#i know why i love bobby so much in that fic

[yakichoufd]

doodles inspired by that bobby/scott fic

[fireinmoonshot]

darling | robert reynolds x reader,

THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR MARVEL'S THUNDERBOLTS*.

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x Reader Summary: You always call Bob darling in private... until you accidentally slip up and use the nickname in front of the rest of the Thunderbolts. Warnings: Mentions of food/drink, reader is mentioned to not be mentally ready for a relationship and has a bit of a moment at the end struggling with their thoughts/struggling mentally in general. Word Count: 1.3k A/N: Thank you all so much for the amazing response on my first Bob fic 🥹 For my second one, this was actually the first idea I had for Bob but it took a bit of workshopping to get right. I ended up being really happy with it. I love writing the Thunderbolts team dynamic. I also put a little easter egg in there for anyone that's read all my other Joaquín fics since February this year. I hope you all enjoy! 💗

Bob had been called many different things in his life. There had been a series of insults from his family and people he’d hurt during his time as an addict. Walker always called him Bobby, which he hated. Valentina called him by his full name, Robert. He had other names like Sentry and Void when he was using his powers. But none of those could ever come close to his favourite from you.

Every time he hears the word darling come from your mouth, directed at him, he thinks it might be the closest he’s ever come to true happiness. He wishes every time that he could bottle that feeling up and keep it for when the days are especially tough.

“Darling, can you pass me that book?”

“Darling, how are you doing after that mission?”

“Darling, do you need me to do anything for you?”

The only bad thing is the fact that you aren’t his. It’s a mutual decision, though, so he can’t be mad. You’ve been in mutual like for a while now. But both of you have known that entering into something serious when neither of you are mentally ready for something like that would just be foolish and end up with one or both of you being hurt. Your friendship always mattered more than the possibility of your futures together.

But the nickname still stuck and Bob was glad for that.

He never cared that it was just in private. In fact, he rather enjoyed the fact that it was just for the two of you. That, whenever he was alone with you, it was almost a guarantee that he was going to hear your voice speak that gorgeous word.

He cared for the rest of the team so deeply, but the moments when it was just you and him were his favourites. When you’d be laying together on the couch, both of you reading the same book and having to wait till you’d both finished the page before turning to the next one. When you’d be in the kitchen together, Bob washing the dishes as you plated up some kind of masterpiece for dinner. The quiet times, when everyone else was asleep and you and Bob would stay up trading memories like they were the worlds greatest secrets. 

The level of comfort he got in your presence surprised him, but he accepted it quickly.

It’s why, when you enter the room, he knows that you’re there. He relaxes almost instantly, just from sensing you getting closer. You reach out to rest a hand on his shoulder before you stop yourself, resting it on the top of the chair that he’s sitting on instead. 

There’s still a little hesitation when it comes to touch between the two of you. Both because neither of you want to cross the invisible line you’ve both drawn, but because of Bob’s powers too. He still isn’t fully in control.

“Morning, darling,” the word slips out before you can stop yourself. It’s so normal these days to refer to Bob like this, but always in private. Never in the dining room of the Watch Tower where every other member of the team is having breakfast.

Bob is none the wiser to your blunder. He gets that same starry look in his eyes as he always does when he looks up at you, standing behind him. He wants to reach out, wrap an arm around your waist and tug you onto his lap, though he wouldn’t have the confidence to do such a thing even if his powers weren’t an issue.

He always melts a little when he hears you call him darling. 

Across the room, you hear a groan.

“Oh, hell no,” Walker says, dropping the spoon back into his bowl of cereal. “You two are not doing that. Whatever is happening here, I don’t care, but we are not listening to you two call each other darling. Especially over breakfast.”

“What’s so wrong with a bit of young love?” Alexei exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air as he looks at Walker across the table. “This is good! Love heals the soul, there is nothing wrong with love!”

You frown. “Okay, who said anything about love?”

Alexei and Walker ignore you and continue to bicker.

You catch Yelena’s eye from across the room where she’s sat by the window, but she just shrugs her shoulders and goes back to staring out at the skyline.

“I would’ve thought you’d be all right with seeing affection, Walker,” Ava says, entering the room behind you. She’d obviously overheard the noise from the hallway. “You are married, even if you’re not together right now. Are you telling us you never called your wife something like that?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t make everyone else listen to me!”

Bucky, who has been watching everything the whole time from the corner of the room where he’s sitting, coffee in hand, huffs out a laugh. “You guys think this is bad? You should be glad you’ve never spent time around Joaquin Torres when he’s away from his girl.” He shakes his head and takes a sip of his coffee, not bothering to explain any further about the new Falcon. 

You take advantage of the moment of silence that Bucky has caused to attempt to fix the situation. “Okay, no more talking about love or who is and isn’t allowed to call each other nicknames. Can we just drop it? It was a slip of the tongue!”

“Only if you explain why you said it,” Walker says.

“No,” you reply, pulling out the chair next to Bob’s and sitting down in it. It’s all you offer in way of an answer to Walker and he seems to surprisingly give up on fighting you on it. 

You glance over to see that Bob is still looking at you, his eyes glistening and a small smile on his lips. The sight of it makes you smile as well. “I am never calling you that in front of the others again… even if it was just a slip of the tongue, that was mortifying.” 

Bob smiles again and nudges a drink that’s sitting in front of him over towards you – he’s prepared your favourite and had it waiting for when you arrived. You try to ignore the feeling that rises in your stomach at the small act of kindness. 

“But when it’s just us?” He inquires.

“You know it’s different then.” 

You pick up the drink and take a sip of it before leaning back in your chair. Walker and Alexei have started bickering over something else. Yelena is still looking out the window, Bucky is in the corner with his coffee and Ava is exiting the kitchen with a drink of her own. It’s a fairly mundane kind of morning for a group of people meant to be the ‘New Avengers.’

There’s a sudden feeling that rises in your chest at the thought of your new status as an Avenger. It’s uncomfortable, unwelcome. You still don’t know how you feel about it, even many months later. It should be a good thing, but then why does it fill you with dread?

Bob can see the change in your expression and he’s quick to act. He reaches over and taps the table in front of you to get your attention. You pull your eyes away from the window, where you’d been staring, and meet his eyes instead. They instantly help to calm you.

“Quiet time?” Bob asks, nodding towards the door that leads into the hallway.

It’s like a code word between the two of you. When one of you needs to get away from the others or you start to get a little too wrapped up in your head. Two words that put you instantly at ease. 

You nod and Bob wastes no time in standing up from the table. You follow him, leaving your drink in the dining room and walking out of the room with him, ignoring Walker as he calls out, asking where you’re both running off to. 

“Thank you, darling,” you mutter, once you’re just outside the room.

Bob turns to you with a small smile on his lips. “Always.”

[lostcausezealot]

The Shipping Allegations

DESCRIPTION: In which fans are avid fans of RumiY/n and three months since their hiatus, HUNTR/X’s comeback and your new solo album didn’t help.

Romantic, Read with slight caution (It tackles the part with Celine and Rumi so)

Rumi x Celine’s daughter!Reader 

There are wave to earth lyrics

Celine’s A grade parenting

Not proof read

Helloooo! This is actually my very first fic and I'm very rusty. I hope you enjoy the fic :))

Three months later when HUNTR/X announced their hiatus, released a series of photos for their comeback

It was posted all over social media photo of you four, a solo pic of each of the members. All seems fine. 

Until a certain photo of you and Rumi.

Shipping allegations have always been in every fandom. There was nothing new to that, but they couldn’t help but take notice how the photo of you both looks like something too romantic to be true.

From the photoshoot, it was a photo of your arms on your knees, ducking your head while admiring the leader with such adoring eyes. While Rumi stared back at you, laughing.

Fans always knew that you two were close since day one. Before the group even came to be.

Fans noticed the rift between you and your mother three months ago. Right just after defeating Gwi-Ma.

And they definitely noticed how defensive you grew when people continuously target Rumi’s patterns.

“I don’t get it, honestly,” You spoke in an interview. “It’s Rumi’s choice to let her patterns show. It’s her own body, why do people we barely know get to decide what she wants?”

The fans went crazy about it.

It was normal for Mira and Zoey to speak out in defense of their leader, but you? You were the quiet and gentle one out of the four.

Daily HUNTR/X @dailyhuntrix

Aren’t we going to question how y/n, the one who usually goes with the flow of HUNTR/X defended Rumi LIVE ON INTERVIEW?!?!?!?!?

TILL IS SEEING HUNTR/X IN # DAYS @zomira

THE RUy/n IS STRONG TODAY GUYS

Zo | spoilers @Mirawife

What a fucking day this has been

It truly didn’t help that Mira and Zoey decided to join in.

MIRA @MiraHUNTRX

We just saw that right @Zoey    

| ZOE @ZoeyHUNTRX 

  Oh, we definitely did HELLO??

|| RUMI @RumiHUNTRX 

   What are you guys talking about…?

 ||| ZOE @ZoeyHUNTRX

       IT’S NOTHING ^ ^

It continued with videos of you and Rumi. 

“y/n and Rumi being hopelessly in love with each other for 5 minutes.”

That was the title of the video, and exploded.

The video had more views than their debut MV. Much to Bobby’s panic and Mira and Zoey’s delight.

Compiled from livestreams, backstage footage, fancams, interviews, and even stolen glances during concerts. 

The fandom had receipts, and they damn brought them.

Clip 1:

It was one of their scheduled livestreams, and Zoey and Mira were the ones in charge of it.

“Which one’s better, Romance or Abby?” Mira wanted to snarl with the question.

“Come on,” Zoey cheerfully grinned, “It’s just a question.”

“A question that can make Twitter explode,” Mira replied. “Both are unbearable.”

Right after she answered the question, the elevator opened, and lo and behold, you and Rumi entered the penthouse laughing at whatever the leader said.

Oh, and don’t forget the fact that they were holding hands.

The two looked over the two members with the livestream still on and immediately let go of each other.

“Oh! Mira, Zoey!” Rumi nervously laughed, “I didn’t know you were live!”

You jabbed her gut in response.

Clip 2:

It was a short clip of you and Rumi entering a boba shop. Clearly, paparazzi still have no sense of personal space, as the video kept going.

Just as Rumi is about to get her wallet, you hand your card to the cashier and pay for your order.

“Hey! I was supposed to pay!” Rumi exclaimed, the wallet still in hand.

“I was the one who asked you out,” You replied, grabbing the two drinks. “It makes sense that I pay, right?”

Rumi stayed silent before smiling, “Fine, but next time I’m the one paying.”

“Deal.”

Clip 3:

It was another livestream, and you and Zoey were the ones this time. 

The live was practically taken over with Zoey talking the most while you happily listened. 

Until a question appeared in the comments.

“Where did you get the ring in your necklace, y/n?” Zoey read out the comment.

“Hm? Oh!” You grabbed the ring while smiling, “A friend gave it to me.”

Zoey stared at you with a look while you confusedly stared back at her.

“What?”

“I actually don’t know where that necklace is from.” 

“Well, there’s a reason why you don’t.” 

The next day, fans found an old photo of Rumi wearing the same necklace. It wasn’t the same necklace.

And the fans knew it was a matching ring.

Clip 4:

It was a big night. HUNTR/X had just won Song of the Year at a major ceremony. Screams echoed across the stadium.

All four of you went up to accept the award. Zoey delivered the thank you speech, and Mira stood beside her.

You and Rumi were slightly behind them. Hidden from the camera angle.

Until one fan caught it on a side-angle shot.

You leaned close. Whispered something.

Rumi covered your mouth, laughing.

And then almost imperceptibly. You nodded.

Fans would later subtitle the moment with guesses:

"I told you we’d make it."

"Still think I don’t deserve you?"

"I always think we deserve each other."

Nobody ever got the real words. And you two never confirmed it.

Clip 5:

None of the clip was supposed to be leaked, really. There was a signed NDA. 

But of course, there will always be those types of people.

It was a celebration by the company in celebration of HUNTR/X's comeback. 

It was a blurry video of you and Rumi talking to each other, looking like in their own little bubble. 

It may be a blurry video, but the sight of Rumi taking your hand to kiss it was clear as day.

And shockingly, two of the members don’t know anything about the clip.

And then came your solo album. Fans were surprised.

They weren’t surprised by the fact that it was full of love songs. It was the fact that it didn’t sound like HUNTR/X at all.

It didn’t sound like Pop. It definitely didn’t sound like Kpop. It sounded like Indie Rock.

“It was kind of just a little side project.” You smiled. “A friend helped me with the lyrics.”

You are my sea, you are my sunshine

The star, the moon

Since when did a friend help with lyrics like that? 

And it kept going too.

Daisy, every time I see you, 

My day is getting coloured

If I could be by your side

I’ll give you all my life, my seasons

When you spoke to me

The words are like a flowing star

Suddenly, a TikTok from HUNTR/X with you 

“There’s a rumor that your solo album was inspired by someone special. Want to tell us who?” You read it out loud while reading the comment.

“I think anyone who listens already knows,” Your forehead was only shown in the video,o but fans could hear Mira and Zoey asking, well, practically screaming on who it's about.

“When are we going to tell them?” You suddenly asked while playing with Rumi’s hair.

“They know,” Rumi replied back eyes still closed. “They’re just waiting for us to tell them.”

“I mean the fans,” You softly smiled.

“They’re just waiting for us to tell them,” Rumi repeated the same words before laughing, “I mean, have you seen the theories on Twitter?”

“I saw one where it said we switch one of our shoes so that we can be matching,” Rumi scoffed in response before laughing.

She finally opened her eyes, staring right back at you, her eyes always shine so bright you thought.

The breaking point was a leak of a series of photos taken by a fan.

It was raining heavily, and the streets were empty. Except with you and Rumi.

From the photos, the two of you look like you were arguing. It looked like a very bad argument. 

Until the last photo was you softly holding her cheeks, Rumi’s hand holding your chin, and kissing you without a care in the world.

Fans went wild. No, fans went crazy. They went rabid at the photo, people were talking about it left and right.

God bless your PR Team because the moment the photo was leaked, they went to work.

The photo wasn’t even going to be leaked. The photo was leaked because someone hacked into the fan’s iCloud.

“Don’t you get it?!” Rumi yelled. The rain poured harder, and she clutched her arm. “This is what I am!”

“I know!” You yelled while softly placing your hand on her arm. “I know! And who cares?!”

This all started because Celine went to the penthouse unannounced. Looking for Rumi. In turn, it sent Rumi into a spiral the moment Celine finally left. 

She suddenly ran from the group, and you chased after her.

“Celine should’ve done what I asked her to!” Rumi’s eyes were wide as if she were being hunted down. 

You knew what she was trying to say. You saw it happen. You saw her kneeling, holding out the sword, while you seemed so far away, trying to run and get the sword away.

“Rumi-!” You called her out before getting cut off.

“I could hurt you!” Rumi yelled back, one of her eyes turned yellow, her patterns glowed purple in discomfort, “Why do you still love me when I’m like this?!”

How Ironic when one month ago, she asked your mother the opposite.

You softly grabbed the hand that was nitpicking her arm before kissing it, “Because you’re you…”

“Even with the patterns…” You couldn’t tell if the water from your cheeks was from the “You look beautiful…”

“You are beautiful…”

That seemed to finally get Rumi into her senses as she slowly started to calm down as you continued.

“You don’t need to hide it…” Both of your hands grabbed her cheeks, “You aren’t a monster. You aren’t a mistake.”

You could faintly see Rumi’s tears flowing down as you softly smiled.

“You’re Rumi.” You concluded, letting out a breath, “You’re the girl I fell in love with all those years ago.”

Rumi looked at you with wide eyes while you looked at her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

What can she do other than kiss the lips that she so adored.

“I know that we’re going to have arguments,” You sneezed into the tissue, “But can we at least have it indoors?”

After the incident, the next day, it left sick. Fortunately, thanks to Rumi being half-demon, she didn’t get sick at all.

“Sorry…” Rumi murmured while placing the egg soup beside the bed, “At least, this is my way of making up to you.”

You hummed in response, “I saw the photos.”

Rumi stopped her movements before continuing, “Are you mad?”

“No,” Rumi looked over to see you smiling, “I’m glad people know now, and besides…”

You opened your phone to show your wallpaper with a teasing smile on your face.

“It’s a good wallpaper.”

A week later, there was a joint post from both of your accounts. It was both of you wearing the same ring on both of your hands, a smile on both of your faces with a captioned post.

the friend who gave me my in question isn’t just a friend, btw

P.S. no it's not a wedding ring

[yupstillaghost]

✨️Halo & Horns🥀

Part 1

Erik Campbell x Pastor's Daughter Reader

Part 2

Part 3

Summary: Attending the neighborhood cookout wasn't something you were too excited about. Your father insisted you attend with him and your mom to get to know your new neighbors, but you just want to dissappear. Being in the public eye wasn't something you necessarily enjoyed. But you loved your dad, and your dad loved showing off his good Christian daughter. But what happens when you meet mister tall, dark, and handsome, Erik Campbell?

Warnings: mentions of religion and religious trama, alcohol consumption, strict and controlling father,

Other: no use of Y/N, reader has no physical description other than wearing a sundress and pink nail polish.

Author's note: y'all went absolutely ape shit at the mention of an Erik Campbell x pastor's daughter reader, and i'm a firm believer in writing the type of fan fic you want to read. Also, I want to mention that no deaths occur in this fic. Everyone is alive and well.

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

You were standing at your father's side, staring absent mindedly into your glass of water as he chatted with the older woman in front of you. Your mother was chatting away as well, smiling along with the women as she talked about her family and her children. You have been half listening to the conversation, but you haven't been contributing. You were too busy thinking about how you would rather be anywhere than at this backyard barbecue, hosted by people you've never met.

You had just moved to this town, and your family was invited to this neighborhood barbecue by The Campbells, your neighbors at the end of your street. The lack of familiarity and the fact that you knew nobody at the barbecue made your skin crawl with anxiety. Your parents knew this wasn't something you were fond of, but they wanted you to get to know everyone in your new neighborhood.

The women in front of you, Brenda, seemed nice enough with her sunny blond hair and her pearly white smile. Her husband Howard could be seen behind her happily manning the grill and talking with a tall blond boy. "Over there with my husband is our youngest son Bobby" Brenda beamed with pride. "And over there is our daughter Julia" she said while pointing to a blond girl sitting at a picnic table smiling and chatting with other neighbors, just like Brenda.

You took a small sip of your water while silently wishing that it wasn't water you were drinking. All you could think about was a drawing in your sketch book at home that you couldn't wait to finish. You've been working on this cryptid moth creature for 2 days and he was coming along nicely. Your parents knew you liked to draw, but they thought you drew things like fairys, mushrooms, and nature based things, which you did. But they had no idea that what really peaked your interest were the things that tend to unsettle people. You liked the kind of art that was meant to comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable. You're parents could never find those kinds of drawings though. They would definitely think you were possessed and that the devil himself was making you draw such hanious images.

"You have a beautiful family, Brenda," your father said with a neighborly grin, "and you have a beautiful home." Brenda placed a hand to her chest, clearly flattered by your father's compliments. "Thank you so much! By the way I hope you guys saved room for dessert because we have a whole spread of goodies!" Brenda replied cheerfully. "And if you like smores my eldest son Erik is gonna be picking up some marshmallows on his way home from work" Your parent's ears practically perked up at that scentence. "You have another son?" Your mother chimed in, her interest immediately peaked. You closed your eyes and let out a sigh through your nose, knowing exactly why your mom was asking about Brenda's eldest son.

Your parents' obsession lately has been to find their future son in law so you can get married, move out, and give them grandchildren. Most of the girls you went to church with back home got married at 18 and had their first baby by 20. Meanwhile, you were a 22 year old college student still living at home, and you've never even had your first kiss.

Your parents have set you up on supervised dates in the past with boys from your old church or the sons of your mom's friends, but you never clicked with any of them. None of them were really interested in you as a person. All they cared about was your potential as their future wife, not your hobbies, your goals, or really anything having to do with you. To them, you were merely something to obtain. You being single and the pastor's daughter was their only motivation for pursuing you.

Your parents were worried about you finding a nice, well-mannered man who believes in a God. Meanwhile, none of that has ever really mattered to you. You have been too busy with college to worry about finding a boyfriend, and even if you were looking, his faith didn't matter to you. You didn't care if he was Christian, Catholic, Muslim, or even an atheist. You just wanted someone who would love you for who you are, not for who you could be.

"Yes, how could I have forgotten to mention Erik?" Brenda giggled, pausing to look down at her watch "I will have to introduce you when he gets here. He should be here any minute now." Brenda then excused herself to see if Erik had arrived. As soon as she walked away, your mother was in front of you fixing your hair and the skirt of your sundress, so you looked pristine for the eligible bachelor.

"Mom, stop," you mutter to her, swatting her hand away. "Sweetheart, I want you to look nice for when you meet this man," your mother persisted in a silent tone. "Who knows, he could be the one." You rolled your eyes at your mom's words. Just before learning about Erik, your mom was sizing up their other son Bobby for you, but she quickly dropped it when she learned he was too young. "But I-" "Young lady, there will be no arguing with your mother, especially not here" your dad interrupted, speaking to you in a quiet but stern tone. You gave a single nod in response, biting your tongue for the sake of your dad's public image.

Being the daughter of a pastor came with many expectations. Of course, you were expected to be coy, obedient, pious, everything you knew you weren't deep down. You weren't exactly the traditional Christian women. You did believe in God, but you didn't let the Bible dictate every aspect of your life. You liked reading fantasy books with magic and mythical creatures. You liked all kinds of music, including rock music, and it didn't matter to you if it was Christian rock or not. You never used your religion as a weapon to shame or shun others, and you never tried to tell anyone how to live their life because you knew it was none of your business. But you loved your dad, so during times like this, you silently agreed to be his perfect god-fearing daughter.

"I'll be right back I...have to use the restroom" you told both your parents, handing your mom your glass before turning and heading for the back door. You didn't actually need to use the restroom. You just needed to get away from them for a little bit, to get away from everyone really. You entered the Campbell's home and immediately let out a sigh of relief as you gently closed the door behind you. Your mind went quiet almost instantly as you mentally thanked the lord for allowing you to be alone, even if its only for a few minutes.

You walked over to the kitchen and took refuge there. You leaned on the kitchen counter and allowed yourself to close your eyes and take three deep breaths. You needed to ground yourself and become attuned to your body again after being in your head since you arrived at the cookout. Suddenly, the front door opens, and in comes two people. You couldn't see them but you could hear them. One voice belonged to Brenda, that you knew for certain. The other voice was man's voice that you did not recognize.

"Thank you Erik honey. Just put the marshmallows on the counter" you heard Brenda say to the man before you looked to your right and saw her go out the back door to the cookout guests. Your breath hitched in your throat when you heard footsteps approaching the kitchen. You then heard a soft thud that came from the kitchen counter across from you. You looked forward and your eyes simultaneously met a pair of blueish gray ones from across the kitchen.

Your chest felt tight and your lips parted slightly. The man in the kitchen with you kept his gaze locked on you, but you noticed him take a big swallow like he had something in his throat. You stood there for what left like a century and allowed your eyes to just take him in.

The first thing you noticed was that he was tall. Not intimidatingly tall, but tall enough for you. His black skinny jeans were tucked into his black combat boots and he sported a plain gray tee shirt that hugged his upper body in all the right places. His arms were adorned in several tattoos from his wrists all the way up and under his short sleeves. All of them dark and mean looking. He wasn't extremely toned, but he was definitely in good shape judging by the size of his biceps.

Then your eyes met his face again. You took in his short dark beard and mustache, a bit of a contrast to his dark brown messy hair. You then took notice of his hooped earrings, which matched the septum ring hanging from his nose. But his big muted blue eyes were the real star of the show. He was like a siren. Beautiful in a unique way. He was unlike anything you have ever seen before, and you found yourself wanting to open your mouth and say something. Anything. But you were frozen.

"You're a new face" the man blurted out, breaking the uncomfortable silence in the room. He screwed his eyes shut and brought his hand up to scratch the back of his head. He seemed embarrassed that those were the first words out of his mouth to you. You let go of the breath you were holding and let out a nervous chuckle. You took your hands off the counter and loosely crossed your arms, rubbing your thumb on your elbow as a way of calming your anxiety.

"What I meant was i don't think we've met before" he said with his own nervous chuckle "I'm Erik". You quickly glanced at the kitchen counter next to him. There sat a bag of marshmallows, the ones he bought for smores. Yup, he was Erik Campbell. Your mind flipped through mental images of his family, his parents, his younger brother and sister. He was the exact opposite of them. It was like night and day, but you found that you liked that about him. You liked that he stood out from the rest of his typical, suburban family members. Erik was the black sheep of the Campbells.

You knew your parents would definitely not approve of him. They may have been devout Christians, but they had a habit of judging a book by its cover, especially your father. They also wouldn't approve of the two of you being alone together. You were never allowed to be alone with any boy, let alone one like Erik.

You told him your name through a stuttering breath and he gave you a smirk. You noticed him look you up and down as you did with him, taking you in and committing you to memory. Erik finally pulled his gaze off of you and sauntered over to the refrigerator and opened it. He poked his head out from the fridge door and pointed the top of a beer bottle in your direction.

"You want one?" He offered casually. As tempted as you were to accept the drink in his hand, you knew drinking wasn't a good idea. "No thanks" you declined with a shy smile "I dont really drink". Erik shrugged nonchalantly and closed the fridge door. He made his way over to you, your heart rate picking up with every step. He leaned on the counter next to you as he used his teeth to pop the top off his beer. It was only after he got it off and took a swig of the beer that you realized you probably looked insane watching him so intently. But you couldn't help it. It wasn't your fault he was so easy on the eyes.

"So how come I've never seen you before, Peach?" Erik asked as he set his beer down on the counter behind him, bringing his eyes back to yours. You were so enamored by him and the pet name he just gave you that you genuinely had a hard time forcing words out of your mouth. "I um, I just moved here. Well, not here, I mean down the street from here," you stammered out like word vomit. Erik giggled at how inept you were at forming a proper scentence in the moment. You averted your gaze from his face and looked down at your feet, your fingers keeping busy by picking at your pink nail polish.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have laughed" Erik apologized sincerely, a grin creeping up on his lips "I just think you're cute". You bring your head back up to see him with a closed lipped grin, his eyes smiling along with him. You felt your stomach flip and your mouth went dry. He called you cute, and instead of giving a fake smile and saying thanks like you've done with other guys, you were stunned. He called you cute. Him. You matched his grin with your own, and you swore you saw his eyes sparkle.

"Well, welcome to the neighborhood" Erik told you softly like he was trying not to scare you "and for the record, I'm usually good at this whole flirting thing. But it's not everyday when I come home to a pretty girl standing in my kitchen." You felt your cheeks heat up and It was your turn now to giggle at him. "I don't know, I thought you were doing a pretty good job" you said in a playful tone. Erik kept grinning as he looked down at his feet. You could tell that he was trying to hide the blush that was starting to appear on his cheeks. You then stole a glance at his tattoo covered arms, taking a closer look since you could see them better.

"I like your tattoos" you blurted out without thinking. Not that what you said was bad, you just wish you would have segued into that topic more smoothly. Erik lifted his head up and looked at you with raised eyebrows. He went from leaning on the counter to standing in front of you. "Thanks. I actually drew them all up myself" he replied excitedly, holding his arms out so you could have a better look. Without thinking, you reached out and took Erik's left arm in one hand and started tracing his tattoos with your other hand.

Erik looked at you with parted lips while you looked at his tattoos. Your touch was feather light as your fingers traced his inked skin. You admired the beautiful line work and all the intricate details of each piece of art on his skin. "You really drew all of them yourself?" You exclaimed in awe. Erik chuckled, clearly amused at your reaction. "Yup. I'm a tattoo artist and a piercer, so ya know, when in Rome" you bring your attention from his arm back to his handsome face.

"You're a tattoo artist? So you draw like all the time?" You questined with genuine curiosity and interest. Erik flashed you an authentic smile. "Ya pretty much" he said in an almost coy tone. You realized that you probably made him uncomfortable by your questions and instantly felt regretful. "Sorry, it's just that I like to draw too, and I just really like the style of your tattoos" you stammered out, averting your gaze again and turning your attention back to Erik's arm. Erik furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head slightly, attempting to find your eyes so he could continue memorizing every detail.

"I like that you like them" he reassured you "and if you like my style and you're also an artist, then I would love to see your drawings sometime, peach" you looked at him through your lashes, no longer hiding your flushed cheeks from him. He offered you another small grin and it was quickly becoming something that you wanted to see more and more of.

You let your eyes wander to Erik's upper arm area and you lightly carressd the tattoos there. Spiders, spider webs, plants, snakes, and skulls all embedded in his skin forever like a human sketch book. You were completely enthralled. You felt his skin become raised with goosebumps under your touch and you giggled slightly.

"They're beautiful" you whispered, your tone sweet like honey. "You're beautiful" Erik mumbled. You hardly caught his words, but you still caught them none the less. Your eyes locked again. You couldn't help but notice how the kitchen lights made him look so warm, so inviting. Your cheeks became hot again while your stomach was tying itself in knots.

You've read a lot of fantasy books with romance in them, and you started to think about all the scenes where the two main characters felt like the only two people on earth. That was exactly how you felt with Erik. Nothing else mattered outside of the kitchen. Not the barbecue, not Erik's family, not even your parents. All you knew in that moment was Erik, and he was all you wanted to know.

Erik gently brought his hand to the bicep of your arm that was holding his. You let out a shakey breath in response to his touch. His eyes searched your face intently. "I mean it" he whispered to you, that eye sparkle you saw earlier making an appearance again.

You've been called beautiful several times in your life and you were always reluctant to believe it. But when you heard Erik call you beautiful, you couldn't help but believe him. Erik Campbell, the sinfully handsome boy who was covered in piercings and tattoos and had a raging resting mean face, thought that you were beautiful. You have never felt this connection with any other guy before. You prayed to God that this wouldn't be a one time thing, that you would see Erik again. But you knew that as long as you lived under your parents roof...

You and Erik both jumped slightly at the sound of the back door swinging open. An unmistakable male voice called out for you and your heart sank to your feet. "Honey are you alright? You've been gone a long time" your dad called out as we walked into the kitchen in search of you. But he didn't just find you. He found you alone with a boy and that boy was touching you and you were touching him.

You were frozen in horror. Your father's face looked like his life was flashing before his eyes. His worst nightmare was unfolding before him. He walked in on his pure, innocent daughter, cozying up to what looked to be a stereotypical bad boy who would corrupt her and drag her into sin with him. His face then changed from horrified to angry.

"What the hell is going on here!?" Your dad exclaimed at the two of you, visible anger etched into his face. You and Erik removed your hands from each other and Erik took a step back. You were already mourning his touch and the warmth of his skin. Your father turned to Erik and pointed a finger at him.

"Who are you and what were you doing with my little girl?" He interrogated with fire in his voice. "Dad!" You cried out, mortified beyond belief. Erik just smirked and lifted his hands in the air like he was caught committing a crime.

"Nothing happened, I was just showing her my tattoos" Erik explained calmly. Your father backed away from him and looked him up and down, a disgusted look forming on his face. Your dad did not know how to hide his true emotions and it was embarrassing to say the least. Erik put his hands down but outstretched his right hand to your dad.

"We haven't met, obviously. I'm Erik Campbell, it's nice to meet you" Erik introduced himself to your father in a monotone voice. You can tell he was annoyed with your dad's irate state and judgmental staring, but he was trying his best to be polite.

"You're Erik Campbell?" You dad's disgusted expression turned into one of bewilderment. "The one and only" Erik answered with confidence "I guess my mom is still talking about me when I'm not around". Your dad looked in your direction with an expression that read as "is this guy serious?"

"He's telling the truth, Dad. Nothing happened" you attempted to reassure your father by backing up Erik's claim. "Then why did he have a hand on you?" He pressed angrily. You felt like you were being backed up into a corner. You honestly did not know how to explain that part to him without him getting more upset.

"Please don't be mad at her, okay? I promise you nothing happened" Erik chimed in to try and deescalate the situation. Erik took a step closer to your father, but your father took two steps away. He treated Erik like he was a deadly plaque he didn't want to catch.

"You listen to me, boy," your dad said sternly, pointing a finger at Erik again. "My daughter is a follower of Jesus Christ, and I will not allow you to corrupt her and lead her down a path of sin and eternal damnation. You stay away from her, you hear me? Or next time, i won't be so nice." Erik looked completely unphased by your father's threat as he let a smirk show.

"No promises" was all Erik said to your father before you heard the back door open again and the clicking of heels on the floor. "Did you find her?" Said your mother as she walked into the kitchen. She let out a surprised yelp at the site of Erik and brought a hand to her chest, acting like he was an actor at a haunted house. You brought your fingers to your temples and rubbed them, clearly aggravated with your mom's overreaction.

"I'm guessing this is your mom?" Erik said to you sarcastically. All you could manage to say was a "yup". Of course it only made sense for your parents to loose their minds when you finally found a guy you were interested in and he wasn't what they envisioned for you. Before your mom started asking questions, your dad grabbed your hand.

"We're going home now" your dad grumbled, still fuming from his conversation with Erik. He grabbed your mother's hand too and dragged you to the back door. You whipped your head behind you to get one last glance at Erik. You were sad but also scared that this could be the very last time you see Erik Campbell. But he gave you a wink and reassured you by saying...

"Don't worry, Peach. You'll see me again soon"

[swtsupernatural]

S.W || SILK & SHAPESHIFTERS

Sam Winchester x Thick!Fem!Reader

Content Warning reader being shorter than Sam, reader desc as having thick thighs, dean being annoying, swearing, reader wanting to fuck sam (but no sexual content in this fic)

Summary Fluff, (Sexual tension lowk) strangers to acquaintances to lovers(?) - You didn't work in the field. You did research. But when your good friend Bobby Singer asks you to help some friends of his by posing as a couple at a charity ball, you don't refuse.

W.C. 2.2k words

Ask anon: A: Hello hello! I'm back again; I'm going to change my request style a bit, how about a female reader with thick thighs? Make her with Sam please

Playlist: ♫ Bed Chem - Sabrina Carpenter, Shoot to Thrill - AC/DC

A.N. sam fic ! i am curvy so i was excited asf for this req !!! part 2 coming soon... ;) - claire xx

Being a Lore-keeper has its perks. It let you put your literary degree to some use, and it didn't usually get you into too much trouble. But, tonight it had. Bobby Singer was one of your favorite hunters; always treated you well, housed you in sticky situations, and sometimes had books or information you didn’t know about that he offered for you to borrow. Usually, he came to you for information. He didn’t hunt a lot, but it was still more than you hunted. But, when he and his hunter friends did go out looking for trouble, he often came to you for information. When he’d asked you to help out some of his family on a case that was real serious, you agreed begrudgingly. But only after Bobby told you your outfit, dinner, and drinks that night would be paid for by this said ‘family’ of his. 

You’d already done a bit of research for him about this particular case and even you knew it was a tricky one. You’d spent the last week trying to piece all of the information together — running it through your countless trusted lore books, sites you favored, and even paper clippings and newspapers from the library. The place in question was only a few hours from Bobby’s in some fancy estate you’d mapped out by memory the last few days. You were guessing it was your least favorite of the supernatural creatures you’d perilously studied — shapeshifters. They made your skin crawl, and were tricky when they came in multiple. The family you suspected they were impersonating were the Bradys, a rich family that had lived in South Dakota for generations and hosted fundraiser parties each year for some organization their rich friends ran. Some of the members of the family had been photographed partaking in some suspicious activity, activity of which the police deemed fine of course; but you were smart enough to know this was your type of problem. A few of them had also seemingly gone missing, and either mysteriously turned up fine, or were still a missing persons case. 

You decided to use Bobby’s as a place to get ready the second he offered, he lived closest anyways. You thought it was best to come over in the morning to talk more to him and whoever you were going on the case with, plan everything out. He’d been vague about who it was, though, and when you walked inside and saw Sam and Dean Winchester holding suits, a shopping bag, an EMF reader, and a pack of Coronas, you knew why. 

You’d never given the boys information directly — Bobby had told you he relayed much information from you to them in tricky cases, but that the older one, Dean, was too prideful to ask you directly yet. Of course, like all male jackass hunters, he had eventually asked when he learned what they were dealing with and all the intricacies that you were extremely skillful in. The catch was that you hated field work, but also loved an excuse to get dressed up. You’d told Bobby your dress and shoe size, and sure enough, the taller one was holding a dark velvety blue dress over his arm. 

“y/n, this is Sam, and this is Dean.” The shorter one, though he towered over you still, stuck out his hand, that jackass smirk on his face you knew he’d have. 

“Heard a lot about you.” He spoke, the smirk still on his, admittedly handsome, face.

You didn’t like having your guard up. You hated it really, but being in your line of work and constantly dealing with men who dismissed your intelligence made you rightfully put up walls when you’d first meet them. 

“Heard a lot about you too, but don’t think that means I’m your best friend now. I’m doing this for Bobby.” 

The taller one smiled gingery, letting out a silent laugh watching Dean’s ego deflate. You turned to him, sticking out your hand. “Sam. Nice to meet you. And uh, thanks for coming out on this case, Bobby said field work isn't usually your thing so we really appreciate it.” You already preferred him. A lot, actually. He was tall, and looked way too fucking cute in that oversized brown hoodie he still had on despite being inside Bobby’s fairly warm home. 

“We’re taking off at five so we’ll be right on time, okay?” Dean said to the two of you, rolling his eyes at how you hadn’t made any sassy comments at his brother. 

“Sounds good. May I have my items, gentleman? I’m not doing this for free.” Sam smiled again, more noticeably this time, handing you the dress and shoes, and a purse, which you hadn't asked for but were not going to turn down. 

“Thank you. So, the game plan is…?” “Game plan is you and I pose as a date and distract people while Dean sneaks around and corners a couple shifters, ganks ‘em, and then we get out before all hell breaks loose.”

You shrugged, looking at Sam, “Sounds good to me.” Of course he was cute and smart. God, you usually never let some guy get between you and case work, but he was making it hard. But if all you had to do was pose as a couple…

“Wait. If you needed me for acting I don’t know why you couldn’t call someone else.” 

“We don’t know who's a shifter and who isn’t. That’s the problem. You know their tells, what makes them tick, how to trick them, the layout of the place. Bobby's got some ear pieces for all of us so you can help me from afar, don’t have to get your hands dirty.” Dean grunted, losing his dark leather jacket and grabbing a suit, heading to the bathroom to change. 

“How thoughtful,” you mused, and he smiled annoyingly at you.

“We’ll talk more in the car, okay? Just get ready and we’ll be here if you have any more questions.” Sam said softly. HIs voice was deep and smooth, and it made you want to grab him by his collar and lock the two of you in Bobby’s guest room. Instead, you opted for pushing your thighs together and clearing your throat. “Sounds good. Thank you.” He smiled, going into the guest room with his own suit. You opted to lock yourself upstairs in the bathroom blasting music while you did your makeup in order to pump yourself up. You were a bit nervous, but you didn’t have to do dirty work, you got a nice new outfit, hopefully a nice drink, and a hot date? This was much better than how you thought your night was going to go — curled up on the couch, looking through way too many old files and books for another hunter, playing an old movie in the background and wishing you were elsewhere. You liked your job, you really did. But sometimes it drove you crazy how little you saw other people, people your own age especially. Tonight was like a gift sent from the angels. Well, ones that you hadn’t met; so far they had all been dicks. 

“y/n, ya’ almost ready?” Dean called up, just as you finished styling your hair in a classy style. 

“Coming!” You came down the stairs in a navy dress that hugged your curves pretty well, you thought. The dress was pretty low cut and the sides came up at a slit high up on your right leg. You honestly felt exposed, you usually didn't dress like this. Sam still had your heels, and when you came down, the first thing you saw was his eyes on your legs, stopping him from tying up his shoes.

You heard a low whistle behind you, and Dean’s gruff voice, “Damn, you clean up nice.” Bobby smacked him over the head with the book he was reading, going to the kitchen to get you an earpiece he had for each of you. 

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” You smiled, walking over to Sam on the couch. He was still occupied with your dress, and his eyes were making your face burn up. Your brain couldn't decipher how he was feeling based on his face… you teetered between him wanting to rip off your dress and stay home with you all night, or that he thought you looked…not good. You knew you didn't have skinny model legs, but that wasn't you job. Your job was to decode, translate, find, and relay important information to hunters, stopping people from dying. That was you job, and you were good at it. There was so much more to you than your looks, and if someone couldn't see that then fuck them. But, with how stuffy the room was and how close Sam was to you, you wrapped your arms around your shoulders, sitting a bit far from Sam asking for your shoes despite the voices in your head telling you you were fine.

“Y-yeah, here. I’ll put them on.” Your mouth opened to speak, but it was dry and nothing came out. Sam leaned down from the couch, sitting on his knees right in front of you. You finally stretched out your left ankle, and he slid on one of the black stilettos they'd picked out for you. He set down your foot after buckling the straps, grabbing your right ankle and moving it forward gently, causing the fabric of your dress to fall between your thighs on one side, and on the very back of your hip on the other, your leg completely bare. Sam finished tying up your second shoe, his eyes flashing to your soft thigh before clearing his throat and offering a hand to help you stand up. 

Once you were stable, you flattened down your dress. You looked up at Sam and pouted at how much taller he still was than you. 

“Aren’t these like…almost 4 inches?” Sam looked down at you and chuckled deeply. 

“Uh, yeah. They are. Disappointed you're still shorter than me?” You rolled your eyes and glimpsed over him — eyes trailing his fitted black suit, the fabric clinging to his chest and legs nicely.  

“What are you, like part giant? 7 feet tall?” You said it as a joke, but you honestly thought he had to be close to that. 

“Please,” Sam said, a bit close to your ear, leaning down to talk to you, “I’m…6’5. Just about.”

“Jesus…” you muttered, and realized you’d said it outloud. “Uh, we should get going soon, I think, it’s almost five, right?”

Sam nodded, squinting his eyes at your lower body so quickly you almost missed it. Dean put ear pieces in each of your hands and showed you how to use them. You followed the brothers out to their car and said bye to Bobby.

“Be careful, idjits. Keep in contact.”

“Will do.” You said, smiling to Bobby before getting in the back of the car, Sam opening and closing the door for you before sliding into the front seat a bit awkwardly from how long his legs were.  

“Ready?” Dean uttered, putting his elbow on Sam’s seat. 

“As ever.” You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, seeing Dean’s vividly green eyes through the rear view mirror. Shoot to Thrill by AC/DC came on, and Sam mused on your quiet singing.

“You like AC/DC?” Sam asked, turning around a bit to talk to you more clearly. 

“Yea, that, Metallica, some Guns N’ Roses, Rolling Stones....” Sam groaned, rolling his eyes, knowing Dean would have some stupid comment about that. 

“Really?” Dean spoke up, turning down the music a bit.

“Yes. Don’t cream your pants.” Sam smiled at that. It wasn’t super often that women Dean hit on shut him down as unreservedly as you did. 

“I know you got eyes for my idiot brother, but at least entertain me.”

“Okay. Who was the one that picked out the dress? And shoes? And purse?” You smirked at the back of Dean’s head. 

“Sammy…” Dean mumbled begrudgingly. 

“That's what I thought. Can you turn the music back up?” Dean’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He’d never had someone come in his car and tell him to do something like that, but he did so without saying anything. 

Hours passed, and the Impala rolled to a stop in front of the biggest most obnoxious house you’d ever seen. 

“Jesus. Showoff much?” Dean voiced from the front seat, unbuckling and stepping out. Sam followed, opening your door before you got the chance. 

“So civilized.” You said poshly, seeing that adorable smile you liked seeing on Sam’s beautiful face. 

“Alright. You two go inside first. Use the earpiece to tell me when you know where one is, tell me which way to go. We don’t know each other, got it? You got your fake, y/n?” said Dean.

“My what?” Sam handed you an ID with a photo of your face, but it didn’t say your name. “How many of these do you guys have? Actually, don’t answer that.” Sam held out his right arm and you slid yours under his. He began walking, taking large spread out steps. You saw his face flash, knowing he realized you were struggling to keep up; not just from your heels, but from his obnoxious height. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, again, with that deep, smooth voice close to your ear. Fuck. This is gonna be a hard night. 

[kawaiichibiart]

Post canon "unrequited" love Polytrix fic feat. Jinu coming back to life is becoming more and more hilarious to me.

Like:

Jinu comes back and has no idea how he did. He's pretty sure he's meant to be...ya know. Dead?

RuJinu reunion, the fans love it. ZoeMira? They hate it.

Rumi going out to see Jinu, one on one. Mira and Zoey want to join, but she insists this is something she has to do alone.

Rumi and Jinu talk about their feelings for one another. Personally, if we're going Polytrix I kinda wanna see Poly Saja as well, even if Poly Saja is only ever mentioned in talking, rather than be an actual ship in the fic.

RuJinu? Officially dating? Nah, they're best friends. Brother and sister. Family. They love each other, but they're not in love with each other.

Zoey and Mira aren't convinced. They must be dating. Why else would they go out together so much??

Both of them are literally invited to hang out with them. Rumi asks if they want to go out with her and Jinu (she wants them to say yes, the plan is that the three of them go on a date and Jinu would call Bobby to pick him up if he didn't decide to get lost or something).

They think she means it as a double date. And they can't stand to see Rumi with someone else. Call them petty. Call them jealous. They don't care. They want to go out with Rumi without Jinu being there.

It gets worse when Rumi invites Jinu to live with them.

If Mira and/or Zoey are in the room with Rumi and Jinu, they either: leave or the conversation becomes awkward.

Rumi doesn't understand why her friends/crushes are acting like this. Jinu thinks they still have a (rightful) grudge against him.

Jinu talks about the other Saja Boys with a deep fondness. The conclusion is that he just misses his boy band, not his boyfriends.

Rumi has Jinu leave for a while so she and the girls can have time together alone (in other words, without the girls worrying about him being in another room). He leaves. Conclusion? Rumi must feel bad that they don't like her boyfriend and is giving them pity. This isn't an at-home date. It's NOT. It's PITY.

It was an at-home date, they just couldn't see that it was one.

Jinu comes back with a smoothie. Sees Rumi alone. She's disappointed. Well... so much for that plan. Time to move on to plan...uhh...what number are they on??

[devskindawritingblog]

Could do polytrix x fem!reader

R is at a huntrix concert with her little sibling *big age gap between them and has gaurdianship over them and basically raising them. Whatever the reason on how she got custody is up to you and as well as the gender of the little sibling. Both are big fans of huntrix*

During the concert, they get separated and luckily the girls the one who found the young sibling and help reunite them and fell for r after seeing how she was interacting with her sibling

It was so cute how they interacted with the fans during the movie especially at the at the end.

Idk why but imo and hc’s despite her tough appearances, I kind of see Mira acting like a total softie when it comes to the fans, but also the other members of huntrix, and Bobby too. There were fan hc’s when she accidently called Bobby dad

Meanwhile despite Zoey being the unhinged loveable one, I can see her being the type who squishes your cheeks at seeing smth cute thing as she loves turtles and let borrow her stuffed turtles for comfort. rumi i see as a leader that joins in their shenanigans but also someone who keeps an eye to make sure the demon don’t claim this little one as well as the other people and yk since they’re protective of their fans

Concert

Polytrix x fem reader

An: My first request yay!! I thought this was so so cute I had to do it. I decided to give the reader a little sister and I named her Maya because reddit told me it was a very like internationally friendly name. Like lots of different countries, I don’t know, I was trying to find a name that could be ambiguous as to where the person is from. Reader and Maya don’t have set ages but my idea is that reader is around like 20-24 but it really doesn’t matter and Maya is probably like 5-7 ish, again doesn't really matter. There isn't much lore but reader has sole custody of her sister and they have been living on their own for 2 years now. What happened to their parents is not mentioned so you can get creative if you want. I also didn’t mention where they live, it’s just not where huntrix lives. This is a different type of fic than I normally write. I feel it would have been better as multiple chapters but I like how i fit it all as well.

Also I’m going away for the weekend so the other request will be started when I come back 😘

Word count rounded: 2.6k

“C’mon! We gotta get a good spot!” Your sister squeals, dragging you by your hand through the crowd.

It's you and Maya's first time at a Huntrix concert. You have been saving up for months now to finally give you and her the best night ever. You wanted to pull out all the stops for her tonight. That included a stop at the merch stand, and with both of you dressed in Huntrix merch, you made your way through all the people. You finally reached a pretty good spot, close enough to the stage. Your sister tugged on your sleeve, her other hand clutching her light stick. “Can I go on your shoulders?” Maya pleads, pouting. “Fine,” you smile, kneeling down. “Come on, climb on,” you say, helping her steady herself. “Thank you!! This is so cool!!” She squeals, clutching the lightstick with both hands now, her feet swinging; clearly excited.

–

You have been the sole caretaker of your sister for a few years now. It's been hard trying to balance work and taking care of her. You both have been fans of Huntrix for years. Their music has gotten both of you through the worst days and the best. You play their music while cooking dinner and driving her to school. Maya even had a Huntrix-themed birthday party last year, which her friends loved. You really have tried your hardest to give your sister a comfortable life. When you heard that Huntrix was touring in your city, you couldn't help but start saving up money. And now the day has finally come. It was worth it just to see the ecstatic look in her eyes. That look continued when the show finally started. Maya is singing and dancing. She practically memorized them all, and being on your shoulders didn’t stop her from dancing.

Song after song the two of you sang and screamed and danced. Your feet hurt, but it was so worth it to see her smiling face. It was unlike anything you have ever experienced, and when it finally ended, your sister was somehow full of energy and exhausted at the same time. You kept her on your shoulders as you both made your way to the exit.

“That was so cool! Did you see Mira's hair? I want my hair to be pink too! And when I'm grown-up, I'm going to be a singer just like Rumi!! Can I be Zoey for Halloween? You can put my hair in the buns!” Maya gushes. “Maybe you can dye your hair when you're older; you can definitely be a singer, but if you do… I have to get VIP tickets to your concerts. You could for sure be Zoey, though. I think that's a great idea.” You smile, giving your sister a little glance as she rambles on and on.

Both of you finally made your way toward the exit, but the more time passed, the more you realized that you needed to make a stop at the bathroom. “Maya? I need to go to the bathroom. Do you need to go?” you ask, stopping near the bathroom and placing her on the ground. “Nope… I can stand outside… I’m a big girl,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest and tilting her head away. “Are you sure?” you sigh. “Fine. I'll be really quick. Just stand here and don’t move, okay? Then on the way home we can grab a treat.” You promise, giving Maya a pat on the head before turning and walking into the bathroom.

–

“Okay, Maya, let’s go get ice cream,” you say, turning to look at where you left your sister and are surprised to find no one. Your heart sinks a little as you pace around the venue searching. Why are concerts so crowded? She could be anywhere. What if someone took her? Your fear bubbles up as you start moving through the halls faster. “Maya!? Where are you?” You feel tears brimming up in your eyes before you hear a distant.

“Maya? That's a very pretty name.”

“Well, you could tell us what your sister looks like; we could help you find her.”

You turn the corner, and about a thousand feelings rush through your mind. You see Maya surrounded by the members of Huntrix. Mira is kneeling down beside her, holding her hand, while Zoey is sitting criss-crossed on the ground. Rumi is standing bent over a little to speak to her easier. Your sister is wiping her face as if she's been crying. That finally snaps you out of your trance, and you rush toward her, relief flooding you.

“Maya!” you yell, and all four of them turn their heads. Maya's eyes light up, and she runs right into your embrace. You bend over, pulling her into your arms as you scoop her up, holding her tight. You place her on your hip, arm wrapped protectively around her. “Maya, you scared me so much… Where did you go?” You ask, pressing a little kiss to her temple, still not letting her go.

“I'm sorry… I thought I could find my way back. I got lost, and scared. But I found Mira and Rumi and Zoey.” She smiles, her eyes still a little puffy. You turn your attention to the pop stars in front of you, almost forgetting they were standing not even five feet away. They are all standing up now, smiling fondly at the scene in front of them. You almost have a heart attack seeing them close up. “Uh—thank you! Thank you so much for… Helping my sister “It's just really big fans, and I—well, I'm so grateful.” You stumble through your thank yous, torn between fangirling and being appreciative.

“Oh, it's no problem really. We love meeting fans,” Rumi says.

“Really, your sister is very cute; after she calmed down, she told us all about her amazing big sister and how great she is,” Zoey adds.

“You said that?” You ask, turning to Maya, and she beams, hugging you around the neck. “You are awesome… This is the best night of my life,” she smiles, resting her head on your shoulder, her exhaustion catching up to her. Her eyes flutter closed as she falls asleep, going limp in your arms.

You hear a collective “Awwwww” from Huntrix as they coo. “That’s adorable,” Mira sighs. “She’s so tired; she knows all your songs, and we learned the dances. I've been saving up to see you guys with Maya. She will be talking about this for weeks now.” You say, rubbing a soothing hand down her back while she sleeps.

“It's been hard; for the last 2 years it's just been me and Maya. Your guys' music is like the one thing that always keeps us together.” You explain. “It's just you two?” Zoey asks. “Yeah, I have custody of her now… So this means a lot for us. She idolizes you guys so much.” You add.

“That’s so inspiring. She is right; you really are an amazing sister.” Rumi says, fondly. You almost have a heart attack hearing one of your favourite idols complimenting you. “Thank you… I would do anything to make her happy.” You smile, looking down at your now snoring sister.

“That's very admirable,” Mira says. “Ooh! I have an idea!” Zoey pipes up, pulling something out of her pocket. She pulls out a few photocards and a Huntrix poster. “I think you and Maya should have these… I think you two would appreciate it the most.” Zoe explains, handing them to you.

“Really? Thank you so much. She's going to love these.” You smile, tucking them in your bag. “And this is for you,” Zoey adds, extending her hand again. This time it's a sticky note with a phone number on it. You blink, a little confused. “What’s this?” You ask, turning it over in your fingers.

“My number” Zoey smiles, like it's obvious. Your jaw drops a little, and she giggles. “If you two are ever in South Korea, we should do something. Or if we have another show here. We could go out for boba or something… Whatever Maya wants.”

“I… I don't even know what to say… This isn’t normal, right?” You ask, finally picking your jaw off the floor. They all laugh, and Mira is the one to speak up. “It's not… But you’re really inspiring, and well... you’re kinda cute.”

“What Mira is trying to say is… we would love to hang out someday.” Rumi adds, And you stay silent, your brain almost unable to process such a sentence. You finally sputter out a “Yeah! I’d, I mean we would love that. This is crazy.” You say your voice is a little shaky.

“Perfect!” Zoey exclaims. “See you later then; tell Maya she would be an amazing singer,” Rumi adds, melting at the sight of her drooling on your shoulder.

-

After that night, your life changed in a way you would have never imagined. You drove home in silence, playing over the insane interaction until your brain hurt. You tucked Maya into bed, turning over the sticky note in your fingers. Before you went to sleep, you anxiously added the number into your messenger. You sent a simple message, thanking them again for the stuff.

Over the next few months you kept up communication with all three of the members. Maya has been demanding updates about your “girlfriends,” and every time you tell her they are not your girlfriends, she does not listen. Every time she has her friends over, she tries to tell them about her sister's very famous girlfriends.

July rolled around, and you woke up to a text explaining that they had a tour date in your city again. You lit up at the text, telling Maya about your upcoming boba date. Just like you, she was bouncing off the walls, excited to hang out with her idols. The boba date went as well as you could think. You met up outside the boba shop near your apartment. They offered to pay for your orders, and when you all got a delicious drink, you walked around the city, enjoying the weather.

The girls were dressed way more low-key than usual so as to not draw attention. Mira let Maya ride on her shoulders for a while. She was beaming from ear to ear as she got a personal ride around town. When she finally got off, she held hands with you and Zoey and convinced you two to swing her while you all walked. And when you made your way past a little street vendor, Rumi bought her a cute frog keychain. You walked back to your apartment, Maya asleep on you as you piggybacked her home. The four of you talked all the way back, and in a desperate attempt to keep it going, you invited them in.

You spent most of the night talking on your couch and eating snacks. You joked and laughed like you've known them for years. As midnight rolled around, the girls had a surprise that they had been waiting for a while to ask.

“So ... We know this whole thing has been new for you and us, but… Our final show of the tour is back in South Korea. And we were thinking. We would love to have you and Maya come to it. I know what you're thinking… But we will pay for your flights. You two have meant so much to us, and we have fallen for you. Maya is such a great kid, and seeing you two together is so sweet,” Rumi explains.

You can hardly contain your excitement. After those months, you have grown as close to them as you were with your sister. They were more than just idols to you. They were just Mira, Rumi, and Zoey, and you might not be able to say it out loud, but you loved them. Knowing they wanted you just as much was the final switch for you.

-

The show was as good as it could possibly be. Paying for your flights and getting you two VIP tickets and a backstage tour. Maya couldn’t be happier; it was practically a dream come true for her and you, of course. After the show, you all went back to their penthouse to hang out again. Maya showed them a dance she made, much to their excitement. After a fun-filled night, she fell asleep, head on Mira’s shoulder. The three of you cooed as your sister curled up in Mira's lap.

Mira smiles fondly. “I think I’m her favourite.” The three of you giggle. “That's a hard title… She does love all of you guys so much.” You say, your heart melting at the adorable sight. “I should take her to bed,” you say, scooping Maya out of Mira’s lap and carrying her into the spare room you both are sleeping in. When you return, the girls are all sitting on the ground, and you take your spot next to them.

“I can’t thank you guys enough for all of this. You guys have changed our lives. I really care about you three. In more than just a fan way.” You explain, fiddling with your fingers. “We understand what you mean. We feel the same about you. Maya is like our little sister. And you well… We really like you. I know it's a little crazy to think about… But we want you to be with us.” Rumi says, reaching out to take your hand. Of course you agreed, and after lots of convincing and overthinking, you and Maya moved in with them. It was something new for the both of you, but it truly changed both of your lives.

-

It's been a few months since you and Maya packed up your life and moved in with Huntrix. You couldn’t ask for better girlfriends. They took care of Mata so well and are so good with her. The girls gave you and Maya your own rooms. She was absolutely thrilled. She did end up being Zoey for Halloween, much to her excitement.

Mira came home one day with a pack of little pink hair strands so Maya could have pink hair as well.You found both of them kneeling in the living room. Maya’s hair was littered with little pink strands. “Look at my hair! Thank you!” she exclaims, giving Mira a surprisingly crushing hug for a little kid. Zoey enters the room, eyes lighting up at the sight. “Wow, Maya, look at your hair… Just like Mira’s… I can't even tell the difference.” She giggles while pulling out her phone to take a picture. Rumi is the last to enter, also laughing at the adorable sight. “Look, Rumi! I'm Mira!” Your sister exclaims, running to climb onto the couch, striking a pose. You all laugh.

Maya runs across the couch over to Rumi on the other side. And like the clumsy little kid she is, she trips, heading straight for the floor. You, Mira, and Zoey gasp, a little too far away to help her. Rumi quickly dives forward, catching Maya in her arms and landing on her back on the ground. You catch your breath, and Maya sits up in Rumi's arms, still a little in shock. “Are you good?” Rumi asks, brushing her hair out of her face. “You gotta be careful; we can’t have you getting hurt.” Rumi says, giving her a hug before Maya climbs out of her lap.

Maya rushes over to sit herself in your lap before she smiles. “Best day ever.” She giggles, hugging you one final time.

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

malevolence

part I

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Bobby's!Niece!Reader

Summary: You've had a crush on Dean for longer than you even remember, but Uncle Bobby told you not to play with fire. When Dean returns home from a hunt, you knew something was off... you just didn't expect it to be this.

Warnings: 18+!, language, violence, manipulation, gaslighting, corruption, pining, smut (kissing, spitting, marking, fingering, oral/cunnilingus, p in v, implied breeding kink, rough sex, dirty talk, mildly dubious consent, cum-play), I may have missed some.

Word Count: 5,887

A/N: Oh my god. This has been in my drafts forever and I'm so happy I've finally put it out. I'm thinking... three parts? If I get all of the story down as it is in my head, then for sure... should be about three parts. It's set not long after John's death, so Dean is still a baby boy. <3 I found these gifs ages ago and I was like, "oh, I need to do a Demon!Dean fic where he's early seasons Dean." because ugh, the potential. You know the drill. If all the warnings listed above aren't evident yet? They will be. Oh, boy, will they be. I hope y'all like this. All the love.

You didn’t remember when it started. Maybe it had always been there, tucked beneath your ribs like a secret. Something soft and patient, biding its time in the dark. A seed waiting for heat and blood and something wicked to make it bloom.

Dean Winchester had been in your life for as long as you’d had a life worth remembering.

Not family, not really. But close. Tangled up in the same blood-and-oil world that raised you. The golden boy in your uncle’s long, strange shadow. Loud, sharp, sunburnt around the edges—he came and went like a storm, shaking dust off his boots and filling every room he entered with too much heat.

He was six years older, which had once felt like a canyon.

When you were ten and he was sixteen, he may as well have been a movie star. Too cool. Too fast. All swagger and sarcasm and smudged knuckles from a fight he didn’t bother to explain. You remembered the first time he called you sweetheart—just a tossed-off thing, barely looking at you as he handed you an ice pop in the middle of a sweltering July.

“Here ya go, sweetheart.”

And you remembered the way it made you freeze. How the word hung in the air like cigarette smoke, thick and confusing and too warm. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know why it mattered. You just knew that your name had never sounded like that before.

He’d swung you up onto his shoulders that same day—hands sure, grip steady, like he didn’t mind your weight. Like you belonged there. You’d clutched fistfuls of his hair and shrieked with laughter while Bobby hollered from the porch to “cut that damn foolin’ around before someone breaks a bone.” Dean had just grinned and jogged faster.

You were twelve when he taught you how to throw a punch. Fourteen when he handed you your first switchblade, silver and wicked and gleaming like a promise in your palm.

“Keep it in your back pocket. If a guy gets too close, don’t hesitate.”

He said it like it meant nothing. Like he hadn’t just handed you the sharpest thing you'd ever owned and trusted you not to flinch.

He always trusted you not to flinch.

That was the difference.

You knew what adoration felt like long before you understood it. You knew you liked his voice, liked his hands, liked the way he’d lean against the hood of the Impala and call you trouble when Bobby wasn’t looking. You hated the way your stomach twisted when he brought girls around. Hated the way you’d listen for laughter through the thin walls of Bobby’s house and feel sick when you heard it.

You were seventeen when it changed. When it stopped being something soft.

You’d grown into yourself by then. Still not tall, still not loud, but sharper in the eyes. More aware. And Dean—he’d started looking at you like he wasn’t supposed to.

It was in the way his gaze lingered a beat too long when you passed him in the hallway. The way his voice dropped when he asked you how your day had been. The way he smirked when you snapped back at him, low and dark, like he liked it. Like he was daring you to try again.

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t push. But you started wearing tank tops when he was home. You started sitting a little closer on the couch. You let your fingers brush his when you passed him a drink.

You told yourself it was nothing.

Bobby, of course, saw it all.

“That boy’s got too much fire in him. You don’t go pokin’ it just to see if it burns.”

But by then, it already had.

You were twenty-one now. The canyon had closed.

That afternoon, like so many before it, you sat curled in your usual spot on the porch swing, the cushion beneath you faded from years of sun, the book in your lap more of a habit than a distraction. Your bare legs were pulled up under you, one foot tucked beside the other, your back pressed to the peeling white wood of the armrest. The breeze was warm, sticky with late-summer heaviness, and the cicadas sang like they didn’t know how to stop.

Out in the yard, Bobby cursed low under his breath as he wrestled with the rusted insides of a pickup that hadn’t run since the Reagan administration. His ball cap was pushed up on his forehead, sweat darkening the brim, grease streaking his arms all the way to the elbows. There was a glass of sweet tea beside you, sweating rings into the wood, forgotten in the quiet rhythm of turning pages.

The world hadn’t shifted yet. Not that you could tell. Everything was still where it belonged.

You’d been half-asleep in the sun, lulled by the rhythm of cicadas and the creak of the porch swing, when Bobby’s voice cut through the quiet like a blade.

“Son of a bitch!”

You blinked, looked up from your book. A moment later—

“Goddamn bastard bolt won’t budge—get in there, ya stubborn piece of shit—”

Yep. Classic Bobby.

You closed your book around one finger to mark your page and leaned forward, peering past the porch railing toward the truck hood and your uncle’s hunched figure.

“You need a hand, Uncle Bobby?” You called, voice lazy with the warmth of the afternoon. “Or want some tea?”

There was a pause. A soft clank of metal against metal. Then, gruff:

“Tea, girl. And ice this time—I ain’t drinkin’ lukewarm leaf water in this heat.”

You huffed a laugh and stood, arms stretching up overhead as your back arched, joints crackling from the hours spent curled on the swing. The hem of your tank top slid up your stomach, bare skin catching the last of the sun as you padded barefoot across the porch.

Your cutoffs were frayed at the bottom, threadbare in the way only your favourite ones could be. Your legs had picked up freckles over the summer. You felt them heat now under the open air as you reached for the screen door.

Inside, the house was cooler, dim and familiar. You moved on autopilot, pulling a glass from the cupboard, grabbing the pitcher from the fridge. The ice clinked softly as you poured. You lifted it, turned—

And froze.

That sound. That rumble. Low. Hungry. Home.

The Impala.

You nearly dropped the glass right there on the kitchen tile.

You turned so fast your bare feet squeaked against the floor. The screen door banged open behind you as you stepped out onto the porch, tea sloshing over the rim, eyes locked on the long black shape pulling into the drive like it owned the world.

She slid to a stop in a slow growl of gravel. The driver’s door creaked open.

And then—there he was.

Dean climbed out like a scene from a movie. One hand on the roof, the other shoving the door closed. His boots hit the dirt and your heart tripped over itself. He looked broader than you remembered. Taller somehow. His hair was longer than it had been last time—curling just slightly at the nape of his neck, damp with sweat. His jacket was slung over one shoulder, and he moved like he hadn’t just been on the road for hours. Like his body didn’t get tired the way other people’s did.

Bobby looked up from under the hood.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he said, already wiping his hands on a rag. “Where the hell’s your brother?”

Dean just smiled, that lazy half-smirk you knew too well.

And then you called his name.

“Dean!”

His head snapped toward the porch so fast it almost startled you.

And when his eyes landed on you—barefoot, flushed from the sun, standing under the porch roof with your tank top clinging to your ribs and the glass of sweet tea still trembling faintly in your hand—he grinned.

Not like he used to. Not like the soft smirks he’d given you when you were younger, teasing and warm and safe.

No. This one was sharp. Wolfish. Like he’d been starving and just spotted his first meal in days.

“Well hey there, sweetheart.”

You didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.

The second his voice hit your ears, smooth and warm and laced with something low and dangerous, your body moved before your brain caught up.

The glass of tea hit the porch rail with a clatter, sloshing again, forgotten as your bare feet left the wood and hit the gravel, sharp stones biting into your soles. You winced but didn’t slow, teeth catching your lip, eyes locked on him like nothing else in the world mattered.

“Girl!” Bobby hollered from the front of the truck, voice sharp as a whip. “You’re out here barefoot on the goddamn gravel again—what’re you, feral?”

You didn’t answer. Just ran faster.

Dean was already grinning by the time you reached him. One brow quirked, his whole face lit with smug delight like he’d known you’d come running. Like he wanted it.

You could see it in the way he stood, relaxed and ready, arms just starting to open. Like he was expecting to catch you.

And God help you, he did.

You threw yourself into him without grace—without shame—legs wrapping around his waist, arms around his neck, breath catching somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. His hands caught you under your thighs, rough palms settling against bare skin, fingers pressing. Harder than they needed to.

He smelled like heat. Like leather and road salt and motel soap and something darker curling beneath it. Something you couldn’t name.

Your voice came out soft, pressed close to his ear as you held onto him tighter than you meant to.

“We missed you.”

His hands flexed where they held you—gripping tight. You felt it. The possessiveness in his touch. The way his thumbs slid just slightly against the crease where your thighs met the curve of your ass. The quiet exhale that ghosted down your neck.

“Speak for yourself,” Bobby grunted from behind, but even that sounded weaker than usual. More bark than bite.

There was a pause. Then:

“Dean,” he said flatly. “Put my niece down. Don’t think I ain’t seen where your hands are, boy.”

Dean turned his head just slightly, that grin never leaving his face. Still holding you.

“Just catchin’ her, Bobby. Can’t help it if she’s a little…” His gaze dragged back to you. Slow. Heavy. “Squishy.”

Your breath hitched. You felt heat rise all the way up your neck.

Dean’s fingers squeezed again. Barely perceptible. Just enough for you to feel it. For Bobby to notice.

“Dean,” Bobby snapped, and this time there was steel under it.

With infuriating ease, Dean let you down. Gently. Like he didn’t want to. His hands slid down the backs of your thighs as he lowered you, only releasing when your feet touched dirt and your balance returned.

You took a half-step back, suddenly too aware of the heat between your legs. Of the gravel under your soles. Of the way he looked at you like you were his to pick up again whenever he pleased.

Bobby was already walking past, muttering to himself and wiping his hands again.

“Damn fool boy…”

Dean just chuckled, low and satisfied. His eyes never left you.

“Miss me, sweetheart?”

The house smelled like garlic and onions and whatever Bobby had pulled from the freezer that morning and declared dinner. The table was set with mismatched plates, forks with dull edges, and two sweating bottles of beer you’d pulled from the fridge yourself. One slid in front of your uncle with a thunk, the other nudged across the table toward Dean with just enough force to draw his eyes back to you.

He caught it easily, grinned like he knew the touch of your fingers on the bottle had been deliberate, and then tipped it in a mock toast before popping the cap with the edge of the table. You pretended not to watch the way his throat moved when he took the first sip.

You took your usual seat to Bobby’s left, legs tucked beneath you, sipping your water slow and quiet. The table was warm and familiar. A little too small for three grown bodies. A little too crowded in the heat.

Dean and Bobby talked like no time had passed at all.

“So where’s your brother?” Bobby asked around a mouthful of food, squinting at Dean like he expected bad news.

“Chasin’ some lead out in Idaho,” Dean replied, casual. “He’ll meet me back on the road. Said somethin’ about needing space.”

“From you or the case?”

Dean just smirked. Shrugged. “Probably both.”

You didn’t join in. Just twirled your fork in your noodles, dragging them across the plate like you were thinking hard about something. You weren’t. You were trying not to look at Dean. You were failing.

He looked good. Too good. Tanned and broad and infuriatingly comfortable, leaning back in his chair like it was his own damn kitchen. Like he belonged there. Like he always had.

You caught yourself staring and dropped your eyes back to your food.

Then something brushed your foot. Just a light nudge. The kind that might’ve been an accident. The kind that would’ve been nothing, if you weren’t barefoot and hyper-aware of every single thing about him.

You froze. Fork paused mid-twirl. Eyes still on your plate. The nudge came again—more deliberate this time. A soft push against your arch.

You looked up. Dean was still talking to Bobby. Still sipping his beer, leaning back in his chair like he didn’t have a care in the world.

But his eyes cut to you. And he grinned. Slow. Shit-eating. Wolfish.

Your stomach dropped straight to your knees. You cleared your throat and took a sip of water, suddenly warm all over. Bobby was still muttering about Sam, something about demon omens in Ohio, and you tried to focus. You really did.

Dean’s foot slid along the curve of your ankle. A slow, lazy stroke like he was petting a dog. You flinched. He didn’t.

You jabbed him back without looking, your toes kicking out under the table—more annoyed than anything else. But all it earned you was a harder nudge, right against your calf this time, like a shove disguised as affection.

You looked at him again. He didn’t break eye contact. He arched one brow, lips twitching around the mouth of his beer bottle.

What’re you gonna do about it, sweetheart?

You wanted to kick him. You wanted to crawl into his lap. You wanted to do something reckless. But you just stabbed a piece of meat with your fork and tried not to choke on your own pulse.

Bobby looked up, finally catching the flush on your cheeks.

“You alright there, girl?”

You smiled too quickly. “Just hot.”

Dean chuckled. Low and full of teeth. His foot bumped yours again under the table. You didn’t look at him this time. But you could still feel him.

You barely touched your dinner after that. Every bite tasted like heat. Every sip of water failed to cool you. You could still feel the press of his boot against your ankle long after he’d stopped. Like his touch had sunk straight through your skin.

You were the first one to stand when the plates were empty, scraping your chair back with a little too much force.

“I’ll get this cleaned up,” you said quickly, already stacking yours and Bobby's plates, trying to busy your hands so they didn’t shake.

Bobby looked up with a lazy arch of his brow.

“Someone’s in a damn hurry all of a sudden.”

You forced a small laugh, ducking your head. “Just trying to be useful.”

“Mhm.”

You were already halfway to the sink, rinsing plates under warm water, grateful for the hiss of the faucet and the hum of muscle memory. Plate, rinse, stack. Forks, soak, scrub. Your feet shifted over the cool tile, and for a moment, the tension in your shoulders started to melt.

Behind you, a chair scraped back.

“I’ll help.”

Dean.

Bobby snorted from the table.

“You? Since when do you ever lift a damn finger after supper?”

“Feelin’ generous,” Dean said, all smooth edges. You could hear the grin in his voice. “Must be the company.”

Bobby huffed and pushed to his feet with a grunt, grabbing the last beer and heading toward the living room.

“Well, bless your heart. I’ll be in my chair, pretendin' not to hear whatever dumb shit you’re about to break in my kitchen.”

And just like that, you were alone.

You didn’t turn around. Just kept scrubbing the last plate, shoulders a little too stiff, breath caught somewhere too high in your chest. You heard him behind you—soft bootfalls, the clink of glass against glass as he gathered the empty bottles and his dish.

Then—

Heat. He was behind you. Close. Then closer.

The heat of his chest pressed flush to your back, hard muscle and worn cotton, and you froze. Completely. Your breath caught in your throat. The plate in your hand nearly slipped from your fingers.

Dean reached around you, casually, his forearm brushing the side of your breast as he slid his plate into the sink with a quiet clink.

He didn’t move. He lingered, then stepped back a beat too slow.

“Oops.”

Your whole body burned.

You turned your head, wide-eyed, and found him just watching you. That smile on his face wasn’t sheepish. It was smug. Knowing. Unholy.

You tried to say something—tried to form any kind of reply—but your tongue felt thick and your heart was pounding in your throat.

Dean leaned one arm against the counter beside you, his body angled lazily toward yours. He was close enough that you could see the faint pink line of a healing cut along his collarbone. Close enough that his scent wrapped around you again—leather, motel soap, motor oil, and something else. Something you couldn’t name. Something dark.

“You always clean up this fast, sweetheart? Or just when I’m watching?”

Your mouth parted. Nothing came out.

He tilted his head, eyes dragging slow across your face, then down your neck, then back up.

“You've never been shy.”

You tried to laugh. It came out breathless.

“You’re messin' with me.”

Dean’s smile widened, teeth flashing.

“Am I?”

You shook your head—barely. “You don’t… You don’t look at me like that.”

“Don’t I?”

His voice was low. Deliberate.

You turned back to the sink, trying to hide your face, the blush crawling down your throat. Your hands moved automatically, scrubbing at a plate that was already clean.

Dean didn’t leave.

“Been gone a while,” he said, voice softer now. “Did you miss me?”

Your hand paused on the dish. Your voice was almost a whisper.

“Of course I did.”

He leaned in closer again, heat at your back, breath on your neck.

“Yeah?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

And behind you, he chuckled. Low and dark and pleased.

“Good.”

You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Dean was still behind you, heat pressed too close, breath ghosting somewhere near your ear—and for a second, it felt like he might lean in further. Might say something else. Might do something else.

But before anything could shatter, Bobby’s voice cut through the house like a crack of thunder:

“You two done makin’ out in there or can I start the damn show?”

You practically jumped.

Dean chuckled—soft, smug, low in his throat like he was deeply entertained by your reaction—and stepped back just far enough to let the heat leave your skin.

You scrambled into the living room a little too fast, like Bobby’s voice had tugged you from the edge of something you couldn’t name. Your skin was still warm, your breath still not quite steady, but you dropped down onto the couch with a half-hearted exhale, like you could shake it off with the right posture. You curled your legs up beside you, pulled a throw pillow into your lap, and clutched your glass of water like it was going to save you.

“Eastwood or MASH*?” You asked, too quick, too light.

Bobby looked up from the remote, squinting at the ancient television like it had personally offended him.

“Whichever channel works. If I get static again, I’m throwin’ the damn thing out the window.”

You smiled, even if it didn’t quite reach your eyes. The house had settled into its familiar hum—floorboards creaking under the weight of time, cicadas still buzzing low through the open windows, the faint clatter of Dean moving around in the kitchen.

You heard him before you saw him.

He entered the room like a slow-moving shadow—easy, casual, like he belonged there more than the furniture. Your stomach twisted.

He didn’t say a word. Just met your gaze for a moment—sharp, amused—and then reached down, hooked his hands under your ankles, and lifted your legs without asking. You startled slightly, not because it hurt, but because it didn’t. Because it felt so easy for him.

Then, with a slow exhale, he dropped onto the couch beside you, your legs falling across his lap like he’d planned it that way all along. One of his arms rested along the back of the couch, close enough for you to feel the heat of it at your shoulders. The other—casual, lazy—settled over your shin, fingers tracing an idle path along your skin.

You tried not to tense. You tried not to breathe. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t need to.

And Bobby noticed. He turned his head slowly, one eye narrowing as it moved from the screen to your legs across Dean’s lap, then up to the hand that hadn’t stopped moving. His jaw clenched. His beer bottle landed on the side table with a quiet clunk.

“Touch her like that again,” he said, voice low and dry, “and I’ll break your fuckin’ hand.”

Dean didn’t flinch. He didn’t even stop. Just kept rubbing slow, maddening circles along your shin with the pad of his thumb. He still hadn’t looked at you.

“Aw, c’mon, Bobby,” he drawled, the smile curling across his lips like smoke. “Ain’t like I’m doin’ anything wrong.”

Bobby didn’t laugh. Didn’t even blink.

“You think I don’t see it?” He asked, and his voice was sharper now, honed to an edge. “The way you been lookin’ at her since you pulled up? I ain’t blind, Dean. And I sure as hell ain’t stupid.”

There was a pause, a hitch you felt more than heard. Dean’s smile wavered for the barest second. Just long enough for you to wonder if Bobby had struck a nerve.

Then it returned, just as cocky, just as easy.

“She’s not a kid anymore,” he said, casual, like that settled something.

Bobby leaned forward in his chair. His eyes were cold. Steady.

“No, she ain't. Which is exactly why I’ll put you in the goddamn ground if you so much as look at her like she ain’t got a choice.”

Something shifted.

You didn’t understand it, not fully. But you felt it. Something sharp beneath the surface. Something not quite right. Like there was more to what Bobby said than what he said.

Dean’s silence stretched long enough to be dangerous. Then he tilted his head, eyes still on Bobby, and smiled.

“She looks like she can make her own choices to me.”

You tried to move your legs. Tried to pull away, just a little. Dean’s hand pressed down. Not painfully. Just firmly. Deliberately. Bobby was still watching. And so was Dean.

“You touch her like that again,” Bobby said, lower this time, the threat coiled beneath each syllable, “and I’ll remind you who the hell you’re talkin’ to.”

Dean didn’t answer.

The television filled the silence, tinny dialogue from a rerun you couldn’t focus on. And under the hum of it all, Dean’s thumb resumed its lazy stroke against your skin, like nothing had happened at all.

The house was silent, save for the low creak of floorboards beneath your bare feet.

The kind of silence that came only after the heat of the day had broken—after the static between bodies had faded into cool sheets and shallow sleep. Bobby had gone to bed not long before you had, muttering something about his bad knee and early mornings, casting one last look between you and Dean like he was waiting for something to ignite.

But nothing had.

Not then.

Now, it was past midnight. Maybe closer to two. You didn’t check the clock—just blinked awake with your throat dry and your skin too warm beneath the sheets. The house had cooled but your body hadn’t. Something restless sat in your chest like a live wire humming under your ribs.

The floor was cold beneath your feet, quiet in the way old houses only were when everyone else had gone to bed and the world had softened into stillness.

The air felt different after midnight—cooler, heavier somehow. The way it settled in your lungs felt like a warning, though you couldn’t say why. You moved without thinking, sleepy and restless, fingers trailing along the hallway walls as you padded toward the kitchen, drawn by nothing more than the dryness in your throat and the weight of something unnamed sitting beneath your skin.

Bobby’s old shirt hung off one shoulder, worn soft with age, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs as you walked. No panties. No bra. Just that and bare skin and the ghost of sleep still clinging to the corners of your vision.

The fridge opened with a low hum. You filled your glass slowly, letting the cool water slide over the ice and kiss the rim, the glow of the open door painting your skin in pale blue light. You lifted the glass to your lips and drank.

And that’s when you heard it.

The creak.

Not the house settling. Not the wind. Not the sound of an old man in the hallway. Boots. Slow, deliberate.

You turned just as the light from the fridge caught the edge of his silhouette, cutting him out from the dark like something carved from smoke and heat and half-formed sin.

Dean.

Leaning in the doorway like he hadn’t been asleep at all. Like he was waiting. He didn’t speak at first. Just looked at you. And when he did? Something in his expression made your stomach twist—not with fear, not yet, but something so thick and dark and electric it almost knocked the air out of you.

That grin.

It was the same one he’d worn when you were sixteen and he caught you staring at his mouth. The same one he used when he fixed cars with the sleeves of his flannel rolled high and the cigarette tucked behind his ear. Familiar. Easy. Pure Dean.

But something about it wasn’t right anymore. It was too still. Too slow. Too hungry.

“Well,” he said, and his voice was rough in that way it always got when it was late and he hadn’t talked in hours. “Aren’t you a sight.”

You swallowed hard. “Couldn’t sleep.”

His eyes dropped down your body. Then rose again. Like he had every right.

You didn’t move. Didn’t cover yourself. You should have.

“You always walk around like that?” He asked, stepping into the room. “Wearing nothin’ but some old shirt and a smile?”

You didn’t answer. The question didn’t feel like a question.

Dean smiled again, slower this time, head cocked to the side as he watched you over the rim of the glass in your hand.

“Bobby know his niece’s struttin’ around like a damn centrefold at two in the morning?”

You flushed hot. “It’s just a shirt.”

“Mm.” He nodded slowly, stepping closer. “Yeah. I can see that.”

He was close now. Close enough to smell—leather and heat and that undertone you still couldn’t quite place. Something wrong. Something sour-sweet and unplaceable. It made your knees feel unsteady.

His hand lifted—not fast, just steady—and pushed the fridge door shut behind you. The kitchen plunged into shadows again, save for the faint light of the oven clock. He was still grinning.

“Didn’t think you’d grown up this much.”

You laughed, shaky and quiet, trying to ease the weight of his stare. “Been a year.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s showin’.”

Your breath caught.

He took another step. Close enough now that the fabric of his shirt brushed your arm. He tilted his head down, voice dropping just slightly.

“You used to look at me funny,” he said. “Back when you were younger. Always staring. Thought I was imaginin’ it.”

You blinked, pulse pounding. “You weren’t.”

“No,” he murmured, and his eyes flicked to your mouth. “Guess I wasn’t.”

You could feel his breath on your skin. The heat of him. His fingers brushed the side of your thigh—light, just once, and then gone. It burned like fire anyway.

“You’ve really come into yourself, sweetheart.”

He said it like a confession. Like a revelation. Like it was all finally clicking into place.

And you couldn’t breathe.

His voice went softer. Meaner.

“You want me to look at you like this, don’t you?”

You didn’t speak. He didn’t need you to. Because he already knew.

You didn’t know who moved first. Didn’t know if it was his hand on your hip or the tilt of your chin or the way the space between your bodies seemed to vanish all at once—like the air itself had given up pretending there was still a line that shouldn’t be crossed.

All you knew was that you were suddenly there. Back pressed to the counter. Dean’s body crowding yours like gravity had finally remembered what it owed you.

And then he kissed you.

Not softly. Not hesitantly. Not like a maybe. No, Dean Winchester kissed you like he was claiming you.

His hand came up to your jaw, thumb pressed against your cheek, fingers curling behind your neck as he pulled you in and kissed you like it was the only thing that had ever mattered. Like he’d been waiting too. Starving for it. For you.

You gasped into it, lips parting without thought, and he groaned—"fuckin’ finally"—and kissed you deeper, tongue slipping past your lips like he knew exactly how to take what he wanted. And he did.

You were drowning in him. Pressed between cool counter and burning heat, chest heaving, hands fisting into the hem of his t-shirt just to keep from sliding down the cabinets. Your knees had gone weak. Your body was molten.

When he pulled back, it was barely an inch. His breath hit your lips. His grin carved into you like a knife.

“Goddamn,” he whispered, voice thick and low and already wrecked. “I always knew you’d taste this fucking sweet.”

You didn’t get a chance to reply.

His hand was already moving. Down your side. Over your hip. Between your thighs.

You gasped.

He grinned harder.

“No panties,” he murmured, dragging the hem of the shirt up your thigh with his knuckles. “You really were asking for it, huh?”

You opened your mouth—to protest, to deny, to confess every filthy thought you’d ever had about him—but then two of his fingers slid between your legs and found you already wet, and the words died on your tongue.

“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes dark and hungry, lashes low. “You’re soaked for me. All this time, and you’ve been walking around just beggin’ for me to get my hands on you.”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate.

He slipped one thick finger inside you, slow and deliberate, watching your face as your jaw dropped open around a gasp. Then another, stretching you perfectly. You choked on a sound, back arching, thighs trembling.

“Shhh,” he crooned, lips at your temple now, the hand at your jaw moving to cover your mouth. “Gotta keep it down, sweetheart. Bobby hears you moaning like a whore in his kitchen, he’s gonna come down here and shoot me.”

His fingers curled.

Your eyes rolled back.

You moaned—muffled, desperate—against his palm as he started to fuck you with those fingers like he meant it. Like he’d been thinking about it for years.

And maybe he had.

His hips were pressed against yours, his breath against your cheek, his mouth dragging along your jaw as he fucked you slow and filthy and completely possessed.

“You ever think about me, baby?” He whispered. “Late at night, all alone in your bed? Bet you used these pretty fingers trying to imagine mine, didn’t you?”

You whimpered under his hand, your body jerking with every pump of his fingers, slick and obscene.

“Bet you used to fuck that little pillow, huh? Crying into it thinkin’ about me pinning you down, stretching you open…”

You were going to come.

It was embarrassing how fast it was happening—how quick he’d found every nerve, every want, every buried need you’d never let yourself speak out loud. But now it was all on the surface, raw and exposed, dripping down his wrist.

He growled in your ear, soft and dark and lethal:

“Come for me, sweetheart. C’mon. Be a good girl and come all over my fuckin’ fingers.”

You did.

You shattered—silently, somehow—body writhing against his hand, nails digging into his shoulders, whole frame trembling with the force of it. His fingers didn’t stop, fucking you through it, dragging every last wave from your body until you were limp in his grip, gasping into his palm.

He finally pulled his hand from your mouth, cupping your jaw again, kissing you slow and deep, like the filth he’d just whispered into your skin meant nothing. Like it meant everything.

He pulled his hand away, brought it up to his lips, and licked his fingers. Then smiled.

“Told you,” he said. “Sweet as goddamn honey.” 

Then his lips were back on your neck.

You were still trembling, thighs slick and trembling where he held you, one hand gripping the back of your thigh, the other back between your legs, slick with everything he’d pulled from you. You were floating, dizzy, pressed between the cool of the counter and the heat of his body, his mouth trailing kisses up your throat like he was about to say something—

And then the kitchen door slammed open. You barely had time to register the heavy feet pounding across the floor before—

Splash.

Dean staggered back with a sharp, visceral hiss, smoke curling from his shoulder where the water hit, his skin bubbling in a flash of red.

You gasped, shoved back into the counter, heart leaping into your throat.

“What the fuck—!”

Dean growled—growled—low and guttural, his spine arching with the burn, lips curling back to reveal teeth that didn’t quite look like his own.

And Bobby was standing there. In boxers and a flannel and socks. Holding an empty mason jar in one hand and a shotgun in the other. Breathing hard. Rage in every line of his face.

“Get. The fuck. Outta my house,” Bobby said, each word like a shotgun blast. “Now.”

Dean turned his head slowly. Eyes flashing black for a moment before shifting back to the green you'd always known.

“Well, shit,” he rasped, voice raw. “Knew you were smart, old man. Didn’t think you’d catch on so fast.”

“Yeah, well,” Bobby snarled, stepping forward, “I’ve seen a lot of demons pretend to be worse things. You just happen to be wearin’ a face I liked.”

Dean smiled—teeth too sharp, too wide.

“I’ll be seeing her again.”

Bobby raised the shotgun in his hands.

“Not if I have anythin' to say about it.”

Dean looked at you once. Only once. That same smirk, but now you saw it—really saw it—for what it was. Too smooth. Too slow. Something evil wearing something you used to love. And then he vanished. Not in smoke, not in fire. Just… gone. The air thinned out. The heat left the room. And the absence of him was a screaming thing.

You were still shaking. Still pressed to the counter, shirt rumpled, legs slick, skin flushed. The high hadn’t even left your blood yet. You didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

Bobby lowered the shotgun, then turned to you.

“It ain’t safe anymore.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

He crossed to you slowly. Gently. Like approaching a spooked animal.

“That thing,” he said, voice quieter now. “That thing wearin’ Dean’s face? That’s a demon. And he’s been here all day.”

You stared at him. Everything in you recoiled. Denied. And yet—you knew.

Bobby exhaled hard. His hand came up to your arm, grounding you. Steady.

“I’m sendin’ you somewhere safe.”

You blinked. “What—?”

“Somewhere he don’t know. Somewhere he can’t get to you. You’re leavin’ in the mornin’. No arguments.”

You were still in Bobby’s shirt. Still barefoot. Still breathless. And now the world had cracked open beneath you. You nodded. Because what else could you do?

@mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @0ccvltism @lyarr24 @podiumackles @spxideyver @tinas111 @cevansbaby-dove @paristheonewhoreads @winchestersbgirl @blossomingorchids @sacr1ficialang3l <3

[maxxiemoa]

~Erik x sunshine reader hc’s~

An: Got a cute ask to make Erik x sunshine reader and I made a fan fic for it but I love the idea so much I need to make a hc post.

Summary: Some cute, some nsfw hc for Erik with a sunshiny reader.

Warnings: piercings, talk of penis piercing (ps I’m imagining his is pierced with a bar right under his tip) , choking, bondage, bitting. Nsfw

MDNI!

You wearing glitter in your hair

You begging him to let you start putting glitter in his hair

Him taking care of your fresh piercings he gives you

Him getting a little bunny tattoo and swearing he had it before meeting you but you knowing deep down he got it because it reminds him of you

Holding his hand or clinging to his arm 24/7

Making you and him matching braclets

Loving going over to his house and hanging out outside and blowing bubbles and cuddling in the sun

Bobby and you being such good friends because you two have so many common interests

Him coming home from work and finding you curled up on his bed like a little cat

You filling his bedroom with different trinkets and plushies

Him treating your plushies either care and respect

He would kill himself before he mistreats your dear fluffy friends and makes you sad

Him becoming an absolute puddle when you run your fingers through his hair

Erik loving pda because why would he ever be embarrassed to be with such a cutie

Despite you being a virgin you know what you like

And what you like is kind of kinky

Sure you don’t look like it but you love being choked and man handled

Erik is perfect because he’s a bit more experienced than you and is willing to try anything once

Erik will let you tie his wrists up and let you feel him up and tease him

You absolutely love teasing and sucking on his pierced nipples

The first time you see his pierced dick you all but climax at just the sight of it

That shiny bar of metal piercing the underneath of his tip makes you drool

You are practically jumping his bones when he frees himself from his tight jeans

And fuck those tight jeans show off his bulge so fucking nicely

Loving the way his tip hits the back of your throat

Yeah you push yourself to take his full length and yeah you know your throat will hurt a bit for the next day or so but it is so worth the way he moans your name when he cums

After care with this mf is so thorough

He cleans you up with a nice warm towel

He helps you get changed into comfy pajamas

And you best bet he will cuddle you right to sleep

Softly rubbing his thumb over your cheek

[castielsonlyangel]

hii, I'm so happy I've found new fics about Castiel, no one ever writes for him😭

could you write a little something about Castiel with shy! reader? fluff or smut, that's your choice. I'd just really love seeing our angel interact with a closed off, insecure reader.

ᯓ★ˎˊ ‘slice of cake’

Castiel Novak x fem!reader

content: fluff!! Castiel being sweet and clueless

pairing: Castiel Novak x shy!fem!reader

summary: Cas is fascinated by you and how quiet you are compared to the Winchesters, and he tries to get through to you by giving you a present.

word count: 542

requested by: anon <3 i hope this is okay for what you had in mind! i always love writing for castiel, i love the sweet angel to bits. thank you for liking and reading my stuff!

The ’woosh’ of wings that sounded behind you made you jump a little. You had been sitting alone in Bobby’s kitchen, fixing up some new fake ID’s for Sam and Dean, nothing none of you weren’t used to.

You looked back to see Castiel, the newest addition to the odd little group you had. You had been a bit cautious to speak to him and get to know him, he was an angel. You didn’t even know what you’d talk about with a literal servant of the lord.

Cas, on the other hand, was eager to get to know you. It intrigued him how quiet and closed off you were to the two overly confident and rowdy Winchesters. You’d been hunting with them for years, but their extroverted personalities hadn’t rubbed off on you one bit.

The angel also appreciated how much kinder you were and how you were more open to answering his constant questions about human and life on earth. He had been determined to try get through to you, motivated by a foreign feeling he didn’t know what to name.

“Hey, Cas.” You greeted him, placing the ID’s down in front of you and giving him your full attention, even if it was careful.

He nodded and took slow steps over to you, standing in front of you and looking down with almost hopeful eyes. “Hello. I got you a present.” He spoke in his familiar monotonous voice, holding up a small plastic bag.

Your eyes widened in surprise, taking the bag from him. “Oh, thank you. You didn’t have to do that.” You thanked gratefully, voice quiet and thankful.

Cas watched in anticipation as you reached a hand into the bag, pulling out the small cardboard container with a slice of cake inside.

When you didn’t immediately speak up, he panicked and took it upon himself to be the first to speak. “I noticed that you often ask Sam or Dean to buy this for you when they go to get food. It’s- It’s the same flavour you get.”

You looked up to meet Cas’ eyes and smiled softly, a soft flush creeping onto your face at even just the thought of something so thoughtful. “Thank you, Cas. I really appreciate this.”

The angel visibly relaxed when you thanked him, relief flooding through him at the way you looked genuinely happy.

“It reminded me of you.” He continued, sounding a bit more confident than before. “It is a rather pretty looking cake.”

Your cheeks went even redder than they’d ever been before, breaking the eye contact with him to look back down at the cake. Castiel frowned, but seemed a little confused. He had told you the truth, so why did you look embarrassed?

“Was that wrong to say?” He questioned softly.

You shook your head and forced yourself to look at him again. “No, not at all. It’s actually nice to say that to someone.” You told him, feeling slightly amused at his simple question.

He simply nodded in response, although he still didn’t understand why you reacted how you did. He sat down in the seat opposite you as you gestured for him to sit down.

Cas thought he might finally be getting through to you.

‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

a/n: i love love loved writing this!! i hope this was okay for what you requested, anon <333 not proofread, if there are mistakes please lmk !

read more fics here ! (masterlist)

request something here !

join my taglist here !

taglist: @ambiguous-avery , @deansweetheart , @mulderssweetheart , @butterphiiss , @butterphii , @sammyslittledoll , @mostlymarvelgirl , @multiversefanfics , @rulesareshadesofgrey , @itscastielsfeatheryass , @daisydark , @y0inked

[writeyouin]

Mira X Reader – Acceptance

Description – Mira introduces you to her family.

A/N – I just really loved K-Pop Demon Hunters, so I wrote this. I may well do another fic, but for Bobby. I haven’t decided yet. Still trying to clear the inbox a bit. Also, Mira never had a last name, so I chose one for her from a list of common Korean surnames.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

Mira stared at the door, balling her fist around your hand, agitated and anxious.

You leaned forward, trying to catch her eye, “Hey, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Mira closed her eyes and sighed, her rage-induced fist loosening to hold your hand more gently.

She was accustomed to being angry and guarded, but she didn’t want to be that way with you. Until Mira met you, the only people she felt that she could be herself with were Zoey, Rumi, Celine, and Bobby; they were her family and her entire world. She never expected her world to grow more than that, but then she met you.

When you met Mira, you didn’t know anything about HUNTR/X. It was refreshing to talk to someone without them knowing her or fawning over her. She didn’t love the pedestal the fans placed her on. She wanted to be part of a group, friends with the people who idolised her, but that wasn’t possible. The best she could do was try to lower herself to their level to connect with them and strengthen the Honmoon with love. Yet, by trying to be one with the people, she ended up being further worshipped, ensuring she always stayed at arm’s length from others.

Mira sighed, and though she didn’t look at you directly, she did respond. “I want to do this right.”

You smiled at her. In your opinion, there was no right way to go about a relationship so long as both parties loved one another and were always doing their best to be there for each other. Yet, the finality of Mira’s tone told you that she had made up her mind.

“Okay, then I’m with you.”

Mira took a deep breath, giving your hand one final squeeze, “Thanks, babe.”

Then, she knocked on the door of the suburban family apartment.

“Coming,” A friendly voice answered from inside.

Mira tensed up, letting go of your hand as she stood rigid. She hadn’t been back to her family home since she was a teenager, and hadn’t planned on ever returning. Her parents hadn’t cared to see why she acted out when she was younger, only labelling her as a black sheep or a wild child while they doted on her perfect brother. Mira tried not to spare any thoughts on her estranged family, but now she was in love and she wanted them to know; she wanted them to finally see her for who she was and accept her, even if she was terrified.

You picked up the slack, taking Mira’s hand in yours instead. She shot you a grateful look, taking a deep breath as her father answered the door.

Clearly, he had expected someone else as his expression changed from a polite smile to a disgruntled frown.

“Oh, it’s you,” He stated.

“Good to see you too, Dad,” Mira replied sardonically.

The atmosphere became stale and tense as neither said anything else, and Mira’s father made no offer to invite his daughter inside.

You waved somewhat awkwardly, “Hello, Mr. Choi. I’m (Y/N), Mira’s…” You hesitated, wondering how much you were supposed to say or if Mira ought to be the one to introduce you as her partner. “Friend,” You supplied. “It is an honour to meet you.”

You offered a respectful bow, but got no response past a look of condescension.

“Is Mom home?” Mira asked.

Her father looked at her like she was an insignificance, not worth his attention.

“She’s… working.”

Mira had told you that her mother worked from home. By Mr. Choi’s reaction, you guessed that was still the case and that he didn’t care to disturb her, even to reunite the family.

“As usual,” Mira grunted, annoyed that her parents had never made time for her, always trying to brush her aside. Why bother with the difficult child when her well-behaved brother was right there? They didn’t need her when they already had a backup to uphold the family name.

Mira glanced at you, forcing herself to remember why she was there in the first place. She gritted her teeth, forcing a semi-polite tone, “I’d like to see her, please.”

Mr. Choi stood more sturdily as if he were ready to physically block Mira’s path in case she tried to barge past him. “I will tell your mother that you stopped by.”

His tone was clipped as if to end the conversation. He moved to close the door, but you pushed forward, forcing your arm in to keep it open. Mira stared at you, shocked that you were acting so impulsively, a look of pure rage on your face that she had never seen before.

“Hey! This is your daughter,” You told Mr. Choi. He opened the door a little wider to inspect you. He looked like he was torn between caution and anger.

“She has made her way to the top of the music industry, which, let me tell you, takes a lot of work! Like, have you seen the dances she choreographs?! It takes a lot of discipline and restraint to be able to work that hard. More than that, she is a good, strong person, and she is so protective of the people she loves. Why can’t you be proud of her?”

Mr. Choi sneered, “Mira is a reckless delinquent who has caused us nothing but trouble. Now leave, before I call the police.”

He slammed the door in your face.

You punched the door once, yelling, “I WASN’T DONE! YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW INCREDIBLE MIRA IS AND-”

Mira grabbed your shoulder. Your head snapped towards her, afraid that you had gone too far.

“Mira, I’m s-”

“I love you so much,” Mira said, her breath hitching as she hugged you.

You embraced her, feeling her shake as you held onto her, crying and not bothering to hide her tears from you, one of the few people she felt she could be vulnerable around. She might not have made it past the threshold of the “family” home, but she had seen what she needed to. You had been willing to fight for her. That was more than enough.

“C’mon,” She said after a minute, “Let’s go home.”

You nodded. At the penthouse, Mira’s real family were waiting, and they would never let her down.

[biasbuck]

BiAsBuck’s May ficrec Mayhem.

Hi everyone, hoo-boy what a month. Talk about the epic lows and epic highs. One thing that doesn't change is how much incredible talent there is in this fandom, so I'm back with another round of fic that I've read and loved over the last month. Lots of processing emotions via fic being done here, so spoilers for the season below including mcd and grief.

As always you can find previous rec lists here.

10 May 2025

this must be the place by @becausebuckley with couch theory and domestic dawning roommates era buddie, this is them navigating what to keep and how (and why) they're combining their lives and their living space. Lovely character study and exploration of thematic motifs.

sing to me instead by @putanauhere written after 8x15, in which Eddie receives a phonecall and doesn't believe it at first, he and Chris return to LA, and Buck helps them buy Chris a suit for the funeral. Emotions run high whilst they try and hold it together, Eddie feels disconnected from the firefam and Buck feels disconnected from his body. Really fantastic team dynamics here, and the splintered processing of grief manifesting in a myriad of ways.

slow dancing on landmines by @glorious-spoon written after 8x16, this is Buck and Eddie grief sex fic, in which Eddie runs shortly after to avoid the conversations needed to be had. Beautifully written and achingly tender, it's messy and complicated feelings in all their glory.

The Kingdom Where Nobody Dies by @ponyregrets a Chris POV 8x15 coda, in which Buck calls Eddie to tell him about Bobby, and Chris contemplates a poem that speaks to him. Really lovely strong Chris voice, and a Chris and Harry exchange that made me cry.

they're back in the same house as if it's my fault.... by @fastcardotmp3 a short 600 word coda to 8x17 with a gorgeously rendered conversation between Buck and Chris, continuing on from their I'm sorry about Bobby discussion, and touching on their own dynamic.

8x17 coda by @chronicowboy deep in the crunchy feelings, after their fight, Eddie calls Chris from the couch. I love how this one explores Eddie actively trying to change his previous habits in his openness with Chris, and how Chris reads him and Buck so well.

tragedy & rage & grief by @ghostlandtoo Eddie and Chris have stayed in LA post 8x17 and Buck's glad but also...he's not coping well, and with he and Eddie sharing a bed, there's no private release for his grief. Eddie sees him, and they talk...and find a way to deal together. Hard and full of big messy feelings, the grief and release of this one really felt cathartic through the hurt.

i blinked and suddenly i had a valentine by @redrosydiaz adorable Jee fic! Jee Yun is making Valentine's day cards for all the firefam and Eddie is very touched to see she's written hers to Uncle Eddie...isn't it cute? But of course...only Buck is the other 'Uncle' she's mentioned, the rest of the firefam are all just their names. Wherever could she have gotten that idea?

sweetness follows by @pairofraggedclaws in which it's Eddie's first day back at the 118 and Buck and Eddie figure it out, through the eyes of Bobby, Hen and Chim. This is a breath of fresh air for anyone needing team banter, teasing and love. A wonderful farcical they don't know that we know they know we know story.

then you'll feel that you want me (the way i want you) by PrinceLix GOOD GOD. THEEEEE Buck's Eddie in latex gloves kink fic to end all fics. A must read for anyone who's ever gone cross-eyed at the sight of Ryan's gigantic paws lol. But beautifully written, sizzlingly erotic, and guaranteed to get you blushing especially if you're reading on public transport whoops. Despite Buck's best efforts, Eddie clocks what's going on and comes up with a plan to get Buck to fold, it goes splendidly.

featherlight by @coldbam - in which coldbam is struck by Apollo's Dodgeball for Ryan's hummingbird Disney Prince moment, by writing this sweet as all get out hobbyist birder Eddie fic! Buck encourages Eddie with his new hobby whilst he's in El Paso, downloading an app so he can identify the birds stopping by his garden. So so lovely and gentle. I just wanted to chinhands at them both.

once more, with feeling by @spaceshipkat in which Eddie gets a sixth sense that something's not right as he and Chris drive home supposedly to meet Buck for their happy reunion. When they get their the house is empty, and something isn't right...Eddie spirals, but works to get Buck back from whomever has taken him. A real nailbiter with some super intriguing dynamics, and clever sleuthing.

to have and to hold (platonically and heterosexually) by @littlefreakbuckley in which Buck's solution to Eddie losing health insurance in his move to El Paso is for them to get married for the benefits, and it turns out they both REALLY like being each other's husband....even if Eddie's straight and this is totally platonic, of course. Delicious tropey fun.

Okay until next time!! Can't believe we just have one more episode left? If you're in need of more recs, I also regularly reblog codas from 8b and fics as I read them, to be found in my usual daily ficrec tag.

[prentissluvr]

something about being close — sam winchester

pairing : s.2!sam winchester x gn!reader, featuring platonic dean ➖⟢ genre : angst, fluff, ➖⟢ cw : sam and reader are lovingly mean to each other, bad insults (weird, stupid, lame), bad jokes, swearing, canon typical violence and ghosts, arguing, so much kissing, could be ooc but idc, edited but most likely still contains a few mistakes, single usage of y/n ➖⟢ wc : 9.5K summary : sam is acting weird, and when it puts people in danger, you can't let it slide (despite the fact that you're totally in love with him).

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

“hey, check this out,” sam calls to you and dean, not bothering to look up from his computer screen. “think we found our violent spirit.” you part from your own research without a single qualm, resting a hand on the back of sam’s chair as he leans back for you and dean to get a better look. “marissa hancock. she was a student at the college, died a violent death there, just like we thought. it’s thought that the janitor impaled her with his mop while he was working in her dorm hall, but he was never put away for lack of evidence.”

“explains the janitor kabob,” dean quips, already headed to shrug on his jacket. 

“easy solve,” you admit. it only took a solid half hour of searching through records to find the right murder. “but why’s she killing now? she’s had, what?” you lean further over sam’s shoulder to inspect the record, “fifty some years to be killing janitors, why start now?”

“dunno,” sam shrugs, and you can feel his shoulder brush against you, reminding you how close he is. doing your best to stay casual and maybe not stare longingly at his pretty face from this close up, you straighten your back and go to grab your own jacket as sam types away on his keyboard. “looks like her original murderer died two weeks ago.”

“right when the killings started,” dean finishes. “alright, let’s go. you got where she’s buried, sam?”

“yep,” he stands, shutting his laptop. “saint mercy cemetery, not too far.”

“hm,” you laugh out, “second saint mercy cemetery this month. people need to get more creative,” you note as you exit the motel room and head down the short hallway to get to the impala.

“and what would you name a cemetery?” dean asks, ready to catch you off guard or tease you for anything he can get his hands on.

��i should have thought of a clever answer before saying that,” you admit, “but i do wish it were socially acceptable to call them dead people neighborhoods.”

“that’s lame,” sam grins, throwing his arm around your shoulders for just about two seconds before he has to let go to get through the small doorway and outside.

“c’mon,” you complain, “i know it’s kind of lame, and definitely insensitive, but imagine someone just asked you where you’re headed after work and you get to tell them you’re going to the dead people neighborhood. cemetery’s no fun, at least dead people neighborhood is accurate.” you close the back door of the car behind you as you settle in to punctuate your point.

“you’re weird,” sam teases in a matter-of-fact tone, not even looking back from the passenger's seat to see the sneer on your face.

“no, you’re weird,” you fire back.

“alright, kids,” dean interrupts, “enough bickering like we’re four, we’ve got a job to do,” he snickers as he backs the car up.

“okay, dean,” you and sam chime, voices full of mocking and almost totally in sync. dean rolls his eyes hard, because it’s just one of those days where the two of you can’t stop feeding into the antics of the other, regressing the combined mental age of the three of you by at least twenty years. 

having known the brothers since you were kids through bobby, and starting to hunt with them about a year and a half ago, you’ve certainly grown close with the both of them. but a little closer in age, you and sam are nothing but two peas in a pod. and much to dean’s chagrin, that means it only takes a split second for the two of you to switch things up and turn against him when he tries to break up your banter. it’s pretty much all loving argumentation, of course, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t annoying as all hell for whoever has to witness it.

“and for the record, i like dead people neighborhood,” dean offers, ignoring your moment of synchronicity with sam.

“yes!” you celebrate, reaching around the seat in front of you to lightly hit sam’s shoulder. “you’re the lame one, you’re no fun.” 

he scoffs, mumbling something to himself about how, “of course dean likes dead people neighborhood. it’s stupid.”

you resist the urge to tell him that he’s stupid, and instead follow dean’s direction to focus on the case.

“hold on, dean. you should drop me off on campus first, one of us should make sure another janitor doesn’t fall on his mop handle before we can burn the bones,” you suggest.

“no.”

your brow furrows at how fast sam shuts you down, his serious tone a harsh contrast to his practically whiny mumble moments before. you glance at dean to see that he’s got his own eyebrows raised in confusion.

“what’d’you mean, ‘no’?” you question.

“i mean,” he clears his throat as if he’s just realized his strong denial was awkward, “that that could be dangerous alone, so i’ll go and you can stick with dean.”

you send a bewildered look to dean, one he doesn’t catch trying to pay attention to the street name up ahead. “i’m sorry, are you suggesting i can’t handle a measly ghost?” mostly you’re confused by sam’s words, but you can’t help letting a bit of offense slip into your voice.

“n-no, no that’s not what i’m saying,” he fumbles, trying to fix what he said, “i meant– i meant it would be safer for anyone not to go alone. so– so i’ll go with you and dean can stick with burning the body.”

it’s a clumsy, bad save that’s entirely unconvincing.

“you’re seriously gonna stick me with grave digging duty?” dean grunts, “y/n’s right, it’s just one ghost, we don’t need two of us to deal with it. digging up a grave is arguably harder.”

“exactly,” you reason, “which is why i should go scope out the dorm hall, and you should go with dean to the dead people neighborhood.”

“she’s buried in a family mausoleum,” counters sam, “her grave doesn’t need to be dug up, which means it’s a one person job, and since there could be an actual violent ghost in the dorm, two people should go. and don’t try to make dead people neighborhood a thing, at the very least it’s too long, not to mention it’s not funny.”

despite the fact that he’s teasing you, you’re glad to hear something normal come out of his mouth. his hesitancy to let you take on the ghost is odd, especially considering the ghost might not show up at all. it’s not like he’s never been protective of you, it’s in both his and certainly dean’s nature. but he knows full well that you are completely capable of handling one violent ghost, and he’s been weird like this for the past two weeks.

you laugh when you admit, “it wasn’t quite as good in context as i thought it would be, but it wasn’t that bad, i’m just tryna to stick with my bit,” you defend, “and fine, two people at the dorms, one on dead person arson.”

“are you serious?” sam laughs, halfheartedly tossing his head back to give you a judgemental look through the corner of his eye.

“dead serious, pun absolutely intended,” you let out a full laugh at the strangled sigh he lets out. oh how you love to rile him up with bad jokes. “you’re too easy, sam. for that, i’m sticking you on grave duty. dean and i will handle the dorm.”

“you should be on grave duty, for all the bad jokes today,” he argues.

dean practically growls in annoyance, “how about i go on grave duty, so i can get away from your annoying asses.” it’s not a suggestion, and the both of you huff out a sigh, but don’t argue.

dean drops you off a little ways from the dorm hall for you to grab a shotgun and salt rounds with less of a chance of being seen. you leave the other shotgun for dean just in case, bothered that yours is still broken from the last hunt. there hadn’t been enough time to fix it yet. so, you grab an iron rod, hoping to use that before any guns on a college campus. it’d be a sticky situation to get out of, being caught with shotguns in a dorm, and at the very least incredibly inconvenient to scare the hell out of a bunch of college aged kids at eleven pm. sam sticks the shotgun under his jacket, generally hiding it from the view of anyone not looking too closely.

walking a few minutes, you find the right dorm hall and sam hands the gun off to you to pull out his lock pick. but, glancing behind you, you shove the gun back into his hands and yank him into you.

“the hell?” he resists for a split second before you quickly interrupt him.

“shut up! hide the gun and act like you’re piss drunk. someone’s coming,” you hiss. in a swift movement, he tucks the gun back under his jacket as you shimmy the iron rod into your sleeve, then he swings his free arm around you, practically dropping half of his weight on you. “dude,” you complain, before falling into character. “sammy, come on!” you whine loudly. “i can’t reach my id with you like this,” you pretend to feel around for something in your back pocket while keeping him standing, and he immediately picks up on what you’re trying to do. he stumbles forward so that you have to use both hands to keep him upright, and you curse at your false struggle. “help me out here, sammy, will you?” you try to make your voice sound overly desperate, maybe a little innocent too, “why don’t you lean against the wall so we can get inside,” you beg, trusting sam to play his part well.

“nooo,” he slurs, dragging the word out in a whiny pitch, “don’t wanna.” he turns into you and haphazardly wraps his lanky arm all the way around your form, tugging you to him and nearly knocking the both of you over. you feel heat rush to your cheeks at this and desperately remind yourself that he’s only pressing his face into your neck so that he can get a look at the person approaching and keep the shotgun well hidden from view.

you see the girl out of the corner of your eye, young and clearly a student headed for the dorm.

“oh, thank god!” you exclaim, “hey, i’m so sorry to bother you, but do you think you could open the door for us?” you ask as sweetly as you can, pulling your eyebrows together to gain sympathy, before adding on a humorous tone, “my boyfriend is stupid drunk and i can’t get us inside.” you can feel sam stiffen for a split second at your words, and you yourself wonder if you should have just gone the “friend” route for the sake of your own sanity. you’re going to want to keep calling sam your boyfriend, over and over again.

“oh my god, of course,” she laughs goodnaturedly, and you thank the lord she’s laid back, rather than some uptight rule follower ready to report you to administration. she swipes her id and holds the door open for you, and as you struggle into the building, you think that sam is making this harder for you than it has to be. but there’s absolutely no denying you love the way it feels to just have him all over you, even for the sake of illegally entering a building with a gun.

“thank you so much,” your voice is one big sigh of relief, slightly muffled by the fabric of sam’s jacket.

“yeah, don’t worry about it,” she smiles, “you two are super cute, by the way,” she compliments before turning towards the stairs and waving a kind goodbye.

you do your best to not stumble over your words as you thank her, heat once again rising to your face, and you’re sure that sam can feel the warmth of your neck. body stiff, you turn and head down the hallway in the opposite direction, sam still clinging to you until it’s clear.

“alright, get off, you big dork,” you snort, gently pushing him away and doing your best to regain your composure to proceed as if you don’t have a massive crush on him. “did ya have to make it so hard for me?”

he shrugs with a sly grin, “had to make it convincing, didn’t i? besides, it was your idea, you don’t get to complain.”

you stick your tongue out at him and he raises his eyebrows as if to say, “really?”

“she was really nice,” you note, voice almost wistful in a way that sam easily picks up on. about a year into hunting with the brothers and dean was off buying food, you and sam had collapsed onto a motel bed together as you had many times before by then, both exhausted after a long case. that night, as you spoke in tired, hushed tones, with no need for anyone but the other to hear your words, you had somehow ended up with your head resting on his biceps and one of his legs swung over yours. 

that’s the night you told him you were jealous that he got to go to college, even if it wasn’t for long. you’d told him how you liked the idea of that life, even if you had to return to hunting after it was over. you wanted friends your age, to learn, go to stupid parties and have a college partner. you knew the experience wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies, but you wanted it anyway. he’d said, sure, it wasn’t perfect, but it was a hell of a lot better than hunting in his opinion. he wanted you to have that. once this was all over, and you both got justice for your families, he’d help you apply, make sure you got in somewhere, maybe even go with you. a hush fell over the room and he knew you weren’t convinced.

“yeah, she was,” he says, his own voice a touch more gentle than moments ago. “we were lucky.” he doesn’t want to tell you that most college kids would be at least cool enough to let you inside, maybe not as friendly as her, but that it’s true you’d like it here. he doesn’t want to remind you of what you can’t have. 

a silence falls over the two of you, punctuated only by the shuffling of your feet or the rustle of clothes. it’s comfortable and easy because you’ve done it a million times before. you don’t have to say anything to agree that you’ll head to the basement where the original murder occured. the both of you stay quiet and light on your feet, sam always peering around corners before rounding them.

in the basement he stops you with a simple finger to his lips. he leans in close to whisper as quietly as he can, “janitor’s here.”

you resist the urge to call said janitor an idiot, because who the hell is going to be cleaning an area in which three of your coworkers have mysteriously died in the past two weeks, but you just nod instead, taking in the way that sam’s eyes look under the dim light.

“wanna wait around til dean calls or warn him?” you ask, equally as quiet. he turns his head to look back around the corner before continuing.

“well, we should warn him, but we can’t use the drunk ruse on an employee. he probably has a radio scanner on him, might even be connected to campus security,” he points out.

“fbi?”

“we look too much like college kids right now,” he reasons.

“right,” you agree, “well then, stupid college kids trying to see a murder scene? we’ll link arms and you can hide the gun behind your back. just so we’re near him til dean burns the bones. hopefully nothing’ll even happen.” it’s as if you jinxed it all in that moment, as the lights immediately begin to flicker, the buzz of electricity filling your ears and a sudden chill filling the air. “nevermind,” you curse, flicking the iron rod back into your hand and barging around the corner, only a hair behind sam.

“way to jinx it,” he grunts.

you just scoff and beg him, “just try not to use the gun.” this time neither of you attempt to hide your presence as your shoes pound against the tile floor.

“no promises,” sam says, the gun up and loaded in front of him.

“what the hell?” the janitor barely has the time to exclaim before he’s thrown against the wall.

“i got it,” you warn sam, eager to avoid gunshots and sprinting full speed towards the apparition, iron rod in front of you. you throw all your weight into reaching the ghost of the young girl before she can flicker out of reach. the iron in your hand makes contact, and she evaporates for the time being. unfortunately for you, your momentum keeps you going, through the space the ghost just occupied and straight into the section of the floor slick with soapy water. with no time to gain any semblance of your balance, you slip and come crashing to the ground. your back hits the floor and the wind gets knocked out of your lungs in the same moment that the iron skitters out of your hand.

you struggle a bit to sit up due to the wetness underneath you, gasping slightly and letting curses fall from your mouth the moment you can speak again.

in a split second reaction, sam shouts your name, his voice inappropriately taught and worried for such a silly accident. he’s by your side in an instant, strong hands pulling you up and his anxious voice asking if you’re alright. you wave him off easily, unconcerned for yourself.

“help him,” you urge, “i’m fine.” but he doesn’t back off nearly as easily as you’d think.

“are you sure, did you hit your head? you couldn’t breathe for a second there,” his hands stay glued to you as he rattles off his concerns, ones that you find utterly unnecessary and unhelpful considering the fact that you’re fine, and the ghost could reappear any second. his strong grip keeps you from bending down to scoop up the iron rod, but you have to wrench yourself away from him when you hear a strangled cry come from the janitor. he whirls around with you to see the ghost with her hands around the janitor’s neck, crushing him against the wall as his feet dangle just above the floor. the iron rod is back in your hand in an instant, but sam’s shotgun lays abandoned on the floor a few feet away.

he dives for the weapon, but with a flick of the ghost’s hand, he’s knocked against the wall with a noise so loud it hurts to hear. before she can pay you attention, you fling the iron towards her, vaporizing her once more. the iron clatters to the ground as the janitor collapses to his knees. you rush towards him, pulling him away from the wall before tugging a container of salt from your jacket’s inside pockets. apologetically, you haul the poor man to his feet, throwing a quick look over your shoulder at sam. he’s groaning painfully, but already moving to get back up. 

knowing he’s easily survived worse, you turn your attention back to the janitor, who’s sputtering out confused and incoherent questions about what in the goddamn hell is happening.

“just stay there,” you urge him, too pressed for time to add adequate sympathy to your tone. “stay in the circle and she can’t get you.” with practiced ease, you shake the salt onto the ground with barely enough to make a small, solid ring around the man.

you scoop up the gun from the ground, then turn to help sam onto his feet. “we’re gonna have to tough this out til dean gets done,” is all you say when you place the weapon into his hands, despite the urge to ask what the hell is wrong with him and why he’s so off his game. you turn to grab your own weapon, but it seems the ghost is reappearing faster and faster. this time, you’re the one who gets tossed into the wall, but you stay pressed against the cold surface as a mop flies to meet you, the long handle pushing against your throat and cutting off your air supply. you take in a strangled gasp, hands clawing at the old wooden handle and giving yourself a few splinters that you couldn’t care less about in the moment. of course, it doesn’t budge.

the second you’re flattened against the wall, sam shouts your name again, this time with his gun in the air, swinging around to get a shot at the ghost. but before he can react, it flies out of his hand and she reappears right in front of him, pushing him against the wall across from you.

he struggles against her wildly, his hand itching to get free of her hold to reach the hidden iron knife in his pocket. but before he can get there, her grip weakens and she lets out a strangled scream as she bursts into flames. the flames climb up her old fashioned pencil skirt and swallow up the bloody wound in her abdomen. her grip on you and sam falters as she burns away, then dissolves completely as the last of her ashes fade out into the musty basement air.

you drop to your knees, coughing and gasping for breath as the sound of the mop clattering to the floor echoes through the hallway. sam’s saying your name, half through a cough and his voice still so worried as he stumbles towards you. then he’s on his knees too and his hands are sturdy on your shoulders.

“‘m fine,” you rasp out, hand reaching for his bicep to ground you to something solid and steady. he stays right there, completely ignoring the poor man who’s still practically frozen in fear in the tiny circle of salt and the ringing of his phone. one of his hands slips around you to rub soothing strokes up and down your back and it brings you even closer to him, your forehead dipping to rest on his shoulder. you feel silly for how much he’s fussing over you, but you can’t quite scold or question him until you’ve caught your breath. clearly something is bothering him (and you want him so bad), so you let him hold you close.

“are you hurt anywhere?” he finally asks once he feels your breathing even out under his touch. 

you pull away from him gently, shaking your head before verbally confirming, “no, i’m alright sam. nothing more than your typical bumps and bruises.” your voice is a touch raspy from the pressure on your throat, but it’s nothing that won’t go away with some water and rest, maybe some tea if really necessary.

his hands stay on you as he stands. “are you sure?” he asks, and you can’t figure out why on earth, heaven, or hell he’s so overly concerned about you. frankly, it’s starting to worry you. and definitely annoy you. all the sudden he’s acting like you’re fragile, like you can’t take care of yourself. things which he should know for a fact aren’t true.

he lets you slip away from his hold as you swoop down to pick up your lost weapons and face the poor janitor.

“sorry about that all. you can step out of the salt now.” he looks at you as if he can’t be sure, and your tone softens a bit. he’s young, probably just a college kid himself. “she’s really gone this time, i promise. you won’t ever have to worry about her again. though, i wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to look for a different job.”

he nods and thanks you, and you tell him to repay the favor by not mentioning you and sam. then, at a pace you certainly can’t blame him for, he scurries away.

“c’mon,” you nod to sam, “we should get out of here. you should also call dean back. he’s probably worried you didn’t answer.” with that, you turn back in the direction of the stairs without looking back at sam, rolling your eyes when your own cell ring. you pick up with a, “we’re fine, dean,” before he can even ask why the hell it took you so long to answer him. he lets out a sigh, half relieved, half annoyed. 

“what took ya so long?” he asks anyway.

“had a few bumps in the road since little miss janitor-killer showed up, but we’re fine. neither of us are hurt. would’ya pick us up in the same spot you left us?”

“yeah, ‘course. already on my way, see you crazy kids in five.” with that, he hangs up and you don’t have to glance over your shoulder to feel sam following behind. it’s all just the familiarity of his footsteps, the sound they make, and the pace at which he walks. it’s the particular rustle of his favorite jacket, soft and scratchy sounding all at once. it’s the feeling of his tall figure, his broad chest so close behind you that he’d run right into you if you stopped even for a moment. you debate whether to ask him what the hell is up now or at the motel. for now, the priority is getting out unnoticed, so you clench your jaw a bit and continue in silence because you’re beginning to feel a little angry with him. you think he can feel it, so he stays quiet too, all the way out the dorm and down the street to wait for dean.

it’s not uncommon to be quieter after a hunt is finished because you’re all usually tired and more often than not achey from some toss around or another. but sam can tell there’s something else bothering you tonight. from the way you tilt your shoulder away from him, the distance so nearly imperceptible that only he would notice, he’s willing to bet that he’s that something. and though he doesn’t want to admit it, he thinks he knows why. he just won’t be the first one to say something about it because he’s stubborn, a little prideful, and most of all, too afraid to explain why he’s acting this way.

even so, he just can’t help himself. he hovers near, so near that once you’re settled by the side of the road, you can feel him without actually touching him. you’re tempted to nudge him away, just because of how overprotective he’s acting. you’re also tempted to lean back into his chest because somehow you know his hands wouldn’t waste a second in gathering you up and keeping you closer than ever before. it starts to rain a little bit, soft and almost unnoticable if it weren’t for the new chill in the air. for a moment, you can feel one hand hover over your waist, just for a second before there’s a light swish of fabric when it falls back to his side. you wonder if he’s worried about you getting too cold.

you hear dean before you see him, the rumble of the impala coming into earshot moments before its headlights appear around the corner. the car slows as it nears you, pulling to the side of the road with the front windows down and some classic rock guitar riff filtering into your ears. the music’s quieter than you know it was just moments ago from when dean was alone. he greets you two with a simple, “hey,” once he’s fully stopped and you place your hand out, palm up and wordlessly asking for sam to hand you the rifle to put in the trunk.

“i got it,” he says, not waiting for you to argue when he takes the iron from the loose grip of your fist and makes his way to the trunk. you slide into the back seat behind the passengers side and return dean’s greeting.

he twists in his seat to watch you as you close your eyes and massage your shoulder with a wince. it’s beginning to become more sore, just like all the rest of your body.

“you okay?” he asks, voice full of his normal gruffness that tells you cares enough to ask but knows not to be too worried.

you open your eyes back up to give him a nod. “‘m fine. just the usual ghost beat down. y’know, bumps and bruises.”

“mm, sure do,” he agrees, “so what? dearly departed marissa thought you were janitors?” he asks skeptically. you hear the slam of the trunk, and moments later sam’s settling into his seat in front of you.

“no,” you scoff, “some idiot kid was actually cleaning down there. told ‘im to get a new job,” you snort humorlessly.

“well, i’ll say,” dean raises his eyebrows in agreement before twisting back to face the wheel. he sneaks a look between you and sam before switching the car out of park and getting back on the road. for a few minutes, all you hear is the muted music, the constant roll of the engine, the light patter of rain on the metal roof, and the road under the tires. then dean switches off the music. “anything happen back there that i should know about?” he ventures.

“no,” sam answers casually, “nothing, just the usual.” you don’t even answer. you just can’t figure out if you should involve dean, tell him how sam was unthinking and almost entirely uncaring about the innocent civilian involved, all because he was so worried about you.

“alright,” dean concedes, glancing at you through the rearview mirror and sounding entirely unconvinced. he doesn’t turn the music back on, just lets the silence reign, so you close your tired eyes and lean your head against the cold glass of the window. you’ve fallen asleep in the back of the impala countless times before, but your drowsiness doesn’t take over this time in favor of letting your mind wander over what to say to sam. you can’t just let it be, and tonight is certainly the worst it’s gotten. plus, it’s an easy habit for you to wait for sleep when you’re already so close to the motel. 

when dean pulls into the parking lot, he doesn’t turn off the engine. “gonna grab some grub. i’ll be back in a bit with the usual.”

“grab me something for dessert, will ya? ‘m craving something sweet,” you request, leaning towards the driver’s seat. 

“sure thing,” he nods, and you slide out of the car and close the door after a thank you and tired smile. “anything for you, sammy?” you hear him ask.

“i’m good, just the regular,” sam responds as he exits the car. you unlock the motel door, and he’s inside the room just a moment later, closing and locking the entrance behind him. you stand facing away from him at the shitty table, your jacket already strewn across the back of a chair. you can hear him behind you, going through his routine movements. he’s taking off his jacket, setting it down on the edge of the bed. then he’s pulling comfier clothes out from his pack.

“you wanna shower first?” he offers, breaking the silence of the room. you can feel his gaze on your back.

“sure,” you swallow, “thanks,” you say without any sort of edge to your voice.

“‘f course,” he says, and he means that. his eyes follow you as you pull out your own change of clothes, just a tshirt and sweats, and make your way to the dingy bathroom. you’re tired, so you’re quick with it, but the water’s already lukewarm by the time you’re done. you dry off and dress quick, eager to lay in bed.

and yet, when sam takes your place in the bathroom and the sounds of the shower start up again, you sit at the table instead, picking out a few splinters in your hands before folding your arms and resting your head against them. you stay that way, even when you hear the water turn off, the bathroom door open, his heavy footfalls that are only heavy because he’s so tall and not for lack of gentleness, then the scraping of the chair across from you. he doesn’t even say a thing, just looks at the top of your head and the tip of your nose. the shape of your hands, the point of your elbows, and the curve of your back.

with a deep breath and some pain in your neck, you lift your head. you look back at him and slump your chin into your palm.

“i’m upset with you,” you state.

he frowns. even his frown is pretty. “i know,” he sighs.

“so? why are you acting like this?” your voice is tired, but you still manage to infuse accusation into your tone, “sam, why are you suddenly acting like i can’t take care of myself out there? you’ve been weird for nearly two weeks now, and i don’t like it. i don’t like this.”

sam doesn’t know how to respond. he’s used to being yelled at, shouted at, angry at. he’s used to yelling and shouting and getting angry back. and though he’s certainly fought with you before, he’s still not used to the level tone and the way you say each word so slow, like you’re not actually arguing. just upset and rightfully a little angry, like you just want to understand. 

sure, he can hear the plain anger in your voice. you’re not trying to hide it. but you’re not yelling. how’s he supposed to use the heat of the moment to shout back, “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” or “i’m just trying to help,” when there is no heat in the moment? instead, he’s embarrassed and the only answer he can come up with, the only one that he can mean if he answers in that same, level tone you’re using is, one he’s having too much trouble saying aloud. any other answer would just be too wrong like that. or maybe if you were shouting, he’d tell you the truth, because he could yell it out, loud and rash without thinking about it. if he says it now, it’s not because he just let it slip. if he says it now, there’s no way to take it back, to get around everything threatening to bubble over the surface like forgotten water on a heated stove.

“i don’t think that you can’t take care of yourself. i know you can,” is all he says, because it’s true and it skirts around the real questions. his voice is rough, halfway between pleading and holding back from the anger he doesn’t yet know how to control. you heave a sigh.

“so why, sam? why?” you let the heavy question stew for a moment, then go on when he doesn’t even meet your gaze, “or, i don’t know, if you’re not gonna tell me, just promise me you’ll stop?”

he clenches his jaw because he knows he can’t. he just wishes you would shout. then, he’d tell you. he can imagine the words coming out of his mouth, but only if they’re loud, only if you’ve pressured him to do it. he realizes that’s probably fucked up. but the other way is too vulnerable, too vast of a leap to take to when he’s just not sure.

“sam,” you press, “you don’t have to worry about me, i swear. i don’t understand what’s got you like this, but it’s getting in the way of you being able to do your job right. that kid could have died because all you could do was worry about me,” that’s when you begin you raise your voice, just a little. because that’s what’s making you most upset about this. you hate it ‘cause you feel like he’s doubting your abilities as a hunter, but you hate it even more because it’s making him disregard the safety of others and of himself, for you. “sam, i only slipped. sure i got the wind knocked out of me, but you dropped your gun for that? frankly, that was stupid. and the poor kid was being choked, and if i hadn’t been lucky enough to throw the iron before she could react, he could have died. i need you to understand that. i need you to understand that i can do this job, that i’m strong enough, and that if you don’t trust me with that? people could die. and i’m not about to let that happen. so either you tell me what’s up and we figure it out, or you stop and i pay you the huge favor of just dropping the whole thing, okay?”

suddenly he looks all sad. “i do trust you,” he says, voice all sincerity and nothing more.

you close your eyes for a moment, half in frustration and half because you could really use some shut eye right about now. “that’s not– well, it is. it is part of the point. but i need an answer from you, i need you to tell me you won’t let whatever this is put somebody else in danger.”

he clenches his jaw. he’s still stuck. you still haven’t shouted.

“just spit it out. i can practically see something rolling around on the tip of your tongue. just say it, sam.”

there’s an edge to your voice, so maybe he can.

“i can’t lose you.”

there it is. it’s said with an edge, too, like he wanted to shout it but couldn’t. it’s said rough and a little bit angry and full of this undying faithfulness and yes, love. 

but you still don't quite understand it, so it makes you sigh. it makes your eyes soften a bit and it makes you a little angrier than before. it makes you want him to mean that with all his chest and it makes you want to shake him hard until he comes to his senses.

“that’s always been a danger, ever since we met. you know that,” your voice is something so oddly gentle in its frustration, “sammy, you’re my best friend, and i can’t lose you either. hell, i don’t think the words “best friend” even begin to cover the depth of how much i care about you. but we’ll both be safer if we trust each other, if we trust in both of our abilities to keep ourselves and the other safe. tell me that you understand that.”

it takes him a minute to speak again, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he searches for what to say. “two weeks ago,” is all he manages at first. you try to think back to it, and it immediately dawns on you. “i couldn’t prote–”

“sammy, no,” you interrupt, “that wasn’t your fault, okay? i know this doesn’t help to say, but we can’t always protect each other perfectly, to the extent we really want. i’d do anything for you, sammy, you know that.” after that there’s supposed to be a “but” where you explain to him that you can’t let that get in the way of your thinking straight and keeping everyone safe. instead, those last words just hang, suspended and weighty in the air.

“but you could’ve been killed,” the way he says your name is almost desperate. “it was dean that saved you. i was there and i couldn’t even help. what if next time, dean isn’t there? what if–,” his voice breaks, and he effectively cuts himself off from finishing the sentence. you know what he was trying to say.

any answer you give to that, you know isn’t enough. “but i wasn’t killed, sam. i’m here. i’m right here and i’m alive and i’m well and i don’t want to spend all my time worrying about you worrying about me. not like this.” you let that sit for a moment or two, and though his eyebrows are still all sad and pinched together, you think you’re starting to get through to him.

“but i can’t lose you,” he repeats stubbornly.

“sam,” you’re practically begging at this point, frustration creeping back into your voice, “the best way for you to keep me safe from ghosts and monsters and everything else is to take care of the problem, efficiently and effectively, like we always do. if there’s no monster, it can’t hurt me. but if you drop your weapon just because i slipped on soapy floors and lost my breath for a second? then it’s not just you and whatever innocent bystander around who’s more vulnerable now, it’s me too. so if that’s what it’s gonna take for me to convince you to stop fussing over me, then, please, think about it like that.”

sam is smart. he loves logic and reason, and you’ve handed him just that. but even more than that, he loves you. in the end, that trumps all.

“but i love you.”

he says it like a plea. like he didn’t mean to say it at all but it was the only thing running through his mind, and therefore, the only thing running off his tongue.

“sammy,” you breathe out, and then it’s like there’s no more air for you to breathe back in. that sweet nickname of his coming out of your mouth, resting on your tongue before tumbling into the air, is half like a drug to him, half like a bitter wind to sober him up quick.

“i– i only meant that i–,” he meant just that and now it’s said and now he’s never going to take it back, even if you hate him for it. “i meant that,” he says it firm and true this time, “i love you, so i can’t lose you.”

the way he looks at you, right into your eyes like they’re the prettiest things he’s ever seen, like you’re the best thing he’s ever had, oh, it has you hooked like bait has a fish who bit down too hard. it has you praying he never looks at anybody else like that again. it has you rising out of your seat and it’s pulling you across the small, wobbly table. he’s wedged into the grooves of your heart, so deep it could kill you to pull him out, so you follow the tug and he leans in too so the line isn’t so taught, so that it’s easy and comfortable and beautiful to reach his lips. 

his hands are like a net that catches you up in big, lovely swaths. they travel from your own hands, that lean against the table to keep your lips pressed to his, up to your elbows and then he knows he can never get enough. so he pushes up out of his own seat, drags his hands further up your arms until they can wrap around your biceps and push you up. not for a moment does he let his lips leave yours as he stands and pulls the both of you away from the table until he can bring you close, right into his wide, warm chest. then his hands can roam, gentle over your sensitive back, up to your neck then the back of your head to push your face into his. the other hand gets to go from your waist to your hips, or dip to the small of your back and press you flush to him.

you can only get away from him for a second, just enough time to whisper, “i love you, too,” before he swallows you back up. you melt right into him, and he loves it so much, but he feels how tired you are and he remembers he is too. so he only kisses you for a minute longer before letting your head rest on his shoulder. without any reservation, he presses a long kiss to your temple and you sigh a sweet sigh into his worn out tshirt.

unwilling to let go, he waddles with you, all bundled up into his arms, to the edge of the bed. without warning, he collapses into it, taking you right down with him and pulling out a little shriek from your mouth that he finds to be nothing short of endearing. he laughs, a belly laugh that you can feel the vibrations of as it moves up into his chest and out of those pretty lips of his. with some struggle to readjust yourself, you press a sweet peck to those lips. another easy i love you.

then you collapse back into his hold and the low quality plush of the motel bed. “now promise me you’ll pull yourself together next time we get a case?” this time your ask is so much more lighthearted, sweeter because it’s mumbled into the skin of his arm. you mean it just as much, but you can’t help the fact that you feel like you’re floating, “now i really, really can’t have you getting us in trouble. i’ll need to be able to kiss you at any given moment, so you have to promise me that you’ll trust me to take care of myself. because it works, and you know it. it’s the safest way. for both of us.”

the sigh he heaves can be felt through practically your whole body. it’s heavier than you wish it’d be, but he relaxes against you just a bit more. “i know,” he relents, “i’ll do my best, okay?”

“thank you,” you breathe out, too relieved to care that he couldn’t quite promise. you know this all means he’ll just be more protective of you, but you can say the same for yourself. now that you’ve kissed him and he’s told you he loves you and you’ve said it back, right against his lips, you’ll worry about him extra. but the both of you know the best ways to keep each other alive, and that has to be enough for you. you allow yourself to snuggle closer into him before joking, “d’you think dean’s ever gonna come back?”

you feel sam’s quiet laugh more than you hear it. “yeah, he really did us a favor with that one, didn’t he?” you can hear the smile in his voice before he remembers himself, “do not tell him i said that.” having you in his arms like this has got him a little giddy, saying things aloud that he normally wouldn’t.

letting out a laugh of your own, you promise, “i won’t. but i’m starting to get hungry. maybe we should call him and tell him the coast is clear, we didn’t tear the room to shreds or anything like that.”

sam chuckles again, and you decide very quickly that you like the way it feels for him to laugh with you so close. neither of you move, not to get a phone to call dean or to stop yourselves from growing drowsy. not for anything.

you’re half asleep when you hear the familiar sound of the impala’s engine near the room. it turns off, then comes the sound of its front door being open and shut. just because you’re hungry and it spells the arrival of food, you force your eyes open and let out a groan when you wiggle your arms out of sam’s hold to stretch. the way his hands shift to your waist as you do so has you a bit flustered and you wonder if you’re supposed to pretend in front of dean that you haven’t spent the last half hour kissing and cuddling. but sam doesn't seem to care, because he just sits up when the door’s lock clicks, one hand by your head to hold him up, the other still settled decidedly on your waist. so you decide not to care either, and turn your head around to accidentally grin at dean when he peeks his head through the door. you had meant to look casual, but the second someone else becomes a witness to the fact that you’re laying together like this, you’re beaming.

dean visibly relaxes when he takes in the sight, pushing the door all the way open to walk in, then lock the door back up behind him.

“hey, there,” is all he says, shooting the both of you a look that says, really, you’re just gonna keep sitting there like that in front of me? it’s not that bad, but he’s allowed to tease because he just turned a twenty minute food trip into an hour purely for yours and sam’s sake. you clear your throat awkwardly, and only when you sit up does sam’s hand fall away from you.

you pad over to the table as dean places the paper bag of fast food on the surface. he drags over an extra mismatched chair and sam follows close behind you, pulling the remaining chair to sit beside you. as you begin to pull food out from the bag, now clearly gone cold to the touch, dean sits down, complaining that they didn’t have pie, so he bought you two cookies for dessert instead.

“well, thank you for the food anyways,” you smile, hoping he picks up on the fact that you’re thanking him for the other thing too, “damn shame there was no pie, though,” you say, more for his sake than yours. you wonder why he didn’t just pick some up from somewhere else since he was gone so long.

“mhmm, and don’t sweat about the pie. just got a slice somewhere else,” he shrugs, “ate it in the car, there was only one slice left and i didn’t want you to feel like you were missing out,” he explains with that familiar teasing edge which makes you think he indeed caught onto the double meaning of your thanks. you let out a small huff of laughter before tearing into the food, only now realizing just how hungry you are. you’d felt it creep up on you on the car ride back, smiled at the mention of food from dean, even stupidly thought about it during a quiet moment in the argument with sam. but the second your lips found his, that was the only hunger you’d felt. to keep kissing him, to keep him close, keep him loving you. only when you settled all the way into his arms, sure that you’d be able to satiate that hunger again, could your body remember you hadn’t eaten since early this afternoon.

the three of you eating like this, late at night and without much conversation, is common and comfortable. dean is on what you assume to be his second burger, because there’s no way he’d have just sat in the car, probably parked in a random lot and wondering how long he should be gone, and just waited to eat an extra-bacon burger until he came back. sam’s nearly the same as always, too, but tonight he sits so close that his forearm brushes against yours. you bump elbows or knees every so often, and the side of his socked foot is pressed against yours the entire time.

you sigh, content with the nearness of him that’s so much more complete and full than it was just hours ago. now, there’s no need to hover. now, you can just swoop in and land, take what you want, give what the other needs.

dean makes no teasing comments, but you can feel the way he’s been examining, reading the two of you. you’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something aloud, but you know that he knows the two of you so well that he understands almost exactly what must’ve happened while he was gone. maybe he’s not teasing because this is the outcome he wanted to come back to. he probably knows better than the both of you how you were crushing, pining even, over the other.

he takes his turn in the shower when he finishes his food, and you and sam begin to clean up a few minutes later. once all the trash is crumbled up and tossed away, you go around and turn off all the lights but a single bedside lamp. as you turn away from clicking off the lamp in the corner of the room, sam’s right there in front of you. you don’t have the time to be startled by him sneaking up on you, he’s so quick to cup your face with his hands and slot his lips against yours. he lingers a long moment before pulling apart just enough to rest his forehead on yours.

“gonna kiss you forever,” he whispers, and you realize you’ve turned this giant man into a complete and utter sap. 

“you better.” your grin is wide and real and he can almost feel your lips moving, he’s so close. just as you’re ready to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him hard, the steady white noise of the shower shuts off. you sigh and laugh a little, leaning in to steal one more chaste kiss before brushing past him. but he turns with you, hands still warm on your cheeks and not letting go until he’s kissed you once more.

when dean’s gone from the bathroom, sam follows you in to brush his teeth with you. you’ve done so plenty of times, but tonight, sam gets to loop his free arm around your waist and pull you into him, rather than stand shoulder to shoulder in the cramped space. he gets to make you giggle through toothpaste when he does so, and you get to switch your toothbrush to your other hand and wrap your own arm around his waist, too. he gets to make you laugh dangerously harder when he tightens his hold on you to prevent you from bending and spitting into the sink when you’re done. you try to hold back the laughter with your mouth full of toothpaste, then he’s the one laughing around his toothbrush because there’s white, foamy spit rolling down your chin from the corner of your mouth and threatening to drip to your dark-colored tshirt. of course, he lets you spit and rinse your mouth, relishing in the continued sound of your laughter.

“you asshole! almost ruined my shirt til the next time we make a laundry stop!” you take revenge as he rinses out his own mouth, splashing the running water onto his face as he swishes water around in his mouth. 

he spits the water out in surprise and sputters an indignant, “hey!” before he bursts into laughter again.

you’re both giddy, high off of kissing each other, and silly from the exhaustion of a hunt, so he tugs you into him by your hips and keeps laughing into the crook of your neck. you wrap your arms around his neck and thread your fingers up through his soft, newly washed hair. you kiss the closest thing you can reach and he melts right into your arms.

it’s only when you yawn that he pulls away from you. “we should get to bed, huh?”

you nod and twist towards the door, peeking through it to see dean sleeping in his bed, his still form highlighted by the warm light of the cheap lamp. taking sam’s hand with a shy smile, you lead him to the other bed, turning off the last light and climbing under the covers with him not far behind. he loops his arm under your head, then the other over your waist to splay his hand flat across the small of your back. the way he does it is exactly the way you wished he would, as if he’s thought about holding you like this every night you share a bed, just as you had. with a final glance towards dean, he kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

you try to stifle the giggle that the soft, ticklish contact of his lips wants to pull from your chest, praying that dean is really as asleep as he looks. the both of you stiffen a bit when you hear dean’s blankets rustling, but you let out another breathy, quiet laugh when it goes silent again.

sam’s about to kiss you all over again when dean’s voice rings out into the hush of the night, startling you both.

“no shenanigans while i’m asleep, lovebirds,” he grunts.

that brings more laughter out of your lips and a rush of heat to your face that you’re sure sam feels, too. he just groans in annoyance at his brother, because of course dean had to get in at least one borderline dirty comment. neither of you really answer as dean shifts around in his bed again, likely turning his back to you and mumbling something mostly unintelligible. 

the only word you can catch is “finally.”

[didouille]

Polytrix Hot Take

Ok so , tbh, I far prefer huntrix as platonic soulmates rather than them being romanticaly involved , because that kind of unconditional love ? Is somthing we don’t cherish enough in our society today - because media will alway prefer romantic involvement over friendship - Hence why this movie is so great (for going against all that)

But before we get into platonic huntri/x some day, let’s actually consider this for a hot second. Let’s think about Polytrix (because i won’t lie, that shit got me in chokehold these days)

So let’s talk about it. Taking the canon universe, with everything that’s happened. The Saja Boys. All the deaths. All Rumi had to go throw and hide. The whole shabang

How would that first conversation happen ? How do you even tell your two best friends you're in love with them, romanticaly.

I'm guessing it would spring some weeks or months after the events of the movie. After everyone having to workout the angst from all the lying and hidding from Rumi's part , and all the rewiring Zoey and Mira have to do about their views on demons. And the trauma of losing all those fans, all those people. Let’s say they somehow get through that, which is no easy labor, Then what ?

Does it all start in that vulnerability ? Does it all begin because for the first time in years, all of them get to truely wholeheartedly be themselves ? Without shame , without fear of judgment. Their bond was strong , but it’s still going to take some getting used to that new layer of fucking rawness.

Learning to shed all those bad habits, all thoses doubts to figuratively (and quite litterly) finally strip naked in front of each other ?

Does it happen because one day Zoey hugs Mira for a little too long, and it somehow feels weird for the first time ? Not necessarily bad, though it’s kind of hard to tell.

Is it in the way Mira accidently brushes Rumi's hand on some shopping trip - And though it happens all the time because they always all fool around, somehow the touch feels suprinsingly unexpected ?

Or is it when Rumi leans a little closer to Zoey that night they watch a scary movie and though they’re all quite aquainted with touch, it somehow fells different, more private, this time.

Is it in the way they can all share a bathroom, now that Rumi isn’t scared of hiding her marks? And Mira will barge in, butt-naked without warning (Zoey’s used to it) as they all get showered down from the day - Though they go by steps because chances are, Rumi doesn’t even feel comfortable with the girls seing her body even just for a shower because of all those years of self-loathing. So Mira pretends to be loud and totally unmoved by her habits, but does actually really care and is careful as not to overwhelm Rumi.

Do they all fall in love simultaneously without knowing it ??? I feel like it would probably happen between Zoey and Mira first, knowing how much closer they got to be all those years Rumi stayed distant. I feel like Rumi would take sm more time to come to terms with the idea of even like one of her best friends, let alone THE TWO OF THEM.

And let’s not forget the context of South Koreen habits and culture. How well are they doing with self-internelized homo-phobia ? Because i bet Celine sure as shit won’t be the one to help them with that . (Part of me really hopes none of them would be homophobic because of internet and them being young right ?)

One of the girls would definitely go to Bobby for help. Heck , they’d probably all go in line without knowing it ! (He is babygirl please also protect this man, he would do anything for these girls, even relationship therapy)

Anyways, just some random thoughts from the top of my head. Now can somebody do me some 50K fics with multiple chapters of all this shit because I need answers and i am absolutely feral for them

[ineffablecabbage]

So I keep reading lawsuit Era fics and lol. WHY do they all have Buck be so FURIOUS at Chim and Maddie? Why are Chimney and Maddie such ... villains? They ... didn't do anything?

Meanwhile, it's all "EDDIE LOVES AND CARES SO MUCH ABOUT BUCK?" ???????????? Is the love in the room with us? Or was it in the grocery store? lmao.

Eddie, objectively, treated Buck like shit from the beginning of season 3. This is filtering out ship fics, and these fics are still pretending that Eddie is going to argue with Bobby. Eddie "you should respect the chain of command." Eddie "you made Bobby out to be the bad guy." Eddie "you only think of yourself."

Chimney defended Buck more than Eddie ever did. Not as much as Hen, true, but he still had sympathy for what Buck was going through in the store and when Buck came back. He gave silly advice, but he also gave silly advice to Hen when she first got there ... that is also true. So it's not meant out of malice. Maddie ... was too busy having a completely break down. She certainly wasn't trying to keep Buck from being a firefighter (yes, she was worried previously, but making her a bigger villian than Eddie fucking Diaz is crazy.)

I know the answer is that people want Eddie's cock to touch Buck's, but it's so fucking stupid.

I"m allowing that something will happen later on that I haven't gotten to yet (I do know about the Chimney punch) but even still... lol. this villainization of Chimney and Maddie during this period is wild.

[edengoesmeow]

Bobby one-shot :3 (Kpop Demon Hunters)

Summary: you come home to an insecure and sad Bobby because of f*ckass haters on the internet so you comfort and assure him that he is a awesome and also cuddling yippee

this is a Bobby x Reader type thing from a 2nd person perspective

no gendered terms/gender anonymous!!

‼️BEGINNER WRITER‼️this is my 1st completed fic

⤷ advice is highly appreciated! also I usually don't do 2nd person so yeah, just don't be an asshole 👍

started writing this at 2:11 am! on July 23 2025

also up on my Ao3 account!! <- link

⬐ this cool divider is from cafekitsune! (underlined is a link)

Finally at home, you sighed. A good sigh! A relieved sigh.

A 6 hour shift at work today!

And now I get to hang out with him! Ooh maybe we could watch a movie! You think while putting your stuff down and prying off your shoes. And then...you hear something, quiet sniffling and sobbing, coming from...your bedroom?

"Bobby?" you call out. No response. "Are you okay? My love?"

Hes is the only one who has a key to your apartment, other than you, obviously. Hoping that maybe it's someone else, or you're hearing things that aren't real, or just anything else than what is true.

Carefully creeping over to the bedroom, you crack open the door and take a peek inside.

And on the bed,

is Bobby.

Crying. Swollen eyes, hair disheveled and sniffling.

Enveloped in what seems like a thousand blankets and holding his phone loosely. He finally notices you, and starts wiping away the tears, fixing his hair and unfurling from his blanket cocoon, trying to appear like he's doing fine.

"Ah! Hi honey, how...uh, how was work today?" he said, voice shaking a bit. "I wasn't expecting you to come home this early though! Haha.."

You hug him, the biggest hug you could muster up! He's hurt. He's hurt and he just needs you right now.

He paused for a second, then wrapped his arms around you too. Quiet whimpers turning into full on sobbing. And after a while of him crying on your shoulder, he let go.

"What is it? What's wrong, Robert?" you asked, very clearly worried.

"Nothing! I wouldn't want to worry you or anything, its...its stupid anyway. Not anything important, I'll get over it," he replied, looking off to the side.

"Hmmmmmmmm, okayyyy. I know this look, please tell me, its ok. Also, if you're crying about it I think that's probably important, and...I think you're important, for what it's worth" you argued, cause there is NO WAY someone should think about themselves in that way within your radius.

Silence.

And then.

"There are some...comments. Online..." he said, quietly, just barely above a whisper. Still looking down but more embarrassed now.

"Mhm, yessssss? keep talking..!"

"And they said that im a bad manager who cant even keep them on schedule. And they said I'm unprofessional. And they said I'm embarrassing. And they said I'm ugly." He started tearing up again.

"And they say Rumi and Mira and Zoey should just abandon me. And they say that everyone actually just hates me but are too nice to tell me. And all of them are probably right and-" suddenly your finger was on his lips to shush him.

"Well, why does it matter what "they" think about you? They don't know you, but I do, and Rumi does, and Mira does, and Zoey does. We know who you are. But do you know who you really are?"

"You're capable, smart, funny, beautiful, trying your best, and loved." you said while cupping his cute face in your hand, slowly going from his cheek to his jaw to his chin. "And you should know it."

He smiled. He smiled his genuine, wholesome smile, eyes glossy and everything.

"I love you," he said softly. "So much."

He kissed you tenderly on the cheek, a long kiss.

And for just a moment, you and him communicated things beyond words. It was perfect.

"Okay, you big sap!" You jabbed him playfully with your elbow. "Which...I am one too, especially for you," you said while walking your hand along his thigh. Making him tense a little.

"Well, my original plan for tonight was to watch a movie or TV show and eat jajangmyeon in our bed. So, do ya want to do that?" you asked to lighten the mood, cause even though you're the therapist of the group, emotions are still hard.

He smirked mischievously, said "I have a better idea!" and scooped you into a hug, rolled you onto the bed, nestled his face in your collarbone area, and put one leg over your calf. An optimal cuddling position!

"Hmm, I think this is better" you whispered in his ear, running your hands through his smooth, shiny hair. And drifted off to sleep.

finished at 5:21 am on July 23 2025!!! finally a oneshot I've made that's ACTUALLY A ONESHOT. (now that I've polished the layout of this post its now 5:42 am)

GANG I GOT TO THE FANFIC STAGE IM DOOMED /hj

ty for reading this!! I hope u liked my early mornin/late night creative bursts :D

reblogs are more encouraged than likes!!