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doctorbitchcrxft · 22 days ago

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Mystery Spot | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: so much death. just lots of it. SMUTTTTTTTTTT (18+ MDNI!!! LEAVE!!!), car sex (yum), canon violence, canon gore,

Word Count: 7578

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Sam was incredibly insistent on working a case he’d found instead of going after Bela, much to your and Dean’s dismay. You and your partner were desperate to get your hands on her and tear her a new one.

However, you decided to humor Sam.

“I really don’t think this is gonna take that long,” you told Dean. “Should be like, a week, at most.”

You’d found a motel room in a small town in Florida. Broward County was the last place your victim had been seen. You left Sam in the room, and you and Dean went for a night drive.

“I’m runnin’ out of time, though, (Y/N). I wanna find the bitch before I croak,” he responded.

“Babe, I know. And we will,” you sighed, sadness taking over.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ‘ve brought that up,” Dean said, referring to his nearing trip downstairs.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you told him. “I know it’s constantly on your mind. It’s constantly on mine, too.”

He threw a lingering glance at you out of the corner of his eye before looking back at the road. Then, he pulled off to the side of it in a small clearing.

“Dee, what are you doing?” you asked.

Then, his lips were on yours. You let out a small squeak in surprise, but you melted into his kiss with your eyes fluttering shut. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you across his lap. You pressed yourself down onto his hips and began to grind slightly over the top of his growing bulge. Dean groaned into your mouth, and you pulled his hair back to get better access to kiss his neck. He squeezed your ass, making you inhale sharply, and he took the opportunity to push your lips back to his and away from his neck.

“Back seat,” he growled.

“Yeah,” you nodded breathlessly.

With Metallica’s “Nothing Else Matters” playing in the background, Dean pushed you down into the backseat. Grinding down onto your core, he pressed passionate kisses to your lips. You pulled at his shirt, trying to cue him to take it off.

He chuckled against your mouth. “So needy.” He continued to kiss you while he quickly got his shirt off, and then, his lips were back on yours. He started to kiss down your neck and pushed your shirt up over your stomach. “ ‘S this okay?”

You nodded breathlessly. “Please.”

Dean pulled your shirt over your head, then unhooked your bra, then peppered kisses between your breasts. You tugged on his hair, making him groan. You tried to grind your hips up against him for some sort of friction, but he used his free hand to press your hips down. You whined, and you could feel him smiling against your right nipple as he bit gently on it.

“Stop teasing,” you begged.

“All business tonight, huh?” Dean taunted.

“It’s been too long, c’mon,” you whined.

That seemed to get through to Dean, and he started to unbutton your jeans. When your breath hitched, he immediately stopped. “Are you sure you want this?”

You nodded frantically.

“Words, baby,” Dean said, voice low and rumbling in his chest.

“Please, fuck me, Dee,” you begged.

That was all the encouragement he needed. He discarded both your and his pants and quickly sheathed himself inside you. You took in a sharp breath. No matter how many times you’d had sex with Dean, the stretch was still surprising no matter how turned on you were.

Breathing heavily, he gave you a little time to adjust.

“Move. Move, please,” you keened.

Dean rolled his hips into yours slowly and kissed you deeply. This was different than the other times you’d had sex. While you’d had very passionate sex before as opposed to rough or kinky, this was just you and Dean. It was you and Dean in your rawest, most vulnerable forms.

Before Dean, the phrase “love making” made you cringe. Now, you knew what it felt like. The kind of love you and Dean had for each other was the love you’d been searching for all your life. As a little girl, Disney princess movies had always been fun for you to watch, but you weren’t sure you wanted such a mushy, fluffy love. As you got older, you read about Mr. Darcy and the way he loved Elizabeth. That was the kind of love you were searching for. And, in his own way, Dean loved you just as powerfully. With each deep thrust of his hips, he was proving it to you.

When you’d both cum, Dean laid on top your bare chest. The two of you just allowed time to pass as rain started to patter against the windows of the Impala and the Metallica cassette tape came to an end.

Despite Dean’s avoidance to verbally telling you he loved you, you found him showing you more and more frequently as of late. Whether it be the extra time he took to make sure you were okay on hunts, his protectiveness, or those secrets he’d gotten better and better at sharing with you, there was no doubt in your mind Dean loved you. He would clean your guns without you asking, sharpen your knives, and replace your sets of your favorite black ink pens when you’d run out of ink for your journaling and sketching. When you smiled at him, it looked as though he was studying your facial expression as if to imprint it on his mind.

You’d noticed him trying his best to tame his wandering eyes and flirtatious remarks to himself at the beginning of your relationship, and now, it wasn’t even a conscious effort. You seemed to be the only woman on the planet in his eyes, which was shocking considering the way he acted when you met him. All these things he did to make you feel more secure in your relationship proved to you how much he loved you.

With that in mind, you pressed a kiss to the top of Dean’s head and noticed he’d drifted off. You smiled thoughtfully and raked your hands through his hair to soothe him.

***

A day later, you woke up to the sound of Asia’s “Heat of the Moment” playing loudly through the radio on the nightstand between the bed you shared with Dean and Sam’s bed.

“Rise and shine, Sammy!” Dean laughed. He sat on the end of your bed, tying his shoes.

You pushed his back with your feet still under the covers. “Get your shoes off my bed, Winchester!”

“Dude, Asia?” Sam scoffed.

Dean hummed. “Come on. You love this song, and you know it.”

“Yeah, and if I ever hear it again, I'm gonna kill myself.”

Dean turned up the volume. “What? Sorry, couldn't hear you.”

You giggled, still trying to push Dean off the bed, and he suddenly flopped back down across your body. “What’s gotten into you?” you asked regarding his bright-eyed and bushy-tailed demeanor.

“I got to fuck my baby in my baby. What could be better?”

Sam groaned. “Ew, guys. Dean? Shut up.”

You grabbed a pillow and chucked it at Sam. Then, you got up and moved to the bathroom. Dean slipped a hand on the small of your back and came to brush his teeth next to you. Sam took the only remaining spot at the other sink and did the same. In the midst of you and Sam brushing your teeth, Dean gargled his spit obnoxiously.

You and Sam were disgusted, and Dean did not hide his excitement at that fact.

Next, you got dressed in the bathroom. When you headed back into the bedroom, Dean was rummaging through his duffel bag. He pulled out your black, lacy bra. “This yours?” he asked Sam.

“Dean!” you shrieked, grabbing it out of his hands and shoving it back in his bag.

He laughed before rummaging around some more and pulling out his Taurus. “Bingo.” He got up and headed toward the door. “Now, who’s ready for some breakfast?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling lopsidedly, and headed out to the car behind him.

***

The cashier was talking to an old man as you entered the diner. It was quite small, and the wood paneling on the walls was likely making the room feel smaller.

You found a booth and sat down, and Dean sat next to you. Sam sat across the table, somewhat between you and Dean on the opposite bench.

Dean noticed a poster on the wall. “Hey, Tuesday. Pig in a poke.”

“You even know what that is?” Sam grimaced.

The waitress, whose name tag read “Doris,” came up to your table. “You folks ready?”

Dean grinned. “Yes. I'll have the special, side of bacon, and a coffee.”

“Make it two coffees and a short stack,” said Sam.

“How ‘bout you, darlin’?” Doris asked you.

“I’ll take a coffee and a short stack, too. Thanks,” you smiled.

“You got it,” Doris nodded.

“I'm telling you, Sam, this job is small fry. We should be spending our time hunting down Bela,” Dean said quietly.

“Okay, sure, let's get right on that. Where is she again?” Sam remarked.

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled.

“Look. Believe me, I want to find her as bad as you do. In the meantime, we have this.” Sam pulled out a newspaper.

“Alright, so, this professor—” Dean began to read over the headline.

“Dexter Hasselback was passing through town last week when he vanished,” Sam informed.

“Last known location?” you asked.

“His daughter says he was on his way to visit the Broward County Mystery Spot,” Sam replied.

You looked down at the flier Sam had put in front of you.

Dean pulled it slightly closer to him for a better view. He read off the back of the paper, “Where the laws of physics have no meaning.”

You snickered.

Doris arrived with a tray of coffees. “Three coffees, black, and some hot sauce for the—” Doris gasped and cut herself off when the hot sauce teetered and fell off the tray. The bottle smashed to bits on the ground. “Whoops. Crap! Sorry.” She turned around to the back of house. “Cleanup!”

***

After finishing breakfast, you walked down the street hand in hand with Dean. He’d been growing more and more touchy as of late; undoubtedly as his time was drawing nearer.

A golden retriever barking pulled you out of your thoughts.

You gasped, “Puppy!” and turned your head over your shoulder to look at it.

Dean chuckled. “What are you, five?”

You shrugged. “What? I like dogs.”

Dean reached over and grabbed the Mystery Spot flier from Sam’s hands. “Sam, joints like this are only tourist traps, right? I mean, you know, balls rolling uphill, furniture nailed to the ceiling, they're only dangerous to your wallet.”

“Okay, look, I'm just saying, there are spots in the world where holes open up and swallow people. The Bermuda Triangle, uh, the Oregon Vortex—”

You cut Sam off. “Broward County Mystery Spot?”

“Well, sometimes these places are legit,” the younger brother shrugged.

“Okay, so if it is legit—” you began.

“And that’s a big ass ‘if’,” Dean interjected.

“What’s the lore?” you finished, shooting a glance at Dean.

Dean accidentally bumped into a blonde girl who was carrying a stack of papers and bustling past.

“Excuse me,” she said.

“The lore's pretty fuckin’ nuts, actually,” Sam responded. “They say these places the magnetic fields are so strong that they can bend spacetime, sending victims no one knows where.”

“Sounds a little ‘X-Files’ to me,” Dean scoffed.

You watched two movers try to get a desk through the door of an apartment complex.

“Told you it wouldn't fit,” one of them said.

“What do you want, a Pulitzer?” the other replied.

“Alright, look, I'm not saying this is really happening, but if it is, we gotta check it out; see if we can do something,” Sam continued.

“Alright, alright, we'll go tonight after they close; get ourselves a nice long look,” Dean conceded.

*** Later that night, you did just as Dean said. The man in question was shining his flashlight around the glow-in-the-dark objects. Just as he’d said, there were various pieces of furniture nailed to the ceiling. “Wow, uncanny,” he commented. Dean moved his flashlight in your direction where you inspected a lamp at an angle to the floor. “Find anything?”

“No. Sammy?”

He held an unresponsive EMF meter. “No.”

“You have any idea what you're looking for?” Dean questioned his brother.

“Uh…” Sam trailed off. “Yeah.”

You shot Sam a look.

“No,” he admitted.

You shook your head, smiling a bit.

Suddenly, a gun was pointing directly at your forehead. “What the hell are you doing here?” the voice behind the gun questioned angrily. He appeared to be the owner of the Mystery Spot.

“Whoa, whoa!” Dean said, holding his hands up in surrender. The owner moved his gun to point it at Dean.

“We can explain,” the older brother continued.

“You robbing me?!” the man shouted.

“Nobody’s robbing you, I swear,” you said.

“Don’t move!” the owner roared.

“Just putting the gun down,” Dean explained, moving very slowly.

The owner fired unexpectedly, and you shrieked in surprise. “Dean!” You rushed to his side as he fell to the ground, breathing laboriously.

“Oh, my god. Dean!” you cried, his breaths becoming more and more choked.

“Hey!” Sam shouted at the owner. “Call 9-1-1!”

“I—I didn't mean to—”

You cut the man off. “Now!” The owner left.

You cradled Dean’s head in your lap. “Oh, my god. Not like this, please…” Tears welled in your eyes. “Not yet.”

Dean choked out one last breath, and then he went still; his eyes closed.

You closed your eyes and rested your forehead against his.

“Heat of the moment,” you heard Asia singing.

Confused, your eyes snapped open.

“Rise and shine, Sammy!” Dean laughed. He sat on the end of your bed, tying his shoes.

Dean looked to Sam, waiting for a reaction. “Dude. Asia.”

You shot up and looked over at the younger Winchester for any validation that you weren’t going crazy.

He seemed confused, too. “Dean?”

Okay, so maybe you weren’t alone in this.

Dean hummed. “Come on. You love this song, and you know it.” He grooved along to the song just as he had— yesterday? In your dream?— you weren’t sure.

Then, you got up and moved to the bathroom. You just needed to get away and try to come to grips with what was happening. Next, Dean slipped a hand on the small of your back and came to brush his teeth next to you. Sam took the only remaining spot at the other sink and did the same. In the midst of you and Sam brushing your teeth, Dean gargled his spit obnoxiously.

Noticing that you and Sam had no reaction, he deflated and spit. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you and Sam responded in unison.

“Just had a weird dream, that’s all,” you said.

Sam shot you a curious look. “Me, too.”

Dean looked between the two of you, expression somewhere between confusion and upset. “Clowns or midgets?” Dean asked.

You rolled your eyes. Next, you got dressed in the bathroom. When you headed back into the bedroom, Dean was rummaging through his duffel bag. He pulled out your black, lacy bra. “This yours?” he asked Sam.

“Dean!” you shrieked, grabbing it out of his hands and shoving it back in his bag.

He laughed before rummaging around some more and pulling out his Taurus. “Bingo.” He got up and headed toward the door. “Now, who’s ready for some breakfast?”

You rolled your eyes and headed out to the car behind him.

“(Y/N), (Y/N), wait,” Sam called after you.

You stopped just before the door.

“You—”

You nodded. “It’s like de ja vu, man, it’s weird.”

“What the hell is happening?” Sam asked.

***

The cashier was talking to an old man as you entered the diner. It was quite small, and the wood paneling on the walls was likely making the room feel smaller; just like yesterday.

You found a booth and sat down, and Dean sat next to you. Sam sat across the table, somewhat between you and Dean on the opposite bench.

Dean noticed a poster on the wall. “Hey, Tuesday. Pig in a poke.”

“It’s Tuesday?!” you and Sam asked in surprise.

Dean looked between you and Sam. “Yeah…?”

The waitress, whose name tag read “Doris,” came up to your table. “You folks ready?”

Dean grinned. “Yes. I'll have the special, side of bacon, and a coffee.”

“Nothing for me, thanks,” said Sam.

“Let me know if you change your mind. How ‘bout you, darlin’?” Doris asked you.

“I’ll take a coffee and a short stack. Thanks,” you smiled uncomfortably.

“You got it,” Doris nodded.

“I'm telling you, Sam, this job is small fry. We should be spending our time hunting down Bela,” Dean said quietly.

You stared after Doris, and Dean snapped his fingers in front of your face. “You guys with me?”

You shook your head. “You really don’t… remember any of this?”

“Remember what?” he asked.

“This,” Sam began. “Today. Like it's— like it's happened before?”

“You mean like déjà vu?” Dean asked.

“No, I mean like, like it's really happened before,” Sam replied.

“Yeah. Like déjà vu.”

“No, Dee,” you said. “What he’s saying is, it feels like we’re living yesterday all over again.”

“Okay, how is that not dé—”

Sam angrily cut his brother off. “Don't, don't say it! Just don't even—”

Doris came back to the table with a tray with two coffees and a hot sauce. “Two coffees, black, and some hot sauce for the—oops! Crap!” Sam caught the hot sauce bottle as it fell, and he seemed a little stunned by his own action.

Doris gasped. “Thanks.” She put down the bottle and left.

Dean looked confused. “Nice reflexes.”

You and Sam were frustrated, and you just stared down at the steaming coffee in front of you.

***

After finishing breakfast, you walked down the street hand in hand with Dean.

A golden retriever barking pulled you out of your thoughts.

You turned to look at it as you passed.

“Guys, I’m sorry, but I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Dean sighed.

“Okay, look,” Sam huffed. “Yesterday was Tuesday, right? But today is Tuesday too.”

“Yeah. No. Good. You're totally balanced,” Dean deadpanned.

“Why don’t you believe us, Dean?” you asked, frustrated with the whole situation.

Dean laughed as he collided with the blonde girl holding papers and bustling past yet again.

“Excuse me,” she said.

“Look, I'm just saying that it's crazy, you know, I mean, even for us crazy. ‘Dingo ate my baby’ crazy. Hey, maybe it was another of your psychic premonitions.” Dean was clearly reaching.

“How does that explain me, then?” you challenged.

“I— I don’t know,” Dean sighed. “You’re—”

“Careful,” you warned.

Dean closed his mouth at your firm stare.

“Listen, we were at the Mystery Spot, and then—” Sam cut himself off.

“And then what?” Dean prompted.

Sam paused, appearing as if he didn’t want to say. “Then, I woke up.”

You watched two movers try to get a desk through the door of an apartment complex.

“Told you it wouldn't fit,” one of them said.

“What do you want, a Pulitzer?” the other replied.

Sam snapped his fingers at you. “Wait a minute! The Mystery Spot. You think maybe it— “ The younger brother cut himself off again.

“Maybe what?” Dean asked.

“We gotta check that place out. Look, just – go with me on this, okay?” Sam said.

“I agree,” you added.

“Alright, alright, we'll go tonight after they close, get ourselves a nice long look,” Dean conceded.

Sam stopped in his tracks, as did you.

“No, no,” you rushed out.

“Wait, what?” Sam exclaimed simultaneously. “No!”

“Whoa,” Dean dropped your hand and looked between you and Sam. “Why not?”

“Uh,” Sam thought aloud, “Let's just go now. Right now. Business hours, nice and crowded.”

“My god, you're a freak.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“Dean,” you warned again.

“Okay! Whatever. We'll go now,” he sighed. Dean walked a few feet ahead of you and his brother and looked to his right. Suddenly, a car slammed into him from his left.

“Dean!” you and Sam cried.

You ran to the spot where Dean laid face down in the street. You rolled his head over into your lap, and his face was covered in bloodied scrapes. “No, no, no, not again.”

Again, you rested your forehead against Dean’s, hugging his body close to yours, and closed your eyes.

“Heat of the moment,” Asia sang.

Your eyes snapped open again.

“Rise and shine, Sammy!” Dean laughed. He sat on the end of your bed, tying his shoes.

Your heart dropped.

***

Dean noticed a poster on the wall of the diner. “Hey, Tuesday. Pig in a poke.”

“Okay, would you listen to me, Dean? 'Cause I am flipping out,” Sam said.

You were flipping out as well, so much so that it felt like your brain was short circuiting to where you couldn’t speak.

The waitress, whose name tag read “Doris,” came up to your table. “You folks ready?”

“He'll take the special, side of bacon, coffee, black. Nothing for me, thanks,” Sam said.

“How ‘bout you, darlin’?” Doris asked you.

“I’ll take a coffee and a short stack. Thanks,” you smiled uncomfortably.

“You got it,” Doris nodded.

“Sammy, I get all tingly when you take control like that,” Dean snarked.

You hit his shoulder lightly. “Shut up.”

“Quit fucking around, Dean,” Sam groaned.

“Okay. Okay. I'm listening. So- so, you think that you guys ‘re in some kind of a— what again?”

“Time loop,” you and Sam replied simultaneously.

“Like Groundhog Day,” the older brother said monotonously.

“Yes, exactly,” Sam nodded. “Like Groundhog Day.”

Dean nodded skeptically.

“So you don't believe us,” you said, feeling defeated.

Dean laughed. “It's just a little crazy, I mean even for us crazy, you know, like, uh—”

“ ‘Dingo ate my baby’ crazy?” you cut him off.

Dean turned to you sharply. “How'd you know I was going to say that?”

“Because you said it before, Dean, that's our whole point,” Sam responded.

Doris came back to the table with a tray with two coffees and a hot sauce. “Two coffees, black, and some hot sauce for the— oops! Crap!”

Sam caught the hot sauce bottle as it fell, and he didn’t even have to look at it to do so.

Doris gasped. “Thanks.” She put down the bottle and left.

Dean looked confused. “Nice reflexes.”

“No, I knew it was going to happen.”

“So did I,” you added.

Dean sighed. “Okay, look. I'm sure that there's some sort of an explanation—”

“You're just going to have to go with me on this, Dean, you just have to, you owe me that much!” Sam exclaimed.

“Sam, calm down,” you chastised.

“Don't tell me to calm down! I can't calm down. I can't. Because—” the younger brother cut himself off.

“Because what?” Dean pressed.

Sam couldn’t answer.

“Because you die today, Dee,” you said softly.

He tilted your chin up with his first two fingers. “I'm not gonna die. Not today.”

“We’ve watched you die twice now, and I—” you grabbed Dean’s wrist. “I can’t do it again. I won’t. Please, just go with us on this. Please.”

“Alright,” Dean nodded, “Okay. We’ll figure it out.”

You rested your forehead against his and nodded.

Sam sat across from you watching, and Dean cleared his throat awkwardly. He pointed at Sam. “I still think you’re nuts, but we’ll figure it out.”

***

After finishing breakfast, you walked down the street hand in hand with Dean.

A golden retriever barking pulled you out of your thoughts. You turned to look at it as you passed.

Dean collided with the blonde girl holding papers and bustling past yet again.

“Excuse me,” she said.

You watched two movers try to get a desk through the door of an apartment complex.

“Told you it wouldn't fit,” one of them said.

“What do you want, a Pulitzer?” the other replied.

Dean’s mind was still racing over the situation, and you could very clearly see the wheels in his head turning. “And you think this cheesy-ass tourist trap has something to do with it?” he asked out of the blue.

“Maybe it's the real deal, you know? The— the magnetic fields bending spacetime, or whatever,” Sam suggested.

The older brother tsked. “I don't know, it all seems a little too ‘X-Files’ for me.”

“Well, I don't know how else to explain it, Dean!” Sam snapped.

“Alright, alright, we'll go tonight after they close, get ourselves a nice long look,” Dean conceded.

“No!” you cried, stopping in your tracks. “No! We can’t.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because—!” You shook your head and looked away, unable to finish.

“Because what?” Dean questioned. It dawned on him suddenly. “I die there?”

“Blown away, actually,” Sam muttered.

“Huh. Okay, let's go now,” said Dean. He walked a few feet ahead of you and his brother and looked to his right. Before he could step out into the street, you and Sam grabbed him and pulled him back from nearly being hit by the car speeding past.

“Stay out of the way!” the man driving the car yelled.

Dean laughed, staring after the car, until he saw your and Sam’s faces. “Wait, did he—?”

“Yesterday. Yeah,” Sam nodded.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “And?”

“And what?” you scoffed.

“Did it look cool, like in the movies?” Dean grinned widely.

Sam rolled his eyes. “You peed yourself.” He walked off.

Dean immediately got uncomfortable. “Of course I peed myself. Man gets hit by a car, you think he has full control over his bladder? Come on!”

“You didn’t,” you told him. “And it did look like the movies.”

Dean smiled with boyish pride before holding you back while he looked both ways across the street.

***

“Folks, I can't tell you how much I appreciate this. We could use all the good ink we can get,” the owner of the Mystery Spot told you.

“How long have you owned the place, Mr. Carpiak?” Sam asked.

“Well, my family's been guarding the secrets here since you don't want to know when.” Of course, he kept up the act.

“So you'd know if anything strange happened,” the brunet continued.

The owner chuckled. “Strange? Strange happens here all the time. It's a Mystery Spot.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

“Well, uh, it's where the laws of physics have no meaning.”

Clearly, Sam was getting fed up. “Okay, like how?”

“Take the tour,” the owner grinned.

“The guy who went missing, Dexter Hasselback, he take the tour?” asked Dean.

The owner’s smile dropped. “Uh, uh, hold on a minute, what kind of article is this?”

“Just answer the question,” you demanded, patience wearing thinner than Sam’s.

“The police scoured every inch of this place. They couldn't find that man. I never seen him before. We're a family establishment—”

You stepped to him, shoving the pen in his face. “There is something weird going on here. Now, do you know anything about it, or not?”

The owner stiffened, staring at the end of the pen that he was keeping his distance from. “Okay. Look. Guys, um, give me a break. I bought the joint at a foreclosure auction last March, alright? Hell, I used to sell bail bonds.”

You continued to stare him down.

“Okay, Anne Lewis, let’s get some air,” Dean grumbled, steering you away from the man.

You weren’t angry at Dean, but you were upset with the entire situation. You shrugged Dean off as you hit the street outside.

“Well, I hate to say it, but that place is exactly what I thought: it's full of crap,” Dean remarked.

“Then what is it, Dean? What the hell is happening to us?” Sam argued.

“I don't know,” he sighed. “Alright, let me just— So, every day I die.”

You nodded.

“And that’s when you two wake up again, right?”

You nodded again.

“So let's just make sure I don't die,” Dean finished simply. “If I make it to tomorrow, then maybe the loop stops and we can figure all this out.”

“Just… that easy? I don’t know, Dean,” you shook your head.

“It's worth a shot,” your partner shrugged. “I say we grab some takeout and head back to the motel, lay low until midnight.”

You nodded, hopeful and anxious.

“Alright,” Dean beamed. “Who wants Chinese?”

He started walking again and got two steps in before a falling desk crushed him completely. It felt like the air was crushed out of you, and you looked up at the movers from the window who’d dropped the desk. You dropped your head back and closed your eyes.

“Heat of the moment,” Asia sang again.

‘I’m gonna go fucking crazy,’ you thought, staring at the ceiling.

“Rise and shine, Sammy!”

***

One-hundred Tuesdays. You’d been through one-hundred Tuesdays, and there was no end in sight. No matter what you and Sam did, talked about, or tried to change the daily routine, nothing worked. Dean had gotten food poisoning, been electrocuted, choked, been shot— he’d died every way you thought a person possibly could.

You were so frustrated, you thought you were going to end up dying next by your own hands.

You found a booth and sat down, and Dean sat next to you. Sam sat across the table, somewhat between you and Dean on the opposite bench.

Dean noticed a poster on the wall. “Hey, Tuesday. Pig in a poke.”

Sam placed a set of keys on the table; Mr Pickett’s, the man who’d hit Dean with his car on your second Tuesday.

“What are those?” Dean asked, clearly bewildered.

“The old man's. Trust me, you don't want him behind the wheel.” Sam’s voice was scarily devoid of emotion.

The waitress, whose name tag read “Doris,” came up to your table. “You folks ready?”

Dean grinned. “Yes. I'll have the special, side of bacon, and a coffee.”

‘Hi, angel,” you said curtly. “How ‘bout you log in some more hours at the archery range. You’re a pretty awful shot.”

“How'd you know that?” she asked, looking both startled and hurt.

“I’m not gonna answer that question,” you replied.

Doris walked away from your table, clearly uncomfortable.

“Okay, so you think you're caught in some kind of what, again?” Dean asked you and his brother.

“TIme loop,” you and Sam answered in unison.

“Like Groundhog Day,” Dean said, unsettled by you and Sam talking at the same time.

“Doesn't matter. There's no way to stop it,” you and Sam said again.

“What is wrong with you two?” Dean asked, looking between the two of you in concern and confusion.

“This is the hundredth Tuesday we’ve been through, Dean,” you said. “And it never fucking stops.”

“Hot sauce,” you and Sam stated together.

Doris came back to the table with a tray with two coffees and a hot sauce. “One coffee, black, and some hot sauce for the—oops! Crap!” Sam caught the hot sauce bottle as it fell, and he didn’t even have to look at it to do so. His face was stony as he slid it across the table.

Doris gasped. “Thanks.” She put down the bottle and left.

Dean looked confused. “Nice reflexes.”

“We knew it was gonna happen, Dean,” you and the brunet continued together.

“We know everything that’s gonna happen,” Sam said on his own.

Dean scoffed. “You don't know everything.”

“Yeah. We do,” you argued.

“Yeah, right,” the three of you droned together, you and Sam copying Dean’s dry tone. “Nice guess.”

“It wasn’t a guess,” you and Sam said.

“Right, you’re mind readers,” the three of you remarked. “Cut it out, Sam.” Dean looked to you. “(Y/N)!” you and Sam whispered sharply with Dean. “Stay out of this, (Y/N).”

Dean was growing frustrated, and the three of you leaned together to continue your memorized conversation. “You think you're being funny but you're being really, really childish!” You paused in time with Dean. “Sam Winchester wears makeup. Sam Winchester cries his way through sex. Sam Winchester keeps a ruler by the bed and every morning when he wakes up he—”

Dean threw up his hands. “Okay, enough!”

“That's not all,” you said.

“Randy the cashier?” Sam continued for you. “He's skimming from the register. Judge Myers? At night, he puts on a furry bunny outfit.”

“Over there, that's Cal. He's gonna rob Tony the mechanic on the way home,” you nodded at the man.

“What’s your point?” asked Dean.

“We’ve lived through every possible Tuesday,” you explained. “Sam’s ripped the fucking Mystery Spot apart, I burnt it down, and we’ve both tried everything we know to save your life.”

“But we can’t,” added Sam. “No matter what we do, you die. And then, I wake up. And then, it's Tuesday again.”

***

After finishing breakfast, you walked down the street hand in hand with Dean.

“Dog,” Sam pointed out.

A golden retriever barking pulled you out of your thoughts.

“There's gotta be some way out of this,” Dean exasperated.

“ ‘Where’s my damn keys?’ “ you and Sam mocked Mr. Pickett.

You passed him searching his pockets for the keys Sam stole. “Where’s my damn keys?”

Dean collided with the blonde girl holding papers and bustling past yet again.

“Excuse me,” she said.

Dean stopped walking. “Hey. All the times we've walked down this street, I ever do this?” He turned to go back to the blonde girl. “Excuse me, miss!”

You sighed. “No.”

The blonde gave Dean one of her papers which you knew was a missing poster for her father, Dexter Hasselback. You’d spoken to her before around Tuesday sixty-seven.

The dog growled and barked at Dean, and this was exactly what you were worried about. You tried to hold the dog back, but it still brutally attacked Dean. You closed your eyes again, not even wanting to see Dean lying dead on the concrete.

“Heat of the moment.”

***

The cashier was talking to an old man as you entered the diner. It was quite small, and the wood paneling on the walls was likely making the room feel smaller; just like yesterday. And the day before that. Everything was as it should be, but something was really bothering you you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Sam typed away at his laptop researching Dexter Hasselback having finally thought to do so when he got the chance over the last twenty or so Tuesdays.

You barely listened to the conversation between the two boys as you finished breakfast. When you got up from the booth, it dawned on you what was wrong. The man at the table next to you had used strawberry syrup.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked you.

You saw the man who usually sat at that table passing by the diner windows. “He always has maple syrup.”

Sam caught on to what you were suggesting. “(Y/N), you’re a genius.”

“Someone wanna bring me into the loop, here?” Dean’s voice broke in.

“Nothing ever changes here, Dean,” you said. “Just us.”

“Heat of the moment.”

***

You confronted the trickster, who, surprisingly, was the one you thought you’d killed back at that college. Somehow, though, he survived.

“Why are you doing this?” Sam demanded, still having the trickster pinned to the wall with the steak.

“You're joking, right?” the trickster snorted. “You chuckleheads tried to kill me last time. Why wouldn't I do this?”

“And Hasselback, what about him?” Dean questioned.

“That putz? He said he didn't believe in wormholes, so I dropped him in one.” The creature laughed at his own joke. “Then you guys showed up. I made you the second you hit town.”

“So, this is fun for you? Killing Dean over and over?” you asked angrily.

“One, yes. It is fun. And two?” He turned his attention away from just you to you and Sam. “This is so not about killing Dean. This joke is on you, Sam. Watching your brother die, every day? Forever?”

“You son of a bitch,” Sam growled.

“And my lovely (Y/N).” The trickster zeroed in on you again. “Joke’s on you, too. But you… you’re a lot more fun to push to your limits than Sam is.”

“And why is that?” you snarled.

“Because you’ll actually give me something interesting to watch. I can’t wait to see what kinda magic you make when Dean goes to Hell,” the trickster laughed.

Despite how his words rattled you, you kept your face steely.

“How long will it take you two to realize?” the creature continued to taunt. “You can’t save him. No matter what.”

“Oh yeah? I kill you, this all ends now,” Sam pushed back.

The trickster’s smirk dropped. “Oh-oh, hey, whoa! Okay. Look. I was just playing around. You can't take a joke, fine. You're out of it. Tomorrow, you'll wake up and it'll be Wednesday. I swear.”

“You’re lying!” you sneered.

“If I am, you know where to find me. Having pancakes at the diner,” he grinned.

You looked to Sam, refusing to look at Dean and let him see the emotions swirling in your eyes.

Sam kept his gaze on the trickster. “No. Easier to just kill you.”

“Sorry, kiddo. Can’t have that,” the trickster tsked and snapped his fingers.

“Promise me, I’ll be back in time,” Huey Lewis & The News sang.

You snapped up, back in bed in your motel room.

“What, you two gonna sleep all day?” Dean asked you and Sam. He stood near the bathroom sink.

“No Asia,” you breathed out.

“Yeah, I know. This station sucks.”

“It's Wednesday!” Sam exclaimed.

“Yeah, usually comes after Tuesday. Turn that thing off, will you?” Dean asked, gesturing to the radio closest to you.

Sam grinned. “What, are you kidding me? This isn't the most beautiful song you've ever heard?”

��No,” Dean snorted. “How many Tuesdays did you guys have?”

“Had to have been, like, one-hundred thirty,” you noted. “Hey, wait. What do you remember?”

“I remember you guys were pretty whacked out of it yesterday, and then, I remember running into the Trickster. But no, that's about it.”

“Alright, pack your stuff,” Sam asserted. “Let’s get the hell out of town. Now.”

“No breakfast?” Dean pouted.

“No breakfast,” you smiled lopsidedly, kissing his cheek as you moved to the bathroom to get dressed.

Dean headed down to the car while you and Sam continued to pack. A few minutes of silence passed between you and Sam before you suddenly heard a gunshot.

Your heads snapped toward each other, and you were instantly speeding out of the door to see if Dean was okay or needed help.

You hurried down the exterior motel stairs, and you made your way around the back of the Impala. To your horror, Dean splayed out on the ground with blood rapidly soaking his shirt.

“Oh, god,” you breathed out, dropping to your knees and ignoring the gravel digging into your jeans. “No, no, no, Dean! Baby, look at me!” You pulled his head into your lap as you’d done many Tuesdays before.

Sam was trying to close his eyes to make something happen. “I’m supposed to wake up. (Y/N), we’re supposed to wake up.”

Your heart dropped. “Somebody help!” you brokenly screamed, tears pouring down your cheeks. “Help us!”

***

Six months later, you were a shell of a human. No matter how many demons you hunted down, ghosts you’d popped, or monsters you’d slaughtered, you were unsatisfied.

You hadn’t spoken to Sam in months. You hadn’t seen Bobby for even longer. It was lonely, but you only wanted Dean. Bobby left numerous voicemails, but you hadn’t heard from Sam. You figured he was doing just as well as you were.

Sam had the Impala, and you kept stealing cars. The FBI was on your tail after St. Louis and Maryland and the bank robbery, and even more so now with your trail of stolen cars. However, you had gotten very good at leading them away.

No wound you sustained was enough to shake your emotionless expression. You’d become a weapon; a mindless, killing machine. And you could only imagine what Dean was experiencing in Hell. That thought haunted you. You knew you had to get downstairs to help him some kind of way, but you hadn’t quite figured out how to ensure your one-way ticket to Hell.

Well, you’d thought of a few possibilities, but you weren’t sure you were ready to do something that drastic.

Another thing you were mulling over was what the trickster had said to you. “I can’t wait to see what kinda magic you make when Dean goes to Hell.” You wondered if this was what he was talking about. Was this what he’d imagined you’d be? Was there a worse fate to be discovered?

Sleep was not your friend lately. You’d stay up rereading your journal entries from the years you’d spent with Dean and imagine the way your drawings would look in real life. If you couldn’t handle that as it was oftentimes painful, you’d just sit beside the window in the dark staring into the moonlight and imagine that Dean was sleeping in the bed across the room from you.

A few years ago, you would have made fun of yourself for your life having fallen apart after the death of the man you loved. You were always incredibly independent, and this breakdown would have been incredibly out of character for you to act this way before Dean.

Now, you sat at the table in the motel room illuminated by the lamplight eating takeout.

Suddenly, the trickster appeared in front of you. “Holy Full Metal Jacket, (Y/N). Gotta say, sweetheart, if this is you now? I can’t wait to see the real deal.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, unsure what to do in this situation. You didn’t have a stake on hand, and you hadn’t really been paying attention to the trickster recently. You didn’t see a point in it given Dean was gone either way.

“What, you really thought Dean was doin’ the hellfire rumba?” he tsked. “I gave you more credit than I should’ve, looks like.”

“Wait, this was all a trick?” You stood from your chair angrily.

“Whoa there, Megan Turner,” he chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender. “Sam’s given me a deal. I’m here to put you two out of your misery.”

“Then why come and talk to me instead of just do it?” you asked.

“Because! It’s more fun this way. It’ll be the last time I talk to you, hopefully. A little sentimental, no?” the creature smirked.

You folded your arms. “Not really. But what do you want? Why stall?” “ ‘Cause I have a few parting words for you,” he replied. “You were a little quicker on the uptake than Sam to realize that you can’t save Dean from Hell. At least, not before he takes the plunge.” You looked at him in surprise. Did he know what you were planning to do?

“Yes, angelface, I know exactly what’s been swirlin’ around in that head of yours,” he continued without you saying a word to him. “And your little plan is bat crap crazy, but like I said before, I can’t wait to see what you do, kiddo. You’ve always been my favorite of the Three Stooges.”

It was as if your brain wasn’t quite processing what he was saying, and you just kept staring ahead with your arms folded.

“Good luck out there, champ.”

“Promise me, I’ll be back in time,” Huey Lewis & The News sang.

You snapped up, back in bed in your motel room.

“What, you two gonna sleep all day?” Dean asked you and Sam. He stood near the bathroom sink. “I know, no Asia. This station sucks.”

“It's Wednesday!” Sam exclaimed.

“Yeah, usually comes after Tuesday. Turn that thing off, will you?” Dean asked, gesturing to the radio closest to you.

Tears rushing to your eyes, you leapt out of bed and ran into Dean’s arms. He made a sound in surprise but quickly returned your hug with your same ferocity.

“Sweetheart, how many Tuesdays did you have?” he asked you.

“Enough,” you muttered into his chest.

“What, uh, what do you remember?” Sam asked, awkwardly standing near.

“I remember you guys were pretty whacked out of it yesterday, and then, I remember running into the Trickster. But no, that's about it.”

Sam nodded. “Let's go.”

“No breakfast?” Dean pouted.

“No breakfast,” you smiled lopsidedly, kissing his cheek as you moved to the bathroom to get dressed.

“Alright, I'll pack the car,” said Dean.

“Oh, hell no,” you replied from behind the closed door in the bathroom.

“It's the parking lot, sweetheart.”

“Just— just trust her,” you heard Sam tell him.

“Hey, you don't look so good. Something else happen?” Dean asked Sam.

There was silence on the other side of the door for a moment. “I just had a really weird dream,” Sam finally replied.

You could hear the smirk in Dean’s voice. “Clowns or midgets?”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

#dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #supernatural #supernatural series rewrite #spn #spn series rewrite

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thisismeracing · 10 months ago

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Heartdresser | LH44

― Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x braider!reader ― Warning: mentions of a brother, social media au mixed with regular writing, tooth-rotting fluff, fem!reader (she/her); - 2.8k words + social media setting. ― Summary: When Lewis finds himself just a couple days away from a racing weekend and without his usual braids he desperately searches for suggestions of available hairdressers in the area. As the saying goes, love can come from the most unexpected places, and Lewis is about to discover that this is, in fact, true. (based on this request)

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Being a Formula One Driver had its perks, from obvious and big things such as traveling everywhere to not-so-obvious and small things like having your hair stylist travel to you when you needed them. After becoming an adult and famous, it took Lewis a couple of years to come to terms with his hair, how to style it, how to take care of it, and how to embrace the texture and volume. He felt finally whole when he reached that point, one where meaningless comments on the internet wouldn’t make him rethink his path, goals, and achievements. Of course, comments hurt, but being comfortable with yourself helped, and that was something Lewis learned.

Now, his braids were part of him. The hairstyle being associated with his image in the blink of an eye. Something that made him feel handsome, and connected with his roots. Something that seemed to help other young black boys around, who started to see themselves as stylish and handsome too.

That’s the main reason why he was so frustrated when his braider called him to tell them they couldn’t make it to Las Vegas. And the thing with braids is that it's not only a style that connects you to your roots, and makes you feel comfortable, it is also a hair protection style. Though Lewis doesn’t tell people he has superstitions and somehow it is true, part of him feels like he races better when he’s feeling himself in all senses of the word. This means having his hair in the braids he’s been looking forward to for over two weeks is something important to him.

So in the heat of the moment, he decides to look for help on Twitter.

“Hi, you must be Lewis,” you smile, extending your hands, and the man in front of you takes it in with a grin.

“Hey, good afternoon,” his grip is still thigh yet soft on your hand. “Yeah, it’s me. Thank you for having me on such short notice.” He’s handsome and polite in all the ways one should be to be considered perfect, and you start to understand why your baby brother was drawn to admire his persona outside the tracks.

You shake your head with a chuckle, “It was actually my day off, but I had no problem fitting you in since it meant Dee would get to meet you.”

“Oh- honesty is something I find hot,” he chuckles and adds a grin for good measure, all while looking straight into your eyes and you can’t help but laugh.

Add funny to the list of things Lewis Hamilton seems to be.

“Who’s Dee, by the way?”

“It’s Aiyden, my little brother. I call him Dee,” you explain before adding, “He’s finishing a Chemistry project with a few friends at school. He was tempted to skip but gave up after a pep talk on how school is important, and I would take forever doing your hair just so he could see you.”

Lewis nods while you explain, and then he’s chuckling just like minutes ago.

“I don’t mind waiting for him with you,” he winks.

You’re not sure if he’s being friendly, funny, or flirty, but any of these F words coming from the black guy in front of you are surely making your heart skip a beat.

“You can sit here while I grab everything,” you point to a chair in front of a big mirror and Lewis does as said.

“Your hair looks fire,” he comments, watching from the mirror while you go through the small saloon gathering the packs of hair and combs you would need. “Did you do it yourself?”

“Thanks,” you stop just for a second, smiling when your eyes meet. “And yeah, I did it just last weekend.”

“You look even more stunning with this style,” and just like that he has you giggling again. “I mean it. I saw your profile picture and I was convinced you couldn’t get more beautiful, and then you opened that door with a smile and these amazing braids and I was like wow.” “You’re a funny one.”

“I’ve heard some women like their man funny, is that your case? If so, I’m ready to get into stand-up comedy.”

You double with laughter, shaking your head and biting your lips to keep the funny noises inside.

“Same style you’ve sent me the picture?” Lewis nods. “Any addition or preference?” you ask, starting to section his hair, and he answers no while making himself comfortable on the chair.

And even though you joked about taking forever just so your brother would catch Lewis, you ended up really taking forever because the driver in front of you would joke around and give you flirty comments and you couldn’t help but stop to laugh. The style he wanted was fairly fast, and his curls weren’t that thick, but still, you two did a small snack break when he ordered from a vegan bakery downtown. He was a fun guy to talk to, you came to learn that pretty quickly, which only added to his face card, which certainly was never denied.

It was one of the best sessions you’ve had in a long time.

You were just finishing the final touches, adding water to boil, and cutting the small strands coming off the braids, when the bell over the door rang, announcing your little brother’s arrival. He has an incredulous expression on his face watching his idol sitting on the chair of his sister’s salon.

“Hey man, how was the chem’s project?” Lewis asks and Aiyden turns around to the door, doing a small victory dance and, probably, the most hideous expressions to conceal his eagerness and happiness.

You and Lewis laugh.

“Omg, hi, Lewis!” He finally walks to you, shaking hands with Lewis. His eyes – big orbs gleaming with excitement.

“Aren’t you gonna say hi to your sister, young man?” with your hands on your waist you furrow your brows in the direction of the curly-haired boy who smiles, engulfing your body in a big hug. You hug him back before tapping his back and fake complaining about how he was crushing you.

Aiyden had just turned fifteen, but his love for sports seemed to help him defy your DNA and grow more than your family’s average size. He was almost reaching your height, and he sure was stronger than you, but he was still just your baby boy.

“These new braids are lit, man! Told ya my sister would make it happen,” Ayiden, who still has one of his arms around your shoulders, tells Lewis with a proud smile.

The driver moves his head confidently checking his hair in the mirror, “She was a great braider, and even better company, to be honest.”

Yn rolls her eyes playfully before going back to the water and mentioning for Ayiden to take a step back. She dips the ends of the braids into the water, waiting for a bit before taking them off and draping a towel around Lewis’ broad shoulders.

“So, your sister mentioned a chem school project. How was it?”

And just like that Ayiden and Lewis are talking non-stop while you tidy the salon, watching their interaction with a fond smile. The Brit was attentive to your brother, always ready to listen rather than speak, always engaging, and making Ayiden feel comfortable to share whatever he wanted to.

He probably had no idea, but that was an easy way to get to your heart. Ayiden was your treasure, and the fact that Lewis was treating the boy as if he was his little treasure too only added to the list of things you found amazing about him.

“...right, Yn?” Dee asked and you snapped out of your daydream.

“What?”

“Lewis just invited us to the Vegas GP, I said we were going, right? Please, please, please,” he pleaded in front of you with his two hands together as if in prayer, and you bit the inside of your mouth.

“Sunday?”

“No, the whole package, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday!” he explained excitedly.

“It will be fun, c’mon,” Lewis tried.

“You have school on Friday.” You reasoned, but Ayiden was quick to explain that Friday wouldn’t be until 6 pm. “You’re the one asking Kali to get my appointments from Saturday,” pointing a finger to your brother you accepted, knowing that your friend and coworker, had a space on Saturday for a hair or two and wouldn’t mind covering so your clients wouldn’t be hanging out to dry. Still, she would probably huff and yapp before accepting. That was something that Ayiden would now deal with though, so you were all good.

Ayiden jumped up and down the same way he did when he was ten years old asking you to get him a new pair of soccer jerseys, and you accepted. It was endearing.

You talked for a few more minutes, Ayiden got his picture, and just like that Lewis was saying his farewells. This time he didn’t shake your hands, rather hugged you and you couldn’t help but breathe in his scent and relish his warmth.

“See you on Friday, guys,” he waved, showing off his perfect set of teeth.

“See you, man!”

yourinstagram

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yourinstagram had to drive the kiddo to school today or else he would stay home choosing his weekend outfits lol (traffic is a bitch btw, so if you can avoid downtown, pls do!)

view all comments

youngdee why would you expose me like that

⤷ yourinstagram I'm your older sister, ofc I'm gonna act like a mom ❤️😘

lewishamilton nice fit, ayideen!

⤷ youngdee thank you, man! 😎

⤷ fan4490 OMG KJSDKGJSKG

charleslechair she looks so cute

⤷ charleslechair scratch that I just went through her pics

⤷ charleslechair she's hot

⤷ charleslechair and super talented

wolffmickey so its confirmed, she's the braider?

schumachinho *on my knees begging* pls, do my hair too, yn, pls pls 🧎🏾‍♀️🧎🏾‍♀️

yourfriend I spent an hour on traffic today in a road that usually takes me about ten minutes 🫠

yourfriend2 bruh, ayideen is getting bigger and bigger, I feel OLD 😭

Friday rolled around quickly and you got to watch the total amount of fifteen minutes of practice 1 before all hell broke. Ayiden explained everything to you along with the whole controversy going on with the LA Gran Prix, which you were just a tad aware of. Lewis wasn’t able to spend much time with you guys that much was expected, but whenever he found a few seconds he would pass by, ask if you guys were ok, if Dee was having fun if there was something he could do, and just overall being the goofy Lewis he was during the appointment. Ayiden seemed to find the flirtatious glances and lines funny, and so did you, except this time it felt a little more real because you were sure a few people around overheard some.

It was an amazing night, you made friends with a couple of people from the crew, and Ayiden had the time of his life meeting a few other idols, and almost started hyperventilating when Hamilton told him he would take him to meet Charles Leclerc on Sunday.

Saturday was even more of a rush, you almost didn’t see Lewis, but he texted before and after quali. So when Sunday came you were still trying to navigate the whole paddock thing, but a bit more comfortable about it. Aiyden was still acting as if it was his own version of Disney land and it was his first day discovering the adventure world. You were loving it for him, of course.

“Nice outfit,” Lewis whispers right beside you, catching you off guard and making you jump in surprise. You were in a corner, just texting a friend, and checking your next few appointments while Ayiden went to meet Charles and you thought Lewis would be there until he came back, but it wasn’t the case.

“You’re sneaky,” you chuckled, straightening your instance and looking into his face only to notice he was already staring at you.

“You look cute when you’re focused,” he winks, before adding, “and when you’re scared too.”

“You look cute when you joke like this,” throwing back at him you didn’t expect for his brows to furrow in confusion.

“You think I’m joking?”

“Aren’t you?”

Lewis giggles. He giggles and you can’t help but smile with the sound and the way his lips part while his eyes squint. “I’m not.”

“You’re not?!”

“I think you’re pretty and smart, and talented. I was genuinely flirting with you,” his explanation makes your insides turn in giddiness, and as if it wasn’t enough Lewis smiles, eyes glued on yours before he asks: “Wanna go on a date with me?”

“A date?” You repeat trying to let the idea sink.

“A date?” This time it’s Ayiden’s voice and you turn alarmed, expecting to see a confused and jealous brother, only to find him with the biggest grin ever.

“Yeah, a date,” Lewis smiles briefly to Ayiden, before staring back at you, waiting for your answer.

You blink still unsure. Fair enough, he was hot, educated, smart, and he checked all the boxes, but that wasn’t any guarantee of a successful relationship, or fling, or whatever he had in mind. And also, his lifestyle wasn’t something you were used to. How would dating him work when he’s often traveling around to drive?

“C’mon, don’t overthink it, Yn.” Ayiden comes to help, standing beside Lewis and the Brit chuckles. “It’s THE SIR Lewis Hamilton,” he points, and this time Lewis laughs.

You bit your lips, not helping but letting a smile escape.

Lewis is in front of you, hands in his pockets, big brown eyes watching you, and the smallest smile gracing the corner of his plump lips. He looked great. And as much as you wanted to deny, there was a vibe going on.

You take a deep breath, smirking at him, “Get yourself a podium and we’ll talk about a date later.”

Ayiden’s eyes widened.

“Did you forget how quali went?! It’s gonna be hell to get a podium, almost impossible,” your brother tries to reason, but Lewis shakes his head, extending his hand to which you clasp in yours.

“Deal,” the driver smiles. “I’ll get you a podium.”

Lewis squeezes Ayiden’s shoulder and winks at you before disappearing into the garage to get ready for the race.

“One more reason why he’s the goat, see? If I were you I would go on a date with him even if he didn’t get a podium.”

You laugh, “For the few things I saw, he likes the challenge. Let me indulge him.”

“You’re crazy.”

“And he’ll get a podium.”

“It’s very unlikely, but I won’t deny the possibility. It’s Lewis after all.” Your brother leans on the wall beside you. “And it looks like he wants this date bad.”

“What makes you think this?”

“C’mon, he’s been flirting with you nonstop since the hair appointment.”

“I genuinely thought he was joking.”

“You can be so clueless sometimes,” your brother rolls his eyes playfully and you slap the back of his head.

“Watch it, young man, I’m still the oldest.”

And you were still right too, because hours later Lewis impressed everyone by getting third place. He kept everyone on the edge of their seats along with Charles who did a brilliant race, and just like that your brother was grinning devilishly your way because now you had a date with no one other than Lewis Hamilton who happened to walk into the garage just as you were handling a water bottle to Dee after he ran to watch the ceremony as if his life depended on it.

Lewis was smiling brightly at you, sweat mixed with champagne, but you couldn’t help but grin right back and lace your arms around him, taking him by surprise.

“I’m all sweaty, sorry,” he whispers, his tattooed hand flatting on your bag and bringing your body closer.

“It’s fine. Congrats on the race.”

“Congrats on the race, man!” Ayiden hugs him too and Lewis smiles, eyes still trapped on you. When your brother lets him go and stays rooted in place looking from you to Lewis you trap the laugh inside, and roll your eyes fakely, pointing for the young boy to give you both some privacy.

“So, looks like I scored myself a date, huh?”

You nod, taking a small step in his direction and trying to keep your hands from tracing all the small details on his face from this up close, “You sure did.” Your eyes were now on his lips, and Lewis grinned.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You already have a date, what else do you wanna ask me?” You’re teasing and he knows it because this time he’s the one to take a step in your direction. The tips of your shoes are touching, and you can hear the rustling outside, but it’s just you two in the corridor, and you hope it stays like this for just a little longer even though you knew he had an interview in a few minutes. His company and attention are something you enjoyed having.

“With how many dates do you find it ok to kiss someone?” His playful tone is there, but his expression makes your knees almost buck. “Can we count practice, quali, and the race as dates?”

And just like that he has you laughing and grabbing his neck to close the distance and smash your lips in a very much-awaited kiss.

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alwaysmicado · 3 months ago

Text

Nightcall

10.4k | 18+ MDNI | Marc Spector x f!reader

Moon Knight Masterlist | AO3

Warnings: angst, smut, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, biting, rough & emotionally intense sex, multiple orgasms, possessive!Marc, choking, spitting, creampie, toxic dynamic Summary: Marc is a bad habit you can’t shake. A/N: This idea has been haunting my dreams like Marc has been haunting reader’s. And just like reader, I couldn’t resist the allure of this elusive, rugged, and devastatingly addictive man. Could you? Happy reading (even though it hurts) and let me know what you think! *Marc lifts & flips you with ease (he’s MK, duh). Dividers by @/cafekitsune.

One year.

It’s been one year since you’ve last seen him.

One whole year of wondering where he is, if he’s left for good this time, if he’s even still alive.

You’ve tried to fill the void in your heart, started smoking again, gave the nice guy from the coffee shop down the block a chance. He’s kind to you, makes you laugh, brings you flowers, and you think you could grow to love him.

You’re trying.

You’re trying so hard.

To forget, to forgive, to heal, to live.

And now he’s back. In your life, standing at your door at 1 a.m.

Marc Spector.

The bane of your existence.

You were lounging on your couch in your pajamas mere moments ago, the soft glow of the TV casting shadows on the walls, when a knock at the door shattered the peace you’d begun to find. Your heart stopped, your head jerking towards the door.

It couldn’t be.

You heard his voice, rough and familiar, sending a jolt through your entire being.

“It’s me,” he said, his voice muffled but unmistakable.

You stood, your legs trembling, walking closer to the door in a trance, bare feet on the wooden floor, your hand hovering over the doorknob. You didn’t answer, but you couldn’t tear yourself away.

He was alive. He came back.

Marc came back to you.

What now?

Taking a deep breath, you look through the peephole, and your heart flutters when you see his face. He looks as handsome as ever, broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his t-shirt, dark curls hidden under a baseball cap, beard stubble a little grayer than the last time you’ve seen him.

But there’s a weariness in his eyes, a deep exhaustion that pulls at your heartstrings.

He’s tired.

You know he is.

He’s told you in the rare moments he’d let you in, your sweat-covered bodies tangled in your bed, his fingers brushing over your cheek.

You’d see a spark of something in his warm eyes then. Something akin to sadness, longing, regret. But it would disappear after a few seconds, and he’d harden again, turning around to gather his clothes, telling you he needed to go.

You’d find new scars on his body every time he came to see you. He’d show up with barely scabbed-over cuts, a black eye, a dislocated shoulder, a split lip. And you’d patch him up, kissing it all better.

You stopped asking how he got his injuries some time ago. He’d always give you the same answer anyway.

“Just a scratch, baby. Nothing to worry your pretty head about.”

Whatever it is that keeps him going, it has more power over him than you ever will.

Tears blur your vision, and you slide down the door, sitting with your back against it. You want to stay strong, to remember the pain he’s caused you, but his words cut through your resolve like a knife.

“Come on, let me in. I came all this way to see you.”

It feels like he’s been out there for hours, but you know it can’t have been more than two minutes. Why is this happening?

“Let me in, Sunshine. Please.”

You blink back tears, shaking your head even though he can’t see you, your hands balled into fists, fingernails digging into your palms.

Every time.

Every time, he rips open the wounds he inflicted on you, and you know this time won’t be any different. You want to resist him, want to tell him to go to hell, that he can’t keep doing this to you, that you’ve finally had enough.

But you can’t do it, can you?

Resist Marc.

You both know you can’t. And deep down, under all the bullshit you like to tell yourself, under all the anger, under all the resentment, you know you don’t want to.

You never did.

Going for a smoke outside the bar, goosebumps forming on your bare arms as the wind blew and the rain fell, your feet sore from being caged in high heels for hours, the only thing you wanted was a minute of quiet, a minute where you didn’t have to smile or act like you were having fun.

You were tired—tired of the noise, tired of the people, tired of the pretense.

All you wanted was a moment of peace.

“Shit,” you muttered, staring at your lighter in disbelief as it refused to spark, tears of sheer frustration pricking the corners of your eyes. Leaning against the cool brick wall, you let your head fall back, eyes closed, trying to shut out the world.

How did it get like this? How did you get like this?

Deep down, you know you don’t have anyone to blame but yourself. The problem is you. Not the world, not your parents, not the shitty things that have happened to you. It’s you. It’s always been you.

“Need a light?” a voice cut through the rain, smooth and unexpected.

You opened your eyes slightly, just enough to see a stranger standing a few feet away. “Yeah, mine apparently hates me,” you replied, lifting the offending object.

The man chuckled, a warm sound that contrasted with the cold night. “Here,” he said, stepping closer. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief, his smirk stirring something inside you. “I got you, Sunshine.”

He pulled out a sleek silver lighter, flicking it open with practiced ease, producing a small, steady flame. You put your cigarette between your lips, leaning in to catch the light. His eyes never left yours, a connection forming in that brief moment. He then lit his own cigarette, taking a drag.

The first inhale of nicotine calmed your nerves slightly, a welcome distraction from the chaos inside your mind. “Thanks,” you muttered, leaning back against the wall and savoring the moment of quiet.

“No problem,” he nodded, staring into the surrounding darkness.

He was closer now, leaning against the wall next to you, his presence oddly comforting.

“Rough night?”

“You could say that.” You let out a dry laugh, glancing at him. He was handsome in a rugged way—dark curls, full lips, broad chest, with a confident air that was alluring. “What about you?”

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “Rough night.”

You studied him for a moment, noting the gentle curve of his nose and the laugh lines in the outer corner of his eyes. You also noticed his split knuckles in the neon glow of the party lights hanging above.

“I guess we’re both running from something,” you said softly, taking another drag of your cigarette.

“Is that so?” He smiled at you with a raised eyebrow and you smiled back. “I’m Marc, by the way.”

You gave him your name and shook his hand, feeling a strange jolt at the contact. “Nice to meet you, Marc. Thanks for the light.”

“Anytime,” he said, his expression turning pensive.

You both smoked in silence for a while, the rain a soothing backdrop to your thoughts.

When your cigarettes were nearly finished, Marc turned towards you, his movements smooth and deliberate. He leaned in, his hand bracing against the wall next to your head, bringing his face and body close to yours, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asked, his eyes dropping from your eyes to your lips with unmistakable intent.

You hesitated for a second, brow furrowed, thoughts swirling. The rain fell around you in a soft patter. You searched his eyes and found something, something that promised a temporary escape from your hollow existence.

You didn’t have anything to lose.

“Yeah,” you said, putting out your cigarette with your shoe.

You ended the night with him on top of you, in your bed, all your troubles wiped away for a couple of hours. His hands roamed your body with a hunger that matched your own, and for the first time in a long while, you felt alive.

You thought it was just a one-night stand since he left as soon as you both came down, and you fell asleep, spent and satisfied.

Until he showed up at your door late at night, two weeks later.

There he was, standing in the hallway with that same charming smile, holding up a pack of cigarettes and his silver lighter. “Mind if I come in?” he asked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And that’s how it all started. This…thing you have going on.

“I missed you,” he’d whisper in your ear, his voice rough with longing as he was buried deep inside of you. “My beautiful girl.”

Those words would wrap around your heart, suffusing you with a warmth that felt like everything you had ever wanted. In those fleeting moments, it was as if all the pain and uncertainty melted away, leaving only the intoxicating sensation of being cherished, if only for a little while. But then, like always, he would leave, and the cold reality would set in.

He would tell you he couldn’t stay, but not why. His eyes would darken with unspoken burdens, and he’d brush a kiss against your forehead, promising he’d be back.

Yet, he never told you it was for your safety. He never mentioned the shadows that lurked around him, the dangers he faced on a daily basis. He didn’t tell you about the battles he fought, tooth and nail, just to carve out a few hours to be with you.

He didn’t tell you any of this, and after some time, you stopped asking. The questions died on your lips, replaced by a resigned acceptance. You accepted that you’d never be more to Marc than a brief escape, a distraction from whatever demons haunted him.

Well, your brain did.

But not your heart.

Your heart clung to every whispered endearment, every stolen touch, every heated kiss that promised more than he could ever give. Your heart held onto the belief that maybe, just maybe, one day he’d stay. That one day, this torturous cycle of brief encounters and long absences would end.

You’d lie in bed after he left, the sheets still warm from his presence, his scent lingering in the air. You’d replay the moments in your mind, his whispered words, the way he looked at you as if you were his salvation. You’d clutch your pillow, trying to hold onto the ghost of his touch, knowing that come morning, the loneliness would creep back in.

Every time he returned, it was like a balm to your wounded soul. He’d pull you into his arms, his kiss desperate, as if he was drowning and you were his only breath of air.

And for those precious hours, you’d let yourself believe that you were his beautiful girl, his light in a world filled with darkness, that he needed you as much as you needed him.

He’d leave again, the door closing softly behind him, and you’d be left alone. You’d tell yourself that it was enough, that these stolen moments were worth the heartache.

But deep down, you knew it wasn’t.

You always knew that your heart was breaking a little more each time he walked away.

And you know now that any resolve you’ve built up over the past year will crumble the second you open the door and look into his eyes.

It’s always the same.

No matter how sick and tired you are of his careless behavior, no matter how many times he chews you up and spits you out, no matter how many nights you spend crying over him, mourning him, cursing him, self-hatred wrapping around you like a suffocating blanket.

You let him in. You let him do this to you.

Because you love him. Because you’re a fool.

Slowly, reluctantly, you stand, heart pounding, blood rushing in your ears. You sigh deeply, and before you can stop yourself, your hand turns the knob, opening the door just a crack.

Marc pushes the door open wider, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment, and before you realize what’s happening, his cap is on the floor and his lips are on yours. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close as he kicks the door shut behind him. He spins you around, pressing you against the wall with a desperate need that makes you dizzy.

“I missed you, Sunshine,” he murmurs against your lips, his hands roaming your body.

“Don’t call me that,” you protest, your palms pressed against his pecs.

He smiles. “But it’s who you are. My Sunshine.”

“I’m not your anything, Marc,” you hiss, trying to push him away. He doesn’t budge. “I’m a warm body for you to fuck. That’s it.”

“That’s not all you are to me,” he says without missing a beat, brows furrowed, thumb brushing over your lower lip with a maddening gentleness. “Why so hostile, Sunshine? Aren’t you happy to see me?”

There it is. That damn look. Concern, care, and hunger, all mingling in his eyes, breaking down your defenses bit by bit.

“Are you fucking kidding, Marc?” you snap, snatching his wrist to stop him from touching you. “You–you were gone for a year. No goodbye, no message, no nothing.”

His gaze doesn’t waver as he cups your face with both hands, and despite yourself, you let go of his wrist.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” The warmth in his eyes and the soft smile on his lips make you want to throw up. You turn your head, your chest heaving.

He gently but firmly pushes your head back, his hands still cradling your face, forcing you to meet his gaze once more. His grip is firm but not painful, a reminder of his strength and control—the same strength that has always thrilled you.

“Hey,” he says softly, his eyes boring into yours, pleading. “I’m here now.”

You’re stunned, frozen in place like a deer in headlights, about to be run over.

It’s too late for you.

All you see is him, the man who has torn your heart to pieces and yet somehow still holds it in his hands.

The world narrows to the space between you, and the chaos of your mind falls silent. You’re ready to die in this moment if it means feeling his touch again.

You give an almost imperceptible nod, a surrender, and his lips are on yours instantly.

The kiss is desperate, a clash of lust and guilt, his mouth moving against yours with a ferocity that leaves you breathless. His hands move down your sides to your waist, pulling you closer as if he can’t bear the distance between you for even a second longer.

You moan into his mouth, your body responding to his touch despite your mind’s protests. Your arms wrap around him, pulling him even closer, needing to feel every inch of him against you. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of smoke and mint, and it floods your senses, drowning out the pain, the questions, the doubts.

Marc’s hands urgently explore the contours of your back, pressing you against him, reveling in your scent. You can feel the hard lines of his body, the heat of his skin, and it’s all too much and not enough at the same time. Your back hits the wall again, and he pins you there, his mouth leaving yours to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

One hand finds your breast, groping it for a moment, palm rubbing against your hard nipple, his touch needy and rough. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, his name escaping your lips in a broken whisper. He groans in response, the sound vibrating against your skin.

Impatient, his fingers hook into the waistband of your pajama pants, yanking them down along with your panties with practiced ease. You step out of them, exposed, his leg pressing against your core.

You can’t help but buck your hips against him, your body moving on its own accord, driven by pent-up desire and anger. Your hands fist his shirt, gripping the fabric tightly as if it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality. His hands are on your ass, kneading your flesh with possessive urgency, each squeeze sending shivers of pleasure through your body.

Marc’s mouth is everywhere, hot and insistent, licking a slow, deliberate stripe from behind your ear down your neck. The sensation makes you gasp, your back arching. He sucks and nips at your skin, frenzied and desperate, leaving a trail of bruises that mark you as his, each one a bittersweet reminder of the fleeting connection you share.

The contrast between the roughness of his hands and the wet heat of his mouth drives you wild, every touch igniting a fire inside you that you can’t control.

“Marc,” you moan, your voice a mix of frustration and need. Your nails dig into his shoulders, pulling him closer, urging him on. He responds with a growl, his teeth grazing your neck before biting down, the sharp pain making you gasp.

“God, I’ve missed this,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice thick with desire. His hands grip your ass harder, lifting your leg slightly so he can grind against you, his hardness pressing against your core, sending waves of pleasure through you.

You throw your head back, giving him better access to your neck as he continues to lick, suck, and bite with abandon, each mark he leaves on your skin feeling like a brand, a claim that you both know will fade but never truly disappear.

“More,” you whisper, your breathing shallow. “Please, I need more.” You reach between your bodies, sliding your hand down his hard torso, rubbing his bulge over the rough fabric of his jeans.

Marc groans and pulls back just enough to look into your glazed-over eyes, his own filled with lust and something deeper, something that makes your heart ache. “I’ll give you everything, baby,” he promises, his hands moving to cup your face as he kisses you again, his lips searing and demanding.

You can feel the truth in his words, even if only for this moment, and you let yourself believe it.

He bites your bottom lip and pulls back with a growl, dropping to his knees, spreading your thighs and pressing his mouth to your core. Your brain takes a few seconds to catch up with what’s happening, your mind foggy, your heart racing.

“Marc, wait,” you gasp, your hands tangling in his hair as his tongue flicks out, teasing your aching clit. “I haven’t—oh fuck—I haven’t showered.”

“I don’t care,” he murmurs, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive skin.

The sensation is overwhelming, his tongue lapping at your folds with a hunger that makes your knees weak. You gasp, your hips bucking involuntarily against his face. He groans in response, reveling in the scent and wetness you’re spreading all over his face, cursing under his breath as his cock strains against the inside of his jeans.

His hands tighten their grip on your thighs, holding you open for him, keeping you steady as his tongue and lips work with practiced precision to make you lose control.

Your head falls back, hitting the wall with a dull thud, but you barely notice. Every flick of his tongue, every suck on your clit sends waves of pleasure crashing through you. Your hands tighten in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more, fingernails scraping his scalp.

“Marc,” you moan, your voice a mix of desperation and bliss, your body trembling under this relentless, sweet torture. “Oh fuck, Marc.”

Hearing you moan his name is like gasoline on a fire, fueling his desire.

“God, you taste so good,” he pants against your skin, his voice filled with raw need, drunk with lust. “Always so fucking perfect.”

Your body trembles as he hums against you, his tongue alternating between slow, teasing licks and fast, desperate flicks before sucking on your swollen clit again.

You can feel the tension building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter with each passing second.

“Please,” you beg, your voice a shaky whisper. “I need you inside me.”

He responds without hesitation, his tongue plunging into your wet heat, tasting you, drinking you, fucking you with ruthless intensity. You cry out, your back arching off the wall as the pleasure becomes almost too much to bear. He replaces his tongue with his middle and ring fingers, sliding them inside you, curling them just right, hitting that perfect spot. His mouth devours you simultaneously, desperately, like a man starved.

Your hips buck harder, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he finger-fucks you in rhythm with his licks. The dual assault of his tongue and fingers is overwhelming, pushing you ever closer to the edge.

Your nails rake across his scalp, and he groans against you, the vibrations sending ripples of ecstasy through your core.

You can barely form a coherent thought, your mind hazy as you can’t hold back the moans escaping your lips. Marc starts sucking on your clit with renewed vigor, the sensation sending you spiraling. You’re on the brink, the tension inside you coiled so tightly it’s about to snap.

The wet sounds of your pussy fill the air, blending with the rhythmic beat of your heart pounding in your chest. He can feel your body tensing, the telltale signs of your impending climax, and it drives him wild.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Fuck, I’m gonna–”

You don’t get to finish the sentence before you shatter into a million pieces, every nerve ending ablaze with euphoric release. Marc doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, holding onto your hip, continuing to lap at you and move his fingers, drawing out every last tremor until you’re left trembling and spent.

For a brief, blissful moment, you feel pure, unadulterated happiness, your fingers absentmindedly running through Marc’s hair. But as reality slowly sets back in, your living room coming back into view, Marc’s mouth on your core starting to become uncomfortable, the weight of what just happened begins to dawn on you. Your eyes meet his, and you feel it all crashing down on you—confusion, heartache, regret.

Marc finally pulls back, his face and fingers glistening with your arousal, a satisfied, almost smug grin on his lips.

He stands, his hands finding your cheeks as he presses his wet lips against yours, sliding his tongue inside. You close your eyes and wrap your arms around his waist, tasting yourself on his lips, your body buzzing with the aftermath of your orgasm.

“You miss me?” he whispers against your lips before pulling back enough to look into your wide eyes. The warmth of his breath mingles with yours, and his gaze is filled with an intensity that makes your heart clench painfully.

The casualness of his question tears at you, as if you had seen each other just yesterday, as if he hadn’t just given you an earth-shattering orgasm after crushing your heart with his bare hands.

And all after you swore to yourself you’d never let him do this again.

You want to hate him, you really do. But how could you? He came back from the dead to see you. You know he needs you right now, so how could you deny him?

You nod, feeling tears well up in your eyes, swallowing heavily. “Always,” you whisper, your voice breaking with emotion.

A smile spreads across Marc’s lips, his eyes softening for a moment, and he captures your lips in a deep, fervent kiss again, as if trying to convey everything he can’t put into words. Then, with a gentle but firm grip, he lifts you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. You cling to him, head buried in the crook of his neck, your hands gripping his shoulders as he carries you towards your bedroom.

He clocks the bouquet of pink roses on your dining room table, notices the little card standing next to the vase. There’s a strawberry drawn on the front, but it’s too dark for him to read what he just assumes to be a lame pun about loving you ‘berry’ much.

How cute.

Marc lays you down on the bed, his body pressed against yours, trailing kisses down your neck. You wrap your legs around his waist again, rubbing yourself against his bulge, impatient, hands tangled in his curls.

“Not yet, baby,” he whispers in your ear, nibbling on your earlobe, reveling in the needy noises you make, how you squirm under him, trying to get him to move and give you what you want.

He will. But first, he wants to look at you—at your beautiful body, every inch of your skin.

He gets off the bed and you scoot back, fluffing up your pillows and leaning against them with your back. You watch as Marc turns on the bedside lamp and removes his shirt, revealing the hard lines of his muscles and the scars that tell the story of battles you’re clueless about. He kicks off his shoes, his eyes never leaving yours. When he unbuckles his belt, ready to pull his pants down and fuck you already, his eyes drop down to your wet pussy, and he decides differently.

“Take off your shirt and show me how you played with yourself while I was away.”

Your hands tremble slightly as you pull your shirt over your head, your skin prickling with anticipation. You feel exposed, vulnerable, but the look in Marc’s eyes makes you feel desired, wanted. You spread your legs wide and slide your hand down your body, your fingers finding your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. Your other hand moves to your breast, teasing your nipple, and you let out a soft moan, your eyes locked on Marc.

His gaze darkens with lust as he watches you, jeans on the floor, spitting in his hand, wrapping it around his cock, stroking himself slowly. “God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need. “Keep going.”

God, how much he wants to bury himself deep inside of you, to feel your warm, wet pussy pulsing around his cock, to fuck all his frustrations into you, to hear your sweet moans, to feel your soft skin pressed against his.

It’s all he wants.

All he can think about when he’s away from you. All he needs in nights like this.

You increase the pace of your fingers, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as the pleasure builds. Marc’s eyes don’t leave you for a second, his hand moving faster on his cock, mirroring the rhythm of your movements.

“You have no idea how much I missed this,” he pants. “Missed you.”

Fuelled by his poisonous words, your hips buck against your hand, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core. “Marc,” you moan, your voice a desperate plea. “I’m close.”

His eyes burn into yours as he moves swiftly, crawling onto the bed and positioning himself between your legs. He nudges your hand away and replaces it with his own, his fingers sliding inside you in one smooth motion, his thumb rubbing your clit.

“Let go, baby. Come for me.”

And with his words, you shatter, your orgasm crashing over you in waves, your pussy clamping down around his fingers, pulsating, your hands gripping the sheets. Marc watches you intently, his own breath ragged, cock throbbing so close to your dripping hole.

The ecstatic feeling coursing through you turns into uncomfortable overstimulation quickly, so you grab his wrist, and he withdraws his fingers, giving you a moment to come down.

You look so fucking gorgeous like this. Eyes glazed over, looking at him like he’s all you see, like he’s all you need. But as Marc holds your gaze, your chest rising and falling, he also sees something else in your big, beautiful eyes.

Sadness.

It’s a deep sadness he knows he’s responsible for—a sadness that cuts through the layers of detachment, apathy, and composure he’s built up to survive the trials in his life. Despite everything, there remains a gentle, tender part hidden deep inside him. A part that makes him vulnerable, scared, and like he could be the man you need…if only things were different.

“My Sunshine,” he says softly, his knuckles brushing over your hot cheek. The tenderness in his touch contrasts sharply with the storm of emotions inside him. He leans over you, and the kiss he presses on your lips is soft, oh so soft.

It’s intense. Intense and unexpected.

It’s easier to push aside your feelings when he’s rough with you. It’s easier to tell yourself you’re just two lonely people fucking to feel a little less lonely if all you can focus on is your body.

But then he pulls shit like this and it gives you hope that you might mean something to him. And after years of asking yourself if he’s just an asshole who gets off on playing mind games, or if he doesn’t care enough to realize what he’s doing is killing you, you’re not sure you want to know the answer.

Marc pulls you out of your thoughts when he releases your lips and pulls back slightly, his eyes darkening with a different kind of intensity as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb.

“Open your mouth.”

You obey, parting your lips, your breath hitching in anticipation. Marc lets a strand of spit drop into your mouth, slowly, deliberately, watching as it lands in the back of your throat, and you swallow it without hesitation.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire, kissing and nibbling on your jaw, your neck, down to your breast, circling your nipple with the tip of his tongue before sucking it into his eager mouth.

“Marc…” you whine, looking down, threading your fingers through his disheveled hair, your heart pounding. You let yourself get lost in him, in the way he touches you, in the way he makes you feel alive. And as you do, you can’t stop the words tumbling from your lips.

“Please stay.”

Marc pauses, his mouth still on your breast, his body tensing. He releases your nipple and looks up at you, his brow furrowing at your watery eyes.

He hates to see you like this.

“You know I can’t,” he says, his calm voice betraying none of the guilt that’s clawing at his heart, making it hard for him to breathe.

But he can’t comfort you. Not now. Not when you’re supposed to be his salvation. Not when he knows it’d be a lie.

He sits back on his heels between your spread legs, his eyes never leaving yours as he pumps his painfully hard cock.

“Why?” you whisper, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “Why?”

Marc leans over you, arms braced next to your head, capturing your quivering lips with his, preventing you from making him feel worse than he already does.

You moan into his mouth and he can’t wait anymore. Needs to be inside you. Needs to make it all right.

He shifts in closer, pressing his cock against you, just sliding it between your folds, up and down, letting out a raspy sigh at the friction of it. His cock gathers your wetness quickly—you’re always so fucking wet for him.

Before falling asleep on whatever cot he’d find himself on, he’d sometimes allow himself to fantasize about waking up next to you, feeling your warm body, hearing your soft breathing, sliding his hand down the front of your panties, and feeling how wet you are from dreaming about him.

His breath catches in his throat just thinking about it.

“Marc…” you plead, and he smiles to himself—it usually takes far longer for you to start begging, so it must mean you really missed him. You squirm again, hips twisting like you’re trying to get him inside you, and he watches you intently, soaking up every little expression, every little moan, every little plea.

“What do you want, baby?” he murmurs, dragging it out just a little bit longer. He loves to hear you, loves to get you to admit it. For you, the truth is in the action of it, but he likes to listen to you say it out loud.

“You,” you moan desperately. “I need you, Marc. I missed you so fucking much, I can’t take it anymore.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs with an imperceptible smile.

“Uh-huh,” you nod, staring up into his eyes.

Marc’s cock twitches at the genuine need he can see in your eyes, the sight like a potent drug going straight to his brain and filling him with more bliss than anything else could. He knows what you like, knows what buttons to push, knows exactly how to touch you to make you forget the world around you.

It makes him feel good to make you feel good. It always has.

And it’s more than the gratification of feeling your pussy pulsating around his cock or hearing you scream his name while your orgasm overtakes you. It’s more than his pride, his ego, his need to feel like he’s doing good for once in his life.

It’s you.

It’s his misguided effort to make up for all his misdeeds. His atonement. He tells himself it’s enough for him to fuck your brains out, to pour all of himself into you without inhibitions while he’s with you to offset his absence.

He tells himself that, holds onto it—needs it to be true.

“Please…” you whine, and he pushes up against your clit, feeling the pulse of it. You shudder at the intensity, the pressure, and he grins. “Fuck. Fuck me.”

“Dirty mouth,” he chides, and you whine in frustration as he brings his hand up, pressing one finger to your slightly parted lips. You open them wider, suck his finger in, suckle for a moment and then bite.

“Fuck me,” you demand, voice muffled and tongue pressing against his fingertip, wet and warm.

Your teeth loosen up and he slides his finger deeper, right to the back of your tongue. You don’t gag, just stare him down defiantly, and he can’t wait any longer. He reaches down with his other hand, guides himself to your entrance, cock pushing deep into the tight heat of you, as slow as he can stand it.

You’re so fucking good.

His head starts to roll back instinctively, but he holds it steady and slides his hand over to your hip, gripping your flesh as his cock splits you open.

When he’s fully sheathed inside of you, you let out a low moan, brows furrowing, throwing your head back against the pillows. He pulls back a little only to drive right back in, hard, and this time you moan a hell of a lot louder. Quickly, he stifles the sound with his palm, pressing his hand right over your mouth—not because he doesn’t want to hear you. No, because he knows it heightens your pleasure.

Your resulting moans are muffled against his hand as you start trying to meet his thrusts, your hips working towards him, desperate for it. You love it when he smothers you like this, love feeling his big hand over your face.

He first discovered the power of it when you were arguing about something silly and you wouldn’t shut up—he did it jokingly, only to be surprised when you immediately fell silent. You didn’t even push him away or do anything obnoxious like lick his palm; you just went totally compliant. It was an instant reaction, as though it was something your body was conditioned to obey.

He grips your hip, feeling your soft skin against his palm, his other hand covering your mouth as he thrusts into you hard, until the bed is rocking rhythmically against the wall. The hand on your hip slides higher, over your belly, groping your breast, pinching your hard nipple. His other hand slips from your mouth and you’re panting now, your face hot and almost grimacing, your whole body taut and tense for him.

But then his hands meet at your throat, and you go limp, your lips stretching into an exhausted smile. He keeps his hands still, just on either side of your neck, curled around your shoulders, his thumbs across your collarbones.

“Go on,” you say breathlessly, biting your lip in anticipation, lifting up your head in order to strain a little against his hands. He says nothing, smiling wickedly back at you, his hips working shallowly, cock thrusting against your G-spot.

“Go on,” you whine, impatient, and he wants to say, “What?” and grin sardonically and make you beg for it, but he’s too greedy, eager just like you are.

He wraps his fingers around your throat and squeezes, quick and sudden, watching your pupils dilate and your lips fall open. You’d let him choke you to death if he wasn’t careful, he’s sure—you get so fucking caught up in it—so he has to be vigilant, letting go when you look like you’re about to pass out.

It’s difficult to judge, though. You look blissed out already, and he can feel your tendons working against his fingers as he jabs his thumb just under your jaw, tightening his grip. You make these sounds—gasps at first, and then little choking coughs, your throat all raw, and all the while he’s thrusting into you, hard and fast.

He eases off a second, lets you catch your breath, and you draw it in, hoarse and gasping, looking dazed. Almost high.

You jerk your chin at him as if to say, “C’mon, again, what are you waiting for?” and he complies, one hand this time, big enough to reach quite a way around your neck. His other hand snakes down the center of you, down between your legs, along your hot skin to where he disappears inside, your slick folds parting to let him in. He teases with his fingers, finds your clit, gentle there even as he’s gripping your throat so tight he’ll probably leave marks.

You buck wildly against him and he holds you down, grinning, relentless, finger flickering over your clit as he fucks you, chokes you, brings you closer and closer to the edge—

He feels your fingers digging into his shoulders, his back, then his arms, grabbing frantically at him as your whole body tenses, and you’re spluttering out a desperate, “Yes, yes,” and then he feels that same clenching around his cock, a quick spasm, so tight he can’t help but groan.

You come with your eyes shut and your mouth open, and he keeps going a moment longer than he needs to, stroking you where you’re oversensitive, making you shake and squirm.

Marc lets go of your throat and takes ahold of your breast instead, chasing his own release, fucking you harder and harder and closing his eyes because you’re gazing at him in that way that chips away at his resolve.

“Slow down,” you suddenly whisper, so full of him, so desperate to keep it that way.

He slows down minimally. “Why?”

“I–I don’t want….” you trail off as he licks and sucks on your neck, his hand groping your breast. “Please, I don’t want it to end…”

He pulls back a little and just…smiles at you, that irritating smile that says, “You honestly still think you’re in control here?”

It wouldn’t bother you as much if you weren’t still processing that he’s actually here, flesh and blood, after abandoning you, and having the balls to act like the past year didn’t happen. Like he didn’t stab your heart and leave you to bleed out slowly.

“I know you don’t want me to slow down,” he pants in your ear as he picks up the pace again, alternating between shallow thrusts that hit your G-spot perfectly, and deep thrusts that make you gasp. “You want me to fuck you like your little boyfriend never could.”

You freeze. Marc’s labored breathing, the wet sounds of your pussy, the sound of rain coming from outside your window—it all becomes white noise as your brain catches up with what he just said to you.

And then something snaps inside you.

Something primal, violent, desperate.

You grab the nape of his neck and pull him down for a bruising kiss, biting his lips hard, tongue swirling around his, the taste of blood in your mouth making your head spin. Marc moans into your mouth, but he doesn’t stop you, doesn’t stop his own movements inside you.

You feel yourself getting closer and closer again, and you hate it. You fucking hate that he’s doing this to you. And you hate even more that you’re letting him.

He pulls away and buries his face in the crook of your neck, his bloody lips staining your shoulder. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you as your nails rake down his arms, leaving angry red trails in their wake. You claw at his back, holding onto him with all you have. He groans at the pain and looks into your eyes, reveling in the pure need he can see in them.

You see how much it turns him on to see you like this, and it makes you even angrier.

Marc leans in to kiss you again, but before you know what’s happening, your hand shoots up to his throat, fingers digging into his jaw, pushing his face away. He growls at you and tries to kiss you anyway, stubborn and unyielding, his lips brushing against yours despite your resistance. You buck your hips and twist your body, trying to dislodge him, your hands pushing and shoving at his chest and shoulders.

You manage to get one hand around his throat, squeezing as hard as you can, your nails digging into his skin. Marc groans, his breath hot against your face, but his grip on you doesn’t falter. He grabs your wrists, attempting to pin them above your head, but you fight back with all your strength, writhing beneath him, your legs kicking out, trying to find leverage to push him off.

“That’s enough,” he growls, his voice rough and intimidating as he finally manages to secure your wrists. “Calm do–”

You turn your head and bite the arm that’s pinning your wrist down, canines piercing the skin.

“Fuck,” Marc hisses through clenched teeth, his thrusts becoming rougher, more desperate, as if he’s trying to match your intensity, trying to make you feel the same pain you’re inflicting on him. The bed creaks with the force of your combined movements, the air thick with the sounds of your mutual anguish.

“You wanna hurt me, baby?” he pants as he lets go of your wrist and instead grabs your chin to force you to look at him.

“Yeah,” you whisper without hesitation, your pupils dilated, your voice dripping with venom and need.

Marc’s eyes darken with a mix of lust and something deeper, something almost like understanding. “Good,” he says simply, grabbing your ass and rolling you both over, so you can ride him. He pulls up the pillow behind his back, so he’s propped up and you can hold onto his shoulders. “Take what you need.”

He moves his hips slowly, tenderly almost, as if to tell you he’s done fighting with you and wants you to feel good. You’re not there yet, you’re still seeing red. Clawing at his chest, nails digging into his skin, leaving scratches that will take days to fade.

But it’s not enough. You need more. You need to make him feel the pain he’s caused, to make him understand what he’s put you through. You push his face away, his stubble grazing your palm, and he turns his head, biting down on your thumb, groaning at the taste of you. Spurred on by the sensation, your teeth find his shoulder, biting down hard enough to break the skin.

“Stop,” he grunts, the word strained, his cock twitching inside you. You don’t relent immediately, your teeth sinking deeper until he grabs your shoulders, trying to push you off.

Finally, he manages to grip your throat, not squeezing, but enough to make you stop. The pressure is firm, commanding, and it stills your movements. He looks up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of desire and desperation. “Enough,” he says with finality, his voice rough and low. “I want you to fuck me, not kill me.”

You stare down at him, your chest heaving, the raw emotion in his eyes grounding you. Slowly, you release your grip on his shoulders, the tension in your body easing as you adjust to the new position. His hand remains on your throat, a reminder of his control, but also of the thin line between pain and pleasure that you both walk.

You start to move, rocking your hips against him, swollen clit rubbing against his trimmed pubes, taking him deep inside you. His grip on your throat tightens just a fraction, enough to send a thrill through your body, but not enough to hurt. His other hand grips your hip, guiding your movements as you ride him, each thrust a release of the pent-up emotions that have been tearing you apart.

Mouth slightly agape, Marc’s eyes never leave yours, the connection between you intense and unbreakable. “That’s it, baby,” he murmurs. “Use me.”

And you do.

Your movements become increasingly more frantic, muscles tense, driven by a need to feel him, to feel that he’s really here with you.

“You left,” you pant, eyes piercing his, pleasure building inside you with every movement of your hips.

“Yeah, I did,” Marc replies, his tone unapologetic and infuriatingly calm. He lets go of your neck and cups your cheek instead, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over your cheekbone.

“I–I thought you were dead,” you choke out, tears stinging your eyes as you find the perfect pace, hands resting on his pecs. The pressure in your core builds, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge.

“You fucking asshole, I thought you were dead!” Your voice cracks as the hurt and anger that have been festering inside you pour out, mingling with the unbearable pleasure he’s giving you.

“I’m not dead, baby. I’m right here.” His voice is softer now, tinged with an edge of remorse. He accentuates his words with a powerful thrust of his hips, driving deep inside you. The sensation forces a moan from your lips, your anger momentarily drowned out.

The tears you’ve been holding back finally spill over, trailing down your cheeks as you ride him harder, your body seeking solace in the physical connection. You lean forward, your forehead resting against his, your breaths mingling, your eyes closed.

“I hate you,” you whisper. “I fucking hate you, Marc.”

His response is immediate, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he drives into you with renewed vigor. “I know, baby,” he pants. “I know you do.”

His words, combined with the relentless rhythm of his thrusts, push you closer to the brink. You hold onto his broad shoulders as your walls tightens around his cock, the muscles in your legs aching. The rush you’re experiencing is intoxicating, the line between pleasure and pain, love and hate blurring until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

As the pressure builds to an unbearable peak, you cling to him, your body trembling. “I need you,” you whine, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Please, I need you.”

“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmurs, his grip on you tightening. “I’ve got you.”

The words are a promise, a plea, and as your orgasm crashes over you, you feel a moment of clarity. Despite everything, despite the pain and the anger, he’s here. He’s with you.

You collapse against him, your body trembling with aftershocks, your breath coming in shallow gasps as tears stream down your cheeks. Marc wraps his strong arms around you, holding you tight as he chases his own release, his hips moving with relentless intensity. His breath is hot against your ear, his voice both a comfort and a torment.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he pants, too far gone to stop himself.

You’re lost in the moment, too out of it to hear him.

“Tell me,” he urges again, needing to hear you say it.

When you still don’t respond and he feels he can’t hold back any longer, he pulls your head back by the nape of your neck.

You look like you’re somewhere else entirely, flying high, eyes glassy.

“Hey,” he says sharply, slowing his thrusts down as much as he can physically stand it, searching your face until your gaze meets his.

“Huh?”

“Tell me you’re mine,” he repeats through gritted teeth, brow furrowed. “Please.”

His eyes are warm and you see him—the Marc who shared his favorite childhood recipe with you, the Marc who reassured you after your boss was an asshole to you, the Marc who made you laugh until your sides ached.

“I–I’m yours,” you whisper, the realization that it’s the truth breaking something inside you. “I’ve always been yours.”

Your words are like balm for his wounded soul, and he feels like he can finally let go. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours, Marc. I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours.”

“Fuck,” he groans, his thrusts becoming sloppy. He’s close. “I could–I could never stay away from you. Never.”

The confession slips out, raw and unfiltered, and it’s like a dagger to your heart. You bite down on his shoulder, trying to silence the sob that threatens to escape as he fucks you with everything he has.

“Gonna come, baby,” he pants. “Where do you want me?”

You feel like your body doesn’t belong to you, your mind foggy. But you know exactly where you want him, where you need him.

“Inside.”

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t.

But he’s here to give you everything he can. And he does, spilling his warm cum deep inside of you, his cock pulsing, hips stuttering as he groans your name.

Not baby.

Not Sunshine.

Your name.

He wraps his arms around you, softly, almost reverently, feeling your bare, sweat-covered skin against his palms. He holds you close like this for a moment before rolling you both over so he’s on top of you again, his cock still buried inside, his body slumping against yours.

Feeling his weight on you is grounding, soothing, calming you like nothing else in the world ever can. You try to absorb the feeling of his heartbeat against yours, knowing this moment of closeness won’t last. Marc usually doesn’t hold you for long after he’s fucked you.

You inhale his scent, draw shapes on his back with your fingertips, scratch his scalp softly, nudge his shoulder with your nose, press little kisses on his skin. Each touch is a silent plea for him to surprise you, to stay with you for a little bit longer.

He relaxes on top of you, the deep tension he’s been feeling for so long slowly giving way to a sense of calm. It’s peaceful, his mind quiet for once.

How he wishes he could stay like this forever; feeling your heartbeat, your soft touch, holding you close as you fall asleep, nose brushing the nape of your neck, a protective arm draped over you, keeping you safe.

He’s convincing himself to stay. He can feel it.

Just this once.

To put a smile on your pretty face.

To show you he cares.

It means so much to you, and how could he–

“I love you, Marc,” you whisper against his skin.

The words slip out before you can stop them, and you immediately regret saying them as you feel his muscles tense and he pulls out of you, leaving you painfully empty. His cum starts leaking out of you, pooling on the rumpled sheets beneath you.

Marc sits on the edge of the bed with his back turned to you and you sit up, leaning against the headboard, watching his profile with tearful eyes.

“Marc,” you say quietly, extending your hand to lightly touch his arm.

But it’s too late.

The spell is broken.

He gets up and fishes out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter from his jeans pocket, lighting one up, the orange glow casting shadows on the wall. He blows out a stream of smoke as he pulls up his jeans, sitting back on the bed, eyes distant as he looks out of the window.

You feel a pang of hurt, but you press on, desperately needing him to understand. “You–you don’t have to love me too,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “But please, you’ve been gone for so long and I–I only just got you back. Please, just stay with me this one time. Just this one time.”

He turns his head to look at you, his eyes flickering with something you can’t quite place. You shake your head slowly, resigned, then reach for his cigarette.

He gives it to you, watching as you put it between your swollen lips. You take a long drag, the smoke filling your lungs, and then exhale slowly, closing your eyes for a moment.

Marc eyes you curiously, recalling how you proudly told him you’d stopped smoking the last time he saw you.

Some things have changed, he supposes.

And some things…haven’t.

“Where were you?” you ask.

“Egypt,” he replies simply, caressing your leg.

“The whole time?”

“The whole time.”

“And the…business you had there, is it done?”

He hesitates for a moment before nodding, an imperceptible smile on his lips. “Yeah. You could say that.”

You take another drag from the cigarette before passing it back to him, the smoke a comforting distraction. “Will you stay in town now?”

Marc looks at you, and for a moment, hope flares in your chest. “Mhm. That’s the plan.”

You reach out and trace the remnants of what you can only imagine was a nasty bruise below his ribcage. “Aren’t you tired of this?”

He chuckles. “Of course I am.”

“Then why the fuck don’t you stop?”

He sighs. “It’s not that easy. There’s people who count on me, who need me.”

You avert your gaze, laughing mirthlessly, quickly wiping away a tear with trembling fingers. Marc watches you intently as he smokes, his hand resting on your thigh.

“I see,” you say softly as you meet his gaze, a sad smile on your lips. “Nothing’s changed.”

He doesn’t say anything in return.

“Why did you come back?”

I wanted to be as close to you as possible.

“My…job required me to. And I think it’ll stay that way for the foreseeable future.”

You nod. “Okay.”

He gently strokes your leg, unconsciously trying to soothe himself more than you. He’s about to say something, he doesn’t even know what, just something, when you can’t hold it in anymore.

“I get that I’m not a priority for you, Marc, I really do,” you whisper, your expression so full of sadness he can barely stand to look at you. “You made that abundantly clear when you disappeared without having the decency to say goodbye–”

“Sunshine…”

“–but I don’t understand why you won’t do this one thing for me.”

Marc’s brow furrows deeply as he watches your lip quiver with frustration.

“I-I promise I won’t ever ask you again, but please stay with me tonight. Please. It doesn’t even have to be the whole night. Just an hour, Marc, or–or half an–”

“Sunshine, no,” he says a bit sharper than intended, his own nerves frayed. He gets up and looks at the moon.

You just…don’t understand.

You don’t understand what keeps him up at night, what keeps him away from you, what he’s vowed to protect you from—and he can never tell you.

He knows he should have left you alone when he saw you outside the bar that night, should have walked away and spared you the pain.

But he couldn’t do it then, and he can’t do it now.

Because he’s a selfish asshole.

Because he loves you.

He flicks the cigarette butt out of the window, then bends down to put on his shirt, the act mechanical, his face set in a mask of determination. You haven’t noticed before, but now you notice how careful he is when bending and stretching.

He must be in pain.

“Marc,” you plead, your heart beating so fast you feel like it’s going to explode.

He puts on his shoes, the silence that’s stretching between you suffocating. He’s killing you. He’s killing you, and yet you’re more afraid of losing him forever.

This needs to stop. You need to stop.

“If you walk out of that door, I don’t ever wanna see you again.”

Marc halts his movements and your pleading eyes search his, the genuine desperation in them twisting a knife in his heart. For a moment, you think you see something in his eyes—a flicker of the man you need him to be—but then it’s gone.

He sighs heavily, then rounds the bed, leaning in to cup your cheek. “You don’t mean that,” he murmurs, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against your forehead. “I’ll see you around.”

“Please,” you whisper, but it’s too late.

When he reaches the front door, his cap in hand, you stand in the living room, naked and vulnerable. “I hate you, Marc Spector,” you say, your voice filled with all the pain and anger you feel.

He turns, his eyes softening for just a moment. “No, Sunshine. No, you don’t.”

And with that, he’s gone.

It takes a few seconds for your body to react to what just happened, and when it does, it’s overwhelming. Your stomach sinks, your chest tightens, and your vision blurs as you grapple with your ambivalent feelings.

Tears spill down your cheeks as you crumble, the exhaustion and heartbreak taking over.

Heading back to your bedroom, your eyes catch the roses your boyfriend gave you yesterday, a cruel reminder of the life you’ve been trying to build without Marc. All the work you put in, down the drain.

And for what? Why do you do this to yourself?

In a fit of anger and despair, you grab the flowers and throw them off your balcony. You watch as they scatter on the rain-wet street below, the cool night air wrapping around your naked body like a cloak. You stay for a moment, heart pounding, staring at the flowers as Marc’s cum runs down your thigh.

God, you’re a dumb idiot.

You turn off the TV as you head back inside, turn off your bedside lamp, the darkness a welcome solace. You go to the bathroom without turning the light on, clean up, put on a fresh pair of pajamas.

You do hate him.

You need to tell yourself that, for tonight at least.

Curled up in your bed, you clutch at the pillow where his scent still lingers, letting the darkness take you as the man who holds your heart is once again slipping through your fingers. The tears come again, silent and unending, each one a testament to the love you can’t seem to let go of, no matter how much it hurts.

Because for better or worse, Marc’s a part of you, and you can’t escape it.

Down on the street, Marc watches the scene unfold from the shadows, the flowers landing at his feet. He stands there, drenched in regret, his heart heavy. He wants to turn back, to hold you and tell you everything will be okay, but he knows he can’t.

Not with the life he leads.

Not until he’s finally free.

He walks to his car, parked on the opposite side of the street. Coming from the reflection of the driver’s window, the car illuminated by the street lamp above, he hears a familiar voice.

“You’re a cold bastard, Marc,” the man in the reflection says, his tone filled with quiet condemnation.

“Thanks, bud,” Marc sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You wanna explain to him that we’re gonna be late, then?” He raises an eyebrow, but Steven just shakes his head disapprovingly.

Marc scoffs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Didn’t think so.”

He takes the silver lighter out of his pocket, lights a cigarette, and leans against the car door, looking up at your windows. He imagines your silhouette as you’re lying on your side, your soft skin, the gentle rise and fall of your chest. He imagines you’re dreaming of him, finding peace in your sleep.

He knows he’s dreaming himself, knows you’re tossing and turning, cursing him. And he deserves it. He knows he does.

“Tick-tock, Marc Spector,” comes the resonating voice of Khonshu, his towering figure perched atop a nearby rooftop, his skeletal bird skull gleaming in the moonlight.

Marc rolls his eyes, takes a last drag of his cigarette before putting it out with his shoe, and shoots the impatient god a glare that earns him a chuckle that echoes through the night.

He looks up at your windows one last time, his heart aching with a longing he can’t afford to indulge. Then, with a heavy sigh, he gets into his car and turns on the radio.

As he speeds down the road, the city lights blurring past, leaving you behind, he feels the crushing loneliness of his life.

It’s strange.

Feeling lonely despite never being, you know, alone.

Right on cue, he catches the intense gaze of a dark pair of eyes in the rearview mirror.

“What? You gonna tell me I’m a cold bastard, too?”

Jake looks back at him with a sly grin. “Nah. You don’t need me to tell you what you already know,” he scoffs. “But it’s a real shame, Marc. Leaving that poor girl to get fucked by boys who don’t know what they’re doing, just ‘cause you don’t have the balls to–”

“And that’s enough of you,” Marc mutters, turning up the volume of the radio, refocusing on the way ahead.

⚡ Kavinsky’s Odd Look is playing in Marc’s car as he’s driving through the night, thinking of you. ⚡ Marc’s Ferrari Testarossa – the sexiest car there is. ⚡ I adore the synthwave aesthetic if you can’t tell lol.

Moon Knight Masterlist | AO3

#fic: nightcall #marc spector #marc spector x f!reader #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector smut #marc spector angst #moon knight #moon knight x f!reader #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #moon knight smut #oscar isaac characters #marc spector fanfiction #moon knight fanfic #oscar isaac fic

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thatacotargirl · 7 months ago

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Shadows and Surprises (4)

Part 4 of Azriel x Reader fanfic! I hope you are all enjoying - please let me know your thoughts! I am going to try and post these chapters on Sundays from now on.

Summary: Azriel meets y/n at Rita's and spends a single night of passion with you before heading your separate ways. Only, the Mother had different ideas.

Warnings: pregnancy.

Tag list - @mirandasidefics @lilah-asteria @nyxbranwenn @nickishadow139 @dee-writes-smut @impossibelle @mybestfriendmademe @minnieoo @hauntedstudentobservationus @st4r-girl-official

Azriel's POV

Azriel had absolutely no idea how this dinner was going to go. Truth be told, he expected you to politely decline and to take your dinner in your bedroom, give yourself some time to adjust to the change of pace your life had taken so suddenly that day. You surprised him once again - but that's what you seemed to do to him. Surprise him. You surprised him by taking an interest in him at Rita's that night, allowing him to tentatively approach you and offer to buy you a drink. You surprised him with a baby, his child. You surprised him by allowing him to not only be part of his child's life so easily, as if you hadn't only known him for a few drunken hours, and in turn, to be part of his life. He wasn't sure that his emotions had really settled down and processed the day - but he felt, deep down, that he quite liked your surprising nature.

Azriel offered you his arm and walked you slowly to the dining room in a comfortable silence; although he felt your body tense as you both approached the door and heard the laughter and chatter behind. He gave you a look - an offer to turn back - but you took a deep breath and nodded towards the door. Azriel opened it, and everyone went silent.

As you walked towards the 2 empty seats on the table, Cassian bounced out of his chair and walked towards y/n, giving her a bear hug.

"How are you feeling, y/n? Are you sure you're not too tired?" he asked, glancing down at your stomach. You chuckled. Y/n had no idea what she was in for living here with him and Cassian - both quickly becoming Mother Hens to y/n and the unborn child.

Y/n laughed in response, giving Cassian a gentle shove on the shoulder. "I'm fine, Cassian, thank you". You had seemed to ease quite a bit with Cassian's presence - perhaps because you felt you had more than one person in your corner. For some reason, Azriel felt a pang of jealousy at how quickly Cassian was able to put you at peace. He pushed the feeling down and guided you by the elbow to your seat.

Mor, however, had other plans - bounding over to y/n and pulling her back up out of her chair and into a hug.

"It is so nice to meet you, y/n! Azriel had a lot to say about you after your little tusk that night post-Rita's", Mor winked. Azriel went bright red, but y/n only laughed.

"Clearly he had a lot more than just things to say", y/n replied, gesturing at her stomach. There was a brief, silent pause; and Azriel held his breath. The pause broke almost immediately,though, as the entire table bursting out into a fit of laughter at your joke. Azriel felt himself relax a bit into his chair, feeling the initial awkward atmosphere dissipating.

Amren didn't stand, instead holding up her glass in gesture to y/n. "Pleasure to meet you", she calls out, taking a long gulp of her drink. Y/n replied kindly, and took her seat at the table. The House produced platters upon platters and everyone dished themselves a plate.

Dinner went forward as uneventful as it could have been. Jokes were passed, at Azriel's expense, and y/n was questioned relentlessly by Mor about her pregnancy and the baby, but there was a comfortable aura in the room and that was all he could have hoped for.

"Is it a boy or a girl?", Mor asked, having dragged her chair around the table after the meal to sit in front of y/n, her hands resting on y/n's swollen stomach.

"I have no idea! Madja said it is impossible to know, but there are some potential indications. I had a rough first trimester, which Madja said is more like a girl - but I also get headaches a lot - which is more like a boy".

"Az, what do you think?", Mor asked, her hands not leaving the small bump.

"I don't mind as long as they are healthy", he replied, watching in awe as Mor placed her head against the bump to try and listen in. Azriel realised that Mor was touching the baby bump before he had and felt that surge of jealousy rear its ugly head once more.

"And that they have wings", Cassian grinned.

"Ah, they do have wings", y/n replied nonchalantly, not realising quite how important that fact would be for the 3 males sat at the table. They all exchanged big smiles, thinking about the day they would be able to take Azriel's son or daughter, their nephew or niece, out to the forest to learn how to fly. Y/n looked up and smiled in response.

"For a 50/50 chance, we got lucky then", Cassian said, raising his own glass upwards in thanks to the Mother. Y/n smiled at him, but Azriel didn't miss the slight glassy-eyed look she had, the way her smile faltered if only for a millisecond and, when she recovered it, the smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

Azriel watched as Mor peppered y/n with more questions about pregnancy and the baby, and noticed as y/n's shoulders began to sag slightly with exhaustion. You had also noticed that Rhys was more withdrawn than usual, offering his input into the conversation less than he would normally. Since he had come back from under the mountain, you knew there was something he was holding back, but never wanted to push your brother more than he was comfortable with. You had let him know you were there for him, and would wait.

"I think it's time we head up for the night", he said, standing and offering a hand to y/n. He saw the grateful look in your eye as you accepted.

"Thank you for a wonderful dinner", y/n said, giving Mor, Cassian and Rhys another hug each and Amren a small wave before walking to the door.

"Tomorrow?", Mor called after them. Y/n turned to give Mor a nod, and walked up the stairs ahead of Azriel.

"What's tomorrow?", he asked.

"Mor has asked me to go shopping with her for some maternity clothes and perhaps some bits for the baby. I know we have months to go, but we can't be too prepared I suppose. Plus, she was so excited, I didn't have the heart to turn her down".

Azriel felt the pang again. He hadn't even placed a hand on the swollen bump where his unborn child was growing, and Mor was already taking you shopping for baby items?

"Can I join?", he asked, before he could stop himself. Y/n faltered on the stairs.

"Would you want to?".

"Of course I would, why would you think I wouldn't?".

Y/n looked at the floor, cheeks blushing a deep red. "I just didn't think you'd be interested in going shopping". Azriel could tell that wasn't the real reason, but the deepness of the red your cheeks had gone told him that you weren't comfortable enough to share the reason just yet.

"I'd like to come, if that's ok", he replied, placing a hand on y/n's lower back to gentle guide their direction back towards the stairs and to their bedrooms.

"Yes, I'd like that", y/n replied, face still a deep shade of crimson. "Thank you for tonight, and for everything Az, I really appreciate it".

"You're more than welcome".

When he reached y/n's door, Azriel didn't know the correct way to say goodbye. Does he hug you? Offer you a kiss on the cheek? The hand? High-five you? He opted for a light squeeze on your bicep.

"Shout if you need anything".

Y/n nodded and departed behind the bedroom door, leaving Azriel alone in the hallway.

Y/N POV

"Mor. No", y/n said, watching Mor pull a slinky emerald green dress from the rack.

"What?! It says it's maternity!".

Y/n couldn't even grace Mor with a response. The dress, if it could even be called a dress, was just lines of emerald green velvet ribbon which showed off more than it covered. A beautiful dress, but not an everyday maternity dress.

They had been shopping for hours now, Azriel in tow holding the bags, and y/n had begun to get tired. With a beautiful new wardrobe of maternity clothes courtesy of Rhysand's card, it had been a successful shop. They had looked at baby items and started a list of things you would need, but they hadn't picked up anything to buy today. You were looking for the perfect first item to buy your baby and hadn't quite found it.

"I think I need to call it a day, Mor", you say, struggling to pull yourself up off the store sofa. Azriel and Mor rush to your side, each taking an arm and helping you to your feet. You chuckle.

"If I am this bad at only 4 months, wait until I'm 8". Mor laughs, but Azriel looks at you with a fierce expression on his face.

"Then I will carry you".

You gape at him, but Mor only laughs at how serious Azriel's face was.

"Az, she will be fine".

Azriel didn't look the slightest bit convinced. He picked up all the bags and followed you and Mor out of the shop and towards the House of Wind. Mor winnowed up, taking the bags with her, whilst Azriel flew you - careful to mind your stomach. You had noticed his apprehension about your stomach and it made you uneasy. He almost seemed, apprehensive, of it?

Once upstairs, Mor kissed your cheek and winnowed home, leaving you and Azriel. You left the bags in the living room, too tired to deal with them now, and made your way to your bedroom. You had just taken your makeup off and got yourself into bed when you hear a knock at the door.

"Come in".

Azriel walks in, a tray in hand. He places it next to you on the bed, and you are delighted to see it brimming with delicious food and your indigestion tonic. You pat the space next to you on the bed, inviting Azriel to join, and tuck in. You notice him walk over slowly, almost as if giving you an out to change your mind and send him away, before he sighed and climbed carefully on to the bed next to you. He watched as you finished the food he had prepared and took a dose of your tonic, settling back on the pillows.

"How are you feeling?", he asked.

"Tired, I didn't realise how exhausting it was to grow a baby. Everything hurts all the time".

"What is hurting now?" concern lacing his voice. You sigh.

"My legs, my feet, my lower back, my shoulders. Turns out carrying around another small human does a number on you".

Without a word, Azriel pulls the covers down from your body and moves to sit at the end of the bed. Taking your legs and placing them in his lap. He starts to rub them and you let out a contented grunt. You stay like that, in silence, for a while - Azriel taking the time to release the pressure you felt from a day of walking around the shops.

"Az?", you ask quietly. He looks to you and raises a brow.

"Why haven't you touched the bump?".

He stills.

"I- I didn't want to upset you or offend you".

You stare at him. Upset or offend you? It's just as much his child in there as it is yours! Your face softens as you take in his, his eyes longingly looking at the swelling.

"You can, Az".

Azriel moves slowly to sit next to you again. You see his scarred hands shake as he places them on his legs, as if considering how to do this. You know there is a story there, a traumatic one, but you don't want to push Azriel to tell. You see him reach one hand out and gently place it on the centre of your stomach, his eyes glancing to you to make sure you are ok with it. You nod, encouraging him to continue. He reaches out the other and cups your stomach. He stays there a while, looking both content and unsure all at once, before he looks to you and smiles.

"Thank you".

Your heart almost breaks.

"Az, you don't need to thank me. This is your child. You can do this any time you want". He nods, his stoic Spymaster face back on as he returns to the other end of the bed and picks your legs back up.

"Keep this up, Az, and I'm going to fall asleep".

He grins at you - "that's the aim".

You give him a half-lidded smile as you feel your eyes forcing themselves shut and your body sinking into the bed.

Azriel POV

Azriel keeps up his massage until your breathing becomes slow and steady. He looks up to see you sleeping peacefully, your hair fanned out across the pillows. He smiles, and glances down at your bump, still uncovered by the duvet and peeking out of your pyjama top.

He still hadn't wrapped his head around the fact that you were here, pregnant, with his child. He didn't think it would sink in for quite some time.

Slowly, he moves himself up the bed towards you, careful not to wake you, and places his hands gently on the bump. Resting his head on the bed, he turns to face your stomach.

"Hi baby, I'm your dad".

#a court of frost and starlight #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #acotar x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel #acotar fic #acotar azriel

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kirbybecomesastarwarrior · 5 months ago

Text

Happy Father's Day~ (for the Dads of KBASW)

Did you think I would be late for Father's Day (like last year)? Hahaha yes!

King Dedede & Banadana Dee:

I've kept King Dedede's Arc pretty hush (since it does dive into pretty dark territory) and Bandee is extremely integral to his change. And you can understand why Dedede's incredibly attached to Bandee (vice-versa).

Bandee is one of the only ones who believed in the king and stayed by his side. And King Dedede growing a drive to change... wanting to become someone worthy of Bandee's trust and loyalty.

After Escargoon quits on him (which affects & hurts him greatly), he promises to do everything he can to "treat dis boy right!"Which results in King Dedede treating him more like a son than his right-hand man.

King Fisher, Prince Fluff & Falspar:

As I've said before Fisher King adored his son to bits and pieces ... and gave his life just for the chance to be a father. And never regretted having Fluff... if his accident is what leads him to have his son then he doesn't regret that either.

(Basically, a near-death experience was what led him & his wife to be unable to have children... an accident that Falspar was blamed for by Uther & the Ancients to save face...)

After the whole debacle with the Grail & Faspar wants to make it up to Fluff, (even though Fluff has already forgiven him). However, that's not good enough for Falspar so what does he do...

This is basically Falspar's walk of penance (similar to his counterpart Sir Percival)... And he does this by finding out what happened to Fluff's mom for him. They were both able to give each other the closure they needed: Falspar with the King Fisher incident with the Grail & Fluff with the disappearance of his mom...

Falspar becomes a second father to Fluff he's affectionately called Uncle Parry by him (Fluff). Falspar's laid-back nature was just what Fluff needed in his life. Being there for Fluff gave Falspar this unspeakable sense of fulfillment... finally understanding what the Grail meant... and King Fisher's attitude of gratitude for him.

Fisher was always thankful to Falspar for his accident because it's what led him to have a son... and Falspar in turn becomes grateful to Fisher because of his son (Fluff).

(Gah~ still weeping)

Sir Arthur & Meta Knight:

As I've said before, when Meta Knight was born he was sent through the dream fountain as a living bomb by Nightmare. He (MK) would not obey him and saw him as a failed experiment so he expelled him hoping he could do a little damage... believing he would die on arrival.

He was wrong... Meta Knight's creation was blasphemy and the fact he didn't have a warpstar was proof of that. He was an astral that was born out of the creation of Void.

And of course, Sir Uther tried to execute him immediately... but Sir Arthur wasn't having it. Everyone saw a monster, but all Sir Arthur could see was a frightened little boy begging for someone to save him... (it was a feeling all too familiar when he dealt with Sir Uther's cruelty).

Not only that he couldn't bear to see another innocent being accused of treason *cough* Celestine.

Using all the knowledge & the lessons he's had (with Celestine/ Merlyn) he manages to convince the Ancients to spare Meta's life and allow him to take the baby in. And his new status as "holy knight" protected him so Uther couldn't do anything to override his decision.

However, the old toad had one last (pathetic) try and exclaimed, "IF YOU KEEP THAT SPAWN OF NIGHTMARE YOU WILL NO LONGER BE MY RIGHT HAND AND I WILL DISSOWN YOU!"

Uther had assumed he'd come crawling back believing he still had Arthur under his thumb. (Little did he know Arthur had changed a long time ago.) Instead, he turns to his old mentor "Then I would formally like to abdicate my position as your right-hand man."

Arthur turns back to Meta and scoops him in his arms wrapping him in his cape (the red cape). "And besides I'll have my hands full and won't be able to properly take care of this one."

"WHAT!?"

He walked away from his cruel master and never looked back. Meta Knight always saw Arthur as his savior, but in reality, it was Meta Knight who saved him.

After Celestine's death (or that's what he thought), Arthur was really struggling, and even more so after she was erased.

Being one of the only people who remembered her, apart of him thought she might have been a figment of his imagination. But he didn't care "Even if she was just a dream... then she was a beautiful dream..." and as long as Merlyn existed... so did she.

He held on to the memory of her for dear life... "that there was always something to live for... "Meta Knight was that something to him.

Kirby & Meta Knight:

Guys, I don't think I need to explain the last one that much cause... come on it's "Meta Dad."

(I'd expand on this more but then we'd be here for hours/ also that would be spoilers to KBASW: The Knightmare's End... I really got to finish the next chapter)

Basically Sunshine heals old lonely war veteran~

The whole father-son relationship between Kirby & Meta Knight is two outsiders finding this family within each other... and then in turn being able to make a safe space for everyone and each other.

Their Father-Son relationship ultimately made each other grow closer to their respective destinies. With Kirby becoming a Star Warrior and Meta Knight becoming the leader of the GSA,

So anyway I hope you enjoyed the dads of KBASW!

#kirby #kbasw #meta knight #metadad #king dedede #bandana dee #bandee #prince fluff #sir arthur #sir falspar #king fisher #fisher king #hoshi no kaabii #kirby anime #kirby oc #kirby right back at ya #everyone pretended i wasn't late!#happy father's day

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 2 years ago

Note

I would love a fic with Aemond and a blind!reader. I think it would be an interesting relationship dynamic! Maybe she lives at the castle? Daughter of someone who is on the court or of someone who works there? Free reign!

How could you be so blind?

Aemond x blind!reader / AO3 Link

A/N: sorry it took me soooo long to get to this one, but I wanted to take my time with it! It's not long, but it's cute fluff <3 thank you for requesting this!

Warnings: none, just fluff, Aegon being Aegon

...

“My Prince, are you alright?”

Criston Cole was about to swing his weapon again until he realised that the Prince had dropped his shield to his side, his other still gripping the handle of his sword overly firm. Aemond hissed at the feeling of the cold metal on his new wound, dropping his shield almost instantly at this uncomfortable ache.

Aemond grimaced and looked down at his hand, groaning at the sight of a new, line shaped wound that extended across the back of his hand. It had been his own fault and he’d known it. He was reluctant to remember how many times Ser Criston ever told him he should not hold his shield the way he does, otherwise the force of a strike may injure his hands. And yet, he had not listened before and here he was. Blood dripping down his hand and soaking against the leather cuff of his clothes, the sting continued to overwhelm his left hand.

“It is alright, only a scratch” Aemond said through somewhat gritted teeth.

Criston had known him for too long to know he was putting on a brave face, as he always did.

Abandoning the weapon, Criston shook his head.

“Let me see”

Aemond stood back, almost tucking the wounded hand behind himself, pretending as if it never happened.

“I am alright, let’s continue”

“My Prince, I cannot allow you to train injured. You may injure yourself further”

Letting out an annoyed sigh, Aemond had to accept that once again Ser Criston was right. There was no use in continuing to train with blood dripping from his fingers and a pain like no other shooting to his joints. Though he refused to go quietly, that much was certain.

With several huffs of annoyance and pain, Aemond abandoned his own weapons and training to sit in at the maester, who after cleaning the blood from the wound, simply applied some salve and cloth to keep the area away from dirt.

Quickly feeling the beginning of a migraine coming on, the last thing he needs at his lunch hour is his brother echoing down the hallway, even the sound of his voice proving to annoy the second son further.

To his utter dismay, Aegon was not alone, and in through the stone hallways echoed the pointed shoes of his mother and sister, all uncharacteristically together.

“Aemond” Alicent’s sweet voice echoed slightly across the room, smile fading once she saw how his fingers were pressed against his head, “are you alright?”

Aemond almost felt bad. Not wanting to concern his mother this way.

“I am fine, mother. There is no need to worry”

Aeogn threw a lob-sided smile in his direction, sitting down to retrieve a trusty cup of wine.

“What happened to your hand then?” he smirked, “Ser Criston finally get the better of you?”

“Aemond, your hand” Alicent lifted his hand to inspect, only for her son to tear it away, not wishing to burden her with his injury.

“It is nothing, I have been to the maester for the wound. It will heal with time”

Alicent knew better than to push any further and at the same time, did not want to baby Aemond as he progressed into adulthood. Her brown eyes looked down at him for a moment and gave him a comforting smile and knew to drop the conversation altogether.

“Well, at least give our guests the courtesy of a smile when they arrive” Alicent said quietly, picking at her skirts and making for the doorway.

“Guests?”

Alicent turned to Aemond, brows furrowed in confusion at his question. She had told him about it just the night before.

“Yes, we are to receive a new member of the Small Council”

“Even I remembered and I am several wines deep” Aegon smirked, downing the cup in his hand.

Aemond groaned, eye rolling to the back of his head and the heel of his hand pushed harder against his forehead. Of course, he had completely forgotten and his mood at the moment did not permit meeting new people.

“Mother, I am in no mood…” Aemond started. Alicent’s smile dropped and she joined her hands,

“Aemond” her voice was more stern than he was used to, and his good eye looked back at his mother, “at least just be there. You do not have to say anything”

Alicent made for the exit and Aegon revelled in the idea that the oh-so-good second son had upset his mother in this way. Usually it was Aegon bearing the brunt of a mother’s scornful gaze, but it was nice and refreshing for him to gloat a little.

“Yes, brother” Aegon staggered to his feet, completely ignoring their sister as he pushed to follow Alicent, “Put on a good face. Although that may be difficult for you”

Helaena followed without a word, almost hating this as much as Aemond did. Once alone, he let out a heavy sigh and pushed himself groggily to his feet, taking as much time as he needed to follow behind. He really was not in the mood for this.

He paused before entering the foyer, already hearing the echoed voices of a new man speaking in pleasantries and useless small talk. Hand laced behind his back, he took his place behind Aegon and Helaena, eye slightly closed to resist the sharp pain of the light that might make his headache even worse. Barely even listening to the quiet echoes of his mother, the clatter of heels on the stone floor rapped at his aching head more so.

“Your Grace, this is my daughter”

There was a short silence before a small, quiet voice responded, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace. Please extend my thanks to the King for granting my Father this position”

Alicent seemed genuinely stunned for a moment, finding her words, “The pleasure is all mine, my Lady”

Scrunching his eye closed, expectant to make his greetings shortly, Aemond opened his eye a slither, seeing the blurred silhouettes of the Lord and Lady before his mother. He could not make out the woman, blocked by the form of her father as his back faced them.

“And may I introduce you to my children, Aegon, Helaena and Aemond”

Aemond made the effort to open his eye more so. The man was portly, but tall and sent a bow and a small smile, the woman next to him having an unusually strong hold on his arm. They stood before Aegon first,

“Prince Aegon” her voice was quiet still, despite being so close and he could see her extend herself to curtsy before his brother.

Aegon, as per, had that stupidly drunken grin on his face, searching the woman’s face before him. Cocking his head slightly, he smiled back and kissed her hand, her expression never changed.

Before Helaena, both of the women curtsied and the silver-haired woman seemed to regard her closely in front of her, perhaps seeing something others did not. But she remained silent and with a similar temperament, greeted her quietly.

Aemond had not known what to expect when the father and daughter duo landed upon him. Of course, Aemond nodded in greeting to the Lord first before allowing his good eye to land on the woman next to him. Her arm was linked with her father’s, fingers gripped at the sleeve. As if not knowing exactly where she was stood, she took a baby step forward towards Aemond, eyes vacant and staring ahead.

“Prince Aemond” she greeted quietly. As with custom, he took her other hand softly and placed a kiss to it, his eye never leaving her face. She never moved once, save the ever-present chaste smile on her features. And while she stood before him for a moment, he studied all her features, a touch of curiosity tugging at him greatly.

“My Lady”

He had surprised himself with the greeting, having not thought before the words left his mouth and something tight like a vine wrapped about his chest.

“My Lord, shall I introduce you to the King, to make your pleasantries” Alicent piped up to cut through the air.

The father simply nodded without a sound, tugged back by the whisper of his daughter.

“Father, might I walk about?” she asked, eyes still straight ahead, vision not shifting.

As if forgetting he nodded, “Your Grace, might the Princess Helaena accompany my daughter through the Keep?

It is a new place, your Grace and she does not know her way about”

Alicent smiled comfortingly and gestured to her daughter, who uncharacteristically raised her head and smiled at the prospect of female company.

“Of course. Helaena, darling, would you?”

Helaena nodded enthusiastically and had that child-like smile on her face now, hopping over to the woman as her father gently placed her arm in Helaena’s. He watched almost in pride as the two women walked away, the murmured whispers of the young women audible to those walking by.

“Thank you, Princess. Do be slow with me, I fear my feet cannot keep up” the woman laughed, her hand finding its natural place in Helaena’s.

As the pair walked away, the brother’s were left with two differing versions of curiosity. Aegon with a smirk on his and Aemond’s blank, with the desire to fill his head with more of her.

“Blind, most of her life. Shame, she would be quite pretty if not for that”

Aemond resisted the urge to roll his eye.

“You are insufferable”

Aegon furrowed his brows, almost offended, “What? Perhaps it is a blessing she is blind, so she does not have to see your miserable face”

Tsk.

“Better my miserable face than your constant indecent quips”

Aemond felt his fist clench uncontrollably behind his back. Aegon half-turned on the spot to google his brother, one eyebrow raised as if mocking.

“What has gotten into you, brother? Cuntstruck already?”

Aemond could practically feel the burning behind his forehead now, getting more and more agitated at his brother’s neverending mocking.

“Perhaps I sympathise” Aemond said flatly, his broad body facing Aegon now, “or perhaps I am just sick of hearing your voice”

“Either way, I do not give a fuck. Frankly, it amuses me to think there is one good eye between you”

Aemond could hear how proud his brother was of himself as Aegon slinked down the hallway out of sight, careful to not push his brother too far. But far enough it seemed, as Aemond felt his teeth pierce his lip in annoyance.

He scanned the hallway, hoping to at least have looped back to bump into her and his sister. But there was no sign of them until much later, when Aemond happened upon the two young women in the gardens. The sight before him made him smile properly for the first time in a while, seeing his sister talking erratically and excitedly. She was knelt before the woman, hands placed out to her to allow a caterpillar Helaena had found to crawl its way onto her skin.

“Oh, it tickles” the lady said, her body tensing and trying her best not to laugh, shaking in her attempt.

The sound of Helaena’s genuine laugh brushed through the spring trees and the other woman’s too as the insect crawled up her arm.

“Does he have hairs?” she asked.

Helaena looked up wide with glee, “This species do, they use them to sense vibrations in the ground, since they have no eyes”

The woman nodded in understanding and a silence fell onto the Princess, her expression immediately falling, “I am so sorry, I did not mean to offend!”

Helaena looked worriedly at the woman before her, fearing that she was too nice to retaliate to what the Princess perceived as a cruel joke.

But the woman simply shook her head, letting a quiet laugh escape, “There is no need to worry, Princess. I thought nothing of it”

The woman’s hands hovered over where she thought the caterpillar was, picking the small creature up with her delicate fingers to lay in her palm. Satisfied that her new friend had not been offended with her words, Helaena smiled and took the creature back to lay him back in the grass.

“I am grateful for your company, Princess. Thank you for taking me around the Keep, it is difficult to memorise on my own”

Helaena shook her head, “It is alright, my pleasure, my Lady. I hope we can become better acquainted as friends”

Helaena smiled hopefully, “I would like that very much”

She almost squealed with delight at the prospect of a friend, squeezing her hands tightly.

“If you will excuse me, I will see you tonight for supper”

The young woman nodded, ever a smile on her soft features. She could hear the soft footsteps of the Princess walking away, a sigh escaping her chest as the sound of muffed leaves swayed in the wind.

Aemond had watched the entire time, mouth slightly open as if to say something. He would not like to admit it to himself, but he was curious about her. She seemed to have a cheerful personality and a smooth, sweet laugh that claimed the dark silence in the air around her. And at first, Aemond was shocked to hear that she was blind. Were it not for her motions, he would never have guessed.

Her eyes were light and clouded, not dissimilar to a bright white cloud in the sky.

“I can hear you, Prince Aemond”

His heart stopped in his chest as her head turned in his direction, a breath caught in his throat at being caught. Was she lying this whole time about her sight? Surely there was no explanation other than this, he thought.

Then she left a giggle free, “I can hear your footsteps and breathing. I don’t think you are as light-footed as you think”

His chest unclenched at her joking nature, a smile once more making its way slowly on his face, knowing that she would not be able to see and mock him for it.

With this acceptance, he approached her and stood before her seated form.

“I apologise, my Lady. I did not mean to pry”

She shook her head, “Not at all. Would you like to join me”

Pulling his cuffs back over his wrists, he sat beside her, eye never leaving her.

“Your sister is lovely”

“Hm” he hummed in response, “I think she is happy to finally have some female company” his fingers ran over the bandage on the back of his hand, “I have never seen her so happy”

She clasped her hands together on her lap, using one of her thumbs to run over the other. A nervous gesture perhaps?

“It will be nice, seeing as my father has been graced with his position”

“Your family intends to stay in residence”

She nods slowly, “I believe so”

“Good”

Aemond spoke without even thinking, panic settling into his head and neck getting hot once he realised she bit her lip, smiling to hold a giggle inside, “Uh-u…I only meant that…it would be good to know you better. If we are to share the same table”

She nodded still smiling, knowing how flustered he had been.

“Thank you, Prince Aemond” she paused, “although, I do not think your brother feels the same way”

Aemond was about to open his mouth to say something, kicking himself that she had heard what Aegon had said.

“I urge you not to worry. I have been blind long enough to grow thick skin” she smiles again, and Aemond wonders how someone can be so happy.

“It is still no excuse for his words”

She scoffed, “I don’t think he cares if he offends me or not. I have learned to live with it”

I have learned to live with it, those words echoed in his head for minutes after she had said it. And he felt all but vulnerable again, like a child.

“I was not born blind” she said, answering the question before Aemond had the opportunity to consider even asking it.

“Although, I was too young to appreciate having sight. It’s funny isn’t it?” she turns to him, but unknowing where exactly he was, her eyes were still focussed past him.

Aemond furrowed his brows, confused, “What is?”

“That you don’t appreciate what you have until it is gone”

It was Aemond’s turn to scoff now, and he did, turning away slightly.

“I’m not sure I would consider it funny” he replied, slightly hurt that he could relate perfectly.

“Perhaps funny is not the right word, then”

She placed her hands on the bench at the side of her to readjust, unknowingly brushing her hand passed Aemond’s and she flinched, as if he were hot to the touch.

“I apologise”

He murmured a response.

“I use my hands too much” she excuses herself again and he has not observed this until she just said it. But she did reach out for things to check what exactly it was, “It is how I see” she laughs at her own joke, and Aemond feels the mischievous air radiate off her, already feeling as if he knew her better.

“Do you see any light?” he asks, genuinely wondering.

She does a half nod, “I see silhouettes of people. If I focus very well I can see your outline, but even that has gotten worse”

“If people allow I sometimes touch their faces, to see what they look like” she pauses, using her hands with her speaking, “But people usually find that quite strange”

Aemond nodded, understanding what she meant.

“Does it help you?” he asks and he smiles when she returns with a sharp nod, her cheeks rounding up with her smile.

“My hands are my eyes” she continues, and he relishes in the sound of her voice, “when the eyes are affected, the hands reach out for what is before them”

She spoke in such riddles, sometimes it confused him. Or rather her words were like poetry, as if she had rehearsed what she was going to say. Perhaps that was something Aegon might want to start practicing.

Aemond puts his hand in the air before her, hovering over hers.

“And what do you feel?” he asks.

She has a confused look on her face for a moment before bumping her hands up to meet his large one, hers were so small in comparison. She emitted a small oh in surprise at feeling his hand was so close to hers and Aemond could see the pure concentration on her face as her delicate fingers ran over his injured hand. Her touch so soft that it did not feel in the least bit painful.

“I feel…” she paused for dramatic effect, “...a hand”

Aemond scoffed at her joking nature.

“Sorry” she half-joked, hands still on his skin. He watched as her fingers studied at him in patience.

“Your hands are large, good for fighting and holding a sword.

Hm…your fingertips are coarse. And you have callouses on the heel of your palm. Perhaps you like to train a lot.

Hmm”

Her hands made their way over one side to the other, pausing as her fingers rested on the bandage.

“You’ve hurt yourself and the bandage is fresh…

No scars other than that. This is not your dominant hand”

Aemond raised his eyebrows, half-shocked and half-impressed at her ability to draw such conclusions. Like those palm readers in King’s Landing.

“You have slender wrists…you were a small child”

Aemond observed her now and her face, her tongue slipping over her lip to concentrate once more. When she is finished, she does not retreat her hands.

“Very good” he said after a short silence and that smile graces her once more.

Taking in a sharp breath, he turns his body to face her, taking her hands in both of his easily. With his thumbs massaging her palms, he lifts them to place at his jaw.

“What about here?” he asks.

He can tell she is shocked that he has allowed her to touch his face. And she wonders if she should refuse him, feigning nervousness. But curiosity of her own gets the better of her and she is in no position to refuse a Prince. So she applies pressure to either side of his face, but still soft to Aemond.

So much so his eye closes at the feeling of her ghostly hands across his features.

She traced his jaw, cupping his angular chin, and he no longer wishes to watch her as she does this. Instead opting to disappear in this feeling, her warm hands upon him.

Her thumbs symmetrically glide on his undereye, one tracing the contour of his eye and the other the pattern of this leather eyepatch. And then over the bottom of the scar. But her touch doesn’t falter, as if it is the most usual thing in the world. Her fingers fiddle with the strap of it for a moment before passing over his nose and then to his forehead, and all memory of the migraine he once had was completely gone. Her touch was healing and the throbbing began to dissipate back into his muscles.

He almost sighed out loud as her nimble and small fingertips found their way into his hairline, passing across the follicles and eliciting a feeling of pure bliss. Perhaps it was the feeling of being understood. Or perhaps it was just having the soft, delicate touch of someone.

Her fingers passed over his locks and he opened his eye once again to look at her. He knew she would not be able to see it, but he was smiling contently down at her.

Her hands retreated, remaining suspended in the air between them and she swore she could feel the current of his breath against them.

“Well?” he asked quietly.

Her tongue came to lick at her lips again as she formed a reply in her head.

“I think you have had a difficult time”

Her words hit him deeply, not like a kick to the chest but that feeling of having the curtains drawn quickly and being woken. He felt his very outer shell begin to peel away, like a peach that she had sunk her thumb into. But not pried open, but rather overripe and splitting of its own accord. Merely needing the touch to splay open.

He swallowed thickly, a feeling of comfort washing over him, knowing that he was being truly seen.

“And you have beautiful hair”

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absolutebl · 6 months ago

Text

This Week in BL - All's Quiet on the BL Front

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

May 2024 Wk 3

Ongoing Series - Thai

Wandee Godday (Sat YT) ep 3 of 12 - I love how were getting a solid depiction of two queers just genuinely enjoying sex with each other. That’s actually rare in BL. In this case, it manages to also be weirdly adorable and cute.

Dee is such a tease. I guess Y likes a brat?

LOOK at those bedroom eyes!

Linguistics corner: when these two are being serious, sweet, or flirty with each other they use rao/nai which is kind of old fashioned and charming and not common in BL. They move pretty seamlessly into gu/mueng and back depending on the style of convo, tho. It's FUN to hear them talk.

Let the fake relationship commence!

My Stand-In (Thai Fri iQIYI) ep 4 of 12 eps - I HAVE THOUGHTS. I'm really enjoying the sinister backbone of this show. I hope they have the courage of their convictions in that regard and lean into a kind of sexy evil revenge narrative. It was a pleasure to watch the break up and I do not want a redemption arc for Ming or a romance for us. Fuck 'em, let’s just ride a revenge train, okay Joe baby?

That’s said, I totally sniffled at the ending scene where Ming (for two years!) has been paying penance cooking for two and waiting alone. Excellent pathos. Now, I understand how they're gonna make this a full 12 eps. And I’m excited about it. Carry on!

We Are (Weds iQIYI) ep 7 of 16 - I wasn't a fan of Winny & Satang in My School President but I'm loving them in this. The thing with Q, Toey, and Chain had me hooting with laughter. I think I’m finally just easing into the relaxed absurdity of this show. The key is not to expect anything from it. Just them being tiny gay idiots.

Two Worlds (iQIYI) ep 10 fin - Someday I’d like to really enjoy a MaxNat show, but today was not that day. (I feel like ever since Between Us I’ve been generally disenchanted with established OG pairs and what they’re bringing to the table. Perhaps that’s a discussion for another day. Cherry Magic excepted, of course.)

OK, so this final episode, they sure tried to fit a lot in. But that made the pacing better for me. So I kinda liked this weird cliff notes resolution to the story.

In conclusion:

MaxNat do a credible job with a messy script about parallel worlds, gangsters, and strange diseases cured by forest fruits. It sounds confusing because it is. The chemistry is excellent the side pair is entirely forgotten about, and one could drive a Tardis through the plot holes. Still, I found it modestly enjoyable if not at all rewatchable. 7/10

Only Boo! (Sun YouTube) ep 6 of 12 - I do love how bold and brash Moo is. He’s truly a great character, such an utter outgoing sunshine puppy focused on his pursuit of his older boy. I'm charmed by his utter harmlessness. They gave us a sweet coming out scene, and an awesome supportive mom. Frankly GMMTV has a good track record with moms. (With a few noted exceptions, of course.)

That said, I do keep forgetting this is a GMMTV offering. It just doesn't FEEL GMMTV. Just me?

OMG Vampire (Thai Sun ????) ep 1 of 10 - Starts tomorrow, will report on sitch next week. LeeFrank are back - not unlike the undead. But how do we feel about it? Unsure given their track record.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

At 25:00 in Akasaka AKA 25 Ji Akasaka de (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 5 of 10 - I like it. I like our sulky 2nd lead. He’s pouty, adorable, brash, and adding some much-needed tension to this narrative. The blurring lines between show within a show is a lot of fun. Probably the best I've seen done in BL so far.

Living With Him AKA Kare no Iru Seikatsu (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 6 of 10 - I like that we got backstory, but we also sort of already knew it. So this ep felt a bit like filler. They are wonderful when they’re on screen together but when they aren't it's a bit dull. I hope we just get them together for the next 4 eps. But this is Japan, so I doubt it.

Blossom Campus (Korea Thurs Gaga & iQIYI) ep 1 of 6 - The image resolution on this show (via Iqiyi ) is terrible. Meanwhile, awkward crush. Jock nerd pairing. Dorky. Maybe a bit too much awkward/dorky for me? I'm not sold on this one.

Meanwhile the ordering then not eating or drinking of food continues. Very upsetting.

Boys Be Brave (Korea Viki) eps 5-8fin - This show was just never sure what it wanted to be. Slacker sunshine KiSub moves in with nerd JinWoo, mostly because he knows JinWoo likes him but won't confess and that's never happened to him before. It reminded me of some earlier KBLs like Behind Cut, yes is had bones but not much flesh, so it only just hung together and progressed through not very much plot in a jerking rattling fashion like an animated skeleton. All the story and chemistry was with the side couple and none of the screen time. That just annoyed me. What did this BL want to BE? Who tf knows. I, for one, don’t care, and resolve to think no more on it. 6/10

Blue Boys (Korea Sat YouTube) - This ended at 4 eps on a cliffhanger. Since this is a very small studio I don’t have a lot of faith in there being a part two. But they have bundled both this BL, and the GL, bingable chunks on YT. So if you want to binge it, it’s there. Just be aware that it ends on a cliffhanger.

My thoughts?

Promising reunion romances full of class and coming out struggles but I grade with what we got, not on expectations, and you know I HATE a cliffhanger. So yeah, it HAD promise but as of now it gets a 4/10 - fatally flawed. I reserve the right to change my mind if they amend for damages.

It's airing but...

You Made My Day (Thai YT) ep 1 of 5 - mini series staring the I Will Knock You couple Tar & Bom, started but I couldn't find it. I also didn't try very hard.

Lady Boy Friends (Thai WeTV grey) 16 eps - reminds me a bit too much of Diary of Tootsies only high school. Not my thing. DNF unless it turns a corner and is truly amazing.

A Balloon's Landing (Taiwan movie) trailer - A frustrated Hong Kong writer, Tian Yu, meets a Taipei street gangster, Xiang (Fandy Fan from HIStory2: Crossing the Line), and the two of them embark on a journey to find the Bay of Vanishing Whales. Along the way, they discover unexpected twists and turns and close bonds, which brings out the message that "there is always someone like you in this world who is waiting for you. This released to cinemas in Taiwan, no word on international release.

In case you missed it

A really really thorough and fascinating article on 2 Moons 2 and what happened.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

May Releases

VBL (Taiwan) is releasing 4 'Special Episode' epilogues to their 4 2023 shows every Friday this month on Gagaoolala, Viki & Viu. Not sure on search terms or how to find these. (Or, frankly, if we need them.)

5/10 – You Are Mine

5/17 – VIP Only

5/24 – Stay By My Side

5/31 – Anti Reset

5/25 The Time of Fever AKA Unintentional Love Story 2 (Korea movie) trailer - HoTae & DongHee are back but unfortunately not in a cinema near me. Side couple from Unintentional Love Story, same actors, same character names. I love them. I NEED TO SEE THIS.

5/28 My Biker 2 (Thai movie YT?) - trailer

5/30 Knock Knock Boys (Thai Thurs WeTV) - I'm hoping I can get it elsewhere since my WeTV account is inactive, but I do love Best and I'm interested in seeing him in a new pairing. That said, I'm not wild about Seng... so I won't be too cut up if I can't get hold of this. More here.

5/31 The Time of Huannan (Taiwan movie) - May not be BL

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

I'm a sucker for this king of casual claiming. (Only Boo)

It me! (Wandee Goodday)

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are a pain.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @sunflower-positiiivity @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious

If ya wanna be tagged each week leave a comment and I will add you to the template. Easy peesy.

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jojo-schmo · 2 months ago

Note

How did you come up with roleswap Elfilis' design? It's really cool!

Hi! Thank you so much! :D I'd love to share my thought process! Gather round the armchair by the fireplace, friends! It's story time!

I've said before that the Forgotten Land Roleswap started off as a doodle that swapped Dedede and Bandana Dee's roles as Player 2 and the Brainwashed Beast. But when I realized how fun that one little change was, how about EVEN MORE changes? That's how my one-time doodle turned into the full AU story. I swapped Meta Knight and Kirby, Clawroline and Leongar, and Sillydillo and Gorimondo- and because the story is so Waddle-Dee centric, I promoted Dedede to "Player 1" since the stakes would be higher for him as their King.

So now I had a story that had a lot of opposite traits to canon and I wanted to explore that further! When it came to the matter of Elfilin, I thought he would probably behave too similarly towards Dedede and Meta as he did to Kirby and Bandee. He'd be friendly and trusting, communicative, optimistic, knowledgeable, and cooperative. So how about providing them a travel companion who is defensive, has trouble communicating, a little wild, uninformed about themselves and the world around them, and has a bit of a temper?

But working with all these opposite traits didn't feel in-character for Elfilin anymore. So my natural next step was to swap Elfilin with Elfilis and make a new version of the Forgotten Land's lost little pup!

Enough yapping about the context behind my decisions, tho. How'd I come up with Roleswap Elfilis' design?

I see you out there, Fecto Forgo fans. Maybe somebody out there's thought, "Roleswap Elfilis does not look like them! Why not? That's what the other 50% of the Ultimate Life Form looks like! I demand justice for the angry glowing rat fetus!"

Maybe nobody has ever thought this. But I wonder sometimes lol

Your feelings are valid, friends. Please lemme explain my reasonings.

This fella, to me, is the abandoned wet specimen left to float in a jar for who-knows-how-long after a forcible physical and mental separation via spatial teleportation shenanigans. And I think part of their appearance is due to their role as the trapped and forgotten half.

The role of the half that got away fully formed his own body and inherited some traits from the complete being-

For Elfilin in canon, he got ears that are proportionally huge compared to the rest of his body, blue eyes that sparkle with the light of a thousand destroyed planets, a tiny bit of pink fur for his adorable blushies, and a really long fluffy tail. Maybe becoming a being free of chaos gave him those sweet eyes like Kirby and the Waddle Dees have.

My reasoning is that whichever half ends up escaping the Lab and fully forming their own body, they would carry the major physical traits the other wouldn't inherit.

Anyway, that left Elfilis with the horns, colorful and expressive eyes, whiskers, beige chest fluff, opposable thumbs, and pink tummy fur.

Elfilin gets the long tail in the bodily divorce so Elfilis has a short stubby little cotton tail like a bunny. Like if he ended up with just the very tip of the Ultimate Life Form's tail.

Behold this diagram above I came up with two years ago! Disclaimer: the canon Elfilin is the one in the chart. And I draw him a little differently these days lol. I ain't showing anyone how he ended up in the Roleswap yet tho!!!! >:0

But Roleswap Elfilis is more than just "baby version of the Ultimate Life Form..."

All the differences in the Forgotten Land Roleswap from canon stem from one event in the timeline. One change that I added to the events that were already supposed to take place. It's why the Ultimate Life Form split differently. Why the Beasts have different roles and aesthetics. Even why the portal took Bandana Dee and Kirby before Meta Knight and King Dedede.

How did that saying go again? The flap of wings somewhere can influence a bunch of huge changes somewhere else down the line...? What was the name of that theory again....? Hmm. Not important, I guess.

Anyway, the end!! You sly dog, you got me monologuing!!1! /lighthearted

#roleswap ask #Thanks for reading today's episode of Jojo's monologues HEHEHE #I really do put a lot of thought into these things and I can't help spilling whenever I'm asked!#I'm just really happy and excited about all of this building I'm doing!#And of course most of this is my own personal theory and conjecture #in no way am I saying “MY THEORIES ARE THE ONLY RIGHT ONES”#or claim that my roleswap au about the Forgotten Land game can be the only one just because I thought about it a lot #I love seeing different conclusions and interpretations in this series. especially if they're wildly different than mine #it's why the Kirby series feels so special to me. I genuinely just want to have fun and experience others' fun too :3 #roleswap scraps #elfilis #elfilin #forgotten land roleswap #headcanons #ALSO I'M SORRY ANON it's been literal months since this ask.#I'm sorry for the person that I am lol sometimes it just takes a long time for me to get these things out #I love asks and questions and cherish them! I promise <3

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winchesterwild78 · 3 months ago

Text

The Ranch pt 4

Master List

Characters: Jensen-cowboy, single dad, x Reader-city girl moved to country to get away from it all

Warnings/Theme: Mention of death, a little angst, all the feels

A/N: A short little story featuring our favorite green eyed cowboy, not an actor in this, lives on a ranch in Texas, is a widower with 3 kids. Reader is a city girl who moves to the country to get away from her ex and start a new life. She takes a job on the ranch and things develop between her and the cowboy. Internal dialogue in italics.

So much love and thanks to @cheynovak for the idea. ♥️ All work is my own. No disrespect to anyone, this is a work of fiction. Real names are used, but again this is a work of fiction. Do not take my work

*This one is a bit fluffy, they tell the kids about their relationship*

Minors DNI 18+

A few hours later, you and Jensen were waking up, still in each other’s arms. You stretched and smiled as he kissed your forehead. “Hey, sweetheart. I guess we better get up before the kids get home.” “Yeah, we need to talk to them about us. I’d hate for them to catch us in bed before we get a chance to.”

The two of you got dressed and made your way downstairs. “So, Jens, how are we going to handle telling the kids? Is that something you want to talk to them about alone?” Jensen took your hands in his, “No, we do it together. I can start the conversation and we can go from there. The goal is to let them know that we have decided to be together, and to answer any questions they might have.” You nodded, “What do we do if they are upset? I don’t want them to think I’m trying to replace Dee.” “We will make sure they understand that. I’m sure they already do, but we can make sure they hear it from us. Hey, Y/N, we’ve got this. We will do this together. They love you, I love you, and I know you love them.” “I really do, Jensen. Like they are my own kids. I don’t want to do anything that would hurt them.”

About 20 minutes later the kids came running in the front door. “Daddy! Miss Y/N! We missed you” They threw their arms around Jensen and you. You smiled and looked at Jensen. He mouthed, “See, they love you.” “How was your day, guys?” Jensen asked as he sat on the couch. The kids sat down and talked about their day. Apparently someone in Zep’s class said a “naughty word”, and when Jensen asked him what it was he told him he couldn’t say it because it was naughty. JJ spoke up and said “Zep it’s not naughty, the boy said butt.” Zep’s eyes went wide. You and Jensen laughed.

Jensen looked at you and nodded. You knew he was ready to tell the kids. You took a deep breath to steady your nerves. “So guys, Y/N and I want to talk to you three about something. Why don’t you have a seat.” The kids sat down, JJ near Jensen, Arrow beside her and Zep beside you. “Well, you know Y/N’s been here as part of our family for a few months now, and she’s helped on the ranch, and in the house.” Zep spoke up, “She’s helped with homework too.” You smiled and nodded. “Yep, she’s helped with homework too. Well, she’s also helped with other things. She’s helping fix my sad heart, and your sad hearts. So, because she’s been helping me so much, my heart loves her.”

JJ’s eyes went wide, she looked at Jensen and at you. “Daddy, are you going to marry her?” “No, JJ, not right now. We don’t know where this is going to lead, but I love her and she loves me. She loves you three too. So, she’s going to be my girlfriend.”

Zep looked at you, “Miss Y/N, you love us?” “Yes baby, I do. Very much.” “Are you going to be my new mommy?” Arrow’s head spun and she looked at Zep, “No! She can’t be my mommy.” “Oh, honey, no, I’m not trying to replace your mommy. Dee will always be your mommy, I’m just your daddy’s girlfriend.”

Jensen looked at you and he saw the fear in your eyes. “Guys, Y/N loves you three so much. Remember the pictures of mommy she gave you, she did that because she knew how much you love mommy and mommy loves you. Y/N wanted to help your hearts, because she knew how much you missed mommy.”

You took a deep, shaky breath and let it out. You looked at Jensen with concern in your eyes. He offered a soft smile. JJ and Zep looked between you and Jensen. JJ spoke first, “Daddy, I love her too. She makes me laugh and takes care of us.” She walked over and hugged you. Zep came over and hugged you too, “I love you too, Miss Y/N.” “I love you too, Zep, and JJ, so much.” You hugged them tightly.

Arrow sat silently with her head down. You looked at Jensen, he told JJ and Zep to go play so you two could talk to Arrow. When the two of them left, Jensen moved to sit beside her. You stayed where you were.

Jensen turned and looked at his daughter, “Arrow, talk to me. What are you thinking?” Arrow fidgeted with her fingers and wouldn’t look up. The three of you sat in silence. It was breaking your heart, all the progress you two had made, and now you feel like it’s ruined. You knew the best thing for her right now, was to feel safe to express herself without fear of repercussions.

You looked at Jensen and moved beside Arrow. “Arrow, sweetie, I want you to know you can tell us whatever you’re feeling. No matter what. You won’t get in trouble. How you feel is important to both of us and you are allowed to feel however you do. Nobody can tell you how you’re supposed to feel right now. Just because your brother and sister are okay with Daddy and I, doesn’t mean you have to be. We just want you to talk to us and help us understand how you’re feeling.”

She slowly lifted her head and looked at you, “I can be mad and you won’t be mad at me?” “Yes! You are allowed to be mad.” She shook her head in understanding. Your heart ached for her. You knew how much she missed Dee and you’d give anything to take that pain away for her.

She kept her head down, but slowly started to talk, “I am mad. I’m mad mommy left us. I thought she loved us. Why would she leave us if she loved us?” Your heart broke, and you looked up at Jensen. You could see his heartbreak too. Tears started to fall from her eyes.

Instinctively you pulled her into your arms, “Oh baby, Mommy does love you, she didn’t want to leave. It was an accident, and sometimes people die because of an accident. That’s what happened to your Mom. After meeting you three, I know your mom would have never left you three by choice.”

Arrow wrapped her arms around you and cried. “I just miss her so much, Miss Y/N.” You rubbed her back, “I know you do, baby.” You sat there holding her in your arms while she cried. Jensen had tears running down his face, his heart broke watching his baby girl cry.

She calmed down and looked up at you, tears still in her eyes, “I love you, Miss Y/N. I just don’t want Mommy mad because I do. You help me like mommy did, and you make good food.” “Oh sweetie, I promise you mommy wouldn’t be mad at you. Mommy would want your heart to feel better. She loved you, all of you so much. When you love someone that much, you want their hearts to be okay. Your mom would be so happy knowing you’re okay and your heart is getting better. You will never forget your Mommy, I’ll make sure of that, but I hope the five of us can be a family too.”

Arrow looked up at you, “I thought we already were.” You smiled and hugged her tightly, “We are baby, we are.” “Daddy, do you still love Mommy?” Jensen’s breath caught in his throat, “Yes, baby. I do very much. I love her and will always love her.” “You love Miss Y/N, too?” “Yes I do. She’s been amazing for all of us. My heart is big enough to love Mommy, Her and all of you.”

Arrow slipped out of your lap and climbed into Jensen’s. “Okay, Daddy. I’m glad Miss Y/N is your girlfriend.” He hugged her and chuckled, “Me too, baby girl.” Arrow climbed down and ran to join her brother and sister.

You and Jensen both let out the breath you were holding. Jensen took your hand, pulled up into his arms, “That went better than I thought it would.” “Yeah, I was worried, we just need to be careful and tread lightly around the kids. They say they are okay with us, but I don’t want to upset them if they see us kiss. Definitely no sleeping in each other’s rooms.” Jensen agreed. He smirked at you, “We will have to figure out some alone time. Maybe try out the hay loft again.” You laughed, “I’m sure Clif would be traumatized if he walked in on us again.”

Later that evening you were in the kitchen making dinner. You heard the kids giggling in the other room. Jensen walked in the kitchen laughing. “What’s so funny, cowboy?” “The kids are plotting something.” He laughed. “I thought I heard mischievous giggles.” “What are they plotting?” “No idea, but whatever it is “it's a super secret”, they told me themselves.” You laughed and stirred dinner.

About 20 minutes later you called for the kids to wash up and come to eat dinner. They walked in with their hands behind their backs grinning at you. Jensen looked at you and then at the kids. The three of them walked over to you and stood, “Miss Y/N, close your eyes, please.” You smiled and closed your eyes. “Hold out your hands.” You held out your hands and felt paper being placed in your hands. The kitchen filled with giggles, “Okay, open your eyes.”

You opened your eyes and saw Jensen’s beautiful children looking at you with the biggest smiles on their faces. You looked at the papers in your hands and tears formed in your eyes. Each of the kids drew a picture for you. In the picture were you, all three of them, Jensen and Dee, and the word FAMILY, written at the top.

You dropped to your knees and hugged all three of them. “These are beautiful, thank you guys. I’ll cherish these forever.” You showed Jensen and he smiled. “Okay, let’s eat guys, we don’t want the food to get cold.” You stood up, wiping your face and placing the pictures on the refrigerator.

The rest of the evening went better than you thought. Dinner was spent answering questions about what a girlfriend and boyfriend do, is Daddy and you going to have any babies, which made Jensen choke on his drink, and if you were going to stay forever.

After dinner, and all the questions, the five of you sat and watched a family movie. It was Friday, so Jensen let the kids stay up a little later than usual. Everyone decided to watch the new Little Mermaid movie. You helped Jensen put pillows and blankets on the floor for all of you to sit on and lounge on. Walking in the kitchen, you and JJ made popcorn, grabbed drinks and snacks for everyone.

You all took your seats on the floor, Jensen was sitting on the other side of the floor, the kids were in between you two and you sat on the opposite side. The two of you would glance at each other and smile, then look at the kids. Your heart swelled. Even though you and Jensen weren’t married, this was your family. They were your family.

By the end of the movie, the kids were yawing and you could tell they were not far from falling asleep. Jensen followed them upstairs to make sure they got ready for bed. You stayed downstairs and started to clean up. A few minutes later, you went upstairs to tell the kids goodnight. Stopping at JJ’s room first, you told her good night and she hugged you, Zeppelin was next, then you went to Arrow’s room.

“Good night, Arrow.” You called from the door. She looked at you and leaped out of bed, throwing her arms around you, “Good night! Thank you for loving us, Miss Y/N. We used to have movie nights with Mommy. It was so fun. You’re going to make a good mommy one day.” Your eyes widened and you smiled at her. “Thank you, sweetie, now let’s get you in bed.” After tucking her in you left her room.

Jensen was standing in the hallway smiling at you. “Did you hear her, Jens?” He smiled and nodded, pulling you into his arms, “For the record, I agree with her. You’re going to make an incredible mother one day.” You smiled. “Thank you, Jensen.”

He took your hand and led you to his bedroom. Once inside, he closed and locked the door. “What do you say we get some practice in?” He grinned at you. “Hmm, I don’t know. What would people say if I end up pregnant before marriage?” “They would say we had sex, lots of sex.” Jensen laughed. You playfully hit his chest. He cupped your face and placed a soft kiss on your lips, “I love you, Y/N. You are incredible and so great with my kids. I’m so thankful you took a chance on me, on us, and even more grateful you came back.” “I love you too, Jensen, you and your babies. I’d always come back to you, now and forever.”

Part 5

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#hes gorgeous #so damn sexy #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x plus size reader #jackles #jensen ackles smut #jensen ackles x reader

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doctorbitchcrxft · 5 months ago

Text

No Exit | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual ? )

Warnings: Jo and reader are dicks to each other, canon violence, canon gore

Word Count: 5754

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

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You and the Winchester boys had been hunkered down in the rooms Ellen told you about the first time she met you for a few days now. You were grateful for her generosity while you and the brothers tried to pin down your next move with the demon or another hunt, but you were going stir crazy. You sat on the hood of the Impala under the shade of a tree pouring through newspapers. Sam and Dean approached you after a few hours of you researching.

“What are you doing to my baby?” Dean asked you.

“Dee, she’s fine, we’re bonding,” you said, tapping the spot next to you on the hood. “Nothing’s dented or broken; promise.”

He gave you a skeptical look but said nothing else.

“ ‘Sides, I was getting ready to come get you anyway,” you said, hopping down. “I think I got something. Los Angeles, California.”

“What’s in L.A.?” Sam asked.

“Young girl's been kidnapped by an evil cult,” you smirked.

“Yeah? Girl got a name?”

“Katie Holmes.”

Dean chuckled, and a grin spread across your face.

“Seriously, though, it’s like all things supernatural disappeared off the face of the earth,” you continued.

Dean turned his head toward the Roadhouse at the sound of a glass breaking. “Ooh, catfight.”

You grimaced and followed the boys into the bar cautiously. Ellen and Jo were arguing loudly about Jo wanting to go off and Ellen wanting her to stay at the Roadhouse or go back to school. She stopped shouting when she noticed you. “Guys, bad time.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Sam said. The three of you turned to leave.

Dean got one more quip in, saying, “Yeah, we rarely drink before ten anyway.”

“Funny, let’s go,” you deadpanned, grabbing his jacket lightly and pulling him to the door.

“Wait. I wanna know what they think about this,” Jo said.

At the sound of the creaking front door, you turned to see a family with two kids under three walking in wearing bright yellow “Nebraska is for Lovers” t-shirts.

Ellen continued to yell despite the customers that had entered. “I don't care what they think!”

The father of the two young kids cut Ellen off. “Are you guys open?”

Jo yelled, “No!” and her mother yelled, “Yes!”

The dad grimaced and shrank away. “We’ll just… check out the Arby’s down the road.”

The phone rang as the family left, and Ellen went to answer it. Jo turned to you and the brothers; her gaze mostly focused on Dean, per usual.

“Three weeks ago, a young girl disappears from a Philadelphia apartment.” She shoved a file at Dean. Dean looked down at it strangely. “Take it, it won't bite,” she said.

“No, but your mom might,” he responded.

Jo’s lips pinched, still holding out the folder. He took it reluctantly as Jo continued explaining. “And this girl wasn't the first. Over the past eighty years six women have vanished. All from the same building, all young blondes. Only happens every decade or two so cops never eyeball the pattern. So we're either dealing with one very old serial killer, or—”

Dean flipped through it and cut her off. “Who put this together? Ash?"

Jo smiled proudly. “I did it myself.”

Dean hummed, impressed, and you took the folder from him. You flipped through it, secretly hoping to find holes in it somewhere, but you couldn’t at first glance. You were impressed, too, much to your chagrin.

“I gotta admit. We hit the road for a lot less,” Sam added.

“Good. You like the case so much, you take it,” Ellen stated.

“Mom!”

“Joanna Beth, this family has lost enough. And I won't lose you too. I just won't.”

Your gaze softened as you took in Ellen’s grief-stricken features. You could completely empathize with how that felt. And so, you and the brothers set off.

***

“I feel kind of bad, snaking Jo's case,” Sam said as the three of you stalked around the deceased’s apartment.

“I don’t,” you said. “Her mom’s only trying to protect her.”

“Exactly. Maybe she put together a good file,” Dean added, “but could you see her out here working one of these things? I don't think so.”

You pulled out your EMF meter and continued walking around the very nice apartment. “What I wouldn’t give to have one of these,” you muttered. “You getting anything?”

“No, not yet,” replied Sam. Just as he spoke, you heard his meter beeping. He leaned over to something in front of him, and you walked over.

“What's that?” you asked.

“What?” Dean came up behind you as Sam reached down to the lightswitch and lightly touched it.

“Holy crap,” the younger Winchester said.

Dean reached forward, too. “That's ectoplasm. Well, Sam, I think I know what we're dealing with here. It's the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man.”

You snickered. “Can we get through one hunt without a Ghostbusters reference, please?”

“Never.”

“Guys, focus, please,” Sam deadpanned. “I've only seen this stuff, like, twice. I mean, to make this stuff you have to be one majorly pissed off spirit.”

“Alright, let's find this badass before he snags any more girls,” Dean said. You followed him out of the apartment and immediately had to cling to a wall to avoid being seen by the approaching voices. Your face fell when you realized one of the voices was Jo’s.

“It is so spacious.” Her voice was getting closer. “You know, my friend told me I absolutely have to come check it out, and I have to admit, she was right. You did a really good job with this place.”

Dean stepped out suddenly. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“There you are, honey,” Jo grinned, wrapping an arm around Dean’s waist. You could’ve killed her. “This is my boyfriend Dean, and his buddies, Sam and (Y/N).”

“Good to meetcha,” the landlord said. “Quite a gal you've got here.”

Dean smacked her ass roughly, trying to convey his frustration to her. “Oh yeah, she's a pistol.”

“So, did you already check out that apartment? The one for rent,” Jo asked Dean.

“Yeah. Yes. Loved it. Heh. Great flow.”

“How'd you get in?” the landlord asked.

Dean swallowed harshly. “It was open.”

“Now, Ed, um, when did the last tenant move out?” Jo grinned back at the landlord.

“Oh, about a month ago. Cut and run, too. Stuck me for the rent.”

“Well. Her loss, our gain! 'Cause if Dean-o loves it, it's good enough for me.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Dean gritted through his teeth, smacking her again.

Jo pulled out a wad of cash. “We’ll take it.”

The landlord’s eyes widened, and he immediately brought you back to the front office to get a key.

***

You paced around the lovely apartment furiously at Jo re-hijacking the hunt you’d hijacked from her.

“I’ll flip you for the sofa,” she said to you.

“Does your mom even know you’re here?” you asked.

“Told her I was going to Vegas.”

You scoffed. “She’s not stupid, She’s not gonna buy that.”

“I'm not an idiot,” Jo challenged. “I got Ash to lay a credit card trail all the way to the casinos.”

Dean took your humorless laugh as an opportunity to jump in before you got any uglier. “You know, you shouldn't lie to your mom. Shouldn't be here, either.”

“Well, I am,” she said. “So untwist your boxers and deal with it.”

“Where'd you get all that money from, anyways?” Sam questioned.

She gave a prideful smile. “Working. At the Roadhouse.”

“Hunters don’t tip that well,” Dean replied.

“Well, they aren't that good at poker, either,” she smirked.

‘Take away her immaturity, inexperience, rashness, and massive crush on Dean, I probably could be friends with her,’ you thought.

Dean’s cell phone rang. “Yeah?” He answered, still glaring at Jo. “Oh, hi, Ellen.” Dean and Jo had a furious muttered argument before he said, “I haven’t seen her” back into the phone. “Yeah, I'm sure… Absolutely.” Dean hung up, and Jo grinned cheerfully.

“Why didn’t you tell her?” you hissed at Dean. “Ellen’s gonna murder us.”

“Seriously?” Jo folded her arms at you. “You’re scared of my mom?”

“No,” you spat back. “I just don’t wanna babysit the whole time I’m trying to hunt.”

“(Y/N), stop it,” Sam warned.

“Me? This chick has a death wish, and I need to ‘stop it’?” you snarked. “I’m going to get some air.” You stomped out of the room, Dean trailing behind you.

“(Y/N), where are you going?” he asked.

“Away,” you snorted. “She’s pissing me off. I’m not hunting with her.”

He grabbed your arm. “I’m not happy, either, but what’s this really about?”

You felt caught. “What?”

“You heard me. What’s goin’ on? You’re normally the one who has to talk me off the ledge. Not the other way around,” he said.

You lowered your voice. “I don’t trust her,” you began. “I don’t trust her to have any of our backs. All she’s tried to do thus far is get in your pants and act like an immature brat.

"She has potential, sure, and she’s smart, but she’s not one of us. And I have no idea what her skillset is. She pointed a rifle at you one time; we’ve never seen her use one. She could be an awful shot. And she has no idea how to actually kill anything. She’s, what, twenty-one, twenty-two? She didn’t grow up hunting. She has no experience.

"She doesn’t belong here. And you not telling Ellen she’s here was a huge mistake. Because now, she’s our responsibility. And like I said, I’m not babysitting. If it’s between you or Sam, and her, I’m saving you and Sam every time.”

Dean smirked down at you.

“What?” you hissed.

“You’re jealous,” he said simply.

“Seriously? Did you hear anything else I said?” You crossed your arms and quirked a brow.

He chuckled. “Yeah, I did, and I agree. I’ll watch her if you’ll watch Sam, okay? No blood on your hands if something happens to her,” he replied.

You shook your head. “No, Dean, I don’t like that, either—”

Dean smirked down at you. “What, don’t you trust me?”

“Of course, I do,” you replied. “I don’t trust her.”

He chuckled. “I think you said that already.”

“Just—” you huffed. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Dean snorted. “C’mon, it’s me we’re talking about. I’ll be fine. Will you come back and be civil now?” he asked.

“No promises.”

“Okay, I guess we’re doing this, then.” He raised his pinky at you, and you rolled your eyes.

“I can’t make a pinky promise I can’t keep,” you replied.

“That’s the point. You have to, so I know you’ll be civil.” Dean looked down at you, a challenge in his eyes and a smile plastered on his face.

“But—” you tried.

“No.”

“Dean,” you groaned but locked pinkies with him nonetheless.

“See, was that so hard?” he smirked down at you.

“You can’t use my own thing against me,” you said as you headed back to the apartment. “That’s against the rules of pinky promises.”

“Oh, there’s rules now?” Dean questioned playfully.

“There are when I say there are,” you responded flippantly, opening the door to the apartment.

Jo and Sam turned to face you, and you suddenly felt incredibly uncomfortable.

“Look, Jo—” you started.

“Save it. It’s fine,” she replied.

“Well, okay, then,” you mumbled, softly enough that only Dean could hear you mocking her.

Dean gave you a warning look. “(Y/N).”

“I know, I know.”

***

You sat at the table with your laptop next to Sam as Dean paced around the room. Jo had been flipping her little knife around for the last thirty minutes while she looked over the blueprints for the apartment.

“This place was built in 1924. It was originally a warehouse, converted into apartments a few months ago,” she explained.

“Yeah? What was here before 1924?” Dean questioned.

“Nothing. Empty field.”

“So, most likely scenario, someone died bloody in the building, and now he's back and raising hell,” Sam added.

Jo shook her head. “I already checked. In the past eighty-two years, zero violent deaths. Unless you count a janitor who slipped on a wet floor.” She looked up to Dean. “Would you sit down, please?”

Dean sat hesitantly at the head of the table, eyeing Jo guardedly. “So, have you checked police reports, county death records—”

“Obituaries, mortuary reports and seven other sources. I know what I'm doing,” she said.

“Jury’s still out on that one,” Dean replied. “Could you put the knife down?”

She complied, eyeing him angrily. He glared back.

Sam huffed. “Okay! So, uh, it's something else, then. Maybe some kind of cursed object that brought a spirit with it.”

“Meh, unless somebody’s got a relic from an Egyptian tomb, I’m not sure a cursed object has the kind of spirit power necessary to make ectoplasm,” you said.

Jo completely ignored you. “Well, we've got to scan the whole building. Everywhere we can get to, right?”

“Right. So. You and me, we'll take the top two floors,” Dean said firmly. “Sam and (Y/N)’ll take the bottom two.”

“We'd move faster if we split up,” the blonde tried.

“Oh, this isn't negotiable,” Dean responded.

***

You and Sam returned to the room way sooner than Dean and Jo did. The two of you found nothing of particular interest, unfortunately, and opted to just sprawl out on the couch and floor watching a rerun of Seinfeld.

“I just wanted to tell you,” Sam began, “I don’t think you’re wrong about Jo. Just… tone it down a bit. My brother’s dickish enough to her.”

You sighed. “Dean made me pinky promise I would be civil, so you don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

He scoffed. “My brother made you pinky promise?”

You giggled. “I introduced him to the concept.”

“What have you done to him?” Sam chuckled sarcastically.

You shook your head. “I have no idea. I don’t know what he’s doing to me, either.”

Sam paused. “Have you… talked about it at all?”

You nodded your head from side to side as if to say, “sorta.” “I just don’t think now’s the right time. I mean, after your dad, I don’t wanna take advantage of that or him to use me as a distraction.”

He nodded in understanding. “I get it. But… I also don’t think Dean would use you.”

You shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.” You paused. “How are you holding up, by the way? We haven’t had much of an opportunity to hang out one-on-one recently.”

“Honestly? Not great,” he sighed. “I’m scared, man. I don’t know what’s happening or how to stop it. And I think my dad died thinking I hate him.” Tears began to well in his eyes. “I never should’ve said those things to him.”

You got up from the floor and went to sit next to him. You reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing firmly. “If it helps at all, I think my dad died thinking the same. And that feeling goes away after a while. I think both our dads knew that despite our many, many, many issues with each other, the bottom line is, we loved each other a lot.”

He squeezed your hand back and looked at you with sad, puppy-dog eyes. “I hope you’re right.”

The door opened to reveal Dean and Jo bickering and Dean’s fist clenched around a clump of blonde hair with skin attached to it.

You giggled. “What, you hate each other that much that you ripped a piece of Jo’s hair out?”

Dean deadpanned, “No, smartass. We found this in a vent.”

Your stomach dropped. “Oh. Gross.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Dean grumbled. He opened the trash can in the room and dumped it inside.

“Alright, it’s getting late,” Jo stated. “Who’s sleeping where? There’s four of us, two beds, and a couch.”

“(Y/N) and I’ll take a bed,” Dean said casually almost immediately. “Sam’ll take the other. Jo, you got the couch.”

The three of you were stunned at Dean and his adamancy.

Oh-kay,” Jo said, still shocked.

“C’mon,” Dean said, jerking his head toward one of the rooms. He picked up your duffel bags and headed off.

You followed behind, saying “Goodnight, guys,” and shut the door behind you. You tapped the sides of your thighs with your palms as you stayed firmly planted by the door.

Dean seemed to feel a little awkward, too, and blew out a breath. “Was this… uh, okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah! Yeah. Sure. Why not? We’re adults. We’re friends. We can share a bed. No big.”

He chuckled. “You sure? You ramble when you’re nervous.”

“Nervous?” you laughed awkwardly. “Why would I be nervous?” He raised a brow at you, and you took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I’ve just… I’ve never… Hunting’s lonely. Even when I did hook up, I’d leave before I fell asleep.”

Dean seemed stunned. “Really? Why?”

“I don’t know, it just… felt too intimate, I guess? And I’ve never had anybody I seriously cared about that I’d want to experience that with,” you explained, sitting on the foot of the bed and kicking off your shoes.

His voice quieted considerably. “You sure you’re okay with this?”

You nodded. He seemed to understand what that meant, though both of you refused to talk about it.

Dean showered, as did you, and then you climbed into bed next to one another. The two of you seemed to have scooted to the far edges of the bed, facing away from each other. After several minutes in silence, Dean spoke up.

“(Y/N)?” he murmured.

“Yeah?”

“C’mere.”

You could feel yourself getting flustered as you shuffled over to Dean, who now laid in the center of the bed. He opened his arms and wrapped them around you, allowing you to lay on his chest. You rested your hand on his stomach, and he took in a sharp breath.

“Should’ve cleaned the pipes,” he muttered.

You scoffed. “Perv,” and moved your arm across his stomach completely. You settled into him and drifted off to the most peaceful sleep you’d had in a while.

***

The next time you awoke, you felt arms around you, and you tensed. It took you a second to remember Dean was sleeping soundly next to you. His arms held tighter when he felt you shift, and you turned your face toward his. You smiled sadly at his beautiful, peaceful face, knowing this hunt would be the only time for quite a while that you’d get to wake up to him. You closed your eyes and nuzzled back into him, only to feel him groan above you; beginning to awaken.

“Morning,” he said. His sleepy voice was incredibly attractive. His arms didn’t move from around you.

A smile spread across your face. “G’morning. How’d you sleep?”

“Great, actually,” he admitted. He almost looked sad and regretful as he looked down at you.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“You’re confusing me again,” Dean said.

You looked away from him, understanding. Your face fell, too. “You’re confusing me, too.”

“I want to… be more to you so bad,” he began, “but I can’t. I’m tired, (Y/N). I’m so fucking tired. I’m tired of this job, I’m tired of dealing with my dad, I’m tired of… all of it.”

“I know,” you said. “So, what do you want us to do? Do you— Do you want me to leave?”

“No, god, no,” he said quickly. “I don’t know what I want.”

You snorted. “Well, what is it you don’t want? Why don’t we start there?”

He considered for a moment. “I don’t wanna lose you.”

“You won’t,” you immediately said.

“Will you let me finish?”

“Sorry.”

He sighed. “I don’t wanna name and claim anything right now. I don’t wanna be just your best friend, but I also— I don’t think I can—” Dean paused and took a deep breath. “I wouldn’t be able to give you what I want to give you right now. I can’t be what you deserve.”

“Dean,” you said. “This is a very low-pressure situation. I know you and I can’t go there right now. I know that. And… I want to, too. I care about you more than I’ve ever cared about… anybody else.” You swallowed tensely, not sure if you’d said too much. “I— I want you to heal. And I know you’re tired. And I know it’s awful. And I hope that one day, I can make things better for you. But I also know that you have to fix you first. But until then, we can just be us. I won’t initiate anything. I need you to come to me when you’re ready. And until then, we’ll just be you and me.”

He nodded. “Thanks.”

You smiled softly. “Always.”

***

After you and Dean talked things over a bit, you learned from Sam that another girl had died. Dean was off to investigate the room while you, Sam, and Jo researched. Jo wouldn’t look at you with anything but disgust after you spent the night with Dean. Her schoolgirl-ish crush was beginning to really just annoy you more than make you jealous.

Dean burst through the door. “Teresa Ellis, Apartment 2F. Boyfriend reported her missing around dawn.”

“And her apartment?” Jo questioned.

“Cracks all over the plaster, walls, ceiling. There was ectoplasm, too.”

“Well, between that and that tuft of hair, I'd say this sucker's coming from the walls,” Sam added.

“But who is it? Building's history is totally clean,” Dean reminded you.

There were various pictures and blueprints from Jo’s file spread across the table between you, Sam, and Jo. You picked up a picture of the field where the apartments now stood. Next to it was a building with bars on its windows. “Check this out. We’re next door to a prison.”

“Nice going, (Y/N),” Sam grinned.

Jo pulled out her phone. “I’ll call Ash—”

“No,” you shook your head, standing. “Let me figure this one out. Something about this is sounding really familiar to me, and it’s gonna bother me if I’m not the one to nail it down.”

“And what a shame that would be,” Jo snarked.

You glared at her as you continued to pace around the room. “Blonde hair, in the walls, prison, field, Philadelphia…” you murmured to yourself. You repeated it over and over to yourself until something struck you. “H. H. Holmes,” you breathed. “Holy shit.”

“What? What about him?” Sam questioned, straightening in his seat.

“That was his whole thing! He was really, and I mean, really into blondes— though, he’d kill just about anybody— had his whole ‘murder castle’ thing in Chicago, and the feds tracked him all the way to Boston. They brought him back to Philly, and he was hanged. Hence, field. Fields next to old prisons were almost always used for hangings,” you explained.

“What do you mean, ‘murder castle’?” Jo questioned. “And how do you know all this?”

“I like true crime,” you shrugged. “He built all these fake walls, fake hallways; his place was a fucking maze. Acid vats, trap doors, quicklime pits all up in his basement— although most of that was probably sensationalized— but anyway, this guy was a complete freak. ‘Multi-murderer’ was first used to describe him before they knew what serial killers were. He confessed to twenty-seven murders, but he probably killed over a hundred. He, uh, he used chloroform to kill his victims.”

Dean nodded, “Which is what I smelled in the hallway last night.”

“At his place,” you continued, “cops found human remains, bone fragments, and long locks of bloody blonde hair.”

Dean snickered at Jo. “Boy, you sure know how to pick 'em.”

“Well, we just find the bones, salt 'em and burn 'em, right?” she said, anxiously.

“Nope. His body’s in town encased in a couple tons of concrete,” you responded.

“What, why?” she asked.

“Didn’t want anybody fuckin’ with his corpse. ‘Cause, y’know, that’s what he did,” you cringed.

“Wait, (Y/N), that means Teresa could still be alive. Inside the walls,” Sam added.

You nodded. “Yeah. Poor girl.”

“We need sledgehammers, crowbars. We've got to smash these walls; anywhere thick enough to hide a girl,” Dean barked out, hurriedly moving around the apartment.

***

You went with Sam, and Dean went with Jo as he promised you he would. Sam couldn’t get too far into the crawl-spaces of the walls, and you insisted on pressing forward. If you could get through, then the space was big enough to hide a girl.

“(Y/N), holler if you need, okay?” Sam called to you.

“I’m good, dude, I promise. But you do the same.” You continued to wriggle through winding, claustrophobia-inducing corridors till you came face to face with the man himself; H. H. Holmes. Although, this version of the famed serial killer was a lot more gray, decayed, and gaunt than the one you’d seen in pictures. You screamed, “Sam!” before the world went dark.

***

You next awoke in a box that eerily mirrored a coffin; it was made of wood and just big enough for you to lay down in. You pointed your flashlight up at the ceiling to see long, deep, bloodied gashes in the wood; presumably nail marks. You huffed out a shaky breath, collecting yourself, when you noticed a slit in the wood to your right. A noise startled your already shaken mind, and you heard Jo say, “Hello?” You refused to talk, worried that it would upset Holmes even more.

You heard another woman’s voice coming from a different part of the room. “Is- Is anybody there?”

Jo continued talking. “Your name's Teresa? This won't make you feel better, but I'm here to rescue you.”

“Oh, god. He's out there; he's gonna kill us!” Teresa cried.

“No, he won't. We're getting out,” Jo insisted. “My friends are looking for us; they'll find us.”

Footsteps fell eerily nearby, and you could vaguely make out something approaching you.

“Oh, god, he's here!” Teresa sobbed.

“Shh! Just be quiet!” Jo scolded.

‘So much for being quiet, Jo,’ you thought. The next thing you heard was Jo screaming in pain, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from calling out to her.

You took a knife out of your belt and began hacking at the wall. You kicked with all your might until you finally started to break through a little. Suddenly, a man’s mouth appeared at the opening you were making in the wood.

“You're so pretty. So beautiful,” the spirit cooed, reaching in your cell to stroke your cheek. You cringed and turned away, groaning in disgust. You turned back and stabbed it with your knife, the spirit crying out before disappearing again. You went back to kicking and hacking at the door with even more force than before. At long last, the paneling came loose, and you laughed in relief. You pried the rest of the paneling away from the wall and rolled out onto the floor, catching yourself before you toppled over completely. When you stood and dusted off your hands, Holmes appeared behind you and clasped a hand over your mouth. You kicked and struggled against him, screaming behind his hand muffling you. You wrestled with him a bit more before the spirit suddenly let you go. He disappeared completely when you heard a gunshot go off.

“(Y/N)!” Dean ran into the room, holding a shotgun.

You breathed out a sigh of relief. “Holy shit, I’m so happy to see you.” You ran to him and wrapped your arms around him.

“Um, little help, here!” Jo said from her box.

You ran to the wall next to her and picked up a crowbar lying nearby. You began prying the cell open, groaning strenuously as you did so. When it finally released, you helped Jo down. “You okay?” you asked her.

“Been better. Let's get the hell out of here before he comes back,” she answered.

“I’m not leaving here just yet,” you said.

“(Y/N), no—” Dean protested firmly. He seemed to understand what you were doing.

“What other plan do you have, Dean?” “Wait, what’s going on here?” Jo questioned.

“(Y/N)’s gonna use herself as bait,” he explained.

“What, would you rather Jo be bait? I don’t think so,” you said flippantly. “Now, get them out of here.” You gestured to Sam to help a frightened Teresa and Jo out of the room.

***

You sat in the center of the room completely unmoving. You sat cross-legged, breathing evenly. You’d learned long ago how to steel yourself to these situations. You grinned slightly when Holmes began to approach you. When he got very close, Dean yelled, “Now!” and Sam and Dean began shooting the bags of salt you’d strung up to the ceiling to create a perfect circle of salt around the spirit. You ran out of the circle, leaving Holmes trapped inside. He wailed and growled at you, running around the salt circle pathetically.

“Scream all you want, you dick, but there's no way you're stepping over that salt!” you laughed coldly.

You and the brothers climbed back up out of the sewer and closed the grate, fully silencing Holmes’ howls.

***

“So? This job as glamorous as you thought it would be?” Sam asked Jo as the three of you stood over the top of the closed sewer..

“Well, except for all the pee-your-pants terror, yeah. Sure. But that Teresa girl's gonna live a life because of us. It's worth it, isn't it?” Jo replied.

You nodded. “Yeah. It is.”

“Hey, what if somebody finds that sewer down there, or a storm washes the salt away?” she questioned.

Sam chuckled. “Both very fine points. Which is why we're waiting here.”

“For what?”

As if on cue, you heard the beeping of a large truck backing up. You grinned over your shoulder at Dean backing up the cement truck he’d stolen, and motioned for him to stop when the spout lined up over the sewer’s entrance.

Dean got out of the cab and came to stand next to you.

“You ripped off a cement truck?” Jo scoffed.

“We’ll give it back,” you shrugged. You turned a lever on the side of the truck and watched the cement pour down into the entrance.

“Well, that oughta keep him down there till hell freezes over,” Dean grinned.

***

As you and the brothers were heading out with Jo in tow, Ellen appeared at the entrance of the apartments, intense anger bubbling just under the surface. You and the boys cringed at the sight of her.

“Mom—” Jo began.

“Not now.”

She forced the five of you to ride back to the Roadhouse in complete silence. Ellen sat in the front seat, staring blankly ahead, and you were sandwiched between Jo and Sam in the back.

Dean chuckled awkwardly. “Boy, you– you really weren't kidding about flying out, were you?”

“You told her?!” you couldn’t help but blurt out.

Ellen scowled at you in the rearview mirror. You shrunk under her gaze.

“How about we listen to some music?” Dean flicked the radio on. Ellen immediately reached forward and flicked the radio off.

You looked up to Dean, who looked back to you.

“This is gonna be a long drive,” he muttered.

***

Ellen dragged her daughter into the Roadhouse by her elbow, and you and the brothers followed closely.

“Ellen? This is my fault. Okay?” Dean tried. “I lied to you and I'm sorry. But Jo did good out there. I think her dad would be proud.”

Ellen whipped around, angrily commanding, “Don't you dare say that. Not you. I need a moment with my daughter. Alone.”

The three of you left and loitered around in silence for the next few minutes. Jo stormed out of the Roadhouse soon after, tossing a glance to Dean to incentivize him to follow her.

“That bad, huh?” he asked as he walked after her.

“Not right now.”

“What happened? Hey, talk to me.” He grabbed her arm and spun her around.

Jo immediately jerked her arm out of Dean's grasp. “Get off me!”

“Sorry. See you around,” he said, turning back to you and Sam.

“Dean,” Jo’s broken voice called.

He turned back to the blonde.

“It turns out my dad had a partner on his last hunt. Funny, he usually worked alone; this guy did too, but,” she swallowed her forming tears, “I guess my father figured he could trust him. Mistake. Guy screwed up, got my dad killed.”

The older brother’s face scrunched up. “What does this have to do with—”

“It was your father, Dean.”

Dean scoffed. “What?”

“Why do you think John never came back? Never told you about us? Because he couldn't look my mom in the eye after that, that's why,” Jo spat.

“Jo—” Dean tried.

“Just... just get out of here. Please, just leave.”

The three of you did as Jo asked. You headed back to Bobby’s to regroup and find yourselves another hunt. Dean was silent on the multi-hour-long drive back. When you stopped at Bobby’s house, Sam went inside. Dean stayed seated in his car, and you stayed with him.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

He scoffed. “ ‘What’s wrong’? Did you hear anything Jo said?”

“I did, I just wanted to see what’s goin’ on in your head,” you replied, unfazed by his attitude.

He shook his head and sighed. “If Ellen hated my dad so much and didn’t trust us at all, then why the fuck would she have called my dad in the first place?”

You nodded, getting out of the car; followed by Dean. “Yeah, I don’t get it,” you agreed. “She wants to get involved with your personal family shit and the demon and let us bunk at her place, and then bring up old crap you and Sam weren’t even a part of? I mean, I get that John did something that got ‘im killed, but I really don’t see how that’s your fault.”

“Whatever,” Dean grumbled. “At least we don’t have to babysit anymore.”

You snorted. “That’s one way to look at it, I guess. But you don’t have to pretend you’re not bothered by it. I know you are.”

He scoffed.

“Dean. I know you are. And I also know that I trust you with my life. And you know I don’t trust easily. You are not your father.” You walked up the steps into Bobby’s house, leaving Dean in the junkyard to mull over your words.

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