just get on with it?!"

"Calm your knickers! If you want I'll wait while you go look for a hard hat…" Henry harrumphed. "Okay, so first you're gunna want to attach middle rear leg E to middle panel A1…" She looked at the pieces dotted around his feet. "Those two bits there, you'll also need three fifty-five millimetre bolts—"

"Fifty-five? That can't be right…" He grabbed the booklet from her hands.

"I think you'll find it is. And don't forget the Allen key—"

"Yes, I know that! Bloody woman pointing out the obvious…" Henry mumbled under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, love. Right, what now?" He finished tightening the last screw and awaited the next instruction.

"Okay, you need to insert three wooden dowels into those holes…" Henry looked up and eyed her suggestively. "Oh, stop it! And they need to go there, not in those ones."

"… Are you sure we aren't having sex?" She rolled her eyes.

"Right, you now need to attach slats H through four with five dowels."

"Just five?"

"Yes you gobshite, now do as you're bloody told—" He tutted.

"Fine, where do they need to be slotted?"

"Well bend over and I'll take a look—"

"Lovely, are there any more you want me to stick up there?!"

"Yeah, bars F, G, thirteen, and four need to go on the other side. Come on, shift it, I don't have all day!" Henry scrambled for the right pieces and hammered them into position. "You can also take your tank top off if you want, make things a bit more exciting…"

"I thought you weren't in the mood?"

"Well, it's hardly a turn-on having to tell you what to do—"

"Since when?! And give me that, if you can follow it it should be a piece of piss…"

"Should be but isn't." She bit back a laugh when he looked up at her annoyed.

"Christ, I don't understand any of this… why would the forty-five-millimetre bolts need to go in the back and not the longer ones?"

"Cos longer's usually better?"

"Oh just shut up and hand me six of the M6 bolts please!"

"You sure they're the right ones and not just the ones you want to use? Anyway, you're closer, I thought you didn't want me to lean down?!" Henry huffed. "Nope, those aren't the right ones…" He snapped to his feet.

"Fine! You do it Miss Smart Arse, seeing as I'm the one who apparently can't read instructions—"

"Well are you sure you're reading the English side, not the French?" Henry turned to storm off. "Whoa there Nelly, I was only joking. God, what's gotten into you? Why are you taking this so seriously?"

"Because I want to be able to do as much as I can for you both. It's bad enough I'm already forty—"

"Wait, hang on. What do you mean?" He looked down at the floor, his eyes beginning to well.

"I mean, I'll be an older dad Ollie. I won't get the same amount of time with them as you will…" She tilted her head sadly and cupped Henry's face in her hands. "Then there'll be the times I won't be here and that'll rob me of them even more."

"Oh, darling. Look… nothing in life is promised. What I do know for sure is they'll be surrounded by so much love. You're going to be a fantastic dad, Henry. There's no one else I'd rather have in your place. Well… no one I've met." They smirked at each other.

"You're right. Besides, you could always go first…" She kicked him in the shin.

"As if I'd get that lucky! Remember though, I work for myself and you also have a lot of flexibility. But either way, I'll do everything I can to make sure you get as much time with them as possible. I mean, not too much of course, that would hardly be right…" Henry smiled at her again.

"You'd really do that for me?"

"For the three of us, of course! I don't want you to miss out on them growing up either. We're a team, remember? And baby's not going to change that." He swallowed the lump in his throat.

"You make me so happy." She tutted.

"Soppy bollocks…" But they shared a kiss and Henry held her close, gazing down at the bump hitting his stomach. "I'm sorry, I was just panicking. You're showing now and it's feeling that much more real—"

"I know sweetheart, I worry about what kind of parent I'm going to be as well. But we both learned a lot from our childhoods and I'm sure we'll make the right choices." She gave him another kiss, patted his chest, and smiled. "For now though I think I’ll leave you to it, the instructions just repeat themselves for the next few pages so you should survive…" Henry gave her an anxious look.

"I'm sorry I'm not more handy, either. God, I just don't understand it… I can put a PC together but not a bloody cot!"

"Yeah, cos you're overthinking it! So long as it doesn't collapse inwardly on our child, I can't ask for anymore." He smirked and spanked her backside.

"Go on, get out of here. I'd rather go without your encouragement if that's the best you can do!" She gave Henry a wink and disappeared from the room.

***

"Knock, knock, how are you getting on?" She opened the door to find the cot almost finished. The view of their nearly complete nursery took her breath away. "Wow, I knew you could do it! And it only took the rest of the day…" He tutted as he picked up some spare screws from off the floor. "Seriously though, it looks great, how hard was it in the end?"

"Not bad actually, I mean I almost threw it out of the window at one point, but I made it work."

"Oh, I thought that was one of our neighbour's screaming 'fuck’ at the top of their lungs…" She then eyed the screws in Henry's hand. "How many of those do you have leftover exactly?"

"Not many thank you very much!"

"And they came with the cot didn’t they?"

"Well, where else would they have come from?!"

"Your head maybe?"

"Hysterical. Why don't you come and inspect my handy work if you're that concerned?!" She stepped up to the cot and jiggled several of the bars.

"Mmm, not too far apart, that's good. At least they won't get stuck." He rolled his eyes. "Not sure those drawers are plumb though…"

"What do you mean?! They're dead straight!" But she was too busy testing out one of the dropsides. As soon as she lifted it, it whooshed back into place with a sickening clank.

"Jesus Christ, that could take someone's head off!"

"Well, I followed the pissing instructions! What more can I do?!"

"Build a bloody cot, not a guillotine!" Henry sighed and referred back to the booklet.

"Ah, I see. I haven't lined up these two casings correctly…"

"Well I hope that's the extent of the snags, I'm scared to touch the sodding thing now…" He pursed his lips and before she knew it, she was quickly whipped into the cot.

"There, see! Sound as anything! If it can take you it can take any baby—"

"Henry, will you get me out of here, please?! This whole thing's gunna collapse!"

"Oh shush and go to sleep, or do you need burping?"

"HENRY!!!"

"Alright, alright." He carefully lifted her out and she thwacked his arm the minute her feet hit the ground. "Ow! What was that for?!"

"You know what for, I can't get up as easily anymore!" She pointed at her bump.

"Oh please, you struggled to do that anyway," another thwack landed on Henry's arm.

"Just for that, you're not getting the snack I bought up here."

"What do you mean? What snack?" He sighed and picked up his screwdriver when she walked off. She returned moments later, however, holding a plate piled high with thickly cut sandwiches. Henry's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. "Other than terrorising your pregnant wife and building a death trap, you've done a wonderful job. I'm so proud of you darling and I can't thank you enough, the nursery looks amazing. I can't believe it's finished, are you excited? Before we know it we'll have a little one rolling around in there!" She pointed eagerly toward the tiny mattress.

"I know, the last few months really have flown by. It's going to be so weird having another person in the house!"

"You're telling me, you won't be the loudest, stinkiest one here anymore—" she stopped mid-sentence. "Wait a minute. Is it me, or is the whole thing on the conk?" He quickly stepped into her line of sight.

"Nah, that's just a trick of the light. Well, thanks for the sarnies, you best be getting on—"

"So it is bloody wonky?! I knew it! Did you not put the feet on?" She squatted low to examine the floor.

"Uh-uh, no you don't. Come on, get up please, you know I don't want you in that position—"

"Since when?" Henry rolled his eyes.

"Alright I confess, I haven't attached all the feet just yet as the whole thing was getting a bit heavy—"

"Well let me help--"

"No fucking fear!"

"Oh, Henry I'm not stupid!"

"Well, you could have fooled me! Remember that spice rack you tried to put up? Ten minutes afterward it crash-landed on the oven—"

"Yeah, cos you gave me shit screws - there and elsewhere!" His mouth fell open.

"Well I won't even dignify that with a response—"

"Yeah, cos you don't have one." Henry looked up at the ceiling and tried not to laugh.

"Darling, you can mouth off all you like, this is my job and I'm going to finish it. Now off you fuck."

"Well, what choice do I have…"

"Ollie, will you please just piss off?!"

"Fine! When you're done stuffing your face, come hop in the shower with me…"

"God bless those pregnancy hormones—"

"Oh please! You're just all sweaty, you'll stink up the bed later—"

"Sure. I'm thirsty as well, ya didn't by any chance happen to bring up a lager?" She smiled knowingly and handed him a tall tin can from the pocket of her jumper.

"Trust you to sniff that out. Oh and keep that Allen key handy as well, you can bleed all the radiators once you're finished."

"God, you'll work me to bloody death at this rate!"

"Henry, you've got off easy. You're not the one having to carry another person around, have them squish your organs, go into labour, give birth—"

"No, but I'm still having to hear all about it!" Her eyebrows hit the ceiling. "I'm kidding, if you're that helpless, go get all soaped up and I'll be in to scrub your back…" Henry spanked her backside once more and she walked off holding up her middle finger.

To be updated on when I post please follow @resowrites and turn on post notifications.

@elizabetharegina @fanfictionaddiction99 @luclittlepond @caffeinatedfestivalsheep @summersong69 @ushijimbo @livesinfantasyland @jackjanira

[aerkame]

I will no longer write for other AUs for Welcome Home (please read in full)

TW: Mentions of NSFW/pedos

I know some people only followed me because of a fic or two I might have started writing on for another Welcome Home AU, but recently I have started to notice the increasing toxicity of the fandom overall. Yeah, I've been other fandoms I know there is toxicity and I know there's a lot of nice people in this fandom, but I have NEVER seen it this bad. Out of all the fandoms/fanbases that I have been in, I have never seen such a huge problem regarding pedos, NSFW art/writing being shared and looked at by minors despite the creator's wishes, general toxic behavior, and a large amount of mentally unwell people working their way into groups of children or safe spaces. I ended up having to delete quite a few NSFW art pieces on twitter because I found minors had seen it and some guy decided to make a comment on my OC Lilith that I was not comfortable with.

I also do not feel alright having to restrict myself on what I write or draw because a single person might be "triggered" or "offended" by it. I know I put warnings when they are needed, I should not have to feel like I'm walking on eggshells in this fandom. I do not need anonymous asks telling me how I should and shouldn't write or what I can and can't say.

Because of how bad it's been and seeing more and more creators leave the fandom, I have decided to no longer engage in other AUs or creators unless it's from a follower (I know you guys are fine), friend, or person I know I've talked with before, OR if it's Clown himself. A lot of people forget that Welcome Home isn't what people keep writing it as. Welcome Home isn't even close to being done, we're just riding off the AUs right now. It really rubs me the wrong way that all I ever see on AO3 now with fanfictions are smut fics mainly and some pretty disturbing stuff.

There is so much, too much, s3xualization in this fandom and the romanticizing of serious and dangerous themes/topics. A lot of times believe or not, when I draw buff characters with no shirts, it really is just anatomy practice. I do not understand some of the comments I get sometimes in my inbox. Yes it's fine to tease a bit, but my goodness some of the comments I have seen before are concerning. I never intend on s3xualizing the characters and yet I always get anon asks going a bit out there with s3xualized comments. It's why I haven't really drawn that stuff in a while. I can't tell if people really do s3xualize that stuff or if they're seeing it as anatomy practice with a bit of tease like I do.

I have been bottling A LOT of things up recently and it's hindered my ability to really write or draw how I want. I'm always scrapping ideas and giving up halfway through.

It's always "Is this something that people are going to s3xualize?" "Is this something that might offend someone in x category?' "Will people like this new character?" "Am I good enough for this topic?". It's not healthy and I know that it affects my creativity and mentality, I won't be restricting myself anymore though. I will write/draw what I want, just please heed my warnings when I put them there and don't ignore my boundaries or the boundaries of others.

Now, regarding my own two AUs (I dropped the Dream one because I have something special planned for TFP), The Finfolk AU and Alive AU. I WILL continue writing/drawing for them. They are my own AUs with my own characters added in them. A lot of people that interact with me are followers and I know you guys would never disrespect my OCs or invade boundaries and I love you so much for that. Of course my rule on requests remain the same. NO NSFW for the normal Welcome Home, but NSFW is allowed for Finfolk AU requests.

Unfortunately, all of this does mean I will not continue the fic I was writing for @clownsuu Mob AU. I'm sorry, I just really do not feel like writing for an AU outside of what I know in terms of the person who makes it. I am not sure how to explain it other than I don't feel alright with it unless it's like an AU from someone I know or at least talked to before? Just at least a person I know on some personal level. I don't want to explore the fandom right now, it is a mess with the people in it...do not take this the wrong way, I DO NOT hate anyone outside of the people I know, I just don't feel comfortable in the fandom at the moment and I will not leave you guys behind either. So in short, I plan to just stay in my own lane so to speak and do what I can for the ones who follow me for what I do.

I will however finish the Villain fanfiction as it's not exactly anyone's AU? Not sure how to explain that, it was a series of asks for it. And obviously I will make a full long fanfictions for the Alive and Finfolk AU.

I know I said I don't want to vent on here, but it's getting hard for me to ignore. Everytime I type or pick up a pencil to make something on here it doesn't feel right.

[winchestergirl2]

August Reading Recs

To show some love and appreciation to all the amazing writers here on tumblr, here are all the fantastic fics I've read this month. 💖

Many of these fics and blogs are 18+ only, and NSFW please heed the author's individual fic warnings and requests regarding no minors. I am not responsible for your media consumption.

2023 Reading Rec List

The Boys

Soldier Boy

Break Me Down Part 17 | The Epilogue @zepskies

Authors Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

Love Actually Part 1 @zepskies

Authors Summary: Ben gets in late on Christmas Eve with a Grinch-like attitude, but you’re determined to force some holiday cheer into his system.  

Love Actually Part 2 | Part 3 @zepskies

Authors Summary: You and Ben steel yourselves in order to meet your crazy family for Christmas dinner.

Supernatural

Dean Winchester

The Widow @pink-sparkly-witch

Authors Summary: Sam and Y/N are happily married, but everything changes after a fatal car accident leaves her a widow. The Winchester motto: “Family Don’t End with Blood,” takes on a whole new meaning for Y/N as she navigates her new normal with the help of her brother-in-law, Dean. But what no one can tell her is what happens when she falls in love again.  

Escape Chapter 58 | Chapter 60 @soaringeag1e

Authors Summary:  A serial killer is reeking havoc around Lawrence, Kansas, and Detective Dean Winchester is getting really sick of finding more and more bodies. But one day, he gets a call about another victim. But instead of the location of another body, he gets news that this one escaped the hell of this mans actions.

The Fallout @justagirlinafandomworld

Authors Summary: When Sam meets his true Omega, you fear your time with the Winchesters is fated to end. Before they can hurt you, you decide to distance yourself. But Dean isn’t willing to let you get away so easy.

Welcome to Being a Girl @negans-lucille-tblr

Authors Summary: When a spell puts you in Dean’s body and Dean in yours, there’s more than one problem that arises.

What A Girl Wants @writercole

Reckless and Raging @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior

Authors Summary: Y/N knows she made a mistake, but Dean’s fury at her isn’t making it easy to admit to. But why is he so completely furious?

Hold On, I'm Coming @ravengirl94

Authors Summary: When a freak accident lands you in some trouble, the local fire department and a particularly handsome firefighter come to your rescue. Dean Winchester catches your eye immediately with his charm and kindness, but being Chief Singer’s daughter could cause some serious problems. You and Dean have a choice to make: defy your father’s wishes and face the consequences, or go your separate ways...

Stood Up @justkending

Authors Summary: You haven’t had a date night in a while, and an old hunting companion calls you up for drinks. Sneaking out from Dean and Sam questioning you, you make it to the bar only to realize you’ve been stood up. Coming home you feel defeated and worthless. Lucky for you, you have someone who thinks you deserve better. 

Sam Winchester

Untitled Sam drabble @girl-next-door-writes

Untitled Sam drabble @girl-next-door-writes

Tell Me @thinkinghardhardlythinking

Authors Summary: Sam wants to know what the reader wants him to do to her in bed

This Is Crazy, Isn't It? @katelyn--renee

Authors Summary: The trio enjoy a night out in Las Vegas. Things don’t go quite as expected.

Untitled Sam drabble @supernaturalfreewill

Sam and Dean Winchester (no pairing)

Bar Fight @impala-dreamer

Smallville

Jason Teague

Kiss Me First @mind-empty-just-fictional-people

Authors summary: you keep a student after class to work on their late english homework, but coach teague wants his star quarterback at practice

[crush3dmary]

A public explanation of why I will not be tagging Philosophy with dead dove, do not eat:

So this has been on my radar for a while now, between me debating whether to add the tag, especially with the increase in violence in the last few chapters, and someone outright suggesting it to me recently. I've given it a lot of thought, and here is where those thoughts have ended up.

So, anyone well versed in fandom is well aware that dead dove: do not eat is just a way to say "heed the tags, because I mean it". I know this, and most avid writers know this, but unfortunately there are certain connotations to that term that I don't feel comfortable applying to my fic. Because, by its strictest defition, yes, it IS a dead dove fic. I am very serious when I say it contains violence, sexual content with occasionally dubious consent, and other content that people might find disturbing. I do want people to understand that when they see my tags and the warnings in my author's notes.

However, DDDNE has, objectively, also been sort of co-opted by the average fandomgoer to mean "this is a fucked up fic, it is extremely explicit and is meant to display gore and sex in ways that romanticize this kind of content". As much as I and anyone who has been around for a while knows that's not what the tag means, the reality is, that's what most laypeople think when they see it.

That is objectively the connotation a DDDNE tag carries, and I think looking at the optics of that is important. That's why I've decided I'm not going to use it. Philosophy, at the end of the day, is not a fic about gore and sex. It's a study of Ryou's declining mindset and descent into Zorc's corruption. It does contain sex and violence, but they are used as narrative tools to further the story. The story is not ABOUT the content warnings, it contains them to further the narrative, and that's where I think there's a discrepancy between the optics of a DDDNE tag and what the fic is actually about. The idea of people looking at my fic and thinking "guro porn that's shocking for the sake of being edgy" genuinely upsets me, regardless of what I think of that kind of content (I enjoy it, I do seek it out on occasion), and it upsets me because I feel like my story being seen through that lens is a huge disservice to what I'm trying to do with it.

Yes, my fic does contain questionable content, and I won't deny that, but it's absolutely not a fic that's specifically about sex and violence. Those are simply tools I am using to tell the story from the perspective of a teenage boy with debilitating OCD who is being strung along by yugioh Satan to essentially destroy the world. And yes, there are very disturbing scenes (some people didn't like the belt scene, though it's actually one of my favourites, and I'll admit the scene at the end of ch13-Bark like a God was intense on the violence even for me) but the disturbing scenes are meant to add to the character study rather than for the sake of shock value or anything of the like.

So, I've decided that based on those optics, it's not the right tag for this fic. However, in the interest of making sure nobody gets genuinely upset by the graphic content or feels like it's been sprung on them, I HAVE added the tag "exactly what it says on the tin" which has essentially the same intent as DDDNE without the connotations. I also a few months back added "the dove is not quite dead, but it sure isn't walking or flying" to the initial authors note in chapter 1, mostly because I saw that on twitter and thought it was funny, but it does help emphasize what you can expect when you start reading the fic. Just in general I might go back and assess my author's notes and skip lines on my next reread to make sure everything is accurate and there are no discrepancies. It's going to be impossible to tag for everything that could possibly trigger someone, and I've been trying to be very clear with the direction this fic is heading, but at least I can potentially stop people from being blindsided.

Anyways, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. Time for bed.

[tvchi]

The Challenge: About Him

Disclaimers: DO NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK. DO NOT TRAIN AI WITH MY WORK.

Warnings: Mature Audiences ONLY: 18+, SMUT, Minors DNI- Nudity, Sexual Intercourse, Spitting, Gagging, Profanity.

Pairing: Jalen Hurts x black female Word Count: 2139

A/N: Alright. Here is where the action is. This is Part 2 of the series. Please heed the warnings up top. This is actual pretty vanilla considering the other things I've written but if you are a minor, SCRAM. As always, your feedback is greatly appreciated because I'm really trying to get better. So Like, Comment, and Reblog as the spirit moves you. ❤️❤️🥰!

If you haven't read Part 1, stop what you're doing and read that first!

Summary: You're chilling with your friends as you update them on what went on in Professor Martinez's class with James. You get an earful about your behavior while they send you spiraling down memory lane.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 I love hanging out with my friends. They just get me—maybe a little too much. So, naturally, I spoke to them about the showdown after Professor Martinez’s class, and I got an earful.

       “I know you lyin’,” Amber said. “She’s lying, right? I know she lyin’!”

       “So you mean to tell me that fine, chocolate demigod was speaking to you face to face, and you …you insulted him?” Reneé added.

       “It’s the ‘talking about the project’ for me! I wouldn’t be able to talk to that man about nothing except nuttin’. On God!” said Sara.

       “Yall are missing the point. What am I going to do? I can’t have him messing up my work.” I asked.

      “I think we are all in agreement when we say that not only should you make amends with this man, but you should invite us to the breakout session so we can talk about us being sister-wives. That man is F-I-O-N-E,” said Amber.

         I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they were going to get stuck in the back of my head. They all knew that I was on a strict track to get into law school and that I took my GPA seriously. I like to have fun, but I really don’t play about my work, and here they were acting like I was the problem.

       “You know we love you, right?” Sara started, “I just think that maybe you were way too hard on him and making a mountain out of a molehill,” she finished.

       “I’m just going to say it because I think it needs to be said, and I can be the ‘bad guy’ this round. I think you are hard on him for the same reason that you’ve been hard on everyone that has come your way in the past 3 months. You’re still pissed about Devon.” said Reneé.

      My head whipped around so fast to turn in the direction of the Judas in my presence.

     “What did you say?” I asked rhetorically.

     “This man did nothing to you. In fact, a very serious person presented with a group project would approach his or her partner asking about how they should divvy the responsibilities of said project in a fair and equal manner. You bit his head off because… what? He’s a jock. Jocks are students too. He has to get a grade too. I don’t think you’ve even dated and responded to a guy favorably in the last couple of months. I get it. But don’t be scaring off fine, eligible bachelors because of some asshole in your past. That’s crazy.” she rebutted. 

      As I tried to calm my growing resentment towards Reneé and carefully chose my words to reply to this wild accusation, I couldn’t help but think about him. 

      We met at the University’s gallery opening for all of the students in the Thomas School of Art and Architecture. I had taken some classes at the school, and extra credit was given to students who attended the gallery opening. Truth be told, I would have attended without the incentive. There were so many talented creatives at the school, and their work was phenomenal. From the students who wanted to create their own fashion houses, making life-sized framed dresses, to those who experimented with realism and painting life-like portraits. There was something from every different type of creative at this exhibit. Reneé had the dopest exhibit of them all. She made an art installation made entirely of broken glass from liquor bottles she gathered from the entire campus. She sculpted the pieces into a diorama of the university, staying true to the architecture of the different buildings on campus. There was even an interactive portion where you would be told your expected major by a glass representative at the bursar's office, depending on how you answered the prompted questions. As I stood to admire her months of hard work, I walked around the entire installation, and at the end, that’s when we bumped into each other. 

      He stood tall, towering over me. His eyes were deep, almond-shaped, and had a way of eliciting visceral responses that lay dormant in the depths of your intimate parts. His walnut skin gave way to soft facial hair that added a ruggedness to his otherwise clean features. He kept a close crop of hair that he often rubbed in a forward motion in times of nervousness. He had a lean build, doing just enough to make you look twice but not enough to be confused with a professional athlete. The noticeable veins on his forearm made you wonder what his other appendages looked like. 

        I apologized for my clumsiness and tried to move away. He grabbed my arm, pulled me in close, and told me not to leave. He told me that he couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather bump into at this exhibit. We walked around the entire gallery together, discussing pieces. We eventually came to my other favorite piece in the gallery. A bust of a black woman made entirely of rope. It was as technical and intricate as any sculpture or painting, yet the texture was unique. I gushed about the level of skill and patience the artist must have had to create this. 

        “I’m glad you liked it. I wasn’t sure,” he said.

        “Wait,” I choked. “This is you?” He smiled. 

        “I really love this piece, Devon. You really did your thing with this one. You definitely should show it at other galleries,” said a random white male, notably one of the school's instructors. 

        “Thanks, Dean Bright. That means a lot,” He replied coolly.

        As they finished speaking, I tried to saunter off to find Reneé and the other girls.

       “Where you going?” I heard.

       “Oh, I didn’t want to crowd you. I bet a lot of people will want to talk to you about your work. It’s truly amazing,” I said shyly.

      “How about this, I’ll let you know when I think you’re crowding me. But right now,” he stepped closer as he finished, “I need you with me.” 

      He stared into my eyes. At that moment, the din of the room faded to a low, inaudible frequency. It was just the two of us and the silent conversation our eyes held. He took my hand, and we left. 

       We took his car up to his off-campus loft. When we arrived, he got out of the car and opened my door. He pulled me up out of the car and onto the sidewalk. I don’t remember him locking the door. I don’t remember how we got inside the apartment, actually. We crashed into each other in a full-on collision. He tore my dress off of me with brute impatience, leaving me before him in just a lacy thong and breathy anticipation. He smiled wickedly as he took me all in. Before I knew what was happening, my back was against the concrete wall. My legs found his waist and pulled him in close. I buried my face in his, sucking the moisture out of his lips. I wanted more. I craved more. And more, indeed, came. He moved my soaked thong aside and slipped himself inside of me. I gasped for air. His nature was thick and full. I felt every inch, and he found every crevice. I tightened around him. 

     “Shit,” he moaned. 

     He thrusted deeper, and I screamed in pleasure. My head fell back as I tried to steady my breathing. I felt my stomach sink to the bottom, my walls tightened, my eyes rolled back, and I erupted. 

    “Fuuuuuuccckkkk!!” I yelled. 

     I came so hard I thought that I was gonna pass out. He fed me. Repeatedly. As I tried to recover, lifted my waist up to his lips to drink from me. My head hung upside down while he hoisted me up, hugging my midsection to his chest tightly while my back rested up against his abs. He was still at full attention, making his presence known against the upper portion of my back. He ate as though he was starving. I couldn’t contain myself. Overwhelmed with so many sensations, I felt myself tightening again. 

    “Relax your body,” he said. “You taste so damn good. I want you to taste yourself. I’m going to drink from you. Imma spit it down, and I want you to catch it, okay.”

    “Mmmm…Don’t talk with your mouth full,” I managed in between moans. He smirked. 

     His fingers never stopped working as I dangled mid-air. He worked his tongue over my clit, making sure not to miss an inch of my pearl. He came up for air; he shot some of my sweet sap up in the air through the tiny space between his front teeth. The tiny fountain of nectar landed in my opened mouth as I made sure I caught every drop. He continued drinking from my well until I came again. He lifted me up. Lightheaded, spent, and weak, I stumbled onto him. He caught me and chuckled. He carried me into his bedroom and laid me down. My back hit the cool sheets as I try to make sense of everything that happened. He studied me intently. I wondered what he was thinking. I wondered if it was then that he decided that he was going to use me and leave me in a world of pain and confusion. 

        Amber was in front of me now. She was speaking about something that I couldn’t quite make out when Sara decided that we should all play a game. 

       “So it seems that we are collectively in a man rut,” Sara started.

       “Speak for yourself, hoe!” Reneé blurted out as she grabbed another drink.

       “ANYWAAAAY, “ she said as she rolled her eyes and brought her attention back to Amber and me. “ Like I was saying, it seems like we are in a bit of a hard place when it comes to men. I think maybe we are thinking too hard about everything. We are still young, and dating men should be fun—not a chore. So I propose that we do a challenge,” she finished with a gleam in her eyes. 

       “Uh oh,” I said, looking at Amber.

      “Girl, the last time you had us do one of your challenges, we were on the toilet for weeks,” Amber cried.

     “Here me out! What if we just said “yes” whenever we were faced with a proposition or a situation that we would otherwise say “no” to. Nothing too crazy or anything that would put our lives in jeopardy. No creeps, but what if we just said “yes” for like one month. Amber, you can say “yes” to going out with white boy Greg from Cali even though he’s white because life is short and meals are expensive. Adaobi, you can work on that couples project with fine ass James…” Sara said 

    “I am not dating him. Our thing is different. It’s a class project; he’s not my man, so I’m kinda exempt from this,” I interrupted. 

    “Nice try, but you don’t even look at men anymore, girl. So the fact this fine one is speaking to you at all, given the way you’ve been growling at every man in sight, is a miracle. You’re doing this challenge,” said Reneé.

     “Thank you, Reneé. And you, Reneé, maybe we should start a “no” challenge for you because we can’t keep up with your sexual exploits anymore. Ever think about saying “yes” to a friendship without benefits?” asked Sara.

    “Bite me, bitch! Hating is not a good look on you,” she sneered.

    “Are we all in or what?” Sara asked. 

    The whole room looked at me. It seems like I wasn’t getting out of this one. 

   “Fine,” I said begrudgingly.

   “Yay! It’s a go. Here’s to having fun again,” Sara said as she raised her glass of Bacardi and Coke to toast.

   “Cheers!!!” we all said in unison.

    As I sat my glass down on the coaster to my left, Reneé plopped down beside me. “And don’t think for a second you're gonna wiggle your way out of this. I got a friend that is cool with James and goes to your class. I’ll spy on you if I have to.” she threatened.

    The last time Reneé threatened me, she got two of her friends with benefits to break into my dorm, pick me out of bed, and hoist me into the tub, then she hosed me down while I was still in my pajamas. It had been five days since Devon and I refused to leave the dorms. I never saw her so angry in my life. I knew then that she was capable of setting the world on fire if she had to. I also knew that I would have to make nice with James.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here is Part 1 Click here for Part 3

Tags: @thecapodomme @writers-of-tmblr @melaninpov @spaceslutsworld @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @mymusicbias @the-black-label @master-builder42 @miraculously-dumb-bitch @megamindsecretlair @hopefulromantic1 @tranquilfandomer @thadelightfulone @vivalaorgasm @hotgrlcece @planetblaque @blackgurlnhermoods @sweettea-and-honeybutter @andriaharris @kumkaniudaku @theblacklewinsky @nun0ir @iloveorangesworld @cocogoddess0g

[wikipedie]

. Please heed the warnings. Protect your mental health. Shortly, I am fine and will not do anything, this is just a general rambling.

Do not worry. I will not do anything. I just want to ramble about how I find funny that when I am better because of long term medication, and I think and wonder "why do I even need medication anymore"

and then I am terribly exhausted because of poor sleep choices and not taking my meds consistently for a while; and I am overthinking and overthinking and irritated and make some mistakes and I sit in the subway with the eyes closed and I think I should kill myself and it makes sense for like two seconds and I can almost envision it

and then I remember. Ah. That's why we're taking meds.

It's strange that I can vaguely remember a time when these sort of thoughts were common occurrence. Daily even. And I'd just fight with them. And I am so exhausted and on edge, I feel like crying but I do not have enough in me to cry. But it's just wild that...I don't think I will ever not struggle with this. And it's wild that there are people out there who do not struggle with it. Theoretically, at least. Theoretically there are people who do not consider the idea of killing themselves, no matter what they do. And I think, for me, it's just been a thing for so long, I don't think I can ever pretend it's not. I think it will ever completely not seem like an option to me. Because I take meds. And I take meds precisely so this doesn't become an option for me. And the moment I am inconsistent with meds, it becomes an option again. No matter how much I might deserve to live.

I think I should've noticed the warnings of suicidal ideation creeping back in earlier, considering I've been thinking about how it would be for people around me if I died more often (I consider sometimes how it would be for the people who love me if I died, and for new people who get to know me and it's not too bad. But when it repeats itself often enough, it doesn't take long to imagine by suicide.) And I've also been mentioning more how I would've killed myself in college if there wasn't X thing. I don't really know if it's true. But it puts suicide more in front of my mind. Something that I've been struggling with. And something, that I realise, that I'm still struggling with. Even if my life is good now.

And that's important to mention, for myself at least. I've been telling myself 'of course I wanted to kill myself if I didn't like the life I was living!' but now I do and it's still...there. in the back of my mind. Something that makes sense, at least a little. So it's just...a reminder I guess. This thing doesn't necessarily go away when your life gets better. *Sigh* or maybe I'm saying this because I'm on my period, but you know what, I'll still take it seriously. Suicide ideation during periods is no less serious than in other times.

Anyways, if you got this far, thank you for being here. Do not worry, I will take care of myself. These are just some musings for myself and yourself, if you get any value out of them.

[muzanlove]

Five years of university and I'm finally a doctor. After being in the city I decided to move to a small town. Or neighborhood, I've never heard of this place, all I know is there was an ad in the paper about them needing a doctor. I took the job because they would be providing housing. I don't know who 'they' are but I guess it would be nice to get out of the city. 

After hours of driving, I made it to the edge of a forest. What the. Am I going the right way? I looked at my GPS and it said to continue, suddenly I felt a wave of paranoia wash over me. This can't be right. Should I continue? A small town in the middle of a forest sounds like the start of a horror movie. Oh well, I made my way into the forest and to the small town. I park my car at the house, this place is weird. It's so bright and tiny. There are seven houses, a doctor's office, a post office, and a store with a one hundred percent off sign on the window. 

"You must be Nohemi!" I hear a man say behind me. A mailman, odd that a place this small even has a post office, figured if you needed to tell someone something you'd just go to their house. 

"Yes, and you are?" 

"I'm Eddie Dear the mailman! Well, I have to be off, I'll see you around!" 

"Nohemi! You're here! I've been waiting all day we're gonna have so much fun together! After you settle in you should come over my house is over there!" A girl said while pointing at her house.

"I didn't get your name"

"Oh silly me! Julie! Julie Joyful!" She said before skipping away. 

Wow, she's really... joyful. 

5:20 pm 

I finally finished unpacking, I should go to that girl's house, it'd be rude if I didn't. When I left my house I didn't see anyone outside, which was weird because it was the middle of the day. Despite not seeing anyone I could feel someone watching me. No, I'm just being paranoid. There can't be anyone watching me... can there? I knocked on the door to Julie's house and she quickly opened the door.

"Good you're here, are you sure you weren't followed?" She asked.

"Followed what? No, I wasn't"

"Just come in quickly." She pulled me into the house shut the door and locked it behind her.

"What's going on? Are you ok?" 

"You need to leave!" She said.

"Leave? I just got here?"

"He's been expecting your arrival for years now, he's been watching. They chose you for a reason and if you don't get out of here now it'll be too late." She explained in a serious voice. Julie looked afraid, she was serious, this isn't the same person that I met earlier today. 

"Juile what are you talking about?"

"Nohemi, please. Please heed my warning, I don't have much time. Leave and never come back!" She continued. 

"It's" She looked at her watch before continuing

"5:45, by 8 you're car will be gone. Don't make the same mistake I did, I shouldn't have-" Julie was interrupted by a knock on her door.

"Julie! Are you in there?" an unfamiliar voice said.

"Yes! Nohemi's here too!" She says in her cheerful voice. Julie unlocks the door and lets them in.  A well dressed blue haired man walks in. There's something off about him. 

"Hello you must be Nohemi, I'm Wally Darling,"

"I'll show you around town! Doesn't that sound fun!" He grabs my hand and leads me out of her house. I quickly looked back too see Juile giving me a simpthic look. Then she closed the door.

[zepskies]

Hey, hun!! I hope you're doing better. ❤️

First off: 7,000 words??? 😲 Giiiirl, you're not messing around here. 😂

LOL no I am not! 😂 Really I just go where the story takes me, and I had to tell a lot of story in this chapter. I probably could've broken it up, but it would change the flow, and it would make you guys wait longer for more of the story!

The murder mystery is really getting interesting. The way you put that whole backstory into this AU world is so intruging. Will Azazel really be Azazel or is it a synonym for someone else? And are there people involved to help him that we would not think they could do such a thing? 🤔

Ooh all good questions which will be answered in time, but I love that you're speculating!

But I'm getting worried about John. He has been obsessed with the hunt for the murderer of Mary once, but now that there are so many similarities, I fear that he will fall back into his old habits. Luckily, he still told Dean what he really knew. Even though I feel like that that was Cass' doing. He's always looking out for his best friend.

So my interpretation of John is more lenient than most. I think considering the era he was raising his kids in (80s - 90s), the childhood he himself had, being a Marine veteran, plus the trauma he went through losing Mary, I think John did the best he could for the times. Was he a perfect parent? Of freakin' course not. He had many issues. But when he was faced with a choice: continuing his obsession and saving his family, he ultimately gave up his chance at revenge, and his life to save Dean.

That being said, I'm very much taking that attitude when writing this AU. 😉

Our two lovebirds having a hard time matching their schedule to see eachother was what I thought how it would be. But so glad that they still talk on the phone and get to know the other one more. And from what you described, it all looks reeeeaaaally good so far. 🤭

Haha they are, aren't they? The struggles of adulting lol. But they're finding ways to make it work!

Gordon, Gordon, Gordon... He made it so NOT obvious that he was trying to get into Y/N pants. 😒 I really don't like the guy. I hope that he got the message, but with knowing his character I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't back off that easy. 🙄

Lmfao yeah he was a bit aggressive, wasn't he? We haven't seen the last of Gordon, but he's going to heed Dean's unspoken warning. He didn't know they were together. And my characterization of him is that he wouldn't cross that line against a "fellow brother" at the firehouse.

And Jo... I knew she would not let it go. And I was really expecting her to do more damage. Jealousy is just not pretty. But the little things she sad where still enough to make Y/N insecure. Although Meg started it. 🙈

Yeah, I wasn't trying to villainize Jo. In fact, I was trying to stay as close to her character as possible: immature at times, headstrong, but ultimately good-hearted. (And Meg did start it lol.)

And then 😍 you gave us this romance movie type scene on the crosswalk while they took the next step in their relationship of becoming something serious. I could fully imagine it in my head. 🥰

Aww I love that, thank you!! Love that you called it a rom com moment essentially, because that's exactly what it was in hindsight. 😂

And he felt safe enough to open up about the news from his father to her. And Y/N just knowing that this was something that weighted heavy on Dean and her trying not to say some generic words and make him see that she feels for him, was so well thought of. 💞

I feel like Dean in this AU would be a bit more open with others than canon Dean, just because this Dean hasn't gone through as much trauma. He still had a stable home life after Mary's death, more or less. So he's gotten to a point with the reader that he feels comfortable enough to take that chance (and in that moment, he really needed the listening ear).

Oh man 🙈 my comments keep getting longer and longer. I'm really sorry about that but I'm just so investetd in this story. 😂 Well done! 😁

No worries, hun! I love it, don't apologize. I'm so glad that you're invested! 💕

Smoke Eater - Part 6

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

🔥Series Masterlist

Word Count: 7,000 Tags/Warnings: Fluff, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort

Part 6: “Just Casual”

A few days after the house fire that claimed the life of Paul Richardson, father of two, Chief Bobby Singer was joined in his office by Detectives Winchester and Novak, along with his resident Squad Captain and Truck Lieutenant, Benny and Dean.

“The Richardson fire has officially been determined an arson,” Bobby revealed.

“They found a time-delay incendiary device hidden in the attic. No fingerprints. But that’s not even the odd thing,” he said. “The medical examiner found a brand mark on his wrist that was inconsistent with his other burns. Which is why you’re here, I reckon.”

Bobby directed his gaze at both John and Cas, who didn’t look surprised to hear this news.

Dean raised a brow. His gaze shifted to his father, but John only met his stare for a moment before he answered Bobby’s unspoken question.

“We’ve been investigating a series of murders in the area over the past six months,” John said. “Each victim died in their home, with the same brand somewhere on their body. Typically the wrist, or the back of the neck.”

“So we officially have a serial killer turned arsonist on our hands,” Bobby concluded. His attention shifted to Benny and Dean. “Keep this close to the vest, but keep your eyes open.”

“Arsonists are hard to catch,” Dean said, looking to the detectives. “What do you know about this guy?”

Cas glanced at John. The older man could feel his stare, but had to ignore it for now.

“Not much as of yet,” John said. “Right now he’s a coil of smoke, if you’ll pardon the phrase. Our psychologist says he’s most likely a white male, statistically speaking. College educated, or at the very least intelligent, efficient, and so far, he thinks every step through. Like he said, no prints. But the brand is a message.”

“To who, and why, is what we’ve been trying to figure out,” Cas added. “We think that’s the key to pinpointing a suspect.”

“Really,” Dean said. He raised a brow and crossed his arms. “Six months, and that’s all you’ve got?”

“Dean,” John started, but the Lieutenant shook his head.

“Come on, Dad. I know you. Who is this guy?”

“Dean, this is the best I can give you right now, but believe me, we’re working on it,” John said, that tone that boded no further argument.

Bullshit, Dean wanted to shoot back. But he held his tongue for now. He knew that John wouldn’t budge. Instinct still told Dean that his father was holding something back though.

As the men filtered out of Bobby’s office, Dean held Cas back for a moment.

“Watch the old man’s back, all right,” Dean said. “He’s got a penchant for being reckless.”

Cas gave him a wry, pointed look. “I’m doing my best. Winchesters are a stubborn lot.” 

Dean smirked and walked out with him. Meg was headed inside, having just come in from an ambulance call. She smiled when she saw her boyfriend.

“Hey, lover,” she greeted. And she smacked his ass in front of God and the entire Rescue Squad, who liked to sit outside the firehouse and play cards at their table.

Ramirez and the others smirked and called out their customary whoops and cat calls. Dean smirked at the actual blushing discomfort that tightened up Cas’s face and shoulders.

“Dinner tonight at Casablanca’s, right?” Meg asked, unfazed by the catcalling peanut gallery.

“Right,” Cas said stiffly. But he still brushed her cheek with his thumb in affection. “See you later.”

“Yep,” she nodded, though she shot Dean a wry brow. “What? I stole your boyfriend. Get over it.”

She continued on her path back inside the firehouse, leaving Dean and Cas to stare after her in annoyance and begrudging fondness, respectively.

Dean turned to his friend and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Good luck and Godspeed, my friend. That woman’s fuckin’ terrifying.” 

Cas gave him a lazy salute as he walked away. He found that John had already started up their police car. He was in the driver’s seat, as always, with a hand resting casually on the steering wheel.

Dean typically sat in much the same way. Cas thought both men were more comfortable in a car than anywhere else in life. Except, maybe, the precinct and the firehouse.

Cas slid into the passenger seat and gave his partner a knowing look.

“I still think you should tell Sam and Dean what’s really happening here,” he said.

John looked over at him with an almost unreadable expression. But they had been partners for a few years now; long enough for Cas to get a read on the older veteran.

“I understand why you want to keep them out of this, but now this guy is starting fires. Here, in Dean’s district,” Cas pointed out. “Wouldn’t it be safer for him if he had clearer eyes walking into the next one?”

If, God forbid, something should go wrong on the next call Dean responded to, John would never forgive himself. Both he and Cas knew this, but John never answered his partner’s question. He didn’t want his sons getting their noses in this just yet, even if it meant the worry he saw in Dean’s eyes.

So he put the car in “drive” and peeled away from the firehouse.

Trying to match your schedule with Dean’s was a challenge you two were trying to figure out. Though you’d fallen into a pattern of talking on the phone to fill the void when you two couldn’t meet.

Even after almost two more weeks and a third date, you were pleasantly surprised that you and Dean still had plenty to talk about. You told him more about your childhood with your grandparents, while he told you funny stories about him and Sam growing up with their dad, though he was often gone while working on cases.

It was family friend and Fire Chief, Bobby Singer who looked after them whenever John couldn’t, or his old partner Jody Mills, or even Ellen Harvelle, owner of the Roadhouse.

The more you learned about Dean, the more invested you became. And he listened to you when you went on tangents about new recipes you wanted to try out (as long as he got to be your official Taste Tester).

You two argued, playfully and fervently, about music. And you’d been creating a list of old shows the other hadn’t seen, but absolutely needed to.

Dean had suggested Dukes of Hazzard, for example, while you suggested Smallville. You each only agreed to put up with this list if you two watched it together. (Needless to say, there would be some marathon binge watching in your future.)

That was why you didn’t think much of it when Dean invited you to join him at the Roadhouse to meet Cas, one of his best friends, and his girlfriend Meg. You’d invited Andréa to come along, and even Dean’s friend Benny, who she’d also been seeing ever since that night at the Roadhouse.

Apparently, the couple had their own plans.

You tried not to feel some type of way about her brush-off, but your friend had been increasingly distant since she met Benny Lafitte. However, you supposed you couldn’t judge. You hadn’t been calling her as much either, ever since you met Dean.

You knew that if you kept dating him, some adjustments would have to come in your life. You also promised yourself that you’d never be someone who forgot your friends for a man…even for a man like Dean Winchester.

Tonight, however, you’d come directly from work to meet him at the bar. It made more sense than to make him come pick you up from your house, so you sat with a ginger ale while you waited. He’d promised you via text that he was on the way, just stuck in traffic.

Okay, drive safe. 😘 Don’t speed, please.

You knew how he liked floor the Impala with that damn lead foot of his.

No promises. 🏎️

You wanted to roll your eyes, but you were smiling unconsciously as you read his reply.

You were soon knocked out of your thoughts when a smooth voice said your name. You looked up and to your right, and there stood a familiar face. The man greeted you with an easy smile as he sat down next to you.

“I thought that was you,” he said. He reached out his hand and re-introduced himself. “Gordon Walker. Not sure if you remember me.”

“Oh, yes! Of course I do, Gordon,” you smiled and shook his hand.

“It’s good to see you again,” he said. His dark eyes subtly took you in from head to toe in your skirt, heels, and blouse. “Though I’ve gotta admit, I’ve never seen you here before.”

“Ah, right,” you said. “Well—”

Before you could explain, Gordon held up a finger as he noticed your drink of choice.

“Oh, wait a sec. Let me get you something stronger than soda,” he said. He started to flag down Jo, but you shook your head and made a cutting motion with your hand.

“Uh, no, that’s okay,” you said. “I’m waiting for someone.”

“What?” Gordon asked.

It was getting busy in the bar, making it loud enough that you could understand why he hadn’t heard you. You leaned over towards his ear.

“I’m good for now, thanks,” you said, raising your voice a bit. Gordon leaned in even closer and chanced resting a hand above your knee.

“You sure?” he asked. He gave you a smile that was all smooth sex appeal and confidence, without being arrogant.

It was undoubtedly attractive, but you were more shocked than charmed in your blush. You instinctively leaned back when you felt his hand on your thigh. Your hand clenched on the counter.

While your brain scrambled to figure out a response that would successfully remove it (without snapping rudely like you were itching to), a hand slipped along your lower back.

You jolted a bit in your seat with a flare of unease, until you turned your head and found Dean.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted, and dropped a kiss at your hairline. He also clapped a heavy hand on Gordon’s shoulder and squeezed. The other man graciously got the hint and leaned back, withdrawing his hand from your thigh.

“Hi,” you said, finally able to breathe a bit easier. You gave Dean a smile, and he returned it.

He looked over at his friend with a sharper smile. “Hey, Gord. How’s your night goin’?”

“Good.” Gordon nodded, now with a knowing gleam in his eye. “Though I’m sure your night’s gonna go better.”

You weren’t sure how to take that remark, considering the way Dean reacted with a tighter expression and pursed lips. Then, they flickered at a smile.

“Well, we’re meeting up with Meg and Cas in a minute. You should join us,” Dean said. Even though his tone wasn’t so very inviting. The two men seemed to have a wordless conversation between the lines that you couldn’t decipher.

Gordon shook his head, but raised his drink. “No worries, you guys hang. I’m leaving in a few.”

“All right. Let us know if you change your mind,” Dean said. He thumped Gordon once more on the back, more friendly this time.

Dean’s other hand slipped around your waist. He tapped you on the side.

“Come on, I’ve got us a table. It’s quieter,” he said.

You nodded and slid out of your seat. You offered Gordon a polite smile, even if you’d rather not.

“Have a good night,” you said.

The other man’s smile was less flirtatious and more polite this time as well.

“You too,” he said. 

Dean helped you onto your feet, like the gentleman he was, and he continued to lead you away from the bar with a hand on the small of your back. You instinctively pressed against his side to squeeze past the throng of patrons.

When you reached a high-top table in the corner, he pulled out your chair and held your hand as you climbed up in your skirt. You thanked him with a more genuine smile. Though once he was seated next to you, you leaned towards him and laid a hand on his arm, which rested on the table.

“I tried to tell him I was waiting for you. He took me by surprise,” you whispered.

Dean’s brows rose, but his face soon evened out with a smile. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Don’t worry about it. He didn’t know about us,” he said. “He was shootin’ his shot…a bit aggressively. Sorry about that.”

“Oh…it’s okay. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before,” you replied. Though butterflies ran through your belly when you considered what us meant.

You noted his frown at what you’d said though, and so you aimed to change the subject.

“But Cas and Meg know, right?” you asked.

Dean nodded. His frown started to lift. “Yeah. Cas is one of my best friends. Meg is…well. She’s the little sister I wish I didn’t have.”

You shook your head in amusement. Then you let out a squeal as Dean hooked a foot around the leg of your chair and brought you closer. He stopped you from becoming too unbalanced by wrapping an arm around your waist. You clenched your hands into the open panels of his plaid shirt, and his charming smile greeted you.

“Hi,” he said.

You laughed. “Yeah, you mentioned that earlier.”

“Well, I’m doing it right this time,” he said. And he dipped down for a lingering kiss.

Across the bar was Jo Harvelle, doing her job behind the counter. She poured five shots in succession and doled them out to a party of frat bros without even looking.

Her eyes were drawn to the back corner of the bar, where you and Dean sat closely together, exchanging whispers and the occasional steamy kiss.

“Mind your business,” came Ellen’s whisper in her ear.

Jo whipped her head to glare softly at her mother, but she saw Ellen’s point. It was both obvious and pathetic of her to stare.

Despite the unease making her feel a bit sick to her stomach, Jo went over to Gordon down at the end. His sympathetic smile bothered her; she knew then she hadn’t just been caught by her mother.

“Interesting, isn’t it?” he remarked.

“What?” Jo said. She began wiping down his area of the counter. “Would it kill you to keep it in the glass?”

Gordon gave her an amused look as he sat back in his seat. His tumbler of whiskey was drained.

“Look, I’m sorry, all right?” he said.

Both of them knew he wasn’t apologizing for the spill.

Jo’s brows knitted together, mostly in annoyance. “Again, for what?”

“I know it’s gotta be hard to see him actually moving on,” he replied.

Her lips pursed, and her eyes darted to the back of the room again. She stared for a moment at the side of your face.

“Knowing him, whatever it is won’t last,” she muttered.

Gordon hissed at the "burn," with a deep chuckle. She knew her words weren’t kind, but it was how she felt.

“That may be,” he allowed. “But he’s not just chasing tail anymore. That’s what scares you.” 

Gordon dropped a nice tip for her next to his glass. He grabbed his coat off the back of his chair and left Jo with the churning in her gut.

Cas and Meg finally arrived a few minutes later.

Dean knew you’d been to the Roadhouse before, but this was different. You were meeting some of his friends, and he realized how much he wanted you to. He felt…comfortable around you. And he wanted his friends to know you, and to like you.

“As you know, Meg’s our Paramedic in Charge over at 25,” he began, gesturing at the woman as she got settled in her seat.

You admired her long brown hair, tall boots, and black leather jacket. She seemed to ooze confidence and dark charisma as she tossed you a smirk.

“Guilty,” she said.

You smiled back. Dean gestured at her boyfriend next, clad in a beige trench coat, slacks, and blazer.

“And Cas, who bravely suffers being my dad’s partner on the job.”

Cas nodded wryly at the introduction. His dark hair and blue eyes were striking, you could admit. His tie was loose and slightly rumpled. Along with the stubble coating his face, he was handsome, if a bit scruffy. It was hard for you to believe he’d earned the top scores his year in the Police Academy, but you supposed that looks could be deceiving.

“What’s that like?” you asked with a smirk. “From what I’ve heard about John Winchester, he sounds like he’s a bit of a hard-ass.”

Dean barked with a dry laugh. “An understatement.”

“He has a crab-like shell,” Cas agreed. “But he has a soft center where it counts, not unlike his sons.”

You turned to Dean with a more teasing smile. “Aww…”

He rolled his eyes, even though his arm, which had been draped across the back your chair, now dropped to curl around your waist.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Columbo,” he remarked at his blue-eyed friend.

Always had to get the last dig in, it seemed, but you couldn’t help but laugh a little along with Meg at Cas’s expense.

“You guys all seem really close,” you said. It was nice for you to see.

Dean shrugged like it was no big deal. Or rather, like it was commonplace.

“Well, maybe family ain’t just about blood,” he said.

Meg rolled her eyes. “Ugh. What a friggin’ sap.”

“You love it,” Dean grinned. She smiled, begrudgingly.

Family ain’t just about blood.

You liked that sentiment as well. It seemed to be true here. 

Even Ellen Harvelle treated Dean like a son when she came over to greet your table. She kissed his cheek and gave Meg and Cas’s shoulders a squeeze. Even you got a warm hand on your shoulder when she introduced herself.

“Welcome, hun. I understand it’s not your first time here, but if you got any questions on the menu, you let me know,” she said.

Dean shot you a conspiratorial smile, and it got you wondering what he was about to do.

“I mean, I don’t know why you don’t put the order in for chili fries the second you see me come through the door,” he teased. “Come on, Ellen. How long’ve I been coming here? Since before I had a license?”

Ellen narrowed her eyes and flicked the side of Dean’s head, regardless of his flinching protest.

“Don’t you go sayin’ that so damn loud,” she reproached. “You never drank underage at my bar.”

His eyes averted with a smile, in a way that told you Ellen was a damn liar. You bit your lip to try and hide your smile.

“Anyway, I’ll get your damn fries—”

“And a beer,” Dean interjected. She rolled her eyes.

“And a beer. Four?” she pointed at the rest of you, and you, Cas, and Meg nodded in agreement.

“All right, four beers. Anything else, darlin’?” She looked at you with a mother’s charm.

You looked up from the menu and unconsciously smiled.

“Um, sure. Can I get the chicken sandwich?”

She patted your shoulder. “You sure can.”

Ellen then took the rest of their orders without writing a thing down. You were impressed by her memory. At the end though, Dean didn’t let her go without a hand on her arm.

“Thanks, Ellen,” he said with a more sincere smile.

“A-huh,” she replied, with all due sarcasm. But there was a fondness in her eyes that was hard to miss when she playfully grabbed the back of his neck. “Knucklehead.”

A giggle escaped you, and Ellen tossed you a wink before she went to put in the orders and get the drinks.

Conversation flowed easier when the alcohol came. One beer became two, and even three (four, for Meg). By then, you were sure it was one beer too many for yourself, but you didn’t want to be the odd one out. You were mostly listening to the three of them bounce back and forth between reminiscing with old stories and roasting one another mercilessly.

It was hilarious and entertaining, but you were trying not to get caught in the crosshairs of the volleying. Inevitably though, Meg’s attention turned to you with a certain sly smile.

“You must be real special,” she remarked, gesturing at Dean. “He usually doesn’t bring his girls around here, where he actually likes to hang out. Guess that’d mean he’d have to see ‘em again with the lights on.”

You blinked in surprise.

“Meg,” Dean’s voice cut like a warning.

Your eyes widened as you took in the change, his deeper voice, his more serious gaze, versus Meg’s nonchalance. Even Cas gave her a chiding look.

“Not sure I want to know what that means,” you tried to joke.

But you could guess. It was fairly obvious.

You glanced over at Dean, whose lips pursed. Before either of you could say anything more, Meg chimed in.

“Oooh, is this gonna be your first fight?” she teased.

Dean’s brows furrowed with a glare. “That’s enough.”

“And that’s our cue,” Cas nodded. He’d already slipped out his wallet as soon as his girlfriend started talking. He left a generous few bills to cover their half of the night, plus tip, and got up out of his seat. He claimed his coat and then encouraged Meg off her chair.

“What? I’m not done with my beer,” she protested.

“I think you are,” Cas said.

Meg scoffed, but she allowed his manhandling as he wrapped a supportive arm around her waist.

“You’re not the boss of me, Clarence,” she snipped.

“Certainly not,” he agreed. “But you’re a lightweight. Time to go home, before you insult the entire bar.”

“You’re no fucking fair,” she groused, hitting his chest over his jacket. Cas leveled you and Dean with a long-suffering look of apology.

Dean waved him off with a “no sweat it” look and a shake of his head. Meg annoyed the shit out of him sometimes, especially when she was drunk. He turned to you with a sigh.

“Again, sorry about that. I didn’t think I’d have to apologize for my friends more than once tonight,” he said.

You shook your head. “It’s...okay. Overall, they were really fun.”

Dean scoffed. “I don’t think Cas has been called fun even once in his life.”

You smiled in amusement, but Meg’s words still swirled around in your head like heady wine.

“Dean,” you began, but your attempt to broach the issue was cut off by his cell phone ringing. He gave you an apologetic look and fished in his pocket for his phone. His brows rose when he saw the caller ID.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I gotta take this,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, okay—” You’d barely nodded when Dean was up and out of his chair, heading out of the bar. You could still see him through one of the faded glass doors as he held the phone up to his ear.

It was late, and quieter now. A blonde server came to take your plates, and you actually remembered her.

“Oh, hi! Jo, right?” you asked. She hesitated when you spoke, but she bobbed her head.

“That’s me,” she said. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No, I’m good. Thanks,” you said with a smile. “I met your mom. She’s really nice.”

Jo uttered a wry laugh as she stacked the plates and silverware. You helped her collect the silverware and empty beer bottles.

“Yeah, when you get her good side,” she replied. 

You smirked at that, remembering how Ellen snapped back and forth with Dean. You had no doubt that woman could be a pistol if you pissed her off.

“Well, it's nice here,” you admitted, once again taking stock of the décor. The music, the warm lighting, the good food… “It’s cozy.”

Jo’s smile quirked to one side as she paused.

“Well, it’s been in my family for three generations of Harvelles,” she said. “This was my father’s favorite place in the world.”

You caught the note of melancholy in her words, in her eyes.

“Was?” you echoed. She met your gaze and nodded.

“He was a firefighter,” she said. “He died on the job.”

You dimmed considerably. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Jo only nodded.

“How did he…” Your curiosity got the best of you, but you soon shook your head and backtracked. “Never mind, you don’t have to explain.”

“It was a fire that wasn’t properly vented,” Jo answered your half-spoken question. Her blue eyes were heavier. “He got caught in an updraft…but he actually worked at Firehouse 25. He was their brother. That’s why this’ll always be their place.”

You processed that with a slow nod of wonder.

“It’s good that you and your mom will always have that support,” you said eventually. “Even though…it might be hard too, to always be reminded.”

Jo’s lips quirked again. “It’s more the first one, but…sometimes the second one. A lot of these guys have known me since I had braces. It’s hard to shake that perpetual little sister thing.”

You smiled at that. “Yeah, I’d imagine that gets old real quick. A bunch of over-protective older brothers.”

“Overbearing, more like,” she scoffed. You laughed.

Unconsciously, you glanced over to the front of the bar, where you saw Dean still on the phone. You remembered the second date you were meant to have, when he was late due to a five-car pileup his team responded to.

You remembered that night he called you for the first time, after a long day he didn’t want to tell you about. He’d let you distract him instead. All the while, it had you wondering what he’d seen. What he’d responded to that day.

Had it been another car accident? A fire? What made someone as upbeat and funny and smooth as Dean seem to lose all the life in his voice?

Though while you were lost in your thoughts, Jo was watching you.

Jealousy roiled inside her, unbidden. She didn’t want to hate you, because unlike the girls Dean usually messed around with, you had some self-respect. Jo heard Meg’s snide clips at you earlier, and no one could fake the surprise in your eyes. Unless you were just that good a damn actor…

But no, she didn’t get that vibe from you.

It didn’t mean she had to like you though. 

“You’re right to think twice,” Jo said, earning your attention back with a swivel of your head. “What Meg said…she wasn’t wrong. Dean’s broken a few hearts, if you catch my drift.”

Just a few well-placed words, Jo thought. She realized then that she had the power to twist the wrench here, widening the gap between you and Dean. Feed your doubts.

She didn’t have to feel bad about it if it was the truth.

And yet…she saw the way your gaze fell. The disappointment setting in, the anxious clench of your hands on the table. You glanced over at Dean again out of the corner of your eye.

Jo realized then just what she was doing, not just to Dean, but to herself.

You’re not some petty bitch, she dully reminded herself.

“But,” she found herself adding. You raised your gaze back to her. Jo let out a subtle breath.

“It’s not always his fault,” she admitted. And maybe she was speaking a bit too much from experience. “The job demands a lot from him.”

Slowly, you nodded. You looked pensive, but not like you’d made up your mind.

Fine, Jo thought, as she collected the dishes and left your table.

She didn’t know if she wanted to sway you one way or the other on taking a chance on Dean Winchester.   

While you were talking to Jo, Dean was taking his father’s unexpected call.

“Hey, Dad. What’s up?” he said.

“Hey, son. How are ya?” John’s voice was gruff and tired. Dean frowned to hear it.

“I’m good. I’m out right now, but did you need something?”

“Have you responded to any fires lately?”

“You mean like the Richardson fire?” Dean asked pointedly. “No, haven’t had one since. And no cattle prod brandings either.”

“All right, good. Just checking in.”

Good? Dean thought. John would be chomping at the bit for a new arson. If he was “just checking in,” then he was worried about something. Is he worried about me?

“What’s going on? Is there something I need to know?” Dean asked in suspicion. This was why he had taken the call. “Seriously, you can tell me. I’m not even gonna bitch at you like Sam does.”

John chuckled. But then he hesitated. Dean knew he’d hit on something.

“Dad?” he pressed.

John’s sigh was a heavy one. “Okay. What I’m about to tell you, you don’t fucking repeat. Not to anyone, you understand me? Not even your brother.”

Dean’s brows furrowed in trepidation. “Okay, fine. What the hell is it?”

“Richardson, the father of two?” John reminded. “He was a lawyer, linked to a money laundering scheme through a company called Stull Storage. It’s an old company, dates back to the seventies.”

“Okay…” 

As John continued to explain, the more confused Dean became… 

About 30 years ago, John Winchester had been a young, but promising officer in the Narcotics division. He’d married young, and by then was just barely clearing the five-year mark. Already he had the house he’d inherited from his wife’s parents, a four-year-old son, and a newborn.

Stull Storage’s units were used by a drug ring that John had been trying to infiltrate, undercover. Those units had stored cocaine, illegal weapons, and other flavors of contraband, mostly from South America (and back).

“We got close to breaking that case, once, but after the fire…I transferred out of Narcotics, as you know,” John said.

Dean knew the real story there. After his mom died, his father went into a spiral, trying to find whoever set that fire—even after the Fire Department found no evidence of arson. John had eventually been forced out of Narcotics. He requested Homicide.

As he’d told Dean once when he was extremely drunk: I seem to do better at my job when the bodies are already dead.

“Now I know that I was right about your mother’s death,” John said.

Dean released a shaky sigh. “Aw, man. Not this again, Dad. For Christ’s sake.”

“There was something wrong about that fire, Dean,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over Dean’s objections. “I just didn’t find the connection…until now.”

Dean muttered a curse under his breath. His gaze fell to the ground. Sam was usually the one who drew a hard line at hearing any more about their mom’s supposed murder, but now Dean had reached the end of his tether. It was too much.

He glanced back through the glass doors to make sure you were okay. He saw you talking to Jo, and he frowned at himself.

Here you were, waiting on him back in the bar, and his dad was calling him in the middle of the night, chasing ghosts again.

“Look…it’s been my whole damn life with this.” Dean held the phone to his ear with one hand, and rubbed at his forehead with the other. “I just can’t do this with you anymore.”    

“Dean, listen,” John urged. “You wanna know what I’m digging into, this is it. I got Mary’s file unsealed.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “What? Thought you couldn’t do that without new evidence and a court order.”

“Well, I’ve got the evidence…maybe I was a bit impatient with the court order.”

Dean rolled his eyes. His father liked to play a little fast and loose with the rules.

“At the time, the medical examiner dismissed it. She’d been burned…” John paused on a deeper breath. “But I saw it. Mary had a burn on her wrist. It was the same brand found on Richardson. On Jerry Stillwell, CPA. Amanda Waller, journalist. It’s all connected, Dean. How they’re connected to one another, I’m not sure yet. We’re still digging…but I do know this. Richardson was a message.”

Dean’s back hit the wall of the Roadhouse. His brows furrowed as he struggled to digest everything John was saying.

“A message?” he asked. “To who?”

“To me, I think. Those kids, and their mother…you got ‘em out alive, but they weren’t meant to,” John said, his voice sounding heavy. "The wife told me her husband was erratic when he got home, holding his wrist. He'd been burned before the fire. He wouldn't say what happened...then they smelled the goddamn smoke."

"Shit," Dean replied. He leaned heavily against the wall, pressing a hand to his forehead. There was an ache starting between his eyes.

“Yeah," John agreed. "The drug ring I was investigating, when I was in Narcotics. I was getting close. And I mean close. I was about to get the Big Kahuna. The kingpin of the whole operation…and then the house fire.”

Fuck. Dean wiped at his mouth anxiously as he realized what John was saying. Fuck.

“He burned me, Dean. He must have,” John said. Meaning, the drug lord he was trying to pin down somehow discovered his identity. “Your mom paid the price of that.”

“Who is this guy?” Dean asked. His hand holding the phone was starting to tremble.

“I still don’t know his real name. Workin’ on that one too,” John said. “But they called him Azazel.”

When Dean eventually hung up with his father and returned to you at the bar, he saw you brighten. But you soon dimmed with a tinge of worry. Something of his thoughts must’ve shown on his face.

Shit. He tried his best to school his features.

“Hey, sorry about that,” he said, grasping your shoulder. “I’ll take you home.”

“I met you here, remember?” you asked.

Dean paused, then shook his head. Get it together, asshole.

“Right," he said. "Well, I’ll walk you to your car. Let me just pay real quick.”

After he sorted out the bill (he didn’t know that you’d slipped in an extra $30 in Cas’s stack for your part), he led you out, saying goodbye to Ellen and Jo while you went.

You hesitated when the two of you got to the car. Something wasn’t right with him. And both Jo and Meg’s words still rolled back and forth through your head.

“Dean, are you okay? Who was it on the phone?” you asked.

“I’m fine. It was just my dad, called to have me take a look at his car. We were just arguing about our schedules…I’m sure you can relate,” he replied, trying at a smile.

You weren’t sure if you believed him. Though he was nearly convincing, he was also shifting on his feet, hands in his pockets. His gaze roamed away from yours, above your head and over your shoulder.

“Um, I might’ve had a beer too many,” you said with a half-chuckle. “Could you walk with me for a bit? Just until my head clears enough to drive.”

“I could take you home,” Dean offered.

“And leave my car here?” you asked. In a public parking lot behind a bar?

You shook your head and pointed down the road.

“Just there and back…but if you need to go, I guess I could just sit in my car for a while.”

Dean shook his head with a frown. He couldn’t tell you that a damn serial killer was on the loose.

“No, it’s okay,” he said. “It’s a relatively safe neighborhood, but not so much at night. Not by yourself.”

He laid a hand on your back to start walking with you, but his hand soon fell back to his side. You glanced at him, but he looked straight ahead, unusually quiet and reserved.

It felt like he was checking out of this night with you. Like he just wanted to usher you into the car and leave. Did he just not want to deal with what Meg said?

“You must be real special,” she remarked, gesturing at Dean. “He usually doesn’t bring his girls around here, where he actually likes to hang out. Guess that’d mean he’d have to see ‘em again with the lights on.”

Letting out a breath, you tried to see if you could broach the subject.

“It was nice to meet some more of your friends,” you said, and with a nervous laugh, “even if it did get awkward there at the end.”

Dean finally looked over at you.

“We never exactly talked about what each of us was looking for,” you said. “What we were really doing here.” 

You stood your ground, but you tried not to look censuring. Just open to whatever he might have to say. Even so, unease churned inside you.

Dean sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “Look, she wasn’t exactly wrong about me.”

You considered that with a nod, biting the inside of your lip.

“When was the last time you were in a relationship?” you asked. Dean gave a humorless huff of a laugh. This really was the last thing he wanted to get into tonight, but he had a feeling he had no choice.

“A few months ago, for about a minute,” he said. “But uh, before then…never.”

Together, you began to cross the street while the cars on either side waited at the red light. Pedestrians had the right of way for the next 30 seconds. You looked over at him and steeled yourself.

“Dean, is this is something casual for you?”

“Define casual,” he attempted to joke (or to deflect). Though the bravado fell the moment he saw that look on your face: tight and disappointed…and hurt.  

He reached for your hand, but you weren’t having it. You slipped away from him and continued walking at a more brusque clip, even in those platform heels.  

“Okay, hold on.” He quickly followed after you and tugged you back by the hand. It had you both stopping in the middle of the crosswalk.  

Dean squeezed your hand and peered into your eyes.

“Look, I’m sorry. Don’t close up on me,” he implored. “…Please.”

Despite your better judgment, and your pursed lips, you waited. Something told you this man didn’t often say please.

“The truth is, I’m trying to do something different here with you. I don’t think we would’ve made it to date #4 if we were just casual,” he said. “I’m not playing games either.”

You wanted to trust that he was serious. Once again, your mind and your heart were at odds; the former told you to be wary, while the latter told you to trust the earnestness in his eyes.

Your heart won. “Okay, Dean.”

“Yeah?” he asked, with hopeful brows raised.

“Yeah,” you nodded.

You finally smiled. And you leaned up, resting a hand against his chest, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. His stubble was coarse, but familiar against your lips.

Dean turned his head and leaned in for a proper kiss. His hands found the curve of your waist and brought you closer against his chest. You both sunk deeper into it, your lips gliding as your head tilted into the kiss…

Until a horn honked loudly, making you both jolt at the sound.

The streetlight was green, and several cars were waiting for you to cross. You snorted in amusement, leading Dean to grin down at you. He tugged you back into step with him across the street.

Again, you hesitated at your car. Dean was more himself as he’d held your hand all the way back.

He now held your car door open while you threw in your purse. But when you turned back to him, you still saw something brooding behind his eyes.

You drew near and grasped the open edges of his shirt. This man wore a lot of plaid when he was out of uniform, always with an undershirt. Tonight it was green plaid on gray, complete with some faded jeans and a pair of boots. This was the only “casual” way in which you wanted Dean.  

“Hey,” you started.

“Hmm?” he replied, holding you by your arms.

“I get that we haven’t known each other all that long. So you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” you said. “But did something happen when you stepped out? When you talked to your dad?”

Dean paused. His eyes, a pale green under the streetlamp, flicked to yours.

“I just want to know that you’re okay,” you said. “And if you’re not, that’s okay too.”

After a moment to blink in surprise, your earnestness got to him. His grip moved down your arms, and he took one of your hands. His dad’s warning echoed through his mind.

What I’m about to tell you, you don’t fucking repeat. Not to anyone, you understand me? Not even your brother.

Dean knew his dad didn’t make demands without a reason, even if he wasn’t typically so forthcoming with them. But Dean drew enough courage to be as honest as he could be. You deserved that much, after everything you'd put up with tonight.

“My mom died...when I was about four,” he said. “It was a house fire.”

Your eyes widened. All this time, you’d assumed his mother had passed away. You hadn’t expected that, though. You squeezed his hands.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, and you meant it. Dean just shook his head.

“It was ruled an accident. Really they just didn’t have much evidence either way,” he continued. “But uh, my dad’s been obsessed with the idea that it wasn’t. That someone started the fire on purpose… Well, today, he might’ve found his proof.”

He held your gaze for as long as he could, but in the end, he just couldn’t. His chest was tight. Saying those words out loud made them real, and he wasn’t sure of how to handle it.  

“Oh, Dean,” you said, starting and stopping, as you struggled to formulate a response that wasn’t just “I’m sorry,” or “Are you okay?” 

He clearly wasn’t. You also didn’t want to give him platitudes like, “That’s crazy,” or the ever-inspired: “Wow.” 

Or some other variation of what you’re supposed to say. You wanted to give him something honest. Something real. 

So you curled your hands around his arms, earning his gaze.

“You must be reeling right now,” you said. “Do you think he’s onto something this time?”  

“I don’t know what to think,” said Dean. “I’ve been pressing him for answers, but…honestly? I wish he hadn’t told me a damn thing.” 

You didn’t know what to say to that. You were surprised that he actually confided in you with this. But the only thing you could think to do was lean up on your toes and slip your arms around his neck. You hugged him, warm and tight. 

You couldn’t even imagine what he was feeling, but you just wanted him to know that someone was there for him. You were there for him. 

Dean eventually hugged you back. He held you, reassuring you as well as himself. He blew out a cathartic breath, and his hand came up to cup the back of your head. His lips tugged upwards.

“You’re a sweetheart, you know that?” he said. 

A smile spread across your face. Your fingers soothed through his hair gently. You pressed your lips into his neck.

“I aim to please,” you said against his skin.

Dean smiled more fully at that. The new warmth in his chest warred against the roiling in his stomach. Despite his best efforts, his smile faded.

His mom’s killer was still out there.

The thought was haunting his mind, and he knew it probably would for many nights to come.

So for now, he’d just hold you a bit tighter.

AN: 🥲 I honestly didn't mean it to end so angsty, but Dean finally got some much-needed hurt/comfort there! What did you think of how Jo handled her jealous side? And Gordon "shooting his shot" lol.

Coming soon in Part 7, we finally get to a huge milestone between these two lovebirds, with a side helping of baking shenanigans. 😏❤️‍🔥

Next Time:

“Ey, ey!” he raised a warning finger with his free hand. “You’re about to take this to a new level.”

You met his gaze through your lashes with a playful smile. “So?”

Dean raised a brow at you. He could admit, you had audacity. All he could do was call your bluff.

He took one of your battered fingers into his mouth. Your eyes widened at the feel of his soft tongue swirling around your finger, sucking it clean. All the while, his eyes never broke from yours.

Lord have mercy, you thought. Really, it was the only coherent one in your head.

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

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[rosedtae]

PEACH | JJK

—PAIRING: Jungkook x female reader

—GENRE: smut, fluff, established relationship

—SUMMARY: the one where you won’t stop poking your bf’s ass so now you gotta face its consequences.

—RATING: 18+

—WORDCOUNT: 2 k

—WARNINGS: brat oc, spanking, kinda ass eating?, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie.

—A/N: I saw a video and it inspired me to write about bf!jk. This is actually the koo morning couple, maybe I should just make a Drabble series for them (¬◡¬)✧ anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this pwp, do let me know your thoughts about this one! Oh and also, it’s not proofread so ignore any grammar mistakes that might be there hahaha…ha.. (・_・;)

Song: juicy by doja cat

Series mlist

“Fucking y/n, do it one more time and I'm gonna fucking punish you,” Jungkook spits with a poker face, lips drawing into a tight line as the darkness in his eyes shows how serious he is being right now. His harsh tone shoots arousal straight down your nether region as you bite your lip, raising your eyebrows in a challenging way. 

It all started when you got home to a hungry Jungkook looking in the fridge for something before he found the said something— his banana milk. He didn't notice you entering as he continued drinking the milk, still looking in the fridge. You planned on giving him a tight hug but your eyes fell on his butt instead. His butt definitely did get bigger from all the workouts he has been doing. Your eyes sparkled with a glint of shenanigans that filled your mind. 

You smacked his ass making him yelp in surprise, spilling some of his banana milk. “Hello there,” you chuckled at his surprised expressions before kissing his pouty lips. Jungkook didn't have any problem with you smacking his ass but he would much rather spank you. But you didn't stop there, there was just something about his bubbly butt that provoked you to smack it. It was probably because he was starting to get annoyed and you just love being a brat to him (you deserve to spank him a little considering all the times he has colored your ass red from his spanks).

After being asked several times to not smack his ass you decided to poke it instead since he didn't say anything about poking. Your finger poked his ass making him jump a little, not expecting you to literally poke him. “Hey, leave me and my ass alone,” he huffed before rolling his eyes, gently rubbing the spot where you poked him. You giggled at his response not paying any heed to his complaints.

This brings you to your current situation. Jungkook’s eyes travel from your raised eyebrows to your bitten lip, sensing the brattiness radiating from you as you bring your finger up to his ass daring to poke his cheek again for the 6785th time. “That’s it,” he growls, getting up to catch you. Seeing him finally come for you makes your heart skip a beat as you start running towards the living room. 

You squeak loudly when he cages you between his arms, lifting you up. He settles down on the couch, bending you over his knees. “I warned you so many times but you were just begging to be punished weren't you,” he asks rhetorically while his fingers skim the silhouette of your tiny shorts. Your pussy lips get wet as he massages your inner thighs, moving north to squeeze your ass. “hmmph..,” an involuntary breathy moan escapes your lips making Jungkook snicker. “What was that? Don't tell me you are enjoying your punishment,” he lands a sharp smack on your ass. Your cheek burns with a sharp sting and before it could lessen he lands another smack on the same point intensifying the stimulation. You bite your lip to endure the pain as it slowly starts arousing you. 

Jungkook takes off your shorts in a swift motion to look at your painted ass. His gaze on your ass turns you on even more as you squeeze your thighs together to get some friction. Jungkook’s sweatpants tighten at the view of your pathetic administrations. Your thong sticks between your asscheeks, getting coated by your wetness. He rubs your stung skin gently, making you purr like a cat. Even the smallest of his caresses hold the power to provide your body with so much pleasure. He halts his rub once he remembers that this is supposed to be your punishment. 

He hooks his finger on the band of your thong, stretching it out before releasing to make it snap against your skin. You whimper in reply, making him rub your ass to soothe the pain. “Don’t whine now, you asked for it,” he says nonetheless still caressing you. Jungkook takes off your thong, sensing your discomfort as the fabric starts clinging onto your wet pussy. 

You gasp at the feeling of your swollen lips getting hit by the cold air. “You were so keen on poking my ass,” he says in a deep low tone, “let’s see how you take it when I poke yours.” Your walls clench around nothing in anticipation. Jungkook mounts your ass up a bit to get a better angle before ducking his head to bite your cheek gently. Your red ass makes it hard for Jungkook to control his urge to just pound into you in this instance. But he’s a man of patience— at least in bed. 

He kisses both your cheeks softly, while his tattooed hand makes its way between your legs to collect your wetness. A trail of lewd noises escapes your lips at the touch of his fingers with your desperate dripping pussy. Your hips move on their own in an attempt to rub your clit against his sweatpants but his large veiny hands halt your movements. “Patience or I won’t touch that little clit at all,” he warns, moving his arousal-coated finger to your tightest hole. 

Jungkook’s fingers slowly rub your asshole in circles trying to stretch it. He pulls your cheeks apart before spitting on your hole, making you gasp loudly. You never tried any butt stuff and the foreign feeling of having Jungkook play with your hole to his desire makes you excited and nervous at the same time. He slowly tries to insert his finger in your fluttering hole. His spit and your arousal lessen the friction. Your hole clenches as soon as the tip of his finger enters inside you. 

“Jungkoo— mhmm,” you whimper in almost pain as his finger stretches you out. A bubble of pleasure starts building up at his touch but an uncomfortable ache accompanies it. You let out a cry, furrowing your brows at the sensation of his finger moving inside. Jungkook feels your body stiffen, and halts his moments, “how does it feel?”

“Good..b-but it hurts,” your fragile voice replies in an unsteady manner. He slowly pulls his finger out, not wanting to hurt you even a little bit. His nose nudges your asshole as his lips skim over your folds. His tongue moves over to your asshole, stimulating it with kitten licks while his index and middle finger rub your folds together. You feel light-headed as the pleasure starts building up. “Ye-yes, please don’t stop..,” you barely manage to form a sentence once his fingers start playing with your clit. Your core tightens as the euphoric feeling starts flooding in, bursting the bubble of pleasure any second now. But Jungkook stops milliseconds before your climax, making you groan in frustration. 

“Whyyyy,” you whine noisily. “Because this is your punishment baby,” he replies with a smirk on his face, working back on building up your climax. Playing with your clit, he builds up your orgasm only to deny it. “Jungkook please, don’t tease me,” you try to soften him by using your pouty soft voice. But it only seems to turn him on even more as he pushes you to lay flat on your back. 

“Take it off,” he motions towards your top. Your earlier battiness leaves your body as you become compliant, your orgasms are in his control after all. Your top hits the floor accompanied by your bra, making you bare under his hungry eyes. His body hovers over yours, as he traps your lips in a hungry kiss. You tilt your head to allow him access to deepen the kiss. Your hands desperately tug his shirt over his head while he swallows your huffed moans. You arch your back, pressing your tender breasts against his buff chest. “Fuck,” he moans in between the kiss at the feeling of your perky nipples.

He kisses your jaw eliciting pornographic moans from you, turning your throat dry. He kisses all the way down to your boobs, sucking bright hickies on his way. His lips wrap around your left nipple, flicking and sucking it to his heart’s content, while his other hand pinches your unattended nipple. Your eyes shut close at the sweet electric feeling, making you squirm underneath him. Your fingers tighten their grip on his hair, pulling it slightly as your feet push the band of his sweatpants down in an attempt to take them off.

Jungkook releases your nipple with a pop, “always the eager one.” He kisses your belly, moving down to torture your pussy again. Your clit is extra sensitive from all the edging, and when he finally kisses your clit, you feel like you are going to lose it. He presses open-mouthed kisses to your clit and licks your entrance alternatively to slurp all your juices. The view, the sound, the stimulation—it becomes all too lewd for you. “I’m gonna—,” you are not even able to finish your sentence when your climax hits you like a fucking full-loaded truck. 

Your mind goes blank as the only sound that fills your ears is that of Jungkook still latching onto your wetness. You don’t register that you are basically riding his face. The ecstatic feeling starts dying slowly making you come back to consciousness. Jungkook’s face between your legs makes your pussy throb like you didn’t just have a mind-blowing orgasm. “More,” you whine, needing his cock inside you. You cup his cheeks pulling him up to kiss his glistening swollen lips, courtesy of your bites. 

Your kiss turns sloppy as you brush your hips against his in need. “Please babe, I need you in me,” you whimper before kissing his lips in desperate need as if you won’t be able to breathe without having constant contact with them. He kisses your eyelid softly, “I got you, love.” He pumps his rock-hard dick, lining it up with your entrance— coating it with your wetness before he finally, finally enters inside. 

Your eyes roll back at the warm fulfilling feeling, which keeps building up as his dick slowly enters deeper inside your walls, stretching you out real good. His mushroom tip nudges your soft spongy spot once he bottoms out. You relish the feeling for a few minutes before asking him to move. Your nails scratch his back, hugging him tightly as he starts picking up a rhythm. He removes your hand from around his neck only to wrap his fingers around yours. He looks straight into your eyes, holding your hand tightly as he starts thrusting in faster. 

His tip directly hits your g-spot repeatedly, making it hard for you not to cum. “you will cum with me only,” he groans, “hmph- I’m close, just a bit more.” His thrusts start getting deeper and rougher, picking up a fast pace. You try your best not to cum but his delicious thrusts make it hard for you not to fall over the brink of orgasm. “That’s it, you are a good girl aren’t you?” He coos, to which you reply by nodding frantically, “y-yess.”

“That’s it cum for me,” he orders in his dominant alpha tone which makes you shudder. Your walls clench around him as he spills his cum inside your little pussy. You both moan at the same time as your orgasm synchronizes. “I love you,” he whispers, rolling his hips to help you both ride your orgasms. You nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck, pressing small kisses in reply—not being able to form a comprehensible sentence.

His body slumps on yours, once you both reach down your highs. Your fingers run through his hair as he hugs you tightly. You lay like that for a few minutes before you get up to grab your top. “Where do you think you are going?” Jungkook wraps his arms around your waist, throwing you on his shoulder swiftly, as he makes his way to your shared bedroom. “Wait, babe, put me down,” you giggle softly.

He lightly smacks your ass before biting it, “I’m not done with you yet.” 

･ﾟ: *･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ･ﾟ: *･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ･ﾟ: ･ﾟ: *･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ* ﾟ* ･ﾟ: *･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ*

I hope you liked the fic! Support me by liking, commenting or sending me your views <33 your feedback means the world to me 🥹

-Rose 🤎

[certifiedjaeger]

Made with Love

Imagine - Levi baking for you

Warnings: None! This is SFW ♡ also very fluffy... featuring a very, very grumpy and sarcastic (and adorable) levi ♡

Word Count: 2K

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Baking for you has become a little habit of Levi's - His own personal way of showing you that he loves you without having to directly come out and say it. Days like these are your favorite because you get to witness him so focused, so attentive to the task at hand as he puts all of his effort into creating something that you'll love. You love to watch him as he moves around in the kitchen, endlessly telling you to keep out and threatening you with daggers in his eyes to heed his warning or else. However, you also love to not listen to a single word he says and instead focus all of your attention on the grumpy, focused man as he works his magic. You are secretive about it, though. You watch from afar, or rather... you watch from a safe distance. Peeking out occasionally from your hiding spot to bear witness to how adorable the serious, intimidating man you've come to love looks as he delicately measures sugar and flour. Even with his threats that you knew to be empty playing loudly in the back of your mind, you couldn't quite help your eager need to watch him in such a domestic setting. Afterall, how could you ever refrain from witnessing something so sweet?

You watch as he rolls up the sleeves of his white-button down shirt, finally getting to work on the new recipe he had been wanting to try out for you. Several moments pass and you find yourself already swooning against the wall you've been hiding behind, swearing to yourself that you'd love whatever he made for you, even if it tasted horrible, simply because of the adorable sight before you. But then again, this was Levi you were talking about. How could anything he make be less than absolutely perfect? 'One of his more annoying, and endearing, qualities,' you thought to yourself, as you watch his strong hands make delicate work of the dough on the floured countertop; the muscles in his forearms flexing and unflexing with each movement. The muscles in his back follow the same exact pattern, tensing and relaxing as he finds his own rhythm kneading the dough perfectly. And much to your amusement, you suddenly witness him get frustrated at the small strands of hair that have begun to fall in his eyes. As he mindlessly goes to push his dark hair out of his face, he ends up getting flour on his forehead in the process, which the frustrated man seems to be completely unaware of.

And with the sight of him like that, you find yourself moving from your position and sneaking your way closer to him. Yes, okay, technically you're doing exactly what he told you not to do, but honestly, with him looking so adorably oblivious, he was just begging to be kissed. So... you definitely felt justified. Maybe he shouldn't look so cute next time.

Moments later, you quietly tiptoe into the kitchen and do your best to be silent as you come up behind him and then quickly lace your arms around his waist. "Got you!" you say excitedly, smiling with satisfaction into the soft fabric of his shirt as you hear him let out a sigh.

"Did you honestly think I didn't notice you sneaking around behind me?" he says, shaking his head with eyes never leaving his work before him.

"Aw, what! How do you always do that?" you question in annoyance, sighing just as he did seconds ago. "How do you always know when I'm behind you?" you pout, feeling disappointed in your failed efforts to be quiet and stealthy.

"I can hear you coming from a mile away, idiot," his voice sarcastic, yet playful. "And I can see you from the corner of my eye creepily staring at me."

"I wasn't being creepy!" you say offendedly, mouth parting from the new trait he's suddenly given you.

"How else would you describe someone staring at another person from behind a wall?" he questions casually.

"I wasn't doing that," you whisper, although, the smile which is very evident in your voice immediately gives away your dishonesty.

"So, you're a liar, too. Good to know," he nods his head. "A creepy liar."

"You know... I don't think boyfriends are supposed to talk to their partners like this," you raise an eyebrow, eliciting a soft chuckle from the man in front of you.

"Well, this is how you get spoken to when you're being bratty and don't listen to me."

~

As he finally finishes with what he was doing, now putting the delicate dessert in the oven to bake, he turns to you with a sigh. You watch as he crosses his arms and leans against the countertop to finally take in your disobedient presence, all the while tilting his head to the side as if to question your constant need to annoy him. But all he sees is you walking toward him, slowly closing the distance between you two, as a playful smile makes its way onto your face. He does his best to remain calm as you inch closer, desperately trying to look neutral and unbothered by the close proximity of your body to his. But now, you're close enough that he can smell the sweet scent of your perfume, so close that he can see the mischievous twinkle in your eye that he loves so much. Close enough that with one last small movement of your head, your soft lips are now suddenly on his; gentle and warm, reminding himself of exactly why he puts up with you. But if he were being completely honest with himself, he doesn't simply just tolerate you. He loves you. Even if he hasn't told you that, yet. Even if his annoyed expressions and words of ridicule would suggest otherwise - He loves you. And this is made all that much more clear, when he instantly gives in to your persistent efforts and places the very arms that had so stubbornly been crossed seconds ago around your waist, leaning into you and deepening the kiss as if it were now the only thing sustaining him in this life.

After several tender moments later, he pulls back slightly so that his lips are gently ghosting yours and he breathes out a soft laugh. "You're such a stubborn, impatient brat, you know." Words one might think belonged to a harsh, unloving man, but that... well, that couldn't be any further from the truth.

Regardless of the insult that had just rolled off of his tongue, you lace your arms around his neck and give him a soft, playful smile, "Well yeah, but something tells me you don't mind all that much." And he knew damn well that that was the truth, that he does not mind, not in the slightest. In fact, it's one of his favorite things about you that you are always so persistent in the affection you show him, that you are always so willing to give him love even when he acts as though he doesn't want it. Maybe it's because you knew deep down just how badly he adores you.

Always the elusive and distant one, Levi had trouble with showing affection himself. Getting close to someone and accepting their warmth created a possibility to be hurt in the future. But with you, something had changed. He found himself looking forward to the intimate touches and soft kisses that you so tenderly gave him. He grew to love them, just as he grew to love you. And possibly, all the affection you showed him was because you were already painfully aware of how he felt about you. And maybe that wasn't such a bad thing anymore.

He softly shakes his head and breathes out another quiet laugh, not being able to deny the truth of your words. With how you were looking at him, with such softness, such love, he swears that he'd put up with your weird antics forever if it only meant that he got to continue to be at the receiving end of this look. He would gladly have you spy on him or even never listen to another word he says, if you would just promise to never stop looking at him like this.

This look that he loves so much, that he thinks about every night, that he savors at every chance he gets, that now... suddenly changes as your eyes glance up at his forehead. You desperately try to stifle the laughter forcing its way out of you, but end up failing as you take in the appearance of Mr. Clean Cut Levi, now disheveled and covered in flour. You reach up and gently wipe off the light coating of flour on his skin, giggling as you then come face-to-face with a very flustered Levi. His gray eyes suddenly narrow over the fact that he had had flour on his face (*kill bill siren*) and didn't even know it; his cheeks now having a slight tint of pink to them as he mulls over the embarrassing thought of his messy appearance in front of you. You chuckle softly at the sight of his jaw clenching and lean in to once again place your lips against his. And as though instantaneously, he forgets all about his embarrassment as the only thoughts that fill his mind now are of how soft your lips feel and how he never wants to part from them. All the tension in his body immediately releases with just one small gesture from you... But then again, you always seemed to have that kind of effect on him.

~

After many moments and many kisses shared between the two love-struck people in the warm kitchen, the timer dings! and Levi goes to take his beautiful creation out of the oven. However, you now find that he is the persistent one, as he insists on feeding you himself.

"Open," he says in his normal calm and stern voice, as he lightly pinches your cheek. You do as your told and he carefully lets you take a bite, all the while watching your reaction closely. He lets out a small, content sight and his eyes soften tremendously as you close your own eyes and smile, tasting pure heaven on your tongue.

"So good," you practically moan as you reach for even more, only to have him slap your hand away.

"Behave yourself," the corner of his mouth tugs up slightly as he feeds you again himself. "Didn't know I was in a relationship with a wild animal."

You gladly take the sweet delicacy he offers you and sigh contentedly as you savor the taste. "Are you saying-," you pause to continue eating, "that you're into animals?" The way the smile on his face instantly drops and instead is replaced with only a look of annoyance has you biting back your own laughter. "Didn't know I was in a relationship with such a freak."

"Anyone else and I'd be halfway out the door right now," he warns. "You're lucky you're... okay looking," he says deadpanned.

"Okay looking?! You make it sound like you're not even attracted to me! Now, who's the liar?" you widen your eyes as your incredulous smile grows. "You know, we've been dating for a while now... It's okay for you to say I'm cute, or even, oh... I don't know, beautiful?"

"Fine," he says with a sigh, rolling his eyes. "You're lucky you're... cute. Happy?"

"You really mean that?" your voice now carries a sweet, soft tone to it as you look at him doe eyed, seeing him breath out a soft laugh at your sudden change in demeanor. "And yes, I am happy," you look as though your heart hurt from how much love you felt hearing him say those words, and honestly, it kind of did; your heart fluttered and butterflies gracefully danced in your stomach, causing a soft smile to form on your face. "Who knew my boyfriend was so sweet?"

"Shush," he warns, stuffing another bite into your mouth to quiet you. As much as he wanted to act unaffected by your loving and doting appearance, the red tips of his ears definitely gave him away. You let him be, though. Figured he had had enough teasing for one day. Instead, you stopped talking and let him feed you, tasting every ounce of love he had poured into his dessert for you. Your eyes said it all, even if he dared not to - That he loved you, and you knew it. Regardless of how many times he told you to shut up or how many times he rolled his eyes at your incessant banter, he loved you. And you loved him, too.

~

A/N: I am so soft for this man what the hell !!!!!!! like I can't bake, but I got somethin you can eat for dessert, mr. ackerman

also, bonus... this is definitely how reader was staring at him lmao

[saphirered]

Request: Percy's taking off reader's glasses or vice versa... maybe both? Prelude to something? Cute, sexy, or angsty... it's all fair game.

I recently broke mine and they're all taped up... a constant reminder.

Oh my! I hope you managed to get them fixed. The temporary fix is one I can relate to. I'm usually a mess when it comes to my own glasses and misplacing them all the time. Drew some inspiration from that so I hope you don't mind. Enjoy! 😘

“Percy? Percy! Oh Percival!” Your voice carries through the hallway accompanied by some bangs and clangs and curses. Percy bites his tongue as he hears you approach the workshop. He thinks nothing of it. Not yet at least. Given a second thought, you’re usually decently well balanced, so he wonders why the sounds of a storm being left in your wake? Fuck! He just burned his finger. Fanning his hand to provide some relief and biting his lip to dim the hiss he turns in his seat and rises. You’re approaching that’s for sure. He’s got half the mind to at least tidy up a little bit and so he does, tools cleared from the worktable put back in their proper places, current project neatly disassembled, parts placed in the order he’d taken them apart in the first place as to not get them messed up and screw up his assembly later. No need to turn this into a picture side down jigsaw puzzle. Vials of toxins, acids and other liquids neatly lined up and labelled. He’s ready for your arrival and sits back down in his chair as the door swings open. 

When you enter the workshop you look a tad disheveled. It seems the buttons of your shirt are done wrong, you’ve settled for two differently coloured socks, one shorter than the other, let’s not mention your hair; serious case of bedhead. You look beautifully disheveled but from the frustrated pout gracing your features he feels safe to assume that’s not an intentional look. You make your way over to him, beelining for the workbench, your back arches as you take a closer look at the surface, run your hands over it before you turn around and lift yourself atop of it so you can sit, keeping some distance from his project. You groan. Percy raises his eyebrow at you but you seem a little less focussed as if you don’t look him in the eye, just in the general direction and then it dawns on him; you can’t see properly. You’re not wearing your glasses. That explains a lot but raises one question. 

“Where are your glasses?” Percy questions. 

“Beats me!” You throw your arms up exasperated. “I’ve been looking for them all morning. Searched our room, nothing. Can’t find them. It’s bloody great, isn’t it? Can’t find my glasses without my glasses. You can see that gets a little difficult.” Percy has to admit it is a little funny. You always manage to displace them, panic when you think you’ve lost them but then usually find them first reach. Seems luck finally isn’t on your side anymore. Maybe he’d tell you I told you so if you were anyone else, okay maybe he still does feel that way, just less sarcastically so. 

“Is that why you left chaos in your wake on your way down here?” He snickers, looking at the shattered vase across the hallway, crumpled up carpet, tilted planter and so on. 

“Oh I’m sorry, I can’t see where I’m going unless it’s five bloody feet in front of me! How the hell am I supposed to see that other stuff before I’m tumbling over it? Eyes up front! Not at my feet!” You huff and Percy should be lucky you’re not able to see the smile gracing his features or you might have had his head. You look rather adorable in your frustration. He wipes the amusement from his face, rises and walks to stand in front of you grasping you by the arms. Now your eyes focus on his face and not just the general direction of his form. Now he’s close enough for you to see more than a collective of differently coloured shapes. You reach up clasp his face between your hands and sigh as your finger trails the frame of his own glasses. 

“Perhaps you’ll finally heed my warnings and not leave your glasses lingering around everywhere?” Wrong thing to say Percival. Wrong thing. 

“Oh shush you.” With that you take the glasses from his face and put them on. You squint hard, brow furrowing but at this point Percy can’t see that. He gives you a look. “Sweet gods your sight is atrocious!” You exclaim as he tries to take the delicate frames back from you. You lean backwards out of reach and try to dodge him holding the sides of the frame to your temples.

“It certainly doesn’t help you’re nearsighted and I am most definitely not. May I please have them back now?” Percy relents and raises his hands in surrender yet you still refuse.

“Fine. What do you want?” You walk your fingers up his arm to his shoulder while moving his glasses to the tip of your nose. If you’re honest looking through Percy’s glasses is giving you a bit of a headache and they don’t exactly improve your sight either. 

“Be the amazing, affectionate and caring partner you are and use those uncanny perceptive skills of yours to help your darling find their glasses?” Stroking your knuckles along his shoulder and neck you lace your free hand with his and lean in to kiss his cheek, letting your lips linger just a little longer than necessary. Looking over the glasses perched on your nose you can see Percy contemplate for a bit. You’re unsure wether this is to make you feel the consequences of losing track of the one thing that allows you to see clearly or because he’d like to see where this is going. You’re not entirely surprised but little by little the later might be the case. Your charm never fails you though. 

“You always have such a way with words. Exactly know how to stroke my ego.” The somewhat lewd look you give him at his comment is lost to him with his current lack of view given the close proximity, but that does not mean he cannot feel the smugness radiate off you as you keep your comment to yourself. Percy holds out his hand for the glasses expecting you to hand them over. 

“I’ll be hanging onto these until we find mine. Misery loves company.” You hop off the workbench standing chest to chest and press a kiss to his lips. Not one to deny you such affections Percy indulges you. When you pull away and step around him, you pull him along by your linked hand, this proves a terrible decision as you’ve missed the presence of the moving chair behind Percy. Luckily the gunslinger is quick in his action and catches you before you can land face first on the floor. He gives you an ‘I told you so’ expression.

“Do you want me to actually be useful to you?” Percy deadpans. He knows you can see the hummer in the situation. 

“I suppose you have a good point…” Still you pull him along, this time mindful of the chair and stepping around the thing. So much for stationary chairs without any kind of mechanisms that allow them to be rolled across the floor. Dangerous for people hard of sight. Then again, you suppose Percy’s workshop is not meant to be safe for most people anyway. Maybe you are slightly to blame but you’re feeling adventurous. You pull him towards the exit of the workshop but not a few steps from the door Percy stops you and sighs deeply. You stop after he leads you over to another workbench, equipment still laid out. Once you get closer you see goggles, the kind used when working with bright flames and sparks or whatever instruments might cause and carry such effects whatever they may be used for. You’re not a bloody engineer. Percy grabs something from the table and then turns to face you proper. 

“How about a trade since you’re so adamant on wearing glasses?” With that he presents a familiar frame, familiar design and given the state of them, definitely yours. These are no doubt your glasses. You go to reach for them but Percy tuts. It’s your turn to relent and so you do. You take his glasses, remove them from the bridge of your nose, and turn them in your hands, lifting them towards his face and placing them back where they belong. You adjust them so they’re on straight once more. You pat his cheek before you drop your arms again. 

“May I please have my glasses?” You sass as Percy seems to deliberate and study you. He inspects your glasses, holds them to the light. They’re covered in smudges but nothing a cleaning cloth can’t fix and so he reaches into a drawer of the workbench, pulls the rag he usually uses solely for this purpose and cleans the glass before he lifts the frames to your face and repeat what you just did for him. Though you make it a point to push them further up your nose. You look rather cute and can see you caught on he noticed. 

“Where would I be without you?” You say jokingly as you peck his lips in thanks. 

“Probably lost somewhere given your own atrocious sight.” Your face grows threatening but bitterly sweet so, with a wide smile as you lean close.

“Don’t make me misplace your glasses on accident next time, Percival.” He snorts. You would be the one to cause him to lose his glasses. At least you’d take great pleasure in helping him find his just like he is now. Though he does feel a bit stupid for not remembering your placing of your glasses in his workshop after your little side venture for safekeeping. Perhaps he should have been aware. He’ll make a note but he doubts he’d care to remember should such an occurrence decide to repeat itself. By the look you’re giving him, it might just repeat itself…

[avastyetwats]

Stede's eyes are glued to Edward's screen, intrigued at the drink he selects and his additions. "A caramel lover yourself, I see. A man of wonderful taste." A biased compliment, but a compliment none-the-less. Seemed he liked his drinks quite sweet just as Stede did. He loved how they continued to find more things in common with one another no matter how mundane said things were. Opposite as their music genre was, the two of them were similar in many ways and it made the blonde happy. "Of course you can have a taste. Can't really taste the coffee in mine, but it does have plenty of caffeine and the sugar adds to it." He had other drinks he likes to order from there, some more complex, but he just wanted something simple for now.

Something about Edward's body partially laying on top of his really makes Stede relax, especially with how warm he is. If they kept this up then Stede wouldn't be going anywhere. "Both? My, someone is awfully hungry." He teases, then laughs when Edward's stomach lets out a loud growl as though agreeing with Stede's statement, then his own stomach growls, too, and he goes red. "Suppose I am, too. But I'm thinking the wrap or the egg white and roasted red pepper egg bites. Ever had those? Light, but wonderful." His stomach growls again, even louder this time, and Stede decides he'll get both, too. So once Edward offers him his phone, Stede takes it and smirks.

"You need a new phone. And a case." It was a miracle this damaged thing still even worked. And the warning makes Stede's heart flutter, earning Edward another kiss, this time on the corner of his lips. "You're sweet, Ed." He smiles, appreciating just how much he cared about him. But Stede being Stede, even heeding the warning, ends up just barely nicking his finger on one of the cracks, eliciting a little 'ow' from his lips, turning his thumb over to look at it. It was barely bleeding, no more than a little paper cut. He turns his attention back to the phone and selects the food items they wanted, then he hands the phone back to him. "Think I should bring something for Izzy? In case he's grumpy?" Stede chuckles, though he's partly serious. Especially if he does show up late, but he's planning not to. "Can you tell I'm nervous?"

A round two was sounding quite tempting with each and every kiss they shared, but if that happened then Stede wouldn't just be late, he'd practically be no-show and he couldn't allow that. Izzy was finally giving him a chance and he didn't want to squander this opportunity, so he keeps the kisses soft and sweet, determined to show some self control. He had a little bit of time to spare before he really needed to leave, so he'd still spend that time with Ed. Being lovey dovey and gushing over one another which Stede was more than happy with.

He keeps his face hidden in his boyfriend's shoulder, but smiles. "I, uh, I was worried I wouldn't be much good. You know, not, um, not having much experience, really." Certainly not as much experience as Edward. But Stede seemed to prove himself last night. He was thankful with how patient and understanding he was. Sure, it wasn't Stede's first night ever having sex, but it was his first time being with someone he really and truly cared for. That he was falling for and that made all the difference, really. And given that Edward was still here and still wanting to be around him, well, it meant Stede hadn't been all that bad, right? He was relieved.

His face lights up at the mention of food and coffee and he doesn't have to think long before deciding. "Mm, a caramel Frappuccino with extra caramel." He hums, smiling. Yes, he was a Frappuccino kind of guy, as well as iced coffee, and he had no shame about it. He liked what he liked and he wasn't going to be ashamed about it... not like he used to be. He's become more comfortable with himself since finally pursuing his life long dream of performing music and writing poetry. He was going to live life to the fullest as best as he could. "As for breakfast, mm, I'm not picky. What're you feeling? Besides me." Oh, he couldn't help himself. He gives Edward a cheeky smile with a laugh and pecks his cheek as he scrolls his phone.

[straighttohellbuddy]

pain is so close to pleasure {c!Technoblade}

Summary: Yandere!Technoblade. There's something enticing about violence being committed on your behalf. Knowing someone cares enough about you to inflict pain on others, it's exhilarating.

And Techno's the best in the business; you'd know, you'd spent years idolising him. But now he's keeping out of conflict, the two of you isolated in the tundra, you've learned to make your own fun.

Need to Know: They/Them. Yandere!Technoblade / Enabler!Reader. please heed the warnings.

A/N: 2330 words. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS THIS ONE IS DEFINITELY HEAVIER THAN THE LAST. um anyways. this one is from the reader's POV mainly and like.. im here to romanticise the fuck out of terrible shit. because i like it in fiction. i hope ya like it, i think this is closer to trad yandere but im not sure, and i'd really appreciate feedback or requests!!

Warnings: Romanticisation/Rationalisation of Yandere Behaviour; slight dehumanisation of reader, mutual possessiveness/obsession, emotional and psychological manipulation, romanticised physical abuse, slight dumbification as a result of manipulation, S&M implications??

Citrus Scale: 💚 LIME 💚

{ yandere!dsmp masterpost }

Pacificism had made you a creature of leisure and instinct, since moving with Techno to his cabin in the tundra, any desire you voiced would usually be filled. You wanted for nothing. Time and again Techno voices that that was the intention, that as long as you were loyal and your love was true, he'd endeavour to grant your every wish.

And he'd had your heart long before he'd stolen from the world.

It had been years since The Blade had returned home to the Greater Dream SMP, but news of his arrived had spread like wildfire. It was the talk of the town, and you couldn't help but be swept up in the excitement; everyone had heard the stories.

When you ask Phil if he's ever met The Blade, if the stories are true, Phil laughs hard enough to almost spill his coffee. When he sees that you're serious, and now a little concerned, his expression sobers.

"Oh, you're serious?" Apparently it's common knowledge that Phil and Technoblade are close friends, but of course you having only moved here a few years ago wouldn't know that. While Phil fondly explains that most of the stories are true, he rolls his eyes and mutters that Techno had a flare for the dramatic at times, that he'd be thrilled at how his reputation has so preceded him. With another, almost exasperated huff of laughter, he adds, "and don't call him The Blade, his name is Techno."

Mouth opening and closing like a fish, your sudden nervousness must have shown on your face, since he relents to something fond, assuring you that Technoblade would love you, that he's into 'loyalty and genuine respect and shit like that'. You'd be fine.

A sharp, amused thought sits in the back of your mind, a question; did he regret setting you and Technoblade on each other's paths? Now, sitting across from him in the cabin, you think he might. Looking to Techno, by your side and animatedly telling a story, you couldn't be more glad that he did. It's a story that you've heard before, but you love it just as you had the first time. Still, you can't believe that he chose you out of everyone; it overwhelms you -

"You alright there?" Phil's voice interrupts Techno's story and your thoughts, and when you look over to him, he's looking at your arm. In the comfort of the cabin, you'd been wearing shorter sleeves, and the fabric had shifted to reveal the edge of a bandage. Glancing at it, you can't help but smile at the memory of how you'd received it, and all it implied.

"Yeah, it's fine, he's-"

"I'm teaching Y/N to swordfight," Techno speaks over you, tone light, but you nod emphatically, smiling wide. Phil looks between the two of you like he doesn't quite believe that, but you've been giddy since you'd been reminded of the injury, and can't help yourself.

"He's teaching me, Phil," you babbled excitedly, "me! Techno -!" You gesture to him beside you, as if trying to highlight just how little you can believe it, "obviously I'm not very good yet, but," you give a little, bashful smile as you trail off, still oozing joy. It's enough to placate Phil, however, who shakes his head at your antics.

"He should be more careful is all -"

"Are you gonna tell me a sword isn't a toy next?" Techno teased, leaning back and draping an arm over your shoulder, "what else did you tell me and Wilbur when we were training?" The tone was light, and coming off of your own excitement to share the news that Techno was teaching you to fight, you were happy to lean into him and simmer in the heady buzz that came about in certain moments like this when you were close to him.

Being with Techno had changed you. A feedback loop set off by Phil, months ago, mentioning to Techno that there were still people who were awed by his stories. When pressed, Phil had mentioned you, mentioned you had only been a few years, but that you'd been endearingly excited to meet Techno, to really hear anything about him.

He'd done reconnaissance, because of course he had it was the middle of an espionage filled war. He'd cleared you as a threat in less than a fortnight, but he found himself still watching and following whenever he got a free moment. It probably would have gone on longer if Phil hadn't seen him trying to casually pass by the front of the house and catch a glimpse inside.

So Phil had introduced you.

And you'd been exactly as inquisitive and kind and thoughtful as Phil had suggested, and he'd observed from afar.

When he'd started spending time with you of his own accord, that's when the shift had begun. Sure, there had been some idolisation, a little awe, but you're pretty sure no more than the average person. At first.

Because every time he mentions that 'of course he chose to spend time with you' something sparks in the back of your mind. He chose you.

Because at first he asks, but eventually you offer, exactly which stories you'd heard about him before meeting him. When you finish recounting what you remember, he's quiet, before giving a cocky little smile and tells you the truth of the situation in boastful detail. You can't quite believe that the man who's done all this takes the time to keep you company. You start to ask for stories no-one's heard, and he starts to oblige you.

Because he asks if you have any kind of fight training, and you have to admit that you don't. You're expecting him to be concerned, or to perhaps brush it off, instead he's looking at you with something you can only describe as adoration, as he quietly promises to protect you.

Because you're in the crowd at the Manberg Festival, and end up with burns along on your arms where you'd thrown them up to shield your face from the fireworks as they rained upon the crowd. You'd seen Techno turn and fire, but he'd been coerced into killing his friend. In the chaos on the ground, with Wilbur and Nikki, your hand was the one Techno had grabbed, and you'd gone along without question. He had burned you; he was your saviour.

By now you respect that he knows what's best, that he's capable and smart and resourceful, and that he wants what's best for you. He tends to your wounds in his base near Pogtopia, riddled with guilt. It's the first time he tells you he loves you; your arms bandaged from the wounds he caused. The voices, he tells you, are as desperate for you as they are for blood and violence. You know about the voice, know their intensity and what they crave; your idolisation has long since crystallised into an amorous kind of hero worship, so this validation, this return of affection so completely, becomes a high you still haven't truly come down from.

Everything has shifted, though it had been so slow you hadn't noticed, not until you realise that you have become Ptolemy, and Techno as your world, has become the centre of the universe. It doesn't even occur to you, as you're ascending the water elevator, that your safety in isolation was imperative to him. He'd been arguing with Tommy the past few days, and you had wanted to do for Techno was you knew he'd do for you. But you're lost; you don't know your way around Pogtopia.

When he finds you having tea with Wilbur, sitting quietly and listening to him ramble with a somewhat vacant expression, there's an unexpected hostility to Techno. Still, just seeing him perks you up immensely, and you're glad to be heading back with him, lamenting on the way that Wilbur wouldn't help you find Tommy so you could smack some sense into the kid for disrespecting and doubting Techno.

Back in his base, however, he doesn't try to mask his fury. Grabbing, shoving, holding you in place against the wall as he demanded to know what the fuck you thought you were doing. Beautiful and terrible, his grip on your shoulders is so tight it hurts, and you're at a loss having never been confronted by his rage before.

"Why do you think I keep you here?!" He demands; the stone of the wall is rough even through your shirt. Tears prick your eyes and you avert your gaze; you'd been trying to do something nice for him. When you don't answer, he slams your shoulders against the wall again, firmer this time, demanding a response.

"I don't know!" You blurted out, unable to look at him, "because we're at war and you're worried something will happen to me, I don't know, I just... you asked and now I'm here because I know you know best but no I don't know why!" You squeeze your eyes shut as if it could hold off the tears that were beginning to make their way down their cheeks.

It takes a moment, but slowly his grip loosens. He's still holding you against the wall, but his hands are warm and gentle on your shoulders. When he lets go, part of your brain notes the absence of his warm touch and already misses it. But then, he's angling your face to his.

"Look at me," it's so different from just a moment ago, tender and apologetic, "please, Y/N, I love you, you know I love you," he says softly, and carefully you crack your eyes open, sniffling, "I'm terrified of you being used against me; you're porcelain, dear." And with feather-light fingertips he traces your cheekbone, before holding your face in his hand.

"People can't get away with talking shit about you," you sniffled, resting your forehead against his. He huffs a quiet, adoring laugh.

"You're very good to me," he says softly, "but we both know Schlatt wouldn't be above using you to get to me."

As the night grows late and you're both trying to get some sleep, you can feel him ghosting his fingertips from shoulder to shoulder across your back. It still ached faintly, sharpest of all is the echo of his grip on your shoulders. You were fragile, at least compared to him, and he was well aware of this, but still he'd held you tight enough to hurt even hours later. Even the idea of you putting yourself in harms way had overwhelmed him to force, to leave a reminder each time you felt it ache.

He presses a kiss to your shoulder blade, still sore; you're porcelain. You smile to yourself. He had wanted to remind you that he could break you, but he wouldn't; he loved you. It would be easy for him, after all, he's almost done it by accident with a fire work, but he doesn't because he loves you. So you have to stay safe, to keep yourself isolated at his instruction, because he won't kill you, so nobody else is allowed to either.

A new shift in your thinking, finally understanding that you mean everything to him. This, of course, is only solidified when you wake to an empty bed and your hands bound, with enough rope attached to one of the bedposts that you can freely traverse the base, but not enough to leave. The first time it happens you think he's just being overly cautious, and can't fault him for that now understanding him the way you do.

But in the tundra, it's been several months since the first time he felt the need to keep you safe and secure in such a way. After Phil leaves, he offers to wait for Techno as they're both heading to a meeting. But Techno's grip on your knee beneath the table stings, and he tells Phil that he has to get a few things first, that he's going to run late. Your pulse is spiking as you bid your own farewells.

"What have I said about the swordfighting stuff?" Techno asks standing and beginning to gather the cups from the table.

"To be normal about it," you sighed, grinning from ear to ear.

"To be normal about the injuries from swordfighting," he corrects pointedly, and you stand too, following him into the kitchen.

"I don't think I can," you teased, "I survived a swordfight with Technoblade because he loves me; I'll never be normal about that." You seem to be floating on air as he grabs one of your wrists, leading you through the house.

"I'm teaching you to swordfight, and I love you, those are two seperate thoughts," he says pointedly, though you can see him smile as you descend to the lower level, away from the prying windows. He's moving fast though, you're fairly sure you're going to be punished for your outburst, and he really hadn't intended on being late for his meeting, "I just like reminding you that you're still," he deliberates for a moment, "vulnerable," without me that is, hangs unspoken in the air but you both can hear it.

There's restraints down here that have been used for you far more than they've been used for the pets you say they're for. They're metal, with thick chains and a solid collar that's tight enough that you can feel it, but not tight enough to be uncomfortable. It's a reminder, as is the tape he places firmly over your mouth. With your hands free you could just pull the tape off, but you know he does what he does for a reason, and you respect him too much to remove it.

It's you he loves. You he'd kill for. You he wants to keep safe. You he puts time and effort and care into. You he could have killed with little effort.

Out of everyone.

How lucky!