#michael corner apologism begins now

[whinlatter]

‘I just think you tell people exactly as much as you want them to know. You’re a good liar. If you’ve got secrets, I’m sure you’ll be able to keep them. Maybe it’s a power thing you do, I don’t know. I don’t know where it comes from. As you say, I don’t know you that well. Or maybe you only pick people who don’t ask.’ 

🪶 read the author’s note for this chapter

🐾 listen to the playlist

🪺 watch the trailer 

🦉 thoughts & questions? ask me anything!

[naffeclipse]

Charm Brought It Back Pt. 4

Reader x Witches!Sun, Moon, & Eclipse

Commission Info

Once more, I return with @jackofallrabbits and I's Hocus Pocus AU, and I'm so excited to introduce @deliasmilkshake's cover art as well! Thank you so much to Delia for their beautiful work! <3 Now we return to the boys hunting down their darling bride while the reader discovers more of what unfolded in the past.

Content Warning: Suggestive themes, heavy kissing, heavy touching, injury, blood, violence, (temporary) animal death, and (temporary) character death.

———

In the far distance, a thick column of gray smoke chimneys up into the night sky, blotting out the light of stars. You look back again. The road has curved and how bends around homes and the beginning of small-town business. Windows are decorated with stickers of pumpkins and cauldrons with glowing green soups, and scarecrows line the corners. The pavement becomes a sidewalk underneath your feet. In an awkward gait, balancing upon the stint of his one leg and his only good foot, Michael stays close beside you.

A tear drips from your chin onto the bloody, dirty fur of the rabbit in your arms. Vanessa’s body is warm to the touch. You clutch her to your chest.

“It’s okay,” Michael murmurs. He lifts a putrid, rotten hand as if to pat your shoulder, but stops and lowers it again. “She’s not dead.”

“Michael,” you half sob, half snap. “She’s not breathing.”

“She will breathe again.” He holds your gaze. Twin pinpricks of white flame burn in his black, sunken eyes. “It’s part of the curse. She can’t die.”

You stare at him, disbelief squeezing your throat. You gently slot your fingers through the soft white coat of the woman who no longer has her own form. The brothers did this. The witches’ curse clench Michael tightly in a dark fist of unholy power. His body has dissolved into a walking corpse. 

Will the same happen to Vanessa? Will she now return as a rotting rabbit corpse? Your gut twists at such a thought.

Why can’t the witches take it back? Why can’t they stop and make it right? Is this the reason they were hanged by Michael’s ancestor—because they casted harm upon everyone?

You can’t bear to think of this anymore. The rabbit is small in your arms and you want to clean away the blood drying on her pale fur. 

A few cars honks at another. The night is well past the witching hour. The faint pounding echo of music from a party pricks your ears. Hunching over Vanessa, you wonder if she’s ever been outside of the brothers’ home for all the years she was cursed. 

Her long ears fall flat against her skull. You gently pet her and whisper an apology. It’s your fault.

You rest your hand over her and weep again, almost stumbling down the sidewalk before Michael pulls you closer to a brick wall of a building. A soft movement pushes back against your fingers. You stop and look down at the rabbit.

Her little torso expands in the slightest, then deflates. Then again. Her body moves with life.

“Vanessa?” You touch her in the slightest. Have you gone mad or is she breathing?

“Augh.” You hear her voice slip out from the rabbit’s mouth. “How did you escape? Is Michael with you?”

In dumb silence, you watch Vanessa lift her head and blink her green eyes up at you.

“Where are the witches?” she asks, terribly serious.

The gears of your mind spin. You’ve read accounts of sickly and comatose people being buried alive through the 17th and 19th centuries. Premature burials. Sometimes, out of fear of the person not truly being passed, bells would be fastened to their fingers with a string so if there were any movement. The ringing struggle would alert any grave attendant or family members nearby that the deceased was, in fact, alive. A few days would be spared to ensure death is final before they would be buried.

But you held her motionless body in your hands. Her body is caked in blood.

“You were dead,” you say, breathless with horror.

“Now I’m not.” Her pink nose twitches. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

“Are you alright?” Michael’s brow creases in the slightest while looking over her. “That couldn’t have been… pleasant.”

“Dying never is.” She pauses. Her ears prick before falling back against her skull. She presses a paw to your collarbone and pushes herself up in your arms to be face to face with you. A whisker brushes your chin. “Are you crying?”

“No, well, yes, but I was so scared you were gone!” You wipe a hand across your cheek, smearing salty tracks of tears as you try to stop another sniffle. “How did you survive?”

“I didn’t. I died, and the curse brought me back.” Her ears give an annoyed twitch. “Aren’t you listening?”

“I’m sorry.” You bite your bottom lip. You pet her head once. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

She falls silent. The weight of her green eyes falls over you, and for several breaths, she simply stares before the quiet of the street is broken by her small voice.

“When the brothers cursed me, the villagers knew they had done something to cause my disappearance but no one mourned me. I only had Afton…”

Michael shuffles a little closer. You ignore the stench of rotting flesh and hold Vanessa’s gaze. A weariness lays upon her head, a kind of exhaustion that a hundred years of sleep couldn’t cure. More than that, she seems sad and alone. 

You hold her tighter.

“I tried to get his attention.” Her eyes slide to Michael for a heartbeat then away again. “He said he could do nothing for me but give me a clean, painless death. I allowed him. He snapped my neck in his hands.”

You gasp sharply. How could he do that so quickly, without hesitation? A sickness swirls in your stomach.

“That’s horrible,” you utter. “He didn’t try to help you break the curse?”

Her paw falls down from your collarbone and she sinks deeper into your arms. She avoids your gaze.

“When I came back to life, I begged for his help. He told me to never return to him again—there is no hope for me and he would not tolerate the presence of dark magic. I would leave or else he would sic his hound on me.” She stops a moment, the silence thick. “He thought his hound’s teeth would kill me for certain. It did not.”

The unmistakable air of shame clings to her small body. Michael’s fists clench as his eyes widen. You catch the grind of his molars through the threads of flesh stretched over his cheeks and share the same fury over such an injustice. 

She was his right hand.

“Vanessa…” You touch her little head. “I’m so sorry.”

“He should not have abandoned you,” Michael seethes through his teeth. “Why would he toss you aside so heartlessly?”

Vanessa doesn’t look at Michael, the descendant of the man who betrayed her in her hour of need.

“Afton was right.” Her eyes turn upon you like shards of emerald, glinting in shattered pieces. “The curse can’t be undone.”

“No,” you whisper. “There must be a way.”

Your thoughts spill slowly like molasses. The brothers knew she would come back to life—even if throwing her off the roof is cruel and horrifying. Did they care? Did they think they could have you then if they removed every last obstacle between you?

Are they capable of being better?

Michael turns towards the street, his brow furrowed and his teeth set in a furious grimace. His darkly rotten flesh catches on a yellow streetlight, slashing over the angler cavity where his nose once was. The silence twists into you as you gaze at both of your companions.

They need your help. But how do you undo curses in a night when you just discovered witches and their magic?

“We have to keep moving.” Michael straightens like a soldier, his words faraway while his fists continue to hang at his sides. “Come on. Follow me.”

Further along the pavement, you spy a couple of people walking. You stiffen in place, glancing at Michael in alarm but he nods back at the people. He continues walking forward, undaunted. You follow him closely, peering back at the strangers to find them dressed as aliens and cowboys and devils. 

Costumes.

“We can blend in for a while, hide out,” Michael says.

“But…” You look down at yourself, your sweat almost falling off of you due to the tears and holes littering it, and the rabbit in your arms looks no better than a murder victim. Not to mention that Michael is the living dead.

“The witches only have one broomstick left and they’ll have to pick us out like needles in a haystack.” He tugs on your elbow and you follow. Vanessa nestles against your chest, strangely silent after coming back to life. Is that usual for when she resurrects? Is she in pain or does she need to rest after such an ordeal?

Deeper in town, the streets become bustling with people wearing pirate eye patches and waving hooks around, and bad, neon printed 80s costumes. They flow towards a high school, the gym doors held open where you find flashing orange and white lights with a sharp backdrop of music pounding through the air. The threat of a headache scrapes against your temples.

“We just need to hide until dawn. Then they will die.” Michael glances back at you while he drags you further inside, past the doors and into the crowded, stuffy floor of the gymnasium. 

Your shoulders sink. Scratching softly at Vanessa’s back, gently scraping away flakes of drying blood, your mind becomes lost in the thunderous overlap of voices and music. Michael keeps weaving through the crowd in a relentless march.

Death sounds too cruel of a fate for anyone. You gently pet Vanessa while she scans the room with a slight alarm. Has she ever seen a modern celebration of Halloween? She may know it better as All Hallows’ Eve. The brothers will be no better in facing such a commotion of shifted cultures and costumes and technology. 

The brothers were hanged, and Vanessa remained trapped in a rabbit form.

If the brothers die, Michael and Vanessa will remain trapped in their curses. Your heart is heavy and your feet are slow to keep up with Michael. There must be another way. 

The ceremony.

You bump into a person dressed as a firefighter and Michael glances back impatient before he drives you deeper into the gym. He finds a dark space behind the punch bowl table and tucks you both into its shadow. The flare of bright, orange lights dances across your feet before darting away. 

A twist in your chest tightens around your lungs and you become breathless. You don’t know what to do. The ceremony could mean giving up your very life to spare the witches of their untimely demise at the bells tied around their wrists. Maybe you can convince them still to give up the dark hold they have over your friends.

You could marry them. You blush softly at the thought, but your insides are knotted and caught in tangled. Can all three of them share you? Would they love you or use you simply to save themselves? Will they hurt your friends again?

Vanessa’s death and revival leaves you raw and thin-skinned, and the night spins you endlessly on uneven footsteps. You hardly notice the spill of fog beginning to sweep over the dance floor. The people in colorful costumes and makeup hoot and holler as the music changes to a slow, haunting speed.

“No.” Michael curses right beside you. “How did they get here so fast?”

Shooting a look at him then following his glance towards the entrance, your entire being grows hot and cold in a snap.

The brothers stand in the entranceway. Their cloaks and capes fall over them, hiding their unusual attire for the era but little masks the strangeness of their disk-like faces and the array of sun rays and a glittering dark hood upon another. They survey the room with a bewilderment that is both fascinating and disgusted. Eclipse stands between Sun and Moon, his head high while his eyes scan the many people, hunting for you.

The breath in your throat hitches. You could tell them that it’s alright, it’s only a festive celebration. It’s become a holiday to dress up and eat sweets and sugars, and have spooky fun and get scared sometimes. Would they understand that? Would it be less frightening and otherworldly to them if you did?

“Michael,” Vanessa hisses. Her little paws press sharply against your arms as if she means to bound away.

“Stay low,” he instructs firmly. “Stay close beside me.”

“Wait, Michael, please,” you utter but he’s already grasping your arm and striding onwards. The music swallows your voice. The pressure of tears builds until you blink and register how wet your eyelashes have become.

There shouldn’t be any more death tonight.

As you’re pulled along like a lost soul, you look back to the entrance way. For the briefest moment, Eclipse skims over the party. You suck in a sharp breath. 

He snaps his head, as if called, and locks eyes with you. You startle but can’t look away. The molten hues of his gaze holds you in place like chains. His smile expands to show off a mouthful of sharp teeth as he mouths two words.

Found you.

You duck your head, your heart in your throat, and scurry after Michael. Vanessa wriggles out of your grasp. Jumping to the floor, she hops between people’s feet and stays perfectly close to Michael despite the fog filling up the space and causing you to cough. It tastes fake and syrupy. Did they curse a fog machine? Or is this something more supernatural? 

The music begins to murmur and strike strange chords. You twist your head, briefly searching the floor in your confusion for the cause of the thick, velvet smoke. Michael almost knocks into a couple dressed as a bottle of honey and a bee. Vanessa says something, lost to the crowd. The song begins to rise and envelop the room in a haunting echo. Your head begins to swim.

Someone takes your hand. Warm digits wrap claws around the bones of your knuckles and hold tightly. You gasp. In one motion, the dancer slips you out of Michael’s grasp and spins you back into the crowd. 

For a heartbeat, Michael whirls around, his eyes, pinpricks of ghostly white, flash to you. Vanessa cries your name. Smoke and party goers cut you off from your friends as you’re effortlessly lifted over the floor.

Lost in a dizzy haze of pale wisps and swinging footsteps, you twist in the hands of your abductor and find an all too familiar crown of yellow sun rays and a beaming, wicked smirk.

“Sun?” You try to wriggle out of his hold but he’s locked onto your hips.

“Hello again, sunshine.” Sun spins you effortlessly, his cape pillowing behind him and summoning more thick fog to cloak you between dancers, stuck fast in the song as if they were sinking in mud, unable to notice the witch slipping his palms higher to hold off your waist. He pulls you flush against his chest. “I adore meeting you like this, but perhaps we might spare the rest of the night for such events? Perhaps after the ceremony.”

Your heart flutters within you like a bird. The heat of his touch sends goosebumps prickling down your flesh as you rest your hands on his shoulders. You look up into his pale eyes with desperation dripping from your every edge.

“Wait, Sun, I can’t leave Michael and Vanessa.” You try to twist back to search for your lost companions but the fog and party lights cutting over the thickness blind you equally.

He bares his pale bone teeth. Effortlessly, he twirls you over the dance floor as your poor feet attempt to keep up. The witch balances the delicate art of keeping you just on the verge of collapse without leaving you embarrassed and fallen. His arm wraps around your waist and lifts your hands above your hand to spin you like a top before reclaiming you once more.

“Of course, you can! Let’s take you far away from all these dreary people,” Sun whispers into your ear. His lips brush the shell of it. Your breath catches. “I will keep you warm. I will keep you safe. I will dance with you forevermore.”

Your lips are locked, caught between pleas to spare your friends of their curses and a temptation far greater. The promise of never being alone. The hope of kindness throughout your days and love throughout your nights. You never realized how cold you were before the brothers traced your body with their hands—how warm another person is when they hold you with care.

“Please,” you whisper. You cling to his shoulders. “I can’t leave them.”

“You will have your husbands,” Sun lifts his head, haughty but steadfast, “You will have me.”

He lowers himself to you and you are caught under his mouth as it travels slowly down your cheekbone. A heat surges through your core. He dots your nose with a peck before his eyes, sultry and softly glimmering, lower to your lips.

“There’s no need to fear now that I have you.”

Carefully, you hold still, waiting for the snap of teeth or the tenderness of his lips Sun slowly, agonizingly closes the gap between himself to you, and his mouth brushes your own—

Hands hook your hips from behind and lift you into the air, twirling you out of Sun’s stunned grasp and then furious gaze. You squeak in alarm. The world spins with music and lights and smoke.

“Brother,” Sun snarls in the way one lion might at another for stealing its meal.

“Share, brother,” Moon speaks as calm as a lake-surface at midnight. “You’ve squandered enough time with your foolish antics.”

Your hands immediately fly to the arms supporting you above the crowd. For one brief moment, you see above the thick concoction of smoke and party-goers and find Michael on the edge of the dance floor, frantically scanning the gymnasium.

You try to lift your hand to signal for him, but Moon sets you back to your feet before you have a chance to regain his attention.

“Come with me, my little mouse.” Moon shadows your back. “It will soon only be us. Alone.”

His hand slips over your waistline. Driven by pure instinct, your fingers curl around his claws while the sleek, sharp tips slide through a hole in your sweater.

“Moon?” You turn your head back, confirming the dancer holding you hostage now. He glides you forward through the crowd. His scarlet eyes are sharp with focus, but they soften the moment they meet your gaze. Weaving through costumed individuals, Moon takes you into a dark alcove along a wall, where the smoke swirls in lazily wisps and the other dancers remain at bay.

“I have wanted for you far longer than tonight.” He gently turns you back to face him and he clasps your hands between his. His black cloak falls against his back like a shield. An unmistakable understanding washes over you: you are safe. Even if you are separated from your friends.

“Moon, I…” Your tongue fails to locate the words stuck behind your molars.

He gently opens your arms and takes you against him. With one hand wrapping around your waist, his other slips up the nape of your neck. He gently cards through the hair at the bottom of your skull in a lulling, gentle motion.

Your eyelids flutter. In your weakness, you rest your head on his shoulder. Moon hums a low, harmonic sound in his chest—a lullaby for a lover. It rumbles sweetly against your heart.

He steps softly, swaying in a sort of moonlight waltz that would be better suited for a homey kitchen than a busy dance party. Regardless, Moon pays no mind to any other bodies in the room.

“Come with us,” he whispers against your hair. “Leave the witch hunter and rabbit.”

Your fingers curl against the soft fabric of his white, billowy shirt. The urge grows stronger still. It could be a fairytale. A Grimm storybook of a lonely historian and three witches.

But you screw your eyes close, and breathe.

“No.” Your footsteps follow his lead so much better, slowly twirling together. “Moon, Michael and Vanessa have suffered enough.”

Moon’s teeth flash like fangs in the dark. 

“You don’t know what they have done, what they will do,” he growls so dark and low.

A shiver overtakes you, but you gently lift your head. Moon clutches the back of your neck in the manner of a man fearful of losing something and never getting it back, despite your closeness to his body.

“I don’t know what you and your brothers have done,” you speak softly, truthfully. “I don’t know what you will do.”

A gentleness overtakes Moon. His hand slips up your cheek to cup your face.

“We would never harm you,” he whispers. “I will never hurt you.”

You lift your hand to cup his own. The coolness of his palm cradles you sweetly, a longing tipping his claw as he carefully keeps them from your flesh.

“Brother.” A new voice sounds gently beside you. “Allow me.”

Beside you both stands Eclipse. He holds out a hand. Moon gently nods, but scarlet gaze eyes linger on you with longing as he slowly takes your hand and sets it in Eclipse’s. Moon slips into the supernatural smoke and the movement of bodies enchanted by music. A backwards glance, then he’s gone.

You face your new dance partner. His gaze is golden and gleaming in the dark alcove you’re pressed against. He gently holds your hand up in a proper position of a dance—at least you think so. You’ve never danced with someone before. He touches your waist and on instinct, you place your palm on his shoulder. His black cape swishes gently around him. His crown of red rays circle the air like a king above his queen, and you find yourself blushing under such a thought.

“There were festivals in the village when we were alive,” he says in a low, sweet voice, “We could never attend. Sun longed to dance with others to proper music and Moon could have been compelled out of the shadows for just a night, but the people wouldn’t have us.”

You listen carefully as he swings you gently across the small space. Smoke spills at your feet but Eclipse sweeps it away with the sway of his cape, and endlessly, you revolve together.

“No one would have us. No one would give us a moment to speak for fear of curses.” Eclipse’s eyes lower, and a grim smile touches his lips. “They weren’t entirely unfounded. Afton was right to fear us, but he turned the village against my brothers and I. He accused us of stealing their children.”

A sharp, hidden anger, like a blade sheathed, flashes behind Eclipse’s eyes. Your heart grows heavy while you try to not step on his feet, but he always seems to move his black shoes out of the way before you can.

“Did anyone know?” you ask softly.

There is so much lost to history. Tablets and clay figures and marble sculptures cracked and buried. Letters. The truth.

As true witches, they were framed, used as a scapegoat. 

Eclipse softly presses his palm to the small of your back. You step closer. He looks down at you, his golden eyes wide and tittering between dreams and despair.

“No.” He gently steps back to lift your arm above your head and allows you to twirl slowly. An enchanting moment of twisting. Then, you return to him, clasping his hand tightly. 

“I’m sorry.” Your fingers curl over the soft fabric of his cape. “So many have been killed because of false accusations or ulterior motives… but I don’t have to tell you that.”

He chuckles sardonically. “No.”

He looks you gently over. He waltzes and you follow him in a small curve of soft steps.

“I was bone scrying one night.” Eclipse sweeps back a strand of your hair from your face, his touch velvet and light. “The villagers’ hatred was growing and I was afraid for my brothers. I needed… hope.”

You close your eyes briefly as he turns his hand, and using the back of his finger, strokes your cheek.

“Then I saw you.”

Your eyes fly open. Brow crinkling, you think of ancient fortune tellers and seers, those who claimed to see what was to come and to promise those who sought their advice that all would be well.

But that is history. This is magic.

Eclipse holds your gaze unflinching.

“You couldn’t have,” you whisper, despite yourself. “I am no one.”

His hands tighten upon you. He stops dancing. Your heart flits within you until he clutches you close in an embrace that melts your bones and loosens your muscles. 

“You are everything to us. You are our bride. You are the one who lit the starry candle to save my brothers and I. You are the one whom I love so dearly, and have waited centuries for.”

He bows and presses his forehead to yours. You breathe in a soft gentle musk and spice, and it’s as if you were home. Not your empty, cold house, but home.

“I would wait a hundred more to behold you. I would crawl out of my grave to find you. Little comet, you have been the one light in my dark death, and I will vow myself to you as your husband for as long as you will have me.”

A thickness cakes your throat. Emotion, heavy and dripping, spills into your chest. You clutch his hands. 

“Will you say ‘I do’ my bride?” 

Everything within you sings to answer him. Your silence paints your lips with faltering and fear. The sting of sorrow in the corner of your eyes begins to wet them. 

His claws curl tighter around you. His expression burns low and hot, desperate and fierce.

“Are you not lonely?” he asks in a husky tone. “Do you not understand all that my brothers and I can give you? You will know only love and certainty. You will be warm and safe. You will have all our powers at your fingertips.”

“Eclipse.” You lift your head.  A bubbling sorrow overtakes you, and your cheek drips with a tear. “I can’t. Not until Michael and Vanessa are free of their curses.”

The damning of his silence is lethal. Eclipse doesn’t move as smoke wisps by and your heart skips a beat in your rib cage. His eyes are wide and unreadable. They bore into you. You almost squirm but hold fast against his crushing attention.

“Can’t you take away their suffering? Can’t you undo the damage done?” you ask softly, your voice threatening to break. “Please. I will perform the ceremony with you and your brothers before sunrise. All I ask is this.”

A battle unfolds within the witch. His claws twitch and his lips long to curl into a snarl, but he breathes softly instead.

He moves once and presses one soft kiss to your mouth. You close your eyes.

“Very well.” He straightens. He mumbles something low under his breath, overlapping and thick with magic, and you still as he gathers you closer.

You almost can’t comprehend that you’ve agreed to marry the witches.

In the midst of a swell of energy so hot and dark, you wonder if a summer night could be conjured on an October early morning hour, Eclipse lowers his lips to your ear and whispers, “I put a spell on you.”

Your heart thunders. Your fingers twist into the white flowy fabric of his shirt, and the witch takes you into his arms. The fog swirls, beginning to rise and circle you both as if you stand in the heart of a cyclone. Faster and faster still, until you’re forced to close your eyes and hide your head against Eclipse’s chest.

His fingers stroke your spine softly. The air changes, the music ceases, and you breathe in crisp, forest air. You don’t dare open your eyes.

Eclipse hums.

“And now you’re mine.”

[zepskies]

A Wish to Build a Dream On

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-sized Latina!Reader

Summary: Dean has been harboring the archangel Michael in his mind for weeks now, putting a strain on your relationship as you struggle to help him. When Dean makes a wish that accidentally brings his father back from the dead, you get to meet the (in)famous John Winchester. But as always with magic, your boyfriend’s wish has unintended consequences.

AN: Welcome back to the Espresso-verse! This is set in 14.13: “Lebanon,” of course, but chronologically in the storyverse, it sits between Show Me and In Bad Weather.

Song Inspo: The story title was inspired by “A Kiss to Build a Dream On” by Louis Armstrong, but the real song inspiration for this is “Come Back Down” by Lifehouse.

Word Count: 7k~

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only to be safe. Spiciness/smuttish, angst, hurt/comfort, hint of body insecurity, and feels. 

Start from the beginning of the series: ⤵️

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Sometimes, even the mundane in a two-year relationship can become new. And not in a good way. 

You and Dean are getting ready for bed, taking turns brushing your teeth. When you’re done, he comes in behind you at the sink and starts up his routine.

As you go to look for the moisturizer you pretend he doesn’t borrow from your nightstand, you watch him from the corner of your eye. Even dressed down in his loose shirt and pajama pants, he seems tired, and tense.  

Maybe because he’s been harboring the archangel Michael in his mind for an entire month. 

You know Dean hasn’t been sleeping well, if at all. Now, he seems to be anticipating another fitful night. It doesn’t sit well with you to see the tension in his shoulders, the lines around his eyes that aren’t from laughing.

You wait until he slips into his side of the bed. Then you turn over and sidle up against him. You prop your elbow against his pillow, so you can look down on him with a smile. His brows twitch upwards.

“Well, hey,” he says. His arm settles around your waist under the covers. You stroke his cheek.

“Hey,” you reply. Though you don’t ask him if he’s all right. You already know the answer. Instead, you dip down for a kiss.

At first it’s just a sweet meeting of lips. You part from him softly, letting your thumb drag back and forth across his prickly cheek. He breathes in deeply and allows himself to savor the touch.

You dive back in again for a deeper taste, finding minty freshness with your tongue. He hums in response. His hold tightens on your waist, while your fingers drift down his neck, down his chest over his shirt. And then, they slip under the worn-out waistband of his sweatpants.

He groans deep in his throat when you stroke up and down the full length of him with a practiced hand. His knee bends on reflex, and he sucks in a breath as pleasure stirs low inside him.

But he stops you, grabbing your wrist gently, but firm.

You break the kiss in confusion. Dean’s eyes are still closed, brows furrowed while he takes deep breaths, as if he’s trying to pull himself back together. Or maybe, maintain a level of self-control.

His green eyes open and find yours in apology.

“Sorry,” he says, pulling your hand out of his pants. “Just uh…not really in the mood.”

You lift up the covers and glance down at the half-pitched tent in his pants with a raised brow.

“You sure about that?” you ask.

He stays quiet, which starts to make you suspicious. You let the covers drop and rest a hand on his chest, where his heart beats at a ticked-up pace.

“It’s been over a month, baby,” you point out. “I know there’s…a lot going on, but this isn’t like you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m tired,” he claims.

You can understand that, to an extent, but intuition tells you that there’s something deeper here. Beyond the lack of intimacy, you’ve been starting to realize just how distant your boyfriend has been with you, even after getting him back from Michael.

Dean doesn’t…touch you anymore. And not just in this bed. As a matter of fact, him holding you right now is some of the closest affection he’s given you in days.

Despite that thought, he actually surprises you by covering your hand on his chest and squeezing your fingers. Likely he’s seen the disappointment and concern across your face.

“Come on. You think I only want you around for sex?” he jokes. It gets you to smile, however slightly.

“Call it a perk of this little arrangement,” you say in a dry tone. 

“Ooh, an arrangement. Sounds kinky,” he quips, with a curve of his lips. 

You smirk and take back your hand from under his. Carding your fingers through his hair, you dip down and start to kiss his neck. 

“I miss you,” you whisper against his warm skin. “But I also want to help you take your mind off it all… Just let me distract you for a while.” 

His eyes briefly close as he lets out a shaky breath, but he stops you for real this time. He holds your cheek and guides you away. His rejection hurts, making your chest sting, but his eyes implore you to let him explain.

“That’s just it,” he says. “I can’t. I can’t risk it.”

Your brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t lose control,” Dean says. His tone is laced with grit and strain. “Michael’s in there, rattling around. He’s either pacing all damn day, or pounding on the walls.”

Dean presses a hand between his eyes, as if that’ll stop the headache that’s already forming. It’s bad enough that the archangel was controlling him for so long, rooting deep in his head and opening every door and shady corner. Thoughts, memories, private moments.

Now, Dean doesn’t know how much Michael sees of the outside world. It’s another reason he’d rather not heed every desire he has to roll you underneath his body and fuck you deep into the mattress. It’s why he hasn’t let himself touch you as often as he wants, as he craves.

Because the truth is, he’s scared. Scared of what might happen if he gets too distracted.

“Sometimes I think I’m gonna lose my fucking mind,” he admits to you, his throat tightening.

He glances back up at you, and finds you weeping. Your lower lip trembles. Guilt hits Dean harder between the ribs when he realizes what he’s been putting you through. What he’s still putting you through. He cups your cheek and wipes away a stray tear.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he says.

You shake your head. “It’s not just that we can’t…it’s that I can’t help you,” you reply, with a tremble in your voice. “I can’t do anything.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say to you, but he knows what he can do. He wraps his arms more securely around you and pulls you against him. You rest your forehead in the crook of his neck and try to calm yourself by taking long, even breaths.

“I wish I could take this from you,” you confess.

He sighs. “I don’t.”

The next morning, Sam and Dean catch a lead on a fellow hunter who was killed by a supernatural artifacts dealer. They mean to track down the dealer.

Instead of going with them, you stay at the bunker and continue to research a way to extract and capture an archangel from a human host. 

Dean doesn’t question your decision; he’s grateful, but still feeling guilty about last night. And part of him doesn’t even know how to move forward with you right now. 

It’s just as well, because you’re not too sure of how to act around Dean either. Your heart breaks every time you look at him, and it was hard to even meet his eyes at breakfast this morning.

Mary is on a hunt nearby as well, but you don’t have the heart to join her when she calls you around noon. After you hang up with her, you realize that you’re feeling sorry for yourself, when the one who’s really suffering is Dean.

For a moment, you take a break from the old book in front of you. Your back is twinging from being hunched over in your research for hours on end in the library. You rub your eyes and let out a sigh, before you lift your gaze heavenward. You doubt your grandmother can hear you up there while she relives her greatest hits, but at this point, you’ll try anything.

Please, you think in Spanish, and even pray. Give me strength. Give him strength.

Sam and Dean return to the bunker after “taking care” of the scumbag dealer. They bring back a number of artifacts, which you’ll have to help them sort through. They pile it all onto the War Room table. 

But they show you one item in particular: the Baozhu, one of eight ancient Chinese treasures. In other words, it’s a pearl that grants your heart’s desire.

Now, in general, you tend to be wary about hoodoo, but Sam has already convinced Dean that it could work. He could wish Michael gone.

They’re both so earnest that you’re willing to go along with it…and let Dean give it a try.

“Are you sure you don’t want to call Mom?” Sam asks him. “Or wait for Cas?”

“No,” Dean replies. “If this mojo works, great. If it doesn’t, then why get their hopes up?”

You agree with that point. In fact, you almost wish you could be Mary or Castiel right now.

Dean notes the look on your face, and he knows you well enough to read what you might be thinking. He turns his attention back to the pearl with determination.

He takes the pouch from Sam’s hand and doesn’t know what to do with it at first, but after little coaching from Sam, Dean takes the pearl in his hand, closes his eyes, and concentrates on his “heart’s desire.”

Michael outta my friggin’ head, he thinks.

The lights in the bunker start to flicker. You and Sam look up in wariness as the magic from the wish knocks out the electricity for a moment, casting the room into darkness mixed with a red glow from the emergency lights.

Sam turns when he spots a shrouded figure out of the corner of his eye—almost as tall as him, a large threatening frame. Sam swings a punch, but the intruder bats at his stomach, then his face with what looks like a crowbar. He goes down hard.

Just as you turn your head, Dean steps in next and gets an elbow to the chin for his trouble, then a swift kick in the stomach that sends him across the room with Sam. The intruder wracks his crowbar, which as it turns out, is actually a shotgun.

“Don’t you move,” he says.

He must not have seen you in the dark. It gives you the opportunity to come up behind him with one of the emergency handguns Dean had taped under the table for exactly this purpose. You tuck the safety back with a click.

“Drop it,” you demand.

The man pauses. He knows you’re there, but he doesn’t yet lower his weapon.

And the lights come back on.

Sam and Dean’s eyes widen when they realize who they’re faced with.  

“Dad?” Dean says incredulously.

John Winchester is just as confused to be in the bunker as his sons are to see him alive, and in the bunker. For John, he thinks it’s 2003. Sam should be at school in Palo Alto, while John’s been hunting with Dean.

John is understandably shocked when Sam tells him that sixteen years have passed.

“I think we summoned you,” Sam says, after he and Dean pick themselves up from the ground.

John takes a beat to try and process, but he has too many questions.

“You boys better tell me what’s going on right now,” he says. Though he turns and notices you after you slip your gun back into the waistband of your jeans and draw closer to Dean, laying a hand on his arm. A subtle look passes between you two.

You good? yours says.

I think so, Dean’s replies. The exchange doesn’t go unnoticed.

“And you are?” John asks. His gaze is focused on you, and the directness of his tone somewhat takes you by surprise. You never thought you would meet John Winchester.

But after you tell him your name, Dean rests a hand at the small of your back.

“She’s my girlfriend,” he says.

Intrigue sparks in John’s eyes, and he nods in response. His mind is probably buzzing with too much information to levy any kind of politeness your way, but it still leaves a tense, awkward atmosphere in its wake.

Sam tries to bridge it by suggesting you all sit at the long table in the War Room to go over what John’s missed. He agrees, though he requests a strong drink first.

Explaining what’s really happening to the older, yet still incredibly spry hunter takes a while. You all do it with a bottle of Jack Daniels split four ways.

“So, you saved the world?” John asks. His whiskey glass is in his hands, and he raises a finger in a “So you mean to tell me” gesture.

“More than once,” Dean admits.

“Then it’s all true. God, the Devil, you boys smack in the middle,” John says. You can see him working through all this, but also with fatherly pride coming through. It would make you smile, if this situation wasn’t so goddamn weird.

“Now you all live in a secret bunker with an angel and Lucifer’s kid,” he continues, and this time, he includes you in his gaze. All you can do is nod with a feeble smile.

Sam and Dean also confirm his summary.

“And you’ve done this whole…time travel thing before?” he asks.

“A few times,” Dean nods. “Actually, our grandfather, your dad…he’s the one that helped us find this place. I think he’d be real happy to know you’re finally here.”

Dean has told you about Henry Winchester, and how John had thought the man abandoned him when he was a child. But now, he seems to understand.

“Right, Man a’ Letters,” he nods.

“Yeah, we’re uh, we’re legacies,” Sam says, giving his father a smile. “Because of you.”

John has to smile back.

The three of them continue to talk for a while, and you mostly keep to yourself. Truth be told, you’re feeling a bit out of place in this moment.

The John you’ve heard stories about is a gruff ex-marine with a “give ‘em hell” attitude. This man has a solid presence, and a gruff voice not unlike Dean’s, but all you see in him is both pride and wonder at everything his sons are telling him about this world he’s been thrust into.

After a little while more, Sam realizes he needs to call someone immediately: his mother.

John’s face falls into shock.

“Mary?” he says. His disbelieving eyes become tinged with hope. “She’s…she’s alive?”

Dean shares a quick look with Sam, who heads out of the room quick to find his phone.

“Yeah, Dad. It’s a long story, but uh…she’s back too,” Dean says, smiling. “Wait ‘til she sees you.”

John’s brows furrow. He looks down at his hands on the table, fighting emotion. You can’t help but feel for him. You notice the empty bottle of whiskey, and without meaning to, you fall into “caretaker mode.”

“Uh, John, you want some water? Or maybe a beer?” you ask, as you start to get up from your seat. Dean looks up at you with a measure of bemusement.

“Beer would be good, thanks,” John says, giving you a small, but sincere smile. Somehow that unbalances you even more, though you smile back.

“Okay, and while I’m at it I think I’d better start dinner,” you say. Mary doesn’t cook, really. Sam is a lost cause too. (The man can barely boil an egg.) So it’s often up to you and Dean to handle the food in this house��bunker…whatever.

Dean disrupts your thoughts by grasping your hand, hoping it’ll steady you.

“You don’t have to, baby,” he says. You perk up with a more genuine smile.

“Oh, I want to! Besides, you guys should keep talking. Catch up,” you say, gesturing between father and son. You squeeze Dean’s hand, then make your quick escape.  

Dean smirks and watches you go. John follows his son’s gaze, then looks back at him in amusement. 

“She a good cook?” he asks. 

Dean raises his brows. “Oh, just you wait. She makes this beef stew thing, ropa vieja? Ridiculous. And a pork roast like you wouldn’t friggin’ believe.”

John chuckles. “Latina, huh?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Dean grins.  

“Nice,” his father nods with another short laugh. But it evens out into a certain smile. “How long’ve you two been together?”

Dean mentally counts it back. You often calculate it from the first time he officially asked you out for a nice dinner here in town. He likes to count it from that very first night he finally got a taste of your sweet café con leche…in more ways than one.

“Two years and some change. Almost three,” he says. John gives a low whistle.

“Look at you,” he remarks. And he seems pleased, with a gleam in his eyes that warms Dean deep inside. “Good for you, son. Glad to see you’ve got someone to hold you down.”

Dean sobers at that. He glances down at his empty glass of whiskey.

“Yeah,” he says. “You don’t know how much.”

It’s a good thing you went grocery shopping yesterday, or else you’d be shit out of luck trying to put something together for dinner. There happened to be a sale going on in the seafood section, so you find that you have everything you need to make a Spanish paella.

You get to chopping the onions, bell peppers, garlic, tomato, and parsley first before anything else. While that starts sautéing in the pan, you break out the chicken, shrimp, and mussels from their individually wrapped packages.

You continue according to the recipe you have in your mind’s eye—the one your grandma instilled in you. She’d learned it from her half-Spanish mother when she was a kid.

Cooking is one of those things that allows you to reset your mind. It’s like how Dean is when he sits down to tune up his car, or Sam when he reads a new book. You can just zero in and focus on the task at hand, and it allows you to put the rest of the chaos out of your head for a while. Plus, you just like feeding people.

Sometimes though, the task of whipping up a hot meal just gives you time to think. And right about now, you’re still reeling.

On one hand, you’re so happy for Sam and Dean. And of course for Mary, who’s about to get her entire world flipped upside down. You have so many questions for John Winchester…but not all of them would be pleasant.

You have to try to push that part down, for Dean’s sake. He’s just gotten his father back. He doesn’t need you adding even more onto his load.

There’s a knock on the open door of the kitchen that pulls you out of your thoughts. You raise your head and look over your shoulder. John is there with an empty beer bottle, which he raises in greeting.

You give him a small smile. “Hope you’re getting hungry.”

“With that smell, who wouldn’t?” he says, drawing near enough to lean against the counter next to you. He answers your unspoken question. “Dean’s lookin’ for some pictures to show me.”

You nod at that. “Yeah, he has a few good ones, and some are new. I’m sure you’ll like to see them.”

John nods and regards you with curiosity. He wants to know more about the woman in his son’s life, but he’s not too sure where to start.

“So you’re a hunter too?” he asks.

“Yep. Not for as long as Dean, but long enough,” you reply. It’s tinged with the knowledge that no hunter should’ve been as young as Dean when they started, but you keep that thought deep inside.

“How’d you two meet?” John asks.

Your lips twitch at a smile. You tell him the story of how you’d met Dean at a dirty bar in Las Cruces, New Mexico. Dean hadn’t realized you were a hunter at first when he watched you hustle some guy at pool.

He set you in his sights, flirted with you, and you probably would’ve let him take it further if you hadn’t stunned him with the knowledge that you, Sam, and Dean happened to be in town working the same case. From that day on, the three of you had become allies and friends.

You and Dean just hadn’t become you and Dean for a long time after that. Too long, if you were honest. But, it’s all worked out so far. This is the longest relationship both of you have been in, pretty much ever.

There’s a lull of silence that falls between you and John after you finish the story. It’s not altogether comfortable, and he realizes that when he watches you putter about the kitchen while you cook. You’re trying to busy yourself.

“This must be one hell of a strange day for you,” he says.

Your head perks up, and you have to smile wryly. “Our lives are built on strange.”

John’s chuckle concedes your point. But you look over at him thoughtfully and set down your wooden spoon.

“Could I, um…could I ask you something?” you ask.

He nods at you. “Sure.”

Maybe you shouldn’t, but you really can’t help yourself.

“We don’t know each other well,” you begin. “But, knowing what you know now, about Sam and Dean and everything they’ve gone through… If you could go back, would you change anything?”

John tilts his head at you, like he’s trying to read through the lines in your words. It reminds you of Sam.

“You mean, would I do things differently?” he asks. “From what point?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know. From the point in time you can remember, with Sam in college. Or maybe further back…from when they were kids.”

You try your best not to make it sound like a leading question, but you don’t think you’ve disguised it well enough. John stares back at you, as if the lines are now connecting in his mind.

He sees you're well-meaning. Despite your best efforts though, he knows you're accusing him of something. And he thinks you have some audacity.

He's somehow both taken aback, and amused by that fact. Trust Dean to be with a woman who goes for the jugular.

“Because you’ve been straight shootin’ with me, I guess I’ll shoot straight with you,” John replies. He sighs and wipes a hand over his bearded mouth, like you’ve seen Dean do at times when he’s tired, or anxious.

“A good part of me believes I did the best I could,” he says.

Your gaze falls; you don’t want him to see your real thoughts in your eyes.

“But,” he says, “If you're asking if I have regrets? ...Then you'd be right.”

You consider him then, for a moment. You find that you believe him. You begin to soften.

“Well, that’s something we have in common,” you reply. “But Sam and Dean are the best men I’ve ever known… So thank you.”

And you mean that. You are grateful for both of them. They became your family when you thought you had no one left.

John surprises you by shaking his head, smiling. “That’s what I wanted to say to you.”

You falter at that.

Me? you think. Why would he want to thank me?

Before you can truly digest his words, Dean comes into the kitchen, both to check on you and bring his dad the pictures he keeps in his nightstand. While he looks through them, John surreptitiously watches you and his son. 

Dean sidles up behind you and rests a hand along your hip. He peeks over your shoulder at what you’re cooking. You open the lid on the big pan of rice, chicken, and seafood, and he hums in delight at the smell of saffron that hits him.

“What’s that, paella?” he asks.

You give him an impressed look. “Very good. Here, it’s not quite ready yet, but try a bit.”

You put a shrimp and a bit of rice on the wooden spoon and raise it to his lips. Dean smiles and takes the proffered bite. He then moans in appreciation.

“Oh, that’s good,” he praises with his mouth full. “A bit spicy.”

“You like that though,” you tease.

Dean eyes you, and he chuckles. “Yeah, I do actually.”

John smiles to himself, both at the pictures of his boys throughout the years he missed, and at the glimpse he gets to see now.

You turn to him with another spoonful held out. “Want to try some, John?”

He obliges you by coming over and taking the spoon from your hand. He takes the bite, and his brows shoot up.

“Oh man, that’s got some kick to it,” he says.

“Too much?” you ask.

“Nah, it’s real good.”

Dean grins, but it soon dims as he realizes something.

“Ooh, what about dessert?” he says, rubbing his hands together. “Do we have anything?”

“Nope,” you reply. “Either we pick something up, or…I could make a flan.”

Dean’s grin kicks back in, full force. If there's one thing he's come to love in this world besides pie, it's your flan.

“But! For that I’ll need more ingredients,” you say, holding down a laugh at the look on your man’s face.

“Say no more,” he replies. “I’ll go on a grocery run. Just tell me what you need.”

You’re about to respond when a door creaks open down the hall. Mary hastens into the kitchen with Sam on her heels. When she sees her husband, her face falls into shock.

“John,” she breathes.

John's amusement gradually melts away, into watery-eyed emotion.

“My girl,” he says.

The two meet each other in the middle of the room. He holds her face, and she grips the front of his shirt with desperation. Their kiss is beautiful and tender…and then it’s more.

You and Dean share a wide-eyed look with Sam. The three of you quickly tip out of the room to the sounds of soft moans in your wake.  

“Wow. I mean, this is crazy right?” Dean says. He gesticulates wildly with his hands as the three of you make your way down the hall. “The way they just…connected, like magnets.”

You turn to him with a knowing smile.

“Your parents are about to have a lot of reunion sex,” you tease. 

Both Sam and Dean grimace. Dean has a full body shiver and gives you a look.

“Thank you for that,” he says wryly. 

You laugh and try to soothe him with a hand down his arm, but he playfully shakes his head at you. You have mercy on the brothers and manage to stifle your laughter.

“Okay, so, dessert,” you say.

“Well, since you’re so graciously being our chef for tonight, you just relax,” Dean says. “Sam and I’ll go make a run. You just tell me what you need.”

You pause in the hallway and give a hum of suspicion. You’re not sure you trust him to get the right stuff. The last time you asked him to get very specific ingredients from the store, he did not, in fact, bring you what you needed. (Somehow, he thought regular garlic powder was the same as Adobo seasoning.)

He clocks that look of yours and rolls his eyes. “Come on, really? What am I, five years old? Just give me a list.”

You relent with a sigh. “Okay, I’ll text it to you. But if you need me to send you pictures of anything, just let me know.”

Dean’s lips kick up into a smirk. He leans in for a parting kiss on your cheek, but it’s just an excuse to whisper in your ear.

“Well, I’ll never say no to some pics,” he says. “Nudes, preferably.” 

He then laughs at your rosy blush and raised brows. Now you know he’s in a better mood.

“Just hurry up,” you reply, shaking your head. He keeps chuckling as he passes by you. A smile curves your lips, and you give into the urge to smack his ass on his way up the stairs.

Sam just sighs in amused resignation. He raises a hand to you in goodbye and follows his brother up to the garage. 

Once they’re in the car, Sam finally unloads what he’s been holding onto all afternoon.

“Dean, how did this happen?”

“I mean, I don’t know. You said that the pearl gives you what your heart desires, right?” Dean says. “So, my heart desired… Look, I’ve wanted this, man. I’ve wanted this since I was four years old. Maybe having Mom back just brought it all back up.”

He’s not exactly sure how deep that “desire” was buried, but the pearl knew. Dean couldn’t believe how happy he was when he saw his dad again, got to tell him everything that he’d missed, getting to have him meet you. And seeing his dad with his mom again? Well, that was a child’s dream come true.

But Debbie Downer (AKA: his brother) looks concerned in the passenger seat.

“Okay, I know, and I love this too,” Sam says. “But messing with time—”

“No, no, no. Sam,” Dean says, raising a hand in protest as he drives.

“You know how this ends, Dean. Things change,” Sam tries to reason. Dean just shakes his head.

“Yeah, we got our family back together! I’ll take that change.”

“That’s not what I mean—”

“Stop. Just stop,” Dean says, in a tone that bodes no argument. “Look, can we just have one family dinner? Just one? Us—all of us together? That’s all I want. Can you just give me that?”

Sam’s lips purse. He knows it’s useless to argue with Dean when he gets like this, but Sam just can’t help the uneasy churning in his gut. It warns him that the other shoe has yet to drop on this spell.

You’re checking on the food when Sam and Dean return from their trip. Except the way they come storming into the kitchen has you turning to them in alarm.

Dean grasps your arms and searches your face. His face is marred by fresh cuts and a bruise or two.

“You feeling all right?” he asks. “Do you think Sam is a turtleneck-wearing douchebag?”

“Dean, what?” you utter. You touch his bruised cheek lightly, wincing in sympathy when he does out of pain. “What happened?”

True to Sam’s gut, the wish changed more than bringing John Winchester back from 2003. They explain what they went through after getting the groceries you requested—namely getting attacked by Castiel and Zachariah at the local liquor store.

The latter of the two angels was supposed to be dead, while the other had no recollection of being friends with the Winchesters. Sam was supposed to be a hot-shot Steve Jobs wannabe lawyer, while Dean had his mugshot plastered all over town.

“I think it’s…a temporal paradox,” Sam says.

Now, you’re very alarmed.

“Are you kidding me?! What the hell are we gonna do?” you exclaim.

“About what?” John asks from the doorway. He’s no longer wearing his jacket, you notice, and his shirt is looking a bit rumpled and hastily buttoned at the top, but his gaze is serious, matching his sons.

After sharing another telling look, Dean takes the responsibility of explaining the situation to his father, while Sam goes to find his mother.

Dean and John go into the library to talk. He explains that pulling John out of his time is now making the current timeline self-correct. Meaning, everything and everyone is gradually adjusting to the change.

“Basically, uh, if you don’t go back,” Dean says. He hesitates on the words, but he forces himself to continue. “Sam never gets back into the life. And Mom, she…”

“What?” John asks.

“Well, without everything that we did, with God, the Darkness, Mom never comes back,” Dean explains, even though it’s killing him inside. “Sam thinks that she’ll just fade away.”

It hurts him still to see the understanding don on his dad’s face, along with a smile of resignation.

“Okay,” John agrees. “I mean, me versus your mom? That’s not even a choice.”

Dean nods at that, however belatedly.

“Dean…I never meant for this,” John says.

“Dad, we pulled you here—”

“No, son. My fight,” he says. He still thinks about his conversation with you earlier today. He thinks about how protective you seemed just by that question you asked—not just protective of Dean, but of Sam too.

“It was supposed to end with me, with Yellow Eyes,” John explains. “But now, you’re a grown man, and I am incredibly proud of you.”

Dean takes that in; he feels a rush of warmth deep in his heart, even though he doesn’t know what to say.

“You and your girl…you two planning on settling down someday? Having a family?” John asks.

Dean quirks a smile. You two haven’t talk about…that. Any of that. In between all the shit you all keep landing in, he’s somehow never had those conversations with you. Maybe he should.

But not now. Not until Michael’s gone and dealt with.

“I don’t know if we’re the settling type, but either way…I have a family,” Dean replies. He can say that honestly, with a soft smile that reaches his eyes.

John smiles back.

“All right,” he says. “Just think about it then.”

Dean once again finds you in the kitchen. You’ve gotten the plates, glasses, and silverware ready for dinner on the dining table.

“Hey, there’s only four plates on the table. We’re five,” Dean says.

You nod and close the oven back up. You’ve spent the past hour preparing the flan and just took it out of the oven. Hopefully it will have enough time to chill in the fridge.

You go to Dean and grasp the front of his gray flannel. In return, he holds you close by your arms.

“Listen, I thought it might be better if the four of you have dinner together. I’ll just eat here in the kitchen,” you say. Dean’s brows furrow, but you try to explain before he can start protesting. “You don’t have a lot of time left with your dad. This is the first time you’re getting to be together with your family like this. I just want to make sure you get the most out of it.”

Dean squeezes your arms and frowns down at you.

“You being there doesn’t take anything away from me being with them,” he says sternly. “And you’re part of my family. Part of our family. I’m not gonna have you eating in here by yourself like you’re a leper or something. Come on.”

He grabs your plate and the glass that you set aside on the counter, and he brings it to the table without letting you get a word in to stop him. You sigh, watching him go, but you also have to smile as the sting of tears burns in your eyes.

Dinner is awkward and dour at first. You all can’t help but think of what’s to come at the end of the night—ending the spell, and sending John back along with it.

But after John sets the tone, encouraging them to be grateful for this moment, and not dreading the inevitable end, everyone’s able to relax. The rest goes off without a hitch. 

While Sam and Dean are telling a childhood story, arguing about who’s version of the events were more accurate, you get up to grab the dessert from the fridge. 

You take out the pan of flan with both hands and go to bring it back to the table, but right in the doorway, you stumble to a stop as a wave of something washes over you. It prickles across your skin and feels a lot like magic.

The pan drops from between your hands and crashes to the floor. It startles everyone in the room.  

Dean calls your name in alarm. He’s the closest to you, and he gets up to steady you with a hand on your shoulder. 

“You okay?” he asks, trying to get you to meet his gaze. 

But when you do, he sees blankness behind your widened eyes. 

“Who are you?” you ask. You look around in both fear and confusion. “Where the hell am I?”

Dean’s throat constricts. "What do you mean? You live here. I'm..."

He searches your face for any hint of a joke, but he finds none. Trepidation grows inside him, and he realizes then what this is.

Another temporal shift, getting closer to the new timeline. One in which you and Dean are clearly strangers.

Somehow, he didn’t anticipate this.

“You don’t recognize me, do you?” he says.

Your brows furrow as you take in the man in front of you. He’s certainly a sight to see, you think, but those broad shoulders, the cut of his jaw, those green eyes…they’re unfamiliar to you.

“Sorry, but…I feel like I’d remember you,” you say with a nervous chuckle. “Have we worked together or something?”

Dean’s lips press together. He gives you a meaningful look. “Sweetheart, we’ve done a lot more than that.”

Your brows raise, and you blush hotly at the thinly veiled innuendo in his deep voice. You take another quick scan of him, which he notes with a smile.

“Yeah, I uh, I doubt that,” you say, which drops his smile again. You curl a strand of hair behind your ear, like you’re embarrassed just by him scrutinizing your curvy form. Like you can’t believe he’s basically flirting with you.

That’s not the woman he knows. 

“Listen, I’m sorry, but I don’t know you. I have to figure out where the hell I am and how to get home,” you say. And you ease out of his hold and back away. 

Dean grabs your hand fast. “Uh, wait. Sorry, just…”

He raises a placating hand and glances back at Sam with a hidden thread of desperation in his eyes. His brother is shocked and disheartened, as are Mary and John.

“Okay. I'm Dean, this is my brother Sam, our parents, Mary and John,” Dean says, turning back to you. “I know this has gotta be weird as hell for you right now, but can you just…stay put for a bit, until I get this worked out?”

You give him an uneasy look. He’s holding your hand like he’s afraid to let you go. You don’t know this man at all, and yet he really seems to believe that he knows you. It doesn’t make any damn sense.

You shake your head. “Look, I have to go home.”

You try tugging your hand out of his, and Dean finally lets you go.

“Why, you got a boyfriend waiting or something?” he asks. He’s half teasing, and half serious. 

“No, um, family,” you admit. “My grandma’s probably waiting for me.” 

Dean’s expression slackens. In the right version of the timeline, you’re his girl. But your grandmother passed away a few years ago.

“Okay,” he wipes at his mouth with a hand. “Tell you what, it’s pretty late. Just give me a few minutes and I’ll take you wherever you want to go. Deal?”

The truth is, he has no intention of letting you go any-damn-where, but he needs to buy them some time to break this spell. Then you’ll be back to normal.

Right now, you’re reluctant to trust him. Eventually though, you nod in agreement. Dean wastes no time in bringing you to the War Room, where he encourages you to take a seat.

“I’ll be back in a few,” he promises.

You nod a bit hesitantly, as you still treat him with dubious suspicion. It breaks his heart. He forces himself to turn away from you and return to the dining room.

Part of you can’t help but watch him leave. Those long legs and broad shoulders are a sight, you can admit, but this is all too much for you. You further take in your surroundings and also think this place is strange. No windows…what, are we in some WWII bunker?

And yet, Señor Green Eyes claimed that you live here. Your car, your keys, it all must still be here, you reason. 

So you wait until he’s all the way down the hall, and disappearing into another room. You get up out of your seat and start looking for your stuff—and a way out of here.

Meanwhile, Dean goes back into the dining room where Mary is already crying in John’s arms: for her eldest son, for her youngest, for her husband, and for herself. Dean’s eyes are red and stinging too. 

By now, Sam has gotten up from the table and has been waiting for his brother. He lays a supportive hand on Dean’s shoulder. When Dean meets his brother’s gaze, he sees the shine of heartbreak there too. 

“Let’s get this done,” John says.

Saying goodbye is the hardest thing. 

Somehow, though, they get through it. Dean reflects on how he never got to say it to his father the first time. He feels the worst for his mom, who gets her husband ripped away from her.

It’s not fair. In fact, it’s a cruel turn of the knife that he should’ve expected. Dean feels guilty just for making this goddamn wish.

John says goodbye to his wife first, then his sons. He pulls them both into a hug that Dean clings to. Again, he hears his father say that he’s proud of him and his brother. Dean hears him say that he loves them. 

“I love you too,” are the only words Dean can manage out, in a coarse whisper. 

But Sam is the one who has to make things right. He crushes the pearl. John slowly disappears in a haze of golden light. Tracks of tears are wet on all of their faces, but Dean is the first one who has to lock it all away. 

He remembers that you’re still waiting in the other room. 

Wiping at his eyes, he leaves Sam to comfort their mother and hurries out there, to the room where Dean left you…only to find your chair empty. 

A tendril of panic churns in his gut, but he has to remind himself that they’ve set things right. Even if you’ve run off, you can’t have gone far. 

He calls your name as he heads for the door to the garage. He picks up his keys and his phone to call you, but he stops at the foot of the stairs.

He sees you at the top of them, having dropped your duffel bag at your feet. Your name falls from his lips again.

You turn around and hold a hand to your head, with your brows furrowed in discomfort. Your gaze travels down to his.

“Dean?” you call out.

You head down the stairs, and Dean meets you there at the bottom. He pulls you into a tight, desperate hug. His hand comes up to cup the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. Even though you’re still a bit confused, you hold him back to reassure him, and to steady yourself. 

“What happened?” you ask.

“We reversed the spell,” he confesses, after he finds his voice. “Had to send him back.”

Your hold becomes more comforting as your hand slides up the back of his neck. 

“Oh, baby. I’m sorry,” you whisper. You card your fingers through his hair. His hold on you tightens even more. You feel his deep, shuddering breaths. He’s trying to contain it all, to push it down. You wish he would allow himself to let it out. 

He presses his lips into your neck instead. 

“You okay?” he asks. Your cheek brushes his when you nod. 

“I’m fine, but…” You pull back enough to see his face. “Did I…forget you? Everyone?”

Dean’s lips press together.

“For a minute there,” he says, “but we got it all worked out.”

You let out a shaky sigh, and you tug him back into a warm hug that you both need. 

Mary prefers to be alone that night. You understand it, but you still apologize and give her a heartfelt embrace in the hallway outside her room. 

It takes her a moment, but she returns it. You start to realize that Winchesters are not a touchy-feely bunch by design. You can’t help yours though; you’re affectionate by nature. You just hope you haven’t overstepped.

Mary gives you a small, teary smile when you eventually pull away. She squeezes your hand before she says goodnight to you and her sons. 

You give Sam a parting hug as well. He rubs your back in a brotherly gesture. 

“Sorry about the whole temporary amnesia thing,” you quip. 

Sam shakes his head with a smile. “Just glad to have you back.”

After he lets you go, Dean thumps his brother on the back. He then heads down the hall without a word.

You and Sam share a look, in which you give him an unspoken promise: I’ll take care of him.

You follow after Dean, who trekked a well-worn path to your shared bedroom. He’s already at the sink, splashing water on his face. After drying himself with a small towel, he sighs and rests his hands on the corners of the sink.

After closing the bedroom door, you go over and slip your arms around him from behind. 

You rest your head against his back, and you both take in some deep breaths. Dean clasps a hand over yours on his chest. 

“I’m okay,” he says. 

“No, you’re not,” you tell him. “And that’s okay.”

Dean stays quiet. For a beat, he closes his eyes. He’s grateful for you. He’s still not sure why you put up with all the hellish shit that surrounds his life.

He turns in your arms so he can cup your cheek, smoothing his thumb across your skin. 

“You know how much I love you right now?” he says, even though his deep voice cracks. Tears well up in your eyes, but you smile and you nod. 

“Yeah, I do,” you reply, resting a hand on his chest. “I love you back.” 

He frames your face with his hands and bows his head to kiss you. It’s fraught and devouring, and a bit greedy. You’re willing to give him whatever he needs right now, especially when his hands slip under your shirt and raise it over your head with practiced ease. In turn, you help him shrug out of the flannel and everything else.

You seat him down on the edge of the bed and stroke his face, his neck, his bare shoulders. His fingers press into your thick thighs as he encourages you to climb aboard, straddling his hips.  

Michael still paces back and forth in his mind, but for now, Dean’s able to tune it out and focus on this moment, with you. 

AN: This ended up being another long one. Lots of angst and feels, but I sincerely hope you enjoy it! I had a lot of fun with this chapter of the Espresso-verse. 💜

Keep Reading:

Next up in this series is "A Little Danger." This one is lighter. Just a "quick and dirty" one-shot my brain couldn't let go of:

Summary: While relaxing together in the bunker, Dean takes your playful teasing to a new level. (And he’s too horny to care about the consequences.)

▶️ Next Story: A Little Danger

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Dean Winchester One-Shots

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean W. Tag List:

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sanscas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords

[jennay]

my best friend (2)

Noah sebastianx reader

1/2/3/4/5

Two weeks had slipped through your fingers like sand, and still, you hadn’t retrieved all your belongings from Michael’s place. The apartment, once a sanctuary of shared laughter and whispered secrets, now loomed like a haunted chamber. Each visit was a walk between nostalgia and heartache.

Tonight, Noah accompanied you. His presence amplified your emptiness. It felt like an invisible audience watched your unraveling, their collective breath held as you traced the stain on the carpet, the wine spill from that picnic-turned-moment-of-bliss. Forest green turned to murky gray, just like your world.

“I love you,” Michael’s voice echoed in your mind, a bittersweet refrain. You’d smiled then, as if love alone could defy the gravity of your situation.

Noah’s touch on your shoulder was soothing, “Last box,” he said, his words a lifeboat in a storm. Snapping you from memories that were torturing your brain.

You nodded, tears threatening to spill. “Ok.” A whisper so soft that not even Noah heard you.

At the door, you hesitate. The whiteboard showed Michael’s farewell: “I’m Sorry :(”—a cryptic apology etched in marker. You added your own message, a silent plea: “I love you, you’ll be okay.”

The door closes behind you, sealing memories and pain.

In Noah’s car, you stared at the ceiling, willing your emotions to freeze. You couldn’t break down now, not in front of him. Home awaited—where you could shatter, piece by fragile piece, away from prying eyes. Maybe there, in the quiet of your room.

Noah’s touch on your leg is gentle, a silent reassurance that lingers. “You’re going to do good things,” he says, his voice steady. “Heal from this, feel it.” His thumb traces a soothing pattern on your skin. “Take a break from dating for a while, find yourself.” The car hums along, the world outside shrinking as you peer through the window. “You’ll find him when the time is right.” he adds softly.

Breakups aren’t easy, especially when they coincide with Father’s Day—the day your own father left this world.

Noah’s unspoken anger mirrors your own; he’d gladly give Michael a piece of his mind. Maybe even a few choice words about being a dumbass. He didn’t understand, to Noah you were amazing, sure you were rough around the edges but nonetheless pretty close to perfect.

He wanted to ask you more questions about Michael, but for now, he drives, and you both share the quiet, intertwined in this moment of vulnerability that made you feel defenseless.

Noah’s grin widens, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Let’s go to the beach,” he declares, glancing over at you.

You raise an eyebrow, skepticism etching your features. “We’ve got a car full of stuff, and it’s like an hour’s drive,” you protest. “I’m not exactly in the mood.”

His laughter bubbles up, infectious. “You’ve been home sulking for two weeks straight. It’s time for a change. You can’t live off working, sleeping, and sulking. You need some fun in between.” His fingers drum on the steering wheel, enthusiasm radiating. “Sun, water, sand—let’s build a damn sandcastle!”

The traffic light turns red, and he tilts his head, locking eyes with you. His happiness is contagious, and your resistance crumbles. “Okay,” you acknowledge, a smile tugging at your lips. “Let’s hit the beach.”

-

As soon as you step onto the beach, you kick off your shoes, feeling the hot sand between your toes. The warm breeze caresses your skin, and you feel your worries begin to dissolve, bringing a sense of calm you haven’t felt in what seems to be ages.

Noah’s smile broadens as he notices the change in you, clearly pleased that his plan is working. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him peeling off his shirt.

You can’t help but glance over, intrigued by the intricate tattoos that cover his well-toned body.

Quickly, you look away, not wanting to be caught staring. You know he’d have a sassy remark ready, so instead, you slip off your tank top, leaving you in your sports bra and shorts.

“The sun feels so good,” you say excitedly, feeling the warmth on your skin. “I needed this.”

Noah nods in agreement as the two of you continue to walk toward the water. The birds seem louder than usual, their songs mingling with the gentle sound of the waves. The sun catches perfectly on the water, creating a sparkling effect that adds to the serene atmosphere.

Noah’s hand catches the back of his neck, and he lightly rubs it, a telltale sign of his nervousness. He stares off into the distance, avoiding eye contact with you. He’s not one to delve into emotional conversations, but part of him feels compelled to. He pretends to admire the sea, the waves gently lapping at the shore.

He wants you to know you can talk to him about anything and everything. “You know…” he begins, dropping his hand to his side and tilting his face to look at you. His brown eyes are full of kindness as he speaks, “You can talk to me about how you’re feeling if you want. I didn’t mean that you couldn’t talk about things. I just wanted you to feel better.”

You smile sheepishly, appreciating his effort. You know he’s doing his best to be there for you. You want to share the thoughts swirling in your mind, but you hesitate, not wanting to burden him with your current mind-state

The breakup still feels fresh, and you’re not ready to open up about the pain just yet. “I know,” you quietly say. “Right now I just want to forget about it.”

“Good,” he says with a sneaky grin as the two of you wade shin-deep into the water. Suddenly, he kicks his foot, sending a splash of water your way. You gasp, momentarily stunned by the cold water hitting your skin.

“Oh, you’re going to regret that!” you laugh, scooping up a handful of water and flinging it back at him.

Noah dodges, but not quickly enough, and the water splashes across his chest.

He chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischievousness. “Is that all you’ve got?” he teases, before launching a full-on splash attack.

Water flies everywhere as the two of you engage in a playful battle, laughing and shrieking with each splash.

For a moment, all your worries are forgotten. The sound of your laughter brings warmth to Noah.

Finally, breathless and soaked, you both call a truce. “Okay, okay, you win,” you say, holding up your hands in surrender.

Noah grins triumphantly, water dripping from his hair. “See? I told you I’d make you feel better,” he says, his voice warm and full of affection.

You smile, feeling a genuine sense of happiness. “You did,” you admit.

He steps closer noticing the chills on your arms, he wraps his lanky arms around your cold body, pulling you close to his chest in an attempt to warm you. Your body clenches tight, recoiling from his touch, as memories of the last person who held you with such love and care flood back—memories of betrayal and heartbreak. You awkwardly wiggle out of his grasp, your movements jerky and desperate. He looks at you with genuine concern, his eyes wide with worry, clearly afraid he did something wrong. When your eyes meet his, you see the confusion engraved on his face, but you can’t bring yourself to explain the turmoil raging inside you.

You know he wouldn’t understand. He’d say something like, “I’m your best friend. Let me love you,” or, “What do you mean? I’m just showing you how you should be loved.”

You blink, and without warning, you turn and start back for the shore, leaving Noah standing in the wake of the waves. Your only thought is to get back to the car, to escape.

“Y/n?” he yells, but you keep going, your pace quickening. It doesn’t take long for him to catch up to you; his long strides easily match two of yours. “Hey…” he says, reaching out to touch your shoulder. His hand lightly grazes your skin, and you stop, turning around to face him.

He’s greeted by a tear-streaked face, a sobbing girl who can no longer hold herself together. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, each one a struggle. You snivel and try to wipe your eyes, but the tears keep coming, blurring your vision. Your hands shake uncontrollably as you try to expel the negative energy, but it’s no use.

The panic grips you tighter, your chest constricting as if a vice is closing around your heart. You feel like you’re drowning, the weight of your emotions pulling you under, and all you can do is stand there, trembling and broken, in front of the one person who wants nothing more than to help you.

His eyes widen with shock as he processes your distress. Noah quickly points to the car, showing you how close it is, and gently places his hand on the small of your back, guiding you there with a firm but tender touch.

You fling the door open and collapse onto the seat, your legs dangling out as you struggle to catch your breath. Noah crouches down beside you, his face etched with concern.

“Look at me,” he says softly, taking your trembling hands in his. “Deep breaths.” He demonstrates, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, and you begin to follow his lead, matching your breathing to his. “What’s five things you can see?”

“You… sand… the car… my shirt… the sky,” you say, closing your eyes and trying to focus on your breathing.

“Four things you can touch…” His brows knitted together as he watched your hands move from his.

“Seat, shorts… fingernails… your hands,” you say, placing your palms on top of his. Your breathing starts to soften, the panic slowly ebbing away.

“Three things you can hear,” he continues, his grip on your hands tightening slightly, grounding you.

“Birds, the ocean… your voice.” You take a deep breath, grateful as the noise in your brain begins to quiet.

“Hey, look at us, almost done. Two things you can smell.”

“Salt and your shitty cologne,” you joke with a weak smile.

“Ahhhh,” Noah says, standing up with a relieved grin. “There she is!” He gently squeezes your shoulders. “Just for good measure, what’s one thing you can taste?”

You glance around the car and spot your Red Bull. Cracking it open, you take a sip. “Liquid cocaine,” you joke, a hint of your usual humor returning.

Noah laughs, happy to see you coming back to yourself. He watches as you swing your legs into the car and buckle up. Shutting the car door, he jogs around to the driver’s seat, still chuckling. “Probably shouldn’t drink all that if your nerves are acting up.”

“I needed something to taste,” you say, handing it to him. “Here, you drink it.”

The car ride is enveloped in a heavy silence, broken only by the soft hum of the radio. You sit there, unsure of what to say after everything that happened. The weight of your gratitude for Noah’s presence presses down on you, you feel relief that the panic attack is over. Noah’s eyes are fixed on the road, his focus unwavering, unaware of your gaze lingering on him. You silently admire how he turned out to be such a good healer, despite his own struggles and hard times.

Your fingers reach for the volume knob on the radio, turning it down. The sudden quiet catches Noah’s attention, and he glances from the road to your hand and back again.

“It feels like someone died,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Not ever seeing him again, and you can’t just be friends after you’ve dated. I lost the bond I was trying to make with the kids as well. I messed up, he messed up, and I just wish we could’ve changed it, but there wasn’t anything I could do anymore.”

Noah nods, his silence a signal that he’s listening, truly listening. “And we talked last week, but we were at a friend’s house, and he was getting this tattoo. He had the audacity to say he’ll always think of me when he looks at it because I was there… Anyway, we didn’t talk about anything because I’m not airing that out in front of a stranger.” You pause, but the words keep spilling out, your hands now resting in your lap, fingers twisting together. “I’m still waiting for his texts… I’m still hoping we can talk. I’m desperate for his attention, but I don’t even want him.”

Noah’s grip on the steering wheel tightens slightly, his knuckles turning white. He glances at you again, his eyes filled with a mix of empathy and frustration, not at you, but at the situation. He wants to say something, to offer words of comfort, but he knows that sometimes, just being there is enough. His presence is a silent promise that you’re not alone, that he’s there to help you pick up the pieces, no matter how long it takes.

[jamdoughnutmagician]

Someone Special

(Steve Harrington x Reader) Fluff

Summary:Last minute Christmas shopping was not something that you had planned on, but neither was running into your high school crush. Can the festive period help bring you close together?

Word Count:2,630

This fic was written as a companion fic to the very lovely @slutty-thevampireslayer who has written her side as a Jonathan Byers x reader (which you should totally check out too!!)

Masterlist Steve Harrington Masterlist

It’s the day before Christmas Eve as you rattle down the road sitting next to your best friend in her car. It's a tight squeeze with the two of you and your suitcases packed into her small car, but it’s all a part of the holiday experience as you make your way into Hawkins.

“So, what have you got left to do before Christmas day?” Your friend asks you, above the sound of George Michael's smooth voice filtering through the car's radio.

“I've still got to do some shopping, try to find gifts for my parents.” You huff. Your parents were always tough people to get presents for, and although leaving it to the last minute wasn’t the smartest decision, you remained hopeful you would find the perfect gifts for them.

“Cutting it kind of close aren't you?” She laughed. She was right though, you only had one day to find the perfect gift for your parents.

“I know, I know” you cringe. “But I'm going to find something, I just know it.” You said confidently. 

“Well good luck with that!” she cheered. “I’ll see you on Christmas Day” she calls out to you as you make your way out of her car. This year you and your family were spending Christmas at her place, with both of your families coming together to enjoy the festive period.  

You rushed into the arms of your parents as you got to their house, hugging them tightly after not seeing them for a while. 

“It’s so nice to have my girl back home!” your mother gushed, cooing over you and instantly trying to push food on you, insisting that it was only her job as a mother to take care of you.

“It does feel good to be back.” you smiled. You looked around the living room, and everything was just how you remembered it, albeit ornately decorated with beautiful Christmas decorations and a tall, sparkling tree in the corner of the room.

You spend the evening getting settled and making yourself comfortable in your old childhood bedroom, as you get ready for bed. Knowing that tomorrow you were going to have to join the hoard of last minute shoppers in the mall.

You find yourself in the middle of the busy shopping centre, the bright lights and christmas music is slowly becoming overwhelming for you as you desperately sift through the shelves.You’d already found a nice sweater and scarf for your father, and now you were looking for a nice gift for your mother. 

Your attention is elsewhere because you’re so focused on finding something that you accidently collide into the broad sweater-covered chest of another shopper.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorr- Steve?” you begin to stutter out your apologies when you realise that you had accidentally bumped into the boy that you had had a crush on for all of your highschool years. 

He’s a little older, but that head of hair is no less luxurious as when you first laid eyes on it. His broad frame is snuggled into a deep wine-red cable-knit sweater that fits him to absolute perfection.

Steve couldn’t believe his eyes. That girl that had been the object of his affections all throughout his high school days, but had been too stupid and afraid not to ask out for fear of what it might have done to his role as ‘King Steve’ , was standing right in front of him. He cringes now, thinking back on how he used to be, always so concerned about what people thought of him, and in the end it never even mattered.

But now he’s here, in the middle of a crowded department store, quietly thanking whatever gods were up there, that he’s been given a second chance. A second chance to redeem himself, and show you that he’s grown up a lot since high school.

“So, how are you? I haven’t seen you in ages?” he starts, keeping the conversation light.

“I’m doing well thanks, I’m back in town to spend the holidays with friends and family!” you smile “Just doing a little bit of last minute shopping. What about you, though? How are things with you?” 

“Things are good.” he nods, with a slight creeping flush rising to his cheeks. “Seem like we’re in the same boat with our last minute shopping trips though.” he chuckles with a pearly, boyish smile.

“Oh? Who are you shopping for?” you ask him.

“Robin.” he huffs. “Don’t get me wrong, she’s a great friend, but she is a hard one to nail down when it comes to gifts. Who are you shopping for?” he returns your question back to you.

“My mother. I just want to find something that she’s going to like.” you respond with a sigh. 

Steve’s eyes light up with an enthusiastic sparkle, like he's had a brilliant idea.

“Hey, how about we help each other find our gifts?” Steve offers. “Two heads are better than one, right?” that cheeky boyish smile gracing his features once more.

You smile, happily accepting his offer. Spending your Christmas eve doing last minute shopping was not your idea of a good time, but with Steve by your side, suddenly it didn't seem all that bad.

Steve had actually proved to be a great help in finding the perfect present for your mother, insisting that the dainty gold bracelet you had picked out for her was just the right thing. 

In turn you had helped him find a beautiful leather bound journal and pen set, as well as a book of poetry by Sappho that both you and Steve agreed that Robin would love.

With each of your successful gifts purchased, you and Steve had made your way to a little cafe in the centre of town. Sitting in a cosy corner of the cafe, each of you with your own mug of marshmallow-topped hot chocolate in your hands, talk turns to the big day tomorrow.

“So what’s happening in the Harrington household tomorrow?” you ask, sipping on your drink.

Steve looks a little sad all of a sudden, but he quickly masks it with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I was just going to spend it at home, dad’s away on one of his usual business trips, and mom doesn’t trust him not to let his hands wander, so they’re both three states away for Christmas.” he sighs dejectedly. 

“Wait, so you’re spending Christmas day by yourself?” you ask, your eyebrows drawing together in pity. You hate to imagine Steve all by himself in that big empty house.

“Yeah but it’s okay, I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.” He quickly brushes off.

“No.” you shake your head. “I won’t allow that. You’re spending Christmas with me, and my family. We’re all going to my friend’s house for the day.” You tell him with a smile.

“It’s fine, besides I wouldn’t want to impose on you and everyone else.” he frowns with a shake of his head.

“You’re not imposing, Steve.” you reassure him, reaching your hand across the table, placing your hand over his, your thumb rubbing over his knuckles softly. “I’m inviting you. Besides, the more the merrier I say!”

Maybe it was the sugar rush from the hot chocolate, or maybe it was the Christmas spirit in the air, but with the way your fingers are grazing against his knuckles as your eyes look sweetly into his, Steve can’t fight the warmth he feels deep in his chest. He can’t help but think how perfectly your hands fit together, and he hopes that you feel the same about him as he does about you.

You link your arm in Steve’s as you and your parents make your way to your friend’s house, carrying bags of presents on your arm as you walk up to the door.

You knock on the door and are immediately greeted by the welcoming smile of your friend who brings you into a tight hug. As he leans in close, she whispers in your ear.

“Tell me all about it.” she smirks, before pulling away from you to greet your parents, and Steve with a bright smile. She had been all too well aware of your crush on Steve in your high school years, jokingly teasing you about it whenever you would walk past him in the hallways between classes.

“Merry Christmas guys! Come in, come in!” she cheers as she gestures for you to make your way into her home.

You stay behind in the hallway as Steve and your parents go on in, wanting the chance to talk to her alone for a moment.

“I met him when I was shopping yesterday and we got to talking.” you say shyly “said he was spending Christmas day by himself, and I couldn’t bear the idea of him sitting all alone in that big empty house, so I invited him, I hope that’s okay with you?” you grimace, as she looks you over with an all-knowing smile.

“You know my mom always makes enough food to feed an army anyway!” she laughs, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Besides, I’ve got a little confession of my own..” she trails off as you both make your way into her living room.

As you step through to the living room you see both your mom and your friend’s mom sitting beside each other on the sofa, chatting to Steve, who is now sat opposite Jonathan Byers. Your best friend’s high school crush, who you had in turn teased her about anytime she teased you about your crush on Steve.

“So, I happened to be walking around town yesterday, and I was admiring all the decorations, and the big tree in the town centre, and then I heard the sound of a camera going off behind me.” she begins to explain.  “I turn around to see Jonathan, there, camera-in-hand. Long story short, I invited him home for Christmas.”

You look over your friend’s shoulder to see both of your mothers gently grilling the poor unsuspecting boys on the couch about their relationships with their daughters. 

Both boys sporting matching flushed faces as they best try to answer the questions put to them.

“Why don’t we go over and help them out?” you smile at your friend, nodding your head over to your two guests.

“I think that’s a good idea.” she giggles as she links her arm with yours gently tugs you toward the couch.

You go to sit next to Steve, your shoulder bumping against his as you give him a shy smile. Steve takes this as his opportunity to lace his fingers between yours, to hold your hand like he always longed to. 

“So, Steve, how come you’re spending Christmas day with us, and not your parents?” your mother pries.

“Mom-” you start, ready to defend Steve from your mother’s invasive questions. You loved her, you really did, but your mother could sometimes be very nosy. However, Steve is all too happy to answer her as best as he can.

“What? I just want to know why this handsome young boy is suddenly choosing to spend his Christmas with my daughter, that’s all.” Your mother defends.

Steve’s face redden’s slightly out of embarrassment of having been called ‘a handsome young boy’ by your mother, but he plays it cool. Call him old fashioned, but Steve liked you a lot, and he really wanted your mother to like him too. He wanted to see you more than just for Christmas, and having the nod of approval from mom never hurt.

“Well, my parents are out of town this year, my father’s business has a conference meeting over in Arkansas, and so my mother went out to meet him a few days ago,” he explains. “And when I told y/n this, she very kindly offered to invite me here for Christmas.” Steve finishes, looking over to you with a rosy smile. 

Your mother nods approvingly, smiling at you as you beam brightly at Steve. 

“Hey, Steve? Can I grab you for a moment? I want to show you something.” you ask, giving him an out of continuing an awkward conversation with your mom.

“Oh, uh, sure.” he nods as he gets up. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment.” he smiles politely to your mother.

You tug him away to a room in the back of your friend's house.

“I’m so sorry about my mother, she can be a bit overbearing sometimes.” You start, worried that your mother may have scared Steve off before you'd even had a chance to talk to him properly.

“She's just looking out for you, it's nice, she cares about you.” 

“Yeah I suppose so.” You sigh. “I wanted to give you your present now, away from everyone else.” You say as you hand over a small gift bag to Steve.

“You didn't have to get me anything.” Steve blushes.

“No, no, it's Christmas day, I wanted you to have a little something to open.”

You watch as Steve opens up the bag and reaches in, pulling out a soft navy blue scarf.

He smiles fondly at his gift, before wrapping it around his neck.

“How do I look?” He laughs, as he stands with an exaggerated pose to show off.

“It looks good on you, Steve!” 

He pulls you close into a warm hug. You feel safe in his arms, happy to be held by him, like this was how it was meant to be.

“Thank you, I love it.” He smiles as he pulls away from you. “I'm just sorry that I didn't get anything for you.” He says, his head ducking down, almost embarrassed. 

“No, no it's fine Steve, I don't need anything. Just having you here is better than any present I could ask for.”

Then Steve looks up between you, how either of you never noticed it was a mystery, and spots a decorative sprig of Mistletoe hanging above you.

You follow his eye line, looking up at the decorations hanging up.

“I know I didn't get you anything, but is there a chance you believe in Christmas traditions?” Steve smirks playfully, even with the heated flush adorably spreading across his cheeks. 

You feel giddy, excited and nervous all at once. He makes you feel exactly the same way as he did when you first laid eyes on him all those years ago back in high school. 

“You know, I think I do.” You nod, a bright smile spreading across your face.

Steve stepped closer to you, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek, and his other hand resting comfortably on your hip, as he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. His kisses were light, and soft, almost as if he were afraid that you might crumble under his touch, until you take the lead and wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer, eager to taste him on your lips. 

You pull away from each other, but neither of you stops looking in the other’s eyes. The blissfully quiet moment between the two of you felt perfect.

Until your peacefully romantic bubble is burst by someone coughing, alerting you to their presence.

“Uh..We’re about to start opening presents in a moment, if you guys wanna join us..” your friends laughs, slightly out of awkwardness at having caught you in a rather intimate moment.

With pair matching, slightly guilty smiles, you both have the grace to laugh about the being caught kissing under the mistletoe.

You take Steve by the hand, and tug him toward the living room to join everyone else.

“Come on, loverboy, let’s go enjoy our Christmas.” you smile.

@penguinsandpotterheads @xxhellfirebunnyxx

[gothamslostboy]

Hello! I was wondering if you could write a fic with a ftm prompt? I was thinking David x Micheal (ftm) or any of the lost boys characters with something relating to a ftm? Sorry if it’s a bit vague! Some comfort or fluff is really nice! Thank you so much! - 🦝

A/N: hey 🦝! Sorry this took so long. I love trans Michael. I’d also like to apologize, I got lost in the story and there’s not as much comfort fluff as I originally planned. I hope you still like it:]

Decisions Transpire Here

DAVID MICHAEL

————————————————————————

Michael, We’ve been waiting at the boardwalk for 20 minutes. Don’t they teach manners in Ariz- I turn around at the sound of David’s voice, and though I’m only frozen for less than I second, it’s too long. By the time I’ve thrown myself to the floor, he’d already seen me. I should’ve locked the door.

That what I think it is? Of all the times for David to barge into my room, this had to be one of the worst. Reaching up to grab my testosterone vial, I tuck myself under my bed after 3 missed grabs. Umm, heroin? Yes. Yes it is. I do my best to sound convincing, but my panic slips through. Damn that’s a bad cover. No one would just stand in the middle of their room to do heroin, much less inject it in their thigh. I’ve only been hanging out with these guys for less than a month and I’ve already blown it. What? The noise of David’s feet coming closer drown out most of his laughter.

Relax Michael, you’re not the first transgender person I’ve come across. Oh. He figured that out much quicker than I thought he would. I guess just wearing my binder and boxers probably helped there. Uh, oh. Cool. My mind is racing as we sit in silence, trying to figure out where the conversation goes from here. We moved away from Phoenix for a fresh start, a place without dad, where no one except my family would know that I wasnt always a Michael.

David tosses himself onto my bed, a cloud of dust hitting my face on impact. A begin to cough, and I hear a very ingenuine whoops. The bed frame creaks as he makes himself comfortable. Come on, time to come out, Well, in the other way. Bad enough you’re late to meet up with us, do you really wanna stand the boys up entirely? I push down my embarrassment as I slide out into view. Picking myself up, I place my vial on the nightstand and scan the room for a clean shirt.

We agreed to meet at 8:00? How is 7:28 late? I gesture towards my clock, the red numbers glowing in the darkened corner of my room. Clocks wrong. It’s now, he stops snooping through my nightstand just long enough to read his watch, 8:36. I push my head through my neck hole, pulling my jeans up swiftly as a grab his wrist.

Shit. Sorry man, let’s go. Ump bup bup! David twist his hand until he has a hold on me. Let’s talk for a second. I scoff out my nervousness as I try to discreetly release his grasp, to no avail. What about the guys? Aren’t they just waiting for you to get back? I’ll let them know we’ll be a second. He scoots to one side of my bed and essentially drags me on the other. Oh yeah? Didn’t know you had a secret landline from my room to the middle of the boardwalk. He has a smug smile, like what I said was the funniest thing he’s heard tonight.

Don’t worry about it Michael. Why’d you duck under the bed? The abrupt shift into seriousness almost makes me want that stupid grin back. I mean, why’d you come in without knocking heh heh, people do weird things. I want to look at the floor, but I can’t escape this stare down I’ve entered with David. We won’t judge you. We all have something, different about us. The way he emphasizes his words sends a chill down my spine.

If there was a way to make you biologically male, would you do it? I Tilt my head, trying to figure out what David’s doing. Well, duh? No matter the cost? Even if it makes some see you as a monster? I shift in my spot, unsure what his game is here. I mean, they already do. Might as well be the true me. What ever he’s trying to do, it seems I answered correctly.

He moves to his feet quickly, striding towards my door. Believe me, you’re no monster Michael. remember you’re answer. There’s a change of plans, we’re going to the cave. Why? I’m going to give you what you want, all it’ll take is a drink. I dont realize he’s serious until after I’m already laughing. You don’t believe me? He turns back to face me, leaning down to eye level with me on the bed. If that was possible, every trans person in the world would’ve done it.

It’s true alright Michael, he extends his gloved hand to me as he straightens his stance. Do you really want to miss out on the chance because you don’t trust me? What will it be? A leap of faith, or a mortal life never knowing? I take his and and do my best to ignore the part of me, screaming danger.

What the hell, what’s the worst that could happen?

——— TAGS ———

@britany1997 @g4ywastaken

[sarcasticdolphin]

Todolf Modern Mafia au “Found”

Roger takes a vacation to Vienna. It ends .... poorly. Cut .... well most of the really bad stuff is off-screen, so to speak. But not all of it.

This is the finale of the modern mafia au.

The drawing is beautiful - a bird, blue and black. Roger can’t say he’s familiar with the blue bird-of-paradise, but the artist’s work is exquisite. Every moment he notices a new detail in the feathers.

“Sir?” 

Roger turns to see the guide. He was alone for this tour - a virtue of the hour, for one.

“I need to take this call. Our resident artist is just up the stairs, so feel free to head up without me. He doesn’t bite.”

Roger nodded, thanking the guide before starting up the stairs. All of the birds were the work of ‘R.T.’ and he for one was quite eager to meet the skilled artist.

The door was partially open, revealing a studio with a single resident. He was trying to keep his footsteps light so as not to disturb the artist at his work.

Roger wasn’t sure what it was that gave it away. Rudolf’s hair was longer, and it had a soft wave to it, but there was something about him - the way he carried his shoulders, perhaps, that made him unmistakable. 

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

The surprised and tense shifting of the man’s feet reached Rudolf a moment before the word did.

“Rudolf.”

He would be lying if he said he had ever imagined this moment, imagined anything from his old life following him here. Carefully, he put his pen down, securing it away from the sketch before turning.

“Roger.” The man before him was older, but unmistakable.

“Rudolf, you’re-” Roger didn’t finish his sentence, instead taking a step forward and reaching his hand out before thinking better and pulling it back. “I thought you were-” A little smile comes to Roger’s face and there are the beginnings of tears pricking at his eyes.

A thousand thoughts flew through Rudolf’s head. A movement at the edge of his vision is surely Michael, but however competent the man is, he is only a man. 

“You’re alive.” Roger does finally manage to finish his statement, his tone one of amazement, of joy.

“So it would seem.” Rudolf keeps his own voice even. 

“Rudolf, why-” Roger still seems to barely believe his own eyes. “Why didn’t you come back? Come home?”

Rudolf doesn't answer that one. His home is with Tod, wherever that might be, and has been for well over a decade.

“Rudolf-” Roger took a step forward. “Oh God, he took you, didn’t he? Kidnapped you. Faked your death so we wouldn’t look.”

Rudolf gives a long blink and tilts his head to the side, raising an eyebrow. Obviously.

“Rudolf, I’ll take you home, get you out of here. You don’t have to be his prisoner.”

Rudolf held up his hands, making a show of the lack of manacles. “This is my home. And who said I was his prisoner?”

“Rudolf-” Roger’s tone shifted. He was starting to understand, then. “What did he do to you?” The man before him wiped what had to have been a tear away.

But Rudolf doesn’t have time to answer before Roger is speaking again, rapidly. Apologies are falling from his lips, and Rudolf lets them. 

It continues for a few minutes, but Rudolf doesn’t begin to relax until he catches the movement in the corner of his eye once more. Michael had acquired backup. They drug and subdue Roger with relative ease, taking the man by complete surprise. Rudolf can see betrayal in his eyes for a moment before he passes out.

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

Roger’s head hurts terribly when he comes around, his vision swimming for a few moments before it comes back fully into focus. He’s in an office, though calling it that is almost an insult to the term - the room is huge, with a vast window on one side. It was evening now - the sun was dinner, and he could see a great forest beyond the window. There’s a gag in his mouth and his hands are bound.

Rudolf was looking out of the window, or at least in that direction. He was looking slightly down, not at Tod, who was standing there, facing Rudolf side-on. Tod looked no different than Roger remembered, still almost ethereal. One of his hands was on Rudolf’s shoulder blade, and while he was facing Rudolf, Roger didn’t miss the flicker of Tod’s eyes in his direction or the way the man began to shift, moving around Rudolf until he stood before the young man. Tod’s arms went more completely around Rudolf, looking so gentle but holding him close.

It was so tender that Roger wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. The last he’d seen of them had been that horrific security clip, the one where Tod’s fingers had been digging into Rudolf’s neck, his murderous intentions all too clear. But now - this was anything but that. 

Rudolf raised himself up on his toes, pressing a kiss to the corner of Tod’s lips, and Tod’s hand shifted to the middle of Rudolf’s back even as he began to lead Rudolf away, out of the office.

Tod returned alone, some minutes later. He leaned against the edge of the desk and made a gesture with his fingers. The two men who had been holding Roger the entire time hauled him much closer.

“Roger, Roger Roger. Why did it have to be you?” Tod’s voice was musical. “Rudolf is well, in case you were curious. He’s blossomed without all the stress.”

Tod pauses, regarding Roger coldly before nodding to the two men holding him. One of them pulled on something, and the gag fell from Roger’s mouth.

“He’s not yours.” The words were hoarse.

Tod laughed at that. “Oh? Do you think he’s yours, then?”

Another gesture and Roger is gagged again, the two guards at each of his sides, holding him firmly. Tod picked his way around until he was standing behind Roger, and murmured into his ear.

“He’s been mine since the day I laid eyes on him fifteen years ago.”

Roger could do the math. He’d only known Rudolf after he had started at the prosecutor’s office. And that hadn’t been fifteen years ago. Fifteen years ago, Rudolf wouldn’t have even been in law school. He’d still have been in university, and barely twenty. 

Tod had circled around once more, and he seemed to take great delight as it because clear that Roger understood. So then Rudolf- Rudolf had been the mole. Rudolf had been Tod’s all these years. Always. Tod’s smile is entirely unnerving as he pronounces Roger’s sentence - to be disposed of. The two guards are hauling him away soon enough.

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

Rudolf is already half-sleeping when the shift in the air tells him that the door to their bedroom has opened. It’s followed by the faint sound of the door shutting and then by the rustling of clothes.

The bed it dipping soon enough, Tod’s hand going to Rudolf’s hip as he slides into bed, pressing kisses to the little raven on Rudolf’s shoulder blade and then to the back of his neck before he spoons Rudolf completely, nuzzling closer.

Sleep comes for Rudolf, then. He’s safe, and home. For Tod’s arms are his home, and there is nowhere safer than in their protective grasp.

[aubzikins]

Coffee On Us: Ch 7: Dream or Memory?

His deep voice has always been soothing to me. It’s been a few hundred years since my beginning.

In the beginning, it was incredibly lonely. I was meant to help those in need. Occasionally, there would be a random kind soul that would stop in, and I would do my best to help them any way that I could. But then they would leave.

I still remember the day when they started to appear, one by one they wandered in. I provided what I could and figured they would be like the rest and leave as well.

The oldest and the first of them to arrive was Chan. He had come needing a purpose, a home, and a family. I provided him with the purpose of keeping up a café. He was happy, content and had decided to stay. “This feels like home, and I feel like I am going to find my forever family. I’d like to stay.” Chan said out loud.

That’s when I discovered I could expand my little world. I created a space just for Chan. He was happy and waited patiently as the years went by. Seven years later, I was worried that he was going to give up and leave, when the cutest, cheekiest little sweetheart walked in.

“Hello! I’m Han!” the cheeky one said.

“I’m Chan! Hello!” Chan eagerly said as he walked over to Han.” Welcome! Are you passing through or are you staying a while?”

“Something told me that this would be where I would find my home. So, I think I will be staying. At least for a while, anyways.” Han says.

“Awesome, let me show you around!” Chan said. And they were fast friends. It was so great to see the happiness come back to Chan. It also reinvigorated me. Slowly but surely, they all began to appear.

Jeongin was the next one to appear. He walked in and Chan and Han both felt like they needed to take care of him. He was the youngest and they doled on him as such.

A few weeks later, Changbin walked in followed by a Hyunjin. Hyunjin had seen Changbin walking outside my doors and decided to follow him inside. They were both met with warm welcomes and love.

Felix and Seungmin were the next to show up. Everyone was settling in nicely. I was able to create enough space for them all to relax and make themselves at home. I had made one last room. It just felt natural to make one more and something told me that it would be needed.

A couple of months later, there was a massive storm that raged on for three days. On the third day, the door to the café burst open. In walked a mysterious young man who looked menacing. At first the others were worried. Everyone else had all been super friendly looking and open to everyone. Chan looked around everyone and smiled” Its okay everyone! ‘Chan walks up to him and immediately pulled him into his arms.

“We’re complete now…” Chan says as he squeezed the mysterious stranger. The mysterious stranger stood there for a second and then slowly hugged Chan back, his embrace slowly tightening as time went by. Tears silently fell from his eyes.

“I’m Minho” the newcomer says.

“Welcome home Minho…” Chan whispered into his ear.

While my heart feels fuller, there’s just a tiny corner that lies empty. I feel it will be a long time before its filled…. But for now, I am content.

 

Anise wakes up suddenly, dripping sweat. What was that about? Why did I dream of them? She thinks to herself but then shakes her head as she reaches for her water. While she has a drink, she also checks the time on her phone. “Five already? Well, I might as well get up for the day.”

By six, Anise was ready for the day. She grabbed her keys and headed out the door. As she got closer to Oddinary, her phone starts ringing.

“Who in the world…” she says as she pulls her phone out. She sees that it is Don calling. She sighs and then answers the phone.

“Hello?” Anise asks.

“Hello Ms. Michaels. I apologize for calling so early, but the group and I were wondering if you would like to have breakfast with us?” Don rattles out quickly.

“While I appreciate the offer Don, I must decline your invitation. I already have breakfast plans.” Anise says.

“Ah well maybe lunch then?” Don says sounding insistent.

“We will see. Ill be at the office at eight. See you then!” Anise says.

“See you Ms. Michaels.” Don says.

Anise hangs up her phone as she gets to the café. She had a coffee date with Felix this morning. Which made her very giddy while she enjoyed hanging out with all the guys, Felix seemed to give her butterflies whenever he looked at her.

She felt at ease and content whenever she was around him. The bell on the café door rings loudly as Anise walks in.

“There’s our favorite little bowler!” Changbin yells out.

“Good morning, Binnie. How’s it going this morning?” Anise asks.

“Better now that you’re walked in. Lix has been super excited to see you.” Changbin says. Suddenly a dishtowel comes flying out the back and lands on Changbin's head.

“Yahhhh!” Changbin yells as Anise laughs. “What was that for???”

“If you ever have a secret Anise, Binnie is NOT the one to tell.” Felix says with a smirk. “Good morning Anise, and yes I am excited to see you. How are you feeling this morning?” Felix asks.

“I was excited to see you as well,” Anise says and then turns towards Changbin, “I’m excited to see you as well Binnie.” She says with a smile.

Changbin starts grinning ear to ear and then pokes Felix, “HA! I’m special too Lixie” Changbin says and then sticks his tongue out at Felix.

Felix rolled his eyes and walked over with an iced espresso for Anise. “I have a feeling that you are going to need this today.” He smiles at her.

“Why thank you Felix. You would be correct on that feeling. I didn’t sleep very well and when I did, I had the weirdest dream.” Anise says looking down at the coffee.

“Weird dream? Want to talk about it?” Felix asks.

“It wasn’t really anything, but I did dream about all of you. It was a happy dream at least. I don’t remember all the details.” Anise says and then gives Felix a small smile.

“We must have made an impression on you. I am glad it was a happy dream though!” Felix says with a smile.

Anise looks at her watch and sighs, “I guess this is going to have to be a short visit. Thanks for the coffee, Felix.” She squeezes his hand and then walks out the door.

“See you later Anise!” Felix calls out.

Felix turns back to Changbin with a grin on his face. “Did you hear that she dreamt about us?” he asks.

“Yeah, I did, we probably should let the others know. Maybe she is finally figuring out her true self?” Changbin asks.

“That would be awesome, then we could finally learn about her true self. I’ve been reading all the books we have in the back and the only thing ever mentioned is that there is a woman who will allow the café to continue forever. It’s weird.” Felix says.

Minho walks in from the back, “We will figure it out eventually Felix. But as Chan has told you before, you cannot push her into this. She must learn it all on her own.” Minho says giving Felix a warning look.

“I know, I know.” Felix says as he sits down. “It’s just exciting that its finally happening after such a long time. The café is slowly starting to fall apart, and I can’t imagine life without our home.”

“Things happen when they are supposed to. Just be patient.” Minho says.

 

Anise arrives at the office thirty minutes early. She figured this would give her time to get settled before Don made his appearance. She had just put her items up when there was a knock on her office door. She opened the door to find Gi.

“G-good morning, Ms. Michaels.” Gi says.

“Good morning Gi, I had already informed your boss that I would be here at eight am. Its only seven-thirty…” Anise starts to say.

“Yes ma’am, I am not here on Don’s request. I was wondering if um, maybe, you wouldn’t mind if I observed your work?” Gi asks.

“Oh… I guess that’s okay. Any reason why?” Anise asks.

“Well… I like knowing how things work. And…” Gi says shyly.

Anise looks at the younger man and studies him for a few seconds. “It will also keep you away from Don, right?” she asks.

Gi looks up at Anise with a bit of fear in his eyes like he had given away a well-kept secret. “Oh, um, I am sorry ill go…” he suddenly spits out.

Anise grabs his hand sensing his fear, “Gi, its okay. You can stay, your secret is safe with me. How about I ask Don to have you as my assistant? That way it’ll appear to be my idea.” She says with a smile. Gi nods and gives a small smile back.

"Well let's get started then, Don will be here soon enough." Anise says and motions to the seat in front of her desk.

[takataktop]

Bellingham Impresses Again as Real Madrid Tops La Liga with Girona Win

Real Madrid climbed to the top of La Liga by defeating Girona, marking the first loss of the season for the latter. Madrid now sits ahead of both Girona and Barcelona in the standings. Carlo Ancelotti's Madrid is one point clear of Barcelona and two points ahead of Girona.

Jude Bellingham made an impact on Saturday as he led Real Madrid to a resounding 3-0 victory over Girona in the early season clash in the Spanish league. Girona entered the round undefeated with six wins, a record that had propelled them to the top of the standings for the first time in the club's history. Read more : IND vs ENG: Match Between India and England Cancelled Due to Rain, Match Couldn't Begin After Toss However, it was Bellingham who set Madrid on the path to victory with a brilliant assist for Jose Lu, who opened the scoring in the 17th minute. After Aurelian Tchouaméni doubled the lead, Bellingham completed the scoring with his sixth goal of the season in the eighth round. Bellingham said, "This was an important win. We showed our intent in La Liga - three goals against a tough team and a clean sheet, which was a very good performance." Girona's coach, Michel Sanchez, praised Bellingham's exquisite pass, stating that it caused significant damage when Girona had been playing well. He said, "Madrid was full-on today, and that opener made us realize how tough the game was going to be." Bellingham credited his teammate, Luka Modric, who was on the Madrid bench, for inspiring him. He said, "I've been watching Modric every day for three months. I just want to be creative. It was a good goal because it relieved the pressure they had put on us initially." Chouaméni added a second goal in the 21st minute, taking advantage of the space left by Toni Kroos's corner kick. Five minutes into the second half, Girona had a chance to get back into the game when David Lopez headed straight at Kepa Arrizabalaga from a corner kick, keeping Madrid's goal safe. Michel sent more aggressive players into the match, and Girona pushed forward, but Madrid never looked troubled in defending their territory, securing a comfortable victory. Jose Lu provided assistance for Bellingham's second goal in the 71st minute after Espanyol's former striker found the net to make it 3-0 following Girona's response. Madrid lost defender Nacho Fernandez to injury when he was shown a straight red card for a studs-up tackle on Girona's Christian "Portu" Portugues. Portu had to be stretchered off the field. A brief confrontation between players ensued due to the foul play. Ancelotti apologized to Girona for the unsportsmanlike conduct, which he described as "thoughtless." Michel said that Portu would undergo tests to determine the extent of his injury. Real Madrid will continue its Champions League journey with a trip to Napoli on Tuesday. Read more : Michael Stark shines with a hat-trick against the Netherlands in Australia's World Cup practice match Read the full article

[jiyansthesis]

TATTOO ARTIST ☆ DATE

MICHAEL ☆ AFTON 

x reader (gender neutral)

summary: you decided to call the number, which was definitely his by the way, on the pamphlet. now you were here eating dinner with your tattoo artist.

here's a very unnecessary part two

I also cannot see michael in my au wearing anything else but jeans and a wifebeater and a leather jacket.

I'll stop writing about michael OVER MY DEAD BODY even at my funeral I expect a michael cutout

fun fact: I wrote all this offline on my gmail drafts

part one ## part two

it's only been around a day since you had left the shop and noticed the hastily scribbled number on what was supposed to help you care for your new tattoo.

it was quiet in your room, you staring at your phone. 

"if he wasn't interested, why would he give me his number?" you told yourself, and you picked the phone up, dialing in his number.

it rang for a few seconds.

maybe he wasn't even home yet.

then you heard a "hello?"

your eyebrows shot up in surprise. you did not think that it would get this far.

"is this michael?" you asked,  beginning to twiddle the cord on the phone in nervousness. 

"it'd suck if it wasn't," he replied. "yeah, it's me. I thought I wrote the wrong number for a bit."

you laughed.  "I'd be really disappointed if you did."

you heard some shuffling coming from the other side. 

"hey, I'm really busy right now love, but how about this? you meet me at the tattoo shop around 5?" 

is he asking you out on a date?

"yeah! yeah, I'm down," you said quickly.

"you're excited," he teased. "I'll see you there." 

the other line went silent.

you put your phone up and jumped on the bed, squealing into the pillow. after a few minutes of letting the fact you now have a date with your hot tattoo artist, you realized that you didn't even know where he was going to take you.

"what if it's somewhere fancy and I wear something regular?" you panicked. you couldn't call him back, because he was busy enough to cut your conversation short.

there's no way he was going to take you to a fancy place as a first date anyways.

☆

you made it to the parlor as michael was closing up, waving goodbye to jack and locking the door.

he saw you walking towards him and grinned.

"just on time, love. not even a minute late?" he pocketed the key and leaned against the door.

"didn't want to keep you waiting," you replied. you let an internal sigh of relief. he wasn't dressed formally.

"sorry I didn't tell you where I was gonna take you," he apologized. "and I also hope you're fine with riding a motorcycle."

you raised an eyebrow in question. "yeah, a friend used to drive me around on a motorcycle."

"cool, cool. let's go," he led you back to the parking lot.

"you gonna tell me where we're going?" he offered you one of the two helmets sitting on his bike.

"if I tell you, it'd ruin the surprise. not that it's much of a surprise anyways. just be patient, love." he slipped a pair of leather gloves on and you hesitantly wrapped your arms around him.

"you're gonna have to hold me tighter than that if you don't wanna slip off," the corner of his mouth upturned. he should just put his visor down already so you don't have to look at his handsome face.

"weird way of asking me to hug you closer." you hummed, but you did follow his directions.

he let out a breathy chuckle and flipped his helmet visor down. "payback for what I said yesterday?" he asked as he guided the bike out the lot.

☆

it was in fact payback.

it wasn't really successful though, since michael always had a statement to one up you.

"you were practically drooling when I was talking to you about keeping your tat safe," he reminded you at a red light.

"I genuinely don't remember that." 

"I do. it was so obvious even jack talked to me about it. and jack is as dense as a rock."

"how about you pay attention to the road?"

"when such a hot babe is touching me? I can't resist, love."

michael seemed to take pride in your unresponsive self. it hadn't even been 10 minutes and you swear that michael was going to be the end of you.

you could not let this slide.

☆

the two of you pulled up to a little cute diner, its neon sign already glowing brightly in the darkening sky.

"it's not much, but it's my favorite place to go to. plus, it's my dad's." he explained as you both made you way to the entrance. "don't worry, he won't even be here. and thankfully, neither will my siblings."

"siblings?" you asked as a waiter immediately led you to a booth.

"yeah. I have two. evan and elizabeth. they're both little twerps, especially elizabeth." he scoffed. "as soon as she got into middle school, all she could talk about was boys."

"sounds like the usual 80's girl," you nodded. 

he let out a little noise in agreement and picked up the menu.

"anything you want? I already know what I want." he handed it to you.

you scanned the menu before finding what you wanted.

"I'll just get this," you pointed.

he called the waitress over and she took your orders. as soon as she left, michael leaned in, holding his face up with his hands.

"so, what do you like to do?" he inquired.

you thought about it for a moment. "I don't know, flirt with hot men?"

he looked shocked. "so you've done this to multiple people and not me?"

"I- I uh," you began. "wait, would you be jealous?"

he raised an eyebrow. "guess."

you groaned. 

he was obviously amused.

"what about you?" you changed the subject to him.

"hmmm," he thought. "I'll show you."

he whipped a pen out of his jacket pocket and grabbed a napkin.

you watched in confusion as he doodled on it, and after 5 minutes of silence later he folded the napkin into a heart and slid it across the table to you.

you gasped when you opened it. it was a sketch of you, and it was as detailed as a 5 minute sketch done by a professional artist could be.

"I love it!" you pulled both his hands into yours, beaming up at him.

he let out a grin of his own, pink dusting his cheeks. 

"that's good. I mean, if I couldn't draw good as a tattoo artist that'd be pretty weird."

you looked at the drawing a bit more before you asked him, "could you fold it back into a heart for me again? please?"

"of course, love."

☆

by the time you and michael had finished eating, it was pitch black outside and you had learned a lot about michael.

he ,apparently, was the token bad boy of middle school until he got his brother evan into an accident that could've been fatal, but thankfully survived through it.

he was also going to be a mechanic, until he decided he wanted a job that'd make him really happy and opened his own tattoo shop.

he also smells sweet because of the amount of perfume elizabeth spreads around the house. he also uses her shampoo and conditioner.

"how else would I have this gorgeous mullet?" he explained.

after michael had tipped the waitress that was serving the two of you, you told him you had something you wanted to do with him.

"follow me. I saw something out here that I really want to do." 

you had stopped in front of a little photo booth on the side of the store.

"a photo booth?" 

"yeah. this is my first date and I just wanted to commemorate it, you know?"

"this is your first date?" michael asked in disbelief as you pushed him into the little room and squished up against him.

"yeah, believe it or not."

"I don't believe it."

you raised your eyebrow as you inserted the money and got ready for the first picture.

"you better now, because it's about to take a picture."

you threw up a little peace sign and michael pouted. "what am I supposed to d-"

he was cut off by the flash of the camera.

you laughed as he grumbled.

he draped his arm around your shoulder, giving the camera wide smirk. you looked at him in surprise and the camera went off again.

"we're both getting caught off guard," you shook your head in mock disappointment.

"maybe this time we won't," michael locked eyes with you, inching closer. you closed your eyes, and then-

flash!

that wasn't the camera in the booth.

you heard giggling come from behind the curtain, and when you opened it, you found a boy and a girl holding a little disposable camera.

"mikey was gonna kiss a girl!" the girl cheered.

"and you ruined it!" michael leaned over you to snatch the camera when the actual photo booth camera went off.

and man, did the strip of pictures make some memories.

[melis-writes]

"That hurt Michael...I can't believe you said that to me."

Michael and Victoria have a fight in Michael's office and Michael says such cold and cruel things to her. When Victoria leaves the office, Al Neri gives her a sad look because he overheard the cruel statement of Michael.

♥️ Thank you x

Uh oh, more angst, more arguments and definitely more drama. 😩 This statement in specific… All I have to say is, top tier cold Michael moment. 🥺 Sometimes it’s even hard to tell what Michael really means/implies when he says such things because in general, he’s very cold and stern, at least to me…👀

“We’ve had this conversation before, Victoria.” Michael presses his lips together out of irritation. “And—”

“And you told me two things,” you interrupt, forcing back your tears. “You said ‘transparency’ and you said ‘honesty’. Those were your words, Michael, not mine.”

“Don’t interrupt me when I’m talking.” Michael raises his finger, scolding you. “I’m aware of what I said, but you need to learn your place in the family business.”

“My place?” You raise a brow, offended. “You’re putting me down like that?”

“I’m doing no such thing.” Michael rolls his eyes, placing his hand down on the corner of his office desk and leaning over it. “Discern the difference between our family, and the Ferrari’s.”

“I’m still a Ferrari...” You frown at him.

“Not to me.” Michael tells you, staring at you with disappointment. “Which is why I’m not telling you to do anything when it comes to your father’s family business. However, I don’t want you involved in affairs with your father and brothers that have to do with me, with my business.”

“Mine and yours, okay.” You cross your arms, scoffing. “You sure didn’t separate it when we had our first talk about this.”

“Victoria, you’re not involved.” Michael says back sharply, moving to end the conversation. “You will not be involved for your own safety and for the safety of our children.”

“I wasn’t asking to!” You protest. “But my father even then wanted me to be his consigliere and—”

“Out of the question!” Michael snaps, his anger growing. “How many times do I need to repeat myself with you? Does that fit role someone of your stature involved in two families? You don’t need to attract the attention of all of our rivals.”

“That’s not your real reason, is it?” You feel your throat tightening and voice beginning to shake from emotion. “I’m not going to be pushy about it, I just wanted to know why—”

“Because you’re useless.” Michael tells you. “That’s why.”

‘Useless?’ Silence fills the office after Michael’s words and your glassy eyes now filled with tears spill down your cheeks one by one as your bottom lip begins to tremble.

Had anyone else called you ‘useless’ for the same reason or for anything else, your only reaction would be to smile, knowing you can always disprove those who underestimate you, but with Michael, it hits hard and it hits differently.

Michael notices the tears dripping down your cheeks; his expression softening somewhat but nonetheless he remains his ground, doesn’t approach you, and doesn’t have anything else to say to you either.

“Useless?” You croak out, unable to stop yourself from crying. “That hurt, Michael. I can’t believe you’d say that to me.”

Michael remains still for a moment as if he’s considering your words, but he only straightens his posture to move back towards his office desk and pick up his cigarette pack—ignoring you altogether.

You sniffle, shaking your head and refusing to stay by waiting for an explanation or apology you know won’t come.

Instead, you quickly make your way towards the door of Michael’s office to exit, only slowing your pace dramatically as you open the door so Al Neri isn’t able to tell by you storming off that you and Michael have had an argument.

You force yourself to walk out normally and towards the study to calm down, telling yourself to keep your face turned and away from Neri when you walk out, but you’re unaware Neri no longer remains right by the side of Michael’s office.

This time, Neri is right across from the office, leaning against the wall and waiting patiently as he does usually does as Michael’s security, and it’s inevitable the two of you make eye contact.

Neri’s already heard everything, including Michael’s last statement to you.

Remaining silent, Neri frowns at you, giving you a look of pity knowing the weight of Michael’s words which only further swells up emotion inside of you.

‘You heard too?’ You quickly look down, clasping a loose hand over your mouth to muffle out your whimpers as you cry—now practically rushing down the corridor in tears.

[eclectics-world]

Hellos

Part 6 of the "Gabriel Returns " series

Summary: Reader and her daughter show back up at the bunker

Pairing: Past Gabriel × Reader; eventual Gabriel × Reader again

Word count: 610

Genre: And the fluff begins

Warnings: An argument, I guess? A child that's probably very unchildlike

You made plans to come back in a week. The schools had a break then, so your daughter wouldn't have to miss class. Besides, you got the feeling that the Winchesters needed Gabriel's help with the whole "alternate Michael" thing, and you weren't going to be around for that.

When you pulled back up to the bunker, you weren't entirely sure what to expect. The boys knew to expect you back today, so you figured that they'd probably done whatever it was they needed to do it the other world.

Sam had given you a key to the bunker when you left, so you let yourself and your daughter in. You walked straight into an argument in the front room.

"-- be so stupid! You two dicks -- "

"Hey buddy, it's not our fault that -- "

"See, that's funny, because I thought -- "

"ENOUGH!" The argument must have been going on for a while for Cas to get so angry, but it made everyone fall silent.

You cleared your throat from the balcony. All four heads in the room swiveled up. "I must say, not quite the greeting we were expecting." All the men looked appropriately apologetic.

"Sorry, Y/n." Sam was the first to apologize.

"Sorry, Y/n."

"Sorry."

Gabriel was the only one who hadn't spoken. He had yet to take his eyes off your daughter. You squeezed her hand, and led her down the stairs.

"Well, these are the people that I was telling you about, baby. This is Sam --" Sam nodded as you pointed to him, "-- and Dean --" Dean raised his fingers, "and Cas and Gabriel."

Your daughter lit up at the mention of Gabriel's name. "That's my name! Kinda. My middle name is Gabrielle. Mama calls me Abbie."

You saw Sam gesturing to Dean and Cas to leave. You caught his eye, and he nodded. So the boys knew. You nodded back -- a gesture of thanks.

"You look so much like your mother." Gabriel finally spoke. You smiled.

"She acts like her father."

You and Gabriel hadn't discussed exactly when you were going to tell her that he was her father. Instead, you'd both agreed that the wise thing to do was to let them get acquainted and tell her once she'd gotten to know him a little bit better.

"I'll tell you what, baby. You know how Sam and Dean are being nice and letting us stay here, at their house?" Abbie nodded. "So, I think we should do something nice for them, too. How about we go find them and ask if we can make them dinner? And if you want, Gabriel can help us, too." Abbie nodded again, grinning. You looked over at Gabriel from the corner of your eye, and he nodded.

"I'll tell you what: how about you and I race to see who can find them first?" Abbie looked to you, and you nodded.

"If you and Gabriel want to race, you can, but you need to both be careful, okay? No running into things, and no getting lost." Abbie nodded, and she turned to Gabriel. He looked at her.

"Are you ready?"

"You have to agree to Mama's rules. No running into things, and no getting lost." Gabriel smacked his forehead.

"Of course! How could I forget?" He turned to you. "I promise to follow all the rules." He turned back to Abbie, and held out his hand. "Now are we ready?" Abbie nodded, shook his hand, and was off like a shot. Gabriel whispered to you, "I'll look after her, make sure she stays out of trouble."

"I know." You smiled. "You're doing good with her." Gabriel smiled, and went off after her.

[scarofthewind]

Slashers x Reader || Couch

Prompt: The slashers reaction to their s/o sleeping on the couch after a fight

A/N: hehehehe, this is sort of angsty and I hope you enjoy this hurt comfort garbage fire I have created.

Warnings: Angst, fluff

word count: 1.5k Tip Jar (every bit helps!)

Who squeezes themselves onto the couch with you:

Bubba Sawyer: You stare at his back as he storm’s off, tears filling your eyes as a sob leaves your lips. You’d never fought with Bubba and you know that you’ll get over it but right now you both needed space. With the sun set and the moon in the sky, you made your bed on the couch, trying to make the cushions comfortable but you knew your back would ache in the morning as sleep overtook you. Bubba paced the bedroom, waiting for you to come in and go to bed; when you didn’t, he went looking for you, his heart aching at the sight of you bundled up on the couch. “Bubba?” You ask tiredly as you awake to find him scooching around the couch to lay with you. You hear him mumble an ‘I’m sorry’, before you hum one back, nestling into his chest and finding a much better sleep. 

Norman Bates: The door that slammed shut in your face was loud and it made you wonder if this relationship was worth it. With tears strolling down your face, you walk to the living room with a heavy heart and lay down, trying to keep your sobs quiet. Norman had never yelled like that and you would be lying if you said it didn’t scare you a bit; you knew it would only be a matter of time before he apologized though, and you eventually drifted off to sleep on the scratchy couch. Norman couldn’t sleep until he knew you were okay so he made his way to check on you a few hours later only to see you curled up on the couch. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered to your sleeping form. With gentle hands, he grabbed a blanket and slid behind you, draping the object over you and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

Vincent Sinclair: You stared at the mess Vincent had created by angrily knocking over a few of his wax figures after a nasty fight you two had. With watery eyes, you cleaned up the broken people the best you could, all while telling yourself that everything was going to be okay. When Vincent came down from the bedroom to look for you once the sun went down, he spotted you on the couch and immediatley felt his heart sink. “You didn’t have to clean up my mess,” he told you softly after you woke up to him squeezing next to you on the couch. “I’m very sorry I yelled at you. I swear I won’t do that again,” he continued, cupping your tear stained face gently in his hands before placing a kiss to your lips and letting you fall asleep in the comfort of his arms.  

Who takes you back to the bedroom:

Thomas Hewitt: The screen door bounced back with how hard Thomas slammed it as he bounded off the porch, leaving you with tears running down your face and your heart aching at his words. You decided that removing yourself from his presence would be better than confronting him about the fight so you made a home on the couch, finding that sleep was the most comfort you’d felt all day. When Thomas came back inside, he didn’t even see you on the couch as he walked upstairs, ready to apologize and tell you a million times that he loved you. However, when he didn’t see you in the bed, he panicked, beginning to search for you before catching your sleeping figure from the corner of his eye. You only woke up when he was setting you down on the bed, pulling the covers up your body and placing a kiss to your head, “We’ll talk in the morning alright? Just get some sleep and know that I love you more than anything,” he said in a hushed whisper, watching you nod a bit before letting sleep take over once more. 

Bo Sinclair: All you could see was the image of him yelling in your face, every time you closed your eyes. Your head thumped with a migraine and you felt like you couldn’t produce any more tears for a lifetime with how hard you cried. Fights with Bo weren’t uncommon, but they were never this bad. All you could do was hope that he didn’t mean what he said and find some peace in the sleep that enveloped you. A few hours later, Bo sat up in bed, panicking at the feeling of you not there and practically running through the house to find you curled up on the couch. “I’m sorry I said all those things, you know I didn’t mean any of it. Please come to bed, I can’t sleep without you,” he mumbled to you after he shook you awake. With a small nod, you let him pick you up and carry you back to the bedroom.

Jason Voorhees: You were sure you’d never cried that hard in your life. Jason was unable to say things but you knew him like the back of your hand and gestures and looks were enough to have one of the biggest fights you two ever had. After he stormed out of the cabin, you let yourself fall on the couch, crying so hard it eventually put you to sleep. When Jason finally returns to the cabin, he is quiet, knowing that you’re probably asleep; he tells himself that he’ll just sleep on the couch to avoid confrontation until the morning but when he sees you sleeping there with swollen eyes and a runny nose, he feels his stomach drop. Carefully, he picks you up and takes you to the bedroom, getting you settled in the bed before trying to leave, only stopping when he realizes your holding onto his jacket. “Please stay, I need you here with me right now,” you sniffle and he makes a high pitched whimpering noise before kicking his shoes off and moving next to you in the bed, pressing soft kisses to your face and pulling you close. 

Who leaves you there but apologizes in the morning:

Brahms Heelshire: When he first wakes up, Brahms doesn’t remember what happened at all and only comprehends that you’re not laying next to him like you usually are. With haste, he makes his way downstairs, stopping halfway on the last step as all of what happened last night comes to him. All the memories of him yelling at you and you crying while he stormed off made him panic even more, the thought of you leaving him only sending him into a frenzy. He almost takes out a fake plant in the living room as he halts in his search, spotting you curled up on the couch with a blanket and a tissue box. “I’m so sorry, my love,” he tells you when you wake up to him pulling you close and running his fingers through your hair. “I didn’t mean any of it, I promise you,” Brahms continues, feeling your hands clench the back of his cardigan as he holds you against him. 

Michael Myers: With how many times he’s been forced to sleep on the couch, he knows it’s uncomfortable. Michael thinks you’re being stubborn with not coming to bed after another fight you two have but when he wakes up the next morning, he realizes all the things he said and doesn’t blame you for avoiding him. With heavy feet, he drags himself down the stairs to the couch where you were curled up on; balled up tissues on the floor around you and the blanket halfway on the ground. With a deep breath he gently shakes you away, watching your eyes flutter open before you move to sit up, “I’m sorry about what I said.” Michael apologized and you nodded, knowing that’s all you were going to get out of him. “If you’re sore I can rub your back,” he adds, grimacing in remembrance of how a night on the couch felt to his muscles. When you oblige to his offer, he moves you around, letting his back be pressed into the cushions while you lay atop him, his hands kneading into the skin of your back lovingly. 

Charles Lee Ray: His head hurts when he wakes up, remnants of the fight you two had, still playing in his head like a record. Charles barely got any sleep without you next to him, but he was too prideful to stop you from sleeping on the couch. Quietly, he got up and went to the living room, looking over to the couch to your sleeping form before grabbing his keys and heading out the door. When you wake up to the front door being opened, you sit up and watch your lover bring in donuts and coffee as a peace offering. “You know I didn’t mean any of the things I said, right?” He asks, watching you nod slowly before pressing a kiss to your lips. “Good, ‘cause I love you and I’m sorry for yelling at you like that. Now, do you want your eggs scrambled or sunny side up?” You rub your eyes at the sight of him getting the eggs from the refrigerator, making sure you weren’t still dreaming before you give him your answer. 

[wh0rephobic]

Hi :) just thought I'd post a little idea here! Btw, you may not remember me but im the person who tagged you on the housewife reader thingy and i am now obsessed with michael 😶 so....yeah

i feel like michael would be really really sensitive. He'd try not moan like a porn actor but honestly...everything you do is just too much for him. Its only your 3rd or 4th time with mike and look at him.

your above micheal and you pull down his jeans and his boxers. His poor little dick was so hard and bruised :(

Just for you. His face is hot red. "...s..sorry if im needy..your touch is--" before michael can finish his sentence, you kiss him. When the kiss stops, mike resumes. "really addicting..."

"Now, mikey, don't make things up."

"But I'm not!" Mike hadn't realized how horny and desperate his voice sounded.

You smirk, wrapping your hand round Michael's dick. Mike let out a small groan. His breathe stiffened as did another part of his body ;)

HII I DO REMEMBER YOU!!! i loved houswife!reader omg <33

but yeah just michael being such a horny perv that when you’re actually his he physically cannot restrain his erections. you two are already having sex at any chance you get, but it’s not enough for him.

the two of you slowly making out at his house before he starts to get twitchy whenever you pet the soft pads of your fingers along his jaw, gasping and trying to hold back his whimpers into your mouth as he just gets harder and harder until he can’t take it.

when you finally free his cock from its confines you see that there’s something… different about it. it’s a little purpler than the last time you saw it.

“mike, what—“ you’re confused, “it looks like it’s bruised,”

a deep blush sets into his face when he turns away from you and you watch him with a grin. the sound of you scoffing makes him pull a hand to hide his face in embarrassment before protesting.

“i-it’s not, okay? i just—will you touch me already, please?” he begs.

you giggle and proceed to watch the way his dick twitches at the sound of your voice, begging for you to touch it and make him feel good. every movement of himself aches more, it just makes him feel more sensitive and needy and he’s starting to feel pathetic, exposed in front of you. he whimpers.

“what has gotten into you?” you tease, smirking.

he gulps. “‘m sorry if i’m needy…” but you stop his apology with a chaste kiss to his lips, but he pulls away after sighing against your curled lips. “y-your touch is—really addicting,”

you lean back on your heels, eyeing his hard cock when you tut. “now mikey, don’t make things up,”

tears pool in the corners of his blue eyes. he whines, “but i’m not! i-i’ve just been… i—oh,”

you wrap your hand around him while he speaks, cocking your head as to observe the reaction he gives you as you slowly rock your fist up and down his aching shaft. his eyes fight rolling back as his hips instinctively slide down the couch cushion, legs parting to give you more access. you have to hold it still as it twitches in your grip, more blood rushing down to accommodate for the hardness he’s feeling as some more rushes to his head and flushes his cheeks.

“th-that feels… s-so good…” he groans, struggling to communicate with you as he already feels like he’s floating.

“you look so cute when you’re all needy like this,” you tease, rubbing the pad of your thumb over his slit to make him gasp.

“p-please…” he whispers, unsure of what he’s begging for.

more touching? for you to make him cum? for you to stop teasing him like that? for you to keep teasing him like that? so when you ask him about it, asking please, what? he can’t respond any better then letting out a loud moan.

so sensitive, you think. you won’t say it out loud but michael is just so sensitive. you cock your head to the other side and watch his red tip begin to leak, bringing your thumb up to smear it down his shaft. he’s squirming, trying so hard not to buck his hips up as you touch him.

“come on mikey, if i’m only using my hand then what are you supposed to do when i blow you? or if we fuck?”

he rolls his eyes back with a heavy huff, getting pictures of it in his mind that make him just breathless. cum in seconds, he thinks. if he’s barely going to last five minutes with your hand stroking up and down his erection, he’s not meant to last anymore than a minute when things get more heated. his answer is taken by gasps and moans that control michael, heartbeat pounding like a rabbits in his chest.

for a second though, you think about it. you think about leaning down and licking up his veiny shaft, or even wrapping your pretty lips around the purple tip and just making him bust in an instant, but before you can decide on what to do michael shoots a load out of his dick.

“a-awh!” a pornstar-ish groan fills the living room as his hips twitch. “ohh—f-fuck, fuck-!”

you gasp at the sight, watching cum stain his shirt as your eyes gloss, all of it for you and you only. you snap yourself out of your haze to praise him through it.

“oh, there you go my pretty boy… so good, that’s it…” you whisper, leaning in to pepper kisses to his neck as he tilts his head back to catch his breath. “aww, i bet that feels so good, too. cumming all for me, hm?”

“all for you,” he pants. “all of it—for you…”

[thesunicarusfellfor]

Hello! I'm in love with the way you write c! Ranboo like hsgsj- amazing! So I would like a request Yandare c! Ranboo and tubbo with a soft reader that is oblivious on how they act twords them but loves them unconditionaly (just fluff please maybe maybe put a Micheal seen in there as well because Micheal is the best character 😌)

I think this is the best compliment I have ever received... Thank you so much🤍🖤

I didn't know whether or not to do headcanons or a full-length fic, so I went with a shorter story if that's alright. ^^ if it's not feel free to send another request!

FYI THIS CAN BE SEEN AS PLATONIC OR ROMANTIC

Too Sweet (For This World) Yandere!C!Ranboo x F!Reader x Yandere!C!Tubbo

It was very common for you to see something out of the corner of your eye, but when you looked, you only saw a bunch of purple particles drifting slowly towards the earth due to gravity. You just assumed there were quite a few endermen still hanging around Snowchester, or some of the goats had come down from the mountains when you saw small little horns peeking out from behind bushes.

There were a couple times a day where you accidentally and very conveniently bumped into Ranboo out in the crater of L'Manberg or Tubbo when walking around Snowchester. It honestly was funny to you that you always seemed to bump into them when you were feeling sad or lonely. Plus, after talking to them and spending time with them, your problems almost magically seemed to disappear!

Such as, there was one time when you were helping clean up the red vines around buildings and Fundy was nagging at you for being so slow or bad at doing everything. After storming away and ranting to Ranboo about it on the verge of tears, Fundy practically scrambled up to you the next day shaking and almost crying, apologizing for every single thing he's ever said or done.

Huh... Maybe he felt that bad about it to the point where he was crying?

Although Fundy never said anything mean to you again, he also stopped hanging around you completely.

When you mentioned this to Tubbo, he explained that Fundy must not have been a real friend and that he and Ranboo would always be there for you before anyone else.

Once the mansion was built, the two platonic husbands eagerly invited you to stay with them, even saying they had Foolish make a room specifically for you! At first, you quite enjoyed your home around L'manberg, but then one day you returned home to a wall of your home completely destroyed by vines, deeming it unlivable. Although a tad convenient..

Tubbo and Ranboo had heard about it through your sobs when you called them, saying you had no clue what to do anymore. They had arrived at your side in almost minutes and quickly helped you pack and move everything to the mansion.

"I thought Snowchester was like... Half a day's walk away from here..." You sniffed, rubbing your red and puffy eyes. The two men of greatly varying heights tensed up momentarily.

"We were in the area." They both blurted out at the same time before glancing at each other.

Tubbo cleared his throat first, "I was in the nether, but luckily for you, I was close to the old L'manberg portal!" He smiled softly at you as you three walked away from your old home.

"M-Me too!" Ranboo coughed awkwardly, causing Tubbo to shoot him an odd look that you decided to brush off, "Now, uh, come on! Michael needs to meet his new mother!"

You blinked in surprise at the new title but didn't question it much, assuming it was simply just a title. Unbeknownst to you, your two best friends already thought you were part of their platonic relationship, despite you never agreeing nor denying, or them even asking.

It took a few days, but the zombie piglin warmed up to you and practically saw you as another one of his parents, which made Ranboo and Tubbo extremely happy. Instead of placing you into one of the regular rooms, they had Foolish turn the basement into two heavily secured rooms a few days before your house had been destroyed, strangely enough, and even designed one perfectly to your liking!

After washing the fruits you had, you walked towards the bookshelf and pulled on the fake book that caused the shelf to swing open. You walked down the quartz stairs after shutting the hidden door, then made your way up to one of the two doors with a pink sign with 'Michael' written in yellow cursive paint. Punching in the code, the iron door slid open and you stepped in before closing it behind you.

A loud cooing grunt was heard and the sound of quiet tapping echoed through the room before a pair of arms wrapped around your leg. "Hello, Michael." You giggled softly as Michael made grabbing hands up towards the bowl of fruit. Placing it down on the table, the child eagerly ran over and began munching on the food as you brushed over the books on the shelves to find one you haven't read to Michael before. "What about... The story of Persephone?"

A disappointed grunt was your only response.

"Guess I did read that one... Hm... Oh! What about the story of Icarus?" This time his response was a happy squeak and tippy taps of his hooves against the warm quartz floors. You sat down in the rocking chair and waited until the child scrambled over and jumped into your lap.

You opened the book and began reading to him for an hour until your eyes slowly slid shut to the quiet snores of the child of your two best friends, who at this point was beginning to see you as a mother.

Quiet 'meh' sounds and 'vrrr'ing noises and a dim flash woke you up from your spot in the rocking chair. Cracking open your eyes, your arms shifted around the nether hybrid as you saw Tubbo holding a camera making happy bleating noises, while Ranboo, who was the source of the buzzing noises, took the book you had been reading from your limp hand to put it back on the shelf.

"What time is it?" You murmured softly to keep the child asleep as you rubbed the back of your stiff and sore neck.

"It's about 5:30pm. Still rather early. Tubbo walked over and gave you a gentle yet affectionate headbutt while he scooped Michael up from your lap to bring him to bed. This caused an odd whining noise to come from the enderman hybrid before he quickly walked over and rested his forehead against yours, resting it there for a few moments before pulling back, his cheeks flushed the same colours as his eyes.

You giggled softly and gave him a gentle pat on the head as he helped you up. He held onto one of your hands as Tubbo eagerly went for the other, jokingly sticking his tongue out at Ranboo who gave a noise of mock offense, causing you three to giggle softly as you left Michael's room and went upstairs.

Tubbo and Ranboo weren't big fans of you leaving the basement on your own, and you were rarely allowed to leave the mansion even with the two boys at your sides. The former president told you it was because he heard rumours of Technoblade searching around for all the members of his cabinet back when he was in charge of L'Manberg, and he just wanted to protect you.

You saw no problems with his story as it was extremely believable. Your history with Technoblade hadn't been the cleanest and he would've definitely taken one of your canon lives back during the attack on L'Manberg, had a stray black and white firework not saved you that day. It had fired off and must've swerved a way that wasn't predicted, because it hit Technoblade hard enough in the chest to knock him away from you.

You don't remember much of that day, except for Ranboo immediately running over to you and dragging you away from the destruction and chaos. Thanks to him, you were almost completely scar free and standing proudly at three canons lives.

A gentle hand on your shoulder brought you back to reality and you saw two sets of eyes staring at you with concern. "Hey... Are you feeling okay?" Ranboo asked softly, tilting your head up to place his free hand against your forehead, "See. I told you she should be getting more sunlight, Tubbo!"

"I'm okay, I'm okay!" You laughed softly at their worry, rubbing your thumbs along the back of their hands, "Just... Remembering the war with Dream and Techno..."

"What about it?" Tubbo asked, bringing you into the living room to sit down with your friends on either side of you.

You pursed your lips together for a moment as you looked at the ground, "Just how... Scary Techno is. And how he was about to kill me without a care about who or what I was."

Angered growling and seething noises came from Ranboo and Tubbo as you felt their grasps tighten around your hands, almost to a painful degree. You looked up and saw their expressions stone-cold and steely although vastly different from each other.

Ranboo's green eye was purple, and the black tone of his skin was beginning to seep into the side with the lack of colour. The corners of his mouth were slowly splitting open wider and wider as his lips parted, allowing you to see the glowing purple colour inside his mouth.

Tubbo's was less obvious. His eyes were blank but also had a bright fire, one burning for revenge, reflected in them. His ears weren't flicking and neither was his tail, his entire body stiff except for a faint sound giving away the fact that his teeth were grinding together.

As much as you tried to endure it, the grip became too harsh and you couldn't help but give a small pained gasp. This caused all physical contact with you to suddenly vanish as the two boys immediately flung themselves away from you, horror and fear in their eyes.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry!"

"Are you okay?! Do you need an ice pack?!"

"Or a bandage from my claws?!"

They were both kneeling on the ground in front of you with both of your hands in their grasps again. They repeatedly turned your hands in their own, testing the joints and checking for marks or bruising. "Boys, boys!" You laughed softly, placing your hands on their heads to ruffle their hair gently. You pulled your left hand adorned with two beautiful rings and held it up for them to see, flexing it and moving it around, "See? Perfectly fine. No pain whatsoever!"

While they seemed to have calmed down a lot, they still seemed to be extremely upset and guilty. "I'm still going to get an ice pack... We don't want our wife to be injured..." Tubbo murmured as he quickly got up and walked towards the kitchen.

"I will get started on dinner. And as an apology, I'm making your favourite. (F/f)." Ranboo tried to be a little more upbeat than Tubbo, but you could still see the small amounts of guilt as he turned and followed after the goat hybrid.

Sighing softly at their overreactions, you leaned back against the couch...

Before doing a double-take.

Adorned with rings?!

You quickly flung yourself forward again and looked at your left hand. On your ring finger were two diamond rings, one gold with a green gemstone, and the other silver with a black gemstone, both glistening a faint purple from enchantments...

...

When did these get put on you- wait... Did Tubbo say... wife?

[insidious-journalist]

His brain is beyond overloaded by everything and so he doesn't even realize this is still a hostile encounter until he's physically thrown aside and forced to live the reality that Michael loathes him right now. Danny wheezes as he hits the wall near the fridge, using his elbows to sit up as his eyes watch in horror as the man he cares deeply for begins to stand and use the halligan to absolutely wreck his kitchen. The kitchen doesn't even matter right now, his chest hurts from both the physical and emotional toll of this encounter.

What happened? He was in a trial, but Jake was there... And Jake just kept hurting him. Killing him over and over as he struggled to keep the survivors at bay and at one point he succumbed to it and it was over. Why was he here? What did I do? The complete and utter loss of control was devastating and the fact it led to this pained him more than any physical wound could. He cared so much about keeping their "relationship" manageable, and knew the weight that came with being able to be vulnerable with Myers. That didn't just happen. That took time and effort and here all that effort was in the form of blood on the floor and a broken table.

What could he do to fix this? Talk to him? Apologize? Say sorry for stabbing you, that was someone else? Right now Michael wasn't gonna listen to reason and he was afraid that if he put his hands on the other that would make things worse. Danny was backed into a corner, a million things running through his mind and having to deal with the pains of having hurt someone he loved so deeply.

His breath came in short bursts, his hands were shaking as blood smeared on the ground as he tried to scoot away but Michael was blocking the exit. It was too much. So much. Confused and scared and heartbroken and mourning their broken trust...

Daniel began to sob through his ensuing panic attack.

Stop.

A request. A demand, perhaps. But a verbal message from Michael Myers. The cruel hands that kept around the man's throat loosened considerably and there was a brief pause from the brutalization as something stirred deep within his chest. It was like being gently shaken awake after a deep sleep, and Danny turned within himself, tempted to respond with a plea of five more minutes...

But then a knee hit him in the stomach and it tore him from his rest like a gunshot going off besides his head.

The silence was shattered by a loud pained gasp as Danny opened his eyes and felt the full weight and agony of having been beaten against a wall by Myers for God knows how long, inhaling sharply and beginning to cough and sputter. What was going on? Why was everything so red? Where was he? The cold smoke dissipated and he looked around frantically, only to settle on the weight in his hands and the grunts of a man he was so familiar with. Michael was bleeding. Michael was maskless. Michael was dying and his hands were around his throat.

"Mikey!" His voice came out like it was halfway caught in his throat as his hands quickly shifted away and instead to hold the other's face as Danny tried his best to process what the other was dealing with. Stab wounds, he's blinded- he's bleeding so fucking much and my own knife is right there and did I do this? Why were we in the kitchen, I don't understand?

Everything was a weight on his chest as he tried to assess the situation and think about everything at once; What he last remembered, what was going on now, what would happen if he let Michael die like this... But within the chaos he could only focus on one simple fact.

"Oh Mikey, what'd I do to you...?"