#I'm gonna go hide in my cave now | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aaph3lion · 4 months ago

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ft: mainstream!mark and variants (mohawk, viltrum, omni, sheisty, sinister) (invincible) reader: fem wc: 2604 summary: hey siri is it gay to want to crack the female version of my dead best friend? cw: canon typical violence, foul language, and the variants are kinda sorta freaky in this requested by: @sophsthebest

this was so fun to write lowk and I would've been done faster if not for the blood moon event in dbd so err yeah I'm going to go die in a hole now

Life is strange, really.

One moment, you’re helping refold shirts because some people don’t even have the decency to put stuff back to where they found it, and the next, an international warning tells you to stay inside because there are evil variants of your boyfriend now roaming the Earth with unclear intentions.

You share a look with your coworker, who looks just as off-put by the information, her fingers curling around her phone as her brow dips. Just as her lips part to speak, the first building falls. It’s only a few blocks away, and the ground beneath your feet trembles at its sudden collapse.

You hear the screams of those out on the street, internally debating whether or not to follow suit until a notification from Mark lights up your screen, the ridiculous nickname you’d set when you were twelve a small comfort to your racing heart.

MarkyWarky: please tell me you’re okay

You: i’m fine

You: i’m just scared mark

You: why are there so many versions of you anyway…

MarkyWarky: i wish i could tell you

MarkyWarky: just stay put alright im otw

The message does little to soothe, and you can’t help but stare at your screen with nothing but apprehension. Your coworker is quick to seize you by the arm when the sound of collapsing buildings and wailing cars draws closer, ushering you into the break room with the floor manager as though the small, unwindowed room would protect you from the raw strength of a Viltrumite.

“Holy shit, we’re gonna die…We’re actually going to die…” The floor manager, Kasandra, curls into herself with tears already welled in her eyes as she chokes back a sob. No one says anything, unable to face the grim reality at steak when debris begins to crumble around you. You all huddle into the furthest corner as your hope in Mark begins to wane.

Small pieces of rubble hit your head as you tuck your head tightly into Kasandra’s shaking shoulder, the lights overhead flickering violently when the ceiling begins to cave in on itself. There’s no use holding back the tears now and you can’t hide your anguished cries, unheard over the collapsing infrastructure.

This is it, you think, mentally saying your goodbyes to everyone you’ve grown to love. Amber. Eve. William. Mark—oh, Mark. The annoying boy next door who grew to be your first love.

Sparks flare as the light above you finally collapses, but you don’t feel a throbbing pain in your head or death’s cold embrace, instead, you find yourself wrapped in a familiar pair of arms, still clinging to an almost catatonic Kasandra while your coworker grips the forearm wrapped around the three of you.

“I’ve got you,” a voice in your ear says, and you can feel the tears begin to well once more, though, this time out of relief. Mark is quick to shoot from the rubble, hold unwavering before he sets the three of you down and urges you to run to safety.

Your two coworkers are quick to flee, but you stupidly linger, worry etched onto your features at the sight of Mark’s beaten face and tattered suit. In the distance, you can see Eve facing valiantly against a variant, the odd cloth mask adorned on his face his most defining trait. She pants, her palms facing outward to just barely raise a shield against his erratic punches.

Mark pulls your attention back to him, face pinched as his thumb traces your lower lip in an attempt to ground both you and himself. His lips are soft against your forehead for a brief moment before he pulls back, staring at you through his cracked goggles with an emotion you can’t quite place.

“I love you,” you whisper, stroking his bruised cheek softly.

“I love you too. But, you need to go. Now. I’ll check on you soon, promise.”

So, you run as fast as your legs can carry you, doing your best to ignore the ruins and corpses that seem to block every turn.

You don’t get far.

A shadow overhead blocks the sun—its presence so oppressive and commandeering that it freezes you in place.

“Another survivor?”

You can’t bring yourself to turn despite the way your heart lurches at the familiarity of the voice. Your breath hitches when the shadow lowers—whatever twisted version of Mark this is drawing ever closer like a lion to its prey.

“I thought those other two were the last of them, but what’s one more?” The voice is cold, almost clinical, very unlike the warmth that radiated off of your Mark. A glove is quick to find purchase on your throat, and you glance down to see the red rubber shining beneath the sun.

Blood coats the hand, tinting the glove an even darker shade of red than what you’d first surmised. You try not to think about the warmth of it as his grip grows tighter, making it harder to breathe, but not enough to kill, like he’s messing with you in some cruel, twisted way.

“You’re this dimension’s girlfriend, aren’t you?” His lips press against the shell of your ear, jerking your body to face the fight between Mark and the clothed one from before alongside Eve, who reaches out to you weakly before eventually crashing against the side of one of the buildings. Your Mark wheezes, clutching at his chest when the cloth-masked variant throws him into a nearby building by the hair. “Pathetic.”

The sound barrier tears as another Mark enters the fray, his mohawk wild and unkempt in the wind as he grins at the sight of battle, though there’s no amusement behind his smile. “Who the hell do you think you are running off like that?” For a moment, his wild eyes slip to where you and your captor reside, a flicker of…something flashing through his before it fizzles away. “Keeping hostages alive? Didn’t peg you for the cruel type.”

You barely register the click of the Invincible’s tongue over the roaring beat of your heart, his thumb remaining stationary over your pulse point; a warning. He could snap your neck at any given moment, and you don’t know what’s stopping him, but you’re grateful for whatever’s causing him to hesitate.

“Come on, just put her out of her misery already,” the mohawked Mark goads with a small shrug as he pulls his fist back to punch your Mark into the concrete when the cloth-masked variant throws him in his direction. Cracks split beneath your feet at the sheer force, the ground almost giving way, but all you can do is watch as your Mark slowly gets up from the crater his body had formed.

He locks eyes with you, something snapping inside of him at the sight of the variant clad in a suit nearly identical to Omni-Man’s wrapping his hand around your throat.

“[Name]!” He calls out, bursting free from the grasp of the two other Marks with a renewed sense of vigor.

Time seems to freeze the moment your name leaves his bloodied lips, the Mark holding you hostage too stunned to react when your Mark’s fist collides with his jaw hard enough to send him three blocks away. It isn’t long until you’re swept into Mark’s arms, the hold both protective and possessive as he glares at the other two, his chest heaving with each labored breath he struggles to take.

“No fuckin’ way.” The mohawked variant blinks slowly, his lips pulling into a mix of a grimace and a smirk. “That’s unfair on so many levels.” He turns to the Mark in a cloth mask who seems to share the same sentiment, mumbling under his breath about how unfair it is that this version of him gets the hot babe.

Omni-Man Mark merely scoffs when he floats back, his suit still pristine as though he’d never been thrown at all while he crosses his arms over his chest, scrutinizing the way you tremble in this version of him’s hold. You aren’t the best friend he’d killed mercilessly back in his dimension. Here, you were a woman—his woman. And he’d be damned if he couldn’t kill two birds with one stone.

A best friend and a wife. Who would’ve thought?

While he’d never seen the other, male, version of you in a romantic light, his heart stirs at the thought of taking this version of you for himself. It’s not like it’ll take much to kill this Mark; he’s already as good as dead anyway—

“Is everything alright here?” Clad in white and silver, yet another version of Mark descends from the sky like some sort of disgraced angel.

“Ugh, why are you here?” Mohawk Mark rolls his eyes obnoxiously, his gaze only briefly flickering to the new variant.

“Angstrom sent me to see if you all were sticking to the plan, which clearly you aren’t.”

“Aww, the lil’Viltrum baby can’t do anything without a mission? How sad!” He bats his lashes dramatically before sneering. “What are you gonna do next, bark? Who gives a shit about the plan? You’re acting as if you weren’t gonna kill him after anyway!”

The Mark in the Viltrum uniform chooses not to dignify him with a response.

Unbothered by his counterpart’s nonchalance, the mohawked Mark sets his sights back on you, spreading his arms wide as if to welcome you in with a hug. “Hey, [Name], it’s just me. Just Mark. Your best friend, remember? We used to play CoD and shit when your parents were out.”

Viltrum Mark��s brows furrow at the familiar name, steady gaze finally paying you mind as you try to sink further into the Mark of this dimension’s arms. You’re a lot…softer than he recalls you being, your form far less filled out; almost feminine. But, that couldn’t be right, right? How cruel would it be for this version of him to have the perfect mate whilst he, while grateful for your prior companionship, was stuck with nothing more than a best friend? One that he’d ultimately killed for resisting.

Surely, his brain is playing tricks on him.

Then he hears it—they all hear it.

The small terrified whimper you let out, the sound almost heavenly as you try to curl into Mark like your life depends on it. Which you suppose it does at this very moment.

A collective groan settles across all the present variations of Mark, all differing levels of arousal. They can practically taste the fear emanating off of you, stalking closer like a pack of deranged wolves.

Disgust pulls at Mark’s lips at the look in their eyes, his arms trembling around you as the last line of defense between you and these monstrous versions of him. “What the hell are you guys on about?” He seethes, only to be met by a suffocating silence.

Viltrum Mark appears in front of you before you and Mark can process his presence, tearing you out of your boyfriend’s arms despite your screaming protests. His grip is firm, but it’s the underlying softness in it that has you trembling with both fear and confusion. One of his hands finds your chin, stroking the contour of your jaw while his thumb gently presses down on your lower lip in a similar fashion that your Mark had done earlier.

“You’re [Name].” His face twists with perplexion as he speaks. “But, you’re so soft.” You feel his other hand fall from your arm, settling on your hip as if to prove a point. He squeezes and prods the fat, slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt to feel the soft skin underneath, his fingers splaying against your stomach while his nose buries itself in your neck. “You’d be a great mother.”

No.

This can’t be happening—

You’re pulled into another set of arms. These ones leaner yet more possessive than the Viltrum Mark’s. But not yours.

“Jesus what the fuck is wrong with you.” Mohawk Mark’s voice rasps mockingly above you, his arm curling around you and dangerously close to your breasts. You know he feels your heart stop, snorting cruelly as he pulls you flush against him. His gloved hand tilts your chin up to him cruelly, relishing in the way tears well in your eyes.

“P-Please…” You weakly claw at his wrist despite knowing how useless it is in comparison to his innate strength.

Holy fuck, he could get used to the sound of that.

Man, why couldn’t you be a girl in his world too? Oh, the things he would do to you. How he would ruin you. He wonders if you’re similar to his [Name], the [Name] who trusted him to do the right thing only to die trying to stop what’s already been done. Do you play the same sport as your male counterpart? Enjoy the same food? Ah, whatever, you’re still his, no matter his relation to you. Best friend or otherwise.

“Get away from her you fucking freak!” Your Mark’s garbled voice reaches your ears, his fist colliding with the side of the mohawked variant’s head, sending him careening into the white-clad Viltrumite. Mark doesn’t even get the chance to look over you before he shoots into the air with you in his hold, tucking your head into his shoulder as he whispers calming words into the crown of your head. “I’ve got you, baby,” he echoes his prior sentiment, flying as fast as he can with the cloth-mask and Omni-Man wannabe hot on his tail.

A familiar red glove catches Mark’s leg, snapping it easily. Mark screams, his teeth grinding as he pivots his other leg directly into the variant’s face, no doubt breaking his nose before he crashes into the cloth-masked Mark, who yells obscenities as the two of them crash into the city below.

Finally, silence settles between the two of you. Heavy with confusion. Heavy with fear.

“What the hell was that…” You cling to him, trembling like a newborn fawn in his hold.

“I—I don’t know.” He buries his nose in your neck as he lowers into a desolate field miles away from any civilization, breathing in your comforting scent beneath the smell of iron and ash that seem to cling to your skin while he settles against a tree. The field is peaceful; untouched by the destruction that plagues the rest of the world.

“...What about Eve and the others?” You hesitate, palms hovering over his broken leg to do your best to put the limb back together. The bone melds back together grotesquely, it's disgusting snap a sound you think you’ll never get used to.

“Eve slipped away before things got ugly. I’m not too sure about the others…” He lets out a low hiss, his fingers digging into the ground when his skin gets pulled tautly back into place. “I’m just glad you’re okay. I won’t let them get to you, not as long as I’m still breathing, alright?”

“Okay,” you breathe out, collapsing into his chest as you try not to think about everything you’ve lost in such a short amount of time. He kisses your forehead gently, leaning back against the tree for only a moment of respite.

“Aww, what a cute sight.” A patronizing voice overhead has both of you snapping your heads to the sound. Clad in yellow and black with a billowing cape behind him, this version of Mark sneers, his gaze looking between you and Mark. His brows raise beneath his mask, lips forming something akin to a sadistic grin. “Well, well, well. You’re looking a bit different here, aren’t you, [Name]?”

Shit.

©asarii 2025 — do not copy, steal, repost, or translate any of my works on tumblr or any other site or run my works through ai

#invincible—・❥#invincible #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson #invincible x fem!reader #fem reader #mohawk mark #mohawk mark x reader #invincible fanfic #omni mark #omni mark x reader #sinister mark #sinister mark x reader #viltrum mark #viltrum mark x reader #invincible variants #invincible variants x reader

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mononijikayu · 12 days ago

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based on this smosh video, starting 21:34

when vice captain of the national team, gojo satoru asked his captain, ryomen sukuna to guest on his youtube channel to do some mundane content, the fuschia haired man only had one answer: “no.”

not because he was shy. not because he was too busy. but because, currently, sukuna was on full hover mode around you, his very pregnant, very radiant wife and had recently decided he would not be leaving your side unless you physically kicked him out of the house.

which obviously you did.

otherwise he wouldn't be here.

he wouldn't leave unless you asked.

gojo satoru’s youtube setup looks like a teenage boy’s man cave. more than what sukuna would like to admit. this did not look like a taken man's man cave at all. but to each their own, he supposed.

but it's not as if he wasn't going to be hyper observant about it. there’s a ring light, a bean bag, a wall of dumb posters, and a half-dead neon “no thoughts, head empty” sign. he makes a note to himself to decorate his space better.

sukuna is already regretting showing up, though. he’s sitting stiffly on a bean bag, arms crossed, hoodie stretched tight across his shoulders. he only agreed to come because you, his wife, the actual love of his life, glowing goddess of a wife gently shoved him out the door this morning.

“go. you haven’t seen your friends in a week. you can't spend your break like this. toru and yuu-kun are home for a while. go visit them." you said to him, snickering as you laid on the couch.

"babe—"

"my love, i’m fine. i’m still going to be pregnant when you come back. im gonna go watch my documentaries. then im just going to take a nap and maybe eat six oranges. maybe look at my new orbital launch equations.”

he didn’t want to go. but he went.

he wanted to please you too.

and now he’s regretting everything.

“okay okay, this one’s wild, guys.” yuuji says, pulling up a reddit story. satoru's behind the camera, already grinning.

“me (28M) and my girlfriend (26F) were having sex. she was on top. mid-way through, i joked that she looked like she was struggling badly. and it was. i wasn't enjoying it. and i just told her. she got upset and now she’s been cold ever since. it was just an honest opinion!”

silence. a slow turn of sukuna’s head. his lip curls. something primal brews behind his scarlet eyes. something in him just feels like its reeling to madness.

"i'm sorry......what?" he suddenly says, flat, emotionless. he breathes heavily before crashing out. "WHAT?"

he stands up. violently. "OH MY GOD!"

satoru cackles behind the camera. “oh no. he’s up.”

“you mean to tell me that this is real?” sukuna says, pacing now, hands on hips like he’s trying to calm himself but only winding up more. “this absolute buffoon had a goddess on top of him and he decided to open his dumbass mouth and insult her?!”

yuuji looked down again and read it and shrug. "that's what i read, senpai."

he turns to face the wall. “i need a second.”

and then he just couldn't help it. sukuna finds himself screaming aloud. into the drywall. palms flat on it. forehead pressed to the surface like he’s summoning divine patience. yuuji is losing it. satoru was hiding his laughter.

“you okay, senpai?”

“NO. I’M NOT OKAY. THIS IS SICKENING.”

he spins around, eyes wide. “she’s topping you. she’s doing labor. it’s a performance. you should be holding her hips and whispering prayers, not critiquing her balance. what the fuck are you, a coach?!”

satoru laughs. “he’s not done. wait—”

yuuji’s still reading. “......it gets worse.”

sukuna freezes. “what?”

yuuji scrolls. "this is what he said in the comments."

“btw, she was only wearing a tank top and nothing else. i thought it was funny because it kept slipping down and she had to keep pulling it back up—”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.”

he lets out a strangled yell and collapses back into the bean bag, face in hands. he starts to kick his legs out like he’s been struck down by beauty itself. the other two were just losing it more openly now watching their captain.

“TANK TOP?” he shouts into his palms. “TANK TOP?! IF MY WIFE—IF MY PREGNANT, DROP-DEAD GORGEOUS WIFE—WAS TOPPING ME IN A TANK TOP I WOULD LITERALLY PASS THE FUCK OUT, OKAY? I WOULD ASCEND. I WOULD DIE WITH A SMILE ON MY FACE. YOU WOULD SEE THAT PROUDLY ON MY OBITUARY, DEATH BY WIFE DOMINANCE IN A TANK TOP!"

he sits up, eyes wild, pointing furiously at the screen. “you had a woman on top of you. in a tank top. gorgeous boobs probably bouncing like a gift from god. moaning at your subpar dick like the gracious lovely woman she is and you said she looked like she was struggling?! STRUGGLING?! bro. the only thing struggling should be you, to catch your fucking breath.”

he punches a throw pillow. “you don’t deserve this woman. you deserve a lifetime of missionary with the lights off. better yet, having no sex ever again and just being alone. go apologize, break up with her and then walk into the sea. you don't deserve to live to inconvenience anymore women with your stupid existence, i'm so fucking done with men like you.”

satoru wasn't finished howling. “yo, this is the greatest day of my life.”

sukuna ignores him. he pulls out his phone mid-filming. "this ain't right."

“who you calling?” yuuji asks.

“my wife. i need to tell her she’s the most beautiful thing to ever walk the earth. and also, that if she ever wants to wear a tank top and top me—pregnant or not—i’ll personally build her a throne afterward.”

satoru snorts. “you texted her ten minutes ago.”

“and now i’m texting her again. shut up.” he says, as after you didn't answer his calls. you probably were busy watching your new favorite astrophysics documentaries, ones you've been wanting to catch up on.

top youtube comments (when it gets posted):

“tank top sukuna lore just dropped 😭”

“he’s not a man, he’s a devoted priest. a high priest of his wife’s existence.”

“sukuna collapsing like a victorian woman seeing ankle over his wife hypothetically in a tank top topping him was so real”

“no thoughts, head full of wife.”

“if he loves her this much pregnant, imagine when she’s postpartum with messy hair and a crying baby—he’s gonna propose again.”

meanwhile, he was right. you were enjoying your day off way too much. you were laying on the couch with your oranges, watching a documentary on quantum space and you took a break from it to pee. you take your phone with you, just in time to see his message pop up:

“hi, babe. just imagined you in a tank top, topping me like the goddess you are. i love you more than anything in the world. i love our baby too. but seriously, babe, i would let you kill me, suffocation or topped by you. just saying. you will never want for anything in this world. love you again <3”

you smiled at his words, feeling your heart swell. you text back:

“lmk when you’re done screaming into walls from all these reddit threads, my love. baby and i are just bonding over quantum space docus. we love you 💖 see you later. dinner’s at 7.”

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nimueshell · 5 days ago

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↟ The Forest Took Me (C.K)

Summary: You came to Point Pleasant chasing legends, but when the Devil’s Hour fell silent in the Appalachian woods, you didn’t just find the Mothman….he found you.

Substance: fem!reader, mothman!choso, gojo x geto(?), shoko, choso longs for you, it’s mating season, oral fixation (f! receiving), choso has a BIG dick, cave sex, cumplay, motorboating, dry humping, fingering, whimpering, crying literal tears (feat. Choso SOBBING), monster-fucking, overstimulation, creampies, fucking against a wall, mating, cervix kissing, tummy bulge, first time kissing, he wants you as his MATE, antenna play, slight flight sex, begging, rutting, stomach bulges.

Word Count: 12.8k

A/N: this took me so long to write so I'm hoping it doesn't flop, ik its long but that's how fics are supposed to be. I hope u enjoy, please follow, like, reblog if you want more content or I'll abandon this blog. I have other smut on my blog, plsss check it out :(

The rental van smelled faintly of stale fries, wet hoodies, and Gojo’s cologne–a scent you’d begged him to tone down since Ohio, but of course, he hadn’t. The rain-slicked roads leading into Point Pleasant were narrow and hemmed by bare trees, their twisted branches clawing at the misty sky like the town itself had something to hide. Perfect for a cryptid vlog. Horrible for your nerves.

Gojo, naturally, was loving it. He leaned over the back seat with his camera, grinning like a kid at Halloween.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the internet,” he announced, his voice pitched into a mock-dramatic echo. “Welcome to the world-famous home of the Mothman, Point Pleasant, West Virginia! Where the only thing scarier than the cryptid is probably the plumbing.”

Geto, driving like he regretted every life decision that led him here, rolled his eyes. “You sound like a Travel Channel reject.”

“Oh, shut up, you love it,” Gojo shot back, flipping the camera around to catch Geto’s unimpressed expression. “Smile for our ten subscribers, Suguru.”

Shoko, sprawled in the passenger seat with a vape she wasn’t supposed to be using in the rental, exhaled a curl of smoke and deadpanned, “Eight. You’re forgetting we lost two after your ghost-moaning ASMR stunt.”

You snorted from the back, attempting to keep your own camera steady as the van hit another pothole. “Yeah, pretty sure ‘unholy goat sex noises in the Eastern State Penitentiary’ wasn’t what they signed up for.”

Gojo clutched his chest in mock agony. “You wound me.”

Geto didn’t even glance at him, muttering, “Good. Maybe you’ll finally shut up.”

The banter eased the tension, but you couldn’t ignore the way the woods outside seemed to press closer the deeper you drove. The mist clung low, curling around the wheels like it wanted to follow.

You’d read all the stories–sightings since the sixties, couples chased by red eyes glowing in the dark, bridges collapsing after warnings. Every documentary treated it as a joke, but what about now? The air was heavy, charged, as if something was waiting.

Gojo swung the camera back toward you, catching you off guard. “And here we have our resident skeptic slash bait–”

“Fuck off,” you muttered, shoving the lens away with your palm. “If anything happens to me, I’m haunting your ass.”

“Promises, promises,” he sing-songed.

Shoko finally cracked a faint smile, flicking ash out the cracked window. “Better than me. If I go down, I’m just gonna watch you idiots trip over yourselves from beyond.”

“Cheerful as always,” Geto muttered.

The van rolled into the town proper, the streets lined with brick storefronts that looked straight out of the 1960s, faded murals of wings painted on the sides of buildings, and Mothman souvenirs glowing faintly through shop windows. A giant metallic statue stood in the square, silver wings gleaming even under the gray sky. Gojo nearly squealed as he shoved his camera against the glass.

“There he is, boys and girls!” he crowed. “The sexiest cryptid in Appalachia. Look at those pecs! Damn, moth daddy.”

Shoko didn’t even blink. “You need therapy.”

Geto muttered, “You need an exorcism.”

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself, and directed your own lens at the looming statue. It was ridiculous–over-muscled, bug-eyed, with wings like jagged blades–and yet, standing in front of it, a shiver ran down your spine. Something about those blank, exaggerated eyes felt less like a caricature and more like a warning.

“Alright,” Gojo announced, kicking his long legs dramatically into the aisle. “First stop: the TNT area. The bunkers. Where the OG sightings went down. Are you ready to get murdered on camera?”

“Only if you’re first,” you muttered.

“Rude.”

But as the van rolled past the statue, you could’ve sworn the air shifted–heavier, darker, as if something had just noticed you.

ᨒ↟ 𖠰𖥧˚

The town disappeared behind you in the mist as Shoko guided the van back onto the highway. The heater hummed faintly, fighting the damp chill that clung to the air. Outside, the Appalachian hills rose like black silhouettes against the storm‑heavy sky, their ridges blurred by fog that curled low over the pavement.

The kind of silence that surrounded the van felt older than the road itself, older than the town you'd just left–as if the mountains had seen too much and wanted to keep their secrets.

You sat in the front passenger seat, scrolling through your phone as the van hummed along the slick two‑lane stretch.

Every article you found on Point Pleasant’s infamous cryptid said the same thing:

Red eyes glowing in the dark, jagged wings stretching ten feet wide, sightings tied to tragedy. The Silver Bridge collapsed in ’67. Car crashes on Route 62. People claimed to have seen him in the treeline before something terrible occurred.

The more you read, the heavier your chest felt, as if the fog outside had seeped through the windows.

Gojo, of course, had no intention of letting the mood settle.

“Holy shit!” he shouted suddenly, slamming his phone against the window so hard Shoko hissed and swerved slightly.

"For fuck's sake, Gojo," she snapped, her voice flat but strained from exhaustion.

“There!” He zoomed in with his camera, his grin wicked. The headlights had caught a deer frozen on the side of the road, its eyes shining unnaturally bright in the beams. Gojo whispered in mock‑terror, “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve spotted our first Appalachian skinwalker. Note the soulless eyes. Note the sinister stance. Definitely waiting to eat our faces.”

Geto sighed from the back, calm as always but with that edge in his tone that said he was two seconds from snapping. “You can’t say that out loud in Appalachia. People will take you seriously.”

Gojo gasped dramatically, turning the lens to catch Geto’s sharp profile. “Oh, listen to Mister Responsible. Suguru Geto, everyone–part‑time cryptid debunker, full‑time ruiner of fun.”

Geto didn’t even look up from the map app on his phone. He reached out casually, caught Gojo’s wrist mid-gesture, and held it firm against the seat.

“Hey,” Gojo chirped, though his grin widened like he was enjoying the restraint. “You can’t just grab me like that in front of the fans.”

“You were about to poke me in the eye with your phone,” Geto said evenly, tightening his grip when Gojo tried to squirm away.

Gojo smirked, lowering his camera to capture the scene, his long legs sprawled across the seat until his socked feet pressed against Geto’s thigh. “Get a load of him, folks. Broody. Gorgeous. Holding me down against my will. Honestly? Kind of hot.”

Without missing a beat, Geto murmured, “You’re lucky I don’t gag you.”

Gojo made a strangled laugh, eyes glittering. “Say that again, slower.”

From the driver’s seat, Shoko exhaled through her nose like she was contemplating pulling the wheel hard left into the Ohio River. “I swear to God, if you two start fucking back there, I’m leaving you in the woods.”

You snorted quietly, still scrolling through articles but unable to resist chiming in. “I’d help her hide the bodies.”

Gojo clutched his chest in mock agony, turning the camera on you now. “The betrayal. My beloved co‑star, ready to cast me aside. For shame.”

“Keep it up and you’ll be cryptid bait,” you muttered, flicking to a blurry photo of two glowing red dots above a treeline.

The van rattled around a bend, the fog thickening until the headlights could barely cut through. Occasionally, the trees parted to reveal wide valleys where faint farmhouse lights glimmered like dying stars in the mist. The Appalachians stretched endlessly, their ridges sharp and black against the low clouds. Every so often you swore the fog itself shifted, like something vast moved just beyond the range of the beams.

“Hey,” you said finally, your voice low. “It says the first reported sighting was a couple driving through the TNT area. Said Mothman flew right over their car.”

Shoko hummed faintly, unimpressed, her eyes half‑lidded but sharp as she kept the van steady. "If he chases us, I'll floor it and use Gojo as a distraction."

Gojo gasped again, throwing his head back like he’d been stabbed. “Unbelievable. My charm, my wit, my devastating good looks–and still you’d feed me to the Mothman.”

“Charm?” Shoko muttered. “Where?”

Geto sipped from his water bottle calmly, his hand resting casually on Gojo's thigh, as if daring him to continue running his mouth.

The fog parted briefly, revealing a rusted green sign in the headlights: Gallipolis–12 miles.

“Gallipolis?” you asked, tilting your phone down.

Geto nodded without looking up. “Closest decent motel. Right across the river from Point Pleasant. Thirty minutes, give or take.”

Gojo perked up, angling the camera at himself again. “Gallipolis. Sounds like a fancy STD. Tonight, folks, we’ll be braving the legendary Gallipolis Inn. Known for–” He leaned closer to Geto. “Suguru, quick, give me one fun fact.”

“Not you,” Geto said flatly.

Shoko let out a bark of dry laughter, gripping the wheel. “If I wasn’t so tired, I’d clap.”

Gojo pouted, then immediately brightened, turning the lens on Geto again. “Ladies and gentlemen, Suguru Geto: heartbreaker, Mothman denier, and the only reason I’m not already live‑streaming us ghost‑summoning in the TNT bunkers.”

Geto calmly slid his hand higher on Gojo’s thigh, his voice silky. “Say one more word about skinwalkers, and I’ll make you walk to Gallipolis barefoot.”

Gojo’s grin widened shamelessly. “Kinky.”

You groaned, sinking lower into your seat as the headlights reflected off the black glass of the Ohio River to your right. The water rippled faintly under the mist, stretching wide under the looming silhouettes of the hills. For a moment, you thought you saw something move against the fog above the river–vast, winged, and gone too quickly to be real.

You blinked hard, heart thudding, but when you looked again, there was only mist.

ᨒ↟ 𖠰𖥧˚

The Travelodge sat just off the highway, its faded blue sign glowing faintly against the fog that had only thickened since you’d left Point Pleasant. The parking lot was nearly empty, the glow of the sodium lamps struggling against the heavy mist curling low to the asphalt. The building itself was a long, two‑story stretch of weathered stucco and peeling paint, the kind of place that promised thin walls, scratchy sheets, and questionable plumbing.

Gojo was the first out of the van, stretching his long arms over his head like he’d just finished a marathon instead of a half‑hour drive.

“Ugh,” he groaned, yawning obnoxiously. “Finally. I thought we were going to die of boredom before Mothman got to us.”

“God, I wish,” Shoko muttered, dragging herself out of the driver’s seat, her hoodie hood tugged up against the drizzle starting to fall.

She slung her bag over one shoulder and shuffled toward the lobby doors with all the energy of someone being marched to their execution.

Geto stepped out behind Gojo, calmly adjusting the strap of his duffel bag as his gaze flickered across the lot. “Travelodge,” he said evenly. “Not exactly a four‑star.”

“Excuse you,” Gojo cut in, already peering suspiciously at the faded curtains in the first‑floor windows. “I’ve seen documentaries. Places like this are crawling with bedbugs and roaches. We’re all going to wake up covered in bites. It’ll be tragic. Horrifying. The worst clickbait thumbnail ever.”

Geto gave him a slow side‑eye, his lips twitching faintly in the kind of expression that wasn’t quite a smile. “That’s what you’re afraid of? Not cryptids? Not death? Not me smothering you in your sleep? Bugs.”

“Don’t mock me,” Gojo said primly, tugging his jacket closer like it would shield him from imaginary pests. “Roaches are basically nature’s jump scares.”

You caught yourself smirking despite the heaviness in your chest. “This from the guy who was ready to French-kiss a Mothman waffle.”

Gojo gasped dramatically, pressing a hand over his heart. “That was different. That waffle wanted me.”

Shoko groaned softly from the entrance. “I’m begging you all to shut up.”

The lobby was lit by harsh fluorescent lights that hummed faintly against the ceiling tiles. The woman behind the counter looked about one argument away from quitting, her eyes dull as she slid the keycards across the laminate desk without preamble. Shoko grabbed hers and yours in one hand, muttered a half‑hearted thanks, and shoved them at you.

“Room 211,” she said flatly, already turning toward the stairs.

“Sharing?” you asked, hefting your bag.

“Unless you want Gojo,” she said dryly, her tired eyes half‑lidded as she trudged toward the second floor.

You shuddered theatrically. “Pass.”

Behind you, Gojo whined, “Rude!” before Geto calmly hooked two fingers through the strap of his backpack and tugged him toward the other set of stairs.

“We’re in 210,” he said simply, ignoring Gojo’s loud protests about being treated like a dog.

The hallway upstairs smelled faintly of bleach and mildew, the kind of scent that tried very hard to convince you the place was clean without succeeding. The carpet was threadbare in patches, patterned in an outdated swirl of brown and gold that only made the shadows stretch darker in the flickering light.

You slid your keycard into the lock, the little green light blinking sluggishly before the door gave way. The room beyond was exactly what you’d expected: two double beds with stiff floral spreads, a dresser with a bolted‑down TV, and curtains that had seen better decades.

Shoko didn’t even hesitate–she tossed her bag onto the bed closest to the bathroom and collapsed face‑first onto the mattress without bothering to pull the comforter back.

“Shotgun coma,” she mumbled into the pillow.

You dropped your bag onto the other bed, shaking your head fondly as you flicked on the lamp by the nightstand. The yellow glow pushed the shadows back, but not enough. The window rattled faintly in its frame as the fog pressed against it, heavy and thick.

As you looked through the sheer curtains, you thought you saw something move at the far edge of the lot–tall, darker than the mist, possibly wings, or simply a trick of the light. Your chest tightened, your breath caught before you blinked, and it was gone.

You dragged the curtain shut quickly, forcing your shoulders to relax. It was just the fog, only your imagination.

Through the thin wall, you could already hear Gojo whining about the sheets.

“Ugh, Suguru, they’re crunchy. Crunchy! That’s how you know we’re sleeping in a bug nest.”

Geto’s voice was calm and patient in a way that suggested he’d reached nirvana. “Lay down and stop talking.”

“Lay down? On this?” Gojo huffed dramatically. “I’m going to wake up with a rash. You’ll have to take care of me. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

The muffled thump that followed could’ve been Geto shoving him into the mattress. You couldn’t help but smile faintly, even as unease curled in your stomach.

Shoko cracked one eye open from her bed, her voice muffled but dry. "Five bucks says Gojo is dead by morning, not from Mothman. From Geto.”

You smirked slightly as you took off your shoes and stretched out on your own bed. “Honestly, I wouldn’t blame him.”

The lamp flickered faintly, the hum of the heater loud in the silence that followed. Outside, the mist pressed harder against the window, the night thick and strange, as if the air was holding its breath.

And as you lay back, scrolling through one last article before trying to sleep, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching.

Not just the fog, not just the shadowy figure with glowing red eyes, waiting.

ᨒ↟ 𖠰𖥧˚

The motel was too quiet.

You woke in the dark with your skin clammy and your chest tight, your sheets tangled in a damp mess around your legs. The air was colder than when you’d fallen asleep, so cold it raised goosebumps along your arms. The cheap digital clock on the nightstand glared 3:04 a.m. in angry red numbers.

The Devil’s Hour.

You'd spent years joking about it on camera, huddled in graveyards or abandoned asylums, whispering about spirits and demons for attention. But lying here in Gallipolis, with the fog pressing so hard against the Travelodge window that it rattled faintly in its frame, nothing seemed funny.

Shoko was dead asleep in the other bed, one arm flung out from under the covers, her breathing deep and even. The faint smell of her vape clung to the air, grounding you for half a second before the silence pressed harder.

You pushed the covers back slowly, wincing at the scratch of the carpet under your bare feet. The heater rattled and wheezed, but the room still felt damp and chilled, as if the fog outside had seeped through the thin walls. You padded quietly to the bathroom, flicking on the light above the mirror.

The reflection that stared back looked pale and wired, your hair plastered damply to your forehead with sweat. You cupped cold water into your hands, splashing it over your face, watching it drip down your neck and soak into your collar.

Your knuckles gripped the sink hard enough to ache as you whispered, “Get a grip. It’s just a motel. Just nerves.”

The mirror behind you caught something–a flicker of movement in the room.

You froze, water still dripping from your chin. Slowly, your eyes shifted, tracking toward the bathroom doorway. The room beyond was dim, with only the faint glow of the cheap nightstand lamp against the wall. But near the window, just beyond the curtain’s edge, something moved.

Your pulse thundered in your ears as you stepped back into the room. The curtain wasn’t fully shut, just a narrow sliver open to the outside fog.

You swore you saw a shadow shift behind it–tall, too tall for the frame, and broad. You wanted to tell yourself it was just the reflection of a tree, but the air in the room had changed. Heavy. Expectant.

You moved toward the window like someone else was controlling your feet, each step slower than the last. The curtain trembled faintly under your hand when you reached for it, your breath hitching painfully in your chest.

And then you peeled it back.

At first, it was only a shadow. But then the fog seemed to glow faintly red, and two burning eyes locked with yours through the glass.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

The figure outside towered over the window frame, half-shrouded in mist but undeniably there. Black, jagged wings twitched faintly, the edges like torn velvet catching the faint motel light. Antennae shifted and curled above his head, catching every tremor in the night air, quivering like they were sensing you.

And those eyes–glowing, impossible, red like embers in the fog–held you pinned in place.

Your hand shook against the curtain. Your throat tried to form a scream, but nothing came until you realized the eyes weren’t cruel.

They looked afraid.

The sound ripped out of you before you could stop it, sharp and raw, breaking the still motel air.

Shoko bolted upright instantly, hair sticking in every direction, her arm swinging wildly for the lamp. “What the–?”

You stumbled back from the window, pointing with a trembling hand. “He–he’s–”

The figure outside flinched, wings snapping wide with a sound that thudded in your chest. In a rush of black, he launched upward, the fog swirling violently around him.

For a brief moment, you thought you saw his face in the parking lot light–pale, sharp, almost human–before he vanished into the mist with a single powerful beat of wings.

The room fell silent except for your ragged breathing and Shoko cursing softly as she swung her legs out of bed. “What the actual fuck?”

Before you could answer, the room next door erupted. A door slammed, footsteps pounded, and then Gojo burst into your room holding a frying pan in one hand and his camera in the other, white hair sticking out wildly.

His shirt was so baggy that it slipped off one shoulder, his boxers were wrinkled and crooked, and his long legs were bare and clumsy as he almost tripped on the threshold.

“I HEARD SCREAMING–WHERE IS HE–DID WE GET HIM ON CAMERA–”

Geto followed, much calmer but no less disheveled. He rubbed absently at his stomach under his loose t‑shirt, his long hair messy and unbound, framing his face in tangled strands.

His sharp eyes swept the room once, catching the curtains as they swayed from your grip, before settling on you. You were shaking, your eyes wide, still trying to process what you’d seen.

But Shoko wasn’t looking at you.

Her gaze had dropped to the faint red bite marks along Geto’s neck. Then back to Gojo, with his camera, frying pan, flushed cheeks, and wet hair. Slowly, deliberately, she raised one unimpressed brow.

“How,” she asked flatly, her voice slicing through the tension, “did you two fuck so quietly?”

The silence shattered.

Gojo froze, frying pan still raised as a shield, before breaking into a wide, almost guilty grin. “It’s called skill, Shoko.”

Geto sighed softly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re unbearable.”

Your breath stuttered as you gripped the back of the chair for balance. “I swear–I swear there was something–”

“You screamed like you saw the devil,” Shoko muttered, finally dragging her gaze from Geto’s neck to you. “And honestly? You might have.”

The words sent shivers down your spine.

Even as the room fell apart–Gojo waving his camera around, Geto attempting to pry the frying pan from his grasp, and Shoko lighting a cigarette she swore she didn't have–you couldn't shake the memory of those glowing red eyes.

They hadn’t been hunting you; they’d been watching, and when you’d screamed, they’d looked just as afraid out in the mist beyond the Travelodge; wings twitched again.

ᨒ↟ 𖠰𖥧˚

The fog had started to lift by the time you reached the trailhead, but the mountains still held tight to the morning mist like they were reluctant to give up their secrets.

The sky above was pale and low, veiled in thin clouds that bled light without warmth. Tall oaks and hickories lined the foot of the hills, their trunks damp and dark from the night’s rain, bark glistening faintly where beams of light broke through the trees.

You paused near a wooden sign marked “Moonshine Hollow Trail,” its letters faded with time, the edges of the board covered in lichen. The dirt path beyond wound through the forest like a vein, slick with wet leaves and roots that threatened to trip you.

Shoko adjusted her backpack with a grunt, pulling the straps tighter over her shoulders. “God, I hate morning.” She shoved her cigarette pack into her jacket pocket and looked up the trail like it had personally insulted her.

“We could’ve let you sleep in,” you offered, not looking away from the map in your hand.

“No. If I miss Mothman while you clowns scream into the woods, I’ll never forgive myself.”

Gojo approached from behind, a camera mounted on his chest harness and a boom mic wobbling slightly above his shoulder. His beanie was too big, slipping over one eye, and his hiking boots were still suspiciously clean. He twirled dramatically before striking a pose.

“Day two of the Cryptid Chronicles, baby. In the heart of the Appalachians, on the trail of the legendary, sexy, possibly hung, potentially emotionally available Mothman."

Geto, trailing behind with a pack that looked twice as heavy as anyone else’s, didn’t slow his step. “I will throw you off the ridge.”

“You’ll miss me when I’m gone,” Gojo replied cheerfully, turning to walk backwards up the trail. But not in a sad way. In an oh no, we never got to try polyamory kind of way.”

Shoko flipped him off without looking.

The trail narrowed as you hiked higher, weaving along the edge of a slope lined with mossy stones and thick brush. The air smelled of damp earth and wet bark, clean but sharp, and the only sounds were the soft squelch of boots in mud, the occasional birdcall, and Gojo narrating every five minutes like a knockoff Discovery Channel host.

"We are now approaching ground zero of the 1975 Mothman sightings," he said into his microphone, exaggeratedly low. "A local hunter reported seeing a winged figure perched in a tree, staring straight into his soul. In his words, ‘I ain’t never felt so judged by a bug before.’”

"You sound like if a podcast host and a cult leader had a child," you muttered, your gaze fixed on the map as the path curved around a tight bend.

He grinned. “Thank you. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Geto grunted as he adjusted his pack. “Can we not get lost this time?”

“I have a map,” you said, holding it up like proof of your responsibility.

“That’s what you said last time,” Geto muttered, brushing a branch out of his way. “Then we ended up in someone’s goat field.”

“One time,” you said, stepping over a root. “And the goats were very welcoming.”

Gojo suddenly cupped his hands around his mouth and let out a sound that could only be described as a moaning screech. A bird startled from the trees above.

“Stop that,” Geto snapped.

“That’s my Mothman mating call,” Gojo said brightly, already doing it again. “I’m letting him know we’re open to communication. And possibly tongue stuff.”

Shoko turned slowly, eyes flat. "Do it one more time, and I will pour trail mix into your mouth until you choke."

Gojo shrugged. "You're just pressed that he might respond to me."

The trail leveled off slightly, leading to a clearing where the canopy parted enough to let light spill across the damp forest floor. The space was littered with old stumps, the remains of long-felled trees, and low stone foundations that had been partially buried by earth and moss.

“This used to be a mining site, right?” You inquired, checking the map again.

“Yeah,” Geto said, kneeling to open his pack. "Closed down in the 1960s because it was allegedly the site of the first red-eye sightings."

“I don’t see any eyes,” Gojo muttered, panning the camera slowly. “Just trees. And disappointment.”

Shoko sat on a log and dug out a protein bar. "I swear to God, I will eat this entire forest just to avoid hearing the word mothussy' again."

“I was gonna say ‘bugussy,’ actually.”

“Worse,” Geto muttered.

You tuned them out after that, your gaze drifting toward the far edge of the clearing. The trees thickened quickly past the site, rising in jagged clusters up the ridge. The shadows there felt deeper than they should, like the fog hadn’t fully lifted. Something about it gnawed at you.

You took a step toward the tree line, then another. Behind you, Shoko and Gojo were arguing over whether cryptids could legally vote, and Geto was too busy reorganizing supplies to notice you slipping ahead.

The ground softened under your boots as you stepped past the last ring of stumps. Moss grew thick over the stones here, and the trail disappeared into a slope of brush. You paused, ears straining.

There was silence, no rustle of leaves, no breeze, and the birds had ceased their singing.

That wasn’t right.

You slowly rotated your head, looking at the trees; it seemed as though the forest was holding its breath.

Then you heard it. Not a snap, not a growl–something gentle. The brushing of branches by wings.

Something moved above you.

You looked up just in time to see the shadow vanish between the trunks–massive and black, with edges too jagged to be a bird. The red glint of something watching flickered for a split second before disappearing. Your heart skipped a beat, and you took a slow step back, mouth dry behind you; the others continued to talk, unaware.

But something had found you.

The longer you stood at the edge of the clearing, the more wrong the silence felt. Your skin prickled, sweat cooling along the back of your neck even though the air had turned heavy and damp.

The birds that had been calling overhead a few minutes ago were gone, their songs cut short so abruptly that the absence of them rang louder than any sound could. You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching against the folded map in your hand as you took another small step toward the tree line, straining to hear anything that would make sense of the feeling gnawing in your chest.

Behind you, Gojo’s voice carried on easily, still filming as though the woods themselves were his audience.

“Daylight sighting potential is high, folks, because Mothman, like me, is probably not a morning person but can’t resist some hot action. Science.” Shoko muttered something that sounded like a threat involving duct tape, and Geto’s low, even tone cut in to redirect them, but their voices felt too far away.

You glanced back, just enough to see them still gathered around the packs in the clearing, and realized with a start that you had drifted several yards away without noticing.

Your boots sank softly into the moss as you took one more step closer to the trees. That was when you heard it. Not a snap of a branch or a scurry of a squirrel, but a soft, deliberate sweep of air, like wings brushing the treetops. It was too heavy for a bird and too precise for the random flutter of leaves. The sound seemed to vibrate low in your chest, almost like it was inside you instead of outside.

Your head tilted up before you could stop yourself, your eyes catching movement between the higher branches. The fog clung thick there, weaving between trunks, but you caught it–a vast, black shape slipping silently from one shadow to another.

The outline was jagged, the wings broad and angular, catching faint shafts of pale light before melting back into darkness. And then, for the briefest second, you saw them again. Two points of glowing red, as bright as embers in the darkness, stare directly at you.

Your breath hitched sharply. The map trembled in your grip. You blinked hard, and the shape vanished, swallowed back into the fog as if it had never been there.

“Hey!” Gojo's voice was suddenly too close, breaking the spell as he bounded up behind you, camera aimed directly at your face. "Did you find him yet?" Because I swear I just did the mating call of champions.” He launched into another warbling screech that made you flinch, his grin wide and unbothered.

You turned sharply to glare at him, your pulse still thundering. “Shut up, Gojo.”

That got Geto’s attention immediately. He straightened from where he’d been kneeling to adjust his pack and came over, his gaze narrowing as he studied your face. “What happened?” His tone was calm, but you could tell by the slight edge in his voice that he didn’t believe it was nothing.

Shoko dragged herself up from her log, brushing crumbs from her hands, her expression as flat as ever. “Don’t tell me you actually saw something.”

“I–” You swallowed hard, glancing back at the tree line. The shadows looked empty now, harmless even, but your skin still crawled. “I think I did.”

Gojo’s grin widened, his camera zooming dramatically on your face. “Ooooh. Spicy. Tell us, dear viewer, what did you see? Was he tall, dark, and handsome? Or more like a giant moth with daddy issues?”

Geto’s hand came up, pushing the camera down firmly, his sharp eyes not leaving yours. “Describe it.”

You hesitated, your throat tight, before you managed to murmur, “Wings. And… eyes.”

That got them quiet. Even Gojo, whose grin remained unwavering, shifted slightly, his focus sharper. Shoko exhaled through her nose, her expression unreadable as she muttered, “Fantastic. We’re about to get murdered by a bug with an ego.”

The silence pressed heavier again, as though the forest was leaning closer to hear.

You shivered, gripping the map tighter. “The birds stopped singing.”

Geto’s brow furrowed slightly at that, his hand dropping from Gojo’s camera. Shoko turned her head toward the trees, her shoulders tightening despite her casual stance.

Gojo, for once, didn’t crack a joke right away. He panned the camera toward the tree line, his voice lower as he said, “Guess the mating call worked.”

“Or pissed him off,” Shoko muttered.

You stared into the treeline, the shadows shifting in ways you didn’t want to believe were natural. Every instinct screamed at you to keep watching, because you were certain if you looked away, whatever was there would move closer.

ᨒ↟ 𖠰𖥧˚

By the time the second hour of hiking dragged on, your body felt wrung out. The trail snaked endlessly along the ridges, weaving through the trees in a narrow ribbon of mud and slick leaves. The Appalachian morning was beautiful in its own severe way: tall trunks wrapped in moss, ferns glistening with dew, and stretches of mountain laurel blooming faintly along the slopes.

But the beauty was layered with something heavier, something pressing close. The deeper you went, the more the forest seemed to close in, the silence between birdcalls growing longer.

Gojo was still talking, though his usual bravado had dulled with the steady climb. He narrated into his chest-mounted camera as if millions were watching, his voice rising in mock suspense. “Two hours in, no sightings yet, but the vibes are immaculate. If we don’t see him soon, I’ll start stripping to increase the bait factor.”

Shoko groaned without slowing, her backpack bobbing with each step. “You’d scare him off.”

Geto, steady as always, didn’t even turn his head. “That implies Mothman has taste.”

You smiled faintly but didn’t join in. The map in your hand had blurred with sweat, and when you slipped your phone from your pocket to check for signal, your stomach sank. No service. The little bars were gone, the screen as empty as the stretch of trail behind you.

You slowed, tilting the phone in your hand as if that would make a difference. The others’ voices grew fainter, their figures blending into the shadowed green ahead.

The forest around you shifted.

The birds went quiet all at once. The air thickened, heavy and damp, pressing close around your chest. You stilled, the hair on the back of your neck prickling as though unseen eyes had locked onto you.

Your boots scraped softly as you looked up–and froze.

Something massive stood in the path ahead, so close you almost collided with it.

Your breath caught, your body locking in place. He was taller than any man you’d ever seen, his frame towering, broad shoulders casting shadows even in the dim light. Black, jagged wings spread slightly behind him, their edges ragged like torn silk and twitching faintly as if tasting the air. Two black antennae curved delicately above his head, trembling in the stillness, and his eyes glowed deep red in the fog, twin embers burning straight through you.

You stumbled back a half step, your lips parting in a sharp inhale. The scream clawing up your throat faltered when the glow in his eyes flickered, softened, and dimmed into something human. His face came into focus through the mist–sharp cheekbones, a straight nose, lips slightly parted as though he was breathing you in. His short black hair was mussed and damp, framing his face in uneven strands. Dirt smudged along the hard lines of his jaw and the slope of his chest.

Your voice broke the silence in a whisper. “Oh my God.”

He didn’t move at first, just watched you with a stillness that felt ancient. Your gaze flicked lower, despite the trembling in your hands. The only thing covering him was a crude, rough piece of the fabric was tied low around his hips and hung unevenly, like a makeshift garment. The rest of his body was bare, with pale skin streaked with dirt and faint scratches, and long black nails glinting faintly as his hands flexed at his sides.

Your mouth went dry, your head tilting slightly without your permission as your eyes dragged back up his body. “Oh,” you breathed again, softer this time, your chest rising in shallow bursts. “My God.”

As if the words pulled him closer, he moved. Slowly, carefully, his hands lifted from his sides, long fingers trembling slightly as they reached for you. Instinct told you to back away, to call out for the others, but you couldn’t. Your body wouldn’t obey.

When his fingers brushed your cheek, your heart skipped painfully. His touch was surprisingly gentle, the long nails grazing lightly against your skin without cutting. His hand cupped your face completely, the roughness of dirt and calluses against your cheek a stark contrast to his careful movement.

Your breath shuddered out as he leaned closer, the faint heat of him surrounding you. The smell of earth and rain clung to him, heavy and raw, mixed with something that made your chest ache. His antennae twitched forward, brushing faintly above your hairline, and then he inhaled.

The sound that left him was low, guttural, almost a growl–but threaded with something softer, something dangerously close to a moan. The vibration of it seemed to hum through your bones, your body tensing and flushing all at once.

His forehead lowered just enough that his breath ghosted against your temple. You could feel the tremor in his hand as he held you, his thumb brushing faintly along your cheekbone, as though he was trying to memorize the shape of you.

Your voice trembled when you finally whispered, “What are you?”

His red eyes glowed faintly again in the dim light, locking onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach twist. His lips parted as if he wanted to answer, but no sound came, only another low, breathless growl that broke halfway into something almost human.

The forest was silent, so quiet that your own heartbeat sounded too loud in your ears. His hand cupped your cheek as though it had always belonged there, long black nails grazing your skin without breaking it, dirt smudging faint streaks along your face where his touch lingered.

His antennae trembled faintly above his forehead as he leaned closer, his breath damp and warm against your skin, carrying the scent of rain-soaked earth. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, caught between terror and something far more dangerous.

When he inhaled deeply, the sound that left him was low, guttural, and almost animal. It vibrated through you, setting your chest alight with a heat you hadn’t expected. And then, without warning, his mouth pressed against the side of your face, lips hot and rough as his tongue dragged slowly up the line of your cheek.

Your breath caught sharply, your entire body jolting with the intimacy of it. Heat spread across your skin where he'd licked, your stomach flipping violently, and the only words you could manage were a broken whisper that you barely recognized as your own. “What the–”

His grip on you tightened as if the sound threatened to push him away, his other hand sliding to your hip, long nails grazing the fabric of your hiking pants. His wings shifted, folding close against his back with a whisper of sound, and his forehead pressed briefly to your temple as a low grunt rumbled in your ear.

The sound wasn’t threatening, not exactly–but it was heavy with need, an almost desperate cadence that left you frozen.

And then you felt it.

The rough press of his hips against yours, his weight pushing you back a half step into the damp moss of the trail. He was rutting against you in short, trembling motions, the crude sack around his hips shifting against the fabric of your clothes. Each push was accompanied by another low, breathless grunt, his body hot and unyielding as he held himself flush to you.

Your face burned, and your pulse was stuttering so quickly that you thought you'd collapse. The realization hit you hard and fast, knocking the air from your lungs. Mothman–the cryptid you’d spent the last two days joking about–was trying to mate with you.

You should have screamed, shoved him back, and run, but your body refused to cooperate. You stood trembling under his weight, your cheek damp from his tongue, your head tilting faintly toward his mouth as if drawn there by instinct. The forest pressed heavier around you, fog curling thicker through the branches, as though the world itself was closing in on this moment.

His breath shuddered against your ear as his hips ground harder, a soft, strangled sound breaking from his throat that sent heat rushing low in your stomach. Your fingers twitched against his chest before you even realized you’d lifted them, the heat of his skin shocking under the thin layer of dirt smeared across him.

The silence was broken by a voice as sharp as a blade.

“Hey! You good back there?”

Gojo’s call rang sharp across the trees, distant but growing closer.

The creature tensed instantly. His wings flared wide with a sudden snap of movement, their edges catching the dim light as he pulled back from you, red eyes locking onto yours with a sharpness that made your chest ache. For a split second, you thought he'd stay and speak, but then the fog swirled violently around him.

In the blink of an eye, he was gone.

The forest was empty again, the silence pressing heavier than before.

You staggered a step back, your chest heaving as if you’d been holding your breath for hours. Your cheek still burned where his tongue had dragged across your skin, your hips still aching faintly where his weight had pressed.

Your hand came up slowly, trembling as you touched the damp heat left behind on your face.

“Oh God,” you whispered, the words barely audible. “Oh my God.”

Branches snapped as Gojo’s voice rang closer, cheerful and oblivious. “Hey, slowpoke! You taking a nap back there, or did Moth Daddy finally sweep you off your feet?”

You swallowed hard, dragging your shaking hands down the front of your shirt as you turned toward the trail. The forest looked normal again, the birds still gone but the shadows empty, as though nothing had happened. And yet your body told you otherwise, every nerve still lit from the heat of him, every breath trembling with the memory of his weight.

For the first time since you’d arrived in Point Pleasant, you didn’t feel like you were hunting the Mothman.

You felt like he had chosen you.

ᨒ↟ 𖠰𖥧˚

The Travelodge lot was almost silent at three in the morning. The only sound came from the humming fluorescent sign out front and the faint buzz of insects crowding the orange glow of the lamps.

You padded across the damp pavement in your thin nightgown, the hem brushing against your thighs as you tugged your sweater tighter over your shoulders. The air was cool, fog curling in from the trees beyond the lot, and the silence of it set your skin prickling.

The vending machine at the far corner flickered with a half-dead light. You pressed the buttons for the soda you’d been craving all night, the old machine groaning and clunking without delivering anything. You muttered under your breath, pressing the button again, then again, slapping the side of the machine until finally a can rattled loose and dropped into the slot with a metallic clang.

The sound echoed far too loudly in the stillness.

You bent to grab it, the cold metal damp with condensation. As you straightened, that prickle ran down your spine again, so sharp this time that you froze mid-motion. The air behind you felt charged, thick, as though someone–no, something–stood so close you should have already felt their breath on your neck.

Your hand tightened on the soda can. Without turning, you snapped, “Whoever’s back there is getting this to the face.”

You spun around, cocked your arm, and came to a complete stop.

He stood just feet away, tall enough that his head nearly brushed the overhang above the vending machine. His black wings curved slightly around his frame, twitching faintly in the mist. The short black hair at his nape was mussed and damp as though he’d flown through fog, framing his pale face. His antennae bent forward toward you, trembling as if straining to catch every beat of your pulse. And his eyes, which flashed red before flickering to a deep, unnatural purple, locked on you with a hunger that turned your stomach inside out.

Your breath shuddered out, your body locking in place as his arms stretched toward you.

You stammered, “I–I don’t…” But your words cut off when his face lowered into the curve of your neck.

The sound he made against your skin wasn’t a growl this time. It was a low, vibrating purr, resonant and warm, the kind of sound that made your knees weaken. His mouth brushed against the sensitive skin at the base of your throat as he inhaled deeply, the faint scrape of his nails sliding around your waist to pull you flush against him. His hips pressed into yours, rutting slowly, deliberately, the crude fabric around his waist doing nothing to hide the heavy, hard length straining beneath it.

Your breath caught, your body trembling as heat flooded your chest and face. A shocked, nervous laugh broke from you, weak and breathless.

“Well,” you whispered, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you tried to ground yourself, “I guess Gojo isn’t the one fucking Mothman after all.”

At that, his head tilted back slightly, his glowing eyes meeting yours. They glinted red, then flickered dark purple again, more human, his expression unreadable. His nails tightened slightly against your waist, and then, with no warning, his arms swept you fully into his chest.

You gasped, the soda can clattering to the pavement as the world lurched. His wings snapped wide, powerful enough to stir the mist around you into spirals as he bent his legs and launched upward.

The ground fell away in an instant. Your scream ripped out of you, raw and sharp, but his large hand came up to press your face into the heat of his chest, muffling the sound. The steady thud of his heart beat through your cheek as the cold night air whipped around you, the wind roaring, your stomach dropping with every powerful beat of his wings. You clung to him without meaning to, nails digging into the dirt-streaked skin of his chest as he carried you higher, deeper into the dark ridges of the Appalachians.

By the time he slowed, your throat was hoarse from the muffled cries, your body shaking from the cold and fear and adrenaline. He descended into a narrow crevice in the mountain, his wings folding as he ducked inside, and you found yourself being carried into a cave that smelled of damp stone and earth.

The space was larger than you expected, hollowed deep into the ridge. Water dripped faintly somewhere in the shadows, the sound echoing softly. The floor was layered with rough blankets and furs, human-made fabrics scavenged from God knows where, some torn, some stained. Old trinkets and items littered the edges of the cave: a cracked lantern, a child’s stuffed bear half-rotted with age, a tin plate, and an empty bottle. He set you gently on the pile of blankets as though you might break, his wings folding tight against his back as he crouched over you.

The heat of his body crowded the space, and even in the dim light you could see the crude fabric stretched taut over the massive shape pressing against it. Your eyes darted lower before you could stop yourself, and your chest went tight. He was enormous, straining against the sack with obscene weight, his erection heavy and obvious as his antennae twitched wildly above his head.

You licked your lips, your pulse racing as you tried to speak, your voice shaking. “I… I don’t even know if you understand me.”

His glowing eyes dropped to the hem of your nightgown, his nails sliding along the fabric as he tugged it higher over your thighs. Your breath stuttered, your body frozen as his gaze burned hotter, his antennae twitching so close you could feel the faint brush of them over your skin. Slowly, he lifted the thin material higher, his eyes dropping between your thighs with blunt, startling curiosity.

He pointed.

Your cheeks burned so hot you thought you might combust. You swallowed hard, your voice breaking into a whisper. “Yeah. That’s… that’s a vagina.”

For a moment, he stilled. Then he leaned closer, the heat of his breath ghosting over the bare skin of your inner thigh as his nails dragged the hem higher. His eyes glinted, red flaring in the dim light as his lips brushed against the soft skin above your knee. The sound that came from him then–low, hungry, a cross between a growl and a moan–vibrated so deeply in your bones that you thought your heart would stop.

And as his mouth pressed higher, leaving damp heat along your skin, you realized you weren’t afraid anymore. Not exactly. You were trembling, yes, but not with fear. The cave, the nest, the dark–all of it fell away under the press of his lips against your thighs, under the weight of the knowledge that Mothman hadn’t just taken you.

The cave was alive with the sound of your shallow breathing and the quiet, constant drip of water echoing somewhere deep inside. He had not spoken, not even attempted words, but his intent was carved in every twitch of his wings, every tremble of his antennae, and every press of heat radiating from his body. You sat back on the nest of furs and scavenged blankets, your nightgown clinging damply to your skin from the mist outside, your chest rising quickly as you watched him with wide, startled eyes.

He crouched between your legs, broad shoulders hunched, his wings twitching faintly in the dim light. His eyes glowed faint red as he bent lower, the rough fabric around his hips straining obscenely with his arousal. You felt his breath ghost hot against your thighs as he slid his long, dirt-smudged hands crawled up your legs, nails glinting dangerously as they curled to grip the soft flesh around your knees. The careful control in his touch made your pulse stumble–he could have shredded you open in a heartbeat, but instead he was trembling, careful, and reverent.

When his face disappeared under the thin hem of your nightgown, your breath hitched sharply. The brush of his antennae against your stomach made your skin erupt in goosebumps, and your thighs twitched involuntarily as his nose pressed to the damp heat between your legs. His inhale was long and heavy, dragging the scent of you deep into his lungs. The sound he let out then–a low, guttural growl that slid into a moan–made your head fall back against the stone wall behind you.

You swallowed, your voice breaking to a whisper. “You… you’re…” You couldn’t finish, too caught in the shiver that ran through you when his breath fanned over the wet fabric of your panties.

Your hands moved without thought, sliding down to press against the top of his head. Your fingers brushed through his short, damp hair and accidentally caught one of his antennae between them. The reaction was instant.

He moaned, sharp and needy, the sound vibrating directly against your clit through the soaked fabric. His whole body shuddered, one powerful leg kicking out against the stone floor as though you’d struck something deep in him. The noise pulled a desperate moan from your throat before you could stop it, your hips jerking against his face.

His mouth pressed harder, lips dragging against your clit through the wet fabric, as if the contact was compelled. You gasped, your fingers curling tighter around his antennae as heat flooded your chest and belly. He whimpered softly, rutting his face against you like he couldn’t get enough, the flutter of his wings sending a faint gust of air that chilled your sweat-slicked skin.

When his teeth closed around the edge of your panties, your eyes flew open. You felt the sharp scrape, terrifyingly close to dangerous, but then with startling control he bit down, the fabric tearing cleanly away. He pulled back with the ruined scraps dangling from his mouth before tossing them aside, his glowing eyes already fixed hungrily on the slick heat he’d uncovered.

“Fuck,” you gasped, your body arching involuntarily as the cool air hit your bare skin.

He didn’t wait. His mouth descended in one fluid, desperate motion, his tongue–far longer than you expected, hot and slick–dragging from the base of your slit up to your clit in one devastating stroke.

You cried out, your hips jerking, your fingers yanking hard at his antennae. The reaction was immediate. He moaned again, the sound raw and broken, the vibration pulsing straight into your cunt. His tongue pushed deeper, curling inside you with greedy, desperate strokes as his nose pressed against your clit. His antennae twitched wildly under your touch, and the more you As you tugged, his noises became louder, with whimpers breaking between growls as if he were unraveling in your hands.

The wet heat of his mouth was overwhelming, every lap of his tongue dragging slick arousal out of you, every flick of his nose against your clit drawing another shuddering gasp from your lips. You clutched him closer without meaning to, your thighs trembling as you pressed your heels into the furs beneath you.

He was shameless, licking deeper, harder, his tongue curling and stroking inside you like he was trying to taste every inch. Saliva and slick coated your thighs as he pulled back only to lap messily at your clit, his groan muffled against your cunt when you tugged sharply at both antennae. His hips shifted against the cave floor, rutting unconsciously, his crude covering doing nothing to hide the obscene size of him straining against it.

“God–oh my God,” you gasped, half-laughing, half-crying as pleasure twisted hot in your stomach. Your back arched as you tugged again, harder this time, and his entire body convulsed with the sound that tore out of him–a moan so broken it bordered on a sob.

His nails scraped against the stone as he dug his fingers into the furs beside your hips. You saw the panic in his glowing eyes then, a faint red flare as he looked down at his own hands, sharp claws trembling dangerously close to your thighs. He let out a frustrated whimper, his lips still pressed to your clit, before doing something unexpected even through the haze of pleasure: biting down on his own nails. Hard.

The sound of them snapping echoed faintly in the cave as he broke the sharp tips away, leaving his fingers blunt enough to touch you safely. His hand slid up immediately after, two long fingers pressing against your soaked folds as his tongue still worked your clit. You gasped again, clutching his head tighter, your body rocking helplessly against his mouth as he pushed a finger inside you.

The stretch was perfect, blunt, and hot, his tongue flicking rapidly over your clit as he moaned into you. Then the second finger pressed in, his whimper muffled by the slick heat of your cunt as he curled them deep inside, stroking with a desperation that made your thighs clamp around his head.

You could barely breathe, the orgasm building sharp and hot, your voice breaking as you moaned his name without even knowing it yet. His antennae twitched wildly under your grip, his tongue pressing harder, his fingers working faster as he whined against your clit like he couldn’t stand the idea of you not breaking apart for him.

Your stomach tightened all at once, and your orgasm slammed into you so hard that your back arched away from the furs. You cried out, trembling as waves of heat pulsed through you, your thighs locked around his head. He groaned against you, drinking in every sound, his tongue and fingers unrelenting as he pulled every drop of pleasure out of you, refusing to stop even as you gasped and shook.

When you finally collapsed back into the nest, your chest heaving, his face was still buried between your thighs, his mouth wet and messy against your cunt, his moans vibrating against you like he had no intention of letting you go.

The cave was thick with the smell of damp stone, earth, and the raw musk of him, the air heavy with the sounds of your ragged breathing and his low, desperate noises. He hadn’t left you alone for a moment, his long fingers still trembling as they searched your body, tugging softly at your nightgown as if trying to memorize every part of you.

When his hands slid higher, slipping under the hem of your bra, your breath caught. His glowing red eyes flicked up to yours, wide and wild, his brows furrowing as he fumbled clumsily at the clasp. The long claws he’d left intact scraped lightly against the fabric, dangerous but careful, his frustration evident when it wouldn’t give.

You exhaled softly, almost a laugh, and reached down yourself. In one motion you pulled your nightgown over your head, your bra slipping free with it, baring yourself completely under the flickering glow of his eyes.

His breath stuttered, the heat of it rolling over your chest as his trembling hands cupped your breasts. He let out a sound between a whimper and a moan, his thumbs brushing across your nipples as if the sensation alone might undo him.

His antennae quivered wildly, his wings fluttering faintly against the stone as he leaned forward to mouth at the soft flesh, his tongue dragging hot and sloppy across your skin.

“Do you… do you have a name?” You whispered, your chest rising under the weight of his hands.

His eyes shot up to yours, still glowing faint red, the intensity in them almost painful. He froze for a moment, as if trying to parse the question. Then his lips parted, his breath shaky as his hand slid up to press against the side of your throat.

You pointed to yourself softly, still flushed from his touch. “I’m…” You spoke your name clearly, letting the sound fill the damp air. His lips moved around the syllables clumsily as he repeated it, his voice low and gravelly, the sound broken but real.

Your stomach flipped at the sound of it, his tongue wrapping around the letters with shaky reverence. You gave him a small, encouraging smile, tilting your head. “Now you. What is your name?”

He blinked, the glow in his eyes softening as he pointed slowly at himself. His lips shaped the word with difficulty, as if it had been a long time since he’d said it aloud. “Cho… so.”

You whispered it back, tasting it on your tongue. “Choso.”

The sound of it drew a low, vibrating noise from his chest, his grip on your hips tightening. You tilted your head faintly, a little smile tugging at your lips despite your trembling. “Not Mothman.”

The way his face shifted at the nickname startled you–the glow of his eyes sharpening with something dangerously close to disgust. He shook his head once, sharply, his expression almost wounded, as if the word betrayed something deeper in him.

“Not Mothman,” you repeated softly, brushing your fingers against the side of his face.

He let out a sound that was almost a sigh before lowering his head to bury his face between your breasts. The sudden, messy heat of his mouth dragging across your skin made you gasp, your laugh breaking through the sound as he motorboated you with a fervor so desperate it almost toppled you backward into the pile of furs.

His antennae twitched wildly against your chest, every brush of them sending sparks of heat through your skin.

“Choso,” you gasped, your fingers curling into his short black hair as he whined against your cleavage.

His hands slid lower, tugging the crude sack at his hips until it slipped free. The sight made your mouth fall open, your breath stuttering as your gaze dragged down. His chest was broad and chiseled, the lines of his muscles catching the dim light. His stomach tapered into sharp V-lines that drew your eyes downward, down to the thick patch of black hair framing the sheer size of him.

Jesus Christ.

Your body flushed hot all over. He was enormous–long, thick, and flushed an angry pink at the swollen head, with slick pre-cum already dripping down the length of him.

It slapped hard against his abs, brushing past his belly button with its weight as he whimpered, his hand curling around the base to massage himself. The wet sounds filled the cave as he jerked himself slowly, his head falling back as his chest rose and fell hard, his wings trembling faintly in rhythm.

Your breath hitched again as he leaned back over you, his free hand squeezing one of your breasts, his mouth latching onto your nipple. His tongue flicked hot against the sensitive peak as he stroked himself harder, his hips shifting with each rutting motion of his fist. You gasped, your hands gripping his head, your eyes half-lidded as the wet heat of his mouth spread sparks down your spine.

When he lifted your legs over his hips, your body arched reflexively, the swollen head of him dragging against your slick folds as he whined softly into your chest. His mouth was messy and desperate against your breasts, saliva shining in the low light as he nipped and sucked.

Then he leaned up, his glowing eyes flicking between your face and your lips, uncertain. He kissed you.

It was clumsy, hot, and too wet–his teeth catching awkwardly against your lip as his tongue pushed into your mouth. You laughed breathlessly against him, pulling back just enough to whisper, “You’re terrible at this.”

He let out a low, almost hurt whimper, your name breaking shakily from his mouth.

“Like this,” you murmured, guiding his face back to yours.

You kissed him slowly, showing him how to move, how to press his lips softer, and how to slide his tongue against yours in rhythm. He groaned deep in his chest when he caught on, pressing harder into you, his hand still working between your thighs. Your body shivered when his wings spread wide before folding around you both, cocooning you in the cave’s damp darkness.

The heat of his wings wrapped you in shadow as he shifted, the damp furs beneath you rustling with every tremor of his massive frame. His eyes glowed faintly purple now, more human than before, but the wild hunger in them hadn’t dulled. You felt him guide himself lower, the thick head of his cock dragging wetly through your folds, the sheer size of him pressing against you and making your chest heave.

Your breath caught when he nudged at your entrance, the stretch already overwhelming. He hesitated, his brows furrowed, his breath rough as he bent down to kiss you. The kiss was messy, desperate, his tongue sliding against yours as he pushed slowly inside.

The intrusion stole the air from your lungs. You gasped against his mouth, your nails digging into his shoulders as your body clenched around the obscene stretch. He whined, the sound broken and raw, his voice scraping low as he whispered, “Sorry…”

His hips pressed forward inch by inch, his cock splitting you open in a way that felt unbearable and intoxicating all at once. You moaned, the sound high and needy, your back arching as the stretch sent sparks shooting down your spine. His hands clutched at your ass, pulling you closer, desperate to bury himself deeper even as he trembled.

When he bottomed out, the blunt head of him pressed against your cervix, and your stomach tightened sharply. You looked down through the haze of pleasure and shock–there it was, a faint bulge rising against your lower belly, proof of how deep he was inside you. The sight made your head fall back with a gasp, your body arching involuntarily against him.

His wings spread wide, shuddering as if attempting to contain the sound that had escaped him. He buried his face against your neck, slobbering kisses and licks over the sensitive skin, his voice breaking into a chant of, “Please… please…” His cock twitched deep inside you, his hips rutting shallowly as though he couldn’t stand being still, every movement pulling another breathless moan from you.

“Mate,” he groaned against your skin, the word raw and desperate. “You… my mate.”

Your nails clawed down his back, leaving faint red streaks through the dirt as you pulled at him. His antennae brushed against your temples, and when you gripped them, he let out a guttural growl, his hips slamming harder into yours.

You arched off the nest, crying out as his hand slid down to your clit. The pad of his thumb rubbed circles over the sensitive nub, messy and unpracticed but devastating in its intensity. He held you up with one strong arm, his mouth hot against your ear as he whispered in a language you couldn’t understand. The words vibrated against your skin, low and rhythmic, broken by gasps and groans as his cock pulsed inside you.

Every thrust drove the bulge higher, your body squeezing around him as your own voice broke into helpless whimpers. His breath was hot and frantic, his antennae twitching wildly under your grip, his wings flaring with every deep grind of his hips.

Your nails dug into his back as his thrusts deepened, every motion dragging a shocked cry from your throat. The bulge in your stomach rose with every drive of his cock; your body stretched so full you thought you might shatter around him. Your voice broke as you gasped his name, desperate and raw.

“Choso–”

The sound of it on your lips ripped something loose in him. He groaned, deep and ragged, his teeth sinking into the tender curve of your shoulder, as if he needed to mark or claim you.

His hips stuttered, pulling out of you so suddenly you whined at the loss before he slammed back in, hard enough to make the nest beneath you creak and your breath explode in a sob. The heavy slap of his balls against your skin echoed through the damp cave, obscene and wet as his cock twitched violently inside you.

His wings curled around you, coiling close like a shield as he let out a high, broken cry–not just a moan, but a sob of need, his glowing eyes squeezed shut as tears streaked faintly down his dirt-smudged cheeks. He whimpered your name again, his voice so hoarse it broke your chest, and then with a trembling strength he pulled you up onto his lap, never letting his cock leave you.

He leaned back against the stone, his body shaking as he guided you to straddle him. His hands gripped your hips hard, holding you in place as you sank down onto him, the stretch searing all over again. You gasped, your hands braced against his chest as his lips found yours in another desperate kiss.

He was messy and unpracticed, his tongue clumsy against yours, but you kissed him back, teaching him through the feverish press of your mouth.

You rolled your hips down against him, and the groan that tore from his chest vibrated into your mouth. His tears dampened your cheek as his cock drove deep, twitching violently inside you as your walls clenched around him.

The heat building in your belly broke again, your second orgasm crashing over you hard enough to make you cry out against his lips. Your body convulsed, your nails raking down his shoulders as your cunt squeezed tight around his length.

He broke apart with you, his voice shattering as he came with a guttural cry. Hot, thick spurts of cum filled you in waves, pouring so deep inside you that you felt it spill when he ground deeper, desperate to stay buried in you. It leaked around him, sputtering out of you with every twitch of his cock, hot and endless, marking you in the deepest way possible.

But he didn’t stop. Even as you gasped through the aftershocks, trembling against his chest, his wings snapped wide. He rose, still clutching you, his cock buried, his hips rocking shallowly as he reached his full height. The wind from his wings filled the cave as he took you higher, still holding you on his lap as he thrust into you, desperate and broken, his forehead pressed to yours.

“Mate,” he sobbed, rutting into you even as he carried you upward, his wings trembling with every beat. “My mate.”

The cave walls were slick with condensation, the air heavy with the scent of sex and damp earth, and every sound of your body against his echoed faintly off the stone.

His wings flared wide before curling close as he pinned you to the wall, your back pressed hard against the cool rock while his hips slammed forward with relentless force. The weight of his cock repeatedly split you open, leaving you clawing at his arms and dragging red streaks down his dirt-smudged skin as he drove into you.

He gave you no room to breathe, no reprieve from the intensity of his need. His glowing eyes were wet with tears, his pupils blown wide as they rolled back with each thrust.

He bent low, his mouth closing greedily around your breasts, sucking and licking as though he couldn’t decide which to worship more, your cunt or the soft swell of your chest. His tongue dragged hot across your nipple, his teeth scraping lightly before he groaned your name, the sound broken and frantic against your skin.

“Mate,” he whined, his voice muffled as he sucked harder, his hips jerking roughly. His cock pulsed deep inside you, spilling more heat as he came again, the warmth spilling down your thighs before he thrust harder, rutting his seed deeper. His body shook with it, his breath ragged as though he was tearing himself apart just to stay inside you.

When he pulled back, you thought for a fleeting second he might relent–but instead his massive hands slid lower, hooking under your thighs as if you weighed nothing. He lifted you high against the wall, his wings twitching wildly with the strain as he draped your legs over his shoulders. The sudden shift had you gasping, your cunt exposed to him completely, your walls fluttering with overstimulation.

He didn’t wait. His mouth latched onto you again, his tongue pushing inside with greedy insistence. You cried out, your nails scrambling against the stone behind you as the wet heat of his tongue thrust deep, curling and stroking to keep his seed from spilling out.

He groaned into you, his nose pressed against your clit as his antennae twitched wildly against your trembling thighs. The vibration of his moans sent shockwaves through your body, blurring your vision and threatening to unravel.

“Choso,” you gasped, your head falling back against the wall. Your body shook violently as his tongue thrust deeper, his arms holding you steady like steel bands. He whimpered against you, the sound desperate, his glowing eyes fluttering shut as he devoured you like he’d die without the taste.

When you thought you couldn’t take any more, he pulled back only long enough to adjust you–his cock pressed hard and wet against your entrance again as he lifted you effortlessly from his mouth. He positioned himself with your legs still trembling over his shoulders, and with one powerful thrust, he buried himself back inside you to the hilt.

You sobbed, your body arching violently as his cock slammed home, the bulge in your stomach rising again as he drove deeper than before. His wings flared, his forehead pressing to your chest as he groaned your name over and over, the sound guttural and reverent.

The world narrowed to the feel of him–his cock filling you to the point of delirium, his mouth still hot against your breasts, his tears damp on your skin as he rutted with desperate abandon.

You felt yourself spiraling, the edges of your vision blurring, your voice breaking into gasps as he whispered low, incomprehensible words into your skin, his hips slamming harder until you were sure you’d pass out from the intensity.

The cave smelled of sweat and stone and the heavy sweetness of release, the air thick with the echo of your breathing and his desperate whimpers. Your body was wrecked, trembling where you lay sprawled across the damp nest of blankets, your thighs sticky with the mess of both your orgasms. You could barely keep your eyes open, your chest heaving as you watched him through the haze of exhaustion.

Choso kissed you softly, his mouth messy and trembling against yours, his tongue sliding over your lips as though he didn’t want to stop. His tears streaked down his dirt-smudged cheeks, dampening your skin as he bent lower, his antennae twitching weakly with every shuddered breath.

When he finally pulled back, his glowing eyes were dim with exhaustion and something like grief. He tugged a rough scrap of fabric–a potato sack salvaged from his nest–over your bare body, covering you clumsily but with reverence, as if ashamed to let the cold air touch your skin after what he had done. His hands lingered, smoothing it over your shoulders and chest, and then he crumpled forward, collapsing onto his knees beside you.

He buried his face against your stomach, his arms wrapping around your waist, his body shaking with quiet sobs. His voice was rough and broken, the words half-mumbled in a language you couldn’t fully understand, but the desperation in them was clear.

“Don’t… don’t want to take you back. Mate. Mine.”

You wanted to reach for him, to tell him something, anything, but your body was too spent. You lay slack beneath his trembling weight, your fingers barely twitching in his hair as your vision blurred into black.

When you opened your eyes again, the world was gray with the first hint of dawn. You were back outside, the damp air of the Appalachians curling cold against your skin. The motel came into focus in the distance, its faded sign glowing faintly against the fog.

Choso carried you in his arms, his massive frame hunched to shield you, his wings folded tight around you both. Your nightgown–or what was left of it–clung torn and damp to your body beneath the rough sack he had wrapped you in.

Bruises bloomed faint along your thighs and shoulders where his grip had held you, your hair tangled and messy, your lips swollen from his desperate kisses.

Ahead of you, voices cut through the fog.

“Where the hell is she?” Gojo’s voice was sharp with panic, uncharacteristically loud. “It’s been hours–Shoko, check again. Suguru–”

“Gojo, calm down,” Geto’s low voice rumbled, though it carried the same edge of unease.

Shoko muttered something under her breath, the glow of her cigarette sparking in the dim light as she scanned the lot. “If she wandered into the woods alone, she’s either dead or… worse.”

The sound of wings cut through their voices like a blade. They turned sharply, eyes widening as Choso stepped out of the mist, his massive form dark against the pale dawn. His glowing eyes flared once, the purple gleam sharp as he held you tighter to his chest.

Gojo froze, his camera raised instinctively, his wide eyes darting between you and the towering creature clutching you. He took a cautious step closer, his mouth open to say something, but Choso's low, guttural growl cut him off dead. The sound was primal, vibrating low in his chest, his antennae twitching wildly as he glared down at the white-haired man.

You shifted faintly in his arms, your body too heavy to stand on its own, your lips cracked but still curved into a faint, wry smile. Your voice was hoarse but clear enough as you rasped, “So… I found him.”

Their eyes snapped to you, disbelief etched into their faces.

You tilted your head faintly against Choso’s chest, your voice barely stronger than a whisper as you added, “Anyway… guess we’re mates.”

Gojo’s jaw dropped, his camera slipping in his grip as he blurted, voice echoing across the empty lot, “WHAT–”

All credits to @nimueshell. DO NOT plagiarize my works. If you want to support pls reblog/like/follow.

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mommyslittlebird · 5 months ago

Text

Long Distance Mommy!Wanda: Punishment

Of course, I could finish my chapter for this week, but I could write 2k words of puppy!reader yesterday and 1k words of this today 😵‍💫😵‍💫

"You've been a very naughty girl today, haven't you?" Wanda clicks her tongue over the phone.

You swallowed. You wanted to argue. The only reason you had gotten distracted in class was because she was sending you naughty things all day. But you held your tongue. You knew better than to argue. "Yes, mommy."

"Mmm," she hummed, pleased you thought better of trying to pin this on her. "And you know mommy has to punish naughty girls, don't you?"

You nodded. "Yes, mommy."

"That's a good girl. Now, I need you to go to the toy drawer and pick out exactly what I tell you to, okay? You'll need a plug- the blue one tonight-, the paddle, and your clamps."

Your eyes went wide. It wasn't uncommon that Wanda would make you put in the plug or wear the nipple clamps, but she very rarely made you use both at the same time. You whined. "Mommy..."

"Aww, what is it baby?" She cooed with faux sympathy.

"It's gonna hurt..." you whimpered quietly.

She nearly laughed. "Of course it's going to hurt, baby. It is a punishment, after all. But you're gonna be a good girl for mommy, aren't you?"

"Yes, mommy," you grumbled reluctantly, grabbing the toys and bringing them to the bed. Since dating Wanda, you'd acquired a good number of new toys, including a nice adjustable stand for your phone that allowed you to film yourself on your bed. You set up your phone, putting Wanda on speaker and hitting the video call button.

Wanda smiled as you appeared on her screen, already naked and preparing yourself for her. "Hey, pretty girl."

You blushed, carefully avoiding the camera as you applied lube to the plug and slowly pushed it into your ass.

She clicked disapprovingly. "Uh uh, sweet girl. You know better than that. Turn over and spread your cheeks. Mommy wants to see your pretty plug."

You did as she asked, glad that at least she couldn't see how red your face was getting from this angle, even though you were sure she already knew.

She hummed. "Mmm, good girl. You're lucky I don't make you take it out and put it back in, since you decided to hide it from me the first time."

You whimpered at the thought. "Thank you, mommy. I'm sorry."

When she finally had her fill, she spoke again. "Okay, sweetheart. You can turn back over now. Show mommy how you put on your clamps."

You turned back over, showing her the clamps first so she could make sure they were adjusted to their most intense setting. You pinched your nipple, crying out as the cruel metal sank into the sensitive bud. You did the same thing on the other side, nearly crying with how sensitive you were.

The plug stung slightly, stretching you just past what was comfortable. But the clamps hurt even worse, burning and stinging your sensitive chest. You were already squirming in front of Wanda. "Mommy, can I touch myself, please? Please mommy. It hurts so bad." The lack of pleasurable stimulation made the pain almost unbearable.

Wanda, who could see how quickly you were already approaching a breaking point, caved. "Yes, baby. Play with yourself for me. Tell mommy how it feels."

The pressure to your clit immediately brought you relief, allowing the stinging pain to take on a slightly pleasurable edge. It was truly amazing how much of a difference it made. You moaned. "Much better, mommy. It still h-hurts. But... not s-so bad."

"Mmm, that's a good girl. Keep touching yourself for me, baby. Get yourself nice and sensitive."

You did as she asked, bucking against your own hand in a desperate attempt to get yourself off. With the stimulation on nearly every sensitive part of your body, you could feel your orgasm steadily approaching. You hoped Wanda would have mercy on you, deciding that the combination of the clamps and plug was enough of a punishment for tonight. "Can I cum, mommy?"

Wanda was slightly taken aback by your question. Sure, she'd been teasing you all day, but you were hardly ever this fast. "So close already, baby?"

You nodded, biting down on your bottom lip.

"Stop." She commanded.

You whined but did as she instructed.

"Pick up the paddle. I want you to hold yourself open for me and spank your little clit twenty times. I'll count out loud. If I don't think it was hard enough, it doesn't count. Understand?"

You whined, picking up the paddle in your right hand, using your left hand to spread your lips apart, putting your swollen clit on display for her. Hesitantly, you brought the paddle down with a soft thud. She didn't start counting. You tried again, harder this time. She didn't say "one" until the third time, when the leather made a loud thwack again your glistening folds.

You continue to bring down the paddle again and again, eyes watering and thighs shaking until they uncontrollably snap closed. "No more, mommy. Please."

"Three more." She commands. She takes a small bit of mercy on you. She'd only counted 15.

Shaking, you spread your thighs again, bringing the paddle down again. Your legs snap closed in between each painful strike, but you manage three more.

Her harsh demeanor final fades away after she counts the third strike. She allows you to throw the paddle down and collapse onto the bed with your thighs pressed tightly together in an attempt to relief the pain. "You did so good for me angel. You can take the clamps off and the plug out whenever you're ready, baby. Mommy's got you, sweetheart."

Even from far away, she was always so tender in her aftercare. She directed you through all the steps, carefully talking you through everything from applying ointment to wrapping yourself up in your favorite blanket. She told you leave the toys on the nightstand wrapped in a blanket. They could wait until morning.

You wrapped yourself around the stuffed bear she'd bought you, inhaling the strawberry scent she'd picked out to put inside. You let her soft words of praise and love wrap around you, pretending she was laying right beside you. You peacefully drifted off to the sound of her gentle voice singing to you.

Even from miles away, she would always let you know you are her precious angel, more loved than anything else in the world.

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff x reader #mommy!wanda #mommy wanda #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fanfiction #drabble

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emmyrosee · 2 months ago

Note

Emmy hey Emmy I have a prompt for you

Timeskip Kenma and his wifey getting in bed after both of them stayed up for most of the night(Kenma streaming and wifey working maybe?)

Anyways I’m putting this on anon because NO ONES SUPPOSED TO KNOW IM THIS SAPPYYYYY

- Fittsy 🐌 ps this totally isn’t inspired by the fact it’s 4:30 am and I just finished working on a sketch absolutely not no way

It was almost comedic how the timing of the universe plays out.

Your cheeks curled into a small smile as your eyes meet Kenma's at the other end of the hallway, his body still in the doorframe of his office, yours in the bedroom's threshold. You squint your heavy eyes at him accusingly, amused, and you watch as he matches your expression, shoulders twitching to try and hide his laughter. The staring contest continues, the silence of your home at the ripe time of 04:16 keeping the air still.

"Hey..."

"Sup..."

You giggle, and he shakes his head, "what're you doing up?"

"I could ask you the same thing," you say, struggling to keep your voice steady from your snickering to keep some form of mysteriousness in the air.

"I asked you first," he tips his head back in a challenging manner.

You nudge your head down the hallway towards the kitchen, "grabbing a lil' sweet treat."

"The fact you we're going to get one without me is crazy."

"Oh, and tell me, please darling, where you are going?"

He goes quiet, and looks away, "to get a sweet treat."

"Knew it."

He smiles, making his way down the hall to meet you. His sweatpants are baggy and low on his hips, the cuffs tucked into his socks- "it's warmer," he had told you once- and the stretched out neckline of his shirt exposing the thin bones of his collar, and the pale skin seems to glow under the darkness of night. His hair is barely contained in the loose elastic, and his bright, golden eyes are bloodshot from staring at his monitors for hours on end. You smile at him, and when he gets closer, he rests his forehead against yours. You snort and wrap your arms around his slender waist. "You still haven't told me why you're up," he whispers.

"Maybe I was waiting for my handsome, perfect, sweet, caring-"

"We both know you weren't," he interrupts, smirking as you sputter in indignation. "Gonna have to put a time limit on your laptop or something, so you don't stay up so late."

"Oh, you are so not one to talk," you tease.

"I'll forgive you if we can make mug cakes."

You move your head out from under his to instead rest it on his chest, "can we eat them in bed?" You mumble. "Now that I'm not staring at my computer, I'm like. Disgustingly over tired."

"It's because you've been working so hard," he whispers, turning his head to kiss your temple. "Should we call it now, then?"

"Mug cakes..." you whisper.

This has Kenma laughing, laughing loudly in the air, his chest shaking and bouncing you around. He squeezes you close, "tomorrow. I promise. Too many crumbs for bed. I'll go shut down the Kenma cave, and I'll be right for bed, alright?"

"Okay," you yawn. With your agreement, he parts and goes back down the hall to his office, saving his hours of editing and turning off the lights, beyond eager to finally get into bed with the love of his life.

But not before going into the kitchen and grabbing a few cookies to satiate the craving of a sweet treat for both of you.

Watching your eyes light up in sleepy excitement is the best remedy to the loss of the once desired mug cakes.

Mug cakes he gets to make tomorrow with the love of his life.

He can't wait.

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sweetbans29 · 11 months ago

Text

Unmarked - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Marked

Summary: You were serious about abstaining from Caitlin (AKA part 2 to Marked)

Warnings: needy Caitlin, suggestive

Word Count: 1.7k

Sweetbans Masterlist

AN: TADA

You weren't kidding when you told Caitlin that the two of you would not be doing anything until all the marks she made on you faded away. And by the looks of the marks two days into them healing, it would be a little while before they fully disappeared.

In the two days, you have had to tell Caitlin 'no' a total of 4 times. It was not like you wanted to, but if you caved that means that she would have won and you don't like losing. Each attempt your girlfriend made was more and more desperate.

You are currently at her apartment for a movie night. The two of you are curled up in her bed as your favorite movie plays. If you were honest, as much as you love Caitlin being all over you it was nice to have some time to hang out (although you do miss the endless attacking from her lips).

Caitlin brings her hands to rest on your stomach, it doesn't phase you at all until her fingers play with your waistband and you feel her breath on your neck. You can't help but let your eyes flutter closed as your breath begins to pick up with anticipation.

"Miss you baby girl," Caitlin says as her fingers dip further into your shorts and you are snapped back to reality.

You shoot up to a sitting position, catching Caitlin off guard and roll to the other side of the bed.

"Nope," you say, composing yourself and fixing your shorts.

Caitlin groans as she falls closer to you in defeat.

"Nice try, but no," you say.

"Babe, it has been two days. We have never gone two days," Caitlin says as if the world is ending.

"It is not my fault someone can't listen," you say.

"I told you, I have no control when it comes to you," she says as she reaches her arm out to try and touch your leg. You move back and deny her access to your skin.

"I know, my body is riddled with evidence," you say as you begin pointing at the marks you can see without needing a mirror.

"How much longer?" Caitlin says like the impatient child she is.

"Once ever single mark is gone," you say and Caitlin lets out an exaggerated sigh. "And by the looks of it, some of these might take weeks to heal."

"WEEKS?" Caitlin yells. "I can't go weeks."

You chuckle at your girl who is now hiding her face in the bed.

"Gonna explode," Caitlin muffles which makes you laugh even more. "Not funny."

"Come on babe, just think of how good it will be when the marks do fade," you whisper as you lean closer to her. "It will be like a whole new canvas for you to paint."

Caitlin looks up at you and you can see her pupil dilate.

You know you were teasing her and she hated being teased. She was so used to having all the control that your newfound dominance was wrecking her in all the right ways.

"But you have to be a good girl for me, okay?" You whisper as you lean in and place the lightest kiss on the corner of her lips. You can see her hands grip the sheets of her bed.

"I can be good," Caitlin says.

"Can you?" You ask. "Because I don't know if you can."

She nods rapidly. You smile at her and begin to make your way out of her room.

"Where are you going?" She calls out after you.

"I'm hungry," you respond as you make your way to her kitchen.

Caitlin falls back into her bed and groans. How in the world was she going to get through this?

It has now been 5 days. Most of the marks are gone and Caitlin points that out every chance she gets but you counter with the few that are still healing on your inner thighs and under your breasts.

Caitlin itched ever time she was with you, making practice and hanging out incredibly hard.

You had started showing your skin again which wasn't any help to her.

It was the end of practice when Caitlin comes up behind you.

"Are you trying to get me to cave?" She whispers in your ear.

You turn around and give her a questioning look. She is staring down at your legs and you laugh.

"Cait, today was the first day I didn't have to wear anything under my practice clothes," you say. You were wearing your usual practice fit as it had to be modified recently because of Caitlin, it really wasn't anything new.

"It's been years," Caitlin says and you roll your eyes at the girl.

"It's been five days," you say and turn to walk back to the lockers.

"Hey Caity girl, solid practice," Nalyssa comes over giving Caitlin a playful bump. Caitlin is uninterested.

"Still holding out on her?" Nalyssa asks you and Caitlin responds immediately.

"Yes," Caitlin says causing Lyss to laugh.

"Damn and I thought I had it bad," Lyss says.

"Don't feed into it Lyss, Caitlin is just impatient," you say as you prep to head into the showers.

"She has been teasing me for the past week! I don't deserve this," Caitlin says.

"I'm siding with your girl on this Cait, you didn't have to do her so dirty and right before a game," Lexie says as she jumps in the conversation.

"You are not helping Lexie," Caitlin says and gives her a look.

"All I am saying, is I would be pissed if Matt left marks like you did," Lexie says.

"Thank you," you say to Lex and Lyss disagrees.

"Nah, I'd be marking every inch of Dij just to show the world she ain't for anyone but me," Lyss says and Caitlin agrees.

"Okay, well agree to disagree," you say with a shrug.

After practice, Caitlin heads to yours. The two of you had plans to make dinner together. You had been doing everything in your power to keep a distance from Caitlin in the small confines of your kitchen which happens to be one of her favorite places to trap you. And you do a pretty good job of making sure she does back you into a corner.

"Just hear me out," Caitlin says.

"No," you say chopping up some veggies.

"You didn't even let me get to what I was going to say," Cait says.

"Exactly, hence me saying no to hearing you out," you say as if it was obvious.

"You hate me," Caitlin says.

"I do not hate you," you respond. "If I hated you, I would not be making a delicious dinner for you."

"Baby please," she practically begs. "I have been so good, I haven't tried anything since that second night."

"You have, you have been a very good girl," you tell her and you can see her thighs squeeze together. When you see how needy she is you want to cave. You want to give her everything she wants because she really does deserve it.

You put the knife down and wash your hands. She watches your every move. After drying your hands you walk over to her and her hands immediately come to your waist. They find their way under your shirt and rub your soft skin.

In keeping her away from you, you almost forgot how good it felt to have her.

Your hands come to hers and remove them from your body. A whimper escapes her lips. You place them behind her butt and back her up against the counter so she can't move her hands.

"No touching," you whisper as you look at her lips. She swallows.

You bring your hand up to her neck as you plant baby kisses along her jawline. Her head instantly tips back as she lets a whine escape from her lips.

You kiss her neck, not putting all the pressure that you know she loves but just enough to satisfy the craving. Your free hand makes its way under her shirt and massages one of her breasts.

"Baby," she moans at your touch.

"Yes," you ask in between kisses.

"Need you," is all she can mutter out.

"Ya?"

"Please," Caitlin begs and you can't help but cave.

"Okay," you whisper into her ear. "Take me."

Caitlin takes the green light and throws you over her shoulder - taking you straight to your bed.

That night was one of the best nights that the two of you have ever shared together.

You wake up the next morning to a sleeping Caitlin. Turning over, you are glad you both have the day off because you don't want to leave bed.

Your movement causes Cait to stir as she reaches over to pull you closer to her. If there is one thing you love, it is cuddly Cait in the morning. She buries her head into you, wanting to block out any light that has made its way into your room.

"Morning," you say. You feel her hum as you wrap your arm around her.

"That might have been the best night of my life," Caitlin says and you laugh.

"Better than getting drafted?" You ask and she nods.

"Wow, good to know I am that good," you say and she pushes you. You pull her back into you.

"And look at that, only a few marks on my legs," you say and Caitlin smirks. She lifts up your shirt showing you all the marks she left.

"Oh, there are marks baby," she says leaning down to kiss the ones on your hips. "Just decided to hide them a this time."

"Caitlin!" You say as you fake anger when in reality, you both know you love being marked.

"You can't be mad at me," she says. "Hid them like you wanted. It's a win-win."

You know she is right.

"You know I'm not," you say. "Just like having the upper hand on you." You lean over to capture her lips.

"Babe, you know you always have the upper hand," Caitlin says as she pulls you onto her.

AN: Here you go! Hope it you all liked it. Let me know what you think! And as always, thank you for your love and support 🤍

#caitlin clark #caitlin clark imagine #caitlin clark x reader #caitlin clark masterlist

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1bisschenmelancholie · 2 months ago

Text

Not That We're Dating || Emily Prentiss x Reader

Oneshot

You weren't dating Emily Prentiss.

You'd said it enough times, you could probably put it on a t-shirt and hand it out at every BAU briefing. We're not dating. Said with a laugh. An eye-roll. A snort. Sometimes a lingering glance that completely undermined the statement.

Everyone thought you were, though. Morgan swore you were sneaking around. JJ raised her eyebrows every time you and Emily walked into a room together. Garcia didn't even pretend to hide her theories.

But you weren't.

Really.

You just flirted. A lot. It started off as a joke—sharp little barbs exchanged over coffee, sarcastic comments in the middle of late-night case reviews—but somewhere along the way, the banter softened. The smiles lingered longer. The laughs felt warmer. You still weren't dating, but it had gotten... complicated.

Emily called you "trouble" in that teasing voice that made your stomach flutter.

You called her "boss," just to watch the corner of her mouth twitch like she didn't hate the sound of it.

It was harmless. Mostly.

Until the rumors started.

⸻

"Are you sure you're not together?" Garcia asked one morning, practically vibrating with nosiness. She'd cornered you in the break room, coffee in one hand, a sparkly pink mug in the other.

You raised an eyebrow. "Is this about yesterday's debrief or my love life?"

"I don't separate the two anymore," she said with a grin. "You brought her coffee. She smiled like she'd just watched a puppy walk into her office. Then you leaned in and whispered something, and she blushed, Y/N. Blushed."

You snorted. "That was about the case."

"She laughed like you told her a dirty joke."

"Maybe I did."

Garcia gasped dramatically. "So you admit it!"

"I admit nothing," you said, sipping your coffee. "Except that you need a hobby."

"Oh, honey. You are my hobby."

⸻

Emily wasn't helping.

She always had something to say when you passed her in the hallway. A comment about your outfit. A low murmur of "Good morning, trouble," said too close to your ear.

At first, you played it cool.

Now? You were counting the times she looked at your mouth instead of your eyes.

It was a game. One you weren't sure you were winning.

One you weren't sure you wanted to stop playing.

⸻

"Can I borrow you?" Emily asked one night, leaning into your doorway.

It was late. The bullpen was mostly empty. The case files were piling up, and your eyes were beginning to sting from staring at your monitor too long.

You looked up. "Sure. You want to talk about the Philadelphia case or my undying love for you?"

Emily blinked. Then smirked. "Let's go with Philadelphia, for now."

"Boring."

But you followed her anyway.

Her office was warm, the overhead lights dimmed. A file was open on her desk, red tabs sticking out like petals.

You dropped into the chair across from her, stretching your arms overhead with a quiet groan.

"You work too much," you said.

Emily arched a brow. "You work the exact same hours."

"Yeah, but I don't look as good doing it."

That earned you a soft laugh.

You leaned back, watching her. The way her fingers moved across the folder. The way she bit her bottom lip while she read. She was tired, clearly. But still sharp. Still stunning.

The silence settled between you like a well-worn blanket.

After a few moments, she glanced up.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing," you said, trying not to smile. "Just wondering if you're gonna finally cave and admit we're dating."

Emily rolled her eyes. "We're not."

"Right," you said, tapping the armrest. "But if we were, this would be the part where you take me to dinner after this whole 'drowning in paperwork' vibe."

She tilted her head. "What would you order?"

You blinked. "What?"

"If we were on a date," she said, tone casual, "what would you order?"

You narrowed your eyes. "Are you flirting with me, Prentiss?"

"I'm asking you a question."

"Mmm. Let's see. Probably pasta. Something messy. With too much garlic."

"Interesting strategy."

"Well, I wouldn't be trying to impress you," you said. "You'd already be in love with me, remember?"

Emily smiled again. But this one felt different. Like it reached somewhere deeper.

The air thickened.

You looked at her hands. She looked at your mouth.

You cleared your throat and leaned forward, breaking the tension. "Okay. Tell me why you dragged me in here."

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, arms folded, studying you.

"I like working with you," she said, finally.

You blinked. "That's not really a reason to keep me after hours."

"You're good at catching things others miss."

"So this is about work."

"It's always about work."

The way she said it made you pause.

You nodded slowly, letting the moment settle. Then you reached across the desk and plucked the file from her fingers.

"All right, boss. Let's find your missing link."

And just like that, the spell was broken.

But it didn't go away.

It never really did.

⸻

Hours passed.

You were both knee-deep in timelines and crime scene photos when Emily rubbed her eyes and let out a quiet groan.

"God, I hate this part," she muttered.

"What, the part where we stare at the same files hoping they magically change?"

"No," she said, "the part where I start thinking the UNSUB is smarter than me."

You frowned. "He's not."

She looked up.

You added, softer, "You're brilliant, Emily."

She smiled tiredly. "Thanks."

You hesitated. Then said, "Can I ask you something?"

"Always."

"Do you ever wish things were... easier?"

Emily leaned back, head resting against the chair.

"You mean work?"

"Work. Life. Us."

She glanced at you. "There's no us."

You smiled faintly. "Exactly."

She was quiet for a moment.

Then: "Sometimes I wonder if we keep pretending there's no us because we're scared what happens if there is."

That landed like a punch to the chest.

You stared at her.

"Scared?" you repeated.

Emily shrugged one shoulder. "We're good at this dance. Teasing. Laughing. It's safe. It doesn't mean anything. Until it does."

You exhaled slowly. "Maybe it already does."

The room went still.

Outside, the building hummed with fluorescent silence. Somewhere down the hall, a printer beeped.

Inside the office, the only sound was your breathing and hers.

"You're not just fun to flirt with," you said.

Emily's eyes found yours again. "You're not just fun to work with."

It wasn't a confession. Not really. But it was close.

You stood and walked around the desk, leaning your hip against it beside her. She didn't look away.

"I'm not asking for everything," you said. "Not now. Not tonight."

She nodded once.

"But maybe..." you added, voice lower, "we stop pretending."

Emily's fingers brushed yours. Lightly. A test.

You didn't pull away.

Neither did she.

"Okay," she said.

Just one word. But it cracked the air open like lightning.

You weren't dating.

Not yet.

But maybe, finally, you could.

⸻

You weren't dating Emily Prentiss.

But after that night—after that moment in her office—you were starting to wonder if denying it had become a crutch.

The next few days passed like a dream you couldn't fully wake up from. Nothing dramatic changed. You still teased her. She still stole glances when she thought you weren't looking. But the space between you had cracked open, like a seam in fabric stretched too long.

Now, when you passed her in the hallway, your shoulders brushed and neither of you apologized.

Now, when she said "good morning, trouble," it felt less like a joke and more like a ritual. Familiar. Needed.

And if the team noticed how different things had gotten, no one said a word.

Except Garcia.

Garcia always said words.

⸻

"Alright, spill," she said one afternoon, cornering you near the coffee machine like a detective on a high school drama.

You didn't even try to play dumb. "Spill what?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You've been walking around here like someone rewrote your DNA. Do not think I didn't notice the extended eye contact you and Prentiss shared at lunch. It lasted six seconds, Y/N. Six."

"You counted?"

"Don't deflect."

You turned back to the machine, pressing the button for espresso. "We're not dating."

Garcia crossed her arms. "Then what are you doing?"

You didn't answer right away. Instead, you stirred your drink slowly and said, "Something quiet."

She blinked. "...Okay, wow. That was suspiciously poetic."

You smiled faintly. "It's not something I can explain."

"Let me guess," she said, her voice softening. "You don't want to jinx it."

You met her eyes. "Exactly."

Garcia placed a hand over her heart and sighed dramatically. "Okay. Fine. I will contain myself. For now."

She left you there with your coffee and your thoughts and a heart that wouldn't stop thudding.

⸻

Emily didn't mention the conversation from her office. Not directly.

But she didn't need to.

The next evening, she passed you a case file and her fingers lingered on yours. Just enough for you to notice. Just enough for you to wonder if she had any intention of letting go.

That same night, she sent you a text:

[EMILY]: you still awake?

[YOU]: always. what's up?

[EMILY]: nothing. just couldn't sleep. wanted to say goodnight.

[YOU]: goodnight, emily.

[EMILY]: you're in my head.

You didn't sleep for hours after that.

⸻

You started sitting beside her more often. In meetings. On the jet. During briefings. It didn't go unnoticed.

Rossi gave you one of his smug "I've seen everything" looks.

JJ smirked but said nothing.

Morgan made a show of pretending not to notice, and Reid asked if you'd rearranged seats for "efficiency."

The thing was: it was efficient.

You worked better next to Emily. You listened more closely. You thought faster. You challenged each other.

And beneath it all was that thread of tension. The unspoken question.

What happens when we finally stop pretending?

⸻

The turning point came in Chicago.

The case was grim—serial abductions, women disappearing without a trace. You worked forty hours straight on almost no sleep. By the time the case broke open, you were held together by caffeine and adrenaline and a sense of desperation.

And through it all, Emily was there.

Always there.

She was the one who kept you grounded when the evidence got overwhelming. She was the one who stayed late to cross-reference timelines with you. She was the one who, when you fell asleep with your head on the table, draped her jacket over your shoulders like it meant nothing.

It didn't mean nothing.

You woke up to the smell of her perfume and the echo of her voice in the hallway, and for a moment, you thought: This is what it would be like.

Coming home to her.

Being hers.

Letting go of the walls you'd both built just to feel a little safer.

The moment didn't last. It couldn't.

But the thought stayed with you.

Even after the case ended. Even after the jet carried you home through a quiet, silver dawn.

⸻

You didn't talk about it.

But neither of you pulled away.

Instead, something new began. A careful routine. Late nights together in the office became normal. You started sharing playlists. Coffee orders. Private smiles that no one else could decode.

Once, after a long debrief, she reached out and brushed a strand of hair from your face without thinking.

Your heart did something dangerous in your chest.

Still—no kiss.

Still—no words.

And maybe that was the problem.

You were orbiting something too big to name. And sooner or later, one of you would have to be the gravity.

⸻

That Friday night, it was you.

You stayed behind in the bullpen after everyone else had gone. The case notes from Chicago still littered your desk. Your head was pounding from a day of statistics and psychological profiling.

You weren't expecting Emily to come back.

But she did.

She appeared in your doorway, holding two paper cups and a tired smile.

"Thought you might still be here," she said.

You looked up. "Can't sleep either?"

"Didn't try."

She handed you the coffee, and you sipped it gratefully.

"What is this?" you asked.

"Something overpriced and soothing."

You laughed quietly. "That's you in a nutshell."

She leaned against the doorframe. "Is it?"

"Beautiful. Complex. A little bitter."

Emily rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

You gestured to the chair beside you. "Sit with me?"

She did.

For a long moment, you just drank your coffee in silence.

Then she said, "We can't keep doing this."

You didn't pretend to misunderstand. "No."

Her voice was quiet. "I don't want to lose what we have. But I don't want to keep faking that it's not more."

You looked at her. "Then let's not."

Emily tilted her head. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying maybe it's okay to want more. And maybe it's okay to admit that we already have it."

She didn't speak.

So you did.

"I care about you," you said. "Not just the way people flirt at work to pass time. Not just because we're good partners. I care about you. I think about you when I go home. I check your desk before I even check my own. I want to know how you take your coffee before the words are even out of your mouth. And I think I've been terrified of what it means, but—Emily, I don't want to run from it anymore."

Silence.

Then she said, "That's the most terrifyingly beautiful thing anyone's ever said to me."

Your heart was thudding.

But you smiled. "So what do we do?"

Emily set her cup down. "We stop pretending."

A beat.

She stood, walked around to your side of the desk.

And just as her hand brushed yours—

You stepped forward, heart full, steady now.

And kissed her.

Finally.

It wasn't rushed. It wasn't desperate. It was inevitable.

Her lips were soft but certain, one hand curling around the side of your face like she had always meant to hold you like this. Everything unspoken between you dissolved, sealed with the quietest hum in her throat and the sure press of her body into yours.

She smiled against your mouth.

And that's when the door opened.

"Hey, Emily, have you—" JJ's voice died midsentence.

You didn't stop kissing her.

In fact, she pulled you closer.

Gasps. A loud, triumphant "HA!" from Garcia. The unmistakable snort of Rossi. Reid's horrified whisper: "Is this allowed in the workplace?"

Morgan: "Called it."

You finally broke apart, blinking at the crowd of shocked agents in the doorway.

Emily, cheeks flushed but unapologetic, murmured under her breath, "Well. That happened."

You laughed.

And held her hand.

For once, you weren't pretending.

And everyone finally knew it.

#criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x female reader #wlw writing #wlw fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #enemies to lovers #bau team #women loving women #comfort #reader insert #x reader #angst #soft angst

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thevoidstaredback · 1 year ago

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Okay, so maybe giving his calling card to a kid was a bad idea. He sees that now. Unfortunately, it's too late to take it back. On the bright side, the kid wasn't going to be able to figure out who he is yet based solely on a summoning circle. In the pitch black void of things, Danny can sense the card and the person who's holding it.

Maybe if he leaves Fawcett fast enough he can keep plausible deniability because there's no way that the tiny homeless kid he just met is Captain Marvel. Nope, no way. Not his circus, not his monkeys. He's leaving now.

"What happened to you?" Deadman had an insufferable grin on his face. Did he have the House drop him in Gotham? Danny wouldn't put it past him.

"Don't wanna talk about it."

"Where ya going?"

"To the basement."

"Why?"

Was the other ghost always this annoying? "Because leaving was a terrible idea. I'm going to go hide in the basement until the day I fully die."

"Aw," Deadman tried to pout, but he failed and started to cackle. "Don't be like that. Did you not enjoy your trip to Gotham?"

Danny was a lot of things. Violent usually didn't make it onto that list. However, he was willing to make an assumption. "So it was your fault."

Another cackle. "Don't be like that! You've never been to Gotham before. You can't tell me you at least didn't have fun."

They were at the basement stairs now. "For your information, I have been to Gotham. I didn't get to do much exploring this time because Batman and his gaggle of sidekicks surrounded me!"

"You've been to Gotham?"

"Not important."

"Oh?" The glee on the full ghost's face made Danny uneasy. "I sense a story behind that."

Oh, no. "No. I'm not telling you." He marched past and down the stairs, not bothering to unlock or open the door.

"Please!"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I said 'no'."

"Party pooper." he huffed. "You know I'm just going to keep asking, right?"

A sigh. "I'm not gonna cave. No."

"Ah, but you will!" That was the confidence of a ghost who knew he was right. Danny did not like how that bodes for him. "You, my friend, are a younger sibling. I am also a younger sibling."

Shit. "That....That means nothing. My answer will stay 'no'."

Deadman had the gall to chuckle darkly. "We'll see." Then, he disappeared.

Danny didn't sigh because he doesn't need to breathe. He was not going to tell what happened because what happens in Gotham stays in Gotham. It's a rule of thumb that people don't cross. Besides, Deadman doesn't know that Danny's actually the middle sibling. Dani, introduced to his parents soon after he'd told them he was a Halfa, was the embodiment of younger sibling because he had once been the embodiment of younger sibling.

***

"Please get Deadman to stop!" Danny begged Zatanna three weeks later. Maybe he'd overestimated himself a little bit.

The sorcerer raised an eyebrow as she looked up from the book she'd been reading. Something on runes? "What's he doing this time?"

"He won't stop asking me to tell him about my first trip to Gotham."

"You've been to Gotham?"

Danny groaned into the throw pillow he was clutching. "Yes. Please make him stop!"

"Sorry, hun," she focused back on her book, "But I can't see him."

"Oh. I forgot about that."

"Why don't you just tell him?"

Danny shot up, appalled by the very idea. "It's a matter of principle!" he exclaimed, "I am both the older and younger sibling: The middle child. If I give in, I'll have failed! I can't do that. Do you want me to fail?!"

"Okay, okay, geez!" she surrendered, "Don't gotta be so overdramatic about it."

"I'm not being overdramatic! I'm being just dramatic enough!"

"Sure, sure. Whatever you say, kid."

"I'm not a kid!"

"You look like one."

"Yeah, but I'm not! I'm-"

"King of the Infinite Realms," Constantine interrupted, "We know."

"Then don't call me a kid."

"Yeah, yeah, kid,"

"I'm not-!"

"Look, we can have this argument all day and we'll still end in a tie. I've got a case in San Francisco near Titan's Tower. Raven's coming along. Do you want to come with?"

"Don't you normally work solo?" Danny asked. Zatanna still hadn't looked back up from her book and he was pretty sure she'd tuned them out.

"Is that a 'no'?"

"No! No, I'll come with." Maybe having Constantine with him will deter the JL from hounding him. What do they even want with him? If they're upset that he died at fourteen, he's gonna scream.

The Brit smirked. "You sound almost desperate to get out."

"Shut up and let's go."

"Alright, alright."

Part 3 Part 5

Tag List: @zaiothe4th @someonebored0100 @wolfeyedwitch @angelheartgamer @nymanders

#writing #dp dc crossover #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcu #dc comics #dcxdp #dc #danny phantom #ghost king danny #john constantine #zatanna zatara #deadman #house of mystery #Enough Caffeine to Kill an Elephant

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backtothefanfiction · 2 months ago

Text

Oh Baby | PART 1: OH BABY

Manny Alvarez x Reader Insert Fic

Summary: You thought you and Manny were people careful. It was only supposed to be a friends with benefits situation. Now it's something more.

Warnings: 18+ Only, smut, pregnancy, fluff, angst, canon violence, sparse use of Y/N, we are playing fast and loose with the actual canon and character depiction so if that's gonna bother you don't read, but if not, you'll like this.

Word Count: 7.5k+

A/N: WAIT! WAIT! BEFORE YOU CHOSE TO SCROLL! I know you've read those warnings. I know you're thinking 'uggghhhh nooooo, not a pregnancy fic' trust me, I get it, it's not usually my bag either, which is why you can trust me when I say, this isn't that kind of pregnancy fic. This isn't sunshine and rainbows. This isn't a honeytrap. It's angsty and dramatic and messy as well as human and fluffy and at times sweet. It's raunchy and real and I really can't believe I've written this kind of a story. So before you write it off and choose to scroll, please give it a go and if it's still isn't for you that's fine. But for those who continue to follow me on the journey of this story, I really hope you enjoy. As I said in the warning I am playing a bit fast and loose with the canon events. I haven't gone back and double checked who said what in the scenes in the lodge so don't come for me (after all its such a small part of the story I'm telling) but read, like, reblog and most of all enjoy!

“Oh would you just hurry up already,” you said to him, exasperated as you waited for him to pull his pants down. You had already pulled your own down and your ass was getting cold. Not to mention if you were both gone for too long the others would get suspicious.

“Shut up, I’m working on it,” he huffed, as he finally managed to get his cock out of his pants.

There was a beat as you heard him work his hand up and down himself a few times, trying to make sure he was ready, his fingers dipping into your slick to help lubricate himself and make sure you were good to go. But you’d been good to go since you caught him taking a cold shower this morning. It was the thought of his bronzed skin and toned abs that had gotten you into such a state that you knew you would need to sneak away for a quickie the moment camp was set up.

“Oh my god, Manny, come on!” You pressed him.

“I know, I know, just -fuck,” he cursed. “Wait, there we go, there we go,” he said eagerly as he finally lined himself up with your entrance and slid inside.

Just a few months ago you couldn’t have even imagined yourself even kissing Manny, let alone doing this, but now you were addicted. After weeks of him trying to aggressively flirt and wind you up at the same time, you had finally caved. Anything to get him to quit whining about his fucking “manly needs”- but he was good- you couldn’t fault him that.

He always made you cum first before he even thought about shooting his load. Always caring and attentive- if all be it in his own slightly gruff way. You wondered what he’d be like if you could dedicate the space and time to just yourselves for longer than a few minutes. But alas, whilst you were on the road traveling with Abby and the others, there was zero chance of that happening.

You were pretty sure Nora knew you and Manny were fucking each other. Nothing ever got past her. But you were beginning to think it wouldn’t be too bad if people knew anyway. I mean, it was just sex after all. A way to blow off some steam. It was never gonna lead to anything else was it? Or was it?

“Oh fuck,” you panted as he rutted you up against the cold metal wall of the shed you were hiding behind.

“Does that feel good baby?” He grunted into your ear. You turned your head back to him and nodded. “Use your words,” he said breathily into your lips as his forehead rested against your temple.

“Feels so fucking good, Manny,” you whined. He loved it when you said his name like that. He’d had many girls whimper his name just like that over the years, but he had to admit, when you did it, it really made his cock twitch.

“Yeah?” he asked as he moved his hand round to circle your clit and you shivered at his touch. “You gonna come for me princess?” he asked.

“Uh, huh,” you whimpered, your voice shaking as he rocked into you at force.

“Uh God,” he cried out, burying his head into the gap between your neck and your coat. “Come on, baby, I need you to come for me,” he gritted, his fingers over your clit picking up pace. You could tell he was close from the way his body tensed and his breaths became caught in his chest, as he fought with all of his might to hold off until you had cum first.

You closed your eyes and tried to focus on that feeling building inside you, the way his fingers circled, his cock sliding in and out of you at a wicked pace and rubbing at just that right spot that would send you over the edge with enough stimulation. You were so close.

“Come on baby,” he cooed again and you whimpered, your legs shaking and cunt convulsing around him as your climax crashed into you.

“Oh Fuck!” he cried out as he finally let himself go and quickly followed after you.

You felt his hips stutter and his cock pulsate inside you once, twice before he quickly pulled out. You tried not to think about it too much- how he had stayed in longer than normal. He was normally so quick to pull out to minimise any risk, but you’d both been sloppy today.

It’d be fine, you told yourself as you began to pull your pants back up, but it continued to niggle at the back of your mind.

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

For the next couple days it was all you could think about. You grew quiet, often falling behind at the back of the group as you made your way towards Jackson, where you’d learnt this Joel guy Abby had been hunting down- for what felt like forever now- was living.

“You okay?” Nora asked as she fell back into step with you.

“I’m fine,” you quickly replied, not wanting to worry her.

“You two have a little spat?” she asked, motioning towards Manny in the middle of the pack.

“What? No!” you quickly said defensively.

“Okay, then why do you keep staring daggers at the back of his head?”

“I’m not staring daggers-“ you began, but caught yourself. “I was just thinking is all.”

“Just thinking… right,” she replied.

“It’s fine, it’s nothing,” you quickly said, trying to keep your tone light.

“Okay, if you say so. But I’m not picking up the pieces if things go to shit between you two,” she said before she began to pick up the pace again, leaving you once more all alone with your troubling thoughts.

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

A week later you were fucking again like nothing had happened. You figured after a few days you’d notice if anything was amiss and seeing as there wasn’t anything to cause you alarm, you put it to the back of your mind. It was even easier to do when you were more focused on just being happy to be alive.

You’d had a close call earlier on in the day, a small group of infected getting the drop on you all as you explored a small long abandoned little rural town. If it hadn’t been for Nora’s constant vigilance you all would have been fucked.

“Fuck, this afternoon was far too close,” he panted as he fucked you up against a tree.

“I know,” you breathed back, your hands wrapping tightly around his neck, fingers tangling in his grown out curls sticking out the bottom of his hat.

“Thought I was gonna die,” he said.

“Yeah, then who would I get to fuck me in the middle of the woods,” you joked, trying to make light of things and take his mind off the subject.

“Uh, love burying myself in this pussy,” he said, his teeth nipping at your jaw.

“Oh fuck,” you sighed as the feeling of his facial hair prickled at your skin and sent a shiver down your spine.

You pulled at his hair and he growled as he rutted up into you harder. You could feel he was close. “Don’t forget to pull out,” you reminded him.

“I know, I always do,” he said, before he shifted so he could give you a kiss, his tongue coming out to tangle with yours, the steam from your breathes mingling in the hot air.

“Tell me you’re close,” he sighed into you, his forehead pressing into yours as once again he tried to hold himself back.

You bit your lip and tilted your head back, closing your eyes as you once again tried to focus on your release. You squeezed the walls of your cunt around him, hoping the tension would help, but it just made him cry out.

“Shit! Shit! Shit! Don’t do that. I can’t-“ You felt him twitch before he quickly pulled out.

“Shit!” he gritted again as he slowly lowered you back onto the ground and stepped back. “Fuck! You can’t do that!” he said to you again frustrated. “I almost came inside you. Fuck!”

He quickly moved to place himself back in his pants before he started pacing back and forth to dispel the adrenaline.

“But you didn't, right?” You had to check.

“No,” he quickly said. “No,” he said much calmer, spotting the look of panic in your eyes. “But maybe we should just not do this for a while,” he said and although it hurt you to do so, you quietly nodded and agreed.

“Okay,” you said, but for some reason, it tore at something in your chest. Were you getting feelings for him?

No, no. That would be stupid.

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

Another week and a half passed and you finally made it up the mountain that overlooked Jackson, just before a big snowstorm hit.

“We can camp out in there for the night,” Owen said, as he spotted the old abandoned ski lodge sticking out of the snow.

When you all got inside to the main room, the sky was now too dark to see your target until the morning, but you were glad of somewhere safe to rest. You hadn’t been sleeping well the last few nights. You put it down to no longer getting a regular orgasm from Manny, but there was something else that had come back to nag at the forefront of your mind.

You were late. You tracked your cycle regularly. And although your body had been under a lot of stress lately with the hike here, you knew it wasn’t because of that.

That voice had only grown worse again when you had found yourself throwing up at random times throughout the day. Not that much came up. You were all on strict rations to last you until you got back, which meant what did come back up was mostly bile mixed with a few dried crackers.

How had you let yourself be this stupid? And with Manny Alvarez of all people. He’d probably sooner abandon you up here to deal with this on your own than-what? Co parent with you? He was all in on playing the soldier, not the caring father. Fuck! How were you gonna do this?

You lay awake most of the night thinking about it. When you got up at 4am to puke you knew there was no way in hell you were making this up either.

“You okay?” Nora asked you as she came and found you in the bathroom, your back against the cold tiled floor as you just stared up at the ceiling.

“I’m late,” you told her, ripping the bandage off.

She faltered for all of a second before she schooled her features and simply said, “Well shit.”

“Yep,” you agreed as you slowly sat yourself up and shuffled back to lean against the wall instead.

“Is it Manny’s?” she asked as she came to take a seat next to you.

“Yup,” you said with a frustrated eye roll.

“You gonna tell him?”

“Do I have a choice?” you asked, rolling your head to the side to look at her earnestly.

“I mean, it’s up to you,” she said. “But sooner or later I think he’s gonna notice. Unless you’re planning on running away and taking your chances in the woods that is.”

“I mean, who’s to say he won’t march me out into the woods and shoot me to get rid of the problem anyway. Just claim there was an accident or that I got bit or something,” your biggest fear tumbling from your mouth as tears began to well in your eyes.

“He wouldn’t do that,” she reassured you. “I mean, he can be a trigger happy asshole at times,” she said, “but he’s always wanted to do right by you.”

“How do you know?” you asked.

Because I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” she said nonchalantly. “You know, he always falls asleep facing towards you so he can keep an eye on you in the middle of the night.”

“No,” you said, realising you hadn’t noticed that.

“Or how he sneaks some of his own rations into your bag when you’re not looking,” she smiled.

You frowned. You had wondered where the extra protein strips had come from.

“Look, tell him, or don’t tell him, but- I think if you do, you might be surprised about how he reacts.”

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

You were able to get a couple of hours sleep before Manny was intently shaking you awake. “Hey Y/N, get up,” he said, his voice more serious than you’d heard it in weeks.

“Huh, what?” You groaned, but he was already moving to kick awake the others next to you.

“Get up. GET UP!” he barked and you suddenly grew worried.

“What is it?” Mel asked as she sat up.

“Oh shit!” Owen exclaimed as he took a closer look out the window.

“Fuck!” Abby sighed.

“What is-“ your voice faltered as you stepped up to the window yourself.

“It’s like a fucking fortress,” you heard Nora mutter beside you.

“They’ll never just fucking give him up,” Owen said rationally to Abby as you began to back away from the window again and move back towards your sleeping bag, that turning nautious feeling in your stomach becoming all consuming.

You should never have agreed to come on this venture, you thought to yourself. There was no way this was gonna end well. It’d be a miracle if everyone made it out alive.

You thought to the living thing now growing in your belly. What if it had come at the right time? As some sort of miracle from above to try and turn you on another path. To get you away from this. Your stomach turned and a shiver ran through you as you were sure all the blood drained from your face.

“Hey, you okay?” Manny asked as he moved away from the group.

“Yeah, I just-“ but you paused. No you were definitely gonna hurl. “Excuse me,” you said before you rushed out the room.

Once again you retched the very little contents of your stomach into the toilet bowl. When your muscles stopped heaving and you could finally take a second to breathe, you flushed the toilet and any evidence of your little discrepancy down the pipes.

“Hey, you okay?” Manny asked again when you returned.

“No, we need to talk,” you said to him as Abby readied herself to go out into the cold.

“Yeah, sure what’s up?” he asked seriously, and although his voice was hushed, you still feared the rest of your group overhearing.

“Not here,” you said, your eyes scanning the room suspiciously before you began to pull him back towards the run down kitchen in the back.

“What’s wrong?” He asked again as you folded your arms defensively and leant back against one of the stainless steel counters.

You took a deep breath, mustering what little courage you had left before you said, “I’m pregnant.”

His face fell. “What?” he frowned, quickly stepping closer to you and dropping his voice.

“I’m pregnant,” you said to him again.

“You sure?” he asked.

“Yep. Pretty sure,” you said to him with a shrug.

“How do you know?” he asked skeptically.

“Well, I’m late for starters,” you sighed frustratedly. “I’m throwing up at all hours of the day. My boobs hurt, I’m tired like- all the time!” you stressed to him quietly.

He was quiet. Deadly silent. And you think it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him truly speechless.

“Okay,” he finally sighed. “So what do we do?” he asked, looking to you for the answers.

“I don’t know. I mean, given the life we live, who knows if it’ll even stick,” you said to him.

“What does that mean?”

“It means, we live a stressful life, shit happens. I might miscarry or… something else might happen to us before I even get close enough to 9 months,” you said with a shrug, trying to weigh up all likely scenarios.

“But what if it does?” he said. “Get to 9 months, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” you said to him worried and he could see the fear and terror in your eyes. You had never wanted to bring kids into this world. Who would ever in their right mind willingly subject new life to this? But unfortunately this was where you were at.

“Does anyone else know?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at the closed door as if he could see through it.

“Nora found me throwing up last night,” you told him.

“And she-“

“Knows you��re the father? Yes,” you said, finishing his sentence for him.

He breathed deeply, letting out a sigh as he rubbed at his face, his fingers pulling at his curls that draped forward over his forehead. “Fuck!” he exclaimed as he pushed them back with both hands, running them down the back of his head until they rested at the back of his neck.

You remained quiet as you let him take a moment to process the bombshell you had just dropped in his lap.

“Okay,” he finally said.

“Okay?” you said, asking him to elaborate.

“Okay,” he said again. “We can deal with this. We’ll just take it day by day, moment by moment until we’re done with tracking down this Joel guy and then-“

“Then?” you asked, fear still in your eyes as you watched him slowly formulate some sort of a plan.

“Then we’ll deal with it. We’ll assess our options. Come up with a plan,” he said.

“Okay,” you said timidly, but you were still just so scared. “You’re not mad?” you asked him as you continued to watch him go back to silently process all this.

“Why would I be mad?” he asked, turning towards you and reaching his hands out to rest on the tops of your arms. It felt comforting. “If I should be mad at anyone it should be myself for not being more careful,” he said.

“Look, just don’t stress. Don’t worry,” he said, trying to find some confidence despite the fact he was absolutely shitting himself on the inside. “We’ll deal with this. Together.”

“Together,” you repeated.

“Whatever you do, just-“ he hesitated, “don’t tell anyone else okay? Let’s keep this a secret for now until this is done.”

“Okay,” you agreed, but you had no idea how well you were gonna do that when you were throwing up every few hours and you felt so tired you could sleep for a whole week.

“Manny,” you said to him shakily, “I don’t know if I can do this,” you confided.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he said, folding you into his arms and pulling you into his chest as tears began to roll down your cheeks. “I promise,” he said into the top of your head. “No matter what happens. I’ve got you… both of you,” he clarified and his words made you sob.

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

The next few hours felt like hell. You were still so tired, you couldn’t bring yourself to eat anything and to top it all off, Abby had fully disappeared into the snow putting everyone on high alert. That alert only increased as you all watched a hoard of infected begin to attack the town down the hill.

“Mel, stay here with Y/N,” Manny began to instruct, “everybody else, outside with me to look for Abby and reinforce the perimeter.”

You felt like your stomach was in knots as you waited for them to return. Every now and again you’d just about make out one of their figures against the backdrop of snow, but the longer it took for them to come back, the worse you felt.

You tried to sip some water at the very least as you sat in front of the large windows with a pair of binoculars keeping an eye on things.

“Are you okay?” Mel asked you as yet another wave of nausea hit and you swayed slightly on the spot.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lied between slightly gritted teeth, holding the binoculars back up to your face to hide your features.

“Really, because you don’t look fine,” Mel pressed. “You’re as white as a sheet- and don’t think I haven’t noticed you sneaking off to the toilet every 5 minutes.”

“It’s just a stomach bug or something,” you lied. “Probably one of those dodgy out of date protein bars,” you said and she reluctantly seemed to accept that, but she didn’t have time to press you further as you spotted a set of horses racing up the hill. “Shit, we’ve got company,” you said, handing off the binoculars for her to have a look as the others outside began to move into action.

“Looks like Abby,” Mel shouted as you moved further back from the window, trying to control your breathing and will that feeling of nausea to pass.

Within minutes everyone was back inside and racing up to the main room. “Hey, you okay?” Manny asked rushing over to you and pulling you to one side, it was clear from the look on his face he had been thinking about you and worrying the whole time he was outside.

You simply nodded before turning your attention to everyone else in the room, eager to find out where Abby had run off to and who she had brought back with her. Mel was already huddled to one side with the young girl, trying to attend to her already frost bitten fingers.

It didn’t take long for things to turn south as Abby announced that the man who had ridden back up the mountain with her was in fact Joel. You didn’t know if it was meant to be or just sheer dumb luck on Abby’s part, but she made it very clear, very quickly, she definitely wouldn’t be passing up on this particular opportunity.

Although you had heard her going on for years now about getting her revenge and ripping this guy apart limb from limb, it was very different watching it play out. No one else had anticipated an extra witness, but Abby seemed to have thought that out. You couldn’t help but feel sorry for the girl now lying unconscious on the floor, but you also figured it was for the best so she wouldn’t have the memory of all that Abby was currently doing to this Joel guy.

She had fully lost it, shooting his knee cap out with a shotgun before taking a club from some long forgotten golfing bag and going to town, beating the shit out of him with it again and again and again.

You’d seen a lot of shit over the years, the infected themselves being some of the worst of it, but this- for some reason, this affected you way more than any of that ever had. You’d watched children murdered by a firing squad. Men literally hanged in the streets for stealing food. You’d seen broken limbs that stuck out of skin. People's insides, literally on their outsides. And yet still this made your stomach turn worse than any of that.

Eventually you had to turn away, your eyes instead fixating on the father of the child that was now forming inside of you. You silently pleaded with him to do anything. But he just shook his head. He knew better than to mess with Abby in the state she was right now.

“I need some air,” you said to the room as you moved to grab your coat and leave the room, but you didn’t get far as another young girl came charging in.

You were suddenly knocked backwards, your back colliding with a beam as she lunged at you. Before she could do anymore damage though Manny was there, ripping her off of you and holding her firmly in his arms at gunpoint.

“You okay?” he barked in your direction, but you could see the panic hiding in his eyes.

You rubbed at your ribs wheezing slightly where she had winded you, but you were okay and you gave him a silent nod to tell him such. “Yeah,” you groaned as your voice slowly came back to you.

As the young girl noticed the state of the man lying beaten on the floor, she began to fight against Manny, a knife now in her hand clocking him in the head. It took all of Manny and Owen’s effort to wrestle her to the ground as she shrieked in distress. When you caught eyes with Manny again and silently pleaded for him to do something, he finally conceded, encouraging Abby to finish it.

You watched as the young girl continued to scream, willing Joel to get up off the floor as Abby slowly moved with the now broken golf club to stand over his crumpled body. It was too much, the next wave of nausea hitting you so fast all you could do was turn around and retch into the corner.

As you braced your hands against your knees and basically threw up the water you had drunk, your eyes watering from having the contents of your stomach come back out of your mouth again, you slowly began to feel Manny’s steady hands rubbing at your back through your thick coat.

No one said anything, the rest of the room distracted watching the young girl- who was struggling to breath from the kick Manny had given her to her ribs- tried to crawl across the floor towards the man she cared for.

“We need to go. Now!” Owen insisted; him, Mel and Nora already beginning to frantically repack things into bags ready to leave.

“You okay?” Manny asked as he continued to rub at your back as you finally stood back up and looked over your shoulder at everyone else to see if they were looking, but thankfully they weren’t. You slowly nodded and as he saw the colour begin to come back to your face, he allowed himself to part from you to help finish packing stuff up ready to go.

A few minutes later he was helping you put your bag back on. It was noticeably much lighter than the last time you carried it, but you didn’t press the matter.

“Come on, let’s go,” Manny said, reaching for your hand to pull you out the door with him first, the others following behind at staggered intervals, Owen practically having to drag Abby from the scene.

As he encouraged you to start climbing further up the mountain again, back in the direction you had all originally come from, he finally let go of your hand and allowed himself to drop a couple paces back to make sure everybody was on the move; as well as scout the tree line for any stray infected that might have broken off from the hoard Joel, Abby and that other girl had been running from earlier.

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

You didn’t stop moving for the next two hours. Every time fatigue hit you and you began to fall behind, Manny always fell back with you, checking in and encouraging you on, consistently giving you false hope of you all getting to have a break soon, but you knew you needed to have Jackson and what happened in that ski lodge well behind you for that to happen.

The only lucky thing was the rest of Jackson were too busy dealing with that hoard of infected to come after you all straight away, meaning you could get as big a head start as possible. But you’d seen the way that girl had looked at Manny. Looked at Abby. The way she didn’t give up. You knew she’d want revenge the same way Abby had and she’d catch up to all of you some day and make that happen.

The thought made you rub absentmindedly at your belly as you contemplated on that future. The inevitability of her tracking you both down and leaving your child an orphan. But one look at Manny told you he’d do everything in his power before he ever let that happen.

It was almost nightfall before you got that rest. Your fingers and nose were freezing cold and you were sure you had tiny icicles forming on your eyelashes.

“You need to eat something,” Manny said as he sat you down in front of the fire he, Owen and Nora had made up.

You were sitting in the living room of an abandoned farmhouse. You could hear Mel and Abby already raiding the pantry looking for anything non perishable that you could add to the group's reserves, but you knew your stomach wouldn’t keep anything down.

You shook your head at him, “No, can’t,” you said, closing your eyes as you focused on willing away that feeling rising in your esophagus again, even though you knew there was nothing there at all for you to bring up.

“You have to,” he insisted. “Even if it’s just a little,” he said and you groaned at him in protest.

“What’s wrong with her?” Owen asked as he stood at Manny’s back where he crouched in front of you, his hands resting on your knees.

“Nothing, just a stomach bug or something,” Manny said quickly, trying to wave him off.

“It’s not contagious is it?!” he suddenly asked worried, his feet quickly shuffling himself backwards like he might catch it.

“No, I just had a dodgy protein bar,” you lied, using the same excuse you’d used on Mel earlier.

The man crouched at your feet gave you a subtle appraising look as if he was impressed at your quick thinking, but you both knew you’d have to come up with some other excuse pretty fucking fast for when your symptoms continued to persist in a few days time.

You stared at the dried blood that ran down from his head to his cheek where that girl had caught him with her knife. You reached out to touch it, shifting his hat back on his head slightly so you could get a better look. “You should probably clean that and put something on it so it doesn’t get infected,” you said and he shrugged.

“Will you help me?” he asked and you nodded.

He came back a moment later with a first aid kit from one of the packs. You rested it on the sofa cushion next to you as you began to take bits out of it, searching for the things you wanted.

He sat himself down on the floor between your legs, his knees resting against his chest so he could lean forward comfortably, his arms wrapped around to rest on his shins. You smoothed his curls back with one hand whilst you began to clean up the wound with an alcohol wipe with the other. He sneered slightly as the alcohol smarted. You deftly picked the fibres from his hat out of the wound, before sealing it with some surgical glue, your fingers pushing the two sides of the cut back together until it set. His fingers slowly traced at the back of your calves tenderly as he waited, his movements subtle so that no one else would notice, but the tenderness of his touch spoke volumes to your overwhelmed emotions and hormones.

“Thanks,” he finally said as you covered the wound with a large bandaid before he shuffled back, just in time for Nora and Abby to come in with food.

He didn’t stray too far from you as you all ate. You slowly picked at the food in your bowl as everyone scoffed theirs down in methodical silence.

By the time you all went to sleep you were shattered. “I’ll take the first watch,” Manny said as everyone began to settle in their chosen spots around the room.

“Who wants to take second?” Abby asked the room.

“Y/N hasn’t done one in a while,” Owen began but one sharp look from Manny had Nora quickly volunteering in your stead.

“Y/N has her stomach bug thing, she didn’t really sleep last night, she can do tomorrow or something,” she said, helping give an excuse and everyone else seemed to accept that.

‘Thank you,’ you quietly mouthed to her when no one was looking, but she just rolled her eyes and brushed you off like it was no big deal.

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

You managed to sleep all the way through until 3:30 when Manny and Nora swapped and he came to settle down next to you to keep you close. You turned your body towards him to find him staring at you.

“Go to sleep, Alvarez,” you whispered to him. His eyes softened as they took you in in the dark, his lip slightly quirking upwards, before he rolled onto his back.

You just lay there watching him for a moment as he stared up at the ceiling. He didn’t look at you again, but after a while, his hand slowly shifted across the floor towards you, his fingers reaching for yours- and you let him. You quietly shuffled closer to him, your fingers fully intertwining between your bodies as your head lulled to the side and rested against his shoulder. And that’s how you stayed for the rest of the night, content and safe in each other's presence until dawn.

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

You woke at the first crack of light, your stomach once again turning on you and you raced from the main room to the toilet to be sick. This was awful. You hoped it’d get better soon but who knew. You had heard about some women getting morning sickness way worse than others, you had just never thought it’d be you. Then again- you never thought you’d end up pregnant at all.

You leaned forward and wretched into the bowl again. As you braced yourself against the grimy porcelain, rough hands moved to sweep your hair back out the way.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” Manny’s gruff morning voice said as he rubbed at your back again with a soothing hand.

“I’m really starting to hate you right now,” you groaned as you spat into the toilet.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t blame you,” he sighed, fatigue still heavy in his voice.

When you finally felt well enough to sit back from the bowl, he reached over to flush it for you before encouraging you back into his arms. He rubbed soothingly at your back again as you rested against his chest.

“I really hope this part doesn’t last that long,” you told him as you nuzzled into his shirt, soaking in the smell of him. He was slightly sweaty and dirty from the last few days hike, but for some reason you didn’t mind it.

“I think this place still has hot water,” he said as his fingers brushed up and down your arm. “We can take a shower if you want before the others get up,” he suggested, hoping the simple pleasure of hot water would make you feel better.

“Really?” you asked softly in disbelief.

His breath chuffed over the top of your head as he let out a small amused laugh. “Yeah, I checked last night when everyone went to sleep. There’s some half decent towels left in the cupboard too,” he supplied and you finally pushed yourself away from his chest to look at him with a semblance of hope in your eyes.

“Come on,” he said encouragingly as he helped you to stand.

You hovered there in silence as you waited for him to go grab the towels from the cupboard and your packs so you both had some fresh clothes to change into after.

You both continued to exist in that comfortable silence as he turned the water on and steam began to fill the cold bathroom. You watched as he checked the cupboards for any left over shampoo, conditioner and soap, placing them inside the shower before he helped you to strip.

You had always wondered what things would be like between you if given some time and a domestic setting, but you never could have imagined this. He encouraged you to lift your arms up so he could pull your jumper and top off in one go. Next he gently undid your belt before easily sliding your now too big for you trousers down your legs, letting them bunch at your ankles, ready for you to step out of.

You hesitantly lifted your hands to his waist, reaching for the hem of his shirt to help him do the same. Your eyes lingered on his skin as it was slowly exposed to you, your fingers sliding back down the toned muscles of his flesh and sending a ripple of goosebumps over his skin.

Slowly he lifted his finger under your chin, encouraging your eyes to meet his. There was a lingering moment of tension between you before he leaned in to capture your lips in a kiss. It wasn’t hungry or rushed or passionate like any of the other ones you’d shared during your quick moments together in the cold, but tender and soft and it sent shivers down your spine and the backs of your legs.

As he continued to kiss you, he gradually reached down to undo his own trousers and kick them off so you both stood fully naked before one another. “We’re wasting the water,” he mumbled with a faint smile on his lips against your own and you reluctantly broke apart from him to climb into the shower and move under the water.

You let out an audible sigh as you tilted your head back under the flow of hot water. Hot water felt like such a luxury when you were on the road. You closed your eyes as you relished in it, your hands reaching up to run your fingers through your hair and ensure it was thoroughly wet.

You listened closely as you heard him step into the old claw foot tub and slide the curtain closed. Felt the air around you change as he stepped closer to crowd your space.

“Turn around,” he instructed softly and you did, the water instead cascading over your tender breasts and warming your chest.

There was a click clack as you heard him open and close the shampoo bottle, before placing it back on the side with a thud. You tilted your head back towards him as he lifted his hands up to your head. You let out a small moan of relaxation as his fingers began to massage and lather the shampoo into your scalp. His touch was so tender- so gentle- unlike any way you had seen him act before.

You kept your eyes closed as you relished in the feeling. You didn’t think you’d ever had someone else wash your hair since you were a little girl and your mom used to do it. You relaxed back into his touch as he continued to rub and massage your scalp, your fingers blindly moving behind you to brace yourself on his thighs. You were sure you heard his breathing hitch, but you didn’t pay it much mind.

“Turn around again,” he instructed after a couple of minutes and you reluctantly did, your eyes locking onto his dark hazy ones as you stepped back under the running water.

As you lifted your hands to run your fingers through your hair again and make sure you got all the bubbles out, you heard him reaching for the conditioner and getting it ready in his palm. When you felt the shampoo was fully washed out, you caught his eyes and he silently shifted his hand to tell you to turn around again, before he started to run the conditioner through your lengths.

You had never felt so pampered in your life and it was just what you needed after two full days of vomiting hell. When the conditioner was all slicked through your hair, he grabbed the bar of soap and tenderly ran it over your skin as you waited for the conditioner to set in. His hands were soft but thorough as they glided over your skin and rubbed the soap into all your folds and intimate areas.

“What about you?” you asked him when he finally stepped back to let you wash everything off.

“I’ll sort myself out in a minute,” he said, shrugging you off. You had every mind to protest, but the way his soft brown eyes stared at you earnestly, told you how guilty he felt for your current situation and that he wanted to do his best to try and start making amends.

As you slowly washed out all the conditioner and made sure all the soap suds were washed from your body, you were surprised by the sudden feeling of his fingers gliding softly over your lower abdomen- to where you both knew his child was growing inside of you. When you looked at him, you noticed his eyes were laser focused on that spot as he still struggled to come to terms with the reality you now faced.

You were both snapped away from the moment by the sound of a fist thumping on the door. “Hurry up you two, you’re gonna use up all the hot water,” Nora’s voice called out in protest.

You and Manny both shared one more tender look with each other before he finally encouraged you to get out of the shower and he could quickly have his before Nora’s fist hammered on the door once again.

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

An hour and a half later, everyone was huddled in front of the fire again, all debating on what the group's next move should be. You had all been on the road moving back and forth from camp to camp, looking for information about Joel so Abby could track him down for so long, you’d never even discussed what would happen afterwards.

“I say we keep heading back to Seattle and join the WLFs like the other fireflies we came across,” Mel suggested.

“I mean, they’re a bit extreme aren’t they?” Nora said.

“Maybe,” Mel said slightly defensively, not liking that her suggestion would need justification, especially after what you had all just done. “But at least they’re in control of the whole city. And there’s a lot of them and Marlene always told me that the way to survive was strength in numbers.”

“I mean, it’s where everyone else has gone,” Owen offered up, not really objecting to the idea.

“Manny, Y/N, what do you think?” Abby asked.

You didn’t know what to think. You’d barely had time to think past the last 24 hours, let alone what you wanted for the future. But you knew you needed to start making a decision- and soon.

You had been a member of the fireflies for so long, you had no idea what you’d be without them. Maybe joining the next best thing was the right move to make. But that didn’t fully factor in the child that was taking form in your body. To be a member of the WLF was to basically be a soldier- and who knew what their leader Isaac was gonna make of your situation when in a few months time it became impossible to ignore.

Not to mention, as a soldier with the WLF you were basically canon fodder. Although you increased your risk of survival against the infected with a large group, you were an afterthought when it came down to missions or inevitable rivalries over territory and resources. Then there was the added element of the girl from the cabin eventually tracking you all down. Being in a large group would no doubt deter her or at the very least make the chances of her succeeding in killing you all a lot harder.

You turned your gaze to Manny hoping he would have an answer. Desperate to know his opinion and what he was thinking.

“I mean, what other choice have we got?” he said to the group. You knew he was fishing to see if there were any other ideas or options, but the way he asked made it seem like he’d already made up his mind on the matter.

As long as you’d known Manny, you had always seen him take the easy option where he could. He was very much a throw my weapon around now and ask questions later kind of guy. Manny had already been a member of the fireflies for three years when you had joined. He was only a couple of years older than you, but it was clear the toll that being placed into survival mode at a young age and being groomed into a child soldier had done to him.

You hoped someone else would have an answer. Hoped someone else would be brave enough to say ‘why don’t we go find a community to join or just try and hack it out in the world on our own just the six of us’- but they didn’t.

When Abby turned her head back to you again for your final say so, all you could do was give a small nod of acceptance.

“I guess that’s it then,” she announced as she got up off the floor, “it looks like we’re going to Seattle.”

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

TO BE CONTINUED....

#manny alvarez x reader #manny alvarez #oh baby #tlou fanfic #manny tlou #Danny Ramirez characters #the last of us #reader insert #the last of us reader insert

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gnomewithalaptop · 1 month ago

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Cassie Sandsmark, gender-nonconformity, and internalized homophobia

Okay, I realize this is a bit of a hot-button topic right now, especially in my mutuals circle, so I'm just gonna start this off with a disclaimer that this is just one reading of Cassie's character. There are many, many different lenses you can take on Cassie's runs and you're not a bad person if you interpret or headcanon her differently

However, with that being said, there absolutely exists enough evidence to contribute to a legitimate reading of Cassie not only being queer, but specifically being queer and closeted, and I'm about to tell you why, because I'm passionate about this and I love citing sources to an unhealthy degree

[Young Justice (1998) #17]

Now, over the last couple years, I've seen a couple different takes on why it'd be out-of-character for Cassie to struggle with internalized homophobia. A lot of this discussion centers around the first claim I'll be addressing today: that Cassie is simply too confident and secure to ever feel the need to hide a part of herself just to please other people

However, it was specifically the recent discussion on this topic that was what brought all this to the forefront of my brain again, so in addition to that, I'll also be discussing two additional key points: (a) that Cassie's mother is supportive/isn't depicted as homophobic or conservative, so there's no real reason for Cassie to be closeted, and (b) that Cassie grew up surrounded by role models who are openly queer, so she has no reason to be repressed or ashamed of her own queerness

I'm going to be discussing all three of these popular misconceptions in order, so bear with me

1. Cassie is too confident and secure to ever hide parts of herself to please other people

This is the most popular argument when it comes to Cassie -- I see it most commonly used both with respect to the way she dresses and with respect to her sexuality itself. Because a lot of Cassie's queer-coding stems from the way she presented at the beginning of her tenure -- and because gender nonconformity itself remains such an integral staple of queer culture -- I'm going to be using her style transformation as an indicator as to how she might relate to other outside societal pressures (like, for example, homophobia)

The reason I bring this up, of course, is because in-canon, Cassie has explicitly been depicted as caving to societal pressures when it comes to the way she dresses

Okay, I know some of you might disagree with that interpretation of events, so let's back up real quick. Now, when it comes to Cassie's gradual feminization with respect to her design, a lot of folks attribute this to the fact that her changing outfits are used as a visual measure of her growth as a character -- with new outfits serving as visual 'landmarks' to mark her journey from the impulsive, reckless kid she starts out as to the confident, respected leader she ends up growing into

And, on a storytelling level, people claiming this are, objectively, correct. Using costume changes as a visual depiction of character growth is a classic staple of comics -- another good example of this phenomenon would be the way Nightwing's costumes slowly decreased in zaniness as more and more things he cared about got stripped away from him

However, with that being said, to pretend that providing a visual indicator of Cassie's arc is the sole motivation behind her costume changes is, at best, ahistorical. In reality, there were a fair number of outside pressures for Cassie to become "prettier" on a real world basis -- both from other writers and from the fanbase at the time. Cassie's creator John Byrne reportedly said this about the phenomenon at a FANEXPO in 2018:

[source]

Likewise, it's not just speculation to say that these views on Cassie's "ugliness" -- i.e. her gender nonconformity -- were echoed and repeated in-universe as well, oftentimes to Cassie's face.

[Wonder Woman (1987) #153]

Keep in mind that in the first two panels, these girls are Cassie's friends -- girls she sits with at lunch, girls she likes and who, presumably, like her at least a little bit. Likewise, in the rightmost panel, the speaker talking about how much she wants to "do something about that hair" is Cissie King-Jones -- also known as Arrowette, arguably one of Cassie's closest friends on Young Justice at the time. If this is what people who like Cassie are saying, it is not very difficult to imagine the kinds of things people who don't care about hurting her feelings -- i.e. the media, the public, you name it -- might feel comfortable saying.

And all this clearly takes a toll on Cassie, making her feel insecure about her appearance to the point where she begins to think there must be something wrong with her.

[Wonder Woman (1987) #153]

Note the language she uses here. She's not just saying she looks ugly. She says she looks like a "little boy." It's not just the fact that she's "ordinary" -- as Byrne put it -- it's specifically that she isn't performing femininity correctly, an accusation that echoes those commonly leveled at queer women. One could also argue that the way she thinks about "having a boyfriend" also indicates she's treating it more as a status symbol than as a genuine desire to be with a specific boy in particular -- the fact that she can't get one means something is wrong with her, so in order to perform womanhood "correctly", obviously she needs to get a boy's attention

Now, in Wonder Woman #153, the issue these panels are from, Cassie ends up calling Cissie to give her a makeover in order to get Superboy's attention. However, once she's actually face-to-face with him in her new look, she realizes it just makes her feel like a kid playing dress-up and (after she scores a quick kiss in an alley from the boy in question) she ends up going home to change, finishing the issue with a helpful moral spelled-out for the reader

However, it's important to note that this change in behavior occurs right after Lisa (the girl who flagged Cassie down and invited her to sit with her in class) actually witnessed Cassie kissing Superboy in an alley and recognized her, since by that point Cassie had removed part of her disguise. Knowing this, we can surmise these girls doubtless would have grilled her about this event as soon as they got the chance, thus reinforcing the societal belief that fitting in and being respected requires validation from men.

Similarly, despite what the moral at the end of Wonder Woman #153 might like you to believe, insecurities like Cassie's aren't the sort that disappear overnight, mainly because criticisms like the ones she's experiencing here are the type that tend to stick around. And we know that people thinking of Cassie's superhero persona as "less than" at the beginning of her tenure isn't a one-off thing too:

[Teen Titans (2003) #25]

"People" implies that this wasn't just a few kids at her school bad-mouthing Wonder Girl, but rather a pervasive and reasonably common belief held amongst the public. And linking this public perception of Cassie's competence to her gender-nonconformity isn't even a stretch, as she talks about her younger self's looks (and how bad she believes they were) quite literally in the panel directly before this one:

It might just be me, but this is not the interior monologue of a person who's confident in herself and refuses to let other people's opinions dictate her personal choices and expression. These are the words of someone who's been told again and again since she was fourteen years old that she is a pretender and a fake, who's had enough people tell her she was ugly that she internalized it and changed her style accordingly

The above analysis -- that she's caving to outside pressures -- is even supported visually in the text itself. In Wonder Woman #153 (the makeover issue), Cassie leaves off the plot by saying she doesn't need "lipstick and hot pants" to like herself. However, clearly, this wasn't entirely the case, as by her next appearance in-costume (quite literally four issues later), she's switched her costume to a new outfit that mimics certain aspects of her "makeover" to an uncanny degree

[Wonder Woman (1987) #153, Wonder Woman (1987) #157]

Sure, she ditches the short skirt and abandons the wig, but the crop top and pigtails are clearly inspired by how Cissie ended up styling her. There's also a fair chance the rectangular necklace Cissie styled her with is the same GIRL necklace she ended up incorporating into her costume later on

[Zoomed in screenshots from Cassie's makeover look in Wonder Woman (1987) #153 and her costume in Young Justice (1998) #23]

Likewise, it's important to note that the makeover aspects that don't make the transfer are all things other people have critiqued in the past -- she mentions at one point in Wonder Woman #153 that her mother Helena would "hate this skirt with a passion" and enough people have commented on the wig by that point that she may have felt similarly insecure about its inclusion

To me, all of this in conjunction -- the subtle, ever-present put-downs from her peers and the public, the self hatred when discussing her past self, the costume details cherry-picked from a makeover that made people act kinder to her -- are clear indicators that Cassie's not just changing her look for the hell of it.

If we're assuming her friends grilled her on her kissing Superboy in the alley (which, I think, is fairly safe to assume, considering they saw her kissing a superhero in an alley and then immediately pulled her aside when they next saw her), it's undeniable that Cassie would begin to connect the dots between receiving male validation and having a higher "girl status" amongst her peers. From there, it wouldn't be difficult to work backwards to figure out which of the tips and tricks from Cissie's makeover she wanted to incorporate into her new look -- something which, it seems, is exactly what she did

Whether or not you subscribe to the idea that Cassie is specifically lesbian-coded rather than bi- or queer-coded, her style-changing journey remains important to the conversation. Considering so much of Cassie's queer-coding, at least in my eyes, comes not only from her relationship with Cissie but also from her GNC-ness in her earlier runs, watching as she shies away from that GNC-ness due to both positive and negative outside pressures (male validation, persistent denigrating comments about her looks) very much seems to code her as retreating deeper into the closet with respect to her own gender nonconformity, and thus, by extension, her own queerness

(2) Cassie's mother is supportive and is not depicted as homophobic or conservative, so there's no real reason for Cassie to be closeted

Now, I will be the first to say that, as far as DC parents go, Helena Sandsmark is one of the better ones. However, this is not to say she's perfect

Throughout John Byrne's run, one of Helena's more consistent traits is that she (1) can be a bit single-minded when it comes to the narrative she subscribes to and (2) is constantly worried about and scolding Cassie due to Cassie's own ill-advised decisions

[Wonder Woman (1987) #105]

The above panel is the very first time we meet Helena or Cassie, and we quickly see that not only does Helena scold Cassie (in this case, not entirely undeservedly), she does so often enough that it's a fairly common beat in their relationship

Likewise, it's not outside the realm of possibility that Helena would chew Cassie out over her appearance due to her own worry. Take a look at this panel from Cassie's mini-solo:

[Wonder Girl (2011) #1 - Ignore the fact that the artist seemed to miss the memo here and Cassie's physique in no way resembles that of a linebacker]

Now, on a surface level, this is largely due to a major theme in this issue being that Helena disapproves of Cassie hero-ing. On that level, Helena's comment could be read as an attempt to both cover for Cassie being more muscular than average while still expressing her own disapproval over her lifestyle choices

However, I want to look specifically at the way Helena does this. Because there really isn't a need to cover for Cassie here or "explain away" her being buffer than the average woman; Cassie doesn't do anything obviously superhuman, she doesn't lift a car or have a bit of costume peek out from inside her bag -- she simply exists and happens to be buff. And yet Helena manages to turn a fairly innocent comment into a dig about how "masculine" her daughter's build is.

Now, obviously, I don't think Helena's intent here was to make Cassie insecure about her appearance. She's being passive aggressive about a natural side-effect of hero-ing because she wants her daughter to be safe, a desire that's pretty normal for any parent to have. However, the fact that, in Helena's mind, "being built like a linebacker" is automatically a negative trait does reveal some subconscious bias as to how she believes women should look and act

[some good-old-fashioned breast size shaming from Cassie, courtesy of Wonder Woman (1987) #153]

Kids are sponges when it comes to biases and worldviews, even unconscious ones, and considering that Cassie debuted in the mid-90s, it is not unreasonable to assume she may have absorbed some subconscious views not only from her peers and the media, but also from her mother.

Do I think that Helena is homophobic or that she'd reject Cassie if she ever came out as queer? No. In fact, I actually think she'd be pretty supportive. However, I do think there's a good chance that her picking on Cassie's appearance wasn't a one-off comment. Likewise, considering her life had already been upheaved in a pretty major way by one of Cassie's life choices (cough, cough, costumed super-heroing without a secret identity), there's a reasonable chance Cassie might try to abstain from rocking the boat any further

However, I recognize all the above is speculation, so I'll leave off with a final comment from someone privileged enough to have been born with pretty supportive parents: the fear of parental rejection runs deep -- even for those whose parents aren't conservative. As countless supposedly "tolerant" parents have said before, "it's different when it's your kid." For this reason, I'd say that there's a good chance that even if Cassie knew intellectually that her mother would probably be fine with it, there'd still always be that hint of fear that she'd be the exception

(3) Cassie has role models who are openly queer, so she has no reason to be repressed or ashamed of her own queerness

Befriending queer people and having healthy queer relationships modeled for you certainly helps when it comes to preventing or alleviating internalized homophobia. However, it's important to note that internalized homophobia is first and foremost the result of societal pressures, and I've already demonstrated that Cassie experiences those in spades

Now, it could also be pointed out that neither Diana nor Artemis were confirmed as queer until the mid 2010s-ish, and Cassie was first introduced as a character in 1996; however, I do think the read that Cassie would've had exposure to queer people through the Amazons is a valid one. If I'm remembering correctly, when it comes to Post-Crisis continuity, George Perez confirmed as far back as 1990 that taking female lovers is not only acceptable, but practically the norm:

[Wonder Woman (1987) #38]

Due to this, it's fair to say that Diana and the rest of the Amazons almost certainly wouldn't experience internalized homophobia or feel the need to be closeted. They've been surrounded by healthy modeling of queer relationships for thousands of years (or, in Diana's case, her entire childhood), but more importantly, on a societal level on Themyscira, queer relationships are simply the only relationships available -- all of which creates an environment where it simply wouldn't make any logical sense to develop a sense of shame around one's own queerness

However, it's important to note that unlike the rest of the Amazons, Cassie grew up as a normal human girl (and let me just reiterate this again) in the 90s, a time that wasn't exactly known for its tolerance towards gay people. She didn't grow up with queerness being expected -- she grew up with queer people being at best, the butt of the joke, and at worst, socially and professionally ostracized. For context, Ellen DeGeneres came out in 1997, two years after Cassie was introduced, and people were so outraged they started calling in bomb threats to the set she was filming on at the time.

This means that, unlike the rest of the Amazons, Cassie really only encountered Amazon culture and their norms surrounding queerness later in life, by which point she was already in her mid-teens. In this sense, at least, it's not just likely but certain that she'd carry any unconscious biases from Man's World with her as she started her own journey in integrating with their culture

Now, like I said at the beginning of this essay, reading Cassie through the lens of not just queerness but also specifically closeted queerness is not the only valid interpretation of her character. There are many who'd prefer to read moments like the ones I talked about above as being examples of basic, garden variety misogyny and who'd prefer to read her character as, if not straight, then openly and joyfully queer, just as the rest of the Amazons are.

Nonetheless, it's undeniable that Cassie's initial gender nonconformity paints moments like these with an undeniable shade of queerness -- the hatred faced by gender nonconforming women and the hatred faced by queer women are, at the end of the day, two sides of the same coin. Whether or not it's your personal headcanon, whether or not Cassie presents herself as confident in other areas of her life, the specific details surrounding her conformity in presentation demonstrate a high chance that she might attempt to conform sexually as well

Anyway. That's my time. Peace out, respect your closeted butch friends, and remember that sometimes weird little girls contain multitudes

#i didn't wanna reblog the original post that prompted this because the original creator has gotten enough backlash already #and i didn't particularly want to add to that #HOWEVER i had thoughts to share so badabing badaboom here they are #cassie sandsmark #yj98 #wonderfam #cassandra sandsmark #young justice #wonder woman #wonder girl #meta #wonder family #cassie tag #young just us #dc comics #gnome talks comics #queer coding

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shelbgrey · 5 months ago

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Heyyy can i get a smutty fic with older Johnny Lawrence 😩 it is so hard to find good fics of him and i love the ones you wrote. I’d like something with an age gap (as in reader being much younger but legal ofc) but anything you’re okay with! Please and thank you 💕💕

The great outdoors(Johnny Lawrence)

Paring: Johnny Lawrence x LaRusso!Reader

Summary: Miyagi-do and eagle fang go out for a weekend of camping and luckily for Johnny, Daniel's baby sister tags along to help. The two have been dancing around each other for months, ignoring their feelings - or Johnny has. But what will happen when Chozen forgets to bring the extra tent and y/n and Johnny end up sharing.

Warrings: SMUT, one bed trope but with a tent, oral(F receiving), unprotected sex, rushed ending, age gap(10 years are mentioned), slight orgasm denial, language, not edited, not my best work - sorry pookies.

MasterList ML2

Daniel had this idea to take the members of Miyagi-do or eagle fang, whatever they decide to be that week out camping. Y/n always help both Johnny and Daniel out rather it be with classes or tournaments. She went even though she hated camping with a passion, she kept telling herself it was to help Daniel out, but part of her was aching to spend the weekend with Johnny. Then to make matters worse, Chozen forgot to get the extra tent from Daniel's garage. The tent y/n was supposed to sleep in.

“I'm sorry, y/n-San. I had forgotten you'd be joining us this weekend” Chosen said sheepishly.

“It's alright,” y/n tried to reassure Chozen, the both of them had become pretty good friends over the last few months, but she was pretty frustrated and she had become comfortable enough to put him in his place without anyone getting butt hurt. “But where the hell am I sleeping this weekend?”

“It's alright, you can share a tent with Amanda and I'll bunk with Chozen” Daniel said, trying to defuse the situation. Part of him was glad both Amanda and Johnny were too occupied helping the others set up or else he'd have their two cents too.

“no, share a tent with your wife,” y/n told her brother then looked over at chozen. “but I ain't sharing a tent with him, he snores”

“I don't not snore!” Chozen scoffed.

“dude, I could hear you all the way in my room when you were staying with us” y/n shot back.

“then I guess you're sharing with Johnny-San, so ha!” Chosen said in a way a child tried to win an argument.

“Wait what?” y/n paused, not realizing she was already turning red. Daniel missed his little sister's genuine reaction.

Then Johnny looked up from the tent he was helping Robbie set up. “Who am I sharing what with?” he asked, making Robbie snicker.

Daniel sighed, shaking his head. “the three of you can just figure it out,” he walked off to help Amanda and the girls, as he did he passed Johnny. “if she's staying in your tent, keep your hands to yourself”

Johnny rolled his eyes. This was his worst nightmare. Or was it? He really liked y/n and this would be torture, or it could be amazing. Daniel's scolding stayed on repeat in his head, making himself promise to behave.

“Seriously, you don't have to” y/n said to Johnny, trying to hide the inner excitement and nervousness she felt at the thought of being in that little tent with him.

“What are you gonna do? Find a cave to sleep in?” Johnny raised an eyebrow. “you can stay with me, it's only for two nights”

“Thanks Johnny” she smiled.

“Yeah, yeah, don't mention it” he smirked, leading her over to his tent with her stuff in tow.

Y/n raised an eyebrow, trying to hide whatever she was feeling with sarcasm. It's not the first time the two of them teased and gave each other crap. “pretty small, how do you expect the both of us to fit”

“Well, excuse me, princess. I wasn't expecting company” he said, unzipping it and grabbing her backpack to toss it in with his.

Later that night the kids - well, can't really say that now, so the members of Miyagi-do went stargazing or something, I wasn’t paying attention and all I knew was Daniel and Chozen left with them. Some hours earlier, Demetri had gotten sick and Amanda left to take him home. I think she was thankful that she had a reason to leave. So that just left me and Johnny at the campsite.

Johnny had left to get some wood for the fire and y/n sat next to it, poking at it and trying to stay warm. Johnny came back moments later, setting down the fire wood before sitting down on the fallen tree next to her, but not too close. The fire was giving her a beautiful glow and only made her more attractive. Johnny cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the thoughts.

“Cold?” he asked, shrugging off his flannel and wrapped it around her shoulders before she could actually answer.

Y/n tried not to blush, putting her arms through the holes and wrapped the soft, thick material close to her body. It was warm and smelt like him, best of both worlds. “thanks” she smiled softly, hiding how much the tiny jester affected her.

Johnny couldn’t help but look y/n up and down in his flannel, it was big on her, but it looked cute. He had only imagined how she would look in one of his t-shirts. Johnny shook his head and looked at the fire, getting flustered and trying to distract himself.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome.” He mumbled, awkwardly running a hand through his hair.

Johnny looked back at her out of the corner of his eye. She looked great under the fire’s light, it made her eyes look brighter, the shadows were highlighting her curves. Johnny quickly looked away from her, before his mind could wonder any farther. Johnny was fighting himself internally, trying to stay focused.

“So, umm” she said softly, breaking the silence. They were always so comfortable with each other and ever since the knowledge of them sharing a tent this weekend hung over their heads it's been kinda shy around them. “You wanna roast some marshmallows or something?”

He immediately nodded, glad for the distraction. Anything to keep his mind off how attractive she looked in his flannel. “Hell yeah” He reached for the bag of marshmallows, trying to keep his hands steady.

Johnny could literally feel the heat radiating off her as she sat close to him. He could feel her arm brush against his as they held their marshmallows in the open flame. couldn’t get enough. He wanted to reach out and just touch her, hold her, but he was fighting the urge the best he could. His arm would brush against hers and he’d feel electricity run through his body. As Johnny tried to distract himself he watched her roast the marshmallow, noticing how she bit her lip in concentration, a small habit he found adorable.

“You're gonna end up burning yours” y/n said, pulling hers away. It was golden brown, perfect.

Johnny failed to notice his marshmallow turning black. He pulled his burned treat from the fire, cursing at the sight of it but then chuckled. “Damn” he mumbled, flicking the peace of coal off the stick.

Y/n let out a soft laugh. Johnny glanced up and watched her lips wrap around the marshmallow, biting into the gooie, roasted treat. Her eyes met his blue ones as she swallowed, not realizing there was a small string of marshmallow on the corner of her lips. “something on your mind?”

He then noticed the small string of marshmallow on the corner of her lips. He almost groaned at how hot that was. He willed himself not to lean over and lick it off. He was fighting the urges hard again.

“What?” she asked softly, raising an eyebrow.

Johnny was just staring at her, the way she bit her lip, even the way she swallowed was driving him crazy. Then he noticed the marshmallow on the corner of her lips again and without a second thought his thumb was swiping it off. Johnny’s thumb was now right on her bottom lip, his hand still cupping her face. Y/n’s eyes shot up, staring into his blue eyes. Her cheeks heated up from the feeling of his rough, warm palm against her face.

Johnny didn’t even realize he did it, it was completely on reflex, but now he was stuck. He tried to take his hand back, as he realized the situation but he couldn’t move. She was so close. The fire danced in her eyes, she was so beautiful. Johnny’s thumb moved back and forth on her lip almost subconsciously.

The silence was deafening. The only sound was the crackling of the fire and you could cut the tension with a knife. Johnny’s eyes traced down to her lips, and he had to fight every urge not to lean forward and capture them in a kiss. But their age difference was the only thing keeping him back.

It was only ten, ten useless years. Johnny was pushing late 40s and y/n was in her 30s, past grown adults. So, instead of admitting his feelings he just went for a playful banter and he tried to convince himself he wouldn't go after her in respect for Daniel. Even though that's total bullshit.

“Johnny” she said just below a whisper as she went too close in the gap, but he pulled away.

“y/n, we can't” Johnny trailed off. He didn’t want to upset her or hurt her, he wanted to tell her how bad he wanted this, wanted her, but he needed to stay strong and keep the distance between them, even if it killed him.

“But we can” she said softly, inching closer again.

Johnny’s resolve was weakening. Her soft words and gaze was making his willpower waiver. He could only hold on to his argument for a few moments longer. “I’m just so much older than you” Johnny felt like he was grasping at straws with that excuse.

“ten years,” y/n couldn't help but let out a chuckle, it was ridiculous. We were adults. “Is that really the issue here?”

Johnny’s excuse crumbled when y/n laughed at it and he knew he was in deep. His argument was terrible, he could only use one more argument against this, the only one he still was holding on to. “I still have enough common sense not to flirt with LaRusso's sister”

“Ooo, what's Danny gonna do?” she rolled her eyes, she knew what he'd do.

“Beat my ass, that’s what. Daniel’s still got a hell of a kick.”

Y/n stared up at him, moving closer. “since when did he make you such a, In your own words a 'pussy'?”

He was right up to her now looking down to keep eye contact to avoid being obvious. “You know how Daniel is, if he found out the way I want you he’d throw me through a wall.”

“And how do you want me?” y/n whispered, lust and love clouding her eyes.

Johnny’s mind flashed through all the different ways he wanted her but he didn’t let it show on his face, he was too stubborn. “Stop asking stupid questions you already know the answer to” He grunted out, trying to ignore the shiver that ran through his body.

“Okay, then stop saying stupid things and do what you want like usual”

That was the plan. Johnny no longer tried to hide it and let his inner voice take over. He moved his head to the back of her neck and began pulling her closer, closing the space. His eyes were still on hers, giving her a way out, but the way she looked at him was telling him what he wanted to hear. Johnny’s face was only an inch away from hers as he spoke softly. “Are you sure?”

Y/n grabbed his shirt, pulling him against her and smashed her lips against his, gripping his black thermal in her fists tightly. Johnny wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer as she kissed him back roughly, all the bottled up desire finally exploded. They both knew the line they were crossing should be handled with care, just like how you'd handle a firework. It's badass if you're smart and you light it with caution, but if you're stupid it will blow up in your face.

Johnny's hands roaming down to her lower back as he deepened the kiss. He broke away only to breathe and look into her eyes, making sure they were still on the same page. Y/n pressed her lips back against his, moaning softly and climbed into his lap without breaking the kiss.

Johnny groaned at the feeling, his hands instinctively gripping her hips. The kiss intensified, tongues tangling as he lost himself in the moment. Years of pent-up desire unleashed, he tilted his head, kissing her deeper, more urgently. Y/n cupped his jaw, moaning as their tongues tangled together. She pressed her chest against his and Johnny lost balance on the fallen tree he was sitting on at the campsite.

Johnny stumbled backwards, taking her down with him. He landed with a grunt, hitting the forest ground first before she landed on top of him, both of them laughing breathlessly as they laid there in a tangle of limbs, trying to regain their balance. Y/n shifted, sitting back a bit to look at him. He was laying on the soft pine needles and dead leaves covering the forest floor and his legs were still draped over the log he was once sitting on. “you alright?”

Johnny had to take a moment to find his words. His eyes traveled down her body, she was on top of him, straddling his waist, in one of his flannels and it was the most amazing thing he’s ever seen. Without hesitation he grabbed her face, pulling her fully on top of him, kissing her fiercely. Y/n let out a soft moan against his lips, cupping his jaw as their lips moved against each other in a rushed pace.

Johnny’s hands were all over her. One was on her face, holding her in place and the other was on the small of her back, keeping her as close as possible. His body was reacting to everything she was doing, every small sound she made was enough to make his pants feel a little tighter. His hand on her back slowly dipped down, grabbing a handful of her ass, his hand squeezing and gripping her in a possessive hold.

Y/n pulled away from the kiss, their noses brushing against each other as she let out a small moan and rutted against him, making his hips bucked up to meet hers. His strong arms wrapped around her to pull her flush against him. He nuzzled his nose against hers, his breathing growing heavier as he whispered, “Dammit, you gotta stop moving”

“or what?” she teased softly.

Johnny growled, his eyes flashing open, he murmured huskily. “Or I might just pin you to this fucking ground and show you exactly what happens when you tease me like this”

“Nope, I rather not wake up with splinters on my ass and thighs”

Johnny chuckled darkly, his hands moving to her hips to stop her from moving. He squeezed them possessively, his thumbs brushing the crease of her inner thighs. “Then get your ass in the tent” His voice was hoarse, his face flushed, his pupils dilated.

Y/n scrambled to her feet and he grabbed her hand, walking quickly towards the tent they were sharing for the weekend. Johnny was still holding her hand as he unzipped the tent door, and guided her inside. The space was a little small, considering it was only made for two people, but they could make it work.

Y/n pecked him on the lips then layed back on the air mattress that was in the middle of the tent, it was barely big enough to hold two people. He watched her body stretch out on the small air mattress. He took off his thermal slowly, throwing it on the side. He was left with his jeans, his chest visible. He saw her watching him, her cheeks were pink. He smirked slightly.

Y/n sat up, smirking. God, he was perfect. The way his arms flexed when his hands gripped her waist and how his frame easily towered over hers. Y/n's hands traveled down his chest to his stomach. He was the perfect mixture of muscles and fluff. She brushed her fingers down his torso to his jeans as her core throbbed for him, soaking her panties. She grabbed the front of his jeans, guiding him down towards her.

He didn't need an invitation. Johnny fell down on top of her, his large frame pinning her down to the air mattress. He caught himself on his elbows, looking down at her with hooded eyes. His lips parted, breathing heavily. “Fuck, y/n. You're playing with fire here”

“Good thing I don't mind being a pyromaniac” she said softly, carding her fingers through his hair.

His hips jerked down against hers at her words. He let out a low growl, his hands moving to either side of her head. He nipped her jaw softly, his body slowly moving down hers. His lips found her collarbone, placing open mouthed kisses there making her moan softly as her head fell back in pleasure.

His eyes darkened as he saw her neck arch back. He took the chance to suck on her neck softly, his teeth nipping lightly. His hands traveled down her sides slowly. He was careful with her, his touch feather soft. He unbuttoned the flannel he gave her slowly, his thumbs brushing her stomach softly.

Y/n shivered softly when the chill breeze hit her skin. “you know how cold it is?” she said softly, of all the nights Daniel picked to go camping it happened to be freezing.

He chuckled softly against her skin, his hands moving to warm her waist. “I'll keep you warm, baby” His voice was a husky whisper as he trailed kisses down her exposed stomach. Y/n shuddered, carding her fingers through his blond locks.

His smirk deepened as he unbuttoned her pants slowly, his thumbs hooking in her panties too. He pulled them down her legs slowly. He threw them somewhere in the tent then spread her legs slightly, his eyes watching her body carefully.

“J-Johnny” She shuttered in anticipation.

He hummed against her stomach, his eyes flashing up to meet her for a moment before he moved lower. “Shh, just relax,” His voice was thick with desire as he settled between her legs, pressing a feather-light kiss to her inner thigh, making her moan. “Fuck, you're perfect”

He smiled against her skin, placing one more kiss before slowly trailing his tongue up her thigh. His hands gripped her legs firmly, keeping them open for him. His breath was hot against her core. He looked up at her one more time before pressing a soft, purposeful kiss right above her sensitive spot, making her gasp.

He growled softly as she arched her hips and tugged at his hair, his tongue finally flicking against her core. His hands moved to grip her hips firmly, holding her down. “Fuck,” he muttered against her, then started slow, deliberate licks. “Stop trying to rush me” His voice was strained with desire.

Y/n whimpered. “J-Johnny”

He slowly slid one arm under her leg, lifting it over his shoulder. This new position allowed him to bury his face in her core, his fingers parting her folds as his tongue flicked against her clit. “Shit” He murmured against her, his free hand sliding up her body to pinch her hard peaks.

“Fuck, stop teasing” y/n moaned softly and breathlessly, tugging at his hair and pulling him closer.

He groaned against her, the vibration sending shivers through her body. He intensified his efforts, making her gasp as he sucked and licked her clit with more fervor. His fingers dug into her hips, holding her firmly in place as he devoured her. "Someone's eager”

He curled two fingers inside her suddenly, finding that spot that made her head fall back against the pillow in pleasure. He hooked them upwards, hitting her g-spot over and over as he sucked on her sensitive bud. He could feel her tensing up, trying to pull his hair to get him closer.

“I'm so close” y/n said softly and desperately.

He felt her body trembling, his fingers curling deeper inside her. He could feel her release building, ready to break. He looked up at her through his lashes, his eyes filled with mischief as he slowed down his movements, denying her the release she so desperately needed.

“D-dammit, Johnny” y/n shuddered softly.

He chuckled softly at her frustration, the sound vibrating against her sensitive skin. His blue eyes twinkled with mischief as he slowly withdrew his fingers, making sure to brush against her g-spot teasingly one last time. Y/n moaned desperately, holding on to his shoulders as he kissed up her stomach.

He trailed kisses up her body slowly, taking his time to explore her soft skin. He bit softly at her neck, sucking lightly to leave a mark. He grinned against her neck as he felt her body shudder with pleasure. “Shh” He whispered against her ear before kissing her jaw.

Y/n moaned softly, hooking one of her legs over his waist and pressing his hips against his. She moaned, grinding desperately over his erection. The roughness of his jeans gave some sweet relief, but it wasn't enough. He groaned loudly, his rigid length throbbing with need. He gripped her thigh tightly, pressing harder against her as he matched her movements. His other hand tangled in her hair, tugging slightly as he crushed his lips to hers in a heated kiss.

Y/n pulled away, catching her breath. “I need you”

He growled possessively, his eyes locked onto hers as he slowly unbuttoned his jeans with his free hand. He kicked them off along with his boxers, revealing his toned hips and powerful thighs. He wrapped her leg around his waist more securely, pulling her closer. “You sure?”

“You know I am”

“Fuck” He muttered against her lips, aligning himself at your entrance. He pushed inside slowly, making her head fall back as she cried out his name as her eyes rolled back in pleasure. “Johnny!” she cried out, gripping his shoulders. Johnny slid the rest of the way in, inch by inch, his blue eyes studying her face for any signs of discomfort. “Goddamn,” He cursed softly, completely sheathed inside her. “How the fuck are you this tight?”

He buried his face in her neck, his teeth sinking into her skin as he held himself still, trying to regain control. He felt her nails dig into his back, her hips lifting to take him deeper. He growled, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in, filling her completely.

Y/n moaned, wrapping her legs around his hips. He groaned deeply, his hips moving faster and harder against her. He could feel her legs tightening around him, pulling him deeper with each thrust. His hands gripped her ass, lifting her slightly to change the angle, hitting that spot inside her that made her eyes roll back. “Fuck”

“Oh, shit,” y/n gasped. “right there”

He smirked against her neck, feeling her body quiver with pleasure under his touch. He maintained that perfect angle, his thick cock stroking her most sensitive spots with every sharp thrust. “That's it, baby” He groaned, his voice gravelly with lust.

“Johnny, I'm gonna cum” she gasped, raking her nails down his back.

Feeling her walls tightening around him and hearing your desperate moan, Johnny lost the last shred of his control. He pumped into her harder and faster, each thrust precise and designed to push her over the edge. “Cum for me, fuck” he growled, his fingers digging into her hips.

“Johnny!” Y/n finally reached the edge, letting all her nerves relax as her vision became white and blurred, her legs tightened around Johnny's waist as her eyes rolled back for the immense pleasure while she buried her face into his neck. Johnny didn't stop his thrusts while her orgasm washed over her. She couldn't stop the moans and pants that were coming out from her mouth.

That pushed him over the edge. He buried his face against her shoulder, muffling his loud groan as he found his release deep inside her. He stayed like that, holding her in his arms and trying to catch his breath. “Damn it”

“fuck” she whispered, holding on to him like her life depended on it, like he was only thing keeping her on earth. Her head was tilted back as she caught her breath, her legs losing their grip around his hips

He slowly lifted his head, looking down at her with a mix of satisfaction and tenderness. He gently kissed her lips, still trying to catch his breath. He could feel her heart racing against his chest, matching the rhythm of his own. “Jesus Christ,” he whispered, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah” y/n whispered back, smiling.

He gently slid out of her, making both of them gasp at the sensitivity. He carefully settled beside her, propping himself up on one elbow to look at her flushed face. His hand traced lazy patterns on her stomach. “Those fucking noises you make” He shook his head, smirking.

“Oh yeah?” she asked softly, smirking. “You're into that?”

“Hell yes,” He laughed softly, his fingers finding her side. “You moan like it's the best damn thing you've ever felt. It's hot as shit” He grinned.

“Well, it kinda was,” y/n grinned, wrapping her arms around his neck. “the best thing I've ever felt” she admitted softly.

He chuckled, a deep, warm sound that resonated through his chest pressed against hers. His eyes softened as he gazed down at her, one hand coming up to gently caress her cheek. “Flatterer” he teased softly, his thumb brushing lightly over her lower lip.

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. It was soft and tender, a stark contrast to the rough, passionate kisses they had shared earlier. He nuzzled his nose against hers, his eyes fluttering closed. “I fucking love you,” he murmured against her mouth.

Y/n pulled away, her eyes shut up to his and she swore her heart skipped a literal beat. “you do?” she asked softly with hope in her eyes.

Johnny's eyes snapped open, meeting her gaze. He saw the genuine question in her eyes. He realized that she might not know how serious he was. He captured her lips softly before answering. “Yes, smartass. I do,” His thumb grazed her jawbone.

“Like, a lot”

“I love you too” y/n said softly.

His face broke into a genuine smile - the kind that lit up his entire face - and he pressed his forehead against hers. “Thank fuck,” he whispered, his voice carrying a mix of relief and pure emotion. “Because I'm pretty sure I'm addicted to you”

“Me too”

Johnny kissed her forehead. “get some sleep, who knows what Daniel is gonna make us do in the morning” He said, making y/n chuckle. He rolled onto his back, pulling her with him so that she was lying on his chest. His fingers gently combed through her hair as they fell asleep to the sound of the great outdoors and their hearts beating as one.

#Johnny Lawrence #Johnny Lawrence smut #Cobra Kai #Adult Johnny Lawrence #Johnny Lawrence x reader #Daniel LaRusso x sister!reader #Daniel LaRusso imagines #Cobra Kai imagines #chozen toguchi #robbie keene #Cobra Kai smut #cobra kai imagine #Cobra Kai x reader

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fatecantstopme · 1 year ago

Text

Unattached Drifter Christmas

Pairing: Dean Winchester x plus size!reader

Summary: Dean decides he’d rather spend Valentine’s Day curled up on the couch with you.

Warnings: Cursing, use of pet names. SMUT, unprotected sex (P in V), oral (M & F receiving)

A/N: in honor of Valentine’s Day, I gift you an adorable Dean Winchester fluffy smutty delight. 💜

"What are your plans, Sammy?" you asked from your perch on the kitchen counter.

"I happen to have a date," he replied with a smirk.

"Oooo with whom?"

"Just a nice local girl I met at the library last week."

"Sam Winchester and the nice local girl...sounds like a book I'd read," you teased.

He rolled his eyes and threw a dish towel at you. "What about you?"

"I have an excellent night planned," you confirmed. "Since Dean will be out cruising for ladies to go home with, I figured I could steal the Dean Cave for the night. I'm ordering a pizza, watching scary movies, eating a shit ton of junk food, and washing it all down with a bottle of wine."

Sam laughed. "Now that sounds like a party."

"Someone say 'party'?" Dean asked as he entered the kitchen.

"We were just discussing our Valentine's Day plans," Sam responded.

"You celebrating Unattached Drifter Christmas?" you asked in a teasing tone.

Dean shrugged and grabbed a beer out of the fridge. "Nahh, I think I'm gonna sit this year out. I'd rather stay home."

"Awww man," you grumbled.

Dean looked at you with an arched brow. "Is that a problem?"

"No," you answered quickly. "It just puts a bit of a wrench in my plans."

"And what are your plans?" he asked.

"I was gonna take over the Dean Cave for the night--scary movie marathon, pizza, snacks, alcohol."

"Pizza, snacks, and alcohol is my holy trinity," Dean said with a wide smirk. "Would you be opposed to me crashing your party?"

"You hate scary movies," you said.

"Yeah, but you love them," he countered. "I'm the crasher, so I'm not gonna demand a change in movie genre."

You smiled at him. "Alright, then you can come. I'll even supply beer."

Dean winked at you. "The way to my heart," he teased.

You rolled your eyes and hopped off the counter. "Oh, did Sam mention he has a date tonight?"

Sam shot you a look and you hurried out of the kitchen, laughing quietly as Dean started to tease his brother.

"A date, baby bro? Look at you!"

**********

You'd sent Dean to pick up the pizza while you set up the Dean Cave for the evening's festivities. You'd made a run to the grocery store earlier in the day to pick up yours and Dean's favorite snacks, as well as a decent supply of wine and beer.

You were more than satisfied with your selections, but for some reason you felt anxious. Well...to be honest, you knew the reason. You hadn't expected Dean to be staying home and you certainly didn't count on him joining you for the evening.

You'd known Dean for a little over five years and in that time you'd grown to care about him deeply, more than you should. He was a genuinely good person underneath his gruff exterior, a facade he had dropped with you long ago.

If you were completely honest with yourself, you knew you loved him, but you would never say anything to him. You knew him too well. Dean had lost virtually everyone he'd ever loved and he blamed himself for their deaths. He avoided romantic relationships like the plague because he didn't want to add another name to the body count. It was hard enough for him to bring you into his life as a friend, and there was no way he would risk anything more than that.

So of course, you kept your mouth shut, hiding your feelings from both Winchesters. The only person that knew how you felt was Jody and she would take that secret to the grave if you wanted her to. You would rather have Dean as a friend than lose him completely.

You tossed your favorite oversized blanket onto the couch with a sigh. You were trying not to think about curling up next to Dean for a movie marathon on freaking Valentine's Day of all days. You knew it was the romantic nature of the day itself that had your stomach in knots. You'd watched movies and binge ate with Dean countless times before without issue, but there was an added intensity to this instance simply because it happened to be February 14th.

You also couldn't help but wonder why Dean wasn't planning on going out. You couldn't remember the last time he neglected to celebrate 'Unattached Drifter Christmas' as he'd always called it. In fact, Dean hadn't been out to pick up a girl in weeks...you were struggling to recall the last time Dean didn't decline a girl's invitation to come home with her.

"I've brought sustenance!" The man in question spoke from behind you, startling you out of your thoughts.

"Jesus!" you yelped.

Dean chuckled lightly. "Sorry, sweetheart. Didn't mean to scare you."

You shot him a look that clearly said 'I wasn't scared', which only caused him to laugh harder.

You tossed a piece of popcorn at him and headed towards the door. "I'm gonna change into comfy clothes before we get started."

"Good idea," he agreed, placing the pizza down on the table before following you out the door.

Five minutes later, you came back into the Dean Cave wearing your most comfortable leggings and an oversized worn out band tee you'd had for at least a decade. You'd opted to forgo a bra for comfort's sake and you hoped Dean wouldn't notice.

Dean was already sitting on the couch, wearing his gray sweatpants and a plain black tee. It was almost offensive how hot he looked in that outfit--no man had any right to look that good in sweatpants.

When you walked in, Dean's gaze traveled from the TV to you. You noticed his pupils dilate slightly as he looked at you, but you figured that was due to the change in light.

You plopped down on the couch beside him, leaving plenty of space between the two of you to avoid any awkwardness. "Ready to be terrified?" you teased.

Dean groaned softly. "You know I'm only watching these because you love them."

You grinned and snagged the remote from him. "They're so good!"

"Our life is a scary movie," he grumbled. "I don't know why you like these."

"I think that's actually why I like them. Our real lives are full of the kind of shit that would make people lose their minds, but for us, it's just another Tuesday. These movies are either cheesy as hell or have an exaggerated version of a monster we have hunted and killed--so it becomes entertaining instead of scary."

Dean raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "Or you're crazy."

You smiled at him and shot him a wink. "That's just an added bonus."

He rolled his eyes and grabbed a slice of pizza. As he shoveled food into his mouth, you opened up a streaming service and typed in the name of the first movie you wanted to watch.

"You remember The Conjuring right? And Annabelle?"

"Yeah," he answered. "That Annabelle one was creepy as hell."

You grinned. "Well this one is in the same universe and I've been dying to watch it."

You pressed play on the remote and the opening credits of The Nun began to play. You snuggled up under the blanket and sighed contentedly, a piece of pizza in one hand and a glass of wine in the other.

Dean glanced at you and couldn't help the soft smile that graced his lips. It was rare he got to see you truly happy and content, so this was a moment he intended to fully savor. He studied your face, desperate to commit it to memory, unwilling to forget how beautiful you looked in this moment.

He sighed softly and closed his eyes, still picturing your face clearly in his mind. It brought another smile to his lips and he breathed in deeply, smelling a mixture of your shampoo and your perfume. He wanted you to be closer to him, but he didn't want to make you uncomfortable.

He made a split second decision and voiced his request aloud, "It's a little chilly in here. Do you mind sharing the blanket with me?" He wasn't cold at all, but he thought it might get you to move closer to him to share.

"Oh! Sure." You smiled and scooted in his direction, holding the edge of the blanket out to him.

He took it and started to cover himself. "You're gonna need to come a little closer, sweetheart," he said with a chuckle. "I need a bit more coverage."

You laughed and moved even closer to him so your arms were now touching. "Better?" you teased.

"Much," he affirmed.

You tried to keep your body relaxed and focused on the movie, but Dean's proximity was overwhelming your senses. You could smell his aftershave, feel his body heat, and see the rise and fall of his chest much more clearly than before. The simple act of a man breathing should not be a turn on...yet here you were.

You shifted slightly as you felt a familiar wave of heat pool in your belly. Not now, you thought to yourself.

"You okay, doll?" Dean asked softly.

His voice sounded lower than before, huskier even, and you had to bite your lip to keep from audibly moaning. As it was, you could feel the slick gathering between your legs, which was mortifying enough.

"I'm fine," you lied, shifting again.

Dean wrapped his arm around your shoulders and tugged you into his side. "Come 'ere," he muttered. "Get comfortable."

You gasped softly at the sudden movement, but you allowed him to pull you closer. You laid your head against his chest and sighed quietly. You had to admit, it was a much more comfortable position to be in, even if it increased your longing.

"Better?" he whispered, echoing your earlier question.

"Yeah," you mumbled.

Dean smiled down at you even though you couldn't see it. He liked this new position--he liked holding you. He knew he was crossing boundaries he'd never intended to cross, but his feelings had become unbearable as of late.

He couldn't remember a moment when he didn't want you and it was getting harder to remember a time when he didn't love you. The last couple months had been hell on his heart and he was starting to break. He hid it from everyone, especially you, but he knew he couldn't do that for much longer.

His random hookups had stopped alleviating his desire to be with you, instead increasing that need tenfold after every encounter. So he stopped hooking up with women altogether. He'd considered moving out of the bunker for a while to get away, but he couldn't do that to Sam or to you.

He found himself in a predicament he'd been trying to avoid for years and the walls he'd built around his heart had started to crumble. There was nothing he wouldn't do to keep you safe--he'd rip out his own still-beating heart if he had to--but he couldn't find the strength to stop loving you. No matter what he did, his love only grew.

It wasn't fair to you and he knew he shouldn't love you, shouldn't tell you, shouldn't pull you into something with him that would almost certainly get you killed, but his own pain was becoming too much. The physical ache in his chest when you were apart was beginning to impact every part of his life, including hunting. He'd be lying if he said it didn't terrify him, but he couldn't fight his feelings any longer.

"(Y/N)?" Dean asked softly.

"Hmm?" you hummed, eyes still trained on the TV.

"Can you look at me, sweetheart?" he murmured.

You shifted your head to look up at him. You were struck by how brilliantly green his irises looked in the dimly lit room, your lips parting slightly in surprise.

Dean's heart was hammering in his chest so quickly he was certain you could hear it. When your pretty (y/e/c) eyes met his, he was immediately lost in them--adrift in an ocean of (y/e/c).

He knew this was it--it was now or never...he could either take the leap or let his pain drown him in loneliness. He chose the former. He lowered his head the short distance to place a soft, warm kiss against your lips.

The moment you felt his lips on yours, it was like the world stopped spinning. Suddenly there was nothing but you and Dean--nothing else existed, nothing else mattered. Just you and Dean.

When your lips began to move against his, returning his kiss, he groaned happily. His hands grabbed at your torso, seeking comfort in your soft flesh. He tugged you towards him, and you shifted your body to straddle his lap, lips never leaving his.

In your new position, you could feel his hardening member pressing against your clothed core. You ground against him, earning a moan from deep in his throat. His hands tightened their grip on your hips and your nails dug into his shoulders as the sensation sent a bolt of electricity through you.

Dean's hands snaked under your shirt and he began tugging it upwards in an attempt to remove it. The logical part of your brain suddenly kicked back on and you grabbed his hand to stop him.

"Dean--wait," you gasped, pulling away from him slightly.

His eyes widened and his body tensed. He quickly removed his hands from your body and held them up in surrender. "I'm sorry, we can stop. I--"

You shook your head. "I just need...I need to say something." You bit your lip. "I don't wanna be a one night stand or a friends with benefits thing. I-I can't, Dean. I can't."

The pain in your voice nearly broke his heart. He wanted to reassure you, but he wasn't sure you would believe him. He had a reputation and it was Valentine's Day...what were the odds you'd believe him?

"(Y/N), listen to me," he said gently, taking your hands in his. "I would never ever make you to do something you didn't want to do...and I would never purposefully hurt you. I need you to know that. Do you know that, (Y/N/N)?"

"Yes," you whispered, nodding slowly.

"Good...because I mean it. I can't do any more one night stands or casual hookups or friends with benefits situations. I can't handle any of those things anymore than I can pretend I don't need you. And I do need you, (Y/N/N). I need you in every way a person can possibly need another...mentally, emotionally, physically--all of it. You're the best part of my fucked up life and I don't want to lose you."

It was rare to see Dean so open and vulnerable. This was one of the very few times you'd been witness to it, but this was, by far, the most emotional moment you'd ever shared with him. You wanted to respond, to say all the things you'd carried in your heart for years, but you couldn't think of a single word to say.

Your silence dragged on long enough that Dean began to worry he'd crossed a line he shouldn't have...a line he couldn't uncross. "Please, (Y/N)," he begged. "Say something."

"I'm sorry," you said quickly, realizing you'd been silent too long. Dean's face fell and you knew he believed you were about to reject him. You placed your hands against his chest in a calming manner, desperate to infuse your love in the touch.

"You're not going to lose me, Dean," you assured him. "I'm not going anywhere...my place is here, with you. This is where I belong--where I want to be. Wherever you are is home to me."

He didn't need grand gestures or romantic poetry. He didn't need some eloquent speech about how much you loved him. All he needed was to hear your sweet voice saying he was your 'home' and he was a goner.

When his lips met yours for the second time, everything felt different. It was as if all the moments of his life before this were in black and white and he was seeing in color for the first time. He felt alive in a way he'd forgotten--whole, in a way he'd never experienced.

He'd had very few positive relationships in his past and most of them ended bloody. He'd thought he'd been in love before, but those feelings paled in comparison to the way he felt about you. This was love, a love so real--so lasting--it was branded into his very soul.

His fingers gripped the edge of your shirt again and this time, you allowed him to remove it. "Fuck," he groaned, hungry eyes trained on your naked chest. "No bra?"

"I wanted to be comfortable."

His large, calloused hands gripped your heavy breasts and he gently kneaded the supple flesh. "I want my girl to be comfortable all the time," he murmured. "So I think we should burn all your bras."

Your soft chuckle morphed into a moan as his lips found one of your nipples. You rolled your hips against him, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

Dean wanted to take his time with you and he was thoroughly enjoying his current activities, but it seemed you had other plans in mind.

"Dean," you whined. "Need you."

He gave your nipple one last gentle lick before lifting his head. "I'm right here, baby."

You rolled your hips against his throbbing cock and he groaned. Clearly you wanted more and he was in no position to deny you anything.

He gripped you tightly and stood up. You yelped in surprise and wrapped your legs around his waist. He turned around so your back was to the couch and he slowly lowered you down, placing you on the couch in front of him. He kneeled down and looked up at you, eyes dark with desire.

His hands slid slowly up your thighs, coming to a stop at the hem of your pants. "Can I take these off?"

You nodded rapidly.

He smirked and began to peel your leggings down at a painfully slow pace. You whined in annoyance, but Dean simply smiled. "Patience, sweetheart."

Finally, your pants, and subsequently your underwear, were tossed onto the floor, leaving you completely bare before him. There was a small part of you that felt self-conscious being naked in front of Dean. It was always uncomfortable for you the first time you found yourself in this position with a new man, but Dean was different. You weren't sure if it was the hunger in his gaze, the affection he clearly had for you, or the love you felt for him...you felt safe, you felt comfortable, and you felt loved. That was all that mattered.

Dean licked his lips in anticipation as he slowly spread your legs, revealing your soaking wet pussy to him. He groaned softly, spreading your legs wider to get an even better view.

"Now that's the prettiest pussy I've ever seen," he murmured. He slid a finger between your folds to collect some of your juices before bringing the finger to his mouth. He sucked it clean with a moan of enjoyment. "Delicious."

Before you had time to react, Dean had grabbed your hips and dragged you forward so you were closer to the edge of the couch. His mouth was on you in an instant, feasting on you like he might never eat again.

Your head fell back against the cushion and soft moans began to stream from your lips. Your legs rested on his shoulders and your hand gripped his hair tightly. Salacious sounds filled the room and you were glad Sam was gone for the night. You had a feeling it was only going to get louder.

Dean's experience in the bedroom was very evident as he ate you out. He was extremely skilled, but more importantly he paid attention to you. He was desperate to learn exactly what drove you wild and he wouldn't stop until he'd mapped out all of your pleasure points.

"Dean," you gasped softly, grip on his hair tightening.

He knew you were close, the way your legs began to tremble and your grip on his hair indicating your impending orgasm like a flashing neon sign.

His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place so you couldn't squirm away. With expert precision, Dean spelled his own full name against your clit with his tongue, sending you into a spiral of moaning, shaking bliss.

Dean continued to lap up your juices as you came down, and to your surprise, he didn't stop, even as you began to tug on his hair in earnest. "Please, Dean! Too much," you pleaded.

Dean sucked your little bundle of nerves into his mouth and slipped two fingers inside of you. He quickly found your sweet spot and began to drag his fingers along it repeatedly. The shock waves of pleasure had you changing your pleas to moans in seconds.

Your pussy gripped his fingers like iron and he couldn't wait to feel you grip his cock in the same fashion. He hadn't even been inside you yet and he already knew he would never want another woman's body the way he wanted yours.

"Dean!" you cried out, thick thighs squeezing his head, hips gyrating against his mouth as you came once again.

He lapped up everything you had to give him hungrily--wishing he could stay between your legs forever. This time, however, he allowed you to pull him up by his hair.

You were completely breathless, chest rising and falling rapidly. Dean licked his lips and wondered how sexy you'd look riding him, breasts bouncing as he slammed up into you.

"I think," you mumbled, "you have...too much...clothing on."

He laughed at your breathless remark. He had to agree with your sentiment, so he stood up and removed his shirt quickly. When he stood, you were rewarded with a nice view of his erection pressing against the confines of his sweats.

He smiled at you and slowly lowered his pants, revealing his very large member. The tip was red and throbbing, precum leaking from the slit. You licked your lips and eyed him hungrily, wanting to wrap your lips around it with a desperation that surprised you.

"Sit," you begged.

Dean smirked and obliged, sitting down beside you. You slid off the couch and crawled the short distance to settle between his legs.

Your soft hands wrapped around his cock and he groaned softly. "You're so big," you whispered.

"Your hands are small," he teased.

"But my mouth isn't."

Dean didn't have the time to process your sassy comment before your mouth wrapped around him and you began to suck his cock in earnest.

"Holy fuck-" he groaned, head falling back against the cushion.

He tangled his hand in your hair and gently guided your head as you began to take his cock deeper into your throat. You flexed the back of your tongue as you did so and he groaned loudly.

Having gotten the reaction you'd desired, you did the same move a couple more times, allowing his cock to almost leave your mouth before sucking him deep into your throat.

His grip on your hair tightened and his hips thrust forward, causing you to gag slightly. Instead of trying to lift off him, you breathed deeply through your nose and held steady, relaxing your throat as best as you could.

"Baby, you're doing so good for me," Dean murmured. "Making me feel amazing."

You moaned around his cock and reached between his legs to cup his balls and give them a gentle squeeze. His hips bucked slightly at the action, causing you to smirk.

You continued to suck his cock until he tugged your hair a little more harshly. "You gotta stop, doll, or I'm gonna cum."

You hummed in disappointment, but allowed him to pull you off his cock with a soft popping sound. He looked down at you with lust filled eyes and beckoned you towards him.

"Come up here, baby. I wanna touch you," he begged.

You climbed onto the couch with him, straddling his legs once again. You lowered yourself slowly, rubbing his cock against your wet core. You leaned forward to kiss him and repeated the action. He moaned against your lips before pressing his tongue against them, demanding entry.

You parted your lips and kissed him deeply, allowing his tongue to assert dominance. The kiss was passionate and loving, but the fire that burned inside of both of you in that moment only cared about pleasure.

"I need to be inside you," Dean whispered against your lips.

"Please," you begged him, rutting against him once more.

He gripped his cock tightly and lined himself up with your entrance. Once the tip pressed against your tight opening, he released his grip, hands settling on your hips to help guide you down.

You moaned softly as you continued to lower yourself onto his cock--the stretch both painful and enjoyable all at once. He was larger than you were accustomed to, both in girth and in length, and it almost felt as if you were a virgin all over again.

You had to lean forward, pressing your body against his for support as you lowered yourself down completely. You'd never felt so full, your toes curled at the mere feeling.

"You okay, baby?" Dean murmured, hands gently rubbing soothing circles into your back as he allowed you time to adjust.

"Never better," you whispered in reply.

You pulled yourself up into a proper sitting position and gasped as he somehow sank even deeper into you.

Dean worried he'd hurt you until he saw the look in your eye. His concern quickly turned to a smirk of pride. He pressed his hand against your lower abdomen and growled, "You feel that, baby? I'm so deep inside you, you'll be feeling me for days."

You moaned softly, his words having the desired effect on you. You rolled your hips a little and he hissed softly.

"Fuck, doll."

He gripped your hips as you started to move, bouncing up and down on his cock slowly.

His lips attached themselves to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone--anywhere he could reach. He was reveling in the feeling of your soft body against his muscular one, your curves providing him with plenty of flesh to hold on to.

"You feel so good, baby," he moaned in your ear. "Pussy squeezing me so tight--can hardly breathe."

"Feels good, Dean," you whimper.

"Yeah, baby? You like the way my cock feels in your pretty little pussy? Stretching you just right--you were made for me."

You preened at the praise, which only made him want to praise you more.

"This perfect body of yours makes me feel so good, sweetheart. You take my cock so well. Wanna stay here forever just making you feel good--listening to those sweet sounds you make. Fuck, never wanna stop."

You loved his praise, but your thighs were starting to get tired from the exertion. Dean could feel you slowing down, so he pulled you forward, pressing your chest flush against his.

"I've got you, baby. Let me take over," he whispered.

You gripped his shoulders and nodded, more than willing to allow him to take control.

As soon as he felt your body relax against him, he planted his feet firmly on the floor and began to piston up into you. He held you tightly against him to prevent you from moving too much.

"Dean!" you cried, nails digging into his shoulders.

His cock pressed into your g-spot with each thrust and in a matter of moments, you were teetering on the edge of another orgasm.

"Can feel you squeezing me, baby. You gonna cum for me? Huh?" Dean asked huskily. "You gonna coat my cock with your sweet cum, baby? Cum for me, sweet girl. Wanna feel it."

You loved the way he begged and it had you coming undone in an instant. You screamed his name as your walls fluttered around his cock. It took all of his focus not to cum along with you.

"That's my good girl," he whispered. "I'm gonna cum soon, doll. Where you want it?"

"Inside me," you begged. "Please, Dean--fill me up."

"Oh, fuck-" Dean moaned loudly as he came, coating your walls with his seed.

After a few more thrusts, Dean stilled. He continued to hold you tightly against him, needing to feel you close to him as he came down from his high.

He rubbed your back soothingly and placed a soft kiss to your damp hairline. "You were so good for me, (Y/N/N)."

You kissed his shoulder. "Felt so good, Dean."

He smiled and squeezed you tighter. He sighed contentedly, enjoying the feeling of the woman he loved pressed against his chest.

His cock had begun to soften and his cum was leaking out of you and onto his thighs, but he couldn't be bothered. Taking care of you was his one and only priority.

"Do you need some water, sweetheart?" he asked softly.

You shook your head.

"Food?"

You shook your head again.

"Tell me what you need, baby," he begged.

You finally lifted your head to look him in his eyes. "I know it's cliché to say I love you after sex, but I don't care. I love you, Dean...I love you wholly and completely."

Dean nearly breathed a sigh of relief at your admission. "I can't even begin to express how happy it makes me to hear you say those words. I've been pushing the feeling down for years, but I can't do it anymore, (Y/N). I love you with everything I have--it might not be much, but it's yours. You have me forever--mind, body, and soul."

You smiled and gently caressed his cheek. He leaned into your touch and closed his eyes. You kissed him softly, which he immediately returned in kind.

When you separated, you noticed a mischievous glint in his bright green eyes. "Dean?"

"What are your thoughts about round two in my bedroom?"

You laughed lightly. "Are you gonna kick me out of your bed at 2am?"

"Not if you don't snore," he teased.

You smacked his shoulder affectionately and he laughed. "You're lucky you're so damn cute."

He grinned. "Actually, I'm adorable."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "You know, I think I like the idea of round two."

Dean smiled and pulled you even closer. "Hold onto me, sweetheart."

You gripped him tightly and he stood up, holding you to his chest. You wrapped your legs around his waist and he headed towards his bedroom.

When he entered his room, he gently tossed you onto the bed, earning a soft giggle from your lips. He climbed on top of you, pressing sweet kisses to your skin for several moments before finally kissing your soft lips.

"I'm glad you skipped 'Unattached Drifter Christmas' this year," you murmured.

He smiled. "Me too, baby. I think it's more 'Attached Drifter Christmas' now."

You laughed. "I love you, you dork."

He kissed you again. "Not as much as I love you."

The two of you spent the next couple hours continuing to explore each other's bodies, experiencing blinding pleasure over and over again.

Nothing could ever compare to the love you felt for each other, and in spite of everything, you both fell asleep in the comfort of each other's arms, dreaming of the beautiful future ahead.

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