#Crown Motel

[emmieexplores2]

Crown Motel on Woodward Ave. in Metro Detroit.

[cr-escapism]

ESCAPISM 001 Near Dark

CROWN SYNDROME 2022

[beansprean]

Finishing a s6 rewatch is always an experience

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: a supernatural doodle dump. 1a. Waist up of season 1 dean leaning up against the wall outside the motel room door, smoking a cigarette. 1b. Sam suddenly opens up the door and leans out, starting to say "So get this-" In a panic, Dean shoves the entire cigarette into his mouth to hide it. 1c. Full body of Dean with his back turned, one hand on the wall while he hunches over gagging and retching. Sam confusedly pats his back at the farthest distance possible. 2. Waist up of Soulless Sam relaxing with one arm perched on the back of his chair and the other holding up a teeny tiny steaming teacup. He is wearing a flannel over a white tee shirt that says "caution: unmasking". He grins condescendingly at the viewer with one eyebrow raised. His speech bubble says "something incredibly bitchy and uncalled for". 3a. Shoulders up of Dean, colored green, and Crowley, colored red. Crowley instructs, grinning, "Give Bobby Singer a kiss for me." Dean is leaning back away from him with an exhausted expression and only grunts in reply. 3b. Shoulders up of Dean and Sam, who is colored orange, mid-hunt with blood splattered over their faces. Dean has his phone held up between them on speaker phone, from which Crowley is saying "Give Bobby a kiss for me." Dean raises an eyebrow at his phone and Sam just stares at it with mild interest. 3c. Shoulders up of Sam walking toward the viewer, Crowley standing in the background. He calls out with a grin, "Give Bobby a kiss for me." Sam glances back with a frown, perturbed. 3d. Shoulders up of Dean and Crowley, Crowley leaning into frame from the side with a grin and saying, "Oh, and give Bobby a-" Dean interrupts, rolling his eyes toward the sky and throwing his hands up, shouting, "Oh my god! Kiss him yourself!" 3e. Small shoulders up of Crowley nervously pressing his index fingers together and staring at them with big shiny eyes. He mutters sadly, "He won't let me..." A little broken heart floats next to his head. 4. Full body of Castiel, colored blue with a water reflection pattern, standing doing nothing and squinting to the side. He is glowing slightly and has a glowing halo and crown shape floating over his head. Text pointing to him says 'guy who did nothing wrong ever in his life.' /end ID

[gatorbites-imagines]

can i request for power bottom Butcher (the boys) overstimulating subtop male reader until he's basically crying and shaking? :3 bonus points if reader has powers (but is not a sup)

Billy Butcher x Supe male reader

Ficlet

This lit something in my brain, but I am also tired, so the writing might be kinda messy. I didn’t have any specific powers in mind, but spiderman was in the back of my mind, so kinda based off that.

It’s been hard to get in the smut writing mood for a while, so im tryna dip my toes back into it. Hopefully it’s still good even though I’m rusty.

not proofread 🤞

The motel room was hot and humid, sweat running down the side of your forehead and into your hairline. You could taste the salt whenever you licked your lips, the dingy mattress under you soaked from all the sweat and other bodily fluids that had left not only you but Butcher as well.

The yellowed sheets were streaked with dirt from his heavy boots as he crouched above you, your chest shuddering as his strong hands grasped tightly at your calves. If it wasn’t for your healing factor, dark bruises would have dug into them a while ago, but they faded as soon as Butcher left them on you, making him grumble something about supes and their stupid powers.

You were the only one naked out of the two of you, body glistening in what little light passed in through the blinds, your hair a mess and eyes wet from unshed tears. Butcher had only kicked off his pants, even dragging them down and off, leaving his boots on before he had clambered up onto the bed and shoved your legs up by the knees.

Amazon position, you think it was called, something you had only seen online once or twice. But here was Butcher, smirking down at you as you grip at the sheets, tearing the cheap covers like tissue paper as you panted and moaned. There was something feral in his eyes as you tried to hump up into him, but the way he held your legs and pressed his weight down on you made it almost impossible, even with your super strength.

“B-Butch” you pant out, eyes blinking up a storm as you try to find the words, tongue feeling thick and useless, leaving you floundering like a fish out of water. You two had been going for hours, or rather, Butcher would push and pull at you, put his mouth on you, or jerk you till you were almost there. But then he would pull back, patting you on the head and telling you “Be good” before doing something else.

It could be anything from scrolling through the few channels on the cheap motel tv, to him going out to smoke a cigarette, or leaving to just wander the area or going to the store. The last one he had done before he came back to climb on top of you as he was now, his sturdy body bearing down on you so deliciously.

You were so close, close enough that it made you feel like you were about to cry. Something Butcher could easily tell, if the growing predatory smirk on his face meant anything. A warbled cry left you as he pulled up and off you again, a slick wet noise sounding as his hole pulled off your cock. You didn’t need to look to know that your length was a deep pained color, your balls so full and heavy that they felt almost as tortured as your cock.

Butcher laughed, voice heavy and dominant in the way that made your brain feel like mush melting out of your ears. Your bottom lip drew up and wobbled as you tried hard not to beg or cry, vision growing so blurry with tears even as Butcher’s hand reached down and patted your cheek. “Come on pup, you can take it, can’t ya?” he laughed, his voice so deliciously taunting and cruel that it made you throb, precum pouring out of your slit and down your sensitive aching shaft.

“Ya wanna be good for me, I know you do. My little supe” Butcher purred, leaning down just enough to ghost a kiss against the crown of your head. His satisfied tone made the tears spill over, a shaky sob leaving your chest as you dug your fingers into the mattress, a loud rip ringing out throughout the motel room.

The tsk that left Butcher made your heart ache, another pitiful pained sob leaving you. But this time it was not from the gut aching need to cum, but the very idea that you might have disappointed him. As his hand cradled your face more surely, you couldn’t help but nuzzle into it, kissing at his callused palm as you whimper out broken slurred apologies.

The silence felt heavy and loaded, but in the end, Butcher just sighed like one would sigh if they found out their pet had chewed up the carpet. “Can’t expect a supe like you to control himself. But ya did good enough, good boy” he rumbled out. And before you knew it, that tight wet heat was swallowing up your cock once more, punching the breath out of your chest as you keened, lost for words as Butcher started riding you like he was punishing you.

“come on boy, cum for me, show me what a supe like you has to offer” he growled out in that hot purred way, his weight slamming down on you as he worked his knees. You felt dizzy, sweat pouring off your body as you gasped and let out noises closer to a bark than a moan, the noise punched out of you every time his weight fell on your own.

It was almost enough, but there was something missing, even Butcher seemed to realize this. So, as you cried out tears of edging and sensitivity, Butchers strong hand grasped your chin, pressing his thumb and fingers into your jaw to make it unhinge and hang open. Your vision cleared up just enough to see him purse his lips, and watch as he spat into your mouth.

You couldn’t even tell if his spit had hit your tongue before you came, a noise coming from deep inside your chest as your entire body shook, jolts and quivers rushing through you as your entire lower body burned. It felt like you were underwater, his deep voice nothing more than a pleasant hum as he presumably praised you, his body pressing down on yours more insistently until you could only imagine he had finished too.

You felt like a well loved toy when he rose up off of you, standing on the ruined torn mattress as you spread out like an unfolded piece of paper, silent tears still running down your cheeks as you shivered from the aftershocks. A shaky whimper left you as you sensed Butcher getting off the bed and leaving to somewhere, but he was back before you could start crawling out of that blurry but pleasant spot you were in.

Butcher pressed kisses to your sweaty hair as he wiped you down, his voice low as he rumbled more praise and words of affirmation, even though he knew you couldn’t fully register what he was saying yet. His beard tickled as the kisses traveled down to your cheek, before they pressed against your own, Butcher leaving a sweet lingering kiss on your bitten lips.

Easily Butcher picked you up, moving you to the second bed of the motel room. There was no saving of the torn monstrosity that had been the bed he had played with you on all day, with the large rips and the stuffing spilling out. Hed remember to leave extra cash for it when you two left.

With a sigh Butcher shrugged off the rest of his clothes, crawling into bed beside you, letting you melt into his hairy chest as Butcher scrolled through the few channels on the tv. He settled on some Spanish telenovela, a loving huff leaving him as he felt your hands sticking to his chest as you lost grip of your powers. With a last kiss to the top of your head, Butcher settled back, letting you take all the time you needed to come back to earth. After that, he would get some food and drink in you, and a shower, you both needed that.

[poppy-metal]

how would arguing with pressed & polished art go? just wanna see him yell at me in my face. that same nose that would nuzzle into my clit now brushing against my nose. but also is he tempted hit me😒? or hit that😏? Ok thank you bye

provoking married art to slap you hehe <333 getting real bratty and threatening to tell his wife that he fucks your tight little cunt in a motel every sunday instead of staying over at the church like he says he is - threatening to ruin his public image (you don't mean it, you don't care enough to ruin his life like that, mostly you just find it funny- and fucking hot - to piss him off - to see the flush of his face, the anger in his eyes, the clench of his jaw.) it doesn't take long before his sweet face turns mean and his hand darts out to wrap around your throat.

he can explain it away in his mind, like this - tell himself you're a bad girl - a sinful girl, leading him to temptation with that sweet oasis between your thighs - that juicy fucking pussy - it's his responsibility to discipline you, to bring you to heel - to show you what happens when you tempt a man. he pushes you face down ass up, yanks your lewd fucking scrap of fabric down your thighs and unbuckle his belt.

"you're a bad little girl." he tells you, uses his belt to twist your hands behind your back and bind them. his zipper is pulled down next and he shoves his jeans down over the curve of his ass, quick and desperate - eyes gluded to the supple pout of your cunt that's calling to him - tempting him - "you run too wild - you need someone to remind you of your place - you think you can talk to me like that and get away with it? threaten me? c'mere."

he yanks you closer, till your knees almost fall off the bed - guides his cock between the fat lips of your cunt, his fat head finding your hole and crowning it. fuck. his teeth dig into his bottom lip - you're the best thing he's evert felt - better than his wife, better than any god - hot and tight and warm, sucking him in - "you need -" he hisses - drags you down onto his cock till he's balls deep - "- to be punished -"

the way he fucks you shows his anger - at you for tempting him, at himself for being unable to resist - his cock pounds into you - hips snapping against your ass hard enough to force wails from your lips. he hunches over you, the rickety bed squeaking on its hinges.

you think he loves this as much as you - the games, the threats, he needs this - needs a reason to let go and really give it to you - pound away at something like he hates it - no one can be that fucking good all the time - it's too much to ask - he needs this

"oh god - " he sobs - with pleasure - with agony - both. eyes clenched and then open again, because he cant look away from where he's sliding in and out, from where the thick intrusion of himself is spreading you out, plunging, "- god, help me - you're so fucking tight - you do this to me - you make me do this - oh fuck -"

[gluion]

safe haven (how much longer do we have?) ➵ leehan

leehan x reader, slight sungho x reader

you can only hope for more tomorrows with leehan.

genre/warnings ➵ strangers to lovers, heavy angst with a happy ending, touch of fluff, gender-neutral reader, reader is shorter than leehan and sungho, lowercase intended, apocalypse au, hurt/comfort (both physical and emotional), depictions of grief, descriptions of gore/blood, use of guns, allusions and discussions of suicide, minor character deaths, sungho is your ex, myungjae and taesan appearance :’), elements of the last of us (don’t support neil druckmann!), mostly written in past tense (because u’re remembering!)

word count ➵ 6.2k words

inspired by ➵ “anaheim” by niki, “are you happy?” by wavesmp3, “love wins all” by iu, episode three of hbo’s the last of us, and “you’re gonna carry that weight” quote from cowboy bebop

a/n ➵ i really love this piece with everything in me so i thought i'd release it to bonedoblr as well!! you can check out the jacob & taerae versions as well. if you enjoyed reading, please do reblog and leave feedback!

want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! masterlist

time was the one thing that occupied everyone’s minds. it held value, something that shouldn’t be wasted, and people revolved their lives around it.

questions flew around with every tick and tock—what day is it today? when’s your next doctor’s appointment? how long has it been since you’ve last seen your friends from high school? until when does this meeting last? 

as the hands of the clock continue to rotate, the calendar pages would flip along. birthdays were celebrated with every revolution as candles on cakes were lit up, awaiting the puff of celebrants as they wished for their desires. holidays were ones to look forward to; people dressed up to celebrate periods of the year that mattered to them while others slept in until noon. and days were spent counting down until graduations, where caps with tassels would fly to the expanse of blue and orange as cheers and sobs sound throughout.

but now, no one keeps track of time. clocks stopped moving and calendars weren’t produced annually. once the surge of the infected took over, grabbing on humans—taking them away from the lives they’ve lived—everyone ran like they were running out of time. with every second that passes, people are ridden with possibilities of how they might bid farewell to life itself—would it be through the hands of the infected or their own?

now, only one question echoes within their minds: how long do we have?

yet, the clock continues—tick, tock, tick, tock. it keeps going, and going, and going, like how everyone expects it. while everyone seemed to let time go, you still kept track of it all: birthdays, holidays, a graduation you never had.

the outbreak hit two years ago on the day of sungho’s graduation. cheers turned into screams. white togas and diplomas were splattered with red. the lively became lifeless.

you remember sungho’s hand in yours, fingers gripping you as if you were his life, as you charged out of the gymnasium, legs keeping up with the speed of his. you darted off to nowhere as images of the infected tearing people apart took up every block, all the way from skin to bone.

and while it was a rush of tragedies, sungho was the only hope you had.

“keep your eyes on me,” he glanced at you, “don’t look at them. only look at me.”

it was impossible to ignore the wails that filled your ears, but you would repeat his words—his soft-spoken voice—to drown them out.

by nightfall, you and sungho found yourselves in a motel room, skin cleaned from blood splatters and dressed in clothes that engulfed your figures, and in each other’s arms on a twin-sized bed. the duvet that wrapped around you two is thin, not at all keeping you warm for the night, but the warmth of sungho was enough to provide you a sense of security—stability amidst the ever-changing world.

he whispered into the crown of your head, words meant to dispel your fears, all while you sobbed into his shirt. there was nothing that he could do but stay strong for you.

and for a few days, that room acted as your safe haven. the time spent within those four walls is the life you imagined your future with sungho. it would’ve been in a two-story house with a garden where a singular orange tree stands, lounging on the couch as you played movies to fall asleep to, but all you had was an old room with a carpeted floor with unrecognizable stains and a bathroom unable to fit two.

yet, you would choose this over anything. even if it meant eating instant noodles for every meal or sleeping on a mattress that ruins your backs, you would choose this if it meant sungho would be with you.

still, time continues to move. sungho knew that you both couldn’t stay in that room or else the infected may reach you. so when you both went to bed on that last night, you outlined his features from the space between his eyebrows all the way to his lips, and you spent that time memorizing his warmth to carry with you for the rest of your life. you could only hope that he stays with you until the end.

after a month passed, you and sungho met jaehyun, an injured boy who only wanted to live. at first, sungho was hesitant to take the stranger in, but you wouldn’t allow yourself to live with the idea of abandoning someone in need. in a world where the infected have taken over, it only seemed right to help out others; save them from a fate they’re not ready to meet.

what started off as a pair turned into a trio. you’ve learned more about what it takes to survive in this life. long gone is the need for money to buy necessities; you need to scavenge for supplies if you want to live in an infected-ridden world. thanks to jaehyun, you and sungho got to learn about how to find them in every building that you pass on the journey.

but it’s not enough to know where to find food and bullets. sungho decided that it was only right to teach you how to use a gun. with every morning that came, you two spent hours learning how to hold, reload, and fire.

“don’t worry,” he told you as his chin hovered over your shoulder. you both stared at the tin can situated on a stack of boxes only a few meters away. “you won’t have to worry about fighting alone. i’ll be here with you.” as you exhaled, your eyes zeroed in on the target. “now, shoot.”

six months have passed, and you were happy that you were still a trio. jaehyun became your best friend over that time. his laughs were enough to shine glimmers of hope onto you. you were glad that you decided to help him off the ground and tend to his bullet wound that day.

until you found yourselves retreating from the horde of infected.

time moves at a constant speed but it can become swift if it decides to. when you and jaehyun reached the doors leading to safety, you remember seeing sungho fighting off those who were once like you, bullets firing at their heads. you remember your screams, telling him to run to you—go to where it’s safe—so that you can keep having tomorrows with him.

yet, sungho glanced at jaehyun, nodding at him before his eyes met yours. you watched how his mouth moved, a soundless three-word phrase leaving him before the doors shut before you. you would’ve pried them open but jaehyun kept his arms around you, holding you back. from letting the infected reach you. from letting sungho come back to you.

the wails that left you were enough to attract the infected. if only they were to burst through the doors, grab onto you and bring you to sungho, then maybe you would stop crying. yet, jaehyun dragged you away. you never saw him as your best friend after that.

a month passed, and you still refused to talk to him. the boy tried to strike up a conversation with you, trying to earn your laugh like he used to, but he was only met with a cold shoulder. with every brick he put, you smashed your sledgehammer against it, dispelling any hope he had in rekindling his friendship with you.

the two of you learned to live in silence, fighting for survival while dealing with the loss of the one who would always bring you both to safety.

until you came across another boy who pointed his gun toward you. his defensive demeanor reminded you of sungho, and you wondered if this was his doing—his reincarnation. but before he could pull the trigger, jaehyun saved you from meeting your fate.

somehow, the duo had turned into a trio once more. you still refused to talk to jaehyun but would eavesdrop on the conversations he shared with the stranger. you learned that the new addition is named leehan.

but even the stranger wasn’t enough to fill the void that sungho left. with every nightfall, when the soft snores of the two boys filled your ears, tears streamed down your face as sobs threatened to spill out. the palm of your hand wasn’t enough to muffle your weeps. behind your eyelids, sungho’s last words to you play on repeat. the ones he failed to say. the ones you’ll never hear again.

maybe if you didn’t leave that motel room then he would’ve still been with you, arms finding their place around your waist as he trails kisses all over you. if the outbreak didn’t happen, then maybe you would be living in that two-story house with him. maybe you would wake up to a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice by the bedside table and the warmth of his lips on your forehead. and maybe you could finally tell him yes before he slips the silver band on your finger—you could’ve grown with him until your hair turns grey.

the weight you carry never got lighter with time. the void continued to consume you whole with the goal of ripping you apart. as another month passed, another life was lost—not to the infected but to the raiders.

“myungjae, you have to stay with me.” those were the first words you told him since sungho’s death. crimson continued to spill out of his abdomen through the gaps between your fingertips in the same way tears flow out. “leehan! find gauze, betadine, anything!” you never glanced at the stranger, keeping your gaze on your best friend whose eyes continued to droop.

still, jaehyun caressed your face, thumb wiping teardrops. as he slowly entered territories that you both knew he would never escape, he grinned at you one last time. “i missed hearing you. i’m glad you’ll be the last thing i hear.”

but you tried to tell him that you couldn’t be the last voice he heard. it should’ve been with someone he can imagine his future with, maybe in a two-story house or a cramped flat in an apartment complex. he deserves more tomorrows in the same way sungho did.

but time continues to move. it took him away from you in a matter of minutes, slithering away without a second thought and no regard for the value of life, and all you were left with was his temple—still. lifeless. as you sobbed into his shirt, still holding the wound, the warmth of leehan’s hand stayed on your back, moving along with your wails. 

now, you carry the loss of two. it never got easier with time.

leehan still sticks with you. it only seemed right. stay strong in numbers as you wander off to nowhere, grasping at the loose ends of survival.

two weeks have passed. you and leehan got used to the new dynamic; while he went hunting and you were tasked with scavenging, you both played your roles in combat, ready for any raid or horde. when night comes, you both took shifts, keeping watch while the other got some shut-eye.

until that one evening.

you recall the sounds of wood crackling from the fire. it stood strong against the breeze—burning, shining—surrounded by greens that latch on browns. hues of amber cascaded over your skin, painting you with warmth—it’ll never compare to the one you craved. your eyes drifted to leehan who sat across from you, his eyes trained on the fire as he rubbed his palms together. perhaps he craved the same type of warmth you longed for.

“we used to be three.” his eyes snapped towards yours. “before you came, we used to be three—jaehyun, me, and—” it rose in you like bile, wanting to escape but never leaving. “we were three then.”

you glanced at the wood that continued to burn. “we met jaehyun a month after the outbreak, spent six months together until—” the claws of the void struck against your throat, holding you back from sharing with the stranger what your life was before he came. while you never found the right words to say, leehan never pushed, letting you say what you wanted to share while filling in the blanks on his own. 

“i resented jaehyun after what happened.” you moved your gaze to leehan whose eyes never left you. “refused to talk to him. refused to forgive.” and you remember how you hesitated, taking a deep breath in before sputtering out the next sentence. “refused to accept.”

nine months ago, the outbreak didn’t happen. nine months ago, you were attending sungho’s graduation. nine months ago, you two were imagining your tomorrows together—for eternity.

and those nine months fractured all hopes and dreams; the glass is now littered with cracks, ready to burst into shards.

“but i think about the last time we saw jaehyun,” the image of him sitting in front of you all frail, treading the line between life and death, flashed in front of you; it’s quick but strong to remind you of what’s lost. “and i wish i could’ve learned how to forgive during those two months.”

but it was an impossible request. how could you ever forgive a boy you’ve known for only six months for taking your future away? how could you forgive a world that took him away? how could you forgive and live?

and still, you did.

you left it at that. they were enough. so when you told leehan that you’ll take over tonight’s shift, he never asked to hear more. instead, he laid near the campfire as you kept an eye out.

and once enough hours have passed, you allowed yourself to sob like other nights. the breeze that passed through branches reminded you of jaehyun; rustling leaves imitated the giggles of the boy you’ve only known during the apocalypse.

the wind that grazed against your skin should’ve been a nuisance, but the warmth of the fire wrapped you up like the duvet in that motel room. and you don’t complain—it’s the only part of sungho you have left.

the heat was enough to last you the night, but the chill of reality sent you back to the void.

that night, leehan listened to your sobs. not one of you got enough rest for the journey.

another two weeks went by. you two got into a better groove of the routine; instead of hunting and scavenging in silence, you and leehan found yourselves talking more about your lives before the outbreak. you learned that he’s only a year younger than sungho, and he shared that he had plans to pursue music.

“if the world finds a cure to this mess, you have to promise me that you’ll get me front-row tickets to your first show.” it was a joke. in what world could there be a cure for the infected? but the wishful thinking of what could be—what could’ve been—is all you had left.

still, leehan promised you that.

that night, you two stayed in the living room of an abandoned house. instead of lighting the fireplace, candles were placed on the coffee table. they shined in the middle of you two, you who stayed on the couch and leehan who sat on the mattress lying on the floor.

“where were you?” his eyes met yours. “on the day of the outbreak, i mean.”

he leaned back, hands resting on the mattress before he looked once more at the wax that continued to melt. “i was there for my upperclassmen’s graduation.” it hit you like sudden downpour on a sunny day. “i knew people in the music program and we were going to celebrate after. until the infected came.”

and when you said the name of the university, his gaze met yours as his shoulders stiffened. “m—my sungho.” it’s the first time you spoke of his name, and the sight of leehan’s eyes widening over it was enough to speak for himself.

“i—i didn’t know,” he whispered, but his words were loud enough to shatter glass. “i only spoke to him a few times. he talked about you with so much love.”

your heart skipped beats; it should’ve been enough to send you off into the same territories where sungho and jaehyun now stay. your mouth turned dry as leehan’s voice morphed into radio silence.

before you knew it, the two of you left the information to hang in the air as you tried to drift into slumber.

the clock continues to tick. minutes turned into hours; time moves like it usually does once more.

yet, you were stuck in the same gymnasium, fixing sungho’s toga as you scolded him about how wrinkled it’s become—hey! you’ll go up on stage soon. we can’t take pictures of you like this. despite your words, he smiled at you before grazing his lips on your temple—his silent way of telling you the three-word phrase.

in a split second, you were off the couch. you barged out of the house, clutching your chest as the knot constricted your throat, and your feet dragged you off to nowhere. every sound has turned into a buzz—only the voice of sungho being the one clear thing amidst the hysteria.

before you knew it, you stood before a horizon of green. it takes only one step into the woods, alone with no protection, for you to meet your demise. you would’ve charged into it in the same way you would’ve charged out to save sungho that day.

all it takes is one step, and—

“what are you doing?!” a pair of hands gripped your shoulders, spinning you around until you were face-to-face with the last form of life that you know of. his breaths were short as his fingers dug into your arms. “you can’t just rush out in the middle of the night! i woke up worried sick.” his eyebrows knitted in frustration. confusion. distress. the voice was caught in your throat.

how does one begin to unpack the baggage they’ve learned to carry? when the items they bring are revolting, rotten, repugnant, how does someone not feel shame about showing all the tattered-up objects?

how do you learn to open up to someone you’ve only known for three months?

your hands trembled; you’ve carried the weight of it all for too long.

in that split second, your nose met the juncture between his chin and shoulder. the material of his shirt against your cheek allowed you to bathe in what you miss—the hand of jaehyun that once caressed your face. the lips of sungho that lingered with every kiss. all the moments that you hoped time would freeze just for you lives in the boy you stick with for survival.

all it took were leehan’s hands to rest on the lower side of your back for the tears to begin their stream. the sobs spill out. for once, they weren’t muffled like those other nights. they sounded throughout the space that surrounded you two. you allowed yourself to drop the baggage only for a few minutes.

leehan took you back to the house that night, allowing you to sob about all that you’ve kept under the wraps.

when sunrise came, you found your legs mixed with his as his arms remained wrapped around you and your ear pressed against his chest. the sound of his breathing is the one reminder of what a safe haven is. 

half a year went by. leehan still stays by your side. the baggage got lighter.

it should’ve been the same routine; leehan goes off to hunt while you scavenge, and you’ll take turns on the night shifts. but that night shifted something between you two. stolen glances. quiet giggles. linked fingers.

two months have gone by. the moon shined through the trees, their shadows cascading on an abandoned cabin that you and leehan decided to stay in for that night.

it should’ve been the same set-up as other nights spent in abandoned houses; you’ll sleep on the couch while he sleeps on a dragged-out mattress. instead, he sat with you, your back resting on his chest along with his hand staying on your arm. 

a lit candle rested on the table; its amber tones painted leehan’s skin—close to the fruit tree that stands in your lost future.

“what would you do if there is a cure to this?” you watched how his fingers danced across your skin, calloused from plucking guitar strings or wielding a gun. 

leehan’s chest rumbled against your back as he hummed. “what would you do?”

a giggle left as you looked at the boy. “i was the one who asked you first!”

he shot you a grin as his hand slipped into yours. the candle continued to burn; it did a poor job of giving you light and warmth that night. but he did it all—one smile. one exhale. one indication to show that he lives.

“travel, maybe? or i’ll go back to writing music.” you nodded at his plans before looking back at the light source. “what about you?”

“i don’t know.”

there was no point in going back to university after such a catastrophe. if anything, the year spent surrounded by the infected, fighting for survival, has shown you that there’s more to life than the perpetual cycle of working a nine-to-five.

so…

“i would settle down if i could.” the wax continued to melt. “i think i’ve seen enough of the world. for once, i just want to stay home. indulge in my hobbies. live the life that i want.”

his breath grazed the top of your head. “with someone?” and suddenly, you became aware of it all—the heat that emitted from his palm. the movement of his chest against your back. the gravity of his question.

the words get caught in your throat. your heartbeat rang in your ears. for the first time since sungho’s death, you considered it. 

“with someone.”

before you knew it, his hand caressed your cheek. you were forced to meet his eyes which glistened with devotion. he leaned forward, his breath grazing your skin while you held in yours. you didn’t miss how his gaze flickered to your lips before he met your eyes once more.

then, he held back. it’s a choice, one only you can make. but when your eyes shut, it’s a quiet plea—a silent yes.

his lips met yours. 

the warmth that blossomed in your chest wasn’t like the one in that motel room. not like the embrace of the one you’ve lost. it was one of all seasons—changing with the weather, bringing comfort throughout the everchanging times.

it’s a perpetual cycle of fighting for survival.

you’ll endure through it all.

a month passed by, and you came across another boy on the journey. he’s named taesan, and he told you of a safe haven located in the town that you and leehan grew up in.

for a moment, it was an internal debate—should you go back to where the downfall started? can you go to where the memory of sungho still lives?

but one glance at leehan was enough to settle it. the three of you embarked on your journey.

you remember that day. it was a walk with the goal of finding a car to make the journey back an easy one. the heat of the sun prickled against your skin but you still kept your arms crossed.

“are you two together?” taesan asked, causing you to whip your head towards him. your eyes met leehan’s for a split second—confusion. dejection—before they landed back at the stranger who kept his eyes on the path you took.

“no, we aren’t.”

for the rest of the journey, it was quiet.

sundown came, and you found yourselves in a convenience store for that night’s shelter. leehan was in charge of taking the night shift, allowing you and taesan to rest up. when the stranger went off to sleep on the makeshift bed, you were left alone with leehan.

you watched how he cleaned his gun with a rag stained with dark splotches. the moon gleamed through the window—it can’t compare to how leehan shines.

you needed to get some sleep, is what you tell yourself. with one spin, you were about to make your way to where you’d sleep for that night.

“are we really not?” you halted in your tracks. “did it mean nothing?”

not a single answer left your mouth. your eyes remained straightforward as you refused to meet his gaze.

the warmth vanished with a lack of an answer. instead, it was replaced once more with the cold—the void—that attempted to consume you whole.

and when a scornful chuckle left leehan, you knew that you’d burnt the bridge. you walked away, leaving him to do his job, bidding farewell to the closest form of a safe haven.

two weeks went by and another goodbye had to be done. taesan stood in front of you two, a grin on his lips while tears streamed down his face. his arm was out, revealing a bite mark. the veins near the wound had already turned black. he would’ve turned in a few hours.

“go out.” those were leehan’s first words to you since that night in the convenience store.

you remember the last thing you told taesan before you left the room—you’ll get to your safe haven. the sobs that spilled out of him are ones you’ll never forget. and when you shut the door behind you, it took 20 seconds until you heard a gunshot. 

the weight got heavier once more.

another two weeks went by, and you and leehan found yourselves standing in front of the remains of a safe haven. the fences were torn down. streaks of dark red littered over pavements. not a single sight of a soul lived.

still, you two trudged your way through the town, all the way until you reached leehan’s house. like others, his was abandoned. the cream walls were littered with red strokes and vines. when you both entered, you didn’t miss how leehan’s eyes lingered on a photo hung on the wall—a picture of him and his parents.

you gave him all the time he needed to explore, to sit with the mess, while you stayed in the living room. as you sat on the couch that had gathered dust, you caught sight of a bowl of plastic produce that rested on the coffee table. it held a variety of fruits whose paint had chipped: watermelon, chestnut, and fig.

but amidst the crowd of old, torn-down, plastic fruits, a pear and an orange leaned against each other as grime collected on them. once your hands reached out to the fruits, you pulled them apart—a mess of green and orange stained the two.

he came back to you in 30 minutes, eyes glistening with tears. yet, he only gave you a nod, and you two went to another house. 

you then stood in front of your old house with leehan by your side. weeds grew in the front yard, and the wooden exterior has turned a few shades darker. silence settled between you two. 

to be back in a place you grew up in, where all your memories live, is a process—a grieving one. being face-to-face with the damage brought by the infected can only remind you of what you had and could’ve had.

and once you made your way to your childhood room, you were reminded of all your hopes and dreams before the outbreak. dust rested on top of books. the laptop on your desk had no charge. potted plants have withered.

when you approached the picture frames found on your table, your hand darted out to a photograph of you and sungho. there was no occasion when that picture was taken—the fact that you two were together was enough for it to be remembered. memorialized.

as you made your way back down the stairs, you saw leehan crouched in front of the console table with eyes trained on photographs. “was this your high school graduation?” you approached him and saw the picture he was referring to, you who stood beside sungho with a big grin as his lips were on your temple.

“yeah,” you said as you crouched beside leehan. “we knew each other back when i was a freshman.” your fingers trailed on the wooden frame, gathering the dust before flicking it away. despite your efforts, it was still covered in grime, but you didn’t mind. 

“and you stayed together since?” all you did was hum. “did you find anything up there?”

for the first time since you entered your old house, you looked at leehan and he met your gaze. your eyes trailed his features. the eyes that speak of a thousand words. the lips that once kissed yours.

and it hit you like the gunshot that filled your ears, the breeze that rustled the leaves that one night, the doors that shut close. it was 20 months since the outbreak happened, 13 months since you lost sungho, and 11 months since jaehyun told you his last words.

but it was also 13 months spent with leehan, choosing to survive with him. 

“yeah.”

you found a lot of things within those four walls. there were books you once read growing up, stuffed toys you slept with, and the one picture of you and sungho; they’re the remaining pieces you have left of a life that was good.

you would’ve kept it all, rebuilt the life that was ripped away by the hands of the infected—

“but nothing to hold on to.”

they’re memories, ones you’ll carry with you, but ones worth moving on from. 

“oh,” he said as his eyes still held your gaze. “okay.”

and with one exhale, you said, “let’s rebuild it, just a place for us two.”

it was a whirlwind of emotions in leehan’s eyes, ones you can’t identify. for a moment, you thought he’d say no. maybe he decided that 13 months was enough. one more day with you would be too much, and—

“okay.” when his hand reached out for yours, linking fingers with you like all other times, you gave him a small smile.

when you and leehan stood up, you made your way out of the house, off to find a place just for you two—a safe haven to last you many tomorrows with him.

a month passed. the safe haven was rebuilt; the fences stood strong with electrical wires and barbed wires, and the town was cleaned of all remnants of grime and blood. the two of you took up different tasks ranging from cleaning, cooking, building, and maintaining the haven.

but while you were okay with a knife, accidents did happen. “fuck!”

“what happened?” you remember how leehan came rushing in, only to see you pressing on the skin around the cut on your finger.

before you knew it, you were sitting down with him as he wrapped gauze around the wound. “leehan, it’s just a cut. i’ll be fine.”

“still, i don’t want you getting hurt.” you watched how his eyes were focused on treating your finger. “i’ll be in charge of cooking now.”

you shook your head. “no, i like to cook. i want to cook for us.” his gaze then met yours, his filled with worry while yours filled with determination. they flickered back to your finger and his hands busied themselves with covering it up.

once he was done, his hand continued to hold yours. you remember the heat of his thumb as it drew patterns on your hand. he’s etched himself onto you.

his eyes met yours once more, and he said, “okay, just let me help out.” all you gave him was a nod.

another month went by, and you woke up to the sound of gunshots. you remember how hazy your vision was that night, fresh from sleep but panic coursing through your veins. and when you looked beside you to only see an empty spot, you didn’t think twice about rushing out of bed.

when you exited the house, you saw leehan holding his gun, firing at the people who attempted to tear down the haven’s fences. “leehan!” he looked back at you and you caught sight of the crimson that poured out of his abdomen.

another gunshot was fired, grazing leehan’s leg, and he fell to his knees. you ran to him, reaching out to rest your hand on the wound as you began to sob. “fuck! you have to stay with me.” with his arm resting around your shoulders, you dragged him back to the house.

you set him on the table and moved his hand to hold where he was shot. “hold it.” you rushed to where the medical supplies were stored and gathered whatever you could hold. when you got back, you saw how blood continued to spill out.

you got to work, focused on trying to patch him up, making sure he stays. “you can’t go. i won’t let it happen.” and while your hands busied themselves with treating the injury, you remember how leehan’s hand caressed your cheek, thumb wiping away the spilled tears. 

“in the basement, there’s a piece of paper that has all the codes. if you ever—”

“no, you’ll be okay.”

still, he continued to talk. “if you ever forget the codes, you can always look at the paper. don’t forget that you need to always check the water system every two days, and—”

“leehan!” you croaked out his name in between sobs. “you’ll be okay. you have to, okay?” the more he went on about what to keep in mind, the baggage got heavier. “i can’t do this without you. i won’t allow it.”

because 15 months ago, you would’ve bid farewell to the mayhem. 13 months ago, you hoped for time to drag you away. 12 months ago, you would’ve walked into the forest. but it’s been 22 months, and you were still walking on this earth, choosing to live amidst the chaos—so long as leehan was with you. 

and when you leaned your forehead on his, eyes closed, you felt his breath graze against your lips. “i need you.”

all it took were three words from you. “okay.”

it’s been two months since that happened. the safe haven was rebuilt once more. you and leehan fortified the defense system, hoping they’ll be enough to keep any infected and raiders out. all that matters is that you two were protected—safe—from the chaos.

now, you sit on a couch as you flip through the pages of a book you didn’t have time to read before the outbreak. when all responsibilities vanished, you were able to find enough time to do things you couldn’t do then.

you were ready to get yourself sucked into the world of the novel, but leehan came into the living room with his hands behind his back and a small smile on his lips. “do you remember what you made me promise you before?”

you frown at him, confused, until he shows you an acoustic guitar. “oh my god, you found one?” you put the book on the coffee table.

he takes a seat beside you, body facing towards you as he rests the instrument on his lap. “here, front-row tickets to my first show.” you almost laughed because this is no stadium or club, but a home—one you built with him.

it takes only one smile from him for you to hold it back.

“any song requests?” he strums on the guitar strings, perfectly in tune. it’s almost as if he tuned it before coming to you.

a hum leaves you as you rest your head on your hand propped on the couch. “whatever you want to show me.”

it takes him a few seconds, fingers fiddling with the strings, until he figures out what to play. when he sings out the words—dearest, darling, my universe—you melt like the candles you lit up those nights. as he continues to play a song of a world in hysteria but a love that endures, that’s when you realize what you’ve had all this time.

time is the one thing that occupies your mind. it holds value, something that shouldn’t be wasted, and you learned to revolve your life around it.

it takes you two years to figure out that life doesn’t end after the outbreak—and 17 months to realize that your safe haven is not a two-story house with an orange tree in the garden but the boy in front of you.

when you lean closer to him, his fingers falter, messing up the chords. your hand reaches out to caress his face as your eyes flicker to his lips. you don’t miss how leehan holds his breath, how he stops playing the guitar, how his eyes look back at yours—it’s a slurry of warmth. tenderness.

“i love you.”

all it took was a three-word phrase from you for him to close the distance.

the warmth that spreads within you is like the one you experience in the abandoned cabin. but now, you’re full of hope—a reason to stay—in an infected-ridden world.

now, only one question echoes within your mind: how much longer do we have?

an eternity is what you hope.

tag list: @onedoornet @kflixnet @loserlvrss @lionhanie @nicholasluvbot

@blumisiu @0310s @icyminghao @shegotthewoobies

[annwrites]

you should see me under the hood of this thing, sweetheart.

— pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: billy gets a flat & while waiting for a tire, you're stuck in oklahoma for a couple more days.

— tags: billy opening up a little. billy working on a car. going to an arcade. going night-swimming.

— tw: there is a homophobic slur in this one.

— word count: 6.8k

— a/n: i hope this entry sounds halfway decent. i wrote the grand majority of it surrounded by other people/noise/music, instead of at my work desk, listening to music that helps me write.

After considerable effort on Billy’s part, he’d eventually coaxed you back into his car and driven the both of you back to the motel. You’d cried the entire way there, and he felt like a piece of shit for it.

Once inside, you’d sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at the floor.

“I’m going to shower again real quick—sweated through my fucking clothes from nerves.”

“Okay.”

He sighs. “I need to worry about you running off again while I’m in there?”

You’re quiet for a moment. “No. I’m tired. I just want to go to sleep.”

He nods and watches as you get ready to lay down on the left side, which is nearest the door.

“Other side,” he says.

You look at him. “Why?”

He crosses his arms. “Please just do what I’ve asked. I don’t feel like fighting anymore tonight.”

You roll your eyes, lying down on the right side, cocooning yourself in blankets.

He goes to wash up quickly then.

When Billy comes back into the bedroom, you’re already fast-asleep. He feels relief that you’d stayed. He’d rushed so much in the shower that he’d gotten shampoo in his eyes. He was surprised the sound of him cursing hadn’t woken you.

He lies down in only his briefs—hating the feeling of clothing on him in bed, but chooses to suck it up for tonight—and he lays on his side, looking at you. Your bruises were still, obviously, quite prominent, but a few were beginning to turn more green instead of their previous dark-blue shade.

He briefly wonders how the fuck your dad could’ve ever put his hands on you, then thinks on how he nearly did just the same less than two hours ago. He tells himself he wouldn’t have done it—but the thought had crossed his mind. He’d wanted to see you afraid in that moment. And then, once he had, immediately regretted it. Deeply.

A muscle in his jaw feathers when he thinks of how you’d asked him to please not hurt you. How he’d come out of the bathroom to find you curled into a ball on the floor, a nervous wreck.

He did that to you.

You’d come with him to get away from your abuser, only to find another one along the way. What the fuck was wrong with him? Picking on you and getting under that pretty skin was one thing—he honestly fucking loved pissing you off and making you flustered. Plus, it turned him on unlike anything else. But scaring you? It just made him hate himself even more than he already does.

He slowly reaches up and gently runs his fingertips along your cheek. “I’m sorry.”

You stir in your sleep, scooting a bit closer to him. He then tries something that, if you wake up, he’s sure he’ll get his ass chewed out for. He wraps his right arm around you, bringing you in closer to him, until you’re against his chest. Thankfully, you remain asleep. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

He then realizes this is the only time he can really talk to you—if he so chooses. He knows if he tried while you’re awake that you’d listen. But what if you later used it against him? Or thought him weak? Or some faggot for ‘sharing his feelings’? No. He had to be strong—tough. That was what constituted being a real man.

He tucks your head under his chin. “I won’t ever scare you like that again. I’d never raise a hand to you.” He lays his cheek against the crown of your head of soft hair. “I don’t know why the fuck I act the way I do. I just don’t know how to stop it. Maybe I can’t.”

He sighs. He was tired—bone-tired after the adrenaline that had rushed through him as he drove down street after street looking for you, mind racing with horrible thoughts. Thoughts like: if someone did kidnap and kill you…the last thing you would remember would be that everyone you’ve ever trusted has either hurt or abandoned you—including him—that no one was coming.

He pulls you impossibly closer then. “Still not going to stop getting on your nerves, though,” he says with a small smile.

You’re awake. Have been the entire time, but choose not to react—to say anything. You want him to continue talking—letting it—anything—out. This is the him you like. Someone who’s capable of opening up and being the least bit vulnerable. Not the monster you’d bore witness to earlier in the evening. As you looked at the hatred in his eyes then, you felt like you were looking at a stranger.

Then again, you feel that way when he’s nice, too. Maybe he has multiple personalities. You smirk at the stupid idea, for whatever reason, then snuggle closer to his chest, enjoying the warmth, his broad back blocking the AC from blowing on you.

The two of you fall asleep like that—twined around one another.

When you wake the next morning, Billy’s heavy form is lying half on top of you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, one of his legs positioned between both of yours. He snores lightly into your ear. And then you notice you’re now drenched in sweat from his body heat.

God, he’s like a human furnace. How the hell does he wear that leather jacket all the time?

You try to wiggle away from him and his snoring pauses for a moment, then continues as you lie still momentarily. You then move further toward the edge of the bed, and once you’ve slid out and onto the floor, you stand, looking down at him, seeing he’s now practically star-fished all across the mattress.

You walk over to your bag, now needing to shower again yourself to wash the sweat off, and grab a few items of clothing, silently padding into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

When you emerge half-an-hour later—half that time spent blow-drying your head of long hair, and pulling it into a ponytail—something you’d not done in the last couple of days—instead opting for leaving it down—you find Billy already awake, leaned back against the headboard, one arm behind his head, the other holding the TV remote in his lap.

He glances up to you, appreciating the view of you in a crop-top and jean shorts. He wolf-whistles and you don’t even give him a reaction as you place your things back in your bag.

You then turn around and he winks at you.

You don’t want to admit it, but him acting cocky and full of himself again actually comforts you. This him you can tolerate, if not begrudgingly.

“We have to be checked out in a little over an hour.”

He nods, continuing to look you over. “Why don’t you ever tease your hair?”

You shrug, even if you’re taken a little aback by the question. “I used to.”

“When?”

You cross your arms, leaning back against the wall, smirking. “Before you came to Hawkins.”

He frowns. “Why stop?”

“Why do you care what my hair looks like?”

“Just think you’d look hot with it done up is all.”

You walk over, throwing the curtains open and he squints, wincing against the bright light now streaming in. “I don’t have anyone in particular that I’m trying to impress.”

He rolls his eyes at the cheap shot.

You seat yourself on the foot of the bed, facing him.

He raises a brow. “Somethin’ on your mind, doll?”

You grow serious then. After last night, you weren’t sure you could go back to this charade. Not after seeing such a different side of him on the interstate. “Do…do you want to talk about last night?”

He almost replies immediately with 'not really', but refrains. “What about it?”

You look down to your hands in your lap. “They’re not going to be happy, seeing as you put a hole in their wall.”

His jaw flexes. “They can hang a painting up then. Or plaster over it. Like I care.”

You look up to him. “So we’re going back to this, then? You acting like nothing matters to you? And me pretending to believe it?”

He leans his head back, staring up at the ceiling. “What is it with chicks, man? Always wanting to talk about your damn feelings all the time.” He looks at you. “I got pissed, I did something stupid, and then you did too. What, you want to kiss and make up?”

He cocks his head to the side.

You understand the walls he has built around himself. You’re two sides of the same coin that way. It’s why you didn’t put much effort into making friends at school. You knew what happened when you opened up to people.

They often disappointed.

You scoot closer to him and he shifts uncomfortably, knowing what you’re doing—trying to get closer literally, so as to get closer to him figuratively. He knows this is you trying to connect—form some deeper type of relationship with him, and he should want that, but he simply can’t.

He stands then, walking over to his duffel bag to start getting dressed.

“Billy-”

He keeps his back turned to you. “Just don’t, alright? I’m not the sappy, chick-flick type. We had a fight, we both got upset, it’s over. Just drop it.”

You deflate. “Fine.”

“Fine,” he says, pulling out a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt from his bag.

The two of you get breakfast at the motel—cheap waffles and fruit, but it’s something, and free at that, so you fill yourselves before getting back on the road.

And nearly three hours later finds you on the side of the interstate with a flat tire.

You’d both felt something wrong with the front driver’s side and you’d looked at him, while he groaned, slamming his hand against the wheel. “Fuck, what now?”

He’d pulled onto the shoulder, kneeling down and looking it over. You stood nearby, staying silent as he let out a string of curse words.

He then stood, walking around to the back and popping the truck. You stood idly by, watching as he tossed your bags and his onto the ground, removing the spare tire from the trunk, then the jack and lug-wrench. He tosses the tire down near the flat, then angrily pulls his jacket off, tossing it at you.

You catch it before it can smack you in the face and gently drop it in the back seat.

You watch as he gets to work loosening the bolts on the tire and you feel yourself flush. Watching him work on a car…you hadn’t expect this reaction.

You then wonder if he’s ever done any other work on it before. By the callouses on his hands, especially at eighteen, you imagine so.

When he begins to jack it up, you bite back a nervous smile, feeling something pool between your thighs. Oh, not good. Not here.

You turn away for a moment and he glances up to you. “What, can’t take watching a man get his hands dirty? Sorry your pretty-boy Harrington isn’t here and fuckin’ clueless, I’m sure.”

You turn back around and he notices your flushed cheeks, and you refusing to meet his eyes. “No, it’s not that.”

He stares at you for a moment, then it dawns on him. You like this. A toothy grin forms on his face. “You should see me under the hood of this thing, sweetheart. I’d really have you sweating then.”

He turns back to the tire, loosening the bolts the rest of the way, pulling it off, and looking it over. Then he explodes, causing you to take a step back. “Motherfucker! Are you fucking kidding me? Goddamn piece of fucking shit! Fuck this, I knew I should’ve bought a Goodyear!”

He stands, hands on his hips, shoulders rising and falling rapidly as he stares down at the ruined tire, nostrils flared.

“W-what’s wrong? Can you not patch it somehow, maybe?”

He stays silent for a moment, refusing to take this out on you. “No,” he says, brow twitching in irritation. “I would’ve, had the puncture not been in the goddamn sidewall.”

“That’s bad?”

He looks at you, replying sarcastically. “Yeah, honey, that's bad. Means the thing is fuckin’ junk now.”

He kicks it. Then he sighs, bending back down to put the spare on.

“Well, you can just drive on that one now, right?”

He looks upward to the sky, begging for the strength. “Women…” he mutters. “Not more than thirty or forty miles. Definitely no more than a hundred, and that’s if I really want to push my fuckin’ luck and risk another blowout, if not screwing up my alignment, which will just create an even bigger mess.”

It all sounds like Greek to you. “What’s wrong with that tire?”

He looks at you like the answer should be obvious. “It’s a goddamn donut. They’re not meant to be driven on for long periods of time.”

He shoves it on the car, screwing the nuts back into place.

You stay silent after that.

You’re currently standing beside Billy—the back of his shirt drenched in sweat from the summer heat—and watch as the man in front of you, standing behind the counter of a local auto-body shop, talks lowly to someone on the phone, glancing to Billy every few seconds, who is now in a…bad mood, to put it lightly.

The man finally hangs up, turning back to him. “Soonest I can get one in is two days.”

“Two fucking days? Are you kidding me?” He shouts.

You blanch, staring at the man with wide-eyes as he crosses his arms before his chest, giving Billy a rather displeased look.

You then grab the side of Billy’s shirt in your fist. You look at the man. “I’m sorry about that, we’ll be right back.”

Billy looks at you. “Don’t apologize to him. This is fuckin’ ridiculous-”

You shoosh him rather loudly—people already staring in your direction—and pull him back outside for a moment. He stares down at you.

“What?” he spits at you.

“Who cares if it’s two days, or four or five? It’s not like we’re on a set schedule. All that matters is that we eventually get there. I mean, maybe we could start taking detours along the way and do some sight-seeing. No reason to race all the way there and not enjoy the trip, right?”

He studies you for a moment. His first reaction was to tell you this isn’t a fuckin’ vacation—you weren’t going to be pulling off and taking photos of obnoxious tourist-traps. And then he suddenly softens.

This is you trying to spend time with him…right?

If he tells you no…he fears it may come off like he’s trying to get to California as quickly as possible so he can finally be rid of you.

Then he wonders what happens once the two of you do finally reach those sandy shores. Will you leave him behind, too…?

He shakes his head for a moment, ridding himself of that thought and you deflate at his reaction to your suggestion for making your road trip just a bit more exciting.

“Oh. Sorry. Nevermind. Just forget that I-”

He looks at you again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, I wasn’t-” He sighs. “Fine. We’ll take a couple days off and just explore around town. Find some overpriced souvenir shop so you can buy some ridiculous t-shirt. Happy?”

You smile, nodding.

He heads back inside then. “Two days is fine.”

You decide to pay up two nights at a local Red Roof Inn, which happens to have an outdoor pool. When Billy was told this by the receptionist, he’d looked to you with a raised brow and a smirk, his eyes trailing down your body, then back up. “We’ll have to pick you up a bikini, sweetheart.”

You’d not replied or even reacted as you picked up your bags, turning to head to your room.

Once dropping off your things, Billy had walked back to the door, intending to head back out, intent on keeping his promise of buying you skimpy swimwear. He’d merely called over his shoulder, as you came out of the bathroom, “You comin’?”

It takes a bit of driving before you come across a local clothing shop. You head over to a rack of sundresses and flowy skirts once inside, while Billy heads to a rack a few feet away with women’s swimwear. He smirks when he finds something similar to what he had pictured in his head for you to squeeze into.

He holds it up, the hanger dangling from his index finger, and he calls to you.

When you look at him you flush—of course the bottoms are equivalent to a thong. Your eyes then meet his and he’s waiting for you to respond, a brow raised in offer.

You then shake your head lightly, looking away.

He sighs. “Course not.”

He flips through a couple other options, then picks up a red two-piece—the top essentially a push-up bra. He clears his throat and you look to him again, then quickly away.

He walks over to you, hanger still in-hand. “Oh, c’mon. Just try this one on. Humor me, honey.”

You shake your head, nose raised. “I don’t think so.”

He leans down. “Pretty please?”

You look at him, his face inches from your own.

You shift from one foot to the other. “If I pick one out will you shut up about it?” You ask sweetly, batting your lashes.

He smirks. “If I get to watch.”

You turn away, rolling your eyes, his own landing on your ass, humming his approval at the view.

You find a high-waisted two-piece and a one-piece you like the look of, and you head for the changing room, Billy following closely behind you, which you don’t notice until you turn to shut the door and he places his hand flat against it, keeping it open.

You stare up at him. “Move.”

He leans against the wall with his shoulder, other hand on his hip. “You never said I didn’t get to watch.”

“It was implied.”

He just continues staring down at you.

You then step closer to him, gripping either side of his jacket in your hands, looking up to him with hooded lids. “Hey, Billy?”

God, it took no fucking effort from you for him to be set on fire.

“Yeah, doll?” He asks, tucking some hair behind your ear.

“Go find someone who’s desperate enough,” you say, pushing him back, and just as he catches his footing, you slam the door in his face.

You decide on the two-piece, the one-piece a bit awkward-looking in the crotch.

When you exit the changing room, you find Billy standing near a wall half-full of novelty t-shirts.

You wander over to him and watch as a smile breaks out across his face as he pulls down a shirt. He then glances to you at his side and holds it up in front of him.

“What’d’ya think?” He asks.

It’s a plain black shirt with white lettering and a red heart, reading: I heart sluts.

You look at him with an unimpressed expression. “Really?”

“Oh, I definitely fuckin’ do.”

You turn away. “I’m going to check out.”

Billy puts the shirt back, flipping through a handful more and then he laughs to himself. “Oh, fucking perfect,” he says, taking a different one up front with him.

When Billy comes out to the car, he has a pair of swim shorts in a plastic bag and is wearing his new t-shirt.

He gets inside and turns toward you, the front of his shirt on full display. “Where to next? Unless you want to head back and let me see you in that suit?”

When you look at him you let out a completely unexpected laugh.

He keeps his face impassive. “Somethin’ funny?”

You stare at the front of his shirt—just how utterly ridiculous and on-the-nose it is—and then look back up to him, breaking into a fit of giggles.

Seeing you like this—happy, having a laugh for once—he starts to, too. “What?” He asks, snorting. “You think I don’t want to?”

You look back down to his shirt again, tears streaming down your face. “Oh, I do. You’re just not going to.”

He finally turns the engine over, pulling away from the shop. “Oh, baby, you should know by now: I’m not one to give up easily.”

You glance back down to his shirt. ‘Fuck virgins’. Really?

After grabbing a quick bite to eat for lunch, Billy finds a local arcade and the two of you head inside, simply looking for something new to keep you occupied for a couple hours.

And it’s when you look around at the flashing lights and take in the sounds of music and machine sound effects, couples and friends laughing and competing against one another, that you realize that for the first time in a very long time you feel worry-free.

You glance up to Billy at your side and find yourself unable to understand, exactly, how it is that you now feel toward him.

You’d seen a different side of him last night on the side of the interstate—the same man who’d picked you up on your way out-of-town—and just wish you could get more glimpses of that version of him. A version you feel you can actually trust and let your defenses down with.

I can’t do this without you.

You weren’t sure you could’ve made it this far without him, either. In reality, you were the one who needed him. He had the car, the money, the wherewithal, and the knowledge to keep you going. And then you briefly consider how those things, coupled with his more serious moments, make you feel safe in relying on him. You wonder how that would make him feel to know. And then you think of his fist in a drywall and withdraw a little.

“You were wrong, y’know,” you say softly.

He looks down to you, stopping, hands on his hips. “What’s that, darlin’?”

You clasp your hands in front of you, looking down. “You could—can—do this without me. You’re not the one who needs the other here.”

He studies you for a moment. Then he grips your chin gently between his fingers, forcing your eyes to meet his. “You’re wrong.”

He turns, taking your hand, and leading you over to a machine that will turn his cash into tickets for games. He bites back a satisfied smile at you admitting that you need him as he shoves dollar bills into it. It means a lot to him to hear. Means a lot that you’re willing to actually admit it out loud.

Once you’re both holding handfuls of tickets, Billy heads toward a racing game, while you go to wander in the opposite direction, wanting to try a claw machine, until he grips the hem of your top, dragging you along beside him. “Stop wanderin’ off.”

You look up at him with narrowed eyes. “I don’t think I can get lost in here.”

He smirks. “I’ll win you a stuffed animal later. Once you’ve earned it.”

The two of you then sit side-by-side, readying yourself to race. He glances to you as the screens begin to count down. “Don’t think I’m about to take it easy on you either, just because you have a pair of tits.”

You glare at him. “Why do you always have to be such a vulgar ass?”

He smirks. “Says the girl with a foul-mouth.”

Your wheel jerks and you gasp in disbelief that he was already ramming his car into yours.

You keep your eyes trained ahead at the screen then and accelerate, then see Billy shifting gears out of the corner of your eye.

You mentally resign yourself to losing to him… And you do a couple minutes later, him standing with a smug look on his face, arms crossed.

“Billy, one. You,” he shrugs, sucking on his teeth, cocking his head to the side.

You look behind him and smile, stepping past him, heading for the air hockey.

You currently have six scores to Billy’s two, and as you glance up to him—the irritated look on his face—you find yourself unsurprised that he’s the competitive type.

He smacks the puck back toward you, brows furrowed, free hand gripping the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles are white. “How the fuck are you so good at this?”

You shrug, smacking the puck back his way. “Guess it just comes naturally.”

He glances up to you with a smirk. “Oh yeah? Putting stuff in holes your specialty?” He smacks the puck back toward you.

You don’t take the bait, and instead choose to flip the script on him. “Maybe I just got a lot of recent practice in the night Steve and I went out. Maybe we went to the Hawkins Arcade after.”

You smack the puck as hard as you can, his eyes now trained on you and not the table, and it slides into his side easily. The table lets out a musical jingle at yet another victory on your part and you raise your arms above your head, and jump. “Yes!” You say with a smile, settling back into fighting stance.

His nostrils flare and he leans over the table, slamming the puck down and smacking it so hard it goes flying past you.

You roll your eyes, heading over to grab it and when you bend down to do so, you feel a hard smack against your behind and when you whirl around, Billy standing behind you with a wide smile.

“Bet Harrington didn’t get to do that, though, did he?”

You shoulder check him as you head back to the table. “Felt like a flea bite to me.”

Just as you set the puck back on the table, you feel him grab a handful and squeeze.

You squeak in surprise and before he gets a chance to make it back to his side, you smack the puck over, scoring yet again.

His smile drops from his face. “Hey! That’s fuckin’ cheating.”

You smile sweetly. “Sounds like a skill issue to me.”

He’s fuming now and you can’t believe just how serious he’s taking this.

But one more score on your part and the game will thankfully be over.

Billy once again slams the puck down on the table and doesn’t look at you once as the two of you battle it out—him the image of utter concentration.

You then throw at him, “If you let me win, maybe I’ll repay you in sexual favors.”

His head shoots up and the table jingles and he lets out a loud curse.

Billy is still fuming a few minutes later as the two of you browse their other games, until he eyes up a pinball machine and smiles.

You go to walk past it, until he grabs you by the hips and lifts you onto it.

You flush, glancing around, afraid of being kicked out by an employee, until he shoves two tickets into the machine, positioning his hands on either side of you, over-top of the buttons, his eyes staring into your own.

“Skill issue my ass,” he says, pulling the knob back, sending the tiny pin ball flying.

You cover the entire front portion of the game, so there’s no way he has any idea what he’s doing. Until he pushes the button for the right bumper, then the left, left again, right, his eyes never leaving your own.

The scoreboard begins to climb behind you—ten points, thirty, thirty-five, fifty, eventually a hundred, a few hundred. He smirks. “You won the last game, so what sexual favors do I get rewarded with again?”

The pinball tings under you.

You shift and he just continues staring, waiting.

“I…” You trail off. It wasn’t like he had let you win. You’d cheated, like he said. Twice, really.

The machine begins to go wild under you and coins begin to shoot into the dispenser—so many they begin spilling onto the floor.

"You should see what else these fingers are good at playing with." He slides his hands up your thighs until they’re resting over your hips. He pulls you closer to him. “Maybe I should just choose.”

You laugh from nerves. “I wasn’t serious.”

He slides his hands onto your bare waist. “You think I’m letting you out of it that easy?” He steps back finally, scooping coins into his hands, stuffing them into his pockets. “Not likely, sweetheart.”

You stand silently beside Billy as he looks over the larger prizes against the wall behind the counter. They even have an Atari. He’d wanted one for a long time, but after getting told no more times than he could count by his dad, he finally gave up on it. And when he got his car, he didn’t have much interest in wasting his time on anything else. Working on it more than served to take his mind off his shitty life.

He looks to you and you smile up at him, waiting patiently while he makes up his mind.

Then, “You choose.”

Your smile falters. “But you’re the one who won.”

He smirks, then reaches up, running his knuckles along your cheek. “Oh, I know I did. And don't think for a second I don't plan on collecting on that offer.”

You and your mouth. Stupid.

After dinner at a small diner—Billy paying for you again—the two of you return to the motel and once the door has closed behind you, Billy goes to strip right in front of you.

You gasp in shock, turning your back to him. "Can you please stop doing that?"

He slips on his new pair of swim trunks. "You've already seen my ass once, sweetie. What's another time or two?"

He then comes up from behind you, pressing himself against your back and you jolt.

He leans down toward your ear. "Might want to slip your suit on, too if we're going to swim. Unless you'd rather skinny dip?"

You grab the plastic bag which houses your new two-piece and head for the bathroom.

Once you've put it on, you look over yourself in the mirror for a moment, ensuring everything is properly covered. And also mentally prepare yourself for the lewd comments you already know Billy is going to be incessantly throwing your way.

You exit the bathroom, Billy leaning back against the open doorway to your room, arms crossed and his head rolls in your direction, eyes widening.

You're wearing his favorite color—blue. Almost an exact shade-match to his Camaro. He wonders if that choice had been intentional. Your bottoms are high-waisted, but at your hips are small, thin bows, every inch of your long legs on display. The top cups your breasts perfectly, a small bow between them as well.

He wolf-whistles. Then licks his lips and says, "I'll tell you this much, honey, the water won't be the only thing making you wet tonight if I have anything to say about it."

You walk past him. "You don't."

Just as he shuts the door behind the both of you, he reaches up with both hands and undoes both ties at your neck and backside, your top slipping off. You quickly reach up, covering yourself with your hands and he snickers as he grabs your top before you get a chance to.

You stand there, mortified. "Give it back!"

He holds it up above his head. "You want it so bad, take it from me."

You glare up at him, irritation building to a boiling point.

He shrugs, turning away. "Guess you don't need it all that bad then."

Once his back is turned to you, you make a split-second decision and pants him.

He curses, dropping your top long enough to pull his bottoms back up and you grab it, jogging down the stairs to get away from him long enough to get it back on.

You reach the pool before he does and deflate when you see the sign on the gate: Night swimming strictly prohibited.

You turn to go back go to the room, deciding on just watching a movie in bed, instead, after taking a hot bath, but bump into Billy's bare chest.

"What're you doing?"

"The sign says no night swimming."

His brows furrow. "So?" He flips the lock on the gate, stepping past it.

You quickly follow after him, grabbing his arm. "Billy, stop."

He turns back to you, expression that of indifference, clearly not caring about the repercussions of his future actions.

"We could get kicked out for this. And I doubt they'd be willing to refund you for the room tonight."

Your voice is a tone of pleading.

He's silent for a moment, as if he's considering his options, then sighs. "You're right, I'm sorry."

You fill with relief, glad he's listening you for once.

Until he bends down, wrapping his arms around your knees, picking you up. You wrap your arms around his neck to prevent yourself from falling off of him backward. "Billy, what're you-"

He races toward the pool and cannonballs in, instantly submerging the both of you.

When you get above the surface, he's floating on his back, arms behind his head, flashing you a smile.

"You are such an ass."

You go to swim in the other direction, toward the steps, until you feel his strong arms wrap around you from behind. "Oh no you don't."

You squirm against him and he just laughs as you struggle, turning you around until you're chest-to-chest.

"Let go of me, I want to get out before someone catches us."

"No one's going to catch us. Can you just chill the fuck out for a second? Jesus. You're aware you're allowed to let loose every once in awhile and have fun, right? You don't have to be so uptight all the time."

You stay quiet, ignoring the feel of his hands at your hips, which then move back to wrapping around your back.

He sighs."You're not there. You don't have to act like the woman of the house anymore. You don't have to keep it together all the time with me. You can be whoever you want now; do whatever you want. No one's going to stop you."

Your eyes sting and you tell yourself it's from the chlorine. Not from him having read you so easily.

And then you relax a little."I don't know how," you say softly.

He looks at you for a moment, thinking. "What's something you've always wanted to do, but felt like you couldn't, either because of him, or because you were afraid what everyone might think?"

You search yourself for an answer, but don't come up with anything. There was no point in thinking about things you might've been able to do if you had a different life before. You didn't. You were who you were, and you made your peace with that.

You shrug. "I'm not sure."

He rubs one palm down your back. And then he smirks, and you know whatever he's come up with is going to be the worst idea anyone has ever had. "You ever been drunk before?"

You frown. "That's not really my idea of fun."

"Just answer the question."

"No, I haven't."

He grins. "Want to?"

You debate it for a moment, sure it's a foolish thing to do. Especially with him. "Not tonight..."

"Tomorrow night, then?"

You know it's an impulsive and stupid thing to do, but you know you'll never "let loose" all on your own. Because what you'd told him is true: you don't know how.

You've never had the option to do anything before but what was expected of you. Or, rather, what you expected of yourself, since your dad couldn't be relied on for nearly anything. Other than getting drunk himself. Then you worry: what if you agree, and you come to discover you have a predisposition to alcoholism yourself?

You nearly groan for over-thinking yet one more thing. Just like always.

"Okay," you reply quietly, knowing you will have all day tomorrow to change your mind if you so choose.

He smiles. "Yeah?"

"I said okay." Your fingers brush against his curls at the base of his neck.

He squeezes your hips. "I'll have to get you liquored up so I can finally take advantage of you."

You roll your eyes skyward. "I changed my mind."

"It's called a joke, sweetheart. Stop taking everything to heart."

He glances behind you then. "Shit, what're those doing over there?" He asks with a tone of flat, feigned confusion.

You turn your head to look across the pool and you feel your skin grow hot when you see your bikini bottoms floating atop the water.

You push off of him then. "You're such a perv!"

He laughs and pinches your bottom as you swim away from him to go grab them. So that's why he'd been so handsy with your hips—he'd been busy untying them.

As you put them back on, tying the bows back into place, you look back to him with a heated expression. "So you were distracting me so you could do... That."

You lays flat on his back, floating. "Maybe. But I still meant the things I said: that you need to get over yourself and have some fun. Make a couple bad decisions. Might turn out to be the best thing you've ever done."

You splash him, then get out, heading back up to the room.

Once you've both bathed for the night, Billy exits the bathroom...completely naked.

You reach up, covering your eyes."Will you please stop doing that?!"

He walks around to his side of the bed. "I told you, I don't like sleeping in clothes. So from now on I won't be. Get used to it."

He crawls into bed beside you and thankfully covers up.

You lower your hands, looking at him. "You wore something last night."

"Because last night was different."

You groan. He's going to do whatever he wants. You already know you're wasting your breath arguing.

You nearly threaten to do the same, so as to give him a taste of his own medicine, then bite your tongue, knowing throwing that in his face would give him exactly what he wants.

So, instead, you lean over him smirking, your body hovering over his, your left leg between both of his and he looks up at you with a look of happy surprise. His hand comes up to cup your cheek and your smile disappears at the unexpectedly soft gesture as you awkwardly grab the TV remote from his bedside table and plop back down on your side of the bed.

You hadn't expected such a...sweet reaction. You were just doing it to lead him on and then tick him off.

And it turns out it worked when he speaks. "God, you're such a fuckin' tease. I don't buy the innocent act anymore, so don't bother with it."

You turn the TV on, flipping through the channels. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Billy doesn't get what he wants when, an hour later, you're both lying down for the night, and he's under the top sheet, while you're atop it, but still under the duvet.

"Be a lot warmer if you just pressed yourself up against me again like last night."

You can't see him in the dark, and know he thus can't see you, but you roll your eyes anyway. "Go to sleep."

"I'm not tired. You could always help with that."

You feel him shifting onto his side, then feel a warm hand sliding under your nightgown. You reach down, trying to shove his hand away, but, with him being stronger than you, he just keeps pushing higher until he reaches second base. Well, sort of. His hand merely skims the soft skin beneath your breast, but you huff loudly out of irritation, turning onto your other side away from him.

"Honey, if you wanted to spoon, all you had to do was ask."

He then presses his frontside against your back and you go to get up, until he wraps an ironclad arm around your middle.

"No, that's not my pistol, before you ask. I'm just that happy to see you."

"You are so fucking obnoxious. Get off of me."

He snuggles closer to you. "Mm, I don't think I will."

He becomes quiet then, and it's only a couple minutes later before he falls asleep, exhausted from the long day.

You stay silent, not wanting to wake him and hear more inappropriate comments. So you shut your eyes, falling asleep in his arms. Reluctantly.

[romana-after-dark]

Room's on Fire: Black Wedding

Dark!Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader Dark!Francisco Morales x Fem!Reader Dark!William Miller x Fem!Reader Dark!Benjamin Miller x Fem!Reader

Also: FishBen, and an assortment of other M/M relationships (no Millercest). Everyone is Bisexual

Series Masterlist: Main Masterlist : MainTaglist

Spotify playlist

Summery: Everyone is together, everything is complete.

Warnings and Content:

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap. Creepy terrible men. Non-reader rape, dub con, violence. Covert incest, massive mommy issues, sexual abuse all around, past grooming by parental figure. no CSA but the victim isn't much older. some Bates Motel type shit. I cannot properly warn you for everything, without just telling the story but consider this a major warning that there are dark dark themes. No one involved here is morally clean, and who you perceive as the good guy cannot be relied on. Don't come to my story and say im romanticizing these things until at least the story ends.

WARNINGS HAVE BEEN UPDATED!!!

Extra warnings for chapter: FEET (sorry Fen!), complete worship, mind control, the incubus. Tummy bluge since apparently this is contensious now???

3.2k words

A/N: Some pov shifts.

Support writers! Reblog and leave comments!

"Priest are you there? Can you hear my voice? Do you hear my prayers? Are you out there? Forgive me priest For I have sinned (I know not what I do)" ~Black Wedding, In this Moment.

Sweating, tossing, turning. 

The demon, the manifestation of your inadequacy tormented you so often you’d come to be complacent in it, the ravaging of your body nearly a nightly part of your bedtime routine. You just wanted to feel safe in your own bed again. You wanted your husbands to stay the night, to protect you from the terrors, but how could you confess what was happening? 

When you wake up in a cold sweat, fear shivers down your spine as you dry heave and gasp for air, red daylight seeping in your curtains and bathing your clothed body in the image of blood, you are determined to change something. You can’t go on like this. You had Francisco now, you just needed to win back Pope. You were ovulating, now was your chance, all you needed was to have all their hearts.

*

Ben was a lot of fun. You and him did the most activities.

Before he became angry with you, Pope and you mostly spent time outside of sex in your studio. He liked to watch you paint, sipping wine with his eyes over the glass observing the strokes. It was quiet, peaceful, and calming.

Francisco, since your trip to the field was taking you more and more. He liked to take you out to the meadow, fucking on the blankets and putting flowers in each others hair. He let you put a flower crown on him, looking so pretty you had to reward him.

Will treated you like a princess. Will promised that first day that he’d help work out those pains in your back, and he was. He liked to massage you with his healing oils, making your body feel good and comfortable before he filled you up, stating that your comfort and health was important for conceiving.

But Ben, Ben was fun. Ben’s time was filled with laughter, adventure, and lots of sex. Today he took you out on a horse ride, much like Frankie, but there wasn’t a picnic. That wasn’t Ben’s style. What was Ben’s style was making the horse go ‘really fuck’n fast’. 

You felt like a princess, your handsome prince whisking you away to some far off land. Benny made you giddy, he made you feel wanted. When Pope and Francisco both wanted nothing to do with you, it was Ben and Will who made you feel seen, feel beautiful, feel desired for.

You watched Ben climb a tree, begging him to be careful but he swore up and down he was going to find you the best peach there was. Ben loved food.

“Please just watch your step!!” You shout after him, but then turn your attention to the open field. From the top of the hill, you could see the fields of gold you used to labour at. Watching the others work, all but tiny dots on the horizon, sometimes you felt bad, like you weren’t contributing to Delta… Will had reminded you that you were called to a higher purpose, for something more. The DNA of gods was constantly inside you, and you wondered if it was changing you in more ways than just the hopeful pregnancy. Maybe you were more than a saint. Maybe their seed was creating a goddess, a new mother- nonononononono that was heresy! You shove the idea out of your head like an intrusive thought, determined to keep your thoughts clear.

THIS was why the incubus was tormenting you! Your thoughts were impure, vile, evil, and so were you. Tears began to burn behind your eyes.

“Here!” Ben drops upside down, hanging by his knees on the tree branch, making you gasp. He’s holding a peach, which you happily take.

“Thank you.” You smile. He always knew how to make you smile. Ben himself was shining as bright as the sun today, a reflection of his good mood. He said he’d make sure there’d be perfect weather for your outing, and he delivered, not a cloud in the deep blue sky. Will made you put on a straw sunhat to protect your skin from its reys. He treated you so well. 

Ben makes a kissy face, and you oblige, rewarding him for finding you your snack. His mouth tasted sweet, only then do you realize he took a bite already and you can’t help but laugh adoringly. You take a bite of the peach as Ben still hung from the tree, swinging as he gripped the branch, and come to him again, sliding the bite into his mouth for him to eat. You can feel him smile, chewing the peach and you pepper his face with kisses. 

It wasn’t long before he was pulling you up onto the tree, helping you climb up and up. Everything was so beautiful where you sat. Ben kisses you deeper here.

“Fish ain’t the only one that can be romantic as shit.” He mutters against your mouth and you get the feeling he was jealous. Francisco must have told him what you did the last couple days with him, making love in the meadow and yes, it was romantic, but you didn’t expect Ben to be Francisco. All of them loved you in their own ways, with their own expressions.

“He certainly isn’t, my handsome husband.” You kiss back, sighing as he touches your thigh. There was no way to fuck up here, but Ben still brought you to orgasm with his fingers. He had told you not to wear panties.

He picks another peach, pulling his hard cock out as you kick your legs, smiling, your dress rustling in a breeze. You’d noticed the breeze picked up as Ben got turned on. You watch in aw as he fingers the peach open, eyes intently on you. He’s obscene, groaning as if he’s pleasuring himself until he creates a hole, and then…

“Eyes on my cock, peach.”

And god, are your eyes on his cock. Benny has the prettiest dick in your humble opinion. It was long and thick like they all were. Ben was cut, his manhood always throbbing and the prettiest golden color and a vein on the underside. You loved looking at it. Ben fucked himself with the peach, up and down on the shaft with the most levacious squelches coming out only to the harmonized by Ben’s moans and whimpers. His eyes closed, lost in pleasure and he jerked off.

“F-fuck…” Ben mumble, chest heaving as he rests against the trunk. “Fuck man, feels so fucking good.” His hip bucked, makin the branch you were on shake and you had to grab one above for stability but fuck, you couldn’t stop watching him. He was incredible, sculped body creating a divine figure in your midst and you were so blessed to be filled by him. His blue eyes flashed open only to roll back into his head, spurting cum all over his hand and the peach. You nearly came again from the sight and sound alone. You loved how he looked in orgasmic bliss, it didn’t matter who caused it, you, Francisco or Pope, you just wanted to see him when it happened.

You ate the cum stained peach directly from his hand.

*

You got the idea from Iris, really. Sitting on the counter of the kitchen, you were busy with some cross stitching you wanted to give to Francisco. It was a simple scene, nothing complex as your dormitory focused of useful skills like fieldwork, cooking, animal care. Still, you knew how to sew and although you’d asked, sometimes even begged Iris to let you help with housework, she didn’t trust you with much outside of cooking, which you were good at. You wished she didn’t treat you like a child. Still, you happily worked on the nature scenary for you husband, god of nature. How lucky you were. You noticed how much he liked smoking marijuana.

Reyansh was inside for a refreshment while working outside. He was creating a flower bed for you at Francisco’s request, and his neck was hurting so Iris rubbed his neck. Reynash sighed contently, his soft face smiling at the touch of who very clearly, you see now, was his lover.

 Iris was gentle for no one. She brushed off every attempt Jonah made to talk about anything none work related, and it hadn’t endeared her to you much. You didn’t think that bothered her, it didn’t seem she was too fond of you either. It wasn’t a rivalry and you didn’t have a problem with her. In fact, you liked her. She was beautiful, she made good food and she had been there when it was necessary, like having a panic attack. Even in the small things, she fed you well and had your safety in mind. Today, for example, she told you to put on sunscreen before you went outside to sunbathe while Rey built the flowerbed and doubled with babysitting you. That’s what you called it. Still, she didn’t talk to you, and didn’t seem like she wanted to be your friend.

You liked Reyansh a lot, he was kind, gentle, and thoughtful. Iris took care of Reyansh, and that made you happy. You liked seeing Reyansh smile, he had a nice smile. Iris never smiled unless it was at Reyansh and even then it seemed subdued. Jonah smirked at best, and that was usually mixed with an eye roll.

Pope had bad knees. He called it his stigmata, the physical manifestation of the sufering he bared for the people of Delta. He took the brunt of your sins and wasn’t that so good of him? You wondered if you could alleviate some of that pain, seeing as much of it was probably caused by the sins of your father.

“Rey?” You ask from your chair, watching him plant seeds for marigolds. You loved marigolds; they reminded you of Ben, all sunshine and gold.

He turns around over his should, a bright smile on his face. He seemed happier with plant or animals. “What’s up?”

“Do you know where Will keeps his healing oils?”

Reyansh laughs and its brighter than the midday sun. He turns around, sitting his ass on the dirt and props himself up on his hands. “What are you planning?”

*

“SHHHHHHH” Reyansh shushes you, but he’s giggling himself.

You and him were breaking into Will’s room while he was out. Well, not so much breaking as Rey got the master key but still, naughty. You loved Will’s room, you wanted to stay here all the time. It was simple, but not uncomfortable. You both had to be careful, not digging too much into his things as to not get in trouble… but then you found them.

You took lavender, rose, peppermint and oregano. You knew a little about healing oils, but Will’s were special having been blessed by his hands. This had to help Pope’s aches… now, you must get an audience with Pope, and he was not pleased with you.

*

“I’m busy.” Pope called from his office, ignoring your plea’s to spend time with you. You missed him so, so much. You missed his intensity, the warmth in the gaze, the fire and passion in his eyes. You feel his love for you, his husbands, his community. Who else was to bare the pain he did for his people? He was good, so good.

“Pope, please?” Your voice cracks, leaning against the wood of his door. “Please just ten minutes?”

“I’ll be with you tonight with Francisco.” To breed you, but you didn’t just want to be fucked by him, you wanted to be loved.

“I want to spend time with you, please? I have a surprise. I just… I miss you.”

Silence… then the door unlocking. He stood in front of you, brown eyes ablaze with irritation but also curiosity.

Once securing his attention, you were able to get Pope to follow you to the room you had set up. In it, a chair and a bucket of steaming, sudsy water.

“Sit! Sit!” You beckon him to the chair, and although hesitant he sits down. You take your place where you belong, at the feet of your God.

Knelt before him and gazing up into his eyes, you untie his shoes and slide off his socks, pleasantly surprised by the lack of smell. He’d been inside all day. After rolling up his pants, you take his feet, one by one and lower them into the steaming water and watch in delight ashe closes his eyes, moaning and hanging his head back. He looked relaxed, actually, something you only see in post orgasmic bliss.

You don’t take your eyes off him, massaging into the arch of his foot and enjoying the look of pleasure on his face. You’d doused the water preemptively with lavender and rose oils and you were happy to see it working in calming him.

“Mmmmm” Pope moans, a hardening bulge between his spread legs and you smile at the effect you have on him, the evidence of the love he still held for you. You hoped this act of washing his feet and massaging the joints would prove your subservience to him, your devotion.

Leaning in, you kiss the ball of his foot first as he opens his eyes, firey and alight with lust and love for you, his Madonna, his wife, his goddess. Pope’s mouth pops open, slightly agape as his chest begins to heave, eroticism  clouding his face. Pope angls his foot, pressing his toes to your lips and you don’t hesitate to open, completely and fully in his control. You would debase yourself however he asked, just for him. He was your first kiss, your first love, your first everything. You’d adored him your whole life, worshiping him in prayer halls for as long as you could remember. He’d been the light of your life, your God, and although you were 11 when Divine Mother announced Pope was not the savior, it didn’t matter to you. He was your savior, he was your everything, and oh, how blessed you were to be here.

You make your jaw slack, allowing him access of as much of your mouth as possible, laving your tongue out against the calloused skin. Reaching to the side, you grab the peppermint-oregano mix of healing oils and poured some on his leg. As you gagged on him, sucking on his toes, you rubbed down his legs. Pope groans in pleasure, taking out his erection to stroke himself to the wet sounds of  your mouth. Swirling your tongue around him, so desperate try to please him, to regain his favor so you can be impregnated by his seed, the seeds of his brothers. You wanted so desperately to be his Madonna again, his holy mother, his little flower, it didn’t matter what it took.

He could cut open your chest and carve your heart out if it meant he held the dying pulse in his hands.

“Get over here” He grunts, pulling his feet out of you mouth with a pop. You chase after him, worried you’d done something wrong, but Pope grabs your dress, yanking you  forward harshly and into a crash of a kiss. The action knocks over the warm bucket of water, but he didn’t care. Pushing you down and into the spilt water, Pope turns you over and climbs on top of you, rucking your wet skirt over your ass. He didn’t bother taking off your underwear simply pulling it aside in order to thrust directly into you.

You were wet, you were always so, so wet with him. Being in his presence had always left you soaked and needy when he didn’t give you what you wanted. Sometimes you found yourself going to Will for his mouth to give you what Pope wouldn’t. 

“My beautiful, sweet Madonna” He mutters, his bearded cheek scratching against yours. “Always so ready for me, such a good fucking girl.” His thrusts are harsh, your face sliding against the floor with the spilt water, your dripping hair splattered all about the tile. The smell was overwhelming and you realize Will’s oils were spilled, mixing into the water and stirred with the movement of your connected bodies.

Everything was so, so much from the smells of the oils to the stretch of his cock, the pounding, pounding, pounding in your womb.

It was the same pounding you felt that night when, for the first time in a long time, you were fucked and pleasured and devoured and worshipped by all four of your husbands.

You were raw, aching, sweating and throbbing; 3 men’s cum had flooded your womb and Will’s was soon to follow. It was good, so, so good. Your body, despite the exhaustion was floating on your soft bed. The group sex had happened in your room, which was a rarity but something that in this moment made you feel like home. This was special, this was different. Will’s grunts were loud, powerful, his strong and naked body forbaring before you where he knelt. Muscles flexing and shifting and moving, his sweaty form and dripping hair complimenting his presence, the size reflected in the bulge of your stomach in every inward thrust. He had to be this stunning if he were to distract you from the scene beside you.

Ben, Francisco and Santiago and spent and drained, were entangled next to you in a sweat and lust-fill affair of their own. Francisco was the center focus, his body worshiped and adored by Pope and Ben. It seemed like a tug of war, like Francisco was the rope in a tug of war. It was clear that Francisco was precious to both of them, but there was another air about it all. The fight for Francisco’s sweet kisses was just the battle ground. Francisco himself had gotten hard all over again, Ben’s hands jerking him of from where he lay, their two body’s and coloring a contrast of dark and light, hard and soft, and electric energy so, so close to Pope’s explosives. 

Pope would not be out done by the younger man. This was his community, he was the leader, he was son of the Divine Mother and he would not relinquish his most favored lover to a boy 8 years his junior. Ben had ambition, he had wants and visions of a future that Santiago would not acquiesce to and although Benjamin’s loyalty was strong, so was his jealousy.

Two could play at jealousy, and Francisco was his. Playing with Frankie’s balls, heavy but starting to tighten as his perfect body writhed to the sounds of the Madonna’s pleasure, Santiago gripped Ben’s locks and yanked him down. He took control of Frankie’s mouth, lips still swollen from their previous encounter evidence of who his lips belonged too. He sucked on him until the healing lip cracked open again. If Francisco bled, his blood was Pope’s. 

He hears you cry out in the way you only do when you’re coming, and Ben latches onto Francisco’s nipple, determined to make him cum again. Pope loved his brothers, loved them all, they were the center of his world, his everything, his rocks. He’d had all of them in every way imaginable, fucked into every hole at every angle but god, nothing compared to Frankie. Ben must’ve felt that too, the way he took care of him. Together, as a team, they gave Francisco his second orgasm.

Something was different today. Something changed.

They all slept in her bed that night.

WHAT DO WE THINK For The Wrong Way readers, did you catch the reference? it was small.

also last chapter i asked whose the worst and someone said jonah i just wanna talk LMFAOOOO but i laughed bc its OVERWHELMINGLY santi. like 80%

Poll of the day

who knocks up madonna? not who you WANT that'll be a new poll, but who you think does it. listing all potential options.

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[chvoswxtch]

texas heat

pairing: dean winchester x disabled!female reader

summary: when the texas heat causes a bad flare up in your body, you lose your temper with dean. but that doesn't stop him from taking care of you.

warnings: swearing, angst, dean being a charming fucker, fluffy ending

word count: 2.9k

a/n: a huge thank you to my darling @mars-rants-a-lot for trusting me with this, and being so informative and helpful to make sure this was as accurate as possible. i hope this brings the comfort you were looking for. this one's for you. 🖤 as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

Being in the car for three hours straight did nothing to help the sour mood that you had woken up in. Despite changing sitting positions several times to the extent your body could handle, you couldn’t seem to get comfortable in the Impala. Not only did your lower back feel incredibly stiff, like a tense rubber band that had been stretched entirely too thin, there was also a sharp pain aching in your knees. Someone might as well have taken a white hot iron to them with a vengeance.

When Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot of a motel, you didn’t wait for him to assist you in getting out like you normally did. Instead, the second he shifted the gear into park, you pushed open the passenger side door, antagonizing the sting of merciless arthritis even further along the column of your wrist as if you had tossed a lit match into a bone dry field. Putting your cane down firmly on the concrete, you attempted to use it along with the door handle as leverage to push yourself upwards. The Texas heat was even more unforgiving as it seared your skin without a layer of glass protecting it, and you could already feel sweat beading along your hair, like some kind of saltwater crown.

While you were struggling and sweltering, Dean had quickly jogged around to your side, pushing the door open further and ducking down to be eye level with you. 

“Whoa, easy there sweetheart. Lemme help ya.”

He wore that dazzling toothy grin that you adored so much, and his subtle charming dimples that settled above the edges of his lips were on full display. Dean was already reaching out to place his hand on your waist to help you get out of the car, just like he had done a thousand times before. But between the blazing heat and the searing pain spreading throughout your body like catastrophic wildfire, you didn’t find it nearly as endearing as you normally did. 

It snapped the final paperthin straw of patience that you had. 

Shoving his hand away spitefully with all the force you could muster in your agonizingly sore wrist, you narrowed your eyes into vexed slits and glared up at Dean.

“Jesus Christ, Dean. I’m disabled, not helpless. Can you just back off?”

The bright smile on Dean’s lips fell harder than an angel from grace, and clouds of shock and perplexity suddenly cast over his handsome features. It was as if his crisp green eyes had turned sour with dejection when your acidic words reached his heart, leaving searing scars in their angry path. Dean Winchester, who had spent his entire life hunting monsters and demons and every kind of evil imaginable, was completely frozen on the spot. You had never lashed out at him before, and he couldn’t produce a single clue in his brain to figure out what he had done wrong to upset you. 

Getting out of the Impala on your own was harder than competing in an Olympic sport you hadn’t trained for, and it only depleted your energy even further. The ground seemed to be wobbling under your feet the way a bridge in a fun house would, and you abruptly began to rue your decision to stand up so quickly after sitting in a car for three hours. The wind was knocked out of your lungs by your own impatience, and the weight of your frustration settled on your chest brick by brick with every step you attempted to take. The unforgiving stiffness in your wrist made it extremely difficult to grasp the handle of your cane. Medusa might as well have turned your hand to stone with the way you couldn’t move your fingers under the handle of the cane, or grasp it at all. 

Every little thing only fueled your resentment towards your own body, and it made you want to scream. Not even three minutes of trying to walk towards the motel room on your own, and your heart was palpitating furiously beneath your rib cage while you floundered with panic trying to breathe. The sun’s rays nearly blinded you, forcing you to tilt your head down, afflicting you with a sense of vertigo that had everything around you spinning faster than a rogue carousel. A dull headache began to throb at the base of your skull, rising louder in volume the more the extreme heat depleted your body of hydration, rendering it a barren desert. The sweat streaming down your skin was almost molten, and it caused your clothes to stick uncomfortably to your body like a foreign second skin.

Dean’s name was caught in the back of your throat, but your mouth was so dry, and your tongue felt like it had shriveled three sizes, that you couldn’t get it out. The sound of your cane clamoring against the concrete barely registered in your ears, and for a moment, your vision went completely black. But as you felt yourself free falling into some kind of abyss, a pair of strong arms caught you.

Floating in and out of consciousness, the comforting pressure and warmth surrounding you made you feel like you were wrapped in your favorite anxiety blanket. But then you smelt the familiar cologne of gunpowder, whiskey, and mint. You knew exactly who that scent belonged to. You would recognize the melody of Dean’s steady heartbeat anywhere. It had lulled you to sleep on several occasions. An arctic blast suddenly nipped at your heated cheeks, and it caused you to sigh in content feeling the way it lowered your body’s internal temperature. 

The moment you felt the pressure and warmth becoming faint, your eyes snapped open, and you stared up at Dean in pure panic. He took in the alarm written clearly on your features, and reached out to gently take your hand as he bent down slightly to adjust the pillows behind your head.

“I’m just gonna go get your bag, alright? Be right back.”

The soothing timbre of his unspoken promise soothed your anxiety slightly, and Dean’s protective gaze remained on you while he rounded the motel bed and headed for the door. He liked to keep an extra bag for you in the Impala just in case you were ever running low on anything. You had once made the joke that he could do a pop up weapons depot and a hospital right out of his trunk. 

In record timing, Dean was crossing the threshold of the motel room and was over to you in less than four strides. Sometimes you forgot just how fast he was. Those adorable bowlegs could really move. There was a look of pure concentration embedded on his sharp features while he pulled out various items from the bag. His petal pink lips were pursed slightly in a faint pout, chestnut brows were drawn together, and the crystal green of his eyes had darkened considerably in a way you’d only seen when he and Sam were getting ready for a hunt.

“Dean-”

“Don’t talk. You need water.”

The faint croaking of your dehydrated vocal chords barely registered any volume in the quiet hotel room. Meanwhile Dean’s gruff command seemed to echo off the tacky red and orange art deco wallpaper that was peeling at the crown molding and baseboards. You watched him remorsefully as he mixed a strawberry electrolyte packet with a bottle of water and shook it mercilessly. He always remembered to get your favorite flavor.

Dean twisted the cap off the water bottle and set it on the night stand for a moment. Snaking his arm behind your back, he carefully sat you up gingerly, positioning the pillows behind your back and neck to allow you to sit up comfortably. After placing a heating pad against your lower back, he delicately lowered your back against the pillows and grasped two pain reliever pills between his thumb and index finger and held them in front of your mouth.

“Here, take these.”

“Dean-”

“Don’t argue with me when I can see how much pain you’re in. Take ‘em.”

You knew better than to argue with him when he had his mind set on something. Parting your lips just enough for him to drop the pills into your mouth, you gazed up at him softly as he brought the bottle of water to your lips and gently slipped his left hand into your hair to cradle the back of your head.

“Drink the whole thing. Take your time.”

The juxtaposition of Dean being so firm yet so gentle with you at the same time always amazed you. It was rare you ever saw him treat anyone else like that, and it made you think he reserved it just for you. Your heart wanted to believe it was because he cared about you, really cared, and that he wanted to spark that fuse of friendship to explode into something colorful and more like you did. But your brain dismissed that it was simply because you were disabled and that you were vital to him and Sam as their person behind the scenes. 

After finishing the entire water, Dean set the empty bottle down on the nightstand and turned the heating pad on medium heat. The bloom of warmth slowly started to ease the ache in your lower back, and you were suddenly aware of the pain in your jaw from clenching it so hard during your grueling POTS flare up. Dean swiftly but tenderly removed the braces from your wrists and knees to allow your body to sink into relaxation. He carefully removed your shoes and slipped tall compression socks on your feet before unfolding your weighted anxiety blanket and placing it over you delicately and tucking you in.

The air was still thick and tense with your treacherous treatment of him earlier, and the guilt pooling in your stomach nearly made you nauseous. He didn’t deserve that. He was just trying to help you. He was always trying to help.

“Dean, I'm sorry.”

Dean’s entire body language changed as soon as he heard the tears in your voice. His broad shoulders visibly relaxed beneath his forest green flannel, and his hardened features morphed into a soft look of empathy. His eyes were back to their normal shade of enchanting green, and they were shining with understanding and compassion. Letting out a deep exhale through his nose, Dean took a seat on the bed next to you and hunched over slightly, resting his elbows on his denim covered thighs.

“You got nothin’ to be sorry for.”

“I was mean-”

“You weren’t mean. You’re havin’ a bad day, and you’re struggling, and I didn’t catch it. I’m the one that should be sorry.”

Leave it to Dean Winchester to try and shoulder the blame for something that was nowhere near his fault. Emerald guilt was already forming around the outer rim of his irises, and even though there was still a lingering flame nipping at the nerves in your wrist, you stiffly reached out for one of his hands. As soon as Dean caught your fingers in his peripheral, he instinctively enveloped your hand delicately in his larger one. His hands were always so warm, and even though they were a bit rough with scars and callouses from a lifetime of trying to be the best soldier, to you they felt soothing and were a sense of tangible comfort.

“Listen to me. What happens to my body is not your fault. It’s out of your control just as much as it’s out of mine.”

“We were on the road for three hours straight. I shoulda stopped, given you breaks from sittin’ so long. I shoulda made sure there was enough refrigerant in the tank. The A/C wasn’t hardly blastin’ a damn thing. I shoulda just left you at the motel in Arkansas-”

“You said you didn’t want to leave me alone because Sam-”

“I know, and I didn’t. But better you bein’ in a nice cool motel than fuckin’ Texas. The heat here’s too much for you, sweetheart. I shoulda known how it was gonna hit you. I shoulda made sure you were drinkin’ your electrolytes the whole ride-”

Giving his hand a gentle squeeze to halt his self-condemnation, he finally met your gaze. A tender smile graced your lips as you shakily lifted your hand up to place on the side of his cheek, enjoying the slight tickle of his coarse scruff against your palm. He instantly leaned into your touch, and his body deflated slightly in content at the contact. You brushed your thumb along his sharp cheekbone to the best of your ability and let out a gentle sigh, shaking your head slightly as you gazed at him in adoration.

“You take on too much, D. The weight of the world isn’t yours to carry.”

“I’m not worried about the world. I’m worried about you.”

The firmness in his deep voice and the intensity of his gaze nearly knocked the wind out of you all over again. You weren’t used to him being so serious unless it was regarding a case or something with Sam.

“I’m alright-”

“You blacked out.”

“And you caught me and took care of me, like you always do.”

You were too exhausted to argue with over the over six feet of pure stubbornness sitting in front of you. The electrolytes were steadily getting rid of your cotton mouth and foreboding sense of dehydration, and the heating pad felt marvelous against your agitated lower back. The motel bed surprisingly did not feel like it was made of cardboard, and the pillows Dean had placed around you almost felt cloudlike. As you closed your heavy eyelids and let out a deep exhale, you could still feel Dean’s intense gaze on you, and an idea to melt the icy tension suddenly popped into your head.

“You know D, there is actually…one thing that I think would really help me right now.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to contain your grin, hearing Dean shuffle closer on the bed. Even though your eyes were closed, you knew exactly what look of concern and curiosity was plastered on his features.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

Peeking one of your eyes open, you stared up at him with faux innocence.

“Well…I mean…I don’t want you to go out of your way, you do have a case to work-”

Dean shook his head firmly and gestured with his chin down in your direction.

“Tell me whatcha need.”

Letting out an overly dramatic sigh, you brought your hand up to place the back of it against your forehead, like a damsel in distress in an old Hollywood movie, as your lips pursed into a distressed pout.

“Salted Caramel ice cream.”

Dean’s expression of concern quickly vanished into a deadpan look that let you know he was absolutely and completely done with you, and it made you burst into stomach cramping laughter. Dean tilted his head back to stare up at the ceiling in exasperation, as if he was silently asking God why me.

“And I thought Sammy was dramatic.”

When he swiftly stood up from the bed, you attempted to hide your grin while staring up at him in faux annoyance. 

“Hey, you have to be nice to people that are disabled.”

Dean arched one of his chestnut brows as he turned his head to stare over at you in a playful look of defiance.

“Not if they’re a brat.”

When he opened the door to the hotel, you couldn’t help but giggle at the look on his face.

“Oh! You know what would also really help? Frescas con crema. But make sure it’s-”

“Strawberry. I know. Drink your damn salt water. And do not put on Criminal Minds.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know how you sweat when that one guy with the dorky haircut and permanent frown shows up.”

“You mean Hotch?”

Dean pursed his full lips in slight annoyance seeing the grin on your face and the slight purr to your voice when you said his name. Tilting your head to the side slightly, the mischievous grin stretched further over your lips.

“You know Dean, you have that exact same ‘dorky’ haircut.”

Dean let out a dry scoff and crossed his arms across his chest, face twisted up in absolute rejection.

“No I don’t. Mine is way better than his.”

“You’re kinda frowny sometimes too. And you do have an FBI badge.”

Dean’s expression melted slightly into a look of recognition, like a lightbulb had gone off in his head. Before you could tease him anymore about it, he grabbed the remote and placed it on the tv stand across the room, pointing an accusatory finger in your direction.

“No TV, take a nap.”

“But Dean!”

“Nap, young lady!”

As Dean shut the door behind him and you watched him through the window stalk over to the Impala pouting like a child, you couldn’t help but laugh. Once the roar of the engine faded down the street, you pulled your phone out of your pocket and smirked to yourself as you opened an app to pick up on the last episode of Criminal Minds you had left off on.

“Sorry, D. You’re not coming between me and Hotch.”

[little-x-wolf]

Fill me with colour; Paint me blue (18+)

Pairings: Dean Winchester x reader

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of blood and gore, angst unprotected sex, p in v and a slight spoiler I can't give away.

Synopsis: It had become your routine. You'd sit in a shitty motel room, reasearching while the boys handled the monsters. And when the rough patch of the hunt was over, Dean Winchester would come seeking solace in your arms.

The old wooden frame creaked as it was yanked open, the sound beckoning you out of your slumber. You sat up at once, rubbing at your eyes to erase some sleep from them.

A silhouette of a man greeted you in the doorway, a lone warrior against the night's canvas. Thunder rolled outside, the chilly wind nipping at your skin aggressively. Clad in a thin night gown, you rubbed at your arms for warmth.

"De?" You asked aloud knowingly. "What's wrong?"

It had become your routine. You'd sit in a shitty motel room, reasearching while the boys handled the monsters. And when the rough patch of the hunt was over, Dean Winchester would come seeking solace in your arms.

"Tell me," it was a quiet plea, prompting him to offer you a brief glance.

Your heart sank in your chest as you rushed to your feet.

Dean didn't dare look up at you. Standing by the door until you pulled him in the comfort of your motel room, slamming the door shut beside you.

The entirety of the three layers on his upper body were covered with blood. Fresh, by the way it soaked your fingers as you inspected it. Some had also splattered on his face. The hunter looked despondent, drained of colour.

"Fuck's sake, De. What happened?" You asked again, concern etched on your face.

"Jus' tired. Want you, sweetheart," the deep baritone of his voice promised a vague answer, but you knew better than to push it.

You ran your hand over the rough stubble peppering his jawline, the touch relaxing him. He hadn't found time to shave in a few days. This hunt really took a lot out of him.

His lips found yours, hands roughly pushing you onto the bed. They were needy to be loved, to he held, to feel something other than that horrible ache gnawing at his insides. Desperately, he rid himself of his clothing, all the while kissing you drunk.

An ache had erupted in your core too, your sleepiness long forgotten. You wanted him inside you. You wanted to satisfy him, to make him feel loved.

You didn't mind when his bloodsoaked fingertips danced up your thighs in gentle strokes. Each of you were too desensitized by the hunter's life to care anyway. Instead, you parted them further for him, rolling the fabric of your nightgown upto your stomach to reveal your bare sex.

The crown of his cock nudged against your nub, resting heavily along your slit. His hazel eyes locked onto yours and he shuddered as he pushed in.

"Fuck..." Dean cursed under his breath. You welcomed the strech of his cock, your pussy hungrily swallowing every inch he had to offer.

His head lowered onto your shoulder, hips hungrily snapping into yours. The sound of your bodies connecting echoed throughout the shabby motel room. Your hand found home on the back of his head, the other wrapping around his bigger frame for support.

Even in hurry, he was passionate in his loving. Your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, one completing the other. It was like he was tailor made for you.

Dean Winchester.

Your better half. Your lover. Your protecter. The Man who filled your life with colour. The Man who also painted you blue with every second he spent away from you.

"Let go, De. It's okay," You offered gentle assurances as he fucked you into mattress, just like you know he wanted — no — craved it. "You're safe here, baby."

"God, you feel so good," he praised as his thrusts started to get sloppy. In seconds, he was cumming inside you, spilling all his worries and loving. A groan tumbled from his lips along with a "I love you," breathed in your hair.

"I love you, too," you repeated, cafuning his hair in return.

The barely there space between your bodies felt... funny. Warm, but in an odd way.

"De?"

He lifted himself over you on his forearms, your eyes meeting again. This time, terror caught you in it's vice grip.

The mischief filled eyes you loved so much were empty, devoid of the life that fueled yours. Blood gushed from his torso, tricking down to yours. His skin was wan like the moon above. And just as that lunar spectacle in the sky was forever accompanied by the night; your life too felt like it would forever be accompained by darkness.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you screamed out in terror. A noise made it's way through your throat, spilling out in a wail. It hurt. It hurt like someone was twisting the dagger etched forever into your heart.

You couldn't take it.

You couldn't take it.

"Y/n, it's okay. Come back to me," Sam rocked you in his arms as you cried out your heart's content. Your eyes darted to the solitude of the doorway, finding no trace of your beloved.

In truth, Dean Winchester was there. You couldn't see him, but he watched you mourn him quietly, again and again as he'd seen over the years. Stray tears rolled down the ashen skin of his face.

The wamth of your arms was a distant memory, so was your smile. Lately, you had been loving a ghost. Only in your dreams, he'd arrive. The same old scene, stuck in a loop of regrets and what ifs.

Oh, what he'd give to be held by you again. Oh, what he'd give to turn back time...

a/n: sooo, what do we think? T_T

[iwoulddothingstothisman]

For the First Time I Feel

"Dude, you're fucked," Sam said right after Dean asked which fabric softener he thought Cas would like better.

"Shut the fuck up." Dean snapped back and put back the vanilla one, settling on petrichor and cinnamon.

"I don't even know if he has the same sense of smell the people do."

"I'm pretty sure he does, mainly because he said I smelt like grease the other day, he didn't even hug me!" Dean exclaimed.

"Oh no, the horror. I'm sure that means he doesn't love you anymore."

"Piss off."

Dean stalked away from Sam, leaving him in the laundry aisle. He had planned on leaving the store after that until he saw the baking aisle. How long had it been since he baked himself a pie instead of getting shitty store bought or half cold pie from dodgy service stations. With a sharp turn he went down the aisle until he found the pre-made pie shells, because he loves pie but not enough to make the shell from scratch. Next was the produce aisle, he grabbed a half dozen green apples, then a sheet of puff pastry followed by travel sized packs of cinnamon, vanilla essence and brown sugar.

Eventually Sam found him while he was lined up at the checkout waiting to cash out with a shopping basket that was 20 bucks dearer than planned. Sam simply raised an eyebrow when he saw the contents of the basket.

"What, I figured it was time I made a pie myself again. It always tastes better when you make it ya'self." Dean defended.

"If you say so." Sam agreed with a sceptical frown.

Dean was cursing up a storm in the shitty motel kitchen, he forgot to buy flour so the pastry was sticking to everything, the motel peeler was as sharp as a marble, eventually it got to the point where he asked (pleaded) for Sam to peel the last three apples for him then the shell didn't want to unstick from the plastic it was wrapped in which Dean eventually cut off. The only thing that seemed to be going right was making the syrup-eques mixture he had simmering away in a pot that was half full with water, brown sugar, cinnamon and vanilla that he was going to soften the apples in once he finally got them cut up then pour it all in the pie shell. (Please know this isn't a recipe this is just how I would assume it's done and am appropriating my apple crumble skills, if someone wants to try this please let me know how it goes.) Once he finally got the pastry strips crossed over the pie and then got the bastard in the oven he had decided he was never doing this again.

"I'm tellin' ya, Sammy, if I ever say I want to do this again I want you to laugh at me."

He set the oven timer for 45 minutes, then cleaned the mess he'd made of the kitchen and went for his shower, in an attempt to get the everything off him.

By the time he had finished and was walking out, his towel draped over his head, covering his still wet hair, the pie was done and Cas and Sam were sitting at the table chatting about art history of all things.

"Good god, I'm gone for 20 minutes and you two join the geek squad," Dean teased while glancing over to the stove top where the pie was resting.

"Says the guy that can recite Return of the Jedi right along with Mark Hamill," Sam said, rocking back in his chair.

"Shut up." He mumbled while shuffling over to press a kiss to the crown of Cas' head before checking out the pie.

"It went off just before you came out." Sam said.

Dean grabbed three plates and forks and a shitty knife from around the kitchen before cutting three slices of pie and passing one each to Sam and Cas before sitting down on the opposite side of the table.

Sam muttered his thanks before digging in and Dean was halfway through the slice when Cas spoke up.

"Dean… you do realise I don't need to eat, nor can I taste most things." He said squinting at Dean.

"I know." Dean barely looked up from his plate before replying.

"Then why did you give me some?"

"Because it would've felt weird just getting some for Sammy and I, plus maybe you might be able to taste this." Dean gave him a small smile and a shrug. This apparently was enough convincing for Cas because he dug in right after.

At first Cas couldn't taste anything, just feel the weight of the pie in his mouth and as it travelled do his throat. After another two bites however something changed. Some little part of his brain told him it was sweet. He didn't know how he knew that, he just did.

"I- I can taste it." He said in equal parts shock and delight.

"Wait seriously?" Dean perked up.

"Yes, it's sweet, right?" Cas asked.

"Yeah, it is." Dean said with a massive grin while walking over to stand next to Cas. He hesitated for a second before engulfing him in a tight hug.

All Sam could do was watch his brother's dumb boyfriend hold onto his dumber brother, he knew that things would go wrong and the happiness wouldn't last but while it did he was content to watch them relish in it. 

Is this heinously late? Yes.

Do I care? Not really.

I am going to be finishing this, it's probably just gonna take a while.

[annaofaza]

he who casts the first stone... (vashwood)

Now on a03!

In a motel room that's scarcely bigger than his old cell, Wolfwood sponges Vash's wounds.

Red drips sluggishly from the crown of his head, behind his left ear, just below his lower right eyelid, as Wolfwood plucks out the grit, as tiny and wayward as breadcrumbs, and splashes all the red he can see from the bottle a thankful mayor had pushed into Vash's hands only a week earlier.

He runs the damp cloth over another cut, Vash hissing lightly at the sting of alcohol.

"I don't understand, tongari, how you don't even raise your arms to shield yourself." He stops to pick out more grit. "You'll get hit in the head one of these days, and then where will we be? Hmm?"

"I'm all right," Vash whispers, as Wolfwood adds more alcohol to the cloth, presses it firmly on one of the larger gashes. 

"One day you won't be. If they come at you and tie you to a pyre, will you light it yourself?"

Vash gives an unconvincing laugh. "It's hard to kill me."

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't welcome attempts." Wolfwood sighs, skirting another constellation of bruises, blooming like ink, sweeping towards his shoulder blades. Even with the coat, the gauntlets, the leather guards, they managed to leave their own marks. "Tongari, you scare me."

Vash closes his eyes. "I don't mean to, Wolfwood."

"But you do." Wolfwood sets aside the bottle, capping it with a short click. "You scare Meryl and Milly, and if Brad and Luida knew, they'd be scared, too. You have people who love you. Don't let anyone hurt you like this."

Vash doesn't answer. But the refrain I deserve it is palpable, and Wolfwood doesn't want to hear it. How many times does Vash feel will make things even again? Wolfwood knows the estimated toll of the Big Fall and JuLai, can only guess at the in betweens and now. Will the stones thrown eventually outnumber the stars?

He looks at Vash, bared to the waist, sheets strewn over his calves. He'd long pulled Vash's boots off, the complicated tangle of belts. His soles of his feet are almost as dark as the bruises, at odds with the rest of his body, painstakingly wiped clean, and Wolfwood reaches forward with the damp rag to complete his task. 

Vash sighs underneath him, as Wolfwood's hands work over the calluses, the the heels, the tops of his feet, skittering sand across the sheets, cloth turning into a rag of dingy gray and pink. His eyes slip closed, in a reverie of sensuality, as he slowly reclines onto the mattress, hands bringing Wolfwood's mouth to his left clavicle, scar tissue scraping his lips, holding him as tenderly as if nursing an infant. 

Sometimes Wolfwood calls Vash, repeating it several times to erase the harshness from it, the history. But tonight, all he can do is murmur tongari, tongari, the first nickname he'd given Vash, who he knows, as he mouths at every inch of Vash's skin, tracing over the wood and metal with his tongue. The wood scrapes and the metal grate is bumpy under his tongue, but he drinks it in. There are the scars that are carved into his skin like a canyon, bumpy as the roads stopped up with stones, jagged like a lightning strike.

He kisses those too, and he loves and loves and loves.

"Nicholas," Vash sighs in his ear, "Nicholas."

"Tongari," he murmurs, "look after yourself." I might not always be there. No, I can't even manage a half-promise. I will not be there, and you will pay the price. 

[motelsnleatherseats]

Sam's a crier, always has been. He cried every time John left them alone for the first few months, soothed by his big brother who had to quell his own emotions for the sake of little Sammy. Gotta have a strong, fearless figure to look up to in the absence of a father fueled by rage and revenge. It never got easier, seeing Sam's hazel, doe-eyes fill with tears regardless of the situation. Scraped knees, nightmares, some kid picking on him for his outdated hand-me down clothes, hunger pangs.

Even as a teen, it was difficult for him to turn off the water works. Every time his emotions got the best of him in any aspect, his eyes would burn with unshed tears as he tried to process his highs and lows. It's worse when he argues with John.

Dean can hear his brother crying in the bathroom, trying to drown out the sounds by running the faucet. Sam and his father had a huge blow out where Dean had to actually step between them when it looked like John was about to put hands on his little brother. He knew his role -- look out for Sammy, even if that meant protecting him from their own father. Sam stormed off and slammed the door to the bathroom, and John had mumbled something along the lines of 'you handle him' before he walked out of the motel, leaving Dean to collect the broken pieces of Sam's spirit.

His chest is tight. It pains Dean in a way where it's down to the bone, to hear Sam trying to stifle his sobs, but he's so angry and overwhelmed, it's hard for him to even start the calming down process. Dean wishes he could shoulder that pain for Sam, to take the hurt and resentment he knows he feels towards his father, because hell, he feels it too a lot of the time and it's not fair to either of them, but he's gotta be the one to do damage control.

"Sammy," Dean spoke, needing to clear his throat after to shake his own swallowed emotions as he gave the doorknob a squeeze to see if his brother locked it. He heard Sam sniffle and take a calming breath, but he didn't move to open the door just yet. "C'mon kiddo, let me in," he requested in the softest tone he could muster, promising to give comfort.

The faucet was turned off and there was a shuffle of heavy feet, defeated even behind the barrier of the door before he turned the knob and unlocked it with the pop of the button. Dean ached. Sam's eyes were stung red and puffy, and the moment he locked gazes with Dean, the tears threatened to resurface. It took a second and a half before Sam had buried himself in his brother's chest, wet face pressed to his shirt and Dean could feel the heat coming off of him. The kid was always so warm-bodied, especially when he was emotional. It was almost as if his blood actually boiled sometimes, and there'd be nights when Sam would be pressed close in bed with him and he'd suffer through the discomfort so long as it meant that his little brother would get a decent night's rest.

"I hate him," Sam professed, and Dean's expression grew solemn. He didn't mean that, he couldn't mean it. He wrapped his arms around the kid and laid his palm against the back of Sam's neck, tilting his own down to press his lips to the crown of his head. They'd talk about that later. For now, Sam needed his big brother.

"He left, Sammy. It's just you and me now, yeah? Like always."

[narcissistshandler]

⠀⠀⠀𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

⠀⠀𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯, 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦

. . . ✧ 𝗕𝗟𝗨𝗘 𝗟𝗢𝗖𝗞

. the king's crown, michael kaiser | top!dom reader

. brotherly love, itoshi rin & sae | top! reader

. the more you get, more you want, nagi & reo | top!dom reader

. rude brat, itoshi sae | dom! reader

. in the middle of the night..., barou shoei | top! reader

. motel room, itoshi rin | top!reader, yandere!reader

. not on shopping list, itoshi sae | dom! reader, yandere!brat! sae

. critical phase, reo mikage | top!reader

. there's a sting in the way you kiss me, itoshi sae | sub!reader, yandere!sae

. dumb dumb dumb, yoichi isagi | top!reader, dumbfication

. . . ✧ 𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗠

. prison, jake kim | top!sub reader

. made for your c*ck, jake kim | top!reader

. what are we?, jong gun | top!reader

. virgin!daniel headcanons, daniel park | top!reader

. . . ✧ 𝗛𝗢𝗪 𝗧𝗢 𝗙𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧

. deal with the devil, lee jinho | top!dom reader

. deal with the devil pt.2, lee jinho | dom! reader

. take your time, seong taehoon, ji yenwoo | top!slight dom! reader

. . . ✧ 𝗤𝗨𝗘𝗦𝗧 𝗦𝗨𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗠𝗔𝗖𝗬

. she, ko hajun | top! reader

. . . ✧ 𝗪𝗜𝗡𝗗𝗕𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗞𝗘𝗥

. untitled, jay jo | dom! reader implicit, omorashi

. my property, joker | top!dom! reader

. . . ✧ 𝗝𝗨𝗝𝗨𝗧𝗦𝗨 𝗞𝗔𝗜𝗦𝗘𝗡

. make me feel, geto suguru | top! reader, slight dark content

. please, be silent, choso | top! reader

. a company in the dark, geto suguru | top!mean dom! reader, smut & fluff

. . . ✧ 𝗝𝗢𝗝𝗢'𝗦 𝗕𝗜𝗭𝗔𝗥𝗥𝗘 𝗔𝗗𝗩𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗘𝗦

. . . ✧ 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗛 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘

. . . ✧ 𝗔𝗢𝗧

. . . ✧ 𝗦𝗣𝗜𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗘

. thirst, miguel o'hara | rimming (reader giving)

. insatiable and noisy, hobie brown | top! reader

. pleasure to insanity, hobie brown | anal beads, overstimulation

. thought about tying him, miguel o'hara | dom! reader (?)

. ecstasy, hobie brown | top! reader

. raw, miguel o'hara | top! reader

. fingerprints all over his body, miguel o'hara | top! reader

. over and over again, hobie brown | oral (reader giving), afab!hobie

. hartarse, miguel o'hara | oral (reader giving), afab!miguel

. sweet boy, hobie brown | top! reader, afab!reader & afab! hobie

. overheated, miguel o'hara | top! reader, squirt

. his silver bell, miguel o'hara | top! reader

. where we can be heard, hobie brown | public blowjob (reader giving)

. insanity to collapse, hobie brown | part 2 of pleasure to insanity

. how to deal with stress, spider noir (peter parker) | oral (reader receiving), afab!reader

. teach me, miguel o'hara | blowjob (reader giving)

. more, please, hobie brown | oral (reader receiving), afab!reader

. atmospherica, hobie brown | public cumming in pants

. sweet sinner without regret, hobie brown | top!sub!religious reader

. . . ✧ 𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗦

. obsessed with him, bakugou katsuki (bnha) | top!dom reader

. heat, iwaizumi hajime (haikyuu) | insinuated top reader

. thirst, jiang cheng (mdzs) | dom!reader

[hpowellsmith]

my brother in law and i have made our ways through all of your available cog stories (you have become a household name); i wanted to ask if there are any choice of games or other interactive fiction you recommend? i saw you answered in 2020, but wanted to see if there's any more on your radar since then!

I have a bunch of links and recommendations over here including my top ChoiceScript games ever. And I am here to recommend lots more!

Please note that I have the time and energy to play very few games and a vanishingly small number of WIPs. This only a tiny snapshot of the amazing interactive fiction out there. Do check out IFDB, sub-Q, the IF Comp and Spring Thing archives, the Narrascope and AdventureX speakers and exhibitors, and the interactive fiction tag on itch.io.

More below because there are A LOT:

Here is a big bunch of ChoiceScript games that I had a great time with!

Choice of Broadsides by Adam Strong-Morse, Heather Albano, and Dan Fabulich

Choice of Romance by Heather Albano and Adam Strong-Morse (note that it is not romantic and is not a dating sim!)

A Crown of Sorcery and Steel by Joshua LaBelle

Blood Moon by @barbwritesstuff

Deathless: the City's Thirst by Max Gladstone

The Dragon and the Djinn by @atharfi

The Eagle's Heir by Jo Graham and Amy Griswold

Fine Felines by Felicity Banks

Hollywood Visionary by Aaron Reed

Nikola Tesla: War of the Currents by Dora Klindžić

An Odyssey: Shadows of War by Natalia Theodoridou

The Play's the Thing by Jo Graham and Amy Griswold

Rent-a-Vice by Natalia Theodoridou

Siege of Treboulain by Jed Herne

Stronghold by Jo Graham and Amy Griswold

Their Majesties' Pleasure by Leia Talon

Thieves Gambit: Curse of the Black Cat by Dana Duffield

Tower Behind the Moon by Kyle Marquis

Turncoat Chronicle by @zincalloygames

Weyrwood by Isabella Shaw

Visual novels:

Analogue: A Hate Story by Christine Love

Dream Daddy by Game Grumps (writers: Vernon Shaw and Leighton Gray)

EXTREME MEATPUNKS FOREVER by Heather Flowers

Ladykiller in a Bind by Christine Love

Other IF-adjacent games with visuals that I have loved:

80 Days by inkle (writers: Jon Ingold and Meghna Jayanth)

Fallen London by Failbetter Games

Overboard! by inkle (writer: Jon Ingold)

Over the Alps by Stave Studios

Twines:

There are so many more that I've enjoyed but these were what popped into my head right now - this is one where it's essential to check out itch.io:

Anything by porpentine charity heartscape especially With Those We Love Alive and Vesp

16 Ways to Kill a Vampire at McDonalds by Abigail Corfman

Cactus Blue Motel by Astrid Dalmady

Detritus by Maz Hamilton (published as Mary Hamilton)

Faith by @kithj

Invasion by Cat Manning

Human Errors by Katherine Morayati

If I Die, Consume Me by @fiddles-ifs

Mama Possum by Kevin Snow

Nine Months Out by @nellplays

Salvage by @atharfi

Tangaroa Deep by Astrid Dalmady

To Spring Open by Yoon Ha Lee and Peter Berman (as Two-Bit Chip)

Parser games:

The Boot-Scraper by Caleb Wilson

The Compass Rose by Yoon Ha Lee (note that I didn't finish this one because I am bad at puzzles)

Galatea by Emily Short

Gun Mute by C. E. J. Pacian (as above)

Laid Off From The Synesthesia Factory by Katherine Morayati

Lime Ergot by Caleb Wilson

Midnight. Swordfight. by Chandler Groover

Take by Katherine Morayati

Games made with other tools:

Cape by Bruno Dias (Raconteur)

Honeysuckle by Cat Manning (Texture)

Prospero by Bruno Dias (Raconteur)

I play such a vanishingly small number of WIPs that it's ridiculous but I did really enjoy what I played of these two and am looking forward to more:

Body Count (@bodycountgame) by @nellplays (Twine)

Chop Shop by Becky @losergames (Twine)

Fervency (@fervency-if ) by Niko Charos (ChoiceScript)

[sunnyseungup]

Lee Know fic recs pt 2

Stray kids | Lee know

Pt1

masterlist

updated [ 240227 ]

a cat proposal { f } @astraystayyh

I want a round 3 { s } 0,6k @lix-ables

ACTIONS { a, f } @luvrhyune

he never needed to say, “i love you”, because he showed it.

heavenly { s, f } 1,7k @mingirn

Fluffy intruders { f, s } 2k @sailorhyunjinz

on a run { bsf2l; f, s } 4,9k @writerracha

you have been accused of a crime you didn't commit. you have to run away, and your best friend minho comes with you. you're on the road, away from all you've ever known. but you are not alone. minho is here, and there are things you need to tell each other. noisy motel room neighbors might help you do just that.

EVERYTHING AND NO ONE { prince x maid servant, royal; a, s, f } @tasteleeknow

you're a royal servant, someone who was supposed to sink into the shadows and speak only when spoken to. power: you had none... except when it came to the crown prince.

housemates { roommates; s, f } 6,3k @locallixie

how can you live your life peacefully with having your housemate constantly seducing you like that?!

Do you want to share a towel? { s } 2k @hoes4lino

it’s spring break and your mom and her best friend decide to rent an airbnb to spend the week in, everything sounds great until you realize Minho has to tag along.

all is lost { a, s } 3k @suengmi

hollowed eyes with dark circles splattered underneath. like clouds on a dark day, thunder waiting to boom. the man standing before you; looking like he's going to break, but he doesn't. he never does. what were you doing wrong?

All mother { s } 5,9k @abiaswreck

Minho has spent a good chunk of his life devoted to one goddess. The one he believes can help him and his people. After a long journey he finally makes to her temple. He never expected his loyalty to be so rewarding.

In Your Arms { f } 0,7k @seo- -changbin

days off with Minho { f } 0,413k @agi-ppangx

23:11 { a,f } 0,45k @softiejoon

between the lines { e2l, retro high school; a, f } 9,7k @maatryoshkaa

“Are those…bite marks?” { princess/royal guard; f, a, s } @leviackermanscleaningbuddy

‘Is there a reason you’re in my bed?’ { f2l; s } 1,7k @jl-micasea-ics

Soft dominance { s } 1k @christopher-bangnaldoskzz

A love epiphany { rich kid, college, fake dating; f, a } 9,5k @cosmic-railwayxo

Wanting to keep up appearances in front of his parents, the Lee enterprises heir known around campus as a notorious player, comes to you with a crazy proposition: fake dating. Now, this wouldn’t have been as crazy if said heir wasn’t none other than Lee Minho, your childhood best friend recently turned enemy. 

Impatience { f } @leebitofficial

My baby, she’s trigger happy { f } 1,1k @miirohs

Coworker headcanons { f } 0.9k @sweetkpopmusings

winter wind { bsf2l; f } 1,5k @soobnny

a look into lee minho’s realization that maybe he is eager for the affection of someone else featuring the menaces, seungmin and jisung

JEALOUSY { a,f } 2,4k @httpjisvng

Minho never thought he was the jealous type. At least not until he met you.

Be the first who ever did { f } @inniejeonginnie

sometimes minho isn't that gentle with words, but he still he wants to be the first who won't hurt you.

The only exception { s2l, slowburn } @/astraystayyh

Minho was content with straying away as far as possible from love. That is until you stumbled into his café on a rainy night, and unwittingly, into his life.

The god of love { s,f } @leeknowsnot

Minho and an egg { f } @rachalixie

Bold +Han { s } 14,3k @hyunsvngs

you’re not too experienced in the world of dating, parties and talking to people, but these two american footballers that you cheer for just seem to get it.

Lavender haze { s } 1,9k @agnesafterhours

Your boyfriend is not prone to communicating his feelings through words, but luckily for him, you always know exactly what he needs.

TEN BILLION YEARS { s } @tasteleeknow

"...You love me, that’s enough.”

He intertwines your fingers. “I do,” he says as he stares down at the way your fingers tangle around each other. “Love you. I—” he sucks in a shaky breath before lifting your hand to his lips. “Hurts when you hurt,” he mumbles between soft presses of his lips to your skin. “Fucking hurts so much.”

His kisses spread down your wrist, alternating between slow patient presses to hurried pecks as he makes his way down your forearm. “Let me make it better,” he says as he climbs over you again. “I’ll make it better, sweetheart.”

matching tattoos { f } @/ppiri-bahng

makes me dizzy { s } 6,1k @/hyunsvngs

the best surprises come from the most unexpected sources - like having your crush corner you in a frat party after hearing you confess your deepest desires of him in the background of a video.

THE MOVING IN DIARIES { a, f } 2,3k @sunboki

Playful banter while driving to your new home is a must, but upon opening the door to your first home together, the big moment truly sinks in — especially when he wakes up beside you the next morning. Wow.

Your parents are visiting but Minho’s finding it hard to not touch you while they’re there slowly gets you to cave in too { s } @minv97

Eating his own cum out of your pussy when you’re asleep { s } @/tasteracha

In which your boyfriend wants to learn about your obsession with the pretty rocks { f } 1,024k @whorellaville

Day 10: lee know + rimming { s } 2,3k @straykeedz

Angry little guy @/rachalixie

Next person that walks through that door, I’m going to fuck { s } 1,1k @/jl-micasea-fics

Day 2: lee know + accidental stimulation { bff2l; s } 3,3k @/straykeedz

Day 5 déclencheur { model&photographer; s } 3,5k @exxxtraoddinary

It’s a known fact that Lee Minho is a whore for compliments, but it’s a particularly useful piece of information when you want to seduce the shit out of him.

Day 8 in the course { s } 2,6k @/exxxtraoddinary

You and Minho are dumbasses for agreeing to spend your last two weeks as single people apart to make your honeymoon ‘more special’. The withdrawal is hitting really hard, but both the groomsmen and the bridesmaids squads are keeping celibacy watch because there is a bet involved.

Pussy drunk { s } @moonjxsung

Day 17 drip { s } 1,8k @/exxxtraoddinary

A horrible fight needs an equally sweet gesture.

Used to this { f } 0,7k @like-a-diamondinthesky

the soft voices, the late-night cuddling, the sweet and fluttering affections you showed each other; man, minho could get used to this.

Three times { classmate Lino; f } @stayconnecteed

You can take it like no other { s } 2,8k @skzms

minho doesn't forgive easily, especially not when it's his own member calling his girlfriend 'easy'. so when seungmin comes home early from a trip, you and minho decide to fuck with him - by having the loudest sex possible.

Fold. { f } 0,9k @withleeknow

Minho when you get hurt { f } @/rachalixie

Lost in Translation { s } 26,5k @/moonjxsung

The older brother of the boy you babysit is an enigma, in every sense of the word- and you’re determined to figure him out.

He Fell Harder { f } @skz-streamer

Most Wonderful Time Of the Year { a, f } 1,4k @dreamescapeswriting

Collision { for all player Lino X RA reader; a, s, f } 14k @outofconcheol

The school year was a chance to start fresh - make new memories, meet new people, and most of all to leave the past behind. But Lee Minho is determined to make sure you never forget the one summer night you’d spent with him - no matter how hard he has to work for it.

Comforting Lino Drabble @/skzms

What you want { s } 2,4k @gimmeurtmi

My moon and stars { f } 1,1k @withleeknow

Told You So { f } 0,9k @shu-porang-porang

Feline tendencies { f, s } 0,9k @/withleeknow

Need you to [Lee] Know. { hurt/comfort, f } 1,2k @catiuskaa

minho loves you: to him, it’s as clear as water. Its only after he finds out that you’re starting to doubt it—he needs you to know just how much.

Series

WRONG CROWD { s, f } 24k @seospicybin

You meet Minho again at the high school reunion, the kid who used to sleep in class turns a tattoo artist

IN THE CROWD { s, f } 24,3k

TOO HOT TO HANDLE { s } @/seospicybin

You and Lee Know become contestants in a reality dating show

Part 1 10,8k

Part 2 11,1k

Part 3 13,4k

Invisible Thread { uni, academic rivals2l, slow burn; f, a, f } @astraystayyh

Part one 20k

Your studies were your lifeline for as long as you can remember. What happens when Minho comes into your life and rips it away from you?

Part two 17k

In which Minho rewrites your entire relationship with love.

Texts

Boyfriend texts @like-a-diamondinthesky

Vampire!roommate Lino @taeraekisser