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vettelsvee · 5 months ago

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THE MOMENT I KNEW | Max Verstappen

Max Verstappen x Girlfriend!Reader

SUMMARY: After a few races where he didn't get the results he expected, Max decides to go out with some friends to disconnect from everything. Unluckily, one of those days when he arrives home after having some drinks, he finds out that he missed his girlfriend's birthday as soon as he sees the cake she ordered on the trash ↳ REQUESTED BY ANON: Maybe something angsty?? Like maybe bro goes out with his friends and forgets readers bday until he sees the cake in the trash can and realizes bro screwed up

WORD COUNT: 2007

WARNINGS: Curse words, mentions of being drunk, angst

TAGLIST: @hc-dutch @raavadakedavra @coffeedestroyingperson @evey-kuznetskova @bowielovesyou @chaoswithus @isotopemylove @iceman-kazansky @gwginnyweasley @formula1-motogpfan @myescapefromthislife @regalbanshee [in case you wanna be tagged just tell me so i can add you!]

VEE'S NOTES: I've absolutely loved this one my God. With this fic, we mark a total of 6196 words written this week (not counting my uni essays and other several projects), so I'm quite proud about that! Also, thank you so much for the support all this week, hope you liked all the fics! I'll be uploading this upcoming week's posts tomorrow. Let me know in the comments or on the anon inbox your thoughts on this one! See you next week :) ↳ MAKE YOUR REQUESTS | LET'S TALK! | JANUARY UPDATE CALENDAR

Max stumbled into your apartment, fumbling with the keys and opening the door with trembling hands, his pounding headache reminding him that it wouldn’t be this bad if he’d listened to the bartender’s advice to stop after the last gin tonic.

As soon as he stepped inside, he froze in the doorway, scanning everything as if it were his first time entering the place, even though he had been living there for nearly five years, the last two with you. He took a few unsteady steps toward the small entryway counter, where he dropped his keys and realized the silence was far heavier than he had anticipated.

His laughter, faint and fueled by the false sense of security that alcohol had provided, quickly dissipated. Taking a cautious step further into the living room, he noticed there were no lights on, no plates or leftover food on the small coffee table in front of the TV, and most strikingly, you were neither sprawled out on the couch watching one of the romantic movies you adored nor curled up asleep with one of your cats.

Despite the glaring signs, Max didn’t panic, at least not as much as he should have, even though something inside him whispered that the situation didn’t sit right.

It wasn’t until he wandered into the kitchen to get a glass of water and rounded the island that his foot stumbled slightly, nearly sending him sprawling to the floor. Puzzled, he looked down to see what had caused him to trip. His heart sank when his eyes landed on a discarded box, its lid broken as if it had been thrown to the floor, angrily, on purpose.

That’s when reality hit him like a freight train.

He turned his gaze to the left, where the trash can stood partially open. Inside, he saw an untouched cake, decorated with intricate floral designs and a message that read, “Happy Birthday, Y/N!” The sight struck him like a blow to the chest, the pressure so intense it made him want to vomit.

“No… No, it wasn’t today…”

Desperately, and trying to figure out what to do, Max ran his hands through his hair, as if that might somehow help him calm down. His breathing grew more erratic with each passing second, his eyes glued to the cake. It didn’t feel real. He couldn’t understand how he had managed to forget such an important date… you, his girlfriend’s, birthday. Something so obvious had suddenly spiraled into a waking nightmare.

He noticed his phone sitting on the kitchen counter. Grabbing it quickly, he checked for any missed calls or messages from you, only to realize after several failed attempts to turn it on that it was dead. He blamed his drunkenness not only for not noticing he didn’t have his phone with him or that it was out of battery, but for forgetting such a meaningful day and breaking every promise he had made to you.

Deep down, though, he knew all the excuses were hollow. Any justification he tried to offer would be nothing but foolishness.

Setting the phone back on the counter, he decided not to waste any more time. He headed toward your bedroom. The door was ajar, and though the lights were off, he could make out your silhouette lying on the bed, your back turned to him. You gave no sign that you had noticed his arrival. The only sound in the room was your muffled, quiet sobs. As Max stepped closer, he saw you were clutching a pillow tightly, as if it were your only source of comfort.

That was the moment Max realized he couldn’t avoid facing the situation, no matter how impossible it felt to fix things right away.

“Y/N...” he said softly.

You didn’t answer, and your silence hurt more than a thousand words could have. Max knelt beside the bed, close enough to reach out, and gently began stroking your face. You didn’t resist his touch, but your indifference pierced him deeply.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his voice trembling as he fought to hold himself together. “I swear this wasn’t my intention… I wanted to come home earlier, but Lando insisted we stay a bit longer, and then I didn’t have my phone…”

“You forgot, Max,” you interrupted, your tone sharp but laced with pain, anger, and sadness. You still wouldn’t look at him. “Goddammit, Max, you forgot my fucking birthday ever since the moment the clock struck midnight.”

Max fell silent. Once again, reality hit him square in the face, forcing him to acknowledge that anything he said would likely be inadequate. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, trying to find the words to explain himself calmly, to admit his mistakes while grappling with the weight of his guilt.

“You know it wasn’t my intention,” he began, his voice low. “It’s just… with the shitty season I’ve been having and everything that comes with it, I’ve been feeling overwhelmed. I just needed to step out of my comfort zone for a bit, to clear my head…”

“And you thought doing that on my birthday, after promising me a dream day, was the most appropriate choice?” you cut him off, finally raising your head. Your eyes were swollen and red from crying. “I know you’re not in a good place right now, but I also know that until now, every promise you’ve made to me, you’ve kept. You didn’t just forget about me, Max. You left me here, alone, all day, like I didn’t matter at all.”

Max searched desperately for a way to salvage the situation, to apologize, to do something, anything, to prove how deeply sorry he was. But when you turned on the light and sat up to face him, he realized he was out of options. He didn’t know how to continue without disappointing you further.

“You know this has been really hard for me…”

“Hard for you? Seriously?” you interrupted, leaning closer and pointing your finger at him. “And you think this has been easy for me? Watching you shut me out, never telling me what’s going on in that head of yours? Not to mention your fans… They’re fully convinced that your shitty season is all my fault, that our relationship is ruining your career.”

“Y/N, I know…”

That was a lie. He didn’t know. Max had ignored the comments and criticism because, deep down, he believed you weren't to blame for his performance, especially when you rarely even went with him to the races anymore.

“There’s nothing I can say to argue with you,” Max admitted. “You’re absolutely right. I’ve been a complete asshole today, and I’m truly sorry. I love you, Y/N, more than you know…”

“Are you sure you love me?” you shot back, your voice trembling with anger. “Do you love me, or your damn career? Because lately, it feels like your whole world revolves even more around cars, races, speed, adrenaline, and your constant need to be the best at everything.”

“Hey…” Max tried, his voice faltering.

“Every day, you show me more and more that we’re no longer a team… that I’m no longer a part of you. And I know I’m not the only one who sees it.”

Your words hit him like a dagger, but he knew he deserved them.

“It’s not just about you forgetting my birthday today, Max. It’s everything. You don’t listen to me… you don’t give me anything, not even a minute of your day, let alone affection or support. Why should I stay in a relationship that, instead of giving me life, is killing me inside?”

Your words struck him like a bucket of ice water.

“You don’t get it, do you?” you asked, frustration and sadness mingling in your tone as he stayed silent. “If you really loved me, you wouldn’t be afraid to show me who you are, flaws and all. But you’ve always done this, Max, keeping me at arm’s length, never letting me into your life.”

“I don’t do that, Y/N, it’s just that…” he began, summoning his courage to explain, but you cut him off once again.

“Damn it, Max, yes, of course you do!” you yelled, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “Do you realize that even though I’ve been with you, I’ve been completely alone? Alone, Max, utterly alone! I’ve tried so many times to talk to you, to make you see that a few bad races aren’t the end of the world for someone like you, but…”

You stopped yourself abruptly, your throat aching and your head pounding. You felt no remorse for the way you were speaking to him since he deserved every word, but you couldn’t help but feel a deep sadness. Sadness for the Max Verstappen you had once known. A man who had been so proud of himself and his achievements after years of hard work, now emotionally shattered and, worse, so determined to hide it from everyone, including you.

“I can’t keep giving you everything I have while you keep taking and taking, without giving anything back.”

“I’m sorry…” Max muttered, but the words felt hollow.

“A simple ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t fix anything, Max,” you replied, your voice quieter now but no less wounded. “I wish it were just about today, but like I said, I feel like you’re pushing me further out of your life with every passing day. You’re becoming a stranger to me, Max,” you admitted, trying not to let your voice waver. “You’ve been like this for months, and I don’t know what else to do to stop us from falling apart… though it feels like that’s exactly what you want.”

“That’s not true,” he answered immediately, desperation in his voice. “Y/N, seriously, I love you more than you could ever imagine.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, tears welling up again. “Because I feel like you’re showing me the exact opposite.” Your voice trembled with the weight of her words. “Sometimes it feels like you love your career, the success you’ve achieved and the crowds chanting your name more than you love me.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his voice barely audible. “You know I want to, but… I don’t know how to fix this anymore…”

You looked at him, your eyes searching his face for some sign, some silent promise that would make you believe things between you could change. But Max’s words only made you realize that you had to stop thinking fantasies and start facing reality.

“Maybe you can’t fix it,” you confessed, the words breaking you from the inside. “I can’t keep going like this, Max… I can’t keep feeling like I’m not enough… like I’m not good enough for you.”

“Seriously, there has to be a solution…” he pleaded, his voice full of regret. “I’ll do better from now on, I promise…”

“You don’t get it, do you?” You turned to look at him, the pain evident in your expression. “Things won’t magically get better if you take me to dinner or buy me a million-dollar necklace to make up for today. That won’t fix anything, Max…”

“Y/N… Y/N, please… I need you…”

No matter how many times Max said those words, he knew that any promise he made now would be meaningless, especially considering how much he had already failed you.

Feeling that there were no more words left to say between them, you slowly got out of bed. You gathered the few belongings you had on the nightstand and, with a sense of finality, began to pack a bag, all the while feeling Max’s powerless gaze on you.

“I can’t keep waiting, Max,” you said, her voice steady despite the anguish inside. “Today, no matter how much I tried to turn a blind eye, let it go, and even put myself in your shoes… This… everything… after many tries… God, Max, all of this… That was the moment I knew.”

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lvrgurlblobbu · 2 months ago

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dolled up

“all dolled up just for me, my beautiful wife.”

zayne x fem!reader

⤿ part of snow angel series : )

⤿ cw: MDNI, p in v, thigh riding, cunnilingus, fingering, creampie, breeding kink, mirror sex, spanking, rough sex, sprinkle of brat tamer!zayne

⤿ word count: 5.2k

⤿ synopsis: zayne has been having a rough week due to multiple surgeries, meetings, and tons of paper works so one night, you decided to give him a little surprise : )

ao3

You were lounging in the living room, scrolling through your phone while the television murmured in the background. The house had been quiet the past few days since Hyacinth decided to join her grandparents—Zayne’s parents—on their four-day trip. A small smile tugged at your lips as her grandmother sent a photo of your five-year-old daughter beaming at the camera, cradling a tiny kitten in her arms. The caption read, “She wants to take the kitten home.”

You glanced at the calendar. They were due back in two days, and you couldn’t wait to hug her again and hear all about their little adventure.

You went through your other notifications, eyes scanning for your husband’s name. These past few weeks had been hectic for Zayne—back-to-back surgeries, endless meetings, and a mountain of paperwork waiting on his desk. The exhaustion was written all over his face, dark circles shadowing his eyes. You’d been gently urging him to take a day off, but being the workaholic he was, he always found a reason to decline. He insisted he couldn’t step away, not wanting to fall behind on his responsibilities.

You were about to take a nap when you heard the doorbell ring. You immediately sat up and padded toward the door. As you peeked through the peephole, you realized it was just a delivery. Opening the door, the delivery man gave you a polite nod and handed over an electronic pad for you to sign. You signed your name and thanked him, then took the medium-sized box into your hands. It wasn’t heavy, but it felt like something carefully packed. Closing the door behind you, you walked back into the living room and placed the box on the coffee table.

You felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. When you checked the notification and saw it was from a clothing brand, your lips curled into a small smirk. Wasting no time, you grabbed a cutter to unbox the package that had just arrived. As you peeled back the flaps, a smile spread across your face—it was the lingerie set you’d ordered online. Without a second thought, you picked up the box and made your way to your shared bedroom, eager to try it on.

It was a pastel pink babydoll-style nightdress made from sheer, lightweight fabric.The bust area features embroidered floral lace with underwire support and satin ribbon detailing in the center. It made your cleavage pop due to its padding. Thin double shoulder straps add a dainty touch, and the skirt flows gently down about a few inches from your intimate area, ending in layered ruffled hems for a soft, romantic look. It also came with a laced pink thong that goes well with the lingerie, as well as an accessory which is a pearl choker and a simple necklace with a small pendant.

And of course, being the little tease you are, you couldn’t resist. After slipping into the delicate lingerie, you sat on the edge of the bed, angled your phone just right, and snapped a mirror selfie. With a sly smile, you sent it to Zayne—who was still at work—along with a message that read: “When are you coming home? I miss you...”

It hadn’t even been five minutes when his reply came through.

“Sweetheart, you look gorgeous. However, I’m in the middle of an important meeting right now.”

You bit your lip, amusement dancing in your eyes. Switching to the front camera, you adjusted the angle and took another photo—this time showing only from your chest down to your thighs, the sheer fabric leaving little to the imagination. With a light tap, you sent it off.

Not long after, another message lit up your screen.

“I’ll be home in ten minutes.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, setting your phone down as you settled back on the bed. Mission accomplished.

***

You heard your front door and that signaled that Zayne is already home. With a soft giggle, you stepped out of your shared bedroom then went downstairs to greet him.

“Hello, my love—“ He was suddenly taken aback and his coat dropped to the floor when he saw you standing before him, wearing the lingerie you bought. He cleared his throat before speaking. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Hm? Why would I be? I feel perfectly fine..” You answered before placing a peck on his lips, “Welcome home.”

You caught the faint flush creeping up his neck, his ears turning a telltale shade of red as his eyes roamed over your figure. His gaze faltered, locking onto the curve of your hips—specifically, the absence of that laced thong you’d been teasing him with earlier. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, trying (and failing) to keep his expression neutral.

You bit your lip, barely containing a giggle at the way his composure unraveled.

“Hungry?” you asked, your voice low and teasing, the double meaning lingering in the air.

He gave a slow, slightly dazed nod.

You reached out and laced your fingers with his, giving his hand a gentle tug. “Come on, then.”

Guiding him to the kitchen, you revealed the small dinner setup you’d prepared—candles flickering, plates warm, and everything in place. The contrast between the tension in the air and the peaceful domesticity made it all the more intimate.

You both sat down to eat, the silence between you charged but comfortable, like a storm waiting just past the horizon.

As you finished, the two of you did your usual routine— wiping the table, washing the dishes, placing the leftovers inside the fridge.. However, the way his eyes flicker to you, the clenching and unclenching of his hand, his reddened ears, and deep breaths doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

Currently, the both of you are enjoying ice cream for dessert, the quiet clink of spoons filling the cozy air between you. The soft lighting casts a gentle glow, making everything feel just a little more intimate.

You glance at him, a small smile playing on your lips as you tilt your head.

“So, how are you, my love?”

He looks up from his bowl, his expression calm, almost unreadable. He gives a small shrug, stirring the ice cream around absently.

“Same old,” he replies casually. “Had three surgeries, two meetings and finished the paperworks that was sitting at my desk for days. How about you?”

He scoops another spoonful without looking at you, but there’s the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth—like he’s trying not to let on too much.

“It was fine, just missing our little girl. Your mother sent a picture earlier, Hyacinth is cradling a tiny kitten in her arms and she wants to take it home with her..” A quiet laugh slips from your lips, fond and wistful, as you glance at him.

“I have no objections to that,” he said smoothly—but just then, you noticed a small smear of ice cream at the corner of his lips. Instead of reaching out to wipe it away, you leaned in slowly, eyes locked on his, the air thick with unspoken tension. Your lips brushed the corner of his mouth as you licked the bit of ice cream off, lingering just a second longer than necessary.

When you pulled back, a playful smile tugged at your lips.

“You missed a spot,” you whispered.

His eyes darkened slightly, jaw tightening just a fraction as he stared at you, that neutral composure starting to crack.

“[Name].. Love..” He muttered, gaze locking into yours. “What?” you respond, a small smile curling on your lips.

“You’re being such a tease..”

“I am not…” you denied with mock innocence as you hopped off the stool, deliberately swaying your hips on the way to the fridge. Bending down slowly, you opened it with an exaggerated hum. “Hmm, what should we—ah!”

You yelped softly as a sudden, firm smack landed on your ass. Glancing over your shoulder with a smirk, you found him standing behind you, eyes dark with intent.

“Oh?” you teased, scooting your bare ass back until it pressed against the hard outline of his clothed crotch. You gave the slightest roll of your hips, just enough to feel the sharp breath he drew in behind you.

Before you could even process his next move, strong arms wrapped around your waist, and in one smooth motion, he hoisted you over his shoulder.

“Hey—!” you started, laughing, but his voice cut through, low and full of heat.

“I’ve had enough of this teasing, my love…” he growled as he began striding purposefully toward the stairs. “Let’s see if you can hold onto that attitude of yours.”

You gasped, heart pounding with anticipation, the fridge long forgotten as he carried you up to your shared bedroom like a man on a mission.

As you both enter your room, he strides towards your bed before gently tossing you to lie down, the mattress dipping beneath you as he looms over, eyes dark with intent. You used your arms to anchor yourself as you stared at him..

“Hm??” You teased, brow raising at him as hig gaze trails from your face, to your chest, and down to your exposed cunt. Then you felt his fingers teasing your folds which caused you to whimper..

“Z-Zayne..” you whimpered as he began to massage your wet folds..

“Yes, my love? Wouldn’t want your effort to go to waste, hm?” He whispered as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “My wife waited for me to come home dressed like this, all dolled up just for me. I am a lucky man.” He muttered before his lips met yours, melting in a passionate kiss.

His lips moved against yours with slow, deliberate tenderness, savoring every second like he’d been starved of your touch. Then, you felt him insert his finger inside your pussy which made you moan, he used it to deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips to taste you fully—hungry, aching, possessive.

A soft moan escaped as he pressed closer, his body flush with yours, the weight of him grounding you in the moment. He pulled back just slightly, his lips brushing over yours as he whispered, “You have no idea what it does to me, seeing you like this… knowing you’re mine.” he whispered as his kisses trailed down your neck, nibbling on your sensitive skin. Hard enough to the point he’s certain that it’ll leave a mark.

Then he pulled back slightly, taking in the sight of you— face flushed with lust and desire, lips kiss-swollen and parted, chest rising and falling with every shallow breath. His eyes roamed over you, dark and hungry, as if trying to commit every detail to memory.

“God, look at you,” he murmured, almost to himself. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, admiring the way it trembled beneath his touch. “So beautiful… and all mine.”

“Z-Zayne— ahh!” You arched your back as you felt him fasten the thrusts of his fingers in your wet heat, back arching as you gripped the sheets.

“That’s it, say my name.. My love..” He mumbled as his kisses went down your pussy, “Let me have a taste of you, wife.” He whispered before he used his tongue to lick your slit. His fingers still pumping in your pussy, while his other hand is gripping your hips to keep it from moving.

“Mmphh!” You moaned as he continued to flick his tongue against you, his fingers curling inside as he kissed and lapped on your sensitive flesh. Then, you felt the tension building in your core and you’re sure that he feels it— the way your legs tremble and pussy clenched around his digits.

However, it seems like he has other plans because just as you were about to come, he suddenly retracted his fingers and lips from your pussy, leaving it soaking wet and hole gaping.

“Zayne?!” you exclaimed, chest heaving and your pussy aching from your denied orgasm.

“What?” he said with a soft chuckle, his eyes never leaving yours as his fingers worked slowly down the buttons of his polo. The fabric parted to reveal the firm lines of his chest, and your breath caught just a little at the sight.

Once the shirt was off, he moved to sit at the edge of the bed, his posture relaxed but eyes burning with intent. He patted his thigh, gaze smoldering. “Come here,” he murmured, voice low and coaxing. “Right where you belong.”

You moved toward him, each step feeling heavier with anticipation. The moment you settled onto his lap, his hands immediately found your hips, pulling you flush against him. The heat between your bodies was undeniable, electric.

He let out a quiet, satisfied sigh as his hands slid up your sides, fingers brushing the fabric clinging to your skin. “There we go,” he whispered against your neck, placing a slow, open-mouthed kiss just below your ear. “You feel so good… so warm.”

One hand cradled the small of your back, holding you close, while the other traced slow circles along your thigh. “I could stay like this forever,” he murmured, lips trailing soft kisses along your jaw. “But you’re making it very hard to be patient.”

“Zayne.. please—“ you pleaded as he trailed wet kisses on your neck.

“Please what? Use your words sweetheart..” He replied, his hands traveling down your thigh then to your ass, cupping it gently. “Do you want to come, sweetheart?” He asked in which you nodded in response.

“Only good girls deserve to come, do you think you’ve been good? Hm?”

“Y-Yes, please, my love—ah!” You yelped as his hand came down on your ass with a sharp, unexpected smack. The sound echoed in the room, followed by a rush of heat blooming beneath your skin.

“Wrong answer.” He hand lingered, soothing the sting with a gentle caress before gripping you firmly, possessively. “Do good girls send suggestive pictures of themselves? Because I don’t think so, good girls earn a reward and what happened to bratty ones, like you?”

“Mm… Sorry—ah!” you gasped as his hand connected with your ass once more, the sharp sting making your hips jolt against him. The second smack left your skin tingling, heat flaring both where he touched and deep in your core.

He grinned against your neck, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You’re not sorry,” he growled playfully, his voice thick with arousal. “You like it when I make you squirm. Since you wanted to come so bad, work for it.” He said as he guided your hips to grind on his clothed thigh, his hand finding its way to massage your clit while the other was cupping your breasts. Then he tugged the lingerie down, exposing your bare chest before leaning in to suck on your sensitive bud.

You clung to his shoulder for support, grinding desperately against his thigh. Your head fell back, a moan escaping you as the friction of your bare cunt dragging over the rough fabric of his pants sent lightning through your nerves. Every roll of your hips made your legs tremble, but you couldn’t stop—even if you wanted to.

He watched you, eyes dark with hunger, letting you use him, letting you fall apart. His fingers, which had been expertly circling your clit just moments before, suddenly withdrew. You whimpered at the loss, your hips stuttering, needing that contact again—but he had other plans.

His hand slid upward with deliberate slowness, trailing over your stomach, grazing your ribs, before finally cupping your breasts—firm, possessive. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, coaxing them into tight peaks. Then he leaned in close, lips brushing your ear.

“Touch yourself,” he growled, low and commanding.

Before you could even think to hesitate, his mouth closed around one aching nipple, tongue teasing, teeth grazing just enough to make your back arch. His free hand kneaded your other breast, palm warm, fingers rough with need as they rolled and tugged your nipple between them. You gasped, body torn between the heat building in your core and the overwhelming pleasure of his mouth on you.

You slid a shaky hand down between your thighs, fingers slipping over your soaked folds. The contrast of your own touch, slick and hot, while his tongue dragged over your skin, made you cry out. You rubbed small circles against your clit, pressure building again too fast, too strong.

"Good girl," he murmured against your breast, voice vibrating through your chest. "Don’t stop. I want to feel you fall apart on me."

“Z-Zayne... Mm, near…” you moaned, the words trembling from your lips, barely coherent through the haze of pleasure flooding your body.

He growled low in his throat at the sound of his name like that—half-whimpered, soaked in desperation. His teeth grazed your nipple, then he sucked hard, sending another jolt straight to your core. His hand tightened on your breast as he glanced up at you, eyes heavy with lust and control.

“Then come for me,” he rasped against your skin, voice thick and raw. “Don’t hold back—I want to feel it. Want to see you fall apart on me.”

His thigh tensed beneath you, giving you more pressure, and your fingers moved faster on your clit, chasing the wave that threatened to break. Every breath you took was laced with fire. The world narrowed down to him—his mouth, his voice, the way his body held you like he’d never let go.

Your moans pitched higher, body trembling as your climax surged, sharp and overwhelming. Your hips jerked against his thigh as the pleasure crested, stars exploding behind your eyes.

“Zayne—!” you cried out as you came, body locking up, then shuddering hard against him.

He didn’t let up. He kept his mouth on you, kept his hand steady, drawing out every pulse of your orgasm until you were a boneless mess in his arms, chest heaving, fingers still twitching where they’d been between your thighs. Then he pulled back just enough to look at you—flushed, wrecked, glowing with satisfaction. A slow, wicked smile curved his lips.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. “You should see yourself when you come for me.”

Then he lifted you with ease, strong arms wrapping around your waist as if you weighed nothing, and laid you back onto the bed with a gentleness that contrasted the heat still crackling in the air. The sheets felt cool against your overheated skin, but your eyes stayed locked on him, hungry, dazed.

He stood at the edge of the bed, gaze dragging over your body like a promise, dark and slow.

Without a word, he began to undress.

First, he discarded his unbuttoned polo. The fabric hit the floor somewhere behind him, forgotten. Your breath caught at the sight of him—broad chest, toned muscles, skin flushed with desire. Your thighs pressed together instinctively. Next came the belt. The soft click of the buckle sent another rush of heat through you. His fingers worked with calm precision, sliding it free, letting it hang from one hand for just a second too long—like he wanted you to imagine what else it could be used for.

Then he dropped it.

You watched as he unbuttoned his pants, the zipper dragging down with a low rasp. He let them fall, the fabric pooling around his feet. He stepped out of them, slow and deliberate, eyes never leaving yours. Now, all that remained between you and him was the tight press of his briefs—already tented with the unmistakable outline of his cock. Your mouth went dry.

His smirk deepened as he caught your stare. “Like what you see?” he asked, voice low, teasing.

But you could only nod, breathless, already aching for more.

He wrapped his hand around his cock, giving it a few slow, deliberate strokes. His eyes never left yours, watching your every reaction—the way your chest rose and fell, the way your thighs shifted, needy and slick with anticipation.

The sight of you spread out beneath him, still trembling from your last orgasm, clearly drove him wild. Then, with the grace of a predator, he crawled onto the bed—each movement controlled, powerful. The mattress dipped under his weight as he moved closer, until he was hovering above you, arms braced on either side of your head.

His cock rested against your stomach, hot and heavy, pulsing with need. You could feel the heat of him, the sheer size of him, and it made your mouth go dry all over again. He leaned down, lips brushing your jaw, then your neck, trailing kisses that made your skin burn.

"You’re so wet for me," he murmured against your throat, voice thick with praise and hunger. "You ready for more?"

His hips rolled ever so slightly, letting his length drag along your slick folds, teasing your entrance without giving in just yet. The sensation pulled a needy whimper from you, your hands gripping his arms, nails digging in.

"Say it," he whispered, mouth ghosting over your lips. "Tell me what you want."

“You… I need you, Zayne,” you breathed, voice barely more than a whisper as your hands rose to cup his cheeks, fingers trembling slightly with need.

He leaned into your touch, his eyes softening just for a moment, grounding you in the middle of all that burning heat. He turned his head and pressed a tender kiss to the center of your palm, as if anchoring himself there—before his gaze darkened once more.Then, without another word, he shifted his hips and thrust into you in one smooth, deep stroke.

You gasped—your back arching as he filled you completely, the stretch making your whole body shudder. He slid in with effortless ease, your slick heat welcoming him, clenching around him like your body already knew exactly who he was meant to belong to.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice low and ragged, forehead resting briefly against yours as he held still inside you, letting you feel every thick inch of him.

The air between you buzzed with heat, your breaths mingling, your bodies already molding together like puzzle pieces that had finally locked into place.

“You feel like heaven,” he murmured against your lips, his voice reverent. “So tight… so perfect.”

You could only moan in response, your legs wrapping around his waist, urging him closer, deeper—already desperate for more. And then he began to move.

He didn’t ease into it.

Once he had you stretched around him, gasping and shaking beneath him, he pulled back—just enough to make you feel the loss—then slammed back in with a force that made the headboard rattle against the wall.

You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders, but he didn’t slow down. His pace was relentless, each thrust hard and deep, driving the breath from your lungs. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mixed with the wet, obscene sounds of your body welcoming him again and again.

“God—Zayne!” you gasped, legs tightening around him. Every time he bottomed out, you swore you saw stars. The way he filled you, stretched you, claimed you—it was almost too much.

But you didn’t want him to stop. You wanted more.

He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand, his grip firm, dominant. His other hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and circling it with quick, rough precision.

“You wanted this?” he growled into your ear, voice dark and wicked. “Then take it. Take every fucking inch.” Your back arched off the bed, body twitching under the dual assault of his cock pounding into you and his fingers working you to the edge all over again.

“Such a good girl,” he snarled, voice breaking with lust. “So wet, so fucking tight. You were made for this—made for me.”

You were unraveling fast, the pleasure coming in crashing waves. Your walls clenched around him, pulling him deeper, tighter.

“Come for me,” he demanded, thrusts growing faster, rougher, slamming into your sweet spot over and over. “Let me feel you fall apart.”

And with one more stroke—just right, just perfect—you shattered, your orgasm ripping through you like a storm. You screamed his name, body convulsing under him, toes curling, thighs shaking.

But he didn’t stop. He kept going—riding you through your high, chasing his own. His rhythm grew messy, desperate, and then with a strangled groan, he thrust one final time, deep and hard, before spilling inside you, his whole body trembling above yours.

Even as his body trembled, even with his release still pulsing inside you, he stayed hard—still hungry. He growled low against your throat, teeth grazing your skin as he pulled out slowly, leaving you slick and aching.

“Not done with you,” he muttered, voice thick, breath hot against your ear. “Get on all fours.”

Your body obeyed before your mind caught up—already sensitive, already spent, but somehow still needing more. You turned over, chest pressed to the sheets, ass lifted for him, trembling slightly as the cool air hit your slick heat.

Then he grabbed your hips, dragging you back until you were perfectly positioned—back arched, legs spread, completely exposed. But it wasn’t until he reached forward and tilted your chin toward the side that you realized what he wanted.

Your eyes met your reflection in the mirror across the room.

You looked wrecked—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, bite marks blooming on your neck and collarbone. Your hair was wild, sweat-slicked skin glowing, thighs streaked with your combined release. You barely recognized the desperate, cockdrunk expression staring back at you.

And it only made the heat between your legs flare up all over again.

“Look at yourself,” Zayne growled from behind you, lining himself up once more. “Look at how fucked out you are—and I’m still not finished.”

Then he slammed back into you.

You cried out, eyes flying wide at the sight of him driving into you from behind—his hips snapping against your ass, cock filling you just as deep, just as hard as before. The mirror gave you everything—his expression twisted in lust, the way your body took him like it was made for this, the obscene wet sounds of him thrusting into your still-dripping cunt.

His hands gripped your hips bruisingly tight as he pounded into you, relentless, unmerciful. Your arms gave out, collapsing you to your elbows, but you couldn’t look away from the mirror—you watched yourself come undone all over again, watched him ruin you.

“This is what you wanted right? Dressing all dolled up for me. You knew exactly what you were doing. Teasing me. Tempting me. Acting like you were so innocent.” Smack! “You’re acting like this on purpose,” he growled, voice gravel and heat as he slammed into you again, making your knees slide forward on the sheets.” Smack! “Just so I’d punish you, isn’t that right?” Smack!

You cried out, nails clawing at the bedding, body trembling as he fucked you with brutal, punishing thrusts. Your cheek pressed against the mattress, mouth open and panting—but you couldn’t speak. You didn’t need to. Your body answered for you.

He reached down and yanked your hair back, forcing your head up—forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror again. Your eyes were glassy, your mouth swollen, tears streaking your cheeks, and your cunt was stretched wide around him, dripping and ruined.

He slammed into you again—hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs.

“You wanted this,” he growled. “You wanted to be bent over and fucked until you couldn’t think. That’s what you really want, isn’t it? To feel me cum so deep inside you it sticks.”

“Yes—fuck, yes,” you cried out, the words spilling out broken and raw as another orgasm coiled tight in your core, overwhelming and impossible to fight. He released your hair and grabbed both your hips, dragging you back onto him with a bruising grip as he pounded into you mercilessly.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered through gritted teeth, voice sharp with dominance.

Your hand slid beneath you, fingers finding your clit and circling fast, desperate, as the pressure started building again—faster this time, messier, your entire body already primed to snap.

“That's it,” he hissed. “Fuck yourself on my cock. Watch yourself fall apart.”

And you did.

You moaned his name, loud and broken, as another orgasm ripped through you, your body clenching around him so hard it made him curse. You trembled violently, gasping, eyes locked on your reflection—completely gone, completely his.

He fucked you through it with savage thrusts until he was right there again—grunting, swearing, then jerking inside you as he came again, spilling deep, hips grinding against your ass as if trying to get even deeper.

Then, you felt him relax, his breaths slowing, and the tension in his body eased. He pressed gentle, lingering kisses to your shoulders, as if grounding himself in the moment, in the connection between you two.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice tender, a contrast to the roughness that had just passed between you. His hand, warm and steady, moved to guide you closer, helping you adjust as he slowly slid himself out of you.

You could barely form words as you leaned into his chest, your body still trembling from the intensity. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, both of you finding comfort in the warmth of each other. The soft rhythm of his breath in your ear was grounding, making everything feel calmer, safer. He brushed a few strands of hair away from your face as he cupped your cheeks, his touch gentle, almost reverent.

“Was I too rough on you?” he asked, concern clearly etched across his face. His brows furrowed slightly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort.

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his tenderness, the way he cared for you so deeply, so intently. With a soft smile, you shook your head slightly, your fingers lightly resting on his hand where it cupped your cheek.

“No, I’m alright, my love,” you murmured, your voice soft and reassuring, the words a quiet promise.

He exhaled deeply, his lips pressing softly against your forehead in a kiss full of affection. You could feel the relief in his touch, the weight of his concern lifting as he held you even closer, just letting the silence settle around you both.

"I love you..." he mumbled, his voice warm and tender as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, holding you close against him. His arms wrapped around you like a protective shield, his heartbeat steady and comforting.

"Let’s just stay like this for a while, okay?" His words were soft, filled with a quiet yearning for peace, as if he didn’t want to let go of this moment.

"I love you too," you whispered back, your voice barely above a breath as you snuggled closer, your body melting into his. The words felt like an affirmation, a bond that only grew stronger with every passing second. You felt safe, cared for, and utterly at peace in his arms.

dividers by: @uzzmachiato @anitalenia

#dr zayne #lnds zayne #love and deepspace zayne #zayne x reader #lads zayne #li shen #love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #l&ds zayne #lads smut #zayne smut #smut #p in v sex #mirror sex #brat tamer zayne #makirolls

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see-arcane · 2 months ago

Text

Welcome to Dracula Season 2025!

We're only a few weeks shy of May and our journey with Jonathan into the Carpathians. As we prepare for another helping of paprika hendl and ensuing horror, let's refresh with some of the Dracula-adjacent goodies that have accumulated over the last year...

1. Dracula Daily

The Substack that started it all. Dracula Daily was started by Matt Kirkland in 2021, though it took off in the Tumblr book club in 2022. Since then, we’ve turned Dracula Season, the period between May 3 and November 7, into a months-long undead extravaganza of memes, literary analysis, and overdue love for Bram Stoker’s novel, Dracula as the fantastic gothic gift it is. With the simplified format of putting the book’s entries in chronological order, each one emailed out on the same date they were written, we’re forced to live on the same calendar and waiting game as the characters. Whether you’re a new reader or a returning bookworm, welcome to Castle Dracula!

Dracula Daily Substack: Link

2. The Holmwood Foundation

Fresh from crowdfunding and wrapping up production of its first season, The Holmwood Foundation, @theholmwoodfoundation on Tumblr, is an indie podcast coming around the corner with a genuinely unique take on a supernatural sequel to the events of Dracula…which didn’t end quite how Bram Stoker’s in-universe novel depicted. The first episode is out, featuring a pair of unlucky archivists—what horror podcast is complete without them?—the ghosts of Jonathan and Mina Harker, Dracula’s severed head, and a hiking trip across the moors to escape some shambling undead horrors. Give the preview and its miscellaneous teasers a listen if you want a taste of contemporary revenant scares (and to listen to the world’s most irate descendant of the Harkers pop a blood vessel).

The Holmwood Foundation homepage: Link

Podcast episodes and side content: Link

3. Dracula: 2004

Another indie audio drama trying to crowdfund its way out of the coffin! Not only an adaptation of Dracula, but one set just a short step into the 21st century, @starstrider-productions' Dracula: 2004 wants to tell the story of our beloved Victorian vampire targets-turned-slayers in an era of flip phones, Dictaphones, and found footage-tinted horror. To judge by the summary and extremely promising character bios for our refreshed cast, it’s going to be a one-of-a-kind listen. But only if we can get them to their goal! By the time I post this, they’ll have less than 20 days left to cover the production cost.

If you want to drag this beautiful undead carcass into the moonlight, please chip into their campaign if you can and share it with your fellow Dracula lovers and horror podcast enthusiasts! The smallest tier is £10 GBP, ($13 for my fellow ‘murricans), and every bit helps.

Indiegogo crowdfunding page: Link

4. Re: Dracula, Re: Carmilla, (Coming Soon: Re: Frankenstein!)

Giving an undead rebirth to the original Dracula Daily format, the podcast Re: Dracula turns the same chronological date-by-date read of the novel an audio drama twist. It’s made of professional voice acting, soundscaping, and has its own soundtrack! This thing is also replete with many a meme and interview as the garlic garnish on top. Give it a listen if you haven’t already and check out their Tumblr, @re-dracula.

Likewise, you need to check out their most recent projects. Re: Carmilla, which gives Sheridan le Fanu’s Carmilla its own supple and sinuous sapphic treatment, and the upcoming Re: Frankenstein, currently on the hunt for voice actors to fill the roles of Mary Shelley’s gothic opus, Frankenstein. Everyone say thank you to this cast and crew for feeding us the overdue classic supernatural theatre feast we’ve been waiting on for actual centuries.

Re: Dracula: Link

Re: Carmilla: Link

Re: Frankenstein (Casting Call!): Link

5. The League of Extraordinary Gentlefolk

You want the Drac Attack Pack (plus a surviving Quincey Morris) with the Harkers happily married and questionably human? You want Irene Norton née Adler treated with respect and allowed to actually have her chosen romance with Godfrey Norton that was half the damn point of “A Scandal in Bohemia,” along with appearances from a certain consulting detective and his doctorial companion? You want Dr. Jekyll as an upstanding scientist on the brink of some unsavory new changes? You want Wells’ Invisible Man being cantankerous and developing friendships against his will? You want sundry forces of mortal and supernatural peril roiling up from under the foundations of Victorian era literature like an eerie eldritch smoke? Then The League of Extraordinary Gentlefolk is the comic for you!

An ongoing webcomic, fresh from its second story arc—a certain submarine, a bastard of a marksman, and an uncanny gothic villainess are involved—LXGF brings together a huge crossover cast of everyone’s favorite characters from the Classics section. Started by the amazing @mayhemchicken and posted on @lxgentlefolkcomic, this series is a love letter to beloved Victorian era lit that actually understands, acknowledges, and loves the books and their canons! What a concept! Alan.

Tumblr: Link

Comic: Link

Non-Canon Silliness: Link

Fanfiction: Link

6. Blood of My Blood (and Other Gorgeous Gothic Dramas of the Ibrithir-Was-Here Universe)

I’ve made a lot of amazing friends since Dracula Season became my favorite time of the year (read: most of it). Many of those friends have been brain-meltingly talented and creative in the works they’ve made based in or inspired by Dracula and adjacent works. But one of the best in terms of artful storytelling has to be @ibrithir-was-here.

Me and other scribblers and spit-ballers tripped and fell into what began as a dark Dracula Bad Ending improv, everyone chasing after each other with ‘Yes, and—,’ additions to a vampiric domestic horror story. That’s turned into a full 100+ chapter tale with its concluding climax just now about to hit its zenith. That story is Blood of My Blood, an incredibly fun and fiendish gothic what-if? One in which we answer the questions:

What if things took a grim turn in the climax at Transylvania? What if half our heroes died and Mina turned, with a child already growing in her undead womb? What if Jonathan threw himself on the twisted ‘mercy’ of Dracula to protect his family, trading his servitude, sanity, blood, and participation in an intimately worrying series of mind games with his new master? What if young Quincey Harker was raised in this warped castle and then, at the cusp of manhood, was sent out into the world to learn the buried truths of his family? What if Dracula was none too thrilled about his adopted heir leaving the nest, and took grisly measures to bring him back..?

The answers have been written and lushly illustrated for the past year and change, ripe with romances, revenges, bloodshed, and one of the most gloriously fucked up family dynamics you’ve ever seen in a gothic drama.

…And if you’re in the mood for another flavor of the latter, Ibrithir has also cooked up a pile of sinister samples to indulge in.

(n)Ever Loved, a take on the origins of the ‘Weird Sisters’ before they were munching kids meals.

The Wretched Family, an AU in which Frankenstein’s Creature saved the little girl from the river a moment too late, and coerces Victor into reviving her drowned body as a Creature like himself.

A Cruel Love, giving a spotlight to a possible history of Countess Mircalla and how love played a part in her undeath and the demise of her first smitten paramour.

Second Stanza, a certain Opera Ghost returns to haunt Christine and Raoul’s son, supposedly as a guardian—whether the boy likes it or not.

Rosemary is for Remembrance, in which a young artist grapples with the bloody shadow of a man who shares her face. A long dead hedonist by the name of Dorian Gray…

Go give them all a read!

Blood of My Blood: Link

(n)Ever Loved: Link

The Wretched Family: Link 1, Link 2

A Cruel Love: Link 1, Link 2

Second Stanza: Link

Rosemary is for Remembrance: Link

7. Dracula’s Guest the Comic

Want a glimpse of what Jonathan Harker may have gotten up to prior to reaching Castle Dracula? Well, take a look at the comic adaptation of Stoker’s, “Dracula Guest,” by @isablooo! It features our good friend Mr. Harker, some sightseeing, and more than the usual bloodsuckers out for his neck.

Comic: Link

8. Dracula Beyond Stoker Press

Have you ever thought to yourself, “I wish I had an anthology dedicated entirely to stories about one or more specific characters of Dracula?” Me too! And Dracula Beyond Stoker Press is here to deliver. Their most recent issue coming out is about our good friend Jonathan Harker—already preordered my copy!—with Mina Harker’s issue accepting story and cover art submissions starting May 1, 2025. DBS Press already has an amazing store full of paperback zines and merch to go through for other characters and general Dracula-flavored goodies. Go give them and the submission guidelines a gander.

Dracula Beyond Stoker Press: Link

9. Harker (and Other Arcane Horrors)

Harker is my work-in-progress, a novel expanding on the experiences of Jonathan Harker which we never get to see between his and the others’ journal entries in Dracula. It also adds some creative and menacing fleshing out for just how and why Jonathan Harker changed on October 3rd—and perhaps explains what exactly he changed into.

As of now, I am well over twenty chapters in, with over 750 pages written. In the draft, Mina is only just now about to read Jonathan’s journal for the first time. This thing is massive. And I’ve been releasing preview chapters since last Dracula Season! The latest of which is due to drop very soon.

Until then, there’s also an abundance of other horrors I’ve scribbled up in the interim. Some serial, some self-contained, and one in the form of a published novella, The Vampyres, which concerns some undead bastards of classic lit caught under the blade of a very practiced psychopomp. There are a couple preview chapters up to skim too!

Hope you enjoy the read.

Harker (Tumblr): Link

Harker (Substack): Link

Substack (General): Link

The Vampyres: eBook Paperback

[REDACTED – Surprise en route April 18th]

10. What Manner of Man (and Another Gothic Queer Nightmare)

@stjohnstarling has completed one tale of queer horror, romance, and erotica, and is hard at work on the next story. The first was What Manner of Man, a novel with some borrowed blood from Dracula and a wonderful twist on an intense relationship that forms between a priest and a vampire. This book is now completed on the Substack and as an eBook! His next work in progress: A Companion in Vice, building off the patchwork anatomy of Frankenstein.

What Manner of Man (Substack): Link

What Manner of Man (eBook): Link

A Companion in Vice (Summary): Link

11. Project Gutenberg

An online library of countless classic public domain works. Get on it, bookworms!

Dracula - Link

Carmilla - Link

Sheridan le Fanu collection - Link

12. The Internet Archive

As the name says, it’s an archive. It preserves damn near everything, including my favorite ballet…

Dracula Ballet by Michael Pink – Link

13. Romancing the Gothic - My Wild Heart Bleeds

Carmilla fans, storytellers, and scholars, this one is for you. My Wild Heart Bleeds is set to be an anthology dedicated entirely to Sheridan le Fanu’s Carmilla, including commentaries, original works, international and historic perspectives, discussions of adaptations and works inspired by the story… And you have the chance to contribute to it! Regarding submissions, the page says:

Abstracts of 3-400 words and a bio of 2-250 words should be sent to the editors Dr. Sam Hirst and Simon Bacon by June 30th 2025. Chapter of between 5-6000 words will be required by July 2026. We also welcome original creative pieces (artwork, short stories [up to 1,500 words], flash-fiction, poetry, etc) that are inspired by and/or critically engage with ‘Carmilla’ or themes mentioned above. Abstracts or queries should be set to: [email protected]

My Wild Heart Bleeds: Link

BONUS

@cry-ptidd – Blessed us with getting to see the Dracula cast in Hellsing style and showing us why Kohta Hirano didn’t dare to have them in the manga: The Harkers are simply too badass when canonical. (And the Suitors would be too stylish.)

@bluecatwriter – Expanding from Dracula fic to Carmilla fic. Smut abounds.

Poetry – For bonus gothic vampire reference material:

“Lenore” by Gottfried August Bürger, translated by Dante Gabriel Rossetti: Link

“Christabel” by Samuel Taylor Coleridge: Link

Libby the Library App (Sign Up! Support Your Libraries!) - Link

Dracula Season 2024

All the Dracula Season goodies compiled last year: Link

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alchemistc · 7 months ago

Text

Tommy ignores the knock at his door. He's in day three pajamas and the only person who might make the effort to check in on him is his exes best friend. Which.

The knocking continues.

It's getting louder.

There's a Kings game on in the background and he's been elbow deep in the Jeep manual he'd finally cracked open in some sort of weird, fucked up pattern of mourning.

Tommy's never gonna buy a fucking Jeep. He hates them. You own one for more than five years and more than half the parts are replacement parts.

He's been staring at a diagram of the timing belt for half an hour, at least. The last thing he remembers about the game is Kuemper letting in three goals on five shots and somehow the Kings are up two, now, and there's still 25 minutes of game time left.

Tommy reaches for the remote. Turns the volume up.

The knocking returns less than a minute later.

---

There's a box of odds and ends tucked under the table in his entryway. He avoids looking at it. He knows there are a few things missing from it and he really doesn't want to examine what he'll have to do to avoid giving it to Eddie tonight. He cut the cords, he shouldn't be lingering watching the frayed edges sway in the wind, clutching his line like there's anything braced on the other side of it.

Evan's oldest, softest LAFD hoodie, the one that's technically too small for both of them but has stretched shockingly evenly and is definitely not sitting unwashed at the bottom of Tommy's laundry basket. The program from a recital of Denny's they'd stopped by to support him for, on their way out of town for a long weekend. Evan's stupid keto bread and the milk frother he'd left behind three months ago and never bothered to grab because he had more than one.

Whoever is at his door is still fucking knocking, and suddenly Tommy doesn't feel like being polite. He'll shove the box in Eddie's arms and tell him to fuck off and close the last few remaining open doors he has to this.

Only when he swings the door wide it's not Eddie on the other side, and the box nearly takes out whatever Evan - Buck, Jesus Christ - has in his own arms.

Not a Tommy box - too small for all the shit that he'd left behind. He misses the house slippers that had had a permanent spot tucked under the left side of the bed.

Tommy flinches, reels away, tries to shove the box away before Buck can see its contents.

"What are you doing here?" Even tone. No quiver in his voice. He's been called rude and dismissive for less.

Buck scowls. Hefts the rectangular dish in his hands and shoves past Tommy before Tommy can blink.

It's silly to say he chases after him, down the hallway towards the kitchen, but he's not exactly following along behind at a casual leisurely pace.

The glass pan slams down on his kitchen counter and Buck spends a minute staring at the calendar he was only getting two months out of because he couldn't look at the one with all Buck's notes penned in anymore.

"Wow," Buck says, and shifts his weight awkwardly.

"What are you -?"

"Jee and I made you birthday cupcakes," Buck says. His voice is hard. Angry. Hurt. "Happy birthday, asshole."

---

He cracks the lid and there are only three cupcakes inside. Tommy forgets himself. Raises a brow, amusement rolling over him pleasantly, prepared to tease him, but then he catches the set of Buck's legs and the curl of his mouth and the tight way his arm tucks itself back in against his belly, a protective gesture that reminds Tommy very effectively what this is.

"Why?" Tommy wonders aloud, and Evan's scowl deepens.

Buck's scowl.

God.

"We've been planning it for weeks." Something flashes across his eyes before he schools his features. "Jee made me promise to bring you some."

"She must not be a skilled baker," Tommy jokes. "If these are the only ones that made it."

Evan's expression twists. "I ate most of them."

The frosting looks fresh. No creases in the paper cup holding them together.

"I had to make a new batch of frosting because I used some of it for -." He cuts himself off. Looks like he'd like to throw it in Tommy's face but can't quite force himself to hurt Tommy.

It hurts as much as he'd expected, anyway.

The world is a small place. It's not the first time he's had to speak to an ex when he didn't want to. It's never pleasant.

This is worse. The cut and run is supposed to give him time.

Evan Buckley has been an ache behind his ribcage for months, now, long before he'd made that final decision. He'd known it was too little too late. Buck's gonna be the shadow other men see behind his eyes for years.

Buck's apparently found and slept with someone within the week and a half span from Tommy walking out to his sad shitty mopey birthday.

That he'd forgotten about.

Tommy leans in. Picks up a cupcake. Licks a stripe through the frosting and makes a face when he realizes it's buttercream.

"The ones you were supposed to get had the whipped cream one you like," Buck says, accusingly.

That somehow stings just a little bit extra.

Tommy pulls back the paper, takes a bite. There's raspberry filling inside, and Tommy can feel tears prickling at the edges of his eyes, because when he'd told Evan about how his grandma baked he'd been thinking of Evan being a grandparent, the kind of shit he'd forbidden himself from imagining with anyone he was dating years ago.

"Thank you," he manages, and Buck frowns.

"He thought the whipped cream was too sweet." And Tommy probably deserves this but he's not particularly in the mood.

"Cut it out, Buck."

Buck rolls his jaw. "I just figured you'd wanna know how it's going. Maybe I could tally up the hookups for you, count them all up by gender and stamina and opinions on how I should feel and act and fall for someone. Find out if I'm actually gay enough to be a man's last."

---

The rest of the cupcake kind of collapses and oozes as Tommy smacks it down on the counter. He takes thirty seconds to pull the other two cupcakes out before he's grabbing the too-large fake Pyrex and turning heel. The keto bread goes in the pan. Then the milk frother.

Tommy yanks the recital program off the fridge and tosses it in the trash.

Buck almost looks triumphant.

"The box under the side table has the rest. You can see yourself out."

He actually does exactly as he's told, and Tommy listens to his footsteps drift off, shoulders hunched in and the breath tight in his throat. He'd been cruel, it was only fair Buck got a few final kicks in.

Tommy sucks in a breath and blinks away the moisture at the edges of his vision.

The footsteps take a heel turn at the side table and turn right back around.

"This isn't everything."

Tommy half expects some panned comment about how Tommy's got his heart - the kind of silly shit he'd say to a dead outlaw.

"My sweatshirt," Buck says, and Tommy freezes.

He could lie. He could pretend he had no idea where it was. Claim he didn't remember it even being here, because that particular piece of clothing did have a tendency to travel.

He doesn't fucking want to hand that one over.

Buck smirks, like he's caught the crack, and is looking for ways to exploit it.

"I own my own house!" Tommy says, and it's a terrible launching point but Buck latches on.

"You just left, Tommy! I know I jumped the gun, Tommy, but you didn't even - you just left! I'm sorry, okay. I'm sorry I didn't know I was into men until you. I'm sorry you had to be my first, I'm sure that must have been such a burden for you."

"That's not fair."

"You didn't even give me a chance. That was - I'm so angry with you, Tommy. I'm so fucking mad."

"I know."

"But that's what you planned for, right? That's - you ripped the bandaid, Tommy, except there's a whole fucking untreated stab wound right underneath and it's still bleeding, Tommy."

"Did you even make this round of cupcakes with your niece?" It's better to keep his family's names out of his mouth. Just keep those ties cut.

Buck looks livid. "No, you idiot, I whipped up a tiny batch of this recipe just for the excuse to see you and - and tell you what a stupid, awful coward you are."

"That's not f-." He isn't sure whether Buck is being facetious about the small batch thing or not. He doesn't have any time to think about it.

"My sister and Chim are having another baby. Bobby and Athena are probably gonna host Christmas this year. Eddie shaved off the mustache and he's, like, dancing now, I guess. Hen and Karen are good for the first time in -." He shakes his head. Stares at Tommy. Tommy can't quite hide from that gaze. "We were good, Tommy. We were - you loved me."

He'd never said the words. Neither had Evan, but they'd both known. Both felt it. Tommy let it go too far, did it scared for longer than he usually would.

"It's not like that just went away when I walked out, Evan," Tommy hisses, and then regrets it immediately.

Evan has spent most of this visit pushing, pressing, digging fingers into the wound to make it hurt.

Evan goes silent now, reeling back a little. He seems shocked that Tommy had admitted it.

"I want you to go," Tommy says. "I need you to go, Buck."

It was the right dagger the first time, but apparently it's only effective once.

"I love you too, you know." His voice is soft. Tommy can't meet his eye. "And I hate you. I hate you even though I know that's what you wanted but I love you too much to not hate you out of spite."

Tommy knows if he caves it's done. He's signing himself over to whatever fucked thing will end them a week, a month, five years, two decades from now.

"Go home, Buck. Hate me there."

---

He goes in for the kill.

"I called Abby, two nights ago."

Right for the jugular. No survivors.

"She laughed for like twenty minutes, and then she tried to get me to chat about our sex life for comparison, and then she was shocked silent for a full minute when I wouldn't." Because Evan had always been a little too open about those details. "She also told me she forgave you but she doesn't think you ever forgave yourself."

Tommy agrees. For all that they'd been terrible for each other, they'd known how the hell to take care of one another like no one's business.

"I want you to go," Tommy says, steady, quiet, nearly a snark for how deep his voice goes to hide the tremor in it.

Buck cocks a hip against the doorframe. "I want my sweatshirt."

The breath that escapes him is shaky, but her think he hides most of it behind the hand over his face, the finger pinched at the bridge of his nose.

"I can't do this."

"Exactly how many men and women do I have to fuck before you believe the future I'm looking at is with you?"

"All of them! None! It was a stupid thing to say and it's not what I meant and I can't do this."

Buck spins on his heel. Grabs the box he'd set aside and hefts it up into his arms. "I'm coming back for my sweatshirt," he says. "You let me know whether you want to talk about the data points of the sexuality spreadsheet or about us."

"There is no us, Buck." His voice sounds defeated even to himself.

"If that was true you'd just give me the stupid sweater and be done."

Tommy sits in silence. He does not get up to retrieve the hoodie. Buck is still angry, but his smile is wide and bashful.

Tommy listens to his footsteps trail down the hall, towards the door, out of it. He hears the Jeep's ignition catch, the wheels roll off the drive.

He realizes he'd left the goddamn Jeep manual open on the timing belt page, right there on his side table where he'd pointed out the things he wanted Evan to take to clear him from his life.

---

There is someone knocking at his door.

Tommy doesn't quite ignore it.

He hid the sweatshirt in one of his toolbox drawers when Evan texted him this morning to let him know he'd be over with a six pack and a pot of chili.

There's a zero percent chance Evan's getting that sweatshirt back, tonight.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fix it #not quite #theyre playing a game #but once these idiots lose the game they'll probably win #with each other #tevan fic

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butteronabun · 7 months ago

Note

diluc + EXES EXES EXES PLEASE (HIIII butter on a bun ^_^ i will Enable you because i have a playlist for him dedicated to this shit) + canon/modern au, etc — pick whatever YOU were thinking writing the request post + spin the wheel and pick a genre~ again, this request is an excuse to hear YOUR thoughts (i have some of my own)

extra: pick whether you want it to be she/her or g/n~ i’m fine with both 🫶

sincerely, 🥩 (who missed you and hasn’t caught up with recent posts bc i was busy </3)

wish that i had more of this borrowed time

a diluc ragnvindr x female reader exes au.

overview: diluc’s heart is his greatest foe.

wc: 3.2k

notes: originally this was 5k words but that was so much & i didn’t want to complicate this more so TAKE IT 😙 this is also a bit open-ended so feel free to interpret this however you like!! also, additional notes will be in the end, so better check that out too :)

“You’re going to break that glass, Master Diluc,” remarks Kaeya Alberich himself, who is this close to purchasing popcorn to watch the ‘drama’ that he has been observing for a while now. Weinlesefest truly has its wonders – fresh wine, good company, and a brother who definitely still isn’t over his ex, even if said brother continues to deny it. “You look under the weather. Why not take a breather and enjoy the sights? You have a loyal staff that’s willing to oversee the Angel’s Share stand for a while.”

Diluc’s cold, unwavering glare remains on that face of his. Kaeya’s almost certain that comparing his ice from his cryo vision with Diluc’s expression will have no difference at all. “I am doing fine, Master Kaeya.” He looks down at the glass he has wiped for—Kaeya guesses—the fifth time now, and picks up another one.

“Really? But it’s becoming a little hot, Master Diluc. I’ve noticed that as the minutes pass by, the temperature of the stand has been concerningly rising as of late. Are you secretly heating up some tasty bar snacks, or is it something else?”

Kaeya suppresses a smirk when the warmth around them subdues momentarily. He has one theory that he’s sure is actually true—a theory where that ‘heat’ is coming from, and it’s definitely not the wind.

It’s the ninth month of the calendar. Summer’s already over. So it’s safe to say that. . .

“Don’t you have other matters to tend to?” Diluc narrows his eyes at him. Oh, changing the subject now, aren’t we? “Surely, Cavalry Captains still have to scout the area for any potential threats during Weinlesefest, or have the knights really gone incompetent?”

“Oh, you. Everyone deserves to enjoy the festival every once in a while,” Kaeya raises his keg playfully. “And that includes even you.”

Diluc just grumbles at that. Still stubborn as always, but Kaeya remembers the day when the traveler told him a few years ago that Diluc, despite isolating himself during the previous festivals, reveled. (Reveled on his own, was what they clarified.) It’s a comforting thought that even such a busy man as himself can still enjoy these moments.

And Kaeya wishes he’d see it more.

Diluc willingly taking charge of the Angel Share’s stand instead of Charles? How endearing. Is it really because he’s here for the celebration, or something else?

(Kaeya—and he’s pretty sure, Diluc is, too—hears nearby footsteps. Familiar voices.)

Or someone else?

Whatever it is, Kaeya is fine with either.

“Still baffles me that my suggested proposals got rejected— ah, we’re here. Oh, hi, Kaeya!”

Kaeya sips his beer and smiles at you. “Hey.” And he watches it all unfold again. You smile back at him, before slowly turning to Diluc, who has never taken his eyes off of you ever since your arrival.

You hide a lock of your hair behind your ear timidly. “Hi, Diluc.”

It’s really fascinating to see his brother still so soft with you. People may not notice this, but Kaeya knows Diluc best. “Good evening. What would you like tonight?”

“Ah – my company here—” you turn to the man beside you, a fellow colleague perhaps, and Kaeya seriously has to control himself from smirking. The area’s heating up again. “—would like to try some of the Fruits of the Festival that we’ve been hearing of. Is it still available?”

Diluc nods. “Yours?”

“I don’t want anything, actually—”

“Please, don’t do that,” The man calls out your name, and steps forward. The warmth’s growing. “If you think that you’re treating me tonight, then I’ll be treating you as well. Bartender, I’ll be ordering Wolfhook Juice for this lovely lady.”

The man winks at you, confident with himself, until Diluc breaks the flair by simply saying, “She’s allergic to that.”

Ah, this is great. Kaeya’s considering if he should bring Rosaria or even Lisa along for the drama.

“W–wait, really? You’re allergic to Wolfhook?”

“Ah, D–Diluc—” As much as Kaeya relishes in dear Diluc’s jealousy, your expressions are also just as priceless. Speechless that his amazing brother still has one detail about you memorized? Pfft. Such is a man of great talent who has a knack for processing knowledge in such a short time. He’s a businessman, after all. It’s important to know a lot of things. “You still remember that?”

Diluc doesn’t reply to that question. Instead, he goes on preparing the drink with ease and in silence. Kaeya can feel the awkwardness in the air as they watch Diluc swiftly mix the ingredients, and the man accompanying you merely coughs to dissipate the tension.

“So, um,” The man starts, “I’ve heard that Starsnatch Cliff looks beautiful at this time of night. I was wondering if you’d like to stargaze with me?”

You seem sheepish. “Oh, I—”

There’s a loud thud, surprising everyone, except for Kaeya and Diluc themselves. Diluc has placed the glass in front of the man, face emotionless. “It’s late. Dangerous, even. I recommend that you postpone such a journey.”

Kaeya hides his smile behind his keg. Oh, Diluc. Could you get even more obvious? He wishes to voice out that poor Klee and the other children might get scared because of his ‘grumpy face’ again, but it is late and they’re not here anymore, so it isn’t a valid reason to mention.

Oh, the area’s hotter now. The man is visibly sweating under the intimidating man’s stare. “A–Ah, I see- t–thank you for that then, good sir—”

“Diluc, don’t scare him,” you scold him lightly, and take the glass. “And we’ll be fine, I have a vision.”

His stupid brother’s about to protest, and Kaeya readies himself for another session of ‘Diluc Facepalming Himself Because He Made A Fool of Himself In Front of his Ex’ when you add on:

“Though, Diluc’s right. It’s dangerous to go out right now since I’ve heard from the outriders that the concentration of hilichurl camps around that area is growing in size again. So we shouldn’t go.” You give the man his drink, and gesture him to an empty table. “And didn’t you tell me you’re tired already? Why not sit down for a while?”

Once you two are seated on a table that’s too far for Diluc’s liking, Kaeya sighs and shakes his head. Diluc glowers at him. “What?”

“Attentive as ever.”

“It’s the least I could do,” Diluc says as he crosses his arms.

“The least thing you could do is be attentive to her well–being, even though you’re not her lover anymore?” The temperature intensifies. Oops. Kaeya stepped on something he shouldn’t. But it’s always so fun to get on Diluc’s nerves. “Admit it, you still haven’t moved on.”

Diluc then retorts, “Is it so bad to care for an old friend?” “So that’s what you call her now?”

“Kaeya,” Diluc warns.

“Diluc~” Kaeya pleasantly sings. Then, his lips part into an ‘o.’ “My, I smell something burning. Are you really cooking something up?”

Kaeya doesn’t bat an eyelash on the slightly scorched bartop.

Diluc’s heart is his greatest foe.

He has too much love in his heart, and oftentimes, it causes him great anguish.

He wanted to rip his heart out the night his father passed on. He wanted to stomp on it after causing Kaeya harm.

And he wanted to abandon it, just like how you did.

“Let’s end this,” you told him one dinner, with your head dipped down, not wanting to meet his eyes. You trembled as you anticipated his response, but you didn’t get one. Diluc was left aghast. “This isn’t working for the both of us, Diluc.”

Such was the fate of a Ragnvindr who dedicated his time to protecting the city and thwarting the enemies that threatened his nation. Such is the fate of a Ragnvindr who occupied himself with the winery’s business ventures.

Such was the fate of a Ragnvindr, who, despite having a big heart, had failed his lover.

He wanted to say—maybe we could try again. I will be better this time. He knew he could solve this, if he could think of strategies to counterattack the abyss, or even keep his competitors on their toes with his new business plans, surely, he could remedy this.

“I have too much on my plate. You have too much on yours. Let us end this before we affect each other.”

When your tears cascaded down your cheeks, Diluc wanted to wipe them away. But he couldn’t even move. Not even an inch. How could he, when his heart was being shattered to pieces?

You had too much on your plate? Why didn’t you say anything? You know he’d always be here for you.

So why?

He wanted to say — then let’s face them together.

But you had other plans.

It was over.

And he understood.

“How fortunate that our dear cutie decided to visit this year’s Weinlesefest,” Lisa says as she touches the petals of the cecilias. She’s here in Diluc’s garden. Lisa, for some reason, has the tendency to make unannounced visits. She smiles up at Diluc who’s observing her from the gazebo. “Don’t you feel the same way too, Diluc? That she’s here again, after almost two and a half years.”

Diluc crosses his arms. “I fail to understand why I’d have to voice out my opinions on the matter.”

“Ah, but didn’t you say something to Kaeya? Supposedly, shouldn’t you be happy that an ‘old friend’ came back?”

Diluc averts his gaze, and Lisa smiles even wider before tending back to the flowers.

“She favors these, don't they? Cecilia flowers.” Lisa sniffs one. This one smells very fresh. It’s as if all the flowers here are greatly taken care of. “Oh, this takes me back. I still recall how you and her first met. You two were so adorable! She used to chase you around, desperate for your attention. And despite your attempts to push her away, she still managed to win you over. Her blushing face was the absolute best when you gifted her a bouquet of cecilias. Really, who knew that you could get so romantic?”

Lisa lifts her head and fixates on the clouds. “She’s your first love, right? And you treasured her so.” She checks to see if Diluc’s still there, and he is.

He’s still sulking like the baby he is.

“Diluc?”

Lisa can hear him murmur, but it’s not too audible for her ears to pick up. “I beg your pardon?”

“. . .her favorite.”

Lisa tilts her head. “Favorite?”

“Cecilia flowers.” Diluc says. “They’re not her favorite.”

“Oh, my. So what’s her favorite, then?”

Diluc is reluctant. But he answers anyway. “Small lamp grass flowers.”

Oh, Lisa knows.

She just wanted to hear him say it.

No one knows how much Diluc has struggled during the first months of your breakup with him.

He got moody, at times. Even slept in too much, which was surprising, because he wasn’t the type of person to sleep, not at all, when he had errands to run. He was a business owner by day, and a vigilante by night—he shouldn’t coop himself up inside his quarters all the time just to let his broken heart weep.

So even if those days, those weeks, those months, were nothing but unimaginable suffering – Diluc had to rise. Someone still had to face the darkness for the dawn.

The overseeing of the winery and the scouting of adversaries were great distractions to someone like him.

But he couldn’t deny the fact that whenever he was resting, or even had one moment of leisure, those thoughts canw creeping in. How were you? Where were you? Are you faring well? Do you still yearn for him, as much as he yearns for you?

Are you as ruined as he is?

Diluc didn’t expect that breakups could get this hard. He thought the drunkards in his taverns were over exaggerating it a bit too much because of the alcohol, but now, he could understand.

( He didn’t resort to alcoholism, though. )

He really tried to get over you. He really did. He really tried to forget.

But how could he, when he cherished you so?

How could he, when his heart continuously ached for you? How could he, when he longed for you desperately after you left Mondstadt.

( ”There are plenty of fish in the sea. There are lots of daughters from various nations wanting to be your wife! Why not choose any of them, to fill that hole in your chest?”

The last time a patron told Master Diluc those exact words, he nearly banished them from his tavern. )

Moving on was not an option here, it seemed, when everything reminded Diluc of you.

He saw you everywhere. You liked talking a lot, and he liked listening to you, even before you two were dating. Every experience, every anecdote, every musing, and every vent — he remembered it all.

Diluc knew what type of coffee you liked. At first, you weren’t such a big fan of them, but you found one that suited your taste. ( “Just one cup is enough, though. Two or more will make me palpitate!” ) Pepperoni became your favorite pizza topping when you ate with Jean when she invited you for lunch out of gratitude. ( “Cheesy spinach is a close second!” ) You liked reading books and seemed to get lost in them a lot; you even excitedly discussed your reviews to him of the novels or pieces of information you’ve read. ( “Like can you believe it?! He had a twin brother all along!” or “Now I understand why you have such a big chair in your office! It’s because it signifies your status! ” )

You were so endearing. Diluc really, really loved every bit of you and made sure to give you the love that you deserved. He tried his best as he could to provide you with the affection that you needed.

Yet it still wasn’t enough.

Because if it did, Diluc would still be here at his dining table, reading his documents and sipping coffee with you. If it did, you’d still offer Diluc one slice of pepperoni or cheesy spinach pizza after your lunch with Jean. If it did, you would still bother him underneath the sheets until late hours into the night regarding the mundane and the interesting.

Move on, they said. They were all growing concerned.

Move on, a rational part of him also said. It was for his own good.

But he had always been stubborn.

(

“Master Diluc’s single?! Again?”

“The most eligible bachelor’s throne is his once more.”

“Back off, even if the Master’s single, he won’t give you no heed. Just give up.”

“Come on, support me a little! I just want to give him a good time. Don’t you think I have a chance?”

“Not one bit, lass. Not one bit.” )

Weinlesefest is in full swing—

“Yet here you are, moping.” A green bard sits on the pier beside Diluc, who’s currently throwing rocks onto the surface of the water. “Master Diluc, shouldn’t you be out there and celebrate? Or did you choose to stay here because you haven’t scored a date?”

Diluc narrows his eyes at him curtly, before throwing another stone into the water.

“A silent treatment for me, I see,” The bard strings his lyre, “But I have no worry, for you’ll answer me eventually.”

Diluc sighs. “She’s occupied as of the moment.”

“Oh~? I see that the tables have turned, then?”

Diluc scoffs. Of course he also knows about what had happened before. “Really. What’s your purpose for being here? And stop with your rhyming. It’s annoying me.”

The bard snickers. Stroke a chord it seems. “It’s the second to the last day of this festive event, and I’ve yet to see you participate. Minus the fact of taking care of the Angel Share’s stall, but you must at least do something that’s not related to work.”

“It’s in my blood to dedicate myself when it comes to work.” Diluc throws another stone. “I have no other choice, Venti.”

“Yet here you are, skipping stones?”

“Here I am, skipping stones.”

The bard sighs sadly. As he kicks his legs back and forth, he says - “Do you remember the Thousand-Wind Wine Razor made with the Traveler?”

“Of course. The barrel they used belongs to my winery.”

There’s another silence. Then Venti speaks again. “The wind is many things, you know. It can bring back the soul, and especially, preserve memories—you know of the fact that dandelion seeds are added last as a way of capturing the wind at the very moment when the barrel is sealed. Meaning, the memory of that ‘moment’ is stored in the wine, for all eternity.”

“And your point is?”

“Let yourself be happy this once.”

After the citizens of Mondstadt welcomed the Anemo God, they all felt the gentle breeze kissing their skin as he graciously made himself present into the wind. The children cheered, and the adults raised their cups for a toast. Everyone was having a splendid time.

“To the Anemo Archon!”

You, however, have just finished preparing for your departure back to Sumeru. After packing your belongings and making sure you didn’t leave anything in the inn, you had to go find your companion — who’s still probably busy trying out new drinks.

You sigh at that, a little amused. You also resign to this fate. The journey to Sumeru will have to wait until later. Plus, you haven’t even properly said your goodbyes to the others, so, there’s that.

A polite cough echoes behind you. You turn around, and your heart flutters at the sight of a familiar man. Diluc.

“May I request a bit of your time?” He asks, always so gently.

You’re pleased and surprised, of course - because it’s Diluc. Diluc, who’s obviously seeking you, even if he’s made clear that he’s occupied with duties of the winery.

You want to humor him a little bit, so you snicker. “But what if I don’t want to?” You gesture to your satchel. “I’m preparing for my departure, you see.”

Diluc already knows that, doesn’t he? He doesn’t even react. “If that’s the case, then I respect your decision.”

Oh, that’s a bit disappointing. You kind of want to slap yourself for that. You should’ve just accepted Diluc’s request instead of pulling stuff like this. Why play hard to get, when Diluc’s already—

“But I beg of you,” Diluc adds, and you blink. There’s determination in his eyes, and your heart skips a beat when you notice that there’s also something else. “Before you leave. . . please, spend time with me. All it takes is just a short moment with you, and I’ll be content. I won’t ask for anything more.”

—making initiative, huh.

How can you say no to that?

You smile at him—a little bit too tenderly. “Alright then, Diluc.” You lift a hand, gesturing for him to take it. “Lead the way.”

supposedly this was seriously longer, it had more plot ( i indulged on this way too much when i was writing this but had to omit a lot of stuff because i was getting overboard + wanted to more focus on how diluc interacts with his ex / what he feels about his ex / what he felt without his ex asfghjfk also, here's one screenshot before i deleted this part; i wasn't rlly kidding that it had more substance and it was originally angsty:

anw. shoutout to my bestie who brainstormed with me abt ex diluc hcs it was so fun. lemme share to y'all what we talked abt: 1) we thought that diluc is the type of person who’d date to marry, 2) his heart is so so freaking loyal he'd still pine for his first love, and 3) he falls hard and is stupidly sentimental plus. if he did have an ex, the breakup will def bother / ruin / devastate him, especially when he loved that person sm :(

#diluc x reader #diluc x female reader #melted butter #finally posted one of the requests !!#i still LIVE #/ ignores the pile of backlogs i have to finish #meat anon feel free to share me ur tots abt diluc being an ex because i’m genuinely CURIOUS #aaaackkk #edit: i actually was so obsessed with this i listened to two songs #just to feel it #and write it #oh diluc i love u sm #thank u for this request!!!! 😍

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klausysworld · 8 months ago

Note

Hey so i was wondering if maybe you could possibly write me a smutty story with Klaus like about how even though he turned me made me a hybrid or vampire now he still wants to celebrate my birthday? My birthday is on the 29th of August so its literally 4 days away id love that

Happy Birthday, Sweetheart.

Turning wasn't something I had intended to do or wanted really, it was out of necessity that Klaus had given me his blood and it was an accident that I died with it in my system.

Klaus had convinced me to complete the transition, promising to be there with me and for me throughout the highs and lows of vampirism.

In all fairness, he had been with me but sometimes the lows were really low. Especially when it came round to my supposed to be birthday. However I was never going to get older again, there was no point in blowing out some silly candles and making a wish that would never come true. I couldn't celebrate that I was a year closer to any major life event or be able to talk about stupid things like a slight pay rise as I get older.

So when I woke up, and checked to see the dreaded date, I didn't bother getting out of bed. Well not until I felt an arm round my waist, pulling me back against a firm body. My eyes cracked open when his deep voice rumbled from behind my ear.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart." He muttered, a kiss pressed to the back of my ear and then my cheek before I was rolled over to face him. My face was level with his as he brushed the tip of his nose over mine and I groaned.

"Can we just not?" I mumbled, my voice croaky from sleep but I knew he got it as his brows pulled together and his eyes crinkled ever so slightly at the edges.

"No, we definitely will." He argued, his face returning to relaxed again as he pecked my lips. "Believe it or not but we all still celebrate our birthdays, Rebekah insists upon it."

"Were calendars even a thing back then?" I ask, still just about coherent and he hummed.

"No...but we had our ways to know...or perhaps we simply chose our birthdays a few years down the line. Nevertheless we celebrate and I refuse to let you go without." He whispered, kissing my temple and offering a smile.

"I've been here ages and haven't seen any of your birthdays, you're lying." I murmured, eyes narrowed.

"Well..." He sighed, a click to his tongue. "We celebrate as often as we can, the past couple months or so have been very complicated to say the least."

"Fine but I better see you with a birthday hat and badge on- when was your birthday?" I question and he sighed.

"March time. Doesn't matter, it isn't about me. This is about you. Now come, the festivities have only just began." He teased before both arms were hoisting me up and over his shoulder like a rag doll making me whine.

"Klaus!" I squirmed but only for a second, I wasn't awake enough to fight him. His hand patted my ass playfully as he carried me out of our room, making my body tense but he shushed me.

"I won't let anyone see this pretty little behind of yours." He chuckled, bringing me down the stairs and spinning me round and placing me on the breakfast stool. My head spun a little, attempting to adjust as a warm plate was placed in front of me by a softly smiling Elijah.

"Congratulations on your birthday, Y/N." He uttered, keeping his voice quiet which I appreciated before Rebekah's voice bellowed out.

"For christs sake Elijah! Just say normal things like 'happy birthday'!" She tutted, rolling her eyes and dropping down beside me. "Happy birthday, darling. It'll be spectacularly, I guarantee." She grinned and I could feel the dread forming as I pushed a smile to my face and bit the end of some bacon to keep my mouth preoccupied so I wouldn't have to find any words to keep the magic of my fantastic birthday alive.

Klaus's hand ruffled my hair, his chuckle a distant sound in the air as he left the room. My head turned to find him but Rebekah was nudging my side.

"Don't look, he's going to get your presents. Keep eating, and try to contain your excitement." She practically bounced beside me, smile brighter than ever as she pulled out a party horn and blew it in my face.

Just seconds later an elastic band snapped under my chin, a card hat on top my head and Hayley kissing my cheek before catching my ear. "Just go with it, it'll get better." She whispered and I listened.

By the time I had finished my breakfast, Klaus was behind me.

I had just slipped off the stool, Elijah had already taken my plate and when I turned around there was an array of differently shaped and sized presents wrapped and displayed across the room. Klaus standing infront of them, slowly coming towards me with a hand outstretched.

I took it after a second and let him lead me over, arms going round me from behind as he lifted the first gift to my hands. "Please...just enjoy yourself." He whispered, nose in my neck.

Presents took a while. By the end I couldn't be upset. Klaus knew me like an open book and had hit every mark possible. Bringing me to tears several times with extra special gifts.

Which was why my face was buried in his chest, eyes closed and fingers curled around his henley as he kissed the top of my head.

I found myself back upstairs soon after, stripped bare and soaking peacefully in the bathtub whilst Rebekah and Hayley yelled through the next room, going on about the party they had planned.

The dress Rebekah had designed fit like a glove and I couldn't deny how beautiful I felt in it, especially once the girls had done my hair and makeup.

"Everything's perfect." Bekah uttered, hands fixing the last few strands and checking the hairspray had set.

"Klaus is gonna go crazy." Hayley whistled and my eyes rolled though a smile pulled at my face.

They were right too, he was all over me as soon as I got to the bottom of the staircase. Lips kissing mine and hands on my hips, gripping them like he usually does in the depths of our room.

"Happy birthday, my love." He whispered and I hummed before adjusting his bowtie.

"You are adorable when you dress up." I teased and he smirked.

"You may never cease to surprise me with your...unique compliments for me." He chuckled and I hummed, kissing him again.

"Lets go dance." I whispered and he shook his head with a grin.

"Birthday toasts, my love." He told me and I groaned softly as I pulled him over to where everyone was spinning each other around happily. He relented of course and gave into a few dances before pulling me onto the stair case and having me held to his side whilst he toasted my birthday before his siblings and Hayley followed. All expressing their appreciation and love for me.

It was quite lovely actually. I was glad to have celebrated my birthday when I hugged each of them before we all got back on the floor.

So many people had brought me gifts, said such kind words and I had to wonder if they were compelled but I didn't even care by the end of the day when Klaus had me held against the wall. Mouth on my neck, sucking his beautiful marks into my skin and hands bunching up my dress.

I could still hear the music and chatter of guests just a wall over as his fingers stroked their way up my thighs. I could feel the warmth spreading through my body. I clung onto his suit jacket, tugging relentlessly with need as I tried to contain the moans that clawed up my throat.

A gasp escaped me as his teeth bit my skin, not his vampire teeth but his human ones. Not quite making me bleed but still breaking the skin.

I tried to pull him closer, my legs pulling at his waist letting me feel how hard he was against me.

"Oh god" I breathed, my eyes looking down quickly but all I could see was dress as he ground himself against me.

"You have no idea how badly I want to take you right now." He whispered and I moaned softly.

"God..yes, do it." I begged and he hummed.

"Not yet...you need your gift." He muttered before he was holding the backs of my thighs tightly. I glanced at him, confused before groaning softly as he got down to his knees and placed both my legs over his shoulders.

"Klaus..." I whispered as his head was completely covered by the skirt of my dress.

Despite not being able to see him, there was absolutely no doubt he was there as the heat of his treasured mouth kissed my wetness through my thong. God he was good, he was always so good.

If euphoria were a person, it would be Klaus.

He knew exactly what to do, how to touch, how to love me so good that I love myself too.

My hands pressed to the walls around and my head went back to rest. He was pure heat between my legs and he made my legs shake against my will.

"One day you're gonna really kill me." I whispered, my words a blur as I felt my back arch off of the wall behind. I could feel his lips move against my cunt as he mumbled something back. The wet vibrations of his mouth making my insides twist delightfully. "God- fuck!" I cried as he chuckled, only adding to the intensity.

A laugh escaped him whilst he pulled his face away though my dress still hid him from my view.

"You'll alert the whole party if you keep screaming sweetheart." He reminded and I nodded in acknowledgment. My mouth closed in an attempt to muffle my sounds as the warm touch of his fingers stroked my pussy tauntingly.

I felt blood pool my mouth when my fangs sunk into my own tongue in time with his fingers plunging inside me. He made my nails penetrate my palms; a shiver to run down my spine.

My mind drew a blank at the methodic pump of his fingers, each curl and stroke hitting so unbelievably perfect that I seemed to be falling apart before he'd truly even started.

His laugh was amused and teasing as my legs were dropped to his waist where both his hands grabbed my thighs.

"I'm very serious when I tell you that the entirety of next door just heard you my love." He grinned before lifting my as he got to his feet and carried me to our room.

I was dropped to the bed with a soft thud, his body covering me like a blanket would as he nuzzled beneath my ear. "You know...I sincerely considered wearing a ribbon for you, my love." He murmured making me giggle at the idea.

"Oh yeah? Where would you have worn it?" I teased, my hands lifting to cup his face; my thumbs brushing over his stubble. "What part of you would I have gotten to unwrap." I whispered and a soft rumble travelled through his body.

No words left him as I felt my dress be tugged, a quick rough tug which caused a loud tear to sound through the room. I didn't have to look to know the extent of his damage, the cool air spreading down my front told me enough. His hands pulled the loose material away, leaving me completely bare beneath him. Open to him in all ways.

"Must you always break things?" I whined, despite not truly being annoyed.

"Oh love. I don't break things, I ruin them." He uttered, his words sharp on his tongue as his calloused hand stroked the side of my face. "Now lay back, my love, and let me ruin you."

I knew it wasn't a question but a demand and a demand that shot straight to my core.

The silence rang as I laid back, head against the pillows.

I accepted my fate wholeheartedly, and under no circumstances would I even consider skipping out on my birthday next year if I knew this was coming.

————————————————————————

You have no idea how sorry I am for this being so god damn late. I know it’s not my best, I hope it’s still something that can make you smile even just a little bit @nerdygamer829

378 notes · View notes

doctorbitchcrxft · 8 days ago

Text

It's a Terrible Life | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, potentially toxic relationship dynamic between boss and subordinate, undertones of misogyny

Word Count: 7310

A/N: I got a little carried away here.... lmfao I hope y'all enjoy!!!

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

You groaned as your alarm clock beeped. You pulled your pillow over your head before reaching over and silencing the alarm.

Slowly but surely, you were getting frustrated with the monotony of routine. The stuffy cubicles, the holiday office parties, and the fucking assistant job you’d be starting today. You were grateful, but you wanted more out of life. Being some douche’s gopher wasn’t what you envisioned your life would be.

You took a sip of your sugary morning latte and turned your back to the counter. Your apartment was small, but it was home. You hoped with your new job you’d at least be able to afford some nicer furniture than the futon you often fell asleep on watching “Sex and the City” re-runs.

Gas was expensive, and you lived in the city. So, you preferred to take the bus to work. The building— or, rather, skyscraper— you’d be working in was as monotonous and boring as ever. Columns of windows extending miles high made up its exterior, and you clutched the handle you were hanging onto tighter as you approached. One of your biggest fears was heights, and your new job was on one of the top floors.

The lobby was pristinely clean, and your heels made a loud clacking sound as you strode over to the elevator.

You checked your clipboard of papers you’d printed out at the library the night before and noted the office you were to report to.

You knocked on the door labeled “Dean Smith— Director, Sales & Marketing.” “Good morning,” you said as you poked your head into the open doorway.

A man with his hair slicked down in a sharp suit and tie stood from behind his desk. “Ah, you must be (Y/N),” he said.

There was no denying how gorgeous he was. “Hi,” you replied shyly, trying to keep your cheeks from heating.

He strode over to you and extended his hand. “Dean. Dean Smith,” he said.

You put your hand in his and smiled. “Nice to meet you.” You hated how small your voice sounded, but he seemed to find it endearing.

“You’re early,” he said. “I like it.”

You shrugged. “I just wanna make a good impression.” You took a deep breath. “Now, I have a few ideas about how I could organize your schedule a little bit better and maybe take a few things off your plate…”

****

The night of your third day working with Mr. Smith— who insisted you call him Dean— dragged on. The man could be a bit of a workaholic, but he also seemed to have a pretty solid sense of humor at times.

Your nerves had not yet eased up, and it seemed Mr. Smith was doing his best to break you out of your shell.

“(Y/N), tell me something about you,” he implored after hanging up the phone for his last meeting of the night.

You sat on the couch in his office flipping through his calendar for the upcoming week. “There’s not much to tell,” you shrugged.

“Ah, c’mon,” he said, “please?”

You sighed dramatically with a smile. “Well, I, uh— I went to University of Kansas in Lawrence for business—”

“Something non-work-related, (Y/N),” Dean smirked. “I already know you’re overqualified to be working for me.”

Your cheeks heated, and you looked down at your lap with a smile. “I, um, I wanted to be a ballerina up until I was eighteen. Twelve years of intense training at a ballet academy just for me to trade it all in for this,” you explained, gesturing around you. “You can imagine how happy my parents were.” You tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “What about you?” you asked. “Tell me something non-work-related.”

“Well, I haven't been to the gym in ages, and I was definitely never a dancer. Carrying a little bloat around nowadays,” he said. “It's a sedentary lifestyle, y’know?”

“Trust me, I know,” you said. “All I get you for lunch is salads; you don’t seem to be doing that badly.”

Dean smirked. “Thanks very much.”

You realized what you’d said and your eyes widened a bit. “Sorry, I shouldn’t’ve— sorry—”

“It’s alright, no sweat,” he told you. Trying to break up the slight tension, he asked, “How do you feel about ‘Project Runway’?”

You snorted. “Seriously?”

“Hell yeah!” he replied.

“I’m more of a ‘Top Model’ fan myself,” you said.

“Ooh, Tyra’s a bitch,” Dean added. “How do you put up with watching her?”

You shrugged. “Slightly masochistic enjoyment.”

Dean chuckled. “Well, I’d better get going,” he told you as he checked his watch. “Close up whenever you leave, would you?” He tossed you his keys, and you were left there reeling from the interaction you’d just had.

****

The next morning, Dean came in looking slightly rattled.

“Mr. Smith?” you asked, standing from your seat on the couch. “Are you alright?”

His head swiveled toward yours. “Huh?” he said. “Oh, uh— yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

You walked over to him and took the briefcase he was white-knuckling gently. “What happened?” you questioned.

Dean shook his head. “Just this weirdo in the elevator,” he said. “First, I thought he was trying to get me to the showers, if you know what I mean, and then, he asked me if I believe in ghosts.”

You snorted. “What?”

“I’m dead serious,” he replied.

“Does he even work here?” you asked. “Or was it, some, like, poor soul off the street that doesn’t know what year it is?”

Dean chuckled. “He works in tech, I think.”

“Weird,” you muttered.

“Completely.”

****

“Mr. Smith?”

“It’s Dean, (Y/N),” he replied.

“Sure,” you said, putting your clipboard down on the coffee table in front of you. “But do you believe in ghosts?”

He scoffed. “What?” Dean stopped typing on his computer.

“You never said whether you did or not,” you replied. “When you were talking about that guy in the elevator.”

Dean chuckled. “You’re funny, you know that?”

“I’m serious,” you whined. “Humor me.”

Your boss seemed taken aback. “Well, I’ve never given it much thought, to be honest.”

“Me neither,” you replied earnestly. “But I think that maybe I do.”

“Well,” Dean scoffed jokingly, “you can go get help on the paddy wagon with the tech support guy.”

You giggled. A few moments of silence passed between the two of you. “Did you ever figure out who he is?”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know that I care to find out.”

You considered. “Fair,” you finally said.

****

A few days later, a man was found dead in the tech support cubicle office several floors down from you and Dean. He’d apparently stuck his head in a microwave and cooked himself to death, which you found slightly implausible.

You held a hand to your chest as the coroners wheeled the man out of the office. Dean was standing next to a few other suits, and you stood a few yards off with some of the other women who worked on your floor.

“Something doesn’t seem right about this,” you told the small group you stood in.

“Try the whole thing,” another girl piped up. “I’ll never eat popcorn again.”

“Me neither,” chimed in another. “Finally gives me an excuse to quit all the carbs.”

****

That poor guy’s death really tugged at you. Without sharing your feelings with your boss, you pulled out your laptop and put it on his desk opposite from where he sat. Dean had given you access to the personnel files to help him manage his own employees a bit better, but you took advantage of it to access the file of the man who’d died: Paul Dunbar.

“Two weeks?” you muttered aloud without realizing it.

“Huh?” Dean questioned.

You shook your head. “Sorry, it’s just— It’s nothing.”

“No, c’mon,” he pleaded. “Tell me what’s up.”

“The guy who died,” you said. “Paul Dunbar. His retirement party was supposed to be in two weeks.”

“Why are you—? (Y/N), that’s not what I gave you access to personnel files for,” he replied.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I was just curious,” you said nervously. “His death’s jus’ got me shaken up, is all.”

“(Y/N), do your little investigation on your own time,” he snapped.

You were taken aback by his attitude.

Then, someone knocked on the opened door. A nervous-looking tech support employee stood there with his shoulders slumped.

“Hi. Ian, is it?” you asked, standing and snapping to attention. “Come on in.” You shut your laptop, picked it up, and began to walk out to your own office which you found you spent very little time in. “I’ll give you guys the room,” you said, shutting the door behind you. There was some sort of issue Dean needed to take up with him, and you decided to give yourself the time to think.

Before you could shut the door behind you, the tech support employee sprinted past you with Dean hot on his heels. You followed as fast as your feet would allow.

“Mr. Smith?” you called after him. “Dean!”

Ian sprinted into the men’s room, and Dean followed him. With only slight hesitation, you followed, too.

“Ian, hey. Just chill out, man,” Dean told the employee. “Okay?”

Ian was staring into a mirror, and you noticed how cold the room was. The bathroom was always slightly frigid, but never like this. Then, you noticed you could see your breath.

Suddenly, all the faucets came on as well as all the soap dispensers.

“What the fuck?” you murmured.

“Ian, hey, maybe we should get out of here, huh?” Dean insisted. “Come on, Ian. Look at me.”

Ian turned toward Dean and pulled a pencil out of his pocket. After a brief moment of tense eye contact, the man stabbed himself in the neck with the sharp end of the pencil.

You screamed in horror and covered your mouth with your hands. You jumped again when you saw an old man in the mirror behind Ian.

“Dean, look!” you cried.

He saw the man as well, and when the two of you turned around, he was gone. Immediately, you rushed to Ian’s side. You listened to his chest for a heartbeat, but he was long gone. Stricken with confusion and grief, you looked up at Dean and shook your head.

“Somebody help us!” he screamed.

****

Of course, the police had questions for you and Dean. And, of course, you didn’t mention the disappearing old man.

In the middle of the investigation, a tall man with a yellow shirt on was staring at you from across the room. You occasionally glanced at him, slightly unsettled, but continued to provide answers to the best of your ability. After hours of rigorous interrogation, Ian was wheeled away on a stretcher in a black bag.

You just stared after him, and you jumped when your boss tapped your arm lightly.

“Whoa, hey,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. “Just me. Come, uh— come with me real quick, would ya?”

You nodded and followed him back to his office still in a bit of a daze. “What’d you wanna see me for?” you asked, closing the door to his office behind you.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Dean cleared his throat. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” you told him. “Are you, uh— Are you okay?”

“Maybe,” he said. “I saw that ghost guy from the elevator outside the bathroom.”

“Oh,” you replied. “What’s he got to do with anything?”

“He and Ian were close. And I thought maybe he could answer a few questions about that old man from the bathroom for us,” Dean explained.

And so, Dean called him in.

“Come on in,” he told the employee. “Shut the door.”

The man closed the door behind himself, and you stood in the far corner just watching. “Wait, this is the guy?” you asked.

Dean gave you a strange look. “Yeah…?”

“He was staring at me outside the bathroom,” you told him.

“Who the hell are you?” Dean asked him, his tone slightly accusatory.

“I'm not sure I know,” the man replied.

“What the hell does that mean?”

The employee shook his head. “Sam Wesson. I started here three weeks ago.”

“Alright. You cornered me in the elevator talking about ghosts. And now…” Dean trailed off, pacing a bit behind his desk.

“Now, what?” Sam asked, eyebrows raised.

Dean sighed. “Now nothing. I, uh… so you started working here three weeks ago, huh?”

Sam nods.

“Me, too,” you said.

Dean looked at you in surprise. “Yeah, me, too.”

“Huh,” you murmured, staring at the ground. Something about this felt strange.

Dean unscrewing the top of a bottle pulled you out of your own head. “It's the Master Cleanse,” Dean told you and Sam. “You tried it? Phenomenal. Detoxes you like nobody's business.” He took a large swig.

“When you were in that bathroom with Ian, did you see something?” Sam asked.

“I don’t—”

You cut Dean off. “Yes,” you replied.

“(Y/N)—” Dean almost scolded. “We don’t know what we saw.”

Sam turned his attention to you. “Wait, are you saying that—did you see a ghost?”

“We were freaking out,” Dean answered for you. “The guy penciled his damn neck.”

“Yes, we did,” you responded anyway.

“Okay, listen. What if these suicides aren't suicides? I mean, what if they're something,” Sam trailed off, searching for the word, “not natural?”

“So, what, ghosts are real?” Dean scoffed. “And they're responsible for all the dead bodies around here? Is that what you're telling me?”

The three of you finally decided to sit down, almost doing so in unison.

“I know it sounds crazy. But yes. That's what I'm telling you,” Sam replied.

“Uh-huh,” Dean nodded skeptically. “Based on what?”

Sam searched for an answer for a moment. “Instinct,” he finally said.

Dean looked down and shook his head. “I've got the same instinct.”

“Seriously?” Sam asked, almost sounding relieved.

The two men looked at you expectantly.

“What? I already told you I thought the guy in the bathroom was a ghost,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

Sam turned back to Dean. “You know those dreams I was telling you about? I was dreaming about ghosts,” he said. “And then it turns out that there's a real ghost.”

Dean scoffed. “So you're telling me that your dreams are special visions, and you're some kind of psychic?”

Sam made a deadpan expression. “No. I mean, that would be nuts. I'm just saying something weird is definitely going on around here, right? So I've been digging around a little,” he leaned over and pulled some papers out of his bag, “I think I found a connection between the two guys.”

Sam passed the papers, and Dean then passed them to you.

“You broke into their email accounts?” Dean questioned.

The employee looked bashful. “I used some skills that I happen to have to satisfy my curiosity.”

“Nice,” you grinned lopsidedly.

“So it turns out, Ian and Paul both got this same email telling them to report to HR, room fourteen forty-four,” Sam explained.

“HR’s on seven,” you noted, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Exactly.”

“Should we go check this out?” Dean asked. He seemed a little excited, if you were honest.

“Like, right now?” Sam replied.

Dean shook his head. “No. No, it's getting late. You're right.”

“I am dying to check this out right now,” Sam grinned.

“Right?” you added, excitement causing butterflies to jolt around your stomach.

Despite the exhausting day, adrenaline surged through you as you went to the fourteenth floor. You felt slightly relieved to be moving down a few floors.

The building was mostly empty by this time of night which was why you were caught off-guard by someone yelling down the hall as soon as the elevator doors opened.

You shared a quick glance with Dean before the three of you were racing down the hall to the source of the sound. Unsurprisingly, the screams were coming from behind the door to room 1444.

“It’s locked,” Dean said.

Almost instinctively, Sam kicked the door open.

“Whoa,” your boss breathed out.

Once inside, you could see the man screaming and writhing under a fallen bookshelf. You rushed to his side along with Sam, and the two of you tried your best to get him out from under the shelf. You hardly had time to register the whirring computer monitors and shaking shelving units scattered throughout the room.

The old man from the bathroom appeared next to Sam and shoved him over before telekinetically flinging you and Dean against a wall.

You groaned, and your head lolled to the side. Then, you noticed a wrench lying on the ground a few feet away from you.

Dean had risen to his feet to try and help the man the ghost was approaching, and you shouted, “Dean, catch!” while throwing the wrench at him.

He caught it easily, and then, he swung at the old man with the wrench. Immediately, the old man dissipated before he could touch the man underneath the shelf. The chaos around the room came to a stop as well.

You were able to help the man out from under the shelves, and he scrambled away and out of the room.

“How’d you know that would work?” Sam asked.

You and Dean shook your heads. “I have no idea,” the two of you responded in unison.

****

Dean suggested the three of you head back to his apartment to recharge and chat. You and Sam agreed, and it was clear the three of you were reeling from the incident on the way there.

Dean took a large swig of his Master Cleanse, and you and Sam sat awkwardly on his couch. It was clear the two of you were out of your element in Dean’s luxury apartment on the nicer side of town.

“Holy crap,” Dean breathed out before taking another drink of his juice cleanse.

“Yeah,” Sam added. “I could use a beer.”

“Oh, sorry, man. I'm on the Cleanse. I got rid of all the carbs in the house,” Dean replied with a sheepish grimace.

Sam turned to you as Dean handed him a water bottle. “Hey, how the hell did you know that ghosts are scared of wrenches?”

You shrugged.

Dean chuckled. “Crazy, right? And nice job kicking that door too. That was very Jet Li. What are you, like, a black belt or something?”

“No. I have no clue how I did that. It's like… we've done this before,” Sam commented.

“What do you mean, ‘before’? Like ‘Shirley MacLaine’ before?” Dean scoffed.

“No. I- I just can't shake this feeling like I— like I don't belong here, y’know? Like I should do something more than sit in a cubicle,” the taller man said.

“I think most people who work in a cubicle feel that same way,” you noted. “But I get what you mean. I’m not crazy about my job, either. I don’t exactly like constantly being an accessory to someone else without being able to do my own work. Sorry, Dee.” You covered your mouth with your hand after realizing what you’d called him.

“Dee?” your boss mouthed under his breath as you continued to flush.

“Well, look, it's more than that. Like, I don't like my job. I don't like this town,” Sam explaIned. “I don't like my clothes. I don't like my own last name. I don't know how else to explain it, except that...it feels like I should be doing something else. There's just something in my blood. Like I was destined for something different. What about you?” He looked over at you. “You ever feel that way?”

You considered, and Dean took the opportunity to answer for you. “I don't believe in destiny. I do believe in dealing with what's right in front of us, though.”

“Okay, so, what now?” you asked.

“We do what I do best, Sammy. Research,” Dean replied.

Sam looked taken aback. “Okay. Did you just call me Sammy?”

“Did I?”

“I think you did,” Sam chuckled. “Yeah. Don't.”

“Sorry,” Dean grimaced. He sat at his laptop at his corner desk, and you and Sam pulled out your own on the couch.

Within thirty minutes, Dean chuckled. “Oh, jackpot.”

“What you got?” Sam asked.

“I just found the best site ever,” Dean grinned, beckoning you and Sam over. “Real, actual ghost hunters.”

You and Sam got up from the couch and stood behind Dean.

“These guys are genius. Check it out,” your boss said.

“Instructional videos,” Sam added.

You read the banner of the website, which was entitled “Ghostfacers.” You thought the name was interesting, and the guys on screen were a bit nerdy-looking, but you were willing to give them a chance.

The two men were wearing white lab coats and glasses standing behind a metal table.

“We know why you're watching,” one said.

“You've got a problem,” the other added.

“A ghost problem.”

Almost in unison, the first man said, “A ghost-related problem. A ghost— it's like a ghost-adjacent pr— it's like a problem that's— and the ghost is—”

The dark-haired Ghostfacer cut his coworker off. “Whatever. You've come to the right place. The only decent place, really, because the Ghostfacers know how to solve it.”

“Period.”

“Watch and learn.”

“See, the first step in any supernatural fight—”

“Figure out what you're up against,” the two said in unison.

You rushed over to your laptop to show them the picture of Sandover’s founder. “This is the guy,” you said.

“Yeah,” Dean confirmed. “That’s him.”

“P. T. Sandover. Died 1916. Devoted his life to his work,” you explained. “No wife, no kids.”

“Used to say he was the company,” Sam read from the article, “and his very blood pumped through the building.”

“Wow, okay. So slight workaholic. Maybe he's still here, y’know, watching over the company, even killing for it.”

“I mean, he’s talking about it like it’s his child,” you joked. “Plus, turns out this isn't the first time people started killing themselves in the building. First time was in 1929. And I know what you’re thinking, y’know, Great Depression, lots of people killed themselves. But this company had seventeen suicides.”

“Phew. Okay, so P. T. Sandover, protector of the company,” Dean grimaced. “His ghost wakes up and becomes active during times of grave economic distress.”

“Well, I mean, the worst time we've seen since the Great Depression—”

Dean cut Sam off. “Is now. Yeah, ‘now’ sucks. My portfolio's in the sewer. I don't even wanna talk about it.”

“So Sandover's helping the bottom line—”

Dean cut Sam off again. “By zapping some model employees.”

“Do you always cut people off when they’re talking?” you asked rhetorically.

Your boss gave you a playful glare.

“Anyway, I mean, Ian and Paul,” Sam continued. “It was like he turned them into different people.”

“Perfect worker bees, exactly,” Dean noted. “So devoted to the company that they would commit hara-kiri if they failed it.”

“One more interesting fact. The building wasn't always that high. Used to be fourteen floors. And the room where the ghost attacked, fourteen forty-four? Once upon a time, that was the old man's office,” Sam read from your computer.

You then returned to the Ghostfacers video.

“Once you've got that thing in your sights—” the redhead began.

“You kill it,” the two men said in unison.

“Using special ghost-hunting weapons.”

“First, salt. It's like acid to ghosts.”

“Burny acid.”

“Not LSD,” the dark-haired one clarified.

“No. It's a bad trip for ghosts. Next up, iron.”

“That's why the wrench worked,” Sam said, lightly slapping Dean’s shoulder.

The Ghostfacers continued, “Pure power in your hand.”

“Dissipates ghosts instantly.”

“Next little trick. We learned this from those useless douchebags—” The redheaded one added, “That we hate.”

“The Winchesters.”

“What are they, like Bonnie and Clyde?” you wondered aloud.

“Gun,” one man said.

“Shotgun shell. Pack it up with fresh rock salt,” the dark-haired one added.

“Very effective.”

“Winchesters still suck ass, though.”

“Affirmative. Suckage major.”

“The girl they’re with, what was her name?” the dark-haired man asked.

The redheaded one replied, “That’s not important right now. She knows who she is. She’s still got my heart.” He made a kissing face at the camera.

You giggled at his antics, but you slightly felt bad for whatever girl he was referring to.

Dean paused the video and got up from his seat to pack his fire pokers in a duffel bag with a salt shaker.

“Where do we even get a gun?” Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. “Gun store?”

“Isn't there like some kind of waiting period or something?” you questioned.

“I think so,” the taller man replied.

“Well, how in the hell—”

Sam cut him off. “I don't know. Seems pretty impossible, honestly.”

You three then returned your attention to the video.

“The aforementioned super-annoying Winchester douchenozzles also taught us this one other thing. You have to burn the remains,” the dark-haired Ghostfacer explained.

“Okay, this next part gets a little gross,” the redhead warned. “Sometimes you might have to dig up the body. Sorry.”

“It's illegal in some states—”

“All states—”

“—Possibly all states.”

Sam looked over a page on his laptop. “Sandover was cremated.”

“What? So what do we do now?” Dean asked, nearly gripping the screen as if asking the Ghostfacers in person.

“Now, if the deceased has been cremated—” “Don't panic.”

“Just gotta look for some other remains.”

“A hair in a locket, maybe. Fingernails. Baby teeth.”

“Milk teeth,” the dark-haired one suggested.

The redhead nodded. “Genetic material. You know what we're talking about.”

“Go find it.”

To sign off, the redhead said, “Fight well, young lions.”

“Godspeed,” the other added. Then, the video went dark.

****

You and the boys entered the elevator to the building, trying your very best to evade security. For two considerably large and well-built men, they looked pretty terrified. It made Dean seem kind of adorable, if you were honest with yourself.

“Set your cell phones to walkie-talkie in case we get separated,” Dean instructed you and Sam.

You obliged.

“How the hell are we gonna find some ancient speck of DNA in a skyscraper?” Sam questioned.

“Well, that creepy storeroom used to be Sandover's office, right?” He pressed the button to floor fourteen, and you subconsciously reached for his wrist as the elevator jolted. You gripped it tightly, and your entire body tensed.

Dean looked down at your hand that was holding his, and your cheeks heated. Quickly, you pulled your hand away as to not make him uncomfortable.

“Elevators?” Dean asked, referring to your fear.

“Heights,” you replied, swallowing harshly.

Dean grabbed your hand again in an attempt to comfort you.

You looked at him sheepishly, but he gave you a light squeeze to let you know it was okay.

You gave him a small smile, and he returned it.

The elevator dinged to let the three of you off, and you headed down the hallway to the room marked “1444.”

You flanked the shelves on one side, and Dean looked through the shelves on the other. Sam headed over to the desk and began searching through the drawers.

“What the hell are you doing here?” A guard holding a flashlight suddenly asked from the doorway. He had his flashlight beam focused on Sam, and you hoped he hadn’t seen you or Dean yet. You ducked behind the bookshelf you were searching.

“Man, listen. Look,” Sam pleaded as the guard took him away by the arm. “It's okay. I—I work here.”

The guard shut the door behind him and Sam, and you took the opportunity to rush over and lock it behind them.

“You think he’ll be okay?” you whispered to Dean.

He nodded. “He’ll figure something out.” “How do you know?”

“Seems like a smart kid,” Dean shrugged.

“ ‘Kid’? And how do you know?” you snorted.

Dean thought for a moment. “You ask a lotta questions, you know that?”

You giggled.

Suddenly, you heard a sickening crunch from your phone. “Sam?” you called.

“Hey. You okay?” Dean asked into the speaker on his phone.

After a few moments, Sam said, “Call you back.”

You and Dean shared a look, and the two of you shrugged in unison. You then continued your search.

You walked over to Dean who was holding a picture of a Sandover Bridge from the company’s early days. In slight sadness, you sighed.

“What?” Dean asked. He turned over his shoulder slightly to look at you but was careful not to bump into you with the proximity.

You stayed frozen to the spot directly behind his left shoulder, staring down at the picture. “I don’t know. I think Sam’s right, I guess,” you replied after careful thought. “I think I wanna be more than… bridges and paperwork.”

Dean searched your face, but you continued to trace your eyes over the black-and-white image.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” you clarified, “you’re great, and all, but I don’t just wanna continuously be a sidekick in someone else’s life. It… it feels like I’m constantly living for someone else. I wanna be the star— the- the superhero sometimes, y’know?”

Dean nodded. “I get it,” he said, turning to face you a bit more. The amount of space between you did not seem to increase, though.

You scoffed playfully. “Sure, you do, Mr. Director of Sales and Marketing.”

He chuckled. “If it makes any difference to you, you are my superhero, sometimes, y’know?” He cleared his throat, seeming to realize what he said. “I mean, you’re instrumental to everything I do. Without you, the ship wouldn’t keep running.”

“I guess you’re right,” you shrugged. “Thanks, Dean.”

“Yeah, no problem,” he replied. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was leaning in to you in the dim light. You took a deep breath and moved away, effectively creating more space between the two of you.

****

When your search was complete, you landed on one of the company’s history display on floor twenty-two. Dean told Sam to meet the two of you up there, and he’d bizarrely warned you to take the stairs.

However, when he entered the room, it became clear to you why.

“That’s a ton of blood, Sam,” you noted, seeing the splatter on his yellow shirt. “What the hell happened?”

“Guard,” Sam explained shortly. “Elevator. Uh… decapitation.” He made a gesture of the elevator coming down to chop the guard’s head off from above.

“Gnarly,” you grimaced.

“Right. So, uh, in there.” Dean pointed to a glass case containing a pair of gloves.

Sam noted, “P. T. Sandover's gloves.”

Dean made a clicking sound. “Yeah, how much you wanna bet there's a little smidge of DNA in there? You know, like a fingernail clipping or a hair or two? Something.”

“So, you ready?”

Dean blew out a puff of air. “I have no idea.”

“Me neither,” said Sam.

You shook your head but grabbed a fire poker anyway.

Sam and Dean followed your lead by grabbing a container of salt and the other poker respectively.

“Go for it.” Sam gestured at you and Dean.

“Right,” Dean gulped, and you rolled your eyes with a small smile.

You gave the glass a solid whack, and it shattered upon impact. Suddenly, you were flying through the air along with the two boys. Quickly, you scrambled to your feet just in time to see Sam throwing a bit of salt at Sandover. The ghost thankfully dissipated before it could get any closer to Sam.

“(Y/N)!” Dean shouted at you, and you caught the iron poker he threw at you like a reflex. You swung fiercely behind you, and you turned around just in time to see Sandover disappear again.

“Nice catch,” Dean told you, a slight air of bewilderment in his voice.

“Thanks,” you replied, staring down at the poker strangely. That fight almost made you feel like your body was possessed by someone trained in combat.

Then, Sandover appeared behind Sam.

“Sam, look out!” you yelled, and he threw salt behind him.

The fight that followed was mostly orchestrated by you and Dean against Sandover while Sam tried to make his way over to the gloves. It fell upon you and Dean to defend him, and the two of you did so in a way that was uncomfortably effortless.

You and Dean subconsciously pressed yourselves back-to-back and circled around waiting for Sandover to materialize again.

Sam grabbed the gloves, and Dean lunged forward to hit at Sandover with the poker while the taller man lit the gloves on fire.

Sam dropped the burning gloves to the ground, and Sandover appeared again to burn into nothing.

Breathlessly, Sam said, “That was amazing.”

****

“You got a first-aid kit?” you asked Dean. The three of you had gone back to his office to clean each other up.

He nodded and reached into the bottom drawer of his desk, then handed it to you. When he handed it to you, you noticed a nasty cut on his cheekbone. You sucked in a breath through your teeth and hissed. “You mind if I take a look at that?”

He hesitated but ended up nodding.

You gingerly cleaned the wound with a cotton pad and hydrogen peroxide, and Dean winced. “I’m sorry,” you told him.

“Y’know I can fix myself up, right?” he asked.

You nodded, heat rising to your cheeks again.

Dean still just let you continue your work before you moved on to Sam. When you went to address a wound on your arm, Dean shook his head and took the cloth pad from you. You offered a small smile, trying your best not to seem too bashful.

“Man, I gotta tell you,” Dean chuckled, “I've never had so much fun in my life.”

“Me neither,” Sam grinned.

“Was a hell of a workout, too, wasn't it?”

“We should keep doing this.”

“I know,” Dean replied.

Sam insisted, “I mean it. There gotta be other ghosts out there. We could help a lot of people.”

“Like the Ghostfacers,” you added, your voice a little smaller than you would have liked.

“No, really. I mean, for real,” Sam continued.

Dean snorted. “What? Like, quit our jobs and hit the road?”

Sam nodded, and you scrunched your brows together in confusion.

“How would we live?” Dean asked.

The brunet didn’t have an answer.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Dean scoffed. “How would we get by? With stolen credit cards? Huh? Eating diner food drenched in saturated fats? Sharing a crap motel room every night?”

“That's all just details,” Sam shrugged.

“Details are everything. You don't wanna go fighting ghosts without any health insurance.”

A silence settled over you.

“Alright, um, confession.”

You and Dean turned to Sam.

“Remember those dreams I told you about with the ghosts?” Sam asked. “I was fighting them.” He sucked in a breath, seeming uncomfortable. “With… the two of you. We were these, like, hunters, and we were friends. And we—” he gestured between himself and Dean, “were more like brothers, really. I mean, what if that's who we really are? I mean, you saw us back there, working together. The ghost was scrambling people's brains. What if it scrambled ours?”

You considered while Dean said, “That's insane.”

“Is it? Think about it for just one second. What if we think this is our life, but it's not?” Sam continued.

“Hey, man, the ghost is dead and we're still standing. I mean, I'm sorry, but—”

Sam cut Dean off. “Look, all I know is this isn't who we're supposed to be.”

“No. I'm Dean Smith, okay? Director of Sales and Marketing. I went to Stanford. My father's name is Bob, my mother's name is Ellen, and my sister's name is Jo,” Dean stated, getting to his feet.

“When was the last time you talked to them? To any of them?” Sam questioned, standing as well.

“Okay, you're upset. You're upset, you're confused—”

“Yeah, 'cause I only moved here 'cause I just broke up with my fiancée, Madison. But I called her number, and I got a damn animal hospital,” the taller man said.

You stood, too. “Dean—”

“Okay, what are you saying?” Dean scoffed. “Are you trying to say that my family isn't real? Huh? That we've been injected with fake memories? Come on.”

“Dean, maybe he has a point—” you tried.

“You’re seriously not going along with this, are you?” Dean asked.

“No, I’m just saying—”

Dean cut you off again. “C’mon, (Y/N).”

“All I know is,” Sam jumped back in, “I got this feeling in my gut. And I know— I know that deep down, you gotta be feeling it too. We're supposed to be something else. You're not just some corporate douchebag. This isn't you. I know you.”

Dean scoffed. “Know me? You don't know me, pal. You should go.”

Sam looked like he wanted to say something more, but instead, he just headed to the door. You collected your stuff and moved to follow him out.

“Not you, too,” Dean muttered.

You turned around. “Dean, I don’t know what is going on,” you told him. “I don’t want to live on the lam, but I also don’t want to stay here and just ignore whatever’s happened. I don’t know what the right thing to do right now is, okay?” You sighed, voice softening a bit. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” You turned for the door again.

Dean admitted quietly, “I don’t, either.”

You turned back around. “What?”

“I don’t know what the right answer is, either,” he said, more confidently this time. He hesitantly moved over to you. “What I do know is that we made a really great team earlier.”

You smiled lopsidedly. “Yeah, we did.”

“And… I can’t believe I’m saying this—” he murmured, continuing to approach you.

Your heart began to race, cheeks flushing.

“—but whatever you do, I’ll do, too. I trust you.” Dean stopped when the two of you were just inches apart.

You looked up at him with doe eyes. “I gotta think about it.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

****

The next morning, you felt resolute in your decision. Hardly minding the height of the building on your walk into the lobby, you marched up to Dean’s office while trying to gather your courage.

When you opened and closed the door to the office, though, an unfamiliar voice came from behind you.

“Ah, (Y/N),” the voice said.

You wheeled around to face an older man who seemed strangely familiar, but you couldn’t quite place his identity. He unsettled you.

“Good of you to join us,” he continued.

“Oh, (Y/N), this is Mr. Adler,” Dean told you as the two men sat down.

“What’s going on?” you questioned.

“We were just discussing Mr. Smith’s future at the company,” Mr. Adler explained.

“Oh,” you said, slightly dejected. If Dean followed through on his statement to you from the previous night, you’d be ruining a really solid opportunity for him.

“Wanna make sure he’s not going anywhere,” Adler chuckled. “And you, too, missy. You’re both Sandover material. Real go-getters. Carving your own way.”

“Well, uhm,” you laughed awkwardly. “About that…”

Dean’s and Adler’s eyes were nearly burning holes into you, but you were focused on quite literally anything else in the room.

“Is something wrong?” Adler questioned, looking between you and Dean.

Dean took off his headset. “Uh, well, thank you. Thank you, sir. It's, um...but… I am giving my notice,” he said.

“This is a joke,” the older man scoffed. “You're kidding me, right?” He was just as stunned as you were.

“No. I've—I recently—uh, very recently realized that I have some other work I have to do. It's, uh, very important to me.”

“Other work? Another company?” Adler rushed out.

“No, I—”

You cut Dean off from answering the man. “I don’t want to speak for us both, but… I'll be leaving, too.” Adler grinned widely.

You were confused by that and even further unsettled. “Is something wrong?” you asked.

“Finally,” he said. He pressed two fingers to your forehead, and the world around you seemed to dim.

“What the fuck,” you murmured, blinking at the world around you. Then, you jumped back in surprise at the man in front of you. “No…”

Dean seemed to have come back to as well. “What the hell? Why am I wearing a tie? My god, am I hungry.”

The older man before you laughed. “Welcome back.”

“Zachariah,” you breathed out, backing toward the door. Given how Uriel had treated you and the stories he’d told you about this particular angel, you were frightened of him.

“In the flesh,” the angel said.

“Oh, great. That's all I need is another one of you guys,” Dean scoffed, seeming to have caught on.

“I'm hardly another one, Dean. I'm Castiel's superior. Believe me, I had no interest in popping down here into one of these smelly things,” Zachariah sneered, gesturing at his body, “but back when you were stuck in the Pit, the higher-ups felt it necessary I pay a visit. And now I see why after the business with Uriel. Gotta get my ducks in a row.”

“I am not one of your ducks,” Dean grunted, moving toward you slowly. You were frozen near the door.

“Starting with your attitude,” Zachariah stated dryly.

“Oh, so, what? This was all some sort of a lesson; is that what you're telling me? Wow, very creative.”

“Dean, stop,” you begged.

He glanced over at you in concern. Your tone had seemingly put him off.

“You’d do well to listen to her,” the angel stated.

“What are we doing here?” you asked, trying to get the heat off Dean. “Was this just a dream?”

“Not at all. Real place, real haunting,” the angel explained. “Just plunked you in the middle without the benefit of your memories.”

“Just to shake things up? Hm?” Dean pressed. “So you guys can have fun watching us run around like ass clowns in monkey suits?”

“To prove to you that the path you're on is truly in your blood. You're a hunter. Not because your dads made you, not because god called you back from hell, but because it is what you are. And you both love it,” replied Zachariah. “You'll find your way to it in the dark every single time, and you're miserable without it. Guys, let's be real here. You're good at this. You'll be successful. You will stop it.”

“Stop what? The apocalypse, huh? Lucifer? What? Be specific, man.” Dean had finally come to a stop next to you, and you grabbed his wrist to try and stop him from aggravating Zachariah further.

“You'll do everything you're destined to do. All of it,” the older man stated. “But I know, I know. You're not strong enough. You're scared. You got daddy issues. You can't do it. Right?”

Dean’s jaw stiffened. “Angel or not, I will stab you in your face.” “Stop it,” you begged him, your breath catching in your throat.

“All I'm saying is it's how you look at it. Most folks live and die without moving anything more than the dirt it takes to bury them. You get to change things,” Zachariah shrugged, pacing the room a bit. “Save people, maybe even the world. All the while you drive a classic car and fornicate with this lovely woman.”

You grimaced, staring at the floor.

“This isn't a curse. It's a gift. So for God's sakes, Dean, quit whining about it,” Zachariah continued. “Look around. There are plenty of fates worse than yours; so are you with me? You wanna go steam yourself another latte? Or are you ready to stand up and be who you really are?”

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