#lets just say she was very surprised to see me

[bi-writes]

anatomy of us | alpha!ghost x f!omega!reader

we cannot change who we are at our core.

type: limited series, part 1 (6.4k) in an attempt to tame an unruly alpha, you are given. he did not come with warning labels. but neither did you.

series cw: reader described as plus-sized/curvier, alpha/beta/omega dynamics + universe, dark!simon, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of murder + violence, military criticism, protective!simon, possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics, size kink, praise kink, unprotected piv, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving) 18+

Whenever she woke up marked the last day of the rest of your life. One moment, the world inside of your head was unnervingly quiet. The next, someone else was there, whispering in the dark, taking over.

You aren't proud of her. No, you hate her. There is no one you hate more, you don't think, because she lets the direction of the fucking wind distract her from what really matters. She paints her environment in a soft, glazed picture, and she tries to hold up her canvas and convince you that her reality is real. But then you blink, and you get flashes of how dull the sky really is and the dirt that stains your shoes, and you know that she's just a liar.

A controlling, desperate thief.

When you heard her voice for the first time, you begged your reflection in the mirror to just kill you already.

If you were an alpha, maybe you could've just drawn away into yourself and lived a quiet life in the middle of nowhere. If you were a beta, perhaps the weight of nothing would've given you a little more freedom to do the things you wanted to do.

But no. You're an omega. Nature's servant. A natural follower. Destined for nothing except to open your legs and say, "yes, alpha, all for you," because if you are anything but complacent, you're unwanted and a waste of your very being.

Your eyes stung when you took your first little pill. They rattled in different colors in a little orange bottle, and it felt like sand as it dissolved under your tongue. Even though it makes you sick, you take them anyways. Even though the pills change colors and shape and efficacy because you buy them from someone different every time, you take them because it makes your omega shut the fuck up finally.

You bury her. And you won't let her out.

The truth of it is that you're only fighting yourself. Your omega, she is you, isn't she? She's a part of you, she makes up your very genetic makeup, and to hate her is to hate yourself. But nature is cruel–it gave you years of freedom. Years to know what life was like without her, when she was dormant, asleep, just waiting for you to finally wake up.

Then your very self locked the cage. Your fingers claw at the bars, but it's no use. It's your very own punishment. So in turn, you bury her, too, silencing her cries, quieting what she wants most in the world, because it isn't fair, fuck you, you whiny bitch.

She's a pathetic puppy; and you are more than happy to step on her fucking neck.

Your aim is off today. The sound is muffled through the earphones you wear, but they've never thrown off your balance before. When you lean over the railing and squint at the target papers towards the back, you can see the bullet holes just a few inches off center.

You're never off-center.

"Getting rusty on me, Kit?"

You turn around, setting the gun down, and you smile wide when you see a familiar face. You pull the headphones off, putting them aside before making your way towards her.

Kate Laswell is surprised when you throw your arms around her and hug her tight. She smells good; she smells like chocolate, dark chocolate, something bittersweet. She's got that edge to it that they all do, something a little heady and all-encompassing, but she's the only alpha that you've ever found comfort being near. You see her nose scrunch a little when she embraces you back.

You must stink like synthetics. You care, only because you hate to make her nose sting this way. It's never been meant for her. At times, you thought maybe you could do a little convincing; maybe if you batted your lashes enough, she’d take pity on you, hide you away in some CIA shack with her deep on a Montana farm and play house. You’d cook, and she’d protect, and you’d be perfect little alpha and omega until the end of your days.

But Kate doesn’t like baggage. Not even the sweet kind, and especially not the kind that makes it even more difficult to make the hard decisions.

Kate isn’t a soldier. She makes choices based on the greater good, the lesser evil. She doesn’t get to be selfish. She doesn’t have that luxury.

When you pull away, she looks down at you strangely. She looks tired. Her dark hair is in a mess of a braid tucked under a cap, and she looks like she hasn't slept in days. Her attempt of a smile emphasizes the lines around her eyes. You open your mouth to tell her something, but she shakes her head.

"I'm not here as a friend," she says softly, and you frown a little.

"Aren't...haven't we always been friends?" You ask, and Kate lets out a shaky sigh, nodding her head behind her.

"We need to talk. C'mon."

You retrieve the gun and holster it, fastening it into your thigh holster before you follow her. She has a car waiting outside, a big, black SUV with the door already open for her. When you get inside, she knocks on the divider, and the car immediately starts moving. You brace yourself against the side of the car as it speeds off, reaching for a seatbelt.

"Jesus, Kate, what's going on? I-I have training later, I can't–"

"You're not...going back to base," she says evenly. You frown a little, leaning back in your seat, and you put your hands in your lap as you try and get a read on her. Even exhausted, Kate is hard to decipher. She has a stone-cold expression, calm and unbothered, and you curse her CIA training for making her impossible to understand, to even get a glimpse of what she might say next. Her face makes you anxious, and the scent in the car that changes puts you on edge.

"Okay," you scoff a little. "Then where am I going?"

Kate sniffs a little, crossing her arms over her chest. She doesn't break eye contact with you when she says, "Wheels up in 30. I have an assignment for you." She reaches under the seat, pulling out a manila folder, setting it down beside you. When you pick it up and flip it open, you narrow your eyes.

"I'm..." You shrug your shoulders, "I'm not really CIA. You don't give me orders."

"As of one hour ago, you're mine. And this...this is your duty."

Your eyes blur as you skim the text on the pages. You flip through the papers flimsily, getting more and more irritated until you throw it at her, your chest rising and falling fast as you pant, barely able to see her through your tears.

Program. UK. Field assignment. Mate. All the keywords to make your stomach curl and your autonomy shrink in front of your very eyes.

"Kate, don't do this," you beg her softly. You soften your voice, and you let your omega drip syrup into it. You want to see her eyes dilate–you want to make her protectiveness kick in just enough that she might just appease you. It’s desperate, and you know it’s wrong, but you do it anyways, you have to. "Please don't do this. Please. You fucking promised me, you promised–"

"You need to understand that I don't have a lot of fucking choices," she says sharply. She pities you, that much you can tell. She looks pained, but it doesn’t matter how pained she might feel because it isn’t happening to her. It’s happening to you, and she put you on that base so that it wouldn’t happen to you, and she tricked you into getting into this car, and now it’s her–

"Kate, I'll do anything, please," you gasp. You reach over and grab her hands, tugging her towards you. "You know. You know what...w-what I've been through, what this all is, you know...please. Please..."

You promised me. You gave me your word.

"I can't–"

But the CIA can’t be trusted for shit.

"I'll be yours," you try, squeezing her palms. Appease. Beg. Bare your neck. Give her what she really craves. "Just claim me yourself, a-and...and we don't have to do this, w-we can...I-I can go back to–"

Her face contorts, offended, disgusted. You try and swallow down the sting of her rejection, but you cannot help yourself. You would do anything to not be subjected to this fate, to the fate she promised she'd save you from. The only alpha you have ever trusted, and she's pulling away from you, bit by bit.

"I could never do that to you," she interrupts, shaking her head. "I couldn't."

"But you'll do this instead?"

"It's the lesser evil," she says finally, pushing your hands back. It aches. Despite you never leaning towards her, it is still an alpha turning their nose up at you, and the thing inside of you cries at the feeling; she begs you to do more, but you swallow her down, fingers itching for another pill just so you can really squash her singing. "And in my world, that is the best I can hope for."

"It's punishment!" You cry, and she reaches over, cupping your cheeks, pulling you close. You scrunch your face at her touch. Her hands are cold, and they do not welcome you. "A-And for what? For being something that I can't change?!"

"It's mercy," she whispers. Her thumbs stroke your cheeks in soft circles. "I can't protect you anymore, do you understand? They don't want you there, and I can’t take you with me. Even taking meds, even spraying yourself to shit, they don't want you, and I can't protect you if they send you away, do you understand me?" You start to cry, closing your eyes, and you hear the familiar voice in your head preening. She's desperate, slipping through the cracks, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you try and force her backwards. You’re panicking, and maybe she’s trying to help, but you hate her. "I have to get you out of there, and this is the only way."

"Please..."

"I can't protect you," she says gently. "But he can. And he'll be good to you. I promise, this...this I can promise."

You rip yourself away from her, curling into yourself as you scoot away from her as far as possible. You press yourself against the door, tucking your knees into your chest. Whatever passes by outside is a blur, and your brain doesn’t register any of it. The only thing in your head is betrayal, traitor, those sick, stupid bastard alphas, all of them–

"Fuck your promises," you whimper, and when she reaches out for you again, you flinch, burying your face into your hands.

Kate is a liar. She never keeps her promises; that’s her job, it is what she does. The CIA is nothing if they aren’t incredible liars–it’s what they’re known for, and Kate takes to it like a fish to water. As far as you are concerned, she lured you in with bait, and now she's shut the door on a trap. It is lined with padding, soft, delicate, but it still holds you back, it still keeps you still and stagnant and forever chained to an existence that you detest more than anything. She used you; it was in her best interest to keep an omega under her thumb, to do with you as she pleased when she needed one, and you suppose once you are taken, she will find another to do the same with. She will give another desperate one like you false hope, and when she needs another omega to keep someone else complacent and willing, she will offer them up with her signature on paper–just like that.

She tries to touch your hand before you board the plane. She tries to meet your eyes, get your attention, anything. You cower when she reaches out, and when she steps backwards, you walk on.

You never look behind yourself. Not even when you sit, and not even as the ramp closes shut.

Fighting is futile when you are who you are. It's unexpected. It's frowned upon. You are made up of something that is intended to be docile, to be big-eyed and soft. If you were a dog, they would want you to roll over and bare your belly and forget how to do anything but obey, but that is not the kind of thing that you ever wanted to be, even when you were small, even before you knew what you really were.

You hate what you are. You medicate yourself to the point of being incoherent, you bare your teeth and aggravate the submissive nature you inherit to deter any kind of match. You make yourself undesirable, not just in your physical nature but in the very essence of yourself.

You want to start over, as something else, or you want to never have been at all. You hate this place, you want them to cast you out, you want to be left to your own devices because dying alone and unwanted is better than submission; it;s better than the imprisonment that your kind subjects themselves to, willing or not.

It sickens you. You watch your own kind fall to their knees, close their mouths, and allow their very being to disappear just to make another satiated. Happy. Their entire lives, reduced to being someone else's waiting hand, someone else's property. It's sad, it's pathetic, it rocks you to the very center of yourself, and you demand more of it, you reject this life and the voice in your head that fights with you every single day of it.

She hates you, too, your omega. She claws at your insides and begs for something to drink, but you dry her out. You don't allow her to even breach the surface of the wasteland you've suffocated her with. She is naïve; she doesn't know what is good for her, she doesn't know that you are saving her from a life of constant torture. She screams for you to let her out, but you take another pill and force her back into the dark.

Or at least you did. You haven't taken a pill in days. They won't let you, even when you asked, even when you began to beg. You promised to be good if they just appeased you. You promised to be quiet if they just slipped it under your tongue, even if they injected it into your very veins, anything, just please, please, I don't want to–

Everything is surreal. You feel like you're seeing everything in color. What used to be dull and uninteresting now sparkles in your very eyes, it glows under the sun. Everything is sharper and less blurry. Sounds are clearer. You can hear the wind more loudly in your ears and feel it under the soles of your shoes. But what dizzies you the most is your sense of smell.

Everything before had been so bland. You have been under the effects of suppressors for so long that you don't think food has ever smelled so bad and so good (eggs make you gag now, and the crisps they give you make your mouth water).

They keep you confined in a small room. You are not allowed in the presence of any alphas; you can smell them passing by the door, but whenever the stink of one of them lingers, there's loud voices, lots of heavy boots. A beta comes to collect you to do a daily workout and to shower, and then you are back in your room, your meals delivered on a tight schedule (and the food, after a few days of your tray being barely picked at, gets so much better–it's better quality than you've seen on any military base, and when you asked, all they said was "lieutenant's orders").

Today is different. Today, along with your breakfast, a large black hoodie is folded underneath the tray that they leave on the end of your bed. You set the food aside, picking up the hoodie, and when you unravel it, you spread it out, gawking at the size of it. Whoever this hoodie belongs to is more bear, more beast, than human. An enormous thing, but when you pick it up, you immediately pick up on its strong scent.

You press the front of it to your nose. Your eyes flutter shut, and you sink into the bed a little as you take a deep breath of it. Warm, but gritty, like charcoal. Cigarettes. Military-issue soap. Clean. Eucalyptus. Fire. Something with depth, something with teeth. You don't realize what's happening to you until it's too late.

Alpha. It smells undoubtedly like alpha, and you're certain by the size of it that it belongs to one. You nuzzle your face into it a little, instinctively, and you don't even register your omega knocking, peering through the door that's been cracked open for her.

She squeals with delight. She's getting dizzy, drunk, and you feel a soft noise in your chest bubble as she pets the back of your mind, keening at the introduction of it. She’s giggling. You can feel her tugging at your insides, whispering in your ear–See? I told you. I told you that you’d like it.

They smell strong. They smell capable. They smell pure.

When you put the hoodie down, your legs are pressed together, shaking from how hard your thighs are squeezed. When you relax, you refrain from the need to touch yourself, but you failed before you even started. You can feel how wet you are; your panties must be soaked, and you feel yourself pulsing with some sort of distinct urge to give in, give in, give in.

It's unnerving, the lack of control you have. Your omega has always been a few feet underwater, but she's breaching the surface now, her lips gasping for air.

You try to push her back.

Stay down.

When the clock strikes for dinner, you aren't surprised by the knock. But you are surprised that when the door opens, there isn't a beta in uniform holding your tray. Instead, you cover your nose a little, blinking harshly as a large man comes into the room. He's got a strange beard and a floppy hat, and when he smiles, he reminds you of a teddy bear. You can tell just by his physique what he is, but his eyes are kinder than you're used to.

You will yourself not to trust them. You trusted kind eyes before, and now you’re locked in a prison of your own making.

"'ello," he introduces himself, holding out his hand. "'m Captain John Price. 's nice to meet you."

You glare at him, not saying a word. When he figures you won't shake his hand, he just nods. He lets his hand drop, hooking his thumbs into his tact vest, and he rests at ease.

"I've come to collect you," he says lowly. "It's time."

You pick up your tray of food from behind you and hurl it towards him. He ducks just in time, moving one shoulder backwards as the metal hits the wall behind him and clatters to the floor in a splattered mess. John shakes his head a little, scratching the back of his neck, and he clicks his tongue. You’re unnerved and a little pissed off when a hint of a grin flickers over his face.

"Fuckin' hell," he breathes. "Yeah...you'll do."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Let's go," John snaps. "Won't ask again."

When he reaches for you, you swipe the fork from the bed, stepping close and sticking the little prongs up against his chin. You aren’t satisfied until you can feel his scratchy beard against it, piercing the skin just enough.

"If you touch me, I'll shove this right up your chin through your goddamn nose," you threaten, and John’s nostrils flare, his hands going up flat beside his head.

"Easy," he murmurs, and you feel like he’s talking to a skittish mare. "Just need to guide you, that's all."

"Well, I don't want to go anywhere."

"If you don't do this, I have to send you back," John explains. "And Kate made it very clear that is supposed to be my last resort. And you don't want to go back."

"Anything is better than this," you hiss, and he narrows his eyes.

"Not this. What they do to unruly omegas..." He leans forward, snarling a little. "Ones like you. Ones that bite. And scratch. They don't deal with them. They'll sedate you and use you as training practice. And while Kate might have a heart big enough to keep you outta that place, I don't have it. So get your arse moving. Now."

You put your hand down, dropping the fork, letting it clatter to the floor. He grips you by the collar of your shirt, urging you forward, and all the hairs stand up on the back of your neck as he gets dangerously close to scruffing you. It's enough of a threat that you immediately relax, your own body betraying your emotions as it tries to make itself smaller. To appease. To submit.

"This can't wait any longer," John mutters. "Has to happen today."

Your lip trembles.

"What has to happen today?" You ask.

"You're meeting your mate," he says. You know that was the answer, but you had to ask it anyways. You think of the hoodie you received all those hours ago. The smell of him, complete intoxication. "Simon."

Simon.

"Sounds like an asshole," you snap, irritated, and John chuckles a little.

"Mmm. He is. You'll adore 'im."

You flinch at the flickering fluorescent lights as he leads you down a narrow hallway. When you pass other soldiers, John puts you in front of him, glaring and baring his teeth a little. You're confused by this sudden display of aggression on your behalf, but when you spot the looks in others’ eyes, you're grateful for it nonetheless.

You know your scent is strong; piercing the walls around you, displaying your displeasure, discomfort, fear so plainly. It's an awful thing to not be able to hide how you feel, to not feel like you have any control over how you present to others, but you have no practice masking any of it. You have been drowning your omega for so long that you didn't realize the strength of her building up behind the synthetic walls you had built. She's livid, angry, permeating the spaces in your mind that you thought were solid and now are broken and hollow inside.

You stop in front of an unmarked door. John looks over you, eyeing the jacket you wear.

"Take tha' off," he says lowly. You frown, stepping back, but he nods again. "Take it off. You'll get it back, just give it to me."

You shrug your jacket off gently, handing it to him. John holds out his hand for yours, and when you cautiously give it to him, he rubs the fabric against your wrists to soak it in your scent before disappearing behind the door. You wait outside, pressing your ear to the metal, but you hear nothing but low mumbles. You do hear a heavy gait, big feet moving around that don't belong to Captain Price, and you close your eyes as you try and see if you can hear his voice.

You don't.

The door is opened just slightly, John cocking his head to the side.

"He wants to see you."

You raise a brow.

"Your mutt?" You ask smartly, and John scoffs a little, kicking the door open wide finally. Behind it, you can see a small little office situated. Dozens of file cabinets, a stained wooden desk, a peeling leather chair. There are papers everywhere, a disorganized mess and walls filled with medals, plaques, letters, pictures of faceless men. And standing beside the desk, towering over it with his head nearly hitting the ceiling is a bear.

A fucking bear.

He's so tall. Over six feet of hulking man, big shoulders taking up too much space. You can tell just by looking at him that he has to duck his head and move his body sideways to get through the doorway you're standing in. He has big hands and thick thighs, and your lips part when you realize his thigh holster has been released as much as possible just to still fit snugly around him. He's wearing dark jeans and a thick black hoodie, and he looks even bigger with a strapped tact vest that holds numerous little gadgets, weapons (fuck, he looks like he can kill you with the pencil laying haphazard beside him).

You can't see his face. He covers it with a mask, a snug covering tucked under his hoodie with the plastic front plate of a skull sewn to its front. He's holding your jacket in one hand, the other clenched in a tight fist as you step through the door.

"Is this your dog, Captain?" You ask finally. Simon doesn't speak. He tilts his head to the side, eyeing you, taking in the way you look from the tips of your combat boots all the way up over your head. His gaze lingers on your middle, the wideness of your hips and the curve of your body.

John crosses his arms over his chest.

"Suppose so," John shrugs, rolling his eyes a little. You blink, finally making eye contact with Simon. His eyes are dark and beady. He's intense, just as his scent had been. Your omega warms your throat and screams in your ear.

Grab him. Latch onto him. Don’t let him go. Do you see him? Look at him–

"Does it bark?" You wonder, glaring. Simon unclenches his fist, rolling his fingers out a little. They twitch beside his leg. His face twitches a little, too, you can see the mask move just slightly.

"When he wants to."

"Does it bite?"

John snorts. "Mmm. Afraid so." He opens the door behind him. "Don't kill each other. If I don't see her for supper, Simon, I'll hold you to it."

When you are alone, Simon still remains silent. He hasn't moved from his spot by the desk, still in a strange staring contest with you as you stand there trying to read him. Like Kate, he's impossible; this time, you don't even have the luxury of looking over his face, although you suspect even without the mask, he must have mastered some kind of expression of nothingness. He seems like the kind of brute to give nothing away. Not even his displeasure.

"Hope you're good on a leash," you say finally, crossing your arms over your chest. "I like to go on walks."

His face moves under the mask again. Finally, he moves. He unravels your jacket in his hand, holding it open for you to put on again. You eye him strangely before coming closer to fit your arms into it.

When you turn your back to him, you realize how much of his shadow you're tucked under. When he drops the fabric back on your shoulders, you still as he leans over one side of you, bending. Without thinking, your head tilts to the side, giving him more space into the side of your neck. You do it without even thinking. Your omega bleeds through you, and you feel her warmth everywhere now, making you move, but you let her this time.

Your scent gland pulses there under your ear. He can see it, hear it practically, rushing like the blood in his ears. You close your eyes when you feel him come closer, the cotton of his mask just barely grazing your neck as he takes a deep breath.

The growl he lets out shakes you to your core. Your pupils get blown wide at the sound, and your head flops back slow, exposing more of your neck. He uses the opportunity to bend just that much more, until the front of his mask is pressed against the gland, and he can breathe you in, right at the source.

He's snarling under the mask. You can hear his teeth knock together, his tongue wetting his lips. You shiver, leaning into him, your hand raising up to caress the back of his neck as he nuzzles his nose there, taking another deep breath. You step back enough that he presses up against you from behind. You can feel his pelvis right against your ass, and you arch your back just enough to fit him right where he belongs. A gloved hand catches you at your waist, and you put your free hand on the desk in front of you until his cock is right there between your ass.

Your omega is panting. She's clawing, right there at the edge, fighting against quicksand as she's desperate to meet him. The feeling of him, the scent of him so close, it's an aphrodisiac, potent, suffocating. Something warm is wrapping around you, sliding along your skin, tickling your toes. It's between your thighs, in your mouth, wetting your tongue. You're not sure what this feeling is, but it's thrilling.

He's purring. Big, rumbling sounds coming from deep in his chest. More animal than man as his tongue comes out under the mask, and you can feel him lick a nice stripe over the raised, warm skin under your ear. Your omega is being pulled to the forefront. She’s like a magnet to him. The closer he gets, the stronger she bites into you. Your mouth drops open when his hand falls between your thighs, gripping onto you and pulling you up against him in one, slow grind. You can feel the length of him, fucking enormous, and you’re leaking into your cargos as his fingers squeeze the fat of your thigh.

"Fuck–okay!" You pull away abruptly, turning to face him. You put your hands on his chest and push him back a little. He doesn’t move at your touch, but your voice startles him enough that he moves his hands up and away from you. He straightens up, blinking away the haze in his eyes, and you swallow hard. "T-Too much..."

He huffs, moving forward to bury his face into your neck again, but you step back, putting a hand on his chest firmer this time. You have stepped out of the cloud that surrounds him, but you can still taste it, and it’s pulling you back, and you’re losing control.

"Simon," you say his name gently, and he stops, his face scrunching a little under the mask before he stands back up again. "If I have to be your mate...we need to set some boundaries." He blinks, saying nothing. "Like...a-asking for permission."

You can tell by the way his mask twitches that he doesn't usually ask for permission. He wants, and he receives.

Typical.

“What?” You ask, scoffing. “You don’t talk?”

He doesn’t move. You crane your neck to look up at him a little better, and you smooth your hands lower on his chest. You can’t help but appreciate what you feel. He’s wearing a tactical vest, but you can still feel the deep breaths he’s taking, the strong, fatty muscle under your palms. He is the epitome of sheer strength and undeniable ability. Your omega draws your hands back up his chest, over his pecs that pull taut, and they wind up around his neck as you stand up on your toes and lean into the curve of his jaw. You put your nose to it, barely. Simon moves his hands down, cupping you under your ass and picking up your weight with not even a grunt until you can press your face deep into him.

Fuck, it’s like a drug. It’s addictive. His scent impales you. He smells like war. Like chaos and smoke, and your mouth starts to water as you keep breathing him in. You pull back just enough, blinking up at him. You look a little dizzy and intoxicated, and he squeezes your ass to hold you steady as he puts you back onto your feet.

“Uhm…” You sniffle a little, holding onto him. Your hands curl around his shoulders, and you keep yourself upright like this. “I didn’t wanna be here. I don’t…I don’t want this. I never did.” You blink away tears, but he sees them when you draw your eyes back up to his. “T-They made me. It hurts.”

“Wot hurts?”

His voice scares you when you finally hear it. Your lip shakes, and when you blink again, your tears fall down your face. Simon snarls when he sees them, reaching up with hands too rough and wiping them off your face, but they keep coming.

“I’ve never been o-off my meds–” You gasp, and your breaths start to come in panicked and too fast. “Everything hurts. T-The lights are too bright, everything hurts my nose, the sheets are too itchy, and I-I can’t breathe–”

Simon moves away from you immediately. He closes a fist and pounds the lightswitch, and only the yellow glow of the lamp on his desk illuminates the room. You curl into yourself, hugging your own arms, and Simon comes back to stand in front of you, narrowing his eyes.

“I did not want you either.”

“That’s just grand, this is perfect,” you hiccup, and Simon grunts.

“But I have orders.”

“You act like your Captain is just debriefing you for a fucking mission,” You snap, glaring at him. “I’m a fucking person. I know your kind may not see us that way, but I am. I’m not a mission. I’m not something for you to win or to conquer, you fucking asshole!”

When you raise a hand to hit him, he catches your wrist before it lands. He squeezes just enough to hold you at arm’s length, and you lean forward and spit on him instead. It wets the mouth of his mask, and he nearly loses himself as his eyes flash with something dark. He looks away from you for a moment to collect himself. When he turns back, he uses his other hand to cup the back of your head, silencing you.

“You listen ‘ere, omega–” The way he says your title makes the fight in you shrink. Your omega squeaks, ducking her head, that bubble of submission pilling in your throat as he holds you so close to your naked scent gland. “Dunno wot anyone told you, but I don’t have to win you when y’r already mine.” He ducks his head, pulling you closer, and you freeze when he presses his masked mouth at the base of your pulsing scent gland. It wafts into his nose, dilating his pupils, and he snarls. “And when you inevitably lose control of yourself–you already fuckin’ are, you reek of it–I’m goin’ to sink my teeth right ‘ere, and then it won’t fuckin’ matter ‘ow you feel.”

Your eyes blur with angry tears. You gasp, your breaths hitching, and Simon seems to feed off of your fear, your misery. If he wasn’t wearing a mask, you imagine he’d be licking your tears for a chance to taste your sadness. The worst part of it all is that your omega adores it. She’s been aching for so long for this kind of authority. For that edge to tickle her right under her chin where she likes it. The whiff of alpha that she’s getting is driving her out of control, and you don’t know how make her quiet down. She’s so loud in your head, banging against the walls–give it to him, give it to him, give it to him.

“You’re a fucking monster,” you whisper, glaring up at him. It’s no use–you will never scare him. Simon is what scares other alphas into submission. In one paw, he could crush your windpipe if he wanted to, with just a squeeze. Simon hums, and you imagine him smiling under that mask, some kind of vicious grin that you would love to smack off of him.

“Tha’s right, swee’eart,” Simon mutters. “I am. ‘n now you belong t’me. Everything that you are–” He smooths his hand down your neck. You seize when his hand slides over the curve of your waist until it cups under your ass and forces you up against him. “‘s mine. Your omega–’s mine. Your mouth–mine. Your arse–mine. That cunt that’s going to take my knot like a good little omega should–mine. So y’r gonna get y’r things, and y’r gonna move them into my quarters, and then we’re gonna go get supper, and y’r gonna shut y’r fuckin’ mouth.”

“I hate you. You’re the biggest son of a bitch I have ever met in my entire life, you are exactly the kind of asshole I knew you would be, you are no different than I thought. You’re a terrible, awful, horrible–”

“I can smell you,” Simon snaps. “Don’t try to be fuckin’ smart with me, I can smell how wet your cunt is, so why don’t you just be a good girl and do as I say?”

You bare your teeth a little, and Simon sticks a gloved thumb into your mouth. Without thinking, you relax. You suck it into your mouth and sigh, and Simon rubs his thumb against your tongue, shutting you up nice and well. He traces your teeth with it, and you start to cry. You cry because you don’t know why you can’t fight. Your grip his forearm, but your nails won’t dig. Your feet are planted to the ground, and you can’t move. Your mouth sucks, and he pushes, and you’re frozen here.

He knows what to do. Doesn’t he taste so good?

He seems to like your teary eyes. The big, fat tears. His eyes crinkle, and you know he’s smiling, and you wish you could rip that expression off his face, but all that stares back at you is death. Simon growls, and every bit of resistance in you fails. Slow, like molasses, your knees buckle, and he catches you. He pets your mouth, and when he leans in and presses his mouth to your ear, all you can do is cry.

“That’s it. Good kitty.”

NEXT

[girlgenius1111]

Ingrid Engen, “oh that doesn’t feel quite right”, at Home

---

Ingrid was, among many things, easy to celebrate. She was about as close to perfect as a human could get. Or, at least, you thought so. You’d pestered her about what she wanted to do for her birthday for weeks in advance, and though she kept saying she was fine with anything as long as she was with you, you were very determined to plan a day full of things she loved. 

First, you both slept in, waking up just before noon still entangled with each other from the night before. Then, you’d gone for coffee and lunch at her favorite place in the city. She’d called her parents and her siblings after that, chatting for a while and opening the gifts they’d sent ahead. You’d put on her favorite movie once she was off the phone, curling up against her on the sofa as she watched, mumbling some of the words from memory under her breath. 

Next up was cooking dinner together, again her favorite meal on the menu. The gifts you’d gotten her were set on the bed, a small cake hidden in the back of the fridge so you could sing to her. Everything had gone perfectly according to plan. 

And then, as you were cutting the vegetables for dinner at the counter, the knife slipped. 

“Oh!” You gasped, dropping the knife down with a clatter. 

“Love?” Ingrid asked, turning away from the stove, peering at your back. You’d gone completely still. 

“That… that doesn’t feel right.” You mumbled, clutching your finger tightly in your other hand. 

“What doesn’t–?” Ingrid cut herself off as you turned around, blood already staining your shirt, dripping down onto the ground underneath you. “Oh my god!” 

“Ow,” you stated, voice completely devoid of any feeling or inflection. Ingrid rushed towards you, her hand gripping your shoulder in an attempt to steady you. Your girlfriend knew how you were with blood. 

You weren’t really thinking about the blood, though, because you knew whatever the state of your finger was… it wasn’t good. 

The knife had slipped. It had stung. You’d dropped the knife, and without really looking at your finger, you’d gripped it in your other hand tightly. It was bleeding heavily, but something in you refused to unwrap your hand from around your finger, refused to look at the damage. 

“Let me see.” Ingrid instructed, her brows knitted together in concern. 

Still, your hand remained wrapped around your injured finger. Partially because you knew it would hurt like hell the minute you took pressure off it, and also because you weren’t convinced that you wouldn’t be missing part of your fingertip. 

“Ingrid,” You exhaled, shaking your head and looking at your girlfriend with fear written across your face. 

“It’s going to be okay love, just let me see.” 

With a bit more gentle coaxing, you shut your eyes tightly and let go of your finger. Ingrid bit her lip to stop a gasp from escaping, more than a little horrified by the injury. You had a massive gash cutting into the top of your index finger, and there was blood pouring from the wound. Ingrid was surprised that the tip of your finger was still attached, and she knew it needed medical attention immediately. Your eyes were still shut, though there were tears starting to make their way down your face. 

Ingrid grabbed a clean towel from the drawer, uncaring that she got blood on the white cabinets, and wrapped your hand up tightly in it. 

“Is it bad?” You asked. 

Ingrid hesitated, but knew there was no use lying. “It’s not great, but we’ll go to the hospital and they’ll stitch you right up.” 

You whimpered pathetically at the thought of stitches, but even though you hadn’t actually seen the injury, you knew it needed them. Opening your eyes, you found Ingrid looking right at you, a reassuring look on her face. Without another word, you allowed Ingrid to guide you out of the apartment, into the elevator and down to the car. 

Maybe you were going into shock or something, because all you could think was that you’d probably let Ingrid take you anywhere. Even to the hospital, where they’d thread a needle through your skin and put you back together. Anywhere. 

—

You could feel Ingrid’s eyes on you as she pulled to a stop at a red light, yet you didn’t turn towards her. Your finger still throbbed with pain, the medication they’d given you at the hospital not having kicked in yet. Your hand was wrapped up in an enormous amount of gauze and bandages, which felt a bit overkill. 

Thought after thought was rushing through your brain, all of them centered around trying to salvage Ingrid’s birthday, which you were absolutely sure you’d completely ruined. Still, it must have looked like you were in pain, because Ingrid was still looking at you worriedly. 

“What are you thinking, min kjære?” She wondered, her hand reaching over to rest on your knee. 

Turning towards her, you blinked hard at the tears that were rapidly accumulating in your eyes. “Nothing! If you want, we can go out to dinner. Or I could go get your favorite from–”

“Are you crying?” Ingrid interrupted, brow furrowing with worry even as she fixed her attention back on the road in front of her. “Does it hurt?”

Her voice was dripping with sympathy, and you resisted the urge to sigh. 

“No, I’m fine.” You insisted. “For dinner–”

“Love, I don’t care about dinner. I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t! Don’t worry about me. It’s your birthday and I’ve already ruined it, I don’t want to make it worse, so please just tell me where you want to go to dinner.” Your voice was trembling, your need to make up for messing up such a special day overwhelming you. 

“You haven’t ruined anything!” Ingrid exclaimed, pulling the car over to the side of the road and turning to look at you sadly. “Love, you didn’t ruin my birthday. You didn’t almost cut your finger off on purpose.” 

You huffed out a laugh that turned into some kind of sob, and Ingrid didn’t hesitate to unbuckle her seatbelt and lean over the center console to pull you into a hug. 

“You have not ruined anything, baby. Truly. We can do dinner another night and it will be just as special. I just want you to be okay.” Ingrid murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. 

“I’m okay,” you sniffled into her neck, quite aware how ironic and completely unbelievable you sounded. 

The Norwegian pulled away, placing both her hands on your cheeks. Her thumbs swept away a few tears, before she leaned in and gently kissed you. “You’re in pain and that was an awful, terrifying experience and I can tell you just want to go home to bed. So let’s do that, hmm?” 

You nodded begrudgingly, well aware that now Ingrid knew how upset you were, there was no way on earth or in heaven that she would allow you to go anywhere but home to bed. And you couldn’t lie, that was truly all you wanted. 

Ingrid kissed you once more, before putting the car back in drive and pulling onto the road again. Her hand remained intertwined with your uninjured one, her thumb tracing circles over the back of it.

“You know,” you began after a few minutes. “I still have a working hand. And working fingers.” 

Ingrid laughed, the sound melodic, bringing butterflies to your stomach no matter how many times you heard it. “We can put your good hand to work tomorrow, if you’re feeling better.” 

You sank back into the passenger seat with a grin, the promise of tomorrow’s activities improving your mood greatly. Or maybe, that was just Ingrid improving your mood. Even when you felt like you were at your worst, she was always able to make you feel like things weren’t so bad. Mostly because if you were with her, things couldn’t be bad. This situation wasn’t any different. 

---

[soundwavefucker69]

I don't share this often, but I am a trans man named Minty.

awhile after I got my legal name change, I asked my mom what she would have named me if I was a boy. she said Sebastian, and I groaned and complained that I should have asked before I got the name change, because I really DID like Sebastian now that it was occurring to me as a possible name and had ALWAYS liked Sebastian, even before my MCU days as a teenager. I had even considered it as an option but worried I'd end up looking like a weird fandom kid that had never let go of the MCU. if I had known that was the name my mother had picked for me, I would have had justification to choose it.

she asked me why I picked Minty then. i kinda paused in surprise because I thought it was obvious. and I was like. well. I wanted a name i felt like I could associate with childhood me.

after the first house we lived in was foreclosed on by the bank, we had to rent while my parents fixed their credit and swore never to get a fixer upper again. so we picked a nice house in our small town with only two real neighbors of note: an old lady, whose kids had forgotten about her, that lived way down the alley, around the point it turned from paved to dirt, the only house down there, who had a pomegranate tree in her ill-tended front yard, and a nice old lady next door that for some inexplicable reason had a miniature horse and a beautifully tended flower garden she had foolishly once planted mint in. she also had a very, very old fashioned rotary telephone. I mean the kind hardwired into the wall, of metal, with a speaker with a smooth wooden handle that sat neatly on top. not one of the plastic ones. the ones you see in old movies.

we loved these old ladies very much. the pomegranate lady was too old to keep up on her yard, so my brother and I would go with our dad to help weed whack and scrape up the dead leaves. we didn't offer too much, she was a proud sort, and couldn't pay us, but just enough to help out a little. and the mint in her flower garden lady loved it when we came by to say hi to her horse whose name I forget and loved to teach us how to garden.

she would send us home with mint. obviously. because when you have a mint infestation, well. it's pointless, but you gotta try anyway. and my mom would take that mint and make sun tea, just on the edge of not sweet enough, bc she was a bit of a crunchy mom, but not enough to reprimand me for sneaking a bit of sugar into my cup after to mix it up. (the sugar never dissolved right, especially after it was chilled, and i would always make a racket trying to get it to do so)

I told her I picked Minty because it ties me to my childhood. I didn't want to just cast it away. I wasn't Minty yet, but I also wouldn't be Minty without those days.

mom hasn't fully come around to me being trans. but she was quiet for a long, long time before she kind of whispered. I think I like Minty better than Sebastian. you should keep it.

my mom has always beat herself up over our childhood. she lacked a lot of stability in her upbringing and thought church was the way to go with my brother and I. unfortunately, she picked the wrong church. it was intensely traumatizing for us. we've had a lot of tough conversations about it. but I was able to tell her that day, you know Mom, I know you think you didn't do enough, but just know I'm not trans because you put me in a place where womanhood was miserable and I'm running from it. I don't remember much of the church, even though it consumed my life. what I do remember is my mother, the woman I may have complicated feelings towards, but have always admired and was always my standard for womanhood, being criticized by the other women for allowing me to read this book or that book and not bending or breaking under their rebukes for twenty years. I remember finding out as a twenty year old that I was the only "girl" in church that got the HPV vaccine, because you wanted to protect me, and not rely on chastity alone, like some sort of egotistical maniac who believed I'd always be your daughter, not a living breathing person that would make choices you didn't approve of as an adult, that shouldn't have to suffer for no reason from those choices. I remember you reading to my brother and I well into our teen years, using your acting talents that didn't blossom into the career you wanted to bring the characters in Peter and the Starcatchers to life. I remember listening to Lord of the Rings on cassette tape in the mini van, even though they said it was demonic when they found out. I remember the mom that let me be a tomboy. I remember the mom that would put on the Wind and the Willows on cassette from the library on rainy summer days and we'd listen to it and eat meatballs and spaghetti in the kitchen.

I told her, you're not a failure as a mother, and I didn't hate womanhood because of your example. it just didn't fit me. you made mistakes because you're human. I never thought of you as less than because you're a woman, and I didn't want to escape the cage you're thinking i wanted to escape.

my mom cried. I think that was the first time i made her cry and didn't feel bad about it.

anyways. not a soft memory, but it feels soft to me.

Tell me a soft memory

[dissapointu]

can you do how arcane characters would react to seeing their partner dressed up in a very attractive Halloween costume??

Oh fuck yeah-

Jinx

Jinx’s eyes would light up the second she saw you in your costume, her usual chaotic energy intensifying. She’d let out a loud gasp and then immediately break into an excited, manic laugh. “You look SO awesome!” she’d shout, unable to contain herself. She’d likely run over to you, her hands all over you, admiring the details of your outfit, pulling at the fabric with excitement. “How’d you do that? Can I steal your look?!” She’d probably try to get you to show off for her, demanding that you do a little twirl or model the costume from different angles, all while giggling like a maniac. But under her craziness, there would be a look of absolute admiration—she’s so into you in that costume.

Vi

Vi would pause for a second, her jaw dropping slightly as she tries to take in just how stunning you look. Her usual tough, no-nonsense demeanor would falter, her face turning a little red as she stammers, “W-wow… you look… incredible.” She’d be awestruck but also very proud to have you on her arm, the protective streak in her coming out as she immediately takes a step closer, wanting to keep you to herself. Her eyes would constantly flicker over you, her mind not entirely focusing on anything else for the moment. “I—I mean, damn, you’re looking real good,” she’d murmur, though she’d be blushing the entire time.

Sevika

Sevika’s reaction would be more subtle, but no less intense. Her eyes would scan your costume slowly, and she’d give a low whistle. “Not bad, not bad at all.” She’d try to maintain her usual cool, aloof demeanor, but there would be a heat in her gaze, and her usual sarcastic smirk would soften into something more appreciative. “I could get used to seeing you like this,” she’d say, her voice low and husky. She’d likely pull you close to her, hands resting possessively on your waist. She may even get a little possessive, keeping you close and making sure no one else gets too close. “Just remember, you’re with me tonight.”

Silco

Silco would have a bit of a calculated reaction, but the desire and admiration in his eyes would be impossible to miss. He’d raise an eyebrow and observe you carefully, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You do know what you’re doing, don’t you?” he’d say in his usual low, smooth voice, his eyes dark with approval. He wouldn’t openly gush like Jinx, but his attention would be fixed solely on you, and he would make a point to remind you how incredible you look. “I hope you realize you’ve just made it impossible for anyone else to compare.” His words would carry a mix of appreciation and possessiveness, his arm quickly wrapping around your waist as he pulls you in for a kiss, marking you as his.

Vander

Vander would be the gentle, protective type who’s taken by surprise at how gorgeous you look. His eyes would widen for a brief second, but then he’d soften, a proud, almost fatherly smile forming on his face. “Well, don’t you look beautiful,” he’d say, his tone warm and sincere. He’d reach out to hold your hand, giving it a tender squeeze, making sure you feel cared for and appreciated. He’d be protective but in a way that was full of respect, as if he were holding onto a precious gem that he didn’t want to lose. “I’m lucky to have you,” he’d add quietly, his eyes full of love.

Ekko

Ekko would likely grin the second he saw you, his face lighting up with genuine excitement. “Damn, [Y/N], you’re lookin’ fire!” he’d say, his voice filled with admiration and a touch of disbelief. His hands would immediately reach out to pull you closer, eyes scanning every inch of your costume. “You know, you’re making it hard to focus on anything else when you look that good.” He’d probably tease you a little, playfully bumping his shoulder against yours. “You sure you can handle this much attention?” His excitement and affection would be clear, but he’d also be a bit shy about how stunning you look, maybe hiding a slight blush under his usually cool demeanor.

Jayce

Jayce would be all over the place, his usual charming self kicked into overdrive. His face would light up with a huge grin, and he’d immediately start complimenting you with unrestrained enthusiasm. “Well, I must say, I’m impressed,” he’d say, his voice filled with genuine admiration. “You look absolutely amazing.” His hands would hover around you, unsure if he should touch you or just admire from afar. “How did you even manage to look this good?” he’d ask, his voice almost in awe. His excitement would be contagious, and he’d definitely make sure you knew that you were the star of the show tonight.

Viktor

Viktor would take a more reserved approach, his eyes immediately locking on you as soon as you entered the room. His usually analytical mind would be momentarily overwhelmed by the sight of you in such an attractive costume. He’d take a slow, appreciative breath, unable to hide the slight smile tugging at his lips. “You’re… quite striking,” he’d say, his voice soft and sincere, but there’s a warmth in his eyes that wasn’t there before. He’d try to keep his composure, but the way he kept glancing at you would betray his fascination. “It’s hard to concentrate on anything else when you look like this,” he’d admit, stepping a little closer, his hand gently reaching for yours.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn would be the picture of elegance, but underneath her calm and composed exterior, she would definitely be stunned. She’d take a moment to collect herself before offering you a sincere smile. “You look absolutely radiant,” she’d say, her voice soft with affection. Her hands would reach out to touch you, a subtle sign of how much she appreciated the way you looked. She’d tease you a bit, a playful glint in her eyes. “I hope you don’t mind all the attention you’re about to get. You look too good to be ignored.” Her protective instincts would kick in, but it would come across as sweet, not possessive—she just wants to keep you all to herself.

Mel Medarda

Mel would observe you with a cool, composed gaze at first, but underneath her calculated demeanor, she would be very impressed. “You look stunning,” she’d say, her voice smooth and confident. She’d circle around you, eyes appraising every detail of your costume, and you could tell by the way her eyes lingered on you that she was enjoying what she saw. “You always know how to turn heads.” She’d pull you close, her lips curling into a small smile as she whispered, “And you’ll turn mine tonight, too.”

Ambessa Medarda

Ambessa would be unapologetically intense in her reaction. Her sharp eyes would flicker over you, assessing every inch of your costume with a predatory gaze that made your heart race. “You’re dangerous,” she’d say, her voice deep and commanding, as if your appearance had just elevated you to something beyond ordinary. She’d step closer, her presence almost overwhelming as she lightly grazed your cheek. “No one else will compare to you tonight,” she’d whisper, her tone full of possessive heat. She’d pull you in for a kiss that would leave you breathless, a silent promise of what the night would bring.

Maddie Nolen

Maddie would immediately smile, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “Wow, you look amazing,” she’d say, her voice warm and full of admiration. She’d instantly walk up to you, giving you a playful look. “You’re going to have to fend off all the other admirers now,” she’d tease, though it’s clear she only has eyes for you. She’d probably touch your arm or your waist, her hands lingering just enough to make you feel her affection. “Lucky for me, I’m the one who gets to be with you tonight.”

Lest

Lest’s reaction would be a mix of curiosity and delight. Her cat-like eyes would widen as she took in your costume, and her tail would flick with excitement. She’d approach you slowly, her hands almost instinctively reaching out to trace the fabric or any details of your costume. “Mmm, you’re quite the sight,” she’d purr, her voice soft and sensual. “I might have to be careful not to get too distracted by how irresistible you look.” She’d give you a playful wink, her feline nature making her extra touchy-feely as she leaned in, her nose brushing against yours in a gesture that felt more affectionate than anything.

[thesilmarillionblog]

𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 ── Part 6

Click here to read the first part.

Summary: In the hopes that things would improve between you, you choose to lose your virginity to your friend Dean Winchester because you have been in love with him madly for a long time. However, he doesn't feel the same about you.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Warnings: +18! (Minors DNI), SMUT!, soft, fluff, sick reader, soft dean, fingering, teasing, intimacy, love is in the air, confessions, naive sam, awkward and touch starved dean

Word Count: 14.9K (huuuuhh)

A/N: English is not my first language.

Song: 'Deathbeds' by Bring Me the Horizon Click for Series Masterlist!

When you said those three words in the most forceful yet gentle way possible, Dean's eyes widened in surprise. There was a long, heavy stillness now. As you recovered your calm, you realized you were holding your breath and examining every facial expression. Only surprise was there. His lips parted as though he was looking for something to say as you let go of his hand and turned around, tidying up the mess. Your heart was racing so hard that you didn't want him to say anything at all. All you wanted to do was flee and scream because you felt foolish and reckless.

Since the night you allowed him to touch you, you have done everything in your power to keep your friendship intact and stay healthy. It was absurd how simple it was to sever your relationship with just three words. They were sincere, though. There was no turning back now. In reality, touching each other in the most intimate way could never repair what you had broken down. You had feelings for him for a long time, but it would be simpler if you had no feelings at all.

Even though you repeatedly reminded yourself that you didn't want Dean to treat you like any other hookups, you didn't want that. You wanted to feel taken care of and at least somewhat liked by him. You wanted to be special for him and get intimate. 

You could now see, though, how self-centered you truly were about it. Even though you didn't intend to be truthful with him about your little secret, you should have been honest from the very beginning. Without hesitation or second-guessing, you told him how you truly felt, and there was no way to undo what had happened. With your heart pounding, you quickly walked to Sam's side after gulping without looking back at Dean. You believed you were having a heart attack or something because of how quickly and powerfully your heart was beating against your chest. 

Your coworker looked at Dean and you strangely, as though she had detected something, and Sam was staring at you both with the same bizarre look. However, when he saw Dean's hand covered in bandages, his face shifted.

As you assisted him in getting up with Dean, you questioned, “How did you even manage to hurt yourself like this?” You didn't look back at Dean, but you could feel his gaze on you. 

“I guess I was being a little too confident,” he moaned painfully. You nearly laughed when you saw Sam's puppy face. He said, “Dean, are you okay?”

There was a strong desire to flee without turning around. You could throw up there because your heart was beating so hard. You were feeling nauseous from that overwhelming feeling. In fact, you were feeling ill. It didn't matter if being honest was important; you were now doomed. You were lying to yourself; it was completely unnecessary for you to display such bravery by saying it. Saying such things in a hectic situation was easy, but how could you now look Dean in the eye from now on?

You may wish to think about moving as soon as you can. To avoid Dean, it would really be preferable if you spent the night with Robb. God, why would he ever come to the hospital and say things like that to make you feel weak and make you say such things? He should have understood how his words and behavior affected you.

“I'm...alright,” Dean murmured quietly. His voice was a quiet whisper as he spoke. You legs felt shaky.

“You both are okay, but careful with the wounds,” you managed to murmur before Sam carefully stood up. 

As Dean assisted him, Sam grumbled in a concerned tone, “You look horrible. You're working a lot nowadays. It is important that you take some time to yourself, right? Just to rest a little at least. If you quit working, the whole country won't just die. You know, you can come over tonight. Dean would prepare dinner for the three of us. Well, I can invite Ruby, too. We haven't spent a day together in a while.”

You've never felt more miserable in your life than when Dean looked at Sam. Even though you heard noises coming from Dean's room when Jo was with him weeks earlier, you thought you would never feel so bad. You were wrong. That was the worst. Without attempting to ascertain Dean's thoughts at the moment, you said hastily, “You're... right, but I'll be working some time more, and I'll think I'll have some rest afterwards.”

Sam waited for Dean to break the tension and convince you, although you did look a bit uncomfortable. When Dean didn't speak or interrupt, Sam was perplexed, which made things a little awkward. Sam gave a sigh. “Okay. You are welcome to visit whenever you like. I'm just saying, Don't ignore my texts.”

“Thanks, Sammy,” you said, attempting to lighten the situation by caressing his wound, but he made a sound of pain. It was impossible to change the atmosphere between you and Dean, but you hurried away as if you had been saved when you were called in to see another patient. 

After some time, you sipped some water, but your stomach hurt and your throat still felt dry. Your legs were shaking uncontrollably, yet it wasn't because you were hungry or too exhausted to stand. You tried to convince yourself that there was nothing wrong with your body and that you just needed to get some sleep after washing your hands and face.

Though you were ready to exit the restroom, you started throwing up. You attempted to hang on somewhere, but the bitter taste made you gag more. This time, you found yourself crying when you began to throw up. Perhaps it was a result of all the stress you were under due to the past few days. You simply felt dreadful. 

You heard someone say, “Oh my god,” as she placed a hand on your back and massaged it as though she wanted to soothe you. “Are you okay?” 

You nodded hastily, embarrassed, trying to ignore the stinging pain in your gut. “I am.” As you proceeded to puke into the closet, tears streamed down your cheeks. Your colleague's hand continued to touch your back as your knees brushed the dirt off the floor. You were too focused on yourself to pay attention to the questions she was asking.

“Are you pregnant?”

When you attempted to tidy up yourself, you stated, “No!.”

“Really,” she said in a worried voice as she glanced at your lower abdomen. “You were just doing okay, you know.”

“Really, I'm not pregnant. I'm sure,” you attempted to persuade her. “Not much happened recently. I suppose I'm just a little unwell.”

While others entered the restroom and departed after they gave you odd looks, she nodded and helped you with cleaning up. “Are you hungry?”

“No,” you sobbed softly, embarrassed by your body's reaction to Dean's overwhelming presence. You were aware that it was only psychological. You were already exhausted and were making every effort to suppress everything that had been causing you days of anxiety. At last, your body had surrendered and rejected your indifference.

You said, “I guess I just need some break,” before she asked any more questions. “I shouldn't have put in so much work in the first place.” She gave you a short nod and rubbed your arms.

“Well, I suppose not. You should not overexert your body, as you are aware of this. Your eyes beg you to go for a nap. How you were able to keep upright for so long is a wonder.”

“Yeah.” You smiled gratefully at her. “Thank you. I believe I can handle myself now.”

Taking a quick glimpse in the mirror and realizing how pale your face appeared, you washed your mouth and face to get rid of the awful taste and smell. She gave you more advice, but shortly after, she exited the bathroom while you cleaned your face and agreed with all she said. You were hoping to take a seat on the floor and unwind for a while. But you knew that all you needed to do was return home and shut yourself off from the outside world.

Dean wasn't chatting as much as he used to, so Sam complained a little on the way home. When Dean reminded him not to get carried away on hunts, he sounded harsh, but Sam ignored his erratic attitude. The ache in Sam's abdomen was making him goran in pain. God, that would take a while to heal. Fortunately, Dean would recover soon enough. His hand was going to heal far more quickly.

Given how silent Dean stayed, Sam couldn't help but think about how you two had been acting somewhat strangely this past weekend. He pondered; maybe Sam didn't see it properly since something happened between you two. Sam followed Dean as he sat on the coach, seeing him put his fingertips to his lips and lose himself in contemplation, dwelling on things Sam couldn't anticipate. Sam pretended to be fiddling with his phone as he watched his big dumb brother play with his lips and ruminate.

In the meantime, Dean pondered over the three words you told him as though they were the simplest to utter aloud. Dean's heart constricted as he continued to reflect on the day he unknowingly took your virginity and made the first move. He was trying to figure out what was going on between you and him by replaying the same scenarios in his mind, but he was drowning in uncertainty and a flood of emotions.

He was no longer able to recall why he had made the first move weeks before. It didn't make sense to blame each other for ruining your friendship. Now it could not be fixed. In separate ways, each of you was guilty. But why he didn't care about that at all was beyond Dean's grasp. 

Dean became irritated with himself for not seeing you clearly when he recalled certain specific memories involving you. Perhaps it was always obvious—you were obvious—but he had inadvertently missed it. The three words that left your lips and the way you placed them into expressions without hesitation were replayed in his head while Dean's fingertips brushed his lips and he took a long, deep breath. He was aware that you were always fearless when hunting and all, but he thought that since you avoided getting to know people, you would be afraid to let them in.

Dean believed you.

It would be foolish of him to try to disbelieve you. You were the most genuine and kind person he had ever come across. He smiled quietly to himself, knowing that you had given yourself to him without expecting anything in return and that he was genuinely loved. Though impulsive and free-spirited, Dean was different this time. He felt no regret for it. But he could not yet pinpoint what it was that was making him both excited and annoyed.

“What's wrong with you?” Dean jumped when Sam spoke suddenly. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he was unaware of it. 

When Dean noticed he was bleeding his lips from playing them so wildly, he scowled. His body stiffened. “Nothing.”

Sam was obviously unaware of the situation between you and Dean, but it wasn't because Dean was unwilling to divulge information until certain issues had been handled. He didn't want to add to the awkwardness of the situation.

“Don't lie to me,” Sam grumbled bitterly. “It's obvious something is wrong with you.” In annoyance, Dean rolled his eyes. “With you and Y/N, actually.”

As soon as Dean heard your name, his body tightened, and he flexed his muscles while staring at Sam with his arms folded across his chest. Sam was getting ideas from his silence that were difficult to verbalize. After all, you were friends for a year. However, Sam was aware of his big brother's greedy need to date and sleep with each woman he encountered. Sam breathed, disturbed by the pictures that flooded his head. He had to ask and needed Dean to say no, even though he wasn't eager. 

Dean's eyes widened as Sam put a hand on his forehead as if he wasn't ready to hear the answer, and he asked, “Did you sleep with her?” 

He warily observed his big brother's facial reactions and the way his lips were parted to defend himself, but Dean's words remained in his mouth. Dean finally began, “Why-” but Sam groaned in annoyance as he realized he was right about everything that he thought was inappropriate. 

Sam muttered, “I can't believe you,” in disbelief. He was aware that his brother had always been a playboy and Casanova, but he had hoped that things wouldn't work out with you as well because Sam knew you were looking for something deeper and serious as Dean was in passionate relationships only that didn't last very long. Sam simply knew that Dean hadn't been looking for love lately, even though his brother wasn't that incapable of loving someone or anything. Dean just wasn't searching for anything serious. Sam knew that.

You were different than him about that for sure.

Dean's stance changed as he inhaled deeply, feeling more like the younger brother. His uncertain expression faded. He finally stated, “We are not some goddamn teenagers,” in a firm voice, while dismissing Sam's remark. 

Once Dean basically confirmed what had happened between you and him, Sam folded his arms over his chest as if he were about to deliver a lecture. “What the hell, Dean? We've been friends with her for a while. More than a year, in fact.”

“And?” Dean almost said something even more offensive, like “was being for a year supposed to stop his dick,” but he restrained himself. 

“What do you mean 'and'?” Sam shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment. “Are you the cause of her recent behavior? It's not her style to work that hard, disregarding interactions and other things.”

Dean had been thinking about the same issues. Of course. But Sam's words struck him hard, causing him to squirm uneasily on the coach. He remained silent and wished Sam would simply stop bothering him. He needed to think about what he should do going forward to avoid making things worse. 

“Possibly.” Dean didn't deny.

“Did you friendzone her?”

“What the heck is it supposed to mean?” Irritated at the word but unsure of its exact meaning, Dean snapped at last. It sounded neither pleasant nor lovely. It was quite hostile. He became irritated at Sam's tone, which suggested that Dean had done something wrong. 

Sam added clumsily, “I mean, you know afterwards,” while Dean waited for him to finish speaking and glared at him. “Did you discuss it? Was she comfortable with it being a one-night stand?” As if he were a teenager, Sam flushed when he spoke about you and Dean in that way. He wondered if Dean had discussed it with you at all. 

“It wasn't a one-night stand,” Dean immediately opposed his brother's hint. 

“What was it then?”

“Not a one-stand obviously,” Dean said in defense. He hoped that his brother would stop asking questions about things that were no longer of interest to him. Dean declined to divulge your little secret or the events of Halloween night to Sam. It was about you and him, and Dean needed to figure it out by himself.

“It was just heat of the moment, then?” Sam made a suggestion, as if he wanted to help his brother open up and understand him. Given how much you've been ignoring him and Dean lately, Sam would not discuss this with you given that he plainly believed you wouldn't be keen to talk about Dean at this time. If you wanted to, you would talk about it already.

“No.”

Sam sighed and acknowledged that his brother wouldn't be quite so easy to break at this time. “For gods sake, Dean,” he mumbled. He wondered if Dean even knew what he was doing. “How do you manage to do complex things when they are so easy to resolve?”

Dean replied, “You wouldn't get it,” with seriousness.

Taking a few snacks from the kitchen, Sam remarked, “Well, I think you're the one who don't get a shit.” The tiny struggle that his brother was experiencing almost made him chuckle. But given what a mess you were, it was readily apparent that Dean was the reason you were suffering. “Does she like you, or do you even like her?”

After turning his head away from Sam, Dean got up and left for his room to avoid getting any more questions and to give himself some space to thoroughly think about how to handle this matter. While his brother was clearly perplexed and waited for a response, Dean remained silent. Still, Dean was also in a difficult situation. After everything that had transpired between you, he wasn't okay with the idea of tossing you away. It was never his intention and would never be.

He cared about you.

As he sat on the bed with his phone in his hands, his pulse was pounding, recalling how you expressed yourself when you truly told him you loved him. Dean was aware of your earnestness. He was too shocked to talk when you left him stunned in the hospital, but now he felt different, as though the purity of your words had somehow roused something within of him. It was incredible how you could always get under his skin in every manner with only basic words.

Knowing that you cared for him for a long time and that your love for him was so gentle that he didn't even notice it until you finally spoke your true feelings made Dean chuckle. He felt compelled to look after you because he felt a stronger, warmer, and deeper connection even though he had taken your virginity. It wasn't about that night. 

Dean liked you.

The reason he took you that night was more than just intense lust. He wanted to touch you, kiss you, and be with you all the way. Even if he was unaware of it when he was with Jo, something had clearly changed in him after that night. Perhaps his intention was to hide something and pretend that you were the same. It wasn't.

You remained the same, but he had changed.

Putting down his phone, Dean undressed and decided to take a shower, as if that would solve. He wanted a little more time to think about you while taking a cold shower. Dean thought about what he should do, knowing that he would have to wait until your shift ended. It would be disappointing if he chose not to speak up with the same courage that you did. You were both grownups, after all.

After driving home, you got inside and promptly put everything you had on the coach. Every part of your body hurts, including your back and stomach. You could no longer throw up, but there was a revolting taste in your mouth that nearly made you puke with disgust. There was nothing left in your body, though. Before taking the medicine, you tried your best to eat something. Once you entered your room, you were under the covers without even changing your clothes. Though you thought you would be fine sooner, your legs were trembling a little.

In simple terms, your body had finally given up because you were so overwhelmed by all that had happened over the past weeks. You reasoned that vomiting might be a metaphor. Your body was working hard to release all of the stress and negative energy that you had long disregarded. After all, you were a nurse. Nobody understood your physique as well as you did.

You tried to persuade your body to go to sleep by closing your eyes, but your mind tricked you by keeping you preoccupied with Dean. You couldn't get him off your mind. His eyes, his touch, his smile, his voice, his face... You couldn't help but yearn for him. That was sick. You needed him so badly.

You used to look after him while he was unwell. You were happy to care for him and did everything in your power to help him recover, not because it was your job. You wanted him to know that anyone could love him and that Sam wasn't the only one who cared for him. You never performed them in order to receive something in return.

But it hit you in the gut when you realized you had no one to look after you. You started weeping in bed as soon as your eyes began to well up. You were unsure of whether you sobbed because you were sick, lovesick, or because of Dean, or because you were in dire need of compassion and no one was there to provide it. It didn't matter why. One by one, you wept for each one.

In order to call Dean right now, you wish you hadn't told him you loved him. You wanted him to come over and stay with you until you felt better. You had to deal with things on your own, whether you had the energy or not, because you had done the most ridiculous thing in your life—telling him you loved him. Your body failed you even if you took several medications.

You were so overcome by your feelings and weary of crying that your frail body finally gave way to sleep. Even though your body ached, all you could think about was Dean.

Dean realized you must have returned home by now after keeping himself occupied with his car and weaponry. Since the morning, you have been on his mind constantly. Even when he peed, ate lunch, and in other situations, he couldn't stop thinking about you. You seemed to be in his veins in some way. However, Dean didn't whine about it. Dean was pacing the room, unsure whether or not he should have texted you. He occupied himself with his searching after taking a shower and made the decision to meet you.

After taking a long breath, he put his hand on his hip and straightened his posture before calling you. Even though he wasn't sure what to say, he planned to have a proper conversation with you and to offer eating dinner outside. You used to stop by several nice locations months ago. He hoped you were hungry.

Once Dean saw that you weren't very eager to pick up his calls, he scowled while he waited for your answer. Nevertheless, he patiently waited for you since he didn't want you to believe that he was reaching out to you in vain. You still avoided responding even though he was stubborn.

Whispering to himself, “Come on,” he waited. His uncertainties vanished and were replaced by curiosity. Dean pondered if you were cutting off him from your life entirely, ignoring him, or being too embarrassed to answer his calls. That would be ridiculous. Dean didn't believe he had done anything to encourage you. You were doing okay up until now.

Dean was abruptly irritated by your choice to tell him how you felt and to not allow him to react, making all of the decisions on your own and leaving everything up in the air. With a decision made, he exited his room, placed his phone in his pocket, and got into his car. Since the morning, he had been experiencing some worry and a slight lack of confidence. But suddenly it was all gone. Everything would be resolved once you could work things out and have a straightforward conversation.

When Dean noticed that every light was on, he patiently waited outside before calling you again. He wondered whether you were deliberately making him irritated by being so insistent. As he unlocked the door with the keys you handed him a month ago, Dean took a deep breath and felt proud of the trust you placed in him. That trust was something he prayed Robb or no one else did not have. He desired it all for himself. Sharing was something Dean disapproved of.

Feeling like a teenager, Dean's heart pounded wildly on his chest as he entered your house. You were nowhere to be seen in his sight. Disturbed, he called your name while acting awkwardly. Hiş voice came out softer than he had anticipated and refrained from calling you in an affectionate manner, with lovely nicknames. He had no idea how much he wanted to establish a fresh relationship with you until now.

As soon as Dean saw your bag on the coach, he became stiff and worried. He wasn't happy with the silence. With a brief glance around, Dean came inside your room without knocking. There was nothing to hear in the home except the creaking of the door. He observed your sleeping body after he turned on the lights.

A ghostly smile came on Dean's lips as he took a big breath, his heart so full of relief. But as soon as he saw you were humming in your sleep, his smile vanished. You weren't sleeping peacefully; it was apparent. You appeared to be in agony or suffering from nightmares.

With a swift motion, Dean sat down on the bed and instantly placed his palms on your forehead to take your body temperature. You weren't okay, but it wasn't like you were burning. He placed his palm on your warm cheek again and gently said your name to wake you.

Your eyelids slowly opened as you felt rough hands dancing across your flesh, but initially you were unable to see who was caressing you. Yet you recognized that sweet voice. You searched for strength as you started to come to your senses.

“Dean?” you eventually managed to whisper. You groaned in disdain at the irritating taste in your throat. Your body and spirit had finally been overtaken by the illness. Your body felt very little at that time, and you were so weak and lazy. The air was so chilly that your fingers clenched around the blanket.

This time, he mumbled, “Hey, sweetheart,” with worry. You had no idea if your mind was playing ridiculous games with you. Perhaps that was your brain's way of safeguarding you to feel a bit better. You tried to open your eyes, but you were unable to tell the difference between hallucinations and the real world.

You just mumbled something, but your own ears couldn't even hear it.

He said, “I've been calling you for hours,” at least to get you to wake up and start a conversation. “Have you gotten cold? Why didn't you give me a call?”

Despite Dean's best efforts to get you to speak, you only sighed in a whisper and fell back asleep. Remembering how professional you were when he was ill in the past, he felt powerless and was unsure of what to do at the moment. But he could tell you were cold just by the way you looked. Raising Sam taught him things that only parents and doctors should have known. It must have been brought on by working so hard without resting.

He called your name again, but this time you fell asleep again without even letting out a small moan. You gasped as he gently stroked your face and then pushed the cover away. “Come on,” he replied, insistent that you didn't nod off.

You sighed, “I'm cold,” while refusing to let grip of the blanket's corner. You woke up when the cold touched your flesh.

It broke your heart to see Dean on the bed as you opened your sore eyes. The instant your eyes met, the air tightened up. Your hand stopped struggling, and you were unable to stop yourself from crying again. Tears caused your vision to become unclear.

He gently explained, “You've got fever,” and set the blanket aside. “Have you eaten something today?”

You gazed at his attractive face while your tears continued to moisten your burning cheeks. “I don't know,” you replied. Right now, the thought of eating something makes you feel nauseous. All you wanted was to get into bed and go to sleep, to doze off till you healed.

“You haven't eaten anything, then. All right,” he said and attempted to assist you in standing up by placing his hand on your arms. Even though you knew he wasn't being harsh or anything, his hands seemed heavier. You started crying uncontrollably because you felt vulnerable. Dean was talking to you as though you hadn't declared your love hours before, and your back was already hurting a lot.

He whispered, “Why are you crying now?” curiously. His fingertips hovered over your arms as though to soothe your body, but you were afraid that he had created something that would physically harm you. “Are you hurt somewhere?”

You just said, “I want to sleep,” while glancing at him. Your view was so vague that it was impossible to see his face properly.

The way you gazed at Dean with the big tears still streaming from your crimson eyes warmed his heart. He really wanted to calm you down, reassure you, and make you feel better, but he understood he had to deal with your body first. “Come on,” he said. “I'll prepare you the greatest soup ever, which will help you recover quickly, but first you should take a good, cold shower. The soup will be fantastic, I assure you.”

It didn't seem like Dean's attempt to brighten your mood was successful. You lowered your gaze and remained quiet, as though you were not listening to him. His question was abrupt: "Do you want me to help you shower?" He didn't make any nasty suggestions. Dean was just trying to figure out how to get you feeling better, and he was ready to do anything.

“What? No!”

You were worried about how serious he was now, and the thought of him helping you shower startled you up.

“Don't be childish. Regarding health and medical matters, there is no shame. You are more educated about this than I am,” he mumbled, overjoyed by your reaction. Even though Dean had already seen everything, he didn't say it to embarrass you even more. “Your fever has to be treated right now. And if you continue to act obstinate, you know, I'll have to take you to the bathroom myself.”

In order to persuade you, Dean spoke in a very serious tone. “Act more reasonably, as you are the nurse here and should know better.” Dean sighed as he saw your feeble figure and helped you get up, which you did not object to this time. The first thing you said was “Okay.” Now you stopped crying. “I can handle myself.”

You gave him a quick, shy glance, and Dean gave you a very suspicious look. “Good girl. While you take a quick shower, I will quickly cook a delicious soup for you. Don't make me check on you, okay?”

You whispered, “Alright,” as your body guided you to the bathroom. You indeed had to take a fast, cold shower. You couldn't help but feel a bit cheerful even though your head hurt. It felt so good to be cared for by him that you could be sick all the time.

After your brief shower, you stretched your muscles and finally put on your pajamas, feeling as though your bones had been renewed. The number of hours you slept without even changing your trousers was extraordinary. Dean was right. After your little shower, you've been feeling slightly better. The exhaustion was still present, though. Your eyelids couldn't stay open at all.

The kitchen was still being used by Dean. You had no energy at all, even though you really wanted to go there and talk to him. Your fingers were clenched around the blankets to keep your body warm as you began to tremble and you found yourself back in bed. You were cold. Your mind also calmed down and ceased ripping apart you with negative ideas about Dean while he was around. You were finally free of pain. Your body continued to unwind beneath the covers while he came to check on you and spoke to you, giving the impression that he wasn't mad at you or anything. The headache had almost gone away. You just needed to relax by getting some sleep.

From a distance, you could hear him calling your name, but you lacked the power to take action.

“Hey,” he grumbled. Dean arrived in your room with a cup of soup. “You're not sleeping yet. Not until you finish eating this miraculous soup. Are you aware of the amount of work I put into it?”

Knowing what he was going to do, you hugged the covers tightly. Your body shivered, and you moaned in protest as he pushed the blankets away, just as you thought he wouldn't be able to remove them from your hands this time. The smell of soup only made you scowl in disdain; it had no nice scent. You had no desire to ever eat something again.

“I just need some sleep.” You cringed at your sick tone.

After making you get up just enough to allow you to start eating your soup, Dean gently sat down next to you and placed the tray on his lap. He gave you a gentle push before your tired hands picked up the spoon, adding, “You just lay down nicely, sick nurse.” He did everything he could to cheer you up and start a conversation. Rather, he saw that your cheeks were flushed, which was adequately amusing.

As soon as the spoon reached your lips, you groaned in agony due to the extreme warmth. You didn't say anything to avoid coming out as ungrateful. “Sorry for that,” Dean said in a regretful whisper while blowing out the smoke a few times with an apologetic look. He didn't change his mind when you told him that you could handle yourself.

Every time he calmly blew the smoke before you ate, you saw that he had changed his clothes. Dean was wearing pajamas now as well. You pondered where he would be sleeping, and your heart melted at the idea of him spending the night with you. In order to prevent him from reading your face, you nibbled your inner cheeks and focused on the soup's flavor. It was really excellent. Dean was correct to create a miraculous soup that may accelerate your recovery from illness. You were already feeling better, even if you still had backache.

“Thank you, Dean.” You frowned and turned your head away from the spoon, refusing to consume the entire soup when you felt your nausea returning. “I

think that's enough,” you murmured timidly.

Thankfully, Dean placed the tray aside while you used tissue to wipe the corners of your lip. After displaying a few of your medications in his palm, he inquired, “Which one do you need to take? Since they do not have boxes, it is impossible to determine which one is helpful.”

Your cheeks flushed as you saw one of the pills you had been taking since the night with Dean in his hands, but you remained silent. At this time, you were relieved that he was rather naive. There was a pregnant silence in the room as you picked the right one, drank a glass of water, and then wrapped yourself with warm blankets once more. You instantly closed your eyes to keep from looking directly at Dean. As a result of Dean's crushing presence, your eyelids were firmly closed and your heart was racing.

You wanted to let him know how wonderful he was and how his compassion and sincerity made you feel better than you had in a long time. However, you were not allowed to utter any of those. You had so much you wanted to say at the moment, but you held it back out of shame and guilt. You turn away from Dean and pay close attention to his movements in the room, hoping he won't talk about what you told him and will pretend it never happened. If he couldn't love you back, you just wanted him to be this way forever. It meant the world to you that he was taking care of you in this way. It was quite adequate.

Dean immediately climbed into the bed after you had closed your eyes. Your body stiffened up, and your heart began racing as soon as you felt his weight on the bed. The way he affected you was embarrassing. But even though you knew it was only an act of kindness, it still made you unfulfilled and sad. Because you wished so desperately for him to feel the same way about you, it became a prayer. Your body longed for him—to experience his comforting presence and touch.

“Are you feeling better now?” The silence was disturbed by Dean placing his palm on your forehead to measure your temperature. Hearing his talk so near made your body shiver, and you could feel his hefty presence just behind you. You closed your eyes as though something would happen and he would leave. You could have broken at any time since your body was so rigid.

You muttered, “Yes,” as your back hurt like it was trying to prevent you from getting a good night's sleep. “Just a sore back. Overworking must be the cause.”

With a sudden connection, you gasped as his large hands began rubbing your back. You began moaning a bit with relaxation since the intense closeness of the situation was so overpowering. When Dean felt your tight body slowly letting go under his touch, his lips curved pleasantly. There was nothing sexual about the moment. Dean kept on massaging your back in the hopes that it might make you feel better.

After caressing your back enough, he moved to place his head directly behind yours and withdrew his hand. You realized you had shifted till your head was resting on his thick neck, and you wished he hadn't been listening to your heartbeats when he was so close. You felt safeguarded, but perhaps it was your sleep or the touch of him that made you impulsive. The moment was so lovely and delightful that it couldn't have been produced by the wildest dreams.

Dean's hard kiss on the back of your head caused your lips to parted. Once he smelled your hair, you were relieved you had showered. He said, “You smell so nice and fresh,” moving slightly to ensure that you both slept well.

Your body relaxed even more as you let your head drop back a bit more and kept your eyes closed as soon as his hand took yours into his warm ones. Your lips may brush across his chin if you make a small movement. You no longer wanted to sleep; all you wanted was to savor that moment of perfection indefinitely and to keep quiet about it. Your mind and soul had been craving that intimacy for months.

Both of your hands remained on your stomach as Dean's hand continued to touch your fingertips. His breathing caught your attention. The only sound in the room was the rain that had begun to fall outside. As Dean's hands continued to touch you in harmony, the calm sounds of the raindrops filled your entire being with fulfillment and a state of bliss more than the last time, as though each one were filling a hole in the pit of your soul.

You didn't know if it meant something for Dean. But that didn't matter. Whatever Dean was prepared to offer you, you were prepared to embrace it. As soon as your exhaustion gave way to sleep again and you sensed Dean getting closer, you knew it was time for a restful night's sleep.

After a long and pleasant sleep, you stretched your body in between sighs of delight. You smiled a bit as you felt Dean's hand on yours, thinking he was still asleep. Taking advantage of the fact that he didn't move behind you, you leaned your back on his chest a bit further.

“Good morning to you too,” Dean remarked abruptly in an amusing manner, causing you to jump and then freeze in shame.

You said, “Morning,” as if you hadn't just been brushing against his body.

“Slept well, I guess.” To check if you still had a fever, Dean touched your forehead and asked. Fortunately, you were fine. He was happy to be able to help you the way you deserved, and it filled his chest with pride.

“Yeah, thank you, Dean, for taking care of me.” As you thanked him for enhancing your mood in every manner while your mind considered saying different things. Dean, overcome with excitement, moved behind you so he could meet your gaze. Your muscles stiffened up once again as you worried about what was coming. Right now, you didn't want to talk at all.

When Dean moved, your hands were waiting on each side of you, hovering over your body. “I'm sorry,” he said softly, paying close attention to your eyes. As you considered what to say, you licked your dried lips. You were ready for rejection, but you wanted to keep yourself composed so that your friendship wouldn't end over something so... dumb.

“That night, I didn't want to upset you or hurt your feelings.” He said, “When I found out about... You know,” without bringing it up to avoid making you feel uncomfortable. “It didn't go...waste.”

You shook your head and mumbled, “Dean,” disturbed that he actually believed it to be a serious issue. He interrupted you before you could respond and continued.

He stated, “What's special to you is special to me as well,” in a firm tone.

With beseeching eyes, you murmured, “It's not special, I promise, I swear,” so that he would never feel guilty for something he was uninformed of. You alone made that choice. He was correct to hold you responsible for something he had no control over. You need to have apologized for it. “I never expected anything in return.” Even though your cheeks were flushed, you continued firmly, “I would never.” You understood that in order to mend your disagreements, you needed to have this talk.

He said, “I know, I know,” as if that wasn't what he was attempting to convey. “I just want you to know how pleased I am that it was me. It didn't go wasted, alright? Can you forgive me?”

“Of course.” You hurriedly answered with a sweet tone. “There is nothing to be forgiven,” and in an attempt to convince him of your sincerity, one of your hands instantly reached up and caressed his arm.

Your gentle touch caused Dean's eyes to soften and his body to relax. When he saw that you were panting deeply and that he was nearly on top of you, he gulped and licked his dry lips. His thoughts were swiftly superseded by other things. At last, his eyes ceased observing you as you chewed your lips. Dean made an effort to focus on your small talk.

The idea of going on a date with you made his heart race. Dean was ready to go all the way with you. He knew, however, that he should be doing it right. If he weren't a grown man, he would be blushing at the thought of your proclamation of love for him. He wouldn't talk about it until you were more comfortable and at ease with him. Dean knew you were a little shy right now. “Now that you're feeling better, would you like to go out tonight? With me?”

“For what?” you inquired naively. Your fingertips were gently massaging his biscep.

This time, Dean smiled when he saw your look of confusion. Whether or not it made you shy, it seemed like he had to start acting braver from now on. “A date?”

Your lips were parted in shock as your hands went down on his muscles. You continued to stare into his beautiful green eyes as you attempted to make sense of what he was saying so you wouldn't ridicule yourself in front of him. You weren't sure whether he meant something else, but he appeared to be rather serious. “What date?”

As Dean said, “I'm assuming we both are ready to make little amendments about our relationship,” he began to get closer to you. Already, the gentle motion of your fingertips on his arm was causing him to imagine inappropriate things. When you showed him how bold you were in your love declaration, Dean wouldn't dare to deny his own feelings for you. He was eager to see how well you two could work together since he had such affection for you.

Though your heart was racing, you couldn't help but feel a little insecure because of the way things had been going lately. If Dean was acting this way because he had taken your virginity without knowing about it, it would hurt you more than anything he had said. “Dean,” you finally muttered, “I would never force you into something you're not into just because of such an insignificant thing. It doesn't matter. I swear,” you said firmly, though your voice was a little cracked, but you needed him to believe you because you were totally honest about it. “I cannot undo what I have told you, but I'm willing to keep our... friendship maintained. I don't want to lose-”

Dean decided to disregard your words and let your actions speak more by capturing your lips and silencing you, even though you made earnest attempts to convince him that you were okay with moving forward as you have in the past. You were so shocked that you didn't move as Dean did his best to push his tongue into your mouth by trying to part your lips. His hand lightly brushed your neck in an attempt to elicit a response.

When you eventually regained consciousness, you parted your lips to allow his tongue to enter. As soon as you let him, his frantic kisses slowed and softened, like though you had just been into a fight and he had calmed down. When Dean intensified his seductive kisses, your uncertainties and fears vanished. It was hard to imagine if he would respond to your love in the manner you were hoping for. However, you choose to let him take control and wait patiently to see what comes next.

As he began shifting on the bed and gradually climbing on top of you, you felt hotter the softer your kisses became. He withdrew to let you both catch your breath, but he continued to stroke your burning lips with his reddened ones. Desire flooded your body as though you hadn't been sick the day before.

Dean, who was already having trouble resisting the need to shove himself between your thighs, briefly closed his eyes to gather himself. He didn't intend to do it. Well, for the time being. He moved slightly away to look at you. You were staring at him with such tenderness and love that Dean momentarily stopped breathing. You placed both of your hands from his arms to his neck and shifted your head slightly to signal him to come closer.

Without hesitation, he put his hands around your upper thigh and squeezed it tightly while giving your burning lips another intense kiss. His painful erection was going to take over his body and take over his entire being. He was losing control of himself because of your tender hands on his neck, your fingers following the veins there, your passionate kisses, the tiny moans on his lips, and your tiny movements beneath him. Dean began sucking your bottom lip as you did the same for his top lip after he gave you a gentle squeeze on your thigh to help himself relax.

You eagerly awaited him to place himself between your legs, but Dean seemed to be holding himself back by declining to initiate contact. You hesitated a bit, moved slightly beneath him, and lifted your hips without breaking the kiss, putting one of your hands on his back after gasping at how hard he was. You couldn't keep your hips in the air for very long, so you needed him to pin you down on the bed.

“Dean,” you moaned at last, unsure of how to ask without coming out as desperate.

When Dean heard your tiny moan and his name on your lips, he caught them again to stop you from pleading for more. He wasn't sure how long he could hold back from you. Of course, it wasn't the right moment, but you two were acting too eager to make him think properly. Dean wanted you to know how much you were hardening him with your kisses when he finally placed himself between your legs. After feeling his hardness on your clothed pussy, you moaned into his lips and carefully put one hand beneath his t-shirt to touch his stiff abs.

In order to give you the friction you wanted, Dean grabbed your hips and abruptly pressed himself between your legs, rubbing harder on your pussy. He was ready to strip you right away and shove his cock inside when he felt his body tense beneath your touch. That's not the proper moment, he reminded himself.

Dean moaned against your lips, “We need to calm,” but his body betrayed him, and he kept stroking himself frantically between your legs while stealing little moans from your lips. You were going crazy because of an unsolved pressure between your legs.

You asked innocently, perplexed by Dean's choice to not go all the way, “Why?” Didn't your kisses enough as a response to all that was going on? Your body didn't listen to him at all.

“We don't have to rush things,” he whispered into your mouth. Your lips were swollen and red. But you weren't being stopped.

Even though he was telling you that you didn't need to make any funny business right now, his body was telling you otherwise. In the hopes that Dean might change his mind, you instantly returned Dean's kisses. The idea of becoming something with him and the closeness of his touch sent your pulse pounding with thrill and happiness.

Although Dean's pulsating manhood was screaming for him to act at once, he maintained his composure. He was adamant about doing things correctly and decided not to shove inside of you by lowering your underwear. Instead, he drew himself back a bit and rubbed your clothed pussy through your pajamas to offer you that little ecstasy and calm your body's desires. He touched you gently there, and you immediately gasped with anticipation. Dean closely observed your facial expressions to determine if you were at ease or not. The corner of his lips twisted into a little smile once he was certain that, based on your pleased look, you were perfectly at ease with his touch.

Your pajamas' thin fabric allowed you to feel his large fingers there, slowly following the line of your pussy through it. You let out a little groan and raised your hips higher in order to establish rhythm. You bit your lip to avoid moaning aloud and demonstrating how desperate you already were. It was insufficient to provide you with the same pleasure he had bestowed upon you weeks before. You needed him to touch you there without any fabric between you.

You pleaded with yearning eyes, “Dean, please,” as your hand moved from his tempting abs to his arms, which were massaging you in that precise spot. Dean tormented you as his lips curved with delight and his motions grew even slower, as if he wanted you to beg for more once again. You showed your desire for him by raising your hips again.

“Is that not enough? Do you want more?”

“Yes,” you said, your cheeks flaming with embarrassment at how needy you were already under him while he was in control of his own body, unlike you.

Dean kept his motions steady while you pleaded with him with your eyes and words, looking at your lovely figure underneath him, your messy hair, and your exquisite scent to appreciate the moment more. You hesitate a moment before placing your shaky hands between his legs. You were simply touching and blinking your eyes while you examined his reaction. You weren't palming his erection, but just touching. It would have been so simple for him to thrust himself inside you at this very moment by lowering your underwear. Dean knew he needed to wait a little longer to make the sex flawless, as you deserved, even if he was on the verge of bursting due to the intense closeness he shared with you.

Under your gentle hands, he felt hard and heavy. You wondered why he hadn't already made a move. You didn't have to wait for anything. Dean couldn't help but groan in desire and thrust himself into your hand with a sudden motion that made you gasp in excitement. You were getting wetter by the sounds he let out than he made you with his fingers. His rough, lustful sounds were filling your heart with joy. You wanted him to see how much you wanted to make him feel the same things and to express your deep love for him.

Encouraged by the way he responded to your touch, you squeezed him firmly through his sweatpants, tightening your grip until he shivered and groaned deeply over you. Making him feel this way filled your heart with fulfillment, resulting in your heart racing madly on your chest. Right now, you could do anything he wanted.

Dean's hands grabbed the soft one that was massaging him there and put it behind his back so he wouldn't lose himself entirely. You gave him a perplexed expression. “We will not rush, alright?” he said after kissing you firmly on the lips.

You mumbled, “Fine,” not happy with his answer. You didn't want to appear overly eager, but it appeared that you were not successful. At the very least, you prayed he wouldn't stop rubbing you there.

“I'll give you what you need.”

When Dean dropped your sweatpants and underwear to reveal your dripping pussy to him, a little grin faded from your lips and was replaced by shock. While he was doing this, he continued to gaze at you, analyzing every facial expression to see whether you were actually comfortable. Even if he wouldn't fuck you right now, he would not leave you like this, unsatisfied.

You bit your lips in anticipation as you rested your hands on his back, your knees shaking with enthusiasm. With a little smirk, Dean said, “I wonder if it's wet there.” To lighten the mood, he teased you even though he knew he would find you drenched.

“Yeah, me too,” you said with a little smile, but the way he massaged your thighs extremely slowly, as though to drive you insane, made your legs tremble.

You groaned against his lips as soon as he palmed your pussy to determine your level of wetness. You were certain that your underwear must have been ruined since his fingers moved so effortlessly between your pussy lips. Although Dean was aware that you were leaking there, he was not expecting you to be this soaked. His cock begged to be released as it throbbed against boxers once more. He could slide into you without even making you come. You bit your lip hard as Dean's playful smile changed to one of seriousness and he inserted a finger abrubtly.

Dean moaned as he inserted his finger all the way inside of you, saying, “You feel so tight, so nice.” His praises made you feel at ease and prepared to take in everything he had in store for you. It wouldn't be hard for you to take him if he simply shoved himself into you now, lowering his boxers.

Whispering, “Just for you,” you placed your hands on his neck and ran them over his skin.

He smiled, and his pulse raced with delight at your response. He felt cherished and loved for based on the astounding compassion and affection in your hands. Dean wanted you to surrender yourself to him completely, given that he knew he desired you in every way.

You moaned into Dean's mouth just as he pressed his lips to yours and started to finger you properly, overjoyed by your response. Inside your lips, he hushed his own groans, although he struggled to maintain his composure. Dean was going crazy because of the way you touched his neck and drew him in closer to your mouth. You moaned loudly into Dean's lips as he pushed a second finger. His cock was pulsing with every sound you made now, because you used to be a bit quiet weeks earlier. He enjoyed the fact that while you were laying under him, at his mercy, you were unable to stop your moaning.

You gave him frantic kisses in return, as the pleasure he was giving you caused your walls to tighten around his fingers inside of you. His fingers worked in sync with his tongue in your mouth. You drew back and let out a loud gasp as your head hit the pillow and your back arched as Dean expertly worked with your clit with his thumb and curled his fingers.

He started to finger you more roughly after hearing your desperate moan. He was also biting and sucking your neck wildly, making marks there as if he intended to mark you as his.

He groaned, sensing that you were getting closer. “Do you want me to make you come?” You were failing, but you were holding back in order to prevent yourself from coming too quickly.

You pleaded, “Please, Dean,” sensing that you were getting close. Your body yearned for release, but you didn't want it to stop.

As his meaty fingers continued to torture you with pleasure, he moaned against your lips, “Will you take whatever I give you?”

“I will,” you said hurriedly. “Always.”

“That's my girl,” Dean praised you again and kissed you, his fingers moving more strongly inside you. You moaned loudly as you came around his meaty fingers when he curled them again and hit the perfect spot. You were unable to remain silent any longer due to the intensity of your orgasm. As he absorbed the screams you produced into his mouth, your legs were trembling and your pussy was throbbing.

Dean's other hand aggressively squeezed one of your tits through your t-shirt before placing it beneath your chin before his kisses became softer and relaxed as the effects of your orgasm wore away. This time, as you came to your senses, Dean gave you a very delicate, warm kiss and carefully lifted up your sweatpants and underwear.

The sensation of his smile on your lips made you smile too. Each part of your existence was at ease now. Though shyness started surfacing, that was the most amazing and intense thing you have ever experienced—not hurried, not in quiet, not in the darkness in any way—Dean was aware of the love you had for him and could now see you in the light of day in every possible way imaginable. You sighed with happiness as he withdrew; you could kiss him indefinitely, even if both of your lips were burning.

“You okay?” Taking you into his arms on the bed, Dean asked, panting heavily himself. He still had a noticeable erection, but you could see he wasn't going to go all the way just yet. That was very unfortunate.

With your head resting on his chest and your cheeks heating, you responded, “Very much,” putting your palm to your lips, not looking too cheerful or excited.

Dean was relieved to see you relaxed and doing much better than you had yesterday. Even though his erection still hurt in his sweatpants, he didn't care about it anymore. He embraced you more tightly and made his mind that he was excited to see whatever the future held for you. Dean was struck by the way his heart pounded while you were still panting heavily like a leaf in his arms. The feeling itself was something he didn't want to lose.

After such agonizing weeks, you were now lying on top of him again, closing your eyes this time to savor the precious moment. He didn't say the same three words to you, which you didn't expect already because it wasn't that significant. He had already done so for you; you were truly touched by his kindness, his care for you last night, and—above all—the way he expressed himself via the actions he took. You were fine with using the same three words over and over again. You merely wanted that he never depart from you and continue to care for you in this way.

Dean's phone began to ring shortly after you woke up. You two had to go back to sleep. You didn't have the energy to get up, even though his phone kept ringing. This is how you could sleep forever. Even though your back pain was almost gone, you still wanted to take a little more time to just unwind. You would never again work so hard.

After gently placing you on your side on the cushions, Dean climbed across your body to retrieve his phone from the table next to the bed. Your slumber began to wane as soon as you felt his weight on you, and you yawned and slowly opened your eyes. Dean grumbled and eventually picked up his phone. “Sorry,” he said.

“What happened?” you said, wiping your eyes as you wrapped blankets over your cold body. Your body tenses up at the sound of Sam's voice, and you instantly shut your mouth. Your cheeks flushed at the thought of being heard by him. Dean offered you a wink and a side smile as he listened to Sam, finding your silence cute.

When Sam heard a drowsy voice on the phone, he blinks. All of a sudden, he lost his words. With a bewildered tone, he said, “Are you with Y/N?” He was shocked to learn that Dean met you after spending much of his time in front of the mirror. He was plainly mistaken when he believed his older brother had spent the night with someone else.

“Yeah,” he said. Sam rolled his eyes, but he was unable to contain his chuckle at his brother's haughty and joyful tone.

“You know I can't deal with all the shit out here myself, right?” Sam sighed and asked. He had to ruin your moment even if he didn't want to. Sam pondered whether you two had started dating.

Sam actually pictured you and Robb together because you both had long-standing friendships and similar occupations in the same area. He was unaware that his brother was already eyeing you, and vice versa. He couldn't see the big picture given that he was blind. He heard Dean sigh heavily as Sam went on with the problems he and his brothers had to deal with.

He eventually responded, “Alright, alright, Sam,” in a composed tone. “On my way.”

Since Sam's wounds were still fresh and he needed to take care of himself, you questioned, “Is everything alright?” worried that something had happened to him.

“It's nothing.” Dean stretched his muscles and looked at your body. “He's just being whiny about dealing with werepires, witches, and other strange things without me.”

You shifted on the bed and said, “You both are still wounded,” as Dean stood up and began stripping in front of you to change. You instantly looked down at the bed, embarrassed that you didn't know how to react when he stripped in front of you. You doubted Dean was feeling bashful about the sudden thickening of the air.

“It's alright,” he calmly said. He looked to see whether you had been watching him, but he saw that you were fiddling with the sheets. “Just regular things.”

You realized that you had never seen each other truly naked since the first time, when you were both wearing costumes and it was dark, when you heard him take off his t-shirt. You have never laid eyes on each other's bodies properly in daylight. You felt nervous at the idea. There were moments when you could see his muscles in the upper body or when he was hurt in his belly, but you didn't glance elsewhere except at his wounds to avoid taking advantage of the circumstance. But now you wanted to see him.

“You missed the whole show, I'm just saying.” As he grabbed and put on his shirt and jeans, Dean winked.

“Is there anything I can do?” you said, smiling slightly at him.

“There is, indeed. Just have your breakfast, remember to take your medicine, and get more sleep. In order for us to have the dinner that we discussed outside tonight, you must regain your strength, okay? So that's the best you can do at the moment.” Dean's tone was quite serious. He was ready to leave. He didn't stay a little longer so you could have breakfast together, which made you a bit upset. But you were satisfied with what you had. Everything that had happened since yesterday night was beyond comprehension, and it was already too much.

You nodded and watched him adjust his clothes again before you got out of bed. “Okay,” you said. You needed a second shower.

You both gazed at each other anxiously, unsure of what to do. Awkwardness suffused the atmosphere. You didn't know what to say to break off the silence since you weren't sure what you two were exactly. Dean just had a similar expression to yours when he glanced at you. “Say hi to Sam from me,” you finally said, but you cringed at your own words.

Dean gave you a strange look as you waited anxiously after he got his phone and put everything else in his pockets and then examined his clothes. “Alright,” he muttered back.

Disturbed by his own strange actions, Dean gathered himself and confidently walked up to you, kissing you on the lips. From the way your lips became crimson and warm, he realized how much he really liked kissing you. The kiss was enhanced by your nervousness, and the way you react to him with the same fervor was adorable. Dean hoped his actions spoke louder than words, although he didn't put it into words. He thought you wouldn't be into the friends with benefits thing, which he wasn't into either, obviously, not with you.

When Dean withdrew after the firm kiss that had warmed your heart, you glanced at his bandaged hand again to make sure he was okay. As you carefully examined his hand and gave it a mild massage, he stated, "You're not going to work today, right?"

“No way.”

“Good.” Dean said, “Just have some rest,” taking your hands in his. “I'll call you when I'm done.”

“Okay. Tell Sam to take care of his wounds. He must also get plenty of rest in order to recover rapidly.”

Dean added hastily, “Don't worry about that,” and then he was gone.

You exhaled deeply as soon as he left your house, and your palm paused on your chest to listen to your heartbeat. You were astonishingly well, as if you weren't even sick, in contrast to yesterday. You felt as though a lot of energy had been poured into your soul, and you smiled broadly to yourself. You considered every aspect of your time with Dean as you prepared a delicious breakfast for yourself to further savor the experience. You reminisced on how he touched, kissed, hugged, and cared for you. No one could have touched you the way he had.

Remembering how he wanted to go farther with you and how you couldn't stop moving when cutting a tomato, you giggled this time. Though you felt awful about it yesterday since it made you sick and you thought it wrecked everything, you were happy with your declaration of love. You could speak those three magical words into his ear forever.

As you considered what to wear, you thought about what dinner you would be having this evening. Since you were either at work or chasing ghosts or monsters with him, you were never able to wear the outfits you bought when you fell in love with him months ago. It appeared like you were going to spend those hours contemplating what to wear and other things until Dean gave you a call.

When Dean called and said he would be there in fifteen minutes, you were so preoccupied with what to wear and worried that it would be too much to put on a dress that you took your head between your hands, powerless to act, helpless. You had plenty of time to think things through, yet you were unable to effectively manage the time you had. Choosing the most modest of them, you brushed your hair aggressively and quickly. You wish you were as fast as you were at the hospital.

Dean was patiently waiting for you while leaning back against his car and placing his hands on his chest. Since he had left your house, he had been thinking about you, which was causing him a little stress at the moment. He wanted to proceed with things as you deserved. Sam, you, and him spent a lot of time together, but this time, going out with you was different. That meant something, even though you didn't say as much to each other. It was your first date.

Dean shifted into a more relaxed stance, clearing his throat and placing his hands in his pockets. He stopped resting back against his car and smiled at your delighted figure as soon as you opened the door. You appeared little beneath your oversized jacket as you drew near.

You walked up to him and said, “Sorry, Dean,” in an apologetic manner. You attempted to be calm so that you wouldn't be distracted by his attractive, lengthy form. “Have you been waiting for long?” He looked awfully good.

As soon as Dean responded, “No, I just...” Your legs were already trembling a little, so you hurriedly opened the door yourself without waiting for him to do it for you or at least give you a hug. Confusion seized Dean's lips as he carefully closed the door. Your excitement and hasty movements made him smile and shake his head.

In order to avoid becoming chilly and ruining your entire week, you were clinging to your large brown vintage jacket. “How is your hand feeling now?” you asked in a tone of concern as soon as Dean put his bandaged hand on the steering wheel. You saw that the bandage had previously been renewed.

Dean chuckled and stretched his fingers to indicate that he was okay. “Yeah, it is,” he responded. “Have you rested enough?”

“Yes, I've got better. I suppose it was all due to my extreme tiredness.” You looked at his flawless side profile and murmured again, “Thank you, Dean. For taking care of me, for making me feel better.”

Dean winked at you and replied, “Don't mention it,” pleased that you told him he did well. “My pleasure.”

In contrast to what you expected, Dean sat down next to you rather than across from you when you first got to the location where you, Ruby, Sam, and Dean occasionally hung out. Since it was already heated inside, you hurriedly removed your jacket. Your big brown jacket and long dark green dress must have made you appear a bit silly.

In order to avoid giving himself a hard time, Dean moved his eyes away after he realized they were locked onto your deep, delicious cleavage. His wicked eyes were literally twitching due to your skin, and his brain was sending messages all the way between his legs. His nose was flooded with your delicate scent as soon as you removed your jacket. Your skin and the way you looked in general were flawless. Dean moved slightly in the seat and pressed his hand on the head of your seat. When Dean stated, “It's pretty cold outside nowadays; you must be very careful,” you were reminded of your sickness.

You murmured, “It's actually quite hot inside.” No matter what Dean thought, you probably wouldn't take off your jacket if it got even a little cold since you've never cherished cold weather.

"Oh, yeah?” Dean said with a chuckle, wetting his lips and arching his eyebrows. He became aware that he had never previously seen you wearing a dress like this. Dean's heart melted as you smiled tenderly at him, and he couldn't resist gently touching your arms.

You shuddered a little at Dean's abrupt, gentle touch on your arm and teased him, “Plus, you would be there to take care of me, right?” It should be illegal since he looked so handsome.

Dean said, delighted by your playful behavior, “Seems like someone got used to being taken care of already.”

Your heart began to behave normally around him as the tension between you lessened, even if you were still a little anxious. You told Dean about your college days and the times you witnessed the most ridiculous and absurd patients you saw in the hospital while you were eating dinner in peace. Dean also talked about the old, bittersweet days with Sam, which melted your heart. You told him everything good about him when he got a little critical of himself.

Fortunately, Dean showed consideration by not inquiring about your confession, your feelings for him, or the precise beginning of your feelings. You would feel quite uneasy and less confident because of it. The date was really different, yet it was also just like every other lovely time with him. There were situations when you both couldn't stop touching one another while chatting.

It was difficult to resist touching him. You were already accustomed to that as well. Dean's kind and passionate strokes had already become addictive to your body. It went really well, even though you thought it may have gone a little worse because of the anxiety you had been feeling. At the beginning, you were somewhat too shy, but Dean helped you start acting more like yourself.

You didn't even notice how quickly the time went by since you were eating a meal side by side and touching each other while you chatted and revealed more intimate details about lives. Dean's smile was contagious, and you felt your heart skip a beat when you saw how joyful and natural he was. His demeanor also inspired you to speak even more. It was already midnight.

The physical distance between you as he drove was a bit agonizing, as you had become used to spending hours sitting by his side. You wanted to be close to each other to forget about the times you were apart, and you were basically free to touch each other as you wanted. When Dean called your name, you leaped. Dean halted the car, but you were unaware that you had arrived.

“That was a very enjoyable night,” you said timidly, looking out and unsure of what to say. “Thanks for the dinner.”

You waited for his answer while licking your lips. You smiled sincerely at him and idly fiddled with the hanger of your shoulder bag. Dean's mouth opened, but he seemed to be looking at you as if he were pondering what exactly to say at this moment. He gave you the kind of glance that made him look as if he wanted to pause time and enjoy this sincere moment.

“My pleasure. I had a great time,” he added, grinning at you. Abruptly, “Are you working tomorrow?” he said.

“No,” you shook your head in response. “I'll be off from work for at least three more days. I informed them that I was still feeling bad and somewhat worn out.”

Dean exhaled a sigh of relief. He was already planning new activities to do while he was with you. Most significantly, you needed some downtime after working nonstop due to him. He wanted to take responsibility and put things right. Dean wanted to make you happy, sort things out, and start something fresh with you, not to relieve himself.

“Yeah,” you nodded quickly to him while you kept chewing your inner cheeks. It wasn't out of the ordinary for you to want to bring him inside. However, things had changed, and you were unsure of how to behave or what to say. He had you at his mercy.

As you were about to bid farewell before heading away, Dean's fingers reached your neck, and his lips captured yours. In response to his gentle kisses, you eagerly parted your lips and let him in. Your hand dropped to his chest as you let your bag drop to your feet, only feeling his heartbeat against your palm.

His kisses were gentle and soft at first, but you were unable to suppress your need and want for him, so they became urgent and mirrored your hunger. You were reluctant about leaving. You wished he would stay. You whimpered into his lips as your hand moved from his chest to his thick neck. Dean's gentle kisses quickly became intense. He was now giving you fierce kisses in return for your urgent ones. You were kissing each other like you've never kissed before.

His low growl made your heart race as you moaned into his mouth as he bit and sucked your lips. With a swift movement, Dean's injured hand grabbed your ass and moved your body into his seat, on his lap. Watching you between his legs caused him to groan. Dean was even harder since he was aware of his impact on you.

As Dean touched your legs through your long dress, you pulled back to catch your breath. You could already feel your pussy contracting with anticipation. Your entire body yearned for him. You looked him in the eye when you licked your swollen lips while placing your hands on either side of his face. Dean smiled at you to gauge your response, and it was warm and delightful. Through his jeans, you could feel his dick throbbing beneath you.

He had been encouraged to continue by the passion and affection he saw in your eyes, and as his hands began lifting your dress, you shivered with impatience. He moved steadily and slowly. After all, you had plenty of time to enjoy each other.

You were seated on his lap, rubbing your covered pussy against his cock as soon as he raised up your dress. Your heart was pounding wildly. You already knew you were ruined there already. “Dean,” you whimpered desperately. You hoped he wouldn't leave you like this.

He grinned victoriously at how much you desired him and how dependent you were on him. You stared at him and said his name with love and affection, and it wasn't simply a simple sexual yearning. Dean's heart pulsed blissfully into his chest. He longed to be loved and wanted by you. He intended to provide for all of your needs.

“What do you want me to do?” While his wounded had been waiting on your hip, Dean asked on your lips. Then he softly stroked one of your tits and squeezed it firmly.

While he waited for an answer, Dean gasped in surprise and confusion as you bit your lip and abruptly rubbed yourself on his hard cock. Dean's lips twisted into a little, sly smile. His injured hand remained on your underwear, helping you to move on him while the other hand kept pressing and kneading your breast through your clothes.

Dean's gaze was fixed on your cleavage as you kept rubbing yourself on his cock slowly so that neither of you would finish too soon and you could savor the moment. You pressed closer to his hands and watched the driven expression in his eyes. As his hand moved into your cleavage exposed your breast, squeezing your stiffened nipple, Dean checked your face to make sure you were completely well. You moaned a little louder this time because of the way he rubbed his thumb on your breast.

In order to establish a rhythm with you, Dean lifted his hip a little higher and started to suck your breast into his lips extremely aggressively once his mouth approached your nipple. “Ah, Dean!” you moaned, pressing yourself into his lips and nailing his shoulders.

Dean slowed his passionate kisses and then stopped, laying his head on your chest and panting heavily, just as you were ready to lose yourself on him. You whimpered as you felt him pull out his thick fingers. You had not finished yet. Was he unaware? He raised his head to meet your startled look as he planted a very gentle kiss on your bare chest. He knew you would do anything for him at this moment, didn't he?

He was completely hard, hurting down below, watching you lose yourself on his lap while wearing this outfit. Dean wanted you to ride him till he released his ropes inside you right now in Baby. Badly.

However, he needed to know that pleasure and desire weren't the backbone of what you were doing. He needed to express his affection and respect for you, even though it was obvious that you were desperate for any physical contact, and it was driving him insane. He needed you to see how gentle and caring he was toward you. He desired to offer you all that you had given him.

Dean replied, “Not now, sweetheart,” and put his hands behind your back, basically offering you a hug as you were lying on top of him, half-naked and in need. Dean kissed you on the shoulders and adjusted your dress.

You said, unhappy that you had been pushing this off since the morning, “Why not?” You felt okay with it. “Because of your hand?”

When Dean saw that you were being serious, he couldn't stop laughing. As though his cock would stop because his hand was simply injured a little. “Not because of my hand obviously,” Dean remarked. “Like I said, we don't have to rush things, alright?”

“But we've already done it.” You moaned, not pleased with his response, “Twice.” You didn't want to come out as so desperate, but you were no longer bashful.

“Someone is impatient, huh?” With a groan, Dean's hands traveled along your back.

Dean kissed your forehead firmly and then gently put you back in your seat, placing his hand beneath your chin. “All I want to do is make everything perfect because you deserve it. I don't want you to believe that we are only having sex out of passion. That is never the case.”

You replied swiftly, “It already is flawless,” and his comments made your heart sink. He was being so honest about your relationship for the first time, and you forgot about everything else when he acknowledged how much he cared for you. “I would never think otherwise.”

Looking at his hand, you timidly said, “But if you want, you can come inside," before the stillness deepened. “I can check out your bandages.”

Dean teased, “Thought you wouldn't be working for some time.” Before you grabbed your bag and opened the door, you looked at his hand and arched an eyebrow.

With the same humorous tone, you added, “Just because I pity you right now, Mr. Winchester,” before grinning broadly and closing the door on his face while you waited for him to follow you.

Fortunately, Dean used his keys to open the door when you noticed you had left yours inside. He continued making fun of how thrilled you must have been about your little date. You were overjoyed that you kept assuring him it wasn't. Dean wasn't convinced.

You swiftly got what you needed from the restroom as Dean grunted and sat down on the coach. As soon as you sat down next to him and got the fresh bandages ready, you saw that Dean was looking at you with such a lovely expression that you instantly smiled back. Right now, you must have been thinking the same thing. You remembered the night when he took you in this coach without even knowing how much you loved him.

Even though it was completely dark and you couldn't see each other at the time, you knew you were seeing each other in every manner now. It was spiritually as well as physically. Dean was unaware of your love for him at the time, but he now acknowledged your true feelings for him. Your want to be with him was obvious to him. Before you began to remove his bandages, you placed his hand in his palm and gave it a very gentle kiss that caused his eyes to widen in wonder. That moment filled your heart with so much love and powerful sensations. You hoped you could make him realize how much you valued that moment and how much you admired him.

Dean offered you the same caring kiss while placing his hand under your chin, understanding what you were thinking. It was just lovely; it had nothing sexual about it. Dean cracked a smile and said, “Deja vu, huh?” as he drew back.

“It's like yesterday. Time flies,” you whispered as you carefully cared for him, taking care not to hurt him.

Dean remarked regretfully, “I wish I knew,” which caused you to pause. “I would make it perfect, you know, rather than being quick and doing it on a coach in darkness.”

His words instantly made you blush. “It's not important, I told you already,” not pleased that he was still feeling this way. “I'm just glad it was you, Dean.”

“Well, I'm glad about that too.” Seeing that you were still obstinate about it, Dean also sighed.

When you are done, you exhale deeply and place everything on the table after gently looking to his wounded hand. Without wasting any time, Dean embraced you and made you giggle with a playful animal growl he made. He placed a cushion beneath his head and made your body lie on him, as if reenacting the scenario, and now he was lying on the coach. You shifted on Dean a little as he gave you a strong hug that seemed like he would never let you go.

He was surprised by the way you gazed at him. Dean closed his eyes as though in anguish and melted into your touch just as you softly placed one of your palms on his cheek. After seeing his face, you placed your head on his chest in joy, delighted by the way strongly his hands wrapped around you. Dean had no idea when you had begun to affect him in this way. Your touch made him feel so hungry and desperate that he was on the verge of letting out a defeated sigh and asking for more.

As you leaned on his body on your coach, you both glanced at one another without exchanging words. Your eyes brightened as Dean took your hand in his and gently caressed your fingers.

Feeling a little talkative, you asked, “Do you really want to sleep like this?”

“Why not?” Dean grinned right away, reminding you of that night to make you feel bashful. “It's not the first time after all.”

Even though your cheeks turned hot, you couldn't help but smile and ask playfully, “What if the electricity cuts out again? You know, we didn't change our clothes. It might be a little uncomfortable to sleep like this.”

Dean's eyes narrowed at your bold suggestion, and he licked his lips. “Well, if it does cut off, sweetheart, we won't need our clothes at all,” he said in a whisper in your ear while placing his finger beneath your chin. “Your attractive boyfriend will provide for all of your needs.”

By the time he finished his sentence, Dean had planted a kiss on your lips, and you were grinning uncontrollably into the gentle kiss while your heart was beating madly with joy. The scene was so exquisite that you nearly started crying. After Dean treated your wound, you were feeling much the same as when you slept with him in the same coach back in the day. Even though he had touched you, cured you, and taken care of your hand, something severely wounded and damaged your spirit that night without you even recognizing it. But now you felt entirely healed. Everything about Dean—his words, his kisses, his touch—healed you in the most exceptional way.

THE END.

Author's Note: Hi there! Here we are. WASTE is the first Supernatural fiction I ever wrote and the first fic I completed. Fun fact: Although I am aware of all the spoilers, I have only seen the first six or seven episodes of Supernatural. I apologize if I wrote characters 'out of character' . As an asexual, writing romantic material was a little challenging, but please share your thoughts with me. Your feedback inspired me to write a +55K word count series. I WILL UPLOAD TWO OR THREE SPECIAL CHAPTERS! I'm not going to let this go just yet. Those chapters will be SMUTTY. Since this is my first complete series, please let me know what you think. I love you all!

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[yanderedrabbles]

What would Yandere be like! Boyfriend with a girlfriend who is distant from him, but he finds out it's because she's planning a surprise party for him?

Oh this is such a great prompt!!

Yandere Boyfriend Surprise Party

Yandere! Boyfriend immediately notices something is off. You tilt your phone screen away from him whenever you get a message. You go out shopping when he's away at the gym and when he gets back you've already hidden your parcels away. You whisper with your friends and grow quiet or change the subject when he gets close.

Yandere! Boyfriend hates it. But he tries very hard to be rational about it.

Yandere! Boyfriend who tries to get you to spill your secret. He'll pin you under him and pepper your neck with ticklish kisses, keeping you in place even as you squirm. His words are muffled by your skin but you can still hear the whine in his voice when he says, "Come on baby, you can tell me."

Yandere! Boyfriend who gets more and more pushy when you won't give in. His kisses turn to sharp little nips, his hands roam under your skirt and drag up your thighs. His voice drops dangerously low when he asks, "Why are you keeping secrets from me?"

Yandere! Boyfriend who has to fight himself to even let you up when you tell him to stop, that you're not hiding anything.

Yandere! Boyfriend who goes through your phone the second you're asleep. But you know what your boyfriend is like and you've covered your tracks well. He stares at the screen, his hand clenched so tightly around the device the frame almost bends. He has take several deep, slow breaths before he can make his fingers unclench.

Yandere! Boyfriend who starts following you. The errands you're on seem harmless on the surface. Buying a cake, ribbon, balloons... But his mind is an awfully paranoid place and all he can think about is some guy spreading chocolate frosting on your thighs and licking it off. Tying your legs together with ribbons and pulling them apart with his teeth. All he can think about is some bastard enjoying a gift that isn't his.

He goes to the gym after that and pounds at the punching bag until his knuckles are raw and bleeding inside his gloves.

Yandere! Boyfriend who tracks down every single one of your friends. Sometimes banging at their doors long after sundown. There's only one thing he wants to know from them.

Why is she keeping secrets from me?

Yandere! Boyfriend who hates the vague answers they give him - just wait and see, I can't tell you, it's a surprise. He has to bite his tongue to keep himself grounded or else he might start shaking them until the truth rattles out of their scrambled skulls.

Yandere! Boyfriend who honestly terrifies your friends with his intensity. They desperately want to tell you about it, the way his eyes go dull and dangerous, the way his massive fists stay clenched at his side like he's always on the verge of swinging, the blood that coats his teeth like he's been biting himself to ribbons. But they see the way you look at him, so hopelessly in love, and can't find the words to tell you.

Yandere! Boyfriend who won't let you out of your apartment. He'll cuddle you and pretend to be asleep so you can't even untangle yourself from his massive bulk. He'll "lose" the keys and help you turn the whole place upside down looking for it, teasing you for being so absent minded. He'll turn back all the clocks and hide your phone, just so he can steal a few more hours. Who only relents when you start considering the dangerously rusty fire escape.

Yandere! Boyfriend who is on the verge of tying you up in his basement. Who unlocks his door with the intention of taking a look down there and maybe making it comfortable.

"Surprise!"

Yandere! Boyfriend who stands frozen, taking in the ribbons, the balloons, the cake, the crowd of people. And at the forefront, you. In a pretty, new dress wearing those heels that make your legs look a mile long.

Yandere! Boyfriend who scoops you up in a hug and won't let you go. Who keeps a hand on you all night - around your waist, on your thigh, intertwined with yours.

Yandere! Boyfriend who practically kicks the stragglers out the door at the end of the night. He turn around to an empty house with you out of sight and his mind starts to doubt itself again.

Yandere! Boyfriend who finally finds you in the bedroom, ribbons tied all around you and a pretty red bow holding your legs together.

"Surprise."

Yandere! Boyfriend who thinks that might be his new favourite word. Who feels his throat go dry and for a second all he can do is drink you in. His pretty little girlfriend who played with fire planning this.

Yandere! Boyfriend who carefully unties each and every ribbon, planting soft kisses on your skin all the while. For now, the doubts have dissappeared and all that matters is you and him. Skin to skin and the only thought in his head is how he adores you.

[thedaselcor]

Here's my take on this one, I did it as my Chater 13!

Thorsday, the 2nd of Maius, 524.

Arthur woke to Merlin thrashing, convulsing through some sort of night terror. He held Merlin close, and tried to keep him from injuring himself through the spasms, but he was entirely uncertain whether that was even the right thing to do.

He noticed, as the minutes went on, that Merlin had been getting increasingly warmer. With growing terror he realized that Merlin was incredibly hot, burning up as if the dreams themselves were causing some sort of incredible magical fever. Arthur couldn't remember the last time he’d felt so powerless. It was a relief then, if a surprise, when Morgana knocked on their door and entered as soon as Arthur was able to stammer some sort of assent.

Morgana walked in, with a confidence and certainty of action Arthur couldn't remember ever seeing in her before. The room seemed to drop in temperature as she crossed in, and, in moments, she brought a hand to Merlin’s chest and one to his face. Arthur could feel the cold radiating off her. Merlin’s temperature crashed drastically as he woke with a start to the cold shock that rippled through from the point of Morgana's contact, and he breathed in sharp and deep like a man just saved from drowning.

“More like the pyre…” Morgana said, responding to the thought Arthur had never voiced.

Merlin panted as he assessed the situation, assessed the room around him, came back to reality, blue eyes betraying an equal measure of absolute understanding and complete bafflement.

Arthur shifted his gaze to Morgana, searching her face for the answers he didn’t know how to ask for. “How did you know?” he managed to ask finally, though the question was woefully inadequate.

“Sometimes we can hear each other, like when I was in the library, like when you helped us with the druid boy,” Morgana answered, but it wasn’t an answer to the question Arthur had been trying to ask.

“No, I mean…” he shook his head, trying to assemble a better question. Still, he only managed, “ how did you know ?”

“Oh!” Morgana exclaimed, as if understanding the misshapen question better this time. “It’s not as complicated as it seems, it was just illusion magic, I focused on making Merlin feel cold rather than changing anything, normally it wouldn’t affect other people, but you and Merlin are… very close , magically speaking. It’s… unusual.”

“ No,” Arthur let out a long, frustrated sigh as he forced himself to reshape the question, to add words. “How did you know about the dream, about the pyre?”

Morgana let out an uncomfortable laugh, as if that question was too obvious to need an answer.

Merlin, gaining more and more of his senses by the minute, ran his fingers gently along Arthur’s arm before answering, pragmatically, “all my dreams end in the pyre, Arthur. Beheadings are reserved for strangers.”

He was too kind to say the rest. Too kind to say, explicitly, your father would punish me for loving you, and he’d make sure that I burned alive if he ever knew the most beautiful part of me , but Arthur still heard it. 

It had been easier to ignore his father’s monstrosity when it wasn’t aimed at the people he wanted most in the world to protect, when it was abstract obligation to Uther versus abstract duty to the people of Camelot. Now, when someone he loved stood in the balance between, when they faced a worse fate because he loved them--the burgeoning flame of Arthur’s hate, so small before this Beltane trip to the country, was bellowed anew by the vile truth of Uther Pendragon, and it threatened to grow and grow until it could consume the world.

Arthur said nothing. He buried his face in Merlin’s shoulder, and dangled in the silence. Arthur had often felt lost in the world or words and feelings, in the world realisations like this one always seemed to thrust him in, and he’d long since learned to be silent and seem uncaring rather than ever risk seeming incompetent--in front of his father, in front of his kingdom, in front of anyone. 

Now, when what Arthur wanted most in the world was to connect, to be soft and vulnerable and honest, to do anything other than dangle in the silence, he had no idea how to find a ledge back out of the chasm. But Merlin just kept running his fingers along Arthur’s arm, and Mrogana didn’t give him the look she often gave him when she thought he was cold or uncaring. It was like they saw him there, dangling and lost, deep beneath the mask that had always rendered him invisible before. Being seen was new, hopeful but uncomfortable. Being seen protected the spriteling flame, promised to direct it to purpose where once it would have been extinguished along with everything hopeful in Arthur’s spirit. Being seen could change everything.

merlin magic reveal fic where arthur asks “why didn’t you tell me?” and merlin says, mirthless smile and haunted eyes “all my dreams end in fire. fire and burning and dying”

[p0orbaby]

Hey, can you maybe write something about reader surprising Leah? Reader been away for work for a while & Leah’s really missed her. Reader comes back early to surprise leah at a family meal/after a game or something?

-

You can hear Leah before you see her. Her voice carries through her mum’s kitchen like a melody she’s been rehearsing all week, familiar and warm, laced with the faintest edge of exasperation.

“It’s not that bad, Mum,” she says, and you picture her perched on the counter, half-smiling, half-defensive, probably swinging her legs like a kid. “I’ll eat it, just—maybe not right now”

Her mum’s voice floats back, mock-indignant: “You said you wanted stew!”

“I didn’t mean one that could double as glue!”

It’s such a quintessential Leah moment that you almost forget why you’re here. Almost.

You linger in the hallway, setting your bag down quietly so they don’t hear you. The house smells like something vaguely burnt but not unpleasant, and it feels like home in a way that’s entirely unfair for a place you’ve barely spent time in.

“She’s still not back, huh?” Leah’s brother says from the dining table. You peek through the doorframe and see him fiddling with his phone, half paying attention.

Leah shrugs, but her face gives her away. “Nah. Still working”

There’s something in her tone that makes your chest tighten—soft, wistful, like she’s trying to sound indifferent and failing miserably. She looks tired in the way you only get when you’re waiting for something—or someone—and you don’t know when it’ll happen.

Well, she’s about to find out.

You step into the room, the floor creaking just enough to give you away. Leah glances up, her eyes landing on you with that split-second hesitation of disbelief before they widen.

“What the—” She doesn’t even finish the sentence.

Her family looks between you and Leah like they’ve stumbled into the climax of a romcom. Her mum’s face breaks into a grin. “Oh, you’re in trouble now,” she says, more amused than concerned.

You drop your keys on the table and hold your arms out. “Surprise?”

Leah doesn’t move at first. She just stares at you, blinking like you might vanish if she blinks too hard. Then she’s off the counter and across the room in a flash, her arms wrapping around you so tightly you think she might actually crack a rib.

“You’re home,” she mumbles into your shoulder, and it’s not a question. It’s a statement, a fact, like she needs to say it out loud to believe it.

You grin against her hair, letting her squeeze you like a stress ball. “Miss me?”

She pulls back just enough to look at you, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. “Shut up.”

“You’re gonna cry, aren’t you?” you tease, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

“I am not gonna cry,” she says, even though she very much looks like she might.

Her brother snorts. “She was sulking for days, by the way. Wouldn’t shut up about—”

“Shut it, Jacob,” Leah snaps, though her face is still buried in your neck, so the effect is slightly ruined.

Her mum pats her on the back as she passes by with a fresh glass of wine. “I think you owe me for sitting through her mood swings”

“I’ll send flowers,” you quip, and Leah pinches your side in retaliation.

The rest of the night is a blur of laughter, teasing, and Leah not letting go of your hand even once. When the meal is over and everyone’s settled into the sofa for a film, she tugs you aside, her voice soft.

“I really missed you”

“I know.” You kiss her, your grin melting into something softer. “I missed you too”

[sweettoothy]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃𝐒 𝐄𝐍𝐃

╰ SHOW ﹕ ARCANE !

︵ WARNING(S) ﹕╰ swearing ⸝ violence ﹕ sex

︵ relationship ﹕ Vi x fem!fragile!reader x Caitlyn

NOTE: short chapter ? (If you guys have any questions head to my inbox ^^, and I all know we wanna see a sex scene where they’re bumping against each others clits, and scissoring, It’ll happen soon trust me)

⟣・S2・WATCH IT ALL BURN︰

YOU WALK INTO a pretty battered up place, a hand on your hip as you walked next to caitlyn. you were still a little injured from yesterday but that’s okay, the green smoke was clouding your goggles that were attached to your face, causing a frustrated sigh to escape you. the rest of the enforcers including you, were searching for jinx after the incident that had happened.

It wasn’t just an incident, it was a pretty big one, cause caitlyn’s mom got caught in the crossfire. least to say it wasn’t surprising that caitlyn was on the verge of losing it, but she was holding her composure the best she could.

Not to mention you getting hurt was one of her biggest regrets, she wish she could’ve protected you more— but things happen.

Vi checks over her shoulder from time to time to make sure you’re alright, she doesn’t want you getting caught in her sister’s bullshit. It was pretty scary being here, if you were truthful.

You never met jinx but you’ve heard so many good and bad things about her. Honestly, none of it seemed to make sense anymore. She just sounded like a broken person overall, someone who just needed help.

Jinx was hiding somewhere near the ceiling, she could see you, caitlyn, and vi. her pink colored eyes landing on you as she raised her gun slightly, she wondered what it would be like if vi were to lose the most precious thing she’s had in her life— due to being in jail for long 7 years.

You and caitlyn really switched vi’s life around, even though right now she didn’t like having to be an enforcer. But if it was to stop her sister? It was the right thing to do, it has to stop at some point.

Jinx hand starts to shake as tears prick her eyes, she leans back and hides behind a wall— not bothering to take the shot.

She’s just hated what her sisters become, so lovestruck on you and out to get her— it wasn’t fair.

You flinch slightly when music suddenly comes on, making you step back quickly.

“It’s okay, (name).” Maddie tells you, placing her hand on your shoulder. “No one’s there.”

Caitlyn’s eye twitched when she saw the way maddie had placed her hand on your shoulder, her lips upturning into a frown as she grew a little annoyed— maddie always used the sweet act with you just to get close.

And it pissed off vi and cait.

YOU HAD TO take a minute to catch your breath as you leaned against the wall, collapsing to your knees as you lift up your top underneath your shirt, the gash still there from the time you had gotten injured after the explosion. Vi and caitlyn make their way towards you, their expressions full of worry and concern.

“Are you okay, love?” Caitlyn asks as she kneels to your level, the height difference between you three very visible. Cait being taller than vi and vi being taller than you. that was so cute.

Vi tucks some of your hair behind your ear as she rubs her thumb over your cheek, “we can take you back. you didn’t have to come with us.” she tells you, leaning forward to kiss your forehead.

“No, no,” You reply. “I want to help. I’m tired of lying in bed doing nothing.”

Caitlyn knows it wasn’t the best time to be taking at look at your boobs but they were so round and pretty she just wanted to put her hand over it and squeeze them in her possession. If only her thoughts weren’t so vivid right now, she probably would be dead set on getting revenge on jinx which—of course—she still is.

Vi reaches to grab the curvy part of your waist, her hand easily squeezing there gently. “Okay. but if you feel sick let us know.”

“I’m okay, guys, seriously.” You tell them, “I can handle myself.”

“If you’re sure.” Caitlyn replies, trying to keep her dirty thoughts away.

If they were out of sight, they’d be out of mind. right?

Wrong!

Vi couldn’t help but take a look at your chest again, oh this felt so wrong and disrespectful but it felt so good at the same time. when she first met you, she already knew she would take a liking to you.

The thought of being between your legs right now and wanting to hear you whimper was not what she had in mind but she wanted it to happen, she craved it to happen.

Standing up you dust yourself off, “okay-- let’s go get the others. I think I know a route.”

“After you sweets.” Vi replies softly, dusting herself off.

Caitlyn stood up as well, vi taking a long look at your ass before quickly adverting her gaze.

They do not know how long they’re gonna last.

END OF CHAPTER TWO

[rafeskai]

Life as We Know It — Rafe Cameron

Epilogue

Two opposites must navigate love, loss, and unexpected parenthood to discover the meaning of family.

Summary: When tragedy strikes, two very different individuals find their lives unexpectedly intertwined as they become the guardians of an orphaned child. As they navigate the challenges of co-parenting, balancing careers, and confronting their pasts, they discover that family can form in the most surprising ways. Through heartfelt moments and unexpected humor, they explore what it means to build a life together—one step at a time.

Pairings: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Character deaths & angst.

Author's Notes: That marks the end of this series :( thank you guys so much for all the love and feedback! I’m so proud of this series and I hope u guys love it as much as I do.

Masterlist: Here

It had been a year since the custody battle, since Rafe and you had found yourselves standing side by side, figuring out this whole "family" thing. A year since both of you issued a restraining order against Ward, and the judge granted it. A year since you stopped pretending you didn’t feel something for him, and he stopped acting like he was too good for anyone, especially you. Now, the chaos of life had settled into a strange, beautiful rhythm. It wasn’t perfect—far from it—but it was yours.

And, somehow, against all odds, the three of you had made it work.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The morning sun streamed through the kitchen window, where you stood trying to assemble breakfast. You had learned, over time, that cooking for Willa was an Olympic sport. Every time you managed to whip together a simple meal, she somehow managed to flip the situation on its head—literally.

"Willa, no!" you heard Rafe call out from the living room. You looked up just in time to see him frantically trying to stop her from scaling the couch like some sort of tiny, diaper-clad Spider-Man. “You can’t climb up there!”

But Willa was undeterred. She gave a small shriek of triumph, her baby legs scrabbling up the cushions like she was born to conquer furniture. You had to admit, you were impressed.

"I swear she’s part monkey," you muttered under your breath, flipping pancakes with a practiced hand.

Rafe stumbled into the kitchen, his hair sticking out at odd angles, the look of a man who had given up on ever having a decent morning.

“You say that like it’s a surprise,” he deadpanned, rubbing his face. “We’ve had this conversation a hundred times. No more couch climbing. She’s already an inch away from that giant coffee table, which, let me remind you, is made of solid oak. And do you know what happens when Willa decides gravity is optional?”

You snorted. “We end up on the floor with her holding a half-empty juice box like she’s just conquered the world, while you scramble to pick up the pieces of your dignity.”

He shot you a pointed look. “Exactly.”

You set the pancakes aside and wandered over to rescue Willa, who was now attempting to climb up the back of the couch like a small, determined mountain goat. Scooping her up with one hand, you held her up in front of you. “You know, kid, you’re lucky you’re so cute, because if I had to stop doing my work every time you decided to do a backflip off a chair, I’d be in therapy by now.”

Willa gurgled, her eyes wide and innocent, as though she didn’t have a single rebellious bone in her tiny body.

Rafe leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms. “I’m just saying, if she’d stop doing that, maybe I could get ten minutes of peace. But no. We live in a house of chaos.”

You smirked, watching as Willa grabbed his shirt and yanked. “If she’s chaos, you’re the tornado that hits right after,” you teased, making Rafe roll his eyes dramatically. “Just admit it—you love it.”

He groaned but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah, I love the chaos. But you have to admit it’s a lot of work. I mean, who’s going to put together her tiny little rocking horse without accidentally breaking something?”

“Not me,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure I broke that rocking horse three times already.”

At that, Rafe laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, I’ll take that as my cue to fix it. You keep trying to make breakfast, and I’ll figure out what’s going on with the toy horse that’s apparently haunted.”

Willa babbled in your arms, and you kissed the top of her head. “I’m not saying this to be dramatic, but I’m pretty sure she is a secret agent in training. I’ve seen her figure out how to break into places she’s not supposed to be like she’s in a spy movie.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow. “Spy movie? She’s more like a tiny burglar who knows how to manipulate you with her big eyes and unstoppable giggle.”

You chuckled, nodding. “Fair. But I still think she could make a killing in espionage. Maybe we should start saving for her college fund in case she ends up needing a fake passport.”

Rafe grinned, his mood visibly lightened by your banter. “I’m pretty sure we’re going to need therapy more than we need a college fund. But I’ll get started on that fake passport idea, just in case.”

You grinned back at him, feeling that familiar warmth settle in your chest. There was a time—just a year ago—when you had no idea what your future would look like. Now, here you were, a family, even if it didn’t look like any family you had ever imagined.

“Well,” you said, turning back to the pancakes, “we better get our act together before she eats all the syrup by herself.”

Rafe snorted and shot you a grin. “You think she’s not going to try that already?”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Later that day, after Willa’s nap (which, let’s be honest, was more of a battle than an actual nap), you and Rafe found yourselves in the backyard, taking a breather after the chaotic lunch you’d just survived. Willa was happily playing in her little sandbox, tossing sand like it was confetti at a New Year’s party, while you and Rafe collapsed onto the porch swing, exhausted but content.

"How the hell did we get here?" you asked, your voice quiet, more to yourself than to him.

Rafe leaned back with a sigh, staring up at the sky. "I’m pretty sure we got here because you’re too stubborn to admit you love me," he said with a grin.

You nudged him with your elbow. "Excuse me, but it’s not just me that’s stubborn. Have you seen the way you try to resist her puppy-dog eyes? You can’t even handle Willa when she does her sad little face, and you know it."

He groaned. “It’s my kryptonite. I’m weak. I’ll admit it.”

“Good. Because that means you’re finally accepting that she’s the boss around here. We’re just along for the ride.”

Rafe chuckled, nudging you back. “If that’s true, then I’m okay with it. Besides, she has the best team behind her, right?”

You smiled softly, watching Willa scoop up a handful of sand and drop it like a tiny little sandstorm. “Right. And we’re the best team for her.”

There was a pause, a quiet moment where both of you watched Willa. The future was still uncertain—life always was—but for the first time in a long time, it didn’t seem so scary.

“Well,” Rafe said, standing up and stretching, “I guess we better go make sure our future crime boss doesn’t eat the sand. You know, for her health.”

You snorted, laughing as you stood too. “You mean for the safety of our sanity?”

“That too,” Rafe said, laughing as he grabbed your hand and pulled you into a warm hug.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was real. And for once, that was enough.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

And so, life continued. Chaotic. Messy. Full of love. Your newfound family was far from conventional, but it was undeniably theirs—and somehow, that made it all the more beautiful.

Plus, Willa? She’d definitely grow up to be a world-class agent of chaos, and Rafe and you would have to learn to live with that.

But at least you’d be together.

© 2024 rafeskai | All rights reserved. This fanfiction is a work of fiction inspired by characters from Outer Banks, and no part of it may be reproduced or distributed without permission.

[postracehair]

say again

george russell x reader | 3.9k

three times george curses. or, a beginning, a middle, and a future.

cw: george cursing. a few scrapes and a little bit of blood, some kissing, and a love confession to boot.

a/n: this kind of ran away from me, especially in the middle but every time george russell says fuck an angel gets its wings. written ages ago but posting in honor of Las Vegas.

---

YOU'VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME

The door buzzes and you let yourself into the building.

You've only been here a few times, but a match day spent with your coworker and some of her friends is better than sitting on your couch alone, right? Wine and cookies in hand, you trudge up two flights of stairs to her flat. By the time you reach the landing, you can already hear the chatter and the TV.

No one seems to hear your knock so you push the door open and gingerly step in. The kitchen is on the other side of the flat, and you assume everyone is somewhere between there and the television.

But when you pass the living room where the TV actually is, there's just one guy on the couch. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees watching a penalty get called.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he says to no one.

You snicker. He whirls around. "Hello," you say.

"Sorry," he says, standing immedietly. Wow, he's tall. "Sorry, hello."

Oh, and he's familiar. You know him, kind of. He's -- god, he races cars, right? Shit, what is his name? Your coworker has social connections you barely understand so it's not really a surprise to find someone who is probably famous in her flat.

"It is just you, then?" you ask. He laughs and runs a hand through his hair. Dressed in jeans and a team jumper, his casual outfit is at odds with the severe cut of his jaw, his cheekbones. He just looks expensive.

"No," he says. "No, everyone is putting plates together. I'm afraid I might be the one most interested in watching the match."

"Not going well?" you say lightly.

He rounds the sofa, hand out. "Could be better," he says. "I'm George."

You readjust the items in your hands to shake his and tell him your name. He repeats it, and you smile.

"Let me go put these down," you say, "and then, um. Do you want some company, George?"

Honestly, you're not sure where that came from. But, though you came here to escape the smothering loneliness of your own flat, something about him makes you want to stay here rather than go into the kitchen with everyone else.

"'Course I do," he says. "I promise to tighten up my language. Won't do for that to be my first impression."

You wave him away though your cheeks feel a little hot and head for the kitchen.

Your coworker brightens at seeing you and takes your hostess gifts with ease.

"The match is on in the other room," she tells you, "but most of us are drinking in here."

"I saw," you say. "I met George."

She hears something in your tone that turns her expression something between amused and calculating. "You did, did you?"

You just nod, loading up a plate with the various nibbles. "How do you know him, anyway?"

She shrugs. "Oh, you know." No, you don't, but she plows on. "What did you think?"

"Taller than he seems on TV," you mutter. "But very polite. He shook my hand."

That gets her to laugh. "Oh, of course he did. Well, don't stand around in here with us. Go chat up a Formula 1 driver!"

George is back on the couch when you return, arm stretched over the back of it, brows furrowed.

"Has anything exciting happened?" you ask him, sitting down with a perfectly responsible distance between you.

He grimaces. "Nothing good. Wolverhampton, bless 'em, are quite bad."

That might explain why no one is watching this match with him, but you keep that to yourself.

"I see," you say, solemnly. "But loyalty is loyalty, I suppose, if they're your club."

"Exactly," George says. "It's suffering but it has to be done." Someone on the screen triggers a free kick and George leans in until it's over. He starts talking about one of the players being traded, or his contract being renegotiated, or something. You nibble on your plate and just watch. He's animated, this man. Fringe falling over his forehead the more he gestures, blue eyes wide and serious. It's all very endearing.

"Sorry," he says suddenly. "I'm being so rude. You don't want to hear about all of this, do you?"

You smile at him. "I don't mind. I came over for some company more than anything else."

He sinks back into the couch a little, hand running through his hair again. "Well, lucky for me that you did," he says.

Your face feels hot and you don't want to mistake this for flirting if it's not. He is a world-famous athlete, after all, but here you are on the couch next to him. "Lucky for you, indeed."

He laughs, delighted.

OH, SHIT!

This is not how you saw your life going, but maybe that's just the nature of it. Big moments happen just the same as small ones and we have to handle them regardless. The trajectory of your life shifted just a little bit when you sat down on someone else's couch to watch a football match with a stranger.

Because that stranger -- George -- is now much more than that. He asked for your number that day before he had to leave earlier than everyone else, and has been speaking to you ever since. Texts, phone calls, FaceTimes. And, when he's not driving hundreds of miles an hour halfway across the world, he likes to spend time with you.

They're dates, you know they are. But things are still casual, immensely so. Coffee, dinner, long walks through the park. It's probably past due that you ask him what he'd like out of this, but your friends tell you to just have fun for the time being. You've learned a lot about him in the last month or so, both from him directly and by doing your research.

You'd watched a few Grand Prix before meeting him but not with any kind of rapt attention. Now, obviously, you watch with purpose. See him zip around the track, read his radio messages, hope desperately that he'll be alright. He's a big mix of things, George Russell. Witty but determined, thorough but reactionary, polite but intense. You want to keep getting to know him on a personal level and measure that up to how he appears to the world.

Today, you're on one of those long walks. George is recounting the last race at your request. It's always more interesting to hear him talk about what happened than watching it, though you're really growing to love that part, too.

It's a bit chilly and he's got a scarf on in addition to a nondescript hat pulled down low over his eyes. You're used to this by now, though you wish you could see his face more fully.

"And then -- well, I'm sure you saw this bit -- he turned right into me like I wasn't even there!"

"But you avoided it," you remind him. "I saw that, too." A cold wind blows down the path and you shiver a bit.

"You alright?" he asks. "Nippy, huh?" He stops walking and turns to you, his huge hands coming to rest on your shoulders before he rubs them up and down your arms.

"A bit," you agree, a little breathless. God, you really need to talk to him about what this is. You're thinking about him all the time, which is a bit of a nuisance, as you're not sure he's feeling the same. But, a small voice in your head tells you, you can't be too far off in thinking that it might be based on the way he's looking at you right now.

Even under the cap, you can see the soft set of his brow, the way his eyes are shining. The gentle quirk up of his mouth. What would it be like to kiss him? Would he let you?

George stops his warming efforts, catching your hands in his. "Better?"

All you can do is nod. He grins, looking a bit too pleased, and starts walking again, you in tow. This is something else you've learned about him -- he really can be a cheeky bastard. He must have more than some idea as to how he affects you and enjoys it. It's somewhere between a game and a challenge.

You're thinking about ways you can get him back, ways you can flirt mercilessly. His hand is in yours and he's half a step ahead of you when suddenly your fingers are ripped from his and you find yourself on your hands and knees with a gasp.

George is immediately there with you.

"Oh, shit," he says. "Are you alright?"

"I--" You're a bit too stunned to say anything. George rarely curses, which is funny given how you met, but it unsettles you a little bit as much as it warms you. "I think I tripped?"

"Let me see your hands," he says, gently tugging at your wrists with his long fingers. He sucks on his teeth when he sees your palms. "Not too bad, but a little scratched."

You rearrange yourself so you're flat on your bum, legs in front of you. Your hands might be alright but your knees are another story. The fabric of your jeans isn't ripped but you can see the bloodstains already.

"Oh," you say. You look up at George, feeling a bit pathetic. "This is embarrassing."

He scoffs. "No, it's not," he says. "I do think we should get you cleaned up, though."

"We can go to my place," you suggest. The sting sets in a little more, but mingles with your chagrin and you just set your jaw. "Help me up?"

"Brave girl," George says. He presses his lips to the base of your wrist and stands, tugging you up as he goes. "Have you got first aid things at your flat?"

You nod, running through the contents of your bathroom in your mind. It occurs to you that George has not been to your place before, and you did not mentally prepare yourself to bring him there today.

George gently says your name. "Let's get a cab, shall we?"

It takes no time at all to flag one down. George removes his hat in what you can clearly see as an effort to get the cabbie to hurry along a bit, but it seems to work. He takes one look at you, one more at George, and steps on it.

"Let me get your belt," George mutters, making quick work of the buckle.

"I don't think I've ever worn a seatbelt in a cab in my life, George," you reply. He just pats your thigh.

"Think we've had enough injuries for one day, don't you?"

George and the cabbie chat about the race season, about how hot it really is in Singapore, about one of George's recent podiums. He keeps you tucked into his side the whole time -- he's ignored his own seatbelt, you notice -- hand on your thigh. You keep your palms turned up on your knees and wonder how on earth you got here.

The city flies by and you lean your head on his shoulder. You can feel something shifting between you, something clicking into place that wasn't entirely settled before. It's scary, it's exciting, it's big. It's something you're going to have to talk about.

George pays the driver in some large bills and helps you out of the cab and up the steps of your building.

"Where are your keys?" he asks.

"Front right pocket of my jeans."

"Pardon my reach," he jokes, and lightly rests on palm on your hip and slides the other into your pocket to find them. He tugs the keyring out and winks at you before unlocking the door. Up the stairs, into the flat. Shoes toed off, coats on the hook after George helps you out of yours.

"I'm not an invalid, you know," you tell him. He clicks his tongue.

"We don't want blood on this nice coat of yours, do we?"

You roll your eyes. George glances around your flat and smiles. "This is very you."

Dishes on the counter, the pillows a mess on the couch, your books and trinkets on every flat surface -- you suppose he's right.

"Thank you?" you say. He taps your chin with his knuckle.

"It feels like a home, I mean." Your cheeks feel warm and your heart sighs. God, the things he says.

"Oh," you breathe. "That's kind."

"And does this home have a first aid kit?" The reminder brings the dull sting of your scraped skin back to the forefront of your mind.

"Bathroom cabinet," you tell him. George nods.

"I'll get that. Why don't you change into something loose so I can get to your knees?"

In your room, you tug carefully tug on some sweatpants, mindful of your palms, and let yourself marvel at how today has gone. You expected to have George here someday, but certainly not like this. Will he want to see your bedroom? You shove some dirty laundry into the hamper and thank past you for making the bed this morning.

"I think you should sit on the counter," George calls. "Whenever you're ready."

You pad out to meet him in socked feet. It's quite the sight, him in your kitchen. He's bent over your sink, washing his hands. His sweater has been tossed over a chair and you can see the lines of his back under his t-shirt.

"Do you need help getting up?" he asks. You nod. Together, you get yourself on the counter, making you about eye level.

"Hello," you say. His hat is gone, too, so his fringe falls across his forehead in slightly curled strands. When you've cleaned yourself up, maybe you'll work up the courage to run your hand through them.

"Hello yourself. Right hand, please." You hold out your palm and George gets to work. He cleans it, getting all the bits from your skin, and then uses an alcohol wipe.

"Do you have a special interest in first aid, or something?" you ask to distract yourself from the sting. His thumb strokes your pulse point as he works.

"I guess you get beat up a bit in karting when you're young," he says. He wraps one palm in gauze and moves onto the other. "I suppose i just like knowing how to take care of people."

"God," you groan. "Is there anything wrong with you?"

He looks at you then, hair falling into his blue, blue eyes. "Oh," he smirks. "Plenty, darling." He finishes up on your other palm and holds it in his for a moment longer than you expect. Then he slowly brings your hand to his mouth and kisses the bandage.

You might gasp, You're not entirely sure, eyes glued to his lips like nothing else exists. Then he kisses the other palm. Your gaze flicks up and George is looking right at you.

"Knees," he says, voice a little hoarse. "Alright?"

"Alright," you breathe. You stick one leg out just to see what he'll do. You're learning that he rises to the occasion, and that's exactly what happens. He cups your ankle, places your foot on his thigh, and slides your sweatpants up above your joint.

"That's gnarly," he says, breaking the tension. You laugh and tap his leg with your other foot. "You ready?"

"I'm ready."

He makes quick work on it. One hand on your calf, the other gently cleaning and bandaging. The silence is comfortable, familiar, though you've not been in this situation before. It's not until George is almost done with your other knee that he speaks.

"You know," He says, lightly. "If you wanted me to touch you, all you had to do was ask. The tripping wasn't entirely necessary."

"George!" you gasp. He squeezes your calf.

"I'm just saying, darling."

He ties off the gauze and rolls down your pant leg. You widen your knees and he steps between them immediately, hands resting gently on your thighs. It's absolutely electric -- going from shy, appropriate touches to being in your flat together, his hands all over you. How are you going to go back?

Maybe you can't.

George's eyes rake over your face. You inhale his exhales, feeling them on your lips. His pupils dilate.

"What is this, George?" you whisper. His fingers press into your thighs a little harder.

"Well," he says, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "What would you like it to be?"

"I don't know," you say, honestly. He is not dissuaded, does not back away. He must know that this is hard for you -- his life is so different from yours. As it is, you avoid social media so you don't see pictures of you splashed across gossip accounts. It's impossible to totally stay away from it but you try, because you really like being with him.

"Shall I tell you what it is for me?" George says.

You nod.

He cups your face in his hands, thumbs stroking the delicate skin under your eyes.

"Every second I am not with you I am thinking about when I'll see you next," he says. "I store up things to tell you and take photos to show you and I have a bag full of things I've bought you but been too afraid to give you. Beautiful things, things that remind me of you."

"George--"

"I worry about fucking up your life," he continues, and you fall silent. "This is a lot. I am a lot. My life is not simple, and you've already seen that. But I want you in it. I want you in it however you want to be there, though I have my suggestions. I promise that if you let me, I'll treat you so well, because you deserve everything, and --"

Your heart is going to explode if he goes on any longer, so you close the gap between you and kiss him. Finally.

It's just the press of your lips against his for a few seconds, your eyes fluttering shut, before George catches up to what's happening and angles your faces a little bit to make it deeper. Your bandaged hands rest on his elbows and you swallow a sound from deep in his throat, something that lights a fire in your belly.

"Blimey," George says, leaning your foreheads together.

"What, no curse for me?"

His eyes sparkle and he wrinkles his nose at you. "Fuck," he says. "I've been thinking about that for weeks."

You press your lips to the corner of his mouth. "That's more like it."

BLOODY HELL

What the fuck was that? Is he serious? Keep focused, George. This is fucking ridiculous. Head down.

It's a bad day. Not as bad as it could be -- George does not end up in the wall. But he ends up way further down the pack than he should, barely scraping together a few points. It's the car and everyone knows it. The bouncing, the drag, the understeer. A showing far too poor for this late in the season.

And George is pissed. It's not often that you see him this way -- he's fairly levelheaded, even when things get tough. Something about him causes conflict to lull, things to fall into place, but even that can't fix the silver arrow.

You slip out of the garage during the last lap to sit in his driver's room and wait.

This isn't your first race. Far from it, by now. Things got official halfway through the season after that day in your flat, and you've been coming to as many as you can. It's a rush, really, to see him work. Scarier than anything, but when it's good? It's amazing. You love the energy of the garage and everyone seems to have taken to you, too.

So much so that they know to send George right to his room before the media pen so you can calm him down.

You sit on the bench and wait.

He comes in, closing the door firmly but never slamming it, and sighs. All the tension melts from his body and he looks defeated. Sweaty, annoyed, and defeated.

"Hello," you say, lightly.

He smiles wryly. "Shit day, huh?"

You love how George looks after a race. Hair a mess from his helmet, skin beaded with sweat. He unzips his race suit and lets it hang at his hips and you can see the outline of his muscles through his fireproofs. It's genuinely swoonworthy, even with his visibly bad mood.

"Are you alright?" you ask. He shrugs, rolls his shoulders, and winces.

"Bloody hell," he curses. "My back is killing me."

"What can I do?"

"Nothing," he says automatically. "You're perfect just as you are."

It's a reflex he has -- not to ask for things. You're still working it out, poking and prodding to find the cracks. Maybe, with time, he'll loosen this grip he has on his desire to make your life as comfortable and wonderful as possible without thinking of himself. There are moments when it's best to just let him fuss, but right now you think you can push back a little.

"George," you sigh. "Come on."

He hides his face behind a sweat towel for a breath, then tosses it aside. "Alright," he says. "Just sit with me for a bit."

You scoot over on the bench and he flops next to you, head back against the wall and eyes closed. His hand fumbles around for yours, pinching your thigh when he overshoots, which makes you laugh. He cracks a smile and opens one eye just enough to see your grin before settling back into his rest.

He breathes deeply, fingers entwined with yours. The line of his jaw is pronounced in the awful lighting of the room and the shadows under his eyes look worse than usual. A few more races and then he can rest. What will you do in the off season? Maybe a vacation. Hopefully a vacation. You imagine George in swim trunks on a beach somewhere, dozing in the sand. Rubbing sun tan lotion on his back and his shoulders and his nose, reading books for hours until he convinces you to run into the water. Lazy days on a balcony or in a bed with all the windows open, never being far from each other --

Someone knocks on the door.

"Christ," George mutters. "Let's ignore it."

"You need to go to the pen, darling," you whisper back. He squeezes your hand and presses your legs together.

"Just a few more minutes," he says. "Eventually they'll just come in."

"If you say so."

You press a kiss to his tacky cheek and lean your head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut.

George takes a deep breath. "I love you," he says.

The words stretch into the silence that comes after, the moments it takes for you to process it. They fill the small room, sneak their way into your bloodstream, your lungs, all the way to your heart.

Part of you is waiting for the follow-up. I know it's too early, I know it's a lot, You don't have you say it back. But George doesn't deal in excuses. He feels it, so he says it.

You lift your head to look at him and find him already staring at you. Not expectant, just looking to look.

"I love you, George," you say.

He grins bigger than you've ever seen, bigger than after your first kiss, than the days when he's on the podium.

Someone knocks on the door again.

"Oh, piss off," he mutters and leans in to kiss you.

[brynn-lear]

for those who are looking which of these games have yandere endings, allow me to kindly add them in a read more :D

Cupid Parasite: Gill Lovecraft

The most consistent yandere-vibes from Lock's recommendations. Gill's I would say leans so much on pathetic sad dog yandere and irl stalker that the otome game community is very divided on him (and a majority of us are yandere/trash husbando fans lol).

You'll spend most of his routes looking at how much he's a loser (/aff) who simps for his former roommate. I mean, he's trying to get over you but the heavens might quite literally be playing with him— cause how can he move on when you're his matchmaker???????

Cupid Parasite is so silly and so fun, highly recommend for those who love romcoms.

Piofiore: Nicola (Bad End)

Note: don't search his name on google images cause one of the first things you'll see is his CG for the bad end. Do not spool yourself lol.

Oooh how I love this man. Him and Dante are my faves [and Roberto. Lord. I love Roberto so much why isn't he a love interest?!?!?]

I won't spoil much, but his bad ending is 🥰. Plus Piofiore is such a good game anyways, it's worth trying out. If you like mafia men that are trash and would definitely kill you in other routes (sometimes their own too aHEM MISTER CHINESE KEBAB)— this game is for you.

Olympia Soiree: Kuroba (Bad End)

Ngl I remember the yandere end for this one being relatively short, but Kuroba along with Byakuya are my faves so I didn't really mind. If you like your fics with some sort of "chosen one" flair to it, OS is for you <3.

Don't get it twisted though, the game makes it a point to show time and time again how much their color system destroys the people [definitely feels like a metaphor for racism-]

Even if Tempest: Crius Castlerock (Bad End)

TW: childhood abuse/neglect, cannibalism, straight up every route has murder since this is literally a Phoenix Wright fantasy otome game, blood, unending angst you can't escape from if you want to see a single good ending, etc. For the amount of girlbossing and (justifyable?) crimes the heroine had done [and lord she's such a pretty androgynous girlie], the game is very refreshing.

LOOK AT MY BABIIIIESSS 😭😭😭😭😭😭

If you love suffering, I highly recommend this game because the plot is amazing. It does not hold back as much. It's not like Black Wolves Saga's level of "dead dove: do not eat" but man will it surprise you.

Crius definitely feels overprotective even in routes outside his. As an older brother figure-esque, he has this tendency to help you out without question [this fact will hurt you later.] His bad end? I'm a simp. And I like the hurt it gives. 10/10. Also him in the fandisk is 🤌🤌🤌🤌. Everyone in that game is so loveable.

I play a whole lot of localized switch otome games and let me just say, he's gotta be part of my top 5— and some people on that list are there for nostalgia's sake (Hi Tokimeki Memorial). Crius is great. Much love.

Bonus route: Steam Prison - Fin Euclase

I shit you not, bro is a yandere in every route but his. I am not joking. The amount of Love Interests that had fallen from his hands— meanwhile in his route he's a struggling wholesome puppy just trying to survibe the underworld. I love him but I cannot be with him simply because I'm not content with just seeing him happy, I wanna see that broken side again /silly

I forgot to mention: I wouldn't say CxM has a yandere route [I say that as someone whose faves are Okazaki and Shiraishi, who keeps being typed as yanderes when they're deranged at best /j]

... Buuut there is a bad end where it feels like Hoshino/the MC is a yandere for our poster boy :)

lock's otome game recs

i received some asks indicating an interest in a compilation of my favorite otome games, so i decided to go for it!! i've played about fourteen otome games, but of those fourteen, only these six left a lasting impression on me. there are still some that i intend to check out, so the rankings may update in the future. i'll give a very general overview of each game and how i'd score the categories that i find the most important in an otome game — the heroine, story, art, enjoyability, along with the characters i liked the most.

number 6 - piofiore fated memories.

heroine: 6/10 story: 6.5/10 characters: 7/10 art: 10/10 enjoyability: 8/10 favorite characters: dante (ishikawa kaito), nicola (kimura ryouhei) and yang (okamoto nobuhiko)

this game centers around the heroine, with the default name liliana adornato, who finds herself entangled in the politics of the region's three most prominent crime organizations. the game has an italian backdrop and iirc, takes place in the 1930s.

the overarching narrative, while it has its fair share of intrigue, isn't the game's strongest point. it's the interactions with the characters themselves that made the game feel worthwhile. each love interest has more to them than what meets the eye, so it's satisfying to watch the relationship between them and the heroine develop.

the heroine takes a passive role throughout much of the game, events sorta just happen to her. still, she has a kind disposition that makes her likable and doesn't make stupid decisions that has you wanting to fling your console across the room. her characterization changes slightly depending on the route. for instance, without getting into spoilers, she's more assertive throughout yang's route. the resulting dynamic made yang's route the most memorable, even if he's my third favorite character from the bunch.

what feels unique to this game is the effort put into the bad endings. in most visual novels, bad endings can feel like gimmicks. you make one or two wrong decisions and you're rewarded with a few paragraphs. the downward spiral of the characters in the bad endings are decently fleshed out and you can see how they arrived at this 'worst' version of themselves. they're suitably dark and it shouldn't come as a surprise that i enjoyed them because of that 😭

then there's the art. it's stunning, the details in each CG are mindboggling. the heroine gets to wear a variety of pretty outfits which is something i like to see. even in the story's weaker moments, a stunning CG would pop up that had me forgiving everything. i still glance through the gallery to this day.

number five - cupid parasite.

heroine: 9.5/10 story: 7/10 characters: 7/10 art: 9/10 enjoyability: 9/10 favorite characters: ryuki keisaiin (junya enoki) & gill lovecraft (kimura ryouhei)

iconic. showstopping. a little bit camp.

cupid parasite stars one of my favorite heroines, lynette. she works as a bridal advisor whose ambition is to ensure everyone finds their soulmate. in actuality, she's the goddess cupid, who left her post in celestia to better understand humanity and create lasting pairs. she's a delight to play as.

this game's presentation and overall aesthetic is the most distinct from any otome game i've played. aside from the presentation, the story itself is unlike any of the others on this list. when it comes to romance, i typically prefer them to be dark and mature. this game opts for a more lighthearted approach. it vacillates between being a romcom and dipping into the absurdist genre. there were times i was literally left speechless (glances at gill's route)... but it makes for an entertaining experience. the game's plenty funny as well.

personally, i enjoyed the more grounded moments when the mythological elements remained in the background. because of this, the true ending doesn't do it for me as much as they do in other games. as with anything, this is a personal preference though. i liked all of the routes and found the game handles the development of each love interest well. we're introduced to these men at their most pathetic and get to help them become a little more well-adjusted. lowering the cringe meter, if you will. it makes their growth all the most satisfying as the narrative progresses.

number four - even if tempest.

heroine: 9/10 story: 8.5/10 characters: 8/10 art: 6/10 enjoyability: 9/10 favorite characters: the heroine herself, tyril i lister (noriaki sugiyama), crius castlerock (makoto furukawa) and lucien neuschburn (kaito ishikawa)

right from the get-go, this game's premise had me hooked. it features the heroine, anastasia (<3!), who leads an incredibly tragic life. she's bestowed the ability to reverse time following each of her deaths and uses this to unravel a mess of mysteries the world's setting is tangled in.

this game is absolutely anastasia's story. without spoiling anything, i loved the approach they took with the time rewinding ability. how it's incorporated is unique to an otome game, which they take full advantage of to amplify the tragic romances. on that note, the romance itself occasionally takes a backseat to the narrative as a whole. personally, i didn't mind this in the moment, since i found the story so interesting. in retrospect, i do wish that we got more moments between the heroine and each love interest, especially in the true ending.

there are more gameplay elements here as well. you have to conduct investigations, gather evidence, and apply what you've learned during these trial segments. when i first read about this, i thought it'd be a gimmick, but i liked playing through them. it incentivizes you to pay extra close attention to the world.

while i liked the narrative as a whole, i do wish we got more worldbuilding. there are hints of political subterfuge and religious oligarchy that, while touched upon, could've been leaned into more to give the setting a distinct feeling.

number three - olympia soiree

heroine: 8/10 story: 8/10 characters: 8/10 art: 10/10 enjoyability: 10/10 favorite characters: akaza (yoshitsugu matsuoka), himuka (shun horie), and yosuga (yuma uchida)

in olympia soirée, the eponymous heroine, olympia, lives in a society divided into castes based on colors. she is the last surviving member of a clan that can perform rituals to keep the sun aglow. this game is a lengthier title, i believe i clocked in around 25 ish hours (i don't use auto-play so that sheds some time). the story benefits from this, as olympia has rich worldbuilding and lore that's revealed throughout the route's progression.

we get to see the consequences of this caste system and olympia's growth as she becomes determined to realize a better future for the islands. this makes the heroine someone that you want to root for. personally, i'm a sucker for stories that center around a sheltered individual being forced to face the harsh realities of the world and maturing in their own way. this, paired with the struggles specific to this setting, make for a gripping backdrop for the character's routes. all the love interests have problems of their own that they need to address.

this is certainly a mature title, there's plenty of steamy scenes featuring gorgeous artwork. seriously... all the pretty CGs are absolute eye candy. i enjoyed the balance between the main narrative and the development of the romantic relationships, i don't remember ever feeling bored.

ironically enough, i think this is the darkest game from the bunch listed here, surpassing the game with actual horror elements. there's a whole litany of trigger warnings to be mindful of when going through the game's bad ends. they are, as the term suggests, Bad. not light or humorous in the slightest. the poor heroine goes through it. please be mindful of these more touchy subjects.

number two - 9 r.i.p

heroine: 8/10 story: 8/10 characters: 9/10 art: 10/10 enjoyability: 10/10 favorite characters: minami (nobuhiko okamoto), hibiki (shunichi toki), kureha (toshiki masuda), and koyo (ryota suzuki)

i was looking forward to the english localization of this game before it was even announced ... i'd been wanting an otome game with this vibe for ages. and it didn't disappoint! there are four different overarching story sections, with two characters each having their routes fall under them. this makes it difficult to give a summary since each route has a vastly different feel. some routes lean heavy into supernatural horror (such as hibiki and kureha), whereas others are just... supernatural (like with yukimaro and koharu).

the basic premise is that the main character, misa, is a high school girl burdened with her career survey. she's uncertain what she wants for the future and is being pressured by his mother to pursue a career in medicine. in one way or another, depending on the story section, she comes into contact with the afterlife and those who inhabit it.

i loved this game, i couldn't put it down. the routes that leaned heavy into horror were my favorites, which shouldn't be a surprise lol. i do feel some love interests were given preferential treatment of others, i wanted more from sena's storyline in particular, since he's voiced by one of my favorite VAs (tetsuya kakihara, the voice of scaramouche) 😭... apparently this game is receiving a fandisc, so hopefully they'll remedy that in the future.

minami stole the show for me. from what i've gauged online, he's a divisive character, you either find him grating or love him (like i do). i'm biased but i do think he has the most interesting and well-written story out of the love interests, i've played through it three times already. i just adored the dynamic between him and the heroine. he's petulant, selfish, and a bit immature, yet he goes to extremes for her as he realizes his unhinged feelings.

hibiki is a close second. the most yandere-coded of the bunch, he's soft-spoken and polite, but that exterior hides a creepy personality. like all of the characters in this game, there's a tragic element to him. i was worried about the role the heroine would play in helping him 'overcome' this, but i think they handled it well. it doesn't feel like the heroine's fixing him so much as she's helping him have a different perspective on certain events.

yeah i'm not normal about this game, i cannot recommend it enough. it would've taken the top slot if some of the routes were a bit more polished. i didn't care for yukimaro's at all, for example. routes like minami's, hibiki's, and koyo's more than make up for it though.

number one - collar x malice

heroine: 10/10 story: 10/10 characters: 10/10 art: 10/10 enjoyability: 10/10 favorite characters: takeru sasazuka (daisuke namikawa), kei okazaki (yuki kaji), and aiji yanagi (masakazu morita)

the holy grail. the otome games that died for our sins. this isn't just a good otome game, it's an excellent story, with a very human cast, commentary on issues like the nature of crime, and you're left wanting to solve the various mysterious as much as the heroine does. speaking of the heroine, miss hoshino ichika is my all-time favorite heroine. she's clever, resolute, compassionate, and you can't help but fall in love with her a little yourself 😭😭

i'm not sure if this makes sense, but the world feels very... full? you get this sense that ichika exists outside just interacting with the love interests. she has her career, friends, and her younger brother that act as more than passing NPCs. the writers ensured all the characters with portraits are given some level of depth. i left caring about more characters than the heroine and love interests.

each route is dedicated to working through a certain case, which keeps the story intriguing as you progress. finally, all of the little hints that have been littered throughout coalesce into the 'true' route, where questions you've had since the first chapter are given satisfactory conclusions. at the same time, you're left wondering about a few things, such as the complete philosophy of the main antagonist.

ichika's relationship with each of the love interests develops alongside the case they're investigating, which almost always have connections or parallels to the LI's past. this helped ground them in reality and flesh them out into dynamic characters. you come to care deeply about them alongside ichika. the romance feels earned and doesn't come on too fast, which some otome games suffer from.

if you like otome games and haven't played collar x malice yet, i fully recommend it!!!!!!!! it's the strongest title from what i've played so far.

[cosmerelists]

Cosmere Characters as Parents

As requested by anon. :)

If Cosmere characters who aren't currently parents (or who never got that chance) were parents, what would they be like?

1. Adolin

LOVES playing dress-up

Small child: And YOU'RE my servant, Radiant Princess Assassin Duelist! Adolin [solemnly wearing a princess hat and armor, carrying a large wooden sword]: I am at your service, Your Highness.

2. Siri

I'm seeing: Midnight Family Picnics.

Siri: Whose ready for Midnight Family Picnic?? Both kids: [cheering] Siri: Tonight we have a lovely assortment of sweet treats, assorted nuts for salt, and of course a Surprise Stew that the cook whipped up! Siri: Let's set up the tent, and we can get eating!!

3. Kaladin

Wants to support his kid in everything...but may be slightly overprotective

Small child: Dad, Dad look! I climb ALL the way to top! Kaladin: Wow! Great job!! Syl: Wow! I'm surprised you're letting him climb a rock that tall! Kaladin: Well, you know. It's good for a kid to get to explore and be fearless. Syl: ... Syl: Got him Lashed so he can't fall, huh? Kaladin: You know it.

4. Shallan

Has a little bit of trouble setting boundaries--she just doesn't want her kid to feel restricted, you know?

Teenager: See ya, Mom! Gonna go set a building on fire. Shallan: Hey, wait a second! Shallan: You got a good reason? Teenager: Yeah. Shallan: Got a plan to avoid being caught? Teenager: Of course. Shallan: Okay--have fun!! Radiant: ... Shallan: What?

5. Nikaro

As an emo guy, he of course ends up with a kid who is the opposite.

Akane: Are you wearing...a pink shirt with a heart on it? Nikaro: My daughter is obsessed with kawaii fashion. Nikaro: She wanted to style me. Akane: That also explains the sparkly eyeshadow. Nikaro: It does. Akane: ... Akane: Is your goth soul dying inside? Nikaro: Only a little.

6. Yumi

It feels inevitable that Yumi would give birth to a tiny Godzilla child.

Yumi: Look! Mommy made the stack sooooo high! Child: [shrieking with delight as they plow right into it, knocking it over] Yumi: [smile only slightly strained] A mother's love is a powerful thing.

7. Lopen

They say it takes a village, and Lopen definitely has that.

Sigzil: You know...I'm impressed by how well-rounded your kid is. Lopen: Ha ha! A Herdazian is always well-rounded--and very often round as well! Lopen: Every cousin teaches 'im something--he's learned to cook and talk quick and make friends and tell jokes and stick people to walls and all the things! Small Lopen child: [flips someone off] Lopen: He learned that from me! Sigzil: You don't say...

8. Tress

Raises her child on the high seas.

Child: [screaming a sea shanty at the top of her lungs while she swabs the deck] Ann: She getting punished for something? Tress: What? No! She just likes to sing and her favorite one is about swabbing the decks. Tress: I tried to get her interested in spores, but apparently that's not as exciting as swabbing the deck. Ann: [patting her on the back] Well, there's still plenty of time to share your incredibly dangerous hobby with your kid. Tress: Yeah, you're right!

9. Elend

Just doesn't want his kid to have a childhood like his

Elend: Wait a minute...are you reading that book after I told you that the thesis was juvenile speculation sprung from the mind of a man without two thoughts to rub together? Teenager: Yeah, what of it? I'm not gonna take your word for it! Elend: [sniffs] I-I'm so proud!

10. Vin

Just doesn't want her kid to have a childhood like hers.

Sazed: Wow so this is your baby, huh? Vin: Yup! Sazed: So....round. And happy. Vin: Yup! [The fattest, happiest baby you've ever seen gives Sazed a sleepy smile] Sazed: She's...perfect.

[der-schweizer]

This is a little idea about the post of @proneterror204 make sure to hit them up for the og post.

Danny was somewhere between bored, tired (which he almost always was) and generally not okay. How his parents had managed to draw the attention of Wayne Enterprise and get invited to a Gala that Bruce Wayne himself was hosting, was beyond him.

Granted he hadn't even known about it until about three days ago. Honestly he should be used to getting utterly blindsided by his parents ‘Come on, Danny. We are going to drive for the next three days. It's going to be fun’-type of surprises.

They had just left him enough time to lock down the portal, something his dad should have done, grab his suit that Vlad had gifted him. (As much as he dislikes the Froot Loop, Danny wasn’t stupid enough to throw out a multi-thousand Dollar suit.) And then they were off.

He managed to sneak in a few texts to Sam and Tucker on the ride. So now he was here, halfway bored out of his head. He had already been talked to multiple times, and each time got mistaken for one of the Wayne kids.

Danny could see it honestly. Blue eyes, Black hair, decent build body and an air of exhaustion that hung around most of them like a cloak. It was probably the reason why they kept coming to him. Thankfully he managed to shake them off rather quickly.

He had finally found a quiet corner where he could lurk and eat some of the finger food that was laid out on the buffet. Going for thirds was tempting as everything was very tasty but sadly not very filling.

“Man, I could go for a burger.”

A snort came from next to him, which nearly startled him. The girl that had been in the corner before was putting a hand over her mouth in clear embarrassment.

“Uhm. Hi?” Danny gave an awkward wave, not knowing how he should talk to her. In turn she said a quiet “Hello” whilst also signing it. Danny of course immediately picked up on it.

“Sorry to ask but are you…” he gestured towards his ears, signing himself in case she was deaf. The girl looked at him with surprise before smiling softly. “No, I don't like talking.”

“Ah, perfectly understandable. I do know ASL, one of my friends is almost deaf but she got those fancy implants that let her hear everything.”

In lieu of the answer all he got was an “Mhh.” He went quiet after, having no fucking idea what to talk about. Danny quietly wondered what the fuck he could even talk about, the weather? Either rain or fog. The city? Rockbottom in every poll except for crime. Thinking about it gave him an idea.

“Say, who is your favorite Vigilante?”

The question got her attention, making her think for a moment before quietly saying. “Like Wing. Yours?” Danny mused for a second, humming loudly.

“Hmm, I think it's Orphan. I mean, have you seen her move? Just pure grace and elegance. I bet she is an immortal Vampire that simply got bored and decided to fight crime.”

He didn’t see how she blushed, “No.”

Danny just scoffed, “Are you kidding me? She moves with far too much elegance and grace to be mortal. Credit to the other bats but they move like mortals. She dances around both rogues and vigilantes!”

She turned away for a moment, trying to hide that she was blushing but it didn't really work. “Orphan. Is. good. What about others?”

“Oh, hmm.” Danny looked up whilst tapping a finger against his chin. “Well there’s Red Hood and Stabby Robin. Both are top tier, which should be a no brainer.”

She tilted her head in thought. “Why?”

“Well. Stabby robin practices the art of the sword, a forgotten art in modern times. And Red Hood shoots pedophiles! Who doesn't like that?” Danny set his empty plate aside, looking around for a waiter with drinks.

Her answer drew his full attention back to her. “Batman.”

Danny scoffed at the name. “Yeah, of course he doesn't like that. I mean have you looked at the costume of the very first Robin? Doesn't take much imagination why he dislikes Hood offing pedos.”

A crackle in her ear drew Cass’s attention away from him. “Red Robin here, Lantern and Superman are moving in to arrest his parents. Can you keep him distracted for a while longer?”

“Mmm. You still want burger?”

“Huh? Uh, yeah? Do you know a good place?” The question itself caught him absolutely off guard.

“Yes, take me out?” She tilted her head, giving him a cute look. Danny just shrugged, “Sure, my parents are going to take hours to explain everything anyway and they keep getting sidetracked whilst doing so. I fully expect to still be here tomorrow. Might as well spend the time with a cute girl.”

She blushed visibly, then stuck out her hand. “Cass, we date now.” He grabbed her hand, flushing a bit as well. “I’m Danny.”

“No, not Danny. You boyfriend.” She hooked her arm with his and pulled him along. Danny quickly went along with it, not saying no to it.

In Cass’s ear Red Robin spoke again. “Uh Cass? That wasn't the plan. You don't have to date him. Cass? Please don't make me explain this to B.” A click was heard as another com went to the same line. Batman growled out a simple. “Follow. Them.” before it went off.

Cassandra just put a bit more pep into her step as she pulled her new boyfriend towards her personal favorite Bat burger.

Nightwing clicked his comm on, “Found them. They are in the parking lot at main and fifth street.”

He spent a moment taking a picture of them. It showed them sitting on a concert divider, with Danny pointing up with his left whilst holding a half eaten burger in his right. Cass was sitting next to him,a bunch of fries sticking out of her mouth whilst she was grabbing a bunch more. She is also starring right at the camera. Her look perfectly said ��if you ruin this date, i will end you’.

Batman's voice echoed in his ear, “Keep your eyes on Danny. He might have the same ideology as his parents. Oa and the lanterns are already moving in on the Ghostly Investigation Ward. We might have to take him into custody if things turn bad.”

Dick was just about to answer when Cass abruptly stood up, dranging Danny up and then away.

“Hold on, they just started moving again.” Nightwing got up from his perch and followed them quickly.

Tim worked on cutting through the strange rope, “Okay. Just to make sure I got everything right. Danny and Cass went to Batburger and had some takeout, then went for a walk in the park whilst you followed them, right?”

Dick who was trying not to wiggle, nodded. "Yeah."

“Then some weird ass shadow creature jumped you, tied you up and hung you from this tree, right?”

“You are forgetting the part where I described it as a lady from the eighteen sixties, and the part where she said to leave ‘the king of kings’ in peace. Other than that you got it spot on.”

“You know, I would make fun of you for that but considering that there is no knot in this rope and its tough as hell I will believe you.”

“Great. Do we know where they went after I lost them?”

Tim looked him right in the eyes. “Steph found them, and considering how red she was when she came back, it's best to wait until morning.”

Dick opened his mouth to ask why before it clicked in his head. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

Danny woke up groggy, his eyes were crusted over and his limbs felt heavy. For a moment he just laid there, then did a full body stretch, stretching from toes to fingertips.

After it he laid there for a moment listening to noises in the room. He could hear cars and their horns. Some shouting down the hall and the shower in the bathroom.

That prompted the memories of last night which caused the ‘i got laid’ grin. He let out a satisfied noise, before crossing his arms behind his head.

After a moment Danny wondered if Cass would be up to ‘share’ the shower only for him to freeze at the sight of the Batman in the room.

“Uuuhhh.”

“Daniel James Fenton.” Batman growled out. “You are hereby placed under investigation by the Justice League for potential violation of interdimensional rights. Your parents have already been arrested and are awaiting their trial. Do you have anything to say to that?”

[divasroses]

my personalll astrology observations ; )

hi y'all thank you for liking my first post perioddd 🤪. but these are my most prominent astrology observations based off my personal experiences w these placements, not fact <3.

. . .

- libra & virgos can both be huge perfectionists about how they express themselves creatively and just in general 🫠. I feel like they are both their own worst critic, always challenging themselves to do better. let’s remember to be kind to ourselves okay guys 😭🤞🏾.

- speaking of virgos, a lot of times they can be way more intuitive than some pisces placements! and vice versa, i’ve seen some pisces placements be kind of cold and super logical like you would expect from a virgo.

- i truly truly admire the heart of leo placements and they are my fav fire sign 👩🏾‍🍳🤌🏾💋. specifically sun. you'll ask them something like 'can I stay the night?' and they'll look at you like you're stupid LMAO. it’s like for them, most questions/favors from their loved ones are an automatically yes so they truly don’t understand asking first . one that I’m close with will say “are you asking me or are you telling me?” 😭 like girl obviously asking. they’re just very generous.

-pisces men & their hidden children, or estranged relationships w their children. whattt is up w that? 😕and them being prone to violence :(. it sucks because as a scorpio i usually root for them and want the best but damn. chill out 😭.

- really admire the drive and passion of aries men but we can only be friends/business partners( maybeee). my thing with them is they put themselves first obviously and you respect it but then you realize they’re willing to do almost anything to achieve that!!!😭… like manipulating the people around them because they know how much they love them 😩. yikes babe.

- shout out all libra placements, from a libra moon! i feel like people are always trying to say we're two faced/fake but it's just our scalessss !! 😩💗constantly weighing, trying to decide what's best for us and our loved ones. gemini truly has the two-faced tendencies and sometimes they choose whatever opinion seems more popular or shocking 😭🤦🏾‍♀️ . just fickle as hell sometimes, you gemini placements lol. i love y'all tho.

- i've seen a lot of leo x sag relationships in my lifetime and it's cute every time 🔥. seems like leo really holds sag down, and obviously they match each other's spark. however, I have seen sag become dissatisfied with this over time and cheat/escape. not permanately but yeah.

*** some of my other fav couples: cancer x gemini, libra x aquarius, cap x leo, virgo x capricorn, scorpio x pisces ( ☺���), pisces x taurus. ****

- for me close friends = earth placements. specifically cap. (cap does rule my 7th house, so no surprise there). but outside of that, i do value stability so obviously earth is good. idk people say they're boring and evil, i don't usually see that side of them? i know they can say some dumb things though. it's like they'll piss you off once in a while but they're not going anywhere. + they're funny.

- why do aquarius low key act like pisces when they're in love?? they really put their blinders on when it comes to their partner and kind of ignore that logic i expect from them. the person in mind has an aquarius sun & venus. a different aquarius was telling me like yeah they do that, they don't care if their partner cheats or whatever, they will stay. im like wow and I thought I was bad lmao.

- the evil scorpio experiences has to be coming from the men !! 😩 if a scorpio women does you wrong she’s hurt. if a scorpio man does you wrong he’s bored !!

let me know what y’all think/ if you want me to touch on something specific!! happy sunday 🌅.

[deiastormborn]

Arcane Season 2 Finale theory. (Jinx, Cait and Vi)

Heya. Since I was somehow on a roll with my theories about the show previously, and I somehow hit the nail on 90% of the things I predicted, here is a new theory of mine.

Jinx is not dead. Yes, of course, that makes sense considering League of Legends exists, and everything that happened in Arcane happened before the game. Arcane was made canon, and a lot of current lore is being rewritten to match the show, so to people that play the game it's no surprise that Jinx is most likely alive. But how?

Here is what I think:

After Jinx said 'I didn't know your mom was in there', Cait realized that Jinx did in fact change. Or, at the very least, could relate to her pain and mistakes. If you think about it, Jinx's actions were mostly fueled with grief, and the rocket that was shot at the council building happened right after Silco died, who was like a father to Jinx. Caitlyn lost her mother, and became angrier, irrational, fueled with revenge. I think Jinx saying that to Caitlyn made her relate, and maybe understand what is hidden below all the madness that Jinx has in her.

I think Caitlyn and Jinx had a dialogue behind the scenes, that was not shown to us. Knowing Caitlyn's character and somewhat a soft heart, I think Caitlyn sat down and told Jinx that she can't be truely free due to the volume of the crimes that she has done. My idea is that Caitlyn tossed the idea to Jinx about escaping, fleeing, and faking her death. Didn't Caitlyn tell Vi that she became too predictable? Doesn't it mean that Caitlyn knew that Vi will try to free Jinx? Didn't Caitlyn say something about this place being thoroughly guarded too? Yet Jinx managed to escape anyhow?

I genuinely don't think it was done without Caitlyn's interference.

Maybe, after the talk that Caitlyn had with Jinx behind the scenes, Jinx asked Caitlyn to keep Vi oblivious to everything that is happening. Hence why Jinx said that Vi deserves to be with Caitlyn - that could not have gone out of nowhere. Caitlyn and Jinx didn't interact enough in the show for Jinx to say that. And Vi never really spoke to Jinx about Caitlyn for her to make this conclusion.

Now, possibly, Jinx took the whole 'fake the death' quite literal, since we see her go quite suicidal after that. It is possible that she thought that it is pointless, and genuinely didn't want to try and run anymore, hence why she attempted to blow herself up. Luckily, Ekko came in, and the rest we know.

However, it doesn't sit right with me. Not just because Jinx is very much alive in game, but also the fact that we were shown Caitlyn looking at the tower where Jinx fell, while holding the Jinx's monkey bomb in her hand. She also let go of a slight smile when she zoomed in on all the exits and rooms in the tower. Something tells me Jinx knew how to escape, and something tells me Caitlyn was the one who told her. Something also tells me that the balloon we saw at the very last scene of the whole show might have had Jinx in it.

The show is notorious for showing scenes that always mean and imply something. I previously had a theory where I drew a parallel between Vander, Silco and Felicia, with Caitlyn, Vi and Jinx, where Felicia was bringing Vander and Silco closer to each other, and her death ended up splitting them both. I truly think Caitlyn was meant to be the same mediator for Jinx and Vi as Felicia was for Vander and Silco. And maybe that was it. Maybe that's what happened.

Knowing Caitlyn, she is more than capable of forgiveness, and seeing good in people. I think it would be in her character to help Jinx escape, even if it is at a cost of lying to someone she loves.

And, since we see Jinx tell Vi to let go, I think it would be in her character to ask Caitlyn to keep Vi in the shadows.