#safe to say my brain is COOKED and I’m exhausted

[grimoireskin]

❝ Roman’s tongue flicks out, tasting the hollow of my throat before he captures my mouth in another searing kiss, cutting off the moan that was about to slip from my lips.

I feel his hands slide down to my hips, gripping them firmly as he pulls me onto his lap again—the only difference now is that I’m straddling him. My cheeks heat up when I feel his hard length pressing against the fabric of my panties through his jeans.

“Tell me what you want. I need to hear you say it.” Roman says, breaking the kiss, his voice low and husky.❞

TWO DAYS AND I FINALLY FINISHED THAT CHAPTER—IT WAS DRIVING ME INSANE. Just a humble (and small) sneak peek of my first piece of smut ever. I'm glad to inform that I SURVIVED. I survived with a lot of Mr. Worldwide, Two feet, Glory box on REPEAT AND I see red.

i'll give everything I HAVE just to sit on that man’s lap, he’s so yummy it drives me NUTS. 👹 k, bye. love y’all 🫶🏻

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 1 - In My Brain and In My Blood

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: This story is non-canon compliant rewrite, but primarily plot wise. Think of it as we're cooking with all the same ingredients (i.e lore, characters, setting, and backstory) but with one change (you) that gets us to a drastically different ending.

What the means is that there will be a lot of similar plot points to the real Supernatural, but the further we go through the story the more it will diverge. I've also take some creative labor with the reader, adding lore that's defiantly not a part of canon, but crucial to this story.

If you have any questions about this, feel free to ask! If not, I hope you enjoy the story!

Chapter title is from The End by Halsey

Word Count: 16.3k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: See the Masterlist for a Summary. Contains usual tags.

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

Chapter 2

Read on A03!

You know a few things about the dark.

It’s alive inside you. It has been your whole life. It makes your words too harsh and your brain too sharp and your love too big. It’s makes you too fragile, but still too sharp, and raises everything to a dangerous height you don’t know how to come down from. It makes everyone move away because they can see it. You can see it, always.

It covers every corner of your body, and grows roots in something white in your chest. Something no one but you can see. You’d asked your dad once—does he feel it too, feel the strange glow and pull of everything beautiful around you—and he’d looked at you like you were insane.

You might be.

But it’s hard not to be, in this line of work. 

Hunting. Monsters and ghosts and nightmares, all around you and calling to you in your sleep. It’s where most of the darkness lives, in the way that few monsters lay hands on you, no matter how much of their blood you shed. Ghosts will treat you like any other, but the monsters look at you like they recognize you. 

Like you’re one of them.

And that’s something you’ve never told your dad. You never will. He already hates that you do this, and not a month goes by where he doesn’t glare at you from across the table, beer bottle in hand, and ask you to stop.

“Kiddo,” he’d grunted the last time, narrowing his eyes at you over dinner. “That was the last one.”

“You say that every time-“

“And you ain’t listenin’ to me every time!” He’d snapped. “You don’t have to do this shit, not with your-“ He’d made a face, giving you a pointed look. “Ya’ know. Thing.”

“Witch.” You’d sighed. “You’re allowed to say it. I’m a witch.”

“You ain’t a witch-“

“I’m not a normal witch.” You’d corrected with a frown, picking at the wood of the table. “But I’m still not human.”

“You’re human,” he’d muttered your name, and when you’d looked up, he’d been staring at you with an exhausted expression and you’d felt something eat at your tongue. “But you’re right. You ain’t normal, kiddo, and it’s gonna get you fuckin’ killed-“

“It hasn’t yet-“

“It will. It always does.” He’d stood, giving you one last, tired look. “And I’m not tryin’ to lose you too.”

You’d given him a close-lipped smile. “You won’t lose me. I’m being careful.”

He’d rolled his eyes—you were being careful, and he knew it, but it still pissed him off—and nodded. And that had been it.

It’s like that every time. He tells you to quit, because you don’t need to do this, and you tell him you have to. You’re good at it. You’re more resourceful than half the hunters he knows, smarter than all of them, and better by a mile. He’d trained you. He hadn’t wanted to, but he’d realized it was either him teaching you or you learning through trial and error, and he’d decided you being a pain in his freakin’ ass was better than you being dead.

Because—in the end—all he really cares about is that you’re safe. It’s why you know to be careful, why you know what hunts to call for backup on, and why you know that—if you need to—you can crawl back home with your guts in your hand and he won’t yell at you until you’re better. Keeping you safe is his job, more than hunting, more than research, more than cars. He’d chosen to do it when he’d found you—eight years old and starving on the side of a highway—and it had stayed that way ever since. It didn’t matter what you were, what seemed to be inside of you, or how you were certainly more trouble that you were worth. He always made sure you were safe.

Safe from your real family, for what you know and refuse to be. Safe from the worst of the monsters and ghosts, who don’t seem to care for that horrible kinship you don’t know how to stop. Safe from hunters, and how they’ll hate you for what you know how to do.

Safe from John Winchester, and how he’ll put a bullet in your brain without question for what you don’t know how to change.

It’s the top rule. Stay away from the Winchesters. When John comes around for a hunt, hide in your room. When he drops his boys off before vanishing for weeks at a time, sneak out and call your uncle. He’ll pick you up, keep you safe, and drop you back home when the brothers leave. They can’t see you, because they’re loyal to their father and will tell him about the witch-girl who made the wind howl louder than it should’ve. John can’t know about you, because he’s a complicated man with a good heart, but he’ll hurt you worse than any ghost or monster could. 

But you have to say—at least from this distance—he doesn’t look that dangerous.

You know it’s him. You recognize his car in the parking lot from seeing it in your dad’s yard, and recognize his voice from the living room of your house. It’s clearer now—no longer muffled through a door you’d keep an ear pressed to—and you’re certain it’s him. 

And he’s just a man. A broad-shouldered, tired man with a face that doesn’t seem like it’s ever smiledand dark hair that’s streaked with slight silver. He even sounds exhausted, his voice laced with a thin irritation he either doesn’t know how to hide, or doesn’t care to.

“Dean,” he grunts, and you can’t see who he’s talking to, the bookshelves of the library only revealing John’s cold, set face. “Go back to the morgue and look at the bodies again. See if you can get a blood type on the vics.”

“A blood type?” A second voice, this one so clearly younger, a little defiant and bright, asks. “Dad, why do we care about their blood type-“

“Because this bitch is spilling it left and right, and we need to work out what skin she’s got in that game.” John’s words are short, impatient. “And you’re not here to ask me questions, Sam, you’re here to get through these damn books. Dean, go to the morgue.”

“Yes, sir.” That’s a third voice. It’s pretty. Deeper than the second—Sam’s—but not as tired as John’s. Mostly just cautious. “Can I, uh, can I take Sammy-“

“No.” John snaps. “I need him here for the readin’. Take the car and go.”

There’s a soft sound of metal ringing through the air, a scrape of wood on the floor, and you almost don’t move fast enough. You almost don’t duck behind the shelf in time for the third voice—the pretty one, Dean—to pass you, humming something you’d recognize if you weren’t lost in your panic.

Dean doesn’t see you.

But you see him.

And it’s not just his voice that’s pretty. 

You don’t know a lot about the Winchester brothers. Only what your dad has told you. Dean’s three years older than you, Sam’s a year younger. Dean likes music, Sam likes books. They’re both good boys—better than your dad seems to think John deserves, although he’ll never say that out loud—but Sam can be defiant and Dean can be trouble.

You hope Dean’s trouble. He has to be, when he looks like that. 

Because in only a split second of his side profile, you’re sure Dean Winchester is the prettiest man you’ve ever seen. Will ever see. It’s almost ethereal, and a little unfair. All of his features are clean and strong, like someone carved him from marble, but there’s a scar you could see on his jaw and a cut on his lower lip that made him seem human. Made his seem tangible. 

Touchable.

You’d like to touch him. You’ve seen him once, but everything in your body seems to think the world will collapse if you don’t touch him now. If you don’t at least talk to him. Hear his deep, charming voice directed at you. See at his face up close, see it’s clear resemble to John that feels pointless, because Dean looks like he smiles. He looks like he’s meant to smile, and you’d really like to find out if he’d smile at you. 

And that white thing—the one you feel all the time—seems to really like him. Even the darkness is trying to reach out to him, move into him, and you’re not really sure what the fuck is happening. He’d just walked past you, and your body is suddenly trapped by something overwhelming and dizzying in your lungs, your every nerve prickling the longer your brain circles him. The longer it spirals around his beautiful face, and full lips, and the way his voice sounded like something even bigger than the darkness in your body-

“Hey, Dad?” That same voice cuts through your thoughts, a little raised as Dean calls between the shelves. “Are you feeling anything from the beer earlier?”

“No.” John’s voice is clipped as he responds, and you can hear the frown in his voice. “You feelin’ alright, son?”

“Yeah, uh-“ There’s a heavy pause, and you can hear Dean shuffling slightly just out of your sight. “I dunno. Must’ve stood up too fast.”

“Dad, if he feels light headed he might not be safe to drive-“

“I’m alright, Sammy.” Dean’s words are fast. Not frantic, but rapid. “Nothing’s gonna happen to the car, Dad, I promise.”

John grunts. “Better not. Get moving, Dean, we don’t got all night.”

“Yes, sir.” 

You hear Dean shuffle away, sounds of flipping paper and scratching pencils re-filling the air, and you’re trapped in your spot. You shouldn’t follow Dean. Following Dean will almost certainly end in meeting John, and that’s the one thing you’re never supposed to do. Your dad doesn’t fight you when you leave for months at a time, or cross paths with other hunters, or run dangerous scams to keep yourself afloat. He’s okay with more than he probably should be, and he never tells you that you can’t do something. 

But you can’t talk to John Winchester. 

He can’t know who you are. What you are.

So you can’t follow Dean. Your brain is deeply aware that following Dean would be a truly horrible idea, and your body seems to be on board. There’s iron around your lungs when John mutters something to Sam, and a sore shot of electrically whenever one of them stands up to move books around. You’re really good at running. You know exactly when to call it and go. You can sense danger so easily—it’s the same chill of needles ice running up your spine, every single time—and John is dangerous. And you really shouldn’t follow Dean.

But the White thing keeps bucking around inside you. You can almost see it rush and roar in the air, feel it thrash deep down—past your heart chamber and embedded a little to the right—to try and follow Dean Winchester. And it feeds the darkness. It starts to twinge and pulse, seeping and infecting your muscles and blood, locking around your skull and making everything far too big. You can feel it all. The books on the shelves that all read Dean, and the squeak of the floors that say his name, and the lights start to flicker as the air turns humid and cool.

“Dad-“

“I’m seein’ it, Sammy, grab the gun-“

You raise the back of your hand to your mouth and bite. Hard. Grounding yourself before the flood can burst out of your body, before John Winchester could find out who you are in the worst way possible.

And when you run—out the back and to your stolen Lexus—you don’t even realize where you’re going until you’re halfway there.

To the morgue.

After Dean.

It’s a terrible idea. You have ten, long minutes of driving to figure out every way in which this is a terrible idea. You don’t know him. This will distract you from the case. John Winchester will try to kill you. Your dad will kill you. And there’s a high chance it will all be for nothing, because everything in you that’s calling to Dean belongs to that white thing. And that’s a part of you, and no one else. There’s a chance that this—whatever the fuck this is—is something driven by what you are, what’s wrong with you, so Dean won’t feel it at all.

You know all of that. And you still make it the whole drive without turning around. You park and rifle through your glove compartment for a fake ID, pull on your stiff, too-itchy well officer, would a fraud wear this? Jacket, and still don’t turn the engine back on and book it out of town. You even manage to justify it. You’re working this case too. You were here first. You’d noticed the blood thing from the start—it’s why you took the case—but you just hadn’t gotten to the morgue yet. You’d already been planning on it, and Dean just happens to be here at the same time. 

No matter what, you’ll get through it. You always get through it. And this might be a horrible idea, but that knowledge won’t stop you from stepping out of the car and making your way to the morgue. Know something has never really stopped you, and no amount of twisting bile in your gut—telling you to run, because you don’t love life, but you’d really rather not be murdered today—is going to prevent you from doing this. Nothing is stronger than the White in your chest, and it wants to talk to Dean Winchester. 

So that’s exactly what you’re going to do.

It is, as always, worryingly easy to get into the morgue. Half of the work is flashing the badge and saying the right words—Agent Smith, from the insurance company, I need to take a look at the autopsies for the claims—but most of it is the confidence. You carry yourself like a haughty, too-good-for-this-morgue insurance agent. Your chin is raised when you stop at the desk, and your words to the receptionist are impatient and clipped, and God, it makes you feel like the scum of the earth how she’s nervous and apologetic, but you get in the door. You always get in the door, because this is the simple part. The smiles with teeth, and the lies you spit through them are so fucking simple.

The hard part is always different. Sometimes it’s the ghosts that follow you after a failure, the ones that can’t be killed with salt and fire. Sometimes it’s long nights that you don’t have time tp sleep, and the tug and rot of that darkness in your chest tries to push to the surface. Sometimes it’s a puzzle you barely manage to solve, and it costs a little bit more of your flesh and soul each time.

But today, it’s Dean Winchester. Or, as the receptionist calls him, Officer Costello.

“Officer?” You raise your brows. “So the cops are looking into a serial killer.”

“I, um-“ The receptionist flushes, her eyes widening slightly. “I don’t know, he just said he was from a town over, and our Chief asked him to take a look, I’m not-“

“I’ll just ask him while I’m in there.” You shrug, the receptionist’s mouth opens in likely protest, and you call over your shoulder as you walk away. “I need to know for the report!”

You push through the doors—nobody chasing after you a sign of success—turn into the mortuary’s office, and freeze at the sight before you. 

Dean’s hunched over the mortuary’s desk, frowning at the largest stack of papers you’ve ever seen, and shit, he’s even prettier up close. Spiky hair and slightly tanned, freckled skin, rough looking hands sorting through the files and full lips in a frown and what the fuck is happening to you-

His head shoots up, eyes widening—green eyes, deep and vibrant and you need to get a goddamn grip—and you stare at each other for a long, confusing second before he finally speaks.

“Ma’am, if you could wait for the doctor outside please, this is, uh, official police business-“

You scoff, even as your whole body hums from the deep, smooth sound of his voice. “Is that really the excuse you’re going to use?”

Dean tenses, dropping the papers on the desk and rising to his full height, glaring down at you. He’s really tall, and broad, and probably warm-

“Excuse me? If you don’t exit this office right now, I’ll have reason to put you under arrest-“

“What reason?”

He blinks at you. “Interfering in police business-“

“Fake police business?”

“I’m not, this isn’t-“ Dean shakes his head, eyes narrowing on yours. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m a fake insurance agent.” You lift your badge up from him to see, giving a sweet, fake smile. “And you’re a hunter.”

“Lady, I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about-“

“I think you do.” You step forward, dropping into a seat across the desk. “To start, you’re definitely not a cop. Cops don’t drive muscle cars and raid morgue documents.”

He frowns, still watching you wearily. “How’d you know that’s my car?”

You’d slipped a little. You shouldn’t know that’s the Winchester’s car. But you’re quick on your feet, and by the time you say the lie it might as well be the truth. “Only three cars in the lot. Mine, the black one, and a minivan. And you don’t really seem like a minivan guy.”

Dean grunts, his body still braced and words tense. “I could be allowed to drive whatever car I want on duty-“

You give him an amused expression, tucking your knees into your chest as you lean back in your seat.  “You’re like, twenty. There’s no way they’d let you drive your own car. Or,” you raise your brows. “Ask you investigate a bunch of weird murders by yourself.”

Dean frowns, but drops in the swivel chair behind the desk. “I’m twenty-one,” he mutters, and you snort. 

“Congratulations-“

“And you,” his eyes shoot to yours, voice dropping into a low drawl that felt like it could be dangerous, but mostly made you feel a little fuzzy. “Haven’t answered my question. Who are you?”

You say your full name—the real one, that you’d been given at birth and he’d never connect to your dad—and drop your feet back to the floor, extending your hand across the desk. “I’m a hunter too.”

Dean chuckles, but meets your hand with a grin. “Yeah, I figured that part out myself, Princess. Dean Winchester.”

You shake his hand, and your smile must make you look like an idiot. It’s far too wide just from him telling you his name and touching your skin—he is warm, and his hands are calloused and big and still so soft—but there’s something like lightning sparking and shooting over your skin, and the White inside you is shining like a star. Pulsing and glowing and molding with the darkness. Making nothing really seem that bad at all. 

Dean’s smiling back. And you’d been right. His face is meant to smile. It’s meant to have this broad, cocky grin that’s full of teasing joy and a bright-eyed delight in something you can’t quite place. You really can’t tell if he can feel it. There’s a glint in his eyes that’s full of promises, but you can’t figure out if he can feel this. This raging tug in your body that keeps your hand in his longer than it needs to be, that makes his skin feel like a furnace and your heart feel right in your body.

He might. He really might feel it. His hand stays in yours as well, his grip a little tighter than it needs to be, and when you manage to pull away, he clears his throat—a small, adorable blush covering his pretty face—and stares at you like you’ve fallen from the sky, and you’re still covered in stardust.

“So, uh,” Dean glances down at the papers, then back to you. “You here for the autopsy reports?”

You nod, crossing your legs under your body. “Yep. You gonna share?”

“That depends.” Dean shrugs, shooting you another, very mind-numbing smirk. “You gonna help us out?”

“Us?” You tilt your head at him, twisting a ring on your finger. “You’ve got a partner?”

“Partners.” Dean corrects you with a grin. “My dad and brother. We always hunt together, it’s safer and Sammy’s still a kid, so-“ He cuts himself off, his face falling into a small frown. “Do you, are you hunting alone?”

“Mostly, yeah.” You shrug. “But I can help you out-“

“You, you shouldn’t be hunting alone.” Dean cuts you off with a shake of his head, his voice almost disbelieving. “It’s not safe. Gonna get you killed.”

“Uh huh.” You narrow your eyes, your voice becoming dry and bored. “Do you want my help, Dean Winchester?”

“Sure, but-“

“Then drop it, give me the papers, and let me help.”

He frowns. “You’re kinda bossy.”

“Yeah, well, you’re kinda-“

“It’s not bad.” He pushes some of the files across the desk, shooting you a wink. “Just making sure you know.”

“Oh.” You stare at him. He’s so pretty, and his smile does weird things to your gut and ribs and the White inside of you. “Uh-“

“I’ll take these.” Dean taps the files still in front of him, watching you with a strange expression. “You got those?”

“Sure.” You mumble, pulling the papers into your lap. “Um, thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He shrugs. “More hands, we’ll be done faster. You, uh, you know what you’re lookin’ for-“

“Blood.” You flip open the first file, playing with the corner of a page as you speak. “Every vic’s been covered in it. It’s uh,” you grimace slightly, an image of a corpse painted red flashing in your head. “It’s been really gross.”

Dean hums in agreement, giving you a curious look. “You’ve seen all the bodies?”

“Most of them,” you look down to the file, flipping through it until you find the blood report “I’ve been here for like, five days.”

“Huh.” He frowns, looking down to his own paper. “We’ve been here four. Only seen two of them.”

“Well, maybe I’m just better at my job.”

He laughs, and when you glance back up, he’s grinning. “Sure, Princess.”

You kick him under the desk, and he makes a fake sound of pain.

“What was that for?!“

“Making fun of me,” you stick your tongue out at him, not looking up from your papers. “Not very nice, Winchester.”

“You made fun of me-“

“And if you wanna kick me, I won’t stop you-“

“I’m not gonna kick a lady-“

“Well then.” You shrug, unable to fight the smile on your face. “That’s not my fault, is it?”

He huffs, his voice dropping to a low mutter you can still defiantly hear. “Bossy.”

“That’s not being bossy, it’s-“ You cut yourself off, leaning down to re-read the file in front of you. “Shit.”

“It is shit,” Dean complains, and you can hear the pout in his voice as you grab the next file in your stack, rushing through the report to find what you’re looking for. “You’re lucky I-“

“No, that’s not-” you look up at him, your brain moving too fast to fully linger on why you might be lucky. “Give me your file.”

Dean frowns, but slides the paper over the desk. “What-“

You raise your hand, scanning over the file and grinning as you find what you’re looking for. “I’ve got it.” 

“Got what-“

“That blood wasn’t only the vics. It was their’s, plus,” you turn the page for Dean to read, pointing to the words. “All the previous vics. Mixed together. That’s why there’s been more and more every time.”

“Oh.” Dean leans forward, scanning over the page. “Kinda like a really gross blood cocktail?”

“Exactly.” You grin at him. “I know what we’re looking for.”

He looks back up at you, raising his brows. “You gonna tell me, or-“

“It’s a moroi.” You drop the files, leaning back and pushing your feet back up on the desk. “It explains the messiness perfectly.”

“No,” Dean shakes his head. “My dad says it’s just a normal ghost with a weird thing for blood-“

“Your dad is wrong. It’s a moroi.”

Dean’s eyes narrow. “My dad’s never wrong. And he’s more experienced than both of us combined, he’d know if it was a moray-“

“Mo-roi-“

“And look,” Dean leans across the desk, pointing to the files. “All of them had the same blood type. That’s what Dad said to look for.”

“They have the same blood type because it’s a moroi.” You hold his gaze, because every single part of you might want this man in a way you can’t possibly begin to understand, but you’re also fucking right. “They’re Romanian vampire babies.’

“Vampire babies-“

“Evil infant spirits that didn’t get baptized. They’re really rare, but this-“ You tap the files with a smug grin. “Is their exact MO. Specific blood type that they’ve probably got a taste for, mixing it with their previous victims, incredibly sloppy.”

“Because they’re babies.” Dean mutters, frowning into the air. “And babies, uh, don’t know how to clean.”

You nod. “Because babies don’t know how to clean.”

“And you’re sure?” Dean looks down to the files, his tone cautious. “I mean, you said they’re kinda rare-“

“They are.” You shrug. “And that’s why I’m sure.”

Rare things are your specialty. Things that even the most experienced hunters don’t understand, that were hard to track and harder to kill. Things that were stranger than strange, darker than dark, worse than evil. Things that wouldn’t hurt you, and you’ve taught yourself every way kill. It’s why you’d taken this case in the first place.  It’s why you’re fucking right.

“You, uh,” Dean’s words are slow, like he’s picking them carefully. “You know how to kill these things?”

“Yep.”

“You wanna come with me? To explain it to Dad and Sammy?”

“I, um-“ You start to pick at the skin around your nails, your skin suddenly itching and a weight forming in your lungs. “I mean, I can just tell you how, and you can deal with it, and I can go-“

“Go?” Dean frowns, his brow drawn. “Where are you going?”

“Out of town.” You keep your voice strong and even, because no matter how much the White inside you seems to be trying to move into Dean—no matter how much you’d really like to stay in this office and talk to him for a million years—you have to go. You cannot meet John Winchester. “If your Dad’s as good as you say-“

“He is-“

“Then you’ll be able to handle this. You don’t need me.”

“Well,” Dean leans over the desk, his voice dropping to a charming drawl. “If I ask you nicely, will you consider staying? Giving us a hand?”

You hold his gaze, unable to find enough willpower to shut him down immediately. “How nicely?” 

“Please,” Dean says your name, giving you a taunting, boyish grin, and the White inside you ignites. You’ve heard your name said a million ways, but never like that. Never in Dean’s voice, never like it’s some sort of curse and prayer all at once, never like it’s bigger than just a name. “Please stay in town and help me out. Please explain this moroi shit to my dad, and help us kill the son of a bitch. I’ll buy you a beer, and be in your debt for a million freakin’ years. Please.”

He’s already got you. If the way he said your name didn’t make you fold, the shit-eating smirk on his face and gleam in his eyes that tells you exactly how he plans to repay that debt made you cave. 

“I don’t drink.” You mumble, your face heated and eyes a little wide. “But I’ll take two million years and a promise that you’ll listen to me.”

Dean chuckles. “Awesome.” He grins, his eyes never leaving yours as he stands. “Let’s get outta here, I’ll drive you to our motel.”

That’s where you manage to draw a line. You’ll bow to Dean’s charming words and handsome face, you’ll follow him out of the office and into the parking lot, and you’ll agree to come meet John and Sam Winchester—no matter how stupid and deadly an idea it will certainly prove to be—but you’ll drive yourself. You didn’t steal that Lexus not to drive it, and when things inevitably go sideways, you’ll need a car to escape in. 

“You sure?” Dean walks you to the Lexus, standing right at your side and watching you in a way the White seems to feel. “I mean, it’s not a problem-“

“I’m sure.” You grab your keys out of your pocket, stopping in front of the car. “All my shit is in here, and I can just follow you. It’ll be fine.”

“Well, how am I gonna know you won’t just drive off?” Dean doesn’t budge, barely sparing your car a glance. “Leave me to deal with the vampire babies alone?”

You give him a flat. “I won’t just drive off, Winchester-“

“You might.” He shrugs. “I don’t know you that well, you could be playing me-“

“I’m not- Fine.” You roll your eyes, shoving your badge into his hands. “You can hold onto that, and I’ll have to follow you to get it back. Happy?”

“Very.” Dean winks at you, flipping your badge open to read. “Agent Smith- Who’s Smith?”

“Nobody. Smith is the most common last name in United States.” You shrug, and Dean looks at you like you’re insane. “What?”

“Nothin’, I just-“ He shakes his head, huffing a low laugh. “It’s practical. Smart.”

You narrow your eyes. “But?”

“No but,” He says your name with a bright, cocky grin, and tucks your badge into his pocket. “Can I not call you smart?”

“Not when you don’t really mean it-“

“I mean it. You’re smart.” His grin grows, and it feels like it’s burning its way right into your heart. Kicking it up to a higher speed, warming it until your whole body feels lost in a misting haze. It’s so fucking weird. “Are all your badges Smith?”

“No.” You mutter, crossing your arms to try and stop your heart beating right out of your chest. “Smith is just insurance. Johnson does wildlife, Brown is a cop, and Miller’s FBI.”

“Huh,” Dean looks at you like he’s never seen anything more amusing in his life. It’s not really helpful. “Sammy’s gonna like you.”

“Sammy?”

“My brother.” Dean shrugs. “He’s smart too. Not half as pretty, but smart.”

You flush, leaning back to ground yourself against the cool metal of the car. “You don’t know me, Winchester. I might be a dumbass.”

Dean chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. Dumb people don’t know about vampire babies.”

“I’d argue vampire babies are the exact thing a dumb person would know about-“

“And I’d argue dumb people don’t say I’d argue.”

You scowl. “Touché.”

Dean laughs again. He needs to stop doing that. “Dumb people don’t say touché-“

“Shut up.” You kick him again, and this time his grin just becomes teasing and smug and a little fucking dizzying.

“That’s not nice, Princess-“

“I said shut up.” You mutter, turning to open your car door. “Go get in your car so we can actually do our jobs.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Dean’s still grinning at you, his eyes widening as they finally flick to the Lexus. “Holy shit, you drive this?”

“Yeah.” You shrug, dropping into your seat and pointing across the lot to his car. “Go.”

Dean raises his hands in surrender. “Bossy.”

You glare at him. “Winchester-“

He gives you one last wink you feel deep in your core, closes your door, and walks away without another word. But—right after he climbs into the driver seat—he pulls out your badge, holds it up to the window, and mouths Follow me, or this is mine.

You roll your eyes, flip him off, and watch him laugh as he pulls out of the lot. And you could leave. Badges are easy to make, you’re not emotional attached to Agent Smith, and this is your last chance to keep yourself away from John Winchester. To listen to your every instinct, to your dad’s stern voice in your head, and run. It would be so fucking easy to run. To turn around and never look back, never allow yourself to indulge Dean Winchester further than one conversation.

But you don’t want to run. You want to follow this odd pull to him, follow him to the motel, follow him wherever else he seems to be going. Which is fucking insane, because you don’t know him, he doesn’t know you, and he’s almost certainly better off without you. Most people are. Hell, you’d be better off without you, if you could figure out how to do that.

And you know all that. But you still don’t want to run.

So you follow Dean out of the parking lot, through the winding backstreets of the town, and to a backwater motel. You park your car right next to his, close your eyes to take a long, steadying breath, and try to rationalize to yourself how this could possibly end up not blowing up in your face. You’ll keep a hold on yourself. John won’t know who you are, or what you are, or who you know, or what you know, or-

“Shit!” You jump as something raps on your window, and hear a loud laugh from outside your car.

You’ll get through this. You always do.

“You yelped.” Dean tells you as you climb out of the car, a wide, teasing grin on his face. “Real tough of you, Princess-“

“Suck my dick, Winchester.” You glare at him, and his grin only grows wider. “And stop calling me princess.”

“Nah,” Dean places his hand on your back, steering you towards the motel. “Suits you too well.”

“I don’t know what that means-“

“You don’t have to.” He smirks at you, and it does something impossible good to your brain. Makes it calm. A little fuzzy, a little smooth, but so fucking calm. “C’mon, I texted Dad that I found you, he and Sammy’ll be in our room.”

Dean Winchester is dangerous. You should be scratching and clawing and fighting like a feral animal to go, to get back in your car and as far away from here—from John Winchester—as possible. But he says I found you with a proud grin and puff of his chest like he’s bragging, and all that your stupid body knows how to do is lean slightly into his chest and follow him wherever he takes you. Somewhere dark, or somewhere horrible, or somewhere gray or somewhere safe.

Or just a shabby, paint-peeling motel room, where John Winchester and a shaggy haired kid are sitting around a table, looking at you—standing awkwardly in the doorway, watching them wearily, your back straight but arms crossed in defense—like you’re the strangest thing they’ve ever seen.

“This is, um,” Dean glances at you as he says your full name, and you realize he’s more tense than he’d been before. Standing a little taller, his eyes a little more guarded, his expression impossibly neutral. “She’s the hunter I mentioned.” Dean says your name again, pointing to the table as he continues. “That’s my dad, John, and my brother, Sammy.”

“Hi.” The kid—he’s taller than you, and barely younger, but there’s something about him that still says kid—offers you a small smile. “Do you, uh, do you hunt alone?”

“Yeah,” you give Sam a smile back, trying to force your tone to be casual, your body to relax, and your eyes not to wander to where John is tall in his seat, just watching you. “He tell you that?”

You jerk your head at Dean, who frowns. “So what if I did-“

“So, you’re being a real dramatic bitch about that. You’re not my dad, Winchester, let’s calm down.” You give him a small grin, and feel something odd and bright inflate in your chest when his mouth tugs up for the first time since you’ve walked into the room.

Dean looks like he’s going to say something back, but John clears his throat, and something curls and rots in your stomach at how quickly Dean goes rigid, how fast his mouth snaps shut. 

“You got a father, girl?”

You look at John, and he looks even more tired up close, in the dim light of the motel. More threatening as well, watching you like you’re prey, or a parasite, or a disease. Like you’re going to go feral and destroy everything in the room. It would sting less if he wasn’t right. If his attention wasn’t making your skin crawl and the White in you start to twist and pound to escape your body, the darkness rushing out as everything becomes big again. If you weren’t digging your nails into your palm to stop yourself from proving him right, and if you weren’t raising your chin in a weak attempt to be a little taller than you are. 

“I do.” You hold his gaze, and wonder if he can see the darkness. If he already knows what you are, and is trying to work out how to kill you. “We’re really close, actually.”

“He know you hunt?”

“He does.” You shrug. “He’s fine with it.”

That’s a lie. Your dad hates that you hunt. You’re certain the only reason he doesn’t lock you in his panic room to keep you away from the monsters and ghosts is because he knows you’d escape, and he’d never see you again. But John doesn’t know that, and you’re a fantastic liar, so if he doesn’t believe you it’s not because you don’t sell the words, it’s because he just doesn’t trust you. Because whatever you say, he’s going to keep looking at you like he can see right into your horrible center.

John’s face twitches, and as he leans slightly forward, you’re not sure Dean’s breathing at your side. “Your old man a hunter too?”

You nod, realize this is getting a little away from you, and start to run your thumb over your palm as John narrows his eyes.

“What’s his name?”

You use your real father’s name—your biological father, who you’ll never see again if you can help it—and it stings on your tongue. You hate that you have to say it. You hate that you have to repeat it, adding your real last name, but it works. John grunts, and looks away.

“Dean.”

“Yes, sir?”

“How old is she?”

“I, uh-“ Dean looks at you with wide eyes. “How old are you?”

You raise your brows. “How old do you think I am?”

“Twenty…” Dean scratches his head slightly, looking a little afraid. It would be adorable if this wasn’t such an oddly volatile situation. “Twenty-teen?”

“Twenty-teen?”

“I dunno, I mean you gotta be old than Sammy, and you sound like you’re old, but-“

“I sound like I’m old?”

“Just cause of the words you use! You look like you can’t be old than me, but I don’t know-“

“Jesus Christ, dude.” You take pity on Dean—who looks like he’s about to have a panic attack—and pat his shoulder as you speak. “I’m eighteen. And,” you look back to John, cooling your voice and narrowing your eyes. “I can speak for myself.”

John doesn’t waver. You can’t really imagine a world where he would. “I don’t doubt that, girl. But I ain’t lookin’ for help on this case, and you’re barely votin’ age-“

“I’m aware of my age.” You interrupt, crossing your arms over your chest. “But I’ve also been hunting, alone, since I was fifteen, and this,” you gesture through the air, holding John’s cold gaze. “Is my type of case. So you need my help.”

John scoffs. “It’s a ghost, sweetheart, me and my boys will be fine without you-“

“She says it’s not a ghost.” Dean mumbles, paling as John’s gaze shoots to him. “It’s, uh, a moroi?”

You hum in agreement, offering Dean a small grin that John doesn’t seem to miss.  

Sam raises his hand at the table, his expression open and curious. “What’s a moroi?”

“Romanian vampire baby.” Dean says, shooting Sam the first real, full grin you’ve seen on his face since you entered the motel room. “They never got a chance to learn who Mr. Clean is, which is why there’s been so much freakin’ blood everywhere. Right?”

Dean looks at you with a hopeful, bright expression, and it makes the White glow and sing as you nod.

“It’s a ghost.” John grunts, and when you look back to the table, he’s glaring at you. “We got freezin’ temperatures, EMF, and no break ins-“

“Because they’re death monsters. And they can shape-shift, into a guy, or a bug, or a cat.” You shrug. “Wouldn’t be that hard to get into a house.”

John scowls. “And you’d bet all our lives on this-“

“Yes.” You say, the words simple. You’re good at your fucking job, and there’s no doubt in your mind. “It is a moroi. I’ve hunted them before.”

“You have?” Sam’s eyes widen, his tone filled with something that might be admiration. “That’s so-“

John cuts Sam off with a raised hand, his attention never wavering from you. “Well,” he drawls your name, and it’s mocking and cruel and awful. The opposite of how Dean says it, in a way you hope to never hear again. “If you’re such an expert, how the hell do we kill the asshole.”

“Easy.” You shrug, as if there’s not something wired and painful in your muscles that’s trying to force you to run, run, run, far away from John Winchester and his cold voice. “You stab it in the heart with a nail.”

“With a nail.” John repeats, his voice flat, and you scowl. 

“Well, that, or,” you stand a little taller, making your voice cool and bored. “We throw a Romanian funeral for it, and find a living relative to walk around its grave three times with a candle.”

Dean makes a choked sound from off to the side, and when you look, he’s staring at you like you’d fallen from space again. John doesn’t look half as awestruck. He mostly looks pissed.

“This ain’t the time for jokes-“

“That’s not a joke.” You snap. “There are multiple ways to kill something, and that’s one of the ways you can deal with a moroi. It’s that, the nail, or burning resin on a Tuesday, then a Saturday.”

John laughs, no amusement or joy in the sound. “You might think your smart, kid, but how about I see a plan. Stabbin’ something in the heart ain’t gonna be easy, and hell, girl, you said they shape shift. How the fuck are you thinkin’ we find them-“

“There will be blood in its nails and eyes.” You hold your ground, but your palm grows red as you break skin. “And there is a pattern to the tarbets, we’ve just all been looking in the wrong place.”

“A pattern?” Sam’s eyes are still wide, his voice a little eager. “But none of the vics have been the same age, gender, ethnicity, occupation-“

“Have they all been parents? Lived near graveyards?”

All three Winchesters gape at you for a second, and Dean looks at John with wide eyes.

“Shit, Dad, she’s right.” He mutters, running a hand over his face. “The one we looked at yesterday, the house had one of those baby gates-“

“And we’ve driven past a graveyard every time.” Sam adds, looking between you and John with a nervous expression. “So, uh, it could be-“

“I know what it could be, Sam.” John grunts, his glare fully focused on Dean. “You willing to bet on her, son?” 

Dean looks at you, and he shouldn’t be—you’re a stranger, you’re a liar, you’re a monster that’s attracted to him like a magnet—but he nods. He stares at you like he doesn’t really understand what’s going on either, like he’s looking for a reason to not trust you and side with his father, but can’t find one. And—right before he looks back to his father—you see a flash in his eyes that makes you think he feels it. That whatever the fuck is happening to you, it’s happening to Dean too, and he’s just as helpless as you are to fight it.

“I am, sir.” He says, hands flexing at his side. “Sammy and I can do door duty, figure out who’s next on this things hit list-“

Sam frowns. “I don’t wanna do door duty-“

“Blame Dean,” John shrugs, giving Dean a curt nod. “Take my car and be back in two hours-“

You raise your hand, and John cuts himself off with a glower.

“What.”

“They don’t need to do door duty,” you say, your fingers running over your palm. “The moroi will only target parents of infants, so you can look for baby seats in cars. And it’ll all be near same cemetery. Five miles radius.” You catch Dean raising his brows at you, and shrug. “They don’t like to stray far from home.”

“And by home,” Sam jumps in, words slow as he connects the dots. “You’re talking about their grave.”

“Or their coffin.” You offer him a close-lipped smile. “But yeah. It’s already dusk, our best bet would be splitting up and patrolling a few streets until we see the thing. It’ll probably be in its regular form, at least until it spots a house.”

Dean frowns at you. “What’s that gonna look like?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Hairy. Bloody and hairy. It’ll be gross, you’ll see it.”

“And how,” John grunts. “Are you thinkin’ we split up.”

“We’ve got two cars.” You shrug. “Three if you have a second one-“

“We don’t.” John snaps. “And I took a fuckin’ taxi back here, ain’t no way I’m not driving my car, or lettin’ a little girl go off to hunt this on her own-“

“How honorable,” you mutter under your breath—careful to make sure Dean doesn’t hear you—and raise your voice back to a bored, flat tone.  “Then you’ll take your car, and I’ll take one of them,” you nod between Sam and Dean. “So we’re off in pairs.”

“Dad, I could go with her.” Dean takes a small step forward, his tone slightly nervous. “I mean, it would be safer for you to take Sammy. And you know I’d be careful.“

John grunts, jaw ticking, and you can see he’s considering it. That, somehow, you’ve convinced him to go with this, and he hasn’t put a bullet in your brain. There’s a frantic, wired part of you along your skin that’s certain he’s just waiting for an excuse, but for now you’ll take it. You’ll take Dean volunteering to go with you, John not killing you, and everyone winning when you’re right, because you will be. You’re not good for much, but you’re good for this. 

“I want you to drive.” John tells Dean, and you’ll allow it. If it keeps Dean near you—as you so confusingly and desperately crave—you’ll let him drive your stupid, fancy car. Fuck, you’ll let him run it into a ditch if he wants, as long as you’re there with him, and what the fuck is happening to you- 

Dean says your name, and you blink at him as he continues. “I, uh, if you’re good with it-“

“Sure, I don’t give a fuck.” You toss Dean your keys, and he frowns. “I mean, try not to total it, or do donuts-“

Dean gasps, his face full of mock offense that pulls a smile onto your face. “Do I look like a hooligan to you-“

You raise your brows. “Did you just say hooligan?”

“Yeah,” he grins at you, and nothing else seems that real. “It’s a fun word, don’t bash it-“

“I am not bashing it-“

“Kinda sounds like you’re bashin’ it-“

“Well, it kinda sounds like you’re going to try and do donuts in my car-“

“Princess, I would never-“

“Winchester, I don’t believe you-“

John coughs, loudly, and you and Dean fall silent. That keeps happening. You talk to Dean, and everything fades until you’re just smiling like an idiot and watching him like he’s the sun, and you’re just existing in his orbit. And he does the same thing. Dean’s face is red, and he’s staring at the floor as John glowers at him, but you keep catching his eyes darting to you, a small furrow on his brow that you wish you could ask him about. You wish you could ask him a million things. About his life, about his likes and dislikes, why his whole family hunts and what he thinks of your dad—the one he’d know, the one that’s going to murder you when he finds out what you’re doing right now—and if he can feel this too. He must. It’s like a drug, and it’s flashing and loud in the White, and making the darkness blur into something you think would be better. Into something you wouldn’t hate, molding with something that feels foreign but right, strange but just as powerful and certain as gravity. Something secret, that you think you should be fighting but can’t bring yourself to raise a weapon against. 

Something bigger than you. Bigger than him. Bigger than the White inside your chest and the darkness that’s pushed down, down, down as you force yourself to stay in place, and not either grab Dean’s face and scream—shout at him in a begging question of do you feel this, or am I going fucking insane—or run. Flee as John Winchester gives you one last look like he’s imaging your blood on the floor, and you climb into the passenger’s seat of the Lexus.

But you manage to keep it together, and you’ll have to settle for this. For talking to Dean as you patrol up and down a darkened suburban street with white-picket fences, your knees up on the dash and your fingers growing bloody as you pick at them to keep the darkness down. 

“So, uh,” Dean taps his hands on the wheel, staring out at the road. “Hunting.“

You blink at him, raising your brows. “What?”

“I just, mean how’d you end up doing it? You’re young-“

“You’re literally only three years old than me-“

“But I got Dad and Sammy.” He scowls. “You’re alone.”

“Yeah, we’ve establish that.” You cross your arms, curling slightly into your seat. “I’m really good at my job, Winchester, I’m not that worried.”

Dean chuckles, glancing at your half-pout with an amused expression. “Still Winchester? When am I gonna get the honor of her majesty using my first name?”

You glare at him, and it just makes his grin wider. “Shut up.”

He clicks his tongue. “Bossy.”

And he’s so confusingly adorable and handsome—in the soft, shimmering light of the streetlamps and fog—that you speak without even thinking. “You have to earn first names, Deano.”

He freezes for a second, and his grin becomes his whole face. Wide and charming, sweeping you off your feet and knocking the breath from your lungs without even touching you. 

“So,” he drawls, still smirking like an idiot. “Nicknames you’ll pass out like party favors, but I need to work to just be Dean.”

“Seems that way, doesn’t it?”

“Well, can I at least shoot down Deano?”

“Maybe,” you hum. “On what grounds?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs, eyes flashing in the low light. “It kinda makes me sound like a birthday clown?”

You giggle. A small, soft giggle that he pulls out of you with barely any effort, that you want to hate but can’t figure out how to. “Maybe you are a clown-“

“Birthday clown.” He corrects, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Don’t drop the birthday part, that means I’ve got a job. And I can’t be a clown, Sammy’ll never speak to me again.” Dean glances at you, his voice dropping slightly. “He freakin’ hates clowns. Might shoot me before I explain that a pretty lady turned me into one against my will.”

You raise your brows, trying to push down the flush on your face from pretty lady. How he’d said the words like they were teasing, but still so serious, and looked at you with a small smirk when they had his intended effect. You can barely remember how to clear your throat and use words, let alone tease and spar with him when the White is blinding in your body.

“Unfortunately,” you manage to speak, nudging his shoulder with your own. “All sales are final. You’re Deano now.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but his grin doesn’t falter for a second. “Until I earn Dean, though, right?”

“If you earn Dean.”

He hums, shooting you another, oddly heated glance. “And what do I need to do for that?”

You only shrug, running your fingers over your palm to sooth the darkness. It’s starting to eat over your nerves and heart, trying reach out and touch Dean in a way you can’t allow, in a way that will end whatever this is before it begins. Dean only gives you a strange look, his smile still wide on his face.

“Well,” Dean says your whole name, over-pronouncing each syllable. “Am I allowed to return the favor?”

“What favor.”

“Callin’ you a nickname.” He winks at you, and it settles—warm and soft and strong—in your core. “It’s only fair.”

You shake your head. “No. I don’t even have a nickname.”

“Bet I could fix that.”

“Would be a losing bet. I wouldn’t take it.”

“Whatever you say, Princess.”

And just like that, you’ve lost. You’d seen it coming, too. It was too easy a solution for him to have, to easy a path to allow him to take, too easy to let the small part of you—that had wanted to hear him call you Princess again, because it soothed something that was always feral inside of you and blurred the darkness into the White until nothing hurt inside you—allow Dean to coax you where he’d clearly wanted you, and follow with a smile on your face. But all of this was too easy. Talking to Dean was too easy, because the conversation seems to flow and ebb without effort, and you’re almost always in danger of saying too much. He seems to know how to—without any obvious intention—get you to tell him anything he asks, leaving you biting your tongue to keep down bits of the truth that could prove deadly. But he doesn’t push you to speak—which is perfect and terrifying all within itself—and when you fall into silence it’s easy too. It’s easy to control the darkness, calmed only by your thumb and long breathes, and easy to keep everything small. Just you and Dean in the soft silence of the car, just you and Dean in the whole world.

“My mom died.” Dean says suddenly, frowning out the window. “It’s why I’m hunting. And,” he adds, his voice growing a little firmer, a little more defensive. “It’s why my dad’s so careful. I know he can be tough, but we’ve only got each other, and he’s just tryin’ to-“

“I get it.” You whisper, something deep in your chest aching for him. For this pretty, impossible man who might be bigger than the whole word, and how his brow is knit in a confusing kind of hollow pain as he defends his father. Goes to arms for him without prompting, like it’s a reflex. And you really do get it, but even if you didn’t, you somehow care too much about him to force him to rage and spit fire in John’s defense. It looks like it might rip him apart, and you never really want to see him go. So you just offer him a gentle, full lipped but toothless smile, and place your hand on his arm. “And that really fucking sucks.”

He lets out a dry chuckle, and doesn’t try to move his arm away. “It does really fucking suck. Thanks.”

“My dad’s wife died.” You offer, as if that would somehow make this better, and Dean gives you an odd look.

“Dad’s wife? Not your mom?”

You swallow. You did it again. You slipped when you’re usually so fucking careful. “It’s complicated.”

“Ah.” Dean has a little furrow between his brow that you’d like to run your thumb over, but he drops it. “Are you, you gonna tell me why you hunt? If it’s not your Dad’s wife?”

You sigh, a feral instinct of survive shoving the truth just a little further down. “That’s complicated too. I mean it’s not,” you glance up at him, his eyes fixed onto the road. “It’s not like yours. I didn’t lose anyone.”

“Is it a family thing? Like, your dad brought you in?” Dean’s every word is careful, like he’s afraid he might spook you. But that’s another thing that’s too easy. Staying next to Dean and not bristling or fleeing is far too fucking easy. 

“No,” you say, watching the light and shadows shift over his face in a strange, perfect dance. “He tries to stop me from doing it all the time. Shit, he called me last night and asked me to come home.”

Dean frowns. “You-“

“Dean!” You cut him off with a hand over his mouth, and he slams the breaks with a screech. You can see his staring at you from the corner of your eye, but you barely spare him a glance, your eyes locked over his shoulder, out the window, at a shifting figure in the dark. “Look.”

He turns his head, prying your hand from his mouth as he glares out the window. “I don’t-“

“There,” you hiss, leaning a little further forward. “See the-“

“That might just be a shadow,” Dean mutters, his voice dropping to a whisper as he scans over the dark. “Or a fox-“

You turn your head, giving him a flat look. “Do foxes look like babies covered in blood?”

“No.” He grins at you. “But I’ve seen weirder shit, Princess.”

You’re suddenly aware of how close you are. How you’d leaned over the console and started to practically hang off of Dean’s body, how your faces are barely a breath apart and you can see every deep color and fleck of gold in his eyes. He really only gets prettier, and he’s so warm, and there’s molten silver in your chest trying to tangle into him. He smells like fresh grass and spice, his eyes are dilating—but maybe just from the dark—and everything seems to be slowing down as the silver looks for other places to leak out. Places that wouldn’t hurt anyone, like the mist of the night that seems to glow and the wind that seems to bend and creak the trees in your direction, and the golden streetlamps-

Dean’s eyes shoot to the road as the lights start to flicker, his body tensing against yours. “Shit. We should, uh-“

You nod, push yourself away, and try to pretend your body doesn’t grieve the loss of his touch.

John and Sam are taking too long to arrive. You’re tense and bouncing on the sidewalk as you wait, turning a sharp nail between your fingers, and Dean keeps a hand around your wrist as he frowns down the street. You think he can sense that, if he looks away for only a second, you’ll dart into the house and deal with this yourself. You could. This nail has killed three moroi before, and you’d been completely alone then. 

“Winchester.” 

Dean looks at you with a frown, and you tug your arm slightly.

“Let me go.”

“No,” he grunts, his grip tightening. “Dad said to wait.”

“He’s not my dad-“

“Doesn’t matter.” Dean mutters, his gaze moving back to the empty, dark fog. “We’re waiting.”

You scowl. “Fine. Can you let go-“

“No.”

“I swear to god, Dean Winchester-“

“If I let you go,” he snaps, his glare shooting back to you. “You’re going to run in there. So no.”

You narrow your eyes. “You don’t know me-“

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “Look me in the eyes,” he drawls your name, holding your gaze. “And say you won’t run.”

It should be an easy lie, but it gets caught in your throat and you can only gape at him. Dean raises his brows as you continue to stare, and the White inside you starts to thrash as you clear your throat, forcing the words out.

“I’d handle it.”

He scoffs. “There is no way you’re gonna be able to handle it alone-“

“So, come with me,” You hiss, leaning forward until your face is only an inch from his. “And I won’t be alone.”

You don’t know why it breaks him. But something flashes in his eyes, he groans—running his free hand over his face and giving you a look of disbelief—and he caves. 

And from there it’s mostly a blur. It’s always a blur. The darkness inside of you latches onto something primal, and it’s all only a blur. 

Usually it’s all but a blackout. Like something overtakes you and you become just as monstrous as what you’re hunting, your brain only holding onto what you’ll need in order to survive next time, and a sticky smell of blood to haunt your sleep. But Dean’s here now, and things come into focus. Time is still a rush, and you’re still moving on pure instinct, but you remember Dean’s body being pressed to yours as you crept through the suburban house. You remember to set look on his face as you swept the rooms, figuring out what the moroi could be, where it might be hiding. You remember seeing it first, and the sound of flesh tearing as it launched at Dean—over you—and you swatted it with your arm like a baseball. 

You remember Dean shouting your name as you raced forward with the nail in your hand, and how it sounded like his chest was being ripped open. You remember finding that small patch of soft flesh on the moroi’s chest, driving the nail home, and tasting bile when it vomited blood up into your face. 

You remember Dean passing you his shirt on the curb a few blocks down, because the very ungrateful almost-victims threatened to call the cops, and you were covered in blood. He’d faced away as your changed—zipping up his own jacket and humming while he waited—and you could’ve sworn he was blushing when he turned back around.

Then John Winchester had arrived—looking at Dean like he’d just sprouted a second, hideous head and you like he was imaging how amazing you’d look in a casket—and everything grew sharp as they drove away. 

More of it comes together as you drive yourself back to the motel. Dean had dumped the body in the gutter, and you had given him your motel address. John had snapped at you to meet them tomorrow for a debrief, and told Dean that they’d talk back at the room. Sam had smiled at you, and it was a nice smile. There hadn’t seemed to be anything beneath it—just a kind smile for the woman sitting on the curb next to his shirtless brother, her hair matted in blood and fingers covered in monster hair—and you’d liked that. 

When you enter your room, it suddenly feels too small. Nothing is big enough for how strange this is, how you might need all the world and a little more to figure out what the fuck just happened. You miss Dean. You’d met him today, and you miss him more than you’ve missed anything before. You keep looking to the side to see if he’s there, when you know he won’t be. The White is bucking and keening inside of you, the darkness falling out of your body—you can feel the pain of the water as it becomes steam in the shower, and you’re almost knocked to your knees by the ache of the phone to be closer to the lamp—and you need to find out if he could meld them together again. If it had been a fluke, or an accident, or if you were simply losing your fucking mind.

You have to be. You must be going mad. It’s the only explanation for why you take a long shower and change into your own clothing, but you still smell grass and leather and spice. It’s purgatorial. You go through your whole routine—scrubbing all the blood off your body with rough sugar that bites into your skin, running your hands under white-hot water that leaves your skin raw but the darkness pushed down, tending to your hair until it frame your features easily, and you don’t look like a bruised and battered animal—but you still smell him. You toss his shirt off to the side, but he’s clinging to the sheets. You change into sleepwear, but your body can still feel a strong, warm touch. You turn your empty flask in your hands, watching light catch off the steel, and someone’s knocking on your fucking door-

Dean hisses your name through the wood, and you freeze.

“I know you’re in there!” He’s half-shouting, and the whole world feels more colorful, and what is wrong with you. “C’mon, Princess, open the door. It’s me!” He pauses, the knocking faltering. “Uh, Dean Winchester.”

He sounds a little defeated, and you can’t stop the smile on your face as you toss the flask back into your bag, cross the room, and open the door. 

Dean gives you an adorable, almost nervous grin and scans over you. Slow and deep and appreciative—taking in your sleep clothes, how your whole body is more relaxed than it had been all day—and his smile grows as his eyes find yours once more.

“You look pretty wearing normal stuff.” He leans a little on the door frame, and it’s so effortlessly and perfectly rouge-cowboy-white-knight-and-knave that he has to have practiced. “Better than that old-lady jacket you hand on before.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s my professional jacket, Winchester. What do you want?”

The words are harsher than you mean them to be, and his grin falters slightly. “I was, uh, I was wondering,” he rubs the back of his neck, clearing his throat. “I got my dad’s car. I was gonna ask if you wanted to go for a drive or something, but you’re obviously ready to turn in, so-“

“Do you want to come in?” 

You’re not sure how he’s doing this. Making you speak without thought, making your words reckless when they’re usually so carefully chosen. You have to be careful with your words, because you’ve spent years weaving a web that shows everyone everything, but not from every angle. And he’s fucking unraveling it. Dean just looks at you, and you pull at a thread so he can see whatever he wants, and you can’t understand how the fuck he’s doing it.

It must be on purpose, but he looks just as shocked as you are—gaping at you slightly, his features open and uncertain—and you don’t think it’s an act. Especially not as his voice becomes slightly hoarse, his feet restlessly shifting his weight as he speaks.

“Yeah, if you want, but I’m good to just head out if you-“

“Do you want to head out?”

Dean’s grin becomes bright once more, and the shake of his head sends a spark of lightning through your body.

“So,” you step to the side, offering him a small smile. “Come in.”

He shuffles inside, scanning over your scattered possessions and stopping at the side of the bed. 

“I can,” he looks back to you, his eyes a little wide. “I can sit on the floor, or we can go outside-“

You shake your head, moving to his side. “There are bugs outside. Sit on the bed.”

Dean glances at the mattress like the sheets might leap up and strangle him. “Floor looks good-“

“Winchester.” You point at the bed, giving him a stern glare. “Sit.”

“I am not a freakin’ dog-“

You place a hand on his chest and push him—just enough for him to get the message—and he sit on the bed with a wide happy? gesture. 

You drop at his side, watching him carefully as you try to work out what is happening. Why he’s here. If he’s looking at you like that—like you’re more than a human, but that’s hypnotizing, and he’d love to find what you actually are—because he can feel this too. 

But Dean beats you to it.

“Can I ask you something?”

You tilt your head at him, pulling your knees into your chest. “Can I ask you something?”

“Huh.” Dean hums, the smile creeping back onto his face. “How about we trade? I ask you a question, you gimme an answer, then we switch.”

You give him an amused look. “That’s just a conversation.”

“Nah, because if I ask you something and you answer, now I owe you a question. You can turn down a question, but you’ll still owe an answer.”

You frown. “What happens if you owe an answer?”

He shrugs, flopping onto his back. “Then the other person keeps asking questions.”

Dean looks so real. He’s grinning up at you, light dancing as his eyes as he obviously baits you into whatever he’s trying to do. 

And you fall for it. Despite your best judgement, you fall.

“I’m going first.” 

He chuckles, but raises his hand for you to shake. “Deal, Princess.”

The moment your hand folds into Dean’s he pulls you down, leaving your smushed slightly against him and his face only inches from yours once more. And your yelp was undignified, and he’s such an asshole—laughing and grinning as you shove his chest—and you’re smiling too. 

Because this is easy. And you have a feeling that, if this strange man—who’s too pretty, and that’s making you feel like you’ve never really been alive before this—dragged you right down to hell, you’d still be laughing and smiling at him. And that’s so fucking dangerous. And you know that, but you still can’t stop looking at him, and you can’t roll away. And you decide that, just for tonight, you’re going to indulge this. You’ll dedicate hours when he’s gone to figuring out what the fuck this is. Right now you get to laugh and smile and act like nothing in the world has ever—could ever—hurt you.

“So,” Dean says your name, and it still sounds too good. “You have a question to go first with? Or were you just bein’ bossy-“

“Shut up.” You swing your leg to kick his shin, he laughs, and it’s like music. Making you high and dizzy as you watch him, running your thumb over your palm. “I’ve got it, Winchester. You ready?”

“Born it, sweetheart,” he winks at you, and that’s dizzying too. “Hit me.”

“Why are you here?”

“I told you already, I wanted to talk to you-“

You hum, holding his gaze with a small frown. “Why?”

Dean chuckles, shaking his head. “That’s two questions-“

“It’s a ride off of the first question-“

“Well, I still gotta ask my first question before you get a second one.” He raises his brows at you, bump your knee with his. “We shook on this, Princess, you don’t get to change it now.”

You glare at him, but you think he knows it’s fake, because his grin becomes almost blinding. “Fine. Go.”

Dean rolls onto his side, holding your gaze as he speaks. “How’d you get that car?”

You frown. “The Lexus?”

He nods, and you sigh. 

“I borrowed it.” It’s not a lie, but it’s a half-truth. It’s a half-truth that will keep him here, at your side, for a little longer than you might deserve. “For the hunt.”

“Well, it’s freakin’ awesome.” He grins at you, and your face might burst into flame. “Your move.”

“Why are you really here?”

Dean lets out a dry chuckle. “Will you let it go if I say to talk again?”

“Nope. Answer me.”

“It’s, uh,” he rolls flat on his back once more, running a hand over his face. “Tomorrow’s gonna be Dad telling us about safety and Sammy asking you a bunch of questions.” He shoots you a small, amused grin. “I think he’s been writing them down. He’s into all that geek-shit too-“

“I am not a geek-“

“Yeah, you are.” He shrugs. “Don’t worry, I think it’s adorable. But Sammy thinks you’re the coolest person we’ve ever met. So after Dad finishes, he’ll try to use you like a freakin’ library, and I just figured I’m the one who found you, so I should get a night of you all to myself.”

You gape at him for a second, and you’ve defiantly burst into flames. He wants you all himself, and he thinks you’re adorable, and he doesn’t know you, but he doesn’t seem like the type to say all that just to get in your pants, and if he was, he’d be there already. He’d just have to roll on top of you, but he’s only looking at you like you’re something sacred instead of a disease or trophy. 

He must feel this too. He has too. And you want to ask him, but you don’t know how, because you don’t even know what this is. It’s magnetic and infinite and bigger than anything, forging something you don’t know how to name between where the White and darkness live in your body. And Dean might not even have the White and darkness. Nobody else does—that’s something that’s wrong with only you—so if you phrase it like that he’ll think you’re insane-

“My turn.” Dean says, and you’re dragged back down to earth, grounded in his smooth voice. “What’s up with your hand?”

You blink at him. “What?”

“That one.” he reaches over, tapping the back your hand. “You’ve been touching it all day, and I kinda, uh,” he gives you an apologetic look. “I saw the scar. If you wanna pass on this one, I’ll drop it, but-“

“No, it’s,” you take a long breath, because this would be an easy one to refuse to answer, but his fingers are lingering on your knuckles and setting off little sparks over your skin, and you want to tell him. It takes a moment of just staring at him to you find the words, and his eyes never leave yours, and everything about him seems to drug you into a loose-lipped, trusting ease. “I’ve have it since I was really young. There was, um, an incident.”

Dean still doesn’t look away, his voice slightly lower. “Hunting incident, or-“

“No.” You swallow, turning your hand for him to see the long, clean scar on your palm. Running through it in a neat, raised line. “Just an incident.”

He looks like he’s going to say something. Not push, but say something, and you blurt out your next question before he can get the chance. It’s not what you wanted to ask—you hadn’t offered yourself enough time to find the right words for something really fucking weird is happening to me, and I need to know if it’s happening to you too—but it’s dragged out of you in desperation to learn a little more about him. In a plea for him to only know that you’re marred where he can see, and never discover that you’re twisted where he can’t.

“What’s it like?” You watch him carefully, your fingers starting to trace over the scar. “Hunting with your family?”

“It’s fine.” He shrugs. “I mean, Dad’s a freakin’ genius at it, and it’s awesome to watch him work. Plus I get to keep an eye on Sammy like this. Know he’s safe.” He frowns. “I mean, it’s better than sending him off alone. Letting him be in danger.”

You hum, scanning over the wrinkle in his brow, your thumb starts to itch to press on it, sooth his whole face into a relaxed smile. “You guys are close?”

Dean nods eagerly. “Yeah, I mean, He’s a freakin’ loser, but he’s all I got. He’s a weird little geek-“

You laugh. “He’s taller than you are, De. I wouldn’t call that little.”

“He’s little in spirit-“ Dean cuts himself off, and his grin looks almost manic. “Did you just call me De?”

“No.” You hold his gaze, even as your face warms. “Shut up.”

“I heard you, Princess, you can’t lie to me-“

“Well, is that your question?” You grin at him, your body leaning a little further without you moving it, and Dean eyes flash.

“You gonna tell me the truth if it is?”

You nod, and he smirks.

“Then yeah, it was.”

“Okay. I did call you De.” Before he can gloat, you push on. “Why do you call me Princess?”

“I told you already, it suits you-“

You narrow your eyes. “Try again, Winchester. Real answer this time.”

He sighs, shaking his head at the ceiling. “You just,” Dean waves his hand through the air. “You’ve got a thing going. You don’t look like a hunter.”

“What’s that supposed to mean-“ 

“It means,” He gives you a strange look you can feel flash through your blood, melding the White back into the darkness, turning every simple and bright as he continues. “That if you asked me what I thought you were, I’d have said something fancy.”

You open your mouth, but he’s not done, and he won’t look away from you.

“I dunno, you just seem too pretty to be down here in the mud with us. You should eating caviar and wearing those poofy dresses-“

You snort. “Poofy dresses?”

“Yeah, like in movies, when they dance around like douchebags-“

“So you’re saying I seem like a douchebag-“

“No, I’m saying you should be somewhere that’s not here.” Dean’s attention is washing over you like a rising tide—slow and natural and deep—and you still can’t read that expression on his handsome face. “The mud.”

He’s so close. And if he thinks you’re pretty, he’s a work of art. You’ve never see someone look like him. Like he was created, and not born. Every freckle on his face is more like a star than a flaw, and there a slight crook to his nose that tells you he’s been punched there before, but it only makes you want to run your finger over the bump and see if his pretty eyes flutter or flash. His lips are chapped but they’d still be soft. His hands look rough, but that just means he uses them.

You think it would be nice to let him use you.

“I like it in the mud,” you whisper, daring to inch a little closer, until you’re sharing a breath. “It feels real. And,” you grin at him, everything blurring around you but pretty green eyes and shining silver in your chest. “I’ve got good company down here.”

There it is. The flash in his eyes as they darken slightly, a warm breath fanning over your face, and he looks golden. In the warm light of the lamp, glowing soft on his tan skin, Dean looks like something more than human. You feel like something more than human, and for the first time in your life, that’s not a curse. And he’s still so fucking close, and this is a terrible idea, but you can’t bring yourself to move away.

You should. He’s John Winchester’s son, and you’re not sure how you forgot that. It’s past midnight, and you have a feeling he wasn’t supposed to be here at all, and this is the worst idea you’ve ever had. 

But you still can’t move.

“You should, um,” you swallow, and your lips might have brushed over his. “You should get back. It’s late, and your dad-“ 

“Shit,” Dean mutters, but still doesn’t try to move away. “Yeah.” 

Your eyes dart down to his lips—full and pink, just a small movement away from yours—and you decide you don’t care what’s happening to you. This is—Dean is—too good to care. You don’t need to know why this is happening, or what it means, or if you should be trying to run from it. You just need Dean. You think that—if the world ended and time began to move slowly—you might plant roots in the motel floor and grow into Dean until the world flooded and you were both washed away. 

“I have one last question,” he mutters, breath ghosting over your lips. “If I leave you my number, will you use it?”

You nod without thinking, he grins, and you’re so fucked. You can’t kiss him. You might fall from a million feet if you kiss him. Down, down, down, clinging to him as you both try to find an end to whatever this is and likely fail to. But Dean sits up slowly—like the movement is painful—and when he helps you to your feet you think you might ascend from just his hand in yours. Touching him feels like it’s making you pure and worthy of something, and you have to know what kissing him will do.

Not on the lips. You still have enough of your willpower and caution to not crash all the way down, at least not right now. But you kiss his cheek, and that’s tragedy enough. It snaps something into place inside you, soft stubble and warm skin too much for your entire existence to handle. It’s all too much to handle, and if he hadn’t mumbled a low promise of seeing you tomorrow and left when he did, you would’ve jumped on him to chase whatever this feeling is. How it’s the only thing you’ve ever felt that might belong inside you, and the only easy thing that the darkness has ever bended for.

And when you sleep, that’s easy too. It’s dreamless and deep, no nightmares, no waking up in a cold sweat, no darkness wrapping around you and leaving the sheets only ash when you wake up.

But when you do wake up, something is wrong. You feel it first, gnawing at your nails and blood. And when you roll over to check the time, your phone is gone. 

It had been on the bedside table, a scrap of paper with Dean’s number under it, and it’s gone.

The paper is gone too.

You shoot out of bed, and Dean’s shirt is still in the corner, because he’d told you to give it to him in the morning, to trade it for your Agent Smith badge. But your phone is gone.Your window is open—cool breeze rushing through the room—and your phone is fucking gone.

You’d been smart to pack the night before. You’d been smart to keep your keys in your jacket, and park right outside your room. You can shove everything in the passenger’s seat and screech out of the motel lot in a second. You don’t know why, but you’re heading to Dean first. Something is wrong, and you don’t know what, but the White is trying to strangle your heart and the darkness is already eating up your spine and over your skull.

John Winchester’s sleek, black muscle car—Dean told you it was an Impala, and he’d said it with a pride in his voice that had dragged a smile onto your face—isn’t parked in the lot. And when you knock on the door nobody answers. All the lights in the room are off, there’s no shadows moving through the window, and the door is locked.

You move to the front desk and ask if the men in that room had checked out. And when the clerk gives you a weary look and says that they’d paid for another two nights, but dropped the keys off that morning, your gut twists. 

They were gone. Dean was gone. And something fragile and new shattered inside you, leaving small pieces lodged through your whole body. You stumble back to your car, the darkness moving out of your body and the whole world too fucking big, and you don’t know what’s wrong with you. You’d known him a day. He’d known you a day. Nothing was owed, but you can still feel it. How the White seems to be howling from the loss of him, and the darkness can’t stop growing as it sinks in. 

He left. You don’t know why, but Dean left. He’d probably taken your phone, taken his number, and just fucking left you. Maybe he’d seen you last night, really seen you, and realized what you were. Maybe he’d just been playing you the whole time for some sort of scam. Maybe you hadn’t kissed him, and he’d decided you weren’t worth the chase. And that would mean you had been going crazy, and he hadn’t felt anything at all.

The thought lets the darkness move over you, and you can feel everything everywhere. The electricity in the wires over your head, the wear of painted lines in the parking lot, the hope of the grass peeking through the concrete under your feet. 

The grass that smells like Dean.

It breaks through you before you can stop it. Reaching past your body and down into the pavement, cracking it open with all the force of how much this hurts. How it shouldn’t hurt, it doesn’t make any sense that it hurts, but you’re still breaking and bowing and bending to the way you feel like you’ve been fucking shot. You fall down to the curb, curling into yourself as the ground shakes under your feet, and the wind picks up until—in the forest across the parking lot—a branch falls to the ground.

Then a second one. 

You manage to bring your hand to your mouth, to bite down hard and force all the darkness back into your body, and you still don’t know what to do. 

This hurts so much, and you’re alone in the middle of nowhere, and Dean’s gone.

You still have your burner phone. Your dad makes you keep it in your jacket, just in case something happens, and it only has his number. You dial him with shaking hands, the darkness still trying to climb back out of you, take a deep breath as you raise it to your ear.

He picks up on the second ring.

“Hey,” He says your name, his voice already edged with worry. “I didn’t think I’d be hearin’ from you until after that blood hunt thing-“

“Hunt’s over.” You mumble, staring at the cracked pavement. “Got it last night.”

“Was it a vamp like I told ya’-“

“Moroi.”

“I’d call that vamp enough. Good work, kiddo, Rufus owes us a dinner-“

“Bobby?”

Your voice is soft, and he hears it. Bobby always hears it. 

“What happened,” he says your name, and you can hear the frown in his voice. It makes everything worse, because you can’t tell him. Not now, maybe not ever if you can avoid it. You can’t handle how he’ll help you fix this and let you rest, then spend a week lecturing you and telling you everything you already know. Because you really do know. You fucked up, and you know that.

But Bobby doesn’t have to.

“Nothing, I just-“ you swallow, your nails digging into your calf. “Can I come home?”

There’s a long moment of static through the phone, and when Bobby speaks again his voice is low. “You can always come home,” he says your name, and you choke on the clean air around you. “But you get a week of mopin’ before we’re grabbin’ that dinner from Rufus. Alright?”

You nod, even though he can’t see it. “I’ll be there by tomorrow.”

“Should be two days, if you drive carefully like you’re supposed to.” Bobby grunts. “And ditch that fancy car you’ve been usin’, I don’t need the cops askin’ questions about it.”

You feel a smile tug at your lips. “You never let me have anything nice, Bobby-“

“You never let me have goddamn peace, kid.” Bobby snaps, and your smile grows. “Your bed will be ready for you. And I better not see that bells and whistles hunk of shit in my yard-“

“Aye, aye captain. No fancy cars.” You make a mock salute he can’t see, and Bobby huffs.

“Stolen fancy cars.” He grumbles. “Stop bein’ a smartass and get on the road.”

When the call ends, your smile feels real. The strange, fractured feeling in the White is still there, and the darkness might be trying to fly out of you, but you’re better than before. You’ll go home, Bobby will never know what happened, and none of this will last. You’ll be fine. Dean Winchester might haunt you like a phantom or cancer for the rest of your fucking life—or at least until you figure out what he did to you, and how to fix it—but you’ll get through this. 

You always do.

—————————

Dean’s grip was tight on Her phone. It was just a fucking block of metal—it would be useless when they tossed it off a bridge in a few miles—but he couldn’t let go of it. It felt wrong to let go of it. 

He’d be letting go of Her.

He hadn’t wanted to take it, but Dad said he needed to—Don’t want to let an angry woman have a line to you, son. Especially not a crazy one—and Dad knew what he was talking about, so Dean had done it. He’d snuck back into Her room through the window, grabbed Her phone and the paper with his number, and felt like the lowest piece of trash in the goddamn garbage can. The maggot-ridden chunk of food that nobody had wanted, but was still figuring out a way to fuck everything else up in twisted retribution. 

Because there was guilt eating at Dean’s stomach. He shouldn’t have taken Her phone, not when She wasn’t that much older than Sammy. Not when She’d said her dad would be waiting for her to call, and Dean might have stolen Her only line to safety just because-

Because She’d been using him. And he’d been falling for it. She’d given him that smile like he’d fallen out of the sun and into Her hands, She’d crafted some sort of perfect mask that had felt so real—felt like this strange, mouthy, clever woman had just appeared to him, and he could’ve had something nice for once in his goddamn life—and moved Dean like a fucking pawn. 

Dad had been waiting for him when he got back, and whatever weird spell She’d put Dean under—making him feel a little drunk on nothing, making him act like a fucking idiot—had been ripped away under his glare. 

But Dean hadn’t gotten yelled at. He’d just been sat down—Dad’s gaze filled with disappointment that Dean’s bones didn’t know how to handle—and had papers pushed across the table in his direction. 

“What are these?” He’d asked, and Dad had sighed, because Dean was too much of an idiot to just know, and Dad knew it. 

“Read them.” Dad had grumbled, watching Dean through narrowed eyes. “And tell me if you want to see that girl again.”

He’d frowned but scanned over the papers. Printed out website pages about… Her. Her family. How She was missing, how She’d stolen from them, and how they were rich. Normal, alive, and rich, looking for Her and whatever she’d taken. Warning that She was crazy, a chronic liar, and should be turned over to the police if seen. There was no picture, but there was a description that matched Her perfectly, right down to a scar on her palm.

“Dad.” He’d looked up with wide eyes, something strange bucking around inside of him, insisting that this was a lie. Dean didn’t know Her—they’d had three conversations for fuck’s sake—but this didn’t seem like Her. None of this seemed like the clever, beautiful, almost ethereal woman he’d been lying on the bed with. Dean didn’t know howor why, but this couldn’t be the truth. “I don’t-“

“She’s just usin’ you, Dean.” Dad had muttered, his eyes softening just enough for Dean to know he was sorry. He might not really like Her, but he was trying to protect Dean. He always was. “Chasing a high that her daddy can’t give her, lookin’ for a way to pull somethin’ on us. Probably huntin’ just for some sort of fucked up thrill. This,” Dad tapped the papers, his face twisting in disgust. “Isn’t someone who deserves our time, and I don’t know what her game is, but I ain’t just gonna let my boy fall for it.”

Something in Dean had still been fighting. Insisting that Dad was wrong, he had to be wrong, because Dean might not really know Her but he’d throw his life down at her feet. He’d plummet to the bottom of the ocean to follow Her down, if She called him with that siren-like voice and asked him to.

And that was how he knew Dad was right. Dean had no idea who She really was, and he’d already been ready to become a sword for her to wield. So he’d nodded, asked Dad what to do, and fallen back into the line She’d forced him out of. And it wouldn’t matter that Dean had been an idiot and almost fallen for Her—Her tricks, or just Her—because Dad had saved him. He’d protected him. And it didn’t matter.

Now, as they drove—Dad’s grip tight on the wheel, Sammy sleeping in the backseat—Dean repeated it over and over. That hadn’t mattered. It had been a mistake that Dad caught, so no harm, and it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that She’d looked at Dean like she could see him, or that Her voice sounded like an angel in a dream. It didn’t matter that Her lips had felt right on his cheek, and that his annoying brain kept trying to move the ghost of Her touch to his own mouth. It didn’t matter that he could still smell the sugar and fruit that had invaded his every sense when She’d been pressed against him. It didn’t matter that She’d fit perfectly at his side, like she was just another part of him he hadn’t known he was missing. It didn’t matter that something felt like it had been ignited in Dean’s chest. Golden and light and washing him over with a sense of calm he’d never known, making him feel like—if he had been stupid enough to fall further—the worst that could happen was She didn’t fall with him. And even that would be worth the way this feeling was like lightning over his bones, making him strong and fucking alive. 

But it didn’t matter. He’d fallen for a pretty, spoiled little bitch—his heart almost withered at that idea, still being a freaking dumbass and trying to justify why She’d done this—and he’d never even see Her again, so it didn’t matter.

And it defiantly didn’t fucking matter that he’d taken Her flask, because he was fucking pathetic. Because he’d been sneaking around her room, and the flash of silver had caught his eyes, and he’d stolen it like some sort of street urchin. He’d burn it, just to rid himself of the way She was becoming plague-like on his mind. It wasn’t like she needed a flask, anyway. She didn’t even drink.

But that might have just been another strange lie. So Dean would burn it. He wouldn’t tell Dad or Sammy that he’d taken it—they didn’t really need to know how weak and useless Dean really was—so he’d burn it and everyone would forget this had ever happened. He’d burn it, and never think of Her again.

Dean felt like he was being ripped in half for reasons he couldn’t even start to understand, but it had been nothing, and it didn’t matter.

Dean dreamt of Her when he finally drifted off. And his heart kept trying to beat him back down—back to Her—but he held strong. He could dream of Her and not go back. He’d never see Her again, and dreams weren’t real. 

None of that had been real, and Dean could dream of Her.

So he would.

End Note: I know we’re off to a rough start, and we’ve got a long road ahead of us, but just remember this. What’s about to come could’ve been entirely avoided if John Winchester wasn’t the actual worst.

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

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[machveil]

Trying not to think about Simon 'Always Doing Acts of Service and Caring for Others Silently' Ghost Riley forgetting to care for himself as much, and how it would probably touch a part of his heart he thought wasn't there anymore if someone did the same for him. Something simple, like just a new jacket after his old one got wrecked from wear and tear, that's thick and durable but soft and comfortable, a nice weight on his shoulders but doesn't make him sweat, resting over his chair. Or after a long day of work where he's dragging himself along, finding a meal already made for him sitting in the fridge, something actually cooked and seasoned the way he likes so he doesn't have to think about cooking or go to bed on an empty stomach. Idk, this has been rattling around in my brain all day and I needed to get it out, sorry if this is weird! Also really like your art and writing, congrats on the 1k, you deserve it and so much more!

anon I’m smooching your big, beautiful brain (I wrote this in one sitting, hope it’s not terrible lol)

Simon Riley is a man of action - Ghost, the most literal manifestation of serving. Ghost follows and gives orders to assure his team, his friends, make it home safe at the end of a deployment. as a Lieutenant, Simon wouldn’t say it out loud, but he cares so deeply for his team. Task Force 141 is a second home to him, more so the people, and thus makes it his job to protect them

but Simon Riley is also a man of action off duty - a civilian who’s heart rests in your hands. loyal as a dog, Simon would do anything for you. a man of action, he’ll insist you relax, you shouldn’t lift a finger for something small. anything Simon can do in your stead he will. because, while his team is a second home, his true home is you

but Simon, stubborn and strong as he is, gets tired. front door clicking shut, mask already being tugged off, his muscles are tense and sore after a long day. dirty blond hair messy and eyes half lidded with exhaustion, he’s still only got one thing on his mind - to serve you and make you happy. he already planned on trudging into the kitchen to make dinner, something simple but filling. he pauses when he smells food already though

kicking his boots off, worn and dirty, he makes his way to the little kitchen around the corner. cracking a small, barely there smile at the sight in front of him. you, moving about the kitchen. the lights a little dim - he’d change the lightbulb later, and there you are, cooking a meal. one step ahead of him, and he soaks in the domestic scene. a part of him wants to step in, tell you you’ve done enough and he’ll finish everything off… but he doesn’t have the heart to disrupt this cozy, intimate moment

it’s only when you see him does he approach, hands a touch too rough and calloused - he’s sure you’ll make him moisturize later. “Smells nice, lovie.”, he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hairline. eyes fluttering shut as he holds your hands, a small grin tugs at his lips, “S‘pose the food smells good too.”. he relishes in the laugh that leaves you, the way you squeeze his hands. he moves to press a kiss to your jaw, slightly crooked nose nudging against you as his hands wander to your hips - touch featherlight, as if handling you any rougher might shatter you

there’s a reluctance in his heart as he lets go of you, scoffing when you tell him to go sit down. “Bossy little thing.”, he mumbles, voice lighthearted as he leans back against a counter. he stays there for just a moment, one last glance at you happily cooking - cooking for him. it melts his heart knowing that you’re just a loyal as him, that you’d both run to the ends of the Earth for each other

he’s content to finally relax, leaving the kitchen to slump against a chair in the small dining room. head tilted back a little as he rolls his shoulders, his hands move to idly take his belt off - he’d change later, a hot shower after dinner always made him feel better. maybe he’d convince you to join him, better yet— maybe he’d convince himself to indulge in a hot bath instead. and when you join him at the table, sitting down next to him with a full plate for him, Simon feels butterflies in his stomach

he loves eating with you, sharing a meal and letting his guard down. gaze smitten as he listens to you recount your day, breathing steady as he hums. and when everything is done, stubborn man, he’ll take the dishes to the kitchen. as much as he’d like to wash them straight away, he settles for leaving them in the sink tonight. soon enough he’s sweeping you up in his arms - no matter how roughed up and sore he is, he always finds the strength to carry you. he’ll ignore any protest that, “Simon! I can walk—“, a gruff chuckle rumbling in his chest, “Know that, love, but I can carry you just fine.”

and from then on, Simon feels like he’s floating. in a dreamlike state, he sets you down on the cool bathroom floor, feet making contact with tile. gently thumbing at your hips, he presses a soft kiss to your lips, “Thank you.”. soft spoken words contrasting his gravely voice, another kiss pressed to your cheek - lips a little chapped, but he’s never heard you complain about them

and when you help each other slowly strip, the bathroom filling with mist like steam, he feels the tension in his muscles give. he puts up a little fight, grumbled words, when you insist on sudsing him up. he’s all bark though, when he feels you rub his aching shoulders he feels like he could never muster up any bite ever agiain. comfortable and turning to putty in your hands, he’ll happily let you mould him into a soft, gentle man

he’ll lazily return the favor, rough hands lathered in your body wash. content. feeling you under his palms, warm skin dotted with beads of water and bubbles, Simon’s content. a warmth in his chest that he’s still not used to. the simple intimacy of washing away the sweat and filth from the day, it makes Simon feel like a new man - and to wash you? he’s happy you feel safe enough, that you trust him, to handle you so carefully

and at the end of the night, cleaned from the dirt of his daily life, Simon settles in bed with you. all gentle touches and soft, murmured praise - you did so good for him today. he fights the back of his mind off, you’ve taught him better than to believe those gnawing words. Simon Riley deserves this. a phrase you carved into his heart, long since settled at the forefront of his mind. and as he holds you to his chest, warm hand on the small of your back, he sighs deeply…

a man of action deserves rest

[kaissatou]

OMG I just saw your post that you’d like to write things for keiji and kai and it made me so happy because they’re my favorite as well 😆

I’d love to know what is their love language, and how would they demonstrate their feelings towards us (in a slow burn type of way? idk I’m not very creative 😭) or maybe how a first kiss would be? any kind of fluff is amazing to b honest there’s not much content of them anywhere :(

kisses to u! s2

hi nonnie ♡ there isn’t a huge fan base on here so i’m glad this is not only feeding into my delusions but yours also 𓂃۶ৎ

i’ll do kai’s part soon! ❀ contains a teeny bit of smut but mostly fluff (18+) afab!reader

Keiji is a very composed and collected presence in your life, his dominant aura lulling you into a sense of security. Knowing that he’s keeping you safe is enough to melt his worries away, (at least for the moment)

Keiji Shinogi, throughout the span of his life has never been known to be an overly touchy person, and you wouldn’t say that it had changed now either. Keijis the type of lover to keep a hand tucked around your waist or on the small of your back when you’re out in public, not to be possessive, (well not completely) but also to keep himself grounded to reality, feeling the rise and the fall of your soft skin, rubbing his thumb against your skin to imprint the character of you into his brain.

Unlike Joe, he doesn’t bombard you with his affection. Keiji has a habit of kissing your forehead, whether he’s just passing by you in the hallway, cooking with you in the kitchen or lulling you to sleep against his hard chest and wrapped in his loose embrace, he’s kissing your forehead.

Keiji’s not very good at expressing his feelings verbally, (though he promises you he’s trying on it.) While he can read you like a book, not much meets the eye with Keiji. In the beginning of your relationship, and throughout your blossoming friendship), he was never one to express much emotion, preferring to listen to your problems over bothering you with his. Due to his past, it takes him a while to properly open up to you, rather avoiding his problems with snarky jokes that don’t provide any insight. You know it’s nothing personal, as he shows his affection to you in different ways.

On Keijis later nights at the station, during his commute home he stops at the local florist, just to come home with a big bouquet of red roses as an apology for staying overtime. If you’ve fell asleep while waiting for him, he’ll wake you up with a kiss to your forehead and a gentle finger stroking your cheek, leaning so close to you that you can still smell the hint of coffee on his breath, and his overbearing eyebags. Even when he’s exhausted, he’ll make time for you.

𓂃۶ৎ Even in your sleep induced state, you notice it almost immediately. Reaching out a hand for him, you murmur, “You look so tired.”

“Don’t worry that pretty head of yours,” though he leans into your touch in acceptance, closing his eyes once your soft palm touches the soft of his cheek. “Leave that to me.”

He quickly composes himself and stands back up, scratching the nape of his neck. You fiddle with the blankets and try to sit up, to which he immediately tuts and shakes his head. He gently pushes the cover back over your shoulders, which you take as a signal to stay put. He reaches over for something on the bedside table, a mysterious item that you hadn’t even noticed, until he was holding it up to you in admiration. It was a bouquet of fresh roses. “Got these for you, wahaha.”

He’ll never admit that he struggles to take care of himself, so you’ll help him out wordlessly. If you know he’s working late, you’ll leave a portion of dinner on the kitchen counter for him, with a little note adorned with a smiley face and a heart, because there’s no way that he’d make dinner for himself before attending to any needs of yours.

Keiji has a strict schedule that he likes to follow c which is very hard on his body and mind, though he’ll never believe it himself. On his occasional days off, the night before you’ll turn his set alarm off, letting him sleep on and getting his well deserved rest. He’ll complain in the morning, but the softness in his eyes lets you know he appreciated it, and that he appreciates you.

Your first kiss with Keiji wasn’t exactly a memorable moment. You had both been friends (with undeniable tension) for a good while or so, and after one late night out, it all just piled up. Keiji had never been a drinker, but he also didn’t have a distaste for it. However, to fulfill his duties as a friendly policeman he much preferred to prioritise yours, and your mutual friends safety over the calming buzz of whatever fancy drinks in the bar you had commuted to served.

𓂃۶ৎ “You never told me Alice could sing too,” you mumble drunkenly as he unlocks the door of your apartment after ruffling through your bag for your keys. You lean stumble into the confines of your apartment the second he successfully gets the door open.

Tonight wasn’t too much different from your usual group outings. However, feeling comfortable on your presence Keiji had decided to indulge in a few beers, the buzz pleasant but not overpowering. He sets your bag down on the counter, putting your keys in the designated pot. He turns his attention back to you as your heels clatter down as you settle on the couch.

“You never asked,” he muses, a smile on his lips. He kneels beside you, gently holding your leg in place as he easily undoes the buckle. He rubs his finger over the mark left by the tight strap, which to you feels oddly intimate for just two friends. “Hey, easy,” his voice is calming as he notices your leg jerk slightly.

He’s getting up and heading to the door before you can react and stop him, shoving his hands in his pockets. You quickly stumble up after him. “How are you going to get home?” You look up at him, eyes wide and glimmering with hope.

He isn’t exactly sure himself. It’s too far of a walk, and he’s not sure if busses even run this late. “I’ll figure something out.” Which isn’t a lie. He always does manage to figure something out, but it’s never really practical.

“Stay,” so he does. But he won’t kiss you. Not yet.

He waits until the next morning, when you’re sober. You wake up to the pleasant smell of coffee and honey, rendering you confused until you remember the events of the night before, shuffling to the kitchen. You senses your presence before you speak, turning to you with a wryly grin. He doesn’t have a hair out of place, but you’re quite the opposite. You’re disheleved, your hair messy and makeup running. But to him, you’ve never looked more beautiful.

And that’s when he’ll finally kiss you. After he’s fed you a good made breakfast (it’s not perfect, he’s no chef like Kai. But it’s from him, and that’s all that matters.) His kiss is gentle but firm, his lips chapped and rough but also so soft at the same time, sending your brain into overdrive. One of his hands caresses your neck, the other tangled in loose strands of your hair. His kiss is passionate, and so, so loving.

After months of pining, you can finally call him yours. Despite his desires, Keiji will wait for you to bring up sex first. He’d rather you be comfortable around him, rather than rushing you into anything. And when you’re finally ready, he’ll savour every moment of it. Keiji’s a pretty vanilla guy in bed, due to his trauma and past as a policeman. He’s adores making love to you, and he’d never want to lay a finger on you, even if it was consensual. He’d never want to hurt you.

Keiji talks you through it. If you’re being too loud, he’ll shush you, pressing a finger against your lips to muffle your cries. He’ll have you bent over in a mating press, rubbing your clit in tight, firm circles, his other hand on your slips. He’ll slide his fingers into the slight parting of your lips when you let out a harsh whine, letting your lips close against his thick digits and suck. He thrusts them a few times, getting them nice and wet before pulling out and wiping them against your cheek.

And when he finally fucks you, it’s so good. He eases you through the biiiig stretch, murmuring words of praise and adoration. Your mushy pussy is stretching its walls to accept him in, pulling him deeper with each little thrust or movement, encasing him within your walls. He whispers some more praise then presses his hips forward with such harness that has your head nearly hitting the headboard of your creaky bed, mewls and moans escaping your lips like a broken record.

He’s not touchy in a public, but it’s a whole different scenario when he’s got you like putty beneath him. He’ll rub his hands all over your frame and encase every little feature to his mind, kissing, sucking and even biting mercilessly at your skin, leaving marks and indents of him.

He doesn’t bother quieting you down anymore. Situated deep inside your gooey pussy, your neighbours complaints are his last worry. He’s the neighbourhoods friendly policeman. They’ll understand, surely?

[withhertea]

HELLO WITCHES!

it’s me! through the mailer! how fun!

so i recently found out how many cute people are signed up to this mailer and spoiler – it’s a lot! i had also been thinking about ways to speak to u all more openly and honestly, and i suddenly was like, what if the mailer could become more of a personal letter service, from my brain to yours? i have been an avid fan of the lorde mailer for many years now (the girls who get it get it); i can still quote and remember specific excerpts from the release of solar power, and it’s always been such a welcome treat in my inbox, so i figured maybe i could take a little inspiration and start doing the same with you guys.

however, i can’t say it was all rainbows and bunnies. touring is hard, and as i get older i feel like it gets tougher to be away from home, from my loved ones, from the life i’ve built for myself in london. i get huge health anxiety for my voice, as i’ve had serious difficulties with it on previous tours and so immediately i become hyper aware; waking up every morning trying and then failing to sing a high note before you’ve even brushed your teeth is not an experience i wish on my worst enemies. i know online it can look like we’re all having the time of our lives, and as much as that is true in many ways, i also feel like it’s important to share all sides of the coin you know? im SO lucky to do what i do, and i never forget that, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t get pretty challenging. i needed a home cooked meal like i needed oxygen by the end!

i’ve also been working on MP3 – dun dun duhhhhh :O it’s definitely been a process throughout this year, working in little gaps between tours, slowly trying to piece together what it’s going to be. i think i have 6 songs right now that feel extremely right, and a dozen more that could feel extremely right with the right gift wrapping. making albums when you’re someone like me can be quite frankly exhausting – my bar is in the sky, my standards have never been higher, and whilst its amazing having such a big team behind me, sometimes it can feel like everytime you send a song across you’re waiting for your grade back. is it an A, or a B, or a C and a do better next time?? music should be made for arts sake, something i really am trying to remember, and i’ve had a great week in the studio this week with some long time favourites of mine, so im excited for what the rest of the months will bring :’) im writing from the heart, and i believe that is what matters most. i wrote a song called real thing this week that im pretty excited about, so here’s a little teaser for you :

‘love was a rumour, now it’s my morning coffee, and all of that heartbreak, oh it melted right off me’

it wouldn’t feel right to sign this off without talking about the election result in america. whilst i’m not an american, i spend a lot of time there and love a lot of people who live there. i was hugely disappointed and frankly terrified of the outcome, and i want to take this moment to say: to all of my BIPOC fans, all of my queer fans, trans fans, i am with you, i support you, i love you, and i will do whatever i can do over the next four years to be and create a safe space for you.

here are some quick recommendations to make your day a little better, and i will talk to you all again soon!

the new christian lee hutson album, paradise pop 10! (it’s all i listen to right now), water ballet and flamingos are my favourites

2. netil market in london fields, and then the everything seasoning pizza slices <333 slap so hard

3. BANANAGRAMS. a conan tour obsession that has infiltrated my whole consciousness. you must join the cult.

4. a book called greta & valdin – i read on the plane ride out to america, and it was such a fun, poignant, heartfelt read <3

love u all deeply <3 mais x

Maisie's newsletter (November 15 2024)

[hyliandude]

SHINOMOTCHI

by: Franco Lopez

Gas tank? Full.

Laptop? Check.

Chargers? Check.

Homework? Eh. I won’t do it even if I bring it, and it won’t bump my grades up even if I do it.

Cigarettes? No, let’s leverage the long weekend to cut back. Well – just one for the drive. Anything harder will have to wait. The thought of mom finding out alone makes nauseous.

Laundry? Check.

Everything looks ready to go. I’m confident I can beat the sun out if I skip breakfast to maximize my time at home. Nothing on campus tastes quite like mom’s cooking. Maybe if I drive with the windows down, I’ll be able to follow the smell home without assistance from the GPS – she is making my favorite. What a remarkably silly thought. Aside from the meals, I think sleeping in a newly converted home gym beats sharing a dorm room with noisy acquaintances. Everyone is so loud.

Mom has my old belongings set aside in boxes on my old bed, but she promised not to sell anything without checking in with me first. I’m hoping the drive home will be dull, so it lets my mind wander. I was fine with being an undeclared major for the first three semesters, but that novelty is running out, and I need something to tether to or I’ll end up blowing the scholarships. No – I said this would be a weekend to unwind and take a step back. I’ll decide those things once I’m back. Mom can’t know.

The drive back would always revert my brain to how I used to perceive things. It’s been months, so things back in my hometown don’t quite look or smell like I remember, but each increasingly familiar street awakens a layer of my dormant youth. I’d forget the worries of tuition, work schedules, rent, projects, scholarships, extra-credit, and all the other headaches that come with academia. It’s all so noisy. I hope I can find silence back home.

There’s the post office, the remodeled fast-food joint, a new subdivision I don’t recognize, and the driveway up to my childhood suburban oasis. My friends always say they dread going home for long holidays now, but I can’t help disagreeing. There’s a guilty pleasure in returning to my worry-free self. The future can wait as long as I remain here.

I held back tears hugging my mom. It’d been months fending for myself in the jungle, and the home smelled like cinnamon apple candles and dinosaur chicken nuggets (I never said my favorite meal was anything fancy). My room was a pile of boxes and unassembled workout equipment. My bed still smelled like the lingering remnants of high school. It was even more comfortable than I remember. I suppose that’s what sleeping on a sponge for months does to the soul. I could feel my body shutting down as I threw myself on to the plush comforter. My shoulders turned into spaghetti and everything I’d learned in school fled my body with every warm and prolonged exhale. I was safe again. In my little box, surrounded by towers of cardboard boxes. It was a throne that had remained dusty for too long. Away from the necessary machinations of the world. The bureaucracy. The exhausting social ploys we follow to make a living or ascend in this world. It was a snake eat snake world, and I was the brightest mouse.

I unpacked quickly and began rearranging the confines of the castle to my liking in peace and silence. I moved “Kitchenware for sale” off to the side table, “Clothes for sale” near the door leading to my bathroom, and “Old toys for sale?” on to the bed. Something inside was beeping. The box was taped shut for protection, but curiosity got the better of me and I clawed the lid off to inspect the types of curiosities that might be hiding in it. Another dormant layer of youth was abruptly jolted awake as the musty cardboard flaps exploded with dust and the smell of (somehow) damp plastic and felt. Old teddy bears and plushies, action figures with missing arms or accessories, my old 90’s translucent plastic fake phones and gaming consoles, a few game cartridges (that could probably sell for a good price if I found their original boxes), a binder of collectible trading cards, and the source of the faint beeping– a little toy electronic keychain pet, the kind that were all the rage in the late 90’s, but one I don’t recall ever owning. “Shinomotchi” was printed on its plastic hull. This must’ve been a knock-off that my mom picked up at the mall or something because that is NOT the brand name for these little guys and one I’d not heard of before. Regardless, the little guy was still going! There’s no shut off switch to these things, but I’d assumed the battery would have given up after almost 20 years. It has a sad face in its thought bubble, and the little amorphous critter was moving slowly back and forth across the screen, surprisingly still beeping for food and water. The interface only had three buttons and a small selection of items to choose from on the main screen. These included food, bath, and play. It took me less than a minute to acquaint myself with how they functioned. Little black, pixelated spots of excrement littered the screen. These were all cleared with the bath function. The little skulls over the hunger bar were cleared with the food function, and the sad face eventually went away with extended uses of the toy function.

Throughout the weekend, the critter would beep, and I’d have to stop to feed or clean up after its messes. For the most part, it would mind its own business, wandering around the screen without beeping or doing much of anything in its comfortable little walls. I discovered it had little mini games – simple mazes or collecting games that would cheer it up even more. My mom just smiled when she’d catch me fiddling with it. She doesn’t recall purchasing it either, but she said she hadn’t seen me that happy in a few years.

The beeps would come and go in a tune that decorated the weekend air. I’d catch myself running out of the shower to feed it or skipping meals to take it out on virtual walks. At night, the beeps would ring in my dreams to the point where I’d just stay awake because it would be easier to take care of the plastic child I’d neglected for so many years than to be interrupted halfway into the REM cycle. At the tail end of the weekend, I had as much of a tough time keeping my eyes open as I did keeping them closed. The beeps were intelligible now, and much more complex than I, or anyone else, could’ve thought. It would call out to me by name. “Come feed me” it would say, in a hoarse, 8-bit voice. “Come clean up after me” it would bellow out at random intervals throughout the day. “Come play with me” it would ring, purposefully guilting me into hour long bouts of sorting virtual berries or throwing pixel balls back and forth.

I convinced my mom that finals would all be virtual this year. She was excited of course, that her only child would be staying with her longer, but I could see the twinge of hesitation whenever I reached for the buttons of the Shinomotchi.

“Why don’t you set that down for a bit honey,” she’d say.

“Don’t listen to her – she’s the one that you conspired with to lock me away” it would say back in its retro pings of fear and anger.

“Can I have a smoke now?” I’d ask but would always be met with a fervent “No.”

After several more months my mom stopped asking questions about school or work. My school inbox had grown to a staggering all time high. I did not have it in me to look at texts or calls. My voicemail was a graveyard of concerned, pixelated voices, all asking for help, time, or money. Shinomotchi and I have decided to place all those thoughts and worries in a cardboard box, and tape them shut. I could no longer see the critter in its plastic hull. In fact, I no longer held it. I could not see or feel it. I could only hear it in the back of my mind. I’d see its face outside the window panes of my room and nothing else beyond it. No light shone in or out anymore.

“May I go outside?” I’d ask politely. No answer. Sometimes it would go weeks without answering. We’d revel in a crossword puzzle it would give me, and then take them away.

“May I have some food, please?” No answer. For days even. When my stomach couldn’t bare it any longer it’d toss me a simple sandwich. Tasteless, yet delicious.

My room door was locked from the outside. Its walls now a translucent plastic. No friends, no family. Just darkness and musty air as I pleaded for food, baths, and play time with the true king of the cardboard castle.

“Thank you, Shinomotchi, for allowing me to remain within the confines of your majestic fortress” I said, with reverence for my virtual master, and a growing disdain for my future and responsibilities. No answer.

The faint sound of wrapping tape echoed outside of the plastic walls, and a deep cowl of comforting darkness, and the silence I’d been longing for, finally shrouded my room.

[logicalbookthief]

Hm..83, involving Hunter and Dadrius?

83. Another sleepless night, huh?

Thank you @red-lion-of-voltron for reading my mind and sending a Dadrius prompt lol.

The bed is too soft. Hunter can’t sleep.

Of all the complaints to have about his new living arrangement, that sounds like the most lackluster. He should be thankful he was offered a bed in the first place, let alone one so comfortable it feels like he could sink into the sheets. Darius isn’t the type of man who skimps on the quality of his quilts or pillows. 

The bed is too soft, and his skin chafes under every stitch, unable to shake this restless itch. He shouldn’t be nestled in blankets that're far warmer, cozier than anything he had back at the castle. He should be working. Patrolling, training. Gathering intel for the new government, going on missions for Darius or whoever, anything but this—this foreboding sense of calm.

He knows it won't last. 

Maybe that is why he's on edge, why his body can't settle, even in the depths of night, when exhaustion's tugging at his eyelids, staring listlessly at the dim light of the crystal ball.

He’s waiting for orders that will never come. Expecting a threat that no longer exists.

It begs the question of why he's even staying at Darius's house. It doesn't really seem like he's needed? He would understand if he had something to do, some skill or task so he could be useful to his host. 

However, Darius prefers to have his abominations handle the cleaning and Hunter has barely any experience with cooking, which exempts him from most of the chores. And Darius flat-out refused to give him a job, despite the fact that he does have experience in that.

By his own admission, Darius has grown a little fond of him, but it’s still a stretch to think that is enough repayment for what he’s offering. Sure, he might’ve protected Hunter a few times, and acted a bit distraught on his behalf; all of that could be chalked up to his innate sense of decency. I’m glad you didn’t die is a far cry from I’m willing to tolerate you living in my house for free.

Particularly since Hunter doubts he’s the easiest tenant. Why, the amount he’s woken the house with nightmares alone—

“Another sleepless night, huh?”

Hunter swivels around to see Darius leaning on the back of the couch. His hair looks mussed, his clothes in an unusual state of disarray. He was clearly fast asleep not too long ago and Hunter gets a fresh stab of guilt.

“Sorry,” he says softly, ears flattening against his head. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’ll go—”

He reaches for the crystal ball screen. His hand pauses midair, started by a blanket unceremoniously dropped over his shoulders. A string of abomination fusses with the fringes, tucking it in around his arms, effectively stopping any movement.

“Relax,” Darius huffs. “You didn’t wake me. Even if you did, I’d be grateful it isn’t Eberwolf running amok at 3am for once. He gets a burst of energy and likes to spend it rolling around, knocking over furniture, scaling the curtains.”

Hunter blinks. “Like a cat?”

“A much larger, more annoying cat.” Darius smirks. “Dare I ask why you’re up this late?”

“Technically, it’s early,” Hunter replies. Just to be contrary.

Darius swats at him for that, which Hunter dodges, more out of instinct than fear. A cheeky smile tugs at his lips.  

The warm, mushy feelings dissipate when Darius prods, “Nightmare?”

He pitches his voice low, gentle. Hunter hunches his shoulders, reluctant to explain that—what? After all Darius had done to earn his trust, his brain refused to believe this was for, that he was safe?  “Not exactly,” he murmurs, shiftily.

“Mm,” Darius hums. “Well, that makes two of us.”

Hunter frowns, suspicious of that. It could be a pretense designed to get him to talk. Leading by example, uh huh. Classic interrogation technique.“Really?” he asks skeptically.

“Not a nightmare, per se. They don’t always have to be,” Darius remarks. “It was more like... A memory.”

Sympathy causes Hunter to wince, recalling too many of his own trips down memory lane. If it’s a lie, it’s a damn good one. “A bad one?” 

“Not exactly,” Darius echoes, smiling wanly. “I dreamt I was speaking with an old friend.”

He doesn’t need a to ask to know which old friend he’s referring to.

“Oh,” Hunter whispers, the exhalation punched out of his chest. He tips his chin, studying his hands in his lap. Suddenly, he wishes he was on his obnoxiously comfy sheets, with only the itch for company. 

Strange to think that Darius has memories of a Golden Guard that aren’t tainted by cracked masks tangled up in dead roots, or left to rot in a pit of bones.

And yet he lives with the very reminder that that Golden Guard is gone.

Silence reigns over the room, the only sound coming from the chatter of the crystal ball. Darius appears to be waiting for Hunter to pick up the thread of conversation, if he wants. Though he seems equally as content to sit here and watch mind-numbing television until they both succumb to sleep.

By the time Hunter summons the nerve to speak, he’s waited too long, the context nearly forgotten.

"I'm sorry."

Tearing his eyes away from the crystal ball, Darius glances quizzically at him. "For what?"

"For replacing him. Your mentor."

Darius jolts as if struck. Instantly the air in the room thickens, almost suffocating with its tension. "You don't have to apologize for that,” he says, quick yet strained, but he’s lying.

Why does Darius look so sad here?

"I know it made you upset,” he insists. “And angry."

Discomfort bleeds into his face. "I—“

"You don't have to pretend.” His voice comes out far more harshly than he intended. "Or always be this nice to me."

Darius looks at a loss for words. His expression twists into something indecipherable, so Hunter doesn’t bother. 

He looks away, his mouth pressed into a firm line. "I'm tired of pretending. I'd rather you be honest and hate me than pretend."

It isn't quite the truth. Because he wants Darius to think he's worthy of his time. Like a child still chasing after the approval of every adult in his life, all of whom ranged from disinterested, disdainful or openly hostile. All except for his uncle, who assured Hunter he could be good if he followed every order without question, who gave chance after chance for Hunter to prove his worth.

But it was all a lie. None of it made a difference, none of it spared Hunter in the end. No amount of loyalty or love could sway his uncle’s decision. His mind seemed to be set from the moment he brought his grimwalker to life.

Hatred is better than a lie. Bitterness is better than a lie. He's sick of the lying, the wondering, the worrying. Second-guessing every interaction, weighing the cost of happiness over the urgency of survival.

The weight pressing against the back of the couch disappears. Darius must be leaving.

Good, Hunter shuts his eyes, ignoring the ache in his chest that disagrees. The waiting is over. The ruse has dropped. Everything can go back to normal.

He tenses as the cushion he’s sitting on shifts, dipping at the additional weight. His eyes shoot open, yet he doesn’t speak, the lump in his throat constricting any speech.

"I never hated you, Hunter."

And he can't help the scoff he lets out at that. Darius grimaces, though he doesn’t defend himself.

"First of all, you didn't replace him. Belos did." Darius rubs the side of his neck, looking as close to sheepish as Hunter has ever seen. "I suppose... I’m the one who needed that reminder.” 

Hunter stares at the man as he sighs, not fully comprehending.

“I let my resentment over his decision influence my opinion of you. I didn't even try to get to know you first. And that was my mistake. I’m sorry, little prince."

The apology hits with more impact than he expected. It sounds like a such small thing — a thing he’s said a million times before, and it never meant much, not to Belos, at least — but he can’t remember when an adult has ever directed those words at him.

"You weren't wrong," Hunter replies solemnly. "I was always doing what he told me. Just blindly following orders I bet your mentor wasn’t that dumb,” he snorts.

“When I met your predecessor, he was already a man. And he’d done plenty of things in the name of the emperor that he grew to regret,” Darius imparts, nudging Hunter’s arm with his own. “Realizing that is the first step to becoming a proper rebel. The courage to fight comes after.”

"I didn't rebel because I was smart enough to realize,” Hunter snaps, cringing at how desperately he’d rationalized his uncle’s actions in the mindscape, even with all evidence to the contrary. “Or brave enough to do what's right. I was just—”

What a shame. Out of all the grimwalkers, you looked the most—

He stops, catches his breath, exhales it. “I was scared. I didn’t want to die.”

There. If the confession doesn’t show what a poor excuse for a replacement he is, what else would?

"Believe me when I say that not dying was pretty high on my priority list, too,” Darius says wryly. “And it became quite a motivator for the rebellion, too.” 

Knitting his brow, Hunter contorts his face into such bewilderment that Darius chuckles. He can’t tell if he’s teasing or serious.

"Self-interest is not a crime, little prince. Your uncle may not have taught you that," Darius goes on, totally sincere. He bumps his hand gently against Hunter’s head, the gesture so well-worn by now that he doesn’t even flinch. "But I can assure you it's the truth."

No more lies. That’s what Hunter wanted, right? Even if the truth confuses more than comforts, or it isn’t the dynamic he’s used to…

He sucks in a breath, slowly letting it go, just like he was taught. Does it until his limbs go lax, until the itch is soothed, no longer the consuming thing it was. His eyelids grow heavier, fluttering as he strains to focus on the crystal ball. 

His head lolls, and he blames it all on gravity, the way his head tips to the side, his cheek landing on Darius’s shoulder. He finds he’s too tired to remove himself. If he want his space, Darius will have to shove him off. 

Hunter may have mumbled that aloud, if the huff of laughter that tickles his hair is any indication.

The couch isn’t as soft as his bed. For tonight, it will do.

[seokjinsonlyone]

so i got on tiktok for more than five minutes for the first time in like a month the other day and i saw they was doing this trend where it’s sorta like fmk but like husband, boyfriend, or sneaky link and i just wanted to add my two cents

namjoon:

this is your boyfriend

i know you may be thinking ???? boyfriend???? not husband??????????

but yes boyfriend listen we all know this man is brilliant; big brained and big bodied; cognitive skills off the charts; he knows a thing or two about a thing or two

however, he just ain’t there yet 😭 he don’t even got his license y’all gon flub on the contraceptives once or twice and next thing you know you strapping your kid into the basket of his bike so he can drop them off to school 😩

and his cooking……….. like watching this man with a knife gives me anxiety

he has a bit of growth to do but that’s why you date before getting married 🥳🥳🥳

y’all would go on the beeeest dates i’m talking museums, picnics, hikes, and yes bike rides

and like he’s just so sweet and thoughtful and he tries his very best to be gentle despite his destructive nature so it would just be so cute and fun for him to be your boyfriend

seokjin:

it goes without saying that this is your husband

to be honest ion even really need to elaborate on this one like…

he cooks; he cleans; he’s thoughtful, supportive, silly, will do anything to make you happy…

everything you could ever want and need in a man is manifested in kim seokjin

so just lemme tell you what this ^^ gif is this is like three months after you’ve given birth to your second child

he got home from work way later than expected he was tired exhausted really but still helped you with your new baby taking turns tending to them on and off all night

you had just gotten into a really good sleep when your alarm went off signaling it was time to get child number 1 up and ready for school

you groaned sitting up but before you could even get out of bed he was wiping the sleep from his eyes and telling you he was going to take care of it

“but you got off late last night and you helped me too”

he reassured you that it was fine and that he had it he knew how hard you worked all day everyday and you never got the opportunity to clock out

it was his day off anyway so he kissed your forehead and told you to get back to sleep

which was a bit easier said than done bc those two were like bulls in a china cabinet there was whining and scuttling all around a few disagreements on which outfit your child should wear and what they should eat for breakfast

but soon enough you looked out the window and saw jin adjusting his shorts and a few seconds later your child bobbling out after him backpack a little too big for their body before they walked hand in hand to the car

that’s… what that is… that’s your husband

and when i say your i mean mine that’s my husband

you can keep scrolling 😗✌️

yoongi:

husband <33333

like jin this man is the total package

he cooks, cleans, is loving and supportive, will take care of you emotionally, and on top of that he’s handy! extensive knowledge about interior design!

like if you want some pictures hanged or a shelf built or something this is the man for you

your lil bob the builder <3

like idk what it is with this man but something about him is just so soft and makes me want to love and be loved by him

like if this is not your husband this is your long term boyfriend you are dating him for no less than five years and when you part way you ain’t gon know how to live without him

so don’t leave

bring the documents he already said so

hoseok:

boyfriend 100%

hobi just seems so partnerable

i look at him and i see movie nights and pillow talk

i see cuddles and late night facetime calls

your own personal hope on the streets when he wants to loosen up or practice or relieve stress😩

you go to a restaurant and each pick a dish and share it with each other like he’s very much giving one milkshake 2 straws

or you two cook together side by side he’s chopping vegetables and cleaning while you’re sautéing and stir frying and what not

you go shopping with him and critique his outfits when he tries them on and vice versa

i don’t even know man i just see hobi and i think he’s flawless i want to give him the world

and i think about that time when he said one of his personal goals was to become special to someone 😭😭😭

so like girl get your boyfriend and just give him all the love he’s searching for all the love he deserves

jimin:

….sneaky link

look at him smh caught in 4k sending a “you up?” text at the tender hour of 3am

idk what to tell ya man he just ain’t bout it rn

he ain’t looking for nothing but fun

atm it’s just him and his bros

every once in a while he’ll go searching for a connection for a night or two

there may be a few repeat offenders a string of flings if you will but never anything serious

i can see it in his eyes everyone can really bc he flirts with every living and nonliving thing in sight

taehyung:

husband

now you may be thinking… is he not on par with namjoon when it comes to practical skills???

and like yes perhaps but he definitely is not as much as a liability

like i think i can trust him to open a packet of barbecue sauce without risk of ruining my outfit and like i know i wouldn’t fear for my life if he was slicing a hard boiled egg

which is not to say that i wouldn’t mind getting stabbed by joon there are certainly worse ways to go but that’s not what we’re talking about

what we’re talking about is tae and how i just know with him you’d be safe physically mentally and emotionally 🥺🥺🥺

and idk if it’s bc i done seen him in slacks one too many times but something about him just screams commitment

like he’s giving 401k he’s giving life insurance he’s giving condo in florida where you spend the winter bc your bones get too cold where you normally live

but you know what he’s also giving passion like you will 100% spend the rest of your life in love with this man

like in that picture it’s giving you’ve been married for three years it’s wednesday and he’s off so he asked you on a date

it’s taking you longer than anticipated to get ready you wanted to look pretty for him bc truthfully you don’t get to go on dates often as much as he’d like to

your hair and makeup is finally done so you find him and tell him you’re almost done and you’ll be out as soon as you slip on your outfit

he lazily turns his head to you and tells you to take your time there’s no rush and he’s just looking at you with absolute hearts in his eyes

you’re not even fully ready and there’s hearts in his eyes 😭 it makes your heart race and you can’t keep the smile off your face as you get ready for your date, for the rest of your life together with him

jungkook:

i know y’all gon hate to hear this one but… sneaky link

^^ that may be your boyfriend but you ain’t his girlfriend 😭

that is the face of someone you called and told that you wanted to stop messing around bc you was getting attached but he convinced you that it didn’t have to be all that and acted cute until you changed your mind

listen this man is in his prime he ain’t tryna settle down

the moment you try to commit is the moment he jumps out the window

and this is not to say that he’s not a good boy but like i’ve known jungkooks i’ve been friends with jungkooks and the second you try to take things farther than what they want that’s when they stomp all over your heart

however i do firmly believe that jungkook ain’t like them others he’s more than a good boy he’s the best boy

and if he like idk heard bells when you walked by or was pulled by the red string of fate or like felt the yearning or whatever it is that he done conjured up in his head he’d be everything and more 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

[hispipsqueak]

Sweet Little Sister

Tenya Iida x F!Reader x Tensei Iida NSFW

TW: STEPCEST. I cannot stress this enough. If you do not like stepcest, skip this fic my friend. Reader is the Iida brother’s new stepsister and things get wild. All characters are 18+.

Other TW: unprotected sex, threesome, a lot of little sister/big brother type stuff, slight yandere Iida brothers, oral F and M receiving.

WC: 4k

A/N: Y’all have no idea how long I have been putting off writing the ending because it was HARD and I have like one brain cell. This fic has been the bane of my existence and I’m exhausted. I really hope you guys enjoy this. Please send me love....and snacks. I’m gonna go to bed now.

You fixed your skirt for the millionth time. You were going to finally meet your future stepbrothers for dinner tonight and you were a bundle of nerves.

Your mom had been dating a new man recently who she was head over heels for. They had been spending so much time together and he spoiled her, flying her abroad on weekend getaways all the time. Apparently, he had popped the question when they were in Greece last week and the two of them were flying in tonight to celebrate with both families. All you knew was he had two sons, both a little older than you. However, since the romance had been so quick, you hadn’t met them yet.

You were the last to arrive for dinner, and as you pulled up to the house, the house that you soon would all share, your jaw dropped. It was MASSIVE, nothing short of an estate. You knew your future stepdad was rich, but this was certainly a step up from your measly 2 bedroom apartment you shared with your mother.

You rang the doorbell, patting down your outfit one more time before the door swung open. A tall man opened the door and your eyes widened. His white button up stretched over his broad chest and you quickly pulled your eyes up to his face. He had navy hair, neatly combed back and a bright beaming smile.

“You must be Y/N! I’m Tensei!”. He pulled you into a tight hug and you were pressed into his chest. He smelled like pine and clean laundry and you felt your heart race. He let go of you and smiled, his blue eyes sparkling. 

“Sorry! I just figured, since we are going to be brother and sister, we better get close!” 

Right. Brother. This was your big brother and you could NOT think of him any other way. You forced a smile on your face, and nodded.

“You’re right! It’s great to finally meet you.”

“There you are – oh hello. I apologize for my interruption! I’m Tenya Iida.” Tensei’s brother, a literal carbon copy of him, just with square glasses perched in front of his blue eyes, walked into the room. You looked up at both of them, and felt very small.

“Tenya, no need to be so formal. Y/N is our new little sister, and we should be bonding!” Tensei teased, poking Tenya in the ribs. A bright blush crept on his cheeks and the two of them argued.

“I’m glad the three of you seem to be getting along well!” A man who resembled the two, only older with a grey streak in his hair smiled. Your mother stood next to him, the sparkly diamond standing out on her hand.

“Let’s get to dinner.”

Somehow you ended up sitting between Tensei and Tenya at the long table. Your parents were too busy being lovestruck teenagers to really pay the three of you any mind, and you ate your dinner in awkward silence until Tensei began speaking.

“Y/N, I hope you like your bedroom here! It’s on the top floor but it’s between both mine and Tenya’s so if you ever need your big brothers, we are right next door!”

You giggled, “Thank you. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

Tenya nodded solemnly, “It’s our duty as older brothers to protect you! We will take this responsibility seriously!” 

You bit back a laugh. “Thank you Tenya. I already feel very welcome and safe.”

The three of you continued talking and soon, dinner was over. Both of the brothers insisted you head up to your room as they cleaned up, and your parents headed to their room which was thankfully, in another wing of the house.

You made your way up the stairs and opened the door that Tensei had directed you to and it was very...pink. There were pink lilies on the nightstand and a huge baby pink comforter on the bed surrounded by fluffy pastel pillows. A white vanity sat in the corner with a matching chair and white and pink dressers stood against the wall.

You supposed they were really glad to have a little sister and you smiled at the card that your new older brothers signed. You pulled your overnight bag open and searched for clothes to sleep in. The rest of your stuff would be arriving tomorrow, so you were stuck wearing shorts a little too small and a tank top that left very little to the imagination. You looked in the mirror. Maybe you could ask Tensei for a shirt to cover up, As if reading your mind, a knock at the door interrupted your thoughts.

“I just came by to…say goodnight!” Tensei’s eyes trailed down, before he blinked and looked back at your face. You could see his ears reddening and crossed your arms in an attempt to hide your cleavage.

“Um, actually I was wondering if I could borrow a shirt, Tensei? I’m so sorry, it seems that I haven’t worn this in a lot longer than I thought.” You laughed nervously.

Tensei straightened up.

“Of course! I’ll uh, be right back!” He sped off and returned with a large grey t-shirt that you immediately threw on over yourself. As you pulled it over yourself, you didn’t see Tensei’s eyes roam down your exposed legs. You turned to him. “Thank you so much Tensei. Sweet dreams!” You said, giving him a tight hug. He nodded and headed back to his room, passing Tenya in the hallway. Tenya gave him a curious look and Tensei just returned a tight-lipped smile before locking his door and collapsing on his bed, his cock straining against his boxers. 

------

The next morning you woke up refreshed and wanting to thank your new brothers for their hospitality. You headed out to the hall to see if they were awake. You opened the door to see Tenya standing there.

"Hey! I was just looking for you! Good morning Tenya." You smiled at him. 

"Good morning." He said looking at you curiously. "Is that Tensei's shirt?" 

You looked down and gave a sheepish grin. 

"Oh! Yes, I had another shirt on but it was a little too small so he let me borrow this last night."  

Tenya had an unreadable look on his face. You cocked your head to the side.

"Um...so anyway, I was wondering if you wanted breakfast? I wanted to show my appreciation for the warm welcome to my new brothers and I love to cook so it's my pleasure." You smiled at him. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, then just nodded.

"Uh...thank you, Y/N that would be wonderful. I'll show you around the kitchen." He said, placing a hand on your shoulder. He pulled back. "Apologies!"

You laughed.

"Tenya, please. We live together. I want you to feel comfortable around me!" You pulled him into a hug, your face in his chest.

Tenya's heart raced and he prayed you couldn't feel his growing erection. You were so soft and smelled so good and fuck you looked incredible in those tiny shorts, though he felt a strange pang of jealousy over you wearing his brother's shirt.

She's your sister. Your little sister. That's disgusting and disgraceful.  

His head raced with thoughts and he felt so ashamed but the taboo aspect fueled the fire burning inside him. 

You pulled away, looking up at him with those beautiful bright eyes. His heart thumped in his ears.

"Oh, good morning!" 

Tensei's door swung open. He stood shirtless in a pair of red flannel pajama pants and neither of the brothers missed how your eyes were drawn to his muscular chest before you composed yourself.

Tenya glared at Tensei, who gave an easygoing smile in return.

"I hope you slept well, little sister." Tensei asked you. You nodded and thanked him again for the shirt.

"I hope you're hungry. I'm making breakfast." You grinned as the three of you headed to the kitchen. Tensei chuckled.

"That sounds wonderful Y/N. Do you need any help?" 

You shook your head. "Nope! Let me treat you both as a thank you. I've always wanted older brothers to make food for and dote on." You giggled. "Maybe I watch too much anime but I always loved that idea."

Both brothers sat at the island in the kitchen watching you as you flitted about grabbing ingredients and utensils to use. You reached for a box of flour on a high shelf and your shorts ran up even higher, giving them an eyeful of the curve of your ass. Tensei bit his lip, and Tenya cleared his throat. "Allow me!"

You spun around, "No way! I told you. I can handle making my brother's breakfast!" You turned back to the cabinet, jumping up to reach. 

Even though you had Tensei's shirt on, your breasts jiggled and bounced with each jump, and you made soft panting noises as you attempted to pull the box down. Both of them were grateful for the island that prevented you from seeing their cocks fully aroused now.

You, having finally gotten everything you needed, turned away from them again as you began to cook on the stovetop. Tensei had finally had enough. As you talked about whatever it was you were talking about, he slipped his cock over the waistband of his pants, palming it slowly. You just looked so fucking nice, and for a moment Tensei could see you as his cute little housewife and not his innocent little sister.

Or maybe it turned him on more to think of you as both...fuck what was the matter with him? He couldn’t think about it too long as he had more pressing matters at hand, literally.

Neither you nor Tenya seemed to notice he was preoccupied and you continued joking and laughing. Suddenly you whipped around to face him. His hand froze on his cock and he coughed to cover his discomfort. 

“Tensei, how do you like your eggs?”, You asked innocently, completely oblivious to the death grip he had on his cock underneath the island.

“Uh...erm, anyway is fine! I’m sure they’ll be delicious if you cooked them.” He stammered out, praying you didn’t continue the conversation. You smiled, and turned to ask Tenya his preferences. Once Tensei was sure you were distracted, he slowly pumped his hand up and down his cock again. Precum leaked from the tip and knowing you could catch him, knowing you were less than 5 feet from him, only fueled his arousal. What would you do if you caught him? Would you be disgusted and upset? Or would you offer to help, offer to take care of your big brother?

God he was so close, so close imagining your hands wrapped around him, your beautiful face looking up at him, so sweetly, so innocently –

“NHGG!” he groaned, shoving his cock in his pants as his cum spilled over his hand. He could feel the fabric spreading his seed all over his cock and he felt uncomfortably sticky.

“Are you okay, big brother?” Your eyes were wide with worry. He turned to face both you and Tenya. 

“Y-yes! Sorry, muscle cramp in my leg. Happens sometimes, Sorry!” He smiled reassuringly as the cold fabric stuck to his softening cock. You still looked worried and he flashed you a bright grin. “I promise, I’m fine.”

You nodded and turned back to the food. Tensei met Tenya’s stare, the younger man’s eyes narrowed to slits. 

Oblivious, you plated the food. 

“Let’s eat!”

--------

The three of you navigated your new sibling relationship as well as possible. You loved your new older brothers and fussed over them daily, cooking for them and doting over them any time they were home. Your mom and stepdad, seeing how well the three of you got along, often left the three of you home while they jetted to far off countries on lavish vacations.

The boys loved the attention from you. Their packed lunches, your soft hands rubbing their shoulders or playing with their hair as they laid on the couch after a long day. You were so sweet and beautiful as you flitted around the house, cooking dinner or doing chores. And those days where they would come home to find you lounging by the pool outside? Your tiny swimsuit leaving little to the imagination? Well those were just bonuses.

Those nights, as you slept soundly in your bed, on the other side of the wall, Tenya gripped his cock tightly. Your curves ran through his mind and he spat on his throbbing cock as he thought about you. Your soft touches and giggles replayed in his head. Thoughts of when the two of you were alone and you’d curl up against him on the couch as you watched a movie, or fell asleep on his chest. You trusted him so much to protect you and love you like an older brother should and here he was, fantasizing about stretching your sweet little pussy on his cock, about making you cry out his name. 

Fuck, or when your cute little voice rang out each morning, “Good morning big brother!”. He wanted to hear you scream for him, beg your big brother to fuck you harder. He wanted to ruin you and make you his. He panted as he picked up speed, fucking his hand. His hips jerked and he was so close. 

A noise came from your room, a soft mewl. Tenya pressed his ear to the wall. He could hear movement and another soft sigh. Were you touching yourself too? Were you imagining his cock filling you up? He strained to hear and made out your cute little breaths and another low moan. His eyes rolled back and he groaned as his cum shot over his abs and chest. He listened to hear if you were awake and heard nothing more from your room. Sighing, he reached to his nightstand to clean himself.

-----

Days passed and you had been in an exceptionally good mood. At first, Tensei and Tenya both thought you were just in a good mood. But they started to notice you looking at your phone more, giggling and blushing at the screen. When they would ask, you would mumble “nothing” as you typed a response. You also spent more days out of the house than usual, saying you were spending time with friends or running errands. Finally one night, as the three of you sat at the table, you spoke up.

“I met a guy.”

Tenya’s fork clattered to his plate and Tensei gritted his teeth.

“His name is Kaito. He’s really sweet and really cute. He wants to take me out to dinner this week but I wanted him to meet you two first.” You smiled, looking up at your older brothers who were glaring daggers at their food.

Tenya spoke first.

“Where did you meet this man?”, he asked, his eyes burning a whole into the tablecloth.

“At the store as I was getting some groceries. He helped carry my bags to the car.” Your eyes flickered to both your brothers, confused at the tension in the air.

“So this man just picks up women at the grocery store?”, Tensei asked, his tone cold.

Your skin prickled.

“What? No, of course not. He saw I was struggling and offered to help me. Then we got to talking and…”

Tenya looked at you, his eyebrows furrowed.

“If you are having difficulty getting groceries, Tensei or I will join you so these men don’t prey on you. What if he had followed you home? Or attacked you in the car?”

You squeezed your eyes shut. How was this the conclusion they were reaching?

“Nothing happened! And clearly he is a nice man, as he wants to meet you and take me out.” Your voice wavered as 2 pairs of navy eyes stared you down.

“Is this who you’ve been texting?”, Tensei interrupted you.

You looked at him questioningly,

“Why does it matter who I’m–”

“ANSWER THE QUESTION.” Tenya’s hand slammed on the table.

Your lip trembled. Fighting back tears, you whispered. “Yes.”

Tensei looked exasperated. Closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, he reached out to you and you flinched.

“We are just worried about you. You’re our sweet little sister and we want to make sure no one hurts you ever.”

Tenya reached out to your other arm.

“I apologize, dear sister. I just want you to be safe and unharmed.”

You stared blankly at the table, before turning from both of them and walking to your room, slamming the door.

------

As your phone buzzed on the couch that night, it wasn’t too difficult for your older brothers to figure out your password. And it was even easier to find this Kaito guy online and threaten him until he agreed to cut contact with you.

After all, your big brothers would always protect you.

-----

The next day, as you read and re-read the messages from Kaito, your heart broke. You curled up against your older brothers on the couch. 

“You were right.” You sobbed into Tensei’s shoulder, Tenya’s chest pressed against your back. “I should have never argued with you two.”

The boys held you close between them. 

“Shh, it’s okay. We’ll take care of you. Your big brothers are here for you.” Tenya pressed his lips to your hair as Tensei pulled you into his chest. You could hear his heartbeat through his thin shirt. You felt Tenya rub soft soothing circles on your back and you sniffled, turning so you could face both of them.

“I’m..*hic* sorry for being *hic* so emotional.” You choked out, rubbing your eyes. You blinked and both boys looked at you. They both had such adoration in their eyes and looked at you like you hung the moon. You knew they would always be there for you.

You kissed Tensei on the cheek and turned, kissing Tenya on the cheek. Both boys blushed furiously and your breath caught in your throat as they each pressed a kiss to your cheeks, slightly closer to your lips. 

Maybe it was the overwhelming emotions that filled you right now, or maybe it was always there, lying dormant inside of you. But you felt a tingle in your core and pressed another soft kiss to Tenya’s face, this time ghosting the edge of his lips before placing an identical one to Tensei.

Your body stilled as you waited to see what they would do. Tensei looked in your eyes before pressing his lips to yours. Your hand clutched at his shirt as he licked your lip. You opened your mouth to him and he hungrily tasted you. You broke apart, and Tenya took this opportunity to pull you towards him.

He slammed his lips to yours as Tensei kissed down your neck and collarbone. Where Tensei was confident in his kisses, Tenya was desperate. You moaned into Tenya’s mouth as Tensei bit a particularly sensitive spot on your neck. Your bodies were so close and you could feel Tenya’s erection through his pants, pressing against your thigh.

You pulled back. 

“We shouldn’t...I’m so sorry, this is…” You stammered,

Tensei kissed your temple and Tenya pressed his hand to your cheek.

“Let us take care of you, little sister. Let your big brothers make it all better.” 

Flustered you gave in to your body and continued reaching down, palming Tenya through his slacks. You felt his body shiver as you ran your fingers up and down the shaft. Pulling away from both of them you pulled off your sweater, revealing your body to them. Their cocks ached so much for you, and seeing you like this, in a way they had only imagined, turned them feral.

Tensei tugged at your legs, pushing you onto your back. You looked up at your big brothers and your eyes widened.

“You’re so beautiful.” Tensei whispered, his fingers tracing your belly. Tenya nodded, his eyes trained on your breasts in the lacy white bra you wore. He slid the strap down your shoulder and when you didn’t protest, unhooked the clasp in the front. Your breasts spilled out and he ran his fingers over your hardening nipples.

Tensei tugged down your legging and panties and you were naked before them, looking like a sweet lamb between two hungry wolves. He pressed a kiss to your lower belly, and you whimpered. His cerulean eyes met yours and you gave a soft nod for him to keep going. His lips met your folds and he lapped at your slit hungrily. Your hips bucked involuntarily and you could feel his grin against you.

“Easy now sweetheart, your big brother is going to take care of you.” His hands pressed your hips down firmly as he continued to devour your cunt.

Your eyes rolled back and you met Tenya’s eager eyes. His erection was pressing painfully through his pants and you tugged at the fabric, silently begging for him. He threw off his slacks and you could see the wet mark on the front of his boxers. Running your fingers over it, you opened your mouth and looked at him expectantly.

That was all it took. Tenya slid his boxers off, pressing the head of his dick against your soft lips. You gave kitten licks, staring into his eyes as best you could as you were still being tantalized by Tensei’s tongue. Tenya let out a grunt as you continued to tease his cock, slowly taking it deeper into your mouth. Tensei plunged his tongue deep inside you and you let out a loud moan around Tenya.

“F-fuck...so good, princess.” Tenya choked out, pulling you closer onto his cock. You felt yourself getting closer to climax as Tensei flicked his tongue over your clit. You gasped around Tenya’s thick member and he used this opportunity to push himself deeper down your throat. Stars danced in your eyes and your thighs strained under Tensei’s grip.

“That’s it baby girl, cum all over your big brother’s face.”

His lewd words, the taboo nature of it all, and the helplessness you felt as you choked on Tenya’s cock and were being held down by Tensei...you cried out as you gushed all over Tensei’s face. 

“Mmm….that’s it sweetheart.” Tensei murmured as he guzzled down your arousal. Your eyes fluttered and you whimpered as you Tenya lazily fucked your face.

Tensei looked at Tenya and wordlessly, the brothers switched places and you were flipped onto your knees. Tenya’s thick cock was pressed against your entrance and you gulped at how big it felt. He ran his hands over your hips.

“Shh...be a sweet little sister for your brothers.” 

Tensei’s cock was in front of your mouth and he tapped it on your mouth. You parted your lips and both brothers slid inside you. You gasped at the stretch and tried to turn your head towards Tenya, but Tensei gripped your face, and you swirled your tongue around his cock. 

“So tight...god...such a perfect little girl.” Tenya groaned, his fingertips digging into your skin. Tensei tugged your hair as he plunged deeper into your mouth. You bounced between the brother’s cocks as they worshipped your body, praising you for being their good girl.

“So beautiful, Y/N. You’re so good to us.” Tensei whispered.

You could feel Tenya’s thrusts getting sloppier as he pounded into you faster and faster. He pulled your arms behind your back, so you were at their mercy. Tensei’s cock was slamming the back of your throat, and Tenya was fucking you so deep you felt like you were going to pass out. Your limbs felt like jelly and the only thing holding you upright was the sheer force of them fucking you from each end.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck...gonna cum.” Tenya breathed out, his grip on you was almost painful and your arms were sore from how hard he tugged on them. Tensei seemed to be reaching his peak too, as his breaths were becoming ragged. You swallowed around his cock and he let out a deep groan, spilling his seed down your throat. You clenched around Tenya and he swore as he shot ropes of hot cum deep inside you. The twitching of his cock set you off and your muscles clenched as you whimpered out. You felt like sparks were fluttering from your nerves and the boys held you as you came down from your high. 

Your eyes closed and you could only faintly feel them cleaning you up and someone carrying you to your bed. Your hands reached out and you felt the bed shift as each man climbed into your pink bed on either side of you.

Content, you fell asleep between your big brothers.

[ilikemesometaetaes]

Good Day (M)

Jeon Jungkook Oneshot

•••> Author: @ilikemesometaetaes​

•••> Summary: His motive was made quite clear once he called you out of work. He just wanted to spend a nice day with his girlfriend. Is that too much to ask for?

•••> Pairing(s): Jungkook/Reader

•••> Requested by Anon: “Can I request a Jungkook oneshot(established relationship) where they just want to spend the day just getting drunk on wine and having sex on the couch? Y/N could be dressed in just his shirt and Jungkook in just his sweatpants”

•••> Word Count: 6.15k [Unedited]

•••> Rating: 18+

•••> Tags: smut | Established Relationship | Jungkook!au | Boyfriend!Jungkook | Lazy Day/Sex | Wine Drunk

•••> Warnings: smut, slight bloating!kink (but there isn’t actually any bloating), unprotected sex, dirty talk, kookie is a horny little fuck, he literally just wants to bone, all day, he’s also a drunken idiot sometimes, cursing, alcohol use, shower stimulation, showerheads can be a girl’s best friend, drunk sex, lazy sex

Copyright © 2021 ilikemesometaetaes. All Rights Reserved.

Thank you for the request, anon! It took ages to complete and I’m so sorry! I hope you enjoy it :)

~#~

Arms tightened around your waist as you woke. The embrace was slightly suffocating.

“Baby,” You wheezed through your unused vocal cords. The grip only tightened and constricted your lungs, serving for a rude awakening. “Kook.”

“Murph.” Hot breath on your neck after a groan of exhaustion was a welcome feeling- comforting despite the uncomfortable position you were in. You smiled despite your lack of ability to move and looked down to see his tattooed arm overlapping the bare one over your ribs.

“I can’t-“ You were cut off as he tightened his grip with a slight whimper of distress.

Immediately plagued with concern, you grabbed his arms and wrestled them from your body so that you could turn to face him from within his encircled limbs. You only got more worried when you noticed his obvious stress-ridden eyebrows, arched up with eyelids fluttering rapidly. His lower lip was trembling as he quietly began muttering ‘no’ repeatedly.

“Jungkook.” You gently placed your hand on his bare shoulder and shook him. His fingers dug into your ribs painfully, warranting a more stern call of his name. “Jungkook!”

“No!” He yelled while sitting up abruptly and heaving for breath. You were thrown from his clutches and rocked on the bed from the movement. Despite the disturbance, you sat up with him and reached for his back to rub it soothingly.

“Baby,” You cooed, quick to reassure him with gentle touches. “I’m here. We’re here. You’re okay.”

Following your statements and ministrations on his back, his breathing gradually slowed with a few sputtering gasps and an audible gulp. Once you gauged his level of calm, you broke the silence.

“What happened?” You asked, tilting your head and leaning forward to get a better look at his face past his long hair. His eyes were shut tight with eyelids wrinkled at the corners while he inhaled slowly through flaring nostrils.

Your boyfriend opened his eyes after a moment, blinking a few times in the process, before turning his head to set you in his line of sight.

“They were taking my dad away.” He wavered. “But he’d already completed his time.”

You knew better- Jungkook’s father was safe in the comfort of his own home in Busan, already having served the mandatory enlistment for his home country- but you also knew that you needed to reassure your boyfriend so that he could relax his tensed shoulders.

“Do you want me to give him a call?” You asked. “I’m sure he’d appreciate hearing from us and it’s not too late in the evening over there.”

“No, it’s okay.” Jungkook said, letting the tremors fade from his body as he let reality sink into him. “He should get his rest. I’ll call him this evening.”

“Alright, Kook. Sounds good.” You gave him one more pat before looking at the clock. Your alarm would go off in eight minutes. “Shit. Might as well start getting ready now.”

“You do have work today.” Jungkook said the words as a statement, as if confirming prior thoughts.

“Yes,” You chuckled, smiling lightly and leaning in to kiss his cheek before getting out of the bed. “I do.”

A soft whine escaped his throat as he quickly grabbed onto your fingers. “Nooo… Don’t goooo…”

“I have to, baby.” You lightly tugged your fingers from his grasp to make your way towards the bathroom. Shuffling sheets from behind you signaled that Jungkook had also gotten out of the bed.

As you turned the shower handle and began taking off your clothes to shower, you heard him creep in behind you with light footsteps padding across the wooden floor.

“Don’t even think about it.” You giggled while he crowded his body against the back of your almost-bare one, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his ever-present morning wood against your skin. “I can’t be held up.”

“Then call out.” He whispered into your ear, to which you pulled away and turned around so that you could raise an eyebrow at him. Did he really just tell you to call out of work just so the two of you could bone?

His eyes were dark and playful as if challenging you while you stared up into his gaze defiantly. You scoffed in disbelief. “Jungkook, I can’t.”

“Why not?” He jutted his lower lip out into a pout. Fuck. You internally scowled at his tactics, hating the way your heart began trying to convince your brain to consider calling out.

Before you could crumble under the pressure of his ways, you huffed out a response. “Because I can’t, babe.” You slid your panties off and opened the shower door to step inside.

“-And don’t even think of coming in here. I can’t afford to be late.” You added the last part as you closed the glass door behind you, knowing his next strategy would be to tempt you with his naked body- a strategy you would surely lose to.

Jungkook groaned, pressing himself against the door with one arm bracing his weight against the distorted surface while you wet your hair. You watched in amusement as he slowly began accepting his defeat.

“But you work all the time.” He whined again, causing you to smugly and mockingly pout in response.

“So that I can make money.” You jokingly copied his tone and continued with your shower before he backed away from the glass in silence and stepped towards the sink. You watched as his shapeless body moved, deducting that he was going to brush his teeth as he reached into the drawer where you kept the toothpaste. Once he placed the toothbrush into his mouth and began brushing, you smiled, shook your head, and continued to shower.

“Y’know,” His words were jumbled as the toothbrush obstructed his speech. “You gon’ make me act up.”

“Act up?” You asked while laughing. “How are you going to act up?”

Jungkook leaned over the sink and spit, leaving a break of silence to drag your curiosity further. Once he rinsed his mouth, he turned to look at you again despite being unable to see you clearly. He sighed dramatically.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, babe.” He quipped before exiting the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

You only scoffed at him again, rolling your eyes and hurrying with your shower to stay on schedule.

~#~

Fresh-faced and ready for work, you grabbed your purse and walked out of your bedroom to make your way towards the front door. The sound of something scraping against a pan while the oven fan hummed lowly tipped off that Jungkook was in the kitchen.

“Jungkook?” You called for him as you were about to round the corner. “Do you know where my phone is?”

The sight you walked in on was one of dreams.

Your boyfriend stood in front of the stove, cooking eggs and bacon, in nothing but a pair of sweatpants. Muscular back on full display, you let your eyes slowly trail all the way down the cut definition around his shoulders to the dimples stamped into the flesh of his lower back. The adorable crevices were graciously uncovered because of how low his pants hung on his hips.

“It’s on the counter.” He haphazardly gestured to the kitchen island with the spatula he was holding. You had to gulp down the saliva that collected in your mouth and blink a few times to snap yourself out of your haze so that you could grab your phone and leave.

“Thanks, baby.” You rushed up to the counter, grabbed your phone to drop it into your bag, turned to kiss Jungkook on the cheek, and quickly began to leave. “I’ll see you later. Love you!”

“Oh, by the way,” Jungkook started. You stopped in front of the door to put your heels on. “Your boss called.”

“She did?” You reached into your purse and fumbled around for your phone. “What did she say?”

“She said she hopes you feel better soon.”

“What?” You froze, unable to understand, and looked up at Jungkook who had already set the food on two plates. “Why?”

“Because you’re bedridden right now. Your head hurts oh, so bad and you have a runny nose with a fever of one-hundred and one degrees.” He pouted and looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eye despite wearing a somber expression on his face.

Realization set in all at once.

He. Did. Not.

“Jungkook,” You started, slightly upset. “I swear to god, if you did what I think you di-“

“A sick person shouldn’t be all dressed in heels and a pant suit. Why don’t you go change into something more comfortable and then come eat so we can get some food in your belly?”

You spluttered incredulously to a halt as he spoke, shocked by his drastic measures to keep you home. He lied to your boss and called out of work for you.

“What- exactly- did she say?” You gritted out.

Jungkook grabbed the two plates and walked to the kitchen table with a seemingly unbothered demeanor, placing them down carefully.

“She just said that you had it coming. You work too much for your own good and now you’re sick because of it.” He sauntered over to the fridge as you eyed him critically, glaring daggers into the back of his head while he spoke. “I agree with her, to be honest. You don’t look so good. All that working took a toll on you- do you want orange juice? Or water? Or some iced coffee?”

The oblivious facade only irritated you further, warranting you to kick off your heels, drop your purse, and stomp over to him. Grabbing him by the shoulder, you spun him around angrily, only to see a smug smirk plastered across his lips.

“I’ll take that as you wanting iced coffee. You were always a grump without some caffeine.” He grinned.

“Jeon Jungkook.” You hissed, glowering at him with increasing intensity. “What the hell did you call me out for?”

“I called you out-“ He started with a smirk, wrapping his fingers around your wrist and spinning you around quickly to press you against the fridge. His face morphed into a stern expression quickly. You never broke eye contact with him, intransigence unwavering under his pressure.

“- so that we can crack open those bottles of wine we hoard and I can fuck you open on the couch over and over again while we pretend to pay attention to a movie playing on the TV.”

Your anger dissipated instantaneously, brain functioning coming to a halt as his words sunk into your skin.

Well… shit. What’s your name again?

“Do you understand now?” Jungkook asked, leaning down far enough that his hair brushed against your forehead and his mint-scented breath tickled your nose and top lip.

“Y-yeah.” You stuttered.

“Good. Now, go change.” He grinned, backing away from you and reaching into the fridge to grab the orange juice and the iced coffee. You followed his command like a robot, excitement building in you so fast that you had no way to process the fact that you were livid with him moments ago.

It wasn’t long before you were bare-faced and clad in one of Jungkook’s shirts that you picked up from the bed. His scent filled the shirt, shampoo and body soap mixed with a slight edge of his natural musk. It was almost dizzying in your current state of arousal.

The heat between your legs distracted you throughout your breakfast as you sat at your small kitchen table across from Jungkook, but falling into a conversation with him came naturally. Your boyfriend lying to your boss about your sickness went easily forgotten as you began to enjoy the day off.

Before long, your plate was empty and all that remained in your glass of iced coffee was a few melting ice cubes. Looking over to Jungkook’s side of the table, you noticed that his dishes were also cleared of food.

“I’ll clean the dishes.” You said, getting up with your silverware, glass, and plate in hand.

“I won’t fight you on that.” He chuckled, getting up from his chair and grabbing his things too. “I’ll pour us some wine.”

“Sounds like a plan.” You affirmed.

As you set the now-clean items on the drying rack, you turned to find Jungkook leaning against the kitchen island with two wine glasses in one hand and a bottle of some nameless wine that someone had gifted to Jungkook not too long ago in the other while he grinned at you.

“Couch?” He asked.

“Couch.” You nodded, nerves building in you once again at the mention of the location.

You were just about to finish your second glass when you noticed Jungkook reaching for the bottle to pour himself the last bits of wine left inside.

“Nooo.” You whined, causing him to turn and face you in the process of pouring the remaining alcohol into his own glass. “I wanted it.”

“Nuh-uh.” He playfully turned his body away from you so that you couldn’t reach for the wine as he poured it. “This was my idea, so I get to have three cups. We can open another bottle anyway. We have a shit load.”

“But this one tastes yummy.” You complained, grabbing onto his shoulder to lightly urge him to face you.

He looked into your pleading eyes for a few moments with his lips pressed into a tight line before he huffed.

“Fine! But on one condition.” He set the bottle down on the table.

You raised your eyebrow at him expectantly. “What is the condition?”

“I’ll pour you this last glass if you join me in the shower when you’re finished with it.”

The shower? Oh boy. “I already took a shower, Kook.”

“So?” He smirked. “That doesn’t mean anything. I want you in the shower if I give you this last glass.”

Slightly warm and agreeable from the delicious wine, you gave in with a grumble. “Fine. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Sweet.” Jungkook gestured for you to offer your glass so that he could fill it. Once he did, he brought the empty wine bottle to the kitchen and dropped it into the recycling bin, only to turn around and meet your following eyes as he stalked towards your bedroom with a devious smile on his lips. “See you in a few.”

You watched with slightly parted lips as he turned back around while beginning to hum an aimless tune to skip the rest of the way, giving you whiplash with how quickly he could turn from a man that made you lustfully feral to a boy that made you want to joyfully frolic through a meadow.

Determined to remain true to your word, you sipped your wine quickly. He wanted to be joined in the shower? So be it. It wasn’t long before your glass was empty once again.

Three glasses of wine and adrenaline pumping the alcohol quickly through your veins were the factors that caused you to feel a slight head rush and a bit loopy once you stood from the couch. Giggling softly at your condition, you left your empty glass next to his and headed in the direction of your bedroom.

Distantly, you heard smooth notes of a familiar song drifting from the bathroom. Jungkook loved to sing in the shower and you loved to listen to it. The sound of the water running only made taking a shower with him more inviting as you approached the closed bathroom door.

Sneaking in quietly, you shed your clothes once again, hoping to take him by surprise. Your plan only resulted in failure when Jungkook slid the door open to beckon you inside when you were in the middle of taking off your boyfriend’s shirt.

“C’mon, babe. We haven’t got all morning.” He smiled, wet hair mussed and pressed to his forehead.

“We don’t?” You laugh as you step inside so that he could close the door behind you. Immediately, you were encased in the tight, warm, and humid space. “I’m pretty sure that you made it so that we do.”

Swiftly, Jungkook wrapped his arm around your waist and spun you around to meet the steady stream of water. Crowding your back with his chest, Jungkook pressed his face up against the back of your neck.

“I know, babe, but I have a few plans now that you’re off.”

“Plans, you say?” You giggled and craned your head down to get his wandering nose away from your neck. He knew that you were ticklish and loved to attack the spot when he got playful.

“Yes ma’am.”

After a moment of standing in the shower, the telltale signs of your situation becoming hot and steamy made themselves prominent in the form of Jungkook’s semi-hard erection brushing your skin and the subtle notes of a growl tainting the edge of his exhales.

“You alright there, baby?” You teased.

“Mhm.” He hummed, detaching a hand from your body to reach for the showerhead. “Just wanna rinse you really quick.”

“Be my guest.” You let your head fall back to rest on his shoulder and closed your eyes, heart slightly picking up its pace at the elevating tension. For a moment, both of Jungkook’s arms left you to change the setting on the water pressure and you felt the steady stream turn harsh right below your collarbones.

You hummed in appreciation while he returned one of his arms around your waist and began running the water over your shoulders and arms with the other. Gradually, he began massaging you with it.

It wasn’t long before Jungkook’s true intentions came to the surface; slowly, the point of the pressure moved south from your shoulders to your breasts. You felt the showerhead point the stream closer and closer to your nipples, causing your eyelids to flutter open and look at the man delivering the sensations to your body.

You gasped softly as the water covered your left nipple and Jungkook tore his gaze from your chest to meet your eyes once you did. What greeted you in his irises was pure, prominent desire.

“Kookie.” You whispered, lips brushing his as your body became electrified like a live wire.

“Say the word, baby.” He crooned softly, encouraging. The pressure on your nipples only left you with your lips slightly parted and taking sharp inhales with a whine teasing your throat. Jungkook only continued to push you along, desperate to hear. “That’s it, baby. Say it.”

You whimpered, barely able to get it out. “Please.”

“As you wish, my love.”

And then he made the showerhead descend further down.

Your toes curled against the floor in anticipation that was fueled by how slow he moved. Your stomach vibrated while the water migrated down your expanse of skin to the place you wanted it most.

As the water touched the top of your mound, you reached up and curled an arm around Jungkook’s neck to prepare for the onslaught.

Your moan was unexpected; the force of the water shocked you into submission instantly.

Jungkook’s grip on you tightened soon after, followed by the low, comforting ‘sh’ that slid through his teeth when your body curled inwards.

The water pressure, turned high, forced its way past your pussy lips with no trouble at all. In its trajectory, your clit was battered as the only thing in the showerhead’s path. The intense amount of stimulation had you approaching an orgasm faster than you could count to three.

“Jungkook,” You whined at a high pitch, unused to the most adamant sensation of pleasure you’d felt in a while.

“You’re okay, baby. Just breathe. It’s alright.” Your boyfriend’s voice in your ear came out as a soothing coo, yet you couldn’t find it in yourself to breathe correctly when he was holding the showerhead so close to your bundle of nerves and tightening his grip around your waist to prevent you from escaping.

“I-I-“ You breathed so fast, it almost felt like you were hyperventilating. Your clit, taking the entirety of the assault by the water, throbbed wildly and spasmed as if attempting to get out from under the force.

Almost on instinct, you raised a leg to allow the water more access the the entirety of your pussy, hoping that your orgasm would crest upon you before you lost your mind, and braced your raised foot against Jungkook’s knee. You hoped that taking the attention off your clit would help balance out how boggled your mind was, but all it did was drive you crazy when you felt the pressure beginning to spread your folds apart to push inside.

“Oh, no. Now I can’t let that happen.” Jungkook spoke as if he were speaking to a child in disdain, repeating the word ‘no’ a few more times with his bottom lip jutted into a pout.

He moved the showerhead back up to solely torture your clit, warranting you to cry out and tighten your arm around the back of his neck while you squeezed your eyes shut. His voice turned into a growl. “I’m the only one who gets to be inside you.”

“No!” You groaned in frustration, jerking your hips in response to the stream returning to your most sensitive area. “Nononono baby, please.”

“It’s unhealthy for you, baby. I can’t put water up there. So just be a good girl and take it here.”

Jungkook seemed to punctuate his statement with a light twist of his wrist to circle your clit with the showerhead. Your legs shook from the strain of spreading them so hard and trembled from the new burst of stimulation.

It only took another few moments for your body to begin curling in on itself again.

“K-kook.” Your teeth chattered as you mumbled his name, eyes rolling back into your head.

Jungkook braced his back against the wall before squeezing your waist to lift your body against his chest. You had half the mind to help him, supporting some of your weight on his neck so that you could wrap your other leg around his to spread your thighs even further.

“You gonna cum?” His breathing was harsh in your ear as he watched your body.

Your response came out as a whimper of affirmation, unsure of how to speak with the vibrations of the water shooting up your spine and back down to your curling toes.

Jungkook’s erection throbbed against your back while you let out sounds that were a mixture of huffs for breath and moans of pleasure. At this point, though, you couldn’t bring yourself to care about anything but making sure you orgasmed in the next five seconds.

You knew you were going to cum when you felt the tingling sensation spread like wildfire from your battered nub. It bloomed in your lower belly and seared every muscle in its path throughout your body, causing all of the sinew and tendons to tighten in response. As the orgasm ripped through you, your body became rigid with a few jerks of sensitivity.

Your eyes rolled back and you pressed your forehead against the side of Jungkook’s neck with the need to be as close to him as possible during your orgasm. Your ecstasy seared through you and overtook your body to act on its own accord. Far beyond the darkness of your eyelids, you reveled in the immense satisfaction, pussy spasming in the aftershocks.

Once Jungkook removed the showerhead and your body calmed, he slowly lowered you back down to the floor. Shaky legs prevented you from standing completely straight and you laughed breathlessly at how the prior activities caused an uncanny amount of oversensitivity in your nether regions.

One step forward and your clit was slightly rubbed, shooting sparks of mild pain and pussy-clenching pleasure throughout your stomach.

“You shouldn’t have done that, babe. I’m way too sensitive for any more action now.”

“That’s alright, love.” Jungkook kissed the side of your temple and switched you around so that he could stand under the stream of the shower. “Go and get dried off and dressed. I’ll meet you in the living room for a movie?”

As if it was glaring at you, you couldn’t help but drag your eyes down your boyfriend’s toned body to the angry red tip of his dick.

“I, uh…” You trailed off sheepishly. “I can suck you off? Let me help you out.”

“No, it’s okay, babe. Now, go.” He ushered you out of the shower while you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. Why was he giving himself blue balls?

Leaving him alone in the shower was most definitely bothersome, but on shaky and fatigued legs, you couldn’t really fight him on the matter. As you toweled off and glanced through the shower door to look at Jungkook’s form, you furrowed your eyebrows even further when he didn’t start touching himself.

After you were dressed in his shirt- again- and sitting in the living room with Netflix open, ready for your boyfriend, you began to feel the exhaustion from your earlier activities on top of the fact that you hated waking up early for work. Comfortably warm, showered, and relaxed on an unexpected day off, the calm had your body sinking further into the couch and reveling in the warmth of the blanket placed over your body.

Just as you were about to drift off, you heard Jungkook padding down the hallway from your bedroom, prompting you to turn and look at him.

Your eyes had trouble staying on his playful expression when he was dressed the way he was dressed.

His hair was still wet, droplets dripping onto his shoulders and cascading down the expanse of his shirtless body. All that covered him was his favorite pair of raggedy joggers. Frankly, they were your favorite pair as well- for obvious reasons.

“Wine?” He asked as he made his way into the kitchen.

“Yesss.” You drawled with a newly awakened sense of excitement.

After grabbing two bottles and popping them open, he snuggled into the couch with you, wine glasses in hand. You held your breath and attempted to control your body, pussy pulsating slightly from the aftermath of the shower.

It took a while to get back to where you were before, but once you were much past the point of being giggly, you began to slur your speech as the movie played on.

Jungkook wasn’t in much better shape.

“You know,” Jungkook sat up and swayed a little too far forward, catching his body right before he toppled over. He snickered at himself before he continued. “I haven’t really been paying attention to anything we’ve been watching.”

“What?” You were honestly shocked, drunken mind and all. “But ‘About Time’ is so good! Like, what the heck Kookie-ookie-ook! This movie is so cute and interesting.”

The new nickname sent you into a fit of giggles. Your creativity tended to get a bit wonky and, honestly, comical when you were drunk.

“But how could I possibly pay attention to the movie when I’ve been thinking about burying my cum in-between your legs for the past hour?”

His statement surprised you to say the least. Your pussy throbbed uncontrollably, sensitivity still present from the shower. You couldn’t help but think of how sex with him in your current state would be.

“Why didn’t you let me suck your dick in the shower? I could’ve taken care of you, you know.”

“But I wanted to give you a break so that I could cum inside. That’s the only place I want to cum.”

“So you don’t want to cum down my throat?” You blamed the wine for the filthily honest statements coming out of both or your mouths. Speaking this casually about your sexual activities wasn’t exactly the norm.

“On any other day, I’d say yes. But today? I really just want to fill you up. Fuck you all day.” Your boyfriend inched towards you slowly without actually looking at you. It seemed that he just wanted to be in a closer proximity with you yet was hesitant to get too close. “Make you bloated. Hear it slosh around when you move.”

You were kind of mortified, but you were also extremely horny at the same time. Of course, he wouldn’t be able to bloat you nor would he be able to hear his cum inside of you, but it was the thought that counted.

“You wanna fuck?”

Jungkook turned to completely face you, chocolate-brown doe eyes silently pleading for the go-ahead. He bit his bottom lip before pushing it out into a pout as he whined. “Uhuh.”

You laughed as you threw off the blankets and spread your bare legs. Your boyfriend’s shirt came to rest on your waist from the action.

You gestured to your crotch and then curled your fingers towards yourself, smiling.

“Come to momma.”

Jungkook did not hesitate to cover you with his body and kiss you sloppily. The wine was taking its toll on your movements with him, encasing him in your hold lazily.

Somewhere between the messy tongues and teeth, Jungkook had managed to push your panties aside to thumb over your sensitivity. It took everything in you to not scream out- whether it would be a scream in pain or pleasure still had yet to be determined.

Your nub tingled desperately, pleasure-fatigued and vulnerable to the ministrations of Jungkook’s thumb. Finally, though, he had begun dipping his fingers into your core to balance out the bliss.

“Gonna paint you white. Make it drip.” Jungkook mumbled almost incoherently as he spoke with your bottom lip sucked between his plump ones. Your fingers threaded into his blonde locks, tugging when you needed a way to release your sexual frustration from his dirty words.

You hadn’t noticed when he retracted his fingers from your depths, but you definitely felt the sensation of him rubbing his dick into your folds. The smooth surface of his tip contrasted sharply with the roughness of the pad of his thumb. You hadn’t even realized that he had slipped the waistband of his sweatpants down to free his erection.

The sensation was beginning to sober you up just a little.

As he slipped inside you, you keened, angling your hips to receive him. He kept one hand hooked around your panties to keep it to the side and circled the other around your waist to allow himself to lay atop you. All of his body weight crushed you into the couch, but the closeness of him on you was gratifying.

Jungkook dug his face into your neck, moaning softly as your velvet walls parted to caress his cock. He wanted to feel your pussy drag on him and squeeze in an attempt to bring him back inside. He needed to feel how much your body enjoyed him inside of you.

So he kept his movements to a slow minimum, lazily curling his hips to just barely rear back so that he could reenter with an unmotivated rhythm. It was perfect for you because your mind was already warm and fuzzy, unable to keep up with much.

You sighed in relief, feeling his skin rubbing against your clit as he bottomed out time and time again. He separated your walls agonizingly slow, yet it was the perfect rhythm that allowed you to feel each time the head of his dick kissed the end of your cavern.

You moaned softly as the movie played on, begging for attention but receiving none. It was no use ignoring the fact that your orgasm was building with Jungkook’s hips touching your skin. Even at the leisurely pace that he fucked you, the passion was ever present and working you up.

For the next ten minutes, Jungkook kept his tempo gentle and relaxed, uncaring of reaching his climax too soon. You, on the other hand, reached your tipping point as he dug his nails into your waist.

Almost like a dream, your orgasm layered itself onto you softly. You trembled under his weight but held him closer to help accommodate the bliss of your muscles contracting around Jungkook’s deliberate thrusts.

When you heard the tell-tale sign of your boyfriend softly grunting into your skin, you could tell he was beginning to feel his impending orgasm born from your own. It was only moments later that he began leaving sloppy kisses and love bites onto your neck as he shuddered a breath.

Calm and still quite drunk, you still managed to feel his cock pulsing against the restrictive embrace of your depths. You ran your fingers through his hair and smiled delightfully at the sensation of being the one to receive his love and affection. The temptation to to kiss his sweaty temple was too strong to resist once he ceased moving and slumped against you.

The silence was peaceful. Minutes had passed without a word. The afterglow of your sex was strong and loving, warming the two of you like a blanket.

From the way he breathed so evenly, you believed that Jungkook had fallen asleep. It was only when he let out a light chuckle that you looked down and saw him smiling with his cheek smushed against your chest.

“I like drunk sex.” He muttered. “It’s fun.”

You had to agree with him on that one. “I think it’s fun too.”

After a beat, he whined. “But why do I still want moreee?”

“I’m afraid that’s not entirely up to you.” You tipped your head back and laughed, inebriated mind coming up with more silly nicknames. “It seems that Mister PP can’t take any more right now.”

Drunk Jungkook was one you could always get behind. Instead of acting like an idiot, he acted like a kid- not the bratty kind, of course. He was cute and cuddly, a perfect opposite to how he acted sober.

However-

The moment he attempted to retain his erection by pulling it out of you and yelling at it became one of the few moments that he acted like a complete idiot.

“No! He can go again! Isn’t that right, Mister PP?” You watched as his dick gave one last jerk of life before it began softening. You wheezed from laughter as your boyfriend’s eyes widened in horror. “No! You can’t do this to me right now! We were supposed to fuck her full of cum!”

“It’s okay, babe.” You reassured him as you slowly nudged him off of you so that you could go clean yourself. “Just take a break, okay?”

On shaky legs, once again, you stood and headed for the bathroom to clean yourself with a giggle slipping past your lips.

Once you got back to the living room, your eyes immediately zeroed in on Jungkook sitting upright on the couch, tenderly stroking his dick through his sweatpants with a look of defeat on his face. You just sighed and grabbed the remote to turn up the volume of the TV in hopes of distracting him.

He couldn’t help it. He was much too drunk to get himself hard again so soon after sex, so you would wait until he was since he was so determined.

The movie as well as your second bottle of wine were coming to an end when he screamed in success. You jumped out of your skin at the exclamation, placing a hand over your racing heart.

“Yes! He did it! He’s back!” You looked at him in shock when he reached into his waistband to grip himself. His eyes locked with yours as he did so, smirking in the process.

You raised an eyebrow at him expectantly, yet below your cool exterior was the unavoidable truth that was the awakening of the flames of your desire.

“Is this why you called me out today?” You turned your whole body to face him. “So you could fuck me all day?”

“Mhm.” He affirmed, grabbing you and slowly turning you onto your stomach. “That’s exactly why. I just need to be inside you. Like, all the time.”

As you felt him slide your panties down your legs, the tone in his voice changed. The chuckle he let out wasn’t nearly cute and innocent anymore; his demeanor became dark and menacing.

“I called you out so that I could fuck you all day- in every way I could think of.”

A shiver ran up your spine at the sudden shift of mood. Your body, worn out and exhausted, still managed to vibrate in excitement when Jungkook took a handful of your ass and squeezed it harshly. He leaned over your body to whisper in your ear after running a hand under your shirt to tweak a nipple between his fingers.

“You got the lazy vanilla shit first. Now, let’s play.”

~#~

If you’d like to read more of my work, feel free to check out my Masterlist!

[its-kall-the-clown]

7 or 33 with wukong and mk because i need that angst juice to fill me up

*Pours your a cup of dark bitter angst* don't worry fam. You came to the right place. ☕🤡

I went with number 7. Enjoy!

Could be read as an unofficially part two to THIS or could be read as a stand-alone.

prompt list

What Lies in the shadows

Rating: PG

Warnings: vomit mentioned and panic attacks but it's all mild.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

MK is shoved to the floor landing on his but. His mentor stood over him, a dark expression cast across his face like a shadow across the sidewalk. Hard and unyielding.

"I asked if you could handle this!" They bellow descending on them like a tiger. Rage and claws and disapproving snarls that shred MK'd heart and stick to his ribcage.

"I c-can!!" MK backs away scooting back in his butt as the monkey king prowls forward a cruel laugh on his lips.

"Liar! Don't lie to me!" He barks out another scoff.

"You can't handle this, you can't even train with me without messing up!" He growls fangs showing and making MK's stomach curl.

“How can I expect you to become my successor when you can get the simplest things right?” he rips the staff out of Mk’s hand, taking away his last defence against the raging Monkey King.

“You are unworthy!” he hissed out between gnashed teeth and MK felt the tears pool at his eyes, cascading down his cheeks plopping onto the training grounds uselessly. They turn on MK, casting him in his long shadow.

“I made a mistake picking you as my successor.”

No….please no.

The final blow of words was worse than any pain MK had ever endured. He reaches forward trying to catch the fading light that was slipping through his fingers. He was being abandoned again, and this time it was his fault.

He wasn’t enough. He was never going to be enough.

The shadows wrap around him, bind him to his fate of being nothing but a disappointment and failure. He's swaddled in it and it drags him under.

He tosses and turns as the shadows become hands, gripping and pulling him apart under their uncaring touch. They grab his clothes, muffle his voice and pursue him till he's overtaken by the shadows' hands.

He sits up with a gasp.

His nightmare fresh in his mind and the phantom hands still grabbing at his wrist and throat. He's dashing to the bathroom. He's gonna puke up all the shadows that forced their way down his throat and into his stomach.

Hes correct when he throws up, but instead of shadows and swirling doubt its just regular puke.

Exhausted MK leans against the side of the toilet and let's out a groan. He's so tired. He's burning up and just...so tired.

He had been having nightmares like this all week. It's why he insisted he train even while it was raining, he wanted to be stronger. Better.

Less likely to be abandoned...

"MK? Baby? You alright?"

The door to the bathroom opens and Tang enters slowly. Mk looks up at them and his lip wobbles.

He burst into tears as soon as he's embraced. Shattering like snowfall under a warm touch.

"Shhh it's okay. It's okay. Oh goodness, you're burning up." Tang pressed a hand to MKs forehead and frowns. MK leans into it the cool touch so refreshing against his skin. A little whimper escapes his throat when Tang pulls away.

"Your fever got worse….stay here. I'm gonna get Pigsy and see what he says." Tang tried to stand up but MK grabs the front of his sleep shirt tightly.

"Don't go! Don't leave me!!" He begs between shaking sobs. Tnag gives him a pitiful look.

"I'm just going to get-"

"No!!" Mk claws more desperately against his dad's chest. He couldn't be abandoned not like this. His brain slowly cooking under his fever making it impossible to tell what was real and what wasn't

"Okay, o-okay I'm not leaving you." Tang shifts so MK can crawl into his lap like a lost puppy. Tang runs his fingers through MKs sweaty hair soothing him for a bit before calling out.

"Pigsy! Bathroom, please. Now!" He calls and MK can't even be bothered at how his ears ring from the echoing against the tile.

Pigsy is there he's not sure how he got there but a hand is pressed to his forehead again.

"Hospital?"

"Hospital." The demon grunts with an affirming nod. Even though it's not outwardly displayed MK can see the worry swirling in his eyes. Hushed whispers are exchanged from his parents, something about keys and coats.

"Come here" Pigsy's it holding MK now and MK whimpers into their neck. He's big now, he must have shifted into his larger form to make it easier to carry him.

MK liked when Pigsy was big. There was just so much more of him and more Pigsy was always better. It meant bigger hugs, it meant his dadsy could hold him again like when he was younger.

And it meant he could protect him.

"Dadsy!!" He cries clinging to them, his body easily supported by the larger demon.

"It's okay, I got you. You're okay buddy." He hears Pigsy snuff into his hair and he is being lifted and moved now.

A constant hand rubs the back of his head and MK leans into it. His body is supported by thick stocky arms.

He's safe now. He's not being left behind.

He closes his eyes and rests his head against his dadsy's chest.

He's confident that if he has dreams again they won't be of disappointed glares but of warm embraces of his dad's.

[kiridarling]

[a/n: is this a week late? yes. happy belated-valentine's day angels <3]

—ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴀɴ 𝟷𝟾+ ʙʟᴏɢ. ᴍɪɴᴏʀs ᴅɴɪ

𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨𝐮; 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥

→ Definitely went to work that day

→ Not a huge romantic but wake up to find a hot breakfast with a note left on the counter.

Happy Valentines Day, dumbass. Love you.

— k.b

→ When he returns from work, Katsuki buys you roses and shoves them into your chest with an eye roll. You thank him and he responds with a grunt before insisting you put on something nice because he’s taking you out on a dinner date whether you like it or not.

→ Katsuki takes you to the fanciest restaurant—so fancy you feel a little bad that he has to pay, even despite his Pro Hero status. But you’re his, and spoiling you might as well be his love language.

→ Halfway through dinner, Katsuki starts getting a little frisky. Sliding the rough leather of his oxfords up the inside of your thigh, winking and biting his lip. You tell him to stop but you only half-mean it, and the knowing grin on his face lets you know he knows.

"Careful, baby. You don't want the waitress to know how much of a dirty slut you are, do you?”

→ He’s condescending as fuck but you’re totally here for it, and the second he pays for the meal you two are speeding down the highway to a love hotel (per Katsuki’s plan, apparently). You barely make it to the bedroom before you’re all over each other, and if it weren’t for that family of four in the elevator, you definitely wouldn’t have.

→ He tells you to get on the bed and strip, and who are you to deny him of such a luxury? He pulls a plastic black bag out of a different bag—it’s clearly full. With what, you may ask?

→ Sex toys!

→ Katsuki’s endgame is simple—make you cum until you can’t anymore. Not that he’s told you explicitly, but he’s got a Hitachi pressed to your sex and two fingers slamming into you just the way you like it. With your wrists comfortably tied above your head, it doesn’t take him long to bring you to your climax, cheeks burning and thighs shaking.

→ Peering at you under the sweaty mess of ash-blond hair, the fire in Katsuki's eyes only adds fuel to the burning of your gut as the vibrator continues whirr. The realization settles in with a shiver. Oh. Oh fuck, he's not stopping.

“Again.”

→ So, you cum again. And again, and again, and by the time you’re on the fifth it gets a bit hard to feel your toes and you’re so sensitive your thighs burn. All you want is his cock, but for some reason, it’s fucking impossible for him to give it to you.

→ Upon voicing your concerns, Katsuki’s devilish smile only grows wider.

“You want this cock that bad, slut? Yeah? Fine then, fuckin’ choke on it.”

→ It’s basically cannon that one of Katsuki’s favorite things to do is watch you struggle to take all of him, but in this position, all you can do is lay back with bound hands as he fucks your face. It’s sloppy and your eyes and throat burn, but it's totally worth it to hear Katsuki fall apart in your mouth.

“S-So good—fuck—such a good whore, taking all of me, aren’t you?”

→ Katsuki pulls out before he cums in your throat in favor of flipping your limp body into downward dog and stuffing you full of cock in one swift move, the bastard.

→ Katsuki’s never been one to take things slow in bed—to him, it’s all hard and fast and now. You’re scrambling for purchase in the sheets as he pounds into that sweet spot he knows you love, and you feel your fully spent sex twitching back to life anyway. Fuck, fuck. Are you going to cum again?

→ Katsuki seems to catch onto this as well, sweaty chest dropping against your back and the cool of his dog tag tickling your neck as his hand rubs between your legs, muttering dirty nothings in your ear.

“You gonna cum for me, baby? Yeah? Gonna make a fuckin’ mess all over yourself like the slut you are? Fuckin’ do it. Fuckin—fuck—”

→ You two cum at the same time, toes curling and ribcage shuddering, and then—

→ Darkness.

→ You wake up in a few hours, properly clean in fresh sheets. Turns out baby boy fucked you so hard you passed out, but it's okay because he’s found reruns of your favorite show on and is fully prepared with water and snacks.

→ (And he’ll never tell you, but he fully panicked and called Eijirou. Obviously, he knew you were alive, but…what if you passed out because of a problem? A concussion? Internal bleeding, maybe?)

→ (Eijirou ensures him that though this should NOT happen every time, it can happen from exhaustion. To say Katsuki relaxes after that is an understatement.)

(Stay safe angels <3)

And speaking of Eijirou...

𝐄𝐢𝐣𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐮 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚; 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐤𝐞

→ Definitely did not go to work that day.

→ Today, Eijirou plans to treat you like the princess you are. Cooks you breakfast in bed (after almost burning down the kitchen trying to make bacon but shhh we don’t talk about that) books you a full day spa and has Mina take you shopping for a new outfit for your "fancy date" that night.

→ The location? A surprise.

→ It’s dark by the time you and Mina pull up, but the moment you hop out the car she speeds away. Um. She could’ve at least said bye.

"[Y/N?]"

→ Looks like Eijirou brought you to a lake. You wonder who helped him bundle the fairy lights in the trees and set up the picnic because knowing your man and his coordination, it would’ve taken a forever for him to set this up.

→ But all those thoughts shatter the second you see that he’s on his knees, clutching a velvet box with a gorgeous diamond ring sat in the center. Not too flashy, but not too dull.

“U-Uh.”

→ Eijirou swallows then blinks, the only sign that he’s the least bit nervous for this.

“See…I swear I had planned something to say, but you look…holy shit, um—stunning, you look stunning.”

→ His compliment goes over your head though. Of course it does, he’s holding an engagement ring. He chuckles, averting his eyes to the ground.

“Listen, um, you can say no...B-But uh, I love you a lot—obviously—and I’ve been thinking about this a lot, kind of, because you’re like…the love of my life, ya know? I mean, I know everyone says that and everything but like, I really mean it? But if I’m going too fast o-or you just don’t wanna get married or something, I totally get it because obviously this is outta the blue and everything b-but um…yeah.”

→ You let him stutter through the whole thing because, well. It’s cute.

→ ...And then you tackle Eijirou to the ground with renewed passion and slam your lips onto his. His “babe! The ring!” is muffled but you snort anyway, blindly groping for it through the grass. The moment you find it, you shove it into his palm and stick your hand in his face, and with a (very sexy) chuckle, the redhead slides it onto your ring finger.

“I’ll take that as a yes then?”

→ No shit, Sherlock.

→ Either way, the picnic in the dark is abandoned in favor of yanking Eijirou's pants off and giving him the best head of his life. Because goddammit, you love this man so much and he needs to feel it.

→ Afterward, he insists on returning the favor. A wild Gentle Dom Kiri appears and as he eats you out, he mutters a deadly combination of the sweetest and dirtiest things you’ve ever heard.

“Fuck, you feel so good. So tight and wet. And it’s all for me, isn’t it, baby?"

“You’re gonna cum, angel? Do it. Cum all over Daddy’s face.”

→ Once you semi-recover from your orgasm, he flips you on your hands and knees and slowly pushes inside of you (though not without putting on a condom because safety first, angels). You tell him to speed up, but he denies your request. This time around, Eijirou's going to take the time to love you.

→ As he slowly fucks you under the stars, he dips his chin into your neck as his bigger hands encompass your own. As he starts to play with the ring on your finger, you watch something wet hit the picnic blanket, followed by a sniffle.

“Gosh, fuck—I love you so much. A-And I’m really happy you said yes. I…”

→ You cum first and Eijirou isn’t far behind, shuddering against your spine. Your fiancé unceremoniously rolls onto the picnic blanket next to you, his temple kissing the crest of your skull as the two of you use the comfortable silence to cool down, half-naked under the milky way.

→ In your comfortable silence, you lift your left hand to the stars, fingers splayed to reveal the twinkling diamond solidifying the bond between the two of you. Eijirou hums, hooking his chin on your shoulder.

"Pretty, isn't it?"

𝐃𝐞𝐧𝐤𝐢 𝐊𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢; 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐲

→ Both of you are painfully single and most importantly, strangers. Strangers who think alike and had the glorious forethought to drown your sorrows at a nightclub with a lot of alcohol.

→ Denki, as he does, accidentally knocks over his liquor-filled cup, completely drenching your bottoms. He apologizes and insists on helping you clean up though getting awfully close to your crotch, but both of you are too tipsy to notice.

→ After the liquor spill, you swap embarrassing love stories and lament over the “hardships of being single.” (Denki’s words.)

→ A few hours pass. You’re tired and ready to go home and Denki requests to walk you home to make sure you get back safely. Not that you live far, maybe ten minutes, but by the time you reach your door, you feel like you've known the electric blond your whole life. After saying goodbye and almost closing the door, Denki blurts out a half-drunken confession...or something like that:

“I—uh, y-you are—uhm, no…this is—“

→ You give him a look, a half-smile at best, and it seems to churn the gears in his brain again.

“This was uhm, really fun and uh, I think you’re really cool.”

→ So naturally, when you invite him inside, he squeals.

→ After a few more drinks and a few more spillages (Denki’s never been a deft drunk), you two finally get over your inner thoughts and start kissing on the couch. It’s hot and messy, and the alcohol in your veins makes it oh, so hot.

→ Denki doesn’t expect you to offer head but when you do he nearly cries, scrambling to pull his pants off while you make space for yourself between his thighs.  Due to the fact that there’s alcohol pumping in Denki’s veins and he hasn't been touched by someone else in at least a year, he’s extra-sensitive. And vocal. 

"F-Fuck gorgeous, you're so good at this...o-oh shit, do that again—yeah, yeah just like that."

→ His hips quiver, and he bucks into your mouth on accident. It earns him a glare and a light slap on the thigh, and you make a mental note to unpack the broken moan that interrupts his apology later. 

→ It doesn't take Denki a long time to cum—five minutes max. He plans to give you a warning but his orgasm runs up on the electric blond so quickly he doesn't even get a warning. When Denki orgasms in your mouth with a choked moan, it's only natural that you pull away in alarm, ribbons of semi-translucent cum flying just about everywhere.

→ To say you're pissed is an understatement (because your poor, poor carpet), but Denki feels terrible and is already reaching for the roll of paper towels you left on the coffee table from your cleaning spree this morning, apologies flying out of his mouth like an auctioneer.

→ Obviously, he's going to make it up to you. Not only for making an absolute mess in your living room (seriously, Denki doesn't know if he's ever come that much in his life) but for the bomb head, and he wants to make you feel just as good as you made him feel.

→ Both of you stumble to your room, the mood miraculously rekindled, and you're not sure what to make of Denki's desperation as he claws at your bottoms, pupils blown to the size of dinner plates. And though it's cheesy, you can't help but shiver when he finally gets eyes on your sex, wetting his bottom lip and the grip around your thigh tightening as he catcalls the apex between your thighs before diving in.

"Hello pretty~"

→ Like any pervert with a vivid imagination, Denki's got a mental warehouse of sex tips and tricks and burns to watch you squirm from his touch. He wants you red-faced and breathless and isn’t shy about it, actively paying attention to your reactions when he curls his fingers or uses his tongue just right.

"Oh, you taste so good sweet thing. So pretty and wet...did I do all this, gorgeous?”

→ Also, electro-stimulation? Yes please.

→ Denki's tentative about it at first because he’s not sure how you’ll react, but once you give him that pretty little moan you've been holding back all evening, you two are going nowhere but hell.

→ His dick hurts from being hard for so long and the second you cum, he’s practically begging to fuck you.

“Please? Please gorgeous? Shit, you felt so good in my mouth I just wanna—I need to—please?”

→ Like you needed any convincing in the first place.

→ You ride him per his request—and will definitely make you repeat things back to him, just because he likes how embarrassed and blushy you get. If you refuse? He’ll be an absolute tease about it. (But only for a bit, because we all know his patience isn’t that great.)

"Yeah? You like this cock? Tell me. Tell me how good my cock makes you feel, gorgeous."

→ There's no way Denki lasts very long (again)—definitely with you in his lap. When he cums, it’s cute and breathless, and his nose scrunches into his eyes. But if he came twice, you should too right?

→ The next morning, Denki's gone. But in his place, there’s a note with his number and an explanation:

had to go to work! lol i have the fattest hangover kill me now ty. either way, you should text me. i wasn't kidding when i said i thought you were cool lol.

(xxx)-xxx-xxxx

— kaminari

[a/n: gah XD my brain melted from writing that um-

also don’t worry about the family of four at the love hotel...they were...um...forced to stay there due to an emergency...lol :) see you soon, angels <3]

[dumbikawa]

Taking Care of the HQ Boys

GN!Reader | Fluff | Warnings: None

Characters: Suna, Kuroo, Iwaizumi

A/n: I’m such a simp for these boys it’s insane

SUNA

It took Suna a while to get used to the way you never held back when it came to taking care of him. One night, after a particularly rough practice, he’d sluggishly entered the apartment and practically collapsed on top of where you were laying on the couch. Wordlessly, you positioned yourself so that he was resting on your lap with both his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. It was comfortably silent as you ran your fingers through his hair that was still slightly damp from showering at the gym and in no time at all he was softly snoring.

He'd never admit it aloud, but he loved when you took care of him in little ways like that. From the start, he had always insisted on being the big spoon, obsessed with the way your body perfectly molded against his and the satisfaction of knowing you felt safe in his arms. Ever since that night, though, it became a regular thing for you to see him standing, looking at you like a pouty child, from the corner of your eye waiting for you to take the hint that he wanted you to cuddle him. You'd simply open your arms for him to crawl into without even having to look up from your phone.

Today was no exception.

Suna can feel the physical exhaustion down to his bones as he allows the cool water to wash away the sweat and grime he collected over the course of practice. Mentally he feels the same; completely drained in every sense of the word. He can’t even find the energy to thoroughly dry his hair, opting to quickly rub it with a towel before making his way to the bedroom and collapsing on the bed.

“Rin!” you gently scold, placing the book you’d been reading beside you on the bed. “You’re going to ruin your pillow.”

“I don’t care,” he mumbles, eyes remaining shut as he lets out a content sigh. He did care, actually, but his decision was already made and now that he was in bed there was no way he was getting up. He truly meant that, but when he feels you tugging at his hand for him to get up he begrudgingly obliges.

You’re holding your hair dryer and gesturing for him to sit on the floor. It doesn’t seem wise to disobey when you look so determined, so he slides off the bed, giving you full access to his sopping mess of hair.

His eyes flutter closed as the warmth from the hairdryer and the way your fingers are skillfully brushing through his hair begins to pull him towards sleep. Not to mention, in this position he has the perfect opportunity to use your thigh as a pillow and he makes a mental note to have you dry his hair more often. But, sadly, the flow of warm air shuts off and your voice pulls him back to the present.

“C’mon you big baby,” you laugh, watching him groan and throw himself back up on the bed. He shimmies under the covers, but refuses to place his head back on the damp pillow. Instead, he stares at you with sleepy eyes until you’ve positioned yourself so that you can sit comfortably and open your arms for him.

His arms automatically snake around your waist as he buries his head in your side.

“Do I do enough to take care of you?” he asks softly, turning to look up at you with a vulnerability that he doesn't often display so openly.

“Of course, Rin,” you hum, tracing your fingers down his exposed back. He still seems unsure as he pushes his face against your shirt, but his shoulders relax slightly. “I mean it. I like taking care of you, okay? There’s nothing to repay if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

Your reassurance falls on deaf ears, though, as you feel his breathing even out and his grip on you loosening.

“I love you, baby,” you whisper, grabbing your book from where you’d set it earlier and relishing in the quiet as you continued to absentmindedly draw designs against Suna's warm skin. 

KUROO

Kuroo closes the apartment door quietly, finally letting his shoulders droop with exhaustion now that he's inside. He slips his bag noiselessly onto the ground and flicks his watch up to check the time. It was well past midnight by the time he actually clocked out of work and, although he wants nothing more than a dual welcome home/goodnight kiss from you, he hopes you’re sound asleep by now.

However, much to his surprise, you’re curled up on the couch with a book and a warm cup of tea, so enthralled in whatever you’re reading that you don't hear him approach. There’s a strong possibility you aren’t even aware of what time it is, completely lost in another world. He tests this theory by walking behind the couch and wrapping his arms around you, chuckling at the way you jump at the sudden contact.

“Welcome home!” you beam once you recover from the small scare. You press a quick kiss to his upturned lips before he walks around to the front so that he can relieve a proper hug.

“Thank you, babe,” he murmurs against your lips, not wanting to pull away from your warmth just yet. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“I wanted to wait for you and then I got to this really good part in my book and just...lost track of what time it was.” The way your eyes light up sends a wave of admiration shooting straight through Kuroo’s heart. “How was work? Why did you have to stay so late?”

Kuroo begins walking you through his hectic day, quickly turning the discussion into an irritated rant about having to fix other people’s mistakes and figuring out schedules for upcoming projects. You listen thoughtfully as you migrate towards the kitchen, your boyfriend trailing closely behind.

Soon, there was a cup of hot tea in his hands and the two of you are positioned on the couch with your legs thrown over his lap as he gently massages your calves.

Your eyes never leave his as he talks, nodding along and asking questions every now and then. He didn’t need nor want any sort of advice or words of wisdom. Simply having you listen to him was enough to have him feeling ten times lighter by the time he reached the bottom of his cup.

“Do you want more?” you ask, beginning to stand up. Kuroo doesn’t answer, instead leaning forward and hooking his arm around your waist so that you fall back into his arms.

“More of you, yes,” he says, smiling into your hair. He can practically feel the way your eyes roll as you let out an exasperated groan at his cheesy comment, but the hint of a blush making its way to your cheeks betrays you.

You make the first move to get up, offering a hand out to him. His hand engulfs yours as you pull him towards the bedroom. The bed has new sheets and the laundry is sitting in a basket freshly washed and ready to be folded. A wave of guilt crashes into him, knowing that you also worked today and must’ve come home afterwards and cleaned up.

“Baby, you should’ve gotten some rest,” Kuroo sighs, gesturing to the laundry and neatly made  bed. "I'm certain it was my turn to do the laundry.”

“Yeah, but when you told me you had to work late I figured I’d knock out some chores since I had the time. It’s not like it’s a big deal, Tetsu.” 

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” The words have barely left his lips before he's throwing the covers over the two of you and shutting off the lights. His arms wrap around your middle as he pulls you close to him, relishing in your small giggles. It doesn't take long for you to drift to sleep while Kuroo places soft kisses against your exposed shoulders. He soon follows, matching his breathing with yours and immediately winding down, but until his brain finally shuts off from exhaustion he's thinking of all the ways he's going to show you just how much he appreciates everything you do.

IWAIZUMI

Iwaizumi watches as you begin cooking dinner for the two of you as a quiet pop song plays off your phone. His work day was less than stellar, to put it simply, but watching you dance around the kitchen has already earned the frown from his face and has him smiling like a damn fool.

“Haji!” you exclaim, suddenly noticing the lurking figure from the corner of your eye. He steps out from his hiding place, an amused yet sheepish look on his face as he notices your flustered expression. “Why were you just standing there? Come here and give me a kiss, idiot.” He raises his hands in surrender as he does what you say, letting his lips linger on yours for a moment longer than usual and wrapping his arms around your waist to draw you closer to him.

“Hey, doll,” he murmurs against your skin, resting his face into the crook of your neck. You pull back slightly, ignoring his childlike protests as you do so.

“Are you okay?” you question, eyeing him up and down. Iwaizumi is sure he could get lost in your beautiful eyes that are currently filled with concern. You know him too well, he thinks, as you give him a knowing look. It was still difficult for him to open up about things, especially small things that had bothered him throughout the day. There wasn't a real reason to talk about all the irritating parts of the day because he knows he can handle them himself, or so he claims.

“Y/n, it’s nothing,” he reassures, kissing your nose in an attempt to further prove he’s not bothered. “It was just a very long day, but now I’m back here with you and I couldn’t be happier.” His smooth talking makes it impossible for you to stay mad, but you surely try.

“Alright, well, you know you can talk about it even if it’s ‘nothing.’ In the meantime, stay here and watch the food for a moment while I run you a bath.” Iwaizumi is quick to object, but you’ve already sauntered out of the room and he can hear the faint sound of running water.

It truly did feel nice to be taken care of, he thinks fleetingly as he sinks into the warm water, but it's difficult for him to fully relax when he can hear you bustling around the kitchen. He waits in the bath for a little longer so that you won't bite his head off for how quick he was before changing  into a pair of sweatpants and a comfortable shirt. The sounds of you beginning to set the table echoes down the hallway and he finds himself hoping you'll at least let him help with that.

“You lasted longer in there than I thought," you tease as your boyfriend appears back at your side. "Now go sit down." He opens his mouth to argue, but one look and he finds himself moving towards the table, wondering why you were so intent on doing everything.

“At least let me do the dishes,” he practically pleads, watching you with an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude as you bring the warm food over to the table.

“Or, hear me out, we leave the dishes to deal with tomorrow and spend the rest of the night watching movies cuddled up on the couch." He narrows his eyes as he searches through his brain, trying to remember if he'd forgotten an anniversary or birthday because he surely didn't feel as if he deserved this.

As if reading his mind once again you reach out and hold his hand, gently rubbing your thumb in circles against his skin.

"Can't you just let me take care of you? You're constantly going above and beyond for me, so I just thought I'd try and return the favor." Iwaizumi feels his face heat up as you place a kiss against his knuckles like he always does to you. It did feel nice, but he enjoys taking care of you. He never even thinks twice about it. 

"Alright, alright. In that case, you can do the dishes tonight and maybe also get some desert." He can feel your eyes boring into him as if to say, 'Don't push it.' A smile breaks out on his face as he begins digging into the meal you prepared, peppering you with compliments until his plate is clean.

[9tzuyu]

sad beautiful tragic

here’s another part to my taylor swift series

warnings: kinda angsty, nats kinda mean :(

thank you moli for proofreading <3

🏷: @natasha-danvers @yelenabelovasgf @blackxwidowsxwife @c-is-writing @peggycarter-steverogers @kermy48 @nermalina

fighting with natasha was never short. some arguments would last a few days, weeks, and sometimes they would carry on for a month. communication wasn’t yours or natasha’s strongest suits.

it never mattered what went wrong or who said what because somehow you always ended up back together. natasha would hold you in her arms and tell you how sorry she was while you did everything you could think of to help her around the house.

but somewhere along the way, things began to blur. you weren’t really sure what caused the argument this time, but it carried more weight than anything you felt before. all you wanted was for natasha to spend some time with you. it wasn’t like you were demanding or hounding her about it. all you would do was ask if she wanted to go out or watch a movie together occasionally.

natasha paid no attention though, always mumbling on about work and how much she had to get done. so you left it at that.

however, three months later you were well beyond exhausted. natasha hardly ever slept with you, constantly asked you to do things you’d already done, paying no mind to all the extra stuff you accomplished. nothing was good enough for the redhead and you were beginning to feel like you weren’t good enough for her.

so you made it your mission to fix yourself while she was away. you were determined to be everything she could ever ask for by the time her month long business trip was over.

you changed your hair color, toned your body and even switched out your wardrobe to fit to something natasha might like.

with hardly any contact between the two of you, you were sure your new transformation would surprise nat. and despite the fact that natasha hardly ever called or texted you anymore, you were still so hopeful things would be different.

they were not.

the day natasha came home you had the house cleaned up and her favorite meal served on a plate waiting for her at the table.

all you had to do now was wait. and wait. and wait.

six hours later and you had tears streaming down your face while natasha complained about how much food you made.

“it’s not fucking thanksgiving, why the hell did you make so much?” she scoffed, throwing the metal fork in her hand towards the sink. the sound caused you to jump. “you know what, it doesn’t even matter. stop crying and go to bed. you shouldn’t have even waited for me.”

“nat?”

“what?” she gritted, knuckles white as she gripped the counter. “you could at least face me, tasha-”

natasha rolled her eyes. “quit with the nicknames. you aren’t three years old.”

“i’m sorry i-”

“and your hair looked better before. whatever you did to it now really isn’t a look you should be going for.” she cut you off once more before shoving past you and making her way into the very same room you’d been sleeping alone in for the past month.

you didn’t bother cleaning up or changing clothes that night – rather staying up and trying to muffle your cries.

it was crazy how the person who made you feel the most beautiful could be the very same person who took that, stomped on it, and completely destroyed it within a matter of seconds.

your love for her no longer felt safe and secure. if anything, it felt like natasha was shoving you into the ground with her boot, smearing you down as she mocked you from above.

the next morning, you woke up with a pounding headache. you got up from the couch to see natasha cooking breakfast for herself.

you didn’t know it was possible to feel so much heartbreak over such a little thing.

thats when you remembered all the mornings you spent dancing around in the kitchen, pancake batter marking your shirt as natasha tried to steal kisses from your lips. she was warm. and so in love with you.

but staring at natasha now, plate of eggs in front of her, deliberately ignoring your presence, gave you the final push you needed.

“i’m breaking up with you.”

green eyes snapped up to meet yours. natasha could tell you were trying so hard to hold your ground. she scoffed, borderline laughing to herself.

“what are talking about?”

you swallowed back a cry. “i want you out of here within the hour.”

“oh come on now, y/n-”

“no!” you snapped. “you don’t get to say anything. you’ve stepped all over me, taken everything i’ve done for you for granted and treated me like i didn’t have any value. i’m done, natasha. you broke me.”

you gave her one final glance, but even then natasha showed no emotion on her face. there was no point in trying to fight for something that wasn’t there. you’d finally given up.

“please be out of here before 12. and please don’t make things difficult.” she nodded and went back to eating her breakfast as if nothing happened.

when you entered the kitchen hours later you were surprised to see the dishes neatly put away in the cabinets.

“good to know you still had the decency to clean up after yourself this time,” you mumbled to yourself.

you were just about to leave and turn off the light when an off white envelope left on the table caught your eye.

‘i’m sorry.’ was written on the back of the envelope in natasha’s cursive handwriting.

you knew better than to read it – and you knew better than to walk over to it, but you ignored your brain and followed your heart.

halfway through the letter you cursed yourself for not throwing the damn thing away. her apology was real, sincere – at least that’s what it felt like anyway.

the thought of giving her another chance flashed through your mind, but you could never have what you had.

[2-cute-4-school]

𝚗𝚌𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚖𝚜

requested by anonie:  hi if you’re taking requests could you do an NCT Dream reaction to you crying while studying for exams because you’re stressed? thank you !

Mark Lee

my boi understands the STRESS

he debuted like 6 times and he has more comebacks and schedules than he can count bby is so overworked sometimes  °(ಗдಗ。)

i think you’re probably each other’s safe places

whenever mark catches sight of you he just buries himself in your arms and all his stress and worries melt away as he breathes in your familiar scent (.づ◡﹏◡)づ.

your hugs? his best medicine

so when he finds you trying to muffle your cries in your hands, hunched over open textbooks, a mess of pens and littered papers around you

his heart breaks just a lil (*>_<*)

why didn’t you come to him?? or at least call him??? don’t you trust him?? is he part of the reason of your tears???? what if-

“mark?” ༶ඬ༝ඬ༶

but as your meek voice calls for him he decides that questions can wait

you are his one and only priority

he dashes to your side and engulfs you in his arms─=≡Σ(づ￣ ³￣)づ

“it’s okay baby, you’ll be fine, i’m here, i’m with you”

you just hide your face in his chest and allow yourself to break into sobs that wrench mark’s poor lil heart while mark caresses your back and head

“just let it all out baby, i’m right here, i’ll always be here”(๑´•д • `๑)

he keeps murmuring comforting words as you slowly run out of tears

once you calm down enough to explain the reason of your breakdown to him, he just presses a kiss to your forehead ლ(´﹏`ლ)

“how about you take a rest for tonight and we’ll talk tomorrow and i’ll find a way to help you through this, hm? does that sound good?”

you make him promise he’ll stay with you for this night he has no objections (ღゝ◡╹)ノ♡

he ends up playing his guitar for you with your head on his lap asfdsfksf until you fall asleep and then spoons you after tucking you in

his softness for you doesn’t prevent him from having a serious discussion with you to make sure you know you can always come to him for anything and then ends up helping you study might end up asking for help as well _(T-T*)

Huang Renjun

this boi seems really chill while at home

so i’d say that he mostly minds his business if you’re busy with school work like he’s probably in a corner painting or sumthin’ the lil artsy fairy that he is (❁´▽`❁)*✲ﾟ*

he does check up on you from time to time to make sure that you’re... you know... alive and breathing?? lol fun times huh

but still, silent comfort IS your love language ∩(︶▽︶)∩

so he kinda assumes that you ALREADY know he’s there for you at any time anywhere in any way you may ever need him

so when he hears a muffled sob from behind the door you’re studying in?

his heart BREAKS ꒰๑˃͈꒳˂͈๑꒱ﾉ*ﾞ̥

but he also doesn’t want to stress you out even more or scare you so he slowly enters the room to find you hunched over your desk

he hesitates for a moment as his chest just clenches in hurt while he watches your shoulders shake with muffled whimpers ˓˓(ᑊᘩᑊ⁎)

so he walks up to you and lays a gentle hand on your shoulder

he waited for a moment to make sure that you’re comfortable with his presence in such vulnerable moments

and the he just ENGULFS you in a firm embrace and you FINALLY get the chance to ground yourself as you let out all of the pent up frustration in the arms of the person you trust the most (๑◕︵◕๑)

he just pats your head and you bury your face in his chest and you just ✨melt✨ into each other

i don’t think he’d say much tbh (´°ω°`)

there’s a silent mutual understanding that all you need right now is someone- him to lean on when you’re too tired to hold yourself upright

as you start calming down he presses a kiss to your head before speaking softly but firmly

“you’re taking a break, come on let’s eat and then we can have a lazy evening for once” ε-(‘ﾍ´○)┓

“but-”

“oh we can finally try out the fluffy blanket we bought together last week”

he AIN’T TAKING NO FOR ANSWER!!! (￣ω￣)

you spend the evening wrapped up in each other under your blanket with a forgotten movie playing in the background while renjun hums a lullaby’s tune in your ear

Lee Jeno

he has a sixth sense for you

you can’t get away WITH ANYTHING ¯\_༼ᴼل͜ᴼ༽_/¯

you stub a toe: aw frick-

jeno, thousands of km away in the middle of rolling his hips into another dimension during practice: something’s wrong ಠ_ಠ

so i think he might notice even before you that you’re kinda breaching your limit

but ba(r)bie isn’t sure how to approach you without offending you since you’re kinda irritable because of the stress ofc he doesn’t blame you

so if he fails to stop you before your breakdown he’s gonna blame himself for sure tho so make sure to reassure him once you’re stable he’s gonna keep a VERY watchful eye over you ( ◉  〜 ◉ ) 

he’s 100% READY to be there for you!!!!!

he has fluffy blankets, your favourite sweets and snacks, your preferred take out place on speed dial in case you’re hungry AND your comfort show prepared  (•̀o•́)���

what he isn’t prepared tho?

his OWN heart cracking at the sight of your pain and exhaustion (ಗдಗ) 

he LITERALLY CAN’T stop the small whine building up in his chest as he strides over to your side for support

so when you wrap yourself around him like a lil koala, trembling in his hold and muttering through tears that it’s just too much-

his ULTIMATE protectiveness kicks in FULL MODE (ಢ⊱ಢ ｡)

he just scoops you up and burrito wraps you into the gigantic mound of blankets already prepared for you while pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead i promised i’d make it his trademark so here ;)

he *dashes* to bring over all of the snacks AND is already on the phone if you decided you wanted something to eat

basically bf jeno didn’t come to play ║ * ರ Ĺ̯ ರ * ║

spends the rest of the night literally PAMPERING you in anything you need

and most importantly... LOTS OF KITHES AND CUDDLES!!!!( *¯ ³¯*)♡

his baby deserves a chill and lovely night and he’s gonna provide exactly that and the absolute best for you :<

also jeno will gather all of his remaining braincells to help you the next of the day he really seems a smart kid in my opinion

Lee Donghyuck

hyuck is a LOVELY person don’t get me wrong (๑♡⌓♡๑)

but he’s also a tease so he might unintentionally push you to your limits with a few remarks

poor babe really didn’t realize you were going through it

so just imagine his panic once you just burst into tears after what should have been a harmless teasing from him (╬⁽⁽ ⁰ ⁾⁾ Д ⁽⁽ ⁰ ⁾⁾)

“ba-babe? what happened, did i go too far?? i’m so sorry my love, i just-”

he keeps on rambling and you just cry even harder cuz come on hyuck is just such a thoughtful boyfriend

“i’m really sorry y/n, please don’t cry, i’ll do ANYTHING-” ٩(´Д` ;)۶

you try to explain to him that he’s not at fault for your breakdown

obviously it’s not really comprehensible but it’s enough for hyuck to understand once he hears the words ‘stress’ and ‘exhausted’

he simply embraces you as tight as he can and reassures you that humans have their own limits (っ⇀⑃↼)っ

and that taking a break doesn’t invalidate your hard work and dedication

he understands how overworking can affect a person so he knows how to handle the situation

he proposes taking a hot bath once you’ve calmed down and he adds extra bubbles and a really nice smelling body wash (╯✧∇✧)╯

and after that- YOU’RE ON BED REST!! no excuses

if you protest? you wouldn’t dare

stops you with kisses all over your face before fully shutting you up with a soft but firm kiss on your lips o┤*｀3´*├o

you spend the entire rest of the day restrained in his hugs

you really scared him so he became a lil lot clingy 

need to go to the bathroom? he INSISTS to piggyback you there since ‘you need all the rest you can possibly get’ (∪｡∪)｡｡｡

but i reckon you can’t complain since you have the chance to spend some quality time with your also busy boyfriend

my boy will also go to the ends of the world in order to help you the next day to study whether that means burning his own brain or gathering half of nct and his manager to get everything done in time (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و

Na Jaemin

it’s literally NO SURPRISE when i say that he’s PROTECTIVEx1000000 of his loved ones (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧

so why would you even bother to hide anything from him??

it’s LITERALLY no use

he’s a very very doting person and he keeps tabs on you no matter what, sometimes even uncounciously

and if he’s not there physically? NO PROBLEM!!

texts and calls between he two of you are a very common occurence bubs just wants to make sure you’re well and happy (˃̵ᴗ˂̵)

so unless you’re a top class at acting, good luck in trying to play off your stress and tiredness

but let’s say that due to busy schedules and different timetables it somehow gets past him

babe will be so heartbroken (๑´•д • `๑)

his worry topples over as he freezes in your doorway for a moment at the sight of your defeated form and tear-stained papers

BUT he does a good job in keeping his composure because he can’t risk letting his emotions get the best of him when you need him ( •̀ω•́ )

so he just trudges up to you and SMOTHERS you in the tightest hug possible, tucking your head in his shoulder so you could cry freely hidden away from the rest of the world

he coos a few words here and there, encouragements, compliments, reassurement that ‘you’re more than enough, you just need to take a moment to relax and breathe’ ✧˖°ˈ·*ε-(๑˃́ε˂̀๑ )

otherwise, he’ll leave the talk for the next day when you’re rested both physically AND mentally 

after you calm down he helps you put away all your school work you wouldn’t dare oppose him on this for the rest of the day

we all know what’s coming up i’m sorry

COMFORT FOOD!!!! (ﾉ^ヮ^)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧

he seats you on a kitchen stool while he cooks whatever you need at the moment, anything his baby wants

honestly he just adapts to whatever you need atm

cuddles in silence? works for him!! wanna ramble? there to listen!! want netflix and chill??? absolutely!!!!

Zhong Chenle

sooo from what i’ve gathered he’s not exactly emotional???

but also have you seen this absolute cutie when jisung was crying at the dream show?? babe was trying so hard to comfort his bff but he also seemed uh.. a bit awkward a bit? in a cute way tho!! (๑⁍᷄౪⁍᷅๑)

but i do think he’ll falter once he catches sight of your state!!!!

so many mental debates too!! (๑′°︿°๑)

‘they’re hunched over, did they fall asleep? wait shaking?? is it cold in here????... fuck no was that a sob?? do i... do i go over to comfort them? but how like do i hug or do i talk or..? what if they break up with me??? shit what have i done recently?? i washed the dishes, i cleaned the dog poop, i took out the trash.. it can’t be this’

my boy is going through THE CRISIS OF HIS LIFE (≖ლ≖๑ )

so he reluctantly walks up to you determined to help

but when he reaches you? *brain fart*

ends up patting your head and rubbing your back, but his touch manages to ground you without overwhelming you even further (っ⇀⑃↼)っ

if you end up pulling him into a hug tho, he won’t hesitate to hold you

while comforting you he finally notices your open notebooks filled with messy writing

he feels weirdly relieved that you’re not breaking up with him and neither is it something *tragic*  •(◐﹏◐)•

he’ll let you cry it out before he asks if you’d like some help with your school work he asked fans to send their maths homework so he must be a nerd enough to be able to help you too

but you’re probably too drained（×ω×）  to do anything so you two just settle for a cuddle session under a mountain of blankets

and daegal therapy!!!!!Ｏ(≧∇≦)Ｏ who probably loves you more than chenle and he ends up whining jokingly about it

chenle will probably focus on lifting up your mood with jokes and stories and he’d do anything to cheer you up

he might try to spoil you too 

and he’s not letting you refuse the ton of food he orders since ‘you deserve to fill up your batteries’ ~~旦_(-ω-｀｡)

i’m sorry for your tummies after the ammount of sweets you shared

Park Jisung

ah nct’s certified crybaby(lovingly)

might just start crying with you because if you cry he cries too 

i honestly see him a bit panicky in a delicate situation like this once where he has to deal with *emotions* (｡´>д<)っ彡☆

so he watches from a safe distance at first

literally jisung.exe has shut down

but then poor kid starts feeling guilty about just watching you suffer without helping and comforting you but he’s kinda scared that he’s only gonna make it worse (●’Д’●)

‘come on park jisung think!!! what would-... what WOULD JAEMIN DO!!’

*cue lighbulb going off above his head*

cue calling jaemin and getting scolded for being on the phone with him instead of being by your side but still giving his precious baby advice

jisung probably comes up with a speech before approaching you he’s nervous okay? ┌༼ σ ‸ σ ༽┐

he lays a hand on your head, gently caressing you and just as he takes a breath to start his speech, you just look up to him with THE kicked puppy eyes ༼ つ ◕ ‸ ◕ ༽つ and jisung is A GONER꒰ლ✘ㅿ✘ლ꒱ 

he MELTS into a puddle of uwus and just leans into you, opting for silent comfort and that’s how he found out that cuddles>>>>>>words

he kinda babbles a little while holding you words are hard ya know

he kinda rambles after you calm down too so now you have to calm him down you’re both messes but you’re cute so

so what is the most efficient way to shut him up? peck his lips!!!!

and as he melts into your hold he remembers that ‘wait!! i’m the one supposed to comfort them!!!!’ (•̀o•́)ง

so he throws his nerves out the window for a moment and just cups his entire world your face in his hands and pecks your all over your face

you end up watching some compilations with kitties or something on both your phones untill your batteries die so then you switch to another device gen z behaviour 

he also probably gets a call from jaemin too and you figure out that your puss of a boyfriend had to call his friend in order to help you

so you give him that look <(｀^´)>

let’s say he’s taking you out for brunch the next day AND helping you with your school work 

[peachycoreroo]

Umm, I got a request! What about their s/o being sick and how they would take care of them? If you feel comfortable with that, you can a spice it up a bit with cockwarming 👀 I'd love to see Sugawara, Kuroo, Satori, Oikawa and Bokuto!

characters: sugawara koushi, kuroo tetsurou, tendou satori, oikawa tooru, bokuto koutaro

genre: fluff, smut, comfort(??)

word count: 1.6k

warnings: fem!reader, it's mostly fluff, cockwarming, hinting at oral fem! receiving, mentions of medication, established relationships

authors note: uhh it got kind of repetetive with the cockwarming so i threw oral in there, but i hope you'll still like it!! if you see kuroo’s being the longest, no you don’t<3 here's a link to my masterlist

sugawara koushi:

sugawara koushi was a good husband in many ways. he was attentive, loving and a great cook, alas a bit aggressively positive whenever you felt insecure or stressed. nothing you couldn’t handle. but as you laid in your shared bed with a cold, you once again were reminded of why you loved him so much.

“so, chicken soup or potato soup?”, suga asked again, after you didn’t respond the first time, being too immersed in your thoughts about him. coughing, you tried to sit up, just to get pushed down again.

“no. no getting up. you stay here, i do everything.” looking up at your silver-haired husband, you smiled softly and finally replied: “chicken, please.”

with a nod, you were once again left alone, just like before sugawara came home from work. ten minutes later, he returned with a steaming bowl and a spoon, sitting down beside you. refusing to make you do anything at all, he insisted on feeding you himself.

“thank you so much, kou’. you make the best chicken soup”, you lovingly whispered as he fed you, making him smile at the compliment you always gave when he cooked it.

after the meal, you reached out towards the elementary school teacher, murmuring: “’wanna be close to you.”

knowing exactly what you wanted, he lied down behind you before taking out his cock and stroking it a few times. as he pushed your panties to the side and slipped inside your tight walls, you felt like you could finally completely relax.

you felt safe in his arms, as he pressed soft kisses along your shoulder, knowing you always had a husband who was willing to take care of your every need.

kuroo tetsurou:

being the girlfriend of kuroo tetsurou, employee at japan volleyball association, was hard at times. a lot of nights and weekends were spent alone, as your boyfriend had to stay overtime at the office on many nights, and, occasionally, even come in on saturdays and sundays.

that didn’t make you love him any less, but it did make for some hard times. for example, right now. it was already 11p.m. and your boyfriend was still nowhere to be seen, while you struggled with a fever the whole day.

having enough of not being able to do anything yourself, you staggered into the kitchen, determined to make some tea. as the kettle heated up, you leaned against the kitchen island, too focused on trying to stand upright to hear the front door opening.

kuroo was tired, but when he heard the kettle boil, indicating that you were still awake, it was like all the pressure from work suddenly lifted off of him. but when he entered the kitchen, excited to finally come home to you, he was only faced with worry at the sight of you, looking like you’re ready to collapse at any moment.

the black-haired man didn’t hesitate to pick you up bridal style, almost giving you a heart attack in the process. “tetsu’! oh my god, you scared me!”, you croakily exclaimed, voice rough from your throat aching.

“m’ sorry baby. you should’ve told me you were sick, ‘would’ve come home earlier”, he scolded, already knowing you didn’t want to bother him at work, no matter how bad you were feeling.

kuroo carried you into the bedroom, placing you on the bed before loosening his tie and putting a large hand on your forehead, checking your temperature.

“i didn’t want you to worry”, you whispered, your fever-consumed brain zeroing in on tetsurou’s exposed collarbones and dress shirt-clad arms. “well, mission failed, because now i definitely am”, he murmured, already leaving the room to continue making the tea you started.

grabbing his hand at the last second, you looked up at him, gaze glazed over with exhaustion. “can we just cuddle, tetsu’? i just want to cockwarm you. ‘wanna feel you after such a long day.”

how could he ever deny you asking so nicely? kissing your forehead, the tall man sighed. 

“anything you want, kitten.”

tendou satori:

tendou knew something was wrong as soon as he woke up. you were restless beside him, sweating and groaning in your sleep, as if a nightmare were haunting you. as he reached out to wake you up, he immediately felt how hot your body temperature was.

with determination to take care of you, the red-haired male fetched some medicine, before finally waking you up. “y/n, sweetie. you’re running a fever, wake up.”

groaning, you turned away from him, not wanting to face the headache that was currently pounding in your head. you could feel your boyfriends’ fingertips gently caressing your arm, as he leaned in and murmured: “if you take your medicine, i’ll let you sit on my lap and sleep all day, sweetheart”, knowing exactly how to get you to take the medication.

you can’t remember when it became a thing in your relationship, but whenever you felt sick, stressed, or just had a bad day, you’d always sit on your boyfriends’ lap, stuffed full of his cock, while you peacefully napped.

groggily opening one eye to look at him, he knew he had you when you slowly sat up and reached out for the medicine he was holding. when the tall man was sure you swallowed, he sat down, leaning against the headboard, and pulled you onto his lap.

it was almost therapeutic for you, as you slowly sunk down on his cock, both of you sighing contently, before burying your face in his neck, ready to lose yourself to sleep once again.

with tendou’s cock inside you, and his large hand stroking your hair, you slowly drifted off.

oikawa tooru:

“tooru, relax. it’s just a cold”, you tried to calm down your boyfriend, currently pacing inside your shared bedroom like a mad man.

“how can i relax when you’re sick! what am i supposed to do? oh my god, what if it gets worse?”

as much as you loved oikawa tooru with all your heart, his flare for the dramatic really didn’t help you in your sick state. this was the first time you caught a nasty virus since moving in with him and it clearly showed that he was the younger sibling in his family, never having to take care of someone, but always being cared for.

you sighed, massaging your temples: “oikawa tooru, you’re going to give me a headache. i just need some tea and sleep. i’m not going to die.”

“are you sure?”, he looked at you, worried. “it sounds like you want me to”, you deadpanned, making your boyfriends dramatic ass crack a smile.

“no, i definitely don’t, y/n. don’t worry. mission ‘tea for my sick girlfriend’: in action.” and with that, he disappeared into the kitchen, finally giving you space to take a deep breath. it’s not as if he annoyed you by any means, you knew he was just worried about you.

when the brunet reappeared with a steaming cup of tea, you had an idea as to how to calm him down.

“babe, lay down.” oikawa gave you a quick, puzzled look, before doing as he was told, not quite understanding where you were going with this. as you turned your backside to him and fondled for his cock, he quickly stopped you. “wait! wait, what are you doing?”

“if you want to help me, just slip inside and let me sleep.”

the setter looked at you, as if you grew two heads, only getting out a ‘huh?’ at your statement. rolling your eyes, you guided him inside you and cuddled up with your back against his chest, explaining: “it just makes me feel safe. i know you’re not leaving me to suffer alone.”

oikawa didn’t know that he could feel this soft while he had his dick inside someone, but there’s a first for everything.

bokuto koutaro:

“’taro, i know you mean it in the best way possible, but you know i won’t be able to eat that.”

bokuto koutaro was a great husband. you could even say the best, but that might be your bias talking. unfortunately, he couldn’t cook if his life depended on it, and as much as you appreciated his efforts of wanting to take care of you while you felt under the weather, your will to live a little longer was stronger.

pouting, the spiker looked at you with puppy dog eyes. “but baby, i want to make you feel better! how am i supposed to do that, when you don’t even let me cook for you”, your oversized husband whined.

“koutaro. baby. light of my life. the last time you wanted to surprise me by making dinner, you nearly burned down the whole house. how am i supposed to relax and get better, when i’m going to be worrying about you burning yourself to death?”, you asked gently, knowing how upset he can get when he feels useless.

already seeing bokuto’s face drop more and more with every word, you immediately followed with: “but i know how you can make me feel better without any dangerous kitchen activities involved.”

at that, he perked up. “really?”

slowly parting your legs, you looked at him expectingly. without having to say another word, the tall spiker was already between your legs, taking of your panties and licking a stripe up your slit.

when he heard your content sigh and felt you relax, he knew this was the best thing he could do for you.