#so...yeah a crash was inevitable probably

[diabolicalevil]

Which Primarchs would beg during a break up?

inspired by @ladyoflucky 's post thank youu for letting me do this

https://www.tumblr.com/ladyoflucky/787103199830081536?source=share

Lion El'johnson: highly unlikely. he would keep up an arrogant front to the bitter end of the break up. but in private he is a disaster, especially stuck on anger and depression of the stages of grief. in the 6 months he'll magically start appearing around you again

Fulgrim: oh my god, he's begging, he's crying. it's embarrassing. bar, I don't know, a war council infront of the emperor there is no place he wouldn't get on his knees and proclaim his love. he will stop at nothing to get his lover back

Perturabo: absolutely not. very stone faced the whole time but as soon as you leave he is flipping tables and destroying anything he made for you. very petulant man!

Jaghatai Khan: one of the more normal ones. by that I mean no, but he would ask why and ask you to stay. ultimately he is accepting of you moving on and he will too

Leman Russ: no, he's also too proud and quite rude during the break up. extremely torn up over it though, cause let's be honest he probably did something that warranted this. within time he'll calm down and maybe try to re-enter your life. if this is successful you'll get the full "baby baby please take me back baby baby please" (space wolves as back up singers included!)

Rogal Dorn: kind of paralysed the entire break up but obviously distraught. mere hours later after realising that by "over" you mean over he's knocking on your door and tripping over himself to make amends. he's expressive as a piece of paper but he folds like one too

Konrad Curze: You Will Not Be Breaking Up With Him. Sit Back Down.

Sanguinius: yeah,,, somehow more embarrassing than fulgrim. he looks like the world is crashing down on him. not many on this list would truly get on their knees and cry and grovel but he would and he'd mean every word of it

Ferrus Manus: no but he's hanging on by a thread internally. he immediately goes to self loathing and while he does understand and accept your answer every bone in his body is telling him to start begging for forgiveness

Angron: no :( he's sad about it too. he thinks this was inevitable and once the initial anger subsidies the misery is all consuming. but he probably couldn't bring himself to face you again

Roboute Guilliman: hes being very sensible about it in the moment., but perhaps a few days later he sees something that reminds me of you and it punches him in the dick SO hard. immediately launches a campaign to win you back so intense it might as well be begging

Mortarion: no, probably not. like angron hates himself and thinks this would have always happened but his anger manifests outwardly. days later he understands he blew it for good resigns himself to the lonely life he imagined before you

Magnus: yeah, I think so. not much begging in the moment but if that fails, he'll start doing a little bit of dream invasion privacy. pleading with you to take him back in your dream and if that too fails, he would consider altering your mind to a more favourable opinion of him

Horus Lupercal: yes but not in a screaming crying kinda way. he's on his knees but only to meet your eyes and speak to you on your level. waxing poetics about how you're the only respite from his never ending list of expectations and how every moment has brought him nothing but peace. asks for one final chance to make it right

Lorgar Aurelian: oh my god. oh my God. he's not just on his knees his head is on the floor, he would kiss your feet if not for the fact he wouldn't deign touch the divine without permission. his begging starts getting jumbled with scripture as he starts to believe this is divine punishment

Vulkan: if you're breaking up with him something out of both of your control has gone terribly wrong. from the bottom of his heart understands but he can't help but kneel infront of you and ask to embrace one last time if nothing else

Corvus Corax: no, but he understands and perhaps a part of him expected it. you're far too different to have stayed together long. he still vows to never let harm come to you

Alpharius/Omegon: another firm you are not breaking up with them. however if you did somehow get such a silly idea nothing is off the table to make you stay. if it's begging you want, then they beg. if all else fails diva ur going in the dungeonn

sorry if this is a bit dramatic but im truly of the opinion that astartes and primarchs experience emotion and sensations far more intensely than humans do. don't got shit to back it up but that's my opinion

[sharas-bae]

realized that this week is the first one where i didn't have Something social going on basically since i recovered (even though i actually do have a thing tonight and tomorrow but at least there was a lull in there) and suddenly my disproportionately terrible crankiness makes a lot more sense.

like up till last week despite the ongoing toronto girl-related angst (truly i'm getting bored of myself in that department but oh well) i've been feeling pretty hopeful and motivated to make the kinds of changes that that whole situation and the covid thing inspired. and then all the wind left my sails at once.

i think i'm having something of an emotional adrenaline crash.

[mariasont]

OKAY OKAY OKAY this might seem really simple but i love the simple stuff

spence x reader

spence is just yapping about whatever, the quantum mechanics of coffee beans, as you said in one of your posts i think, and reader just cuts him off by kissing him IN FRONT OF EVERYONE on the jet.. and everyone’s there like.. oh! im imagining he kisses reader like he kissed lila in that pool scene IM FERAL. yes he kisses back.. and then the rest of it’s just garcia being a squeaking happy person and hotch and morgan are like “that’s my boy” but rossi and jj are just gagged

please im like

Reid the Room - S.R

spencer reid has never met a bad time to discuss aviation disasters. and before your survival instincts can stop you, you're kissing him just to make it stop

pairings: spencer reid x reader warnings: gn!reader (correct me if im wrong), secret relationship, pda, mild workplace inappropriateness lol, teasing/banter, spencer reid being spencer reid, mentions of plane crashes! wc: 0.9k

The words don’t just come from Spencer, they pour — fast and inevitable, like water rolling down slick stone, shaping everything in its path. You’ve spent months memorizing the subtleties of it, the tiny furrow between his brows when he’s thinking too hard, his fingers twitching mid-sentence, like even his body can’t quite keep pace with his brilliance.

He becomes more animated when he’s passionate. It should be illegal, you think, for someone to be this smart and this pretty at once. If the team ever noticed how intently you watched him, they’d know. They’d know everything. 

“— the likelihood of a plane crash is about one in 11 million, but what’s really fascinating is that 95.7% of people actually survive crashes, assuming they’re seated within the five rows of an emergency exit. Though, of course, the probability of surviving depends on factors like impact angle and —”

Morgan leans forward, bracing an arm against his knee, eyes locked on Spencer with the patience of a man debating the ethics of shutting someone up by violent force.“Hey, man, you ever hear of a bad time? We are currently on a plane. Read the room.”

For once, you don’t leap to his defense. No well-timed he’s just trying to educate us, Morgan, or an indulgent I think it’s interesting thrown in to buffer the onslaught. 

Instead, you glance at him, eyebrows lifting into something dangerously close to betrayal. Because, yeah. This might actually be one of those times. One of the Morgan is completely justified in wanting to tape Spencer’s mouth shut for the next four hours.

“I have heard of a bad time, but the concept is largely subjective. What you’re experiencing is cognitive bias, your brain associating this discussion with immediate danger because of proximity. In reality, the likelihood of a crash remains the same whether I mention it or not, so from a purely logical standpoint, this is no worse a time than any other.”

Morgan drags a hand down his face.

“...In fact, not talking about it could be considered the real danger. Avoidance leads to complacency, and complacency leads to fatal mistakes. Did you know that the most survivable crash positions involve bracing at a 60-degree angle? Although, of course, survivability depends largely on the structural integrity of the fuselage upon impact, and in cases of explosive decompression —”

It happens before you can think about — before the gnawing, frantic need to make him stop talking about plane crashes while you are actively inside one overrides all rational thought.

You turn, grab Spencer’s collar, and yank him in, your own common sense careening into a tailspin somewhere at 30,000 feet.

The moment your lips collide, Spencer’s entire body goes rigid, frozen mid-sentence, mid-thought, mid-existence. His mouth is still forming a syllable that dies in a half-swallowed exhale against your tongue. His hands, previously conducting an invisible orchestra of statistical doom, trap in mid-air like he forgot what hands are.

But he catches up fast. One second he’s buffering and the next his fingers twitch — once, twice — and then lock onto your waist like he’s just decided physics no longer applies and you need to be closer. It starts semi-tentatively, inhaling against your lips, breath uneven, before he presses deeper. A lit match dropped straight into gasoline.

You pull back, breath coming fast, Spencer still leaning in like he isn’t done yet. “Anyway. What were you saying?”

Spencer stares, lips parted, pupils blown wide. For a second, he seems to genuinely try to answer, searching his mind for whatever deeply important fact he was so adamant about a minute ago. “...I don’t remember.”

The jet is quiet — too quiet — and that’s when it hits you. 

You kissed Spencer. In front of everyone.

Something cold and hot spreads through you, and suddenly, your limbs don’t seem to be operating under your jurisdiction anymore. Do something. Anything. Breathe. Blink. Move. But nope, your brain is still buffering, and Spencer – dear, sweet Spencer — looks just as dazed, which means absolutely no one is saving you from this.

You could just… not turn around. Avoid whatever is waiting for you. Live the rest of your life facing forward like a malfunctioning animatronic. But the weight of twelve pairs of eyes boring into your back is impossible to ignore.

So, with all the grace of a person walking into their own execution, you turn.

Garcia has both hands glued to her mouth, body vibrating like she’s one second away from either screeching at a frequency only dogs can hear or launching herself into the air like a bottle rocket. Her eyes are huge, pupils dilated. JJ, meanwhile, is just staring. Frozen, lips parting as if she wants to say something but has no idea where to start.

And then there’s Hotch.

You swallow hard as you meet his gaze, expecting some level of seriousness, some stern professional acknowledgment of the wildly inappropriate display that just took place — but instead, he just exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose like a man who is simply too tired for this.

And then, breaking the tension with the ease of a wrecking ball, Morgan lets out a low, satisfied chuckle. “Damn. I knew there was something going on, but damn.”

After the initial shock wore off — and after Garcia had texted Emily a summary in all caps, Morgan had called you both a lost cause, and Rossi had actually applauded — things mostly went back to normal. Mostly. Except now Spencer absolutely knew what he was doing.

And later that night, as you sat beside Spencer on the couch, he turned to you, utterly serious, and murmured, “You know, in the U.S., the majority of residential break-ins occur between 10 a.m. and 3 p.m. —” 

You groaned, yanked him in, and cut him off the same way you had earlier. He made a very pleased noise.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[juicebuck]

imagine being maddie han. you have to sit there and listen to your brother talk shit about Some Guy who's been hanging out with your brother's best friend (his best friend who he has a, well. not entirely normal best friend relationship with) and also the best friend's son (who your brother is co-parenting) who Some Guy's apparently been lying to btw. he lied to a child, maddie. also he's on eddie's calendar, circled. and then, later. you have to sit and listen to your brother tell you he crashed their basketball game. literally. almost broke his best friend's ankle because he felt left out and wanted his attention. and probably when he's gone, you think. wow he might finally be figuring it out. his not entirely normal best friend relationship. and you cross your fingers for him. and for you also. except then, a week later. you have to sit there and listen to your brother tell you he went on a date with Some Guy about it. and rather than express any real feelings about going on a date with Some Guy or what that means he's. Well, he's talking about his best friend again. which tracks. but what can you even say to that. so you tell him that if there's something he needs to tell his best friend, he will when he's ready. because he's so close now. surely. except then. pause to Sigh. then he proceeds to date Some Guy for six months. and when that inevitably ends, because it was never even about Some Guy in the first place. your brother is asking you whether he should call him. and instead of banging your head against his kitchen counter you tell him, no. look forward. your special someone is out there (4995 south bedford street to be exact but. well. you can't say that bit, so). and your brother says, okay. and you think, thank God. finally we might be getting somewhere. except then, fast forward a few weeks. you have to sit and listen to your brother tell you that he hooked up with Some Guy. in his best friend's house. which he is currently living in btw. and that Some Guy called the best friend the competition and insinuated that your brother is in love with him. and well, on account of *gestures vaguely at everything* you ask him if he is. in love with his best friend. it wouldn’t be so crazy. in fact, it's the only thing that makes sense in any of this mess. and your brother gets, like. Weirdly Defensive about it and points out his best friend is straight. as if you're prosecuting him in a court of law and not just. gently asking him about his not entirely normal best friend relationship. and then you have to listen to him tell you that yeah, he only slept with Some Guy to distract himself from the best friend. and you're tempted to think, surely he's gonna get it soon. but you drop it. because honestly you don't need this right now. you can't even have a glass of wine about it. maybe you should look up pregnancy-safe spa weekends.

[mariespen]

Rocky Beaches ☾ ⋆

rafe cameron x reader - hurt/comfort ⊹˚.⋆ Summary: Rafe takes care of his girl after she gets hurt at a bonfire party. content: fem!reader, hurt/comfort, frustrated but gentle rafe, bonfire party warnings: mentions drinking, mild description of injury involving blood, hurt/comfort

⊹˚.⋆︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵⊹˚.⋆

The smoke rising from the bonfire was burning your eyes and you winced at the feeling, trying to cover your face from the dark clouds. Your boyfriend, Rafe, sat idly by, talking with Topper while his thumb absentmindedly rubbed the skin of your thigh.

You were already in a bad mood. Rafe pulled you out of bed to go to what was supposed to be a small get-together but turned out to be a crowded bonfire party. Rafe had been shrugging you off all night, small touches here and there to keep you close, but you’re sure you could count the number of words he’s said to you in the past hour on one hand. Shifting uncomfortably, you were ready to beg your surprisingly talkative boyfriend to take you home.

“Hey!” You heard to your left, a voice approaching you. You squinted, smiling as you realized it was your best friend, Kiara.

“Hi!” You replied, shifting your legs to leave Rafe, standing up to greet her, happy to be away from the smoke.

You could feel Rafe’s look of disapproval burning into the back of your head but you chose to ignore it, walking off with Kiara when she suggested getting another drink.  You knew your limits, and you also knew how pissed Rafe would be if he had to deal with you drunk after he specifically told you not to drink. So, you sip from Kiara’s cup to try and lower Rafe’s suspicious gaze. 

After a few minutes with Kiara, JJ and John B start stumbling towards the two of you, both a little drunk. You looked up, hearing their slurred laughs and uneven footsteps.

“Hi ladies..” JJ slurred, trying to keep a straight face and almost breaking when Kiara turned to give him a dirty stare. You giggle with them, happy to escape the suffocating smoke and your distant boyfriend. It wasn’t until about a minute later that you felt a hand on your hip and you turned, realizing that your boyfriend wasn’t as distant as you thought.

“C’mon, let’s go home.” He said, being stern but still gentle, eyeing your current group.

“No baby..” You said, squirming out of his grip to turn around and press a hand to his chest, “just keep talking about important stuff with Topper.” 

You didn’t mean for it to come out as snarky, but when Rafe quickly pulled you to the side, you realized that you probably said the wrong thing anyway.

“No, let’s go now, yeah?” He said, lifting your chin up to his face so you kept your eyes on his commanding face.

“No Rafe..” You whined, your hand coming up to hold his wrist as you looked at him innocently.

He gave up a lot quicker than you expected, dropping his hand in sour defeat.

“A’ight.. we can stay. Just don’t do anything stupid, yeah?” He waited until you nodded eagerly, “need to talk to Top anyways.. j’st don’t get hurt.” 

He hesitantly walked away after leaning down to give you a soft kiss on the forehead and stared down John B, JJ, and Kiara, warning them to be careful with his girl.

You, of course, skipped happily back to the group as they watched Rafe leave. Eventually the mood lightened, and you laughed as JJ and John B pushed each other around, sand kicking up at your face from their quick movements.

“We should check out the waves.” Kiara noted, a small slur to her voice, too.

Naturally, you all agreed and found yourselves crashing through the ankle-high waves of the Outer Banks. The sand under you was sharp with rocks and it hurt your feet to step on, but you laughed it off with Kiara while you watched JJ and John B try to drench each other in the salty waves. After a while, the cold inevitably got to the four of you and you started to drag your feet back to shore.

You couldn’t help but wince at the feeling of pointy rocks on your feet, the water pulling you back. One step after the other you pulled yourself closer to shore. The last few steps remained and you decided to look back at the waves behind you. One more step, but you felt your leg hit a particularly sharp rock, feeling it pierce your skin. Crying out, you fell forward, scraping your body on the rocks and painting it with the messy red salt water. Kiara and JJ rushed to your side, helping you up and out of the water while John B grabbed a sandy towel. 

You weren’t far off from the party, so when your cries caused commotion, Rafe stormed down to the waves. His furrowed brows softened when he saw your tearstained face and ripped tank top and he rushed to your side.

“Fuck..” He whispered, sweeping you off your feet and carrying you bridal-style. 

He didn’t say a word, leaving the party without hesitation and taking you to his BMW, sobs racking through your chest. He winced when he saw the real state of your injuries, grabbing anything he could find to cover you up. He settled on a pure white towel, applying pressure to your wounded stomach and wiping the wet hair from your face.

“S’alright..” He mumbled, walking quickly to the driver's seat.

The ride to Tannyhill consisted of your breathy sobs and his soft cooes of ‘shhh’ and ‘y’got it, baby.’

Rafe carried you into the oversized house, setting you up on the kitchen island before he quietly grabbed the homemade first aid kit. He peeled off your shirt, sighing at the severity of your injuries.

“God… what did I tell you baby,” he sighs out, cleaning the sand from around your wounds, “I said ‘be careful’ and ‘don’t get hurt’ hm?” He quoted himself with a stern tone, but his shaky voice showed how cautious he really was.

“M’sorry!” You forced a whisper out, having spent all of your voice on your pained sobs.

He sighed, shaking his head as he grabbed the disinfectant and a cloth to treat your deeper scratches.

“Just remember you love me, yeah?” He murmured and you started to nod before wincing in pain at the stinging feeling of the disinfectant. 

“Rafe!” You whined out, your hand finding his free one as he kissed your knuckles.

“Y’got it, baby.” He said softly, bandaging your stomach and thighs.

“M’sorry..” You repeated with a sniffle once he finished.

“Yeah, shoulda listened to me, hm sweetheart?” He said, rubbing his hands down his neck before washing them.

He brought you to the bathroom, holding your head and wiping the sand off of your body, trying to clean you off the best that he cold. He guided your chin up to brush your teeth, telling you when to spit. 

That night was painful for the both of you, but Rafe wrapped you in all of the comfy blankets on the bed and held you close, drawing shapes in your thigh with his fingers while he lectured you.

“Shoulda listened.. can’t believe you went into the ocean with those assholes.” He said, looking at the outline of your legs through the blankets.

“Rafe..” You start to try and protest, but he kisses you to silently remind you that you both knew he was right.

⊹˚.⋆︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵⊹˚.⋆

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Even the Best Bleed Sometimes

Word count: 802

Pairing: lando Norris x reader

Summary: After a crushing mistake in Canada, Lando spirals into self-loathing, but Y/n reminds him that while it was his fault, his worth isn’t defined by perfection — and she’ll stand by him through every high and low.

________________________________________________________

The door to Lando’s driver room slammed so hard it made Y/n jump from her seat in the McLaren hospitality area.

She’d been watching from the sidelines, like always — eyes glued to the screen, stomach tight in knots when he’d gone for the overtake on Oscar in Turn 7. For a split second, it looked like it might stick. The commentators gasped. The car twitched. And then — the inevitable.

The crash wasn’t huge, thank God. But the damage was enough. Race over.

And now, so was the world inside Lando’s head.

Y/n gave it a few minutes. She knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t want anyone in his face straight away. But the longer the silence stretched, the heavier the weight in her chest became.

Finally, she made her way through the paddock to his room, ignoring the stares of team members and the awkward, pitying glances from a few other WAGs.

She knocked softly once, then opened the door.

He was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, his race suit peeled down to his waist, hair a mess of curls matted to his forehead. His eyes were red-rimmed, his knuckles scraped from where, she assumed, he’d punched something. Probably the wall.

The room stank of frustration. Of failure. Of a kind of anger only an athlete at his level could ever understand.

“Baby,” she said gently, stepping inside and shutting the door.

“Don’t,” Lando rasped, voice raw. “Don’t try to make it better. I fucked it. I completely… I’m such a fucking idiot.”

Y/n crouched down in front of him, her heart breaking at the sight of him like this. This wasn’t the Lando the fans saw — the cheeky grins, the playful quips, the golden boy. This was the Lando who tore himself apart over milliseconds and mistakes.

“You made a bad call,” she said honestly, sitting next to him. “You thought you could take Oscar there, and it didn’t work. It happens.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “It shouldn’t happen. Not at this level. Not when we finally have a car that can fight at the front. I should’ve known better. I… I let the team down, let myself down, let you down.”

“You didn’t let me down,” she said firmly, grabbing his hand. He didn’t resist, just let their fingers tangle together, his grip tight like a man clinging to a ledge.

“I don’t know how to fucking stop this,” he whispered. “This… hate for myself. I keep thinking — if I was better, smarter, less desperate to prove something, I’d have waited. I ruined my race. I ruined the team’s points. And for what? To show I could outbrake my teammate? It’s pathetic.”

Y/n squeezed his hand. “Listen to me. It was your fault, yeah. It was a bad move. But you’re not pathetic, and you need to stop treating yourself like you’re some kind of fraud because you made a mistake.”

He closed his eyes, swallowing hard. His chest heaved like it physically hurt to breathe.

“You’re one of the best drivers in this sport, Lando,” she continued, voice steady. “Look at what you’ve done this season. Look at how far you’ve come. Even today — before that crash, you were driving like a goddamn machine. Everyone saw it. The whole world knows it. You’re allowed to screw up. Even the best bleed sometimes.”

He opened his eyes, glancing over at her, the hardness in his gaze cracking just a little.

“I just feel like… every time I get close, I sabotage it.”

“Then learn from it,” she said quietly. “But stop destroying yourself over it. Because you’re still here. The team still believes in you. I still believe in you. You’re still Lando Norris — the guy who can pull a lap out of nowhere, who fights like hell, who cares so much it eats him alive. And that’s why you’re great. Not because you’re perfect.”

A long silence stretched between them. Then, slowly, his shoulders sagged, the fight draining from him. He leaned his head against her shoulder, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight.

“I hate how much it hurts,” he whispered.

“I know, baby,” she murmured. “But that’s because you give a shit. And that’s what makes you worth loving.”

He let out a shaky breath, and she felt some of the tension in him unravel.

They sat like that for a long time — no words, just the quiet thrum of hurt and comfort and a love strong enough to sit with both.

And when they finally got up, his hand in hers, Y/n knew he wasn’t fixed. Not yet. But maybe he didn’t have to be.

Maybe he just had to keep driving.

And she’d be there for every

[yayll]

~ a little something about Dazai and his tantrums ~

"... Hmph. I hope you crash this car and we both die."

The moody brunet mutters under his breath as he looks out of the car window, his arms crossed over his chest, refusing to look at you. He was awfully cute whenever he did this, and oh so vexing at the same time. You learned to acclimate to this very early into your relationship with him.

"What? All I said was that I was going to be driving us, Osamu!"

Your laugh is light hearted as you focus on the road ahead, dismissing his whiny behavior for another one of his... Melodramatic performances, his co-workers once called it. He finally turns to glare at you, but a wicked glint in his narrowed eyes betrays him... You can tell he's more unserious than anything. Playful, even. And besides, he would never actually be upset with you, he just can't stop thinking up schemes to make you roll your eyes at him. Your smile alone makes his thoughts impure, shame on you!

"Yeah, well... I feel dehumanized! overlooked! neglected..." He feigns offense, sighing heavily as he slouches into the passenger seat. He places a bandaged arm over his face, groaning softly but still side eyeing you to check if you're looking at him or not.

"You do that all on your own, silly."

"Excuse me? I'm expressing my grievances and you're calling me silly? Oh, so that's what this is really about. You don't love me anymore! What a cruel beauty you are..."

He gasps, now burying his face into the crook of his elbow, pretending to weep as he mumbles incoherent nonsense about how much you mistreat him. In actuality, he was giddy as hell. You park the car, and turn to face him, a coy smile flashes on your lips.

"Nobody said anything about not loving you. Now, what can I do to fix this, Mm?"

He lifts his head up, suddenly composed and shrugging his shoulders as if nothing ever happened, speaking in a matter of fact voice that somehow deepened.

"Well, definitely don't let me drive. I don't even have a license. I'd kill us in an instant."

"... Then why argue about it?!"

"Because you look so beautiful when you're yelling at me. And you make me feel alive. Anddd, because I'm bored~"

He flashes you a cheeky grin, it's dreamy and sickening. His eyes twinkle with mischief as he leans over the seat and flicks away a stray hair from your face. Dazai then taps the tip of your nose, slowly dragging his finger down to your plush bottom lip, gently flipping it over to expose your teeth. The pad of his finger gently swirls against your canines, and finally, retreats... He knows there's a time and place for his worship prodding. His eyes travel back up to yours, and you can swear they look darker than usual. If only the Port Mafia could see what became of the Demon Prodigy... A new man reborn! A man who loves!

The rest of the day is spent with you indulging Dazai, something along the lines of 'reparations' is what he calls it. Only he knows how much it means to him that you can handle him during his calculated outbursts... or rather harmless tests to prove you won't leave him at the first sign of trouble. He needs you to be in it for the longhaul, just like he is. It's deceptive, but no one has to know! He just loves you and these are simply counter measures. You'd probably call him selfish, but as long as you call him at all, he doesn't give a shit. Because in the grand scheme of things, he really can't drive, and you two are inevitably endgame.

You're the ball, and he's your chain.

[steddieas-shegoes]

always struggling

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'struggling'

rated t | 971 words | no cw | tags: steddie, post-break up, modern era, open ending but assume they get back together, pre-famous corroded coffin

⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️

“How are we still short?” Jeff mumbled under his breath.

Eddie heard him, though, and his heart sank in his chest.

“We don’t have enough.” It wasn’t a question.

Jeff shook his head.

They both looked at Gareth and Frankie unloading the van. Usually, they all took care of their own equipment, but all of them had been too impatient to find out how much they made, so Jeff and Eddie rushed inside their house to count.

They needed $268 more to pay for their travel to the festival that could actually put them in front of the right people. That’s it. $268.

And they only made $197 from their show at the bar downtown.

“So we can’t go.”

Jeff shook his head. “Not unless you can come up with $71 by tomorrow morning.”

Eddie knows if he went to Wayne, he’d find a way. He’d break open a piggy bank or withdraw from his retirement savings. He’d ask for an advance on his paycheck. Whatever it took to help Eddie achieve his dreams.

But he’d done that enough.

Jeff’s parents already covered the cost of Jeff to go, and Frankie’s parents had refused to encourage his ‘rockstar behavior.’ Gareth’s mom didn’t have anything left over after paying for his twin sisters’ back to school supplies and clothes.

“You could call-“

“No.”

Jeff nodded solemnly. “Right.”

Eddie couldn’t call Steve. Steve had helped buy him a new guitar and fix his van before their inevitable crash and burn when Eddie decided to move to Chicago and Steve wasn’t ready. He hadn’t spoken to him in months. He couldn’t call him up and ask for money.

“Maybe I could take a shift at the diner tonight. If I take the big tables, it might be enough in tips,” Jeff offered. “We could busk?”

“You know we never make good money doing that. Nobody likes the noise.”

“Maybe we’ll just have to try again next year. We can keep playing the bars.”

“Yeah. Guess so.”

Neither of them noticed Frankie or Gareth standing behind them, listening in to the dilemma.

“We didn’t make enough?” Gareth asked somberly.

“Sorry, kid. Just a bit short,” Jeff said over his shoulder.

“This is bullshit!” He yelled.

“Gare-“ Eddie started to say, standing to try to comfort him.

“No! I’m sick of struggling so much. We’re good. We deserve to be there.” Gareth continued. “We’re going.”

“Dude, we can’t just print more money.”

Gareth turned to Eddie, fire in his eyes, hands clenched into fists.

“Suck up your damn pride and call Steve. He told you if you needed anything to call him. Call him.” He stormed to his room and slammed the door.

Eddie would do anything for his band, his friends. He knew missing this festival could be one of his biggest regrets.

“Eddie, it’s fine. Gareth-“

“Is right. I should call him.”

Eddie didn’t wait for them to try to convince him otherwise. He walked to his room and closed the door, trying to figure out how to have this conversation with a man he was definitely still in love with.

No way to prepare, really.

He pulled up Steve’s name in his contact list and pressed call before he could stop himself.

It rang three times before Steve answered.

“Eddie? Are you okay?”

God, he’d missed his voice.

“Hey Steve. Sorry if I’m interrupting anything-“

“No! It’s just family movie night, but they’re all arguing about what movie to pick anyway. How’s everything?” The sound of a door closing and silence in the background followed his question.

“Um. Well.” Just spit it out. “We have a really great opportunity at Iron and Metal Fest? It’s in Seattle, and we’ve been trying to save up to go, but we uh, we fell a little short and the deadline to let them know we can play is tomorrow morning.”

“Oh. How short?”

“$71.”

“I’ll Venmo you. Will that be okay?” Steve sounded like he’d switched the phone to speaker, probably to open the app on his phone.

Eddie didn’t deserve him, never did. A man who was willing to give up happiness so Eddie could chase his dreams, offering to help make them happen despite Eddie breaking his heart.

“Steve, I-“

“It’s okay, Eds. It’ll be worth it when you’re on a sold out tour someday, right?”

Eddie ignored the vibration of a notification as his eyes welled up with tears.

“I hope so.”

There was silence for too long.

“You still wanna be a rockstar, right?” Steve asked hesitantly.

“I do!” He really did. “I just didn’t think we’d have to struggle this much in a city made for bands like us.”

“It’ll be a great interview for Rolling Stone.”

“How do you have so much faith in us?”

“I have faith in you, Eds. Always have, always will. You’re gonna make it.”

“You’re too good to me.”

“Nah.” Someone knocked on the door and Steve whispered something to them before speaking to Eddie again. “Hey, I have to go. But I hope you wow everyone at that festival, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Stevie.”

When he checked his notifications, Steve had sent him $500.

He cried for 20 minutes before he went and told the guys.

****

The show was incredible and Eddie had never been more miserable.

The guys were on a high no drug could match, but Eddie was sinking further into a pit of despair.

“Never known you to look this sad after a show.”

Eddie’s head shot up to see Steve standing against a few extra speakers backstage.

“Steve? What’re you doing here?” Eddie walked closer, worried he was seeing things.

“Couldn’t miss your biggest show yet. Hope it’s okay.”

“Of course it is. I’m glad you came.”

“Yeah?”

Eddie smiled, feeling some of the heavy weight lift from his shoulders. “Yeah.”

[grabby-smitten]

Pinky promise

Subjects: Bunny Hybrid!Xavier x Human F!Reader

Word count: 2.9K

Content: Hybrid AU, fluff mostly, domestic stuff, sprinkles of angst here and there, no beta and not edited, commas placed everywhere, gender-neutral for this part(i think), idk… let me know if i missed anything. Second part has smut and will be posted separately.

A.N: Happy late birthday Xavier and Halloween especial… I guess xD. Two birds one stone?

Your local shelter was always overflowing. new hybrids coming in each week, at least according to their social media updates. It was heartbreaking watching the shelter on your work commute, multiple sounds overwhelmed that side of the street, strong smells on the pavement and everything you witnessed trailed after you to work and back home.

But not once did you step foot on the shelter. Were you scared? Probably. From what your coworkers said, it was extremely hard to care for a hybrid. Very complicated creatures. And expensive. you could barely take care of yourself. Not to mention that you hated social environments and from what you read on the internet; hybrids are social creatures. Alone you were fine… or so you thought.

Yet, you couldn’t just let the older hybrids get— well, you know what they do in most shelters when nobody adopts.

So here you are, waiting in line to fill out some forms and get your first hybrid. Sweat running down your back, and your feet hurting from standing in the same position for far too long. How long has it been since you first stepped in the line? two hours? Three? and the line barely moved.

Leaning to the side, you watched the attendants at the counter seem tired, and their hair sticking to their forehead confirmed your suspicions that the air conditioner wasn’t working as well as it should.

You had enrolled in the adoption program as soon as new spots opened for this term and just your luck with a spot on the special campaign. Besides, trying to speak yourself out of it hadn’t worked. You would give it a try and if things didn’t work out— then you would find a solution.

Today, the shelter was holding that special adoption campaign. Something about not charging the usual fees, the first year of medical expenses free and just one written evaluation to the future owners.

A couple came out of the visiting room with a young dog-hybrid. It was jumping around them and wagging its tail so enthusiastically that it kind of scared you. What if you got a hyperactive one? Your worlds would crash and the inevitable would happen.

Soon you heard your name being called out by one of the shelter workers and it snapped you out of your tragic daydream.

“Hey, Y/N, right?” He asked while reading the papers on his clipboard.

“Yes,” you replied while nodding.

“Okay, let’s see…” the shelter worker skimmed through his papers not really looking at you, “with what you filled the form with, this should be a good match. He’s a bunny hybrid and…” he trailed off, “that’s all we know,” he started to walk and you assumed it was a sign to follow him.

As you walked after the shelter workers, you passed some cages. A few were empty while others were full with more than a pair of hybrids in them. Your hands in fists, not being able to handle seeing such a scene, but you repeated to yourself that you were already doing your part to help fix this broken system. Adopting is a good way to help, you kept chanting in your mind.

“Sedentary lifestyle, doesn’t use much space and no noise, yeah. This should do.” Again, you were snapped out of your thoughts by the shelter worker. Turning a deaf ear to how he described the bunny hybrid, you noticed the door in front of you had the word abnormal painted in red bold letters.

“Hey! Xavier! A cute lady has come to visit you!” The worker banged his clipboard on the door making you jump in surprise.

“Please don’t do that.” The coldness of your voice came unexpectedly. As a reflex, you even raised your hand to try and stop the worker’s movements.

“Sorry, but it’s alright.” He pointed to the inside of the cell-like door. “He never says anything.”

His comment infuriated you to no end. Your insides were burning with rage, but you kept quiet. The faster you’re done with this, the faster you can go home.

You watched him open the door and the acid air from the inside hit you first. The smell triggered a wave of helplessness within you. how could all these be alright to a living creature? You couldn’t… you shouldn’t… but what other things could a normal civilian do to change the new world and its fucked up system?

In all truth, you knew, you dreaded this very moment when everything came crashing down on you, but Rome wasn’t built in a day. You were here and it wasn’t gonna change the whole world but you would, indeed, change someone’s world.

Once inside you grimaced at the unsanitary state of the room. Old food scattered everywhere, a lump of sheets and cloth in a corner, and… no hybrid?

“Ah, he must be under all that,” you heard the worker speak and he began to move towards the big ball of sheets at the corner.

“It’s fine, I’ll do it.” You didn’t want him near the hybrid more than necessary.

Making sure your steps were loud and clear, you approached where you guessed the hybrid would be hiding.

It all happened so fast. One moment you were reaching for the lump of sheets, and the next your hand got pulled under and a stinging sensation palpitated in your palm.

Did… did he just bite you?

Just as fast, you snatched your hand back, cradling it against your chest as you swallowed the yelp you wanted to let out.

“Hey, Xavier?” You managed to sound as calm as possible, “I probably startled you, right? I’m sorry for that… uhmm…” You proceeded to tell him your name, internally praying that the guy outside wouldn’t interfere.

The lump of sheets moved and hope struck you. A blue eye adorned with long dark lashes peeked from a small opening in between the sheets and your heart instantly softened. You saw fear clouding his striking pupil. Forgotten was the small, almost nonexistent, injury in your palm. All you wanted was to calm that vast raging blue ocean in such a small eye.

“I get it,” you said softly, “I practically had you corned and you reacted. I’m not mad, promise,” and you showed him your pinky finger.

Xavier wasn’t sure what to think. What he knew was that you were not one of the usual workers at the shelter and that you didn’t smell like… danger. You actually had a nice scent, different from everyone he had ever met in his long life— nothing overwhelming, it was almost soothing. That’s why he instinctively went straight for your hand. He didn’t even realize when his teeth had nibbled at your palm.

A pinky? That’s what you were offering. Still under the tons of sheets, Xavier wondered what was he supposed to do.

“You can lock your pinky finger with mine if you want,” you explained, seeing his eye suddenly frown and look perplexed at your gesture. “It means a promise has been made.”

The sound of fumbling cloth raised your spirits. Then a pale hand came from under all that and his pinky finger intertwined with yours. He had relented to your words… because it was the first time he was offered a choice. Not forced. Not bribed. No threats.

Convincing Xavier to come out was another ordeal. One that you achieved eventually, after negotiating with a second pinky promise of fresh food.

What actually left you with your mouth hanging open was his height. How come someone so tall was a bunny hybrid? well, the white ball of a tail and his ears sticking from his head were a dead giveaway. But still… he was taller than your average person.

The walk back home wasn't hard. Nothing eventful took place, just two jumpy individuals trying to make it back home without tripping with their own two feet. What a peculiar pair.

Less than an hour of meeting Xavier and you were already protective of your bunny hybrid. Your step might have faltered but your grip on his hand didn’t quiver. You made sure he knew you were taking him somewhere safe and that you didn’t hate his presence.

Such intention was hard to convey, especially when you tried to get him to bathe. Leaving him alone in the bathroom was a waste of time, it only made him panic and built a lump of towels.

So here you stand, in shorts and an old shirt trying to help Xavier shower.

“Xavier, please, just— wait! The water!” And with a push from the bunny hybrid, you came toppling down into the bathtub. Splashing the soapy water everywhere.

He saw your head dive in first as your arms attempted to stop your fall.

“I’m fine! It’s okay!” Moving the wet hair out of your face, you smiled sheepishly at Xavier.

He was taken aback by your reaction. He expected anything but a smile.

The first few weeks went like that. Food? The same. Xavier would panic and throw half of what you prepared to the ceiling and walls and then the rest on you. When you finished cleaning, you would find him under a pile of blankets in the kitchen.

And yes, almost no sounds came from the bunny hybrid. His blue eyes shone with a hurricane of emotions but his voice never expressed them.

You told yourself you had to be patient. All the incidents weren’t really directed at you but at whatever ghost that kept hunting him. Remembering the word painted in red on his door back at the shelter reaffirmed your resolve to give Xavier the chance he never got before.

Weeks became months and things slowly but steadily improved. Xavier no longer had those unexpected reactions and he stopped hiding under blankets and towels— well, almost— he still built those forts once in a while. He seemed more comfortable around you, so much so that he began talking to you.

The first time you heard his voice you almost screamed bloody murder. You still remember it as the night you nearly died of a heart attack.

It was a stormy night, and the electric storm was rampaging for hours now. All lights had gone out, but you were comfortable in bed reading a book with a flashlight. When a deep but soft voice you have never heard before in your life interrupted your night reading. You heard your name come from your door and it slowly opened.

You practically jumped out of the bed, one foot getting caught by your covers and your forehead hit the ground with a thud and a cry. Quickly, your eyes hovered over the side of your mattress searching for the owner of the voice, when your eyes landed on Xavier standing at your door.

“Xavier?” Gathering your thoughts, you realized the voice calling your name in the middle of the dark was his. “I-is there something you need?”

Of course, you were stunned by this new development but you knew that if you didn’t handle the situation accordingly, you would lose this opportunity. Calm and collected were the words you mentally chanted as you slowly stood up with your heart beating wildly in your throat.

“Can I…” he felt his hesitation rising as the hands of anxiety began to squeeze Xavier’s insides.

You send him a look full of warmth, encouraging him to keep going, and the sudden nails digging into his stomach slowly evaporated.

“Can I stay here?” His deep but melodic soft voice traveled to your ears and you felt like crying, but you held everything in. This was about him.

“Sure, Xavier. Let me get you more blankets.” You smiled, storm and the almost-heart attack left in the past. “I know how much you like them.”

A few blankets later and a bunny hybrid wrapped in them like a burrito, you went back to your book. you expected Xavier to just fall asleep. But oh, boy… he had different plans.

“Why are you so kind to me when I have been nothing but trouble to you?” Xavier’s whispers broke the silence in your room.

Closing your book and leaving it on your bedside table, you turned your attention completely to your bunny hybrid who rested comfortably on the pillow next to yours.

“I promised, remember?” You lifted your pinky, “aaand do I need a reason to be kind? Maybe it’s an instinct to be this way, just like you with your blanket forts or I just don’t know how to be mean.” You lightheartedly joked with the last part.

A while passed after your words and you thought your answer had satisfied Xavier. So you got cozy in your bed and closed your eyes, assuming that your first-ever chat with Xavier had come to an end.

And again, he was a bunny hybrid full of surprises. Your assumptions were wrong because that was not the case. Xavier had ambushed you once more. Out of nowhere, he began to speak again.

“That’s not true. I remember you verbally berating the neighbors the other day.” He casually mumbled.

You widened your eyes, startled by his words. “No— that’s— Xavier, they were being too loud and you got scared!”

“I know,” he then turned around and went to sleep. Just like that. Leaving you all dumbfounded beside him.

More than a year together and things were good until they weren’t. Xavier began to behave weirdly around you and it just kept getting worse. He presented fevers, cold sweats, and very abnormal noises at night.

And so you did what you thought was best and called his doctor.

“His heat? Wha– what do you mean his heat?” Your phone nearly slipped from your hand and your eyes almost popped out of your skull at what the doctor was telling you. “But–but the shelter said he never had one before! That he’s too old! I don’t— yes, I understand but—” you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “What do you mean the first heat could last about ten months?”

You did not sign up for that… that was… how would that even work?

“Okay, thank you.” A couple of more suggestions from his doctor and you finally ended the call.

Hunched over the bathroom sink, you took some deep breaths before coming out to look for Xavier. You would ask for his consent first and foremost. What the doctor implied in the call sounded awful but you had little to no options. Ten months, the first week should be the worst and then the rest should be manageable with what? Get him a prescription? Suppressant? A mating partner? Gosh… your brain was fried.

“Hey Xav? Are you awake?” You said softly as you opened the door. He had been taking more naps than usual to keep… to keep whatever was happening with his system under control.

He grunted a response from his bed, once again the blanket forts were back in place.

With a heavy heart, you told him what the doctor had said, and instantly you got a strange growl in response.

“Do not use that tone with me,” you lightly reprimanded followed by a soft chuckle on your part. “I get it, really. I didn’t like the options either.”

“The others,” he began to say, voice a bit muffled under all those blankets, “at the shelter, they could withstand their heat. I can too.”

He sounded so sure, but you? From what you heard the doctor say? You doubted it. After all, Xavier was a late bloomer. For whatever reason, be it trauma or lack of nutrients, or feeling unsafe, his body didn’t allow him before. Now, that he has a safe environment? That was a different story.

Needless to say, you were right. Things got out of hand pretty fast.

“Chain me,” Xavier demanded behind his closed door. Blocking your path to his room.

“What? No! Xavier, I can’t—“You banged your fist for the hundredth time. “Just let me in! We’ll find something!” You were desperate. He meant the world to you and vice versa. Both grew to be the one thing each other needed.

“Chain me! That’s what they did with the others.” He kept insisting. “It’s for your own good! I can withstand the week! Just go get them!” Xavier shouted, a desperate look clouded his delicate features.

Your heart broke for him as his pleas traveled through the door. He had never raised his voice before and as tears ran down your cheeks, you made up your mind, nodding, and with pain constricting your chest you went straight to buy a collar and a set of chains.

Hours became days and you couldn’t step into Xavier’s room without breaking into a sobbing mess. You didn’t get the chain, that was too much. Instead, you got just the collar and a harness which did the work just fine.

It was almost done, you told yourself as you paced back and forth outside his door. Only three more days and he would be less affected by his hormones.

Click here! Smut inside! pls be aware! -> PART 2

[supernotnatural2005]

The Arrangement - Part Five

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: The party is in full swing, everyone is having fun, until they're not. You let jealousy get the better of you, there's a mystery man and Dean is there to tug you right back into his arms... and bed.

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings/Tags: SMUT!(18+ONLY!!!) Swearing, jealousy, mutual pinning, these two are idiots. A little cameo crossover 👀

AN: Welcome to Chapter five, the arrival at the party. Things are definitely starting to shift, whether they can actually make it through we'll have to see. I hope you enjoy ☺️

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist < Catch up here

The party was at one of the most upscale venues in town—an old historic building that had been renovated into an elegant event space.

The second Dean stepped inside; his senses were overwhelmed.

The place reeked of money.

A massive chandelier hung in the centre of the grand ballroom, casting a golden glow over the polished marble floors. The walls were lined with intricate mouldings, and soft classical music played beneath the hum of conversation and clinking glasses.

Dean’s eyes immediately landed on the buffet.

And damn. They did not cheap out.

A long table was spread with an assortment of high-end appetisers—perfectly arranged charcuterie boards, little bite-sized hors d'oeuvres that looked too fancy to actually enjoy, and a seafood station with cocktail shrimp that Dean was definitely coming back for.

“Wow,” you murmured beside him, taking it all in. “Roman really went all out this year.”

Dean let out a low whistle. “Yeah, no kidding. Bet he blew half the budget just on the napkins.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you stepped further inside.

Dean followed, but not before grabbing two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. He handed one to you with a smirk.

“Might as well make the most of it.”

You took it, clinking your glass against his before taking a sip.

As you took in the beautifully decorated room, your gaze swept across the scene, but Dean’s? His drifted right back to you. Just for a second. Just long enough for that all-too-familiar flutter to stir in his stomach—the one he kept pretending didn’t mean anything.

“You made it!”

Dean’s gaze broke away just as a blur of red came barrelling toward you. Charlie. She pulled you into a hug first, then stepped back with a low whistle, eyes raking over you in pure admiration.

“Holy shit.”

Dean had thought the exact same thing the moment he saw you.

You waved her off, a bashful smile tugging at your lips as your cheeks warmed. “Oh, please. What about you?”

Charlie beamed, twirling slightly to show off her dark-green Gatsby-style gown, the sequins catching the light. A matching headband sat atop her perfectly curled red hair, pinned into an elegant bun.

“I know, right?” She grinned. “I figured if I’m coming to this thing, I might as well go all out. Look.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a long cigarette holder, playfully pinning it between her fingers like she belonged in the 1920s. “I don’t even smoke.” 

You couldn’t contain the snort that escaped you, Charlie giggling along too, before her attention flicked past you, her smirk widening.

“Oooh, look what the cat dragged in.” She eyed Dean up and down before giving an approving nod. “Damn, Winchester, you actually clean up nice.”

Dean huffed a chuckle and pulled her in for a quick hug. “S’good to see you, kiddo.”

And just like that, another reason why this complicated mess you’d gotten yourself into, reared its ugly head. Your friends weren’t just your friends. They were Dean’s, too. Your lives were so tangled together that if—or when—this thing between you inevitably crashed and burned, the fallout was gonna be devastating. 

Which is why you couldn’t let it. 

“No offence to the overpriced champagne, that’s probably worth half our rent,” Dean muttered, nodding toward the bar, “but I need something stronger.”

“Agreed,” you and Charlie said in unison.

You couldn’t help but let your eyes linger on Dean as he weaved his way through the crowd. He looked Goddamn edible. But the sensation of being watched made you shift uncomfortably. Turning back, you found Charlie’s sharp gaze locked onto you, her lips curling with curiosity.

“What?” you asked warily with a nervous chuckle.

Her smirk deepened. “Something happening here?” She gestured between you and Dean with a flick of her finger.

Your stomach lurched, and your grip tightened around your champagne flute. “What? No.” You shook your head, too fast, too defensive.

Charlie’s expression screamed bullshit.

“You know I call it when I see it,” she sing-songed, arms crossing over her chest.

Your mouth felt dry, and the bubbles from the champagne burned a little more than they should as you took another sip. With a sigh, you lowered your voice.

“Just… don’t say anything,” you muttered, glancing back toward the bar, where Dean was now getting served.

Charlie’s brows shot up; interest piqued. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

“We slept together,” you admitted quietly. “Multiple times, actually.”

Her jaw dropped. “For real?”

You nodded.

Her face lit up like you’d just handed her the best gossip of the year. “That’s amazing! It’s about damn time you two admitted—”

“We’re not together,” you cut in, before she could continue down that road, and her excitement dimmed, brows furrowing in confusion.

“We’re just… sleeping together,” you explained, trying to sound casual, as if your heart wasn’t in a vice just saying the words. “No strings, no expectations. We both agreed—”

Charlie scoffed. “You?” She pointed at you incredulously. “Miss ‘Hopeless Romantic’ agreed to a no-strings thing?”

You plastered on a smirk, covering the raw edges with bravado. “I’m the one who suggested it.”

Charlie didn’t look convinced. “You sure that’s what you want?” Her voice softened, her gaze knowing. You weren’t exactly the casual type. Sure, you’d dated, but it was never just for the sake of it. You always wanted something real.

But you just shrugged, still wearing that practiced smirk. “Dean’s not looking for a relationship, and neither am I right now. It works for us.”

Liar.

Charlie pressed her lips together, clearly holding back more opinions, but she let it drop. At least for now.

And when Dean returned, drinks in hand, she didn’t say a damn thing.

But the look she gave you said it all.

This was going to end in flames.

And tonight it was you being burned, because you were in hell.

After some casual conversation between the three of you, more drinks, and even a couple of twirls on the dance floor, you spent the latter half of the night watching the women from HR fawn over Dean like he was a prime cut of steak in a den of hungry wolves. And worst of all? He didn’t seem to mind.

In fact, he was currently leaning against the wall, deep in conversation with a woman you knew to be Carmen. She was nice enough—you’d exchanged a few polite greetings in the elevator—but that was about the extent of your interactions.

Your fingers tightened around your glass as you watched her laugh at something he said—too exaggerated, in your opinion. He wasn’t that funny. And then, as if things couldn’t get worse, her manicured hand squeezed his bicep. That was the last straw.

Charlie had abandoned you to use the restroom, leaving you with no distractions other than to sit and watch Dean practically fall in love with another woman right in front of you.

Okay, maybe you were being a bit dramatic. But he looked interested, and it made your stomach churn.

Deciding you’d tortured yourself enough, you pushed to your feet and manoeuvred through the crowd toward the bar. More alcohol seemed like the only logical solution.

Except, before you got there, you walked straight into someone solid.

“Oh—sorry,” you blurted, glancing up and took a pause when you were met with a pair of striking blue eyes.

“You’re alright.” His voice was smooth, paired with a friendly smile that only made him look more devastatingly handsome. He was about Dean’s height, maybe a little broader—the type of guy who looked like he worked out seven days a week. His sandy-blonde hair was short and styled, and his jawline was something out of a damn movie.

Hot damn.

“I, uh, don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” he mused, and you had to give your head a little shake to refocus.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you either.” You countered with a small smile. “Do you work for Roman?”

“I do—part of his security team.”

“Right.” You nodded. “Well, I’m about fifteen floors below where you’re probably stationed, so I guess it makes sense we haven’t crossed paths.” Roman enterprises was a fortress and you tended not to wonder often in fear of getting lost.

He chuckled in agreement. “I’m Steve, by the way.” He extended a hand, that easy-going smile still on his lips.

You slid your hand into his, warmth seeping into your fingers. His grip was firm but not overbearing.

“Y/N,” you introduced yourself.

Steve’s smile deepened, like your name was the best thing he’d heard all night. And despite yourself, you swooned a little.

"You know, I've realised I don't really know a whole lotta people here," He chuckled with, what appeared to be, a nervous hand rubbing at the back of his neck. "Can I get you a drink? Maybe make a new friend?" He smiled shyly, his demeanour too sweet to come off as anything other than genuine.

You hesitated, your mind caught in a battle with itself. Steve seemed nice enough, but despite the storm brewing inside you from watching Dean with someone else, the last thing you wanted was to drag someone else into your mess. But then again, who said it had to be anything more than two colleagues getting to know each other?

Before you could even make up your mind, a warm, familiar hand settled against your lower back—possessive, grounding.

“There you are.”

Dean’s voice was low, tight, and when you turned, his green eyes weren’t on you. They were locked on Steve, sizing him up with suspicion. A tense, unspoken shift settled over the conversation.

“And you are?” Dean asked. To an outsider, his question might’ve sounded like casual curiosity, but you felt the rigid press of his body against yours, saw the tight clench of his jaw.

“Steve,” the blonde replied, offering his hand once again.

Dean took it, shaking firmly, his brow arching slightly. “You serve?”

Steve looked mildly surprised at the question but answered without hesitation. “Two tours in Iraq.” His posture straightened.

“My dad was a Marine,” Dean explained, his voice more neutral now. “Got used to military handshakes.”

Steve nodded in understanding.

Dean, however, wasted no time getting to his real point. “You mind if I borrow her?”

The question was phrased politely, but there was nothing optional about it. You glanced up at Dean with a frown, but his eyes never left Steve.

To his credit, Steve backed off with a friendly nod, though you swore you saw a flicker of disappointment in those piercing blue eyes. “Of course. It was nice meeting you,” he said, sending a small parting smile your way before disappearing into the crowd.

The moment he was gone, irritation bubbled up inside you. “What? You get bored flirting with the desperate housewives of HR and remember I exist?” you snapped, folding your arms across your chest.

Dean blinked at your hostility and then frowned. “I wasn’t flirting.”

You levelled him with a look.

He sighed. “Okay, maybe a little, but it was all innocent, I swear" He added at your disbelieving look. "It's not my fault you ditched me to schmooze with your boss.” He gestured vaguely toward the other end of the room with a huff.

“This is a company Christmas party, Dean. Of course i wasn’t going to ignore my boss when he asked me a question.”

Dean looked genuinely baffled. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly having a great time. Those women are nuts.”

You snorted. “Didn’t look like you were having a bad time with Carmen.”

Dean frowned, as if trying to remember who that was. Then, realisation dawned. “Oh—her? Only because she seemed the most normal out of the bunch. Until she asked if I wanted to take her into the coat closet so she could ‘suck me off.’” He quoted with wide eyes.

You squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head.

Fucking HR.

Dean let out a dry chuckle. “Look, I can be an ass, but I’m not a dick.” His voice softened slightly as he leaned down, waiting until your eyes met his. “I came here with you, and I intend to leave here with you.”

The warmth in his words settled deep in your chest, more powerful than you wanted to admit.

You were starting to sound like a broken record, but you’d never battled with your feelings this hard in your entire life. You felt like you were all over the place, an unsettling reminder of just how dangerous this thing with Dean was. But you were an idiot—hooked, unable to break free from the line he’d cast around your heart.

After a beat, Dean stepped closer, his presence calming the storm inside you, even if just for a moment.

“What do you say we get out of here?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. His hand slid around your waist, his warm palm flattening against the small of your back as his other hand trailed slowly down your arm. “You’ve been driving me crazy in this dress all night.” His voice was husky, rough, his breath hot against your skin.

Your breath hitched when his teeth grazed your ear.

“What about Charlie?” you asked weakly.

“What about her?”

You both jumped apart to find Charlie standing there, arms crossed, an infuriating smirk on her lips.

Dean cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “We were, uh, just thinking of calling it a night.”

“Dean’s been traumatised by the HR department,” you added with a snicker.

Charlie’s smirk widened. “Ohhh, so you’re the ‘green-eyed hottie’ Janet was talking about in the restroom.” She tilted her head, as if piecing things together.

It was almost comical the way Dean’s eyes widened in fear.

Ignoring his discomfort, Charlie waggled her eyebrows. “Man, she wants to do some naughty things to you.”

Dean visibly shivered. Janet was thrice his age, twice divorced, and way too handsy for his liking.

You chuckled and patted his back in mock sympathy. “Want to grab a cab with us?” You directed at Charlie.

“Nah, you kids go on ahead. I’ve got myself a ride home.” Charlie smirked, glancing over your shoulder.

You followed her gaze and spotted Dorothy from marketing, who was smiling back at her.

Turning back to her with a knowing grin, you nudged Charlie playfully. “Look at you, player.”

She swatted your hand away with a laugh, and then you pulled her in for a quick hug. “I’ll see you after the holidays.”

Charlie squeezed you back before turning to Dean. “Of course. See you later, bitches.” She flashed Spock’s signature salute before disappearing back into the crowd.

By the time you returned home, you were beat. Socialising in large groups wasn’t your forte and the night had been a roller coaster of emotions from start to finish.

Dean followed you inside, the silence from the cab ride stretching between you. But beneath it, a flicker of heat still simmered, unspoken yet undeniable. The weight of his gaze burned against your skin, heated and roaming, darkened with something primal.

You barely had time to breathe before he stepped into your space, backing you up until your shoulders met the wall in the foyer. Your pulse stuttered, shallow breaths mingling in the charged air between you as he braced a hand beside your head, leaning in close—so close his breath ghosted over your lips, warm and teasing.

“You have any idea what you do to me?” His voice was rough, hushed, wrecked. His eyes locked onto yours, intense and devouring, before they flickered down to your parted lips.

The heat between you coiled tighter.

“Thinkin’ I’d rather fuck someone else,” he rasped, his mouth brushing against your jaw, then lower, his breath fanning over the sensitive skin of your throat, “when you’re right here, lookin’ like this.”

Your body arched instinctively as his lips found the rapid pulse at your neck, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss that sent a shiver through you. His hands found your waist, fingertips pressing in just enough to ground you, to claim.

The scent of you filled his senses, sweet and intoxicating, and for a moment, he just breathed you in, savouring every second, every sharp inhale, every tremble.

“Dean.” Your voice was a whisper, wrecked and needy, and that was all it took.

A growl rumbled low in his throat as his hands slid up, cupping your face as his lips crashed into yours—hungry, desperate.

Your hands fisted the lapels of his suit jacket, simultaneously pulling him closer and using him as something to keep you upright. He groaned into your mouth, deep and raw, before shrugging out of it. The soft fabric pooled onto the floor as his fingers worked at his tie. His gaze never left yours as he slipped it free, the silk sliding through his fingers with an easy grace.

Then, with a smirk laced with something deeper—reverence, need—he reached for your wrists, lifting them above your head. You gasped, breath hitching as he looped the tie around them, binding them together with a care that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Trust me?” he murmured, voice rough yet achingly soft.

You swallowed hard, nodding, and he rewarded you with a slow, lingering kiss. Then, shifting your arms around his neck, he lifted you, strong hands supporting you as if you weighed nothing. Your heart pounded against your ribs as he carried you to your room, bridal-style, his gaze hooded as he laid you down onto the bed.

Dean hovered over you for a moment, drinking you in, his expression softer now, full of something raw and unspoken. His fingers traced down your arms after lifting them above your head, and then over your ribs, as if memorising every inch of you.

“You are…” he shook his head, almost in disbelief. “God, you’re beautiful.”

He knelt at the edge of the bed, his hands finding your ankles, lifting one delicate foot. With careful precision, he slipped off your heel, pressing a warm kiss to the inside of your ankle before trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses up the curve of your calf. He took his time, savouring, breathing you in before repeating the same attentive worship on the other leg, drawing soft sighs from you with every touch.

By the time his lips reached your knee, your thighs trembled, anticipation coiling thick in the air. His hands slid up, skimming over the fabric of your dress before gently pushing it higher. His breath stuttered when he caught sight of the red lace hugging your hips, his fingers tracing along the delicate fabric with raw hunger.

A deep groan rumbled in his chest as he lowered his head, brushing his lips over you through the lace. The heat of his breath sent a shudder through your body, and when he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the dampening fabric, a gasp escaped your lips.

“Oh, fuck.” You panted.

Your hips lifted instinctively, searching for more, but he took his time, savouring the way you writhed beneath him. His fingers then hooked into the waistband, peeling the lace down your thighs with aching slowness. He kissed each inch of newly bared skin, pressing his lips to your hip, your inner thigh, before finally settling between your legs.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, something dark and wicked flickering in their depths. “Keep ’em there, baby,” he murmured, nodding toward your bound hands still obediently resting above you. You nodded, biting your lip, your cheeks flushed, breath coming in heavy with anticipation.

And only then, with the lightest brush of his tongue, did he taste you—his eyes fluttering shut like he was savoring the most decadent thing he’d ever had.

Your fingers curled into fists, silk tightening around your wrists as your back arched off the bed. His mouth moved slowly at first, deliberate, savoring every sound you made like a man starved. He groaned against you, the deep, satisfied rumble vibrating through your core, as if he could do this forever.

And then, suddenly, he pulled away. You whined at the loss, but Dean’s gaze was alight with something new—a desire, a thought, a wicked idea that was his alone in that moment. He kneeled beside you, rolling up his sleeve with slow precision before running his warm, calloused palm up your inner thigh. Higher and higher, until his fingers traced along the seam of your soaked pussy.

You moaned, hips shifting instinctively toward his touch, desperate for more. But then he stilled. His thumb lazily stroked your skin as his gaze found yours, dark and unreadable. “I wanna try something,” he husked, voice thick, rough like gravel. His eyes burned into you. “You trust me, sweetheart?”

It was the second time that night he’d asked, and once again, your breathless “yes” came without hesitation—because you did. More than anything.

His pupils dilated, his Adam’s apple bobbed with a slow, deliberate swallow, and then—finally—he eased a finger inside you, achingly slow, curling it just right. Your breath hitched, thoughts dissolving into pure sensation. And when he pressed another in alongside it, stretching you, filling you, working a steady rhythm, your body clenched around him, lost in the intoxicating pleasure only he could give.

“So fucking tight. So wet,” he groaned, voice thick with lust, his darkened gaze locked on the way his fingers disappeared inside you.

His free hand slid up your stomach, palm pressing down just above your mound—grounding you, holding you in place as his movements grew relentless. The wet, obscene sounds of your arousal filled the room, each slick thrust of his fingers working you open, drawing you closer to something deeper, something more intense than before.

A new sensation coiled low in your belly—hot, insistent, unfamiliar. Your brows furrowed, uncertainty flickering through the haze of pleasure, yet your body chased it desperately, caught in the war between holding on and—

“Let go,” he murmured, his voice rough, but beneath the command, there was something else. Something deeper than lust. Devotion. “I’ve got you.”

A sharp cry ripped from your lips as his thumb found your clit, circling, teasing, pushing you past the edge. The pleasure built—stronger, overwhelming, impossible to fight. Your body tensed, the sensation cresting into something too big to contain, and then, with one final flick of his fingers—

You shattered.

A gasp tore from your throat as your release gushed from you, pleasure crashing through every nerve, leaving you trembling and wrecked beneath him. Dean groaned, a deep, guttural sound, his grip tightening as he worked you through it, his hand and arm drenched in your pleasure. He watched you fall apart like it was the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen.

And when you finally slumped against the sheets, spent and shaking, he leaned down, brushing a kiss over your quivering stomach. His lips curled into a soft, satisfied smile as he made his way up your body, pressing slow, reverent kisses along your skin before claiming your lips in a deep, lingering kiss—one that felt like more than just pleasure. Like worship.

“Holy shit.” You gasped as you broke apart, chest heaving, body still trembling in the aftermath. “I’ve never done that before.” A breathless chuckle left your lips, but when your gaze flickered down to the large, dark wet spot on the sheets, embarrassment flared hot across your cheeks.

Dean groaned, low and appreciative, pressing a kiss to your jaw before nipping at your neck. “Hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” His voice was rough with awe, and before you could dwell on your shyness, he was coaxing that fire right back to life.

He settled over you, not even caring about the dampness soaking through his trousers as he rocked against you, grinding his hard length against your bare, oversensitive core. The rough fabric, straining against his arousal, created delicious friction that made you gasp, hips tilting instinctively to chase more.

“Dean, please,” you begged, arms looping around his neck, fingers tangling into his hair as his mouth sealed over one of your hardened nipples through your dress. The teasing drag of his teeth sent a shiver down your spine, but just as quickly as he started, he pulled away. His green eyes burned into yours as he ran his hands up the length of your arms, lifting them once again above your head.

You sighed in frustration—until his lips were on yours again, kissing you slow and deep, stealing the air from your lungs as he expertly undid the knot around your wrists. The moment you were free, your hands were on him—fisting his hair, deepening the kiss, tugging impatiently at his shirt. A silent plea.

He took the hint. Sitting back on his haunches, he made quick work of the buttons, slipping the fabric from his shoulders. You barely gave yourself a moment to admire the sight before you were sitting up, hands moving to his belt and zipper with urgency.

Dean stood from the bed, shoving his pants and boxers down in one swift motion. His cock sprang free, thick and aching, the tip glistening with precum.

Your mouth watered. A fresh wave of heat pooled between your thighs. Fuck.

Shuffling to your knees, you moved to the edge of the bed, hands trailing reverently down his stomach as you pressed your lips to his. One hand wrapped around his length, your grip firm but teasing as you pumped him slowly.

“Shit.” He exhaled sharply, head dropping to your shoulder as he let himself feel, his body shuddering beneath your touch.

His cock twitched in your grasp, his skin hot, his breath uneven as your strokes grew bolder. “Can I taste you?” you murmured against his skin, voice soft but dripping with want.

Dean shivered. Straightening, his hand cupped your jaw, thumb ghosting over your bottom lip before you parted your lips for him, sucking the digit into your mouth. You held his gaze as you swirled your tongue around the pad of his thumb, and his breath hitched, nostrils flaring as his cock throbbed in your grasp.

His voice was hoarse, full of raw hunger. “Fuck, yeah.”

A triumphant grin tugged at your lips as you began your descent, kissing down the column of his throat, over his chest, lingering at the hard ridges of his abdomen. His muscles tensed beneath your lips, twitching slightly as you traced the sharp definition with your tongue.

By the time you reached your destination, you were lying on your stomach, feet kicked up behind you in an almost innocent contrast to what you were about to do. Your hands glided over his length once more, appreciating the heat, the weight of him in your palms.

Dean groaned, his head tipping back, fingers flexing at his sides as if resisting the urge to touch you.

And then—without warning—you took him into your mouth.

“Jesus—fuck!” He choked on air, his hips jerking instinctively, his body betraying him as he twitched against your tongue. His muscles went rigid, thighs trembling as you guided him deeper into the wet heat of your mouth.

You hummed in satisfaction, sending vibrations down his length, and his hands finally found their way to your hair, tangling in the strands with a strangled moan.

Dean’s grip in your hair tightened, his breathing ragged, his control hanging by a thread. He groaned, head tilting back as he fought the overwhelming pleasure, but you didn’t let up. The slow drag of your lips, the way your tongue teased him—it was too much. His hips jerked instinctively, pushing deeper into your mouth, and a strangled moan ripped from his throat.

“Shit—wait, sweetheart—” His voice was rough, breaking apart with every shaky inhale. His hand trembled where it cradled your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as if he wanted to savour the moment, but he was losing himself too fast. “Fuck, I need you to—”

His restraint snapped. In one fluid motion, he pulled you off him, his chest heaving from being so close to the brink and denying it.

You sat up, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, satisfaction glinting in your eyes.

“That good, huh?” you teased, voice breathless, sultry.

Dean’s nostrils flared, his gaze dark and hungry, his jaw clenching—then suddenly, his mouth crashed against yours. The kiss was desperate, messy, his tongue claiming yours with the same hunger that had his hands roaming over your body.

His grip was everywhere—your waist, your breasts, your ass—before he spun you, pressing you back down onto your stomach.

Your cheek met the sheets, your body arching instinctively as his weight covered you. His chest was hot and solid against your back, his breath ragged at your ear as his hands smoothed down your sides—slow, deliberate, possessive.

“Fuck, baby…” He groaned, trailing his lips over your shoulder, his teeth scraping your skin before his palms slid over your hips, over your ass, spreading you open. He exhaled a harsh, shaky breath, his restraint hanging by a thread.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he rasped, as he ran the tip of his cock through your slick seam, teasing—just for a second—before he pressed forward, sinking inside in one long, devastating thrust.

Your mouth fell open on a sharp, breathless moan, your fingers clawing at the sheets as he filled you, stretching you perfectly.

“Oh—oh my God—Dean—”

A low, feral sound vibrated from his chest as he bottomed out, his body flush against yours, pressing you into the mattress.

And he didn’t hold back. 

He fucked you hard, the force of his thrusts driving you into the mattress, his hips slamming against yours, skin meeting skin in a sinful symphony.

“Jesus—” Dean groaned, his forehead pressing between your shoulder blades, his arms trembling as he caged you beneath him.

Your teeth sank into the fabric beneath you, muffling your cries as he pressed down, his weight anchoring you, moulding you into the mattress. The feeling of him inside you—deep, unrelenting—had your body trembling, pleasure coiling tight in your core.

His fingers sought yours, interlocking as he braced himself above you, his other hand gripping your hip, holding you close as if letting go wasn’t an option. The slick sound of skin against skin, the quiet whimpers, the desperate gasps—all of it built into something overwhelming, something unstoppable.

“Come on, baby,” he groaned, his lips ghosting over your ear, his hand sliding between your bodies, fingers finding your clit. “I can feel it—so close—come for me.”

The second his fingers swiped over you, pleasure slammed into you like a tidal wave, dragging you under. A sharp, broken cry tore from your lips, your body seizing, trembling, your walls pulsing tight around him as you shattered.

“Fuck—” Dean choked out, his rhythm faltering as you milked him, his grip on your hand tightening, his body trembling above you. With a ragged, shuddering groan, he buried himself deep, spilling inside you, his breath hot and uneven against your skin.

For a moment, neither of you moved—just tangled limbs, heavy breaths, and the aftershocks still rippling through you both. Dean pressed his forehead between your shoulder blades, placing lazy, open-mouthed kisses to your damp skin as he tried to catch his breath.

Eventually, you groaned at the weight pinning you down, and Dean carefully pulled out of you, rolling to your side, blowing out a breath. His racing heart was still on the come-down, his sweat-slick skin sticking to the sheets beneath him.

You felt weightless, like your limbs were made of jelly as you remained sprawled out on your stomach. Dean turned his head to you, an amused, proud smirk tugging at his lips.

“You good, sweetheart?” he hummed, then thwarted your butt cheek with a light smack, making you jump and gasp.

You lifted your head, sweeping your hair out of your face, looking thoroughly wrecked—hair messy, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and red, the smear of your lipstick only adding to the effect. It was a look he secretly stashed away as one of his favourites on you.

“I don’t think I can walk,” you huffed, a giggle escaping as you tried to move your legs. Dean watched your half-hearted attempt, barely lifting your foot an inch before snickering.

“Hey, it’s not funny,” you protested, swatting his chest. He flinched but didn’t stop laughing. “I can’t sleep in these sheets,” you grimaced, feeling the dampness beneath you.

“It’s fine, you can sleep in my bed.” He suggested casually. You paused. Sleeping together, as in actually sleeping, wasn’t part of the arrangement. It was too intimate. The first night you’d slept together didn’t count, you’d both passed out. 

However, this time you could chose, and your heart was screaming at you to say yes, which is why you knew you should say no. 

“I can hear you thinking." Dean hummed and looked at you with a knowing smile. “Look, considered it a small clause, sleeping together after sex is just part of the aftercare; in this case, paralysis.” Dean bit his lip to contain his laughter, but it was no use at the deadpan look you gave him. 

“You’re actually a loser, you know that?” you muttered, shaking your head. You attempted to rise again, but your lower half wasn’t cooperating, so you flopped back down, frustrated.

“C’mon,” he said, calming down a bit, “It’s just for tonight. Then tomorrow you can wash your sheets, and presto.”

Just because it made sense didn’t mean you had to like it.

“Okay, fine,” you relented, missing the wide grin spreading across his face as he sat up. He helped you roll over and then scooped you into his arms effortlessly, just like when he’d carried you in here earlier.

You tried not to look at him on the way to his room, tried not to notice how his body felt against yours. He settled you at the end of the bed and grabbed one of his shirts for you to wear. For once, you didn’t argue. The change in temperature between rooms was stark, instantly pebbling your skin.

Dean also slipped on a pair of sweats, and you had a feeling he picked the grey ones on purpose. He then went into the bathroom, coming back with a washcloth so you could clean yourself up a little. That you were grateful for. You then tossed it into his hamper and let him help you under the covers. 

“Thanks.” You muttered softly, and Dean smiled down at you before walking over to the other side and settling in himself. 

He kept his distance, something you were both grateful for, but also hated.

The space between you felt like a void, the warmth of his body just out of reach. It was ridiculous—you were just tangled up in the most intimate way possible, and now you were suddenly hyperaware of the gap between you.

Dean lay on his back, one arm tucked beneath his head, staring up at the ceiling. His breathing had evened out, but you knew he wasn’t asleep yet. You weren’t either. You were too busy thinking, overanalysing.

You turned your head slightly, stealing a glance at him. The dim light from the hallway cast soft shadows over his face, highlighting the curve of his jaw, the freckles on his nose. He looked—peaceful. More peaceful than you’d seen him in a long time.

Something tightened in your chest.

You sighed, rolling onto your side, trying to ignore the pull in your stomach, but Dean must have noticed because his head turned toward you, eyes lidded but alert.

“Can’t sleep?” His voice was raspy, deep from exhaustion.

You hesitated before answering. “No.”

Dean was quiet for a moment, then, without a word, he lifted his arm in silent invitation. You should’ve said no, should’ve turned over and forced yourself to sleep. But your body betrayed you, dragging yourself closer until you could rest your head against his shoulder, his warmth seeping into you instantly.

His arm curled around you naturally, fingers tracing absentminded circles against your arm. You could hear his heartbeat, slow and steady beneath your ear.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you whispered, more for yourself than him.

Dean let out a small huff of laughter. “No. Of course not”

And when sleep finally came, it found you tangled up in him, your fingers resting over his heart, his arm holding you like he didn’t plan on letting go anytime soon.

AN: So how did you feel about the continuation? Did I surprise you? Did you think it'd be all angsty? 👀 Maybe there's still time for that... 🫣 Also I'm curious to see who you think Steve was based off... 😜And as always feedback is much appreciated 💕

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

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Next Time...

Dean sidled up next to you as you began resetting the table for the next game, leaning in close enough that you felt the heat of him at your back, the scent of his cologne—spicy, with deep, woody undertones—wrapping around you. “I didn’t take you for a dirty player, Singer,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp against your ear. A shiver ran down your spine, but you masked it with a smirk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You kept your tone coy as you finished racking up the balls, then turned to squeeze past him, pressing your ass just a little more firmly against his front. The low sound he made—half a groan, half a curse—was deeply, deeply satisfying. You didn’t turn around as you sauntered off toward the bar, but you didn’t need to. You knew damn well he was watching, that he was still standing there, fists flexing at his sides, teeth clenched.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

This might be a hot take but I’m fully convinced that if Ponyboy got injured in the church fire and died in Johnny’s place, that Johnny would still die because he’d be the member of the gang that wouldn’t be able to handle it

I used to think it would be Darry or Soda- and sure, they’d be absolutely devastated. They’d never be the same. But the Curtis boys know loss, they lost both their parents at once and not only survived but bounced back in a relatively short period of time. Losing Pony would be worse and it would take them far longer to move past it, but Soda and Darry have each other and they would survive it.

Johnny though, Johnny couldn’t.

We know what Johnny and Pony mean to one another. Whether you read them as platonic or romantic or a secret third thing there is no denying they are each others person, unquestioningly and irrevocably. We see in the book how depressed Ponyboy is after Johnny’s death, delusional and then nearly catatonic with grief, and he has his brothers and the remainder of the gang watching over him like a hawk. Their support and presence is absolutely constant for a reason, even if Ponyboy’s suicide watch is largely subtextual and glossed over in a few short paragraphs.

Johnny doesn’t have brothers. He has the gang, that are family in all but blood, but Johnny has spent his life looking out for himself. He sleeps in the lot or couch surfs because no one else is going to find a spot for him, and because his own house isn’t safe. But Johnny is depressed. Ponyboy mentions how the greaser lifestyle and his parents’ warring is ‘killing Johnny’ rather than turning him cold and mean. Ponyboy also mentions that the gang is the only thing keeping Johnny from running away from Tulsa altogether, while Johnny literally voices his suicidal thoughts to Pony in the lot. Point is, Johnny’s mental state was already precarious before the events of the novel. Had he, Pony, and Dally all lived through the story Johnny would still struggle tremendously, probably even more than before. If Pony had died Johnny probably still would not have lived to the end of the book.

Johnny is incredibly protective of Ponyboy (even if Pony doesn’t realize it). Throughout the book we see him take charge whenever Ponyboy falls to pieces, comfort him when Ponyboy is feeling embarasssed after meeting Cherry, let Pony sleep on his legs even when Pony put them to sleep and they had to jump off a train. He was ready to run away with Pony no questions asked. He buys Pony a book and cigarettes when they’re on the run and don’t have a ton of money just to make the whole thing easier for Pony mentally. He literally stabs Bob to death for Pony. So imagine what would happen if Johnny went into that church with Pony and was unable to save him?  If they were in that inferno and he saw the beam crash down and helped Dallas drag Pony’s limp body out and it still wasn’t enough? What do you think happens to an already seriously depressed kid when his person- the one person who always understood him without him having to say a word, a boy who was so naive, yet so wise and so desperately kind- dies? What do you think happens when Johnny can’t save the one person he desperately wanted to protect?

It’s simple. Johnny pulls a Dally, and Johnny dies. And then Dally dies too, because he can’t live without Johnny (if it had JUST been Pony who died, Dallas would survive. Dallas cared about Pony- I firmly believe that, but Pony’s death would not affect Dally the same way Johnny’s did. It wouldn’t affect him any LESS but it would affect him DIFFERENTLY- and would not result in his suicide for a myriad of reasons that deserve a whole post of their own.)

But yeah. Had Pony died from the church fire I think Johnny would have died too, and The Outsiders would end with four dead kids instead of three. It is a horrible, inevitable, preventable tragedy, and no matter what variable is changed it will always be a horrible, inevitable, preventable tragedy.

[veliseraptor]

genuine qn!! can you tell us more about mxtx and her preoccupations thematically and including character types and and relationship dynamics, so interesting

oh man so we'll see how long it takes me to answer this ask because I could probably write a whole goddamn essay for this. with footnotes and everything. am I tempted, yes, but the last time I did that it took me like a year and a half and I'm pretty sure nobody cared

anyway, yeah! mxtx is definitely a writer where I feel like I can see the throughlines in a lot of her work pretty clearly. some of these are probably generic and I'm only somewhat equipped to recognize those (being yet a novice in the world of danmei specifically and cnovels more generally), so I can't be certain all of this is mxtx and not just the generic milieu she's working within. but I tried to parse it out based on what I've noticed.

I focused on thematics because that's what I personally find most interesting (and easiest to elaborate on, since some of the relationship dynamics are less specific to MXTX than they are romance conventions, a genre I am less familiar with).

this is necessarily an incomplete list because I haven't reread in a hot minute and also I am, again, not writing a complete essay for this (right now)

Justice/injustice. This one recurs across all three novels, both in terms of the desire for justice and the ways in which injustice is woven into the fabric of society and sometimes, it seems, almost inevitable. There's something deeply pessimistic, for instance, about the way that MDZS deals with this question, or at least a certain ambivalence, but in general I would say it's a theme of MXTX's work that people don't get what they "deserve", and what is or would be just is at best a difficult and often an unanswerable question.

Cycles of revenge/violence. Relatedly: MXTX seems to me very concerned with cycles of revenge and violence and what comes of them - namely, nothing. In SVSSS you see it with Shen Jiu and PIDW!Luo Binghe in particular, and how Shen Yuan's cutting of that violent cycle transforms not just Luo Binghe but the fate of the world as a whole. In MDZS you see it most clearly with the Nie Mingjue/Jin Guangyao/Nie Huaisang situation, which ultimately ends with nobody winning, but also in Jin Ling's explicit rejection of revenge at the end of the novel. In TGCF you can see it in Black Water Arc, where - again - nobody wins, but you can also see it with Xie Lian and Jun Wu. This further relates to:

Disinterest in/distrust of punitive impulses. This is the one I wrote a whole essay about! But in general I think that MXTX is...skeptical...of the impulse to punishment/retaliation, because of the stance she seems to take that violence only ever begets violence and never makes anything better. Again this threads back to the aforementioned "nobody gets what they deserve" thing - because if nobody gets what they deserve, who decides what anyone deserves?

Ambivalence about the "fixability" of society at large. This also kind of goes back to the first point on this list, and specifically I think is illustrated through the fact that two of three of her main pairings retreat from the world at large at the end of their stories. They aren't completely removed from society, but they are distanced from it - in both cases, I would argue, out of some disillusionment with its functioning and/or their place within it. There is a certain feeling in MXTX's work that society is, if not irreparably broken, fundamentally unjust in a way that is difficult to change. (I think TGCF is an interesting outlier in this way, actually.)

Class/status dynamics. I'm not saying that MXTX is, like, writing about class or status, but I am saying that she seems to be interested in the role that it plays in shaping/defining a character, given how often it turns up as a factor - in Shen Jiu, in Luo Binghe, in Jin Guangyao, in Wei Wuxian, in Mu Qing, in Hua Cheng, even in Xie Lian's crash from the heights of wealth to the depths of poverty.

The fickleness of the crowd. This also has to do with the importance of rumor and reputation, but what it often seems to come down to in terms of impact is how quickly people at large change their minds and bend to the beliefs of the people around them; how much attitude toward a person is informed by, and defined by, public opinion - regardless of that opinion's basis in truth. Often, explicitly, in spite of the opinion's basis in lies.

[mejomonster]

You know how wild it is Pei Su drives Luo Weizhao's car so much???

Like yeah, of course he does. In the novels they move in, fuck, kiss, date etc.

In the show he moves in because of course he does. Because Luo Weizhao tails him when he tries to move back out, and demands he come back and get rest. Because like book Luo Wenzhou, show Luo Weizhao wants Fei Du under his roof where he can check and make sure Pei Su isnt self harming in the villa basement anymore. Where he can check no one is crashing into Pei Su's car to kill him. Where he can keep Pei Su safe, in his home - in THEIR home. In the place that's always been Pei Su's second home, place of safety, ever since the show kicks off and reminds us - Luo Weizhao taking Pei Su there for his birthday, to eat cake and sing him happy birthday and give him the candy that always comforts him, where Pei Su's cat has been living safely and alive for years. Luo Weizhao moves Pei Su in because of course he does, its all their characters would Ever inevitably do. Pei Su tells his employee he's moved in, tells Xiao Hanyang of course he lives here with Luo Weizhao. Of course.

And Pei Su has the money, has MANY fucking cars, enough to just GIVE Du Jia one. He does not need for a car. He can always get another. But Luo Weizhao's car is SPECIAL. Its Luo Weizhao's, its an extension of the home they share, its got the kitty mirror decoration Luo Weizhao put up - likely because he became a fucking cat dad thanks to Pei Su dropping a kitten into his life. Their cat. The car is decorated because of Their Cat, Their Home. The car is grey, not black and not white, but greys and reds because its their SHARED space. Their home. Its where their intensely contrasting lives meet in the middle, where they meet on equal footing, where they build their home.

Of course Luo Weizhao lets Pei Su drive his car - Pei Su is family, you let family drive the car. Pei Su has saved Luo Weizhao's life before, by driving a car. Pei Su has been hit inside his own car, so Luo Weizhao probably feels more worried when Pei Su is driving his own cars. But mostly, the car is a sign they share the same home - they are home to each other - and a sign Pei Su is accepting it. If Pei Su borrows the car, Pei Su must plan to come home. Not to run off, not to go to the villa, not to isolate and leave Luo Weizhao.

I just love all the times Pei Su is driving Luo Weizhao's car in the show. The most distinct car in the show, grey, with red interior, with the kitty decoration.

[aventurineswife]

Lolllll the post about Dan Heng and Reader relaxing in the bath and someone walks in on them. (Then again, the room that Dan Heng and the Trailblazer stay in while on Amphoreus is literally within a public bathhouse. 😅)

And at the same time I finally got my Little Chimera pet!! In the game, you can buy one of those cute chimeras on Amphoreus, and so far there are four different colors, but you can reroll; I got the green one that sits at the edge of the bath in TB and Dan Heng’s room. You can also get a really big seal doll that floats in the bath!

Now I’m thinking about Dan Heng trying to look after Reader because they’re probably getting the worst of the brunt of their bumpy trip on Amphoreus: Reader has old wounds from previous trips that they didn’t allow enough time to heal and accidentally kept reopening; and then they tried to shield Dan Heng and TB when they spotted Nikador’s arrow flying towards their carriage, so they were impacted the most by the crash landing; and then they got roughed trying to defend civilians from living statues (the Strife titankin) when Okhema was invaded; and THEN they got knocked around by Nikador alongside Dan Heng, Mydei and Phainon.

Yeeaaaaaah Reader was going through it. 😅

But! They finally have some down time to kick back and let their wounds heal, and now that their wounds have closed they can finally fully relax and soak in the baths. (The healers even recommended floral/herbal baths for the bruises and muscle strains.) And of course Dan Heng joins them to keep them company and make sure they’re okay. It helps that the bath has one of those seal dolls and they have a new chimera pet that quite clearly loves water.

Oops I ended up yapping in here—

First of all, that bathhouse situation is just asking for interruptions. Like, what do you mean their room is inside a public bathhouse?? How does that work logistically? Do they just step out and immediately risk locking eyes with some poor, unsuspecting stranger mid-soak?

And congratulations on your Little Chimera!! The green one is such a perfect pick—just vibing at the bath’s edge like a tiny guardian. That, plus the giant floating seal doll, makes the bathhouse setup feel both chaotic and cozy. Imagine Dan Heng sitting there, all serious and brooding, while a big, goofy seal plush bobs next to him.

As for Reader… yeah, they really went through it. Like, at what point does their body just say, “Alright, I’m clocking out”? Because that is a lot of damage (but then again, I also have gone through that too lol). No wonder Dan Heng is hovering. He’s probably subtle about it, but he’s definitely making sure they don’t pass out mid-soak or try to stand up too fast. He’d act like it’s just casual conversation, but his eyes are always darting to any signs of discomfort.

Meanwhile, the chimera is probably just splashing around, completely oblivious to all the near-death experiences its new owner just survived. But hey, at least now Reader finally has time to heal properly instead of just powering through like an overworked protagonist. And Dan Heng gets to actually take care of them for once instead of just fighting alongside them and hoping they don’t collapse.

This is such a good setup for some soft moments. Also, I fully expect that at some point, someone is going to walk in and ruin it. It’s inevitable.

Also, don't worry about yappin‼️ I yap myself a lot too 🤭

[manofthepipis]

sorry I keep bothering you!!!! but I need your thoughts on Tenna he's so um um so uh and mail guy and and um divorce and and uhhhhhhhhhh I love hearing you break it down theoretical-style because your brain has wonderful ideas. (i havent actually gotten to watching any playthroughs of chapter 4 yet because I needed an emotional break and from what I've heard its .... yeah...)

aaa hi!! ur not bothering me :D man i rlly do love this tv man and i have so many thoughts

man what a character to introduce, like all we had for context to him was spamton's absolutely enraged ramblings on how much he sucks, which ended up being like the worst and messiest miscommunication that could have happened to the both of them. Like in retrospect, it's so funny how tenna was introduced versus how he actually turned out. We have the most unreliable guy (a literal scam artist) giving us our only background, calling Tenna a criminal (even if said scam artist is 3x the criminal that tenna is when we actually compare the crime list), and then telling us to not trust him (this is coming from someone who doesn't tell us his actual motivations and betrays us to get Neo and eventually the soul). Like Tenna's buildup was so hilarious yet masterfully done, that when he appeared on screen in chapter 3, i was expecting the worst when in actuality, he's a sweetie with a masters degree in showmanship and abandonment issues.

I also like how similar spamton and tenna really are, how each are driven by their own motivations and aren't entirely exempt from being self-serving in their own regards. Like Tenna, despite being definitely being more grounded and more trustworthy than Spamton, still is so focused on keeping himself relevant, he resorts to extreme measures like trapping the lightners. He so desperately wants to be appreciated and cared for, and selfishly acts on this ambition by whatever means before Susie is (once again) the mvp of deltarune by empathizing with his situation. He's also held onto his influence and position for a rather long time, only losing it all at the end of ch3, as compared to spamton who's had time to deteriorate and spiral, to put it kindly. Like Tenna's story is so very close to Spamton's (from the way they lived to the way they "died"), but Tenna's case is like if Spamton had a better run with his luck and didn't crash and burn so harshly and so rapidly.

Speaking of which, like I love how messy and complicated their falling out was because it's neither of their fault, but you could see it playing out like it did a mile away when you understand both of their self-serving natures. Like Spamton gambled with the fact that spilling the beans about his secret, to get more success out of Tenna, wouldn't get it all pulled as a result. He lost that gamble, and fled the room in a panic (probably running to try and last-minute fix what was inevitably about to happen). That's not normal, but instead of trying to understand why it happened, or comfort Spamton, Tenna took the chance while he was away to get that secret for himself by picking up the phone, to find no one there, and misinterpreted it as Spamton scamming and ditching him. i absolutely love that even if it makes me so ill thinking about it :') They're so alike, and that was their biggest shared downfall.

even after, though, Tenna maintains his (albeit dwindling) influence, like he still had employees and TV world, but Spamton had it all drop to 0 immediately, his sales, his business, his friends, and more after he lost his "help". It's such a powerful contrast. It's even made worse that Spamton was made into a shell of his former self, undergoing something that made him completely unrecognizable, like if I was him, and having made that losing gamble, I wouldn't be able to live comfortably with that guilt, so pinning it all on Tenna as to divert all that hate and vitriol and blame makes sense so he can instead focus on a plan B (becomming [[Big]] or something real, now that he knows he's not real) by any means necessary. Meanwhile, Tenna is left with the obliviousness of what Spamton truly lost and, like, got the majority of the hangups in their separation. Like dude pls pls pls get overrrr him you'll be so much happier. Overall, Tenna's character is amazing at both giving us so much context to not only Tenna, but our favorite puppet man. Deltarune Chapter 3 how i love you.

This ended up with me just waxing poetic about these two lol. Their divorce was also incredibly funny and the fact that Tenna took the [pipis] in the divorce will forever send me.

[themothwhisperer]

Shauna Shipman is dealing with an immense amount of loss and failure that never stops spreading. Her coping mechanisms are a direct reflection of the only thing she was good at back to a (rare) time where she actually felt valuable: Violent acts.

“This is what you do, Shauna. You create your own problems. You stir the pot just to feel alive.”

And it’s completely true.

Thing is Shauna had a very bright future ahead of her. She was doing extremely well at school, was performing great in her sport and was appreciated by her teammates/friends. Yeah, maybe Jackie would’ve been an obstacle at times. But also, maybe not? She was living into her shadow, but that’s very common in teenagers to develop this type of behaviour. She would’ve probably grown out of that or handled things differently with time. Maybe. Of course, this is just hypothetical. But one thing is certain; her future was promising. She would’ve actually matured.

But that’s not what happened. The chaos caused by the crash exposed very quickly how things would never be the same for any of them. Shauna was particularly affected by those traumatic events. Jackie died leaving an incredible amount of guilt, emptiness and shame in her. Her son died as well, inevitably generating a great deal of damage. And then, we don’t even have to talk about all the atrocities she is committing afterwards. She knew pretty early on that even if she was to ever go back home, her future was long gone. She was never going to reach her full potential.

So naturally, she doesn’t want to go back to civilization. She’s losing if she goes back. Again. Loss is a theme in her life. It’s the main actor even. It was something she could deal with in her pre-crash life, but now? No way. It’s too severe. The events took everything from her. She’s trying to build herself back up. She knows going back will be another failure she will need to carry. The only vehicle through which she can potentially find success and gratification is in leading. She needs a new identity anyways. Without Jackie as a guide, she needs to do it herself. And even if her authority is challenged, it’s not totally hopeless. They’re scared of her. Violence is her power. So not only she needs to stay in the wilderness, she also needs all of them to stay with her. Otherwise, who can she lead? How will she feel whole again?

But as we know, they will be rescued eventually. I however suspect the events taking place between now and the rescue won’t be pretty at all. And Shauna will most likely be horrible. Just like she is in the adult timeline, she will probably create her own problems to justify her actions. And this is a circle. What she will do will make it even harder to go back when she will ultimately be forced to.

“You stew and you seethe and you make it everyone else’s problem because you hate to be alone. You hate yourself. And you want everyone else to feel just as miserable as you are.”

We got a little glimpse of what going back means for Shauna with the grocery store scene. And with the entire adult timeline for that matter. She’s far from the woman she was meant to become. Her life is boring and on top of that, she has to endure herself. Everything she did, everything/everyone she lost and everything/everyone she failed.

What she’s feeling is very human. She feels like she can’t win. Never. It’s infuriating. She feels empty and alone. Helplessness is pretty much all her existence is at this point. She never really got a real shot at rebuilding herself up. She’s the result of being the butcher. What’s left of her? Fear and violence. They were her strengths then so they still must be now. Shauna never really got to mature normally. This is the only thing she knows. No wonder she’s so angry all the time. No wonder she can’t escape the life she had in the wilderness. Her source of fulfillment could only live deep into these woods.

Shauna Shipman will always be such an interesting and heartbreaking character tbh.