#Quip Toothpaste

[satoruhour]

LAUNDRY DAY

a/n: I AM ALLIVEEEEEEE 🔥🔥🔥🔥 sorry i had a crazy week! can be read as a standalone piece but based off gojo’s roommate au of here and here / tagging @jabamin @hyomagiri @utahimeow @lov3rbody ☆

wc: 4k

warnings: sub!gojo that turns into dom!gojo, fem!reader, fantasising? gojo is a pervert too, mentions of semi-public sex, implied somnophilia, panty sniffing, pillow / dry humping, m! masturbation, oral (m receiving), deep-throating, praise, pet names, unprotected sex, multiple rounds, creampie / breeding kink, n*sfw under the cut

living with you was hard. brushing his teeth with you was hard. being around you — hard. both figuratively and—

there’s a loud sigh from you.

clearly tired from the day’s activities of ushering in freshman after freshman, you lugged your body into the bathroom. the same rehearsed words have been leaving your mouth as your cheeks hurt more and more by the hour, only to repeat it all over again the next day.

“you look like shit,” it’s muffled by the way the toothbrush is stuffed into his mouth, foam peeking out from the corners of his mouth and you’re trying not to tell your roommate (and boyfriend) to shut up — you didn’t have the energy to do, much less say anything and you certainly didn’t have time for your lover’s clever quips so late in the night.

it didn’t help that you recently had an argument too; well, trivial to him but much more major to you. it was a matter of getting gojo to keep his laundry properly and to clean up after himself once he’s gotten himself comfortable in the relationship. it’s not like he doesn’t want to — he was cleaning up in the first place to impress you — but now since he’s got you, it’s like he simply expects you to act as his little wife when it was a shared space. the exact argument you used against him.

“satoru— this is a shared apartment! you can’t just leave tteokbokki cups lying around with the gochujang sauce still inside! it’s going to attract cockroaches and ants!” you gesture wildly, the sheer amount of trash lying around making you even sicker than you thought possible. getting paid to usher in freshmen and then coming home to this? it felt like every cent of your hard work had gone to waste.

there’s only a grin on his face, “you’re so attractive when you’re mad, baby.”

that was another thing: the lack of seriousness that gojo possessed at times, simply talking to piss you off, simply living to be the bane of your existence. “and you’re fucking unbelievable, gojo satoru. clean up— or don’t,” you made sure to lace that last word with venom, “i don’t care.”

that seemed enough for gojo to snap out of his stupor, “no, no— princess, fuck, i’m s—” his brows furrow when he briefly spots the thickening glaze of your eyes, possibly filling with tears before you’re marching into your room to slam the door and he swears to himself. satoru had never felt embarrassment and shame and sadness like that day; having just taken a shower but his skin was sweaty and uncomfortable and his heart sat right at his feet.

gojo swears he never wants to hear you say his full name ever again.

since then, it’s been a little tense between the two of you. geto had noticed it on movie night, shoko realised you haven’t been looking at your phone as often. hell, even prof. yaga had to tell you that you were distracted way too much lately, and it’s only been two days.

satoru tried to possibly take back what he said with whatever powers he didn’t possess, but he only gets another sigh from you as you squeeze the toothpaste out and start brushing your teeth, not even sparing him one glance in the mirror.

and yet while he was the first one to start his nightly routine, he’s left to be the last again from the way he’s unable to stop staring at you, a recurring trait of his whenever you were in the same room with him. it’s a testament of how attracted he was to you — at how his shirt slips off your shoulder from how big it was because even when you were mad at him, you forgot about that little detail. gojo’s eyes trail from your exposed shoulder to your legs and back up again to your fatigued face. he skims over the shape of your eyes and down to your nose and he thinks he’s the luckiest man to be brushing his teeth beside you now, blessed with seeing such an intimate side of you even if it’s as simple as this.

until gojo’s eyes fall upon your mouth as your toothbrush is doing its job of perfect innocence, cleaning some teeth, scraping off the bacteria on your tongue, except when you’re switching it from side to side all your roommate can think about if it was his dick instead. and the thought leaves him as fast it comes.

all you do is shoot him a weird look through the mirror when gojo exclaims like he was a vampire whose skin burned under the bathroom lighting, and he regains composure with ease.

“i’m fine! fine. doing a-okay.” satoru speaks through the foam and it’s spraying everywhere and you’re too tired to care before you hear another gulp when you move your toothbrush again, “sorry! sorry— continue please.”

gojo is starstruck for an entirely different reason, now, watching the toothbrush making bulges at the side of your mouth as it moves in and out and he’s left to fantasise about the many, many times you’ve gotten him in you and the warmth of everything. he can feel himself get hard under his sweatpants when you start brushing your tongue and you gag and he wants to die standing in this 30 square foot bathroom because the last thing he wants to do is sexualise something perfectly mundane.

gojo isn’t like that (well, most of the time. can’t blame him for finding you smokin’ hot).

“what the fuck is your problem?” you’re speaking through your foamy mouth now, spitting it out and proceeding to clean up with no clue of what you do to him. satoru on the other hand — terribly excited that you’d even open your mouth to talk to him after two days of endless silent treatment. 

“nothing, baby. it’s nothing, i promise.” you can’t lie at the way your heart jumps at the familiarity of it all, of being in such proximity to your lover, doing domestic things like these and the ‘baby’ and yet your pride is holding you back on everything.

you go straight to sleep, too, not wanting to entertain anything related to gojo satoru and you feel just a little bad when he looks at you with those baby blues and a sweet pout on his face. he looked especially pathetic in the bathroom, like a deer caught in headlights at just the presence of you and you want nothing more to apologise. it’s never that easy, though; you needed a promise, you needed the reassurance that he wouldn’t be leaving you to clean up after him again.

all these worries are willed away when you finally fall into slumber in your own room, body craving the warmth of satoru unknowingly. you had stolen a pillow the day before and it’s been the sole source of his scent, the only thing to keep your mind sane.

gojo’s heart drops again upon seeing you already deep in sleep, thinking he had a chance to catch you before you did, but the needines for you never goes down even now. he cannot take his mind off the way you’d run your hands through his hair or tangle your legs with his, satoru’s limbs recall the memory of you playing with his fingers and how you like to curl your arms around his neck. 48 hours is enough for him to go insane, and also maybe at how your leg was propped up on his missing pillow, hugging it so tight to your chest. you hadn’t bothered to wear pants either, so all he can see is the shape of your cunt under.

he stalks into the room and kneels in front of you, finger so tempted to run along your folds and make you wet, staring a whole minute and weighing his options until decides he doesn’t deserve it, turning away and closing your door softly.

“going now, satoru.” it’s soft when you mumble it, not even wanting him to hear before you’re stopped. you’re donning the uni orientation shirt and eyebags, a soggy sandwich from yesterday staining your bag with its smell. “what?”

“made you somethin’,” gojo’s cute like this with a frilly apron and hair band, still managing to tower over you despite the adorable get-up he’s got on, “it’s a bento.”

and you wish you could just melt the pride that runs through your bones and kiss him all over, and you break just a little. a small smile and you walk up to him, grabbing the lunchbox and pecking him softly on the cheek, turning away fast enough to not catch his fangirl moment — because you knew you wouldn’t be able to make it on time if you did.

“we still have to talk later when i come back, okay?” you call out as you put on your shoes and you steal one last glance at him, “and today’s laundry day. you know what t—”

“yes ma’am!” gojo salutes and you roll your eyes with a small smile, locking the door behind you with heat on your cheeks and the pounding of your heart. it was difficult not to break when it came to satoru, when he’s trying so hard to win back your words and love, and so tonight you’ve decided after the tiring week is when you’d finally stop running away over such a small matter.

although, gojo got caught up in something way beyond your expectations even if he had his initial intentions (which involved ordering your favourite takeout and kneeling at the front door in apology). 

your roommate lays around for a bit before grabbing some lunch and heading to the back room, a little extension attached to the kitchen with a tune on his lips. it’s clear he’s a little driven by your little innocent peck, a sign that maybe you weren’t so mad any more. for the next hour, satoru is contently doing the laundry with a smile, until—

the panties you threw in before showering must have fallen to the bottom of the pile, the same one he saw you wear last night and he thinks maybe the low humming buzz he heard last night wasn’t his imagination because when he picks it up he can smell your arousal. there’s a stain from the previous night and another pool of juices from this morning and he now knows that it wasn’t the kettle.

“dirty girl,” he grins, “both yesterday and this morning?” he’s thought about this for the longest time, always holding himself back because you found him weird enough even before you were dating, always letting you do your own separate load for your undergarments. but since you’ve gotten together, you were more comfortable, throwing it into the same laundry basket — the compulsion has never been this strong before.

gojo puts it up to his nose and smells like the pervert he is, among other times: teasing you with a hand down your pants when the two were over at your dorm, fucking you in the kitchen as they focused on the movie, pounding into you with the windows open, and he almost ascends at the scent of your pussy juices. there’s a spark that goes down right to his core and he palms his bulge unconsciously, coming to his senses when the washing machine beeps.

he impatiently puts in the settings and leaves, heading straight for your room and is hit with all reminders of you. the perfume you used this morning and the body wash you share with him, walking almost under a trance to your bed where he moans at the softness of the sheets as he falls face first. it doesn’t take him much to scoot to your pillows, but the need for you is just too much.

gojo grinds his cock into the bed, whining softly as he whiffs up your natural body smell, hips moving on their own accord as he manoeuvres a pillow between his legs. he humps it like a dog, groaning and moaning and the strain on his dick is just too much, balling up the undies in his hand and his body tenses at the friction. 

“baby . . f-fuck—” satoru’s voice is high-pitched and choked, all the thoughts of you culminating into one big ball of desperation for you and he cums in his pants, tainting the fabric a darker colour than before. but he’s not done — his hips still move against the pillow, thrusting into the fluff as he rides out his orgasm, moans muffled by the pillow. “miss you . .”

gojo misses you more than anything, feeling so much distance even within the house that he flips over — by now the sun shines its golden rays a little less. the afternoon is winding down into a cool evening — and pulls at the waistband of his pants. he’s still sensitive, wrapping a hand around his hard cock and pumping and the sound that leaves his mouth is borderline slutty. with another smell of your cunt, he strokes his dick, using his cum as lube.

“oh . . r-right there— mhnng . .” satoru’s hips buck into his hand, squeezing and thumbing at his cock before unbundling your panties and wrapping them around his shaft. the sight drives him insane. sure, it’s one of your more everyday underwear, neutral in both design and colour but he can feel the fabric get wetter and wetter from how much cum he’s pushed out earlier and that’s enough to keep his hand pumping. “s-sweetness, cummin—”

gojo’s head makes a dent in your other pillow from how hard he was pushing it, back arching at how the warmth in his hand will never compare to your mouth or pussy. he can already feel his second orgasm approaching, your room filled with the squelch of his cock and his sounds and he shoots his load with a drawn out moan all over your panties and his stomach. his cum is always so much, dripping down his pelvis and onto his hand and also . . yours?

your boyfriend lets out the girliest scream you’ve ever had the pleasure of hearing, scrambling up to the headboard when he sees you hovering over his body. he accidentally kicks your chest in the process and you have to clutch it with a small “ow”, although a small smile is still present on your face.

“having fun?”

“dude, what the fuck?” 

your smile drops, “dude?”

gojo suddenly has his hands moving frantically, “nonono— no, sorry, i meant baby!”

you sigh, sitting back down on your heels as you take in the sight: his still hard cock and the sweat lining his body. his bangs are wet and your eyes flit down to your soiled underwear.

“uh . . i was just borrowing it,” gojo nervously chuckles, handing the cum-filled panty to you and your brows furrow.

“darling, you can’t just give someone back their clothes with your come on it.”

and your boyfriend pouts again, “i really am sorry. and for everything else, too. for not cleaning up and for being a general bum,” this is why you also (sometimes) favoured his unseriousness when you were talking about difficult things. the amount of times you had succumbed to his touches and kisses when you were mad at him was much better than your pride. gojo brings you onto his lap like his dick wasn’t just out, and you relish in the closeness you’ve missed.

“i need you to show me you mean it, ’toru,” he lights up at the nickname he loves just as you point a finger in his face, “aht! calm down. don’t think we’re all buddy-buddy again.”

“i will try,” gojo is smooth, taking your hand into his while the other brushes the hair away from your eyes. you lean into the touch, “and i will try until you see my efforts.”

you smile at his honesty, “and i’m sorry for ignoring you as well. it was childish of me.”

gojo hums, bringing your face in to plant a kiss to your lips, “i missed you like crazy, princess.”

you laugh, “yeah i can tell, i miss you too.” you gesture to all of him and he whines softly at the joke, squeezing your waist.

“you’re not weirded out?”

his breath hitches when you move down his body and situate yourself between them, finger tracing his tip and teasing him, “why would i be? i’ve literally fucked myself wearing your shirt.”

gojo gulps loudly, “you did w-what?”

“i’m just better at not getting caught.” all words are taken from his lips then, when your mouth engulfs him and the feeling of it is just pure insanity. gojo pants and his thighs tense, a hand gathering your hair into a ponytail to keep it from interfering. his eyes fixate on the way your suck him off, recalling the last time he’s watched you do that was in a damn bathroom. 

“y-your mouth—” satoru swears under his breath when you swirl your tongue around his shaft, the tip of his cock making bulges on the side of your mouth and it only leaves him calling out your name time after time.

“y’know,” you gargle on him, slurping up his cum, “i know what you were thinking starin’ at me last night.”

gojo snaps his fingers and mumbles out a shaky damn, because he can always be read like an open book. he just didn’t know he was that obvious.

“looked cute staring,” you mutter around him, “like a little puppy.”

you slap his thick length on your tongue, moaning when you feel just how heavy it is, “you just wanted this so bad, didn’t you?”

gojo whines at your words, nodding, and you go back to the abuse on his dick, bobbing your head up and down as your hand plays with his balls. the other moves over his torso, at the porcelain skin there and you can feel his stomach heaving at your ministrations.

“are you close, baby?” you ask mindlessly, the lewd sounds of his fat cock in your mouth sending sensations right down to your sex as well. you never really listen to his answer, taking a deep breath and sucking in your cheeks and soon you’re deep throating your lover.

“mh— mmf . .” sounds deep from your throat as your nose buries itself in his pubes, and satoru struggles to hold your tantalising stare. he can feel his tip hit the back of your throat and his moans are quick and high-pitched.

“cumming— ’m cumming,” before you come off and you go back to your pace and gojo’s small moans descend into longer ones at the feeling. his eyes roll back right into his skull as he twitches in your mouth and soon he’s spilling right into your throat and tongue.

���baby—” satoru’s eyes are squeezed tightly shut, “s-shit . .” and the sheer amount of cum always takes you off guard, sputtering over it when you drag your lips off of him. your boyfriend’s eyes are hooded and darkened, looking at how the strings of his semen droop from your mouth and connect right to his weeping tip.

“eugh, eat more veggies, ’toru. you’re bitter as fuck.” you say with a giggle, swallowing nonetheless as you wipe a hand across your mouth, “thanks for the meal.”

his spirit has certainly ascended, chest heaving and legs jelly from that mind-blowing orgasm. even he takes solace on the headboard, looking down at you with tired eyes.

“but i’m not done,” you truly weren’t, driving satoru to the brink after you’ve milked him to his limit, and yet he wouldn’t have it any other way as he thrusts into you, having had a new burst of energy after seeing your confidence wane once you’ve gotten his dick in you.

it was cute — your words breaking up and staggering as you sink down for the first time after two days, reduced merely to whines as you ride him. gojo lets you have your fun for a bit before he properly flips you over, pressing down on your lower back.

“fuck yourself onto me, baby,” he can tell you’ve missed him too by how you squeeze around him, a sly grin on his face when your hips push back onto him. he sees the tight hold you have on the silk sheets and the soft whimpers leaving your mouth. “good girl . . juuust like that.”

you’re jerking forward when he slaps your ass, letting it ripple from the force of both of his hand and your hips. but he takes over soon enough, grabbing both your arms and pulling you gently off that you’re hanging limply. and even while he does that, he’s still focused on the way your lips spread to accommodate him together with a ring of white at the base of his cock.

“that feel good? huh?” gojo mumbles, loving the way you arch your back and your head lols forward, just letting him do whatever he wants to you. you’re too far gone to even quell the ache in your thighs, too distracted by the wetness of your pussy.

“feel s— s’good, satoru—!” you moan out and like always satoru is indecisive in everything, now tugging you up to rest chest to back. “g’na cum!”

your legs spread more and more as your lover keeps you tightly pressed against him, an arm around your neck and the other, waist. wordlessly, he guides your face to the side, meeting your mouth in a sloppy, drooling kiss and his hips stutter at the way you mewl into his mouth.

“that right, princess?” he asks into your lips, relishing in your face contorting in pleasure. eyes reaching heaven and your mouth parted cutely even more when he props a leg up and his cockhead presses against your cervix ever so lightly.

“y—yeah . .” it’s a mix between a whine and a moan before the only rub of your clit from satoru’s hand sends you reeling and you’re trembling in his hold. you can feel your juices coat his length just as he cums as well, too obsessed with the way your cunt feels aeons better than his pathetic hand. he litters your skin with groans of his own, continue to fuck his cum back into you as you milk him dry with ropes and ropes of semen painting your womb white.

“good little girl,” he hums, and you sigh at the feeling of him cumming again, sensing him removing himself with you with an obscene pop! and you want to continue. you’re already moving your hips yet again, begging with small please’s but the happy-go-lucky song of the dryer interrupts the both of you. you scowl.

gojo laughs into your neck, and you’re left grumbling as he sets you down gently, letting you catch your breath before he presses a kiss to your sweaty cheek.

“i’ll handle it, baby,” satoru made a promise to you and he’ll keep it. he hurriedly pulls his sweatpants over his bottom half, “you just rest up.”

it’s not even two minutes later that you already miss him, trotting over to the laundry room in nothing but his shirt and you just watch as he removes the clothes with a certain tranquillity and delicateness that you’d like to see this sight more often and all you can muster in the moment is your arms around his middle.

and the sweetness of the moment is immediately ruined by gojo, “let’s fuck here. whaddya say?” 

your roommate and lover can only grin when you turn him around to smack him (“it’s!” slap “not!” slap “sanitary!” slap “here!” slap), finally happy everything’s back to normal. satoru simply presses a kiss to your temple.

[f1girliefics]

Not His Girlfriend

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: He never lied. He just liked to tell stories.

One day, Lando's friends decided to throw him a surprise birthday party at a trendy rooftop bar in Monaco. 

As the night went on and the drinks flowed freely, one of Lando's friends couldn't help but notice that he seemed to be rather lonely.

"Hey Lando, where's your girlfriend tonight?" his friend asked with a mischievous grin.

Lando chuckled nervously, trying to come up with a clever response. 

"Oh, you know how it is, always flying solo," he replied with a wink.

But his friend wasn't convinced. 

"Come on, Lando, we all know you. Why do you keep denying it?"

Lando's face turned red as he tried to come up with a plausible explanation. 

"Well, you see, it's not that I have a girlfriend, it's just that...I have a wife," he finally admitted, much to the surprise of his friends.

The revelation caused quite a stir among the group, but Lando simply shrugged it off with a sheepish grin. 

"I guess I just like to keep things interesting," he quipped, earning a round of laughter from his friends.

And so, Lando's secret was finally out in the open, but his friends couldn't help but admire his quick thinking and clever way of handling the situation. 

From that day on, Lando was known as the master storyteller who could spin a tale like no other - even if it meant denying having a girlfriend because he had a wife.

But the story of your secret wedding had to wait a couple more nights as Lando was on his fifth shot of the night.

Grinning like an idiot.

He arrived home late, you were already asleep, you woke up to someone in the shower singing.

You decided to just pretend to be asleep and Lando soon joined you.

"Love you." he said and you could smell the alcohol with the mint of the toothpaste.

You were just glad he had a fun night. Even if the morning hangover will be a whole new beast.

[applejusue]

violet kiramman ─── marine encounters #005

Vi having legs seems to prove even more of a challenge than you'd thought, especially considering she attracts so much attention. When you try and do your shifts at the beach, Vi finds it very difficult not to get jealous.

◟`# cw: orca!vi, killer whale, size difference, comfort, fluff, jealousy, drabble.

── requested by anon & @cherry-coffees

taglst '# @marvelwomenarehot0, @cherry-coffees, @sider3us, @sevikas-whore, @kittymrtnezz69, @mxya-dreams

marine encounters | arcane masterlist . . .

It had been a few days since you'd found Vi on the beach, and much to your despair she still wasn't back to normal. She was still feigning ignorance, but over all not very concerned about this predicament. Part of you wondered if this was her doing, and if she actually could change back if she wanted to. Jinx had teased her sister relentlessly about having beefy legs, but you could tell that she was jealous that Vi got to explore the land. Jinx would give anything to go on a real date, wear a pretty dress like those girls do on the beach. Vi wasn't all too concerned about things like that, too busy using the situation as an opportunity to be close to you.

With nowhere else to bring her, Vi was crashing at your place. She was in your bed, to be accurate, because god knows she was too big for the sofa. Something you'd come to realize now that Vi wasn't sleeping under water was that she snores, loudly. This morning you'd once again woken up to a big lump of a woman, suffocating you with her weight as she breathed heavily against your neck. Taking up the entire damn bed.

"Vi.. you're squishing me.."

You groaned groggily, rubbing your tired eyes. It took some heaving but you'd managed to roll her off of you and onto her side of the bed. Vi didn't even stir, head cocked back with her mouth agape, completely starfished on the mattress. How she was so high up on the foodchain you'd never understand. An amused huff left your lips as you headed to the bathroom to freshen up. As you brushed your teeth you could hear thumping footsteps, the ocassional grumble that typically signalled she was trying to find you.

As you spat out the toothpaste, Vi barged into the bathroom, as she often did. It didn't matter to her whether you were showering or peeing, the concept of privacy not a big thing in her mind, you were mates after all. She swarmed your personal space, and your brow raised in tired amusement as you looked in the mirror. Your body fit perfectly inside of her frame, well, until she wrapped herself around you. Vi leaned down over your shoulder, bearing her pointed teeth.

You rolled your eyes, glancing over the little triangles that had already made a kid cry when she smiled at him. They were a little.. intense. You grabbed your spare toothbrush, turning to face her as you pasted the bristles. She leaned down as you scrubbed at her teeth, brows scrunched at the taste. It was a habit you were glad you'd gotten the girls into, especially considering the state of their gums when you'd found them. Vi wasn't particularly fond of the sensation, but Jinx did it without needing to be told, sometimes multiple times a day.

"There, beautiful.."

You quipped sarcastically, a soft chuckle leaving your lips as you set the tooth brush back into the cup. Vi grinned, heavy arms still holding you as close as possible. The fact that Vi was usually confined to water ment you had an excuse for free time, since she couldn't exactly come with you when you had to leave the beach. Now that she had legs and the ability to follow you around, trust me, she did.

As you walked along the pier, it was unable to ignore all the stares. You'd become quite the controversy along the market line, walking around holding hands with a seven foot woman who usually just wore baggy shorts and a swim tee. Not to mention her hair, a complete mess from the sun bleaching out the ink, and her aversion to your hairbrush. She didn't give a damn though, how could she when she got to spend so much time with you?

You tried to keep her away from most of the stalls, having already gotten into the habit of leaving for work earlier to account for her nosy nature. When she smelled food from a stand or she caught eyes with something shiny laid out on a market board you were done for. As the two of you moved along the shore, Vi caught sight of some fresh fish.

"Hungry.."

Her mouth parted eagerly, tugging at your small hand in an effort to drag you over. You rolled your eyes, trying to pull her the other way instead despite the almost comical difference in strength.

"You can't be hungry sweetheart, I already gave you food before we left.."

Your voice came exasperated, trying to keep a woman twice your size on course wasn't exactly the easiest feat in the world, especially since she could just pick you up in one arm and carry you to where she wanted to go. She hadn't figured that out yet, thankfully.

Being at work was almost worse, like having your own personal body guard. Vi didn't like when you weren't in her range of sight, and she couldn't comprehend how a little thing like you was tasked with saving other humans. Still, you'd managed to scold her enough now that she doesn't hover during your shift. She'll sit by the sand wearing your floral sunglasses, or get distracted and follow around a seagull. Today, she'd found a particularly smooth rock, and so it was her sworn duty to bring it to you.

As Vi stumbled awkwardly along the sand, she noticed you crouched by a man. His leg was bleeding bad, and you were pressing some wet wipes to the wound and joking to calm his nerves. She didn't like that. Vi had watched you take care of kids, helping bikini malfunctions and all the sorts, but she'd never seen a human look at you like that. Her lip twitched, knowing you didn't like her to hover but feeling threatened. You could feel her shadow encompass you before she'd even made her presence known. When you did glance back she was stood behind you, arms folded.

The man's jaw was on the sand, taking in the big ass woman with thick calves and arms that could snap his neck. Part of him was intimidated, the other was fearfully turned on. You let out a huff of annoyance, continuing to wrap the bandage taut around his knee before instructing that he was free to go. He all but scattered away on a limped leg. Vi was quick to be touching up to you again, distressed and unsure on what she seemed to be feeling. She'd never had to worry about you finding someone else, a soft pout staining her lower lip.

You turned around with folded arms, raising a brow.

"Vi, baby, every girl on this damn beach is staring at you, and you're the one that's jealous?"

You teased gently, a soft scoffing leaving your lips. It was amusing to be sure, to see your half sunburnt girlfriend currently frowning like a puppy. Your words seemed to spark something in her though, an 'oh shit' moment where she now realized that the other human women here were into her. Phantom tail thump. She shrugged though, still not very confident in her English but growing more fluent from her time on land. She tugged you into her, scruffing up your hair with her fingers.

"Only wants you.."

Vi spoke proudly, free hand on your lower back. You stared up at her dumbfounded, still not even taller than her breast before laughing. You shoved her away playfully. God, what were you even going to do with her.

"Yeah.. only wants you too.."

[whatdoyouwanttocallmefor]

Can you make a long version of 'dangerous charmer'?

ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜꜱ ᴄʜᴀʀᴍᴇʀ - ʜᴀɴ ᴊɪꜱᴜɴɢ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Helloo!!!! Im so sorry it take a very long time :(( I swear I already write it but I kept changing because I just have problem with my brain and I just feel the story is not good? I still feel it's not good but umm maybe it can be considered? please :(( Anyways, here's a long version of Dangerous Charmer. Enjoy

Warning: Contains themes of possessiveness, violence, and mafia-related content

---

Han Jisung was a mastermind.

Not just clever. Not just strategic.

No, he was terrifyingly brilliant, the kind of man who could dismantle an empire with a smile and a soft “Oops.” In the underworld, people spoke of him in whispers, like saying his name too loud would summon him. And if he did appear? You didn’t live to tell the tale.

To the world, Han Jisung was a ghost in designer suits, a storm in Gucci sunglasses.

But to you?

He was the man who bought three different types of milk because he could never remember which one you liked. The man who quietly learned to braid hair just so he could help when you had a bad wrist day. The man who didn’t sleep unless your side of the bed was warm.

He was chaos outside. But with you? He was comfort.

You were brushing your teeth one morning, still groggy and half-aware, when you noticed something on the mirror. A sticky note.

“You mumble in your sleep. It’s cute. I love you. - J 🖤

You laughed, toothpaste foam nearly spilling out. “This idiot,” you murmured, your heart fluttering.

He left notes like that sometimes. Sometimes they were sweet. Sometimes utterly dumb.

“You looked hot kicking me in your sleep last night.” “Bought you four cupcakes. Ate two. You’ll survive.” “I bribed the bakery lady to give you the warm pastries. Don’t ask.”

You swore he had the soul of a menace and the heart of a poet.

Later that day, Jisung slid an envelope across the kitchen counter, looking way too smug for a man wearing Hello Kitty slippers.

“Here,” he said.

You paused mid-sip of your coffee, eyeing the envelope like it was a trap. “What is it this time?”

“A gift.” He leaned forward, propping his chin in his hand like he already knew you were going to freak out.

You tore it open and froze. “This… this is a black card, Jisung.”

“Yup.”

You nearly choked. “This is... do you know how much money is on this?”

He grinned. “It’s infinite. Just like my love for you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s so corny.”

“Corny and loaded,” he quipped. “Now take it.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not a kept woman, Jisung.”

He laughed. “You are kept. Just… also deeply loved and dangerously spoiled.”

You softened, biting your lip. “I don’t need money to feel loved.”

He walked around the counter, gently cupping your cheeks. “I know. That’s what makes you different. But I want to give you everything. Because this world is brutal. And money? It’s my sword. My shield. My power. And if it can make your life even one ounce safer or easier, then you’re going to take the damn card.”

You stared up at him, heart twisting. He wasn’t giving you a luxury. He was giving you protection in the only language his world understood.

“…Fine,” you whispered.

“Atta girl.” He kissed your forehead. “Go buy yourself a tank. Or ten cats. Or a tiny island. Surprise me.”

---

But Jisung didn’t protect you with money alone.

There was a night, cold and too quiet, when everything changed.

You’d gone out alone for five minutes. Five. You wanted to grab a snack from the corner store, thinking no one would notice. Jisung had been in a meeting, and you didn’t want to bother him.

Big mistake.

Someone followed you out.

You didn’t notice until a hand brushed your wrist. “Hey—got a second?”

You turned, startled, only for Jisung to appear out of nowhere. One second it was just you and the stranger. The next, Jisung had him slammed against the concrete wall, rage pouring off him in waves.

“You must have a death wish,” he said, low and cold.

The man panicked. “I—I wasn’t trying anything—!”

“You touched what’s mine,” Jisung growled, twisting the man’s arm just enough to make him cry out.

“Jisung!” You ran up, grabbing his shoulder. “Stop it! He didn’t do anything!”

His grip didn’t loosen.

“Jisung, look at me,” you said, voice shaking. “Please. Let him go.”

His jaw clenched. Then, with a reluctant grunt, he dropped the man, who scrambled off into the night like his life depended on it.

When you got home, Jisung didn’t say a word. He sat on the couch, elbows on his knees, eyes dark and unreadable. You sat beside him, hesitant.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“You think I’m angry because you went out alone?” he asked quietly.

“…Aren’t you?”

He looked at you. “No. I’m angry at myself. For not protecting you better.”

“Jisung, I’m not helpless.”

“I know. But that doesn’t mean I won’t burn this city to the ground if someone dares to touch you.”

You reached over, taking his hand. “You don’t have to carry all of this alone.”

His throat bobbed. “Yes, I do. That’s how I keep you safe. I’m the villain, remember? Let me be the monster so you never have to be scared.”

You leaned your forehead against his. “I’m not scared of you.”

“I wish you were,” he whispered.

A week later, the man who touched you was gone.

No word. No body. Just… gone.

And you didn’t ask.

One evening, curled up on Jisung’s lap, you finally whispered, “He disappeared.”

He sipped his drink. “Yes.”

You hesitated. “Did you—”

He looked at you slowly. “I warned him.”

You swallowed, but didn’t press further.

Instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

He smiled against your cheek. “Keep me. Forever.”

---

That night, you had a nightmare.

You saw Jisung, bloodied, alone, walking through a dark hallway as people whispered behind him. You called his name, but he didn’t turn. You screamed, and still he kept walking until he vanished into the dark.

You woke with a start, breath ragged.

Jisung stirred beside you. “Baby?”

You couldn’t even answer. Just clung to him.

His arms wrapped around you instantly, no questions asked. “It was a dream. I’m here.”

You trembled. “I dreamed I lost you. I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“I’ll always find you,” he whispered, brushing your hair from your face. “Even if I have to tear the world apart.”

You buried your face in his chest. “Promise?”

He pulled you tighter. “I promise. No matter how dark it gets, I’ll never leave you behind.”

Han Jisung was a walking contradiction.

The man who played piano when he thought no one was listening. The man who bought a tiny kitten because he saw you smile at it once in a shop window. The man who wore blood like cologne, but flinched when you cried.

He was chaos wrapped in silk. A storm behind a smile.

But his love?

His love was unwavering. Fierce. Terrifying in its intensity, but pure in its purpose.

And if the world ever dared to take you from him?

Well.

It would burn.

---

Perm Tag : @m-325

[jenosbliss]

pairing. gn!reader x johnny | genre. fluff | wc. 1.3k | warnings. none | requested. here

Johnny Suh was a mystery you didn’t know you cared about.

Every day at work, he was a fleeting presence—a tall, effortlessly charming guy you’d pass in the hallway or see by the coffee machine. He’d flash you that signature smile, the one that made everyone’s day just a little brighter, and you’d smile back, thinking, Who even smiles this much at work?

You didn’t know much about him. He worked in a different department, always surrounded by people. He was funny, sure—you’d heard enough laughter echoing down the hall after his conversations. But that was it. He was a fleeting moment in your day, a brief exchange that never went further than a polite greeting.

Until tonight.

The company’s annual work party was a glittering affair. The downtown lounge was draped in fairy lights, the bar serving overpriced cocktails disguised as “complimentary,” and the DJ playing an eclectic mix of hits that somehow pleased no one and everyone at the same time.

You were nursing a half-empty glass of sparkling water by the bar, the faint hum of conversation buzzing around you. Your friends had vanished into the crowd, leaving you awkwardly stationed near a decorative fern. You weren’t sure why you’d come—these events always felt like an awkward middle ground between socializing and networking, and you were terrible at both.

You were about to make an escape when a familiar laugh reached your ears. Turning, you spotted Johnny across the room, his broad shoulders and navy blazer impossible to miss. He was in the middle of a conversation, his hands gesturing animatedly as he threw his head back in laughter.

It was hard not to watch him. Johnny had this magnetic presence, the kind that made people gravitate toward him without even realizing it.

And then it happened—his gaze flicked up, catching yours from across the room.

You froze, your glass halfway to your lips. His expression shifted into something softer, his lips curving into that familiar, easy smile. He raised his drink in a casual toast, his eyes twinkling with amusement, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

Oh no.

Before you could overthink it, Johnny started walking toward you.

“Hey,” he greeted, leaning casually against the bar. “You’re Y/N, right?”

The sound of your name from his lips was enough to make your stomach flutter. “Yeah. And you’re Johnny.”

“Glad to know I’m not the only one doing the hallway smile thing,” he said, grinning.

You laughed, relaxing slightly. “It’s hard not to smile when someone’s beaming at you like they’re in a toothpaste commercial.”

“Guilty,” he admitted, shrugging. “I like making people smile. It’s my thing.”

“Well, it works,” you said, feeling your cheeks warm.

“So,” he said, turning to face you fully. “What brings you to the party? Besides the free drinks, of course.”

You glanced at your glass, then back at him. “Honestly? I almost didn’t come. These things aren’t really my scene.”

“Same,” he said, surprising you. “But then I thought, ‘What if the person I’ve been smiling at all year is here, and I finally get to talk to them?’”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “Smooth.”

“Thank you,” he said with a playful bow. “So, now that I’ve got you here, tell me about yourself, Y/N. I feel like I’ve spent the past year seeing glimpses of you but knowing nothing about you. It’s kind of tragic, don’t you think?”

You tilted your head, amused. “Tragic, huh?”

“Absolutely,” he said, his eyes sparkling. “What if you’re secretly the coolest person in the office and I’ve been missing out this whole time?”

Talking to Johnny was like opening a window in a stuffy room.

He asked questions about everything—your favorite books, your go-to coffee order, even the weirdest thing you’d ever witnessed in the office. Every time you answered, he’d respond with a quip or a thoughtful comment that made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t expected.

“So,” he said, swirling the ice in his drink. “What’s your karaoke song?”

“Karaoke song?”

“Yeah,” he said, his grin widening. “You can tell a lot about a person by their karaoke pick. It’s science.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “Well, if I say something embarrassing, are you going to judge me?”

“Absolutely,” he said, his voice teasing. “But only in the most supportive way possible.”

You shook your head, smiling. “Fine. You Belong With Me.”

Johnny gasped, clutching his chest like you’d just delivered a mortal blow. “Iconic,” he said. “We’re definitely singing that at the next office karaoke night.”

“We don’t even have office karaoke nights,” you pointed out.

“Yet,” he said, winking.

The rest of the party faded into the background as the two of you talked. It was easy to lose track of time with Johnny—his humor was effortless, his curiosity genuine, and his energy contagious.

“You know,” he said at one point, leaning against the bar. “I always wondered if you were as interesting as you looked.”

You raised an eyebrow, laughing. “As I looked?”

“Yeah,” he said, his tone playful but sincere. “You’ve got this way of looking like you’re solving the world’s problems while waiting for your coffee. It’s intimidating.”

“Intimidating?” you repeated, smiling. “You’re literally the least intimidated person I’ve ever met.”

“Well, now I’m not,” he said, his grin widening. “Now I know you’re secretly the coolest person in the office.”

By the time the party began winding down, you felt like you’d known Johnny for years instead of just an hour. He walked with you to the coat rack near the door, his hands stuffed casually in his pockets.

“So,” he said as you grabbed your coat. “Can I say something without it being weird?”

“That depends,” you replied, your eyebrow arching. “Is it actually weird?”

Johnny chuckled, holding up his hands. “No, no. Just… I’m really glad you came tonight.”

Your chest fluttered, a warmth spreading through you that you hadn’t felt in a long time. “Me too,” you said softly.

His smile softened, his usual playful energy replaced by something quieter, more intimate. “Now that we’re officially past the hallway smiles, what do you say we hang out sometime? Like, outside of work. No fluorescent lights, no awkward coffee machine conversations.”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider. “Are you asking me out, Johnny?”

“Depends,” he said, his grin teasing but his eyes warm. “Are you saying yes?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yeah, I’m saying yes.”

“Great,” he said, pulling out his phone. “Because I’ve got a karaoke duet with your name on it.”

As you exchanged numbers, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, the guy you always smiled at in the hallway was about to become someone much more. And judging by the way he looked at you, he was thinking the exact same thing.

navigation.

masterlist. nct dream | nct 127 | wayv

[mizutsugi]

late night hits ✩ (sam winchester x reader)

↳synopsis: you came back from a hunt with the winchesters but couldn't get to sleep, so you decided to smoke to ease your mind. sam joined you.

↳word count: 2,340

↳ cw: smoking w33d and sharing a bed! just kinda that tbh

↳a/n: first fic on this account! <3

You were just coming back from a particularly hard vampire hunt, and you were fucking exhausted. As you drudged up the stairs of the motel, shoulders barely able to hold up the straps of your bag, you groaned. Dean laughed, as if his ass wasn’t beat just as bad. 

“That bad, y/n?”

You couldn’t do much else but grumble in response and keep trudging forward, hobbling down the upper deck until the three of you reached the room. Dean used the key, freshly picked up from a particularly pissy receptionist, and unlocked the door. You were so tired of sharing a dingy motel room with two boys, but at the moment you were too out of it to care. You wanted nothing more than to take a shower and go to bed, immediately dropping your things the second you got through the door and slumping down to kick off your boots.

“You know, that might work better if you actually untie the laces…” Sam quipped, undoing his own.

“Bite me.” You responded, managing to (painfully) shimmy out of the heavy shoes. Dean, as he tended to do when he was feeling especially diva-like, took a whole bed to himself. For once, you didn’t feel like fighting him on it- especially not when he immediately stripped down to his boxers and jumped into the bed.

You looked at Sam and shrugged. It wasn’t the first time you had shared a bed, and nothing weird ever came of it. You rifled through your bag for a bit before landing on your toiletries and PJs. You took both into the bathroom, getting ready for bed. As you stepped into the shower, a murky beige color with…questionable…stains adoring the tile, you felt the hot water hit your skin and wash away all the dirt and blood from the hunt. The more you hunted, the more you got used to the look of scars and scrapes on your own body. You ran body wash over your skin and washed your face, finally feeling the weight of the day lift off your body as you cleaned up. You stepped out and wrapped one of the paper-y feeling white towels around your body before sliding into your soft pjs. You brushed your teeth, looking at yourself in the mirror and noticing the bags under your eyes… you really needed to sleep.

You spat out the last of your toothpaste, rinsed your mouth out and put your brush back down on the counter. You lazily slapped the light off before stepping out, already hearing Deans loud snores from his bed. You looked to Sam, who had changed and had his laptop propped in his lap as he sat up against the headboard on your shared bed.

“She’s all yours.” You said, making your way to the bed. Sam’s eyes looked up from his research and looked at you, lingering for just a bit too long before he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and hopped off. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, taking some of his own toiletries before switching out with you. 

You had an unspoken agreement where you got to shower first (you HATED how gross you felt after hunts), and Sam would go after, insisting you could turn the lights off and go to bed without waiting up on him. Sometimes to be nice you’d wait for him to get out, but tonight you just wanted to lay down, so you quickly reached over to his side of the bed and turned the light out from the bedside table, letting the darkness and consistent drone of Deans snoring absorb your senses. You could hear the light sound of water hitting the tile from the bathroom from behind the door, and you tried to let that pull you to sleep. Ten minutes passed and you were still wide awake. Sam stepped out of the bathroom, newly cleaned and changed into his pjs. He assumed you were asleep and tried to crawl into bed as quietly and gently as he could, and a part of you felt grateful for his consideration despite your restlessness. You felt him shift on the other end, doing his best to give you as much distance as possible. The stiff, pressed sheets pulled up against your body as he got settled, and you tried your best to ignore the cold feeling creeping up your back from the blasting AC. Another ten minutes went by… then another…. and then another, and you started to feel like you were never going to get sleep. You didn’t even know it was possible to feel so exhausted but so incapable of getting rest. 

When you couldn’t stand it anymore, you remembered something you left in your bag. As silently as you could, you slowly stood up and pulled yourself out of bed, hissing at the feeling of the cold air on your now bare skin. As you slowly made your way to your open bag, you dug around blindly until you felt a small, thin object. You grabbed your jacket and room key from near the door and, as gently as you could, pulled and turned the handle. You quickly glanced back to make sure the boys were sleeping, and then stepped outside, closing the door behind you. You walked forward a bit before hitting the railing of the motel balcony, overlooking the parking lot and shitty neon sign that was missing over half the letters. One of these days, you really gotta bitch Dean out for nesting you up in these 1-star prisons. You pulled your pen up to your lips, inhaling slowly and allowing the smoke to enter your lungs. You held it for a moment, then exhaled, watching as the smoke drifted lazily out of your open lips. You were in Texas, at least you were pretty sure, so the nighttime air felt warm against your skin. You could hear the sound of relentlessly loud cicadas chirping from nearby, and somewhere ahead you could hear traffic from an overpass. For a few minutes you stood there, taking small hits and trying to clear your mind from your racing thoughts. A part of you was still on edge after the day's activities. 

You heard a soft click before the door behind you creaked open, and you glanced behind your shoulder. Sam stood outside the doorway in his sweatpants and gray sleep shirt, looking at you with a hazy expression. 

“Y/N, what are you doing out here?”

You flipped around to face him, trying to conceal the pen behind your back. “Nothing.”

Sam laughed before cocking a brow. “Oh, I don't smell nothing.”

You gave him a puzzled look back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hey, I’m not going to judge you… Just ‘cos I went to law school doesn’t mean you’re in trouble.” He smiled, stepping towards you a bit and away from the shut door. You felt your face go red, somehow embarrassed by the situation. 

“Listen…” You pulled the pen from behind your back, now coaxed out of hiding. “I couldn’t sleep, and this helps sometimes.”

“Mhm…” Sam teased sarcastically. You just rolled your eyes before attempting to slide the device back into your pocket, but Sam held his hand out. “Like I said, you’re not in trouble. By all means…” He walked up beside you, leaning his waist against the railing and looking out into the parking lot, a slight smile on his face. 

You shot him another skeptical look, but then turned to face the same way, taking another inhale. As you blew smoke out, Sam watched and studied the way it poured out of your mouth, some of it drifting his direction. 

“You can’t tell Dean,” You said, looking up to the other. “He’ll never leave me alone about it.”

Sam smirked. “Can’t tell Dean what? Our little passenger princess is a stoner? I’m sure he’d be just as shocked as me.”

“Sam! I mean it…” You said, angrily fidgeting with the hem of your jacket.

“Hey, hey, I know…” He held his hands up in surrender. “I’m not going to tell him.” 

You nodded, and the two of you fell into silence. You both listened to the drone of the AC unit and the distant sounds of cars and bugs, the comfort of one another’s presence enough to allow the background noise to flood in for a bit. You took another hit and exhaled before hesitantly holding the pen up to him, looking into his curious eyes.

“For me?” He asked skeptically. You rolled your eyes before nodding. He seemed to think for a moment before taking the pen into his fingers and lifting it to his lips. He took a long inhale, allowing the vapor to fill his lungs before squeezing it back out. 

“Now who’s the stoner?” You asked with a smirk.

“Not me… I haven’t had this stuff in years. You on the other hand…” He took another inhale. “You sneak out and smoke a lot? Hm?”

You shrugged as he took another hit. “Not a lot…” 

He gave you a fraction of a look with a quirked brow, the kind of look that you had grown to understand meant, Really?  He didn’t push you on it, though. You both sat in silence for quite a bit, passing the pen back and forth. The quiet would normally be uncomfortable, but you and Sam had grown close enough where conversation never felt forced. As he passed it back from his fifth hit, he looked into your eyes and laughed a bit.

“What’s so funny, hm?” You asked, taking one last hit before pocketing the device. 

“You’re a lightweight.” He said, slightly cocky. 

“Am not!” You retorted.

“Uh, are too.” He laughed. “Your pupils are dilated, and your face got all pink.”

“You’re so full of shit.” You rolled your eyes and shook your head, but you knew he was right. You knew exactly your own tells, and you could feel the high creeping up on you.

“Oh yeah?” He pulled out his phone and put it up to your face. He took a photo and clicked on it, laughing to himself. You peered over his screen to see your own face, caught off guard in a half smile with flushed cheeks and heavily lidded eyes. You were nearly taken back by how incredibly noticeable it was.

“Oh…. yeah.” You said sheepishly, watching as he got his kicks out of how out of it you were. You watched his fingers slide across the screen and you grabbed his bare wrist. “Do NOT send that to the group chat.”

“Awe, man.” He said, but pocketed his phone, respecting your wishes. “You’re no fun.”

“If Cas knew… actually, wait… If Cas knew that might be kinda funny. Can angels get high?”

Sam chuckled, tilting his head and looking down on you. “I get the feeling the lore won’t have an answer to that question.”

“Probably not… maybe one day we can try it. Just, uhm, don’t tell them right now. I feel like they’ll be, like, disappointed parents.” You said, pulling at the end of your jacket sleeves as you gently swayed. The more it kicked in, the more you wanted to lay down and try to sleep again. You could see it in his eyes, too, as they got heavier and his gaze directed at you became more hazy. 

“I think you worry too much.” He smiled.

“Yeah, probably…” You said, staring down at your feet like they were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. Your limbs felt so heavy.

“You tired now?” He asked, smiling to himself as you nearly fell asleep standing up, blinks growing slower and heavier.

“Maybe a little…” 

“Let’s get you to bed.” He guided you back towards the door, hand gently hovering over the small of your back.

“I’m not a kid you know, I can get myself to bed.” You said, yet smiled as he held the door for you. Your voices fell into whispers once Dean fell into view, sprawled out on his own bed.

“I know you can.” He whispered. “But you have to admit, you were about 20 seconds away from falling asleep standing up.”

You rolled your eyes, but as you shrugged off your coat onto the floor and your back hit the sheets, you almost didn’t stay awake enough to respond. 

“Nuh uh…” Was the best you could muster as he crawled in beside you. You both fell into silence for a few moments before you felt a chill run through your body. If it was cold before, it was frigid now. Every sense was heightened, and it felt like your limbs were about to go numb. The paper thin motel sheets didn’t do a thing to retain heat, and you kept your arms wrapped around yourself to try to warm up. You involuntarily started inching towards Sam, whose back was facing you as he laid on his side. You tried to ignore it, but when yet another chill jolted your body you couldn’t take it.

“Sam…?” You whispered so quietly, you barely registered your own voice. 

“Mhm?” He mumbled, now turning to face you. You suddenly felt embarrassed, even with your judgment clouded by the high. 

“‘M cold..” You mumbled back. He sleepily smiled and opened his arms up, scooting towards you and wrapping them around you. Maybe it was both of your clouded judgements, but neither of you felt uncomfortable in the embrace. His arms and broad shoulders pulled you in, and your face fell to his chest. You could smell the cheap pine soap he used, and the feeling of his warmth could have knocked you out in seconds. You felt his hands lightly brush through the back of your hair, and you wouldn’t admit it but you loved the feeling. 

“Thanks…” You mumbled against his chest. You felt him hum back in response, just seconds away from falling asleep. You smiled contently and, finally feeling comfortable, you rested. 

↳ a/n: hiii! i randomly got back into writing one shots again so forgive me if i'm rusty lol... but anyways if anyone sees this pleaseeee send me prompts and stuff! thank uuu :)

also i really wanted to use this gif cos it reminds me of the w33d coughs so i'm leaving it here as a parting gift lmao

[puck-luck]

hi, happy 1 year 🥹💗💕, could i request a cafe latte with vanilla syrup: missionary and peppermint: established relationship for qh43 🩷 ty!

sry this is beaquinn core for me; if you get to the point where "quinn says your full name" just know that your full name is supposed to be "beatrice". thank u

“You feel so great,” Quinn says in a tone akin to a swear. “So tight and wet and perfect, could– shit– could stay inside you forever.”

“I feel like that might get uncomfortable after a while,” you quip, carding your fingers through Quinn’s soft waves and breathing in deep when he buries himself to the hilt. “I love when you fuck me, baby, but I think it would be hard to go grocery shopping if you were always inside me.”

“We can order delivery,” Quinn replies, nuzzling under your chin and dragging his lips over your skin. “People can shop for us. I’ll spend my millions on it.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you reminded me of your millions,” you sigh, rolling your head back on the fluffy pillows in his bed. “That’s such a turn on. Fuck me, Quinn, fuck me hard.”

His laughter comes out in muffled puffs against your neck. His teeth bite down on your shoulder playfully, a smirk on his face once he kisses back up to your lips. “Ha, ha,” he exaggerates. Quinn brushes a lock of hair out of your face and peppers your freckles with sweet pecks. “I knew you were in this for the money.”

You throw your arms over his shoulders and pull him in for another kiss, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth. “It’s so good to know I can stop pretending.”

Quinn sighs and smiles into the kiss, sinking into your heat again. “I fucking love you,” he murmurs. “I know you’re joking, but if you weren’t, I’d still let you spend all my money if it meant you’re mine.”

“That’s really sweet, Q, but now I’m worried that you’re susceptible to scammers,” you giggle, sliding a hand over his bicep. “Just fuck me, baby. Let’s not talk about it.”

Quinn draws out of your cunt and rolls onto his back. “Ugh, I feel like we ruined the moment.”

“No,” you whine, rolling onto your side and rubbing his chest. You tuck yourself into his side and kiss his neck, making soft noises. “Quintin.”

He wraps his arm around you, playing with the ends of your hair. He drawls your full name, fixing his beautiful eyes on yours. Quinn’s pupils dilate, lips quirked. He groans as he moves, rolling back on top of you and slotting his thigh between yours. Quinn cages you between his arms, dropped low on his elbows. He slots your mouths together, a soft kiss that tastes like his toothpaste. 

“I want it,” you tell him quietly.

“Best three words you’ve ever said,” Quinn replies. He lays his weight on one arm, the other sliding between your bodies to line himself up with your core. 

The sex is quiet this time, your breaths mixing together like leaves in the wind. Quinn holds your hip possessively, lips nudging your cheek and temple when you moan and whimper and sigh, encouraging you to do more. His pelvis swivels against yours, bringing you to orgasm slowly and surely, practiced and certain. 

“I love you,” he whispers into your hair when you come, massaging your sides and holding you close. “My beautiful girl. Take me so well, so sweet and lovely.”

“Quinn,” you breathe. His body is plastered against yours, pinning you to the bed, and there’s nowhere you’d rather be. He’s still pumping inside you slowly, the aftershocks diminishing despite your nerves being on end. “You feel great, babe.”

“Hm, thanks,” Quinn murmurs. He captures your lips. “Gonna make you come again, what do you think about that?”

“Ooh, I think you’re shooting for the stars,” you tease. “Let’s make it happen.”

[1d1195]

Toothpaste II

Here's the rest: Toothpaste

Here on 1d1195.tumblr.com we throw ethics and patient-doctor boundaries out the window. Proceed with caution.

~2.1k words

Warnings: Some smutty thoughts and innuendos present. We're getting there... 🤭

Now she was situated in the chair once more; looking prettier than she did last week. Perhaps because she was no longer in pain. Harry felt a bloom of pride swell within him. Grateful he could take the tears and pain away from her. She was too pretty to be sad.

Harry was insistent that she come back in for him to check on her teeth and the cavity he filled. He wanted to make sure that everything was correct and that she wasn’t in pain. He was analyzing her X-rays and consulted his colleagues to see if there was something he was missing when it came to her susceptible teeth. The thought of her in pain—especially after making her cry for several moments during her appointment—made him utterly distraught.

It took every spare ounce of decorum and professionalism in him to not give her his personal phone number. When he read her new patient form that she submitted online, he thought he was just being kind. He didn’t have anything to do that particular Wednesday she needed to be seen, so to him it was no big deal. He thought she was exaggerating—not that he thought patients exaggerated in general, but the idea of her pulling her own tooth out in the hardware store...

There was a reason one of the secretaries had Harry look it over while she laughed at the hyperbolic words on screen. But when Harry saw her, something shifted inside him. He didn’t know she was going to be pretty. So pretty it was hard to believe her teeth were stuffed with so many fillings. He read her dental history for the better part of the hour waiting for her to arrive. It felt like he knew her. The little quips that she expressed in previous appointments: “I’m in pain. Again. I always thought it was a joke that dentists were sadistic. But I think you like seeing me here.”

But the physical beauty was more than he ever could have anticipated. She was dressed for her job, and she was stunning. It made him wonder how anyone managed to work at all. It was hard for him to focus on his job while he was looking into her mouth. He never wanted to kick himself more than making her answer her boss’s phone call. He could see the resignation in her eyes. If Harry hadn’t intervened, she would have gone back to work. Completely in pain and he wouldn’t have gotten to fix her up. Wouldn’t have convinced her to come back in a week to make sure everything was alright.

Now she was situated in the chair once more; looking prettier than she did last week. Perhaps because she was no longer in pain. Harry felt a bloom of pride swell within him. Grateful he could take the tears and pain away from her. She was too pretty to be sad.

“Good morning, love,” he smiled kindly. She grinned back.

“Good morning!” Her voice was cheerful.

Harry busied himself with putting on gloves, checking the computer, and making sure that everything was in place for his examination. “Y’seem t’be in better spirits,” he shouldn’t have felt so prideful. It was his job to fix teeth. But something about her made him feel that way. It wasn’t just that he made her feel better. It was the fact that she looked happier and more relaxed.

“I think you should refill all my current fillings. I wasn’t in any pain. Not even from the Novocain or anything,” she sounded proud herself. It was adorable. Harry was thinking the least professional things about that sweet face of hers and how badly he wanted to kiss her. It didn’t help that he would spend the better part of his examination staring at her mouth. It was a bad profession to fall in love with someone. A sweet gentle smile like hers? He was royally screwed—she didn’t even need to talk.

He chuckled at her assessment. “Thank you for the vote of confidence, love. S’kind,” he pulled the mask over his mouth and sat on the little stool and grabbed the little mirror and dental probe to press to start examining. She opened her mouth instinctively without him having to say a word. Of course it wasn’t otherworldly, but he thought she was. So, it meant something to Harry. It was silly and insane, but he couldn’t help it. She was adorable. It made him nauseous to think she’d be in pain and continue working. Moreover, working for that sorry excuse for a man that screamed at her loud enough Harry could hear through the phone pressed to her ear. “Feeling better?” He asked quietly.

“Uh-huh,” she mumbled around the tools in her mouth. “Muh bett-ah”

He smiled; grateful it was covered by the mask on his face. He was sure he was smiling at her the way he wasn’t supposed to. He was glad he had the glasses and light to hide the adoration that was surely in his eyes as he watched her. “Good,” he nodded firmly.

“I got laid off,” she said. “I didn’t even realize how much I hated it,” she shook her head with distaste coloring her features. “I loved my work, but I hated my job. Does that make sense? Probably not,” she shrugged with a giggle that made Harry almost gleeful with the sound. “But I went right to a temp agency, and I’ve already had two job interviews. My boss didn’t write me a letter of recommendation, but the HR woman was happy to do so for me. Apparently, she was really sad I was let go,” she frowned. “I guess I caused the least amount of drama in the entire building, and it was right of me to stick up for myself. That’s what sick time was for,” she bit her lip. “So, thank you.”

“Me?” Harry couldn’t contain the surprise on his face or in his voice. He pulled the mask from his mouth, removed the goggles and light. Confusion lined his face as he tilted his head at her. “I jus’ fixed y’cavity love. S’my job.”

“But you made me stay so you could do that. If you didn’t tell my boss off, I probably would have gone right back to the office before you had a chance to help,” she explained.

He was glad his assumption was right, but it made him sad. Frowning, he tutted disapprovingly at her. “Love, s’not good.”

She shrugged. “It’s irrelevant now. I’m happy for the first time in like two years. Money is a little stressful, but I got a severance to keep me afloat. They have to give me insurance through the end of the year or until I get a new job so...” she shrugged. “I have good references. Plus, I always have dental school,” her smile was so cute. Like a secret for just the two of them. It nearly made him blush.

He chuckled. “Well...m’glad y’happy. If y’have trouble finding a job let me know. I know people...and I was serious. I’d hire y’in a heartbeat.”

“I’d be useless, Dr. Styles. I know next to nothing about dentistry other than my own history—”

“Harry,” he said quietly. A reminder that he told her to call him that last week.

She bit her lip. “Harry,” she repeated just as soft. Like she wasn’t supposed to say it. “Anyway, thank you,” she repeated, gratefully. “But I think I need a little break. I took that job because I was fresh out of college and wanted my foot in the door. I can wait a minute before taking a new job. I can research and make sure I don’t just like my work but my job too.”

God, he wanted to kiss her. “Well, m’offer stands,” he started to remove his glove from his hand.

“Actually,” she said and pointed to one of her molars in the back of her mouth. Harry left the glove in place. “One of my old fillings has a rough edge, could you look at it? I was so stressed-out last time I didn’t even get to ask.”

“Who was this dentist, love?” He frowned. She giggled sweetly leaning back in the chair. Harry grabbed the little mirror off the tray of tools. He didn’t replace his goggles or his mask. He just reached gently for her lower jaw and held the mirror in front of her lips. “Open.”

“Not even dinner first?” She asked quietly, with a smile. It was a reflex. Flirty and inappropriate beyond his wildest imagination. This time he did actually blush. His own lips parted, and his eyes flicked to hers unsurely and he almost released her jaw. “Oops,” she giggled, feigning innocence. Harry was so startled he didn’t know what to say to her. The words were lost. She flirted with him. It made the pit of his stomach flutter with butterflies and his heart skipped a beat. How was she so casual about it? She was so cute and so pretty he couldn’t believe it. “Sorry,” she whispered more seriously. “It just slipped out,” she promised. “I’ll be professional,” she assured him, straightening her posture and her eyes seemed to lack the light and playfulness that he witnessed only seconds before.

But he didn’t want her to be professional. He wanted to make another joke. Or lock the exam room door and take her up on the offer. But he needed to relax before his scrubs left little to the imagination for her innuendo and how it affected him below the waist. He cleared his throat and peered in her mouth trying to focus on the task when all he could focus on was how pretty her mouth was open and waiting for him.

He shook his head. “Fuck, love,” he mumbled.

“S-tha bah?” She asked around the tools in his mouth. Her eyes widening with fear again like they did last week.

“No,” he shook his head. “S’nothing. I’ll fix y’up in a minute,” he mumbled removing his hands and turned back to the computer to occupy his mind and hands before he did something stupid.

“A dentist has never cursed at my teeth,” she continued.

“Mm,” he was trying to play it cool. He didn’t want to think about what she said. Even though it was adorable and funny. Even if it was on the inappropriate side.

But Harry didn’t care if it was inappropriate.

“I have. God,I have,” she shook her head. “Sometimes I think I should just get dentures. But I need better insurance for that.” He didn’t even crack a smile, staring at his computer, trying to keep his composure. “Me and this mouth,” she mumbled. “Between what I say and my teeth I just always ruin something here.”

“Y’didn’t,” he sighed. “Y’didn’t ruin anything,” he murmured.

“You won’t even look at me. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It was inappropriate and honestly rude. You’re a professional. You’re taking care of my teeth doing my job. I’ve dealt with enough sexual harassment seminars in the workplace to know that was out of line and I shouldn’t—”

“I liked it,” he turned to her and caught her gaze, cutting her sentence off. Her lips were partially open, not helping any of the inappropriate fantasies that were plaguing his mind at all. She was speechless. Harry thought it was the first time in their two meetings that he had seen her speechless. “M’not supposed to.”

“Right,” she whispered quietly. “I’m sorry,” her cheeks flushed with the same pink color as the bubblegum toothpaste that the little ones requested in the office. “I...I won’t do it again,” she promised looking at her lap shyly.

“S’not what I meant. It was funny and cute,” he smiled at her. The first sign he was breaking when he really shouldn’t have. But she was a consenting adult. There weren’t any explicit laws in thinking she was cute and adorable. He wanted to get to know her more. It just wasn’t his best idea. Sighing, he rubbed his jaw. Caution to the wind. “Can I take you to dinner?”

She smiled, and despite so many cavities when he could clearly see her gums and teeth were otherwise so well taken care of, she had the best smile. A perfect smile. All that dental work must have stressed her beyond belief. There was a mischievous glint in her eye, and he should have known the second he suggested they get dinner what she would say. But he was so enamored already he wasn’t thinking clearly, obviously. In just two short appointments it was easy to see she made his mind all jumbled. But he should have known already what she would say, all the same.

“Just so I’ll open wide?”

--

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @tiredinwinter @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach @straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals @angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams @summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland @lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles @tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr @crossyourpeter @kissitnhekitchen @kittenhere @stylesfever @harryscherri @indierockgirrl @somethingabout1d19

toothpaste taglist**: @risicup322 @harryyskiwii @luvonstyles

**You commented that you wanted more I just wanted to make sure you knew! I can take you off if you don't want to be notified!

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist for more of my writing.

[fake-mouthstatic]

double date

@bucktommyfluffebruary, day 11. rated G.

💕

"Babe, which tie looks better?" Tommy asks, holding up two as he steps into the bathroom.

Evan raises an eyebrow before uttering something completely unintelligible.

"Sorry, I don't speak toothpaste," Tommy quips, unable to help himself despite the nerves fluttering in his stomach.

Evan grins, foamy and white, before spitting in the sink, wiping his mouth on a towel.

"I said, are you seriously wearing a tie?"

"Should I not wear a tie?" Tommy asks, frowning; he can't pretend he's not nervous about tonight, and not least because he doesn't know what to wear.

read the rest under the cut or on ao3 // other days here

"It's only Bobby and Athena," Evan says, a gently teasing smirk on his lips.

"I know it's only Bobby and Athena," Tommy replies, fidgeting with the ties in his hands, "but that's not as reassuring as you seem to think."

Evan steps forward, frowning as he links his hands behind Tommy's neck.

"Babe, why are you stressing? It's only dinner, and you've known them longer than I have."

It's a good question and one that Tommy's not sure he knows how to answer.

Evan was right; Tommy had known Bobby - and Athena at more of a distance - for longer, even if there'd been a few years in the middle where they'd lost touch.

It's just… he knows how close Evan and Bobby are. Knows how much they mean to each other and how Bobby had become more of a parent to Evan than his own mom and dad.

And now, going out for dinner to a fancy restaurant, just the four of them, feels uncomfortably like meeting the parents officially and, well, Tommy's not exactly had the best luck with that in the past.

"Evan, I…" He takes a deep breath, sliding his arms around Evan's waist, ties still in hand. "Bobby's your second dad, right?"

"I mean, yeah," Evan replies without hesitation.

"And maybe Athena's not exactly a second mom, but she's family too."

"Yeah, of course she is." The furrow in his brow deepens. "What's your point?"

"My point is," he replies hesitantly, "this feels like an official meet the parents dinner and… well, I don't have a great track record with those."

Evan smiles, bright and fond as his fingers play through the hair at Tommy's nape.

"You already know they love you."

Tommy ducks his head shyly.

"It's not that," he says, shaking his head. "It's just… every other time I've officially met a guy's parents, we broke up not long after."

Evan grins as he leans in, capturing Tommy's lips in a gentle kiss.

"Well, you're definitely not getting rid of me that easy," he says, still smiling, "but what if we call it a double date instead? Just a casual double date."

"A double date with your dad," Tommy adds, chuckling despite himself; Evan always did know how to soothe his nerves.

"With my boss and his wife," Evan corrects, grinning.

Tommy can't help but grin then too.

"Yeah, okay. So no tie?"

Evan kisses him again.

"Definitely no tie."

[repulsiveliquidation]

Nightmares and Hot Chocolate

Leah Williamson x Reader

warnings: angst, nightmares, soothing the loml.

11PM, Friday Night

Leah just got home from a night out with the Arsenal girls. Team bonding was important to the captain and the girls decided on going for a spot of dinner after late practice on Friday. The hard rap of her shoes on the hard wood floors rang through the apartment and the jingle of her keys signaled you of her return. You didn’t want to join them for dinner, deciding to have a little time to yourself while Leah enjoyed herself. You had a movie going, big bowl of popcorn and a little facemask on. You’ve been stressed at work for a while, when you told Leah about your little self-care plan, she was a little jealous to say the least.

“Hello, love.” Leah said softly as she walked into the bedroom, dopey smile on her face.

“Hi baby, how was dinner?” You looked up from where you were snuggled into her side of the bed, popcorn laid forgotten on your side of the bed. Siting up, she came over to you and kissed your forehead. You smiled, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. She started to undress, eager to jump into bed and join you for the rest of your movie.

“It was nice, the girls missed you though. McCabe teased you of bailing ‘cause you didn’t like them anymore!” Leah said with a laugh, rummaging through your closet in search of your clothes instead of hers. You just sat up and watched her, eyes full of admiration for her that she didn’t see in that moment. She disappeared into the bathroom, her night routine taking barely 10 minutes so you weren’t going to be waiting on her long.

“So, what did you do all night hm?” Leah yelled from the bathroom; mouth clearly full of toothpaste.

“Where are your manners, Leah Cathrine? I just had leftovers and was watching the movie. I felt like having popcorn so I made a bag but it doesn’t taste the same as when you make it. It’s from a microwave bag, how it can taste different to when you do it is beyond me.” You answer with a wide grin when she pokes her head out of the bathroom to stick her tongue out at you.

“Well, I make it with love. You clearly went without it. But that’s a secret, I’ll kill you if you tell.” she answers walking back into the room, wearing your shorts and your t-shirt. You had moved the popcorn bowl into the kitchen and brought more pillows into the little nest you tried to make on the big bed. Leah; the child that she is; belly flops onto your hard work, sinking right into the middle of the bed and pulling your surprised form into her arms with a yelp. You turn and grin, snuggling into her strong arms.

“I missed you. I still haven’t gotten a kiss you know. Now, that’s bad manners.” Leah quips, grinning down at you as you look up at her. Her eyes are so blue and mesmerizing you almost didn’t hear her. She kisses you before you can answer, lips warm and breath minty. It’s almost too good, your lips molding into hers like the last piece of a puzzle; completely perfect. You’ve been together three years now but every time you kiss, she swears is better than the last.

Pulling away, you answer in an out of breath whisper, “I missed you too, Lee.” She surges forward again, kissing you harder than before. Her arm wraps around your shoulders tighter, her other hand cupping your cheek as your hands hold onto her shirt tightly in balled fists. You make out for a while, whispering things about your day to each other, boring movie on the telly forgotten.

3:30AM, Saturday Morning.

You wake up with a jolt, tears cascading down your cheeks. You’re out of breath, hair a downright mess. You immediately check on Leah, you didn’t even feel her wake up with you. The fear in your eyes scare her for a fraction of a second before she wraps her arms around you and pulls you into her chest.

“I’m here darling, it was just a bad dream. You’re okay, you’re safe.” She mumbles into your ear. Her deep, sleepy voice somehow gets you to start to calm down. She somehow pulls you even closer, making you sit between her legs with your back against her chest.

“Shh, darling. I need you to tell me three things you feel babygirl. Just like we practiced, hm? Can you do that for me, sweet?” Leah soothingly whispered in your ear, your breathing slowly coming down. You were shaking, her arms snaking around your waist and rubbing your clammy skin soothingly.

“U-Uh, the blanket, y-your breath, y-your hands touching m-me…” you stammered out, earning a soft kiss to your ear and a “good job baby,” from Leah.

She rocked you from side to side, knowing it soothed you. “I need three things you see, beautiful.”

You took a deep, reassured breath and began to speak, “Y-Your jacket, my computer a-and the street lamp,” your hand gripped hers, fingers intertwined on your stomach.

“I’m so proud of you, my girl. Last one, I need three things you can hear, my love.” She asked, voice just above a whisper, lips softly peppering kisses on your shoulder.  

“The bathroom light, your heart, a car going by.” You give her, no sign of fear in your voice. “Yes!” Leah thinks, proud of herself for calming you and proud of you for trusting her.

“I’m so proud of you darling, did so well for me.” She turns you around in her arms, scooting back against the headboard with you straddling her lap. You fiddle with your fingers, not wanting to look at her. The streetlamp shines a soft glow into the room, both of your faces barely visible to the other. She grabs your chin softly and turns your gaze at her. “Do you wanna talk about it?” You nod slowly, bottom lip quivering slightly. She wraps her arms around you again, ready to soothe you a second time as the tears begin to fall but this time, in a relief sort of way.

“Someone broke onto the pitch and got to you. He hurt the girls too, I couldn’t get to you in time, you died in my arms Lee, it just felt so real.” You sob into her neck, Leah rubbing your back and shushing you.

“I’m sorry that happened baby, no one’s gonna get me. I promise.”

“What if someone does?”

“I won’t let ‘em baby. If they do, I know you’ll be there to save me.”

“You can’t get hurt again; promise me.”

“I promise, my love. Now, how about some hot chocolate?”

Slowly clambering out of bed, you both walk hand in hand into the kitchen. You jump up to sit on the counter as Leah makes the hot chocolate. She can’t cook to save her life but she manages to make a good hot chocolate. The two of you sip in silence when you notice yours has more marshmallows than hers.

You were lucky to have her and she thought the same of you.

[dipplinduo]

Important and Often Overlooked Indigo Disk DLC Lore: Drayton as the Foil to Kieran

⚠️ ⚠️⚠️ NOT PROPAGANDA ⚠️⚠️⚠️

🎺✨ TIRED OF ONION BREATH-FUELED MELTDOWNS? TRY DRAYTON BEING ICONIC™: NOW IN MINT CRUSH FORMULA! ✨🎺

Do you have a rival who monologues in the mirror? Broods in forests and unnecessarily kicks people out of clubs through immature rage? Smells like one-sided, melodramatic betrayal and soured produce? Say goodbye to that and hello to minty-fresh righteousness with DRAYTON BEING ICONIC™, the #1 recommended soul-cleansing toothpaste rival! While Kieran spirals into his Onion Arc™ - layers of insecurity, bitterness, and garlic-adjacent vibes - Drayton Being Iconic™ comes in cool, collected, and mint-coded, ready to rinse the angst right out of any depraved soul.

Why hang with the onionhead who got ghosted by an Ogre and the girl, when you can have...

Cool, calm, collected: nothing phases the Drayster. You could scream, cry, or confess your sins - he’d just blink slowly and adjust his collar before going "good for you, buddy."

Battle skills so clean they sparkle: probably brushes his pokemon's teeth between turns.

Wellness as a priority: regular cafeteria dates, a full night’s sleep, and impeccable oral hygiene.

Clinically smug. Spiritually flossed. The Drayster doesn’t battle - he freshens. One cleansing quip from him and the edginess melts down to the ground. Say farewell to emotional instability and hello to sparkling character arcs. Side effects include: emotional exfoliation, being humbled on sight, and immaculate League Clubroom posture (complimentary chair and chastising tsundere girl included).

🪥 DRAYTON BEING ICONIC™: Brightly Whitening the Plotline, One Onion at a Time. 🪥

[sashiavi]

•·····🍑········• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𝓓𝓪𝔂 𝓢𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•········🍑·····•

𝚂𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒𝙰𝚟𝚒'𝚜 𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙺𝚃𝙾𝙱𝙴𝚁 2023

#7•𝚂𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚢 𝙳𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐•#7

𝙰𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚒 𝙸𝚝𝚝𝚘 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ʷᵒʳᵈ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗ ³ᵏ

Contrary to popular belief, Arataki Itto was actually a very clean man. He took pride in his appearance, always carrying a comb for his wicked, thick hair, just in case he needed to gussy up. His embellishments on his clothing were always polished and replaced if missing, not a stitch out of place. His large fangs were pearly and white, brushed thoroughly every morning and night, his form bent over a small sink with frothy toothpaste dribbling down his chin was a sight to behold. Itto's skin was (freakishly - in your opinion) clear - minus the stark red tattooing that painted his body. He claimed he had a 'Super Duper Top Secret Special Arataki The One And Onsen Enjoyer Itto' method to having immaculate skin. Not that you were particularly listening to him.

"Aren't you permanently prohibited from the Hot Springs in Inazuma City?" You quip at him. You weren't wrong, he was in fact banned. For life. Your boss seemed to terrorize the city in the most underwhelming fashion possible.

Somehow, you found yourself atop a high mountain, skin bit at sharply by the cold wind, you were surprised there wasn't any snow. You press on, nearly dragged by the aforementioned Oni, he insisted that he would graciously share his little secret with you. Through a set of thick bushes and trees you come across a small clearing, a steaming hot spring nestled by thick boulders and cliffs. The air was wet and humid, the water slightly clouded, but the scent of sulfur was welcomingly absent. Itto puffs his chest out, clearly proud of his little discovery, already showing you all of the 'cool and awesome features' it had to offer.

"This rock could totally be used as a cup holder!" He bouts. Did he even bring a cup?

Before you can even reply Itto was already working his clothes off, untangling the intricate buckles and straps adorned over his body. You're quick to look away, finding a sudden interest in a lavender melon, though, not before you catch a glimpse of his large naked form. You hear the water ripple softly as itto climbs into the spring, groaning out a long "Ahh" as he sinks into the steaming water. You glance back, his arms stretch over the slippery smooth stone behind him, resting his elbows on the lip of the pool. His thick, painted chest peaks above the murky water, large pecs rising with his deep breaths. Weirdly, he looked as though he were in his natural habitat, this large hulking creature resting, relaxed in his own personal bath. Itto definitely had an essence of dominance, as if he owned the place, he probably thought he did considering he had found it.

"C'mon! Are 'Ya comin' in or not?" He calls from his spot. Oh, right. You were here for a reason, to experience the spring he had gushed so highly about. The idea hadn't fully set into your brain, you didn't really have time to think of the logistics of the activity - to be naked with Itto; The boss of the Arataki Gang, the Gang you were very much apart of, therefore your boss. Naked, with your boss, practically sharing the same bath. Maybe it wasn't too late to take a leap off of a nearby cliffside. Did Itto experience embarrassment? You were starting to think he did not. You pressed your lips into a thin line, the water was clouded, if you kept your body submerged maybe he wouldn't see you.

"Can you look away?.. please?" You plead softly, the last thing you wanted to do right now was perform a strip tease for him. A strip tease? Why was that the first thought to pop into your head? Alright, maybe you have had the one off, maybe several, countless sleepless nights thinking about the large Oni. Archons, It wasn't your fault that he was beautiful. The man of the hour shrugs his shoulders, tilting his head back against the lip of the spring and shuts his eyes. You were doomed. The soft swell of his Adam's apple accentuated by his extended throat, his sharp jaw angled prettily under the tree's shade. Was he aware of just how handsome he was?

You blink away from him, carefully removing your clothing and folding them into a neat pile. The cool mountain wind makes your skin shiver, prickling with goosebumps, the steaming spring was looking especially tempting. You wrap your arms around your chest, ineffective against the breeze but still bringing you a slight comfort, at least some part of you was covered up. Tentatively, you dip your toe into the spring, the warm water swells under your touch. You carefully step in, bypassing the slippery stoned ledges naturally carved into the pool. Your arms stay around you as you sink into the pool, sitting directly across from Itto, a good few feet away.

Itto peaks an eye open, downturned from his position, he gives a cheeky smirk and lifts his head to face you. You sink further under the murky water, cheeks flushed from more than the steaming spring. Archons, could this be any more embarrassing?

"Why are you all the way over there? I don't bite!" It apparently could. Itto's voice was ever boisterous, you were sure he alone could cause an avalanche, maybe that was just what you needed. You'd never have to think about this situation ever again. Reluctantly, you cross the length of the hot spring, carefully making your way over to where the large Oni sat.

You weren't careful enough it seemed. You felt as though something brushed against your calf, slimey and thin like a tendril. Oh Gods, there was surely a flesh eating whopper flower about to pop up and snatch you for dinner. The thought is stupid but your brain wholeheartedly believed it for at least 0.2 seconds - So did your body. You jolt unexpectedly, yelping shortly as a little tendril of grass attacks you under the water's surface. Your foot slips on the slick rocks beneath you, launching you straight into the unsuspecting Oni.

If you weren't already embarrassed (you were), you sure as hell were now. Could the Abyss just open up and swallow you whole? Please? Your body was frozen in place, your soft tits pressed into the Oni's hot skin of his chest. Your hands brace his large shoulders, your finger's barely wrapping around the swell of him. Your legs were stuck, straddling the thick quad muscle of his thigh, flexed hard due to the startle of you slipping on to him. Archons, Itto was handsome, never have you seen his face so close before, his strong, pretty nose, sharp brow and jaw, soft, parted lips. He looked stunned, crimson eyes wide, tongue poking behind his thick canines.

Everything about your current situation was warm. The warm steaming water, the hot press of his skin, his warm breath on your lips, sweet and strawberry scented. His tongue wets his bottom lip, stained red from one of the many lollipops he'd nursed on during the hike up to the spring. Your eyes dart to his mouth and back at his face, he follows suit, swallowing thickly as he inches ever so slightly towards your lips. You're not sure who closes the gap, but your lips end up on his, slow and tender. He breathes you in, his broad nose knocks into your own as he tilts his head. Your tongues collide, slipping and rubbing against each other, as sweet as candy. Your tongue swirls against his, lips open and pressed together, drinking up each other's soft moans. Slowly you pull away, only just, hot spit connects your mouths together, barely getting a chance to snap before you dive back in. His thick canines carefully bite at your lips, irritating them deliciously, making them ache and swell.

Your hips move on their own, grinding your achey cunt on his thigh. Itto's breath catches in his throat, growling lowly on your tongue. A large palm squeezes at your hip, slowly guiding you in his lap. You moan sweetly into his mouth, chest rising heatedly, a soft pressing ache blooms in your clit as you squirm on his thigh. The water below dribbles from your palms as you slide them from his chest to his neck, wrapping your arms snuggly around his shoulders. You card your wet fingers through his hair from the nape of his neck, tangling the strands with the moisture on your hands. You feel his unoccupied hand slide down your front, over your bellow and towards your navel. He thumbs at your clit, rubbing slow circles over your achey bud.

"I-Itto!" You wine into his mouth. He mutes your cries with a harsh press of his lips, Archon's he couldn't get them off of you. He drinks in every little noise you make, swallowing them up with his tongue. The pads of his fingers press elsewhere, dipping ever so carefully into your hot cunt. You sigh as he slips his thick middle finger into you, tugging at the hair growing from the nape of his neck. His finger teases you, fucking into you with quick short curls before slowing down, pressing his thumb to your clit. His pace alternates, always surprising you, earning him the sweetest whines to eat up. A second finger joins, nestling into your pussy, rubbing at the sweet little spot inside of you. You can't help but grind into them, wiggling your hips down on his yummy fingers.

The thick length of his cock presses into your soft tummy, his fat velvety head rubs against your sternum. Archons he was huge, the thought of his cock splitting you open makes your pussy ache on his huge fingers. Your hand comes down to cup his fat cockhead, carefully rubbing up and down. You thumb at his slit, teasing and hot, it was his turn to whine into your lips. Your cunt clenches on his fingers, begging for something longer, thicker.

"Gods… Can I sit on it?" You whine into his mouth, biting against his plump bottom lip. You're fairly certain his mind short circuits, his very last brain cell is fried. His lips part with a soft moan, his cock twitches hard on your front, clearly he's entertaining the thought. His fingers curl hard in your sweet pussy, fucking you fevourishly. Your head tilts back with a short hiccup and he kisses across your cheek, warm lips land behind your ear. He nibbles softly at your skin, big teeth pressing so sweetly into your neck.

"If you can take me, Doll~" His voice is low and cheeky, Archons you've never heard him like this. You squeeze at his thick cock to prove yourself, flicking your wrist in just the right way. Itto moans a laugh, capturing your lips in a quick, searing kiss. You move to straddle his lap, legs already aching from just how big his body was. You rub your sweet pussy on his cock, catching his thick head on your achey hole. He groans as his fat cockhead slips through your folds, slick from the warm water and your own creamy arousal. Gods you must be dripping if he can still feel it.

"..Want you…" You keen, chest heaving, pretty tits pressing into his chest with every hot breath. Itto nods, his brows pitched up, eyes foggy and glossy. He wanted you too. You guide his fat head to your achey little hole, wiggling your hips over his cock as it nestles into your little pussy. His large palms brace on your hips as you *slowly* sink your cunny down on his length. Your pussy was somehow hotter than the steaming spring around you, creamy and tight and just so right for him. His cock stretches you nicely, stinging in the best kind of way. His length was never ending, sinking into you forever it seemed, Gods you swore you could feel him in your throat. Was this what heaven was? You were willing to sin again and again if this was your destiny.

"Take it all.. Yeah, yeah, lookin' so good in my lap-" Itto babbles. Gods he was so vocal - And you loved it. Your pussy kisses at the base of his cock, clenching sweetly on his thick length, squeezing lovingly. Itto continues to babble sweet praises, lips pressing into your neck and shoulder with every few words. His palms caress over your skin, settling on your plump ass cheeks, squishing the flesh with his fingers. He gently pulls you forward, rocking your hips on his cock, nestled so deeply inside of your cunt. It was your turn to whine, stringing sweet pet names into his ear, praising him for filling you so well.

You take initiative, carefully lifting your hips in his lap, dragging his length out of your warm cunt before dropping back down with haste. The sweet press against your cervix makes you cry out, wrapping your arms tighter around his neck. You continue, fucking his fat cock with slow thrusts, relishing the thick stretch of your walls. It was slow, it was intense, and you never wanted it to end. Ittos breaths are heavy, laced with a soft pitch of his voice, his chest heaves against yours with his breathy pants. He has to resist fucking his length into you from below, resist grabbing your smaller form and having his way with you. His hips crane into yours accidentally, pushing his cock head well beyond where you thought was physically possible. You moan from your throat, whiney and high pitched.

"F-Fuck- 'm sorry Doll" He moans pathetically, soothing his hands over your behind. You shake your head, pressing your teeth into your bottom lip.

"No.. not sorry- Fuck me~" You keen. Your legs ached, the water's resistance did a number on your thighs. Itto's jaw drops and his eyes roll, Gods you were insatiable. He snaps his mouth shut with a click of his teeth. He squeezes your ass, fucking his hips up into your gushy pussy, relishing in the soft squeeze it gives his cock. He starts out slow, tentative, testing the limit of your creamy cunt, pressing his tip hotly into your aching walls. The hot water ripples around you, lapping in waves against the edge of the pool. You wiggle and squirm in his hold, trying to grind your sweet cunny down on him faster. He nips at your bottom lip, spreading your ass cheeks and bottoming out hard in your pussy. He relishes in the loud cry you give him, grinning dopily before he picks up his pace.

He thrusts up harshly, his fat cock fucks into your soft pussy over and over. He bounces you on his cock, the water of the pool splashes and laps at the slippery rock edges. Your pretty tits rub at his chest, sweet and bouncy, standing out insatiably against the red tattoos he adorns on his skin. Gods he was strong, battling the thick resistance of the water with his hips and forearms just to fuck you. Your puffy clit grinds into his navel, sending the sweetest ache into your cunny. You string a sweet babble of his name;

"Itto~ Itto! 's good Itto!" You hiccup, fucked stupid in his lap.

"Such a pretty girl~ P-Pussy's made for me~!" He babbles back. Archons he was drunk on your cunt, he couldn't get enough of you. He certainly wasn't letting you go after this.

"..'M close~ Itto- I-Itto 'tto~" You cry, breath caught in your chest, clit aching, pussy clenching over his fat cock. The water was hot, he was hot, your cunny aches and burns as he fucks you. A pretty little line of drool dribbles from your lips, Itto is quick to lick it up, shoving his tongue into your mouth. Your pussy clenches on him, your hips grind into his groin, your puffy clit aches and stings in the best way possible.

"..'M cumming- Ittoittoi-itto! Cummin-!" You squeal into his mouth, humping his fat cock into your cunny, somehow matching his impossible pace. Your pussy clenches his thick cock with your orgasm, squeezing his aching length so sweetly. Your lips kiss at his sloppily, hiccuping sweetly as you ride your high on his cock. Your orgasm spurs him on, fucking you with long, slow thrusts, bullying your cervix with his fat tip. He pressed in deep, groaning on your tongue, whispering sweet praises as he rides out your cunny. His fat cock shoots the thickest, creamiest ropes into your pussy, pulsing hotly with every spurt of his load.

When all is said and done, Itto runs his hands over your back, soothing your sweet hiccuping form. He kisses into your hair, giggling dopily, hugging your smaller frame and sinking further into the warm, steaming pool. You hum into his neck, nosing at his wet skin.

"My legs hurt" You snicker from your nose, lifting your head to place a firm kiss on his lips. He soothes his palms over your thighs, carefully lifting you, cradling you in his arms like a princess. Your head tucks against his chest, fingertips tracing over the thick red lines on his skin. Everything was warm, the steaming spring, Itto's skin, your heart. You relax into him, maybe coming along was a good idea.

You dread the trek down, maybe you can convince Itto to carry you. He huffs a short laugh and kisses your forehead. You hum, you don't think he'll need much convincing.

This... This was three thousand words I am so sorry

I just- I just think he's really really neat *sob*

•··········🍑···········• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•···········🍑··········•

Thank You For Reading! Comments Are Always Appreciated! Ily ♡

♡KinkTober Taglist♡

@heath-sama @yejiswifex @hunnibunnix @bleh09 @madsw9 @py-schi @wizzardcatwithastick @shiningpaint-marbleheart @cherrytomato2 @i-am-silver @your-tears-taste-sweeter @kqzutcra @themusingsofmany @kaijubxnny

•· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·····.•🍑•.····· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·•

[dorims]

last christmas (i gave you my heart).

gif creds @/fightingdragonswithwho

pairing. roman roy x reader

wc. 1.6k

genre. fluff

Spending every holiday under Logan Roy’s roof wasn’t necessarily a problem. But just like any other family gathering, the pot tended to be stirred until have a holly jolly Christmas sounded either like a call for help or the theme song from the Saw franchise. for a change, maybe spending christmas away from his family would do him good. you can only hope he agrees.

tags. NOT beta-ed(?), english isn't my first language // established relationship (fiancee/married, i havent decided yet lol), brief mention of alcohol, allusion to roy family dynamics, roman and reader are the only characters in this one

a/n. idc that its march and the fact im not big on christmas either, this one really fun to write! hope you enjoy

“So,” You test the waters, lathering the bristles of your toothbrush with the bubblegum toothpaste in the process. In tune with the routine you had wordlessly established, you locked eyes with him through the mirror. Not before letting your eyes roam over his relaxed figure of course. Surprisingly intimate, you would describe the way he liked to watch you while you finished your nightly routine. He would look so painfully comfortable, maybe even serene, as he let his body rest against the doorframe as his eyes lidded with perpetual fatigue, took in the mundanity of watching you lather your face with creams and face wash.“I’ve been thinking.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, though it sounded more like a stifled laugh. “That's new, how's that going for you?"

“Funny.” The foam in your mouth was of no help at conveying the faux annoyance, balancing out the deadpan you sported with a dose of conveniently muffled speech. Not intimidating at all, it only caused his grin to grow wider. And contagious as always, you leaned over the sink to spit the toothpaste in an attempt to hide a smile of your own, though the thick layer of adoration in your eyes gave it away. 

“I’m just saying,” he raised his hands in mock surrender, finally walking inside to lean against the marble counter right next to you. “I only wanna know how it feels to lose your, you know, thinking virginity after giving no signs of brain activity for how long? Like—“

“You can tell yourself how it feels when you lose it.”

“Oh you want to fuck my brain so bad—“

“I’ve been thinking,” You cut him off with an amused smile, taking him in once more. Big round eyes shone with mischief along a hint of sheepishness as he noticed you looking at him. Really looking at him under the vanity lights with messy hair from running his hands through the strands all day and finally wearing the matching pajamas set you had gotten for him in a pretty navy blue because wearing a matching set made you feel good and you wanted him to feel the same way. Always. 

“You've been thinking…” he rolled his eyes as if to hold back another quip now that you had restarted the conversation. The pinkish hue you were so familiar with made a small appearance as you let your fingers brush over his, gently coaxing him to intertwine his hands with yours. Not that he needed much convincing, though. 

“We should spend Christmas this year with my family.”

At the beginning of your relationship, you were sure he would’ve pulled his hand out of your grasp. You could see the way he had to swallow down the urge to do so from the pensive furrow of his brows while the side of his brain in charge of his critical thinking tried to convince him that your words weren’t an attack on his family. He was still working on it, the lousy therapy sessions here and there helped a little, but he still found himself opening his mouth to complain.

“I know what you’re gonna say but think about it, Romeo.” Thankfully, you took the steering wheel before he could start. “My family loves you and we haven’t spent Christmas with them in like, ever, actually.”

Which wasn’t his fault, and you made sure to tell him so, leaning closer until your knee touched his and giving him a quick peck on his lips before he could protest.

Spending every holiday under Logan Roy’s roof wasn’t necessarily a problem. It was nice to exist alongside the people that Roman loves, the people he grew up around. Watching him interact with his siblings could be endearing. So much so that sometimes you wished you could record their banter and laughter so he could listen back and for a moment picture that things between them were okay. But just like any other family gathering, the pot tended to be stirred until have a holly jolly Christmas sounded either like a call for help or the theme song from the Saw franchise.

“Every year we celebrate in a different place,” you toyed with the idea in front of his eyes like one would a cat’s toy, using your smile to build momentum to the grand reveal that at this point didn’t even sound grand to you. “last Christmas was Italy and this year we’re doing Greece.”

“Since when do you have a house in Greece?” He asked, toying with your fingers as his gaze locked itself on them. It was a good sign he was asking.

“We don’t,” the sound of your animated chuckle helped to loosen his shoulders. Though it didn’t dissipate his slight confusion, it always felt good to have you close like this. “It’s Kelly’s house— eh, her parents’ but sharing is caring or whatever…”

He let out a chuckle of his own. The sound made all sorts of warmth bloom in your chest, maybe even cute aggression if you felt like being dramatic. 

“And after we can spend New Year's just the two of us wherever you want.” He shrugged in a silent response, still pensive, and you couldn’t help but coo at him as if to coax him out of his shell. “It’s gonna be so much fun, they’ve been asking about us and the kids adore you, they’ve been obsessed with Uncle Roro ever since Lizzie’s birthday.”

“As they should be, my lower back never recovered from being used as a human jungle gym.” He rolled his eyes at the memory yet the love was evident from behind the thinly veiled sarcasm. He was a very particular individual but so were most of your siblings-in-law. And sure, the first time he met your family hadn’t gone as he expected, both in a good way and in a bad way, but your mother still asked him to join him for a glass of whiskey whenever they crossed paths with a welcoming smile and your father always hugged him in greeting like he did all his children. 

“You’re good with them,” You smiled against his lips as you leaned closer for a kiss, leaving a couple of pecks that eventually made him smile too. “you’ve always been good with kids.” 

“Yeah whatever, stop kissing me my breath stinks.” 

The way your brothers had instantly included him in their weird boys' night out, which was ruled by the obnoxiously corny motto ‘what happens in boys' night, stays in boy’s night’ that was used as a smoke screen for that one time they decided to go to the spa to never be taken seriously again once they swallowed their own stupidity, left you grinning for a week straight. And let's not start with the picture you had taken during a summer trip to Nice of all the daughters-in-law posing like they were celebrating their high school prom with Roman at the front of the line, it had been all laughter all throughout; the picture came out a little blurry. 

It’s all you could think about sometimes when you watched him doing nothing interesting in particular with a lovesick intensity only rivaled by his. How well he fits in your life, with the quips and interjections that kept you company and next to you on your shared bed. With both your slippers sitting neatly side by side and with the unmeasurable love pooling at the bottom of his chest that he had finally allowed himself to unabashedly share after who knows how long. 

“Can you pass me your headband? I need to wash my face.”

He insisted yours was better every time you told him he should buy one of his own. Even if he hadn’t tried any other than yours. You only let it pass because he looked cute with his hair pushed back. No other reason at all. 

“So,” you cut yourself by giving him a peck on the lips as he got closer to steal some face wash. He had his own on his side of the bathroom but the bottle was pretty much full and yours still ran out quicker than when it was just you. “Greece or no Greece?”

“I got chills, they’re multiplying.” He joked right before rinsing the soap from his face, chuckling at your lack of amusement. “What? You prefer right now there’s nowhere to hide since you pushed my love aside?”

“I prefer you answer my question.” 

The eyes of a kicked puppy on full display just put him out of his misery vibes, pleaded in silence as he dragged his feet across the floor until he was standing right in between your legs, his face hiding in the crook of your neck. He fit nicely against your body and instinctively you let your fingers brush along the strands of his hair. “It’s okay if you don’t want to go.” 

He groaned in response, his voice muffled against your skin. “It’s not that, I want to, I just— I already RSVP or whatever bullshit to my Dad.”

No one RSVP’ed to Logan Roy. Especially not his children. It wasn’t necessary when the table was already set for all parties involved regardless of conflicting schedules 

“That’s okay,” You kiss his hair, resting your cheek against his head and muffling your own voice. The vibrations made him hum. “I can talk to him.”

The disheveled strands tickled your skin as he shook his head. Now that his chin was resting on your chest you noticed how cartoonishly slow he was blinking, his lids heavy the weight of being awake for far too long. 

“I’ll talk to him.” He pressed a kiss against the side of your jaw, feeling the unmistakable excitement of your grin, before hiding the yawn that followed. “Tomorrow, I promise.

[nemo-writes]

𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚜 ; 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 - 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚎

➝ steve harrington + eddie munson x loser-club!reader

➝ synopsis; while the world around you buzzes with excitement for hawkins high’s big basketball game, you find yourself roped into hellfire club. what begins as a reluctant agreement quickly becomes an evening of unexpected camaraderie, wild storytelling, and a surprising reminder that even in the chaos, there’s a place for you to belong.

⚠️ warnings; none

⟡ story masterlist ; previous I next

✦ word count: 3.5k

Thursday 20, March 1986, Hawkins Indiana

The hum of the engine filled the silence as Bev's truck rolled down the darkened streets of Hawkins. Streetlights cast long, intermittent shadows through the car, painting fleeting patterns across the worn leather seats. You leaned your head against the cool window, watching the familiar blur of the trailer park approach.

"Don't look so glum," Bev said, casting a sideways glance at you. "Think of it as a free night to do... whatever it is you kids do."

You huffed a quiet laugh. "You make me sound like I'm twelve."

She smirked. "Well, compared to me, you might as well be."

The truck pulled to a gentle stop in front of your trailer. Bev shifted into park but didn’t cut the engine. "Seriously, though. It's just one night. With that big basketball game happening, the last thing I need is a swarm of rowdy teenagers trying to sneak in with fake IDs or causing trouble after a win—or worse, a loss."

You nodded, unbuckling your seatbelt. "Makes sense. Thanks for the ride."

"Anytime," she replied. As you opened the door, she added, "And hey, try to relax tonight. You’ve been wound up tight lately."

You paused, offering her a small smile. "I'll try."

Stepping out into the crisp night air, you shut the door behind you and watched as Bev pulled away, the red glow of her taillights disappearing down the path. The quiet enveloped you, broken only by the distant chirp of crickets and the soft rustling of leaves.

Inside your trailer, you flicked on the lights, the warm glow filling the cramped space. You kicked off your shoes and headed to the tiny bedroom, shedding your work clothes in favour of comfortable pyjamas—a faded t-shirt and soft flannel pants. The simple act of changing brought a sigh of relief. Tonight, there were no demands, no noisy bar patrons. Just peace.

Or so you thought.

You were halfway through brushing your teeth when a loud, frantic knocking rattled your front door.

Frowning, you glanced at the old clock on the wall. It was late—too late for casual visitors. The knocking came again, more insistent this time, followed by a familiar voice.

"Hey! Open up! It’s important!"

Eddie.

You rolled your eyes, spitting out toothpaste and rinsing your mouth before making your way to the door. Swinging it open, you were met with Eddie’s wide grin and bright eyes, his wild hair even more dishevelled than usual.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" you deadpanned, leaning against the doorframe.

He looked you up and down, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Nice pajamas," he quipped. "Didn’t realise you were such a fan of—" He squinted at your shirt, trying to make out the faded lettering.

You crossed your arms over your chest, giving him a pointed look. "Was there a reason you’re pounding on my door like a maniac?"

"Yes! A very important reason!" He tried to step inside, but you shifted to block his path.

"Eddie," you warned.

He pouted dramatically. "What, you’re not going to invite me in? It’s cold out here."

"It’s March," you replied flatly. "And you’re wearing a jacket."

He clutched at his heart. "You’re so cruel."

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

"Fine, fine," he relented, taking a step back. "But I come bearing gifts!"

From behind his back, he produced a rolled-up piece of parchment, tied with a frayed red ribbon. He held it out to you with a flourish. "For you, m’lady."

You eyed the parchment sceptically. "What is this?"

"An invitation," he declared, wiggling it enticingly. "To the most epic Dungeons & Dragons campaign this shitty town has ever seen. You won’t be playing—yet—but you’ll get to watch the magic unfold. Call it... research for your art."

You sighed, but a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. "Eddie, we’ve talked about this. I don’t play."

"Exactly," he said, grinning. "Which is why I want you to watch first. Get a feel for it. Meet the characters, absorb the story...and who knows? Maybe you’ll find inspiration for your sketches."

His energy was infectious, even if you weren’t sure about the whole thing. Still, it was hard to say no to Eddie when he was in one of his theatrical moods.

"And if I say no?" you teased.

"Then I’ll just have to keep knocking until you change your mind," he said with a wink.

You rolled your eyes, but his grin widened, sensing he’d won. “Tomorrow. Six o’clock. Hawkins High. Drama Room B. Don’t be late,” he added dramatically as he handed you the invitation, like he was delivering a royal decree.

“Drama Room B?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound...sanctioned.”

“Details,” he waved off. “Just trust me. You’ll love it.”

Before you could argue, he tipped an imaginary hat and bounded down the steps, his wild hair bouncing with each step. 

As Eddie sauntered away, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his dramatic exit. Still, before he got too far, you leaned out the open door and called after him.

“Eddie!” you shouted, your voice cutting through the still night air.

He turned on his heel with a dramatic flourish, walking backward now as he threw his hands out in mock surprise. “Yes, my lady?”

“I have a shift tomorrow!” you hollered, holding the rolled-up parchment in one hand. 

Eddie’s grin widened as he continued walking backward. “Oh, ye of little faith! I already know you don’t.”

You squinted, suspicious. “And how would you know that?”

“I have my ways,” he said, his tone casual.

You huffed, leaning against the doorframe. “What are you, stalking me now?”

Eddie stopped just short of his van, pausing for dramatic effect before throwing you a wink and a pair of finger guns. “Only the coolest kids, sweetheart.”

Before you could come up with a retort, he spun around and disappeared down the path.

Shaking your head in exasperation, you shut the door and locked it behind you. “Unbelievable,” you muttered under your breath, the parchment still in your hand.

Crossing the room, you sank into the worn chair by the small kitchen table and carefully unrolled the parchment. Eddie’s loopy handwriting scrawled across it in what could only be described as a dramatic proclamation:

Dear Chosen Artist of Hawkins, 

By decree of the mighty Dungeon Master, you are hereby summoned to witness the legendary campaign of the Hellfire Club! Witness grand battles, daring heroics, and a tale spun so epic it defies mortal comprehension.  

Your duty is simple: observe, be inspired, and bring our adventures to life with your divine artistic talent.  

Time: Tomorrow night.  

Place: Hawkins High School. (The drama room.)  

Dress code: Whatever says ‘badass, aspiring legend. 

This invitation is non-negotiable. Seriously. I’ll drag you there myself if I have to.

Yours in eternal metal,  

Eddie Munson, Dungeon Master Extraordinaire.

You couldn’t help the snort that escaped as you read it. Only he could manage to make something so over-the-top yet undeniably earnest. But as you rolled the parchment back up, something else caught your attention. A small stack of neatly folded bills was tucked into the roll. Your brows furrowed as you pulled it out, counting quickly. 

It wasn’t just a little money—it was a lot. More than you’d ever expect him to offer for sketching some scenes of his campaign. 

Your stomach fluttered at the gesture, and not because of the cash. Eddie wasn’t just trying to pay you for your work—he was serious about it. He was serious about you. The effort he put into this whole invitation, the thoughtfulness behind it, even the ridiculous theatrics... it was oddly, undeniably charming.

You sat there for a moment longer, staring at the money and the parchment, a small smile forming at the corners of your lips. “Guess tomorrow’s plans are sorted,” you muttered to yourself, folding the bills and setting them aside before standing to get ready for bed.

.

.

.

Friday 21, March 1986, Hawkins Indiana

Feeling oddly nervous, you arrived at Hawkins High School a bit earlier than planned. The evening sky was painted with hues of orange and pink, the setting sun casting long shadows across the school's facade. Students and townspeople alike milled about, their excitement for the big basketball game palpable in the air.

"Drama Room B... where are you?" you muttered under your breath, glancing at the minimal signage.

The hallways stretched endlessly, and the signs on the walls weren’t exactly helpful. You’d tried asking a couple of passing students for directions to the drama room, but they were either too distracted or too disinterested to give you a clear answer.

Just then, you caught sight of a familiar face down the hall. Steve was walking alongside a blonde girl you didn't recognize. Relief washed over you at the prospect of a friendly face.

"Steve!" you called out, quickening your pace to catch up.

He turned at the sound of his name, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. "Oh, hey!" he greeted, though there was a flicker of something—nervousness?—in his expression.

"Am I glad to see you," you said with a small laugh. "This place is a labyrinth. I'm looking for the drama room."

He ran a hand through his hair, a habitual gesture. "Drama room, huh? Didn't expect to see you here."

You shrugged lightly. "Got invited to check out... something. But I'm seriously lost."

"Right, well, it's easy to miss," he said. "You need to head down this hallway, take a left at the trophy case, then go down the stairs near the art rooms. It's in the basement level."

The blonde girl at his side watched the exchange with mild curiosity. Sensing the need for introductions, Steve gestured between you two. "Oh, uh, this is Brenda. Brenda, this is... a friend."

You offered her a small but polite smile. "Nice to meet you, Brenda."

"Same," she replied, her eyes flicking between you and Steve.

"Thanks for the directions," you said to Steve, noting the slightly awkward tension. "Didn't mean to interrupt or anything."

"No worries," he replied quickly. "Enjoy... whatever it is you're here for."

You waved a quick goodbye, adjusting the strap of your bag as you headed down the hallway he had pointed to. “See you around, Steve!”

“Yeah,” Steve said, his voice trailing off as you walked away.

You didn’t get far before you heard a familiar voice call your name.

“There you are!” Eddie’s voice rang out as he rounded the corner, his usual theatrical enthusiasm turned up to eleven. He strode toward you, his long legs eating up the distance in seconds.

Before you could react, he slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close in a gesture that felt both casual and deliberate. His leather jacket was worn and soft against your side, carrying the faint but unmistakable scent of weed, cologne, and something uniquely him.

“You’re early,” Eddie said, grinning at you. “I like that. Shows initiative. The Dungeon Master approves.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto your face. “I got lost. Your directions were terrible.”

He gasped dramatically, clutching at his chest with his free hand. “My lady wounds me! But don’t worry—I’ll guide you to the promised land.”

Eddie, ever perceptive, was quick to notice Steve nearby staring, and hard. His lips quirked into a mischievous smirk as he met his gaze across the hallway. He even raised an eyebrow in a silent, teasing challenge, his arm tightening ever so slightly around your shoulders.

Steve’s jaw visibly tightened, and he turned away sharply, muttering something to Brenda as they continued toward the gym.

Eddie chuckled softly, clearly pleased with himself. 

“What’s up?” you asked, staring at him with a quirked brow as he led you further into the school.

“It’s nothing,” Eddie brushed you off. “For now just stick with me, and you’ll never end up somewhere boring.”

The fluorescent lights in the school’s hallways flickered slightly as you and Eddie made your way to the drama room. The faint roar of the basketball game echoed in the distance, and Eddie’s arm remained draped casually over your shoulder as he guided through the hallways. His rings tapped against your arm rhythmically, his excitement practically radiating off him.

“You’re not ready for what you’re about to witness,” he said, his voice dripping with drama.

“Let me guess,” you said with a smirk, “a lot of yelling, and you yelling even louder?”

“Blasphemy!” Eddie gasped, clutching his chest. “This isn’t just yelling—it’s storytelling. Theatrics. Art in its purest form.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re really hyping this up, Munson.”

He grinned, stopping in front of a door and dramatically swinging it open. “Welcome to the Hellfire Club!”

The room was dimly lit, with black curtains covering the windows, giving it a cosy, almost conspiratorial vibe. The walls were adorned with posters of dragons and fantasy landscapes, while the long table in the centre of the room was meticulously set up with maps, figurines, and a collection of dice in every shape and colour. At the head of the table was a high-backed chair, clearly meant for Eddie, draped with a black cloak for extra theatrics.

“Behold,” Eddie said, gesturing grandly, “the pinnacle of creativity and chaos!”

Jeff, Gareth, and Dave (or Freak)—all wearing matching Hellfire Club T-shirts—turned to greet you, their faces breaking into familiar grins. You had met them before at The Hideout, and their easy smiles immediately made you feel welcome.

“Thought he was making it up,” Jeff joked. “Guess he really did manage to rope you in.”

“Let’s not exaggerate,” you replied, pulling a chair into the corner of the room and setting your things down. “He bribed me.”

Eddie let out a scandalised noise but didn’t deny it, busying himself with setting up behind his Dungeon Master throne. The rest of the group chuckled as you got comfortable.

Just as you started to settle in, the door burst open with a loud bang, causing you to jump slightly. Three kids stormed in: two boys around the same age, one with a baseball cap and curly hair and the other tall and lanky with floppy dark hair, and a much younger girl. Unlike the other two, she strode in like she owned the place, draped in an American flag like a cape and carrying a bright pink binder tucked confidently against her chest. 

Eddie looked up from arranging his Dungeon Master screen and threw his hands up dramatically. "What is this?!" he cried. "Absolutely not!"

One of the boys—the one with the trucker cap—stepped forward with a nervous grimace. "You asked for a sub. We delivered."

Eddie glared at him, his eyes narrowing. "This is Hellfire Club. Not Babysitting Club."

The girl stepped forward, undeterred by Eddie's towering presence. "I'm eleven, you long-haired freak," she shot back, her tone sharp and unapologetic. You covered your mouth, an incredulous smile stretching across your features. 

Eddie raised an eyebrow, far from impressed. "My, my, the child speaks."

She gave him a one over, clearly not impressed with what she saw. "So what's your name, child?" Eddie asked, dripping with mock condescension as he stepped up to meet her head on.

"Erica Sinclair," she declared confidently.

 "Oh? Sinclair's infamous sister."

"He's sharp," Erica remarked dryly, glancing back at the boys, who were grinning widely. Much to Eddie’s chagrin, his own friends laughed too, but were quick to shut up when the former shot a razor sharp glare over his shoulder. 

Eddie then leaned forward, hands on his hips. "What's your class and level? Level one dwarf?"

Erica stepped closer, her gaze never wavering. "My name is Lady Applejack. And I'm a chaotic good half-elf, level fourteen. I will sneak behind any monster you throw my way and stab them in the back with my poison-soaked kukri. And I'll smile as I watch them die a slow, agonising death."

A stunned silence settled over the room. It was impossible to hide the huge grin spread across your face as you watched the exchange.

Eddie blinked, clearly taken aback. The other players exchanged glances, some suppressing chuckles.

Erica raised an eyebrow. "So are we gonna do this, or are we gonna keep chit chatting like this is your mommy's book club?"

He stood there for a solid second, features unmoved, until slowly but surely, a pleased smile bloomed over his lips.

"Welcome to Hellfire," he said, offering his ringed hand to the younger girl. 

Erica stared at his hand, before taking it in a hearty shake. The room erupted into a mix of laughter and cheers. Eddie shook his head, still grinning. "Alright, alright. Everyone settle in. We've got a campaign to conquer, but before that…”

Eddie motioned dramatically for you to come over, his rings catching the light as he gestured like a showman revealing his hidden ace. "It’s time for the grand unveiling of our hidden star—the unexpected jewel in the crown of Hellfire!”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips as you stepped up, sketchbook tucked under your arm. The two teens who had brought in Erica exchanged a look, their brows furrowed in confusion.

“Hidden star?” The one with curly hair asked, squinting at Eddie.

He grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulder and pulling you into the spotlight. “Behold! The artist extraordinaire stepping into the shoes of our dearly departed—well, not dead, just gone—Will the Wise. The one destined to carry on his legacy and immortalise our campaigns in breathtaking detail!”

Trucker cap blinked, his mouth falling open. “Wait, wait, she’s the artist? The one you’ve been hyping up?”

“Dustin, my boy,” Eddie said, “I don’t hype. I state facts. And here’s a fact: this black horse right here? She’s going to blow your puny minds.”

The other teen, meanwhile, was staring at you like you’d sprouted wings. “I thought she was... I don’t know... fake. Like, something you made up to make yourself seem cooler.”

“Oh, come on Mike,” Eddie scoffed, releasing you to give ‘Mike’ a mock-offended look. “I may have a flair for theatrics, but even I don’t need to fabricate greatness. She’s right here. In the flesh. Feast your eyes!”

You raised an eyebrow at Mike and Dustin. “Fake, huh? That’s the first time I’ve been accused of that.”

Dustin quickly shook his head, his cheeks turning red. “No, no! It’s just—uh—you’re way too cool to be hanging around here!” he added in a rush, scratching the back of his head.

“Hey!” Erica cut. “Speak for yourself. Cool people can be part of Hellfire too.”

Eddie smirked, clearly enjoying the chaos. “See? The kid gets it.”

Dustin ignored Erica’s jab, his curiosity outweighing his manners. “So... you’re dating Eddie, right? I mean, that’s gotta be the reason you’re here. It’s the only explanation.”

At that, you let out a sharp huff, shaking your head. “Nope, not dating Eddie.”

“Then why—” Mike began, only for you to interrupt.

“Honestly, I’m just sticking around for a little while,” you said, your tone casual as you shrugged. “And for the record, I’m far from cool. Definitely not pretty either. I was a total loser growing up.”

Dustin’s eyes widened. “What? No way.”

“Way,” you replied.

“Well, losers don’t draw this,” Eddie said, snatching the sketchbook and flipping it to a detailed drawing of a castle perched on a jagged cliff, its towers shrouded in mist. He held it up for everyone to see. “Behold, the work of someone far cooler than she gives herself credit for.”

Dustin and Mike leaned in closer, their jaws slack with awe.

“Whoa,” Mike breathed. “That’s... insane.”

“You drew this?” Dustin asked, his voice full of reverence.

You nodded, getting a little shy under the sudden attention. 

“Okay, this is officially the coolest thing I’ve ever seen,” Dustin declared.

Erica, who had been watching silently, got closer, her cape trailing dramatically behind her. She gave your sketchbook an appraising glance before looking up at you with a raised eyebrow. “So, do you take requests?” she drawled. 

You chuckled, flipping to a blank page. “Sure, I take requests.”

Erica smirked. “Good, we’ll talk business later.” 

Dustin’s eyes lit up as he nudged Mike. “Okay, this is officially the best campaign we’ve ever had.”

Eddie crossed his arms, leaning back with a satisfied grin. “You know, I did tell you she was the hidden star of this operation. Maybe next time, you’ll believe in your Dungeon Master.”

Dustin didn’t even look at him, still staring at your sketchbook. “You didn’t say she was this cool,” he muttered.

Eddie just smirked. “Stick around, Henderson. The night’s just getting started.”

divider credit

[fairy-writes]

THE STORY OF US

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Bungou Stray Dogs

Pairing(s): Dazai Osamu x Reader

Word Count: 4k (PLS READ, I’M BEGGING YOU)

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Pretty Heavy AU (idk what to call it tho), Female!Reader, Time Traveler!Reader, Time Traveler!Dazai, Reader is shorter than Dazai

Taglist: @underthetree845 | @nezuko-kamado-cute-demon

Notes: I don’t know what I’m doing

VERY HEAVILY RIVER SONG INSPIRED (find my quotes lol)

I might write part two from the Reader’s POV (don’t get your hopes up tho, I’m notoriously bad with writing part two to things, but if I get requests I’m more likely to do it!)

I just now realized that the title is also a Taylor Swift song, but I don’t wanna change it

Also, I’m just saying this now, this is not every scene I had in mind. A lot of scenes got cut for my sanity. 

__________________________________________________________________________

Osamu first discovered he could time jump when he was eleven. 

It had been an accident, really. Well, maybe not a complete accident. Osamu wanted to escape everything—his parents' arguing, their fights. But, of course, he had nowhere to go. As an eleven-year-old boy, there wasn’t anywhere that would hire him. He had no other family that wasn’t across the other side of the world. 

He was completely and utterly alone. 

The shouting was reaching its peak. Osamu shoved his pillow further over his head as if trying to suffocate himself as his mother screamed something at his father. Something about his lies. 

Ha. If only she knew how much Osamu lied. 

Lied about his day at school. (Anything to get her off his back.)

Lied about having friends. (Anything to make them not suspicious.)

Lied about everything. 

The screaming grated on his ears through the pillow, and he ground his teeth until his mouth hurt. 

Couldn’t they just shut up? 

Couldn’t they just go away?

Suddenly, something was different. Osamu felt a tugging in his stomach. It was as if someone wrapped a string around his middle and yanked. Almost like he was being squeezed out of a tube of toothpaste.

And then he could hear… water? The sounds of a river that should not be audible even through the open window. Did they even live near a river?

Osamu peeked out from the pillow over his head and was blinded by sunlight. He sat up and realized his pajamas were covered in scalding hot sand. Golden sand stretched for miles and miles, a long twisting river just visible in the distance. On the horizon, he saw pyramids being erected high into the sky. 

What the hell?

And the rest was quite literally history.

December 31st, 1925

New York City

The air was cold. Snow fell in flakes as Osamu watched the snow fall outside the bar, nursing a whiskey on the rocks as he paid no mind to anyone around him. He had aged since his first trip through time. Though he could never remember how old he was. He looked to be in his early twenties, but everyone looked so different in different time periods, so he could’ve been thirty, and that would’ve made sense. 

“Mind if I sit?” Comes a sweet voice. He looks to his left and sees you. 

You’re dressed to the nines in a silver slip flapper dress with black beads decorating the length of the gown. Your hair was cut in a neat bob, a feather headband decorating the up-do. The kohl around your eyes only accentuates the pretty color. 

Osamu plasters a grin across his features, and you shift. He gestures grandly to the stool beside him, 

“I could do with a gorgeous woman’s company.” He quips, and you laugh good-naturedly before sliding onto the stool beside him. He can feel your warmth through the woolen fabric of his suit coat, and he takes a sip of liquid courage, suddenly feeling somewhat hesitant to talk to you.

There was something about you. Like you knew all Osamu’s secrets already. 

You lean your cheek on the palm of your hand, smiling with ruby-red lips and brilliant teeth that were ahead of their time. 

That should’ve been his first clue. 

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Where are we at now?” You muse, and he frowns as he sips at his whiskey. This was one of the only bars that still sold alcohol through the prohibition. 

“Sorry, I’ve never seen you before in my life.” He says, and you cock your head, eyebrow raised, as you pick at the seams of your silken gloves. You abruptly stop picking and reach into your clutch purse that rested in your lap, pulling out a worn notebook he didn’t recognize. It was well-loved, with pictures stuffed in between the pages. 

“So we haven’t done France yet?”

“France?” You lean back giddily and hold your notebook to your chest.

“What a night that was! Dancing in front of the Eiffel Tower? That ring a bell?” Osamu shakes his head. 

He had yet to go to France. In all his time jumping, he hadn’t seen the point in going to France,  much less the City of Love. 

Now it was your turn to frown, flipping through your little notebook, and he spies neat handwriting in various languages. English. Japanese. German. Latin. And were those Egyptian hieroglyphs? All throughout the pages, he spies his picture scattered across the ink.

Just who were you?

And why do you have all those pictures and drawings of him?

“What about picnicking at Versailles?” 

Another shake. Another page turned.

“The Titanic? What a messy time that was!”

“What is that?” He eventually asks, and you quickly flip it shut before he can actually read anything. 

“Spoilers.” You say quickly, and when he arches an eyebrow, you sigh, call the bartender over, and order a glass of champagne. The two of you wait in silence until you get your drink. Eventually, you speak after you’ve downed half of your champagne flute. “It’s all of our adventures. Time travel gets complicated, doesn’t it?”

As soon as he connects the dots, Osamu is floored. 

Another time traveler? He thought he was the only one!

It’s clear you pick up on what he is thinking because your face falls. You look heartbroken. As if he just ripped your heart out of your chest and smashed it into a million pieces. As if you were a lonesome star falling from the sky and drowning in the sea.

“You truly don’t have any idea who I am, do you?” Osamu shrugs, 

“Who are you?”

Osamu didn’t know it was possible, but you looked even more upset. Tears welled up in your waterline and smudged your kohl as it dripped down your cheeks. You swallow thickly and sniffle, pulling a handkerchief from your clutch to dab at your watery eyes and ruined makeup.

For whatever reason, Osamu feels his heart ache. 

“I suppose this was bound to happen sometime.” You say eventually, and he looks over at you from where he had just downed the last of his whiskey. You’re leaning both of your arms on the counter, running a finger around the rim of your champagne glass.

“What do you mean?” He asks, and you huff, look at him out of the corner of your eye, and your finger stops

“We always meet out of order. Hence, the diary. But… I just never expected it to hurt this much.” You sniffle again, and Osamu realizes he wants to make it better. He realizes he doesn’t like to see you cry. 

But he doesn’t even know you!

Why should he care if you cried or not?

“If it’s any consolation… I’m sorry…” He says quietly, and you bark out a laugh,

“There’s nothing to be sorry for! I suppose this is just a chance for me to get to know the younger you.” You sniffle, but that bright smile that makes his heart race lights up your face once again. You seem to think something over before standing and offering Osamu a hand.

“Care to walk with me?” You tease him with a flirty wink, and he finds himself unable to say no. 

So, as the clock chimes closer and closer to midnight, the two of you leave the bar, with you each paying for your respective drinks. Osamu offered to buy yours as an added apology, but you just patted his shoulder with a knowing smile and said, “I know you’re awful with money.”

Which… You weren’t wrong. 

Just how much did you know about him?

How much had he told you in the future?

You walk next to him, bundled up in a trench coat not unlike his own and with your hands stuffed in your pockets. Osamu pulls his own (matching) trench coat over his suit coat and slacks and follows you out into the sprinkling snow. You both walk side by side in a surprisingly comfortable silence. At least until you hear people counting down in the streets.

10…

You blink and turn to look at him.

“What day is it again?” You ask, and he looks up at the snow.

“December 31st, 1925.” He replies, and you gape in surprise.

9…

“Y’know, I’ve never celebrated New Year's with time travel and all. Never even had a New Year's kiss.” You muse, watching couples get together on the streets.

8…

“Would you like one?” Osamu blurts, and you nearly trip in surprise. Osamu almost follows suit when you stop abruptly to look at him with wide eyes.

7…

“But you don’t even know me.” You say hesitantly, but you turn to face him nonetheless. He finds himself smiling, a soft, genuine sort of smile.

When was the last time he smiled like this?

6…

“I’m giving my future self the benefit of the doubt and trusting his judgment.” He teases, and you relax, hanging your head with a soft giggle. But you don’t pull away when he slowly pulls you in close to him.

5…

Your coat flaps open, and he sees his father’s initials stitched on the side and realizes you don’t just have matching coats—you have the exact same coat.

When did he give that to you? He swore he’d never give it up to remind himself to never return home!

4…

Your soft arms around his neck catch his attention, and you’re suddenly much closer, standing on your tiptoes in your kitten heels.

3…

His arms pull you close by your hips, and he leans down.

2…

Your noses brush.

1…

The kiss is like the fireworks going off above him. His eyes flutter close, and he pulls you impossibly closer. Your lips are soft with the lipstick, and he doesn’t care that it’s likely stained on his mouth.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

The kiss deepens, and you soak up his affection greedily. Like you had been waiting for this forever. Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him close oh so tenderly. 

Like a puzzle piece being fit into place, his heart sang like a choir in a church.

Were you what he was missing all this time?

Could he finally have this?

Could he—

BANG! BANG! BANG!!

You jolt and fall to the ground as a car screeches around a corner and out of sight.

What?

What happened?

Osamu looks down and feels his heart stop.

You’re crumpled against the cement, blood seeping out of bullet holes in your abdomen. Your dress is ruined. But that doesn’t matter.

Osamu falls to his knees, not caring about the cold, wet concrete soaking his slacks. He pulls your upper half into his lap and applies pressure. You cry out and push his hands away.

“I need to put pressure on your injury. Hold still for me, love.” He whispers to you and turns to where people are still celebrating. “AMBULANCE! SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE!” He cries, but they’re so wrapped up in their excitement that they don’t hear him.

Your hand touches his face, and he looks down to see you giving him a bloody smile. Crimson leaks from your mouth, and he can tell that you don’t have long.

“Hold on—Hold on, I’ll get a doctor—I’ll—” He stammers in an attempt to calm you (himself) down, and you just spit up blood in a choked laugh.

“We both know I’m not going to survive this.” You wheeze, and he can see the color draining from your face as you lose blood and warmth.

“Then I’ll jump back in time! Time can be rewritten!” You cut him off abruptly with more strength than he thought you had.

“Not those times. Not one line. Don’t you dare.” You say, hand falling to grip his hand as tightly as you could muster.

“But you’re dying.” He says, unable to explain why his heart is breaking to pieces inside his chest. You cough once more and smile that brilliant smile that he finds that he loves so much.

“It’s not over for you. You’ll see me again. You’ve got all of that to come.” You slur your words at this point, and he grits his teeth. Your hand goes weak in his, and he holds it even tighter. 

“You and me. All those adventures all over time. You watch us run!” You whisper, and he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead just as you close your eyes.

117 AD

Rome, Italy

The crowd roars louder than Osamu has ever heard it. Bored, he watches as gladiators fight in the ring. The arena is bathed in blood, but he can’t bring himself to care.

He hasn’t cared about much since you died. 

He wasn’t even sure why. He barely knew you. But he keeps thinking back to the kiss you shared on New Year’s. He thinks of your words. 

“You watch us run!”

“Is this seat taken?” A voice yells over the crowd, and his heart stutters to a halt. He turns, eyes wide to see you. 

Oh, how cruel this life was.

You’re dressed in a fashionable, long tunic that goes down to your ankles with a shawl of sorts around your shoulders. Your hair is longer than Osamu remembered. It is no longer a bob but instead curled at the front and with a braided crown in the back. You hold that journal under your arm and smile brightly before scurrying over and sitting beside him. 

“Where are we at now?” You ask excitedly, pleased to see him. 

But all he can see is your dead body in his arms. 

Was there some god up above watching this cruel exchange with glee?

What had he done to deserve this? 

“‘samu? Is everything okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” 

‘samu? 

The last person to call him that was his mother. Before she and his father began to fight. Back before he could time jump.

Back when things were simple. 

Your hand on his arm has Osamu flinching away, causing you to cringe back as well. You look worried, panicked even, and all for him. 

So you didn’t know yet. You didn’t know you were going to die. 

So, he doesn’t tell you. 

“Sorry, my love, I thought you were a monster here to gobble me up!” He chirps, and your panic melts away quickly. You lean back into his side, and he takes the chance to wrap a bandaged arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him. You giggle and open your book. 

“Where are we now?” You repeat, and he shrugs, 

“You tell me.” He says, keeping his eyes off your book out of respect and on the gladiator games below. 

“France?”

“Not yet.”

“The Wild West? That was fun, wasn’t it?”

“Nope.” 

You two go back and forth for a moment before you ultimately sigh and clap your book shut. 

“It’s very early for you, isn’t it?” You say, mildly exasperated. Osamu nods silently, heart twisting when you set your book down and lean heavily into his side. He trickles his fingers along your neck, feeling goosebumps rise along the skin, and you shiver. 

The games end, and you shuffle out of the Colosseum and through the streets of Rome. You boldly take ahold of Osamu’s hand as if this was regular for you. He can’t bring himself to let go, so he instead makes you laugh by swinging your arms between you, occasionally twirling you in a circle. His chilton feels suffocating despite it being made of linen. 

But he can’t bring himself to time jump away. To leave you alone to spare his own feelings. 

Perhaps it’s the overwhelming guilt he feels?

Perhaps it’s because he finds himself enjoying your company. 

Either way, he allows you to pull him around the ancient cobblestone streets of Rome. Enjoying the markets and public museums that were beginning to pop up all over the city. 

The entire time, he doesn’t let go of your hand. 

August 8th, 1912

The Wild West

It’s hot. 

Almost overwhelmingly so. 

Osamu peels off one of his gloves and fans his face with it as he climbs the steps to the little cabin he had been staying at. His bandages itch with the heat, and he has a sneaking suspicion that they’re slowly soaking with sweat underneath his borrowed button-down, vest, trousers, and chaps. 

Though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, he liked this place sans the heat. The people in this little settled town were kind, barely batting an eye when he suddenly appeared in their home. The people he was currently staying with, an older couple named Buck and Bonnie, welcomed him with open arms. They claimed it was because he reminded them of their son, who was out settling the rest of the West. 

“Osamu? Are you done already?” Bonnie asks where she’s putting a pie on the windowsill to cool. Apple, by the smell of it, and utterly delicious. 

“Just taking a break, Bonnie. Buck works me to the bone!” He says and collapses on the couch, his spurs jingling as he kicks his feet up over the edge of the sofa and leans his head back, tipping his hat down over his face. He hears Bonnie say something, but he’s already halfway to dreamland. 

Despite only intending to sleep for a few minutes, Osamu naps for the better part of an hour. He only wakes up when he hears the whinny of an unfamiliar horse and quick steps up to the cabin door. Then, an excited set of knocks. 

“Can you get that, Osamu? I’m busy with supper!” Bonnie calls from the kitchen, and he calls back, saying that he would. 

Only to come face to face with you. 

It had been ages since he saw you. He had yet to see you at any significant historical events that he time jumped to. The Titanic, the moon landing. Hell, he hadn’t even seen you during World War Two when he was accidentally drafted!

“You!” He jabs a finger, and you grin adoringly, stepping under his arm and skipping to the kitchen. 

“It’s me, Granny!” You chirp, and he hears a delighted squeal. 

“Dearest! It’s been ages!” 

So you’ve been here before. 

Several times by how familiar Bonnie seemed with you. 

Osamu meanders his way into the kitchen, where Bonnie is wiping her hands on her apron. She grins at the sight of him,

“This is Osamu! He’s been helping Buck around the farm for the last few weeks!” She says, and Osamu tips his hat with a wink. 

“We’ve met before.” He says, and you jump up from where you had been sitting at the dining table and throw your arms around his neck in a tight hug.

“‘samu!” You cheer, and he returns any affection greedily, pressing a kiss to your cheek. He’s still unable to get the sight of your corpse out of his mind. But he vowed that if he ever saw you again, he’d accept any love you’d give him. 

You’re dressed the part of a cowgirl. A long calico skirt and long-sleeved button-down. Your hair is longer than he remembered, tied back in a braid, and a bandana around your neck to protect you from the harsh sun above. Your hat sits on the table, and so do your gloves. 

Your skin is just as soft as he remembers. 

It isn’t long before Buck is called in for dinner, and the four of you eat together. You sit to Osamu’s right, with Bonnie to his left and Buck across from him. You chat happily with the couple, and Osamu is content with just sitting and watching. You tell an obviously edited version of your adventures, with grand sweeping gestures and voices to accompany your tales.

Long after Bonnie and Buck go to bed, Osamu finds you on the swinging bench on the front porch. You’re writing in your journal, about halfway full, and sketching a picture of him.

It’s an incredible likeness to his face and rather impressive to look at. You even got his cowboy hat right.

“Mind if I sit?” He asks, and you jump, slamming your journal shut and looking up with wide eyes. But you realize it’s him, relax, your shoulders sagging, and nod with a smile. The wood creaks as he sits at your side. His arm stretches along the back like it belongs there, and you lean into his side. He relished in your warmth.

“Have we done Rome yet?” He asks, and you shake your head.

“I was thinking of going there next, though!” You say, and he nods, leaning his head against yours.

“How come you never go to big events?” He asks next, and you hum with a shrug,

“I like the little days. I like seeing how people live their day-to-day lives.” You say, and he can’t help but laugh. 

You were truly the exact opposite of him. 

You swat his chest, 

“Don’t laugh at me!” You cry with mock anger, but a smile curls the corners of your mouth. Like you liked hearing him laugh. You give him pause when you lean up and press a kiss to his nose. He freezes, blinks several times, and stares down at you. 

“I love your laugh.” You say, and his smile falters just the slightest bit.

No one liked hearing him laugh.

Not since he left home, at least.

But you were his home now. 

October 31st, 2012

Yokohama, Japan

Fog rolls through the streets of Yokohama. Osamu strolls the streets, hands in his pockets. He was alone. At least for the time being. At least until you showed up again. 

If you showed up again. 

No… You would… Osamu had faith. You usually did on the small days. 

Whenever his nightmares got particularly bad, he’d time jump to a place he thought you’d like. This time, it was Yokohama, Japan. Notably, it was Halloween. Nothing ever happened on Halloween. Well… except for that one time… 

Oh, whatever. 

He had been here for a few months, finding himself at peace in modern-day Japan. He discovered his parent’s graves and realized he was home. 

At least… when he wasn’t with you.

Until he saw you crossing the street. 

You looked younger than he had ever seen you before. Another young girl walked beside you, both of you dressed in Halloween costumes and laughing amongst yourselves. 

But the longer he watched you, the longer he realized something. 

You wouldn’t know who he was. No, no, no, it was much too early for that. He had never seen you so young before. Not even in pictures when you had shown him at Versailles. 

Was this before you began to time jump? 

Suddenly, a hand smacked the back of his head, and he flinched, turning to see his newest acquaintance, Kunikida Doppo. He was shouting something. Something about being a bandage-wasting machine. Something about being a lowlife. He didn’t bother listening. 

Instead, he looked back to see you looking at him. There isn’t the faintest glimpse of recognition in your eyes. Nary a clue of who he is. 

You genuinely don’t know who he is at this point in time. 

You lift a hand and wave with a friendly smile, unknowingly making his heart crack in two. 

So, he turns, walks past Kunikida without a word, and heads back the way he came. 

“Dazai!” Kunikida’s voice, and he hears his acquaintance (He doesn’t have friends. He’s utterly alone in this world.) running up behind him. 

“What is it, Kunikida.” His voice sounds oddly monotone, and he knows he has to get you out of his head before he breaks down. He can’t ever come back here, not without causing a paradox and ripping Yokohama apart. 

And that would mean he would never see you, ever. 

“Are you okay?” Kunikida’s voice makes him stop. He spins with a plastic smile on his face and his heart threading to pieces. 

“Of course I’m okay! What makes you think otherwise?” He titters with an all too fake-sounding laugh. Kunikida looks uncharacteristically solemn. 

“Well… For instance, you’re crying.” He says, concern seeping into his tone. 

Osamu reaches up and touches his cheek, finding that it is indeed wet and glistening with tears. 

[layce2015]

Supernatural (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader)

The End

Masterlist pt 1

Masterlist pt 2

*3rd Person POV*

A religious man stands outside the hotel with a handful of pamphlets. He addresses a passerby while the Impala drives up. "Hi. Good evening, brother. Is your soul rapture-ready?" he asked as the passersby ignores him. "Thank you, sir. God bless." the man said and he addresses two more people as the Impala stops in front of the hotel.

"Good evening, folks. Is your soul rapture-ready? Because what I'd like to do is just show you exactly what God's love is for you." He said but the couple ignore him. "Okay, God bless." the man said as Dean and (y/n) get out of the Impala and head for the hotel. The religious man addresses them.

"Excuse me, friends, but have you taken time out to think about God's plan for you?" He asked and the two stop and look at him. "Too friggin' much, pal." Dean replied and the two enter the hotel while the man watches them go.

"We're talking about the Colt, right? I mean, as in the Colt?" Dean asked through the phone, which was on speaker so that (y/n) could hear, as he lays on the bed. "We are." Castiel replied through the phone while (y/n) brushes her teeth. "Well, that doesn't make any sense. I mean, why would the demons keep a gun around that, uh, kills demons?" Dean asked while on Castiel's side, a car goes by.

"What? What? Did—I didn't—I didn't get that." Castiel said and Dean and (y/n) laugh before she spits out the toothpaste and finished cleaning her teeth. "You know, it's kind of funny. Talking to a messenger of God on a cellphone. It's, you know, like watching a Hell's Angel ride a moped." (y/n) quips and Dean laughs. "This isn't funny, guys. The voice says I'm almost out of minutes." Castiel said. "Okay, all right. I'm—I'm telling you, Cas, the mooks have melted down the gun by now." Dean said.

"Well, Ariel and I hear differently. And if it's true and if you are still set on the insane task of killing the devil, this is how we do it." Castiel said. "Okay. Where do we start?" Dean asked him. "Where are you two now?" Castiel asked. "Kansas City." Dean replied as he leans across the bed to grab his room key off the bedside table. "Century Hotel, room 113." Dean said.

"I'll be there immediately." Castiel said and Dean sits up. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. No, no, come on, man. We just drove like sixteen hours straight, okay? (y/n) and I are humans. And there's stuff we got to do." Dean said.

"What stuff?" Castiel asked. "Eat, for example. In this case, sleep. We just need like four hours once in a while, okay?" Dean said. "Yes." Castiel said. "Okay, so, you can pop in tomorrow morning." Dean said. "Yes. I'll just—" Castiel said and Dean hangs up and sets his phone on the table by him.

"—wait here, then." Castiel said as he hears the dial tone then he shuts the phone and stands at the side of the road.

The couple were curled up to each other and were close to sleep when Dean's phone vibrates. "Seriously?" Dean grumbled, annoyed, while (y/n) sighed then leans over Dean to reach for his phone. "I'll tell him off." (Y/n) growled as she grabbed his phone.

"Well, look at you, taking control. Pretty hot, not gonna lie." Dean teased, flirtatiously, and smacks her ass. "You know, for someone that claimed they were tired, you sure are acting pretty frisky now." (y/n) said. "Always with you." He said, giving her a wink as she answers the phone. "Cas, I'm only gonna say this once, Dean and I need sleep!" she growls. "(Y/n), it's me." a familiar voice said, that wasn't Castiel nor was it Ariel's.

(y/n) sits up. "Sam? It's quarter past four." she said, confused, while Dean sits up as well at the mention of his brother's name. "This is important." Sam said. 

Later, (y/n) put Sam on speaker and Dean grabs a couple of beers out of the fridge and hands one to (y/n). "So, you're his vessel, huh? Lucifer's wearing you to the prom?" (y/n) asked. "That's what he said." Sam said. "Just when you thought you were out, they pull you back in, huh, Sammy?" Dean asked, sarcastically.

"So, that's it? That's your response?" Sam asked. "What are you looking for?" Dean asked. "I don't know. A—a little panic? Maybe?" Sam said. "I guess I'm a little numb to the earth-shattering revelations at this point. Cause we also found out, not long ago, that (y/n) is Ariel’s vessel." Dean said. "What?!" Sam exclaimed. "Yeah, but unlike you two, I'm not forced to say yes to her. She said I'm a last resort if Lucifer and Michael get both of you." (Y/n) said.

"What are we gonna do about it?" Sam asked. "What do you want to do about it?" Dean asked back. "I want back in, for starters." Sam said. "Sam—" Dean said but Sam talks over him. "I mean it. I am sick of being a puppet to these sons of bitches. I'm gonna hunt him down, guys." He said.

"Oh, so, we're back to revenge, then, are we? Yeah, 'cause that worked out so well last time." Dean said, sarcastically. "Not revenge. Redemption." Sam said and Dean takes his phone out of (y/n)'s hand.

"So, what, you're just gonna walk back in and we're gonna be the terriffic trio again?" Dean asked. "Look, Dean, I can do this. I can. I'm gonna prove it to you." Sam said. "Look, Sam—it doesn't matter—whatever we do. I mean, it turns out that you and me, we're the, uh, the fire and the oil of the Armageddon. You know, on that basis alone, we should just pick a hemisphere. Stay away from each other for good." Dean said and (y/n)'s eyes widen at this.

"Dean, it does not have to be like this. We can fight it." Sam said, sounding a bit upset. "Yeah, you're right. We can. But not together. We're not stronger when we're together, Sam. I think we're weaker. Because whatever we have between us—love, family, whatever it is—they are always gonna use it against us. And you know that. Yeah, we're better off apart. We got a better chance of dodging Lucifer and Michael and this whole damn thing, if we just go our own ways." Dean said.

"Dean, don't do this." Sam pleads. "Bye, Sam." Dean said and he hangs up. "You don't mean that." (Y/n) said as Dean turns away from her. "Yes, I do." He said and (y/n) stands up. “You know what? I’m tired of biting my tongue here, Dean.” (Y/n) said and Dean shakes his head at her. “(Y/n) I’m tired. Let’s just go to sleep and talk about this later.” He muttered.

“No! We’re having this talk now. I know you miss him.” (Y/n) said and Dean shakes his head again, as if such an idea was idiotically. “You do, Dean. It’s written all over your face!” She said. “Oh is it?” Dean asked, in a deadpan tone. “I miss him too and I’m sure he misses us.” (Y/n) said. “That’s sweet.” Dean said, sarcastically. (Y/n) let out a huff, becoming really irritated with his attitude. 

“And you’re being really stubborn about keeping him away.” She said, trying her best to remain calm. “I’m doing this for you and him.” Dean declared. “You know what you just said to him, how we're better when we're apart. It’s a bunch of crap.” (Y/n) growled. “It’s the truth!” Dean said, his voice rising. “Being apart is what started the apocalypse in the first place!” (Y/n) exclaimed. “What started the apocalypse, was him listening to Ruby over us!” Dean shouted.

“No, what started the apocalypse was you going to hell!” (Y/n) yelled, instantly regretting her words. Dean stares at her in shock then turns his back on her, so she can’t see his face.

(Y/n) slowly reaches towards him then looks down, ashamed for what she said. “I’m sorry. That went too far.” She said, apologetically, then raises her head to look at him. “But think about it, Dean. Every time crap hits the fan is when we’re apart.” She said.

“You know what I think?” Dean asked, keeping his back towards her. (Y/n) held her breath, a little in premonition. Dean turns to look at her with a hard glare. “It sounds like I should have never sold my soul for you.” He said in a bitter tone, his anger making him feel justified in his words.

(Y/n)'s eyes widen, so shock she’s almost frozen for a moment, unsure of how to react. “Maybe you shouldn’t have.” She mumbled, tears welling up in her eyes. Dean continues to glare at her, not seeming to realize his mistake.

(Y/n) turns, staggering for a moment, and hastily walks towards the door. “Where are you going?” Dean asked. “I’m getting my own room.” (Y/n) replied, sharply, opening the door and walking out. “(Y/n)!” Dean yelled after her but she slams the door behind her. Dean turns away, running his hands through his hair, irritably. “Damnit!” He exclaimed, kicking over a chair.

(Y/n) enters her room, that was located on the other side of the motel, as far away from Dean’s room as possible. She drops the room key on the table and nearly collapse when she reaches the bed.

Her hands were shaking and whole body was trembling as she was still reeling from what Dean said to her. She takes out her cellphone and keeps her hands steady just enough to dial Sam’s number.

She held the phone to her ear with one hand and held her other hand to her lips, trying to keep herself from breaking down. “Hello.” Sam said when he answers. “S-Sam.” (Y/n) stammered, tears escaping from her eyes so easily. “(Y/n)? What’s wrong?” Sam asked, in a concerned tone. “I-I…” (Y/n) tried to say, but she was unable to form the words and she starts to cry. “Hey, hey, hey. It’s alright, I’m right here.“ Sam said, softly.

“You're not.” (Y/n) said through her tears and Sam sighs. “I know. But I’m still here to talk to. And if I have to, I’ll drive all night to you so you can have a shoulder to cry on.” He said and (Y/n) smiles a little.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” Sam said and (Y/n) sniffs, roughly wiping her cheek. “I’ll try. It all started after Dean got off the phone with you…”

Meanwhile, Dean wakes up and finds himself lying on the springs of the hotel bed; the mattress gone. He gets up and looks around to see that the entire room is trashed. He looks out the window to see that so is the city. Dean leaves the hotel and takes a look around; the area is devastated, everything broken or graffitied on or both.

He hears something, like glass smashing. He goes to investigate. The first sign of life Dean sees is a girl in an alley with a teddy bear. He approaches her slowly. "Little girl? Little girl?" he called out but the girl doesn't respond. "Are you hurt?" he asked the girl but again the girl says nothing.

"You know the not-talking thing is kind of creepy, right?" Dean said but blood starts to drip from the girl's mouth. The girl shrieks and attacks Dean with a shard of glass. He flattens her and looks around, catching sight of a large piece of graffiti: it reads "CROATOAN". "Oh, crap." he mutters.

Several people, all most likely infected with the Croatoan virus the same as the girl, come around the corner and he runs. They chase him onto a street blocked by a chain-link fence until several soldiers on tanks arrive, shooting the infected people. 

As more infected people fall from the gunshots, Dean stays under cover and retreats to an alley and breaks through the fence. A sign on the fence reads:

CROATOAN

VIRUS

HOT ZONE

NO ENTRY

BY ORDER OF ACTING REGIONAL COMMAND

AUGUST 1, 2014

KANSAS CITY

"August first, 2014." Dean reads then he goes over to a nearby cat and hotwires it.

Night had fallen as Dean drives around. There is no cell service and only static on the radio. "That's never a good sign." Dean mutters to himself. "Croatoan pandemic reaches Australia." A voice said, startling Dean. He turns and sees Zachariah sitting in the shotgun seat, reading a newspaper.

"I thought I smelled your stink on this Back to the Future crap." Dean grumbles. "President Palin defends bombing of Houston." Zachariah reads then he chuckles. "Certainly a buyer's market in real estate. Let's see what's happening in sports. That's right—no more sports. Congress revoked the right to group assembly. What's left of Congress, that is. Hardly a quorum, if you ask me." He said.

"How did you find me?" Dean asked him. "Afraid we had to tap some unorthodox resources of late—human informants. We've been making inspirational visits to the fringier Christian groups. They've been given your image, told to keep an eye out." Zachariah said and Dean has a look of realization on his face. "The Bible freak outside the motel—he, what, dropped a dime on me?" Dean asked and Zachariah smiles. "Onward, Christian soldiers." he chuckles and Dean scoffs and shakes his head.

"And where's (y/n)?" Dean asked him. "We left her alone. Seemed that she was very upset." Zachariah said and Dean frowns and does everything to bite his tongue, but the feeling of guilt was settling in his chest. "It looked like there was...what is it you humans say...trouble in paradise?" Zachariah said, a bit of a smirk on his face, and Dean grips the steering wheel, tighter.

The angel takes notice of this and he decided to keep pushing. "What did you do to her by the way? Hm?" Zachariah asked and Dean grits his teeth. "She finally had enough of you? Were you unable to fornicate with her?" Zachariah asked and Dean turns his head. "Shut up!" Dean growled and the Angel laughs.

"When the time comes, I'll make sure I'm the one who kills you." Dean threatened. "Oh, really? You kill me? Now that would be something." Zachariah laughs and Dean glares at him. "Okay, you've had your jollies. Now send me back, you son of a bitch." Dean growls. "Oh, you'll get back—all in good time. We want you to marinate a bit." Zachariah said.

"Marinate?" Dean asked. "Three days, Dean. Three days to see where this course of action takes you." said Zachariah. "What's that supposed to mean?" asked Dean. "It means that your choices have consequences. This is what happens to the world if you continue to say no to Michael. Have a little look-see." Zachariah said then he vanishes.

The next morning, Dean opens the door to Bobby's house. "Bobby? Bobby, I'm coming in!" he calls out as he looks around. The place is pretty thoroughly trashed, and from the spiderwebs and dust, no one has been around in a while. "Oh, no." he whispers as he sees Bobby's wheelchair on its side. Dean sets it upright and sees the bullet holes through and dried blood on the back of the seat.

"Where is everybody, Bobby?" Dean said then he opens a hidden compartment and pulls out Bobby's journal. He finds a photo of Bobby with Castiel, threeunidentified men, and a sign. "Camp Chitaqua." He mutters.

Dean approaches the sign from the photo to see men with guns are just inside the fence, patrolling. Dean does his best to stay out of sight. He catches sight of the Impala, smashed up and rusted to hell.

"Oh, baby, no." He said, despairingly, as he approaches the Impala for a better look at the damage, peering inside the driver's side door. "Oh, no, baby, what did they do to you?" he asked when he hears something and has barely turned to look when he is knocked out by another Dean, identified by the military-issue green jacket he is wearing instead of Dean's blue shirt.

Dean wakes up and discovers he is handcuffed to a ladder. He looks across the room to see himself cleaning a gun. "What the hell?" Dean asked as his Future-Self glares at him. "I should be asking that question, don't you think? In fact, why don't you give me one good reason why I shouldn't gank you right here and now?" he asked. "Because you'd only be hurting yourself." Dean said. "Very funny." Future Dean  sneered.

"Look, man—I'm no shapeshifter or demon or anything, okay?" Dean said. "Yeah, I know. I did the drill while you were out. Silver, salt, holy water—nothing. But you know what was funny? Was that you had every hidden lockpick, box cutter, and switchblade that I carry. Now, you want to explain that? Oh, and the, uh, resemblance, while you're at it?" Dean asked. "Zachariah." Dean replied and Future Dean stands up.

"Come again?" he asked. "I'm you from the tail end of 2009. Zach plucked me from my bed and threw me five years into the future." Dean replied. "Where is he? I want to talk to him." Future Dean demanded. "I don't know." Dean said. "Oh, you don't know." Future Dean growls. "No, I don't know. Look, I just want to get back to my own friggin' year, okay?" Dean yells. "Okay. If you're me, then tell me something only I would know." Future Dean demanded.

Dean thinks, then smirks. "Rhonda Hurley. We were, uh, nineteen. She made us try on her panties. They were pink. And satiny. And you know what? We kind of liked it." Dean said and his future self kinda smirked. "Touché." he said then he sighs.

"So, what, Zach zapped you up here to see how bad it gets?" he asked. "I guess. Croatoan virus, right? That's their endgame?" Dean asked. "It's efficient, it's incurable, and it's scary as hell. Turns people into monsters. Started hitting the major cities about two years ago. World really went in the crapper after that." Future Dean replied 

"What about Sam and (y/n)?" Dean asked and his future self goes still. "Heavyweight showdown in Detroit. From what I understand, Sam didn't make it." Future Dean said. "You weren't with him?" Dean asked. "No. No, me and Sam, we haven't talked in—hell, five years." Future Dean replied.

"We never tried to find him?" Dean asked. "We had other people to worry about." Future Dean said. "And (y/n)?" Dean asked, a bit nervously, and his Future Self's eyes shifts a bit before responding. "She's...gone." he replied. "Gone? What do you mean gone?" Dean asked and Future Dean glares at him then starts to walk away.

"Where you going?" Dean asked him. "I got to run an errand." Future Dean said. "Whoa. You're just gonna leave me here?" Dean asked him. "Yes. I got a camp full of twitchy trauma survivors out there with an apocalypse hanging over their head. The last thing they need to see is a version of The Parent Trap. So, yeah, you stay locked down." Future Dean said as he stops and turns to him again. "Okay. All right. Fine. But you don't have to cuff me, man." Dean yells and his future self goes to walk away again.

"Oh, come on. You don't trust yourself?" Dean asked as his future self gets to the door, stops and turns. "No. Absolutely not." He replied then he leaves. "Dick." Dean grumbles then he pries a nail out of the floorboards and uses it to remove the handcuffs.

Minutes later, he glances around the camp when someone comes up behind him. "Hey, Dean. You got a second?" a voice asked and Dean turns around to see that it was Chuck. "No—yes. Uh, I—I guess. Hi, Chuck." Dean said, shaking his head. "Hi. So, uh, listen, we're pretty good on canned goods for now, but we're down to next to nothing on perishables and—and hygiene supplies. People are not gonna be happy about this. So, what do you think we should do?" Chuck asked him.

"I—I don't know. Maybe, uh, share? You know, like at a kibbutz." Dean replied, shrugging. "Wait a minute, aren't you supposed to be out on a mission right now?" Chuck asked, confused. "Absolutely. And I will be." Dean said and he hears some footsteps behind him.

He turns to see a woman walking up to him. "Hello, Dean." She greets. "Hey, uh..." Dean stops. "Risa." Chuck whispered to him. "Risa." Dean said. "So, I was wondering...did you ever give my proposal a thought?" She asked, a seductive smile on her lips. Dean slightly shakes his head in confusion. "What?" He asked and she let's out a small giggle.

"You know...about...you know...you and me..." she asked and Dean catches on. "Look, sweetheart, I appreciate it but...I'm a one woman man." Dean said and Risa let's out a harsh scoff. "Seriously? You're still holding onto that vegetable?!" She asked, angry and annoyed, and Dean gives her a confused look. "Come again?" He asked. "I mean, I can do so much more than her!" She yells. "I don't understand..." Dean started to say but Risa huffs out a breath. "Screw you." she growls and she walks past him.

"Oh, jeez. I'm getting bitched at for stuff I haven't even done yet." Dean exclaims. "What?" Chuck asked. "Uh, never mind. Hey, Chuck, is...Cas still here?" Dean asked him. "Yeah. I don't think Cas is going anywhere." Chuck said.

Chuck leads Dean to another cabin and he enters. Castiel is sitting in a circle with several women. "So, in this way. We're each a fragment of total perception—just, uh, one compartment in that dragonfly eye of group mind. Now, the key to this total, shared perception—it's, um, it's surprisingly physical." He said then he spots Dean. "Oh. Excuse me, ladies. I think I need to confer with our fearless leader for a minute. Why not go get washed up for the orgy?" Castiel said and this takes Dean aback as the women leave.

"You're all so beautiful." Castiel compliments the women and he stands and stretches his back, grunting. "What are you, a hippie?" Dean asked him. "I thought you'd gotten over trying to label me." Castiel grumbles.

"Cas, we got to talk." Dean said and Castiel looks at him. "Whoa. Strange." he said, surprised. "What?" Dean asked. "You...are not you. Not now you, anyway." said Castiel. "No! Yeah. Yes, exactly." Dean said.

"What year are you from?" Castiel asked him. "2009." Dean replied. "Who did this to you? Is it Zachariah?" Castiel asked. "Yes." Dean said. "Interesting." Castiel said, fascinated. "Oh, yeah, it's friggin' fascinating. Now. Why don't you strap on your angel wings and fly me back to my page on the calendar?" Dean asked. "I wish I could just, uh, strap on my wings, but I'm sorry, no dice." Castiel said.

"What, are you stoned?" Dean asked. "Uh, generally, yeah." Castiel replied. "What happened to you?" Dean asked and Castiel shrugs. "Life." he said and Dean sighs and runs his hands over his face.

"Okay, what about Ariel? Is she here? If she is can you take me to her..." Dean asked but he noticed the look of sadness on his face. "What?" Dean asked. "Ariel...that's a name I haven't heard in awhile...." Castiel said, downtrodden. "Why? What happened to her?" Dean asked, curiously.

Castiel look back at him, the sadness reflecting in his eyes. "She's dead." He said, softly, and Dean's eyes widen in shock. "Dead? How?" Dean asked. Castiel stares at him with this sad puppy dog eyes and was about to speak when they hear the sounds vehicles coming.

They walk out to see a car and a jeep had arrived and Future Dean and some soldiers climb out. Future Dean grabs two beers and tosses one to a soldiers. They both open the beers and drink but then Future Dean draws his gun and points it at that soldier.

"Hey. Hey! Watch out!" Dean shouts as he runs but Future Dean shoots the soldier. Dean runs up too late and the survivors looked between the two Deans. "Damn it." Future Dean grumbles then he addresses the soldiers. "I'm not gonna lie to you. Me and him—It's a pretty messed-up situation we got going. But believe me, when you need to know something, you will know it. Until then, we all have work to do." he said.

Later, Future Dean shoves Dean into the room and shuts the door behind them. "What the hell was that?" Future Dean asked him, angrily. "What the hell was that? You just shot a guy in cold blood." Dean yelled back, angrily. "We were in an open quarantine zone. Got ambushed by some Croats on the way out." Future Dean said and Dean's expression asks for an explanation.

"Croats. Croatoans. One of them infected Yeager." Future Dean clarifies. "How do you know?" Dean asked him. "'Cause after a few years of this, I know. I started seeing symptoms about a half an hour ago. Wasn't gonna be long before he flipped. I didn't see the point in troubling a good man with bad news." Future Dean said. "Troubling a good man? You just blew him away in front of your own people. Don't you think that freaked them out a little bit?" Dean asked.

"It's 2014. Plugging some Croat, it's called commonplace. Trading words with my friggin' clone—that might have freaked them out a little." Future Dean growls. "All right, look—" Dean started to say but Future Dean talks over him. "No, you look. This isn't your time. It's mine. You don't make the decisions. I do. So, when I say stay in, you stay in." Future Dean yelled, angrily.

"All right, man. I'm sorry. Look, I—I'm not trying to mess you—me—us up here." Dean said, apologetically, and his Future self sighs and calms down. "I know." he said and he pours two glasses of alcohol.

"It's just been a really wacky weekend." Dean said. "Tell me about it." Future Dean said as he hands the other glass to Dean and they drink.

"What was the mission, anyway?" Dean asked him and Future Dean pulls out a gun; it's the Colt. "The Colt?" Dean said, shocked. "The Colt." Future Dean said, firmly. "Where was it?" Dean asked him. "Everywhere. They've been moving it around. Took me five years, but...I finally got it. And tonight—tonight, I'm gonna kill the devil." Future Dean said.

"So, that's it? That's the Colt?" Risa asked after her and Castiel come in in the room with the two Deans'. "If anything can kill Lucifer, this is it." Future Dean said. "Great. Have we got anything that can find Lucifer?" Risa asked, a bit annoyed, and Future Dean turns to her.

"Are you okay?" He asked her. "Oh, she's mad about how you won't give her a chance cause you are hung up on some vegetable...?" Dean said, questionable, and his future self turns his head, sharply, to him. "You want to shut up?" He asked, angrily, and Dean raises his hands in surrender.

"And Risa, you know not to call her that and I'm not gonna give up on her. Is that clear?" Future Dean said, firmly, and Risa frowns then turns her head away. "Anyway...We don't have to find Lucifer. We know where he is. The demon that we caught last week, he was one of the big guy's entourage. He knew." Future Dean said.

"So, a demon tells you where Satan's gonna be, and you just believe it?" Risa asked him, disbelieving. "Oh, trust me, he wasn't lying." Future Dean said. "And you know this how?" Risa asked. "Our fearless leader, I'm afraid, is all too well schooled in the art of getting to the truth." Castiel said and Dean turns to his future self.

"Torture?" Dean asked and neither Castiel nor future Dean respond. "Oh, so, we're—we're torturing again." Dean grumbles and his Future self looks at him. "No, that's—that's good. Classy." Dean said, sarcastically, and Castiel laughs. Future Dean looks at him. "What? I like past you." Castiel said, defensively, and Future Dean rolls his eyes.

"Lucifer is here. Now. I know the block and I know the building." Future Dean said. "Oh, good—it's right in the middle of a hot zone." said Castiel. "Crawling with Croats, yeah. You saying my plan is reckless?" Future Dean asked him. "Are you saying we, uh, walk in straight up the driveway, past all the demons and the Croats, and we shoot the devil?" Castiel asked. "Yes." Future Dean said.

"Okay, if you don't like, uh, 'reckless', I could use 'insouciant', maybe." Castiel said. "Are you coming?" Future Dean asked him and Castiel sighs. "Of course. But why is he? I mean, he's you five years ago. If something happens to him, you're gone, right?" Castiel asked as he gestures to Dean.

"He's coming." Future Dean said, firmly. "Okay. Well, uh. I'll get the grunts moving." Castiel said. "We're loaded and on the road by midnight." Future Dean said. "All righty." Castiel said and he and Risa leave but Castiel turns to Future Dean. "You gonna see her before you leave?" He asked him.

Future Dean stares at him, looks over at Dean, as if he was thinking of something, then turns back to Castiel. "Yes." He replied and Castiel nods before he walks out.

"Why are you taking me?" Dean asked his future self. "Relax. You'll be fine. Zach's looking after you, right?" Future Dean asked. "No, that's not what I mean. I want to know what's going on. And who is her?" Dean asked him. "Yeah, okay. You're coming because I want you to see something. But first, there is someone I want you to see." Future Dean said.

Minutes later, Future Dean takes Dean into a small building, a bit away from the other buildings, and they enter it. Inside, unlike other buildings, there was only one bed in the middle of the room which had one occupant in it.

Dean furrows his brow at this as his future self starts to walk towards the bed. He slowly walks up to the figure and kneels down to the front of the figure. "Hey, (y/n)." Future Dean said in a soft, quiet voice. Dean was taken aback by this and he slowly walks around to the side.

His eyes widen and he jumped slightly at the sight before him. The (y/n) that was sitting on the bed looked guant and weak, nothing like the (y/n) Dean knew. She also looked like she wasn't there, mentally. She looked lost.

She raises her head, slowly, once she heard future Dean's voice. There was a twitch of a smile on her lips as she looks at future Dean.

"Hey, baby." Future Dean said to her, softly. She raises a hand and places it on his cheek. "I've come by to let you know that I'm heading out again. I'm gonna take out and kill those sons of bitches that did this to you." Future Dean said to her. Then he leaves a long, lingering kiss on her forehead.

The short amount of time Dean had spent with his future self, this was the first time he had seen him look and sound vulnerable. "You should rest, sweetheart." Future Dean said to (y/n) and he starts to stand up but she grabs his arm.

"Don't...go..." (y/n) said, weakly. It honestly freaked Dean out on how (y/n) spoke. She not only looked awful but she sounded just as bad if not worse. She looked and sounded like she aged 70-80 years.

"Honey, I have to. I found the Colt." Future Dean said as he places a hand over hers. "Colt?" (Y/n) asked and Future Dean nods. "Yes, and I'm gonna kill him with it." He assures her and she continues to look at him. "I need to go, sweetheart." Future Dean said but she doesn't remove her hand off of his arm.

"Don't...go...Don't...go..." (y/n) repeated until she started to become hysterical and was hitting Future Dean's chest with a weak fist and he tries to calm her down but that just upsets her more and she begins to scream and cry.

Dean was horrified at this as Future Dean digs into his pocket with his free hand and pulls out a needle. "No!" Dean shouts but Future Dean sticks the needle into her neck. She stops, calms down then starts to slump forward. Future Dean catches her in his arms and she passes out then he starts to carry her back to her bed.

"What the hell did you do to her?!" Dean asked his future self as he set (y/n) back down on the bed. "Had to sedate her." Future Dean replied, plainly, then he stands up and looks back at Dean. "What happened to her? You said she was gone!" Dean yelled as he walks over towards his future self.

"Yeah, mentally. Physically, no. You see she was my partner when the Croats started to rise. We became leaders to the people. But a few months back, she was captured by some demons. We couldn't find her for months until just about a month ago when me and few men raided an old house and found some demons inside. We took care of the ones that didn't run off then we searched the house until we found her. I don't know what kind of torture method they used on her but we found her like this." Future Dean explained as he gestures towards the passed out (y/n).

"Why didn't you kill her? You killed a man earlier, no hesitation, but her you've kept locked away?!" Dean asked, confused. "Because I couldn't bring myself to do it, okay!!" Future Dean yells and Dean leans back a bit. "So you wanted me to see her?" Dean asked. "Yes, and I also want you to see our brother." Future Dean said and Dean furrows his brow.

"Sam? I thought he was dead." He said. "Sam didn't die in Detroit. He said 'yes'." Future Dean said. "Yes?" Dean asked and there was a long silence between them until Dean realized what he meant.

"Wait. You mean—"

"That's right. The big 'yes'. To the devil. Lucifer's wearing him to the prom." Future Dean said. "Why would he do that?" Dean asked. "Wish I knew. But now we don't have a choice. It's in him, and it's not getting out. And we've got to kill him, Dean. And you need to see it—the whole damn thing, how bad it gets—so you can do it different." Future Dean explained.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked. "Zach said he was gonna bring you back, right? To oh-nine?" Future Dean asked. "Yeah." Dean said. "Well, when you get back home—you say 'yes'. You hear me? Say 'yes' to Michael." Future Dean said. "That's crazy. If I let him in, then Michael fights the devil. The battle's gonna torch half the planet. That is if Ariel doesn't stop it." said Dean.

"Look around you, man. Half the planet's better than no planet, which is what we have now. If I could do it over again, I'd say 'yes' in a heartbeat." Future Dean said. "So why don't you?" Dean asked. "I've tried! I've shouted 'yes' till I was blue in the face! The angels aren't listening! They just—left—gave up! It's too late for me, but for you—" Future Dean said and Dean shakes his head.

"Oh, no. There's got to be another way." He said. "Yeah, that's what I thought. I was cocky. Never actually thought I'd lose. But I was wrong. Dean. I was wrong. I'm begging you. Say yes." Future Dean said then there was another long pause. "But you won't. 'Cause I didn't. Because that's just not us, is it?" Future Dean asked.

"So, you're really from oh-nine?" Chuck asked Dean as they head to the vehicles that night. "Yeah, afraid so." Dean said. "Some free advice? You ever get back there, you hoard toilet paper. You understand me? Hoard it. Hoard it like it's made of gold. 'Cause it is." Chuck said and Dean turns his head to him. "Thank you, Chuck." he said.

"Oh, you'll thank me, all right. Mark my words." Chuck said. "I'll see you around." Dean tells him as he pats his shoulder. "Yeah. Okay." Chuck said as Dean gets in one of the vehicles and they drive off.

Dean is riding shotgun in Castiel's car and sees Castiel taking some pills. "Let me see those." Dean said, holding his hand out. "You want some?" Castiel asked as he hands the bottle to him and Dean reads the label. "Amphetamines?" he asked. "It's the perfect antidote to that absinthe." Castiel said.

"Mmm. Don't get me wrong, Cas. I, uh. I'm happy that the stick is out of your ass, but—what's going on—w-with the drugs and the orgies and the love-guru crap?" Dean asked him and Castiel laughs. "What's so funny?" Dean asked, confused.

"Dean, I'm not an angel anymore." Castiel informed, shocking Dean. "What?" he asked. "Yeah, I went mortal." Castiel said. "What do you mean? How?" Dean asked. "I think it had something to do with the other angels leaving. But when they bailed, my mojo just kind of— psshhew!—drained away. And now, you know, I'm practically human. I mean, Dean, I'm all but useless. Last year, broke my foot, laid up for two months." Castiel said. "Wow." Dean mutters. "Yeah." Castiel replied.

"So, you're human. Well, welcome to the club." Dean said. "Thanks. Except I used to belong to a much better club. And now I'm powerless. I'm hapless, I'm hopeless. I mean, why the hell not bury myself in women and decadence, right? It's the end, baby. That's what decadence is for. Why not bang a few gongs before the lights go out? But then that's, that's just how I roll." Castiel said, shrugging.

"How did Ariel die?" Dean asked him and Castiel sighs. "She, stupidly, went after Lucifer after Sam said yes to him. She thought she'd be strong enough to stop him but..." Castiel stops, bites his lips then swallows. "I'm sorry." Dean said and Castiel nods a bit.

Later, Dean, Future Dean, Castiel, Risa and a few other soldiers walk towards the sanitarium, carrying guns and scanning the area. "There. Second-floor window. We go in there." Future Dean said as they got closer to the building. "You sure about this?" Risa asked him. "They'll never see us coming. Trust me. Now, weapons check. We're on the move in five." Future Dean said.

"Hey, uh, me. Can I talk to you for a sec?" Dean said and he and his Future-Self go off to the side. "Tell me what's going on." Dean said. "What?" Future Dean asked, playing dumb. "I know you. You're lying to these people and to me." Dean said. "Is that so." Future Dean said.

"Yeah. See, I know your lying expressions. I've seen them in the mirror. Now, there's something you're not telling us." Dean growls. "I don't know what you're talking about." Future Dean said, continuing to playing dumb. "Oh, really? Well, I don't seem to be the only member of your posse with some questions, so, uh, maybe I'll just take my doubts over to them." Dean said and he starts to walk away but Future Dean stops him. "Okay, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait." He said and Dean turns to him.

"What?" Dean asked. "Take a look around you, man. This place should be white-hot with Croats. Where are they?" Future Dean asked him and Dean looks around. "They cleared a path for us. Which means that this is—" Dean said and his future self nods. "A trap. Exactly." he said.

"Well, then we can't go through the front." Dean said. "Oh, we're not. They are. They're the decoys. You and me, we're going in through the back." Future Dean said. "You mean you're gonna feed your friends into a meat grinder? Cas, too? You want to use their deaths as a diversion?" Dean asked and his Future-Self looks away.

"Oh, man, something is broken in you. You're making decisions that I would never make. I wouldn't sacrifice my friends." Dean said. "You're right. You wouldn't. It's one of the main reasons we're in this mess, actually." Future Dean said. "These people count on you. They trust you." Dean said, desperately. "They trust me to kill the devil and to save the world and that's exactly what I'm gonna do." Future Dean growls. "No. Not like this, you're not. I'm not gonna let you." Dean said, firmly.

"Oh, really?" Future Dean asked. "Yeah." Dean said before his Future-Self slugs him in the face, knocking him out.

Dean wakes up on the ground and hears gunfire in the building and runs toward it. Thunder crashes, lightning flashes, and Dean sees his Future-Self on the ground, neck held down by a person wearing a white suit. Future Dean opens his eyes and sees Dean until the person shifts his weight, breaking Future Dean's neck. The person, Dean sees, is Sam but not; it's Lucifer. He turns around and sees Dean.

"Oh. Hello, Dean." Lucifer greets as Dean stares at him. "Aren't you a surprise." Lucifer said then in a flash of lightning and a roar of thunder, he is now behind Dean. "You've come a long way to see this, haven't you?" Lucifer asked him.

"Well, go ahead. Kill me." Dean said as he turns to face him. "Kill you?" Lucifer asked, confused, then looks at the corpse of Future Dean. "Don't you think that would be a little...redundant?" Lucifer asked before he sighs. "I'm sorry. It must be painful, speaking to me in this—shape. But it had to be your brother. It had to be." he said and he reaches for Dean's shoulder but Dean moves back.

"You don't have to be afraid of me, Dean. What do you think I'm going to do?" Lucifer asked. "I don't know. Maybe deep-fry the planet?" Dean said and Lucifer walks off to the side and examines a rose, but turns away. "Why? Why would I want to destroy this stunning thing? Beautiful in a trillion different ways. The last perfect handiwork of God." he said but Dean doesn't answer.

"You ever hear the story of how I fell from grace?" Lucifer asked Dean as he turns to him. "Oh, good God, you're not gonna tell me a bedtime story, are you? My stomach's almost out of bile." Dean said, with sarcasm. "You know why God cast me down? Because I loved him. More than anything. And then God created..." Lucifer said then he smirks. "You. The little...hairless apes. And then he asked all of us to bow down before you—to love you, more than him. And I said, Father, I can't. I said, These human beings are flawed, murderous. And for that, God had Michael cast me into hell. Now, tell me, does the punishment fit the crime? Especially, when I was right? Look at what six billion of you have done to this thing, and how many of you blame me for it."

"You're not fooling me, you know that? With this sympathy-for-the-devil crap. I know what you are." Dean growls. "What am I?" Lucifer asked, curiously. "You're the same thing, only bigger. The same brand of cockroach I've been squashing my whole life. An ugly, evil, belly-to-the-ground, supernatural piece of crap. The only difference between them and you is the size of your ego." Dean spat and Lucifer smiles. 

"I like you, Dean. I get what the other angels see in you. Goodbye. We'll meet again soon." He said and he turns to walk away. "You better kill me now!" Dean yells and Lucifer turns back.

"Pardon?" he asked. "You better kill me now. Or I swear, I will find a way to kill you. And I won't stop." Dean said, sternly. "I know you won't. I know you won't say yes to Michael, either. And I know you won't kill Sam. Whatever you do, you will always end up here. Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up—here. I win. So, I win." Lucifer informs.

"You're wrong." Dean growls and Lucifer looks him over. "See you in five years, Dean." he said and he is gone once the thunder roars and the lightening strikes. Dean turns around and sees Zachariah behind him, reaching for his forehead with two fingers.

Dean leans against the kitchenette sink while Zachariah stands in front of him. "Oh, well, if it isn't the ghost of Christmas screw you." Dean growls. "Enough. Dean, enough. You saw it, right? You saw what happens. You're the only person who can prove the devil wrong. Just say yes." Zachariah said. "How do I know that this whole thing isn't one of your tricks? Huh? Some angel hocus-pocus?" Dean asked, suspiciously. 

"The time for tricks is over. Give yourself to Michael. Say yes and we can strike. Before Lucifer gets to Sam. Before billions die." Zachariah said and Dean considers this for a long moment, turning away from Zachariah. "Nah." Dean said and Zachariah's face turns to slight anger.

"Nah? You telling me you haven't learned your lesson?" He asked and Dean turns to him. "Oh, I've learned a lesson, all right. Just not the one you wanted to teach." he said. "Well, I'll just have to teach it again! Because I got you now, boy, and I'm never letting you—" Zachariah said but then Dean is gone. "Son of a..." Zachariah growls, annoyed and angry.

Dean turns around and sees Castiel behind and they were on the side of the road. "That's pretty nice timing, Cas." Dean said. "We had an appointment." Castiel said and Dean puts a hand on Castiel's shoulder. "Don't ever change." he said then he freezes. "What about (y/n)? She's still back there..." he said, slightly panicked. 

But then they hear a noise and he turns around to see Ariel with (y/n). Seeing this, made Dean feel relief. "Oh, thank God." He said and he runs over to (y/n). "You're okay!" He said and he embraces (y/n), who was surprised by this. "Dean? What the...?" (Y/n) started to ask but Dean looks down into her eyes then leans in and gives her a kiss.

"(Y/n), I am so sorry for what I said. You're right. I was being stubborn." Dean said once he breaks the kiss to look at her. "Wh-What changed your mind?" She asked him and Dean stops as he stares at her, that image of her from 2014 flashed in his mind.

"I don't want to get into that right now." He said and (y/n) looks into his eyes then nods, slightly. "But...I want you to know that I love you, more than anything. And I'll be damned if I'm gonna let myself be so stubborn to the point I'll end up losing you." He said and she gives a small smile. "I love you, too. And I'm also sorry for things I've said." She said and she leans up and kisses him then they embrace each other.

"How did Zachariah find you?" Ariel asked and Dean looks up at her. "Long story. Let's just stay away from Jehovah's Witnesses from now on, okay?" he said and Ariel nods as Dean and (y/n) break the hug then he pulls out his phone.

"What are you doing?" Castiel asked as he walks up to them. "Something I should have done in the first place." Dean replied as he dials a number.

The next morning, Dean and (y/n) wait by the Impala, by a bridge, as another car pulls up. Sam gets out and the trio approach each other. "Sam." Dean said as (y/n) smiled at Sam. Dean pulls out Ruby's knife and Sam looks at it, nervously. Dean holds it out to Sam handle first. "If you're serious and you want back in...you should hang on to this. I'm sure you're rusty." Dean said and Sam takes the knife, he can't meet Dean's or (y/n)'s eyes.

"Look, man, I'm sorry. I don't know. I'm...whatever I need to be. But I was, uh—wrong." Dean said. "What made you change your mind?" Sam asked him. "Long story. The point is...maybe we are each other's Achilles heel. Maybe they'll find a way to use us against each other, I don't know. I just know we're all we've got. More than that. We keep each other human." Dean said as he gestures between the three of them.

"Thank you. Really. Thank you. I won't let you down." Sam said. "Oh, I know it. I mean, you are the third-best hunter on the planet." Dean said as he looks over at (y/n), who smirks, and Sam nods.

"So, what do we do now?" Sam asked him. "We make our own future." Dean said and (y/n) gives a soft chuckle. "Guess we have no choice." she said and Sam smiles a little. Then (y/n) goes over to Sam and hugs him, he hugs her back.

The trio back together once more.

@rach5ive @kitsun369 @itzabbyxx @cevans-winchester @ellie-andthemachine