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carnalcrows · 1 month ago

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LOLLIPOP - CHO SANGWOO

pairing: dad's best friend!cho sang-woo x trans male reader

synopsis: When your dad’s hot best friend crashes at your place for a week, things heat up faster than the broken AC—throw in drunken confessions, lollipops, and a whole lot of unresolved tension, and you’ve got a summer break you’ll never forget.

content warnings: 18+, reader definitely has an oral fixation, too much plot, mentions of a transphobic mother, (GI HUN IS READER'S DAD), age gap (reader is 19 and sang-woo is in his 40's), unprotected sex, P in V, back-scratching? fingering, lots of unspoken tension.

word count: - 4.3k

A/N: ty to @art-gang-money , their request was what made me go on a spiral w this fic 🙏🏼🫡

Summer in your dad’s apartment always smelled like kimchi stew and stale cigarettes, a combination you’d grown weirdly fond of since moving back in after you started uni. The ceiling fan wobbled as it turned, and the couch sagged just enough to remind you how old it was. You were sprawled out on it lazily sucking on a cranberry lollipop and scrolling through your phone, when your dad cleared his throat dramatically.

“You’ll never guess who’s coming over,” he said, leaning against the doorframe like he was delivering some kind of life-altering news.

“Let me guess,” you deadpanned. “The landlord? Because I think the AC’s about to give out.”

He waved you off, grinning. “No, you brat. Cho Sangwoo. You’ve heard me talk about him, right?”

Heard? More like endured. Sangwoo was the mythical figure your dad brought up at every family gathering, a symbol of everything Seong Gi-hun wanted you to be: successful, hardworking, and an SNU graduate. You’d rolled your eyes through countless retellings of his achievements, imagining some stiff, balding guy in glasses who probably spoke in lectures.

“Yeah, sure,” you muttered, not looking up.

“He’s staying here for a week,” your dad added, oblivious to your lack of enthusiasm. “He’s got a client nearby, and I told him he could crash here. You’ll like him. He’s... cool.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Cool? Coming from you, that doesn’t mean much.”

Your dad ignored the jab, already walking toward the door. “He should be here any minute!”

When the door opened a few minutes later, you barely glanced up—until you heard the deep, smooth voice that followed.

“Gi-hun,” the man said warmly, stepping inside. “It’s been too long.”

You looked up and your sucker almost fell out of your mouth.

This wasn’t the stiff, balding guy you’d imagined. Sangwoo was tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing a suit that looked like it cost more than your dad’s entire wardrobe. His hair was styled just enough to look effortless, and the way he carried himself screamed confidence.

“Finally, you’re here!” your dad said, pulling him into a back-slapping hug. “Sangwoo, this is my son.”

“Nice to meet you kid,” Sangwoo said, extending a hand toward you.

You shook it, trying not to let your thoughts show on your face. His grip was firm, and his eyes lingered a moment longer than necessary.

“So you’re the famous Sangwoo,” you grinned, “Didn’t expect you to be so... old.”

Sangwoo raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “Old?”

“Yeah,” you teased, leaning back against the couch. “Forty’s ancient.”

Your dad barked out a laugh. “Don’t mind him. He thinks anyone over twenty-five is ancient.”

Sangwoo didn’t reply, but the way his gaze lingered on you made your stomach twist.

After dinner, the hum of the evening settled over the apartment. Gi-hun had retreated to the couch, already half-asleep with the TV droning in the background. You had volunteered—reluctantly—to wash the dishes, partly out of guilt for eating so much and partly to avoid sitting awkwardly in the living room while Sangwoo and your dad chatted about old times.

The warm water ran over your hands as you scrubbed a plate, the faint scent of dish soap filling the air. You had just started to lose yourself in the monotony when you felt it—the faint shift of the air behind you.

“Need help?” Sangwoo’s voice came, low and smooth, almost too close.

You froze for a split second, your grip tightening on the plate. “Uh... I’ve got it,” you said, trying to sound casual, but your voice came out tighter than you’d hoped.

He didn’t seem to care—or maybe he didn’t believe you. Instead of leaving, he moved closer, his arm brushing against yours as he reached for the sponge in your hand.

“Don’t be stubborn,” he said, his tone light but with an edge of amusement.

Before you could protest, he had already slid the sponge from your fingers, his other hand gently nudging you to the side—not enough to move you completely, but just enough so he could stand behind you, his chest brushing your back.

The countertop pressed against your hips, trapping you between the solid wood and Sangwoo. You swallowed hard, your thoughts scattering like leaves in a gust of wind.

His scent hit you first—clean and sharp, a mix of soap and something faintly musky, like fresh cedarwood. He had clearly just stepped out of the shower; his hair was still damp, and the faint warmth of his skin radiated against you.

“Just rinse them,” he said, his voice a soft rumble that sent a shiver down your spine.

You nodded dumbly, reaching for the faucet, but your hands felt clumsy, your fingers fumbling with the knobs. The sound of the water splashing into the sink seemed impossibly loud in the otherwise quiet kitchen.

Sangwoo leaned forward slightly, his arm stretching past you to grab another plate. The movement brought him even closer, his chest pressing more firmly against your back. You could feel the faint rise and fall of his breath, steady and unhurried, as if he weren’t fully aware of what he was doing—or maybe he was too aware.

“You’re tense,” he commented, his voice laced with amusement.

You let out a breathless laugh, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “Yeah, well, I didn’t expect to be body-blocked while washing dishes.”

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your back. “You’re overthinking it. Just relax.”

Easier said than done, especially with him standing this close. Every time his arm brushed yours or his hand grazed yours as he passed a plate, it sent tiny jolts of electricity through you.

“You always make dishwashing this awkward?” you asked, your tone half-joking, half-desperate to diffuse the tension.

“Only when I’m working with someone as clumsy as you,” he shot back, his smirk practically audible.

You turned your head slightly to glare at him, but the motion brought your face dangerously close to his. His eyes flicked down to your lips and back to you, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

The air between you was heavy, charged with something unspoken but impossible to ignore. He was so close you could see the faint droplets of water still clinging to his hair, the curve of his mouth as he smiled faintly, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“Well,” you managed to say, your voice quieter now, “if you’re going to take over, at least let me get out of your way.”

“Who said I wanted you to move?” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you thought you’d misheard him. But then he turned back to the sink, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips as he continued washing the dishes as if nothing had happened.

You stayed frozen in place, your mind racing and your pulse hammering in your ears. If this was some kind of game, Sangwoo was winning effortlessly.

On the third day of Sangwoo’s stay, your dad insisted on taking you both out for drinks, and Sangwoo agreed with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Gi-hun, unsurprisingly, got wasted. You and Sangwoo ended up practically dragging him back to The humid summer night hung heavy as you and Sangwoo maneuvered your dad through the narrow streets, Gi-hun stumbling slightly with every step. He reeked of soju and cheap beer, his arm slung around Sangwoo’s shoulder while you tried to steady him from the other side.

“He’s heavy for someone who barely eats,” you grumbled, adjusting your grip.

“He’s always been like this,” Sangwoo said, shaking his head. “Some things never change.”

“Y’know,” Gi-hun suddenly slurred, his voice unusually loud in the stillness of the night, “I never thought I’d be one of those dads.”

“Which kind?” you asked, bracing yourself for whatever drunken confession was about to follow.

“The good ones!” he proclaimed, nearly tripping over his own feet. Sangwoo caught him effortlessly, his expression unreadable as Gi-hun continued. “Your mom… she didn’t think so. Thought I was crazy for defending you.”

“Dad,” you muttered, feeling the familiar prick of discomfort settle in your chest. “Maybe now’s not the time—”

“Why not?” Gi-hun cut you off, his eyes glassy but filled with a strange intensity. “Sangwoo doesn’t care. Do you, Sangwoo?”

Sangwoo hesitated, glancing at you before replying softly, “Not at all.”

Gi-hun nodded triumphantly, as if Sangwoo’s approval was all the validation he needed. “See? Told you. No shame in it. Not a damn bit.”

You didn’t reply, focusing instead on guiding him toward the apartment. But Gi-hun wasn’t done.

“Your mom…” His voice grew quieter, tinged with bitterness. “She couldn’t handle it. Said it wasn’t natural. Like you weren’t her kid anymore, just because you stopped wearing dresses and started wearing ties.” He barked out a humorless laugh. “As if a piece of fabric could change the fact that you’re you.”

Your chest tightened, but you didn’t interrupt. This wasn’t the first time he’d brought it up, but it still hit like a sucker punch every time.

“She wanted you to be her perfect little daughter,” Gi-hun continued, his words starting to blur together. “And when you wouldn’t… she packed up your sister and left. Going all the way to America like that would fix everything.”

He stumbled again, and this time Sangwoo steadied him with a firm grip. “America’s got more people like you anyway,” Gi-hun added, his tone lightening into something almost comedic. “She probably hates it there. Serves her right.”

You let out a soft, startled laugh despite yourself. The absurdity of it all—the drunken way he said it, the thought of your mother fuming in a country full of people who were allowed to be themselves (kinda)—was too ridiculous not to.

Gi-hun turned to look at you, his expression suddenly serious. “But you know… I’m glad you stayed with me. I wouldn’t trade you for anything. Not for a wife, not for money, not for anything.”

Your throat tightened, and you could only nod, your voice caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

Gi-hun leaned heavily against Sangwoo, his weight almost toppling both of them. “My kid’s a damn good man,” he declared, his voice wobbling with emotion. “Better than I’ll ever be.”

Sangwoo’s gaze flickered toward you, his dark eyes softening in understanding. He didn’t say anything, but the slight dip of his head felt like a silent acknowledgment—a recognition of everything unsaid.

When you finally got Gi-hun back to the apartment, he collapsed onto the couch, snoring almost instantly. You stood there for a moment, staring at him, your emotions too tangled to sort through.

Sangwoo broke the silence, his voice low. “He’s a good father.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the quiet sincerity in his tone. “Yeah,” you replied, your voice softer than usual. “He is.”

When you finally got your dad into bed from the couch, you turned to Sangwoo, expecting some kind of witty remark.

Instead, he just stared at you, his expression unreadable.

“What?” you asked, your voice coming out more defensive than you intended.

“Why do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Acting like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing,” he said, stepping closer. His voice was low, almost a growl, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Maybe I don’t,” you replied, your tone defiant.

“Don’t play dumb.” He was close now, so close you could feel the heat radiating off him. “You’ve been pushing me all week. Do you even know what you’re asking for?”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t back down. “Maybe I do.”

That was all it took.

His hand shot out, gripping the back of your neck as his lips crashed into yours. The kiss was rough, heated, filled with all the tension that had been building between you.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, your hands clutching at his shirt as he pressed you against the wall. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, and you let out a quiet gasp that only spurred him on.

The kiss had left you breathless, your pulse pounding in your ears as Sangwoo’s grip on the back of your neck softened just slightly. The wall at your back was cool, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body. His forehead rested against yours, and for a brief moment, neither of you spoke.

“You’re trouble,” he muttered again, his voice quieter this time, but no less intense.

“You’re the one kissing me,” you shot back, the words shaky but bold.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, and his fingers slid from your neck to trace the line of your jaw. The touch was maddeningly slow, deliberate, and you couldn’t help but lean into it.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” he asked, his tone tinged with something between amusement and exasperation.

“Do you?” you countered, meeting his gaze.

His eyes darkened, and his hand dropped to your waist, pulling you closer. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Good thing I’m not scared of getting burned.”

That was all it took for him to lose the last thread of restraint. His lips were on yours again, fiercer this time, his hands gripping your waist as if anchoring himself. You clung to him just as desperately, your fingers tangling in his shirt.

When he pulled back again, his lips hovered near your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “You’ve been driving me insane,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly.

“Yeah?” you whispered, a teasing edge creeping into your tone despite the way your heart was racing. “And here I thought you were just ignoring me.”

His laugh was soft, almost bitter. “Ignoring you? Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to keep my hands off you?”

Your face heated at his words, but you couldn’t resist pushing him just a little further. “Sounds like a you problem, old man.”

His grip tightened on your waist, and he pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression a mix of frustration and desire. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

You opened your mouth to retort, but he didn’t give you the chance. His lips were on yours again, his hands slipping under the hem of your shirt to rest against your bare skin. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, and you gasped softly against his mouth.

“Sangwoo—” you started, but he silenced you with another kiss, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before he pulled away just slightly.

“Say my name again,” he murmured, his voice so low it sent a thrill down your spine.

Your lips parted, but the sound of a door creaking down the hall snapped you both back to reality.

“Shit,” you whispered, your head jerking toward the noise.

He let out a soft curse, his hands slipping from your waist as he stepped back, putting just enough space between you to make it look like nothing had happened.

“Dad?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Probably,” Sangwoo replied, his tone clipped. He straightened his shirt, his expression already hardening back into the composed mask he’d worn all week.

You didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed as you watched him pull himself together, but the heat in his gaze when he glanced back at you told you this wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

“Go to bed,” he said quietly, the corner of his mouth twitching into the faintest hint of a smirk. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“Promise?” you asked, your voice light but your heart still pounding.

He didn’t answer, but the look he gave you said enough.

Saturday had never felt so bittersweet. Usually, it was your favorite day of the week—a time to sleep in, lounge around, and revel in doing absolutely nothing. But this Saturday was different. Sangwoo’s stay was coming to an end, and the thought of him leaving left a knot in your stomach.

You hadn’t had the chance to talk about what had happened that night after the pub—or maybe you’d both avoided it. Every brush of his hand, every lingering look, had felt heavier in the days that followed. But neither of you had acknowledged it. Not once.

The tension in the apartment was unbearable, made worse by your dad’s cheery obliviousness. That morning, he announced he had to run out for work and wouldn’t be back until evening. He didn’t even glance up as he slipped on his shoes, leaving you alone with Sangwoo.

You sat at the kitchen table, absently swirling the stick of a grape lollipop between your lips as you scrolled through your phone. The candy clicked softly against your teeth, your thoughts miles away.

The sound of a chair scraping across the floor snapped you back to reality. You glanced up to see Sangwoo sitting across from you, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

“Is it good?” he asked, nodding toward the lollipop.

You pulled it out of your mouth with a soft pop, tilting your head. “What, this?” You swirled the candy dramatically. “Amazing. Want a taste, old man?”

His lips quirked into that maddening smirk, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he stood, moving toward you with deliberate slowness.

“Sangwoo,” you started, a warning in your tone.

He stopped right beside you, one hand braced on the table as he leaned down. His voice was low, a soft rumble that made your pulse quicken. “You’ve been driving me insane all week.”

You tried for a laugh, but it came out shaky. “Is this about the coffee thing again? (you had put salt in his coffee instead of sugar because you were so fixated on his face-) Because I already apologized—”

His hand reached out, his fingers gently gripping your chin, tilting your face toward him. The sudden proximity stole the words from your throat.

“Stop,” he said quietly, his eyes locked on yours. “Stop pretending like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”

Your heart was hammering now, the lollipop stick trembling slightly in your fingers. “Maybe I don’t,” you replied, though the smirk tugging at your lips said otherwise.

His gaze dropped to your mouth, and for a moment, he seemed to wrestle with himself. Then he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re going to make me lose control.”

The words sent a thrill through you, but before you could respond, his lips crashed into yours.

It wasn’t gentle. It was rough, messy, and desperate, like he’d been holding back for too long and couldn’t stand it anymore. The lollipop tumbled from your hand, forgotten as you gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.

He groaned softly against your mouth, his hands sliding to your waist, pulling you out of the chair and into him. Your back hit the wall a second later, and you gasped, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as he deepened the kiss.

Your hands tangled in his hair, still faintly damp from his morning shower. He kissed you like he was starving, his lips hot and insistent against yours. One of his hands slid up, tangling in your hair, while the other gripped your hip, keeping you firmly in place.

“You taste sweet,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough.

You managed a breathless laugh, tilting your head to nip at his jaw. “Blame the lollipop.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and heated. “Where’s the rest of it?”

“On the table,” you teased, the corner of your mouth quirking up.

With a low chuckle, he grabbed the discarded lollipop, holding it up as if examining it. Then, to your shock, he popped it into his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours.

“That’s mine,” you protested weakly, though your voice was barely above a whisper.

“Not anymore,” he said, his tone laced with amusement.

Before you could respond, he was kissing you again, the faint sweetness of the candy mixing with the heat of his mouth. The combination was intoxicating, making your head spin.

His hands roamed, gripping your waist, sliding under your shirt to brush against your bare skin. Every touch left a trail of fire in its wake, and you couldn’t help the soft sound that escaped your lips.

“Sangwoo,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Say it again,” he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck.

“Sangwoo,” you repeated, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his breathing ragged. “You’ve been driving me crazy all week,” he said, his voice low and raw.

“Good,” you shot back, your smirk returning. “Serves you right, old man.”

His laugh was quiet, almost disbelieving, before his lips found yours again, pulling you into another dizzying kiss.

His hand was going lower and lower, first to your collarbone, then to your waist. It slowly inched the topband of your shorts, pulling it back and letting it slap onto your skip, making you yelp.

His other hand held you steady at the waist, while his dominant one went under your boxers.

You whimpered as you felt his hand graze your cunt, teasing one finger against your wet folds. It had been a solid minute since you even touched yourself down there. You were always too anxious that Sangwoo would be able to hear you (Dad was tone deaf) or he might come home earlier than expected from his business meetings.

And his fingers— God, his hands. So strong and thick. They linger over the soft pudge of your cunt, pressing into the warm skin and pulling apart each sticky fold to ghost over the quiver and throb of your acawaiting, needy clit. How overwhelming they were, using his thumb to rub smooth circles into it, eliciting a wet squelch as his fingers sunk into your hot, gummy walls.

You latched your hands on his shoulders, back arching into the wall with the sudden intrusion. You muffled any noise you made by hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

He propped you up higher on the wall, letting your head fall back, while his eyes never left yours.

“Sangwo–,” you were cut off by him suddenly sliding your shorts down. You remembered with embarrassment that you had worn–

“Huh. Hello Kitty.” the man stated while looking at your bright pink boxers. Your face flushed, turning to look away, while Sanwoo slid your boxers down and continued to have his way with your sopping cunt.

You had no idea how long you had been in that position. He had taken your leg and placed it on your shoulder, making you somewhat balance on one leg, back resting on the wall and your hands on his shoulder.

Sangwoo on the other hand was obsessed with how his fingers were practically being devoured by your needy cunt, the slick making it easier to slide in every time.

He determined that you had been prepped enough, and removed his belt, along with his pants and boxers, which were now pooling at his knees.

He used his toned arms to steadily lift both your legs up, making you squeak. Your knees were now at the same level of your shoulders. Before you could let out a remark, he had slid the tip of his length into your gummy walls, eyes going wide with how tight you were.

“Fuck…so tight f’me, aren’t you?” It wasn’t really a question, more of a statement, and before you could respond, he had slid all the way in, making you gasp.

Using the opportunity, he captured your lips with his once more, muffling the sweet moans that came from you. He wanted to hear you, but your neighbours seemed to be quite…nosy.

When he had buried his cock all the way to the hilt, he stopped.

“Please…fuck, Sangwoo–,” you whined, feeling full but it just. wasn’t. enough.

“Please what doll? Use your words,” he teased, the smugness evident on his face.

“Fuck me till my legs are shaking. Please please plea–,” before you could finish, Sangwoo had slid out and he rammed into you once more, making you let out an almost pornographic moan.

He went at it like an animal, fucking into you with reckless abandon, as though he was in a rut. Your hands went from his shoulders to his back, your nails (whatever was left of them after you bit them off) scratched his back, leaving crescent shaped indents on his skin.

Your cunt clamped tightly around his cock, as you tried to babble something but only moans left your lips. He seemed so heavily into chasing his own orgasm at this point.

“San..Sangwoo..I– ” You tried to say but could only cry out as you felt your orgasm wash over you like a rapid stream. Your fingers dug ineffectually into his back as a way of forgetting the overstimulation against the older man’s harsh thrusts.

He groaned, feeling the sting of your nails and how your cunt was clenching around his length with every thrust.

He continued going even after you came, his hips retracting at a fast pace. His grip on your waist tightened, pressing down onto your flesh.

“ I’m gonna-- “, he breathes out before (reluctantly) pulling out of your tight hole and climaxing all over your stomach.

The warmth of the liquid seeped down your stomach, settling in your navel and even going further to your used cunt.

As he was staring at your hole, that was still clenching around nothing, you brought your shaky hand to his face and dived in for another kiss.

The sound of a key turning in the door was unheard. Your dad’s voice rang out from the hallway. “Forgot my wallet! Need to get the groceries– What the… CHO SANGWOO WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH MY SON–”

Shit.

1K notes · View notes

dyke-arachne · 1 year ago

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Pros of the mittens eightfold: soooo nice and warm and I did it all by stashdiving

Cons of the mittens eightfold: cant explain to my dad they're vriska gloves

#me: yeah i just thought the symbols looked cool :)

0 notes

meleeyz · 3 months ago

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┈﹒ ꒰ 𝗠𝗘𝗧𝗔𝗟 𝗣𝗘𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗦 ꒱

ekko 𝒙 fem!reader

୨୧ English is not my first language, so I regret in advance if something reads weird or is misspelled

୨୧ Thank you so much for the support on the first oneshot, this is mostly fluff because I have to heal the wounds in my heart that arc two left behind.

୨୧ I'm still learning how to use masterlists and stuff (😿) but you can send me requests if you want! For now I'm only going to write about Ekko (or until I learn how to use tumblr) then I'll post the list of characters I could write for.

୨୧ Inspired by some headcanons of @blllllllllllllllllllue

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

The Firelights’ hideout always felt alive, even in its quietest moments, but your little corner was a chaos. It was where you crafted, creating not just the masks that symbolized your rebellion but tiny pieces of identity for your comrades.

"Something like this?" you asked, holding up a rough sketch for the recruit seated across from you. He was new to the team and still shy around most people, but with you, he seemed to relax, likely due to your welcoming demeanor.

“Yeah, that’s cool,” he said, leaning in to inspect it. "But, uh, could you make the eyes a little bigger? I want it to look more… intense."

“Intense. Got it.” You jotted down the adjustment in the margins, smiling as you worked. “Anything else?”

The recruit hesitated for a moment before glancing at you sheepishly. “So, uh, are you Ekko’s girl? Like… his girlfriend?”

The question caught you so off guard that the pencil slipped from your fingers. Heat bloomed in your cheeks, and you scrambled to compose yourself.

“Oh! Uh, yeah. I mean—yes. I am.”

The recruit grinned.

“Thought so. He talks about you all the time.”

Your heart did a funny little flip, equal parts warmth and embarrassment.

“He does?”

“Yeah. Like, a lot. You’d think you hung the moon or something”

The boy’s teasing tone made you flush deeper. Before you could decide whether to be mortified or flattered, another voice broke through.

“Hey! Ekko’s looking for you!” A little boy poked his head in the door, oblivious to the conversation he was interrupting. “Said it’s important.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks.” You turned back to the recruit, already rising to your feet. “I’ve got everything I need for your mask. I’ll start on it soon.”

“Take your time,” he replied, giving you a knowing look as you walked out.

He nodded, and with a small wave, you left the workshop and made your way to Ekko’s space.

The closer you got to Ekko’s workshop, the quieter the base became, the energy from the rest of the Firelights retreating into the distance. You pushed the door open cautiously, only to find the room eerily calm. The usual clatter of tools and the whir of machinery were absent.

When you stepped inside the workshop, the quiet was almost eerie. Tools and half-built gadgets lay scattered across Ekko’s workbench, but there was no sign of him.

“Ekko?” you called, glancing around.

No answer.

A small knot of worry tightened in your chest.

“If this is a joke, it’s not funny—”

Before you could finish, arms wrapped around you from behind, lifting you off the ground. You let out a startled yelp as you were spun around, your voice mixing with laughter that bubbled up despite yourself.

“Ekko!” you cried, trying to sound indignant, but failing miserably as he set you down, his grin impossibly wide. “You scared the life out of me, you jerk!”

“Couldn’t resist,” he admitted, still chuckling. His voice carried that familiar mix of playfulness and warmth that always made your heart skip a beat. He leaned in and planted a quick kiss on your cheek. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

You swatted at his arm, trying to suppress a smile.

“What did you need me for, anyway? And don’t say it was just to scare me.”

“Relax, Firefly,” he teased, stepping back. “I’ve got something for you. Close your eyes.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously.

“If this is another prank—”

“It’s not,” he said quickly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Promise. Just trust me.”

After a brief hesitation, you sighed and shut your eyes.

“Okay, but if you throw something at me—”

“Shh. No peeking.”

You heard him moving around, the soft clang of metal and the scrape of something being picked up. Your curiosity burned, but you kept your eyes closed, hands fidgeting nervously at your sides.

“Alright,” Ekko said finally. “Open.”

When you did, your breath caught. In his hands was a bouquet of flowers, but not just any flowers—each one was intricately crafted from scrap metal, their petals shaped and welded together with incredible precision. They shimmered faintly in the light, their edges polished to a soft gleam.

“I made these for you,” Ekko said, his voice quieter now, as if he wasn’t sure how you’d react. His smile, though, was radiant, the little gap in his front teeth only adding to its charm. “You like them?”

“Like them?” you echoed, reaching out to take the bouquet. “Ekko, they’re beautiful. You made these?”

He scratched the back of his neck, looking both proud and bashful.

“Yeah. Thought you’d appreciate something… different. Real flowers don’t last long down here”

You turned the bouquet in your hands, marveling at the craftsmanship. Each flower was unique, and the care he’d put into them was evident in every detail. Your chest felt tight with emotion as you looked back at him.

“Why, though? What’s the occasion?”

Ekko’s grin returned, mischievous but endearing.

“The right way to ask my girlfriend out on a date. Tonight.”

Your lips parted in surprise.

“A date?”

“Yeah. Thought it was time we did something just for us. No missions. Just you and me.” He stepped closer, his gaze locked on yours. “So, what do you say?”

A warm, fuzzy silence hung between you, the weight of his words and the sincerity in his eyes tying your tongue. Your gaze flicked to his lips, the same thought clearly mirrored in his mind as he leaned closer.

The moment stretched as the world outside seemed to blur and fade. Just as your lips were about to meet—

“Oh, uh, sorry!”

Both you and Ekko jumped apart as the recruit from earlier barged in, a sheepish look on his face.

“I just—uh—I had another idea for the mask and thought—”

Ekko sighed loudly, his previous grumpiness overtaking his usual charm.

“Seriously?”

“I’ll just—uh—leave” the recruit stammered, already retreating back through the door.

You chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“It’s fine,” you told him. “We can talk about it later.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension melting away as you stepped back.

“Guess we’ll have to finish this later, huh?”

Ekko’s pout was almost comical.

“You owe me, Firefly.”

As you turned to leave, you blew him a playful kiss. Ekko grinned, pretending to catch it in midair and press it to his chest.

“See you later.”

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

#ekko x reader #arcane x reader

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punkshort · 7 months ago

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Home

Pairing: (Hallmark) Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You finally move in with Joel and Sarah.

Warnings: language, fluff (the cheesy hallmark kind), established relationship, reader has a previously explained nickname, smut (18+ MDNI), oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv sex

WC: 4.8K

Series Masterlist

Dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics

Joel was nervous. He never really got nervous, but that particular day, he was nervous.

Sure, it was a big step in your relationship. Or maybe it was because months ago when he asked your father's permission to marry you, he promised he would wait until you moved in together.

And now, that day had arrived.

Where did the time go? He swore it just flew right on by, time that was filled with memories of dinners, parties, dates and holidays together. He hadn't planned what he would say and he felt woefully unprepared. He hadn't even talked to Sarah about it yet.

Just because today is the day you're moving in doesn't mean today is the day I need to ask, he thought to himself. Still, it was a big step. A big, symbolic gesture on both your ends. One that screamed, I'm in this for the long haul.

"Mornin', babygirl," Joel said sleepily as he entered the kitchen, Sarah already sitting at the table in front of an empty bowl and scrolling quietly on her phone.

"Hey," she responded distractedly. He poured himself a cup of coffee and looked around the room. It would be the last morning in his kitchen that didn't include you, and the thought made warmth bloom in his chest and excitement flicker under his skin.

"Big day," he said, but Sarah only nodded. "Y'know, been meanin' to talk to you 'bout somethin'."

She pulled her gaze up from her phone and cocked her head to the side. "Yeah?"

He nodded and took a deep breath before sitting across the table from her. He told her it was about you and she sat back in her chair.

"Bucky?"

He nodded, the silly nickname coming from his daughter's lips that only previously came from your immediate family making him smile.

"You know I'm cool with her moving in, we talked about it months ago. I think it's great. She's amazing and we have so much fun-"

"It's not that," he said, cutting her off before he lost his nerve. "One day - and I ain't sayin' today - but one day, I wanna ask her to marry me."

Sarah just continued to stare blankly at him, so he continued.

"I love her so much, babygirl. She means so much to me, 'n so does her family. I can't imagine my life, our life, without her."

"Yeah, duh," she replied, giving him an incredulous look. "Obviously if she's moving in I figured that would be the next step."

He frowned. "You did?"

"Dad," she whined, rolling her eyes. "I'm seventeen now. Soon, I'll be in college. I want you to be happy. I don't want to worry about you being sad and alone when I'm gone."

"Gee, thanks," he scoffed over his mug, and she giggled.

"What I'm saying is, I think it's great. Go for it. She'll totally say yes."

He scratched the back of his neck nervously. "Yeah?"

Sarah gave him a deadpan look. "Yes, Dad. She's moving in with you. She's not expecting friendship bracelets."

He smirked and looked down at his coffee. One thing was checked off the list, now he had to think about when and how he would ask you.

It was a long day.

You hadn't even lived in Texas for a full year yet but you managed to accumulate a lot more shit than you thought. Fortunately, between Joel, Tommy, your dad and Josh, your brother in law, all the furniture was quickly unloaded. The time consuming part was working out the angles in hallways and stairs. Since Joel and Sarah already had more than enough furniture, the two of you decided to put your old couch and television in the basement, an idea which Sarah excitedly jumped on board with.

You could hear the men grunting and talking through different ideas on how to get your couch into the basement all the way from Joel's - your - bedroom upstairs with Sarah.

"I am obsessed with this purse," Sarah sighed, tossing a red leather Michael Kors tote over her shoulder. Prior to living in Texas, you lived in New York City and had created quite the collection of designer clothes and accessories thanks mostly to your ex-fiancé. Since moving, you found very little use for most of it and your style evolved to one that was much more relaxed and comfortable. More you.

"Keep it," you told her as you opened up a box of your bathroom things. She gawked at you while you began to drag the box towards the bathroom, already smiling to yourself as you thought about Joel seeing all the girly face masks and perfumes cluttering his once rather masculine space.

"Are you serious?"

You glanced up at her and shrugged. "Sure. I haven't used it in a year and I have plenty more. It's all yours."

"Oh, my god," she murmured, holding the bag close to her chest. "Thank you!"

You grinned and pulled out bottles of shampoo and conditioner. "Don't mention it."

There was a loud thud that came from the basement and you both froze, waiting to hear panicked calls for help, but after a moment laughter erupted amongst the men and you both exchanged looks of relief.

"I bet Dad that Uncle Tommy would be the one to hurt himself," she told you, crouching to help unpack more of your toiletries.

You laughed and shook your head. "You're probably right."

Glancing at the time, you stood up and weaved your way through the boxes littering the floor to grab your wallet laying on the bed.

"Would you mind calling in a couple pizzas for delivery?" you asked Sarah, handing her your credit card. She nodded and patted down her pants.

"Shoot. I think I left my phone in my room," she said as she headed towards the door. "Ronny's Pizza, right?"

"Yeah, that's good," you called after her before stubbing your toe on a half empty cardboard box. "Shit," you muttered angrily, then squat down to scoop up what was left in the box and get it out of your way.

Wrestling with an armful of socks and bras, you carefully made your way to the dresser and yanked open a drawer. You mistakenly had opened Joel's underwear drawer instead of the one he had emptied for you, but right as you were about to close it, something caught your eye. Was that...? Slowly, you reached forward and nudged a pair of boxers out of the way so you could get a better look.

Your eyes went wide and your heart jumped into your throat when you saw the small, black velvet box nestled between his things. The fingers holding up the pair of underwear began to shake and you nervously swallowed the lump in your throat.

Maybe it was a class ring.

Maybe it was a piece of his mom's jewelry he saved for Sarah.

Or maybe it was a fucking engagement ring.

You heard creaking on the stairs and you quickly dropped the boxers back over the box and slammed the drawer shut. By the time Joel entered the room, you had successfully found your drawer and were halfway done putting your clothes away.

"Hey, darlin'," he murmured, sidling up behind you. He buried his nose in your shoulder and slowly circled his arms around your waist.

"Hey, yourself," you replied, hoping your voice sounded normal and he couldn't feel your heart slamming in your chest. Already got the ring he had said to you drunkenly the night before your sister gave birth. "How are things going down there?" you asked, trying to refocus and get your mind off what you just saw.

Joel breathed in deep and began to sway you both back and forth. "Good. Everythin's all set. Got a nice man cave set up now."

You giggled and closed your drawer before turning around in his arms. "Man cave, huh?"

"That's right," he said softly with a grin. "Gonna be great in 'nother month when football season starts."

"I don't know, I think Sarah was already making plans to have her girlfriends over down there. Might cramp your man cave style," you told him, arms draping loosely around his neck.

"'S'alright, I just give her a hundred bucks and let her borrow the car and then it's all mine," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss against your throat. "Be nice to have some privacy down there, too," he added, tilting his head in the other direction so he could give the other side of your neck the same attention.

"Yeah? Privacy for what?" you teased, chin lifting up to give him better access. You felt him chuckle against your skin.

"For anythin' we want," he replied, tearing his mouth away from your shoulder so he could brush his lips gently over yours.

"Mmm, like board games?" you asked, giggling when his lips froze and his face pulled away, giving you a look of disbelief.

"Is that what we're callin' it?"

You nodded and stretched onto your tiptoes so you could kiss him again.

"Okay, the pizza'll be here - oh. Gross," Sarah said when she appeared in the doorway. You pulled away and grinned while Joel looked over his shoulder with a frown.

"Gross?" he repeated, voice laced with disgust. "Seein' me happy is gross?"

Sarah rolled her eyes as she navigated the minefield of boxes in the room to hand you back your credit card. "Is this what it's gonna be like now? You guys sucking face in every room?"

"Hate to tell you, kiddo, but it's always been that way," you told her as you dropped your arms from around Joel's neck to take your card back.

"Pizza?" he questioned excitedly as if he just processed what Sarah said, and you nodded.

"Figured you guys would be hungry."

Joel groaned in delight and wrapped his arms around you once again, making you laugh.

"Alright, gimme a second to leave at least," Sarah said, turning towards the door as quickly as possible, but not before you caught the smile on her face.

"Hey, can I give you a hand?" Tommy asked as he entered your kitchen. You could hear Josh, your father, Sarah and Joel laughing in the living room with the television on in the background.

"Oh, Tommy, that's so sweet but I got it. You've done so much already today, thank you for your help," you said with a smile as you continued to clean up the pizza. Tommy leaned against the counter and watched you move around his brother's kitchen like you had been there your whole life, and he couldn't help but smile.

"You look right at home already," he told you, making your cheeks warm. You pulled out some foil and shrugged.

"I've stayed over a couple times, what can I say?"

He chuckled and continued to watch you work quietly for a moment.

"Say, what'dya think 'bout you and Joel goin' on a double date with me and Maria?"

"Oh, I would love that!" you exclaimed, meeting his gaze briefly as you moved towards the fridge. "Must be getting serious if you're ready to introduce her to family, huh?"

"Yeah, I think so," Tommy said, shyly looking down at the tile floor. "She's so pretty. Smart, too. And funny. We have such a great time together. I'll tell you, I ain't ever remember feelin' this way 'bout a girl before."

Your jaw hung open in shock after you turned away from the closed fridge. "Tommy! This is... amazing!"

He scratched the back of his neck and grinned. "Yeah, it is," he agreed warmly.

"He botherin' you, baby?" Joel asked as he strolled into the kitchen with a beer in his hand. He shot you a wink right after Tommy gave him the finger.

"I was just telling Tommy we should go on a double date with him and Maria," you said, leaning into the hug he gave you. Tommy gave you a thumbs up behind Joel's back and you smiled over his shoulder, knowing intuitively that his brother would tease him mercilessly if he knew Tommy was the one with the idea instead of you.

"Oh, yeah?" Joel asked, pulling back to look at Tommy. He nodded.

"Yeah, sounds like fun. Maybe grab some drinks down at Mike's. Play some pool."

"Alright. Set it up, can't wait to meet her," Joel told him before squeezing past you to get another beer from the refrigerator.

The men spent another hour or so relaxing in the living room while you and Sarah did the best you could to clear up the remaining boxes in your bedroom. You did rather well, too. By the time everyone was ready to say good night, you only had two boxes left, both of which you stacked and shoved into a corner to deal with the next day.

You were looking forward to collapsing into bed after a long, eventful day when Sarah asked if she could go to the movies with a few of her friends.

"Please, Dad? School starts up in a couple weeks," she begged, and Joel didn't have the heart to tell her she didn't need to bother to beg. He handed her some money from his wallet and she rushed up to her bedroom to get ready, announcing her friend Katy would pick her up in twenty minutes.

"Strange how Katy knew to pick her up before I said it was alright," Joel told you with a fake look of confusion. You laughed and plopped next to him on the couch, resting your head on his shoulder while he flipped through the channels on the television.

You wrapped your hand around his bicep and snuggled in closer as he wavered back and forth between two different action movies. When you really thought about it, it was funny. Your life was so different just a year ago. You were engaged to someone else, living in New York City, wearing expensive clothes and dining at restaurants you didn't really care for but your fiancé did, so you pretended to like them, too. Now you were living a completely different life. One of comfort and love and joy and you had never felt happier.

As if he could read your mind, Joel lifted his arm and tugged you closer by the shoulders, then planted a kiss on the top of your head, further emphasizing how perfect your life seemed now.

"I'm coming downstairs now! Stop making out!" Sarah warned as she stomped down the steps. You stifled your laughter and Joel shot her a scowl.

"We're just watchin' TV."

"And I'm just covering my bases," she said with a grin, holding her hands up in surrender. A faint beep came from the road and she grabbed the purse you had given her earlier that day and said, "don't wait up!" over her shoulder before the door clicked shut.

"Don't wait up?" Joel repeated with a snort. "She's seventeen goin' on thirty."

You giggled and gazed up at him from your place against his side. "You wanna play some board games?"

He looked confused for a moment before the realization dawned on him.

"Hell, yes."

The basement looked nicer than you expected. It wasn't completely finished but there was an area Joel had built a wall around and painted years ago. He had installed a drop ceiling and some laminate flooring but he never got around to actually doing much else with it until you moved in and had extra furniture. An area rug from your old apartment was in the center of the room, your old couch resting on top and your television was placed on your entertainment center across from the sofa. You had some floor lamps and end tables you could arrange in the space later on but for now, it was nice.

But all that didn't really matter that particular day. Not when your shorts dangled around one ankle, which was slung over the back of the couch, your legs spread wide as Joel kneeled on the area rug, his fingers gripping your hips as his tongue feverishly lapped at your pussy.

"Fuck, Joel... I'm close," you whined, hand clawing at his hair, your hips grinding shamelessly against his face. He just groaned, eyes fluttering closed as he drank you in, your scent engulfing him, absolutely loving the way you fell apart under his tongue.

"Joel," you gasped, mouth hung open as your gaze fixed on the top of his head. "Joel, d-do t-that thing-" you moaned loudly, cutting yourself off when he repeatedly grazed his teeth over your clit while working two fingers into your cunt, curling them so they pressed against that one spot he knew drove you crazy each time he dragged them in and out.

A moment later, your body went rigid and tears sprung to your eyes as you came, ragged groans melting into quiet little whimpers until he finally pulled away from the center of your thighs. His eyes were dark and wild as he panted for air, watching you with a cocky smirk as you struggled to come to your senses.

"Gonna let me fuck you now, baby?" he murmured, his pants already pushed halfway down his legs. You nodded in a daze, thighs trembling still when he stepped out of his jeans and kneeled onto the couch. He hovered over you, pressing his thick length against your pussy while he bent forward to bite and suck at your throat.

You gasped sharply and grabbed his shoulders when he first entered you. The initial stretch always took your breath away, regardless if he made you come first or not. You came to crave that feeling, those first few seconds of intrusion that made your mind go blank and your heart stutter before your body made room for him and relaxed. And because you knew he loved to hear it, your mouth found his ear and you whimpered, "so big," and you smiled when you heard his responding growl.

A few days before you moved in with Joel, you laid awake at night in your apartment, thinking back to your relationship before him. When you moved in with Will, it seemed like something shifted almost immediately, and not in a good way. The spark fizzled out as you adjusted to living with one another, putting up with each other's quirks and bad habits. Logically, you knew that spark was dying before you moved in together but at the time, you didn't want to admit it. But anxiety still crept up and you wondered if the same thing would happen with Joel.

What a stupid thing to worry about.

What you had with Joel was so different, it was hard to describe. But it was a feeling, something deep inside that couldn't be denied. This was special. This was unlike anything you ever experienced before and it was foolish to try to compare it to anything else.

As if you needed further proof, Joel sensed your mind had drifted elsewhere and he nipped at your lower lip to draw your attention back to him.

"What's wrong?" he whispered when you met his gaze. His hips had slowed down, worried you were uncomfortable and didn't want to say it. You slowly smiled and draped your arms around his neck, looking up at him with such love and adoration that he couldn't stop himself from smiling in return.

"Nothing's wrong. Everything's perfect," you told him. You tugged him down so you could give him a kiss, then mumbled, "you're perfect," against his mouth.

Joel flushed and shook his head gently, resuming his steady pace. Sometimes he had a hard time believing you were real. He spent a good chunk of his adult life thinking he would never find true love and after a few years of loneliness, he grew to accept that. He threw himself into his work and focused on raising Sarah but when he met you, it was like everything changed. He couldn't stop thinking about you to the point where he would have been content with just getting to know you better, but the moment he first felt your lips against his, he knew he didn't stand a chance. But when he first made love to you, it was all over. He knew within seconds he could never let you go, and he never did.

"You're the one who's perfect. God, so fuckin' tight," he groaned, flexing his hips with a little more force. You rewarded him with a sweet little moan and tipped your head back into the couch. "That feel good, baby?" he breathed, watching with pride as you writhed underneath him.

"Yeah," you whispered before sinking your teeth into your lower lip, skin already red and sensitive from where his own teeth had laid claim. "Again. Harder, Joel," you pleaded, and his eyelids fluttered as he tried to slow down his own orgasm that was already growing all too quickly.

He gave you what you wanted, hips snapping into yours roughly. Your whole body rocked beneath him, breasts bouncing free under your thin T-shirt, jaw slack and back arched so beautifully he had to look away before he came too soon.

"Oh, fuck, Joel," you whined, face pinching as he forced another orgasm to the surface with each powerful thrust.

"You like that?" he murmured, his dark eyes raking over your body greedily. "Tell me, baby. C'mon, wanna hear it."

"Yes," you whimpered, eyes still screwed shut, "feel so fucking good, Joel, fuck... so... so deep, I want more." You took in a deep breath, your release so close you could taste it. "More... don't stop, please... I-I need..." you were rambling now, unable to form a full sentence, barely aware you were saying anything at all and fuck, did he love being the one to make you do that. Make you lose control and give in, putting all your faith and trust in him to give you what you want. To make you feel good.

"I know what you need," he said through gritted teeth, then grabbed ahold of your hip and ground himself roughly against your cunt. Your eyes flew open and he smiled when you cried out, clenching around him after only two or three passes over your clit.

You were whispering his name mixed with something else incoherent as you came down and he couldn't hold himself back any longer. He slammed into you over and over, eyes fixed on the way your pussy strained around his girth, his cock all shiny and slick with your arousal and he came with a loud groan, thrusting into you deep and slow until he was spent.

His arms began to tremble so he slowly lowered himself down to rest the side of his head against your chest and instantly, your hands came up to card through his hair. He sighed and closed his eyes, soaking in your gentle touch as his heart began to slow.

"Do you think it will always be like this?" you asked softly, fingers still threading through his curls.

"Yeah, I do," Joel replied, eyes still shut as he nuzzled into your chest.

"Good. Me, too."

Maria was fun.

You knew immediately you would get along. Her sense of humor and her carefree attitude completely contradicted her profession as a newly appointed Assistant District Attorney, and you absolutely loved how full of surprises she was, especially how good she was at pool.

"Y'know, we just let you girls win," Joel teased when he put his pool cue down.

"Oh, yeah? Is that why I heard you and Tommy talking strategy on my way back from the bathroom?" you shot back. He grinned and tugged you into his chest, kissing the crown of your head before releasing you.

"C'mon, Tommy. Losers buy the next round," he said, giving his younger brother a playful shove. Tommy squeezed Maria's hand and gave her a warm smile before following Joel to the bar, leaving just you two to find an empty table. Maria spotted one right when a group of four were standing up to leave and she grabbed your arm, practically dragging you across the crowded floor to snag it before someone else did.

"Good eye!" you told her when you slid into the booth, the green, plastic cushion underneath you essentially useless after years of being flattened and never replaced. The table was sticky from spilled beer and droplets of hot sauce, so you each got to work yanking handfuls of napkins out of the dispenser at the end of the table and squirting hand sanitizer over the tabletop to clean the area as best you could.

"I don't think Tommy told me how long you two've been together," Maria said, her eyes lifting to search the bar for your dates.

"Uh, eight months or so," you told her, "we met right before Christmas."

She raised her eyebrows and smiled. "I would have guessed much longer. It feels like you know each other so well."

You could feel your cheeks warm from the compliment. It was clear to you what you had with Joel was special but it was always nice to hear others could see it, too.

"What about you and Tommy? He's been keeping you a secret but I want to guess... two months?"

"Three, actually," she corrected you. "We both agreed to take things slow. I had just gotten this job and I knew I would be putting in long hours, I wasn't really sure if I had the time to devote to a relationship but he stuck it out. I really thought he was going to bail when I kept having to call it early so many nights and cancel dates last minute but he's a trooper."

You leaned across the table and wiggled your eyebrows at her. "That's 'cause he really likes you."

She giggled and waved you off but you could see the delight in her eyes.

"I'm serious! I've only known him for as long as I've known Joel but from what I was told, Tommy didn't bring girls around often. Especially lately. You must be special," you teased, making her smile widen.

Unbeknownst to you, across the bar, Tommy and Joel were having a similar conversation.

Now that Tommy had a few beers in him, he was more open to telling his brother about Maria and how happy he was with her.

"I'm tellin' you, Joel, I think she's the one," he was saying, slamming down an empty shot glass next to Joel's on the messy bar top.

"I like her, she keeps you in line," Joel quipped, taking a sip from his beer to chase the shot of whiskey. "Girls are gettin' along real good, too."

Tommy nodded and looked across the bar. "And how's things goin' with you two? She wanna move out yet?"

Joel laughed and shook his head. "Nah, it's only been two weeks. It'll probably take at least a month 'fore she realizes she made a mistake," he joked.

Tommy chuckled but caught the fond look in Joel's eye when he thought about you.

"So, you think this is it for us?" he asked, and Joel glanced up from his beer. "We finally found the ones?"

The corner of his mouth pulled up into a smirk and he nodded.

"Hope so." Then maybe he was feeling a little braver, or maybe it was the alcohol, but he added, "got the ring already, be a little tough tryin' to take it back."

Tommy's eyes bugged out of his head. "You - what?"

Joel sucked in a deep breath and nodded. "Yep. Had it for a while now. Asked Paul 'n everythin'."

Tommy's mouth opened and closed like a fish, completely stunned.

"And Sarah?"

He nodded and took a nervous sip from his bottle. "Talked to her, too. She's thrilled."

Tommy broke out into a huge grin and tugged Joel into a quick hug before pulling away and giving him a playful shoulder shove. "So when are you gonna do it?"

Joel sighed and looked around. "I don't know. When it feels right, I suppose."

"Shit," Tommy replied, rubbing his chin. "Gonna be a hell of a year."

Joel nodded and looked down at your drinks sitting on the bar. "We oughta go find the girls."

"Yeah," Tommy agreed, shaking his head like he was snapping out of a trance. He reached for Maria's drink while Joel grabbed yours but before they began to weave their way through the bar, Tommy stopped him.

"Congrats, brother. I'm happy for you."

"She didn't say yes yet," Joel reminded him with a raised eyebrow, but Tommy just shrugged.

"She will."

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#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel the last of us #hallmark couple #hallmark #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #pedro pascal character fanfic #joel miller fanfic #joel x reader smut #joel miller au #joel miller fluff

1K notes · View notes

reinersredemption · 1 month ago

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number one fan | Dick Grayson x reader ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

summary: you're waiting for your longtime friend, Dick Grayson, as the sun sets over Blüdhaven. When he arrives, he notices a familiar symbol on your shirt.

masterlist

The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting Blüdhaven’s skyline in vibrant shades of orange and pink. You tried to distract yourself by scrolling through your phone, waiting for one of your favorite people—Dick Grayson. Well, if you’re being honest, your favorite person of all.

You and Dick had been friends since childhood, and though your lives had become busier over the years, you still made time for each other whenever you could. The problem was, you’d had feelings for him for as long as you could remember—and never found the courage to admit it. So, moments like these, when it was just the two of you and he gave you his undivided attention, were something you held onto. Sometimes, when his gaze lingered on you a second too long, you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same.

"Sorry, I’m late! Thanks for waiting around for me."

He finally arrived, and the sound of his voice broke you from your thoughts. As you turned to face him, you noticed a sudden shift in his expression, his blue eyes fixed on the symbol on your chest.

"You’ve got a Nightwing shirt on?" He says.

You glanced down at yourself, surprised by the question. You hadn’t expected to be called out like this. "Yeah, I admire the guy. He does a lot for Blüdhaven. Kind of a hero, in my opinion."

Dick’s smile returned, but this time it was softer, almost wistful, as if something inside him shifted. "Yeah, he is," he murmured, his voice quieter than usual, laden with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. But you didn’t think too much of it.

“Between you and me,” you said with a playful grin, “he’s kinda cute, too.”

"Oh yeah?" Dick’s eyebrows arched at your words, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, the teasing tone in his voice almost too smooth.

"I don’t know…I'm not usually into the whole 'crime-fighting vigilante' stuff but there’s something about him, he's got charm." You shrugged, leaning back slightly, trying to play it cool. "He seems genuine, that's all."

Dick didn’t say anything for a while, just looked at you, his blue eyes flicking over your face, searching for something. You're taken aback by his reaction, did you say something wrong? Did you make things awkward? Finally, you let out a small nervous laugh.

"But anyway, you don't wanna hear about all that, right? Let's get going!" You say, in a desperate attempt to change the subject.

Dick’s gaze softened, and for a moment, you thought he might say something, but instead, he just smiled—a smile that made your heart race and your breath catch in your throat. "It's okay" he said, his voice low, "I bet he would've loved to hear that."

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deluboo · 9 months ago

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MIDNIGHT INK.

genre: smut — 18+ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ contains: unprotected sex oral sex rough sex heartbreak

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ © DELUBOO 2024.

sitting on your bed, you watched your reflection in the mirror, your fingers tracing the outline of the faded tattoo on your lower back. once a symbol of love, it had become a haunting reminder of heartbreak. you needed to rid yourself of it, something to signify a fresh start.

finally, you picked up your phone from the desk and called the one person you trusted implicitly.

"hello?"

"hey, before you leave, can i get a quick one done on my lower back?" you asked hesitantly. "trying to get a cover-up."

"yeah, sure, be here by eleven-thirty, okay?"

"alright, cool, thanks." you stayed silent for a minute, hoping he'd say more, but the call ended abruptly.

glancing at the clock, your eyes widened. it was 11:20. with a groan, you grabbed your keys and rushed out. the tattoo shop was only five minutes from your home, but october's chill and early darkness made the journey feel longer.

despite the recent breakup with your boyfriend, you always found yourself returning to him—jungkook. he was the man you confided in, sharing all your problems, including tales of your toxic relationship. though he listened, sometimes distant, you sensed he disliked hearing about your ex. yet, he was always there when you needed a shoulder to cry on; truth be told, he was the reason you frequented the tattoo shop.

upon arrival, the sign's lights flickered at the entrance. taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open. jungkook looked up from his station, his sleeves rolled up, revealing his tattoo-covered arms. his dark, intense gaze swept over you, making your heart flutter.

"hey," he greeted, a slow smile spreading. "ready?"

you nodded, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach. "yeah, thanks for staying late."

"no problem," he replied, his voice low and soothing. he gestured to the tattoo chair. "take a seat. let's see what we're working with."

as you settled into the chair, a mix of nerves and excitement coursed through you. jungkook moved with practised ease, gathering his tools and preparing the area.

"alright, let's take a look," he said calmly, lifting the back of your hoodie. his fingers brushed against your skin, lingering longer than necessary, sending a shiver down your spine.

jungkook's gaze flickered to yours, a hint of desire in his eyes before he focused back on your skin. "15th of… december… 2023," he murmured, staring at your tattoo.

embarrassed, you leaned your head against the seat. "yeah, that's when we started dating."

he hummed in response, studying the faded tattoo. "this will be a great cover-up. do you have a design in mind, or want me to freestyle something?"

"i trust you," you whispered. "just something that represents a new beginning."

jungkook nodded, his expression serious and thoughtful. "got it. i'll sketch something out quickly."

you watched as he worked, his hands moving swiftly and confidently. the room was filled with the soft hum of the neon sign outside and the quiet scratch of his pencil on paper. after a few minutes, he held up the sketch for you to see.

"how about this?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for approval.

the design was beautiful—delicate yet bold, perfectly capturing what you wanted. "it's perfect," you grinned.

"glad you like it. let's get started," he smiled.

he carefully transferred the design onto your skin, his touch sending another shiver through you. "ready?" he asked, his voice a low murmur that sent heat pooling in your stomach.

you nodded, unable to find your voice. the first touch of the needle was sharp but bearable. the pain quickly faded into the background, overshadowed by the sensation of jungkook's hands on your skin. each touch, each brush of his fingers, felt amplified in the intimate quiet of the shop.

jungkook worked with steady precision, his eyes never leaving your skin. "you're doing great," he murmured, his breath warm against your back. "just a little longer."

you tried to focus on the rhythm of his work, but your mind kept drifting to the closeness of his body and his hands' warmth. the tension between you was palpable, each minute passing in a haze of anticipation and desire. his fingers occasionally brushed against your skin in a way that felt more intentional than accidental, sending waves of heat coursing through you.

as the tattoo session continued, you found yourself mesmerized by the sensation of his touch. the combination of the late hour, the dim lighting, and the intimate nature of the session made every moment feel charged with electricity. you could feel the heat of his body close to yours, the soft brush of his breath on your skin.

"how does it feel?" he asked softly, his voice a soothing balm with a dark, underlying current.

"it's… it's good," you managed to reply, your voice shaking slightly. "thank you, jungkook."

he smiled, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "almost done. just hang in there."

the final strokes of the tattoo machine were almost a relief, though you couldn't deny the pang of disappointment at the thought of his touch ending. when he finally finished, jungkook leaned back to admire his work, his expression of satisfaction mixed with something deeper.

"all done," he said softly. "take a look."

you stood up and walked to the mirror, turning to see the new tattoo on your lower back. it was beautiful, a perfect cover-up that transformed an old regret into something new and meaningful.

"wow," you said, your voice filled with genuine awe. "i love it."

he stepped closer, his gaze intense and dark with unspoken desire. "i'm glad you like it," he said.

for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. it was just the two of you, standing in the quiet, dimly lit shop, the air thick with unspoken feelings and charged with undeniable tension.

"thank you," you whispered, your eyes locking with his.

jungkook's hand brushed against your cheek, and your heart skipped a beat. his touch was gentle yet firm, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your breath catch. "you're welcome," he murmured, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down your spine. "anytime."

as you stared into each other's eyes, the air between you seemed to crackle with electricity, the line between professional and personal blurring beyond recognition. the tension was almost unbearable, and you found yourself leaning into his touch, craving more.

jungkook's fingers trailed down your cheek to your neck, his touch igniting a fire within you. "you know," he said softly, his lips just inches from yours, "i've always been here for you. and i always will be."

his hand lingered on your neck, his thumb gently brushing your jawline as he stared into your eyes. the intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down your spine, and the air between you crackled with unspoken desire. you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, each beat echoing the growing tension in the room.

"you have no idea how long i've wanted this," he whispered, his voice husky and filled with longing.

your breath hitched, and you leaned in closer without thinking, your lips just a breath away from his. the anticipation was almost unbearable, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body, drawing you in.

unable to resist any longer, you closed the distance, pressing your lips to his in a tentative kiss. jungkook responded immediately, his lips soft yet insistent against yours. the kiss deepened slowly, fueled by the weeks of suppressed desire and the intimate setting of the tattoo shop. his hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss further. the sensation was electric, sending waves of heat coursing through your body.

your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt. the sensation of his heartbeat under your palm matched the frantic pace of your own. every touch, every movement was charged, making your skin tingle with anticipation.

jungkook broke the kiss, his breath ragged as he trailed kisses down your neck. "god, i've wanted this for so long," he murmured against your skin, his hands roaming over your back, tracing the newly inked tattoo.

you let out a soft moan, arching into his touch. "me too," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "i've wanted you for so long."

he pulled back slightly, his eyes dark and filled with desire as he looked at you. "then let's not waste any more time," he said, his voice a low growl.

with a swift movement, he lifted you onto the tattoo chair, positioning himself between your legs. the cool leather against your skin was a stark contrast to the heat building between you. jungkook's hands slid under your hoodie, pushing it up to reveal more of your skin. he kissed a trail down your collarbone, his fingers deftly undoing the clasp of your bra.

your breath hitched as he pulled the bra away, his lips capturing one of your nipples in a hot, wet kiss. you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as he lavished attention on your breasts, his hands kneading the soft flesh.

"jungkook," you moaned, the sound of his name a desperate plea on your lips.

he responded by kissing his way back up to your mouth, his tongue parting your lips as he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss. the kiss was deep and fervent, leaving a string of saliva connecting your lips when they parted. his hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve and dip, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

you could feel his arousal pressing against your thigh, and the sensation only heightened your own desire. with a trembling hand, you reached down, palming him through his jeans. he let out a low groan, the sound vibrating through you and making you even wetter.

"need you," you gasped against his lips, your voice breathless with need.

jungkook pulled back just enough to tug off his shirt, revealing the expanse of tattoos that decorated his chest and arms. you couldn't help but run your hands over his skin, tracing the lines of ink with your fingers.

he made quick work of your clothes, stripping you bare before him. the cool air against your heated skin made you shiver, but the look in jungkook's eyes sent a new wave of warmth through you. he kissed you again, his hands exploring your body with a fervent intensity.

his fingers found their way between your legs, sliding through your wetness with practiced ease. you gasped, bucking into his hand as he teased your entrance.

"you're so wet for me," he murmured against your ear, his breath hot and tantalizing. "i want to taste you."

before you could respond, he knelt between your thighs, his tongue darting out to taste you. the sensation was overwhelming, and you cried out, your hands gripping the edges of the tattoo chair as he licked and sucked at your most sensitive spots.

jungkook's tongue moved with expert precision, driving you closer and closer to the edge. just as you felt the first tremors of your orgasm, he pulled back, his lips glistening with your arousal.

"i want you to come with me inside you," he said, his voice rough with desire.

you nodded, too breathless to speak, and he quickly shed the rest of his clothes. the sight of him, fully naked and aroused, made your mouth water. he positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes locking with yours as he slowly pushed inside.

the sensation of him filling you was indescribable, a perfect mix of pleasure and pressure. you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper as he began to move. each thrust was deliberate and powerful, driving you closer to the edge with each stroke.

jungkook's hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he moved faster, his breath hot against your neck. "you're mine," he growled, his voice filled with possessive desire.

"yes," you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. "i'm yours."

the words seemed to spur him on, and he increased his pace, driving into you with an almost desperate intensity. your orgasm built rapidly, a tight coil of pleasure that finally snapped, sending you over the edge with a cry of his name.

jungkook followed you over the edge, his own release shuddering through him as he buried himself deep inside you. he collapsed against you, both of you breathing heavily as the aftershocks of your orgasms coursed through you.

for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. it was just the two of you, tangled together in the quiet, dimly lit shop, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat.

"that was…" you began, but trailed off, unable to find the words.

"amazing," jungkook finished for you, his lips curling into a satisfied smile.

you nodded, a matching smile spreading across your face. "yeah. amazing."

jungkook pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace. "i told you," he murmured, his voice soft and tender. "i'll always be here for you."

you nestled closer to him, savouring the warmth of his body against yours. "and i'll always be here for you," you whispered back, feeling a profound sense of connection and contentment.

jungkook pulled back slightly, his eyes softening as he looked at you. "we should get cleaned up," he said, but made no move to let you go. instead, he brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his touch gentle and affectionate.

you smiled, leaning into his touch. "yeah, but maybe we can stay like this for just a little longer," you suggested, not ready to break the intimate cocoon that had enveloped you both.

he chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. "i like the sound of that."

the two of you lay there for a while, wrapped up in each other's arms, the quiet of the tattoo shop providing a serene backdrop to your tender moment. the reality of the outside world seemed distant and unimportant compared to the warmth and closeness you shared.

eventually, jungkook sighed and pulled away, albeit reluctantly. "as much as i'd love to stay here with you forever, we should clean up and get you home."

you nodded, understanding the practicality of his words even though you wished the moment could last longer. "okay."

jungkook helped you off the tattoo chair, both of you moving slowly, savoring the lingering touches and stolen kisses as you gathered your clothes. he was gentle as he helped you dress, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that made you want to pull him back into your embrace.

once you were both dressed, jungkook guided you to the small bathroom at the back of the shop. he wet a cloth and began to gently clean the areas of your body that still tingled from his touch. the intimacy of the moment, even in such a simple act, made your heart swell with affection.

"thank you," you said softly, your voice filled with sincerity. "for everything."

he smiled, his eyes locking with yours in a way that made you feel cherished. "anytime, y/n."

with a final, lingering kiss, jungkook finished cleaning up and walked you to the door. the cool night air was a stark contrast to the warmth you felt inside, but you didn't mind. you knew that the bond you had forged tonight was something special, something that would stay with you long after you left the shop.

as you stepped outside, jungkook held your hand, his grip firm and reassuring. "call me when you get home, okay? i want to make sure you're safe."

you nodded, squeezing his hand in return. "i will."

he watched as you walked away, his figure a comforting presence behind you. as you made your way home, you felt a sense of peace and fulfilment that you hadn't felt in a long time. the night had been more than just a tattoo session—it had been a new beginning, a step towards a future filled with promise and love.

later that night, as you settled into bed, your mind was filled with thoughts of jungkook, completely forgetting he was waiting for your call.

the intimacy you shared, the way he looked at you, the feeling of his hands on your skin—it all replayed in your mind like a beautiful dream. just as you were about to drift off to sleep, your phone rang, breaking the silence of the room. the screen displayed jungkook's name, and your heart skipped a beat.

you answered the call, trying to keep your voice steady. "hey,"

"hey," he replied, his voice warm and soothing. "i just wanted to make sure you got home safely."

"i did," you said, feeling a rush of warmth at his concern. "thank you for checking."

there was a brief silence, filled with the unspoken feelings hanging between you. finally, jungkook broke the silence. "i can't stop thinking about tonight, about you, y/n."

"me too," you admitted, your voice soft. "thanks for the special treatment."

"it was special," jungkook agreed. "i've wanted to tell you how i feel for so long, but i didn't know if you felt the same way."

"i do," you whispered, your heart pounding. "i feel the same way, jungkook."

he let out a relieved sigh, and you could hear the smile in his voice. "i'm glad to hear that. how about we make this official? can i take you out to dinner tomorrow night?"

your face broke into a wide smile, your excitement bubbling over. "i'd love that."

"great," jungkook said, his voice filled with warmth. "i'll pick you up at seven. sweet dreams, y/n."

"sweet dreams, jungkook," you replied, ending the call with a smile.

the next day was a blur of anticipation and excitement. as the evening approached, you found yourself carefully selecting an outfit, wanting everything to be perfect. when the clock struck seven, a knock on your door made your heart race.

jungkook stood on the other side, looking effortlessly handsome. he greeted you with a bouquet and a shy, endearing smile. "you look beautiful," he said, his eyes filled with admiration.

"thank you," you replied, feeling your cheeks flush with warmth. "you look great too."

the dinner was perfect. the two of you shared stories, laughter, and tender glances across the table. every moment felt charged with electricity, the connection between you growing stronger with each passing second. after dinner, jungkook took you for a walk in a nearby park. the night was clear, the stars twinkling above as you strolled hand in hand.

as you reached a quiet spot, jungkook turned to face you, his expression serious yet tender. "y/n, i meant what i said last night. i'll always be here for you. i want to be with you if you'll have me."

your heart swelled with emotion, and you nodded, tears of happiness brimming in your eyes. "i want to be with you too, jungkook. more than anything."

he pulled you into a gentle embrace, his lips finding yours in a soft, tender kiss. the world around you faded away, leaving just the two of you in your perfect moment.

the weeks that followed were filled with joy and discovery. jungkook became not only your lover but your confidant and best friend. each moment spent together strengthened your bond, and your love grew stronger with each passing day.

you found yourself spending more and more time at jungkook's apartment, where he would cook for you, and you would talk for hours about everything and nothing. the walls that once seemed to contain just his life now felt like a shared space where your love blossomed.

one evening, as you lay in bed together, jungkook traced patterns on your skin, his touch sending shivers through you. "i've been thinking about something," he said, hesitating.

"what is it?" you asked, turning to face him.

"i want us to move in together," he confessed, his eyes searching yours. "i want you to be a part of my everyday life, not just the special moments. what do you think?"

your heart swelled with joy, and you couldn't stop the smile on your face. "i think i'd love that. more than anything."

moving in together felt like the most natural step in your relationship. you merged your lives seamlessly, finding comfort and joy in the little things—cooking together, late-night talks, and lazy sunday mornings.

one evening, while unpacking the last of your things, you came across an old photo album. sitting on the couch, you and jungkook flipped through the pages, laughing at childhood photos and sharing stories from your pasts. it felt intimate and suitable, a testament to how deeply you trusted each other.

jungkook pulled you close, his eyes filled with love and promise. "we've come a long way, haven't we?"

"we have," you agreed, resting your head on his shoulder. "and i wouldn't change a thing."

as the evening wore on, you found yourselves on the balcony, watching the sunset. jungkook wrapped his arms around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. "i can't wait to see what the future holds for us," he murmured.

"me too," you replied, your heart full of love and excitement. "with you by my side, i know it will be amazing."

as you stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, you felt a deep sense of fulfilment and contentment. the journey began with a simple tattoo, which had transformed into a beautiful love story that would continue to unfold with each passing day.

your past no longer held any power over you; you could embrace a future filled with love, promise, and endless possibilities. together, you and jungkook would face whatever came your way, knowing that your love was strong enough to withstand anything.

as you closed your eyes and leaned into his embrace, you knew this was just the beginning of your happily ever after.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ �� ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ — © DELUBOO 2024.

#jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook smut #bts x reader #bts fanfic #smut jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jjk smut

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mrsmangi · 1 month ago

Note

just found ur account and I love ur writing!! Dianthus Barbatus

smile - luigi mangione

♡ flower prompt: dianthus barbatus - trying to make a loved one smile by any means necessary - meaning: derived from the greek words “dios” (god) and “anthos” (flower); symbolic of feelings of love, affection, gratitude and admiration ♡ w.c.: 1.1k ♡ a/n: hi anon! thank you so much for this request. i'm sorry it took so long! hopefully, you enjoy it as much as i did writing it. <3

♡ send me a flower & i'll write a drabble based off the prompt ! ↪ prompts that have been requested

Luigi has never considered himself a man of grand gestures. He isn’t the type to make speeches or sweep princesses off their feet in dazzling displays of affection. It isn’t his style. Luigi prefers quiet moments, subtle actions that proved to speak louder than any word in the dictionary ever could. Still, as he stands outside your door this morning, he wonders if maybe it’s the right time to try it out.

Buying you flowers had been an impulsive decision–something he just decided to do as he spotted a quaint flower shop on his way back home from an early errand. He spent a lot longer in the flower shop than he would ever admit to you, running his thumbs over the different textures of petals and second-guessing himself. He wanted them to be perfect–if not perfect, then right.

The bouquet feels small in his large hand–too small, maybe. Luigi almost feels foolish holding them. The thought that he might subconsciously be attempting to distill everything he feels about you into something as fleeting as petals has his nose twitching in disapproval.

His thoughts are interrupted by the soft click of a lock coming from your door and the creak of its hinges as it opens. You stand in the doorway, wrapped in his sweater he had left at your place a few nights before, a steaming mug in your hand. Your hair is slightly mussed, expression settled between somewhere surprised and sleepy.

“Luigi?” you ask gently. Your voice sounds hoarse from sleep. There’s a faint crease on your cheek that suggests to him you’ve only just woken up, and yet, to him, you still look radiant.

He smiles, holding up the flowers as if to explain himself. “Hey. I thought I would stop by.”

Amusement sparkles in your eyes as your lips begin to pull into a smile. “With flowers?”

“Yeah,” he says, feeling silly now. “Thought you might like them.”

“What’s the occasion?” you ask, stepping aside to let him inside.

“No occasion,” he says cooly, attempting to play it cool as he holds out the bouquet to you. “Just missed you.”

“Thank you,” you say as you take the bouquet, your fingers brushing against his. The brief contact sends a small jolt of electricity through him. He thinks he may never get used to being so close to you–a blessing like you feels too unreal to fathom. “They’re beautiful, Luigi.”

“They reminded me of you,” he says, watching your face carefully. He follows you into the kitchen where you search for a vase. You move with a kind of casual grace, the hem of his sweater brushing against your thighs, your bare feet padding softly against the floor. It’s a small, domestic thing, but he feels like he could watch you forever.

“You know,” you begin, rinsing out a small face, glancing at him over your shoulder, “you don’t usually stop by unannounced.” You give him a sidelong look, an eyebrow raised in playful suspicion. “Did something happen? You’re not usually this…spontaneous.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can’t a guy just want to spend time with you?”

“Sure,” you say, a smile tugging at your lips. You set the vase on the table. “But I know you, Luigi. You like routine. This is very un-routine.”

He couldn’t argue with that. You weren’t wrong at all. Then again, he thinks, watching you arrange the flowers with careful hands, there isn’t much about you that fits neatly into his routines. Maybe that’s what he liked the most about you. You slipped into the cracks of his life seamlessly, filling spaces he hadn’t even realized were empty. Everything felt brighter with you.

“I guess I just thought it might brighten your morning,” he says. He shifts his weight slightly, watching you as you continue to fret over the positioning of the flowers. “Doesn’t hurt to try, right?”

You glance over at him, your small smile morphing into a grin. “You’re surprisingly good at this,” you tease, tilting your head as you meet his eyes. “Have you been practicing?”

“Only in my head,” he admits, a gentle grin tugging the corners of his mouth. “For days.”

Luigi wasn’t lying. The truth was, he had spent most of the week thinking of ways to make you happy. He had noticed how tired you looked the last time you spoke, the way your eyes drifted to places he wasn’t capable of following, like your thoughts constantly weighed on you. It bothered him–the thought that you might be carrying more than you let on.

“I hope they make you smile,” he says softly, leaning against the counter as you fill the vase with water. He could only hope you understood his unspoken plea for the flowers to speak what he didn’t have the strength to convey aloud.

“They already have.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relief washing over him. He wants to keep this version of you here forever–the one that smiles at him like he’s something good.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you say, placing the vase on the island of your kitchen. You turn to face him, eyes softening. “But I’m really glad you did.”

“I’m glad, too,” he says, voice low. “I don’t think you realize just how much I want to make you happy, baby.”

He doesn’t miss the way your cheeks flush with color. You bite your lip, laughing with your chest and shaking your head. “You silly man,” you breathe through your laughter, “you already do. More than you know.”

He studies you, allowing a silence to fall over you. He isn’t sure if he deserves these words you spew, but he wants to. More than anything, he wants to be the person who notices the little things about you. The one who shows up, even when there’s nothing special about the day. The one who makes you feel like you’re the center of his world–because you are.

The moment ends when you break the silence, tilting your head. “Have you eaten?”

He blinks. “Not yet.”

“Well, lucky for you, I was just about to make breakfast,” you say, turning toward the fridge. “But if you’re eating, you’re helping.”

He steps closer to you, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater. “Deal. What’s on the menu today?”

“Pancakes,” you say, glancing at him briefly. “Think you can handle that?”

“I’ll have you know, I make a mean pancake,” he says, grabbing the eggs from the fridge with a flourish. “Prepare to be blown away.”

Then, you smile and laugh. It fills the room in a way that makes his chest tighten and feel as though it might burst from love. He doesn’t say it aloud then, but Luigi knows he would do this every morning if it meant that he would get to see you smile.

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aleielle-of-roshar · 6 months ago

Text

I- apologies my answer is kinda loaded and touches on mental health (in relation to one of my ocs)- but is the absolute truth f the question

Basically uh, my ocs tend to be either an overly dramatized mirror of something I’m going through, I trait I wish I had or hadn’t turned extreme.

Gwinvenin, my absolute favourite oc, is a more dramatized shifted version of well a few bad key things I went through- and eventually turned good

so uhhhh my answer in the tags IS positive, I just suck at tone and english

I can delete this if you want- /gen

so, mentioned a bit ago doing a sketch giveaway as a thank you for how many of you there are and how kind you've been. i decided i would go ahead and follow up on that for those of you who said you were interested!

rules:

gotta be following me. that can be here, on my main @crawlingpossum, or my art blog at @salemelas. one of the three. (following multiple of them won't get you more entries.)

one entry per person

tes characters and tes ocs only

you have to have a visual reference of the character you'd like drawn. it can be art, a screenshot, a picrew, whatever. just gotta have a visual reference for me to use.

how to enter:

like this post AND reply/reblog with who is your favorite tes character and why. it can be your own character, i just wanna hear why ya like em. if you only like it, that is not an entry.

deadline is september 10

the sketch will be done in grayscale. if you wanna know what my art looks like, again, my art blog is @salemelas. there's a good few sketches posted there to look at.

the art will be a bust shot, sternum and up.

there will be 3 total winners. the art will be posted on my art blog and reblogged here with the winners tagged in their respective posts.

that's it ( . .)

#(UMMM THIS RESPONSE INCLUDES THE TOPIC OF MENTAL HEALTH SORRY- ITS POSITIVE THO) I can’t pick an npc but uhhh-#as for ocs…#Imyoren Gwinvenin is literally so beloved to me- he ties my entire elder scrolls au together (its an extreme alternate universe lol- +#without him and devryne the story wouldn’t happen) and tbh he’s a lot more then just… An oc at this point?#Writing about him literally helped me through so much- its not even funny #and his entire arc literally symbolizes ‘going through absolute shit- uncertain if anything’ll get better… Yet getting getting stronger and #getting through despite everything- and not letting those who hurt you do so any longer’#I mean- he does that by becoming a god and gaining power from that… But going through therapy in a way kinda made me feel like well… that?#Going from crippling fear every day… to finally having some self worth was hella empowering- my entire point of view went from but a speck+#to so much more- I was me. A person. Someone who could make a choice-#Um #that was very heavy lmao #but yeah- Gwinvenin is a lot more then ‘silly trauma guy loses trauma’ to me #a lot of ocs go through more extreme or symbolic versions of what I have been through- or traits exemplified- Gwinvenin is a closest mirror #He lost his parents (to assassins)- I lost mine (to their utter lack of love)#we both struggled to try to find meaning- with out shitty mental health and bad situations. Feeling so alone-#but we both made something of it- and became people we had never thought we’d ever be. And fuck- the happiness from that is insane #this is a happy post by the way- I’m literally so proud of myself and everything I’ve overcome #But also he’s a silly looking elf and that’s just cool #Um okay bye- idek why I’m being so open about this?

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godmadeaterribleerror · 17 days ago

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Chapter 6 - All The Noise

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: May the trials and tribulations of Sam Winchester putting up with some grade A bullshit begin.

Chapter title from Gold, Guns, Girls by Metric

Word Count: 16.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You ask for Dean's help on a hunt, and he leaves immediately. Sam has to go too. Usual warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, big angst, fluff, monster of the week.

Chapter 5 - Chapter 7

Read on A03!

Sam wouldn’t shut his big mouth about Her.

Dean was getting sick of it.

He knew that She was cool. He knew that She was smart, and funny, and a good hunter. He knew that they could use Her help all the time, because She probably would’ve gotten that stupid crazy girl in the painting immediately. She would’ve ganked the shtriga without blinking. They’d spend half the time doing the research, because She’d take one look at the Mordecai house and say This is a tulpa, De. none of those are related cultic symbols, but that one means blah blah blah, and Dean would stop paying attention because she looked almost inhumanly attractive when she got all freakin’ bossy and smart, and Her voice was like anesthetic to his thought process.

But She didn’t want to stay with them. She still picked up Dean’s calls, acted like everything was normal, and Dean would feel a fucking lesion in his chest every time she’d ask how he was doing. He’d taste blood as he bit down a shout of fucking shit, Princess, because my brother’s going crazy, my dad’s hunting a demon, and my-

No. She wasn’t Dean’s anything. He understood that. She was made of stardust, and She’d fallen onto Dean by pure chance. He had no right to keep Her, and no right to demand more than just her voice in a phone.

Sam didn’t seem to get that, though. And no matter what Dean said, he wouldn’t just freaking drop it.

“What are these?”

Dean had frowned, glancing up at Sam to see the little bitch standing at the foot of Dean’s bed, his hands in Dean’s bag, holding-

Fuck.

He had vaulted over the motel couch, snatching the flash and jacket from Sam’s hands and shoving them back to the bottom of the bag.

“They’re my things.” Dean had snapped, slapping Sam’s hand as he’d reached down to grab them again. “Hand’s off, buster.”

Sam had rolled his eyes. “Buster? Really? Are you a low-grade 1920s gangster?”

“First of all, I’d be the fucking kingpin, Sammy, and you know it. Second, stop going through my bag, or I’ll break your hand.”

“No, you won’t.” Sam had shrugged, and Dean didn’t appreciate how his threats weren’t being taken seriously. “And that was not your stuff, Dean.

“Yeah, it was-“

“Do you wear women’s jackets?”

Sam had given Dean a pointed look, and Dean had scowled.

“Shut up.”

“Whose jacket is it? I mean, you never keep the stuff girls leave with you, and you don’t really know any women-“

“I know women-“

“Dude, you know one woman, and-“ Sam had cut himself off, his mouth slightly open. “Dean…”

“What.”

Sam had made the sympathetic puppy-eyes, and Dean should’ve punched him right there. Would’ve saved him a lot of trouble.

Because Sam said Her name with a painfully gentle voice, and Dean felt something clench in his chest. “That’s her jacket, isn’t it.”

Dean hadn’t been able to think of a good lie, so he’d just let out and unconvincing scoff, grabbed his bag, and stomped back to the couch.

“It is.” Sam had trailed after him, saying Her name again, and he needed to stop fucking doing that. It always made something in Dean bright and hot, and it was annoying. “Why do you have her jacket-“

“She left it with me a while ago.” Dean had muttered, and Sam had given him a disbelieving look.

“How long is a while?”

Dean refused to dignify that with an answer, only turning on the shitty motel box TV.

Sam had moved to block it, his arms cross as he frowned down at Dean on the couch.

“What about the flask?”

“That’s mine.”

Sam had given him a disbelieving look. “I’ve never seen it.”

“So? It’s not like I see all your shit-“

“You do, actually. We live on top of each other, and I never hide things. That shit,” Sam had pointed to the bag, his brows raised. “Was hidden.”

“Shut up.”

“Was that her flask?”

Dean had scowled, and that was apparently an answer for Sam, who had let out a long sigh and given Dean an exasperated look.

“Just for the record, I don’t think it’s weird that you have her stuff. It’s sketchy that you’re hiding it-“

“I am not hiding it-“

“Yeah, you are.” Sam had braced his hands on his hips, a small frown on his face. “Were you hiding it from Dad?”

Looking back, Dean should’ve figured out that silence was not an effective method of getting Sam to shut up. All it seemed to do was fuel him.

“You really haven’t told him anything about her, have you?” Sam’s voice had almost been awestruck. “Dude, I don’t think Dad would be that against you having a girlfriend-“

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Dean had snapped. “And you know what Dad found on her. He’d be right not want me around her.”

“But you want to be around her, Dean.”

Dean had scowled. He did. He felt fucking alive around Her, felt seen, and he’d never been happier to be an idiotic, easily manipulated dumbass when it meant he was in Her orbit.

And that didn’t matter.

“Drop it, Sam.”

Sam still hadn’t dropped it. He’d give Dean an odd look, dropped down to sit on the coffee table, and kept pushing. “Have you ever thought that maybe, if Dad got a chance to talk to her, he’d realize she’s not what we thought she was?“

“Doesn’t matter. And Dad has enough to worry about.”

“But I don’t think she’s something to worry about. I mean, if she got you to come around I’m sure that Dad-“

“Sam-“

“You obviously like her, Dean!” Sam had run a hand over his face, his voice rising to a half-shout. “Even if it’s just as a friend, you like her!”

Dean had let out a long, low groan. Sam didn’t get it. Nobody but Dean seemed to understand that She was awesome, but she was still a liar. Dean could never feel anything but golden around Her, but then she’d always walk away and he’d be left hollow. Because She was still too good to stay with him. She was too good for anything, and Dean hated her for it.

He hated that Dad was right, that She wasn’t made for this life, and she’d move on when she got that rush she was chasing.

He hates that, no matter how hard he tried, he’d want to be Her rush. To share Her smiles and jokes and light, to ensure that She didn’t crash too fast when everything fell down.

“It doesn’t matter if I like her,” Dean had muttered. “She’s not in this shit like we are, Sammy. She’ll move on in a year-“

Sam had shaken his head. “That’s what Dad told you five years ago-“

“And he was just wrong about the timeframe. She’s not sticking around. So fucking drop it,” Dean had narrowed his eyes in a final warning. “Before I hit you.”

He’d thought Sam had gotten it then. He’d been wrong. Because over the next few weeks, every time Dean left the bar with a woman on his arm, Sam would give him a strange look and spend the next day talking about Her. And Dean didn’t fucking need to hear it.

He was living it. He was the one who had to miss Her, not Sam. Sam seemed entranced by Her, but the way everyone but Dad was. The way everyone who saw her knew that they were in Her presence, not the other way around. She spoke with an authority, and looked like She’d fallen from the sky, and moved like the world had been made for Her. Even when she threw a punch it was like she was dancing, and when She screamed it seemed to move the earth itself.

Dad was strong enough to resist it, because Dad was the toughest, smartest son of a bitch Dean knew. And Dean couldn’t blame Sam for thinking about Her, because she was meant to be thought about.

But nobody thought about Her like Dean did. Dean was weak and empty and She looked at him like he was something, so he missed Her. He was the one who couldn’t do anything but trail after Her, the one who always wanted to close the space between them and take Her hand. The one who was being cast in Her light, absorbing it and letting it linger around his body when She was gone. Who was always suffocating in the smell of fruit, who couldn’t ever find eyes as blinding as Her’s, who kept hoping he’d kiss someone else and they’d erase the phantom feeling of Her skin on his mouth.

Night after night and town after town passed in long, blended months, and Dean couldn’t find a woman he wanted to touch like he wanted to touch Her.

He wanted to hold Her hand. He wanted to grab Her by the waist and press her against to his chest. To lay his body over Her’s, make Her giggle and press her face against his neck, and demand to know how She was doing this. Why She’d laugh and tease and smile at Dean, just to tell him She didn’t want to stick around. Why he was the one who had to be haunted by Her, why She couldn’t just let Dean actually hate Her. Let him pull himself together and force his will to be as strong as Dad’s.

Dean was addicted to a drug he’d never even fucking taken. He dreamt of a woman he had no right or desire to dream about. He washed the blood off his skin after every hunt, found another meaningless body in every backroad bar, and cursed himself every night when he fell onto the mattress and She wasn’t at his side.

But he’d asked Her to be there, and She’d said no. She didn’t want this life in a way that counted, and Dean couldn’t blame Her, or hate Her, or even stop picking up the fucking phone when She called.

Because the phone rang on his nightstand, he saw Her number on the small, fuzzy display, and he shot up, answering before he could think better.

“Dean?”

She needed to stop saying his name like that. Like She wanted to say it, and it was more than just a word, when She didn’t want Dean.

“Hey,” he muttered Her name, glancing at the sleeping lump of Sam in his own bed. “What’s up?”

“Are you busy?”

“Yeah, we’re talking.”

“No, I-” She let out a long sigh, and Dean could almost see the pout of Her lips. “I meant are you busy with a hunt?”

Dean frowned, because She sounded tired. Heavy. “You good, Princess?””

“Yeah.”

Lie. Dean could hear it. He could picture Her looking at him with a wide explosion and giving him a small smile, standing too tall and fidgeting with Her rings and holding Dean’s gaze as She fucking lied.

And that was Her voice after long hunts, or gruesome deaths. The voice She used after one of her weird episodes. It always made Dean uneasy, made his heart and lungs itch.

And She was not good.

Dean moved into the bathroom, locked the door behind him, and said Her name with a frown. “What’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on-“

“Why’d you call, then?”

She sighed. “Maybe I just wanted to talk, Winchester. Not everything has to be wrong for us to talk.”

“Uh huh.” Dean didn’t believe Her. Nobody ever just wanted to talk to him. “Where are you.”

“Colorado?”

“Sammy and I are in Virginia, sweetheart, and it’s 5am. With the time difference-“

“Maybe I just can’t sleep, Dean.” She snapped, and that sounded like the truth. It didn’t make Dean feel any less sick “And if you don’t want to talk, we don’t have to-“

“No, that’s not-“ Dean sighed, rubbing his brow. “Can you just tell me what’s happening? We can talk after, but I’m not saying a damn word until you stop freaking me out.”

There was a moment of static silence, and something like iron dropped on Dean’s shoulders. He’d fucked it up. He’d never really had Her but he’d pushed too hard and stepped out of line, and she was going to hang up the phone and Dean would be alone-

“Can you please just tell me if and Sam are in the middle of a hunt?”

He let out a long breath. “No, we just finished one up, in New York. Creepy fucking painting. Sammy got laid.”

She let out a soft laugh, and something warm grew in Dean’s gut. “And how many people have you told?”

“Just you,” he shrugged, leaning against the wall. “And the cashier at the gas station, and the motel cleaning lady. I’m proud of him, sue me.”

She hummed. “Does Sam know you’re telling people?”

“Yeah, he was right next to me-“ Dean cut himself off. “You’re trying to change the subject.”

“No, I’m just-“

Dean grunted Her name. “I’m serious, whatever’s going on-“

“It’s not-” Her long sigh hummed through the speaker. “It’s really nothing, Dean. I’m okay.”

She kept saying that, and Dean knew She wasn’t, and it felt like it was snapping along his spine and festering in his gut.

And he couldn’t let it go.

“You know, you owe me one.”

He could hear the small frown in Her voice. “I owe-“

“A question, Princess. I’ve got one up on you.”

“Dean, we haven’t done that in a year-“

“And I’m bringing it back. I owed you, but you just asked me how many people I’ve told about Sam. I’m up, sweetheart. What’s going on.”

It was flawed logic. They’d asked each other a million questions, and answered all of them, and Dean had long lost track of it. But it was his in. His chance. And She could probably talk her way out of it easily, but he couldn’t let Her go-

“I need help. Please.”

Her voice was a whisper through the phone, and Dean’s grip on the phone became painful.

“You’re in Colorado?”

“Yeah, um, outside of Lakewood-“

Dean nodded, bracing his hands on the bathroom sink and frowning at his reflection. If Lakewood was where he thought, he could get there in a day. He’d have to leave now though, and not stop for anything but gas.

“What do you need?”

“I- I’ve got everything, it’s not even that big a case-“

“What is it?”

“Kelpie. And I can handle it myself, Dean, you don’t need to-“

“You just said you needed help.” Dean snapped Her name. He didn’t understand why the hell She was pushing back. This what She was asking, Dean always did what she asked, and She wasn’t going to have to speed halfway across the country because she didn’t know how to not go to her. “I’ve got nothing going on, and if you need help-“

“I- It’s complicated-“

Dean rolled his eyes. “Hypocrite.”

“I am not-“

“Yeah, you are. Send me the address, Princess, we’ll be there by Friday, we can gank the, uh, the what?”

She sighed. “Kelpie. Scottish water monster, I think there’s one nesting in the pool-“

“In the pool?”

“Modern times, Deano.”

“Whatever, just,” Dean ran a hand over his face, frowning at the bathroom door. “I’ll have Sammy text you an update. Don’t move until we get there.”

He could hear Her scowl through the phone. “I’ll move as much as I want, Winchester-“

“Yeah, I know you will, just- Be careful.” He paused, letting out a slow breath. “Please.”

“I always am.” There was a long moment of silence, Dean unable to figure out how to move his body and hang up the phone, and then- “You really don’t need to, Dean. I can figure it out.”

Dean drew his lips into a tight line. “You need help?”

“Yeah, but-“

“Then we’ll be there. I’ll see you soon.”

He managed to hand up, because he didn’t want to listen to Her protest. To try and walk back that She wanted hishelp.

It ached in his chest that She regretted asking him. That She didn’t actually want him there.

He was going anyway.

Dean almost didn’t bring Sam. He stared at his brother in bed, rolling and grunting in his sleep, and didn’t want to wake him up. He’d told Her he’d take Sam, but he didn’t need to. Dean could go and have Her to himself. He could laugh and joke with Her like nothing was complicated, and forget about this whole fucked up mess. He wouldn’t have to deal with Sam’s pointed looks and questions about Her and how Dean felt. He wouldn’t have to remind Sam over and over that She was just like that—kind and magnetic and bright—for everyone, not only Dean. That it didn’t matter what She did and didn’t tell him, or what the hell those episodes were, or why Dean never told Dad about Her. None of it mattered, because they didn’t matter.

She mattered. She had people and a future outside of the mud. Dean was just Dean, and he didn’t matter enough to matter with Her. She could see that. And Dean wasn’t going to test Her willingness to be near him, to ask him for things.

And that was the worst danger to brining Sam. She and Sam seemed to get along. Sam liked Her. She and Sam fit well together, because they were both weird little nerds. And if She and Sam became friends, that would be another thing that tugged Dean back to Her side. Another reason for Her to fit against him, another reason to grin at and care about Her.

Then Sam rolled over in bed, blinking up at Dean with a frown, and he was screwed.

“Dean, it’s like,” Sam leaned over to frown at the blinking motel clock. “Five in the morning. Why the hell are you up?”

“Get packed, Sammy.” Dean picked Sam’s bag up off the floor and tossed it onto the mattress. “We’re going in fifteen.”

“Fiftee- What?”

“We’re going-“

“Yeah, I heard you. Where are we going at five in the morning?”

Dean grabbed his own phone, tossing it Sam without a word as he went to pack his own bag.

“Golden, Colorado?” Sam looked up at him with a frown. “What’s in Colorado?”

Dean grunted Her name, and Sam’s eyes widened.

“Shit, is she-“

“She’s fine.” Dean snapped. “Needs some extra hands for a hunt.”

Sam repeated Her name, his tone disbelieving. “Needs some extra hands?”

“Yep. I’m gonna go start the car-“

“Dean, what the hell are we hunting that she needs a hand?”

“Kelpie.” He muttered, walking towards the door. “You’re gonna need to return the motel keys-“

Sam grabbed his arm, stopping Dean in his tracks. “A kelpie?”

“That’s what she said. C’mon, dude, move your ass-“

“How do you hunt a kelpie?”

“You can ask,” Dean yanked his arm from Sam’s grip, snapping Her name. “When we get there. Let’s fucking go.”

Sam gave him an odd look, but nodded, and they were out of Virginia before the sun broke the sky. Sam, for once, seemed to know what was good for him, and wasn’t pressing about why Dean was wired and edged the longer the drive crept on. Didn’t taunt him about running to Her side with barely a question, didn’t push on why She’d asked for help at all.

Because Sam was right. One weird and rare monster shouldn’t throw Her. Hell, it should be right up Her alley.

But She’d sounded so damn tired over the phone. She’d said please.

Dean wasn’t a vic, or witness, or random bartender. She never said please to Dean. Not in a real, nervous, pleading way. Where She acted like she actually needed his permission. Needed him.

So Dean was already flying through Missouri, so there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d turn back now. Not when She needed him. When She’d chosen to call Dean, and he’d picked up, and he could help.

He would help. Whatever the hell was going on with Her, Dean would do what he did best and have Her back.

It didn’t matter if Sam was up his ass all weekend. It didn’t matter that She’d sounded reluctant for him to actually come. All that mattered was that he’d be there, for Her.

In Golden, Colorado, pulling up the long, dirt road of the address She’d sent, parking in front of a house.

A huge house.

Something started to twist in Dean’s gut. This was the kind of house rich people lived it. Well-designed, surrounded by open land, so big he could probably park Baby in the living room. The kind of house She belonged in, the kind of house Dean only stepped foot in for pest control, before returning to the road.

The kind of house Her family might live in.

“Dean.” Sam was scanning over the well-trimmed bushes and cars, something close to worry written over his face. “That looks like a house.”

“I know, Sammy, I got eyes-“

“What kind of house had a parking lot?”

Dean’s brow furrowed, and he scanned over the rest of the area. Mowed grass, parking spots with little metal signs, a white picket fence and a painted-

“Country club.” He muttered, dropping his head to the wheel. “We’re at a freakin’ country club.”

“Oh.” Sam nodded. “Yeah. That makes more sense.”

It did make more sense. She wouldn’t lie to Dean about Her family for years, then ask him to drive for days straight to meet them. Dean would probably never get to meet them. One day the thrill would run out, and She’d just stop picking up the phone. She’d return to a house like this one, would live an Apple Pie life with someone just as untouchable as she was, and Dean would be a memory.

Not today, but someday.

Today She was waiting for them on the curb of the sidewalk, and looked up to great Dean with a wide smile.

“Dean!” She pushed herself to Her feet, saying his name the same way She always did. It was going to kill him. “You’re here!”

“Said I would be.” He shot Her a grin, glancing over his shoulder to keep an eye on Sam, sorting through Baby’s trunk. “You might wanna tell Sammy-“

Dean cut himself off with a low grunt, because She was hugging him. Tight. Her arms wrapped around his torso, fitting perfectly. Her face smushed against his chest, Her hair near his nose, and fuck she still smelled like strange fruit and Dean still couldn’t figure out what the hell it was-

She was gone too fast. Dean had to curl his fists to not lunge forward and grab Her. To not pull Her back into him, because goddamnit She’d felt right there, and Dean had no right to want Her there, but he did and She shouldn’t go-

“Thank you.” She mumbled, rolling slightly on Her feet. “I could’ve handled it, I swear-“

Dean sighed Her name, frowning slightly. “I-“

“But I’m glad you’re here.” She gave him a small smile, and Dean’s whole body seemed to have a chemical reaction to it.

The world was sharper, and colors were brighter, and something to the right of his heart was golden and pounding against his ribs because She was looking at Dean, so he was real. This was, at least for now, real. She wasn’t a dream, because She’d hugged Dean and he’d felt the press of Her body. She was glad he was here. She wanted him here. Where he could help Her, and he’d be repaid by just being allowed to be around Her. Allowed to look at Her.

She didn’t look good.

She looked beautiful—She always look beautiful, in an indescribable and ethereal way—but She also looked exhausted. Her eyes were still brilliant, but there was something dulled beneath them. Her hair was still shiny, but it was messy. Unkempt. Her skin looked soft, and but Her clothing was dirty, and there were no rings on Her fingers. The skin around her nails red and raw.

She’d been picking at them.

Something was really wrong.

“Kelpie, huh?” Dean raised his brows. He couldn’t just ask, just demand She tell him what was wrong. That never worked. “How’d you find this one?”

“Paper clippings. The news goes crazy when they think rich people are being targeted for something. Four drownings were bound to capture some attention.” She raised up onto Her toes, frowning over Dean’s shoulder. “Is Sam okay?”

Dean shrugged. “He’s a big boy, he’ll be fine. So the kelpie’s targeting these golf douchebags?”

“No, it’s targeting the people in its immediate vicinity.”

“What-“

“Anyone at the club. There were actually six drownings. Two were staff members, they didn’t make the paper. Sam!”

Sam called Her name back, and Dean turned to find his brother’s face split into a wide, easy grin as he hauled their hunting bag across the parking lot. “Hey!”

“Hi!” She returned Sam’s smile, nodding to the bag as he set it down. “What’s that for?”

“The hunt.” Sam crouched down, hunching over the bag as he unzipped it. “I didn’t get a chance to research kelpie’s on the drive, so we’ve got some of everything. Salt, holy water, bullets, uh, I can find you a knife-“

She hummed, leaning over Sam’s shoulder. “Do you have silver?”

Sam glanced up at Her. “Silver bullets?”

She nodded, and Sam shrugged.

“Yeah, we should. Why?”

“That’s all you’ll need.” She glanced around the lot—mostly empty expect for them and a handful of old people—and Her brow furrowed. “We should go inside. Uh, Sam, you can grab the silver, but I don’t think-“

“Bag goes back in the car.” He nodded, rising back to his feet. “I’ll meet you guys in there.”

Sam wandered back to the Impala, and Dean didn’t even have time to look back to Her before she was grabbing the sleeve of his jacket, tugging him inside.

“Shit-“ Dean steadied his pace, staying one step behind Her. “Princess, I don’t think we can just walk inside-“

“Of course we can.” She waved him off, pushing through the doors. “You can go anywhere as long as you act like you belong there.”

Dean frowned. He did not look like he belonged here. He was wearing slightly torn jeans and a leather jacket that might still have blood on it. His hands were awkwardly in his pockets, and he hadn’t slept in a little over a day, and anyone with eyes could tell he was an imposter. An invader, trailing in Her wake like a feral street dog.

But She did belong here. She carried herself with purpose, and held Her chin high, and when they walked past the entrance desk She gave the receptionist a sweet smile, and nobody stopped her. Dean got an odd look, but She was still holding onto him, so he was allowed in.

He was a little worried about Sammy, walking in with matted hair and a bunch of bullets in his jacket.

It would probably be fine. She was here, and She knew what the hell she was doing all the damn time, so it would be fine.

“Do you want a drink?”

Dean blinked at Her, letting her guide him down into a chair. “A drink?”

“Yeah, they’re free.” She pointed to an empty glass, resting on a side-table next to her own chair. “I’ve had like, seven cokes.”

He snorted. “That’s too many cokes, sweetheart-“

“Fuck off, Winchester. I’ve seen you eat three pies in one night.”

“I earned those pies-“

“And I earned these cokes. So, shut up.”

She raised Her brows in a silent challenge, and Dean chuckled, raising his palms up.

“Yes, ma’am.” He glanced back to the empty glass. “They really free?”

She nodded—Her smile wide and a little intoxicating—and Dean leapt out of his seat, half running to the sleek bar to order the fanciest, more expensive and stupid whiskey they had.

By the time Sam joined them—Dean had been right, She vouched for Sam and he walk right past the desk—Dean had added a large basket of pretty terrible fries and a ribeye steak to their table, and was inhaling them like he’d been stranded in the desert for a hundred years.

“Holy shit, dude.” Sam laughed, dropping into the final empty chair. “This is why I said we should take an hour and eat.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but She blinked, leaning forwards in her seat.

“You guys stopped, right?“ She looked between them with a pretty, pouting frown. “On the drive here?”

“Nope.” Sam shook his head. “Not even when I really had to pee-“

“Sam.” Dean grunted, a little bit of fry falling onto the plate. “Shut your mouth.“

It was too late. She was sitting up a little taller, glaring at Dean with Her arms crossed over her chest.

Her tits looked great like that.

“Dean.”

He gave Her his best innocent look. “Yeah, Princess?”

“How long was the drive?”

“I dunno, I left right after you called-“

“Sam?”

“Twenty-two hours.” Sam said, looking a little too thrilled with how Dean was about to be flayed alive. “Dean drank fifteen coffees.”

“Fucking- Dean!”

“Sammy’s being a dramatic little bitch.” Dean shot Sam a glower. “And I’m gonna fucking kill you- shit-“

Dean winced as She kicked his shin, Her whole expression a little violent. It was kinda hot.

“You need to go sleep-“

“Nah-“

“Winchester.” She leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “You either sleep, or I cut you off from the free food.”

Dean scoffed. “You can’t cut me off-“

“It’s my fake account, Deano. I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

Dean looked between Her and his steak with a pout, his voice becoming mournful. “C’mon, sweetheart, it’s free food-“

“And it’ll keep being free, as long as you go fucking sleep-“

“How about this.” Sam raised his hands, saying Her name as hell of a lot nicer than he ever said Dean. “You tell us what the case is, and what you need us for, so we,” he gestured between himself and Dean. “Can know what we’re in for. Then Dean and I will go to a motel, get some sleep, and we’ll regroup tomorrow. Deal?”

She let out a low, adorable huff, but nodded, and Dean rolled his eyes and grunted an agreement.

“Great.” Sam turned to Her, leaning forward in his seat. “What’s the deal with the kelpie?”

“There’s really not much,” She shrugged, still mostly glaring at Dean. “It’s living in the pool, kills about two people a week, and I can’t find it during the day to kill it.“

Dean frowned. “Have you checked the pool at night?”

“Yeah, but it’s in the filtration system, and I’d have to break the whole water pump to get into it.”

“’S why don’t you do that?” Dean wiped his mouth of a little steak juice, and She gave him an unreadable look.

“Because that would flood the supply room, and give the kelpie an advantage in the fight. It��s a last resort, because we should be able to get it during the daytime.”

“Kelpie’s are shape-shifters, though, right?” Sam looked around the room, his face drawn in concern. “It could be anyone here.”

She nodded. “Technically, yeah, but we’ll be able to identify it. It’ll have water weeds in its hair, so we’re probably looking for someone with a hat, and it should have a piece of iron jewelry.”

Sam raised his brows. “Iron?”

“It’s bridle. If you take it off, it’ll revert back to its normal form. We can start looking tomorrow, but,” She turned back to Dean, raising Her chin slightly. “You’re going to rest first.”

Dean was ready to protest, to push on the fact that this sounded like it could be quick—like they could gank this asshole in an afternoon, then spend several days eating free food and just hanging out together—but Sam was a freaking traitor and stood up, making Her promises that they’d get some rest and get going tomorrow morning.

They found a motel room only a few doors down from Her’s, and Dean had to bite down the demand that they all stay together. It would save money, and time, and he’d be able to figure out what the hell was up with Her faster. Because he got that stupid sleep, Sam passed him a coffee in the morning with an amused grin, and they started to look for this pool-dwelling son of a bitch, but something was still wrong.

She was off. When they saw Her the next morning, She didn’t look like she’d rested. The entire time they were making a game plan—gathered around one of the country club’s fancy tables, She and Sam talking as Dean stuffed his face with some pretty freaking awesome scrambled eggs and bacon—She kept glancing around them, beautiful features bloodless and her hand rubbing on her palm. When they actually started the hunt, Sam had barely said the words split up when Her hand shot out and grabbed Dean’s elbow.

“Dean and I can go together,” She said, and Dean was pretty sure She was going to break his arm. “In case I need something shot.”

Sam nodded, moving on, but Dean just stared at Her. She never needed something shot. She only ever scoffed and rolled Her eyes when Dean suggested she’d need a gun, whenever he insisted on walking ahead of her because he was better armed. And he’d never once heard Her request that they not split up.

Something was really fucking wrong. Something She wouldn’t tell Dean about. Her eyes kept wandering around every room they walked through, and She was far too rigid every moment, and Dean wished She’d just tell him what to do. Just show him what was wrong, so he could take care of it for Her. That was what he’d come to do, and now he was stuck in some sort of fucked up limbo between needing to help Her and never wanting this to end.

Because Dean was a selfish douchebag, and his worry was only barely outweighed by how good it felt for Her to be this close all the time. The hunt started to stretch into days, and She was barely leaving Dean’s side. He and Sam would wake up, and She’d already be waiting outside their door. She’d curl up in the Impala backseat as they drove to the country club—Her eyes always drooping slightly, and Dean’s gut always rolling with a rotting, taut worry—and She’d let Dean help her out of the car. They’d spend the day trying to talk to the staff and patrons, countless polo wearing, hair-gelled, manicured douchebags would try to hit on Her, and she’d barely even look at them.

She seemed to be only looking at Dean.

Only at Dean, and only around every room, like the furniture might come to life and attack Her.

And he was fucking confused.

“How you feeling, sweetheart?” Dean watched Her carefully—beautiful, exhausted, scanning around the dining hall with a tight expression—and took a large bite of his sandwich.

“I’m okay,” She mumbled. Lie. “Why is Sam taking so fucking long. We agreed to meet at noon-“

“He’s probably just gettin’ hit on by grandma’s again.” Dean shrugged, crumbs falling out his mouth as he spoke. “Or maybe he finally got somethin’.”

She hummed, but Her shoulders were still too tight, her brows drawn together. She wasn’t eating that much. She seemed to mostly be drinking coffee and chewing gum, and it was just another reason to be worried about Her. He’d started to get extra food, placing it in Her path to try and bait Her into eating it. Even now Dean was pushing his food half across the table for her to take, but She was barely even looking at it.

“Maybe we should go find him- Sam!”

“Hey, sorry I’m late.” Sam sat down, leaning back in the chair with a sigh. “The old lady with the beetle broach was trying to talk to me again.”

Dean laughed, nudging Her foot under the table. “See, Princess, I told you-“

“Shut up.” She muttered, running a hand through Her hair as she frowned at Sam. “You good?”

Sam shrugged. “Yeah, I’m fine. Little hungry-“

“Go grab some food, Sammy.” Dean nodded to the bar, taking another bite. “’S free.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sam frowned, glancing at Dean’s plate. “Dude, that’s like your third meal of the day.”

“Fourth.” She corrected, giving Dean a pointed look. “He made us stop for fries earlier.”

Dean swallowed, shooting Her a smirk. “You ate some of them too, sweetheart.”

“I ate like, two-“

“Hold on.” Sam raised his hand, looking between them with a frown. “You let her eat your food?”

Dean shot Sam a glare, because if he took this where Dean knew he was trying to, he’d get his ass beat. “There were a lotta fries, Sammy. And it’s free, I got another basket right now-“

“But you never- fuck-“

Sam leaned down—rubbing his shin where he’d be kicked—and Dean raised his voice, holding Sam’s annoyed gaze with a glare. “Stop wasting time, dude. You find anything?”

“No, nothing.” Sam gave him another odd look, but got the fucking message, and moved on. “How about you guys? Did the golf team pan out?”

Dean shook his head. “Nah, nothin’ but a bunch of assholes in boat shoes tellin’ us fuckin’ shit-“

“Dean.” She shot him a glare, holding a cloth napkin across the table. “Chew with your mouth closed.”

He rolled his eyes but took the napkin. “Bossy-“

“Dean-“

He raised his hands in mock surrender, and let Her take over. He’d probably have gotten stabbed if he didn’t, and She was always hot when she thought aloud.

“He’s right, we don’t have anything.” She let out a long breath, rubbing Her thumb over her palm. “No hints, no suspicious activity, and everyone’s clean. There hasn’t even been a murder since you guys got here-“

“Could the kelpie have left?” Sam asked, and She shook her head.

“No, especially not in a place without any other bodies of water. Something’s… I don’t know. This is weird.”

Dean agreed. This was weird. And as She and Sam started to talk about new plans and ideas, Dean knew something was really, really wrong.

She was the starting to be the one who trailed after Dean. They only separated at night, when he and Sam would go to their room, and She’d go to hers. He knew She’d asked him—just Dean, no one else—to help, and that she didn’t seem to be looking anywhere but him, but he also knew She still wasn’t telling the truth. Still wasn’t telling Dean what the hell was up with Her, wasn’t explaining what was making Her so freaking jumpy, all while clinging to Dean like he was a lifeline. Everything about this was strange.

Because it wasn’t just Her, acting as if Dean going out of Her sight was the worst thing in the world. It was this whole damn case. Dean had to watch Her get hit on by countless, undeserving assholes, and every time one would move a little too close to Her, the wind seemed to blow them back. He’d thought he was just seeing things the first two times it happened—the stress of the case and his worry for Her getting to his head—but then one son of a bitch placed his hand on Her arm, something started to strangle Dean in his chest, and the trust-fund dickhead stumbled back.

Dean hadn’t moved. She’d just been standing there with an unreadable expression, hugging Her body so tight Dean was worried she’d bruise herself. And Dean was certain he was losing his mind.

But then it happened again. And again. Strange things building up and up on top of each other, none of them making any damn sense. Random people would brush against Her in the hall, she’d side-step into Dean, and he could swear the whole building would creak. They’d chase something that seemed like a lead but ended up being a dead end, and something would fall off a shelf. Every time She spoke to someone that wasn’t Sam or Dean, Her eyes would narrow and she’d rub her palm like she was trying to wipe the scar off Her body. Sometimes Dean could swear the pavement was cracking under Her, and the water of the pool would always crash up at Her feet, and the flowers in the garden would lean towards Her as they walked through the grounds. She and Dean would turn a corner, bump over each other until Dean steadied them both—one hand around Her waist and another braced on the wall—and the hallway lights would spark.

And they still had nothing. And the deaths had stopped.

Which only made Dean more confused. Because things were weird, but She never mentioned all the strange shit Dean was seeing, and this case was boring. It wasn’t something that should be making Her—sexy as hell, smart-mouthed, impossibly fucking confident Her—look like She was the one being hunted.

And there hadn’t been another murder, or any leads, or a hint to anything at all.

They were on day four, and Sam had been smart enough not to push about Her and Dean being more than hunting partners, but he was still pressuring Dean about checking on Her. Sam had noticed things were odd too. Every night, when they’d separate from Her until dawn, Sam would press about if She was good. If She’d been having any episodes, if She’d mentioned anything odd, if Dean wanted to push a little harder to ensure they could wrap this up quicker.

And Dean caved. He felt like he was winding tighter and tighter with every passing day that She remained hollow and on edge, and he agreed with Sam. For Her, they had to wrap this up now.

Dean said Her name carefully that morning, watching Her in the rearview mirror. “It’s last resort time.”

She shook Her head, and Dean knew that if he turned around, she’d be picking at her fingers. “No, we can give it another day-“

“We’ve given it four other days. We’re doing this now.”

“Dean-“

“Nope. You asked for our help, Princess, and this is us helping. You and I are gonna go into the pump room, Sammy’s gonna keep the staff away from us, and we’re wrapping this shit up. Got it?” Dean shot Her his best stern glower in the mirror, and She swallowed. And flushed.

He tried not to think about it too much. How She was letting him do this for her. How She was almost pressed to Dean’s back as they snuck into the staff only area, and how She was touching him. Holding his arm like She wasn’t sure he was real. Fully listening to Dean for maybe the first time since they’d met.

It was jarring. And kept doing funny things to his lower stomach, when She’d wrap a hand around Dean’s bicep, and he’d get to lead her through the darkened hallways. She trusted him. She wanted him here.

For this, She actually seemed to want Dean.

And he wouldn’t let Her regret that. He’d prove himself here, and maybe She’d fucking listen to him more. Maybe he could get Her to keep holding him. Maybe he could even convince Her to let him hold Her. In the dark, on every hunt, in broad daylight where nobody would ever try and touch Her again because Dean would be hanging around Her shoulders-

He needed to pull himself the fuck together. These were pointless, impossible fantasies that were distracting him from the hunt, distracting him from actually keeping Her safe, from doing his damn job. Just as Dad had warned.

Dean couldn’t afford to disappoint Her and Dad. He needed to wrap this case up now.

“Ready?” He whispered when they reached the pump room, glancing over his shoulder to see Her eyes wide, her grip on his arm becoming bruising.

“Ready.” Her voice was a breath. Dean didn’t believe Her.

He said Her name slowly, scanning over Her too open features. “I can still have Sammy do this with me, and you can do the distraction-“

“No!” Her voice was almost a shout, almost frantic. “I’ve got this, De. I’m just tired.”

She was tired—Dean could see it all over Her gorgeous face—but there was more. There’d been more, this whole week. And Dean had never learned how to just let it go.

“I’m serious, I can even do it myself-“

“Fuck off, Winchester.” She snapped, and Dean felt odd relief through his body. “You’d never let me do this alone.”

“That’s cause you wouldn’t bring a gun, Princess. I got silver bullets and some food in me, I can kick this things ass easy-“

“And I’ve got coffee and a knife.” She pointed Her knife at Dean’s frown, and fuck, that shouldn’t turn him on as much as it did. But She looked more like Her again—a hot, annoying pain in Dean’s ass—and that was the knife he’d given Her. Comfortable in Her hand, like Dean always wanted to be.

He needed to pull it the fuck together.

“Fine.” He let out a long, slow breath, glancing down the hall behind Her. “Ready?”

“Born it.” She muttered, and at least Her blinding, impossibly secure confidence was back. Even if Dean would see that give-away wrinkle in Her brow. Even if She was leaning into Dean’s body in a way that set him ablaze. “Let’s go.”

Dean nodded, raised his gun in a defensive position, and slammed his shoulder into the door with all the force in his body.

The room was dark. Pitch black and strangely silent, something wet pooling around Dean’s ankles, and he almost doubled over at the first breath. It smelled horrible. Like rotten fish and trash and sulfur and chlorine-

“Holy shit,” She muttered from behind him, sounding just as choked on the air as Dean felt. “Dean, light-“

“On it.” He fumbled in his jacket, pulling out the flashlight She’d shoved into his hands as they’d walked down the stairwell.

The moment he switched it on, he wished he’d kept it off.

A young, dark-haired man was slumping against the already broken tank, and his body way fucking mauled. Chest ripped open and mouth unhinged in a permanent scream, eyes clouded and staring into nothing for the rest of time. It seemed like he’d started to decay—clumps of hair missing and skin sagging off his body—and adding that with the smell, Dean guessed the poor son of a bitch had been down here for days.

“Goddamnit.” He muttered, scanning around the rest of the room. The water was red with blood and the tank looked like it had been bashed in, but there weren’t any other signs of danger. “That’s fucking disgusting.”

He glanced over his shoulder, and She wasn’t looking at him. Or around the room. Her attention seemed trapped on the man on the floor, Her every breath so shallow and rapid Dean was a bit worried She’d pass out.

Dean said Her name, his voice low and cautious, and She just shook her head.

“No.” She whispered, and she was starting to cave in. Curling into Herself as all the color seemed to drain from the world, and Dean watched Her shake her head, repeating the word once more. “No, that’s- no-“

Dean said Her name again, reaching out an arm to hold Her upright, and she flinched away.

He could swear the water filling the room was starting to turn at Her feet.

“Fuck, no. No, I can’t, fuck-“

“Princess, you’re starting to freak me- hey-“

She started to walk in unsteady steps to the body, dropping to Her knees in the water with only another shake of her head. “No, it’s- I’m not-“

Dean snapped Her name, his voice rising to a shout as She didn’t even look at him. Her hands only rested on the neck of the corpse, pulling down the collar of his ripped and tattered shirt. Dean heard a choked, distressed sound, and when he came up behind Her there was a thin, gray chain glinting around the man’s neck.

She ripped it off, and the body started to transform. Limbs growing longer and thinner—almost bone-like—and skin turning green. Hair started to grow down the man’s neck, his eyes peeling and stretching to the side of his head, his hands fisting and becoming rock solid and hoofed-

Those were hooves. Those were fucking hooves. That was a fucking horse.

That was the kelpie. Still with its chest carved apart and bleeding, still rotting and glassy-eyed, but now in its true form.

Dean hadn’t thrown up on a hunt for a long, long time. He was pretty damn close to losing his lunch now.

But then he glanced at Her, and the whole world narrowed down. She was panicking, scratching at her throat and scrambling backwards—slipping in the blood-stained water and hyperventilating with glassy eyes—and She needed him.

Dean didn’t care that the hunt was suddenly and strangely over. He didn’t care about who or what had killed the Kelpie, or cleaning up a horse from a basement, or how the water was definitely starting to swirl and crash like an ocean at his feet. He cared about Her. About how She was falling apart, and Dean could help. She’d wanted him here for Her, to help, and that’s exactly what he’d do.

He ran to Her side, ignored Her weak and strangled protests as he hauled Her up in his arms, and carried her out of the pump room, away from the body.

He didn’t bother to look anywhere but Her and the immediately steps ahead of him as he carried Her away. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and Her face buried in the crook of Dean’s neck as her breathing didn’t steady, but slowed. They were both covered in the reek of blood and chlorine, and when he lowered Her onto the curb of the parking lot, she seemed to just collapse. Hugging Her knees to her chest and clawing at her face, muttering low words Dean couldn’t make out.

He could swear he heard his name, somewhere in this impossible, confusing mess. But it didn’t really matter, because there were tears flowing down Her cheeks, and Dean needed to take care of this. Take care of Her.

Just make this better, somehow, because every weak noise that left Her mouth seemed to be a poisoned stab into his intestine.

He didn’t know how to do this. She was fucking crying, and he’d only ever dealt with this for Sam. And She wasn’t six years old. Dean couldn’t promise Her ice cream and TV, or tell Her about how he was afraid of the dark sometimes too. He didn’t think She’d be that comforted knowing Dad would always protect them.

He knew She wouldn’t give a shit that Dean would always be there to keep Her safe, even if that was truer than he’d ever say aloud.

But he had to do something, so he knelt at Her side and raised slow, careful hands to frame her face. He wiped away her tears, and his thumb moved on what might be becoming instinct, stroking a slow, firm line down Her nose.

The tight furrow in Her brow vanished. Her breathing started to find a long, slow rhythm. And when Her eyes blinked open they were glossy and a little red, but still brilliant.

Her hands shot to his chest, and for an infinite, painful moment Dean thought She was going to push him away. That he’d be sent stumbling down to his ass, and She’d shout that he didn’t need to coddle or touch Her. That he should be going to Sammy and focusing on the hunt, because she could take care of herself and Dean should’ve stayed on the target, no matter who fell in his path. Even if it was Her, and she was the most important thing he’d ever been allowed to be close to.

But She didn’t shove him. Her fingers curled in his shirt, she leaned a little further forward, and Dean was pretty sure that if the sky fell, he wouldn’t be able to do anything but remain like a statue or suit of armor at her side.

“I-“ She swallowed, Her eyes wide and open on his. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, Dean, I’m sorry-“

She fell silent as Dean squeezed his hands on Her face, a frown pulling at his lips. “What the hell are you sorry for.”

“I- I can’t- I don’t- I’m sorry-“

Her voice started to grow pleading, and She was leaning forward like Dean needed to breathe in Her words to get them.

Once again, he didn’t know what the hell was going on.

Dean grunted Her name, shaking his head. “It’s good, Princess. I’ll clean it up, Sammy’ll figure out what killed it, and you’ll go rest until we’ve got something.”

She gave him an odd look, shaking Her head again. “Oh. Um, I can help-“

“You can get some sleep.” He made his voice firm and commanding again, holding her gaze as he spoke. “You need to lie down, Princess.”

“But-“

“You called us for help. This is us helping. If we see you on the grounds before we get back, I’m driving you back to the motel and sitting on you until you sleep.”

She let out a long breath, Her voice becoming a little sharper. “You suck.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean fished around in his pockets, pulling out his keys. “I’m driving you back, and then you’re getting some sleep.”

He expected Her to protest. To push back and say that she could help with clean-up. That She’d just freaked out a little—even if Dean had seen it, and that was one of the worst episodes She’d ever had—and She was more than capable of at least researching with Sam.

Dean needed to stop trying to predict what She’d do. He was bad at it.

“Okay.” She nodded, and went without a fight.

She let Dean pull Her to her feet, and curled into the passenger’s seat of the Impala as Dean drove her back to the motel. He called Sammy as they pulled out of the country club lot, keeping his voice low and his words simple—Sam needed to get a good look at the body in the basement, keep everyone away from it until Dean got back—as She remained silent at his side.

“Is she okay?” Sam asked, and Dean sighed.

“We’re alright. Hold down the fort, Sammy, and I’ll be back soon.”

Dean hung up, because he didn’t need Sam to push this right now. He’d explain more later. Explain how he still felt sick, long after leaving the basement, because She wasn’t okay. She was staring at Her hands and picking at her skin, and Dean was really fucking worried.

It wasn’t his place to worry. It was barely his place to take care of Her at all.

But that didn’t stop him for helping Her out of the car, half-carrying her into his motel room, and moving her into his bed. From muttering that this way, when he and Sam got back, they wouldn’t have to wake Her up to check on her. From putting a glass of water on the nightstand, and saying he wouldn’t move until she drank it.

Dean wasn’t sure how the hell water was supposed to help. He knew that Sammy was always telling him to drink more, and it was supposed to be healthy, so he’d have Her drink some. He’d kiss Her brow before he left—because he was weak and bendable, and She was like a flame he would follow until it turned him to ash—and he’d wait until she lay down before walking back to the Impala, and driving back to the country club.

For the rest of the afternoon, She kept spinning around his head. He kept replaying how She’d been so silent. Heavy silence that lodged itself in his throat and rotted in his gut, reminding Dean that something was wrong. That something had been wrong. That, even as he explained everything to Sam—almost everything, leaving out how She’d cried, how she’d leaned into Dean’s touch and gripped onto his shirt like him walking away would be the worst thing in the world—there was something scratching at Dean’s skull that he shouldn’t have left.

She might have needed him, might still need him, might want him there.

She didn’t. She wouldn’t. Dean had helped, and that had been Her orders, so he’d done his job. With the kelpie dead, She probably wouldn’t want to stick around, because who would.

And that was the worst fear. That She might just be gone when he returned. That he’d open the door to his motel room, and the bed would be empty. That he’d knock on Her door, and she’d be gone. That Her car would be missing from the lot, and Her number would be dead, and Dean had stepped out of line by helping her too much—by showing too many cards, holding Her face and kissing Her brow—and She’d left forever, because everyone always did.

Sam got out of the club first. He came up with a complex lie involving gas leaks and bugs that kept everyone out of the basement and the pool—the water filtration bursts apparently proving to be a problem—and muttered to Dean that he was going to stop at the library to start working out what the hell could rip a kelpie to shreds like that. Dean nodded, grumbled that he could use some freakin’ hands with this mess, and Sam had just shrugged and told Dean to call when he needed a ride back.

Dean was not a fan of this plan. For one, he was now cleaning up a disguising corpse alone. Two, whatever the hell had gotten the kelpie might still be wandering around, and Dean wasn’t looking to get ripped to shreds. And finally, worst of all, Sammy was getting his grimy nerd hands on Baby.

But the plan made sense. The motel wasn’t far, they had done a sweep of the ground and patrons for anything immediately suspicious, and Sam knew the day he scratched the Impala would be the same day he died, but Dean still didn’t like this.

What if She lost it again. Sam didn’t know how to calm Her down. Dean didn’t want Sam to calm Her down. He’d probably be better at it—Sam was great at soft words and emotional bullshit—but Dean wanted to be the one who did it. Whose shirt she clung to. Whose hands wiped Her tears, and who carried her away from danger.

Dean wanted to do that. He was a hollow, greedy ass, so he wanted to be the one She held in the dark, for comfort or more.

And he wouldn’t be that. She still didn’t trust him enough to tell him what the hell had actually been going on all week, and what the fuck was up with Her family, or why She always lied about such weird shit.

He’d have to live with it. Even as it left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. Even as he hated himself for allowing it to get to this. For being so fucking weak that he’d fall this far down.

But he’d fall further. Because when he finished up in the basement, walked up to the parking lot to call Sam for pick up, he spotted a lone car still in the lot.

Her car. The dark blue, four-wheel drive She’d been using for this hunt. Dean wasn’t sure where the hell She got all these cars—he didn’t really want to find out, because that would just be another reason to hate Her that he couldn’t hold onto—but that was Her car.

When he scanned around the silent yards and walkways, there wasn’t a soul but his. Only the dead of night making long shadows and odd shapes on the building wall, only crickets and soft wind, only the pool lights still glowing through the fence.

There She was.

She was glowing. Literally freaking glowing. Blue and white light shifting over Her features, every shadow cast on her face made the right places sharper and softer, and the golden light of the overhead lamps giving the impression of a halo.

Dean felt like he shouldn’t be looking.

It felt like he was invading something, watching a piece of beauty that no one person should be allowed to witness. She couldn’t be human, not when She looked like that. When the whole world seemed to be bending to make Her more beautiful. The colors around Her seemed brighter to compliment her. The wind drifted around and though Her hair like a movie. The shifting water reflected onto Her skin, giving the impression of a strange water spirit or fallen star, resting for only a moment at the edge of the pool.

For a brief moment Dean was frozen. Watching the water move, watching Her like she was a secret he’d really like to keep.

Then Her eyes drifted up and met his, she smiled, and Dean was pretty sure that time stopped. That they were the only ones left in the universe.

It didn’t matter why She was here and not Sam. It didn’t matter why She wasn’t doing as he’d told her and resting. It didn’t matter how blood was caked and dried and itching on Dean’s hands, staining the fence as he crawled over it to join Her.

He’d just wash it off in the water.

“Sam was eating really loud.” She said, looking up at Dean as he dropped to Her side. “And I needed some air, so volunteered to pick you up.”

“Huh.” Dean scanned Her over. Still impossibly beautiful. Still tired. “And he let you?”

“He’s not my boss, Winchester, I don’t need permission-“

Dean raised his brows, and She sighed.

“He lost rock, paper, scissors.”

“There it is.” Dean chuckled, glancing back to the lot. “Where’s my car?”

“Back at the motel.” She shrugged. “I never learned stick.”

He could teach Her stick. His hand would touch Her’s. It would cover Her’s and Dean would guide her movements, and she’d smile and he’d maybe find an excuse to touch Her thighs, or trail his fingers over Her lips-

“Are we in the clear?” Her voice was soft, but it still grabbed Dean’s attention. He blinked at Her—feet dragging small circles in the pool, head slightly bowed to watch the water—and frowned.

“In the-“

“The kelpie.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Dean held his hands up, displaying the blood under his nails. “Wrapped the son on a bitch up and burned him in the furnace.” He made a face. “What kinda country club has a furnace.”

She let out a soft laugh. “One that was built in the 1900s.”

“How would you know-“

“It says established 1923 on the sign, Deano.”

“Oh, c’mon, how am I supposed to tell-“

“It’s a pretty easy thing to spot.” She gave him another small smile, and he was going to explode. “And it’s either just an old building, or,” Her voice dropped to a dramatic whisper. “That’s not the first body that’s been burnt in the furnace.”

Dean laughed. “You think they’re running a front for boat shoes and shorts?”

“I think they just murder people for fun. That’s why there were so freaked out about the kelpie deaths.”

Dean gave Her an amused look, raising his brows, and She grinned, leaning closer as she continued.

“Unsanctioned. No one filled for the murder permit.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “That’s so fucking dumb-“

“You’re laughing.”

“Yeah, cause it’s dumb.”

She scoffed. “Like you could do better-“

“Oh, I could, Princess. My bet is that the furnace was for orgies.”

“What?”

“Furnace for orgies.” He smirked at Her, wiggling his brows as he leaned closer. “Shit gets so wild with these assholes that they have to burn the evidence, because there ain’t enough condoms in the world to just clean it up after.”

She wrinkled Her nose. “De, do you know how much jizz they’d have to be producing for a trash can not to work?”

He winked. “You know I do, sweetheart- Son of a bitch!”

She’d pushed him into the goddamn pool. When Dean wiped the water from his eyes, She was still sitting on the side, a wide grin of challenge on Her face. Her body so close to his, and She looked so fucking beautiful, and everything about Her goddamn blinding. Dean really could fall further. He could crash all the way down.

And he could take Her with him.

She opened Her mouth, and any words turned into a yelp as Dean grabbed Her wrist and pulled her down over him.

“Dean!“

He laughed, watching Her brush wet hair from her eyes, swimming over to hang off of the wall. “You gotta be able to eat what you dish out, Princess-“

Dean choked on chlorine, as She splashed water right into his mouth, Her annoyance seeming to have vanished into thin fucking air.

And this was too simple. Too easy to feel like nothing mattered but Her and Dean in the dead of night, screaming at each other like children and laughing like their lives were nothing more that this moment.

Nothing really felt real but this. But Her, trying to possibly drown Dean and squeaking when he pushed Her away, looking more and more like something that couldn’t have been born on earth. Mascara was running down Her cheeks, her face flushed and hair clinging to Her neck, but She might be the best thing Dean had ever seen. And when they finally got out of the water—Dean finding some towel in the pool supply office, wrapping two around her shoulders and one around his own—and silence began to stretch on, he was certain she was a siren, or witch, or something made to loosen his tongue and say things he shouldn’t.

Because She asked if he was tired. Just asked it like it was a normal question, and she wasn’t looking for any specific answer, watching Dean with bright, soft eyes, and it broke a dam that always caged over his throat.

“I’m fucking exhausted.” He muttered, dropping his head into his hands, and She was silent.

In the brief second, something started to wrap around Dean’s chest. Vile and toxic and sneering up his spine that he’d fucked it. That She didn’t actually care that Dean was tired, because Dean was supposed to be tired. He was supposed to keep moving and fighting and-

“Do you, um,” She swallowed, and when Dean looked over She was staring at her own hands, picking at the skin around her nails. “You wanna talk about it?”

Dean frowned. He wasn’t the one who had the big fucking freak out. He didn’t need to talk about anything.

But then his mouth opened, and he was telling Her everything. The words fell out of him like a flood his didn’t know how to stop, didn’t know how to contain when She just listened with wide eyes and a gentle expression. She was dangerous. Dean couldn’t move away from Her gravity, couldn’t shut his mouth and keep down things he needed to keep down.

He told Her about Sammy’s weird visions and nightmares. He told Her about Dad in Chicago, and going back to Kansas, and his fight with Sam about tracking Dad down. And She listened. Silent, leaning forward with an open expression and eyes Dean would like to stay trapped against his forever. The only blatant reaction was at the end, as he told Her about the reapers, and something impossible to understand flashed over Her face.

“You almost died?”

“Yeah, but that’s not the point-“

“The point?” She repeated, shaking Her head in what might be disbelief. “I don’t care what the point was, Dean, you almost fucking died-“

He frowned. That really wasn’t such a big deal. “Well, I obviously made it out alright-“

“Would you have told me?”

Dean blinked. “What?”

“If Sam’s idea hadn’t worked, and you were still going to die in a few months, would you have told me?”

He said Her name, slowly, because he wasn’t sure what the hell was happening. “I dunno, I wasn’t thinking about it that much.”

That was a lie. Before Sam had found that preacher and his bitch of a wife, Dean had stared at his phone and thought about calling Her nearly every second. It would’ve been the time to demand some answers. To do some kind of sick, selfish test to see if She would stick around for Dean, when he needed Her. When he needed someone who was complicated, but not Sam let’s-get-all-hung-up-on-Dad-and-hunting complicated. She was complicated because Dean always wanted Her there, against all reason.

It was the exact reason he hadn’t called. She didn’t want him there. And Dean was pretty sure his heart would’ve just given out there if he’d called, told Her he was dying, and She hadn’t given a shit.

She seemed like She gave a shit now, though. She was glowering at Dean and hugging Her body, and Dean would’ve thought he’d stabbed Her.

“Would you have asked Sam to call me?” She asked, and Her voice was small again. It made Dean’s gut stretch and ache. “After?”

“Probably, yeah. But it doesn’t really matter-“

“It matters.” She muttered, and Dean blinked. “I- I would’ve spent months wondering where you were, what happened, and you’d be fucking dead-“

“I’m not dead.” He snapped, something spiking and irritated creeping over his skin, twisting his words in his throat. “And it’s not like you were sticking around in the first place, Princess.”

She blinked. “What?”

Dean rolled his eyes, every word bitter and hot on his tongue. “You didn’t want to stick with us. You don’t get to have fucking updates on everything we do.”

“This isn’t an update, Dean, it’s you dying-“

“Yeah? And would you give a fuck if I did?”

She recoiled, and Dean hadn’t seen that expression on Her face in a while. She wasn’t wounded, or nervous, or apologetic. She looked like a cornered animal. Every word spitting and laced with a silent, tight fury that burned like a hot poker in Dean’s chest.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” She hissed. “Of course I’d care if you died, you’re my partner-“

“Only when you think it’s convenient.” Dean spat right back, everything winding up tight and vaulting out of him without control. “You don’t want to stick around for the rough shit, sweetheart? You don’t get to go all goddamn righteous on me, because this is the goddamn job. People die all the time.”

“You wouldn’t have had to die! I could’ve helped-“

Dean huffed a dry laugh. “You wanted to help, you could’ve been there.”

She shook Her head, her words becoming slower. Sounding more measured as she curled further into Her body. “I told you, it’s complicated-“

“It’s not,” he sneered Her name, and She flinched, and Dean hated that he still wanted to reach out at sooth Her. She didn’t want him. She didn’t get to act like She gave a shit when Dean was just her toy.

He loathed that he liked being Her toy. He loathed that She always knew the right thing to say to make him follow Her further down. He loathed that She hadn’t been lying when she said she cared, but She also didn’t want to stick around. To lay in the mud with Dean, until they both drowned in it.

He fucking despised that he still didn’t know how to really hate Her.

But he did know how to keep hurting Her. How to keep fighting, even as every word made him sick, because everything was spewing out of him like lava, and he was tired, and he never knew how to just fucking stay in line.

“I drop fucking everything when you call. I drive across the goddamn country whenever you ask me to-“

“I do the same for you-“

“No, you don’t!” Dean was shouting. It was making something to the left of his heart cower. “It’s not the fucking same! I’ve got shit to lose, I’ve got things to do and people to look out for, but I still always go for you!”

Her lips curled as She sat a little higher—Her back straight and chin raised—and Dean’s blood went cold. She wasn’t cowering anymore. And She looked furious.

“Do you seriously think,” Her voice was low. Quiet. Venomous in Dean’s brain. “That I don’t have shit to lose? That I’m here for fun?”

“Aren’t you?” He needed to stop. He couldn’t. “You fucking chose this, Princess.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Her voice echoed around the grounds, leaving scars on Dean’s ribs. “You keep- you keep fucking telling me that I don’t get this life, that I’m not in the exact same situation you are-“

“Because you’re not! I fucking know you’re not! I’m fucking stuck here, Dad’s stuck here, hell, even Sammy can’t get out, but you can just fucking leave whenever the hell you want! You can just crawl home when you get sick of it, got back to your rich fucking family and pretend this never even happened!”

Dean realized what he said too late. He could almost see the words sink into Her skin, she her eyes narrow as something strange and hostile and bloody flashed over Her face.

“How the fuck do you know about my family, Dean.” She hissed, and Dean let out a dry, humorless laugh.

“Dad. He figured you out immediately.”

She blinked at him. “Immediately?”

“On the moroi hunt.” He muttered. “And you could’ve fucking told me. But you kept never did. You kept lying to me, Princess. And that’s the shit you do when you don’t trust someone, don’t want them around-“

“You lie to Sam!” She shouted. “Sam lies to you! Why am I any different, just because I’m not a Winchester-“

“Yes! Sam and I are lying to protect each other-“

“Who says I’m not lying to protect you!”

“Protect me from what?!” Dean scoffed. “I’m the one who always saves your ass! You’re the one who freaks the fuck out, who would be dead if I wasn’t there! You’d be long fucking dead if it wasn’t for me, sweetheart. You’re just a spoiled fucking brat chasing a high,” Dean spat Her name, and toxics rooted deeper into his body. “So don’t fucking act like you give a shit about me.”

“I’m a spoiled brat?” Her laugh was loud, and cold, and set a chill over Dean’s bones. “You don’t have a fucking clue about my life, about my family-“

“I know that-“

“No!” She shot up, walking a few paces from Dean and shaking her head almost frantically. “You don’t have a single fucking idea, you don’t know what they are, you-“ She ran a hand over her face, leaving scratch marks on her skin. “They’d make the worst monsters your dad’s killed look like fucking bunnies.”

He let out a dry, hollow laugh. “Whatever. You couldn’t even kill a bunny without crying and panicking. Maybe they’re just fucking people, and you just don’t like that they don’t do whatever the hell you say. That you can’t control them.”

He wanted to take it back. The words had barely left his mouth and he wanted to take them back. He didn’t know where they’d come from, why the hell he’d said them, what the fuck was wrong with him. Because She didn’t look alive. Her jaw was clenched, hands curled into fists, so still Dean would think She’d be turned to marble, the only sign that She’d heard him the ragged sound of her breath. The wind was cold in Dean’s wet hair and biting at his ears, the night loud and creaking around him, but he could only look at Her.

She didn’t look broken. She looked faded. Colorless. Silent as she just stared at him, and Dean started to beat himself black and blue in his chest.

She didn’t insult him, or scream, or fight. She threw her keys at his face, didn’t look to see if he caught them, and just walked away. Vanished into the grounds, swallowed by the dark. Leaving Dean alone, like he deserved. He was a fucking monster. He’d done that. He’d shut Her down. He’d done what he’d sworn not to do and broken this. Taken the one good, easy thing and fucking bashed its brains in on the pavement. He could’ve never said anything. He could’ve kept pushing down the questions, kept moving in Her orbit until she cast him away, and he drowned himself in fruit perfume that didn’t smell quite like her, and beer she’d have never drank.

But he’d opened his mouth, and now he was alone. He’d pushed Her to leave, to wander into the darkness, when there-

Fuck.

Something had killed the kelpie. Something that might still be out there. Where She was. Without any weapons, without Dean there to protect Her.

And that something might be close, because everywhere Dean looked things were wrong. The trees were bend away from him, towards where She’d vanished. The water was crashing up on the deck with the howl of the wind, there were cracks on the pavement that hadn’t been there before, and nothing was good.

She was in danger.

And it was Dean’s fucking fault.

—————————

You can’t be here. You can’t be anywhere right now, not as it all becomes too much. Far too much.

You never should’ve called Dean. You never should’ve let the lonely, cold exhaustion and fear and pain erode at your will until you caved in the White, and reached for Dean. You should’ve called Bobby. You could’ve told Bobby about the demons, told him you didn’t know what to do, and he’d have told you to come home.

You should’ve gone home.

You should’ve done anything but fucking call Dean.

But it’s been long. Long and dark and lonely for months, and you’d missed him, and you’d wanted to see his stupid, handsome face just to let the world fall back into harmony for a few days. You’d wanted to feel like you weren’t the burden, the sickness, the problem. You’d just needed to not be alone. You’d been sick of being too much and nothing at all in all the worst moments, and you couldn’t stop worrying about Dean anyway, so you’d called.

If you were smarter—if you could ever actually know something and care about it—you would’ve dealt with this yourself. This was your Darkness. This was your problem. The demons weren’t hunting Sam and Dean. They had enough problems without dealing with yours.

Dean was right. He’d been such a fucking dick, but he’d been right.

You can’t do anything. You can’t help anyone. You wouldn’t be dead without Dean, and he really didn’t know anything about your family or past, but you weren’t in control. You weren’t worth sticking around for, weren’t worth putting up with. You kept caving and crashing and losing control, and nobody should ever be around you.

Not before.

And especially not now.

The past months have been hell. Literal hell, let out to roam the earth and always tracking and hunting you. The plaguelike feeling of horror was always scraping at your head and hands, darker than the Darkness and making the White whine and riot with distress. It was wrong. Plain fucking wrong.

And it followed you everywhere. Every town you stopped in had a demon. Sometimes they’d just watch you on the street, and you only know they were there because you could feel that pitch fucking blackness. Sometimes—if you reigned in the Darkness with a bite of your hand or blood-drawing scratch on your skin—you’d be able to see them. Glinting and rolling and black in the body of someone as they passed you, faces painted and twisted like a lingering nightmare taken form.

But there were others now, too. Strange ones. Worse ones.

The first one had been only a week after the onryo hunt. You’d been hunting a werewolf in Washington, sitting alone in your motel room and scrubbing your skin raw as the Darkness sat at the top of your throat. You’d missed Dean. You’d wanted to call him, to take the risk and just join them. When they found John, you could run. Maybe you’d finally find a time to tell Dean that there was something wrong with you. Maybe you’d have figured out a way to make him stay for good this time.

And the next day—when you hadn’t called, but had been so fucking close to it—a strange woman had started to asking you questions about things you wanted. About how she could give you anything, but you’d have to barter with a different type of currency.

You’d honed the darkness—squinting and ignoring the pain that had gnawed at your organs—and she’d been red on the inside. Seeping and flowing like blood around her vessel, her darkness a little stickier, a little less violently chaotic.

You don’t know how, but you’d trapped her. You’d gotten the jump and pinned her down, your hands moving of their own accord to draw a symbol you didn’t understand on her brow, and the demon inside had sunken a little further down.

“Aren’t you a quick one.” She’d mused, scanning you over with a smirk. “It’s going to be so much fun once we have you. Once we get to see what makes you tick.”

She been the first crossroads demon. She’d taunted and mocked you until everything was too big, the Darkness rocketed out of your body and crushed her down into nothing, and you were left sitting on top of a terrified, very normal woman.

The yellow demon was still there. Still the same asshole, still only watching like the black ones, but he felt like ash, clogging around your throat and making the world gray. He wouldn’t try to hide from you like the others. He’d smile at you, following you around on a case and seeming to turn to thin air whenever you tried to confront him.

And then he’d up and vanished. Fully disappeared. And in his wake had come the nightmare. The fucking blight.

Green demons. Rock-like and solid and violent. Rioting around inside their vessels, barreling through the world and finding you wherever you went.

It started in a bar. You’d been in the bathroom, a sweet old woman had come up next to you, and she’d attacked you with the force of a tank. With hands around your throat and a knife that seemed to be aimed near your heart. You’d kicked her off and let the darkness strangle her like all the others.

But they’d kept coming. And you don’t know what to do. You don’t know where to hide. You didn’t know where to go. In all the months since that first one, you’ve been home once. Bobby had tried to get you to stop, to just rest and figure out what the hell was going on, and you’d said no.

And now you’re afraid all the time. You’re never not in pain anymore, and the Darkness has only grown more malignant as you push it down almost every waking second. It’s why you’d called Dean. He always made it better, just by being there. Everything would bend and turn to silver, and fear wouldn’t seem real because Dean was there. The pain would be worse when it came, but it would come less.

All you’d wanted was to be in pain a little less.

But Dean had been right. You’d just wanted him for you. He had enough of his own stuff going on, and he wasn’t yours to be angry about. He wasn’t yours at all.

That didn’t stop you from hating him. Knowing Dean wasn’t yours wasn’t nearly enough to stop the white-hot and boiling fury that he’d fucking left you. That he’d known about your family and never just asked you, that he’d looked at you and seen everything and acted like he could stick around, when he’d probably just been waiting. Waiting to see the part of you that wasn’t quite human burst out. Waiting for you to say what you were first, so he could…

You don’t know what he would’ve done. You just know that he’d known, and he’d left, and he’d lied, and you’d probably never see him again. He’d been noticing the episodes. He’d know you weren’t worth trying to fix anything with, because everything would always shatter around you.

All those fractures in you were bursting again. Lodging deeper, searing along your guts and in the cavity of your chest. Dean wouldn’t stick around after this. You hated him for that.

You hated yourself more for wanting him to stay. Hated that, if he grabbed your face between his hands and apologized, you’d forgive him. You shouldn’t. But he’d plunged deep into your body, carved himself along your ribs, and you just didn’t want to be in pain anymore.

You don’t know how long you wander. You don’t know where you’re going. You only know you don’t want to hurt anyone until the Darkness—howling and stretching through the whole world around you, making rocks crumble to dust when you pass them and brush part to clear your path—falls back down into your body.

When it does, you make it back to the motel. The Impala isn’t in the parking lot.

You’re not surprised. It still makes the White ache and whine.

You’ll have to go in the morning. The kelpie had been a message. You’re sure of it. It had been a demon—probably one of the green ones—telling you that you can keep running, keep fighting, keep hiding, but they’ll find you. They always find you. You’re like a beacon. A lighthouse splitting through the dark that seems to draw ships towards you rather than helping them coast away. And it’s not safe here.

It’s not safe anywhere.

But you’ll get through this. You always do.

You don’t sleep that night. You sit in the corner of your motel room with your knife clutched in your hands, watching the doors and windows with stinging, heavy eyes.

And still, if Dean knocked on the door and told you he was sorry, that he hadn’t meant it and he was an idiot, you would’ve fallen into his arms with a sob, putting a trust in him that you shouldn’t have, feeling a comfort you didn’t deserve.

But when there is a slam on the door, it’s not Dean. You peek out the blinders to see a beady eyed, red-faced cop standing outside, his expression painting with something hateful.

And you can feel it. The blood and disease and sense of worse. Everything around you is worse, and the Darkness is spreading not because you’re on edge and unable to control yourself, but because the fear in your body is justified. Because you draw blood biting on your inner cheek, narrow your eyes, and something foul and green was bursting inside of the cop.

You could sneak out the back. The Winchester’s are gone, and likely won’t come back, so if you ran to your car and booked it down the road, you could get away without any destruction-

Shit.

You’d given your car keys to Dean. You’d been overwhelmed and everything had been too much—feeling how the water was disgusted and trapped in the pool, how the trees were aching from the country club’s rough trimming, and the wind felt lost and alone—so you’d thrown your keys at Dean because even their weight in your pocket had felt like a blade on your skin. And you couldn’t have stayed there, but you hadn’t wanted to leave him stranded.

And now you were fucked.

You’re going to have to fight. You’re going to have to drag yourself together with bruises and bites and try to kill this thing without destroying the motel. The green demons are harder to kill—harder to shred apart with the Darkness, harder to aim at and not catch the rest of the world in the crossfire—but you’ll manage. You’ve done it a few times before, and been left wracked with pain and sickness for days after, but survived.

You don’t need Dean Winchester.

You can do this.

You open the door with a sickly-sweet smile, your knife hidden behind your back, and raise your brows at the demon. “Can I help you, sir.”

The demon scans over you with a flat expression, and says your full name in an empty voice. “You’re gonna need to come with me.”

“Can I ask why?” You take a measured pace back, forcing your tone and expression to remain flat and bored. “No offense, officer, but unless you have a reason-“

“You’ve been turned in for theft.” The demon drawls, moving closer. You’re going to break your jaw. “I gotta warrant for your arrest.”

You raise your chin, still not moving. “Let me see it.”

The demon gives you a dry look, shaking his head. “Darlin’, we don’t have to do this. You know what I am. I know what you are. We all do.”

“You know what I am?” You ask the question before you can think about it, and the demon smirks.

“We’ve been lookin’ for you for a long, long time.” He drawls your name, taking another step forward. ”C’mon, let’s just fuckin’ spill some blood so we can all go home.” He pauses, letting out a loud, cold laugh. “Well, I’ll go home. You’ll be comin’ with me.”

“I think,” you raise your knife, standing a little taller. “You should walk away. If you know what I am, you should’ve heard what I did to all your friends.”

The demon’s eyes narrow, you brace yourself, and an engine revs in the parking lot.

Sam and Dean didn’t leave. They’re climbing out of the Impala, and they look like shit. Both covered in dirt, both with bags under their eyes, Sam looking mostly relieved and Dean looking like he’s going to strangle you.

A small, glowing and colorful part of you is consumed with joy that Dean’s here. That he didn’t leave, and that he cares enough to roar your name and stomp across the small yard until he’s at your side.

The rest of you is still bleeding from where he’d twisted his obvious hatred for you into your body.

All of you is starting to collapse and panic, because he can’t be here. He’s in danger. You’re putting him in danger, and you’re fucked, and Dean needs to leave now but if you shove him away you know he won’t ever come back-

“Where the fuck have you been?!” Dean stops beside the cop, his attention and wrath so fixed on you that you’re not sure he notices you situation. “We’ve been looking all fucking night, we thought you’d gone and gotten yourself killed! That when we found you, you’d be ripped up like that damn kelpie-“

“Dean.“ Sam comes up to join you, eyeing the cop wearily, and Dean ignores him.

“No matter how pissed off you were that was fucking stupid, we know something else is out there, we know what it does, and we don’t have a goddamn clue what it is, so if it had found you alone you would’ve been fucked-“

“Dean.” Sam raises his voice. It doesn’t work.

“I mean, are you actually that fucking stupid?! Were you trying to prove a fucked-up point? Trying to find the monster first so you could gank it and rub it in my face, trying to get a rise out of me by giving me a goddamn heart attack-“

“Dean!” Sam steps between you, his tone firm and hushed. “Calm the hell down, you need stop talking-“

“I don’t need to do shit, Sam! What I need are some goddamn answers why little miss independent over there is trying to get herself fucking killed-“

“I wouldn’t worry about your little bitch, Dean Winchester.” The demon sneers, and there’s a brief moment of silence as Dean realizes what’s happening.

“The fuck did you just say?” You can’t see Dean over Sam’s massive body, but you can hear the cold fury in his voice. Imagine how he’s moved into a tense, battle ready stance.

Sam groans, running a hand over his face. “Dude, that’s a police officer. We’re, shit, we’re so screwed-“

The demon chuckled, shooting you a look Sam and Dean can’t see, his eyes flashing green just for you. Just in a silent promise of more blood and death and horror.

And this is suddenly about more than you. It’s about Sam and Dean, and keeping them safe even if they never want to speak to you again.

“I think it’s best if all’a’ya’ll come with me.” The demon drawls, and Sam tense, taking a side-side back to frown at the officer.

It sounds like he’s arguing. You can’t really hear it over the ringing in your ears—twisting in your ear drums as you try to get a goddamn hold and keep it together—but you don’t really need to. You need to get Dean’s attention. You need to stare at him until he looks at you, to push down how it feels like there’s a corrosion along fractured pieces in your body as he ignores you.

He won’t look at you. He’s furious and hates you and won’t look at you-

You’re about to take the risk and hiss his name when his eyes lock onto yours. There’s something sharp and wounded inside of them, and now is not the time to care about that. You can deal with how the White wants to walk over to him and hold him against you later, when he leaves for good and you have to teach yourself how to hate him again.

But for now, all you can do is blink at him. Two firm times, praying he’ll catch on.

He frowns. One blink.

You repeat your movement, tilting your head slightly to the demon, and it’s like your fight never happened. Dean’s face twists in a wrath that’s for you, not at you, and he slams his fist into the demon’s jaw without hesitation.

There’s a stumble in time, a brief moment where everything freezes and it’s only the demon’s shout of pain, Dean’s rage on his face, and Sam’s look of pure confusion.

Then the rush begins. You’re moving on blind instinct, and it’s stronger than usual. It might be Dean, or the demon, or both. You can’t really see anything but lights and shadows and colors until it’s over. The demon is green, a neon and toxic shade of it that’s made of everything savage and torrid in the world, and Sam’s still strange—he’s always strange, always in an odd time and just a shade off of the color he should be—and you’re made of vast and searing Silver. Contained and in harmony with something golden you’re pretty sure is Dean.

And the Gold is the realest thing you’ve ever see. You can almost taste is, almost feel it pull you, hear it call you. You know how to move with it, around it, in rhythm with it, more than you’ve ever known anything.

It flares and rampages when something twists into your gut. The color that’s Sam starts to chant something—you don’t remember telling them it’s a demon, but they seem to have figured it out—the green begins to bellow, and when it all falls back to earth, you’re dizzy.

Clutching the blade in your stomach, the metal leaving blisters right under your skin.

Iron.

Fuck.

You hear Dean shout your name again, and it’s just Dean now. No strange, magnetic gold. Only pretty, furious eyes looking at you.

“Sam, get the-“

“Going.” You see Sam move away, heading back in the direction of their room, and just a second later Dean’s face moves into your vision.

He looks pale. Worried. His face is firmly set and unreadable, but you think that’s just what he does when he’s concerned. Even his voice is steady, but tight, and his hands on your body feel restrained. Like he’s trying not to make it worse with just his hands.

“Keep the knife in,” he snaps, covering your hand where you’re clutching the blade. “And stay awake.”

You shake your head, wincing from only that movement. This is going to be more than just a stab wound. You can feel the iron dull and pushing on the Darkness, and it’s making this all the pain that always lives in your body become more. Your brain feels fogged and clouded, and you don’t trust your own hands or body to aim the Darkness how it needs to be used. You can’t figure out anything that will fix this, because you can’t think outside of pain. Horrible, consuming and tearing pain.

“I need to, fuck-“

“Stop talking.” He grunts, glancing over his shoulder to where Sam disappeared. “I’m gonna pick you up, move you to our room-“

“No, Dean, wait-“

“Listen, you wanna fight, we can tear each other to goddamn pieces. But only-“

“Shut up, Dean, I don’t wanna fight, I- Goddamit-“

His grip on your body tightens, and his face starting to get a little blurred. “Stop fucking moving, Princess, you’re gonna make it worse-“

“It’s already worse.” You mutter under your breath. “Dean, I, I need to go home-“

“Shit-“ He mutters, before raising his voice to a shout. “Sam, she’s fucking losing it-“

You roll your eyes, letting out a low hiss of pain. “I’m not losing it, dumbass, you need to get me to- fuck- he’s gonna kill me-“

That gets Dean’s full attention, his words sharp as his gaze shoots back to yours. “Who the hell is gonna try and kill you-“

“Bobby.” You mumble, and there are strange, darkly colored spots clouding your vision. “You- Fuck, you need to call him, tell him I’m coming-”

“Bobby?” Dean repeats, and you wince. Bobby’s definitely going to kill you. “Bobby who? Not Bobby-“

“Singer.” It’s hard to keep talking. You don’t feel that all that good. “Use my phone, he always picks up for me.”

“For you?!” Dean says your name, his voice like thunder in your ears. “How the hell does Bobby know you?! How the hell do you know Bobby-“

“He raised me,” you mumble. “Sorry.”

Dean says something. You don’t hear it.

You’ll be alright. Dean’s shouting in the distance, and he probably hates you, but he’s not leaving you to bleed into the dirt and turn to ash. He sounds worried, and furious, and kind of like the ocean. Loud. Strong. Certain.

Everything is a little fuzzy and blurred, but there are also strong hands holding you, and they don’t feel wrong on your body. You’re in so much pain, but you’re completely yourself.

Safe, right here, with Dean.

End Note: Poor Dean is about to spend a whole chapter in an existential crisis. Sorry my king it's for the growth.

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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doctorsiren · 8 months ago

Text

Moth Psycho 100 AU

Something that I latched onto for mp100 is the moth imagery for Mogami. More than once is a moth shown as symbolism, but it’s also associated with Mogami more than once, whereas with the other bugs he’s shown associated as, it’s just once i’m pretty sure (even if not, moths show up as symbolism the most so uhhh yeah)

So @cupofchemicalchatter and I cooked up an AU idea :)

Mogami Arc happens as normal except for the very end. Instead of Matsuo catching Mogami’s spirit and trapping him, Mogami is able to go and watch Mob from afar like he said he would: “You made your choice, kid. I’ll keep watching from afar to see if you made the right one.”

At the end of the Mogami Arc, Reigen says: “Anyway, history has shown that no good ever comes from drowning in wealth, fame, or power. Think about it: Mogami let his own powers swallow him up too.” Remember this, as this is important for the AU I’m about to explain.

And this will go into the next arc, the Separation Arc. The part where Reigen is in the alleyway under the streetlight with those moths above him always felt deeper to a level that it probably wasn’t supposed to be and by that I mean I was connecting it to Mogami’s moth thing.

What am I talking about? Okay well, just imagine the Separation Arc happening as usual UNTIL that moment. The moment where Reigen is in the alleyway:

Mogami had been keeping an eye on both Mob and Reigen, figuring that a way to break Mob was to use someone he cared about, that person being his mentor. So in that moment, Mogami had been possessing / using that moth as his vessel to watch Reigen. The moment that the moth drops dead and Reigen looks up is the moment that Mogami transferred his possession from the moth to Reigen, causing his sudden change. Now he is determined to “become somebody”. Of course, just like in canon and like Mogami did, he starts out by helping people out with their problems. He stated in the Mogami arc: “Mogami? Yeah, I modeled part of my work off him when I started this job.” Mogami stated that “at first, I used my abilities for good, giving advice and solving various problems.” Mogami was the “Psychic Star of the 20th Century”, with Reigen being the “Greatest Psychic of the 21st Century”. Mogami basically told Mob the classic villain thing of “we’re not so different, you and I”, but Mogami now sees that with Reigen as well. Despite the man not having powers, he would prove useful.

Reigen began “developing” psychic abilities. He thought at first that it might have been something residual still left over from when Mob gave him his powers while fighting the Scars, but he soon began to believe that he had dormant abilities that became awoken once he set out on “becoming somebody”. However, it’s actually just the possession from Mogami. He begins to realize that he doesn’t need Mob anymore. He can do exorcisms on his own now! So, he starts pushing everyone away…the people who would be able to actually help him out of this.

Reigen starts to hear a voice in his head. It’s Mogami speaking to him like he did with Mob, but he disguises it as Reigen’s own voice, allowing the conman to think that it’s his own thoughts. Reigen begins to separate himself from this “new” version of himself (which is just Mogami), but not in a way of “oh, these are bad thoughts” but in the way of “this version of me is my only true friend.” Since he’s being possessed, he’s not really thinking rationally.

His reflection becomes a way that Mogami can communicate visually, while disguised as Reigen, of course. He speaks to Reigen, convincing him further that he doesn’t need anybody. Only himself.

His shadow also becomes a visual way for “Reigen” to communicate (because I thought that would be cool, kind of like Morgana in Ducktales 2017, or in The Princess and the Frog).

The turning point for where things actually go south is the Supernatural Detective TV spot. When Jodo suggests that Reigen be the one to do the exorcism, instead of letting Jodo trick him, Reigen insists that Jodo go ahead with how the program was planned. In this world, the event is reversed. Jodo actually does the fake exorcism, since it was scripted, but then Reigen steps in and explains there was no evil spirit to exorcise, hence making Jodo the fool rather than Reigen. The host praises Reigen and the child reveals that he was acting the whole time.

And then begins his true metamorphosis.

Usually, butterflies are used to represent change, however moths go through that same transformation, but to most, they are held typically in a lesser regard than their daytime counterparts. Not really important, but I just thought it was interesting.

Reigen starts to spiral, becoming more and more of a corrupted conman. He isn’t assassinating people for money like Mogami had done, but he is lying more and more and more. The more he becomes corrupted with power, the more his psychic abilities grow (think Ritsu with Dimple and the student council stuff)/ The idea actually started out by me suggesting that as he gets more corrupted, he starts to cough out moths (sorta like an odd moth-based hanahaki, but having literally nothing to do with unrequited love and he won’t die from the moths. He just coughs them out because we thought that went kinda hard), but of course, he keeps telling himself (as well as Mogami telling him) that he’s fine.

His powers (Mogami’s powers) are getting stronger and he’s taking out bigger spirits, taking on bigger clients, and becoming a bigger star. He finds himself losing consciousness / disassociating at times, only to wake up and find that he is stronger. It has become a little of a Jekyll and Hyde situation, but while Mogami has control of Reigen’s body, he uses it to consume evil spirits to try and regain the power he lost from fighting Mob. How we’re visually showing the possession is through a scar (like how Dimple has the red cheek spots). He got the scar under his right eye when Mogami exploded that one-way mirror in the Mogami Arc, and since Reigen’s technically being possessed during the duration of the AU (once that moth dies), the scar is visible the whole time.

In the end (we haven’t figured out when but we just know), Mob has to confront Mogami inside Reigen’s head, like he did with Minori. Inside Reigen’s head, it becomes blatant that Reigen isn’t psychic, although Mob’s sorta known that for a while (as it is alluded to at the end of the Separation Arc). But, Mob himself doesn’t want to acknowledge that fact. Reigen always said he had powers! Why would he lie? So although Shigeo knows the truth, Mob doesn’t see it. He pretends that it’s not true. He believes in Reigen’s lies. The student has become the master, in it that Mob is now lying to himself because he can’t bring himself to believe that Reigen lied to him.

After everything, Mob is able to separate Mogami from Reigen (but of course, not without everyone getting their fair share of trauma). The scar goes away, as he is no longer possessed. He’s back to being powerless, and now he knows that it was Mogami the whole time. However, Mob says that line. He says how he’s known that his master is genuinely a good guy, because it wasn’t on his own that he did all that conning and evil spirit stuff. It was because of Mogami’s corruption and influence. I think Matsuo would still somehow come across Mogami’s spirit and capture him, just so that it can come in handy later when he’s used in the World Domination Arc bc I don’t wanna mess that up lmao

Anyways yeah that was my attempt at compiling some frantic and excited discord DMs about this AU into something somewhat cohesive! Now here’s art for the AU, because I wanted to share them, but I needed to explain what was going on first!

This was the first one I did for the AU, when I knew I needed to draw something up for the concept of him getting corrupted and coughing moths 😄

And then the shadow and mirror thing (I LOVE the one of “Reigen” in the reflection oughhhh)

If you remember that post where I said I woke up and found I had written “twink controlling a twink” the night prior, this is what it was in relation to 😭 why did I call Mogami a twink very very late at night? Who knows. The important thing is that doing so altered everything and now he is one in my mind, so I can’t do anything about it. Don't ask why this page seems really fruity, it was like 3 AM and over a week ago so I don't know (/silly)

These were from when I was rewatching the Mogami Arc to pick up details for the AU

Moths have the patterns on their wings to mimic eyes, so there’s that inherent aspect of deception and lying. It makes the moths seem like a bigger threat than they actually are. (also I have him wearing Mogami's blazer and shirt)

And then just the moths and such with Mogami’s spirit

And me pulling a quote from when Dimple was explaining who Mogami was.

YEAH I just really love drawing stuff for this AU bc of the fun moth symbolism.If none of any of this makes sense, I’m so sorry. I just needed to finally post about this AU bc it’s given me brainmoths (like brainworms, but y’know)

We kinda came up with the AU backwards and filled in random spots here and there after the fact of our original conjuration of it, so I had to try and piece it together HAHA

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myster-roca · 9 months ago

Text

The Catfish Incident

"Thanks for the energy drink, man," Jake said, cracking open his can of blue energy soda as we ambled down the dimly lit hallway back to our apartments. The gym members' party had left us both hot and sweaty, and I thought a refreshing drink would be the perfect cap to our evening.

"Yeah, no problem, bro. You owe me one next time!" I replied, although I was thinking something else entirely as I watched him guzzle his beverage.

He was tall, about six feet three inches, with a toned physique that would make anyone envious. His hair, the color of wheat, was slicked back with some kind of product, and he wore a tank top that hugged his chest tightly, emphasizing his broad shoulders and thick arms. His shorts were tight enough to show off his wide hips and well-defined ass.

Standing beside him, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of insecurity. While I was reasonably fit and steadily working towards what I hoped would be my ideal body, Jake's presence ignited a deeper yearning within me. It wasn’t just about having muscular broad shoulders and a confident stride—it was about embodying that effortless aura of masculinity, the kind of identity that defines an alpha male.

"Oh yeah, almost forgot—I need to head back to my apartment now," Jake said abruptly. "I have a little rendezvous tonight," he added, flashing a smile.

"Sounds like a plan. What time is your date?" I asked casually, pausing beside him.

“About an hour from now, so I should probably hit the showers first. Gotta freshen up and work out these guns again,” he laughed. Then, without warning, he raised his left arm above his head and flexed his bicep, staring intently into my eyes. “It’s been too long since they’ve seen any action.”

I felt myself blush uncontrollably at his words, but luckily Jake didn't see it, and he continued heading down the hallway.

"See you tomorrow, Dave!" he called out over his shoulder before disappearing through his apartment door.

Little did he know, I was well aware of who he was meeting tonight.

As I stepped into my apartment, the familiar walls and furnishings offered no comfort to the restless longing stirring within me.

Each well-placed book and neatly aligned chair seemed to echo the structured, unyielding life I had sculpted for myself—a life of discipline as a respected professor, always mindful of reputation and societal expectations.

With a sigh, I removed my glasses and set them aside on the table. The lenses caught the fading light of the day, scattering beams that danced across the blandness of my living space, teasing me with glimpses of brightness in my otherwise predictable world.

This simple act felt like peeling away the layers of a persona crafted over years.

It felt symbolic, like I was discarding a part of myself that was too familiar, too constricted by old fears and inhibitions. Tonight was not a night for the timid David hidden behind those lenses; it was a night for someone entirely new.

I pulled off my tank top, feeling the cool air hit my bare skin, followed by the soft cotton of my white gym shorts. Finally, I slid down my underwear and tossed them aside. I felt incredibly vulnerable, standing there nude with no one else around.

Across the room, my gaze then shifted to the bed, where the realistic bodysuit of a Latino model lay outstretched. The room lighting cast a bright hue over its meticulously detailed surface, accentuating each muscular contour and shadow, making it look almost alive. It wasn’t just a garment; it was a gateway to another existence.

As soon as I saw it, I couldn’t resist touching its smooth skin. I ran my fingers over its chest and arms, feeling the softness of its skin. Then I slid my hands down to its waist and squeezed its firm butt cheeks. It even had a built-in penis that was larger than my own, which gave me a sense of excitement.

"Alright," I muttered under my breath, "let’s get started."

I could feel my dick twitch as I reached down and grabbed hold of the slit at the back of the bodysuit. The suit itself was made of a special material that allowed for easy movement and flexibility. Slowly, I began pulling the two sides apart so that there would be enough room for me to get inside.

As I sat down in the chair, I began sliding my right leg into one of the muscular legs. They were tight but not uncomfortable. As I pulled them up over my thigh, I could feel the skin stretching slightly as it moved up my leg. This was going to be so fucking hot!

I continued moving my left leg into the second leg until both feet were on the ground. Next, I positioned my shaft to the built-in dick and slid my arms into the sleeves. My biceps bulged with each movement.

Standing up, I took a few steps forward, feeling the incredible strength of my legs against my skin. I flexed my arm, watching the veins pulsate under the surface. I couldn’t help but smile at my new, sexy body.

Finally, I put on the built-in mask that resembled the handsome face of a Latino model.

As I slid it over my head, I felt the soft material conform to the contours of my face.

Once the mask was fully secured, the ’Heddon’ app on my phone opened up.

In order for the bodysuit to work properly, it needed to be activated. I selected “Start Sealing” and watched as the screen filled with images of the process.

Suddenly, there was a click, and the suit began to seal shut around me. I felt the muscles of my legs begin to tingle as they fused with the suit.

My thighs and calves became more defined as the skin tightened around them. The same sensation spread across my chest and shoulders, making them bulge outward. My arms seemed to grow larger as the suit conformed to my muscles.

Within seconds, the transformation was complete, and the suit fully integrated with my body, leaving no trace of its presence. It was as if I had become one with this sexy, lifelike skin.

With a grin, I stepped towards the mirror, admiring my reflection. The face staring back at me was that of a young, fit Hispanic man with broad shoulders and narrow hips.

“Welcome back,” I whispered to myself as I looked in the mirror at my new reflection. “Diego.”

My jawline was strong and defined, giving me a masculine appearance. I flexed my biceps, showing off the definition in my arms.

I ran my hands over my hard chest, feeling the firmness beneath my fingers. Then, I squeezed my pecs, enjoying the way they rippled beneath my touch.

I let my hands travel down to the bulge between my legs, squeezing it gently. My cock throbbed with excitement as I imagined what it would feel like to fuck someone with this body.

I picked up my phone, opened a dating app and messaged Jake using the Diego profile. We’d chatted a little bit on the app a few weeks earlier, and he seemed really interested in meeting up.

“Hey sexy,” I typed into the chat window. “Want to see some pics?”

“Sure thing, stud,” Jake responded. “Whatcha got?”

I smiled as I sent him a couple of pictures of myself wearing different leather and latex outfits.

“That’s hot,” Jake wrote. “Do you think you can do something even hotter tonight?”

I grinned as I typed back, “Of course, baby. Anything for you.”

****************************************************

A few weeks ago, I stumbled upon a Reddit thread mentioning "Heddon: House of Transformation" — a service offering realistic bodysuits that promised an entirely new level of personal transformation. Intrigued yet skeptical, I clicked through.

The website was adorned with glossy images of transformations and detailed testimonials from users who spoke of life-altering experiences. Video demos showcased the suits’ incredible realism and functionality, portraying seamless transitions from person to suit.

Admittedly, the site and service were new, which did little to alleviate my skepticism. However, a promotional offer for first-time users—a significant discount on their first order—was enough to tip the scales.

Despite my initial doubts and the nagging thought that it could all be an elaborate scam, I decided to take the plunge with some disposable income I’ve set aside.

I ordered a customized bodysuit modeled after a muscular Latino—a physique and persona so starkly different from my own that it felt like it could only exist in fantasies.

When the package arrived, it included not just the bodysuit but also detailed instructions for using the accompanying "Heddon: House of Transformation" app.

The app, once downloaded, allowed me to control the bodysuit’s features, including the crucial sealing process which would integrate the suit seamlessly with my own body.

When I first donned my new Diego bodysuit a few nights ago, I created a fake profile on the dating app and got tons of messages but one message caught my attention— it was my gym buddy Jake.

“Hi there! You’re so hot and cute!” he wrote.

“Thank you! You’re pretty handsome yourself,” I responded.

We chatted for a bit, discussing our hobbies and interests. I told him that I was looking for someone to share my fetishes with, and that I loved wearing latex.

He responded quickly, saying that he was also interested in exploring his kinks and that he loved wearing leather and latex. Before long, we were messaging each other every night, sharing our deepest desires and fantasies.

A few days later, Jake asked me if I would be willing to come over to his apartment and have some fun. I agreed, excited to finally meet him in person.

“I’m so glad you’re coming over,” he wrote back. “I’ve been dying to meet you in person.”

“Me too,” I replied. “I can’t wait to see you.”

****************************************************

Now, here I am, standing outside Jake’s apartment door, feeling nervous and excited all at once. I knocked on Jake's door and soon heard the sound of footsteps approaching. The door swung open, revealing Jake standing there in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

Diego! Come in!” he says, grinning at me. I follow him into the apartment, and he shuts the door behind us.

Jake leans against the door, studying my body. “Wow, you look amazing,” he says. “I never imagined you would actually look like this.”

“Thanks. It feels good to finally be able to meet you in person,” I reply. Jake smiles and directs me toward the living room. I remove my jacket, revealing my tight black muscle shirt and latex pants.

Jake’s eyes widen, and he lets out a low groan. “Damn, you’re fucking hot,” he says, running his hands along my chest. His hand then slides down my chest and over my crotch. “And you’re hard.”

“I am,” I whisper. “You make me feel so horny.”

We sit down on the couch, and Jake pours us some drinks. “So, tell me more about yourself,” he says. “What kind of stuff do you like doing?”

“Well, I love wearing leather and latex,” I say. “And I love playing different characters. Sometimes I dress up as a superhero, sometimes as a villain. It really depends on my mood.”

“That’s cool,” Jake says. “Me too. I love wearing my costumes, especially when I’m out with friends. It helps me let loose and have fun.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I say. “Sometimes it’s hard to be yourself when you’re around other people, but when you’re in your costume, you can let go and be whoever you want to be.”

“Exactly,” Jake says, smiling. “It’s like a whole new world opens up when you put on a costume.”

Jake leans closer, his eyes locked on mine. “And sometimes, they bring us closer to our true selves than we ever thought possible. Maybe because we feel safe behind the mask, we can express our true feelings.”

The air between us charges with an unspoken understanding. I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest. “Have you ever felt that way? Like you’ve discovered something real about yourself through a character?”

Jake nods slowly, his gaze intensifying. “More often than you might think. Sometimes, it’s only when I'm someone else that I can express what I really feel... what I really want.”

I watch as he removes his towel, revealing his hard cock. I gasp in pleasure as he strokes himself slowly, looking straight into my eyes. The moment hangs heavy between us, laden with unvoiced desires.

Then, impulsively, Jake closes the distance, his lips meeting mine in a passionate kiss that feels like the culmination of our shared revelations. Our tongues dance together, exploring each other's mouths, as I moan softly and my fingers thread through Jake's soft hair.

Jake breaks away from our fervent kiss, leaving me breathless and longing for more. With a sultry grin, he stands up and begins to undress me, one piece at a time.

My excitement grows as he pulls my tight latex shirt over my head, exposing my toned chest and chiseled abs. He trails his fingers down my torso, sending delicious tingles through my entire body.

As Jake continues to undress me, his touch becomes increasingly intimate and sensual. He caresses my skin, grazing his fingertips along my shoulders, arms, and sides. I lean into his touch, letting the warmth of his hands linger on my skin.

Finally, Jake reaches my pants and skillfully slips them down my legs, revealing my matching black briefs. He pauses for a moment, admiring the sight of me in my underwear, before slowly removing them as well. Standing before him completely naked, I feel exposed yet empowered by his admiration.

Jake's eyes sparkle with lust as he looks me up and down. "You're beautiful," he whispers, his voice thick with desire.

My heart races as he bends down to press his lips against my chest, trailing kisses down to my abdomen. His hands explore my body, massaging my muscles and stroking my skin. I close my eyes, surrendering to the waves of pleasure that wash over me.

Just as I start to drift into blissful oblivion, Jake abruptly stops. I open my eyes to find him looking intently into my eyes, a small smile playing on his lips.

"What's wrong?" I ask, confused by the sudden pause.

"Come with me," he murmurs. "I have something I want to show you. It’s my private collection."

He then gestured to a door at the end of the hall. My heart pounded in my chest as I followed him into the room.

Entering, I gasped in surprise at the sight. Scattered all over the room were several realistic bodysuits, each one more impressive than the last.

While pretending to be amazed, I wondered if Jake realized I was wearing a fake body.

Jake grinned. "My job has its perks," he explained. "I'm a beta tester for 'Heddon', so I get access to their entire collection."

"This is amazing," I remarked, feigning ignorance. My hands ran over one of the suits. "What are these things and how do they work?"

"Don't pretend you don't know," Jake chuckled. "You may think you're fooling me, but you aren't."

He was right. Staring at him in disbelief, I asked, "What?... what do you mean?"

"It's not a secret," Jake replied. "These suits have a distinct smell, and I've gotten used to it. I know when someone is wearing one."

I sighed, knowing I couldn't deny it any longer. "Okay, fine," I admitted. "You caught me. But please, don't tell anyone else. This is just between us."

"Of course," Jake nodded. "I understand."

He reached out and touched the side of my fake face. "I don't care who you are or what you're doing. I like the idea of someone else being able to take on a new identity for a while."

"Thank you," I said, smiling. "But seriously, why are you showing me all of these suits?"

Jake shrugged. "Since you're wearing one, I thought of wearing one as well," he suggested. "Maybe we can have a little role-play fun."

He then picked up a bodysuit that resembled a tanned male model with long hair. "Do you think this fits the bill?" he asked, holding it up.

I smirked and touched the bodysuit Jake had chosen. "Let's find out, shall we?"

#male body transformation #male transformation #male bodysuit #male disguise #male body suit #male impersonation #male skinsuit #male skin

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yuqiyu · 2 years ago

Text

Guitar Lessons (Eddie Munson x F!Reader)

♡ part 2

Summary: During one of your hangouts at Eddie's trailer, he offers to give you some guitar lessons.

Word Count: 6.6k

Tags: NSFW, sexual content, cunnilingus, face riding, making out, eating out, fluff, friends to lovers (kinda), slight angst, dramatic reader, no use of y/n

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

“How long have you played?” you ask as you graze your fingers over the body of the guitar. It’s smooth and cold, the design fitting right in with Eddie’s aesthetic.

He’s looking at you cutely, leaning back on his forearms against the bed. There’s a sparkle in his doe eyes as he shifts a bit.

“So I see you’ve met the lady of the house,” he says, a slight lilt to his voice. “Go on, take her down.”

As you carefully step over a messy pile of cassette tapes beside another pile of clothes, Eddie makes a grabbing motion and mumbles a That’s right, come to papa. You stifle a laugh, releasing a snort in the process. He shoots a look at you, fully defensive.

Once the guitar (or the love of his life, as he’d say) is in his hands, it fits perfectly like a puzzle piece on his body. His neck is slightly craned over it. You think he’s looking at the strings, but as you move closer, his eyes are closed.

He starts plucking out a couple chords, a sweet melody completely contradicting the visuals you are being fed. You begin to close your eyes as well, allowing the music to flow through the both of you. It sounds beautiful despite not being hooked up to an amp.

It has been only a couple of months since you first met Eddie in the hallway between classes. You recall a head full of messy curls hanging over what you thought were interesting choices in an outfit. Girls were avoiding him left and right as he picked up the remnants of his stuff off the ground after a couple jocks had so kindly knocked them out of his hands.

When you had picked up a notebook that had fallen behind him, a few loose papers with unfamiliar charts and symbols fell out. You plucked them up for a closer study.

“Just getting ready for the Satanic rituals this Thursday,” he mused. You looked up in surprise.

He was a very pretty man, his hair framing his slim face surprisingly well. His large eyes bore into you, and you swore you could get lost in the dark abyss behind them.

“What?”

“Sorry, bad joke.” He looked at you sheepishly, then to the notebook in your hands.

“Right, sorry.” Even after you quickly handed it back to him, he continued staring at you, amused.

“Are you new?”

You shuffled your feet, feeling even more awkward than you already were.

“Yeah.” And the rest was history.

You open your eyes when the music stops. Eddie is staring at you with a crooked grin, inches away from your face.

“Jeez, you’re so creepy,” you laugh as you push him off. Ever the drama queen he is, he falls backward onto the bed limply, the guitar following suit. His hands are clutched over his heart as his face fakes a wounded expression.

“I just gave you the best serenade you will ever hear in your life, and this is how you repay me?” He all but shrieks at you as you continue slapping at his arm.

“ Ever? That’s such a loaded statement, Eddie. You haven’t even answered my question.”

He jumps back up, then pauses for a beat. “I don’t know, my whole life I guess,” he shrugs.

You stare back at the guitar, still being held snugly in his arms. There was no way to stop the idea of you being there instead, but you shake yourself out of it.

“That’s pretty cool, though. I don’t know how to play any instruments.” You copy his pose from earlier, supporting yourself up by your forearms. He twists his neck towards you, that beautiful damn smile beaming a hundred miles per hour your way.

“Really,” he questions, dragging out the word playfully. “How about I, the greatest guitarist ever, teach you some new things.”

“Again, such a loaded statement, but okay. Hit me.”

The next hour or so is not exactly what you were expecting. He has an old acoustic guitar hiding somewhere in his closet (which he searches for with difficulty, under more piles of items) and has you test the waters on it. With the pleasant surprise of Eddie literally wrapping your back with his arms, moving your fingers to the right formations, you are basically floating on cloud nine.

He is a demonstrations type of guy, not an I-will-show-you-first-then-you-play kind of way, but in an I-will-wrap-my-gorgeous-hands-around-yours kind of way. This shouldn’t have shocked you, ever since he cupped his hands over yours just to help you roll some dice when you hesitated during a campaign, at least. You often took sneaky glances at his fingers after that day, how could you help it? The day he finds out about your secret hand fetish will be the day you change your identity, because not only would it feed his already inflated ego, he would never let you live it down. He already has so much ammo against you, and you dread that only one more will put you six feet under.

Eddie was exceedingly patient with you in teaching the strings and the chords, even though you had trouble memorizing where to place your fingers. You wish you could say the same about previous teachers, who were truly wicked demons compared to him.

You let yourself falter and lean backwards, just enough for Eddie to notice. He suddenly peels your fingers off the instrument and gives little kisses to them.

You yank your hand back in surprise and squeak out, “Eddie!”

His stupid antics always make it hard for you not to fall for him. It sometimes feels like he does it on purpose, like he means to fuel your feelings even more.

“Just thought they needed some healing kissies ,” he replies, his pitch increasing at the end to mock you.

“Kissies are only for couples,” you snapped, unable to process anything but the imprint of his soft lips on your hands. You hope you don’t look as dazed as you feel right now.

He simply ignores you and strokes the neck of the guitar, still wrapped comfortably around you. “You’re a natural at this, y’know? Maybe you should get some real lessons.”

“Yeah, right. It sure doesn’t feel like it.” You give your hands a good shake, loosening all the muscles as you sighed in relief. Dark, red lines were etched deep into your fingertips. Looking at them only made the pain feel even more real.

He grabs them again, gripping them tightly. “Hey—hey, careful! These hands have unknown potential! You could be a god with these.”

“‘Thought you said you were the best out there,” you smile, nudging him in the ribs. He feigns offense.

“I am, but if there’s gonna be someone better out there, I’d rather it be you!”

You can only roll your eyes at him as he drops his chin on your shoulder. He must be bored out of his mind right now, so you push for a new topic.

“Why are you being so touchy today,” you tease, turning to look at his face. It is much easier now to admire his features now that he is sitting so close to you. His eyes are glazed over. “Wait a minute—were you high this whole time?”

He gives you a guilty look.

You aren’t sure if you should be impressed that he was able to teach you so well under the influence, or if you should be disappointed. His affections to you often occurred under one and only one circumstance, and that was when he was ridiculously high. He must’ve smoked more than usual. The thought hits you like a crushing weight, smashing through your heart and sinking down to your stomach in just under five seconds. You want to throw your head into your palms and cringe at how hopeful you were, even though you’re already used to the reality of this godforsaken friendship. But then the sinking feeling falls even deeper into your pit when you realized something might’ve happened to make him reach for his stash like this.

“Did something happen today?” You don’t mean to probe, but even stoner Eddie has his limits for most of the time. Sometimes the overcompensation is a little too obvious, even for your obliviousness.

His head is still lolling on your shoulder, though this time there’s a faraway look in his eyes. There’s a silence that hangs thick for what felt like forever, until you feel his chin shift, trying to find a more comfortable spot to sulk in.

“Don’t tell me it’s girl troubles,” you huff out. The thought of it already has the heat rising to your cheeks. It’s one thing to have an unrequited crush, but to see said crush pining for another person was simply soul-crushing.

He must notice your expression, because he looks at you amusingly. “Why? Would you be jealous?”

When you shoot him a deadly look, he only giggles and reassures you. You’ve heard this speech about a million times already: you’re his best girl-friend and no one can ever beat you. To be honest, it’s hard to be beat when you’re his only girl-friend, but hey, it’s still a win. If he has to constantly remind you, though, maybe you’re being too obvious. You remind yourself to tone it down around him.

Eddie suddenly jumps off the bed with renewed vigor and swipes the guitar from your arms before laying it carefully somewhere in the closet, then plops back down beside you. His face is serious, the playful energy lasting only for a few seconds.

You ease yourself down slowly, lying on your side as you soak in the sight before you. His arms are tucked under his head, ankles crossed at the edge of the bed.

“I only ask because I—”

“ Because you care. I know.”

You give him a minute. There are only the sounds of your breaths mingling with each other, and if you relaxed enough, you swear you’d be able to hear his heartbeat. You’d usually miss the peace you had prior to meeting Eddie, but now, when there is no sound of his annoying voice or music or anything , it makes you nervous. Because a vulnerable Eddie is a sad Eddie. There was no easy way to learn this.

“I heard you went on a date with Harrington,” he starts. His hands fly in the air as he continues. You can’t help but stare at the glint his rings give off in the different angles. “Went to the mall and everything.”

It’s your turn to look amused. When he catches it, he presses a finger to your lips, which only causes you to snicker. “How could you ignore me for some jock. Is that why you didn’t pick up my calls that day?” He has such an intense expression, backed up by the furrowing of his brows now hiding under his bangs. He seems so distressed, although you can’t help but smile at him in silence.

“Is that all you have to say to me?” He’s practically begging for response at this point.

“First of all, Munson,” you emphasize as he winces at the demotion of his name. It was easy to tell when you don’t feel like humoring him. Ever since the beginning, it had always been Eddie . When you had tried calling him anything else, it just didn’t feel right in those moments. And it still doesn’t. “It wasn’t a date. It was a double date!”

His jaw drops as he rubs a hand over his face, having expected you to at least try to comfort him, like you usually would. It was shameful, honestly, the way you would scramble to mend his sorrow every single time. You pause for a second, letting the moment really sink in before continuing again. This is payback , you thought. “It was Nancy, Steve, Robin, and me. It wasn’t really a date, Eddie. I don’t know why you’d even care.”

There’s a slight quiver in your voice when you articulate the last line, but you hope he doesn’t notice. However, it seems like that’s the only thing he noticed.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, missy, but I care a whole lot when my only friend in the whole wide world goes missing when I need her most.” The glazed look in his eyes hasn’t faded, but the seriousness is still there. You almost wish you aren’t still having this conversation because it only breaks your heart further the more he opens his goddamn mouth about friendship this, friendship that. But your love and concern for him overshadows it all, and you want to smack yourself over the head for that.

You take a deep breath, inhaling all the different scents of Eddie (if that was even humanly possible) and ponder your thoughts. You like to do it because It keeps him on his toes, you remember, as if he’s always hanging onto your every word, inching closer and closer to the edge of the cliff.

You allow your eyes to wander across his walls, taking in the various band posters, and then back onto the guitar. It’s so easy to get sidetracked in the confines of anything related to him, but the more you learn about him, the more you realize he’s just a huge dork who plays fantasy games and the guitar in his free time. He does a great job at keeping the air of mystery around him, though, and you wonder if people actually realized who he truly was, maybe they’d bully him a tiny bit less. That is, if they weren’t so scared of being sacrificed by him. He shakes you out of your conscious slumber with a couple snaps of his fingers in front of your face.

“Hey—are you even listening to me?”

His hand continues waving in your face for a few more seconds before you swat it away. You’re looking at him with as much sincerity as you could possibly muster. He’s doing the same, though you notice the way the corners of his mouth tug down, like how they usually do whenever you reject one of his hugs.

“Can I level with you?” you ask.

He looks at you strangely, eyebrows raise in question. There’s some clarity to his eyes now, and you feel yourself getting sucked in temporarily. His Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps thickly. He nods.

“I couldn’t give less of a shit about your love life and who you choose to date, so why should you? ” The words come out with more venom than you mean to, but you couldn’t—no, wouldn’t , take back what you said. Even though you’re lying, it feels good knowing that he at least doesn’t know you have a massive one-sided crush on him. It gives the illusion that you’re in control, and you’d like to keep it that way.

Eddie’s features soften. He looks so hurt, and you can’t bear to look at him for more than two seconds. The room is silent again, though it’s lacking the comfort that usually comes with it. You slowly sit up, and start grabbing your things. Before you leave, he pulls your wrist back. His eyes are pleading.

“It’s still early,” he begins. “If you want to stay longer.” You look sparingly at his face, mostly darting to his bedsheets or the walls. His grip tightens.

“I—um, I’ve got some overdue homework I need to work on.”

He knows you well enough to know that if there was one person he knew that always had their shit together and done on time, it was you. But he lets go, and your heart stumbles because if he had asked you one more time, you would’ve stayed. You guess some things are just not written in the stars, and tonight was one of those things.

He only purses his lips and exhales, “Alright.”

He doesn’t walk you out the door today.

The next time you see him ends up being the following night. He had called the morning of, asking if you wanted to come over for more “guitar lessons.” When you didn’t reply quickly enough for his liking, he simply said, “See you at eight. Sharp, okay, sweetheart?”

Your heart twinges, so you agree.

Eight sneaks up on you before you know it. The night air engulfs you as you rap your knuckles against the Munsons’ trailer door. It rattles violently, so you stop, fearing that one more would completely knock it off the hinges. You hear a familiar voice ring out, welcoming you in.

When you’re inside, you spot Eddie running around chaotically in the small kitchen. Various snacks are being crushed by his arms clutching them close to his chest, and he nearly slams into a table (not without cursing) while tossing them over onto the couch.

He finally sits down among the mess, accidentally on a bag of chips, and it crunches. He makes a butt-shaped hole with the snacks next to himself, then affectionately pats the area and looks at you.

You scooch around and pop open a bag of gummy bears. “We’re starting the movie early today, huh?”

“You gotta return it tomorrow. We can’t have any more distractions now, can we?” He fiddles with the remote, pressing buttons here and there. There’s only static on the TV. He groans and gives it a good few smacks.

“Wow,” you drawl. “Eddie Munson himself, actually remembering due dates, and not even his responsibility? That’s new.” He turns around to retaliate, but is hit by a gummy bear straight to the face. “Bullseye,” you laugh.

He only sighs and walks towards the kitchen. His hand squeezes your thigh on the way and, with an exasperated voice, says, “Be good ‘til I get back.”

The movie ends without another hitch, and it’s not long after that both of you are back in his bedroom.

“So,” he says as he claps his hands together dramatically. “It’s time for lessons by Mr. Munson himself.” He picks up the acoustic guitar and seats himself down next to you on the bed. “Wanna show me what you’ve learned so far?”

“To be honest, not much. Sorry to disappoint, Mr. Munson,” you shrug, taking over and strumming out a few test chords. He wets his lips absentmindedly.

“Well, you seem to remember the C chord, at least,” he nods. “But—” He cups your fingers and shifts them downward. “You’re a bit too high there, sweetheart.”

The touch burns through your skin and sets your mind, body, and heart aflame. It takes you a second to answer. A second too long, is what Eddie thinks.

“Okay…what about my G?” you ask quietly, not trusting yourself to breathe.

“Your G what? G-string or G chord?”

You blink.

He winks.

And your body is at war. The rope inside you tugs between choosing violence or letting yourself melt in his arms. It’s close to betraying you, until you choose fight-or-flight’s third sibling: freeze.

Eddie cackles as he shakes you awake. You feel your consciousness slam back into your body with full force. Your mind is going insane. What did he mean? Does he want to do something? Does he want me ? You’re about to open your mouth, to say Yes! Yes, Eddie, I want you!

“Bad joke. Sorry.”

You wish the moon would become unlatched from whatever science-y, physics-y thing that’s keeping it in orbit and hurl towards Earth and just crush you to death right then and there. How does one recover from this?

Except you do. He spends the next thirty minutes teaching you an easy song that includes the whopping four chords you’ve learned. It goes as smoothly as you hope, until the heat radiating off of Eddie and wafting onto your back is making you uncomfortably sticky.

When you had left the house earlier, you wore tank top with a denim jacket to cover your arms. It wasn’t your best look, but you weren’t trying to impress anyone (more of a self-persuasion, but who’s really checking?). The decision feels like a huge mistake now, because you are definitely not comfortable enough at the moment to let him see your skin like that.

Each touch, each movement, and each breath of Eddie’s fanning over your neck so deliciously gives you more and more confidence as the night moves on. He’s pressing all the right buttons, as if knowingly, and your barrier begins to crack.

You carry on with full composure, as you always have . He gives you a simple task: play at least halfway into the song perfectly. When you do, he leans in, lips slightly brushing your earlobe, and whispers, “Good girl.”

Your face begins to heat up at a rapid rate. Your body, on the other hand, isn’t sure whether it should tense up or relax. Eddie notices and places his hands on your shoulders, giving you quick squeezes sympathetically. It only makes it worse.

Not sure how you did it, but you were able to get the guitar safely on the bed before jumping off of it entirely.

“Wow,” he exhales and simpers. “I just wanted to see if you had a praise kink or so—”

He’s cut short by your glossy eyes and trembling lips. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out, so he waves his hands uselessly.

“What, so I’m just a joke to you?” Your voice betrays you, as much as you attempt to conceal your vulnerability. It sports a matching look on your face. This is it , you think. You lasted only a couple of months after making your first friend at this stupid school, and thinking about it makes you feel ashamed. Somehow, this feels worse than a real break-up.

“I’m—Hey, look at me, please. I’m so sorry.” He’s scrambling to fix his mistake, hands all over you, and eyes frantically searching you for a hint of forgiveness, even if he knows it’s futile.

“Eddie, I need to go. It’s fi—”

“No!” he cries, causing you to flinch. His grip softens on your shoulders, but is still unwaveringly attached. “It’s not fine.”

Even through the thick material of your jacket, the knowledge that he’s still touching you has you squirming painfully. “God, please , stop touching me.”

Now, Eddie’s heart is breaking into a million pieces, and you know it well. Since the first day you met him, you could tell what his love language was. From the way he’d ruffle your hair affectionately after a campaign win, or how he’d pull you into a bone-smashing hug whenever you brought his favorite snack to school, to simply the way his eyes would twinkle right before giving you a first bump every time you parted ways. In a sense, this was a real break-up to him.

His arm slowly slides off of you, with a pained look on his face. He then stares at you expectantly. When you make a move to the side, he reaches out towards you, though not close enough to touch.

“Please don’t go yet. Just—” He closes his eyes and groans against his palms, and you’re sober enough to know it’s not directed at you. If you hadn't felt so terrible, you’d laugh at the way he was repenting. You stare slack-faced at him, and while it’s not the reaction he was hoping for, he takes it as a second chance. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“Like how you don’t know why you said, ‘g-string’ or why you just messed with me all night?” you nearly shouted. It takes a lot of energy to force the sass through your pain, but it shows enough to cause Eddie to shrink within himself. You can’t even feel bad anymore. Maybe this was an overreaction on your part. He’s always been like this, so what is different now? In a way, there is still a part of you that actually does feel bad, but only because you let yourself waste away in your feelings without ever bringing it up to him. There is no way for him to really know how you feel about him without communicating it. Even then, normal friendships aren’t like this. Friends don’t whisper dirty things into each other’s ears. Friends don’t playfully flirt with real sexual tension. So it’s not fair that you have to endure this while he’s the only one having fun.

Eddie, on the other hand, wants to stuff his mouth with his fist. He wants to pull his hair out, he wants to scream into his pillow, but most of all, he wants to hold you and apologize over and over until he’s completely lost his voice. For you, he would grovel as much as you want him to, and to him, that would be nothing if it meant you’d take him back.

His voice cracks when he manages to find the courage to speak again. “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable with my behavior.” He looks at you intently, eyes roaming your face, searching— begging .

You look away, and it scares him. He’s never seen you cry like this, and it’s even worse since he’s the reason why. His arms twitch, and he realizes that that was the last time he’ll ever be that close to you again.

After a million years (according to Eddie), you sigh, “That’s not the issue.” There’s a fierceness to you now, surprising the both of you. You jab a finger at his chest viciously. “My issue with you is that you keep taking my feelings lightly.” His brows furrow, and it only pisses you off even more.

“I like you, you asshole!” There was no point of return. All of that was out the window the moment he crossed a line. Instead of feeling scared or sad, like you thought you would, you were instead enraged with an addicting fury. “And you .” You make a point to jab him especially hard for emphasis. “You have the nerve to mess with me all night long—not to mention even whining about how I should spend every waking moment with you when I already do…and you know what the kicker in all of this was? I did wish I was at the mall with you! I did wish I was on a date with you!”

His forehead is creasing, eyes wide, and mouth pursing. When it finally opens, he breathes out an Oh. And he suddenly he knows how to make things right.

In your complete, utter mess of a breakdown, you don’t realize that you had balled your hands tightly into a fist until you let go, and the searing pain from your nails digging into your palms lets up.

Maybe you were okay with destroying this friendship before, you try to convince yourself, but the regret starts pooling into your belly along with nausea. You’re too ashamed to look at him, yet you also don’t have the courage to move from your spot. So once again, the room is just filled with the sounds of labored breathing and bated breath, both standing in a face-off.

And then you will your legs to move, to run far, far away. But Eddie catches you first, and his face is sloppily smashed against yours as he pulls your lips into his own. Certainly, this is bold, the boldest thing he’s ever done, he’d argue. Still, he’s unable to withdraw because once he has you—your scent, your soft skin, and your gasps keeps him wanting more and more.

It only ends when both of you come up for air, foreheads still glued together as you laugh mirthlessly. “This whole time?” you murmured.

You can feel the smug grin on his lips as he attacks the junction of your neck. You melt against him. “Yeah.” He continues down to your shoulder after pulling your jacket off, his mouth never leaving you. “So, was I right?”

“Hmm?” You couldn’t trust yourself to speak anymore. Somehow, Eddie has gotten you back to his bed, and you feel his necklace glide across your chest coldly, sending little shivers along your spine.

“‘Bout you having a praise kink,” he mumbles. He’s taking his time on a particular spot near your collarbone, making sure to really mark you well.

You’re too embarrassed to reply, so you hope he moves on from it. He doesn’t—worse, he stops. He’s holding himself up with his arms, caging you in, and looks at you mischievously. “Sweetheart, I asked you a question. Don’t go shy on me now. ”

You reach up to press a kiss against him, but he easily flicks you back down like a fly. His brow arches, though he’s still grinning arrogantly.

“Fine, yes, yes, yes, I do.”

“That’s my girl.”

You moan into him when he’s back on your mouth, tongues slow dancing. You still feel hot, but it’s different this time around. It’s more freeing—like you’ve let something go, and now you’re finally able to enjoy it.

Eddie is a much better kisser than you imagined. You’ve thought about how he’d taste and how it’d go, oh absolutely, but this is real . You memorize the way his tongue darts around as if mapping out every part of you, mixed in with the faint smell of cigarettes and pure testosterone.

He’s gripping your chest as he makes his way down and massages it to Hell and back. You can’t help but love how primal you’ve got him, which only turns you on even more.

“I’ve wanted to do many…many… many, ” he accents each word with a wet kiss down your arms. “...unholy things to you since I laid my eyes on you.”

You strip off your top and bra, tossing them to the side with urgency. He only chuckles at your brazenness before giving both of your breasts a firm squeeze. You push him onto the bed and straddle him. “C’mon, Eddie, your turn.” He looks at you incredulously, then his stare turns dark after a blink of an eye. His hands run up and down the sides of your waist, leaving little goosebumps in their wake.

“My, my, who knew you were so forward? All of that innocence…just an act.” He reaches out and captures your chin, firmly holding on as he angles your face around. The cold air drifts against your chest, causing your nipples to perk up. You release a shaky breath and close your eyes, suddenly feeling timid. “No, no, open them for me, sweetheart.”

When you do, you feel him twitch under you, provoking you to ground back down on him. Your eyes are half-lidded, hips rolling. A guttural groan expels from his throat, and he grips you to a standstill.

“Get—ugh, take it off already!” you whine, clawing at his t-shirt.

He’s looking at you with so much lust, yet it’s filled with tenderness; his hands rubbing circles into your own only reaffirming that. After a moment of silence (in which Eddie is aggressively admiring your beauty), he licks his lips and speaks.

“I want you to know that if we continue, this won’t be the last time. There will never— ever be ‘going back to being friends’ or ‘acting normal.’ Because to be frank with you, princess, I can’t do that.” His eyes take in your silhouette, wandering slowly and deeply, because he’s so afraid. So afraid that this will be the last time you let him see you again. He wants to memorize as much of you as possible in case it gets taken away. He takes a deep breath. “So, if we do this. I want more of you—not just the sex, but I want to take you out. And… I won’t do this if you don’t want that. I don’t want this to be a one-and-done deal. Got it?”

You’re unsure whether it’s the adrenaline running through your veins or the sexual tension you feel for him snapping, but you run your hands under his shirt and over his bare chest. For whatever reason, his thoughtfulness turns you on even more than you thought you could be. You ache for his touch, and the desire builds into a searing pain. He wants to stop you, but he can’t; you’re too mesmerizing.

“Eddie,” you moan out. He whimpers under your touch, and he bucks up into you. The muscles in his hand flex against your hip, fighting against his vices. Who knew having a pretty girl on top of him would have him become such a mess?

“Sweetheart,” he breathes out. “You’re not helping me here. I need you to tell me you—” He flips you under him, knee wedged conveniently between your legs, pushing barely enough against your core. He’s frustrated in more ways than one. His eyes implore of you, with the addition of his voice being much deeper. He lets you rub against his thigh for a moment before pulling back. He pins your hands above your head and hovers closely over you just enough for you to hear his harsh whisper. “Now, now, you’re not being very good, are you? Tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” you beg.

“Understand what?”

“Fuck, Eddie, I want you to be mine. My boyfriend, my heart, my soul, and—” You slide your fingers down his body. “Your cock .”

“Shit,” he grins cheekily. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?” He moves to unbutton your jeans as his tongue sticks out in concentration. You don’t understand how he could still be so cute during an activity as sinful as this. Once the garment is off your legs, you return the favor, nearly ripping his shirt off his back.

He quickly pulls you back onto his lap. You continue running your hands down his chest as one of his fingers hook into the hem of your underwear, rubbing the skin of your hips with the pads of his fingers. His other hand swipes teasingly down your cunt through the fabric, causing the thick wet line to fully soak your panties immediately upon contact. You rut against him, despising the barrier that is his jeans. You need to feel him now .

“Patience, sweetheart,” he says hoarsely, right before pulling your underwear off completely. “There’s something I wanna try first.” He pulls your hips up to his face roughly, and your hands land on the wall above him for support. You giggle.

“Sounds like you’re the one who needs to put on the reigns.” Your heat is right above his mouth; you can feel his hot breath fluttering across, making you drip even more. His soft lips target your core, making sure to run his tongue over your clit from time to time. In the meantime, his hands continue roaming your body, starting from the bend in your knees to your quite indulgent thighs, all the way up to your chest. As you’re stuck in his maze of pleasure, he catches you off guard and pulls on your nipple. You yelp in surprise and arousal, the electricity of it aiding you in the roll of your hips against his face. He smiles against you, easily lapping up any juices that come out.

It causes you to release your most lewd sound of the night so far, and this man is soaking it all up. He loves that he’s the one to make you feel this way and no one else.

“Bet Harrington couldn’t make you moan like that for him.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up, I wouldn’t have even let him.”

“Careful with those eyes, I don’t want them rolling to the back of your head unless you’re bouncing on my cock.” He continues suckling at your clit and your eyes squeeze shut, enjoying the sensation. You’ve played with yourself before, but it was never like this. You could only get so far with just your fingers rubbing idly as your mind sneaks off somewhere else. Just the way his tongue moves around you so languidly has you close to your climax already.

He abruptly palms both your ass cheeks and pushes you deeper down into his face, to the point where you’re terrified you’re going to smother him—but he keeps it there, firm and steady, and darts his tongue in deep .

Now, you’ve seen this man’s tongue countless times before. Whenever pure concentration is necessary, that one time he provoked Jason Carver in the cafeteria, and the many periods of time when he merely wanted to make funny faces at you to cheer you up, like a child. Have you thought about what they’d feel in your mouth and inside of you? Naturally. But what you failed to understand was the sheer strength and length of each thrust. When you look down at him, you expect to see multiple appendages because there is no way he could work on so much of you all at once. Oh, it is so much better than you thought.

The thin sheen of sweat on his skin has his bangs sticking to his forehead. The rest of his hair falls nicely around him, like a halo under your thighs. The tip of his nose is bumping wonderfully against your button, bringing you closer and closer to your release. He’s looking straight at you, cheeks slightly hollowed out from the sucking motion. He squeezes your ass and gives a single slap. Your arms fall from the wall and land on the sheets next to him. Unable to hold back any longer, you start tweaking at your nipples. The sight has Eddie groaning into you, sending heavy vibrations straight to your folds.

“ Fuck , Eddie.” You want to scream, but you’re afraid that the neighbors might hear. You stifle a few more moans to the depths of your soul, until you feel your climax inching towards you. He answers incoherently into your pussy, but you know what he wants. His hands grip you tighter, helping you grind against his face. With one more hard suck around your nub, your orgasm comes crashing down on you. Your center pulses with each high, and you swear you’re seeing stars. You topple over, body limp beside Eddie as he licks his lips. His face is drenched with your cum.

“Was it that good, princess? I didn’t even get to finger you yet.” He waves his fingers humorously in front of your face. He’s leaning on one arm, admiring the work he’s made of you. Your chest is still heaving from the intensity, and you fan yourself.

“God, yes, it was so—I don’t even—have you done this before?”

“Oh, but of course,” he replies without missing a beat. You looked at him in surprise, then at the mess he made out of you. “What, do I seem like a virgin?” Your eyes are half-lidded, and you feel the embrace of sleep coming over you, but you’re able to muster out a yes and a few chortles for good measure.

Eddie had gotten up in the meantime and wiped his face with a towel, then used another to wipe you down. You croak out a “ Thanks” as he places a kiss on your forehead. He’s about to pull his covers over you, but you grab his hand with a frightful ferocity, alarming the poor man before you. He looks at you in question.

You fight the sleep in your eyes, and yank on his belt loop. He falls over you, quickly catching himself with an arm next to your head. He chuckles. “What is it, sweetheart? Haven’t had enough?”

You palm him over the jeans, and he hisses, but keeps steady. It was the most overwhelming orgasm you had ever experienced in your life, and as a result, your body’s energy levels are depleted. You feel guilty, wanting to return the favor, especially since he still has a hard-on, but it was getting more difficult each second that passes by. He notices and moves to the side of the bed.

“Maybe next time,” he says.

“Next time,” you whisper.

And the world fades to black.

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