#we’re they lonely and only had that book?

[k-chips]

Sada and Turo named Koraidon and Miraidon. They were the first paradoxes they found and they always read about them in the Scarlet/Violet book when they were kids so they had some kind of bond with them.

The other paradoxes were already named like that in the books

how come Koraidon and Miraidon have the standard two-word names of the other Paradoxes but then also regular names. why don’t the other paradoxes have those. what kind of person is out there looking at something called a “Scream Tail” and going “yep that’s a normal Pokemon name I see no need to change this”

[saeshiraw]

tired girl hours i’m just ranting bcos i don’t have enough time to cry

[retellingthehobbit]

Retelling The Hobbit Chapter 16: The Song of the Lonely Mountain First chapter / Previous / Next

To view full comic: Webtoon/A03 / Tumblr post with links to all chapters

Other blogs: TikTok/Instagram/Tumblr Sideblog

*crumbles into dust after finishing this* Thank you for reading! This The Hobbit webcomic adaptation thing takes a lot of effort to put together and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate every comment. I also really appreciate the people who’ve spread the word of this comic to their friends! <3

And finally, we’re at the Song of the Lonely Mountain! Within Tolkien’s canon, The Hobbit is an in-universe book that was “written” by Bilbo Baggins, who occasionally lies/embellishes/exaggerates things. The tonal differences between The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings are explained by Bilbo and Frodo/Sam being different kinds of storytellers, with different relationships to “the truth.” This idea is the core of how I’m adapting the novel!  Bilbo is an unreliable narrator who is literally ‘drawing’ from his own limited experiences;  the different art styles reflect the different perspectives of other characters.   The “dwarf art style” in this chapter is inspired by stonework/metalwork in general— but especially by a mix of art deco, Celtic art, and European folk art. 

The central tension of the comic is between Bilbo and Thorin, who each have wildly different ideas about what kind of  story they’re in. Thorin is in a grand fantasy epic, while Bilbo is in a lighthearted children’s book adventure.  The tragedy is, obviously, that only one side of the story ever gets to be fully told.

On a sillier note, a few years ago I had my first gay crush on a lesbian who sang while playing the piano. This chapter is dedicated to the piano lesbian. I hope they’re doing well, wherever they are. XD

I think I might need a bit of a break but I’m hoping for the next chapter, titled “Dawn,” to arrive on January 13th. And your comments/support really do help motivate me to get more done! ^_^

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

Too Many Beds

main masterlist | supernatural masterlist 

summary: you want nothing more than an excuse to sleep next to dean again

pairing: (pre-s1/s1) dean winchester x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 2.1k 

warnings: none really, language, bed sharing, kissing, mutual pining, idiots in love, brief mention of the death of reader’s dad

timeline: starts slightly before season one, ends near the beginning of season one

author’s note: a spin on the classic 'just one bed, what ever shall we do?' trope lol

You’d known Dean all your life, practically. You met him when you were six and he was eight; two lonely little kids stuck with absent (job-driven) fathers and baby brothers you felt responsible for. Over the course of the last eighteen-or-so years you ran into the Winchesters during hunts enough that you considered them family. 

When Sam left for college you were there for Dean and when you lost your dad in a hunting accident Dean was there for you. He actually stayed with you, not wanting you to hunt alone since your brother was off at college too.

So, for the last six months you’d been hunting with Dean (who hadn’t spoken to Sam for over a year).

“One room, two queens,” Dean said to the woman behind the counter, placing “his” credit card on the space between them before sliding it toward her.

“We’re all booked up I’m afraid,” she said.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I was actually about to turn on the no vacancy sign.”

“This is the third motel we’ve been to,” you said, “every one of them has been full—you’ve gotta have something!”

“I mean, there’s technically one room left but the heater’s out and my boss said not to let anyone sleep there because of that.”

There was a silent pause; you and Dean shared a knowing look.

“We’ll pay in cash, your boss ‘ll never know,” you told the woman. She smiled and nodded as you paid her with cash. 

“Room 209, my boss gets here at ten tomorrow morning so please leave before then.” She handed you the key and you nodded in thanks.

You had underestimated just how cold the room could be, but when you unlocked and opened the door you understood why the owner didn’t want anyone staying here.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mumbled, following you into the room and feeling the cold air. “We’re gonna freeze our asses off in here!” he quickly closed the door behind him, hoping the icy air hadn’t swept any snow into the room.

“It’s either this or we sleep in the Impala,” you shrugged, “and, no offense to your car, but it’s fuckin’ uncomfortable to sleep in.”

“And there’s only one bed,” Dean sighed.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” you told him, ignoring his complaints. 

**

“Are you shivering or crying?” Dean asked.

You rolled over so you could meet his stare; “Shivering! It’s fuckin’ cold in here!”

“You wanna…cuddle up, maybe?” he asked hesitantly.

“Excuse me?” you laughed a little.

“Look, I’m not thrilled about it either, but it’s cold in here and unless we both wanna catch fucking pneumonia we better be smart and share body heat.”

You sighed, weighing your options; “Fine. But we never, and I mean never speak of this again, you hear me?”

“Understood.” He nodded.

You rolled back over as he scooted closer to you. He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you into his chest.

“This okay?” he asked quietly, his lips ghosting the back of your head.

“Yeah,” you mumbled back. “Thank you, Dean.”

**

You woke up to the sound of Dean snoring loudly. You were used to his snores, sure, but he’d never been this close. He was laying on his stomach and resting on your chest; his mouth open and his hair tickling your neck. Your first reaction was annoyance but then it quickly washed away as you realized you didn’t want to move a muscle, so Dean could continue sleeping. 

And the more you laid there, listening to his snores, the more you realized how comfortable you were…even in such a physically uncomfortable situation. 

As the time passed and the sun began to rise, you cursed the light that was slowly but surely peeking through the curtain and onto Dean’s face. 

“Morning,” he mumbled to you as he lifted his head up. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his right hand before wiping his mouth. “Sorry,” he chuckled, noticing the small spot on your gray sweater dampened with his drool.

“It’s okay,” you mumbled back. “I think it’s your sweater anyway.”

“I thought it looked familiar.”

He rolled off of you and out of bed. 

You watched as he padded across the dirty carpet and over to the small kitchen. He turned on the coffee maker and the loud, off putting grinding noise made his face scrunch before he quickly shut off the (definitely broken) machine.

“So much for coffee,” he grumbled. “You gonna sit there all morning or you wanna get outta here? We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

“I’m getting up,” you replied. You would usually be annoyed at him for rushing you to wake up, but this time the annoyance was…different. Something about his bedhead, the way his lips were pouting over the lack of caffeine, and how he looked in his brown Henley and baggy sweats just made you wanna hold him again. All you wanted was to pull him back into bed with you and hold him in your arms forever.

**

You were beyond frustrated at this point. How many stupid fucking hotels had to have vacant rooms with two beds and a functional heating system!? 

It had been nearly six months since you and Dean shared a bed and you had been looking for an excuse to sleep next to him ever since. 

But the last couple weeks had been different—Sammy was back. Yes, you loved Sam like a brother, but you missed getting to be alone with Dean. You missed sitting shotgun in the Impala and watching him drive.

Sam definitely noticed the way you looked at Dean, but the younger Winchester didn’t say a word. Without being too obvious about it, he tried to do little things that would let you be close to his brother. He’d sit in a certain chair or part of the couch so that you and Dean had no choice but to sit together. Or he’d make some lame excuse so that he got his own room while you and Dean had to share. “I need to do some more research and I need the light, why don’t you two just sleep in the other room?” for example. 

**

“Two rooms, please,” Dean said, reaching into his coat pocket for his wallet.

“Unfortunately we’ve only got one room left,” the cashier replied. 

You almost couldn’t believe your ears, fucking finally!

“Oh, that’s too bad,” you faked your best frustrated look, of course Sam saw right through that.

“Well, I am not sharing with either or you,” he said with a teasing smile. 

“There’s actually a pullout couch in that room, as luck would have it,” the cashier informed the three of you. 

God fucking damn it, you thought to yourself.

**

It was barely after two when you felt the bed behind you dip, and you shook yourself awake. 

“The hell?” you asked, still half asleep.

“The pullout couch isn’t working,” Dean mumbled quietly. “You mind sharing with me?”

You smiled a little and scooted closer into his arms, indicating you were okay with him sleeping next to you.

“Of course I don’t mind sharing with you,” you whispered and his grip tightened.

**

“I’m gonna go get breakfast,” Sam announced. “I’m assuming you want your usual?”

Dean put his right pointer finger to his lips and furrowed his brows angrily. He gestured to you as you slept and Sam got the message. 

“Usual is good,” Dean whispered before Sam left.

Dean stayed laying perfectly still as you slept on his chest, soft snores escaping your lips and to Dean they were the sweetest sound. 

As you stirred awake slowly, he rubbed your back a little.

“Morning,” you mumbled, a small smile on your lips. “Where’s Sam?”

“He went to grab breakfast,” Dean told you. 

You furrowed your brows as you sat up, looked across the room, and realized something; “The pullout bed looks fine? I thought you said it wasn’t working?” You turned back to Dean, who had a sheepish grin growing on his lips.

“So…maybe I’ve just been looking for an excuse to sleep next to you again. Like we did back in that motel when the heat was out.”

“Really?” You attempted to hide the smile trying to find its way onto your face. 

“When we were checking in last night I noticed how your face lit up when they said there was only one room left,” Dean admitted. “And I saw that disappointed look you made when they said there was a pullout couch. So, am I wrong, or have you been wanting an excuse too?”

“I really liked sleeping next to you that night,” you said, avoiding eye contact. “And you’re right, I have been hoping for another ‘oh no just one bed, guess we’ll have to share’ situation but…”

“But what?” Dean asked when you trailed off. You looked down at him. 

“Dean, you and Sam have been like my brothers for as long as I can remember. I mean, Bobby practically raised all three of us and my actual brother as siblings! Your dad and my dad knew each other basically forever and I guess…I guess I figured our lives are too entangled for anything to ever actually happen between us. We’re family.”

“Chosen family, Y/n.” Dean smiled softly. “Doesn’t mean you have to be my chosen sister, you could be my chosen…you know…” 

You leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his full lips. 

“That,” Dean finished his previous statement. 

“Let’s just keep this between us for now, okay?” you suggested. “If Sam finds out, then your dad will find out, and he’ll immediately tell my brother, then before we know it Bobby—”

“I get the picture, sweetheart,” Dean chuckled before kissing you again. He put his hands on your cheeks as he sat up. He pulled you onto his lap, your legs now straddling his hips. His hands moved to your shoulders then trailed down to your lower back as yours went into his hair. You pulled away from him after a moment, huge smiles on both your faces.

You looked into his eyes, his truly beautiful eyes, and you bit your bottom lip ever so slightly. Your right hand rested on his left cheek, your thumb stroking his skin lovingly. 

“You’re awesome, Dean Winchester,” you whispered. 

“You’re fuckin’ incredible,” he replied before he kissed you again. “And gorgeous, too,” he added. “You know how fuckin’ annoying it’s been, sleeping without you every night since that one time?”

“I do know, Dean, I’ve been just as annoyed about it.”

Dean kissed you one more time before he wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace, tucking his head into your neck. You wrapped your arms around him too, pressing your lips to his temple.

You pulled out of the hug so you could once again look at his face. Resting your forehead on his, you smiled before you kissed him again. 

“Breakfast,” Sam called out as he opened the door, “is served!”

You and Dean froze for a split second before you hurried off of him.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Sam said, “did I interrupt you two?”

“What?” you scoffed. “Of course not!”

“Interrupt? There’s nothing to interrupt?” Dean added.

“Oh…wow you two are fast,” Sam mumbled, shaking his head as he made his way to the kitchen before putting the food down. “Well, pancakes, eggs, and bacon from the continental breakfast.” He gestured to the food now on the table. “Hope you’re hungry.”

As Sam sat down to eat, you looked at Dean anxiously. Say something you begged him with your eyes.

“Sammy,” Dean started as he got out of bed, “would you mind uh…not telling dad? About me and Y/n…kissing just now? When we find him, I mean.”

“Dad’s never really been invested in your love life, but he’s not an idiot,” Sam laughed. 

“So…you are gonna tell him?” Dean furrowed his brows in frustration.

“Dean, he knows you two are together, it’s not some big secret?” Sam replied, shoveling more food into his mouth. “Damn that’s good.”

“Okay, just hold on—what?” Dean asked. “What do you mean dad knows? There’s been nothing to know since like four minutes ago?”

“Wait,” Sam stopped eating and fully turned to face you and his brother, “are you trying to tell me this is the first time you two have kissed?” Sam furrowed his brows deeply as you and Dean both nodded. “So…never in high school?” You shook your heads again. “That prom we crashed?”

“Sam you were there the whole time? When would we have kissed?” you asked.

“Huh,” Sam let out a laugh. “I genuinely thought you two had been a thing since like… ‘98.”

“What!?” you and Dean exclaimed in unison.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Too Much (Little Sister Version)

Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by @redbird-tf

Synopsis: you have nightmares of dying like Mary, and you start to get really clingy with Dean.

It started out in a subtle way. Your first nightmare had been vague, and though it had jarred you, it wasn’t enough to curb your day-to-day activities…much.

“I’m going for a supply run.” Dean’s words had you looking up from the homework you’d been working on. “We’re out of beer…and food.”

“I’ll come.” You were on your feet before the words even left your mouth.

“It’s just a quick run,” Dean argued. “Don’t you have homework?”

“It can wait,” you insisted, already on your way to the Impala. “Let’s go!”

Of course it would be Dean—it had always been Dean. Sure, he had his anger issues and his bad moments. He drank too much and he isolated himself when he was upset. But he always came back; when Sam was at Stanford, when dad disappeared, it was always you and Dean.

So when you started having nightmares about burning on the ceiling, Dean was who you turned to.

Scary things shouldn’t phase you anymore, not after all you’d seen. But this was different. Your whole life you’d heard “what happened to mom.” Never any specifics—it was always, “the demon killed mom,” or “what the demon did to Mary.” Nobody ever gave you any details; they always said you didn’t need to know.

So when you snuck into Dean’s room in the bunker and stole dad’s journal, you were in for a surprise.

The pages you’d read had been stuck together—it didn’t look like anyone had read them—and it took you a moment to peel them apart.

I went to visit a shrink today—I thought he might be a vampire. I went in undercover, booked myself an appointment. I figured out pretty quickly that he wasn’t a monster, but I didn’t leave. It sounds stupid, but I actually talked to him. Told him about Mary. Well, as much as I could tell, which is more than I’ve told anyone. Point is, he told me to write down what happened to her. Every detail I could remember. I don’t like thinking about her…but maybe he was right. Little Sammy asked about Mary just the other day, and I yelled at him. I still feel bad…it’s not his fault, he’s just a kid. Maybe this is the only way I’ll be able to talk about her, but maybe that’ll be enough to keep me from going off on the kids. So here goes…

And John had laid out every gory detail of that night, and you’d read the whole thing. You’d always thought it would be better knowing; that it would somehow bring you some extra closure to know how your mother’s final moments went. You were wrong.

And so came the nightmares. The first one was fuzzy and indistinct; a fire, the sound of screaming. But it was enough to have you going with Dean whenever he left the bunker.

The second one was more vivid. It was also when you realized that it wasn’t your mother you were dreaming about—it was you.

It was so real—you felt the demon’s powers slashing open your stomach, you felt your body lifting off the floor…

But the worst part was the heat. It stung your eyes and sizzled against your blood and seared your skin. You tried to scream, but the smoke choked you and stopped your voice. You struggled to inhale, coughing on the smoke and crying at the pain that lit up every nerve ending.

The bright light of the fire left first, then slowly afterwards the pain. But you were still choking and gasping for breath when you sat up in your bed.

“Dean,” you whimpered, the lone word echoing through your empty room. You weren’t quite used to the bunker yet—you were so used to the motels, where your brothers were right next to you at all times. Most of the time it was annoying, but right now…

You threw your covers off you, finally getting a hold of your runaway breathing as you padded barefoot towards your door. You couldn’t stay in this room—it was this room that you’d dreamt of, this ceiling that you’d burned on.

You flung your door open and started down the hall, but you only got halfway to Dean’s room before you stopped. You couldn’t go to him like this, a tear-streaked mess in the middle of the night; he would know something was wrong, and then you’d have to talk about it.

You couldn’t talk about it.

A bang from the kitchen stole your attention and your breath, your mind wandering towards images of a yellow-eyed intruder. You tip-toed to the kitchen, peaking around the corner and breathing easily when you saw Dean rummaging in the fridge for a beer.

You slipped into the kitchen, heading straight for Dean.

“You’re up early,” he greeted, stiffening in surprise when you wrapped your arms around him. “Hey, something wrong?”

“No,” you mumbled, your voice muffled by his shirt. “Good morning,” you added lamely as you pulled away, as if the greeting would explain away the hug.

“Yeah, mornin.” Dean shrugged, choosing to ignore your strange behavior. “Couldn’t sleep? It’s only 5.”

It was later than you’d thought.

“Not really,” you said. “Can we make breakfast?” You weren’t hungry, but you’d take any excuse to keep Dean close.

“Only if you get the bacon,” Dean said with a grin.

“I think we’re out,” you answered.

“Unacceptable,” Dean decided. “You start on the pancakes, I’ll make a run.”

“Wait! Um…” you wracked your brain for an excuse. “Um, the pancakes can wait, I’ll go with you.”

Dean squinted ever so slightly as he stared you down—that was twice in a week that you wanted to go with him to the store without a good reason.

“You sure you’re ok?” He asked.

“Yeah, just…I want some fresh air.”

“Alright.” You both knew he didn’t believe you, but neither of you brought it up again.

You felt pathetic as you trailed behind Dean, but the idea of sitting around the empty bunker alone until he got back or Sam woke up…

You just couldn’t do it. You couldn’t feel safe anymore, not even in your own home, without Dean around.

You sat just a little closer to Dean than you normally would once you got into the Impala, sitting towards the middle of the seat even though the right side was empty. You felt Dean watching you from the corner of his eye, but to your relief he didn’t say anything.

…

“Ok, so how many pounds do we want?” You held a brand of bacon in each hand, eyeing them both. When Dean didn’t respond to your question, you turned around to find the cart there, but no Dean. “Dean?” You glanced up and down the aisle, but he wasn’t in sight. You threw both bacon packages into the cart and ran down the aisle, going down the row and looking frantically down every aisle you passed. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing.

You rubbed a hand against your chest when your next breath wouldn’t go through your tightened wind pipe. You tried to take deep breaths, but each one was less satisfying than the last. Once you reached the last aisle with still no Dean, you turned around and started back the way you came, hoping that he was down an aisle on the other side of the store.

“Dean? Dean!” You were calling his name, but you could barely even hear your winded and squeaky voice in the vast emptiness of the store, so you knew there was no way Dean could.

You passed the aisle with your cart and kept going, looking down the first, then the second…

“Dean!” You rushed forward, flinging yourself into Dean’s surprised embrace.

“Hey, what happened?” Dean was stiff and alert, whipping his head around to see what had spooked you.

“I couldn’t find you,” you whimpered, tightening your arms around Dean’s midsection. “I-I didn’t know where you went. Don’t do that to me!”

“Ok, ok hey I’m sorry,” Dean soothed, pulling away and kneeling down, brushing your hair out of your face so he could see you. “C’mon, what’s going on with you? What’s got you so spooked?”

You didn’t answer—you just launched yourself forwards and wrapped your arms around Dean’s neck, burrowing your head against his shoulder.

“Don’t leave me,” you pleaded.

“Ok, ok.” Dean held you closely, rubbing your back. “Ok I’m right here kiddo. Let’s get out of here, ok? Let’s go home.”

…

You held Dean’s hand in vice grip on the way out to the car, but he didn’t comment on it. He waited until you were safely bundled into the Impala to speak again.

“Kid, you need to tell me what’s going on here.”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Dean glanced at you, but he didn’t speak again.

…

You were feeling lucky for most of the day—Sam and Dean spent the morning going through books in the library, so you were able to do your homework right next to Dean without warranting worry or attention.

“Check this out.” Sam’s words to Dean had you looking up curiously while Sam turned his computer around. “Looks like a case in town.”

Your heart dropped to your toes—you were too young to hunt, so a hunt in town meant that you sat in the bunker while the boys were out.

They spent the next twenty minutes talking about the case before they got ready to head out. Dean was throwing guns in a bag in his room when you went to find him.

“We’ll be back tonight,” Dean promised. “But if we find the thing that’s killing these people, it might not be until late, so don’t wait up ok?”

“Can’t I come?” Your tug on Dean’s sleeve stopped his movements.

“You know you can’t,” he said. “What’s going on with you? And don’t say nothing, because I know something’s wrong.”

“I just don’t want you to go,” you said. “Please De? Please don’t leave me here alone.”

“You’re not gonna tell me what’s going on?” Dean asked.

You shook your head.

“Then I have no choice.” Dean sighed. “People are dying, and you can’t come. I have to go.” Dean zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “We’ll be back before tomorrow.”

“Dean—“ you reached out for your big brother, but in one stride he was out of your reach, then to the door, then he was gone.

…

You were trying to read the same page over and over, but the words were swimming around the page, blurred by the tears in your eyes and the shaking in your hands that had the pages fluttering. You looked up for the millionth time, a deep pit in your stomach convincing you each time that the yellow eyes demon would be standing in your doorway, waiting to kill you.

You dropped the book on your desk with a thud, finally giving up on homework—you wouldn’t get anything done until Dean was home, you just couldn’t focus.

You picked up your headphones and slipped them over your head, but you found that not being able to hear your surroundings made your anxiety even worse, and the soothing notes of your favorite song did nothing to help for once. You tried turning on the tv, but you found that you couldn’t look away from the door for more than a few seconds before you started to get scared again.

Finally you couldn’t take it anymore—you closed your room door, your bathroom, and even your closet; open doors just had your imagination running away with images of yellow eyes coming to kill you.

You burrowed yourself under the covers and tried to force yourself to sleep. Hour after hour you convinced yourself that you’d just never be able to sleep, but you didn’t have anything else to do but keep trying, so you didn’t move.

You were still laying there when the door opened.

“Hey sweetheart,” Dean greeted. You smiled at him, and he smiled back for a second before the smile faded. “Me and Sammy have another case—we’re gonna be gone a while, ok?”

“No, wait!” You tried to get up to stop Dean, but you couldn’t move. “Dean, don’t go! Dean don’t leave!”

He was already out the door, and in his place stood Azazel, pale yellow eyes glowing in the darkness.

“Dean!” You screamed, but it was too late; your pajamas were already soaked in blood coming from a painful gash across your stomach. You whimpered, finally able to move as you wrapped your arms around the wound as if you could protect yourself. You couldn’t.

You were sobbing as your body lifted off the ground, your stomach lurching as you went from wall to ceiling. There was no warning spark, or small flame—you were just suddenly and completely engulfed in flames, your hair burning and your skin scorched. You were still screaming when Dean came running back into the room.

“Dean,” you whimpered. “Dean no!”

Yellow eyes had a knife in his hand, and he turned it on your big brother in an instant. As the fire burned around you, you watched as Dean got stabbed again and again and again…

You woke up screaming. The fire was gone, and so was the pain, but you couldn’t even tell. Your eyes couldn’t take in a single detail of the room—they were blurry and unfocused from sleep. Your brain couldn’t decipher what parts of your dream were real and what weren’t. You sobbed out short and shaky breaths, and your cries were just starting to fade into whimpers when you heard it; the loud thunk of the bunker door closing.

Your fears and your crying returned full force, and you were gasping for breath as you felt around for any kind of weapon.

He’s coming he’s coming he’s coming he’s coming…

It was like all you could see was Azazel as you heard footsteps echoing down the hallway. You wanted to do what Dean always did—push his fear down, throw away his emotions, and just fight—but you couldn’t. You couldn’t catch your breath, you couldn’t stop sobbing, and you couldn’t find your gun.

When your door handle started to turn, you thought you were going to pass out. Your already-unsatisfying breath caught in your throat, and with the lack of breath came black spots at the edges of your vision.

You forced a single deep breath in and out—you couldn’t be unconscious when the demon came to kill you, you couldn’t be that helpless. You had to fight, even though you would lose.

The door swung open, and you were still gasping for breath and grappling for any kind of weapon when—

When Dean walked in.

“Dean!�� You were off the bed and in your brother’s arms before he had a chance to speak.

“Hey, hey what’s going on?” Dean’s arms tightened around you when he heard you sobbing and felt you shaking. “Baby what happened?”

“Don’t leave me,” you begged between sobs. “Don’t leave me De, don’t leave me.”

“Ok, ok I’m not going anywhere,” Dean promised. “N/N I’m right here.”

“What’s going on?” Sam walked into the room, staring at his siblings with concern.

“I…I think we’re ok here,” Dean decided, carrying you to your bed. “You should go bandage that cut, I’ve got her.” When Sam hesitated, Dean assured him, “I’ve got her Sam.”

Sam finally left, and Dean climbed up on your bed, settling you into his lap when you wouldn’t let your vice grip around his neck go.

“I need you to talk to me,” Dean pleaded. “I need to know what’s going on, what this is.”

“There was fire,” you whimpered, your tears soaking Dean’s shirt. “There was fire, and it burned everywhere, and I was bleeding and I was on the ceiling, and-and yellow eyes stabbed you, and—“

“Whoa, whoa, slow down.” Dean started to rock you back and forth subconsciously. “Hey, how do you know about all that stuff.”

“I’m sorry.” You were sobbing again. “I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I read his journal and he wrote down everything and I thought it would help but…but now I can’t stop dreaming about it. I’m so—I’m so scared, De. All the time.”

“Shh, shh you’re ok,” Dean soothed, his hand cradling the back of your head. “I’ve got you sweetheart, I’m right here. Listen,” Dean tried to pull away so he could look at you, but you just tightened your grip. “Ok. I used to have nightmares about mom, too. All the time. I still get them sometimes.”

“You do?” You sniffled. “What do you do about them?”

“Well now it’s easier, because we killed yellow eyes. He’s gone, N/N. Nobody’s ever gonna die like mom did again, especially not you. You know that, right?”

“The dreams feel so real,” you answered.

“I know, I know they do. But they’re not. And I’m gonna help you through this, but kiddo, I can’t be around all the time, you know that. I’ve got a job to do.”

“O—ok,” you sniffled. “I can do better.”

“But I’m still gonna be here when you need me. I promise.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I need you right now.”

Dean’s arms squeezed impossibly tighter around you.

“Then I’m here for you.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz

[ghouldump]

hi i love your writing unfortunately there aren't many fics for the iwtv so tysm!!

i was wondering if you could write something about louis lestat and claudia with a (vamp?) reader that accidently timetraveld

Back In My Arms | Lestat x Reader x Louis

ෆ time traveling accidentally and you're able to relive bittersweet memories.

thank you and I agree, especially the amc version compared to the movie. The other posts are coming, but I had to rush and get this one out because it was so gut wrenching for me 😭 LOL

“What do you think? The blue or the purple,” you held the dresses to your body.

“I prefer your birthday suit,” Lestat said over the classical music, making you roll your eyes at him. Could he ever be serious when you needed him to be?

“Louis,” you called out, wanting a real opinion.

“Hm? Oh, the purple” he was hardly listening, more focused on the pages of the book.

“So the blue, got it,” you grumbled, storming away, to finish packing your things.

“Ma chèrie, why are you leaving again? It truly makes no sense to me why you remain friends with this mortal,” Lestat said.

“I don't see why you care, it's not like either of you will notice I’m away,” you said, as you closed the bag.

“Don't say that, we do notice,” Louis said, defensively.

“I'll only be away for a night,” you mumbled, checking your appearance in the mirror, and slinging the bag over your shoulder.

“Stay, you can give us a more detailed visual representation of the dresses,” Lestat said, straightening his posture when you scoffed.

“Sex doesn't fix everything”

“It is a start”

“And maybe that's why we’re in the situation we’re in, now, if you'll excuse me, I’m going hang with my mortal friend, who communicates with me and doesn't want to block out our problems with Mozart, books, and sex,” you said, storming out of the townhouse, making sure to slam the door.

Getting into your car, you began to drive to your close friend, George, or Georgie, you called him both. He was middle-aged, although he was closing in on becoming elderly. He'd oftentimes been told he resembled Bill Nye, but those comments usually only made him red in the face, before he sent a storm of swear words at the person, in his thick Cajun accent. Divorced and cut out of his kid's lives, he was lonely, but so were you. Georgie was the only mortal to ever know that you were a vampire, and he made you feel normal.

Although having a few questions at first, he eventually let the matter go, and hardly ever brought it up. The two of you had been friends for nearly a decade now, and you planned to hold on until the bitter end. He wasn't too keen on being turned, scorned by his wife leaving him and his children siding with her. Lestat and Louis weren't comfortable with your friendship at all, but after realizing your relationship was completely platonic and you weren't cutting him out of your life, they grungily accepted him.

As you finally parked in front of Georgie’s house, approaching the door, you shook your head, discovering it was unlocked. Letting yourself in, you locked the door, going to where you'd both hang out for hours, his basement.

“You need to keep your door locked old man, anyone could just walk in here,” you said, going down the stairs. Tossing your bag onto the couch you'd usually sleep on, in the windowless room.

“Nobody comes here but you,” he said, making you laugh.

“So how is it going?” you asked, sitting in a nearby chair.

“A little more progress than last time, how are things at home?”

“Lestat is…well Lestat and Louis will always act like our issues aren't there,” you shrugged.

“Have you tried talking to them?”

“Of course, Lestat doesn't take anything seriously enough, and Louis wants to brush over it all,” you said.

“Hopefully, this is a success, because then we can fix everything,” Georgie smiled.

“Maybe you, but I don't see my problems being fixed”

“Don't underestimate science,” he told you.

Georgie had been working on an actual time-machine portal. He believed if he could go back in time, undo his mistakes, could prioritize his family over work, maybe that would stop his wife from having an affair with the neighbor, from leaving him and draining his wallet, and taking his children who he couldn't even get a happy birthday from.

He insisted that you would be able to use it, to repair your companionship. A long time had passed since 1910 and much tragedy and heartbreak happened. Separating from each other and eventually reconnecting, recently everything had been so stagnant and bland. No energy to argue about obvious conflicts, but unwilling to leave each other again and be forced to deal with the pain.

“Oh, my goodness,” Georgie stood up, his hand going to his chest. Your eyes widened, worried that he would croak.

“What is it?” you asked, you couldn't sense any internal issues, noticing his thoughts were jumping for joy.

“I think…I think it works,” he said, as he began to type on the nearby computer. The pod he'd spent years building, lit up, the white light faint.

“It turns on, how will you know if it works for real?” you asked.

“Could you maybe catch a few raccoons, rats, birds, anything, we can try on them,” he asked. Standing up, you went outside, quickly grabbing a rat from near the drainage, bringing it to him.

“Done,” you smiled, holding it firm, tossing it in the pod, as he opened the door. The rat squeaked a bit, running in circles, as Georgie typed.

The machine began to make a noise before the rat burst. It’s guts splattering on the door.

“Ew, what happened?” you asked him, pressing against the door, to look inside in disgust.

“It seems like it is releasing some sort of radiation, too strong for animals and people, I'll have to keep working on it,” he grumbled disappointedly.

“I could try it if you want,” you offered.

“The radiation will be damaging-

“In case you forgot, I’m hardly human anymore, I am a bit intrigued, the worst thing that could honesty happen is I get burned up, and I’ll heal,” you said, as he faced you.

“Are you sure? I don't want you to feel like you have to do this, Y/n,” he said, but you brushed him off.

“Trust me, I don't, but you've put so much time into this, almost as long as I've known you, I want this to work out for you,” you said.

“Okay, let me get suited up, to clean it first,” he said, changing into the nbc suit to clean the inside of the pod. While waiting for him, you checked your phone, seeing a message from Louis.

“Sending a picture of the dress, I’m sure you look beautiful as always”

Smiling softly, you set your phone on the counter, taking your shoes off, watching as Georgie scrubbed the blood away. Little did Louis know, you wouldn't be wearing the dress to go hunting tonight. As soon as he finished cleaning, he was back at your side, typing on the monitor.

“We’ll do, let's say 5 minutes into the future, I’ll think of a number and when you come back, tell me the number, and time it to see if there is a significant change in time,” he said, as you nodded in agreement, accepting the small stopwatch, stepping into the pod.

Your arms at your sides, you briefly gave him a thumbs up, hoping to reassure his anxious thoughts. Typing on the computer, the pod began to light up again, the noise leaking out before it started to shake. Standing up, Georgie stood with his eyes wide, his jaw dropping as you vanished.

“Oh my Lord, it's working,” he said, his hand shakily went to his mouth.

Back at home, Louis and Lestat were relaxing, leisurely lounging around when it happened. A sudden feeling of dread washed over them as if you were gone. Glancing at each other, both of them stood up, rushing from the house to your friend, George's home. Bursting through the door, they went downstairs.

George looked back, gasping, surprised to see the elder vampires. However, before he could say anything or move, Lestat had him pressed against the wall, his hand around his neck.

“What did you do?”

“M-machine,” he choked out, looking over at the pod.

“Lestat, look,” Louis said, staring at the pod, fog seeping from the bottom.

“What is this?” he continued, looking to George.

“Time machine,” he struggled to say, before Lestat dropped him.

“You didn't put her into your experiment,” Louis said out loud, shaking his head, already pacing the floor.

“She offered, and it was only five minutes into the fut-

Suddenly, within the fog, you could be seen, smiling in excitement from the exhilaration of the atoms passing through your body. Your smile quickly faltered, seeing your lovers and a nervous Georgie.

“What are you doing here?” you asked.

“Get her out of it, now,” Lestat told Georgie.

“Leave him alone,” you argued.

“This isn't safe, Y/n, we thought you were gone,” Louis told you.

“Don't parent me, Louis”

“Get her out of it now, or it will be destroyed,” Lestat said, shoving George into the computer, his hands smashing against the keyboard.

“Stop it, Lestat,” you yelled.

“What did you do?” George stressed, as the machine lit up. Typing as quickly as possible, he couldn't see the results that he needed.

“Y/n, he made me press a few buttons, it is going to the past, I don't know how far, but I’m going to fix it,” Georgie said apologetic.

“What?” Lestat and Louis said at the same time.

“Do not kill him, fucking asshole,” you said before vanishing.

“Can you bring her right back?” Louis asked.

“I don't even know how far it has brought her”

“Well figure it out,” Lestat snapped.

“This is your fault, she told me all about you and your ugly ways,” George said. Tilting his head, Lestat was about to reach for him, but Louis grabbed his arm.

“He has to bring her back to us,” he reminded him.

“She is going somewhere in the 19th century, I can't pinpoint where and when. Time should be a little longer through the pod, so I’d estimate a few hours for us if it is a success”

“For us?” Louis asked.

“IF it is a success?” Lestat screamed at the same time as him. George truly didn't understand what you saw in the dramatic man, other than his good looks.

“I've been studying this for some time now and with time travel, it could feel like days, or even longer, but in reality, it should only be a few hours, and I say if because we haven't tried going to the past. The pod isn't sustainable for the undead and Y/n getting in was the first actual progress of real-time travel,” he explained.

“Maybe one of us could go in and-

“No, that is the worst solution, we don't know where she went, so I wouldn't know where to send you and it is only one pod, and overloading the database is the last thing that needs to happen, we’ll give it a few hours,” George said, standing.

“Where are you going?” Lestat asked him.

“Have a glass of wine, if it could take a few hours, I’m going to relax for a while, you're free to make yourselves comfortable,” he said, stepping out of the NBC suit, before going up the stairs.

“We just have to wait,” Louis reassured Lestat, who stood staring at the pod, unable to believe this was happening.

As the pod finally stopped shaking, you peered outside at the change of setting. You were outside, Georgie nowhere to be seen. Turning on the stopwatch, you muttered an apology to him, before punching the thick glass and pushing the door open. Immediately, you recognized the familiarly different environment.

Your bare feet touching the dirt, you recognized the small, poorly built houses. You hadn't seen these houses in ages after Katrina wiped the remaining pieces away.

“Hey, what are you doing-

“You saw no one here, and you won't let anyone get near this precious contraption, now go on inside,” you glamoured the man, watching as he went back up the stairs, into the house.

Sighing, you began to leave the area, ignoring the strange stares. From the way everyone dressed, you were somewhere between the first three decades of the 19th century, and you were sticking out like a sore wearing the knee-length sundress. There was only one place you knew to go, to be sure of the date.

Coming to a complete stop in front of your home, you could see the lights on. Taking a deep breath, you reminded yourself that if they were here, this wasn't the same Louis and Lestat you were having issues with, and so you'd have to act accordingly.

Opening the door, you could hear the shuffling of feet and the sound of furniture being torn apart. Furrowing your eyebrows, you went upstairs, surprised to see them in that room. Making eye contact with Louis, he did a double take.

“Y/n,” he said, taken away by your beautiful, he hadn't seen a dress made in such a way before, shorter than average, but still classy.

Hearing your name, Lestat opened that lovely pink coffin, climbing out, and tossing the diary to the side.

“Ma chérie, you stopped for shopping?” he asked, a small smirk in place.

“Did you see her?” Louis finally asked. At a loss of words, you struggled to speak for a moment.

“I'm sorry, I'm not feeling like myself, what year is it?” you asked.

“1920, you alright?” Louis asked, approaching you.

“Look who finally decided to crawl home to her coffin and write about her psychosexual behavior,” Lestat spat.

“You read my diary?” hearing that beloved voice, your eyes began to sting.

“Only a little bit,” Louis confessed.

“I read all of it and you are a little deviant brat,” Lestat said, as you slowly turned around. The bloody tears began trickling down your cheeks, as you stared into her eyes. She was real, in the flesh, not a figment from your dreams or old photos, but was here in front of you.

“Claudia,” you said, her name flowing from your lips caused you to visibly tremble.

“Mama,” she started, concerned, her eyes widening as you rushed over, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug.

Weeping bitterly, you held her close, unwilling to let her slip away this time, whispering sweet words of love to her. Confusedly, she hugged you back, as you both sat on the floor, holding her in your arms.

While the two men were originally set on disciplining their wild daughter, their concern now shifted to you.

“Claudia, you've been reckless-

“They're buried in Chalmette,” you interrupted, Lestat, your hand comfortingly brushing over her curls.

“How do you know that?” Louis asked, but you ignored him.

“My beautiful girl,” you whispered, hugging her one last time tightly, before letting her go.

“Are you okay, mama?”

“I couldn't be better at this moment,” you reassured her, kissing her forehead.

“Let her off this time, please, for me, she's still a child, and there will be a time when we wish we still had our beautiful girl staying here with us,” you said, facing them, seeing your blood-stained face, they were beyond concerned.

“It's still a little early for bed, perhaps you'd like to play a game of chess?” you asked her, wiping your eyes and accepting her hand, as she stood up.

Going into the living room, Claudia couldn't help but think about how unusually attentive you were being. Sure, she was just as spoiled as other children, but you never stopped her from being disciplined when you all agreed she needed to be.

“Claudia, you know I love you, right?” you asked her, watching as she set up the game.

“Yes,” she nodded.

“Without you, an eternity isn't the same,” you admitted, as Lestat and Louis came downstairs, joining the two of you.

Your lovers watched you intentively, as you played the game with Claudia. Lestat noticed how you were letting her win, purposely moving to the wrong places, as she took your pieces while showering her with praises.

He couldn't put his finger on it, but something about the interaction seemed different. Any other time you played chess with her, you gave her a challenge, expressing where she was improving or where she needed work. This time, you were treating her like a little child, like you hadn't seen her in forever, or would never see her again.

Time flew and after two long rounds, Louis stood, announcing Claudia needed to go to bed. Groaning, she stood, wanting to stay longer, but you shook your head.

“It's okay, you need your beauty rest, I love you so much, sleep well,” you told her, hugging her firmly once more.

“Love you too,” she mumbled before she was stomping up the stairs.

“Are you sure you are okay, ma chérie?” Lestat asked, as soon as her bedroom door shut.

“I am, I just, the thought of one day losing her, or being apart hurts my soul, our relationship would probably never be the same,” you said, smiling sadly at him.

“Why would we never be the same?”

“Because she's our daughter, and it would take losing her to see how much she is loved, even you, she's so much like you and that's why you clash so much,” you laughed.

“Wouldn't that make us stronger?”

“I wish that was the case, but holding onto the past makes you unable to communicate like you're supposed to-

“Where is all this coming from? Talk to us, what's on your heart?” Louis asked.

“Please don't question me, but there will be a time when we are so weirdly uninterested in each other, and we try to block out our issues with reading, music, and sex,” you said.

“Why though?”

“Holding onto the past”

“Then you'd have to remind us of what is ahead and not behind,” Lestat said, leaning down, pecking your lips.

Feeling your face burn from the passionate kiss, you looked down, your eyes widening noticing your fingers faded. You have watched enough sci-fi movies with Georgie to know it was time for you to leave.

“I need to make a quick run-

“The sun will be up in another hour,” Louis told you.

“I know, I won't be long, love you both,” you said, pecking both of their lips, before running out of the house.

As you ran back to the backyard, you were surprised to see the man back outside.

“What are you doing?” you asked him, seeing as he sat on the steps, watching the pod.

“I saw some kids run back here, so I’m just watching this contraption,” he shrugged. Staring at the man, you recognized him, Georgie’s grandfather, but much younger. You had seen the few photos hanging up on the house and you identified the face quickly.

“If you had advice for a future relative, a son or grandson, what would you tell him?”

“Life gets hard, we make mistakes, and we lose people, but we have to hold onto the better part of things. I get divorced, but I was able to experience a beautiful marriage, same with children, I was fortunate to experience fatherhood”

“Beautifully said, go get some rest,” you said, glamouring him, watching as he nodded, going inside.

Carefully stepping over the broken glass, you cautiously stepped inside, shutting the door, as the fog came back, the machine lighting up, before you were gone.

“Anything?”

“You just asked me that a few minutes ago, please, have some damn patience,” George said to Lestat, who was pestering him about you. The man was trying as hard as he could and Lestat did not care one bit.

Suddenly, the pod lit up, the fog coming back. Typing on the computer the door opened, before you stepped out, your feet dirty.

“I was away 6 hours and 40 minutes, how long has it been?” you asked, tossing Georgie the stopwatch.

“2 long hours, you've been crying,” Louis said, going to pull you into a hug.

“I saw her, our girl, she was perfect,” you said, feeling him stiffen in your arms before his shoulders shuttered from crying.

“What was she doing?” he asked.

“She had gotten in trouble, but I convinced you both to let it go, and we spent time together,” you said, as he smiled, nodding.

“You told her you loved her?” he asked, hopeful.

“Yes,” you nodded, as the hug tightened before he pulled away.

“And you told me something, so valuable,” you said, shifting to Lestat.

“Of course I did,” he smirked.

“You told me to remind you both of what is ahead of us and not our past,” you said, watching as he dabbed his eyes, stopping any tears on his part.

“Sounds like something I’d say, I guess,” he grinned.

“Are you ready to come home? I know you're probably exhausted from all of this?” Louis asked, grabbing your bag when you nodded.

Glancing at Georgie, who stood awkwardly waiting for you to finish with your reunion. Moving away from Lestat, you stood in front of your good friend, before pulling into a hug.

“Someone dear to you told me some valuable advice I want to share with you,” you smiled.

“Okay”

“Life gets hard, we make mistakes, and we lose people, but we have to hold onto the better part of things. Our past isn't meant to be changed, but rather we embrace the experience, both good and bad, because it shapes us into who we are. You might not be able to get your marriage back, but you could try to reach out to your children, Georgie,” you said, smiling as he teared up, agreeing with you.

“We have our own affairs to handle,” Lestat groaned, ready to leave the tiny basement.

“Shh,” Louis nudged him before you followed the two out of the house.

“Now that I think about Lestat was more charming back then, but now it's you, Louis,” you said, both of you laughing as Lestat scoffed, going on a rant about his greatness.

You missed Claudia greatly, but you had to keep moving, you all did. You still had an eternity of life, but maybe one day, just maybe, when you're reunited, she'll be where she belongs, back in your arms.

[unsolvedjarin]

just you wait sunshine.

pairing: (sebastian vettel x driver! reader)

summary: sebastian’s retirement has led him to reminisce his past life and mistakes, including you. little does he know, the universe is about to give him a second chance via a small bookstore in switzerland.

note: this went on WAYYY longer than i wanted it to be and it didn’t really go the direction i wanted either, but we move

content warning: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, more sebastian centric than reader centric tbh (sorry i just love him so much)

word count: 3.7k

Retirement had been good to Sebastian.

He’d finally been able to spend time in his farm house, plant some trees, grow a garden, and along with all that, still have time to drive cars whenever an event needed him to. It was like his entire life schedule magically cleared up in front of him.

He missed racing of course, he won’t pretend that he didn’t. After all, he spent 15 years in the sport, it was his pride and joy for quite a long time. But that time of his life is over, he’s accepted that. He wanted to enjoy the other things in life instead, be able to see and experience things that the busy life of being a driver didn’t let him experience.

Sitting on a chair in his porch watching the sun set, he reflects on what he could have done differently. Who he could have treated differently. And when only one name enters his mind, the same one that’s haunted him for the past 5 years, he sighs reluctantly and heads back inside to prepare his dinner.

—

2012

“What do you wanna do when you grow up?”

The question takes you by surprise as you take another swig of your beer. The moon shone brightly on the porch of whatever airbnb your team had set you up at, and the stars were sparkling like they had never before.

“What kind of question is that, Sebby?” you giggle. “Isn’t this what we’re gonna do for eternity? Racing?”

Sebastian shrugs, looking up at the sky on his foldable chair that you had brought on the trip. “Yeah but after that, you know? I’ve always thought about what my life will be like after retirement.”

“Okay old man, because you’re sooo close to retiring,” you tease. He gives you a playful light shove for that, smiling as he does. The air feels freer and lighter than it ever has before.

“But seriously,” Sebastian chuckled. “Have you ever thought about it?”

You ponder for a second before replying, “No, not really. I mean my career’s just starting, I haven’t really thought about the end. But when I do retire, I think I’d like to be a writer.”

“Like those egotistical types to make a biographical book about themselves?” Sebastian asks, earning a laugh from you. The sound made him feel things that he’d only ever felt before with you.

“God no,” you laugh out. “I don’t wanna be like those old blokes who get obsessed with themselves after they retire. I just wanna write fictional books, maybe under a pen name. Just a simple life; me, my theoretical dog, and my theoretical book.”

Sebastian nods with an understanding look in his eye. He wants that life too. A simple one, away from the public. Even now at his young age, the paparazzis and press were getting annoying quickly.

“I want to live in a house far away from the city,” he says. “Maybe the suburbs— no that’s too near…a farm! I’ll live in a farmhouse.”

You smile at the thought of Sebastian Vettel, two time Formula 1 world champion, just lounging about in a farm tending to his animals and crops.

“Wouldn’t it get boring? Or lonely? Milking your cows alone?”

He answers you with no delay, “Well I’d want you to be with me of course.”

You thanked whatever higher power was listening at that time that he couldn’t see how your blush formed over the darkness of the night. Regaining your sense of self, you reply, “What makes you think I’d want to go with you?”

“Wouldn’t you?” he asks genuinely. “You could write your books inside while I…I don’t know what type of farm I’ll make, exactly. But I’ll be tending to that and you can write your books with your theoretical dog.”

“It’ll be our theoretical dog, then.”

Sebastian replied with a soft smile, “Ours, then.”

—

He had settled on bees. Having a bee farmhouse. It wasn’t easy work, it was definitely more complicated than milking a cow like you had said, but it made him happy, and it made him content.

Well, as content as he could be.

You had your first kiss that night, Sebastian recalled. He remembers because even though you didn’t think it, he could see the red blush dusted lightly on your cheeks, a sign he made the right choice leaning in and making his move.

Preparing his dinner for one in his cozy yet lonely farm house, he realizes he could have had this all with you. If he had just been more kind and if you had forgiven him, you could have had all of this together. A life that both of you had always wanted.

—

2018

“Sebastian, I’m not asking you to retire or something, I’m just asking you to take a break, please,” you beg. He remembers your exasperated voice as clear as day.

“I can’t take a break, Y/N, you don't understand. If I don’t get at least podium in this race, that's it, my career is basically over.”

Scoffing, you replied, “Your career isn’t over just like that, you’ve still got another year with Ferrari for christ’s sake.”

“You wouldn’t get it,” he mumbled, opting to turn away from you and put on his racing gear instead.

He’d been distant the whole season, the tension between the two of you increasing and increasing that finally it just snapped this race weekend. He’d been icing you out, acting like you didn’t exist because he was ‘practicing for the races ahead.’

At first you understood, you were a driver too. You recognized the difficulty of always losing race after race, how after a while it took a toll on your mental wellbeing. So you gave him space.

Then, when that didn’t work, you tried reaching out, helping him. It was the worst mistake of your life. Every time you tried to talk to him, to ask him what was wrong so you could help, he kept pushing you further and further away, acting like you were getting in the way of his work, sometimes even getting angry.

That went on for the whole season, until finally today, on qualifying morning, you snapped and demanded he talk to you.

“What the hell do you mean ‘I wouldn’t get it’? I have the exact same job as you,” you accused. You’d been patient for months and his vagueness was starting to get on your nerves.

Whipping his head around angrily to face you he replied, “You don’t have to reach the same standard as I do. I have to constantly prove I’m the best, and you constantly prove to be a midfielder.”

Oh.

Oh.

That was a low blow, even Sebastian knew that. Your relationship had been teetering on the edge for the past year, but this was a make or break moment, and he knew exactly which one of the two it was going to be.

“So it’s like that,” you decided with a tone of finality. Sebastian wanted to ask for your forgiveness right then and there, to apologize, to make up for the last few months of being an asshole, to beg you not to throw away your years together just like that.

But he knew he was in the wrong, and he was too stubborn and egotistical to apologize.

Sensing the silence from him, you nod with teary eyes you tried so desperately to stop from flowing freely. Sebastian wanted nothing more to wipe them away, to hold you in his arms, but he never could do it.

“This is how you want it to end?” You asked him. It was a genuine question. You were giving him one last choice, one last chance to make up for how he’d been treating you the past year.

He stayed silent.

“Enjoy your fucking career, Vettel.”

—

He won that race. It was his first win of the season, but he felt like he had lost the championship itself as he stood on that podium, eyes looking for you in the crowd like he usually did, finding you absolutely nowhere.

After your argument he tried to talk to you in the paddocks but you constantly avoided him, the act not being hard when he wasn’t allowed inside your team’s hospitality building nor paddock. That fight was the last sensible conversation with each other you ever had.

You retired the year after that. You moved out quietly from your shared home, and he heard you stayed with Jenson for quite a while. He couldn’t blame you, Jenson had always been kind to you— Sebastian had no place to be jealous.

Hearing the beeping of his oven, Sebastian snaps out of his trip down memory lane to grab his dinner. It was a tray of lasagna, one he was sure he would be eating again tomorrow lunch because of the size of it.

He thinks about how he wouldn’t have to place the excess in a container for tomorrow if he just had someone to share it with. If he could share it with you.

Going through his grocery list at 10 in the morning, Sebastian notices a new store out of the corner of his eye. He’s been to this street countless times to do his grocery down the road— they had a brand of milk that no other nearby grocery had— but he had never seen that store before.

It was a bookshop. A small one compared to the large shops that surrounded it, but it stood out enough to be noticed yet cozy enough to feel inviting. It was a cold morning in Switzerland, and the heater inside just invited him further in until he found himself standing at the doorway, taking in the smell of books and the absolutely gorgeous decor.

He will admit, he hasn’t seen a bookshop like this in quite a while. The second he stepped foot inside he felt the love radiate through it, as if he knew the owner personally and how they had a passion for their store.

All Sebastian could think about, however, was how much you would love this. How you would adore running your fingers through the spine of a second hand book, or how you would pick a fresh new one for him to read and he would do the same for you, just like you both did back then.

He won’t pretend that he never looked for your book when you retired. He knew you weren’t joking about publishing one, he just didn’t know what pen name you chose so he never could find it.

“Looking for something specific?” A voice makes him turn his head around to see the woman behind the register looking at him inquisitively. He realizes that he was just standing in an aisle not really reading or picking up a book.

Sebastian shakes his head, “Not really, just browsing. I was thinking about how a friend of mine would have liked to see this store, it’s right up their alley.”

“Why don’t you invite them then?” A different voice speaks.

…It can’t be.

That voice.

That voice.

No, he was hallucinating, dreaming maybe. Yes, this was a dream. That would be the only explanation why from behind him he heard a voice he missed so dreadfully, one he tried imagining talk to him again some nights, one he watched old videos for, one he—

“Sebastian?”

It was you. He would recognize your voice anywhere. He turns around, and the world seems to slow down as if it suddenly focused on just the both of you. The background blurs and everything is hazy and distorted but you were there. Standing in front of him, actually real. Older than he remembers but not in a negative way, just more mature. More peaceful. More you.

Staring at you in the middle of a bookshop in Switzerland after 5 years, Sebastian couldn’t speak. He didn’t know what to say. What would be right? Would there be words he could tell you that would make you ever forgive him?

“I-” “You-”

You both start at the same time, making you laugh at each other. It was the first time he’s seen you smile since 2016. He used to say he would burn cities to see you smile, and he’s glad he knows now that that feeling hasn’t changed.

“You first,” he says. He wants to hear what you’ll say so he can choose his words better.

“I, uh,” you laugh awkwardly. It was still a beautiful sound to Sebastian. “I was actually slightly expecting to see you here.”

Oh. Well he didn’t expect that. You…you were expecting to see him? Like purposely thinking about him? The thought boggled Sebastian.

Noticing his visible silence, you speak up again. “I co-own this bookstore,” you smile. “I knew you lived around the area so I expected I’d bump into you eventually. It’s not the main thing that I do, but my Swiss friend you just talked to behind the counter wanted to make a bookstore but was low on funds so I decided to help a friend out, you know?”

Oh he knows. You were always so kind when it came to your friends. He remembers, he used to be one of them.

“That’s really nice of you,” Sebastian says. He slaps himself internally for the dumb reply he gives. “You uh, you look great.” Way to fucking go Sebastian. What a great conversation saver.

“Not in a weird way, of course. I mean I would never try to make you feel uncomfortable by saying that. Did you feel uncomfortable? Was it weird? It probably was. I mean I haven’t seen you in so long and that’s the first thing I say it’s so stupid and I could have said something of significance but—”

You stop Sebastian before he rambles on any longer. Holding his fidgeting hand, you chuckle at the sight of the nervous German in front of you. “Relax, Seb. I’m not mad. I’ve moved on.”

Oh.

“You have?” He asks, not thinking before he speaks because he knows he hasn’t. How could he move on from the best thing that ever happened to him and the biggest mistake he ever made?

The question takes you aback, pulling your hand away from his. For a second Sebastian thinks he’s messed up all over again, but you simply reply, “I meant from racing. But I know what you think I mean.”

“Can we catch up? I’ve missed you.” Sebastian hears himself say it before he even realizes the implications of his words.

“Oh.” you say with a pause. It makes Sebastian’s heart sink. Maybe you really have moved on, but in a way that you didn’t want him in your life anymore. He gets that. It looks like you’ve built a nice life for yourself outside of racing. Even if he never gets to be in it. He’s proud of you for being able to move on. “How about we sit down for some coffee first? I know a place near here.”

Oh thank god. Sebastian wasn’t ready to be deprived of you again so quickly.

Walking to the cafe, the air was thick with the tension between the two of you. While your accidental meeting in the library had gone well, the spark of the moment had faded and the reality of the situation had settled in. This was someone Sebastian had deeply wronged, someone he still deeply loved, and there were too many words unsaid there about both.

Sitting down at the window seats— he remembers how you loved sitting there so you could watch the people outside— you flag down a waiter to take both your orders.

“I’ll take a macchiato and— Seb do you still take your coffee black?”

Nodding, he looks out the window with a light blush on his cheeks. The fact that you remembered his— albeit simple— order made him happy and he had to catch himself otherwise he would be smiling like a teenage boy again. It was truly the little things.

“So,” he speaks up, straightening up and looking at you.

“So,” you mimic. “I go first or you go first?”

“My life has been pretty televised before I retired, there’s nothing really surprising in it. You go first.”

You spend the next 30 minutes filling him in on your life, how you avoided the media for the past few years, how you live in a cozy home with your dog, how you still exchange presents with some of the older grid during Christmas (Sebastian admits he got jealous here).

But the most important part was when he heard how you finally wrote that book you always talked about.

“Really? You finally published it?” Sebastian asks. He could see how the smile on your face was genuine, unlike the many times he saw you put on a fake one for the press or the media. It made him happy.

“Yeah, I finally found time after I retired to start it. Surprisingly it’s actually much harder and less peaceful than I thought it’d be.”

“At least it’s not a biographical book,” Seb jokes. The throwback makes you giggle, but it also makes you both acknowledge the elephant in the room. There were still so many things left unsaid, you both didn’t know where to start.

“Y/N back when I said those things, you know the ones, I didn’t mean them.”

Giving him a sad smile you reply, “I know, Seb. But it doesn’t take them back. Besides, that silly argument was just the straw that broke the camel's back, we were on the edge of our relationship for so long, you knew that too.”

“I know, but that was my fault it was on the edge too. I kept pushing you away because of Ferrari and how disappointed I was in my career. I didn’t realize at the time how much it was hurting you until I finally lost you. I know it makes no sense to say it this late when all is said and done, but I am sorry.”

Sebastian’s words stunned you to silence. You knew he never meant pushing you away, despite your last fight he was never intentionally that unkind, it was just racing that pushed him to be like that back then. But hearing the words coming from him hit differently, the way he said the two words you’ve been yearning for for years. I’m Sorry.

It couldn’t make you forget, but it could make you forgive.

“I know you are, Sebby,” you say. The old nickname brings a nostalgic smile on his face. “I’ve forgiven you years ago, just after I retired. I figured I should let go of my ghosts and that’s what I did. Though I won’t lie, your ghost did put up quite a fight giving me tears at night,” you joked. Sebastian could sense the hint of sadness in it.

He wishes he could make it all go away, to fix it just like he used to be able to. But he knows it’s not that easy. Not when the years have separated you both. It’ll be hard getting your trust back to let him into your heart even just as a friend, but goddamn if he wasn’t going to try and fix it.

“Will you ever show me the book?”

The question catches you slightly off guard. “I doubt it. It’s not up your alley anway, historical fiction.”

“Anything you write is up my alley. Maybe you can come over sometime and show it to me,” he says, not realizing the underlying meaning to it.

“Careful, Sebastian,” you say. “Forgiving is easy when you’re given time, but forgetting is harder. Let’s take baby steps.”

Baby steps. He could live with that. To Sebastian it doesn’t matter if it takes days or years to get you back in his life, he’ll let you take your time. You deserve it. And if you choose in the end to walk out of his life again, well, then he deserves it.

You hug each other goodbye when you leave, the hug lasting longer than it should have. He knows he promised baby steps, but when you buried your head into the crook of his neck and tightened your grip around him softly, he couldn’t resist pulling you closer to him and holding you there for a few seconds. He misses this, the closeness of it.

He sends you his address if ever you were in the area again, and you notice how the profile picture he has for you on your number was still the one of you when you were both rookies. It made you happy.

Sebastian didn’t expect anything more to happen, he spent that night contemplating what good deed he must’ve done to bring you back into his life again. Whatever it was, he was grateful he had done it.

The next afternoon as he was reheating the Lasagna— that he ultimately forgot yesterday— in the oven for lunch, he heard his doorbell ring. Opening his door he spots a package on the floor, one that was wrapped with a cute bee themed wrapping paper. It made him chuckle. He expected that whoever or whatever was at the door was you, but this was the next best thing.

Sitting down on his porch chair, he opens the package delicately as if it were fragile. He can feel the outline already, it was a book. Moreover, it was your book. Sebastian couldn’t believe it.

There was a note attached that read, ‘Forgot to tell you yesterday. I missed you too.’

The few words were almost enough to bring him to tears, but he continued and opened the book to scan its contents. The typing Published 2020 stands out, making him realize how long he’s missed out on this.

But what truly catches his attention is the dedication. Smack right in the middle, the words to be seen by everyone, read; For my Sunshine, the amount of words left unsaid will never match the amount of love I still have for you in my heart.

He may not be able to fix his mistake just like that, but Sebastian would wait however long it took for you to love him again, as a friend or as another. As long as his sunshine was in his life again.

[finelinevogue]

paparazzi nerves

summary - you get nervous around the paps

word count: >1k

pairing: boyfriend!harry x reader

You noticed the paparazzi before anyone else did

It had been easy keeping your holiday location a secret from fans, but somehow the paparazzi always seemed to be able to find you.

Harry’s tour had finished only days ago and now you were spending time together, relaxing and having fun. It had been hard to really dedicate time to one another when Harry had been touring every other day, but now it was time for rest.

Harry had rented a couple of small boats to drive over to a little island he had read about in one of his Italian travel books.

Now you were all arriving and soaking up the glorious sunshine, only to be rudely interrupted by the faraway lenses of the paparazzi.

Harry was on another boat, talking to James and Tyler, whilst you remained on a different boat with Gemma.

You and Gemma weren’t the biggest fans of the sun and the heat, so any opportunity to sit in the shade was taken instantly.

Gemma was sat in her pink dungarees, whilst you were sat in your yellow summers dress. The one that Harry said made you look like a summers dream.

As Gemma continued to read, you kept getting distracted by the paparazzi on a boat in the distance.

You’d never been one to really acclimatise to the constant clicking of photos. No doubt they would be focused on taking photos of Harry - especially when he’s sitting there shirtless, but part of you still remained uneasy.

“I might go and see if there’s a toilet nearby.” Gemma said, standing up and rocking the boat slightly.

You nodded, standing up too.

“I’ll go over there.” You pointed to where Harry was. “Just so I’m not alone.”

“Alright.”

Gemma wandered to the front of the boat, but before she can clamber out Harry has made his way over and is now standing at shin length in the sea.

“Y’alright Gem?” He asked and you couldn’t help but smile at how much of a gentleman he was. Always keen to help out and lend a hand.

He offered his hand for Gemma to hold and step out of the boat, which she took gladly.

“Yeah. Just going to the loo. Your missus needs company, though.”

“Oh does she now?” He turned to look at you once Gemma was out safely. He smiled brightly at you, checking you over and admiring how much you were glowing in the Italian sun.

Gemma kissed Harry on the cheeks before leaving.

Harry then jumped the boat and you bit your lip to hide a laugh when he nearly lost his footing. The idiot was trying to show off, not that he had to for you.

“Y’need me, do you?” he asked, walking over to you where you were still standing in the shade.

“Didn’t want to be sat here like a loner. I’d have been like that one photo of Taylor where she’s sat on the back of a boat by herself.”

Harry laughed at that, finding his arms wrapping around you to pull you in for a hug. He squeezed tight and you sighed into his warm chest. His hugs were always the best. Like your own personal teddy bear.

“Never would let you feel lonely, baby.” He kissed your head.

“I know.” Your lips kissed his chest as you spoke, due to how smushed against him you were. “Have you put suncream on?”

“Yes.” Harry whined.

“Oi, I’m just making sure you still look appealing when we’re older and not some wrinkly ball sack.” You explained, making Harry laugh again.

“Is that all I’m here for? Huh? Appeal for you?”

You tilted your head back to face up at him. “I thought you knew that already.”

Harry squinted his eyes and shook his head at you playfully.

What’s worse is that he brought his large hand down to your bum and gave it a pinch through your dress. The moment only lasted a second, but it was enough for you to step away and push him off of you.

“Harry, don’t.” You said sternly.

Harry knew you meant it too, because you used his actual name and not some other endearment.

“Hey, baby, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He said.

You sat down where you had been sitting before and huffed. You ran your hands over your face and tried to breathe slowly.

“No, i’m sorry.” You shook your head.

“What for?” Harry was confused. He sat down next to you, but made sure you had your own space until he knew what he was in for.

“I noticed the paparazzi here before and now I’m just paranoid. I mean, y’know I don’t deal well with them.”

Harry looked around you and only then noticed the small boat of about five photographers. Luckily he was wearing sunglasses to hide his dark stare, but he was severely pissed that they were here. Invading his private time.

What’s worse is that they were making his girlfriend uncomfortable.

“Hey, look at me. Y/N, honey. C’mere.” He twisted your legs to dangle over his and moved your body so that your back was to the paparazzi. “I’m here. Just us.”

You looked at him and noticed how he was only focused on you. You reached to move his sunglasses and pulled them down for a second to look at his eyes. His pupils were dilated slightly with the look of love he had for you. You pushed his glasses back up and settled in closer next to him.

“Just us.” You nodded.

Even though it wasn’t just you and the paparazzi would be taking photos of this moment no doubt, including the one of Harry pinching your bum, it was settling to know that Harry was here and he was doing this with you.

“Screw them. If I want to touch my girlfriend in public, I will.” You gave him a look. “W-with consent of course.”

You laughed then. “Harry I don’t care when, how, why you touch me. I.. I just… Let me know beforehand if we’re in public settings or if the paps are around. Please?”

“Promise.” He nodded seriously.

“Love you.” You reached for his hand and held onto one of his fingers with your entire hand. His hands are massive compared to yours - something the fans are always pointing out and crying over.

“Love you too.” He encompassed your hand with his and rubbed small circles into the back of your hand.

“Can y’kiss me now?”

“Never going to say no.”

[yonseibananamilk]

“𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒎𝒆."

synopsis 𓂃𓈒𓍼ོ living with fyodor was the same as living without him. however, the night of his return reminds you, embarrassingly so, just how close the two of you are. literally. (~4k wc)

a/n 𓇢𓆸 i think i may or may not be starting to hate my writing BUT i really stretched beyond what im used to in certain parts of this and i am quite proud of myself for that ^^

content 𓍼ོ𓂃𓈒 canon compliant, suggestive themes(especially around the end), fyodor is very cold temperature-wise, soft!fyodor(hes soft in his own way), references to my work song fic ! + connected directly to it will come back as it is a part 2 ^^

ᡣ𐭩 special special જ⁀➴ this fic is in collaboration with @musamora ‘s new talk!fic ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و please try to check hers out too if you can — shes a brilliant writer and a lovely person overall <3

Books upon books knitted themselves compact inside the towering shelves that pressed into the walls of what you assumed was Fyodor’s home. He had never called it his home, in fact, you explicitly remember when he did bring you here —

“Welcome to this humble abode. Feel free to touch and grab whatever you desire. Everything here belongs to you, дорогая.”

— Ever since that blind date (gone wrong(but then right in the end)), the Russian had let you stay for as long as you liked. One night led to two, which led into you bringing over a few things for just a few more nights.

Which led to you staying with Fyodor for nearly a month now.

You shook your head at the thought. If anything, he was the visitor. The man was hardly ever home, therefore you weren’t even living together. And you were, like anyone else with experience in a leaky apartment, eager to accept a place as generous as this.

The house held two stories; the first floor with the living room, foyer, and utilities, and the second floor with the bathroom and bedroom. Not to mention there was even an accessible attic-study.

In the beginning, he had stayed the night with you on the couch while you remained upstairs. But it had been weeks since then. Your Russian companion, much to your dismayed crocodile tears, was now predominantly busy with his ‘mission’. You couldn’t argue with that.

Though, on one of the times when Fyodor did stay longer than just a few hours…

“Please? I don’t mind, I swear! Besides, we’re both adults, not some teenagers that’ll go off at the first brush of skin. You don’t have to sleep on the couch..!”

You didn’t want to admit that you had actually stained the sofa downstairs on the first day of being here — even if Fyodor knew about it already, with all his observance — and it also felt… wrong to have him sleep on the couch. Cold. In the dark. And very, very, very lonely.

With a desperate and dramatic gesture of your arms, you tried to make the bed as dreamy as possible to his cherry wine eyes. “See? So comfy!”

To prove your point even further, you jumped on yourself with a muffled noise in the comforter.

“How amusing.”

Your point was most certainly not taken.

Therefore, you began to deflate into the sheets. Even more muffled now, and perhaps even softer than before, you mumbled out — “Is ‘modesty’ really the only reason why you won’t share anything with me?”

Everything in the room stilled. As if gauging the weight behind your words. Then, faintly, a gust of a sigh fell into the golden air of your nearby nightlamp. The candle flame was tickled into a dance thanks to the Russian, twisting and spinning hypnotically.

So hypnotically that you failed to catch the shift in the bed beside your head.

Not until a chilled hand fell atop your head. Bony fingers of ice itself urged your face up and away from the fire. Your attention was rewarded with a smooth, humming smile.

“There is more, дорогая.” He admitted. “But those reasons have nothing to do with you. After all, you are the sole reason why I would like to sleep here.”

Briefly, so much so where you barely even caught it this time — a thumb brushed over your lips. Cherry wine eyes batted down at you, reflecting the flame behind your burning face. Like the sun was the center of his very being.

“Then why don’t you?”

As his thumb curled into the corner of your lips, the rest of his hand glided over your skin. Two fingers read the curves of your jawline. Its adjacent pair followed down to the side of your neck.

He could grab your entire head with ease.

Fluttering ties in your stomach unraveled and twisted again in an endless heap of knots. Why wasn’t he saying anything? What was he thinking of? Why is he getting closer?

A chilled breath brought respite to your burning cheeks. But only for a moment.

Why is he moving away?

“Be wary of the fatigue that will eat you, if you do not sleep soon, дорогая.”

Pale feet revisited the cold, yet still warmer than him, floors. Wood welcomed him with a tired creak, following the man’s every step until he reached the doorway. By then, you had turned off your back to finally face him yourself.

“But I’m not tired.” Horribly, a yawn tore through your last syllable. The heaviness of your eyelids was never apparent until now.

Another amused hum brought you back to the Russian before you, hand on the knob as he smirked down at you. Slowly, the sharp edges of his little grin faded into something softer, fuzzier.

A smile, he had gifted you.

“If you are not tired…” Your heart skipped a beat, anticipating every little thing for his next suggestion. As if crying out — “What? Yes? What is it?”

“Then remember this: there is danger in giving into one’s desires, дорогая.” Icy red eyes rove over your laden figure with an unreadable spark. He always looked at you so curiously.

“I would be wise to not fall victim to such dangers. As would you.”

The closing door halted itself instantly when you let out the smallest of huffs.

“My offer still stands…” With a dragging breath of protest, you fell underneath the blankets.

Black swirls encapsulated your mind as you managed to spin his words effortlessly; “Remember this: there is reward for passing through danger.”

…

Unknowingly shooting through the Russian’s morale — you fell asleep with the same singular weight of your own on the bed. However, the door was still ajar in the morning upon your awakening.

But that moment was weeks ago. The memory of it proven by the clear frown on your lips — twitching up and down every now and then based on whatever the book you read said.

You wouldn’t spend your time thinking about someone who wouldn’t even give you so much as a clear answer to ‘How was your day?’

A creak of wood whipped your head around in urgence. Only for nothing to be there.

Nothing but a pang of disappoint. All at the absence of a certain Russian.

Well. Maybe you would spend a bit of your time.

With a ruffled sigh you fell back against the chair, pages still in hand as the grandfather clock behind you whisked the day away. These moments of solitude had become a daily part of your life — ever since popping out of Fyodor’s floorboards like a daisy in the snow.

But they might as well have been your floorboards too.

The creak of wood glided past your ears. Followed by the light shuffle of a coat being draped over the rack nearby. Then the ghosts of footsteps slowly but surely making their way toward the living room.

“Hm?”

Much to his amusement, there you sat. Old book in hand atop the gentle rise and fall of your chest. In a peaceful slumber too.

“How adorable.” The R rolled after his deep chuckle, growing slightly in volume as he drew closer to your laden frame. “Falling asleep to folktales, are we? Hm, дорогая?”

Frostbite ghosted over your cheek. A chill fell over your fingertips — the lingering absence of your now-taken book. Burgundy eyes flitted over the title with a deep hum.

Surprisingly enough, you had managed to find one of the few English books that hid in his shelves. The vast majority were Russian(as he wasn’t the best with learning new languages).

“Orpheus and Eurydice?” His tongue read. “Now what on Earth compelled you to read such a tale..?”

Firewood slid off one another as it ate away at itself in incessant hunger. A desire for something warmer than what it already had. A rod poked it stable in no time.

“Perhaps my дорогая is more romantic than she lets on. It makes me wonder…”

The shadows around him chuckled in tandem before, again, rippling as the fireplace was muted once more.

‘What a foolish thought.’ His brain reprimanded.

Yet his heart leapt not once, but twice — as you began to slowly stir awake. With orange light painted across the dips of your babbling lips in a silent dance with dark.

“Uah… who’s there..?”

Raven locks fell to the side as he tilted towards you slowly. Akin to an animal watching something unusual. Unexplainable. Unimaginable. A thick silence filled the air as Fyodor lagged to translate your words — no thanks to the strange foreign tingling south of his head — all by the sight of you.

‘How vulnerable.’ He mused. ‘How adorable.’

Despite knowing full well what was coming out his lips — despite knowing just what it could risk for him —

“Федя is here.”

He had willingly revived something. Something that had lied dormant for dozens of hundreds of years. All for you. You and your daftly half-conscious state. He hadn’t been called such a simple name since childhood.

And since his family was alive.

Despite his already-dissipating regret, icy tips glided reverently over the crown of your head. The locks of it threaded like yarn. Each part sifted through like flour. The back of it all was cupped tightly — encouraging your limp head to face him.

“Fe… diya…?”

Oh how adorable you were. So sleepy you couldn’t even pronounce a simple nickname. A diminutive. An endearment.

Nor could you realize how special you were right now. Though, that was the norm at this point.

“Yes. Can you indulge Fedya for a moment, дорогая?” The Russian cooed with a smile both condescendingly familiar, and unrecognizably tender.

Your whined nod was enough to coax him closer. Arms atop the sides of the chair. Frosted breath wafting just shy of your pulse.

“Can you tell Fedya what you were thinking of? Hm?”

Lithe fingers haunted the cover of your little folktale with echoed taps. His cherry wine gaze hooked onto the half-lidded glaze in your eyes.

“Tell him what you were thinking of when reading such a story?”

As slurred syllables pooled from your tongue, Fyodor locked himself onto every quiver, bite, and sound. Each was greedily soaked into the prodigy’s mind — held in higher regard than any mazed tactic.

Although just as half-lidded as yours, his eyes were far more awake than they had been during his accursed mission earlier.

After all, if Fyodor knew such a sweet sight waited for him here — he would’ve destroyed everything in his path to get back as soon as possible.

Frosted breath ghosted over the angle of your jaw, waiting patiently for something more.

“I… I thought that Eurydice was very lucky to have been loved so dearly... Regardless of what happened at the end.”

Black brows rose at you. “Lucky?”

“Yes. I’m a bit envious — being loved so dearly is…” A shake of the head pauses your sleepy train of thought. With a deep breath, your head reclined further into the plush of your seat before correcting yourself.

“Being loved is a very lucky thing indeed.”

Well weren’t you the lucky one?

The gentle squeaks of the couch were thankfully muffled by your weight, settling further and further into its cotton fabric. Your warmth soaked into it well. Though, much of that warmth was the fire’s — which only seemed to be growing.

Just along the edges of your peripheral, a certain smiling Russian was also present — leaned over your shoulder closely. Close enough for the scent of black tea to flood your nostrils yet again.

“Could you imagine it?”

A chill ran over the hairs on the nape of your neck. Fyodor’s breath was cold. His lips too.

“Imagine being loved…?” Your voice was far softer than expected. “I… suppose it would be nice. Very nice, in fact. I’d like to be cared about…”

Shifting your eyes, the golden text of the book was now being circled by Fyodor’s idle fingers. Lithe enough to perfectly recreate the intricate cursive. And cold enough to make you shudder at the mere sight.

Nonetheless — the image of such hands snug around you was as warm as the shared fireplace.

“Wouldn’t everyone?” He cooed. Slender fingertips rhythmically tapped atop the book cover.

“Being loved…” Cherry wine eyes reflected the orange fire beside you. “Or wanted…”

You swallowed a lump in your throat that certainly wasn’t there before.

“Is a very human desire.”

Another swallow. Glued to the fiddling hands in your lap, your heart leaped with you upon asking;

“Do you desire it as well?”

Briefly did his eyes widen.

It was borderline impossible to catch Fyodor off-guard. But, as luck would have it, you succeeded at it like any other mundane task. You always did.

It’d be terrifying if not so attractive.

“I suppose…” Once unoccupied fingers found their way atop your shoulder. Chills ran through your arm. As well as an unwelcome spark through your entire body. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

A flicker of your shared fireplace caught your eye. Avoiding the piercing gaze of Fyodor Dostoevsky as he, much to your confusion, stared into your very essence. It was as if he was analyzing every curve and groove before completely committing it to memory.

That sly, condescending chuckle reeled you home to him. All semblance of earlier surprise had drained from his eyes. “What a curious question, дорогая. Were you picturing it in your mind?”

Blackberry strands fell against the white fabric of his shirt, flowing in tandem with the inching of his face.

“Thinking… pondering… wondering…”

Orange light danced within the seeds of his eyes.

“Imagining what it’d be like to be loved by me?”

You didn’t know whether to fuse with the couch or disappear completely.

Whatever happened to the fire danced over your already-burning cheeks — radiating against the chill of Fyodor’s face as he bordered closer and closer.

“Can you imagine it?”

Close enough to count each eyelash.

Close enough to taste the scent of black tea and iron on your tongue.

Close enough to feel the subtle heat of his cheeks.

“Imagine being loved by me?”

Your lower lip began to tremble. Sweat sprinkled from your shaky palms. That same spark shocked you from head to toe yet again.

Everything felt heavy. Heavy and warm.

And your nose itched. Itched and twitched. You couldn’t help but sniff — which only amplified the hot water in your eyes — already glittering in your lashes. The unsaid border between the two of you dwindled like a candle in the wind.

All you knew was that you were sweaty, shaky, and far too warm to be considered normal.

A snort caught itself in his throat. While perfectly timed with just how stiff you were getting, your little sniffle was not out of embarrassment. Simply an incoming sneeze that he would gladly bless you for in: 3, 2—

“Achoo!”

…

He did not want to finish that countdown.

“Woah…! I got my boogers on your face! Hah!”

“That you did.” The Russian begrudgingly muttered, closed eyes subtly twitching under the weight of your giggles and dabbing sleeve. “Bless you.”

Despite all your unceremonious, uncouth, undisciplined whatnots — the sheepish smile you flashed to him was hardly ignored. “Thank you… Did it get in your eye?”

“Fortunately not.”

“Aww. Better luck next time then.”

The caught snort from before clawed its way out of Fyodor and into a throaty, hearty, genuine laugh.

No cocky chuckles. No sadistic grins. No sly hums.

Just a normal laugh. With golden fire reflecting off the sides of his face like framing sunrays. And a usually imperceptible ombre of deep magenta in his otherwise black hair — thanks to the generous amount of light the fireplace provided a few feet away.

Sure, it was akin to the cawing of crows at the crack of dawn — Fyodor most certainly hadn’t laughed like that in what seemed like centuries. But it was touching nonetheless.

Very much so.

“It’s rude to stare, дорогая.”

It was even harder to look away when he was smiling so warmly.

“I bet Orpheus wouldn’t think Eurydice was rude — even when her boogers got in his eye.”

An unfamiliar emptiness frosted over your shoulder when the Russian leaned away. “Perhaps, дорогая. Perhaps.”

You couldn’t recall a time when he was ever so warm.

“There are no more wool blankets.” The Russian patted through the wooden cabinets with a small hum. “Дорогая, you wouldn’t happen to know where they are, would you?”

Looking over his shoulder, a cherry wine gaze poured over your freshly showered & dressed body. You learned to always stay snug for the cold that managed to occasionally sneak its nightly way past the fireplace — crackling happily a hallway down.

You hummed back, offering the man a smile warm enough to rival it. “I do.”

“And whatever happened to them?” Knowing lips cooed. The answer fell sweeter when it was from your tongue than his mind.

“I put them in the attic because they scratched at my face,” Rubbing at your arms, a wave of apology washed over you. Maybe Fyodor preferred blankets that way? Scratchy and itchy. He was a strange man after all.

Even more strange now that he was finally content with sharing a bed. You don’t think you’d ever seen a man smile for so long. However eerie though, at the end of the night, it was… endearing.

Tonight, he had changed out of the usual wear for war(or whatever he did outside of the house) — a fluffy white robe wrapped snug around Fyodor. Tied together by the loose cotton belt.

“And so you have been sleeping in a single blanket? Instead of the multiple wool ones I had given you?” The urge to hang your head was woefully strong. You opted to shuffle your feet instead.

“Yes, Fyodor. I… I can give you the blanket for the night if that’s what you want?”

Briefly, his roving eyes met yours. With a small lilt of his voice, which was another strange way of expressing amusement for him, the Russian cooed; “And leave a woman to fend for herself against the cold?”

Another spark of warmth crackled under your skin. The sensation swam through your bones in a melting frenzy that burned your face once it reached it.

“T-then we can share…?”

Cherry eyes crinkled in delight.

“Wonderful idea, дорогая.”

As your knees slowly crawled up to meet your chest, the sway of his hair encapsulated you in a garden of imagination — with cherry wine eyes to drink and straight locks that rivaled shades of the ripest blackberries. Such sweet attributes for such a cold man.

Literally. He was colder than the air itself when sitting on your bed. The man could’ve drunken up all the warmth in the room, and still ask for more.

“You’re freezing!” You whined out, curling into a shuddering ball. “Maybe you should take that blanket, you might as well take the ones in the attic too.”

A frown quipped its brows at you. Yet, despite all his shown annoyance, there lacked a general sense of danger that once lived within.

Every glare was now punctuated with a cooing riddle of warning but quickly followed by a soft smile — imperceivable to all he knew. Excusing you.

“And I assume that means you are warmer? Hm?”

“Well, duh. I’ve been soaking in the fireplace all day waiting for you.”

“Oh?”

Under the gentle fire of your candlelit bedside, a meek coral bloomed across the slim cheeks of his face. His ears were red too — how long had he been that way?

“So, you were waiting for me?”

“Yes.” An exasperated breath left you feeling flustered and confused.

“Diligently?”

“And I was very lonely the whole time.”

A sense of deja vu sprung over you like a freshly pouring fountain.

Candlelight brewed against his face. Cherry wine eyes raked over your every inch. Pale skin, now painted with pink, smoothly approached closer and closer and closer —

Until the two of you are face to face once again. Illuminated only by generous candlelight and warmed by a singular blanket, except for Fyodor leeching off your heat.

“Дорогая, if I didn’t know better, I’d assume you thought we were married. With you waiting so, what was the word...?"

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

"Ah yes. Diligently for my arrival.”

Freezing fingertips grazed along the bridge of your jaw. Dancing over the skin like whistling air, then halting at the chin. Two fingers held it gently, softly, reverently even.

“Though, my words are not necessarily a complaint.”

Candlelight pooled over the side of his face, glistening in the corners of Fyodor’s eyes like water lanterns at nighttime. You could only hope he was staring at you because you looked just as beautiful.

Gulping, a strained noise tumbled from your lips —

“Oh? Whining now?” A chilling thumb ran over the shine of your bottom lip. He was closing in.

“I did not whine.” Your voice cracked. “I just—”

Words left you. Tumbling freely from your throat in an entanglement of broken syllables and whines.

And with each mishap, his grin only grew. Evident by the crinkled underside of his trailing gaze.

At long last, a semblance of defense clicked into mind — spilling out with almost-paralyzing heat inside. And yes. Your voice cracked a second time.

“You caught me off-guard!”

“I did?” He crooned. The weight of your blanket was peeled off — making way for Fyodor to finally join you. Which you would’ve been over the moon about — if your thoughts weren’t so scrambled. You only hoped his were, too.

Every restrained laugh. Every languid movement. Everything he did — you prayed that he felt even a semblance of the bashfulness you did. Maybe then, it wouldn’t feel so embarrassing.

“Oh, дорогая.” Frostbitten lips sighed. “You truly are adorable.”

Time melted into an infinity of simply you and Fyodor. With your brain dry of anything else to say, and his hopefully the same. With one last strained noise, you turned away to bury yourself into the cotton of your now-shared bed.

A candlelit silence bloomed over.

As the sheets’ soft heaviness cradled back over you, Fyodor included now, the man slid himself behind your burning face — peacefully watching the uncharacteristic heat fizz out of your little head.

Blackberry locks stretched over the expanse of the pillow like grape vines across a fence.

Amid all your muffled sounds, the cotton had begun to seep a sense of sleep into your skin, added on by Fyodor’s granted silence. With a sniffle, you reluctantly let go of his blundering words — slowly but surely relaxing into the candlelight bed. But not without an evident pout.

A haze of warmth enwrapped you. Cozy.

The edges of consciousness were held by none other than a familiar pair of cold hands. Which slithered their way around your waist — pulled you snugly against their owner’s body — allowing him to soak in the feast of your body heat.

Oddly enough, as the Russian slid himself closer, not an inch of his frigid temperature leaked into yours. Quite the opposite.

Your slumbering body thawed away at his cold one.

Save for one place that did not need any more warming. Like his cheeks, for example. Or elsewhere.

taglist ᯓᡣ𐭩 @aureatchi @soleelia + people that also wanted to be added but please know time is my greatest enemy

translations! (these are rough translations, and if there are any inaccuracies please let me know)

дорогая - ‘darling’ i just cant envision fedya saying ‘baby’. darling is the only accurate one.

thank you so much to @musamora for betareading again !!! she is quite literally the sweetest writer i know and this fic couldnt be possible without her ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂)⸝♡

also thanks to @/saradika-graphics for all the wonderful dividers! the images for the banner were either found on pinterest or edited by yours truly <3 thank you for reading !

© yonseibananamilk 2024 - please refrain from copying, plagiarizing and/or reposting my works on other platforms. reblogs, notes, and comments are very appreciated!

[xoxochb]

hello!! can I request percy x fem!reader with the song dress by Taylor? the Great War is also great if you’d prefer that!! Thanks, and congrats 💙💙 (daughter of hades reader)

— dress

warnings: heavy make out, pairing: percy jackson x daughter of hades a/n: yeah smutty fics are growing on me

there was one day at camp where campers were allowed to wear whatever they wanted. some campers chose to wear their usual camp attire, some chose pajamas, and some chose casual clothes. you however— chose a little black dress. stuffed away in the bottom of your dresser you pull it out. it had a low neckline and ruffles at the bottom. it went down to a little above your mid thighs so yes, it was a bit revealing but it was black and it was comfortable so you wore it anyways. you exited cabin thirteen after changing and made your way to the dining pavilion for breakfast. you pretend to miss the way you watch percy’s eyes scanning your frame from his lonely seat at the poseidon table. mostly because he was your best friend and nothing more. but seemingly his gaze wasn’t screaming ‘best friends’

you sit down at your table with nico who brought will to sit with him this morning. the boys exchange a look, your brows furrow in response

“what?” you ask, confused

“Is there something you’re not telling us?” asks nico

“I’m sorry?”

“did you see the way percy was eyeing you?” will adds

“I’m not a fucking mind reader. I want words”

“are you and him a thing?”

you groan. “me and percy are best friends. that’s it”

“then tell me why he’s eye-fucking you right now” nico points behind you to what you assume is the poseidon table

“he’s not. like I said— we’re only best friends”

the boys both return to their breakfast. “suit yourself”

you huff and leave the dining pavilion. you don’t know exactly where to but you just know you can’t sit at your table anymore. with your brother and his boyfriend accusing you of sleeping with percy and the son of poseidon himself allegedly ‘eye-fucking’ you there was no way you could sit there and eat regularly. at this point you regret choosing such an immodest dress

the rest of the day you avoided percy. It was better this way, he wouldn’t give you looks and you wouldn’t feel weird about your friendship. It’s a win-win. first you took a break by the lake and read your book for a bit, uninterrupted you were fine. then came lunch when you had to sit in the pavilion again. to your percy didn’t show. you tried not to let it get to you but you couldn’t help feeling like it was your fault. after lunch you went back to your cabin for a nap. when you woke the pit in your stomach hadn’t been closed yet. whatever was bothering you needed to leave, dinner was in minutes and if you didn’t show up this time, while percy isn’t there your brother— without a doubt would think something suspicious of it

you ignored your feelings and went anyways. again, percy wasn’t there

“nico do you know if percy ate lunch earlier?”

he shakes his head. “no. maybe you should bring him something to eat”

“I don’t know…”

“he likes you y’know? you might be in denial but I don’t miss the way he looks at you. especially this morning”

your cheeks flush red. “no. I’m just going to talk to him, sort things out. we’re only friends, I swear”

“(name), I love you, but you’re an idiot”

you roll your eyes. “thanks, neeks, you’re so kind”

“I try my best”

“I’m going to bring percy a plate. we’ll talk to tomorrow”

“don’t have too much fun over there”

“goodbye”

you hurriedly stand up and leave. firstly grabbing a plate from the kitchen, then heading to cabin three. your beating heart stops you from knocking, the gods only know what’s going to happen once you enter. your hand moves faster than your brain you suppose because by the time you know what’s happening the doors opening, revealing the son of poseidon on the opposite side

“percy, hey”

not awkward. you cannot make this awkward

“what’s up?”

“I- uhm, brought you a plate. you weren’t at dinner”

“oh!” he takes the plate from your grasp “thank you. do you want to come in?”

you try to ignore the way your cheeks heat up. nothing is going to happen

“yeah, sure”

you walk in after percy am close the door behind you. he sets the plate down on his bedside table and takes a seat, beckoning you to join him— and reluctantly you do just that. things got awkward. very awkward. especially with the intense eye contact you’re making. is this what all best friends do? sit in a dark cabin making the most sensual eye contact of their lives?

“percy” you whisper

“(name)”

“why do I have the feeling we’re not best friends anymore”

you hear his breath hitch and he inches closer to you. “because I don’t want you like a best friend”

“nico told me you were looking at me this morning. Is it true?”

“you’re wearing a little black dress. did you think I wasn’t?”

“we’re best friends, percy”

the tip of his fingers touch yours, which were settled on your lap. “we don’t have to be”

“we can’t” you shake your head and stand up “we can’t do this. we’re friends. I mean gods— I want you, I really do, but what if things don’t work out? our friendship is ruined?”

“you don’t think we’d work out? we’ve been friends for years, it’s surely worked this long”

you cross your arms over your chest with a sigh. percy stands up from his bed and takes one of your hands into his own, the other pushing a stray hair behind your head before resting on the side of your face

“percy” you whisper “are you sure about this?”

“yes, I am. like you wouldn’t believe”

fuck it. you throw your arms around his neck and crash your lips together. percy’s hands place on your hips and he pulls you closer into him in a needy manner. you pool out your emotions into every kiss. you’ve yearned for this, you really have. stupid percy and his stupid button up shirt— your fingers struggle to get any undone! but percy has it easy, he slides the straps of your dress down your shoulders and the rest lower. you pull back for a second but only so percy can lay back on the bed. you slide the rest of your dress off and then you join him on the bed, straddling his hips

thank the gods you decided to wear this dress today

[yurinaa-world]

hellooo please make when jing yuan, blade, welt, and luocha gets jealous when you're w another boy and they spot this. thank youuu

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Jing Yuan, Blade, Welt, and Luocha x Gender-Neutral Reader

𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: getting jealous seeing their s/o talking to another man

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, Spelling mistakes

𝒥𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒴𝓊𝒶𝓃

There are two types of jealousy for Jing Yuan.

It’s playful when he sees you with your "little friend." He doesn’t say anything to you until you're both alone together and get pouty and mopy. "I’m not enough for you (Name) that you had to go to another man?"

He says, almost sounding like it’s real, before wrapping his arms around you and hiding his face in your chest, pretending to be in tears, "It’s not like that, Jing Yuan; we’re just friends!" You denied trying to peel him away from your chest to look at him.

Instead, you see him with a grin on his face.

The second being in a possessive way, like he can’t keep his hands off of you; you are his lover and only his; who knows, this "little friend" of yours might have caught feelings for you since he’s spending so much time with you?

But he should know not to touch The General of The Xianzhou Luofu Lover.

𝐵𝓁𝒶𝒹𝑒

You can tell. Well, sometimes he always has a poker face and doesn’t say anything since he trusts you, but in the end, jealousy gets the better of any man.

You can’t help noticing a blade glaring at your friend with Kafka beside him whispering in his ears, most likely to mess with him, saying that your friend might steal you away from him.

When you arrive home, only one thing to say is good luck, because Blade has his arms and rough hands going, caressing your figure, not letting you go, and kissing you all over your neck.

He wasn’t going to let you go anytime soon.

𝒲𝑒𝓁𝓉 𝓎𝒶𝓃𝑔

He’s a calm man; not a lot of things bother him. He trusts you and your friend after all; you're the one who accepted his ring on your finger, but hearing you talk so much about your friend is nice; it’s good to be close with other people. He isn't stopping you by any means.

But Welt seems more clingy than usual; he just can’t keep his hands off of you, but you pay no mind to it.

Until one night, he had his arms around you, your back against his chest, and he whispered in your ear. You couldn’t even understand what he was saying since you were so flustered!

He can admit that he’s jealous. There's nothing wrong with jealousy; it's a human emotion. After all, he’ll tell you why he’s jealous; it’s just that sometimes he wants your pretty self all to himself.

𝐿𝑜𝓊𝒸𝒽𝒶

Luocha is similar to Welt; he makes no big deal about it. If you say that you're nothing but friends, then that's that, but of course, things get lonely whenever you're not around since you talk quite a lot.

When you come back to the cabin you rented for the stay there, you just find Luocha on the bed sitting up right back against the headboard whilst reading a book, with of course his coffin in the closet (Since you sort of find it weird since he brings it everywhere with him).

You just sit beside him and put the book on the side table before he gives you a long kiss on the lips. His hands rub your back before going underneath your shirt and going up your back. Feeling his soft, smooth fingers always makes you shiver.

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[bahablastplz]

All in | Chapter 6

pairing: Lee Felix x f!reader (mafia au)

summary: You didn't know what you were getting yourself into when you started dating Yang Jungwon, notorious mafia boss. Your life gets flipped upside down when you're found beaten and bloody by SKZ, the rival mafia group, and you're quickly integrated into their lives. What will happen when you try to leave your old life behind and start anew?

chapter summary: you get settled into a routine until it gets interrupted; what is 'the gala' and why do you have to go to it?

warnings: please see series masterlist for all warnings

series masterlist ~~ series taglist ~~ main masterlist

You spend the next few days training with Felix and reading in your spare time. When you finish Pride and Prejudice, Hyunjin tells you at dinner to let yourself into his room to grab your new book from his nightstand. You fly through them, and every consequent time you finish a book you find yourself at Hyunjin’s door. Sometimes you would find a new book on his nightstand with your name on it, and other times Hyunjin would be in his room, painting. Sometimes you would try to make small talk, but often it would fall short. Not that it was awkward, you just didn’t have a lot to talk about. Every time you returned to your room and opened a new book, it would have a note from Hyunjin. Most of the time, it would have a short message about why ‘this is the perfect recommendation for you,’ and though you roll your eyes each time, he is almost always, infuriatingly right. 

Training with Felix doesn’t get any easier, at least at first. You’re able to shave just a few seconds off of your mile time, though your muscles ache more and more each day. You find yourself getting comfortable in this routine, of waking up to Felix waiting for you in the gym, of short conversations when running to distract you from the pain, and of small lingering touches on the small of your back when he teaches you how to fight. After breakfast you would read for a few hours, walk around the house, and sometimes make conversation with the others. You find yourself lonely sometimes, wishing that you had a phone or something to entertain yourself with, but oftentimes you find yourself binging TV. 

Seungmin might walk by and make an offhand comment about the show you're watching, claiming to have no interest, but will stand in the corner of the room with his arms crossed and pretend he’s not watching. Sometimes, you’ll find Jisung sleeping in some random corner of the house, snoring just loud enough to hear. Around dinner time, you help to prepare the food since you have nothing else to do, helping Jeongin set the table or making drinks with Changbin. You almost forget sometimes that these men are supposed to be dangerous. 

Until one day, your routine is interrupted. When you wake up, you hear yelling in the distance and you shoot out of bed, heart racing. You run to your door and think twice to open it, instead opting to press your ear up against it. You instantly recognize the voices as belonging to Felix and Chan, and while your breathing slows because you don’t sense any imminent danger, you can’t help but be curious about what the two could be arguing about. 

“Can’t!... S…pid idea!!” you hear Felix say. You will your heart to stop beating if only so you could hear them better. 

“D…owe me! W..ch… mind your tone.” The voices are getting closer, you realize, and you hear a door slam and a loud sigh before a knock comes to your own door. You jump back about six feet, your hand clutching your chest. 

You scramble to your bed, sitting down and picking up a book in order to appear normal, as if you weren’t eavesdropping.  You call for the visitor to enter, and the door swings open to reveal Chan. He appears seemingly level-headed which you wouldn’t expect from someone who engaged in an argument just seconds ago. 

“We’re leaving tonight,” Chan says to you. Your brow furrows in confusion and though you don’t know what to expect, you can already feel the anxiety pooling in your chest from this change in your routine. 

“Leaving? To go where?” 

“The Gala.” Okay, now you’re even more confused. It must show on your face, because Chan delves into an explanation before you can even ask. “Once a year, the city hosts an annual Gala. It’s meant for the richest, most elite people in the country for the sake of appearances. Even for people in the mafia, we have a lot of money and hold a lot of power over the city so they invite us. We’re expected to attend.”

“Okay… but what do I have to do with this?” 

“Do you remember the conversation we had about gaining my trust? There’s no way I feel comfortable leaving you alone after what you pulled. Secondly, Yang Jungwon is going to be there. Essentially, it’s our opportunity to show you off and piss him off, asserting that we have the upperhand.” 

Jungwon. You’ve thought about the man less and less over the past few days, busy navigating your new lifestyle. Still, hearing his name makes you shift uncomfortably in your seat, skin prickling in fear. You already begin imagining worst-case scenarios in your head, from getting screamed at to being straight-up murdered on the dance floor. Neither situation is appealing. 

Chan senses your discomfort and sighs. “I don’t know how much comfort this will provide, but all nine of us will be there to make sure you’re safe. You’ll have your own personal security the entire night. Nobody will put a hand on you.” 

You want to snap back and say you would be safer if he didn’t force you to go at all, but you bite your tongue. Even the technicalities of the event make you nervous. Your hair? Your makeup? You’ve never been to an event like this where you’re judged on your appearance and that makes you frown. What are the chances that you’ll actually look up to par? 

Your early-morning training session is forgotten about that morning due to the disruption. When you return to your room after breakfast, your door is wide open; Jeongin is inside, hanging a gown up on your wardrobe. You try not to ogle it too much in front of him but you can’t help yourself. The length of the dress reaches the floor, excess fabric pooling into a small train that’ll linger behind you when you walk. It’s silver and shimmery, its essence capturing the light that shines through the window just right. When you look around the room, you can see its reflection emanated onto the ceiling and walls, giving your room the appearance of a disco ball. 

You’re sure your expression doesn’t do justice to what you’re feeling at this moment, but Jeongin laughs anyway, soft and jovial. It’s enough to snap your attention back to the man, suddenly remembering his presence. 

“Do you like it?” he questions. His lopsided grin and bright eyes make you hesitate; why does he seem so invested in your response? ‘He loves fashion,’ you remember Felix telling you. It warms your heart–he must really care about your response. 

“I love it,” you say, and it’s the truth. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I almost don’t feel fit to wear something like this, it just seems so outside of my realm.” 

“I know what you mean,” he tells you. “That’s the beauty of dressing up, though. You can pretend to be someone you’re not.” You don’t get a chance to ask him what he means, because he’s handing you a shoebox and clasping his hands together in excitement. 

Of course the matching silver heels are extravagant, if not a little tall for your liking. You don’t tell him that, though, accepting the gift gratefully. 

Jeongin stands to the side for a moment and waits for you when you disappear into the bathroom and try the dress on. When you appear moments later after fighting with the intricacies of the zippers and layers, the smile on his face is full of wonder. You almost wonder if the glimmer in his eyes are remnant of the shine from your dress. 

When you turn around to do your makeup, you see his face fall from the mirror. You wonder what he could have possibly seen to kill his expression that fast and you panic, wondering if you ripped a part of the gown when you walked out of the bathroom. You whip around, catching his eye. 

“What?” you ask, full of urgency. 

“Your back,” he points out. When you turn to the mirror you see it, the lashes given to you by Chan the other day. They peek out of the back of the dress, raised, swollen, and ugly. 

You sigh, dejected. “It kind of ruins the outfit, doesn’t it?” you ask, slightly joking. He gives you a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“If I bandage them up for you, maybe it won’t be that bad,” he suggests. “We should have a bandage large enough, one that matches your skin tone!” You indulge him, curling your hair when he runs out of the room to go grab supplies. When he returns, it’s with an even larger first-aid kit than the one you used to patch yourself up on your first night here. 

You feel grateful when he sits behind you, color-matching your skin with bandages. He applies some ointment onto your skin under the bandage that makes you wince, but you’re grateful for his help. With the wounds being on your back, you haven’t been able to give them the adept attention it probably needed. You fill the silence with conversation. 

“If you love fashion so much, how did you end up here?” you’re reminded of Felix the other day, telling you that someone like yourself shouldn’t have ended up here, in a life surrounded by crime. You can’t help but share the sentiment with someone like Jeongin, someone with such an obvious passion and youthful glee that doesn’t belong here. It makes your heart squeeze with sadness and you feel overprotective over the man, to how you imagine one might feel with a younger brother. 

You feel his fingers still on your back when you ask the question. He returns to tending to your wounds just as fast, before responding sadly, “Things don’t always work out the way you want them to.” 

You think you understand Jeongin more than you’d like to admit. 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

When you walk down the hall Chan is waiting for you expectantly. 

“You look nice,” he tells you, and you flush because he can’t possibly mean it. Not when he looks so attractive and put-together, a demonstration of wealth. 

He wears a suit, navy slacks and blazer over a navy dress-shirt, adorned with red detailing along the hem, definitely designer. The fabric is so dark that you almost mistake it as black at first. His outfit does not have even a single wrinkle or speck of dust on it. He has a little gold pin on his lapel, and if you squint you can see that it resembles a rose. It shines even brighter than your own gown. His wrists are accessorized with silver jewelry, a bracelet on each wrist and a large ring on his pointer finger. Even better, his hair is styled and falls neatly, wisping just past his forehead, strands settling just beneath his eyes. He holds power in just his looks alone, intimidating in his well-tailored outfit. It even has you subconsciously straightening your back and wiping your face clean of any expression in response. 

So, yes, it feels a little surreal to have the Bang Christopher Chan complimenting you on your looks, but you know that if you are to accompany him tonight at the Gala you need to look just as put-together. 

In his hands he holds a long slender box, and he hands it to you. 

“What’s this?” You ask, accepting the box. 

“Just a little something for tonight. It’s nothing, really,” he says, but as you open the box your mouth drops open. 

The necklace you hold is elegant and you let it dangle from your hands, watching it sway back and forth in awe. It’s gold with a small pendant sitting at its end; a gold rose, to match his own pin. A claim. It’s easily the most expensive thing you’ve ever held in your hands but Chan shrugs it off lightly. 

“Here, let me,” he says, reaching for the necklace. You push your hair up and out of the way so he has easy access to your neck as he makes work to clasp it. His hands are ice cold in disagreement with the warm breath on your neck, and your skin prickles in response to the proximity. Then you feel the necklace settle on your chest and he steps away, the interaction over as fast as it started. 

He motions you to the front door, and outside there are two luxurious black cars waiting. Chan opens the door of one and motions for you to get inside. As you slide in, you take notice of the body sitting to your left. Felix. You look at him in the glow of the overhead light in the car and even then he looks majestic. He wears a suit, all white with white blazer and white dress shirt with small and intricate floral details that you would miss if you weren’t looking closely. You could mistake him for an angel with the way the color pops against his blemish-free skin. You think for a moment that even if you tried to scrutinize Felix, if you were to really look closely, you would still find that he is devoid of any imperfections. 

When you slide closer to him you notice the flowery yet musky scent of his cologne. Your body reacts to it and you find yourself leaning into it, trying to get a closer inspection of the smell and you shake your head at yourself in embarrassment. No way are you going to let yourself react in such a way to a man like Felix, deceiving innocent persona aside. 

When you look over at him, you see his eyes flit up and down your frame, taking in your appearance. His eyes linger for a moment and you swear you’ve imagined it, but he graces you with a smile before turning his gaze away.  You buckle your seatbelt and watch as Chan slides to the other side of you, and you are now wedged between the two men. You wonder if Chan thinks that you would try to run out of the moving vehicle, but you are not that dumb. 

The lights dim and the car sets in motion, weaving out of the driveway that is encased in the forest. You are reminded that it was only a few days ago Felix, Hyunjin and Changbin had retrieved you from your failed attempt at escape. This scene is awfully reminiscent, though Changbin drives and Seungmin is now in the passenger seat. Neither of the men speak.

All the meanwhile, you are completely and utterly tense. Not only are you hyper aware of every touch from the two men, Chan’s leg and body pressing into you whilst Felix leans away from you and toward the door, but you are also reminded of the fact that you will see him tonight. Jungwon. 

As if sensing your apprehensiveness, Chan begins to speak. 

“You'll be with at least one of us at all times,” he says. “He won’t be expecting to see you there, so we’ll have the upperhand, as I said earlier. You will be at my side the entire night, and if not you're not, you'll be with either Changbin or Felix. I don’t know how else to assure you of your safety, but you will be in good hands.” You nod your head silently. Felix glances over at you for a second and meets your eye, giving you a reassuring smile. 

When you arrive at the function, the car door is opened for you. Chan steps out and he holds out his hand for you to grab onto. You do so with minimal hesitation. You look up at the venue with wide eyes; if Chan’s house was big, then this is certainly a mansion. Neatly groomed shrubbery lines the illuminated walkway, white quartz that clicks against your heels when you walk. The white house is almost more windows than anything else and you can see the bustle of the party from inside. Everything about the house is extravagant, including the nameless servants and butlers in all black that satisfy the people’s every request, including holding the door open for you, Chan and his group of people to walk into. When you walk up the stairs you have to lift your dress up so you do not trip over it. 

Inside the main entrance is a large ballroom that is brightly lit, tables with white silk tablecloths pushed to the side in order to make way for an expansive dance floor. The room is full of people dressed just as eloquently as yourself, some of them moreso. In the corner, a pianist and violinist play light classical music that sets the mood.

You think about what your life would have been like right now if you weren’t acquainted with this group of people, that a second thought or look would’ve never been spared to you by any person in this room, and that in an entire lifetime you would have never gotten an invitation. These thoughts are pushed aside when you see a woman walking by holding a tray of refreshments, the glass of champagne looking awfully tempting to ease your nerves. When you glance at Chan he chuckles, waving his hand at you in permittance. 

“Go for it. Enjoy yourself, but don’t go overboard,” he says. You grab the glass eagerly and take small sips from it, attaching yourself closely to the group of men you arrived with. Your eyes dart around the ballroom, trying to see if you can find the man you recognize but are dreading to make contact with. 

You feel a hand on your shoulder and the familiar scent of cologne floods your senses. Felix. “Hey,” he says. “Dance with me.” 

The request takes you by surprise, but he uses that opportunity to guide you to the dance floor by the hand, giving you ample opportunity to move away. Your hands fall lightly on his shoulders, unsure, but when his hands meet your waist respectfully, you relax into him. Of course, you aren’t the only ones on the dance floor but it is still early into the night, most people still mingling or enjoying the refreshments. Your breath quickens and you’re filled with another wave of anxiety, eyes darting around as you sway back and forth to the music. Where is Jungwon? Why can’t you find him?

“Look at me,” Felix urges, and you do. In this lighting you take a moment to truly take in the details of his appearance. His blonde hair is combed through and pushed back, sprayed in place but with carefully selected pieces to frame his face. A small braid is woven through the side of his hair, leaving him with a half-up/half-down sort of hairstyle that once again reminds you of a fae. You also notice that he’s wearing earrings, a small set of silver hoops that brings the whole look together. 

“I’m nervous,” you admit. Your eyes are wide open and you have to remind yourself to breathe and breathe and breathe. 

“Don’t be,” he says. “You’ve never been safer.” He reaches and tucks a loose piece of hair behind your ears and peers into your eyes, and you feel utterly seen by him. You know he knows every thought you’re thinking and that he can sense every unshallow breath you take. You also know that this action of sweeping you away to the dance floor is meant to be a distraction, a way to keep you from being nervous about the events from tonight. Why does Felix care so much? What will happen when Jungwon sees you tonight? Will he try to talk to you? There’s not going to be a fight, not tonight, not in front of all these people, right? 

“You look beautiful tonight.” Felix somehow knocks all thoughts of Jungwon out of your head, which is seemingly exactly what he planned to do. 

“What?” You say, eyes searching his face for any dishonesty. There is none. You become nervous once again tonight, and this time it isn’t because of Jungwon. 

“You look beautiful,” he repeats. “Stunning.” The hands on your hips guide you to the music and he eases you to lean into him more. “I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you earlier. Your hair, your makeup, your shoes… I feel greedy when I look at you because I’m happy that you’ve been able to stay with us so far. I like knowing that you’re safe and nobody else can get to you again, but also… I want to see you like this more often. I know the circumstances aren’t ideal,” he says. “But your face lit up today for the first time since you’ve been in the house with us. I just want it to stay like that. I don’t know why, but I want you to stay happy.” He smiles at you and your face is so on fire that you just have to look away, unable to meet his unwavering gaze any longer without falling apart. 

However, when your eyes trail away, your eyes recognize somebody in the crowd and your blood runs cold. Not Yang Jungwon, however. 

Woojin. 

“Felix,” you say urgently. You know the concern is evident in his voice but his face doesn’t change expressions, an evident poker-face masking his features. 

“What is it?” he asks. 

His hands never leave your waist. 

“W-Woojin,” you stammer. 

“Shit. Okay. Tell me exactly what you see,” he urges. You keen your head over slightly, standing on tiptoes to get a better view of the situation. Woojin appears to be talking to someone but they have their back turned to you. He’s tall, burgundy hair swept to the side with a straight, powerful stance. As if he senses your gaze, the man turns around and looks over his shoulder. You stiffen. 

“Heeseung,” you whisper to him. Felix’s lips purse into a tight-lipped smile and his brows furrow. You can tell that fact makes him tense which unnerves you further. 

“We need to find Chan,” he says. “If Woojin is talking to Heeseung, there’s a possibility that ENHA can find out about the infiltration mission. Minho could be in danger.” His hands fall from your hips and you find yourself immediately missing the contact but he opts for taking your hand instead, leading you towards the area where all of SKZ is waiting. Felix urges you to stay calm, act natural, and take a deep breath. His words are reassuring.

Chan is talking to another man, an acquaintance you can only presume. Felix drops your hand, passing you to Changbin to watch over you. “Stay here,” he says, and he walks over to Chan to speak into his ear.  

Changbin looks over at you, noticing your distress. “Can I use the bathroom?” You say suddenly. Your heart is beating right out of your chest, you can’t steady your breathing, and you feel dizzy and uncomfortable on your feet. You might throw up. You feel your chest tightening and you feel the need to just splash some water onto your face. Changbin hurriedly walks you across the ballroom and waits for you outside of the bathroom, giving you an opportunity to take a deep breath. It’s quiet in here, the noise from the music ensemble not quite making it past the doors. You hope that Woojin and Heeseung haven’t noticed you yet, but you remind yourself that Chan probably has a plan.  Taking a deep breath, you grab a wet paper towel and use it to blot your face, trying to cool yourself down without  ruining your makeup. The time spent alone was well-used, you think, and you can feel yourself starting to become calm. You open the door, ready to face the situation at hand again. You peer around the corner, immediately noticing Changbin’s absence. Strange, you think, but that’s the last thought you have before feeling a hand gripping your chin and holding something over your mouth and nose, rendering you incapable of breathing. 

“Hello, love,” you hear. You could recognize that voice, the voice of your past lover anywhere, even in your nightmares. “Did you miss me?” You have no chance to answer before your vision fades to black. 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

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@melleus ; @hyun-bun ; @luminouskalopsia ;

[reysdriver]

Phone Sex | E.M.

Day 7 of Kinktober: Phone Sex/Mutual Masturbation — eddie x fem!college!reader smut/a bit of fluff

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI - smut, phone sex, dirty talk, mutual masturbation, pet names (baby, sweetheart), mentions of oral and piv sex

Words: 1.9k

a/n: I know it is absolutely not october anymore but I'm not quitting! I already made a post ab it but I'm gonna keep going until I hit at least 10 kinktober fics!

It’s been tough since you left for university. The feeling of withdrawal from Eddie was already setting in, even though you had only been away from your boyfriend for just about two weeks. The chaos of starting school had just been so much—from the hustle and bustle of orientation week to pages and pages of syllabi you had to read through and prepare for—you had barely spoken to Eddie for more than a few small, rushed phone conversations. 

You and Eddie had even made a big deal of buying a landline phone for your dorm room before you left along with one for his bedroom, and you two hadn’t even got to use them for more than half an hour total. 

But tonight was going to be the night. You had no assignments, and nothing else to do than call your boyfriend for as long as you both could stay awake. 

Taking the handset in your left hand and already holding it up to the side of your head, you dialled your favourite phone number in the entire world. 

You lied on your stomach against the mattress of your twin bed, listening closely to the dial tone. After a few seconds, Eddie answered and a smile tore across your face almost immediately. 

“You’ve reached the gates of hell; what can I do for you today?”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing at his stupid way of picking up the phone. “You know it’s me, Eddie. Don’t try to scare me off.”

“I just had to make sure, sweetheart.”

You decided you would tease him for that. “Oh, you got a lot of people calling you at nine in the evening?”

“Nope. Just one special little lady calling from her smart people asylum.”

Another joke you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of laughing at. “Good. I don’t want to have to beat any other girls away from you when I come back for Thanksgiving.” 

As soon as the words escaped your lips, you started to think about how far away that really was. It had been hard enough being away from each other for two months, you didn’t even want to think about being separate for two more months. 

Eddie was clearly thinking about this too, because he quickly changed the subject. “What about you, baby? Anyone you’re talking to late at night when you aren’t on the phone with me?”

“Nope. Just you, Eds.” You responded honestly. 

His tone changed from flirtatious to more sincere. “But you are making friends though, right? I don’t want you to have too good of a time, but I definitely don’t want you to be lonely.”

“I’m not lonely here, Eddie. Remember I told you about that group I eat dinner with? And I just joined a book club!”

“A book club, eh?” He tutted. “A shame. Bet they’re just gonna fill you up with the most basic of literature and turn you into a puppet for The Man.” 

This one, you did laugh at. You twirled the phone’s cord around your index finger as you crafted your response. “Don’t worry, Eds. There’s only one man I would be a toy for.”

You could practically hear your boyfriend’s jaw drop through the phone. 

“So it’s gonna be one of those phone calls, huh?” 

You suddenly lost a whole lot of your confidence. Did he just want to chat and catch up tonight? Was he thinking the sexual aspect of your relationship would be gone once you left for college?

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay.” You rushed to say. “I was just thinking we could have a little fun and then talk about everything else until we fall asleep—”

“Sweetheart, of course I want to. I just wanted to tease you a bit because I can’t do it every day in person like we’re used to.” He told you with a slight laugh. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I would never pass up an opportunity like this with you.” 

That boosted your confidence back again. You shifted around to get as comfortable as you could on your tiny bed. “Oh, really? I’m that irresistible?”

“Of course.” He said honestly. “That’s why it was so hard to let you move away. Remember our last night together before you left?”

You absolutely remembered it. How could you forget? Although you had originally planned to go to bed early so you could get to school, Eddie had made you a romantic dinner at his trailer and he had ravished you all night as one of his goodbye presents to you. 

Although you stand by every one of your dates with Eddie being one of the best nights of your life, that one had to take the cake so far. 

“Yeah, I think it rings a bell.” You told him. “You want to try to recreate it like this?” 

“Like, by ourselves? Over the phone?” He paused for a moment while he pretended to think about your offer. “Well, I’m not sure you would be able to match the euphoria brought on by my special moves, but we can try it.” 

“Oh no.” You said with a giggle. “I don’t know how I’ll survive.”

“Well, you could start by taking off your pants. Wait, maybe I should ask what you’re wearing. What are you wearing, baby?” 

Eddie was just so incredibly funny without even trying sometimes. You thought it was so incredibly him to get caught up on something like that, but still be able to turn it around and try to make it sexy.

You looked down at your body when you realised you actually couldn’t remember what you had even put on that morning. “Um, your Judas Priest tee shirt, some jean shorts, and the black matching set you like underneath.”

Instead of being upset that you stole his shirt like you were slightly worried he would be, Eddie seemed to like your outfit. 

“That’s a good shirt; leave it on. But the bottoms can go.”

And you as he asked. You weren’t exactly sure how this was all going to go down, but you were excited nonetheless. Still lying down, you lifted your hips and shimmied out of your shorts. 

“And what about you? You’re not wearing one of my shirts, are you?”

He chuckled into the phone. “No, sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart, but I’m wearing a nasty old pair of jeans and my Ozzy shirt.”

“Well, that’s no problem. The nasty old pants can come off. Then we can match.”

“I love the way you think.”

You could hear the clinking sounds made by Eddie undoing his belt through the phone and it shot a wave of anticipation down your torso and right between your legs. You pictured your boyfriend with his phone held between his jaw and his shoulder, so excited for what you were engaging in that he just had to get his jeans off as soon as possible. 

“So,” Eddie started awkwardly, “Do you want to get all teasing with things or should we just get into it?”

You thought about it for a moment, then answered him. “I think we’ve been apart for too long. We shouldn’t deprive ourselves of each other for a second longer than necessary.”

“Amazing point, baby, as always.” There’s more shuffling on the other line, and you’re tempted to ask about it, but Eddie answers before you can even say anything. “Don’t mind me, just getting some lotion from the dresser. Not everyone here is as lubricationally gifted as you are, my dear.”

He was right; you were already getting wet. All you had done was think about the idea of you and Eddie getting off together, then you had taken off your jean shorts, and you had already made a mark on your underwear. 

You didn’t want to start anything without Eddie, so you just opened your legs and let anticipation pool between them. 

You could hear Eddie groan, then the springs of his old mattress creaked loudly. 

“Alright, babe, let’s get into it.” He said. “I mean, I can do my thing here. How about you bring a hand down there and start playing with your pussy?”

It was clear through Eddie’s over-the-phone dirty talk that he was new to this, but who were you to judge? You did just as he told you, taking two fingers and starting to tease your clit. 

The sounds of Eddie moving his hands up and down along his cock, muffled through the landline, just turned you on so much. Every few pumps, Eddie let out little grunts and moans, your favourite sounds. 

“I’ve missed you so much, baby.” He told you, still getting himself off. 

“I’ve been missing you too.” You replied sincerely. “I think about you every single day.”

You dipped two fingers into yourself and pumped them in and out, an attempt to replicate how your boyfriend can bring you to climax with just his fingers when he wants to. It worked somewhat; it was pleasing enough, especially when you used your thumb to rub your clit at the same time, but it just wasn’t Eddie’s fingers. 

“There’s been times where I’ve been in class, not paying attention to a single thing the professor was saying, just thinking about us in the back of your van or out by Lover’s Lake…” You admitted. 

Eddie seemed intrigued by this new idea. He absolutely knew what you were talking about, but he wanted to press more. “Yeah, tell me about that, sweetheart. What were we getting up to in the back of my van?” 

“Remember that picnic we had after graduation? I was running through that whole day in my head, like it was on loop. I loved that day so much. I love you so much, Eds.” 

He let out one loud moan that seemed to echo off the walls of his trailer. You knew exactly what that sound meant, but he confirmed it for you between heavy breaths anyways. 

“Shit, I just made a big ass mess on my shirt.” 

“Well, maybe when I’m done, I can make a mess on your shirt too.”

“Yeah, you just gotta keep going, playing with yourself. Are you thinking about my fingers, my mouth, or my dick?”

“Your fingers. I wish you were really here.” You sighed. “I’m close.”

Eddie told you to keep rubbing yourself and playing with your pussy, and you did so until you felt the knot in your stomach burst. 

You found yourself breathing heavily, just as Eddie was a moment ago, and now neither of you were saying anything. You held the handset of the phone against your chest and watched as it rose and fell with each deep inhale and exhale you took. 

Finally, you heard Eddie’s muffled voice and brought the phone back up to your head. 

“I was thinking I should make the drive up to see you next weekend, what do you think?” He offered. “Maybe we could recreate tonight in person, amongst other things.”You held back an ecstatic squeal from leaving you. Maybe university wasn’t going to be bad at all, you thought.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

The Family Business

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by anonymous

Synopsis: You (20+ ish) are starting to feel left out by your brothers, but maybe not for the reason you think.

“Hey, we’ve got a case just a couple of hours away, looks like it could be a djinn.”

You looked up as Sam and Dean entered the library, Dean delivering the news.

“Ok, I’ll go get my stuff.” You started to rise from your chair, but Sam held up his hands.

“Actually, I think we’re good. You should, uh, you should just stay here.”

You were so surprised that by the time you thought of speaking up, your brothers were already past you and headed for the door.

“You sure?” You called out faintly.

“Yup,” Sam assured you before following Dean out the door.

You weren’t quite sure what had just happened. Ever since you’d become old enough to hunt, the boys had never left for a hunt without you.

Your mind started running back through the past week, trying to think of why your brothers wouldn’t want you around. All you could come up with was a moment from the last hunt; you had almost gotten hurt by a werewolf, but Dean had assured you over and over that it was his fault, not yours.

Maybe he had changed his mind.

…

The next two weeks passed much the same, with the boys not only excluding you from hunts, but from just about everything else that they did. They studied lore in the library without filling you in on anything they were hunting, they had a movie night in the Dean cave without inviting you, and they just excluded you in general from anything they did together, which was everything.

Some part of you felt that you should be angry at this, but instead despair clouded your emotions at each new rejection. You’d convinced yourself that it was because of that one mistake a few hunts ago, because what else could it be?

You’d lost your brothers’ trust, and with it their companionship. And you had no idea how to win it back.

You’d spent the last two weeks getting closer and closer to a breakdown. You could feel it—your mood was constantly gloomy, you’d almost completely lost your appetite, and you spent most of your time hidden in your room. Things that used to be so simple—asking Sam if you could join him on a run, joining Dean during shooting practice—now filled you with anxiety. You’d always felt comfortable doing things with your brothers, but the thought that they didn’t want you around made you second guess everything you did.

Unfortunately, the breakdown came at a time you didn’t appreciate.

“Hey, we’re headed out for a hunt.” You looked up from the book you were reading as Sam peaked into your room to update you.

“Do you need any help?” This was your standard question, despite the fact that you knew he’d say no again. You weren’t wrong.

“No, we’re fine. We’ll probably be back in a week, it’s pretty far away.”

Your heart plummeted to your stomach at his words. You’d been feeling lonely enough with the brothers ignoring you, but for them to leave completely for a whole week?

“Are you—“ you stopped yourself completely when your voice cracked. You wanted to ask if he was sure, if he’d let you come along anyway, if there was anything you could do. But if he didn’t trust you or want you, the last thing you wanted to be was a burden. Besides, with the crack in your voice came a stinging behind your eyes, and you really didn’t want to cry in front of Sam.

But still, Sam had heard the start to your question, and he turned to listen.

“What?” He asked.

“Nothing.” Your voice came out as a choked mumble, and you cursed yourself, knowing that Sam would hear it. Sure enough—

“Hey, you ok?”

You focused your gaze on the book in your lap to avoid Sam’s penetrating stare as you answered.

“Yeah, fine.” Your voice didn’t come out at all the way you wanted it to, and you could feel your eyes misting over as you struggled to make your breathing sound normal with the lump building in your throat. You’d been keeping your feelings in for far too long, and apparently Sam’s words sparked your short fuse.

The book in front of you suddenly disappeared, snatched up by Sam’s hand as he came to sit on the edge of your bed.

“Ok, come on now, what’s going on?”

“Nothing.” You pulled your knees to your chest, still not looking at your big brother.

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

You reluctantly lifted your head to look into Sam’s dark eyes despite knowing that he would see your unshed tears.

“What’s wrong?” Sam’s gaze was soft as flower petals, and his voice was hushed.

He thinks you’re weak.

You tried to push the voice in your head away as you finally faced your brother.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you said again. “Go on your hunt with Dean.”

“Don’t do that,” Sam said. “Don’t just shut me out.”

Something inside you snapped.

“Shut you out?” Your voice rose. “That’s rich, coming from you!”

Sam was taken aback by your sudden change.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how you keep leaving me behind! I haven’t been on a hunt in weeks, and we never do anything together anymore!” Your anger was slipping back into despair, and you fought to stop it.

“Honey, we didn’t mean to—“ Sam was at a loss for words. “We just—“

“Just go.” You could feel yourself losing the battle as your tears returned. “Go away!” The pillow you threw at him missed by a mile, but he backed off anyway, leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

The second he was gone, your resolve disappeared along with your anger. You tightened your arms around your knees and sobbed, burying your face in your knees as your whole body shook. Between the hunt you screwed up and the way you just acted with Sam, you didn’t think your brothers would ever want to be around you again.

…

Your whole body froze when you heard your door opening. You struggled to hold in your sobs, even though that meant holding your breath, too.

“Hey kid.”

Dean this time, not Sam.

“Shouldn’t you be on a hunt?” You managed to choke out, and you cringed at the sound of your tearful voice.

“Not until I tell you why you weren’t invited,” Dean replied.

Your throat constricted, and you swallowed hard.

“I already know why.”

“Do you?” You heard rather than saw when Dean closed the door behind him and stepped further into the room. “Because I’m starting to think that I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not right.”

Your forehead crinkled in confusion, but you kept your head down.

“What?”

Your bed dipped as Dean sat on the end.

“You think it’s because of that hunt two weeks ago. Well, you’re right about that, sort of.”

You felt your hands start to shake as a sob unintentionally escaped your lips.

“Hey now.” Dean sighed, and you felt his hand on your shoulder. “It’s ok, just breathe.” His other hand came up to your other shoulder, and you felt his fingers flex as he pulled you towards him. You tucked your legs under you, opting instead to bury your face against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed. “I didn’t mean to—“

“Shh, hey now,” Dean soothed, his hands coming up to cradle your head. “You didn’t let me finish, kiddo. I told you that that hunt wasn’t your fault, and I meant it. It was mine. But I almost got you killed out there, and I—“ Dean’s voice caught, and in the brief silence that followed he realized that your sobs had subsided, and you were breathing more evenly in his arms. Dean felt his own eyes start to sting as he thought about the way you almost died on that hunt. “And I realized,” he continued, “That we never bothered to see if you wanted this.”

“What?” You asked quietly.

“Look, I picked this life. Sammy tried to get out of it, but ultimately he picked it too. But you’ve just done what we told you, you followed us, but we never asked if you wanted to. Now, I know that that wasn’t how dad did things, he had to make us be a part of this life for our own protection. But now things are different. If you don’t want this, I’m not gonna make you do it.”

As Dean spoke, you began to feel so relieved that you nearly laughed.

“Why didn’t you tell me, you idiot?” You demanded, and at Dean’s chuckle you actually did laugh.

“Sam didn’t want to dump all this on you. He said we should let you sit out a few hunts first, then ask.”

“Why didn’t you let me help you with lore?” You pressed on, still confused.

“We didn’t want you to think you were benched from hunts, figured it would be best to just not have you do any of it.” Dean chuckled again. “I guess it was a stupid idea.”

“So…you do want me on hunts?” You mumbled.

“Of course we do,” Dean said firmly. “But not if you don’t want to be out there. This life could get you killed, you’ve gotta choose it if you want it.”

“Knock knock.” The two of you turned as Sam stepped into the room. “Hey, how’re we doing in here?”

“I think we’re ok,” Dean said, pulling away from you. “You think?”

“Yeah.” Your lips twitched into a smile. “We’re good.”

“What do you think about…joining us on the hunt?” Sam asked hesitantly. “Only if you want to.”

“I think…” you grinned. “Someone has to watch your butts.”

Sam laughed. “So that’s a yes?”

“I’ll get my stuff.”

You hopped off the bed so you could pack, but Dean climbed off next to you and pulled you into his arms.

“Welcome to the family business, kid.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade

[bob-artist]

Just found you via your funny dream comic. Good stuff 😆. Definitely gonna read the rest, and I was surprised you had your own website. Looks good on mobile too. I’ve got a comic that some friends keep trying to build me a site for but I’ve been telling them no because it seems like between webtoon and social media nobody is interested in personal sites anymore.

Have you noticed an uptick in engagement from your site? Would you recommend going that route? I’d like to hear your thoughts.

I’m also interested in how you decided to build/host it, if that question isn’t too lame.

Anyway, glad I found your comics!

Ah thank you for checking out Into the Smoke's website!!

Oh, I have SO many thoughts about independent webcomic sites and why people should have them. I have so many thoughts, and I'm so so sorry.

Why did I decide to have my own webcomic site?

First of all, this is not a lame question and I wish we could all have this conversation more often, so I could maybe write just a paragraph instead of this whole dissertation!

1. Because I lived through webcomics history.

I launched my first webcomic in 2011. I watched the webcomics scene shift over the years from self-hosted sites to third party sites, and I saw what it meant for independent creators. We lost vital infrastructure, relationships, habits, and control over our own work. I think self-hosted sites are an important backbone for creators, even if/when their largest *numbers* come from a third party site.

We’re all supposed to be helping each other, not fighting each other to satisfy the algorithm. Our early tools (webrings, link trades, comic databases, sharing each other’s posts) were small but meaningful, and they also helped us maintain a community mindset in a long and sometimes lonely line of work. When we started leaning on hosting sites, we let a lot of those tools and relationships decay. And now a lot of people are locked into imbalanced relationships with hosting sites that leave them with very little agency and control over their work and how it’s shared (or isn’t shared).

Hosting sites are great for removing barriers to entry (cost/time to build a site). And a lot of them have large built-in audiences. But the big ones aren’t run by people who care about creators. They’re designed to extract the maximum value from your work while giving you the least they can get away with. Use them if you want (I do), but don't be dependent on them.

2. Comics are the main thing I do for a living, and a website gives me the tools to promote my work and build relationships with my readers.

Most apps and third party sites actively prevent or suppress these things. On your own site, you can share all the info you want about your upcoming Kickstarter, your tradpub book release, your merch, etc. You can collect email addresses for your newsletter. You can literally just talk about your weekend, and you’re not gonna have a 150-character limit.

Yeah, not everyone wants to read a wall of text (ha ha...), but acting like a person reminds readers to treat you like a person. This is one of my main gripes with the apps and social media - they suppress human connection and present you like a cog in their machine that only exists to churn out free content.

3. I have a consistent home base and full control over how my work is displayed.

I don’t have to fight against an app that’s trying to direct my readers toward whichever content is most profitable for them. On an app, the readers “belong” to them, not you. (Who has their email addresses?) So if I'm putting effort into promoting my comic, I'm promoting my own site. (oh look, I just did it.)

Hosting sites/apps aren't designed to showcase your work. They showcase the app’s collection, and they're designed to keep readers on the app, jumping from creator to creator. This can help readers find you, but it also devalues your work and dilutes its impact.

And the app might not show your work to anyone anyway. Tapas is a great example; they recently redesigned their site to prioritize their Originals, and independent creators are hidden away in a “community” tab with barely any discoverability anymore. This is always the struggle on a third party site.

4. I hate censorship.

Into the Smoke is Teen 16/17+ and Demon of the Underground is R/18+. My comics aren’t even explicit, but I still can’t post my true, uncensored vision for either story on third party apps governed by Apple’s App Store and Visa/Mastercard’s tight content restrictions.

If webcomics exist exclusively on apps with heavy censorship, we’ll never have the diversity of storytelling and freedom of expression that’s necessary for groundbreaking or subversive art to happen. And that’s bad for everyone.

Adult brains need to engage with adult concepts. Difficult and triggering topics need to be explored in creative spaces. Artists need freedom to stretch their creative muscles without falling into the damaging patterns of self-censorship that come from having to tiptoe around arbitrary platform rules.

We can’t let the rules of like 3 American companies dictate what every webcomic reader around the world is allowed to read.

5. An independent website can’t easily be taken away from you.

Just make regular backups! You can always move to a new web host and redirect URLs if needed, and you won't lose your readers. On the other hand, you can easily lose the bulk of your audience on a third party site based on circumstances outside your control.

Let’s talk about Smack Jeeves, a formerly popular webcomic hosting site that was bought out and then shut down, leaving lots of cartoonists homeless. Or we can talk about the Tumblr NSFW purge of 2018, where I lost a huge chunk of my first webcomic’s following and most of my webcomic mutuals, even though my own account stayed within the rules. Or Musk buying Twitter, the platform where I once found my literary agent through a publishing event but now get no traction at all.

Have I noticed an uptick in engagement from my site?

I don’t have analytics on my site yet. But, up until a few days ago, that's where people were reading, thanks to my own efforts and the support of my comics friends and all of y’all who shared my ITS posts. (THANK YOU ALL!) I didn't have any discoverability on Webtoon or Tapas yet.

I got 10-15 new patrons between May 25 and June 5. Up until a few days ago, I even had more ITS newsletter subscribers than Webtoon subscribers.

What happened a few days ago is my Webtoon mirror suddenly blew up with 100+ new subs a day. I don’t know where I’m being featured, but I know I’m only getting those readers because Webtoon suddenly chose to grant me visibility. That can end just as instantly with an algorithm tweak or them deciding not to show my comic anymore. (When my first webcomic was in one of their pay programs in 2018, I went from $300 or $400/month to $0 overnight due to a policy change.) So I’ll enjoy it while it lasts, but I won't de-prioritize my website.

The new Webtoon readers are awesome and supportive, and I’m 100% thrilled to have them. But the Webtoon influx isn't resulting in a Patreon influx like my website launch did. I wouldn't expect it to, this early in the story. But it's consistent with my past experience polling my patrons: even when 50% of my readers came from the apps, 90% of patrons read on my website. (Your audience may vary.) And since I depend on crowdfunding for my comic, that's important to me.

Would I recommend going the route of having your own site?

For anyone who’s just testing the waters with webcomics, it might be overkill.

But for anyone who’s committed to their webcomic, I recommend having your own site AND mirroring on every third party site you can, provided you’re cool with their terms of service. It's important to meet readers where they are. Let those hosting sites lend you their readers. Some readers will even want to visit your home site where they can read ahead, read the uncensored version of your comic, get more info, or sign up for your newsletter.

Just remember, no one will discover your independent website all on their own. They’ll only find it through the work you put into promotion. But the reader that cares enough to come to your home site is a special type of reader.

So how do you get readers to visit an independent webcomic site?

Find your allies

These are people who work in similar areas as you who want to help you succeed, and whom you want to help succeed. Chat with each other, help each other, promote each other, boost each other, link to each other (psst, my links page just went live!), be there for each other - behind the scenes and in public.

God, I am SO bad at approaching people, but this is important, and not just for comics.

Be part of a community

Really, this is an extension of the above point. It's easier to find your allies if you're part of a community.

I’m a member of the Cartoonist Cooperative, and they’re a GREAT group of talented people all across the comics industry. The mission of @cartoonistcoop is to help create better conditions for comic workers through cooperation and collective action, and I’ve found so much help from them with Into the Smoke and comics as a whole. (JOIN! They're great!!)

The goal of the co-op isn't to drive traffic to your website. But being part of it has helped me at every level of crafting my comic, including promoting it and making it good enough that I can take pride in promoting it. And it's helped me ground myself as part of a community after I lost so much of mine in past years of burnout and platform enshittification.

Another option: @spiderforestcomics is a great webcomic collective full of supportive creators, and I believe they’re open to submissions till the end of June! They also have an awesome collaborative community mindset, and I've known some of their members for years.

Direct readers to your RSS feed and newsletter

Getting readers to your website is great, but they need to keep coming back for future updates, and it’s hard to remind them without an app notification. You may need to teach younger readers what RSS feeds are. Inoreader is a great RSS reader for the 2024 era.

The dreaded SEO

That’s Search Engine Optimization - optimizing your website so that people can easily find your comic via search engines. That’s a topic for another day, but feel free to research it!

Paid promo

This can be tricky, and I really only recommend spending promo money if you’re making a comic on a professional basis, because then it’s an investment you'll make back.

That said, Comicad.net is a great independent site where you can buy banner slots on other creators’ sites. I just ran small campaign myself. (And no, I won’t ever be offended if you outbid me!)

I haven’t bought any Tumblr Blaze slots, but I got BOPPed (blaze other people’s posts; apparently that’s what it’s called, lol) once on this account and once on a side blog, and both were highly impactful. (Thanks, friend!!) So I consider it a solid option, and it looks really cheap compared to other social media sites. (Never trust Meta.)

And where can you learn more about building a webcomic site?

I know you didn't ask, but if I'm gonna share all this, I might as well give folks a starting place to actually do the thing.

Now, I’m *bad* at offering cheap and easy web solutions. My specialty is hard and expensive. But my one piece of advice: PLEASE make your webcomic site mobile friendly for the current generation of readers! When we talk about barriers to entry, remember that more people have phones than computers, and many can't afford computers.

Anyway, here's some webcomic website resources from OTHER people!

The Cartoonist Co-op has LOTS of great resources on building webcomic sites! Several of them! Check them all out!

@screentonescast has a podcast episode on webcomic web design and one on RSS feeds!

@jeypawlik also has a great comic about how RSS feeds work.

So, congrats if you made it this far. Go make a website, y'all! And if you read any indie comics, go visit the creator's website!

[bobbin-buckley]

So Lonely In Her Mansion (2)

Cairo Sweet x ScriptWriter!Fem!Reader

Summary: (second part) Cairo invited you over because she was so lonely in her mansion, that night turned out to being something unexpected

Warnings: Smut, oral (R receiving), fingering (C receiving) dirty talk, powerbottom!Cairo, Top!Fem!Reader, lesbian sex, mentions of writing porn

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“..I wanna be yours..” she mutters against your lips. “You will be.”

Tonight turned out like something you we’re definitely un-expecting.

You only thought she wanted you over just for company, but then all the flirting turned into this. Your hand between her thighs, lips attached, and being extremely touchy with each other.

“Y/n…”

Cairo spoke desperately, she wanted- no needed you to touch her..feel her.

“Patience baby..” your voice rasped. Hands on her, one on her thigh and the other teasing her wet heat.

She was squirming, needing some sort of friction by grinding on your fingers. “Y/n…stop teasing..”

You chuckled, actually having a little fun. “Why should I? This is actually fun~~”

Cairo whines. Her eyes filled with desperation, need, desire. She couldn’t handle this burning sensation in her lower stomach.

“Baby, please..” she said in a needy tone. Fuck she needed you, she needed your fingers drilling into her wet cunt, calling her a slut..yours or even a good girl if she tried to be one.

Cairo has never felt this desperate before, never felt this immediate need of pleasure by someone. She’s only touched herself once, but that was only for her writing..she needed to know what it felt like.

“Y/n..” “hm?” You continued to tease her, “what is it pretty girl?”

She whimpered, “please..just..please..”

With a chuckle, you just kept edging her on. “What baby? Tell me..wanna hear you say it.”

She whined, having enough of this teasing from you and the begging she gave. A big whine escaped her throat again, not wanting to say those words.

“Don’t be embarrassed sweetheart, say it..” you urged on.

She huffed, “please..just..fuck me. Need your fingers..inside..” You grinned wider at each word, rubbing your fingers closer to her dripping hole. “Be patient baby, I wanna take my time with you.”

Cairo whines again, she hates that you were teasing her. She had such the urge to grab your hand and do it herself, but she restrained. “Mm..Y/n..” She moaned your name.

You smiled more, finally taking your two fingers and slipping them inside her wet heat. You both moaned, feeling her tightness around your fingers felt so good for the both of you. She didn’t want you to stop or pull away. As you pumped two fingers in, she kept the repeating motion of grinding her hips against the two digits. Another moan escaped her as the rubbing sensation against her clit was sending shivers down her spine.

Her body was already shaking, her thighs twitching at every little moment of pleasure. It all ripped through her like a bolt of lightning, as it kept a replicating pattern.

“Look at me.” You said with a somber look, gripping her chin with your free hand to make her look up at you. “Keep your eyes on me baby, feel the pleasure..the warmth of my fingers as I guide you into daze.”

With that, you kissed her deep. Slamming your fingers into her faster, keeping a steady rhythm. Pulling away from the kiss, a string of saliva following which just increased the heat of this point in time. A sealed memory to keep in your mind together, something Cairo will rewrite in her history.

Hell..she’ll even write a whole goddamn book about you if necessary.

“Fuck Y/n….you know..i-I’ve been..fantasizing this..for..oh fuck! A long time…” she spoke in broken moans and gasps. “Oh really?” You mocked, already knowing she has..it was obvious. “What is it that you imagine? Or write? Do you write it all dirty? Dreaming of my fingers drilling into your tight heat like now, making you cum on the digits as I keep fingering you, maybe even when I make you suck my sticky fingers covered in your cum Cairo.”

She moaned at your words. Making her orgasm approach closer, legs shaking so much more than before. What made this even hotter, is that you..yourself was feeling pleasure..just by pleasing her! Seeing her so vulnerable under you, made you want to cum.

“Cum for me Cairo, wanna see that pretty face fall apart as I send you into your own fantasy.” Your breath hitched, placing your covered clit above her knee as you grinded against it.

Cairo was shocked but didn’t mind, if it meant cumming together it would be delightful for her.

“Y/n I’m so so close..please..” “me too..oh me too..” your long fingers pumping in faster..the sounds of her wetness squelching in your ears, her moans and your gasps echoing off the walls of the room. Maybe even the sound of your voice in Cairo’s head, every word you speak repeats in there.

“Cmon..cmon baby, so close.” Her eyes now focused on your lips, reading your lips and hearing your words as you sent her into an orgasm.

“Shit..shit! Y/n!” She screamed, her moans and grunts echoing off the walls even more. “Cum for me Cairo, come on. Wanna see that pretty face when you let go.”

She gasped, feeling your fingers sink into her further..hitting that spot that makes her see stars. She felt her legs shaking, broken moans flailing aloud, that feeling in her lower abdomen.

“Be a good girl and cum for me.” And with that, she came. Her orgasm flooded her senses, making her feel like she was on cloud nine.

She gripped the you shoulder tighter, tugging you down to kiss her. You kissed back, slowing down your fingers as she slowly relaxed from her high.

“You okay there?” You asked, pulling out your fingers. This made her whine a bit, her pussy clenching around nothing. “Y-yeah, god you made me feel so good.” Her voice rasped. She totally lost her voice due to her moaning.

“Yeah? Wanna do it again?” You asked with a smirk, and she chuckled. “You know it.” Cairo grinned, and placed a hand on your lower abdomen. “But can I make you feel good?”

You blushed at her words, honestly excited to get the same treatment by her. You nodded dumbly, already feeling high just by the way she was looking at you.

“I want you to ride my face,” she spoke in that accent that made you go feral. God would you pay her a million just to hear her praise you.

“Okay..” with that, you removed your pants and panties. She smiled and watched you, laying further down the couch to get in a better position. Once you removed everything else, you climbed over her. She gripped your legs to angle you better once your dripping self was hovered over her.

She was practically drooling as she grabbed your hips and lowered you on her face. Once your wet pussy lips made contact with her mouth, you both moaned in sync. Your hands shot down to her brown locks, gripping her head as she licked through your folds.

“Oh fuck Cairo. Just like that.” Cairo moaned at your taste, making bigger licks and even kissed your clit or sucking it from time to time. You now started to ride her face, thrusting your hips so that she could taste you all.

She even started to dip her tongue into your entrance, making a shiver go down your spine. “Yes Cairo, fuck me with the pretty face of yours.”

Your body jolted of pleasure each time she slipped her tongue in and out. God did it feel heavenly, (even if it wasn’t supposed to be heavenly at all)

She was doing so good for her first time pleasuring somebody. You were so close to cumming already. Your body was trembling, you sat even more one her face and she couldn’t speak.

Cairo rubbed your clit even faster and it sent you over the edge, your legs shook. “Yes..oh fuck Cairo..gonna cum all over that pretty face..” You moaned out. She licked up your cum, enjoying the taste.

“Oh shit…” She chuckled at your words when you sat up and laid back on the couch. “Thank you.” You replied, “no thank you, Y/n.” She sat up, smiling. “Thank you for coming over, I needed this. I needed you.”

You smiled at her words. Happy to know she also needed you.

____________

Sorry for the super late ass post 😭

I’ve been so busy, but I finally did it 🤪

I’m working on like five different things plus school shit

I plan on making something from Abigail, I love that movie so much y’all should see it.