#like... not that. i hope everyone knows what i mean when i say that. you can do fun and interesting posts and analyses on a ship without

[saint-starflicker]

I was surprised and confused when I heard that there's fanfiction-only readers, as in no contact with most of the source materials to read fanfiction of—I'm not disparaging that, because fanfiction is free and Millennials are seeing like a third or fourth "once-in-a-lifetime" economic recession in living memory, which is not what "once-in-a-lifetime" is supposed to mean, so I expect that the young'uns are probably even more always broke and even more broke. If you have fun reading fanfiction from the fandom of your friend who explained the source material via improv theater extemporaneous slam poetry reenactment summary and that (plus gifs of most dashboard-fillers' favorite moments) is your source...then, bless you. Your media literacy must be phenomenal and I mean that genuinely: if you can get into the fandom for a media and discuss or re-represent it with enough savvy to stay in the fandom, then I think either you're telepathic or the fandoms these days don't have as many canon purists. That's not a bad thing, that's just getting along with a different set of skills for a different context for a different pocket of society to be in than fandoms back in my day.

That said, reading a variety of prose can enrich your writing prose by mere exposure to it, and sometimes that means: book. Vocabulary, sentence length, or whatever other quirks might be notable from reading, are all things you can decide to avoid or adopt in your own writing. (I am not touching the explicitness of the human condition deepthemes in Real Literary Literature versus the instant-gratification entertainment, debate. I can deeptheme a David DeCoteau movie, I have and I would do it again.)

What I think is going unsaid in all the above comments—excellent discussion that I agree with—is that learning to read fiction with the evaluation of a fiction writer...is its own meta skill, though.

Even if you read a variety of original fiction, it could still be that you like "the writing" for flattering your worldview or having feelgood content or an action-packed plot structure rather than for "the writing" as in writing style. Being able to know that difference, and deconstruct the words themselves or the story itself, is another step that can really be a lot of fun.

And that evaluation can be done with fanfiction. I used to write fanfiction of television shows, now I write fanfiction of sung-through stage musicals. The form of the canon can have an influence on the writing, and the keener the awareness of that influence then the better for a writer to decide whether or not you're going to be limited by that influence. The same goes for mostly if not only reading fanfictions, and then having that influence writing fanfictions or original fictions. I think it's great that fandom subcultures now are comparatively more fun and relaxed than they've ever been—haven't had a Ms.Scribe type of thing recently anywhere, have we?—But I'll agree with what everyone above is saying when I say that I hope the fun of broadening horizons with variety, and getting empowered by honing a more specific and critical attention, won't be forgotten either. All of us are incrementally dying of time.

fascinating that when you tell people "you have to learn the rules to break them" when talking about drawing/painting etc everyone nods and agrees but the second you say "you have to read books if you want to write better" there's a horde of contrarians begging to be the wrongest people ever all of a sudden

[sturnioz]

the fraternity are hosting another event — this time, it's family weekend. authors note. theres no part two to this.

you pause at the entrance of the frat house on a saturday morning, taken aback and blinking in surprise as you watch frat brothers dart around like they're in a race against time.

some lug bags stuffed with trash, while others are holding rags and bleach, scrubbing away vigorously at surfaces. the sound of vacuums buzzes loudly in your ears too, and the sharp scent of fresheners fills the air, trying—and kind of failing—to mask the smell of lingering alcohol... and men.

normally, you'd see them all set up for a party by now—maybe even see a few pregame with beers and drugs—but to see them all cleaning like their lives depend on it, yelling at each other to hurry up and get it right.

it's a scene that almost feels surreal.

you stand there silently, unsure of what do do. should you sneak back out and come at a better time? or should you ask someone what's going on? are you dreaming? you feet feel glued to the floor as you shuffle nervously, hoping someone will notice you and fill you in on what's going on.

you turn your head slightly, your eyebrows raise in surprise when you spot kitty leaning against a wall in the corner of the room, dressed in one of matt's oversized shirts and loose comfy shorts. round-framed glasses rest on the bridge of her nose, slightly askew as she munches on a bag of chips, clearly amused at how frantic everyone is acting.

you slowly make your way over, apologising when you accidentally bump into a frat brother who lets out a startled screech as he rushes to past you, his arms flailing slightly as he dashes into the kitchen, yelling something about more cleaning supplies.

"what... what's going on?"

"hey, bun," kitty greets you with a warm tone, holding out the bag to offer you one. you can't resist; dipping your hand in to retrieve a chip. "it's family weekend—they all forgot about it so now they're running all over the place like fucking idiots."

"family weekend?" you echo, your eyebrows knitting together in curiosity. "what does that mean?"

"it's where their parents or some family members come over to bond—like, i don't know, get brunch, watch a lacrosse game, explore the campus, tour the house, just shit like that," kitty explains to you as she pops another chip into her mouth. you nod slowly, trying to absorb everything in. "they're having a family bbq later too, so some of the boys are out back in the garden making sure that it's all clean."

"who is coming for matt and chris?" you ask quietly, moving to the side as a frat brother nearly trips over the carpet, pointing accusingly at another for shifting it out of place. "will nick be here too?"

"nick won't be at the bbq later; he refuses to come here. but he'll probably join for the other stuff outside the house," kitty replies before she turns to you, her gaze steady. "their parents are coming."

their parents are coming. the words repeat in your head, a strange flurry of emotions churning in your stomach. will you have to see them today? how will you be able to face them considering your situation with chris? the thoughts send your heart racing, and you glance around the room, swallowing thickly, gathering the courage to ask.

"are you staying here when they come? should... should i go home?"

"why should you go home?" kitty furrows her eyebrows, her expression shifting to defiance. "if this is because of your whole thing with chris, then fuck that."

"kitty..." you say her name wearily, feeling the weight of your worries press down on your shoulders. "chris doesn't even tell his mom i'm in the room when he talks to her on the phone. i don't think he'd want me here."

"so? you're still friends with matt and nick. they'll introduce you," she replies, her tone firm. you remain silent as she leans in closer, her eyes locking onto yours with some sort of reassurance. "you're part of their group, bun. you shouldn't hide away just because chris is being an dick."

you're still a little uncertain, but her confidence stirs a hesitant nod from you as you fiddle nervously with the jewellery around your fingers, feeling the cool metal against your skin as she gently guides you away from the chaotic living-room and into the kitchen.

however, you pause in the doorway when you spot chris sitting on the kitchen island, a can of pepsi in hand. he stares down at it, lost in thought, while matt stands in front of him, speaking with a tone that feels a little intense, and protective.

for the first time, you see the little brother side of chris—he seems so small and quiet, nodding slowly to whatever matt is saying, his expression pensive as he chews on his inner cheek. matt ducks his head, trying to catch chris' gaze, his voice low and steady as if he's sharing something important and personal.

the rustling of kitty's chip bag suddenly catches both of their attention, and chris straightens up when he sees you. instantly, the pensive look on his face vanishes, replaced by the hard expression you're all too familiar with—his jaw locks, and his eyebrows furrow into a scowl.

a flip has been switched.

"what are you doin' here, kid?" he asks, his tone sharp and blunt. "i texted you tellin' you that the frat party was cancelled, didn't have to come here."

"my phone died so i didn't see..." you respond softly, giving him a sheepish smile. "i left my charger here last night."

chris pinches the bridge of his nose, and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, as if trying to push away the annoyance bubbling inside him. with a heavy sight, he pushes himself off the kitchen island, wrapping his fingers around your upper arm as he leads you out of the kitchen and toward the stairs.

the air feels thick with unspoken words as you follow him upstairs in silence, and you even stand at the end of his bed quietly as you watch him rummage through his unmade sheets, searching for the charger lead that's likely buried beneath the chaos of clothes, pillows and other belongings of his.

"i didn't know you hosted family events," you try, a gentle smile spreading across your lips at the thought of chris meeting his family, bonding with them. "are you excited to—"

"y'know you can't stay, right?" he cuts you off abruptly, his tone sharp and dismissive. it makes your smile falter, wavering as you process his words.

"but.. kitty said—"

"i don't care what kitty said, kid. you're not stayin' here," his voice holds a finality that feels a little harsh, and you watch as he runs a hand through his hair, holding the charger out with the other. "just... just go home, yeah? y'can come here tomorrow."

a mix of emotions rises within you as you reach for the lead—confusion, hurt, disappointment, and an understanding that's difficult to digest.

meeting someone's parents is a big commitment, and even though chris has already crossed paths with yours a few times... he's not ready to share that part with you.

it stings, but you can't force him. you never will. so you nod slowly, keeping your expression neutral. "okay. i'll go."

"thank you." he says unexpectedly, his voice dropping to a whisper, the words carrying more of a weight that his usual remarks. the softness catches you off guard, and you feel a warmth at how different he sounds. you nod again, silently acknowledging his gratitude, clutching the lead tightly in your hands as you turn to leave.

as you walk out of the room, you hear chris following behind, a sharp clear of his throat echoing in the space, breaking the silence that has settled uncomfortably between you.

when you reach the stairs, a frat brother approaches, giving chris a friendly pat on the back and you a friendly smile, which you return with a polite wave as you continue your descent.

but your progress halts on the last step when you spot matt in the foyer with kitty, deep in conversation with two older people—the sight of them makes your heart skip a beat.

recognition hits you instantly.

from the pictures you've seen on nick's instagram, you immediately recognise their parents, and your eyes widen slightly, a blend of surprise and anxiety flooding in your chest.

you feel chris stop behind you, both of you watching as mary-lou wraps matt in warm embrace, her face lighting up with joy as she squeals happily. after a moment, she moves on to kitty, her hands delicately cradling kitty's cheeks as she gushes about how beautiful she looks.

matt shifts his attention to his dad—jimmy, you remember from one of nick's posts. he steps forward, wrapping his arms around jimmy in a hug which he returns with a firm pat on the back, warm and welcoming.

chris presses his hand against your back, nudging you forward as if to help you make a quiet escape while the others seem busy with their greetings. you start to comply, but just as you begin to step away, mary-lou suddenly spots chris. her eyes light up with joy, and she gasps, her curly hair bouncing with each step as she makes her way toward her son.

you side step just in time for her to wrap chris up in a tight embrace, and you watch as chris' arms immediately slide around his mother's shoulders, his expression softening as he holds her.

his nose brushes against her hair, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing in her familiar scent. "hey, ma..." he murmurs softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

mary-lou pulls back slightly, her hands resting on his cheeks, her smiley bright as she admires her son. chris leans into her touch, his face pressed against her palm while she coos softly, a sound that warms you up.

when the two finally part from each other, chris' head turns towards his dad, who steps closer. you notice as chris gently takes his mother's hands off his face, straightening up as he does so.

"hey, kid," jimmy greets, his hand reaching out toward chris, the gesture intended to bridge the gap between them.

"sir," chris responds, his body jolting when jimmy gives him a firm pat on the back—similar to what he had done with matt earlier—before his hand moves to chris' shoulder, giving a few massaging squeezes.

"how's that knee?" jimmy asks as he scans chris with a once-over, lingering just a moment too long on the knee in question. you raise an eyebrow, a little confused, and your own gaze flicks down to chris' knee, searching for signs of any issues. "not causin' you any trouble?"

"no, sir," chris shakes his head, his voice steady but clipped. "not at all."

"good," jimmy nods, his smile widening as if he's relieved to hear that. "i've been in contact with your—"

"hey, dad," matt suddenly cuts him off, stepping into the conversation to grab jimmy's attention. jimmy peers over his shoulder to look at matt, a hum of acknowledgment escaping his lips as he stares at his other son.

your own attention is still focussed on chris', watching him shift slightly, his posture loosening just a bit as he observes jimmy interacting with matt. there's a flicker of something in his expression, and you can't quite tell what it is.

but the way he stands there, so still and silent... it feels odd to you.

you don't like it.

you don't like it at all.

divider credits. @issysh3ll

© STURNIOZ

[tastesousweet]

⭒ crush

| hamzahthefantastic x youtuber!reader au

summary: hamzah has a crush that is extremely obvious to everyone except you ... somehow?! (both written & smau!!!)

a/n: happy new years!!!!!!

— march 2024

hamzah is hungry beyond belief.

martin's already assured him both over facetime and text that he's on his way with their full course meal of chinese takeout— currently sat in the basket of martin's rented bike, jostling up and down with every bump of the toronto pavement without a doubt. yet his stomach is still throwing a tantrum, depraved of any nutrients while his brain repeats in a neanderthal-like manner "food. coming. soon." in hopes of reducing the pressure within his poor stomach.

he opens instagram, needing some sort of an escape, because naturally a little doom-scrolling will ease his (dramatic but still very real) pain. somehow, among the ridiculous animal reels and comedic twitch clips on his explore feed, he stumbles upon a reel from you. a girl with a different quality and charm to your face and character than anything he's seen in other content creators.

not only does your bubbly yet elegant voice keep him watching but the subject matter is rather fitting— you're cooking a homemade chicken pot pie for the first time. in the video you talk about how often your mother would prepare it growing up and now it's become a popular craving for you. hamzah watches intently as if he were ready to get up and make his own pot pie alongside you.

"hey! the hell are you smiling at?" martin's voice is breathy due to his trek to and from the chinese restaurant. he walks into the living room holding a crinkly plastic bag reading: "thank you! have a nice day!" with that big, yellow smiley face in between.

"huh? nothin'." hamzah dismisses and adjusts himself on the couch, "come on, 'm starving!" he reaches his hand out to take the food from martin before patting the seat next to him.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

— june 2024

"so when are you gonna come see us?"

it was a surprise to see hamzah follow you on instagram a few months ago. you'd heard his name thrown around in certain spaces of the internet but never really indulged in any of his content.

his instagram had the format of a shitposting ten-year-old but it only made you curious about the humorous twenty-something. eventually you'd watched a youtube video of his; completely laughing your ass off and finding your eyes chasing after hamzah whenever he was in even the tiniest of frames.

it was never a serious crush by any means, just a nice piece of secret eye-candy who also happened to have a great personality and an enviously good work ethic (the effort martin and hamzah put into their videos was astonishing to you).

so you were quite nervous to be the first to dm him, in hopes of a friendship or a least a quick exchange of "hey." it was only right — you two had been liking each other's poss and stories a consistent amount.

the mellow first exchange between the two of you in april blossomed into you both constantly talking in your free time; your friendship quickly to developed a flirty back-and-forth dynamic that sometimes borders on way more than platonic. eventually martin was added to your consistent facetime calls and you’ve even let them convince you to create a discord account to play minecraft and grand theft auto online with them.

and now you’re lying on your leather couch with both of their faces displayed in your laptop’s screen, eager to hear your response.

“i don’t know…” you play with a loose end of the sweater you’re wearing, “what would we even do?”

they both stay quiet for a moment before hamzah laughs, “why are you acting like you don’t wanna say yes right now?”

a smile slowly grows on your face “okay… gimme a second,” you begin to google flight information to and from toronto.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

— september 2024

yourusername

Liked by clairedrake, hamzahthefantastic, and others

yourusername Y’all didn’t tell me they get wild in the 6 , Omg??!! Highly requested video out neow <3

View all comments

chaserutherford 🍽️8️⃣ • ♥︎ by author

yourusername I rlly do miss u already 😖😖😖😖

ynfan01 ohhhh this was so necessary thank u mother☺️!! • ♥︎ by author

yourusername Mhm!!! Olivia Wilde head nod 💞💞

slushieeee333 y/n: slurping pasta , hamzah the whole time: 😊👀😍😊

thatmartinkid hey look ma i made it!!! 🫵😂 • ♥︎ by author

ynsnumberone THE FLIRTING WENT CRAZYYYYY

slushedyn her and hamzah are obsessed with each other i fear

thatslushykid COME BACK 2 TORONTO ASAP I NEED MORE COLLABS RN!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

hamzahluver45 ok but like it’s so obvious that her trying to flirt was just irritating them the whole time !! Like girl ..💀💀

hamzahthefantastic Posting our dms is already one thing , but TAGGING ME is actually crazy 🤔🤔 • ♥︎ by author

yourusername R u mad @ me Bby???? 😕

hamzahthefantastic BruhLmaooooooooooo

freakzahfan that's one too many "o"s just say u wanna kiss her my boy

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“oh!” you accidentally trip over yourself while walking backwards and stumble into hamzah, who was standing in front of the unfamiliar grocery store, watching you prepare to give an intro. “jesus,” martin laughs under his breath from behind the camera. he lowers the camera, showing his feet but still picking up his voice in the mic, “you good?!”

the clip cuts to you stood upright again, "i'm in the six!!!" you exclaim loudly, raising your arms above your head. "and i'm here with slushy noobz to add to my series where other creators "teach me" their specialty. you tug at hamzah's arm and pull him into the frame with you, "hamzah tell them what you and martin are gonna teach me," you look up a him while still holding onto his arm. you interrupt him before he even begins to speak, "oh yeah! martin is also here by the way!" you point and martin flips the camera to himself. "they're just leaving me out it's fine, i know i'm out already, just vote just vote," he references with a sigh before turning it back to you and hamzah. "don't start! chase is on his way to come and film for us-" "listen! this is our plan-- we're gonna teach you how to mukbang; everyone knows we're very qualified in this field and know everything there is to know about the subject, so, uhh, yeah we're kinda experts. i dont know, would you say that, martin?" hamzah rambles. "yeah, i think that's a good way to describe us" "perfect! then you're teachin' me how to kiss next, right?" you ask. hamzah goes from looking at you attentively (hanging onto your every word) to a face deadpanned as he glances over to martin trying not to smile.

the video cuts to a clip with the three of you, finally, all in one shot now that chase is behind the camera. you pull a cart out from its slot and push yourself on it before standing both feet on top of the tiny foot bar, gliding through the automatic doors.

next, a clip of martin speaking to the camera while you and hamzah look through different pasta sauces together, "okay we didn't really explain this well but essentially we're all going to cook a nice dish and then eat it together in front of you guys. isn't that cute?" "yeah, can't wait for us to mukbang together" hamzah speaks. martin turns back to the camera with a smirk, "i bet you wish you were mukbanging with us huh, chase?" "no. and you just made that word up." martin's face falls.

the entire grocery shopping trip is filmed with little moments like hamzah mispronouncing a few brand names, martin talking to strangers about which pasta noodle to try, and you randomly walking off into estranged aisles "just to see if things are really different here"

now, you're all back at martin's home; you read aloud the recipe and hamzah is stood practically on top of you as he also looks down at the phone, all while martin lays ingredients out of the counter. "okay simple enough," hamzah says. "yeah, and you're still gonna make me do all of the work anyway," martin huffs sarcastically. you giggle a bit, "martin the most you'll have to do is boil water, i'll force him to do the rest." "huh???!! who??" hamzah questions, his smiley face “accidentally” leaning far too close to yours. "you, duh!" you laugh and turn away to look for a large pot.

throughout the cooking process you slowly stop helping; talking to mandy while you two eat chips and salsa while leaning on the counter or petting the pets instead of doing any of the tasks given to you from the self-proclaimed chefs.

"this is literally your video! what the hell y/n?!" martin whines when he finds you and mandy making a tiktok in his "man cave" together after you'd told them you were going to the bathroom, "seriously mandy?" all of the audio can be heard from the mics on your clothing. "where was she?" hamzah says monotonous as he scrolls on his phone. "making freaking tiktoks with mandy of course!" you giggle as you walk into the kitchen behind him, "what? the food is practically done, we're just waiting on garlic bread!" you shrug and hamzah immediately turns at the sound of your voice. "well, you gonna at least show us?" hamzah asks casually placing his hands on the counter around you, trapping you in the space between him and the marble surface. "yeah," you tilt your head so you can look at his face as you make fun of his not-so-friendly gesture, "you wanna keep breathing down my neck like that while i show you?" he laughs and moves away to cover up the embarrassment of being called out. "stop!" you laugh and bring him back into frame forcing him and martin to watch you and mandy dance on your phone screen.

the four of you sit on the carpet with plates full of chicken alfredo and pieces of garlic bread laid out on martin’s coffee table. you all talk about your experience in toronto so far, how you and hamzah first met, … et cetera.

martin attempts to teach you canadian slang: “keener is big here.” “actually? what the hell does that even mean?” “it’s kinda like a try hard— people will call you a keener if you’re doing too much, basically.” “wait tell me more!” “i mean things like buddy is way too common here. some random old guys will call me that and it always throws me off??” “yeah they always say it so demeaning,” hamzah laughs. “do you guys actually say ‘eh?’ all the time? i feel like i haven’t noticed it a lot.” you ask genuinely. “i won't lie.. i say it more often than i like to admit!” mandy says. you’ve noticed that no matter if you’re the one speaking or not hamzah’s eyes keep glancing and sometimes full on staring at you (he really doesn’t mean to but he thinks he’s finally processing that you’re actually here with them after months of wanting this) you're flattered nonetheless.

at some point hamzah and martin recreate a scene in lady and the tramp, successfully slurping at the same noodle until hamzah retreats and martin sighs at his lack of commiting to the bit. you laugh along before asking hamzah’s to share a noodle with you with a smile slapped over your face, “me next?” he fights off any blushing with a roll of his eyes and his response of, “yeah? ask me again in a sec.”

after you’ve all finished eating, you complete the video with a big smile and a promise of more collaborations in the future.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

•••

[pucked-bunnie]

never have i ever ⎜l.hughes

pairings: luke hughes x reader genre: romance ⎜angst ⎜ college AU ⎜ warnings: mentions of a bet ⎜hurt/comfort ⎜ luke is a silly boy ⎜ none tbh ⎜ unsatisfying ending ⎜ synopsis: when his friends spot the new girl at the teams halloween party - luke agrees to a bet he know he shouldn't be making. word count: 7.6k authors note:  this was requested and ended up a little longer than anticipated! I hope everyone enjoys.

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Luke had been watching you for an hour now. 

Not in a creepy way. 

He was just entranced by the way you weaved through the crowd - being welcomed into each group you passed as you say a bight hello to anyone who looks your way. Your bright yellow raincoat had caught his attention as soon as you walked through the door - shining like a beacon as you made you way straight for the house kitchen, carrying around that small bottle of water as you started to mingle. 

“Who you so enamoured by, Lukey?” A slightly slurred voice says as the body of his friend and teammate slides into his personal space - Ethan’s shoulder rubbing against his, their matching costumes a joke to anyone who looked over at them. 

“A Weather-Girl.” Luke says shortly, taking another sip from his half flat soda - nudging the hood off his costume off his head. 

“Weather-Girl?” Ethan repeats to himself skimming over the crowd trying to find the described person. “I don’t see a Weather-Girl.” 

Luke doesn’t elaborate, his eyes still fixed on you as Ethan follows his gaze.

“Ohhh,” Ethan drags out the word, spotting the unmistakable yellow coat bobbing near the living room couch. You’re laughing at something one of the senior players said, your head tilted back just enough to catch the low, golden glow of the decorative Halloween lights strung up around the room. “Weather-Girl, huh? That’s new.”

Luke just shrugs, feigning indifference. He doesn’t need Ethan making this more of a thing than it already feels in his head.

But Ethan being Ethan, the subtle hint of interest is like blood in the water. “You know, Lukey, I think we should introduce ourselves. Friendly team spirit and all that.” He’s already grinning like a devilish accomplice in a bad crime movie, and Luke knows nothing good can come of this.

“No.” Luke’s voice is flat, firm. But he doesn’t move to stop Ethan as he leans in conspiratorially.

“C’mon, what’s the harm? You’ve been staring for what, an hour? Two? Don’t be a coward.” Ethan’s smirk widens as he straightens up and crosses his arms. “Unless, of course, you’re willing to make things interesting.”

Luke sighs, already regretting whatever’s about to come out of his friend’s mouth. “What do you want, Ethan?” Luke’s gaze flickers back to Ethan, who’s watching him with the kind of grin that only spells trouble. It’s a setup, Luke knows it is, but he also knows Ethan won’t back down until he’s either embarrassed himself or dragged Luke into some ridiculous scheme. That’s just Ethan.

“You know,” Ethan starts again, his tone sly, “I think this is fate.”

Luke arches a brow. “What are you talking about?”

Ethan leans in, lowering his voice like they’re plotting something top-secret. “The new girl. Weather-Girl. I bet you couldn’t even get her to go out with you if you tried.”

Luke blinks, his head snapping back. “What?”

“You heard me,” Ethan continues, his grin widening. “She’s got this whole sunshine-and-rainbows vibe, and you’ve got… well, you’ve got ‘quiet, brooding hockey guy’ energy.”

“I wouldn’t really say quiet and brooding.” Luke says taking another sip of his drink, “more like quiet and anxious.” Ethan just shrugs as Lukes correction, watching you move with an equally appreciative look. 

“I mean it’s not like you’re her type anyway.” 

Luke glares at him. “And you’d know that how?”

“I’m observant,” Ethan says smugly. “Like I said, she’s sunshine-and-rainbows and you’re you. But hey, prove me wrong. I’m willing to make this interesting.”

Luke sighs. “I’m not playing your games, Ethan.”

“Not even if there’s something in it for you?” Ethan’s eyes gleam with mischief. “If you get her to go out with you and be the first one to say she has feelings—even just an I like you—I’ll do all your house chores for a month. Every single one.”

Luke hesitates. 

That’s… tempting. 

Too tempting. 

But then he shakes his head. “And if I don’t?”

Ethan leans back against the wall, crossing his arms with a smirk. “Then you buy dinner for the whole team after every practice. For a month.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s fair,” Ethan counters. “Besides, you’ve been staring at her all night anyway. Might as well make it worth something.”

Luke doesn’t respond, but his jaw clenches. He knows this is a bad idea—knows Ethan is goading him on purpose. But then his eyes drift back to you, and he catches the way you’re laughing at something, the way you light up the space around you without even trying. It’s magnetic, and he hates that Ethan noticed too.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Luke mutters, “Fine.”

Ethan’s grin could rival the devil’s. “Fine, what?”

Luke glares. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

Ethan claps him on the shoulder. “Atta boy. Just don’t forget—one date. Real effort. No half-assing it, Lukey.” Luke mutters a curse under his breath and shakes Ethan off. The smugness radiating from his friend is almost enough to make him back out, but then he glances at you again. You’re standing by the couch, the yellow raincoat still draped over your shoulders, your head tilted as you listen to someone talking. There’s something about the way you seem so at ease, like the party could crumble around you and you’d just smile through it.

Taking a steadying breath, Luke squares his shoulders and heads your way. The closer he gets, the louder the sounds of the party become—music pounding, laughter ringing, snippets of conversation floating through the air. He rehearses a dozen opening lines in his head, but none of them stick.

When he’s just a few steps away, you look up, and your eyes meet his. For a moment, Luke forgets how to breathe. Your expression shifts, recognition flickering in your eyes as you offer him a small, curious smile.

“Hey,” you say, your voice cutting through the noise like it’s meant just for him. “You’re Luke, right? From the team?”

Luke nods, swallowing hard. “Yeah. That’s me.” Your smile widens, and you take a small step closer, tucking a strand of your blue wig behind your ear. 

“I thought so. I’ve heard a lot about you. Big hockey star and all.” Luke’s mouth feels dry, but he forces himself to speak. 

“Uh, yeah. Something like that.”

You laugh softly, and it’s the kind of sound that makes the whole room feel smaller, quieter, like it’s just the two of you. “So, what brings you over here, hockey star? Didn’t peg you as the mingling type.”

Luke rubs the back of his neck, cursing Ethan silently. “Just thought I’d say hi. You’re… new, right?”

“Guilty,” you say, holding up your hands in mock surrender. “Just transferred. My roommate dragged me here. Thought it’d be a good way to meet people.”

“And?” he asks, trying to keep his voice steady. “How’s that going?”

“Pretty good so far,” you say, your eyes sparkling. “Especially now that I’ve officially met Luke Hughes-the-hockey-star.” Luke chuckles nervously, and for the first time all night, he’s not thinking about anything other than right now. 

He’s thinking about you—how you look up at him like he’s the only one here, how your smile feels like sunlight breaking through clouds. Ethan’s words echo faintly in his mind, but Luke pushes them aside. He might have agreed to the bet, but right now, he’s not doing this for Ethan.

He’s doing this for you — well for him but what’s the difference.

“So what’re you?” Luke asks, gesturing down at your costume. “I’m guessing a weather girl.” He says with a soft smile, your eyes glittering as you shake your head. 

“I’m Coraline - you know the terrifying kids movie?” The costume makes so much more sense now - your bright yellow raincoat, the gumboots and the button sunglasses propped on the top of your head. 

“Nope, never seen it.” Luke lies, his neck flaming red as your mouth falls open, your eyebrows lifting. “Maybe you should show it to me sometime.” Luke gets out quickly, his heart slamming against his ribs as a knowing smile grows on your face. 

Your grin is equal parts amusement and challenge. “Oh, I absolutely will. You’re missing out. It’s iconic.”

Luke’s stomach twists, but not in the usual anxious way—it’s something lighter, almost hopeful. “I’ll hold you to that,” he says, surprising even himself with how steady his voice sounds.

You tilt your head, studying him with a curious expression, and for a second, Luke wonders if you can see right through him, if you can tell that his hands are clammy, or that he’s replaying every word of this conversation in his head to make sure he hasn’t completely embarrassed himself.

“Deal,” you say finally, extending a hand like it’s an official agreement. Luke hesitates only for a heartbeat before taking it. Your hand is warm and soft, and he hopes you don’t notice the way his lingers just a little too long before letting go.

“So, Coraline,” he says, grasping for something to keep the conversation going, “are you into horror movies? Or is this just a one-time thing?”

You laugh again, a bright, genuine sound that makes his chest feel tight. “I like them when they’re creepy but not too gory. Psychological stuff, you know? Keeps you on your toes.” You pause, eyes glinting playfully. “Why? Are you scared of scary movies, hockey star?”

Luke shakes his head, though the truth is closer to yes. “Not scared. Just... prefer movies where I don’t have to watch an episode of SpongeBob after to sleep.” Your laughter this time is louder, drawing a few glances from people nearby, but you don’t seem to care. 

“Fair enough. I’ll make sure to ease you into it.”

Luke nods, pretending to weigh his options. “I guess I can handle that.”

“You’d better,” you tease. “I don’t usually offer private screenings, you know.” Luke’s cheeks heat, and he hopes the dim lighting hides it. 

“I’ll try not to ruin it with my... quiet, brooding energy,” he says, quoting Ethan with a faint smirk. Your brows lift, and there’s a flicker of recognition in your eyes. 

“Quiet and brooding? That doesn’t sound like you. Quiet - maybe, brooding - no way. ” Luke huffs a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.  Before he can think of a response, someone calls your name from across the room. You glance over your shoulder, and Luke follows your gaze to see a girl waving at you, her phone in hand. 

“That’s my roommate,” you say, turning back to him. “She’s probably wondering if I’m still alive.”

“Don’t let me keep you,” Luke says quickly, though part of him wants to. “It was nice talking to you.”

“You too, Luke.” You hesitate for a moment, then smile again, softer this time. “See you around?”

“Definitely,” he manages, watching as you make your way across the room. As soon as you’re out of earshot, Ethan materialises at his side, looking far too pleased with himself.

 “So, how’d it go?” Luke glares at him, though there’s no heat behind it. 

“You’re insufferable.”

Ethan just grins. “Good then?” He claps Luke on the back and saunters off, leaving Luke to process what just happened. He takes another sip of his now-warm soda, his mind replaying the way your smile seemed to light up the room, the way you said his name like it was already familiar. For the first time all night, the noise and chaos of the party don’t feel overwhelming. 

Because for just a few minutes, you made everything else fade away.

Until his head shoots in your direction - he never got your number. 

+

+

“You’re really gonna stick up posters to try and find her?” Ethan questions as he looks over Luke’s shoulder at the posters his teammate was currently printing out. 

“I have no other option, how else am I going to find her?” Luke hisses back, collecting each poster as it’s spit out of the machine. 

“What kind of idiot forgets to get their number.” Ethan chuckles to himself, throwing his hands up in defence as Luke shoots him a sharp glare. 

“I was distracted.” Luke clarifies. 

“Maybe she didn’t actually like you, she didn’t seem to be trying hard to make sure you got her number.” Ethan hints as Luke tucks his posters in his bag, throwing it over his shoulder before trudging out of the library not waiting to see if Ethan was following behind him. 

Ethan’s words replayed in his mind as the shorter man catches up the two of them making their way to the morning practice. 

Maybe she didn’t actually like you. 

It stung, even though Luke wasn’t sure if it was true. Maybe she had just been polite, humouring him with that radiant smile that had practically seared itself into his memory. Or maybe she really did want to see him again but figured he’d be the one to bridge the gap.

Except he hadn’t.

He’d blown it.

Luke glances down at the one loose flyer in his hand, the bold block letters read:

 Looking for Coraline (or the girl in the yellow raincoat) at the hockey teams halloween party. You left an impression. Let’s finish the conversation. - Luke Hughes (the hockey star) 

Luke had concerningly been willing to attach his own phone number, knowing that in the end this might spell disaster but he couldn’t think of any other way.  Ethan peered at the flyer and let out a low whistle. “Wow. Really laying it all out there, huh?”

“Shut up, Ethan,” Luke muttered, his ears burning. He started toward the cork-board near the vending machines, where countless other notices, ads, and lost-item flyers were pinned. The board wasn’t exactly the romantic reunion he’d hoped for, but it was a start.

As he tacked up the first flyer, Ethan leaned against the machine, chuckling to himself. “You know, you’re making this way harder than it needs to be. Just ask around. Someone’s bound to know her.”

“That’s not the point,” Luke shot back. “I’m not going to embarrass her by asking the whole world if they know who she is.”

“But flyers are subtle?” Ethan teased, folding his arms and smirking. “You’re like a lost puppy, man.” Luke holds the poster up to the board, looking around for a free pin as he feels Ethan tap his shoulder lightly. 

“Dude look.” 

“Ethan I’m a bit busy can you knock it off.” Luke hisses as he tries to shake off Ethan’s hand but his friend was unrelenting continuing to tap on his shoulder until Luke couldn’t take it anymore, smacking at his friends hand turning away from the cork board. 

“Hey Luke.” Your voice was like music to his ears. His hand quickly tucking the poster behind his back as his mouth falls open in surprise. “Someone said I might be able to find you here.” You laugh, Luke taking you in like he did at the party. 

You were still as stunning as he remembers, your cheeks flushed slightly from the cold of the hockey rink, your coat buttoned all the way up your neck and your ears tucked under a beanie. You worse glasses this time, the large brown frames sitting high on your cheeks. 

“Oh my god she’s a secret nerd.” Ethan whispers letting out a heavy ‘oof’ as Luke shoves him away, “Shut the fuck up.” Luke says through gritted teeth before stepping towards you, a lazy grin spreading on his face. 

“You never got my number.” You say softly.

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “I kinda noticed that... after the fact.” You laugh — soft, warm, like the first sign of spring after a long winter.  Luke glances down at the crumpled flyer behind his back, then at Ethan, who’s clearly struggling to contain his laughter.

“He found a creative solution,” Ethan says, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

Your eyes flick to the paper in Luke’s hand  and then back to Luke’s face in surprise. “Flyers?” Luke winces, pulling the paper out from behind him and holding it up sheepishly. 

“Yeah. I, uh… wasn’t sure how else to find you. I thought maybe you’d see one.” For a moment, you just stare at him, your expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a smile tugs at your lips.

“You’re kind of a dork, aren’t you?”

Ethan snorts. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Luke glares at him. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be, Ethan?”

“Not really.” Ethan shrugs, but when Luke’s glare sharpens, he throws his hands up. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.” He backs away, shooting you a wink as he goes. “Don’t be too hard on him, Coraline.” As soon as he’s gone, Luke turns back to you, his nerves creeping back in.

“I, uh… didn’t mean to make it weird,” he says quickly. “I just thought you were—well, I mean, are—really cool, and I wanted to keep talking to you. But I totally get if this is too much, and—”

“Luke.” You cut him off gently, stepping closer, your boots making soft taps against the tiled floor. “It’s not weird.”

“It’s not?”

“No.” You smile up at him, your eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s kind of sweet, actually.” Luke’s heart stumbles over itself, and he tries to play it cool, even though he’s sure his face is giving him away.

“So… can I get your number now?” he asks, his voice quieter, more vulnerable. You reach into your pocket, pulling out your phone and unlocking it before handing it to him. 

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.” Luke takes it, his fingers brushing against yours briefly — just enough to send a spark through his chest. As he types in his number, he can’t help but smile to himself.

When he hands your phone back, you glance at the screen and grin.

“Luke Hughes, hockey star,” you read out loud, teasing. Luke groans, his cheeks burning.

You laugh again, sliding your phone back into your pocket. “So… when’s this Coraline screening happening?”

“Whenever you want.”

“Good.” You tilt your head, studying him with that same curious expression from the party. “Because I wasn’t kidding — you really need to see it.”

Luke chuckles, his nerves finally settling. “I guess I’ve got some things to come clean about?”

“You have watched Coraline, haven’t you?” There’s a pause — not awkward, but filled with something unspoken. Luke just nods his head, surprised when your smile grows. 

“Good, then we can go for something a little scarier.” 

“Scarier then Coraline, doesn’t exist.” Luke jokes, letting out a breath of laughter as you join, quickly glancing toward the rink doors more of Luke’s teammates filing through the doors.

Luke shifts awkwardly on his feet, watching you carefully as you tuck your phone back into your pocket. His heart is pounding louder than the distant thuds of sticks on ice from the rink nearby. He can’t believe you’re standing here in front of him — smiling at him like you’d been hoping to run into him, too.

You’re still here. 

You came looking for him.

“Do you have practice now?” you ask again, glancing at the double doors that lead to the rink.

Luke nods. “Yeah, just drills.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Shouldn’t take long.”

You tilt your head, considering something. “And after practice?”

Luke blinks, caught off guard by the question. “Uh… nothing planned. Why?”

A grin tugs at your lips, and you glance down for a second before looking back up at him, your gaze steady but playful. “I was thinking maybe we don’t have to wait too long for that movie watch.”

Luke’s heart skips a beat. “You mean tonight?”

“Unless you’re too busy, hockey star.”

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “Nope. Not busy. Definitely not busy.” You smile, the kind that makes Luke feel like the luckiest guy in the room — maybe the whole world.

“Good,” you say, taking a step closer. “Because I’d hate for you to back out after going through all the trouble of printing out those flyers.”

Luke groans, his face flushing again. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Not a chance,” you tease, your eyes sparkling.

Luke ducks his head, a shy smile tugging at his lips. When he looks back up, there’s a quiet determination in his gaze. “So… movie night?”

“Movie night,” you confirm. “My place?”

Luke blinks, surprised. “Yeah, sure. I mean, if that’s cool with you.”

“Definitely cool with me.” You pull your phone out again and hand it to him. “I’ll send you a text with my address.”

Luke watches you, his heart thudding faster as you step back. “So, tonight?”

“Tonight,” you agree, pulling your coat tighter around you. “Say… seven?”

“I’ll be there.” You give him one last lingering look before turning toward the door. Just as you reach it, you glance over your shoulder with a playful smile. 

“Don’t be late, Hughes. I’ll be waiting.” Luke stands there for a moment, frozen in place, replaying the whole interaction in his head like a highlight reel. He barely registers Ethan stepping back into view, his expression smug as ever.

“Well, look at you,” Ethan says, clapping Luke on the shoulder. “Got yourself a date, huh?”

Luke doesn’t even bother with a glare this time. Instead, he just shakes his head, a soft, disbelieving laugh escaping his lips. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I guess I do.”

+

+

Luke finds himself standing outside your door, holding a small bag of snacks and feeling more nervous than he’s ever been before a big game. He’s replayed every possible conversation in his head, hoping he won’t make a fool of himself. The door swings open before he can knock, and there you are — standing there with a soft smile, dressed comfortably in a hoodie and leggings, your glasses perched on your nose.

“Hey,” you say, your voice warm and inviting.

“Hey.”

You step aside, motioning him in. “Come on in. I’ve got the movie queued up and everything.” Luke steps inside, taking in the cozy space — blankets piled on the couch, a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, and the faint scent of something sweet lingering in the air.

“My roommate decided to give us some peace so she’s at her boyfriend’s place for the night.” You start slowly, before spinning around to face him, your hands thrown up in front of you. “Not that I’m expecting you to stay the night or anything.” Luke watches the way your face starts to burn, the tips of your ears a bright pink - a soft laugh leaving him as he nods. 

“No expectations.” Luke agrees, pulling out his snacks and placing them on what he’s assuming in your bed. “So what are we watching?” 

“I was thinking we should do a modern classic - have you seen any of the Jordan peele movies?” You question, busying yourself with laying out the food on the bed. 

“No, my brothers aren’t big movie watchers so I never got the chance.” Luke says quickly, hovering awkwardly besides you as he waits for you to settle on the bed. He watches as you hoist yourself up, swishing yourself against the wall before patting the empty space besides you. 

“Well you’re in for a treat.” You smile, throat bobbing as Luke climbs onto the bed besides you, his broad frame taking up most of the bed, his feet almost hitting the end. You had made the effort of setting up the projector your sister had gotten you before you went to college, the stupid machine notoriously hard to set up but it was worth it to not have to watch the movie on your tiny laptop screen. 

“Can you turn off the lights, horror movies only work if it’s dark.” You say quietly, pointing to the lamp switch besides Luke, who reaches without having to hand off the bed like you normally do, the room shrouded in darkness as you press play on your phone connected to the projector. “Be prepared of the best psychological horror of the past ten years.” You tease, settling against your cushions as you reach forwards to grab the bowl of popcorn. 

As the opening credits roll, Luke glances over at you. You’re focused on the screen, but there’s a small, satisfied smile playing on your lips. He knows that he’s here because of a silly bet, but right now, none of that matters. What matters is this moment. You, beside him. The warmth of your presence chasing away the cold outside. The way your laughter fills the room when you catch him flinching at a particularly eerie scene.

Luke has to admit that though the movie was very entertaining he couldn’t help but look away from the projector - his eyes one the side of your face almost the entire time, watching every tiny reaction you had. His gaze only flicking back to the screen as the movie comes to it’s crescendo your eyes briefly flicking over to him, a smile growing on your face as he panics and looks away as your eyes meet. 

“Good movie, huh.” Luke says as he stretches his arms above his head, the credits playing as you let out a snort of laughter. 

“You were certainly enamoured.” 

“Sorry.” Luke sighs, his shoulders folding in on himself, the hockey player somehow shrinking to half the size he was before. “You’re just really pretty.” He admits, scolding himself in his head for his confession, the words slipping out before he even got a chance to stop them. “And now I sound like a ten year old boy telling the girl at the playground that he has a crush.” Luke laughs, rubbing the back of his neck as more words slip out. 

You blink, processing Luke's words, your heart skipping a beat as the playful smirk on your lips softens into something more genuine.

"Really?" you ask, voice quieter now, almost hesitant, as if you're afraid to break the fragile moment hanging between you.

Luke nods, his gaze darting to the floor before meeting your eyes again.

"Yeah. I mean, it's not just that you're pretty. You're... more than that. Smart, funny, kind. Being around you feels—I don't know—easy. Comfortable. Even when I'm panicking inside, like right now." He chuckles nervously, his hand rubbing the back of his neck again. "And I know I'm probably making this awkward."

You shake your head quickly.

"You're not," you whisper, your voice steady despite the butterflies fluttering wildly in your chest. Luke watches you carefully, his eyes searching yours for any sign that he's misstepped, but all he finds is warmth and something that makes his breath catch in his throat—hope.

“You’re almost falling off the bed.”  you say softly, shifting a little on the bed to make more space. Your hand reaches out, fingertips brushing against his arm in a way that feels both tentative and electric.

Luke hesitates for a moment before scooting closer. The bed dips under his weight, and suddenly the space between you feels almost nonexistent. His knee bumps against yours, and he can't help the shy smile that tugs at his lips when he hears your quiet giggle in response.

Your fingers linger on his arm, tracing a light pattern along the sleeve of his hoodie before curling around his wrist. The movie’s end credits roll on in the background, forgotten, as the room’s only source of light comes from the soft glow of the projector casting faint shadows on the walls.

"I've been watching you too," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. "During the movie. I thought you didn’t notice."

Luke lets out a soft laugh.

"I didn’t” he murmurs.  There’s a pause—a moment of quiet, charged with unspoken words and shared breaths. His gaze drops to your lips, just for a second, before flicking back up to your eyes. You catch the movement, your heart thudding louder in your chest.

"Luke..." you start, but whatever you were about to say gets lost as he leans in, slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you wanted to. But you don’t. You close the remaining distance, your lips meeting his in a kiss that feels both inevitable and surreal. His hand finds your cheek, thumb brushing gently along your jawline as he deepens the kiss, his touch careful, as if he’s afraid to break the moment.

Your hands slide up to his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie as you pull him closer. The scent of him—clean, with a hint of something woodsy—fills your senses, grounding you in the reality of this moment.  When you finally pull back, both of you are breathless, foreheads resting against each other as you share a quiet, contented laugh.

The kiss was sweet. Innocent, but left Luke’s chest buzzing as he left your dorm, sneaking past the RA’s room with you, the two of you pausing at the front door as you lift yourself onto your tippy toes placing a soft kiss to his cheek. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Luke asks softly, your head nodding as you promise to meet him at the cafe near the hockey rink. 

“Luke?” You call out as he makes his way down the steps, his body turning back towards you as you whisper, “I really like you.” The words make Luke’s heart drop to his stomach. 

The stupid bet. 

But no one heard it right? 

And surely Ethan wouldn’t hold him to it? 

Luke rushes back up the steps, his hands gripping your hoodie at your waist as he pulls you towards him, leaning down and capturing your lips with his own, the two of you lost in each other for a moment before he pulls away, whispering back “I really like you too.” Luke releases you, your lips tingling as you watch him dart down the steps, bolting from sight as his cheeks flush a bright red. 

+

+

“You going to invite her to the party?” Ethan questions, his eyebrows raised as Luke glances up from his coffee. 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?” 

“This thing is getting kinda of serious isn’t it?” Ethan asks, his eyebrows furrowed as he looks down at his friend taking the lid of his drink to pour an excessive amount of sugar in the hot coffee. “I didn’t picture you as a dating kind of guy.” He adds, Luke just shrugging his shoulders as he straightens ups, placing the lid back on his drink before taking a long sip. 

“I’m not usually, but she’s something special.” Luke sighs, “I like her and I think she likes me too.” He adds noticing the way Ethan’s smile grows.��

“So you’re going to tell her, or are you waiting till you win the bet?” Ethan teases, his eyes catching the way Luke flinches slightly, a shocked expression transforming his features. “There’s something you aren’t telling me.” Ethan coos.  Luke’s jaw tightens, his mind racing. The warmth from the night before—the laughter, the kiss, the way you’d whispered that you really liked him—all of it feels fragile now, like it could shatter at any moment.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Luke repeats, his voice firmer this time. He doesn’t meet Ethan’s gaze, focusing instead on the swirl of steam rising from his coffee cup.

“Come on, man,” Ethan presses, leaning forward on the table. “We made that bet months ago. You were supposed to ask her out, take her on a couple of dates, and then call it quits. It was just supposed to be a joke—a way to get you out of your shell. But now? Now it’s looking a little more serious than that.”

“It is serious.” Luke’s voice is low, but there’s no mistaking the conviction in his tone. “I like her. A lot. And I’m not going to let some stupid bet ruin that.”

Ethan leans back, crossing his arms. “So, what’s your plan? Pretend it never happened? Hope she never finds out?”

Luke runs a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “I don’t know. I just… I don’t want to hurt her.”

“Then maybe you should tell her before someone else does.” Ethan’s words hang heavy in the air, the weight of the truth pressing down on Luke’s chest.

“I will.” Luke agrees, “Tonight at the party, I’ll tell her everything so just keep your mouth shut.” Ethan nods throwing his hands up in agreement as the both slip past a smaller figure holding the door open, a black oversized hoodie thrown up and over their head, Luke nods in thanks to the person, continuing his argument with Ethan as the continue on their way. 

The message dings on your phone as you wait for your coffee, your black hood now pooling around your neck as you let out a long sigh. 

Luke Hughes (hockey star) : I was wondering if you wanted to come to a party with me tonight - it’s at the frat house next to the rink? I can pick you up from your dorm?

Weather - Girl ☂️: I don’t know… I’ll just meet you there? 

Luke Hughes (hockey star): Ok. See you at 7.

You tuck your phone back into your pocket as you step forwards to grab your drink from the counter. 

A bet? 

Of course that’s why Luke had approached you that night. 

Someone like him would never go out with someone like you. 

+

+

You arrive at the frat house just as the sun begins to set, the amber glow of the evening stretching across the sky. The music blares from inside, the bass vibrating through the walls as you hesitate at the door, your hand resting on the knob. You’d never been a fan of parties—too loud, too chaotic. But tonight, everything felt different. It wasn’t just about the party. It was about Luke. The way he’d asked you to come, the way he’d kissed you like he meant it... and now, this lingering doubt.

A deep breath. You turn the handle and step inside.

The scene is exactly what you'd expected—college students scattered across the living room and kitchen, cups in hand, the occasional burst of laughter, music spilling into the air. You scan the crowd, trying to pick out familiar faces, until your eyes land on him. Luke’s standing by the pool table, talking with a couple of teammates, his eyes scanning the room every so often. He’s dressed casually, but he still looks effortlessly handsome. The tight fit of his shirt accentuates his broad shoulders, and his dark hair is slightly tousled, like he’s been running his hands through it all day. Your stomach tightens at the sight of him, and for a moment, all the noise around you fades. It’s just Luke, and it’s just the two of you, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you.

He notices you then, his expression shifting as his eyes lock onto yours. His lips curl into a small, tentative smile. And for a moment, you wonder if maybe this is all worth it. Maybe he really does care. But then the nagging thought about the bet creeps back in, like a shadow in the corner of your mind. Luke steps away from the table, pushing through the crowd of people as he approaches you. His smile widens, but you can see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he gets closer.

“Hey,” he greets you softly, his voice a little too calm. He’s studying you, trying to read your mood.

“Hey,” you respond, your voice a little tight. You force a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I’m glad you made it,” Luke says, his gaze dropping to your hand before meeting your eyes again. “You okay? You look... tense.”

You hesitate, debating whether to tell him how you’re feeling. How everything seems off. But you don’t. You don’t want to seem like you’re overthinking things, especially not in front of everyone. Instead, you just nod.

“I’m fine. Just, you know, not really a party person,” you admit with a half-laugh, trying to make light of it. “But it’s... nice.”

Luke chuckles, his hand brushing against yours as he gestures toward the side of the room. “Want to grab a drink? I can introduce you to a few people if you want.”

You hesitate, your heart hammering in your chest. What are you really doing here? Was this all part of the game to him? Or was he genuinely trying to make you feel comfortable?

Before you can answer, a voice calls from across the room—Ethan, Luke’s friend, who’s standing with a few of his teammates, his eyes narrowing as he looks at the two of you.

“Luke! Come on, man. Get over here!” Ethan calls, clearly in the middle of some kind of banter. “We’re going to play a game, the cute girl besides you can join in too.” Luke glances over his shoulder, then looks back at you. His smile falters slightly before he gives you an apologetic look.

“Only if you want to” he says, turning away from his friends to focus completely on you, your head nods before you can think about it Luke lacing his fingers through your before walking toward Ethan and the others. 

“Thank you for joining us, weather-girl.” Ethan coos as you and Luke reach the group, a bunch of people huddled in a tight circle at the back of the house. “We’re playing never have I ever, know how to play?” You nod again, watching as Ethan clears a spot for you and Luke to join the circle, the two of you squishing between some other players from the team - Ethan quickly handing you both a red solo cup full of beer.

“I’ll go first.” Ethan cheers, “Never have I ever kissed a boy” The girls of the group chuckling amongst themselves before taking a drink, you cup raising to your lips as you take a slow sip as well the round continuing as each player having a turn in saying something they have never done. 

The circle all turn towards Luke as the person besides him finished their turn, “Never have I ever regretted asking out a pretty girl.” He says with a beaming smile, watching as Ethan groans before taking a sip of his drink shouting across the room. 

“That was a lame one.” Ethan turns towards you next with anticipation, your throat clearing as you say, “Never have I ever made a bet with my friend to ask a girl out.” The group falls silent as they all look at you, Ethan’s gaze flicking between you and Luke with a grimace, Luke gaze dropping to you in surprise as you look up at him expectedly, hoping to any higher power that he wouldn’t take a sip of his drink. 

“I can explain.” Luke whispers, recoiling a little as you let out a harsh scoff, lifting yourself from you spot on the floor in a hurry. 

“I think I’m done playing.” You hiss, pushing your way through the crowd as you bolt for the front door, ignoring the sound of Luke calling after you - letting out a shaky breath as the fresh autumn air hits your face. 

“I swear I can explain.” Luke says as he comes up behind you. 

“So I really was just a bet? What is this some fucking wattpad fanfic.” You let out a bitter laugh as you push your hair off your face. 

“Yes...well no…kind of.” Luke sighs, not knowing how to answer your question.

“What did you even bet anyway.” 

“Ethan said he’d do my chores for a month if I got you to go on a date and say you liked me first.” 

“You tricked me because of chores.” You scoff, “Was it worth it?” 

“Yes.” You let out a shocked laugh at his response, taking a few steps away from him as you throw your hands up in defeat. “It was worth it cause it meant I got to talk to you.” Luke takes a deep breath as he looks back to the party before taking a few steps towards you.  “The whole stupid thing was worth it cause it mean I actually got to meet you, instead of just staring at you from across the room, and things moved a little faster then I was anticipating but I’m not mad that it happened.” 

You blink at him, the words settling over you in a wave. You want to be angry, want to shout at him for making you feel like a game piece in some dumb bet. But as you look at Luke, there’s something raw in his expression, something that makes you hesitate. His eyes are sincere, even if the situation couldn’t be further from what you’d imagined.

“Are you telling me you really liked me? Even before this… game?” You ask, your voice coming out more fragile than you intend. Luke’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks unsure. Then he steps closer, the distance between you growing smaller with each second, the warmth of his body making you feel suddenly aware of how cold the night air is.

“I know how it sounds, and I don’t expect you to just forgive me because I’m telling you this now,” he says, his voice rough, like he’s been carrying the weight of it all for longer than he should. “I spent an hour watching you at the party that night, but I just couldn’t work up the courage to go over and talk to you and when Ethan made that bet, I saw it as a stupid way to break the ice—get us talking. And yeah, I should have told you everything upfront, but I didn’t. I messed up. I’m sorry.” The confession hangs in the air, a delicate thing between you. You feel the heat from his words, but your heart is still tangled in the doubt. He’s here, standing right in front of you, apologising. 

“I don’t know, Luke.” You shake your head, trying to process everything. “This whole thing just feels… wrong. Like I was some pawn in a game that didn’t even matter. And now you’re telling me that it did? That you really wanted to get to know me?” Luke nods, his gaze unwavering. 

“Yes. It matters. You matter. And I know it sounds like a bad excuse, but I’ve never done something like this before. I wasn’t thinking about how you’d feel, I was thinking about how I felt—and I was being selfish. I should’ve respected you more than that.” The wind picks up, tugging at your hair, and you shiver, more from the tension building between you than the cold. You don’t know what you’re supposed to say to all of this. Part of you wants to run. Part of you wants to let it go, to believe him, to give him a chance. 

You cross your arms, staring at the ground, trying to make sense of everything. The weight of the night presses on you, every sound from inside the house now distant, muffled. “I don’t know if I can just forgive you like that, Luke.”

“I’m not asking you to forgive me right away.” he says, his voice softening. You meet his eyes then, something in the way he says it making your heart race again. 

“Then what are you asking for, Luke?” You whisper, the question heavy with every word.

“I don’t know.” He says softly, his eyes dropping to the floor for a moment, before flicking back to you.  “I’m not asking for anything, I just want you to know that even if the only reason I worked up the courage to talk to you was because of the bet, it doesn’t mean that anything else had anything to do with it. I do really like you and if you want me to back off I will but I really, really don’t want to.”  Your stern expression falters a little at Luke words, your brain battling to keep your icy exterior up. 

“Please, I’ll do anything for one more chance.” Luke pleads, his hands reaching out for you before quickly dropping back to his sides. You watch as he fights with himself in his own head, trying to decide whether to pass the invisible border you had put between the two of you. 

“How about we make our own bet?” You say softly, not missing the way Luke’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “You get one date to prove that none of this was fake if you can manage that then maybe you’ll get a second one.” You say Luke’s head already nodding before you even finish your sentence. 

“And if I don’t manage to prove it?’ He asks softly. 

“Then you do all my errands for a month.” You answer finally cracking a soft smile, Lukes body visibly relaxing at your words, the joke clearing something as he takes a few steps forwards his arms wrapping around you and lifting you from the ground before you even get a chance to protest. 

“I promise I’ll prove that the bet had nothing to do with anything, and I’ll do all your errands for the rest of the year.” Luke coos, his heart throbbing in his chest as you let out the sweetest laugh, the one that makes his legs turn to jelly as he gently sets you back on the ground. 

“I think I can make that work.” You smile, the doubt remaining in your chest as Luke keeps his arms around you, a part of him needing to keep you wrapped up in his arm to truly believe that this was real. 

[7seas-of-ryy]

Crestfallen - Part 3

Author’s Note: I made up a lot of sicknesses/random things that have never been mentioned throughout the actual ACOTAR series! The breaks in text are going back and forth between the two rooms.

Overall Summary: Although you were born in the Day Court, you've been living in the Night Court for a century. You're close with the inner circle but what will happen when a new healer is brought into the picture?

Part 3 Summary: Clara has been found out, but what has she done to you?

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: talks of injuries

"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean." Clara said softly, a small confused smile on her lips.

"When I asked you to help her, you said "I didn't do this one." What does that mean." Nesta snarled at the young healer.

Mor seemed deep in thought, Azriel and Cassian were equally confused, and Nesta seemed ready to pounce.

"Now that you mention it, I do remember hearing her say that." Mor spoke up.

"You better tell us what's up right now." Cassian growled.

At this point, Clara's smile faultered. She looked around for a way out but noticed the four of them had her surrounded and they wouldn't stop until they knew the truth. She may be evil but she wasn't dumb.

"It wasn't even that bad." The healer confessed.

"What have you done?" Azriel questioned, his voice deadly calm.

------

Madja had seen cases like yours before but never this bad. The cut on your back had traces of venom in it. A rare venom that used the victim's power against them.

She needed to extract every last ounce of it that was in your system but it was trickier than it sounded. If she took too much too fast, it could essentially tear your powers from your very being which would kill you.

"I need you to enter her mind. Once you are in, I will start to remove the poison from her system, you just need to let me know if her mind starts fading." Madja explained to Rhys.

"Are you sure this will work?" Rhys asked.

"Of course I am, boy. Now do as I say." She said quickly.

Rhys tried to enter your mind but all he could see was blinding light. There was no where for him to enter, it was almost as if the light was burning him. He pulled away, never feeling anything like it before.

"I can't get in, her light, it burns me." He explained to the healer.

"Listen to me. It might burn a bit but you will be fine. On the other hand, if we don't fix her right now her light will continue to burn brighter until it has consumed her. Perhaps we could get the shadowsinger in here to help." Madja told Rhys, hoping Azriel's shadows could help.

Rhys immediately spoke to Az through his mind and he appeared within seconds.

"What can I help with?" He rushed out his question.

"I cannot enter her mind, it is too bright, painfully so. Could you somehow use your shadows to help me get through?" Rhys explained the situation.

"I can try." Az responded.

------

Cassian looked towards where Azriel just stood, knowing he went to help you.

"I have no clue what's wrong with Y/N, honest. I swear I didn't think it would go this far." Clara pleaded with the group.

"You better start explaining before I unleash Nesta upon you." Cassian threatened.

Nesta had been eerily still, like a predator hunting her prey. Clara was visibly scared. Her hands were shaking, terrified of what Nesta would do to her.

"Ok listen. I've had a huge crush on Azriel for years now, so when I saw you guys needed another healer I took that as my opportunity." The "healer" explained.

"We've only known you for 2 weeks, how could you have a crush on him for years?" Mor asked.

"Everyone knows Azriel, the mighty shadowsinger, the feared spymaster of the Night Court. Well...when I met him all he wanted to talk about was Y/N. About how much I'd love her personality, how she's so great," Clara went on, "so I was a little jealous of her."

By this point, Mor was dissappointed she didn't believe you. She assumed you were exhausted from your mission and the guilt she felt was awful.

"When she showed up to my shop I got angry that she was back so soon. Rhys wanted me to do a check up on her and all I saw was a tiny cut on her back so I thought she'd be fine and I just wanted her to leave." She continued to explain.

Nesta was fuming by this point. Not only because of what she did to her friend but also because she didn't see through Clara sooner.

"Wait wait wait, all this is happening to Y/N because you're jealous of her? What kind of vile creature are you?" Cassian seathed.

"I didn't mean for any of this to happen-" She began to plead when Azriel appeared in the room again.

------

Rhys re-entered your mind, this time with Azriel's shadows being a protective barrier around him. It was way easier this time but he wasn't sure how long Az could hold it.

"Alright, start." Rhys told Madja.

The healer began her work. Unweaving the venom from your powers, from your soul. She was about halfway through when Rhys called out.

"STOP! I can feel her fading!" Rhys was panting, he was exerting all his energy.

Madja pulled out, confusion taking over.

"This doesn't make sense. It's as if another energy is pulling her powers. Like an untouched ball of energy using up the rest of her." She explained.

"What do we do?" Azriel questioned.

"It needs another energy form to pull from..." She started.

"My shadows." He whispered.

Before anyone could stop him he sent them out to you and that little ball inside of you immediately began to absorb them. He screamed out in pain and Rhys and Madja quickly began to work.

It took only a few moments more for Madja to finish yet it felt like an eternity for the two males. It had been way easier now that Az was distracting whatever it was inside of you. The venom was successfully extracted and the room was eerily quiet. Rhys and Az both fell back, feeling drained from using their powers in such a way.

"Why isn't she waking up?" The shadowsinger whispered, making his way toward you.

"It must have to do with whatever is deep inside her. I need to do a full body work up on her to see what is going on." She spoke and started right away.

Az felt a tear slide down his cheek and quickly brushed it away. The High Lord stayed back to give you space to be checked out but he felt the same as the male next to him, worried and hopeless.

It felt like an eternity when Madja spoke up again.

"There is a substance inside her nose. Almost like a powder but I haven't seen it before. I'll have to take it back with me to break the molecules down. I'm afraid Y/N will have to stay in this state for now." She told the two males.

Azriel's head shot toward Madja at her words.

"Wait, did you say a powder was in her nose?" He muttered.

She just nodded her head in response, holding up the sample she collected. Your words from earlier popped into his head.

"Y/N told me 'she blew some powder in my face which caused everything'." Azriel stated coldly and winnowed away.

------

The shadowsinger appeared in front of Clara, his shadows surrounding her and pinning her against the wall. She shrieked in either pain or fear but he didn't care. You were in danger and he would stop at nothing to help you.

"What did you blow in Y/N's face?" He demanded.

"What?!" She feigned innocence.

Azriel held up the vial of powder close to her face. His shadows squeezed tighter around her frame.

"It's nothing serious," She weezed out, "It's a mix of vamire, spitfire aconite, and root of igranium. All it's supposed to do is heighten the pain/sickness they already have. I had an antidote that I gave her. It's in my bag."

Mor quickly grabbed the bag from the female, searching for both the powder and the antidote. She handed them both to Az.

"And why would you posion her just to give her an antidote?" Cass asked.

"I wanted to impress Azriel." She whimpered looking down.

"What's in the antidote?" Az shouted at her making her flinch.

"A..Adlirin and G..G..Green Gilliflower." She sputtered in terror.

The shadows left along with their master and she fell to the floor.

------

"Both of these are in her system," Az spoke holding the vials, "Vamire, Spitfire Aconite, Root of Igranium, Aldirin, and Green Gilliflower."

Madja's eyes grew wide and a bad feeling shot through both Az and Rhys at her reaction.

"This isn't good." She said, looking over your unconscious form.

Taglist

@rcarbo1 @acourtofbatboydreams @bravo-delta-eccho @tele86 @theravenphoenix26

@anoneyesee @ren-ni @kabekusa @isa1b2h3 @i-am-infinite

@historygeekqueen @mariahoedt @fr0stf4ll

[with-my-calamitous-love]

please don’t ever become a stranger (whose laugh i could recognize anywhere)

k. bakugou x reader

moments in the year where katsuki realized he’s in love with you. happy new years 🤍

inspired by new years day

february 14

he’s driving you home after a date, one hand on the steering wheel, the other intertwined with yours. city lights pass through the windows in a blur, the road long enough for you to tell it’ll be a long way home.

he’s stressed, a little. you can tell by how he grips your hand, and the way he seems not totally focused on anything in particular. you still feel safe- he’s a great driver- but his inner thoughts aren’t lost on you. normally, he’s the toast of the town, and you’re right there with him. he’s aware of his reputation, and the love he gets from fans. but with fame comes the public eye, and even he isn’t immune to it.

he’s been striking out more lately. his abrasive attitude that you love isn’t always loved by everyone. his slip ups and mistakes seem to make headlines more than his achievements. its grating on him, and he hopes you don’t notice.

but you do, because thats what you do for people you love.

1. 2. 3. you squeeze his hand three times. i love you, it spells out. i’ll love you when you’re at your best and worst. no matter what.

at first, he thinks you’re just playing with his hand, crimson eyes flickering over to you and then back to the road. exactly 2 seconds later, he gets what you really mean.

1. 2. 3. 4. he grips your hand back. i love you, too. he says, without actually saying anything. i will never not love you. you’re the only person who stays for me no matter what. and for that, i love you.

unspoken words you both know to be true that night.

april 20

he doesn’t really celebrate his birthday, but his friends and colleagues always insist on it. he snarls, scoffing, finding it all pompous and unnecessary, until he sees your starry eyes planning his special day. he can’t say no to you.

he wasn’t expecting much when he unlocked the door to his apartment. he had a feeling you’d throw him a surprise party, but he didn’t think you’d gather his old classmates in his home to celebrate with him.

he’s stunned for a moment, until his lips curve into a begrudging smile. a room full of people, on his birthday, and the first person he looks for is you.

“thanks, dumbass.” he murmurs, a few drinks in while his arm finds your waist. his smile is like sunshine, though you rarely see it when its genuine. you pretend not to notice the ‘ews’ and laughs from your peers when he presses a long kiss to your cheek.

he has work tomorrow morning. he’ll definitely regret drinking as much as he did. he decides he’ll take an advil and get it over with.

he knows how much he’s loved you from the moment he entered that party. he realizes it more when you call in for him the next day, his hangover palpable, with you by his side.

“you didn’t have to do that.” he groans, but he isn’t annoyed. its a little embarrassing being taken care of, but he isn’t complaining when its with you.

“its just one day, babe.” you hum, holding his hand, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. “you deserved the break.”

“pro-heroes don’t get breaks.” he adds.

“okay… but i missed you.” you smile a little, trying to win him over.

you already have.

june 26

katsuki is used to criminal activity. when he hears about it, he keeps a level head and a resting bitch face, ready to deal with whatever comes his way. all that rationality is thrown out the window when he hears you had been caught up in it and injured.

he runs through every medic, frantically searching for you like his life depends on it. he’s imagining every worst case scenario, heart beating out of his chest and snapping at anyone who asks whats wrong.

“katsuki!” you finally call out to him. he turns and is relieved to see you’ve only managed a broken arm. the sigh of relief that leaves his lips is a testament to how much he cares, arms wrapping around you, not giving a single fuck who sees.

“are you okay, idiot? are you hurt anywhere else?” his eyes scan you for injuries. you physically have to cup his face and bring his attention back to whats important: you’re okay. and so is he.

“i’m fine.” you almost laugh, savouring his rare moment of vulnerability. he has things to do, reporters to talk to and damage to control, but you’re the priority right now. you’re what he loves the most.

you never know how much you care until you think you’re going to lose it.

september 12

being a gruff, muscular, powerful hero, katsuki think’s he’s too strong for panic attacks. he’s also wrong.

he hopes you’re in a deep enough sleep not to notice his pacing. to him, the room is on fire, only the smoke is invisible and only he can feel the flame.

his breathing picks up, pains in his chest while the tremors set in. his heart races, nauseous and sweating while he tries to get his bearings. all of his heroes die all alone, just like he will.

“just breathe.”

he’s commanded by you, not even realizing you woke up. he feelings your touch on him, taking his hand and placing it overtop your chest. he wants to ask you when you woke up, or for how long you’ve been watching him, but he can’t seem to ground himself enough for that.

“its okay, kats.” you coo, pulling him into a hug, as if shielding him from his own anxiety. “just breathe. you’re safe here.”

he can save you from villains and threats, be your knight in shining armour, your hero. you, on the other hand, can save him from himself. and thats the moment he knows he’ll love you for as long as he breathes. even if you were to one day become a stranger to him- his heart would recognize you anywhere.

december 31st - 5 minutes to midnight

there’s glitter on the floor, polaroids tossed around lazily. kirishima’s annual new years party wouldn’t be complete without you and your boyfriend, katsuki, in attendance. people drink and blast music, reminiscing on this past year. in just 5 minutes, the world would begin again.

he could be with his friends, drunk on love, laughter, and booze. he could relish in the fame of his success and achievements. but all of that seems so small, so trivial, when he sees you out on the balcony, alone.

“idiot?” he peers out, seeing you leaning over the railing, looking out at the stars. “what’re you doing out here? everyone’s gonna start counting down.”

“hey.” you hum as he walks over to you. his arm so naturally finds its way around your waist, like it belongs there. loving you is like breathing for him.

“you know 5 years ago today, you just graduated.” you reminisce, watching his red eyes grow contemplative.

“yeah? so?” he utters, not getting your point.

“nothing, just… so many people spend new years focusing on whats ending. and thats good. i just… when i look at you, katsuki… i think of my future.”

his heart swells at that.

“damn it, idiot.” he huffs, forehead resting against yours, a dumb smile on his face. “my life has been better with you. everything has been better since you.”

you both hear the sounds of cheering, counting down to midnight. time ceases when katsuki looks at you, whole centuries passing when he holds your gaze. you melt his tough exterior and the ashes of his ambition. you become his dreams, his everything.

“10!”

“i never want you to be a stranger, ever.”

“9!”

“i wanna laugh with you for the rest of my life.”

“8!”

“i wanna hold on to every memory with you.”

“7!”

“this is so fucking corny.”

“6!”

“i know, i don’t care.”

“5!”

“i’d spend all my midnights with you.”

“4!”

“and all my new years days.”

“you hate cleaning up after parties, though.”

“i can’t hate anything when its with you. i love you, [y/n].”

“i love you too, katsuki.”

“3!”

“2!”

“1!”

january 1st

the truth is, he has always known he’s loved you. he’s never needed the reminder, like its the one sure thing in his life. for as long as he lives, he’ll be cleaning up bottles with you on new years day.

[solxamber]

hello !! first of all I wanted to say I love your work

and now, for the holiday event: savanaclaw, 6, hurt/comfort :]

thank you so much <3

Chosen || Jack Howl

For the Holiday Event! || Prompt: "Say that again" ; Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Jack wasn’t one for self-doubt. He was confident in his abilities, his loyalty, and his principles. But when it came to you? That was an entirely different story.

You, with your pretty smile and effortless charm, were beloved by nearly everyone at NRC. From classmates to teachers, even Grim—everyone seemed drawn to your warmth. Jack had convinced himself that you were too good, too out of reach for someone like him.

So when you confessed your feelings to him, he was floored.

Now, as the two of you sat on the quiet steps behind the botanical garden, he still struggled to believe it. The moonlight bathed you in silver, making you look even more unreal. Jack glanced down at his hands, flexing them nervously.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked suddenly, his ears twitching.

You turned to him, confused. “What do you mean?”

Jack hesitated, his tail swishing behind him. “You could’ve had anyone. I mean, you’re… well, you. And I’m just…” He trailed off, ears flattening.

Your heart clenched at the barely disguised insecurity in his voice. “Jack,” you said softly, scooting closer. You placed a hand over his, stilling his fidgeting fingers. “What brought this on?”

“I just don’t get it,” he admitted, his eyes meeting yours. “You’re beloved by so many people. Why would you choose me?”

Your gaze softened. “Jack, do you really think I’d want anyone else?”

He looked away, his tail curling slightly. “I’m nothing special.”

“Don’t say that,” you said firmly, cupping his cheek and turning his face back to you. “You’re everything I’ve dreamed of. Strong, kind, loyal, and so, so good. I chose you because you’re you, Jack. And I hope to stay by your side forever.”

His breath hitched. “Say that again,” he murmured, his voice almost a plea.

You smiled, brushing a thumb across his cheek. “I hope to stay by your side forever, Jack.”

He exhaled shakily, leaning into your touch. “You don’t know what that means to me,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his. “I think I do.”

Jack closed his eyes, his hands coming up to gently hold your waist. “I’ll do everything I can to make sure you never regret choosing me.”

You smiled, leaning into his hold. “You don’t have to do anything but be yourself, Jack. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

His tail wagged slightly, betraying his calm exterior. “You’re incredible,” he murmured.

“So are you,” you replied, pulling him into a soft embrace.

And so, Jack let himself believe that he was enough—because to you, he was everything.

Masterlist

[spiderb00]

PRETTY PUPPY

Daniela Avanzini x reader 

“Your girlfriend is bossy and brat, but you love her, and she loves her puppy” 

Genre – smut (men n minors dni) Warnings – Hair pulling, degradation (just a little) 

Now playing – God is a woman, by Ariana Grande 

You were tired, after a hard day's work, all you wanted was to take a shower, get the smell of smoke out of your body and hibernate for the next two days. Unfortunately, you had to keep your life outside of work alive, and even though you didn't want to, you knew the effort was worth it. But today, you didn't want to do anything, you didn't want to go anywhere with anyone, all you wanted was to lie in your bed and hug your girlfriend.   

"Yn, get up!" Daniela shook your shoulder, waking you from your sleep haze.   

Waking up a little stunned, you looked at the Latina, not understanding why your beautiful girlfriend wanted to take you out of your rest. Dani looked beautiful, wearing a cute white blouse and a low-waisted skirt that highlighted her body. 

"What? Why? Where are you going?" You asked, running your hands over your face, trying to wake up.   

"Where are WE going! Come on baby, it's one of my friends' birthday, I told you not to forget, I told you you'd drive because I'm in the mood to drink today."  

Listening to Daniela's explanation, you felt a little annoyed, all you wanted was to rest, and here she was, asking you to drive to a party just because she wanted to get drunk.  

"Baby, I'm tired. I worked all day, can't you ask Manon to come with you?" You tried to convince the Latina to give you a day off, your muscles too tired to make any move.   

"Manon can't go, she's celebrating her one-year anniversary with her girlfriend, and you promised you'd take me!" Daniela's voice began to rise in the middle of the sentence, a clear sign that she was about to start throwing a tantrum because she wasn't getting what she wanted. "Why are you still lying down, get up, puppy! You're going to make me late!"   

You knew what you were getting into when you started dating Daniela, the Latina was an only child, and you could see that she was spoiled miles away. But it was a thousand times worse than you thought. She didn't hesitate to throw a tantrum when you didn't get what she wanted, she was mad at you for not giving her what she wanted, and she even called you that stupid nickname, "puppy", you were fed up.   

"Daniela, I'm sorry. I'm too tired for this. I've worked hard all week, and on the only day I have for a rest you want me to be your chauffeur. It's not going to happen!" You said, getting out of bed and heading towards the bathroom. Losing the shocked look on your girlfriend's face.   

"I hope you're going to the bathroom to get ready, because I swear, Yn. You said you'd take me, and now you're going to take me." Daniela followed you to the bathroom, watching you lean against the sink and sigh.   

"You know, not everyone is a spoiled brat like you! Some of us have to work hard!" You regretted the words that came out of your mouth as soon as you finished speaking.   

"Are you saying I don't work hard?" You swore you were going to die at that moment. 

Daniela's gaze was fixed on you, the Latina's head tilted to the left as she analyzed your every move. You knew that if you threw yourself out of the second-floor window of your house, it would hurt less than anything Daniela was planning to do to you right now.   

"No, I didn't say that-"  

"But you meant." The Latina approached you, making you try to go further back, almost as if she was trying to merge you with the bathroom sink.   

"No, I don't, I just-"   

"You just what? Do you think I'm a slut, Yn?"     

"No!" You shook your head quickly.   

"Do you think I don't work as hard as you do?" The Latina grabbed the back of your head, pulling your hair down, making you lean in the pain of the squeeze.   

"No! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it, I promise!"   

Still with her hand in your hair, the Latina leaned a little, getting in line with your vision.   

"My puppy can't keep up what she said?" Daniela asked, mocking you.   

"Don't call me that!" You said, stopping immediately when the Latina pulled your hair harder., making you get on your knees.    

"Oh, my puppy is so pathetic. You love me, don't you, Yn?" You nodded quickly, agreeing with everything the Latina said. "So you're going to do what I want, when I want. Are you listening to me?" 

You didn't even have time to reason before your girlfriend leaned in, kissing you aggressively. Her lips were soft, but in this kiss you couldn't feel their softness much. Both of your teeth chattered from the aggressiveness of the kiss, and Daniela's hand on your head made her have great control over you.   

"You were talking a lot earlier, weren't you?!" Daniela said as she pulled away from the kiss, a strand of saliva connecting the two of you for a few seconds, before it split in half. "Let's use your mouth for something more useful."   

In one swift motion, the Latina slid the panties she was wearing off her body, leaving you static. You've been in this position other times, she scolding you for not following her orders, you and Daniela had a strange way of fighting. You could work out serious things as adults, always prioritizing each other's opinions and trying to come to an agreement. But when the fight that started was over something not very big, Daniela or you almost always turned it into furious sex, and it was fucking good.   

"Oh, what? Are you shy now? Did the cat eat your tongue, puppy?" Daniela mocked you, making you look at her with furrowed brows. "No, don't look at me like that. Come on, do your job before things get worse for you” 

With that, Daniela grabbed your hair again, making you hold both of the Latina's thighs. One of Daniela's legs was on your shoulder, and now you had a little more access to the blonde's intimacy. As much as she was holding your hair, Daniela waited for you to make the first move, when you finally licked a band in her pussy, the Latina moaned loudly, her moan echoing through the bathroom walls.   

Tightening the grip she had in your hair a little more, you moaned in pain, taking a wave of vibrations to your girlfriend's clit, who moaned louder. Daniela's taste was so good, that you may have forgotten why you were in this position for a second. You couldn't deny that you loved hating Daniela's tantrums, the Latina had won your heart, you couldn't escape, you knew that that spoiled and bossy brat would be your wife one day.  

Losing patience with Daniela's insistent pulls, and with the pain in your knees, you finally decided to impose yourself. Letting go of the leg that was on your shoulders, you left the Latina confused for a few seconds, only to stop in one quick motion, grab her by the thighs and lift her on top of the sink.   

"Why do you think you can treat me the way you want, huh?" You asked, grabbing the blonde's face tightly, a pout forming on Daniela's lips, from the force with which you were squeezing her cheeks.  

"Why can I! YOU'RE MINE!" She whimpered, slapping your hands and freeing herself from your grip.    

Laughing sarcastically, you bent down again, spreading Daniela's legs and adjusting yourself in the middle of them again. The Latina was so excited by the sight that her thighs trembled, every touch of you seemed to have triple the power over her now.   

"You'll regret it later, mami."   

Dipping your tongue back into the middle of the Latina's feathers, Daniela didn't even care what you had said. The words seemed hollow when they entered her ears, and she might forget, but at some point you would remember her. All the Latina could think about was how your tongue was doing a fantastic job on her.   

"Hurry up puppy, you're still going to drive for me tonight."   

With a growl, you remembered once again why you were here, it was inevitable, you forgot everything with Daniela's sweet taste in your mouth. Penetrating two fingers inside your girlfriend, you continued your work with your tongue, gradually accelerating the back and forth movements with your hand.   

"Oh, that's right puppy, I'm so close."  

Hitting the special point in Daniela, you watched the Latina roll her eyes, you concentrated your thrusts in the same place, doing tricks with your tongue quickly. You knew your girlfriend's body like the back of your hand, and it was easy to make her reach the state of pleasure.   

"I'm cumming, baby! Please don't stop!"   

The eyes rolling, the hands squeezing your hair again, the legs shaking, all these were your girlfriend's reactions to your hard work, because as you said from the beginning of it all, you work hard!  

When the Latina finally calmed down, descending from the haze of orgasm, she pulled you up, a drunken smile on her face as she pulled you into a gentle kiss, a very big contrast to the ones you exchanged minutes ago.   

"You know I love you, right?" Daniela asked, caressing the point where she mistreated you so much.   

"Of course I know. And I love you too, even with your tantrums." Laughing, Daniela kissed you quickly once again.   

"I'm sorry to be so rude to you."   

"Oh, don't worry, this will definitely come back!" You said, giving the curly girl another kiss on the lips and walking away. "Come on, you don't want to be late, do you?!"   

Walking away, all you left behind was a Daniela with a scared expression, afraid of what would come next, maybe she should start taking it easy with her puppy. 

Did you guys think I was joking? ;)

I have nothing to say, I'm a little embarrassed… :/

Xoxo, spider.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request the Itoshi brothers and Bachira with a ballerina reader?

“You can’t possibly be serious.”

Rin didn’t know a lot about relationship and girls, but he still knew when he said that, he crossed a line.

“Oh really.” [Y/N] snapped back at him. Arms crossed across her chest. Glaring at him with that fiery determination Rin usually respected, but now was a little scared of. “So you admit you think my training is BS compared to your training?”

The two of them had been on very intense practice schedules as of late. Rin training up to prepare for his next match and move up, and [Y/N] training for their upcoming performance and hopefully be scouted for prima in a company. They were stressed out, fried, and exhausted. And what do exhausted people do when they are exhausted? Compare their exhaustion so they make sure that their complaints are justified as they are the only one, in the whole wide world, who could be this exhausted.

“I didn’t say it was ‘BS’. I’m just saying you can’t possibly compare what I have to do to what you have to do. The weight training. The cardio.”

“The stretching. The vaults.”

“The practice matches. The strategy management.”

“Learning every step in the performance, even if it isn’t yours, to memory. Being lifted almost 8 feet in the air and hoping your partner can hold so you don’t break your leg, or your neck.”

“The ice baths.”

“Pointe shoes.”

“Having to deal with Isagi!”

The couple growled at each other before [Y/N] finally snapped. “Fine! You think it’s so easy, you do it!”

“Fine!”

Rin would live to regret that.

The next day, to foolishly prove a point, Rin went through [Y/N]’s whole workout schedule with them. The stretching, the vaults, the practice, the lifts. He wouldn’t let himself be lifted, nor wear pointe shoes, but by the end of the day his body hurt in new ways he didn’t even know were possible. “Still think it’s so easy?”

Rin looked up from the floor he was laying on up at [Y/N]. “Fine. I take it back.”

She smiled and knelt down beside him. “Well, I appreciate that. People think because ballet is all pretty costumes and fluid movements that it’s calm & easy. They don’t appreciate the work that goes into it.”

“I’m sorry.” He realized he was doing that. Belittling their hard work.

Rin sat up and took a sip out of his water bottle. “Are you going to do my training tomorrow then?”

“Sure. What’s fair is fair.” She agreed. “But no weights. I can’t bulk up anymore of Madam Costume Maker will murder me.”

Rin scoffed. “We’ll just do an easy day for you then. If you can’t handle it.”

She punched him in the shoulder, but Rin was too tired to even feel it.

One thing that people don’t tell you when you become a professional athlete is that it’s not just about the games anymore. It’s the press.

Sae sighed as he came back to his hotel room. Completely drained from having to deal with people all day and answer their silly questions. He just wanted to play football. Why did he have to tell everyone about his fitness strategy or what brand of saltines he liked?

As he was taking off his coat his phone rang and Sae answered it. “Hello.”

“Thank you for the flowers.”

A small smile tugged at Sae’s lips as he heard [Y/N]’s voice. “Of course.” With his game coming up, he was not in town for [Y/N]’s opening night. He felt bad about it, which was strange, but being professionals in their art sometimes they had to make sacrifices. That didn’t mean he couldn’t make an effort. “How was the show?”

“Good. Early critic reviews seem to be positive.” Of course they were with [Y/N] as the prima. “I wish you could have seen it.”

“I will.” Sae explains that he paid someone to film their performance. He had gotten special permission and everything from the company; with a hefty donation. “I’ll watch it later.”

“You sound tired.”

“I am.” He confessed.

“Poor baby,” [Y/N] cooed. Even though she was the one that went through the grueling physicality of dancing, she still seemed more concerned for him. “Why don’t you take a hot bath and get some sleep then?”

“They don’t believe in baths here.” Or at least his hotel room didn’t.

“A shower then. I’ll see you next week?”

“Of course.”

Sae hung up the phone and sighed again. Still tired, but a little refreshed from talking to [Y/N].

He showered and went to bed as suggested. Getting a goodnight sleep for another press tour tomorrow before the game. When he woke up that morning there was a knock at his door and a delivery from room service. A hearty breakfast of an egg white omelet, fresh fruit, and salty seaweed tea. The kind of breakfast he needed but would never get for himself. After accepting delivery, Sae noticed a card on the silver tray and quickly read it.

:Do your best: was all it said, but Sae knew who it was from.

He sat in his hotel room and ate his breakfast in silence. Watching [Y/N]’s performance on TV. Just because they had to make sacrifices didn’t mean that they couldn’t make the effort.

Bachira had been obsessed with ballerina’s ever since his mother took him to see a show once at Christmas.

The bright costumes. The spins. The music. It always excited him.

Dating [Y/N] was almost like being in the show. Helping them with their choro. Coming to rehearsals to see them practice. Bachira had probably seen the show a hundred times before actually opening night, and yet he was as nervous & excited as the actual dancers.

“You’re going to do great [Y/N]-chan~!” He whispered to her backstage.

“I don’t know…it’s a much bigger crowd than I expected….”

“That’s ok.” Bachira told her. “They’re all just faceless blobs in a crowd. Don’t focus on anyone but me in the first row. Unless…I get removed for cheering too loud. That’s gonna be hard for more….”

[Y/N] chuckled, then kissed Bachira’s cheek. “Thank you. I wouldn’t have made it this far without your support.” The music changed, coming up on [Y/N]’s cue, and they get into position to dance out. “Don’t get kicked out.”

“I’ll try~!” Bachira promised, then went to his seat to watch the performance from the audience. In awe & rapture of the beauty of the show and his partner.

[keeryhours]

wildflower chapter six

Eddie Munson x Henderson! female reader, Steve Harrington x reader

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Eddie Munson Masterlist

Steve Harrington Masterlist

Summary:

When Eddie lets you down, you find comfort elsewhere.

Warnings:

Smut (18+), unprotected sex, p in v, oral (m and f receiving), accidental creampie, angst

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N:

Happy New Year and happy Wildflower update day! 🥳 I hope you enjoy!

—

Your days at the diner were never interesting. The most action you ever saw was the occasional rude customer you got to throw out. But it wasn’t often (anymore, at least) that Corroded Coffin came in to eat.

Thankfully the restaurant was pretty dead when they came in, but the customers that were there jumped up, asking for autographs the second the four boys walked in the door. The guys were polite, quickly signing some napkins and menus before excusing themselves.

“Hey, pretty lady,” Eddie greeted as he slid into a booth in your section, Gareth, Jeff, and Doug following.

“Hey mama, long time no see,” Gareth said, a knowing look on his face. Eddie kicked him under the table, Gareth hissing a quiet Ow!

You blushed deeply as you handed them each a menu. “You told them?”

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie said, giving the other boys a look that said please don’t say anything stupid. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” you assured him quickly. “He’s…your son, too.”

The words struck Eddie unexpectedly deep, filling him with a sense of warmth and love. He smiled, the confirmation bringing him a sense of pride. “Hey, I was thinking I could come by tonight after you get off? Hang out with you both for a little while?”

“Yeah, that would be great,” you said, smiling at Eddie like he was the only person in the room. “He’d like that. He’s been asking about Ebbie since you left.”

Eddie chuckled. It was definitely cute, and he loved that Asher had been thinking about him, but he couldn’t help but wonder when the title of Dad would be earned. He wanted to be Dad. He wanted Asher to be a Munson. “I’ve missed him too.”

You were happy to hear that. You wanted Eddie and Asher to have a relationship. You never thought the day would come, but now that it had, you realized this was what you had been longing for all along.

“What can I get you guys today?” You asked, pulling out your notepad and pen with your usual customer service smile.

Eddie held his hand up, indicating he wanted to speak first. “Well, are you on the menu?”

The guys at the table all groaned as you rolled your eyes, a blush on your cheeks as you raised a hand to cover the embarrassed smile on your lips. “Oh my god. You did not just say that.”

Eddie didn’t falter. “I mean, all this food looks delicious, but you look better.”

You smacked his arm lightly with the pad of paper. “Eddie Munson!”

The guys all busted out laughing, causing you to join in. Eddie blushed, but never took his eyes off of you.

Eventually, you got orders from all the boys. They ordered practically the whole menu between them, burgers and fries and chicken tenders and just about everything else, including the desserts.

“Okay guys, let me just put this in and I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

As you turned and walked away, Eddie watched you. He watched the sway of your hips as you walked, the way your hair hung just right on your shoulders. He watched the way your little uniform dress hugged your curves and showed off your legs. He didn’t think he had a thing for housewives, but the apron was certainly doing something for him.

Gareth snapped him out of his thoughts by literally snapping in his face. “Uh, hello. Earth to Eddie.”

Eddie turned to look at the guys, who were all staring at him. “What?”

Gareth sat back in his seat. “So, what made you not call her for two years? Because you look like you’re about to pounce on her at any second.”

Eddie’s jaw clenched. He didn’t want to talk about this right now, or ever again, really. He knew how badly he fucked up. He had heard it from everyone endlessly, especially himself. “Gar-“

“Yeah, man, did you need to see her again to remember how hot she is?” Jeff asked with a laugh. “I mean, she always was-“

Eddie smacked a hand down on the table, startling the other guys. “Enough. Don’t talk about her like that.”

It was quiet for a second, then his three bandmates all started laughing.

“Oh, Eddie, man,” Doug said through his laughter. “You’ve got it bad.”

As you turned around with the four drinks on your tray, you saw the boys laughing. You couldn’t help the old high school fear that they were laughing at you.

But Eddie also seemed perfectly happy in his new life without you. You wondered if he missed you at all. If he ever thought about you on the road. If he slept with other women.

You reached the table and placed the drinks down, remembering perfectly who had ordered what. “Can I help you guys with anything else right now?” You asked, waitress persona back in place.

“I think we’re good for now,” Gareth answered. You looked at Eddie, but his cheerful expression from earlier was now gone.

“Alright, just let me know if you need anything. I’ll be back with your food shortly.”

Once the lunch rush hit, the diner was packed. Your section was full and you were kept much too busy to worry much about the Corroded Coffin boys, although you did feel bad that their meal kept getting interrupted by over eager fans.

Eventually, you noticed the guys had left. You moved over to their table to clear it off, gathering plates and dishes.

You gasped when you saw the $200 tip that was left for you.

—

“Ebbie coming?” Asher asked for about the millionth time that evening.

“He’s supposed to, buddy,” you told him, fingers tracing through his curls as you eyed the clock again. It was almost bedtime for Asher, and Eddie still hadn’t showed. He was supposed to be here hours ago.

“When?” He asked again.

“I don’t know, Ash,” you admitted, looking down at his big sad brown eyes that reminded you so much of his father’s. “It’s almost bedtime, though. Maybe Eddie will come visit tomorrow?”

“No!” The toddler stamped his foot down, tears welling in his eyes as he looked up at you with all his nearly 2-year-old anger. “No bed! Ebbie.”

Your heart broke for him. You wished you had let it be a surprise, because giving him this hope and then having to take it away was too much. His dad had just come into his life and he was already being unreliable. It made you question the whole thing all over again.

“I’m sorry buddy,” you told him again. “We’ll do something fun tomorrow. Let’s go take a bath and get in your pajamas, huh?”

Reluctantly, the little boy went with you. You ran his bath, playing with him in the water which had him giggling again. You were happy to see him happy, but the ache in your chest over Eddie’s no-show wouldn’t be forgotten.

By the time his bath was over and Asher was dried off and dressed in his Thomas pajamas, he was rubbing his eyes. You tucked him into bed, read him some of his favorite books, and he was already drifting off as you left the room, closing the door softly behind you.

You covered your face with your hands as the tears began to fall. You felt like you had let Asher down yourself, and that’s something you never wanted to do. Something you swore you wouldn’t do. And letting his father do it was something you swore against when Eddie came back into your lives.

You walked into the living room, eyeing the picture frames decorating the hallway as you walked past. The memories had you smiling to yourself. One of them stopped you short - it was you and Steve at Asher’s first birthday, Asher smiling between you. There was so much joy in that photo.

Steve. Steve, who had always been there. Steve, who had never let Asher down a day in his life and would never even dream of it. Steve, who would do anything for both of you.

You had made up your mind by the time you got to the living room. You lifted the phone from the receiver, dialed the familiar number and listened to it ring.

“Hello?” Steve answered after only a few seconds.

“It’s me,” you said through sniffles, wiping away the tears that had managed to fall without you noticing.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked, suddenly very serious. “Are you okay? Is Asher okay? Did something happen?”

You huffed a small laugh - it was just such a Steve reaction. “We’re okay. Just…Eddie was supposed to come over tonight, and he never showed up.”

“That asshole,” Steve hissed on the other end of the line. “Why not?”

“I don’t know…I haven’t heard from him.”

Steve sighed. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. How did Asher take it?”

“Not well,” you admitted. “He was really upset.”

“That pisses me off,” Steve said, sighing again. “Do you want me to come over?”

“…Would you?” You asked finally, realizing that’s exactly what you wanted right now.

“Of course. I was watching some movies with Robin, but I’ll gladly kick her out.” You heard something thrown at him, then a “Hey!” and some laughter.

“I don’t want to ruin your night-“

“You’re not ruining anything. I’ll be there in 10, okay?”

“Okay,” you smiled softly to yourself, then hung up the phone.

You wondered if you should make something for you both to eat. It was already 10pm, too late for anything substantial and he probably wasn’t hungry anyway. You settled for taking the cookie dough out of the fridge, lining up the balls of dough on the baking sheet. You were just putting the tray in the oven when the front door opened.

“Hey,” you greeted, wiping your hands on a dish towel. “I’m really happy you came over. I put some cookies in the oven.”

Steve crossed the kitchen quickly, wrapping you in a tight hug within his strong arms. You let yourself melt into the embrace, the feeling of guilt in your chest turning to one of warmth instead. He placed a kiss on the top of your head.

“Of course, you know I’m here any time you need me.” Steve cracked the oven door open, peeking inside. “Nice! Chocolate chip, a classic.”

You giggled as he closed the door, then turned to look at you, leaning against the counter. “Now tell me what happened.”

You recounted the story, starting with Eddie and the guys showing up at the diner. By the time you were done talking, the oven timer was going off. You slipped the oven mitts onto your hands and opened the door, pulling the tray of hot cookies out.

“I can’t believe he would just say he was coming and not show up or call or anything.” Steve shook his head. “These look delicious, by the way.”

Once the cookies were cool, you piled some onto a plate and went to sit on the couch. Steve brought one of the movies he and Robin hadn’t gotten to - Hellraiser - and you started it, although you weren’t paying the most attention as you kept chatting.

The air began to chill the exposed skin of your legs, sending shivers through your body. You pulled a blanket from the back of the couch to spread over your laps. Steve wrapped an arm around your shoulders and you cuddled into his side.

“You know you deserve better than this, right?” Steve whispered.

You looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you and Ash deserve better than someone unreliable. You deserve more than getting stood up.”

You let out a long sigh. “I don’t know. I feel like there has to be some reason. Eddie wouldn’t…I don’t know, the Eddie I knew wouldn’t have done this.”

Steve was quiet for a minute. “You haven’t talked to him for years, sweetheart. Things change.”

He was right, but the words made your stomach ache. You didn’t like thinking about the old Eddie, your Eddie, being gone now. But he had a point. You weren’t the same girl he left behind, either.

You pushed a stray piece of hair behind your ear. You were lost in thought, the movie long forgotten.

“You’re so beautiful,” Steve said quietly, his fingers gently brushing over your cheek. “You deserve the world.”

“That’s not true-“

“It is,” Steve said firmly. “You’re a beautiful, incredible woman. An amazing mom. Did I mention hot?”

You started laughing then, covering your blushing face with your hands. “Oh my god, stop.”

“I’m serious, though,” Steve said, chuckling lightly. “You are all of those things. I wish you could see your worth. I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

He gently grabbed your wrists, pulling your hands away from your face. Your eyes met his, seeing something behind them you’d never quite seen before. “Steve?”

His gaze flicked down to your lips. His tongue darted out to lick his own, like he was thinking about something. Then he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours. Your eyes widened, completely shocked by his move, but you didn’t push him away. You found you didn’t entirely mind it.

Steve pulled away quickly. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

It was completely unexpected. Completely out of nowhere. Steve was your best friend in the world, and it had never been more than that. You had always been off limits, always been Eddie’s girl. But…you weren’t upset at him. It was honestly…nice.

“It’s okay, Stevie…” You trailed a fingertip over his jaw. “I kind of liked it.”

He grinned sheepishly. “You…liked it?”

“Yeah,” you admitted softly. “Maybe we could…do it again?”

Steve smiled at that. He placed his hands on your waist, pulling you closer to him on the couch. Your hands rested on his biceps, and you both leaned in until your lips were locked together once again.

It was strange, to think it was Steve’s lips on your own. You honestly hadn’t had many experiences outside of Eddie. He was your first boyfriend, and your last. It almost felt wrong, even though you and Eddie hadn’t been together for years, but it also felt right, as cheesy as that sounds.

His hands tightened on your waist as his tongue slipped into your mouth, exploring your own with an eagerness. He tasted so nice, like peppermint and the cookies you had eaten together. You moaned into the kiss, which made him moan back.

He placed a kiss to the corner of your lips before working over your jawline. When he reached your neck, he began sucking softly at the skin, wanting desperately to mark you up and claim you as his finally, but he knew he couldn’t leave hickies when you’d have to cover them for work and potentially have questions from Asher. So, he restrained himself, moving to a different spot whenever he worried it would start to bruise.

Your head was tilted to the side, eyes closed and soft moans leaving your lips as he devoured you, pulling you as close as you could get to each other. You took it a step further, swinging a leg over his lap and straddling him.

You could immediately feel how hard he was beneath you. He knew it, too.

“Sorry,” he said with a blush. “You’re just-“

You cut him off by grinding down onto the hardened bulge, making him groan loudly in surprise. You quickly covered his mouth with your hand, laughing quietly. “Shh!” Steve nodded, and you removed your hand.

“Just feels so good,” he mumbled, moving back to kissing your neck. His hands slid around to grab at your ass. He had longed to do that for as long as he could remember, and now that he had his hands on you, it was even better than he pictured in his head all those nights alone. The way your ass fit perfectly in his large hands, the plush of it when he squeezed, it made him impossibly hard.

He moved back up to your lips, kissing you feverishly. You bit down on his bottom lip, and he groaned quietly, his tongue darting out to lick at yours. The kiss had become sloppy, messy, and desperate, all tangled tongues and quiet moans and hands everywhere.

“Steve,” you moaned, his name feeling strange on your tongue in this context. Strange, but nice.

He moaned your name in return, guiding your hips to keep grinding on him. “Fuck, baby. You’re gonna make me cum in my pants like a fucking teenager if you keep doing this.”

You giggled, giving him one last movement along his aching cock before you climbed off of him. He watched you curiously, wondering if you’d changed your mind, and desperately hoping that wasn’t the case.

He realized all his fears were unfounded as you sunk to your knees in front of him, holding eye contact. His eyes widened and his lips parted, hands clenching into fists on the couch cushions.

“Sweetheart,” he said, voice raspy as he looked down at you on your knees for him. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

You smirked at him as you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and began to pull them down. His erection was obvious in his boxers, straining against the thin material like it was begging for you. “I want to,” you said simply. His cock twitched at your answer.

You pulled his boxers down, exposing his hard cock to your hungry eyes. You practically drooled at the sight. He was big. Like, really big.

You wrapped your hand around it, struggling to close your fingers around his girth. He moaned at the contact, his cock twitching again in your hand. You stroked him a couple times, but he was already rock hard. You leaned forward and licked the precum from his tip.

“Sh- shit!” Steve hissed. “You really don’t have to-“ His head fell back as you engulfed his cock in your mouth, his protests turning to groans of pleasure. “Oh fuck.”

You took him deeper, as deep as you could fit him. You were a bit out of practice admittedly, so you kept gagging on him, but he seemed to love that. He fought to keep his eyes open as he watched you suck his cock, not wanting to miss a single second, but the feeling kept making his eyelids flutter closed.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he moaned, one hand moving to rest on the back of your head. He didn’t force you, everything you were doing to him was like heaven already. “You’re so good at this, oh my god.”

You almost laughed, but managed to keep up your motions instead. You paid extra attention to the underside of his cock with your tongue as you sucked him, sucking hard at the tip every now and then, which made his hips buck up into your mouth with a whiney moan. You gently massaged his balls in your hand as you worshipped his cock. You absolutely loved the way your best friend was falling apart for you, because of you.

His grip on your hair tightened, and you could feel his thighs tensing beneath your hands. You could tell he was getting close, even before he said “Baby, I’m gonna cum if you don’t stop-“

You pulled off of him, a string of saliva connecting your plush lips to his dick. He looked at you with an expression of love and adoration and even pain. Like he loved you so much it hurt.

He pulled you to him, kissing you deeply again. He pulled his sweatpants back up. “Fuck. That was amazing,” he said, breathless. “Let’s go to your room?”

You nodded, and then nearly screamed as Steve picked you up bridal style. He carried you quietly to your bedroom and laid you gently on the bed. He pulled his shirt over his head, pushing his sweats and boxers back down. He was completely naked before you now, and your eyes roamed over him, enjoying the view maybe a little too much.

He moved for you then, pushing your shirt up as he placed kisses against your stomach, trailing up higher and higher until he reached your breasts. He pushed the shirt up and over your head then wrapped his lips around one of your nipples. Your head fell back against the pillows and you moaned quietly at the feeling of his hot mouth against your sensitive nipples. He gave both equal attention, before kissing back down your body.

“You are so beautiful,” he said. “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Your heart swelled in your chest at his words, but you were quickly distracted when he began pulling your shorts and panties down your legs. Once you were naked, he spread your legs, eyes raking over your body, and especially your pussy, like a man starved.

He laid on his stomach between your legs, hands holding your shaking thighs apart. You were nervous - it had been a long time, and you hadn’t exactly been expecting this to happen.

He flattened his tongue and licked a stripe along your folds. You moaned, a hand covering your mouth to keep yourself quiet, because you weren’t sure if you’d have the self control for this.

“You taste so sweet,” he said, burying his face in your pussy and breathing it in like his favorite cologne. “Your pussy is perfect. Even better than I imagined.”

You didn’t focus too hard on that last part, quickly distracted by his tongue flicking over your clit before he wrapped his lips around it. You gasped, back arching as he began to devour you fully.

You had to grab a pillow and hold it over your face, because you couldn’t control the noises Steve was pulling from your body. You were powerless against the pleasure he was giving you, able to do nothing but ride it like a wave, fingers gripping white knuckled into the pillow case.

Steve was much better than your fingers or any toys. He had your orgasm building quickly, stronger than you’d felt in years. You held the pillow tightly against your face as you cried out when your orgasm hit, hips grinding up against Steve’s greedy mouth. He lapped up every bit of slick hungrily, moaning against your pussy.

When you had come down completely, Steve kissed along your thighs, biting gently on the skin there - he could mark you here, at least, where only he could see. He left light bruises on the inside of your thighs. When he was satisfied he moved up your body again slowly. He kissed you again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

You could feel his cock hard and insistent against you. You wanted him badly, so badly you couldn’t believe how desperate you felt for him. You were soaking wet, hips grinding against him as you were desperate for him to fill you.

“I- I don’t have a condom,” Steve said like it pained him, looking down at you. “We can stop-“

“No,” you said quickly. You had come this far after not having sex for two years (at least sober, the night with Eddie after the show had also happened), and you really did not want to stop now. “We can keep going. Just pull out.”

He nodded quickly. “Yeah. Okay.” He reached down, lining himself up at your entrance. You jumped at the feeling at first, so unfamiliar now. And Steve was big. Not that Eddie wasn’t, but…two years. You barely even remembered the hookup.

“I’ll go slow,” Steve said, sensing your apprehension. “Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

“Okay,” you said quietly, your heart beating hard in your chest. Steve being so sweet was making this easier, but you knew you wouldn’t want him to stop. “I’m ready.”

Steve slowly pushed inside. He only had his tip in when you clenched your eyes shut, fingernails digging into the skin of his biceps.

“Is this okay?” Steve asked quietly, placing gentle kisses along your cheek. He was carefully thrusting in deeper, moving at as slow of a pace as possible. It took every bit of restraint in his body not to pound you into the mattress.

“Yes,” you said, voice quiet. You were slowly adjusting around him, wanting him deeper and deeper. “Please, more.”

Steve groaned against your ear, pressing in deeper until he finally bottomed out. His hips were pressed flush against yours, his cock completely buried in your tight, perfect heat. It was the most incredible thing he’d ever felt.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” he moaned. He intertwined his fingers with yours, holding your hand above your head as his other arm held him up. “Wanna make you feel so good. Wanna make you cum again, feel you cum around my cock.”

You whimpered at his words, wanting them all to come true. “Please,” you whispered instead.

Steve hummed, pulling his hips back before slowly rolling them into you again. You both moaned at the perfect friction created between you, the way his cock filled you up. Like a piece of you that had been missing.

He set a slow pace to start, rolling his hips against yours in a perfect rhythm. The only sounds in the room were the gentle creaking of the bed and the soft breathy moans from both of you. Steve held your hand tightly over your head, your left gripping onto his right arm for leverage.

When he could tell you weren’t in any pain, he sped up his movements, watching your face carefully for any sign you weren’t enjoying yourself. Instead he saw your beautiful features twist in pleasure, pleasure that he was giving you. Only him. Only Steve.

“You’re incredible,” he said, looking down at you with total adoration. “Absolutely incredible.”

You pulled him down into a heated kiss, your left hand moving up to tangle in his hair. He started fucking you faster, skin slapping against yours as he began really pounding into you.

Steve pulled away to watch you again, finding himself addicted to the way you looked when getting fucked. He looked down at where you were joined, watching his cock disappear inside your perfect cunt. He had to look away before he came immediately.

Little “ah-ah-ah!”s were spilling from your lips, making Steve feel like he’d never been so turned on in his entire life. Everything about you was perfect to him. Everything about this was more than he ever dreamed of, alone with his cock in his hand.

“I’m so close, Stevie,” you whined, pulling him close to you. He was fucking you at the perfect angle, cock hitting just the right spot deep inside. Somewhere you could never reach on your own.

“Cum for me, baby, please,” he said, letting go of your hand to reach between you and rub circles on your clit. “Need to feel you cum all around my dick.”

The extra stimulation on your clit combined with the sensation of his cock filling you completely, pressing against your g-spot with every thrust, sent you over the edge a second time. You came hard, burying your face in his neck as you cried out in pleasure.

It was too much for Steve. Your pussy clenched around him over and over as you rode out your orgasm, and it was so good, and you were just so wet and tight, it sent him over the edge himself before he even knew what was happening.

He moaned your name over and over as he came inside you, ropes of his cum coating your walls. You rode each other through your orgasms, bodies intertwined.

It wasn’t until you came down that you both realized what happened. Steve pulled out of you, a look of pure fear on his face. “Jesus, fuck, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m such an idiot. I-I don’t know what happened, I just…”

“Steve,” you said, placing a hand on his arm to calm his panic. “It’s okay. I…I can go to the doctor, get the pill.”

He visibly calmed once you said that. He placed a hand on your thigh, looking at you seriously. “I’ll take you. I’ll pay for it.”

“Okay,” you agreed softly. “Now come cuddle with me. Unless you’re planning to leave?”

“No!” He said quickly. “No, of course not. You’re not…you’re not just some hookup.” He crawled back into the bed with you, leaning against the pillows. He held an arm out and you cuddled against his side.

Your fingertips idly traced along his chest, feeling the softness of his chest hair. Steve played with your hair gently, twirling your curls around his finger. You were close to drifting off.

Your moments of quiet bliss were interrupted by a knock at the door. You both froze, wondering who could possibly be here at this hour. You had an idea, but you didn’t like the thought of it.

The knock sounded at the door again, and you jumped up. “I’ve got to get that before they wake up Asher.” You pulled your panties back on and grabbed the first shirt you saw.

“Wait, I’m coming with you,” Steve said, fumbling for his own pants, but you were already out of the bedroom.

You opened the door, and your fears were confirmed.

“Eddie,” you said, more like a statement. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m so sorry,” he said in a rush. He was out of breath, like he’d ran here. “We were working in the studio today, and I- I got caught up, and I didn’t realize the time, I was just so caught up in the music and the band that I didn’t think-“

Eddie stopped cold as he looked at something over your shoulder. You turned and saw Steve standing there like a deer in headlights. He was shirtless, only wearing his sweatpants hung low on his hips. It felt like deja vu, only reversed this time.

You turned back to Eddie, who was now looking down at what you were wearing. Steve’s shirt. You hadn’t even noticed what you’d thrown on.

Eddie looked at you with a look of pure horror on his face. You’d think you were still together, like you’d cheated on him with Steve right in front of him. That’s how it felt to Eddie, at least.

“Jesus, what- what did you do?” Eddie asked. His eyes were filled with pain, and even though you weren’t together and you owed him nothing, you felt like the absolute worst person on the planet.

“Ed…”

“Listen man, it’s-“

Eddie held up his hand, silencing the other man. “I…do not want to hear from you right now.”

“Eddie, you’re being unfair,” you said.

“Unfair! How am I being unfair?” Eddie scoffed. He couldn’t even look at the two of you. “I just walked in on you having sex with Steve Harrington-“

“Okay, first of all, you did not walk in on us having sex,” you pointed out. “And second of all, did you forget we’re not together?”

Your words hit him like a punch to the gut. Sure, he knew that, but - you’d slept together since he’d been home. It may have been a drunken hookup, but still. You were still kind of his girl, weren’t you? You’d always been. You always would be. Right?

“That doesn’t matter, it’s still-“

“It’s still what?” You asked. “Tell me, Eddie, were you celibate those two years on tour? Or did you fuck groupies after shows while you left me and your son behind?”

Eddie’s face tensed. “That’s not fair. I didn’t know about my son.”

“True,” you said, “but you didn’t answer the other question.”

Eddie stayed silent. It was answer enough. The whole apartment was awkwardly silent, the tension in the air palpable, like a weight over you all.

“You know, you really let Asher down today,” you said. “He was excited to see you. He asked about you all night until he went to bed.”

Eddie’s heart broke. “I’m so sorry. I never meant for that to happen. I never meant to hurt him, or you.” He swallowed. “But does that mean you had to run into the arms of Steve Harrington?”

“Eddie…” you sighed. “I think you should leave. It’s late. We can talk about this later.”

Eddie just looked at you, then to Steve. He shook his head. “Yeah. We’ll talk later.”

And with that, he turned and left the apartment, wanting to slam the door but at least having the forethought not to since Asher was asleep. He walked down the hall, down the stairs, to the parking lot. His trusty van was there. He had driven himself this time.

There were so many memories in that van, memories with you. Hell, Asher was probably conceived in the back of the damn thing. Eddie climbed into the front seat and lay his head on the steering wheel.

And he cried.

tag list

@awkward00noodle @american-idiot-jpg @georgeweasleyslostearhq @fandom-princess-forevermore @emxxblog @hopesicle @hellv1ra @whimsiwitchy @avalon-wolf @kellsck @toomuchbucky @sashaphantomhive @losingmygrasponreality @the-disaster-in-waiting @eddiesgirl1944 @ashcal99 @richardsamboramylove55 @ilovetaquitosmmmm @allhailtheslothoverlord @micheledawn1975 @browneyes528 @costellation-hunter @taccobelle @hellmastereddie @siriuslysmoking @princessadriana4-blog @littlemissholy @punkrockmlchael

[wlfchnlv3r]

Mate

Non idol! Hyunjin x Nine tailed fox ! Fem reader

Synopsis: the “fox hunt” is open in your country, and you, the last nine tailed fox, despite all, you’ll find your mate.

Word count: 1.2 k

Warning: light smut, fingering, virgin! Reader.

Note: meow hope you like it!

There is a "Fox Hunt" in your country, and hunters have appeared from every corner.

Everyone wants to hunt you, the last nine-tailed fox.

Legends say you’re a gorgeous girl with long red hair and deep amber eyes, the last of your species that during mating season, show up in the woods.

• • •

You are injured, running in the woods during a storm, some men shotted at your legs during the hunt, and you are searching for a sheltered place.

You spotted a wooden house with lights on, you slowly approach the door, knocking, before a young men, with a buzz cut turns out.

Hyunjin knew who you were the moment he laid his eyes on you, your hurt expression made his heart clench.

You were trembling because of the wound and the rain, “can- can I come in…? Please”.

Hyunjin instantly helped you to stand up, holding his arm around your waist.

After that moment everything becomes blurry and you passed out.

That was the first impression you had of your “savior”, it’s been four months and you now live with Hyunjin in his house, at least is a safe place, but that’s not… all, you planned to stay there until the wound had healed but something came up, a feeling between you and Hyunjin.

• • •

You are now looking at your dressed figure at the bathroom.

Hyunjin walks over to the bathroom door and stands opposite it, he can hear how you walk or make some movements, “You done, little fox?” he asks.

You still looks at your figure, “yes…”.

He opens the door, seeing you standing in the nightgown he gives you. His gaze slides over your body up and down, his smirk does not disappear, “Ah… I was right.. You look beautiful in this nightgown…”.

Hyunjin gently caresses your waist and hums, he looks at you quietly, admiring your face, “Such a pretty fox…”.

You are lost in your thoughts, “you know… I never looked at myself in the mirror before I came here” you admit.

He raises his eyebrow, genuinely surprised, and he can’t help but chuckle, “What do you mean? You never looked in the mirror? How...?”.

“My mother was against the concept... of beauty itself and she always told me that I had to love myself for what I cherished in my heart” you simply say with a smile.

Hyunjin listens to you quietly, “So you didn’t even know that you are beautiful? Damn…. I’m surprised, you should’ve known a long ago how gorgeous you look..” he says.

He continues to stare at you with a smirk, he gently runs his fingers through your hair, caressing them softly, “But now you know how beautiful you are, right?”.

You are taken aback by the question, “I don’t know…really” you admit with sincerity.

Hyunjin sighs and gently grabs you by the chin, making you look at him, You really don’t know.. Damn.. I need to show you how beautiful you are, don’t I..?”.

He suddenly grabs your waist and lifts you up in his arms, holding you against his chest, “I’m gonna show you how beautiful you look.. I want you to look at yourself in the mirror and see yourself the way I see you..”.

You gasp a little and hold onto him.

Hyunjin gently cradles you against his chest as he walks back into the bedroom and sit in front of the big mirror with you between his legs. He’s standing behind you, his chest pressed against your back, he looks at you through the mirror with a smirk, “Look at this… Do you see how gorgeous you are, little fox?”.

You look at yourself in the big mirror and smile, maybe he is right.

Hyunjin’s fingers are caressing your hips, but the touch becomes more gentle, as if to explore every inch of your body. His eyes continue to look at you through the mirror, watching how you react to his touches when an idea pops in his mind, “You look stunning in that nightgown.. So damn good..” he says as he starts to spread your legs and touch your inner tights.

His touch make your body shiver and you have to control the urge to moan.

«Mmm.. Can’t help myself… So damn beautiful..» he says pulling your panties aside and gently caressing your folds.

Hyunjin smirks at your reaction and looks at you through the mirror, feeling how your body tenses up, “I love those noises coming from your mouth, little fox”.

You can’t help but moan and let your head rest on his shoulder.

His smirk grows even more and a chuckle escapes his lips as he hears you moan, he notices how your reaction to his touch is getting stronger, and he continues to slowly tease your clit, “I haven’t even done much, but you’re already making those pretty noises for me” he continues to rub her clit with circular movement increasing the pressure.

You whines loudly as he suddenly push one fingers inside you, you still look at him through the mirror, your lips parted and soft moans that escapes your mouth.

You are about to close your eyes when Hyunjin clicks his tongue, “Ah ah ah.. I want you to keep your eyes open, little one”.

Your gaze never leave his through the mirror, and you make a little movement against his hand, wanting more, needing more.

He notices how you move against his finger, and he smirks, realizing how desperate you are, his fingers slowly moving inside you, “Mmm… Look at you… all desperate for me, does it feel good? You like that?” He can easily see how your expression change with every movement.

You are already a mess, you never experienced that but you want more, “hyunjin…more- more please” you whines.

Hyunjin’s free hand grabs your neck, gently making you look up at him in the mirror, his fingers gently caressing your skin, “pretty foxes like you always get what they want” as he says that he slides his finger out of you, just temporarily before pushing two fingers in your wet entrance.

You choke a moan, his fingers pushing against you g spot, making difficult for you to control yourself.

Hyunjin’s gaze meets yours in the mirror, he keeps your chin gently in his grip, his eyes looking deep in yours, “Are you enjoying this, little fox?.. I’m sure you are, you look so pretty like this, all desperate and needy for me” he says moving his fingers faster inside you.

You are a whiny mess, your orgasm is near and your legs are shaky.

He notices how your legs are shaking and how close you are, and he grins, watching you in the mirror, “Are you close? Are you going to come for me?”.

As soon as he says those words you comes followed by a loud moan, it is your first orgasm, and it happened with the right man, the one you want as your mate.

Hyunjin gently pulls his fingers out of you, he continues to look at you in the mirror while he brings the fingers that were inside you to his lips, and he slowly licks them, cleaning them up.

With a quick movement you turn around and hug him, you think you have finally found your mate.

Taglist: @felixleftchickennugget @kiwininja35 @sweetpickledjins @slmnheart @elqivxstxr @catffeinexo-xx @multistancheck @justwonder113 @mylittleponeypinkrosieposie @hello-stranger24 @raptorbait529 @cocofia143 @minniesverse @eastjonowhere @justwonder113 @yerijaksel

(Comment to be added to the master list 🎐)

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 1 - In My Brain and In My Blood

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: This story is non-canon compliant rewrite, but primarily plot wise. Think of it as we're cooking with all the same ingredients (i.e lore, characters, setting, and backstory) but with one change (you) that gets us to a drastically different ending.

What the means is that there will be a lot of similar plot points to the real Supernatural, but the further we go through the story the more it will diverge. I've also take some creative labor with the reader, adding lore that's defiantly not a part of canon, but crucial to this story.

If you have any questions about this, feel free to ask! If not, I hope you enjoy the story!

Chapter title is from The End by Halsey

Word Count: 16.3k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: See the Masterlist for a Summary. Contains usual tags.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff

Chapter 2

Read on A03!

You know a few things about the dark.

It’s alive inside you. It has been your whole life. It makes your words too harsh and your brain too sharp and your love too big. It’s makes you too fragile, but still too sharp, and raises everything to a dangerous height you don’t know how to come down from. It makes everyone move away because they can see it. You can see it, always.

It covers every corner of your body, and grows roots in something white in your chest. Something no one but you can see. You’d asked your dad once—does he feel it too, feel the strange glow and pull of everything beautiful around you—and he’d looked at you like you were insane.

You might be.

But it’s hard not to be, in this line of work. 

Hunting. Monsters and ghosts and nightmares, all around you and calling to you in your sleep. It’s where most of the darkness lives, in the way that few monsters lay hands on you, no matter how much of their blood you shed. Ghosts will treat you like any other, but the monsters look at you like they recognize you. 

Like you’re one of them.

And that’s something you’ve never told your dad. You never will. He already hates that you do this, and not a month goes by where he doesn’t glare at you from across the table, beer bottle in hand, and ask you to stop.

“Kiddo,” he’d grunted the last time, narrowing his eyes at you over dinner. “That was the last one.”

“You say that every time-“

“And you ain’t listenin’ to me every time!” He’d snapped. “You don’t have to do this shit, not with your-“ He’d made a face, giving you a pointed look. “Ya’ know. Thing.”

“Witch.” You’d sighed. “You’re allowed to say it. I’m a witch.”

“You ain’t a witch-“

“I’m not a normal witch.” You’d corrected with a frown, picking at the wood of the table. “But I’m still not human.”

“You’re human,” he’d muttered your name, and when you’d looked up, he’d been staring at you with an exhausted expression and you’d felt something eat at your tongue. “But you’re right. You ain’t normal, kiddo, and it’s gonna get you fuckin’ killed-“

“It hasn’t yet-“

“It will. It always does.” He’d stood, giving you one last, tired look. “And I’m not tryin’ to lose you too.”

You’d given him a close-lipped smile. “You won’t lose me. I’m being careful.”

He’d rolled his eyes—you were being careful, and he knew it, but it still pissed him off—and nodded. And that had been it.

It’s like that every time. He tells you to quit, because you don’t need to do this, and you tell him you have to. You’re good at it. You’re more resourceful than half the hunters he knows, smarter than all of them, and better by a mile. He’d trained you. He hadn’t wanted to, but he’d realized it was either him teaching you or you learning through trial and error, and he’d decided you being a pain in his freakin’ ass was better than you being dead.

Because—in the end—all he really cares about is that you’re safe. It’s why you know to be careful, why you know what hunts to call for backup on, and why you know that—if you need to—you can crawl back home with your guts in your hand and he won’t yell at you until you’re better. Keeping you safe is his job, more than hunting, more than research, more than cars. He’d chosen to do it when he’d found you—eight years old and starving on the side of a highway—and it had stayed that way ever since. It didn’t matter what you were, what seemed to be inside of you, or how you were certainly more trouble that you were worth. He always made sure you were safe.

Safe from your real family, for what you know and refuse to be. Safe from the worst of the monsters and ghosts, who don’t seem to care for that horrible kinship you don’t know how to stop. Safe from hunters, and how they’ll hate you for what you know how to do.

Safe from John Winchester, and how he’ll put a bullet in your brain without question for what you don’t know how to change.

It’s the top rule. Stay away from the Winchesters. When John comes around for a hunt, hide in your room. When he drops his boys off before vanishing for weeks at a time, sneak out and call your uncle. He’ll pick you up, keep you safe, and drop you back home when the brothers leave. They can’t see you, because they’re loyal to their father and will tell him about the witch-girl who made the wind howl louder than it should’ve. John can’t know about you, because he’s a complicated man with a good heart, but he’ll hurt you worse than any ghost or monster could. 

But you have to say—at least from this distance—he doesn’t look that dangerous.

You know it’s him. You recognize his car in the parking lot from seeing it in your dad’s yard, and recognize his voice from the living room of your house. It’s clearer now—no longer muffled through a door you’d keep an ear pressed to—and you’re certain it’s him. 

And he’s just a man. A broad-shouldered, tired man with a face that doesn’t seem like it’s ever smiledand dark hair that’s streaked with slight silver. He even sounds exhausted, his voice laced with a thin irritation he either doesn’t know how to hide, or doesn’t care to.

“Dean,” he grunts, and you can’t see who he’s talking to, the bookshelves of the library only revealing John’s cold, set face. “Go back to the morgue and look at the bodies again. See if you can get a blood type on the vics.”

“A blood type?” A second voice, this one so clearly younger, a little defiant and bright, asks. “Dad, why do we care about their blood type-“

“Because this bitch is spilling it left and right, and we need to work out what skin she’s got in that game.” John’s words are short, impatient. “And you’re not here to ask me questions, Sam, you’re here to get through these damn books. Dean, go to the morgue.”

“Yes, sir.” That’s a third voice. It’s pretty. Deeper than the second—Sam’s—but not as tired as John’s. Mostly just cautious. “Can I, uh, can I take Sammy-“

“No.” John snaps. “I need him here for the readin’. Take the car and go.”

There’s a soft sound of metal ringing through the air, a scrape of wood on the floor, and you almost don’t move fast enough. You almost don’t duck behind the shelf in time for the third voice—the pretty one, Dean—to pass you, humming something you’d recognize if you weren’t lost in your panic.

Dean doesn’t see you.

But you see him.

And it’s not just his voice that’s pretty. 

You don’t know a lot about the Winchester brothers. Only what your dad has told you. Dean’s three years older than you, Sam’s a year younger. Dean likes music, Sam likes books. They’re both good boys—better than your dad seems to think John deserves, although he’ll never say that out loud—but Sam can be defiant and Dean can be trouble.

You hope Dean’s trouble. He has to be, when he looks like that. 

Because in only a split second of his side profile, you’re sure Dean Winchester is the prettiest man you’ve ever seen. Will ever see. It’s almost ethereal, and a little unfair. All of his features are clean and strong, like someone carved him from marble, but there’s a scar you could see on his jaw and a cut on his lower lip that made him seem human. Made his seem tangible. 

Touchable.

You’d like to touch him. You’ve seen him once, but everything in your body seems to think the world will collapse if you don’t touch him now. If you don’t at least talk to him. Hear his deep, charming voice directed at you. See at his face up close, see it’s clear resemble to John that feels pointless, because Dean looks like he smiles. He looks like he’s meant to smile, and you’d really like to find out if he’d smile at you. 

And that white thing—the one you feel all the time—seems to really like him. Even the darkness is trying to reach out to him, move into him, and you’re not really sure what the fuck is happening. He’d just walked past you, and your body is suddenly trapped by something overwhelming and dizzying in your lungs, your every nerve prickling the longer your brain circles him. The longer it spirals around his beautiful face, and full lips, and the way his voice sounded like something even bigger than the darkness in your body-

“Hey, Dad?” That same voice cuts through your thoughts, a little raised as Dean calls between the shelves. “Are you feeling anything from the beer earlier?”

“No.” John’s voice is clipped as he responds, and you can hear the frown in his voice. “You feelin’ alright, son?”

“Yeah, uh-“ There’s a heavy pause, and you can hear Dean shuffling slightly just out of your sight. “I dunno. Must’ve stood up too fast.”

“Dad, if he feels light headed he might not be safe to drive-“

“I’m alright, Sammy.” Dean’s words are fast. Not frantic, but rapid. “Nothing’s gonna happen to the car, Dad, I promise.”

John grunts. “Better not. Get moving, Dean, we don’t got all night.”

“Yes, sir.” 

You hear Dean shuffle away, sounds of flipping paper and scratching pencils re-filling the air, and you’re trapped in your spot. You shouldn’t follow Dean. Following Dean will almost certainly end in meeting John, and that’s the one thing you’re never supposed to do. Your dad doesn’t fight you when you leave for months at a time, or cross paths with other hunters, or run dangerous scams to keep yourself afloat. He’s okay with more than he probably should be, and he never tells you that you can’t do something. 

But you can’t talk to John Winchester. 

He can’t know who you are. What you are.

So you can’t follow Dean. Your brain is deeply aware that following Dean would be a truly horrible idea, and your body seems to be on board. There’s iron around your lungs when John mutters something to Sam, and a sore shot of electrically whenever one of them stands up to move books around. You’re really good at running. You know exactly when to call it and go. You can sense danger so easily—it’s the same chill of needles ice running up your spine, every single time—and John is dangerous. And you really shouldn’t follow Dean.

But the White thing keeps bucking around inside you. You can almost see it rush and roar in the air, feel it thrash deep down—past your heart chamber and embedded a little to the right—to try and follow Dean Winchester. And it feeds the darkness. It starts to twinge and pulse, seeping and infecting your muscles and blood, locking around your skull and making everything far too big. You can feel it all. The books on the shelves that all read Dean, and the squeak of the floors that say his name, and the lights start to flicker as the air turns humid and cool.

“Dad-“

“I’m seein’ it, Sammy, grab the gun-“

You raise the back of your hand to your mouth and bite. Hard. Grounding yourself before the flood can burst out of your body, before John Winchester could find out who you are in the worst way possible.

And when you run—out the back and to your stolen Lexus—you don’t even realize where you’re going until you’re halfway there.

To the morgue.

After Dean.

It’s a terrible idea. You have ten, long minutes of driving to figure out every way in which this is a terrible idea. You don’t know him. This will distract you from the case. John Winchester will try to kill you. Your dad will kill you. And there’s a high chance it will all be for nothing, because everything in you that’s calling to Dean belongs to that white thing. And that’s a part of you, and no one else. There’s a chance that this—whatever the fuck this is—is something driven by what you are, what’s wrong with you, so Dean won’t feel it at all.

You know all of that. And you still make it the whole drive without turning around. You park and rifle through your glove compartment for a fake ID, pull on your stiff, too-itchy well officer, would a fraud wear this? Jacket, and still don’t turn the engine back on and book it out of town. You even manage to justify it. You’re working this case too. You were here first. You’d noticed the blood thing from the start—it’s why you took the case—but you just hadn’t gotten to the morgue yet. You’d already been planning on it, and Dean just happens to be here at the same time. 

No matter what, you’ll get through it. You always get through it. And this might be a horrible idea, but that knowledge won’t stop you from stepping out of the car and making your way to the morgue. Know something has never really stopped you, and no amount of twisting bile in your gut—telling you to run, because you don’t love life, but you’d really rather not be murdered today—is going to prevent you from doing this. Nothing is stronger than the White in your chest, and it wants to talk to Dean Winchester. 

So that’s exactly what you’re going to do.

It is, as always, worryingly easy to get into the morgue. Half of the work is flashing the badge and saying the right words—Agent Smith, from the insurance company, I need to take a look at the autopsies for the claims—but most of it is the confidence. You carry yourself like a haughty, too-good-for-this-morgue insurance agent. Your chin is raised when you stop at the desk, and your words to the receptionist are impatient and clipped, and God, it makes you feel like the scum of the earth how she’s nervous and apologetic, but you get in the door. You always get in the door, because this is the simple part. The smiles with teeth, and the lies you spit through them are so fucking simple.

The hard part is always different. Sometimes it’s the ghosts that follow you after a failure, the ones that can’t be killed with salt and fire. Sometimes it’s long nights that you don’t have time tp sleep, and the tug and rot of that darkness in your chest tries to push to the surface. Sometimes it’s a puzzle you barely manage to solve, and it costs a little bit more of your flesh and soul each time.

But today, it’s Dean Winchester. Or, as the receptionist calls him, Officer Costello.

“Officer?” You raise your brows. “So the cops are looking into a serial killer.”

“I, um-“ The receptionist flushes, her eyes widening slightly. “I don’t know, he just said he was from a town over, and our Chief asked him to take a look, I’m not-“

“I’ll just ask him while I’m in there.” You shrug, the receptionist’s mouth opens in likely protest, and you call over your shoulder as you walk away. “I need to know for the report!”

You push through the doors—nobody chasing after you a sign of success—turn into the mortuary’s office, and freeze at the sight before you. 

Dean’s hunched over the mortuary’s desk, frowning at the largest stack of papers you’ve ever seen, and shit, he’s even prettier up close. Spiky hair and slightly tanned, freckled skin, rough looking hands sorting through the files and full lips in a frown and what the fuck is happening to you-

His head shoots up, eyes widening—green eyes, deep and vibrant and you need to get a goddamn grip—and you stare at each other for a long, confusing second before he finally speaks.

“Ma’am, if you could wait for the doctor outside please, this is, uh, official police business-“

You scoff, even as your whole body hums from the deep, smooth sound of his voice. “Is that really the excuse you’re going to use?”

Dean tenses, dropping the papers on the desk and rising to his full height, glaring down at you. He’s really tall, and broad, and probably warm-

“Excuse me? If you don’t exit this office right now, I’ll have reason to put you under arrest-“

“What reason?”

He blinks at you. “Interfering in police business-“

“Fake police business?”

“I’m not, this isn’t-“ Dean shakes his head, eyes narrowing on yours. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m a fake insurance agent.” You lift your badge up from him to see, giving a sweet, fake smile. “And you’re a hunter.”

“Lady, I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about-“

“I think you do.” You step forward, dropping into a seat across the desk. “To start, you’re definitely not a cop. Cops don’t drive muscle cars and raid morgue documents.”

He frowns, still watching you wearily. “How’d you know that’s my car?”

You’d slipped a little. You shouldn’t know that’s the Winchester’s car. But you’re quick on your feet, and by the time you say the lie it might as well be the truth. “Only three cars in the lot. Mine, the black one, and a minivan. And you don’t really seem like a minivan guy.”

Dean grunts, his body still braced and words tense. “I could be allowed to drive whatever car I want on duty-“

You give him an amused expression, tucking your knees into your chest as you lean back in your seat.  “You’re like, twenty. There’s no way they’d let you drive your own car. Or,” you raise your brows. “Ask you investigate a bunch of weird murders by yourself.”

Dean frowns, but drops in the swivel chair behind the desk. “I’m twenty-one,” he mutters, and you snort. 

“Congratulations-“

“And you,” his eyes shoot to yours, voice dropping into a low drawl that felt like it could be dangerous, but mostly made you feel a little fuzzy. “Haven’t answered my question. Who are you?”

You say your full name—the real one, that you’d been given at birth and he’d never connect to your dad—and drop your feet back to the floor, extending your hand across the desk. “I’m a hunter too.”

Dean chuckles, but meets your hand with a grin. “Yeah, I figured that part out myself, Princess. Dean Winchester.”

You shake his hand, and your smile must make you look like an idiot. It’s far too wide just from him telling you his name and touching your skin—he is warm, and his hands are calloused and big and still so soft—but there’s something like lightning sparking and shooting over your skin, and the White inside you is shining like a star. Pulsing and glowing and molding with the darkness. Making nothing really seem that bad at all. 

Dean’s smiling back. And you’d been right. His face is meant to smile. It’s meant to have this broad, cocky grin that’s full of teasing joy and a bright-eyed delight in something you can’t quite place. You really can’t tell if he can feel it. There’s a glint in his eyes that’s full of promises, but you can’t figure out if he can feel this. This raging tug in your body that keeps your hand in his longer than it needs to be, that makes his skin feel like a furnace and your heart feel right in your body.

He might. He really might feel it. His hand stays in yours as well, his grip a little tighter than it needs to be, and when you manage to pull away, he clears his throat—a small, adorable blush covering his pretty face—and stares at you like you’ve fallen from the sky, and you’re still covered in stardust.

“So, uh,” Dean glances down at the papers, then back to you. “You here for the autopsy reports?”

You nod, crossing your legs under your body. “Yep. You gonna share?”

“That depends.” Dean shrugs, shooting you another, very mind-numbing smirk. “You gonna help us out?”

“Us?” You tilt your head at him, twisting a ring on your finger. “You’ve got a partner?”

“Partners.” Dean corrects you with a grin. “My dad and brother. We always hunt together, it’s safer and Sammy’s still a kid, so-“ He cuts himself off, his face falling into a small frown. “Do you, are you hunting alone?”

“Mostly, yeah.” You shrug. “But I can help you out-“

“You, you shouldn’t be hunting alone.” Dean cuts you off with a shake of his head, his voice almost disbelieving. “It’s not safe. Gonna get you killed.”

“Uh huh.” You narrow your eyes, your voice becoming dry and bored. “Do you want my help, Dean Winchester?”

“Sure, but-“

“Then drop it, give me the papers, and let me help.”

He frowns. “You’re kinda bossy.”

“Yeah, well, you’re kinda-“

“It’s not bad.” He pushes some of the files across the desk, shooting you a wink. “Just making sure you know.”

“Oh.” You stare at him. He’s so pretty, and his smile does weird things to your gut and ribs and the White inside of you. “Uh-“

“I’ll take these.” Dean taps the files still in front of him, watching you with a strange expression. “You got those?”

“Sure.” You mumble, pulling the papers into your lap. “Um, thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He shrugs. “More hands, we’ll be done faster. You, uh, you know what you’re lookin’ for-“

“Blood.” You flip open the first file, playing with the corner of a page as you speak. “Every vic’s been covered in it. It’s uh,” you grimace slightly, an image of a corpse painted red flashing in your head. “It’s been really gross.”

Dean hums in agreement, giving you a curious look. “You’ve seen all the bodies?”

“Most of them,” you look down to the file, flipping through it until you find the blood report “I’ve been here for like, five days.”

“Huh.” He frowns, looking down to his own paper. “We’ve been here four. Only seen two of them.”

“Well, maybe I’m just better at my job.”

He laughs, and when you glance back up, he’s grinning. “Sure, Princess.”

You kick him under the desk, and he makes a fake sound of pain.

“What was that for?!“

“Making fun of me,” you stick your tongue out at him, not looking up from your papers. “Not very nice, Winchester.”

“You made fun of me-“

“And if you wanna kick me, I won’t stop you-“

“I’m not gonna kick a lady-“

“Well then.” You shrug, unable to fight the smile on your face. “That’s not my fault, is it?”

He huffs, his voice dropping to a low mutter you can still defiantly hear. “Bossy.”

“That’s not being bossy, it’s-“ You cut yourself off, leaning down to re-read the file in front of you. “Shit.”

“It is shit,” Dean complains, and you can hear the pout in his voice as you grab the next file in your stack, rushing through the report to find what you’re looking for. “You’re lucky I-“

“No, that’s not-” you look up at him, your brain moving too fast to fully linger on why you might be lucky. “Give me your file.”

Dean frowns, but slides the paper over the desk. “What-“

You raise your hand, scanning over the file and grinning as you find what you’re looking for. “I’ve got it.” 

“Got what-“

“That blood wasn’t only the vics. It was their’s, plus,” you turn the page for Dean to read, pointing to the words. “All the previous vics. Mixed together. That’s why there’s been more and more every time.”

“Oh.” Dean leans forward, scanning over the page. “Kinda like a really gross blood cocktail?”

“Exactly.” You grin at him. “I know what we’re looking for.”

He looks back up at you, raising his brows. “You gonna tell me, or-“

“It’s a moroi.” You drop the files, leaning back and pushing your feet back up on the desk. “It explains the messiness perfectly.”

“No,” Dean shakes his head. “My dad says it’s just a normal ghost with a weird thing for blood-“

“Your dad is wrong. It’s a moroi.”

Dean’s eyes narrow. “My dad’s never wrong. And he’s more experienced than both of us combined, he’d know if it was a moray-“

“Mo-roi-“

“And look,” Dean leans across the desk, pointing to the files. “All of them had the same blood type. That’s what Dad said to look for.”

“They have the same blood type because it’s a moroi.” You hold his gaze, because every single part of you might want this man in a way you can’t possibly begin to understand, but you’re also fucking right. “They’re Romanian vampire babies.’

“Vampire babies-“

“Evil infant spirits that didn’t get baptized. They’re really rare, but this-“ You tap the files with a smug grin. “Is their exact MO. Specific blood type that they’ve probably got a taste for, mixing it with their previous victims, incredibly sloppy.”

“Because they’re babies.” Dean mutters, frowning into the air. “And babies, uh, don’t know how to clean.”

You nod. “Because babies don’t know how to clean.”

“And you’re sure?” Dean looks down to the files, his tone cautious. “I mean, you said they’re kinda rare-“

“They are.” You shrug. “And that’s why I’m sure.”

Rare things are your specialty. Things that even the most experienced hunters don’t understand, that were hard to track and harder to kill. Things that were stranger than strange, darker than dark, worse than evil. Things that wouldn’t hurt you, and you’ve taught yourself every way kill. It’s why you’d taken this case in the first place.  It’s why you’re fucking right.

“You, uh,” Dean’s words are slow, like he’s picking them carefully. “You know how to kill these things?”

“Yep.”

“You wanna come with me? To explain it to Dad and Sammy?”

“I, um-“ You start to pick at the skin around your nails, your skin suddenly itching and a weight forming in your lungs. “I mean, I can just tell you how, and you can deal with it, and I can go-“

“Go?” Dean frowns, his brow drawn. “Where are you going?”

“Out of town.” You keep your voice strong and even, because no matter how much the White inside you seems to be trying to move into Dean—no matter how much you’d really like to stay in this office and talk to him for a million years—you have to go. You cannot meet John Winchester. “If your Dad’s as good as you say-“

“He is-“

“Then you’ll be able to handle this. You don’t need me.”

“Well,” Dean leans over the desk, his voice dropping to a charming drawl. “If I ask you nicely, will you consider staying? Giving us a hand?”

You hold his gaze, unable to find enough willpower to shut him down immediately. “How nicely?” 

“Please,” Dean says your name, giving you a taunting, boyish grin, and the White inside you ignites. You’ve heard your name said a million ways, but never like that. Never in Dean’s voice, never like it’s some sort of curse and prayer all at once, never like it’s bigger than just a name. “Please stay in town and help me out. Please explain this moroi shit to my dad, and help us kill the son of a bitch. I’ll buy you a beer, and be in your debt for a million freakin’ years. Please.”

He’s already got you. If the way he said your name didn’t make you fold, the shit-eating smirk on his face and gleam in his eyes that tells you exactly how he plans to repay that debt made you cave. 

“I don’t drink.” You mumble, your face heated and eyes a little wide. “But I’ll take two million years and a promise that you’ll listen to me.”

Dean chuckles. “Awesome.” He grins, his eyes never leaving yours as he stands. “Let’s get outta here, I’ll drive you to our motel.”

That’s where you manage to draw a line. You’ll bow to Dean’s charming words and handsome face, you’ll follow him out of the office and into the parking lot, and you’ll agree to come meet John and Sam Winchester—no matter how stupid and deadly an idea it will certainly prove to be—but you’ll drive yourself. You didn’t steal that Lexus not to drive it, and when things inevitably go sideways, you’ll need a car to escape in. 

“You sure?” Dean walks you to the Lexus, standing right at your side and watching you in a way the White seems to feel. “I mean, it’s not a problem-“

“I’m sure.” You grab your keys out of your pocket, stopping in front of the car. “All my shit is in here, and I can just follow you. It’ll be fine.”

“Well, how am I gonna know you won’t just drive off?” Dean doesn’t budge, barely sparing your car a glance. “Leave me to deal with the vampire babies alone?”

You give him a flat. “I won’t just drive off, Winchester-“

“You might.” He shrugs. “I don’t know you that well, you could be playing me-“

“I’m not- Fine.” You roll your eyes, shoving your badge into his hands. “You can hold onto that, and I’ll have to follow you to get it back. Happy?”

“Very.” Dean winks at you, flipping your badge open to read. “Agent Smith- Who’s Smith?”

“Nobody. Smith is the most common last name in United States.” You shrug, and Dean looks at you like you’re insane. “What?”

“Nothin’, I just-“ He shakes his head, huffing a low laugh. “It’s practical. Smart.”

You narrow your eyes. “But?”

“No but,” He says your name with a bright, cocky grin, and tucks your badge into his pocket. “Can I not call you smart?”

“Not when you don’t really mean it-“

“I mean it. You’re smart.” His grin grows, and it feels like it’s burning its way right into your heart. Kicking it up to a higher speed, warming it until your whole body feels lost in a misting haze. It’s so fucking weird. “Are all your badges Smith?”

“No.” You mutter, crossing your arms to try and stop your heart beating right out of your chest. “Smith is just insurance. Johnson does wildlife, Brown is a cop, and Miller’s FBI.”

“Huh,” Dean looks at you like he’s never seen anything more amusing in his life. It’s not really helpful. “Sammy’s gonna like you.”

“Sammy?”

“My brother.” Dean shrugs. “He’s smart too. Not half as pretty, but smart.”

You flush, leaning back to ground yourself against the cool metal of the car. “You don’t know me, Winchester. I might be a dumbass.”

Dean chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. Dumb people don’t know about vampire babies.”

“I’d argue vampire babies are the exact thing a dumb person would know about-“

“And I’d argue dumb people don’t say I’d argue.”

You scowl. “Touché.”

Dean laughs again. He needs to stop doing that. “Dumb people don’t say touché-“

“Shut up.” You kick him again, and this time his grin just becomes teasing and smug and a little fucking dizzying.

“That’s not nice, Princess-“

“I said shut up.” You mutter, turning to open your car door. “Go get in your car so we can actually do our jobs.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Dean’s still grinning at you, his eyes widening as they finally flick to the Lexus. “Holy shit, you drive this?”

“Yeah.” You shrug, dropping into your seat and pointing across the lot to his car. “Go.”

Dean raises his hands in surrender. “Bossy.”

You glare at him. “Winchester-“

He gives you one last wink you feel deep in your core, closes your door, and walks away without another word. But—right after he climbs into the driver seat—he pulls out your badge, holds it up to the window, and mouths Follow me, or this is mine.

You roll your eyes, flip him off, and watch him laugh as he pulls out of the lot. And you could leave. Badges are easy to make, you’re not emotional attached to Agent Smith, and this is your last chance to keep yourself away from John Winchester. To listen to your every instinct, to your dad’s stern voice in your head, and run. It would be so fucking easy to run. To turn around and never look back, never allow yourself to indulge Dean Winchester further than one conversation.

But you don’t want to run. You want to follow this odd pull to him, follow him to the motel, follow him wherever else he seems to be going. Which is fucking insane, because you don’t know him, he doesn’t know you, and he’s almost certainly better off without you. Most people are. Hell, you’d be better off without you, if you could figure out how to do that.

And you know all that. But you still don’t want to run.

So you follow Dean out of the parking lot, through the winding backstreets of the town, and to a backwater motel. You park your car right next to his, close your eyes to take a long, steadying breath, and try to rationalize to yourself how this could possibly end up not blowing up in your face. You’ll keep a hold on yourself. John won’t know who you are, or what you are, or who you know, or what you know, or-

“Shit!” You jump as something raps on your window, and hear a loud laugh from outside your car.

You’ll get through this. You always do.

“You yelped.” Dean tells you as you climb out of the car, a wide, teasing grin on his face. “Real tough of you, Princess-“

“Suck my dick, Winchester.” You glare at him, and his grin only grows wider. “And stop calling me princess.”

“Nah,” Dean places his hand on your back, steering you towards the motel. “Suits you too well.”

“I don’t know what that means-“

“You don’t have to.” He smirks at you, and it does something impossible good to your brain. Makes it calm. A little fuzzy, a little smooth, but so fucking calm. “C’mon, I texted Dad that I found you, he and Sammy’ll be in our room.”

Dean Winchester is dangerous. You should be scratching and clawing and fighting like a feral animal to go, to get back in your car and as far away from here—from John Winchester—as possible. But he says I found you with a proud grin and puff of his chest like he’s bragging, and all that your stupid body knows how to do is lean slightly into his chest and follow him wherever he takes you. Somewhere dark, or somewhere horrible, or somewhere gray or somewhere safe.

Or just a shabby, paint-peeling motel room, where John Winchester and a shaggy haired kid are sitting around a table, looking at you—standing awkwardly in the doorway, watching them wearily, your back straight but arms crossed in defense—like you’re the strangest thing they’ve ever seen.

“This is, um,” Dean glances at you as he says your full name, and you realize he’s more tense than he’d been before. Standing a little taller, his eyes a little more guarded, his expression impossibly neutral. “She’s the hunter I mentioned.” Dean says your name again, pointing to the table as he continues. “That’s my dad, John, and my brother, Sammy.”

“Hi.” The kid—he’s taller than you, and barely younger, but there’s something about him that still says kid—offers you a small smile. “Do you, uh, do you hunt alone?”

“Yeah,” you give Sam a smile back, trying to force your tone to be casual, your body to relax, and your eyes not to wander to where John is tall in his seat, just watching you. “He tell you that?”

You jerk your head at Dean, who frowns. “So what if I did-“

“So, you’re being a real dramatic bitch about that. You’re not my dad, Winchester, let’s calm down.” You give him a small grin, and feel something odd and bright inflate in your chest when his mouth tugs up for the first time since you’ve walked into the room.

Dean looks like he’s going to say something back, but John clears his throat, and something curls and rots in your stomach at how quickly Dean goes rigid, how fast his mouth snaps shut. 

“You got a father, girl?”

You look at John, and he looks even more tired up close, in the dim light of the motel. More threatening as well, watching you like you’re prey, or a parasite, or a disease. Like you’re going to go feral and destroy everything in the room. It would sting less if he wasn’t right. If his attention wasn’t making your skin crawl and the White in you start to twist and pound to escape your body, the darkness rushing out as everything becomes big again. If you weren’t digging your nails into your palm to stop yourself from proving him right, and if you weren’t raising your chin in a weak attempt to be a little taller than you are. 

“I do.” You hold his gaze, and wonder if he can see the darkness. If he already knows what you are, and is trying to work out how to kill you. “We’re really close, actually.”

“He know you hunt?”

“He does.” You shrug. “He’s fine with it.”

That’s a lie. Your dad hates that you hunt. You’re certain the only reason he doesn’t lock you in his panic room to keep you away from the monsters and ghosts is because he knows you’d escape, and he’d never see you again. But John doesn’t know that, and you’re a fantastic liar, so if he doesn’t believe you it’s not because you don’t sell the words, it’s because he just doesn’t trust you. Because whatever you say, he’s going to keep looking at you like he can see right into your horrible center.

John’s face twitches, and as he leans slightly forward, you’re not sure Dean’s breathing at your side. “Your old man a hunter too?”

You nod, realize this is getting a little away from you, and start to run your thumb over your palm as John narrows his eyes.

“What’s his name?”

You use your real father’s name—your biological father, who you’ll never see again if you can help it—and it stings on your tongue. You hate that you have to say it. You hate that you have to repeat it, adding your real last name, but it works. John grunts, and looks away.

“Dean.”

“Yes, sir?”

“How old is she?”

“I, uh-“ Dean looks at you with wide eyes. “How old are you?”

You raise your brows. “How old do you think I am?”

“Twenty…” Dean scratches his head slightly, looking a little afraid. It would be adorable if this wasn’t such an oddly volatile situation. “Twenty-teen?”

“Twenty-teen?”

“I dunno, I mean you gotta be old than Sammy, and you sound like you’re old, but-“

“I sound like I’m old?”

“Just cause of the words you use! You look like you can’t be old than me, but I don’t know-“

“Jesus Christ, dude.” You take pity on Dean—who looks like he’s about to have a panic attack—and pat his shoulder as you speak. “I’m eighteen. And,” you look back to John, cooling your voice and narrowing your eyes. “I can speak for myself.”

John doesn’t waver. You can’t really imagine a world where he would. “I don’t doubt that, girl. But I ain’t lookin’ for help on this case, and you’re barely votin’ age-“

“I’m aware of my age.” You interrupt, crossing your arms over your chest. “But I’ve also been hunting, alone, since I was fifteen, and this,” you gesture through the air, holding John’s cold gaze. “Is my type of case. So you need my help.”

John scoffs. “It’s a ghost, sweetheart, me and my boys will be fine without you-“

“She says it’s not a ghost.” Dean mumbles, paling as John’s gaze shoots to him. “It’s, uh, a moroi?”

You hum in agreement, offering Dean a small grin that John doesn’t seem to miss.  

Sam raises his hand at the table, his expression open and curious. “What’s a moroi?”

“Romanian vampire baby.” Dean says, shooting Sam the first real, full grin you’ve seen on his face since you entered the motel room. “They never got a chance to learn who Mr. Clean is, which is why there’s been so much freakin’ blood everywhere. Right?”

Dean looks at you with a hopeful, bright expression, and it makes the White glow and sing as you nod.

“It’s a ghost.” John grunts, and when you look back to the table, he’s glaring at you. “We got freezin’ temperatures, EMF, and no break ins-“

“Because they’re death monsters. And they can shape-shift, into a guy, or a bug, or a cat.” You shrug. “Wouldn’t be that hard to get into a house.”

John scowls. “And you’d bet all our lives on this-“

“Yes.” You say, the words simple. You’re good at your fucking job, and there’s no doubt in your mind. “It is a moroi. I’ve hunted them before.”

“You have?” Sam’s eyes widen, his tone filled with something that might be admiration. “That’s so-“

John cuts Sam off with a raised hand, his attention never wavering from you. “Well,” he drawls your name, and it’s mocking and cruel and awful. The opposite of how Dean says it, in a way you hope to never hear again. “If you’re such an expert, how the hell do we kill the asshole.”

“Easy.” You shrug, as if there’s not something wired and painful in your muscles that’s trying to force you to run, run, run, far away from John Winchester and his cold voice. “You stab it in the heart with a nail.”

“With a nail.” John repeats, his voice flat, and you scowl. 

“Well, that, or,” you stand a little taller, making your voice cool and bored. “We throw a Romanian funeral for it, and find a living relative to walk around its grave three times with a candle.”

Dean makes a choked sound from off to the side, and when you look, he’s staring at you like you’d fallen from space again. John doesn’t look half as awestruck. He mostly looks pissed.

“This ain’t the time for jokes-“

“That’s not a joke.” You snap. “There are multiple ways to kill something, and that’s one of the ways you can deal with a moroi. It’s that, the nail, or burning resin on a Tuesday, then a Saturday.”

John laughs, no amusement or joy in the sound. “You might think your smart, kid, but how about I see a plan. Stabbin’ something in the heart ain’t gonna be easy, and hell, girl, you said they shape shift. How the fuck are you thinkin’ we find them-“

“There will be blood in its nails and eyes.” You hold your ground, but your palm grows red as you break skin. “And there is a pattern to the tarbets, we’ve just all been looking in the wrong place.”

“A pattern?” Sam’s eyes are still wide, his voice a little eager. “But none of the vics have been the same age, gender, ethnicity, occupation-“

“Have they all been parents? Lived near graveyards?”

All three Winchesters gape at you for a second, and Dean looks at John with wide eyes.

“Shit, Dad, she’s right.” He mutters, running a hand over his face. “The one we looked at yesterday, the house had one of those baby gates-“

“And we’ve driven past a graveyard every time.” Sam adds, looking between you and John with a nervous expression. “So, uh, it could be-“

“I know what it could be, Sam.” John grunts, his glare fully focused on Dean. “You willing to bet on her, son?” 

Dean looks at you, and he shouldn’t be—you’re a stranger, you’re a liar, you’re a monster that’s attracted to him like a magnet—but he nods. He stares at you like he doesn’t really understand what’s going on either, like he’s looking for a reason to not trust you and side with his father, but can’t find one. And—right before he looks back to his father—you see a flash in his eyes that makes you think he feels it. That whatever the fuck is happening to you, it’s happening to Dean too, and he’s just as helpless as you are to fight it.

“I am, sir.” He says, hands flexing at his side. “Sammy and I can do door duty, figure out who’s next on this things hit list-“

Sam frowns. “I don’t wanna do door duty-“

“Blame Dean,” John shrugs, giving Dean a curt nod. “Take my car and be back in two hours-“

You raise your hand, and John cuts himself off with a glower.

“What.”

“They don’t need to do door duty,” you say, your fingers running over your palm. “The moroi will only target parents of infants, so you can look for baby seats in cars. And it’ll all be near same cemetery. Five miles radius.” You catch Dean raising his brows at you, and shrug. “They don’t like to stray far from home.”

“And by home,” Sam jumps in, words slow as he connects the dots. “You’re talking about their grave.”

“Or their coffin.” You offer him a close-lipped smile. “But yeah. It’s already dusk, our best bet would be splitting up and patrolling a few streets until we see the thing. It’ll probably be in its regular form, at least until it spots a house.”

Dean frowns at you. “What’s that gonna look like?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Hairy. Bloody and hairy. It’ll be gross, you’ll see it.”

“And how,” John grunts. “Are you thinkin’ we split up.”

“We’ve got two cars.” You shrug. “Three if you have a second one-“

“We don’t.” John snaps. “And I took a fuckin’ taxi back here, ain’t no way I’m not driving my car, or lettin’ a little girl go off to hunt this on her own-“

“How honorable,” you mutter under your breath—careful to make sure Dean doesn’t hear you—and raise your voice back to a bored, flat tone.  “Then you’ll take your car, and I’ll take one of them,” you nod between Sam and Dean. “So we’re off in pairs.”

“Dad, I could go with her.” Dean takes a small step forward, his tone slightly nervous. “I mean, it would be safer for you to take Sammy. And you know I’d be careful.“

John grunts, jaw ticking, and you can see he’s considering it. That, somehow, you’ve convinced him to go with this, and he hasn’t put a bullet in your brain. There’s a frantic, wired part of you along your skin that’s certain he’s just waiting for an excuse, but for now you’ll take it. You’ll take Dean volunteering to go with you, John not killing you, and everyone winning when you’re right, because you will be. You’re not good for much, but you’re good for this. 

“I want you to drive.” John tells Dean, and you’ll allow it. If it keeps Dean near you—as you so confusingly and desperately crave—you’ll let him drive your stupid, fancy car. Fuck, you’ll let him run it into a ditch if he wants, as long as you’re there with him, and what the fuck is happening to you- 

Dean says your name, and you blink at him as he continues. “I, uh, if you’re good with it-“

“Sure, I don’t give a fuck.” You toss Dean your keys, and he frowns. “I mean, try not to total it, or do donuts-“

Dean gasps, his face full of mock offense that pulls a smile onto your face. “Do I look like a hooligan to you-“

You raise your brows. “Did you just say hooligan?”

“Yeah,” he grins at you, and nothing else seems that real. “It’s a fun word, don’t bash it-“

“I am not bashing it-“

“Kinda sounds like you’re bashin’ it-“

“Well, it kinda sounds like you’re going to try and do donuts in my car-“

“Princess, I would never-“

“Winchester, I don’t believe you-“

John coughs, loudly, and you and Dean fall silent. That keeps happening. You talk to Dean, and everything fades until you’re just smiling like an idiot and watching him like he’s the sun, and you’re just existing in his orbit. And he does the same thing. Dean’s face is red, and he’s staring at the floor as John glowers at him, but you keep catching his eyes darting to you, a small furrow on his brow that you wish you could ask him about. You wish you could ask him a million things. About his life, about his likes and dislikes, why his whole family hunts and what he thinks of your dad—the one he’d know, the one that’s going to murder you when he finds out what you’re doing right now—and if he can feel this too. He must. It’s like a drug, and it’s flashing and loud in the White, and making the darkness blur into something you think would be better. Into something you wouldn’t hate, molding with something that feels foreign but right, strange but just as powerful and certain as gravity. Something secret, that you think you should be fighting but can’t bring yourself to raise a weapon against. 

Something bigger than you. Bigger than him. Bigger than the White inside your chest and the darkness that’s pushed down, down, down as you force yourself to stay in place, and not either grab Dean’s face and scream—shout at him in a begging question of do you feel this, or am I going fucking insane—or run. Flee as John Winchester gives you one last look like he’s imaging your blood on the floor, and you climb into the passenger’s seat of the Lexus.

But you manage to keep it together, and you’ll have to settle for this. For talking to Dean as you patrol up and down a darkened suburban street with white-picket fences, your knees up on the dash and your fingers growing bloody as you pick at them to keep the darkness down. 

“So, uh,” Dean taps his hands on the wheel, staring out at the road. “Hunting.“

You blink at him, raising your brows. “What?”

“I just, mean how’d you end up doing it? You’re young-“

“You’re literally only three years old than me-“

“But I got Dad and Sammy.” He scowls. “You’re alone.”

“Yeah, we’ve establish that.” You cross your arms, curling slightly into your seat. “I’m really good at my job, Winchester, I’m not that worried.”

Dean chuckles, glancing at your half-pout with an amused expression. “Still Winchester? When am I gonna get the honor of her majesty using my first name?”

You glare at him, and it just makes his grin wider. “Shut up.”

He clicks his tongue. “Bossy.”

And he’s so confusingly adorable and handsome—in the soft, shimmering light of the streetlamps and fog—that you speak without even thinking. “You have to earn first names, Deano.”

He freezes for a second, and his grin becomes his whole face. Wide and charming, sweeping you off your feet and knocking the breath from your lungs without even touching you. 

“So,” he drawls, still smirking like an idiot. “Nicknames you’ll pass out like party favors, but I need to work to just be Dean.”

“Seems that way, doesn’t it?”

“Well, can I at least shoot down Deano?”

“Maybe,” you hum. “On what grounds?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs, eyes flashing in the low light. “It kinda makes me sound like a birthday clown?”

You giggle. A small, soft giggle that he pulls out of you with barely any effort, that you want to hate but can’t figure out how to. “Maybe you are a clown-“

“Birthday clown.” He corrects, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Don’t drop the birthday part, that means I’ve got a job. And I can’t be a clown, Sammy’ll never speak to me again.” Dean glances at you, his voice dropping slightly. “He freakin’ hates clowns. Might shoot me before I explain that a pretty lady turned me into one against my will.”

You raise your brows, trying to push down the flush on your face from pretty lady. How he’d said the words like they were teasing, but still so serious, and looked at you with a small smirk when they had his intended effect. You can barely remember how to clear your throat and use words, let alone tease and spar with him when the White is blinding in your body.

“Unfortunately,” you manage to speak, nudging his shoulder with your own. “All sales are final. You’re Deano now.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but his grin doesn’t falter for a second. “Until I earn Dean, though, right?”

“If you earn Dean.”

He hums, shooting you another, oddly heated glance. “And what do I need to do for that?”

You only shrug, running your fingers over your palm to sooth the darkness. It’s starting to eat over your nerves and heart, trying reach out and touch Dean in a way you can’t allow, in a way that will end whatever this is before it begins. Dean only gives you a strange look, his smile still wide on his face.

“Well,” Dean says your whole name, over-pronouncing each syllable. “Am I allowed to return the favor?”

“What favor.”

“Callin’ you a nickname.” He winks at you, and it settles—warm and soft and strong—in your core. “It’s only fair.”

You shake your head. “No. I don’t even have a nickname.”

“Bet I could fix that.”

“Would be a losing bet. I wouldn’t take it.”

“Whatever you say, Princess.”

And just like that, you’ve lost. You’d seen it coming, too. It was too easy a solution for him to have, to easy a path to allow him to take, too easy to let the small part of you—that had wanted to hear him call you Princess again, because it soothed something that was always feral inside of you and blurred the darkness into the White until nothing hurt inside you—allow Dean to coax you where he’d clearly wanted you, and follow with a smile on your face. But all of this was too easy. Talking to Dean was too easy, because the conversation seems to flow and ebb without effort, and you’re almost always in danger of saying too much. He seems to know how to—without any obvious intention—get you to tell him anything he asks, leaving you biting your tongue to keep down bits of the truth that could prove deadly. But he doesn’t push you to speak—which is perfect and terrifying all within itself—and when you fall into silence it’s easy too. It’s easy to control the darkness, calmed only by your thumb and long breathes, and easy to keep everything small. Just you and Dean in the soft silence of the car, just you and Dean in the whole world.

“My mom died.” Dean says suddenly, frowning out the window. “It’s why I’m hunting. And,” he adds, his voice growing a little firmer, a little more defensive. “It’s why my dad’s so careful. I know he can be tough, but we’ve only got each other, and he’s just tryin’ to-“

“I get it.” You whisper, something deep in your chest aching for him. For this pretty, impossible man who might be bigger than the whole word, and how his brow is knit in a confusing kind of hollow pain as he defends his father. Goes to arms for him without prompting, like it’s a reflex. And you really do get it, but even if you didn’t, you somehow care too much about him to force him to rage and spit fire in John’s defense. It looks like it might rip him apart, and you never really want to see him go. So you just offer him a gentle, full lipped but toothless smile, and place your hand on his arm. “And that really fucking sucks.”

He lets out a dry chuckle, and doesn’t try to move his arm away. “It does really fucking suck. Thanks.”

“My dad’s wife died.” You offer, as if that would somehow make this better, and Dean gives you an odd look.

“Dad’s wife? Not your mom?”

You swallow. You did it again. You slipped when you’re usually so fucking careful. “It’s complicated.”

“Ah.” Dean has a little furrow between his brow that you’d like to run your thumb over, but he drops it. “Are you, you gonna tell me why you hunt? If it’s not your Dad’s wife?”

You sigh, a feral instinct of survive shoving the truth just a little further down. “That’s complicated too. I mean it’s not,” you glance up at him, his eyes fixed onto the road. “It’s not like yours. I didn’t lose anyone.”

“Is it a family thing? Like, your dad brought you in?” Dean’s every word is careful, like he’s afraid he might spook you. But that’s another thing that’s too easy. Staying next to Dean and not bristling or fleeing is far too fucking easy. 

“No,” you say, watching the light and shadows shift over his face in a strange, perfect dance. “He tries to stop me from doing it all the time. Shit, he called me last night and asked me to come home.”

Dean frowns. “You-“

“Dean!” You cut him off with a hand over his mouth, and he slams the breaks with a screech. You can see his staring at you from the corner of your eye, but you barely spare him a glance, your eyes locked over his shoulder, out the window, at a shifting figure in the dark. “Look.”

He turns his head, prying your hand from his mouth as he glares out the window. “I don’t-“

“There,” you hiss, leaning a little further forward. “See the-“

“That might just be a shadow,” Dean mutters, his voice dropping to a whisper as he scans over the dark. “Or a fox-“

You turn your head, giving him a flat look. “Do foxes look like babies covered in blood?”

“No.” He grins at you. “But I’ve seen weirder shit, Princess.”

You’re suddenly aware of how close you are. How you’d leaned over the console and started to practically hang off of Dean’s body, how your faces are barely a breath apart and you can see every deep color and fleck of gold in his eyes. He really only gets prettier, and he’s so warm, and there’s molten silver in your chest trying to tangle into him. He smells like fresh grass and spice, his eyes are dilating—but maybe just from the dark—and everything seems to be slowing down as the silver looks for other places to leak out. Places that wouldn’t hurt anyone, like the mist of the night that seems to glow and the wind that seems to bend and creak the trees in your direction, and the golden streetlamps-

Dean’s eyes shoot to the road as the lights start to flicker, his body tensing against yours. “Shit. We should, uh-“

You nod, push yourself away, and try to pretend your body doesn’t grieve the loss of his touch.

John and Sam are taking too long to arrive. You’re tense and bouncing on the sidewalk as you wait, turning a sharp nail between your fingers, and Dean keeps a hand around your wrist as he frowns down the street. You think he can sense that, if he looks away for only a second, you’ll dart into the house and deal with this yourself. You could. This nail has killed three moroi before, and you’d been completely alone then. 

“Winchester.” 

Dean looks at you with a frown, and you tug your arm slightly.

“Let me go.”

“No,” he grunts, his grip tightening. “Dad said to wait.”

“He’s not my dad-“

“Doesn’t matter.” Dean mutters, his gaze moving back to the empty, dark fog. “We’re waiting.”

You scowl. “Fine. Can you let go-“

“No.”

“I swear to god, Dean Winchester-“

“If I let you go,” he snaps, his glare shooting back to you. “You’re going to run in there. So no.”

You narrow your eyes. “You don’t know me-“

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “Look me in the eyes,” he drawls your name, holding your gaze. “And say you won’t run.”

It should be an easy lie, but it gets caught in your throat and you can only gape at him. Dean raises his brows as you continue to stare, and the White inside you starts to thrash as you clear your throat, forcing the words out.

“I’d handle it.”

He scoffs. “There is no way you’re gonna be able to handle it alone-“

“So, come with me,” You hiss, leaning forward until your face is only an inch from his. “And I won’t be alone.”

You don’t know why it breaks him. But something flashes in his eyes, he groans—running his free hand over his face and giving you a look of disbelief—and he caves. 

And from there it’s mostly a blur. It’s always a blur. The darkness inside of you latches onto something primal, and it’s all only a blur. 

Usually it’s all but a blackout. Like something overtakes you and you become just as monstrous as what you’re hunting, your brain only holding onto what you’ll need in order to survive next time, and a sticky smell of blood to haunt your sleep. But Dean’s here now, and things come into focus. Time is still a rush, and you’re still moving on pure instinct, but you remember Dean’s body being pressed to yours as you crept through the suburban house. You remember to set look on his face as you swept the rooms, figuring out what the moroi could be, where it might be hiding. You remember seeing it first, and the sound of flesh tearing as it launched at Dean—over you—and you swatted it with your arm like a baseball. 

You remember Dean shouting your name as you raced forward with the nail in your hand, and how it sounded like his chest was being ripped open. You remember finding that small patch of soft flesh on the moroi’s chest, driving the nail home, and tasting bile when it vomited blood up into your face. 

You remember Dean passing you his shirt on the curb a few blocks down, because the very ungrateful almost-victims threatened to call the cops, and you were covered in blood. He’d faced away as your changed—zipping up his own jacket and humming while he waited—and you could’ve sworn he was blushing when he turned back around.

Then John Winchester had arrived—looking at Dean like he’d just sprouted a second, hideous head and you like he was imaging how amazing you’d look in a casket—and everything grew sharp as they drove away. 

More of it comes together as you drive yourself back to the motel. Dean had dumped the body in the gutter, and you had given him your motel address. John had snapped at you to meet them tomorrow for a debrief, and told Dean that they’d talk back at the room. Sam had smiled at you, and it was a nice smile. There hadn’t seemed to be anything beneath it—just a kind smile for the woman sitting on the curb next to his shirtless brother, her hair matted in blood and fingers covered in monster hair—and you’d liked that. 

When you enter your room, it suddenly feels too small. Nothing is big enough for how strange this is, how you might need all the world and a little more to figure out what the fuck just happened. You miss Dean. You’d met him today, and you miss him more than you’ve missed anything before. You keep looking to the side to see if he’s there, when you know he won’t be. The White is bucking and keening inside of you, the darkness falling out of your body—you can feel the pain of the water as it becomes steam in the shower, and you’re almost knocked to your knees by the ache of the phone to be closer to the lamp—and you need to find out if he could meld them together again. If it had been a fluke, or an accident, or if you were simply losing your fucking mind.

You have to be. You must be going mad. It’s the only explanation for why you take a long shower and change into your own clothing, but you still smell grass and leather and spice. It’s purgatorial. You go through your whole routine—scrubbing all the blood off your body with rough sugar that bites into your skin, running your hands under white-hot water that leaves your skin raw but the darkness pushed down, tending to your hair until it frame your features easily, and you don’t look like a bruised and battered animal—but you still smell him. You toss his shirt off to the side, but he’s clinging to the sheets. You change into sleepwear, but your body can still feel a strong, warm touch. You turn your empty flask in your hands, watching light catch off the steel, and someone’s knocking on your fucking door-

Dean hisses your name through the wood, and you freeze.

“I know you’re in there!” He’s half-shouting, and the whole world feels more colorful, and what is wrong with you. “C’mon, Princess, open the door. It’s me!” He pauses, the knocking faltering. “Uh, Dean Winchester.”

He sounds a little defeated, and you can’t stop the smile on your face as you toss the flask back into your bag, cross the room, and open the door. 

Dean gives you an adorable, almost nervous grin and scans over you. Slow and deep and appreciative—taking in your sleep clothes, how your whole body is more relaxed than it had been all day—and his smile grows as his eyes find yours once more.

“You look pretty wearing normal stuff.” He leans a little on the door frame, and it’s so effortlessly and perfectly rouge-cowboy-white-knight-and-knave that he has to have practiced. “Better than that old-lady jacket you hand on before.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s my professional jacket, Winchester. What do you want?”

The words are harsher than you mean them to be, and his grin falters slightly. “I was, uh, I was wondering,” he rubs the back of his neck, clearing his throat. “I got my dad’s car. I was gonna ask if you wanted to go for a drive or something, but you’re obviously ready to turn in, so-“

“Do you want to come in?” 

You’re not sure how he’s doing this. Making you speak without thought, making your words reckless when they’re usually so carefully chosen. You have to be careful with your words, because you’ve spent years weaving a web that shows everyone everything, but not from every angle. And he’s fucking unraveling it. Dean just looks at you, and you pull at a thread so he can see whatever he wants, and you can’t understand how the fuck he’s doing it.

It must be on purpose, but he looks just as shocked as you are—gaping at you slightly, his features open and uncertain—and you don’t think it’s an act. Especially not as his voice becomes slightly hoarse, his feet restlessly shifting his weight as he speaks.

“Yeah, if you want, but I’m good to just head out if you-“

“Do you want to head out?”

Dean’s grin becomes bright once more, and the shake of his head sends a spark of lightning through your body.

“So,” you step to the side, offering him a small smile. “Come in.”

He shuffles inside, scanning over your scattered possessions and stopping at the side of the bed. 

“I can,” he looks back to you, his eyes a little wide. “I can sit on the floor, or we can go outside-“

You shake your head, moving to his side. “There are bugs outside. Sit on the bed.”

Dean glances at the mattress like the sheets might leap up and strangle him. “Floor looks good-“

“Winchester.” You point at the bed, giving him a stern glare. “Sit.”

“I am not a freakin’ dog-“

You place a hand on his chest and push him—just enough for him to get the message—and he sit on the bed with a wide happy? gesture. 

You drop at his side, watching him carefully as you try to work out what is happening. Why he’s here. If he’s looking at you like that—like you’re more than a human, but that’s hypnotizing, and he’d love to find what you actually are—because he can feel this too. 

But Dean beats you to it.

“Can I ask you something?”

You tilt your head at him, pulling your knees into your chest. “Can I ask you something?”

“Huh.” Dean hums, the smile creeping back onto his face. “How about we trade? I ask you a question, you gimme an answer, then we switch.”

You give him an amused look. “That’s just a conversation.”

“Nah, because if I ask you something and you answer, now I owe you a question. You can turn down a question, but you’ll still owe an answer.”

You frown. “What happens if you owe an answer?”

He shrugs, flopping onto his back. “Then the other person keeps asking questions.”

Dean looks so real. He’s grinning up at you, light dancing as his eyes as he obviously baits you into whatever he’s trying to do. 

And you fall for it. Despite your best judgement, you fall.

“I’m going first.” 

He chuckles, but raises his hand for you to shake. “Deal, Princess.”

The moment your hand folds into Dean’s he pulls you down, leaving your smushed slightly against him and his face only inches from yours once more. And your yelp was undignified, and he’s such an asshole—laughing and grinning as you shove his chest—and you’re smiling too. 

Because this is easy. And you have a feeling that, if this strange man—who’s too pretty, and that’s making you feel like you’ve never really been alive before this—dragged you right down to hell, you’d still be laughing and smiling at him. And that’s so fucking dangerous. And you know that, but you still can’t stop looking at him, and you can’t roll away. And you decide that, just for tonight, you’re going to indulge this. You’ll dedicate hours when he’s gone to figuring out what the fuck this is. Right now you get to laugh and smile and act like nothing in the world has ever—could ever—hurt you.

“So,” Dean says your name, and it still sounds too good. “You have a question to go first with? Or were you just bein’ bossy-“

“Shut up.” You swing your leg to kick his shin, he laughs, and it’s like music. Making you high and dizzy as you watch him, running your thumb over your palm. “I’ve got it, Winchester. You ready?”

“Born it, sweetheart,” he winks at you, and that’s dizzying too. “Hit me.”

“Why are you here?”

“I told you already, I wanted to talk to you-“

You hum, holding his gaze with a small frown. “Why?”

Dean chuckles, shaking his head. “That’s two questions-“

“It’s a ride off of the first question-“

“Well, I still gotta ask my first question before you get a second one.” He raises his brows at you, bump your knee with his. “We shook on this, Princess, you don’t get to change it now.”

You glare at him, but you think he knows it’s fake, because his grin becomes almost blinding. “Fine. Go.”

Dean rolls onto his side, holding your gaze as he speaks. “How’d you get that car?”

You frown. “The Lexus?”

He nods, and you sigh. 

“I borrowed it.” It’s not a lie, but it’s a half-truth. It’s a half-truth that will keep him here, at your side, for a little longer than you might deserve. “For the hunt.”

“Well, it’s freakin’ awesome.” He grins at you, and your face might burst into flame. “Your move.”

“Why are you really here?”

Dean lets out a dry chuckle. “Will you let it go if I say to talk again?”

“Nope. Answer me.”

“It’s, uh,” he rolls flat on his back once more, running a hand over his face. “Tomorrow’s gonna be Dad telling us about safety and Sammy asking you a bunch of questions.” He shoots you a small, amused grin. “I think he’s been writing them down. He’s into all that geek-shit too-“

“I am not a geek-“

“Yeah, you are.” He shrugs. “Don’t worry, I think it’s adorable. But Sammy thinks you’re the coolest person we’ve ever met. So after Dad finishes, he’ll try to use you like a freakin’ library, and I just figured I’m the one who found you, so I should get a night of you all to myself.”

You gape at him for a second, and you’ve defiantly burst into flames. He wants you all himself, and he thinks you’re adorable, and he doesn’t know you, but he doesn’t seem like the type to say all that just to get in your pants, and if he was, he’d be there already. He’d just have to roll on top of you, but he’s only looking at you like you’re something sacred instead of a disease or trophy. 

He must feel this too. He has too. And you want to ask him, but you don’t know how, because you don’t even know what this is. It’s magnetic and infinite and bigger than anything, forging something you don’t know how to name between where the White and darkness live in your body. And Dean might not even have the White and darkness. Nobody else does—that’s something that’s wrong with only you—so if you phrase it like that he’ll think you’re insane-

“My turn.” Dean says, and you’re dragged back down to earth, grounded in his smooth voice. “What’s up with your hand?”

You blink at him. “What?”

“That one.” he reaches over, tapping the back your hand. “You’ve been touching it all day, and I kinda, uh,” he gives you an apologetic look. “I saw the scar. If you wanna pass on this one, I’ll drop it, but-“

“No, it’s,” you take a long breath, because this would be an easy one to refuse to answer, but his fingers are lingering on your knuckles and setting off little sparks over your skin, and you want to tell him. It takes a moment of just staring at him to you find the words, and his eyes never leave yours, and everything about him seems to drug you into a loose-lipped, trusting ease. “I’ve have it since I was really young. There was, um, an incident.”

Dean still doesn’t look away, his voice slightly lower. “Hunting incident, or-“

“No.” You swallow, turning your hand for him to see the long, clean scar on your palm. Running through it in a neat, raised line. “Just an incident.”

He looks like he’s going to say something. Not push, but say something, and you blurt out your next question before he can get the chance. It’s not what you wanted to ask—you hadn’t offered yourself enough time to find the right words for something really fucking weird is happening to me, and I need to know if it’s happening to you too—but it’s dragged out of you in desperation to learn a little more about him. In a plea for him to only know that you’re marred where he can see, and never discover that you’re twisted where he can’t.

“What’s it like?” You watch him carefully, your fingers starting to trace over the scar. “Hunting with your family?”

“It’s fine.” He shrugs. “I mean, Dad’s a freakin’ genius at it, and it’s awesome to watch him work. Plus I get to keep an eye on Sammy like this. Know he’s safe.” He frowns. “I mean, it’s better than sending him off alone. Letting him be in danger.”

You hum, scanning over the wrinkle in his brow, your thumb starts to itch to press on it, sooth his whole face into a relaxed smile. “You guys are close?”

Dean nods eagerly. “Yeah, I mean, He’s a freakin’ loser, but he’s all I got. He’s a weird little geek-“

You laugh. “He’s taller than you are, De. I wouldn’t call that little.”

“He’s little in spirit-“ Dean cuts himself off, and his grin looks almost manic. “Did you just call me De?”

“No.” You hold his gaze, even as your face warms. “Shut up.”

“I heard you, Princess, you can’t lie to me-“

“Well, is that your question?” You grin at him, your body leaning a little further without you moving it, and Dean eyes flash.

“You gonna tell me the truth if it is?”

You nod, and he smirks.

“Then yeah, it was.”

“Okay. I did call you De.” Before he can gloat, you push on. “Why do you call me Princess?”

“I told you already, it suits you-“

You narrow your eyes. “Try again, Winchester. Real answer this time.”

He sighs, shaking his head at the ceiling. “You just,” Dean waves his hand through the air. “You’ve got a thing going. You don’t look like a hunter.”

“What’s that supposed to mean-“ 

“It means,” He gives you a strange look you can feel flash through your blood, melding the White back into the darkness, turning every simple and bright as he continues. “That if you asked me what I thought you were, I’d have said something fancy.”

You open your mouth, but he’s not done, and he won’t look away from you.

“I dunno, you just seem too pretty to be down here in the mud with us. You should eating caviar and wearing those poofy dresses-“

You snort. “Poofy dresses?”

“Yeah, like in movies, when they dance around like douchebags-“

“So you’re saying I seem like a douchebag-“

“No, I’m saying you should be somewhere that’s not here.” Dean’s attention is washing over you like a rising tide—slow and natural and deep—and you still can’t read that expression on his handsome face. “The mud.”

He’s so close. And if he thinks you’re pretty, he’s a work of art. You’ve never see someone look like him. Like he was created, and not born. Every freckle on his face is more like a star than a flaw, and there a slight crook to his nose that tells you he’s been punched there before, but it only makes you want to run your finger over the bump and see if his pretty eyes flutter or flash. His lips are chapped but they’d still be soft. His hands look rough, but that just means he uses them.

You think it would be nice to let him use you.

“I like it in the mud,” you whisper, daring to inch a little closer, until you’re sharing a breath. “It feels real. And,” you grin at him, everything blurring around you but pretty green eyes and shining silver in your chest. “I’ve got good company down here.”

There it is. The flash in his eyes as they darken slightly, a warm breath fanning over your face, and he looks golden. In the warm light of the lamp, glowing soft on his tan skin, Dean looks like something more than human. You feel like something more than human, and for the first time in your life, that’s not a curse. And he’s still so fucking close, and this is a terrible idea, but you can’t bring yourself to move away.

You should. He’s John Winchester’s son, and you’re not sure how you forgot that. It’s past midnight, and you have a feeling he wasn’t supposed to be here at all, and this is the worst idea you’ve ever had. 

But you still can’t move.

“You should, um,” you swallow, and your lips might have brushed over his. “You should get back. It’s late, and your dad-“ 

“Shit,” Dean mutters, but still doesn’t try to move away. “Yeah.” 

Your eyes dart down to his lips—full and pink, just a small movement away from yours—and you decide you don’t care what’s happening to you. This is—Dean is—too good to care. You don’t need to know why this is happening, or what it means, or if you should be trying to run from it. You just need Dean. You think that—if the world ended and time began to move slowly—you might plant roots in the motel floor and grow into Dean until the world flooded and you were both washed away. 

“I have one last question,” he mutters, breath ghosting over your lips. “If I leave you my number, will you use it?”

You nod without thinking, he grins, and you’re so fucked. You can’t kiss him. You might fall from a million feet if you kiss him. Down, down, down, clinging to him as you both try to find an end to whatever this is and likely fail to. But Dean sits up slowly—like the movement is painful—and when he helps you to your feet you think you might ascend from just his hand in yours. Touching him feels like it’s making you pure and worthy of something, and you have to know what kissing him will do.

Not on the lips. You still have enough of your willpower and caution to not crash all the way down, at least not right now. But you kiss his cheek, and that’s tragedy enough. It snaps something into place inside you, soft stubble and warm skin too much for your entire existence to handle. It’s all too much to handle, and if he hadn’t mumbled a low promise of seeing you tomorrow and left when he did, you would’ve jumped on him to chase whatever this feeling is. How it’s the only thing you’ve ever felt that might belong inside you, and the only easy thing that the darkness has ever bended for.

And when you sleep, that’s easy too. It’s dreamless and deep, no nightmares, no waking up in a cold sweat, no darkness wrapping around you and leaving the sheets only ash when you wake up.

But when you do wake up, something is wrong. You feel it first, gnawing at your nails and blood. And when you roll over to check the time, your phone is gone. 

It had been on the bedside table, a scrap of paper with Dean’s number under it, and it’s gone.

The paper is gone too.

You shoot out of bed, and Dean’s shirt is still in the corner, because he’d told you to give it to him in the morning, to trade it for your Agent Smith badge. But your phone is gone.Your window is open—cool breeze rushing through the room—and your phone is fucking gone.

You’d been smart to pack the night before. You’d been smart to keep your keys in your jacket, and park right outside your room. You can shove everything in the passenger’s seat and screech out of the motel lot in a second. You don’t know why, but you’re heading to Dean first. Something is wrong, and you don’t know what, but the White is trying to strangle your heart and the darkness is already eating up your spine and over your skull.

John Winchester’s sleek, black muscle car—Dean told you it was an Impala, and he’d said it with a pride in his voice that had dragged a smile onto your face—isn’t parked in the lot. And when you knock on the door nobody answers. All the lights in the room are off, there’s no shadows moving through the window, and the door is locked.

You move to the front desk and ask if the men in that room had checked out. And when the clerk gives you a weary look and says that they’d paid for another two nights, but dropped the keys off that morning, your gut twists. 

They were gone. Dean was gone. And something fragile and new shattered inside you, leaving small pieces lodged through your whole body. You stumble back to your car, the darkness moving out of your body and the whole world too fucking big, and you don’t know what’s wrong with you. You’d known him a day. He’d known you a day. Nothing was owed, but you can still feel it. How the White seems to be howling from the loss of him, and the darkness can’t stop growing as it sinks in. 

He left. You don’t know why, but Dean left. He’d probably taken your phone, taken his number, and just fucking left you. Maybe he’d seen you last night, really seen you, and realized what you were. Maybe he’d just been playing you the whole time for some sort of scam. Maybe you hadn’t kissed him, and he’d decided you weren’t worth the chase. And that would mean you had been going crazy, and he hadn’t felt anything at all.

The thought lets the darkness move over you, and you can feel everything everywhere. The electricity in the wires over your head, the wear of painted lines in the parking lot, the hope of the grass peeking through the concrete under your feet. 

The grass that smells like Dean.

It breaks through you before you can stop it. Reaching past your body and down into the pavement, cracking it open with all the force of how much this hurts. How it shouldn’t hurt, it doesn’t make any sense that it hurts, but you’re still breaking and bowing and bending to the way you feel like you’ve been fucking shot. You fall down to the curb, curling into yourself as the ground shakes under your feet, and the wind picks up until—in the forest across the parking lot—a branch falls to the ground.

Then a second one. 

You manage to bring your hand to your mouth, to bite down hard and force all the darkness back into your body, and you still don’t know what to do. 

This hurts so much, and you’re alone in the middle of nowhere, and Dean’s gone.

You still have your burner phone. Your dad makes you keep it in your jacket, just in case something happens, and it only has his number. You dial him with shaking hands, the darkness still trying to climb back out of you, take a deep breath as you raise it to your ear.

He picks up on the second ring.

“Hey,” He says your name, his voice already edged with worry. “I didn’t think I’d be hearin’ from you until after that blood hunt thing-“

“Hunt’s over.” You mumble, staring at the cracked pavement. “Got it last night.”

“Was it a vamp like I told ya’-“

“Moroi.”

“I’d call that vamp enough. Good work, kiddo, Rufus owes us a dinner-“

“Bobby?”

Your voice is soft, and he hears it. Bobby always hears it. 

“What happened,” he says your name, and you can hear the frown in his voice. It makes everything worse, because you can’t tell him. Not now, maybe not ever if you can avoid it. You can’t handle how he’ll help you fix this and let you rest, then spend a week lecturing you and telling you everything you already know. Because you really do know. You fucked up, and you know that.

But Bobby doesn’t have to.

“Nothing, I just-“ you swallow, your nails digging into your calf. “Can I come home?”

There’s a long moment of static through the phone, and when Bobby speaks again his voice is low. “You can always come home,” he says your name, and you choke on the clean air around you. “But you get a week of mopin’ before we’re grabbin’ that dinner from Rufus. Alright?”

You nod, even though he can’t see it. “I’ll be there by tomorrow.”

“Should be two days, if you drive carefully like you’re supposed to.” Bobby grunts. “And ditch that fancy car you’ve been usin’, I don’t need the cops askin’ questions about it.”

You feel a smile tug at your lips. “You never let me have anything nice, Bobby-“

“You never let me have goddamn peace, kid.” Bobby snaps, and your smile grows. “Your bed will be ready for you. And I better not see that bells and whistles hunk of shit in my yard-“

“Aye, aye captain. No fancy cars.” You make a mock salute he can’t see, and Bobby huffs.

“Stolen fancy cars.” He grumbles. “Stop bein’ a smartass and get on the road.”

When the call ends, your smile feels real. The strange, fractured feeling in the White is still there, and the darkness might be trying to fly out of you, but you’re better than before. You’ll go home, Bobby will never know what happened, and none of this will last. You’ll be fine. Dean Winchester might haunt you like a phantom or cancer for the rest of your fucking life—or at least until you figure out what he did to you, and how to fix it—but you’ll get through this. 

You always do.

—————————

Dean’s grip was tight on Her phone. It was just a fucking block of metal—it would be useless when they tossed it off a bridge in a few miles—but he couldn’t let go of it. It felt wrong to let go of it. 

He’d be letting go of Her.

He hadn’t wanted to take it, but Dad said he needed to—Don’t want to let an angry woman have a line to you, son. Especially not a crazy one—and Dad knew what he was talking about, so Dean had done it. He’d snuck back into Her room through the window, grabbed Her phone and the paper with his number, and felt like the lowest piece of trash in the goddamn garbage can. The maggot-ridden chunk of food that nobody had wanted, but was still figuring out a way to fuck everything else up in twisted retribution. 

Because there was guilt eating at Dean’s stomach. He shouldn’t have taken Her phone, not when She wasn’t that much older than Sammy. Not when She’d said her dad would be waiting for her to call, and Dean might have stolen Her only line to safety just because-

Because She’d been using him. And he’d been falling for it. She’d given him that smile like he’d fallen out of the sun and into Her hands, She’d crafted some sort of perfect mask that had felt so real—felt like this strange, mouthy, clever woman had just appeared to him, and he could’ve had something nice for once in his goddamn life—and moved Dean like a fucking pawn. 

Dad had been waiting for him when he got back, and whatever weird spell She’d put Dean under—making him feel a little drunk on nothing, making him act like a fucking idiot—had been ripped away under his glare. 

But Dean hadn’t gotten yelled at. He’d just been sat down—Dad’s gaze filled with disappointment that Dean’s bones didn’t know how to handle—and had papers pushed across the table in his direction. 

“What are these?” He’d asked, and Dad had sighed, because Dean was too much of an idiot to just know, and Dad knew it. 

“Read them.” Dad had grumbled, watching Dean through narrowed eyes. “And tell me if you want to see that girl again.”

He’d frowned but scanned over the papers. Printed out website pages about… Her. Her family. How She was missing, how She’d stolen from them, and how they were rich. Normal, alive, and rich, looking for Her and whatever she’d taken. Warning that She was crazy, a chronic liar, and should be turned over to the police if seen. There was no picture, but there was a description that matched Her perfectly, right down to a scar on her palm.

“Dad.” He’d looked up with wide eyes, something strange bucking around inside of him, insisting that this was a lie. Dean didn’t know Her—they’d had three conversations for fuck’s sake—but this didn’t seem like Her. None of this seemed like the clever, beautiful, almost ethereal woman he’d been lying on the bed with. Dean didn’t know howor why, but this couldn’t be the truth. “I don’t-“

“She’s just usin’ you, Dean.” Dad had muttered, his eyes softening just enough for Dean to know he was sorry. He might not really like Her, but he was trying to protect Dean. He always was. “Chasing a high that her daddy can’t give her, lookin’ for a way to pull somethin’ on us. Probably huntin’ just for some sort of fucked up thrill. This,” Dad tapped the papers, his face twisting in disgust. “Isn’t someone who deserves our time, and I don’t know what her game is, but I ain’t just gonna let my boy fall for it.”

Something in Dean had still been fighting. Insisting that Dad was wrong, he had to be wrong, because Dean might not really know Her but he’d throw his life down at her feet. He’d plummet to the bottom of the ocean to follow Her down, if She called him with that siren-like voice and asked him to.

And that was how he knew Dad was right. Dean had no idea who She really was, and he’d already been ready to become a sword for her to wield. So he’d nodded, asked Dad what to do, and fallen back into the line She’d forced him out of. And it wouldn’t matter that Dean had been an idiot and almost fallen for Her—Her tricks, or just Her—because Dad had saved him. He’d protected him. And it didn’t matter.

Now, as they drove—Dad’s grip tight on the wheel, Sammy sleeping in the backseat—Dean repeated it over and over. That hadn’t mattered. It had been a mistake that Dad caught, so no harm, and it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that She’d looked at Dean like she could see him, or that Her voice sounded like an angel in a dream. It didn’t matter that Her lips had felt right on his cheek, and that his annoying brain kept trying to move the ghost of Her touch to his own mouth. It didn’t matter that he could still smell the sugar and fruit that had invaded his every sense when She’d been pressed against him. It didn’t matter that She’d fit perfectly at his side, like she was just another part of him he hadn’t known he was missing. It didn’t matter that something felt like it had been ignited in Dean’s chest. Golden and light and washing him over with a sense of calm he’d never known, making him feel like—if he had been stupid enough to fall further—the worst that could happen was She didn’t fall with him. And even that would be worth the way this feeling was like lightning over his bones, making him strong and fucking alive. 

But it didn’t matter. He’d fallen for a pretty, spoiled little bitch—his heart almost withered at that idea, still being a freaking dumbass and trying to justify why She’d done this—and he’d never even see Her again, so it didn’t matter.

And it defiantly didn’t fucking matter that he’d taken Her flask, because he was fucking pathetic. Because he’d been sneaking around her room, and the flash of silver had caught his eyes, and he’d stolen it like some sort of street urchin. He’d burn it, just to rid himself of the way She was becoming plague-like on his mind. It wasn’t like she needed a flask, anyway. She didn’t even drink.

But that might have just been another strange lie. So Dean would burn it. He wouldn’t tell Dad or Sammy that he’d taken it—they didn’t really need to know how weak and useless Dean really was—so he’d burn it and everyone would forget this had ever happened. He’d burn it, and never think of Her again.

Dean felt like he was being ripped in half for reasons he couldn’t even start to understand, but it had been nothing, and it didn’t matter.

Dean dreamt of Her when he finally drifted off. And his heart kept trying to beat him back down—back to Her—but he held strong. He could dream of Her and not go back. He’d never see Her again, and dreams weren’t real. 

None of that had been real, and Dean could dream of Her.

So he would.

End Note: I know we’re off to a rough start, and we’ve got a long road ahead of us, but just remember this. What’s about to come could’ve been entirely avoided if John Winchester wasn’t the actual worst.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[faylvrs]

TONIGHT, GO CRAZY !

★ postscript. what i imagine the bllk men to be like at a christmas party. ★ feat. kaiser, rin, reo, nagi, sae, barou, bachira, shidou, isagi, otoya, karasu, aiku ★ contents. crack mostly, not really x reader LMAO

note. hello. i just wanna start this off by saying i am so so sorry for how late and rushed this is 😵‍💫. i scrapped my other multi cause the idea was sorta dumb and i didn’t know how to write it but.. merry ( late ) christmas and happy new year! hope you enjoy this silly little late gift <3

★ KAISER : WHO INVITED THE GRINCH BRUH..

absolutely does not want to be here, was forced to come because it was his birthday.. not that he actually cares about that. he probably got the most gifts, sent everyone like $1 as a return gift with a proud smirk—“money for the peasants, i guess.” his ass ate all of the cookies and would smack anyone who dared touch him.. ptsd ig 💙

★ RIN : PARTY LONER

not very fond of christmas after his brother dropped the bomb on him that he does not give 2 fucks about him. probably that one loner in the party who stays in the room upstairs. secretly wore a pendant that sae gave him on the last birthday they celebrated together, the picture being rin holding up sae’s trophy with a fond look on his face. christmas makes his heart ache with both nostalgia and sorrow.

★ REO : RICH AUNT

the rich aunt uncle, this motherfucker gifted every single person at the party something well over $1000, and the worst part is he knew exactly what to give everyone too. would brush it off with a “oh, its nothing. just spare change.” .. rich ass. screams in joy when someone gifts him something back, could be a $2 teddy bear and suddenly you’re opening your phone to ‘reo mikage has sent you $3000’.

★ NAGI : LONER #2

also forced to show up like kaiser. parties were never nagi’s thing, he’d much rather stay at home and play video games all day. it took a little bit of convincing ( and a lot of whining ) but he agreed to come if he could bring his phone. does not participate in anything, just lounges in the corner with the occasional damn it when he loses.

★ SAE : THE FUCKS A RETURN GIFT?

he came, with no gifts at all. according to him he expected everyone to be giving him gifts and not expecting anything in return.. i mean, his parents never asked him for a present back so could you blame him? yeah.. you kinda could. i could see him trying to make everything about soccer, imagine this: you’re unboxing your present and you get something like a new pan, and suddenly this bitch speaks up like. “shame its not a soccer ball.. this is why you suck.” someone tape his mouth now.

★ BAROU : PARTY HOST

helped hosting the party, cleaned the house spotless! he also probably cooked 70% of the food, thats what growing with sisters gets you :b. doubled as a security guard of sorts outside the house. except he didn’t ask for identification, he’d yell at you to take your dang shoes off before you walk in. spill anything on the floor? he is coming for you and your entire bloodline.. just kidding!

★ BACHIRA : “SANTA’S REAL..”

unironically believes santa is real, please help this man. to this date he still puts cookies and milk on the table. his mother used to eat them and keep a couple of presents under the tree, thinking he’ll eventually realise santa isn’t real.. which he didn’t. so when the presents suddenly stopped coming and no one ate the cookies, he thought he was on the naughty list forever and sobbed about it for 20 minutes.. poor guy. his heart shattered when isagi held his hand and told him santa isn’t real—he was only trying to help, he swears!

★ SHIDOU : “BRO YOU WEREN’T INVITED???”

shidou is the complete contrast from bachira. does not believe santa is real and crashes the party ( he was not invited. ) yells at children that santa isn’t real and started a tomato war at the party when someone threw a tomato at him and yelled booo! … thankfully, he was later kicked out.

★ ISAGI : SANTA.. NOT REALLY!

epitome of santa, the opposite of kaiser. made hand-made gifts for everyone.. well, almost everyone. ( did not bring one for kaiser <3 ) he had a mini concert at the party, singing his heart out until someone kaiser burst out laughing and started mocking his singing.. things got a little heated from there! lets just say the title of santa was taken away from isagi the moment his ass opened his mouth 💔

★ OTOYA : “WHERE THE HOES AT”

came for the hoes cause he was told there would be a bunch of hotties at the party, which there wasn’t.. but thats okay, he swings both ways! assaulted chigiri with his ninja moves until he got bored, probably pulled up a 10 slide presentation on why he should introduce him to his sister and that he’s got ‘the experience’.. yeah, he got slapped in the face.

★ KARASU : HO ACT LIKE HE A JUDGE..

everybody hates him. constantly judging literally everything.. “these cookies ‘r mediocre at best..” “i could gift ya somethin’ better cutie.” “damn, these decorations lame as hell.” you get the point. starts pouting like a man-child when isagi tells him to shut the hell up, he knows he deserves it but he just can’t help the lil itch in his brain to judge everything okay! ( he just like me fr.. red flag moment 💔 )

★ AIKU : HOES BEFORE BROS

cool unc of the party, drinks are on him alright. i can imagine him grabbing a random sharpie he found on a desk and suddenly giving out tattoo’s for a dollar, broke ass. works pretty efficiently until he’s being labelled a scammer when the tattoo turns out to look like dog shit.. cut him some slack, he’s no artist! leaves the party early when one of his hoes text him to come over.. ima slap the shit out of him n eita 💕

[reallife6anoufriev6boy6]

caldre smut fic

includes smut, handjobs, cliche porn scenarios, andre being a freak for cal protecting him, etc.

note: hope you enjoy! please bear with me on this one - i didnt get the chance to spell check or read over it again. if things are messed up just ignore it please<3 it wouldnt be anything major.

getting into fights was a rarity for andre.

andre was a good kid in that regard. in a lot of ways he was, but specifically that one. he didnt care for pointless fights over stupid things, he just didnt see the point.

that didnt mean it stopped other people from trying to fight him, though.

getting bullied is apart of the normal high school experience, but andre and his best friend, cal, had been put through more then necessary. they got pushed around and made fun of constantly, it wasnt pleasant at all. no bullying was, but this specifically wasnt.

for some reason, a particular set of people *really* had it out for andre. in all honesty, andre had no idea what he couldve done to illicit such a reaction from these people - it wasnt like he was going out of his way to be a total dickhead back.

well, sometimes he would say things back. maybe that was it, but even then he did that to everyone who seemed to have a problem with him, so he wasnt sure what got these people so pissed off.

it didnt matter though, what mattered was the fact they had tried to fight him for no good reason.

it was during one of their free periods - calvin and andre were outside by his car, enjoying themselves. they didnt like to be stuck inside around all of the people they hated, so if they could help it then they would.

two people had come up to them and andre recognized them immediately as the guys who really didnt like him. he figured they were here to say some stupid bullshit and then leave, but it came completely out of left field whenever one of them had gotten a good swing on andre - punching him square in the face.

by no means was andre weak. he was a lot stronger then most people would assume, he had good muscle on him and wasn’t totally clueless when it came to these things, but that didnt mean he would indulge in it. in fact, he had completely froze up and wasnt able to do anything *at all.*

it was pathetic to say the least and incredibly embarrassing for him, but he was lucky to have had cal there because just a moment later, cal was already laying it on to the guy who had punched him.

it wasnt a very fair fight considering it was two guys against cal, but he seemed to manage - at least somewhat.

unlike andre, calvin got in trouble quite often and had his own fair share of spats and fights over the years, so he wasnt as hesitant to fight - especially if it came to his best friend.

eventually though, a teacher had come out on her lunch break and was quick to break up the fight and separate everyone.

andre and cal were spoken to first by one of the staff members, scolding them and letting cal know his parents would be told and that hed be getting into trouble, as well as everything else youd expect to hear.

andre had gotten told off too, but not to the extent of his friend. he used that to his advantage and convinced them to let the two of them go home early rather then staying and waiting for calvins parents to come.

somehow it worked and now they were sitting in his car, ready to leave.

cal was in the passenger seat, holding a paper towel up to his nose to catch the blood. he had already gotten it all over his shirt and didnt want to get it all over andres car. he also had a black eye and various other injuries.

andre was sitting in the drivers side and was lucky enough to have only gotten a bloody nose. it hurt like hell, but it was better then what cal had gotten. there was dried blood around said area and a couple drops had gotten on his camo t-shirt. it wasnt bleeding anymore.

it was quiet, awkwardly so. andre felt awful for having just stood there like a dumbass instead of helping his friend - it was a dick move, really.

of course though, cal is quick to break the silence and joke about it.

“whyd you just stand there, man? you looked like a dumbass,” he teased, chuckling “you let me take the whole beating, dude.” it was all lighthearted, he didnt mean any of it. it amazed him that cal could be so relaxed and calm after something like that - that he wasnt pissed at him for not helping.

“i didnt know what to do,” hes honest, face heating up from the embarrassment of it “what was i even supposed to do?” he doesnt want to look over at him, to save himself from the shame, but he does and hes met with a smile.

“im just messing with you, ‘dre. its not a big deal,” it was a big deal, it was a massive deal to him “i just didnt want to see you get your ass kicked.”

“it *is* a big deal. i shouldnt have just stood there - i shouldve helped you, or something,” he sighed, now angry at himself “now youre gonna get in deep shit with your parents and youll get grounded or something. christ, i really shouldve…”

he gets cut off by the other putting a hand on his shoulder. he always had the habit of rambling when he was nervous which was another thing he was embarrassed about.

“andre, its okay. ill be fine - how many times have i gotten grounded before? its not the end of the world.” hes always quick to reassure him though, not wanting to see him get so worked up over something so small. it was probably why they got called a slue of different slurs - he acted like he was his boyfriend.

andres shoulders drop and the tension in his body eased. he guessed he wasnt wrong, but he still felt awful for it.

“alright, fine,” he gives in, finding it hard not to when it came to his friend “im gonna take you home with me.” he knew if he dropped cal off at his house now that his own nerves and temper would get the best of him and he would argue with his parents, only earning him more of a punishment.

calvin would always justify his actions, but his parents wouldnt see eye to eye. it would just cause more of a problem.

he earned a look from cal, but gave one right back that was a silent plea for him to just agree.

“sounds good to me.” he pulls his hand away, readjusting in his seat. andre lets out a breath he didnt know he was holding in.

the brunette was like a nervous dog. he could act tough and hard on the outside, but inside he was riddled with his own anxieties and nerves. he cared too much, but it would show as apathy. he could snap and bite - react with such intensity, but other times he would freeze and act like a statue.

he got anxious about calvin constantly, but he never showed it very well. this was the best way that he couldve.

-

it took some convincing, but andres parents had let cal stay. they didnt give the full story as that wouldve ruined their chances, but just enough to convince them.

once they were there, they had taken the time to get cleaned up and changed.

andre had wiped away the blood from cals nose, all gentle and sweet, before giving him a new shirt to wear and an ice pack for his eye. cal had returned the favor by cleaning the dried blood from andres face.

it was sweet, really, and oddly intimate when they did it. they always had something special between the two of them, but they never put a label to it. they didnt feel the need to.

they were something adjacent to what people would consider boyfriends, except they were more then that. they were more then any labels could possibly convey.

it wasnt like they acknowledged it though. it was just one of those things that silently lingered in the background, seeping into any normal activities and making them homoerotic.

besides for when they made it that way themselves. they were two horny teenage boys left to their own devices, what do you expect?

that is what had led them here.

recently, andre had set up an old tv in the basement along with a couch he had gotten from cal. cals family got a new one and didnt have a use for the old one, so they told calvin to do what he wanted with it. him and andre both agreed it would be nice to have it in the basement with the tv he had set up.

they already spent plenty of time in the basement, but now it was more comfortable.

tonight, they were both sitting on the couch and watching a movie on the tv. it was what they needed after the day they had - to just relax and enjoy themselves. the movie was some dumb horror movie cal had left the last time he was here, it wasnt anything incredibly interesting.

they were much more interested in each other anyway. well, at least the tension was there.

the two were practically cuddling - they were sitting so close to each other, sides touching and limbs tangled, with at least two blankets over top of them. it was cliche, but it was cold down there.

andre had his arm over cals shoulder and cal had his head on andres chest. it was amazing they still considered themselves friends even with the acceptance that there was something more.

he looks down at him, taking note of his face. the swelling around his eye had gone down, but of course there was still bruising around it. his nose and other injuries looked a little better too. although, he cant help but take in how the tv light shone on his face, highlighting his features. he was beautiful, truly.

“is your nose feeling better?” he asked, genuinely worried for his friends health.

the other looks up at him, his soft, baby blue eyes fixing right on him. it makes him swallow hard and his face feel a little warm.

“definitely better,” he smiled warmly “you did a good job cleaning it up.” his voice was soothing and gave andre butterflies. it was embarrassing, but it was the truth.

“i did what i could,” is how he responded, he was never able to take the compliments well “i just had to wipe off the blood.”

the blonde reaches a hand up to his face, placing it on his cheek and turning his head towards him “is yours any better? they hit you pretty hard.”

he has to stare at him for a moment, blinking, before he answered a beat later “yeah, just a little sore. ill be fine.” he would be fine, but he didnt think he could handle the way cal was caring for him.

“good, i didnt want you to get hurt,” he rarely showed his care so outwardly like this, but it was very much welcomed and appreciated “those assholes are on the top of my list, i swear.” he chuckled, still bringing humor into the situation.

“yeah, me too,” andre paused, but adds “im - sorry i didnt help you. i shouldve. it was dumb of me to just stand there.” to say the guilt still wasnt there would be a lie.

“its fine, dre. like i said i just didnt want to see you get your ass kicked,” it was such a silly way of saying it, but his words were laced with something adjacent to love “i dont mind protecting you.” its a joke, nothing more then a small jab, but it gives andre yet another fluttery feeling in his chest and stomach.

“i dont need to be protected.” he takes it a little too seriously, accidentally making his feelings about it known in the process.

calvin is quick to notice, smile turning into a sly smirk “are you sure, dre?,” his hand slips from his face and instead runs down his neck, fingers curling around the column as he drags his hand down slowly to his chest “are you sure you dont like it when i protect you?”

“cal,” he warns sternly, but the light from the tv is exposing the light layer of blush on his face. he did, he liked it very much so - more then he thought, but he knows what hes trying to do “my parents are upstairs.” he reminds him, but he could easily be swayed.

“so? we can be quiet, its not that hard,” he lifts his head, sitting up straight “unless im just that good,” he grinned, snickering while andre shot him a glare “really though, we’ll be quiet.”

andre thinks on it for a moment, but he’s honestly already made uo his mind. his erection was straining against his pants and he needed the relief, plus he wanted cal.

“alright fine,” he readjusted himself, sitting at a better angle “but if it gets too loud then im done.” that was a lie. he probably wouldnt be done. hed be too far gone at that point.

“anything for you, andre.” calvin practically purrs, his hand sliding down to his pants. he was wearing sweat pants, so all he had to do was stick his hand in them and pull his cock out.

his hand wraps around the length, long fingers curling perfectly.

“god, andre, youre so hard for me,” he breathes out, slowly dragging his hand up and then back down “do you really like it that much?”

the brunettes breath catches in his throat, having to bite back a groan “shut up, you - you know what you do to me.” it comes out weak, full of shame.

“no, tell me, what do i do to you?” he looks directly at him as he speaks, eyes half lidded and focused. his hand continues to stroke him.

andre doesnt want to say it. it was humiliating to say out loud - to admit the things cal did to him and the way he made him feel.

“everything, you do everything.” its all he can really say, too stubborn to elaborate, but his friend is swiping his thumb over his tip and asking so nicely.

“cmon, be specific, please?,” he begged “i want you to tell me it all, andre. tell me how good i make you feel.” his hand speeds up a little bit, using his precum as lubricant.

he has to hold back another groan, his hand clutching onto cals shoulder. it felt amazing, he had no idea how he could make it feel so good.

“you - god, cal, dont make me say it.” he muttered, wanting to reason with him. he sounded a little irritated and frustrated with the idea, but he only pushed further.

“i *protected* you today, the least you can do is tell me.” he knows exactly what hes doing and it works. he always knew his way around him.

“you - you make me feel good,” he swallows hard, his face warming up more then it already was “really good. i like how your hand feels on me.” he did enjoy how his boney fingers felt around him and how nice his palm felt against the sensitive skin. his hand fit perfectly over him like they were made for each other.

“yeah?” he asks, speeding up.

“yeah,” it comes out shaky, continuing “youre good at it. good at this, and, what you did earlier.”

thats exactly what he wants to hear. he speeds up again, going at a mostly normal pace now.

“you liked when i beat those assholes for you? took care of them so you didnt have to?,” its all questions he already had the answers to, it was so obvious “id do it again. just for you.”

andre moaned, bucking his hips up into his hand. calvin quickly catches his lips in a kiss, muffling the noise. he pulls away for a moment, talking quietly against them “quiet, dre.” he reminds him, even though he was the one to care about it so much originally.

he groaned as he was kissed again, the stroking on his dick starting to become too much. it felt wonderful, he could feel the knot in his gut already.

however, things are halted once they hear the basement door swing open, accompanied by andres parents speaking in german.

they both quickly pull away from each other and cals hand stops mid-stroke. andre grabs the remote and pauses the movie as his mother walks down the stairs.

“andre,” his head whips around, looking over the edge of the couch to his mom who was standing at the end of the stairs “your father and i need you to help at the restaurant again tomorrow.”

the brunette is quick to nod his head “yeah, sure, mom. thats fine.” he manages to keep his voice steady and calm, as if though cals hand wasnt wrapped around his cock still.

cal though gets the smart idea to continue.

“theres some extra work that needs to be done,” his hand slowly moves again, making andre inhale sharply while his mother continued “itll take up most of the day.”

“yeah, yeah, thats fine,” his voice is strained now, shooting cal a sharp look “ill do whatever you and dad need me to do.” hes quick to agree, wanting her to leave as soon as possible - especially if cal was going to be doing this to him.

“good,” she replies, but she continues “we got a call from your school today, too. we heard what happened,” this is the last thing andre needs - he could talk to her about this later “did you get into a fight?”

he hesitates for a moment, seeing the way his friend was looking at him “no, cal did.” its all he says. he didnt think hed be able to explain properly. not like this.

her head turns to look at the blonde boy next to him “you better not be dragging andre into any trouble, cal.” she says it sternly, eyes narrowing.

calvin is unaffected while andre is struggling to keep it together.

“im not, mrs.kriegman, i promise. you have nothing to worry about,” he smiles and uses that sweet tone parents love “i was only looking out for him. protecting him if you will.” he says it with a small laugh, but he glanced over at him and grinned at the small exhale he let out.

she hummed at the answer, satisfied enough with it “good. dont bring andre into any fights.”

“mom, i can prot - ect myself.” he has to bite back a whine as cal speeds up a little. after they were done with this he was going to show him a piece of his mind.

his mother doesnt seem to notice though. she turns on her heels towards the stairs “i dont want you in any fights,” she spoke sharply, but her tone relaxes “come upstairs soon. dinners almost ready.” thats the last thing she says before shes walking back up the stairs and closing the door behind her.

andre waits a moment, then turns to cal “cal, why would you do that?,” he hissed “you know you cant-“ hes swiftly cut off by another kiss and he cant help but melt into it.

he reciprocates and its wet and messy - opening his mouth and letting cal do as he pleases. its gross, but its them. its everything he could want.

he continues to stroke him, going back to the previous pace they had before. it makes a lewd wet sound every time his hand goes up and down and its utterly intoxicating.

his thumb swipes at the tip, collecting his precum and using it on his length. he pulls away from the kiss and speaks lowly.

“cmon, dre, finish for me,” he whispered, placing a kiss to his jawline “finish all over my hand.”

“cal, fuck, fuck,” he practically whines, grabbing onto the back of his hair and pulling “shit, please, please,”

“show me how much you appreciate it, andre,” he knows exactly what hes talking about, but he continues “show me the good boy i bothered fighting for.”

that does it for him, he cums all over his hand with a choked moan - getting it all over his shirt and the blanket in the process too.

cal places a few more kisses to his jawline, laying the praise on thick “good boy, good boy, so good for me.” his hand slows to a stop, riding him out through his orgasm.

andre can barely think. his head is hazy with the afterglow, breathing heavy and trying to come down.

his grip loosens on the others hair and he steadied his breathing. he was still so high on the lust, but he still felt disgusting. he was sticky with sweat and now he had cum on him.

it was worth it.

“fuck, cal, youre amazing.” he says it in between breaths, relaxing back against the couch.

“yeah, i know,” he replied smugly, pulling his hand away from him “i just wanted to make you feel good.”

he glanced over, raising a brow “what about you? arent you hard?”

his grin returns and he knows what that look means “you have to shower after dinner, right?”

andre groaned “seriously? in the shower?” it earns a laugh from the other, but he doesnt mind. sex in the shower sounded fantastic honestly and cal knew that.

“yeah, do you not want it?” he asked, baiting him into admitting he wanted it just as much as him.

“no - yeah, i do. just…” he doesnt have a good comeback which makes the other laugh again, but he cant find it in himself to be annoyed.

“thats what i thought.”

maybe being protected wasnt so bad after all.

[inktopuck]

miss honey | jack hughes social media au (pt.6)

pt. 5

yournamelastname

Liked by jackhughes, l_hughes06 and others

yournamelastname winter break with mom after getting snowed in the first couple of days!

l_hughes06 with bear !!!

_quinnhughes and jack, apparently??

trevorzegras what??????

yournamelastname thank god for bear and his fluffiness

_quinnhughes yeah and jack's, right?

trevorzegras WHAAAAT???

elblue06 you two are so stunning!!! my favorite girls!!

yournamelastname i need you guys to include me in your outings from now on please i am sick of the boys

elblue06 you say that as if you're not their little leader, shortcake 😉 always were always will be!!

jackhughes oh those diaries!!

yournamelastname shh!

jackhughes

Liked by yournamelastname, jesperbratt and others

jackhughes happy holidays everyone!

yournamelastname quinn looks a little bit different on that first one but still ate you two up

jackhughes i was going to say something...

yournamelastname keep quiet

jackhughes hey i thought you weren't going to be mean to me anymore

yournamelastname i made no promises

trevorzegras what is going on here

l_hughes06 i'm thinking a lot of thoughts

colecaufield saved by the power of friendship

yournamehughes well jack actually

colecaufield this is weird, this is suspicious

yournamelastname

Liked by jackhughes, _quinnhughes and others

yournamelastname rewatched matilda so now i'm leaning into the tz nickname

trevorzegras you're welcome, miss honey!

jackhughes you're kinda not that bad to look at sometimes

yournamelastname can you give any straight compliments or

l_hughes06 he used the word beautiful when he was on the phone with you yesterday

jackhughes dude

colecaufield context my man.......

_quinnhughes someone finally stole those awful overalls from trevor

jackhughes what now

yournamelastname i found them at the lake house how would i know they were his

_quinnhughes were there zyns in the pockets

yournamelastname .... yes

elblue06 🔒

Liked by yournamelastname, jackhughes and others

elblue06 my handsome boys

l_hughes06 gee ma thanks

elblue06 you didn't show up for our facetime so

trevorzegras no luke 😢 don't worry buddy, you're MY handsome boy

colecaufield i thought he was mine only??

_alexturcotte petition for jack to shave that awful goatee wannabe thing off

Liked by yournamelastname, _quinnhughes, colecaufield, elblue06

bradytkachuk call me quinnyyy 🔥🔥

yournamelastname 😍

elblue06 shortcake? you okay?

l_hughes06 i think this was a typo

_quinnhughes she was hacked

jackhughes 😏

a/n: i'm so sorry this took so long and it's not that good i've been going through writers block and it's soooo frustrating!! hope i can go back to posting regularly soon!!

[synvil]

Interested // VID : 002 » Viewing Pleasure (( Camgirl! Series ))

a/n : ahhh thank you for the love and support ! <3 feel free to leave thoughts, comments or suggestions, either in the comments or my ask box! :3 picture found online.

btw i can’t fucking think of titles for the life of me.

synopsis : things between you and jj get a little tense. meanwhile another person seems to grow infatuated with you and you’re getting a little excited for your next stream?

agh i’m so bad at titles and summaries ;-;

Vid : 001 // Vid : 003

viewing pleasure m.list

“Add to cart~!”

You squeal in excitement, unable to contain your joy as you make your first purchase online after your payment came in from your first stream.

"Haha, I can't believe it. I can even afford to get same-day delivery."

JJ stands at a distance, watching you with his arms crossed and his lips in a thin line. His eyes are unable to leave your form, constantly trailing up and down your body, always finding itself on the round of your ass. He bites his lip, attempting to be discreet as he taps his fist on the surface of the countertop a few times before clearing his throat. "So, I assume it went well."

“You kidding?” You whirl your head towards him with shining eyes. “It went way better than i thought. I’m so relieved.”

JJ gives a bitter smile, his brow twitching slightly. “So you made some decent money then. That means you’re not going to stream anymore?” He says, making his way over, pulling at his shirt to tuck it over his pants in hopes it covers the visible erection.

“Hmm.. no, I might continue.” You say, watching as he takes a seat beside you, and his brows furrow. “What? I thought you made enough money for rent.”

“well, yeah, but I like being able to make so much money.. and I had a lot more viewers for my first stream than expected.” You reason, setting your phone down after making the purchase. “I mean, I don’t have to stress about finding another job that pays me so little, and with streaming, I can work any time, any day.”

JJ sits up straight as he narrows his eyes at your reasoning. Being able to make money fast was nice but it shouldn’t be at the expense of your body online. “[Name], what about all the creeps online? Who knows what kind of weird old perverts were saving videos and pictures of you?”

Your frown becomes evident on your face, but part of you knew he was right. Streaming wasn’t the safest activity and you didn’t want to sound greedy, but having that much money was more important to you right now. You’d only keep going to make enough to save for bills and stuff, while also saving enough for your own miscellaneous purchases. But..

“I know you’re right but i’ll be okay, J. Besides..” a flush overcomes your cheeks as you shyly look away, feeling embarrassed to admit this to your best friend.

“I kinda liked the attention.. It’s nice hearing and reading everyone complimenting me and liking what they saw. I might do more, but I won’t go crazy with it. I’ll only do it until I make enough in savings.”

JJ hitches a breath, his eyes widening when he hears your confession. It wasn’t anything serious but the way his cock twitches and his heart pounds makes him look away. “You..like showing off your body?”

“Y-Yeah..” You nod in confirmation, pink tints on your cheeks as you look away.

The blonde swallows a bit, holding his breath to gain some control as he turns away. “Shit.”

“JJ?”

“I gotta go. Talk to you later.” He abruptly stands and walks off, heading out of your house and to the door, shutting it behind him as he mounts his truck and drives away.

Your taken back and wonder if your confession drove him away, sighing softly and feeling a bit of guilt filling you up as you turn back to your phone and try to distract yourself.

“Who would’ve thought?..”

Rafe found himself repeatedly looking through your photos on your social media, in disbelief that you were on Kildare Island with him. And it pissed him off knowing how close you were with Maybank, seeing the many pictures of the two of you together.

If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve assumed you two were together.

But how has he never seen you before..? He’s practically grown up with JJ yet he can’t seem to recall ever seeing someone like you around.

Surely he’d remember someone so fucking attractive.. his thumb can’t seem to swipe away from your bikini photos.

Before he could admire any more, Topper sends him a text.

‘Bro, were you watching the link I sent you? Holy shit, she’s so hot. What I wouldn’t give to get a chance to fuck her.’

Rafe scoffs at the text as he rolls his eyes. Of course he noticed Topper's user donating money to your stream as well. Topper was really irritating sometimes. It seems all he could care about was sex and money. You definitely seemed like the type of person who was very sweet, innocent and pure.. someone who he could easily destroy and corrupt from how petite you were, as he hovers over you and slowly travels his hands down to your cunt, the same pussy you were rubbing just yesterday and—

“What the fuck?”

Rafe lets out a shaky breath, catching himself and his thoughts, unaware of his hardened cock in his tight jeans, the desperation to be freed evident from how painful it was becoming.

He brings his hand down and palms himself for a moment, doing anything to relieve himself before he grunts and pulls his hand away. There was no way he was going to be jerking off to someone he didn’t even know existed until now.

“Shit, I need some fucking air.” And despite the restricting pain of his jeans against his cock, he swipes his keys off his desk and heads out, taking his bike on a ride.

"Ugh, so damn stubborn." JJ plops down on his couch, dragging a hand over his face as he inhales heavily. He pulls out his phone and finds himself scrolling through social media. The blonde was sitting at home, frustrated at your insistence to keep streaming. Surely you made enough to cover rent for the next month or so, so why did you want to keep streaming for everyone to see?

It fills him to the brim with jealousy. No one should be looking at you in that way. Much less, a particular kook.

Shit, he was so distracted by you that he forgot what happened during your stream. "Fucking Cameron.. the nerve of that bastard." He scowls, conflicted about what to be more annoyed at. You continuing to stream or Rafe Cameron being one of your viewers.

“Delivery!”

Pounding on the door snaps JJ from his thoughts as he looks up from his phone, thumb instinctively shutting off the device to hide the fact that he was sifting through the photos of you two together. “Comin’!”

With a sigh, the blonde runs a hand through his hair as he makes his way out of his room towards the door. He opens the front door to see a familiar man behind the screen and he feigns a smile. “Rich, always a pleasure.”

Growing up on Kildare meant a lot of the residents knew each other, including the delivery man, who had a mutual disliking towards JJ, grimacing at the sight.

But JJ merely just shares a playful grin. “It wouldn’t kill you to smile, y’know. Afraid you’ll get wrinkles?” He jokes and the man rolls his eyes. “Shut it, Maybank. You’re lucky I don’t throw your damn package in the ocean.”

JJ gasps at that, widening his eyes childishly. “Well, that’s not very environmentally friendly!” He laughs as he takes the box from his hands. “But anyway, what the hell is this? I didn’t order anything.”

“Well, it’s not my problem now.” Rich hands over the device and pen for JJ’s signature. JJ fiddles with the box, inspecting it curiously before taking the device to sign. “What is it?”

Grunting in annoyance, the delivery man swipes the device from Jj’s hands. “The fuck should I know? Piss off, Maybank.”

Scoffing at the rudeness, JJ turns around and kicks the door shut with his foot before walking over to the counter in the kitchen. He finally sees the address line on the box and recognizes his house address but the name piques his interest.

“[Name]?” He murmurs, confusion lacing his eyes as he pulls out his phone. “Must’ve forgot to change it from last time..” He taps along the screen before reaching your contact.

« [Nickname] / Princess 😘😍 »

Out of curiosity, as he’s typing away a message, he goes over to a drawer and pulls out a pocket knife before heading back over to the package. It must've been the package you had ordered earlier.

‘Hey, a package came to my house with your name on it. Think it got sent here by mistake. Want me to drop it off?’

Once sent, JJ sets aside his phone and cuts through the top of the box with ease, expecting it to be some clothes or such you bought for yourself.

But the item inside was completely unexpected.

JJ’s mouth becomes dry as he attempts to wet it by swallowing whatever he could as he looks inside.

Inside the box was a remote controlled, vibrating toy.

“D-Did she buy this for her next stream..?” JJ breathily exhales, his jaw clenching at the way his hardening cock twitches at the imagination of you rubbing the vibrating wand over your clit, and the possible lewd noises you’d illicit.

“Fuck..” Maybe another stream couldn’t hurt. He was conflicted. He couldn’t let you do this on camera, but he’d be damned if the thought didn’t excite him. His mind reverts back to your words.

‘“I kinda liked the attention..”

“Y-You liked showing off your body?”

“Yeah..”’

JJ clears his throat as he closes back up the box, finding a roll of tape in his drawer and securing it back up before setting it somewhere else for you.

As he sets it down, his phone buzzes from a text from you.

‘DON’T OPEN IT JJ! I’ll come by and pick it up soon’

JJ grunts at the message and exhales sharply, turning off his phone. “Too late..” He mutters under his breath.

“Thanks, J. I’ll try and stop by later tonight. Need anything while I’m out?” You take the box from his hands, JJ seemingly uncharacteristically avoiding your direct gaze. Regardless, he shakes his head as he clears his throat, leaning against the doorframe as he crosses his arms. “Hey- So, you’re streaming today?”

You carry the box towards your car, visibly relieved to see it untouched and smile lightly before turning to JJ. “Yeah, why? You gonna try and talk me out of it again?”

“No-! No-“ He clears his throat again when he realizes his outburst and awkwardly scratches the back of his head. “Uh, just- good luck, y’know. I’m sure it’ll be great. And hey- we can reschedule tonight if you’re not feeling up to it.”

You set the box on the bottom of your car in the back and furrow your brows at his words. “Thanks. But we’ll see. I should be able to come over on time if I’m not busy, but i’ll let you know.”

“Of course.” The blonde manages a smile, sending you finger guns before he waves you off. “Drive safe.”

Entering your car, you wave goodbye before pulling out and driving towards the Yacht Club, on the border of the Cut and Figure Eight.

“Dude, you should’ve watched til the end of the stream. It was amazing.”

Topper’s voice is heard when Rafe Cameron steps onto the large dock, walking past various other patrons on the benches and tables, and stepping up to the bar where Topper and Kelce stood.

Kelce shakes his head at Topper’s gushing. “Nah, man, streamers aren’t my thing. I mean, why would I spend so much on some girl i don’t even know and won’t even get to touch.” Kelce notices Rafe approaching and nods at him in acknowledgment. “Hey, you agree with me right?”

“Agree with what?” Rafe says as he stands beside them and Topper scoffs lightly. “You watched the link I sent you right? God, she’s so hot. You should’ve seen what she did before she ended her stream. I bet she’s streaming again today.”

Rafe barely manages to hide his eye roll, his hands clenching into fists. If he was holding a glass, he was almost sure he’d crack it. Something in him stirred the more Topper talked about you, and it made him angry. He had to maintain his self control before he punched the shit out of him.

But it made Rafe confused. Why was he so angry every time Topper opened his stupid fucking mouth? He had the exact same thoughts about you.

Was it because another man was talking about you? It wasn’t like you were his. He hardly even knew you. Is it jealousy?

Tch. Rafe Cameron, jealous? He hasn’t felt jealous since years ago, when his then still alive father was always favoring his sister over him. Rafe Cameron was not jealous.

He barely pays attention to Kelce and Topper, and instead catches a familiar voice nearby.

“Thanks, Sofia. It was actually more helpful than I thought, so thanks for telling me about it.”

“No problem, [Name]. I actually watched it last night, you were great.” Her playful wink makes you laugh a bit bashfully and embarrassingly as you wave it off. “I’m still a bit shy but I think what I bought today will help me a little more this time.”

Sofia slides something across the counter for you and you send a grateful smile as you pick it up. “Thanks. Good luck with the rest of your shift. I should be free this weekend if you’re down to hang out.”

“Actually, this weekend was when I was planning to stream.” She says apologetically and you only grin at her. “I’ll be watching you then. I could learn a thing or two.”

You both share giggles with one another before she’s called somewhere else and waves goodbye to you. You wave farewell and take the item off the counter before turning away.

But as soon as you do so, you meet eyes with someone, who’s staring intensely at you with parted lips, almost like they couldn’t believe you were standing before them.

Giving an awkward smile, you pull yourself away from the counter and turn to leave, heading back to your car.

“Time to go.”

a/n : so ima be honest, i didn’t fully watch every episode of obx, so idk how completely accurate the places are and the availability of pogues being able to just enter these establishments, so im changing it up to just being, whoever’s got the money can come in, even though im sure a lot of country clubs and such are invitations only.

anyhoo hoped you all enjoyed! i’m actually tryna figure out how to get more involvement with Rafe and how to get him introduced- like should he walk up to her or dm her orrr ya. any suggestions would be lovely!! <3

spoiler : i have a plan to invite one of them on stream or one to practice off camera ;)

AH SHIT I POSTED WITHOUT THE TAGS CAN PPL SEE THIS PLS

taglist : @haruvalentine4321 @lilithblackkk @sleepiibunniiii @kiiyomei @mariamadison6-blog @livinobx @doesnt-care

unedited nor proofread.