#no matter how close i got i was too quiet

[bvrnesher]

❝ so, kiss me ! ❞ ― pjo / hoo boys !

tap here for chb masterlist ! here for reqs info

summary: how would the pjo/hoo boys kiss you? ! stablished relationship ! gender neutral

— 💐 characters: percy jackson, jason grace, leo valdez, frank zhang. + luke castellan (longest), nico di angelo, will solace.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ꪆ ✦ 𑊁 ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

𐙚 — Percy Jackson

Percy would kiss you like it’s a habit—like breathing, like something he needs to do to function properly. He doesn’t make a big deal out of it, doesn’t give you a speech every time. He just sees you and thinks, yeah, I need to kiss her now, and then he does.

It’s casual most of the time. He’ll lean in and kiss you mid-sentence, just because. He kisses you when you hand him something, when you roll your eyes at him, when he’s bored, when you’re annoyed—especially when you’re annoyed. Smirking, eyes gleaming like don’t be mad at me, and then bam—mouth on yours. It’s stupid and effective and you hate how much it works.

But when it’s not casual? When it matters? God. He gets serious. Like, hands on either side of your face, pulling you in like he can’t risk you floating away. He kisses you like he’s anchoring himself. Like the world could end tomorrow and if he’s kissing you right now, maybe it won’t matter. It’s slow, deep, and intentional. Not just lips, but thumbs brushing skin, fingers curling at your waist, like he needs to memorize every part of you.

And afterward—he doesn’t say much. He just rests his forehead against yours and lets out that soft little breath, like okay, I’m good now. And you are too. Because when Percy kisses you, it’s not about perfection. It’s about feeling everything. All at once. Always.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ꪆ ✦ 𑊁 ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

𐙚 — Jason Grace

Jason would kiss you like he’s got all the time in the world. Like every time he does it, it’s a quiet declaration—I’m here, I’m yours, I’m not going anywhere. He’s steady, grounded. He doesn’t rush. He chooses to kiss you, every time. And he makes sure you feel that.

He’s not big on PDA, but he’s also not subtle. He’ll brush a knuckle under your chin, tilt your face up gently, and look at you like you’re the answer to every prayer he didn’t know he made. Then he kisses you—firm, warm, and careful, like he’s making a promise with his mouth.

But when you’re alone? Oh, that’s different. That’s when he lets go a little. He presses you up against the kitchen counter or pulls you into his lap without a word. His kisses get heavier, slower. His hands slide up your back, tangle in your hair, and he kisses you like he’s pouring lightning into your veins—but in that quiet, controlled Jason way. Like he’s holding back the storm just for you.

And he always pulls back like he’s reluctant. Like the only reason he stopped is because he had to. His forehead rests against yours, and he smiles—soft, private, a little bit shy, like the fact that he gets to kiss you still surprises him sometimes.

Jason Grace kisses you like he’s built a temple out of trust and handed you the key. Every kiss says, you’re safe here. Every single time.

+ his cheeks are always flushed after kissing you.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ꪆ ✦ 𑊁 ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

𐙚 — Leo Valdez

Leo kisses you like it’s a game he’s already won but still wants to play over and over. Like he’s addicted to the way you melt under his hands, and he’s not even trying to hide it. He’s the kind of guy who kisses you just to see your reaction—grinning against your mouth, one hand on your hip and the other already getting ideas.

It always starts playful. Always. He teases you first—throws in a flirty comment, smirks, gets way too close and just waits for you to cave. And when you do? He kisses you like fire—hot, fast, and impossible to ignore. His fingers are everywhere: tracing your jaw, tangling in your hair, gripping your waist like he’s holding on for dear life.

And he’s so unfair about it. He’ll kiss you like he’s starving, then pull back just enough to breathe something ridiculous against your lips like, “Wow. You’re kind of dangerously hot, you know that?”—and then go right back in, smug as hell.

But then sometimes—when it’s late, when you’re both tired and everything’s quiet—he gets serious. Like all the jokes drop away, and suddenly he’s kissing you slow. Intentional. Focused. No smirks, no games. Just Leo, warm and real, brushing his thumb across your cheek while he kisses you like he’s scared he’ll mess it up if he doesn’t get it exactly right.

And when he pulls away, he always looks at you like you’re his favorite invention. Something brilliant he still can’t believe he gets to keep.

Because Leo Valdez kisses you like he’s falling—every damn time—and he doesn’t mind the landing.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ꪆ ✦ 𑊁 ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

𐙚 — Frank Zhang

Frank kisses you like it’s sacred. Like every time his lips touch yours, he’s silently thanking the universe that you chose him. He’s not flashy about it—he doesn’t need to be. He’s gentle, deliberate. His hands always find your waist first, like he’s making sure you’re really there, grounding himself before he gets lost in you.

And at first? He’s a little shy about it. Not hesitant—respectful. Like he doesn’t want to rush a moment that means everything to him. He kisses you softly, slowly, and fully, like he’s trying to tell you everything he can’t say out loud in one perfect motion. His lips are warm, steady, and always lingering just a little longer than expected.

But when he’s sure—when he’s confident that you want this as much as he does? That’s when it gets deep. He pulls you in closer, arms wrapping around you like a shield, like he’s protecting you from everything. His kisses become heavier, surer, and his hands shake a little because he feels so much and he’s still figuring out how to carry it all.

And afterward? He gets that soft, slightly flustered look. His cheeks pink, eyes kind of wide like he can’t believe he just did that—but there’s this tiny smile tugging at his lips. Like he’s proud. And in love. And maybe a little dazed by you.

Frank Zhang kisses you like he’s memorizing the way you feel against his heart. Like you’re the most important thing he’s ever had—and he’s not letting go.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ꪆ ✦ 𑊁 ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

𐙚 — Luke Castellan

Luke kisses you like he already knows you’re going to kiss him back. There’s confidence in it—not exactly cocky, just sure. Like he’s memorized every way your lips move, how you breathe, where your hands go when he leans in. He doesn’t ask to kiss you, he decides to—like it’s inevitable. And it always is.

He’s smooth about it. Not flashy. He’ll glance at you once, tilt his head a little, and boom—your heart’s in your throat before he even touches you. His kisses start slow, controlled. Calculated, even. He wants to feel it build. He doesn’t rush—he savors. Lips brushing, lingering, waiting just long enough to make you chase him a little.

And when you do? That’s when he grins. That lazy, golden-boy grin that says yeah, I knew you would. He’ll kiss you deeper then, tilting your chin up, fingers brushing your jaw, warm and deliberate. One hand always finds its way to your lower back—pulling you in like he’s claiming something he already owns.

But, hey, stop. He’s complicated, remember? Cause he also kisses you like...

... he’s letting you in on a secret. Like every time his mouth touches yours, he’s handing you a piece of him he doesn’t trust the world with. It’s not gentle, not at first—he doesn’t do tentative. His kiss is deliberate, composed, and frustratingly slow. He’s the kind of person who tests every boundary, every reaction, who reads you like a battlefield—and kisses you the same way.

He doesn’t throw passion at you in waves—he studies you. Starts with a brush of his thumb on your jaw, a smirk on his lips. He makes you wait a second longer than necessary—on purpose—because he likes the way you look at him when you’re just barely holding back. Then he kisses you, steady and unflinching, and suddenly you realize: Luke doesn’t kiss to flirt. He kisses to own the moment.

It’s the kind of kiss that leaves no room to think. The kind that leaves you breathless because it’s paced like a strategy—slow where it counts, intense when it catches you off guard, then pulling away just when you need more. He’ll tilt his head and whisper something against your lips like, “What, already breathless?” and go back in like it was nothing.

But he’s not cruel. He just doesn’t know how to stop protecting himself—even from you.

Cause Luke also kisses you like he’s still learning how to be safe. But gods, he wants you to be the one he learns with.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ꪆ ✦ 𑊁 ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

𐙚 — Nico di Angelo

Nico kisses you like it costs him something—but he’s willing to pay it. Every time.

He’s not casual about it. Not the type to steal kisses in front of others or kiss you just because he’s bored. No—when Nico kisses you, it’s because something in him needs it. Needs you. Needs to remind himself he’s still alive and tethered and not as alone as he used to be.

It starts awkward, always. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he second-guesses everything. He hesitates. Looks at your mouth like it’s a cliff he’s about to jump from, like he’s doing mental math on whether you’ll still be there when he lands. But when he finally commits? It’s all in.

He kisses like he feels—deep, intense, almost too much. His hand might shake a little when it cups your face, but his mouth is firm, focused. Nico doesn’t do “soft” the first time—he does real. It’s the kind of kiss that grabs your heart and doesn’t let go. The kind that makes you forget how cold the world used to feel before he let you in.

He breaks the kiss slowly, like he’s still trying to hold onto it. And then he looks at you—eyes dark and wide, a little scared, a little stunned, like he’s thinking I can’t believe I let myself do that, followed immediately by I really, really want to do it again.

And eventually—when he trusts it, when he trusts you—he gets more comfortable. Kisses you in the quiet moments. Brushing his lips against your temple while you read. A kiss to the back of your hand before a mission. The kind of affection that says: you’re the only person I let see this side of me. And I don’t want anyone else to.

Because Nico di Angelo doesn’t kiss to flirt. He kisses like it’s the first time he’s ever been allowed to want something—and not have it taken away.

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𐙚 — Will Solace

Will kisses you like he already misses you—and you’re right there.

There’s something urgent about the way he leans in. Not rushed, just intentional. Like he’s been thinking about it all day and now that he finally has you close, he’s going to make the most of it. His hands go straight to your waist, your cheeks, the back of your neck—he needs the contact. His lips press against yours with this steady kind of heat, like he’s trying to pour sunlight into your chest.

And he fucking smiles into it, every time. Like he can’t help it. Like kissing you is his favorite thing in the world and he’s a little surprised every time that it’s real.

He’s the type to whisper something just before he kisses you—“Missed you,” or “You’re so pretty like this,” or even just a soft, shaky “Hey.” Because for all his brightness, Will feels everything deeply. So yeah, the kiss might start playful—light, teasing, brushing his nose against yours with a quiet laugh—but the moment he really feels you respond? Game over.

Will deepens the kiss like he’s grounding himself. Like you’re his anchor in a storm only he can feel. And when it gets softer—when the laughter fades and it’s just breath and hands and closeness—you can tell this is where he lives. Not in the chaos. Not in the crowd. In you.

And after? He pulls away just enough to look at you. His thumb brushing your cheek, eyes all golden and crinkled, like the sun’s still stuck in his lashes. And he says it—not with a dramatic flair, not with fear. Just gently. “I love you.” Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Because with Will, it is.

— 💐 a/n : This is my version and interpretation of each of the characters as I understand them! If you don't like my interpretation or the way I wrote any of them, fuck off. Seriously, I don't care.

Plus, Luke's the longest one cause he's such a... complicated character, like, he has many layers, and I didn't know which one to write, so I did it like this. I mean, all the characters here have a lot of abilities, but Luke? Luke is a different case.

[mirrored-muse]

Hi could u maybe do a Lottie x female reader romantic where Lottie takes the reader to the lake and swims with her and realises she’s attracted to the reader smth along those lines ty !

ᴀᴜʀᴏʀᴀꜱ ��ɴᴅ ꜱᴀᴅ ᴘʀᴏꜱᴇ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 722

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴅᴀʏ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀᴋᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʟᴏᴛᴛɪᴇ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ᴄᴏɴꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ʟᴏᴛᴛɪᴇ ᴍᴀᴛᴛʜᴇᴡꜱ x ꜰᴇᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴀ/ɴ: ʜɪ! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛɪɴɢ. ɪ’ᴍ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴜᴘᴇʀ ᴄᴏɴꜰɪᴅᴇɴᴛ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴀʙɪʟɪᴛɪᴇꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʟᴏᴛᴛɪᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪᴛ. 😭

The lake wasn’t far from camp, but the walk there felt longer than you remembered.

You followed Lottie through the trees, the sun starting to dip just enough to cool the air. It was quiet—just the sound of your footsteps and the soft rustle of branches brushing against each other overhead.

When you reached the edge of the water, she turned to you.

“No one comes out here this time of day,” she said. “It’s safe.”

You nodded, brushing a loose strand of hair out of your face. “You sure it’s not too cold?”

“It’s cold,” she said simply, a small smile playing on her lips. “But you get used to it.”

She stepped out of her boots, one at a time, and sat down to peel off her socks. Her movements were slow, and thoughtful, like everything she did had a reason behind it. You hesitated for a second, watching her.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she said without looking at you. “I just thought you might like the quiet.”

You let out a breath and started pulling off your shoes. “No, I do. It’s just easy to forget what peace feels like these days.”

Lottie nodded. “It’s rare out here. But it’s still here.”

Pulling your dress overhead, you step into the water together, Lottie following close behind. It felt like ice at first, sharp and shocking, but after a few moments, your body started to adjust. Lottie waded deeper, her expression calm as always until she dipped under completely. When she surfaced, her dark hair slicked back and water dripping from her lashes, she looked serene.

You swam closer, breath catching a little in your throat.

“I get why you come here now,” you said. “It’s quiet, but it’s not… empty.”

Lottie’s eyes met yours. “It’s the kind of quiet that listens.”

You floated beside her in the still water, close enough to feel the heat from her skin despite the chill. The sun caught the edge of her face, making her eyes look softer than usual. There was something comforting about the way she held herself, like no matter how chaotic things got, Lottie was always steady.

“Do you ever get scared out here?” you asked suddenly. The question surprised even you.

She didn’t answer right away, seemingly lost in thought.

“Sometimes,” she said, voice low. “But not with you.”

Your chest tightened at that. You looked down at the surface of the water, watching the way the ripples moved around the two of you.

Lottie was quiet again, then she said, “Out here, everything’s always watching, always shifting. But with you, it feels still. Like I can just exist.”

You turned your head toward her. She wasn’t smiling, but her eyes were open in a way they weren’t with most people. You could see the truth in them, she meant it.

You didn’t say anything. Just reached out and lightly brushed your fingers against hers beneath the surface.

She didn’t pull away from your touch. Her fingers curled slightly, brushing yours back under the water.

The ripples between you stilled for a moment.

Lottie’s gaze stayed on your hand. “Sometimes I think… the quiet knows things before I do,” she said softly.

You tilted your head, a small crease forming in your brow. “What do you mean?”

She was quiet for a few seconds. The kind of silence that didn’t feel heavy, just full of thought.

“I didn’t know what I was feeling. Not for a while,” she murmured. “But then I’d come out here and think about you. And it was like.. the stillness of everything made it clear.”

Her eyes met yours again, steady, open, vulnerable in a way that made your breath catch.

“There’s something different about you.”

Your heart thudded once, hard. Lottie never said anything just to say it. When she spoke, she meant it.

“It’s not just comfort I feel when I’m near you,” she murmured. “It’s something deeper.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just let her words settle between you for a moment.

Then you said, barely above a whisper, “I feel the same.”

Lottie nodded slowly like she already knew you’d say it. There was no rush in her smile, only a subtle warmth that felt like sunlight on your skin.

“I thought you might.”

[vacate-et-scire]

PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

There’s a thin patter of rain against the windowpane and the dim, amber glow of the lamp casts soft shadows across the living room. You're tucked into the corner of the couch like a cat in a sunbeam, limbs loose beneath a shared fleece blanket, half-swallowed in one of Jason's old Gotham U hoodies that smells faintly like clean laundry and gunpowder.

Your legs brush his where he sits beside you, long and lazy, the hard lines of his body softened by comfort and the sheer peace of this rare moment. He’s got one hand curled around a battered copy of Pride and Prejudice, thumb rubbing absentminded circles on the margin, and the other lazily resting across the back of the couch—fingers grazing your shoulder like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

He doesn’t even need to ask anymore. You don’t have to beg him to read. He just opens the book, clears his throat in that overly dramatic way he knows makes you smile, and begins.

“‘My dearest Lizzy, do not set yourself against me. I am not romantic, you know. I never was.’”

He does Mr. Collins with a ridiculous nasally whine, and you let out an undignified snort that makes his lips twitch.

“God, he sounds like a Muppet,” you murmur, burying your face into the blanket.

“Good,” Jason says smugly. “Because he acts like one.”

He reads on, voice dipping and rising as he navigates the Bennets and Bingleys with theatrical flair. But it’s his Mr. Darcy voice that gets you every time—low and solemn, like he’s narrating a tragic opera, or the end of a dramatic film noir.

“‘You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’”

Jason glances sideways at you, catching your expression with a crooked smirk.

“Smooth, huh?” he drawls. “Real swoon-worthy.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks warm. “You make him sound like he’s reciting his vows at gunpoint.”

Jason chuckles—deep and genuine—and closes the book just long enough to rest it on your lap. He shifts to face you more fully, draping his arm behind you and brushing a knuckle gently down the side of your face.

“Hey,” he says, tone softening. “You tired?”

You shrug, half-melted into the couch. “A little. But I like listening to you read.”

He pauses, taking you in with that rare, steady gaze of his—the one that makes your stomach flip, the one that says he’s not just here for the soft moments, but for the vulnerable ones too.

“You don’t feel silly about it, right?” he asks. “Wanting this?”

There’s a knot in your throat that threatens to form, but you shake your head, quiet. “I used to, I guess. It’s just… I dunno. It makes me feel safe.”

Jason nods slowly, fingers brushing through your hair, over your temple. “Good. You should feel safe. Especially with me.”

And he means it. You can tell by the way he kisses your forehead like it's a promise.

He picks the book back up, flipping to the page you left off at without even looking. Muscle memory. He’s read this so many times now that he probably knows it better than his old weapons manuals.

His voice resumes—gentler now, like he’s telling you a bedtime story, like he’s speaking not to the room but to you.

“‘My affections and wishes are unchanged; but one word from you will silence me on this subject forever.’”

You blink slowly, heart heavy in the best kind of way, and Jason just keeps reading, unfazed. Because he knows the words matter to you. Because he likes being the one to read them for you. Because despite the blood on his hands and the war in his bones, he still makes space for softness.

You don’t realize you’ve drifted until the book closes softly and he shifts beside you, tucking the blanket up around your shoulders like he’s afraid you’ll catch cold from a ghost draft. His voice is low as he whispers—like a secret just for you.

“Night, babe. Darcy says he loves you. So do I.”

And maybe the words blend into your dreams. Maybe you stir just enough to feel the weight of his hand curl around yours.

But either way, you sleep like you haven’t in years. Safe. Warm. Loved.

[internetdaddy98]

The Ties That Bind Us - Chapter 23

Previous | Next [Series Masterlist] Content Warning: medical procedures; blood; mutual pining; jealousy: angst

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You threw yourself into work like it could save you.

Every shift since the rooftop had blurred into the next—rounds, consults, trauma alerts, charting. You didn’t let yourself think for more than ten seconds at a time. There wasn’t room. Not for second-guessing, not for memory, and definitely not for Robby.

You didn’t avoid him exactly.

You just... didn't seek him out anymore.

Not in the way you used to, like muscle memory. Not with those quiet glances across the ER, not with that stupid internal pulse you pretended wasn’t real. It was easier now—he kept his distance, and so did you. Like some unspoken truce had been signed in that wind-lashed rooftop silence.

But the hurt still lived in your chest like broken glass.

And he still looked at you like you broke something he didn’t know how to fix.

You were between patients when you heard it—the low rumble of his voice from across the hallway. You didn't mean to look. But you did. Reflex, stupid and automatic.

Robby was looking at a chart, brows drawn together, his jaw tight as always. But beside him stood Collins, and the two of them were laughing at something on her screen. You couldn't hear what, but she leaned just a little too close. Her hand brushed his shoulder.

You turned away before your thoughts could spiral.

Fine. Whatever. You were over it.

You pivoted into Exam Room 2, finding your next patient—a good-looking guy in his mid-thirties, athletic build, T-shirt soaked in blood from a head wound. His smile was casual, easy, like none of this fazed him.

“Dr. Williams?” he asked, already smirking. “You’re not what I expected.”

You blinked. “Good or bad?”

“Definitely good.”

You gave a polite smile and moved toward the tray. “Let’s take care of that gash on your temple.”

He winced as you cleaned it. “Can’t believe I split it on a cabinet corner. I was rushing to get out of the house—should’ve slowed down.”

“Next time, maybe wear a helmet,” you offered, deadpan.

He laughed. “If it gets me back here with you, maybe I won’t.”

You didn’t react, at least not visibly. But from the corner of your eye, you caught movement through the small glass panel in the door.

Robby. Walking by. Slowing. Looking.

You didn’t meet his eyes.

The patient kept talking. “So, Doc… if I wanted to get this checked out over dinner instead, would that violate any ethical boundaries?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how head trauma follow-ups work,” you laughed.

“Shame,” he said. “Still—you can’t blame me for trying.”

You sutured him in silence after that. Focused. Professional.

But your stomach twisted, and you didn’t quite know why. ---------------------------------

You didn’t realize Robby was in the break room until you looked up from your cup of water, back to the wall. He didn’t speak. Neither did you. It was easier that way now—each of you occupied your own corner of the universe. Safer that way.

He watched you for a moment. “You’ve got a fan in Exam 2.”

You looked up slowly.

He shrugged like it didn’t matter, like it didn’t burn under his skin. “Guy with the head laceration. Seemed really... interested in you.”

“He was just being friendly.”

“Is that what that was?” His tone was sharp enough to cut through bone.

You set down your cup. “What are we doing here, Michael?”

He looked at you like you’d slapped him.

“You don’t want to talk,” you said. “You made that pretty clear. So don’t do this. Don’t watch me from across the room like you—”

“Like I what?” he snapped. “Like I still give a damn?”

Silence exploded between you.

Robby finally spoke. “You should go.”

You blinked. “What?”

He didn’t meet your eyes. “Guy’s clearly interested. And you’re single. No rules stopping you.”

Your throat tightened. “I didn’t realize I needed your permission.”

“You don’t.” His voice was flat. “Have fun.”

You grabbed your water and left without looking back. ------------------------------------

You were charting in one of the quieter rooms. The ER had cooled down. The patients were thinning out. You told yourself the ache in your chest was exhaustion.

You didn’t expect to see Robby standing by the door, eyes locked on you.

But this time, you didn’t look away.

Neither did he.

He approached—slow, hesitant, hands in his pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

“Y/N.”

You hated how your name sounded on his lips. Like memory. Like something you might not get back.

“I didn’t mean what I said earlier,” he said quietly. “About... you dating someone.”

You said nothing.

“I was being an asshole.”

“That seems to be the theme lately,” you said.

His mouth tightened. “I’m trying.”

“Are you?” You looked up. “Because from here, it feels like you’re punishing me for something that I didn’t do.”

“I’m not punishing you.”

“Then what are you doing, Robby? Because one minute, you’re shutting me out and the next, you’re pissed that someone else notices me.”

His voice broke then. “I notice you.”

The words landed like a blow.

“I always have,” he said, softer. “And I didn’t know how to handle it. Especially now. Especially after... everything.”

You swallowed hard, eyes burning.

But before either of you could say more, the overhead speaker called a rapid response incoming.

You stood, grabbing your stethoscope, forcing steel into your spine. “I gotta go.”

You walked away before your hands could shake.

And behind you, Robby didn’t follow. Not yet.

[nightscythe]

I've been loving your primarch posts! In your opinion, what would make each primarch jealous, and how would they express that jealousy?

(Feel free to get as nsfw as you like.)

i was really stupid and cause i got two asks about jealousy in together, i kinda mixed them. this is pathetic, insecure jealousy. next post will be seething, lust filled nsfw jealousy. thank you btw! ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

pre-heresy // the large space men do tend to suffer from human emotions.

lion: his authority was very rarely questioned, but ironically, the first time someone has doubts over his leadership and decision-making skills, it’s in front of, and concerning, you. he’s not fazed by it at first, until he realises the intentions behind it. when he’s quiet and calm, that’s when he’s most dangerous. i’m supposed to be polite, he’d tell the man, an authority under his father’s name, as his eyes narrow, but all of that can be forgotten in a second. when you’re alone later, he doesn’t bring it up to you, but the weight is lingers in his chest. he knew what he was doing, he remarks. you can tell him it meant nothing, that it had nothing to do with you, but he knows better than that. he’d nod anyway, not wanting to drag you into anything. that’s the only reason that man is still alive. 

fulgrim: always hypervigilant, it wouldn’t take long for fulgrim to realise the cuff around your arm wasn’t something he’d given to you. he’d keep quiet about it at first, brooding in a corner until he’s either figured out where to get you a better one or how to deal with his feelings. he’d find you later, wrapping his arms around you from behind, burying his face in your shoulder and peppering your skin with short kisses. i worry that someone will mean more to you than i do, he confesses, holding you just that bit tighter. i know it’s foolish, but i worry. i always worry i’m not enough. that someone will do better for you than me. when you look back at him, his eyes are wide, his lips a deeper red. i love you, maybe too much, and my love makes me feel so powerless with you. but i wouldn’t change it. i can’t help it.

perty: it wasn’t often that he’d care what other people thought, but your opinion had always mattered so much to him. a dinner, nothing special, but he’d spent most of the evening watching your eyes light up at a story someone told. it shouldn’t affect him, yet after the conversation ends, he’s silent. he doesn’t look your way, or anyway, for that matter, barely speaking any more words as he buries himself in the darkness of his own mind. later that evening, you corner him, but he tells you sternly that nothing is wrong. yet he can’t stop thinking of how you laughed and gasped in awe. eventually, in the quiet of the night, he voices his thoughts. it made me feel inadequate. you could tell him over and over that he never was, but he’d detached himself from reality already, lost in imagined inadequacies. you haven’t done anything. but the way you looked? i only want that for me. you are for me. 

khan: infatuation wasn’t even close to describing his feelings for you, and the result was him learning every part of your life before him. it annoys him in some way to know that you had a life without him and makes him irrepressibly jealously to know people existed with you before him. he tries to bear with it, supports you in every way he can, but when he sees someone that he can obviously recognise as having some kind of affection for you, he can’t just ignore it. if i stay, i’ll make things hard for you, he tells you, excusing himself to leave, so uncharacteristically. i don’t want to leave you, but i need space. i may just burn everything i touch if i remain. being away from you knowing you were near to someone like that drives him even more insane though, so he returns later, hand curling around yours as he gets close, breath hot on your ear, i don’t like the thought of sharing you, even in the past. you’re mine. only mine. 

leman: he’d let most things go, but if anyone dared to touch what was his, he’d never let them get away with it. even just another human, someone who shouldn’t matter to him, could have him growling if they were too close to you in his eyes. this guy had told a joke, doubling over and resting their hand on your lower arm without any intention behind it. leman had spotted it across the room, because he’s always watching you when you’re not beside him (just out of admiration, nothing weird), so within seconds, he’s at your side. must think you’re real funny, he comments, eyes burning holes into the guy, we’re not laughing, though. you apologise as the guy moves on, slightly terrified by the man now standing beside you. leman doesn’t leave your side the rest of the evening, always by your side or a step behind. if you try to walk away, he’d pull you straight back. think i have the tolerance to deal with anyone else taking your attention tonight?

dorn: he’d have wrote a book on things to know about you, if he could. so when someone across from you comments on your favourite colour, he confidently tells them what he believed to be your favourite. cue them correcting him with their belief, and you shyly telling him you liked both, but the other person was technically right. it shouldn’t make him spiral, but it does. he finds himself annoyed that someone could know you better, and if they knew you better, that must mean you love them more. he hates that thought. so he’s quiet. spares a passing thought later when the moment has passed you. you looked happy when they answered a question about you. he’s not upset, not angry, but he pain in his voice that’s hard to ignore. he sits beside you, running his fingers up the length of your arm gently. do i make you feel like that, too? he asks, never meeting your eyes. his voice drops to a whisper as his fingers reach your palm. do i make you happy?  

curze: years after knowing him, he almost expects you to become immune to his behaviour. the truth is, he’s intimidating when he wants to be, and sometimes makes it hard to be around him. he didn’t mean to stumble across you in a spare room, beside a lady who carried books in her hands. you smiled so easily, laughed like it was second nature, not afraid to show your emotions without safeguard. he listens for a while, but hearing how comfortable you are sends a fit of silent rage through him. he isolates himself until you seek him out later. his throat is tight, his hands still balled into fists at his side. i’m fine, he declares. he tenses his jaw, balls his fists. i’m fine. he’s trying to convince himself. says it another few times until he final looks at you. am i enough for you? before you can answer, he scoffs. have i ever made you feel truly loved? again, you can’t answer. i’m not fine, he mutters, why do i feel like i’m always losing you? 

sanguinius: you could never do anything wrong in his eyes. he knew your kindness, he knew your inner beauty as much as your outer. others, though? so many are rotting inside. he could see it. perhaps he’s harshest on the people who look at you like he does. he loves you, he knows how someone who wants you looks. he’s still got the sweetest smile on his lips as he muses beside you, they’re lucky i have to be so forgiving. when you ask him what he meant, he hums. you don’t even notice, do you? such a precious thing. unfortunately, the feeling simmers and he finds himself thinking a bit too hard about the thought of someone else wanting you. that night, he’d shield you with his wings as he laid beside you, making sure it was only the two of you. i wish i could hide you from everyone, he’d whisper to you as you slept, stroking your cheeks, what if you see me clearly one day, and decide i’m not enough for you?

ferrus: he’d admired your human nature for so long that he didn’t realise just how much he hated it. you were kind, to everyone, and he often felt others didn’t deserve it. especially others who looked at you in a more than friendly way which you always seemed so oblivious to. the feeling is mostly overlooked by veneration, but sometimes he can’t push it down far enough to be overshadowed. he won’t look at you, constantly messing with his armour and distracting himself from the reality presented in front of him. when you ask him, though, he admits everything. i didn’t like how you spoke with him, he remarks, eyes watching the person he’s referring to the in the distance, seeing you with others… i don’t know what the feeling is. he’d look to you for a moment before sighing. i didn’t like it. he’s hesitant to touch you after that, waiting for you to take the first step. i know you didn’t mean anything by it, but it… hurt. 

angron: your laugh had echoed through the hall. he’d followed it, obviously, seeking out your usual comforting presence and wishing to be nearby. he stopped himself, though, when he neared the door and heard you laugh again. he watches from a distance for a moment, fingers gripping the doorframe hard enough to leave a dent. he shouldn’t hate it so much, but he thinks you’d never laugh like that with him. he brings you pain, and all you ever do is comfort him. he hates that he can’t provide the same feeling in return (even though he does – he will never accept that), but someone else can. he pushes his way into the conversation, immovable at your side. funny, huh? he asks, smiling, voice scratching the edges of the walls. should i take notes? the other person would leave, sensing his annoying too, leaving him to reach his hands around you and smile, pull you into his warmth and whisper loud enough you’re sure the other person hears. i’d kill anyone who came between us. he would, really, but maybe the wrong time to carry that energy. 

rob: he doesn’t get jealous, not often. but when he’d specifically thought he had some time to spend with you and you so unkindly tell him you actually are meeting a friend, it’s like a shot straight to the chest – even though it’s technically his fault for not telling you he intended to spend that time with you – that he cleared his schedule��for you. it’s fine. they’re better company. he’d look away, feigning his disinterest, but his eyes flicker back to you when you don’t answer, craving the confirmation that you still needed him around. when you laugh and promise him that when return, in less than an hour, you’ll be by his side for the rest of the day, he tries to hide the blush on his cheeks. later, he’d pull you into his lap and hold you close – genuinely wishing he never had to let go. the intended consequence of loving you is that i’m scared you’ll love someone else.  

morty: other people made you happy. obviously. but he struggled to accept it. he wanted to be the reason you smiled every time, he wanted to be the reason you found life worth living – because that’s what you were to him. one afternoon, he sees the way you smile when talking to someone else, and it’s the final crack in the foundation. he doesn’t shout, not often, but his voice is raised when he confronts you about it later. how could i not feel jealous? he’d challenge, meters away from you yet his presence overwhelming. they make you happy. they do what i can’t. he stops for a moment, not to process how his words were untrue, but instead for his mind begins to fray at the seams. i wish i could make you feel that way. he looks away. he doesn’t want to yell, but it comes out like a command to one of his men. leave. go. you don’t, knowing that would never have been an option for you. when he notices, his body stiffens. please don’t ever go. please. 

magnus: he doesn’t mean to intrude on your dreams, but sometimes he’s so busy thinking about you it just happens. but his whole body freezes when he sees you sat with someone who isn’t him in your dream, someone that should be him. he knows it’s your unconscious mind, you’ve dreamt about him a thousand times before, but it devastates him. he pulls you into his chest, arms tight around you as he stutters. you… are mine, aren’t you? the uncertainty runs deep through his voice. please don’t ever leave me. not for anyone else. when you start to stir in your sleep, he can’t meet your eyes, opting to rest his head against your shoulder. tell me you love me, please, he pleads, holding you closer. when you ask him what’s wrong, why he’s asking you for that, groggy and unsure from sleep, he grips your clothes and skin like its all that keeps him grounded. just…remind me, please. tell me you love me. 

horus: ironically, his brothers make him the most jealous. nothing and no one else (except maybe his father, but that bridge can be crossed when he finally gets to it). even breathing the same air as you is enough to piss him off. when sanguinius had come to greet you, as any normal person would, horus notices. he shouldn’t want to deck his brother for making you smile (he just said the flowers looked nice), but he certainly takes that as his cue to approach you both. you two having a moment? he asks, jealously disguised behind humour. he looks directly to you like you’d done something wrong. i get it, he’s a pretty guy. so are you. shall i leave you to it? he grins like he’s joking, but never leaves. he locks his arm around you for the rest of the evening. when you try to ask him about it, he laughs. he’s my brother, why would i care? he conveniently avoids the question. lets the thoughts stew in his mind that maybe he wasn’t enough for you. need to prove it to you, horus mentions to you later, that he’d never be better for you than i am. he could be made warmaster in a each universe and still feel second-best to them.  

lorgar: he’s a busy man. never expected you to just sit beside him in quiet obedience so he’d never be without you. of course, if you could do that… he wouldn’t say no, but he’s not unreasonable. but he can smell others on you when you return to him before he’s even finished what he’s doing, wanting to be around when he finally has time to be with you. he hates it, he hates knowing you were with others, that they had their hands on you for whatever reason. if you try to leave his side, even for a second, he pulls you straight back to him, not letting you leave. you’ve only just returned to me. let me feel the blessing of your presence for as long as i can. he’d think about it more, the not knowing aching more than anything. he trusted you, but felt he’d never give you everything you needed. do you go to other people to talk about things? he’d ask, his question not specific on purpose. why don’t you just talk to me, instead? i’m right here. he hates that he sounds desperate, like he wants to isolate you, like he’s truly possessive. i’m yours. that’s what i’m here for. 

vulkan: you’d returned to him with a smile, but your wrist was bandaged. he’s worried beyond anything, but as you tell him the story of the person who stopped to help you, bandaged you up, helped you when you really needed it, his worry turns to relief, then to… envy. he was meant to be there in your time of need, and he wasn’t. he’s grateful to your good samaritan. but… he was right here. you could have gone to him. i could have helped, he voices, i would have done anything you needed me to do. you can reassure him a thousand times, but it doesn’t help how he feels at all. he feels like he’s let you down and he’s, by accident, overthinking the additional person’s role in all of this. it makes me feel like you don’t need me. he avoids your gaze as you crawl into his lap and try to remind him otherwise. he never lets you speak. let me feel like this. even if its wrong. just for a moment. he knows deep down there’s nothing to be jealous over, but it still happens. 

corvus: he shouldn’t care, but he does. he holds your feelings like they’re sacred, and the thought of someone else knowing something he considers an intimate part of your relationship frustrates him to no end. and he knows you mean nothing by it when you tell the person beside you how you’d had a rough couple of weeks, its just a simple response to a kind of simple question. he doesn’t interrupt to pull you away, he just… listens. watching the space around you like it might shatter if he stopped. takes a breath that’s far too long and wonders what makes it so easy to tell them you had a rough couple of weeks. overthinking, and more overthinking, until he’s somehow come to the conclusion they must be important to you, maybe more than him. so, he walks away. you follow, you always do, and when you ask where he’s going, he doesn’t answer. when you ask if he’s okay, he pauses. you’re busy. he meets your eyes finally and realises the weight of his thoughts, and just how untrue they are. you don’t need me. he doesn’t mean it, but in that moment, no truth has ever been clearer. 

alpharius: you look to him for guidance in everything, you let him shape the world around you and don’t spare a second thought to it – it’s natural, and he likes it that way. but on the occasion that you listen to someone else, even about something trivial in his eyes (you know, human feelings and emotions that he doesn’t really comprehend but wants you to trust him on anyway), he becomes aggravated. exasperated. do you think anyone could understand you as i do? he questions, standing across from, presence truly suffocating, you think anyone knows you the way i do? he laughs. too normal to be innocent. like he’s had this conversation a thousand times over in his head. like you weren’t just asking someone for advice on dealing with a sore throat or some stupid shit. every part of you belongs to me, he assures you. anyone who tries to get close to you… he doesn’t finish his thought, you’re too pure in his eyes. not until you’re asleep beside him and it’s all forgotten. anyone who gets between us… dies. simple. 

i'm itching to write smut btw. like little scarabs are taking over me. until next time - have a good bank holiday weekend (if you're awarded such pleasures)

[izzih22]

Chapter 6: Almost

Note: should I post the rest… hmm… idk

It had been four days since prom.

Four days since Azzi had sat in Paige’s lap in the dark, trembling and broken, her voice barely holding up as she told her everything that had happened. Four days since Paige had wrapped her up like something sacred and whispered things Azzi had barely let herself believe she needed to hear.

Four days, and they hadn’t talked about it again.

Not directly.

There were glances, touches, a few quiet pauses when something came too close to the memory. But mostly, they did what they always did—they existed in that strange, magnetic space between friends and something so much more.

And now, with a few more days until Paige had to fly back to Minnesota, everything felt like it was ticking down.

But they weren���t rushing through the time.

They were stretching it out.

The Fudd house was chaotic in the best way that morning. Jose and John were fighting over cereal again—Azzi’s mom had bought the last box of the good kind, and Jose insisted he’d called dibs last night. Katie stood in the doorway holding her coffee like it was the only thing keeping her from launching the cereal box out the window.

Paige was sitting at the kitchen island, grinning like she’d been part of the family forever. She was eating toast and stealing pieces of bacon off Azzi’s plate whenever she wasn’t paying attention.

Azzi elbowed her. “You have your own bacon.”

“Yeah, but yours tastes better,” Paige said, popping another piece in her mouth.

“You’re the worst guest.”

“You say that, but you’d cry if I left early.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it.

Katie raised a brow behind her mug and mouthed mhm as she turned back toward the sink.

That afternoon, it rained out of nowhere—thunderous, hot summer rain that hit the roof hard and made everything smell like wet pavement and grass. Azzi tugged Paige out onto the covered back porch just as the sky opened up.

“God, I forgot how loud it gets here,” Paige said, eyes wide as the rain pounded down like a drumline.

“You miss it?”

“Kind of,” Paige admitted. “Not the bugs. But this? Yeah. This I miss.”

Azzi leaned her shoulder against the porch beam and watched Paige. Not the rain. Just her.

“You always look different here,” Azzi said quietly.

“Different how?”

“More like you. The you I knew before everything.”

Paige blinked. “Before what?”

Azzi shrugged, glancing away. “Before the cameras. Before the hype. Before college coaches started drooling over you and you got your own freaking documentary.”

“I don’t even feel like that person most days.”

“Good,” Azzi said. “She’s kind of intimidating.”

Paige laughed—loud and full and completely unguarded. “You think I’m intimidating?”

Azzi turned to face her fully. “Sometimes.”

They were only a few inches apart now.

“You’re not scared of me though,” Paige said, teasing, but softer underneath.

“No,” Azzi said, shaking her head. “Never scared.”

Paige’s smile faded a little. The moment stretched.

And then Jose banged on the glass door behind them.

“Hey! Are y’all emotionally staring at each other again?”

Azzi groaned and turned away. “I’m going to kill him.”

Paige snorted and followed her back inside.

Later that night, they played Uno with the boys in the living room. Paige and Azzi teamed up, obviously, even though Jose tried to argue it was unfair.

“They cheat without even trying,” John said, throwing down a Draw Four with a dramatic sigh.

“Jealousy looks bad on you,” Paige said, smirking.

“Y’all need to stop finishing each other’s sentences,” Jose added.

“We don’t do that,” Azzi said at the exact same time Paige said the same thing.

Everyone groaned.

Katie popped her head in from the kitchen. “Let me know when you’re all done being in denial.”

“Mom!” Azzi called, mortified.

But Paige just laughed until her sides hurt.

They ended up in Azzi’s room again, like always. No real bedtime when you were teenagers and the clock didn’t matter as much as being close to someone who made you feel whole.

Azzi lay on her stomach on the bed, scrolling through her phone lazily. Paige sat beside her with her legs stretched out, picking at the threads of the comforter like it had secrets.

“You never talk about prom,” Paige said finally.

Azzi stopped scrolling. Her phone dimmed. She didn’t look up. “There’s not much to say.”

“There’s everything to say.”

Azzi’s jaw tightened, but only for a second. Then she rolled onto her back, looking at the ceiling.

“I think I overreacted,” she admitted. “Like… it wasn’t that bad, right?”

“Azzi.”

“I mean, I got out. He didn’t—he didn’t—”

“Don’t do that,” Paige said, voice sharp but still gentle. “Don’t shrink what happened just because it didn’t go further. You felt unsafe. That’s enough. That’s all that matters.”

Azzi blinked fast, eyes glossy.

“And you called me,” Paige said more quietly. “You trusted me. That’s not something I’ll ever take lightly.”

Azzi sat up then, suddenly needing to be closer. Paige looked at her, and it was all over her face—fierce protectiveness, softness, something trembling underneath.

“You looked like you wanted to kill him,” Azzi whispered.

Paige nodded. “I still do.”

A silence settled between them again, but it was warmer now. Thicker with something unspoken.

“I almost kissed you that night,” Azzi said suddenly.

Paige didn’t move.

“I didn’t. But I wanted to.”

Paige swallowed. “I know.”

Their eyes met and held.

“I think about it sometimes,” Azzi admitted.

“Me too.”

“But we didn’t.”

“No,” Paige agreed, voice low.

They were close now. Knees touching. Hands so close on the bedspread that if one of them shifted even an inch—

“But if we did now,” Azzi said carefully, “would it change things?”

Paige looked at her, really looked. Her voice was quieter than before.

“I don’t want to do this unless you’re sure.”

“I’m not,” Azzi said. “But I want to be.”

Paige nodded, her face unreadable.

“I’ll wait.”

“You always do,” Azzi said, with something like gratitude and guilt.

“Because you’re worth it,” Paige said. “And because I’m scared too.”

Azzi blinked, caught off guard. “You?”

Paige nodded. “If I kiss you, I’m not going to want to stop.”

Azzi’s breath caught. “That’s not fair.”

“I know.”

They sat in that moment for a long time—both too brave and too scared, hearts racing, the space between them humming with almosts and not yets.

Then Paige reached out slowly and took Azzi’s hand. Just that.

Azzi squeezed it like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

And maybe it was.

Neither of them kissed that night.

But when they curled into bed, there was a different kind of closeness. A kind of silence that held so much more than words.

Paige lay on her back. Azzi tucked against her side, head resting on her shoulder, hand resting over her heart.

It was steady, strong, familiar.

Azzi whispered something into her shirt that Paige couldn’t quite make out.

“What’d you say?”

Azzi paused. Then said, louder, “Don’t leave until you have to.”

“I won’t,” Paige promised.

“And don’t kiss me unless you mean it.”

“I already do.”

Outside, the rain had stopped.

But the storm inside them?

That was still brewing.

[yokumirumerafan]

Can i request the reader is the phantom hashira and they have a tendency to hallucinate and can see the ghosts of the other hashira's dead relatives?

🔥 Kyojuro Rengoku

He’s startled at first—hearing you speak to empty space, naming people long gone. But when you softly tell him you saw his mother smiling at him after a battle, he goes still. So still. “…She was proud of me?” You nod. “Very much.” He doesn’t question you again. He brings you your favorite tea after missions and sits beside you in peaceful silence. You remind him of warmth. Of home. Of closure.

🩸 Giyuu Tomioka

He doesn’t speak much either, so your quiet muttering to ghosts never bothers him. When you once mistake him for a ghost and gently touch his arm and whisper “You’re free now,” he flinches—like the words cut too close. Still… Later, he asks quietly, “Do you see Sabito?” You nod. Giyuu doesn’t ask what Sabito says, just smiles faintly. Like it hurts. But also… helps.

🐍 Obanai Iguro

Very wary of you at first. You’re soft-spoken, haunted, and your eyes always look like they’re seeing something just beyond. He hates how much that reminds him of himself. But when you tell him you see his cousin—the one who helped him escape before she died—he stiffens. “She cries every time she sees you,” you whisper. “But she’s glad you lived.” He walks away. But the next day, he leaves a scarf on your desk. Handmade. Matching his own.

🌸 Mitsuri Kanroji

Terrified for you at first—"Oh noooo! Y/N-chan is seeing ghosts?! That’s so scary!!” But then she notices you treat the dead with such gentleness. Like old friends. When you hold her hand one day and say “Your grandmother watches you cook and says you’re getting better at the soup,” she bursts into tears. Loves you like family after that. Holds your face and says, “Even if you’re a little haunted, you’re never alone, okay?!”

🌊 Muichiro Tokito

Thinks you’re just talking to the wind at first. But then you say his brother’s name. “Yuichiro.” And suddenly you have his full attention. You speak in soft riddles, sometimes seeming more ghost than person, but you always tell the truth. He starts sitting near you when he can’t sleep. Not speaking. Just existing. “…He says you’re doing a good job,” you say one night. Muichiro blinks slowly. “…Thank you.”

🦋 Shinobu Kocho

A scientist. A rational thinker. But also a girl who lives in a house full of grief. You once pause in the Butterfly Mansion hallway, eyes wide. “…Kanae’s here,” you whisper. “She says you should rest more. And laugh again.” Shinobu freezes. And then… she smiles. Just a little. “You’re strange. But I think I like you.”

🐗 Sanemi Shinazugawa

He thinks you're off your rocker. Tries to ignore your muttering. But one day you grab his wrist and whisper, “Your mom doesn't blame you.” He nearly breaks. Pushes you away and says, “Don’t say that sh*t.” But you see him staring at the sky more after that. He never admits it, but… he starts standing between you and demons more often. You matter now. You’re family.

🎋 Gyomei Himejima

He feels your pain like a mirror to his own. He doesn’t need to see your ghosts—he feels them. When you tremble, he gently clasps his prayer beads and chants for your peace. You speak once about the children that cling to him. He bows his head. “Thank you… for remembering them.” You two meditate together often. In silence. In sorrow. In deep understanding.

💎 Tengen Uzui

At first: “How flamboyantly creepy of you.”

Finds out you see his fallen comrades—he shuts up real fast.

Tries to play it cool, but it shakes him deep.

Lowkey protective after that.

Never mocks the hallucinations, even jokes aside.

Brings you snacks when the spirits overwhelm you.

“You’re flashy in your own haunting way.”

Tells his wives, and now you’re unofficial family.

Might start asking you for closure he never got.

[omgidklolwtf]

Beneath the Silence🍎

Content: Caleb begins to share more of the truth with MC however there are layers he is not yet ready to reveal. He is almost honest but still holding back to protect her. SWF, no smut

Morning light filtered through the windows in soft streaks of gold, dancing across the hardwood floors and the tousled sheets. The house was quiet, peaceful--the way it only ever was in those first few moments of waking.

She stirred slowly, the warmth of the bed cocooning her, stretching one arm out to Caleb.

Except he wasn't there.

The sheets were still faintly warm, like he hadn't been gone long. For a flicker of a second, her heart tightened--but then, just as her eyes adjusted to the light, she heard the familiar sound of his bare feet moving across the floor.

She turned her head and there he was. Standing in the doorway, his dark hair damp from a quick shower, wearing his grey joggers low on his hips and the soft fatigue of the night etched into his features. He held a steaming mug of coffee in each hand.

"Morning, pips," he said, his voice still gravely from sleep--or maybe exhaustion.

Caleb walked over and handed her a mug, then pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. Something felt off about the way Caleb tried to keep his tone light and posture relaxed. She knew him too well. She stared at him, expectant. Waiting. She sat quietly, giving him space to decide to speak.

"I got called out on a night operation. Emergency recon."

There it was.

"I made sure you were safe, locked in and sound asleep before I left." He sat beside her on the bed, eyes not quite meeting hers. "I got back just before sunrise."

She watched him carefully. Assessing. There was a weight to his shoulders, something too quiet behind those usually bright eyes.

"How was it?" She asked softly.

He shook his head, taking a sip of coffee. "Rougher than I expected. Not my favorite kind of night."

That was all he said--but it was enough. For now. She knew him. Knew he was brushing something off to not burden her, when the weight of what he left unspoken clung to him like smoke.

She set her mug aside, shifted close, and reached out to cradle his face in her hands. "You don't have to hold it all alone, Caleb. Not with me."

His eyes closed for a moment at her touch, and when he opened them again, the walls had dropped just a little. He looked tired--not just physically, but deep in his bones.

"Lie back," she said gently.

He obeyed without protest, sinking into the pillows as she climbed over him, straddling his waist--not with heat this time, but care. She bent forward, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his cheek, then his temple.

Her hands moved over him in slow sweeps--shoulders, chest, arms--like she was trying to soothe something invisible out of him.

"You're safe now," she whispered. "You're home. With me."

Caleb exhaled hard, his hands finding her hips, not pulling--just grounding himself.

"You always make me feel that," he said quietly. "Like no matter what happens out there, I have somewhere to land."

She smiled softly, leaning down to press her forehead to his. "That's because you do."

For a while, they stayed like that--wrapped around each other, hearts beating in sync again. And when the heaviness started to fade from his eyes, she grinned and ran her fingers through his hair.

"Now...I was promised pancakes and you're behind schedule."

He let out a quiet laugh, eyes warming again. He flipped her gently onto her back, finally smiling. The shadows in his gaze softening as he leaned down to kiss her.

"Chef Caleb at your service ma'am." She knew Caleb found comfort in busying himself with domestic tasks.

As Caleb walked toward the kitchen, a fire sparked in her chest. Caleb--her best friend, lover and protector--this beautiful, warm, playful man, was also carrying an impossible weight. He had always tried to shield her, but in doing so, he'd underestimated her strength, her ability to stand on her own. But more importantly, he underestimated her determination to stand beside him through every storm.

Their dynamic had shifted, no matter how hard he tried to hold it back. She wasn't meant to stand behind him. She wanted to stand with him--shoulder to shoulder, facing whatever came next, together.

After pancakes they sat on the couch, legs tangled together, the soft hush of the morning wrapping around them. Caleb had gone quiet again--not withdrawn, just deep in thought, the kind that furrowed his brow and made his jaw tense like he was chewing on truths too heavy to say out loud.

She watched him, the curve of her fingers tracing absent shapes on his bare chest.

"You're still somewhere else," she said gently.

Caleb blinked, looking down at her. "Sorry."

"Don't be. Just...talk to me. What's going on?"

He exhaled slowly. "Last night wasn't just recon. It was surveillance...on me."

That pulled her upright, worry flaring in her eyes. He reached out to take her hands in his, steady and warm.

"The people above me in the fleet are circling. Waiting to see if I fall out of line. And the people taking orders don't understand what it costs to follow them."

She searched his face, and for the first time, saw the cracks beneath the confidence--the burden of a man who played by rules written in blood and silence.

"I know how to stay one step ahead," he said. "I am in control. But being close to me...it's dangerous. It paints a target on your back. But I won't let anything happen to you. I'll keep you safe. I'll protect you."

She rested her palm over his heart. "But who protects you, Caleb?"

Caleb stiffened. "Why would I let you protect me? You'd rush right in, unaware of the dangers."

"You never let me try. I can hold my own. I'm not asking for danger. I'm just asking you to let me stand beside you, not behind you. We're always stronger together."

He tightened his hands into fists, working his jaw as if fighting between instinct and trust. "I want to keep you in a safe place. Away from all of it."

"And I want to live in your world. Fully."

Caleb studied her for a long beat before touching her face. He chuckled at the resolve in her gaze. But he wasn't ready to agree. Too much has happened and too many years of watching her be hurt, taken, tortured, stripped of her autonomy laid piled on his heart.

"You're stubborn," he snapped.

"I learned from the best."

They sat locked in a silent stalemate, eyes locked, neither willing to yield--not in words, not in feelings.

Caleb swallowed hard which softened something in her.

"Let's meet halfway then," she said. "You do what you have to do but don't shut me out. Let me be there."

Caleb pulled her into his arms, releasing a heavy breath. "I'll always come back to you no matter what it takes."

[dianawinchester03]

Season 3, Episode 8 - A Very Supernatural Christmas (Part One)

Series Masterlist

Author’s Note: Hi everyone!! So….I did a thing💀 I may or may not have made a playlist for Y/N🙃 (I TOTALLY DID AHAHAHAH)

It’s on my Spotify but I’ll leave a link HERE for tumblr. It’s called ‘esp thing’ and for those reading on AO3, my tumblr is @dianawinchester03, you’ll see it linked in my navigation <3

Okay, I’m gonna start this chapter off by saying, IT'S SMUTTY. The beginning and the end so beware💀😭 We all know this episode so it’s also sad (lowkey teared up) Hope you enjoy❤️

This is only PART ONE and PART TWO is linked HERE.

____________________________________________

Third Person POV

Blackfoot, Idaho

•December 12th, 2007

It had been a little over two weeks since the trio’s unfortunate and ‘tragic’ encounter with Gordon. Within that time, they met up back with Jo, passed through South Dakota and retrieved Y/N’s beloved bike. Now back on the road, they finally finished a hunt, thankfully it was your average salt and burn. Sam, Dean, Y/N and Jo walked out of the cemetery together, all clutching their jacket’s to their bodies. Cold from the snow and exhausted from the long hours and in need of some R&R.

Y/N didn’t feel like driving so she tossed Jo the keys to Quinn. “Hey, you drive her tonight. I wanna rest a bit” Jo nodded and caught the keys, she knew how tired Y/N was and she didn’t blame her for not wanting to drive. “No problem, I’ll take good care of her.” Y/N smiled weakly and leaned against the car for support. “Thanks, skank.” She said gratefully. Jo blew her a kiss before turning to her own boyfriend, “You coming Sammy?” She asked, Sam looked a bit hesitant.

Not really wanting to hop on Y/N’s ‘death machine’ as he so kindly puts it, but he trusted Jo’s skills so he nodded, wrapping an arm around her waist before placing a kiss to her head as they trudged over to the bike.

Dean rubbed his eyes and stepped closer to Y/N and looked her over, noticing how exhausted she looked. “You look beat,” he commented, concern evident in his voice. “You sure you’re okay?” She flashed him a coy smile, her eyes flickering to Jo as she mounted her bike, strapping on a helmet on Sam the same way she would do for Dean. “Yeah, I’m just fine” She smiled wickedly before climbing into the Impala.

Dean wasn’t convinced but he didn't push the matter further. He got into the driver's seat while Jo started the motorcycle and revved the engine and Sam wrapped his shaky arms around her waist.

-

The drive back to their motel room was quiet, both too tired to make conversation. Y/N leaned back in her passenger seat, closing her eyes as she let the hum of the car lull her into a half-sleep.

Jo drove ahead on Y/N’s bike since Dean was taking his time in the Impala and since it was cold as fuck. Dean’s eyes darted back over to his girlfriend who still sported the coy smirk on her lips. Dean glanced at her with a mix of curiosity and concern. "Hey, you still awake over there?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

Y/N cracked open one eye and shot him a sly grin. "Yeah, I'm awake." She replied, her voice laced with mischief. This was one of the rare instances where Y/N and Dean were actually alone in the Impala so she took advantage. Suddenly, Her hand slowly trailed up Dean’s thigh from the passenger side seat, and she, of course, had that shit-eating smirk she stole from Dean plastered on her lips.

She felt Dean’s breath hitch, her eyes flickering up to him. “You little- is that why you gave Jo your keys?” It was Dean’s turn to smirk, realization dawned on him as to why she gave Jo her bike to drive ahead. "Maybe," Y/N said with a sly grin, her eyes twinkling with mischief. She leaned in closer to Dean, her warm breath tickling his ear as she whispered, "I wanted to make sure we had some alone time, baby."

Her fingers continued their slow ascent up Dean's muscular thigh, inching closer to his crotch with each passing second. Dean's body tensed beneath her touch, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Y/N chuckled softly, knowing exactly how to push Dean's buttons. Dean's grip tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white as he struggled to keep his focus on the road.

"Alone time, huh?" His voice came out husky, laced with desire. "And here I thought you were actually tired." He shot a sideways glance at Y/N, his eyes darkened with lust. The Impala swerved slightly as his attention wavered, but he quickly corrected the path. Y/N giggled mischievously when she felt the Impala swerve, “What’s the matter, darlin’?” she teased, trailing her hand down his chest again and back onto his thigh.

Her touch sent tingles down his spine, and he tried to maintain his cool exterior despite the warmth spreading through him. “Just enjoying the ride, Princess,” he replied smoothly, trying to sound nonchalant while internally cursing himself for letting her get under his skin so easily. Instead, he decided to fuck with her a little.

He reached out, placing his large hand over hers gently guiding it back towards her lap. Y/N rolled her eyes playfully, pulling away slightly from Dean's grasp but not enough to stop the contact between their hands. “Come on, Dean,” she pouted, batting her eyelashes innocently, “Don't play coy, you never deny sex” With a sly grin, she leaned closer to him, her breasts pressing against his arm as she whispered into his ear.

“Sammy’s probably already at the motel with Jo, booking their room, it’s just you and me here.” Dean felt his resolve weakening as Y/N’s body pressed against him, her warm breath tickling his ear. He let out a low groan, his free hand reaching up to tangle in her hair. "Fuck, Y/N," he muttered, his voice husky with desire. His grip tightened in her hair as he pulled her head back, exposing her neck to him.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her sensitive skin as he growled, "If you keep this up, I'm gonna pull over right here and take you right in the back." A light moan escaped her lips. “And what’s stopping ya, charming?” She grinned, moving to straddling his lap, leaning down to lay kisses on his neck. Her weight on his lap made his cock twitch in interest, and he cursed inwardly. He loved how bold she was, always pushing his limits.

His free hand moved to her hip, gripping it firmly as she kissed his neck. "Damn it, y/n/n," he hissed, feeling her nipples harden against his chest through their clothes. "I swear if we keep going like this, we ain't gon make it to the motel tonight." Y/N giggled at Dean's words, loving the control she had over him. She could see the lust in his eyes, the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch. "Good" she growled, grinding her hips against his growing erection.

“Because all I want right now, is just that” She moaned, peppering kisses down his neck feeling her grind against him, Dean let out a low groan, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. The need to fuck her right there and then was almost overwhelming. "Baby..." he warned, his voice rough with desire. "I gotta focus on driving... Or else we’re gonna end up crashing this car." He pleaded, as much as he wanted to take her in Baby, they were literally two minutes away from their motel.

She halted in her actions. “Well fine,” she huffed as she climbed off his lap, settled back in the passenger seat before stripping off her leather jacket “I’ll just finish myself” she chided before unzipping her jeans, pulling them down to reveal her lacy pink panties, Dean’s favorite. As soon as Y/N peeled her jeans off, Dean let out a low whistle. His gaze lingered on her exposed thighs and the curve of her ass peeking out from underneath her shirt.

"Fucking hell…" he hummed, his voice thick with lust as he shifted in his seat. "You know what... If you wanna finish yourself off, who am I to stop ya?" He watched intently as she began to stroke herself through her panties, a look of pure bliss crossing her face. It was an intoxicating sight, one that made his cock throb painfully in his pants.

Y/N moaned softly, her eyes fluttering shut as she continued to stroke herself through her panties. Her other hand reached up to cup her breast, tweaking her nipple through the fabric of her t-shirt. "Fuck... This feels so good," she whimpered, her body arching off the seat as pleasure coursed through her veins. "Wish you were touching me instead though..." Her words hung heavy in the air between them, making Dean even harder if possible.

“Oh my God!” she gasped, before slipping her panties off, teasing her clit. The sight of her completely bare below the waist, stroking herself in the passenger seat was enough to push Dean over the edge. His cock pressed painfully against his zipper through his boxers, demanding release. "Jesus Christ, y/n/n," he groaned, shifting in his seat.

His gaze was fixated on her hand as it slid down her slit, teasing her clit. He wanted nothing more than to replace her hand with his own, to feel her slick heat coating his fingers. Y/N let out another loud moan, her body trembling as she continued to rub herself. With the way Dean was frantically glancing from the road and back to her, it only seemed to fuel her arousal further.

"I bet you wish you could taste me right about now," she taunted, biting her lip as she spread her legs further apart, giving him an unobstructed view of her dripping wet pussy. Her fingers dipped lower, circling her entrance teasingly. She used her own slick to coat her nub once more, her whiny and breathless moan filling the car and Dean’s ears as she plunged two fingers inside herself, curling them upwards to hit that sweet spot.

“Oh my God, Dean!” The sound of y/n moaning his name, coupled with the sight of her fingers disappearing inside herself rapidly was too much for Dean to handle. Thankfully, they had arrived at the motel parking lot just in time to see Y/N’s bike was already parked, indicating Sam and Jo must’ve already booked themselves their own motel room. Leaving them to get their own.

He allowed his restraint to snap, pulling the Impala into the first free parking space before putting it in park. The car jerked forward with the rapid movements, making Y/N’s breast jiggle through her shirt, he then unbuckled his seatbelt, turning towards her. “You fucking tease," he growled, reaching across the seat to grab her wrist. "Let me help you with that."

She cried out as Dean grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away from her dripping pussy. She looked at him with wide eyes, filled with lust and anticipation. A gasp of satisfaction left her throat as he replaced his finger with hers, toying with her clit. Dean's heart pounded in his chest as he watched y/n squirm under his touch. His thumb brushed over her swollen clit, applying just enough pressure to send waves of pleasure coursing through her.

"You like that?" he asked, his voice low and husky. "You like it when I touch you like this?” Without waiting for a response, he pushed two fingers inside her, curling them upward to hit that sweet spot within her. Feeling her walls clenched around his fingers drove Dean wild with desire.

He increased the pace, pumping his fingers in and out of her while his thumb continued its relentless assault on her clit. "That's it, baby," he murmured, his voice rough with lust. "Cum for me." He demanded as her cries of ecstasy echoed through his other ‘Baby’. He leaned closer, his mouth hovering just above hers as he whispered, "Show me how much you love my touch." Dean then leaned down and replaced his finger with his mouth, slurping her up like a hungry starved man.

“Oh FUCK don’t stop” Dean's tongue delved deep into y/n’s folds, lapping up her juices as he devoured her pussy. He could taste her sweetness mixed with the musk of her arousal, and it only fueled his hunger for her. Murmuring dirty praises against her slick flesh, punctuating each movement with filthy words. Words meant to drive her wild, to make her lose control as he sucked on her clit, flicking it with his tongue before diving back in to feast on her cunt.

“Good girl…scream for me just like that” His fingers gripped her thighs tightly, holding her in place as he pleasured her relentlessly. She grinded her pussy against his face shamelessly with every lick and suckle of her clit from Dean. "You're such a fucking slut for my touch," he groaned against her pussy. "So needy and greedy for my dick..."

Between licks and sucks, he whispered against her, his hot breath sending shivers through her body. "Fuck, you taste so good... Mmm, your cunt is so juicy for me... Yeah, cum on my tongue, baby…” Y/N’s body shook violently as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over her, heeding to her man’s command. Her hands fisted in Dean's hair, holding him tight against her throbbing sex as she rode out her climax.

"Oh fuck, Dean! Yes, yes, YES!" she screamed, her voice echoing through the empty car. "Don't stop, please don't stop!" She pleaded shamelessly, bringing up her hands to cup her mouth in an attempt to muffle her cries of pleasure with her hand but it was too intense, her hips jerked erratically, grinding herself against his face as he continued to lap at her sensitive flesh.

He drew out every last tremor of pleasure from her quivering body, the familiar flash of white lighting in her eyes as she orgasmed. Dean didn't relent, continuing to worship her spasming pussy with his tongue until he felt her start to come down from her high. Only then did he slowly pull back, his lips glistening with her essence.

Panting heavily, he looked up at her with a satisfied smirk. "That's what I like to see, Princess. You look so beautiful when you cum for me." Leaning back, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before capturing her lips in a searing kiss, letting her taste herself on his tongue.

Y/N kissed Dean back fiercely, their tongues tangling together in a passionate dance. She could still feel the aftershocks of her orgasm rippling through her, making her clit throb with renewed need.

Breaking the kiss, she gazed at Dean with hooded eyes, her voice husky with desire. "I think we've both worked up quite the appetite. Why don't we take this back to the motel room and satisfy it properly?" She grunted as she shimmied her jeans back on, handing him her pink panties. Which he accepted graciously, stuffing them into his jacket pocket.

She reached for the door handle, a coy smile playing on her lips as she glanced back at him. "Unless you'd rather finish what I started here in the car..." The thought of taking her right there, in the backseat of the Impala, sent a thrill of excitement through Dean. But he knew they needed privacy for what he had planned, something far more intimate than quickie sex.

"Nah," he said, grabbing her hand and helping her out of the car on his side instead. "A bed would be better. Besides, I want to savor every inch of you. Plus it’s cold as fuck." She laughed at his words, agreeing with them as he led her toward the motel room after booking the room for a couple of days. He couldn’t resist stealing a glance at her ass swaying provocatively behind her.

Y/N caught Dean looking and winked at him over her shoulder. She loved the way he ogled her, especially when they were alone like this. It made her feel desired, cherished.

Once inside the motel room, she turned to face him, her eyes locked onto his with a sultry promise. "Then why don't you show me exactly how much you want to savor me?" She began to undress slowly, peeling off one piece of clothing after another until she stood before him naked and ready.

Watching y/n strip was like watching a delicious meal being prepared. Each layer peeled away and revealed more of her ravishing body that begged to be touched. "Fuck, you're gorgeous," he breathed out, stepping closer to her. His hands reached out to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples.

His mouth descended upon hers once again, kissing her deeply as he pressed his body against hers. He could already smell her arousal mingling with the scent of their recent lovemaking. Y/N moaned into Dean's mouth, arching her back to press her breasts further into his hands. She loved the way he touched her, how he took his time to explore every inch of her body.

Pulling away from the kiss, she slid his brown leather jacket off of his broad shoulders. Allowing it to sink to the ground, she then reached for the hem of his shirt, aiding him with peeling it off of his body. "Your turn," she purred, reaching for the waistband of his pants. Dean grinned wickedly as she undressed him, his cock already straining against the confines of his jeans. Once freed, it sprang forth, thick and hard and ready for action.

Once fully undressed, “Jump” He ordered in a gruff tone, grabbing her hips, Y/N obeyed without hesitation, snaking her arms around his shoulder and hoisting herself up with a jump. Dean caught her easily, his girl wrapping her legs tightly around him as his hands gripped her thighs. "Good girl. I'm gonna fuck you so hard, you won't remember your own name." He praised as he carried her towards the bed.

She felt him position himself at her entrance, the head of his cock teasing her slick folds after lowering her onto the mattress, he settled between her thighs, the tip of his cock nudging insistently at her entrance. "Tell me you want it, y/n. Beg for my dick."

"I want it," she whimpered, feeling desperate for his penetration. "Please, Dean... I need you inside me." Arching her back off the bed, she pushed her hips up towards him, trying to impale herself on his length. Dean chuckled lowly at her eagerness, enjoying the sight of her squirming beneath him. With deliberate slowness, he rubbed the tip of his cock along her slit, coating himself in her wetness.

"So impatient," he teased, leaning down to nip at her ear. Finally, mercifully, he thrust forward, burying himself balls-deep inside her tight dripping cunt. A guttural groan tore from his throat at the exquisite sensation. "Fuuuuck, you feel incredible..."

Y/N cried out as Dean filled her completely, her walls clenching around his aching cock. The stretch and fullness was overwhelming, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through her nerve endings. "Yes, oh god, yes!" she gasped, her nails digging into Dean's back. "More, please... Harder!"

She rocked her hips against him, meeting his thrusts with equal fervor. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down into a fierce kiss as she lost herself in the rhythm of their passion. Driven by her pleas and the intoxicating taste of her lips, Dean began to move within her with increasing urgency. His hips snapped forward, driving his cock deeper into her welcoming warmth with each thrust.

One hand braced on the bed beside her head while the other slid down to tease at her clit, adding another layer of stimulation to their frenzied coupling. "Damn, you're so tight..." he whined, his pace growing more erratic. "Look at you taking my cock so good, like you were made for me...you’re amazing."

Y/N’s breath hitched with every deep thrust, her inner muscles fluttering around Dean's pulsing cock. She could barely form coherent thoughts as waves of pleasure washed over her. "That's it, sweetheart..." she moaned, her voice laced with lust. "Don’t stop. Pleaseee”, Tightening her legs around his waist.

Feeling Y/N’s legs tighten around him, Dean redoubled his efforts, his thrusts becoming even more forceful. He grunted with each stroke, reveling in the sound of her moans and the way her body responded to his touch.

"God, you're so fucking wet for me," he growled, leaning down to bite gently at the soft flesh of her breast. "I can feel how much you want this..." With a powerful thrust, he hit that sweet spot inside her that had her seeing stars.

Y/N shrieked in ecstasy as Dean found that magic spot deep within her, her vision blurring at the edges. She felt like she was teetering on the brink of something immense, her entire being focused on the intense sensations coursing through her.

"Oh god, yes! Right there, Dean!" she screamed, her fingers scrabbling at his back as he pounded into her relentlessly. “Don’t stop, please, I'm so close!" He suddenly pulled out, pulling his cock out of her before yanking her by her feet to the edge of the bed and flipping her onto all fours, y/n let out a startled whimper. But it quickly turned into a high-pitched keen as she felt his cock slam back into her, the new angle allowing him to hit even deeper.

The change in angle intensified the already explosive chemistry between them. Dean gripped y/n’s hips tightly, anchoring her as he continued to pound into her. The clapping of their skins filled the room, "Shit, you look so fucking hot like this," he panted, leaning over her back to whisper in her ear. "Bent over for me like this... Take it all." increasing his pace once more, Dean drove into her with renewed vigor.

The combination of Dean's dirty talk and relentless thrusts had her soaking his cock and she hadn’t even cum yet. Her toes curling and her back arched. "Harder, baby!" she pleaded, pushing back against him with abandon. Begging him to say more dirty praises.

Encouraged by y/n’s pleas, Dean gave her exactly what she wanted. Harder, faster, deeper. Each thrust echoed throughout the room, punctuated by their mingled moans and gasps. "You're such a slut for my cock," he whispered huskily, nipping at her shoulder.

He reached around to rub at her swollen clit, applying just enough pressure to send her spiraling towards climax. The combination of Dean’s cock and his fingers' assault on her pussy proved too much for y/n to bear. As his words and touch coaxed her closer to the edge, she felt her orgasm building like a tidal wave, threatening to consume her entirely.

"Yes, yes, YES!" she wailed, her voice cracking with desperation. "I'm cumming, I'm cumming!" With a final, brutal thrust, he sent her careening over the precipice. Her pussy clenched rhythmically around his cock as she came undone, her whole body shaking with the force of her release as her eyes flashed again.

Her eyes connected with Dean’s from over her shoulder, a wicked grin on her face. With feeling her pussy convulse around him coupled with the fucking intoxicating sight of y/n’s eyes and that grin playing on her face, Dean buried himself to the hilt and let go, his own orgasm washing over him in waves.

"Fuuuck, y/nnn!" he roared, his hips jerking erratically as he emptied himself deep inside her quivering cunt. "So fucking perfect..." Collapsing against her momentarily, kissing her shoulder as his softening cock slipped out of her. In almost an instant, he went to work taking care of his girl.

After cleaning her and himself up, the bed dipped as Dean laid beside her, scooping y/n into his arms and pulling her against his chest. His hands roamed over her body, smoothing down her mussed hair, tucking a strand behind her ear before tracing comforting patterns on her skin. He placed tender kisses along her neck and shoulder, soothing her trembling body.

"I love you," he murmured, his voice rough with affection. "Are you okay? Did I go too hard on you?" There was an underlying concern in his tone, a hint of worry that he may have pushed her too far. "No, you did good," Y/N replied, her voice raspy with exhaustion. She snuggled closer to him, relishing the feel of his strong arms around her.

"I'm fine, babe. You didn't hurt me. You always take care of me." She lifted her head to plant a tender kiss on his chin. Dean relaxed, his lips tugging into a small smile. "Good," he replied, his voice gentle as he placed a kiss on her forehead and tucked her head beneath his chin.

____________________________________________

Ypsilanti, Michigan

•December 21st 2007

A little girl stood looking outside through a glass door and a woman stood outside, being interviewed by the Dean and Y/N who were disguised as FBI while Sam and Jo took a look around the house. “Um, my daughter and I were in our beds. Mike was downstairs decorating the tree. I heard a thump on the roof and then I heard Mike scream. And now I’m talking to the FBI.” The woman shakily explained, “And you didn't see any of it?” Dean asked while writing on his notepad.

The woman shook her head as she crossed her arms over her chest, “No, he was… he was just gone.” Y/N stood beside Dean, her gaze drifting towards the little girl standing on the other side of the glass door. She noticed how pale the child looked, her small frame trembling with fear. Y/N felt an ache of sympathy for the helpless girl.

“The doors were locked? There was no forced entry?” Y/N asked, stuffing her hands into her dress pants pockets. “That’s right,” The woman confirmed. “Does anybody else have a key?” Dean asked, “My parents.” The woman answered, “Where do they live?” Y/N asked with furrowed brows. “Florida,” The woman replied. Sam and Jo emerged through the door, “Thanks for letting us have a look around, Mrs. Walsh.” Jo said politely to the woman as Sam fixed his tie.

“I think we, uh, got just about everything we need. We’re all set.” Sam said gently as he stepped onto the porch. Dean and Y/N nodded, “We’ll be in touch.” Dean dismissed, Mrs. Walsh nodded in response. Her face filled with despair as the four headed down her porch, “Agents” she called out to them, the hunters turning back around almost immediately. Concern plastered on their faces, “The police said my husband might have been kidnapped.”

“Could be” Y/N answered, offering the woman a sympathetic look. “Then why haven’t the kidnappers called? O-or – or demanded a ransom? It’s three days till Christmas. What am I supposed to tell our daughter?” Mrs. Walsh stuttered, her voice cracking with emotion. Jo sighed heavily, biting her lip before saying. “We’re very sorry” apologetically. Mrs. Walsh’s face fell once more as she turned and walked back into her hour and the four made their way down her stairs.

“Find anything?” Dean asked Sam and Jo, the couple sighing. “Stocking, mistletoe… this.” Sam replied, handing Dean the small piece of evidence from out of his pocket, wiping his hand in his jacket. “A tooth? Where was this?” Dean’s face scrunched up in disgust as he accepted it, holding it up to examine the bloody tooth. “In the chimney.” Jo answered, fixing her blouse.

“Chimney? No way a man fits up a chimney. It’s too narrow.” Y/N pointed out. “No way he fits up in one piece.” Sam retorted. “Alright, so, if dad went up the chimney—” Dean began. “We need to find out what dragged him up there.” Sam finished, the four sharing a determined look.

-

Now in Dean and Y/N’s motel room, pictures of demons were pinned up on the wall. Sam and Y/N were searching the Internet for information about demons on their laptops. Jo sprawled across the bed, flicking her knife in her hand as she read a book about demons. The door suddenly opened and Dean walked inside, carrying a brown paper bag. “So, was I right? Is it the serial-killing chimney sweep?” Dean chimed, closing the door behind him.

Y/N snorted in amusement, rubbing her forehead as Sam deadpanned, “Yep. It's, uh, it’s actually Dick Van Dyke.” Dean’s face scrunched up in confusion, “Who?” His brows furrowed, “Mary Poppins?” Jo stated as if it was obvious, pushing herself up from the bed. “Who’s that?” Dean asked once more, causing Sam, Jo and Y/N’s jaws to drop. “Oh come on- ugh, never mind.” Sam scoffed, waving his hand, dropping his hand in defeat.

Y/N shook her head as she took up her coffee mug from the table, sipping it. Dean shrugged, setting the brown bag down next to Y/N, “Well, it turns out that Walsh is the second guy in town grabbed out of his house this month.” He scratched his head as he informed them, “Oh yeah?” Y/N asked as he walked over to the table to place a kiss on top of her head before peeling off his leather jacket. “Yeah” he answered.

“The other guy get dragged up the chimney, too?” Jo asked as she stuck her knife into her pocket and walked over to the coffee pot. “Don’t know. Witnesses said they heard a thump on the roof.” Dean answered with a frown, glancing over to his brother who wore the same expression. The brothers shrugged simultaneously. “So, what the hell do you think we’re dealing with?” Dean asked as he walked over to the bed to place his jacket.

“Actually, I have an idea.” Sam began, “Good, cause’ I’ve got horse shit.” Y/N grumbled, shutting her laptop as she leaned back into her chair. “Yeah, it’s uh, gonna sound crazy.” Sam warned them, “What could you possibly say that sounds crazy to us?” Dean chuckled, the other two women wearing expectant looks. “So…get this, and hear me out—” Sam began, pushing himself up. The three hunters nodded, “Evil Santa” Sam said sheepishly.

Dean paused, making eye contact with Y/N, who’s brows shot to the roof and Jo tilted her head. “Yeah, that’s crazy” Dean confirmed, Sam rolled his eyes but agreed. “Yeah. I mean, I’m just saying that there’s some version of the anti-Claus in every culture.” Sam defended, showing Dean and Y/N some pictures. Jo padded over to her boyfriend with two coffee mugs in her handis, extending one towards him. He thanked her before continuing, “You got Belsnickel, Krampus, Black Peter. Whatever you want to call it, there’s all sorts of lore.” As he handed Y/N the pictures.

She accepted, her own boyfriend walked over to her and leaned downwards to get a proper look. “Saying what?” Y/N asked, shuffling the pictures. “Saying…” Sam began as he took a sip of his coffee, he wrapped his free arm around Jo’s waist. She stood next to him as he leaned back in his chair. “…back in the day, Santa’s brother went rogue and now he shows up around Christmas time, but instead of bringing presents, he punishes the wicked.”

“By hauling their ass up chimneys?” Dean asked skeptically, Y/N snorted in amusement, gently tapping Dean on his stomach with the pictures. “For starters, yeah.” Sam answered, ignoring his brother's skeptical look as Jo snickered softly, sipping her coffee. “So, this is your theory, huh? Santa’s shady brother?” Dean said as he crossed his arms. Y/N rolled her eyes at the way Dean quickly dismissed the possibility. Sam sighed, glancing over to his girlfriend for support.

“He’s just saying that’s what the lore says” Jo defended, “Santa doesn’t have a brother. There is no Santa.” Dean shot back, “Yeah, I know. You’re the one who told us that in the first place, remember?” Y/N piped up, shooting Dean a look over her shoulder that made him shrink. He felt his heart drop in his chest, looking down guilty as Sam and Y/N shared a sad look. Jo glanced between the three with curious eyes, sensing more to what Y/N just dropped.

Sam frowned as he turned back to his computer and Y/N gulped down the rest of her coffee. Sam sighed heavily, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his hair, “Yeah, you know what, I could be wrong. I…” Sam sighed again, shutting his computer. “..gotta be wrong.” He muttered, Dean glanced over to Sam and then to Y/N. The wheels turned in his head before he said, “Maybe, maybe not” He said, placing up a finger. The three looked at him with intrigue. “What?” Y/N asked.

“I did a little digging. Turns out both victims visited the same place before they got snatched.” Dean explained, “Where?” Jo asked, her brows furrowed.

-

A little later, the four found themselves in a Santa’s Village. Christmas music played through the park, children were playing and people wearing Christmas costumes were walking around. Some in reindeer outfits, elves, you name it. The park was nicely decorated to accommodate any family and their children to visit ‘Santa’.

“It does kind of lend credence to the theory, don’t it?” Dean commented as they walked into the park, his hands stuffed into his jacket. Y/N and Jo walked between the boys, Y/N next to Dean and Jo next to Sam, “Yeah, but anti-Claus? Couldn’t be.” Sam scoffed, “Yeah, it’s a miracle. Dare I say, a Christmas miracle” Y/N deadpanned, earning laughs from everyone. Dean had a thoughtful look, shifting his gaze to Y/N before saying with a smile,

“Hey, speaking of, we should have one this year. All four of us, we should celebrate” Dean suggested, Jo’s face lit up at the suggestion but Sam felt like vomiting and Y/N’s face scrunched up, “Have one what?” Sam muttered, “A Christmas! I’m with Dean, we should celebrate” Jo said excitedly, Y/N and Sam threw each other glances but then Sam softened, his eyes glued to his girlfriend’s enthusiasm. Still, he shook his head, “Yeah. No thanks”

Sam had to force himself not to look at Jo because her face fell almost immediately, a deep frown replacing her smile, “Oh, come on! Why not? This is our first holiday season all together.” Jo pleaded, her eyes widening as she gripped Sam by his bicep and shook him. “Yeah, listen to Barbie, we’ll get a tree, a little Boston market, just like when we were little.” Dean tried to persuade them, “Charming, those weren’t exactly Hallmark memories for us, you know.” Y/N said with a dry chuckle.

Sam chuckled dryly in agreement. “What are you talking about? We had some great Christmases.” Dean said confused, Sam and Y/N looked over at Dean with faces that said, ‘the fuck?’. “Whose childhood are you talking about?” Sam scoffed. “Oh, come on, guys,” Dean whined. “Oh come on, don’t be such a party pooper” Jo whined, she wrapped her arms around Sam’s neck and tried to give him her puppy eyes.

She tried her best to pout, and the corners slightly turned in an attempt to look innocent and pathetic. Y/N looked over to Dean, who was also trying to bring out his best puppy dog eyes. The elder Winchester grabbing his girlfriend by her waist, Y/N almost melted into his resolve as Sam almost melted into Jo’s resolve but the two held up a strong front, glancing over to each other with looks that said, ‘Are they fuckin’ serious right now?’

“No! Just… no.” Sam said sadly, shaking his head. Y/N nodded in agreement, a solemn look on her face. “Dean, it’s not that I don’t want to spend time with you. It’s just—….no.” Y/N said firmly. Jo’s face fell once more as Dean looked surprised at the fact that not even their pleading worked. “Alright, grinches” He scoffed, forcefully taking his hands off of Y/N’s waist and walking away. Jo let go of Sam, nodding understandably. She placed a kiss on Sam's cheek, saying, “It’s okay, Sammy,” before excusing herself to the bathroom.

“You coming?” She asked Y/N, but the psychic shook her head, “I’m fine’ as she watched Dean storm off with a frown. Jo nodded sadly, making his way to the bathroom as Sam and Y/N shared a look before she let out a sigh. “You’d think after all these years he’d understand that Christmas isn’t our cup of tea” Y/N said with a shake of her head.

“You’d think” Sam chuckled dryly and rolled his eyes, “I don’t get it, he’s never made a big deal about it before…” Y/N shrugged, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Maybe he just really wants a family Christmas?” She suggested, her eyes piercing her boyfriend’s back standing in front of Santa Claus’s cottage with a thoughtful look. “Maybe” Sam muttered, getting lost in his own thoughts as he stared at a reindeer.

Broken Bow, Nebraska

•Christmas Eve, 1991

Reindeers pull Santa’s sleigh across the sky on the TV, which is playing “A Year Without Santa Claus”. Eight-year-old Sammy and Y/N/N were kneeling on the ground, both wrapping something with newspapers. “What is that?” Twelve-year-old Dean asked from the window still, where he was looking out for their dads, praying they’d be back for Christmas.

“A present for Dad” Sam answered as Y/N nodded, “I got something for daddy, too” Y/N said excitedly while Dean scoffed, “Yeah, right. Where’d you get the money? Steal it?” Y/N rolled her eyes as Sam looked at Dean with sharp squinted eyes. “No, Uncle Bobby gave it to us to give to ‘em. Said it was real special.” Sam smiled as he and Y/N put the finishing pieces of tape around the newspaper. “What is it?” Dean asked curiously, trying to catch a peep, “A pony” Y/N shot back sarcastically, hiding it away.

Dean scoffed again, a small blush playing on his cheeks. “Very funny,” he deadpanned as he made his way around the couch, sitting down next to her and taking up a magazine. “You’re just jealous” Y/N mumbled, shoving his leg with her shoulder as she poked her tongue out at him. Dean shook his head, smiling at her as she finished up wrapping the gift. They grew silent, the only sound being the tv playing the same Christmas movie from before.

“Dean?” Sam piped up from the ground. “Yeah, squirt?” Dean asked, not tearing his gaze from the magazine he was reading. “Dad and Mr. L/N are gonna be here, right?” Sam asked. Dean sighed, lowering the magazine in his hands. “They’ll be here.” Dean assured his little brother softly. Dean himself seemed unsure, despite trying to convince the two. A small pout played on Y/N’s lips at the thought of not seeing her dad for the holidays.

Especially when for the first time she actually had something to give to him, “But it’s Christmas” she whined. “I know, princess” Dean said as he reached his hand over, tousling her hair. “They know and they’ll be here. Promise.” he assured her. Sam was still looking over at his brother, a frown playing on his face. “Promise?” Sam asked timidly, to which Dean placed his hand on his brother’s head, ruffling his hair too. “Promise”

Y/N smiled, holding up her pinky. Dean snorted, rolling his eyes before interlocking his own pinky with her. The younger girl’s face flushed as she pushed back her hair once she let go of Dean’s pinky. “Where are they, anyway?” She asked curiously, a slightly nervous look on her face. She didn't want to hear ‘on business’ again from Dean, she didn’t even believe it when he said that. Because what ‘business man’ teaches his then six-year-old daughter how to shoot a gun?

“On business.” Dean answered dryly, flipping through the magazine. Sam and Y/N shared an unconvinced look, “What kind of business?” Sam pressed, “They sell stuff, you guys know that” Dean replied.

“What kind of stuff?” Y/N pushed, “Stuff” Dean shot back vaguely. Sam and Y/N sighed, shaking their heads. “Nobody ever tells us anything” Sam frowned, “Then quit asking” Dean huffed, rolling his eyes as he pushed himself up from the couch, not wanting to have this conversation. He made his way around to his bed, Y/N’s eyes following his every single move. He brushed off the diner food wrapping papers from his bed and onto the ground with a sigh, settling on the bed with his magazine.

Sam and Y/N glanced at each other, a saddened look crossing their faces. They hated feeling like they were such a bother, but they were just curious. “Dean?” Sam called out to his brother, and he groaned in response, running a hand down his face. “What now, squirt?” he grumbled, lowering the magazine. “Are they spies?” Sam asked as he and Y/N pushed themselves onto the couch, their elbows bracing in the back as they propped themselves. “Mm-hmm. They’re James Bond and Austin Powers.” Dean answered sarcastically.

“Why do we move around so much?” Y/N asked. Dean grew annoyed, “Cause’ everywhere we go, they get sick of your faces.” He shot back. Y/N’s face contorted in anger at the reply, her hands balling into fists, “Shut up!”

“No, you shut up” Dean shot back immaturely.

“Shut up, you suck!” Y/N shouted as she jumped over the couch and paced over to his bed.

“You shut up times infinity, you suck more!” Dean stood up, towering over her.

“Shut up times infinity times twenty!” She screamed back, tiptoeing to get in his face.

“You shut up first!” The two went back and forth, their voices getting louder and more heated by the second. Sam sighed, his head falling into his hands in embarrassment. “You two idiots, knock it off!” Sam yelled over their bickering, jumping over the chair to pull Y/N back from tackling his brother. “No, I’mma beat the crap out of him! Let me go, Sammy!” Y/N yelled, struggling in his grip.

Dean snorted in amusement, not really mad at her, he was just happy he got them to drop the subject. Sam rolled his eyes, pulling her back, “We’re old enough, Dean. You can tell us the truth” Sam went back to the subject in hand, Dean sighed as Y/N began to calm down, “You don’t wanna know the truth. Believe me.” Dean assured him, “I don’t get it, charming. Why won’t you tell us?” Y/N groaned, slightly frustrated. Dean sighed, shaking his head.

“Is that why we never talk about…our moms?” Sam asked wearily, gulping. This made Dean snap. He tossed his magazine to the side, marching over and getting in his little brother’s face. “Shut up! Don’t you ever talk about mom and Auntie M/N. Ever!”

Sam flinched at his older brother’s sudden outburst, his face falling. Y/N felt her heart lurch at the way Sam was being yelled at and at the subject of their mothers. Also flinching, she wanted to curl up in a ball with the way Dean snapped. She quickly pulled an equally terrified Sam back. Shoving the taller boy behind her.

Dean snapped out of his anger when he realized how terrified his little brother and Y/N looked. He felt bad, he knew he shouldn’t have reacted in such an aggressive way. The only reason he truly reacted like that was due to the way John and F/N would yell at him when he asked about them. He backed up, quickly picking up his jacket, “Wait, where are you going?” Sam’s shaky but concerned voice called out to his brother. “Out” he answered with a scoff as he put his jacket on. “When are you gonna come back?” Y/N’s voice piped up, sounding smaller.

Her eyes were fixed on the floor, she seemed to be trying to hold her tears back. Dean gritted his teeth, his breath hitched in a guilty way. He didn’t answer nor look back, instead he shut the door harshly behind him. Leaving Sam and Y/N in the room alone. Y/N looked at the door with a saddened look with tears threatening to fall from her eyes. It was silent, the only sound was the movie playing on the T.V.

“What did we do?” Sam croaked out, his voice just as sad. She frowned, pulling him into a tight hug, “Nothing” she whispered.

Ypsilanti, Michigan

•December 21st 2007 - Present Time

Y/N snapped out of her reminiscing as Jo made her way back to them, zipping up her pants and Dean paced back over to them. “You’d think with the 10 bucks it costs to get into this place, Santa could scrounge up a little snow.” Dean grumbled with distaste. “What?” Y/N asked, blinking rapidly while Sam was still lost in his head. Jo noticed the distant look on her boyfriend’s face and gently placed her hand on his chest, “You okay, baby?” She asked gently.

Sam seemed to snap back to reality as looked down to see his girlfriend’s concerned eyes staring up at him. He sighed, “No, yeah. I’m fine. Just remembering something.” He lied while forcing a smile on his face, to which Y/N’s frown deepened. Wondering if he was thinking of the same thing. “What’d you say, Dean?” Sam asked, clearing his throat. “Nothing. What are we looking for, again?” Dean asked, waving his finger at his surroundings.

“Um…” Sam began, looking around, “…lore says that the anti-Claus will walk with a limp and smell like sweets.” He explained as they all began walking more into the park. “Great. So we’re looking for a pimp Santa. Why the sweets?” Dean scoffed, Y/N chuckled in amusement at the analogy. “Think about it, Dean. If you smell like candy, the kids will come closer, you know?” She explained. Dean’s brows furrowed along with Jo’s, “That’s creepy.” Jo commented. They all lightly chuckled, “Agreed, sister” Dean grimaced.

“How does this thing even know who’s been naughty and who’s been nice?” Dean asked, “I don’t know.” Sam answered honestly as they stopped in front of a small barn. Sitting in front was a man wearing a Santa Claus costume and a line of parents with their kids. People dressed up as elves directed them as a woman with her son approached Santa. “So, Ronny, come sit on Santa’s knee.” The man patted his knee, groaning as he helped the boy onto his lap.

“Ah, there you go. You been a good boy this year?” Santa asked. “Yeah” Ronny answered timidly. “Good. Santa’s got a special gift for you.” Santa cackled a bit creepily as he rubbed Ronny’s back. The hunters looked on speculatively, Y/N and Jo grimacing along with Sam. “Maybe we do” Dean answered his own question from before, as Ronny’s mother took his hand and led him away from Santa.

Then, a woman in an elf costume walked up to the hunters with a cheerful smile, “Welcome to Santa’s court. Can I escort your child to Santa?” She asked, “Uh…” Sam stammered as Jo shook her head. “No. No. Uh, but actually my brother here it's been a lifelong dream of his.” Dean said with a mischievous smile, smacks Sam on his shoulder. Sam sideeyed Dean as Y/N covered her mouth, trying not to laugh and Jo shook her head at the elder Winchester. Though she was amused.

The woman looked at Sam as though he was a freak, “Uh, sorry. No kids over… 12.” Sam shook his head, trying to clarify the situation. “No, he’s just kidding. We only came here to watch.” Sam’s words made Jo physically facepalm and Y/N squeeze her eyes shut to stop herself from laughing once more as Dean shook his head at the elf with a smirk. The elf backed up with a look of disgust, “Ew” before darting in the other direction.

Sam’s face fell when he now realized how it sounded, “I-I didn’t mean that we came here to w- Y- ” He tried to defend himself, only to snap his gaze over to his hysterical brother and surrogate sister, who were clutching their stomachs and wheezing. “Thanks a lot, Dean. Thanks for that.” Sam deadpanned, stuffing his hands back into his pocket.

Dean chuckled, ruffling his little brother’s hair affectionately. “No problem, Sammy.” Dean replied with a smirk, winking at Y/N, who was still holding her abdomen from how hard she was laughing. Jo scoffed, shaking her head in amusement also. Suddenly, his face turned serious as the man dressed as Santa Claus hobbled off his chair, “Check it out.” Dean drew their attention to him as he limped past them, their eyes following his every move.

With furrowed brows and curious eyes, the four watched while Y/N and Dean’s noses caught a sweet scent radiating from the man, “Are you guys seeing this?” Y/N muttered to them in an urgent tone. Dean nodded as Sam and Jo shrugged, “A lot of people walk with limps, right?” Jo dismissed skeptically. Dean’s face fell, “Tell me you didn’t smell that. That was candy, man.” He insisted, “That was Ripple. I think. Had to be.” Sam shot back, tilting his head to look at Santa once more.

“Maybe” Y/N sighed at the fact that they could be right, “We willing to take that chance? Dean asked with a raised brow in their direction. Sam and Jo shared a look, communicating with their eyes whether they should or shouldn’t. “Hey, we’ve chased a lot worse.” Jo mumbled, “Fair point.” Sam muttered back.

-

They ended up finding themselves staking out a simple house that was decorated with Christmas lights, which belonged to the man dressed as Santa Claus. It was nightfall and they had already been there, bored out of their minds in the Impala. Y/N and Jo were half-asleep out of their asses in the backseat while Sam sat shotgun with his brother.

Dean yawned, his head leaning back against the chair. He glanced wearily over at his brother who was resting his head in his hand, staring straight ahead. “I hate stakeouts.” Sam grumbled while Dean nodded in agreement, “Mm. Yup.” He replied, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?” Dean asked with another yawn, “Same as the last time you asked.” Sam deadpanned. That earned him an unimpressed look from Dean as he chuckled slightly and held up a thermos, “Here. Caffeinate” he handed it to Dean.

Y/N was now beginning to wake up as Dean accepted the thermos with an appreciative groan, sitting up straight to open it. Once opened, he attempted to pour some into the cap but he came up empty. His face fell before he stuffed the cap back on, mumbling a sarcastic, “Wonderful” Chucking the thermos back into Sam’s hands.

Hearing her boyfriend’s crankiness, she carefully placed Jo’s head from resting on her shoulder to her lap and reached into her duffel bag, which was placed on the floorboards in the backseat. She dug around a bit and pulled out a Snicker’s bar.

Dean looked over his shoulder, noticing his girlfriend digging through her bag. He then looked down when a Snicker’s bar landed in his lap. His face lit up immediately like an excited puppy, glancing back over at her with a bright smile as she handed Sam a pack of gum. “I love you” Dean cooed before ripping the wrapping paper open with his teeth.

Y/N chuckled softly, “I love you more” she whispered, leaning over to press a kiss to the back of his neck while Sam opened his pack of gum. “So much better” Dean grumbled while taking a bite out of the Snickers bar. He chewed, taking a few seconds to look at it before holding it out to Y/N. “Want some?” He mumbled. she shook her head, “No thank you. Those are for you” she replied with a fond smile.

He pouted at her refusal, but shrugged and continued eating. Dean thought to himself for a second, his eyes flickering between Sam and Y/N, watching as Sam handed a stick of gum to her. Jo began to stir a bit in Y/N’s lap. Blinking her eyes a bit, her ears perked up when Dean suddenly asked, “Hey, guys?” He began, “Yeah?” Sam and Y/N answered in unison. “Why are you two boy and girl that hate Christmas?” Dean asked curiously, their eyes darkened. Sharing an exasperated look.

“Dean-” Sam groaned as Y/N pinched the bridge of her nose before wiping her mouth. “I mean, I admit it. You know, we had a few bumpy holidays when we were kids.” Dean admitted, chewing on his snickers bar. “Bumpy?” Y/N scoffed bitterly, “That was then. We’ll do it right this year.” Dean insisted. Sam’s tired features deepened while Jo listened in, now wide awake. “Look, Dean. If you want to have Christmas, knock yourself out. Just don’t involve us.” Sam said tiredly, turning to Y/N.

“You with me, y/n/n?” He asked for her to back him up. Y/N met his eyes as she lazily leaned back into the seat. “I’m with you, brother,” She said firmly, pumping a fist in the air. Dean looked at his brother and girlfriend with disbelief and a twinge of hurt as Jo rose from Y/N’s lap. “Oh, yeah, that’d be great. Me and myself making cranberry molds.” Dean muttered sarcastically.

“I’ll make ‘em with you, Dean.” Jo chimed in with a yawn, stretching out her stiff muscles. Dean smirked, “See? There’s someone with Christmas cheer.” he said, pointing a finger at her. Y/N rolled her eyes as Sam scoffed, his eyes softened when he glanced at his girlfriend’s tired face. “You sleep well, angel?” Jo smiled tiredly, “As good as I’ll get in this piece of junk” she replied cheekily, reaching a hand over to cup his face. Sam leaned into it, kissing her palm.

Dean looked visibly offended while Y/N cupped a hand over her mouth. “Hey, don’t hate on Baby” He scowled. “I don’t hate her” Jo laughed, “I just don’t find her comfortable. At all. But she takes us from point A to point B, so that’s all that matters.” she assured him, pinching his cheek. Dean scoffed bitterly, slapping her hand away from his face as Sam and Y/N rolled with hysteria in their seats.

“Asshole” He scowled again, crossing his arms over his chest. “Prick” Jo bit back with a cheekily smile to her surrogate brother. Once the giggles died down and the banter was over, the group was once again silent, watching the house when out of nowhere, Santa, still in his red cap, but in a green tank top. Peered through his window and then closed his curtains.

“What’s up with Saint Nicotine?” Dean mumbled curiously. Y/N raised a brow at him, all switching into Hunter mode when a woman screamed, “Oh, my God!” The four jumped out of the car and rushed over with drawn guns to the man’s front door. Dean and Y/N both peeked into the door when they heard Sam scoff, “Huh?” They turned to him with curious faces, “What?” Dean asked in a low tone.

“Nothing. It’s just that, uh… well, you know, Mr. Gung Ho Christmas might have to blow away Santa.” Sam snickered to himself, Y/N pulled her lips into her mouth to stop herself from smiling while Jo shot her boyfriend a light glare and Dean had a blank look on his face. “Shut up, ass, and kick the door in” Jo ordered, looking at Sam for him to do as told. Sam rolled his eyes, but did so without question.

The four rush in to see Santa sitting on the couch, holding a giant bong and a bottle of whiskey. Their eyes peered around the scrappy house, now realizing Santa was only watching TV as he stumbled to his feet. They quickly hid their guns behind their back, “What the hell are you doing here?” Santa demanded, his tone slurred. “I’m really not interested, okay?” The man on the TV said. “Mistle my toe. Roast my chestnut. Egg my nog.” The woman on the TV insisted seductively.

Sam and Jo looked over at Dean and Y/N panicked, the couple sharing a nervous look. “Ah, w-” Sam stammered as Dean cleared his throat, bringing a closed fist to his mouth. “S-siiiiiilent niiiiight…” He sang badly, clearing his throat again. “Hoooolyyy niiiight” Dean glanced over at a bewildered Jo and Sam and Y/N, who were both smiling awkwardly. Santa began laughing, sitting down to enjoy the show as the other three hunters began singing along.

“All is well…” They mumbled the lyrics terribly, barely remembering the classic Christmas Carol. “…all is dry.” Santa slurred along drunkenly. “Round and round…da-da da da daaaa” With that, Sam gripped Jo by his wrist while Dean gripped Y/N by hers and quickly pulled them out of the house.

Once at the Impala, they all collapsed with laughter, holding on to their sides. “That was priceless” Jo guffawed, leaning against the car. “I could have gone the rest of my life without hearing you three sing” Sam chuckled. Dean tried to keep a hard face but he was amused by it, “We speak nothing of this” Sam, Jo and Y/N nodded, still letting out a chuckle that would pop up every few seconds.

____________________________________________

•December 22nd, 2007

The next morning, they got notification from police radio that there had been another attack and kidnapping at a family house. Y/N and Jo decided to be the ones to go in and check it out, leaving Sam and Dean back in their rooms to get some rest since they were tired and the two women got more rest the previous night. “So, that’s how your son described the attack? ‘Santa took daddy up the chimney’?” Y/N asked Mrs. Caldwell, both her and Jo strolling into her living room behind her.

The petite woman nodded timidly, crossing her hands over her chest, “That’s what he says, yes.” She responded shakily, wiping the bruise under her eye. “And where were you?” Y/N asked politely as Jo took notes on Sam’s notepad. “I was asleep and all of a sudden…” Mrs. Caldwell sniffed, tearing up and her voice cracking as she reminisced of the events from the night before, “I was being dragged out of bed, screaming.”

“Did you see the attacker?” Jo asked, trying to be as professional and sympathetic as possible. Mrs. Caldwell’s face scrunched up as she shook her head, “It was dark, and he hit me. He knocked me out.” The psychic nodded understandingly, “I’m sorry, I know this is hard” Y/N and Jo shared a concerned glance, the former placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find whoever did this.” Y/N promised, giving the woman an encouraging smile which she weakly returned.

Jo’s head tilted when she noticed something familiar sitting at the fireplace, clearing her throat awkwardly before asking, “Yeah… um, Mrs. Caldwell, where, where did you get that wreath above the fireplace?” Y/N looked around at the wreath, and blinked, a little puzzled. “Excuse me?” Mrs. Caldwell’s brows creased towards the younger hunter, taken back by the weird question. Y/N looked at Jo expectantly for an answer, the latter shrugging and smiling awkwardly, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Just curious”

-

“Wreaths, huh? Sure you didn’t want to ask her about her shoes? I saw some nice handbags in the foyer.” Y/N relentlessly teased Jo with a smirk as they walked down the driveway and towards her bike, “Fuck off, slut” Jo groaned, hitting Y/N in the arm. “We’ve seen that wreath before, Y/N.” She added firmly. Y/N’s brows furrowed, “Where?” She asked as she picked up both the helmets from her Harley and handed one to Jo.

“The Walshes’. Yesterday.” Jo stated as if it was obvious. Y/N froze in her spot, her eyes widening in realization. “I know. I was just testing you.” She scoffed, waving it off as if she knew. “Uh huh. Sure you were” Jo scoffed, rolling her eyes as she climbed onto the bike. Y/N flipped her off, climbing on as well. She placed the helmet on her head, starting the bike with a twist of her key and revving it before the engine roared to life.

-

Now back in Dean and Y/N’s shared motel room, Jo held one bag with food and her other hand with a tray of drinks as Y/N shoved the key into the hole and twisted it, opening the door. There they found Dean at the table, chugging coffee and Sam on the phone with Bobby, pacing the room. “Are you sure? Alright, yeah. Check it out, and we’ll… I don’t know, call you back.” Sam’s voice could be heard as both women walked in.

“Bobby, huh? Find any lore?” Dean asked, setting the coffee pot down. Sam nodded, “He’s looking into it now. Said he’d call us back.” He answered. “Breakfast!” Jo announced as she gently placed the drinks down as well as the bag of food onto the table as Y/N pressed a kiss to Dean’s head. He chuckled softly, tilting his head up in time to catch Y/N’s lips with his own. Sam made a disgusted noise of protest, “Get a room.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “This is our room, dumbass” She bit back, receiving a poked out tongue from Sam in response. To which she snickered, “How’d it go, girls?” Sam asked as Jo padded over to him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Pretty good…” Y/N began to explain, digging through the bag of food. Placing their respective boxes in-front of everyone’s chair. Sam listened intently while Dean stared at his food intently, digging in instantly.

The three ate while Sam called Bobby again and informed him about the similar wreaths the girls found out about. “Yeah, all right. Well, keep looking, would you? Thanks, Bobby.” Sam said once more, hanging up. “Well… we’re not dealing with the anti-Claus.” Sam began, making his way back to his seat. “What did Bobby say?” Y/N asked curiously through a mouthful of egg while Dean scarfed down his entire breakfast like he’s been starved.

“Uh, that we're morons. He also said that it was probably meadowsweet in those wreaths.” Sam snorted as he reached below the table to pull out his laptop from his satchel. “Wow! Amazing.” Dean mumbled half-heartedly, sticking into a piece of bacon with his fork. Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. “You have no idea what the hell meadowsweet is, do you?” She called him out.

Dean stopped mid-chew, glancing up, his fork pausing halfway. “Nope” He snorted, stuffing the bacon in his mouth. Sam and Jo chuckle amusedly, sharing a look as Y/N shook her head, peeling out a napkin from the bag and wiping some of the bacon grease from Dean’s mouth. “I swear, you eat like a two-year-old” She muttered, dabbing the corner of his lips.

“You love me.” He mumbled, smiling cheekily when she wiped away some more grease. Sam shook his head as he placed his laptop, opening it to begin researching the plant and eating his breakfast in between. “So get this-” Sam started, sipping his coffee. He placed the paper cup down beside Jo’s hand as he continued. “According to the lore. It’s pretty rare and it’s probably the most powerful plant in pagan lore.” He explained, “Pagan lore?” Jo asked, her brows furrowed as she licked her fork.

“Yeah. See, they used meadowsweet for human sacrifice. It was kind of like a… Chum for their gods. Gods were drawn to it and they’d stop by and snack on whatever was the nearest human.” He further explained, “Why would somebody be using that for Christmas wreaths?” Dean asked with a mouth full of bacon, Y/N pointed firmly at him to chew and swallow before he spoke. To which he smiled sheepishly and shrugged. “It's not as crazy as it sounds, Dean. I mean, pretty much every Christmas tradition is pagan.” Sam pointed out.

Y/N and Jo nodded in agreement, “Christmas is Jesus’s birthday.” Dean stated, picking up his coffee. Y/N tilted her head in his direction, “No, Jesus’s birthday was probably in the fall. It was actually the winter solstice festival that was co-opted by the Church and renamed ‘Christmas’.” She informed him while Sam nodded along in agreement. “But I mean, the Yule log, the tree, even Santa’s red suit, that’s all remnants of pagan worship.” Sam added.

Dean looked genuinely baffled, “How do you know that? What are you gonna tell me next? Easter bunny’s Jewish?” He scoffed, stuffing his mouth with more bacon. Sam, Jo and Y/N shared amused looks as he asked, “So y’all think we’re dealing with a pagan God?” Sam nodded as he wiped his mouth, scrolling through some pictures of the possible Gods, “Yeah, probably Hold Nickar, God of the winter solstice.”

“And all these Martha Stewart wannabes, buying these fancy wreaths. What’s that about?” Jo asked, still confused. “Yeah, it’s pretty much like putting a neon sign on your front door saying ‘Come kill us’.” Sam told her, chewing on his eggs. “Great.” Y/N murmured sarcastically, sipping her coffee. Sam shrugged, squinting his eyes as he read an article on the laptop. He leaned forward, “Huh… When you sacrifice to Hold Nickar, guess what he gives you in return.”

“Lap dances, hopefully.” Dean joked, wiggling his brows at an unamused Y/N while Jo snorted, the former shoving Dean playfully while the latter shook her head smiling. “Shut up, idiot. Let him finish.” Y/N playfully chastised him. “Mild weather.” Sam deadpanned, rolling his eyes. All of their heads shot up in realization, Dean leaned back in his chair to glance out the window. “Like no snow in the middle of December in the middle of Michigan.”

He pointed out, gesturing to the window with his thumb before licking the maple syrup off of it. “For instance.” Sam nodded in confirmation, “Do we know how to kill it yet?” Jo asked, “No, Bobby’s working on that right now.” Sam responded, shaking his head. He then turned the laptop to show Dean the article. The elder Winchester began scrolling through as Sam said, “We got to figure out where they’re selling those wreaths.”

Dean raised a brow at him, “You think they’re selling them on purpose? Feeding the victims to this thing?” Sam shrugged in return, “Let’s find out” he sighed. “Why don’t we go? You fellas can stay in and get some rest” Y/N suggested, nudging Jo. The brothers shared an uneasy look. Sam turned and looked at Y/N doubtfully, “You sure?” He asked, not comfortable with sending them off without them again.

“We’ll be fine, Sammy. Besides, what’s the big, bad pagan God gonna do to us in a wreath shop, huh?” Y/N chuckled, ruffling his hair playfully after she and Jo got up from the table and to get their jackets. Dean got up as well, placing his trash in the garbage while mumbling, “I don’t like this.” To which Y/N rolled her eyes as she slid on her leather jacket, “How bout this? We gather the intel and you guys can go and gank the bastard. Sound fair?.” Jo suggested as she slid on her Jean jacket, zipping it up and pulling her hair out from beneath the collar.

Both brothers shared an uncertain look but eventually they nodded in reluctance. Y/N grinned smugly, “That’s what I thought” Dean shook his head, amused as he approached her. He wrapped his around her waist and pulled her flush against his chest. “Be careful. Okay?” He said lowly, looking her in the eyes. “Quit acting like I’m some newbie hunter, Winchester” Y/N quipped, snaking her arms around his neck before pressing her lips to his.

Jo did the same, padding over to Sam, who was still sitting at the table with a look of reluctance. “We’ll be fine, baby. We can handle ourselves” She assured her boyfriend, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. Sam nodded, trying to mask his worry. Dean gave Y/N a squeeze and a final kiss before letting go and patting her on the butt. She playfully scowled, rolling her eyes at him before turning to Jo. “Ready?”

“Yup” Jo nodded. The women shared one last look with their guys before exiting the motel room. As Y/N stepped out, closing the door behind her. “Everything okay with them? They’re acting worried for no reason” Jo commented as she rubbed her hands together. Y/N shrugged in return, leading the way to her bike, “Y’know men and their protectiveness, the Winchesters are like that but times ten.”

Jo rolled her eyes, scoffing, “Don’t I know it. Sam worries over me all the time.” She chuckled, hopping onto the back of the bike. Y/N chuckled as well, fastening her helmet. “Dean does it with me as well. He constantly tried to act all macho but he’s a big, lovable softy that surprisingly likes being the small spoon” She agreed, kicking the stand up before swinging her leg over and starting her bike.

Quinn roared as she revved the engine, the sound slightly muffling Jo’s laughter to her statement. Jo smirked wide, “Sam’s the same way. The man’s built like a damn rock, but he’s a huge baby at heart.” She chuckled at the thought, adjusting the way she sat on the seat, wrapping her arms around Y/N’s waist. “Brothers indeed” Y/N snorted before easing onto the road.

-

Y/N parked Quinn outside The Cozy Crafts. They spent hours in the town, looking into the meadowsweet wreaths but no shop seemed to know of them. They were internally hoping that this was the one because all they wanted to do was get back to their motel rooms and cuddle with their guys. There were numerous Christmas wreaths on display, they both hopped off the bike, stretching their stiff limbs before walking towards the shop. They entered, bells above the door ringing, announcing their arrival.

The scent of pine and cinnamon greeted them from the numerous candles dispersed around the shop, a sweet melody of Deck The Halls playing quietly by the front desk. A kind looking, elderly man stood behind the register, greeting the two women, “Help you, ladies?” He asked in a friendly tone. “Uh, hope so. Uh…” Y/N responded in a friendly tone, trying to come up with a story on the spot. A small smirk played on her face as she began, “…we were playing Jenga over at the Walshes’ the other night, and, uh… well—” She pointed to Jo.

“—she hasn’t shut up since about this Christmas wreath, and… I don’t know, why don’t you tell him, sweetie?” She reached over, patting Jo on her ass. The younger hunter looked unamused, her lips pressed to a thin line, “Sure.” she deadpanned before turning to face the shopkeeper. “It was yummy.” The shopkeeper glanced between the two women unconvinced, the psychic shooting the man a nervous smile. Jo’s eyes widened so she immediately began playing along.

She gave a fake, but convincing whine, “Oh my God! You have nooo idea. It was gorgeous, I just need to get my hands on it.” She complimented, playing the role of a snobby, upper-class wife. Y/N stifled an amused chuckle at the way she spoke. “I sell a lot of wreaths, ladies” The shopkeeper narrowed his eyes at them, “Right, right, but- but you see, this one would have been really special. It had, uh, it had, uh, green leaves, um, white buds on it. It might have been made of, uh… meadowsweet?” Jo explained, going into full detail.

“Well, aren’t you a fussy one?” The shopkeeper commented. Jo’s face dropped as Y/N stifled a chuckle again, placing a hand over her mouth. “Oh she is” Y/N nodded along in agreement, allowing herself to laugh. Jo shot her sister a quick sharp glare before averting her gaze back to the shopkeeper, plastering a fake smile on. “Anyway, I know the one you’re talking about. I’m all out.” The shopkeeper informed them, Jo sighed in annoyance as Y/N’s face fell.

“Huh. Seems like this meadowsweet stuff’s pretty rare and expensive. Why make wreaths out of it?” Y/N began fishing for information from him through small talk.

“Beats me. I didn't make them.” He shrugged in response. She raised a brow, “Who did?” She asked, tilting her head. “Madge Carrigan, a local lady. She said the wreaths were so special, she gave them to me for free.” He replied. “She didn’t charge you?” Jo’s brows furrowed as she and Y/N shared a look.

“Nope” The shopkeeper shook his head. “Did you sell them for free?” Y/N asked with a smirk in her tone, “Hell no. It’s Christmas. People pay a buttload for this shit” He scoffed, answering honestly. Jo narrowed her eyes at the man as Y/N’s smirk widened, “That’s the spirit” The man chuckled before glancing towards a clock on the wall, “Listen, ladies, I'd love to chat but I have to close up shop.” Jo and Y/N nodded, thanking the man for his time.

He smiled in return and pulled off his apron, placing it down on the counter. “Maybe try the Carrigan house, she may still have some on hand.” The man suggested before waving farewell to them as he went to the back room. Jo shot a nervous look at Y/N, “Think the Carrigans got any of those wreaths?” Y/N shrugged, “Only one way to find out.”

“Man, I’m tired. We’ve been at this all day” Jo groaned as they walked back to the bike. “And I’m starving” She added, patting her stomach. Y/N chuckled, “Don’t be so dramatic” Jo rolled her eyes before climbing back on the bike, adjusting her helmet. “Why don’t we call it a day? Our boys can go over there tomorrow” Jo suggested. Y/N sighed, “Yeah, it’s getting late. Might as well. Plus, it’ll get them off our asses too.” She agreed, climbing on the bike and fastening her own helmet.

Just then, her phone started to ring. The guitar riff for Metallica’s Enter Sandman filling their ears. Y/N sighed, pulling out her cell phone from the pocket of her leather jacket. “Speak of the devils” She quipped before answering the phone, “Yes, charming?” She answered sweetly. Dean’s voice crackled through the speakers, “Hey, baby. Where are you?” He asked, the faint sounds of an old rock song could be heard in the background.

“On our way back, we figured out where they got the wreaths. Gonna get dinner and then tell you when we’re back” She responded. “No need for that, I ordered pizza for us. We’re just waiting for you two to get back to eat” He told her. Y/N perked up at the mention of pizza, “You’re a godsend, Winchester” She chuckled. “Course’ I am” Dean smirked, “Just get your fine ass back here.”

She could hear Sam groan in disgust in the background and the sound of shuffling, probably being Dean tossing a pillow at his little brother. “Shut up, bitch!” Dean’s voice yelled back. “I hope you ordered pineapple on mine,” She teased. It was now Dean’s turn to groan in disgust, “I did. Nasty ass Hawaiian bullshit.” He muttered begrudgingly. Y/N snickered, “Thank you sweetie. See you in a bit, I love you” She smiled. “Alright sweetheart, drive safe. I love you more.” With that, the line went dead.

-

The brothers’ heads perked up, hearing engine noises from outside. Dean’s head poked out from the window and saw Y/N’s bike pull to a stop outside their motel room. He turned to Sam, “Get the door.” He ordered, grabbing the three pizza boxes off the bed. Sam rolled his eyes, “I’m not your slave, you ass.” He muttered but opened the door none the less, greeting the two women.

Jo entered first, tiptoeing to press a kiss to Sam’s cheek while Y/N had her strolled in with her helmet propped on her hip. Y/N let out an exaggerated sigh, “I am starving” She said before placing her helmet on the table beside the door. She walked over to Dean, wrapping an arm around his waist, “Thanks for the food, babe.” She smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

-

They were all now around the table, Sam and Y/N were splitting a Hawaiian pizza while Dean and Jo were splitting a meatlovers, the four discussing the case. “How much do you think a meadowsweet wreath would even cost?” Dean asked with a mouth full of pizza. “A couple hundred dollars, at least.” Sam answered as he sipped his water. “This lady’s giving them away for free? What do you think about that?” Y/N raised a brow as she wiped her mouth, lazily leaning back into her chair.

“Well, sounds pretty suspicious.” Jo muttered in agreement. Dean seemed to go deep into thought, glancing between his brother and girlfriend before saying. “Remember that wreath Dad brought home that one year?” He asked with a nostalgic smile on his face. Sam and Y/N furrowed their brows at him, “You mean the one F/N stole from, like, a liquor store?” Sam tilted his head, “Yeah, it was a bunch of empty beer cans. That thing was great.” Dean chuckled, glancing down at his pizza slice in his hands.

Jo smiled at the mention of the trio’s shared childhood memory, “That sounds…awesome” She agreed, Dean nodded in agreement. “It was. I lugged it around in my duffel for three Christmas’ till the old man tossed it. Said we shouldn’t get attached to material shit” He shook his head as he reminisced on the heartbreaking moment. Jo scoffed at this, shaking her head. She was kinda happy she never met the man or y/n’s dad. Never really hearing good things about the way they treated their kids.

Sam and Y/N shared a tired look as Dean stuffed his into his mouth again before saying, “I bet if I looked around hard enough, I could probably find one just like it.” He suggested, still hoping they would be open to celebrating a Christmas this year. “All right. Dude… What’s going on with you?” Sam huffed tiredly, tossing his half eaten slice of pizza into the box, suddenly losing his appetite.

Dean shrugged, feigning ignorance, “What?” Sam rolled his eyes at his brother, “We mean, since when are you Bing Crosby all of a sudden? Why do you want Christmas so bad?” Y/N asked, narrowing her eyes at him as she dusted off her hands. Dean groaned, “Why are you guys so against it? I mean, were your childhood memories that traumatic?” he asked, genuinely concerned but he played it off with a chuckle. “No, that has nothing to do with it.” Sam insisted.

“Then what? Why don’t you wanna celebrate it, huh?” Jo chimed in, her tone a bit solemn. Sam sighed, glancing at Y/N for a moment. “I-I mean, I-I just… I don’t get it. You haven’t talked about Christmas in years.” He told his brother and Y/N nodded in agreement. Dean’s face fell, recognizing his mistake. “Remember that Christmas 03, right after I left home? Dean, we hunted a succubus and you never even mentioned it once” Y/N reminded him.

Dean paused, remembering the memory. He swallowed hard, clearing his throat before responding. “Yeah, I remember.” He nodded, avoiding eye contact. “But this is my last year.” He reminded them. The room fell silent for a few seconds, Y/N forcefully tearing her eyes away from him to stop herself from becoming choked up. Sam did the same as Jo sighed heavily, “I know. That’s why I can’t.” He broke the silence.

Dean frowned at his brother’s words. “What do you mean?” He questioned, his voice breaking at the end. Y/N and Jo both kept their gazes averted. Sam sighed, fixing himself in his seat, “I mean I can’t just sit around, drinking eggnog, pretending everything’s okay….when I know next Christmas you’ll be dead.” He said sadly, trying to keep his emotions at bay as his voice shook. Y/N and Jo’s stomachs churned at how right he was, this was exactly how Y/N felt too.

She was never big on Christmas to begin with, but the idea of her first Christmas with Dean as an official couple also being their last??? She couldn’t bear the thought, knowing if they made it one to remember, the memories would eat her alive if somehow….they couldn’t save him.

Dean’s expression was pained, his eyes glazing over briefly before he nodded and cleared his throat. “I can’t either..” Y/N agreed, her voice small as she kept her eyes on her hands. Jo nodded in understanding with a frown, her eyes remaining on the table. Sam’s shoulders slumped from the shared feeling of dread that filled the silent room.

_______________________________________________

Author’s Note: Remember loves that this is part one and part two will be linked HERE

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@deangirl96 @bitchykittenconnoisseur @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @mrsjjkwinchester

@juwu-theliciosa @magiccliopleurodon @nesnejwritings @karrah89 @whattheduckisupkyle

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Xoxo

[winteringdream]

005. library ban

previous | masterlist | next

synopsis : you first meet maki when he sits next to you during a lab practical. despite your best efforts, though, it feels like no matter how hard you try, you can never seem to have any other classes scheduled with him. so, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

YOU IMMEDIATELY FIND A PLACE TO SIT THE MOMENT YOU STEP INTO THE LIBRARY. Isn't it supposed to be a little busier you think to yourself as you put down your bag. You had hoped for it to be so busy that there were no empty spots, forcing you to go back to your dorm.

As you open your laptop to find the book you were you look around to see if there are any familiar faces. To your dismay, there's almost no one.

Usually your library sessions are filled with laughter and food, it's one of the first times you're here to actually study.

"Enzyme Kinetics: Behavior and Analysis of Rapid Equilibrium and Steady-State Enzyme Systems by Irwin H. Segel. Sounds like hell." you murmur to yourself as you stand up to look for it.

As you walk through the quiet aisles of the library, the silence feels almost unnatural. The faint scent of old books and the soft rustling of pages are the only sounds around you.

You stop at the aisle labeled "biology & chemistry: enzymes". This must be it.

"Why do I even need to understand enzyme equilibrium?" you mutter under your breath, rolling your eyes. "Why can't enzymes just do their thing and leave me out of it?"

With a sigh, you spot the book, its thick spine sticking out from the other volumes. It's positioned on the top shelf, and usually you'd have no problem with taking it out. Except for the fact that this specific book weighs a ton.

With a little grunt of frustration, you give the book a more forceful tug. But as soon as you do, the book slides out of place, and before you can react, it's falling off the shelf, heading straight toward you.

You barely have time to flinch as it starts to fall.

You hear the thud of the book, but nothing seems to hit you. You carefully open your eyes to see him. Maki facing you, his back turned to the shelves.

"Whoa, that was close." he exclaims, looking down at the book. Had it hit him instead of you?

You blink up at him, wide-eyed. "Are you okay? Did it hit you?" You're too shocked to process that the guy you've been looking for is standing right in front of you.

"Yeah, it's fine. Are you hurt?" Maki asks. He's nervous, here you are, the girl he was trying to find for the longest time. But now that he's standing in front of you nothing comes out of his mouth.

"It would be an excuse to not study if I got knocked out by a textbook." you joke, crouching down to pick it up.

"Enzyme kinetics, sounds interesting." Maki comments, scratching the back of his neck. He mentally scolds himself for how awkward he sounds.

"Maybe, if it didn't try to kill me." you sigh, readjusting the heavy book in your arms.

Say something Maki mentally screams at himself. There’s a brief silence, and you shift on your feet, obviously uncomfortable as you hold the massive textbook.

But before he can say something, the fire alarm goes off.

The loud, shrill sound slices through the air, causing both of you to jump. Students around you start scrambling, grabbing their things, but neither of you seems sure what to do.

You glance at Maki, eyebrows furrowing. “Is this... is this a drill?”

Maki stares at the ceiling for a second, clearly just as caught off guard as you. “Uh... yeah, probably?"

You shake your head, the noise of the alarm ringing in your ears. “I should go get my stuff.”

“Yeah...” Maki trails off, suddenly unsure of whether to make light of the situation or not. “I also need to get my stuff.”

Maki glances back at you, his face turning a bit red as he stammers out, “Maybe, uh, we’ll... uh, see each other again? When the alarm’s not going off?” He laughs nervously, as if that’s going to make things less awkward.

Before you get to say something the librarian shouts at the two of you to move, pushing the two you by the shoulder to the exit.

taglist: @leloyo @stormy1408 @missychief1404 @banez @ihruaz @saranghoeforanton @jakeyuni @leloyo @fae-renjun @strayy-kidz @blooqz @kimakento @1ckyw1ckyyyyy @pookalicious-hq @ihruaz @sqrclouds @littleaprilcherryblossom @jsbluu @yumengnyangnyang @injunnie-lemon @lakoya @lleuviennae @nicholasluvbot @addictedtoboba @starrihan @cinnased @mushroomsoup119 @lavendersloane @lulumallow @meoriapeuda99 @conwunder @lhs01nye @haruabf @smiles4hyuck @iarainha @cowsidfk @tlnyjoong

[mintyys-blog]

OFF THE RECORD | kon el kent x reader

DC COMICS MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: smut, injury

You’d planned it for weeks.

Got up at 4 a.m., made sure your outfit was just right—not too flashy, but still cute enough that maybe he’d notice you. You practiced what you’d say in the mirror. Something confident. Cool. Like, “Hey, Superboy. I’ve followed your missions since the beginning. You’re more than just a hero to me.”

You were one of the first people there.

But none of that mattered.

The line grew long. Then it grew aggressive.

You’d underestimated how feral some fans got. People shoved, elbowed, climbed over the barriers like it was a concert pit. Security was useless. By the time Superboy actually showed up, shirt half unbuttoned and sunglasses perched on that perfect nose, the screams drowned out your heartbeat.

He smiled. He waved. He leaned in to sign posters, snap selfies, flirt shamelessly with a girl holding a “MARRY ME, KON” sign.

You tried to get closer. You really did.

But someone shoved you hard from behind. You stumbled. Fell to your knees.

And just as you reached out to steady yourself—someone stepped on your hand. Hard.

The pain made your vision blur. You didn’t even scream, just sucked in a sharp breath and pulled back, cradling your fingers like glass.

You looked up, dazed, just in time to see him glance in your direction—his smile still in place, eyes hidden by those stupid sunglasses. Maybe he saw you. Maybe he didn’t.

But the crowd surged again, and you disappeared beneath it all.

You made it home somehow. Not crying—yet. You didn’t want to. Because it would make it real. Make the embarrassment sting worse.

Your hand throbbed. You dropped your signed photo face-down on the table, even though it wasn’t yours—someone had dropped it in the chaos, and you picked it up without thinking.

You sat on the edge of your bed, still dressed, still replaying the whole thing in your mind.

You hadn’t said a word to him. He probably didn’t even see you.

You weren’t like those girls he always flirted with on camera. You didn’t push or shove or scream. You weren’t holding up a glittery sign or wearing a bikini top with his “S” logo painted on it.

You were just… you. Quiet. Genuine. The girl behind a screen who poured her admiration into thoughtful blog posts and late-night fan edits.

And now? Now you felt invisible.

You closed your laptop without checking the fan forums. You didn’t want to see the smiling selfies. Didn’t want to read the posts from people gushing about how good he smelled or how his hand lingered when he signed their shirts.

Maybe this was stupid. Maybe it had always been stupid. You lay back on the bed, hand still aching, blinking up at the ceiling. The ache in your chest told you it wasn’t that easy.

Weeks passed since the meet-and-greet disaster.

You hadn’t posted anything new on your fan blog. Every time you opened the draft tab, your fingers froze. You couldn’t bring yourself to write about someone who had smiled right over your head—who hadn’t even seen you crushed under the weight of the crowd.

Instead, you curled up at night with your Superboy plush hugged tight to your chest, whispering dumb little apologies to it like it could carry them to the real thing.

“I know I’m just one face in the crowd,” you murmured once in the dark. “I just wanted to matter. Just once.”

It was a quiet evening when everything changed.

You were in your robe, halfway through detangling your hair in the mirror. Something mindless. Soothing. Safe.

Then—CRASH. Glass. Wood. A body. You dropped your brush, heartbeat spiking. “What the hell—?”

You sprinted out of the bathroom, bare feet skidding on the floor as you rounded the corner—and stopped dead.

Your living room window was shattered inward, glass glinting like ice across the floor.

And sprawled in the middle of it—shirt torn, face bloodied, breathing hard—was him.

Superboy.

In the flesh. Again. But this time inside your home.

You didn’t even think. You ran to him, dropped to your knees, hands hovering over his chest, unsure where to touch without hurting him more.

“God—Superboy?! Kon—are you—?”

He looked up at you through one swollen eye, grinning even as blood stained his teeth. “Don’t suppose… you’ve got a first-aid kit, gorgeous?”

You let out a breathless, hysterical laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He passed out with that stupid smirk still on his face.

Helping him felt unreal.

He was heavy in your arms, head lolling a bit as you dragged him to your couch and peeled away what was left of his jacket. You wiped blood from his cheek with shaking hands, grabbed your med kit from the bathroom, and tried to clean him up as best you could.

He stirred as you dabbed peroxide on a deep cut near his collarbone, hissing softly.

“SkylineSunset… that’s you right?”

You froze. “Y-you know that?”

His eyes cracked open, glassy but warm. “Didn’t forget. Been looking for you, actually. Couldn’t stop thinking about you since that night. Even with the concussion.”

You flushed hot. “You saw me? At the meet-and-greet?”

“Yeah,” he groaned, sitting up slowly. “Saw you get knocked down. Lost sight of you. It… stuck with me. Felt wrong. Then I went digging.” He chuckled, though it came out hoarse. “Found your blog post about quitting. Thought, ‘Well, damn. That’s not how this story ends.’”

You didn’t know whether to cry or laugh.

Instead, you kissed him.

It was fast, emotional, desperate. You cupped his face, not caring about the blood, the grime, the mess. You kissed him like he was something slipping through your fingers.

He kissed you back like he’d been waiting forever.

One thing led to another.

He followed you to the bedroom after you helped him walk. Let you pull off what was left of his ruined shirt. His hands found your waist beneath your robe, skin to skin. His breath was hot against your neck, his lips trailing lower, lower, until your knees gave out and the backs of them hit the bed.

You gasped as he eased you down, fitting himself between your legs with surprising tenderness. His eyes stayed on yours, fingers teasing the belt of your robe, lips ghosting over your collarbone.

But just before things got intense, he paused—then leaned to the side and picked something up.

Your Superboy plush.

Your very well-loved Superboy plush, now clutched loosely in his hand, one brow raised in amused surprise.

Your heart dropped. “Oh my god—please don’t—” He laughed. Laughed. Not mocking. Not mean. Just warm. Affectionate. “You really did like me, huh?”

“I hate you,” you muttered, covering your face.

He grinned and set the plush carefully on your bedside table—right where he’d be watching. “Guess I’ve got competition,” he teased, then leaned down again, mouth brushing yours. “But I play for keeps.”

You kissed him hard. Again. This time, you didn’t stop. Your robe slipped open beneath his hands like silk parting for sunlight. He took his time.

For someone so cocky in public, so flashy with the world watching, Kon moved slowly here—his fingers exploring your curves like he wanted to memorize them, like the real treasure wasn’t in the crowds or cameras, but in the soft gasp you made when he kissed the hollow of your throat.

“You’re even prettier than your selfies,” he murmured against your skin. You flushed, breath hitching as his hand skimmed beneath the edge of your robe. “You—you saw those?”

He chuckled. “Saw everything. Read your posts. Saw how sweet you were… how much you cared. Not just for the ‘S’, but me.” His hand slipped lower.

“Wanted to meet you so bad, babe. Just didn’t expect to be bleeding all over your rug when it finally happened.”

You laughed, a little dazed. “Wasn’t exactly my dream scenario either.”

But the way he touched you now—like you were the center of his universe, like your body was something sacred—made you forget everything else. The crowd. The hurt. Even the plush on your nightstand, watching silently like the relic of a former life. This was real. He was real.

And when he finally slid your robe off your shoulders, leaned back to look at you—his eyes burned with something deeper than lust.

“Damn,” he breathed, voice low and reverent. “You’re beautiful.”

Your breath caught as he kissed down your chest, taking his time, hands framing your hips like he was anchoring himself. When he pushed your legs apart, he didn’t just dive in—he looked up at you first.

“Still okay?” You nodded, more than okay—aching for him. He grinned, then lowered his head.

He didn’t just want to make you feel good.He wanted to worship you.

Every moan you gave him was like gold, every breathless “Kon” from your lips pulled him closer. When he slid inside you—slow, deep, stretching you perfectly—your hands scrambled across his back, holding him close like he might vanish again if you let go.

He groaned low in his throat, voice thick with restraint. “God… you feel so good.”

Your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he responded with a lazy thrust that made your back arch and your nails dig into his skin. His breath hitched against your collarbone, lips dragging over your skin as he murmured against it.

“Been thinking about this… every damn night since I saw you.”

His pace stayed steady at first—deep, rolling thrusts that let you feel everything. Like he was savoring every second, committing every sound you made to memory.

But he didn’t vanish.

He stayed. Rocking into you with practiced rhythm, murmuring your name like it was something sacred. Kissing your cheeks when you cried out. Whispers of “You’re perfect,” and “I’ve got you,” and “Tighter than I ever imagined.”

You wrapped your arms around him, fingers tangled in his dark hair, and for a moment—there was no world outside this room. No screaming fans. No missed meet-and-greets. Just you and him, tangled in sheets, in breath, in everything.

You came first—gasping his name, legs trembling. He followed fast, a low groan pressed into your shoulder, burying himself to the hilt with a final, stuttering thrust.

He stayed there for a moment, catching his breath, lips pressed to your neck, his chest rising and falling against yours in slow, heavy waves.

You could feel the heat of him everywhere—where his body pinned yours to the bed, where your skin stuck together with sweat and warmth. His hair was damp, falling over his forehead, and he hadn’t moved except to nuzzle closer into the curve of your neck like he wanted to melt into you.

Neither of you spoke at first.

You were too dazed—too full of him, too stunned that it happened. The ache between your legs, the throb in your chest, the soft fluttering in your stomach… it was all real.

He pulled back just enough to look down at you, his weight shifting on one forearm as he brushed a thumb gently along your cheek. His voice, when he finally spoke, was hoarse and low, but laced with something fragile.

Then he slowly pulled out, kissed your knee, and rolled beside you—reaching over to gently place the covers over both your bodies like he’d done it a hundred times before.

You blinked at him, dazed, heart thudding against your ribs. “…Was that real?”

He smirked, breath still a little ragged. “If it wasn’t, it was one hell of a dream.”

Then he reached for the Superboy plush again—grinning like an idiot. “He gonna be mad I took his spot?” You snorted, pulling the pillow over your face in embarrassment.

“I’m replacing him,” Kon said, dropping the plush on the floor and tugging you into his chest. “You’re mine now, fangirl.”

The air between you was thick with warmth and the scent of sweat, skin, and something deeper—something real. The sheets were tangled around your hips, your limbs still wrapped around him like you were afraid to let go.

Kon hadn’t moved far—just rolled onto his side to hold you properly, one arm snug around your waist, the other hand trailing lazy circles on your back. His touch was slow, absentminded, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

You were both quiet for a moment, your head tucked under his chin, your fingers tracing the scars faintly etched into his chest.

“…So,” he finally said, voice low and rough, “I’m just gonna come out and say it. That was way better than all the weird fanfics I’ve read about myself.”

You let out a groan and buried your face in his chest. “Please don’t bring that up right now.”

He laughed—full-on laughed, chest shaking against yours. “What? C’mon, some of them were wild. I remember one where I was half-centaur for some reason—”

“Kon!”

“Okay, okay,” he said, grinning as he kissed your forehead. “But this? You? Way better than fiction.”

Your cheeks burned. “That’s such a line.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, nuzzling into your hair. “But it’s true.”

The room fell into a comfortable hush again, your heartbeat slowly syncing with his.

“…So what happens now?” you asked quietly, almost afraid to break the moment.

He was quiet for a beat.

Then his grip on you tightened slightly. “Now? I heal up. I stay here tonight. And when I can fly again, I come back tomorrow. And the next day. And the next.”

You blinked up at him.

He met your eyes, deadly serious now. “I don’t wanna ghost you. I don’t wanna be another fantasy that fades when the costume comes off. I wanna see where this goes. With you.”

Your chest swelled with something so big it hurt.

“…Okay,” you whispered, barely believing it. “Yeah. Me too.”

His lips brushed your forehead again, slow and sweet. “Cool. ‘Cause I really like the way you look in my arms.”

“…You’re so cheesy.”

“You love it.”

You rolled your eyes, snuggling closer. “Maybe.”

From the nightstand, the Superboy plush sat watching—still and silent, like it had finally been replaced.

[rottenpumpkin13]

what if agscz all had the chance to talk with their younger selves (idk how to spell that lol) and what questions would their younger selves have for their older selves?

(btw i absolutely love your posts they make my days you are a beautiful human being 😭💓)

Sephiroth: His younger self is twelve and already has the posture of a commander. His sword is too big for him but he wears it like a second spine, and yet the first thing he asks is: "Do we find out what happened to her?" he asks. "Where we come from?" It's the first thing he says. Not a word about friends. Not dreams. Not love. Older Sephiroth is quiet, though he expected it. He crouches, brushes the younger boy's silver bangs out of his eyes and says: "Don't stop asking questions. That curiosity is something no one can take from you. Protect it. along with your memories." He fingers the old locket hanging from the boy's neck. "Hold on to this," he says gently. "And expect... unexpected good people in your life." His younger self stares. Doesn't understand yet. That's okay.

Cloud: Sixteen-year-old Cloud stares up at his older self, spiky-haired and hollow-eyed, wrapped in black like mourning never ended. He looks like everything Cloud was afraid he'd become—quiet, cold, worn thin. "You're me?" he asks. "Do we make it? Do we get into SOLDIER like Sephiroth?" Older Cloud doesn't answer at first. He wants to say something encouraging. But his mouth stays closed. "You look... sad," the younger one says, not quite a question. The man nods. "Did we fail?" "���No," Older Cloud says, at last. "We lost some things. But we kept going." It's not what the boy wanted to hear. But he listens anyway. He always listens, even when he shouldn't. They don't hug. They just stand there for a while. Then the younger one breaks the silence. "So… when do we get cool with the sword?" Cloud, finally, cracks a smile. "Soon."

Angeal: Younger Angeal is maybe thirteen, trying hard to look responsible, already standing too straight, like he's bracing for responsibility to punch him in the gut. His eyes are too tired for his age and his first question is "Do we make mom proud?" Older Angeal looks at him for a long moment, then sighs—deep, bone-heavy. "You try so hard to be what everyone needs. That won't stop, but you're allowed to need things too. You're human, not a monument." His younger self doesn't respond, just nods like he already suspected. Like he always suspected. The older version reaches out, ruffles the kid's hair once. "Just… eat more protein. And get as much sleep as you can. It becomes a luxury once Zack comes around and Genesis realizes he has free will."

Genesis: Eight-year-old Genesis clutches a tattered book of poetry to his chest, wide-eyed and glowing like he's about to meet destiny in the form of a very well-dressed future self. "Do we become heroes?" he asks eagerly. "Do people love us? Does Sephiroth like our apples?" He's vibrating with hope, too excited to notice the wear in older Genesis' smile. The older version crouches, ruffles his hair, and answers: "Yes. You'll get every bit of it." The boy beams. "But," Genesis adds, "You'll spend years thinking none of it matters if you're not his equal." The child tilts his head. "Who?" Genesis shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. Just… start liking yourself now. Save us the trouble."

Zack: Ten-year-old Zack is nursing a bruised knee when Zack shows up, with a bandaged cheek and a giant stick he uses as a sword. Zack smiles. There's no point in warning him of what can't be changed and that which makes him grow. "Hey!" older Zack calls, hands on his hips, posing proudly. "Rule number one. Hair gel is essential. Rule number two. Never try to tame a Tonberry. Rule number three—most important—follow your dreams! Look at where all that hope got me!"

Ten-year-old Zack nods. "Sephiroth's taller."

Older Zack deflates.

[milofilez]

your milo fic is everything. could i request smexy aaron smut? thank u i know ur gonna be a star in the fandom !!! and i’d like to claim this sushi emoji :) 🍣

gn reader. hard dom aaron. hold in the moan. close proximity. manhandling. grinding. fingering. try not to get caught. no penetration. no orgasm. teasing. aaron is kind of a dick.

“i swear, if you don’t stop grinding your ass into me.” aaron spoke low in your ear. he had no choice in the matter really. you were both pressed up so close to each other and even if you had more space if aaron spoke too loud you would be caught for sure.

how you managed to get into this situation was a story in itself, but suffice it to say you were both trying to hide from aaron’s coworkers in a little closet down the hall from his office. you weren’t supposed to be here and if aaron had been smart when he pulled you both in here he would have shoved you in by himself and taken his co-worker far away. but he didn’t think that far ahead when he heard them coming, and now, here you were, squished together in a tiny closet, bodies pressed so close together. it was exciting. you might as well use it to your advantage.

with a smile tugging at the corners of your lips you did the exact opposite of what you were told. “readjusting yourself”, you moved your hips teasingly slow against aaron, pressing yourself as close to him as you could in the process. aaron groaned and gripped your hips hard. you assume he was going to get mad again, but instead he spoke.

“fine, i see how it is.” aaron pulled you against him roughly and moved your hips for you. making you move against him but at a pace he controled. you felt him get harder and harder in his pants, and you wondered just how far he was going to let this go. would he really fuck you in this office closet? you doubted it, but the thought turned you on beyond belief. aaron had already let you get farther that you expect but what really surprised you was aaron sticking his fingers in your mouth with a command to “suck.”

he pressed down on your tongue while you did as you were told. his rough playing with your mouth made spit run down your chin, and you nearly gagged as he thrust his fingers in deeper into your mouth. with his other hand he slowly pulled down your pants. he didn’t take them all the way off, only pulled them down enough to expose your hole.

“now be quiet. one peep and i stop.” aaron’s fingers slipped into your hole. he didn’t even bother to go one at a time. either too turned on to care or the roughness was the point. aaron’s fingers thrust in and out of you fast and rough, hitting just the right spots inside of you. you bit your lip to stifle any sound that may threaten to spill out. if you could see aaron’s face you would see a shit eating grin plastered on his lips. he was trying his best to get you to break. to moan his name for anyone who may be hovering around to hear. but he was a man of his word, and you knew that. one noise and he would stop. so you stayed quiet. grinding down into the rough thrusts of his fingers, silently begging him for more.

“you like that huh?” his tone was cocky, it would have made you angry if it didn’t turn you on so much. aaron knew what he was doing, he had a reason to be cocky. you exhaled harshly, keeping yourself quiet was getting harder and harder the closer you got to your climax.

aaron chuckled lowly. “c’mon, you’re not having that much trouble are you?”

he sped up again. pulling your hips with one hand, and thrusting his other into you. but what finally set you off was him curling his fingers ever so slightly. and without warning a moan slipped from your lips. fuck. you closed your mouth hard but it was too late, aaron had heard and he pulled his fingers out of you. giving your hips one final squeeze.

“too bad, i was really rooting for you.”

and with that aaron scooted his way out of the closet, only sparing a glance around to make sure he wasn’t seen leaving you there. he didn’t even say goodbye before leaving you to deal with the mess he made of you. what an asshole.

[whimsicalpolitical]

closeness- ross macdonald x reader

summary: things between ross and you are getting more serious warnings: 18+mdni, smut, fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v, aftercare

he’s a gentleman.

always has been, since the first moment you met him. it’s not just the way he holds the door open or pulls out your chair, but the way he looks at you when you speak- like every word you say might be the most important thing he’s ever heard.

your friend set you up, swearing you’d like him. you didn’t expect much- just another awkward dinner, another too long evening you’d politely smile through.

but then there was ross. quiet confidence. warm eyes. that slow, dry humor that slips out at just the right moment and leaves you laughing days later when you remember it again.

being with him is easy. it doesn’t feel like work. you don’t have to overthink your words or check yourself. there’s a gentleness in him that makes you soften too.

and now here you are. on your fourth date.

you’re both laughing softly as you walk up to your flat, his hand brushing yours, not quite holding it yet. the night’s still sitting warm on your skin, your heels clicking gently against the pavement.

“that dessert was insane,” you say, glancing at him.

ross smiles, hands still tucked in his pockets. “wasn’t it? i was genuinely worried you were going to levitate.”

you snort. “i almost did. the caramel was… stupid good.”

“stupid good,” he repeats with a grin. “high praise.”

the conversation lingers like that, casual, easy. your fourth date. the kind that feels more like a rhythm now. he knows how you like your drinks. you know the way he leans back when he laughs, that quiet little laugh when he’s trying not to seem too charmed by you.

you reach your building. the buzz in your chest flutters a little harder. he stands close as you fish for your keys.

“i’ve told you multiple times tonight but you really do look gorgeous,” he says, “that dress fits you perfectly.”

you glance at him, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “thank you. you clean up pretty well yourself.”

he chuckles. “this old thing?” he tugs at the collar of his black shirt, slightly wrinkled now from the night.

you unlock the door, but don’t open it yet. you look at him. he’s already watching you.

“you’re really lovely, you know,” he says.

you smile, a little breath caught in your chest. “come here,” you whisper.

he doesn’t hesitate. steps in, one hand resting lightly at your waist. the kiss is soft at first, then deeper. his beard brushes your face, warm and gentle, and you sigh into him.

you don’t want to move. you want to stay right here- this quiet moment where nothing else matters. just his mouth on yours and the way he smells like cedar and red wine and something you already associate with safety.

when you finally part, you’re both smiling, a little dazed.

“do you want to come inside?”

he blinks once, then nods. “i would like that.”

you open the door fully and step inside, letting him take the lead.

you close the door behind him, the click of the lock suddenly loud in the quiet. ross shrugs off his coat and glances around, a little unsure of what to do with it.

“let me take that,” you say gently, stepping forward. your fingers brush his as you pull the coat from his arms and hang it neatly by the door. he gives you a soft, grateful look.

“thanks.”

you smile, your heart already fluttering.

he looks around slowly, taking it all in. “this is very nice,” he says, then turns back to you with a little smile. “very you as well, to be honest.”

you let out a quiet laugh, a little surprised. “you think so?”

he nods, walking further in. “yeah. don’t know if it’s the plants or those posters, what’s that- oh that’s mad, you’ve got the ‘stop making sense live album’,” he points toward the framed record sleeve. “impressive.”

he walks a little slower now, like he’s careful not to overstep, but he keeps looking at everything. “i knew you’ve got great taste.”

you’re still watching him, heart racing, cheeks warm. it’s surreal- this man you’ve thought about since that first night, who you kissed under streetlights and laughed with over late dinners, is now standing in your flat, making himself real in the space where you keep your quietest things.

“i think so too,” you smile, obviously trying to project the great taste comment on to him.

he moves to the stool by the kitchen bar and sits down, resting his forearms on the counter. you follow, feeling the buzz in your body like it’s humming under your skin.

“what can i get you?” you ask, voice a little airy, but you’re trying to keep it cool. “some more wine? water? i’ve got some weird elderflower soda in the fridge if you want to live dangerously.”

he grins. “wine sounds lovely, if it’s not too much trouble.”

you shake your head, already moving. “never.”

he watches you from the stool, eyes following every movement.

you open the cupboard, hands slightly unsteady, and you don’t even care. you like that he sees you nervous.

it’s hard to hold eye contact for too long. not because you don’t want to- because you do, so much-but because it feels like he can see straight through you when you do.

you pour two glasses. the wine catches the light in deep red swirls and you steady your hand just enough to not spill, but he’d probably still tease you if you did. he’s watching again, quietly. you pass him his glass and he takes it with a soft, “cheers,” eyes flicking to yours.

“cheers,” you echo, tapping the rim of his glass with yours gently before rounding the counter.

you sit opposite him on the other stool, close enough that your knees bump under the bar and neither of you moves away. he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t pull back. he just sips his wine, one hand cradling the glass while the other rests on the edge of the counter, relaxed.

you talk. not about anything serious. just the night, the food, a song that had been playing at the restaurant that you both recognised and made a joke about.

you laugh, a lot. especially when he gets going on some ridiculous story about a gig they played years ago.

you nearly choke on your wine from laughing, wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand.

ross smiles wide at that, dimples catching in his cheeks- and there it is. those. you’ve seen them, of course, but not this close. not like this. and now you’re sitting here, lightheaded from wine and laughter, just staring at him, wanting so badly to reach out and touch his face like it’s a painting you’ve studied for weeks. you grip the stem of your glass instead, trying to play it cool.

he leans in a little, like he’s trying to hear something you haven’t said yet. the space between you is smaller than before.

you’re flushed, your cheeks are warm, skin is buzzing, lips tingling from the wine and from how much you like him. the warmth is moving slowly through your body, not just from the alcohol, but from the fact that he’s here, with you. in your space. and you don’t want this night to end.

you laugh again at something he says, something silly and quiet, and your hair falls into your face.

before you can even think to move it, his hand is already there, gentle and without hesitation. his fingers brush the strands back behind your ear, slow and careful. his hand lingers just barely against your cheek as he looks at you.

“there you are.”

you blink up at him, caught completely in the moment. your heart skips like it’s forgotten how to move properly.

you smile small and shyly, “hi.”

“you’re stunning,” he says quietly.

you feel your cheeks heat up instantly. your mouth pulls into a grin you try to hide. “stop,” you mumble, giggling a little, looking away.

“if you think i’ll stop,” he says, without missing a beat. “you definitely think wrong of me.”

before you can say anything back, he leans forward and gently slides your wine glass out of your hand. sets it down beside his. then he takes your hand, slow and intentional, and gives it the softest pull.

“come here,” he murmurs.

you stand, and his hands find your waist almost immediately. they settle there like they’ve done it before, like this is a habit you already have. he draws you in, guiding you until you’re standing between his thighs.

he licks his lips once, gaze dipping to your mouth. “i can’t stop thinking about you, love. you’ve been messing with my brain a lot.”

you can barely breathe. “yeah?”

“yeah,” he repeats. “i’ve been enjoying every minute with you. ”

your hands rest on his sides, sliding up just a little. his shirt’s soft but you can feel the strength beneath it.

he leans into you again, kissing slower this time. less polite. less careful. his mouth moves with yours like it knows the rhythm already, like you’re dancing without needing to hear the music.

then his hand drifts lower. finds your thigh, his fingers curving around it as he squeezes gently, and the sound you make is half breath, half surprise.

he uses the moment to part your lips with his tongue. first, a light sweep against your bottom lip-like he’s asking.

you let him in.

his other hand presses a little firmer at your back, drawing you even closer, until you feel everything. his breath, his chest rising with yours, the way he’s holding back just slightly.

your fingers clutch at his waist.

“ross,” you whisper, because it’s the only thing that makes sense in this moment.

he pulls back just enough to look at you. his pupils are blown, lips a little parted.

“alright?” he asks, looking for any sign of resignation from you.

you nod, lips tugging into a slow smile. “mhm.”

your fingers drift up, almost without thinking, playing gently with the collar of his shirt, smoothing it out like it's something to do with your hands. you're looking at him, but not fully, cheeks warm, heart racing.

you pause, then tilt your head just slightly. “maybe we should… move to the bedroom?”

you say it quiet, but clear.

there’s a beat of silence, like the moment just stretches out for a second too long. and then ross grins, slow and wide and almost boyish, the kind of grin you can feel down in your stomach.

“yeah?” he says, voice a little hoarse, like he wasn’t expecting it but he’s definitely not saying no.

you nod again, still fidgeting with the edge of his collar, and he reaches up, covers your hand with his for a moment. his thumb rubs along your knuckles as he speaks.

“wasn’t my plan tonight,” he murmurs. “swear i was gonna kiss you and then leave like a gentleman.”

you laugh under your breath. “you did kiss me.”

“yeah,” he says, smile softening. “and then you stood in front of me in that dress and looked at me like that.”

“like what?”

he leans in, brushing his lips against your cheek, just near your ear. “like you wanted me.”

you pull back just slightly, eyes meeting his again. there’s a quiet thrum of tension between you now. no rush, no pressure, just mutual gravity.

you squeeze his hand. “i do.”

his eyes flick over your face, and then he nods once. firm.

“alright then. lead the way, darling.”

he stands slowly, his body rising close to yours, tall and steady. he doesn’t move until you start walking, leading the way, heart hammering.

in the bedroom, you close the door behind you with a soft click. the air shifts. it’s just you and him now, in the quiet.

you cross the room and turn on the little lamp by your bed. it glows warm and low, casting soft shadows on the walls.

ross is still standing by the door, watching you like he’s taking you in.

you turn to face him, and for a beat, neither of you says a word.

then he steps forward, slow and calm, and reaches for your waist.

his voice comes low, steady. “we’re not going to rush this. it’s just us. s’alright.”

you nod.

he sits down at the edge of your bed, legs parted slightly, looking up at you with that same softness in his eyes. then he slides his hands to your hips, guiding you gently forward.

you straddle him without a word, settling into his lap. his hands rest low on your back, fingers splayed, already pulling you in.

you kiss him, messier this time. eager. lips parting too fast, teeth bumping slightly, but it only makes it better. real. your hands curl at his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

he kisses you deeper, mouth warm, breath hot against your cheek. one hand slides up your spine, the other dips lower, pressing firmly at the small of your back until your chest is flush to his.

you exhale into his mouth.

he pulls back for a second, eyes flicking to yours. both of you breathless.

“you’re driving me mad,” he murmurs.

you keep kissing like it’s the only language you know. no real rhythm, just mouths chasing each other, hands wandering, breathing each other in like you’ll forget how if you stop. it’s a little uncoordinated, like you’re teenagers again, hungry and too warm, laughing into kisses and then going quiet when it gets too good.

your hips start to move without you even thinking. slow at first, just shifting against him, the friction barely there. but you feel it-the way his breath catches, how his grip on you tightens, his fingers pressing harder into your back.

“fuck,” he mutters under his breath, just barely audible.

you do it again, tilting your hips a little more deliberately, and this time he groans, full and low in his throat. his head dips to your shoulder for a second, lips brushing your collarbone.

“jesus christ,” he mumbles, and it makes you smile.

“ross,” you whisper, more like a plea than anything else.

his hand slides to your thigh, steadying you. “yeah, love? talk to me.”

your forehead rests against his. your breath stutters. “i just- i want-“

you don’t even finish it. he’s already nodding.

“i know. i know. i’ve got you.”

but even then, he doesn’t rush. his hands move carefully, sliding down to hold behind your knees as he shifts you gently, and then he leans back, kisses you once like a pause before lifting you off his lap just enough to set you down on the bed.

he stands up briefly, pulling off his shoes without taking his eyes off you. the way he looks right now, strands of his hair falling out of his perfect bun, lips red, chest rising and falling like he’s working to keep calm, it does something to you.

you reach out for him. he smiles, drops a quick kiss to your ankle, then crawls over you, settling between your legs like it’s the only place he wants to be.

his mouth finds yours. slower this time, more deliberate. he kisses you like he wants to taste every sound you’ve ever made, like he’s trying to commit it to memory.

your hands move to the back of his neck, threading into the little hair there.

he shifts slightly, weight braced on one forearm, the other hand finding your side.

“i’ve wanted this for a while now,” he murmurs against your lips, “not like i’ve only wanted this, i don’t want it to sound like that. you’re special, love, really special even.”

“keep talking,” you giggle.

he laughs, “i’m just saying. i like you. a lot.”

“i like you a lot, too.”

and then he’s on you again.

you don’t stop kissing. it keeps getting deeper, messier, hotter. his hands are firm on your back, slipping under the fabric of your dress, palms dragging up and down like he can’t touch enough of you at once.

your hips start moving again, just slightly at first, like a shift of pressure but then it’s deliberate, rocking against him, slow and seeking.

he groans, low and rough in his throat, and it makes your stomach flip to notice how hard he is and how much he wants this as well.

“fuck,” he mumbles against your mouth.

you do it again. you can’t help it. you need more, more friction, more of him. the heat between your legs is sharp now, pooling, and the way he’s reacting only makes you bolder.

your kiss breaks for just a second, a ragged breath passing between you.

his lips brush yours, and then he leans in close to your ear.

“as much as i like this dress,” he murmurs, his voice thick, “can i take it off?”

you nod, dizzy with want.

he stills. “is that a yes?”

you meet his eyes, your voice breathless. “yes.”

his hands move to your shoulders, sliding the straps down slowly, dragging the dress with them. he watches your face the whole time, gauging every blink, every breath. the fabric slips off and pools around your waist, then you shift to help him tug it the rest of the way off.

and then you're just in your black lace set, the one you picked knowing you might see him tonight, hoping.

he stops. absolutely still.

his eyes roam down your body like it’s the first time he’s seen something real.

“oh, christ, darling…” he breathes, and then again, quieter. “do you know how perfect you are?”

you glance away, cheeks burning, and lift a hand to half-cover your face with a shy little laugh.

he catches your wrist gently, tugging your hand down.

“stop,” he says,. “none of that. let me see you.”

you nod, eyes flicking back to his. he smiles, just a little, and kisses your cheek, then lower, to your neck.

he lingers there, his mouth opening over your skin, sucking gently until you let out a quiet sound, something between a sigh and a whimper.

your fingers curl in the back of his shirt as he keeps going, sucking just a bit harder, then soft again, his tongue warm where it soothes.

you feel your panties dampen further, the ache between your thighs now impossible to ignore.

you shift beneath him, and he groans softly, lips still at your neck. “ross, too much clothes.”

he hums and immediately starts to unbutton his shirt.

you catch his fingers midway and finish what he’s started, sliding it off his arms and throwing it next to the bed.

“is that better?” he asks.

you nod, dragging your hands down his now-bare chest, slow and deliberate. “much.”

his skin is warm under your palms, firm, lean muscle shifting as he moves. you trace the lines of him, down past his ribs, to the soft trail of hair just below his navel. you dip your fingers there, barely, just enough to tease- then drag them back up again.

he groans, low and tight, and ducks his head to your neck again.

“you’re going to drive me fucking mad,” he mutters against your skin.

you giggle, breath hitching as his mouth latches to your neck again, hot, open-mouthed kisses, slow and sucking, tongue flicking just enough to make your toes curl.

you wrap your legs around his waist, locking him in. your heels dig into the back of his thighs and he grinds into you instinctively, both of you gasping at the friction.

“ross,” you whisper, a little breathless. “i need you. please.”

his head lifts, eyes half-lidded and dark.

he kisses you again, softer, before trailing his hand down your body. slow, light touches down your side, tracing every curve.

then he shifts slightly, his fingers gliding along the inside of your thigh.

“here?” he asks, teasing you back.

you shake your head, your hips twitching up toward his hand.

he smirks, his fingers moving higher, until they hover right over the lace of your panties, ghosting across the heat there.

“here?”

your breath catches and you gasp, nodding quickly.

“please,” you whisper.

his mouth is back at your jaw as he answers, low and steady.

“i’ve got you, sweet girl.”

his fingers skim down to the edge of your panties.

you chase ross’ lips, gifting him a kiss that is decidedly messy and anything but falling under the category of sweet. his hands move to haul you tighter against him, slotting your legs tighter around his waist.

finally his fingertips are dipping beneath your panties in a smooth motion, stroking through your folds, dragging pleasure through you so intensely, you're scared you'll break apart right then and there.

you're so unbearably sensitive, nerves bursting open beneath his touch, that you desired for way too long.

he clicks his tongue softly, clearly pleased. “look at you, making such a mess for me.”

there’s nothing rushed about the way he moves, but your body doesn't seem to know that. frantic anyway, trembling anyway, gasping like he himself is a trap you've willingly walked into.

he teases with his fingers slowly, gliding up and down your folds, spreading you open, painting your clit with everything he's pulled from you.

he gives you just the tip of his index, barely inside, and then pulls back like he enjoys teasing you.

you’re soaked now. slick enough that it's starting to drip where your pelvis meets his thighs, a growing mess that's probably already bled through to the bed.

"talk to me, love," he murmurs. "what’s going on in your head?”

"can’t- can’t think," you confess. "just need your fingers."

"you have them," he says.

"inside," you whimper. "need you inside."

he gives you a kiss to the corner of your mouth just as his finger slides in.

"is this what you wanted?" he smiles. "like it when you beg, darling, sound so pretty."

and your body answers for you, clenching around the intrusion, like it's trying to hold onto him, pull him closer, keep him.

you remember one evening when you watched him play the bass. all you could actually watch were his fingers.

the way his fingers curled around the neck of the bass, smooth and sure. the way they plucked and strummed with that lazy kind of precision, like they’d been born knowing what to do. you hadn’t even meant to stare. but it became all you could see.

now one of them is buried inside you, barely, and it's already too much.

when the second slides in, it feels like being opened from the inside out.

a moan punches out of your chest unfiltered. your hands reach up for something to hold, finding purchase at the hair at the nape of his neck, fingers tightening there.

he leans in, eyes half-lidded, voice hushed. "you feel so good around my fingers. so tight.”

"ross..." you whisper.

the sound that fills the room is filthy, wet and messy and loud enough to drown out whatever noise you just tried to make.

you’re grinding down on him now, mindless, rutting against the heel of his palm like shame doesn't even exist anymore.

your head is light, skin buzzing, and you’re so close you can almost grasp the feeling.

"you’re absolutely perfect," he murmurs, breath warm against your cheek. "will you let me have a taste? please, darling.”

and god. you moan out a yes the second you heard him plead.

you whine when he slips his fingers out of you, the orgasm that was near fading away.

ross smiles and kisses your lower stomach, “i know, love. don’t worry, yeah? i’ll make you feel good, s’all i’ve wanted to do for ages.”

you nod and watch as he shuffles down the bed and hooks his arms under your knees to pull your legs further apart.

he lets out a groan as his eyes are fixated on your dripping wetness, “fuckin’ hell, don’t think i can ever forget this moment. you’re so beautiful.”

and before you can give him a response and tell him what he does to you he’s on you.

his tongue is lapping at you, circling your clit before dragging lower to taste all of you. he groans into you, the sound deep.

you can’t stop yourself from moving - hips bucking, thighs twitching, grinding against his face, desperate for more. but he only grips your hips harder, strong arms pinning you down like it’s nothing. like your squirming doesn’t even faze him.

you whimper, barely coherent and all you can think about is how badly you want those bruises. you want to see the outline of his fingers tomorrow. you want to remember exactly how they got there.

He groaned in pleasure at your taste as his tongue explored every inch of you he could physically reach.

his nose is rubbing against your clit and his beard feels so nice against your skin and oh god if you thought you saw heaven before, you are wrong because the moment his lips wrap against your bud angels open up the pearly gates tor you.

"oh my god" you cry out, your left hand getting a mind of its own and pulling the tie out of ross‘ hair to pull at it, "oh my fucking- oh wow"

"you taste so sweet, love" he says into you, sending another wave of pleasure through you, “even sweeter than that dessert you’ve had, i swear it.”

"really, darling, you are absolutely perfect,” he continues in between lapping at your core "wish i could’ve had you like the sooner.“

you can only moan in response, and you can feel his smile on your skin as he watches the effect he is having on you.

he admires you biting your lip as you moan for him, your face flushed, your hand in his hair... this is the best decision he has ever made- going on a blind date with you.

the sight of him between your legs, hair tousled between your fingers, eyes shut as he loses himself in the act of pleasuring you-all of it draws you closer to the edge. he’s back to moving his fingers inside of you.

he continues thrusting his fingers, trying to hit your spot every time as his tongue laps hungrily over your clit.

"fuck, ross- please don't stop..." you whimper, your legs trembling on his shoulders as you feel your release building.

he looks up at you through hooded eyes, your words urging him on. he continues eating you out, groaning against you. his hips begin to thrust against the bed, grinding his erection on the mattress, seeking some sort of friction to relieve the pleasure he feels.

he can feel you clenching down on his fingers, your walls beginning to flutter around him. he moans, the sound vibrating against your core, heightening the pleasure you feel.

he forces himself to stop grinding on the mattress, or else he'd be finishing too soon.

“let me have it, darling. come on,” he encourages.

that’s all it takes for you.

your thighs clamp around his head, your hips jolting up off the bed, and you cry out, high and breathless, one hand flying to your mouth, the other tangling in the sheets. you writhe beneath him, overstimulated and soaked, gasping through the aftershocks. you whole body is twitching, lips parted, chest heaving.

“just like that,” he whispers.

your whole body is trembling, even in the afterglow. he doesn’t pull away quickly. he stays there, between your thighs, lapping slow, soft, like he doesn’t want it to end. your fingers twitch where they rest tangled in the sheets, mouth parted in a helpless whine.

“ross-” you breathe, voice cracking around the edges.

he hums, pleased, but he finally kisses the inside of your thigh, then the other. it’s tender, like he’s grounding you. like he knows you need a moment.

when he looks up again, his beard is damp and glinting in the low amber light from your little lamp. he looks flushed and satisfied, like he’s just tasted something rare.

he crawls up your body slow, his hands dragging gently along your sides. and when he’s hovering over you, he leans in, tilts his head just a little.

“absolutely sweet,” he murmurs “want to taste?”

your stomach flips. you can only nod.

he kisses you then, deep and slow, his tongue slipping into your mouth with that same soft certainty he had when he touched you. you kiss him back, tasting yourself on him, the heat of it curling in your belly again.

when you pull back, your hand rests against his chest, and you smile- blushed and glowing.

“you’re really good at that,” you say softly, eyes not leaving his.

his smile tugs higher on one side. “yeah?”

you nod. “mhm.”

he brushes his knuckles along your cheek, eyes twinkling. “noted.”

you giggle and turn your face into his hand, suddenly shy. the weight of everything hitting you- not in a heavy way, just in the realness of it. this is happening. he’s here. and you want him.

he shifts slightly, his thumb brushing soft rhythms against your cheek.

“still alright with this?” he asks, “we don’t have to rush into anything, you know. we could go back out there, finish that wine, talk about whatever you want to talk about.”

“no,” you say, “i want this. i promise. i’m not nervous- not really. just… excited. really excited.”

he nods, his eyes fixed on yours. then he leans in again, resting his forehead against yours for a second.

“that makes two of us,” he whispers.

you wrap your legs around his waist again, heels pressing into the backs of his thighs, pulling him closer. he smiles against your mouth, hands slipping around your sides like he already knows what you’re doing, already loves how eager you are.

“someone’s keen,” he mumbles, grinning, and you kiss him instead of answering, because he’s not wrong.

you can feel him now, through his trousers-hard and hot, the weight of him resting against your thigh as you rock a little beneath him. it draws a soft groan out of him, barely there, like he’s trying not to give it too easily.

his hand slips behind your back, skilled and smooth, and your bra comes undone with one quick flick.

“god,” he mutters, before kissing his way down. “i like you so much.”

he buries his face between your breasts, kissing, licking, the scratch of his beard sending chills down your spine. then he pulls one nipple into his mouth, and your back arches off the bed.

your fingers wind through his hair, your voice breathless. “don’t wait any longer, please. i need you.”

ross groans into your skin, then lifts his head, eyes scanning your face like he’s making sure you mean it. you do. every inch of you does.

he nods, murmurs, “yeah, alright,” and climbs off the bed just enough to push down his trousers and boxers.

and then- christ.

you can’t help but look. he’s thick and flushed, heavy in his hand as he kicks the fabric away.

you grin, dazed. “jesus.”

he raises an eyebrow. “you alright there?”

you laugh a little, cheeks hot. “yeah, just- impressed.”

ross chuckles, crawling back over you. he leans down to kiss you again, mouth soft, and you pull him close, about to guide him in-

“wait,” he murmurs against your lips. “condom, love.”

you pause for half a second, then shake your head gently. “uh- i’m on the pill. and if you’re… i mean, i’m clean.”

he blinks, breath catching, and then he kisses you again, rougher this time.

“you’re mad,” he whispers against your mouth, but he doesn’t stop. doesn’t hesitate.

he’s above you, but it doesn’t feel like he’s hovering or taking- he’s just there. real. warm. looking at you like he’s never seen anything quite like it before.

your bodies are pressed together, skin to skin, hearts racing in time. his fingers trace slow patterns along your side, like he’s still memorising, still learning.

you meet his gaze, and his brows twitch just slightly- there’s something unspoken in his face, something raw.

“can’t even tell you how ridiculously nervous i am,” he says softly, like it’s just dawning on him.

you nod, breath catching in your throat. “i know,” you whisper.

he dips his head, presses his mouth to your shoulder, then your collarbone, lingering there. his voice is muffled when he says, “i really like you.”

your heart clenches. in a good way. in the way that makes your stomach flutter.

you lift your hand to his cheek and guide him to look at you. “ross,” you say gently, “you’ve got no idea how much i like you.” you smile as you kiss his cheek. “you might actually be in trouble.”

he laughs under his breath, shaking his head like you’ve knocked the wind out of him. “god, you’re trouble,” he murmurs, eyes slipping shut for a beat. “you’ve got me, completely.”

you shift beneath him a little, breath unsteady. the want is there- clear in every movement, every glance.

he notices. of course he does.

“what?” he asks, half-smiling. “what’s that look?”

you laugh, a little breathless. “are you seriously gonna make me wait?”

he grins then, eyes lighting up. “impatient.”

you shrug. “i’ve been patient. i just- want you.”

he nods once, slow. “alright, love,” he says, voice low and steady, his thumb brushing along your jaw. “no more waiting.”

you’re so wet that when he runs his shaft through your folds, slicking himself up, his tip kisses the entrance of your cunt, drawing a gasp from you and a growl from ross. you’re desperate for him to just slide in, make himself at home where he belongs, between your hips.

and when he does, it's fucking euphoric.

he pushes in slowly and halfway first, letting you get used to him.

"alright?" he asks quietly.

you nod, your voice catches in your throat as he falls out of you, just to thrust in again and let his cock dive through your soaked, swollen folds straight into your warm cunt.

“oh- fuckin hell,” he groans.

he continues to slide in fully and you both gasp in each others face when he can’t go any further.

“oh my god,” you breathe out, your eyes already rolling to the back of your head.

ross is biting down on his lip, his breathing going ragged. “can i-?’

you immediately nod and rock your hips once to encourage him.

he’s dragging his hips back and forth against yours, filling you up until his tip kisses the edge of your cervix, and pulling out until he's between your folds again.

“oh- you feel so good around me, love,” he says, holding himself up by his forearm next to your head.

you move your head and kiss him. because you can kiss him. whenever you want to now. and he feels amazing.

you both really can’t focus on the kiss which is why it’s messy and wet and so fucking sexy.

you’re holding onto him so hard that your nails are leaving imprints on his forearm.

but you're so full of him and it's perfect. you can feel every twitch, every notch, every vein; or maybe you're just convincing yourself you can. either way, mewls and moans are slipping from your lips.

"good?" he rasps in your ear, thrusting back and forth. you nod frantically, craning your neck to face him, desperate for another kiss.

he satisfies your wishes, kissing you slowly and passionately, like everything you've ever wanted.

his name slips from your lips like a prayer-ross finds it so cute because when he hits deep, your voice raises in pitch.

but he's no better, he’s been groaning in your ear since the start of it. he really cant help it.

ross lifts one of your legs up to his chest, securing his muscular arm around your thigh to keep it there. he continues his deep thrusts, only this time picking up rhythm. he also brings his other hand down to lazily rub circles in your clit.

christ.

“oh my- fuck.”

you head lolls back and your eyes roll into the back of your head. the stimulation is insanely perfect and all too much at the same time.

his hand cups your jaw, “you’re perfect,” he groans, “such a lovely girl.”

“oh- i, ross.”

his cock throbs inside you, his rhythm stuttering for half a second before he finds it again, harder this time, his fingers matching the pace.

“i know- i can feel you,” he whispers, “just- fuck.”

“i’m so-“ you choke on your own breath as another thrust knocks every last rumination from your head.

his forehead presses against yours, his lips parting against your mouth, panting, his control slipping. "so good for me.”

you body is shaking, shaking so hard that you don't even know if you're moving or if he's just pushing you through it.

“i know, love. you can do it, come on.”

"oh, oh -" your breath falters, mind going blank, the pleasure overwhelming every nerve in your body until you can't do anything but let it consume you.

"christ," he groans, feeling you clench around him so tight it nearly undoes him.

you barely register the way you're gasping, twitching, babbling out breathless little moans, vision blurring, and for a second you think you might black out.

"that’s it, sweet girl," he rasps, fucking you through it the reverberations. "so good for me."

his pace turns shallow, sharp, chasing the tight, perfect squeezing of you still thrashing around him.

"you’re so tight," he grits, hands bruising your hips, your breath still catching from your own orgasm.

you’re too gone to respond, too wrung out to do anything but whimper as he takes you, using your body to pull himself over the edge.

he groans, low and deep, his fingers tangling in your hair, his mouth ghosting over your cheek as he finally breaks.

a shudder, a muttered curse, his body jerking, hips slamming into yours as he spills inside you.

he doesn't mean to collapse, you know that, because even as his body gives out, his arms brace, still trying to be careful, even now. you want to cling to him, lock your legs around his waist, but you barely remember how to move, so you just let out a sleepy sound, nuzzling blindly at his throat.

he murmurs something low, something that sounds like praise, maybe worship.

his lips press to the side of your face, half-gone and still recovering, and then his muscles tense, trying to lift himself off you.

you arms wind around his neck before he can get too far.

he hums and smiles down at your blissed out state, “love?”

you hum. “gimme a moment.”

ross smiles, the kind that reaches his eyes even though you can’t see it. “alright,” he says, kissing your temple. “take all the time you need.”

his hand rubs slow circles into your hip, and he keeps murmuring things against your skin. soft nothings. compliments that make you flush again.

“this was so perfect,” he mumbles, kissing along your cheekbone. “you were- are- so perfect.” he sounds almost in disbelief.

you smile, eyes fluttering shut. you feel warm and giddy, and when you kiss him, it’s lazy and sweet.

eventually, he shifts and pulls out carefully. you whimper, hips twitching, and ross hisses softly. “bloody hell.”

he sits back on his heels for a moment, looking around the room, a little dazed. then he points toward the closed door across from your bed. “is that the bathroom?”

you nod. he moves to stand and bends to grab your shirt from the floor, but before he can, you push yourself up a little and say, “wait- i want yours. can i have it?”

he stops, glances at you, and his lips twitch into a grin. “course,” he picks up his black buttoned up and throws it to you. “there you go, love.”

you catch it and slip it on quickly- it’s warm, soft, smells like him.

“and i’m gonna wear yours then?” he jokes.

“nah, you’re staying shirtless,” you smirk.

ross snorts, one eyebrow raised. “course i am.”

you just smile and watch him walk into the bathroom, bare-chested, slipping on his boxers on the way. he’s back a moment later with a damp towel, and he kneels at the side of the bed.

“there,” he says almost to himself, “how are you feeling?”

he gently cleans you up. it’s tender, focused, doesn’t want to hurt you.

you hiss when he brushes over your clit, “perfect. couldn’t be better.”

“m’glad,” he brushes your knee with a kiss, tosses the towel aside, and climbs into bed next to you. you curl into his chest, his arm slipping around your back, fingers tracing your spine.

“and now what?” you ask.

ross smiles, “don’t know. i’ll do whatever you want. you want to watch something?”

“that would mean moving to the couch and i’m too tired for that,” you say, already melting into his body heat.

“like i wouldn’t carry you,” he scoffs, “but,” he draws out, “we can just enjoy each other here then, hm?”

“yeah,” you mumble.

[dinoandguitar]

Between Rounds & Rhythms

Idol!Dino x afab!medicalstudent (Hana Chae)

Part 3 Part 5

Masterlist

Part 4 : Normal’s kind of nice actually

Later that night, Hana stared at her phone long after she got home. Her shift was finally over, her body aching and her eyes heavy with sleep. Her hair still smelled faintly of antiseptic, and there was a coffee stain on her scrubs she hadn’t even noticed until she reached her apartment,but none of that mattered right now.

Not when her brain kept replaying the last hour like a highlight reel.

Lee Chan’s flushed face. His awkward, stumbling voice. That ridiculous,but oddly endearing,"medical emergency" excuse.

Her lips curled into a tired smile as she flopped onto her bed, hugging her pillow close. He was… different. Not in the usual "idol way" one would expect. But in how he looked at his friends with quiet fondness. In how he spoke with genuine warmth. In how he hadn’t complained once, even when he clearly needed rest. Just as she let out a soft sigh, a ding interrupted the silence.

[Unknown Number]

It’s Chan. Just making sure you didn’t give me a fake number.

Also, thanks again… for today.

She giggled, already typing back:

Would’ve been bad PR for the hospital.

You’re welcome :)

Almost immediately:

Lee Chan

Sooo… dinner sometime? You know... For saving my life.

Hana

...Is this your way of saying you’ll show up to the hospital again if I say no?

Lee Chan

I mean… not on purpose.

Maybe. (Joking) (Please say yes :,)

She rolled her eyes, smile growing.

Hana

Okay then.. one dinner. If you promise not to collapse again.

Chan

Yay! Deal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Within the next few days, texting Lee Chan quickly became part of Hana’s routine.

It started innocently enough- quick exchanges about his recovery, a few sarcastic comments about hospital food, an occasional meme or two. But soon, their chats evolved into something warmer. He texted her good morning before call time. She sent “don’t overdo it” reminders between shifts. They talked about their favorite late-night snacks, shows they never had time to finish, random memories from childhood, future dreams they were too tired to chase just yet. It was… effortless.

And the rest of the members of seventeen?

Oh, they noticed.

One afternoon, the group was sprawled across their practice room in various states of exhaustion after choreography drills. Dino sat tucked into a corner, back against the mirror, grinning softly as he stared at his phone.

“Okay, what’s with the look?” Seungkwan demanded, squinting at him.

"What look?” Chan asked, feigning innocence.

“The dumb, happy, flushed face one,” Mingyu added. “Like a rom-com lead who just got a text from his crush.”

Chan fumbled to lock his screen, ears already turning red. “I’m just replying to someone.”

“Someone?” Soonyoung’s eyes lit up. “Is it her? The doctor? The pretty one with the no-nonsense vibe who apparently you had met earlier?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Chan mumbled, though the way he sunk deeper into his hoodie betrayed him.

“Dude, you’ve been smiling at your phone like it sent you a love letter,” Vernon said from the couch.

Jun perked up. “Did it?”

DK gasped dramatically. “Wait, wait, wait—IS OUR MAKNE DATING A DOCTOR???”

“No!” Chan groaned. “We’re just friends... i think.. we're just texting.”

Joshua, who’d been quietly observing, finally smirked. “Mmm. Texting. Like... good morning texts? Or how-was-your-shift-you-must-be-tired kind of texts?”

Chan gave up arguing and buried his face in his arms.

“That’s a yes,” Jeonghan sang.

“Do we get to meet her?” Minghao asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Or are you going to keep this secret until the wedding?”

“There’s no wedding!” Chan cried.

“Oh my God,” Seungkwan gasped. “I’ll bring the flowers. Mingyu can cry at the altar.”

“Hey! I will,” Mingyu said proudly.

Chan groaned louder. “I hate all of you.”

Soonyoung patted his shoulder sympathetically. “That’s fine. You can hate us. Just make sure you invite us to the dinner.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After days of back-and-forth schedules, last-minute reshoots, and emergency rounds, they finally managed to meet.

The place wasn’t fancy-just a cozy, tucked-away Korean diner near a quiet street. They arrived separately, both in caps and masks, slipping into a booth in the far corner where no one paid them much attention.

They laughed over dumplings and shared food, the conversation flowing like they’d done this a hundred times before. Hana told him about the time she mistook a department head for a new intern and ended up with extra night shifts for a week. Chan admitted he used to cry before performing back when he was a trainee, anxiety gnawing at his chest.

“You?” Hana blinked. “You perform like you were born on stage.”

“I wasn’t,” he said with a sheepish smile. “I had to fight for that confidence.”

There was a quiet moment, just the two of them, the warmth between them tangible. As they stepped outside, the air crisp and cool, Hana tucked her hands into her coat.

“Are you sure this isn’t bothering you?” she asked, glancing sideways. “The whole… public thing. You being seen with someone like me.”

“Someone like you?” Chan echoed.

“I mean… not an idol. Not famous. Just… me... Normal.”

He looked at her then, really looked. “Normal's kind of nice, actually.”

Hana played it cool after hearing that. As if she didn’t just feel her heart do a dance.. You could say the same to Dino as well

And that night, after she texted him to say she got home safely, he replied—

Lee Chan

Thanks for tonight.

I haven’t felt this... calm in a long time.

Hana

Me too.

Get some rest, okay?

Lee Chan

Only if you promise to sleep and not work till 3 a.m.

Hana

No promises :D

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 5

A/N : So sorry for the long wait! Hope ya'll like it :)

Please feel free to send in requests. Also lmk if you want to be added to the Taglist.

Taglist : @neivivenaj

[sorenwolfgang]

Soren sat there, his focus completely on Vivian as she spoke. There was something about the way she spoke, the casual ease in her tone, that made him feel oddly at peace. He didn’t often get this kind of attention, the kind that made him feel like nothing else mattered in the world but this moment. It was strange but comforting. It felt like the whole world slowed down when he was listening to her, and he couldn’t help but savor it, even if it made him a little anxious, too. He smiled when she mentioned Shauni, the soft warmth in her voice making him feel like he was getting a glimpse into something deeply meaningful for her. He couldn’t relate to the sibling bond, never having grown up with someone in that way, but he could see how important it was to Vivian. He knew other foster kids but most of them walked into his life and back out of it once they got adopted. "That’s great," Soren said softly, a quiet smile on his lips. "It’s special to have someone like that in your life, even if they’re not blood. Shauni's observant. I keep noticing how she looks at everyone." His thoughts drifted briefly, wondering if he had ever experienced anything quite like that connection. He didn’t think he had. Sure, he’d lived with many kids in foster care, but those bonds were fleeting, often temporary. He didn’t keep in touch with any of them now. So hearing about Vivian’s closeness with Shauni made him feel something unexpected—maybe a little envious. He chuckled softly at her story about her parents and the coffee ban. It was so... human, the kind of funny thing that made people relatable. "Sounds like they were really trying to help, even if it didn’t quite make sense," he remarked with a soft laugh. He liked how she could find humor in even the strangest situations, how she made things feel light even when the world around them wasn’t. Then, there was the poem. When she asked about it, Soren felt that familiar flutter of nervousness, but he quickly masked it. He’d never been one to talk about his poetry, especially when it was so personal. The fact that she’d asked, though, caught him off guard. It felt like a moment of vulnerability, and Soren wasn’t exactly used to being open. Still, he didn’t want to seem distant, so he gave her an honest, if somewhat guarded, response. "Yeah, it’s about an ex," Soren said quietly, running a hand through his hair, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. "It wasn’t the healthiest relationship, but... I guess it’s a part of my past now." He noticed how Vivian shifted a bit, as if she realised she might’ve asked too much, and for a moment, Soren felt guilty for making her feel uncomfortable. He was just getting to know her, and he didn’t want to make things awkward between them. "You’re right," he said softly. "If they left, then it was for the best. It just... takes time to realise that, I guess." Her attempt at humor made him laugh, and for a moment, the tension between them seemed to melt away. He liked how she could turn serious moments into something lighter, how she could make everything feel less heavy. At her question about why he didn’t write for a living, Soren paused, thinking for a moment. It wasn’t the first time he’d been asked that, but it still made him feel uncertain. "I don’t know," he said with a slight shrug. "I guess... I write for myself, mostly. It’s hard to think about sharing it with the world, you know? There’s a lot of me in those poems, and it’s not always easy to open up like that." He hesitated for just a moment, his eyes meeting hers with a mix of genuine interest and quiet admiration. "You know," he began, his voice soft but steady, "I bet you could make better money with your photography skills. You’ve got a real eye for it." He paused, trying to find the right words. "So... what’s stopping you from sharing that with the world on a bigger scale too?"

there was something about having all his attention that made vivian feel a little strange about the whole thing, it wasn’t bad, just unfamiliar. he sat there, listening to her like there was nothing else in the world worth doing, and that had never happened to her before. but, it was the same she did while he spoke, she wanted to remember those details, he wasn’t going to ask him about it, she was going to remember those moments for future moments. "siblings can be annoying but, shauni is the best" she nodded. he had probably lived with many other kids while he was in foster care, maybe he was still friends with them, but that wasn't probably as special as the relationship she shared with shauni, they weren't blood related but she didn't care, shauni was one of the people she loved the most in this world. "i'm really lucky, that for sure" she nodded, a soft smile on her lips. at jo’s words, the girl chuckled, "i don't know if they liked the excuse though" she chuckled, "it was crazy, i think they didn't let me drink coffee for a week, in their mind i needed to get all the caffeine out of my system before getting more" she mused, she didn't know if that worked, she simply did because she wanted to rest again. vivian for a second felt like that day all over again, that question had left her mouth before she could think about overstepping. she was actually embarrassed. she noticed how soren got nervous, how he ran a hand through his hair and he blushed. not only had she overstepped when she asked him to read her one of his poems, now she found herself asking about who that poem was as if it was something he needed to share. at his mention of that beautiful poem being about an ex, the girl chewed the inner part of her cheek. "yeah, you're right" she nodded, "if they left meant that you're better off without them" she said softly, "i mean, i know what i'm talking about, i was cheated on with someone, trust me, i'm really wise in that topic" she tried to joke so the mood went back to a more light topic. "why don't you write for a living though?" she asked, "you could share your art with the world."