#and also. is both going to know she's going to die and try and stop it. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

daddymaster21 · 2 days ago

Text

My man yearns more than he sleeps.

1. Hey look!!!! It’s one of my current friends, dissociation!!!

2. NO THE DOUBLE ROOMS IS SO SAD

3. Tragic that my boy went to the Bobby Singer school of coping.

4. Me 🤝 Dean, having an empty pit that’ll never be full

5. He doesn’t even know that she’s in love with him. (He doesn’t even know that she’s a virgin!!!!!)

6. I need him to know he’s the only person she’s ever kissed. I’ll die about it

7. This is all good and healthy and fine :)))))

8. Dean needs to call Ben so they can commiserate on hallucinating their wives

9. Which. I remain unconvinced that these are hallucinations. (The NDA is my nemesis)

10. Them both being tortured with fake versions of each other 😔

11. Hm. I suspect this whole chapter is going to be my heart being ripped open. Example A: “there was no other name for him to damn say”

12. I can’t even list all the examples. This is. Damn

13. Oh god, him still buying their snacks. I’m not sure I’m gonna survive this chapter

14. The letters. Thea, THE LETTERS.

15. Poor Bobby. Poor Dean. Poor Cas.

16. “Guess I’ll find out” Dean, do NOT DRINK RUBBING ALCOHOL

17. Adam, this is truly the worst timing in the history of the universe. You’re in danger

18. I think I should feel bad for Adam? But I don’t

19. I am. Hurting.

20. HIM TAKING THE KNIFE TO GIVE HER NOOOOOOO

21. “I can do whatever you want” im gonna sue you for emotional distress

22. I, too, would flock to the music shows

23. THEY HAVE UNO IN VEGAS NOW, AND PRINCESS WOULD KICK ASS AT IT. BONUS CHAPTER WHERE SHE GOES TO VEGAS AND WINS MONEY FROM UNO

24. I wanna know what he wants her to sing!!!!!!

25. JOHN WINCHESTER IS IN DANGER

26. The bit about Crowley’s shoes lmfao

27. “The last thing She’d remember about Dean would be that he loved Her” WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME

28. He’s so fucking smart and I’m in love with him

29. I’m sitting outside and this specific letter genuinely made me lay down and curl into the fetal position

30. “It always made me feel better. How I wasn’t gonna lose you on a hunt” this might be the Crying chapter for me

31. HE’S FINALLY TELLING HER ABOUT THE GRAVITY THING????? OH MY GOD IM GONNA- I CAN’T. THEA, I CAN’T

32. A cute girl wearing your jacket is truly the hottest best most incredible thing ever

33. Okay yeah the bit about the cat has me crying. I need a second.

34. FUCK STOP NO HE’S SAYING HE LOVES HER AND IM CRYING MORE

35. I’m crying and laughing about the porn stars at the same time. What have you done to me

36. I am dead on the ground about the marriage. And the kids. And the everything.

37. I have about 13 running theories on why Bobby needs him and only one is good

38. please, let it be Sam. Let it be Sam.

39. I’m not even sure Dean knows *how* to drive safe

40. Driving stupid fast on flat roads is such a pleasure, though

41. Ah. It’s her birthday, isn’t it.

42. Well. At least they have each other now?

43. I do love soft carpet, I can’t lie

44. NO STOP I LOVE ICE CREAM CAKE WHY IS HE PERFECT

45. NOOOOOOOO STOP EVEN MORE HE CAN’T KEEP BUYING STUFF FOR WHEN SHE COMES BACK. IT’S GONNA KILL ME

46. It is, unfortunately, the most mundane shit that breaks you. And then you feel stupid for it breaking you, and you break a little more.

47. HA. WHAT. WE GET SOULLESS SAM BECAUSE CAS TURNS HIS SOUL OFF?????? OH MY FUCKING GOD

48. I, too, can picture The Face Cas would make

49. HE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW SHE’S BEEN WRITING HIS NAME. IT WOULD MAKE HIM FEEL SO MUCH BETTER AND SO MUCH WORSE

50. OH MY GOD HE’S SEEING FLICKERS OF HER IN THE CAGE.

51. “I sorta told him I was going to try and steal his wife” he’s the funniest man alive

52. “I’d love you better” YOU WOULD AND YOU DO

53. And then he actually wrote a whole page of just saying he loves her.

54. Man, I forgot how big a dick soulless sam was. (Also kind of an icon, though, regrettably)

55. Should’ve brought pizza, man. Rookie move

56. Old unknowable entities that like to ramble are my favorite

57. Don’t forget salting the earth!

58. Bendy and energetic is my stripper name

59. OH MY GOD WE’RE GETTING A DREAM.

60. SHE KNOWS!!!!!!!!! HE LOVES HER AND SHE KNOWS!!!!!!!!! (She thinks it’s just a dream 😔)

I. Don’t think I have any final thoughts. I’m not even sure what a thought is anymore

Chapter 29 - I'll Be Lonely

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Dean Winchester is built for yearning. Enjoy!

Chapter Title from I'll Walk Alone by Louis Armstrong

Word Count: 19.1k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean survives. Usual Warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action

Chapter 28 - Chapter 30

Read on A03!

There had been long months where he couldn’t look in the mirror.

He didn’t want to see it. The sorry son of a bitch looking back at him. The man who had big bags under his eyes and wasn’t ever going to properly sleep again.

The man who couldn’t do anything.

He just drifted, waited for the tidal wave that had taken everything good in his life to sweep in and take him too.

Dean wasn’t sure how he remembered his own name. He barely remembered this morning. There was harsh light and his hand tracing over the mattress to check for Her, only to find a cold bed. He probably sat up and looked to the other bed, because he was still getting double rooms, even when it was just himself.

It was always just Dean.

So he didn’t look in the mirror.

Not when he moved through the day, finding the liquor store at nine in the morning and buying the strongest shit on the shelf. Not when he carved his way through hunt after hunt, not really caring if some vamp sank their teeth into his jaw, or a ghost ripped him wide open. If he had a way to Hell, he’d take it. Maybe he could break out of whatever rack they put him on, and go down to the Cage. Free them both.

Never have to be alone again. Apologize to Sammy for a million years, for not protecting him, for breaking his promise. Convince them to leave this life and maybe start over in Canada.

Fall to his knees in front of Her, and beg for forgiveness. She didn’t like when he drank, but all he did anymore was race himself to the bottom of a bottle. She hated when he’d go into a hunt swinging, but plans made him start to think what would She and Sammy do, and then he felt sick.

Ask for Her to forget. For all of them to forget. To just fucking go back, maybe ten years. If he could meet Her in the summer again, give Her his number, then never leave. He’d never leave Her again, if he got a second, third, fourth chance. If She somehow could look at the shell he’d become and still want him. Still be willing to sleep in his bed, kiss him, and let him in on all Her plans. Hear all Her thoughts and jokes and ideas and everything.

She was insane, and Dean had never loved anyone more.

It felt like something was gone from his chest. Not his heart—it was still beating for Her, and that felt worse—but something deeper. All the world looked duller. Food tasted like ash, and water felt like drinking gasoline. His vision was always slightly blurred, although that might just have been the alcohol.

That thing in his chest might have been more important than his lungs. It might have fallen into the cage with Her and Sammy, or maybe he just lost it on the dirt road when he left Bobby’s.

It could have been taken out of his chest by a body, passing through his bed, and he wouldn’t have even noticed.

He had to remove every edge from his words to speak to women, because none of them ever sounded like a siren. He had to get blackout drunk to let them touch him, and if he woke up and the chick was still there, he’d leave.

It was his damn hotel, but they could have it.

He didn’t want to look at the woman who thought they could replace Her, who was sleeping where She was supposed to be sleeping, and hate himself even more.

Dean didn’t know if She’d slept around, after he died. He didn’t really want to. Didn’t want to think about Her face broken with the same emptiness he could feel right now—stretching out that pit in his body, eating him alive from within and splitting deeper and deeper every hour—being kissed by some man that wasn’t Dean. He didn’t want to think about if She’d been stronger than he was, and never touched anyone. If She waited for him completely, when they’d never even kissed.

He was waiting for Her. He’d always wait for Her, all the way down, until Her fucking soul was gone, or Dean didn’t have hands to hold Her or feet to run for Her. Until his was just dust in the wind, and even then he’d been drifting to the sound of Her voice. The smell of fruit that still lingered in his car.

Eden Apples.

She smelled like Eden Apples.

And the last lady that had ended up trying to stay in Dean’s bed after they were done had been wearing apple-ish shampoo, and his weak goddamn brain had been so pathetic he’d thought it was Her. For a split second, in the haze of waking up, Dean had smelled sweet apples, and really fucking thought.

Then his hand had wandered over, and he’d known in a half second. The smell wasn’t right. The feel of the woman wasn’t right.

But she’d smiled at him—not blinding, not beautiful, not Her—and hummed something like good morning, handsome.

Dean didn’t remember the rest of the day after that. He’d come to in a dive bar with a half empty bottle, sitting on the floor of a dirty bathroom with a large gash in his forearm.

He’d almost been able to hear Her, on the wind again. Humming “Winchester, where did you even fucking get that.”

“I don’t know, Princess.” He’d muttered, losing his damn mind more every fucking second. “Looks like a knife cut. You finally stab me?”

“I’d never stab you, De.”

He’d blinked, turned his head, and this wasn’t losing it. This was lost it. This was gone.

This was Her, sitting with him on the bathroom floor like nothing had ever happened. Shiny hair, bright, glossy eyes, a soft smile on Her face that made the pit in Dean cleave itself wide open.

He’d whispered Her name, moved his free hand to trace Her face, and she’d flickered.

Not real.

Not actually here, with nothing but a scratch on Her body. With Her hair tucked behind her ears and a sweet smile. His brain had given Her a low-cut blouse and skirt—he should be put down like a fucking dog—and short heels he’d never seen Her wear in his life. But everything else was just Her. Smiling at him. Propping Her chin on Dean’s shoulder while she frowned at his arm.

“Did you cut yourself again?”

She sounded like She was a million miles away. Her voice echoed slightly in the air, but it was still Her voice. Dean didn’t care that it wasn’t real. He’d been calling Her phone every damn day just to hear Her voicemail. When he’d filled up the box with his pointless rants that would never be heard—or just Bobby would hear them, which was sort of worse—he’d damn near cried on the floor.

So if this was what he got, he’d fucking take it.

“Don’t know what cut me, Princess.” He’d muttered, eyes wide on Her’s. ‘“I- I don’t know what I’m doing.”

She’d shaken Her head, and pressed at kiss to his jaw.

It had almost felt real. A soft shiver down his spine, his eyes fluttering shut as She hummed in his ear.

“You always know what you’re doing. I don’t let just anyone cook me dinner, Deano.”

A heavy, choked noise had left his throat, and he hadn’t really been able to fucking breathe. She was gone. She was gone, and he was a fucking piece of shit that had brought another woman into the bed that should be Her’s. He was crawling through the mud alone, and it was starting to suffocate him but there wasn’t going to be anyone to save him. He wouldn’t deserve it anyway. He barely deserved this, this pretend, twisted version of Her that somehow loved him. That looked at Dean, bleeding and broken on the floor, and didn’t leave him to waste away.

“I miss you.” His voice had been hoarse, and She’d frowned at him.

“De, I’m sitting next to you.” Her voice had been so soft, and She reached up to hold his jaw.

He could feel it when She touched him. And Dean had closed his eyes and leaned into it, slumping against the wall, because this was all he got to fucking have.

“It- I- I know, sweetheart- But-“

“Dean.” She’d cut him off, words far to gentle, and he couldn’t really see either. “Are you okay?”

“No.” He’d rasped, the first burning tear sliding down his cheek. “I’m not, Princess. I- I miss you and Sammy, and I can’t get you out, and I- Son of a bitch, baby.” He’d turned his face to meet Her’s, and She’d looked so soft. Blinding eyes bearing right into Dean’s, fingers reaching up to wipe his tears and getting nothing, because She wasn’t fucking real.

He’d been able to care. An illusion of Her was better than nothing at all.

“I’m so fuckin’- I’m sorry.” He’d whispered, closing his eyes once more and trying to pretend the warmth of Her hand was more than a phantom feeling. “I can’t fuckin’ do this without you and Sammy. I don’t deserve you- Never did- But you gotta come home. I don’t know where I’m going, don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do, can’t goddamn sleep or eat- I- I need you. Please.”

There hadn’t been an answer.

Someone had pushed the door open, and Dean had just been the crazy asshole crying and bleeding out on the floor.

He’d patched himself up at the motel, stares lingering on shadows in the hope She’d appear.

She hadn’t.

And the dreams had stopped, since he’d lost Her. It was either nightmares, or nothing at all. But if drinking brought Her to Dean, he could drink. He could do anything, just to play pretend a little longer.

Then the months start to pass in a blur. He wasn’t sure his liver was going to make it the whole year, but goddamnit he didn’t give a shit. He got to see Her. Sammy never showed up, but when he was really wasted, sometimes he’d turn his head and see him in the shadows.

When it was Her, She’d look fine. Happy. The version of Her his brain made up was just happy. Still harsh and smart and bossy, but never picking at Her fingers until they bled, never breaking down in the middle of the night. And Dean was a selfish asshole again. He didn’t know if it was worse, how his brain wasn’t offering him the real Her—that was just as broken as Dean was, but in all the right places—or that he missed the real version of Her. That he still loved this bright, beaming and giggly version of Her, but it wasn’t enough.

He missed the midnight drives. He missed holding Her face between his hands and petting the bridge of Her nose. Missed muttering Her name and making Her look at him, or letting Her curl into his body with shaking sobs. Dean missed all of Her, loved all of Her, and that was part of Her. So was the joy, but Dean hadn’t seen Her that easily happy since Jo died.

He wanted it for Her. In any way he could get.

And he was also a douchebag who wanted Her to sink into his arms, but he couldn’t even fucking touch Her like this. It sliced through him every time.

“Can we get a cat?” She’d said in Dean’s ear, and he’d sighed, giving Her a small, weak grin.

“Anything you want, Princess.”

“Anything?” Fake Her’s smile widened, and She sat up on her knees. “Can we get a dog, too?”

“Told you,” he'd said Her name, giving Her a half-amused look. “Anything.”

“Even the moon?”

“If you want it, yeah.” He’d reached for Her, his hands moving just to touch Her, he always wanted to touch Her-

She’d slipped through his fingers. Wavered in the air, smiling the whole time, and the pit in Dean had grown.

It was going to consume him, eventually. And he was doing nothing but driving it along.

He had no plans to stop.

Because just as he didn’t remember the morning, he never remembered the night. He’d blackout, fuck some new girl he found in a bar, and the pit would double in size. There couldn’t be a worse man alive. If he did get Her back, by some miracle of something above God, he wouldn’t deserve to keep Her. He couldn’t save Her. Couldn’t keep his dick in his pants while She was being fucking tortured. Couldn’t even fucking enjoy the sex he was having, because he never remembered it and none of it was Her. He kept driving a blade into his heart in the hope of feeling something, only to have it numb.

Then he’d pick up the next blade—next colorless girl, with a voice that scratched at his skull and eyes that looked dim—and hope this one did more damage.

It didn’t. It never did. And he’d gotten chicks shouting at him for calling out the wrong name, but there was no other name for him to damn say. It was just Her. Always just Her.

He hadn’t even made it to bed, tonight. He’d moaned Her name when the lady had kissed him, and that had been the end of it.

But, stumbling into the bathroom—unsure if he was going to vomit, shit, or just die—Dean’s gaze wandered up.

To the mirror.

And this was why he avoided it. Why he rushed past reflective surfaces and kept his gaze cast down, whenever he had to shower or wash his hands—and if it was up to him, he’d never do neither of those things, but blood starts to stink and stain Baby’s seats—to avoid seeing this.

Himself.

Staring back at him. The ugliest, dumbest dickhead he’d ever seen. Hair messy, and getting too long. Ratted in small places and still damp with blood in others. There was a swollen split to his lip, from a wolf hunt he hadn’t fully patched himself up from. His features were gaunt, large graying bags under his eyes, and a hollowness in his eyes that didn’t nearly show they vastness of the pit in his chest. His skin had a thin, shining layer of grime, and it was a miracle he even got that lady to look at him. Maybe he should actually stop showering all together, and then it wouldn’t be a problem.

People would just see the rusted blade, and no amount of drunken, broken charm would get anyone in bed. He’d be saving them, and himself from making another unforgivable mistake.

The lipstick mark on his cheek. Redder than the actual blood staining his collar, worse to look at than the bubbling scar on his neck. Another hunt where the monster had gotten the jump on him. Another poorly done set of stitches. Fucking artwork compared to the lipstick, because the wound just was something he deserved.

The lipstick meant he deserved nothing. He was a weak traitor, and maybe he was doomed to fall in bed with another body, trying to chase the pain away, only for Her to immediately reappear and find him touching another woman.

He never wanted to touch anyone but Her. But She always vanished, and he wasn’t drunk enough to see Her—just enough for a splitting headache and sick turning in his gut—so he was stuck trying to feel something. Anything. Not just the pit, widening and swallowing him from within. Reminding him that he failed, failed both of them, the asshole in the mirror had been made to do one thing and he couldn’t even fucking do it right.

Dad should’ve hit him more when he fucked up. Yelled louder. Worked harder to make him into a weapon, because he’d left soft spots and now they were rotting and spreading, and all Dean could see in the mirror was mold. Something nobody wanted. Couldn’t want.

Spreading over something good—Her, Sammy, Bobby, Jo—and ruining it for himself.

Son of a bitch, the asshole staring back at him didn’t deserve to breathe.

His grip white-knuckled on the sink, eyes narrowed and breathing ragged—he couldn’t vomit, everything was already bad enough—as he tried to just make the douchebag go away. Vanish. Go back and walk away from all those good things, because nobody would be hurting if he had.

But he’d been selfish.

Kissed Her. Lost Her.

Turned around and let someone else press their lips to his cheek, even when just the thought-

Anything that had been in him fell out. A little shot from his nose, and he still couldn’t breathe, but it was something. He felt something.

Disgust.

Dean wiped his chin from the vomit, glowered at his reflection—showing just as much torn, broken anger that he could feel in the cavity of his chest—and slammed his fist against the glass.

Pieces shattered. Red ran from Dean’s knuckles, but he couldn’t really feel it. And it wasn’t his good hand, so everything was fine. He could do passible first aid, shoot, and write with that hand.

That was the most important thing. Dean needed to be able to write.

He’d started after the first time the hallucination of Her had appeared. She’d vanished, and he’d had so much more to tell Her. That She needed to know, that She had to understand and forgive him for. So he’d stumbled back to his motel, and grabbed the free pen and paper.

He hadn’t been sure what he was going to do at first. But then he’d just started writing. And done the same the next night. And the night after that.

It kept him sane, and made everything worse. He wasn’t lingering on the edges of bridges anymore, wondering if Cas would bother to pull him out of the black water. He still got Her and Sammy snacks and drinks, whenever he stopped for gas. It was a habit he didn’t want to break. That meant accepting all those purple sodas and baby carrots were really never going to be eaten. That Dean was going to have to stop looking at the passenger’s seat when he turned up the volume, because Sammy was never going to sit there again.

That the flickers of Sam in the shadows, and fake conversation with Her were all he was going to get for the rest of his life.

It couldn’t be.

So he wasn’t writing because they were gone. He used the letters so when they got back, he wouldn’t have to explain everything. He’d never been good at that. It had always been Her and Sammy, doing it for him. But now it was just Dean. Just fucking Dean, alone and unforgiven-

He vomited again. In the trash can, as he stumbled to the bed. But he couldn’t pass out yet.

There was a letter he had to write.

———

Feb. 21 - 2010

Princess,

I don’t know how to do this. I’m going to spell things wrong. You’ll know what I’m saying. You usually do. One time I said boom and meant Molotov, but you got it. Sammy said I was the luckiest asshole alive, because he would’ve just made me go to bed with how much I was drinking.

I’m drinking more now.

Youd be pissed.

I miss you.

This is shit. I’ll try again in the morning.

I love you

DAW.

———

Feb. 22 - 2010

Princess,

I can do this. I’m wirting.

That’s not how you speel writing. Or spell. I think drunk me spells better than normal me.

I can’t do this. Not without you and Samy Sammy. I need you. I told you I needd you, and goddamit i was right. I don’t know how to sleep, Princess. I told you I was drinking, btu its the only way i can sleep. And when i do, i just get fuckign nightmares. Had one last night where im back in hell, and you and sammy save me then get put on the rak rack

Come home. i need you. Gonna try again in the morning, cause theres stuff you gotta know about.

DAW

——

Feb. 23 - 2010

Princess. And Sammy too, if he’s reading this. He shouldn’t be. Fuck off, bitch.

Not you, Princess. You keep reading this. It’s for you. It’s always

I’m not gonna throw out those other two letters. You can have them, if you want, but I’m gonna give you this one, when you get home. Cause you’re gonna come home. You’ve gotta. Point is, I don’t know where to start. Probably where I lost you we got separated.

Here goes.

——

He didn’t wake up in the field. He’d passed out there. There had been so much pain, and his head had been spinning as the screams died in the throat, and he’d slumped onto the ground like a corpse. Maybe he’d just died. Maybe this was hell. Maybe that had just been the first nightmare in Hell, and in reality, Lucifer had just won.

But there were voices, splitting through the peace of the dark.

“Castiel, you fuckin’ asshole, you better give me a goddamn straight answer or I’m gonna start shooting-“

“I have given you every answer I have. I’m sorry, they’re both-“

“You say gone one more goddamn time, you’re gonna wish you were being skinned by angels-“

“Bobby, I’m sorry-“

“Stop fucking sayin’ sorry and bring ‘em back!”

Not Hell.

Just reality. Just painful fucking reality, where She and Sammy had fallen into the cage. The pain—physical pain, from Lucifer’s fists—was gone, and he wasn’t in the field anymore. Cas must have healed him, and brought him back to the house. Maybe he could waste away here. On the couch that smelled like Her fruit. He could grab the pillows and pretend he was holding Her.

He wasn’t.

He might never again.

And he had to move. To stand up, shuffle into the kitchen, and look Bobby in the eyes. Tell him what happened. It was the goddamn least he could do, after losing both of them.

The air in the kitchen felt thin and wired, but the whole world felt like that. Like it was going to snap at any second, because She and Sammy were gone, so nothing fucking mattered. Bobby was still in his wheelchair, shotgun aimed at Cas’ head, and Cas mostly looked tired. Dean clapped him weakly on the shoulder as he joined them, and Cas just frowned at him.

“You should be resting, Dean. You’ve had a hard day.”

“‘M fine.” Dean grunted. Rest was for people who didn’t fucking fail.

And Bobby knew that too.

His gun turned to Dean’s chest, and Dean didn’t care if he shot. Bobby would have every right to pull the trigger.

“Might be better to do that,” he nodded to the gun, holding Bobby’s gaze. “Outside. No mess.”

Bobby’s eyes just narrowed. “Cas says they both fell in.”

Dean swallowed, and it flashed through his head again. She and Sammy, hand in hand, looking at Dean. Michael flailing around as they fell in. The Earth closed behind them, and Dean’s roar carrying through the world, with no power to turn it back.

“Yeah.” He muttered. “They did.”

“And how the hell did that happen.”

Dean shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“Dean Adam Winchester-“

“They jumped in, Bobby. Lucifer beat the shit out of me, and-“ Dean tried to say Her name, but choked on the first letter. “I- She had a plan. She was gonna pull out Michael and Lucifer and throw them in. Went wrong. That’s it.”

Bobby gaped at him, gun raising higher. “And you let her fuckin’ do that-“

“If you’re gonna shoot me, Bobby, just fucking do it.” He’d taken a step forward, shrugging Cas off when he tried to hold him back. “I lost them. Both of them. You told me not to, and I fucking did. They’re both in the cage, and I’m still alive, so just fucking shoot me.”

Dean’s voice had raised to a shout, and Bobby had just been staring at him. Not pulling the trigger, not cursing his name, just staring.

It was the same way She’d stared at him, when he’d done something stupid that hurt them both. How She’d stared at him when he’d come back from Hell, when She’d found out about the deal, when he’d gone to Death by himself. Not like She wanted to kill him, but something worse. Like he was hurting himself more, and that somehow fucking mattered. Like he wasn’t the most worthless goddamn man alive.

He’d never seen that look on Bobby’s face before. He was never going to fucking forget it.

Good.

If Bobby wouldn’t just shoot him, that was the least he could goddamn do. Haunt him. Torture Dean just a little more, to repent for what he’d done. Failed to do. For daring to look Bobby in the eyes and tell him the two people they’d been responsible for—the little boy Dean had all but goddamn raised, and the girl Bobby had found on the side of the road and loved like his own—were gone. And he couldn’t get them back.

———

Sorry, baby. I can’t finish it tonight. Hurts Got a headache, and I might be bleeding. Ran out of rubbing alcohol. It’s fine. I’ll be alright.

I’ll talk to you in the morning. Before that, if I get the alcohol.

Can I drink rubbing alcohol? You’d know. Or Sammy would.

Guess I’ll find out.

I’ll be back tomorrow.

Wait for me.

I’m sorry.

DAW.

——

Feb. 24 - 2010

Princess,

I don’t remember what I told you. Shit, I don’t remember last night. Or this morning. Slept in the car and it still smells like you was fucking cold. I think I’m gonna go to Texas. There’s a vamp nest. Quick hunt, and if it’s not, then I’ll see you soon.

I’m gonna go re-read what I wrote. Wait here.

Okay, I told you about Bobby. He loves you, y’know. A lot. He’s a good fucking dad. And you look like him. Not your faces. Just. I don’t know. You know what I mean.

What I’m saying is, Bobby loves you. And I love you We all do.

———

“Wha- What happened?”

Dean froze, the barrel of Bobby’s shotgun still aimed for his chest. The soft, nervous voice sure as shit didn’t belong to Cas, and it was close enough to Sam’s to make his ribs ache, but not certain enough. Sam had an air like what he was saying—even if he knew it was wrong—was true. Dean was pretty sure the kid had gotten it from Her, after that first night they’d met Her. When She’d stared down Dad and said She was never wrong.

She wasn’t. But She’d said it like it was impossible for Her to be wrong, and Sammy had taken it as gospel.

Adam didn’t have that.

Adam was lucky he still had goddamn vocal cords. They let him scream when Dean whirled around and flew a punch for his face.

“Dean-“ Cas tried to grab him, hold him back, Dean didn’t give a shit. If Cas really wanted his fists to stop bashing into Adam’s jaw, he could stop Dean easy. But he wasn’t. And Adam fucking deserved it.

“You fucking dick- Asshole- Son of a bitch-“ Dean grabbed Adam by his collar, spitting the words against his face. “You feel like a fucking man, huh?! Betraying your family and letting Michael ride you like a little fucking bitch-“

“Dean.” Bobby grunted, wheelchair creaking over the floor as Dean socked Adam’s nose. “That’s enough.”

“He said yes!” Dean roared, turning to see Cas and Bobby looking at him with almost pitied expressions. “He’s the fucking reason we had to do any of that, he said yes to Michael and now they’re both- They-“

His words died in a strangled noise, Adam let out a groan, and tried to turn back to land another blow. But Cas caught his shoulder, carefully pulling Dean to his feet, leaving Adam bloodied on the floor.

“Cas-“

“He’s just a child, Dean.” Cas held his gaze, shaking his head. “Michael likely promised him riches and glory-“

“Then he should’ve fucking said no. I said no-“

“You already had the glory.” Cas gave him an odd look, and Dean frowned. “Adam desired it. This is not his fault.”

“The hell it’s not-“

“Dean.” Bobby muttered, glaring up at him. “This ain’t gonna bring ‘em back. You’re just gonna kill your own fuckin’ brother-“

“He’s not my brother.” Dean sneered, fists curling at his sides. “My brother’s trapped in a cage with Lucifer and Michael.”

“Dean,” Cas muttered, and Dean shook his head.

The whole world felt sort of far away. Words were falling out of him liken food poisons. Trying to grab the pain, and push it up his throat. It wasn’t making it better. It felt like shit. He couldn’t fucking stop.

“I don’t want to see him.” Dean grunted. “Fix him up and get him out, Cas. Or I’m gonna kill him.”

Cas had looked at him for a long, strange moment, then nodded. Knelt down and pressed his finger’s to Adam’s brow, healing all his bruises in a second. And Adam had pushed up, staring at Dean with an almost desperate expression, and Dean hadn’t fucking cared. If he’d been able to resist Michael, Adam should’ve as well. It didn’t goddamn matter what he’d been promised. Everything was worse now. Adam had gotten saved—Michael had been pulled from his body, and he’d get to start over—and the cost was Dean’s whole world.

“I didn’t mean to.” Adam muttered, and Dean was going to break his own hands. “He- He said everything would be fine. That- I didn’t know-“

“Cas.” Dean grunted, ripping his gaze away. “Out.”

Cas sighed, then vanished, taking Adam with him. And for a second, the world had stood still. Because Dean’s eyes had landed on the fridge, and it was decorated with Her drawings. The sketches She’d done of Famine and Pestilence, the half-done one of Death.

Death.

Dean’s gaze was lingering on Death, and with Lucifer gone, Death was free. Maybe he could owe Dean a favor. Maybe Dean could try that trick Lucifer had pulled, and bind Death himself. Use him to get Her and Sammy out-

“You feel big, boy?”

Dean grunted, giving Bobby a broken, tired look. “The fuck am I supposed to say. No?”

Bobby scoffed. “You’re supposed to admit you’re bein’ an idjit-“

“I don’t care.”

“You should.”

“Why?” Dean raised his brows, something prickling over his skin and starting to rot just to the right of his heart. “The hell am I supposed to do, Bobby, just welcome him in with open arms after- After they- Goddamnit-“

He couldn’t breathe. The world was blurring, and Cas had healed him but that just meant this pain wasn’t curable. That the pit starting to split in him was never going to be filled or sewn back together. All the shadows look longer. The lump in his throat only grew bigger.

“Maybe I am being an asshole,” Dean muttered, squeezing his eyes shut for just a second. He wasn’t going to cry. Not in the kitchen, in front of Bobby. “I don’t give a shit, Bobby. I can’t.”

Bobby let out a slow breath, opened his mouth, and Cas reappeared in the kitchen.

“Do you care to know where I sent Adam?”

“No.” Dean snapped, before Bobby could speak, and Cas shrugged.

“Alright, though I will lose him fast. I hid him from angels, as many may be… displeased. With his performance as the vessel.”

Bobby frowned. “Angels havin’ a lot of thoughts about the failed apocalypse?”

“I do not know.” Cas sighed. “Heaven has lost their leader. We have never been without one before, and without God in the picture-“

“God’s in the picture.” Dean grunted, and Cas gave him an odd look.

“Dean, I have spent the past year-“

Dean muttered Her name, and it tasted sickly sweet on his tongue. He shouldn’t be allowed to speak it. Think it. Know it. “She said he’s alive. Guess she’d know.”

Would’ve known.

They all thought it. None of them were strong enough to say it.

“If he is,” Cas murmured, frowning at the air. “I won’t change how I proceed. He is not here. And- When she gave me my Grace back, it felt- Feels, different. I have a deeper connection to Heaven than before. A deeper connection to Earth, as well.”

“That’s great, man.” Dean muttered, and he didn’t want to sound that bitter. He didn’t know how the hell not to. “You wanna sing fuckin’ kumbaya and dance around the campfire? Talk about our dreams and hope a freakin’ falling star grants them?”

“Dean.” Bobby muttered, and Cas shook his head.

“It is alright. He is distressed, I know not to take it personally.” Cas gave him a sad look, and Dean’s heart might be withering away. “If you call me, Dean, I will come. But I have work to attend to. Do not try to jump off a bridge, please. I’ll save you.”

Dean sneered in response, and that just fucking hurt more. That meant that the last damn person—angel, but person—he had was going off to Heaven, and Dean was being left alone.

He was just fucking alone.

———

He healed Bobby. Just damn healed Bobby, then vanished.

And I’m sort of not talking to Bobby anymore. Can’t look at him. Only see you.

He can’t look at me, either. I think he’s just seeing Sammy. Doesn’t really matter. Haven’t been sleeping. Think I already told you that, but it doesn’t matter. Most shit doesn’t.

I miss you.

That matters.

You matter, Princess. You always mattered. Not just as all that Magdalene shit. To me. You mattered to me, and I love need you. Come back. I don’t give a shit if I gotta share you with God, I just need you home. I keep waking up and thinking you’re in bed, and you’re not. It’s just you. Always been just you, baby. Sorry I didn’t tell you. Sorry it’s too late to tell you now.

DAW

———

Mar. 5 - 2010

Princess,

Hunted ten vamps today. One of them had a knife, you would’ve liked it. Took it off the body, in case you want it. I can clean it, too. I can do whatever you want. Wish that you I keep seeing (don’t ask) would tell me how to talk to you. Direct line. I just need to tell you about the burger I had. Tasted like shit, but came with a stuffed animal because Vegas is insane. Little cat. You’d like it.

Cas never got you that cat. I would’ve been fine with it. They make meds for that shit, and I love you want you to be happy. I’m not giving up on you, baby. I’ll get you back. Been looking into ways. Bet Cas has too. Bobby’s gotta have something. And Vegas was a dead end, but at least I got you that cat.

It’s gray. Got big eyes. I think it’s staring at me. I don’t wanna salt and burn a stuffed cat.

You’d like Vegas. You’re shit at poker, but I’d help you. Think I’d have to pull you away from all those music shows.

You never sang for me, either. I know what I would’ve asked you to sing. But I know everything I want from you.

That makes me sound like an asshole. I meant a family. Life. And not from you. With you.

You.

Want you.

DAW

———

Mar. 8 - 2010

Princess,

I’m trying something. You’re gonna kill me. Shit, you’re gonna be so fucking pissed. I can see it. You get this little wrinkle in that space between your eyes, when you’re feeling a lot of things. It’s cute. I always wanted to kiss it.

Maybe if you don’t kill me for this, you’ll let me. And I know it’s stupid, but if it works, I can just give you all of these and you’ll understand. Need you here, baby. Can’t do this without you. I mean it. I feel like I’m in the ocean or something, but I never learned how to sail. Or like when Dad used to drop me a state over and tell me to find my way back. I know I’m going somewhere. I don’t have a goddamn clue how I get there without you and Sammy. If I can get there.

Miss you. I’ll see you tomorrow. Here or out there.

Don’t stab me. I love miss you. So damn much.

DAW

———

Dean squinted up at the sun—the light far too harsh and uncaring about how the whole world felt lifeless—then down the two, long dirt roads.

Crossroads.

And he’d buried the bones, and made the call—even laid his gun down as a show of good will—so where the hell-

“Hello, Dean.” A smooth, British voice broke through the air behind him, and Dean scowled. “My, my. Don’t you look worse for wear. Something happen?”

“I didn’t call for you.” Dean grunted, turning slowly.

Crowley shrugged, suit pressed, hands in his pockets, beard well-trimmed and expression bored. The asshole had come out ahead after the apocalypse. Dean hadn’t slept in three damn days, but Crowley had new fucking shoes.

“I may be the King of Hell now, but I do hold a certain fondness for my old day job. And Dean Winchester, making a crossroads call after his brother and girlfriend fell into the cage?” Crowley clicked his tongue. “Well, color me intrigued. I had to know what you could possibly offer me.”

“I gotta know, Crowley. How long you been working on slipping in that you’re the King of Hell into every sentence?”

“Oh, about as long as you’ve been trying to tell God’s Bride that you’re in sweet little love with her.”

Dean’s jaw ticked. “How the fuck did you know about God-“

“I didn’t know. But when you get promotions, you hear whispers. And I had a hunch.” Crowley smirked. “Thank you for confirming it, though. I shall keep that in mind. Now, I believe you had a question you wanted to ask me?”

This was stupid. He’d promised Her and Sammy he wouldn’t. Shit, he’d promised everyone he wouldn’t. But this time they’d have Cas, and She’d be using her magic stuff, and they could get out of it.

Even if they couldn’t, Dean would rather have just one more fucking day where he could hug Sammy and kiss Her. Just one chance to apologize. He’d formally give Sam the Impala, teach the kid how to care for her. Tell him to go back to trying to live a normal life. That maybe he didn’t think he could, but he’d find it. If not a lawyer, something smart. Do everything Dean always knew he could, now that Sammy wouldn’t have anything holding him back.

And Dean would let himself be selfish for one day. He’d kiss Her, tell Her whatever she needed to hear to understand—Princess, I want you, always want you—then, if She’d let him, touch Her.

He’d feel Her once, before he was gone. Watch Her come undone beneath him, give Her everything he had, then whisper that he loved Her. The last thing She’d remember about Dean would be that he loved Her. Not that he’d ever hurt Her or failed Her. She’d go on, and God would come for Her, and She’d just know Dean loved Her. Only Her. He could have a million more bodies pass through his bed, meet billions more people, and he’d only ever love Her.

He couldn’t tell Her, if She was trapped in the cage. And maybe She’d curse his name deeper than Hell for this, but at least She’d know Dean loved Her.

“I want them out.” He grunted, and Crowley’s smile grew. “Both of them. You can give me one day, fuck, twelve hours. But you get them out.”

“How sweet.” Crowley drawled. “But no.”

Dean froze. The world stopped moving in an odd stutter stop. That wasn’t how this worked. He put himself in, they got out. He accepted that, and they got to have lives. “The hell you mean, no.”

“I mean no deal.” Crowley shrugged. “You stay nice and alive up here, they stay… less than that in the cage.”

“Why the fuck won’t you-“

“Don’t worry your pretty head about it. “Crowley frowned around the long fields. “I do wish you hadn’t summoned me in the middle of nowhere, Dean. I would’ve liked a steak.”

“I don’t give a shit about your steak-“

“Well, that’s quite rude.” Crowley sighed. “Are we done here?”

Dean stared at Crowley for a second, then his brain kicked into gear. This had to work. He didn’t have a single other way to get Her and Sammy out, so this had to work. And if Crowley was going to be a dipshit and say no, Dean would make him say yes.

He snatched his gun off the ground, raised it right for Crowley’s skull, and Crowley sighed.

“You know guns won’t work on me, right? Or did you only manage to hunt things properly when the brains and the beauty were here?”

“This isn’t just a gun.” Dean grunted Her name, and Crowley paled slightly. “Enchanted it. Made an archangel blow up. And I’d like to see if it does the same shit to demons.”

Crowley’s eyes flashed, and he vanished. Only for a second.

Didn’t take him long to work out that there was no way out, reappearing just a little further down the road, then behind Dean, then in the tall grass with a sneer.

“How in Hell’s name-“

Dean laughed. Dry and cold and hollow, because he wasn’t the smart one, but he wasn’t a freakin’ idiot. “Made a devil’s trap in the field.” Dean cocked the safety off the gun. “You’re gonna give me my baby brother and my girl back. Now.”

Crowley opened his mouth, but then his eyes darted over Dean’s shoulder. And a smile crept over the assholes face, right as a firm hand landed on Dean’s shoulder.

“Dean.” Cas murmured. “This is not the way.”

“The hell it isn’t.” He grunted. “I got the King of Hell, and two people in Hell. He’s swinging his dick this big, he’ll either back it up, or I gank him-“

“Crowley doesn’t have the power to get them out of the cage, Dean.”

Dean turned to glare at Cas—lowering the gun slightly—and he looked far more worn than the last time Dean saw him. Tie askew, hair matted in something bronze and metallic, eyes heavy.

“I’ve tried to get them out myself.” Cas muttered Her name, low enough that only Dean could hear. “Her soul makes meddling with the cage like doing heart surgery on a galaxy. Impossible.”

“There’s always another way-“

“Not here.” Cas sighed. “Not for us.”

“Told you.” Crowley called from down the road, and Dean’s grip on the gun tightened. “Now if someone could please let me out- Ah, bullocks.”

Dean raised the gun again, eyes narrowed on Crowley’s smug expression. “You give me one good reason not to blow your sorry demon ass apart.”

Crowley frowned. “May I have ten minutes to brainstorm-“

“If you kill him,” Cas cut in, voice somehow more tired than before. “Hell will return to political unrest. He’s keeping the demons in check, Dean.”

Son of a bitch, it would be so easy to pull the trigger. But Cas kept his hand on Dean’s arm, and Crowley wasn’t even flinching, and goddamn it-

Dean lowered the gun. Cas gave him a small nod, then vanished. Crowley gone only a few moments later.

And once again, Dean was alone.

———

Mar. 9 - 2010

Princess,

I’m sorry, baby.

Not giving up on you. You never gave up on me. I’ll get you and Sammy out. Pinky promise.

DAW

———

Mar. 20 - 2010

Picress Princess,

I gotta stop writing these in pen. Stack of them is getting too big. Should get a box, too. Pink one.

Would you want a pink one? You would. You like that girly shit.

Always lo liked that about you. If you asked me to do a million of those face mask thingys with you, I would’ve. Would’ve done anything you asked though. I don’t think you knew that. Tried to tell you, a lot. But I’m not good at talking. You know that. And you never got pissed at me about it either. Wish I could’ve figured it out. How to tell you, I mean. I would’ve. Son of a bitch, baby, I’d have spent the rest of the sorry life I’ve got doing girl shit for you. I’d learn how to paint nails. Let you paint mine.

But no glitter. Don’t care what you say, it’s bad for hunts. You just got that thing where monsters don’t attack you. Rest of us? Not that lucky. And you’d hate that I call it luck. I don’t love it either, but it always made me feel better. How I wasn’t gonna lose you on a hunt.

Lost you anyway.

Sorry for the stains on the paper, I spilled my drink. I wanted to tell you about the hunt. That was the point of this one. It was an Al-Mi’raj. Don’t know how to say that. Only spelling it right cause I’m looking at the book. But you said you always wanted to hunt one, so I’m telling you. It wasn’t that great. You’re not missing out on anything.

I wish you’d been here, though. Even though the hunt was shit. Would’ve been better with you.

Yours,

DAW

———

Mar. 26 - 2010

Princess,

Did you ever feel it?

I worked this case today. Romanian thing. Căpcăun. Cap con, is how I’ve been saying it.

Made me think about the moroi. The first time I saw you. It felt like being struck by lightning, and dying, and being drunk. I think it was just you there. In the office. That jacket was so fucking big on you, but I remember wanting to see how my jacket would look. I wanted to kiss you, too. The whole time. You were so pretty, and it was like I’d found something I’d been looking for. But I hadn’t. I mean, I did find it, but I hadn’t been looking.

Remember when Sammy was looking for a book, and we wear tearing apart that library until we got kicked out? Then you get back with dinner, and we tell you we got banned, and you’re pissed cause we didn’t even need to go to the library. You already knew what the thing was.

It’s sorta like that.

Did that sound stupid? Sorry. Point is, it was all there. First damn time I looked at you. Always been there. I didn’t see you for year, and I’d still think about you. I always think about you. Stopped trying not to a damn long time ago. Can’t even get mad at you right.

Cause I should be pissed at you, Princess. You did something so fucking dumb, jumping into the hole. There were other ways. You always say ‘there are other ways, de’ and then you do the eyelash flutter thing, and i’d jump off a cliff to make you smile. that’s why i can’t be pissed at you right. just want to see your smile. did you know your teeth are kind of crooked? i did. you’ve always got stray little baby hairs, too. and your eyes looking like they’re glowing. when you go all magic-mode, they actually glow. and when you walk its like you think the world is gonna move around you and it does.

Wish it would open up and give you back. wouldn’t fuck it up this time, baby. pinky promise. you can’t see it, but i’m pinky promising that stuffed cat i got you. named it velma. i’ll give it to you when you’re home.

come home.

Yours,

DAW

———

Apr. 5 - 2010

Princess,

I love you.

Thought I should put that in one of these. Been crossing it out, but yesterday I saw this old couple in the park. Then I saw two graves, right next to each other, and I thought about how we’re never gonna get that. Not the graves thing (can you die? Don’t know why I’m asking. You don’t know.) but next to each other. Forever.

That sounds gross. Not gross. Creepy. There’s a fancy word you used for creepy.

Morbid. Word was morbid. Looked it up. Sammy left me his laptop, used that. He’s gonna be so pissed, I wiped the whole thing because the bitch never told me his passwords after he caught me looking at doing something. Don’t ask him what. He’s a liar. Can’t be trusted. And if he says they looked like you, he only saw it for like, 3 seconds. And he’s a liar. Tell him he’s a liar.

Say anything. Stop disappearing. =

Spilled my drink again. Sorry, baby. You can still read it. I hope. My handwriting isn’t great, but I also flunked high school.

I was talking about the grave. And old people. Point is, I love you. I want to be old with you. I think you’d look hot old. You always look hot. And I’d die first. I’d have to die first, because I can’t fucking do this twice. You did it twice, but you’ve always been better than me. I told you I don’t know how you didn’t kill someone. And I know you’ve never felt the thing (mentioned it last week. 18th? You’ll work it out) but shit. This sucks. Sucks ass. Hurts and sucks fucking balls and ass.

So I love you. Point of this one is I love you. All the way down, Princess. Love you.

Yours,

DAW

———

Apr. 11 - 2010

Princess,

Went to a bar last night. Going to bars most nights. I’d say it was just for hustling, but there not really anything to lie for. You’re not here. If I get you back, I don’t even know if you’ll ever read these. Point is, bar. They had a big Indiana Jones poster on the wall. Tested the Shirley Temples for you, too. You’d like it. I’ll take you there, when you get home.

You gotta come home.

I don’t know where I’m going, Princess. I miss you. Think about you all the time. Need you.

These letters all sound the same. Sorry. Never done this before, but you know that.

I hope you know that. Shit, I hope you never thought I didn’t want you. I know I sleep slept around a lot, but I only ever loved you. Fuck, Princess, I call your name when I have sex and I think about that apple pie life with you. Promised Sammy I’d have it, with you, after he went into the cage. Always thought I’d end up making you a house, getting you a ring, marrying you. We’d have a good wedding. You’d plan it, but I’d help. I’d want to help. I’d try to help, and you’d make me stop cause you’re bossy. But you’d do it better anyway. You’d look hot in the dress, and I’d wear a nice suit that doesn’t have any blood on it, then we’d get married. Go somewhere nice and sunny for our honeymoon.

I’ve had a lot of dreams about that honeymoon, Princess. Could do a whole separate letter about it.

But I mostly just have a lot of dreams about you.

This one is my favorite.

We get married. Live together, and no monsters come knocking. God never takes you. I give you kids. I’d like five, it’s a good number, but just one would make me the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet. If it’s gotta be one, I always hoped it was a girl. She’d look just like you, but I think she’d have my taste in music. She’d like Star Wars, too. Uncle Sammy would watch it with her (he’d try to be uncle sam, but you wouldn’t let that happen) and Grandpa Bobby would teach her about cars because she’s too cool to talk to her dad about it.

You give me nothing back, by the way. You’ve given enough, baby girl.

And I promised Sammy I’d at least give you this, but you jumped in the cage. And I know you saved the world, but fucking Christ, shouldn’t have been you. I don’t know why it always has to be you. It’s some fucking bullshit.

And you’d tell me it has to be you and i’d say it doesn’t then you say it does.

I’d never make it you.

I bought that box I mentioned. Last month? Can’t remember. You’ll check. Couldn’t find pink. Got gold and purple. Looks fancy. You’d like it.

Yours,

DAW

——

Apr. 24 - 2010

Princess,

I keep looking at the stupid box. It’s gold. I think I told you that, last time I wrote about it. But it’s golden.

You said I was golden. That you’ve never seen another golden soul.

There are a lot of souls in the world. Lot of people. I can’t be only golden one, but you weren’t lying. I know when you do.

Maybe you’ve just never seen another one.

I never asked you why souls are different colors. The internet doesn’t know. Just got a lot of ads for psychics. Was fucking bullshit.

Your soul would’ve been a pretty color. Like the stars.

Yours,

DAW

——

May. 3 - 2010

Princess,

I broke the mirror. I’m sorry. I love you.

Yours,

DAW

——

That was a fucking shit one. Short.

It was all he could think. All he could manage, with his head spinning and the pen in his hand heavier than a gun.

Dean stumbled over to the little box—purple and gold and sort of glowing, as car headlights shifted through the room, fucking taunting him—and shoved the letter inside.

The whole room smelled like vomit. His shirt smelled like mud and beer.

He didn’t give a shit, as he passed out with a breath of Her name on his lips.

She was on the edge of the mattress in Boston. Dean on his knees before Her, their gazes locked as he slowly pushed up, and kissed Her.

And he’d had this nightmare so many times before. This was the part where all Her features were supposed to twist into ugly mold, before She’d melt into dirty water and seep into the floor. Then Dean be left holding nothing. Left alone.

But it had changed, the past few months.

Now, the floor opened. Right down into the cage. And a noose wrapped around Dean’s neck and yanked him up, suspended in the air. And he caught Her before she could fall, but he wasn’t strong enough.

He was never strong enough.

She slipped through his fingers, and fell into the darkness without a scream. Without a trace. And this was the part where cage was supposed to close, and Dean was supposed to rip up the floorboards and find Sammy’s body. But it didn’t. The cage kept turning below him, and from the very depths of it-

She was screaming. Her voice torn through the world, rattled Dean’s skull and heart and blew the roof clean off the world until the sky was hanging over them, and She kept screaming.

His name.

She was screaming for Dean. And a sound like a toll bell split the air, marring her words but not enough for him to miss the pain in Her voice. And he couldn’t get to Her. No matter how loud he roared back, how hard he fought against the noose, Dean was stuck here. Alone. Nothing but him and the sky, listening to Her scream.

He jolted up in bed, groaning at the throbbing headache and twist of his stomach, and that bell was still pounding around his skull-

Not a bell.

Phone. His phone was tossed off to the edge of his mattress, and it was ringing.

He didn’t pick it up immediately. Dean groaned, forced himself upright, and tried not to vomit again from the smell of everything. The bile in the trash can. The stains on his shirt. His damn breath. If She walked through the door right now, he wouldn’t be able to kiss Her. Hell, even if his hallucination of Her appeared, he wouldn’t want it to see him. He didn’t need that broken mirror to know he looked like shit.

But it didn’t show up. She didn’t. Dean was too sober for that. It might be smart to shower, though. Just in case. And he needed to get on the road, because the case was done and staying in one town too long was dangerous. It meant he learned bars. Alleys. Where he could get a drink that would make him pass out, and a spot no one would find him in. And Dean might be worth less than nothing, but Baby wasn’t. The phone had stopped ringing. He could force himself into a quick shower, just to not stink up the upholstery-

It started ringing again. The sound sent a new bolt of pain through Dean’s skull, and he gripped the bridge of his nose with a groan. He didn’t want to do this. Not today, of all damn days. Could’ve been yesterday. Or tomorrow. But he’d had big plans involving skipping down, locking himself in the bathroom, and drinking until She appeared in front of him, and he only remembered how to whisper Her name.

But the phone keeping going, and Dean had to grab at the sheets, just to see who the hell was bothering him.

Called ID - Unknown

Dean frowned, his skin feeling tight from the motion. He got a lot of calls from hidden numbers, just because of hunting. But everyone who would call him was dead, or wasn’t speaking to him.

He could just leave it. Block the number if it tried to call back.

But a voice in his head murmured that it could be Her and Sammy. Out of the cage and needing Dean. Calling him to come get them.

He picked up the call. And his heart spiked for a second at the woman’s voice, but dropped back into the pit a split second later. It wasn’t Her.

“Am I speaking to Dean Winchester?”

He grunted, frowning at a stain on the carpet. He didn’t remember making that, but it looked a lot like the mushy pretzels he’d eaten at the bar. “Who’s asking.”

“Jody Mills, Sioux Falls Sheriff’s department.”

Dean’s gaze shot off the stain. “Sioux Falls?”

“Yeah,” the woman—Jody—paused slightly. “You heard of it?”

“I, uh- Yeah. Sorta. Lady, I don’t know what you want, but I haven’t been to South Dakota in three months, so-“

“Where are you now?”

Dean scowled. “East. And unless you got something to throw at me-“

“I’m just callin’ to tell you that Bobby Singer needs you here.”

Bobby.

Fuck.

Dean shot to his feet, the room spinning, but he pushed through it. Wasn’t anything left to throw up anyway. “Shit, what happened to him- Don’t put him in an ambulance, he can’t afford it- But there should be insurance cards in the Firebird outside-“

“He’s not injured.” Jody cut him off, and a slightly weight lifted. “I might just be best for you to be here. You know I, uh- I don’t know your relation to Bobby. Would be nice to, before I ask you to drive across states for him.”

“Yeah, uh-“ Dean paused. He’d been trying to put his shoes on the wrong foot, and he couldn’t fucking think over the pain in his head, but- “I’m his son.”

“Son? With a different last name?”

“It’s complicated.” He muttered, grabbing his bag—the box safely tucked inside—and the keys. “I’m in Oklahoma. Be there tonight. And-“ He paused, wincing at the harsh daylight. “Jody, right?”

The woman hummed, and Dean sighed.

“Is he okay?”

There was a pause, then, “I think it’s best if you see yourself, Dean. Drive safe.”

The line went dead, and Dean let out a long, slow breath. He could do this. See Bobby.

Driving safe sounded a little out of the question—no more Sammy, telling him to slow down—but he’d get there. Where Bobby needed him.

It was a blur, the hours driving through field to South Dakota. It didn’t matter how loud Dean turned up the music, he still couldn’t really hear it over the blood in his ears. Bobby was—probably, physically—fine. Jody—small, sturdy looking woman Dean vaguely recognized from the city—was pacing on the lawn when Dean pulled up, but everything was fine. Or whatever fine meant now, where no one new was gone, and Dean didn’t just twist Baby off a cliff to try and feel that.

“You Dean?” Jody called across the lawn as Dean got out of the car, and he nodded.

“Yeah. Where-“

“Inside.”

Dean made for the door—his gun in his jeans, just in case—and Jody caught his arm. She was strong, for a small lady. And when Dean glared at her, she didn’t even flinch.

Jody scanned over Dean slowly, and her nose scrunched. “You smell like Bobby.”

“Thanks.” Dean gave her a mocking grin, then jerked his head to the door. “Can I go do the thing I drove ten damn hours for?”

Jody ignored him. “You know, I’ve known Bobby Singer for a long time. Few years ago, he helped me out with this thing that happened, my husband and dem-“ She shook her head, laughing softly. “Never mind. Point is, I had a problem, he helped me solve it. He was a drunk, but a good man. Smart. You grow fond of him, if he doesn’t shoot you first.” Jody’s eyes narrowed on Dean. “But something changed, February. And I’ve seen you around before, Dean. But not since Singer went off the deep end.”

“Off the deep end?”

“It a miracle if he gets himself home at night.” Jody muttered, and the pit in Dean split a little further open.

“He lost his daughter.” Dean muttered. “It’s been rough.”

Jody hummed, giving Dean’s appearance a pointed look. “His daughter? Not your sister?”

He let out a dry laugh, because if he didn’t, he’d vomit again. “No. Not my sister. Told you, it’s complicated.”

“I’d imagine.” Jody didn’t waver, and Dean felt like he was folding. He didn’t want to talk about it. The whole point of the letter was that he never had to talk about it with anyone but Her. “It your brother, that went in the cage with Bobby’s kid?”

Dean stood up a little taller. “You know about-“

“Yeah.” She sighed. “Was tryin’ to see if you knew.”

“How-“

“Bobby gets loose lipped, when he drinks. And y’know. Demons. Angels.” She shrugged. “Not that far a stretch. C’mon.”

Jody finally let go of him, nodding to the door, and Dean pushed it open carefully.

This wasn’t the house he’d left. It wasn’t in a state of ruin, but trash and beer on the floor and Jody was right. The smell was strong enough to make Dean retch slightly, and he’d been wallowing in it for months. It was a miracle Jody was upright, let alone talking like this was just another-

“It’s been like this,” Dean gestured around. “Since I left?”

Jody nodded, kicking a bottle and watching it roll away. “Pretty much, yeah. But this morning, and the days leading up? Worst I’ve seen it. Wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t know his own name.”

Dean sighed, glancing up the stairs. He’d hadn’t had the wheelchair thing removed, and the wheelchair itself was still in the hall. Like he wasn’t expecting the whole walking thing to last.

He started up the stairs without looking back, and this time Jody let him go. Dean knew why today was worse than usual. And he’d explain later, if Jody asked. If Bobby didn’t kick him out on his sorry ass, cause Dean would bet Jody hadn’t asked him if Dean was welcome. His money was on Bobby drunkenly groaning his name, and Jody being desperate for anything to help his state.

Because Dean wasn’t so much shocked by the scene in Her room—once their’s, now empty, and a new wave of emptiness crashed over him—as he was surprised it wasn’t worse. It could be. It could so damn easily be more than Bobby on the floor, Her phone on his knee—playing some song Dean knew she loved—and old drawings in shaking hands. It smelled better than the rest of the house, but Bobby had also lit Her cinnamon apple candle in the corner. And it wasn’t beer, scattered over the room.

Just one, half empty bottle of absinthe.

Dean took it, and gave himself a strong swig as he dropped at Bobby’s side. “May 4th, huh.”

Bobby grunted, not looking up from the drawing at the top of his pile. Dean had seen that one before. The stick figures of Her and Bobby, the grass golden and clouds red and sun white.

Dean could see it again. Little hands, gripping crayons like knives and scribbling on the papers. Any further comments died in his throat. If he spoke, he’d break. So he just took another deep drink of the absinthe, and prayed the burn would make the sting behind his eyes fade.

It didn’t.

But Bobby broke the silence for him.

“She hated that today was her birthday.” Bobby muttered, voice hoarse. “We got cupcakes for her twelfth, some jackass said that Star Wars thing to her at checkout. I thought her little head was gonna explode. Started talkin’ about how if she wanted to watch a western, she’d do it properly. None of that space shit.”

Dean chuckled. The absinthe wasn’t going to be strong enough. “She said space shit when she was twelve?”

“I had a unique parentin’ style.” Bobby muttered, holding out his free hand. Dean passed the bottle, and Bobby sighed. “She tell you her birthday?”

“Nah. Found out in 08’. Jo told me I couldn’t die, cause it would be right after her birthday. Tried not to think about it.” He frowned at the air, voice dropping slightly. “Was gonna get her a dinner, if I survived. Properly celebrate it, cause she as shit doesn’t. Then in 09’-“

“Jo.” Bobby sighed. “Died. Right before.”

“Fuck, she did. Guess she’s never had the best luck, huh.”

Bobby was silent for a second, and then he finally looked at Dean. Bloodshot eyes and reddened skin, no worse than Dean himself, but time wasn’t on Bobby’s side. His hairs were grayer. Skin sagged slightly, likely from lack of sleep. And Dean tried to give him a grimacing smile, but it didn’t come out right. It couldn’t. This was what he hadn’t wanted to see.

His own pain, reflected right back at him. The reminder that he’d failed, he’d fucking failed, and now everything was going to be worse forever.

“She had you.”

Dean blinked, and Bobby’s voice had been rough, but not a mocking drawl. Real. Sincere.

“And don’t tryin’ lie to me and say that just friends bullshit. Or even just kissin’. You worshipped the ground she walked on, Dean. I ain’t stupid.”

“I- I didn’t-“

“Dean-“

“She didn’t have me.” Dean’s words were tight, and he could feel it. Pushing up through the pit, tearing him at a little more than the seams and festering to the right of his heart. “I lost her, Bobby. Her and Sammy, they both fell in on my watch-“

“On your watch.” Bobby scoffed. “They were grown. Grown fuckin’ idjits, but grown.”

Dean shook his head. “You’re the one who said I let them-“

“I was wrong.”

Dean blinked. “But-“

“I was wrong, Dean. I’d lost my daughter. Sent her off to fight Lucifer like she wasn’t-“ Bobby looked back to the paintings, and his grip on them tightened. “I was mad. I ain’t mad anymore.”

Dean nodded slowly, staring at the drawing. She drawn Herself with a smile, skin silver and hair matted on her head in what Dean guessed were supposed to be braids. She’d been young. So young.

She’d still been young. Sammy had been young too. Dean was the oldest. He was supposed to watch out for them.

But Bobby was older. And Dad had issues, but he’d still traded his life for Dean’s.

Bobby hadn’t even gotten the chance. So when he was passed the bottle, Dean took it, and settle further into the carpet. The room, when he took a deep, deep breath, still smelled like Her. He could almost hear Her voice—even though he’d never actually heard her sing—belting along with the song coming from the player. And Dean wasn’t made anymore either.

He was just lost.

“You look like shit,” Bobby grunted after a while, and Dean snorted.

“You’re not better, old man.”

“Least I don’t gotta look pretty. You gonna meet her like that, if you get ‘er back?”

“You think she’s-“

“I think I know you, Dean.” Bobby gave him a flat look. “And I told ya. You ain’t gonna fool me.”

Dean swallowed, his gaze falling to the carpet. She’d loved this carpet. “Nothing’s working, Bobby.”

“So you’re gonna give up?”

“I didn’t say that-“

Bobby cut him off with a sigh. “I know. I’ve been lookin’, and there’s really damn nothing. Cas ain’t helpful, either. Feathery dumbass just healed me and left. He better be workin’ on something too.”

Dean grunted, and the silence settled once more. He missed Her. He had been trying, but it was harder without Her and Sammy here. Harder when every damn demon and monster went running at his name, and the ones who didn’t were smug idiots who deserved to be murdered. Most of his days were blood, and She’d always been careful not to let things stain books. Sammy would hate blood in his laptop.

He’d rather have them back, and pissed at him.

But he’d also, secretly, been thinking that one day he’d get a phone call from Bobby saying they got it. That Dean just needed to show up, do whatever was needed—spill blood, take a rib from his chest, kill something then prepare it with some magic sauce, get ready to trade himself into the cage in their place—and it would be done. They’d be home.

He still wouldn’t give up. It’s why he wrote the letters, so—if She wanted—She could have them when she came home.

When.

They’d have to come home. They’d have to. Have to. Son of a bitch, it didn’t sound like words anymore, but they’d have to-

“Have you thought about it?” Dean muttered, watching the absinthe swirl in the bottle. A few more, then he’d at least see fake Her again. “What happens if they don’t come back?”

The silence was too long again. And it was the first time he’d said it aloud. That they might not. That this could be forever.

They had to.

But that didn’t mean shit if Dean couldn’t figure out how.

“We keep goin’.” Bobby grunted. “Make sure they didn’t go for nothin’.”

“You think you’d be able to- Do anything?”

Bobby sighed. “No.”

“Yeah.” Dean sighed, and finished the bottle. “Me neither?”

“Fuckin’- Balls.” Bobby sighed, setting down the drawings carefully on the carpet. “You want dinner?”

Dean blinked. “You- I can just go-“

“Nah. If we’re doin’ nothing, least we can do for them is waste away together. And don’t say no, Dean. My daughter’s locked up in hell. Be nice to me.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but didn’t fight back. He hadn’t eaten proper food in a while, and he’d had too much to drive anyway.

And dinner was easy. They didn’t talk about it. Outside of that—the strange moment in Her bedroom—Dean didn’t know how. But Bobby had said he wasn’t pissed at Dean anymore, and he’d take it. And Jody had stayed for dinner, not saying anything when Bobby and Dean walked down the stairs, and managing to stick to the unspoken no hunting talk rule at the table. Dean liked her. She was smart. Practical. Didn’t take shit. And she gave a pretty firm handshake, when she left for the night.

“You stayin’ on the couch?” Bobby grunted over the dishes, and Dean shrugged.

“I can.”

That was it. But Dean didn’t stay on the couch.

He stared at the ceiling for about three hours, then gave up. Tossed the itchy, woolen blanket onto the floor and snuck upstairs. It took another two hours, to clean everything. Change Her sheets, do her laundry, organize the shit the way She’d want it. And he didn’t deserve to sleep in Her bed. Not when he’d let other women touch him. Not when he’d lost Her. But he sat on the mattress, Her apple smell overwhelmed him—he had no damn clue how it was so strong, She’d been gone months—and he passed out.

Bobby didn’t mention it, in the morning. Didn’t ask Dean when he was leaving, either. Just passed him a beer, grunted that he’d set aside and gone through all the angel books, but second eyes never hurt. And Dean nodded, shuffled to the library, and stayed. That day, and night. Then the next. Then the next after that.

And it hurt, to see all the places She and Sammy used to be. But it also hurt to breathe air that they couldn’t. Listen to music, when he couldn’t look over and see Sam’s pinched bitch-face. Watch TV when he couldn’t try to pull Her half into his lap. See colors, water, sunlight, when Dean knew all too well there wasn’t any down there.

At the very least, Dean could still see Her.

“You look tired, De.”

He sighed, frowning at the wrench in his hand. At least She only popped up when Bobby was around. Dean didn’t really want to explain just how insane he’d actually gone.

“You wanna order pie from that pastry place, later?”

Dean’s mouth twitched, and he looked up to see Her. No fancy or formal outfits. Just Her. Jacket and shiny hair and knife, twirling in Her hands. It knocked the air clean out of his lungs. And he really didn’t think that was ever going to get better.

“We can get the cherry one. Even though it’s too gooey.”

Dean let out a soft chuckle, his grip on the wrench growing painful. He couldn’t touch Her. Couldn’t run his thumb down Her nose, or tuck hair behind Her ears. But son of a bitch, he wanted to. Needed to. Couldn’t.

“You look beautiful.” He muttered, and She flushed. Parted lips. Hitched breath.

He was worse than a damned man. But this was just fucking cruel.

“You look pretty too.”

“Nothing to you, Princess.” He looked back to Baby. “I miss you.”

“Why? I’m right here.”

———

May. 7 - 2010

Princess,

Been thinking about your birthday a lot. Wish you’d told me about it sooner, but I didn’t tell you about my. We’ll call it even. Least you never died on my birthday, right?

I don’t know how you put up with me, sweetheart. Damn near punched myself for that one.

You did a lot for my birthday. Pie and cake. Presents. Kissed me. That was my favorite part. Wanted to tell you there, but I didn’t know how. Fuck, I don’t know how here. I think I could write a whole paper that was just l love you, and you still wouldn’t get it.

I do. Love you.

Would’ve gotten you ice cream cake. Two. Cas would flip his shit about ice cream cake, and you’d try to give him all of yours. Then we could go to a bookstore, and I’d buy you whatever you want. Actually, Kevin Brown would’ve bought you whatever you want. But I’m the one who stole his card. I get the credit.

Don’t know what I’d get you for a gift. Might have too many ideas. Think we could go on a trip. You never travelled just to travel, sweetheart. I think you’d like Canada, or Yellowstone. We’d get one of those fancy hotels. I know you hate camping.

Yours,

DAW

———

May. 16 - 2010

Princess,

I think Bobby’s got a crush. There’s a sheriff that comes around, and he sort of acts like an idiot. Wish I could ask you what Bobby with a crush looks like. Otherwise I think I need to worry about him having a stroke.

Not much else to report, I guess. I’m still looking for a way to get you out, but everything’s coming up empty. It’s just a cage. Can’t be that hard to open.

I’ll get it. Pinky promise. Now that Bobby’s talking to me, we’ll get it.

The house is still trashed, but I’ve been keeping your room clean. You’re gonna be so pissed, though. Everywhere else smells like beer. I smell like beer. I’ll take a million showers though. Use that fancy sugar scrub, if you want.

I bought you more of it. Was cleaning the bathroom, saw yours was almost empty.

Yours,

DAW

———

It was past one in the morning, when he finished the letter. And he couldn’t sleep. It was the two-year date of him going to hell, and at least on the last one, he’d had Sammy. Now it was just him, the dead of night, and a smell of fruit, hanging in the air.

Stronger than he’d smelled it in months. Eden Apples. He’d never stood a chance of guessing. He’d never been to paradise.

But he’d lived with Her. And She was better than paradise. The idea of Paradise couldn’t wrap around him in the dark. Didn’t wear his shirt and nothing more. Never made him a pillow fort in its bedroom, just so they could play pretend everything would be okay.

The idea of Paradise couldn’t kiss Dean, and make the most beautiful sounds in the world.

Only She could.

And he was going to suffocate in it. How the room smelled like Her—even more so, with all the booze cleared—but She wasn’t here.

He sat up with a grunt, and shuffled outside. Just a walk. Maybe a drive-

Not that. Midnight drives were for Her. Doing them alone was pointless.

He’d do a walk. The cold of the wind—harsher from the rain last night—reminded him that he was alive. He could work with it.

He thought he could.

But it was dark. And Dean was tired. He stumbled through the junkyard, not sure where he was going, and realized he’d stopped where he’d probably always been bound to end up.

The Firebird.

It was in better shape, than he’d thought it would be. Bobby must have been driving it, when he wasn’t drunk. Bobby had been driving it, because Dean open the door and almost knocked out by the smell. Under it was still Her apple. But, Christ, She’d be pissed if she came back and her car smelled like booze. Dean should check under the hood, while he was here. Rotate it’s tires, too-

It’s.

His.

She’d said Her car was a he. That She’d named him, and was waiting for the right time to tell Dean.

He still didn’t know.

And for some, stupid goddamn reason, that’s what broke him. Dean sunk down to the mud of the yards—his legs didn’t want to support him anymore, and he understood that, he didn’t either—and there was an iron like grip over his chest, sinking claws into his chest until it stung, making everything burn and his breathing labored.

He’d made Her this car, and unless he figured something out, they’d both just waste away to rust. He’d promised Sammy, and Bobby, and his goddamn self that he wouldn’t lose Her, then he had. And then he’d run. He’d fucking run, like he’d made Her promise She wouldn’t. He was a goddamn hypocrite, and he didn’t have a single goddamn way to get Her back. Even if he did, he’d never have another moment like the one where he’d given Her the Firebird. She couldn’t look at him the same, knowing how he’d gone off and done all the shit She hated, while she was gone. Drinking and the sex he’d stopped having—just for Her—the moment She was gone. She’d want to leave him. Fuck, Dean wanted to leave him. And Her other option would be fucking God-

God.

Dean looked up to the clear, night sky, and narrowed his eyes.

God could fucking do something about it. She was supposed to be his bride. Dean would dig his way to Hell with bare hands, if he thought it would work. The least God could do was fucking something.

“I know you’re listening.” Dean muttered, glowering at the stars, words painful in his throat. “You’re God. I’m praying. That’s the deal, right? You gotta listen. And if you’re not, you better start now.” He took a deep breath, rubbing the lingering tears from his eyes. “I want her back. I don’t care if she’s your bride, I want her back. And if she’s your bride, you’ll bring her back. You can’t love her and just leave her in there. I wouldn’t. And I need her. I- I need her. I fuckin’-“ Breathing was hard again. He’d push through it. “I love her. Son of a bitch, I love her. So bring her back.”

Nothing. The sky remained silent, and Dean wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Maybe to be smited on the spot. But that would’ve meant God was listening, and he wasn’t.

Nobody had heard Dean say he loved Her aloud.

Nobody had heard him at all.

“Dean.”

His gaze shot up, and Cas tilted his head, scanning over Dean with a frown.

“Why are you in the dirt.”

“Shit year, Cas.” Dean muttered, pushing to his feet. “What’re you doing here, I haven’t heard from you since you declared it was impossible to save them and fucked off-“

“You didn’t call.” Cas grunted, narrowing his gaze. “And now is not the-“

“I’m not supposed to call, Cas, you’re supposed to let me know you’re still fuckin’ alive-“

“I am alive.” Cas snapped, voice raising. “And so is Sam.”

Dean froze. The world froze. There was a high ringing in his ears, and he wanted to have heard Cas right, but if he hadn’t-

“He appeared in Kansas. The earth shook and cried, and Sam Winchester appeared. All angels felt it. We’re lucky I was fast, otherwise Raphael might have gotten to him first”. Cas muttered Her name, and Dean might be able to feel all the blood in his body go cold. “She hasn’t been spotted, but I am looking.”

Dean swallowed. He felt sort of sick. “And Sam-“

“In the house. But Dean-“

He didn’t wait for Cas to finish his sentence. Dean ran to the house—ignoring the shouts of his name, he could be walking into a damn volcano, and he’d keep going, as long as Sammy was there—and slammed through the door.

Bobby was hovered over the couch, a tight frown on his face. And he glanced up as Dean sprinted over, letting out a slow sigh.

“Don’t be loud, Dean. You’ll spook ‘im.”

“Spook-“

Dean’s words died in his throat.

Sammy.

He looked so damn small. Still a goddamn giant, but curled into himself the way he’d done before he’d said yes to Lucifer, after Ruby, when he’d been kids and come crying to Dean about a nightmare Dad wouldn’t care to hear about. But this wasn’t a temporary, fleeting fear.

Sam looked like a feral, baby animal. Nothing but low whines and groans leaving his throat, wincing away when Dean reached out to touch him.

“Sammy,” Dean muttered, and Sam didn’t even move. “It’s just me-“

Sam shrank away, and Dean didn’t know what the hell to do.

“I healed all his physical injuries.” Cas muttered. “And this seems to be a best-case scenario. His soul is not broken, just- Fractured. But I- I do not have a way to heal it.”

“How the hell did he get out,” Bobby grunted, and Cas sighed.

“I don’t know. The cage is strong. Too strong for Lucifer to break out. And with-“ Cas sighed Her name. “If someone meddled with it, we would have known.”

“What.” Dean muttered. “Angels got an alert on Hell-quakes-“

“As I’ve told you before, Dean.” Cas shot him a glare. “We means you as well. It would be world ending. You would know, because you would be dead.”

Dean swallowed, and Bobby sighed.

“Fine. Sam’s out. Don’t know how, but he is. Now what.”

“I suggest an anesthetic.” Cas muttered. “The damage to his soul is… not good.”

Dean raised his brows. “Not good?”

“It is all I could think of-“

“Cas.” Bobby grunted. “What’s an anesthetic.”

“I don’t know.”

“The hell you mean, you don’t know-“

“I am not powerful enough to change a sould, Dean. They’re like tiny suns-“

“You’re a freakin’ angel-“

Bobby grunted Her name, and Cas’ flinch might have been identical to Dean’s. It hurt to hear. He kept expecting Her to walk around the corner—the real Her, not his illusion—and sit at Sam’s side. He wouldn’t shy away from Her. And She’d fix it-

Son of a bitch.

Dean echoed Her name. “Her spells. Bobby, you don’t think-“

“Can’t hurt.” Bobby grunted.

And it couldn’t.

She had a spell for it. Dean didn’t have a damn clue why, but after hours of Sammy groaning on the couch and Cas translating Her Enochian, they found it. A soul blocker.

And Dean didn’t think about it, as Cas rested his finger’s on Sam’s brow—coated in pure wildflower honey and the ashes of a jackal—and read out the spell.

He didn’t think about what soul blocker meant, as Sam’s body relaxed, and his eyes slowly opened. Landed on Dean’s, as they all held their breath.

“Dean?” He muttered, and Dean gave him a small, sad smile.

“Hey, Sammy.”

Sam blinked around, frowning at the state of the house, that was all that mattered. Dean had Sam back, so he didn’t think about it.

But he should have.

Because he’d gotten Sam back, but he didn’t have Sammy. Soul blocker was exactly what it sounded like.

Sam didn’t have his goddamn soul.

———

Jun. 6 - 2010

Princess,

Something’s wrong with Sammy.

He doesn’t got his soul. I mean, he sort of does. It’s in there. But that spell of yours, the one I told you Cas used? It’s like he doesn’t have a soul at all. Need to ask you why the hell you’d ever make that. Wanted to ask Cas, see if he could at least tell what all your other Enocian shit said. (Don’t think I’m spelling that right. Angel language).

But I haven’t really seen Cas since Sam got back. When he does show up, it’s never good news. Sort of wish I could have one visit where he’d be there to just get a damn beer or some shit. Want to make him try frozen yogurt. He’d make a face. You know the one.

Last time I saw him, he was just checking that your spell was holding on Sam. It is. But goddamnit, sweetheart. Sam’s not Sam. I know I keep telling you that, but you wouldn’t recognize him. He doesn’t sleep. Barely eats. Yesterday, I was pretty damn sure he was going to leave me for dead on a hunt. I’m fine, though. Just a wendigo. And I got myself out just fine.

Cas told me he thinks you’d be able to help Sam. That when you get out, you can use your magdalin magdaleen magdalane thing to fix him. (I know I didn’t spell that right. Only ever seen it in Enochian. Really need to ask Cas to translate everything for me.) (And you’re getting out.)

I’ve been looking at your notebooks. Can’t read them, think I just like seeing them. Means you were actually real. Didn’t just dream you up or something. There’s that one word you always write, over and over. It looks like it was important to you. Wish I knew what it meant.

Yours,

DAW

———

Jul. 13 - 2010

Princess,

I’ve been drinking less. Sorta.

I’m not blacking out anymore. Still enough see you though. Today you showed up wearing this fancy dress. It was shiny. Your hair was done like a movie star. You looked gorgeos hot.

You always do. Never seen anything prettier than you, baby. Sometimes I really do think I made you up in my head.

I’m trying to think of a way to tell you. You know I’m not great with that shit. But I think about you and I think about all the good things I’ve ever seen. Sunsets. Stars. That garden Sammy and I visited as kids. Grand Canyon. Ocean. My car.

I love you.

Can’t stop drinking all together. I’ll stop seeing you. But I promise I meant it. Haven’t touched Bobby’s absinthe. I remember most days now. And nights. Have to. Can’t risk someone telling me how to get you out, but I’m too drunk to remember.

We still don’t know how the hell Sammy got back. Didn’t tell anyone about the praying to God thing, but I don’t think it was that. He doesn’t owe me any favors, and I sorta told him I was going to try and steal his wife.

But you’re not his wife. Not my wife, either, but I’d treat you better. I’ve told you, baby. I’d make you a house and give you the world. I’m trying to get you out. God’s doing shit. Don’t care if he’s all powerful, I’d love you better. He can give you everything and have more left over, like the Monopoly man. I’m just an asshole, but I’d be your asshole.

I keep praying to Cas, and he shows up just to tell me he’s got nothing. Raphael’s people have been looking into it too. Everyone has. Not every day someone jailbreaks an atomic bomb, and Cas says it should’ve been impossible.

I think it was you. Think Bobby does too. (Cas won’t tell me what he thinks.)

Cause I know you, baby. I know you’d get Sammy out before yourself. I know you’d try to help him. I know you’d leave yourself in there.

Wish you fucking wouldn’t. And I don’t know why you didn’t break yourself out after. You can get Sammy out, you can get yourself out. That’s why Sam doesn’t think it was you, but he also doesn’t remember any of it. His time in the cage. If you guys were in there together, or if they split you up. I don’t know how big the cage is. I hope it’s huge. Hope you’re hiding, giving Lucifer and Michael a run for their money.

Cas says they can’t hurt you. That you’re the Bride of God, so Michael and Lucifer can’t lay a hand on you. I don’t trust it. They hurt Sam. They’ve gotta be doing something to you.

I’ll be here, when you’re back. No matter what. You get back to me broken up and all nutty like Sam, I’ll be here. Come back without a soul, I’ll still love you. Even if you don’t come back at all, I’ll love you.

But you need to come back.

Please.

If you’re the one who broke Sammy out, come home. I’d do anything.

Yours,

DAW

———

Aug. 22 - 2010

Princess,

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Yours,

DAW

———

Sep. 24 - 2010

Princess,

I’m worried about you. Down there alone. Sam’s still got nothing for me. I asked him last night, what he thinks Michael and Lucifer are doing to you. He was a dick about it. Started telling me about how he doesn’t remember, and he doesn’t really care.

I punched him. Hurt my hand. He’s built like a brick wall.

But he’s really not Sam anymore, baby. Don’t got another way to put it. Sam would’ve said I needed to stop torturing myself, thinking about you. That’s what Bobby’s said. That I’m not helping either of us, trying to work out what kind of pain you’re in.

Can’t stop it, though. Think about you (always think about you) and then it just. Happens. Wake up and think about you not in bed with me. Eat breakfast and think about what you’d want from the diner. Sam says something psycho, think about what kind of face you’d make. You always make good faces. Think the word is expressive.

Now I’m thinking about how touching you. Think about that, too. A fuck ton. Always thought about it. I wanna see how your lips would look swollen, see if you’d do the fluttery thing when you came. If I tell you I love you, and your lips do the thing. Don’t know how to describe it. But it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, when you get all sweet and nervous about it. You get this flush, too. Your breath does this little thing, and it’s awesome. You’re awesome.

I love you. Like to think when I tell you that you’ll do all the things, instead of kicking my ass to the curb.

Don’t kick me to the curb I’d show you I love you, if you didn’t believe me. Think about that all the time. Then I think about kissing that scar on your stomach. One the hell’s assassins gave you, cause I wasn’t fast enough. Then I either think about you saying my name and begging me to touch you, or

I think about something else. Scar makes me think about failing you. Then the cage.

Ends the same. Worried about you. Bobby can tell me to stop all he wants, we both know I won’t. Not until you’re home and safe.

Still trying to drink less. I’m at a bar right now. Had three beers. Less than last night. Probably gonna have two more though. Back in the motel. Sam’s got this blonde chick all over him, think they’re leaving together.

Whatever. More time I get to talk to you. Last time you were wearing one of my shirts. Hope you do that again, when you appear.

Hope you stay this time. Would be real nice if I opened the door, and it was just you. The real you.

I got a plan. Less stupid than the last one. Maybe I’ll see you, when I open that door.

Yours,

DAW

———

Dean tucked the letter in his pocket and let out a long, slow breath. Sam gave him a small nod from across the bar, and Dean understood. That was the most of a signal he was going to get, that he’d be alone for the night while Sam headed out with the big-eyed blonde girl.

She was looking at Sam like he was some sort of savior, as they left the bar. She had no damn idea the kind of shit Sam had been pulling. Saying. Doing.

Leaving Dean for dead on hunts. Acting like Dean was insane, for wanting to get Her out of the cage. For giving a shit about anything at all. Dean was pretty damn sure he could die, and this Sam would drop his body on the side of the damn road.

He got through it by remembering that this wasn’t Sam. Not real Sam. Real Sam was in there, just blocked. And the two choices seemed to be a broken Sammy, afraid and unable to speak, or a cold, calculating Sam. Uncaring about feelings, sort of a douchebag, rolling his eyes whenever Dean even mentioned Her name, because he didn’t get it.

“She’s just a girl, Dean.” Sam had frowned at him over the table last week, and Dean had almost choked on his beer. “There are a lot of them. There was that redhead, last night. You could’ve gone home with her. Would’ve put you in a better mood.”

“I don’t want a better mood.” Dean had grunted. “I want my girl back.”

“But she was never your girl. You guys kissed like, three times-“

“Six.”

Sam had given him a flat look. “That’s not enough times for you to be acting like this, Dean-“

“Like what?” Dean had snapped. “Like the woman I- That I’ve- Son of a bitch, like she’s not in the cage and I’m up here, and I want her back.”

“Yeah.”

Dean had almost broken the bottle in his hands. “You know, you used to be the asshole telling me to go to her all the time. That when you went in, I should settle down with her.”

“I know.” Sam had shrugged. “But things change, Dean. She’s in there. You’re not. Logically, the best thing to do would be move on.”

He’d had to take a walk. If he didn’t, he’d shoot Sam.

Not Sam. He needed to repeat it over and over, that their Sam would be losing his damn mind with guilt, trying to console Dean while working just as hard to get Her out. And this was better than a broken Sam.

Almost.

Dean hated how this Sam made him more selfish. How this Sam made Dean falter, on the question of is this better. Would he rather have a broken Sam, that would be in pain with him, or this Sam, who wanted to leave Her in the cage to rot. For now the answer was this Sam. At least Dean could tell this Sam we’re getting her out, and he’d roll his eyes but listen. Help. And this Sam made it easier for Dean to not sleep around. There was still all that shattered pain and emptiness in his body, but at least this Sam made him feel something.

Anger. A lot of anger and a sour, sore feeling of unfair. This is so damn unfair. Sam gets to drink and fuck and hunt without remorse, but Dean’s stuck to five drinks a night for a level head, and that’s not nearly drunk enough for his body to allow itself to be touched.

Because Sam leaves, and Dean’s alone at the bar. Glowering at his beer and trying to figure out if it’s worth going back, or just passing out in an alley. He should go back. He’s got Her letter in his pocket, and the box is in the motel, so-

“Hey, handsome.” A smooth, silky voice coos way too close to Dean’s ear, and he tenses. “Drinking all alone?”

Dean didn’t bother to look over. He could see a woman with Her skin tone, features, and hair, and it wouldn’t matter if it wasn’t Her. Even an identical copy wouldn’t have the blinding eyes She did.

He’d rather get back to the motel, and see the Her he couldn’t touch. That was a good form of self-torture. Repentance for touching other women.

“Leaving, actually.” He reached for his wallet, running his thumb over the letter. Just to remind himself it was still there.

But the woman grabbed his arm, and when he shot her a glare, she had a dazzle smile. Straight teeth, perfect makeup, well styled hair.

“C’mon.” She leaned forward, still smirking at Dean in a way he knew well. A promise of more. “Just one drink. I can keep them down. You’ll never see another girl that takes a drink like me.”

Dean didn’t want a girl who could take a drink. He wanted Her.

But the woman took his silence as permission, leaned a little further forward for a kiss, and Dean jumped off the stool like she’d been aiming a burning poker at his face. He was gonna throw up. The place the lady had been holding his arm felt like a brand, and not in the good way. It was boiling and twisting and painful, wrong. And it sank into his skin, because he wasn’t drunk enough to forget.

“Don’t touch me.” He grunted, and the woman blinked at him.

“I’m sorry, I thought-“

He didn’t wait to hear her explain. Dean turned and left the bar, rubbing his arms like he could get the stain away. The lady had been attractive. Obviously not looking for more. Probably good place to unload all his anger and frustration and fear—that cold, unmoving dread that maybe his plans wouldn’t work, maybe he wouldn’t get her back—but he couldn’t.

Dean knew his own name. Knew who he was. Who he loved. So he couldn’t.

And it fucking hurt.

Maybe he could just cut off his hands. Or pull out his heart, so this wouldn’t have to fucking hurt anymore. Find something to wipe his memory clean, so he could just spend one night like Sam lived now. Without feeling. Not caring about anything but himself, and his own pleasure. Never hating himself for all this shit.

It wouldn’t work.

His body would know. Dean could remove his brain all together, and he’d still breathe Her name in his sleep. Something to the right of his heart would keep glowing and straining for Her to come home.

And Dean was so close. He dropped back at the motel to put the letter away, and he had his goddamn plan. He’d get Her out.

Nothing else mattered, but getting Her out.

A year ago, he would’ve begged Sammy to come with him. He’d done it alone one before, and it hadn’t ended in the best way. But Sam had his blonde, and Dean didn’t really have anyone, and if this didn’t work Dead didn’t think he could handle a this was a stupid look. Asking was a gamble. Shit, seeing if he’d show up was a gamble.

But Dean paced the parking lot, garlic fries in hands, frowned up at the sky. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to take a prayer, and if he was, Dean didn’t have a damn clue where to start.

So he raised the fries into the air, squeezed his eyes shut, and cleared his throat.

“Hi. It’s me- Uh, Dean Winchester. You gave me your ring, in January. We sat in a church-“

“I know who you are, Dean Winchester.” A cool voice drifted through the air, and Dean stiffened, a chill running over his skin. “You never returned my ring.”

Dean swallowed, turning slowly to Death watching him with a bored, neutral expression and tilted head. He could do this. Worse that happened was Death killed him. It would be fine.

“You showed.”

“Of course I did.” Death shrugged. “You have my ring.”

“Right, uh-“ Dean fished through his pocket for the ring, holding out the fries. “Got an offering, too. They’re good.”

Death sighed. “Just my ring, I think. Although-“ He titled his head. “I don’t presume you called me just to return it, though. Did you?”

“No.” Dean muttered, bracing himself as he found the cool metal. “I want to make a deal.”

Death’s brows raised. “A deal? Are you going to make me work for the ring I gave you as a very generous loan? When I step on you like an ant?”

“Uh- Yeah.”

“Hm.”

Dean wasn’t dead yet. That was a good sign. Death was only examining him, eyes barely lingering on Dean’s hand in his pocket before they drifted up to the right of his heart, then back to Dean’s nervous expression.

“May I guess,” Death drawled. “What you think you’re going to accomplish here?”

Dean gave a tight nod, and Death sighed.

“You’re going to tell me you’ll give me my ring back, if I break the Bride of God out of Lucifer’s cage. If I don’t, you keep the ring.”

“That’s the general thing, yeah.” Dean tried to raise his chin, but he probably shrank back at the same time. “Is it working?”

“Not at all.” Death drawled. “Although less because I don’t admire your nerve and lack of self-preservation, but more because you’re asking me to do something impossible. The Bride of God cannot be touched by me, just as she cannot touch me. It would disrupt the natural order.”

Fuck.

“If you already knew all that,” Dean muttered. “Then why the hell did you take my call-“

“Because you amuse me, Dean Winchester. In many ways I don’t feel the need to explain, and several I can’t.”

Dean blinked. “Uh- Thanks?”

“You are welcome. It is not every day I get to watch a wisp of dust become the most important thing in the universe.”

Dean frowned, but Death just kept talking.

“By proxy, of course.” Death sighed, leaning forward on his cane. “May I offer you some unsolicited advice, Dean?”

“If you tell me to move on-“

“Oh, there would be no use in telling you that. You can’t. No, you should try drinking rainwater, salting the earth, then spitting on the ground, in Lebanon, Kansas. Or San Francisco, California. I’d recommend Newfoundland and Labrador, but I do not believe you have a passport, or the time.”

Dean blinked. “What?”

“There are point on Earth where the barriers between worlds are thin. That little ritual was invented by the Bride of God, and she planned it to rescue you from Hell. Of course, you don’t hold even a shred of her power, but it may allow you to make a call.”

“A- A call.” Dean muttered, and Death nodded.

“You will be surprised what a bit of hope will do to someone, locked away and alone. A call might hold more weight than you think.”

Dean frowned, watching Death carefully. “Why would you want me to make a call? Just- Y’know.” He let out a soft, nervous laugh. “Kindness of your heart?”

Death smiled. His lips turned up, and he had teeth, and there wasn’t a light in his eyes but there was something close to it. And goddamnit, that was worse than the lack of expression. That made Dean’s blood curl in his body and all his nerves cold like there knew something was wrong. His muscles tightened, and his spine went rigid, and whatever this was, he wanted it to stop. Death wasn’t ugly, but the son of a bitch should never smile again.

“We can call it something like that.” Death extended a hand. “My ring?”

Dean’s hands were shaking, and it might be from just the cold, but it was mostly from trying to hold the attention of that smile. How Death hummed as Dean dropped the ring into his palm, slid it on his finger quickly, then took a garlic fry.

“Not bad.” Death murmured, holding Dean’s gaze. “I do wish you luck, Dean. Many things will be far better if you succeed.”

Death vanished, the garlic fries with him, and Dean swayed in the parking lot. Kansas. He had to get to Kansas, drink rainwater, then spit on the ground. And he’d be able to hear Her again.

Kansas was about ten hours away.

Dean made it in eight, an hour added by a detour to get that rainwater.

And he’d feel worse about leaving Sam if he didn’t get a text in Oklahoma, that Sam was planning to spend a few more night with the blonde, because she was bendy and energetic. Dean had just sighed, pocketed his phone, and gotten back on the road.

It was an easy ritual. He pulled off to the side of the road in Lebanon, drank the rainwater, salted the earth, then spat. But nothing happened. No glowing, or swirling, or earth shaking. Once again, just Dean and the wind.

But he didn’t have anything else. So he cleared his throat, knelt closer to the ground, and muttered Her name.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” he rasped, tracing a hand over the dirt as if it could turn to Her face. “But I’m here. Waiting. And I’m gonna get you out. I swear, Princess. I fuckin’ swear, you’re gonna get out of there. But I’ve tried everything, and I- Son of a bitch-“ He was choking on nothing at all. He didn’t even know if She could hear him. But he had to try. So Dean wiped his eyes, grunted Her name, and pushed on. “I need you. I’ve been telling you over and over, I need you. Need you back. Safe. Need you to forgive me for all the shit I did while you were gone, need to kiss you and tell you it’s gonna be better. It’ll get better, baby, I promise it’ll be better, I’ll be better- But fuck, I need you.” He whispered Her name again, bowing his head. “I need you. Come back to me. Please.”

Nothing happened.

The Earth didn’t split. She didn’t drop from the sky. Cas didn’t appear and tell Dean She’d returned. Sammy didn’t crawl out of a field, soul fully healed because She’d returned.

The world just had the goddamn nerve to send a stronger gust of winder, and he’d really lost his damn mind.

Because Dean could swear that, under the flat grass and cow dung, he could smell Apples. Eden Apples.

Her.

He’d been up for so damn long. He was alone again, and in the middle of nowhere, and no amount of pleading or praying would deliver Her back to him. He’d cry if it didn’t just make him feel the pain of that pit in his chest. If there wasn’t a burning feeling, just to the right of his heart, as he drove away.

He made it about four hours before his eyes started to droop, and he was miles from any sort of motel. So Dean pulled off to the side of the road, clambered into the backseat, and let out a long, slow breath.

There wasn’t a single place to go from here. Not without Her. He was a goddamn useless shadow without someone to trail after. He was a useless kind of weapon without someone to wield. And he was so damn tired, and it was heavy in his chest. Heavier than iron, or a mountain. Maybe heavier than the whole damn universe.

Not the universe.

The lack of it. This was the weight of a black hole, threatening to swallow him alive. The pressure of knowing he had to keep going.

The ache of knowing he couldn’t. He would, there wasn’t another choice, but he couldn’t.

He’d trade that weight for something heavier, if it meant he got to look at Her while he held it.

He’d pick up the world itself, if it came in the form of Her, in his arms.

———

Sep. 25 - 2010

Princess,

It didn’t work. But you know that.

I’m so damn sorry.

I’ll find another way.

Yours,

DAW

———

He was back in the church.

He still felt small.

But this time, Dean was in the pews. His smaller body was squished between Sammy and Dad, and there was an old priest droning on and on, but none of them were paying attention. Sammy was reading all the prayer books like they were interesting. Dad was writing in his journal.

Dean was looking. He wasn’t sure for what, but he knew it was here. The world was more colorful, with all that stained glass filtering the light. All the colors impossibly brighter, the smell of apples in the air, and all the world bending into Her.

Her.

Any weak illusion of the memory snapped, because it was Her. Here. Tiny for a second—braids and dress and barely damn tall enough for Her feet to hit the floor—but then their eyes met, and She was Dean’s. Loose and shiny hair. Bright eyes. Jacket hanging off Her body and the kind of beauty people said started wars.

The version of Her he knew so damn well. Missed every second.

Loved all the time.

He wasn’t sure who moved first. It didn’t really matter. She sprinted to Dean, he sprinted to Her, and they crashed into each other.

Dean hadn’t dreamt of Her since he lost Her. And in the haze of the dream, it almost felt real. Her breath hot on his skin, as she buried her face in his neck. Her heartbeat under his fingers, when he pressed them into soft skin. The smell of Her apples everywhere, and Her eyes brighter than the universe was Dean pulled back and took Her face between his hands.

“You look tired, De.” She whispered, and he swallowed.

“I am, baby. I miss you.”

“I miss you too.” She leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering slightly. “I’ll be home soon.”

He wished he could believe Her. Wished it was more than a plea from his own desperation. But he still angled Her face down, pressing a soft kiss to Her brow.

“I love you.” He muttered against, just to say it. Just so She’d know, in some for other than paper in a box.

And She just gave him a soft, sad smile, and gripped his wrists like he might disappear, and it would be worse than the end of the world.

Dean understood that. As he brushed a little hair from Her eyes, he could feel it himself.

“I love you,” he repeated, this time with Her name, because she had to get it. It was so fucking important that She got it. “I love you, and I- Fuck, I’m so sorry-“

“I know, Dean.” She smiled at him, voice so soft, and the pit in his chest split in half and healed, all at the same time. “I know.”

End Note: It's rough out here squad. It'll get better I promise.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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hexcodewisteria · 21 hours ago

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still stuck on the sua lore in karma alnst

#okay ive joked about the mizi-ai hoshino-shisui parallelisms before but also. because i am incredibly shisui brained right now #shisui rehearsing how she was possibly going to die just so she could end it with a perfect performance as a villainess #suirei knowing exactly what she was doing and trying to dissaude her a la maomao's they could've run away together #and shisui disagreeing and continuing to practice. as her contingency plan #i think she was hoping for some other way but also knew on some level that it probably wouldn't be possible. so she practices #suirei cant stop it. its why she isn't surprised when shisui walks out into the snow to dance. she's been watching her sister practice #for this day like a fucked up recital #she desperately rushes forward as a last ditch attempt borne out of the shock of actually watching shisui fall #but they both know its just not possible #the real question is how long did shisui know and believe she had to die in order to shoulder the responsibility of her familys rebellion #cicada tag #<- finally decided on a catch all tag for shisui

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swagging-back-to · 1 year ago

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started bed time with jasmine bc shes been getting very depressed and is just kinda giving up on moving around. i want her back legs to build up some muscle again and the only way to do that is to put her on a blanket and let her have to explore.

#i cant put a wheel or saucer in her cage bc she doesnt use it at all #i had a saucer in there for a while and she just burried it #and when your lungs are all irritated you dont want to move around and exercise a lot in general #im also going to mix up a bottle of doxy for her so she has both baytril and that #i really want her to beat this uri yall #shes had it for 10 months #for ten months ive been giving a mouse antibiotics #a mouse who HATES getting meds and bites me really hard #she only recently started somewhat cooperating with meds and it's bc shes just given up #in general #and i feel so bad #bc shes all alonee in a hospital cage for a year.#her last experiences with other mice were seeing her sister die and being bullied by the others when she got sick #and shes literally not getting better #i dont know what to do #vets only prescribe baytril and doxy so idk what to do.#i might try steam therapy and put chocolate in with her scatter feed #but like #it isnt going away #and i cant expose her to the other girls bc i dont want them to get whatever she has #oh also sushi and mochi are still biting clove.#like bad at this point.#so theyre going back in timeout next time i catch them.#i will fight them actually #clove is my baby girl #and even tho i love sushi and mochi #i dont tolerate this shit #it's gross behavior and it needs to stop.#they just pick one mouse to attack ruthlessly every week.#first it was ginger. then it was peaches. now it's clove.

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helaintoloki · 4 months ago

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Can you write a fic between Bucky and an avenger reader (maybe she’s just a little older than Peter (like she’s in her mid 20s)and she always had a crush on Bucky)

notes: thank you for sending this in ! i hope you enjoy

warnings: fluff, mentions of night terrors

summary: you think you’re too young for Bucky to be interested in you. ironically, Bucky thinks he’s too old for you to be interested in him

“So how did that date go?” Wanda asks while watching you mindlessly scroll through the selection of movies Tony has on the entertainment room TV.

“I bailed,” Natasha admits shamelessly with an innocent shrug, prompting both Wanda and yourself to turn to her in shock. “I’m not really interested in giving up my personal time for something as trivial as a blind date.”

You hum thoughtfully at her response, only half listening as Wanda begins to pester her for more details about the man she had stood up. The three of you are enjoying a rare night of peace in the tower after forcing the men to vacate the premises and allow you to have the space to yourselves. The three of you are outnumbered on the team, so sometimes a break from the intense amounts of testosterone are needed for you all to decompress. Girl’s night is a simple tradition, but you all enjoy each other’s company more than anything.

“What about you, y/n?” Natasha prompts while gently nudging your side and breaking you from your daze. “Any guys out there you think are first date material?”

You shift uncomfortably now that the spotlight is on you and try to mask the embarrassment that washes over you in response to the question. You know your answer, but you think you’d rather die than admit the truth. You try to remain as nonchalant as possible by offering a seemingly uninterested shrug and answering with a quiet ‘No,’ but you unfortunately can’t hide the truth from a mind reader.

“She has a crush on Barnes,” Wanda blurts out before she can stop herself, causing your eyes to widen in horror at being exposed. Natasha lets out an amused huff while her counterpart quickly utters out apologies. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to say it. It’s just your thoughts get so loud when you think about him.”

“You don’t need to be a mind reader to know that,” Natasha jokes much to your dismay.

“Is it really that obvious?” You groan before allowing your head to fall back against the couch in defeat. Wanda pats your arm sympathetically, obviously still guilty about her slip up. You’re just thankful no one else is in the tower other than the three of you.

“Not to him,” the Widow consoles with a faint smile, “the man isn’t exactly the greatest at navigating social interactions. But I’ve seen the way you look at him from across the room and how your eyes light up when Steve puts you together on missions. You like him.”

“It’s pathetic, I know,” you admit with a defeated sigh, looking between the two in despair. “I don’t even know how it happened! One day we’re just teammates and the next I’m suddenly realizing just how blue his eyes are instead of paying attention to a debrief.”

“There’s nothing pathetic about your feelings,” Wanda says with a comforting smile, “it’s only natural. Maybe you should try talking to him about it.”

You look at her as if she’s grown a second head before scoffing at her suggestion. “You’re kidding, right? There’s no way I’d ever be his type. Besides, he probably sees me as some kid considering I’m only twenty-six and he’s basically a hundred years old.”

Natasha can’t help but to let out a small chuckle at your predicament before taking the remote from your fidgety hands. You don’t exactly appreciate her amusement towards your self-depreciating rant, but you know she means well, and you also know you have a tendency to be a bit dramatic.

“Don’t sell yourself short, y/n/n,” she advises before finally deciding to hit play on a random comedy movie. “Remember that you’re the prize, and any guy or girl would be lucky to have you. Besides, you’ll never know what could happen if you don’t give it a shot.”

The conversation ends there as your trio becomes engrossed with the movie, but her words linger on your mind for the rest of the night. You really doubt Bucky could have anything but platonic feelings for you, and it would be embarrassing to confess your feelings only to have him shoot you down. You don’t think you could show your face around the tower again if that were to happen, but you also know that you would give anything to win the super soldier’s heart.

Your inner turmoil persists, and you go to bed that night unsure of how to move forward.

~~~

“Barnes, y/l/n, how are you holding up?”

“We’re pretty much fucked, Cap,” you grunt into your earpiece after being slammed against a wall. You thought the room had been cleared, but you were soon proven wrong by the assailants who had been hiding in the shadows waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Bucky was currently taking on three on his own while you tried to fight off the woman who seemed hell bent on killing you. “If I survive this will I still be written up for swearing?”

“Focus, y/n,” Natasha’s voice chimes in. “Do you guys need backup?”

You manage to chance a glance over at Bucky and see that he’s fairing rather well on his own, and after returning your attention back to your own attacker, you swiftly lift your knee so that it slams into her gut and forces her to stumble back. It doesn’t take you long to disarm her and render her unconscious so that she no longer proves to be a threat, and you’re finally able to return to your own task.

“No, we’re good. Bucky should be able to hold them off while I plant the chip into the computer system,” you finally reply before setting to work. “It shouldn’t take long.”

“I hope so because they’ve got reinforcements already on the way,” Tony alerts over the earpiece. “You need to be out of there within the next five minutes.”

“Yep, you got it,” you affirm before looking over your shoulder to see Bucky finishing off the last of your attackers. His broad shoulders rise and fall with his labored breaths, hair falling perfectly into place and blue eyes looking up to meet your gaze. You swallow nervously and return your attention to the computer in an attempt to act inconspicuous. Luckily for you, the files you came for have been uploaded. “Alright, let’s get out of here before someone slams me up against another wall.”

“What?” Bucky retorts, eyebrows scrunched in confusion and cheeks slowly turning red at your poor choice of words. You pay him no mind and begin your trek towards the exit, though your stomach flips at the mere thought of having him cage you in against a wall and having you at his complete mercy. You shudder and try to shake the thoughts away, but it’s hard to do so when the man in question is right beside you matching your brisk pace.

“You okay?” He asks, eyes scanning your figure for any sign of injuries.

“Definitely going to have a bruise in the morning, but it’s nothing I can’t handle,” you note with an easygoing smile.

“I’m on dinner duty tonight,” Bucky notes thoughtfully before kicking down the doors and clearing your path to the outside. “You interested in lending a hand?”

“Oh, definitely. You and Steve can’t be trusted with dinner anymore after the last time.”

“I’ll have you know tuna casserole was a popular dish back in my day,” he retorts defensively only to make you laugh instead.

“Okay, grandpa, whatever you say,” you giggle much to his annoyance. He retaliates by playfully nudging your side with his elbow so that you stumble away, but he can’t hide the amused smile on his face at your antics.

“It’s about time,” Tony retorts impatiently after you two finally make it to the Quinjet. “I’d appreciate some sense of urgency, you know.”

“You said be back in five minutes, it’s only been three,” you reply defensively only to earn an eye roll from the man.

“You and Barnes can flirt with each other on your own time,” he quips to your dismay. You immediately feel yourself heat with embarrassment and do everything your power to avoid looking at Bucky who shifts uncomfortably beside you.

“We weren’t-“ Bucky starts to say only for Tony to interrupt.

“I don’t need the details, I just need both of your butts on the quinjet now.”

You’re mortified as you step foot inside where the rest of the team sits waiting. All eyes land on you and Bucky, and you try to ignore their gazes as you take your seat beside Wanda.

“If it makes you feel any better,” she whispers after leaning in closer to you, “his thoughts about you are loud, too.”

You swallow nervously and chance at a peek at the super soldier only to find he’s already looking right at you. You immediately turn your gaze towards the floor before sinking down sullenly into your seat.

It’s going to be a long flight home.

~~~

The tower is silent when you make your way to the living room in search of a distraction from the terrible nightmare you’d just endured. Your body still trembles with unease despite the blanket you have wrapped tightly around your figure, and it was times like these where you heavily contemplated begging Wanda to use her powers on you despite her reluctance to manipulate your mind.

There isn’t anything good playing this late on TV, but you don’t mind watching reruns of old sitcoms if it means you don’t have to sit in silence. You fixate your gaze on the screen, but you’re hardly paying any mind to your surroundings as you simply begin to dissociate. No one knows about the night terrors or the bad dreams that plague you after missions; you fear coming off as weak or unprepared for the life of an Avenger by telling any of your teammates about your dilemma, so you’ve learned to deal with it on your own by escaping through trivial distractions.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t detect the presence of someone else in the room until a hand rests on your bare shoulder. You jump, obviously startled as your wide eyes look to the perpetrator sitting beside you. Bucky immediately yanks his hand back and raises his hands in surrender, his features apologetic at having startled you.

“Sorry, sorry,” he immediately says. “I tried calling your name first but you weren’t exactly responding. You okay?”

“Yeah, I um- sorry,” you utter with a soft shake of your head before swallowing, “I just got lost in thought I guess.”

“Anything you want to talk about?”

You normally would have insisted you were fine and tried to change the topic, but there was something about the gentleness in his eyes and the comfort his presence brought you that made it easier for you to open yourself up. You sigh, shifting in place so that you’re facing him now. He offers you a an encouraging smile and already you can feel yourself melting.

“Sometimes I have night terrors,” you confess quietly, almost embarrassed to admit it out loud. “They usually tend show up after a mission or an intense fight. When they happen I just come out here and watch some TV until my brain shuts up enough for me to get some sleep. Pathetic, huh?”

Despite the humorless laugh you let out, Bucky frowns before uttering, “I don’t think that’s pathetic at all. I get it. This job is tough, and sometimes you see things you can’t unsee no matter how hard you try. Don’t beat yourself up for having a normal human reaction to trauma.”

“You sound just like a therapist,” you tease, prompting him to let out a sheepish laugh in return.

“I may have picked up a thing or two in therapy myself,” he admits. A beat passes before he takes your hand in his own and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “Just know that if you ever need help chasing the nightmares away, I’m right here.”

Your heart pounds in your chest while the warmth of his hold encompasses your hand and spreads throughout your entire body. His eyes are full of sincerity, but you also detect something that you’ve never seen from him before. This look is different than the ones he normally gives you, more intimate, and you find yourself nervously biting the inside of your cheek while trying to decipher what it could be.

“Thank you,” you finally voice with a tired smile. Wanting to lighten the mood, you ask, “How come you’re up this late, anyway?”

“Made the mistake of having a cup of coffee after dinner,” he confesses with an embarrassed chuckle. “You mind if I keep you company?”

“Of course not, silly,” you retort as if it’s the most absurd question you’ve ever heard.

You and Bucky settle into a comfortable silence as you tune in to the sitcom playing on the TV screen. A sense of calm has washed over your body now that you’re no longer being tormented by the remnants of your nightmare, but there’s still a part of you that remains nervous around the man you secretly harbor feelings for. You find your mind drifting back to what Wanda had said you earlier and wonder if there was any truth to her words. What did she mean by it?

“Can I ask you something?” Bucky prompts after the episode ends.

“Anything,” you reassure him, grabbing the remote to lower the television’s volume so that he can have your undivided attention.

“I know it’s just your way of poking fun at me, but when you call me ‘grandpa’ or ‘old man,’ is that… that’s not how you see me, is it? Old?”

You’re honestly taken back by his comment, not expecting him to have thought this heavily into the subject. Of course you knew the man was out of his time, and if he had been given the chance to age naturally you most likely would not be sitting here on this couch with him, but you had never thought less of him because of the fact.

“No, of course not! Honestly sometimes I forget you’re technically 106.”

Bucky lets out a chuckle at that, but there’s still doubt lingering on his features as he self-consciously looks down at his hands in his lap. “I just see you with Peter and Wanda sometimes and wonder if I’m too old for you to be hanging around with.”

You shift closer to Bucky so that you can rest a comforting hand on his bicep, prompting him to lift his head and meet your softhearted gaze. Your entire being emanates warmth and tenderness, and it draws the soldier right in to you. You have no idea the effect you have on him or the way a single brush of your fingertips against his skin can satiate the yearning he feels every time he looks at you. Wanda had been telling you the truth; his thoughts are always loud when you’re around him.

“I guess sometimes it’s easier to connect with them considering we’re closer in age, but I like that you and I are so different because of it. I think there’s more to learn with you and more to appreciate. I genuinely enjoy any minute that’s spent with you,” you confess adamantly, prompting the corner of his lips to quirk up. “Besides, it’s going to take a lot more than a number to scare me away from you.”

Bucky only responds by wrapping his arms around your frame and pulling you into a long awaited hug. You try to stifle your gasp of surprise at suddenly being so close to him, and you hope he doesn’t pick up on the fact that your heart is nearly beating out of your ribcage. You feel his lips press to the top of your head and swear you must be dreaming this because there’s no way the Avenger you’ve pining after for months is now so boldly giving you his affection.

“How about we go away for a weekend?” He finally says after holding you in silence for some time.

“Go away?” You repeat, curiously peeking up at him.

“Leave New York, explore somewhere new,” Bucky reiterates, his features relaxed as he looks down upon you with an adoring gaze. “Be regular people for a few days.”

“I’d like that,” you profess quietly, sighing in contentment when the man pulls you against his chest once more before settling back against the couch. You can feel your eyelids already starting to become heavy, and the soothing circles he rubs into your back doesn’t help. You don’t want this moment with Bucky to end, but you also know that there’s so much to look forward to.

“Bucky?” You hum quietly after allowing your eyes to flutter shut.

“Yes, doll?”

“When we go away for the weekend, can we be regular people in a relationship?”

You feel his body gently shake from the quiet laugh he lets out at your response. You feel his lips press to your forehead as you drift to sleep, missing his answer when he replies, “I’d want nothing more.”

~~~

You slept through the rest of the night without issue; Bucky’s comforting presence was enough to lull you into a peaceful rest, and you entrusted him to chase away the nightmares for you. The two of you remained entangled together on the couch all the way until sunrise, and neither of you had bothered to consider the repercussions of your actions in the morning.

“I feel bad waking them,” Steve sighs, arms crossed over his chest as he and Natasha look down on your sleeping forms. There’s an almost proud smile on his face as he takes in the sight of his best friend holding the woman of his dreams in his arms.

“Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to let them sleep a little longer,” Natasha notes with a knowing smile before promptly ushering the blond out of the entertainment room. Unbeknownst to either of you, by the time you wake up you’ll be the talk of the tower.

“So how much do you owe Wanda?” Steve asks after quietly shutting the door behind him. Natasha lets out a disappointed sigh.

“I’m out twenty bucks. I bet it would take at least another week before they finally got their heads out of their asses and confessed. But I guess as long as they’re happy…”

“That’s all that matters,” Steve finishes for her with a nod.

The team is happy they’ll no longer have to endure your obvious pining over each other, and they make sure to tell you so when you finally wake up.

It’s an eventful morning to say the least.

#mel writes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x avenger!reader #avenger!reader #avengers x reader #mcu #marvel #mcu x reader #mcu imagine #request

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meenaxskz · 4 months ago

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when the bed gave up on life (maknae line)

ot8 reactions | bf!skz x reader au genre: crack | light smut warnings: language | suggestive content hyung line | ✧ maknae line

han

He had you face down, ass up, back arched perfectly. You’re screaming. He’s moaning. The mattress is fighting for its life. “Fuckfuck-you’re so good,” he gasps, hair sticking to his forehead. He grabs your hips and snaps his hips forward. “You feel like-like-ugh, fuck, baby-” CREAACKK. SNAP. THUD. The entire bottom half of the bed collapses. Your stomach hits the mattress, knees slide off the edge, and Jisung goes down dramatically. Silence. Then: “…BABE?!” You gasp “DID WE JUST-” He flails from behind you. “OH MY GOD I THINK WE BROKE THE FUCKING BED!" "YOU THINK ?!" He scrambles off you, tripping over a pillow "are you okay?! Did I kill your knee?! Did I paralyze you?!" You rub your bruised hip but also you’re laughing so hard you can’t breathe. “I think my spine just spoke Latin.” He sighs and sits up dramatically, sheets tangled around his waist. “THIS BED HAS JEALOUSY ENERGY. SHE COULDN’T HANDLE OUR LOVE.” “...I can’t believe we just broke a bed mid sex.” “I can. We were too powerful. It was me. I did that. With dick.” "Please shut up forever" --- You crawl off the wreckage. He flops back down. “You good?” you ask “I just need to lie here. Think about what I had. What I lost. What I could’ve finished.” “Babe. We’re naked on a diagonal mattress.” “I’M A CASUALTY OF PASSION”

felix

You’re on top, hips rolling slow, breath warm against his neck. Felix is gripping your waist, voice already wrecked. “Just like that, angel... fuck, you feel so good,” he breathes, lips brushing your collarbone. You moan softly, head spinning, thighs starting to shake. He pants, “You’re making me crazy... keep going, don’t stop-” CREEEAAKK. CRACK. SNAP. The mattress tilts. You both slide still fully connected into the corner of the bed frame. Felix lets out the most Australian panic gasp of his life “OH-OH MY GOD” “WHAT JUST-” The bed’s gone. It’s gone. The leg’s bent inward. A screw rolls past your hand rudely. Felix blinks up at you, still pinned underneath. Wide eyed. Dazed. “…Did we just... break the bed?” You nod slowly, dazed. “Yeah. Yeah we did.” He covers his face with both hands. “I WAS JUST TRYING TO BE ROMANTIC.” You laugh. “We were LITERALLY just grinding. How did we collapse it?!” “I DON’T KNOW BABY, I’M SMALL. I DIDN’T THINK I HAD THAT IN ME.” He sits up carefully, looking around at the wreckage.. Then he immediately cups your face. “Are you okay?? Did I squish you?? Do you need ice?? Or a hug?? Or like… a new mattress??” You’re cry laughing. “Felix your face-” “I THOUGHT I WAS BEING SOFT.” “You were being something.” He buries his face in your chest. “I’m going to cry.” --- Later, you’re lying on the now floor mattress, still tangled. He looks at you, blushing “Do we… tell the others?” “No. We lie.” Felix sighs. “Okay. But if they find screws, I’m blaming your thighs.” You raise a brow. “My thighs?!” “YES. You were squeezing. You were strong. I was just an innocent man in love.”

seungmin

“You’re moving too much.” “I’m literally on top of you.” “I know. You’re riding me like I owe you rent and this bed was made in 2018.” You roll your eyes and grind harder. Seungmin groans, arms behind his head, jaw clenched. “Shit- okay fine -do what you want. just don’t blame me when we die.” The mattress creaks. Wobbles. You’re bouncing now, thighs burning, hair clinging to your forehead. Seungmin’s watching you with that look... half lidded, breathless, deeply unimpressed by how much he's enjoying this. “God you’re insane” he mutters. “You’re gonna send me to church.” “Shut up and tak—” CREEAAKK SNAP. FULL. BED. COLLAPSE. The right side caves in like karma. The mattress slants violently. You fall forward. He slides sideways. He grunts. You shriek. THUD. Silence. Then Seungmin blinks up at the ceiling, deadpan “…Did we just break the bed?” You groan into his chest. “Technically, the bed broke itself...” “Oh my god. Oh my god. I told you!” You roll off of him, breathless and “You’re fine.” “I told you it was weak.” “You were also moaning like I reinvented sex” He points at you, still half-buried in the sheets. “I can multitask.” Later, you’re both lying on the sideways mattress . Seungmin sips water, glaring at the broken frame. “This is why we can’t have nice things.” You grin. “You mean why you can’t handle this ass.” He snorts. “This ass took us to home depot levels of damage.”

I.N

He’s beneath you, cheeks flushed, biting his lip as he moans under his breath. “Shit you’re gonna make me black out” You’re riding him like it’s your life’s goal. Hands on his chest, pace unforgiving. “Don’t be dramatic” you pant. “I’m seeing the edge of the universe. That’s not dramatic. That’s spiritual!” You lean back, bouncing harder. He whimpers. “Okay-okay-you’re doing too much-!” “You like it.” “I like living, too.” CREAK. SNAP. CRASH. You drop like a ragdoll. He slides down with you, legs flailing, head smacking the headboard lightly as the bed frame gives the fuck up. You land on top of him in a pile of limbs and sin. He gasps, completely stunned. “…Did you just break the bed?” You blink. “ME?! I was literally doing what you begged for.” “I said slower. Like three times. You were riding like we had a time limit!” You sit up, scandalized. “You were moaning!” “Because I was terrified. You were ruthless. I thought I was being punished!” You shove his shoulder. “You were gripping my hips like handlebars!” He covers his chest dramatically. “I was hanging on for dear life! You were galloping!” --- Ten minutes later, you glance at the crooked frame. “The bed’s dead.” He sighs, stroking your thigh he’s comforting you through your mess. “I mean… it had a good life. But yeah. You finished it off.” “Stop gaslighting me!” He smirks. “I’m just a poor innocent boy. You, on the other hand... thighs of destruction.”

⤷ main m.list ❟

DISCLAIMER : This blog and all related content (fics, fake texts, headcanons, imagines, etc.) are entirely fictional and created for entertainment purposes only. I do not know Stray Kids personally, nor do I claim any of this reflects their real personalities, actions, or relationships. All characters and their personalities—including Meena King—are original creations.Please enjoy responsibly and remember : real people = real boundaries.

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ilylovelyz · 1 year ago

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⍣ ೋ Rom-Com Gone Wrong

˚ · . bakugou katsuki x afab!reader

: ̗̀➛ takes place during their third year, mentions of injuries and blood, forced intake of aphrodisiac, unestablished relationship, mutual pining, love confession, both characters are 18, protected sex, implied unprotected sex, virgnity loss, misunderstandings, a bit angsty, bakugou is lowky ooc and gentle, this is really long

following a rough battle with a rather inconvenient villian and his quirk, y/n finds herself induced with aphrodisiac against her will. she wins the encounter, only to be told if she doesn't relieve her sexual desires within 24 hours with another individual she will die.

"i'll be the one to do it," mineta says, trying to sound nonchalant about the situation, flipping his non-existent hair off to the side if his shoulder. the girls, in unison, disagree verbally, knowing of his creepy tendencies.

"can't she just do it with a girl?" tsuyuri thinks aloud, attempting to find an easy way for you to feel more comfortable with the situation. "if that's the case, then i'll do it!" ashido declares, raising her hand in the air.

this has been the subject of conversation for the past hour or so. yes, your classmates and even teachers are conversing on what to do about your current state, on who will be the one to sleep with you. it's almost heartwarming, to know that your classmates care so much about you that they'd be willing to sleep with you if it means you'll live.

which is exactly what it means. exactly nine hours ago, you had a confrontation with a well-wanted villian. you knew of the risks, you knew of his horrendous and taboo quirk. you knew that he used his quirk to take advantage of women who were defenseless and practically leaving them for dead within 24 hours of interaction.

quirks like these were rare, none of your classmates nor teachers had any experience with this type of thing. originally, the teachers were going to discuss of this situation privately, but after almost three hours had gone by with no real possible solutions, they had decided to involve your dearest classmates to come up with something, anything to help save your life.

"no, according to the villian and the tiny information we were able to get out of him, it has to be done with a male." midnight had said, rubbing at her temple to ease her stress. your female classmates groaned with frustration, side-eyeing mineta with disgust.

"t-then i'll do it!" a new contender had volunteered. "y-you? y/n needs a real man, denki—," jirou had said, trying to play of her nervousness with a chuckle. "i agree." momo said sternly.

"no offense but.. how about the boys leave this discussion to the boys." she added on, having distrust in the intentions of her male classmates. "i know you boys just want to do what you can to help her, but we also have to think about how this will affect her mentally."

the topic carried on with the girls, occasionally one of the boys attempted to give a idea, but were almost immediately shot down due to it's risk.

admist to all the tension and debate, there was one who was uncharacteristically quiet. bakugou katsuki.

all of the boys were huddled into a circle, behind the girls, listening into their plan. however, it was bakugou who stuck out like a sore thumb. he kept his hands in his pockets, a rather stoic expression written onto his face as he stared up to the ceiling.

"i'll do it! you guys just gotta trust me!" mineta yelled once more, his body jolting with fear when he was met with clear resistance from the girls.

everyone was too wrapped up in figuring out a game-plan to even notice that bakugou had taken his leave, muttering a scoff at his classmates's immaturity and perversion.

he made his way to the dorms, his hand rubbing at the tense skin of his nape. bakugou stopped in his tracks, seemingly he wasn't the only one who had the same idea. his hands returned to their place in his pockets, his eyebrows furrowing at the sight of his classmate, todoroki shouto, standing a few feet away from your dorm room.

"what are you doing here?" bakugou asked, resting his body weight on his right leg. todoroki looked back at bakugou calmly, observing the blonde's stiff movements. "i want to help y/n-san." todoroki stated, glancing back at the door of your room.

bakugou scoffed at his answer, rolling his eyes to the back of his head. "yeah right—you?" he hissed, coming up to todoroki and shoving him away from your door. "don't make me laugh. i'll be the one to do it."

todoroki stayed in place for a moment, blinking at bakugou's aggression and determination. he glanced once more at your door, and then back to bakugou before sighing with defeat and turning around to head god knows where.

bakugou scoffed once more, not taking his eyes off todoroki until he was well out of his sight. bakugou turned around, his red eyes staring intently at your door. he chewed on the walls of his mouth, wondering how to go about the situation.

as brash as he may be—he's not an idiot. he knows that if you don't end up getting any help within a few mere hours, you'll die. and thats not what he wants. to stand and watch while his dumb classmates argue over who will be the one to have the honor of having sex with you is something he won't abide with.

ೄྀ࿐

a soft moan escaped your lips at the feel of your fingers caressing against your sensitive folds. a drop of sweat ran down your flushed face, running down to your collarbone and dampening the sheer tank you were wearing.

there was a knot in your abdomen, a very tight knot, that has been yet to be undone. normally, when you had this kind of urge, you'd be able to satisfy it yourself. but it's been nearly eight hours since you'be been drugged, and the effects only get more and more intense with every passing minute.

you're tired. your body is coated in a thick layer of sweat, the room smells grossly of your own scent, and it's been eight hours—yet no release. tears sting at your waterline, your hand coming up to cover your pathetic whines and cries as your fingers scissor their way into your cunt, trying to find relief to your frustration.

you gasp with pleasure when your finger nails press ever so slightly against that one spot, hazy eyes going wide when you finally find it. your back arches off the bed, toes curling when you can barely press your fingerpads against that sweet spot, but nonetheless it's something.

your body jolts when you hear a light knock at your door, hands flying to grab onto your blanket to hide your half-naked body. you sat frozen on your bed, eyes watching the door.

a couple of moments later, once again the visitor knocked, snapping you out of your haze. you rushed to find any pajamas or clothes to wear, eventually settling on a pair of grey pajama shorts. the visitor knocks again once more, earning a groan from you. "g-give me a second!" you hiss loudly, dusting off your body and finally walking up to your door.

with a deep inhale, you open up your door a few inches, hiding your sweat-ridden body behind the large frame and peeking out your head to see the visitor.

your heart drops into your stomach at the sight of the familar blonde, his red eyes lidded low at you. "b-bakugou?" you stutter out, your cheeks blushing intensely when you feel your core throb at just the sight of him. "what... are you doing here?" you say, swallowing down the fat lump in your throat.

bakugou stares at you, his facial expressions uncharacteristically calm and unreadable. "..isn't it obvious?" he says nonchalantly, taking a step towards the door. his low tone heats up your body, making you impossibly warmer with embarrassment to top it off with your seemingly insatiable desire.

still, you don't move from the door, and if anything, push it forward so only a few centimeters remain between the frame and the door itself. your forehead rests against the wood, contemplating your options.

bakugou katsuki has come to your door to do the obvious with you. for many others, this would be a dream come true—and it almost is, for you, almost. tears cloud your vision once more at the thoughts that run throughout your head, he's only here because you'll die.

"let me in y/n,—", "no, i don't want you here." you interrupt, still hiding behind the door. bakugou's eyes widen slightly at your refrusal, not expecting you to shut him down given the situation.

to you, it's almost insulting—bakugou katsuki is here to have sex with you, to save you. your crush of many years, is here to have sex with you, but only because he feels the need to save you, not because he wants to.

bakugou sighs silently, he knows its a sensitive matter, that you're practically forced to have sex with someome that you possibly don't like just to live. his fists tighten up into a ball, his eyebrows furrowing at your stubbornness. but he won't have you die, he won't knowing he could help you.

"y/n. open the door or i'm going to break it down myself." he says sternly, his voice raising slightly. it sends shivers down your spine, but still you hold your ground. alas, you find it within yourself to close the door, only for it to be held open by bakugou who most definitely overpowers you when it comes to strength. with a grunt, your already weak arms give in, quickly dropping back to the floor as the door slams against the wall now that bakugou has won the short game of tug-o-war.

bakugou makes his way into your room, not even caring to check if the door handle has made a new hole in the wall. his mouth opens, ready to say something, only to purse into a straight line when he sees the tears flowing down your cheeks.

"i don't want you here." you mumble out, attempting to hide your tears by wiping them away as quick as they came.

with a grunt, bakugou is pulling you up to your feet, his hands gripping onto your shoulders while his lips smash against yours. the kiss is rough, almost uncomfortably stiff. and yet, you almost let out a moan of satisfaction just by him giving the worst kiss ever. he pulls away a moment later, his hands keeping you in place.

not like you'd be able to walk away even if you wanted, your gaze was fixated on his soft features, eyeing those lips of his. this time, it's bakugou whose walking away—and it's you who is running after him.

with haste, you push yourself forward to the blonde, your hand wrapping around his wrist and pulling him back to you. bakugou breathes out a grunt when your lips collide with his once more, desperate and clumsy, more teeth than tongue. you can't help but grab into bakugou's broad shoulders before finding better purchase by wrapping them around his neck, feet on all toes in order to reach his lips.

bakugou pulls away from you, quickly shutting the door and locking it. though, he barely has time to do the second, as soon as the door is closed, you're pushing him against it and shoving your body against his, encapturing his lips with yours once again. he swallows your desperate whines, his tongue fighting for dominance against yours. it's messy, it's not at all in sync—but just that alone has your body heating up than what you thought was possible.

and bakugou can feel it. his hands find purchase on the small of your waist—your skin is hot to the touch, almost fever hot. he raises an eyebrow when the feel of his skin on yours alone has you letting out a soft moan, much to your embarrassment. experimentally, bakugou's hands travel down to the curve of your ass, squeezing the plump flesh lightly, earning a gasp from your lips.

seeing this, bakugou pulls away from you, a fat string of saliva connecting the two of you. his red eyes watch you tortuously, watching the way your delicate features contort with pleasure as his hands explore your ass, his squeezes getting more and more rough as your body reacts. his finger glides up to the hems of your shorts, playing with the drawstrings and eventually pulling on one to untie the knot, allowing your flimsy excuse of so-called shorts to drop and lay around your feet.

your cheeks burn at the way he stares closely at your half-naked body, eyes darting down to the ground when you realize that you didn't even put on any underwear. to you, bakugou is eyeing your body, looking for any imperfections and unsatisfying marks.

but to bakugou, he has to hold back a groan by biting on his lower lip at the sight of your bare cunt. his hands tighten it's grip on your hips, attempting to keep his composure. bakugou finally pushes himself off the door, leading you quickly by the small of your waist to your bed.

with a gentle shove, you're laying down onto your back, your legs dangling off the edge of the mattress. your eyes widen when bakugou's hands grab the hems of his shirt, pulling it up to his head and discarding of his shirt, revealing his rather toned abs and few scars he's gained in the various fights he's gotten into as a hero.

your mouth is agape in awe, practically drooling at the sight of his fit muscles and small waist. without another word, your hand subconsciously reaches for him, generously touching the muscles of his abdomen. for the first time of the night, bakugou finally shows some emotion, smirking widely at your infatuation with his abs.

"i know i got some great abs, huh?" he grins, his hand coming up to rest on the flesh of your thigh. his grin flattens to an slightly agape 'O' when your hand travels down lower to his lower pelvis, your nails caressing the skin, sending shivers down his spine. dangerously, it continues, your fingers meddling with the edge of his baggy pants, circling the metal button.

before you could do anything else, bakugou is grabbing your hand away, and much to your surprise, settles himself inbetween your bare legs, eyeing your exposed cunt. naturally, you rush to close your legs, but are stopped by his hands that rest on both of your inner thighs.

"don't try to hide yourself from me." he growls lowly, his cock growing hard in his pants at the fuller sight of your glistening cunt. a yelp leaves your throat when you are pulled closer to the edge of your bed, cunt mere centimeters from bakugou's face. your eyes close shut, palm hiding your face in embarrassment.

"open your damn eyes, you're gonna watch as i eat this pretty pussy." he hisses out before blowing lightly onto your folds, enjoying the way your thighs shiver. with a lick of his lips, bakugou dives into your cunt, his tongue dragging across your folds and into your core. you let out a rather loud moan at the feel of his tongue exploring your cunt, your hands diving down to entangle themselves in his short blonde locks.

as told, you watch bakugou devour your poor pussy through tears, moaning into your palm to not let anyone hear the way you're getting eaten out by one of your classmates. your eyes roll to the back of your head when you feel bakugou enter his index finger into your tight walls, massaging your gummy walls without mercy.

"bakugou.." you mewl out, back arching off the bed when you feel the knot in your stomach begin to unravel. the fingers tied in his hair pull tightly on his roots, earning a hum of satisfaction leave his lips, vibrating against your clit so deliciously it has you sobbing out his name within seconds and squirming within his tight hold as you cum. tears run down your cheeks as your body convulses with pleasure, eyebrows furrowed intensely as your first orgasm of the night washes over you.

a minute later, you finally come down to earth, chest heaving heavily as your eyes focus down to bakugou who licks up the remains of your delicious juices. it's so over stimulating, but it feels so good, the way his tongue laps up your cum as if he was a starved man.

for a second, you close your eyes, basking in the sweet after-glow of your orgasm before a familar vibrating sound snaps you out of your bliss. bakugou holds up the pink bullet-vibrator within his hand, cocking his head to the right. "this yours?" he asks teasingly, a sly grin painted into his face.

before you could respond, bakugou is pressing the bullet against your clit, sending waves of overstimulated pleasure up your spine. you wiggle and shift on your bed, attempting to get away from it, from him, but in the heat of the moment you seem to have forgotten of bakugou's trained strength. he pins your hips onto the bed with ease with one hand, and holds the bullet to your clit with the other.

he evilly chuckles into your cunt, his tongue gliding into your tight hole. your cries and pleas are melodies to his ears, and he only stops when your thighs are shaking for a second time around his head and your pussy walls are tightening up around his tongue. he hungrily laps up your fluids once more, the tip of his nose brushing up against your clit as he discards of the vibrator in order to grab onto the back of your thighs and practically smothers himself into your pussy.

finally, once he's deemed you cleaned up and not an ounce of your cum wasted, he pulls away from your drenched pussy. his chin glistens with your juices, his tongue lapping up any remains on his lips. his ruby red eyes watch as your chest heaves up and down, his hand grabbing your wrist that was covering your flushed face and discarding it to the side.

he passionately kisses you, not like the kisses you two shared earlier. rather, your inhaling his heavy breaths as his hips roll subconsciously into yours, his hard-on poking against your inner thigh. "bakugou.." you exhaled against his lips, your hand sliding inbetween your close bodies to palm his confined cock.

bakugou lets out a almost pained groan, his eyebrows furrowing at the feel of your hand brushing against his cock's tip. "fuck.." he groans, his head dipping down to your chest when your hand slides below his trousers and over his confined boner. "wanna help you too bakugou," you mumble shyly, batting those pretty eyelashes at him.

the tempered blonde seems to have been frozen in place at your unexpected boldness, his cock growing impossibly harder at your words. he curses under his breath when your hand glides in between the gap of his boxers, your fingers coming into contact with the skin of his cock.

you're so unexpected. it's all bakugou can ever think of. unlike all the others, you've surprised him the most. you've surprised him with your wits—instead of strength and speed. no matter how mean or offensive he's been to you, you've been nothing but a saint—going so far to even nurse him back to health after a particularly aggressive battle with a villian.

thats why he had to be the one to help you. after all you've done for him, he had to return the favor in the one time he could save your life, even if it meant having sex would save you. he wasn't about to let those ungrateful, clueless extras do it with you either when they didn't deserve the opportunity to have you so vulnerable for them.

and having sex with you doesn't seem too bad, not in the slightest. especially not when your hand is pumping his cock so deliciously. bakugou's lips apart slightly, a sharp gasp escaping when your palm tightens around his sensitive cock.

you jolt when bakugou's own hand wraps around your wrist firmly, practically slapping it away from his cock. you look up at him with filmy eyes, looking for an explanation within his own. "gotta focus on you," he mumbles under his breath, his hands coming down to your hips and dragging you down to him.

bakugou finally begins to undo his belt, the metal buckle causing your ears to tingle. he pushes down his pants to his lower thighs, for a second he glances up at you, to which you can see a small glimpse of the red tint that covers the apples of his cheeks and the way he stares intently at your features, most likely waiting to see your reaction.

he slides his dark red boxers down to the middle of his thighs, just enough to free his cock of his uncomfortable confines. and, just wow, maybe it's because you're quite literally drugged with a sex drug, or maybe he's just that perfect—but just the sight of his cock has your pathetic pussy walls clenching and throbbing around nothing.

your mouth salivates at the mere thought of his cock, and just now seeing it—god you just want him to fuck you already. without a thought, your hand reaches once more for him, only for bakugou to pin your wrist down to the side of your body, his own climbing on top of the bed. your legs come to rest on each sides of his hips, his thighs underneath yours while he sits on his knees.

it seems you're not the only one so horny, afterall, as bakugou wrapped his hand around cock, his hips inching closer to yours, his body jolted, eyes widening. his sudden movement has your heart dropping in your stomach, a cold sweat breaking out on your body. "w-what? what is it?" you stutter out, your hand crossing defensively over your clothed chest.

bakugou's cheeks seem to bloom more a shade of red as he leans back, searching for something in his pocket. "hah.. i almost forgot the condom.." he says, taking out the unmistaken small square packet out of his pocket.

you chuckle lightly at the mistake, feeling embarrassment for yourself as well. to think that you two were so wrapped up in the heat of the moment that you almost forgot the condom gives such a strange feeling in your stomach.

finally, bakugou puts the condom on, a bit shaky with embarrassment as he slides it on. all prepared, he looks up at you—possibly the calmest you've ever seen him, but there's a hint of seriousness and maybe even care with the way his eyebrows are furrowed lightly or how his eyes never leave your face.

"ready?" he asks cautiously, his hand gripped onto the underside of your thigh with the other resting on the side of your lower stomach. with your nod of approval, bakugou meets his thighs to your ass, his cock tip pressing lightly against your virgin hole.

before bakugou could go any further, your soft sobs stop him. his head immediately snaps up to yours, his eyes wide with shock. your eyes are once again wet with tears, eyebrows arched and lips frowning.

"i know this is not very convenient, y/n, but if we don't do this, you'll die-", he tries to say before he's interrupted by your sobs and hiccups. through fat tears and incoherent sentences, you finally manage to say something clear.

"it's not that." you practically hiss, surprising the blonde. "..then what is it?" he urges, a confused expression forming on his face. with a loud sigh, you groan loudly with anger and sadness, practically throwing your hands to your face as you try to wipe away your never-ending tears.

"i d-didn't want it to be like t-this!" you sob loudly, your shoulders jumping with every hiccup. before bakugou could press any further, the years of untold suffering and thoughts just came rushing to you, spilling out of your mouth like vomit. "i-i didn't w-want it to be l-like this! to happen like this!"

"oh my g-god! bakugou i've been in love with you since i've m-met you—and it–it hurts—for it to happen this way—you're only doing this just b-because you f-feel obligated to do i-it—not because you l-love me—" you mumble out, hands covering your eyes to avoid seeing his reaction.

"for it to ha-happen this way—it's like a whole prank..! like a fucking—slap in the face!" you say, practically yelling the last part as your hands fly down to the bed with frustration, finally meeting bakugou's gaze. your sobs quiet down, stomach churning at the realization of the word vomit you just had.

you thought he would be weirded out, maybe even make fun of you for it. but instead, bakugou is now looking at you with an unfamiliar gaze, full of something that seems to just be more than politeness and friendly care. sure, he's not smiling, but the way his red eyes are half-lidded, pupils dilated so big they might as well just be black, his eyebrows no longer furrowed but instead arched upwards with what seems to be surprise.

before you could say anything else, waves of sharp pain are shot up your spine as bakugou unexpectedly pushes in the tip of his cock, his arms now finding purchase by wrapping around your waist, lowering himself closer to you.

his lips press yours, slow and steady as he inches his fat cock into you. he pulls away from your lips with a grunt, his eyebrows arched downwards as he tries to set aside the way your cunt feels so heavenly wrapped around the end of his cock.

"i'm sorry for how i've been treating you." he says lowly, his teeth nipping at the pristine skin of your collarbone. "i just didn't know how to tell you—didn't think you felt the s-same," he breathes out, stuttering the last word when your walls clench around his cock. bakugou curses under his breath, trying to ground himself by pawing at your clothed breasts, sliding his hands under your tank to feel the bare skin.

bakugou's words has fresh tears forming once again at your water line. "the same..?" you think out loud, a hiccup escaping your throat at the realization.

"f-fuck, y/n—," he chokes out, his balls becoming flush with the curve of your ass. "bakugou.. the same?" you urge on, a small gasp leaving your lips when his cock tip glazes against your sweet spot. it takes bakugou to find the strength to answer, but he does with a groan, rising his upper body to have a better look at the sight of you.

"..yes the same you dummy." he finally confirms, his eyes unable to lock with yours, instead choosing to glue themselves to the sight of your tight pussy swallowing his cock. without wasting another second, your hands fly to his nape, pulling him back down to kiss him roughly. the two of you moan into the kiss, your hands desperately exploring the skin of his back while his continue to grope and massage your breasts.

"hah—i just couldn't allow it.. i didn't want the others to have you.." he groans out, his hips speeding up against yours. his teeth bite at your breasts possessively, leaving dark red marks over the unmarked flesh. his possessiveness sends a shiver up your spine, making you impossibly more hornier than you thought possible.

"baku—katsuki," you mewl out, your fingernails digging trails of red into the skin of his back. his head nods silently at your use of his first name, his ears tingling intensely.

his head tilts up to face yours, unprepared for what you were about to say. "please fuck me. i need you."

with a few words of heavy profanity, all previously known touches of gentleness are thrown out the window and bakugou is throwing your leg over shoulder and practically folding you in half. bakugou is quick to cover your mouth with his palm, if not your screams of pleasure would be heard by all the other people in these dorms—and he's not quite on board with any nobodies hearing your pretty moans.

bakugou practically jackhammers his hips into yours, his cock tip bullying your cervix. your eyes roll to the back of your head at the foreign feeling of your cervix being fucked, of your cunt being mercilessly destroyed by a fat cock. your hand flies up to the head board, desperately attempting to find purchase on anything to keep you grounded.

his cock grazing your sweet spot has you screaming once more into his palm, creaming around him for the first time that night. "f-fuck—" bakugou curses loudly, his teeth drawing blood on his lower lip in an attempt to hide own moans.

your cunt walls have a vice grip on his cock, practical almost leaving him unable to move as you cum around him. still, bakugou works his hips in and out, doing everything in his power to prevent himself from cumming just yet.

in an last ditch effort to do so, bakugou lifts his palm up from your mouth, flipping your body so you lay onto your stomach. he's quick to shove his cock back into your overstimulated cunt, rutting into you like a dog in heat. bakugou doesn't find it within himself to care when you're moaning so loud that the first floor can probably hear you, neither does he care that he's fucking you so hard that the bed frame begins to slam against the wall.

all he cares about is destroying your cunt, destroying you, something he's been wanting to do since he's met you. "fuck, fuck, fuck, y/n you feel so fuckin' good—i'm gonna cum," he babbles, his cock growing hard at the sight of your fat ass bouncing with every impact of his thrusts.

you're no better off than him, moaning his name desperately like a mantra. bakugou finally comes with a sharp and deep thrust, pushing his cock so deep it has the tip flush with your bruised cervix. he groans incoherent words, most likely profanities, as he cums into the condom, his hands gripping on the swell of your hips as he tries to ground himself.

you cum just at the unmistaken warmth that pools inside of you, tongue lolling out of your mouth pathetically. your body twitches underneath his weight, hands weakly grabbing onto his biceps. "katssshuki.." you mewl out, stars practically twinkling in your eyes.

bakugou pulls out of you with a sharp inhale, taking off the filled condom. his cock twitches when you stop him just as he's about to throw away, taking the cum-filled latex from his hand and holding it over your mouth, allowing the cum to drip onto your tongue and into your throat.

he watches you with wide eyes as you practically suck the cum out of the condom before throwing it into the trash bin on the side of your bed. you look at him with a grin, licking your lips generously before giggling.

bakugou's face twitches uncontrollably, any remains of the composure and the obvious "better safe than sorry", he has left is discarded before he practically pounces on you like a wild beast.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

bakugou is jolted awake, his eyes darting to the door of your room. theres a couple of knocks, his eyes look for your clock, '5:04 AM'.

he shuts his eyes, fully okay with ignoring the late visitor before theres more knocks. bakugou, begrudgingly, gets up, only because he doesn't want you to wake up.

he wraps his lower body in a spare blanket, taking a few seconds to rub awaken more before he's inching the door open, just barely enough to see who the visitor is. though, his shoulders relax when he sees it's just mr. aizawa at the door, most likely checking up on your state.

mr. aizawa blinks unexpectedly at bakugou, surely not expecting him to answer the door. his expression softens at the realization, being quick to offer an explanation. "i was just coming here to see if y/l/n was alright.. but i see it's under control, right?"

aizawa punctuates the last word of his sentence with the tilt of his head, his eyes pointing out bakugou's half-naked body. bakugou in response sheepishly shrugs, muttering out a groggy 'yeah' before closing the door.

he stands at the closed door for a second, rubbing his eyes tiredly before turning around to go back to bed, your bed more specifically. he stops in his tracks for a moment before continuing, seeing that you're now sitting up and staring at him.

"katsuki.." you breathe out tiredly, practically purring when you feel his hand settle onto your hip, bringing you back down onto the bed with him.

the two of you share a chaste kiss, departing only to get a short breathe in before you're pushing your body against his, deepening the kiss once more for the nth time that night.

please like and reblog with tags

#bakugou x reader angst #bakugou katsuki angst #bakugou x reader smut #bakugou katsuki smut #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugou #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou smut #bakugou katuski x reader #my hero academia fluff #my hero academia angst #my hero academia smut

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miaoua3 · 1 month ago

Text

Stay Forever?

Pairing: CEO! scoups x f!reader

Genre: smut (MDNI), slight angst, p in v sex, unprotected sex, slight choking, possessiveness, cowgirl, spanking, cheol punches a guy once, soft sex, yuta of nct used as a bad guy (sorry bro)

Description: being with cheol was like being in a paradise. but what happens when a troublesome past comes to haunt you?

Part 3 and final part of Stay The Morning? And Stay The Night?

Notes: sort of sad to see this series come to an end. but that just means there’s a new one coming👀

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3 months later

you smile to yourself as you walk down the street, your steps having a bit of an extra skip in them as you try to get to your destination as quickly as possible.

it was a warm spring day, sun getting absorbed by the black lenses of your sunglasses, your black dress swinging with each step you make.

finally, you see the cafe that sana, jihyo and you have decided to meet up at, pushing the heavy door open.

scanning the cafe, you find the two women sat at your usual table, sana talking animatedly to what seems to be...herself, while jihyo, who is obviously bored, is scrolling on her phone, absentmindedly answering your other friend.

you smile at the scene, making your way to them.

they quickly catch your silhouette, both smiling back at you. jihyo jokingly teases you "well, look which lovebird finally decided to show up."

chuckling, you answer "sorry, there was...traffic? yeah, traffic on the way here."

sana immediately calls you out, snorting as she fires back "oh is that the new nickname for your boy toy that we are using from now on?"

feeling your cheeks heat up at this scarily accurate call out, you "accidently" kick her leg under the table, setting your bag on the free space in the booth beside you.

you try to deflate and start the conversation with the usuals 'how are you's', but sana, yet again, cuts you off.

"cut the crap, my friend. we all know why we are here. use the time without your little boy toy to actually tell us how it's going for once. i will literally die if i don't hear about it."

you stop to nervously, yet with a smile on your face, look down at your lap, fidgeting with your fingers as you hesitate to tell them anything, knowing that saying the things out loud makes them seem...more real.

sana, ever the angel that she is, kicks you harshly under the table, her pretty face set in an angry frown as she adds "speak now or i will fight you behind the dumpster."

jihyo, the actual angel in this friendship, swats sana at the back of her head, warning her "calm down and let her gather her thoughts first. i mean seriously, how many times do i have to hit you for you to finally calm down?"

sana just mumbles something inaudible to herself.

shakily exhaling, you say "it is...going good."

seeing your shy smile, jihyo questions you "just 'good'?"

you groan as you hide your face in your hands.

"better than good. he is so good to me, and kind, and he takes care of me. he always asks to see me, almost every day, yet it doesn't feel overbearing whatsoever. and he is such a gentleman too. i can't remember the last time i opened the door or tied my shoes while with him. and he is also-"

you suddenly stop, realising that you have been rambling about cheol for a solid minute, all while sana and jihyo smirk happily at you, both their hands used as a rest for their chins as they look at you.

a flash of embarrassment burns you, eyes wide in shock due to your own behaviour. quickly looking back down, you lamely add "but, um...yeah, i-it's going, i, it's going well..."

your two friends chuckle at you, jihyo teasingly adding "well, glad to hear that he's treating you well and that you are already in love with him."

eyes immediately snapping back up, you defensively say "i am not in love with him."

sana snorts as she responds "sure doesn't sound like that."

you just mumble to yourself, something among the lines of "fake friends" and "why am i even friends with them".

sana twirls her straw around the glass, almost looking like she's about to ask the most normal question ever.

oh boy. if only you knew.

floating out of her mouth, the words "but does he fuck good?" come out, making you choke on your drink, violently coughing as her words still slowly load in your brain.

for a second, you just stare at her, eyes wide as saucers, totally caught off guard.

i mean...the answer is pretty obvious, no?

so why do you feel so shy about admitting it out loud?

sana just raises her eyebrow, kind of as she's asking 'well?', impatiently waiting on your response.

your cheeks are burning, so much so that you have to fan your face with your hands as you look out of the window.

jihyo, teasingly yet lovingly, questions "is that a yes?"

turning your head back towards them, you catch them both smiling at you, knowing your answer before you even said it out loud.

covering your face with your hands, you shyly admit "you have no idea. i didn't even know sex could feel so good, that it could make me feel so...insatiable."

a whistle comes from sana's side of the table, quickly adding "well damn girl. how does it feel to not be celibate for once in your life?"

you snort as you take a sip of your drink to cool down, mumbling against the rim of the glass "you have no idea just how good."

suddenly, your two friends look behind you, knowing smiles spreading across the lips. their reactions got you curious, making you slowly turn around to see what made them smile like that.

well. it's not a 'what'.

it's a 'who'.

cheol, ever so handsome, looks cutely around the cafe, eyes scanning for you. once he spots you, a huge and loving smile spreads across his face, his legs carrying him to you before he even realises.

ah yes, the man that is the whole reason behind you meeting up with your friends.

sana has been asking (read: harassing) you about if they could meet cheol, saying that they, and i quote, "want to meet the guy who has got you looking so stupidly happy".

cheol, ever the enthusiast, immediately said yes, an invisible tail wagging behind him as he excitedly looked at you at the idea of finally meeting the girls that are your dearest friends, and who were there the night you two met.

and so, here you are.

he quickly jogs over to you, bending down towards you. his hand immediately gently grasps your cheek, a breathtaking smile greeting you as he lightly says “hi” before he quickly pecks your lips, catching you off guard.

you shyly say ‘hi’ right back at him, moving a bit in the booth so he can have more space to sit down.

cheol, completely ignoring your attempt at making space for him, immediately slides next to you, thighs and sides touching as he slowly wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his body.

when you look over to your friends, they are looking at the two of you with shocked eyes but gentle smiles. it’s not the bad kind of shock, but rather the type that says ‘this is so stinkingly cute i am about to puke’.

their reactions make you shyly look at his face, only to find his eyes already looking at you, gentleness mirroring in his warm brown eyes.

you lightly elbow him in his side, signalling with your head towards your friends and that he should greet them.

cheol looks over, and has the ‘oh, right’ kind of reaction, quickly focusing on them as he stretches his hand out.

“hi, i am so sorry. i’m seungcheol, nice to finally meet you. heard a lot of great things about you both.”

sana looks at him with a raised eyebrow and an impressed smile, almost like she’s saying ‘nicely done, girlie’. jihyo on the other hand, just shakes his hand with a friendly and proud smile, introducing herself right back.

you smile at the interactions, feeling a bit fuzzy at seeing your favourite people finally meeting each other.

before jihyo can even utter one singular but casual question, sana quickly cuts in, a serious look on her face.

“right. i’ll cut right to the chase, lover boy. what are your intentions with our girl?”

cheol, even with shocked eyes, automatically answers, not wasting a second.

“to make and keep her as happy as it is humanly possible.”

his answer stuns all three of you into silence, blankly staring at him as he sneakily and ever so casually steals a sip of your drink, clueless to the chaos he has caused.

sana, going back to her obvious act, responds right back.

“mhm. well, don’t think i won’t cut your balls off just because she likes you, shall you ever hurt her.”

cheol, getting a bit more serious, looks her right back in the eyes as he says

“i don’t ever plan on letting myself hurt her. i would rather cut my hand off before i allow myself to do anything bad to her.”

for a few seconds, the two of them have a stare off. it’s kind of like watching two guard dogs have a silent stare down, fighting for dominance.

after a few seconds, sana just lets a little ‘hm’ out before she picks up her glass and takes a sip of her beverage.

you feel your eye twitch at her behaviour, mildly annoyed that she would do that to him within the first two minutes of him getting there.

which is exactly why you ever so slowly put your foot on top of hers-and twist it. hard. paying special attention to her bare toes, pressure increasing with each second.

she yelps an "ow!" as she pulls her foot away, looking at you as if you have killed her hamster. not hesitating a second, she kick you in the shin, an angry pout painted on her lips.

you gasp at her audacity, ready to kick her right back again.

cheol starts chuckling a bit before he slowly uses his arm that is wrapped around your shoulders to pull you into his side. his lips kiss you cheek, right beside your ear, so he can whisper in his deep and sultry voice "calm down, baby. i'm okay, she didn't mean anything bad. she's just looking out for you."

you pout as you relax in his hold, an arm wrapping around his soft tummy. mumbling to yourself, cheol hears your pouty voice "she's being mean to you..."

chuckling once more, he kisses your temple as he reassures you "let her, i can handle it."

the conversation resumes, your friends gently grilling your...cheol, which he responds to with ease. the entire time, his thumb gently rubs your arm, making you feel even more relaxed. so much so, that you lean your head on his shoulder and feel your eyes slowly closing ever so often.

you were only a passive listener in the conversation as it is, so you didn't think anyone would notice.

which was a wrong assumption.

because not even a minute after your eyes finally fully closed, you feel seungcheol's finger slowly push your hair back, tucking it behind your ear before the very same finger lightly pokes your nose, making you open your eyes.

his soft smile and gentle eyes are the first things that greet you, making your heart skip a bit at that sight.

soft voice orders you "don't go falling asleep on me, baby."

you just snuggle a bit deeper as you shyly say " 'm not...i'm just...resting my eyes."

cheol laughs deeply at your absolute lies, entirely too amused by it.

jihyo takes a sip out of her glass before she puts it down. her curious eyes directed at cheol as she asks him.

"so. any plans today for you two lovebirds?"

before you can even open your mouth to say something along the lines of 'oh, just a casual night in, probably to watch a movie and such', cheol's voice cuts you off.

"oh, so many things. actually, we might need to get going soon, sorry to cut this short. it's just that we have a reservation that we need to get to, and there's quite a drive to the resta- uhh, place."

you immediately raise your head, looking at him with excitement but confusion as well "we do?"

his eyes look in your direction the moment you start speaking, a mischievous and proud smile pulling at his mouth's corners.

"yeah, wanted to surprise you but...well, here we are."

you immediately smile in excitement, asking him "where are we going?"

cheol chuckles as he pinches your nose teasingly, responding "i just said that it's a surprise, missy. i am not telling you, you will have to be patient and see."

you pout at his response, ready to start whining jokingly, knowing that it will work on him and that you will get your way with it. but just as you were about to do so, a warning cough "ahm, ahm" coming out of sana's mouth before she starts acting as if she never did it, looking out of the window like it's the most interesting thing ever.

another 10 minutes of talking are spent between you and your friends before cheol and you gather your things to make an exit, hugging the two women goodbye before you head for the door.

but of course, sana wouldn't be sana if she didn't like stirring shit.

which is why she almost yells across the half-full cafe at cheol teasingly "don't get her pregnant yet, i'm too young to be an auntie!"

you look at her as if she were a psych ward escapee, ready to pretend that you don't know her.

cheol, ever the cocky and handsome bastard that he is, just smirks as he calls right back.

"kinda hard not to when she basically begs me to."

you gasp loudly, head snapping in his direction as you stare at him in betrayal. your hand immediately flies through the air before you strike him on his back, so hard that it leaves a handprint behind.

a loud snap crackles through the air, cheol's loud cackling mixing with it before he yelps "ah! that hurt!"

basically pushing him with your foot in his ass, you quickly exit the cafe shop, embarrassment visible in your wide eyes.

cheol chuckles as he wraps an arm around your waist, quickly pulling you into his side despite the resistance from your behalf.

his lips try kissing your lips as an apology, but you purposefully roll them into your mouth so he can't have access to it. quietly mumbling 'm sorry, you feel your resolve crumble with each second and each kiss that he presses to the corner of your mouth.

eventually, you just roll your eyes before you allow him one singular kiss, that he gladly steals and enjoys to the fullest, before you push him away and order him "whatever. we need to go, no? let's go then, we have no time to waste."

he just chuckles for the nth time that day as he responds "yes, ma'am."

like always, he opens the door for you and waits for you to put your seatbelt on before he closes the door and walks over to his side of the car.

his hand finds your thigh, comfortably rubbing your thigh as he starts the car, an arm stretching behind your seat as he looks back so he can safely reverse out of the parking spot.

trying to keep your panties as dry as possible, you brace yourself for the long drive that is ahead of you, trapped in a car with the sexiest man alive.

he then quickly looks at you before he winks, a "reassuring" hand grabbing your hand again after he finished switching the stick.

lord, help me.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

turns out-seungcheol was a really big romantic, even more so than he initially let on.

the place that seungcheol decided to take you to was a restaurant.

but not just any.

this restaurant was the kind of restaurant that let you know it was high end from the very first second you set your foot inside.

the ceiling was so high, they comfortably let plants cover the entire surface of it, hanging in such a beautiful and raw way.

the lights weren't too bright, which you really appreciated.

(it actually occurred to you only later that you actually did let cheol know about your hatred towards really bright lights, which made him picking this restaurant all the more sweeter.)

the whole place was so beautiful and expensive looking-the brown-ish wood mixed with black furniture and accents of green made it look very cohesive.

overall-it made you look at cheol with even more lo-uhh, affection than you already did.

he was a perfect gentleman too.

although he was noticeably nervous for whatever reason, he was still so engaged with your conversation, asking follow-up questions, laughing at your jokes, and talking quite a bit as well.

the entire time, he was so touchy, but in small and cute ways, so it wasn't all too much on the nose to the other customers. his hand was softly playing with your on top of the table, fingers intertwining and untangling ever so slowly and gently, paying attention to your pretty long nails (that he paid for!!! a fact that he is very proud of). his feet were also tangled up with yours, teasingly not letting them go even when you said you had to get up and go to the bathroom.

the food was even more delicious, thanks to cheol who knew what to order. luckily, he has taken you out so many times, he now knows your tastes so well, he doesn't even have to ask you what you would like.

he was just in the middle of talking, his adorably big eyes looking at you as he did so.

"so i told jeonghan-remember him? the unusually pretty but a bit evil guy?-anyway, i told him that he can't do that to the clients wife, no matter how much of an asshole he was-"

you were both so enamoured with his story, that you didn't even notice a figure walking over to you, not until he stood right by your table and spoke in that condescending and annoying voice of his.

"well, well, well. would you look at that."

the unfortunately familiar voice sent a shiver down your back, your eyes looking up at him. the cockiness in his eyes, the arrogant yet slightly angry look in his eyes.

it all pissed you off.

"you sure do move on quickly, babe. hasn't even been 4 months since you left me, yet here you are. on a "date" with another man."

yuta's voice made your hand that was held by cheol's ball up in a fist, your brain sending rapid signals to control yourself, as jail shouldn't really be the place to spend the night.

coolly, you take a sip of your wine before you look up at him through your eyelashes, a certain coldness in your voice as you shoot right back

"you mean almost 4 months since you decided to be a manchild and cheat on me? yeah, no wonder i moved on so quickly-i actually wonder it even took me that long."

a sarcastic smile overtakes your mouth as you look for yuta's reaction.

his nostrils immediately flare up, fists balling up next to his body as he looks at you. his cheeks redden in embarrassment, clearly humiliated by your call out.

cheol makes a little 'ah' sound, looking at you and acting as if the man standing in front of you is all but real, saying "so this is the piece of shit who had the nerve to cheat on you. didn't know that men who look..." he pauses for a second to give the cheater a disgusted once over, lips curling in disgust as he says "so peculiar were your type. but i guess we all have dark pasts."

you snort at his comment, trying your hardest not to snort in your wine as the words left his mouth.

yuta didn't like that very much.

"who the fuck do you think you are, you-"

cheol's dark voice and even darker eyes stop him from talking any further, words poisonous like snake venom as he warns him.

"careful with what you want to say next. i can guarantee you it won't end up good for you."

you realise this is a very bad time to get a lady boner.

but you can't even control your thighs as they squeeze at the scene in front of you.

cheol, in his black and slightly unbuttoned dress shirt, looking up at the scum that is your ex with eyes that promise to kill.

all while he is still holding your hand on the table, his expensive gold watch reflecting under the restaurant lights.

fuck, he's hot.

but, of course, yuta has never been the smartest cookie, which is why he doesn't take seungcheol's threat seriously and scoffs before he asks him.

"wow, was she so hard to get into the bed? so hard that you now feel the need to defend her so she will sleep with you again?"

cheol's chair scrapes loudly against the floor before you can even blink, catching the attention of other guests.

getting all up in yuta's face, cheol uses his height and broad and strong build to his advantage, ultimately making yuta take a step back as cheol tries to get even closer in his face, threats flying out of his eyes.

"what did you just say about her?", a clear warning rattling in cheol's unnervingly calm and quiet voice.

instead of keeping quiet, yuta decides to smirk right in seungcheol's face and respond back.

big mistake.

"i said-is this whore so hard to get into the bed, that you have to go so far and defen-"

before you can even get up, cheol's fist swings from the back and straight into the man's face, loud crack echoing through the otherwise very quiet room.

you, along with many other observing guests, gasp, getting up from your seat.

seungcheol looks darkly at the man laying on the ground, clutching to his bloody and now broken nose as he wails in pain.

he carefully crouches down next to his body, looking at him like he was an experiment. his hand quickly grabs yuta's collar, bringing him closer to his face.

in what must've been the scariest voice you have ever heard him use, cheol warns yuta

"don't you ever call my girlfriend a whore again. or i will kill you. and that's a promise."

before he gets up and quickly heads for the exit, his whole body trebling with adrenaline as he walks out.

you stand there frozen for a second, wide eyes staring at the door that cheol's body just disappeared behind just a second ago as you process his words.

girlfriend...?

snapping out of your trance, you quickly grab both your and cheol's things, throwing a few dollar bills on the table, jogging slightly for the exit, before you abruptly stop, taking a second to decide if what just crossed your mind is a good idea.

after a second, you just say 'fuck it' before you turn back around, and jog back to yuta.

he's just trying to get up from the floor, his white button up now mostly red. he has trouble standing properly, eyes squeezed in pain, so he doesn't even see you coming.

which is perfect, as you are about to cause him even more pain.

before he can even react, you grab his shoulders and swing your leg so high, your knee connecting with his family jewels so hard, he immediately groans in pain, falling to his knees again.

you loudly exclaim, so the whole restaurant can hear you.

"that's for cheating on me and making my boyfriend angry! fuck you, i hope you stay miserable.", before you start running after your man.

you breathlessly open the door, a swoosh of fresh evening air making goosebumps rise on your arms as you look for seungcheol.

only to find him sitting on a curb, elbows leaning on his knees, and his head in his hands.

as you walk over, you notice his hands still shaking, heavy breaths coming out of his mouth in puffs.

you kneel in front of him, hands softly rubbing his shins as you softly talk to him.

"cheollie. can you look at me please?"

at first he shakes his head no, but after you say 'please?' even softer than you spoke initially, he slowly looks up at you, visible fear in his eyes as they meet yours.

smiling gently, you say something that shocks him.

"thank you."

he looks at you confusedly, not understanding why you'd thank him.

instead, he says.

" 'm sorry."

confusedly, you question

"what are you apologising for?"

he rakes his shaky hands through his hand as he looks down, too embarrassed to face you any longer.

"for acting so...out of hand. and losing my temper. it must've been scary for you to witness it..."

you smile a little at his quiet voice before you grab his hands, bringing them between your bodies as you crouch in front of him.

"there's nothing to apologise for, baby. it wasn't scary at all. you were so...cool, for defending me like that. no one...ever did something like that for me."

cheol looks at your face as you focus your eyes on his rough hands, your soft touch a total opposite of what he's used to, a soft smile stuck to your lips as you run your thumb over his bloody knuckles.

before he can even control himself, he frees his hands in the name of grabbing your cheeks and pulling you to himself, so abruptly that you have to grab his thighs to brace yourself.

and then he kisses you.

roughly, yet so softly, it had your wide eyes closing soon after his upper lip parts your lips.

after a few seconds of kissing, he pulls back so slowly, it has you breathing out a shaky breath as you focus on his big brown and sparkly eyes.

he takes your hands before he suddenly gets up, pulling you up as well with his hold on you, before he softly says.

"let's go home."

and you follow him wordlessly, like always.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

carefully balancing the two mugs in your hands, you walk over to where cheol is sitting on the couch with his head in his hands, yet again.

bending down, you slowly place your teas on the coffee table, all while looking at the man that is still in a bit of a distress, thinking how you could make the situation better.

he has kind of refused to look at you ever since you two got in the car, despite having kissed you just a minute prior to that. it's not like he's embarrassed about it, but rather like he was almost...afraid to look at you.

well, you can't have that.

carefully kneeling in front of him, your hands start softly rubbing his knees, voice gently calling his name.

"cheollie. can you look at me? please?"

he sighs for a second before he raises his head slightly, sparkly eyes and a big pout greeting you as he does so. you smile at this, fighting the urge to attack him with kisses because he looks so damn adorable.

you grab his hands in yours, rubbing the back of them in comfort as you ask him.

"mind telling me what's on your mind now, honey? you look a bit distracted."

yet another sigh escapes him, eyes closing as he tries to gather his thoughts.

"it's just...i know you said that it was okay, but i am still sorry for just...losing it like that in front of you."

you sigh a little, sitting back on your feet more comfortably as you say.

"there's nothing to apologise for...especially not when i found it really attractive."

this info makes his eyes snap open, looking at you in shock.

"you did?"

you just nod, shyly looking at his hands.

"no one ever stood up for me like that, especially not a man. my exes would mostly stay quiet, saying i could defend myself. the thing is-i can, and i did...but it's nice to see someone go out of their way to defend my name like that..." looking up at him, you finish "your protectiveness over me is very attractive to me. it means you've got my back, at all times."

cheol blushes a little, trying to hide his proud and somewhat cocky smile at bay.

suddenly remembering his other words, you raise yourself on your knees, bringing your face right in front of his. slyly, you question him.

"also-girlfriend? i don't remember you exactly asking me to be your girlfriend."

cheol laughs a bit, embarrassed about his automatic response to that asshole's words. he rubs the back of his neck a bit, kind of like he's considering his next course of action, before he brings that very same hand to his pocket, searching around for a bit, before he brings out a violet velvet jewellery box, presenting it to you elegantly.

"the plan was to ask you that very question tonight after we finished with the dinner and took a little walk to the pier, but that...thing just had to get in the way of my plans."

he gently opens the box to reveal a beautiful bracelet, a pendant of a sun hanging from it.

you gasp in awe, gently caressing it with one finger, a small smile building on your lips slowly the longer you look at it.

cheol takes the bracelet out of the box, opening the clasp before he takes your wrist and turns it around. with careful fingers, he clasps the bracelet shut, turning your hand back around to look at how the pendant is resting on your soft skin.

you look at it with adoration, holding your own wrist with your other hand as if it were the most precious treasure. you bring your hand close to your chest before you look him in the eyes.

"thank you, it's so beautiful. i love it so much."

cheol smiles shyly as he watches at your reactions.

"it's a sun. i was thinking which charm is most fitting to you, and i picked that one."

you look at him questioningly, a bit of confusion evident to his answer.

"why?"

cheol grabs that very same hand and brings it to his lips, soft lips kissing the back of your hand with a feather-light touch, before he answers.

"because before you, there was no sun in my life. it was all just an illusion-the successful life, all the wealth with no one to spend it one. even on the hottest days, my life seemed so...gloomy. that is, until i met you. you brought light to my life, one smile at the time. you...are the most wonderful person that has ever willingly walked into my life, and i don't want you going anywhere, ever."

you look at him with shock, your heart beating at thousand miles per minute. no one had ever been so open with their feelings for you like he is. no one had ever adored you so openly and loudly like he did.

no one had ever been the perfect man for you, like he is.

grabbing his face in your hands, you immediately kiss him as you wiggle yourself from the floor and onto his lap, his hands basically picking you up with ease and setting you to sit on his thighs, your legs squeezing around his thick and wide thighs.

his arms immediately wrap themselves around your waist, hands finding their home on your ass as he uses his hold to pull you deeper into his body.

his lips are kissing you slowly, sensually. tongue opening your lips so he can have access to your warm mouth, the very same tongue meeting your own half way before he retracts it back, lips softly sucking on your bottom lip, before he repeats the same action over and over again.

your hands find home in his longish black hair, nails scratching his scalp the way you've learned that he loves whenever you do it.

with back as straight as an arrow up until this point, you feel yourself relax in his hold, body sinking in his arms. you feel the same thing happening to cheol as well, slowly letting your bodies weigh him down until his back meets the couch.

the kiss continues for while, cheol sighing every few seconds in content, his hands now underneath the skirt of your dress, massaging the softness of your ass, periodically squeezing it hard before releasing it, only to do it again at the slow speed.

almost like it hit him suddenly, he lets your lips separate for a second, foreheads leaning on each other, just so he can cheekily ask you.

"does this mean you are my girlfriend now? is that a yes?"

you smile widely, whispering softly to him.

"it means you need to shut up because i want to kiss my boyfriend now." before you dive back into that kiss.

cheol's smile is so wide, he completely gives up on kissing you, instead letting your lips travel over his chin, cheeks, jawline, before they settle on softly sucking on the skin of his neck, one hand firmly holding his jaw in place, while the other travels between your bodies so it can rub his soft tummy, dangerously close to his belt. this action gets him to throw his head back against the backrest of the couch, eyes closing as he lets you take control over the situation.

his hands are still on your ass, a fact that you really enjoy at the moment, as he's teasingly playing with the lacy material, purposefully stretching it out a bit just to let it snap back against your skin, arousing a low moan out of you.

you bring your face in front of his again, his hazy eyes looking at your own, blown out pupils making his eyes appear almost completely black. his cheeks are a bit reddish, probably due to arousal that is slowly building beneath the material of his black pants.

at the same time, your lips come back onto his to give him the sloppiest kiss ever, saliva smearing against his chin as he reciprocates your dirty kiss, while also sitting fully on his semi erected dick, grinding the material of your panties against his bulge.

cheol moans as he feel the warmth of your core against his hard cock, hands immediately going from playing with your ass to slowly pulling on the hem of your dress, signalling to you that he wants it off.

the kissing stops for the few seconds it takes him to fling the dress of your body and throw it to the side. his breath catches in his lungs at your matching black set-the set that he bought you just a week ago and that he didn't get the chance of seeing you wear.

using his distraction, your hands busy themselves with unbuttoning his dress shirt, heavy breathing echoing in the otherwise quiet room. when your hands reach the buttons on his stomach, you forcefully pull the shirt of of his pants, unbuttoning the rest of the little buttons before you open the shirt, revealing the most beautiful view that his strong but soft body.

his pecks have grown due to him working out extra hard this last month, using the time where you are busy with work to distract himself a bit. but despite him working out more, his tummy has still grown a bit, looking so soft and beautiful. he has gained a bit of weight as a result of you two eating almost all meals together, every day, all day. cheol wasn't used to eating this much, usually settling on a half assed dinner with his partners, but ever since he met you, he would either bring takeout or there would be a warm meal waiting on him due to the curtesy of you cooking for him.

and honestly?

he looked so much hotter like this.

sure, you loved how strong he looked before his weight gain, but now, he looked even...bigger, stronger.

he looked like a man.

his shoulders alone looked so much broader, you had trouble wrapping your arms around them whenever he decided to fuck you on the kitchen counter.

or bathroom sink.

or in his car.

well. the sex life is still going strong, that's for sure.

he wraps one hand around your throat loosely, using the hold to bring you back to him. his lips immediately attack your own, tongue finally taking over the dominance, kissing you at the speed that he likes, which is a bit faster than you usually go at.

your hands immediately go to unbuckling his belt, a bit clumsily due to the urge to get him naked as soon as possible.

his hand stays around your neck, pressing the sides a bit every now and then, keeping you in his control.

once the belt is off, you get down to unzipping his pants, revealing the band of his black calvin klein boxers, a stain from the precum visible on the dark material.

you feel the walls of your pussy squeeze around nothing, wishing he would push his cock inside already. it's actually embarrassing just how wet you feel your inner thighs are, dripping juices all over his lap from a kiss only.

you whine against his lips, a clear sign to him that you are getting more desperate for him.

he suddenly pushes you back with his hand on your neck, making you throw your head back at his action.

his dark eyes carefully scan your form, from your fucked out face, to the rapid rase of your chest from heavy breathing, to the way your perky nipples poke at the black lacy material of the bra, to how your hips are unconsciously grinding just a teeny tiny bit against his own, thighs helplessly squeezing around his wide legs.

fuck, you looked like a work of art.

bringing you back to him just as suddenly, he doesn't let your lips touch his yet, as the urge to say something takes over him.

your eyes desperately look in his, begging him to do something.

ignoring you for a second, he instead tells you in his deep and raspy voice.

"you are mine now. no one is allowed to touch what's mine, are we clear? i will literally kill any man who dares touch you, no matter his intentions. if there's so much as a missing hair on your hair, i will make them pay." swallowing for a bit, his stormy eyes look at yours, continuing with talking once more. "you are mine, and i am yours. and i will make sure that everyone knows that."

you have a short second to think to yourself fuck, that's so hot before he suddenly kisses you messily, taking hold of your hips so he can move them against his own, making your grind against his rock hard cock now.

a loud moan escapes you, hands clutching his shoulders as you feel yourself get lightheaded from his actions and words, the urge to have him inside you so strong, that you helplessly beg him "fuck me, claim me, please, just -ah!- do something."

cheol, not one to leave your wishes unfulfilled, uses his hand to take his dick out of his boxers, his hard cock standing proudly against your tummy.

you raise yourself on your knees, impatiently waiting as you feel him move your panties to the side, and instead of just pushing his dick inside, he uses the very same hand to tease your folds a bit, gathering your precum on his fingers. he pauses the kiss in the name of pushing his fingers inside his mouth, groaning at the taste.

all while maintaining eye contact with you.

once his mouth is free, he brings your desperate little lips back to his, kissing you harshly and quickly as he distractedly tries to pump his dick a few times, before he brings his member to your folds. he rubs the head against your wet lips, teasing your clit a bit just so he can hear more of those sweet moans leave your mouth and flow directly into his.

he feels your nails dig into his naked shoulders, meaning that you are slowly getting impatient.

showtime.

carefully, he pushes the tip inside your pussy, the walls immediately squeezing around it so much, cheol feels himself lose all air in his lungs.

your sweet, sweet moan is so loud, it has cheol squeeze the meat on your hip hard. you let yourself slowly sink down the rest of his length, taking your sweet time as you do so. your walls convulse around his hard dick, feeling every little vein scrape against your walls.

after almost a minute of you struggling to take in his thick length, you feel his dick bottom out, a moan mixed with a sigh of relief as you do so.

cheol feels his eyes roll into the back of his head at the raw feeling of your pussy, breathing in and out deeply as a way to stop himself from cumming inside of you so embarrassingly quick.

instead of guiding your hips like usual, or even fucking upwards into you, he slowly brings his lips next to your ear, and so, so sensually tell you.

"go on-take it. if you want it, work for it. be a good girl-make yourself cum."

you want to whine in protest, a complaint on the tip of your tongue, but stop at the look in his eyes.

it's not even an order.

it's his wish that he wants you to fulfill.

you use the hold on his shoulders as an anchor, and rather than to bounce on his dick, you drag your hips forward until your tummies are touching, and then roll them right back, your ass dragging against his thighs. you repeat that action over, and over, and over.

cheol watches you, your little concentrated frown, wet and parted lips, your perky tits that sitting so prettily. your pretty neck almost calling his name to hold and choke it a bit.

fuck, your moves may be devilish, but you sure to look like an angel.

you continue rolling your hips like that, his dick almost falling out whenever you roll your hips forward, only to slip right back in once you move backwards. the tip is deliciously teasing you, almost tickling your sweet spot but not quite there yet.

his hands finally come back to hold your ass cheeks, slapping the right one whenever he notices your moves faltering, a murmured 'keep going' being the only thing he's able to say.

cheol's eyes are completely focused on how his dick exits and enters your pussy every time you move, hypnotised by the way your hips roll so smoothly.

you slowly start feeling your legs and feet cramp up, but nevertheless, you continue riding him like it's your very last chance to do so.

cheol's little encouraging words such as 'good girl', 'keep going', 'atta girl' and 'fuck, just like that baby' enter your ears but don't really register in your brain, instead completely focusing on bringing him the upmost pleasure.

but almost like he can sense it, cheol quickly grips your ass better, and positions his feet better so he can finally give it to you the way you want him to.

his strong hands completely control your movements, now making you bounce on his cock. his dick slides in and out so easily, all because you are so wet, he actually feels your wetness drip down his length and balls, drenching the couch beneath him.

you moan so loudly at his movements, finally relaxing and letting him do whatever he wants and pleases with you. his fingers grip the soft skin of your ass so strongly, you feel yourself only get wetter because of it.

he is so strong, he could pick you up with ease and manoeuvre your body any way he pleases. he could break you. but he adores you so much, instead he treats you so gently and lovingly, only going as hard as he thinks you can handle.

you wrap your arms fully around his shoulders, letting your head fall on his shoulder as he bounces you on his cock. your sweet moans go directly in his ear, which just makes him groan more, harshly slapping your ass as he praises you.

"moan so pretty for me baby, i could listen to you all day. fuck, i will listen to you every day, you are mine now. fuck, all mine."

cheol feels your walls tighten impossibly hard around his member, making him close his eyes as he gasps at the sensation, barely keeping his release at bay.

"fuck, pussy so tight it almost made me cum. you like that, sunny? like that you are all mine now?"

you are so out of it, affected by the constant stimulation to your g spot by his tip, that you only have it in yourself to moan as a response.

at that, cheol delivers a much harsher slap to your ass cheek, a warning present in his voice as he says.

"i asked you something, answer me."

you almost scream at his particularly hard spank, gathering your thoughts for a second before you say "fuh-fuck, yes, love tha' so much- ah- i'm all yours."

cheol groans at your sweet answer, slapping your ass once more.

"fuck, yes you are. all mine. my baby, my darling girl. mine to protect and fuck. my girl."

you love his words so much, they make you feel...whole in a sense.

but they also awaken some similar feelings inside of you.

which is why you suddenly bite his neck harshly, sucking on that very same spot in hopes that it will leave a mark.

seungcheol moans at your action, the loudest moan of the night escaping him actually.

you darkly whisper in his ear "you are mine-ah!- mine too. want you all to myself. my cheollie."

groaning at your words, he grabs the back of your neck to pull you back, only to clash his lips with yours messily, tongue immediately winning the battle of dominance.

he doesn't even have to help you all that much to bounce on his cock; you do it all by yourself at this point, desperately chasing your high.

he pauses the kiss for a second it takes him to say against your lips "fuck, love it when you are possessive baby, i'm all yours, just as you are mine. never gonna let that piece of shit near you again, he's never gonna have you again. you are mine."

at that, he brings his hand between your bodies, his expert fingers quickly finding you clit and rubbing it, putting enough pressure that you feel your toes curl, quick movements from right to left as he's ordering you "cum f'me, make a mess on this cock, baby."

and you do, unconsciously bringing his body closer to your by your hold around his shoulders.

his own arms wrap themselves around your waist as he chases his own orgasm, sound of skin slapping against each other echoing throughout his own living room.

finally, he groans as he pulls you down on his dick harshly, the warm liquid spilling inside your pussy, making you moan at the feeling.

he lets himself fall back against the couch, bringing your own body with his, just letting you breathe a bit.

you close your eyes and play with the material of his dress shirt that is still hanging loosely around his shoulders, the material now completely soaked through. knowing that he hates the feeling of sweaty clothes against his skin, you barely make an effort to move but still slowly pull it down his arms. he makes a little sound of confusion before he lets his arms fall from your waist so you can take it off, chucking it some where to the side.

his hands immediately come back around your waist, his nose contently sighing against the skin of your shoulder, eyes closing at your natural smell.

cheol doesn't like immediately pulling out of you, instead making the post orgasm time your little bonding time. he can't really explain it, but he just feels that much closer at those moments, no urgency or arousal behind his actions as he gently caresses your skin, his dick still twitching a bit inside of your warm pussy.

after a few moments of silence, you start smiling to yourself at the realisation, making you softly kiss his cheek as you happily hug him tighter.

he makes a little 'hm?' sound at this, questioning your sudden happiness.

you pull back just enough until you are face to face to each other, noses almost touching as you do so. he unconsciously starts smiling after seeing your own smile, hands gently pushing your hair back so it's not in the way.

you smile even wider at his gentle actions, making you raise your hand and softly cup his chubby cheek with it. almost like you are testing the words, you say "my boyfriend." to him, thumb gently rubbing his warm and rosy skin.

the immediate smile as a reaction makes you coo at the man beneath you, his pearly whites coming through from how big he's smiling at your words.

just as gently, he says back "my pretty and beautiful girlfriend."

giggling a bit at his words, you hug him closer to yourself again, before you bring his body away from the couch rest and make your bodies kind of awkwardly fall back onto the couch, his body hovering over yours as you try to pull him completely onto you, craving that feeling that him laying on top of you with his whole weight gives you.

you groans a bit as his dick slips out, a half hard on looking for a way back in.

he jokingly says "well aren't we a bit needy tonight" as he gives you what you want and lays himself completely on top of you, head tucking in your neck and kissing the skin there as he had nothing better to do.

you sigh contently, eyes closing on their own. replying back, you ask him "can't a girl just want to have her boyfriend as close as possible?" before you start running your fingers up and down his back, making a trail of goosebumps where your fingers touch his skin.

cheol chuckles at your words before he questions you back "you are never going to stop calling me that, are you?"

you intertwine your legs together as you answer "considering i have been waiting for you to ask me to be your girlfriend for literal weeks now-no, i don't think i can stop calling you my boyfriend."

swallowing a bit, cheol kisses your jawline softly as an apology before he answers "i was just waiting for the appropriate amount of time to ask you that. plus, i wanted everything to be perfect, which considering how tonight went, maybe shouldn't have been the deciding factor."

you chuckle at his response.

"cheollie, i literally spent the night the very first time we met each other. i don't think we are the type of couple to follow the rules that other couples do."

this makes him raise his head from your shoulder, a teasing smile playing on the edges of his lips.

"does that mean you will move in with me?"

your eyes almost fall out of their sockets at this, immediately replying.

"wow, slow down, romeo. one big question per day, please. plus, my lease won't end for another 6 months, so. if you still feel like that, ask me when that comes to an end."

he looks at you adoringly, pushing non-existent hair out of your face as he responds.

"i just...want you by my side at all times. i hate having to think if you got home safe after you leave my house. i hate having to ask you where i should go to after work, in case you might be too busy to have me over. i want to come home to you every night. i want to share everything with you."

he stops for a second, but before you can open your mouth to tell respond back to him, he continues.

"i realise that's a bit crazy to feel after just a few months of being together, but...i am not getting any younger. and...i have never met someone who had this much affect on me. you...enchanted me, with your big eyes and soft smiles, and warm hugs and comforting words. i can't fight the urges anymore-i just want to be with you."

you watch as he shyly plays with your hair, cheeks red at his words.

you find his words...touching, your own cheeks burning at how sweet and honest he is with you. which is why you gently grab his cheeks and pull him towards yourself, lips meeting in a gentle press.

you let the kiss naturally finish, finally responding to his little rant with.

"ask me in 6 months, and i will say yes."

cheol looks at your eyes, only to find nothing but honesty in there.

almost like he is in a trance, he lets his lips find your own again, kissing you with so much gentleness, all while he's thinking to himself.

fuck, don't tell her yet, it is too soon to confess your love to her. she hasn't even been you girlfriend for 2 hours, control yourself you maniac.

clueless at the inner turmoil he's dealing with, you kiss him right back, arms wrapping around his shoulders as you let yourself relax.

cheol feels the metal of the bracelet around your wrist softly dangle against the skin of his shoulder, making him softly grab your arm and bring it down so it's resting on the couch. he then goes to intertwine your fingers, firmly holding your hand down.

you slyly open your legs so he can settle between them, an obvious sign as to what you want from him.

he happily obliges.

cheol ever so carefully-finally- removes your bra and panties, kissing the newly bare skin of your chest a bit before he comes back up to kiss your soft lips.

using his free hand, cheol slowly brings your leg up, wrapping it around his hip as he settles between your legs.

his erected dick is standing proudly against his stomach, waiting to finally be inside you again. directing his hips a bit, he slowly slides his dick between your folds, the tip deliciously rubbing against your already tingling clit as he does so.

a soft moan leaves your mouth, your glassy eyes half lidded as they stare up at cheol, waiting for his next move.

cheol himself being impatient, doesn't waste any more time, and with his dick in his hand slowly directs it to your gaping hole.

and then he's pushing inside of you.

the air around you two has shifted this time. there's no sense of urgency or the need to claim each other, to mark each other. instead, your touches, your sounds, your actions-they are...softer.

the first round was you two fucking, trying to get all of these big and somewhat ugly emotions out of the way.

now, however?

now you two are making love.

his movements are slow, controlled, rolling his hips in a way that it feels almost suffocating. his hand is still intertwined with yours, in a way anchoring you to the reality.

and his lips?

they are gently kissing you, going from your lips to your cheek, pressing deep yet soft kisses all over. he also hasn't stopped softly talking to you, just little things like 'my girl' and 'doing so good for me'.

you cling to him, the one free arm wrapped around his back, as well as your legs around his waist. you need him to be as close to you as possible, this unusual need to have him almost under your own skin never stronger than in this moment.

he's professionally rocking his hips against your own, slowly and softly doing so. he wants to appreciate you now, to make it known how much he values you.

your walls pulse around his length, desperate to have him reach the depth that you crave. to be completely honest, your pelvis hurts hurts a bit from how wide you have to spread your legs, but you endure it, in the name of having your man as close to you as possible.

his chest presses into your own, so you can feel just how wildly fast his heart is beating. you even bring the free hand to his chest, gently pressing into his peck. you break your kiss so you can whisper a little "relax, love, breathe for me" before going back to kissing him slowly, your lips softly sucking on his bottom lip as you do so.

cheol exhales deeply through his nose, his hold on your hand getting tighter as he does so. shyly, he whispers back through the kiss "you make me crazy, i can't calm it down even if i wanted to."

you moan at his words, the honesty of his words making your walls squeeze around his cock.

cheol's pace picks up a bit, just enough so that he can chase your highs at a somewhat comfortable pace.

your whole body is shaking, legs trembling against his hips as you feel your orgasm slowly approaching. you are sensitive from the first round as it is, which makes this one all the more stimulating.

your boyfriend's breathing is slowly getting irregular, almost like he's getting any air the longer he continues to fuck into you.

he hasn't stopped talking the entire time, saying all these little comments to you that are supposed to be encouraging.

but one comment in particular catches your attention.

while being so lost in the pleasure, seugcheol almost lets it slip out, saying "fuck, i just lov- mmh-" before he pushes his face into your neck, pretending that it never came out.

but it did.

and you heard him.

and god, how you did want him to say it.

which is probably why you encouragingly whisper in his ear.

"tell me in the morning. if you feel that way, tell me once the sun's out."

from that point on, your mind becomes so hazy, that everything becomes a bit blurry to you. his pace picks up, yet you still feel every vein on his dick as you clench around it, his tip quickly hitting your sweet spot repeatedly.

his hand yet again finds your clit, rubbing it even faster than the first time, trying to bring you to the finish line even faster.

his lips are so desperate, moaning and whining against yours as he chases his orgasm, so very sensitive from the first round.

and then, like a tsunami, your finish hits you so hard, you don't even notice that you squirt onto him.

your finish triggers his own, his cum painting your insides in spurts, deep moans filling the shell of your ear deliciously, before he lets himself fall on top of you, officially too spent to move.

your eyes closed sometime between squeezing his hand so harshly that you leave little crescent moon shaped markings due of your long nails, and letting your legs fall away from his hips, stretching them out so they don't cramp up.

feeling so very satisfied but tired, you just let yourself get picked up by cheol a few minutes later, nuzzling closely in his neck as he carries you to his room.

you go in and out of consciousness as he gently wipes your juices away, cleaning you completely before he pulls on a pair of loose shorts of his and a shirt.

you aren't too sure when, but shortly after that he got into the bed with you, hugging you to his front as he kissed your neck softly.

and then your consciousness faded away, entering the dreamland as you distinctly heard him whisper some things against the back of your head.

the next time you wake up, it is because the early morning sun is shining directly in your eyes, making you immediately close them and shuffle closer to the naked human wall that is your boyfriend.

feeling his eyes on you, you open one sly eye to see what he wants, only to see him lovingly look at you, gently pushing your hair back.

he smiles at you as he greets you "good morning, love."

your own smile ends up being shy, responding back "good morning." before you shuffle even closer, tucking your head under his chin as you wrap an arm around his soft stomach.

cheol hugs you right back, one leg slipping over both yours underneath the fabric of the comforter.

both of you stay quiet for a few minutes, but you can feel cheol's heart racing under your cheek, making you wonder what it could be.

however, despite the racing heart, you don't question him what's wrong. instead, you wait for him to confess it on his own.

finally gathering enough courage, he swallows harshly before he asks you.

"can i say it now?"

you play dumb, asking him "say what exactly?"

"you said to tell you...that in the morning if i feel the same; and i do. so can i say it?"

you don't respond, instead, you shuffle back a bit, until you are laying nose to nose.

before he can even see it, you lean in just a tick more, lips finding his in a soft kiss. but you don't let it go beyond that one kiss, instead, you order him.

"say it. so i can say it back."

breathlessly, almost like he ran a marathon, cheol finally confesses.

"i am in love with you. i love you, so, so deeply."

you roll on top of his body as you kiss him yet again, this time with more urgency than ever before.

his strong arms wrap themselves around your waist, easily bringing you so you are laying on top his big body.

breathlessly, you whisper against his lips.

"i love you. i love you, too. god, how i love you, choi seungcheol."

there, underneath the early morning sunlight, in his warm embrace, you knew.

you knew that this was just a start of something everlasting.

a start of forever.

#seventeen #svt #fypシ #svt x reader #tumblr fyp #fypage #fluff #scoups #choi seungcheol #smut #scoups x y/n #seungcheol #scoups x you #scoups x reader #scoups seventeen #choi seungcheol x you #choi seungcheol x reader

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sleeplessdove · 5 months ago

Text

— bubble pop electric !

♡ perv!dealer! e. williams x fem! reader

synopsis: you’re at the drive in with your new dealer, what could go wrong?

a/n: just a writing warm up im sorry

warnings: not proofread we die like laura palmer, dealer ellie, weed usage, heavy intoxication kink, perv behavior, stalking somewhat, public sex, degrading, praising, pet names, toxic ellie my beloved, dubious consent, fingering (r! receiving), loser ass ellie, sorta scent kink i guess, manipulation, sex while intoxicated, mentions of further sex lol maybe a pt 2 is coming, probably lots more so proceed with caution !!!

wc: 5k

The sound of your ringtone echoed through your bedroom, making you perk up from where you were seated on your bed.

She’s right on time, 7:30 on the dot !

You hadn’t been expecting her to show up when she had said she would, as your friends that bought their weed supply from Ellie often complained that she showed up whenever she wanted. Then again, she also swore she didn’t do drop offs for anyone and yet she had immediately offered to stop by your place to deliver everything you had asked for.

She had joked with you over text that it was only because you were a first time customer, she had to make a good impression after all.

Either way, you weren’t one to question good things so you quickly scrambled out of your bed before texting her that you would be out in a second.

You tucked your cash into your waistband with shaking fingers, your nerves tingling as you made your way towards the front door with long strides.

Fuck, why were you so nervous? It’s not like you were doing anything inherently wrong— you just wanted to relax and stop bumming off your other friends' joints by ensuring you had your own stuff to smoke.

Maybe it was Ellie’s reputation, as you had barely interacted with her besides the small nod she’d give you when she spotted you at parties of mutual friends. She kept to herself for the most part, but that didn’t stop you from hearing about how she was fucking half the girls at the college you both attended.

And from what you heard, she was good at what she did with those other women. It wasn’t at all hard to believe, as she had a certain way about her that drew you in and you were sure many others felt the same. When she texted you back, even just asking you to specify what exactly you wanted to buy from her, you found yourself smiling at your phone.

It was the little nicknames, the way she seemed genuinely interested in giving you the best experience possible as a first time buyer. But you had to reason with yourself, reminding yourself that she was just trying to make a sale so of course she was going to be a little sweet on you.

Even with a rational mind, you couldn’t help but take in a shaky breath as you stepped out into the cool air of the night, spotting Ellie’s car not too far away. You gave a small nervous wave as you walked towards your car before you silently cursed yourself for the embarrassing gesture.

Despite it, you opened the passenger door of her car and got in, just as she had told you to do over text. Immediately, you picked up on the scent of weed— good weed clinging to the air along with the warm scent of whatever expensive cologne she was wearing. The smell seemed to calm your nerves enough that you were able to give a soft smile.

“Hey, thanks for coming by. I fucked up my tires last week and you know how expensive that is so I’ve just been—“ you begin to ramble due to how anxious you feel, but when your eyes flicker towards her amused expression you quickly cut yourself off.

“Sorry” you say with a small laugh, placing your hands on your lap and smoothing out the material of your skirt to soothe yourself. Ellie is quick to shake her head, offering you a smile that makes the corner of her eyes crinkle ever so slightly .

“What’re you apologizing for, sweet girl?” she questions, all too relaxed. The pet name alone had you feeling dizzy with unexpected emotions. You only give a slight shrug of your shoulders, attempting to appear just as relaxed as Ellie does. “Uhm– I just, I mean you don’t care about that stuff” you mutter with a sheepish smile, fumbling with your skirt for a moment before you pull out the cash you had been saving for this very occasion.

You hold it out to her as if it were some sort of peace offering, but Ellie lightly shakes her head and pushes your hand away gently, rejecting the money you had saved up for weeks. “You think I don’t care?” she questions, blatantly ignoring the fact that she was supposed to be your dealer and nothing more. The odd question makes you falter for a moment, unsure of how you’re meant to respond.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way, I just don’t think you wanna hear me rambling on” you mutter, your voice far softer than intended. Although it seems as if you picked the correct answer, as Ellie’s grin only seems to widen. “It’s important for me to care about my customers, isn’t it?” she jokes, pleased with herself as she watches you relax in the slightest bit from her playful tone. “I guess so” you say with a breathy laugh, feeling the tension in your body slowly melting away.

“Is this not enough or…?” you begin, looking down at the money that was still held loosely in your hand, as if you were expecting her to tell you that her prices had suddenly gone up. “First time customer means you get it for free” she says smoothly, reaching into the backseat to grab the baggy she had made just for you. An assortment of homemade edibles and prerolls filled the baby pink baggie she had placed them in, although you had only requested prerolls.

Your eyes were wide as you looked between her and the goods she had prepared just for you, as if you were a deer with headlights staring back at you. From what you had heard, Ellie didn’t fuck around when it came to her money. She wanted on time payments or even payments in advance, she was a business woman after all. It was hard for you to fathom such a concept, as you were unused to such kindness, especially from someone with her reputation.

But despite your lack of knowledge of her, Ellie knew all about you. She had spent months slowly befriending your friends just so you would feel comfortable enough to buy from her. Not that she liked selling to any of your friends, but she would do anything to get closer to you. There was no rhyme or reason for her infatuation, and she chose not to question the way she felt about you.

“I couldn’t– I mean, I can’t” you begin, shaking your head but Ellie is quick to cut you off. “I just want you to test it out, don’t worry about it” she says in a voice that leaves no room for argument. You wanted to object, but you knew there was no point at all. So you simply tuck the cash back in your waistband, offering her a bright smile.

“You’re not like people say you are” you say without even thinking, inwardly cringing at your choice of words the second you register what you had said to her. She doesn’t seem offended, although she raised a curious brow. “What do people say I’m like?” she questions, not at all seeming offended.

Ellie knew she had a rather harsh personality with others, but she hadn’t expected that information to reach you. It was as if her plot was falling apart right before her eyes, and yet she had to keep up her laid back facade. “Mm, I don’t know. You’re just– different than what they say” you respond, not really wanting to explain to her that everyone called her a bitch and those who didn’t only spoke highly of her because they had slept with her.

She doesn’t press the issue, nodding a bit and thanking god that you weren’t threatened by her presence like you used to be. Before you even get the chance to pluck the baggie from her hands, she speaks up once more.

“You got someone to smoke this with? S’ pretty strong… and if you need someone to make sure you don’t go overboard or anything–” she begins, and you could swear for a moment her voice cracks from nerves. She is so concerned with your wellbeing and for whatever reason it made you blush, your face growing warmer with each passing second. “My place is kind of a mess right now” you tell her in a somewhat disappointed voice, as some part of you ached to be alone with her for a while longer, even if it was just because she didn’t want you to end up greening out.

“Well we could go to that shitty drive-in downtown, just so you don’t have to be alone” she offers, her fingers lightly tapping against her thigh in a rhythmic manner. “But no pressure, I don’t know what you’ve heard about me but I don’t mean it like that” she lies through her teeth, knowing damn well she had spent the last few weeks fucking herself with her eyes squeezed shut, the image of you held tightly in her mind.

But you didn’t know that, so who cares?

You nod quickly, trying to pretend you weren’t discouraged by her comment, as some part of you wanted her to take you to the drive-in with the intention of getting in your pants. “I know, I know. But yeah, why not? I heard they’re playing the original Romeo and Juliet tonight” you say, buckling your seatbelt as she starts up the engine. Ellie couldn’t care less about what they’re playing tonight, all she cares about is getting you alone.

Ellie had placed the baggie of goods onto your lap before she began driving, to ensure that you didn’t think she was trying to withhold it from you. You kept it grasped tightly in your hands, as if it were a lifeline as your mind raced at a mile a minute. Her music played faintly, some old rap you recognized but made no comment on since the silence between the two of you was comfortable enough.

All the while, Ellie was trying to collect her own thoughts, as she couldn’t afford to fuck this up after she had worked so hard just to get here. But based on how you were humming along to the music ever so softly, she could tell you weren’t as apprehensive about her as you once were and that helped put her mind to rest.

Ellie refuses to let you pay even when she has to get the tickets for the movie and you try not to make a fuss about it, doing your best to accept her acts of kindness. By the time the two of you reached the drive-in, the movie was already halfway through but fortunately there was barely anyone else there so Ellie quickly found a spot to park. As she shifted the parking gear into place, she let out a relaxed sigh and glances over to you.

She takes a moment to simply analyze your delicate features, the way your lips part in awe as the tragic film plays out before you, your attention already on the screen despite only being there for a few moments. With a light nudge, she managed to get your attention back on her so that she could speak to you directly.

“We should get in the backseat, just so no one sees us smoking n’ it’s more comfortable, so you can enjoy your movie” she states as if it were basic knowledge, and before you can even think her words over, your body begins to move on its own as you step out of the car only to open the back door and slide in there instead. You can’t help but think of how thoughtful she is, how kind she is. This was enough for you to reason that she had no other intentions other than ensuring your safety, although your heart continued to pound in your chest as she settled in the backseat with you.

She already had a lighter ready, gripped tightly in one hand before she extended her free hand to you, silently prompting you to give her one of the prerolls she had made just for you. You open up the baggie, marveling at the soft baby pink color of the rolling paper she had used for your order.

As you give it to her, your hands brush against each other and you can feel just how warm she is, a stark contrast to your cool skin. You have to make an effort to not shiver at the contact, the simple act making your mind grow a bit fuzzy.. It was either that or the fact that the scent of weed was already thick in the air the second she lit it for you, along with a hint of something else that took you a moment to put your finger on.

“Is that lavender?” you question, your head tilting with curiosity as you watch Ellie take a small puff of the joint to make sure it would burn properly before she held it out for you to take. “Smells good, hm? Makes it a little easier to smoke when you roll with lavender, smoother to smoke, at least I think so” she mutters with a slight shrug, trying to ignore the way just watching you take a shaky inhale makes her need for you grow stronger.

She knew you had smoked before, but not enough to really be a regular at it. This was shown in the way you let out a weak cough, your cheeks growing rosy in the slightest bit. Often, Ellie would dread smoking with inexperienced people but with you, she was in heaven. “S’ good, really good” you huff between your coughs and your voice was truthful despite it all. Lavender was one of the most soothing scents to you, and it helped you relax before taking a few more hits.

You think for a moment that as good as the smoke is, you’re not really feeling a high that was different from anything else you were used to. That was until you tried to hand Ellie the joint, and you realized your hand was trembling to the point where she had to wrap a firm hand around your wrist so that she could steady you enough to take it from you.

You have to bury the burning sensation of embarrassment, as you hadn’t taken her warning seriously when she had told you just how strong her stuff was. But the feel of her strong hand wrapping around your wrist only seems to add to the dizzy feeling blossoming within your mind, a pleased sigh falling from your lips as her touch grounds you as much as it possibly can, considering you’re already out of it.

“Poor baby” she coos in an all too sweet tone that only muddles your mind further. She takes a few hits with ease, her lungs being adjusted to the aching burn that would spread throughout her lungs. You can only watch her with hazy eyes, the realization that you’re alone with someone you had kept in the back of your mind for months suddenly making you feel overwhelmed. Your eyes flicker back towards the movie that continues to play, the smoke bleeding through the windows since Ellie had opened them just enough to make sure she didn’t completely hot box her car.

Ellie can sense your anxiousness and it makes her heart ache in the most pathetic way. You were completely gone, but Ellie needed you to be a little more pliant if she wanted to be able to get what she wanted. So she brought the joint to your lips, her own hand steady and calm.

“Just a few more hits for me, sweet girl. You can do it, can’t you?” she asks in a warm tone, easing you into the idea of following her every command. Some part of her is worried she is asking for too much too fast, but you eagerly wrap your lips around the filter of the joint without the slightest bit of hesitation.

Even with your scrambled mind, you knew that you wanted to please Ellie. You needed to make her proud of you, although you’re unsure why this is such a necessity. But in the midst of your high, you don’t think to question it at all. To you, she is simply being kind and considerate, such a far cry from the other people you knew.

The fresh hits burn even more, and Ellie is quick to soothe your coughing fit by gently rubbing circles on your back. The smallest touch had goosebumps rising on your skin and you desperately craved more contact, yet you were too fearful to ask for it. So you remain as still as a statue, praying that this isn’t some weed induced hallucination.

Your muscles begin to relax and Ellie begrudgingly pulls her hand away, not wanting to overwhelm you further. But the moment her warmth is gone, you let out a pitiful whine. It’s breathy and sounds borderline pornographic, as if she had just pulled her fucking strap out of you or something.

It was a simple touch, and yet it was all that mattered to you in that moment. For the first time ever, Ellie is unsure of what move to make next. She has to play her cards right, lest she scare you off. So she simply watches the way you sway in your seat, your eyes red and half lidded as you look at her with a heartbroken expression due to her no longer touching you.

“Look at you, so dumb n’ sweet” she coos, her voice making a mockery of the affection she felt towards you. The tone she uses with you is so gentle that you don’t even recognize the degrading words, simply shivering with pleasure as she blows smoke straight into your face before stubbing out the small bit of the joint that is left into an ashtray she had in the car for her cigarette habit.

Some part of your brain knows that you are too out of it, the world around you spinning far too fast for your liking. And yet, there is nowhere in the world you’d rather be. “You think m’ sweet?” you question, a soft laugh tumbling from your lips.

Ellie can’t believe that you had chosen to focus on that part of her sentence when she had just called you dumb without any remorse. God, you were everything she wanted and more.

She nods her head slightly, the weed making her heart beat faster than usual as she slowly inched closer to you in the backseat. The sound of the movie acted as background noise, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt Ellie’s breath fanning against your neck in the slightest.

Her breathing pattern had changed, short inhales with longer exhales as she tried to wrap her mind around the fact that you had willingly smoked over the limit you were comfortable with just to please her. “Course’ I do. Sweetest little thing I’ve ever met in this god forsaken town” she mutters, pressing a feather light kiss to your neck.

It was enough to make you shiver, a lazy grin on your lips because in your confused mind, you were the luckiest person in the world. Free weed and the hottest girl at your college was worshipping you as if you were something holy was not how you expected your usual Friday night to play out, yet here you were.

Ellie was choosing to take her time with you, her senses heightened enough that she can pick up on every bit of your perfume. The intoxicating scent of lavender, jasmine, and vanilla swirled in her mind and left her desperate to be as close to you as possible.

Her strong hand grips your waist, pulling you closer to her own body until you can feel her rapid heartbeat fluttering beneath her skin due to your bodies being flush tight against one another. “Just relax, baby. No need to think when m’ here, alright? Let all those thoughts fade away n’ focus on being here with me” she whispers, her other hand sliding down your body until she can ease it between your thighs.

She thanks whatever higher power there is that you aren’t wearing any shorts under your little skirt, her fingers coming into contact with your panties that were embarrassingly wet. Ellie uses two fingers to trace the damp patch on the cotton material, soft curses falling from her rosy lips as she watched your brows knit with a mix of confusion and pleasure.

“Doing so good for me, aren’t you? I knew you’d be so well behaved” she hums, her voice shaky and breathless as she eases her fingers upwards until she can feel your puffy clit through your panties.

With slow, almost reverent motions, she rubs your aching bud through the soft material. The sensation enveloped your entire body, leaving you to moan weakly as she pushes your thighs apart a bit further just to see how willing you are.

She is pleased to find that you let her manhandle you into the position she wants without question, your hazy mind far more focused on what your cunt wants. As much as she loves watching your expression of ecstasy, she needs to taste you on her tongue, to memorize every last inch of your mouth so that no one knows you as well as she does.

As her fingers continue to move against your panties, she captures your lips in a kiss that reflects the need she has been harboring for months. It’s not rough, slower than her usual method of kissing. It is as if she is praising your body through the way she touches you, her tongue as smooth as velvet as it dances along your own.

With you so lost in the kiss, she uses the opportunity to push the thin material of your panties to the side so she can properly rub your aching clit. It’s filthy how wet you are, her fingers sticky with your arousal after a few seconds of her intimate touch. As much as you are relieved by the contact, it also feels like it is consuming you completely.

You can’t help but whine against her lips, your shaky hand weakly grasping her wrist in an attempt to pull her hand away from your dripping cunt. But Ellie refuses to yield, unbothered by your pleas for her to slow down.

“I’m going easy on you, silly girl. It must be all that weed getting in your head, making you imagine things” she muses. She was practically blaming you for how worked up you were, as if she wasn’t the one rubbing your clit at a maddeningly slow pace.

The sick part was that you truly believed her, you genuinely thought that someone like Ellie knew more than you did. You were the one who had smoked so much and you wanted her touch, so what right did you have to complain about it?

“More” you plead breathlessly, tears welling in your reddened eyes and quickly spilling down your soft cheeks. It was as if you had no control over your body, and it was running based on pure primal instinct.

The sight of your tears only turns Ellie on more, her own cunt aching for stimulation. But all she cares about is getting you off, so she shushes you ever so gently before easing one of her fingers into your pussy.

Your body tenses from the intrusion, hiccups leaving your parted lips as she sinks her finger into your gooey, pliant cunt. Your walls are slick with arousal and Ellie wishes with every fiber of her being that she could sink her strap into you and give you what you really wanted but her fingers would have to do for now.

“Thaaaat’s it. Look at this pretty little cunt, taking me so well” she praises, kissing the corner of your lips before easing a few kisses down your jaw. Her dirty words seem so romantic when you’re in such a fuzzy state of mind and you are just so pleased that she is giving you so much attention.

Your hands are restless, tugging at Ellie’s shirt— although you’re unsure if you’re trying to pull her closer or push her away. “Can’t do it, can’t!” you cry, only for her to add a second finger into your slick hole. She pumps her fingers at a slow pace, not feeling the need to be rough because she knows the feeling is intense enough as is.

You are left to squeeze your thighs together, the pleasure bordering on pain due to how quickly everything is happening. “But you’re doing so well, angel. You wanted more, didn’t you? Did you lie to me, hm?” she questions, questioning you as if she wasn’t the perv who was fucking some sweet girl in the back of her car.

The question makes you shake your head feverishly, not wanting her to think lowly of you. “No, I promise. S’ just a lot, never ever— mm fuck, never felt like this before” you whisper, your voice unsteady. Her fingers stretched you open perfectly, her thumb still focusing on tracing small circles over your clit.

“I know, sweetheart, I know. No one has ever taken care of you properly, huh? Those stupid girls you sleep with don’t know how to please a precious thing like you” she says in a syrupy sweet tone that only serves to dumb you down further.

You nod your head, unsure what you’re even saying anymore. You couldn’t care less, not when she’s curling her fingers inside you just enough to hit the perfect spot. Her fingers thrust against the spongy spot, her own cunt clenching around nothing as she watches you rut against her hand.

“Gonna cum, gonna— mmf” you try to warn her, as you were not used to finishing so quickly. But your warning doesn’t cause her to slow down in the slightest, she simply keeps her pace as she licks a long stripe up your neck before connecting your lips to hers once more.

She swallows every single one of your cries as your cream gathers at the base of her fingers, a lewd white ring of your essence marking her as yours. Ellie can feel her ego grow three sizes as she feels your cunt clamp down on her fingers like a silken vice, evidence of your release all over her hand.

Ellie helps you ride out your orgasm, lazily pumping her fingers deep into your cunt until you pull away from the kiss just to whine that you can’t go any further. Since she had gotten what she wanted, she finally eases her fingers out of you and brings them to her lips instead.

She keeps her eyes focused on your fucked out expression, watching your chest heave as she sucks her fingers clean. The taste of you leaves her moaning, as it was saccharine and everything she had imagined it to be.

You are still lost in the haze of your high, your nerve endings seeming to tingle all over as you try to even out your breathing. The effects of the weed haven’t eased up and so you give Ellie a bashful grin, still so shy in her presence despite what had happened.

The sight of you still behaving so sweetly pleases her in a way she can’t describe, as the purity of your heart seems to only draw her closer. Without missing a beat, she tugs your underwear back in place and presses a soft kiss to your cheek.

“You wanna make me feel good too, don’t you?” she asks softly, her fingers absentmindedly toying with your hair. It’s not a demand at all, as she simply wants to see what state of mind you’re in.

Much to her satisfaction, you slowly nod your head after you take a moment to register her words. “Wanna make you feel good” you babble, repeating her words as if you were nothing more than a mindless doll.

“Atta’ girl” she praises instantly, using gentle movements to help you sit up properly but letting you remain close to her. “How bout’ we go back to my place, just for a bit. We can smoke some more once we’re there and then I’ll let you touch me” she offers, acting casual about it so that you remained in your pliant headspace.

The offer of being able to go to her house causes you to instinctively nod your head, an eager grin on your lips as you take notice of the windows that were fogged up despite being opened up just a bit. “Pretty please” you beg in a voice that makes Ellie’s heart stutter for a moment or two because she knew she was about to spend the rest of the night either rubbing your slick cunts together or simply letting you eat her out so that you can learn how to properly please her.

Maybe both if you were awake long enough, although she was sure that after another round the weed would have you out like a light.

As the credits of the movie begin to roll, she helps you get back into the passenger seat, even buckling your seatbelt for you and giving you one last gentle kiss before she got in the driver's seat. You were still in a daze and thanks to how strong the weed was, Ellie knew she would have you all to herself for the rest of the night.

#ellie williams x f!reader #ellie williams blurb #ellie williams oneshot #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fanfic #dark!fic

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solxamber · 4 months ago

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Trash Novel Chronicles: Gaslight, Gatekeep, Get Married || Deuce Spade

You get isekai’d into a garbage novel as the villain, so you take it as a sign that morality is optional now. So, you do what any reasonable person would: you set the world on fire (metaphorically… mostly) and somehow bag your knight, Deuce Spade in the process.

Series Masterlist

You sat in absolute silence. Reeling. Processing. Dissociating. The book lay in your lap like the aftermath of a terrible crime, and you were its sole witness.

This was it. This was the literary phenomenon your friends had been screaming about. The novel they had sworn up and down was “life-changing,” “revolutionary,” and “the best thing since sliced bread.”

They had lied.

You had just spent the last twelve hours raw-dogging the most deranged piece of fiction known to mankind.

Your soul had been ripped from your body. Your IQ points had been forcefully extracted like an amateur lobotomy. You were but a husk of your former self.

A single thought floated through your shattered psyche:

I will never know peace again.

With shaking hands, you closed the book. The sound was deafening. A death knell for your last two remaining brain cells.

And then, like a corpse freshly risen from the grave, you stood.

This could not go unanswered. This could not go unpunished.

Your friends would explain themselves.

You stomped through the dark streets like a vengeful ghost, guided by pure, unfiltered spite. It was 1 AM. Civilization had long since gone to sleep. You didn’t care.

Your mind replayed the sheer buffoonery you had just endured.

The heroine: an overpowered dumbass with the survival instincts of a chicken nugget. She was supposed to be a Saintess, and yet she spent 80% of the book actively making things worse. Entire villages burned because of her holy powers, and she had the audacity to be shocked every time it happened.

"Oh noooo, I accidentally summoned divine lightning again!"

AGAIN. AGAIN.

Then there was the Crown Prince, the supposed male lead. A menace. A plague upon this world. He was in love with the villain but too emotionally constipated to deal with it, so instead, he had chosen the path of delusion. This man pursued the heroine not out of love, but out of sheer desperation

"If I can’t be happy, then no one can."

That was his entire character arc.

And let’s not forget the second male lead. The butler. The SPY. He was somehow working for both the villain and the heroine at the same time while also being madly in love with the heroine for reasons that science could not explain. This man switched allegiances like he was flipping through TV channels. You were convinced he woke up every morning and rolled a die to decide whose side he was on that day.

And then. The villain.

Your one hope. Your one saving grace.

A man who started the book as a calculating mastermind and ended it as a broken shell of a human being. You did not blame him. You were right there with him.

By the final chapter, he had stopped trying to kill the heroine. He had stopped plotting world domination. He had stopped everything.

He just sat there, staring into the abyss, wondering how his life had gone so, so wrong.

And honestly? Mood.

You reached your friend’s house.

You did not knock. No. That was for reasonable, rational people. You grabbed a rock from their garden and hurled it at their window with the force of a person unhinged.

A light flicked on. Your friend’s groggy, half-conscious face appeared.

“Holy shit, what the hell—”

“EXPLAIN YOURSELF.”

You pointed an accusatory finger at them, your eyes wild, your soul fractured beyond repair.

“Explain WHAT?” They blinked, rubbing their eyes.

“The book.” Your voice was hollow. “The—thing—you made me read.”

Their face lit up. “OH MY GOD, YOU FINISHED IT?? WASN’T IT AMAZING??”

You had never before in your life wanted to commit a homicide.

You took a deep breath. A slow, shuddering inhale.

Then, in the most broken, haunted voice imaginable, you whispered:

“…I need you to pay for my therapy.”

You stomped down the street, vibrating with pure, unfiltered rage. That book—that war crime bound in paper—had single-handedly destroyed your brain cells, faith in storytelling, and will to live. You couldn’t let your other friend get away with this. No, you were going to kick down their door too and demand compensation for the IQ points you lost.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans.

Just as you turned the corner, a man—no, a menace to society—came hurtling toward you at ungodly speeds.

On a unicycle.

Juggling three live pigeons and a tray of scalding hot coffees.

His face was locked in an expression of sheer, manic concentration, like a circus performer who had just realized—mid-act—that he had made a terrible career choice.

You had exactly 0.2 seconds to process this before he crashed into you at full force.

The pigeons exploded into the sky, shrieking like war victims.

The coffee—boiling, lava-hot coffee—doused you from head to toe, scalding your skin and soul simultaneously.

And the unicycle? Oh. The unicycle was the true villain here.

Because as you staggered back, reeling from the assault on your dignity, the wheel rolled perfectly under your foot.

And then—

You flipped.

Like a medieval peasant being yeeted off a catapult.

You did a full midair somersault, knocked over a trash can, ricocheted off a parked bicycle, and crashed directly through the window of a sketchy pawn shop, where you landed face-first into a display of cursed porcelain dolls.

Your last conscious thought before darkness took you?

This is less painful than reading that book.

At first, you thought it was a dream.

Someone was shaking you. Like, aggressively. Like a demonic chihuahua trying to alert its owner to impending doom.

"Five more minutes," you groaned, swatting at the offending hands.

But then your barely-functioning brain remembered something very important.

You lived alone.

Unless the dust bunnies under your bed had finally formed a rebellion and achieved sentience, nobody should be waking you up.

Your eyes snapped open.

A person.

A man, actually. A very serious-looking man in full medieval armor, staring at you like he was expecting you to start speaking in tongues.

You blinked.

He blinked back.

Your first thought: Wow, the Ren Faire is getting really immersive these days.

Your second thought: WAIT A GODDAMN MINUTE.

Your hands flew to your face—your very much not-your-face face. Your voice, when you gasped, wasn’t your voice. The tailored nobleman’s coat draped over your body? Not your clothes. The ornate bedroom you were in? Definitely not your apartment, where your furniture was 70% discount IKEA and 30% “found on the sidewalk.”

Dread settled in your stomach like a badly microwaved burrito.

Slowly, with the growing horror of a person realizing they've walked into a live horror movie, you turned toward the giant antique mirror across the room.

And fuck your life, you recognized the face staring back at you.

It was him.

The villain.

The villain from that absolute garbage fire of a novel.

You whipped around so fast you almost took yourself out on your own cape.

"You," you pointed at the knight, brain desperately catching up to reality. "What happened?!"

The knight—Deuce Spade, if you remembered correctly—winced.

"Uh," he started, rubbing the back of his neck, "the Crown Prince tried to lean on your shoulder, but, uh… tripped and accidentally drop-kicked you across the ballroom."

Silence.

Absolute, dead silence.

Your eye twitched.

"…What."

You almost died because some love-obsessed dumbass with main character syndrome missed your shoulder???

Your soul nearly left your body, and it wasn’t even because of an assassination attempt, a duel, or a curse—but because the male lead had the motor coordination of a newborn giraffe?!

Your knees buckled. Deuce lunged forward like he thought you were about to die again.

Honestly? Not off the table.

Fine.

If the world wanted you to be the villain, then so be it. Who were you to deny fate when it had already drop-kicked you into this absurd, brain-cell-destroying mess of a novel?

Because that was the only way to describe your new reality—an unhinged disasterpiece where the male lead had the grace of a giraffe on roller skates, the heroine had the problem-solving skills of a concussed pigeon, and the villain—you—was doomed to suffer through all of it.

At first, you'd been horrified. Who wouldn't be? One moment, you're in your normal, rational world, and the next, you're waking up as the antagonistic nobleman of a bargain-bin romance novel. The kind of villain who existed solely to sneer in the background while the male lead juggled his misplaced affections and the heroine flailed through life like a lost duckling.

And now?

Now, you were done.

If this world wanted a villain, then you would give them a villain.

You had wealth. Enough to singlehandedly disrupt the economy if you felt like it. And honestly? You were tempted. Imagine the chaos. The sheer financial devastation. Maybe you’d buy every bakery in the capital just to make sure the male lead could never have a romantic “we bumped into each other while buying bread” moment with you. Not on your watch.

You had power. Both in social standing and in actual, real-life magic. The kind that could level mountains, summon storms, or—more importantly—discreetly trip the male lead every time he tried to monologue. And who were you, really, if you didn’t abuse that privilege just a little?

And, most importantly, you had a loyal knight.

Deuce Spade. Unreasonably devoted, painfully adorable, and more earnest than a golden retriever at a job interview. The kind of guy who would probably cry if you gave him a gold star for effort. It was almost enough to make you feel bad about your impending villain arc. Almost. But hey, if you were going to be the villain, at least you had one (1) extremely dedicated dumbass on your side.

So.

Why not cause some chaos?

Why not live your best, most dramatic villain life?

You could weaponize rumors so ridiculous that even the nobility wouldn’t know what to believe anymore. “Oh, the male lead? I heard he serenades his pet goldfish every night.” “The heroine? Trained in mortal combat by a secret society of warrior nuns.” “Me? Oh, I eat diamonds for breakfast and only cry during perfectly aesthetic thunderstorms.”

You could throw lavish, over-the-top parties where instead of dancing, people had to duel for your amusement. Invitation only. Dress code: Regal Menace.

You could buy every single black horse in the kingdom just to ensure that only you could have a proper dramatic villain entrance. What would the male lead ride? A mule? A cow? His own sense of self-importance? You’d pay money to see it.

If you were going to be stuck in this nonsense world, then you were going to make sure it regretted ever summoning you.

The original villain was a man of principles.

And those principles included:

• Never lowering himself to the chaotic cesspool of idiocy that was the crown prince and his tragically uncoordinated heroine.

• Never attending frivolous social gatherings, especially ones that involved said heroine falling into desserts face-first every five minutes.

• Never acknowledging the crown prince’s deeply repressed and painfully obvious feelings for him.

But you? Oh, you were going.

Why decline when you could make things so much worse? Why ignore a golden opportunity for chaos when you could embrace your inner agent of destruction and ruin someone’s day?

So, with Deuce Spade in tow, you marched into battle.

And the game began immediately.

The second you sat down, the crown prince shoved a cup of tea toward you.

You blinked at it. Then at him.

He looked too casual. Too composed. Like he hadn’t been hovering near the tea table for the last five minutes, perfecting a custom blend like a barista going for his final promotion.

Oh, this was rich.

“Oh,” you said, already locked and loaded. “I don’t like tea.”

The prince, who had definitely memorized your preferences in secret, froze.

“Give it to the heroine,” you added, voice laced with malicious delight.

There was a moment of pure, unfiltered suffering.

He recoiled. He made a noise. The tea remained exactly where it was.

And then, after one (1) full-body existential crisis, he stood up, walked away—

And returned.

With coffee.

Which was exactly how you liked it.

“Oh,” you said, even sweeter. “You really didn’t have to.”

“I didn’t,” the prince snapped, gripping the cup with white-knuckled desperation. “I was just—there was extra.”

Sure.

Deuce, the most bafflingly wholesome person present, leaned in conspiratorially.

“You know,” he whispered, “I think he likes you.”

You turned and stared at him.

It was a look that said: Deuce. Buddy. Companion. Do you have even a single brain cell dedicated to social awareness?

“You don’t say,” you muttered, astounded.

“Yeah,” Deuce nodded. “You should put him out of his misery.”

You considered it.

You truly, deeply, wholeheartedly considered it.

And then you did the exact opposite.

With all the deliberate grace of a seasoned actor, you picked up a fork, cut a tiny, delicate piece of cake, and hand-fed it to Deuce.

With the most lovesick expression you could summon.

Deuce, completely missing the emotional warfare in progress, chewed thoughtfully. “Oh, it’s good.”

The crown prince dropped his cup.

The sound was deafening.

He stood up so fast his chair screeched.

And then he stormed away like a scorned Victorian widow.

Checkmate.

The night was young, the chandeliers were gleaming, and the ballroom floor was filled with nobles pretending they liked each other. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, political marriages, and deep-seated dissatisfaction.

And you? You were bored.

So, naturally, you decided to ruin some engagements.

You adjusted your cuffs, took a sip of your (hopefully not poisoned) champagne, and set your sights on your first target.

Victim #1: Some Poor Fool with a Fiancée and No Survival Instincts.

He was standing beside his beloved, smiling like a man who had never known fear. So you approached him, flashing your most dazzling smile.

“You know,” you said, leaning in just a bit too close, “I always thought you’d end up with someone a little… taller.”

His fiancée, standing right there, gasped.

The surrounding nobles gasped.

He gulped. “W-What?”

You tilted your head, studying him with faux admiration. “It’s just—you have the posture of a man who could sweep someone off their feet. It’s tragic that you’ll only ever lift one person.”

His fiancée immediately looked down at her shoes like she’d just realized she was, in fact, shorter than him.

Engagement status: Cracking.

Victim #2: A Woman Who Was Already Looking for a Way Out.

She was sipping champagne and ignoring her fiancé, which meant she was exactly the kind of person who would enjoy a little trouble.

“Lady,” you greeted smoothly, plucking the glass from her fingers and taking a sip. “You have the eyes of a woman who’s tired of monogamy.”

Her fiancé, standing beside her, choked on his drink.

She laughed.

“You’re terrible,” she purred.

Her fiancé, pale, tried to recover. “H-Haha, what a joke—”

“It’s a shame,” you interrupted, brushing a nonexistent speck off her sleeve. “If things were different, perhaps I’d be the one at your side.”

Her fiancé turned a frightening shade of red.

She sighed dreamily.

Engagement status: Shattered.

Victim #3: A Man Who Looked Too Loyal to Be Swayed.

He stood with his hand in his beloved’s, looking like he’d rather die than betray them. But that had never stopped you before.

You smiled. “It’s rare to see a man so committed.”

His fiancée beamed.

You reached out, lightly tracing your fingers over his palm. “A hand like this… was meant to hold many hearts.”

His fiancée’s smile disappeared as the man leaned into your touch.

The crowd held their breath.

And then.

His fiancée fainted.

Engagement status: Annihilated.

At this point, Deuce—your ever-loyal, increasingly horrified knight—had begun to sweat profusely in the corner.

You waved at him.

He did not wave back.

But just as you were about to go for your fourth victim, you noticed something strange.

The prince—the male lead—was staring at you.

And not in the way one should stare at their supposed rival.

No.

He was staring at you like a man who didn’t understand his own feelings and was handling it terribly.

Deuce noticed before you did.

“Oh no,” he muttered. “Oh no no no.”

The prince stalked toward you, his jaw clenched, his eyes burning with repressed emotion and possibly indigestion.

“You,” he said, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

You raised a brow. “Me?”

“You cannot go around—” He waved his hands wildly, struggling to find the words. “—charming people!”

You blinked, feigning innocence. “Oh? Why not?”

He twitched.

A noble gasped. “Is he… jealous?”

The crowd whispered.

The prince turned red.

Deuce, watching from the sidelines, looked like he wanted to fling himself off the nearest balcony.

Then, just as the tension reached its peak—

“MARRY ME!”

The man whose fiancée just fainted, caught up in the whirlwind of drama and avant-garde societal rebellion, had dropped to one knee and grabbed your hand.

Silence.

Deuce inhaled so sharply he nearly passed out.

The prince’s eye twitched.

And you?

You smiled.

But before you could say yes, no, or something that would make the situation worse, Deuce lunged forward, grabbed your wrist, and hauled you away.

“YOU CAN’T JUST GO AROUND SEDUCING ENGAGED PEOPLE!” he hissed, physically dragging you out of the ballroom.

“Why not?” you grinned. “The nobles love it.”

“I—BECAUSE IT’S WRONG?!”

You hummed, thoughtful. Then, because you were a terrible person, you tilted your head, looked him dead in the eyes, and said:

“You’re kind of cute when you’re flustered.”

Deuce short-circuited.

The prince looked ready to challenge the concept of marriage itself.

And the night was, truly, a resounding success.

Deuce was the perfect knight.

Reliable. Strong. Steadfast. He never faltered in his duties, never hesitated to follow your orders, and—most importantly—he never questioned your absolutely necessary purchases, even when they were, objectively, not necessary at all.

Which was precisely why he was the perfect person to accompany you to the market.

The morning sun hung high in the sky, warming the cobbled streets as merchants called out their wares, their voices blending into a lively symphony of haggling, bartering, and excited chatter. The scent of freshly baked bread and spiced apples drifted through the air, wrapping around you like an old, familiar comfort.

And there was Deuce, ever-dutiful, ever-loyal, ever-patient.

The bags he carried had long since doubled in number, hanging from his arms like trophies of your victorious shopping spree. He bore the burden without complaint, as expected of a knight sworn to your service, though he did glance down at the latest purchase—a third bag of sweets—and furrowed his brow.

“That’s the third bag of sweets you’ve bought.”

You shot him a look, hugging your ill-gotten gains like a dragon hoarding gold.

“And?”

He sighed. “Nothing, I guess.”

Good. That was the correct answer. This was a judgment-free zone.

Everything was going well. The two of you meandered through the market at an unhurried pace, pausing to browse through silks, admire trinkets, and—most importantly—glare at the latest portrait of the crown prince displayed in the town square. It was a routine you had come to enjoy, something almost peaceful in its predictability.

And then—

Deuce stopped.

It wasn’t a gradual pause. It was sudden, abrupt, a full-body halt that nearly sent you crashing into his back.

“Hey—?” you started, but he was already moving, already reaching for his own coin pouch, already stepping toward—

A flower stall?

You blinked, watching as he carefully selected a single bloom, one of the freshest ones in the bunch, its petals full and vibrant. You stood there, bewildered, as he handed over a few coins, nodding his thanks to the merchant.

And then—

Before you could even begin to process what was happening—

He turned and held the flower out to you.

The world tilted.

You stared.

At the flower, at Deuce, at his outstretched hand.

At the way he looked at you, open and earnest and so painfully sincere that you felt something deep in your chest twist.

“…Why?” you asked, voice caught somewhere between confused and breathless.

Deuce tilted his head slightly, a sheepish sort of smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I dunno,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just—thought you’d like it?”

Thought you’d like it.

That was it. That was the entire reason.

Not out of duty, not because he had to, not because of some unspoken obligation—but because he wanted to.

Because he saw something and thought of you.

Your fingers curled around the stem almost too tightly, as if the delicate flower might vanish if you weren’t careful. The petals were impossibly soft beneath your touch, fragile and fleeting, and your heart did something suspicious in your chest.

Deuce had already turned away, already resumed walking, already moved on as if he hadn’t just unknowingly unraveled you.

And you—

You lingered a second longer, staring at the flower in your hand, your face growing entirely too warm under the summer sun.

Then, swallowing against the sudden tightness in your throat, you hurried after him, grateful that he wasn’t looking back to see the ridiculous, helpless smile you absolutely couldn’t fight off.

It started with a passing insult. Something entirely unoriginal, really—one of those tired, rehashed attempts at wit that nobles regurgitated when they had nothing better to do.

You weren’t even offended.

But you were bored.

So, naturally, you smirked, sighed dramatically, and placed a hand over your heart.

“Wow,” you mused, voice dripping with mock despair. “If only I had a loyal knight to defend me. Sigh.”

Deuce didn’t hesitate.

He didn’t even pause to think.

He just whipped around, locked eyes with the offender, and threw down the most aggressive glove slap in recorded history.

“DUEL ME.”

The noble flinched. The entire gathering flinched.

Even you, for a moment, wondered if you’d just summoned an unstoppable force of nature.

Deuce stood there, rigid with unwavering loyalty and violent intent, hand hovering over the hilt of his sword like an Old West gunslinger about to end someone's bloodline.

The noble stammered, looking around as if waiting for someone to intervene. No one did. The nobles had all collectively agreed to stand back and watch this disaster unfold.

You, however, recognized an issue.

“Deuce,” you started carefully. “Buddy. Pal.” You placed a hand on his shoulder, a gesture meant to calm him down.

It did not calm him down.

If anything, his conviction doubled.

“You don’t actually have to fight for my honor—”

“Yes, I do.”

He didn’t blink.

You blinked for him.

The realization sank in with all the subtlety of a grand piano dropping from a three-story window:

Deuce would throw hands for you. Without question. Without hesitation. It was pure muscle memory at this point.

You had too much power.

The nobles were whispering.

The prince was watching.

Some fool in the back had already started placing bets.

And Deuce?

Deuce was ready to kill a man.

“Okay,” you muttered under your breath, “I may have created a monster.”

The noble, sweating profusely, waved his hands. “I—I think there’s been a misunderstanding—”

“There’s no misunderstanding,” Deuce gritted out, stepping forward. “You insulted them. Now, we settle this properly.”

By all accounts, Deuce had just challenged a man to medieval combat over you.

It should have been a simple duel.

Just a normal, everyday case of your overly loyal knight throwing hands because someone vaguely insulted you.

A Tuesday, basically.

And yet, somehow, by the time you arrived at the dueling grounds, it had turned into a full-blown public event.

The stands were packed. Nobles gossiped in hushed whispers. Vendors had set up food stalls. Some particularly enterprising soul was selling commemorative handkerchiefs embroidered with Deuce’s face.

And standing right in the middle of this absolute circus were Riddle and Ace—your reinforcements, arriving at maximum velocity to make your life more interesting and significantly more stressful.

Riddle’s expression alone had the same effect as a guillotine blade. His hands were clenched into fists, his face a vibrant shade of red, and the moment his sharp, judgmental gaze landed on you, you had the distinct feeling that your days were numbered.

Ace, meanwhile, looked like he was having the time of his life.

“You. Absolute. Menace.” Riddle bit out, his words dripping with disappointment and barely-contained rage. “I leave you alone for one week and suddenly you’re challenging people to duels, seducing engaged nobles, and destabilizing the entire social order?!”

“Okay, first of all, I didn’t challenge anyone. That was Deuce.”

“Because you provoked it.”

“Debatable.”

“No, it’s not!”

Ace clapped a hand on your shoulder, beaming. “Don’t listen to him. In fact, I’ll actually pay you to keep this up.”

Riddle’s head snapped toward him, betrayal written across his features. “You’re paying them?! You’re encouraging this?!”

“Duh?” Ace grinned. “I’ve never had this much fun in my entire life. If it means watching them do more insane things, I’ll move the entire city to accommodate them.”

Riddle made a noise that was somewhere between a strangled scream and an impending aneurysm.

You, feeling very smug, turned back to the main event.

Deuce, your knight, your absurdly loyal human wrecking ball, was already standing in the ring, eyes burning with righteous fury.

The poor noble who insulted you was sweating bullets.

The duel started.

The duel lasted five minutes.

The duel ended spectacularly.

Deuce dismantled the guy so thoroughly, so efficiently, that entire bloodlines were probably questioning their place in the universe.

And then, with a smoothness you had not thought possible, Deuce turned, knelt before you, and bowed his head in silent, knightly devotion.

Which was horribly unfair.

Because, up until this moment, you had been so certain that nothing in this world could ever make you weak in the knees.

But this?

This was a problem.

Because the combination of Deuce being stupidly strong, stupidly devoted, and now stupidly attractive in the aftermath of his absolute annihilation of a noble in your name was doing something deeply unsettling to your brain chemistry.

You, a seasoned chaos gremlin, had not been prepared for the sheer level of attractiveness that came from watching Deuce absolutely demolish a man in your honor and then kneel like you were some kind of divine ruler.

And absolutely no one in this arena could be allowed to witness that.

Which is why you did the only logical thing—

You grabbed Deuce by the collar and dragged him the hell out of there.

“We’re leaving.”

Deuce, stumbling after you, genuinely confused: “Wait—? But—?”

“No questions.”

Behind you, Ace hooted.

Riddle yelled something about propriety

The crowd was whispering in scandalized awe.

And the noble who insulted you?

He was probably questioning every life choice that led him to this moment.

Congratulations.

You had once again caused a spectacle.

You had always known that your butler—the tall, brooding, vaguely tragic second male lead—was spying on you.

You just hadn’t expected him to be this bad at it.

At first, you thought he was just terrible at being subtle. The way he lurked behind obvious cover, like a potted plant that was two sizes too small for him, was almost insultingly blatant.

But then, after watching him trip over his own feet and drop his little spy notebook in front of you, you had a stunning realization:

He wasn’t just bad at this.

He was disastrous.

And you—being the responsible, morally upstanding villain that you were—decided that it was your duty to take full advantage of this situation.

So when he inevitably got caught, you gaslit the absolute hell out of him.

“You failed the test,” you sighed, shaking your head with deep, world-weary disappointment.

He froze. “Test?”

“Yes, a test,” you said, folding your arms. “Did you seriously think I wouldn’t notice one of my own subordinates spying on me?”

He blinked. “I—I don't work for the heroine.”

You smiled dangerously. “Don't you?”

The silence that followed was long, painful, and deeply existential.

“…I don't?,” he said, but there was now a distinct lack of confidence behind his words.

Deuce, who had been standing off to the side, vehemently disagreed with everything that was happening.

“You knew about this?” he asked, looking at you like you were a criminal mastermind unveiling your latest scheme.

You ignored him.

Instead, you rested a hand on the butler’s shoulder, offering him a kind, understanding smile.

“Since you are so clearly loyal to me,” you said, gently, “I’d like you to deliver a very special report to the heroine.”

Deuce let out an exhausted groan.

The butler stared at you warily. “…What kind of report?”

“Oh, you know,” you mused, smirking. “Just a few details about my daily routine. The way I conduct myself in my estate. My methods for staying eternally youthful.”

The butler squinted.

“What do you mean, eternally youthful?”

You grinned.

The heroine stood in your ballroom, pointing an accusing, trembling finger at you.

“You’re a witch.”

You grinned.

Then you turned to your butler—who looked increasingly uncomfortable—and hummed, “I see you did your job well.”

Deuce pinched the bridge of his nose. “What did you make him tell her?”

The heroine narrowed her eyes at you, vibrating with righteous fury.

“You—you bathe in your servants’ tears to stay youthful!”

You tilted your head.

“That’s an odd way to phrase ‘providing an excellent workplace with fair wages and health benefits,’ but okay.”

The heroine was not having it.

“And—and you drink phoenix blood to maintain your strength!”

“Well, now, that’s true,” you admitted. “It pairs nicely with a dry red.”

The heroine let out a horrified gasp.

Deuce stared at you like you had personally betrayed him. “You made him tell her you drink what?!”

“I was curious to see how far he’d go.”

The butler, now pale and visibly sweating, looked like he had experienced a crisis of faith during his conversation with the heroine.

And when she reached the final, most egregious offense, he seemed to finally, fully break.

“…And I was told,” the heroine whispered, voice trembling, “that you—” she took a deep breath “—have personally seduced your own knight, corrupting him with your villainous ways.”

You glanced at Deuce.

Deuce turned bright red. “What did you tell her?!”

Your butler, who had finally reached his limit, just turned on his heel and walked out of the room.

“I quit,” he muttered.

Success.

You had been accused of many things since you woke up in this absolute joke of a world as the villain.

Corruption? Sure.

Scandal? Naturally.

Inducing moral panic in the aristocracy because you decided to flirt with engaged people at a ball? Absolutely.

But today was new.

Today, you had apparently brainwashed Deuce Spade into a life of crime.

"You’ve brainwashed him!"

The heroine’s voice rang out across the royal gathering, loud and full of self-righteous fury, as if she had just caught you mid-scheme, cackling over a bubbling cauldron, weaving a spell to turn Deuce into a mindless delinquent henchman.

You, who had been mid-sip of your expensive champagne, slowly lowered the glass.

Deuce, who had been standing beside you like a human wall of pure knightly devotion, blinked in further confusion.

The heroine took a dramatic step forward, looking at him with heartfelt sadness, like she expected him to suddenly start frothing at the mouth and looting everyone in your name.

“Sir Deuce,” she said, voice trembling with emotion, “It’s not too late. I can save you.”

Deuce tilted his head, utterly lost. “Save me from what?”

“From this!” She gestured wildly at you, as if you were some demonic manifestation of lawlessness, corrupting poor, innocent knights into a life of wanton villainy and casual public indecency.

The male lead, who had been hanging around in the background like a disgruntled ex, suddenly perked up at this. “Wait, are you saying we can steal Deuce?”

“Not steal,” the heroine corrected, with the solemnity of a saint bestowing divine mercy upon a lost soul. "Rescue."

And then, in a stunning display of completely unfounded confidence, she pulled out a golden envelope and extended it toward Deuce.

“A direct invitation,” she declared, eyes shining, “to serve under His Highness.”

There was a deafening silence.

Then—

“No.”

The refusal was instant.

No hesitation.

Not even a single second of consideration.

The heroine’s jaw practically dislocated.

The male lead looked personally victimized.

Ace, who had been standing off to the side with Riddle, slowly turned to face him, nudging him with his elbow before whispering something so profoundly stupid that Riddle physically winced.

Then, as if processing a truth he had been avoiding all this time, Riddle sighed, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Ace, meanwhile, had the absolute audacity to look like he was having the time of his life.

The heroine, still struggling to process this complete failure, managed to find her voice again.

“I—I don’t understand.” She looked between you and Deuce, visibly distressed. “Why? Why would you refuse?”

Deuce gave her the most straightforward, obvious look in existence.

“I don't want to.”

The heroine gasped.

The male lead looked like he had been personally slapped.

Ace, meanwhile, had the absolute gall to let out a quiet, knowing cackle, like he had figured out the ending of a dramatic novel before the characters did.

“I fear he’s too far gone,” the heroine whispered, mourning the loss of Deuce Spade as if he had already perished.

You, meanwhile, had been too busy enjoying the absolute disaster unfolding in front of you to process what just happened.

Not until much later, when the two of you were walking back from the gathering, and you finally turned to him with a frown.

“Wait,” you said, still trying to wrap your head around it, “Why didn’t you take the offer?”

Deuce looked at you like you had just asked him why fire was hot. “Because I’m your knight.”

Oh.

That was—

That was kind of—

Warm.

An unpleasantly warm feeling spread in your chest, like you had just accidentally drunk an entire cup of molten sentimentality.

You didn't like it. You didn't like it at all.

ABORT. ABORT. ABORT.

You cleared your throat, deadpan as possible, and said, “Right. That makes sense.”

Then, with all the grace and subtlety of a spooked alley cat, you turned on your heel and walked away at high velocity, because you were absolutely not dealing with this today.

It doesn’t matter what you do.

You could ignore him. Insult him. Dramatically throw a glass of wine in his face and accuse him of high treason.

Nothing works.

The male lead only seems to fall harder.

And tonight?

Tonight, it’s worse than ever.

Now, he was finding excuses to touch you.

You had arrived at the royal ball with the intention of causing mischief—maybe ruining a few engagements, maybe flirting with people’s spouses just for the fun of it, maybe convincing a few nobles that you were an ancient demon cursed to live among them in disguise—you know, the usual.

What you hadn’t planned for was the crown prince himself swooping in like a predatory falcon, seizing your wrist, and dramatically pulling you onto the dance floor.

There was no escape.

And the worst part?

The entire room was watching.

Which meant you had to grit your teeth and endure it.

The music began.

You stepped forward. He stepped forward.

You tried to maintain a respectable distance.

He?

He did not.

Instead, he pulled you closer—his grip firm, his posture rigid, his expression unreadable as he held you just a little too tightly.

And then—oh, and then.

You felt it.

The slight intake of breath.

The subtle tilt of his head.

The near-invisible shudder that ran down his spine as he inhaled deeply, as if committing your scent to memory.

Your entire body locked up in horror.

What. The. Hell.

Was he—

Was this bastard—

Was he sniffing you?

You immediately tried to pull away, but his vice-like grip did not relent.

“I—” His voice came out a little strangled, and his eyes darted away suspiciously. “You—” He swallowed. “I was just making sure you didn’t smell like poison.”

You stared at him.

Poison.

He said that with his whole chest.

Like it was a normal thing to do.

Like it wasn’t the most deranged, lovesick, absolutely unhinged thing you had ever seen in your entire life.

“You think someone poisoned me?” you deadpanned.

“Yes,” he said, nodding a little too quickly. “I thought—I thought maybe one of your enemies slipped something into your drink.”

“So your first instinct was to smell me?”

“YES.”

The sheer delusion in his voice was astounding.

You pushed him off you the moment the song ended, practically flinging yourself across the room in search of sanity, reason, and possibly a priest.

The moment you reached Ace, Riddle, and Deuce, you collapsed into their presence, gasping like you had just escaped the jaws of death.

Riddle took one look at your disheveled state, grimaced, and immediately handed you a handkerchief, as if he could wipe the entire experience off you.

You snatched it up and aggressively scrubbed at your neck.

Ace?

Ace was dying.

He was bent over in laughter, hands on his knees, completely losing his mind.

And Deuce?

Deuce looks like you just drop-kicked his puppy off a bridge.

He is staring at you like you personally betrayed him, his ancestors, and the entirety of knighthood as an institution.

Ace sees an opportunity and takes it.

With zero hesitation, he grabs Deuce by the shoulders and shoves him closer to you.

“You gonna let that slide, man?” Ace teases, grinning like a madman.

“I—” Deuce blinks, still looking dazed and vaguely devastated.

Ace pushes him again. “Dude, do something! Your boss just got publicly defiled.”

Deuce finally snaps out of it, reaching for his own handkerchief—the one with his knightly crest embroidered on it—and gently, carefully wipes at your neck.

It was different from Riddle’s.

Riddle had handed you his like a noble disgusted by filth.

Deuce, however?

Deuce was careful.

His touch was light, his eyes too focused, too serious as he dabbed at the place where the prince’s lips had nearly brushed against your skin.

He was not just cleaning.

He was removing.

It was as if the very idea of another man touching you physically revolted him.

So, in a desperate attempt to make the moment less weird, you forced out a mocking smirk and teased,

“Aw, Deuce. What’s wrong? You don’t like it when he touches me?”

Deuce, sweet, earnest, painfully loyal Deuce, did not hesitate.

“No."

Oh no.

Bwcause something in your stomach flips and your face feels suspiciously warm.

It was bound to happen.

Honestly, with the way you had been leaning on him lately, whispering too-close teases in his ear, and throwing casual flirtations like daggers at his heart, it was only a matter of time before he cracked.

But you—oh, you hadn’t expected it to be like this.

You were lounging on him again today, your head resting against his shoulder, basking in the solid warmth that only Deuce could provide. He had long since stopped complaining about it—stopped stiffening up every time you got close—and instead, he had simply accepted his fate as your personal resting post.

Which, of course, meant it was your duty to push your luck.

So, you did.

With a slow, lazy grin, you tilted your head, let your lips brush a little too close to his ear, and murmured,

“Y’know, Deuce… you’re kind of my favorite.”

It was supposed to be a joke. (kinda)

It was supposed to be just another tease, another drop of fuel onto the fire just to see him sputter and turn red like he always did.

But this time?

This time, he didn’t laugh.

Instead—

He froze.

His entire body went rigid beneath you, his hands clenching into fists, his breath coming sharper, heavier, like he was wrestling with something too big to contain.

And then—he exhaled.

“Are you playing with me, too?”

The words were low.

Rough.

Like he had been holding them back for too long, like they had been simmering inside him, growing heavier with every glance, every touch, every stupid, careless flirtation.

You blinked. “What?”

Deuce shifted, just enough to look at you head-on, and oh.

Oh.

There was something in his eyes—something raw, something vulnerable, something that made your stomach flip in a way you weren’t prepared for.

“You keep doing this,” he muttered, his voice tight, frustrated. “You flirt with me like you do with the other nobles. You—you act like it’s all just a game. But I—”

His breath hitched.

And then, with a quiet, almost desperate laugh, he whispered,

“You know I love you, right?”

Your heart stopped.

“I—”

“I do,” he interrupted, the words spilling out like he couldn’t hold them back anymore. “I do. I’ve been trying to ignore it, trying to be just your knight, just your friend—but every time you look at me like that, every time you say stuff like this—” His jaw clenched. “—I feel like an idiot. Because I know you don’t mean it. I know you’re just playing around. But I—”

He swallowed hard.

“I can’t take it anymore.”

The air between you went still.

Your heartbeat was too loud, your pulse a slow, insistent drumbeat in your ears, and oh.

Oh, this was real.

He was serious.

Deuce squeezed his eyes shut, inhaled sharply, and then met your gaze once more, firmer this time.

“The next time you flirt with me,” he said, voice low, steady, “I’m going to take it seriously.”

“I mean it,” he continued, as if warning you. “You—you don’t get to joke about this anymore. Not with me. Because I’ll—”

His fingers trembled at his sides.

“I’ll take responsibility for it.”

It took you a second to process the words.

Oh.

Oh, he was adorable.

Because even now—even after basically confessing, after baring his heart to you like this, he was still looking at you like he was waiting for permission.

Like he needed you to say it first.

Like he needed to be sure.

And, well—

Who were you to disappoint your favorite knight?

With a slow, lazy grin, you grabbed him by the collar, pulled him close, and whispered,

“Deuce.”

His breath hitched. “Yeah?”

You leaned in, close enough that your lips brushed against his cheek, and murmured,

“Do you want my last name?”

The moment the words left your mouth, his entire body locked up.

And then—

Then he kissed you.

It was clumsy, heated, desperate in the way only Deuce could be—like he had been holding this back for too long, like he was afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t take you now.

And you—

You melted into it.

Because of course he was serious.

Because of course you had always known what you were doing to him.

Because—

Because you wanted it, too.

The ballroom is packed, glittering, expectant.

The chandeliers glow like stars, the music swells in the background, and every noble in attendance is on the edge of their seat, waiting for whatever ridiculous display you’re about to put on this time.

And, oh, are you about to deliver.

You stand tall, your hand resting comfortably in Deuce’s as you make the grandest announcement of your life.

“We’re engaged.”

The room erupts—gasps, whispers, the sharp clink of dropped silverware.

Deuce, standing proudly beside you, looks both smug and overwhelmed, like he’s still processing the fact that you actually said yes and also fully prepared to duel anyone who disagrees.

Ace is counting coins, no doubt because he made a bet about this happening.

Riddle looks like he’s two seconds away from both congratulating you and strangling you for causing another scene.

And the male lead—

Oh, the male lead is not handling it well.

He’s standing there, frozen, his eye twitching ever so slightly, his mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to form a sentence but can’t because his brain just blue-screened.

The male lead—in all his tragic, oblivious, love-stricken glory—then has the nerve to act like he’s concerned.

“I just think it’s irresponsible, the difference in your status.” he says.

The words hit you like a divine insult.

Like the heavens themselves have chosen this as your actual villain origin story.

There is a moment of stillness.

It’s the kind of moment you read about in dramatic novels—the eerie, anticipatory silence before an executioner swings his blade. The nobles are motionless, caught between the sheer audacity of your engagement announcement and the dawning horror of whatever is about to come next.

Because they can feel it.

They can feel the storm brewing inside you, the kind of apocalyptic fury usually reserved for fallen kingdoms and plagues of locusts.

Deuce grips your hand a little tighter, as if sensing the catastrophic levels of rage that are about to explode from your very soul.

And then—it happens.

You let out a slow, incredulous exhale.

And then, at the top of your lungs—

“OH, MY GOD.”

The chandelier shakes.

Somewhere in the back, a noble collapses onto a couch.

A waiter drops an entire tray of champagne glasses.

The heroine, bless her soul, gasps like she’s just watched someone get impaled.

And the male lead?

The male lead flinches.

But he does not back down.

Which is his second biggest mistake tonight.

His first was being born.

You take a deep, suffering breath, and then—oh, you absolutely let loose.

“JUST SAY YOU’RE JEALOUS, YOU PATHETIC, EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED DISASTER.”

There is an echoing thud.

Ace has fallen to the ground.

He is actively pounding his fist against the marble floor in a fit of laughter so violent that one of the nobles attempts to call a doctor.

Riddle is gripping his temples, already mourning the loss of his peace.

And Deuce?

Deuce nods along.

Like, yeah. That makes sense.

But you are nowhere near done.

You take an intimidating step forward, pointing aggressively at the male lead’s absurdly symmetrical face.

“Do you think I don’t know?!” you demand. “Do you think I don’t notice when you materialize out of thin air whenever I so much as sigh?? Do you think I don’t see you hiding behind pillars, staring at me with the same expression as a neglected golden retriever!?”

The male lead opens his mouth—probably to deny it.

But you immediately cut him off.

“DON’T EVEN TRY ME, YOU NOBLE IMBECILE.”

The heroine physically recoils.

A duke mutters a quiet prayer.

Ace has fully ascended to the next realm.

“I have proof!” you declare, waving an accusatory finger. “Every time I enter a room, you’re already there, lurking in the shadows like a deranged, overgrown bat. Do you think that’s normal behavior?! Do you think people don’t notice?! I HAVE SEEN THE TOWN CRIER TAKING NOTES.”

Riddle’s entire body twitches.

Because, unfortunately, that is not an exaggeration.

The town crier really has been chronicling the male lead’s unhinged pining in weekly installments.

You take another step forward, voice rising.

“Just admit it! Admit that you have absolutely lost your mind over me, and you’re just mad that I don’t give a single, microscopic shred of a damn!”

The male lead is visibly sweating.

But you are still not finished.

“Listen to me,” you say, voice lowering into something cold, absolute, and devastating. You step forward until the male lead is cornered against a column, towering over him like a vengeful god.

Then, with as much venom as you can possibly summon—

“I value you less than a piece of moldy bread.”

Carnage.

The room erupts into madness.

The male lead physically staggers.

His soul leaves his body.

His knees tremble like he’s about to collapse.

Ace is choking on laughter, beating the floor like a medieval peasant begging for mercy.

Riddle has his hands over his eyes like this is the most humiliating thing he’s ever been forced to witness.

The heroine is looking at the male lead like he’s a dying animal.

And Deuce—sweet, loyal Deuce—just crosses his arms, nods approvingly, and says,

“Yeah. What he said."

You smile, victorious.

You dust off your hands like you’ve just completed a particularly satisfying chore.

Then, you turn back to Deuce, loop your arm through his, and promptly walk out of the ballroom with your beloved knight at your side.

The sun melts into the horizon, casting the ocean in gold and rose, waves curling onto the shore. A warm breeze rolls through the open balcony, carrying the scent of salt and flowers and Deuce Spade trying to subtly overthink again.

Which is unfortunate.

Because you had expressly banned thinking on this honeymoon.

Yet here he is—Deuce , your devoted, beautiful, terminally self-doubting husband—standing by the railing, arms crossed, jaw clenched, deep in Thought.

You know that look.

It’s the look of a man about to say something stupid.

And indeed—

“Do you regret it?” he asks.

You blink. “Regret what?”

Deuce doesn’t look at you. His gaze is on the horizon, all noble knightly brooding, except it’s Deuce, so it just makes him look like a golden retriever contemplating the meaning of life.

“Choosing me,” he clarifies. “I mean, you—you could’ve had anyone. A prince, a noble, someone with status. Someone who actually deserves—”

You physically grab him.

Like, you latch onto him like a barnacle and manhandle him around to face you, because this is quite possibly the dumbest thing he’s ever said, and you refuse to let him say another word.

Deuce, being Deuce, just lets you do it.

He stares at you, startled, lips slightly parted, eyes big and blue and breathtaking.

And you sigh.

“Sweetheart,” you say, voice dry, “you are the densest person I have ever met.”

He blinks.

You take his face in your hands.

“I love you, dumbass.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

Deuce grins.

It’s small at first, hesitant, like he’s still processing the words—like some part of him is still convinced he’s dreaming, that any moment now, he’s going to wake up in the barracks and realize none of this is real.

But then, you thumb over his cheek, gentle, certain, grounding him in reality.

And that’s when it happens.

That’s when his grin breaks into something helpless and bright, something that crinkles the corners of his eyes, something that is so very Deuce that your heart trips over itself.

He hides his face against your shoulder.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, muffled against your skin, voice warm, embarrassed, happy.

You laugh, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him closer.

“Make me.”

His arms tighten around you, and for a while, neither of you move—just standing there, on the balcony of some faraway villa, wrapped up in each other, with nothing and no one to interrupt.

No scheming nobles.

No pushy male leads.

No ridiculous duels or political scandals.

Just you, Deuce, and the rest of your lives ahead.

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst deuce #deuce spade x reader #deuce x reader #deuce #deuce spade #trash novel chronicles #male reader

1K notes · View notes

loves0phelia · 8 months ago

Note

Hi! I don’t know if you’ve watched part 2 of outer banks yet, and if you didn’t this request is a spoiler!!

Can you do JJ Maybank’s sister seeing him die and Rafe is just watching her break down and he’s comforting her while she cries in his arms? I’m sobbing over JJ right now 😭

Thank you!

Gone

Summery: outer banks season 4 episode 10/the anon

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: SPOILERS, death, grammar mistakes.

A/N: i also sobbed, i cant believe it and thank you for requesting love youuu.

The sandstorm hit suddenly. The air was thick, nearly solid with dust. You stumbled forward as the wind blew strongly, You screamed, begging JJ to come down before something terrible would happen but even if you pulled the scarf tighter across your nose and mouth every breath felt like swallowing shards of glass making it hard to speak.

Everything was clouded and your goggles were smeared with sand dust. It was impossible to see your brother who was up high on that statue trying to find the blue crown you, the pogues and Rafe have been risking your lives for.

“Come down JJ!” You screamed as loud as you could, hoping he could hear you over the screaming wind.

A surge of panic rose in you, he wasn't listening, only going higher and higher to reach the top.

“Hurry please!” You screamed again as the sandstorm was getting worse and worse. Squinting your eyes you could see JJ finally descending the statue after a while, carefully holding on to the rock.

“JJ, holy shit are you okay?” You rushed forward to him as he stumbled around frantically.

“I'm good! I'm better actually, I'm great. Look!” he yelled over the storm and held up the blue crown, it felt like a dream having it in front of you.

“No way, you found it” You both looked down at the dusty historical crown in silence for a second, sinking in it the victory that was so rare when it came to you and your twin.

“We got it!” He cheered, pumping his fist, jumping into place from all the adrenaline. The victory cheers didn't last long though, the next thing you knew shots were fired at you from the group who wanted to steal what was rightfully yours.

“Run, run, run” JJ shouted behind you as you ran through the sand blindly and desperate to find shelter.

The sandstorm roared with life around you, Yours and JJ's footsteps vanished almost as quickly as you made them, erased by the wind.

You coughed, your lungs stinging as you struggled to run down the stairs you had found leading inside the monument.

But suddenly, a shadow appeared out of the storm. A strong hand gripped your forearms and in a sudden movement, your back was pressed on your “father's” chest, an arm around your neck holding on tightly, cutting your airflow and a sharp blade pressed into the side of your face.

“JJ!” you called out, trying to get out of his grasp.

“Let her go!” JJ shouted, his voice trembling with anger. He lunged towards you trying to rip you away from him but he only pressed the blade harder making you cry out. But Groff only shook his head.

You cried, struggling, and your heart pounding as Groff’s grip tightened. You fought against him, but his hold was unbreakable.

“You’re just like your mother,” Groff hissed, his gaze cold and unmoved. “Always standing in my way. Well, this time, you’re not going to stop me. Give me what I want”

“Let her go” He begged.

“If you had listened, we wouldn't be here JJ, you could have had everything. WE could have had the life we deserved as a family. All three of us. But now you get nothing. Nothing at all” Chandler pants like a maniac.

“I already have everything,” JJ says, shaking his head in disbelief. “I have everything I ever wanted. You want the crown? Sure, take it. I don't want it. Just let my sister go.”

“Give it to me, hold it out” He reached toward JJ for the precious object, his grip on you not loosening.

In a swift moment, an exchange was made. Groff grasped the crown, and JJ pulled you out of his arms.

“I got you” JJ breathed out with relief, like a weight was removed from his shoulders. He hugged you protectively. Holding your head against his shoulder like a shield. But then again, the victory was cut short.

“JJ, y/n” you were interrupted by the voice of your father, his call made both of you separate and turn to face him, JJ’s body still shielding you from further harm.

“It's a shame…you and I” You furrowed your brows and a gasp came out of your mouth when the sound of flesh being pierced rang out.

“You should have given me the rope” Time was moving at a slow pace as the scene unfolded. Groff twisted the knife in JJ's stomach before pulling it out rapidly and running out into the desert.

"JJ!" You screamed, your voice raw with terror. You saw JJ stumble back, his hands flying to his side. Dark red blood was spreading through his shirt and across his fingers, and the sight of it hit you like a punch to the gut.

The world narrowed to the scene in front of you as you watched JJ fall, his face contorted in pain.

“No, no, no” you cried, desperation thick in your voice.

You rushed to JJ’s side, catching him just as he stumbled. He looked up at you, his face pale and stained with tears.

“It's okay JJ, it's okay” You pressed into his wound, shaking terribly, sobbing when he let out a pained groan.

“No, please” you murmured, pressing your hand over the wound in a desperate attempt to slow the bleeding. “You’re going to be okay. Just stay with me, okay? Stay with me.”

“Hey, hey,” He whispered, his voice breaking. “Take care of the others for me, okay?”

“No! No” Your breaths shakes, your chest tight with sadness.

“I love you, y/n. You're the best sister anyone could ever have.” His gaze was beginning to drift, his eyes unfocused, and the strength in his grip was fading. Panic clawed at you.

“I love you, please don't go” you begged, but it was pointless he was already gone.

“No! No, no. Please! JJ, please” you shaked his shoulder weakly.

“John B!” You screamed, your chest burning from the lack of oxygen your lungs were getting.

“Pope! Rafe!” Your hands gripped your brother refusing to let go.

“Please JJ!” Your heart shattered completely, a part of you gone forever. Your brother, your twin, your best friend, the other half of your soul, gone.

“Please” You pressed your forehead against him, your tears falling over the blood-soaked shirt.

The pogues came running towards you, sinking to their knees, calling out to him, crying, sobbing, mourning.

Everything in you gave out as you held onto him, you couldn't even fight when hands grabbed onto your shoulder to bring you away from your brother's corpse.

Your body fell limp into Rafe's lap. His hands held your body up as if he was your lifeline.

“It's gonna be okay” He whispered against your forehead but you barely registered any of it, only sobbing, and screaming in pain against him.

The Pogues stood in a tight circle, all eyes fixed on JJ as if somehow their stares alone could bring him back. But no one spoke, and in the heavy silence, the truth crashed over them, settling deep in their bones. JJ was gone.

Kiara’s shoulders shook, a small, trembling motion that quickly overtook her entire body. She fell to her knees, hands pressed to her mouth as she fought to hold back the sobs.

Pope was beside her, his eyes frantically looking over the scene, he didn't want to believe any of it, as if it was a cruel joke.

John B stood, rigid. His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white, and his jaw was set, teeth gritted as he tried to hold it all in, to keep the pain from breaking him apart.

Rafe's arms wrapped around you gently, his hand resting on the back of your head as he let you fall into his chest. You buried your face in his shoulder, the grief and sorrow pouring out in waves as he held you.

He didn’t speak of the rivalry, the old wounds and the bitterness between your families; none of that mattered now. At this moment, all he saw was your pain, and he was there, his own heart breaking a little as he watched you crumble.

When the sobs finally subsided, leaving you weak and exhausted, Rafe pulled back slightly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his eyes filled with something you’d never seen in him before—softness, understanding.

“It's okay,” he murmured, his voice a promise, his hand gentle as he brushed a stray tear from your cheek. “I’ve got you.”

You sat on the sand as a fire crackled in front of you, you had just buried him, the silence was thick nobody wanted to believe the truth.

Your head pounded, even when you were softly laying on Rafe's legs using them as pillows. His calloused fingers gently rubbed your hair and you tried to concentrate on the movement in an attempt to forget about the previous moment but you failed.

“Groff said he was going to Lisbon” Rafe whispered above you, making your eyes open and looking up at him. His eyes met yours and he continued.

“If he was my friend or my brother… I would go after the guy that just killed him” The mention made your heart burn but he had a point.

“He's not wrong” Kie whispered, agreeing with your inner thoughts. You snuggled against Rafe's legs one last time before sitting up and leaning your head on his shoulder.

“JJ would already be on his way to kill him if it was one of us,” you said and everyone's eyes snapped towards you, those were the first words you had spoken since it happened.

“He'd get even,” John B added.

“Let's get revenge,” you said, your voice more confident than it was before, you felt a hand grasp onto yours and slowly you turned your head to face Rafe. He nodded and tightened his grip in a comforting way, never letting go.

Send request please xx

#outer banks fanfiction #outer banks #rafe outer banks #jj maybank #rafe cameron #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank angst #jj maybank fluff #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron outer banks #jj maybank x you

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athenamikaelson · 4 months ago

Text

Klaus Mikaelson X Soulmate!Reader x Elijah Mikaelson Written in the Stars-Ch. 27

Word Count- 5.6k

Warnings- SMUT- SHITTY SMUT MIND YOU I’VE NEVER WRITTEN IT BEFORE SUE ME, ****Bloodplay kind of??????****Mentions of burns, mentions of burning bridges, swearing, making out, nudity, sexual thingies, !!!!!!ELIJAH!!!!!!

A/N- Ya I’m going to hell. This is so bad. I might delete. We all know Elijah gives off Daddy vibes so I want none of you hoes messaging me and telling me his actions are out of character in this chapter. Got it? GOT IT!?

A/N- for those who don't want to read the smut I wrote where it begins and ends!

Elijah’s pissed.

He’s like really pissed.

I’m screwed.

-10 Minutes Earlier-

“You burnt down a bridge?”

“Why didn’t you invite me?”

“I was going to do that.”

I blow out a breath as I glance from Finn, Kol, and then Rebekah.

“Um, not me,” I gesture to Sage, “We.”

Sage deadpans a look at me and I give her a shrug.

“Why did you burn down a bridge, Y/n?”

I turn back towards Finn who seems bewildered.

“We,” I gesture to Sage again, who rolls her eyes, “Burned down the bridge and the bridge’s sign because Sage found out that the wood that created both was made from White Oak…you know…the same White Oak that could kill the lot of y’all.”

“Pardon?”

I turn to Kol who is looking at me skeptically.

“The last of the white oak was burnt down over a millennium ago. We made sure of that.”

“Brother, it’s true,” Bekah says, “I was going to burn down that bloody bridge myself tonight.”

“How is this possible? How do you know this Rebekah?! And why did you keep it to yourself!?”

Klaus yells at his sister after being silent for the first time in his life. Elijah on the other hand, who is leaning against the staircase behind him, hasn’t made a peep.

I eye Rebekah warily and side-eye Sage who side-eyes me.

“The Salvatores!”

I quickly yelp out trying to help Rebekah from having to admit that she had a threesome with both Sage and Demon.

“Yep. I was snooping as I usually do and overheard Damon asking the Mayor about some records about the town's bridge and such. And then Sage here did some digging, the same digging I’m sure Bekah did,” I nod to Bekah who is nodding along with me, “and then that’s when Sage found out from Damon and some records he has at the boarding house that the bridge is made from White Oak.”

I finish my dialogue off with an almost convincing smile and look at the vampires around me. Rebekah gives me a soft smile and nods, agreeing with me, Kol still looks skeptical, as does his Hybrid brother, Finn looks confused, per usual, and Elijah…hasn’t looked away from the wall in front of him in the past 5 minutes.

Everyone is silent.

“This is the part where you guys say thank you,” I give them an awkward toothy smile.

“Thank you,” Kol yells sarcastically, “Thank you for what?! For one, you burnt down an entire bridge on the ramblings of a vampire that wants to kill our family, and if that’s not bad then you went and burned down an entire bridge…without me. Who do you think you are?”

“Watch it,” Klaus snarls at his younger brother.

“Who am I?!”

I begin to march over to Kol with my finger pointed and Klaus walks in front of me, stopping me.

“Easy, Astin Min,” Klaus tries to calm me down but I shove past him.

“Who am I? One, I’m the one who just burnt down the thing that would kill you and your entire family. Two, I’m also the one who some weird ass fate thing decided that I’m supposed to carry the souls of your brothers?! AND to remind you all if those two,” I point towards Klaus and Elijah, “were to die, so do I! So if you’re having a fit about me burning down a bridge, literally shut the fuck up because it’s self preservation.”

I rub a hand over my face in exhaustion.

“Y/n, are you alright?”

I take my hand off my face and look at Finn, who is frowning at me, “I’m all good, Finney. Just past my bedtime and incredibly exhausted and not in the mood for that,” I point a finger at Kol, “Right now.”

“What the hell did I do?”

I roll my eyes at Kol’s comment.

Klaus sniffing the air catches my attention, “Yes, I know. I’ve got to take a shower to get this gas smell off of me.”

Klaus takes a quick stride over to me and grabs my shoulders and his eyes frantically look over my figure, “You’re hurt. Where?”

I try to shrug his death grip but he just holds me in place, “I just got a little burnt from a stray flame. Nothing bad.”

Klaus’ eyes darken, “Where Y/n?”

I shrug off my loose sweatshirt and show him the not so small burn that runs across my upper forearm.

“Ok, yikes,” I breathe through my nose as I process how it kind of actually stings like a bitch, “Not so little.”

Klaus releases a growl and he quickly goes to bite his wrist but I stop him, grabbing his hand.

“Nope. Every little booboo I get doesn’t need your blood.”

Klaus narrows his dark eyes at me.

“Y/n, to be honest with you, the little “booboos” you always have aren’t as little as you think they are,” Rebekah comments with a judging look.

“You’re being delusional,” I scoff.

“Were you not shot?”

I gasp at Finn’s words.

“Phineas, I told you that as a secret.”

Finn frowns and mumbles an apology.

“Secret? You quite literally told me that 30 minutes ago,” Sage raises an eyebrow at me.

“Yes and?”

“We met 40 minutes ago.”

I suck on my teeth. Oh.

“Wait, you got shot?”

I side-eye Kol, “No.”

I hear Kol mutter something but I don’t pay attention as I watch Elijah shake his head and walk back up the staircase, his left hand gripping the bannister as he goes.

“All of you leave,” Klaus’ voice booms, and I nod and begin walking towards the door.

“Bloody hell, luv. Not you,” I feel him grab my hand and pull me back towards him.

I hear Kol mutter something again before leaving the room, Sage and Finn both look at me and Sage sends me a small smile before looking back up to Finn with stars in her eyes. Finn stops for a moment before me and raises his hand. He pauses it midair, as if he’s not quite sure of his movements, but then he places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes.

“Thank you, Y/n. You’ve given me something I’ll never be able to thank you enough for…but I will try to repay you for this.”

I smile at Finn, “All in a day's work, Phineas. No need to thank me.”

Finn lifts his hand and spares his brother a fleeting glance before leaving the room with Sage in tow.

“Bloody hell, everyone in this family is so dramatic,” I look over Klaus’ shoulder to where Rebekah is leaving the room.

“Good night Rebekah,” I call and she waves her hand.

“I should probably go check on Elijah,” I say to Klaus, and begin to move past him, but as I graze his shoulder, a gasp escapes my lips as I’m whipped back around and Klaus’ lips are pressed onto mine.

It takes me a moment before I process what’s happening, but after a second I’m drowning in Klaus’ lips. I reach my hand up and run my fingers through Klaus’ dark blonde hair and suck in a breath as I feel Klaus’ toungue fight its way into my mouth. I don’t put up a fight and open my mouth slightly more to grant him leeway. He uses this opportunity to sink his tongue into my mouth and massage my tongue with his. I feel Klaus’ hand lower from my upper back down towards my ass and it doesn’t take him but another second to use his big hand to squeeze it, making me gasp.

“Fuck,” Klaus takes his toungue from my mouth and uses his teeth to pull on my lower lip.

“You’re perfect.”

I feel the tips of my ears warm at his comment and I use all my strength to shove him slightly back.

“You’re distracting.”

Klaus’s blue eyes are no longer dark, instead they have a small shine in them that makes them look similar to a small pond in springtime.

Klaus leans down to meet my eye level, “You seem to like how distracting I am.”

I fight back a smirk, “Shut up, Mutt.”

Klaus smiles at me. Not his usual smirk, or his annoying ass snarl, but an actual smile.

“You should do that more,” I point to his face and his eyebrows furrow.

“Do what?”

“Smile.”

Klaus smirks, “I do smile a lot.”

I shake my head, “Nah, you smirk a lot. Like you’re doing right now. I mean an actual smile. You have a pretty one.”

My comment seems to have taken Klaus aback and he clears his throat, “I am not pretty.”

I smirk at him, “Oh yes you are. You’re so pretty.”

I don’t give him the chance to rebut my statement as I lean forward and place a quick kiss to his warm cheek.

I quickly move past him and head towards the stairs where Elijah went.

“Thank you,” Klaus’ voice comes from behind me.

“For calling you pretty? Anytime,” I turn over my shoulder and wink at him and he rolls his eyes.

“No. Not for that. For burning the white oak and protecting myself and my family.”

I shrug, “All in a day's work.”

—

I release a shaky breath as I knock on Elijah’s door. I hum to myself as I wait for a response and it takes another moment before I hear a low, “Come in.”

I grab the nob and gently open the door. I’m not quite sure why I’m being so cautious. I’m not scared of Elijah by any means but I just have an uneasy feeling in my stomach. It’s been there since I saw him make his way up the stairs earlier.

I open the door and step in. I glance around the dimly lit room, and a smell of leather, bourbon and something earthy fills my nose.

“Elijah?”

“What, Y/n?”

I whip my head to see Elijah exiting from an adjoining room. His suit jacket is off and his white button up is rolled up at the elbows. I watch as he walks behind a dark wooden desk and sits down in a maroon leather chair. He grabs a glass bottle of some dark liquor and pours it into a glass.

I continue to watch silently as he downs the glass in one go and then begins to pour himself another.

“Are you alright?”

Elijah holds the glass in his hand as he leans back in his chair. For the first time tonight he finally meets my eye.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

His normally calm gaze his gone and replaced by a look I’ve never seen on him before. It unsettles me. I’m not sure if in a good way or bad.

“You left quite quickly,’’ I say softly.

Elijah is silent for a moment, giving me more time to glance around his room. Dark wooden bookshelves line the walls from corner to corner, filled with hundreds of books that appear to be of all ages. A grand stone fireplace is at the forefront of the room, and a small couch is planted in front of it, and a king-size bed with dark blue bedding is to my left. All of it is so him. So, Elijah.

“Hmm.”

Elijah’s hum almost sounds sarcastic, which makes me raise an eyebrow at him.

“What?”

Elijah looks back towards his drink and mixes it, “How's your burn?”

I eye the red burnt skin on my arm and then slit my eyes at Elijah.

“It’s fine. Why do you ask?”

My answer seems to have amused Elijah because he huffs out a laugh and then downs the rest of his drink.

He puts the glass back down so hard I’m surprised it didn’t shatter.

“Why do I ask? Why did I ask?!”

Elijah runs a hand over his face and then undoes the top two buttons of his shirt. He stands up from his chair and places his hands atop his desk and stares at me. His dark brown eyes are black in this light and I notice the frantic ticking in his jaw.

Oh.

He’s pissed.

“Elijah…did I do something to make you mad?”

I take a small step into the room and Elijah’s eyes mark every move I make. With Klaus there were many moments where I felt like the prey and he the predator, but never with Elijah. Not until now. Something about the way his left index finger keeps tapping his desk, his clenched jaw, and his dark eyes make me feel like he could pounce at any moment and I wouldn’t be able to do anything.

“Did you?”

Again his reply comes out almost mocking and if I weren’t dealing with a ticking time bomb right now I’d probably yell at this bitch.

“Elijah, if I did something to make you upset I need to know what that thing is before I can apologize,” I try to reason with him as I take another cautious step forward.

Elijah tilts his head, “And if I said I didn’t want your apologies?”

Ok. Now I’m getting annoyed.

I shrug, “Then I can just leave you to be in your mood and we can talk tomorrow when you want to discuss things like adults.”

Elijah’s lips twitch into a dark smirk, “Like adults? Really? And who exactly here is an adult? You?”

I frown at Elijah’s tone, it’s something cruelly sarcastic and for the first time since meeting Elijah I realize I’ve never seen him this unnerving. And I’ve literally watched him murder people.

“Why are you being like this?”

Elijah moves his hands off his desk, stands to his full height, and begins to move from behind his desk. I watch with bated breath as he comes around the desk to stand in front of it. He leans back against it, using his arms to hold himself up and places his right leg over his left. If someone were to walk in right now, it would almost appear that he was relaxed or casual, but as soon as they’d notice the gleam in his dark eyes, they knew they’d have been mistaken.

“Come here,” He says simply.

I furrow my eyebrows and shake my head, “What? No. You don’t get to just beckon me after being rude.”

“Y/n, come.”

His tone leaves no room for argument so I do what he says. God I’m a little bitch.

I take a few steps forward and eye the man in front of me, Elijah watches my every move like a hawk.

I stamp my feet into the ground and pretend to bow, “Happy now.”

Elijah narrows his eyes, “Don’t be a brat.”

I choke on my words at the tone he uses to say “Brat.” God Damnit. Wait.

Am I turned on right now?

No.

No?

Definitely not.

I think…

“I am not a brat,” I counter.

Elijah raises an eyebrow and then raises his hand and uses his index finger to call me closer.

“No. If you want to be fucking face to face you come over here,” I finally stand my ground.

Not thinking he would actually listen to me, you could imagine my surprise when he pushes himself off the desk and practically stalks towards me. My mind pretty much goes blank as he comes to stand so close, the tips of our shoes are touching.

We’re both silent as we stare back at one another. Or more so I slightly glare at him while he accesses me.

“Do you know how irresponsible you were tonight?”

I frown, “Excuse me? What the fuck do you mean irresponsible?”

“I think it would be in your best interest right now if you watched that mouth of yours. I’m already fighting back every thought in my mind to not punish you for the actions you’ve made tonight. Those nasty words coming out of your mouth are not easing any of those thoughts.”

Punish me? Who the fuck is this guy and where is my sweet blushing Elijah?!

“Elijah dude, I think you just need to chill out, alright?”

Elijah’s upper lip twitches and I realize I’ve said the wrong thing.

“Number one, Gemæcca, I am not your dude. So stop referring to me as such, and number two, I will not “chill out” especially after how childish you acted tonight.”

Alright fuck this guy.

Oh, I’m sure you want to freak.

Shut up!

“Is this about the fire? Is this why you’re being such a dick right now?”

My language seems to piss Elijah off even more, “I’m being a “dick” right now because my mate seems to have no sense of self preservation or thought.”

I clench my hand over and over again to not start throwing punches with this bitch.

“What did you just say to me,” I bite out.

“I said I was done with dealing with you, just throwing yourself into stupid and idiotic situations when your life is too fragile. Niklaus may get proud and turned on enough to swallow your tongue in our foyer at the thought of you putting yourself into danger like you did tonight,” Elijah leans down so our faces are a mere few inches apart, “But I assure you, I do not.”

Oh so he heard that. Oops.

“Well, maybe I let Klaus stick his tongue down my throat because unlike you he doesn’t treat me like a child, Elijah. Ever think of that?”

Elijah narrows his eyes at me, “I do not think of you as a child. But, when you make childish decisions that put you into harm's way-”

“I can make my own decisions, Elijah!”

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you always fucking should!”

Elijah’s booming voice shocks me and makes me step back.

He must’ve realized he went too far because his face drops slightly, and he rubs his hand over his face again.

“Elskan I-”

“No, Elijah, don’t apologize. I should be the one apologizing to you, how sorry I am that you had to end up with such a childish annoyance as a mate. Sad and poor Elijah,” I fake a frown and then go back to glaring at the man.

Elijah’s face darkens and he closes the gap between us and before I can react his hand is grabbing my lower face, “Your existence has never and will never be an annoyance to me. Do you understand that, Y/n? Never. Do you not realize the decisions you make don’t just affect you but everyone around you? If something were to happen to you, if you were to,” He releases a harsh breath, “If you were to die, do you not understand the pain and ruin you would be leaving behind? What of Theo? What of your friends? What of Klaus or I?”

Elijah uses both of his hands to push my face closer to his, “Y/n, I need you to understand this, if you were to perish…I would not survive it,” Elijah clenches his jaw and shakes his head as if just the thought of me dying is too much for him to bear, “Do you know I’ve already decided what I would do if something were to happen to you? I would make my brother dagger me in my heart and put me out of my bloody misery because leaving in my mind and being cursed by that bloody dagger until the end of time would still be an easier burden to bear than having to wake up every morning knowing that I would never lay eyes on the love of my life ever again.”

I don’t even realize I’m crying until Elijah’s thumb brushes away a stray tear.

“So yes I am mad, Y/n. I am enraged that you do not realize that every fleeting decision you make, every wound you collect,” He grabs my arm and makes me look at my burnt skin, “Isn’t the most horrifying thing to me. When I saw you walk in smelling like smoke, and burnt skin, I couldn’t bear it. I can’t bear it. Never in a thousand years have I felt the type of pain you bring me.”

I stare wide-eyed at Elijah and don’t speak. I don’t speak because I truly, for the first time in my entire life, have no idea what to say.

Elijah must realize this because after a moment of silence, he leans down and places a soft kiss right next to my lips, he leans back slightly and looks at me, and I lean back into him. Elijah leans down again but this time kisses my lips. He leans back after a moment with a clenched jaw.

“You smell like my brother.”

I reach my hand up and run it along his face, “Then make me smell like you.”

*start of smut*

In a flash my body is moved so my back is pressed to Elijah’s front and his mouth is attached to my throat. I release a low moan as Elijah's teeth graze my neck and I angle my head so he can have better access. He takes this opportunity to run his tongue along my throat and this is when I feel his sharp canines graze my skin.

“You can,” I turn my head to look at him, which was honestly a mistake because the crazed look in his eyes is making me feel things I don’t even think I felt while reading Fifty Shades.

Elijah shakes his head, “Did I not just talk to you about wounds?”

I shake my head, “You can heal me after, do it Elijah. I want you to.”

Dark veins appear under Elijah’s eyes and I reach out to run my finger over them, making Elijah release a low groan. Elijah pulls me in by my hair and smashes his lips to mine. A fast movement later and Elijah has his hands on my ass and my legs are wrapped around his neck as he carries me to his desk.

His mouth is still on mine as he swipes a hand over his desk and everything on it goes flying off. I hear glass breaking, which turns my attention, and I go to say something, but Elijah sucking and kssing my neck makes my mind go blank.

“Holy fuck,” I feel myself clench my legs together but am blocked by Elijah’s frame.

I feel Elijah’s smirk before I hear it, “Language, Elskan, or I’ll stop.”

“Oh God, please don’t.”

Elijah places another kiss to my neck before looking back up to me. It takes me only a moment to realize he’s checking to see if I’m alright.

“I said you could, Lijah” I stretch my neck so he has more room.

Elijah slowly nods his head and begins to press more gentle kisses to my neck but as I feel his fangs graze my neck, I release a deep breath. Not another second goes by before I’m closing my eyes in pain, from the sharp searing in my neck. I release a shaky breath but oddly enough the pain starts to change into…something more pleasurable after a moment. Don’t get me wrong it still hurts like a bitch but with the mix of Elijah’s sucking, his toungue cleaning the wound, and his hands: which have now found themselves massaging my underwear line, all of it is so…fucking good.

Elijah licks up my neck once more before standing back and staring at me. I feel a cold liquid run down my neck and I watch as a line of dark crimson blood flows from my neck down over my chest and through the valley of my breasts, staining my white pajama top. And holy fuck I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever fucking seen.

I look up to Elijah…I stand corrected. The blood was the second hottest thing, because the look on Elijah’s face right now, a look of pure depravity, is definitely the hottest thing that I have ever laid my eyes on.

“Poetry was created to describe women that look like you.”

Elijah’s words come out rushed and breathless as he runs his eyes over my body, as if he can’t believe he’s seeing me like this. And honestly if you told me 20 minutes ago I’d be bleeding on Elijah’s desk all hot and bothered I’d laugh in your face. But right now all I want is this man between my legs and his lips on mine.

Never thought I’d say those words either.

Elijah takes a step towards me and but stops as he sniffs the air.

“What?”

Fuck right now would be a horrible time to forget deodorant.

“You smell like gasoline,” Elijah says darkly.

“Oh…sorry.”

“Take your shirt off,” He takes a step forward and I notice the dark look he had on his face from before is back.

“Take my…”

“Your shirt. Take it off.”

Elijah’s words come out simple and harsh and without even thinking about it I grab the hem of my night shirt and pull it over my head and toss it behind me.

“Good girl. Now the pants.”

I raise my eyebrows in surprise.

“Excuse me? You do it,” I say bewildered.

Elijah quickly steps forward and within a second he fucking RIPS my sleep short into two leaving my sitting on his desk in my fucking bra and undies.

“Elijah, I meant you take off your pants!”

Elijah leans back and his eyes slowly make their way down my body and oddly enough I don’t feel an ounce of shame. Usually when it comes to my looks and body there's always that voice in the back of my head telling me that I’m too ugly or too much in some places but right now, right here with Elijah I don’t hear that voice. All I can focus on is the man before me who is looking at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“I much prefer you without pants than myself,” Elijah remarks and I use my foot to push him slightly.

We stare at each other for a moment before Elijah gets a gleam in his eye and he leans down to press a soft kiss to my cheek. He then kisses my lips, then my neck, then the valley between my breasts taking the moment to swipe a finger over my blood and painting it across my chest, he then presses that hand onto my chest and pushes me so I’m laying flat on my back, I stare at the ceiling as I continue to feel Elijah plant kisses over my stomach. I feel his hand grab my ankle and I lean up on my elbows to watch as he places a chaste kiss to my inner ankle.

“What are you doing,” I give him a tilt of my head, and a nervous smile.

Elijah smirks and I watch confused until he drops to his knees in front of me.

Oh.

OH!

“Elijah, what are you doing?”

A squeak leaves my mouth as Elijah grabs my thighs and pulls me to the edge of the desk.

Elijah places a kiss to my inner thigh, “I want to show you just a fraction of how you make me feel. Can I?”

Fuck we love a man that asks for consent.

“I’ve never…I mean no one's ever…,” I gesture towards down there hoping he gets the idea and Elijah’s eyes darken.

“I’ve guessed.”

I don’t really take offence to that because I quite literally scream “VIRGIN.”

“You don’t have to,” I shake my head.

Elijah gives me a bewildered look, “Trust me, Elskan. The image of me between your legs is something that has haunted my greatest dreams and nightmares since the moment Rose-Marie brought you to me. This will be more of a gift to me than it will be to you. I give you my word.”

All I do is nod, because HOLY HELL.

“Words Elskan. I need words,” Elijah chastises.

“Yes. Um, yes, please.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, Elijah’s mouth presses itself to my clothed core.

“Holy shit!”

I throw my head back onto the desk as I feel Elijah swipe his tongue over my core through my now very soaked underwear. I let out a sound I didn’t even know I could release as I feel Elijah’s tongue take one more swipe, starting from my clit to my hole.

I loud snap and a wave of cold air against my cunt makes me realize Elijah just ripped another piece of my clothing. I go to chastise him, but go fucking blank in the mind as I feel Elijah finger run itself through my folds.

“Oh fuck, Elijah,” I breathe out through shallowed breath.

“You’re doing so good, Elskan. Smell so fucking sweet. I bet you taste even sweeter.”

Elijah’s words only make me close my eyes and pray that any of my dead ancestors are not watching this sinful act.

Like he’s been starved his entire fucking life Elijah dives his head into my core and swipes his tongue everywhere.

My eyes roll to the back of my head.

“I was right,” I hear Elijah say to himself, “Just like nectar.”

Elijah doesn’t give me a second to adjust because the next thing I feel is his thick finger enter my throbbing hole.

“So tight, so perfect,” Elijah says as he massages my inside with his finger and-

“OH FUCK!”

Elijah’s finger curls inside me and if every Smutty book I’ve read is true then I’m pretty sure he just hit that spot.

Elijah fucking chuckles! And then dares to enter another finger. I let out a breath of pain at the sudden tightness but release a breath of pleasure as Elijah leans down and begins sucking on my clit.

A tight feeling builds in my lower gut and I feel like I can’t breathe.

“Elijah…I-”

“Let go for me Elskan, I want to see you cum on my fingers.”

Elijah’s nasty mouth, literally, is all I needed to hear before an unbearable wave of pleasure flows through me and I feel my whole body tighten.

“Elijah!”

I throw my head back onto the desk in exhaustion as my lungs fight for breath.

I feel Elijah presses a soft kiss to my center, making me squirm from sensitivity.

“You did so well, My love.”

*End of smut*

I absentmindedly nod as I feel Elijah pick me up bridal style. I open my eyes as Elijah places me carefully on my two shaking feet. He presses a soft kiss to the side of my face before walking over to a white claw foot tub. Oh. We’re in his bathroom.

I watch half naked and kind of self-conscious now as Elijah turns the tub on, and adds soap, making the water bubble up.

“Come,” He reaches out his hand for me to take and I fight the urge to crack a joke at his words. He gives me a look which I’m guessing means he already knew I was going to tell a joke. I take his hand and slowly dip down into the warm water.

A low hiss escapes my mouth as my core touches the water and I feel a sharp pain.

“You might be sore for a little while,” Elijah comments as he comes to sit beside me. He reaches his hand to the latch of my bra and I nod giving him the okay to take it off. As he slides the bra straps down my arms, he places feather like kisses to my shoulder.

“Was I too rough,” His words come out hushes as if he’s afraid of my answer.

I shake my head, “No,” I lean down into the water so the bubbles come up to my upper chest, “You were good.”

Elijah chuckles, “Just good?”

I shrug playfully, “I’d give you a good 7.5.”

Elijah lets out a loud laugh, “Oh really? I must have misheard you because I thought I heard you scream out my name over half a dozen times. My mistake.”

I use a sud-covered hand to shove him.

“How is it that I’m completely naked and you’re still dressed in head to toe Versace?”

Elijah shrugs, “Is that a problem?”

I lean forward and start undoing his buttons, “You could at least lose the button up.”

Elijah smirks but still agrees as he undoes his top leaving him in a wife beater.

Elijah takes a glass from beside him and fills it up with water before pouring it over my hair. I lay back and close my eyes as Elijah makes work with shampooing my hair, his fingers massaging circles into my scalp.

“Feels. So. Good.”

—

My eyes open briefly as I feel myself being carried again.

I look around confused for a moment before I hear Elijah’s voice.

“Go back to sleep, Elskan. Everything’s alright. I’m right here.”

Hmm.

I like the sound of that.

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a99jazzybean · 24 days ago

Note

HIIIII! I just binge read your date everything fics and I love them! May i ask for yet another Chance fic, where y/n is familiar with g&g and used to play with their friends from time to time - using his dice of course! And... y/n used to kiss the piece for the "lucky shot", doesn't matter if it worked or not. So now, with Skylars help, y/n can speak with him and even play a session or two and it is so much fun! But she is completely oblivious to the fact that he remembers every time y/ns lips touched his dice-y form and each time he silently yearns for her lips to touch him once again... The rest is up to you, lots of love!

I love this prompt so much! Thank you for the request!

With a Taste of Your Lips...

Part 2

synop: You and Chance decide to play another session of G&G. Little do you know, a special tradition of yours has him feeling all sorts of hot and bothered. i.e. You discover Chance can feel when you kiss his die.

words: 4.7K

includes: chancexfem!reader, ttrpg playing, making out, fondling an object?, cumming untouched kinda, smut

a/n: I might make a part 2 to this one, thoughts? Also, its got smut. No minors!

“You feel yourself growing weaker. The spell the lich cast on you drains your life force. All of your comrades are downed. You are their final hope.” Your GM stares you down, brow raised. “What would you like to do?”

Looking around the table you see all of your friends' faces are grim. All eyes are on you. Taking a look at the battlemap before you, your eyes widened.

“Past the cliff, it’s the Abysmal Pit, correct?” You asked the GM.

“Correct.”

“And anyone who falls in is erased from existence, right?

“Correct.”

“No!” Sam shouted. “I know what you’re thinking. You can’t do it!”

You give her a solemn look, eyes filled with sadness.

“I’m sorry.” You pick up your red D20. “But you can’t stop me. I’m going for a grapple on the lich, then I’m dragging him over the edge with me.”

A chorus of gasps erupts from your party members. Some are getting teary-eyed.

Two years of a campaign filled with adventure, friendship, romance, and tears. This is how it ends. Perhaps it was destined to be.

“Make your roll.” Your GM feels tears prick in their own eyes. Not knowing whether they want you to succeed on this or not.

As is tradition on major rolls, you bring your trusty die to your lips. Pecking it softly, you pray that this works.

“Lucky shot,” you hear Sam say under their breath.

Cupping the die in your hands, you give a good shake. Then you release it onto the table. Everyone in the room is holding their breath as it rolls. Finally, it stops. Natural 20.

Normally, the table would erupt with cheers. This time, it wasn’t proper to celebrate.

“Prim,” your GM took in a shaky breath as he spoke your character’s name. Trying to hold back tears. “You muster up the final dregs of strength within you. Pulling yourself up with a groan. Everything hurts, but your mind has been made up. Pushing through it all, you start to run. Taking one final look at your fallen teammates. This is the last time you will see them. Tell me how this ends.” Their voice wavered.

“As I run toward the lich, I let out a final ‘goodbye’. I grab it around the waist, then throw both of us off of the ledge. No matter what it does I keep ahold of it. It’s coming with me.” Your own eyes fill with tears.

“As you fall, the lich tries to get you off of it, but to no avail. For a brief moment you can see a flash of its past humanity. Fear filling its face as it realizes the one thing that it tried to run from has finally arrived. Death in the shape of a half-elf rogue who risked it all to defeat it.”

Chance sighed dreamily, remembering your great sacrifice. Seemed like you frequently played characters that laid their life on the line. No wonder he was absolutely smitten.

While you weren’t able to see his personified form at the moment, he was able to see you. Back hunched over as you typed on Mac. The computer feeling pretty good about themselves as you cranked out your latest self-insert fanfic. What else were you supposed to do when an AI took over your job?

Chance wasn’t able to see what you were writing, but could see Mac occasionally blush and chuckle at the words you were typing onto them.

“Care to share?” He asked the computer.

Mac glanced over at him, then back to one of the screens in front of them.

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. She’s kind of mortified that I’ve even read this stuff.” Mac turned back to read what you had just typed out, red blooming on their face. “Yeah, no. You don’t need to know about this.”

Chance grumbled to himself. It didn’t feel fair that Mac got to see the sexiest innermost thoughts of yours. Actually, he was kind of jealous of many of your objects. Betty slept with you every night, witnessing the limited sexual exploits of yours. Johnny, he wouldn’t talk about it, too much of a gentleman. But the massage setting on his shower head? He might have alluded to activities you had accomplished with that.

It was frustrating to say the least. Seeing how much better the other beings in the home got to know you intimately. All Chance wanted was a taste of that knowledge.

He hoped you’d put your Dateviators back on again. Now that you had been able to see him, all he wanted was your attention. It didn’t help that you enthusiastically offered to play G&G with him. Only feeding into the ever-growing obsession with you.

It didn’t start when you put those glasses on, no. It started when you came up with that damned tradition. Kissing the 20 side of his die body. You didn’t know, couldn’t know, really. But he felt it, every single time. It was special, something you only did when making a major roll. And you always picked him. Your “lucky shot” for your “lucky die”.

The thing was, you hadn’t ended that tradition. When you began playing with Chance, you continued to make your lucky shots. Not realizing that although the personified version was sitting in front of you, Chance was still very much connected to the object he was. He would have you roll on something difficult, and as if it were instinct, you pressed your soft lips right on the20 side. Thankfully, Chance had been able to maintain his composure as you watched the die roll. However, it was beginning to become too much.

Each press of your lips to the die had him falling for you harder and harder.

With a sigh, you pushed away from your computer. Eyeing the die beside you with a smirk. Tapping on the desk, your gaze flitted over to your glasses. It had been a few hours since you had them on, couldn’t hurt to say hi to your office. And there might have been a specific object that held your affections.

“You know. I can feel you looking at me, right?” You teased the die before putting on the Dateviators.

Chance’s face was ruddy when you looked at him, caught red handed. Rubbing his neck sheepishly, he gave you an apologetic look.

“What can I say? You’re nice to look at.”

Now it was your turn to blush. The damned man always seemed to fluster you in such innocuous ways. Somehow always polite with his flirting.

There were times he could be fairly forward, but he never pushed. It was sweet.

Thinking about it, you could go for something sweet now. But nothing that was consumable.

“Do you have a session prepped?” You asked.

Immediately, he perked up. A bright smile on his face complimented by an enthused flush.

“Of course! Ever since you’ve come along, I’m like ten sessions ahead!” He leaned toward you, bouncing on his toes.

“I’m glad that you’ve been so inspired. I love your stories.” You gave him a soft smile.

His eyes widen, practically sparkling at your words.

“Y-you love my stories?” He held his hand to his heart, feeling the muscle pump faster at your compliment.

“Why do you think I want to play with you so often?” You pulled his die over with a finger, rolling it around. “I have a lot of fun with you.”

“We could have more fun.” He raised a brow suggestively, looking over his glasses at you.

Red in the face, you waved him off with a giggle.

“Do you have time to play now?”

“I always have time for you.”

You were sure you heard Timothy scoff somewhere in the distance. That was no matter though, for now you had the full attention of your favorite die.

“Shall we play, then?”

Chance nodded enthusiastically, then proceeded to get his GM station set up. When his screen and notes were all in place, he gave an approved nod. Looking up, he beamed at you again. Feeling his heart squeeze at the content smile on your face as you sat on the other end of the table from him. Oh how he wished to always keep you happy. He would play forever with you just to make sure that smile never fell from your lips.

“Alright, where did we leave off?” He glanced over his notes.

“I managed to talk myself out of being eaten by a giant.” You had your own notes pulled out.

Chance felt his heart swell again. You took notes! Oh, you truly were the perfect player.

“That’s right! My charismatic girl!” He chuckled as your face grew red.

He was glad that he managed to make you as flustered as you made him. Equal opportunity flirting to make the other squirm. Again, perfect.

“You’ve gotten away from the giant, but you still have yet to find the gilded egg laying hen.”

“Thankfully, you have quite the wise girl as well!” You let out a satisfied huff. “Can I make a perception check to see where the chicken is?”

“You may.” He motioned for you to continue.

Shaking the die in your hands you urged it to roll well.

“C’mon D20, show me what you’re made of!”

You released the die, it clattered into your dice tray. After a moment of circling, it landed on a 16.

“Nice! And that’s a plus four to my perception!”

“Wonderful!” He cleared his throat, continuing his tale. “As you look around the foyer of the giant’s castle, you aren’t finding any indications of where a hen might be roosting. However, after a moment of hearing silence, there’s a new sound filtering down the hallway to the north.”

“What’s the sound?” You ask with a knowing smirk.

“It’s soft harp music, almost dreamlike.”

After your previous character died valiantly saving a village from a dragon, Chance asked if you would mind experimenting with a fairytale themed game. Of course, you agreed, excited to see what he would come up with. While some of the quests you have been on so far were a bit predictable, he had many twists and turns added in.

Like Cinderella’s slipper turning out to be a baby mimic. When you had managed to aid the prince in finding his lost love, the mimic revealed itself, chomping down on her foot. However, she didn’t scream. It turned out, Cinderella’s ballgown had already consumed her and was using her head and limbs to blend in. The fairy godmother revealed herself as a demon looking to collect on the souls of the kingdom. All she needed was the prince to disappear so she could take his place.

It was a lovely twist that ended with a fairly hard battle. Thankfully the prince that accompanied you turned out to be part of the bloodline of very powerful sorcerers, so he was able to aid in the defeat of the fairy godmother.

The prince tried asking for your hand in marriage, but you had other adventures to go on. Instead, you left with a hefty amount of gold. A token of appreciation for saving the kingdom. The engagement ring hidden amongst the coins didn’t go unnoticed, Chance giving you a cheeky wink when he mentioned it.

You had noticed the man had been throwing romance options at you throughout each of the fairy tales. Many of them were love stories, sure, but it seemed like he really wanted you to get with someone. Little Red Riding Hood, growing smitten with you after you saved her from the belly of a wolf. A huntsman asking for your hand after you aided him in saving the kingdom from a corrupt king. Snow White practically begged you to marry her after you turned out to be her “true love's kiss”. He was laying it on pretty thick, so to speak.

Truthfully, the reason why you never accepted was because you wanted Chance to stop hiding his affections behind characters in your game. The two of you had constant flirty banter, but it felt like he could only speak through innuendo when hinting at wanting anything more. While it was endearing, it was starting to become tiring.

Though admittedly, you were a coward too. It would be hypocritical to judge the man considering you couldn’t muster up the courage to do anything either. Instead, you sat in a flirtatious purgatory. Something that could be viewed as a comfortable platonic relationship, but in reality had very, very heavy overtones of desire.

Neither you or Chance could be subtle. There were times where you could feel the hunger in his eyes as he ran your game. Usually when you did something quite clever.

That time when you answered his Latin riddle? The man was very glad he had baggy pants on.

Then there was you. Easily bending to his dominating whims when he was GMing. Something about him having that kind of authority over you often had you clenching your thighs and squirming in your chair. And don’t even get started on the villain monologues. He pulled one of those out, you left the gaming table with your panties soaked. Giving Betty quite the show when you couldn’t get to sleep.

Back to your current game, Chance asked for your next move.

“I follow the sound of the harp.”

“You feel almost entranced at the music. Your steps pulling you to the north hallway. After about an hour of walking (remember, this is a GIANT’S castle) you made it to the room the music was coming from. Peering inside, you see a giant sitting on a bed. She appears to be much shorter than the one you first encountered, but still clearly a giant. You can tell she is related to the other giant, both sporting the same nose shape. The giant girl is playing the harp, her fingers delicately plucking at the strings. You look across from her and see what you’ve been looking for. A hen nestled in a nest of straw. Its body swaying side to side with the music. Below it you see a peek of gold. What would you like to do?”

“I’m not going to try and hide.”

Chance looked at you with wide eyes, surprised at your blatant move.

“I handled the other giant with my words, I can easily do the same again.”

Oh, he loved your confidence. Your willingness to dive in despite the consequences. He just hoped that it wouldn’t end with your bones ground up to make bread. Quite the horrific way to depart this mortal realm.

“If you say so. You stride inside with confidence. Hyping yourself up from your previous encounter with a giant.” He rolled a die, giving a grimace. “The giant girl doesn’t appear to see you. She’s looking right at the hen, swaying side to side as she continues to play the harp.”

“I try to catch her attention by clearing my throat loudly.”

“You clear your throat, and she stops playing. A sour look grows on her face as she looks for the source of the sound. Looking down, she finally spots you. Crossing her arms, she gives you a pout.”

“You know, it’s quite rude to interrupt a performance.” Chance put on the voice of a little girl, making you chuckle. “What’s so funny?”

“Chance, you know that wasn’t in-game.” You gave him a stern look.

“I know, I’m just messin. Anyways… she looks at you, waiting for you to respond.”

“I apologize, your music is lovely.”

“Then why did you interrupt me?”

“Well, I have some important matters to discuss.”

“Important matters? What’s important is that Bailey gets her proper rest.” Chance returns to his normal voice. “You follow her gaze to the hen in the nest.”

“Is Bailey your hen?”

“Obviously!” The character voice returned. “And she won’t lay eggs unless I play for her.”

“I see.” You ponder on that information for a moment, then ask. “Is the harp huge?”

“It’s giant, so is the hen.”

“Didn’t the asshole who hired me say he had been here before? Why send me up if there’s no way to bring the items down?” You huffed in frustration at the quest-giver.

“Who said there wasn’t a way to bring them down?” He clicked his tongue at you, admonishingly.

“Hmmm. I think I'll talk to the girl some more.” He motioned for you to continue. “I’m sure Bailey loves your music.”

“She does, she always lays an egg when I play! My daddy says I’m gettin just as good as my mama!” Chance goes back to narrating. “After she says that she goes quiet. Her eyes widening as if she’s just realized you were here. There’s a darkness in them that surprises you for a girl so young.”

“I don’t have a good feeling about this.” You bit your lip nervously.

“You’re a human. Humans aren’t allowed here!”

“Um, you’re dad let me go. At least I think it was your dad.” You give Chance a nervous glance.

“Roll on persuasion.”

Shaking the dice, you let it drop. Watching in fear as it lands on a three. Chance’s gaze grows dark.

“You only think you know? How can I know if you’re telling the truth?” Chance narrates again. “The giant girl stands up, towering high over you. A glare on her face as her eyes narrow. But you spot something odd, her eyes are watering.” The little girl voice is put back on. “All humans lie! I bet you’re no different!”

“I decide to stay quiet, letting her speak.” You say to Chance. Again, he’s surprised at your action.

“Your people killed my mom!” He switches back to normal. “You now see tears falling from her eyes. She’s going to reach for you.” He rolls a die, eyeing you expectantly. “Would you like to do anything to stop it?”

“No. I let her.”

“A large hand grabs you with a crushing squeeze. You feel the air forced out of your body by the strong grip of her hand. She lifts you to her head.” He clears his throat, going back to the girl voice. “I should just eat you, show you how it feels.” He gives you another expectant look. “Are you going to try and do anything?”

“Nope. I’m gonna close my eyes and accept my fate.”

Impressed, Chance sits back with his arms crossed. Pondering on what to do next. While you had managed to talk your way out of the last giant encounter, he thought you would at least try to fight your way out of this one. The giant child’s stat block was something that you could manage on your own.

“Okay. I want you to roll persuasion, and I’ll be nice and give you advantage for what you’ve managed to do so far.”

Pumping your fist in the air, you reached for the die. This time, you brought the D20 to your lips, giving it a light peck. This was a roll that was gonna need it.

“C’mon lucky shot, don’t let me down now.”

The first roll landed on a 6. Again, you brought the die to your lips. The kiss to the dice slightly lingering, just for good luck. You shook it in your hand and released, crossing your fingers for a good roll. Slowly, it spun to land on a 20.

“Nat 20 babee! Let’s gooooo!” You stood up and cheered, your character saved.

Chance remained seated, face beet red. His breathing had become labored. For some reason, he couldn’t get himself to calm down. Maybe it was the fact that you had kissed the die in succession. Something he could feel burning through his body.

Coming down from your high, you realized Chance hadn’t continued. Turning, you gave him a concerned look. Walking over, you eyed the state he was in. Face still extremely flushed.

“Are you okay?” You leaned toward him, trying to figure out what was wrong.

“I-I’m fine. We can continue!” He rubbed his neck nervously.

“Are you sure? Your face is really red.”

“What did you expect after kissing me like that!” He clamped his hands over his mouth, face turning another shade darker.

“What? I didn’t kiss…” You looked over to the die, feeling a heat crawl up your neck. “C-can you feel that?”

Hands still over his mouth, he nodded. You realized you had been performing your luck ritual the entire time you had been playing with Chance. He could feel it. Every. Single. Time.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” You felt terrible, doing that to him without asking.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He said softly.

“But then I kept making you uncomfortable! Kissing you without your consent, ugh. I’m so sorry, Chance.” You gave him a sad look that pierced his heart. That wasn’t what he meant at all!

“I never said I was uncomfortable.” He composed himself somewhat.

“Huh?”

“I might have liked it…” He trailed quietly.

“What was that?” You couldn’t make out what he said.

“I like it!” He blurted. “I really like it when you kiss me.” His face grew red again as he waited for your response.

“Y-you do?”

He nodded sheepishly.

“Yeah. It feels… nice. Really nice.” He bit his lip nervously. “You’re always so soft and sweet.”

“Oh.” Your face was burning.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” He gave you an apologetic look.

“Chance…” This time you were nervous.

“Yes?”

You leaned down toward his face. Arms planted on the headrest of his chair.

“Can I actually kiss you?”

“I-I mean technically you are ‘actually’ kissing me…” He stuttered out, eyes flitting between your eyes and lips.

You gave him an unamused pout.

“You know what I mean. How’s about this? Can I give you a reciprocated kiss? One that you also participate in?”

“Yes. Please.”

With that, you pressed your lips to his. Chance froze up at first, eyes wide at the fact that this was happening. Leaning into the kiss, his eyes fluttered shut. You let out a content sigh at the feel of his lips against yours. Soft and plush, perfectly meldable with your own.

With your tongue, you teased at his bottom lip. Gladly, he slightly opened his mouth for your tongues to intertwine. A low groan left him as he tasted you. So fucking perfect.

The man pushed the chair away from the table, letting you sink onto his lap. Your hand trailed up his neck, fingers lightly scratching at his scalp. He moaned against you at the action. His own hands trailed over your body, mapping out your slopes and curves. Ultimately they landed on your ass, giving it a quick squeeze. You giggled against his lips, pulling away to get a good look at him.

Face still flushed with kiss bitten lips and blown out pupils. He stared up at you like you were a goddess that was granting him a blessing. That was sure how this encounter was feeling. Something that he had only dreamed of.

“You’re so handsome.” You pressed kisses against his jaw and down his throat, making him shiver.

“And you’re beautiful. So perfect.” He pressed a kiss to your lips.

Leaning your forehead against his, you smiled. Then an idea came to you. Biting your lip, you wondered if the man beneath you would oblige to your whims.

“Chance…”

“Hmm?”

“When I kiss your die, where do you feel it?”

“Oh, um, I guess on my face? Like a whisper against my cheeks and the corner of my lips.” He let out an awkward chuckle.

You shifted off of him to grab the die, then returned to his lap. Holding the die in front of you, you looked over the numbers.

“So what would happen if I kissed the other numbers?” You asked, gaze hungry.

Oh, oh, this was hot. So fucking hot. Chance thought just kissing you was a dream come true. You wanting more from him? That was merely a fantasy.

“I suppose I would feel you kissing me on other parts of my body.” He answered. Truthfully, he had no idea what would happen. You only ever kissed the 20.

“So if I kiss the one.” You brought the dice to your lips, pecking the side.

Chance giggled at the feeling. Right on the bottom of his foot.

“I take it that was your foot?”

He nodded, excited to see where this was going. Already feeling himself growing semi-hard in his pants as he watched you in anticipation.

You pressed a kiss to the five, eyeing Chance’s response. He twitched under you with a whimper.

“Where was that?”

“My left thigh.”

Okay, so if five was the left thigh then… you pressed a kiss to the six.

“R-right thigh.” He groaned out. Having your lips on him like this was something else.

It was probably a good thing you never kissed the other numbers. He was sure you would make him cum from just kissing him alone.

“So if six is your other thigh then that must mean seven or eight is likely your-”

“What if we avoided that area?” He cut you off, a nervous sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Why’s that?” You leaned in, giving him a deep kiss.

“I-I just…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Chance, would me kissing the dice equivalent of your crotch make you cum?” Wow, just right out with it.

“Y-yeah, yeah. It would. I’m gonna be honest. With the way that you’re already going at it, I’d probably cum just from you kissing me.”

“Really?” You sat upright, eyes sparkling.

He nodded, blushing furiously.

“Could we try it?” You bit your lip.

The thought of having the man fall apart just from you kissing him had you riled up. You could feel yourself growing wetter at the thought. Seeing him squirm from your kisses before coming undone. Oh, that was very appealing.

“You want to?” He was surprised.

“Yeah, I do. Only if you want to.”

“You don’t have to ask twice.” He wrapped a hand around your neck, pulling you in for a kiss. Your tongues tangled with each other as you moaned.

Pulling away, you brought the dice back up to your face. Eyeing the numbers, you decided to go for the 19. You gave it a slow kiss, watching Chance as he shivered and moaned. The feeling reached a sweet spot on his neck that had him keening. He was pretty sure he was addicted to your lips now.

You continued to press kisses to various numbers. Loving every whimper and moan you managed to get out of the man. Occasionally you would lean back in to give him a proper kiss on the lips, only to return to tease him with the die.

Chance could tell you were avoiding the seven and eight. Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“P-please.” He groaned through gritted teeth as he felt your lips on his chest. “I need you…”

“Need me to what?” You teased with a smirk.

“Kiss the seven and eight. Please.” He begged, squirming beneath you.

“Hmm. Good boy.” Oh fuck. That had his dick throbbing.

Slowly, you brought the die to your lips. You pecked all over it, then finally pressed a kiss to the seven. Chance cried out at the feeling. Your lips right where he needed them. Feeling them press against his throbbing length. He was sure the next one would be the last he needed. You gave another slow kiss to the eight. It was his undoing. Cock twitching in his pants, releasing a sticky load into his boxers. His hands gripped at your hips as he rutted against the feeling of your lips.

“Oh f-fuck.” He stuttered out.

You pressed your lips to his, then kissed all over his face. The man melting into your affection.

“How was that?” You asked softly.

“Amazing. Perfect. Wonderful. Perfect. Did I mention perfect?” He chuckled.

“I’m glad I could give you that.” You picked up the die again, giving it a peck on the 20.

“Guess I’ll be keeping my lucky shot tradition for our other games.” You gave him a sweet smile.

“Oh sweetheart,” Chance pulled you back to him, “did you think playtime was over?”

#a99jazzybean #date everything x reader #date everything #chance date everything #chance x reader #chance x you #D20xreader #date everything fanfic

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