#still never know if that’s a slur or not

[burningembers91]

Not Who I Want to Be - Choi Su Bong (Thanos) x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Thanos is tired of life, until he meets you.

A/N: I am determined to make this man likeable. Redemption story arc incoming!

Warnings: Mentions of abusive father, mentions of drug and alcohol dependency. 18+ only!

Thanos couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent 24 hours sober. He’d either been drunk, high, or both for as long as he could remember. When he was a teenager, it was a way to escape his abusive father, but the pills and drinks eventually became a crutch, one he couldn’t function without.

He still had no idea how he’d become so famous, how his music had managed to become such a hit with so many people. There were songs he didn’t even remember writing, days that were completely lost in a haze of booze and drugs. But somehow, people loved him. He was under no illusion that people loved him for who he was – he knew he was a prick. No, people loved him for his fame, his money, and his seemingly unlimited supply of narcotics.

It didn’t matter to Thanos though; he relished the attention, basked in the flirtatious attention he received from women whose names he never bothered to learn. His friends were nothing more than people desperate for fame, clinging to him in the hope he’d make them as big a name as he was.

People seemed to love his outlandish character. Every time he did something insane, his fans would go crazy for him. So, Thanos slowly became more unhinged, forgetting the little boy he’d once been, the one who’d had big dreams. He spent each night with a different woman, attending every party in Seoul. His penthouse apartment was a constant hive of activity, the people he’d picked up along the way using it as a base to get high.

He didn’t even enjoy music anymore, the words he wrote meant nothing to him. His fans constantly demanded more of him, so he worked like a dog to give them exactly what they wanted. Nothing he wrote made sense; it had no meaning, no context behind the raps. His songs were as empty as his soul; but people were eating up his words like they were gospel.

It was a usual Saturday night ritual for him to attend a club in Seoul. To make an appearance to the crowd, before getting blackout drunk. Tonight, he found himself in the throng of a sweaty crowd, so high off the pills he’d taken before coming out that he was barely clinging to existence. The usual scroungers were there, taking as many free drinks from him as they could get, posing for photos that would instantly be uploaded to Instagram for a few minutes of fame. Girls were clinging to his shirt, their slurred words ricocheting off his ears, melting into the thump thump thump of the base from the speakers to his right. He was dizzy, dehydrated and so, so fucking done with this crowd. He needed to get away, needed to breathe some fresh, sweat-free air.

Pushing himself away from his followers, he stumbled up the steps to the rooftop. It was raining, the wind pushing the droplets sideways into his face. If it was cold, his body didn’t feel the chill. It had been a long time since Thanos had felt anything. The roof was empty, expect for a figure to his left. You were stood huddled under a thin canopy, your arms crossed over your chest. You sipped periodically from a glass, shivering every now and again against the stormy night.

You were the most beautiful thing Thanos had ever seen. You seemed to light up the entire space, despite the wind and rain. Your outfit clung to your figure, accentuating your curves and leaving him breathless. You spotted him staring and offered a small smile. Half walking, half stumbling, Thanos made his way over to you. One good thing about the booze and the drugs, it gave him confidence; and he’d need a bucketful to speak to you.

“Hey girl,” he said, instantly transforming into his overly-macho, too confident persona. “You know who I am?” “No,” you simply said, taking in his tall, lean figure and bright purple hair. “Should I?” “I’m fucking Thanos, baby!” He cried, the wind drowning out his voice, making him seem as small as he felt. “Right… Sorry, doesn’t ring any bells,” you shrugged, downing the last of your drink. “Where would I recognise you from?” “My music,” he told you proudly, spreading arms so you could take him all in. This wasn’t the usual reaction he got. People usually knew he was before he’d even introduced himself, but you, you were just looking blankly back at him. “I’m award winning, senorita!” “Sure,” you smiled, “I’ll uh… I’ll take your word for it.” A clap of thunder stopped your next words, the two of you looking towards to the storm-laden skies. “We should get inside,” you said, “wouldn’t want the famous Thanos to be struck by lightning.”

Following you inside, he couldn’t help but eye your figure as you walked down the stairs. You were nothing like anyone he’d ever seen. Your indifference and unfamiliarity with him were refreshing. You weren’t scrambling to get an autograph or clinging to him in the hopes he’d buy you a drink or take you home for the night. “You here with friends?” He didn’t want the conversation to end, he didn’t want you to leave. He’d probably never see you again if you left now. “Yeah,” you nodded, “it’s my colleagues’ birthday. She really loves this place. You?” Thanos looked around, his eyes scanning the crowd for the people he knew were anything but his friends. “Yeah, baby! It’s Saturday night! It’s party night!” If he wasn’t so off his face, he’d be cringing at the way he was speaking. This wasn’t him; he knew it wasn’t. But he didn’t know how to be any other way. “Well, don’t let me interrupt your evening,” you smiled. He could tell you thought he was a joke; he knew you saw straight through his bullshit. “Wait!” He called after you. “Can I get your number”? You turned and shook your head. “Sorry, Thanos,” you smiled, “I don’t give my number to Marvel villains.” He laughed; not only were you beautiful, you were funny too. “What about your Instagram then?” You thought for a few moments, and finally agreed. Typing your account name into the search bar, you pressed the follow button. “Hey, your accounts private!” Thanos remarked, seeing the request pending written across the screen. “Yeah, it’s to stop all the weirdos from following me. You never know, I might accept. Have a goodnight, Thanos!” And with that, you disappeared into the crowd.

He awoke the next morning, his head pounding and his mouth dry. Some random girl lay next to him in bed, a bottle of vodka tipped on his side and dripping the last of its contents all over his custom-made tile floor. His memory of last night was hazy; he didn’t remember leaving the club or getting home. He didn’t remember going to bed with a stranger, but he remembered you. He remembered the way the strobe lights reflected in your eyes, the way you refused to put up with his shit. He grabbed his phone, scrolling through his apps until he found Instagram. Clicking on your profile, he couldn’t help but smile when he saw you’d accept his follow request.

A message popped up on his notification banner from you. His hands shaking from nerves and withdrawal, he clicked on it. Hey Thanos, it read, I hope you didn’t get blown away in the storm last night. He laughed, harder than he had done in months. Finally, he was excited about his day. He couldn’t wait to reply, couldn’t wait to see where this new conversation could lead him. He jumped out of bed, heading for the shower with his phone clutched in his hand. For the first time in a long time, Thanos was looking forward to the day ahead.

[cybersunnie]

18+ MDNI DUBCON / fem!reader / mean!rafe / p in v / power play via choking / manipulation / degradation / use of "bitch" & "slut" / fwb situation / reader says ily during sex / wc 740 with RAFE CAMERON

“I love you.”

The words whispered, strung together in your slurred speech, but it was enough to make Rafe pause. His hips stilled against you, and he lowered to rest on his forearms, staring into your glassy eyes. You looked so far gone. You couldn’t have meant it.

He brushed back a strand of hair that stuck to your temple. “What did you say?”

With a smile, you repeated, “I love you.”

He said nothing, but his stomach churned in response. Intestines twisted and knotted. 

Friends with benefits—that was what the two of you agreed on. That it would be sex and nothing more. But now you were saying you loved him? Was this some sick joke? His jaw clenched, his mind reeled. It must be. Look at that smile on your face. 

It was mocking him. 

In your haze, you took his silence as a sign he didn’t hear you, so you said again, “I love you, Rafe.”

Red. He saw red. 

“Stop.”

“Why?” You were mocking him.

“Because you don’t mean it.”

And just like that, your smile faltered, your eyes clearing like his words had cut through your fog. You shook your head, murmuring nos that fell on deaf ears. Rafe watched your brows pinch together. He felt your grasp on his shoulders tighten, blunt nails sinking into his flesh. Desperate. Pathetic.

You were many things, but he didn’t take you for a liar.

“I do,” you insisted, words still slurred, “I love you.”

Unable to help himself, he rolled his eyes. He could feel his dick getting soft from all this talk.

“Shut up.” He pushed himself onto his hands, his blood running hot. 

“What?” You sounded hurt, your voice small. When he looked away, you grabbed his face, and the voices in his head started to overlap as your thumbs caressed his cheeks. He refused to be manipulated. “Rafe, I—”

Suddenly, your words came to a halt, your mouth dropping open. All you could let out were rasped breaths and whispers of his name. 

You clutched the hand he now had wrapped around your throat, but he only seemed to apply more pressure. He felt your pulse quicken beneath his fingers. Thump, thump, thumpthumpthump. Were you scared? You shouldn’t be. 

He would never hurt you. Not intentionally.

And besides, you had always liked it when he was a little rough with you.

Rafe leaned down, his face inches from yours. “Shut. Up.” 

His hips moved, pulling out a few inches before driving back into your cunt, a strained whine falling from your lips. He scoffed, his gaze roaming over your pleasure-stricken face. Then he did it a second time, a third, a fourth—and you kept on moaning like the slut you were. This time, you didn’t attempt to speak. Not a word. 

Finally, Rafe eased his grip on your neck. Light rushed back to your eyes as you gasped, your chest heaving. 

“What was that about, huh?” he questioned harshly, his hand shifting to hold your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. The air between your faces became sticky, his heavy breaths mingling with yours. “You tryna play me?”

Rafe watched your mouth open and then close. 

He tutted, his fingers digging into your cheeks, your lips squished. “Got nothin’ to say now?” You could only moan while he pounded into you. He laughed, “‘Course not, forgot you’re just another dumb bitch for my cock. No thoughts goin’ on up there anymore, huh?”

At that, your cunt spasmed around him, and he groaned at the feeling. This was how it was meant to be, but you just had to open your mouth and complicate things. Rafe wrapped his hand around your throat again, relishing your whiny gasp and the way your brows pinched together. 

“Just stay like this f’me,” he mumbled, placing a sloppy kiss on your cheek. “No more of that ‘I love you’ crap, alright? You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Rafe sensed your hesitation, that spark of defiance you still had left, so he gave you a warning squeeze, your breaths caught in your throat. Slowly, your eyes crossed, and your brain melted into nothing as your greedy pussy sucked him back in with every thrust. Only when you nodded did he release the pressure. 

You had surrendered, and Rafe could go the rest of the day believing your words meant nothing.

Because, in his mind, you couldn’t actually love someone like him.

sunnie speaks! ugh hes such an insecure asshole #needthat but at the same time ew get away from me?? — also, happy new year guys!!! we made it! let's chat about rafe cameron!

psst! if you like my work, consider following my library blog (@sunniefics) to be notified of all my future fics!

[justhereforthecupcakes]

@rosie-tyler Funny you mention Daniel spitting.

I actually wrote a very dark and sad AU fic in which Daniel spits in Terry’s face during the infamous arm lock moment in the 5x05 fight scene… with tragic results.

I’ve decided to post it below. Please be warned there are VERY dark themes and TW subjects. Otherwise, I hope those who read enjoy.

Something You’ll Never Forget Series

Title: Something You’ll Never Forget (I Know I Won’t)

Pairing: Daniel LaRusso/Terry Silver

Disclaimer: do you really need one at this point, or do you honestly believe I own the franchise?…. Why yes I do, write any checks to me please!

Warnings: N/C, Sexual Assault, Physical Assault, Edging, Forced Orgasm, Obsession, Anti-Asian slur, Terry Silver is his own warning, in fact Terry Silver is flat out delulu

Summary: Daniel makes the mistake of telling Terry Silver to blow him. So he does.

“You really ought to be careful what you ask for, Danny Boy.”

Daniel lay on the floor, naked below the waist, trembling and giving broken little whimpers from both the assault and being kept on edge for the last 20 minutes by Terry’s mouth and hands. He was straining oh so beautifully against the silver silk scarf binding his hands behind his back.

His cock straining even more.

Terry was glad he decided against blindfolding him; it would have heightened the sensations for his boy, but seeing the conflicting emotions of shame and arousal in his expressive brown eyes was far more rewarding.

They had fought, ending with Terry trapping Daniel’s arms with his own, taunting him.

“You never had the strength, did you?”

“Blow me, asshole!” Daniel had spat out, before spitting in his face.

He also never did learn to watch his mouth…

He’d struggled at first, alternating between panic and anger, pleading and cursing at him to stop; then the tears followed. But eight minutes in, the anger and tears subsided as Daniel gave up fighting. Resigned to Terry’s ministrations, his breaths now coming in delicious little gasps, and moans.

He loved the fire in his boy, but Submission was a damn good look for him.

Terry’s pants were definitely much tighter than they were 20 minutes ago. He ignored it, though. That wasn’t exactly easy considering Daniel’s thighs were quivering in the most provocative manner — if he only knew just how badly Terry was tempted to take a bite of his inner thigh and truly mark him.

For now…

Daniel let out a choked moan as he massaged his balls, lips teasingly brushing over his cock.

Oh he was going to enjoy hearing his boy cry out in ecstasy when he finally let him come.

But not yet.

He would make him beg next time - and there would be a next time, giving Daniel this small taste has without a doubt ensured that.

Perhaps he’d even take a hand to his backside for his insolence, as adorable as it was. Administer blow after blow until his cheeks were glowing.. until he was deliciously squirming and writhing in his lap, begging for Terry’s forgiveness… for mercy…

But, he didn’t want to totally break him just yet. Breaking him too quickly would have him running or fighting him even harder.

He knew his boy — he’ll always be his boy, no matter how old he got — and he was a stubborn thing. Regardless of how many years had been lost between them, he knew not to rush him. Daniel would need time to accept his feelings if he was to come to him on his own.

Besides, this was meant to be a gift, an incentive, a little nudge in the right direction…

… Still, his boy did need a firm touch. He needed to learn.

And Terry just couldn’t help himself.

“Do you have any idea how you look right now?”

A gentle kiss to his swollen cock.

“Has it ever been this good with your wife?”

Daniel remained as stony-faced as he could manage in his position.

Admittedly, it was an unfair question to ask — and an irrelevant one.

The one that mattered…

“Has a man ever touched you like this before?”

Because he needed to know. And because he’d seen Lawrence and especially that sl**t-eyed Toguchi sniffing around his boy, like Daniel was a bitch in heat.

Well, he supposed, in a way, he is.

And Barnes… well, he got the message.

The grimace on Daniel’s face was enough to confirm he hadn’t. And the elation it brought him. It meant Terry would be his first in so many ways.

God, it meant he’d stayed faithful.

That alone earned Daniel his reward.

He grasped him tightly then, sealing his mouth over the head and giving him firm strokes; his other hand teasing his perineum — that did the trick.

Daniel let out a strangled cry, involuntarily thrusting his hips and himself further into Terry’s mouth. It wasn’t long until Daniel threw his head back, letting out a guttural moan as he came hard.

Watching him fall apart and completely come undone truly was a sight to behold. Something he’ll never forget.

And neither will Daniel.

Underneath the flush from his post-coital daze, he looks shellshocked.

Understandable; his boy had never experienced this kind of pleasure before.

Daniel was no doubt experiencing the full onslaught of the feelings and desires he had kept buried all these years, the ones Terry had just forced him to confront.

It was long overdue. Terry had accepted his feelings, and now it’s time for Daniel to do the same.

Time for Daniel to come back to where he belonged.

He gently takes his face in his hands and kisses him before he unties him and leaves; pocketing the silk scarf.

It won’t be long before he’ll finally have the pleasure of seeing what his beautiful boy will look like riding his cock.

Until then, the scarf that had touched Daniel’s beautiful hands was now wrapped around his cock. And he imagined his boy would feel just as smooth around him.

So he waited for his boy to come to him.

And waited.

But his boy never came.

No, the next knock on his door were two LAPD officers with a warrant for his arrest.

The charge: sexual assault of Daniel LaRusso.

He made bail, of course.

But to add insult to injury, he was almost immediately served with a Temporary Restraining Order barring any contact with Daniel and his family, and instructing him to stay a minimum distance of 100 feet away for the next 30 days.

How he managed to obtain one so quickly… The judge listed on the order was part of LaRusso’s little country club, no doubt.

He’d have her charged with collusion and disbarred.

GODDAMN LITTLE PRICK!

Even if he wasn’t convicted and placed on the sex offender list, the charges alone would severely hamper, if not totally derail his plans.

LaRusso, you little bastard… you fucking tease!

He planned this.

Somehow he’d planned this and once again Terry had underestimated him.

He would have given him the world.

Okay, Danny Boy. Okay.

Now the real pain begins.

Title: Breathe

Sequel to: Something You’ll Never Forget (I Know I Won’t)

Pairing: Daniel LaRusso/Terry Silver

Warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATHS, murder, strangulation, rape, stalking, obsession, suicide, Terry Silver is his own warning, in fact Terry Silver is flat out delulu

Summary: After the events of “Something You’ll Never Forget (I Know I Won’t),” Terry makes bail… and now… the real pain begins.

He wept softly as he rocked Daniel’s too still body in his arms…

He understood, too late, his boy simply wanted to know if he mattered more to him than Cobra Kai.

This had been a test to see if he would choose what mattered most, and he’d failed.

He’d been waiting for him at Miyagi-Do.

He just wanted to… he doesn’t know… but he needed Daniel to know.

Terry needed Daniel to know that for all the things he’d ever experienced… Viet Nam… the fear… the trauma…

Never had he experienced heartbreak like that at the hands of Daniel LaRusso.

His Danny Boy…

There were moments he was sure Daniel was pure Cobra, more than he or Kreese ever were.

He thought he’d never been more sure than the moment he learned what his boy was capable of: Orchestrating his arrest, the restraining order… setting everything he had worked to rebuild to burn to ash once more.

All of his patience and planning… all his years of therapy… gone with one look from his boy… a single threat of walking away…

But when he came out of the shadows, and Daniel jumped back, and ordered him to leave — screamed for him to get out.

Out of nowhere his anger dissipated; instead, Terry broke down and fell to his knees, grabbing Daniel around his waist, begging him… “don’t make me go, don’t push me away, please”…. never had he willingly shown such weakness and vulnerability in his life…

… and still Daniel tried pulling away… panicking and screaming and tripping them both to the ground with Terry on top of his back…

“DON’T TOUCH ME! DON’T TOUCH ME!”

The cruelty in his boy.

And, God help him, his anger has returned and turned into an all consuming rage. All he could think was how much he wanted him to hurt! To make him suffer for the way he had deliberately made Terry suffer, and break him for it.

Because Terry was suffocating and he couldn’t breathe…

So he wouldn’t breathe…

He wound the silver scarf around the swanlike throat and pulled tight… tighter…

"Terr—" he'd choked out, before his eyes rolled back and he finally went still under him.

And he was done waiting, done drawing this out. No, this was pleasure for Terry and pain for Daniel.

“I told you not to play with fire,” he voice shook in fury, as he undid his belt and pants, before roughly yanking down Daniel’s, “didn’t I?”

He took one moment to appreciate the enticing view, smoothing a hand over the cheeks he could only dream about over the decades; now a reality in front of him. Any ounce of regret he might have felt at their first time ruined by fury and blood was overtaken and consumed by that decades old darkness that had been caged too long.

There was no going back.

He took that one moment before spitting into his palm, and greasing his cock with the barest amount, because he didn’t deserve lube… he deserved every second of the torture he was about to endure…

And he shoved in, uncaring of the damage to delicate flesh and the blood that followed — satisfied even.

“You used me!” thrust “You used me for a trophy” thrust “and then walked away” thrust “without a backward” thrust “glance!”

His hands yanked upward on the silk material, pulling the scarf tighter, while pushing down between Daniel’s shoulders blades. Daniel couldn’t cry out, could barely breathe, body twitching in agony; didn’t matter - he knew he was in excruciating pain, while he was in utter bliss.

He was so very right after all… his boy was as smooth as silk on the inside… Smooth as velvet… He never knew people actually saw stars when they came.

He let his breathing come back under control… but his hands… were still pulling on the scarf around his boy…

… who was laying too still…

NO.

He jerked his hands away from the scarf and turned his form onto his back, and frantically tried to give the breath he'd stolen from him back… mouth-to-mouth… chest compressions… mouth-to-mouth… chest compressions…

BREATHE!

God, Danny - sweetheart - please breathe…

He tried listening for a heartbeat, but the horrible wail that tore from him drowned out the sound that wasn’t there.

He simply dragged his boy up into his arms, silently crying as he rocked him, whispering apologies and begging forgiveness to unhearing ears.

He doesn’t know how long he sat there, doesn’t know how long it was before he was discovered by Lawrence, Toguchi and (regrettably) Daniel’s children.

He knows their presence is the only reason he woke up in a hospital three days later, miraculously still alive… in pain (though it would never come close to what he felt when Daniel’s body was ripped away from his arms)… but he was still alive…

Just another regret.

A regret he remedied when he plead guilty, and requested the death penalty. He’s not the first convicted murderer in history to do so; but it still sent shockwaves through the Valley.

But he didn’t do this out of any sense of nobility… not even because he deserved to die for what he did… no, again he was selfish - he did this to see his boy that much sooner.

The only solace he had found through this tragedy was when he belatedly realized that his name was the last thing the love of his life ever breathed.

And so he was sentenced to death by lethal injection.

But he was given a surprise visit by Samantha on the day of his execution.

She didn’t want his apologies, she wanted to know why.

“Nothing I could tell you would ever make sense, nor should it. All I can tell you is that I wanted to believe I could change. I tried to pretend I wasn’t a monster, but I am. And your father… despite what I’ve done, I love him.”

And he loved me.

But he left that unspoken. She would never accept that. Never be ready for that.

Like father, like daughter.

Predictably she reacted in shock and denial, but he held her gaze and allowed her to see the naked and undeniable truth from him. The rage was still there, but so too was the quiet realization and acceptance of his admission.

“I’ve never felt more pain than the moment I realized what I’d done. I’ll never forgive myself for it.

“You don’t have to forgive me. But, Samantha — don’t let this consume you or your family like it did me.

“For over 30 years I’ve thought of nothing else but all the ways my life could have been different if I had just made a different choice - the right choice. I wanted something beautiful, and I had the chance to have a future with him… but now, if I could go back and change everything, I’d go back to the start of it all… and I’d kill Kreese. And me.”

That surprised her.

“So that you, your dad, and your family could live a happy life. Safe.”

She sat, unsure of how to take that. “But you can’t.”

“No,” he admitted, “But you will be safe from now on, Samantha. I’ll be going soon, and I’m taking Cobra Kai with me. It’s already done. It’s only a matter of time - they just don’t know it. And one day, you and your family can stop looking over your shoulder. It’s the one unselfish thing I can do.”

He watched her, the daughter they never had, leave knowing she would be safe.

He briefly wondered what she would do with the money he was leaving her and her brother… how she would react when they discovered they were among the beneficiaries, but no point in dwelling.

And when the guard came for him, he didn’t cry, he didn’t have second thoughts, he did not beg for mercy. Not even as they strapped him down. Not even when they inserted the I.V.

This was Mercy, unintentional as it were.

Daniel was waiting for him on the other side.

And he would find in death what he could not find in life — Love.

He was still smiling as they depressed the plunger.

Title: The Roots Are Strong

Sequel: Breathe (Third in the Something You’ll Never Forget series)

Pairing: Daniel LaRusso/Terry Silver

Characters: Daniel LaRusso, Terry Silver, Johnny Lawrence, Samantha LaRusso, Anthony LaRusso, Amanda LaRusso, Miguel Diaz, Carmen Diaz, Robby Keene, John Kreese, Kim De Eun, Chozen Toguchi, Mike Barnes.

Warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATHS, death penalty, references to murder both past and present

Summary: Terry is executed, and everyone deals with the aftermath.

Samantha was curled next to Miguel on the couch, Anthony passed out on the other side of her, his head on her lap and a protective hand on his shoulder. He had progressively grown even thinner over the last six months.

Even Johnny had tried to get him to eat more — couldn’t help it. Kid was starting to look as skinny as his dad during his pencil thin days of high school… Always had to fight the urge to shove a sandwich down the little twerp’s throat back then.

Amanda had seemed to age ten years. A heavily pregnant Carmen was by her side doing her best to provide comfort.

The rest of Miyagi-Do/Eagle Fang were scattered about, keeping watch. Standing guard.

It was happening. Right now.

Johnny, Mike, and Chozen were present to make sure the bastard was dead and gone. No tricks this time.

And Robby.

There was no stopping him.

“He was there for me and I stabbed him in the back - I never even got to apologize… I need to be there. I need to see that asshole pay. He’s the reason for all of it.”

Johnny nodded.

“Ok, you’re 18 now. You can decide. But if it gets to be too much, then we’re out. No judgment. And no questions. Ok?”

It was incredibly anti-climatic.

But the son-of-a-bitch still died smiling.

Whatever. Hell will wipe it off his face the second he lands there.

They switched off the monitor once he’d flatlined and closed the curtain.

And that was that.

Afterwards, everyone departed, and it felt like a fucked up version of everyone walking out of a Sunday matinee.

Show’s over… time to go home…

But the son-of-a-bitch was gone.

That was one down as far as Johnny was concerned. There was still a fight left for what remained of Cobra Kai and Kim Da-Eun.

Or so he had thought.

Their demise had been anticlimactic as well.

Kreese met his end in prison the day of Silver’s execution.

A shank to the jugular and no one was talking.

No one cared.

With Kreese and Silver gone, Kim Da Eun had simply packed up and left.

If she planned to continue her grandfather’s legacy, it wouldn’t be in the Valley. And that’s all that mattered.

When Silver’s lawyer reached out the day after his execution, all of them were prepared for a battle beyond the grave. Something they should have seen coming.

No one expected he’d named Johnny and the LaRusso kids among the beneficiaries of his will.

They still expected some kind of trap. A deal with the devil. Maybe a cursed rabbit’s foot or something.

“To Samantha LaRusso and Anthony LaRusso, daughter and son of Daniel LaRusso, I leave a total sum of $200 million dollars to be split equally between both parties.”

He hadn’t counted on Anthony being the one to explode. He had been so quiet and shut down the whole time. But they all knew it was coming sooner or later.

He popped out his chair and almost up ended the desk before Johnny and Chozen were able to subdue him.

“Does he think money can fix this?! NO! I don’t want his goddamn money. I want my dad back!”

Amanda and Chozen had ushered him and Samantha out of the office.

“To John Lawrence, I leave in its entirety the title and brand ownership of Cobra Kai, LLC, to include its dojos—“

The rest he’d left to various charities and anti-bullying organizations, blah blah blah.

Douche.

In the end, they had each taken the inheritance.

Sam and Anthony had no clue where to go from here, though.

But Cobra Kai was now officially his. He knew what had to be done.

He’d retired the moniker and sold most of the dojos — there’d been a lot. He made a decent sized fortune, more than enough to secure a house — a real house — for his family, close enough to the LaRussos… he could afford to send all three of the kids to college if that’s the route they took...

Cobra Kai was gone.

And in its place stood Miyagi-Do — now officially co-owned by Chozen, Sam and Anthony, with Amanda acting as trustee until they reached 18; and with Johnny and Chozen as head instructors.

Carmen and Shannon managing the finances and accounts.

Finally.

The head of the snake had been cut off.

It was over.

For Cobra Kai. For Kreese. For Silver.

For Daniel.

But Miyagi-Do would live on, and be here long after they were gone.

All of them were going to be okay.

Because the roots are strong, so the tree will survive.

A/N: Terry did NOT see Daniel when he passed over. Nope. He woke up in his own Hell Loop losing the 85 tournament and watching Daniel walk away, smiling, over and over and over…

oh, sex? actually, can you just beat me up homoerotically so i can go home and jerk off about it later?

[tra-archive]

Please read this whole post and reblog it, radblr. I don’t want anyone to forget this happened to me and I also don’t want anyone to forget how disgusting the TRA community is.

Next month, it’ll be one year since I was harassed, doxxed, and targeted by a disgusting person and their sick followers. I won’t say their name because they still have a cult following, but if you need a hint, look up the drama with photomatt in February 2024.

On my old account, an anon told me about an account getting banned from tumblr and the ensuing chaos from TRAs. I answered the ask and posted a picture of the person’s new account so radblr could block if they needed to. I had no idea who this person was until I got that anon ask, just to be clear.

The person found the post and reblogged it, accusing me of being the one who led a “targeted harassment campaign” against them and got their account banned, and told their followers “you know what to do” or something like that. Keep in mind, I didn’t know who this person was at all so I obviously wasn’t the one who got them banned. I also *gasp* didn’t use their preferred pronouns, so that was a huge scandal as well.

After that, their followers began to harass me and send violent threats to my inbox. (Edit: oh and this evil person accused me of sending them to myself for attention, which is so fucked up and misogynistic I don’t even have words for it.) Here’s the worst one that I still have trauma from to this day:

My account was then termed by tumblr. I made a new account and called for radblr to report the account for sending their followers to harass me. Well, this made everything worse because the hate I got on this new account was a thousand times worse. This person’s minions created multiple posts about me (look up m3nrbad for proof, that was the account name). There were hundreds of comments calling me misogynistic slurs and calling for me to be doxxed and even lynched. They also found my Reddit account and harassed me there too. I even got a few text messages to my PHONE NUMBER. I have no idea how this evil person’s followers got ahold of it, but I changed my number and my mother took me to buy a new phone just to be safe. Here’s what one of them said about me, encouraging their followers to false report me:

A short while after this, the evil person’s blog was termed again and they were (I think) IP banned from all of tumblr. The CEO photomatt threatened to take legal action against them. It had nothing to do with me, but I can’t lie, it felt so good seeing that happen to them after the hell they put me through. Here’s me reacting to the news:

TRAs on tumblr of course threw a hissy fit and attacked Matt for months because their leader was banned. They also acted like this person was being systemically oppressed by tumblr of all fucking places. Keep in mind this person is white and born male, acting as if they were so oppressed by a website.

I eventually deleted that other blog and made this one. I spent hours and hours blocking every single person who reblogged, liked, and commented on posts about me, as well as blocking almost every one of a big tra’s followers. I was determined to stop being harassed.

Anyway, I know I shouldn’t be dwelling on this because it’s just internet drama, but people still worship this person and act like they’re such a poor victim, and in reality that’s not true. That month was hell for me and my actual safety was threatened. If it wasn’t for some of you gyns being so amazing and funny on here, I would’ve never come back to radblr.

Thanks for reading all the way through.

-Sirona

[lechrts]

Die For You. ✷ Lando Norris

Pairing: Lando Norris x Friend!reader

Summary: When he’s the only one that’s allowed to pick on you. (And unfortunately someone else picks on you, and it backfires.)

Word Count: 1.1k

Disclaimer/s: fluff… kinda… defensive!Lando 👅. A tad bit of body shaming i fear …

Vera’s Voice! hi Enya. For U. i hope i did this justice.

The bar was alive with laughter and music, and you were perched at the counter, sipping on your favorite fruity cocktail. As usual, Lando couldn’t resist making a comment the moment he saw you.

“Another one?” He said, sauntering up next to you with a smug grin. “What is that now? Your third? Fourth?“ He grinned with a small pause.

“Be careful. We can’t afford to have you tumbling like a drunk mess in the streets later.”

You glared at him, already irritated. “I can handle myself, and this is my second drink. Thank you very much.” A scoff and eye roll emitted from your body.

“Yeah, right,” He replied, his grin widening. “Say that again when you inevitably start slurring your words and crying about how much you hate tequila.”

“Ha. Funny.” You deadpanned.

“I’m serious,” He pressed, leaning on the counter with a quirked brow and stupid smile. “You’re a lightweight. One more of those, and you’re topless on a counter.”

You scoffed, taking another sip of your drink just to spite him. “And I’m sure you’d enjoy that.”

“Maybe so,” He fired back with a sheepish shrug. “But I’m just looking out for you,” Another wink.

Before you could respond, one of Lando’s mates—you couldn’t remember his name, they weren’t that close honestly—wandered over, clearly overhearing the exchange.

“Seriously,” He said, his eyes scanning the glass in your hand. “Another sugary monstrosity? You know that stuff makes you bloat, right?”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. You froze, the insult hanging in the air as your self-consciousness surged.

“And for the record,” He continued, smirking like he’d just delivered the joke of the century, “It’s not exactly flattering. Just saying.”

Lando’s head snapped toward him so fast it was almost comical. But there was nothing funny about the deadly look on his face.

“What’d you say?” Lando’s voice was low and ice-cold, a tone you’d never heard from him before as her quirked a brow with a repulsed look.

His friend blinked, caught off guard. “Just telling your friend here that she’s gonna get fat if she continues drinking all that—“

Lando cut him off with a light shove, almost like it was a warning for him to shut up

“Relax, mate. I was just jok—”

“Yeah? Well, it wasn’t funny,” He cut him off sharply, now stepping forward to put himself in front of you. “Who even says that? You think that’s funny?”

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” The guy stammered, clearly starting to regret opening his mouth.

“Doesn’t matter,” Lando snapped. “You don’t talk to her like that. Ever. Got it?”

“Alright, chill, mate. I didn’t know she was off-limits or whatever.”

“Off-limits?” Lando repeated, his voice rising. “She’s not off-limits, she’s just better than your pathetic attempts at humor. So why don’t you piss off.”

The guy muttered something under his breath before walking away, leaving the two of you standing in tense silence.

“Lando…” You started, but he turned to face you before you could say more.

His expression softened as he ran a hand through his hair. “I hope you don’t believe a word he said.“

You swallowed hard, still feeling the sting of the comment but touched by Lando’s protectiveness. “Thanks for…that,” You said quietly.

“I mean it,” Lando said, stepping closer. “I know I’m a prick but it’s all in good fun.” A pause. “I also never make comments about your appearance.. considering you’re gorgeous…” He trailed off, his sly way of sneaking in a compliment making you slightly blush.

You huffed out a small laugh, your lips twitching into a faint smile. “I don’t know what’s more shocking: that you just defended me or that you actually said something nice for once.”

“Don’t get used to it,” He said, his usual smirk creeping back.

“Of course,” You muttered, rolling your eyes. “Who else will tell me I’m stupid every second they can?”

“Only me,” He added, his tone more serious. “No one else gets to. Not like that.”

You looked up at him, his sincerity catching you off guard. “Deal.”

And just like that, the teasing and bickering was back—but this time, you couldn’t help but feel a little safer, knowing Lando had your back.

likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated! ^_^ and pls Lmk if you wanna be apart of my permanent tag list

tags! @planetpedri @halfwayhearted @wdcbox @freyathehuntress @iovepoem @piastri-fvx

[cherrysurf]

Winning you back

-where the haikyu boys try to win back you there ex gf.

-contains; daichi, suga, hinata, kageyama, kenma, kuroo, suna, osamu

Daichi; This man is a cop BEST FUCKING BELIEVE hes out patrolling by your usual bars definitely not on purpose to watch over you, so of course you coming out a bar hammered and ready to head home but your friends wanting you drag you to another bar you quickly look for an alibi and who was the best one the cop that was standing right behind you “uh huh no can do this officer said he’d arrest me if i went to another bar right sir” you say slurring your words a bit “that’s right ma’am” the voice sounding awfully familiar till you turn around and see daichi which made your cheeks turn painfully red not just from the alcohol now.. “w-well come on you know the way back to my house let’s go.” you say flustered but really can’t back down now “alright let’s go missy want me to carry you like i used too can you walk home?” he said, smirking very much enjoying this. “carry me.” you whispered “huh? I can't hear you, can you say it louder?” he asked cupping his ear as if to mock you “oh whatever daichi i can walk” you say pushing past him to walk ahead, when you feel strong buff arms pick you up “it’s Mr.daichi to you tonight yn.” he said laughing you roll your eyes and scoff.

sugawara; THIS MAN he is pulling out the “oh the kids wanted me to bring this to you they said they miss you dropping off my lunches and saying hi” because of course you still kept in contact after the breakup because he was mature on it and it was just because you guys were so close and you had formed a bond with his students so imagine how excited him and the kids get when you come in a week later bringing suga lunch “OOOO MISS YN IS BACKKKK” they all say, safe to say suga knew he had you back into his life after that day

hinata; this man is PERSISTENT he’d send you tickets for all his home games even if you guys aren’t talking and then one fateful night it was a big important game for hinata that you had knew about before you two had ended things so you decided to show up and wear his jersey in support, the tickets he’d always give you were up close to the court so if you ever did show up he’d know. Imagine the look on his face when he saw you, he was already feeling down and was actually starting to give up hope on any idea of you coming back together. that all changed after he saw you not just being there but wearing his jersey at that, safe to say he showed off and won and took you out to dinner as a “thank you” gift.

kageyama; I know everyone writes kageyama nonchalant but imagine YEARNING KAGEYAMA with me for a sec this man is sending you flowers every other week the first time he sent you them with a note a attached to it saying “even if we’re not together i refuse to have your flower vase empty so let me take care of that for you.” and it’s never the same flowers it’s always perfect curated ones for every week or two that somehow perfectly aligned with your mood, maybe it’s because he still follows you on instagram even if you have him on follow back because he cares about you, so it’s your birthday week and the wave of presents you get from this man ALONE was insane and then on your birthday you wake up to tons of tags and mentions but one stuck out specifically it was from kageyama's instagram on his VERY PUBLIC might i add it’s a picture of you but not your face showing with a small sentence saying “happy birthday ml i’ll never stop caring for you” safe to say that night you went out to a birthday dinner with him.

kuroo; you and him ended on good terms and also because you two had booked a trip before you two had broken up that you still decided to go on, you thinking it was a simple get together for break maybe even going off to do your own things at the place but for kuroo it was a week long of “how to get yn back” it involved romantic dates, walks on the beach, impressing you, dressing up, compliments alamode the whole nine. Which worked out successfully because by the time you guys came back he was already talking about getting engaged.

kenma; You two wouldn’t have been on speaking terms for about 3 weeks until you noticed an invite sent to you on discord to join a minecraft world, you being bored and curious click on it and find that he made an ENTIRE world dedicated to you and saying sorry, i kid you not even minutes later you get a knock at your door, as you look down you find a gift basket for all your favorite snacks, gift cards from various of your favorite stores, v-bucks and a cute apologetic note. You know kenma knows that he's probably lingering around the area in his car. That’s when you text him “doors unlock come inside let’s 1v1 i know you brought your gaming stuff.” and that he did, NOT EVEN 5 minutes later you hear a knock and kenma with a smile and arms full of his gaming stuff.

suna; he’d take a different approach to getting you back because as serious as he was he was always super funny so imagine your reaction when you hear music coming from your front yard while it was raining to find suna with a boombox over his head blasting your favorite song, you ended up recording this whole ordeal and sending it to atsumu and osamu since they needed some blackmail after countless years of blackmail suna had on them, by the second repeat of the song you had called him to come inside and gave him a warm cup a tea as you laugh about the situation and he gets spammed by texts from the miyas about how stupid it was of him to do this he didn’t care because he was wrapped up in your blanket, with your tea you made for him, and was gonna stay at your house because the rain only got worse after that.

osamu; It’s been about a week of no contact even though neither of you had mentioned it, it was killing you both. Anyways it was the first day of your period and you were craving his cooking because you fully believed it was the only thing that healed you from cramps as you were about to head out for the convenient store to find something to suppress your cravings that’s until you see him at your door which startled you a bit “gosh osamu you scared me what are you doing here?” you asked confused yet happy “uhm i still had your period tracker on my phone..NOT IN A WEIRD WAY i promise i just forgot to delete it and i know how you usually like my food on the first day since it’s your worst day so i'd figure id stop by..” he said nervously “well..you guess right i was gonna go to the store if you wanna come we can get groceries so you can cook i don’t have anything right now” you say happy inside that he came to your rescue “okay i'll drive.” he says happily to weasel his way back into his pretty ex gfs life

[growthhyp]

The Garage Sale IV

"Fuck, where is that little shit?" Abe muttered under his breath, his ginger hair glinting in the fading sunlight as he stomped outside the college campus. His beefy arms flexed with each step, the veins in his neck bulging with frustration. He'd been looking for Aiden all day, his usual smug smile nowhere to be seen.

Aiden, the nerdy black college student, had somehow managed to outwit Abe, the burly jock, and it was driving him insane. His eyes scanned the crowded area, looking for the skinny kid who always seemed to be lost in his own world of books and tech. Aiden had always been an easy target for Abe's cruel pranks and homophobic slurs, but today, he had evaded the jock's grasp.

But as Abe was about to give up and admit defeat, his eyes caught a glimpse of a garage sale, set up in the driveway of a quaint suburban home. The sight was peculiar, a stark contrast to the modern college buildings surrounding them. Amongst the clutter, a hulking man stood, his muscles bulging beneath a tight bright blue tank top that was doing its best to contain them.

Curiosity piqued, Abe approached the garage sale, his eyes scanning the assortment of items laid out on tables. "Hey," Abe called out to the muscular man, his deep voice echoing in the quiet space, "you haven't seen a nerdy guy come through here, have you? Skin and bones, probably tripping over his own feet."

Jack looked up from the chair he was sitting and cocked his head to the side, eyeing Abe with a quizzical expression. "Nah, man, no one like that's been here. But I did have a customer come by earlier, though." He wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his hand, his biceps flexing as he spoke. "Dude was built like a brick shithouse, like me. You might've missed him if you weren't looking for someone… well, smaller."

Abe's eyes narrowed at the description, his mind racing with thoughts of Aiden teaming up with someone like Jack to outsmart him. "What'd he look like?" he asked, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice.

Jack looked up from his task, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, you know the type. Big, brawny, probably benches more than you weigh." He chuckled, his deep laugh reverberating through the garage. "I don't think he was your typical bookworm, if that's what you're worried about."

Abe felt a flicker of annoyance at Jack's teasing, but he couldn't help but be a little intrigued. He stepped closer, his eyes lingering over the muscular man's form. "What was he here for?"

Jack shrugged, his massive shoulders rising and falling with the movement. "Just picked up some old gym gear, said he was looking to bulk up."

Abe nodded, his eyes still scanning the garage. The absence of other customers was odd, but he shrugged it off. Maybe everyone was just avoiding the scene of the jock's frustration. "Thanks anyway, man," he said, turning to leave.

But as he took a step away, Jack called out, "Hey, what's your name?"

Abe spun around, a smug smirk playing on his lips. "Abe. And before you ask, yeah, I'm a college student."

Jack's eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh, so you're one of those jocks, huh? Play football, get all the girls?" He winked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Abe nodded proudly. "Yeah, exactly. I'm on the college varsity team, and I've got more notches on my bedpost than I can count." He flexed his bicep, the muscles rippling like waves of power beneath his skin. "So, what's your deal?"

Jack's smirk grew wider. "Well, Abe," he said, leaning on the weight bench, "I'm an alumni of this very college. But let's just say, I didn't spend much time playing football." His gaze drifted off for a moment before he snapped back to the present. "But enough about me. What's got you so riled up about the nerdy guy?"

Abe felt his cheeks redden slightly at the question. He'd never admitted to anyone that he had a grudge against Aiden. "It's nothing," he mumbled, looking away. "Just a little… rivalry."

Jack raised an eyebrow, his gaze piercing through Abe's facade. "Rivalry, huh?" He stepped closer, the scent of sweat and metal wafting from his body. "Look, Abe, I know your type. You're the kind of guy who thinks the world owes you something just because you can bench press more than anyone else. But let me tell you a little secret." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Being a jock doesn't make you untouchable. And sometimes, the quiet ones have more bite than you think."

Abe's jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. He'd never been talked to like this before, not by someone who wasn't trembling in fear. But Jack's confidence was oddly compelling, and he found himself listening intently. "What's your point?" Abe spat out, trying to sound tough.

Jack's smile didn't waver. "My point is, maybe you should cut the guy some slack. Everyone's got their own battles to fight." He straightened up, his towering frame seemingly growing larger in the confined space of the garage.

But before Abe could respond, Jack's eyes fell on a dusty old jockstrap hanging from a makeshift clothesline strung across the garage. "Speaking of which," Jack said, plucking it down and holding it out to Abe with a flourish, "you might like this."

Abe stared at the piece of clothing in confusion, his brain struggling to piece together why Jack would be offering him underwear. "What the hell is this?" he snarled, his voice laced with skepticism.

Jack's grin grew even wider, his teeth gleaming in the dim light. "It's a jockstrap, buddy. Perfect for guys like you." He stepped closer, invading Abe's personal space. "It'll give you the support you need, keep everything in check while you're out there playing your games." His voice was smooth, like honey, and Abe couldn't help but feel a strange pull towards the garment.

"But I already have one," Abe protested weakly, his eyes flicking between the jockstrap and Jack's intense gaze.

"Ah, but this one's special," Jack said, his tone like a siren's song. "It's not just any old jockstrap. This one's been worn by champions, men who've pushed their bodies to the limit. It's like having a piece of history, a symbol of strength and endurance." He held it out closer, and Abe could almost feel the power it contained.

Abe stared at the jockstrap, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts. Why was he even considering this? But Jack's words were like a drug, and he found himself reaching out to take it. "What makes it so special?" he asked, his voice gruff.

Jack leaned in closer, his breath hot against Abe's ear. "Let me show you," he said, his voice a seductive whisper. Before Abe could protest, Jack had turned him around and guided him to a makeshift changing room in the corner of the garage. "Just slip into it, feel the difference," he encouraged.

As Abe reached for the curtain, his heart pounding in his chest, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was making a mistake. But Jack's confidence was infectious, and he found himself drawn to the mysterious allure of the jockstrap. He pulled the curtain aside, expecting an empty space, but what he saw made his jaw drop to the floor.

There, sprawled out on a bench, was a hulking black bodybuilder, his muscles rippling even in his state of unconsciousness. The man's dark skin was like midnight velvet, stretched tight over muscles that looked like they'd been chiseled from marble. His eyes snapped open, and for a split second, Abe thought he saw a flicker of recognition in them. But then the man's gaze went vacant again, and Abe realized it was just his imagination playing tricks on him.

He quickly pulled the curtain shut, his heart hammering in his chest. "Jack, what the fuck?" he hissed, spinning around to face the grinning man.

Jack chuckled, a knowing look in his eye. "Oh, I'm sorry about that, Abe. Didn't mean to startle you." He held up his hands in a placating gesture. "That's just my buddy. He passed out after a heavy workout. You know, sometimes these things happen when you push too hard."

Abe's heart was racing, his thoughts a jumbled mess. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. "It's… it's fine," he stuttered, his cheeks still flushed. "I just didn't expect to see… that."

Jack nodded, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Understood. But let me make it up to you. Why don't you come over to my place, and we'll get you into that jockstrap properly?" He winked, and Abe felt a strange mix of excitement and unease. The muscular man led him out of the garage and into the house, the door creaking open to reveal a small but well-kept living room. The scent of musk and sweat filled the air, a clear sign of a man's domain.

The bathroom was dimly lit, with a single bulb swinging gently overhead. The tiles on the floor were a bit sticky under Abe's sneakers, and he couldn't help but wonder how much sweat had been spilled here in the pursuit of Jack's Herculean physique.

Aiden had always been the object of his derision, but now, faced with this stark reminder of his own physical inferiority, Abe felt a peculiar mix of envy and admiration. He'd never seen anyone so… massive. And there was something about the quiet confidence Jack exuded that was undeniably appealing.

Shaking off the lingering image of the unconscious bodybuilder, Abe stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind him with a click. The room was smaller than he had anticipated, with barely enough space for the toilet, a sink, and a shower stall that looked like it had seen better days.

The jockstrap still in his hand, Abe couldn't help but feel a strange thrill at the idea of wearing something so intimately connected to the kind of strength and power that he had always craved. He looked at himself in the mirror, his eyes tracing the lines of his own muscular frame, the reflection of his chiseled abs and bulging biceps staring back at him. But it wasn't enough. Not compared to what he'd just seen.

With trembling hands, he peeled off his own underwear and stepped into the dusty jockstrap. It was snug, but as he pulled it up, it felt like it was molding to his body, fitting him like a glove. He could feel the fabric hugging his crotch and the waistband digging into his skin, but instead of feeling uncomfortable, it was… empowering.

As Abe tightened the straps and adjusted the pouch, a sudden warmth began to spread from his groin up to his chest. It was like a hot liquid was being pumped through his veins, filling him with energy and a strange, newfound strength. His muscles began to tense and expand before his very eyes, his reflection in the mirror becoming more and more like the men he had seen in Jack's garage.

His white tank top, once snug across his broad chest, started to strain and stretch, the fabric groaning under the pressure of his swelling physique. The seams grew tight against his skin as his pectorals bulged outward, his biceps and triceps ballooning with power. He flexed his arms, watching in amazement as the veins grew more pronounced, his muscles swelling with every beat of his heart.

Aiden stumbled back in shock as his legs grew longer and thicker before his eyes. His calves, once slender and barely noticeable, exploded in size, each muscle fiber becoming more and more defined until they looked like they could crush a walnut with ease. His feet felt heavy, the bones in his toes cracking and shifting as they morphed into a shape that could support his newfound bulk. He looked down at them, his eyes wide with terror and awe, his sneakers now seeming like children's toys around his monstrous feet. The mirror in the cramped bathroom was now almost eye level for Abe, his reflection towering above him.

He reached down, his hand shaking with anticipation, and touched the thick, engorged member that jutted out from the jockstrap. It was hot and pulsing, as if it had a heartbeat of its own. His fingers wrapped around the base, and a jolt of pure ecstasy shot through him, making his knees buckle. He hadn't felt anything like this before, not even when he'd scored the winning touchdown in the last game of the season. It was a pleasure so intense it was almost painful, and he couldn't help but let out a low moan that echoed off the tiles.

As Abe's hand moved in a slow, deliberate rhythm, his thoughts grew hazier. The faces of the cheerleaders who had once thrown themselves at him grew distant, replaced by images of muscular men, their powerful bodies entwined in passion. He felt his cock thicken and lengthen in his grasp, the sensation unlike anything he'd ever experienced. It was as if the jockstrap was feeding his desires, transforming him into someone new.

The once cocky jock felt his swagger dissipate as a strange sense of vulnerability washed over him. His thoughts were no longer filled with conquests and one-night stands, but with the tender touch of a strong, protective man. The idea of being dominated, of being filled, sent shivers down his spine. He didn't know why, but he craved it with an intensity that scared him.

As Abe's hand continued to work on his newfound monster, his ass began to swell and round out before his eyes. He felt it expand. It was as if the jockstrap had unlocked a hidden chamber of desires within him, sculpting him into the receptive partner he never knew he wanted to be.

With a final, guttural groan, Abe came harder than he ever had before. The force of his orgasm sent ropes of cum shooting into the air, painting the tiles with his essence. His legs gave out from under him, and he crumpled to the floor, his back thumping against the cool porcelain of the toilet bowl. He remained there, his breath coming in ragged gasps, as the last drops of cum dribbled from his cock, mixing with the sweat that now coated his body.

As the aftershocks of pleasure faded, a wave of exhaustion crashed over Abe like a tidal wave. His eyes grew heavy, and without realizing it, he leaned back, his head lolling against the coolness of the bowl's edge. He didn't fight it; instead, he allowed his eyes to drift shut, the sounds of his own heavy breathing filling the small bathroom. His muscles, which had been so taut with arousal, began to relax, his body going limp.

Before he knew it, Abe was asleep, sitting awkwardly in the toilet bowl. It was a position that would've been uncomfortable for anyone else, but in his exhausted state, it was almost like a cradle. His legs sprawled out before him, his two hands are resting on the floor to keeping from toppling over. His face was a picture of serenity, the kind of peace that comes from the most intense of releases.

===

But as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the garage in an orange glow, Aiden's eyes fluttered open. He blinked a few times, the sleep still clinging to his eyelids like cobwebs. His body felt… different. He took a deep breath, feeling his lungs expand in a way they never had before, and as he sat up, his newfound muscles rippled and flexed beneath his skin. He looked down at his body, his eyes widening in shock.

He was no longer the skinny, unassuming college kid he'd been just a few hours ago. Aiden had been transformed into a creature of power and beauty, a colossus that could make any man's jaw drop. His chest was now a wall of muscle, the definition sharp enough to cut glass. His abs looked like they'd been sculpted by a master artist, each ridge and valley a testament to his newfound strength.

As he took in his reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror, a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. He felt different, as if he'd been born anew. The shy, nerdy exterior was gone, replaced by a cocky, arrogant swagger that seemed to ooze from his very pores. He liked the feeling of power that surged through him, the way his body had changed so dramatically.

The light outside was dimming as he stepped out of the bathroom, the setting sun casting long shadows across the garage. He walked to the door that led to the house, his heavy footsteps echoing through the empty space. He didn't bother knocking, instead throwing it open with the newfound confidence of a man who had nothing to fear.

In the living room, Jack looked up from his workout magazine, his eyes widening at the sight of Aiden's new form. The smirk on his face grew into a full-blown grin as he took in the young man's towering presence.

"Jack," Aiden slurred, his brain still foggy with the aftermath of his transformation. "Where am I?"

Jack chuckled, his eyes raking over Aiden's new form with unabashed admiration. "You're at my place, man. You had quite the experience in the changing room, huh?"

Aiden nodded, still trying to piece together what had happened. "Yeah," he said slowly, his voice deeper and more gravelly than he'd ever heard it. "I remember buying some clothes from you. But I can't seem to find them."

Jack's eyes lingered on the bulge in Aiden's black briefs, which was now tenting obscenely with each step the young man took. He could see the outline of Aiden's cock, thick and long, straining against the fabric. It was clear that the transformation had not only altered Aiden's physique but also his libido.

"Don't worry about it," Jack said casually, his voice a smooth purr. "You bought that black hoodie and those jogger pants, but I think they're a bit too big for you now." He winked, enjoying the confusion and arousal that played across Aiden's features. "I left them in the guest room for you. Why don't you go check them out?"

Aiden nodded, his gaze lingering on Jack's bulging biceps before he turned to leave. His hips rolled with each step, the fabric of his briefs stretching taut against his engorged cock. The musky scent of male arousal filled the air, thick and potent.

Jack's offer to spend the night was like a siren's call to Aiden's newfound desires. He stumbled down the hallway, his mind racing with thoughts of his transformation and the insatiable hunger that now consumed him. When he reached the guest room, he pushed the door open with a low groan, the wood creaking in protest. The room was sparse, with a single bed in the center and a small dresser in the corner.

He didn't bother looking for the clothes Jack had mentioned; instead, his hand found its way to his throbbing cock, still trapped within the confines of the black brief. The fabric was sticky with his cum, but the feeling of his swollen length in his hand was too much to resist. He began to stroke himself, his eyes glazed over with lust as he took in the new landscape of his body.

Each pump of his hand sent a new wave of pleasure through him, and he couldn't help but moan softly, his body now a playground of unexplored sensations. He'd never felt so alive, so… hungry. The thought of going back to his old life, his old body, was like a distant memory, a faded photograph that no longer held any appeal.

===

Abe's eyes snapped open as he sat in the toilet bowl, his mind racing to piece together the events that had led him to this moment.

He glanced down at his transformed body, the muscles rippling and bulging in a way they never had before. His hands moved to feel his chest, his fingers tracing the deep valleys and rock-solid peaks of his pecs, his thumbs grazing his erect nipples. His cock, now a thick, pulsing beast, strained against the fabric of the jockstrap, begging for attention. He felt his cheeks redden at the realization that he was sitting in the toilet, his massive legs taking up most of the space in the cramped bathroom.

But it was when his hand moved to his face that he felt the most shocking change. Abe's fingers brushed against a coarse, unfamiliar texture. A beard had grown, thick and dark, framing his chiseled jawline and giving him the look of a Viking warrior. The feel of it was strange, but also surprisingly comforting.

With a shaky breath, Abe stood up, the jockstrap feeling like a second skin around his waist. His body felt heavy, but in a good way, as if he'd been filled with something primal and powerful. He took a step forward, his legs moving almost of their own accord, and stumbled out into the hallway.

"Jack," he called out, his voice softer than he'd ever heard it. "Can… can I talk to you?"

Jack looked up from his magazine, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "What's up, Abe?"

Abe took a tentative step into the room, his newfound bulk making him feel vulnerable. "Sir, I… I just wanted to talk to you about something." He couldn't quite find the words to express his confusion and fear.

Jack barely glanced up from his magazine, his eyes dancing with amusement. "What's on your mind, Abe?" he drawled, not bothering to hide the smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips.

Abe took a deep breath, his chest heaving with the effort of holding in his emotions. "Jack… Sir," he began, the word slipping out despite his best efforts to sound assertive. "What… what happened to me?"

Jack's smirk grew, his eyes dark with an emotion that was both thrilling and terrifying to Abe. "You don't remember?" He teased, his voice thick with something that sent shivers down Abe's spine.

Abe's heart hammered in his chest, his mouth dry. "No, Sir," he murmured, the word slipping out again. He felt his knees want to buckle but he held his ground, his new muscles straining under the weight of his own body.

Jack leaned back in his chair, his muscular arms folded over his broad chest. "It's okay, Abe. You're just a little overwhelmed by your new… attributes." The smirk on his face grew wider, his eyes glinting with something that made Abe's stomach flutter.

Abe felt his cheeks burn, his heart racing. "But… I don't understand," he said meekly, his voice cracking. "What happened in there?"

Jack looked up from his magazine, his eyes piercing through Abe's soul. "You don't need to know, Abe," he said, his voice firm yet soothing. "All that matters is that you've been given a gift." He took a sip of his water, his biceps flexing with the movement. "Why don't you just accept it?"

Abe swallowed hard, his knees feeling weak. He wanted to demand answers, to shout and rage against the unfairness of it all, but something in Jack's tone kept him in check. He nodded, his head bobbing slightly, his eyes downcast. "Yes, Sir," he murmured, the word slipping out again like a reflex.

Jack's smile grew even wider, his eyes gleaming with dominance. He pointed a finger towards the guest room. "Why don't you go on in, Abe," he said, his voice low and authoritative. "You're more than welcome to spend the night. It's late, and I'm sure you've got a lot to… process."

Abe nodded, his heart racing. He didn't know why, but he felt a strange mix of fear and excitement at the idea of being so close to the muscular men he'd just seen. He padded down the hallway on silent, bare feet, his cock still straining against the jockstrap. When he reached the guest room, the sound of heavy breathing and the slick, wet sounds of flesh against flesh filled the air.

He pushed the door open slowly, his eyes widening as he took in the sight before him. On the bed lay the form of the hulking muscular man, his hand moving rhythmically up and down his monstrous shaft. The man's muscles rippled with each stroke, the moonlight streaming through the window casting shadows across his gleaming skin.

"Sir," Abe whispered, his voice hoarse with a mix of awe and arousal. "What's your name?"

The man on the bed looked up, his eyes hooded with lust. For a moment, there was something eerily familiar about those eyes, something that sent a shiver down Abe's spine, but he couldn't quite place it.

"I'm Aiden," the man on the bed rumbled, his voice deeper and more confident than Abe had ever heard. "And as for you," he said, his eyes raking over Abe's transformed body, "you're just a pitiful excuse for a man, aren't you?"

Abe felt his jaw drop, he'd never heard anyone speak to him like that, especially not someone who had been so weak before. But as he took in Aiden's powerful frame, his own muscles flexing and bulging, he knew that the tables had turned.

The anger he'd felt earlier was replaced with a deep sense of fear. The person he'd bullied for years was now his equal, maybe even his superior. Aiden's hand was still wrapped around his own cock, stroking it with a confidence that was unmistakable. Aiden looked up at Abe, his eyes gleaming with something that could only be described as hunger.

Abe felt his breath catch in his throat. He should've been furious, but instead, all he could manage was a stuttered apology. "I'm… I'm sorry, Aiden," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I never meant to… to treat you like that."

Aiden's eyes narrowed, his hand never stopping its relentless pumping. "Sorry isn't enough, Abe," he said, his tone dripping with authority. "If you want forgiveness, you'll have to earn it."

The room was thick with tension, the scent of male lust hanging heavily in the air. Abe felt his body respond, his cock swelling even further in the jockstrap. He licked his lips, his mind racing with confusion and arousal.

"You want me to… to do what?" he stuttered, his cheeks flushing a deep red.

Aiden's eyes never left Abe's as he spoke, his voice firm and commanding. "You heard me, jock. If you want my forgiveness, you're going to let me claim your ass."

Abe's breath hitched, his cock pulsing in response to the raw dominance in Aiden's voice. He couldn't believe the words he was hearing, but his body was responding in a way that was undeniable. He felt his cheeks burn with a mix of shame and arousal as the reality of the situation sunk in.

With a tremble in his voice, Abe whispered, "Yes, Sir." He took a step closer to the bed, his knees wobbling with anticipation. Aiden's hand never stopped moving on his thick cock, the sound of his palm slapping against his abs echoing in the stillness of the room.

Aiden patted the bed beside him, his eyes still locked on Abe's. "Come here, boy," he said, his voice a seductive purr that made Abe's knees buckle even more.

With a whimper, Abe took the final steps to the bed, his body feeling like it was on autopilot. The jockstrap was soaking wet from his own precum, and his cock was painfully hard, begging for release. He'd never felt so powerless, so… submissive before, but something about it was intoxicating.

Aiden leaned back, his abs flexing as he positioned himself in the center of the bed. With a smirk, he wrapped his hand around the base of his massive cock, which was now pointing straight at Abe's trembling hole. "Ready to be my bitch?" he taunted, his voice a gruff growl that sent shockwaves through Abe's core.

When Aiden's cock finally made contact with his hole, Abe couldn't help the loud gasp that escaped his lips. It was hot, like molten lava, and it sent a bolt of pleasure shooting through his body that made his toes curl. He felt his knees buckle slightly, but Aiden was there, his strong hands on Abe's shoulders, holding him in place as he pushed the tip inside.

Aiden's eyes never left Abe's, the hunger in them growing more intense as he felt the tightness of Abe's body give way to his massive girth. He pushed in slowly, inch by agonizing inch, watching as the jock's face contorted in a mix of pain and pleasure. Aiden's own moan mingled with Abe's as he sank deeper, the feeling of being sheathed in tight warmth unlike anything he'd ever experienced.

Aiden's hand gripped the base of his cock, his thumb brushing against Abe's prostate with every thrust. The jock's moans grew louder, filling the room with a symphony of need and want. Aiden's hips began to move faster, the sound of skin slapping skin growing more intense with every movement. Aiden felt a sense of power wash over him, a power that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

Abe's eyes rolled back in his head as he took in the sensation, his body arching off the bed to meet Aiden's thrusts. He'd never felt so… full before, so completely consumed by another man's desire. His own hand had stilled on his cock, his focus solely on the feeling of Aiden's massive length claiming him, stretching him wider with every push.

Jack sat in his living room, the sound of the TV playing in the background as he heard the muffled moans coming from the guest room. He couldn't help but smile to himself, knowing that Aiden was giving Abe the ride of his life. He'd seen the transformation before; it was always a thrill to watch a new customer discover the power of the clothes he sold. And Aiden had proven to be a natural at it, wielding his newfound dominance with a finesse that Jack hadn't seen in a while.

The noises grew louder, more urgent, as Aiden felt his orgasm approaching. His muscles tensed, and he began to hammer into Abe's willing body with increased ferocity. Aiden's hips were a blur as he chased his release, his teeth gritted and eyes squeezed shut in concentration. Aiden's massive cock was a piston, driving into Abe's tight hole with the power of a freight train.

Abe's moans grew more desperate, his breaths coming in short gasps as he tried to accommodate Aiden's relentless pace. His own cock was a leaking faucet of precum, painting his abs with a sticky sheen. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he bit his lower lip to stifle his screams. The pleasure was so intense it bordered on pain, but Abe didn't want it to stop. He craved the feeling of Aiden's dominance, the way he filled him up and made him feel alive in ways he never had before.

Suddenly, Aiden stiffened, his eyes snapping open to stare into Abe's. "Take it," he growled, his voice deep and primal. "Take it all, you worthless jock." Aiden's cock swelled even more, and with a roar, he came deep inside Abe, his hot cum flooding the jock's insides.

Abe felt the warmth spread through him, filling him up until he could take no more. His own orgasm ripped through him like lightning, his cock spurting thick ropes of cum that shot across his abs, painting them in sticky white streaks. The force of it was so intense that he saw stars, his body trembling uncontrollably as he climaxed harder than he ever had before.

When the tremors subsided, Aiden pulled out with a wet pop, his cock glistening in the moonlight. He looked down at Abe, his expression unreadable. "You're forgiven," he said, his voice still thick with lust. "But there's one condition."

Abe's eyes widened, his chest heaving with each breath. "What is it, Sir?"

Aiden leaned back on the bed, his newfound confidence oozing from every pore. "If you want to stay forgiven," he began, his voice still deep and authoritative, "you'll be my boyfriend. And since we're already roommates," he smirked, "we can enjoy each other's company… whenever we like."

Abe looked up at him, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and desire. The thought of being with Aiden, of being owned by him in every way, was something he'd never considered before. But the way his body responded, the way his cock was already starting to swell again at the mere mention of it, told him that he wanted it more than he could ever admit.

"Y…yes, Sir," he murmured, his voice still hoarse from the screams that had torn from his throat moments before. "I'll be your boyfriend. Anything you want."

Aiden leaned over Abe's trembling form, his own chest heaving with the exertion of their encounter. He took a moment to enjoy the sight of the jock's cum-covered abs, his newfound power still resonating through every nerve in his body. He reached over to the nightstand, grabbed a towel, and tossed it to Abe. "Clean up," he said, his voice still laced with dominance.

Abe took the towel, his eyes never leaving Aiden's as he wiped himself down. The reality of what had just transpired was setting in, and he felt a strange mix of fear and excitement. He knew he'd never be able to look at Aiden the same way again, but he also knew that he didn't want to. He liked this new dynamic, the way Aiden made him feel… alive.

"Thank you, Sir," Abe murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Aiden smirked, his hand resting casually on Abe's thigh. "I think it's time we expand our little circle," he said, his eyes glinting with mischief. "We'll go back to Jack's garage doon, and you can help me pick out some clothes for my nerdy friends. I think they'd look good with a little… boost, don't you?"

Abe nodded dumbly, his mind still reeling from the events of the night. "Of course, Sir," he murmured, the word rolling off his tongue with surprising ease.

The room was silent for a moment, the only sounds the rustling of the sheets as they both adjusted their positions. Then, Aiden spoke again, his voice filled with excitement. "I've always wanted to play football," he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "But I never had the body for it. Now, I think I might just be able to make the team."

Abe's eyes widened at the suggestion. "The football team?" he echoed, still trying to wrap his head around the new world he found himself in.

Aiden nodded, a smug look on his face. "Why not?" he challenged. "I've got the body for it now." His hand absently caressed his new abs, the muscles rippling under his touch.

Abe stared at Aiden, his mind racing. The thought of his former tormentor joining the football team, let alone playing alongside him, was surreal. But he had no power to refuse. "Y…yes, Sir," he murmured, his voice still thick with submission. "I'll talk to the coach tomorrow."

The two muscular men lay there for a while, their eyes locked in a silent understanding. The tension in the room had shifted from anger to something else entirely. It was a bond, a connection forged in the heat of passion and power. They were equals now, but with a dynamic that was unmistakably skewed in Aiden's favor.

[lila-lou]

✨Taking her in - Pt. 15✨

Summary: After Dean Winchester saves your life, he brings you into the safety of the bunker. As you grow older and stronger, Dean refuses to let you join the hunts, his overprotective behavior intensifying. But beneath his fierce protectiveness lies something darker—conflicted feelings he can’t face. As your 18th birthday approaches, Dean struggles to keep control, torn between his duty to protect you and emotions he’s buried for too long.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: HUGE Age Gap, Immoral, Language, Angst, Fluff, Dean being hurt-badly

Word Count: 7917

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💜

Four days later, the door slammed open as Sam and Cas half-carried, half-dragged Dean into the motel room, his boots dragging along the carpet. The sight of him made your stomach twist. His face was pale, his body drenched in blood that stained his shirt and jeans, and his movements were sluggish at best. Yet, somehow, Dean was still holding on, still conscious, though it was clear he was barely hanging on.

Sam wasted no time, easing Dean onto the bed with Cas’s help. Dean grunted as his back hit the mattress, his jaw clenched tightly against the pain. Sam’s voice was sharp and urgent as he barked, “Get me the emergency kit. Now!”.

You didn’t hesitate. Your hands moved on autopilot, grabbing the kit from its usual spot in Dean´s bag and rushing it over to Sam. Dean’s breathing was shallow and uneven, his face twisted in discomfort as Sam yanked up his shirt to reveal the extent of the damage.

The wound was gruesome, a deep gash that ran from his stomach up toward his chest, jagged and bleeding profusely. His broken arm hung limply at his side, and his entire torso was bruised and battered. It was a miracle he was still alive, let alone conscious. Sam swore under his breath as he examined the wound, grabbing supplies from the kit.

Dean, of course, couldn’t just let the seriousness of the situation sink in. Even as blood dripped down his sides and his whole body screamed in pain, he managed to tilt his head toward you, his swollen eyes searching for yours. “You good?”, he asked, his voice hoarse but laced with concern. “They didn’t get you, right?”.

Tears pricked at your eyes, both from relief that he was alive and from frustration at his stubborn selflessness. “Dean, you’re the one bleeding out on the bed, and you’re worried about me?”, you snapped, though your voice cracked with emotion. You couldn’t help it—you were scared. You’d never seen him like this, so close to the edge.

Dean tried to grin, but it came out as more of a grimace. “Yeah, well… I gotta know”.

Sam shot him a sharp look, pressing gauze against the wound to slow the bleeding. “Dean, shut up and stay still”, Sam ordered, his tone firm but edged with worry. “You’re lucky to be alive. Stop wasting your energy on questions”.

Cas hovered nearby, his face stoic but his eyes heavy with regret. Ever since the thing with Michael, Dean couldn’t be healed with angelic powers, and you could see the guilt weighing on Cas like a boulder. “If I could heal you, I would”, Cas muttered quietly, his hands clenched into fists.

Dean waved him off weakly. “S’not your fault, Cas”, he mumbled, his voice slurring slightly from the blood loss. His eyes flicked back to you, his expression softening despite the pain. “You okay?”, he asked again, his voice quieter this time, but no less insistent.

Your heart clenched at the sight of Dean, bloodied and broken, yet still stubbornly focused on you. His insistence on knowing you were safe made your chest ache in a way that was almost unbearable. You swallowed the lump in your throat and moved closer, kneeling at the edge of the bed so you were at eye level with him.

“I’m fine, Dean”, you said firmly, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “You don’t need to worry about me right now. Let us take care of you”.

Dean blinked slowly, his eyelids heavy, but his gaze stayed locked on yours. “Always worry… ‘bout you”, he murmured, his words slurred slightly as he struggled to stay conscious.

Sam’s hands moved quickly, pressing layers of gauze against the wound to stem the bleeding. The sharp hiss of pain that escaped Dean’s lips made your stomach churn, but Sam didn’t stop.

Sam worked with the precision of someone who’d been in this situation too many times before, his hands moving swiftly to clean and stitch the gaping wound on Dean’s stomach. The room was tense, the air heavy with worry and unspoken words as you stayed by Dean’s side, gripping his hand tightly. His blood still seeped onto the bed despite Sam’s efforts, staining the sheets a deep crimson.

“This is going to hurt like hell”, Sam muttered grimly, glancing at Dean. He already had the suture kit in hand, the needle glinting under the harsh motel room light. “Dean, you need to stay still, or it’s going to get worse”.

Dean, ever the stubborn one, let out a weak, gravelly chuckle. “Yeah, no kidding”, he rasped, his lips twitching into a faint smirk despite the blood smeared across his face. “Not my first rodeo, Sammy. Just… get it over with”.

Sam sighed, shaking his head but not arguing. “Alright”, he said, his voice resigned but determined. “Here we go”.

The first puncture of the needle into Dean’s torn flesh made him flinch, his entire body tensing under the pain. He let out a sharp grunt, his jaw clenching so tightly you could see the strain in his neck. You tightened your grip on his hand, your free hand brushing against his damp hair in an attempt to comfort him.

“Breathe, Dean”, you said softly, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “You’ve got this”.

“Easy… for you to say”, Dean gritted out, his voice strained but still laced with his trademark sarcasm. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his breathing shallow as Sam worked carefully to stitch the wound.

The process was excruciatingly slow. Each tug of the needle and thread through Dean’s skin made him flinch or let out a low groan of pain, though he tried his damnedest to keep still. His knuckles were white where he gripped your hand, his strength ebbing and flowing as he fought to stay conscious. You could see the sweat beading on his forehead, mixing with the blood that streaked his face.

“Almost there”, Sam muttered, his hands steady as he tied off another stitch. His voice was calm, but you could hear the urgency beneath it. He was pushing himself to work faster.

Dean let out a low, guttural sound as the needle pierced his flesh again, his body jerking slightly despite his efforts to remain still. “Son of a bitch”, he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice hoarse. “You tryin’ to kill me, Sammy?”.

“Not funny, Dean”, Sam shot back, his tone sharp with worry. “You’re lucky you’re even alive right now. Just hold still, okay?”.

Dean let out a weak laugh, though it turned into a groan as Sam continued stitching. “If this is what alive feels like… might rethink my options”.

Sam ignored Dean’s attempt at humor, though you caught the faintest twitch of a smirk on his face as he focused on tying off another stitch. The room felt stifling, every groan or wince from Dean making your heart ache. His usual bravado, even in this state, was so him, but it only made the moment more painful to witness. He was in agony, and he was still trying to lighten the mood.

“Dean”, you said softly, leaning closer, your free hand gently brushing through his damp hair. “You don’t get to ‘rethink your options’. You’re stuck with us, so just keep holding on, alright?”.

Dean’s green eyes flicked toward you, dull but filled with the faintest glimmer of warmth. “Bossy”, he rasped, his lips twitching into a weak smile. “Kinda like it”.

Sam rolled his eyes as he finished another stitch, pulling the thread taut. “Can you two save the flirting for when you’re not bleeding out?”, he muttered, his voice tinged with frustration but also relief that Dean was still conscious enough to crack jokes.

“Who’s flirting?”, Dean shot back, his voice weaker now but still defiant. He gritted his teeth as Sam pushed gauze against the wound to clean away the excess blood. “I’m just—ahh, son of a—”.

“Hold still”, Sam snapped, his hands steady but his face tight with concern. “I’m almost done, but if you keep squirming, you’re gonna rip these stitches out before I even finish”.

Dean let out a heavy, pained breath, his head lolling slightly toward you. “You hear that? Sammy’s always been the gentle one”, he joked weakly, though his face contorted with another wave of pain as Sam moved to tie off the final stitch.

“You’re lucky I am gentle”, Sam muttered. “Otherwise, I’d leave you to patch yourself up”.

The tension in the room lessened just a fraction as Sam pulled back, finally finished. The deep gash was now closed, a neat row of stitches lining Dean’s torso. But the sight of it still made your stomach twist—it was a brutal reminder of how close he had come to losing his life.

“Alright”, Sam said, his voice calm but firm. “That should hold. Now, you need to stay still, Dean. No sudden movements, no heroics. You’ve already lost too much blood”.

Dean let out a tired huff, his head sinking further into the pillow. “Yeah, yeah. You’re like a broken record”, he muttered, though his voice was softer now, his strength clearly fading.

Sam reached for the bottle of antiseptic, his expression tightening as he unscrewed the cap. “Ready?", he asked, his voice low and serious, “We can’t leave it untreated. Infection isn’t an option.”

Dean opened one eye, glaring at Sam with as much annoyance as his battered state would allow. “You already stitched me up, Sammy. How much worse can it get?”.

Sam didn’t answer, his silence making it clear the answer was a lot worse. Instead, he grabbed a clean cloth, pouring the clear liquid onto it until it was soaked. The sharp smell of antiseptic filled the air, making you wince in anticipation. Dean didn’t flinch, but you could see his jaw tightening, his hand clenching weakly at the bedsheet.

Sam leaned in, pausing for a brief moment to give Dean a warning look. “Ready?”.

Dean let out a breathy, exasperated chuckle. “Just do it”.

The moment the antiseptic-soaked cloth made contact with the gash, Dean’s entire body tensed like a coiled spring. A guttural growl of pain tore from his throat, his hand gripping the sheet so tightly you thought it might tear. His face contorted in agony, every muscle in his body straining against the pain. Despite himself, he let out a string of curses under his breath, his voice ragged.

As the searing pain overwhelmed him, Dean’s body tensed one last time before his head lolled to the side, his grip on the sheets slackening. His labored breaths evened out slightly as he slipped into unconsciousness, his face finally relaxing from the pain.

You froze for a moment, panic bubbling up in your chest. “Sam!”, you called sharply, your voice tinged with fear.

Sam sighed, his hand already moving to check Dean’s pulse at his neck. “He’s fine”, he said quickly, his tone reassuring but tired. “He passed out from the pain. Honestly, it’s probably for the best”. He gave a faint, humorless chuckle as he pulled back, shaking his head. “Now I can finally finish patching him up without him squirming or complaining”.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, nodding as you settled back into your spot beside the bed. “Guess that’s a silver lining”, you muttered, though the sight of Dean unconscious still left you uneasy.

Sam moved swiftly, grabbing the materials he needed to set Dean’s broken arm. The break was clean, but it would still take time to heal—and knowing Dean, time and rest were luxuries he rarely allowed himself. Sam unwrapped the temporary splint he’d fashioned earlier in the field, wincing slightly as he saw the swelling and bruising around the break.

“He really did a number on himself this time”, Sam muttered under his breath, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked.

You watched as Sam mixed the plaster, his movements methodical and practiced. He’d done this more times than either of you could count, but the gravity of the situation never seemed to lessen. Sam carefully wrapped Dean’s arm in fresh bandages, his hands steady as he secured the splint in place before beginning to apply the plaster.

“He’s lucky it’s just a clean break. Could’ve been a lot worse”.

You nodded, your eyes flicking between Dean’s still form and Sam’s hands as he shaped the plaster, ensuring it set evenly. “Yeah, well, ‘lucky’ isn’t the word I’d use”, you muttered, your voice laced with frustration and worry.

Sam glanced at you as he worked, his brow furrowed in concentration as he smoothed the plaster over Dean’s arm. His voice was quiet, almost as if he were speaking more to himself than to you. “You know why this happened, right?”.

You frowned, looking between Sam and Dean’s unconscious form. “Because Dean can’t go two seconds without throwing himself into danger?”.

Sam let out a dry, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “It’s more than that. He thought you were in danger”. He kept his eyes on his work as he continued. “That’s why he wasn’t paying attention to his own safety. He saw you struggling with that demon and just… reacted”.

Your chest tightened at Sam’s words, guilt washing over you like a tidal wave. “I had it under control”, you whispered, though the tremor in your voice betrayed your confidence. “I didn’t need him to…”.

Sam finally looked up, his gaze softening as he saw the emotions flickering across your face. “You know Dean”, he said, his tone gentler now. “He wasn’t going to take that chance. It doesn’t matter if you had it under control. If he even thinks you’re in danger, he’s going to put himself between you and whatever’s coming”.

You swallowed hard, glancing at Dean. His face was pale, his breaths shallow but steady. The sight of him so broken, so vulnerable, was a stark contrast to the man who always seemed invincible to you. “It doesn’t make it okay”, you muttered, your voice cracking. “He almost died, Sam”.

Sam nodded solemnly, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I know”, he said softly. “But that’s who he is. He doesn’t think about himself when it comes to the people he cares about. You, me, Cas, Jack—we’re all he’s got, and he’ll do anything to keep us safe. Even if it costs him”.

Your eyes burned with unshed tears as you looked at Dean, your hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. “It’s not fair”, you murmured, your voice barely audible. “He shouldn’t have to keep doing this—sacrificing himself for everyone else”.

Sam sighed, his hands stilling as he finished wrapping the cast around Dean’s arm. “No, he shouldn’t”, he agreed quietly. “But try telling him that. He’s been this way his whole life—it’s not something you can just turn off”.

You nodded, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of Dean’s bruised face.

Sam wiped his hands on a towel and reached into the first-aid kit for a fresh, damp cloth. He handed it to you, his lips quirking into a small, knowing smirk. “Here”, he said softly, nodding toward Dean. “I think the cleaning part’s more your department”.

You took the cloth, feeling the warmth of Sam’s subtle teasing cutting through the heaviness in the room. “Thanks”, you murmured, glancing at Dean’s battered face and knowing Sam was right. Sam stood, stretching his back as he packed up the remaining supplies.

“If anything feels off, call me”, Sam added, his tone serious again. He gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before heading toward the door. “I’m gonna check on Cas and Jack. We’ll get the Impala ready to roll as soon as Dean wakes up”.

“Alright”, you said, your voice soft but grateful. You watched as Sam exited the room, leaving you alone with Dean. The door clicked shut behind him, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the steady, shallow rhythm of Dean’s breathing.

You turned back to him, your heart aching as you took in his injuries up close. His face was pale, bruised, and smeared with dried blood, and you could see the tension still lingering in his features even as he rested. You dipped the cloth into the basin of water Sam had left, wringing it out before carefully pressing it against the dried blood on Dean’s forehead.

“I swear, Dean”, you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “You scare the hell out of me when you do this”.

You worked slowly, gently wiping away the blood and grime that clung to his skin. Every bruise and cut felt like a testament to how much he gave, how much he sacrificed for the people he cared about. The thought of him throwing himself into danger for your sake was both humbling and infuriating. You wanted to protect him just as much as he protected you, but Dean never seemed to let anyone do that for him.

As you finished cleaning Dean’s face, your heart ached at the sheer number of cuts and bruises scattered across his skin. You dipped the cloth back into the water, wringing it out before moving lower to clean his chest and arms. His torso was a mess—dark bruises marred his ribs, and patches of dried blood stuck stubbornly to his skin.

You worked carefully, your touch gentle as you wiped away the blood and grime. Dean remained still, his breathing steady but shallow, and you couldn’t help but notice how vulnerable he looked like this. Dean Winchester, the man who always seemed larger than life, reduced to a battered heap by his own stubbornness and selflessness.

As you moved to his stomach and the deep gash Sam had stitched, you swallowed hard, the sight of the angry red wound making your chest tighten. The bandages around his torso were soaked with blood in places, but they were doing their job, and for that, you were grateful. You worked around them as delicately as possible, not wanting to disturb Sam’s handiwork.

Finally, your attention shifted lower to his blood-soaked jeans. The fabric was dark and stiff with dried blood, and you knew it would have to come off to properly clean him up. You hesitated for a moment, biting your lip, before reaching for his belt. Your fingers worked to unbuckle it, but the leather was stubborn, and you struggled for a moment before finally getting it undone. The zipper was just as uncooperative, but you managed to tug it down carefully without jostling him too much.

Sliding his jeans down was no easy task. The fabric clung to his legs, and you had to work slowly to avoid causing him any unnecessary pain.

As you reached the waistband of Dean’s boxers, your hands stilled, a deep flush rising to your cheeks. You weren’t sure how far you should go—this wasn’t something you’d ever done before, not like this. The intimate act of undressing him, especially in such a vulnerable state, felt different. Necessary, yes, but undeniably personal.

As your hands hovered at the waistband of Dean’s boxers, he stirred, his body shifting slightly under your touch. His eyelids fluttered open just a crack, and a faint, teasing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, despite the exhaustion etched into his features.

“Well, sweetheart”, he rasped, his voice hoarse but still carrying that unmistakable Dean Winchester charm, “didn’t know you were this eager to get me out of my clothes”.

You froze, the blush on your cheeks deepening as your mouth opened to respond. But before you could form a single word, Dean’s expression shifted slightly, the smirk fading as something flickered behind his eyes—pride, discomfort, and something else you couldn’t quite place.

Then, with a low grunt of effort, Dean pushed himself upright, his movements slow and deliberate. “That’s enough”, he muttered, his voice gruff, his tone leaving little room for argument. The sudden motion caused more blood to seep through the bandage on his torso, the dark red staining the already battered fabric.

“Dean!”, you exclaimed, alarmed, reaching out to steady him. “You’re going to rip the stitches! Lay back down”.

He ignored you, his jaw set as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I’m fine”, he said tersely, though the wince on his face betrayed the words. “You’ve done enough. I’ll handle the rest”.

You frowned, your worry mounting as you watched him try to shake off your care. “Dean, stop. You’re not in any shape to—”.

“Just… stop”, he interrupted, his voice low but firm, his eyes avoiding yours. His hands fumbled at his sides as he tried to stand, his stubbornness overriding all logic. You could see the tension in his posture, the way his pride was battling against his vulnerability.

You stepped closer, your hands hovering near him in case he lost his balance. “Dean, you’re being ridiculous. You’re hurt, and you need to let someone take care of you”.

Somehow, through sheer stubbornness, Dean managed to pull himself together enough to get dressed. His movements were shaky and clumsy, but his pride wouldn’t let him sit still any longer. His shirt, hastily thrown on, was already beginning to soak through with fresh blood, and his jeans hung loosely on his hips, the zipper still undone and his boots untied.

“Dean, stop this”, you pleaded, stepping in front of him as he stumbled toward the door. “You’re not in any condition to move on your own”.

He shot you a hard look, though the exhaustion in his eyes dulled the usual sharpness of his expression. “I’ve gotta… gotta check on the car”, he muttered, his voice weak but determined. “Can’t sit here doing nothing”.

You reached out, grabbing his arm in a desperate attempt to stop him, but he shook you off with more strength than you expected. “Dean!”, you called after him, frustration and fear mingling in your voice. “You’re going to kill yourself!”.

He ignored you, his steps unsteady but dogged as he opened the motel door and stepped outside. The cold air hit him immediately, and for a moment, he seemed to steady himself, his hand bracing against the doorframe. But it didn’t last long. As he took another step, his body swayed dangerously, and his knees buckled beneath him.

“Dean!”, you shouted, rushing forward, but you weren’t fast enough.

Sam, who had just been walking up from the Impala, saw the scene unfold. His eyes went wide with alarm, and within seconds, he was at Dean’s side, catching him before he could hit the ground. The anger on Sam’s face was evident, his jaw clenched tight as he heaved Dean back up to his feet with a strength born of pure frustration.

“Are you kidding me, Dean?”, Sam growled, his voice low but laced with fury. His eyes flicked to the fresh blood soaking through Dean’s shirt, his anger deepening. “You’re bleeding all over the damn place, and you think it’s a good idea to wander around like this? What the hell is wrong with you?”.

Dean groaned, his head lolling slightly as he tried—and failed—to straighten himself up. “I’m fine”, he muttered weakly, his voice slurring. “Just needed some air”.

“Air?”, Sam snapped, his grip tightening around Dean’s arm as he practically dragged him toward the Impala. “You need a hospital, Dean, not a walk in the parking lot!”.

You followed close behind, your heart pounding as you watched Sam wrestle Dean into the backseat of the Impala. Dean protested weakly, but Sam silenced him with a sharp glare, his patience clearly worn thin.

“Sit down, shut up, and don’t move”, Sam ordered, his tone brooking no argument. He grabbed a fresh towel from the trunk, pressing it firmly against Dean’s torso to try to stem the bleeding again. “You’ve already done enough damage for one day”.

Dean let out a weak chuckle, though it quickly turned into a groan of pain. “Always… so bossy”, he mumbled, his eyes half-lidded as he slumped against the seat.

Sam shot you a look as he climbed into the driver’s seat, his face a mix of anger and concern. “You’re riding with him”, he said firmly. “Make sure he doesn’t try anything stupid”.

You nodded, quickly sliding into the backseat, after getting your and Dean´s stuff inside, next to Dean. As the Impala roared to life, you reached out to steady him, your hand resting gently on his arm. He looked at you through heavy-lidded eyes, his lips twitching into a faint, tired smile.

“Sorry, sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice barely audible. “Didn’t mean to scare you”.

You squeezed his arm gently, your heart aching at the sight of him so weak. “You’re impossible, you know that?”, you said softly, though your voice was filled with more relief than frustration. “But you’re going to be okay. We’ll make sure of it”.

Dean’s eyes fluttered shut, his head resting against the window as the Impala sped off into the night.

A few hours later, the bunker was eerily quiet. The tension from earlier had simmered down, but the weight of the close call still lingered in the air. Sam, Cas, and Jack had taken turns keeping watch outside Dean’s room to make sure he didn’t try anything stupid again. It wasn’t just precaution—it was necessary when it came to Dean’s bullheaded stubbornness.

Inside the room, the atmosphere was different. Dean lay completely still, knocked out from the pain meds you’d practically forced him to take. His breaths were deep and steady, his body finally given a chance to rest after the relentless beating it had endured.

You were tucked at his side, your head resting gently on his shoulder. One of your hands lightly brushed over the fresh bandage on his torso, where a tiny blotch of blood had seeped through. You frowned slightly, your fingers ghosting over the edge of the gauze, careful not to disturb it. Even asleep, Dean looked tense, as if his body couldn’t fully relax even with the meds dulling the pain.

Biting your lip, you shifted closer, your arm draping over his chest carefully. The heat of his skin beneath yours was grounding, a reminder that he was here, alive, and slowly recovering. The fear from earlier still lingered in the back of your mind, but the steady rise and fall of his chest was enough to soothe it—at least for now.

Dean stirred slightly in his sleep, his head tilting toward you. A low, unintelligible murmur escaped his lips, and you couldn’t help but smile faintly. It was rare to see him this vulnerable, this unguarded, and despite the circumstances, it felt like a privilege to be here with him like this.

Your fingers brushed over his bandaged torso again, trailing lightly as if your touch could somehow will him to heal faster. You leaned in closer, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder, your lips lingering for a moment. “You scared the hell out of me today”, you whispered, your voice barely audible in the quiet room. “But I’m not going anywhere, Dean. So you’d better stick around, too”.

Dean didn’t respond, still lost in the haze of painkillers and exhaustion, but his body relaxed just a fraction more against yours. You stayed like that, cuddled up beside him, your hand resting gently over his heart.

The next morning, the tension that had weighed heavily in the room the previous night seemed to have eased just slightly. Dean remained still, his body finally allowed the time it needed to recover. You sat on the edge of the bed, your knees tucked beneath you, watching him stir for the first time since the pain meds had knocked him out. His face, still bruised but more rested, twitched as he began to wake.

Sam stood at Dean’s side, meticulously checking the bandages wrapped around his torso. The bleeding had stopped, thank God, and his stitches were still intact. Sam gently pulled up the edge of the bandage, peering at the wound to make sure it was clean and hadn’t reopened. You winced slightly at the sight but couldn’t bring yourself to look away. Every moment felt like progress now, a step closer to Dean being himself again.

Dean let out a low groan as he stirred further, his head shifting against the pillow. His green eyes cracked open, blinking groggily at the light. His gaze landed on you first, and for a brief moment, his expression softened. “Hey”, he rasped, his voice hoarse from sleep.

“Hey yourself”, you replied softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. Relief flooded through you at hearing his voice, even if it was rough and tired.

Sam gave Dean a look as he finished checking the bandage, his hand pressing lightly against Dean’s shoulder to keep him still. “Stay down, Dean”, Sam warned, already seeing the stubborn glint in his brother’s eyes. “You’re not getting up yet”.

Predictably, Dean tried to sit up anyway, his jaw set in defiance. The movement was slow and strained, his muscles protesting loudly, but he managed to lift himself just a fraction before Sam firmly pressed him back down with one hand. “Dean, don’t”, Sam said sharply, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Dean let out a growl of frustration, his teeth gritting as he glared at Sam. “I’m fine, Sam”, he muttered, though the weakness in his voice betrayed the claim. “I don’t need a damn babysitter”.

“You’re not fine”, Sam shot back, his tone exasperated but edged with concern. “You almost bled out yesterday, and you’re still healing. You’re not moving until I say so”.

Dean grumbled under his breath, his irritation clear, but he didn’t fight Sam’s hand anymore. Instead, he turned his gaze back to you, his expression softening again as he took in your worried look. His voice, though hoarse, carried the familiar edge of determination. “You’re not hurt, right?”, he asked again, his tone soft but insistent.

Before you could respond, Dean winced, his breath hitching as Sam adjusted the position of his broken arm to ensure it stayed in the sling. “Damn it, Sam”, Dean muttered through gritted teeth, his irritation bubbling up even as he struggled to stay still. “Little warning next time?”.

Sam rolled his eyes, unimpressed by Dean’s grumbling. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that”, he said dryly. “Just stay still, Dean. You’re lucky it’s a clean break. If you screw this up, you’ll be stuck in that sling even longer”.

Dean groaned before he tilted his head slightly, his expression softening as he waited for your answer. “You good?”, he asked again, his voice quieter this time, almost as if he didn’t trust his own strength to ask the question properly.

You reached out, placing your hand gently on his uninjured shoulder, offering him a small, reassuring smile. “I’m fine, Dean”, you said softly, your voice steady despite the lingering tension in the room. “You made sure of that, didn’t you?”.

Dean’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Good”, he murmured, his voice heavy with relief. “I just… I needed to hear it”.

Sam glanced between the two of you, his expression flickering with something unreadable before he stepped back, giving you both a moment. “I’ll go check on breakfast”, Sam muttered, grabbing the used gauze and other supplies before heading for the door. “Try not to do anything stupid while I’m gone, Dean”.

Dean let out a low chuckle, though it was weak and short-lived. “Define stupid”, he called after Sam, earning only a muttered “Don’t push it” in return.

Once the door clicked shut, the silence in the room felt heavy but not uncomfortable. You shifted closer, brushing your fingers lightly over the edge of his bandages, careful not to cause him any pain. “You need to stop worrying about me, Dean”, you said gently, your voice almost a whisper. “You’re the one who almost died”.

Dean’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment before he opened them again, meeting your gaze. “It’s what I do”, he said simply, his voice tinged with exhaustion. “I can’t turn it off”.

You leaned in closer, your hand resting over his heart. “Then let me take care of you for a change”, you whispered, your voice full of quiet determination. “You don’t have to do this alone, Dean. Not anymore”.

Dean didn’t reply, but the way his hand moved to rest over yours, his fingers brushing yours lightly, told you everything he couldn’t say. For now, that was enough.

Two days later, the tension in the bunker had eased slightly as Dean slowly regained his strength. He was finally able to walk again without collapsing with every step, but it was clear he was still struggling. His movements were slow and deliberate, though he tried to mask the discomfort with his usual stoic determination. He hated feeling weak, and you could see it in the tight set of his jaw and the way his hand frequently rested over the wound on his chest and stomach, as if trying to hold himself together.

You and Sam were in the kitchen, working together to prepare breakfast. The smell of eggs and bacon filled the air, and the clatter of pans and utensils provided a comforting rhythm. Dean’s heavy footsteps echoed down the hall, a little uneven but steady enough to reach the kitchen doorway.

He paused there for a moment, leaning slightly against the frame as he surveyed the scene. His face was still swollen and bruised, a deep cut running from his forehead down to his brow and a split lip adding to the battle scars. He looked tired, but his gaze lingered on you, his expression softening as he watched you move around the kitchen.

What bothered him the most, though, wasn’t the pain or the slow recovery—it was the distance. You hadn’t kissed him since the accident, and it gnawed at him. He told himself it was understandable—you were worried about his injuries, focused on helping him heal—but it still left him feeling unsettled. Still, he wasn’t about to bring it up while Sam was around.

As if on cue, Sam grabbed a few empty bottles from the counter and muttered, “I’ll go grab some drinks from the garage. Be back in a minute”. He shot you both a small smile before disappearing down the hall.

The second Sam was out of earshot, Dean straightened slightly, though you could see the effort it cost him. He walked toward you, his broken arm awkwardly tucked against his side, his good hand resting on the counter for support.

“Hey”, he said, his voice rough but warm. His green eyes flicked to yours, searching for a reaction. “Need a hand?”.

You glanced over at him, your brows furrowing slightly. “Dean, you should be resting”, you said, the concern in your voice impossible to hide.

Dean smirked faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Resting’s boring”, he quipped, his tone teasing. He stepped closer, his gaze locking on yours. “Besides, I think there’s something I’ve been missing”.

You raised an eyebrow, pausing your movements. “What’s that?”.

Dean hesitated for a moment, his usual bravado tempered by the vulnerability he couldn’t quite hide. “You”, he said simply, his voice low. “Haven’t had a proper kiss in days”.

Your breath hitched slightly, your heart fluttering at his words. His expression softened further, a small, hopeful smile playing on his bruised lips as he waited for your response.

You stood there, frozen for a moment, as Dean’s words hung in the air. The way he looked at you, with that small, hopeful smile on his battered face, made your chest tighten. He was bruised, broken, and still healing, yet his focus wasn’t on himself—it was on you.

“You’ve been keeping track, huh?”, you teased softly, though your voice wavered slightly. You turned to face him fully, setting down the spatula you’d been holding.

Dean’s smirk widened just a fraction, the gesture tugging at his split lip, but he didn’t seem to care. “Hard not to”, he muttered, his green eyes locking on yours. “Kinda gets to a guy”.

You bit your lip, glancing at his hand, which still rested on the counter for support, and then at the arm awkwardly tucked against him. “Dean, you’re still recovering”, you said gently, your voice tinged with both affection and concern. “I didn’t want to—”.

“Didn’t want to what?”, Dean interrupted, his tone soft but insistent. “Didn’t want to hurt me? Sweetheart, you’ve patched me up more times than I can count. A kiss isn’t gonna kill me”.

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head at him. He always had a way of making things seem so simple, even when they weren’t. But this wasn’t complicated—not really. You had missed him, too, and now that you were looking into his eyes, you couldn’t resist any longer.

Carefully, you stepped closer, your hands reaching out to rest lightly on his good arm and his chest, avoiding the bandages. His warmth radiated through you, grounding you as you tilted your head up toward him. Dean’s gaze softened, and he leaned down slowly, his movements deliberate to avoid causing himself more pain.

Your lips met in a kiss that was gentle but filled with all the emotion you hadn’t been able to express in words. Dean’s hand slipped from the counter to rest lightly at your waist, his grip weak but firm enough to pull you closer. The kiss was tender, slower than usual, but it felt perfect.

When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his, your breaths mingling in the quiet moment. “Happy now?”, you murmured, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

Dean let out a soft chuckle, his good hand brushing lightly against your side. “Getting there”, he replied, his voice low and warm. “Might need a few more of those, just to be sure”.

You laughed softly, your hand coming up to gently brush a strand of hair away from his forehead, careful of the cut. “We’ll see”, you teased, though your smile gave away your willingness.

Before either of you could say anything more, you heard the faint sound of Sam’s boots approaching from down the hall. Dean sighed, rolling his eyes as he straightened slightly, his smirk returning. “Perfect timing, as always”, he muttered under his breath.

You stepped back, your cheeks still flushed as you turned your attention back to the stove. Dean leaned against the counter, trying to look nonchalant, though the small, satisfied smile on his face was impossible to miss. When Sam entered the kitchen, drinks in hand, he gave you both a curious glance but didn’t comment, much to your relief.

Dean adjusted his stance subtly, as if trying to mask the discomfort he was clearly feeling.

“How you feelin’?”, Sam asked, his tone casual but with an undercurrent of concern. He turned to help you with the food, setting plates on the counter while glancing back at Dean.

Dean shrugged, wincing slightly at the movement, though he quickly tried to cover it with a smirk. “Like I just walked away from a fight with a Mack truck”, he replied, his voice laced with dry humor. “But, you know, still handsome as ever”.

You rolled your eyes with a small smile as you flipped the pancakes. “Still milking the charm, huh?”.

Dean’s smirk widened just a fraction, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Sam, however, wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily. He set down the utensils he was holding and crossed his arms, giving Dean his signature big-brother stare.

“Dean, seriously��, Sam said, his voice dropping into that stern tone that always managed to cut through Dean’s deflection. “You shouldn’t even be standing, let alone wandering around the bunker like you’re fine”.

Dean huffed, straightening up slightly, though his hand instinctively went to his chest, resting just above the bandages. “I’m not ‘wandering’, Sammy”, he shot back, his voice tinged with irritation. “I’m walking to the kitchen. Big difference”.

Sam raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Your shirt’s already pulling blood through, and you’re favoring your side like it’s about to fall off. Sitting down wouldn’t kill you”.

Dean grumbled under his breath, his pride refusing to let him admit that Sam was probably right. Before he could retort, you cut in, your voice firm but gentle. “Dean, maybe you should listen to him. Breakfast is almost ready, and you can sit at the table while we finish”.

Dean’s gaze flicked to you, his irritation softening as he caught the concern in your eyes. “Fine”, he muttered begrudgingly, pushing off the counter and making his way—slowly—to the table. His movements were stiff and deliberate, and you could tell he was in pain despite his best efforts to hide it.

Sam sighed as he watched Dean sit down, the tension easing from his shoulders slightly. “Stubborn as hell”, he muttered, shaking his head before turning back to help you.

You smiled softly, glancing over at Dean as he settled into his seat, his hand resting lightly on the edge of the table. Despite his protests, you could see the relief on his face as he finally allowed himself to rest. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

After breakfast, you and Dean made your way to the small room where the TV was set up. Dean insisted the couch would be fine for him, brushing off any suggestion that he should head back to bed. You could see the determination in his eyes, but it was tempered by the clear discomfort in his movements. His hand stayed pressed to his chest over the bandaged wound, and the crimson stain on his shirt—a new one, his tenth in just two days—was all the proof you needed that he wasn’t as fine as he claimed to be.

“You know”, you started as you grabbed the remote and sat down beside him, “I think at this point, we should just skip the shirts altogether. It’d save me from constantly doing your bloody laundry”.

Dean smirked faintly, his head leaning back against the couch. “What can I say? Red’s my color”.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “Seriously, though, Dean. You’ve bled through more shirts in two days than most people do in a lifetime. Maybe that’s a sign to, oh, I don’t know, stay in bed?”.

Dean waved you off, clearly not interested in entertaining the idea. “The couch is bed enough”, he said, adjusting his position with a slight wince. “I’m not gonna spend the whole day lying around. I’ll go stir-crazy”.

You gave him a skeptical look, but you didn’t push. You knew how much Dean hated feeling weak, and while you wanted him to rest, you also knew that sometimes, it was better to let him have these small victories.

“Fine”, you said, leaning back against the couch. “But if you pass out again, I’m dragging you back to bed whether you like it or not”.

Dean chuckled softly, though the sound was tinged with fatigue. “Noted, sweetheart”, he said, reaching for the remote. “Now, what are we watching?”.

As he flipped through the channels, you couldn’t help but glance at him out of the corner of your eye. His face was still bruised and swollen, the cut above his brow stitched neatly but still angry and red. Despite his stubbornness, he looked exhausted, and the sight made your heart ache.

“You okay?”, you asked gently, your voice cutting through the sound of the TV.

Dean paused, his thumb hovering over the remote’s buttons. He turned to look at you, his green eyes softening slightly. “Yeah”, he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “I’m okay”. He shifted slightly on the couch, a faint grimace crossing his face as he tried to get comfortable. He let out a low grumble, his hand still pressed lightly to his chest as he glanced at you. “Now, c’mere”, he muttered, his voice soft but insistent.

You blinked at him, tilting your head in slight confusion. “Dean, you’re supposed to be resting—”.

“Yeah, yeah”, he cut you off, waving his good hand weakly before letting it drop to the couch. “I’m resting. Just… get over here”. He slowly and awkwardly lifted his uninjured arm, the movement clearly a struggle but one he was determined to push through.

A small smile crept onto your lips as you saw the stubborn look in his eyes. “Dean, you’re the most stubborn man I’ve ever met”, you said softly, but you moved closer anyway, sliding toward him on the couch.

“And you love it”, he teased, his voice rough but warm.

You rolled your eyes playfully but didn’t argue. Carefully, you nestled yourself beside him, mindful of his injuries as you rested your head gently on his shoulder. His arm came around you slowly, his hand settling on your waist with a surprising gentleness. The warmth of his touch was comforting, grounding, even as you could feel the tension in his muscles from the effort.

“There”, he muttered, his voice quieter now. “That’s better”.

You glanced up at him, your head still resting against his shoulder. His green eyes were half-lidded, exhaustion clear in his expression, but there was a soft smile on his bruised lips. “You’re impossible, you know that?”, you murmured, your tone fond.

“Yeah”, he replied, his voice barely above a whisper as his head leaned back against the couch.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

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[firefighterkinard]

Here's my take on why so many people got so attached to Tommy and his story:

Buck's story is wish fulfilment while Tommy's is more likely to be/have been the reality for people.

Buck realises he's bi in his 30s, and it's a happy experience. His sister is accepting. His best friend is accepting and actively encourages him. He gets a boyfriend through some mildly weird behaviour. Buck already has a circle of friends he knows will be totally fine with his queerness because said circle of friends involves multiple gay people already. The bigot who bullies people over their race/gender/sexuality never targets Buck.

On the other side of it, we have Tommy. Even before we know he's gay, one of his earliest scenes is him being mocked for being perceived as gay. What little we get of his backstory establishes that he grew up with a father who was like Gerrard and then went into the army when DADT was in effect. We know Tommy doesn't really talk to his dad but we don't know if that's because his dad is an asshole or because his dad doesn't want a gay son. His journey to accepting his sexuality took years. And even then, he still gets called a slur in public by Gerrard, who doesn't fear any consequences (and never faces any.)

[novahreign]

This made me nervous posting this. I’m not the best writer but I do try and I don’t have any fancy pictures but I hope that you enjoy it, just the same.🫣

“Kendra, Wait!” Tyler rushed behind her friend who sped past patrons in a restaurant to rush to the bathroom. The bride to-be, got lost between waiters and guests who stood around mingling. Tyler sidestepped quickly to avoid knocking into a waiter coming with a tray full of hors d’oeuvres that she completely missed the guy coming on her left, bumping into him, spilling red wine on herself and his white button up shirt.

“Oh my goodness. I am so sorry, I was trying to avoid hitting them-

“Hey.”

“And I wasn’t looking where I was going. I didn’t even see you.”

“It’s o-“

“Now your shirt is ruined!”

“Hey. Hey.” Rough, large hands took hold of shakey hands-steadying them. “It’s okay. It’s just a shirt, it’s all good. He gently moved her toward him” come this way.”

“I got it ma’am.” One of the waiters said. She moved aside so he can clean her mess. “I’m sorry about that.”

“You’re fine ma’am. It happens quite often.” He chuckled. She gave an embarrassed smile and turned her attention to the man whose shirt she messed up. Her head jerked back, wow. Her eyes scanned over his features. He was handsome.

“Umm…Can I buy you a drink, you know, to make up for this?” She motioned to his shirt

Terry was about to answer but her friend came up to her, getting her attention.

“Ty, It’s not looking good in there, She needs you!”

“Okay, uh, don’t go anywhere, I still owe you that drink!”

She followed behind Marcy and found Kendra slumped over the bathroom toilet.

“I think we may have pregamed too hard.” Shonda, the matron of honor said. Tyler had to agree.

“Guys, why’d you let me drink like this Ughh, I’m never drinking againnn” Kendra’s words slurred” Kendra let out some more, the sound echoing in the empty bathroom. They were supposed to be celebrating Kendra’s last two nights as a “not so single, single” and now Tyler was trying not to inhale the smell of alcohol mixed with Cajun seafood. The bathroom smelled vile.

“Marcus is going to be mad at me.” Kendra whine, throw up sliding down her chin.

“No, he’s not. “ Tyler wiped her face with a wet paper towel before throwing it on the toilet”Because, tomorrow you will detox and it’ll all be fine.” She used her foot to flush,” Come on, y’all, I think we should call it a night.”

As the girls walked out the restaurant. Tyler spotted the guy, she wasted a drink on at the bar. “Hey,go ahead, I’ll be right there.” She walked over to him and tapped his shoulder. He turned around with a confused look on his face.

“Hi, I’m Tyler.” She stretched her hand out

He looked her up and down before taking her hand in his. “Terry.”

“Nice to meet you, Terry. Hey, look. I wanted to apologize about this. I’m sorry.” She motioned to his shirt. “What are you drinking? I can buy you another drink, you know to make up for spilling your wine.”

He tip the almost empty glass toward her “Whiskey.”

Tyler turned her nose up. “Ew, but okay.”

“You judging my drink choice?

She titled her head, “ I am, whiskey is plain nasty.”

“It’s an acquired taste.”

“For people with rotten taste buds,”

He laughed out loud. “Rotten taste buds, really?”

“Excuse me.” She got the bartender’s attention “Hi……” she began rattling off his drink order. Terry took that time to take her in while sipping on his drink some more. She was beautiful, the orange dress complimented her dark skin. The dress clinging to her curves wasn’t bad sight either.

“I hope that you’re impressed by what you see, you’re staring pretty hard.” Terry met her eyes, noticing the teasing glint. Terry lifted an eyebrow.

“Oh, I am.”

She bit back a smile. “Well I’m glad. Here’s your drink. Again, I’m sorry but I hope you enjoy.” She patted his back before walking towards the double doors leading to the busy New Orleans Street. Terry tossed his drink back, throw a tip on the counter before coming up behind her.

“Hey, Tyler. Wait up.” He grabbed her wrist.

She jumped at feeling a hand on her, he apologize for scaring her. “What, two drinks not enough?” She smiled sheepishly

“Ha. Funny.” She laughed then looked at him expectantly. He sighed “You in New Orleans long?” She searched his face, deciding on whether or not she should share that information.

Oh, what the hell! It isn’t like she was going to see him again.

“I’ll be in town for a little while. I’m here for my friend’s wedding, why?”

“You think she’d mind, if you broke away from the group.”

“Why would I do that?” She gave him a knowing smile.

“Uh…” Tyler picked up on his nervousness and could tell that he wasn’t used to putting himself out there, she decided to help him out.

“Look, give me your phone.” He grabbed his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it and handed it to her.

She put her clutch under her arm and typed something before holding the phone up to her face to take a selfie. She showed him the picture and he chuckled. “Text me when you wake up and we can meet back her for breakfast. Sound good?.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

She smiled “Okay, well, then. I’ll see you tomorrow” she winked at him “Goodnight Terry.”

“Goodnight Tyler.”

He watched her walk into the crowd before looking down her contact photo. He tapped his phone against his palm. Yeah, he was looking forward to seeing her tomorrow.

[yesimwriting]

Happy new year! I wish you all a blessed 2025 ❤️

Now personally I don’t care the new years kiss tradition is about kissing your significant other, every single friend I love is getting love back from me when I’m drunk.

Bestie reader should absolutely give Louis the biggest platonic SMOOCH because he deserves it. He’d walk around with lipstick on his forehead or something, take a pic, save it for later to make fun of the level of readers intoxication.

a/n happy new year!! i'm totally the same about nye kisses and drinking, i get a little sappy and suddenly everyone in my life needs to know how much i mean to them lol i love this concept and it's perfect for the first fic of 2025!

also as a side note, going out/drinking with a vampire seems so perfect, ultimate scary dog privileges bc let some creepy man try anything and suddenly louis has a little late night snack <3 it sounds so freeing

----

The music's heavy pulse has aligned itself with your own, the base of it reverberating through your chest so thoroughly it might as well take the place of your heart. You can't bring yourself to dislike the feeling.

"O-kay." Your enthusiasm breaks the word into two. You let yourself lean into the feeling, into the fullness of your joy. "I think the regular vodka's stronger than the jello shots, because it's vodka not vodka-jello."

Louis presses his lips together in an attempt to keep from grinning too broadly. "That makes sense."

Your eyes narrow as you give yourself a moment to absorb the response. "It does," the words are much more contemplative than they need to be, "I'm so smart."

This time, Louis lets himself react. He laughs at the deliberateness pressed into your syllables. You're too out of it to think to mind his reaction. "You're drunk."

You straighten slightly as if that'll be enough to prove him wrong. "I'm happy."

Louis extends an arm, placing a hand on your shoulder in an instinctual attempt at keeping you steady. You're not exactly implying instability, but he's been spent enough time around you like this to know it's better to be safe than sorry.

"You're drunk."

You tilt your head at the correction, blinking at him curiously. "For some people, that's the same thing."

"Yeah?" The word is much too amused.

You nod enthusiastically, shifting your weight from foot to foot in a way that leaves Louis squeezing your arm a little tighter. "Yeah." You pause, eyebrows drawing together pensively as you struggle to grasp your next thought in its entirety. "I love you. I want you to be as happy as I am."

"Okay." He lets out a partial laugh. You're a good, terribly affectionate drunk. "I'm very happy. I promise."

His assurance doesn't seem to ease you. Instead of moving onto a separate topic of conversation or attempting to escape him in order to track down another shot, you frown. You step back slightly before lifting your arm. "Here."

You're holding your wrist out in front of him so innocently Louis can almost make himself forget what you're offering. "That--that's really nice of you, but I'm okay."

You frown, staring up at him with wide, sad eyes. Louis sighs, his fingers gently bending around your forearm. He pulls your hand down towards your side before stepping closer to you. In an abundance of precaution, he angles his head towards your ear. "I had that boy that grabbed your arm earlier, remember?"

"My blood is perfectly good--blood." Great, he's stumbled onto this argument again. You're not looking to be hurt, but for whatever reason, you're convinced that Louis's refusal to consume your blood to any extent is limiting your friendship. "Seriously, a doctor has never struggled to find my veins."

The defense is slurred and devoid of serious logic. Still, such a consistent mentioning of something he's always trying to ignore...always trying to forget makes it difficult to focus on anything else. The blood moving beneath your skin is warm against his palms, and it--the scent of it...

It is possible to stop. Some know how to resist, how to take just enough to feel something without bringing a life to its end. Lestat had possessed that kind of control, had used it when creating Claudia.

The thought leaves him more somber than he's prepared to be. Even if he could sense that kind of strength in himself, he--he couldn't use you in that way. Introducing you to his world at all was a cruel enough act on its own, he doesn't need to taint you further.

Louis squeezes his eyes shut, exhaling before pulling away slightly. He lifts your arm slowly, his thumb brushing against your wrist's pulse point. You watch him silently as he brings your inner forearm to his mouth. He presses his lips against your skin. "It's not you."

You're quiet for a second, something oddly sober briefly flickering behind your gaze. "I know," you relent slowly, "On some level, I know."

You look at him, then, with a careful awareness that often leaves him feeling like you're the one capable of looking into his mind. "But it better not be because you think your existence is some terrible burden you're inflicting onto me."

It's a warning he's used to hearing. His lips part, but before he can think of a response, the crowd around you shifts. A variety of voices blend together as they start to count, "...Ten...nine...."

"New years!" You beam, reaching for Louis's hand as you turn towards the others.

The countdown continues, the numbers oddly in sync for a bar so full of drink individuals. The clock hits midnight, the crowd erupts into cheers.

You grin, straightening fully as you lean towards him. Before Louis can think to ask about what you're doing, you press your lips against his cheek. He can feel the residue of your lipgloss against his skin, but he can't bring himself to mind it. This isn't the first time you've gotten a little affectionate while drunk, but normally there's some warning. "What was that for?"

You shrug innocently, "New Years kiss."

You let go of him fully, halfheartedly pushing his arm off your shoulder as you start moving away from him. "Where are you going?"

"I want another shot." The response is absentmindedly thrown over your shoulder, like Louis should have had the foresight to follow you.

A part of him is glad that your back is to him. This way, he can grin openly without encouraging your behavior. "Slow down--you're in heels."

You turn at that, flashing your middle finger before continuing forward. Oh, you're not going to get the hear end of this tomorrow.

[nikethestatue]

Not Another Hallmark Christmas Story

Chapter 2: A Christmas Miracle? No

TW: Non consensual sexual activity

Azriel paid for the tree.

I didn’t want him to, but he ignored me when I tried to pay. It was $78 and I felt bad. 

“Get in the car,” he told me. “Your shivering is driving me nuts.”

I bristled at his rudeness, but then he chose to hoist and tie the tree to the roof of the car, and you know what? Whatever! More power to him. If he wanted to do the shitty jobs, then he could be my guest. I sat in the car, in the passenger seat, because he made me, even though it was my vehicle! But I was so overcome with dread about him being in my house, I didn’t even care about that. 

I still didn’t understand what his game was exactly? Why was he doing this? Why did he want to come to my house and decorate my tree? 

Fifteen minutes later, he opened the door and slipped inside the warm car. 

“You couldn’t have chosen a colder day?” he muttered under his breath, and then put his arm around my seat, looking back and pulling out of the parking spot. I had a camera in the car, but Azriel didn’t seem like the guy who trusted cameras.

“It’s 170-,” I started to tell him my address, but he cut me off and reminded me,

“I remember. I’ve been there before,” and he smirked.

I groaned inwardly.

-

Last Christmas

“You are hammered.”

It wasn’t a question. 

Azriel stood with his hands in his pockets, his suit jacket still crisp and pristine. My co-workers were looking worse for wear, though they were still standing. After dinner, there was more drinking and charades, and then more drinking.

“I am not!” I protested. “I am perfectly fine.”

“Stand up then,” he jerked his chin at me, willing me to stand up.

I stood up, and then immediately swayed on my feet, careening so violently that he threw his arm out and steadied me. He didn’t grab my arm, or my hand. He wrapped his arm around my waist for a brief moment. He was firm and hard all over–his chest, his arm, his hand, his shoulder. For the few moments that we stood that closely together that’s all I felt–firmness and warmth. 

“Looks like you are hammered,” he pointed out, as I swayed again. 

I could hear myself slurring a bit ‘No I am not!’. 

“Uhuh,” was all he muttered.

“I am just buzzed. I am not hammered!” I continued arguing with him.

“I am taking you home,” he announced then, ignoring my protestations. 

Even in my inebriated state, alarm bells rang, “No, no! I can’t go with you.”

He only snorted and nudged me towards the coat room. 

“No!” I repeated, frustrated, and a little scared, “you can’t take me home. I am not allowing you to!”

He actually laughed at that and simply said, “I wasn’t asking for permission.”

He walked me to the coat room, but I didn't have my ticket with me and he sat me down on a bench and said that he was going to be right back. I closed my eyes. I really wanted to go to sleep. And I wasn’t going to go anywhere with him! Never. I was going to get an Uber and go home. And then I was just going to sleep the whole weekend. Yes, that sounded like a good plan.

I must have dozed off after all, because the next thing I remember was Azriel standing there with my coat, my purse, and my phone, casually scrolling through it. How did he know my code??! How…what…how… I leapt to my feet, almost falling over in the process and landing on his chest, while he easily caught me around the waist, and held me to him, while his thumb scrolled through my contacts. I attempted to snatch the phone back from him, but he easily outmaneuvered me and simply whispered ‘settle down’. I watched in complete dismay as he paused on the names of my co-workers. My male co-workers. Graysen Nolan. Isaac Hale. Eris Vanserra. He then proceeded to delete them all from my contacts. 

“Who is Ripleigh?” he asked blandly. “Is it a man or a woman?”

“It’s a woman! It’s my aunt!” I cried out desperately. 

He left the contact alone and then dropped the phone back into my purse. 

As if he didn’t just violate my privacy, didn’t break into my phone, and didn’t delete a bunch of my contacts, he easily held my coat for me and even gently helped me find the sleeves, before buttoning me up as if I was a toddler. His own coat was dark and expensive and long. 

“I am going home,” I declared uselessly, once we stepped out of the restaurant. 

North Pond restaurant in Lincoln Park, Chicago

It was cold and the park looked dark and menacing, despite it usually being pretty and safe in the daylight. Strong wind was blowing from the lake and I huddled into my coat. 

“I know,” he said, and then offered me his arm, as if he was a gentleman, which I was forced to take, considering that I was wearing heels and was buzzed. For that one moment, and only that, I was sort of grateful that he was with me and that he was walking me to my Uber. 

By the time we exited the park, I was freezing and also thankful that Azriel was next to me. His big body shielded me from the wind, and when it got especially gusty, he took a step back, so he could cover me and take the brunt of the cold himself. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought that he was being nice. 

I mean, I’ll give credit where credit is due–Azriel Sebstian Singer was rather nice to me today. He didn’t critique me, he complimented me on how I played the game of trivia, he kept buying me drinks all night long (expensive ones too, with top shelf liquor.) 

At some point in the evening, Graysen Nolan came over to me and we chatted about the Bears and how badly they were playing. Since it was Graysen and not Azriel, topics of conversation were limited to sports and work. Azriel didn’t interfere, but sat there, talking to my co-worker Gwyneth, who was a junior analyst on the team. She was very pretty, with her burnished bronze hair, tied in a high, perfectly straight pony, thin limbs and well-polished look of an Instagram influencer. She probably had a 19-step skincare routine. My routine was washing my face, if I remembered to, and moisturizing. She was drinking white wine and laughing a lot. Azriel seemed friendly and engaging and he smiled at her. I don’t know why, but it annoyed me. It annoyed me that she could laugh like that with him, her face open and her giggles bright. I could never do that with him. I could never be that carefree and relaxed. And his face wasn’t as intense when he was speaking with her. He always looked like he wanted to devour me. With her, he looked blandly polite. 

“Buy you a drink?” Graysen had asked me, stepping a little too close to me.

“I’ve been drinking all night,” I admitted. 

“You have it in you for one more,” he winked at me. “What are you drinking? Gin and tonic?”

Before I could answer, he ordered a gin and tonic for me. House gin. Problem was that I didn’t like gin and tonic at all. It was my least favourite cocktail–bitter and watery and medicinal. I wanted another one of those incredible dirty martinis that Azriel had gotten me. I pretended to sip the gin. When I looked across the bar, I’d noticed that Azriel was smirking in my direction. Like he knew that I wasn’t enjoying the drink.

“I wish I could ask you out,” Graysen told me, his eyes planted on my cleavage for a little too long. “I think these rules are unreasonable. And I am fixin’ to break them,” he grinned at me with a knowing look.

“I am flattered,” I murmured, and threw a nervous glance at Azriel praying that he didn’t hear what Graysen had proposed. Azriel seemed to have been engaged in a conversation with a few men from the team, with Gwyn laughing in the midst of the gathering, her fingers planted on Azriel’s bicep. However, the moment I looked up at him, I felt his eyes on me. 

The risk wasn’t worth it. Graysen wasn’t enticing enough for me to risk Azriel’s wrath, however unreasonable it was. 

…I was cold, sleepy but feeling giddy once we got out of the park. Azriel pulled out his phone and ordered an Uber. “Seven minutes away,” he said to me. I knew that I should let go of his arm, but he was so big and warm, and I was so tired. So, instead of disengaging from him, I closed my eyes–just a moment–and leaned against his shoulder. I was drunk, okay? I didn’t mean to. I shouldn’t have. But we stood there, under the street light, with random snowflakes swirling around us and the wind whipping my hair around my shoulders. 

“You talked to Gwyn a lot tonight,” I said, my eyes still closed.

“You spoke with Graysen. Did he ask you out?” he chuckled in response.

“Maybe.”

“What did you tell him?” he didn’t sound angry. Merely curious.

“That I couldn’t. We couldn’t.”

“And if you could?” he pushed.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Would you go out with Gwyn if you could?”

He snorted in derision,

“Gwyn? No. Why would I?”

“She likes you,” I pointed out. “She’d want you to ask her.”

“She’ll be waiting a long time.”

“You don’t like her?” I asked.

“Not at all. He is too young. She talks too much. She dares to one up me in things, which is ridiculous,” he concluded haughtily.

“Maybe she is confident?” I argued.

“Stupid, more like. She is tangling with someone who is almost ten years older than her.”

“Oh my god, are you 37?” I exclaimed and opened my eyes.

He was looking at me, resting my head on his shoulder.

“No,” his brow furrowed, “you think that I am almost 40 years old?”

Shit.

“I mean, no…I don’t know. You look good,”

“If you add ‘for your age’ I will write you up,” he threatened, but there was no bite behind it. Mostly amusement.

“You can’t do that! But also…35?”

“I am 33 years old, Elain,” he groaned. 

I tried to stifle a laugh. He looked so put off by my guessing his age, it was actually amusing.

A Toyota pulled up to the curb and Azriel checked his phone.

“That’s us,” he said.

Us?

His hand slipped down my back and he placed it just above my hip, almost on my ass, his pinkie definitely a little too low for comfort. He prodded me towards the car and opened the door, helping me slide inside the cabin. It was awkward in my drunken state, but I finally plopped in the seat and my head lolled to the side. I just wanted to sleep.

“Good ni-,” I began saying, but stopped abruptly because Azriel was sliding in after me. His coat was cold against my skin when I brushed against the soft cashmere. He folded his massive body into the back seat, manspreading widely and pressing into my side.

“What are you doing?” I had the sense to ask.

“What am I doing?” he asked, visibly confused.

“Why are you in the car? Where are you doing?” I pushed, now pathetically nervous.

“You think I am going to let you ride in some shady Uber in the middle of the night when you are drunk?” he asked rationally, ignoring the driver’s outraged glance and sighing, like I was asking stupid questions. When he put it like that it made sense, but it also didn’t.

“I don’t live far,” he explained further. “About 20 minutes from your place.”

“And you’ll drop me off and go home then?” I asked hopefully.

He hummed something unintelligible and didn’t respond. 

I must have dozed off for a few minutes, because by the time I opened my eyes, we were almost in Wicker Park. I don't know how or why, but my hand was on this thigh, palm up. I jerked it back, feeling embarrassed. He was my manager. And I didn’t like him. And none of this was even remotely appropriate.

I watched his handsome profile and his heavy-lidded eyes. He truly was very beautiful. Shame he was such a dick most of the time. 

He must have sensed that I woke up because he looked at me and his expression was almost soft. There wasn’t a lot that was soft about Azriel, but right now, in the darkness and the flickering lights, he seemed content.

He looked at me for a beat of time and then said, “You can sleep”. 

Then he looked at his phone, and muttered, “I’ll get some work done.”

I noticed graphs and charts on his screen and told him, “It’s Friday.”

“Never stopped me before,” he said in his usual clipped tone. “Besides, I need to rework one of your buddy Graysen’s reports, because he screwed it up. Yours also need work.”

My heart beat rapidly and heat flooded my cheeks.

“I sent it to you for review before we left the office!” I reminded him defensively.

“You did,” he agreed. “And it needs work. Kind of sloppy on the UBS data.”

“No it’s not!” I argued.

He leveled one of his stony gazes and said, “If I said it’s sloppy, then it’s sloppy.”

The driver snorted a laugh.

Azriel pursed his lips with distaste, as if he was the only one who was allowed to berate me. My cheeks were painfully hot.

“Go to sleep,” Azriel said again.

“We are almost home.”

“I’ll wake you.”

So I did.

I didn’t know then what I know now. 

When I inhaled his scent, his cedar-scented aftershave, it seemed familiar. Bold, but almost comforting. I didn’t know back then that the scent would come to disgust me. And yet, a year later, I didn’t know that I would be like a trained dog, responding to it with fear, trepidation and familiarity.

I leaned against his shoulder and fell asleep.

When I woke up the following morning, I felt a bit disoriented. Wildly thirsty. My head was heavy, my temples pounding. I haven’t felt this bad probably since college, and I wasn’t much of a partier even then. My mouth was dry and I had real difficulty moving my tongue around. My stomach was unsettled, but at least I didn’t have the urge to vomit. My limbs were laden though, heavy and stiff. I probably would have slept for another thirty hours and still be tired. 

My brain moved slowly, like a sleepy sloth. 

And then, I was jolted awake. Violently. 

Because the smell…the scent of him. Unmistakable. It was here. In my nostrils. Permeating the air around me. 

And then, the heat.

The heat of him, of his body, the heaviness of his bones all around me.

Mind you, all of this took place in my brain within about 3-4 seconds. Once I knew, I knew it all. 

I knew that he was in bed with me.

I knew that he was under my duvet with me.

I knew that I was feeling his bare skin against my own. 

I knew that he was spooning me from behind.

I knew that it was his hot, long cock in the crack of my ass.

I knew that it was his breath on my shoulder, fanning my hair.

I knew that he was naked? Almost naked? His legs and arms were naked.

I knew that I wasn’t wearing anything on my legs. Underwear? Did I have underwear on? 

I knew that his big palm was cupping my breast possessively.

I knew that his other hand was between my legs, warm skin lodged between my thighs. 

I thought frantically about what had transpired last night?

I didn’t remember coming upstairs to my apartment, but there was a vague sense of him being here and walking me in. How did he open the door? Did I give him the keys? Or did he rummage through my bag? Well, considering how he spied on me, found out my phone code, and then broke into my phone and proceeded to delete a bunch of contacts, I suppose him digging through my purse wasn’t that big of a deal. Almost expected behaviour, I guess. 

After that, things were even muddier in my stupid brain.

The only thing that I recalled with any degree of clarity was a moment where I was in the bed, barely awake, and he was hovering on top of me and my dress was hiked up over my hips and he was rolling my pantyhose down my legs. 

That was it. 

Suddenly he moved. I think he was still asleep. He sighed softly and his face pressed to the back of my neck, as he inhaled softly. His hand moved between my closed thighs, pressing into my flesh, and then he cupped me. Cupped my pussy in his hand as if this was the most natural thing for him to do. Only then, to my endless relief, I realised that I was wearing underwear. Didn’t stop him from brushing his thumb over the indentation of my slit. It was a proprietary and familiar gesture, as if he’s done this a million times before with me. 

“I liked you more when you were sleeping,” he suddenly groaned in my ear. “You were nice and relaxed.”

I was too shocked to speak. Meanwhile, he spoke like this was not a big deal. 

“I like how soft you are,” he added casually and moved his hips, grinding into me.

“What are you doing?” I finally managed to whisper.

“Waking up, I guess,” he shrugged. 

Then, with some disdain in his voice, he added venomously, “I am sorry. This must be very disappointing for you. That it’s me, and not Graysen. Or Eris. You are waking up next to Azriel Singer and not someone you actually like.”

I don’t know…I don’t know what he sounded like at that moment?

Angry? But also hurt? Also disappointed? 

I, personally, wasn’t disappointed. I was petrified and completely discombobulated. That  wasn’t ‘disappointment’. This was a full on freak out. 

I swallowed. Hard.

“Did we?” I couldn’t finish the thought.

No. No. No.

Please G-d. No.

“Have we,”

He groaned again.

“Please, like you wouldn’t feel if you had me inside of you?” he chortled unhappily. 

“But then,”

“I didn’t feel like calling another Uber and going home,” he said. 

“So you decided to just park here, undress me and sleep with me?!” I cried, fighting a full blown panic attack.

“I suppose I did, didn’t I?”

I opened my mouth to speak further, but he interrupted, “And before you assume that you can run to HR and start accusing me of things, may I remind you that everyone saw that you willingly went with me? That you were at the bar with me, drinking and laughing. And that, if I was inside of you, I would’ve worn a condom–at least for now–and,”

“You said we didn’t do anything!” I screamed, trying to turn around in his arms.

He kept me in place.

“I said that you would know if we did,” he argued calmly. “Would you, Elain?” his thumb slowly dragged over my nipple, circling it. “Or are you a sweet, and innocent virgin, just waiting for someone strong and powerful to come and make you his?”

I couldn’t even respond. 

He sighed and then pulled away. Once the enormity of his body separated from me, I curled into a ball under the duvet, tucking my knees to my chest. 

“As I was saying,” he continued, swinging his legs and planting them on the floor, as he rubbed his face. “Keep all your emotions to yourself. You are a strong and capable woman. I am sure I don’t need to tell you that it would be unwise to speak to anyone about this–you have a successful career ahead of you. What’s more, I will be your manager in a few weeks. And you will be under my complete control.”

I barely contained a sob which threatened to escape me.

A million very uncomfortable questions swirled in my head, but I didn’t dare ask any of them.

It was petrifying that I’d have to become some kind of a sex slave to my new boss.

It was horrifying to think that maybe he did have sex with me while I was unconscious.

It scared me to think that maybe, this was…something? One thing is lust. But what if this was some kind of stalking? An odd obsession that this powerful, respected man harboured for me for whatever reason? 

“Also,” he continued when I didn’t respond. “You don’t know if I took any photos. Or videos. And if I did, you don’t know how you might look in them.”

Oh god. This was not something I expected for him to pull. 

I forgot. We lived in the age of everything being filmed or photographed. Why wouldn’t he? If he wanted my silence or assurance that this would stay between us, he would take photos. 

“Did you?” I asked at last and my voice sounded hollow even to my own ears.

“Did I what?”

“Take photos? Videos?”

“For me to know, for you not to find out and live with an uncomfortable thought of ‘what if he did’?” 

“Why are you doing this to me?!” I all but screamed.

“Doing what, exactly?” he inquired cruelly and I heard him stroll into the bathroom. “Buy you drinks? Guide your career? Making sure that you got home safe?” I heard him relieve himself and then the toilet flushed. “Oh, keeping douchebags like Graysen from taking advantage of you? Someone who’d pump and dump and then you’d be walking around the office all teary eyed and clutching at your blouse?”

“He…he…he wouldn’t,” I tried.

“Oh, no, he totally would,” he called out from the bathroom. The water was on. He was brushing his teeth. Was he using my toothbrush?!?! I don’t know why this was the one thing that almost pushed me over the edge? Of all the things that I’ve experienced since last night, this was something that I couldn’t comprehend. 

He stepped out of the bathroom.

His voice was close, and I kept my eyes shut.

“And to answer your little ‘woe is me!’ question about why I am doing this to you: maybe I like you.”

“What?” I didn’t mean to, but I opened my eyes on reflex. 

“Yeah,” he huffed. “Just because you have some kind of warped opinion of me and you are a haughty princess who wouldn’t give anyone the time of day, doesn’t mean that your opinion is correct.”

Whatever he said, I wasn’t paying attention.

Because all he wore was a pair of boxer briefs, his unnaturally perfect body on full display. His brown skin was smooth and stretched tautly over an intricate maze of muscles and perfect sinew and bulging veins. He was hairless, and his pecs were like slabs of burnished bronze, and what surprised me the most were the black tattoos that covered parts of his shoulders and wrapped around his powerful, muscular arms. 

He padded towards the living room and the kitchen, leaving me behind. I thought he’d be getting dressed and finally leaving me alone. But, surprise-surprise, I wasn’t so lucky! Instead, I heard the kitchen sink water run, and then some kind of movement of pots and pans.

Was he…cooking?

I finally got up, refusing to go and investigate. Whatever he was doing, he was doing. I wouldn't be able to stop him anyway. 

I was wearing panties, and a t-shirt, but I was braless and the t-shirt was from my dresser. At the very least, he’d seen my breasts. He had removed my bra, which was draped over the door handle in an overly sexual manner, taunting me.

I tore the t-shirt off my body. 

My nipples ached. I rushed to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. My breasts are large and full, and the skin is white. That morning, my nipples were unusually swollen and puffy. They puckered, like perfect pink round grapes. And just above my right nipple was an outline of a purplish bruise. 

He’d sucked on them. He’d licked on my breasts, he sucked on my nipples. He bit them and he left a mark, which he wanted me to find. I brushed my palms over the nipples and winced. He definitely did more than sucking–in the recess of my mind, I recalled him pinching them, rolling them between his fingers. I recalled his dark head looming over me, his tongue lapping over my tits and I remembered him smirking at me, when he pulled my nipples with his teeth, tonguing them roughly. He branded me with his teeth. 

His bite felt somehow final. Like he made me his.

I stepped into the shower, not caring that I was naked, and that he was just in the other room. 

I washed my hair and scrubbed my body. It felt like he might have touched my clit too, but I wasn’t sure. 

When I was done and my hair was wrapped in a towel, I noticed that he’d opened a new toothbrush. I had a set in one of the drawers, languishing there for at least a year, maybe longer. It’s not like anyone came and stayed here, so the package was unopened until today. What concerned me more was how he knew that I had this package of toothbrushes? And why didn’t I hear him rummage through the drawers? He found them immediately.

…”Did you touch me?”

I was dressed in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. I wasn’t going to dress up for him, and he wasn’t going to see me in yoga pants or anything even remotely revealing. My hair was wet and hanging over my shoulders, unstyled.

“Touched you?” 

Azriel was still basically naked, still only in his boxers. The coffee was percolating on the stove, and the frying pan held a pile of cooked eggs, seared tomatoes, something green too. Spinach maybe? 

I noticed that the counters were wiped clean and the dishes that I had left in the sink yesterday morning were washed and put away. 

“Your apartment is messy,” he stated blandly, and poured coffee into one of my flower cups that I got from England. I watched him and contemplated whether I’ll need to toss them out now, because he touched them. 

“Well, I am sorry, “ I snapped. “I guess you’ll just have to get the hell out of here,”

“Don’t be rude,” he warned me coldly. 

I bit my lip and he glared at me with those green, penetrating eyes. Then, he slowly handed me the cup. 

“Sit,” he ordered, “and you will be respectful.”

“Why are you here?” I demanded. 

“Trying to bring you to heel is why I am here,” he snarled through his teeth, but it was quiet and he didn’t seem angry. More like annoyed. I guess he expected me to heel out of my own volition?

“Your apartment is messy,” he repeated. “Your mail is unopened and piled on there. Your clothes were tossed on the floor. The dishes were unwashed. The laundry basket is overflowing. There was a bunch of expired stuff in the fridge, which I had to toss,” and he glanced at the trash can. 

What the hell. Why was he going through all my things? Throwing stuff out?

“Are you having trouble with work and life balance?” he queried imperiously.

What life? All I did was fucking worked nonstop! What ‘balance’?

“I am fine,” I muttered. 

“Are you? Because it seems like things are being neglected and falling through the cracks.”

“And it’s none of your business,” I reminded him.

“I beg to differ.”

He picked up a plate and placed eggs and tomatoes on it and then sprinkled the whole thing with some grated cheese. He set the plate in front of me and then made himself one as well. 

“Did you touch me?” I reminded him.

His fork stopped midway between the plate and his mouth and he looked at me with amusement.

“Of course I touched you.”

I almost choked on my eggs.

“I loved undressing you,” he said softly, watching me and my reactions. “Took the dress off you, then your pantyhose.”

“And?”

“Your tits are magnificent,” he stated simply, without breaking eye contact. “I knew that they would be. But honestly, I wasn’t prepared for how nice they were once I got the bra off you. So soft. Larger than I expected, which isn’t something I am going to complain about. I wasn’t expecting to play with them quite as much as I did, but once I got my hands on them, I couldn’t stop. Are they hurting?”

He was so preternaturally calm about this. An absolute psychopath. Drinking coffee and eating eggs and chatting like this was nothing.

“Yes,” I told him firmly.

Instead of remorse, he smiled a satisfied smile.

“Yeah?”

“Yes, Azriel. They hurt.”

“Good. You’ll remember me and this night for a while now,”

“Hard to forget,” I said sarcastically.

“I sucked your nipples for like forty minutes straight,” he informed me. “I couldn't stop. When you are pregnant, they’ll be absolutely glorious. Large and sensitive…What can I say…I am a tit man.”

I stopped eating.

Pregnant?

Pregnant??

“Do you want me to suck them more?” he offered and I screamed ‘NO!’

He sighed. 

“Pity.”

He finished his food and coffee and went to the sink to wash everything and tidy up. 

“I’d stay, but I have a ton of work to do and I need to go grocery shopping,” he explained, as if I was begging him to stay or wondering what he would be doing later. He was insane. 

He went to the living room, where I noticed his suit hanging neatly and pulled his trousers on. 

“Why did you do it?” 

“Do what, exactly? I’ve done a lot of things,” he told me, as he began buttoning his shirt.

“All of this…”

“Like I said, maybe I like you. Or maybe I am a psychopath who loves tormenting co-workers. Sucking on your tits? Well, that’s a given. I am a man and I find you rather attractive. Anything else?”

“Why did you delete all the contacts from my phone?” I don’t even know where that came from. But it’s been bothering me. 

He frowned. 

“Because, Elain, you don’t need anyone but me. You certainly don’t need Isaac or Graysen. And if you have a question about work, you will come to me,” his voice was chilly. “You will learn how to come to me for all your needs. You will get your pride under control and you will ask me for assistance. It will be me that you seek out. Me. I will be the center of your world. Do we understand each other?”

I sat there, in shocked silence. 

“Do we understand each other?” he pressed.

I nodded. 

What was I going to do?

I’d have to figure it out after I gathered my thoughts. 

“Good,” he smiled at me. 

He didn’t put his suit jacket on, but folded it over his arm. I was still at the kitchen table, when he came over and looked down at me.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?” he asked smoothly, his knuckles gently brushing my hair.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Azriel. I will be a good girl for you.”

“You’ll listen? You’ll follow my directions? You won’t argue? You’ll come to me for help?”

“Yes.”

I sighed.

“Word by word,” he snapped.

I swallowed and repeated,

“I will be a good girl for you, Azriel. I will listen to you and you will guide me, and I will follow your directions without arguments. When I need help, I will seek you out.”

He smiled, his absurdly handsome face looking positively happy.

“You are my good girl,” he breathed, and then, his hands reached and he suddenly cupped my breasts. He squeezed them slowly, without breaking eye contact, and then slowly rolled them about, squeezing tighter. He watched me, as he thumbed my nipples. “Perfect,” he approved, and then pinched both nipples between his fingers and tugged on them. “Walk me to the door,” he told me then, and didn’t release me, and pulled on my nipples painfully. I got up, and he led me to the door by my nipples, tugging harder and rolling them. It felt good but I also winced from the pain. He was harsh, like he was in life. 

We stopped by the door. I noticed that he had a trash bag waiting for him there. 

He leaned towards me and his lips ghosted over mine. He gave my breasts one parting squeeze and said, “I’ll see you on Monday.”

Picking up his coat, he grabbed the trash bag and left.

Left me ruined.

Confused.

Scared.

And with a clean apartment.

For some reason, it never occurred to me to ask him back then how he knew where I lived?

[sebstanaddict]

Rewrite The Stars

Sebastian Stan x Reader Story

Summary: Reader is a woman trapped in a loveless and abusive marriage, struggling to keep herself together for the sake of her daughter, when she meets Sebastian. Despite his Hollywood star status, he unexpectedly shows her the love and care she's been missing and her world begins to shift.

Reader thought she could forget Sebastian and move on with her life, but one day her husband crossed a boundary she never thought he would ever cross, crushing her physically and mentally that she ended up needing Sebastian even more..

A/N : This story deals with topics of domestic abuse and SA, as well as infidelity (of course I don't support infidelity in any way but in this story I have a very good reason to include it). So if you feel you can be triggered by these topics, it's best to not read it. The topics are heavy and aimed at 18+ readers so if you're under 18, I advise you not to read it.

Warning : depiction of physical abuse, SA and some non vulgar sexual references

Chapter : 5/15 (May add more)

Chapter List >

Word Count : 3k

---

Chapter 5

Y/n stood by the kitchen counter the next night, her heart felt heavy after what happened with Sebastian the night before. But no matter how painful it was, she knew it was the right thing to do. She could never continue the relationship. Having an affair was against her moral compass even if it was with someone like Sebastian. Even if it was because she was in a broken marriage. A vow was still a vow and she promised to herself to never break it again.

She was drying a dish when she heard the front door slam. Her heart leapt into her throat, knowing what that sound meant. He was home, and judging by the force of the door, it hadn't been a good business trip.

She wiped her hands on a towel and moved toward the hallway, her pulse quickening with every step. As her husband rounded the corner, his face was already twisted with anger. His suit was wrinkled, his tie undone, and his eyes red from drinking.

"Where's dinner?" he barked, his voice harsh and slurred.

"I'll heat it up for you," Y/n replied quickly, trying to keep her tone calm and soothing. She turned to the stove, praying that this would be one of those nights where his anger would pass without escalation.

But before she could even reach the stove, she felt his hand grab her arm, yanking her back. "What the hell is your problem, huh? You think you can just ignore me when I walk in the door?"

"I'm not.." she started, but the words were cut off by the sudden sharp sting across her cheek as his hand struck her.

She stumbled back, her hand instinctively flying to her face, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away, refusing to let him see them. She'd learned a long time ago that showing weakness only made it worse.

"I had a shit trip, and you can't even be a decent wife," he spat, his face inches from hers, the smell of alcohol on his breath making her stomach churn. He grabbed her wrist, squeezing hard, his eyes wild with frustration. "You're worthless."

Y/n closed her eyes, trying to block out his words, trying to remember that she was more than this. She had to be more than this. But as he released her wrist and shoved her toward the counter, her resolve crumbled.

For a moment, it seemed like he might leave her alone. He muttered under his breath, pacing the small kitchen as if he didn't know what to do with his rage. But then he stopped, his anger melting into something else, something more dangerous.

He turned back to her, his expression softening, and Y/n's stomach twisted in fear. "I'm sorry," he murmured, stepping closer, his hand cupping her cheek, the same cheek he had just struck. "I shouldn't have hit you. Let me make it up to you."

Y/n recoiled instinctively, shaking her head. "No... I can't."

His eyes darkened again. "Don't tell me 'no,' Y/n. I'm your husband."

Before she could protest further, he pushed her against the counter, his lips crashing down on hers in a rough, possessive kiss. She tried to push him away, tried to escape, but his grip tightened. Her heart pounded in her chest as she struggled against him, but he overpowered her, forcing her down.

It wasn't long before he took what he wanted, right there on the kitchen floor, ignoring her tears and her whispered pleas for him to stop. And when it was over, he rolled off her as if nothing had happened, falling into a drunken sleep almost immediately, leaving Y/n lying there in the dark, broken and hollow.

Hours passed before she could move, her body trembling as she sat up, clutching her ripped clothes to her chest. The kitchen was silent except for her husband's snores, but inside, her mind was screaming. She couldn't keep doing this. She couldn't keep pretending that everything was fine.

With shaky hands, she stood up and went to her bedroom, she reached for her phone on the nightstand. Her fingers hovered over the screen, her mind racing with all the reasons she shouldn't. She shouldn't drag Sebastian into this. He didn't deserve to be burdened with her mess.

But the need to talk to him, to see him, overpowered her logic. She typed out a simple message before she could stop herself:

"I need to see you."

The reply came almost instantly.

"When and where?"

Y/n stared at the screen, her heart hammering in her chest. She knew this was wrong. She knew what she was doing, what they were doing, was dangerous, but right now, she didn't care. She needed him. She needed someone who saw her, who cared for her, and didn't see her as a punching bag or a possession.

"Tomorrow. The usual place."

—

The next day Y/n sat at the secluded café on the outskirts of town, their usual place, her hands wrapped tightly around her coffee cup. She hadn't slept at all, her mind racing with what she was about to do.

When Sebastian walked in, her heart fluttered in her chest. He spotted her immediately and made his way over, concern etched across his face. He sat down across from her, his eyes searching hers. "What happened?" he asked, his voice soft but tense.

Y/n looked away, unable to meet his gaze as her fingers trembled around her cup. "He... he hit me again," she whispered. "And then..."

Sebastian's jaw clenched, his hand tightening into a fist on the table. "What did he do?" he asked, his voice low, but there was an edge to it that sent a shiver down her spine.

Y/n swallowed hard, her throat tight as the words tumbled out. "He forced himself on me. He didn't care that I said no."

Sebastian's eyes darkened with fury, his hand reaching across the table to cover hers. "Y/n, you don't deserve this. You don't have to put up with this."

Tears welled in her eyes as she shook her head. "I don't know what to do. I'm trapped, Sebastian. I'm stuck with him because of my daughter. Because of my family. I can't leave. They'd never forgive me."

Sebastian's grip on her hand tightened. "I'll help you. You don't have to do this alone."

"I can't," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I can't ask you to fix my life. It's too complicated. And I can't divorce him... My family would never forgive me. They think I'm the perfect wife, the perfect mother. They think he's also the perfect husband and father. They don't know what's really going on."

"They should. Have you ever told them or anyone about how he has been treating you?" He asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I.. I haven't.. just you. I don't want to burden my family or his. This should be something I deal with myself." She replied, sighing deeply.

"But that's not right! They should know so they can help. You should tell them." He pleaded.

"They won't believe me. In their eyes my husband is perfect. He has his way with words when he wants to. Even if I tell them they wouldn't believe me." She replied, her voice shook.

Sebastian's eyes softened, his anger fading into something gentler. "Y/n, I.. I care about you. But if you can't leave him... then I'm here, no matter what. I'll be with you through this. But you have to promise me to think about leaving him one day. I can't bear seeing you like this."

Y/n's heart ached at his words, torn between the love she felt for him and the guilt that gnawed at her for allowing this relationship to continue. She knew it was wrong. She knew she was betraying her vows, but she also knew she couldn't survive without Sebastian. He was the only light in her dark, suffocating world.

"I don't know what to do, I can't.. I can't promise anything" she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sebastian leaned closer, his eyes full of emotion. "Then don't think about it right now. Don't worry about tomorrow or next week. Just focus on today. On us."

She nodded, her chest tightening with the weight of her decision. She couldn't ask for a divorce, couldn't destroy her daughter's life or face the disappointment of her family. But she also couldn't let go of Sebastian. He was her sanity, her lifeline.

And even if it was wrong, she needed him more than she could ever admit.

"Okay," she whispered, her hand tightening around his. "We'll take it one day at a time."

"One day at a time.." Sebastian said, squeezing her hand back, giving her the warmth and comfort she needed.

Yes, maybe they could somehow make it work. She thought. And with that thought in mind she decided to allow him into her life again, no matter how wrong it was.

—

They continued to text everyday and see each other whenever they could, as if nothing had happened. Despite getting closer each week as they shared more about each other, they kept their relationship strictly as friends. Sebastian even asked her to start calling him Seb, like he asked his other close friends. But one night something shifted yet again at Cafe Solace where Sebastian decided to come and watch her sing that night.

The soft, intimate glow of the cafe's dim lights cast a golden hue across the room, wrapping everything in a sense of warmth and secrecy. The hum of quiet conversations filled the background, but the space between Y/n and Sebastian was charged with something entirely different, something unspoken yet undeniable. She stood on the small stage, the familiar microphone in her hand, the band playing softly behind her, but tonight, the song wasn't for the audience. It was for him.

She had chosen a song that bared her soul, "Say You Won't Let Go", a confession disguised in melody and verse. The words echoed the feelings she had been holding back for too long, the ones she had been too afraid to say out loud. Tonight, however, she could no longer keep them hidden.

As she began to sing, her eyes found Sebastian's in the crowd, and from that moment, she couldn't look away. Every word, every note she sang was for him. Her heart ached with the weight of everything she hadn't told him, everything she had been too scared to admit, even to herself. But in the safety of this song, she could let it all out.

"I met you in the dark, you lit me up You made me feel as though I was enough"

Her voice trembled slightly as the lyrics confessed what her heart had been screaming for months. She had told him the darkest parts of her life, the horrors of her husband's abuse, even the night he had forced himself on her. She had expected Sebastian to look at her differently afterward, to distance himself. But instead, he stayed, offering comfort, understanding, and something she had been too afraid to hope for - love.

And now, as she sang, she could feel his gaze never leaving hers, filled with the same longing that had consumed them both for so long. His eyes were soft, full of emotion, but there was also a quiet intensity, a shared understanding between them.

"I'm so in love with you And I hope you know Darling, your love is more than worth its weight in gold We've come so far, my dear Look how we've grown And I wanna stay with you until we're grey and old Just say you won't let go Just say you won't let go"

The final notes lingered in the air, her voice fading into the stillness of the room. But the connection between them only grew stronger. She could feel it pulling them closer, like a tether neither of them could break.

The applause that followed was distant, almost muffled, as if the world around them didn't exist. Her heart pounded as she stepped off the stage, her eyes still locked on his. And when he stood, crossing the room toward her, she knew what was coming.

"I'll walk you home," he said softly, his voice low, as if speaking any louder would break the fragile tension between them.

This time, she didn't hesitate. There was no fear, no doubt holding her back. Her husband was out of town again, and for once, she wasn't afraid of what would happen next. She nodded, unable to trust her voice, and together, they stepped out into the cool night air.

They walked in silence, the soft breeze brushing past them, the city alive around them, yet they were in their own world. She didn't have to say anything; neither did he. The decision had already been made.

When they reached her apartment, she stopped at the door, her hand trembling slightly as she fumbled with the key. She could feel Sebastian's presence behind her, steady and reassuring. And when the door finally opened, she turned to him, her heart racing.

"Do you want to come in?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes searched hers for a moment, and then he nodded. "If you want me to."

She stepped aside, letting him in, and the door closed quietly behind them. The apartment was quiet, her daughter staying with a neighbor for the night. There was no fear of interruption, no reason to hold back.

They stood there in the dimly lit living room, the weight of what was about to happen hanging between them. Y/n felt her breath catch as Sebastian stepped closer, his hands reaching up to gently brush a strand of hair from her face. His touch was soft, almost reverent, as if he was afraid she might break.

But she wasn't fragile anymore. Not with him. Not tonight.

"Y/n..." His voice was hoarse, filled with so much emotion it nearly broke her heart. "Are you sure about this?"

She didn't answer with words. Instead, she stepped forward, closing the distance between them, her hands trembling as they reached for him. And then, in one shared breath, they came together.

The kiss was gentle at first, hesitant, as if both of them were still afraid of what they were doing. But the moment their lips touched, something inside her broke free. The kiss deepened, and suddenly, all the tension, all the longing they had been holding back, spilled out.

It felt wrong and right all at once - a chaotic mix of guilt and desire that threatened to overwhelm her. But being in his arms felt like home. It felt like everything she had been missing for so long, everything she had been too afraid to want.

His hands were warm against her skin as he pulled her closer, his touch sending a shiver down her spine. She could feel the heat of his body pressed against hers, the way his heart raced just as fast as her own. But in the back of her mind, there was a nagging voice, a reminder of the life she still had, the vows she had made, even if they had been broken long ago.

"Seb..." she breathed against his lips, trying to pull away, but her body betrayed her. She didn't want to stop. Not now. Not when she finally felt alive again.

He paused, his forehead resting against hers as they both struggled to catch their breath. "We don't have to," he whispered, his voice thick with restraint. "We don't have to do this if you're not ready."

But she was ready. She had never been more ready for anything in her life. And yet, the guilt twisted inside her, making her hesitate. Her mind was at war with her heart, and she didn't know how to make them agree.

"I want this," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I want you. But..."

She couldn't finish the sentence. The words caught in her throat, too heavy to speak. But Sebastian understood. He always did.

He kissed her again, slower this time, softer, as if trying to tell her without words that he understood her struggle. And when he pulled away, his eyes were filled with the same longing, the same desire she felt. But there was something else too, something gentler, more patient.

"I love you," he whispered, the words slipping out like a confession he had been holding onto for far too long.

Her heart skipped a beat at the sound of it, and for a moment, she wanted to say it back. She wanted to tell him that she loved him too, that he was the only thing keeping her sane, the only person who made her feel like she could breathe again.

But the words wouldn't come.

Not until she looked into his eyes and saw the raw vulnerability, the hope lingering there. Her heart swelled, and the dam that had been holding back everything inside her broke.

"I love you too," she whispered, her voice barely audible, but it was enough.

The look in Sebastian's eyes changed in an instant, a flicker of relief, of overwhelming emotion, flashing through them before he pulled her into another kiss. This time, there was no hesitation, no fear. Only love.

They stumbled back, their lips never parting, as they moved toward her bedroom, where the door closed softly behind them. The night stretched before them, and as they finally came together, it felt like the culmination of everything they had both been too scared to admit for far too long.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Y/n knew this was a line she shouldn't cross. She was married, no matter how broken that marriage was. But with Sebastian, she felt something she hadn't felt in a long time, hope, desire, and the faint glimmer of happiness.

As their clothes fell away, and they gave in to the passion that had been building between them for months, Y/n knew that everything would be different after tonight. What they were doing was wrong, but for the first time in a long time, it felt like something was right.

For the first time in years, Y/n felt free. And in Sebastian's arms, she knew she had found home.

[smutszn]

loml (part 2) - Luigi x y/n

No Luigi, but we need the build-up... I thought this was a one-shot but here we are with a potential love triangle.

You and Luigi are 19 and seniors in college. You two aren't close, but share the same major and extracurricular, being on the Robotics Team. Things are about to change. !slowburn !college !grumpysunshine !luigimangione

loml (part 1) "...You're right, the love of my life might just be a frat bro at this party!! you spit out sarcastically. "Anyway, good seeing you, Mangione" You salute the Robotics prez goodbye as you make your way to join Jamie.

You get to Jamie, and at this point, she'e alone on the dance floor. Looks like her Wednesday Addam's dance scared off the frat boy she was with. Her arms still were swinging violently, and you spotted a few sorority girls snickering against the wall at her.

"Jamie," you yell, "I'm back! I was thinking maybe we should go? I'm getting tired, and you look pretty wasted."

"Y/N nooooooooooo," she slurred. She slung her arms around you. "I'm not drunkkkkkkkk. Can't you dance with meeeee?"

You really wanted to leave, but you would never abandon your friend. Might as well hunker down so she could sober up more.

"Fine," you smile, as you start swaying awkwardly to the music.

You're lost in the music and rolling your hips cheekily at Jamie, but then Thriller comes on. Jamie stops everything and runs to a far corner of the dance floor. She jerks towards you in time to the music, shrugging her shoulders up. You giggle and start doing the Thriller dance towards her, stepping left and right in sync with your arms pawing the sky. In your periphery you see a bunch of sorority and frat dudes staring at you two, but it's all too fun and you don't care.

The song ends and you throw your arms happily around Jamie, giving her a big hug. "Okay, that was so fun," you scream.

"Ughhh Y/N, you smell sooo good," Jamie breathes into your neck. "OMG I really need to pee. Also, can you get me water?"

Oh Jamie.

"Sure, meet in the kitchen after you're done and I'll have some water for you," you tell Jamie. Before you finish speaking, the girl is already zooming upstairs towards the bathroom like a horde of zombies are chasing her.

You make your way to the frat house kitchen. No one else is there. It's relaxing in a weird way being alone and cooling down, while still hearing the bass and muted voices. You get a cup of water for Jamie, then hop onto the kitchen counter to rest your legs and text Jamie to see if she's okay.

"What's a lady doing sitting alone?"

You look up at the voice by the door.

"Jake, hey," your eyes widen. "Do you want to come sit with me?"

Jake is - well, Jake is a specimen of a man. 6'1", dirty blonde hair framing dark eyebrows and dark brown eyes. Smart, a fellow engineering major in your class. Editor-in-chief of the school newspaper. President of the frat your butt is sitting in. Charming womanizer and of course, you've heard the rumors - big down there. Incidentally, your Robotics Team President Luigi's roommate and best friend.

You first got to know Jake because he would sometimes visit Luigi during Robotics Club meetings when the team was building stuff since he wanted to help out. The last time he visited, Luigi told him to fuck off from helping him, so Jake wandered around to your work station and ended up being your assistant while basically flirting with you. You thought nothing of it. This man would flirt with a squirrel. He was fun and insanely charming, a great helper, and you hoped he would come back more.

Although it felt like your relationship with Jake was light-hearted, sometimes it felt... strangely deep in specific moments. The Robotics Club chaos where you two stayed for 4 hours bantering. Him making a passing comment to you last week in the library (you two liked studying in the same Hogwarts-like library in the same room) when he spotted you reading Pride and Prejudice. "Ah, there sits Elizabeth Bennett and her bright eyes in the Upenn library..."

Jake accepted your invite to sit on the counter, and plopped right next to you.

"You didn't answer my question," his dkar eyes pour into yours. You can smell his musky cologne since he's so close. "Why are you here alone? You don't like my party?"

Luigi will be back very soon, but what did we think about Jake? If you can't wait until Part 3 and crave some Luigi, you should play with him on your own and tell me how it goes . Btw you have my permission to take my story ideas or writing to remix on RQ ;)

[valyrfia]

the only drivers who i would even think about supporting outside of racing are vettel and hamilton. and more vettel than hamilton because at least i know that he has publicly said the he wouldn’t vote for & doesn’t like trump.

other than that, both of them have supported various causes over the years - lgbtq+ shirts & helmets, taking the knee, enviromental causes. same with hamilton: misson 44, lgbtq+ helmets etc. their dedication to helping people & giving back in a public way has tended to be very good, and so they are the two drivers i’d be most prone to liking outside of racing - and even then i doubt our world views and morals would line up especially well.

(sorry to mr ‘i have gay friends & like elon musk’, mr ‘you have to respect donald & if you pretend listen to women you get them to have sex with you’ & mr ‘slurs & support of noted racist nelson piquet’. i’ll root for charles wdc, but i don’t think my morals and care and interest in the world would line up with his, and he seems the least problematic at the moment)

shoutout to yuki tsunoda & christian mansell, actually, for both recently(ish) doing relatively small but impactful statements - yuki helping the clean up during the imola floods was lovely, and telling of his character, and christian recently made a statement reassuring all of his trans fans & trans fans of racing as a sport that he saw them, accepted them & that they are “always welcome in his community” which has made me a fan of his quite frankly, even despite the fact that i’m not trans.

just saying - if you cannot support a driver purely concerning racing, then there are options, even though they are all still multi-millionaire men who have probably never given a thought to anyone not involved in racing. i’d still probably learn to separate your enjoyment of a sport/support of an athlete within a sport with support for them as a public figure.

^^^ couldn't put it better myself!

[iamnmbr3]

Let me start by saying that I adore your meta. It's some of the most thorough, well-reasoned hp analysis I've come across & you have a talent for tenderly mining and polishing canon connections I've never considered. You've put into words so many of my feelings about drarry, hinny, and the characters as a whole -- why I love them, why I struggle with them, and why they still compel me after all these years. I'm slowly chipping away at your blog and won't stop until I get to page 1 I've found myself very taken with the Slytherins lately--especially characters like Millicent and Daphne, who are either offhand names or caricatures, as well as some of the older Slytherins we see mentioned, who seem to stay largely out of the war (or at least aren't important enough to it for a mention). There are a lot of widely accepted fanon personalities/interpersonal dynamics for the Slytherins, and they're always fun to delve into. But I often find myself struggling to separate canon from fanon. Do you have any thoughts on what we can extrapolate about the Slytherins in canon (apart from "mean, ugly, & stupid/vapid" as jkr describes nearly every Slytherin but Draco)? And if not, do you have any blogs/posts to recommend on the topic?

Wow. What can I even say. I've been staring at this ask since I received it feeling so warmed by your words. Thank you very much for such high compliments. It always thrills me to hear that people get some enjoyment/mental stimulation out of this blog and that my little ramblings are of interest to others.

To some extent, since the other Slytherins aren't that well developed (due to the fact that Harry was too busy constantly staring at Draco to notice anything about them - I mean he literally doesn't even know Theodore Nott's NAME till he sees him spending more time with Draco) there's a lot of room for people to come up with their own interpretations of their personalities.

That said, there is some info in canon we can go off of. For example, we see Pansy hanging out with Draco a lot more than Millicent or Daphne. We also know that none of their parents were Death Eaters. And given that Millicent and Daphne seem to stay away from Draco more later, maybe their families aren't quite as into the whole blood purist stuff as Pansy and her family are. Especially Daphne does not seem to really participate in any of the bullying we see a lot of the Slytherins take part in.

Personally, I always headcannoned that Daphne never liked Draco very much and that while she did hold some anti-muggle and anti-muggleborn biases (similar to those held by most of the wizarding world), her attitudes were more on the level of those held by Fudge or Crouch and she never actually went in for any of the extremist blood purist beliefs or supported the Death Eaters or even had attitudes as extreme as Walburga Black (who thought the Death Eaters mostly had the right idea even if they went about it the wrong way). I also think she didn't much like the pettier behaviors Draco engaged in - the boasting, the bullying, the mockery, not to mention the weird Potter obsession - (or that the people Draco hung out with engaged in). I think she probably found him stuck up and arrogant and vaguely unsavory and tended to avoid him, even if she wasn't as horrified or enraged by him using slurs like Mudblood as someone like Ron or Harry would be.

I like the idea that after the war she and her sister changed their minds about their beliefs about muggles and muggleborns - even if they were never quite as extreme to begin with as those held by some. I headcanon that they two of them were both back at Hogwarts during Draco's 8th year - and that they actually ended up striking up a friendship - once the realized that he'd changed. After all, they were housemates for years. Plus they ran in similar social circles. And they all changed their minds, so that's a common bond. Daphne tells Draco point blank that she always thought he was a stuck up twat and Draco agrees that he was, which breaks the ice.

As for Pansy, I actually think she was more of a hanger on than a true friend. I thinks he and Draco drifted apart in 7th year. I don't especially like characterizations that whitewash the bad things she did - either the bullying or the bigotry or the "rying to hand harry in to Voldemort thing - or that turn her into some ooc mary sue girlboss with no personality other than being a genius who is great at everything and also getting to be mean with no consequences because she's so cool so no one cares I guess. That's not to say I don't enjoy fics with Draco/Pansy friendship if it's done right. But yeah, based on actual canon I see her moving on to the next person once Draco's fortunes were shown to have irrevocably fallen by book 7. Plus it's arguable that she always expected to marry Draco since he was the best match (thru book 6 anyway) but that she always secretly harbored feelings for Blaise. And after the war she got to act on that. After all, in the train scene in book 6 she seems awfully interested in what girls Blaise likes.

For Millicent we have even less. We know she was a bully. I don't like seeing that ignored or seeing her girlbossified. I do like the idea of her going thru her own little redemption arc and trying to make something of herself. I also imagine that she and Draco kind of drifted apart though. I think she ever became a completely nice person, but I like the idea of her apologizing to Hermione and them ending up at the Ministry together and kind of tolerating each other - just one of the many instances of strange, uncomfortable relationships that pop up in the post-war wizarding society as it tries to put itself together.

As for Crabbe & Goyle, I really hate how often fandom seems to forget or gloss over the fact that both of them were actively participating in torturing other students and seemingly very into it. I think the way Draco treated them - as henchmen/servants - always grated on them but they accepted it due to the relative statuses of their families. When the power dynamic between them shifts though, starting book 6 but really post book 6, they seem to revel in Draco's degradation and fall from grace (and we even see hints of that earlier, like them laughing when Draco gets beaten up by Harry in book 5 and not intervening). I find that super fascinating, and I think they are darker, more twisted characters than people tend to give them credit for. Given all this, I don't see Draco and Goyle staying friends post war and I never get why Goyle having been an enthusiastic participant in the Death Eaters' crimes (in a way that Draco never was) so often gets forgotten. Usually post war he gets reduced to a simple minded sad boi who Draco needs to look after. And I'm just like ??? Where?? Especially given that the alternative provides so much more interesting story fodder.